Panchapadi

I was forced to reflect, once again, after some respondents on this blog made statements that indicate a prurient interest in the sexual aspects of the sadhana I am supporting. I have to admit that I have foreseen some of these questions and think that if one is solidly fixed in the Goswamis’ siddhanta, one will resist the temptation. Indeed, this is the reason why I have emphasized and will continue to emphasize the following three things:

(1) The necessity of the pravartaka stage.
(2) The necessity of understanding the parallelism between one’s sadhana partner and Guru Tattva.
(3) The necessity of taking the female point of view or identity.

==========================================

viharati vane rAdhA sAdhAraNa-praNaye harau
vigalita-nijotkarSAd IrSyA-vazena gatA'nyataH
kvacid api latA-kuJje guJjan-madhu-vrata-maNDalI
mukhara-zikhare lInA dInApy uvAca rahaH sakhIm

When Radha saw Hari frolicking in the forest,
treating all the women with equal affection,
she felt her own special status had melted away.
Envy and anger arose in her, and she went off.
Somewhere, in a vine covered bower,
where bees buzzed in circles overhead,
she hid, and forlorn in her solitude,
confided to her friend.

kaMsArir api saMsAra-vAsanA-baddha-zRGkhalAm
rAdhAm AdAya hRdaye tatyAja vraja-sundarIH

Krishna, the enemy of Kamsa, took Radha,
the chain that tied his desires to the world,
and abandoned all the other gopis.

itas tatas tAm anusRtya rAdhikAm
anaGga-bANa-vraNa-khinna-mAnasaH
kRtAnutApaH sa kalinda-nandinI-
taTAnta-kuJje viSasAda mAdhavaH

Madhava looked for Radhika everywhere,
his mind burning with the wounds
inflicted by the arrows of Cupid.
Overcome with remorse, he came to a bower
by the banks of the Yamuna
and began to lament.

==================================

And so the eternal cycle begins.
What is the difference between
the Rasas of autumn and spring?

The first tells of God and the jiva,
the second of God and his hladini shakti;
the former is an archetype of the spiritual path,
the latter of the divine comedy.

Both are circle dances,
revolving in opposite directions:
The Bhagavata is the external circle,
Gita Govinda the inner.
Krishna is in the center of the outer,
Radha the center of the inner.

Together they are the center of both.

====================================

I would here like to explain this a little more. But first, another poem, again first posted on GD. This is also for the record, to explain a little about the Bhagavata or Sharadiya Rasa Lila:

Panchapadi

Om ! Sriji ! Purushottam!

O Krishna ! Crusher of sin !
You pull me with this mantra
like a baby calf led by the nose,
like a deer enchanted by the hunter’s flute.

Here in the forest, black as your skin,
I come to you.

O Govinda !
You invade me with your mantra
you cling to me like a second skin
you weigh down my senses
with unbearable expectations.

You are in the Veda and in the cows,
You are in the world and in my senses.
You are in the mantra,
and still I must search for you.

O Gopijana ! O Radha ! O sakhis !
You flutter on every side of the mantra
like petals, effulgent and infinite.
You stand in the heart of the mantra
like pistils, golden guardians of the mead.

You are my gurus, I follow you,
I join you in your song, I sing this mantra.
It is you. It is yours.

O Vallabha! Beloved !
Beloved of the gopis,
Beloved of every soul ! Beloved of my soul!
You have come, O enchanter of Eros,
to tell me you have always been here,
present in the mantra.

Svaha!
I have reached the eighteenth syllable,
The charama shloka:
I throw my soul into the circle of flames,
the Rasa mandala of the mantra.

I have reached the fifth segment,
the final chapter, the brahma muhurta;
the dance is over and I must go home,
I must await again
the call of your flute.

A brief tika on the above: The idea came to me that the five segments of the Gopala mantra (as described in Gopala Tapani Upanishad, i.e. panchapadi, could be seen in correspondence to the Rasa Panchadhyaya. It actually works fairly well.

(1) Klim Krishnaya = first chapter. Krishna calls.

(2) Govindaya = Krishna leaves the gopis who then look for him. (vinda = search or find.) End chapter one, beginning of chapter 2.

(3) Gopi-jana = end of second and third chapters. The gopis meet Radha, their guru, under whose guidance they sing the song that will bring Krishna back to them. Like the Rasa Panchadhyaya, the gopis are central, i.e. in the middle. At the same time, they are the petals on the lotus of the yantra.

