There is a hymn composed by the revered Śrī Raghunāth Dās Goswāmī, titled the Premāstava-Marandākhya Stavendra, concerning the mahābhāva and other aspects of Śrī Rādhā. The opening portion of that hymn, taken from this very work, is worth savoring in this context—
Homage to Śrī Rādhikā. Her form, radiant with the gem-thoughts kindled by mahābhāva, is beautified by the fragrance of her friends' affection, anointed as with sandalwood of supreme splendor. (1) She whom the waves of compassion's nectar bathe in morning, the nectar-stream of youthful beauty at midday, and the nectar-river of loveliness at eventide— even Indrā herself grows dim beside her. (2) Her limbs are clothed in modesty's silken veil, adorned with beauty's precious saffron, her person painted with the dark, radiant musk of passion's rasa, a motley beauty. (3) With trembling, tears, and bristling hair, with stillness, sweat, and faltering voice, with madness and with torpor— these nine supreme jewels she wears as ornament. (4) Bedecked with the flowers of all virtue and charm, she dwells in the pavilion of steadiness and wavering moods, adorned as with fragrant powder of noble feeling. (5)
Her form is made pure and sacred by her meditation, radiant with mahābhāva—that gem of luminous thought; and her beauty is enhanced by the anointment of her companions' love, that fragrant unguent of affection. (1) Morning brings forth the waves of her compassionate heart; at noon flows the nectar-stream of her youthful bloom; and evening spreads the ambrosia-river of her radiance—in these three streams she bathes, while even Lakṣmī herself grows weary beside her. (2) Modesty's silk alone adorns her form; beauty's precious saffron makes her luminous; and that dark musk—the fragrance of love's rasa—adorns her person in a thousand hues. (3) With tremor and tears, with the rising of her hair, with stillness and sweat, with the breaking of her voice, with rapture and with trance—these nine celestial gems she wears as her precious ornament, while all her virtues and charms bloom as a garland about her, and the fragrance of her steadfast yet wavering mood perfumes the air like incense in the inner chamber. (4-5)
Her concealed pride braids her hair in dark knots; the fortune-mark shines radiant upon her brow; the hearing of Śrī Kṛṣṇa's name and glory adorns her ear with beauty's ornament. (6) With lips reddened by the betel of ardent love, with passion's wiles as her kohl-line, jest and playful speech her only wealth, her smile perfumes the air with sandalwood fragrance. (7) In glory's inner chamber, pride her bed, she rests in joy, while love's own variance— the trembling chaos of separation— adorns her with its restless, dancing gleam. (8) Her breast, bound fast by the embrace of love and anger, speaks pride's own language; while the glory of her fame drinks deep the cruelty of her rivals' faces, like a stringed instrument's resounding cry. (9) Upon her companions' shoulders nestled close, her lotus hands engaged in sport's own play, dark as Śyāma herself, suffused with love's own ecstasy, wreathed in the dust of Śrī Kṛṣṇa's love-play. (10) To thee we bow, with straw held in our teeth: grant us to live upon the nectar of thy lips, we who are pierced by sorrow's deepest wound. (11)
She whose concealed pride becomes her hair's dark plaiting, she who shines radiant with the tilak of good fortune, she whose ear is adorned by the very hearing of Śrī Kṛṣṇa's name and renown. (6) Her lips are stained with the betel of burning longing; passion's cunning becomes her kohl; jesting speech is her very ornament; and the sweet fragrance of her smile is as sandalwood perfume. (7) In the inner sanctum of her fame, she reclines upon pride's couch, taking her ease, while the manifold vicissitudes of love—the trembling uncertainty of separation—adorn her with their shifting, fluid grace. (8) She whose breasts are bound tight by the cord of love mingled with anger, whose honor is proclaimed in the very distortion of her rivals' countenances, she whose splendor and renown drain the hearts and shrivel the faces of her competitors, as a stringed instrument sounds in triumph. (9)
Youthful beauty itself—she who has placed her lotus hands in play upon the shoulders of her beloved companion, and she, the dark-complexioned one, endowed with singular virtues, who pours forth the nectar of amorous sentiment, intoxicating Cupid himself with its sweetness. (10)
Therefore, I hold a blade of grass between my teeth and with bowed head make this prayer: Grant life to this suffering soul by bestowing upon him the immortal nectar of servitude to you. (11)
O Gandharvi! The merciful one does not abandon even the wicked who take refuge. Do not forsake these two who have sought your shelter. (12)
Whosoever recites this sovereign hymn known as the "Prema-Astoja-Maranda," for the sake of receiving the grace of Sri Radhika, shall attain her blessed service. (13)
Whose fortune-blessed qualities Satyabhama yearns for, Whose divine pastimes the cowherd maidens of Braj learn and adore. Whose beauty and virtues Lakshmi and Parvati desire, Whose wifely devotion Arundhati herself aspires. Whose virtues Krishna himself cannot reach their end— How can a humble mortal count the excellences that transcend?
Commentary: Sri Radha alone is capable of fulfilling the desires of Sri Krishna's heart. The proof of this lies in the exchange between Sri Radha and Kundalata in the one hundred twenty-second verse of the eleventh canto of the Govinda-lilamrta: Where does the love of Sri Krishna originate? Answer: In Sri Radhika alone. Who is the most beloved of Sri Krishna? Answer: Sri Radhika, incomparable in virtue—none other. Her hair is naturally curled, her eyes are liquid with emotion, her breasts are tender and unyielding; therefore, Sri Radha alone is capable of fulfilling Sri Krishna's desires, and no one else. She whose fortune-blessed qualities Satyabhama yearns for, from whom the maidens of Braj learn the methods of divine sport and pleasure, whose beauty and qualities are desired by Lakshmi and Parvati themselves, whose wifely virtue is the aspiration of Arundhati, wife of Vasishtha—Sri Krishna cannot fathom the extent of her virtues. How then can a base and insignificant creature like myself ever enumerate her qualities?
