The purpose of Chaitanya's mission in this world

Bengal is now invigorated by waves of enthusiasm emanating from a people frustrated for generations by masters who are opposed to their religious beliefs. This cultural and spiritual upheaval produces transformations that are difficult for everyone to reconcile.

On the other hand, the lower classes, especially the untouchables, are fully taking advantage of this, as if this phenomenon were an endorsement of their status. Their defender, Nimaï, considered by some as a messiah and by others as an incarnation of God, encourages them to transcend the taboos imposed by their heritage and the prejudices scrupulously shared by other classes of society.

These untouchables, whose very shadow must not touch the body of a Brahmin, and who cannot freely visit public places, these untouchables, who are carefully kept in ignorance and poverty, are now insinuating themselves into every corner of the privileged places, disregarding established traditions.

To curb the rising tide and strike fear into the superstitious masses, they resort to prohibitions, severe imprecations, and even local authorities. In short, every possible means is employed to stem this tidal wave —one that shakes the customs and privileges of the upper classes— and to silence the instigator of this upheaval.

His detractors become acutely aware of the growing influence of this unwelcome prophet and conspire against him. Yet their schemes cannot take shape, for he has won the esteem of all layers of society —not only the downtrodden, the poor and the laborers, but also merchants, the wealthy, priests, religious leaders, educators, scholars, and even members of the government. They are captivated by his piety, his grammatical prowess, his eloquence, his mystical manifestations, and so many other qualities that, even if listed, could never fully convey the overwhelming impression this saintly man projects.

Women, too, are not immune to his charm. An undeniable attraction subjugates their senses. From the depths of their hearts, complex emotions arise; they have fallen for this figure who, in their eyes, embodies beauty and absolute love. Of course, we are not referring to the passionate lust that draws two beings of opposite sexes together, but rather to a natural and almost Platonic inclination —a chaste admiration that a virtuous woman may feel for a man whose form and beauty appear angelic, and in this case, transcendental.

Until now, Nimai had been chanting traditional religious hymns, but now he is often heard singing the names of the young girls who surround Krishna in His amorous pastimes: “Radhe! Visakha! Lalita!” Some of his students find it improper for a man —let alone a spiritualist— to chant and exult in such a manner. Intoning Krishna’s Names to the point of ecstasy may still be acceptable, but dancing while singing the names of the gopīs seems like unseemly sentimentalism.

One of the students approaches him to seek clarification: “Master, for some time now, your behavior has seemed strange to us… Among ourselves, we have discussed it and decided to ask you about it. We believe that you should not indulge in glorifying —or even keeping on your lips— women’s names instead of the sublime and auspicious Names of God. What do you gain from such a display?”

Despite the admiration he receives, Nimai is not fooled; he perceives well the antipathy and envy of his contemporaries. He had always strived to avoid any provocation, and in many situations, he had shown a disarming humility: if he was attacked personally, he ignored the offense; when he encountered innocent souls, he embraced them with his causeless love; he encouraged the weak and instilled faith in non-believers, even despite their resistance. But an insult directed at the devotees —and in this case, at the gopis, the most devoted servants of Krishna, so exalted that their mere remembrance purifies the mind of all contamination— such an insult could only inflame Nimai’s wrath against those who dared to ridicule or harm Krishna’s devotees.

This is no longer the Nimai of old —the one people used to tease, the adolescent, then the teacher with whom they dared to exchange bravado. This man is different. Maturity would not be the right word to describe this transformation, for the wisdom, the perfection now manifesting in him seems innate —they suit him effortlessly.

It is true that Nimai has always possessed extraordinary gifts and singular qualities, but the transformation we attempt to describe here is of another kind: it is a form of magnificent grandeur imbued with an almost otherworldly power; it radiates waves saturated with mystical and magical effects. Those who are receptive or merely curious find themselves drawn by its magnetism.

Thus, when the student calls out to him, denouncing his conduct as illicit, a visceral anger rises within him, reddening his eyes, and, without warning, he rushes at the reckless youth, who barely escapes his grasp. Wasting no time, Nimai seizes a club and launches himself in pursuit of the insolent one.

Sensing the danger, the boy takes to his heels and manages to lose him. He runs until he reaches a group of students passing by —young scholars who, in those days, traveled by the hundreds, following a master. Upon hearing the scandalous account, they are outraged by the audacity of this eccentric professor. His unprovoked aggression and misplaced violence demand their intervention; such faults must be corrected. After all, by what right does he presume to treat his students in this manner?

The agitation soon spreads to other groups. The tone grows increasingly vindictive, flaring up like dry straw catching fire. The student circle begins plotting revenge for what they see as an affront —Nimai’s blatant arrogance in their eyes.

