The Fruit Feast Līlā

May Śrī Priyā and Her most beloved Lord be ever victorious.

The Fruit Feast Līlā

Śrī Śyāmasundara sits upon a seat enjoying a feast of fruit. He faces south, while Śrī Rādhārānī sits directly before Him facing north. A short distance to Śrī Priyā's south, Lalitā stands receiving platters filled with fruit from the mañjarīs and passing them to Her. Viśākhā stands to Priyā's left holding an exquisitely fashioned fan of flowers. A large tray is filled with small dishes of fruit. Priyā looks among them, chooses whichever fruit She wishes to feed Her beloved, and places it before Śyāmasundara with a gentle smile.

Śyāmasundara holds a beautiful glass shaped like a cup but somewhat larger, filled with the yellow juice of some fruit. Keeping it a little away from His lips, He gazes upon the beauty of Priyā's face and smiles softly. Priyā looks now at His face and now at the dishes before Her. From time to time She takes with Her left hand a dish passed by Lalitā, selects the piece that appears most succulent, and transfers it to one of the dishes in the large tray.

When Śyāmasundara remains absorbed in looking at Priyā for some time, nearly all the sakhīs and maidservants glance at Him and begin to laugh. He laughs too. Startled, Priyā looks behind Her to discover why they are laughing. Finding no reason, She turns again toward Śyāmasundara. He still holds the glass just as before, a little away from His lips.

Priyā signals to Rūpamañjarī. Rūpamañjarī approaches with a golden bowl in her left hand and a small ewer of water in her right, and sets the bowl on Priyā's right. As Rūpamañjarī pours, Priyā washes Her hands. She then takes the glass from Śyāmasundara's hand and gently brings it to Her beloved's lips.

Śyāmasundara quickly drinks four or five swallows of the fruit juice and lifts His head. At once Priyā takes a segment of orange from the large tray. Still holding the glass in Her left hand, She places the segment in His mouth with Her right, and He receives it peacefully.

Priyā next signals to Citrā, who has been sitting a little distance away arranging fruits in dishes. Citrā rises, brings a special drink in a bowl, and places it in Rādhā's hands. It has been prepared by extracting the juice of jackfruit and blending it with spices and crystallized sugar. Rādhā says, “Here, this is an entirely new preparation made by my dear Citrā. You must drink at least half of it.”

Śyāmasundara accepts the bowl. Citrā grows bashful, while Rādhārānī watches His lotus face with eager longing. She hopes that He will drink the whole bowl, so that She may fill it again at once, and Her affectionate heart begins to overflow. Before He has even begun drinking the jackfruit juice, She orders another bowl to be brought. The command is barely given when Vilāsamañjarī places a second bowl in Her hand.

Perceiving Priyā's inward love, Śyāmasundara begins to drown in affection, yet a playful idea comes to Him.

Śyāmasundara says, “Then you must begin drinking first. I shall drink only as much as you drink. How fortunate that, knowing my wish, you had a bowl brought for yourself.”

Priyā is caught in thought, but quickly regains Her composure. “I had the bowl brought in case Madhumaṅgala suddenly arrives. He would quarrel with You, saying, ‘Bravo! You feast all alone?’ Then I could protect You by telling him, ‘No, look! Śyāmasundara set aside this bowl for you long ago.’”

Śyāmasundara replies, “No, Madhumaṅgala will not come today. I sent him on another errand. How could I drink Citrā's preparation without you?”

Rādhā tries many evasions, but Śyāmasundara cleverly laughs every one of them away. Lowering Her head, She wonders what to do. She signals to Him with Her eyes, but He shakes His head in refusal. At last She pleads, “Very well. First drink the juice and eat the other fruits. Then I shall drink it.”

Śyāmasundara closes His eyes and reflects for a few moments. “Very well, let it be so. But do not go back on your word.”

She quickly answers, “No, I shall not.”