"Vilasa" is defined in the Ujjvala-nila-mani, in the exposition of its thirty-seventh chapter on the nature of feelings, as follows: The particular excellence arising in movements, postures, sitting positions, and the actions of face and eyes—that special character born of union with the beloved—is called vilasa.
What is love? The venerable Vaishnava acharyas have expounded the truth of love in manifold and elaborate ways. Let us become acquainted with their expositions and descriptions.
I write in reliance upon the "Ujjvala-nila-mani," the sacred work of the revered Sri Rupa Goswami.
In all things free from ruin, yet exposed to ruin's cause, That binding of the heart in youth which knows no pause— This is called love.
Though myriad causes work toward destruction, that which stands wholly beyond destruction, untouched by any force of dissolution—the bond of heart that joins young man and young woman in this manner is what we call love.
In Bankim Chandra's novel Chandrasekhar, there is the story of Shaibali's love. Shaibali loved Pratap from her very girlhood, loved him with her whole being. Inspired by this love, she abandoned her husband's house and endured sorrows without measure, faced dangers terrible and unrelenting.
At first, one might think this is love. But when the sorcery of a great soul sundered that bond from her heart, when the heart that had done so much for Pratap turned again toward other things, then it became clear: this was not beyond destruction, and therefore Shaibali's attachment to Pratap, her affection for him, was not love at all.
In this world, true love does not arise in the human heart on account of another human being. Love is eternal in its refuge—it awakens only for Him who dwells eternally in the heart, the Lord himself. If ever true love should arise, the preservation of the body becomes impossible. This is why the Chaitanya Charitamrita declares—
Pure love for Krishna, Like gold from the river, Never exists in the mortal realm. Should such union come to be, Separation does not follow; but should it— In separation none can live. (From the Chaitanya Charitamrita, composed by Krishnadas Kaviraj, Madhya-lila, 2/43)
In the Vaishnava text Prema-samputa, written by Vishvanath Chakravarti, love is defined thus—
From this world or the next, from kin or stranger, from oneself or from the beloved—if troubles should mount up like Mount Meru itself, love conquers them all, as a lion subdues elephants, and grows stronger for it.
In the discussions of Radha and Krishna's divine love-play found in Vaishnava poetry, if we keep this definition always in mind, then we shall taste the inner meaning and spirituality of that poetry.
In the passage cited from the Chaitanya Charitamrita, love is described as the nectar of bliss and consciousness itself, and as the very essence of the divine potency of joy. There is no doubt: love is a power, the quintessence of power. This power is not material, not human; it is divine, luminous with consciousness. That eternal pronouncement—Love is Divine—rings true in this world of death: here alone love is deathless. All things in this world are perishable; love alone is imperishable and eternal. So long as I remain absorbed in self-satisfaction or self-pleasure, I cannot even comprehend what love is. When the sense of self-gain and self-loss is relinquished, love awakens; or when love awakens, the sense of self-gain and self-loss vanishes. The Chaitanya Charitamrita itself declares—
Desire for the pleasure of one's own senses—that we call lust. Desire for the pleasure of Krishna's senses—that bears the name of love. The meaning of lust is one's own enjoyment alone. The meaning of love is Krishna's joy—love's mighty force. Therefore lust and love stand far apart. Lust is deepest darkness; love, the spotless sun.
The desire to gratify one's own senses is called lust. This lust is not the impulse of love; rather, it is the impulse of the rajasic quality, born of crass self-interest. The love that partakes of the blissful potency manifests itself solely for Krishna's joy. In the divine play, Krishna the connoisseur of beauty is an eternally youthful boy; his blissful potencies are supremely rapturous maidens of eternal youth. Therefore, the gopis, who embody these blissful potencies, must manifest love whose singular aim is to bestow joy upon Krishna—the aim of love intense and profound. In this sweet mood of love, all the nine rasas converge, and thus the fullest delight of service in love becomes possible. Just as Hanuman and others exemplify the mood of servitude, as Sridama and others exemplify the mood of friendship, as Nanda and Yashoda exemplify the mood of parental affection—so too do the gopis and queens of Braja embody the ideal of the sweet mood of love.
This sweet mood of love, which follows desire, divides into two kinds: that which seeks enjoyment, and that which seeks to embody his mood. Those devotees who follow the mood of Rukmini and the other queens—their devotion is called the devotion that seeks enjoyment. In this devotion, the queens possess some measure of desire for their own happiness, knowledge of his majesty, and adherence to worldly dharma. On the other hand, those who renounce all dharma spoken of in the world and the Vedas, who cast aside all pursuit of pleasure in this life and the next, who follow the mood of desirelessness and the nature of supreme love—their devotion is called the devotion that seeks to embody his mood. This dwells eternally in the hearts of Srimati Radha and the gopis of Braja. Therefore, from the mood of the queens arises a common or fitting affection, while from the mood of the gopis arises supreme affection.
Affection takes three forms: common, fitting, and supreme. Common affection is rooted in the desire for enjoyment, and therefore it is condemned. The affection of the queens is fitting, for it is awakened by the marriage rite in the service of worldly dharma. The affection of the gopis of Gokul is supreme, for it transcends both the world and dharma in its expression. Supreme affection is not disharmonious; in the ultimate analysis of truth, supreme affection is supremely harmonious. Common affection is like a jewel; fitting affection is like a wish-granting gem; supreme affection is like the kaustubha stone, rare in all the worlds and incomparably precious.
When affection arises after direct sight of Krishna—not intense, but born from the desire for enjoyment—that is common affection. This affection is shallow in depth; therefore, the desire for enjoyment is its root. When the desire for enjoyment diminishes, this affection diminishes with it. The affection that is deep, arising from hearing of his qualities and consisting of identification with the mood of a consort—that is fitting affection. Sometimes the desire for enjoyment emerges within it, yet when fitting affection is separated from the desire for enjoyment, the state arising from it cannot easily subdue Krishna.
