One Sharat Purnima night, the rasa was taking place. The ranga of prema was flowing beyond description. Shri Priyaji moved with such intensity that a flash like lightning lit the mandali, dazzling every eye. Then her nupura broke and its beads scattered across the floor.
Shri Vyasji's mind became agitated. Without a moment's thought, he tore off his own yajnopavita, used it to mend the ghunghuru, and fastened it upon her charana. In that full assembly of mahatmas he declared: "I carried the burden of this sacred thread my whole life, and today it finally served its purpose."
That was who he was. The saint-sevaka Shri Vyasji placed special emphasis on the urdhva-pundra tilaka and the kantha-mala of Shri Tulasi. He would extol their greatness and regarded Hari-bhaktas as his supreme ishta-deva. While some worship this or that avatara, Shri Vyasji considered the achyuta-gotri, the bhaktas themselves, as his ishta. He lovingly worshipped and served them above all.
He was a Sanadya Brahmana from Orchha in Bundelkhand, son of the great soul Shri Mukhoji Shuklaji, a great proponent of dharma in the Shri Radha-Vallabha sampradaya. His original name was Harirama. At forty-five years of age, in Samvat 1612, he left home and came to Shri Vrindavana.
He used to take Shri Bhagavat-prasada together with saints in the pangat. A skilled woman named Sushila served the food. One day, while serving dahi, a lump of malai slipped and fell into his plate. A doubt arose in his mind: perhaps she considers me the master and specially favors me. Greatly displeased, he relieved her of that seva. The gentle Sushila became so despondent that she went without food for three days. Everyone persuaded him, and he then assigned her this penance: she must sell all her ornaments and organize a bhandara for the saints.
When his daughter's wedding came, the household prepared many fine delicacies for the baraat. Shri Vyasji saw them and considered them fit for the saints. In bhavana he offered them as bhoga to Bhagavan, then quietly invited saints and bhaktas, feeding some and sending large bundles to others, even dispatching provisions to the kunjas. Whatever was left sufficed for the wedding as it was.
One day, while placing a golden and silver vamshi into the hands of Shri Kishorji, his sacred finger was slightly pricked and blood appeared. He was deeply remorseful and quickly bound the fingers with a wet cloth, lovingly, tenderly.
A Brahmana from the western country cooked separately at his place, carrying water in a leather bag. Shri Vyasji washed a new shoe and filled it with water. When the Brahmana became angry, he replied: "The material of your water-vessel is the same as this footwear, O Vipraji." The Brahmana was humbled and, becoming a bhakta, began taking Bhagavat-prasada.
A certain sant used to sing gita to Shri Yugala-sarkara most beautifully, and whenever he wished to leave, Shri Vyasji would lovingly detain him. One day the sant insisted on having his Thakurji's bundled deity returned. Shri Vyasji placed a sparrow in the container instead of the Shaligramji and handed it over. Along the way, when the sant opened the bundle at Shri Yamuna's bank to worship, the sparrow flew away. The sant came back: "My Thakurji has flown away?" Shri Vyasji said, "Go and see." The sant entered the mandira, came out, and said, "Yes, they do not wish to leave Vrindavana." Pleased, the sant settled in Shri Vrindavana with prema.
His ishta was bhakta-seva above all. Hearing of his fame, a mahanta came with a group of saints to test him. He expressed hunger. Shri Vyasji said bhoga should be brought. But the mahanta would not accept it. Harboring doubt, he took only a few morsels and got up as if in discomfort. He gathered the remaining plates, had them wrapped, and said, "Give them to me; I will take them." Hearing all this, Shri Vyasji simply smiled.
The Devotees Are the Deity
Shri Vyasji (Hariram Vyas) held something rare and precise in his heart: the Vaishnava bhaktas themselves were his supreme object of devotion. Where others worshipped a particular form of the Lord, a particular avatar, he saw no distance between the devotee and the divine. He approached saints with the tenderness and reverence one normally reserves for God alone, because for him the distinction had dissolved. This was not a philosophical stance he argued for. It was simply how he moved through the world: with attentiveness, with sacrifice, with the gestures that reveal what a person truly holds sacred. The Bhaktamal tells us this so we may ask ourselves: when we look at a sincere seeker, do we see only a person, or do we begin to sense what Vyasji saw?
Bhaktamal, tika on Harivansh (entry 194)
Love Does Not Calculate
On a Sharat Purnima night, as the rasa gathering reached its peak, Shrimati Radharani's ankle bell broke and its beads scattered. Without a moment of deliberation, Shri Vyasji reached to his own shoulder and tore off his sacred thread, the yajnopavita he had worn since the rites of his boyhood, and used it to mend the ghunghuru at the divine foot. Then he said to the assembly: I carried the burden of this thread my whole life, and today it has finally found its purpose. No calculation had taken place. No weighing of social consequence or spiritual reputation. Love had replaced the self-concern that makes such weighing necessary. This is a teaching not through words but through an act: when love is full enough, it gives without measuring what it gives.
Bhaktamal, tika on Harivansh (entry 194)
Vrindavana Is Not a Place You Leave
Shri Vyasji could not bear the thought of anyone leaving Vrindavana. When a dear sant insisted he was departing, Vyasji placed a small bird into the saint's satchel where the Shaligrama had rested. At the Yamuna ghata, when the satchel was opened for worship, the bird flew free into the trees. The bewildered sant returned: my Thakurji has flown away? Vyasji only said: go and see. The sant went into the mandira and came back transformed. Yes, he said, they do not wish to leave Vrindavana. He stayed for the rest of his life. The dhama is not merely geography. It is a field of love with its own gravity. Once it has truly taken hold of you, leaving is not possible. Vyasji lived this and, with a bird and a smile, helped others discover it too.
Bhaktamal, tika on Harivansh (entry 194)
Service Asks for Purity, Not Performance
When Sushila, who served food in Vyasji's household, accidentally let a lump of cream fall into his bowl, a subtle thought arose in him: perhaps she favors me specially. The suspicion that he might be receiving preferential prasad, rather than pure impersonal seva, distressed him so deeply that he relieved her of the service. For three days she ate nothing, hollowed by grief. But Vyasji did not simply restore things. He gave her a penance: sell your ornaments and organize a feast for the saints. When she had done this, the service was returned to her. He did not dismiss her but drew her more deeply into the life of devotion. True service is not about warmth of feeling alone. It requires the kind of inward purity that remains alert even to the subtlest trace of partiality.
Bhaktamal, tika on Harivansh (entry 194)
Everything Is an Occasion for Love
Once, while placing a golden flute into the hands of Shri Kishorji during seva, Vyasji's finger slipped and was pricked. A drop of blood appeared. He was not distressed about the pain. He was stricken by the thought that roughness had passed between his hand and the sacred form. With the tenderness of a parent binding a child's wound, he wrapped his own fingers in a soaked cloth. This is what the rasika tradition calls madhurya-bhava made tangible: not a devotional mood cultivated for special occasions, but the natural expression of a love so continuous that even a pricked finger becomes an occasion to attend more carefully, to wrap with more tenderness, to be more present than before. Vyasji's whole life was a teaching that love does not have a special setting. It is always already the setting.
Bhaktamal, tika on Harivansh (entry 194)
Hindi text from OCR scan (Khemraj Shrikrishnadas Prakashan, CC0). May contain errors.