Nadia, a Spiritual Haven

3

Jagannath and his wife meditate day and night on the character of those remarkable figures who managed to bend the will of the gods: Bhagirath, whose name the Ganges bears as it flows upon the earth; King Sagar; Dhruva; the Pandavas, Krishna’s cherished protégés; the sage Jahnu, whose island lies just across the river, behind the forest in the same direction where Jagannath’s gaze often rests; and others. So deeply absorbed are they in the deeds and thoughts of these illustrious saints that their own lives have molded themselves upon such aspirations. As recommended by the Scriptures, they follow in the footsteps of these "great souls" —a method to overcome the barrier between knowledge and transcendence.

Nadia lies in eastern Bengal, upstream from the Ganges delta, where its tributaries form a mosaic of channels, or javeaux —more precisely, at the heart of an archipelago of nine islands, hence the name Navadvip.

Jagannath and Sachidevi sit at the tip of one of these islands, at a place where this long arm of the Ganges meets a sacred tributary, the Jalangi. The confluence of its waters with the muddy current is striking, captivating, and deeply contemplative. Such places around the world, seemingly irrational yet profoundly moving, awaken the soul, lifting it out of its torpor. These are spiritual landmarks, promontories for the soul's ascent, sanctified across generations to sustain religious emotion through the ages.

Earlier, just after the encounter between the brahmana and the eunuch, Jagannath had prostrated himself on the ground, stretching out fully before rolling in the sand. Sachidevi, too, had taken some of the sacred dust and sprinkled it over her head. Together, they had offered their respects to the flowing waters, and Jagannath had smeared his face with the clay-like silt.

The question lingered, circling back repeatedly in his mind: “What makes you so certain of God’s existence?” At times, it grated on him like an irritant; at others, it prodded his thoughts, sparking a restless contemplation.

He thought to himself that he should have embraced the eunuch, conveyed his convictions through the sheer force of his love, rested the stranger’s head on his shoulder, and wept tears of joy —sharing his emotions without reserve. But why hadn’t he? Would the other even have responded to such kindness? After all, trying to awaken someone feigning sleep only serves to irritate them. What purpose does it serve to convince, to demonstrate, to prove?

Nadia teems with pandits, exegetes, and philosophers. To stand out, one must present new ideas or ingenious theories. That’s what wins favor. Words have taken on such disproportionate importance —greater than silence, piety, or acts of devotion. For them, dialectics has become a god, supplanting the Word or the holy Names. Jagannath was weary of these hollow debates, drained by their lack of substance. Of course, reason, philosophy, and human life in general are realities accompanied by a procession of laws, obligations, principles, and rules that cannot be ignored out of laxity —but love operates on an entirely different plane. Jagannath Mishra believes above all in the powerful influence of the heart; he esteems humanity because it is of divine essence. The rest, he considers, is but a tangled web of temporary misfortune and complications. He knows that sharing realizations requires generosity, sensitivity, and compassion.

He has few friends in Nadia, mostly fellow Vaishnavas, such as Advaita Acharya and Shrivas. The city, overrun by atheists, fills him with sorrow.

Tears continue to flow. Jagannath runs his fingers through the sand. Oh, how fortunate he feels to stand on this chosen land —the holiest place in the universe. Yes, the holiest! And do not mistake Jagannath for a mere sentimentalist; he is a pragmatic scholar. He is well-versed in all schools of thought. He has encountered his counterparts from China, Germania, and Greece, and often conversed with Arabs and Christians, who have praised the sanctity of the pilgrimage sites in their own lands.

A passing mullah in Nadia once remarked, "Nowhere on earth have such encounters been recorded more than in the Arabian Peninsula. Moses, Abraham, Noah, Job, and an entire lineage of patriarchs and prophets conversed with the Lord there. Even Jesus Christ, the Son of God, when He descended to earth, came to dwell in these lands, in the peninsula of the Arabs. The ascetics of all nations, when they resolve to meet God, journey to the deserts of Arabia."

The mullah, continuing with fervor, as if to counter the allure these sacred sites held for his native coreligionists, passionately declared, "Even Muhammad exclaimed with pride: ‘Allah placed me in the best of the two halves of the earth, and in the best third of that half, among the finest of men. A single prayer in the sanctuary of Jerusalem is worth a thousand prayers elsewhere.’"¹

Jagannath Mishra understands this sentiment, though he finds it, in this instance, misplaced and driven by a narrow, chauvinistic subjectivity, tinged with a whiff of fanaticism. Every religion has its own center of the universe; yet, without seeking to challenge the fervor this inspires in such missionaries, he outright rejects their dim view of his country —"the cradle of spirituality," the land of the gods.

