In the vast expanse of the soul’s journey, true devotion blooms not through pedigree or pilgrimage but through the simple act of turning one’s heart toward Shyām Sundar, the dark-hued Lord whose only measure of worth is the sincerity of our love. No caste, color, or lineage can bind the seeker who comes with a pure intention, for it is not name or race that wins His grace, but the steady beat of an open, yearning heart.
Love of this caliber cannot be bought or brokered; it flourishes only in the fertile soil of humility. Imagine a merchant’s scales forever empty when weighed against the currency of true surrender—only when the ego dissolves and the soul bows without reservation does genuine bhakti arise. In that moment of self-abandonment, fear and doubt relinquish their grip, and we discover that the Divine was never distant—it was the walls of pride that kept us apart.
Hearing the stories of love can stir the mind, as it did for King Parikshit at the lotus feet of Shukadev, but mere intellect is a lamp unlit until it is kindled by experience. Shukadev recognized this gap between knowledge and nectar, guiding Parikshit beyond the surface of tales to taste the very essence of rasa, the ecstatic relish that leads the soul out of darkness into endless light.
And who better embodies that ecstatic taste than the Gopis of Vraj, whose wholehearted devotion humbles even the greatest mystics? Their every breath became a hymn, every glance a meditation on Krishna’s form—so potent that Kabir himself bows before their example. Muktānand Swāmi reminds us that such devotion is not an ornament for the few, but an open path for any heart mature enough to let go of all besides love.
If we dare to follow in their footsteps, surrendering our every thought and action to the Beloved, we too can transform life’s mundane moments into an unbroken dance of remembrance. Let us, then, lay down our burdens, sever the ties of ego, and walk the simple yet profound road of bhakti—one humble beat of the heart at a time.
| Verse | Translation |
| Premi janne vash pataliyo, Shyām sundar sukhkari re; Jati varan ne rupe na rijhe, Prabhujine bhakti pyari re… | The dark-hued Lord, so full of grace, Is won by love-not name or race. He cares not for one’s form or clan, But seeks devotion’s steady hand. |
| Prem na nipje desh videshe, prem na hate vechay re; Premina pasangma je shish sope, te jan premi thay re… | True love is not found travelling land, Nor sold by any merchant’s hand. He who bows with ego gone, Becomes a lover, pure and strong. |
| Premni vat suni Parikshit, savli samjan nav lidhi re; Samjine Shukmunie rasne chhapadyo, mokshni rit kahi didhi re… | When Parikshit heard love’s true theme, He did not grasp divinity’s scheme. Shukder hid true love’s delight, And showed the path to endless light. |
| Vraj vanitana premni age, udya koti Kabira re; Muktanand e premno marag, sanje te sant sudhirà re… | The love of Vraj’s maids so high, Humbles even Kabirs that try. Muktanand says: this path is known By saints with hearts mature and grown. |
Introduction on Paramhansa (Text): https://www.baps.org/About-BAPS/TheFounder%E2%80%93BhagwanSwaminarayan/Legacy/Disciples/Paramhansas.aspx
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