A few months ago, I finished reading A. Whitney Sanford's Singing Krishna: Sound Becomes Sight in Paramananda’s Poetry. I
reviewed the book on my Shelfari account and I’m posting the brief review here
for the benefit of my readers.
'Singing Krishna' is beautifully written; rich in detail and emotion, this study of Paramananda's classic poetry deserves to be called a classic in its own right. The author's familiarity with the theology and textual background of Braja devotional poetry enables her to identify the nuances and subtleties of Paramananda's poetry which would otherwise go unnoticed to the uninitiated. Sanford's guiding commentary on the poetry enables the reader to participate in the enactment of the poetry themselves and provides them with the framework and apparatus with which they can explore their own connection (and perhaps, place) in the poetry.
It's difficult to find anything in the book that warrants major criticism. It would, however, have been useful if the author had provided a transliteration of the poetry- this would enable the reader to read the poetry in its original language. Since this work purports to explicate the role of Paramananda's poetry in the ritual cycle of Krishna's service, it would have been that much more useful if the author had drawn more explicit connections between the periodic ritual performances and the poetry. All in all, a wonderful work that I thoroughly recommend'
It's difficult to find anything in the book that warrants major criticism. It would, however, have been useful if the author had provided a transliteration of the poetry- this would enable the reader to read the poetry in its original language. Since this work purports to explicate the role of Paramananda's poetry in the ritual cycle of Krishna's service, it would have been that much more useful if the author had drawn more explicit connections between the periodic ritual performances and the poetry. All in all, a wonderful work that I thoroughly recommend'
As the review points out, I think that the
author, A. Whitney Sanford, did a truly impressive job in conveying the
devotional spirit and theological richness of the Pushti Marga tradition. I
remember reading the book and thinking how much my own tradition can learn from
the way the Pushti Marg tradition structures its rituals and practices its
devotion. As is common with most of the Krishna-centered bhakti traditions, Pushti
Margi’s divide the cycle of Krishna’s daily life into eight divisions, each
division corresponding, in turn, to a particular lila and bhava, pastime and (dominant)
emotion or mood.
This division of Krishna's daily life into eight periods is known traditionally as ashtayam lila. Many of the devotional movements that emerged in Braja during the 16th and 17th centuries have instituted, in their temples, some variation of the ashtayam seva; in Vaishnavism the deity or murti is worshipped and served as a conscious, living form of Krishna; a svarupa that requires constant care and attention. In other words, proper devotional participation in deity worship requires all of Krishna's needs to be attended to. As Krishna's lila or playful sports change throughout the day, his needs similarly vary depending on the occasion.
The ashtayam lila or Krishna's eternal eightfold daily pastimes involve, according to the Pushti Marg tradition, the following activities: Krishna is woken in the morning, dressed shortly thereafter and then instructed to carry out his cow-herding duties. At midday the Lord returns home for his midday meal where he is offered a lavish feast. His midday lunch is followed by a quick nap until he is woken again and allowed to resume his cow-herding past times. After an additional snack, Bhagavan begins preparations to bring his cows home. As the sun dips over the horizon, Shyamsundar returns with his herd of cows only to be greeted by the restive gopis, who have suffered all day in separation from their beloved Lord. The final period of the day sees Krishna retire to his bed chamber for the duration of the evening. He's had a long tiresome day and welcomes the opportunity to secure some rest.
What distinguishes the Pushti Marg tradition from its Vaishnava counterparts is the aesthetically rich configuration of its rituals and darshans. The sanskrit word 'darshan' means 'to see' or 'to view' and in the ritual context refers specifically to the periods wherein the deity of Krishna is made available for public viewing. There are eight darshan periods the day, each of which corresponds to the divisions of Krishna's daily life or his ashtayam lila. These darshan periods are known, traditionally, by the following names (listed in chronological order): Mangala, Shringar, Gval, Raj Bhoga, Utthapan, Bhog, Sandhya and Shayan.
What I find so attractive in Pushti Marg is its unrivalled ability to create remarkable darshan experiences that enable devotees to tangibly participate in the deity's ashtayam lila. For most temples, the darshan periods, visually at least, look generally quite similar. In other words, though they may be a change in the deity's clothing or another slight modification to the ritual structure, by and large, there is nothing that visually distinguishes one darshan period from another. With the Pushti Marg, things are radically different; each darshan period is configured in such a way so as to enable devotees present to perceive and realize the actual lila that the deity performs during the particular darshan period. So, for example, at Nathdwara (a site of huge religious importance for the Pushti Marg tradition- it houses the deity of Srinathji), the Raj Bhog darshan commences with the blowing of trumpets and playing of drums (so as to announce to all present the commencement of the darshan). Privately, the Lord will be seated behind a beautiful facade of a regal pavilion made usually from one of a number of materials (typically, either, gold or silver). A pichoi (decorated backdrop) detailing the lila of the period enhances the visual experience and embellishes the temple setting. All in all, the darshan experience constitutes a veritable feast for the eyes and acts as a beautiful stimulant of devotion.
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| Surdas |
In my view, what really adds to the darshan experience and renders it utterly unique is the Pushti Marg practice of Haveli Sangeet. Haveli is the name that the Pushti Margis use to refer to their temples and sangeet, of course, refers to song or music. In Pushti Marga, temple musicians offer a variety of bhajans and padas (sacred poems) to the deity, all of which are sung in accordance with the season, darshan period and bhav or dominant mood. The actual selection of the poems will vary from Haveli to Haveli but more often than not they are selected from the compositions of the Asthachap poets- a famous entourage of eight devotional poets all belonging to the Pushti Marg tradition. Four of the poets, Surdas, Paramanandadas, Kumbhandas and Krishnadas, were disciples of Sripad Vallabhacharya a leading figure in the Bhakti Movement of the 15th and 16th century.
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| Asthachap Poets |
By reciting and singing only those poems that detail the deity's lila of the relevant darshan period, the Haveli Sangeet experience enhances the devotees ability to participate directly in the ashtayam lila of Bhagavan. In fact, this recognition of music's capacity to stimulate and enhance devotional experience is precisely what Sanford is getting at when she speaks about 'sound becoming sight' in the poetry of Paramananda.
In the Chaitanya Vaishnava temples that I've visited, this meticulous approach to the aesthetics of the darshan period seems to be lacking. The ornamentation and dress of the deity (what we call shringara) is often elaborate and thoughtfully arranged but, in and of itself, this doesn't really provide the laity with a setting or a mood conducive enough to facilitate participation in the ashtayam lila. The darshan experience and rituals performed do not, for example, indicate the lila or bhava of the period. The problem is exacerbated, in one sense, by the style of kirtan that is performed during the darshan and arati period.
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| Vallabhacharya |
I remember visiting Bhaktivedanta Manor (a beautiful ISKCON temple situated in Watford) for the Mangal Arati period early one morning. The congregational recitation of the Hare Krishna maha mantra forms a key part of the liturgical set-up at the temple; I have no problem with this. The problem that I sometimes experience is that the style and pitch of the kirtan, if conducted improperly, can often interfere with the appropriate mood of the period. So, for example, at Mangal Arati, early in the morning when Krishna is being woken up, what I'd expect to find is a soothing low-pitch kirtan that helps to enhance the serenity of the occasion. Instead, I was confronted with an incredibly loud and high pitched kirtan where its participants, on the face of it at least, appeared to be competing with one another on decibal units. It may just be me, but I find that such practices detract from the darshan experience and inhibits the sort of devotional feeling that I referred to earlier.
