The conversion of Sarvabhauma Bhattacharya

Below, I recount a brief episode inspired by the life of Sri Krishna Chaitanya (1486-1534), involving him and Sarvabhauma, the high priest of the temple of Puri, Orissa. This event takes place right after the conclusion of a seven-day debate on the writings of the Bhagavata Purana. The debate had been initiated by Sarvabhauma, who was deeply committed to guiding the young sannyasi. While recognizing his remarkable qualities and potential, Sarvabhauma believed that Chaitanya was indulging in a sentimentalism unbefitting a serious and elevated spiritual life. He disapproved of the singing and dancing that Chaitanya engaged in, deeming such practices incompatible with rigorous spiritual discipline. With the sincere intention of correcting him, Sarvabhauma resolved to educate the young ascetic.

The events of Chaitanya's life have been extensively documented by the great scholars and renunciates of the 16th century, notably the six Goswamis of Vrindavan, and most significantly by Sri Chaitanya's official biographer, Krishna Das Kaviraj. He authored the renowned Chaitanya-charitamrita. Regarding his obligation to write, which he was urged to undertake quickly due to his advanced age, Kaviraj remarked: "I have now grown very old and suffer from various infirmities. While writing, my hands tremble, my memory falters, my vision is poor, and I hear with great difficulty. Yet, I am writing for your benefit, which is, in itself, a great wonder."

This biography gained significant popularity in Bengal during the early 17th century. It was translated into English in the 1970s by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada* in seventeen volumes.

A Moment of Reckoning

The world crumbles around Sarvabhauma, the chief priest of the Jagannath Puri temple. The weight of his long life presses heavily upon him; a sharp pain tears through his back. Suddenly, he becomes acutely aware of the perilous proximity of death. Reflecting, he soliloquizes:

"Has my time come? If I were to die now, would it not be better for me? For how could I bear the humiliation inflicted upon me by this young renunciate? If this debate had taken place at the beginning or even midway through my career —when I was merely fortifying my faith and exploring various philosophical systems— it might have been bearable. I could have adjusted, rebuilt my life. But at my age, when I am firmly grounded in my salvation and have built my existence upon philosophical principles I believed unshakable, this young sannyasi —who could very well have been my disciple— has come to shatter my prestige and convictions. Worse still, he threatens the eternal rest of my soul."

What a shipwreck!

There is something else that disturbs him, twisting his insides and wounding his dignity. According to tradition, in a philosophical debate, the loser must accept his rival as his guru, thereby adopting his theory and principles. For the poor man, this is too much to bear.

He rises from his seat, his eyes wild, and heads toward his quarters, muttering to himself. The gathered assembly, which had risen along with him, hesitates. As he moves forward, his grim expression causes the crowd to part, stepping aside to let him pass.

He remains locked away all day in the dimness of his chamber, the windows tightly shut. For hours, he sits there, his head in his hands, unable to gather his thoughts. Brief scenes from his life flash before him: he sees himself as a child, a student, then delivering lectures to thousands. He recalls every step that built his respectable position.

This stinging defeat tortures him; it weighs on him with unbearable intensity, testing every atom of his body and haunting the deepest recesses of his consciousness. The clean-shaven face of Chaitanya, with those eyes —both innocent and uncompromising— looms before him.

He has risen several times, desperate to escape the image, but each time he collapses back into his chair, entangled in a web of relentless thoughts.

Later, when his wife comes to check on him, he is startled to learn that night has already fallen, that he has neither eaten nor performed his evening rituals. He dismisses her, assuring her that he will fulfill his duties and go to bed. But he does none of this, sinking once again into his stupor.

He replays the events, his nightmare, over and over. And it is in this unfathomable despair that a miraculous transformation begins to take shape within him. The relentless weight of reality finally breaks through his pride. Having completely surrendered himself to the hands of destiny, he starts to truly appreciate the superior qualities of Chaitanya.

"In fact," he admits, "his explanations of the Bhagavatam are nothing short of insightful and sublime. It was only my vanity that refused to acknowledge it."

From now on, having lost everything and being, by the grace of God, naturally inclined toward self-realization, he no longer sees Chaitanya as an ordinary being but as the ultimate goal of all spiritual endeavor. Could it be that Chaitanya is God Himself, as so many have claimed?

He recalls the attitude of his brother-in-law, as well as the crowds pressing eagerly in Chaitanya’s wake, proclaiming him a divine manifestation. The words of Gopinath, his nephew, now take on new significance. For some reason, he had never given much thought to those verses put forward by Chaitanya. And yet —strangely enough— he knows they exist. He resolves to study them more closely.

