Nava-vraja-mahimā — Volume Eight, Part Two

Śrīla Prabhupāda wrote, Hare Kṛṣṇa—O my Lord, O energy of the Lord, please engage me in Your service!

(Teachings of Lord Caitanya)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Mahā-mantra

PART ONE

The following four chapters praise the mahā-mantra in a succession of four equal parts: (1) Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, (2) Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare, (3) Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, (4) Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare.

In the preceding chapter, we heard about the obstacles to chanting the Hare Kṛṣṇa mahā-mantra purely. In this and the following three chapters, let us hear the wonders of that pure name (śuddha-nāma).

Before elaborating on the meanings of the names in the mahā-mantra, let me share with you a well-known pastime of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa, traditionally performed as a drama in Bhauma Vṛndāvana.

This pastime gives us a glimpse of how profound the names Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa are by showing how the divine couple Themselves worship, understand, and taste even just one syllable of those names.

Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, Kṛṣṇa, and Lord Caitanya are all incomparable connoisseurs of nāma-saṅkīrtana. They enjoy a proficiency that neither practising nor perfected devotees can ever hope to attain.

Hearing about how Caitanya Mahāprabhu tasted unique ecstatic symptoms and also strictly followed the principles of regulated devotion inspires us to strive for perfection through sādhana-bhakti.

And hearing about the sweetness and potency of the unparalleled nāma-saṅkīrtana performed by Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa will inspire us to chant and relish the mahā-mantra according to our capacity.

May the following four stanzas, which praise the divine couple’s names and reciprocal love, invoke Their mercy and empower me to properly glorify Their names. And may you be pleased by my attempt.

Śrī Rādhā, the daughter of Varṣāṇā’s king, is also known as Śyāmasundarī, the supreme potency of Vraja’s blackish prince, Śyāmasundara, also known as Śrī Kṛṣṇa, the potent Supreme Being.

The goddess of learning, Sarasvatī-devī, is nothing but an expansion of Śrī Rādhā; still, Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī cannot say how much nectar is to be found in the nectar-ocean of Śrī Kṛṣṇa’s names. [1]

When the cooling breeze of Rādhā’s names enters Kṛṣṇa’s ears, He trembles, the hairs on His body stand erect, and the heart of He upon whom self-satisfied yogīs meditate is completely lost to Her. [2]

Rapt in wonder at such transcendental exchanges, Vaiṣṇava poets praise the names of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa, thereby pleasing saintly persons and increasing their desire to hear the divine couple’s glories.

Once in Vṛndāvana, by the independent course of pure ecstatic love, Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī developed and displayed attachment for Śyāmasundara before He displayed attachment for Her.

After all, the inclination for love awakens in young women before young men. Thus the foremost doe-eyed gopī of Vṛndāvana felt the pangs of passion even before the divine couple met. [3]

Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa had not yet come face-to-face, but the instant Rādhā first heard His name, She lost Her equilibrium. Confused, She confided in Lalitā, speaking in a voice heady with the aroma of love. [4]

O friend! Who uttered that name ‘Kṛṣṇa’? Somehow it slipped in through My ears and from there crept into My heart. Now the timid doe of My life-airs trembles at the fragrance of newborn excitement.

Like a lotus dancing in a gusty breeze, Rādhā’s restless eyes darted in all directions. Taking Rādhā’s hand, Lalitā said, If this name causes You so much distress, we will never utter it again.

But Kṛṣṇa’s name had already risen like the full moon and melted Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī’s moonstone heart. [5] Oblivious to Her friend’s vow, Rādhā continued, "Lalitā! Why is the name ‘Kṛṣṇa’ so sweet?

"Now that My lips have tasted this name, I can do nothing but repeat it again and again. It must be some kind of mystic mantra! I know I would be better off if I could forget it. But I cannot.

To forget this name seems impossible! By its mysterious effect I feel like I’ve been deranged. I am afraid! Tightening Her grip on Lalitā’s hand, Rādhā whispered, O Lalitā! What will become of Me?

Lalitā whispered in reply, a mischievous smile on her face, Rādhikā! Why should You fear? You have never even met this person. What harm could possibly come to You simply by hearing His name!

Rādhā sighed as if the word ‘Kṛṣṇa’ were a volley of Cupid’s arrows. Her voice faltered as She said, If the mere sound of this name agitates Me so, what would happen if its owner were to touch Me?

