Happy Janmashtami, dear readers. In my view, Krishna-love can be compared to a heady fizz in our veins. That’s how it seems to have been for millions. I often think that the Yamuna brims with the most extraordinary memories. Of which, surely the sweetest is of a stormy Shravan night when a man with a basket on his head set his feet in her raging waters to cross from Mathura to Gokul? Yamuna made way for Vasudeva, but could not resist an impulsive leap to touch the feet of the holy child he carried on his head.
Yet, though she is the river of the Rajdhani, the Yamuna is cut off from our lives today. There are no beautiful riverfronts, promenades and boat rides to refresh those who live in or visit Delhi. This once-splendid river apparently saw interesting traffic and drew innumerable pilgrims to her banks—dreamers, drop-outs, mystics, musicians, poets and saints.
One such fascinating person was Ras Khan, author of the ‘Rachnavali’, in which he says, “manus ho to vahi raskhani baso braj gokul gaon ke gvaran/ jo pasu hon to kaha bas mero charaun nit nand ko dhenu manjharan”. (If I, Ras Khan, am reborn as human, I wish to be a cowherd in the village of Gokul in Brajbhumi. If born an animal, I would like to be a cow in the herd of Nanda, grazing blissfully all day.)
How did 16th-17th century Saeed Ibrahim, said to be a Kabuli Pathan, become Ras Khan of Mathura-Vrindavan-Gokul? And why do we sing his verses centuries later as part of the beloved heritage of Krishna bhajan? One story goes he was from a rich zamindari family of Amroha in Uttar Pradesh and was treated shabbily by the local proud beauty he loved. This hurt him a lot and he grew morose and lonely.
Perhaps in rebound, Saeed Ibrahim then fell in love with the son of a Hindu merchant and followed him everywhere, enraging everyone. One day, he heard one Vaishnava tell another, “We should love the Lord as fearlessly and openly as Saeed Ibrahim loves the merchant’s son.” The other snorted in dismissal, “You call that love? It is only infatuation.”
Ibrahim could not bear to hear this and sprang at them in fury with his sword upraised. But they stood their ground and said staunchly, “If you loved Krishna as you do that boy, you would be a liberated person.”
Taken aback, Saeed Ibrahim dropped his sword arm. He turned around and went home to think it over. Who exactly was this Krishna that his fellow citizens loved so much? Being an emotionally honest person, he decided to find out more about Krishna.
As a nobleman’s son, Sayeed Ibrahim knew both Persian and Sanskrit. He was led to read the Bhagavata Purana or Srimad Bhagavatam, the ‘biography’ of Krishna. It is said to have been written by Veda Vyasa as a mind-cleanser on Sage Narada’s advice. This was when Vyasa finished composing the Mahabharata and complained to Narada of feeling depressed. Narada pointed out that Vyasa was bound to feel depressed after writing about so much destructive jealousy. Worse, Krishna figured only partially in his tale. If he wrote another book, this time focused on God, he would feel uplifted and happy, promised Narada. And that is how the Srimad Bhagavatam was written.
Reading the Bhagavatam, Ibrahim was intrigued and impressed by the unconditional love of the gopis for Krishna. He decided to go to Vrindavan as a tourist and see Brajbhumi or ‘Krishna country’ for himself.
Four things are said to be still in Brajbhumi since Krishna’s time. The Yamuna, the soil of Braj (called ‘Brajraj’), Govardhan Hill and the site of the Katyayani Devi temple, where Sati’s hair is said to have fallen. Ibrahim must have seen all those and experienced the sheer joy of Krishna-love all around him.
In truth, genuine Vaishnavism all over the land is meant to be open, unconditional, happy, extroverted and as micro-managed as a well-run household. It is somehow ‘worldly’ and ‘domestic’ in its joyousness and emotional extravagance. Images of Vishnu and his avatars are royally adorned with gold and precious jewellery. There is an abundance of silk, flowers, music, dance, fabulous prasad, and a sense of luxury. Vaishnava festivals, even the daily Vaishnava harati, are a grand experience. The harati is ritual theatre at its most beautiful, right from the slow, hypnotic waving of silver-mounted peacock feather whisks to the last, tender crooning of “Hari, Hari…” If you evade crowds, you feel pampered and nourished at a Vaishnava temple, and during festivals your heart overflows with the feasting of all senses.
If Ibrahim had experienced Mathura in the monsoon, he would have seen the ‘palace of flowers’ that major Krishna temples are turned into during Shravan. In this overwhelmingly festive atmosphere, Ibrahim was blessed to ‘find Krishna’, meaning Krishna entered his heart and filled his thoughts completely.
A poignant description of his state of mind occurs to me. An ancient Indian wrote a poem in Tamil translated by the late A K Ramanujan as What He Said: What could my mother be to yours? What kin is my father to yours anyway? And how did you and I meet ever? But in love our hearts are as red earth and pouring rain: mingled beyond parting. (Cembulappeyaniraar, Kuruntokai 40). This poem seems to soar beyond earthly love to God-love, describing our relationship with Krishna and indeed with Rama, too. Ibrahim was able to enter this uplifted, joyous bandwidth. To express his feelings, he began to write heartfelt poetry, which is how we have his Rachnavali. You can find his songs on YouTube, lovingly sung even today.
(Views are personal)
(shebaba@gmail.com)
Renuka Narayanan