Śyāmasundara now drinks from the bowl, consumes half, and sets it in the large tray. Rādhā reaches into each dish in turn and feeds Him one piece after another. He receives this prasāda saturated with His beloved's love. In succession She places mango, jambu fruit, apple, lychee, pineapple, banana, guava, jujube, black nightshade berries, pīlū berries, grapes, water chestnut, mulberry, and other fruits into His mouth, and He continues eating. Some fruits are strange and unfamiliar, releasing an indescribably sweet fragrance that perfumes the entire room. Priyā takes a little from every variety in turn, places it in Her beloved's mouth, and sinks into love.

Śyāmasundara is Himself so overcome with love as He eats that He no longer knows what He is eating or how much. With Her gaze fixed on His face, Priyā continues like an automaton to pick up pieces of many fruits. Not the slightest mistake has yet occurred, for each time Her hand has entered a fresh dish.

Yet after keeping Her gaze upon Her beloved's face for so long, Śrī Priyā, the very embodiment of mahābhāva, loses the awareness that She is Rādhā. Her mind becomes so absorbed in beloved Śyāmasundara that She takes Herself to be Him. Thinking, “I am Śyāmasundara,” She brings the next piece of fruit not to His lips but to Her own. Seeing this state of love, the sakhīs nearly faint in affection, but with great difficulty regain control of themselves.

At the same time, because Śyāmasundara has kept His gaze continuously fixed upon Priyā's face, He too loses the awareness that He is Śyāmasundara. He believes Himself to be Rādhā and sees Śyāmasundara before Him, waiting for Priyā's hand to feed Him the piece of fruit it holds. In that mood He reaches toward Her hand. The vision is exquisite: overcome with divine emotion, Priyā remains like a stone image, holding the fruit near Her own lips and gazing at Śyāmasundara, while He sits equally still with the finger of His right hand resting near Her right wrist.

Observing Their state, the sakhīs become somewhat anxious. Lalitā and Viśākhā agree that it would be best to soften the intensity of Their ecstasy, lest some harm occur. Viśākhā therefore signals to Madhumatī Mañjarī. With great agility Madhumatī takes up the vīṇā and begins to sing in a sweet voice:

Delighted again and again, secretly smiling and laughing, They rise,

filling Their breath and eyes with tears, crying, “Ah me, ah me!”

Startled again and again, spellbound and suddenly lifted up, says Deva,

intoxicated, babbling, and wholly absorbed, They became complete in one another.

Each wanders describing the beauty and virtues of the other,

finding no rest at home, for love's ways are ever new.

Enchanted again and again, Mohana's mind became filled with Rādhā,

and Rādhā's mind, enchanted by Mohana, became wholly made of Him.

As the music begins, its sweet waves of melody fill the bower. Madhumatī Mañjarī's voice has become boundlessly sweet today. After two stanzas, the pupils of Priyā and Her beloved, which had appeared utterly motionless, move once or twice up and down. Their lids then fall and Their eyes close. Still immersed in the same ecstasy, They begin to be possessed by the moods corresponding to the song.

Priyā sees this vision: “I have gone to a cowherd woman's home to deliver a ceremonial gift of sweets. She has wrapped her veil around herself like Śyāmasundara's yellow garment. On seeing her I become completely absorbed in meditation upon Him. I laugh and mutter, and at times beat my breast and weep. Running about like a madwoman, I throw down the vessel of sweets I was carrying, seize a clay pot from her house, and flee with it. Seeing my condition, the cowherd woman caresses me and asks, ‘Sister, what has happened to you? Oh, you look completely mad.’ I reply, ‘My dear, what beauty He has! Sister, can you tell me why Śyāmasundara is so beautiful? Ah, who taught Him to speak with such sweetness? Tell me, sister!’

“Hearing me, she takes my hand and says, ‘Come, I shall bring you home. You are not in your senses.’ She leads me by the hand, but the form of my body has changed completely. I look exactly like Śyāmasundara. In place of my sari I wear His yellow cloth, and in place of my bridal ornament I wear a peacock-feather crown. My fair complexion has become utterly dark.”

