“The Nectar Once Tasted”

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“The Nectar Once Tasted” – Meerabai’s Final Song at Dwarka

There comes a moment in the life of a true devotee when longing ends—not because the desire fades, but because it is fulfilled so completely that no separation remains.

Such was the अंतिम अवस्था of Meerabai.

From the palaces of Mewar to the sacred dust of Dwarka, her journey had never been geographical. It was always inward—towards the irresistible pull of Krishna.

When the world pressed upon her—when kings demanded, when society questioned, when even suffering followed her departure—Meera did not resist. She simply turned again to her Beloved.

And at last, standing before Dwarkadhish, she sang—not as a seeker, but as one who had already arrived.

The Final Bhajan

साँवरा सुधा जो जानिसो लीनो,

तो औरन रस क्यों पीजै रे।

मीरा के प्रभु गिरधर नागर,

सहज मिले अविनाशी रे॥

The Stillness Behind the Song

What is this “सुधा”—this nectar—that Meera speaks of?

It is not merely the sweetness of divine name or form. It is the अनुभव—the lived, irreversible experience of the Divine presence.

Once the heart has tasted that:

The noise of the world becomes distant.

The attractions that once dazzled lose their hold.

Even suffering becomes softened, touched by grace.

“तो औरन रस क्यों पीजै रे”

Why seek any other taste?

This is not renunciation born of effort.

It is renunciation born of fulfillment.

Sahaja – The Effortless Union

“सहज मिले अविनाशी रे…”

In these words lies a profound secret.

The Eternal (अविनाशी) is not attained through strain or force.

It reveals itself in sahaja—a natural, effortless state.

Meerabai did not conquer the Divine.

She dissolved into it.

Her devotion was not a practice alone—it was her very identity. And when devotion becomes one’s nature, union is no longer an event. It is an inevitability.

The Final Offering

Outside, the world waited.

Messengers from Mewar stood in urgency. Brahmins, bound by their vow, were prepared to give up their lives. Duty called her back.

But Meera had only one duty left—to her Lord.

“I will seek His consent,” she had said.

And so she entered the sanctum.

No grand declaration followed. No witness recorded the moment. Only a song… flowing like a अंतिम श्वास (final breath), gentle and complete.

When the doors were opened, there was no Meera.

Only a saree…

wrapped around Dwarkadhish.

Not Disappearance, But Fulfillment

To the outer eye, it is a miracle.

To the inner eye, it is truth.

The river does not “vanish” when it meets the ocean.

It becomes the ocean.

So too with Meera.

Having tasted the nectar of Krishna, she could not remain separate. Her अंतिम भजन was not a plea—it was a gentle घोषणा (declaration):

“There is nothing else left to seek.”

We read Meera. We sing her songs. We admire her courage.

But her final bhajan asks us a quiet question:

Have we tasted even a drop of that nectar?

For if we have, even once, life itself begins to change.

And if we have not, her song remains—

an invitation… waiting to be heard.

From Radha to Meera

In the moonlit groves of Vrindavan,

she waited…

Radha—

a question woven in longing,

a name whispered into the night.

Love was पूर्ण… yet not complete.

For even in union,

she chose to remain—

so the world may learn what yearning means.

Ages turned.

In the palaces of dust and destiny,

another heart awoke—

Meerabai.

She did not wait.

She walked.

She sang.

She broke every chain the world could offer,

and wore only one bond—

the name of Krishna.

If Radha was the silent flame,

Meera was the गीत.

If Radha was the विरह,

Meera was the मिलन.

And at Dwarka, before Dwarkadhish,

the song found its अंतिम स्वर.

No echo returned.

No footsteps remained.

Only प्रेम…

folded into the Infinite.

And somewhere, beyond time,

the whisper arose:

“राधा का कर्ज चुका गई मीरा…”

Submarine

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Malud.

 At Malud, on the shimmering expanse of Chilika Lake—India’s largest coastal lagoon—an extraordinary devotional spectacle unfolds each year during the revered Malud Panchu Dola Melan Yatra.

This is no ordinary festival procession. It is a sacred convergence of divinity and nature.

The Crossing of the Deities

During the Panchu Dola Melan Yatra, 23 deities from surrounding villages are ceremoniously brought together. These are not merely idols—they are living presences for the devotees, embodiments of the divine that bless, protect, and unite the community.

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In a breathtaking moment, the deities are placed on decorated boats and taken across the waters of Chilika Lake. The vast lagoon becomes a moving temple. The rippling waters reflect not just the sky, but devotion itself.

A Festival of Unity and Devotion

The word “Melan” means gathering—and this is truly a grand divine assembly. Villages that may remain distant through the year come together in this sacred meeting of their presiding deities. It is believed that the gods themselves “visit” one another, strengthening spiritual bonds across regions.

