Waves of Devotion

I’m very busy during Kartika and just getting some regulation in my vrata and I didn’t have time to write. Let me offer this week something that represents my feelings about Vṛndāvana. I think it may be my first Monday Morning Greetings, although it wasn’t called that at the time. It was written almost 25 years ago and is it is still one of my favorites.

Home at Last!

October 6, 2000
Delhi / Vṛndāvana

I entered a myriad of signs lining the path exiting the airport, held by various drivers searching for their pick-up. I wasn’t sure if the message announcing my arrival had reached Vṛndāvana, so I was anxiously searching for my name. What a relief to spot the smiling face of Gopal, our vrajavāsī driver!

All of my entries into Vṛndāvana have been similar: the feeling of unworthiness, the grime of my long journey representing the contamination of a prolonged stay in America, the instant relief of a yamunā-snāna (bath), and the happiness of seeing my old vrajavāsī friends. The water at Keśī-ghāṭa was deep and flowing swiftly. It was five o’clock and the sun was beginning to set in the west, sending a reflection of yellow light through its waters like a pathway cutting diagonally to the base of the ghāṭa where I was sitting. I carefully entered her waters, and facing the shimmering golden pathway, I reflected on the natural beauty of Vraja. After chanting my gāyatrī, I waded like a child in her soothing waters. Home at last!

After five minutes Ramesh, my auto-rickshaw driver, calmly pointed to the last step of the ghāṭa, about twenty feet to my left. A large snake sat there with a fish in its mouth. I don’t know how to describe my reaction other than that I tried to remain calm and dignified, but I still somewhat panicked. Quickly placing my hands two feet above me on the steps, I swiftly kicked my right foot up onto the first step of the ghāṭa and vaulted myself out of the water—or, I should say, tried to vault myself out of the water. I floundered and fell back in. I finally made it out and quickly moved up a few steps to where I had placed my things. As I looked to my right, about ten feet to the other side of the snake, I saw a sādhu calmly washing his loṭā. He was smiling and gesturing to me. He was laughing and flapping his right hand, which obviously represented to him my panic in getting out of the water. He laughed and laughed.

The vrajavāsī children, who were the only other people there and had been sporting blissfully in the Yamunā when I arrived, were also amused; their cunning smiles and laughter representing the anxiety and carefree hearts of young, simple children.

I looked at the sādhu again and heard, “Baba!” I couldn’t exactly hear what he was saying, but I intuitively understood him very clearly. “What are you so afraid of? Don’t you realize that Kṛṣṇa is in everyone’s heart?” As I walked up to the top of the ghāṭa and turned right to find my rickshaw, I looked back. The sādhu was still laughing and flapping his right hand. I also began to laugh and enjoy the fun. We maintained eye contact, both laughing until I drifted out of sight. By Kṛṣṇa’s mercy, I had entered the dhāma.

Śrī Krishna was extremely pleased with Śrī Nārada for inadvertently causing Him to experience the taste of separation from His own devotees. He offered Śrī Nārada any benediction he wanted. To those who are uninformed about the nature of bhakti, his choice will seem surprising.

[Nārada said:] “Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra, please grant that no one will ever feel he has enough of Your mercy, Your devotional service, or pure love for You, the reservoir of ecstasy.” (Brhad-bhagavatamrta 1.7.135)

Here rests the essence of bhakti, never to be satiated. Why is that so? Again, I will resort to analogy to try to help make this very subtle point clear. Bhakti, or eagerness to serve God, is like the thirst for water. When one is thirsty three things happen. First, one is eager for water. Next, one feels a lack of water and is naturally humbled. Lastly, for the thirsty the taste of water is intensified. Similarly, in bhakti these same three things occur—one is eager or thirsty for bhakti, one feels a lack of bhakti and is humbled, and finally one’s taste for bhakti increases. In other words, what Śrī Nārada understood is that to feel satiated in bhakti means that the thirst, humility, and taste in bhakti will level off and eventually diminish.

To further understand Śrī Nārada’s request that the devotees never feel satiated in devotion, it is also helpful to understand the substantial difference in our analogy between the thirst for water and the eagerness for bhakti. When one quenches one’s thirst, the eagerness for water, one’s sense of being bereft of it and one’s taste for water all naturally decrease. But bhakti is itself the eagerness for God, and when one fills oneself with bhakti, the result is different than thirst being quenched. Rather than one’s eagerness or thirst for bhakti being slaked or diminished, one’s thirst for bhakti, one’s humble sense of lacking it, and one’s taste for bhakti naturally increase. Śrī Nārada was thus in fact asking for the blessing that as one advances on the path of bhakti, that the intrinsic insatiable nature of bhakti never has any limits.

