The Cows of Rupa Goshala

The Children and the Cows

“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 siƫng 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 soŌ it is... It is like a stuffed toy, is not it? Now you try peƫng it.’ That is how they started. Then they’d come closer to see how I milked, and aŌerward 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 aŌernoon 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, atentive, 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 aŌer having their calves. This is unusual, since in a conventional dairy cows stop producing milk aŌer about a year. However, many of these cows gave milk for several years—some even up to sixteen years aŌer 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.

AŌer 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 atempts failed. Time went by as they kept trying—persuading her, offering her other things in exchange—but Tulasi suffered because she was so atached 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 leŌ 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

Tilaka — The Mellow One

Tilaka was a very special cow. A business man from the Indian community had offered to donate a cow, and together with Alberto he went to a dairy farm near Madrid. The owner showed them three beautiful cows, all pregnant and about to give birth. He told them to choose which one they wanted to take. The decision was not difficult, because one of them had a small white mark on her forehead, resembling a symbol of Vishnu. Just like the Vaishnavas, that cow bore a tilaka mark, and so, without hesitation, they chose her out of the three and named her Tilaka.

A few weeks latter, Tilaka gave birth to a beautiful calf, who was named Dhira. It soon became clear that she had inherited many of her mother’s qualities—especially her kindness and patience—and although she never had offspring of her own, she became an adoptive mother and gave milk until her final days. Dhira’s story will be told latter.

Over time, Tilaka became an extraordinary cow—very mellow, with infinite patience—so that hundreds of people, mostly children, had the privilege of milking her.

This was how the cowherd shared many stories, and the children enjoyed them immensely. The children—and also the adults—

because deep down, we never really stop being children. Perhaps we might wonder: why did Alberto devote so much time to the children? He himself explains:

“Because look, it is very simple… What you do as a child stays with you for life. When we’re adults, we cannot even remember what we ate yesterday. But the experiences we live as children, when we’re like a sponge, we absorb them, and they stay with us forever. So, these memories that the children will have of their childhood in the goshala will last a lifetime. And just think what mercy I’ve had to be able to do this.” In this regard, the children who shared their childhood with the cows are now teenagers, and some already adults. Time has passed, and without a doubt, the cowherd’s mission has been fulfilled.

“I have many memories from my childhood that are happy and meaningful to me. I remember when we called the cows with ‘bolo, bolo, bolo,’ and they came; when we were milking and Alberto poured milk into my hand and I drank it; and when we offered the flowers we picked outside. I remember the stories he told us in the hay barn and how we used to play there. When we fed the kitens milk from a bowl. I remember the Cow Festival, when I played the drums and the mayor came. I remember when Gopi was leaving her body, and we were all there chanting the holy name, accompanying her until she leŌ… I also remember Tilaka, because she was my favorite cow: she was always calm and did not move while we were milkcing her. It is incredible that the cows on the farm produced so muh milk, every day, for so many years. That is not normal. I’m grateful that Alberto always received me with kindness and affection at the goshala, teaching me to get to know the cows and to milk them. That is a big part of my childhood, and those are beautiful and important memories for me.” —Gauranga

“What I liked most about the goshala was when I milked the cows and when Alberto called them and they all came. Also when we walked among them, when we went to pick flowers for the altar, and many other things.” —Gayatri

“I’m one of the girls who grew up on the New Vrajamandala farm. I have beautiful and special memories of the goshala because it was where I spent my early childhood years. My friends and I would go to milk the cows, and we were all there together. While one of us was milking, another would brush a cow or pet her, or we’d simply stay there together, waiting eagerly for our turn to sit on the little stool with the milk bucket. It was very special; we enjoyed it so much. When we finished milking, Alberto would take us to the hay barn and tell us stories. We had such a good time. I remember running in and climbing like crazy onto the hay piles, siƫng down to listen to him, and then staying to play aŌerwards. That was my childhood—my happy early years.”. —Kunti

“I have many memories of the goshala. I still have my two friends, Gauranga and Kunti, and we oŌen recall the stories in the hay piles. We used to climb up there; I was terrified to do it, but I did it anyway because they did. I remember seeing the little cows, the river, the

caravan; I remember the stories Alberto told us, like the one about Tulasi’s pacifier, which is still there. I’ll always keep a beautiful memory of that goshala and all the goodness it gave me, with great affection. When we arrived, we always had to bring a little flower to offer, and we’d all make the offering together: one lit the incense, another rang the bell, another placed the flower. And the milking… I do not remember the cows’ names very well, but I do remember milking, being so small, looking at the huge cow and milking her. It was amazing. When the cows came to drink water and stuck their heads through the fence… their heads were enormous and covered us with slobber. It was so beautiful… I remember it with great fondness.” —Ishani “There are so many memories. When I walked toward the goshala, I felt a beautiful connection with Krishna through the cowherd, through his service, and through the great and beloved devotees of the Lord—the cows. I loved when we called them; they already recognized the sound of the call and came happily to eat. I was Ishani milking Tilaka fascinated to feed them, to feel that I, as a child, almost a teenager, was being nourished myself. It lit something inside me, like a spark; I felt a surge of love and affection just by feeding the cows. It was a special connection. Another memory is when we brushed them—seeing their faces of satisfaction, how they enjoyed being caressed. As a child, you see things differently. At that moment, I felt that when I brushed them, they looked at me with a special affection just because I was caring for them. That is, without realizing it, spiritual merit being accumulated, which helps one remain conscious of Krishna in this life. Being able to chant my japa, follow the principles, do service, and help in preaching—I believe, to a great extent, comes from serving the cows of New Vrajamandala. I’m very grateful to them. And coming from the city, arriving in the countryside and seeing the cows… As a child, I felt like I was producing milk. I did not really understand much—an adult can grasp it—but at that moment, I touched the udders, squeezed, and milk came out. To me, it was mystical, a connection that went beyond words. I cannot exactly express what I felt; I can say love, affection, tenderness… but they were many sensations at once. And when I think back, I tell myself, ‘When I have children, I’ll have them milk cows,’ because if they can feel the same, it is something wonderful.” —Arjuna (boy)

The Rescue of Tilaka

No one knows how Tilaka ended up on the other side of the river, but she refused to cross the water and come back. Alberto, who was there alone and had no rope at hand, took off his belt and used it to tie her horns. The problem was that as he did so, his pants started to fall down, so he had to hold them up with one hand while gently pulling the cow with the other to make her walk.

As you may remember, Tilaka was a very good-natured, calm, and obedient cow, so she followed him without resistance. However, to reach a bridge and cross back, they had to walk nearly two kilometers. The most difficult part was that on the way back they had to walk

almost a kilometer alongside the road, which was dangerous. Alberto needed to hold Tilaka somehow, and at that moment, the only thing he had was his belt. Fortunately, it was enough, and he managed to bring her safely back to the goshala. The journey was not quick. One kilometer there and one back took them nearly two hours, because they did not just walk—they also stopped to let Tilaka eat fresh grass, take in the view, and rest for a while. Despite the challenges, the effort was worthwhile, and once again, patience and affection brought home one of Rupa Goshala’s most beloved cows.

Radhe — The Loving One

A 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 aŌernoon 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 soŌ 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 leŌ 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. AŌer a week, Balarama took his first steps—what joy! But only a Radhe with her son Balarama

few days latter, 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 aŌer 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 leƫng 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 liŌ 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 liŌed 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.

Dhira — The Patient and Brave One

On the eighth day of the bright fortnight of the month of Kartika (October-November), Gopastami is celebrated, commemorating the day when Krishna transitioned from tending calves to caring for adult cows, thus marking the end of His childhood pastimes.

In the Srimad Bhagavatam, it is described how Krishna, along with Balarama and His cowherd friends, began to take the cows to graze in the forests of Vrindavan, performing wonderful pastimes. On that day, Nanda Maharaja and the adult cowherds recognized that Krishna was no longer a small child and should take on greater responsibilities, so they allowed Him to tend the cows along with the calves.

While the gopas tended the cows and roamed freely through the forests, the gopis generally stayed at home, engaged in activities such as churning butter, milking, and cooking.

In the Srimad Bhagavatam (10.15.1), in the purport, it is explained:

As Lord Krishna’s spiritual body had apparently grown somewhat in age and strength, the elder men of Vrindavan, headed by Nanda Maharaja, decided to promote Krishna from the task of herding calves to the position of an ordinary cowherd boy. Now He would take charge of the cows, bulls, and oxen. Out of great affection, Nanda Maharaja had previously considered Krishna too young and immature to tend adult cows and bulls.

In the Karƫka-mahatmya section of the Padma Purana, it is stated:

“The eighth lunar day of the bright fortnight of the month of Karƫka is known by authorities as Gopastami. From that day onward, Lord Vasudeva served as a cowherd, whereas previously He tended to the calves.”

Krishna blessed the Earth by walking upon it, leaving the imprints of His lotus feet in the dust of Vrindavan. The Lord wore no shoes or any other footwear but walked barefoot through the forest, causing great anxiety to the maidens of Vrindavan, who feared that His soŌ lotus feet might be injured.

Srimati Radharani and Her intimate friends, the sakhis, always longed to be with Krishna during His herding pastimes. Thus, when Krishna graduated from tending calves to caring for cows, He began to venture deeper into the forests of Vrindavan. This meant that the gopis could no longer see Him as easily as before. To resolve this, Srimati Radharani, Lalita, Visakha, and the others devised a bold plan: they disguised themselves as gopas, wearing turbans, dhotis, and carrying herding sticks. Thus disguised, they managed to meet Krishna in the forest without being discovered.

To this day, Gopastami is celebrated in many temples and sacred towns like Vrindavan. On this day, the Deity of Srimati Radharani is dressed as a gopa. Processions are held in which cows are led with great respect, worshipped, adorned, and offered prasadam. This day also honors the importance of go-seva (service to cows), as they are dear to Krishna and essential in Vedic culture.

On such a special day as Gopashtami, Dhira was born. It was November 9, 2005. The birth took place during the night, so in the morning, when the cowherd arrived, he found Dhira standing beside Tilaka, her mother, with her beautiful tail brushing the ground. He immediately ran out to ring the neighbor’s gate bell as loudly as he could, filled with euphoria and joy. The whole valley heard the call, and soon Dhira was receiving congratulations and blessings from all the devotees of New Vrajamandala. The signs surrounding her birth already hinted that she would be a very special cow. Dhira means courage, steadiness, wisdom, or serenity. It is used to describe a person who possesses bravery, patience, and discernment—someone especially capable of remaining calm and determined in difficult situations.

A music group led by Tirtha Kirti had just been formed and was named “Dhira.” As a gesture of gratitude and support for the band, Alberto decided to give the same name, “Dhira,” to the beautiful calf that had just been born.

Dhira’s childhood was very well cared for. AŌer Balarama’s accident, Alberto decided to build a fence to prevent any other fall into the river. Every day he would take the little calf in his arms and carry her to the enclosed field so she could walk around. When Dhira became heavier, he began leading her with a rope to keep her from running away. Very soon Dhira gained weight and strength, so there were no more worries—if she fell into the river, she would be able to stand up and get out by herself without difficulty.

Dhira was fearless and brave. When she set her mind on going somewhere, no obstacle could stop her. She was adventurous, commanded respect, and watched atentively everything happening around her. When someone new arrived at the goshala, she would not allow anyone to touch her horns and sometimes got upset with visitors. However, as the herd grew, she became more sociable.

A Milk Cow Without a Calf The way Dhira came to allow herself to be milked despite not having a calf is a surprising story told by Alberto:

“While I was milking the other cows, I kept walking past her stall again and again, carrying the bucket, the stool to sit on, and the cloth to clean the udders. I went back and forth, and she kept watching me. She looked at me and kept looking at me continuously. At one point, I stopped in front of her and observed her. When I saw her big, atentive eyes, I wondered: Why is she looking at me like that? Could it be that she wants me to milk her too? So one day I started brushing and caressing her. Little by little, I moved my hand down to her udders, touched them, and pressed gently. A liquid came out that seemed neither milk nor water, but it was there. I ran to the room where I kept the buckets and took a small container. When I came back to the stall, she looked at me and moved away. I tried to get closer to milk her again, but she moved away once more. Then I thought and said to her, “Do you want to be like the others?” And in her bright eyes, I saw the answer: yes. I quickly went back to the room, took the bucket, the stool, and the

cloth, and returned to the stall. This time, she stood still and allowed me to milk her.”