All affection carries within it the desire for enjoyment. The desire for enjoyment in common and fitting affection is self-centered in nature. Supreme affection is that affection which, through a special inner state, becomes identified with a selfless longing for enjoyment—that is, affection possessing the same inner mood as such selfless longing. The desire for enjoyment takes two forms: the wish that one's beloved gratify one's own senses with joy, and the wish that through oneself one gratify the senses of one's beloved with joy. The first may be called lust, for it faces toward one's own happiness. The second, being oriented toward the beloved's welfare, faces toward love. In common affection for the beloved, the first desire predominates. In fitting affection, it does not predominate. The characteristic of the second desire is what marks supreme affection's desire for enjoyment as distinct. Certainly, though that desire may be fierce in others, in the supreme lover's heart it remains exceedingly weak.
When affection, sustained in this particular manner, becomes operative in precisely this way, it enfolds the distinctive desire for enjoyment, and affection and the desire for enjoyment achieve unity. This affection, rendered capable in every possible way, receives the name 'samarthā'—the accomplished. Whether the coherence among the aforementioned charges subsists as relationship, or whether it springs from affection's own intrinsic nature—once this samarthā is born of affection, it is endowed with the power to obliterate all else and appears with extraordinary intensity. The accomplished affection of the Braj women is for Krishna's joy alone. Whatever personal joy inheres in enjoyment itself is acknowledged as conducive to Krishna's joy. Thus desire for enjoyment and affection suffused with Krishna's bliss, in the most wondrous and exquisite manner, do not permit the desire for enjoyment to subsist as a separate entity. In consonance with this, such affection may never reduce itself to mere personal happiness.
Affection, attaining the fullness of maturity, reaches the state of mahābhāva. All liberated beings seek it, and the five kinds of devotees mentioned in the Gītā each attain it to the extent their capacity allows.
Syād dṛḍhe'yaṁ rati premnā prodyad snehe kramādayaṁ | Syān manaḥ praṇayo rāgo'nurāgo bhāva ity api || (Ujjvalanilamani, Sthayi-bhava Prakarana, 44)
Meaning: This sweet affection becomes firm, rendered impervious by opposing emotions. Then its name is 'prema'—love. That love, progressively unfolding its own sweetness, takes the form of sneha, māna, praṇaya, rāga, anurāga, and bhāva. Affection, love, affection-born-of-intimacy, prideful regard, inclination, attachment, and intense attachment, and bhāva—all are successive developments of a single reality. The term 'bhāva' here signifies mahābhāva.
The six stages—affection-born-of-intimacy and others—constitute the luxuriant unfolding of love. For this reason, the learned use the word 'love' to denote precisely that in which such a love for Krishna arises that Krishna's own love of that very kind is thereby awakened in return.
By reason of intensity, weight, and transcendence, love manifests in three degrees—mature, middling, and mild.
When delay or slight absence prevents another from knowing the heroine's heart, the love that arises as anguish is called mature love. In middling love, the hero, even while united with one heroine, feels attraction toward another—that is, maintains equal regard for two—and this is called middling love. That in which continuous intimacy and proximity have removed all sense of neglect or special favor is called mild love. In mature love, the hero experiences the irresistible pull of love for the absent heroine. But in middling love, the hero endures knowledge of another beloved. In mild love, neither favor nor indifference holds sway. Mature love contains intolerance of separation; middling love contains "tolerance only with difficulty"—that is, separation can barely be borne; mild love sometimes even admits of forgetting.
Where separation is unbearable, there is mature love. Where separation is endured only with hardship, there is middling love. Where forgetting sometimes occurs, there is mild love.
What is done for the satisfaction of the senses of the self is called desire; what is done for the pleasure of the senses of God is called love. When all actions are applied not in the form of one's own enjoyment but toward the delight of Krishna, there arises a capacity for love; later, as it deepens, it becomes love itself. Yet because the queens retain some wish for their own happiness, it cannot transform into this capacity for love. Particularly in the relationship between husband and wife there exists a certain hierarchy, a desire to fulfill worldly dharma, and because this is natural to them, there is not such wild exuberance in it. But the sentiment of the gopis is the complete opposite. They have abandoned husband, son, home, family, caste and lineage, Vedic law, dharma and conduct, shame and modesty—and cling to the Lord like a paramour woman. The paramour woman properly performs her worldly duties, yet her mind remains always absorbed in thoughts of her lover (God). Here 'lover' is understood not in the literal sense, but in the sense of the emotion.
Chaitanya, the teacher of devotional love, says— "The woman devoted to another, though engaged in household work, Constantly savors the rasa of new union. (Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Madhya-lila, 1/164)
Just as the dependent woman, while performing household tasks, savors within her heart the rasa of a new union, so too, while engaged in worldly action, taste secretly in your heart the rasa of love for the young Lord Krishna. This is why, on the path of devotion, such a sentiment—the paramour sentiment, which transgresses scriptural propriety and social convention—has been accepted. Therefore, compared to the sentiment of the queens, which is desirous of their own enjoyment, the sentiment of the gopis—which is desirous of that very sweetness—the gopi sentiment, in plain language, is supreme. Radhika and the other gopis are the ideal of the gopi sentiment.
On the banks of the Godavari, Ramananda Ray speaks to Sri Gauranga—within this, that is, within the sweet sentiment, the love of Radha is the crown of all practices, therefore the gopi sentiment is supreme. They desire neither husband, nor son, nor family, nor honor—they desire only Krishna. The poet Krishnadas Kaviraja writes—
And another strange nature of the gopi sentiment: Its power escapes the grasp of reason. When the gopis behold Krishna, They have no wish for happiness, yet happiness multiplies a millionfold. The joy that Krishna feels in beholding the gopis— The gopis taste a millionfold more than that. They have no longing for their own happiness; Yet their happiness increases—here lies a contradiction! I see but one way to resolve this paradox: The gopis' happiness culminates in Krishna's happiness. (Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Adi-lila, 4/185-189)
The gopi sentiment has another strange nature: its power lies beyond the reach of intellect. When the gopis behold Krishna, though they harbor no wish for happiness, yet from that beholding arises happiness a millionfold. On the other hand, the joy that arises in Sri Krishna from beholding the gopis—the gopis experience a millionfold more joy from beholding Krishna. Although the gopis have no longing for their own happiness, they still gain an increase in happiness, and thus a contradiction appears. The sole resolution to this paradox lies in this: the happiness of the gopis culminates in the happiness of Krishna.
