Vision of the Lord's Divine Form

Śrī Hariḥ

The Worship of Vraja-bhāva

Vision of the Lord's Divine Form

In truth, the Lord's form cannot be described. One cannot describe it without fixing the mind upon the remembrance of that form, and once the mind becomes absorbed, speech comes to a halt; who then can describe it? Whatever is described in such a state is only external. Yet, by this pretext, discourse about the Lord takes place; that is a great good fortune. To persons who know reality, discussion of the Lord's form appears very external. They regard the truth of God as beyond it. But this is not so. The Lord's beautiful limbs carry reality with them; they are not devoid of it. Certainly, this reality is not made of the five material elements. The Lord's limbs and knowledge of Him are not two different things. The Lord Himself has become those limbs. Yes, for people to whom these matters are external, they remain external. These matters seem delightful only to devotees who wish to behold the Lord's manifest form. Followers of the path of knowledge think that the Lord's hands and feet are like those of human beings. If the mind remains fixed on these alone, we shall indeed be deprived of the truth. This does not mean that such people have no right to hear this description; rather, their qualification is of another kind. In their view, those who worship the Lord's manifest form are of lesser qualification. Therefore these matters are not for them; they are only for lovers of God. They are also highly confidential and should not be spoken before the general public, for ordinary people receive no special benefit from hearing them; their curiosity is merely satisfied, and it remains only talk and hearing. These are things to be meditated upon. By meditating on the Lord's beautiful limbs, one may, through His mercy, receive His vision. The vision of the Lord's manifest form does occur and can occur; this is wholly true, not imagination. That form is pure, conscious, eternal, and divine. These matters can delight only those who long to see that form and understand it as an object of sacred longing. Those who conceive a reality even higher than this are not qualified to hear them. The first requirement here is freedom from the fault of envy. Arjuna was free from that fault. Only after knowing this did the Lord explain His secret to him. Therefore these matters are to be discussed only among intimates, not before everyone.

Among the Lord's limbs, two are foremost: His lotus face and lotus feet. The feet are even dearer to devotees than the face; devotees are never satiated by seeing them. This should not be taken to mean that the face is less dear. The point is that the face comes after the feet, and therefore devotees yearn more for the feet. The glory of the feet is immense. Who can describe it? Who can tell the glory of those feet whose washing made Śiva truly Śiva, and which make even the pure more pure? Holy places have their sanctity because the Lord's feet rested upon them. At the sight of ground marked by the Lord's beautiful feet, aged Akrūra descended from his chariot, overwhelmed with love, and began to roll upon those footprints. In rolling upon them he experienced the bliss of the Lord's embrace. Whoever has even once seen the light of the Lord's raised, red toenails has had the darkness of the heart removed forever. Those nails contain the radiance of millions of moons. Their light never waxes or wanes; it has not even the slightest dark stain of blemish. It is forever uniform. Moonlight disappears in the dark fortnight. Indeed, the fortunate person who has once seen even a mark of those feet impressed upon the earth has attained liberation.

Several years ago, a Bengali woman in Kāśī received the good fortune of seeing the Lord's footprints. She still possesses their photograph. One night during Holī, she dreamed that the Lord seemed to be telling her, “I wish to play phāga.” The next night she had some abīra placed in a vessel near the image of her chosen Deity in the temple. When the temple doors were opened the following morning, gulāl was found scattered on the floor of the inner shrine, with tiny footprints visible upon it. From this it appeared that someone had played phāga there with gulāl during the night.

There are four principal marks on the soles of the Lord's feet: the thunderbolt, elephant-goad, banner, and lotus. Devotees, however, have at various times counted as many as 108 marks. These are not merely outlines like the marks we draw; they appear in their actual forms. For example, the lotus mark is shaped exactly like a blossomed lotus and looks like a real lotus. It has sixteen petals. The color and number of petals of the lotuses on the feet differ according to the Lord's various forms. The lotus on the sole of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa has sixteen petals and is pink tinged with red. These four marks are situated around the hollow in the middle of the sole; it was between them that the hunter shot his arrow. Above the heel is the lotus; above it is the thunderbolt. Beside the lotus is the goad, and above is the banner. Not all the Lord's foot-marks are visible at all times. Whatever marks appear are seen shining clearly. Their beauty cannot be described. Against the red color, these marks of various hues appear exceedingly lovely: some green, some yellow, some white, and some dark. All these colors, joining together while remaining distinct, assume a supernatural splendor. The lotus is generally red, yet it also contains whiteness, yellowness, and blueness. A separate radiance issues from each of these colors and falls upon the others. There is another wonder of the soles: all worlds and their inhabitants, and the gods, are visible in them. They are mirrors in which the whole universe is reflected. The Lord moves about bearing the entire universe in His feet. If He wills, Śiva, Viṣṇu, Brahmā, Indra, and all the other gods may be seen within them. Someone may wonder, “Why is he telling such tall tales?” The answer is simply that until this reality comes within our sight, it appears to us as mere tale-telling. In any case, these four marks are so raised that wherever the Lord's feet touch the ground, all four are necessarily impressed in its dust; the other marks are not.

In Bengal there is a weapon called a dāva. The thunderbolt is shaped roughly like a dāva, though the dāva is not so beautiful in form. The thunderbolt is thinner and more lustrous. Its form also resembles the hood of Śeṣanāga. Its color is completely white. Yet “completely white” is said only relatively, for absolute whiteness is in fact colorless and cannot be seen. Some color is necessarily mingled even with white. Śiva is described as having the color of night-blooming camphor, but even his complexion contains a trace of redness. Still, in comparison with others he is considered entirely white. The thunderbolt's color also contains a little redness. Taking this form as its model, Indra had Viśvakarmā fashion a material thunderbolt from Dadhīci's bones in order to kill Vṛtrāsura. This does not mean that there was no thunderbolt before then. Rather, it had previously been hidden and had not come into manifestation. The name thunderbolt also existed beforehand. Vṛtrāsura was the Lord's exclusive devotee. On seeing the mark of his chosen Lord's foot before him, he became fulfilled. His weapon became still at once. Viṣṇu's mantra was rendered ineffective. In any event, the thunderbolt's color is like Śiva's. Lord Śiva Himself has become the thunderbolt. Just as Śiva's complexion contains some redness, the orb of the sun contains blueness, because it is a portion of Lord Viṣṇu. Viṣṇu is counted among the twelve Ādityas. All these marks of the Lord are masses of splendor. The elephant-goad is dark in color and has the same shape as a worldly goad. The banner is yellow.

One should understand this: whatever exists in this world is an imitation of the Lord's supreme abode. It is wholly mistaken to think that devotees saw things here and imagined corresponding things there. Although things here are māyic, their model is there. The outstanding excellences found here have the distinction of that original model. Nothing genuinely new is invented in the world. Things not yet manifest merely become partly manifest. It is not that radio did not exist before; it was formerly unmanifest and has now become manifest. Beyond radio there are who knows how many powers now unmanifest that may appear in time, just as radio did. Who knows how many medicines still exist whose properties are not yet known to us. No new seed is created in the cosmos; something hidden becomes manifest. Even a yogī cannot create a seed. What we see here is only the reflection of the Lord's eternal abode. Every conception of invention exists there in concrete form. Though the Lord's beautiful form resembles a human form, it is altogether unlike it. All the beauty of nature is only a shadow of the Lord's form. If the shadow has such beauty, we cannot imagine how much beauty the original body possesses.

The Lord's eternal abode is in His feet. His feet too are eternal. The abode is eternal, and the Lord Himself is eternal. The abode is in His feet, and He Himself resides within that abode. In truth, His abode and He are one reality, not separate. Although each eternal abode is one, there are distinctions among them according to the form of the Lord. These distinctions do not mean that one is a whole and another a part. In Śrī Rāma's feet only Sāketa may be seen; in Śrī Kṛṣṇa's soles, only Goloka; and in Śrī Viṣṇu's soles, only Vaikuṇṭha. This is their distinctive feature. Whoever obtains the Lord's feet obtains every kind of sovereignty, opulence, knowledge, detachment, and even liberation. The radiance of His feet descends into His devoted followers. All devotees need the feet, and all have the right to attain them. Through the feet, the other limbs too may be attained. Only the Lord's beloved consorts have the right to place His feet upon their hearts.

