Radhakrishna

By Gnyaneswari

“ Radhakrishna ” the people chant in union as the speaker takes her seat. Amma was right, there are all ages of people from 2 to 82, eagerly waiting for the evening event to start. The speaker sits down to meditate and so do many others. There is a stillness in the atmosphere. I look around. There are chairs, tables and other supplies stacked in a corner. We all are sitting on mats which cover almost all of the floor and the speaker is sitting on the small elevated dias. This place is not so different from the others , I realize. 

There are a lot of these pravachan halls around the town. I've been told to visit them. and so I did. And at every place I've noticed that there sits a person, the speaker, who talks about life, everything we need to leave and what god wants from us. and the people listen, sometimes even nod. The only difference here is that the speaker is a woman. And she looks so … divine. Her sandal saree is draped around her shoulders, and the beige coloured mala wrapped around her wrists. Her hair is put in a small, messy bun. Few strands have come loose but it looks like they are out of perfection. 

Something nudges me on my right. I turn to find a toddler staring straight at me, smiling that cute dimpled smile these little innocent creatures always have. I used to have it too, maybe when I was young , when I was this small, maybe my aunts would know. No, they would have been too busy preparing for the next big pooja, they wouldn’t have noticed. My mom would have. Maybe. I’ll not ask her though. I don't ask anything anymore. 

Ask . questioning. I‘ve stopped it long ago, or so they think. Because I don't let it out, this voice inside my head, the voice which doesn’t speak but asks. And now that I've thought about it a question arises into my mind. The voice pushed, I know.

What do they preach here ? What is their mode of teaching ? radhakrishna. Right ? So what do they talk about ? Love ? But there are children here. Wouldn’t they be misguided ? What will small children know about love ? How is this devotion ? 

A sound snaps me out of my thoughts. My thoughts ? or the voice’s thoughts ? but isn’t the voice inside.. No. no more questions. It's better to just exist. The baby coocoos again and I try to be nice. I make a face to make him smile. He looks at me blankly for a second and then the corners of his mouth curl. A small sound escapes his mouth only to turn into a loud cry. The lady, who has been holding him on her lap, rocks him a little to calm him down. But it doesn’t help. He keeps pulling down her hijab, wailing louder than before. It must be his mom, I think as I turn my head away. This is why I try not to be nice. Humans are more complicated than the number of aches I get from sitting for hours in a pravachan or even worse smoke. Sorry, homam. Forgive me god. 

I turn my gaze to the other side of the room, out of guilt. I try to cut the baby’s noise out of my ears even though I know I can't. I find a poster attached to a stand leaning against the wall. It is titled “ What is spirituality? ” There's something written below it but I don't read it, because often those types of statements make me feel … I don't know. 

I can’t hear the cry anymore. Or shall I say, that cry anymore. Because now someone else is wailing. A voice inside my head.

I look at it again “ what is spirituality “ isn’t that a question i've been trying to find the answer for my whole life ? What is spirituality ? Is it chanting names 108 times ? Is it taking 18 rounds around the temple ? What is devotion all about ? finding god ? isn’t he everywhere ? Why do we call God a ‘ he ‘ ? Is God affected by human emotions ? If not then why do we say ‘ god will be pleased ‘ ‘ god will be happy ‘ ? aren’t these all human emotions ? Does ‘ he ‘, he ?, have rules too ? rules the devotees must follow. Should I also dress like the divine speaker lady in order to become devotional ? in order to be considered a devotee ? 

What is devotion ? awakening ? from what ? from all the things and relation i’ve been bound to as  a human ? becoming untouched ? but wasn’t that what i was at birth ? untouched . unbiased . So should I just go back again ? like a cycle ? What is devotion ? What is spirituality ? Is it giving up everything ? Is it telling ourselves that what is present in front of us is all fake, a delusion and there is another place , one you can never reach alive, which you have to seek for ? What is bhakthi ? Where is that serenity in this ? Where is that dedication found in staring at an idol, sitting in a place, hoping the place, the world, would turn into a better place, sitting still and quiet as the bad goes on happening ? Where is spirituality in being told to blindly believe in things ? in things which very visibly hurt your body ? What is it ?

I don't know. I … don’t want to … know. That’s what they told me. Don’t ask. Asking questions is … unspiritual. Maybe I am. unspiritual. Unworthy. 