That the gopis have no wish for happiness in beholding Krishna, yet boundless happiness arises—this is truly wonderful! This sentiment, which mirrors the desireless action described in the Gita, lies beyond the grasp of scholarly intellect, and so many laugh when they merely hear the name of the gopi sentiment. The joy that Krishna feels upon seeing the gopis—from that, the gopis experience a millionfold greater joy. Why? Because all the happiness of the gopis culminates in Krishna's face! To see Krishna happy is the gopis' happiness; that is, they have no happiness in their own senses and faculties—their happiness lies solely in Krishna's happiness.
In this way, one must find joy in Krishna's joy—in the wellbeing of all creation suffused with his presence. It is not enough to rejoice that we have done good; our true happiness lies in knowing that through our actions, the world-form of God himself has found joy. This is why the devotional attitude of the gopis is recognized as supreme. The gopis possess nothing as their own—not beauty, not youth, not charm or grace, not even desire or longing—all belongs to that dark-complexioned beloved. They labor and tend their children, they manage their households, yet their souls perpetually drink from the nectar of his love. Their thoughts dwell on him, their discourse turns always to his deeds, their contentment finds expression in singing his names—the devotee who practices in this manner attains supreme liberation. Let the self be conceived as servant and the Supreme Person as master; let the heart be offered wholly to him; let oneself be absorbed in his love alone—thus shall one obtain an unbroken and immaculate bliss.
From devotion rooted in the gopi-sentiment and saturated with sweetness, there arises that tender attachment known as madhura-rati. When this attachment awakens, there begins between the beloved and the devotee a play of divine union—
मिथोहरे मृगाक्ष्याश्च संभोगस्यादिकारणं। मधुरापरपर्याया प्रियतાख्योदिता रतिः। अस्यां कटाक्षभ्रूक्षेपप्रियवाणीस्मितादयः।। यथा गोविन्दविलासे।। चिरमुत्कण्ठितमनसो राधा मुरवैरिणोः कोऽपि। निभृतनिरीक्षणजन्मा प्रत्यापा पल्लवो जयति।। (भक्तिरसामृतसिंधु, दक्षिण, ५ लहरी, २०)
Meaning: The mutual remembrance, sight, and other eight forms of union between Hari and the doe-eyed beloved—these constitute the source of what is called priyata, or beloved-ness. This priyata has another name: madhura, the sweet. In this there arise sidelong glances, the arch of brows, tender words, and laughter. As it is in the Govinda-vilasa: May Radha, long yearning in heart for Srimadhavas, be graced with the sprouting hope born of their solitary stolen glances.
This madhura-rati, the tender attachment, is the very source of Krishna and his beloved's union. When this madhura-rati becomes, like the gopis, entirely free from self-seeking pleasure, and when the desire for union is absorbed into Krishna's own desire for union, then it is called samarthata—readiness or perfect consonance. This samarthata-rati, ripening through the play of love, gradually develops into affection, dignity, devotion, passion, deep attachment, and emotion. When this emotion advances to a still higher stage, it becomes what is called maha-bhava, the great emotion. This is the ultimate flowering of samarthata-rati rooted in the gopi-sentiment. Only when samarthata-rati, rooted in the gopi-sentiment, reaches this mature state of maha-bhava does it become what is called prema—love itself.
That attachment which is devoid of the scent of desire is called prema—love. Wherever this emotion dwells, there love itself may be said to dwell. What is the yearning for one's own and one's senses' pleasure—that is desire. Therefore, when attachment arises free from all yearning for the pleasure of the self and the senses, that is love. "I love him—therefore whatever he does appears good to my eyes. He loves beauty, so why should I not enhance my own beauty for him? He loves garlands of flowers, so how should I not wander through forests gathering blooms, weaving them into garlands for him?"
Radha, aching in Krishna's absence, speaks thus—What need have I for garlands? Where is he for whom I weave them? If he does not come, if these flowers do not sway upon his neck, if their fragrance does not thrill his senses, why weave them at all? My joy is his joy alone. Without him, what other joy remains in this world for me? His happiness is my happiness.—This is love, love without desire for return. To serve the country, the community, society, the rich and the poor, the beautiful and the plain—the joy that springs from their welfare becomes the echo of my own joy. This is the joy of the individual soul; and the joy of the collective is the bliss of God. To serve the Divine; to offer beauty to the Divine, to hold the Divine in one's breast—the fullest flowering of that emotion is love.
When such love is born for the Divine, then at the bloom of flowers, the whisper of gentle wind, the drift of fragrance, the call of the cuckoo, the hum of the bee—that beloved face returns to memory. Again, in the thunder of clouds, the flash of lightning, the deep darkness of the moonless night, the long sigh of despair, the lash of poverty—he is remembered, and by this we understand that these too are his manifestation. In serving them lies his service as well. When love is born, all the faculties of a human being become anchored in him alone. The devotee then whispers to their own soul: I do not seek knowledge, I do not seek power, I do not seek liberation, I desire nothing—only you. You are the very life of my life, the very soul of my world—come, dawn in the garden of my heart. Call me once by your own name, 'mine.'