Spiritual Transformation

He doesn’t realize that the night is nearing its end until a loud knocking on the door pulls him from his meditations. Chaitanya enters, carrying a tray of food. The pain that had been weighing on him suddenly vanishes. Chaitanya’s arrival feels like the soothing rays of the moon after a scorching and exhausting day.

"This is no mere mortal," he finds himself thinking. "He is truly an incarnation from beyond this world."

Without further hesitation, he prostrates himself at Chaitanya’s feet. But Chaitanya quickly lifts him up.

"Please," he says, "do not embarrass me. You are far older than I am; how could I accept your reverence? Come, let us sit and partake of this sacred food I have brought from the temple of Jagannath."

Sarvabhauma, who under normal circumstances would have refused—since he never eats before completing his morning religious duties, and especially not without first washing his mouth, hands, and feet after the night—pauses to consider the simplicity and kindness of his visitor. A faint smile appears on his lips, and he says:

"Sacred food must never be refused and should always be honored as soon as it is served, regardless of the conditions, whether it is cold, dry, or even partially eaten by someone else."

Chaitanya is greatly pleased to hear him speak in this way. This change in attitude brings him immense relief. As they eat together, Chaitanya not only relishes the meal but also the joy of having won over this great man to his cause.

After the meal, an overwhelming euphoria suddenly seizes Sarvabhauma. A vision transports him beyond time and space, into an atmosphere saturated with sweet, otherworldly emotions. He feels immersed in transcendence. Words fail him, and his thoughts dissolve as he experiences an extraordinary apparition.

It happened in the instant he swallowed his last bite of food while Chaitanya smiled at him. But something about that smile was different. It was no longer the same expression, nor the deep eyes he had first noticed on the seventh day of their debate. Now, a powerful aura radiated from Chaitanya. Stunned and disbelieving, Sarvabhauma mindlessly recoiled. Yet the enchantment continued: Chaitanya’s entire form began to change before his very eyes!

He saw additional arms emerge, holding divine symbols: a lotus flower, a bow, a discus, and a mace. No, this was no hallucination! It was unmistakably the form of Lord Vishnu. Chaitanya was none other than Sri Vishnu Himself!

Hardly had Sarvabhauma reached this conclusion when the form transformed once more. This time, he found himself gazing, enraptured, at the breathtaking form of Krishna, standing in the iconic tribhanga posture, his body gracefully curved in three places, playing the flute. Krishna’s enchanting smile extended to the corners of his lotus-like eyes, and his complexion, a deep bluish-black, resembled a monsoon cloud heavy with rain.

Sarvabhauma drank in the vision with all his heart, overwhelmed by the divine beauty of the Lord before him.

He realizes his mistake, his negligence, and his lack of spiritual maturity. Yet, by divine grace, Krishna is ready to bless him with an immeasurable gift. He cannot fathom how or why, but God —Jagannath— is standing before him, appearing in the unassuming form of a young devotee. Without wasting another moment, he throws himself at Sri Chaitanya's feet, gripping them with all his strength.

In this posture of surrender, Sarvabhauma begins improvising heartfelt verses in Chaitanya's praise:

"Let me take refuge in God, Sri Krishna, the Supreme and Original Person, who has descended into this world in the form of Sri Krishna Chaitanya Mahaprabhu. He has come to teach us true knowledge, devotional service to him, and detachment from all that does not directly lead to him. He has appeared among us because he is an ocean of generosity. I surrender to His lotus-like feet..."

Sarvabhauma’s voice trembles with emotion as he speaks, tears streaming down his face. In that moment, all his doubts, pride, and confusion dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming sense of divine love and clarity.

Pleased with Sarvabhauma’s devotion, Chaitanya lifts him up, and together they begin to sing and dance. Caught in a whirlwind of ecstatic emotions, they embrace and weep with joy. Lost in their rapture, they fail to notice the arrival of Gopinath, Sarvabhauma’s nephew.

At first, Gopinath is stunned to find his uncle—once so austere and dignified—singing Krishna’s names like the very “madmen” he used to mock. But as he observes the scene, realization dawns upon him: Chaitanya has bestowed his causeless mercy upon Sarvabhauma.

Struck with awe and gratitude, Gopinath silently watches, his heart filling with reverence for the young renunciate who had transformed even the proud and learned Sarvabhauma into a devotee of Krishna.

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