Let my heart learn the love that can catch the uncaught

paramṛṣṭam atyantato drutya gopyā

She chased him round the courtyard square,
With teasing smile and loving glare.
The Lord no yogi’s mind could meet,
Was caught by her with tender feet.

(Damodarashtakam — Verse 1, Line 4)

My dear Lord, when you ran in fear of Mother Yashoda, it is supremely astonishing that she caught you—for catching you, even with one’s thoughts, let alone with one’s hands, is well-nigh impossible. Yogis renounce the world with all its temptations and train their thoughts to focus single-mindedly on the ultimate reality. Yet even the strongest and swiftest of their thoughts cannot reach you. Even if they come to know of you, they fail to understand how the all-powerful, all-pervading supreme truth could manifest in a human-like form—let alone as a child who ran away from his mother and was caught by her.

Indeed, O all-attractive Lord, while you cannot be reached by the strongest austerity or the sharpest analytical acumen, you can be reached through love. Mother Yashoda caught you by running toward you, though she was neither austere nor intellectually astute. What is astonishing is not just that she caught you externally, but that she had already caught you internally: you were residing in her heart, perennially and joyfully.

O supremely loving Lord, if you are caught, it is only because you allow yourself to be caught—and because you delight in being caught, not by hands and legs but by the heart: by love itself.