This is what love is—a certain state of the mind. Yet if one holds oneself to be small, base, and finite, and God to be vast, infinite, and eternal, he remains distant—and true love cannot flourish with distance. Love springs forth only when the devotee is permeated with a sense of oneness with him, a feeling of intimacy, tenderness, and affection. Yasoda's reproofs, Nanda bearing his whims, the cowherd boys sharing his leftover food and carrying him upon their shoulders, and the gopis touching his feet to humble themselves—all these are the supreme ideals for devotees intoxicated with the knowledge of Brahman. In the knowledge of his majesty, love shrinks. If one cannot conceive of God as equal to oneself, or even smaller than oneself, according to one's chosen mood, love will not arise. Therefore, one must practice love following the ideal of the gopis. The practice of love is the highest practice. God is drawn to love; pulled by that attraction, he cannot remain unmoved. In the practice of peaceful devotion, servitude, friendship, and parental affection, God can repay the devotee—but he cannot repay the love of the gopis.
I love you, I know nothing but you—is there any petition in this? There is no petition, yet what will he fulfill? What debt can he repay? You ask for yourself alone; if he is to give, he must give nothing less than himself. Thus God remains forever indebted to the love of the gopis, to the love of Radha. Because Radha exists, Krishna exists. (Thus the origin of the compound word 'Radha-Krishna.') To discharge this debt, in the devotional world God is spoken of as taking the 'Gauranga incarnation.' The advent of the Great Lord is thus the advent of God himself—an effort to settle what cannot be repaid.
To love God is a most difficult undertaking; it demands that you forget everything. Religion and irreligion, good and evil, caste and lineage, joy and sorrow—all must be forgotten, and you must surrender yourself wholly to Him. But you cannot forget good and evil while keeping it in mind! If knowledge of good and evil remains, then love has not truly come—or if genuine love arrives, that knowledge cannot persist. If you listen to what the scriptures say, what people say, what society says, you will not attain love. You must do only what brings God joy. Can love exist if you follow rules and prohibitions? Love-devotion is the flowering of attachment to God; it is the forgetting of self, of dharma, action, caste, lineage, and honor—the pursuit of the Beloved alone. This was the spirit of the gopis, and for this reason the attitude of the gopis is supreme in the worship of God.
The seeker enamored of love's nature, adopting the attitude of the gopis, transforms God into the Beloved and lays Him upon a bed of love-flowers in the grove of his own heart, awakening Him with songs of love. And outwardly, regarding the true Guru as the very form of God, he surrenders body and mind in devoted service. Or else, he fashions an image from clay, stone, or brass and worships his Beloved with tulsi and sandalwood; gradually, as love floods through him, he can hold in his mind the vision of His infinite form, infinite aspect, infinite power. He who is worshiped day and night by the world with offerings of water and flowers, He for whom Nature herself, in the form of Radha, has become the ascetic, the indifferent one, the yogini—giving up all—that eternal companion, eternal friend, eternal Beloved is found in this very way. Then—
Krishna-full—Krishna within and without, Wherever the eye falls, there Krishna shines forth.
(Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Adi-lila, 4/85)
In every place, in every thing, the beloved Beloved's form of love is beheld.
Then the lover, like a yogi who has beheld the Self, sees in every fruit, every flower, in the whisper of every leaf, in every mountain, every waterfall, every stream and river, in every man and woman, in every atom and particle, the unfolding of that Existence-Consciousness-Bliss, that dark and beauteous embodiment of pure consciousness—and can never forget again. Having embraced the world and Radha themselves, he worships the Beloved of Radha. He is love itself, and in love's attraction cannot bear to forget. Therefore, among all the paths of practice that flow from devotional attitudes, the practice of love-devotion through the attitude of the gopis is supreme. For this is the common treasure of all humanity; this is the very essence of human life.
When this attraction is fixed upon God, the human being finds relief from torment. Then knowledge arises: who am I, who is He? The world—what is it? What is parental affection? What are bonds of gold or iron? All illusion dissolves. In the heart, firm devotion and uncaused love are perfected. Then divine knowledge is born. One comes to understand with particular clarity that wife and child, wealth and power are nothing, the body is nothing, the pot and the self and mine are nothing—all is He, that Primordial and Endless, that World-Pervading Lord of the Universe, that Supreme Truth. In the truth-knowledge of Truth-Itself, the false recedes, and the lover, immersed in the incomparable sweetness of love of that Eternal and Playful Beloved—that Supreme Person dwelling in an unshakeable sphere of light—drowns for all eternity. The lover and Beloved, or God and devotee, Radha and Shyam, merge in bliss upon the great stage of the Great Dance, becoming one.
When love ascends to its supreme perfection, it becomes the illumination of consciousness itself. By the word 'consciousness' is meant the perception of the beloved. The Amarakosh tells us: 'perception of the object of love is consciousness.' The perception or true knowledge of the beloved is like a lamp—by means of it, all darkness and doubt within and without me are dispelled. When love reaches its highest excellence and manifests in the state of affection, then through this lamp of consciousness there comes illumination; that lamp of consciousness is then kindled—just as a lamp grows radiant through oil and other fatty substances. Through affection the heart too becomes liquid. When a lamp burns bright, many things melt in the warmth of its heat; similarly, when love manifests in the state of affection, the heart remains always in a melted, flowing condition.
Love does arise between human beings. Yet to preserve this love, one must tend to it, nurture it through constant sight and care. If many days pass without such tending, the bonds of affection grow slack; in the end the heart withers, and love ceases to be. What passes from sight passes from the mind—such is the law of the natural world. Now let us consider the state of affection. Affection has awakened within me; the one who is my beloved, the object of my love, dwells in me like light. Whether they come or stay away, whether we see each other or not, whether they shower me with care or neglect—affection remains within me still. Through this affection, the lamp of my heart is constantly kindled; as time passes, the image of the beloved grows ever more radiant within my heart. Absence cannot diminish that radiance; affection from within only increases it. As the radiance of the beloved grows through the beloved themselves, my heart too grows ever more melted and dissolved. For this, no external help or cause is needed. This state is called affection.
The masters have described three states of love, distinguished as supreme, middling, and mild. These three states may be examined from two perspectives—from the side of the lover, and from the side of the beloved. When love is nourished and brought to maturity in a particular way, it takes the name of affection.
