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Begin with the cry itself, "kadā vā, kadā vā": when, oh when. Twice the heart breaks open on that single word, and the whole verse is the ache of a longing not yet fulfilled. O Rādhe, when will the day come, the speaker asks, when I may gather Your lotus feet, rādhāyāḥ pada-kamalam, and press them into the very chamber of my heart, āyojya hṛdaye, so that they rest there and never leave.

And see what falls away in that one act. The speaker prays to give up, niḥśeṣaṁ niyatam jahyām, endlessly and forever, all the upavidhi, the petty regulations and the careful errands of this world. This is no rebellion against duty, no shrugging off of the sacred. The rites do not become hateful; they become small. When the heart is so filled with the touch of Rādhā's feet there is simply no room left for anything done out of mere obligation. The merciful Lord, dayeśa, is not abandoned when the rule-book closes; He is the very reason the rule-book has grown unnecessary. The props of formal worship slip from the hand of one who already holds the feet themselves.

Then the second longing rises, and here the tradition leads us into a scene of breathtaking tenderness. When, the heart asks, will Govinda, sakala-sukhada, the delighter of all who gives every joy, be so moved by my loving service, prema-kāraṇāt, that He, svayam, of His own accord, draws this exclusively blessed one near, ananye dhanye vai, and offers svayam upanayate smara-kalām: He Himself will teach her the arts of love. On its face this reads as a wish for the most intimate nearness of Kṛṣṇa. But the Gauḍīya masters lift the veil on what is really happening in that bower.

Picture it as they tell it. Govinda turns to Śrīmatī and asks Her, with love, what reward He should bestow upon this maidservant for all her devoted service. And Śrīmatī, who delights above all in showing Govinda how utterly Her handmaidens belong to Her feet, does not answer in words. She hints with Her eyes alone: let Him teach the girl the arts of love, let Him embrace her, kiss her, draw her close. Śyāmasundara reads the message in that glance at once. He comes near the maidservant, He kisses her, He pulls playfully at her blouse, He begins to show her the smara-kalā.

And now the wonder. The maidservant does not melt into His arms. She is afraid. She flees. The one nearness that the whole world of the gopīs prizes above every treasure, the bodily association of Kṛṣṇa Himself, she runs from it. And as she runs she cries out, not to Him but past Him, to the only refuge she knows: "O Merciful Rādhe! Save me, save me from the hands of this womaniser!" And Svāminī, hearing the anxious appeal of Her own girl, laughs, laughs in pure amused delight, for this is exactly the love She wished to display.

Here the tradition marks the great distinction, the line between the sakhī and the mañjarī. The sakhī, the peer-companion, may herself taste Kṛṣṇa's nearness. But the mañjarī, the handmaiden, wants nothing of it for herself. Govinda is indeed sakala-sukhada, the giver of all joy, and still the maidservants do not desire His bodily touch, for their joy is of another order entirely. This flight, this refusal of the highest prize, is no coldness. It is the very fruit of Rādhikā's personal grace, kṛpā poured upon the girls who are forever immersed, day and night, in the service of the young Couple's lotus feet. Only one drowned in Her grace could turn away from Govinda's embrace.

And so the word upavidhi opens its deepest sense. The maidservant's true and main work, her mukhya-vidhi, is to arrange the meeting of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa, to be the thread that draws Them together. Her own enjoyment, even an embrace from Govinda Himself, is only upavidhi, a secondary thing, a side matter she is glad to set down. The arranging is everything; the personal reward is nothing she reaches for.

Prabodhānanda, whom the tradition names as the heart behind these songs, lets the same longing sing in his bhajana. "When will I live in an arbour in Vṛndāvana," he cries, "keeping Rādhā's tender lotus feet pressed to my heart?" There it is again, the one thing wanted: not Govinda's arms but Rādhā's feet upon the heart. He knows Govinda well, śrī govinda-deva, rasikendra-cūḍāmaṇi, the crown-jewel of all relishers, the delighter of all; and he knows too that Govinda Himself recognises this servant as ananya-dhanyā, Rādhā's exclusively blessed maidservant, whose very life-breath is Her service. So when that trickster Śyāma Rāya, se chalanāmaya, displays the arts of eros in great loving bliss, Prabodhānanda turns away, parihāra: he declines even that, because his whole being is given elsewhere, to the feet of the Svāminī he serves.