A Mythic Tale on Magnetism
The Night of the Flute
It was an ordinary night in the village of Vrindavan. The cows were resting, the fires in the homes burned low, and the whole forest shimmered in silver from the glow of the moon.
And then — a sound.
Not just any sound, but the clear, sweet call of Krishna’s flute- divine play and love. It was as if the stars themselves had melted into music. Not all heard this sound. But the devotees — the committed ones, the gopis — did. The melody slipped into their homes, into their ears, into their hearts.
The sound came during that busy time between the moon rising and the sun setting. For all of us householders, we know how much there is to be done in that time. One was laying her child down to sleep, another braiding her sister’s hair, another cleaning up after dinner. And in that instant, whatever they were doing no longer mattered.
Because the sound was not just music — it was a call.
Their feet began to move on their own, carrying them into the depth of the forest. Their hearts were already flying ahead of them, pulled by the irresistible magnetism of the flute.
And there was Krishna, in a clearing — moonlight shimmering on his dark skin, a peacock feather tucked into his hair. He laughed, seeing them come running — not with grasping or need, but with joy overflowing and, of course, a hint of a smile.
Then, something extraordinary: Krishna multiplied himself. Suddenly each gopi felt him by her side, as if she alone was his beloved. Four feet moved together and became one. In truth, Krishna did not divide himself — he revealed the wholeness of divine presence, infinite enough to fill every heart.
The dance began. The circle whirled. Anklets and bangles rang like bells, the trees swayed with the melody, the earth itself seemed to rise in delight. The gopis felt no hunger, no fatigue, no time. Only love — love so strong it made the world disappear.
This was the Rasa-līlā, the dance of divine bliss.
The Teaching in the Tale
Krishna did not chase the gopis. There was no invitation sent, no knocking on doors. He stayed rooted in his essence, simply playing his flute. His magnetism was effortless. And the gopis came because they had already prepared their hearts through steady, devoted practice.
Where can we rewrite the story in our own lives — to pause, to turn inward, to upgrade and uplevel — so that we attract what we are aligned with, rather than chase what is not?
The lesson is this: when we live in presence and devotion, when we keep turning inward with love, we cultivate magnetism. We don’t need to chase after life. The right people, the right experiences, the right opportunities are drawn to us — just as the gopis were drawn through the depth of the moonlit forest to Krishna’s flute.
Optional personal inquiry:
“What is the ‘flute’ in your own life — the subtle call that draws you back to your essence?”
“Where are you being invited to stop chasing and simply radiate?
What is your heart calling you towards?”