How far can the glory of the feet be described? The particles of dust touched by them become divine. By the touch of those particles, all inertness is destroyed, and all nescience, ignorance, austerity, and liberation are destroyed. What then need be said of that dust itself? Even the gods long for the foot-dust of devotees who have attained greatness through that dust. Brahmā and the other gods have desired the foot-dust of the gopīs. The gods become animals and birds and roll in the Lord's foot-dust. Since they have no right to appear openly there, they come secretly, longing for every particle of that dust. Those proud of knowledge do not obtain it. The Śrīmad Bhāgavata calls them tuṣāvaghātī, one who pounds husks. Fortunate persons in whom divine love is about to blossom, and who have faith in those feet, receive the foot-dust of one of the Lord's devoted followers. How far can its glory be described? When these particles touch the Lord's foot-marks, they acquire the power to destroy demonic dispositions. An elephant-goad has the power to control an intoxicated elephant; therefore, when dust bearing the goad-mark is sprinkled on the head, the intoxicated elephant of the mind comes under control. From a dust-particle touched by the lotus, knowledge is gained, for the lotus is the very form of knowledge. From a particle touched by the thunderbolt, sins are destroyed. The banner signifies victory; therefore, from a particle touched by it, one receives the victory that is supreme perfection. Within such a person there remains no sin, attachment to sense-objects, or ignorance. These particles of dust no longer remain inert even outwardly; they are not hard, but become luminous. Their touch is supremely cool and pleasing. On touching them, one feels as though one had touched a conscious substance. By the touch of Lord Śrī Rāma's foot-dust, Bharata experienced the Lord's own embrace.

When the Lord visibly descends upon the earth, His eternal abode descends to earth with Him and returns with Him as well. Present-day Ayodhyā and present-day Vṛndāvana are not that Ayodhyā and Vṛndāvana which existed then. They are only replicas, conceived later for spiritual practice. Accounts say that the Lord took Ayodhyā away with Him. Yet because these places were touched by Him and bear the same names, they too are exceedingly sacred; of this there is no doubt. Those touched by the Lord's foot-dust become blessed and become great souls. Those who receive even the foot-dust of such great souls also become blessed. The Bhāgavata says, “vinā mahat-pāda-rajo-'bhiṣekam”: without sprinkling the foot-dust of such great souls upon one's head, there is no welfare. This in fact indicates the Lord's own glory. The Lord's name is greater than the Lord because it is the Lord's own name. “Rāma cannot sing the virtues of the Name.” This in fact manifests Rāma's glory. If a king possesses such wealth that even the king himself does not know of it, how great that king must be. Similarly, if Rāma's name possesses such immeasurable power that Rāma Himself cannot describe it, what limit can there be to Rāma's glory? Rāma's servant is called greater than Rāma precisely because he is Rāma's servant. Regarding His devoted followers, the Lord says: “anuvrajāmy ahaṁ nityaṁ pūyeyety aṅghri-reṇubhiḥ”: I constantly follow behind those devotees, not merely for a day or two, so that I may be purified by the dust of their feet. If devotees who have received the Lord's foot-dust possess such glory, the greatness of the Lord's own foot-dust cannot be estimated. The Lord washed the feet of His devotee Sudāmā and not only drank that foot-water Himself, but gave it to all His queens to drink and had it sprinkled everywhere, above and below, throughout the palace. Human beings are freed from rebirth by drinking the foot-water of Viṣṇu; Viṣṇu Himself drank the foot-water of His devotee only to proclaim its greatness. What wonder, then, that by drinking that very Lord's foot-water the boatman Kevaṭa was delivered with his family? He carried even his ancestors across the boundless ocean of worldly existence.

The Lord has a very intimate relation with the lotus. His feet, hands, eyes, navel, and face, all His limbs, are compared with the lotus. Brahmā is said to have arisen from the lotus of His navel. The fragrance of His divine form is also like the fragrance of a lotus, though it is distinct from the fragrance of a worldly lotus.

The extent of the Lord's foot is held to be fourteen aṅgulas. One may wonder how the whole universe can fit within a sole measuring fourteen aṅgulas. The answer is that when all creation abides in the Lord's resolve, what wonder is there if the universe abides in His feet? Such is the yoga of the Lord of yoga. Some have counted 32 foot-marks, some 36, some 56, some 64, and some 108; a brief account of the four principal marks has already been given. These four marks are found in every form of Śrī Rāma, Śrī Kṛṣṇa, and Śrī Viṣṇu. Among the remaining marks are weapons such as the bow, arrow, sword, spear, śakti, trident, mace, and discus, the latter being the mark of Lord Viṣṇu. Among animals are the horse, elephant, and deer; among luminaries, the sun and moon; among sages, Nārada; among flowers, divine flowers; among aquatic creatures, the fish; among serpents, Śeṣanāga; among birds, Garuḍa; among vehicles, the chariot; among fruits, the kadamba fruit; among heavenly objects, Urvaśī, Kāmadhenu, and the wish-fulfilling tree; among mountains, Sumeru; among trees here, the aśvattha; among royal emblems, the parasol and throne; among garments, the yellow garment; among ornaments, the armlet; among instruments, the flute and vīṇā; among vessels, the golden pot; and among gods, Brahmā. In addition there are marks of the svastika, fire-pit, bali, vertical line, triangle, octagon, nonagon, mirror, little bell, palace, conch, sesame, and barley. Sesame, or svadhā, signifies the world of the ancestors, and svāhā signifies the world of the gods. The Lord's feet have one further distinction: in His right foot resides His śakti: Śrī Rādhā in Śrī Kṛṣṇa's foot, Śrī Jānakī in Śrī Rāma's foot, and Śrī Lakṣmī in Śrī Viṣṇu's foot. Their forms are made in the shapes of all these objects. Marks such as the discus, yak-tail fan, and creeper are found on the feet of Śrī Rādhikā.

If someone asks how all these things can exist, each in its own form and proper place, within such small feet, the answer is that this is possible even in the natural world. For example, on a small photographic plate we can take a picture even of very large houses, mountains, rivers, and oceans; though their forms on that plate are very small, they appear very large when viewed. If such a thing is possible in the material world, what is impossible for the Lord? His māyā itself is described in the scriptures by epithets such as aghaṭana-ghaṭanā-paṭīyasī, “skilled in making the impossible happen.” He can make space in what has no space, and what has no space in space. By the mere play of His eyebrows, He creates the universe and in the same way absorbs it into Himself. If He wishes, He can bring forth countless millions of universes, just as they are, through the eye of a needle. To do this, He need not enlarge the needle's eye or diminish the size of the universes. This is His sovereignty. Some partial accomplishments of this kind are found even among yogīs. Many yogīs, for example, can form a body consisting only of the ether-and-air element and pass through a wall without breaking it. But the yogīs' reach is limited to the five elements; they cannot go beyond them. The Lord, however, can do whatever He wishes.

In summary, all the things mentioned above abide in the Lord's feet in their original forms and as conscious beings, just as Śrī Hanumān visibly remained atop the banner on Arjuna's chariot. Indeed, this whole material world is conscious because it is entirely of the nature of the Supreme Self; whatever appears here as inert is in truth conscious. Yet this is said from the standpoint of knowledge. Only those who know the Lord's reality see the entire world as conscious; the ignorant do not. But every object related to the Lord appears conscious even to ordinary eyes, although the eyes before which the Lord's form manifests, while ordinary, become imbued with divinity. When the entire world, inert and conscious, is contained in the Lord's feet, what wonder is there that so many conscious entities should dwell within them together? The Upaniṣads say, “tad viṣṇoḥ paramaṁ padam.” Everything is in the Lord's feet. All opulences may be obtained in His feet.

All the marks enumerated above are meaningful; not one is useless. Each is filled with deep mystery. The Lord has two principal purposes in bearing so many marks upon His feet. The first is that a model of the entire universe may be gathered in one place. Therefore one object has been selected from each class: sages, human beings, gods, animals, birds, luminaries, weapons, ornaments, trees, mountains, garments, royal emblems, instruments, vessels, fruits, and flowers. The second purpose concerns devotees especially. Although every devotee has no right to establish the Lord's feet upon the heart, for only His beloved consorts possess that right and it is not within a devotee's control, every devotee does have the power to bring them into the heart. Thus, when one places the Lord's feet in the heart, all these objects come there of themselves with those feet, just as jewels come home of themselves together with the jewel-filled vessel when one brings that vessel home. The sovereignty and sweetness of the whole universe enter the devotee's heart along with those feet, for the Lord's feet are the source of all sovereignty and sweetness.

