Govinda returned no answer, but reasoned within him self, "I must do my appointed work, even if I have to commit any fault or go to hell for so doing. For the sake of doing my duty I do not hesitate to commit a million sins, but I fear even the touch of sin for my own personal needs."
This year the Bengal pilgrims came in large numbers,--two to three hundred of them, including many women. Shivananda Sen acted as their guide and caretaker on the way.
They came to Puri and met the Master, the women gazing at Him from a distance. They were all given lodging-houses and invited by the Master to eat the _maha-prasad_. The entire family of Shivananda enjoyed His grace. After the meal He told Govinda to give the leavings on His plate to Shivananda's wife and sons so long as they stayed there. A sweetmeat-seller (_modak_) of Nadia, named Parameshwar, had his shop close to the Master's paternal house. In His boyhood He used to visit this man's shop and the man used to treat Him to confects made with milk. He loved the Master from His infancy, and this year came to see Him. He prostrated himself before the Master saying, "I am Parameshwar."
In delight at seeing him the Master asked, "Parameshwar! are you well?
It is a happy thing that you have come." The man added "Mukunda's mother has come", [meaning his own wife]. The Master was shocked to hear the name of a woman, but out of love for Parameshwar said nothing. The loving simple-minded grocer did not know the ways of the learned; these qualities inly delighted the Master.
Four months passed away in the usual way, and then He permitted the pilgrims to return to Bengal. They invited Him to dinner and He lovingly spoke to them all, "Every year you come here to see me, undergoing many hardships on the two journeys. For this reason I feel inclined to forbid your coming, but the pleasure of your society tempts my heart. I had commanded Nityananda to live in Bengal. He has come here in defiance of my order; what can I say to him? The [old] Adwaita Acharya, leaving his wife, children and home behind, performs a long and difficult journey to meet me. How can I repay the debt of his love? I merely sit here at Nilachal without having to do any exertion for your sake. I am a _sannyasi_, without wealth. With what shall I repay my debt to you? My only property is my body, and this I give up to you. Sell it, if you list."
The Master's speech melted their hearts; tears ran down their cheeks without ceasing. He, too, wept clasping their necks, and weeping embraced them. So, they could not set out on their journey home that day, but passed five or seven days more at Puri in the same way.
At last the Master consoled them and gave them leave to depart with composure of mind. The _bhaktas_ left the city weeping. The Master remained there in sadness of heart.
Last year Jagadananda, the Master's companion, had by His leave gone to Nadia to see mother Shachi. She in delight listened day and night to his discourse on the Master and His doings. All the _bhaktas_ of Nadia met him and entertained him in their houses, listening in rapture to his talk about the Master's inmost things. At the house of Shivananda he prepared a pot of medicated oil, scented with sandal-wood, and taking it to Nilachal asked Govinda to rub it on the Master's head, to cure Him of bile, wind and other sickly humours. Govinda reported it, but the Master replied, "A _sannyasi_ is forbidden to rub oil, especially scented oil.
Present it to the temple of Jagannath, where it will be used in lighting lamps, and his labour will be supremely rewarded."
Some ten days afterwards, Govinda repeated Jagadananda's request that He should accept the oil. The Master burst forth in anger, "Very well, engage a servant to rub me with the oil! Is it for such pleasures that I have turned _sannyasi_? What is ruin to me is a sport to you! Every one who will smell the fragrant oil on my person in the streets, will call me a carnal _sannyasi_!" Govinda remained silent on hearing this.
Next morning, when Jagadananda came to the Master, He said, "Pandit! you have brought for me oil from Bengal. But I am a _sannyasi_ and cannot accept it. Present it to Jagannath to light the lamps of the temple.
That will be the reward of your labour." The Pandit replied, "Who has told you this piece of falsehood? I never brought any oil from Bengal."
So saying, he brought out of the room the pot of oil and broke it on the floor of the yard in the Master's sight. Then he ran back to his own house, bolted the door of his bed-room from within, and shut himself up there [without taking any food]. On the third day the Master went to his door and cried out, "Rise, Pandit! you must feed me to-day on your own cooking. I shall come back at noon. I am now off to see Jagannath." So saying, He left the house. The Pandit rose from his bed, bathed, cooked, and at noon, when the Master returned, placed the dishes before Him on the leaves and bark of the plantain-tree. The Master said, "You must dine with me. Serve your meal, on another leaf." But the Pandit entreated Him to eat first and let him sit down to his meal after his guest. The vegetable soup was delicious and the Master cried out, "When one cooks in anger, it tastes so sweet! This is a proof of Krishna's grace on you."
