The Bittersweet Taste of Spiritual Separation

Devotees find the deepest pleasure in their anguished longings for the company of Lord Kṛṣṅa.

By Kālakaṅṭha Dāsa

WHEN THE NOTED scholar and political leader Rāmānanda Rāya asked Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu to point out the most painful thing in the world, He replied that nothing in this world is unbearable except separation from the Vaiṣṅava, the devotee of Lord Kṛṣṅa.

Śrī Caitanya’s disciplic descendant Narottama Dāsa expressed a sense of separation like this: “I will smash my head against rock and enter into fire. Where has that great dancer, Lord Gaurānga [Caitanya], suddenly gone?”

Fellowship of Vaiṣṅavas, devotees of Kṛṣṅa, makes sense out of a senseless world. Vaiṣṅavas bless our lives with Kṛṣṅa consciousness. In their presence problems vanish and hurdles shrink. Having lived with such persons, how can one live without them?

Because pure devotees remind everyone about Kṛṣṅa, separation from them and separation from Kṛṣṅa Himself are equally distressing. Yet this distress produces ecstasy, for separation from Kṛṣṅa immerses one in thoughts of Kṛṣṅa—the highest pleasure of the soul. Spiritual separation, in that respect, is the polar opposite of material separation, which produces only grief. In separation from Kṛṣṅa one can savor the finest moods of spiritual fulfillment.

Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam tells of Kṛṣṅa’s life and of His departure from this world. The following verse rendition of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam’s First Canto, Chapters 14 and 15, portrays devotees’ intense separation from Kṛṣṅa.

With Kṛṣṅa’s help, King Yudhiṣṭhira, the eldest Pāṅḍava brother, has won the throne of the earth. Now, his reign established and his grandson Parīkṣit in training to eventually inherit the throne, Yudhiṣṭhira dispatches his younger brother Arjuna to consult with Kṛṣṅa at Dvārakā, the Lord’s coastal kingdom.

Because the sage Nārada had earlier hinted about Kṛṣṅa’s departure, Yudhiṣṭhira feels anxious. When Arjuna does not return on time, Yudhiṣṭhira’s anxiety increases. He calls another brother, Bhīma, for a discussion. Then Arjuna returns with the wrenching news of Lord Kṛṣṅa’s departure, confessing his own shocking weakness in Kṛṣṅa’s absence. How will Yudhiṣṭhira respond?

Arjuna traveled westward to that kingdom by the sea, to meet the Lord and others of the Yadu dynasty. A string of evil omens sparked King Yudhiṣṭhira’s concern as he counted off the days and hoped Arjuna would return.

Just after Yudhiṣṭhira dispatched his trusted younger brother, the weather due in one season turned up within another. Good citizens transformed, becoming greedy, angry mobs and cheated for their livelihood, neglecting honest jobs.

Beloved, trusted friends practiced deceit on one another, and quarrels manifested between fathers, sons, and mothers. Malicious disagreements broke the bonds of man and wife. King Yudhiṣṭhira had never seen his subjects in such strife.

As citizens degraded to unrighteous, troubled ways, King Yudhiṣṭhira concluded something must have gone astray. He thought his reign was pious and this trouble undeserved, so Yudhiṣṭhira called Bhīma to his chambers and observed:

“Arjuna went for Kṛṣṅa’s counsel. Seven months have passed, and in his absence many evil omens have amassed. I wonder if Lord Kṛṣṅa has departed from our lives as Nārada predicted. Has the time so soon arrived?

“The left side of my body, for the past eleven days, has constantly been trembling in an inauspicious way. My heart is palpitating due to vague, uneasy fear. These signs imply an evil time is quickly drawing near.

“The jackal-bitch rebukes the moon while spewing acrid flame, and barking dogs harass me without fear, respect, or shame! The donkey walks around me, while my horse appears bereft. Auspicious beasts like cows now pass me only on my left.