The air resonates with:

Traditional music and drums

Devotional chants and kirtans

The rhythmic splash of oars cutting through holy waters

The crossing of the deities over Chilika is deeply symbolic:

Water as the cosmic bridge between the earthly and the divine

Movement as divine grace—God reaching out to devotees

Unity in multiplicity—many forms, one essence

It echoes a timeless Indian spiritual idea: the Divine does not remain confined to sanctums; it travels, mingles, and blesses all creation.

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A Living Tradition

Such events remind us that devotion in India is not static—it is dynamic, communal, and deeply intertwined with nature. The lake, the boats, the people, and the deities all become participants in a sacred drama that has likely been unfolding for centuries.

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Kili madapam.

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Belong.

 Where Birds Belong

A garden wakes in silent bloom,

With petals bright and sweet perfume,

The leaves may dance, the branches sway,

Yet something feels still far away.

For flowers smile in colors deep,

And ancient trees their vigil keep,

But silence lingers in the air,

As though a song is missing there.

Then softly, like a whispered grace,

A bird arrives, a fleeting trace,

And with its call, so pure, so clear,

The garden finds its voice to hear.

Each chirp a note, each trill a prayer,

That weaves through earth and sky and air,

A melody no hand can weave,

A gift no heart would dare to leave.

Now life awakens, पूर्ण, complete,

Where wing and wind and blossoms meet,

For gardens bloom in truest art

When birds sing close to nature’s heart.

Dham akshara.

Akshardham, Gandhinagar – Where Silence, Story, and the Self Meet

There are temples we visit…

and there are temples that continue to live within us long after we return.

My recent visit to Akshardham Temple was one such experience—layered, profound, and quietly transformative.

“At the threshold of Akshardham Temple — before the eyes see, before the mind quietens, before the journey truly begins.”

With me are nephew his darling and my sister.

 The Threshold of Stillness

At first, the temple greets you with grandeur—intricate carvings in pink sandstone, symmetry that feels almost meditative, and an atmosphere of quiet discipline.

The security checks, the absence of phones, the orderly movement—these may seem like formalities.

But slowly, they reveal their purpose.

They are not restrictions.

They are preparations.

For once, the mind is gently guided away from distraction… and towards presence.

The Darshan That Softens Time

Seated before the serene murti of Swaminarayan, something within began to quieten.

There was no urge to ask.

No restless movement of thought.

Just a still awareness.

The radiance of the murti does not overwhelm—it draws you inward. One does not stand there as a visitor, but as a seeker who has, even if briefly, stopped searching.

A subtle feeling arose: when the sentry at the cordened off area simply directed me to follow a small child who had just then run in to touch the feet of the figures of Radha Krishna, Siva Parvati and Ganesh. I felt this special privilege given to me was directional as I was admiring the sweet boy for his bold and daring act.

“This is not a place to speak…

this is a place to listen.”

 Beyond Stone – A Living Space of Reflection

Walking through the gardens, the pathways, the open spaces—one senses that Akshardham is not confined to its sanctum.

It breathes through:

the gentle movement of nature

the quiet footsteps of devotees

the shared stillness of strangers

Everywhere, there is a silent teaching:

We get to perform an abhisheka, they give the pavitra thread of red and yellow which we tie on our right wrist and a small goblet of water can be taken from the counter and we can perform the jala abhisheka to the gold Murthy of swamy narayana while we pray. We learn:

Live gently. Live consciously. Live with awareness.

Nachiketa – When a Story Becomes a Mirror

Among all the experiences, one moment stood out with striking clarity—the sound and light presentation of Nachiketa.

Here, the ancient wisdom of the Katha Upanishad came alive—not as philosophy, but as lived experience.

The young Nachiketa, calm and unwavering, stands before Yama and asks the question most of us quietly avoid:

“What lies beyond death?”

The interplay of light, shadow, and voice made the moment deeply immersive. The silence between the dialogues seemed to echo within.

When offered wealth, pleasures, and long life, Nachiketa refuses them all.

In that instant, the experience turned inward:

How often do we choose the temporary over the eternal?

How easily are we distracted from what truly matters?

The teaching emerged with quiet power:

The wise choose Shreya (the good),

not Preya (the merely pleasant).

As the show ended, there was applause around.

But within, there was stillness.

Because Nachiketa does not remain on the stage.

He walks with you.

His question lingers:

What am I truly seeking?

What do I consider lasting?

Am I ready to choose truth over comfort?

In that sense, Akshardham Temple offers something rare—it does not just inform or impress.

It awakens inquiry.

What stayed with me after leaving was not just the beauty of the temple.

It was a quiet calm—subtle, steady, and deeply reassuring.

Like a soft chant beneath the movements of daily life.

Perhaps that is the true prasadam of this sacred space:

Not something you carry in your hands…

but something that quietly settles in your being.

Temples like Akshardham do not demand devotion.

They create the space where devotion naturally arises.