Rādhā chattered on, Were He to come before My eyes, surely I could not continue to tread the path of righteousness. But Lalitā admonished Her, Forget Him! Why dwell on thoughts of a stranger?

Again Rādhā faltered, then opened up the innermost recesses of Her heart. She confessed, I have tried! With all My heart and soul. I have tried My best to forget Him. But He will not be forgotten.

Looking into Her friend’s eyes, Rādhārāṇī stammered, What will I do now? What will I do? With a feigned air of resignation, Lalitā shrugged her shoulders and replied dramatically:

Behold a saintly young girl on the brink of defaming Her family! At this Rādhā lowered Her face and covered Her mouth with Her hands. But Lalitā could sense a drop of joy concealed in Rādhā’s heart.

Some time later, Kṛṣṇa, along with Balarāma and Their cowherd friends, entered Vṛndāvana forest. It was springtime, and when Cupid beheld Kṛṣṇa’s soft, bluish-black limbs, he thought:

Ah! Some thoughtful person has created a spring festival for me in the form of this delightful cowherd. To provoke Kṛṣṇa’s senses, Cupid showered Him with flower arrows from above.

From below, Cupid enticed Kṛṣṇa with the fragrance of the earth, and from all sides he assailed Him with the hum of honeybees, the call of cuckoos, and the aromatic caress of spring breezes.

Just then Kṛṣṇa glanced back over His shoulder and caught a glimpse of Rādhā standing amidst Her friends. He pretended not to see Her, but the sight of Her struck His heart like a thunderbolt.

Absorbed in thoughts of Rādhā’s beauty, all day He stumbled through the forest, dazed, tending cows, and playing His flute merely out of habit. Hairs on end, shivering in ecstasy, Kṛṣṇa thought:

"What did I see? That gopī was like a flash of lightning on a jewelled temple dome. Her sari was shimmering like a cloud. Is She human or celestial? Is She a goddess? A human could never be so beautiful. [6]

Perhaps She is the celebrated princess of Varṣāṇā. My mothers often speak of Her. They say that Her glories are without limit, and that She is as delightful as moonlight mixed with camphor.

Absorbed in thoughts of Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, Kṛṣṇa concluded, It must have been Her! Vṛṣabhānu-nandinī is none other than Śrī Rādhā! The mere mention of this girl’s name fills Me with bliss.

His heart entrapped by Rādhā’s qualities, Kṛṣṇa lost all interest in playing with His friends. He put the cows in Balarāma’s care and wandered through the forest with Śrīdāmā, Subala, and Madhu.

In time the boys came upon a secluded grove by Yamunā’s shore where trees and creepers played in a restless breeze, jasmine flowers spread their sweet aroma, and bumblebees sang in chorus.

Kṛṣṇa whispered, Śrīdāmā! Have you ever seen the jewel named Rādhā, the most beautiful girl in the universe? Śrīdāmā silently lowered his face, his dark complexion now softly glowing red.

Subala blurted out, Kṛṣṇa! Why would You ask Śrīdāmā if he has seen Rādhā? Of course he has: Rādhā is his sister! Embarrassed, Kṛṣṇa meekly glanced at Śrīdāmā from the corners of His eyes.

Kṛṣṇa let out a deep sigh and made a proposal, "Dear friends! Let’s go sit beneath the kadamba trees on the bank of the Yamunā. There I can pour My melted heart out through the holes of My flute."

Madhumaṅgala placed a hand on Kṛṣṇa’s shoulder to comfort Him and said, Friend! I will bring Rādhā to You. Madhu, asked Kṛṣṇa, I know you to be honest, but are you telling Me the truth?

With his hands upon his belly Madhu said, "I swear by Gāyatrī, the mother of the Vedas, that I’m telling the truth." Kṛṣṇa’s happy face glowed with faith. He placed Madhu’s hands upon His heavy heart.

Where is She? Please bring Rādhā here at once! I will place Her in Your hand, Madhu replied, "but first You must give me dakṣiṇā. To accept gifts from a brāhmaṇa without compensation is irreligious."

Kṛṣṇa begged a jasmine garland from a desire tree and respectfully garlanded His friend. Admiring the majestic garland on his chest, Madhumaṅgala plucked a leaf from his belt and offered it to Kṛṣṇa.

With a voice full of respect, he said, Now You may take Her. Kṛṣṇa gazed in disbelief at the palm-sized leaf Madhu held out to Him and thought, How can he treat Me like this? This is no time for jest.

