The Thief of Hearts and the Green Pomegranate

A Puruṣottama-month Kṛṣṇa-kathā from the garden of Govindajī in Jaipur. The pūjārī finds the Deity’s clothes torn and muddied one morning behind a door locked from the outside, and asks Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī in meditation what happened. The answer involves an unripe pomegranate, a gardener with a stick, and a Lord who is proud of being called a thief.

Hare Kṛṣṇa, dear devotees, dear mātājīs and Vaiṣṇavīs. We continue our sweet stories from Śrī Kṛṣṇa-kathā during Puruṣottama-māsa. Today we will visit the famous garden in Jaipur — the garden of Govindajī — and hear a story, immersing ourselves in a pastime of Govindajī with His devotees. Before that, let us recite our prayers.

When we hear these stories, we try to enter into them through sound, and we pray that we may enter into the līlā itself. Then the darśana of that pastime may be revealed to us. Thus, through sound, we can enter a līlā. When we come to a holy place and hear the stories connected with that place, we pray, and through sound we become participants in that līlā. We may see the pastime; we may receive darśana of the Deity and perceive His play.

How Govindadeva Came to Jaipur

During Aurangzeb’s time, a cruel ruler persecuted Vaiṣṇavas and the Deities. He did not like having nearby someone whom he regarded as a rival. He did not like Govindadeva, the Deity who is the Lord of Vraja. But the Lord also does not like to live beside someone who hates Him. The Lord always wants to live where He is loved.

And so, under threat of destruction, the Vaiṣṇavas secretly transported the Deity of Govindadeva away. They carried Him on carts and eventually brought Him to Jaipur. At that time, Mahārāja Jai Singh I had built a new palace for himself. But when Govinda arrived, the king gave Him his palace and lived in simple quarters, making no claim to luxury. He began ruling Jaipur on Govinda’s behalf.

Torn Clothes Behind a Locked Door

The chief pūjārī of the temple in Jaipur was Govindacaraṇa Gosvāmī. He was no ordinary person — no ordinary devotee, no ordinary servant. Every morning before maṅgala-ārati, Gosvāmījī, the pūjārī and servant of the Lord, would use his key to open the royal chambers where Govindajī lived — where this playful cowherd boy from Vṛndāvana had taken up residence.

Everything continued as usual until one morning Govindacaraṇa noticed that the Lord’s clothes were torn and stained with mud. He looked at the Deity. Govinda, as always, was smiling mischievously, pretending to be playing His flute. It seemed to the pūjārī that He had been wandering somewhere during the night, even though the door had been locked from the outside.

But the Lord is a thief, after all. What kind of thief would He be if He could not open any lock?

The matter might have remained a mystery, but the pūjārī decided that he had to understand what had happened during the night. After all, he ought to know the One whom he served. He wanted to know what had taken place. Because he was a great devotee, he could, through meditation, enter samādhi, see the Lord, and communicate with Him.

“Lālī, Where Did You Go Wandering Tonight?”

He entered trance and began praying to Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, asking Her to reveal the secret of what They had done that night. He prayed: “Lālī, tell me — where did You go wandering tonight?”

Bhaktivinoda Gosvāmī Mahārāja, who heard this story, commented that the merciful Mistress did not keep the secret from the pūjārī for very long. And then Lālī — Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī — began to explain:

“When darkness fell, Lālā took Me into the garden because He wanted to eat pomegranates. But just as He stretched out His hand toward a pomegranate and tried to pick it, the gardener heard the noise and came running with a stick. As Lālā ran away, He tore His dhotī and got Himself covered in dirt. And the pomegranate He managed to steal was still green — but Lālā ate it anyway.”

When the pūjārī emerged from his trance-like conversation with Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, he looked around the siṁhāsana, the throne where the Deities stood. And to his delight, he discovered unripe pomegranate seeds scattered everywhere. Govindajī stood there smiling.

The Gardener Learns Whom He Chased

Then the pūjārī called the gardener. “Tell me, please. Did someone come into your garden last night looking for pomegranates?”

“Yes, Mahārāja. Two children climbed into the garden. I chased them away with a stick. I thought they must have been the children of one of the servants.”

Tears immediately appeared in the pūjārī’s eyes. “Do you know who those children were? Do you know how fortunate you are? Govindajī Himself came into your garden with Rādhikā. It was Them you chased last night with your stick.”

The gardener collapsed onto the ground. He could not believe it. “Govindajī? Rādhikā?” The pūjārī said: “If you do not believe me, look. Even now, around Govindajī’s siṁhāsana, lie the seeds of the unripe pomegranate He stole from your garden.”

“Do Not Look at Govinda”

The gardener came to Govinda every morning. Every morning he stood before the altar and sang with the others a song glorifying Govinda. Every morning he gazed without blinking at this mysterious dark-complexioned boy who is famous for stealing hearts. And alas, perhaps he had forgotten the warning of Rūpa Gosvāmī, in which one gopī cautions another:

But the gardener looked at Govinda every day. And Govinda, smiling mischievously, looked back at him. The gardener lived for Govinda. The gardener breathed for Govinda. He laughed for Govinda and worked for Govinda. In truth, he had planted that entire garden of pomegranate trees for Govinda. He waited eagerly for the pomegranates to ripen so that he could bring those ripe fruits to the One to whom they truly belonged.

But Govinda Himself could not wait for the fruit to ripen. Pomegranates take a long time to mature. And Govinda, like everyone spoiled by love, does not like to wait long.

“I Begrudged You One Green Pomegranate”

When the gardener saw the unripe pomegranate seeds scattered around Govindajī’s throne, the hairs on his body stood on end. Tears poured from his eyes. He wanted to say something, but he could not. He could only repeat: “Govinda… Govinda…” And then he fell unconscious.

When he regained consciousness, almost delirious with emotion and swallowing his tears, he began speaking directly to Govinda:

“Lālā, You came to me, but I did not recognise You. Why? I should have fallen at Your feet and welcomed You — but instead I chased You with a stick. I should have torn my heart from my chest and offered it to You — but instead I begrudged You one green pomegranate. I should have greeted You with joy — but instead I showered You with angry words. I grew those pomegranates for You alone. Why did You have to steal them? Why, instead of hearing loving words from me, did You want to hear me scold You? Why, my Lord?”

And Govindajī continued smiling. It was as though He were answering the poor gardener: “Have you forgotten that I love to steal? Do you not know that I love hearing My devotees scold Me? The angry words of the cowherd girls are sweeter to Me even than the hymns of the Vedas.”