"When curd is churned, the finest part of it rises to the surface. That becomes butter."
Source: Chāndogya Upaniṣad (6.6.1)
"Like butter hidden in milk, pure consciousness resides in every single being. It ought to be constantly churned out by the churning-rod of the mind."
"Taking hold of the rope of knowledge, one should extract the supreme truth like pulling out fire (by friction). That partless, motionless, and peaceful reality is realised as 'I am that Brahman'."
Source: Amṛtabindu Upaniṣad (Verses 19-20)
I open my eyes and find myself in a prison. In the arms of a woman, a frail, smiling woman. I feel the warmth of her body, and I feel the need to breathe. I find myself in the mortal, material realm. The Shrivasta crest on my chest shines so bright that it lights up the gloomy prison cell. A man cries out of joy and looks at me—a man whose years of misery seem to have vanished. I give back a smile to Vasudev.
The guards outside the cell are asleep. My father, trying to be as quiet as possible, picks up a straw basket, as my mother wraps me in soft white silk. Constantly glancing at the sleeping guards, my mother puts me down in the basket. Devki's eyes show a glint of bittersweet, healing tears, as she lets go of me.
The lock cracks open as it clatters against the bars. My father picks up my basket and whispers, "I'll be back by dawn!" Father walks out of the prison cell, and into a narrow passageway that leads to all the other prison cells. At the end of the passage is a metal door, and it swings open. All the prisoners and guards are asleep under the strong influence of yogamaya.
Father goes out the door, which leads to a huge corridor that smells like cattle. Meant for cavalry and elephantry, this corridor is guarded by multiple gigantic, solid steel gates. As father walks ahead, the gates are being dragged open. Enduring the painfully irritating sound of the doors trying hard to grip the stone floor, my father steps forward. He passes through numerous such gates and ends up at the back entrance to the underground dungeons.
As the last gates open, wind rushes in, along with rain. A coconut tree takes off into the dark sky, and thunder strikes in open fields. It's Indra. My father struggles as he pushes through the gates of the fortified city walls, out into the forests, only to see the river Yamuna flooding. Without even a second thought, my father marches into the flooding river and lifts me above his head. But the rain doesn't hit me. Above me, I see the eternal serpent Ananta, spreading its hoods above my father and me.
Great timing, bhratashri! Manifested only five heads, though?
"Do you want me to reroute the river, Kanha?" he replies.
We can naturally communicate without words, and we end up doing so throughout the journey. And look, you've shed your skin! I notice a change from the cosmic blue-black hue to a completely shiny moon white colour.
"I did! Just after I got here in the mortal realm." He responds.
He leaves us as we reach the entry gate to Gokula. The massive wooden gates open with creaks, but the gate guards don't even flinch. The influence of Goddess Yogamaya gets stronger as we approach her; nobody is conscious, not even bats and owls. Vasudev enters the beautiful cowherd settlement. The rain has stopped by now, and the countryside town is lit with bright moonlight; the half moon, spreading its nectar, bouncing off the leaves and stones, hits my face. The subtle breeze carries dust into my sensitive, infant eyes.
My father takes me to an unusually large house that is also more decorated than other houses in the neighbourhood. It's the house of the chief of the cowherds, Nandagopa. Vasudev gets into the mansion and then into a well-lit room, where a baby girl sleeps in a wooden cradle. It smells like butter! He replaces the girl with me and takes her away. Yashoda, tired from labour pains, sleeps on the nearby cot, while I fall asleep looking at the ceiling.