Kṛṣṇa could not have looked more forlorn. His tear-filled eyes met Madhu’s, but Madhumaṅgala simply smiled wider and held the leaf enticingly closer to his friend. Here, Kṛṣṇa! Take Her!

Kṛṣṇa reached forward cautiously and took the golden leaf from Madhu’s hand. In large, bold letters He saw the word Rādhā. Stunned, His hand trembling, Kṛṣṇa fixed His gaze on Rādhā’s name.

He felt as if His parched eyes had crossed a desert of formlessness and plunged into a nectar-ocean of transcendental form. The syllables rā-dhā appeared like the sun and moon united to soothe His heart.

Rādhā’s name was a divine proclamation of love, the ultimate relief for His distress, an irrepressible source of happiness. Kṛṣṇa prayed, "O Rādhā! Your auspicious name is sweeter than glistening nectar.

It makes the residents of the universe ecstatic and causes the hairs on their bodies to stand on end. Today I have seen the matchless form of perfection, the victory banner of Your holy name. [7]

Full of gratitude, Kṛṣṇa smiled at Madhu, Friend! You have truly done a great service. In My hour of need you revealed Rādhā’s form to Me. For this I am forever indebted. I cannot thank you enough.

Pleased with himself, thumbs in his belt, Madhu rolled back and forth on his heels. Overjoyed by Kṛṣṇa’s gratitude, he glanced at Śrīdāmā as if to say, Such are the benefits of brahminical prowess.

The other boys smiled. The bees, the parrots, even the creepers and trees blissfully sang the name of Śrī Rādhā, and their kīrtana resounded throughout the forests, valleys, and hilltops of Vraja.

When the syllables of Rādhā’s name enter Kṛṣṇa’s ears or eyes, they satisfy Him completely, filling Him with bliss. How much benefit can we, who are but sparks of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, derive from Her name?

Let us contemplate the divine couple’s admiration for each other’s names as we recite Raghunātha Dāsa Gosvāmī’s prayer: "O my tongue, tortured by thirst! If you desire complete satisfaction —

Mix the delicious nectar of the name ‘Rādhā’ with the wonderfully sweet condensed milk of the name ‘Kṛṣṇa,’ add the fragrant ice of pure love, and drink this elixir at every moment! [8]

* * * *

When Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa meet it is due to the prerogative of divine fate. To increase Their longing for each other, and in turn increase Their mutual love, destiny obstructed Their first meeting.

They had seen and heard of each other, so Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa were fully absorbed in thoughts of each other. But as much as They desired to meet one another, Providence would not allow it.

Despite Her best efforts and the false pretexts supplied by Her friends, Rādhā could not escape from Her in-laws. Smouldering like fire, She sat in Her chambers or toiled with Her household duties.

In contrast, Kṛṣṇa was free to wander Vṛndāvana, to tend cows and play games. His heart, however, was firmly chained to Śrī Rādhā. He could see nothing, hear nothing, and think of nothing but Her.

Without Her companionship He felt as restricted as She did. His only meditation was, Let Me meet Rādhikā, if even momentarily. Late one morning, Rādhā sat at Her window, gazing towards Nandagrāma.

She was dressed in a black sari and decorated with pearl ornaments and a garland of flowers. Her complexion was like golden tinged with kuṅkuma, Her lips red like betel, and Her eyes lined with black kajjala ointment.

The tilaka of good fortune graced Her forehead, jewelled earrings framed Her cheeks, sweetness shone from Her limbs, and yet sorrow filled Her heart and tears rolled down Her cheeks as She sat silently.

Rādhā’s girlfriends attended Her. They knew well of Her unhappiness but were unable to console Her. Rādhā wanted to see Kṛṣṇa, and neither gifts nor promises could replace the encounter She longed for.

Lalitā-devī rose quietly and walked towards Rādhā. She placed an affectionate hand on Rādhā’s delicate shoulder and said, "Sundarī! Why do You needlessly pine for Nanda’s son? Time fulfils all desires.

Your meeting with the prince will arise when destiny wills it. Śrī Rādhā continued to gaze out the window. She could see Nandīśvara Hill in the far distance, enveloped in a warm summer haze.

Upon the crest of that hill sat the marble palace of King Nanda, and in that palace lived the heart of Her heart. Rādhā sighed but said nothing. Meanwhile, Lalitā looked to the far end of the room.