His close ones grow anxious about the turn of events, fearing an imminent clash.

This situation plunges Nimai into deep sorrow, and he withdraws into his home for several days. It is not fear that compels him to retreat, but rather a longing for solitude and meditation, a profound aversion to this thankless world.

No one can approach him. He refuses the meals his wife prepares and disregards all the care and attention his mother offers. He spends entire days in silence and contemplation. He has come into this world to distribute God’s love freely and abundantly, taking on the form of an ordinary man to do so. But there is more to it than that. His mission has a dual purpose. The first, as we already know, is his apostolic work. The second —his primary reason for descending into this world— is more delicate, of a subtle and complex nature. A thorough study would be required to fully illuminate it. Here, however, we will limit ourselves to briefly explaining its cause, which will help us better understand the origins of the unrest that led to this incident.

For some time now, Nimai has been chanting the names of the gopis, the young village girls from Krishna’s own land. These maidens burn with an unparalleled love for their divine Beloved. The connection between transcendental conjugal relationships and absolute spiritual integrity is exceedingly difficult for the common man to grasp. Because of this —and wrongly so— many commentators have reduced these sacred narratives to erotic and degrading tales.

Nimai, as we shall see later, is not in search of sensual emotions, nor is he a sentimentalist or a romantic. On the contrary, he is grave and sober, highly disciplined in the principles and rules governing religious practices. Yet he holds a fervent, exceptional, and singular adoration for the gopīs. He venerates them, glorifies them, and places them at the pinnacle of spiritual success. They embody the perfect example of devotion and the highest form of relationship with God —in other words, sublime love.

Among all these exalted devotees, Rādhā is the most dedicated and dearest to Krishna, for her loving service is unparalleled, ineffable. Not for a fraction of a second does she forget that beautiful boy to whom she offers the most refined attentions: she weaves garlands for him, sews his clothes, speaks to him of love, prepares his meals, and tirelessly seeks to please him in a thousand ways. She cannot bear to be without him. Every moment of separation feels like an eternity. If he must be away for too long, she drowns in an ocean of sorrow. In such times, no one can console her; lost in a state of divine madness, she wanders here and there, believing she sees Krishna everywhere. Sometimes she mistakes a tree for him, its bark resembling the color of his complexion; sometimes she sees him in a passing cloud; at other times, she takes a buzzing bumblebee nearby for one of his messengers. The only way to bring her out of this trance is to speak to her about her beloved Krishna. Yet even this remedy proves more painful than soothing.

In short, Krishna is astonished by the depth of devotion that permeates the consciousness of this gopī. He, too, wishes to experience this divine sentiment, so unique in its nature. And the only way to taste it is to step into the being of his dearest devotee and thus experience for himself the bliss that remains inaccessible to him in his present position.

To do so —to place himself in her being— he will appear on earth during the age of Kali, in a human form, imbued with Radha’s sentiment. He will embody the perfect devotee, consumed by the agony of separation from his Lord, and through his own example, he will demonstrate the path a servant of Krishna must follow in this life to attain liberation. He will reveal the most ecstatic and sublime way to worship God: divine conjugal love.

This is, without a doubt, a revolution in religious thought. Never before, within theological frameworks, had such intimate and detailed revelations been made —never. And, as with all new ideas in this realm, these views provoke the criticism of the uninitiated and the injustice of the so-called orthodox, no less ignorant, who already sense the stake being prepared for him.

Nimai, sheltered from all distractions, meditates in the cloistered silence of his room on the unhealthy atmosphere this situation has created:

"I have brought with me a medicine that soothes even the most excruciating afflictions —a panacea. Yet instead of healing, I see their disease worsening, and they show no sign of responding positively. The patients care nothing for their doctor’s advice and even go so far as to insult him. What must I do to bring them to their senses? They see me as one of them, a mere householder, and are plotting against me with wicked schemes. They are doomed. This situation is absurd and cannot continue."

If he is to fulfill his mission, he must, at all costs, correct the offensive behavior of these various groups —namely, the traditionalist brāhmaṇas, the opportunistic students, and the impersonalist philosophers. Yet he refuses to resort to force, whether physical or supernatural, nor does he wish to perform miracles, which, of course, would draw the whole world to him. No, no thaumaturgy! What he seeks is to combat nihilism, the impersonal concept of God, and materialism through the sheer beauty and irresistible attraction of devotional service to the Lord. Nityānanda had reminded him of these very things when he was about to finish off Jagāi and Madhāi.

Now, he must devise a plan to bring this vision to life. In truth, the idea —to counter the perverse schemes of these obstinate persons — has been on his mind for a long time. Yet, given his social position, it was difficult to put it into action. So, in order to command the respect of all, he resolves to take on the robes of the wandering renunciant: sannyasa. ■