In the first days, what she produced did not look like milk but rather a thick whitish liquid. However, aŌer fiŌeen days, the consistency had changed, becoming denser and more substantial.

The devotees decided to test its quality by boiling it three times and confirmed that it was good, since it did not curdle and maintained its uniformity.

On the first day, Dhira gave less than 100 ml. AŌer fiŌeen days, she was producing half a liter, and when it was confirmed that her milk was good, we began to mix it with that of the other cows. Little by little, her production increased. Although her daily average was about two and a half liters, she once produced as much as nine liters in a single day. It was not a significant amount compared to a dairy cow — which can yield up to forty liters a day — but for a cow without a calf, it was quite an extraordinary volume.

Dhira would allow herself to be milked only by Alberto, and that became a problem because he was soon to travel to India, and there was no one else who could milk her in his absence. So Dina Sharana decided to embark on this adventure to help him. Milking her was very difficult because she moved a lot, and Alberto had to stay inside the stall repeating: “Dhira, stay still,” “Dhira, do not move,” “Dhira, here,” “Dhira, there.” In this way, little by little, Dina Sharana managed to milk her. However, that did not completely solve the problem, because Alberto still had to be present. Thus they came up with a plan:

While Dina Sharana was milking Dhira, Alberto, who stood beside her, began calling the other cows that still had not come in— especially Radharani, who was always the last. “Dhira, stay still, I’m going to call Radharani!” “Radharaniiii!” Alberto shouted.

They continued like this for several days until Dhira got used to it.

The next step was for Alberto to call the cows from outside Dhira’s stall. So he would step out and call again, “Radharani, come…” As always, Radharani would arrive, enter her stall, and Alberto would return to Dhira to make sure she did not move.

AŌer a few days, he kept up the same routine, but each time going a little farther away—until he eventually went out into the field to look for Radharani and then came back to Dhira’s side.

Meanwhile, Dina Sharana was milking her and soon won Dhira’s trust and affection.

Soon aŌer, Alberto no longer entered Dhira’s stall. Latter, he even hid so she would not see him, and finally the day came when she could not hear him either. In the final test, Alberto stayed hidden and silent, neither calling the cows nor looking for Radharani. Thus, Dhira could neither see nor hear him.

This was how Dina Sharana succeeded in milking her when no one else could. And Alberto, happy and at ease, was able to travel to India, since the plan had worked.

When Alberto returned from India, he managed to get Dhira to allow even the children who came to the goshala to milk her. But everything changed when her friend Radhe died.

“Dhira had the last stall from the entrance. Right next to her had been Radhe, who had recently leŌ her body. So that stall was now empty. The people who came to milk Dhira found it difficult because she moved around a lot and was very restless. In the end, I went myself to show them, thinking I was the experienced cowherd—but Dhira was moving from side to side even with me. I said to her, “What is wrong with you? Why are you moving so much?” Then I thought, “I’ll move Radharani, who is in the first stall by the entrance, to Radhe’s stall, and I’ll put Dhira in Radharani’s stall.” I told her, “Now you’re going to behave well, because all the children who come in here, the first little cow they see is you, right?” From that moment on, she did not move again, and milking her became a joy—even for the very youngest children.” —Alberto AŌer some time, Dina Sharana and Damodara Priya noticed some problems with her udders. They suspected it might be mastitis and called the veterinarian, who confirmed their suspicion. The veterinarian diagnosed her with chronic mastitis and suggested they dry her off. AŌer discussing it, they decided to do so. Dhira responded very well to the treatment and indeed dried up completely, so they stopped milking her. No one could ha ve imagined that everything would change with the arrival of a little orphaned bull calf. Dhira Radhe

Dhira Adopts Hanuman

The story of Hanuman, and how Dhira adopted him, once again shows that cows are deeply sensitive beings overflowing with incomparable maternal love.

Eager to learn more about cow care, Damodara Priya and Dina Sharana visited a nearby dairy farm. Upon arrival, at the entrance, they found a small bull calf tied with a short rope. It was midday, and while the other animals were far away, this little calf remained alone, mooing insistently. He was dirty, unable to move from the spot where he also relieved himself. When Damodara Priya looked at him, she felt something special. The calf kept looking at her again and again, mooing as if begging to be rescued.

The whole day passed, and when they were about to leave, the little bull was still there, alone, calling out for help. Seeing this, Damodara Priya gathered the courage to ask the owner why he did not untie him. The man replied that the calf was already one year old and, being male, could impregnate the cows, which was of no interest to them. He also mentioned that they had already decided to send him to the slaughterhouse.

Damodara Priya could not say anything at that moment. She returned home with a heavy heart, and that night she could not sleep—the image of that little calf would not leave her mind. “He is only a year old… still just a baby,” she thought.

The next day she spoke with the leading members of the community, and aŌer several atempts, she managed to convince them to bring the little bull to New Vrajamandala. When the owner was informed of their decision, he seemed surprised:

“What do you want him for? You do not need a bull. He is not smart; he will be of no use to you,” he said.

But for Damodara Priya, those words only strengthened her resolve to save him. That is how Hanuman came to Rupa Goshala. As

soon as he was freed, he ran joyfully across the meadows with his tail raised like an antenna, overflowing with happiness. His contagious energy stirred up the whole herd: all the cows began to move more, to play, and to enjoy greater exercise. “When Hanuman arrived at our dairy farm, he was very happy to experience freedom, as he was normally kept tied up to prevent him from geƫng the cows pregnant. They were planning to sacrifice him because they believed he would be difficult to train and they did not need a bull.” —Damodara Priya

Although they tried to negotiate for his mother as well, who was still Damodara Priya with Hanuman nursing him, they could not bring her, as she produced thirty liters of milk a day and the owners refused to sell her.

Hanuman’s arrival brought a wave of enthusiasm to the herd. Mischievous and full of energy, he ran aŌer Baladeva and the others, and soon found affection among them. One day, he was seen suckling from Dhira and from Sundari, like a child who once again felt safe and loved.

It was then that, moved by love, Dhira—though already an older, dry cow—adopted him and, astonishingly, began producing milk again, enough to feed Hanuman and also to offer a few liters to the presiding Deities Radha-Govindachandra.

“We thought that Dhira had already done a lot and that it was time for her to live a more peaceful and relaxed life, but apparently the Deities wanted to continue receiving her milk. In fact, Dhira started giving more milk than before; she got rid of all her previous problems, including mastitis. AŌer a while, Hanuman stopped suckling, but Dhira continued to give milk.” —Damodara Priya

Hanuman being trained by Dina Sharana

“When Hanuman was a year and a half old, I tried to train him. But he was stubborn and would not obey at all, until one day Dharma pushed him with his horns, as if to say, ‘Behave yourself, you mule!’ Hanuman was good-natured, but he also had his temperament. He wanted to do things his own way and would not obey; that is why they did not want him at the other dairy farm — he was a bit difficult. Latter, as he got older, he calmed down, and aŌer Dharma gored him, he setled completely; now he is very gentle and well-behaved.”c— Dina Sharana

Parama Karuna describes his first encounter with Hanuman took place and how, little by little, a relationship of trust was forged between them:

“The first time I saw him, I was amazed by his size; he was huge and a bit intimidating, because when he stuck his head out into the corridor of the goshala, where the stalls are, I had to pass under him every time I went back and forth. Latter, over time, I got to know him and grew more confident around him; you come to realize that what he has in size, he also has in goodness. He is curious and does not want to miss anything that happens in the goshala. Because of his size, he can look over the partitions to see Parama Karuna feeding Hanuman what is going on—and also eat the food of the other cows. Hanuman stands out not only for his size but also for the way he manages his own time. He takes as much time as he wants to come in or go out. He can stand still in the same position for a long time, whether entering or leaving the goshala, blocking the way for the other cows, who have to wait. Another thing that surprised me is that he loves to look at the river. He can spend the whole morning just watching it.”

Dhira in the Kitchen

Dhira’s passion was food; she loved to eat. However, she did not eat with anxiety or impatience—neither too fast nor too slow—she simply enjoyed every bite calmly. Her expression of pleasure and contentment while eating was, to me, something unique and beautiful to behold.

Dhira would ruminate with her head held high, serene, displaying an unshakable calmness—a simple gesture that revealed her inner peace. When I met her, she was already quite old; it was hard for her to stand up because her hip was misaligned, and she dragged one leg slightly. Yet whenever she heard the sound of the wheelbarrow full of hay or vegetables, she would get up quickly—so much so that by the time the food reached her, she was ready to start chewing.

One cool, rainy morning, Parama Karuna went to milk the cows. He loved that time with them and usually isolated himself completely from the rest of the world. I knew that between 6:30 and 9:00 in the morning, he was not available for anyone. Those hours were his special time of the day. That is why it surprised me when he called: “Madhavi, can you come? Dhira is stuck in the kitchen.”

“Every day when I entered the goshala, I turned on the lights and greeted the cows. When I opened the door to the corridor where the individual stalls were, I was surprised not to see Dhira in her place; since she slept right in front of the entrance, she was always the first to appear. I looked to one side and then the other—she was not

there. All the other cows were, except her. Very strange. I greeted the others and went toward the kitchen. When I arrived, I found an astonishing scene, almost like something out of a movie. Dhira was wedged inside the small kitchen, with her head over the sink. The faucet was broken, and a stream of water was splashing her face. “She is dead,” I thought. “I cannot believe what I’m seeing.” I panicked within seconds. But suddenly Dhira moved. That gave me a bit of relief—she was alive, though she could not move either forward or backward.” —Parama Karuna AŌer that brief and urgent call, I quickly ran down to the goshala. When I arrived, the other cows were looking at one another with a mix of concern and innocence, as if to say they had nothing to do with what had happened, yet at the same time they remained serious and atentive.

I entered the kitchen—which, in fact, was not really a kitchen, but a narrow little room where we stored and weighed the milk. There was Dhira, lying down and wedged between the wall, the small refrigerator, the shelf, the sink, and the boxes of milk botles. With her horns, she had destroyed everything around her, including the faucet, from which a jet of water was still gushing at full pressure.

Her twisted hips were injured from rubbing against the wall; her legs, crossed beneath her body, were pressed against the refrigerator and soaked by the water that had been pouring for who knows how long. She also had cuts from the broken glass botles, and her dung, mixed with the water, completed that incredible scene.

Parama Karuna and I did not know what to do or where to start. AŌer observing the situation for a bit, it occurred to me to shut off the water valve and begin dismantling the kitchen. We took out everything we could. Some things were easy to move, but others required great effort. Even so, we managed to make it so that at least Dhira was not so tightly wedged in.

However, even though she now had more space, she still could not get up. Without hesitation, we went to ask the devotees for help. Adirasa and Chaita arrived, and latter Ugrasena joined them.

They tried to encourage Dhira to stand up, but she could not. Each time she tried, her legs slipped on the wet floor. To help her, they placed straw and soil underneath, but that did not do much either.

Then they dismantled what was leŌ of the kitchen: they removed the door frame, cut down the shelves, and knocked down part of the wall. Dhira now had more room to get out, but even so, she could not move. She was old, tired, and trapped.

The devotees tried to help her by tying ropes around her horns and hips, but that did not work either. I felt sorry to see her like that, so I brought her some food. That was a mistake—she setled down to eat and spent quite a while happily enjoying her meal, as always.

Time went by and the situation did not change, so we decided to

take care of the other cows, who were still watching expectantly. As they leŌ the goshala, some passed by quickly, but the more curious ones lingered, looking at Dhira.

Since we had removed the kitchen items, the most inquisitive cows came closer to explore and poke around the different objects, so we also had to keep an eye on them.

