Headline: The Power of The Curse Lifted by Krishna in the Hindu Tradition
Subheadline: A reflection on courage, sacrifice, and spiritual truth.
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I was twelve when I met the sage. My father had sent me with a basket of fruit for the old vriddha who lived by the river on the edge of our village in Dwaraka — the sacred city cradled by Lord Krishna Himself.
He didn’t speak much. Just stared across the rippling water, like he was waiting. I waited too. His name was Durvasa. People whispered that he was born from Lord Shiva's anger. Legends said his curses could crumble kingdoms.
I didn’t understand then. I do now.
He didn’t want fruit that day. He looked at me and said, “Krishna bears the weight of a curse, young one. Not on whim — but out of dharma.”
I sat beside him, confused. “Why would Lord Krishna bear a curse?”
He tilted his head. “Because only one with love greater than wrath can carry suffering without passing it on.”
Then he told me.
Long ago, before I was born, before my father could walk, there was a queen named Gandhari. Mother of the hundred Kauravas, whose arrogance filled the Mahabharata like dry wood waiting for fire. She was pious, devoted to Lord Shiva, the Goddess Durga, even to Lord Vishnu in his many forms. But when her sons fell in the war of Kurukshetra—killed by the Pandavas, guided by Krishna—her grief turned to ash-black rage.
She cursed Krishna.
She looked the protector of dharma in the eye and said, “Just as I have lost everything, so shall your Yadava clan perish in ruin and madness.”
Krishna said nothing. Just bowed. He accepted it. Not because she was right. But because sorrow, when met with compassion, becomes something holy.
Sage Durvasa’s eyes darkened. “And so,” he said, “the curse took root.”
Years passed. I was a man by then. I saw it begin.
The Yadavas grew proud. Kings under the protection of Krishna, fearless and bold, forgetting humility. One day, Krishna’s son, Samba—clever, wild—disguised himself as a pregnant woman and tricked visiting sages, asking them, “What will this woman give birth to?”
The sages, seeing through the game, cursed him. “He will give birth to iron, which will shatter your clan.”
They laughed. But he did. Days later, Samba’s body split open and out came an iron bolt.
They threw it into the sea. But the sea threw it back. Washed ashore as plants of iron-stemmed eraka grass. They grew wild across the fields. And with them grew the weight of destiny.
One night, amidst drunken feasting by the sea, the Yadavas fought. The iron grass in their hands became weapons. Brother struck down brother. Blood poured into the waves. By morning, the kingdom of Krishna, built with wisdom and devotion, was gone.
All but Balarama—Krishna’s elder brother, part of Lord Vishnu’s essence—and Krishna Himself.
Durvasa’s voice broke as he spoke, quiet as falling leaves. “And so, Krishna walked alone, into the forest near Prabhas. There, under a peepal tree, he sat in meditation—Lotus pose. As the avatar of Vishnu, his time had ended.”
A hunter named Jara mistook his foot for a deer. The arrow flew and pierced the Lord’s mortal body.
“Was it a mistake?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” the sage replied. “Or perhaps even arrows obey the eternal dance of dharma and karma. Krishna smiled at the hunter. Forgave him. He rose, and ascended—as Vishnu returns to Vaikuntha when his work is done.”
That night I dreamed of Krishna—not as king, but as a friend. Sitting on the river’s edge. Laughing.
Now, as I stand by the water again, years later, I understand what Durvasa meant.
Dharma is not clean. Not in war. Not in curses. But courage is in how we carry what is given. Krishna could have rejected the curse… but He bore it, transformed it.
The Upanishads say the Self is indivisible, untouched by fire or water. That is the soul of Krishna. He showed us that divinity can suffer, and still love. That even those cursed can walk the spiritual journey with grace.
Forgiveness, devotion, and sacrifice—these are not weakness. They are strength.
And if Lord Vishnu endured destruction through Krishna to keep dharma safe, then we too can face our struggles with open hearts.
That’s what I remember now when I see the river.
That’s what I teach my children.
Not the fear of curses—
But the power in lifting them.
---
Keywords Used: Goddess, Vishnu, Spiritual Journey, Puranas, Sage, Ramayana
Themes: devotion, forgiveness, courage
Word Count: 599
Headline: The Power of The Curse Lifted by Krishna in the Hindu Tradition
Subheadline: A reflection on courage, sacrifice, and spiritual truth.
