Enchanting.

Krishna and the Sasural 

A tale from the enchanting lanes of Gokul

Once, little Sri Krishna and his friends were playing in the soft sands of Gokul, laughing and teasing each other as children do. Among them was a friend named Rama, who suddenly stood up and announced, “I must go now. I have to go to my sasural (in-laws' house).”

Krishna, just five years old, tilted his head curiously. “Sasural? I have heard of Gokul, Mathura, and Vrindavan... but where is sasural? Shall we all go there?”

Rama chuckled, “Not our sasural—my sasural.”

Now Krishna was thoroughly puzzled. “Then where is my sasural?”

Rama grinned, “That, you must ask your mother.”

And so, the curious little Krishna ran home, upset. He burst into Yashoda’s arms, demanding, “Ma! Why have you kept a secret from me? Where is my sasural?”

Yashoda couldn’t help laughing. Stroking his curls, she said gently, “Lala, you are still a little child. When you grow up, you too will have a sasural.”

Just then, Krishna’s friends came running, shouting with excitement, “Rama is returning from his sasural! He has brought his bride in a palanquin!”

Krishna’s eyes sparkled. “A bride! Let’s go see!”

He dashed outside, following the music and laughter. The bride, Madhuri, sat shyly in the palanquin, her face covered tightly. Krishna peered in and said sweetly, “Show me your face.”

But Madhuri replied, “My parents told me never to show my face to you. They said, ‘Everyone in Gokul loses their heart to Krishna upon seeing him. You must be careful.’”

Krishna smiled mischievously and warned, “One day, you will regret this.”

But Madhuri stayed firm.

Days passed. Life in Gokul was as always — full of music, laughter, and stories of Krishna. Wherever one went — to the riverside, in the courtyards, in the markets — the only topic was Krishna: his mischief, his dance, his smile.

Though she tried not to, even Madhuri’s thoughts were slowly filled with Krishna. Unknowingly, he began to appear in her dreams. One night, she suddenly woke up in a daze, thinking she had overslept. In panic, she rushed to the Yamuna to fetch water.

But it was midnight. The riverside was silent. There was no one in sight.

She thought to herself, “Oh no, everyone must have come and left. I am so late.” She filled her pot hurriedly, but when she tried to lift it, she couldn’t.

Just then, she saw a small boy walking towards her. His face… exactly like the one in her dreams, like the one everyone had described — Krishna!

He smiled and asked gently, “Shall I help you?”

She nodded, awestruck. He lifted the pot with ease, and as he passed it to her, something magical happened — he grew in size until he stood tall, face-to-face with her.

She stood frozen, heart trembling.

And then… he vanished.

The pot crashed to the ground.

She stood there weeping silently, overcome by longing. The sun rose, and her friends came looking for her. They found her motionless, tears flowing. They tried to revive her, splashing Yamuna’s water on her face. She fainted.

When she woke, she whispered only one name: Kannaiya... Kannaiya...

In that moment, Madhuri had crossed the threshold — she had become one of the brijvasis, those forever enchanted by Krishna, not just in thought, but in soul.

To think of Krishna is sweet. To dream of him is sweeter. But the truest grace is when Krishna thinks of you. Devotion is not just love offered, but love returned. Blessed are those whose hearts Krishna chooses to enter.