SpiritualA friend of the devotees, José María, used to visit New Vrajamandala regularly. It was around 2004 or 2005. He was already an elderly man and had some health problems. Still, every afternoon he went to the goshala to watch Alberto milk the cows. There was something in the relationship between the cowherd and the cows that moved him deeply. It was a bond that captivated his heart.
One day, as he watched Alberto’s skilled hands, José María broke the silence:
—Look, I’m selling an apartment. If I sell it, I’ll fill your barn with hay and buy you a cow.
Alberto smiled without stopping his work. He had heard many promises in his life, and in his mind, this was just another one. “People say many things,” he thought, without giving it much importance. But José María was not one to speak idly. He sold the apartment, filled the barn to the roof, and together they went to find a cow.
They arrived at a place where brown alpine cows were being sold. They had to choose one among twenty-two. Standing on the other side of the fence, they admired them with awe. At that moment, José María said to Alberto:
—You choose. Pick whichever you like.
Alberto was overwhelmed. How could he choose just one? He would have taken them all—every single one. So beautiful, strong, with impressive horns and soft colors. But he could only pick one. Then he took a handful of grass in his hand and reached his arm over the fence where the cows were standing. His arm was tense, waiting for one of them to come for the fresh grass.
—The first one that comes to eat, I’ll take her.
And that is how Radhe arrived at the goshala.
And Radhe did not come alone. Inside her belly she carried a calf.
When the day of birth came, the little one arrived too early—premature, fragile, and weak. They named him Balarama, and Alberto never left his side. Since Balarama could not stand on his own, Alberto gave him his full attention: he carried him into the sun, held him in his arms, and helped him nurse. Balarama was very weak, but also very pampered by his caretaker. Alberto was exhausted, but his heart overflowed with hope and love for the little one.
Radhe with her son Balarama
After a week, Balarama took his first steps—what joy! But only a few days later, while Alberto was in town running errands, Balarama reached the nearby canal, fell in, and drowned.
Upon returning, Alberto searched for him desperately until he discovered what had happened. The death of little Balarama devastated him. He sat by the canal, with trembling hands and eyes full of tears. He had put in all his effort, all his love, and yet he could not save him. He was sad and shattered by the loss of that calf. There was no comfort; nothing could heal that wound.
Another devotee, seeing him so dejected, approached and said gently: “Alberto, think about it: this calf was born in a sacred place and departed in a sacred place. In less than a month, it has gone to be with Krishna. Do not worry about it. Now take care of its mother.”
Radhe had felt the loss of Balarama in the depths of her being. Her gaze reflected sadness, and her face was pure anguish. She knew what had happened; there was no need to tell her.
The canal where Balarama died had been a problem for a long time. It took years for the devotees to build a fence around the entire field of the goshala.
One morning, shortly after the accident, Alberto went to the goshala as he did every morning. Radhe was not in her stall. He looked for her everywhere and finally found her submerged in the canal. Perhaps she had gone to look for her son. The canal was one and a half meters deep, maybe a little more. There she was, frightened, thrashing among the mud and stones.
Upon seeing that scene, the first thing Alberto thought was: “You must calm her down.”
Without hesitation, he jumped into the water. He held her, stroked her, and said: “Radhe, calm down, just stay calm.”
Meanwhile, he called for help. Soon, about ten devotees arrived. From the water, without letting go of her, Alberto asked them to bring a long rope and an iron pipe. When they did, they tied Radhe’s horns with the rope, and Alberto, with the pipe, prepared to leverage from behind, at her hindquarters and legs.
“Alright, guys, let us see... on the count of three, you pull, and I’ll try to lift from here. Come on! A cow weighs 600 or 700 kilos!”
For Radhe to reach solid ground, she had to climb about two meters in height. Everyone was ready: Alberto with the pipe, and on the other side, all the devotees prepared to pull the rope.
“One, two, three!” Alberto leveraged, the devotees pulled hard, and Radhe came out as if she were flying. She landed calmly, placing all four hooves on the grass, without being dragged, without complication or distress. It was as if she had floated, as if she had been lifted to the sky and gently placed on the meadow. It seemed like magic, because Krishna was directing everything.
Radhe and Alberto went on to share many more adventures together. Their relationship and their way of facing difficulties were an example of service, compassion, and strength: of moving forward and persevering. Radhe, despite her pain, never stopped giving. She was a mother in every sense of the word. For sixteen years, she offered her milk as an act of love and service, asking for nothing in return.