Nārada himself, the teacher of loving devotion, enters the heart together with those feet; how then could that devotee remain deprived of loving devotion? The svastika mark symbolizes auspiciousness and signifies good fortune in every direction. Therefore, entering the heart of one who desires auspiciousness, the svastika brings that person welfare in every way. All the objects mentioned above belong to the divine abode, and, as forms of the Lord Himself, they come into our hearts bearing all powers with them. Therefore one whose heart receives the Lord's feet attains accomplishments greater even than yogic powers, for the Lord's feet are the source of all powers. When the very foundation of all powers has entered the heart, how can any remaining power be absent? A yogī obtains and employs some portion of those powers. But, intoxicated with love for the Lord, a devotee forgets the powers. The eminent example before us is the foremost devotee Śrī Hanumān. Although he possessed every kind of power, he was entirely unaware of it. When Jāmbavān and others reminded him of that power, he became immensely powerful. Divine power abides in the Lord's feet. Into the person whose mind becomes attached to those feet, that power gradually descends. And once those feet themselves enter a person's mind, they do not depart from there. Such a devotee becomes incomparably powerful. All powers stand before that devotee with folded hands, awaiting command, yet the devotee does not even look toward them. The Śrīmad Bhāgavata says:

One who has offered the self to Me desires neither the station of Brahmā, nor the abode of Indra, nor universal sovereignty, nor dominion over the nether regions, nor yogic perfection, nor even freedom from rebirth, nor anything apart from Me.

One further point should be noted: all the objects enumerated above in the Lord's feet begin their respective functions as soon as the Lord's feet enter the devotee's heart. For example, as soon as the sun in the Lord's feet enters the heart along with those feet, all darkness in the devotee's heart dissolves. Likewise, as soon as the moon situated in the feet enters, a shower of nectar begins, whereby all the devotee's sins and afflictions are destroyed.

Source: Scans 18 to 19, following the opening continuation

When Kāmadhenu enters the heart, desire is fulfilled before it can even arise. When the wish-fulfilling tree enters, no intention or craving remains in the mind. When Urvaśī, born from Lord Nārāyaṇa's body, enters the heart, worldly desire for beauty is destroyed and both knowledge and dispassion arise. When the thunderbolt enters, mountains of sin disappear in an instant. Before the weapon named Śakti within the Lord's feet, every power of sin and affliction becomes feeble.

The Lord keeps the flute at his feet because it is the embodied form of Sāṅkhya-yoga, action without desire for fruit, and surrender. Its sound so captivates the mind that merely hearing it spontaneously fulfils the Lord's command, “Abandoning all dharmas, take refuge in me alone.” One need not deliberately renounce every dharma. Social duty, Vedic duty, and duty toward the body are washed clean and swept away in the flute's stream of nectar. Though outwardly made of inert bamboo, the flute was a perfected devotee who, by becoming inert in the world's eyes, gained an eternal place at the Lord's lips, in his lotus hands, and in his sash. If even a deity received such fortune, would that deity wish to relinquish it? Brahmā and the other gods consider it blessed even to become a creeper or shrub upon ground touched by devotees' feet.

Some lovers wish to become a mirror in which Manamohana may gaze upon his world-enchanting form. One loving devotee wished to become the branch from which the beloved pair's swing is hung. Vedāntins sometimes object that devotees seek to descend from consciousness into inert matter, but they are mistaken. The flute and other instruments, the Lord's weapons, ornaments, and garments are all conscious, eternal companions continually engaged in his service.

A gopī once asked the flute what austerity it had performed to drink forever the nectar of the Lord's lips. The flute replied, “I opened my heart completely and emptied it of ego. I voice only the melody the Lord breathes into me. I do not apply my own intelligence or tell him which rāga to play.” By accepting this apparent inertness, the flute obtained a fortune that aroused jealousy even in the most beloved women of Vraja.

The flute therefore contains the fullness of knowledge and action. It has renounced not only desire and attachment to results, but ego itself. Whoever seeks perfection through Sāṅkhya should receive initiation from the flute; whoever wishes to learn selfless action should learn from it. This is why the Lord keeps it beneath his feet.

The flute's unimpaired influence falls equally upon human beings, conscious creatures, and apparently inert nature. Hearing its sound, the inert becomes conscious and the conscious motionless. Sap drips from trees, dry wood grows moist, and arid hearts fill with rasa. When that wondrous flute sounded in Vraja, hundreds of thousands of cows and calves gathered around Kṛṣṇa and listened in utter stillness. One should not wonder where so many cows came from. A chief possessing nine hundred thousand cows was called a Nanda, while one possessing somewhat fewer was an Upananda. Many such Upanandas lived in Gokula and Vṛndāvana. Their herds grazed together under the cowherd boys, with Nanda's son as leader.

The moment he breathed melody into the flute, cows and calves ran from far away, forgot everything, and became absorbed in its sound. Without effort, even the animals and birds entered yoga. Cows forgot to graze, calves stopped drinking their mothers' milk, and every creature froze in whatever posture it held. All activity and movement ceased. The supernatural elixir entering their ears brought perfect fulfilment. Thus, when the flute enters someone's heart together with the Lord's feet, the flute's qualities also enter that person.

Source: Scans 20 to 21

The bird of the mind then stops flying here and there and becomes still. The cows of the senses come under control of themselves, without having to be restrained. This is why the lord of yogīs Hari says to Janaka in the Bhāgavata that even if a devotee runs with eyes closed, there is no fear of falling or stumbling: “Even running here with eyes closed, one neither falls nor slips.” Only one whose mind and senses are mastered can run with closed eyes without danger. We see a worldly analogy in a trained horse that carries even a sleeping rider safely to the intended destination, and similar accounts are told of horses and oxen.

Another meaning of the flute is that it remains only with God and recognizes his ownership alone. The sakhīs sometimes steal it, yet Nanda's son retains the true claim. We too belong in reality to God alone. His ownership should remain upon us, and we should be alert that no other power gains mastery. In the Vinaya-patrikā Tulasīdāsa prays that the heart is the Lord's temple, but robbers such as desire and anger are plundering it. If the Lord does not drive them out and take possession, his own reputation will suffer:

Tulasīdāsa says: listen, Rāma, thieves are plundering your dwelling. This is my boundless concern: may no dishonor fall upon you.

Because the flute belongs wholly to God, he does not abandon it even for a moment. In the same way, if you become wholly his, he will never leave you and will always keep you near. Such meanings are not merely imagined. They may be found in scripture and accord with saints' experience. Other marks upon the feet may be understood similarly.

The flute's pierced body gives another meaning: one attains the Lord only when the heart is pierced through by the arrows of love. The flute recalls such love.

Now consider the sun and moon upon the Lord's feet. The light within our sun and moon comes from those feet. His feet are called the supreme abode, for his eternal realm is not illumined by the sun, moon, or fire of this world: “The sun does not illumine it, nor the moon, nor fire.” Another sun and moon dwell upon his feet, and from them our luminaries receive their light.

Those who attain the supreme destination are said to pass beyond the solar sphere. By taking refuge at the Lord's feet, the devotee automatically transcends that sphere and need not pierce this material sun. The sun and moon are also the eyes of the universe; without them creation would be covered in darkness and cease to function. Their light, however, is not constant, while the sun and moon at the divine feet shine forever, permanently dispelling the darkness from the heart of one who meditates upon them. Śiva, considered here in the category of devotees, wears the moon upon his head because it belongs to the Lord's feet and reminds him of them.

The kadamba fruit upon the feet signifies that no tree is dearer to Kṛṣṇa. In the divine realm, an eternal kadamba stands upon a jewelled platform at the center of his palace, and the Lord sits in its shade. Its eternal fruits and flowers appear together, and their fragrance pours an unending current of love through the divine dwelling. The kadamba fruit thus signifies love. Love can never be separated from one whose heart is inhabited by the Lord's feet.

Source: Scans 22 to 23

The aśvattha mark upon the Lord's feet carries several meanings. First, the sacred fig is supreme among trees and a manifestation of God: “Among all trees, I am the aśvattha.” Second, Ayurveda regards every part of the tree, root, bark, fruit, pulp, trunk, and branch, as medicinal. A physician could sit beneath it and treat every illness. It is a glory of medicine. Thus all bodily and mental disease is forever calmed in one who enters the shade of the aśvattha upon the Lord's feet.

Third, the Gītā calls this world an imperishable aśvattha whose root is above and branches below. The cosmic tree rests in the Lord's feet, for the whole universe arises from them. One whose heart contains those feet becomes, as it were, a support of the entire world.