(4) Vallabhaya = Chapter 4.
tAsAm AvirabhUt sauriH smayamAna-mukhAmbujaH
pItAmbara-dharaH sragvI sAkSAn-manmatha-manmathaH
You have always been in the mantra: "mayA parokSaM bhajatA", etc.

(5) Svaha = the purnahuti of the last chapter. The yantra of the mantra or the altar of the fire sacrifice is identified with the Rasa mandala. Full absorption in the Rasa.

In this last part, I have made a correspondence between the eighteen syllables of the mantra and other eighteens, like the eighteen chapters of the Gita, which ends with the charama shloka, sarva-dharmAn parityajya, etc.

Most of the other glosses of the names given here are based on the Gopala Tapini Upanishad (1.4).

Mana Manjari

Mana Manjari, you are my polar star;
All paths lead to you, whether you are near or far.
Mana Manjari, my guru,
part of the guru constellation in my sky,
the brightest light, the unmoving one I watch,
the star, I swear, I'll steer this hobbled vessel by.

Mana Manjari, I know, I know,
You never asked to be my light;
It's as dark for you as me, this long, dark night.
But just by being still you start to glow,
when you look at me and say, "I know
you, Jaya, I know who you are."

The firmament is filled with angels of my past--
Kamala, Lata and countless others, Radha's cast
of millions, Gurus all. They dance around
the Sun and Moon; they never fall.

One day, Mana, I will heed your call,
the true imperative of love,
and say, "That's all!" One day, one day at last,
both you and I will end our endless fast.

So'ham

So'ham,
I breathe you in,
I breathe you out,
so'ham.

I suck you in, thirsty and dry,
from farthest edge, the endless rim,
come in, come in, I pull you in.
I wash you in over my lungs,
these sterile, callous, leaden lungs;
I wash you in over my heart,
this burdened, empty, heavy heart.

I draw you in, I spout you out,
I wash you in, I spill you out,
I breathe you in, I breathe you out.

Avagraha, the serpent squiggle
that separates the so from ham,
the this from that, the yin from yang,
the me from you...
this stupid hiss of a squiggle
this stupid hiss of a distance
this Ourobouros separation...
that wraps and circles round and round,
that sucks its tail and swallows down,
that swallows up both black and white
and drowns.

I breathe you in without my eyes,
before, behind, beneath the cries;
in gardens and the palace, too,
glued to this parched skin that dries
for want of your moist'ning sighs.
So! so! so! so! Please don't call this bliss!
What frightful non-duality is this?

I breathe you in, my self goes out
I sing you in, hum my self out.
The feeble light in my inner room
coughs in the breeze and flickers out.

Shankara (India, 7th century CE) speaks of Pranayama thus: "Emptying the mind of the whole of its illusion is the true rechaka (exhalation). The realization that "I am Atman" (the infinite spirit) is the true puraka (inhalation). Finally, the steady sustenance of the mind on this conviction is the true kumbhaka (retention). This is the true Pranayama."

They Call Krishna

They call that Krishna Kamadev
because he makes you crave, he makes you crave.

They call that Krishna Navina Madan:
he drives you mad and then he’s gone.

They call him Manasija, "in the mind born,"
He's all in the mind, but the senses are torn.

They call him Atanu, a real “no body.”
You don’t see him hit, but he leaves you all bloody.

He's Pushpa-ban, firing arrows made of flowers
by which he shows his infinity of powers;
they rain down in fragrant poison showers
piercing entrails so you squirm for hours.

They call him Govind, the cowherd king :
He finds the cows and herds them in.
He found my senses and then went in.
I’d drive him out, but where would I begin?

Without Govind, my world would all be void,
heart devastated, life and hope destroyed.

They also call Sri Krishna "Klim,"
to this my guru-given spell I cling.
I'm drowning, Lord, I don't know how to swim--
so to this mystic, magic spell I cling.

An Autobiography in Names

When I was born I was baptised Jan,
And for seven years that carried on.
I came to school where Jan was strange,
so thenceforth I was known as John.

Bhakta John at twenty, and shortly after,
I became Hiranyagarbha Das.
I was quite the “golden egghead” to some,
but “Hiranya garbage” to the mass.

I was “Brahmachari” for a while
Then became an “Adhikari”;
Then “Vanachari”, finally “Swami,”
but not “Goswami”—someone was wary.