Finally, at midday, Dhira got up with the devotees’ help. It was a collective effort: one used a stick as a lever to liŌ her tail, another pulled on the rope tied around her hip. When they saw Dhira respond positively, they knew there was hope.

Overjoyed, everyone began encouraging her with shouts of

support:
“Come on, Dhira, come on!”
“Stay strong, Dhira!”
“Let’s go, let’s go!”

When she finally managed to stand up, Dina Sharana positioned himself in front to guide her backward. One devotee held the rope tied to her horns, another the one around her hip, and together they led her until she was able to step back and turn toward the corridor. They had done it!

That moment was a tremendous relief for everyone. Parama Karuna and I will never forget that day.

Latter, when we checked the cameras, we discovered what had happened. Dhira had leŌ her stall the previous night at 11:00 p.m. The door had not been firmly closed, and with her leŌ horn, she managed to unhook the latch that barely held it. She opened the door and went down the corridor straight to the kitchen, where there were carrots and cabbages—her favorite delicacies.

We believe she was tempted by those treats and, despite the space being small, uncomfortable, and hard to access, she ventured inside. What she could not do was get back out. She got stuck and, latter, lay down.

Dhira Leaves Her Body

Damodara Priya always looked aŌer Dhira with great care, as she was the oldest cow and therefore needed special treatment. During the winter, Damodara Priya covered her with a blanket, bought her fruits and vegetables to keep her strong, brushed her even though her hair was short, gave her massages, and occasionally bathed her so that she would always look beautiful. When Dhira did not have the strength to go out to the field with the others, she was moved to the larger space in the goshala so she could rest peacefully.

Dhira leŌ her body at the age of nineteen. Three days before her departure, she offered her last milk to the Deities and devotees of New Vrajamandala.

Despite her age and the limitations caused by her bone problems, she remained determined and continued grazing every day in the fields. Until two days before her passing, she was still able to stand up, but on the eve of her departure, despite her efforts, she could no longer keep herself on her feet. With the devotees’ help, she was carefully moved throughout the day to ensure her comfort, and on the morning of her passing, they positioned her in a way that allowed her to stretch and relax, offering her a bit of relief.

On her final day, around four in the aŌernoon, Dina Sharana, Damodara Priya, and Ramanuja understood that her time was near. They offered her Ganges water and began chanting the holy names. That same morning, I had given her charanamrita—the water that had bathed Krishna’s lotus feet—and she drank it gladly.

Before five in the aŌernoon, Dhira peacefully leŌ her body without difficulty. Immediately aŌerward, a large group of devotees gathered to bid her farewell with the chanting of the holy names. That day, there were also about seventy Erasmus guests visiting the farm, and thanks to them, together with the members of the community, they were able to carry her out of the goshala. Thus, Dhira received a grand farewell.

The Cows of Rupa Goshala — Dhira Leaves Her Body

“Our wish was to bury her in New Vrajamandala, the sacred land she had been grazing on. But government regulations required that her body be cremated by the authorities. However, due to delays in the collection of the body and the road closures caused by the local bull festival, we obtained a special permit to bury her on our land. I would like to express special gratitude to Pushpa Gopala, whose efforts were decisive in obtaining that permit and giving Dhira a peaceful resting place. Throughout her life, Dhira showed remarkable courage and determination, grazing in places where other cows did not dare to go. Although she never had a calf, she produced milk for many years and continued to do so until the end of her life. She even lovingly cared for Hanuman, feeding him with her milk when he arrived here at barely a year and a half old. Although we tried to dry her off due to her advanced age, she insisted on continuing to serve, increasing her production up to nine liters in her latter years. Even in her final days, she offered 300 ml of milk, demonstrating her devotion until her last breath.” —Damodara Priya

Dhira is an icon of our goshala, a true symbol of what it means to be Krishna’s cow. Among all the special cows of New Vrajamandala, she was the most special one. All of us who knew Dhira closely agree on that. And we all carry her in a special corner of our hearts, for she was a mother who dedicated herself with determination to the service of Radha-Govindacandra.

Yamuna — The Tender One

In the early 2000s, the devotees of Rupa Goshala bought a cow on the outskirts of Madrid. They named her Yamuna, in honor of the river that flows through Vrindavan, where Krishna and His friends performed many pastimes. The name suited her perfectly, as her fondness for water would soon reveal itself on more than one occasion.

When the devotees went to collect Yamuna with the temple van, she refused to get in, and it took them nearly four hours before they finally managed to load her. Shortly aŌer, Yamuna gave a strong headbut and broke one of the side windows. The glass hung loose, and the cow stuck her head out. That is how they crossed all of Madrid—with Yamuna’s head poking out the window.

Latter, as they were leaving the city, Yamuna struck again with her horn, this time breaking the rear window. So, for the rest of the journey, Yamuna alternated between sticking her head out of the rear window and the side one. That is how she arrived at New Vrajamandala—looking all around through the windows.

«When she arrived at the farm, Yamuna was two years old and about three months pregnant. At the end of her pregnancy, she gave birth to Gopi. It was a very complicated delivery. I remember that December 23rd perfectly. I was returning from India and knew that Yamuna was giving birth, so I went to see her immediately. When I arrived, Gopi had already been born, and Yamuna had what appeared to be the placenta hanging down. At that time, I was quite inexperienced and did not really understand what was happening. A devotee told me, “That must be the placenta. It will come off during the day, and then she’ll eat it herself.” The

placenta is very nutritious and helps strengthen the milk for the calf’s first days. However, the next day the supposed placenta was still there. So we quickly called the veterinarian, who arrived right away at the goshala. There we discovered that it was not the placenta, but the uterus, which had completely inverted. It is like when you turn a sock inside out. We had to reinsert it as quickly as possible, since Yamuna’s life was in danger. We spent about four hours in total massaging the cow and pushing the uterus back in. We liŌed it with a sheet up to the height of the vulva and, with oil and massages, gradually reintroduced it. When one of us got tired, another took over; when the second was exhausted, a third stepped in. In this way, four of us worked for several hours. Once it was back in place, the veterinarian made some stitches on the vulva to prevent the uterus from coming out again. Yamuna had to be anesthetized, but only lightly, as she needed to remain standing; that way, at least, she would not feel so much pain. It was December 24th, 9:00 p.m., when the veterinarian said, “Thank God, we’ve saved her life.”» —Anadi

Yamuna recovered well and raised Gopi without any problems. At New Vrajamandala, the calves are not separated from their mothers—they can drink as much milk as they wish. Naturally, however, when they begin to eat grass, their milk intake decreases. Thus, by six months, Gopi started eating more grass and drinking less from her mother. Even so, Yamuna continued producing plenty of milk, so there was more and more to be milked each day.

Vacation on an Island

One day, in the middle of winter, Yamuna had gone to the other side of the river, to a small island. There she was, enjoying her “vacation,” as if she were on a little beach—very calm, eating the greenest grass.

“What are you doing over there, Yamuna?” asked Alberto.

Determined to bring her back, he crossed the river using some fallen trees that served as a bridge. Once there, he tried to help her return to the goshala, but she flatly refused. She did not want to move. No matter how much he insisted, Yamuna stood her ground firmly. Alberto waited a while and tried again. She walked a little, but as soon as she reached the edge of the river, she suddenly stopped, as if her legs had sunk into the earth. Perhaps she sensed that the river’s current had strengthened—or maybe she simply did not feel like returning. The fact was, there was no way to make her move forward.

Alberto, together with his friend Antonio, decided to build her a more accessible path so she could cross more easily, but Yamuna was not interested in that either. She made no effort to come back.

During one of the atempts to get her across, Yamuna moved a little but stumbled and fell into the water. She lay there, and since she was already an older cow, she found it hard to get up. Her head became submerged, and the cowherds, reacting immediately, rushed to grab her by the horns to liŌ her head so she could breathe. But in the middle of the struggle, Yamuna made a sudden movement, raising her neck so forcefully that Alberto was thrown backward. The impact sent him straight into the water, soaking him from head to toe—in the middle of winter.

Despite that incident and the freezing cold he had to endure, Alberto did not give up on his effort to bring Yamuna back. Moved by her situation, he began visiting her regularly. He brought her fruit and vegetables, stroked and peted her to make her feel more comfortable, and even went there to milk her. Perhaps, he thought, that way he could convince her to come home.

Each time he went to see or milk her, he had to cross the river using the fallen trees, which required extra effort. Yet, despite all his dedication, Yamuna would not yield. The situation was becoming increasingly concerning.

So Alberto decided to consult Venudhara, one of the oldest residents of New Vrajamandala, who had once been one of the most experienced cowherds. AŌer Alberto told him what had happened, Venudhara firmly said: “Do not give her food. Do not give her anything at all.” “What do you mean, do not give her food? Poor thing…” “Not poor thing. Do not give her food.” Following his advice, Alberto stopped bringing food to Yamuna. He only offered her a small handful of feed when he went to milk her— just enough to wet her mouth and let her lick a little. Nothing more. On the third day, Yamuna appeared on her own at the barn door. She had understood that if she wanted to eat, she had to come back. *** Having an unfenced river near the dairy farm always presented a risk for the cows. Although the water rarely exceeds half a meter in depth in its usual course, when it floods, it can reach more than a meter and

Yamuna

a half, becoming dangerous. Not only did Yamuna have problems trying to cross it; on another occasion, Tilaka also got trapped. Although the water is not always deep, the current and the uneven terrain make it difficult for them to get out on their own.

These incidents made clear the need to take preventive measures to protect the animals and avoid future complications. For this reason, today Rupa Goshala now has protective fence along the entire field that borders the river.

Yamuna was a happy cow: she enjoyed the company of her daughter and, latter, her grandson Rupa throughout her life. She lived a very peaceful life and, since giving birth to Gopi, she gave milk for fourteen years. During her time at the dairy farm, she demonstrated her weakness for water, falling into the canal twice and crossing the river twice. On one of those occasions, she was leŌ on the other side of the river for a week; they had to bring her food, milk her, and carve out a path for her, with a pickaxe and shovel, so she could return more easily. And one of the times she fell into the canal, the devotees threw stones for more than three hours so that the depth would gradually decrease, and Yamuna could get out.

The Farewell

Yamuna stopped giving milk a month before she passed away, as her fondness for water led her into a difficult situation that would eventually cause her death.

The cold was intense when Yamuna leŌ her body. She was already very old, and walking had become hard for her because of her hip. The fields behind the goshala were filled with frozen puddles, and she fell into one of them. The surface broke under her weight, trapping her in the water.

The devotees tried to help her with ropes, but it was impossible to free her. Since they could not pull her out, they decided at least to drag her from the puddle and move her to a place with dry grass. They

managed to do so, but once there, she could no longer stand—she could not liŌ herself up or stay on her feet.

Night was quickly approaching, bringing with it the intense cold that would freeze everything, including Yamuna. They had to act urgently. Unable to move her in time and with night already falling, the devotees looked for alternatives. They decided to light bonfires around Yamuna to keep her warm and help her survive the night. They lit five fires and kept them burning all night, taking turns every two hours to watch over them and make sure Yamuna did not freeze. The next day, Yamuna was still alive, though still unable to get up. They had to find a way to bring her to the goshala, where she would be more protected, under a roof and on warm straw. Then Krishna inspired them with an idea: to use a large old iron door. They tied the door to the van and brought it to where Yamuna lay. Taking her legs, they pulled firmly toward the door. Yamuna rolled over her rounded back and was resting on the door within seconds.

Once she was on the door, they slowly dragged her with the van to the goshala. There they made her comfortable and cared for her. Death was gradually approaching, and aŌer a month of care, her time was drawing near. It was a difficult period, as lying down for so long caused sores, so they had to turn her over and massage her constantly with ointments.

Finally, the day of her departure came. Alberto covered Yamuna with a blanket, and they carried her body to the goshala door. Gopi, who was far away, sensed what had happened and ran toward her mother’s lifeless body. She laid her head upon her, mooed loudly three times, and then slowly walked away toward the field.

