But I wasn’t thinking, I dove in with her
and the pearls crumbled to powder from the heat.
She was angry as she asked for them back
and I finally understood her pain just a little.’
V.62
Then Marāḷi said, ‘Listen to this Hariṇi!
One day she asked me to put a bŏṭṭu on her,
and because we’re friends I did.
But as I applied it, the musk started to sizzle
making a sound like a slap on the face.
Her heavy breathing totally dried out the bŏṭṭu
and she picked at it with her nails and moped,
picking up the countless flakes, over and over, and over again.’
V.63
And then Sragviṇi said, ‘Sisters!
Once I pushed her too hard on her swing and the vine rope broke.
I thought she fell from the weight of her breasts
but when I picked her up, she felt like a doll made of cork,
and her breasts were like bouquets of flowers
withering away in the noonday sun.’
V.64
And now that her condition was clear to everyone, she pretended
not to be interested and responded like this—
V.65
‘Sisters! You’re determined to speak to me in this way,
but your clever comments don’t comfort me, or ease my pain.
Tell me, why do you have such feelings?’
V.66
So after teasing their dear friend, they finally got her to admit to her pain. Like hot coals roasting in a fire pit, the pains of separation burned inside her. And though Goda wanted to stay there, she couldn’t bear it anymore—she slipped out into the night, repeating each and every word, back again to herself, and thought…
V.67
‘Your alligator-earring hangs down to your left shoulder,
blue and soft like a newly blossomed lotus.
Your beautiful young face remains calm like a pillar
as you raise your margosa-leaf eyebrows, just a little.
Your red lower lip is like a full-blown scarlet mallow,
curved like the crescent moon, showering a rain of vermillion.
Your two bright eyes move like a single glance towards your ears
outshining the brilliance of your sparkling earrings.
You excite the love of innocent women, in all the seven worlds,
moving your fingers across the bamboo
as the seven holes flow with songs of nectar.
V.68
In the midnight hours, gopis steal away,
leaving their husbands and in-laws behind,
gathering around Kṛṣṇa like a herd of antelopes.
And there they suffer at the hands of his flute
filled with sounds of sweetness.
O Radha! Is it fair that you, and you alone
receive and enjoy his pleasures?
V.69
Once the God with Lotus Like Eyes took a girl under his arm
and led her into an arbour near the banks of the Yamuna.
The other girls feigning to search for their friend
followed the path of footprints left in the sand …
and what did they see?
Well, a woman can keep some dignity, can’t she?
V.70
O Yamuna, you may be the Sun’s daughter,
but you’ll always be Death’s little sister!
For even in their dreams, you act like a mistress,
using sweet words to tempt chaste girls
into leaving their homes for your sandy shores,
shores where they seek union with the Lord’s divine body.
But afterwards these girls lie sprawled on your banks
writhing in flames of separation.’
V.71
All alone, Goda was imagining these things to herself until she heard the chatter of her eavesdropping friends, revealed by their giggling faces, overflowing with moonlight. They shouted, ‘Dear friend! What’s all this? We know what’s in your heart! In the beginning, wasn’t it you that said “Stop talking about him?”.’
She knew they were right and she bashfully lowered her head. Her face was totally pale and she tried to hide a little smile, but she couldn’t. And so she joined them like this—
V.72
‘O friends, beautiful as flowers,
what would it have been like
if we lived in his day?’
They turned to her and said,
‘O dear, how do you think we got here
if we hadn’t lived then?’
Goda was astonished, she said—
V.73
‘Friends! You all speak like wise seers
with knowledge of past, present and future.
If you know something in your hearts, then tell me now!
Who was I back then?’
And then they replied—
V.74
‘Wasn’t it you that became jealous when you saw Rukmiṇi
wearing a flower from the Tree of Heaven?
Envious, spiteful, and making a fuss,
a single flower just wasn’t enough!
A tiny task turned epic endeavour
when you made him bring you the entire tree!
O Goda, aren’t you that same Satyabhāma?’
V.75
Immediately Goda remembered everything! Like various objects inside a dark house, instantly illuminated when a candle is lit, all coming into view in a single moment. All her past lives came back to her, and she took pleasure in remembering each and every joyous life that she spent together with the One Who is Eternal.
V.76
Tears from her long eyes mixed with black kāṭuka
streamed down her face towards her ears
and joined the darkness of her vine-like hair.
Her limbs became weak, her body shook
like a cardamom creeper in full bloom
and she fainted …
‘Oh no!’ screamed her friends
as they rushed to her with love and worry in their hearts.
V.77
‘We filled her heart with memories of her past lives
and on top of that, we teased her by saying
she makes mountains out of molehills!
O the pain we’ve caused,
describing the deeds of our lotus-eyed friend!’