The Pandit served and the Master ate, willing but unable to rise from the feast, and eating ten times His usual food, in fear lest the Pandit should fly into a rage again and fast himself! After the dinner, the Master went back to His lodgings, leaving Govinda there to see that the Pandit broke his fast. Jagadananda sent Govinda back to rub the Master's feet, and put Him to sleep. But He again bade Govinda go and see that the Pandit was really eating! When Govinda reported the fact, then the Master lay down in bed in peace of mind.
CHAPTER XXVI
The Master's love-sickness for Krishna; His visions and transports of bhakti
The Master felt his separation from Krishna just as the milk-maids did after Krishna had left Brinidaban for Mathura. Gradually He began to break out in wild lamentations, even as Radha had talked in delirium on meeting with Uddhav. Ever did the Master consider Himself as Radha, and felt [and acted] like her. No wonder, for such is the course of _divya-unmad_ (spiritual ecstasy).
One night when He was sleeping, He dreamt of Krishna in the _rasa_ dance; the god was bending his body gracefully and playing on the flute, wearing a yellow garment and garlands of flowers, and looking like the picture of Love; the milkmaids were dancing in a circle, joining their hands together, while in the centre Krishna frolicked with Radha. The sight inspired the Master with the same mood; He felt that He was at Brindaban and had gained Krishna's company.
As He was late in rising, Govinda wakened Him; but He saddened when He became conscious of the real world. After performing the necessary acts of the morning He went to behold Jagannath. He stood close to the image of Garuda, while hundreds of thousands of worshippers thronged in front of Him. An Oriya woman, unable to see the god on account of the crowd, climbed upon the Garuda and rested one foot on the Master's shoulder.
Govinda saw it and hurriedly pushed her a way, but the Master forbade him to make her dismount from His shoulder, saying, "Don't remove her.
Let her gaze at Jagannath to her heart's content". The woman, however, quickly got down on seeing the Master and fell at His feet. The Master remarked, "Jagannath has not inspired _me_ with this woman's passionate longing for him. Her body mind and soul are so absorbed in the God that she did not notice that she was treading on my shoulder! She is blessed.
Let me worship her feet that I too may have her intensity of devotion."
Sadly did the Master return home, and sitting down on the ground began to draw lines on the floor with His finger-nails. Tears streamed from His eyes and blinded His vision. "Alas!" He cried, "after gaining Krishna, I have lost him. Who has taken away my Krishna? Where have I come?" In His trances He quivered with delight; but when He regained consciousness, He felt that He had lost His treasure, and sang and danced like mad, though He went through His bath, dinner etc. by mechanical habit.
The ten forms of love-sickness possessed Him day and night, never giving Him rest. Ramananda Ray by reciting verses [from Vidyapati, Chandidas and _Git-Govinda_] and Swarup by singing songs on Krishna's acts, brought the Master somewhat back to His senses. At midnight they laid Him to bed in the inner room, and Ramananda returned to his own house, while Swarup and Govinda slept at the door. It was the Master's wont to wake all night, loudly chanting Krishna's name. [To-night] noticing the silence within, Swarup pushed the door open. He found the other three doors [also] closed from within, but the Master was not in the room.
They became alarmed at His absence, lighted their lanterns, and went out in search of Him.
They found the Master lying on an open space a little north of the Lion-gate of the temple. His body was 5 or 6 cubits long; He was unconscious and His breathing had ceased! Each arm and leg was three cubits long and consisted only of bones and skin. His hands feet neck and waist were disjointed from the trunk by half a cubit and the places of junction were covered with the bare skin. He was foaming at the mouth and His eyes were fixed in a deadly stare.
This sight of Him made the _bhaktas_ very life go out of their bodies.
Then Swarup with all the disciples loudly dinned the name of Krishna into the Master's ears. After a long while the name entered His heart, and He shouted _Hari-bol!_ He became conscious and His limbs were joined to His trunk again, as before. This miracle of the Master has been reported by Raghunath-das in his _Chaitanya-staba-kalpa-briksha_.
As Raghunath-das always lived with the Master, I accept as true and write here what I have heard from him.
One day the Master, on the way to the sea, suddenly looked at the Chatak hillock, and taking it to be the Govardhan hill, He ran towards it in rapture with the speed of the wind. Govinda could not overtake Him.
