Vrindavan: All you say is 'Radhe Radhe'

Photograph by Preeti Verma Lal

In Vrindavan, I bought a pair of wooden slippers, wrapped a tulsi mala around my wrist, draped an orange 'Radhe Shyam' scarf around my neck and mingled with the crowd. I also sedulously picked up the mantra of Radhe Radhe. As I walked hurriedly in a stiff lane, a beautiful cow almost ran into me. I was reminded of the burly bulls in Spain and how well they gore with their horns. I could see the wrath in the cow's eyes but I certainly didn't want to be bloodied in Vrindavan. I closed my eyes, muttered the obvious Radhe Radhe and….. the cow walked away. Radhe Radhe.

Like a typical tenderfoot, the first question I asked in Vrindavan was, "What's to see here? Where do I go first?" Even before the monk in pink could answer, two monkeys jumped on the car and squealed. "Take off your sunglasses, take off your sunglasses," the exasperated monk ordered. I thought I was being blasphemous, so faster than a blink I took my sunglasses off and a back-to-peace monk said, "Every house in Vrindavan is a temple. There are 5,500 of them…" He walked away without solving the mystery of the sunglasses and from that moment I was on my own discovering Vrindavan, the place where the immortal story of Radha and Krishna unfolded.

Yes, every house looked like a temple, every wall had Radhe Radhe or Radhe Shyam written on it - some stenciled, others scribbled, some in marble, some etched in stone. More than 5,000 temples, that would take a lifetime to see, I thought. The crowd was milling on a street and florists with red roses and yellow marigolds were doing brisk business. I craned my neck, saw a temple swathed in white and stopped. It was the Shri Krishna-Balram Temple built by the International Society for Shri Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON), said to be one of the most beautiful in the town. Inside the temple, there were devotees from various parts of the world chanting or singing bhajans. A stunning-looking Oriana draped in a black saree came from Holland to serve, 'to do something', Keshava trudged from Italy 15 years ago to chant, to meditate and to be at peace at Shri Prabhupada's samadhi that abuts the temple. He can rustle up poori-sabzi, but he hasn't "forgotten pasta and lasagna." Lakshmana left Italy "because Krishna called me."

I was picking up pieces of information about Vrindavan and knew where to go next - Nidhi Van, a forest that has the Samadhi of Swami Haridas, the kund (pond) where Radha bathed, its most holy patch being the prakatya sthal of Lord Krishna, where you can see also His footprints. Nidhi Van is crowded with wild tulsi trees which, according to legend, have been there for more than 5,000 years; they neither die, they neither grow bigger. Photography is strictly prohibited inside the Van and you have to walk barefoot.

Not too far from Nidhi Van is the 300-year old Banke Bihari Temple. The lanes leading into the temple are lean and literally infested with guides, who call themselves 'social workers' and offer watered down rates in their broken English. "You sister, I brother, I social worker, only Rs 11, no parking if you go me.." I kept saying big 'Nos' but they just would not scamper away. I did intend to be tetchy and nasty in a holy land, but when my patience ran out I pulled the press card and with guilt said, "You want me to call the police." It worked, the guides scurried away and finally I could walk to the temple happily. It is said that Swami Haridas, the great Krishna devotee of Nimbarka sect, discovered the image of Banke Bihari in Nidhi Van and brought it here.

I discovered more temples - the Shahji Tenple that was built by Shah Kundan Lal, a rich jeweller from Lucknow. The temple is known for its spiral marble columns and the Basanti Kamara that is festooned with Belgian glass chandeliers and delicate paintings. The Rangaji Temple, built in 1851 in a traditional Dravidian style is dedicated to Lord Ranganatha or Rangaji depicted as Lord Vishnu resting on the Shesh Nag. Rangaji Temple comes alive in March-April during the 10-day Rath Mela where devotees pull the chariot car from the temple to the adjoining areas. The Govind Deo Temple was built in 1590 by Akbar's general, Raja Man Singh and it is said that Emperor Akbar donated some of the red sandstone that had been brought for the Red Fort at Agra, for the construction of this temple.
When evening came, I sat by the Yamuna and later listened to the bhajans by the widows who, abandoned by their family, have made Vrindavan their home. There are roughly 2,000 of them here who congregate in the four bhajan ashrams to sing paeans to Lord Krishna.

