Rukmani is 72. A Krishna devotee from her childhood, she lives with her family at New Plots, Jammu. The absorbing stories of Krishna’s childhood, which she heard from her mother and read from the epics, never fail to captivate her. Every morning she gives her Krishna a bath and dons him in clean clothes. She sings him leelas and bhajans, including, invariably, the one she likes most, Maiya mori mein nahi makhan khaiyoo (Mother, I have not eaten the butter), shedding tears of devotional ecstasy.
She sometimes wonders why her parents gave her the name Rukmani; why not Yashoda. But then she realises that Rukmani is as good a name for her as any. After all, Krishna is the beloved of all—his mother Yashoda; his chief consort, Rukmani; his 16,000 wives; his beloved Radha; the gopis; the villagers of Nand; and, in fact, everyone under the sun. They all love him beyond the physical. Their love is supreme; it is transcendental; it is pure bliss.
One morning, Rukmani woke up with fever and chills. The least she wished to do was to give Krishna his customary bath, but she felt too weak to move out of her bed. She called Indu, her daughter-in-law, and asked her to give Krishna a bath and change his garments. ‘He likes a good shower; be patient with him, handle him with gentle care,’ she enjoined her.
Indu felt privileged, for it was the first time she was asked to perform this ritual, but Rukmani’s last words made her a bit nervous. When she held Krishna under the running tap, he tumbled out of her hands into the wash basin, producing a tiny clink that reached Rukmani’s ears in her bedroom.
‘Indu, what happened?’ she called out.
‘Nothing, mother; Krishna slipped from my grasp. But he is all right.’
Rukmani lumbered out of her bed, still tremulous with fever, and walked slowly up to the wash basin. She took Krishna gingerly from Indu’s hand, holding him tenderly, looking fondly at him.
‘Indu, little Krishna is hurt.’
‘No, mother, there is not even a scratch, not the least blemish that I can see.’
‘But he is hurt; why can’t you see? Go get the doctor at once.’ She held Krishna close to her breast, fondled and caressed him, crooning softly into his ear, ‘You will soon get well, my little one; we will get the doctor for you, my fond one.’
Indu looked at her, partly amused partly annoyed. ‘Mother, he is fine. I can’t find any hurt at all.’
‘I can; I feel his pain. Go tell Rajesh to fetch the doctor.’ Saying so, she walked back to her room, cradling Krishna carefully in her arms.
Rajesh, by now all dressed up for office, hurried to see his mother.
‘What is it, mother?’
‘Son, look here; Krishna is hurt, he is in pain. Please fetch a doctor before you leave for your office.’
‘Mother, this is just an idol of Krishna. Idols don’t feel pain.’
‘Please waste no time; get the doctor, or I will myself go.’
‘Indu told me you are running a fever. I think you need to see the doctor, not Krishna.’
‘Not me; I feel a lot better already; my fever is fast abating and the chill is all but gone. But Krishna is in pain, my son.’
Bemused, Rajesh trooped out and walked to the nearest doctor in the neighbourhood.
The doctor thought he was joking when he learnt that Krishna was an idol and not any child. When Rajesh insisted that his mother believed Krishna was in pain after being hurt in a fall, he reprimanded him, ‘It seems either you or your mother or both of you need attention and not your Krishna.’
A chemist in the next lane directed Rajesh to Dr Mengi of Sarwal who, he said, hardly ever refused an emergency call.
‘Please, doctor, I would like you to come with me; there is an emergency at my home,’ Rajesh pleaded with Dr Mengi.
‘What is it about?’
‘Krishna slipped from my wife’s grip while she was giving him a bath. He is hurt.’
‘Is he your child?’
Rajesh related the sequence of events. ‘Though I can’t see it, mother is sure that Krishna is in pain.’
The doctor was fascinated by the tale. An astute student of human psychology, he would not let this opportunity go. He agreed to pay the house call.
Rajesh picked his bag, placed it in front between his legs, asked the doctor to sit on the pillion, and drove home on his scooter. His waiting mother welcomed the doctor enthusiastically. ‘Doctor Ji, thank you for coming. Please have a good look at my Krishna.’ And she delivered Krishna delicately into his hands.
Dr Mengi examined Krishna keenly while the family members watched spellbound.
Cast in bronze, Krishna was around seven years old with big and bright eyes, a crown on his head and standing on one leg, the other twined around with the tip of its big toe touching ground. He had a flute in his hands, his lips blowing into it, and his fingers in action. The doctor glided his hands carefully along Krishna’s limbs and body and palpated his head carefully.
‘Your little Krishna seems fine,’ he declared.
‘But you have not examined him fully,’ Rukmani moaned.
The doctor at once corrected himself. ‘I mean there is no external injury, no sprain or crack anywhere, but I have not finished yet.’
Then he fished his stethoscope out from his bag and started auscultation of Krishna’s heart.
‘Lup dup, lup dup…’
Was he imagining or was it real? He looked around in the room for any extraneous sounds, but there were none. He listened again. ‘Lup dup, lup dup…’ Krishna was speaking through his heart!
Dr Mengi was excited; a light gleamed in his eyes and he looked adoringly at Rukmani, and from her to Krishna and back.
‘You are right, madam; Krishna is a bit upset from the fall.’
‘I told them but nobody believed me.’
‘But he will be okay. All he needs is a restorative. I will send it from my home. Meanwhile, let him rest in your lap.’ And he delivered Krishna back into her waiting hands.
Reaching home, the doctor asked Rajesh to wait while he went inside and came back with a small pot. ‘This is for Krishna.’
‘What is inside the pot, sir, and how do we administer it?’
‘Hand it over to your mother; she will know,’ he said with a wide grin.
Thanking the doctor, Rajesh proffered him fees for the home visit.
‘That won’t be necessary. On the contrary, I must thank your mother for giving me the opportunity to examine her Krishna and discover the rarest case I ever met in my practice.’
Rajesh was amazed. He thanked the doctor and drove back. Reaching home, he handed the pot over to his mother. Slowly, she opened the lid and beamed into a cheerful smile that surprised everyone.