Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna

SRI RAMAKRISHNA arrived in the morning at the garden house of Surendra, one of his beloved householder disciples, in the village of Kankurgachi near Calcutta. Surendra had invited him and a large number of the devotees to a religious festival.

Occasions like this were a source of great happiness and rejoicing to the Master’s devotees. He was then seen at his best. He joined with the others in devotional music and in chanting the names of God, frequently going into ecstasy. He poured out his entire soul in inspired talk, explaining the various phases of God-Consciousness. The impressions of such a festival lingered in the minds of all for many days.

The devotees stood in rows inside the big hall of the garden house to hear the music sung by the professional singers. The floor of the room was covered with a carpet over which was spread a white sheet; a few bolsters, pillows, and cushions lay here and there.

The musicians were singing of the episodes in the life of Sri Krishna especially associated with His divine love for the gopis of Vrindavan. This was a theme which always appealed to the Master and would throw him into ecstatic moods.

Krishna, God Incarnate, lived the years of His boyhood in Vrindavan as a cowherd. He tended His cows on the green meadows along the bank of the Jamuna and played His flute. The milkmaids could not resist the force of His divine attraction. At the sound of His flute they would leave their household duties and go to the bank of the sacred river. Their love for Krishna destroyed their attachment to worldly things. Neither the threats of their relatives nor the criticism of others could make them desist from seeking the company of Krishna. In the love of the gopis for Krishna there was not the slightest trace of worldliness. It was the innate attraction of God for pure souls, as of the magnet for iron. The author of the Bhagavata has compared this love to the all-consuming love of a woman for her beloved. Before the onrush of that love all barriers between man and God are swept away. The devotee surrenders himself completely to his Divine Beloved and in the end becomes one with Him.

Radha was the foremost of the gopis, and Krishna’s chief playmate. She felt an indescribable longing for union with Him. A moment’s separation from Krishna would rend her heart and soul. During many a moonlit night Krishna would dance with Radha and the gopis in the sacred groves of Vrindavan, and on such occasions the gopis would experience the highest religious ecstasy. At the age of eleven Krishna was called to be the king of Mathura. He left the gopis, promising them, however. His divine vision whenever they concentrated on Him in their hearts.

For centuries and centuries the lovers of God in India have been worshipping the Divine by recreating in themselves the yearning of the gopis for Krishna. Many of the folk-songs of India have as their theme this sweet episode of Krishna’s life. Sri Chaitanya revived this phase of Hindu religious life by his spiritual practice and his divine visions. In his ecstatic music Chaitanya assumed the role of Radha and manifested the longing to be united with Krishna. For a long period Sri Ramakrishna also worshipped God as his beloved Krishna, looking on himself as one of the gopis or as God’s handmaid.

At Surendra’s garden house the kirtan had begun early in the morning. The musicians were singing about the love of Krishna and Radha for each other. The Master was frequently in samadhi. The room was crowded with devotees, among them Bhavanath, Niranjan, Rakhal, Surendra, Ram, and M., and many members of the Brahmo Samaj.

In accordance with the custom, the kirtan had begun with an introductory song about Gauranga. Gauranga embraces monastic life. He is being consumed with longing for a vision of Krishna. He leaves Navadvip and goes away as a wandering monk to seek out his Beloved. His devotees, unable to bear the pangs of separation, weep bitterly and beg Gauranga to return.

The musician sang:

O Gaur, come back to Nadia!

Next the musician sang about the anguish of Radha at her separation from Krishna. When Sri Ramakrishna heard the song he suddenly stood up. Assuming the mood of Radha, he sang in a voice laden with sorrow, improvising the words: “O friend, either bring my beloved Krishna here or take me to Him.” Thus singing, he completely lost himself in Radha and could not continue the song. He became speechless, his body motionless, his eyes half closed, his mind totally unconscious of the outer world. He was in deep samadhi.

