As time passed in Gokul, Mother Yashoda found herself in a sweet, unending chase. She would settle little Krishna in one spot and turn to her cooking, only to find Him toddling away. “Where has my Lala gone?” she would fret, hurrying after Him. Scooping Him up, she would set Him down again—yet the moment she turned to her chores, off He went.
Behind this playful wandering, Krishna was tending to His true business: stealing the minds of His devotees. Chit Chor, as He is lovingly called. With each Leela, He drew Yashoda’s heart ever deeper into love.
Across Braj, many gopis practised Vatsalya Bhav, cherishing the Lord as their own child. Aware of their unspoken longing, Krishna thought, ‘I must fulfill their hearts too.’ And so, at barely a year and a half, He began a brand new Leela.
Alt text: Little Krishna offers butter to his reflection in a pillar, mistaking it for another boy.
Little Butter Thief
This marked the beginning of the Makhan Chori Leela. As Shukadev Ji recounts, Krishna launched His butter-stealing adventures right at home. After all, why scour the village lanes when pots of freshly churned butter awaited Him under His own roof?
One morning, while Yashoda was in the puja room offering her prayers, Krishna toddled straight to the butter pots. Just as He dug His fingers into the rich cream, He stopped. Gazing back at Him from a polished stone pillar was another blue-hued boy. Krishna eyed Him warily. Had Maiya stationed a sentry to guard the pots?
A bribe seemed apt. Leaning close, Krishna whispered, “Shh… don’t tell Maiya, or she will beat me up. I will eat a little, and you have some too.” He pressed a generous dollop of butter against the pillar, but it simply dripped down. Perplexed, Krishna asked, “Don’t you like butter? Maiya makes the finest in all of Gokul!”
Hearing hushed murmurs, Yashoda tiptoed to the doorway, wondering who had slipped inside. There stood her Lala, happily chatting with His own reflection. Catching sight of His mother, He pointed at the pillar and gasped, “Maiya, look! There is a thief here!” Amused, Mother Yashoda played along. “Did you not try to stop him?”
“I tried with all my might,” Krishna nodded innocently, “but he simply would not listen!” Beholding her butter-smeared boy, Yashoda’s heart melted. If my Lala is this mischievous now, what will He be like when He grows up!
But Shukadev Ji notes that these thefts soon spilled far past Yashoda’s house. The gopis, too, churned butter, nursing a wish, ‘If only Nandlal would come!’ Krishna heard every silent plea. ‘I am already on my way,’ He seemed to answer.
Before long, He formed a merry band of cowherd accomplices—the infamous Chor Vidya Mandali, with Shree Krishna Chandra Himself at its head! From courtyard to courtyard they roamed, plundering high-hung pots and leaving behind trails of butter and laughter. Some gopis even pretended to complain about the Makhan Chor—though, in their hearts, they rejoiced whenever He came.
Among them was a young Bahu, newly arrived from Mathura. She, too, had begun to yearn for the butter stealer to visit her home. One day, she urged her mother-in-law, “Saasuji, you are far too simple-hearted to catch this Chor. Leave the house to me today, and I will catch Him red-handed.” Her mother-in-law readily agreed and stepped out, leaving the young bride alone—with the tempting pots, a carefully laid trap, and the hope that He would walk through the door.
Catch Me If You Can!
Tucked behind the wooden chests, the Bahu watched the butter pots, waiting for the first patter of footsteps. Krishna, of course, knew her plan. He entered the hut, glanced around with mock caution and plunged His hands into the churned cream. The moment He took a bite, the gopi sprang forward and seized His wrist.
“Ha! Caught you!”
“Leave me, please! I swear I will never steal again!” Krishna pleaded. Unmoved, the gopi preened with triumph. “Your trickery has finally come to an end, Kanhaiya! Every time we complained that your Lala steals butter, Yashoda would ask for proof. Well, today I have direct evidence!”
The gopi drew her ghunghat over her face, (as was the tradition in Braj), and paraded Him through the dusty lanes toward Nand Bhavan. As she held the hand of Bhagavan Himself, she was filled with immense bliss. She had no inkling of what awaited her.
One of Krishna’s friends spotted them and called out teasingly, “Kanhaiya, you claimed no one could ever catch you! What happened today?” Krishna grinned. “Just wait and watch.” The boy tagged along. Just as they were about to reach Nand Bhavan, Krishna suddenly broke into a wail, “My hand is hurting! You are so cruel! You have no pity on me!” The gopi tried to soothe Him, but He insisted, “Even the blood has stopped moving!”
His plaintive cries finally softened her. “All right, Lala. Give me your other hand.” Swiftly, Krishna slipped His friend’s hand into hers and darted ahead, burrowing into Yashoda’s lap. The gopi soon marched up, clutching the boy tight. “Nand Rani!” she announced victoriously. “You wanted proof? Here is your Lala, caught with butter smeared across his face!”