Reaching the highest limit, Love becomes the lamp of consciousness— It dissolves the heart; This is called affection. When affection manifests, Let there be satisfaction not only in sight and the like. The mark of affection: Insatiety in beholding and the melting of heart. Affection is of three kinds— Mild, middling, and supreme. If affection arises through bodily touch, it is mild; Through sight, middling; Through hearing, it is reckoned supreme. In another way, affection is twofold: The affection of ghee and the affection of honey. Affection most tender and caring is called the affection of ghee; That which says "this one is mine"—this is the affection of honey.
From reverence is born tenderness. Therefore tenderness and reverence are bound to each other. The thought 'this one is my superior'—this is 'reverence.' From it arises the feeling called 'deference,' and that same feeling is 'tenderness.' Tenderness and reverence support each other mutually. Therefore, because tenderness exists, reverence too exists.
When affection toward a beloved mirrors the tenderness of one's own soul, it is called honeyed affection. Such affection is itself suffused with sweetness and contains within it a gathering or union of many qualities. It possesses an intoxicating power, a warmth born of devotion; thus it may be called honeyed affection, akin to honey itself.
Attachment arises in two forms. "I am theirs"—this is one kind of sentiment-laden attachment. "They are mine"—this is another kind of sentiment-laden attachment. In ghee-like affection dwells the feeling "I am theirs." In honeyed affection dwells the feeling "they are mine." Chandravali possesses ghee-like affection, while Radha possesses honeyed affection.
Sweetness permeated by the excellence of affection, bringing forth ever-new taste, and bearing lack of propriety— that is called pride.
The affection that, when elevated, reveals new dimensions of sweetness and carries within itself a want of proper measure—this is called pride.
When affection deepens and attains excellence, it awakens ever-fresh savoring of sweetness. At this stage, outward crookedness or cunning is revealed. Here the affection of sentiment surpasses itself in depth and in the melting of the heart. "The course of love is naturally crooked"—love's path is intrinsically bent. Yet therein lies the growth of love's flavor and its multiplicity.
Pride takes two forms: lofty pride and graceful pride. When ghee-like affection deepens, it becomes lofty pride; when honeyed affection ripens, it becomes graceful pride. Lofty pride itself is of two kinds: pride marked by propriety and pride marked by waywardness. The mark of propriety-marked pride is: propriety within, impropriety in outward show; and where there is no waywardness inwardly but wayward behavior appears outward—there lies pride marked by wayward appearance.
When pride bears trust, love is said to emerge.
When pride deepens and attains trust, it is called love. Trust means thinking without division. Trust is of two kinds: friendship and companionship. Freedom from constraint and ease—these are the marks of companionship. Trust infused with dignity is called friendship. Here the beloved conducts herself as an independent consort. When friendship is joined with lofty pride, it becomes noble friendship; and when companionship is joined with graceful pride, it becomes noble companionship. The teachers have shown these states from the descriptions found in the Vishnu Purana, the Bhagavata, and other divine-play scriptures.
Even great sorrow does not satisfy the heart as mere pleasure, yet through the excellence of love, that is called attachment.
When love reaches its fullness and transforms even great sorrow into joy within the heart, it is called attachment.
Attachment takes two forms: the dark-hued and the red-hued. Dark-hued attachment is further of two kinds: the indigo and the dusky. The attachment that is not spent, that shows no outward sign—that reveals itself neither in jealousy nor in pride—is called indigo attachment. The attachment that shows some manifestation, that wears the guise of timidity and lifelong yearning, is called dusky attachment.
Redness of hue comes from safflower and madder dye. That color which displays the radiance of another color is safflower color. And that color which does not wait upon another, ever increases, is never diminished—this is called madder color.
He who, though ever sensing, makes his beloved ever new— Such a passion, ever renewed, is called deep love.
That love which perpetually wears fresh variety, causing one to perceive the beloved in ever-new forms—this is called deep love. The manifestations of deep love are: mutual surrender, the play of emotion's fluctuation, pain in separation and its ecstatic relief.
When deep love attains the state of self-awareness and operates toward all who shelter it, Then that emotion is called bhāva.
When deep love attains both self-aware consciousness and the capacity to work through all who harbor it, this becomes bhāva. "Self-aware" means worthy of being perceived by oneself alone. "Working through all who harbor it" means acting upon all who are its vessels. In essence, when deep love reaches the state where it perceives itself, and encompasses both perfected and practicing devotees—when they too become utterly overwhelmed by his love for another—this is called bhāva.
Śrīrādhikā is the vessel of deep love, and Kṛṣṇa is its object. The son of Nanda, embodied in the form of desire itself, is the perfection of what is desired. Śrīrādhā is the perfection of the vessel. Her deep love is the permanent emotion; when this love reaches its ultimate limit—her very nature—it becomes the capacity to work through all who shelter it, and in that state, attaining the self-aware consciousness of her beloved companions in particular, it is manifested through the eight sattvic emotions, radiant and connected. Her state-born deep love becomes mahābhāva.
Supreme, otherworldly, ambrosial beauty is her nature; such a state, Drawing one's mind toward her own form—this is mahābhāva.
Mahābhāva is exceedingly rare even among Kṛṣṇa's principal queens; it is perceived only by the gopīs such as Rādhā. Mahābhāva is the culmination of bhāva itself. Mahābhāva is of two kinds: settled and transcendent. Where the eight sattvic emotions—purity and the rest—manifest, there is settled mahābhāva. In settled mahābhāva, there appears: inability to bear even a moment's absence from sight, the identity of the self with him, churning of the heart, constant forgetting, the sense that time is but a flicker, fear of suffering even in Kṛṣṇa's happiness—such are the marks of the accompanying emotions.
When mahābhāva surpassing settled mahābhāva attains an indescribable distinctness, it is called transcendent mahābhāva. Here, the indescribability of joy and sorrow is paramount.