After a long time he regained normal consciousness and said in the same heart-rending voice: “O friend, take me to my beloved Krishna and make me your bondslave. I shall be your handmaid for ever. O friend, it was you who taught me how to love Krishna. O Krishna! O Beloved of my soul!”

The professional musicians continued their song. They took the part of Radha and sang as if she were talking to her friend: “O friend, I shall not go again to the Jamuna to draw water. Once I beheld my beloved Friend under the kadamba tree. Whenever I pass it I am overwhelmed.”

The Master again became abstracted. Heaving a deep sigh he said, “Ah me! Ah me!”

The song went on. Radha says:

Even the desire for Krishna’s presence
Has cooled and refreshed my feverish body.

Now and then the musicians improvised lines to the music, continuing in the attitude of Radha: “O friends, you can wait. Show me Krishna, my Beloved.” Again: “Do not bother about my ornaments. I have lost my most precious Ornament.” And again: “Alas! I have fallen on evil days. My happy days are over.” And finally: “This unhappy time lingers so long!”

Sri Ramakrishna improvised a line himself: “Are not better times yet in sight for me?” The musicians then improvised: “Such a long time has passed! Are not better times yet in sight for me?”

The musicians sang Radha’s words to a friend:

O friend, I am dying! Surely I die.
The anguish of being kept apart
From Krishna is more than I can bear.
Alas! to whom then shall I leave
My priceless Treasure? (Krishna) When I am dead,
I beg you, do not burn my body;
Do not cast it into the river.
See that it is not given to the flames;
Do not cast it into the water.
In this body I played with Krishna.

Bind my lifeless form, I beg you,
To the black tamala’s branches;
Tie it to the tamala tree.
Touching tamala it touches black.
Krishna is black, and black is tamala;
Black is the colour that I love.
From earliest childhood I have loved it.
To the black Krishna my body belongs;
Let it not lie apart from black!

Radha reaches her last extremity. She faints away.

Radha has fallen to the-ground;
She lies there lost to outward sense,
Repeating her precious Krishna’s name,
And straightway closes both her eyes.
Ah, has the drama reached its end?
What ails you, O delight of Krishna?
Only a moment ago you spoke.

Her friends, anointing Radha’s form
With cool and soothing sandal-paste,
Attempt to bring her back to earth.
Some of them weep in bitter grief;
They cannot bear to see her die.
Some sprinkle water on her face;
Perhaps she will revive again!
But, oh, can water give back life
To one who dies of Krishna’s love?

Radha’s friends chant Krishna’s sweet name in her ears. This brings her back to partial consciousness. She looks at the black tamala tree and thinks that Krishna stands before her.

Krishna’s name restores her life;
Once more her two eyes gaze around,
But Krishna’s face she cannot see.
Alas, how bitterly she weeps!
“Where is my Krishna? Where is He
Whose name you chanted in my ears?
Bring Him but once before me here!”

Seeing the black tamala tree,
She stares at it and cries aloud:
“There is His crest! I see it clearly!
There is my Krishna’s lovely crest!”
But only a peacock did she see,
Whose glistening feathers she mistook
For the gay feather on Krishna’s crest.

Krishna has gone to Mathura to assume His royal duties. He has discarded His cowherd’s dress and flute and put on the royal regalia. Radha’s friends, after a hurried consultation, send a gopi to Mathura as messenger. She meets a woman of that city, of her own age, who asks her where she comes from.

Radha’s friend says: “I don’t have to call Krishna. He Himself will come to me.” But none the less she follows the woman of Mathura and goes to Krishna’s palace. In the street she weeps, overcome with grief, and prays to Krishna: “O Hari, where are You? O Life of the gopis! O Enchanter of our hearts! O Beloved of Radha! O Hari, Remover of Your devotees’ shame! Come to us once more! With great pride I said to the people of Mathura that You Yourself would come to me. Please do not humiliate me,”

In scorn says the woman of Mathura:
“Oh, you are only a simple milkmaid!
How can you go to see our King,
Our Krishna, in your beggar’s rags?
Behind seven doors His chamber stands.
You cannot enter. How can you go?
I die of shame to see your boldness.
Tell me, how will you manage to enter?”