Yashoda looked at the boy and smiled. “Bahu, whom have you brought?”
“Your son, of course!” the gopi replied.
“Lift your veil and see for yourself.”
The gopi pushed back her ghunghat—and goggled in surprise. It was her husband’s younger brother! From Yashoda’s lap, Krishna piped up, “Maiya, do not trust this woman! Today she drags in her devar to blame for stolen butter. Tomorrow she will drag in her brother, and the day after, her own husband!”
Bewildered, the gopi could only splutter, unable to explain where Krishna had disappeared and how this boy had taken His place.
A Knotty Leela
Another gopi was sure she had a foolproof plan. She told her mother-in-law, “Saasuji, I will catch the Makhan Chor. But I would not take Him to Yashoda. I will tie Him up right here, and you can take Him to Yashoda yourself.”
Pleased with the scheme, her mother-in-law quietly left, with the trap set. Moments later, the sweet scent of butter lured Krishna inside their hut. The gopi waited until He was absorbed in its taste, then crept forward and grasped Him.
“Caught you at last!”
Krishna pleaded for mercy, but the gopi stood firm. “No, Kanhaiya. Your honeyed prattle will not save you. I am tying you up and handing you over to my saas.” She brought a stout coir rope. Yet the moment she reached for His wrist, her resolve vanished into thin air. How can I tie up such a dovelike child? Half and hour drifted by; she simply stood enraptured admiring His petal-soft hands.
At last, Krishna asked, “Have you forgotten how to tie a knot?”
“Completely,” she confessed. “Why don’t you teach me?”
With an impish smile, Krishna obliged. Placing her hands flat against the pillar, He looped the rope around her wrists—one knot, then another, and another. Delighted, the gopi exclaimed, “What a master Your are! Now untie it.” Krishna beamed innocently. “The lesson has made me tired. Let me go and have some water first.” And with that, He slipped away, leaving the gopi tied to the pillar. When her saas returned, she was stunned to find her bahu trussed up instead of the butter thief.
That was the final straw. The gopis gathered together and set off to complain to Yashoda. Watching them come through the gates, Yashoda knew trouble was brewing. As the queen of Braj, she donned her crown and took her seat in the courtyard. The village maidens swept in and declared, “Nandarani, either your Lala stays in Braj, or we do. We cannot live together under the same sky!”
“What is the matter?” Yashoda asked.
Case Against the Chor
“What is the matter you ask? Kanhaiya is such a mischief-maker! When the cows return from grazing, he releases them just as we begin tying them up. They scatter everywhere, and by the time we gather them, it is completely dark!”
Yashoda smiled softly. “He is only a little boy. Scold Him, and He will stop.”
“We do, Maiya,” they protested. “But then He flashes that grin, and our anger melts. Before we know it, we are grinning right back at Him!”
Yashoda shook her head. “If you laugh with Him every time, how will He ever learn?”
“That is not all, Maiya,” chimed in another gopi. “Your Lala has taken to stealing!”
“Stealing? What would my little boy need to steal?” Yashoda mused.
“Fresh butter. He comes to our homes with only one thing in mind—and leaves with our butter!”
“Should my Lala take your butter, simply come to me. I will fill your pots,” Yashoda assured them.
“If He merely ate His fill, we would not mind. But He even smashes our precious pots afterward!”
Yashoda pondered for a while. “Then hang your pots high from the rafters.”
“We have tried that. He gathers His friends, builds a little hill, climbs up, and pokes a hole in the pot. The butter streams straight into their mouths!”
“Then fill the pots with sour buttermilk,” Yashoda suggested.
“We did that too. One glance inside, and He knows there is no butter. Your Lala seems to be Bhagavan Himself!”
“Then draw the curtains and keep the hut pitch dark,” Yashoda proposed. “He will not be able to see your pots.”
“Even that fails! The gemstones in His trinkets gleam like lamps, lighting up every corner.”
Yashoda finally said, “Then I will remove His ornaments.”
“No, no, never! Please don’t take away Lala’s adornments!” the maidens chorused.
Yashoda turned to little Krishna, curled beside her with wide, dewy eyes. “Look at this face. He looks too tender to steal even a grain of dust.” The gopis threw up their hands. “Maiya, He may look innocent to you, but we are convinced every text on the art of thieving was written by His hand!”
Yashoda cradled Krishna into her arms with a warm laugh. “You all prayed to Lord Narayan for me to have a child, and by His grace, here He is. However mischievous He may be, He is yours too. Forgive Him and accept Him.” The gopis’ hearts brimmed with adoration. Their complaints had been nothing more than a pretext to come and have darshan of Yashodanandan. Blessing their beloved Kanhaiya, they returned home, drenched in the nectar of divine love.
