Warnings and Restraints: Seeds of a Future
Narada visited with music that sometimes sounds like caution. He praised Dvaraka’s order and whispered of dangers that attend success: pride that grows in corridors, jest that becomes cruelty, strength that forgets restraint. Krishna listened without defense and began quiet reforms that cities rarely celebrate because they prevent rather than repair.
He asked councils to include dissent kindly offered, established feasts with rules against intoxication that dissolves judgment, and created rituals of remembrance where the humble are named and the powerful practice gratitude. Balarama trained youth in strength that carries elders, not mocks them; Uddhava drafted charters that make mercy measurable.
There were signs, too, that some would not heed. A group of young men, brilliant and bored, played pranks that bruised dignity. Krishna corrected without publicity, but the sea seemed to hold a note of warning in its evening song.
The city learned to plant seeds of humility as if it were agriculture more vital than grain. Checks and balances became friendship formalized; laughter was kept, meanness was not. Dvaraka understood that a fall is prevented not by fear of falling but by love of standing rightly.
Narada left, pleased not with perfection but with responsiveness. “A good city,” he said, “is not one that never errs. It is one that adjusts quickly when conscience knocks.” In the harbor, lamps reflected a policy almost invisible because it worked: restraint.