Says the gopi: “Krishna! Beloved!
Soul of the gopis! Oh, where are You?
Come to me here and save my life.
Where are You, adorable Soul of the gopis?
Come to me, Lord of Mathura!
And save the life of Your sorrowing handmaid.
Ah, where are You, Beloved of Radha?
Lord of our hearts and Friend of our souls!
O Hari, Destroyer of our shame!
O priceless Treasure of the gopis!
Come to Your handmaid and save her honour.”

Thus the messenger weeps and cries out for Krishna.

When the musicians sang, “Where are You, adorable Soul or the gopis?” the Master went into samadhi. As the music neared its end the musicians sang louder. Sri Ramakrishna was on his feet, again in deep samadhi. Regaining partial consciousness, he said in a half articulate voice, “Kitna! Kitna!” He was too much overwhelmed to utter Krishna’s name distinctly.

The kirtan was coming to a close. At the reunion of Radha and Krishna. the Master sang with the musicians, composing the lines himself:Behold, there Radha stands by Krishna;
On His bosom she reclines.
Behold her standing at His left,
Like a golden creeper twining
Round a black tamala tree!

As the music came to a close the Master led the chorus. All chanted together to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals: “Victory to Radha and Krishna! Hallowed be the names of Radha and Krishna!” The devotees felt a surge of divine emotion and danced around the Master. He too danced in an ecstasy of joy. The names of God echoed and re-echoed in the house and garden.

After the music the Master sat with the devotees. Just then Niranjan arrived and prostrated himself before him. At the very sight of this beloved disciple the Master stood up, with beaming eyes and smiling face, and said: “You have come too! (To M.) You see, this boy is absolutely guileless. One cannot be guileless without a great deal of spiritual discipline in previous births. A hypocritical and calculating mind can never attain God.

“Don’t you see that God incarnates Himself only in a family where innocence exists? How guileless Dasaratha was! So was Nanda, Krishna’s father. There is a saying: ‘Ah, how innocent a man he is! He is just like Nanda.’

(To Niranjan) “I feel as if a dark veil has covered your face. It is because you have accepted a job in an office. One must keep accounts there. Besides, one must attend to many other things, and that always keeps the mind in a state of worry. You are serving in an office like other worldly people; but there is a slight difference, in that you are earning money for the sake of your mother. One must show the highest respect to one’s mother, for she is the very embodiment of the Blissful Mother of the Universe. If you had accepted the job for the sake of wife and children, I should have said: “Fie upon you! Shame! A thousand shames!’

(To Mani Mallick, pointing to Niranjan) “Look at this boy. He is absolutely guileless. But he has one fault: he is slightly untruthful nowadays. The other day he said that he would visit me again very soon, but he didn’t come. (To Niranjan) That is why Rakhal asked you why you didn’t come to see me while you were at Ariadaha, so near Dakshineswar.”

NIRANJAN: “I was there only a couple of days.”

MASTER (to Niranjan, pointing to M.) “He is the headmaster of a school. At my bidding he went to see you. (To M.) Did you send Baburam to me the other day?”

The Master went to an adjoining room and began to talk with some devotees there.

MASTER (to M.): “Ah! How wonderful was the yearning of the gopis for Krishna! They were seized with divine madness at the very sight of the black tamala tree. Separation from Krishna created such a fire of anguish in Radha’s heart that it dried up even the tears in her eyes! Her tears would disappear in steam. There were other times when nobody could notice the depth of her feeling. People do not notice the plunge of an elephant in a big lake.”

M: “Yes, sir, that is true. Chaitanya, too, experienced a similar feeling. He mistook a forest for the sacred grove of Vrindavan, and the dark water of the ocean for the blue Jamuna.”