“ radhakrishna ” a voice, knocks me out of my thoughts. Yes, they are my thoughts. The voice, not the one in my head that would never come out, this one is of the speaker. It echoes around the room and the others follow saying ‘ radhakrishna ’. I glance at the boy, he’s stopped crying already. Something else with the air rushes into my lungs. Relief.

“ Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita,” The voice of the speaker says. It’s so deep and touching, it almost seems manipulative. Like she could use it to bring anyone under her vash. Would she, if she had that opportunity ? would she .. Shut it, voice.  The speaker continues “I am never lost to one who sees all beings in me and nor is that person ever lost to me.” She pauses for a while as she puts the book aside and adjusts the mike closer to herself. I keep staring at her, the way she gracefully makes every moment like she has mastered them. I notice. Just like people do.

I’ve learnt that long ago. I’ve been taught. I’ve learnt that people notice you, not always in the way you want them to. They record what you do and store it not just in your account but also in the account of “ the daughter of that person ” or “ the sister of this girl ”. My cousins have been clever. Their parents taught them way before, maybe they whispered it in their ears the day they were born, to do as many poojas, to go to as many temples as possible and to show it. Show to people that they are devotional. Even if you feel it or not. Maybe they do feel it, for real. I Don't know. I’ll never know. I don't ask anymore , remember ? they were clever, my cousins, they knew that you can never be just you when you’re with people. You’re often spoken of in relative manner, in someone's possession manner, often the man’s. It must have been a man of their family then , who whispered it in their ears.

 I’m not spoken of in that manner though. I know. I didn’t ask and yet I know. Because now they call me ‘ the one who couldn’t compete with their cousins ’. Yes, devotion, in this society, is a competition. you didn’t know ? Where were you ? under a rock ? or maybe over the sky ? or … Stop it. Stop it, voice.    

The speaker clears her throat as if she somehow knew I wasn't listening. To her, I mean. “ Today we will talk about the different forms of devotion ” she says “ It might amuse some people that there are different forms of devotion. What helps one may not help the other to connect themselves to the supreme energy. Some may find it in chanting and think that all others should too. But it’s not true. Different  people connect differently with god. They may find devotion in other forms.Mainly there is praying, poojas, activating the five senses while doing so. homam, abhishekam, all together known as -  idol worship. ”

Idol worship. My cousins ace that exam. I can’t. I don't fail, I'm lazy enough to sit. But I can never top. I can’t cheat. People notice. Especially the duller, they will see right through me. The right answer would be, no, it’s not my type of devotion. I’ve tried and I passed, to the next question I mean. 

I remember I was sitting in a homam once. I was trying to bring my devotion out. But I couldn't find it , so I blamed the smoke. I couldn't feel it and it was as if I wasn't doing any of them. I was moving my hand, I was pouring the ghee into the homam but yet, it was not me. it was as if i wasn’t even there at all , as if i was dead. Oh ! I shouldn't talk about death in front of god. Right. I’m sorry. What was the speaker talking about again ? oh yeah. 

“ For some it might be visiting numerous temples.” the speaker’s voice continued. “ The darshanam. That might evoke the devotion in few. For some it might be sitting alone and meditating, concentrating at the focal point. And For some it might be reading scriptures , listening to ancient stories. “ a small crowd giggles and cheers at this and the speaker smiles. “ yes, yes. I have one for today. ” and the noise simmers down to null. The lights are now switched off on the listeners side and a warm light is glowing around the speaker. 

“ story time ” the boy’s mom exclaims, bending to face him and the baby giggles. She looks back at the speaker and so do I.    