As I walked out of the Bhajan Ashram, I pulled out my sunglasses again. "Don't wear it, don't. The monkeys will snatch them and run away…" an old woman advised. Finally, the mystery was solved; wearing sunglasses was not sacrilege in Vrindavan, it was merely to keep the marauding monkeys away. Whoa!

In Vrindavan, I bought a pair of wooden slippers, wrapped a tulsi mala around my wrist, draped an orange 'Radhe Shyam' scarf around my neck and mingled with the crowd. I also sedulously picked up the mantra of Radhe Radhe. As I walked hurriedly in a stiff lane, a beautiful cow almost ran into me. I was reminded of the burly bulls in Spain and how well they gore with their horns. I could see the wrath in the cow's eyes but I certainly didn't want to be bloodied in Vrindavan. I closed my eyes, muttered the obvious Radhe Radhe and….. the cow walked away. Radhe Radhe.

Barsana
The Krishna story is never complete without a visit to Barsana, roughly 40 kms from Vrindavan. The 17-km stretch that takes off from the Delhi-Agra main road is awfully bumpy. But then there never is an agony without some ecstasy - on way you can see peacocks, herons and cranes roaming freely in the green fields and the sun setting behind the keekar trees.

Barsana is known for the Radha Rani Temple which is set atop a hill and you have to walk 200 steps to pay obeisance to the deity. The walk up can leave you breathless, but you can take the palki for Rs 80. The original Radha Rani Temple is said to be 5,000 years old but it is in a shambles and the deity has been shifted to the new red sandstone temple. From the ramparts of the temple one can also see the silhouette of a Radha-Madhav Temple built by Sawai Madhav Singh, the Maharaja of Jaipur.

If one were to put it this way, Barsana's USP would be the celebration of Holi, which is often held a week before the world celebrates it. Men from the neighbouring Nandagram troop to Barsana dressed in traditional white dhoti and angrakhas and play Holi with the gopis of Barsana, looking splendid in ghagra and blouse. They beat the men - at least pretend to - with sticks and that is why Barsana's Holi is also known as 'lathmar' Holi. All this is set to the accompaniment of music by innumerable bhajan mandlis that come to Barsana during the auspicious occasion.

Barsana is so crowded during the week-long celebration that even an ant doesn't find enough space to walk, an elderly Barsana-resident said proudly. He offered lassi in large earthen tumblers and went back in time to narrate stories about Radha and Krishna.

Gold Leaf Painting

The din from the ancient Banke Bihari Temple does enter through the glass doors into the basement where Giridhari Goswami is dexterously sheathing the palace columns with gold leaf. He is hunched over a canvas that has Bal Krishna stealing butter from the earthen pots - for years Goswami has been painting Vrindavan's presiding deity in the typical Braj shaili of Tanjore painting and for years Lord Krishna has been his only subject.

The Braj shaili entails painting Krishna on a fabric canvas, casing subjects in gold leaf and then studding it with semi-precious stones. The art originated in Krishnagarh in Rajasthan and was brought to Vrindavan by Swami Haridas, whose name is inextricably linked with Krishna-related art.

"I started when I was 12 and remember grinding stone to get the perfect colour. Things have changed now, water and oil colours picked from the market are abundantly used. For me, it is God's gift, nothing else," says Goswami whose family members have been the head priest of Banke Bihari temple since Akbar's reign. Incidentally, in the Goswami family, the art has never crossed the threshold of their home, they don't employ outsiders; when Goswami needs help he calls his four daughters who already are adept in the art.

Most of the paintings take months, if not years to finish. The effort is richly paid for - the price of a painting could go up to as much as three lakhs. Australian zircon and semi-precious stones are generally brought from Jaipur, so is the expensive gold leaf. Interestingly, the gold leaves are edible too.

Goswami, however, is not the only practitioner of this art. Vrindavan is dotted with shops that sell gold-leaf paintings. The subject is always Krishna, the art always magnificent.

Published in Discover India magazine, February 2005

Contact: Preeti@deepblueink.com