The pitcher upon the feet is filled with nectar, from which everyone receives immortality, and it therefore protects the gods. For this reason a sacred vessel is established first in every Vedic and Tantric rite. Where this nectar-filled pitcher is present, there is safety. Demons, rākṣasas, ghosts, and spirits are defeated of themselves. A heart containing the Lord's feet together with this pitcher remains free of disturbance, and no demonic tendency can trouble it.

The fish signifies exclusive love for water. A fish cannot live even a moment separated from it. Place it in milk, sweet drink, or even nectar, and it cannot survive, for water alone supports its life. Once removed, it writhes with anguish beyond our imagining. A devotee should feel such intense attachment to God that even a moment without contemplation seems unbearable and life rises to the throat. The fish upon the Lord's feet teaches us to remain single-mindedly absorbed in him. Though a fish is restless, all its movement remains within water. Likewise let the mind move only within the nectar-ocean of God, every pulse and disposition of consciousness fixed in him. To signify love's exclusiveness, the Lord has placed the fish upon his feet.

The fish also seizes rasa. When it finds food, it forgets everything and may surrender even its life. Our consciousness should likewise become passionately absorbed in divine rasa.

The throne belongs to an emperor who is victorious and endowed with authority. One who becomes a servant of the Lord's feet gains mastery over all inner and outer instruments, including mind and senses, and becomes their king. Moreover, when a person becomes God's own, God becomes that person's own, and all divine sovereignty comes within the devotee's right. Yet the devotee cares nothing for those powers and remains absorbed in their Lord. As a king directs subjects according to his will, the devotee's mind and senses begin to move exactly as directed.

The chariot upon the feet has no horses and needs no other conscious driver. Modern vehicles make the idea of horseless motion less surprising, though they require machinery and this chariot does not. Behind the gross world lies a subtle or inner world whose operations are not material.

Source: Scans 24 to 25

We may not know the inner world's operations, but cannot deny them. Even radio, though belonging to the material world, lets us hear words spoken thousands of miles away without a wire. This analogy helps explain how food offered in śrāddha through brāhmaṇas reaches the ancestors. The Agniṣvātta and other ancestral beings are specially appointed for this work, which proceeds through their power without a gross material support. If bundles of sound can travel thousands of miles, why should offered food be unable to reach the ancestors?

In southern India lived the yogī Cāṅgadeva, said to have survived fourteen hundred years by renewing his body every century, though he had not attained the process of union with God. He once rode a lion to visit the great yogī Jñāneśvara, then a child playing with his sister Muktābāī atop a wall. Seeing Cāṅgadeva approach, Jñāneśvara ordered the wall to move. It immediately travelled forward like a living being. Cāṅgadeva felt ashamed and fell at Jñāneśvara's feet.

If an inert wall could move by Jñāneśvara's mental power, why should the Lord of yoga's chariot not move without horses? By his power of will the chariot and the entire solar system move. The author says that the mental power of the ancestors was so strong that material devices such as railways and telegraphy seemed unnecessary, and that the work now performed by trains, telegraphs, aircraft, and radio could then be accomplished by comparatively gross yogic powers.

The meaning is that one who takes refuge in the Lord's feet boards a chariot moved solely by divine mental power and is carried to him in an instant. In some places the feet themselves are called the chariot. Once the feet are attained, what journey remains? They are not separate from the Lord.

This marks a difference between the disciplines of knowledge and devotion. Travellers on the devotional path remain with God even during practice, whereas the follower of the path of knowledge remains without directly visible support and fears the thieves and bandits along the way. Such a traveller cannot run with closed eyes like a devotee.

The bow upon the Lord's feet has no string, yet an arrow is set upon it. Its special purpose, like that of all the weapons upon the feet, is to destroy opposition to devotees. God has no personal enemy. He treats a devotee's opponents as his own, yet even when he kills them, he liberates them. Indeed, he kills only in order to deliver. Only one who can save through killing possesses the right to kill, and this power belongs to God or to agents endowed with his power.

The Lord incarnates not merely to slay evildoers but to deliver them. He destroys the demonic seed of sin within the person he strikes down, makes the soul immortal, absorbs it into himself, and forever abolishes its dying. His weapons likewise liberate those they strike. Anyone sheltered at the feet bearing these weapons is left without an enemy, for everyone becomes favorable:

Upon one who receives Rāma's grace, everyone else also bestows grace.

For such a devotee fire loses its burning power and poison becomes nectar.

Source: Scan 26, with its concluding sentence at the opening of scan 27

Poison becomes nectar, an enemy acts as a friend, the ocean shrinks to a calf's hoofprint, and fire becomes cool.

So it happened for the devotee Prahlāda. The Viṣṇu Purāṇa gives his words:

What fear can there be for those who repeat Rāma's name, the one medicine that calms every affliction? Look, father: even fire has now become water upon the joints of my body.

Fire is welcome while it acts favorably by cooking our food, but the moment it begins to burn our limbs we extinguish it. For devotees who forget themselves in divine love, the Lord himself performs this work. He cools fire and withdraws its burning power. Weapons too become blunted upon touching their bodies. Devotees do not experience torment. Even when they appear afflicted from a worldly perspective, the Lord's weapons continually cut away their suffering, so they remain joyful.

The same weapon is not used against every enemy in every circumstance, so the Lord bears many kinds of arms upon his feet. An arrow strikes an enemy at a distance. Accordingly, the arrow upon his feet destroys remote sins accumulated through birth after birth. Ordinary arrows have a limited range, but God's arrow has none. The story of Jayanta demonstrates this. The Lord released a blade of grass as an unfailing arrow whose course could not be resisted or obstructed. Hence any infallible remedy is called a “Rāma-arrow.” Though Jayanta was a god's son and travelled through every realm, no one could protect him from it.

The episode of Ambarīṣa teaches the same about the Lord's discus. An ordinary arrow fails if the target moves or the archer misses, but the divine arrow never abandons its mark, wherever it may flee. The Kaumodakī mace, the sword called Devadatta, and spears and other close weapons destroy nearby sins, meaning those already bearing fruit and those embedded as impressions. Thus no sin can remain distant, near, or even in the dream of one who has gained refuge at the Lord's feet.

All these marks exist for devotees' benefit. The Lord assumes an embodied form for their sake. In his līlā within the world, his devotees remain always beside him as companions. They do not desire liberation because they are already liberated; without freedom, no one's actions could have the quality of līlā. The Vedānta has the aphorism:

The Lord's sole motive is play, as in the world.

The word used here is not “māyā” but “līlā,” showing that the author of the Vedānta-sūtras accepts the līlā of God and his devotees. Play does not remain identical from moment to moment and is therefore non-eternal in that sense, yet it is not unreal, because it occurs.

The weapons carry a second meaning: those they destroy are also delivered. What is real cannot be annihilated; it is purified and transformed. Devarṣi Nārada says in his aphorisms that even desire and anger should be directed toward God. This proves that desire and anger remain within a devotee, for otherwise there would be no instruction to direct them toward him. Yet they are no longer defective or distorted. Their form changes and becomes pure:

It was love alone among the women of Vraja that came to be known as desire.

Where there is love, there must be a beloved as its object, and even though beloved and lover are nondual, a distinction must be conceived. As said earlier, those struck down by the Lord's weapons are delivered. Śiśupāla and others became his companions after death. Similarly, the mind's passions are destroyed as distortions but remain in a purified form to play within līlā; hence the gift-taking līlā, the līlā of loving pique, and others. These are sanctioned by scripture and are not deceit, hypocrisy, or pretence. Every formerly harmful feeling appears purified because the veil of impure māyā has been torn for the devotee. Devotees wish to retain pride only in being the Lord's servants. Tulasīdāsa Mahārāja says:

“May such pride never leave me: I am the servant, and Raghupati is my master.”

It is fitting. Liberation plays at the feet of one whose mind has no greed for liberation. If the desire to go on gazing at that mind-enchanting face were removed, what sort of devotee or knower would that person be? Who would wish to relinquish such a desire? Therefore Gosāīñjī Mahārāja said:

“Reflecting thus, the wise are drawn to devotion to Hari, and hold liberation in contempt.”

Who could be more discerning than such devotees? Liberation comes to them as an inheritance. They possess a birthright to liberation: “He becomes an heir to the state of liberation.” Love of God, or participation in the Lord's līlā, lies beyond liberation. Who would abandon that joy for liberation? Such devotees do retain desire, but it is centered upon one alone. The king of devotees, Vṛtrāsura, asked this very thing of the Lord. He said, “I desire neither liberation, nor any kind of supernatural power, nor the station of Indra or Brahmā, nor even sovereignty over the three worlds. I have only one longing: as unfledged nestlings that cannot yet fly cry for their mother, so may I continue to yearn for You.” What a wondrous desire. If God Himself has become one's mother, why would one leave the lap of that divine Mother? Liberation is merely her shadow.