Transcendent mahābhāva is of two kinds: modana and mādana. In modana, the intense superabundance of stimulated sattvic emotion is revealed. The word modana derives from the root mud, meaning joy; thus modana conveys joy born of union or consummation. Mādana derives from the root mad, meaning intoxication. The word mādana thus indicates the intoxication of divine rapture—the power to intoxicate, the joy-drunk ecstasy born of union with Śrīkṛṣṇa. Between bhāva and mahābhāva there is no essential difference. As between the Divine and the Divine itself. Thus speaks Śrīla Jīva Goswami in his commentary. Such a state is possible only among the gopīs; even among the principal queens it does not occur. As has been said already, the blessed Rādhikā is the very embodiment of mahābhāva.
That supreme sentiment becomes the wish-fulfilling gem, Its work: to perfect the desire for Krishna.
In the separation of 'Modan,' there arises what is called 'Mohan.' In Mohan, the sattvic qualities are beautifully awakened in Krishna's absence—a state of separation. The symptoms of Mohan are these: even amid unbearable suffering, an unquenchable longing for Krishna's presence; a tremor that shakes the cosmos; a thirst for Krishna's company that persists even in the elements of the body after death; divine intoxication, and more. From the sentiment of Mohan arises divine intoxication.
To the path of this Mohan, one who moves through desire— A certain strange multiplicity is called divine intoxication.
Divine intoxication is a particular ineffable state of consciousness. In it, the mind becomes confused. Divine intoxication arises from the chaos of love. From the turbulence of love, there comes a concentration—a gathering of all mental faculties into one object, and a cessation of inquiry into all else. From this cessation of inquiry, there arises a strange, variegated delusion concerning other matters.
Divine intoxication manifests in forms such as Udghurna and Chitra-jalpa. Udghurna means frenzied movement; Chitra-jalpa means delirium. Chitra-jalpa itself divides into ten kinds: Prajalpa, Parijalpa, Vijalpa, Ujjalpa, Sangjalpa, Avajaya, Abhijala, Ajalpa, Pratijalpa, and Sujalpa. Such states of divine intoxication appeared in the life of the Great Lord himself, as with Radha. These conditions are visible in the Bhramarigita of the Srimad Bhagavata.
Beyond this, there is another state, called Madan.
This Madan, supreme beyond the supreme, rejoices in the arising of all sentiments; The essence of bliss-giving energy dwells ever in Radha alone.
The essence of bliss-giving energy is love. When this love, rising from attraction to the great sentiment itself, becomes joyful in its ascent, it is called Madan. This Madan is supreme—surpassing even sentiments like Mohan—and it eternally resides in Radha alone; it arises nowhere else. Sri Vishvanath Chakravarti has written in his Ananda-chandrika commentary: "In Madan, there is no separation." In Madan, absence does not dwell.
I bow to the wondrous moon of sentiment—that sentiment which neither destroys nor diminishes creation, Which melts the heart-jewel like moonstone, which bears the crookedness of the divine flute, Which, though full, assumes a bent form; which by its own radiance scatters the darkness of fear, Which in the dusk—in the greatest deficiency—spreads happiness; which is Madan itself, The boundless source of joy to all worlds; without a second, incomparable—the moon of sentiment Born of Radha and Krishna's conquest.
I bow to this wondrous moon of sentiment of Sri Radha and Krishna. This moon of feeling pervades both material and transcendent creation, encompassing past, future, and present—extending through all time. There is never any possibility of its destruction. (No possibility of decline—this is the mark of love.) This moon of love melts the jewel of the heart like a moonstone. (Melting is the mark of tender affection.) This moon of sentiment, though complete, assumes a bent form. (This is the mark of grace.) This moon of sentiment destroys darkness itself—the darkness of fear—through its own radiance. (This is devotion.) This moon of sentiment spreads happiness even in the dusk, or in the greatest deficiency and pain brought by time and circumstance. (This is the mark of passion.) This moon of sentiment is Madan itself—concerning the joy of all worlds. This moon of sentiment is without a second; there is nothing more wondrous than this. (Maharasa.) This is the primary truth concerning the essence of Sri Radha.
I yearn in this moonlight, in these gentle rays, Beneath the bower of blossoms swaying. Let my soul merge with the spring breeze In the sweet strains of the bamboo flute's song. My soul will drink deep of the flute's melody, Radha-suffused, thy blessed reed. Victory, victory to Madhav, victory to Radha, Before whose feet the sun bows in prayer. The doctrine of practice that Sri Krishna Chaitanya, the Supreme Lord, instituted finds its ultimate truth in the Radha-principle. And in that discourse between Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu and Sri Ramananda Ray, the final word is this—
Ramananda says: The love of Radha is the crown jewel of all spiritual attainment. Whose glory is proclaimed throughout all the scriptures.
The ultimate fruit that human life can attain through the practice of dharma is none other than love for Sri Radha—true intimacy with the Radha-principle, or the bestowal of Sri Radha's grace. In that dialogue between Ramananda Ray and the Supreme Lord, the following stages of practice are delineated: 1. The fulfillment of one's own dharma, 2. Offering all action to Krishna, 3. The abandonment of one's own dharma, 4. Devotion mingled with knowledge, 5. Devotion unmarred by knowledge, 6. Love-devotion, 7. Love as a servant, 8. Love as a friend, 9. Love as a parent, 10. Love as a beloved consort, 11. Love for Radha—the crown jewel of all attainment.
In the fulfillment of one's own dharma begins the religious life, and in the attainment of intimacy with Krishna's sweetness lies its ultimate consummation. By what means is this sweetness obtained? The Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita speaks:
Through ritual action, austerity, yoga, and knowledge, Through prescribed devotion, chanting, and meditation— From these, Krishna's sweetness is difficult to obtain. Only through the path of spontaneous love, Worshipping Krishna with devoted yearning— To him alone is Krishna's sweetness readily revealed.
Without understanding what this spontaneous love and its path are, one cannot grasp the Radha-principle.
