Braj is the land of the young Krishna. Not the warrior-statesman of the Mahabharata, not the philosopher-god of the Gita, not the king of Mathura and Dwarka. The land about which an adult but distraught Krishna said to his friend Uddhav, "Udho, mohe Braj bisarat nahi" (Udho, I cannot forget Braj). Here he had enacted the playful, love-soaked chapter of his boyhood, here he was a cowherd and famously stole butter, teased gopis, played the flute, and danced on moonlit nights with the lovely Radha.