The point is that devotees possess pure desire. Their longing burns all worldly desires, smears the body with the ashes of their funeral pyre, and dances. Śiva is himself the form of desire transformed into love. Corrupt desire is burned by his third eye. Śiva's very form is the burning of Madana. Wrapped in the ashes of every desire, he repeats day and night the name of his beloved. In the same way, devotees intensely desire God. Our desires are false because they first seek false and perishable objects, and secondly seek many objects. In divine desire there is no place for another, for the many are contained in that One. Mīrā says:

“Why choose a bridegroom who is born and then dies? Choose the one Dark Bridegroom by whom the bridal bracelet becomes immortal.”

This divine desire arises when all other desires have burned away.

The anger and loving pride of devotees belong to this same category. When Rāma prepared to go into exile, Sītā told him that had she known he would leave her alone in this way and set out for the forest, she would have told her father not to marry her to him. Kṛṣṇa's cowherd friends sometimes even slapped the Lord. The Lord wished them to act so; otherwise who could so much as raise his eyes toward Him against His will? This privilege is no ordinary thing. Arjuna too remained with the Lord “in recreation, bed, seat, and meals.” He placed his feet upon the Lord's limbs and slept embracing Him. Yet when he saw the Lord's universal form, he became afraid and begged forgiveness: “O God, as a beloved forgives a beloved, please bear with me.” The Lord then instructed and comforted him: the conduct for which you seek forgiveness was not heedlessness but intimacy. I Myself caused all of it. Devotees experience loving pride, union, and anger. When a request is not fulfilled, loving pride arises. The Lord leaves a devotee's request unfulfilled to see whether the devotee becomes vexed, and is delighted to see that vexation. The devotee then sulks and sits apart in loving pique. In the work Premapattana, one of Kṛṣṇa's beloveds goes so far as to say, “Do not even speak Nandanandana's name before us.” There, separation between lover and beloved may itself be delightful, but this is a particular state of love and not a matter for ordinary description. It would be improper for us to imitate these līlās of love. Hence we are told not to imitate every action of the guru. This does not mean that an accomplished guru performs evil deeds. It means that we must never imitate actions that appear to us objectionable, doubtful, or forbidden.

It is said that Śaṅkarācārya once went with his disciples to beg alms in a village. He was so intoxicated with knowledge and love that he had no awareness of the external world. In that state he arrived at a liquor seller's house. They poured a little wine into his begging bowl, and Śaṅkara drank it. Seeing him, his disciples did the same. Śaṅkarācārya thought, “They are becoming undisciplined and imitating everything I do. They need a lesson.” He therefore went to a shop where molten lead was being cast. Irritated when he called out, the shopkeeper poured molten lead into his bowl. Śaṅkarācārya was a perfected yogī and drank that too by yogic power. When the disciples' turn came, they grew alarmed and looked away. The guru told them, “Follow only those of my actions that accord with scripture. Do not do anything that appears corrupt or doubtful to you.” The Bhāgavata teaches this very principle and gives the example of Śaṅkara. Only those who can drink the halāhala poison as Śaṅkara did may imitate all his līlās. Otherwise such imitation causes great harm.

When even the desire for liberation is not called desire, how can the longing that remains after renouncing liberation be called desire? The Lord has commanded us to slay worldly lust as an enemy:

“Slay this invincible enemy in the form of desire, O mighty-armed one.”

Names have caused confusion. Because the Lord is called saguṇa, Vedāntins began describing Him as conditioned by māyā and māyic. Yet how can we call Him conditioned by māyā when even perfected beings who have crossed beyond māyā are stirred with longing by the fragrance of His limbs? Hell is one realm and Goloka another distinct realm; in the same way, our desire is compared in name with the desire of devotees. A devotee's longing appears only after everything has been surrendered, and it is itself the great yoga. In truth, there the highest good alone is called desire.

Not even the scent of lust or anger remains in a devotee's heart. The sole desire is to attain God, and as soon as that longing arises all defects are destroyed. On learning how blissful, loving, and peaceful the Lord is, a person's attention leaves the world and yearns for Him alone. Apart from God, such a person seeks nothing even in the Upaniṣads. What Vedānta calls longing for liberation is called the devotee's longing. Every worldly thing becomes insignificant. At the very first stage of detachment, the initial state of longing for liberation, all worldly objects appear trivial, disgusting, and rejectable like a crow's droppings. If there is no attachment or desire for worldly objects, how can anger arise? If no wish to obtain anything remains, why would anger exist? Pride and self-importance are also destroyed. Knowing the mystery of God brings awareness of one's own lowliness. The feeling arises, “There is no sinner equal to me.” This is the anguished experience of genuine humility. Nothing remains in which to take pride. One who considers oneself destitute without attainment of God is truly humble. In this humility defects burn away of themselves. The devotee searches every corner of the heart and perceives faults within. A minute trace may remain until God is attained, but at attainment the entire interior becomes radiant with light.

On the path of love, the devotee's heart retains only the desire to attain the Lord, in His company, according to His wish, and for His līlā. The devotee longs for God, and God desires the devotee. Separated from Sītā, Rāma asks the vines and deer, “Have you seen Sītā anywhere?” Like a madman he searches the dust of forest after forest. We marvel at Rāma's anguish, yet after Sītā is recovered He abandons her. There is not even the scent of ordinary desire in this. It is the mysterious play of the Lord's līlā of love.

“As people surrender unto Me, so do I reciprocate with them.”

This is His vow. The devotee's resolves arise solely from longing for the Lord. Receiving the Supreme's love, the devotee dances in bliss, and on seeing the devotee's bliss, the Lord's love surges forth. Thus love and bliss rain down without end. Love increases bliss, and bliss increases love. We cannot even imagine that divine desire. To reduce that loving desire to the level of worldly objects and sense pleasures is to dishonor love. The path of love has been disgraced and stained by those without qualification. People misuse even the Gītā, taking shelter in scripture and saints to justify misconduct. In ancient times greater attention was given to conduct and less to literature. Today, by the grace of the printing press, literature has become easily available and conduct difficult.

No path of practice, whether devotion, knowledge, or yoga, can support lust, anger, and their companions. Even in desireless karma-yoga, where one acts with equality in success and failure and renounces attachment, how could anger and the rest arise? Action performed for God is called devotion, and knowing the One whom one worships is called knowledge. There is no opposition among action, devotion, and knowledge. In the practice of each, the complete eradication of desire, anger, and greed is not merely supremely necessary but unavoidable. The Lord challenged Arjuna:

“Slay this invincible enemy in the form of desire, O mighty-armed one.”

So long as we remain under these enemies' control, the desire to attain God cannot arise in our minds.

“This threefold gate of hell destroys the self: desire, anger, and greed. Therefore one should abandon these three.”

Desire, anger, and greed are the gates of hell and cause the self's downfall. Only after destroying them does one become qualified for devotion. Where kāma is, Rāma is not. Anger is a ghoul. Desire, anger, and the rest are deluding, demonic, and rākṣasa-like tendencies. They must be removed not only for devotion but even for happiness in the world. The assurance on the path of devotion is that once one engages in devotion, these enemies perish of themselves. Taking refuge in the Lord's strength makes their destruction easy. We may trust His promise: “Come into My refuge, and I shall destroy all your sins.” Once we possess the Lord's strength and confidence in Him, why should we fear? Trusting His power, relying only upon His grace, one should continually repeat His name with mind and speech:

“Trusting You, abandoning every other hope, those who remain Your servants cross worldly existence without effort by repeating Your name. O Lord, this I remember.”

Once there is faith in God, hope in every other support falls away, and one continues repeating His name under His refuge, what more remains to be said? Without effort one crosses the world. Life is short and obstacles are many. We have neither a suitable place nor materials for practice, nor a guru. In such a condition, the sole direct path is the Lord's name. It is exceedingly easy to reach the farther shore aboard the ship of the Name. There is no practice beyond it. Do not allow the mind to wander. Become a servant of the divine name, for “a person crosses by repeating Rāma's name alone.” The condition is complete faith in God, no hope in another, and unbroken repetition of the Name. Then the whole task is accomplished.

This has been said so that you do not shelter lust and its companions beneath the cover of devotional love. One must walk the path of practice with great care. This has been stated repeatedly, and repetition does not make it stale: carefulness itself is spiritual practice.

