The mala would not fall.
Shri Narsiji Mehta stood in Prabhu's mandira, singing with his full voice, raga after raga, but the garland of flowers stayed fixed around Shri Shyamasundara's neck. The raja had come with his doubters, had the mala strung on silk thread twisted into many layers, placed it on the murti himself, and said: "Now sing. If the mala falls, we shall know the truth."
Narsiji sang beautifully, but he could not sing the kedara raga. He had pledged it to a seth in exchange for dravya to serve the santas. Without kedara, the mala would not move. The wicked vimukhas were greatly pleased.
Then Narsiji began to reproach Prabhu with loving, playful complaints.
At that moment, Prabhu assumed Narsiji's own form, went to the seth, paid the money, redeemed the raga, and placed the document in Narsiji's lap. Narsiji knew at once that the kripa-sindhu had acted. He opened his throat and poured out the kedara.
On other days the mala would simply slip and fall. But on this day, Prabhu's murti itself walked forward, gentle anklet-bells tinkling, and with His own kara-kamala placed the garland around Shri Narsiji's neck. The bhaktas cried out, "Jaya jaya! Dhanya dhanya!" The raja clung to Narsiji's charana. The vimukhas slunk away in shame.
This was Narsi Mehta: the crest-jewel of Gujarat's bhaktas, the man for whom Shri Krishnachandraji ran errands, wrote hundis, arranged weddings, and stepped off His own pedestal.
He was born into a brahmana family in the village of Ramapura, but his life was anything but ordinary. Shri Shankara himself, out of his own ichchha, gave Narsiji the body of a sakhi and showed him the darshana of the nitya Vrindavana rasa-mandala. There, upon a mani-studded ground, amid countless priyaas, Lalaji was dancing. The radiance of that rupa was spread everywhere. The mridanga sounded, the chang played alongside, and wave upon wave of life-giving chhavi arose in every anga. Shri Shivaji placed a deepaka in Narsi Sakhi's hand. And when Lalaji's glance fell upon this new sakhi, He understood and accepted.
Shri Shyamasundarji came near and said: "Go now. Practice dhyana of this very form. Wherever you remember and call upon me, I will give darshana at that very place, at that very moment."
Narsiji returned to his village. He married, had two daughters and one son. He spread Hari-bhakti throughout Gujarat. Sants came to his home constantly. He served them in every way, singing Prabhu's guna-gana, performing bhagavata-seva.
The non-devotee brahmanas burned with envy. But what could they do? Shri Giridhari was his protector on all four sides.
When sants on tirtha-yatra needed seven hundred rupees for their journey to Dvaraka, Narsiji wrote a hundi in Prabhu's own name: "My agent is a most generous soul, Sanvala Saha. Give the hundi to him." In Dvaraka, no one had heard of Savliya Sahu. The sants searched everywhere, hungry, thirsty, despairing. Then Shri Krishnachandraji appeared as a seth with a money-bag on his shoulder: "Who has Narsiji's hundi? Take your money! Please tell him to keep writing hundis. There is much wealth kept here."
When his daughter's husband's family demanded chhuchhaka gifts, Narsiji arrived in a small cart with nothing. His daughter's face fell: "What was the use of coming?" He told her to write down whatever she desired. She wrote the list in exasperation. Then Narsiji adorned the entire village with ornaments of gold and silver and beautiful clothing. All were dazzling with splendor. Everything had appeared through Prabhu's kripa alone.
When his son's wedding came, Narsiji had not prepared a thing. Only four days remained and he had no worry. Shri Krishnachandraji and Shri Rukminiji came to his home. Prabhu took Narsiji's hand and said: "Go with the barata. I will travel alongside from the sky."
Narsiji folded his hands: "The barata and vivaha, all that is Your affair. I know only this: wherever You say, I will tie my waistcloth, take up the tala, and joyfully sing Your guna. I know nothing else and desire nothing else."
Prabhu took the entire burden. The bride's father, who had been horrified at matching his wealthy daughter with a penniless family, came and saw a barata so magnificent that people said it was not of mortals but of devatas. He abandoned his pride, bowed his head, and begged Narsiji's grace. The vivaha was performed with great ananda. Upon returning home, Prabhu, along with all aishvarya, vanished from sight.
Once, a child died because his father, the miserly Ratna Seth, had failed to fulfill a manata to Narsiji's Thakurji. The couple fell at Narsiji's feet, weeping. Narsiji, supremely dayalu, prayed to Prabhu. Hari brought the boy back to life. The couple performed the puja with great prema, and Ratna Seth became a great bhakta.
We have sung as many of his guna as we knew. To hear these guna again and again is what makes life worth living.
The Name Is the Root of Everything
Narsi Mehta did not speak until he was eight years old. When a wandering sadhu placed his hand on the child's head and whispered the names of Radha and Shyama, the boy's tongue was loosed at once. The first words he ever spoke were divine names. His whole life became a demonstration of this one truth: the Name is not decoration, not ritual, not something you add to a spiritual practice. It is the root. It is the ground from which everything else grows. Begin there. Return there. Everything else is secondary.