Gopi — The Tough One

Yamuna’s daughter, Gopi, was a cow with a strong character. From her behavior, one might think she was half cow, half bull. Dealing with her was quite difficult, as she tended to kick and but with her head. However, with Alberto, Gopi was more gentle—the two shared a very good relationship.

One day, while Alberto was caressing her, she moved and accidentally scratched his arm with her horn.

“Look, Gopi, what you’ve done here! Look! Have I ever hurt you? Why did you do this to me?” Alberto said to her in a deep, serious tone. Gopi lowered her head and began licking the tiny wound. Seeing her affectionate reaction, Alberto felt how “tough Gopi” had won his heart.

Gopi in her stall

The Alarm One night, Gopi’s loud mooing echoed throughout the valley: “Mooooo… mooooo… mooooo…!”

She had a strong voice and a distinctive moo. Everyone could hear her and recognize her call.

“Moooo… mooooooo…!”

Alberto woke up and went down to the cowshed to see what was happening. Some devotees also woke up and started calling on the phone to find out what was going on. But when Alberto arrived, everything seemed to be in order. Nothing strange. Yet Gopi kept mooing with great intensity.

“But Gopi, what is the matter? Everything is fine… what do you want?”

“Mooooo… moooooo…!” she answered with another powerful moo. Immediately, Alberto suspected what was happening. At that time, the goshala was divided into two areas. Almost a kilometer away were other cows, and among them was one about to give birth.

“Could it be that the cow has given birth?” Alberto wondered.

He quickly went up to the house of Mahalaksmi, a dedicated devotee and friend of New Vrajamandala. He woke her up and asked for her car keys. He also woke her son Ananda and asked him to come along in case he needed help.

When they arrived at the other goshala and turned on the lights, they were struck with wonder—there was the newborn calf. Gopi had been giving the alarm.

A Difficult Milking

Alberto recalls:

“Gopi—truthfully, I loved her very much; I felt a strong affection for her. We had something unique. But she was not easy to handle, and even less so when it came to milking. She constantly tried to kick; she never stopped. So, with one hand I had to milk, and with the other I had to block and restrain her legs so the kicks would not hit the bucket where I collected the milk. She did not stay still for a moment. It was not easy, but somehow we had goten used to it. There was one day when I was very sick, with a fever, feeling awful. But of course, I had to milk. So I went down to the goshala as best I could to do my service. When I entered Gopi’s stall, I said to her: Listen, Gopi, behave well today, please. You know I’m really unwell. I’m exhausted. Please do me a favor and do not move.” I went inside, and—can you believe it?—she did not move at all. Not one bit. She stayed perfectly still for the entire milking. When I finished and stepped out of the stall, she started kicking again, just as usual. It was incredible.”

Cows are gentle creatures endowed with a silent wisdom that few can truly grasp. On that day of exhaustion, when Alberto could barely stand, Gopi, through her behavior, revealed the depth of that bond that transcends the visible. It was not just about milking or daily routine—it was about mutual understanding, an unspoken respect. Cows know when their companion needs a moment of respite, and through a simple act, they become something far greater than mere animals of production. Gopi was very rebellious, but at the same time also very perceptive. When someone unpleasant, aggressive, or rough-mannered arrived, she would immediately become agitated and moo loudly, as if in protest. She was very sensitive to people’s moods. When small children of four or five years wanted to milk her, Alberto would say, “Hey, Gopi, behave yourself, it is a little child.”

And she would not move.

Cows are very sensitive beings; they can perceive everything that happens around them. Another very clear example is when the veterinarian comes. Cows do not like the vet because he pricks their tails, sometimes takes their blood, or performs tests that prick their necks—and they do not like that. What they do like is being brushed.

On the day the vet arrives, the cowherds act as if it is just an ordinary day, pretending nothing unusual is about to happen, but they never manage to fool the cows. The cows always know—and they try to run quickly toward the field.

Gopi Leaves Her Body

Time passed, and the moment came to bid farewell to Gopi. Usually, before departing, cows lie down, stop geƫng up, stop eating, and stop drinking water. They remain like that for a few days, until their time arrives. Gopi had been lying down for three days, waiting for the moment to leave her body. The devotees stayed with her; they had prepared a cozy spot, a parasol protected her from the sun, and they took turns chanting the holy name by her side.

Suddenly, the devotee who was outside with her came into the goshala to call the cowherd:

“Alberto! Alberto! Come quickly, Gopi has leŌ her body!”

Alberto rushed to the door and saw Gopi move her ear, as if waving her hand, as if to say, “Bye-bye.”

“She is not dead! She moved her ear!”

“Yes, she is gone,” replied the devotee.

Alberto approached and touched her, confirming that she had indeed leŌ her body. Astonished, he turned to Eva, another companion who was there, and said, “Did you see what she did? Did you see her move her ear?”

“Yes, yes, I saw it too,” she replied.

Thus, in an atmosphere of love and reverence, the devotees accompanied Gopi on her final journey, surrounding her with chanting and care until her departure. In that moment, everyone was reminded that true bonds transcend time and form—connections that leave indelible memories in the heart.

“I remember very well when Gopi was leaving her body. My family and I were there with her, chanting the holy name. There she was, covered up, no longer geƫng up. It was incredible to be with her until the very last moment. We saw Alberto there, especially with Gopi… his eyes were shining, on the verge of tears. That made our own tears start to flow as well. In that moment, we realized that relationships of love go beyond physical bodies. They are bonds that remain eternally. Saying farewell to the great Gopi together as a community was a sad moment—but also a beautiful one.” —Laksmana

Gopi’s last supper

The Cows of Rupa Goshala — Rupa

Rupa — The Gentle One

Anadi Krishna Prabhu, known among the devotees simply as Anadi, tried to artificially inseminate Gopi three times. For each attempt, they waited for her fertile period and called the veterinarian, who brought semen from an American bull named “Ringo.” All three atempts failed. Because of the high cost of each procedure, Anadi decided not to try again and moved Gopi to the enclosure of the “dry cows.” Eight months latter, a devotee came running to him and shouted:

“Hey! There is a calf among the dry cows! Have you seen it?”

“What are you saying?!” replied Anadi incredulously.

He went to check, and behind Gopi he found a beautiful calf nursing from her large udders that hung between her legs. The last insemination had not failed—it had been a complete success! Gopi had given birth in the field, somewhere within the twenty hectares set aside for grazing and roaming. There, Rupa was born. Thus, Gopi returned to the group of milking cows and raised her little calf there. Rupa was beautiful, with a light, almost golden blond color. Rupa taking his first steps

When he was born he was very small, but over time he grew into an enormous ox, weighing over a thousand kilograms. Despite his size, he was extremely gentle and kind. People who visited the dairy farm were astonished and delighted by his beauty, nobility, and majesty.

Unfortunately, one day Rupa injured himself beneath one of his hooves. The wound went unnoticed, and since he remained in good spirits, no one realized there was a problem. Time passed until the injury developed into an infection. By the time the symptoms became apparent, it was already too late. Only when Rupa lay down and refused to get up did they discover what was happening. The infection had advanced considerably, and aŌer a long and difficult month of treatment with antibiotics and manual drainage of the pus, Rupa passed away from septicemia. Rupa leŌ a lasting memory in the goshala. Unlike his mother, his nature was completely gentle and peaceful. In his honor, the goshala took his name and is now known as “Rupa Goshala,” which means “the goshala of Rupa.”

The Cows of Rupa Goshala — Radharani

Radharani — The Queen

Laxmi was a Holstein cow, and Dharma a Brown Alpine bull. From them was born a little calf: Radharani. She was able to drink as much milk as she wanted for as long as she pleased—in fact, she nursed from Laxmi for more than a year.

"Radharani was born on October 1, 2008. Her father was the noble Dharma, and her mother was Laxmi, a Holstein cow given to me by Krishna Devi Dasi when her father closed his dairy farm upon retiring. From a young age, Radharani was independent, clever, and mischievous—just like her mother. At four months old, she was already nibbling on grass and tasting the feed, and by six months she was eating like the adult cows, though she continued nursing for more than a year." —Anadi

Today Radharani is a large black cow. She has slender horns that curve toward the sky, big beautiful eyes with long, even eyelashes. Her legs are strong and elegant, her build graceful, and her gait smooth and dignified.

Her size and character command respect. She is always the last to enter the stalls, and when she does, the other cows step aside from the corridor. Sometimes you can even see a few lowering their heads as she passes. She is the queen of Rupa Goshala.

Though mischievous, Radharani was also gentle but very reserved. It is not easy to approach her; she does not like to be touched unless she feels enough trust to allow it. To build a relationship with Radharani requires much patience and affection. Winning her heart is not so simple.

Over time and through daily interaction, we can see how cows respond to us. They’re not like dogs—a dog, with just a bit of bread, quickly trusts you and follows you. With cows it is different: you can give them orders, make them go in or out, but forming a close relationship is another matter. Paul recalls how he came to build his bond with the queen of the goshala.

“Radharani was very sensitive—you could not touch her. Every time I tried to get closer to her, hoping to connect, she would not allow it. My daily routine was that aŌer milking and brushing the cows, I took them out to the field one by one. Before they went out, I would caress each one—the eyes, the face, the fringe, the belly, the neck—and then open the door for her to leave. That is how it was with the first, the second, with all of them. But when it came to Radharani’s stall, no. I simply opened the door and she went out. She would not let me show her any affection; it was the same every day. Almost four months went by until one day I opened the door and she did not want to go out. She lowered her head in front of me, and I understood instantly: ‘Is she asking me to caress her too?’ From that moment on, she allowed me to stroke her belly, behind her ears, everywhere… and then she would go out to the field. From that day on, she accepted me. From this experience, I drew a conclusion: for more than three months, she had been watching, watching, watching… She observed

my every move, how I treated the others. Every being has its own rhythm for allowing us to come close. With time and daily care, both we and they lose our fears. Many cows have suffered traumas that take time to overcome.” —Paul

Radharani went through two traumas that were difficult to bear. The first occurred when she and Sundari were moved from Anadi’s goshala to Rupa Goshala, located barely a kilometer away. It was a very difficult transfer, as both cows, newly pregnant, did not want to leave. The second trauma happened during childbirth, when she gave birth to a stillborn calf. Anadi recalls:

“In May 2012, I gave Radharani and Sundari to the temple’s goshala. At that time, I had nine cows and two bulls, while the temple had only four, as several cows and an ox had recently died. The transfer was traumatic; both cows were three months pregnant, and Radharani lost her calf during birth. She also suffered from being separated from her mother and her companions, becoming more distant. Even so, she continued giving a few liters of milk each day, and thanks to the loving daily care of her keepers, her temperament gradually changed over time.”

The two shocks Radharani endured were so severe that their effects lasted quite some time. However, through the patience and affection of the cowherds, she gradually overcame them. In time, she became gentler and more trusting, allowing herself to be loved by those who inspired her confidence.

“When Radharani and Sundari reached the edge of the fenced area where they lived, they refused to continue walking along the road. There was no way. We were a group of devotees trying to get them to move, pulling them with a rope, but they would not budge. In the end, a tractor came; we tied them and slowly dragged them forward because they dug their hooves into the ground, resisting every step. One of them fell and hurt her knee. It was a mess. It took us a long time to get from one goshala to the other. Then, helping them get used to the new place was not easy either. At first, they slept outside; latter we managed to get them into the larger area, at least to eat, because they had not yet integrated with the other cows. Both were pregnant. Sundari gave birth without problems to Jagannatha, an ox who is still with us today. He was born on Ratha-yatra day, and it was a very beautiful story. But Radharani had complications during childbirth. By Krishna’s grace, Prema Murti, who has experience with cows, was there to help me. We made a tremendous effort, but when we finally pulled the calf out, it was already dead.” —Alberto

For more than a decade, Radharani faced these challenges with introspection, courage, and resilience. Her gaze changed and became more solitary, yet she always remained calm and peaceful. Still, milking her aŌer the loss of her calf was a great challenge. The cowherds who accompanied her and still serve her today had to develop new skills in order to handle her.