We were contemplating the Lord's feet. Those feet dwell in our heart only when no disorder such as desire or anger remains. I now continue with the marks upon the Lord's feet mentioned earlier. On His feet is a fire altar in which all the devotees' sins are burned. When these feet settle within one's heart, every sin is reduced to ash. This fire altar is also the sacrificial altar to which all the world's rites and sacrifices arrive. Whatever oblation we offer reaches the Lord's feet, for He alone is the enjoyer of every sacrifice:

“Knowing Me as the enjoyer of sacrifices and austerities, the great Lord of all worlds, and the friend of every being, one attains peace.”

He is the enjoyer even in the forms of the gods. Whichever form one worships, the Lord establishes faith in that very form. The fire of the Lord's feet burns continuously, and all the devotee's sins are offered into it. This fire altar carries another, most enchanting meaning in devotees' hearts. As the gopīs burn in separation from the Lord, so the Lord's own fire of separation continues to burn.

On the Lord's feet are marks of barley and sesame. Barley signifies rites for the gods, while sesame signifies ancestral rites. No rite for gods or ancestors is completed without taking refuge in the Lord's feet. Whatever remains incomplete in those rites is completed by the Lord's name. The Gītā refers to this as “Om Tat Sat.”

The triangular mark on the Lord's feet signifies the primal womb in which the point is established. This is the equilibrium of primordial nature, from which the world arises. The triangle also signifies the three deities, Brahmā, Viṣṇu, and Maheśa, and the three guṇas, sattva, rajas, and tamas. It carries many other mysterious meanings. Every path of practice has a triad: in devotion, devotee, devotion, and God; in knowledge, knower, knowledge, and known; in meditation, meditator, meditation, and object of meditation. The unity of these three is true attainment, and the unity of every triad is attained at these feet.

The “nine compartments” upon the Lord's feet signify ninefold devotion and the nine planets, all of which depend upon His feet. Moreover, multiply nine by any number and it remains nine in its digit sum. When nine is multiplied by 1 through 10, the digits of every product add to nine: 9, 18, 27, 36, 45, 54, 63, 72, 81, and 90 all have a digit sum of nine. The entire world expands from that One, who nevertheless remains exactly as He is.

Brahmā is present on the Lord's feet. He is Hiraṇyagarbha, the primal creator, whose other name is primordial nature and from whom the Vedas manifest. He rests upon the Lord's feet. Brahmā's place there is beside the lotus, the primordial flower. Dwelling at the Lord's feet, Brahmā creates the universe. Thus all creation is present there in its root form.

The mark of Śeṣanāga is on the Lord's feet. Śeṣa supports the earth upon his heads, while the lotus feet of the Lord support Śeṣa. Bearing the earth upon his head as lightly as a flower, he glorifies the Lord day and night with his thousand mouths and hoods.

The mark of a horse signifies that by taking shelter of the Lord's feet one may go wherever one wishes. The Aśvamedha removes the gravest sins, while contemplation of the Lord's feet gives the merit of thousands of Aśvamedhas. Indeed, it surpasses numberless such sacrifices. Those who take refuge in His feet gain unhindered movement, as Nārada and others did.

The mark of Airāvata the elephant is also on the Lord's feet. Airāvata is one of the fourteen jewels and the vehicle of Indra. One who attains the Lord's feet attains the sovereignty of Indra. At a single cry from Gajarāja, the Lord rushed to him. Garuḍa's speed did not satisfy Him, so He dismounted and went ahead. The elephant mark recalls the Lord's tenderness toward His devotees.

The mark of Garuḍa is also on His feet. Garuḍa signifies tremendous speed, and he devours serpents. Even the most venomous sensory objects cannot harm one who has attained the Lord's feet. Once those lotus feet dwell in the heart, what power can sense objects retain?

Tantric texts offer many meanings for the octagonal mark on the Lord's feet. It symbolizes the consecration of the eight directions. Before beginning a rite, the practitioner establishes the chosen deity within an octagon and then installs that deity in all eight directions, seeing the Lord alone everywhere. The octagon also signifies the eight supernatural powers. One in whose heart-lotus the Lord's lotus feet begin to dwell easily gains all eight powers, yet a person who has attained those feet never even looks toward them. The mind remains absorbed in the Lord's feet and has no leisure to attend to powers. The octagon carries another enchanting meaning. When the mind delights in the Lord's feet, the Lord sports within the heart through all eight watches of the day. Once anyone takes refuge in His feet, He comes to dwell in that person's heart. What more need be said?

The deer mark on the Lord's feet gives great delight to lovers. A deer's heart is exceedingly guileless. Enchanted by the sweet music of a vīṇā, it delivers itself into the hunter's hands without caring even for death. A devotee becomes so devoted to hearing the Lord's qualities and so simple-hearted that death itself causes no concern. Wherever the Lord's praises are heard, the devotee forgets all awareness like a spellbound deer and becomes absorbed.

Nārada too resides upon the Lord's lotus feet. He is the embodiment of loving devotion and remains ceaselessly engaged in spreading the Lord's qualities, devotion, and love. He is indeed an ācārya of bhakti. This divine sage inspired the seer Vālmīki toward God and set him upon composing the Rāmāyaṇa. After composing the Mahābhārata, Vedavyāsa sat in sorrow. By directing Vyāsa's speech toward the Śrīmad Bhāgavata, Nārada caused a current of devotion to flow in which we still bathe and become pure. Thus it was Nārada who gave Vyāsa peace. Nārada also drew Śukadeva into devotion to the Lord. He spread devotion not only among the gods but even among the asuras. While Prahlāda was still in the womb, Nārada made him drink so deeply of bhakti-rasa that the world has known no devotee equal to him. Prahlāda's mother Kayādhū also became wholly devoted to God.

Wherever Nārada goes, he takes up his vīṇā and begins singing the Lord's qualities, and the Lord becomes present there. Nārada is the devotees' model: to remain self-forgetful in loving devotion, to speak day and night only of the Lord's love, and wherever one goes to speak of bhakti. Such devotees are said to have surrendered to the dust of His feet.

In human form Nārada, Brahmā, and Śrī Rādhikā are present upon the Lord's feet. Brahmā and Nārada have already been discussed; now consider the meaning of Śrī Rādhikā. Rādhā is the reflection of the Lord's feet. Those who regard her as different from the Lord incur grave sin. The blessed Lord manifests only together with His bliss potency, Śrī Rādhā. Within their sweet divine form, Rasarāja and Mahābhāva possess a wondrous unity. The bliss potency is the very cause of the Lord's manifest form, for bliss reveals embodiment. Wherever the Lord goes, Rādhā has already arrived, because her dwelling is His feet. In the heart where the Lord's feet reside, Śrī Rādhā also dwells, and loving devotion resides there without cease.

The divine yellow garment is also upon the Lord's feet. The entire yoga of divine manifestations is contained there. The Lord's clothing, ornaments, weapons, qualities, and all else are divine, and the Lord Himself is present in those forms. Therefore all of them are conscious and spiritual. The very contemplation of this yellow garment blesses a person completely. Śrī Rādhā's complexion resembles gold, and the yellow garment is also golden. Her complexion is the color of the Lord's garment. The Lord's complexion is blue, and Śrī Rādhā's garment is blue. Śrī Kṛṣṇa is Rādhā's covering, and Śrī Rādhā is the Lord's covering. The yellow garment symbolizes the nondual state of exalted love. The Lord's divine blue color shines through from beneath it, and the complete unity of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa gleams within that divine union. One in whose heart the Lord's feet dwell attains Mahābhāva with great ease.

There is a divine flower upon the Lord's feet. It is connected with yogic perfection attained through yogic practice. When yogīs are pleased with an aspirant, they give their disciple a flower. That flower is supramundane, a flower of yoga, and whoever receives it becomes divine. The moment the lord of yogīs gives this divine flower, the disciple's practice is complete. The Lord is the Lord even of the lords of yoga. This divine yogic flower rests upon His feet, and one whose heart contains those feet attains the full perfection of yoga. That person's entire practice succeeds. Some regard this flower as the pārijāta, while other devotees consider it the night-blooming water lily. Just as that lily opens upon seeing the moon, the devotee's heart blossoms on seeing the moons of the Lord's face and toenails.

