— Radhanath Swami's Journey

Radhanath Swami Arriving In Mathura

IT WAS ABOUT FIVE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING and dawn was just emerging. Not knowing where to go or what to do, Radhanath Swami stood with his friend on a railway platform, which bustled with the crowds who came off the train and the hundreds who wrestled to get on. Amid it all, a strange comfort arose in Radhanath Swami’s heart. It was similar to that feeling he had while praying in the temple of Kasi Viswanath, a feeling that something special was about to happen in his life. There appeared to be a jovial mood in the crowd. Gary and Radhanath Swami looked at each other and, remembering the flower that had determined their route through Europe, decided to stay put for the time being. After some time the station became quiet.

Radhanath Swami saw some sadhus sitting some distance ahead in a circle on the platform. Radhanath Swami gestured to Gary to wait and He approached them. “Excuse me,” Radhanath Swami inquired, “Where are we?” Saying nothing, a sadhu stared up into his eyes as if he had been waiting for Radhanath Swami. Rising to his feet, Sadhu broke the silence. “This is Mathura, Lord Krishna’s birthplace. And today is Janmastami, Krishna’s birthday.” On their invitation, Gary and Radhanath Swami walked with them to the place where the Janmastami festival was being celebrated. As they approached the main gate, one elderly sadhu turned to Radhanath Swami. “Do you know about Lord Krishna?” “Not very much,” Radhanath Swami admitted. He knew little more than Krishna was the blue boy in his picture, that his name appeared in the mantra Mother Ganges had let Radhanath Swami hear, and the story of how Krishna broke the clay pot and fed butter to monkeys as a child. “Could you tell me more?” Radhanath Swami said. Sadhu’s face lit up with enthusiasm as he repeatedly rubbed his beard and began. “Krishna is our name for the one God of creation. He is without beginning or end, unborn, and undying. The Lord resides in his Supreme Abode, but by his sweet will, he has taken birth in this world many times and in many forms throughout human history, all to show us the way out of suffering and into spiritual happiness.” The sadhu pointed into a huge courtyard teeming with throngs of pilgrims. “In this spot, Lord Krishna first appeared on earth five thousand years ago. Come. Please join us in the celebration.”

What Radhanath Swami saw inside spurred his curiosity. A massive mosque towered over a tiny underground temple for Krishna. “Is there some reason there is a mosque at Krishna’s birthplace?” Radhanath Swmai asked their self-appointed guide. “Previously this was the site of the Adi Kesava Temple, one of the greatest monuments in the world, but in the seventeenth century the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb destroyed it and built a mosque in its place.” “Why?” Gary asked.The sadhu shrugged his shoulders to convey his helplessness. “I suppose this was his way of showing the superiority of his religion and his power over the subjugated Hindus.” A hopeful smile crept back onto sadhu’s face. “But there is a plan to build a majestic temple for Lord Krishna just beside the mosque. Soon it will rise. Anyhow, this place is sacred regardless of what man does to it. Now let us go in and celebrate.”

The mood inside the courtyard was indeed one of celebration. Thousands of worshippers stood in line to enter the small underground temple of Lord Krishna, and legions more gathered above. In every direction, people were celebrating. Hundreds danced and chanted to live music played with drums, flutes, and cymbals; Elderly scholars claimed their places and lectured to their followers; and on a makeshift stage decorated with bright colored cloth, strings of flowers, and painted backdrops, stage actors in extravagant costumes relived the story of Krishna’s advent. Meanwhile, priests poured oblations of clarified butter into a sacred fire while chanting mantras from the Vedas, or ancient Sanskrit holy books. Smiling and singing, devotees tossed colored powders on one another as they roamed about from one event to another. Radhanath Swami And Gary saw Hindus with clay markings on their foreheads and bearded Muslims wearing their traditional caps laughing and dancing together—absorbed in the festivities. The recluses celebrated too, sitting on the sidelines softly chanting and fingering their prayer beads. During the festivities, lectures, songs, or conversations, Radhanath Swami frequently heard devotees say the word Vrindavan. Radhanath Swami could sense how dear this place called Vrindavan was to them.

They spent all day absorbing the wonderful sights and sounds of the birthday celebration. As midnight approached, swarms of people streamed through the lanes that led to the Yamuna River, crowding into the Dwarkadish Temple near its banks. According to the scriptures, it was at midnight that Lord Krishna appeared in the city of Mathura. Now everybody waited for that moment. Although the temple was already packed with thousands, a steady flow of thousands more managed to stream through the door. The police tried to control the crowds in vain with long bamboo sticks.

Neither Gary nor Radhanath had ever seen such massive crowds. To get a better view, they climbed up two pillars in the temple hall and looked down upon this astonishing scene. They scanned the multitude, which vibrated in anticipation. When the clock struck midnight, the doors of the inner sanctum swung open to reveal the altar of Krishna. A tumult of joy rose like a tidal wave. Enthralled, the people in the crowd were oblivious to being shoved and crushed. Old and young, male and female, rich and poor, all merged together with palms joined in prayer and eyes glossed with devotion. Small circles of villagers sang their own special songs, while everyone else laughed, cried, danced, and exuberantly called out Krishna’s holy names. For Gary and Radhanath Swami, clinging to their pillars, the eagerness of these pilgrims was astounding.

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