“ Radha's devotion for Krishna was different from the other gopikas. There goes this story which says that once Krishna was faced with a terrible fever. And to get rid of it, the cure was to get the dust from the feet of his beloved ones. His wives and all other citizens of Dwaraka declined to provide their feet dust as it was considered improper and they would go to hell after death. But Radha without any hesitation provided her feet dust and cured beloved shri krishna. Such is the devotion of radharani , pure and untouched by societal norms. The others declined because they thought it was not proper. Their devotion lay in the respect towards krishna. Whereas , Radha's devotion lay in Krishna's happiness. our devotion may lay in different things too. Just because you are a part of a family or a community doesn’t mean you are bound to their practices alone. You are a free soul. Explore. “

Explore. “ you’re  a seeker ,” I remember my grandpa saying. A seeker ? Is this what he meant ? to explore ? Am I allowed to ? Is that devotional ? Do I have devotion in me ? I just have to explore ? My grandfather, he trusted me all the way long. He was the only one who did, maybe. He never expected me to do all the rituals. He knew I couldn't put my heart to it. He said I was capable of something much bigger than it. To explore.  He told me that I was a seeker. He gave me a journal. He gave all of us, our cousins, a journal. I have it with me right now. I bring it with me to every pravachan I attend. My cousins, they would’ve forgotten about it. They filled it up with all the rules and mantras in a week. I didn’t. It was too pretty. I felt so bad, so empty. I didn’t have anything to fill it with. Then my grandpa came. He divided my journal into five distinct sections. “ The wellbeing journal ” he said. It had mental ,physical, social , financial and spiritual well being sections. It gave me something to do.  I created myself. I wrote and wrote about the things I love about myself. I was surprised that I had those many things. I wrote and wrote and wrote, until there was no space left for even a single word. I felt so purposeful , so complete. I filled every section, except for one. The spiritual section. And I hated it. I hated how I let it change me and distrust myself. I’ve tried and I've failed to tear that section into pieces, to glue it, to throw it out of existence. But I couldn't. I wanted to and yet there was a longing. Like something pulling me, holding me. Telling me to wait. To believe. Was it the voice ? the one in my head ? you there, voice ? hold on. And for once it wasn’t questioning. It was speaking. It has a voice and it speaks. It says, explore. What does it mean ? It's me questioning now, and I'm not afraid of it. What does it mean ?  

I don't know . I would … like to … know.

 Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this place is not the same as the others.This speaker is not just like any other. She wouldn’t use it. I haven’t spoken to her. Yet. but i’ve listened. And I know she wouldn’t use it. Even if she could, she wouldn’t use that sweet voice of hers to manipulate. But she can use it to raise the strength of one to ask, to question. She didn’t say it but I hear it from her. I hear her voice say, “ if you really care about it. If it really hurts you that much. Then ask. Question. Explore. And don't wait until you find the answer. Don't stop.” 

A clap pulled my attention to the dias. And there was a man in the place of the speaker. He looks like he is in his early twenties. He has black hair, and his eyes so hazel i can see it from here. And a smirk .. stop, voice. The questions were better. I look down at my sandals to shift my mind. Why do we call it sandals ? they used to make footwear with sandalwood during old ages, maybe. “ We wanted to host a little activity this evening, hope you all participate wholeheartedly.” a voice says, the man’s voice, the one which speaks. “ So the activity is called, ‘solve the puzzle’ you all will be given a bunch of puzzle pieces. You have to solve the puzzle. That’s it. ” he says moving back , people exchange glances and then he smirks. Again. “ That's it ? ” he asks, that smirk never leaving his face. And now people are smiling again. There sure is a connection. Between this pravachan community and the listeners, I mean. He moves closer towards the mike and says “ no. of course. Not that's it. The puzzle pieces given to you would not be the pieces of the same puzzle. You’d be given a parent puzzle piece, the one you’re supposed to complete, and a bunch of other puzzle pieces. Your task is to find your puzzle pieces from others and also help the others complete their puzzles. Our friends will be giving you the pieces. You can ask them if you have any questions. Thank you. And … all the best ” 

He leaves and soon there is a hustle - bustle. The man gives me my pieces with a small wooden plate “ to place it on ” he explains, with that smirk, even though I didn't ask. I have to save my questions, but I'm glad he explained. I pull out my pieces and place them on the plate. There is a centerpiece, a bit bigger than the other.

 “ It must be the parent puzzle ” I say to myself. It doesn’t give a lot about what the picture might look like. It looks like a painting. All I can see is a soft cloth-like thing swaying in the air. And a chain ? and a blue background, maybe sky.