Alberto recounts that milking her was extremely difficult because she kicked fiercely—it was necessary to tie her legs, and even then it remained dangerous. Over time, as she got to know the cowherds, she gradually became more gentle.

“Once, Alberto went away for two weeks and I was leŌ in charge of the cows. He had already taught me everything, but there was one cow, Radharani, whom only he could milk. It was very difficult for me; I tried, but she would not let me. Even so, I did not lose patience... I kept geƫng to know her, speaking to her kindly, and treating her well. As the days went by, we connected, and she let me touch her.

One day, when I started milking her, a family arrived with their children, full of happiness. I also felt very happy. While all this was happening, Alberto arrived too, radiating joy. I have those moments etched in my heart: Radharani, Alberto, the family, and I, all sharing a transcendental happiness." —Ratnanga

“Prema Murti and Alberto trained Radharani well, so she always goes to her place on her own when we milk her. In the beginning, she gave only half a liter of milk per day because of the small size and delicacy of her udders. However, aŌer the herd expanded and she had time to rest inside the goshala, her production increased to three liters a day. Radharani has several sponsors who help with her upkeep. One of them is the brahmacari Rasananda Sankirtana, who spent a long time with us caring for the cows. With great enthusiasm, he cleaned the stalls and had a very special affection for Radharani, whom he always lovingly called ‘Radha,’ and he milked her every day. Now, even from his brahmacari ashram, he continues to send monthly support for her. Another devotee and dear friend of ours, Sahadeva, visited the cows daily during his long stay at New Vrajamandala and became a great admirer of Radharani, so he also contributes. Radharani has also inspired Ana and her mother, devotees who live in Lisbon. They have grown very fond of her and faithfully help each month to cover the expenses of her care. They always ask about her well-being. When they come to visit, Ana goes to the village to buy carrots especially for her and for the whole herd. With great devotion, she also offers direct service to all the cows.” —Damodara Priya

Yamuna-mayi, daughter of Parvati, is a very sweet calf who has the peculiarity of not only suckling from her own mother but also from other cows, including Radharani. In this way, Radharani, who has not had the experience of being a mother, could finally see her wish fulfilled. When Yamuna-mayi suckles from her, Radharani feels so much satisfaction that she closes her eyes and can be seen looking very happy.

"Nowadays, Radharani is much more affectionate and has overcome her trauma. Some cows take a long time to heal, even with good treatment and love from their caretakers. Now she allows us to pet her and shows her gratitude for the attention she receives, being much more integrated into her herd. The day we decided to put a collar around her neck, her eyes shone and her behavior changed. It was as if she felt special..." —Damodara Priya The story of Radharani invites us to reflect on the sensitivity of cows and the importance of learning with humility from those who have more experience and have already formed a bond with them. We must be fully aware of how we treat them, for they teach us to awaken our own sensitivity. Radharani and Yamuna-mayi

The Cows of Rupa Goshala — Parvati

Cows possess an innate goodness, a purity that we humans oŌen lack. They always remain in the mode of goodness and cannot go to a lower mode. Human beings, on the other hand, fluctuate between goodness, passion, and ignorance. Sometimes, out of impatience or frustration, we expect cows to adapt to our emotional state—but that will never happen. We may hurry them, shout at them, or even mistreat them, but none of that benefits anyone.

The real task is to transform ourselves—to rise to the level of goodness so that we can relate to them with respect and love. Cows do not respond to fear or violence; they respond only to affection. With just our voice, we can convey authority, gratitude, or tenderness. They understand these subtleties and, in return, offer us their protection and unconditional devotion.

Radharani is the beloved black cow of Radha-Govindachandra. She lovingly serves Them with her milk every day, even though she was never able to raise her calf. Today she is 17 years old, 13 of which she has spent offering her milk to Their Lordships.

Parvati — The Relaxed One

Parvati came from Málaga in 2023, when she was barely two years old. The devotees rescued her because her owner wanted to send her to the slaughterhouse, as she belonged to a breed prone to many illnesses. Miraculously—or rather, by Krishna’s mercy—she has remained healthy ever since her arrival at Rupa Goshala.

Parvati was already pregnant, although still very young. Normally, one waits longer before a cow has her first calf, so Parvati gave birth to her son Ganesh while she was still a heifer.

The birth took place at night, in her stall, while everyone was asleep. Parvati, lying down with her tail resting against the door, began to push, and Ganesh came out without any complications. Since her tail was still on the door, the calf fell into the corridor.

When Damodara Priya and Dina Sharana checked the cameras in the morning to make sure everything was fine in the goshala, they saw a small black calf walking down the corridor, visiting the other cows one by one.

They quickly went to bring the newborn back into the stall with his mother. Soon aŌer, Ganesh had begun to nurse, but he was not drinking enough to reduce the amount of milk accumulated in Parvati’s udders, which became swollen. They had to call the veterinarian.

Since Ganesh continued drinking too little, the vet said it was necessary to milk Parvati to relieve her. Parvati was furious. Even though four people were holding her by the horns, she would not let anyone touch her—she was in great pain. Finally, aŌer quite some effort, they managed to milk her. Dina Sharana and Damodara Priya with newborn Ganesh

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Parvati and Ganesh

Over time, Parvati became a calm cow, and today she allows herself to be milked with great gentleness. She now has the body of a full-grown cow—her face and temperament have changed. She is of the Belgian Blue breed, which surprised the goshala’s veterinarian when he saw her producing milk regularly.

Ganesh — The Bold One

Ganesh is fearless, amiable, and playful. He is always looking for someone to play with and is oŌen unaware of how strong he is. Whenever someone goes out to the field with the wheelbarrow, he starts running with excitement. His weakness is charging at it with great enthusiasm. Parvati con su hija Ganesh with his mother Parvati

Ganesh in his youth

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Parvati and Yamuna-mayi

Yamuna-mayi — The Sweet One

On the night of June 27, 2025, Parvati gave birth to a beautiful little calf, Yamuna-mayi. She is very sweet, gentle, and calm, and her charm draws everyone’s attention. She is yet another blessing for New Vrajamandala, an auspicious sign of Krishna’s mercy.

Yamuna-mayi is careful by nature and quickly won the affection of all the members of the herd. Even so, she is very independent and accepts other cows as mothers. Kunti loves taking care of Yamunamayi, and Yamuna-mayi enjoys drinking her milk. She also brings joy to Radharani, for Radharani lost her only calf, and this is the first time she has been able to nurse a little one. Yamuna-mayi with Parvati, Dina Sharana and Madhavi

Rukmini — The Reserved One

The story of Rukmini also begins in Anadi’s goshala—he was the one who saw her come into this world.

“Rukmini was born in September 2009, the daughter of Dharma and Kartika. She was very close to Sundari and became deeply upset when I gave her to the temple—and even more so when her mother, Kartika, and her other friend, Bhumi, were taken away to be sacrificed because they had supposedly contracted tuberculosis, which was latter disproved by the autopsy. But the damage had already been done. Rukmini always had a rebellious and reserved temperament, like her mother Kartika, but all those circumstances made it worse. In October 2019, I came to India to stay for six months, and I only had Dharma, the bull, and Rukmini leŌ, who remained under the care of Devarsi Prabhu and Sriji Didi. When Covid arrived in March 2020, I ended up trapped in India for more than two years. Devarsi and Sriji took care of my goshala, which then had only Dharma and Rukmini. But in 2023, Devarsi began working elsewhere, so they gave both animals to the goshala at New Vrajamandala.” —Anadi

That is how Rukmini and Dharma became part of the herd at Rupa Goshala. Devarsi and Dina Sharana organized the transfer from the field to the goshala—eight hundred meters on foot. However, Rukmini, known as a strong, fiery, and distant cow, was not going to let things go so easily.

Taking Dharma was not a problem, since he was a very tame bull; they tied him and he walked obediently with them. Rukmini, on the other hand, began running all over the field, with everyone chasing her, running among the trees and trying to corner her. When they finally managed to do so, they tied her up, but she still refused to leave her place. She did not like going somewhere unfamiliar without knowing what would happen to her. Yet, forced by circumstances, she began to walk. AŌer about two hundred meters, she stopped and lay

down in the middle of the road. She refused to get up, move forward, or turn back.

Seeing this, Dina Sharana untied Rukmini and said, “All right, go wherever you want,” and they took only Dharma. Rukmini was leŌ alone on the road, in a place unknown to her. At that moment, she gave up her resistance and, on her own, began to follow her father Dharma. Soon they arrived together at the goshala.

When they arrived, the cowherds had prepared a special place for both of them, as they were always together. Father and daughter shared such a deep bond and attachment that they were dependent on one another.

One day, Dina Sharana noticed that Rukmini’s udders were very large, swollen with milk. Rukmini, to this day, has never been pregnant—yet there she was, ready to be milked. But Rukmini does Rukmini Dharma not allow anyone to come near her; she does not like being touched. Still, she had to be milked. Dina Sharana tells the story of that adventure:

“The udders were too full, but I thought, how am I going to milk her if she wo not let me get close? So I tried, dodging and taking blows from her horns, kicks, and shoves. At that time, she was fourteen years old and had never been milked before. She did not know what it was—never a birth, never a calf. So just touching her udders— which, of course, is a very intimate part for cows—frightened her terribly. Even though I tied her by the horns, she began jumping with her hind legs, moving from side to side, kicking like a karate fighter… she did everything she could. Just milking her took me forty minutes. The first day was very hard for both of us. She had so much milk that it was clear she had been like that for a while; at first, it came out with blood, and since she had never been milked, it hurt when I pressed. That is how it began, and little by little she calmed down. Latter, she started leƫng herself be touched—not on the face, but on other parts of her body. We kept milking her; she still gives a few kicks at the beginning, but then she relaxes. From the very first day, she gave three liters of milk, and to this day, three years latter, she continues to give three liters every day.”

Rukmini was raised with affection—but only as much as she allowed. She lived through experiences and traumas that hardened her nature. She always keeps her distance. She was never docile, nor did she want to be tamed. And yet she offers what she has. She never gave birth, never had a calf, but she gives milk every day. No one demands it of her. She does it because she wants to and because she can. Her body, her energy, her whole being are offered to God. This is her form of bhakti, devotional service—service offered without expectation, without need for reward, and without anyone watching.

What Rukmini gives is not only milk—it is a direct lesson that service does not depend on temperament, past experiences, or comfort. It is the essential function of the soul. And though her body

is strong, guarded, and mistrusƞul, she expresses her love through that silent willingness to give. This is how Krishna’s cows serve. By watching them, we are reminded of who we are and where we should be heading. Rukmini

Madhurya and Rasa — Two Exceptional Mothers

Pushpa Gopal and Godruma-pati had long cherished the desire to offer more milk to the Deities. At that time, among the four cows they had, only about three liters of milk were obtained daily. There were not many cows, and Alberto, aŌer serving them for so long almost on his own, was not ready to take on the responsibility of bringing in more animals.

But when Dina Sharana and Damodara Priya arrived, they assessed the situation together with Alberto and, with the help and goodwill of Pushpa and Godruma-pati, decided to buy two more cows for Rupa Goshala. One would be donated by Pushpa Gopal and Godruma-pati, and the other would be sponsored by a great friend of the cows, Oleg Ulyanov.

Alberto knew where to buy them—from a dairy farm near Madrid—because he had prior experience and personally took charge of speaking with the owner. He asked if there were any pregnant cows, and the owner said yes. Then he told the others, “It is better to buy pregnant cows; that way, latter on, we’ll have four instead of two.”

However, Damodara Priya was concerned. She agreed with expanding the herd but felt her experience was not yet enough to go so quickly from four to eight cows. Then Yadunandana Swami said to her, “Do not worry—Krishna always helps.”

Thus, Damodara Priya surrendered to the will of Krishna and the devotees, trusting that she would be able to do it. That faithful surrender was a very important step, for latter, together with her husband Dina Sharana, she would come to care for a herd of seventeen animals—including cows, oxen, a bull, calves, a donkey named Ramanya, and several sheep.