Meanwhile, possessed by the song's mood, Śyāmasundara experiences this: “I am going to the forest to graze the cows. As soon as I leave the cowherd settlement, I meet my beloved. She is gathering flowers into the fold of Her garment. Its end has slipped from Her head onto Her back, and Her serpentlike braid dances behind Her. I clap to signal Her. The moment I do, She casts a sidelong glance toward me, and my heart is pierced. I cry aloud, ‘Ah! Ah!’ At once my beloved hides in a bush. My eyes fill with tears, and clutching my heart I sit down there. Madhumaṅgala, Subala, Aṁśa, Stoka, and the other friends anxiously ask, ‘Brother, what happened? We have never seen you like this.’

“I ask Aṁśa, ‘Have you ever seen millions of moons rise at once?’ He answers no. I say, ‘Then listen. Not merely millions, but even the beauty of countless lunar orbs would fade before the beauty I saw beside that bush just now.’ Filled with wonder, Aṁśa asks whose beauty it was. I try to say, ‘Rā... Rā... Rā...’ I wish to pronounce my beloved's name, but my speech has become twisted.

“Just then we hear my beloved's sweet voice. My heart begins to dance. I try to speak properly and explain to my friends, but one confused phrase emerges after another. Like a madman I repeat, ‘The doe hunts the hunter's heart! The doe hunts the hunter's heart!’ The form of my body has changed. I have assumed the very form of my beloved.”

Thus Priyā and Her beloved are carried upon the current of Madhumatī Mañjarī's song. In her cuckoolike voice Madhumatī repeats its final couplet again and again: “Enchanted again and again, Mohana's mind became filled with Rādhā, and Rādhā's mind, enchanted by Mohana, became wholly made of Him.” Hearing this refrain, They both feel as though someone were awakening Them. Śyāmasundara thinks, “The verse is perfectly true. Meditation upon my beloved has enchanted me, and therefore my eyes cannot perceive my own body.” Priyā similarly thinks, “It is true, entirely true. Beloved Śyāmasundara has covered my eyes. That alone is why in confusion my form appears like His.”

Viśākhā signals to Madhumatī, who immediately stops singing. A solemn silence fills the bower. Priyā and Her beloved open Their eyes together and look around in bewilderment. The sakhīs laugh. Remembering Their ecstatic condition, the divine pair become somewhat abashed. Śyāmasundara quickly bursts into laughter, however, and says, “Bravo! You thoroughly confounded Me. While feeding Me fruit, You cast a spell upon Me. Now I understand why the scriptures prescribe eating in silence with one's gaze lowered.”

The sakhīs laugh at His words, and Priyā laughs with them.

Śyāmasundara now lifts the bowl of jackfruit juice, brings it to Priyā's lips, and says, “See, our agreement is settled. I have finished the fruit. Now you must drink at least a little.”

Looking bashfully at Her beloved, Priyā takes one swallow and softly says, “I shall drink it later. Please accept that.”

Śyāmasundara's face fills with delight. Bending close to Her face, He says very softly in His sweet voice, “So be it!” Then He laughs aloud, returns the bowl to the tray, and rises. Priyā rises too. They walk four or five steps east and He sits upon an attractively decorated stool. Rūpamañjarī arrives with an ewer, while Ratimañjarī holds a beautiful wide-mouthed basin. Rādhā washes beloved Śyāmasundara's hands over it, has Him rinse His mouth, and wipes His hands with the end of Her garment. Filled with love, He submits to everything She does.

As She finishes drying His hands, a profound joy begins to surge within Rādhā. Taking beloved Śyāmasundara by the hand, She leads Him toward the northern door. They pass through the northern room of the jeweled palace and then the northern bower. Crossing that too, They proceed north along a lovely small road.

Beautiful Arabian jasmine plants line both sides, covered in large blossoms. Beyond one row of jasmine beds stands another row of henna, bearing beautiful clusters and flowers. Following this road, They reach the jeweled palace in the northwestern corner of Lalitā's bower.

The palace has the same general form as the former one, but its adornment of vines and shrubs and the decoration of its rooms appear even more enchanting. Priyā and Her beloved enter the splendid central chamber. A beautiful bed made of lotus blossoms shines there. Priyā leads Śyāmasundara to it and seats Him, gazing upon Him. Smiling, He lies down with His head toward the south. Priyā sits on the middle portion of the same bed facing Him, Her feet hanging over its edge.