Then Prabhupad left and so did I,
taking shelter of gopi bhav', the Ras.
Lalita Prasad gave the name I now use--
“Joy to the world,” Jagadananda Das.

At first I was Babaji, even Maharaj,
But that changed too, now I'm simply DAS.
I'm "Jagat" too, but I'm not "the world";
You're the world, and I your DASANUDAS.

Like Leaves to the Ground

I.
sadA rAdhA-kRSNocchalad-atula-khelA-sthala-yujaM
vrajaM santyajyaitad yuga-virahito’pi truTim api |
punar dvArAvatyAM yadu-patim api prauDha-vibhavaiH
sphurantaM tad-vAcApi ca na hi calAmIkSitum api ||

Even if I am separated
from my beloved Lord and Lady
for an eon,
I will not abandon this land of Braj,
the site of their overflowing, unequalled play,
even for a moment.

No, I will not leave,
not even if the Lord of Dwarka,
with all his bloated opulences,
invites me himself.

I will not go
to even see what he looks like.

I won't.

II.

gatonmAdai rAdhA sphurati hariNA zliSTa-hRdayA
sphuTaM dvArAvatyAm iti yadi zRNomi zruti-taTe |
tadAhaM tatraivoddhata-mati patAmi vraja-purAt
samuDDIya svAntAdhika-gati-khagendrAd api javAt ||

But yes, should I ever get wind
that Radha has completely lost her mind
and departed for Dwarka town,
and I hear rumors that she
is clinging fast to Krishna's chest,

in less than a moment I'll make up my mind,
I'll fly from Braj to join her,
traveling faster even than Garuda,
faster than the wind,
faster than the speed of mind.

III.

Once,
the burden of separation became so heavy
that Radha fled the confines of Braj
where even the Yamuna's black waters
had become like molten tar.

But when she came dressed in rags
to the gates of Dwarka,
the Prince could spare not even one
of his sixteen thousand forms
to see her.

That is the power of the queens,
who think such kindnesses
will help Radha find peace
in forgetfulness.

IV.

And Krishna's words,
shouted from the palace tower
as Radha became tiny in the distance,

"I swear, there are only
a few more demons to destroy,
only a bit of Bhumi's burden
remains to be removed,"

fluttered like leaves to the ground
in the breezeless air.

Sanskrit verses from Raghunath Das Goswami, Svayam-sankalpa-stotram).

Veils and Things

I spent those nights in Radha Kund;
I had one long dream of Vrindavan.
And I awoke, hearing shukas and sharis,
watching the sunlight waft over
the smooth and spotless sheets
of my North American bed.

I thought to myself:
Surely Radha and Krishna have left me a garland;
surely there is a legacy of prema left by this dream
that will embrace the world,
that will envelop it like a veil.

But as I look again,
I see that I was given
a strange gift--a sword,
which runs me through,
which beheads my world,
which punctures all my colored balloons.

I am exposed: Am I unable
to carry the sword of conviction,
though like a beast of burden,
my back has been made strong
from bearing the bricks
of so many sweet theories?

Unlike Rabindranatha's maid,
my yes is not so ready made.

=============================

Rabindranath's poem.

I thought I should ask of thee - but I dared not -
the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck.
Thus I waited for the morning,
when thou didst depart,
to find a few fragments on the bed.

And like a beggar I searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two.

Ah me, what is it I find? What token left of thy love?
It is no flower, no spices, no vase of perfumed water.
It is thy mighty sword, flashing as a flame, heavy as a bolt of thunder.

The young light of morning comes through the window
and spread itself upon thy bed.
The morning bird twitters and asks,
'Woman, what hast thou got?'
No, it is no flower, nor spices,
nor vase of perfumed water
- it is thy dreadful sword.

I sit and muse in wonder, what gift is this of thine.
I can find no place to hide it.
I am ashamed to wear it, frail as I am,
and it hurts me when I press it to my bosom.
Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour
of the burden of pain, this gift of thine.

From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world,
and thou shalt be victorious in all my strife.
Thou hast left death for my companion
and I shall crown him with my life.

Thy sword is with me to cut asunder my bonds,
and there shall be no fear left for me in the world.

From now I leave off all petty decorations.
Lord of my heart, no more shall there be for me
waiting and weeping in corners,
no more coyness and sweetness of demeanour.
Thou hast given me thy sword for adornment.
No more doll's decorations for me!