A silent group of gopīs huddled against the marble wall, absorbed in empathy for their friend. Lalitā silently called Viśākhā, whose rustling skirt and tinkling ankle bells lightened the sombre mood.

Lalitā and Viśākhā are wise. What is unknown to them is not to be known by anyone else. Their only concern is Rādhā’s pleasure; indeed, they constantly think, How can we make Rādhā happy?

Distraught, Rādhā undid Her serpentine braid, removing the jewel-lotus and silk ribbon from its end. As She gazed at the blackness of Her own hair, innumerable desires rose to the surface of Her heart.

Rādhā’s hands froze, and She stared in stunned silence at Her hair. Lalitā and Viśākhā exchanged glances. If we do not pacify the princess, they thought, "Her melancholy will spread like a plague.

First we will die, then Vṛndāvana will perish, and finally the universe will be consumed by Her sorrow. Lalitā stroked Rādhā’s hair, "Friend! When You heard Kṛṣṇa’s flute, I blocked Your ears. [9]

When You gazed at Kṛṣṇa’s handsome form, I covered Your eyes. Yet despite my efforts, You were determined to be captivated. Rādhā sighed, and Her heavy breath withered the flowers in Her garland.

O beautiful girl! Lalitā continued. Day by day You are more and more enchanted by that bluish-black boy. But what will be the result? In the end You will have passed Your entire life simply weeping.

Now Viśākhā spoke up, "Friend! For no reason You pine for Mādhava. Look at what has become of You! Faded complexion, sunken eyes, emaciated — Your body wastes away, Your life at risk.

You planted a tree of love in the private garden of Your heart and expected the Kṛṣṇa-cloud to water it. Alas! The only rains are the tears from Your lotus eyes. What good can such salty water do?

Rādhā raised Her pitiful face. Voice quivering, She said, "What can I do? I do not understand what has happened. This is all very new to a chaste girl like Me. When I see Kṛṣṇa, I lose My composure.

When I do not see Kṛṣṇa, I am tossed upon high waves of anguish. See Him or not, My condition is the same. How can I look away? I burn in flames, but My heart is still enchanted.

Looking from Lalitā to Viśākhā, Rādhā continued, O friends! You are very wise. What can I say to you? I am possessed by a host of longings. If I cannot meet Kṛṣṇa, I fear I shall soon lose My life.

Rādhā returned to staring out the window. As if possessed She whispered, Please help Me. This was all too much for Lalitā. Viśākhā, equally upset, squeezed Lalitā’s hand, and with a glance said:

Lalitā! This is no time to lose hope. Make Rādhā write a letter to Her beloved. That will steady Her. Lalitā felt encouraged. What better way to engage Rādhā’s unhinged mind than composing a love letter?

A message to Kṛṣṇa would appeal to Him, and a heartfelt entreaty would surely bring the two together. Lalitā smiled. Stroking Rādhā’s head, she gently lifted Rādhā’s chin and looked into Her eyes.

Rādhā took heart at the hope in Lalitā’s face. And comforted by Lalitā’s touch, She braved a slight smile. Lalitā ventured, "Overcome by unhappiness in separation from You, Kṛṣṇa lies awake all night.

"Absorbed in thoughts of You, He embraces His yellow dhotī, speaks nonsense, and repeatedly falls to the ground. His friends say that He is in such a state He cannot even taste the sweetness of sugar."

Viśākhā added, They say He just gazes at the moon. Separated from You, He feels distraught. His body is gaunt and lustreless. To hide in darkness He calls the clouds, and when they depart He sighs.

"He lives by the sound of Your names. While singing Your praises, the hairs on His body stand on end and tears stream from His eyes. Rādhā! Fortune has blessed You. You are the object of Kṛṣṇa’s love.

All these symptoms reveal His deep love for You. I have never heard of such an able, considerate, and kind-hearted lover as Kṛṣṇa. Seeing Rādhā encouraged, Lalitā suggested, "Now write a letter.

Tell Kṛṣṇa how You feel and insist that only a meeting — if even for the twinkling of an eye — will save You from death. Friend! He who drowns in an ocean of sorrow will rush to Your side and give You joy.

Taking her cue, a demure young gopī quickly brought ink, a writing stylus, and a lotus petal on a golden tray. As she approached her mistress, the girl smiled bashfully at Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī.

