Spiritual“One time my son Gauranga and I went down to the goshala. He came running, took off his boots, and tossed them aside. Then he began digging a hole in the ground and stuck his feet into it. I remember him sitting there with his feet buried and covered with earth. The sun was shining on his little face, and at that moment he said to me, ‘Mom, I never want to leave this place.’”. —Laksmana
Gauranga was a small boy, about three years old. He spent his tender childhood surrounded by Rupa Goshala's beautiful cows and, from a very early age, learned to milk under Alberto's expert hands.
"When Gauranga was very little, I would place him between my legs while I milked. Sometimes I would take his little hand, place it next to mine, and together we would form a small bowl that we would place under the udder. We would draw a small stream of milk and then I would bring his hand up to his mouth for him to drink. He really liked it, he loved it.
Over time, Gauranga grew and soon began to milk by himself. He would draw a small stream of milk, drink it, and then say to me, 'Look, Alberto! Look!'"—with a face of satisfaction, joy, happiness. He will carry those memories with him for the rest of his life, and so will I."—Alberto
Alberto always encouraged the relationship between children and cows, especially in milking, because the little ones, with their small hands, do it very well and learn quickly. When children experience this for the first time, they are completely amazed and delighted—we’ve seen it again and again. At first, some feel a bit afraid to approach or touch a big cow, but as we accompany them, they gain confidence and trust. This practice is very simple and, at the same time, truly important, because both children and adults, through contact with the cows, can experience the warmth and affection these animals so naturally offer.
“The first contact I always made with all the children was through touch. I would take their hands, and together we would stroke the animal’s skin to feel its hair. I’d tell them, ‘Feel how soft it is... It is like a stuffed toy, is not it? Now you try petting it.’ That is how they started. Then they’d come closer to see how I milked, and afterward they wanted to touch the udder, to squeeze... In this way, many learned to milk perfectly.” —Alberto
Bodhini was a nine-year-old girl who loved cows very much. One of the reasons her parents had decided to move to New Vrajamandala was precisely because she was so fond of cows and wanted to have one and milk her. So every afternoon she went to the goshala to milk. She would go into the stalls and brush them, and she knew how to milk almost all the cows perfectly. Like most of the children, she was very polite, attentive, and obedient; she had a very special way with the cows, treating them with great love and affection.
From time to time, visitors or guests came to the community and were amazed to see how naturally and skillfully the children interacted with the cows. Hand-milking well is not easy, so when the cowherd invited the children to try, it was quite a sight. The visitors could hardly believe it. This is just one example, among many, of how we can show the importance of cows in society—even the smallest ones can experience it.
Can you imagine what a cow’s udder feels like? For a while, many schools organized field trips to New Vrajamandala, and the highlight of the visit was “a trip to the goshala.” There, dozens of schools and hundreds of children had the chance to milk a cow. Tilaka was the most remarkable cow for her tolerance—she would stand patiently and wait until the last child had finished milking before moving.
Alberto received the children with great enthusiasm, describing, explaining, and sharing his experiences as a cowherd with such love that no one could fail to feel what he expressed. His affection for the cows was so inspiring that everyone was touched by that sweetness. Together with Vraja-lila, he took on the task of welcoming the children during the visits, and both always remember those moments as experiences that remain etched in the memory for a lifetime.
“Something that impressed everyone during those visits was that the cows were not tied up, yet they stayed still until the last child had finished milking. It was something incredible and fascinating to see that a cow could have such patience.” —Vraja-lila
Another thing that most surprised visitors was that the cows continued giving milk even a year after having their calves. This is unusual, since in a conventional dairy cows stop producing milk after about a year. However, many of these cows gave milk for several years—some even up to sixteen years after calving for the last time. Some were milked until the last day of their lives, and others even without ever having had a calf. In addition to the favorable environment and the constant attention to their health, this behavior was due to the fact that the cows were treated with such devotion 
that, in some way, they wanted to reciprocate the love they received.
Many adventures have taken place—and continue to take place—at Rupa Goshala. Those of us who have had the chance to live close to cows know that there are always stories to tell. Some can even spend hours talking about them—their personalities, their temperaments, their ways of being. So it is only natural that the cowherds have so many stories to share.
After the children—especially those who lived on the farm—had finished milking, Alberto would take them to the hay barn and have them sit on the bales of straw. Once there, he would capture their attention by saying: “Now I’m going to tell you a story, one that sounds like a fairy tale but is not. It is a story that really happened here.”
Tulasi’s Pacifier
During the time of the cow Yamuna, there lived in New Vrajamandala a little girl named Tulasi. She loved having her pacifier always within reach—it was indispensable to her, and she was never without it.
Tulasi grew quickly. By the age of two she was a beautiful child, and everyone was charmed by her. Since she was still using her pacifier, her parents decided it was time for her to give it up. They tried many ways to convince her, but all attempts failed.
Time went by as they kept trying—persuading her, offering her other things in exchange—but Tulasi suffered because she was so attached to her pacifier, and her parents suffered because they did not want to see her cry, yet they also did not want her to have the pacifier in her mouth all the time.
One day, Tulasi and her mother, Linda, came to visit the cows at Rupa Goshala. I welcomed them with great joy. I already knew what was going on with the pacifier situation. I saw Tulasi with her big, bright eyes, that smile she made whenever she saw me coming... and the pacifier in her mouth.
So I said to her, “Hey, Tulasi! Do you know that here, at night, the cow Yamuna cries? You can hear her every night: mooooo... mooooo... It is because she does not have a pacifier. Why do not you give her yours?”
Tulasi opened her eyes wide and looked at me suspiciously. She did not like the idea at all. “Look,” I said, “we can leave it right there, on that nail. I’ll hang it up, and Yamuna will take it at night, sleep peacefully, and won’t cry anymore... What do you think?”
I pointed to a rusty nail that had been sticking out of one of the beams for who knows how many years.
Tulasi was not convinced, but she was thinking about it. Her face no longer showed her usual cheerful expression; it was clear the matter concerned her. Still, she took the pacifier out of her mouth and handed it to me.
I hung it on the nail, and there it stayed. Tulasi never used her pacifier again. Even so, she missed it, and sometimes she asked her mother, “The pacifier? My pacifier?”
“Don’t you remember you left it for Yamuna? Otherwise, she cries at
night,” Linda would reply. Immediately, Tulasi would remember Yamuna and forget about the pacifier.
Today, Tulasi is over twenty years old and tells this story as “the miracle of the cows.”
As for me, I understand that such things happen because the power of the cows is immeasurable. I know I was only an instrument so that they could help this little girl. The pacifier remained there, hanging from that nail, for many years. When visitors asked, “Why is that there?” I would happily tell them this charming story. —Alberto