It was winter, and when the devotees organized the trip to Madrid, it was cold, raining, and in some areas there was snow. Even so, they

went, and there they met the cowherd—a man who cared for his cows as if they were part of his family. It was clear that he was fond of them: he took them out to pasture every day; they were well cared for and looked healthy and beautiful. However, the man could not afford to keep them all and was forced to part with some. It was very sad.

The devotees had to choose only two among the twenty-five cows there. It was very difficult, because they were all beautiful. Pushpa Gopal recalls:

“I thought, I’m going to bring prasadam. If I offer them prasadam, they’ll come to eat, and that way we’ll know… the one who likes it must be a devotee. But there was one in particular who loved it. She eagerly looked for more and always wanted another piece. She even became a bit restless from excitement. That cow’s name was Margarita. We chose her, but the owner did not want to sell her because she was pregnant and close to giving birth.”

Dina Sharana was convinced that she had to be the one, because she had accepted the prasadam with such enthusiasm. It was an excellent sign. Determined, he went to speak with the owner and, aŌer some time, managed to persuade him. That is how Margarita came to our goshala.

We gave her the name Madhurya (“the Sweet One”), because what most distinguishes her is her splendid temperament—her sweetness, love, and gentleness. There is no other cow in Rupa Goshala with those qualities. Moreover, her life so far has been very peaceful; she has never suffered from any problems or trauma.

But aside from Madhurya, there was another cow who also stood out for her appetite: Rasa. She ate and ate—she never stopped! So, in the end, they brought the two cows who had been the most excited about the empanada-prasadam.

Madhurya and Dina Sharana Rasa receiving prasadam from Godruma-pati

Madhurya digesting prasadam Rasa waiting for prasadam

Frankly, they could have taken them all, because every one of them was beautiful. But those two, besides their fondness for prasadam, also showed excellent physical and anatomical form. Godruma-pati recalls:

“Among all the cows, Rasa caught my attention because from the very beginning she allowed herself to be peted and enjoyed that affectionate contact with the devotees. It was as if, with her tender and loving gaze, she was saying, ‘Choose me, take me with you.’ In the end, we chose this cow as well and decided to name her ‘Rasa’ because of her sweet and loving nature, which she always shows to everyone.”

Both cows were pregnant, and soon aŌer they gave birth without any complications. Madhurya gave birth to Baladeva, and twenty days latter, Rasa had Subhadra.

Baladeva — The Fearless Saint

Baladeva was born on June 24, 2018. The birth had some complications, as he seemed reluctant to leave his mother Madhurya’s womb. Since the time had come, the cowherds had to pull him out by his legs.

Madhurya is a very traditional mother, like mothers of old, always keeping her calf well under control. Even aŌer her son Baladeva grew up and became a large ox, she continued to care for him and stayed close by his side.

From the very beginning of his life, Baladeva was always surrounded by his caretakers. He received plenty of affection and love, especially from Damodara Priya and Dina Sharana.

He grew up happy and always trusting toward people. Having never suffered mistreatment, to this day he allows everyone to pet him; he loves being brushed and shown affection.

Baladeva is quite adventurous. Sometimes he crosses the river to graze on a small island. And although he is calm and tame, he enjoys

rough play—especially with his friend, the ox Hanuman, and lately also with the new ox Arjuna.

Once, when Baladeva was six months old, he was grazing near the edge of the canal. He did not notice Hanuman coming up behind him, and Hanuman pushed him. Baladeva fell into the water. “It was December, and the water was freezing. When Damodara Priya saw Baladeva in the canal, she let out a loud scream, and all the cows—his mother leading the way—came running. Subhadra came quickly too, because Subhadra is like a sister to Baladeva. She always worries about him. His mother came to protect him and see what was happening. So I had to get into the canal to try to pull him out. Since the canal is very narrow and deep, he could not get out by himself. When he managed to place his front legs on the edge, he could not liŌ his hind legs, so I had to help him. I had to submerge myself and push him up from underneath, liŌing him from behind, but even then, he could not make it—he was already very heavy. Dina Sharana carrying newborn Baladeva

I guided him through the water to a shallower spot, but we still could not get him out. So we called for help; someone else came, we tied a rope around his little horns, and while one person pulled the rope to keep him from sliding backward, the other pushed from behind and upward to liŌ him out of the canal. Finally, we managed to pull him out. The whole ordeal lasted nearly an hour, and the two of us were leŌ there, freezing, shivering from the cold.” —Dina Sharana “I have an experience with Baladeva and all the cows that filled my heart. Once I was out in the field with them, and Baladeva—who was not as big back then, maybe half his current size—stepped on my foot. He did it in such a way that, besides stepping on me, he also slipped to one side. Of course… I screamed. It was such a loud scream that it echoed through the whole valley. And because I screamed so loudly, all the cows came running toward me. Can you imagine? Baladeva with his mother Madhurya

Even Radharani—yes, even Radharani—came. They had all been lying down, some in one field, some in another… and they all came. I can still picture Rasa’s face, alarmed, as if asking, ‘What happened?’ I still have that image in my mind. Before I knew it, they were all there, worried. It was a moment that filled me with love… I felt so good seeing them there with me. I realized that while we take care of them, they also take care of us.” —Damodara Priya

“Baladeva is the kindest, calmest, and most approachable—the sweetest, most loving, and saintly of all. He is trusting, he loves people, peƫng, and brushing. So much so that if you brush him out in the field, he’ll follow you around so you do not stop, and he won’t let you brush any other cow. Baladeva is so tolerant that you can do anything to him, and he’ll just stand there, undisturbed.” —Parama Karuna Baladeva likes to challenge Arjuna to see who is stronger. They lock horns and begin to push. Baladeva is enormous—one of the most impressive oxen you have ever seen. Arjuna, on the other hand, is still Baladeva in his youth a young and growing ox, smaller but full of spirit. It might seem that Baladeva takes advantage by facing such a young rival. But Arjuna, though smaller, is pure muscle, pure strength.

Madhurya, for her part, also has her own character: she is quite steady in her habits—she always does the same things and sticks to them. I always see her the same way, in the same mood.

The only time I saw her different was when she was in heat. During those days, she did not want to come into the goshala and preferred to stay out in the field. She showed a deep longing to be a mother, so I was overjoyed when I found out she was pregnant. It seems her greatest happiness is motherhood.

Krishnachandra — The Mellow One

When Madhurya gave birth to Krishnachandra, the atmosphere in the goshala changed instantly, filled with the euphoric energy of love radiating from her. It was an incredible experience—just crossing the threshold, everyone could feel a wave of joy sweep through the air.

But the birth itself was a dramatic and suspenseful event.

Krishnachandra was born on August 14, 2025, just two days before the most auspicious day on the Vaiṣṇava calendar—Janmastami, the appearance day of Krishna. He is black, with curly hair, clearly inheriting the features of his father, Ganesh.

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Madhurya and Krishnachandra

The delivery was complicated because the calf was breech, coming out hind legs first. Normally, calves are born with their front legs and head first. The cowherds had to intervene.

At two in the aŌernoon, Madhurya began to release the amniotic fluid. Dina Sharana and Paul stayed alert, waiting for the delivery to progress. Three hours passed with no advancement. They called several veterinarians, but none were able to come. The situation was urgent, so they decided to act themselves.

Dina Sharana inserted his hands into the birth canal and quickly located the calf’s legs. They tied them with a soŌ cloth and began pulling gently. While Paul pulled, Dina Sharana widened the passage and adjusted the body. That is when they realized the calf was upside down. Working together, they slowly repositioned and delivered him. Madhurya, at fourteen years old, had little strength leŌ. She remained standing, trusting and surrendered to her caretakers—her life and her son’s were in their hands. Gradually, with careful effort and Paul and Dina Sharana hold newborn Krishnachandra while Hanuman observes the scene with curiosity coordination, Paul pulled while Dina Sharana guided. Meanwhile, Madhurya, sensing her son’s scent, was frantically searching for him, unaware that he was still inside her womb.

Finally, with one last effort, the little calf fell into Dina Sharana’s arms. Seeing him motionless, Dina grew alarmed and gave him a few gentle taps on the face. Then Krishnachandra began to breathe. The cowherds stepped back and burst into tears of joy. Dina Sharana

recalls the experience:
Yadunandana Swami greets
the new member of the community

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Madhurya and Krishnachandra

“There is no cow—and there will prohably never be another—like Madhurya. When it was all over, we were covered with her saliva and blood. She looked at us and began to lick us clean, just as she did with her newborn calf.” The delivery had lasted nearly three hours. While the cowherds did everything possible to bring out the calf, the devotees had gathered and were chanting the holy names of the Lord. One group went to pray before an image of Nrisimhadeva kept in the goshala, while another group chanted the Hare Krishna mantra around the stall Madhavi fondling Krishnachandra where the birth was taking place. Yadunandana Maharaja was also present to give blessings and to suggest the name for the black calf— Krishnachandra.

When the delivery ended and it was clear that everything had gone well, they announced his birth by blowing the conch shell, and the chanting became even more joyful and exuberant.

The presence of Krishna in that chanting once again showed how the Supreme Lord personally cares for His cows.

Today, Ganesh—the father of young Krishnachandra—is the fiercest and most rebellious of the goshala, while Madhurya is the sweetest and most loving. Their temperaments are complete opposites, and everyone is eager to see what kind of disposition Krishnachandra will have. In these first days, he already shows quick learning: he plays with Yamuna-mayi and longs for his mother’s affection, which she never tires of giving.

Two weeks latter, some aspects of little Krishnachandra’s personality were already evident. He is gentle and kind like his mother and his brother Baladeva. He is very trusting and enjoys human company. He loves being touched and peted.

Krishnachandra has a favorite teat and always tries to nurse from the same one. Sometimes Damodara Priya stays with him and hides that teat so he will nurse from the others, but his mother Madhurya notices and protests in her own way.

Although Krishnachandra is still very young, he is growing fast and healthy—and he promises to be a great treasure for Rupa Goshala. *** We now continue with the story of the other exceptional mother: Rasa.

As soon as her daughter Subhadra was born, Rasa began producing an abundance of milk—so much that it was not only enough for her calf but could also be brought to the kitchen and shared among the families of the community.

The Cows of Rupa Goshala —Rasa and Subhadra

Rasa is the most intelligent cow of the herd. She is atentive, perceptive, and very sensitive. She responds well to instructions and understands everything happening around her.

“When Madhurya and Rasa were pregnant, I was also pregnant— with Jay Gopal. When Baladeva and Subhadra were born, the cowherds shared some of their colostrum with me, that first, highly nutritious milk, so Jay Gopal received a boost of superfood while still in the womb.” —Gauranga-lila

“I really like the cows’ milk because it is very tasty and sweet. When it is heated, it forms a delicious cream on top.” —Jay Gopal

“One day, Rasa was looking for her daughter Subhadra. She could not see her, so she started calling and searching everywhere. Finally, she came up to me and looked straight at me. I told her, ‘Rasa, Subhadra is over there with Damodara Priya, walking in the field.’ She looked at me as if to say, ‘Ah, okay,’ and then went off in that direction. That day I realized how intelligent these animals are—how they seek us out, how they expect responses. Taking care of them is not something mechanical. The relationship with them is deeply personal. They’re atentive to what we do and want to see that we’re doing things properly.” —Pushpa Gopal *** Subhadra was only a few weeks old when the provincial government veterinarian came to conduct a tuberculosis inspection. AŌer checking all the cows, he said, “Rasa is questionable.”

The test had not come back negative, but because of a mark on her neck, the vet suspected she might be infected. The devotees explained the origin of the mark and requested a second test. The veterinarian was not convinced and said he would return in a few weeks. If the next test result was still “uncertain” or turned positive, he would take her away to be put down.

Those words caused great fear. Just the thought that Rasa could be taken away brought tears to more than one of the cowherds. Action was taken immediately: Pushpa Gopal and Godrumapati sponsored fresh vegetables—beets, carrots—and she was given charanamrita, the water that had washed Krishna’s lotus feet, and everything possible was done to strengthen her immune system. They also acquired an ozonizer to purify the water and oxygenate her body. All the devotees in the community contributed in their own way, even some who were far from New Vrajamandala..

