BABY KRISHNA

This is a sandalwood idol of Baby Krishna, a precious gift given by Bhagavan Nityananda to my father in the 1950s. During His time, this little Krishna resided with Baba, placed upon a wall in His room. Bhagavan would often engage with the idol just as a child plays with a beloved doll — singing softly to Him, rocking Him gently, and treating Him with tender affection. Baba would lovingly sing songs to this little Krishna, as if to a living child.

One day, during a moment of profound grace, Bhagavan handed over this sacred statue to my father. Since then, our family has reverently enshrined Lord Balkrishna on our home altar. Continuing Baba’s practice, my father and mother lovingly anointed the idol with sandalwood oil. Although originally crafted from sandalwood, over the years, the Krishna slowly took on a deep Jamblavarna (dark purple-bluish hue), resembling the complexion of Bhagavan Nityananda Himself. Remarkably, even the backside of the idol began to appear as if it bore Baba’s own form.

The idol is exquisitely beautiful — with charming, delicate features, a sweet, radiant smile, a robust and healthy body, a flute held gracefully in one hand, and a butterball nestled in the other. His hair is elegantly tied up, adorned with two peacock feathers. The gold ornaments adorning Krishna — the armlets engraved with ‘Om’, the delicate bangles, anklets, a golden flute, and a gem-studded crown — were all lovingly handmade by my mother, adding to His splendour.

Even more astonishingly, this Krishna was no mere statue. He exhibited vivid moods that would change from day to day. Sometimes His face would glow with joy and laughter; at other times, He appeared upset, crying, or even sorrowful. On days when He seemed distressed and tearful, my mother would tenderly offer Him milk, treating Him not as an idol but as a living, breathing presence in our home.

In truth, Krishna lived with Baba in our house, not merely as a symbol, but as a living embodiment of divine leela. A few days before Bhagavan Nityananda’s Mahasamadhi, the little Krishna’s form visibly weakened. His once vibrant face grew pale, drained, and filled with sadness. Observing this, my mother, moved by an intuitive sorrow, looked at Krishna and said with deep concern, “Swami is not keeping well…”