There is a parasol upon the Lord's feet. It has two meanings. A parasol protects from heat and the sun, and is also held over ācāryas and kings. Once one has gained refuge at the Lord's feet, neither the heat caused by the absence of sensory objects nor the rain of their abundance can cause harm. For a person there is no torment like the loss of sense objects. The afflictions arising from divine forces, other beings, and one's own body and mind, these threefold miseries are the name given to the absence of sensory objects. One who has taken refuge in the Lord's feet cannot be afflicted by the threefold miseries. A person remains drenched in sense-objects. Only upon coming under the refuge of these feet does the rain of sense-objects cease. Such a person suffers neither when sense-objects are destroyed nor becomes attached when they are obtained. Over one who has come under the refuge of the Lord's feet, even the gods hold a parasol. By serving such a person, the gods too consider themselves blessed.

On the Lord's feet is the mark of an armlet. An armlet is the ornament of ornaments. It is a kind of armour. This ornament too is supramundane. Without it, adornment is incomplete. The Lord bears the entire burden of the acquisition and preservation of one who has taken refuge in His feet, and that very person becomes the supreme ornament of the three worlds.

On the Lord's feet is a conch. The conch is the Lord's special weapon. It always remains in the hand of the Lord in His form as Viṣṇu. The conch is a mark of victory. One in whose heart the Lord's feet abide becomes victorious over all. All the contrary dispositions within that person are destroyed by the sound of the conch.

On the Lord's feet is an upward line. According to the science of bodily marks, one whose feet bear an upward line continually rises upward. That person's vision too turns upward. When the Lord's feet come to dwell in someone's heart, that person's course and vision become upward, and the person reaches the destination directly.

On the Lord's feet is the mark of King Bali. The Lord went to deceive Bali, but returned having Himself been deceived, and had to remain forever at Bali's door! The Lord placed His divinely rare feet upon Bali's head; not only that, He accepted Bali into His very feet. Bali's body became imprinted upon the Lord's feet. What greater good fortune could there be? Bali was first intoxicated with prosperity. Prahlāda explained to him, but why would Bali understand? Finally, Prahlāda saw that the malady had increased; therefore he remembered the Lord. The Lord came and measured all Bali's kingdom, even his body. The Lord's conduct even toward an enemy is like a mother's toward her child. When the Lord bestows grace on someone, He takes away that person's wealth and makes that person wholly unsuccessful in worldly affairs.

The world worships success alone, and so turns its eyes away from the unsuccessful person. Even family members are not one's own to an unsuccessful person. In that condition of severe contempt there is acute pain. In that pain the Lord is naturally remembered, because He alone remains the sole refuge. In that state one takes refuge wholly and exclusively in the Lord. As is the disease, so is the medicine the Lord gives. He took away everything from Bali and gave everything to Sudāmā. He took away Bali's royal pride, but was Himself won over. Of His own accord the Lord always stands at Bali's door. Bali had his back measured. With one who surrenders oneself in every way at the Lord's feet, the Lord dwells forever.

On the Lord's feet is the mark of a mirror. A reflection is seen in a mirror. This world is the Lord's reflection. Everywhere, it is nothing but the Lord. The more adorned a person stands before a mirror, the more joy the Lord gives that person, and the mirror returns that beauty multiplied many times. The mirror does not keep the beauty; rather, it increases joy and enhances the excellence of the beauty. A mirror is merely the occasion for displaying loveliness. Those who wish to make the Lord happy by giving Him love are themselves made happy a crore-fold by the giver of love and joy. The Lord accepts worship in order to increase the practitioner's joy and happiness.

Further, whatever way one approaches a mirror, the mirror returns that very form. In whatever disposition one approaches the Lord's feet, the Lord will bestow that disposition in that very form.

"As people take refuge in Me, so do I respond to them." As one's actions are, so also is their fruit; this too is one significance of the mirror.

On the Lord's feet is the mark of Mount Sumeru. Sumeru means that whose meru is beautiful. Sumeru is also called the mountain of gold. Without Sumeru nothing can remain established. The sun too rises only upon Sumeru. Thus Sumeru is the junction of night and day. Sumeru is the centre that keeps a rosary in order. Sumeru is made of gold. Within Sumeru an infinite store of wealth lies hidden. One who attains the Lord's feet attains the entire golden treasure. The rosary of that person's life becomes ordered. That person understands the junction of life and death.

Some regard this very Sumeru as Govardhana, which the Lord lifted upon His nail. The Lord has established it forever in His feet.

On the Lord's feet is a small bell. It is a special possession of the Lord. Small bells are also attached to the girdle. It rings together with the anklet. It also has a Tantric meaning. In worship it is an extremely necessary implement. In the unstruck sound there are, in sequence, ten kinds of tones. The third tone among them is that of the little bell. The bell pronounces "klīṁ klīṁ klīṁ." This is Śrī Kṛṣṇa's great seed syllable, the seed of love.

This seed has appeared in the form of the little bell. Therefore it is a principal implement of worship. It is the embodied form of the one who brings forth the world. Therefore it has found a place on the Lord's feet.

On the Lord's feet is the mark of a vīṇā. Apart from the flute, the vīṇā is a special possession of the Lord. The Lord gave it to Nārada. Of instruments, the vīṇā is the most ancient. All tones are present together in the vīṇā. It is the primal instrument. It has found a place on the Lord's feet as the divine excellence of song. The vīṇā sings the Lord's name. One whose heart contains the Lord's feet hears the sound of the vīṇā always and everywhere.

The Lord's thigh is as smooth and tender as the trunk of a banana plant after its upper layer has been removed. The Lord's waist is regarded as being like a lion's. Above the garment at His waist is a girdle. It is considered of different kinds in different forms. In the form of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa, and also in the līlās of Mathurā and Dvārakā, the sweetness of the child form is considered different in kind. The girdle is said to be of gold, yet that gold is something other than worldly gold. It is lighter than gold, but far more precious. The Lord does not feel the burden of ornaments, because His weapons, ornaments, and garments are not different from Him; they are like His own limbs. Moreover, that gold has a lightning-like gleam, but it does not dazzle the eyes. Its radiance is gentle, cool, and unctuous.

In the middle of the girdle are wavy pendants that hang upon the garments, and

among them are small bells, each of which rings. Their mouths are not closed like those of ankle bells. The bell rings of itself, and because it strikes against the pendants, an even more remarkable sound arises from it. On hearing its sound even from afar, the gopīs would know that the Lord was coming.

On the Lord's abdomen are three lines, which in one sense are forms of the three deities or the three guṇas.

The Lord's navel is spiral-shaped. It too is compared to a lotus. In the Lord's navel there seems to be the seed for generating the world. Within this navel the entire world and its knowledge, the Vedas, remain absorbed and gathered within. When the resolve arises, they come forth. It has a spiritual secret as well.

Above this are the Lord's breasts. In great persons, there is a line in place of the nipples. On the Lord's breasts is a dark hue distinct from the colour of His body. The Lord's chest is very broad; this means that His heart is broad. There is room in it for everyone. Even for the greatest sinner or cruel person there is a place in it. The heart is the principal organ of the body. Without heartfulness a human being cannot be called human. The Lord's heart makes the heartless compassionate.

The episode of Bhṛgu indicates this. The Lord's body is like a mirror. Whatever comes into contact with it is imprinted there. Therefore the Lord bears the Bhṛgu-mark. This is a mark of Vaiṣṇavahood. It is present in all incarnations. Even toward those who bear enmity, His heart remains full of affection. He wishes to liberate them too. In a mother's heart there is a reflection of the Lord's heart. He is not pleased with us merely upon seeing our virtues. When one has taken refuge even in the Lord's mind, the Lord becomes subject to the surrendered person. He runs to make that person His own. He does not even look at what came before. Those who accept someone after considering virtues and faults, or after receiving complete worship, are not truly tender toward the surrendered.

“Neither by study of the Vedas and sacrifices, nor by gifts, nor by rites, nor by severe austerities.

The Lord offers cupped hands like a father to the flesh-eating vulture. Though He is the Supreme Person of righteous conduct, He embraces Guha. He eats Śabarī's berries. A glimpse of the tenderness of the Lord's heart may be seen, in some measure, in His saints. The saints' hearts have been compared to fresh butter. Compassion itself is also the purpose of His descent. The Lord cannot remain still on seeing a devotee's suffering. The account of Gajendra gives an excellent illustration of this. Whoever came before the Lord was delivered: “When a creature turns toward Me, the sins of crores of births are destroyed at once.”

The Lord's neck is considered to be like a conch. Kaustubha, Śrīvatsa, and Vaijayantī are all present in the divine forms. In addition, Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa wears a forest garland. Leaves of tulasī and the like, strung into it, are also tucked in. He also smears earths of many colours upon His body; they have a singular radiance. There is a pearl necklace, a guñjā garland, and a garland of leaves. The flute-bearer has two arms. In His left hand is a stick and in His right hand a flute. The flute has holes; on both hands are bracelets and flower wristlets, and on the arms are armlets.