The princess thought of Kṛṣṇa lying on His bed, eyes closed, lips still, hands folded over His heart. She saw tears flow in waves from eyes that were once unable to resist the amorous glances of other gopīs.

In Her mind’s eye Rādhā saw sad, drawn-out sighs escape like a tempest from a mouth that once always smiled. Her friends were right: Kṛṣṇa was suffering from the poisonous effects of love in separation.

Too shy to reveal Her heart, Rādhā said, "O Lalitā! You write the letter! You are the wisest of My friends, and you know the secrets of My heart. Can Kṛṣṇa refuse your request? I think not.

Describe My condition. I beg you! Tell Him, ‘If Rādhā does not see You, She will not continue to live.’ Lalitā took Rādhā’s hand and said, "If You do not compose the letter with Your own hand —

If You do not woo Him with Your own heart’s singular affection, Kṛṣṇa will not be pacified. He wants no substitute for Rādhā. If You want Him, the letter must be from You and no one else.

Rādhā’s blue eyes looked to Her friends for confirmation. They all nodded in agreement. Viśākhā-devī placed the tray on Rādhā’s lap and said, Rādhikā! You must write. We will help You.

Rādhā was like a flash of lightning as it strikes the ocean shore, a golden lake full of newly blossomed lotus flowers, a jasmine vine of sublime love. She was everything pure, good, young, and lovely.

When She gazed at the writing tray before Her, it was as if Kṛṣṇa was sitting on Her lap eagerly waiting for Her attention. Rādhārāṇī held the stylus aloft as if to seal the fate of a million universes.

* * * *

Rādhā gazed at the lotus petal and saw dark Kṛṣṇa gazing at Her with bumblebee eyes. As She closed Her eyes, She saw His youthful form within Her heart. Where was He not, this black apparition of love?

The ink was vermilion, the colour of Rādhā’s ecstasy. She dipped the stylus into it and then touched stylus to leaf. Carefully She wrote Kṛṣ — and that was all. A torrent of emotions overpowered Her.

Countless volumes of Vedic wisdom are unable to describe what Rādhā perceived in but an instant. She erupted with divine passion, like a volcano from which flowed the molten lava of pure love.

The waves of Her ecstasies crashed on all sides. The walls melted and the floor gave way as Her friends looked on. In an instant, the gopīs were forcibly dragged into the vortex of Rādhā’s absorption in love.

It was as if they were one with Rādhā — seeing, feeling, smelling, hearing, and tasting as She did. And Rādhā saw Kṛṣṇa dressed in yellow silk, playing the flute, and smiling more sweetly than Cupid.

In the syllable kṛṣ, Rādhā saw Kṛṣṇa’s form, His many qualities, His daily pastimes, His sublime abode. Through kṛṣ She entered Kṛṣṇa’s heart, saw His love, knew His anguish, desired and felt His desires.

In the syllable kṛṣ, Rādhā saw the one who attracts the gopīs, gopas, cows, calves, birds, beasts, plants, and rivers of Vṛndāvana. In kṛṣ She perceived Herself as His transcendental counter-whole. [10]

In the syllable kṛṣ, which is eternally joined with the syllable ṇa, Her own self in sound, Rādhā realised that Kṛṣṇa is the complete form of the Absolute Truth sought by great transcendentalists. [11]

In the syllable kṛṣ, Rādhā perceived the whole of existence, notably the one thing universally beneficial: service to Kṛṣṇa. She saw the syllable kṛṣ as the source and repose of all things that be. [12]

In the syllable kṛṣ, Rādhā saw Her own joy and suffering, hope and despair, Her purpose and Her very life. In kṛṣ She saw a bridge spanning the chasm of adversity and leading to a meeting with Kṛṣṇa.

To describe the other things Rādhā and Her gopī friends found in just half of Kṛṣṇa’s name would require one of those gopīs to dictate to the great Vyāsadeva, who could then put them into words for us to read.

Like miners who finally strike a vein of gold and cannot stop until their bounty has been extracted, Rādhā and the other gopīs distilled ecstatic truths from one half of Kṛṣṇa’s name — and hours passed.

Finally, as the afternoon sun peeked through the window, Yogamāyā gently broke Rādhā’s and the gopīs’ trance and gradually brought them back to awareness of their external surroundings.

Rādhā was still sitting with the letter before Her, stylus in hand, and the gopīs were still surrounding