Krishna and the Flute - Swachit Behera (7th Grade)

In the fields of Vrindavan, cows grazed and the river flowed quietly, Krishna wandered one day with a smile on his face. He wore bright clothes, a peacock feather in his hair, and his heart full of playful light. He stopped by the riverbank and noticed many tall bamboo stalks reaching up into the sky. But one particular bamboo was different. It bent down. The other sticks seemed proud and tall, but this one seemed patient. Krishna smiled, chose it, and made it into his flute. According to the legend, this humble bamboo had done many years of silent service so it was ready. Then, Krishna raised the flute to his lips and blew. The sound that came out was like nothing the world had ever heard. The cows stopped grazing, and the calves turned their heads. The trees paused in their swaying. Even the river seemed to hush. Animals, birds, everything listened. The melody of the flute was a call. It reached the hearts of the gopīs working nearby, churning butter, tending cows, chatting under trees. As soon as they heard the tune, they rose and followed it, leaving behind their pots and tasks. The forest light dimmed into evening, the moon rose, and Krishna’s flute played on. Nature itself seemed to dance. Krishna laughed, his eyes shining. He led the dance under the trees with the gopīs. The flute’s music seemed to say, Come, be free. Let your heart follow the sound. At that moment, all worries melted, even if just for a while.