“ Excuse me ” a voice calls and I look up from my plate. An old woman is standing beside me , her plate in her hand, a puzzle piece pointing towards me. “ Do you have a puzzle piece similar to this ? ” she asks, pushing that piece  forwards. I smile and take that piece, I fiddle around with my pieces hoping to find one similar to hers. It takes a few seconds, but I manage to find one, almost similar to hers, I show it to her and she smiles, thanking me. And suddenly my chest fills with this feeling. Like content. I smile back and start my own search. I walk across the room and start from a point. I show them my puzzle piece just like that old lady did, and they search for a one similar to mine in their pieces while I do the same for theirs. Some even speak to me, “ I haven't seen you before. You came here for the first time? ” one asks and I nod with a smile. The man asks how we are doing and whether we are enjoying the activity. Everyone cheers, even the old ones. 

I look down at my plate, only one piece left. I smile. It is a painting, with black shaded borders, like a vignette effect. Except it isn’t just a black shade, it has people inside it, a chain wrapped around their waists and a large weight attached to the end of it. They are walking back, towards the weight, like they can't bear it anymore. Everyone except a girl in the middle, her dress swaying in the air, long, embroidered and colorful. A chain tied around her waist too a bit larger than the others, maybe it’s just because of the position. But she isn’t walking back, she is walking straight ahead, towards ? I don't know, that’s the missing piece. What is she walking towards ? 

I look up from my plate when I hear a familiar sound. The baby’s sound. I look up and the mom is standing before me. The baby has a puzzle piece in his hand, it’s not the parent piece. I look at her plate, it’s similar to mine, missing only one puzzle piece. I take the one in the baby’s hand. It’s filled with light. Light. I put it in the empty slot on my plate and it fits correctly. So it’s light. It's the light she is walking towards. It’s so pretty. The painting. the complete painting. It’s so pretty. Light. It could mean anything. It could mean god, or goodness, or hope. Or answers. Answers for the questions she has been holding in her heart since forever. The baby giggles fill my ears. Oh ! I forgot. their piece. I look down at the end of the plate for the unknown piece I had, but it's already in the little boy’s hand. He gives it to his mom, she smiles at me, I smile back. The piece fits in their plate and completes the picture. The boy giggles again and his mom looks at him. A look in her eyes. A light. Love. it could mean love, the light. The light the girl in my picture is walking towards. It could mean love. The thing lighting in the womens eyes as she looks at her son. How stupid of me, thinking that children know nothing about love. Of Course they do, they get the purest form of love. The love of a mother.             

And now she’s smiling at me. Her smile. That feeling in my chest rises again. 

It reminds me of something. But what is it ? I close my eyes and find myself in front of an idol, Krishna, the idol. the place, our old house, the house I spent my whole childhood in. this feeling , i felt it, back then. I was devotional. I was connected. It felt so simple when I was small. All that mattered to me were my thoughts and the god in front of me. It seemed as if the rest vanished for those few minutes. And now as i remember those, i almost look at it in a third person point of view. Like, I was a completely different person back then. And I felt so connected and spiritual, until I didn't. What changed me ? expectations. They said it wasn’t right. As I grew up, the urge to know everything in me increased. I started asking questions. I wanted to know why we were doing those. I just wanted to know the reason behind it. But they silenced me. They said that it was devotional. That a true devotee never doubts. In fear, I forced those questions to stop, but they wouldn't. So I hid them, inside my head, where no one could hear them. ‘ the girl who questioned ’ she faded away out of existence and so did that feeling of devotion.  it faded away. And never came back. Until now.

I feel it again. I felt it all along while solving this puzzle. Helping people solve theirs. finding pieces that fit my picture. Helping and finding our way of spirituality together. I lost it, the connection, it got clouded by the expectations of the others, and now, now I see it again, the rays of goodness, of devotion, of pure contentment, I have it. In me . all these years, i had it and now, i see it . again. 

I will. I’m promising this voice, I will find my way of devotion. I will fill that spiritual section in my well being journal. I will travel. I will learn each and every way , each and every perspective of devotion and then with the collision of them all, between them, I'll find. I’ll find my way of devotion. I’ll find my spiritual well being. 

I look up at the speaker who has taken her seat again, she’s looking at me. I smile - a ‘ thank you ’. She smiles back - a ‘ welcome ’. 

And now as the rest say I chant along with them, holding onto my promise of finding my light. I close my eyes, storing that feeling deep down in my heart. The voice in my head along with me says  “ radhakrishna ”.    

By Gnyaneswari