Paradise threatened
A unique book explores the competing tensions between religion and modernity in Krishna’s fabled playground,
ohn Stratton Hawley is a professor of religion at Barnard College, Columbia University. In the research that he has undertaken over several decades, the septuagenarian professor’s focus has been largely on the religious life of north India and Hinduism. In 2016 -17, he was a Fulbright-nehru Fellow, principally resident in Vrindavan, a small town of about 75,000 people in Uttar Pradesh and just about 160 km south of New Delhi.
That year, however, was not when Hawley made his first visit to Vrindavan, a town that boasts of hundreds of temples and where Krishna, the Hindu god and incarnation of Vishnu, is supposed to have spent his childhood. His first visit to Vrindavan took place in the fall of 1974, when he was 33 years old, in pursuit of a dissertation that had first brought him to Benares, now Varanasi. Many more visits followed. But the year-long fellowship as a resident at Vrindavan was remarkable.
One of the outcomes of that fellowship is this book, which is unique in every way.
Krishna’s Playground:vrindavan in the
21st Century is a rich and highly nuanced exploration of the evolution of a town associated with a playful child-god like Krishna and the contradictions that a modern, 21st-century planning of such a town can throw up. You will come across many books on Vrindavan (in Sanskrit, it means a forest of basil plants), its temples and the devotees of Krishna, who throng the narrow streets of that town. But none that brings out so tellingly the interplay of diverse issues such as the idea of a town, the onslaught of unplanned modernisation and the need to maintain the integrity of the ideas that gave birth to a town. In the process, Hawley makes the need to preserve the consciousness of Krishna a central imperative that no future architect undertaking the planning of Vrindavan can ignore.
Hawley’s fascination with Vrindavan and Krishna has its roots in his childhood memory of his father who on Sunday mornings would announce his decision to “skip church and get his religion on the golf course”. Young Hawley would wonder how on earth anyone could treat religion as a game. Religion was “work, real work — the ritual, the morality, even the music”. But Vrindavan and Krishna changed all that. Krishna’s apparently playful exploits and his amorous behaviour with the Gopis or women cowherds of the town were as stunningly epiphanic as his daring acts that were the manifestation of good triumphing over the evil. But the big difference was that unlike in traditional religion, the idiom of interaction with Krishna as a child-god i n Vrindavan was of love, affection and fun. The young scholar was quickly drawn to Krishna and Vrindavan, his abode, and he realised his father was not all that wrong.
Not surprisingly, Hawley draws a contrast between Krishna in Vrindavan and Krishna in later years, for instance, at the Kurukshetra battlefield advising Arjuna on the ways of the world or even later in Dwaraka. In his view, Krishna in Vrindavan inspires love and affection from his devotees, but Krishna in later years inspires allegiance. For the Krishna devotee, however, this contrast is immaterial. Indeed, so dominant are the images and exploits of the child-god Krishna in Vrindavan that they guide and influence even the terms of engagement between Krishna in Kurukshetra or in Dwaraka. Krishna is seen mostly as an incarnation of Vishnu, one of the Hindu trinity of gods. Vishnu is the preserver, while the other two, Brahma and Shiva, are creator and destroyer, respectively. As the preserver, Vishnu or his incarnation Krishna has become the most accessible of all gods for all devotees. Krishna in Vrindavan sets the tone for that relationship of love, but that equation remains largely unchanged, unlike what the author would like to believe.
But the book is much more than just the contrast between Krishna as the inspirer of love in his childhood and the inspirer of allegiance in the role he plays in later years. Each of the seven chapters in the book has a specific theme that explores the interplay between Krishna and the town of Vrindavan. The pathetic state of the Yamuna is brought out poignantly and the author is concerned that if the river is allowed to die because of years of neglect, Vrindavan may lose its character as the repository of Krishna’s love. The contrast between the old and the new town of Vrindavan, brought out in another chapter, is no less significant.
The author does not mince his words when he describes Vrindavan’s recent obsession with concrete monstrosities such as the skyscraper temple. His criticism that the Vrindavan Chandrodaya Mandir cannot become the future of the town is valid and the fear that such structures can sound the death knell for the spirit of Vrindavan is genuine. In another moving chapter, Hawley brings out t he relief, joy, disappointment and resignation of the large number of widows in the town, who were left with no choice other than to seek refuge in Vrindavan. Once again, he touches on the theme of contrast by bringing out how the old Vrindavan had kindled hope among the widows by offering them refuge there and the new Vrindavan may well have different ideas.
As i mportant and towering as Vrindavan is Shrivatsa Goswami, the author’s friend and guide, who introduced him to Vrindavan. With meticulous care and empathy, Hawley illustrates the complex relationship between Goswami and Vrindavan. As t he author ’s mentor, Goswami shows both courage and creativity in facing the changes that are taking place in Vrindavan.
Yet, the author does not hesitate from doubting if the strong winds of change have not weakened Goswami’s resolve to protect and preserve the inherent character of Vrindavan. But there is a difference. The author is unrelenting in his criticism of the inefficiency and insensitivity of the officialdom and the political leadership involved in Vrindavan’s redevelopment projects. But for G oswami, the author shows greater understanding, and understandably so. “For me, and for generations of students after me, the sight of Shrivatsa in Radharamanji’s temple is the sight of Vrindavan itself,” he observes.
Krishna’s Playground brings out another contrast, which is quite relevant for Vrindavan and its development as a modern town. In Hawley’s view, the idea of Vrindavan as the abode of Krishna as a child should always remain a central element in any planning that is undertaken to develop the town. The adjoining Yamuna river and the many spots in different parts of the town that revive memories of the adorable, fun-loving child-god should not be subordinated to the usual imperatives of development. His fear is that the spirit of Vrindavan, which is so central to the idea of Krishna, should not be the casualty of any development undertaken in the 21st century.
Hawley ’s concerns are not to be brushed aside as an orientalist scholar ’s fulminations against civic bodies keen on widening the roads and rebuilding old structures in the name of development. Parliamentarians and municipal commissioners engaged in redeveloping Vrindavan would do well to read Hawley’s magisterial survey of the town’s architectural strengths and weaknesses and the spirit of Krishna associated with different monuments in and around the town. With no pedantry and with no jargon, the book is a delightful and easy read.
Yet, there is pessimism at the end of the book. What Vrindavan stands for is under threat — both the physical world it created and the idea of love it propounded. With a deep sigh, which you can almost hear, the author concludes: “Has Vrindavan really been plowed under? Are efforts to redeem it simply for naught? If s o, that’s likely true for the planet. Vrindavan is the sign of our times.”
EACH OF THE SEVEN CHAPTERS IN THE BOOK HAS A SPECIFIC THEME THAT EXPLORES THE INTERPLAY BETWEEN KRISHNA AND THE TOWN OF VRINDAVAN