“Many devotees got involved, each in their own way. Some searched for information, Pushpa sent lots of food, everyone helped however they could, everyone went to see her…” —Damodara Priya

“I was in Mayapur, and the thought that they might take Rasa made me tremble. I went to the altar of Nrisimhadeva and prayed: ‘Please, O Lord, protect Rasa from these people, because they do not know what they’re doing. Help us—the situation is serious. The government has sent a veterinarian, and they’re taking the cows away. Many times these tests are not reliable.’” —Pushpa Gopal

Rasa was not the only one in danger. Many cattle owners in the area reported that cows were being sent to the slaughterhouse without justification. Some veterinarians claimed tuberculosis when it was not true. The medical tests used had an accuracy rate of barely forty percent. Because of this, the results were oŌen unreliable, and based on them, healthy cows were taken from their owners and killed. These cases were latter confirmed when autopsies showed that there had been no tuberculosis at all.

When Rasa was labeled “suspect,” the veterinarian ordered that she be separated from the herd. It was a devastating blow. She was taken away from her daughter, and Subhadra was not allowed to drink her milk. They were separated by a fence. Rasa, distressed and deeply affected, stopped eating. She paced restlessly, desperate because she could not be with her calf. Subhadra, on the other side of the field, kept looking for her, calling out, and waiting to nurse, as she always had.

Until Rasa could not take it anymore.

“The fence that separated the fields was about a meter and a half high, but Rasa jumped over it to reach her daughter. I saw her liŌ her legs to cross to the other side—first the front ones, then the back. When I saw that, I said to Damodara Priya, ‘This is torture for Rasa— let them be together.’” —Pushpa Gopal

It was six weeks of anxiety and deep concern.

“On one hand, we were thinking about how to help Rasa and prevent her from being taken away, but at the same time the question arose: ‘What if she really does have tuberculosis?’ In that case, the most prudent thing would be to keep her isolated from the others. I was very worried, since I was feeding Subhadra milk. What if she got infected too? It was a huge responsibility. But aŌer much investigation, we found out that these tests react to other substances as well. Moreover, the veterinarian had performed the test on Rasa’s neck, right where she had dermatitis. So we also thought that could have been the cause of the initial positive result.” —Damodara Priya

When the waiting period finally ended, the veterinarian returned to perform a new test. All the devotees heard about it and went down to the goshala. The whole community was present—watchful, engaged, and emotionally invested in the outcome. This time, it was the devotees who were observing and evaluating the veterinarian as he examined Rasa.

A few minutes before he arrived, the cowherds rubbed Rasa’s neck with clove powder, because this natural remedy could interfere with the test result, ensuring that it came out negative. A simple trick, but also a way to show just how unreliable those tests really were.

The diagnosis of bovine tuberculosis can be done using four different methods, each with varying degrees of complexity, accuracy, and cost. Of course, the higher the accuracy, the greater the expense. That is why many veterinarians preferred the cheapest and fastest method, even at the cost of an animal’s life.

AŌer massaging Rasa, everything was ready for the veterinarian to repeat the test. The result came back negative—no tuberculosis. The relief and joy were immense. The threat, the fear, the tension, and the sense of helplessness all vanished. The atmosphere filled with happiness and celebration.

This episode will always serve as a reminder that unity among devotees is essential—especially when facing rigid, impersonal, and unjust opposition. The veterinarian was ready to send a healthy cow to the slaughterhouse, but through faith, collective determination, prayer, intelligence, and ultimately Krishna’s mercy, Rasa was saved. For it is Krishna who truly protects His cows.

*** Cows are exceptional mothers. They care not only for their own calves but also for others when needed. Rasa’s love for Subhadra is unique

and special, and it has shown itself on many occasions.

Once, the goshala’s veterinarian had to examine Subhadra, who was already five years old at the time. They decided to keep her inside while the other cows went out to the field. But Rasa, who had been leŌ outside, began to moo loudly, pacing back and forth, looking through the windows and calling for her daughter until Subhadra was finally let out. Since then, whenever the veterinarian examines Subhadra, Rasa stays inside as well—so that her daughter feels calm and can see that everything is fine.

That is Rasa—she always gets what she wants. Subhadra Rasa

Subhadra — The Brave Beauty

Subhadra was born on July 4, 2018, a hot summer day. Before noon, Rasa went into labor. She hid among the trees so that the other cows would not disturb her, and there, calmly and quietly, in the cool shade, she gave birth to the beautiful Subhadra.

“At that time, at two in the aŌernoon, we would call all the cows to come and rest inside the goshala. So they all came—except Rasa. We wondered, why is Rasa not coming? So we went to check the field, but we could not find her. Dina Sharana went to see what was going on. Back then, the field was not properly fenced, and sometimes the cows escaped. Could it be that Rasa had goten out? Finally, he found her near the canal, well hidden. I think she had been there for quite some time, so the other cows would not bother her. When Dina Sharana found her, he shouted from afar, ‘She is born!’ and when I got closer, Subhadra was already nursing.” —Damodara Priya Subhadra playing with Baladeva

“I was walking near the canal, where there were lots of blackberry bushes, and suddenly a calf came running out of there. At first, I thought it was a little bull, but no—it was a little cow! From the moment she was born, she already had the strength to run, and she grew up to be a fearless cow.” —Dina Sharana

Rasa and Subhadra stayed hidden among the trees until Damodara Priya and Dina Sharana invited them to come into the goshala. But Rasa did not want to leave; she did not want to abandon that place. So the cowherds went to fetch a large blanket. They laid the newborn Subhadra on it and carried her like a palanquin—one holding each side. Behind them came Rasa, watchful and a bit nervous, as if saying, “Why are you doing this to my daughter?”

Thus, the four of them arrived at the goshala. They placed Rasa and her daughter in their stall, and as soon as they setled in, Subhadra began nursing again.

Subhadra had a very happy childhood alongside Baladeva, the little calf who had been born just twenty days earlier to Madhurya. We believe they were half-siblings, since Madhurya and Rasa came from the same farm, both pregnant—probably by the same bull— which would explain why Subhadra loved Baladeva’s company so much. She always followed him everywhere. When everyone went out to graze, she would wait for Baladeva so they could go together and play. Sometimes Baladeva ignored her, but she followed him anyway.

“One of her first adventures was when we put up an electric fence in the field. The idea was to let the calves graze on one side and the cows on the other. Baladeva approached the electric fence and got a shock. When Subhadra did the same and received a shock too, she got really angry and completely tore down the offending fence. From that moment on, she proved to be a cow who fears nothing. You cannot yell at her or scold her—she is not afraid. But at the same time, she is a very special cow.” —Dina Sharana

Subhadra grew up joyful and healthy among the other cows in the herd, drinking all the milk she wanted. Even as a young cow, her strong character was evident—she was determined and fearless. Over time, her delicate and graceful features became more and more pronounced, making her increasingly beautiful. Even today, when we visit her, we can see those traits that make her a true “beautiful lady.”

When Subhadra turned one year old, she expressed her happiness and gratitude in a gesture that took everyone by surprise.

“Subhadra was out in the field, and I noticed some milk dripping from her udder. At first, I did not think it could really be milk. She was only one year old and was still nursing, so I wondered whether she might have an injury or something might be wrong. Then I got closer and saw that it truly was milk flowing from her udder. I called Dina Sharana, and he confirmed it. So he took a small bucket and started milking her. That first time he got about 300 ml. Latter it became 500 ml, then a bit more. The amount kept increasing. She was giving between five and six liters, and now she gives ten.” — Damodara Priya Baladeva and Subhadra nursing while Thiago touches Subhadra carefully with a straw

Subhadra was still small, still nursing, yet she was already being milked. In the beginning, Dina Sharana would milk her while she nursed from Rasa. Since Subhadra was busy drinking her mother’s milk, she did not resist. It was a brief but beautiful moment—Dina Sharana milking her while she nursed from her mother.

Over time, Subhadra stopped nursing, and milking her without Rasa nearby became a little more difficult. Still, she felt comfortable with Dina Sharana. He would hold her hind legs with one hand while milking with the other. Eventually, Damodara Priya also tried. It took her a bit of time, but with love, patience, and dedication, she too managed to milk Subhadra. Finally, Parama Karuna wanted to try as well. He recounts his experience with Subhadra:

At first, only Dina Sharana milked her. I tried a few times myself, but mostly as an adventure—because as soon as she saw anyone approaching, she would start moving, and the moment you touched her udder, she would lean her body to the side and kick. Over time, I figured out a way to do it: I would give her a little food and feed her spoonfuls of barley. While she was busy eating—and aŌer securing her with the neck chain—I would begin milking. Her teats were very small, and because of the size of my hand, it was quite difficult to milk her. I could only use two fingers, which made the process rather long, especially since she kept moving and kicking from time to time. As time passed, we developed a more personal bond. Although she has her own temperament and does not like too much touching or closeness, Subhadra is gentle, and gradually she allowed me to milk her more easily. Once, I even forgot to tie her up, but she neither moved nor got upset. In fact, as time went by, when milking time came, she would settle herself and shiŌ her hind leg slightly so I could work more comfortably.

Subhadra continues to give plenty of milk because she feels good. It is no coincidence—it is because she is happy.

Sundari — The Tender Rebel

Sundari is the most unusual cow in the goshala. She is not just any cow—she is one of a kind, with a personality that sets her apart from all the others. There is something special about her, a blend of affection and strength, that gives her a manner both distant and tender at the same time.

When I first met her, I tried to approach and greet her as I did the others, but she made it clear that she preferred distance—she lowered her head and pointed her horns toward me as a warning not to try again. The message was unmistakable, so from that moment on, we had a good relationship—at a respecƞul distance.

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Sundari

One day, while in the field, I was feeding the cows carrots and bananas. They would stretch their heads forward, open their mouths, and stick out their tongues for me to give them food. I went from one to another, and when it was Sundari’s turn, I threw the fruit on the ground from afar so I would not have to get too close. But she did not go for it. She looked straight at me and started walking directly toward me.

I backed away at the same pace she advanced until I reached the wall. Sundari stopped firmly in front of me. She looked at me—serious as always—but this time, I could see a deep gentleness in her eyes, Still frozen with fear, I did not move until she lowered her head and opened her mouth, asking me to feed her directly. Trembling, but understanding her message, I held out a carrot. She ate it—and then waited for more.

In that moment, I knew she was not going to harm me. Sundari’s love entered my heart. She wanted to be fed by hand like the others, and as I did so, she showed me through her eyes a glimpse of the affection she carried within.

Jagannatha — The Majestic One

Sundari became pregnant by Dharma, and when her calf Jagannatha was born, things were far from easy. Alberto was not there—he had gone to atend the Ratha-yatra festival in Barcelona. Since the birth was imminent, he had leŌ clear instructions: they had to make sure the calf nursed right away. But Sundari—rebellious and distrusƞul as always—would not let anyone touch her. She kicked and moved constantly. The cowherd temporarily replacing Alberto did not know how vital the first milk, the colostrum, was for the newborn calf, so he let the little one nurse from Tilaka instead, as she was gentle and calm.

When Alberto returned to the farm the next day, they finally managed to get Jagannatha to nurse from his mother.

The bond between Sundari and her son was extraordinarily strong. For three full years, Jagannatha drank only his mother’s milk. All of it was for him. Although there were several atempts to milk Sundari, none were ever successful for long.

One day, Dina Sharana decided to try again. He tied her carefully and began to milk her—and it worked, but only for two days. On the third, Sundari vanished. She had understood what was coming and simply disappeared. That’s just her way.

Jagannatha wore a ring through his nose that caused him pain. Blood would oŌen drip from the wound when he ate. He learned to eat with great care, moving as little as possible, because any sudden motion hurt. Because of this, his mother Sundari completely dominated him and oŌen took his food. The poor fellow could not resist her.

