Nabhadas here unveils ten devotees of Shri Ram, each one an embodiment of one of the nine forms of devotion known as navdha bhakti. These are not casual practitioners who dabbled in love and then moved on. Each of these ten figures was so thoroughly consumed by a single mode of worship that their very name became inseparable from it. When we speak of shravan, we think of Hanuman. When we speak of kirtan, we think of Kush and Lav. The form and the devotee merged so completely that neither can be understood without the other.
The first and foremost is Pavan-kumar Hanuman, the son of the wind, who stands as the pinnacle of shravan bhakti, the devotion of listening. Hanuman drank every syllable of Ram-katha through his ears and was never sated. Wherever the name of Ram was recited or his deeds were sung, Hanuman appeared, standing with folded hands, tears streaming down his face. His listening was not passive reception. It was an act of total absorption, a dissolution of self into the sound of the Beloved's name. Even after witnessing Ram's glory firsthand, even after carrying mountains and leaping across oceans in his service, Hanuman never tired of hearing the story told again. For him, each retelling was fresh, each syllable a new revelation.
Kirtan, the devotion of singing, belonged to the twin brothers Kush and Lav, the sons of Ram and Sita. Taught by the sage Valmiki himself, they learned the entire Ramayana by heart and sang it with such beauty and steadiness that the whole forest fell silent to listen. When they later sang before Ram in his own court at Ayodhya, their voices carried such purity that the Lord himself was moved to tears. Their kirtan was not performance. It was a son's love pouring out in melody, a song so true that even the subject of the song could not remain unmoved. Nabhadas calls their voices "steady and unwavering," pointing to a kirtan rooted not in emotion alone but in perfect inner stillness.
Bharat, Ram's younger brother, held sumiran, the devotion of ceaseless remembrance. When Ram departed for exile, Bharat refused the throne and governed Ayodhya only as a regent, placing Ram's wooden sandals upon the seat of power. For fourteen years he lived as an ascetic at Nandigram, his every breath suffused with the memory of his brother. Ram's name never left his lips. His remembrance was not an occasional turning of the mind toward God; it was the unbroken current of consciousness itself, flowing always toward the Beloved. Nabhadas describes Bharat as "shuchi," meaning pure and luminous, indicating that his sumiran had cleansed him of every trace of worldly attachment.
Charan-seva, the devotion of serving the Lord's feet, was perfected by a devotee whose touch at Ram's lotus feet was beyond comparison. In many traditional commentaries, this role is assigned to Shatrughna, the youngest of the four brothers, who served Bharat as Bharat served Ram, making himself a servant of a servant. His humility was so complete that he sought no recognition, no station of his own. He simply remained at the feet, and in that lowliness discovered an intimacy with the divine that the proud can never know.
Pujan, the devotion of worship, belonged to Shabari, the elderly tribal woman who waited decades in the forest for Ram's arrival. Each morning she would gather wild berries, tasting every one to ensure it was sweet before placing it in her basket. When Ram finally came, she offered him these already-tasted fruits, an act that by ritual standards would be considered impure. Yet Ram ate them with delight, declaring that nothing offered with such love could be unclean. Shabari's pujan teaches that true worship is not bound by ritual precision or social standing. It is the quality of love behind the offering that reaches God. Her patient decades of waiting, her careful testing of each berry, her trembling joy at his arrival: all of this was her worship, long before she placed a single fruit in his hand.
Vandan, the devotion of reverent salutation, belonged to its rightful master, whose every prostration trembled with prema. Tradition identifies this devotee as Vibhishan, the brother of Ravan, who abandoned Lanka, family, throne, and safety to cross the ocean and bow before Ram. His vandan was not a polite greeting. It was the act of a man who had staked everything on a single prostration, burning every bridge behind him for the sake of one moment at the Lord's feet. Ram received him with open arms and gave him the kingdom of Lanka, not as payment but as grace answering courage.
Lakhan, known more widely as Lakshmana, embodied dasya, the devotion of servitude. He accompanied Ram into fourteen years of forest exile, sleeping little, eating less, walking ahead to clear the path, standing guard through every night. His servitude was so total that it became a kind of freedom. He wanted nothing for himself. In wanting nothing, he received everything: the constant proximity of God, the unbroken companionship of the one he served. Nabhadas's phrase is precise: "dasya so total it becomes freedom." This is the paradox at the heart of true service. The servant who holds nothing back discovers that the master withholds nothing either.
Sugriv, the vanara king, plundered the treasures of sakhya, the devotion of friendship. His bond with Ram was sealed before a sacred fire on Rishyamuka mountain, when both were in exile, both separated from their beloved wives, both facing enemies they could not yet defeat. Their friendship was offered without calculation: Ram promised to slay Vali and restore Sugriv's kingdom, and Sugriv pledged his entire army to the search for Sita. Nabhadas uses the word "looted" to describe Sugriv's sakhya, suggesting a friendship so bold it seized divine grace with the fearlessness of a raider who knows the treasure belongs to him by right of love.
Atma-samarpan, the devotion of complete self-offering, belonged to the one whose extraordinary surrender won glory that will never perish. Traditional commentators identify this devotee as Bali (also known as Vali), Sugriv's brother, who in his final moments surrendered his life, his enmity, and his very self to Ram. Struck by Ram's arrow, Bali at first protested, but when he understood that the Lord himself had come to claim him, he offered everything without reservation. His surrender was not resignation. It was the blazing recognition that the one who takes your life is the same one who gave it, and that returning it willingly is the highest act a soul can perform.
