95

Picture the night, O seeker. The Yamunā moves dark and slow along her bank, and above her the groves of Vṛndāvana lean so close, vine over branch over leaf, that the darkness beneath is total. A person could not see his own hand held out before his face. And into this very blackness Tender Rādhikā has slipped out alone. She is Timirābhisārikā, She who travels under the cover of night, rushing toward the trysting-bower, overcoming every obstacle of the path, counting the darkness itself a great advantage because it hides Her from every eye but His. Every barrier takes shelter at the lotus-feet of Anurāginī, passionate Rādhā, and falls away before Her longing. Close behind, soft as Her own shadow, follows the kiṅkarī, the maidservant, who lives only to serve, and it is in this very form that Prabodhānanda the speaker walks with Her.

But when She reaches the appointed arbour, Her heart sinks. Śyāmasundara has not come. The bower stands empty, and the joy that carried Her through the dark night curls inward into grief, and She becomes very upset. The maidservant reads it on Her face at once, and slips away into the trees to search for Śyāma.

And here, O Rādhe, is the wonder this Name holds up to us. The forest is so dark that even Kṛṣṇa could not find the trysting-place; He has sunk down in another kuñja close by, on the bank of the Kālindī. There the maidservant finds Him, and by Your own grace, O Rādhārāṇī, she is given to know all that passes in His mind. He is not pacing, not calling, not restless. He sits utterly still. The first thought that had crossed Him was tender fear: how can My most delicate Rādhikā cross that black forest path all alone? But then He remembered the bright moonrays that stream from Her very toenails, and was comforted: surely She can come safely, for the radiance of Her own feet is lighting the way before Her. And the moment Rasarāja, the king of all relishers, remembered the effulgence of Premamayī's toenails, He sank into its sweetness as a great yogī sinks into samādhi.

Taste the reversal of it slowly, for it is the very marrow of this Name. The great mystics of the world withdraw into a solitary mountain cave and meditate upon the supreme brahman-light, longing for the liberation that light bestows. And here Śrī Kṛṣṇa, who is that very Supreme Brahman in person, sweetness itself made flesh, the goal and worshipable truth of all those yogīs, has Himself sat down to meditate upon Her feet. The worshipped has become the worshipper. The worshipable truth of the greatest yogīs is absorbed in worshipping prema personified, who is Śrī Rādhā. The mystics meditate on His bodily luster to win liberation; He meditates on the effulgence of Rādhikā's lotus-feet to be liberated from the very fire of His own longing for Her, as though She were both the fever and its only cure. And mark the difference in the lights. As the cave-like hearts of the great yogīs are lit by the brahmajyoti, the cave-like heart of Kṛṣṇa, who is brahman in person, is lit by the radiance pouring from Rādhā's lotus-feet. But the brahmajyoti is formless and emptied of every attribute, while the light Kṛṣṇa adores has form, has colour, has tenderness, has attributes without number, and plays a thousand sweet pastimes within itself.

And see how the meditation overtakes Him. As He holds the effulgence of Premamayī's toenails, the rati-rasānanda rises in Him, the delicious ecstasy of love itself, and it carries Him away utterly. The hairs of His body stand erect. Tears of love brim and overflow His eyes and run down. And from His lotus-mouth, again and again, helpless and sweeter than any nectar, falls the one Name: "Rādhā, Rādhā." Premamaya Kṛṣṇa is gladdened through and through by that rapture, and becomes wholly enchanted, sammohita, drowned in the wonder of it.

Now the maidservant, watching Mādhava meditate upon her Svāminī's feet and chant her Svāminī's Name, cannot hold the sweetness. She loses herself in the topmost ecstasy, and then a single thought leaps up in her, the only thought a true servant could have: I must show this to my Svāminī! Quick as breath she runs back through the dark and cries: "Ogo! That crown-jewel of all heroes, the One You wait for so achingly, sits in a kuñja close by, meditating on the very light of Your toenails and chanting Your own Name over and over!"

And there is another way to hear these words, another sweet turn the tradition gives us in the phrase rati-rasānande sammohitā: that it is She, Svāminī Herself, who is now enchanted by the delicious ecstasy of love. For She had given up all hope of meeting Him that night; Her heart had gone dark as the new-moon night of despair. And now, hearing that Mādhava sits in a nearby bower meditating upon Her in a favorable mood, hope floods back and She too is overtaken by rati-rasānanda. For such is Her mādana-mahābhāva, the very highest love, that it can make Her glad even when lethal obstacles stand between Her and Kṛṣṇa.

The maidservant speaks sweet reviving words and takes Her by the hand and leads Her to the kuñja where Her Nāgara sits. And there Śrīmatī sees Him: immersed, eyes shut, the nectar-stream of Rādhā-nāma flowing ceaseless from His lotus-mouth. The sight pours rati-rasānanda through Her whole frame; Her hairs stand on end; She stands trembling at the threshold of His meditation. And the maidservant, in a voice soft as a flute, leans in and says: "O Yogīrāja! Open Your eyes and see! The treasure of Your sādhanā has come before You. Be blessed; taste now the fruit of Your sādhanā! The powerful Name of Rādhā has drawn the deity Rādhā here in person; the very lotus-feet You held in meditation have walked to You and stand before You. Bless Your eyes by drinking their sweetness directly!"

And hearing her, the king of yogīs slowly, slowly opens His eyes. And the deity of His meditation is no longer light within the heart but the living Beloved before His very face, and the rati-rasānanda fills Him to the brim. And the maidservant, drinking in the sweetness of the divine Couple thus met, is the most blessed of all.

When the vision fades, O seeker, the heart of this servant pours itself out in a single prayer, and it is the prayer this Name hands to us. She has seen with her own eyes what the chanting of Rādhā's Name can do: by the japa of Rādhikā's holy Names and the meditation on Her feet, Śyāmasundara won His long-desired Goddess; the Name fulfilled every desire. This is why the Name is parā vidyā, the supreme knowledge: vidyate sarva-kāmāptis tasmāt vidyā parā matā, She by whom all desires are fulfilled is called the supreme knowledge. And because Śrī Rādhā's service is the most cherished treasure of Her maidservants, she begs: "May these two parā-vidyā syllables, Rā and dhā, forever shine awake in my heart." Two small syllables; and because the Name is never separate from the One it names, all of Rādhā's sweetness lives inside them, so that to hold them is to hold Her. The tradition sings it in its own Bengali refrain: that Hari meditates day and night in a jewelled temple, a blissful playbower on the bank of the Yamunā, upon the nectarean light of Rādhā's feet, just like the king of yogīs; that Śyāma's hairs stand erect and His tears flow as He repeats the two wonderful syllables of Rādhikā's Name, She enchanted by a wondrous rasika bliss of rati; and that this Name of Rādhā, practised even by Hari, is the wish-yielding abode of all rasa and an ever-sweet moon, Prabodhānanda praying that it shine in the heart without end. O Name "Rādhā", chanted even by Hari Himself, rise now in this heart and never set.