Nestled to the north by Tibet, the roof of the world —where one of history's greatest spiritual figures, Lord Buddha, was born— and framed by the highest mountain ranges on the planet, with their dazzlingly white peaks stretching heavenward like the serrated edge of a blade, which serve as the mystical residence of ancient yogis such as Vyasadeva, Nara-Narayana, and the millennia-old Markandeya Rishi, and as the source of sacred rivers venerated by hundreds of millions, India has birthed, in every direction, practically wherever the eye wanders, sites where, through countless ages, events of divine significance have unfolded. To the west lies Dwarka, the wondrous city Krishna built along the coastline to house his immense family; in the east, Orissa, with the famed temple of Jagannath Puri; in the Himalayas again, Badrinath; in the heart of the land, Mathura, Krishna’s birthplace; just a little further north, Kurukshetra, the site of the greatest battle in history as recounted in the illustrious epic, the Mahabharata; Ayodhya, the birthplace of Rama; Tirupati in the south; Sri Rangam; Pushkar! the place where the world began, where Brahma resided with his two wives, and the only site in the world with an ancient temple dedicated to his honor. And so on, and so on.

It is, of course, impossible to exhaustively list all the extraordinary places that have blossomed where divine wills have left their mark on the earth—places where posterity can still, through worship, transcend its limitations, glimpse the eternal, break free from the spell of the age, penetrate parallel dimensions, burn its bridges, and open itself to the worlds of spirits —in other words: to receive the gods! And yet, these zealous preachers, Christians and Muslims alike, tread this sacred ground underfoot!

One errs, truly, in attempting to describe the nature of Jagannath and Sachidevi’s thoughts. Who could dare claim to paint their sublime characters? They dwell simultaneously in two realms, the spiritual and the material. We should have gone straight to the point. Let it be said once and for all: their thoughts irresistibly hover over Vrindavan. Only Krishna’s pastimes captivate their hearts. To them, Vrindavan is the center of all worlds, whatever they may be.

Let us be precise: Nadia is a unique site, an open-air temple where the telluric currents carry the hope of the world and give rise to elevated beings. In the age of Kali, all pilgrimage sites deteriorate, but Nadia, having remained hidden for so long, is imbued with a special mission. Like a beacon, it will enable future generations to break away from outdated and primitive dogmas and reveal a deeper, more esoteric understanding of Divine Love.

Cryptic rumors suggest that all holy sites converge here in their subtle dimensions: Benares, the legendary forest of Naimisharanya where the sages of yore gathered to deliberate on earthly matters, Pushkar, Kurukshetra, the sacred rivers, Dwarka, and more. It was not far from here, during a pilgrimage, that Balarama, Krishna's half-brother, slew the demon Mayasura; that Nrishimhadeva came to drink and rest after vanquishing the fearsome Hiranyakashipu; and that Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana lived during their exile; that the Pandavas, much later during their exile, visited Nadia while staying in Ekachakra, a three-day journey to the south; and that the renowned poet Jayadeva lived here under the reign of Lakshmana Sen. This list could be extended further, but it is not of primary interest in this context. What truly emerges from this continuous exchange of visits and whispers is the persistent prophecy of a "Paraclete" —the mysterious advent of a protector and intercessor whose magnificence will be unmatched in the history of the world.

The dried mud on Jagannath's face gives him the appearance of a gaunt ascetic, accompanied by his wife, whose eyes seem to have sunk into their sockets. Sachidevi breathes deeply of the invigorating breeze stirred by the current, a subtle wind that drifts imperceptibly for miles around, infused with the saga of their ancestors, the spirits of the dead cremated on the riverbanks, their ashes cast into the waters for purification. The air is saturated with mystical emotions and the faint fragrances of Vrindavan.

This moment is likened to Yashoda, Krishna’s foster mother, welcoming Rohini, Balarama’s mother, who fled from Kamsa’s persecution. Sachidevi also recalls, as though her own, the agonies Devaki endured at the hands of her demonic brother, Kamsa: six of her children were mercilessly murdered by him. Thankfully, and by a miracle, Krishna was transferred from the prison to the village of Vrindavan and swapped with the daughter Yashoda had just given birth to. Exhausted from childbirth, Yashoda noticed nothing. Yashoda! What an extraordinary woman! Though the tale is ancient and enigmatic, it plays out in Sachidevi’s mind with timeless vibrancy and eternal colors.  ■

1. Vie de Mahomet, Virgil Gueorghiu. (Plon) 1962 et Jérusalem, 40 siècles d'histoire, Gerhard Konzelmann.

Next chapter: The Parents of Krishna

Preceding chapter: The Ganges