V. THE SACRED CITY
Few places on earth can boast of a more picturesque appearance or a prouder history than the holy city of Mathura on the Jumna. Reckoned as an ancient seat of religion and learning even in the fifth and seventh centuries, when pious Chinese travellers came to visit the shrines and monasteries of India, Mathura has retained its hold on the piety of the people ever since. And the cult of Krishna, with its many legends and rich poetry, has attracted pilgrims from the remotest Provinces of India to this far-famed town, where Krishna is said to have been born.
For among the many cults which have grown and flourished side by side within the all-embracing Hindu faith, none is more popular than that of Krishna or Vishnu. Siva inspired the sublime poetry of Kalidasa and Bharavi in the ancient times, and claimed worship in the mediæval temples of India from Kashmir to Orissa which are imposing even in their ruins. Siva is still the presiding deity at Benares and Dwarka, and has followers among many sects, and generally among the higher castes. But the faith of Krishna has a greater attraction for the multitude, and has spread with increasing rapidity among the masses in every part of India during the last thousand years.
The student of human religions traces this duality of faith through the entire course of Indian history, and perhaps also in the history of other nations and ages. Vedic doctrines and sacrifices were the monopoly of the privileged Aryan castes in ancient India, while the great leveller, Buddha, and other workers proclaimed a simpler faith to the common people. For a thousand years the classes and the masses stood apart, the higher castes practising the ancient rites, the mass of the population embracing the teachings of Buddha and rejoicing in Buddist celebrations. Modern Hinduism shaped itself to these dual conditions. The faith of the high and the privileged, vigorously preached by Kumarila and Sankara, has drifted into the cult of Siva; while the more popular faith of the multitude, with its monastic system and many celebrations, has drifted into the cult of Vishnu or Krishna or Rama. Buddhism disappeared from India because it was absorbed in this latter cult, and the contest between Hinduism and Buddhism in the early centuries after Christ reappears in the contest between the Sivites and the Vishnuites in the voluminous Puranas of Mediæval India.
For deep-seated in human nature is the distinction which divides the philosophic thought of the few from the popular beliefs of the many. The creed of the Sivites in its purest form is the creed of an Impersonal Universal Being, ruling the Universe by immutable law; while the creed of the Vishnuites is that of a Personal God, tending his creatures with love, answering to their daily prayers, supplying their daily needs. If the ancient poetry of India reflected the faith of Siva, the modern literatures of India drew their first inspiration from the legends of Krishna. If ancient reformers, Kumarila and Sankara, preached a philosophic Monism, modern reformers, from Ramanuja to Kabir and Chaitanya, have sought to unite all men in the worship of a Personal God. Listening millions in Bengal and Rajasthan, in Upper India and the Deccan, heard the name of Vishnu as the One Being to whom worship was due, and sang in their various tongues of the Incarnate god who took his birth at Mathura.
The bright sun of a cloudless Indian winter shone on the temples and turrets of Mathura on the morning when the boats from Bengal reached that sacred place. High up in lengthy panorama rose its edifices and curved spires to the sky, and crowds of people poured down the flights of stairs which lined the river Jumna to perform their morning bath and devotions. Brahmans stood in the water, breast deep, and held up their sacred threads, as they uttered the Hymn to the Rising Sun, which Brahmans in India have chanted for three thousand years:
"Tat Savitur Varenyam Bhargo Devasya Dhimahi Dhiyo yo nah Prachodayat."
Pious women lifted their veils, looked at the sky, and dived in the sacred river. Throngs of pilgrims from all parts of the Hindu world crowded the steps, while the sound of bells came from many temples, calling the faithful to the morning service.
Hemlata and her mother and Saibalini had looked with mute wonder and veneration on the spires and domes of the holy city in the dim light of the dawn. All the memories of their childhood, all that they had heard and learnt of Krishna the Infant, Krishna the Cowherd, Krishna the Lover, and Krishna the Saviour, came back to them as they looked for the first time on his sacred birth-place, dreamt of in their dreams, sung in their lays. The feeling was too deep for words, and tears glistened in their eyes. And a holy joy, a craving for Infinite Love, and a blind aspiration after the Unknown, which dwells in every man, welled up from their hearts. The grey light of the dawn broadened into daylight, and the three women stepped out of their boats and made their ablutions in the river.