To taste the nectar of love's essence— To spread among people the path of spontaneous devotion. (Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Adi-lila, 4/15)
Hearing of Braj's pure spontaneous devotion, The devotees worship him on the path of love, Abandoning prescribed duty and ritual. (Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Adi-lila, 4/33)
How the devotee practices devotion on the path of spontaneous love— This shall be taught through the example of divine play. (Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Adi-lila, 4/265)
That worship of the divine done according to scriptural injunction, fearing God, fearing sin and hell, fearing the obstacles to heavenly reward—this is called the way of prescription, the path of duty. The Vedas and Smritis and other scriptures prescribe this path. All the religious codes of all lands follow this way of prescription. Some say: This vast, boundless universe is created by God. He has fashioned us as humans and sent us to this field of action—the world—to be tested. If we do not here follow the scriptural rules He has laid down, He will condemn us to hell for eternity. Others say: If we do not perform the rites prescribed in scripture—sacrifices, fastings, vows—we shall fall into hell, and such heavenly pleasures as exist will not be ours unsought. Therefore, perform the duties prescribed by God's law. From this fear of hellish consequence, from this hope and dread of heaven and hell, from this desire for reward, that worship of God practiced according to scriptural injunction—this is called prescribed practice, the way of duty. And that worship of the divine done through the heart's own yearning, intoxicated with the nectar of joy, drawn by irresistible attraction—this is called the path of spontaneous love.
The very purpose of the Avatar's descent is to promulgate this path of passionate devotion. Whenever a dharma must be established, its perfect ideal becomes necessary—for without an ideal, mankind cannot learn. Thus did the Lord assume a corporeal form, taking on a chosen body, to enact His divine play in Braj.
A love mingled with the knowledge of God's majesty and glory—such tepid love does not please the Beloved. Nor does it please anyone else. If your wife, when speaking with you, addresses you as "Sir, how are you?" and conducts herself always in fear and deference, remembering that you are her sustainer, her protector, her jeweler and so forth, and thus follows the prescriptions of scripture meticulously—can she then be a true partner in your love? Yet in the bond between husband and wife, though hierarchies may exist, they are merely the outer shell of custom. Unless she dwells in unity with you, unless her pride, her petulance, her tender affection and caressing shade permeate your being, how can your love truly flower? The same holds true in our conception of God. If we cannot think of Him in this intimate way, He too cannot offer such delight and love. When you picture yourself as small, mean, and insignificant, and Him as vast, infinite, and transcendent—He remains distant, and so union with Him becomes impossible. When you call to Him and He does not come, when your soul cries out with the yearning of a cowherd girl, your heart will sing— *Friend, what more can I say to you? In my tender youth you let me love, yet left me homeless in my own dwelling.*
Only then will you know: the Lord of the soul has mingled Himself with the soul. As you call and do not find Him, a mighty current of longing to see Him surges through your being. Then the seeker on the path of the cowherd girls, with tears streaming down her face, cries out: *Dying in the ocean, I shall fulfill the soul's desire. Becoming myself, I yearn to be The beloved Radha Of Sri Nanda's son.*
How I call for you, how I seek you, how I weep—yet still you do not come near my soul! You know not what becomes of my heart if you do not come, if you do not speak, if you do not stand beside me. How could you know? You have so much; I have only you! That is why I wish—let me die this moment and become you, make you my own. Then you will understand what fire burns within the soul when it loves and cannot find; when it calls to you and you do not come near!
This following of God born of such passion—this is the path of rasa, the path of devotional love. The pastimes of Braj were enacted precisely to establish this path. The cowherd girls of Braj are the practitioners of this path. They desire neither husband nor son, neither family nor honor—they seek only Krishna. Yet within this too there is a subtlety. To utterly renounce one's family, to abandon the world and propriety, to wander through the forests or follow at the heels of one's beloved—this too is not truly the authentic path of rasa. Once Sri Chaitanya received a letter from Rupa and Sanatana. Sanatana was then a minister in Gauda's court, yet lifetimes of spiritual practice had awakened within him an overflowing ecstasy of divine emotion. Meanwhile, worldly bonds still held him. Tormented by this thirst of the soul, he wrote earnestly to Chaitanya Dev: I cannot break free from the chains of worldly duty, yet my heart aches with longing for God's love. Master! What am I to do? In reply, Sri Chaitanya sent this verse:
A woman bound by marriage vows, though troubled by duties of her household, may yet taste the nectar of new divine love.
Just as a woman in bondage, though occupied with household duties, savours within her heart the nectar of a new union, so too remain engaged in worldly affairs, yet taste inwardly the love-essence of that dark-faced Krishna, that eternal youth.
By the standards of propriety, this analogy seems quite improper. Yet in the way of longing, it is beautiful. Chaitanya did not prescribe that such devotion is supreme for women—he wrote of this very emotion and state.
When the soul, becoming feminine nature, holds the Supreme Lord as her husband, and through her amorous sentiment and desire pours out her heart at His feet in the manner of the gopis—this very practice is named gopi-bhava.
The gopis possess nothing that is their own; whether beauty, youth, radiance, charm, longing, or desire—all belong to that dark moon-faced One. They labour, they nurture children, they manage the household, yet their souls are ever steeped in the nectar of His love. His words, His deeds occupy their discourse, His name and song content them entirely—the practitioner who pursues this path achieves supreme liberation. Let the self be contemplated as feminine and the Supreme Lord Krishna as masculine; pour the heart into Him, remain absorbed in His essence and taste. Thus alone can one attain unbroken and perfect bliss.
When the soul tastes that essence, it becomes possessed of that emotion and truth. All the work of tasting that essence is the creation of the Lord; the soul, parched by desire and thirsting for that taste, wanders about. Through the practice of gopi-bhava, one gains knowledge of that flavour of love, and it manifests in the heart.
Yathotaramasau svadu vishesoллashamashyapi. Ratirvasanaya svadvi bhastate kapi kasyachit. (Bhakti-rasamrita)
This exquisite amorous sentiment, growing sweeter with each successive taste and ever radiant with joy, takes on flavour through particular desires and manifests in relation to someone, somewhere.
And its ultimate flowering—this is the truth of Radha.