========================

When I first read the poem, I admit to having first thought of the phallic implications of the sword. This is not just because I am a man and I see phallic symbols everywhere.

Really there is no difference between a phallic symbol and what this sword symbolizes in the poem--empowerment. Men need swords as much, if not more than women do. This comes of something called "castration anxiety," which men need to overcome. Overcompensation of macho characteristics is, to me, the great malady of the male psyche. Manjari bhava is the medicine I prescribe.

The idea being that prema is ultimately more powerful and more resilient than the sword. The indication here being that the love of God, the only Purusha, in relation to whom we are all Prakriti, precedes genuine heroism, which comes in equal measure to man or woman in this world.

And this makes it important to give the context of where I found this poem. I am reading a book about Kabir by a well-known Indian scholar, Hajari Prasad Dvivedi. Dvivedi is a very entertaining writer, even while being informative historically and critically. Besides this, he is a fan and follower of Kabir, which altogether makes a mix that I find particularly appealing. He quotes Rabindra and other Bengali works, including Vaishnava ones, though writing in Hindi.

The first poem he quotes to begin the chapter is centered on the metaphor of a veil, the meaning of which is somewhat obscure. One thing we can be sure of, however, is that the veil is a feminine symbol—it is enclosing and covering, protective and soothing.



cunariyA hamarI piyA ne sanwArI
koI pahirai piya kI pyArI
ATha hAtha kI banI cunariyA
panca ranga paTiyA pArI

cAnda suruja jAme Ancala lAge
jagamaga joti ujArI
binu tAne yaha banI cunariyA
dAsa kabIra balihAri

My beloved gave me a veil--
who could wear it but the one he loves?
This veil is eight hands long
and the fabric dyed with five colors.

The moon and the sun shine on the border
Filling it with sparkling light.
This veil was made without a loom,
Kabir gives it glory above all.

Dwivedi interprets the veil as bhakti, which he says is a causeless gift from God. He quotes the famous Upanishadic verse—

nAyam AtmA pravacanena labhyo
na medhayA na bahunA zrutena
yam evaiSa vRNute tena labhyas
tasyaiSa AtmA vivRNute tanuM svAm

The Self cannot be attained through learned discourses
Nor through intelligence, nor through long study.
The Self is attainable to the one He chooses.
To him, the Self reveals His own form.

Kabir's poem is full of allusions. Dwivedi identifies the eight hands as the eight periods of the day ("Time"). He interprets the five colors as the “pancha tattva,” though unfortunately he is obscure about which set of five tattvas he thinks it means (most likely the five great elements). This is sandhya bhasha, and I cannot say whether he has received his info from a genuine tradition or not.

It seems more likely that the meaning is "body." Another Kabir song with a veil in it--

merI chunarI meM pari gayo dAg piyA
panch tatta kI banI chunariya
solaha sai band lAge jiyA
yaha chunarI mere maike tem AyI
sasurA meM manuAM khoya diyA
mali mali dhoI dAg na chhutai
gyAna ko sAbun lAya piyA
kahai kabir dAg tab chhuti haim
jab sAheb apnAya liyA

My Love, my veil is stained.
Made from the elements five,
Absorbed in sixteen hundred sensory traps,
The veil that came from my parental home
Lost its luster in my in-laws’ house.
I wash it over and over, yet the stain goes not!
My Love, bring the soap of knowledge.
Says Kabir: These stains will eventually leave
When my Love makes me his own.

Strange though it appears, in this love song, Kabir the weaver, uses the word Chunri (Veil) deftly to unveil the misperception of "truth" as an identification with one's body rather than with the invariant "Self." Perhaps rightly so, as the "Self" cannot get tainted! The love song seems to be indicative of a complete union towards oneness by which one transcends the merely sensual existence to one that is universal. The latter to me personally makes more sense as an absolute union or Samadhi is possible only when the mind becomes focused on a single idea, the idea that there is none other than the Self." (This comment from Kabir love songs)

He decides here to make a point not really found in Kabir’s song, nor apparently in any Kabir song, because he has to use the above Rabindranath poem to make it. He says that though God makes the gift of the “shringar” veil of bhakti, it is not “light” or “soft,” but comes with a heavy burden of responsibility. So he takes the feminine symbol and turns it into a masculine one, which seems unjustifiable, at least from the point of strict adherence to the interpretation of Kabir.

Next: The Flower Garland and the Sword