Sirish had gone to a temple to make arrangements, and soon after sunrise all four entered a temple where the morning service had begun. It was the morning Arati, and a crowd of worshippers, mostly women, had already gathered in front of the sacred image. They brought some flowers or baskets of offerings which they placed before the image, and some added a silver coin. The priest chanted the appointed prayer in Sanscrit, and the smoke of the incense filled the dark temple. And when at last the prayer was ended, and the bells had tolled their last, the worshippers bent down before the image and received the blessings of the priest.
The morning was passed in visiting the numerous shrines and temples of the sacred city, and the evening was spent in a visit to the equally sacred town of Brindaban.
Mathura is the birth-place of Krishna; Brindaban is associated with the legends of his boyhood and early youth. Born a human child with human failings, Krishna was a wild and mischievous boy, and a hundred stories are told of his adventures and follies. How he was born in a stall and was saved from the massacre of the innocents ordered by the tyrant of the land, how he stole milk and butter from the dairies of Brindaban and was fastened to a tree as a punishment, how he led kine to the fields and was the playmate of other cowherds, how he played on his flute and made love to the milk-women of Gokul, how he destroyed a serpent and lifted a rock, how he returned from Dwarka and killed the tyrant king—these and such other tales of his human feats and human frailties are narrated in every village home in India, and endear him to man, woman and child among the millions. Worshipping Krishna as an incarnation of the Deity, they are drawn closer to the man for his human weaknesses and sufferings, his human struggles and triumphs.
For days together the Bengal ladies visited every spot connected with the legends of Krishna, while Sirish often went to Agra to make inquiries about Noren. Noren had been honoured by the Emperor and had left Agra on a mission to Mewar, but no one could tell when he would return. Raja Man Singh had gone back to Bengal, but Sirish had introductions to other high officers, Hindu and Mohammedan, and he was nothing loth to prolong his stay in the Imperial city until Noren's return.
Among the chiefs and officers whose acquaintance he made were some relations of Sher Afghan, who received him cordially. Sher Afghan had himself written to them about the Zemindar of Debipur, and Sher Afghan's wife had written to the ladies of the house about Hemlata. The Moslem ladies were good and kind to the fair stranger from the East; they took her to see all the sights of Agra. Sher Afghan's sister took her to the Naoraz Bazaar, as the reader is already aware.
News arrived at last that the mission to Mewar had done its work, and peace had been concluded between Mewar and Agra. Noren's return now was a question of days, and Sirish became more and more anxious to meet the long-lost friend of his boyhood. Hemlata spoke not, but her heart was filled with eager expectation, and her soul owned a thrill of intense if silent joy.
Preparations were also made for the return journey to Bengal, and the time was nigh when mother and daughter must part. Hemlata's tears and entreaties to persuade her mother to return were vain, as Hemlata knew they would be vain. And yet, as the day of departure came nearer, the daughter felt the pain of separation as she had never thought she would feel.
"What is home to me," asked the weeping Hemlata, "when father is dead and gone, and mother lives far off? What is wealth or rank to me if I am alone and miserable?"
"Alone thou art not, child, and the All-Merciful will not make thee miserable. Serve thy husband with affection and love, be the Griha-Lakshmi of the House of Debipur, make thy home pleasant and cheerful, let not the poor go away hungry from thy gates. This is the duty which our religion imposes on women. And when thou art the happy mother of grown-up sons the time may come when thou mayst choose the path of contemplation prescribed by our faith for those whose task in life is done."
"But we are young and inexperienced, mother," still pressed the disconsolate Hemlata, "and we shall need thy guiding hand and mature wisdom. Wilt thou not be near us to help and advise in the affairs of our Debipur estate which thou knowest so well? Wilt thou not see Noren, whom thou hast brought up as thy own son, restored to the House of Birnagar, which is thy father's house too? And if the Merciful Bhagavan gives us children, will they not learn to lisp thy loving name and share thy loving kisses?" Hemlata burst into tears.
"Tempt me no more, child," replied the mother, wiping away her own tears. "Debipur and Birnagar are dreams to me, the world is an illusion. It is ordained by the Most High that in this illusion we must live and suffer and struggle till our training is complete and our eyes are opened to the Reality, which is God. Long have the affairs of this earth engaged the sleeper, long have they exercised my dreams. The Holy Foot of Krishna is the only reality for me now, and this sacred shrine shall be my home till it pleases Him to liberate me from my earthly bonds. His will be done."
Thus spoke Hemlata's mother; thus speak millions of Hindu women in India, for to them the world is an illusion, religion is a reality.