Holding a wheel !
Krishna ! Who says Arjun killed the mighty warriors in Kurushetra?
Wasn’t it your blinding beauty, your bare chest with blue sparkle mesmerising the opponents as if the sky itself is casting its limitless entity over every molecules being? The sky just after the middle of the day and a heavy rains when it shines like the virgin beauty of a devkanya doesn’t match a fraction of your dazzling divinity…
Wasn’t it was your saffron-yellow cloth sashaying in the middle of the battle field like the thundering electrodes of thousand magnitudes glowing and splitting at the same time, the womb of night sky?
Or may be it was the red fiery eyes of yours whoes one stare is enough to spell bound mortals like us. In those eyes the lovers find their ultimate resting place and for the not so virtuous, they blazes with fearing fire of dreaded death ! The lotus shaped eyes of yours are capable, in one glance, of killing the seeds of dirtiest karma or of pacifying the wrath of anger and lust before the fraction of second ticks away then what to say about the fragile body made up of five elements !
It drops down leaving the glorious Atmn free of bondage of birth and death the instant its eyes meet those of Yours dear Krishna !
My imagination personifies You dashing through the battle of kurushetra holding the wheel of a broken chariot to please or to kill Pitamah Bhism, to invoke Arjun from the slumber of deep sleep of Moh and to establish the fact that the wheel of Dharm is always above all the vows that it should always be protected whatever the consequences may be.
You could have called The sudarshan chakra or Your mere gaze could have killed thousand Bhism before the time could have started passing but You chose to hold the wheel and in return the Bhakt Bhism surrendered his bow and arrow and bent down at your feet with tremendous respect and awe. His शर turned into शरण . There was no need of arms for the aim itself was there. He wanted to do the शर संधान to reach krishna . Now that He Himself was coming, there was no need of साधन anymore.
Maa Yashoda was churning curds to take out the butter of Gyan for her Beloved Gopal. When the Brahm Shishu Himself came crying to her she left the कर्म in between, picked up Govind and fed Him with her own essence of divine love ( milk ) … The churning wasn’t needed anymore.
Bhism had got his अंतिम शरण the very moment and Arjun’s arrows afterwards were as मिथ्या as the sasaar.
O Krishna, its Your sweetness that kills your devotees for this material world. Your flute is way too sharp than any sword and cuts the ties of this ever changing world by its enchanting notes, Your long black curly locks of hair are dangerous than any poisonous snake and sweeps away the devotees off their feet in no time…. Your feet are the shelter of shelters for the dying hearts and Your name is the only solace… O Krishna.. it was never Arjun but You always .. who plays the game of war in our hearts and minds .
To You I surrender