A hue and cry was raised and there was a great bustle. Everyone ran up from where he was,--Swarup, Jagadananda, Gadadhar, Ramai, Nandai, Nilai Pandit, Shankar Puri, Bharati Goswami, all went to the sea-shore. The lame Bhagaban Acharya hobbled slowly behind.
After running at first like the wind, the Master suddenly became stiff on the way, unable to move further. Every pore of His skin swelled like a boil, the hair stood on end on them like the _kadamba_ flower. Blood ran out of His pores like sweat. His throat gurgled, not a syllable could He utter. Ceaseless tears ran down both His cheeks He lost colour and became death-pale like a conch-shell. Then a quivering burst over His frame like a tempest on the bosom of the sea. Trembling, He fell down on the ground, and then Govinda came up with Him, sprinkled Him with water from the flask, and fanned Him with his sheet. Swarup and the rest now arrived and all began to weep at the Master's plight. They loudly sang the _kirtan_ in His hearing and sprinkled Him with cold water. After they had done so many times, He rose up with the cry of _Hari-bol!_ The Vaishnavs in delight shouted _Hari! Hari!_ The sound of joy rose up from all sides. Half-conscious again, the Master addressed Swarup, "You have brought me back from Govardhan to here. You have snatched me away from viewing Krishna's lila among the herds of cows and calves, Radha and her handmaids, on Govardhan hill Why have you brought me away thence, only to cause me grief?" So saying, He wept, and the Vaishnavs wept at His plight.
Thus did the Master live at Nilachal, plunging day and night in the ocean of grief at separation from Krishna. In the early autumn nights radiant with the moon in a cloudless sky, He roamed up and down with His disciples, visiting garden after garden in delight and reciting or listening to the songs of _rasa lila_. At times, overcome with love, He danced and sang; at other times He imitated the _rasa lila_ in that mood; at times in a transport of passion He ran hither and thither, at others He rolled on the ground in a faint. As soon as He recollected a verse of the _rasa lila_ He expounded it.
I cannot describe all the acts He performed from day to day in these twelve years [of residence at Puri], lest it should make my poem too long.
While rambling thus, the Master one night suddenly caught a sight of the sea from _Ai-tota_. The moonlight silvered the heaving billows they sparkled like the water of the Jamuna. Unseen by others, the Master went to the sea and leaped into it. He fainted and knew not what He was doing;--the waves now sank Him, now floated Him; on the waves He was carried about like a dry tree-trunk. On the waves He drifted towards Konarak, now under water, now above it,--and he dreamt all the time of Krishna sporting in the Jamuna with the milkmaids.
In the meantime, Swarup and other followers were startled when they missed Him. Uncertain whither He had gone, to the Jagannath or any other temple, to some other garden, the _Gundicha_ house or the Narendra tank, to the Chatak hill or to Konarak,--they searched for Him everywhere. A party of them came to the beach and there walked, looking out for Him, till near daybreak, when they concluded that He had disappeared from the earth. They all thought that the worst had happened.
They took counsel on the beach, and some of them went towards the Chirayu hill, while Swarup moved east wards with a party searching for the Master in the sea-water. Overwhelmed with sorrow, almost out of their senses, they still walked on searching for Him in their love.
They met a fisherman coming towards them with his net on his shoulders, laughing weeping dancing and singing "Hari! Hari!" Swarup questioned him in surprise, "Tell us, fisherman, have you met a man on this side? Why are you in this mood?" The fisherman answered, "I have not seen any man here. But a dead body was caught in my net, and I carefully dragged it ashore, thinking it to be a big fish. The sight of a corpse frightened me, and when I was clearing my net I happened to touch it. At once the spirit of the dead entered my body, striking me with tremor, weeping, choking of voice, and bristling up of hair. It lay stiff as a corpse, with a fixed stare in the eyes, but at times it groaned, at others remained inert. If I die of the possession of this ghost, how will my wife and children live? If I can find an exorcist, he will expel the evil spirit from me. I work at my trade of catching fish alone at night, but no ghost can seize me as I remember the god Nrisingha. This ghost, however, holds me with a double grip when I repeat Nrisingha's name.
Don't go there, I advise you, lest this ghost should possess you, too."
From these words, Swarup understood it all, and told the fisherman gently, "I am a great ghost-doctor, and I know how to lay spirits." He uttered some verses, laid his hand on the fisherman's head, gave him three slaps, and cried out "The evil spirit has left you. Fear no more."