The essence of Śrī Nārada’s inquiry highlighting the insatiable nature of bhakti also helps resolve one of the tradition’s quandaries: why are prema (heightened devotion) and utter humility considered practically synonymous? Can you imagine at the height of bhakti how deeply and infinitely one thirsts for Śrī Krishna, and thus how deficient in bhakti and utterly humble one feels? And in the same regard, note that Śrī Radha, Who possesses the height of devotion, is also the epitome of humility.

It also offers insight as to why Śrī Caitanya stressed in the third verse of the Śikṣāṣṭakam that a humble person can chant always. Who can chant always? One who can chant with devotion. And who has such a taste for devotion? The humble who are thirsty for God.

“One who thinks himself lower than the grass, who is more tolerant than a tree, and who does not expect personal honor yet is always prepared to give all respect to others can very easily always chant the holy name of the Lord.”

So, in this auspicious month of Kartik, which infuses devotion into our hearts, let us pray to Śrī Radha that indeed we are flooded with devotion, but in the spirit of Śrī Nārada let us pray we still will never have enough of it!

Śrī Uddhava, Śrī Krishna’s most trusted advisor, is described in the Bhāgavatam by Śukadeva Gosvāmī before beginning his narration about how Śrī Uddhava delivered to the gopīs a confidential message from Śrī Krishna:

Śukadeva Gosvāmī said: “The supremely intelligent (buddhi sat-tamaḥ) Uddhava was the best counselor (pravaraḥ – the best; mantrī – adviser) of the Vṛṣṇi dynasty, a beloved friend of Lord Śrī Krishna (kṛṣṇasya dayitaḥ sakhā) – friend and a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati (śiṣyaḥ bṛhaspateḥ sākṣāt)” Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 10.46.1

In this verse three types of intelligence are enumerated: emotional intelligence (the best advisor); devotional intelligence (the beloved friend of Krishna); and śāstric intelligence (a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati). In this post I will define them and show how they were all required for his seemingly impossible mission to pacify the gopīs’ feelings of separation. Why was such a mission seemingly impossible? Just consider the intensity of those feelings. Krishna says to Satyabhāmā:

“And when they cannot see Me they become so torn that the fire of separation leaves them sometimes as though dead and sometimes as though insane.” Śrī Bṛhad-Bhāgavatāmṛta 1.7.97

Before discussing the three types of intelligence that Uddhava demonstrated in pacifying the gopīs, we should understand the general definition of intelligence as ascribed to Uddhava by Śukadeva Gosvāmī.

Buddhi sat-tamaḥ (supremely intelligent)

Buddhi refers to the developed mental faculties that give one the capacity for discernment and understanding. Each of the three types of intelligence gives Uddhava a slightly different tool for discernment and understanding to tackle the task at hand, to pacify the gopīs. The three types of intelligence:

Pravaraḥ mantrī (the best counselor)

Emotional intelligence is the ability to understand and manage one’s emotions and those of other people. We can just imagine how sensitive and patient Uddhava had to be, and how deeply he had to understand and empathize with the gopīs’ plight, in the three months he spent with them dispelling their sorrow. Is there any doubt why Krishna would choose his best counselor for this mission?

Kṛṣṇasya dayitaḥ sakhā (a beloved friend of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa)

The condition of the gopīs was so ultra-sensitive that even Krishna Himself was hesitant to attempt to pacify them:

“So their pain won’t be relieved even if they see Me. Their hearts will be so disturbed by thoughts of separation from Me that whatever measures I take for their happiness will only double their grief.” Śrī Bṛhad-Bhāgavatāmṛta 1.7.96

Considering the intense emotional state of the gopīs, Uddhava could not afford to make even the slightest mistake in his counsel. To succeed he therefore needed even more discretion than afforded to him by his mature emotional intelligence. He would need to be empowered with a special intelligence that is only gifted to most beloved devotees.