And perhaps that is why, even now, a part of me remains there—

in that silent hall,

before that serene presence,

with Nachiketa’s question gently echoing within…

doing nothing,

yet feeling complete.

The word Akshardham carries a profound resonance.

Akshara means the imperishable, the unchanging reality—that which neither time erodes nor circumstances alter. Dham is the abode.

Thus, Akshardham is not merely a physical temple.

It is a reminder of the inner space where the eternal resides.

The dialogue of Nachiketa with Yama in the Katha Upanishad points precisely to this truth:

That beyond the changing body, beyond fleeting pleasures and fears,

there exists something unchanging… aware… eternal.

And perhaps, that is what this visit gently revealed:

Not just the grandeur of a temple,

but a glimpse of that Akshara within.

We travel to sacred places thinking we are going for darshan.

But sometimes, if grace allows,

we return with a quiet awareness that

the true Akshardham is not somewhere we go…

it is something we slowly discover within ourselves.

Happy faces a reunion after decades.

M at D

 When Song Becomes Silence: Meera Bai at Dwarka

There are journeys that move across land, and there are journeys that move through the soul. The life of Meera Bai belongs to the latter. From the palaces of Mewar to the dust-laden paths of devotion, from the playful memories of Vrindavan to the sacred echoes of Mathura, her heart sought only one presence—the dark, enchanting Lord she called her own.

And that journey finds its quiet, luminous culmination in Dwarka—the city of Dwarkadhish.

From Longing to Arrival

In her earlier songs, Meera is aflame with viraha—the sweet pain of separation. Every line trembles with yearning:

Where are You? Why do You not come? How shall I endure this distance?

But something changes in Dwarka.

Here, the questions fall away.

There is no more searching in the corridors of the heart. No restless wandering from shrine to shrine. Before Dwarkadhish, Meera stands not as a seeker—but as one who has arrived.

“Mere To Giridhar Gopal” — The Final Certainty

Mere to Giridhar Gopal, doosro na koi…

This well-known declaration of Meera is often sung as devotion. But in Dwarka, it becomes something deeper—identity.

There is no assertion here, no effort to convince the world. It is a quiet truth that has settled within her being. The one with the peacock feather, the flute-bearer, the Lord of her breath—He alone remains.

All other relationships fade like shadows at dawn.

The Treasure That Cannot Be Lost

Paayo ji maine Ram ratan dhan paayo…

What was once sought has now been found.

This “Ram” is her Krishna—the indwelling presence she had pursued across lifetimes. The bhajan speaks of a treasure that cannot be stolen, spent, or diminished. In Dwarka, this is not poetry—it is experience.

The restless hunger of the heart has turned into quiet contentment.

One senses that Meera is no longer singing to Krishna.

She is singing from within Him.

Dyed in the Color of the Divine

Main to saanware ke rang rachi…

There is a beautiful finality in this expression. Meera does not say she loves Krishna. She says she is colored by Him.

Just as a cloth dipped in dye loses its original shade, her individuality has dissolved into His presence. The world may speak, judge, or question—but such voices no longer reach her.

In Dwarka, devotion is no longer an act.

It has become her very nature.

The Soft Dissolving of the Self

There is a gentle, almost imperceptible shift in Meera’s Dwarka bhajans. The earlier defiance—the courage that rejected worldly norms—now melts into surrender.

Tan man arpan sab kuch diya…

(Body and mind, I have offered everything.)

Nothing is held back.

No trace of “I” remains to claim devotion.

There is only offering.

The Legend of the Final Union

Tradition holds that one day, as Meera sang before Dwarkadhish, something extraordinary occurred.

Her voice, filled with love and completion, flowed toward the deity—and did not return.

When the temple doors were opened, Meera was not to be seen.

She had merged into the idol.

Whether we receive this as history or as sacred metaphor, its meaning is unmistakable: the devotee and the Lord are no longer two.

An Echo Across Traditions

This moment finds a profound resonance in the experience of Tiruppaan Alvar at Srirangam. When he beheld the Lord, he sang:

“These eyes, having seen Him, need see nothing else.”

The sentiment is the same.

Vision itself finds fulfillment.

There is nothing more to seek.

Dwarka — Where Song Becomes Silence

If we listen carefully, Meera’s bhajans in Dwarka carry a different texture.

In Vrindavan, her songs are like a flowing नदी—restless, searching.

In Mathura, they become a मार्ग—seeking direction.

In Dwarka, they are the सागर—still, vast, complete.

Here, song moves toward silence.

Not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of fulfillment.

A Closing Reflection

In the end, Meera does not “attain” Krishna.

She simply ceases to experience herself as separate from Him.

Standing before Dwarkadhish in Dwarka, her life becomes a quiet teaching:

The highest devotion is not in calling out to the Divine,

but in discovering that there is no distance left to call across.

And when that happens—

Even song is no longer necessary.