26

Picture a single jewel turned slowly in the light, and how with every turn a new fire wakes inside it. The tradition holds Śrī Rādhā this way now, in the gliding measure of Vasantatilakā, turning Her gently before our eyes, and at each turning She is a different gem, and yet always the one Rādhā. Six times the heart names Her a maṇi, a jewel, and six times the naming says: there is nothing left over of value once you have Her; She is the worth of everything. The Rādhāvallabha edition sets a heading over Her here, maṇirūpa-sārātisāra-svarūpa, Her own form as the very essence of all essence borne in jewel-shape, and we kneel to look.

First, She is the cintāmaṇi, the wish-fulfilling stone, for all who take refuge and bow their heads before Her. The old wishing-stone of legend gives a man whatever he asks: gold, kingdom, long life. But what does a surrendered soul ask of Rādhā? Not gold, not health, not the small coins of this world. The bowed-down devotee carries only one wish folded in the heart, and it is this: to love, and to serve. So She is no ordinary wishing-stone. The Gauḍīya lovers call Her the prema-cintāmaṇi, the jewel that grants the single desire of the surrendered, which is devotional service and love of God, the one thing the world cannot give and cannot take away. The Hit stream says the same in tender Hindi: to the āśrita-jana, the ones who have taken shelter, She is the giver of every fruit. O Rādhe, the surrendered ones come empty-handed, and You fill their emptiness not with things but with longing for You, which is the only treasure. And see how soft Her mercy is, for She is a storehouse of compassion for the surrendered. The tradition remembers that Mahāprabhu, who had taken on Rādhā's own sweet wishing-stone mood, vowed: even if you will not bow to Me, even if you blaspheme Me instead, still I will make you bow, still I will press the wealth of prema into your hands. The Caitanya Caritāmṛta fixes it in the Ādi-līlā that the Lord's heart melted with compassion, thinking all people would perish if they did not honour Him, and so He took sannyāsa, that even those who bowed taking Him for a mere renunciant would be saved from their misery. That is the temper of this jewel. It does not wait to be deserved. It melts toward the undeserving and pours.

And there is a tenderer meaning still folded in this word cintāmaṇi. Cintā is thought, the steady inward remembering of the devotee; maṇi is the jewel. So She is the jewel playing inside the thoughts of those who remember Her. When the remembering is faint, the jewel is dim and far. But when smaraṇa grows whole and unbroken, this jewel turns from inward to outward, and what was held only in thought begins to shine before the very senses. The holy Name itself is this cintāmaṇi, alighting on the devotee's tongue. Jīva Gosvāmī fixes it for us: the very Truth that rises as the deity-Form before the eyes is the same Truth that rises as the Name on the tongue and from the throat. So a lover of Rādhā can taste this gem in every sense at once, and be blessed past speaking.

Second, She is the cūḍāmaṇi, the crest-jewel, the single stone set highest in the crown, of all the sweet young maidens of Vraja, the nava-taruṇīs whom the Hit stream lingers over so fondly. Imagine the millions of gopis of Vṛndāvana, each one radiant, each one steeped in mahābhāva, each one love itself. They are like a treasury of gems poured out across the groves. And She is the one set at the very crown of them all, for they are Her own expansions, rays of Her single light; even Candrāvali is but a beam of Her. As there is no parting musk from its fragrance, no parting fire from its heat, so there is no real parting of Kṛṣṇa from His own energy, who is Rādhā. Yet in the play of līlā the two have made themselves two, so that the sweetness of meeting and of loving can unfold between Them and spill over onto the devotees. For this Kṛṣṇa has made Her the queen of Vṛndāvana, as the Purāṇas confirm, vṛndāvanādhipatyaṁ ca dattaṁ tasyai pratuṣyatā: well pleased with Her, He handed Her the sovereignty of that whole land. She wears the grove as Her kingdom and the gopis as Her crown.

