Ram and Krishna: Perfect vs Whole
The paradox about Krishna is that we cannot accept him as a whole.
The one who accepts his childhood innocence cannot accept
his actions as a teenager. The one who accepts his youth- killing Kansa,
lifting Govardhan, standing fearless before kings -cannot digest the fact that
every woman in Vrindavan stops when his flute begins to play. They all appear
to be dancing with him, lost in Ras.
The very women who fell in love with Krishna’s flute are
also the subjects of his mischief. They go for a private bath in the lake, and
what does this boy do? He steals their clothes, climbs a tree, and starts
playing the flute. And yet, they end up loving him even more.
Krishna is unique because he is whole. He lives life
completely. He does what he desires without guilt or fragmentation. If he wants
Makhan, he throws a stone and takes it. If he wants more, he steals it. If he
wants to enjoy nature, he walks with his cows toward Govardhan, flute in hand,
while animals, friends, and the forests themselves seem mesmerized by his
presence.
Society can comfortably accept the innocence of his
childhood. But ask people about his teenage years, and discomfort appears. Who
would openly accept someone who steals the clothes of women bathing in a lake?
Who would accept someone whose flute leaves an entire village spellbound, where
every woman feels, in her own heart, that she alone is dancing with Krishna?
Who would accept Krishna the warrior - the God who gave
Shishupal a hundred chances, only to eventually kill him and leave grief in his
own family?
Krishna was never limited by rules and norms. He existed
beyond them. Everyone in the Mahabharata seemed trapped within destiny, but
Krishna alone appeared free enough to play with destiny itself. He lived fully -
not morally perfect, not socially perfect, but completely alive.
And opposite to Krishna stands Ram - the ideal man.
Ram is not remembered for unpredictability or freedom. He is
remembered for restraint. His life is marked by duty, limitations, sacrifice,
and social order. In many ways, his life feels predictable because he never
steps outside the boundaries of what society expects from him. Krishna breaks
boundaries. Ram protects them.
Ram becomes the example of the perfect man, and yet that
perfection itself becomes tragic.
He had to let go of Sita to satisfy the doubts of society. A
king first, a husband second. And when Sita finally leaves forever, taking
samadhi into the earth itself, regret follows. The same people who doubted her
begin to miss her only after losing her. Duty becomes a prison even for the one
worshipped as Maryada Purushottam.
The same Ram, as king, could not allow social order to
break. A Shudra performing Tapasya was seen as a threat to that order, and
Shambuka had to die. Whether one sees the story symbolically or literally, the
tragedy remains the same - a man trapped by the very system he protects.
These events feel less like celebrations of life and more
like the mockery of a life controlled entirely by external variables - by
expectations, by duty, by society, by destiny itself.
And yet the world calls Ram the perfect man.
The modern world cannot fully accept Krishna either. His
very name means dark, dusky, almost mysterious and yet people worship him
while refusing to engage with the discomfort of his contradictions.
Nor can the modern world fully accept Ram. Because after
every sacrifice, every act of duty, every moral decision, he still loses what
was most precious to him.
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