These ten are not historical figures sealed behind the glass of scripture. They are living doorways. Nabhadas presents them as "nidhaan," treasuries, repositories of devotion so vast that any seeker can draw from them without limit. Whichever form of bhakti stirs in your heart, one of these ten stands at that threshold, waiting to show you how far love can go. The message is both simple and staggering: there is no single correct way to love God. There are at least nine, and each one, practiced with total sincerity, leads to the same destination.
The Treasury Within Each Form of Bhakti
Nabhadas calls these ten devotees 'nidhaan,' which means treasury or storehouse. Each one did not merely practice a form of devotion; they became it so completely that the form and the devotee merged. Hanuman is not someone who practised shravan bhakti. He is shravan bhakti. Shabari is not someone who once worshipped with love. She is pujan. This is the teaching hidden in how they are presented: full absorption in a single mode of love leads to total transformation. The seeker does not need to master all nine forms at once. One form, pursued with complete sincerity and unwavering dedication, opens the same door. These ten stand as living proof that depth matters more than breadth in the life of devotion.
Bhaktamal, Chhappa 86 (Tika of Priyadas)
Hanuman: The Art of Listening That Never Tires
Of all the forms of navdha bhakti, Hanumanji stands at the pinnacle as the vessel of shravan, the devotion of deep listening. He had witnessed Ram's glory firsthand. He had carried mountains and leaped across oceans in the Lord's service. And yet, whenever Ram-katha was recited anywhere, Hanuman appeared with folded hands and tears streaming down his face, drinking every syllable as though hearing it for the very first time. This is the teaching: genuine shravan is not passive reception. It is an act of total absorption, a dissolving of the self into the sound of the Beloved's name. For Hanumanji, each retelling was fresh. No familiarity dulled the wonder. This quality, keeping the ears and heart perpetually open, is what made him the greatest bhakta.
Bhaktamal, Chhappa 86 (Tika of Priyadas)
Dasya Bhakti: Freedom Found Through Total Service
Lakshmana embodied dasya bhakti, the devotion of complete servitude, and his example reveals a paradox at the very heart of spiritual life. He accompanied Ram into fourteen years of forest exile, sleeping little, eating less, always walking ahead to clear the path, standing guard through every night. He wanted nothing for himself. Yet in wanting nothing, he received everything: the unbroken companionship of God, the constant proximity of the one he loved. This is the secret of genuine service. When a devotee holds nothing back, the master withholds nothing either. Hanumanji's own dasya nature echoes this. His strength, his wisdom, his very power arose not despite his servanthood but because of it. Service performed without self-interest becomes a direct path to the Divine.
Bhaktamal, Chhappa 86 (Tika of Priyadas)
Shabari's Lesson: Love Makes Every Offering Pure
Shabari waited decades in the forest for Ram's arrival. Each morning she gathered wild berries, tasting every one to test its sweetness before placing it in her basket. When Ram finally came, she offered him these already-tasted fruits, an act that by ritual standards would be considered impure. Ram ate them with delight, declaring that nothing offered with such love could be unclean. Her pujan, the devotion of worship, had been unfolding for years before Ram arrived: in the patient waiting, the careful tasting of each berry, the daily preparation of the offering space. God was not waiting for a ritually perfect offering. He was waiting for love this honest and this total. The practitioner need not have perfect forms. Bring what you have, prepared with full care and full heart.
Bhaktamal, Chhappa 86 (Tika of Priyadas)
Sakhya: The Bhakti That Seizes Divine Grace
Nabhadas describes Sugriv's sakhya bhakti, the devotion of friendship with Ram, using the striking word 'looted.' Sugriv plundered the treasures of divine friendship. The image is vivid and intentional. True sakhya is not a timid, polite nearness to the Divine. It is the bold intimacy of a friend who walks in without knocking, who speaks plainly, who receives grace not as a beggar but as one who knows the treasure belongs to him by right of love. The lesson for every seeker is this: one form of authentic relationship with the Divine, entered into with full honesty and fearlessness, is sufficient. Ram did not reject Sugriv's very human grief, his anger, his need. He met it with friendship and fulfilled every promise he made. God does not require that we be perfect. He requires that we be real.
Bhaktamal, Chhappa 86 (Tika of Priyadas)
Nine Doors, One Destination
The deepest teaching of this Chhappa is also the simplest: there is no single correct way to love God. There are at least nine, and each one, pursued with complete sincerity, leads to the same destination. Shravan, kirtan, sumiran, pada-seva, pujan, vandan, dasya, sakhya, atma-nivedana. These are not competing paths. They are nine doorways into the same house. The seeker need not walk through all nine. One door, entered with the whole of oneself, is enough. The examples of these ten beloved devotees of Ram stand as an invitation rather than a standard of comparison. They show how far love can go. Whatever form of bhakti moves you, allow it to move you completely. That completeness is the key.
Bhaktamal, Chhappa 86 (Tika of Priyadas)
Hindi text from OCR scan (Khemraj Shrikrishnadas Prakashan, CC0). May contain errors.