“Just see! The pigeon heralds news of detriment and doom, while shrieking owls and ravens fill my heart with dread and gloom. These birds foretell the world will fall into some great abyss. O Bhīma, have you noticed how the world all seems amiss?

“The earth and mountains throb beneath an evil, smoky sky, while lightning bolts from cloudless thunder shock and mystify. When clouds appear they shower blood in terrible monsoon, while violent winds hurl dust about and dim the sky at noon.

“The sun recedes quite early, turning evening into night, revealing stars that seem to be engaged in bitter fights. I’m not the only one who holds such pessimistic views, for everyone I see is shedding tears and quite confused.

“The rivers, lakes, and reservoirs rise ominously higher, and ghee no longer sets ablaze the sacrificial fire. My mind is weak and seems to grow increasingly disturbed. What is this strange, perplexing time, and what is to occur?

“The cows no longer nurse their calves. They cry all day and night. The bulls out in the pastures can no longer find delight. The deities appear to weep and want to leave their shrines. Our lovely towns are ugly now. Is this the end of time?”

As Yudhiṣṭhira expressed his fears to Bhīma in this way, it happened that Arjuna came back home that very day. Arjuna came before him, and King Yudhiṣṭhira surmised his brother was consumed with grief, for tears obscured his eyes.

The king was shocked to see Arjuna sickly, weak, and pale. “The prophecies of Nārada,” he thought, “shall never fail.” As many friends arrived and sensed the dread within the room, The king inquired of Arjuna that fateful afternoon:

“Welcome home, dear brother! Speak of Kṛṣṅa. How is He who loves the cows, the brāhmaṅas, and His faithful devotees? Since Kṛṣṅa and His brother grace Their kingdom by the sea, these must be days of pleasure for the Yadu dynasty!”

King Yudhiṣṭhira asked further of Lord Kṛṣṅa’s friends and wives. but all could see Arjuna didn’t meet his brother’s eyes. At last the King inquired, “Dear Arjuna, are you sick? Did somebody mistreat you as you made your lengthy trip?

“Did someone speak unkindly words or dare to threaten you? Could you not give in charity or pay some sort of dues? You always guard the cows, the priests, the women, and the weak; have you now disappointed them? Arjuna, can you speak?”

Arjuna barely heard the King spell out his speculations for he was numb and struck with grief from Kṛṣṅa’s separation. His handsome mouth and fluid heart appeared to have gone dry. His body pale, Arjuna failed to utter a reply.

Arjuna smeared his hands across his reddened, teary eyes and thought of Kṛṣṅa’s love as he released a heavy sigh. Remembering how Kṛṣṅa toughened him when he was weak, Arjuna calmed himself, inhaled, and raised his head to speak.

“Lord Kṛṣṅa has departed. We’re alone now, Yudhiṣṭhira. My strength in war, which stunned the gods, has also disappeared. I must discuss Lord Kṛṣṅa first, for I feel such remorse, the universe seems empty and as lifeless as a corpse.

“O Yudhiṣṭhira, I see His face, His warm, enchanting smile! I hear His voice addressing me in sweet, informal style: ’O son of Kuntī, my dear friend, great hero of the realm.’ As I remember Kṛṣṅa now, my heart is overwhelmed.

“Lord Kṛṣṅa dined, relaxed, and spoke with me, His friend, each day. As I felt quite familiar, I would tease the Lord and say, ’Oh, You are very truthful!’ as He made some clever ploy. He’d smile at me exactly as a father to his boy.

“I am ’the great Arjuna,’ so-called hero of such fame! My bow and arrows, chariot and horses are the same! Without Lord Kṛṣṅa, I’ve become as useless, in a flash, as seeds cast over barren land or ghee poured over ash.

“When I gave up my duty in the Kurukṣetra war, Lord Kṛṣṅa kindly counseled me until I felt restored. The sweet and holy lessons that I heard the Lord impart still fascinate my shattered mind and ease my burning heart.”