Bhaktamal, tikaEn for Narsi Mehta (id 212)
Prabhu Handles the World; the Bhakta Handles the Singing
When his son Shamaldas was to be married and Narsi had nothing, no money, no arrangement, four days remained. He showed no anxiety. He told his family: Shri Krishnachandraji will manage everything. This is His affair, not mine. And when Prabhu appeared at his home, Narsi said simply: wherever You say, I will take up the tala and sing Your guna with joy. I know nothing else. I desire nothing else. These two sentences contain Narsi Mehta's complete philosophy. Prabhu handles the affairs of the world. The bhakta handles the singing. This is not passivity. It is the most radical form of trust.
Bhaktamal, tikaEn for Narsi Mehta (id 212)
The Hundi of Trust: Write Without Knowing How
A group of pilgrims asked Narsi for a letter of credit for their journey to Dvaraka. He had almost nothing. He wrote a hundi in the name of a seth he believed to exist there: Shamliya Sahu. He had no money in Dvaraka, no agent, no arrangement. He had only the understanding, arrived at through years of living, that whatever he needed for the sants and pilgrims would be provided. The pilgrims arrived in Dvaraka. A man appeared carrying a money-bag, dressed as a seth, calling out: who holds Narsinh Mehta's hundi? He brought extra. He said: tell Narsi to keep writing hundis. There is no shortage of wealth here. No such person existed in Dvaraka before or after. Shri Krishnachandraji had gone to the bazaar himself. Write your hundi. Trust the seth.
Bhaktamal, tikaEn for Narsi Mehta (id 212)
Vaishnav Jan: Feel Another's Sorrow as Your Own
Narsi Mehta composed the bhajan that became the morning prayer of Mahatma Gandhi's ashram and the song on the lips of freedom fighters walking to prison: Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye, je peed parayi jane re. Call only that person a Vaishnava who feels another's sorrow as their own. Who helps those in pain but takes no pride in their service. Who treats the low and the high alike. Who speaks no falsehood. Who has conquered his tongue, his hunger, his anger. In whose heart Rama's name is fixed. Such a person, says Narsi, sanctifies the family they were born into. Narsi was describing himself, not with pride but with precision. He had felt another's sorrow so completely that Prabhu had to go to the bazaar to settle his debts.
Vaishnav Jan To, composed by Narsi Mehta; Bhaktamal tikaEn (id 212)
Devotion Recognizes No Caste
Narsi Mehta was born a Nagar Brahmin, among the highest of the high in Gujarat. He chose to sing and dance with Harijans, with those the caste order had excluded, in the streets of Junagadh. For this the brahmins excommunicated him. They barred him from festivals, from wells, from the rituals of his community. His response was not argument. He continued to sing. Shri Krishnachandraji's response was to send Lalaji's own companions to Narsi's home for the community meal that the brahmins refused to attend. The vimukhas arrived to mock and found celestial beings sharing his food. Bhakti is where the line is drawn, not birth. That is what the excommunication and the celestial guests together were saying.
Bhaktamal, tikaEn for Narsi Mehta (id 212)
The Vision in the Forest: Surrender Before Shiva, Receive Krishna
When his sister-in-law's mockery became unbearable, Narsi walked into the forest and found a solitary Shiva lingam at Gopnath. He sat and fasted and wept and prayed for seven days. He did not demand. He did not bargain. He simply gave himself entirely to that presence. Shiva appeared, moved by his devotion, and granted him something no external boon could provide: he gave Narsi the inner vision of the sakhi, the companion of Vrindavana, and led him into the rasa-mandala where Shyamasundara danced. Narsi was so absorbed that he did not feel the torch burning his fingers. Complete surrender opens a door that no amount of ritual or study can open. That door, once opened, never closes.
Bhaktamal, tikaEn for Narsi Mehta (id 212); confirmed in traditional accounts of Narsinh Mehta's life
Singing Through Grief: The Flame That Does Not Die
Narsi Mehta lost his son young. His wife died of grief. He moved to Mangrol and continued to sing. He was mocked, excommunicated, left penniless, tested by kings, and confronted by doubters throughout his life. None of it silenced him. He had seen the rasa-mandala. He had been given, in that forest vision, an inner eye that looked out from inside the love of Vrindavana. From that vantage point, poverty and mockery and loss were real but secondary. The singing was primary. The Bhaktamal records that hearing these guna again and again is what makes life worth living. Five centuries of listeners, from Junagadh to Gandhi's Sabarmati Ashram, are in complete agreement.
Bhaktamal, tikaEn for Narsi Mehta (id 212)
Hindi text from OCR scan (Khemraj Shrikrishnadas Prakashan, CC0). May contain errors.