Vilāsamañjarī stands before Priyā holding a betel casket. Priyā sets it upon the bed and takes out two prepared betel leaves covered in fine gold foil. She returns the casket to Vilāsamañjarī, moves nearer Śyāmasundara's head, rests Her left hand on His right shoulder, and places the betel into His mouth with Her right. He closes His mouth around it while Priyā gazes at His face, filled with delight.

Lalitā comes from the side and sits on the bed to Śyāmasundara's left. Viśākhā sits near His feet and takes them into her lap. Citrā stands near His head holding a fan, but does not move it because the air is not warm. Some sakhīs kneel while holding the bed, and several mañjarīs remain standing. Śyāmasundara draws His yellow garment from His feet up to His neck, covering His entire body so that only His lotus face remains visible.

His gaze falls upon an exquisite painting on the northern wall. It depicts Rādhā holding Śyāmasundara's flute to Her lips while He sits beside Her teaching Her to play. The sight reminds Him of His flute. During the decorous water play He had given it to Lalitā, and now a desire awakens in Him to recover it somehow. With this purpose He tells Priyā, “You must have forgotten.”

Priyā is so absorbed in drinking the nectar of Her beloved's beauty that His words seem not to reach Her ears. She gives no answer. Smiling softly, Śyāmasundara tips Her chin and asks, “Well, tell Me, do you remember?”

Awakening as though from samādhi, Rādhā asks, “What?”

“Do you remember the melody I taught you that day, or have you forgotten it?”

Like an innocent child She quickly replies, “Yes, yes, I remember it perfectly.”

“Then let Me hear it.”

“Bring me the flute. I shall play it for You now.”

“Lalitā has it. Take it from her.”

Rādhā says to Lalitā, “Lalite, lend me the flute for a little while. I shall return it to you afterward.”

Lalitā smiles and reflects for a few moments, then signals to a mañjarī, who brings the flute. Rādhā raises it to Her lips, but the instant She breathes into it She is overcome with love. Embarrassed, She lowers the flute and says, “I cannot play before everyone.”

Śyāmasundara laughs. “I understand. You have forgotten.”

Rādhā grows ever more overwhelmed with love and gives the flute to Lalitā. The moment Lalitā takes it, Śyāmasundara reaches out and grasps it. “Watch. I shall teach You again.”

Still lying down, He breathes a single note into it. Such an enchanting wave of sound emerges that Lalitā, insensible with love, falls forward while Rādhārānī falls backward. Śyāmasundara swiftly extends both arms and supports Them both. Laughing, He says, “Lalitā Rānī, how will you manage to keep this flute with you all day now?”

Lalitā grows bashful and says nothing.

Just then Vṛndā Devī arrives carrying an extraordinarily beautiful parrot and a mynah bird in a cage. The parrot immediately says, “My beloved Śyāmasundara, sustainer of my life, rest for a while. Your lifespan will increase.”

The parrot then recites a verse whose meaning is that when one lies upon the left side after eating, illness does not arise, food is properly digested, and life is lengthened. All the sakhīs laugh at this recitation. Rolling its pupils toward the corners, the parrot assumes such a grave expression that it seems to possess complete knowledge of Āyurveda. Affectionate to His devotees, Śyāmasundara fulfills the bird's wish and says, “Yes, brother, you speak perfectly well. I am feeling sleepy too.”

Śyāmasundara turns onto His left side and closes His eyes. Joy fills the parrot's eyes, and their corners brim with tears of bliss. Priyā continues to gaze fixedly at Śyāmasundara. Vṛndā signals to Lalitā, who quietly descends from the bed, approaches Rādhārānī, and takes Her hand. Rādhā does not wish to rise, but Lalitā gently compels Her to leave the bed and draws Her out of the room with the intention of feeding Her too. Rādhā moves very slowly, keeping Her face turned toward beloved Śyāmasundara. Lalitā whispers in Her ear, “Look, eat something. Otherwise I shall tell Śyāmasundara that You refuse to eat. Then He will feed You first before taking His own meal.”

Hearing this, Rādhā lowers Her head and slowly follows wherever Lalitā leads. They pass through the northern room and bower and reach the kadamba platform on the right side of the road.