His lips are like the bimba fruit. Laughter too is of two kinds: loud laughter and a smile. The smile is always present. Even in a state of anger His smile remains. Even while destroying, He continues to smile. His rows of teeth are very white and radiant. Joined with the lustre of His lips, their whiteness assumes surpassing beauty.

There is a nose ornament in His nose. The mouth, nose, eyes, forehead, and ears serve the beauty of the face. The Lord's face is slightly elongated upward, while the rest is round. His cheeks are neither hollow nor protruding. Four further lustres fall upon the cheeks: the shadow of scattered curls, the splendour of the earrings, that of the crown on the head, and the light always issuing from the eyes. The nose is slightly curved at its tip.

His eyes are like red lotuses. Their rosy glow is their special quality. They are not red like those of anger. Their redness is natural. In anger, blood descends downward.

His brows are so beautiful that upon seeing them, desire is destroyed.

The eyelashes are dense, black, and distinct. The eyes are greatly captivating. There is no comparison for their beauty. The most beautiful part of the Lord is the portion of the face beneath the eyes.

His forehead is very broad; upon it is a tilaka like that of the Vallabha tradition. Above it is a jewel-studded crown, and upon that is a peacock plume.

Action is better than idleness. But if action rests only upon action, it becomes a cause of bondage. Only rightly grounded action bestows liberation. The Lord should be the basis of action. The Lord can be the basis of action only when He is remembered at all times: “Established in yoga, perform actions,” and when the Lord is also in the fruit: “Renouncing all actions in Me, with consciousness fixed on the Self.”

Further, one should perform only those actions that assist remembrance of the Lord, even if from a worldly point of view they are very low or passionate. Conversely, any action which, though sāttvic, increases our attachment merely to action is to be abandoned. Even vows such as truthfulness and nonviolence will not suffice if they are devoid of the Lord. “Abandoning all dharmas” applies in relation to these very dharmas. The loftiest work devoid of the Lord is low. Likewise, if even the task of sweeping is done as service to the Lord, it is very lofty. If bhajana continues unceasingly, then even if action falls away, there is no loss. One should understand at that time that one's actions have today become successful. Their work is complete, for the fruit of actions is only devotion to the Lord. A person is so entangled in worldly complication that he thinks, “Without me this particular work will not happen at all; who will support the family?” But while the body is healthy, one should engage in bhajana; after death comes, the matter will no longer be in one's hand. When the body becomes diseased, we cannot do anything either. Afterwards regret will be of no use. At every moment we should safeguard our aim and keep seeing whether or not we are on the right path, the Lord's path.

The second point is that one should not regard anyone as small, insult anyone, hurt anyone's heart, torment anyone, or do anyone harm. No creature is worthy of hatred, whether sinful, an enemy, or one who causes us pain. We should see our Rāma, our Kṛṣṇa, everywhere. We should see Him everywhere in the whole world as the Self. It is good to act according to varṇa and āśrama. But to regard even one's own servant, who is lower than oneself, as inferior and to hate that person is a great sin.

Some matters regarding the colour, radiance, and fragrance of Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇacandra have already been discussed. Consider: the beauty of the Lord's limbs is such that it cannot be described at all, for all the beauty of the world is but a particle of His beauty. The beauty of His limbs is so attractive that it enchants even the minds of gods, sages, and ascetics. While describing the greatness of the tulasī offered at the Lord's feet, Sanaka and the others said, “May we too become like this,” for they are not satisfied by smelling the fragrance of His feet.

The Lord's ornaments too are limbs of the Lord, because all of them are conscious, real, and full of fragrance. Let us first speak of the flute. The flute is greatly attractive. Whoever hears its tone is enchanted. It is said that when the Lord's flute sounded in Vṛndāvana on the night of the autumn full moon, that sound went to all the worlds and captivated everyone. Brahmā, Śiva, and others were enthralled; and what need is there to speak of all the rest? Not only the gopīs but everyone was drawn. The gopīs had the right to reach that place in their bodies; all others only to behold it. The activity of the moon, stars, and all else stopped for six months at a time. No one even knew how much time had passed. The cause of all this was the sound of the flute. Nectar began to drip from all dry trees and leaves. All creatures there became motionless. The calf that had held the cow's teat in its mouth stopped drinking milk and remained fixed just as it was. The peacock that had its eye open did not blink. Such was the effect of that sound. Even nature's activity stopped. The whole of Goloka descended there. The activity of all whom the flute summoned ceased, and each ran just as they were in that very condition, unable to signal anything to anyone. One had a morsel in her hand, another was applying collyrium to her eyes, another was putting on garments or ornaments,

leaving it just so in the middle, and ran away. This is no wonder, for when the Supreme Lord calls, no one can remain still. The sound of that flute set a current of love flowing: “that which increases love.” But this desire is different: it too is the desire to meet the Lord. Just as all things belonging to the Supreme Lord are eternal, so all the Lord's things, including the flute, are eternal. The gopīs desired to become the bamboo of which that flute was made. Others wish to meet the Lord, but the Lord Himself cannot leave the flute. No one's self-surrender is like the flute's. This is a spiritual exposition. It had made all its limbs hollow. Whatever sound the Lord filled into it, it sounded accordingly. It had abandoned its entire ego. It had no desire of any kind. Nothing of its own remained within the flute. One who offers all conduct to the Lord and empties the entire heart for the Lord alone, in that person's heart the Lord establishes His seat. This is the seed of desire, the syllable “klīṁ”; it is a transformation of the flute. To desire wholly and entirely for the Lord is love of the Lord. The greatness of the Lord's voice cannot be told. All the tones of the young cuckoo and the rest are but particles of it. The Lord's voice is exceedingly melodious, yet the tone of that flute is most extraordinary. It contains only the rasa of sweetness; other tones contain every kind of rasa, as in “I am Time, the mighty destroyer of worlds.” On hearing that voice Arjuna trembled. Only in the ears of those qualified to hear the flute's tone is that tone heard. The flute sounds only in Vṛndāvana. It sounds wherever the rasa of sweetness abides. Pāñcajanya sounds at Kurukṣetra, but the flute does not sound there. A poet says: One day it was ten or eleven o'clock. The Lord returned from Vraja toward home. He usually came at twilight; today He came at mealtime. Hearing the sound of the flute, one woman said, “O slayer of Mura, at cooking time do not make the flute sound sweetly,” for on hearing its voice even dry firewood began to drip water, and the fire was extinguished.

A new gopī came to Vraja:

With minds fixed on Me and lives absorbed in Me, enlightening one another, they ever speak of Me and are content and delight in Me.

All these things had been fulfilled among the gopīs.

“Whether in milking, carrying, churning, or smearing ... I know no truth whatsoever higher than Kṛṣṇa.”

The mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and all the women of the neighbourhood asked that newly arrived gopī whether she had seen Śyāmasundara. She replied, “What is so unusual about that? I have seen many boys in the village.” When Śyāmasundara returned at twilight, the new gopī was lighting a lamp. The sweet sound of the flute entered her ears, and hearing it she lost consciousness. Instead of the lamp, her finger began to burn, and she was not even aware of it. This sound is auspicious to hear. It never brings satiation. Arjuna too said the same in the Gītā. The tone of the flute is very sweet. No other produces as pure a sound as the flute does. Such is the greatness of the flute's tone. Today, what then is the greatness of that flute itself, that the Lord cannot endure even a moment's separation from it? The greatness of one who has received the touch of the Lord's hand cannot be told either. Then who can describe the greatness of the flute that drank and savoured the nectar of the Supreme Lord's lower lip? This is the greatness of union with the Lord. The gopīs too longed to become a flute, but could not become one.

Two kinds of tones issue from the flute: love and knowledge. Those not qualified for love are overwhelmed by the tone of knowledge. Once, sages were performing a sacrifice in the forest. The Lord played the flute, but the sages could not hear it. Their wives heard that tone, because they were qualified for love. When these women returned after meeting the Lord, the sages, seeing them, began to condemn themselves.

“Shame on our lineage; shame on our conduct.”

Whatever sound the Lord wishes to bring forth, that very sound emerges; it is heard by whomever He wishes to make hear it. The Sāmaveda is the Lord's song of knowledge, and it was composed. But the Lord's song of love cannot be composed. There is a vast literature about the flute. Sanskrit and Hindi poets have written extensively upon it. Sūra composed many songs, including “O flute, what austerity did you perform?” and “The flute is dear to Gopāla.”