“To those who are constantly devoted to serving Me with love, I give the understanding (buddhi-yogaṁ) by which they can come to Me.” Bhagavad-gītā 10.10

Śiṣyaḥ bṛhaspateḥ sākṣāt (a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati)

When Śrī Caitanya fainted in the Jagannath Mandir, many thought he had died. It was only Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya who could test and detect that He was experiencing a state of ecstasy. He could do this by dint of his śāstric knowledge, although at the time he was still an impersonalist. Similarly, it was by his vast knowledge as a direct disciple of Bṛhaspati, the guru of the demigods, that Uddhava could recognize that the ten mad expressions of a disappointed lover (citra-jalpa) exhibited by the gopīs were expressions of the highest state of ecstasy. In all ways, Uddhava was therefore the right person for this sacred assignment.

By employing his high capacity for discernment and understanding honed by his emotional, devotional and śāstric intelligence, Uddhava was successful in his momentous mission. Is it not unreasonable, therefore, to promote Uddhava as one of the most intelligent persons who ever lived?

In a recent post[1] I discussed the powerful use of upamān (analogies) as a pramāṇa (means of evidence) and offered a few original analogies that I composed. For this post, I will offer a few more analogies that I composed inspired by my attempt to explain the following section of the seventh chapter of the Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta and to show the power of this tool in elucidating difficult subjects.

Śrī Nārada is mortified because by entering Dvārakā in uncontrollable ecstasy he inadvertently instigates a scene that reminds Krishna of the gopīs. By doing so he sends his Lord into such a deep state of separation that it appears that the Lord has almost died. To pacify Nārada, who is devastated by what he had precipitated, Krishna explains that rather than being upset with Śrī Nārada, He was pleased. Although the pain of separation is apparently unbearable, it simultaneously causes such a state of unparalleled ecstasy that one actually hankers for it. Śrī Krishna thus shockingly tells Nārada:

“One may want to feel that separation again and may indeed feel distressed if one cannot.”

Gopīparāṇadhana dāsa’s commentary based on Sanātana Gosvāmī’s commentary elucidates the Lord’s point further:

“Judging from the strength of the devotee’s urge to continue suffering viraha-bhāva, that bhāva must in fact be the ultimate happiness.” (Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.7.128, commentary)

I am presently teaching this section of Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta which describes how these seemingly mutually exclusive qualities of agony and ecstasy can exist simultaneously on the level of prema. It helped me to realize even further how helpful upamān (analogy) is in explaining very subtle and, in this case, almost inconceivable, concepts. In fact, an analogy is given in the commentary to help us reconcile this contradiction:

“A material example may help clarify this point: Although the coldness of ice is the opposite of the heat of fire, ice placed on one’s body may feel as hot as burning coal. In this example, the burning sensation from the ice is illusory, the numbing coldness real. Similarly, the pain of viraha-bhāva is a false appearance, disguising the reality of indescribable joy.” (Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.7.128, commentary)

What follows are my own analogies to help communicate how we can understand this seemingly puzzling concept.

Analogy 1

A drama is successful when the audience feels the rasa it encapsulates, whether it’s romance, horror, chivalry or tragedy. Although the emotions can be negative like tragedy and horror, one can immensely enjoy the experience at the same time, as in enjoying a tragedy or a horror film. In the same way, the residents of Vrindavan experience deep separation from Krishna, an apparently negative emotion, but enjoy that emotion at the same time.

Analogy 2

In the last hundred yards of a marathon, when the victor is approaching the finish line, although the fatigue, exhaustion and pain may be increasing, the runner becomes so overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment and joy that the main mood is one of great happiness. In the same way, one in deep separation from Krishna feels increasingly the pain of separation from Krishna, but it intensifies the love for Krishna. As this love is the essence of their happiness, their main mood is one of overwhelming ecstasy.

Finally, the ācāryas tell us that we should not be surprised that these concepts are confusing because they exist in a realm that is beyond this world and therefore require a certain level of personal experience and realization to comprehend.

“The ecstasy of separation is not the miserable experience it seems to outsiders; it is mano-rama, the cause of full satisfaction for the heart. If someone still asks how one can feel happy within misery, he should know that only the rasikas, those who have spontaneous eagerness to taste this prema, can understand it.” (Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.7.126, commentary)

Let me end with another analogy I composed to help us comprehend that it is reasonable that there are certain understandings that take a certain level of experience or maturity to understand.

Just as a very young girl can’t appreciate a romance because she is so many years away from having the experience of love between adults, similarly those not very mature on the path of bhakti lack the experience to comprehend the higher sentiments of perfect devotion where great happiness can be felt within misery.

After studying and teaching this section, I am more convinced than ever that upamān (analogy) is one of the most effective pramāṇas (means of knowing) for subtle and challenging concepts.

[1] https://wavesofdevotion.com/2024/06/10/swamis-analogies/