The man now became a little composed. Swarup reassured him, "He whom you have taken for an evil spirit, is no ghost, but the Lord Sri Krishna-Chaitanya. In a transport of love He had jumped into the sea.
Him have you raised in your net. His touch has thrilled you with Krishna's love, which you have mistaken for the possession of a ghost.
Now that your fear is gone and your mind has been calmed, show me where you have landed Him."
The fisherman said, "I have often beheld the Master. It cannot be He; it is more than man's size."
The fisherman led them all to the place. They beheld Him lying on the ground, huge-bodied, pale-skinned from immersion in water, coated with sea-sand. His limbs were abnormally long, loose and with the skin flapping. Over such a long path they could not carry Him home; so they removed His wet loin-cloth and put a dry one on Him, and laid Him down on a sheet of cloth after brushing away the sand. Then they lifted up the chant of Krishna's _kirtan_ and poured it into His ears. After a time the word entered His brain and He leaped up with a roar; His limbs were rejoined and returned to their proper places. Half-unconscious still, He looked hither and thither [in perplexity]. He spoke, as if from the sky, "Beholding the Jamuna [in the ocean] I went to Brindaban, and there found Braja's darling sporting in the water; with Radha and the other milkmaids. I stood on the bank gazing on the scene, while one of the _sakhis_ (female comrades of Radha) pointed out the mysteries to me. [A long but highly poetical description, _not translated_.]
Krishna, Radha, and their companions rose from the water, dressed themselves, partook of a rich picnic, and all retired to sleep. My heart was filled with bliss at the sight. Just then you caught hold of me, and with a great noise brought me here. Ah! where is the Jamuna, where Brindaban, where Krishna, and where the milkmaids? You have destroyed that bliss!"
Then Swarup made Him bathe [in the sea] and brought Him home, to the delight of all.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Master's last year on earth
Thus did the Master in love-madness for Krishna lament night and day.
Jagadananda Pandit was very dear unto Him, and was every year sent by Him to Nadia to console his forlorn mother Shachi. "Go to Nadia", so the Master charged Jagadananda, "convey my salutation to mother, touch her feet on my behalf. Tell her to remember that I go there daily (in the spirit) to bow to her. That I have taken the _sannyasi's_ vow leaving her service only shows that I am mad and have really undone all _dharma_. Mother! pardon this fault of mine. I am obedient to thee, I am thy son. It is at thy bidding that I am living at Nilachal. I cannot leave thee while life remains to me." The Master presented to His mother (at the Puri's suggestion) the consecrated cloth that He had received at the _Gopa-lila_ with choice _prasad_ of Jagannath. He was the crowning example of filial piety, for even though a _sannyasi_ He served His mother.
After receiving an enigmatic message in verse from the Acharya Goswami (of Shantipur) through Jagadananda when he returned to Puri, the Master plunged into a deeper trance. His ecstasy at Krishna-separation was doubled. He raved frantically day and night, identifying Himself with Radha. Suddenly imagining that Krishna was leaving Brindaban for Mathura, He (in the character of Radha) was seized with dizziness and developed madness, mourning deliriously while clasping the neck of Ramananda and addressing Swarup as one of the _sakhis_ (i.e., Radha's companions). He repeated the verse which Radha had spoken to Vishakha (her handmaid) and held forth on it.
Thus did Gauranga weep, saying, "Alas! alas for Krishna! where hast thou gone?" Swarup and Ramananda consoled Him in many ways, singing joyous songs, which calmed Him a little.
These lamentations were carried on to midnight. Then Swarup laid the Master to bed in His room. Ramananda left for his home, and Govinda lay down at the door of the room. Love for Krishna was thrilling the Master's heart; He awoke and began to sing the Name; the pang of separation convulsed His heart, and He began to rub His face against the wall; His face, cheeks, nose were all lacerated, but in the vehemence of ecstasy He knew not of the blood streaming down.
All night He battered His face thus. Swarup, noticing the groaning sound, lighted a lamp, entered the room and saw His face. In intense grief the two brought Him back to His bed and soothed Him. Swarup asked, "Why didst thou do this?" The Master answered, "I could not contain myself in the room in my [love] anxiety. I rushed in search of the door in order to go out very soon. I could not find the door and only knocked my face against the four walls. It was torn, it bled, but still I could not go out."