To the melody Gurjari (Gita Govinda)

 
  To the melody Gurjari 

The Gita Govinda, a lyrical epic or epical lyric, by Shri Jayadeva, a Sanskrit poet of the last quarter of the twelfth century, is a poem with a unique and far different significance in entire Indian literature, before or after. Not merely a piece of writing, the Gita Govinda was an instrument that completely revolutionised, or rather revitalised,Vaishnavism, which encumbered by inner conflict of different Brahmanical sects and eroded by Islam and Islamic invasions frequently storming the subcontinent, was heading towards a point of collapse. Instead of metaphysical dogmatism, the Gita Govinda discovered Vaishnavism in love, devotion and absolute submission, the instruments that dispelled duality and led the self to unite with the Supreme Self.

       The theme of the Gita Govinda is relatively simple. One evening, when Nand was strolling in the forest along with Krishna, Radha and others, dark clouds gathered in the sky. Seeing signs of fear on Krishna’s face, Nand asked Radha to take him home. The verse is also interpreted to mean that frightened Krishna, not Nand, himself asked Radha to take him home. When on way, in an arbour on Yamuna’s bank, Krishna made love with Radha. This verse, with no apparent link with the rest of the poem, is the seed of the theme. In the rest of the 'Ashtapadi', a verse comprising eight stanzas, though this one has eleven, Jayadeva prays Saraswati and ten Vaishnava incarnations to enable him to compose his poem and extol Hari.

     Krishna is out in the forest celebrating the festival of Vasant and dallying with Gopis. Radha, hit by Lovegod’s arrows, too, is searching Krishna, her lover, everywhere but fails to find him. Around then, her trusted Sakhi informs her how Krishna is engaged in love with other Gopis. Initially, it hurts Radha and she condemns him for his infidelity but the heat of passion subdues her and forgiving his folly she asks her friend to search him and bring him to her.

    Radha’s Sakhi goes to Krishna, describes to him Radha’s sad plight, her love for him and

implores him to go with her and have love with Radha. Krishna declines but asks her to bring Radha to his bower and indulges again into his love-game with other Gopis. Sakhi goes back to

Radha. At first, Krishna’s attitude infuriates her but then renewed shots of Love-god’s arrows and Sakhi’s persuasive words compel her to agree. However,weakened by the fever of love

and day’s long wandering the feeble Radha tumbles down the moment she attempts to walk. The compassionate Sakhi again goes to Krishna but only to have the same cool response. The whole night Krishna keeps dancing and making love with Gopis. In the morning the red eyed

Krishna encounters Radha who chides him for his infidelity and pitiless attitude. By now, Krishna had realised his folly and felt repentant. The Love-god, too, had renewed his offensive on him. He conciliates Radha and retires with her into the forest.

             In an arbour, wreathed with garlands of flowers, on the bed of Kadamba leaves, they

make love, and in the love war passes the whole night. Radha, as if avenging his neglect of her, was often on offensive riding over him. Costumes had deserted her body, ornaments had fallen

and hair dishevelled. In the morning, she commands him to re-arrange her ornaments and comb with his fingers her dishevelled hair, and the enslaved Hari, who defeated Madhu, the mighty demon, but himself defeated by Radha’s love, complies.

Canto II  Aklesakesavah

(Un-anguished Kesava. Kesava is another name of Lord Krishna.)

In careless love with any among the herd-girls when Hari dwelt in the forest,

Radha, gone elsewhere, through broken pride and jealousy, gone to a thicket of creepers

Noisy above with the humming of swarms of bees encircling over,

Radha, hidden away and wasted in body, secretly said to her friend:

1. To the melody Gurjari and the accompaniment Yati

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

The sweet of whose nectar of lips kept flowing with notes of his luring melodious flute,

With the play of whose eyes and the toss of whose head the earrings kept dangling upon his cheeks.

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

Whose hair was encircled above with a circle of peacock feathers with moonlike eyes,

Whose beautiful form was a heavy cloud with a perfect rainbow coloured above.

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

Who had a desire for kissing the mouths of the gopi women with ample hips,

Hari whose sprout-like lips were flowers of bandhujiva, fair with his smile.

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

Whose thrilled and sprout-like arms with their hairs upstanding resembled the thousands of girls

Around him, Hari who smote the night with the many gems on his hands and feet.

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

Whose brow had a perfect sandal spot, as among dark clouds the disc of the moon,

Whose door-like heart was without pity when crushing the bosoms of swelling breasts.

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

Allaying their fear of sin who gathered together under the Kadamba tree,

Pleasing me with his mind, with quivering looks as of bodiless Love[1][1] embodied

I remember Hari, the jests he made, who placed his sport in the pastoral dance,

To whom recollection among the good the song now of Sri Jayadeva induces,

Recollection devout, Hari with Visnu’s deluding and charmingly lovely form.

---