Then they dipped a palm-leaf fan in a little pot of water,
fanned her with a soft breeze and tried to revive her
with cool tiny droplets of water.
V.78
As she began to regain consciousness, she opened her eyes
but as soon as Goda remembered Mukunda’s lotus feet
she closed them again and began to cry.
The tears forced her eyelids to open and she saw her friends …
V.79
‘Who are you people?’ she asked.
‘O Śṛṅgāriṇi!’ they responded,
‘We are the snake maidens, forever close to the Earth!’
Goda embraced her beautiful friends and said with sadness—
V.80
‘Once I was Kṛṣṇa’s beloved
but now I’ve been reborn in this Kali Yuga
only to suffer the pains of separation.
Why do I need this body?
Before my father gives me away to some other man
I’ll kill myself with my yogic powers
and reach my Lord’s lotus feet!
V.81
Living in constant fear, separated from her husband
what kind of woman wouldn’t want to leave her body?
That’s the only true love!
Those who don’t feel it are pretenders.’
V.82
Then her friends said—
‘Calm down. Where’s that noble Yadu gone?
Listen, he’s there in Śrīraṅgam.
&
nbsp; If you want to make him your husband
then serve and worship him right here as Mannāru Svāmi.
V.83
‘Don’t fear,’ they assured her, and Goda was consoled.
But after that, moment by moment, she wavered
between the brightening comfort offered by her friends
and the total darkness of her own suffering—
like the necklace that hung over her body, above her weak heart,
fashioned with alternating sapphires and pearls.
V.84
She Who Has a Face Like the Moon
lay restless, nigh after night, waxing and waning
as Love lurked ready to pounce
in the blink of an eye, at any moment
like a sharp-quilled porcupine hiding in her house.
V.85
The Warrior with a Spring Leaf Dagger
gave orders to his gunman the Early Morning,
and day after day Goda fell apart
like a fortified citadel under fire.
Soft morning sunrays lit the cannons
prying open petals and pistils
as cannon fire burst from iron stalk barrels
like a frenzy of escaping bumble bees.
V.86
Goda spent the afternoons
in the cool waters of the bathhouse
sprayed with drops from water pumps
fixed under a bright red awning
like a conjurer dressed in crimson robes
muttering spells with his magic beads.
V.87
Dusk appeared to her in a delirious dream
like a female monkey at twilight, stoking the fires of separation—
The Lover of Lotuses coloured her face copper-red
and her teeth were shining like jasmine buds.
Her arms were red lotuses covered in pollen
and her eyes were twinkling like honey-coloured stars.
And as the monkey jumped to trees in the sky,
Goda awoke, crying, imagining fledgling cakravāka birds.
V.88
So in this way, everyday, the pain of the Goddess with Lotus Eyes was comforted by thoughts of the Lotus-Eyed God. She loved that Lover of Rādha, and tried once again, to win his heart.
* * *
GODA’S DEVOTION
V.89
Everyday before dawn
the One with a Lotus Face awoke in silence.
She took a secret path to her father’s garden pool
led by her friends, who sang the Southern Vedas
as they carried the things needed for her bath—
turmeric and gooseberries in golden bowls,
a thin petticoat to bathe in, and fresh clean clothes to dry her.
After her bath, she quickly tied her hair into a bun
while little by little her friends patted her dry.
They covered her body in a fine layer of turmeric
that matched the glow of the rising sun.
And so she prepared to perform the morning prayers,
all according to ancient tradition.
V.90
Goda’s teeth were white like jasmine
and she decorated her brow with a bŏṭṭu of earth,
perfectly shaped like a pumpkin seed.
The ochre red sari draped around her hips
was like vermillion smeared across an elephant’s forehead.
And in the cool evenings, her civet perfume
offered hospitality to the bees, as it mixed
with the fragrance of her braided wet hair.
V.91
Carrying bunches of big ripe bananas
and garlands made of red water lilies,
Goda’s friends went to the temple
and convinced the priest to allow them some privacy.
Then Goda entered, bowed
and drew multicoloured muggulu at the foot of the altar.
V.92
She lit the tall lamp stands filled with brown cow ghee
and made a heartfelt offering of sandalwood incense,
clusters of bananas and sugar mixed with butter.
And as she recited the sacred Viṣṇu mantra,
she laid her lily garland across his chest.
V.93
With firm and undivided devotion, she offered
a fine tāmbūlam of ground areca nut
mixed together with bits of dried ginger
and big chunks of camphor.
V.94
Goda and her friends walked outside
and circumambulated the inner sanctum
with lowered heads, consecrated
by holy water from the Lord’s blessed sandals.
Then Goda turned homeward
wearing a garland graced by god.
V.95
And as she continued like this, day after day,
performing pūjas to Viṣṇu
the pains of her separation were eased, and she grew stronger.
She went on praising that Lord of the Yadus,
passing the Spring by singing songs in Tamil.