---
I was twelve when I met the sage. My father had sent me with a basket of fruit for the old vriddha who lived by the river on the edge of our village in Dwaraka — the sacred city cradled by Lord Krishna Himself.
He didn’t speak much. Just stared across the rippling water, like he was waiting. I waited too. His name was Durvasa. People whispered that he was born from Lord Shiva's anger. Legends said his curses could crumble kingdoms.
I didn’t understand then. I do now.
He didn’t want fruit that day. He looked at me and said, “Krishna bears the weight of a curse, young one. Not on whim — but out of dharma.”
I sat beside him, confused. “Why would Lord Krishna bear a curse?”
He tilted his head. “Because only one with love greater than wrath can carry suffering without passing it on.”
Then he told me.
Long ago, before I was born, before my father could walk, there was a queen named Gandhari. Mother of the hundred Kauravas, whose arrogance filled the Mahabharata like dry wood waiting for fire. She was pious, devoted to Lord Shiva, the Goddess Durga, even to Lord Vishnu in his many forms. But when her sons fell in the war of Kurukshetra—killed by the Pandavas, guided by Krishna—her grief turned to ash-black rage.
She cursed Krishna.
She looked the protector of dharma in the eye and said, “Just as I have lost everything, so shall your Yadava clan perish in ruin and madness.”
Krishna said nothing. Just bowed. He accepted it. Not because she was right. But because sorrow, when met with compassion, becomes something holy.
Sage Durvasa’s eyes darkened. “And so,” he said, “the curse took root.”
Years passed. I was a man by then. I saw it begin.
The Yadavas grew proud. Kings under the protection of Krishna, fearless and bold, forgetting humility. One day, Krishna’s son, Samba—clever, wild—disguised himself as a pregnant woman and tricked visiting sages, asking them, “What will this woman give birth to?”
The sages, seeing through the game, cursed him. “He will give birth to iron, which will shatter your clan.”
They laughed. But he did. Days later, Samba’s body split open and out came an iron bolt.
They threw it into the sea. But the sea threw it back. Washed ashore as plants of iron-stemmed eraka grass. They grew wild across the fields. And with them grew the weight of destiny.
One night, amidst drunken feasting by the sea, the Yadavas fought. The iron grass in their hands became weapons. Brother struck down brother. Blood poured into the waves. By morning, the kingdom of Krishna, built with wisdom and devotion, was gone.
All but Balarama—Krishna’s elder brother, part of Lord Vishnu’s essence—and Krishna Himself.
Durvasa’s voice broke as he spoke, quiet as falling leaves. “And so, Krishna walked alone, into the forest near Prabhas. There, under a peepal tree, he sat in meditation—Lotus pose. As the avatar of Vishnu, his time had ended.”
A hunter named Jara mistook his foot for a deer. The arrow flew and pierced the Lord’s mortal body.
“Was it a mistake?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” the sage replied. “Or perhaps even arrows obey the eternal dance of dharma and karma. Krishna smiled at the hunter. Forgave him. He rose, and ascended—as Vishnu returns to Vaikuntha when his work is done.”
That night I dreamed of Krishna—not as king, but as a friend. Sitting on the river’s edge. Laughing.
Now, as I stand by the water again, years later, I understand what Durvasa meant.
Dharma is not clean. Not in war. Not in curses. But courage is in how we carry what is given. Krishna could have rejected the curse… but He bore it, transformed it.
The Upanishads say the Self is indivisible, untouched by fire or water. That is the soul of Krishna. He showed us that divinity can suffer, and still love. That even those cursed can walk the spiritual journey with grace.
Forgiveness, devotion, and sacrifice—these are not weakness. They are strength.
And if Lord Vishnu endured destruction through Krishna to keep dharma safe, then we too can face our struggles with open hearts.
That’s what I remember now when I see the river.
That’s what I teach my children.
Not the fear of curses—
But the power in lifting them.
---
Keywords Used: Goddess, Vishnu, Spiritual Journey, Puranas, Sage, Ramayana
Themes: devotion, forgiveness, courage
Word Count: 599