MASTER: “Ah! If anyone has but a particle of such prema! What yearning! What love! Radha possessed not only one hundred per cent of divine love, but one hundred and twenty-five per cent. This is what it means to be intoxicated with ecstatic love of God. The sum and substance of the whole matter is that a man must love God, must be restless for Him. It doesn’t matter whether you believe in God with form or in God without form. You may or may not believe that God incarnates Himself as man. But you will realize Him if you have that yearning. Then He Himself will let you know what He is like. If you must be mad, why should you be mad for the things of the world? It you must be mad, be mad for God alone.”

Presently Sri Ramakrishna returned to the main hall of the house. A big pillow was placed near him for his use. Before touching it he said, “Om Tat Sat.”1 Perhaps the pillow had been used by many worldly people, and that was why he purified it in this way. Bhavanath, M,, and other devotees sat near him. It was getting late, but there was no indication that the meal was going to be served. The Master became impatient, like a child, and said: “I don’t see any sign of food. What’s the matter? Where is Narendra?”

A DEVOTEE (with a smile): “Sir, Ram Babu is the manager of the feast. He is superintending everything.”

MASTER (laughing): “Oh, Ram is the manager! Then we know what to expect.”

A DEVOTEE: “Things like this always happen when he is the supervisor.” (All laugh.)

MASTER (to the devotees): “Where is Surendra? What a nice disposition he has now! He is very outspoken; he isn’t afraid to speak the truth. He is unstinting in his liberality. No one that goes to him for help comes away empty-handed. (To M.) You went to Bhagavan Das.(A great Vaishnava devotee.) What sort of man is he?”

M: “He is very old now. I saw him at Kalna. It was night. He lay on a carpet and a devotee fed him with food that had been offered to God. He can hear only if one speaks loudly into his ear. Hearing me mention your name he said, ‘You have nothing to worry about.'”

BHAVANATH (to M.): “You haven’t been to Dakshineswar for a long time. The Master asked me about you and said one day, ‘Has M. lost all taste for this place?'”

Bhavanath laughed as he said these words. The Master heard their conversation and said to M. in a loving voice: “Yes, that is true. Why haven’t you been to Dakshineswar for such a long time?” M. could only stammer some lame excuses.

Just then Mahimacharan arrived. He lived at Cossipore near Calcutta. Mahimacharan held the Master in great respect and was a frequent visitor at the temple garden. He was a man of independent means, having inherited some ancestral property. He devoted his time to religious thought and to the study of the scriptures. He was a man of some scholarship, having studied many books, both Sanskrit and English.

MASTER (to Mahima): “What is this? I see a steamship here. (All laugh.) We expect here a small boat at the most, but a real steamship has arrived. But then I know. It’s the rainy season!” (Laughter.)

The Master was conversing with Mahimacharan. He asked him: “Isn’t feeding people a kind of service to God? God exists in all beings as fire. To feed people is to offer oblations to that Indwelling Spirit. But then one shouldn’t feed the wicked, I mean people who are entangled in gross worldliness or who have committed heinous crimes like adultery. Even the ground where such people sit becomes impure to a depth of seven cubits. Once Hriday fed a number of people at his native place. A good many of them were wicked. I said to Hriday: ‘Look here. If you feed such people I shall leave your house at once.’ (To Mahima) I hear that you used to feed people; but now you don’t give any such feasts. Is it because your expenses have gone up?” (Laughter.)

The meal was to be served on the south verandah of the house. Leaf-plates were being placed on the floor. The Master said to Mahimacharan: “Please go there and see what they are doing. You may help them a little in serving the food. But I shouldn’t ask you.” Mahimacharan said: “Let them bring in the food. I shall see.” Hemming and hawing, he went toward the kitchen, but presently he came back.

Sri Ramakrishna and the devotees enjoyed the meal greatly. Afterwards he rested awhile. About two o’clock in the afternoon Pratap Chandra Mazumdar of the Brahmo Samaj arrived. He was a co-worker of Keshab Chandra Sen and had been to Europe and America in connection with the Brahmo missionary work. He greeted Sri Ramakrishna, and the Master, too, bowed before him with his usual modesty. They were soon engaged in conversation.