Third, She is the kula-maṇi, the jewel of Mahārāja Vṛṣabhānu's dynasty, the gem that makes a whole lineage blaze. Raghunātha Dāsa Gosvāmī sings of Her in the Rādhikāṣṭakam as the puṇya-girvāṇa-vallī, the blessed celestial desire-vine of Vṛṣabhānu, the best man of Vraja, and She greatly increased the prestige of his house simply by taking birth in it. The tradition delights to turn his very name. Vṛṣa is the sign of Taurus, the high hot season in Vraja when the sun stands fierce; bhānu is the sun. So Vṛṣabhānu is a sun whose love-rays reach into the cave-dark hearts of all the world and light them. And consider this wonder, which the tradition draws out upon the Bhāgavata verse rājan patir gurur alaṁ bhavatām: when Mahārāja Parīkṣit learned that the Lord had not descended in his own Puru line, he grieved, and Śuka Muni consoled him, O King, God may not have descended in your family in person, but Love of God has descended in it, and I cannot praise enough a dynasty into which prema has come. From this it follows that Vṛṣabhānu's line shines even more than Nanda's, because mahābhāva Herself took birth there. Into Nanda's house came Kṛṣṇa, joy of the world, and his name came true, nandayati jagad iti, he who gladdens the world is named Nanda; Nanda caught the Kṛṣṇa-bird in the net of his own love and made the whole world happy by showing Him to their eyes. But Kṛṣṇa, who is transcendental bliss personified, is not held by a heart without love; love is the only net that catches that dark bird. And it was Vṛṣabhānu who gave the world that net. He gave Prema-lakṣmī, the very goddess of love, Śrī Rādhā Herself. O Vṛṣabhānu, blessed father, who could have a more glorious name or a more glorious line? Rādhā is the jewel of your house.

Fourth, She is the śyāma-kāma-vara-śānti-maṇi, the jewel that quiets Śyāma's burning. There is a fire in Kṛṣṇa's heart, a longing so intense the tradition likens its scorch to poison left smouldering within Him, and the Hit stream too names Her the supreme jewel that brings Śyāmasundara's kāma to rest. And here is a thing to ponder slowly, on bended knee, as the tradition shows in the Vasanta Rāsa: a hundred crores, billions of gopis, cannot put out that fire. Each one giving all her love, and still the flame leaps. From this very thing, the lovers of God reason backward to Her glory, śata koṭi gopīte nahe kāma nirvāpaṇa, ihātei anumāni śrī rādhikāra guṇa: if all of them together cannot cool Him, then She who alone can cool Him must be beyond all measure. By Her mere glance, by the lightest touch of Her hand, that vast fire is stilled. And let no one mistake this for the cheap heat of the world, the base craving that circles round a man's own pleasure. This śyāma-kāmavara is the greatest desire of Śyāma Himself, the deepest wanting of the Lord of love, and only Rādhā is its rest. She is the cooling stone laid against that fever, and the fever sighs and is quiet.

Fifth, She is the nikuñja-bhūṣā-maṇi, the jewel that adorns the bowers, the ornament-gem of the bower-dwelling itself. The flowering bowerhouses of Vṛndāvana are the holiest hidden places that are, and yet, hear how the lovers of those groves speak: when Rādhā does not enter them, the bowers themselves sicken and die of grief. Our dark beloved comes and finds the arbour empty of Her, and His own heart goes empty, and when He is seized by feelings of separation the darkness of His desperate heart seeps into the leaves and the vines, and every creature, the moving and the unmoving alike, every bird and every blossom, begins to weep with Him, and the bowers lose all their beauty. The grove without Rādhā is a jewel-setting with the jewel fallen out. But the moment She steps in, light wakes through every bower; the cave-like hearts of all who wait there, Śyāma's first of all, are lit. She is the ornament that makes the holy place holy, the gem that makes the setting worth its gold. O bowers of Vṛndāvana, you know who you are waiting for.

And sixth, last and most intimately our own, She is the hṛdaya-sampuṭa-san-maṇi, the true jewel in the little jewel-box of our hearts. A box with no jewel in it is a thing no one wants; it is only emptiness with a lid. And a heart without Rādhā set inside it is exactly such an empty box, full only of darkness. But the great lover of Rādhā may win this gem and keep it in the heart's casket by one means alone, by remembering Her, constantly, tenderly, without ever letting go. So the tradition does not boast of having Her; it submits at Her lotus-feet and pleads. It sings to Her, O delightful goddess of love, cintāmaṇi of the surrendered, housewife of the mountaincaves, crown-jewel of Vraja's maidens, kula-maṇi of King Vṛṣabhānu's line, golden locket upon Śyāma's neck, jewel that pacifies His longing, queen of the groves, ornament of the secret bowers, You are my goddess and the great jewel in the casket of my heart. And it prays, O glistening Rādhā-jewel, do not leave the box of this heart dark. Shine here always. Be the one true gem within us.