Recalling Kṛṣṅa’s sacred words with loving dedication, Arjuna stopped abruptly and slipped into meditation. By contemplating deeply what Lord Kṛṣṅa did and said, Arjuna seemed to calm the storm that raged within his head.

Arjuna’s pain appeared to be unbearably intense till Kṛṣṅa’s words returned to him, restoring common sense. By consciousness of Kṛṣṅa, he transcended any doubt. He saw the wheel of birth and death and readied to get out.

To Yudhiṣṭhira, the shocking news was worse than he had feared, but he had long prepared to act when Kṛṣṅa disappeared. That very instant he resolved to leave his worldly throne and follow Kṛṣṅa back to His eternal, blissful home.

The Kali-age set in the day that Kṛṣṅa disappeared, engulfing earth with hatred, lies, and poisoned atmosphere. Unlike those modern leaders who hang on until they rot, King Yudhiṣṭhira renounced his throne without a further thought.

For Yudhiṣṭhira had tutored young Parīkṣit like a son to carry on the monarchy, and now that time had come. Completing years of duty to his subjects, friends, and wife, now Yudhiṣṭhira held rituals to give up family life.

Relinquishing his splendid jewels, silk, and royal belt, and feeling more disinterested than he had ever felt, the former king surrendered his whole body unto death and blended, with the greater air, his body’s living breath.

Then Yudhiṣṭhira concluded, as a soul he had acquired his earth-and-water body as the fruit of his desires. Returning all these elements he’d borrowed for this spree, he merged his life in spirit and behaved accordingly.

He dressed in ragged garments and untied his splendid hair, and showed upon his face only a silent, vacant stare. Without consulting anyone, he started walking north, and thought only of Kṛṣṅa as he aimlessly went forth.

Observing what the king had done to greet the Kali age, his younger brothers chose to do the same, for they could gauge that irreligious Kali would extract a heavy toll, infecting all the citizens with selfish, evil goals.

The saintly sons of Pāṅḍu had encountered many trials. They always followed scripture and did everything worthwhile. That day they took the final step that makes a life complete and fixed their minds entirely on Kṛṣṅa’s lotus feet.

Thus purified, the sons of Pāṅḍu kept themselves absorbed in flawless meditation on their sweet, beloved Lord. Lord Kṛṣṅa gave all five a gift not usually attained: admission, in their bodies, to His personal domain.

The pastime of the Pāṅḍavas departing from this world compares with Kṛṣṅa’s pastimes, for it’s absolutely pure. A faithful soul who listens to it well from start to end arouses pure devotion to Lord Kṛṣṅa deep within.

EPILOGUE—In the renowned Bhagavad-gītā, when Arjuna struggled on the battlefield Kṛṣṅa urged him to do his duty, but with detachment. This final act of the Pāṅḍavas—renouncing the world of ordinary responsibility—does not contradict Kṛṣṅa’s order. Such renunciation is itself a human duty, especially at the end of life. We may not be able to die to this world as thoroughly and abruptly as Yudhiṣṭhira and his brothers did. But we can die to it a little each day as we are born into loving separation from Lord Kṛṣṅa and His great devotees such as Śrīla Prabhupāda. For it is this materially bitter but spiritually sweet sense of separation that opens the door for us to Lord Kṛṣṅa’s eternal, blissful abode.

Kālakaṅṭha Dāsa is the author of The Song Divine (a lyrical rendition of the Bhagavad-gītā). He is the resource development director for the Māyāpur Project. He and his wife and their two daughters are members of the Hare Kṛṣṅa community in Alachua, Florida.

Disciples and followers of His Divine Grace A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda will celebrate the twenty-fifty anniversary of his passing on November 8. (The date may vary by one day in various parts of the world. Consult your local Vaiṣṅava calendar or Hare Kṛṣṅa center.)