* * *
CHAPTER VI
VI.1
You are the Sun that rises over the Serpentine Hill!
The honey that gushes from your lotus-feet
becomes the holy River Gaṅga.
Son of Vikuṇṭha! Maker of Fortunes!
Your eyes are filled with tears of compassion,
sending blessings of kindness to all your devotees.
VI.2
Listen to what happens next in the story …
ŚRĪRAṄGAM
VI.91
Crossing the Kāveri
was like reaching Vaikuṇṭham
beside the banks of the River Viraja.
The ring of orchards surrounding Śrīraṅgam
was like the Nandana Pleasure Garden,
and the seven-petalled campaka flowers
seemed like the Golden Gates of Heaven,
dispelling sins, like a swarm of intoxicated bees.
Seeing the spires reach up to the sky
glowing like crenellated lamps of fire,
Viṣṇucitta truly saw heaven on earth.
VI.92
The breeze spread over the Daughter of Kavera,
carrying the melody of swan songs, accompanied
by the tambūra-like drone of carpenter bees.
The refreshing river air, perfumed by red water lilies
that decorate the braids of Cola women, eased the weary Viṣṇucitta.
VI.93
He bathed in the calm waters of the Kāveri,
enduring the cold as he recited prayers of forgiveness.
Viṣṇucitta completed the noon rites
and along with Goda,
who had bathed and decorated herself too,
he proceeded on to Śrīraṅgam, surrounded
by a congregation of Vaiṣṇava worshippers.
VI.94
Worried that the colourful beams of light from jewel-encrusted eaves
might stain their pure white clothes,
they quickly walked in search of alms.
When citizens gave them a handful of gems, or an ārati of rubies
instead of the requested rice or grains,
they left the gifts at the doorway.
When they heard the jingling anklets of women or elephants
coming towards them in the street,
they quietly moved out of the way.
When they smelled the aroma of food, or the fragrance of flowers—
offerings prepared in every household,
they tightly held their breath.
And when they heard both singing and dancing
and the chatter of parrots and mynas,
they half listened because the songs were in praise of Viṣṇu.
In this way, the group of devotees, like an island of white
entered the temple of Śrīraṅgam.
VI.
95
A cool breeze, wet with dew from the Lotus Pond called Moon,
passed through the vast gopurams and revitalized the pilgrims.
The bells of the central tower chimed to greet them,
like hushed voices asking, ‘Are you well?’
Viṣṇucitta passed through the six outer enclosures of the temple,
adorned with a host of whimsical demigods
and entered the inner sanctum,
guarded by the menacing sentry Caṇḍu.
VI.96
Draped in a colourful robe, he stood on a jewelled dais
holding a staff in his hand, his finger sparkling
with the signet ring of the God with White Lotus Eyes.
On either side of him stood a hundred motionless elephants,
their heads slightly lowered in reverence.
And Viṣṇucitta bowed down with devotion
as he gazed upon Viśvaksena, the Lord of Sūtravati.
VI.97
Like a towering mountain of gold,
impervious to Purandara’s thunderbolt,
his brilliant wings spread a radiant warmth in every direction.
Viṣṇucitta turned and paid homage to
the kneeling Son of Vinata, the mighty Garuḍa
whose Body is The Vedas.
VI.98
Garuḍa allowed him to pass, and Viṣṇucita entered the sanctum. He saw the God with Four Arms, dark as a rain cloud, with eyes like two lotuses, each with a hundred petals. And between those four arms was spread an arc of flowers, lying across his clothes made of golden silk. In all his beauty He appeared like a perfect reflection of Love. And to His side was Parāṅkuśa, and all the other liberated souls, absorbed in God’s presence. Viṣṇucitta, along with everyone else, was awestruck.
The wide open hall supported by jewel-studded columns was filled with the black smoke of burning incense. A multicoloured silk canopy hung down from the pillar tops, glowing like peaks of golden heaps. And right in the middle, a beam of moonlight shined down on a great raised altar adorned with flower garlands and a yak tail brush, light and white like pearls. The vast dais was glowing with golden lotuses and covered in a swarm of buzzing bees.
The hall’s dark dimness was dispelled by the brilliant white light of the great Ādiśeṣa, his body like mercury, like quartz, like the Ocean of Milk, shining like a lotus drowned in clear white moonlight. Śeṣa’s long drawn body, the primal origin of all the five elements, was formed from the souls of assembled saints. And now his hoods made a pillow for the Lord.
He with Four Arms leaned on one elbow, and near the golden epaulet that adorned his shoulder, his soft cheek rested in the palm of his hand, already red, but further reddened by the Ālvār saints whose hearts are forever drowned in meditative love.
The Giver of the Worn Garland KRISHNADEVARAYA'S AMUKTAMALYADA Page 10