Eventually, Dina Sharana and Damodara Priya decided to remove the ring and start training the oxen using only voice commands. They called in an experienced man, who tied Jagannatha and used a metal Sundari and her son Jagannatha

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Sundari and Jagannatha

cuter to snip off the ring. The expression on Jagannatha’s face in that instant was one of utter astonishment—as if he could not believe that he was finally free from the source of his constant pain. “AŌer that, for a week or maybe a little longer, Jagannatha came every day to the very spot where we had removed the ring. He would stand there quietly, looking around, as if trying to understand what had happened. He stared at the place as though asking, ‘What happened here? How is it possible that I no longer feel that pain?’ From then on, he showed deep gratitude. Even latter, when he experienced some health problems, he would come toward us. If something was wrong with his leg, he would approach, gently liŌ it, and look at us with complete trust.” —Dina Sharana

Jagannatha is calm; he moves slowly and patiently. He never causes trouble—he is a good-natured ox, though somewhat aloof. His character is strong, and although he has never harmed anyone, he has given a few good scares, as Raghuvira recounts:

“One time I was out in the field among the cows, holding a stick in my hand. Everything was peaceful, and suddenly Jagannatha became Jagannatha as a youth angry with me. He came straight toward me. I had the stick in my hand and thought, ‘What am I going to do? I cannot defend myself— he is going to crush me.’ Instinctively, I dropped the stick, and Jagannatha stopped dead right in front of me. He did not touch me. It was a moment of real fear. If he had atacked, what could I have done? Nothing. But the moment I let go of the stick, he stopped. That incident stayed with me. I’ve always loved being among the cows; it is something that truly relaxes me.”

Our friend and cowherd Paul also tried to milk Sundari, but she would not allow it—she simply refused. He knew it would be a great challenge because Sundari was always alert, watching his every move. She looked at him with those large, slightly bulging eyes, wearing an expression that seemed to say, “What do you think you are doing?”

Paul remembers that he tried everything: touching her, brushing her, feeding her, pampering her… nothing worked. No method proved effective. He simply could not milk her. Until one day, he decided to speak to her seriously. He asked her what she was doing there. Paul said something like this: “Sundari, look at the other cows—all of them are giving milk for the Deities, serving Krishna. And you? What are you doing? Nothing. Just eating, resting, watching, and buƫng the others... Do not you think you should give something too?”

That is how he finally reached her—not in an aggressive way, not at all, but as if he were speaking to a friend. He told her how things were and how he saw her. It was a direct and sincere conversation. From that moment on, Sundari allowed Paul to milk her, and she continued leƫng him do so for several days—perhaps about two weeks.

But Paul was the only one she would allow to milk her, which became a serious problem. If Paul was not around, who would do it? This turned into a real dilemma, because when a cow produces milk and is not milked, she can easily develop an infection.

The Cows of Rupa Goshala – Sundari and Jagannatha

“I felt confused. One day I decided not to milk her for that reason. But then I thought, ‘Now that I’ve started milking her, I should continue.’ However, she did not let me. The next day I tried again, but no… and she never let me again. I had been milking her for two weeks straight without any problem— everything was fine… until the day I missed once. Because of that one day, I understood her nature. She understands, she has empathy, but she does not forgive mistakes. That is Sundari.” —Paul

Until recently, Sundari was the only cow in Rupa Goshala that was not milked. But now, at sixteen years old, she allows herself to be milked every day. She gives two liters daily and remains calm during milking. She has even been seen in the field, her milk dripping from her udders. Beautiful Sundari has always taught us the importance of respect and sincerity in relationships of love. Like all of Krishna’s cows, she has her story—and her own way of showing love.

Sundari is not a exactly a fierce cow but a mother with character. She is one of those mothers who do not smile easily, yet when they do, it is because they truly mean it. Sundari is not unreachable; she simply demands respect. She does not ask for affection or seek attention; she simply is—fully present, with all her strength, beauty, and hidden tenderness.

Sundari cannot be deceived.

Once, Alberto tried to get Sundari into her stall. With Radharani, it had been easy—a little trail of food, step by step, and once inside, a feast of fruits and vegetables. But with Sundari, it was different. She would come up to the door, sniff, look around, think it through carefully—and refuse to go in. Alberto offered her the best fruit, her favorite treats… nothing worked. She would not be persuaded.

So he decided to build a fence, stake by stake, over several weeks. Everything was planned so that, at the right moment, he could close it and keep her inside. When the day came, Sundari was eating calmly, completely at ease. Just as Alberto shut the gate and thought he had finally succeeded—boom!—with a small jump, she leapt out effortlessly. Calm and unruffled, as if saying, “Nice try, but no.”

She acted from intelligence, from awareness. She knew exactly what was happening—always alert, always watchful.

As mentioned earlier, Sundari had been transfered to Rupa Goshala from Anadi’s place, and that experience had leŌ a mark. Since then, she has been wary—if something does not feel right, she simply leaves. She disappears, and no one can make her come back.

Sundari is not the most friendly or the most docile cow. Her beauty lies in her strength. Her sweetness is not obvious, but when it shows, it is genuine. Her fierceness, deep down, is her way of protecting herself—of preserving her dignity.

Kunti — The Determined One

Kunti is a black cow without horns, which makes her stand out among the others—most of whom are light-colored and proudly display their large, curved horns. She is the only one without them, yet she never seems to need or even want any. Kunti is authentic—she does not try to be like the others, nor does she care to.

She came from Cantabria with her newborn calf, and since she produced more milk than he could drink, she needed to be milked.

“When she arrived at the farm with her calf, the cowherds asked the gurukula children to give him a name. We called him Arjuna. Then they also wanted to give a name to the mother, and we chose Kunti.” —Madhava

When Kunti enters the goshala, she does it quickly—one of the first to come in—and it is as if she is parading down the aisle. Her entrance is confident; she knows exactly where her stall is and never makes a mistake. She walks with a graceful sway of her hips, and the sound of her black hooves echoes on the floor with a steady clack, clack, clack, clack.

When I first met Kunti, I found her a very cheerful cow. Sometimes in the aŌernoon I would cut fresh grass from the field, bring it in a bag, and hand out a little to each cow. Of all of them, Kunti was the one who waited for me most eagerly. When she saw the green grass peeking through the zipper of the bag, she’d get excited, stretch her head out of the stall, and start moving about restlessly. She would follow the bag wherever it went. She was extremely enthusiastic about food—always alert to hay, grain, fruit, or anything edible. She ate well, and fast. Everything she did, she did with intensity and joy.

“It was very difficult because she had to be milked, and blood would come out. From the pain, she kicked a lot. Kunti does not have horns, since she is an Angus breed, so instead she managed to give me a headbut right in the chest that knocked me flat on the ground. This breed is not really meant for milking; normally, it only produces enough milk for its calf.

In the beginning, Arjuna would drink as much as he wanted, and then we would milk the rest. We had to distract her with food; she could only be milked for a short time, as long as the feed lasted. She allowed milk to be taken from three teats—the fourth was strictly for her calf. Milking her was complicated because she kept moving and kicking constantly. Now Kunti is much gentler. We started brushing her before milking, and she began to stay still, even though she no longer ate—she was too alert to everything happening around her. Lately, Kunti has become more relaxed and calm; now she even chews a little hay while we milk her. It is so nice to milk Kunti now—so easy. She does not kick at all anymore.” —Damodara Priya

Another difficult situation with Kunti happened a few years ago, when she gave everyone quite a scare. Damodara Priya recalls that during Kunti and Yamuna-mayi behind her the installation of the new irrigation system in the pasture, the entire edge of the canal—covered with bushes for years—was cleared. That made it much easier to lay the irrigation pipes, but it also leŌ the canal completely exposed. From the pasture, the opening was not clearly visible, which made it dangerous.

“Kunti was grazing nearby and, without realizing it, fell into the canal. Dina Sharana was right there seƫng up the pipes and saw everything. By Krishna’s mercy, Kunti managed to get out on her own, with an agility that amazed us all. Her strong and flexible body helped her push herself up and escape the canal without any injuries. It was a great blessing, especially since her calf Arjuna had just been born, and we were worried that something might happen to his mother. AŌer that day, we decided to urgently fence the entire canal to protect the cows. And so, with the help of the devotees and Krishna’s guidance, both the irrigation system and the much-needed fencing were completed.” —Damodara Priya

Parama Karuna recalls his first steps as a cowherd and his experience with Kunti…:

“At first, I did not milk Kunti; I worked with Rasa and Dhira, who were gentler and easier to handle. But as I gained experience, strength, and speed, one day it was my turn to milk Kunti, following Dina Sharana’s instructions. Kunti has very large teats—broad, long, and soŌ—quite comfortable for the hands. But there were two important things to keep in mind when milking her: she needed plenty of food, and you had to be very fast. All the cows were given two spoonfuls of ground barley each morning, but Kunti got half a bucket—about three kilos, four times more than the others. The technique was as follows: while Kunti grew impatient for her feed, we tied her collar with a rope, and then I would quickly jump into the stall with the bucket and the water to wash her udder.

I had to milk her as fast as possible, because the time she spent eating was the time I had to finish. And Kunti ate very quickly. When she finished, she would start kicking and moving—that was the sign that the milking had to end. So I had to focus completely and give it my all in those few minutes. Kunti had a lot of milk, and with such large teats, milking her was easy but exhausting—it required great strength and speed in a very short time. In those few minutes, she could give up to eight liters. Another special detail was that one of the four teats could not be milked. The rear one, on the leŌ side, was untouchable—that one she reserved exclusively for her son Arjuna. No one else could touch it. If anyone tried, Kunti reacted immediately—kicking, moving, and protesting. While I milked the other three teats, Arjuna, already two years old, ate his barley. And as soon as he finished, he went straight to drink the milk his mother had kept for him in that special teat.”

Arjuna — The Herculean One

From a young age, Arjuna already looked like a very strong little bull, but when he first arrived at Rupa Goshala, the change of environment frightened him, and more than once the cowherds had to go looking for him because he was hiding.

“Arjuna looks like a miniature Schwarzenegger. At first, he was scared of us and would run away, but little by little, with love and gentle touches, he began to let us approach and started geƫng close to the people who came to visit him, to feed him, and to show him affection. They would hug him, spend time with him… That is how he began to trust.” —Dina Sharana

Kunti and Arjuna still live together, enjoying the open fields, the company of the herd, and the care of those who look aŌer them. They arrived together and have remained together, free to enjoy each other’s presence.

Arjuna is growing strong and healthy, surrounded by the herd that has always accepted him naturally. He is now in his adolescence— somewhat more obedient, but still overflowing with energy.

He learned from Parvati how to climb up onto the feeding troughs, so whenever he hears any sound in the goshala, he jumps up to see what is going on. Maybe someone is arriving, maybe it is feeding time… or maybe they’re coming with a brush to scratch his beautiful golden curls.

Arjuna is the favorite ox of Madhava and Jay Gopal, the sons of Gauranga-lila and Chaitanyachandra. They love giving him his favorite treats—apples and carrots..

“Since we’ve been living in New Vrajamandala—we arrived in September 2017—Madhava and Jay Gopal have been drinking milk from the cows almost every day for breakfast.” —Gauranga-lila

Jay Gopal: “Sometimes we go to the goshala to feed the cows. They love it when we bring carrots, apples, and bananas.”

Madhava: “Especially Arjuna. He is a big ox, and he stands right in front of everyone to eat everything himself.”

Jay Gopal: “He is really handsome with his curls—and so strong.”

Madhava: “When I was little, Alberto once sat me on top of Arjuna when he was still small too. And Alberto showed me how to milk the cows. I milked several—Dhira, Rasa, Kunti, and Parvati among them. The milk would come out in a strong stream, making a sound as it hit Madhava feeding apples to Arjuna the bucket. Once or twice they even let me drink a bit of that warm, delicious milk.”

Arjuna has a lot of strength. Furthermore, he is very agile and fast. Recently, high up on the mountain of hay bales, he saw one that stood out. He climbed up, reached the top, and from there, with his horns, pushed it down. Arjuna is young, full of vitality and beauty. He will continue to grow and, surely, live many more adventures among the fields of New Vrajamandala.

Arjuna receiving more apples from Jay Gopal