Canto 1 - The Adhikari
The Traveller and the Bhagavatam
I
A thousand worlds may wait beyond the starry dome,
Yet maps are mute till feet set forth to roam;
The cosmos holds more paths than eyes can see,
But one must journey forth to make them me.
So too the Bhāgavata’s boundless sea
Holds worlds within each word, each mystery;
The book is there, the worlds have always been,
But who has earned the eyes to enter in?
II
At Naimiṣāraṇya gathered sages wise,
Who sought no treasure hidden in the skies;
Their sacrifices had not left them full,
Nor ritual alone their longing could annul.
They turned to Sūta, not for facts anew,
But asked what hearing makes the heart made true:
When lesser quests have lost their former light,
What should a human hear before the night?
III
There was Vyāsa, who had gathered all,
The Vedas, histories, the great and small;
He mapped the worlds of knowledge, law and lore,
Yet felt a hunger he had felt before.
Then Nārada came, the wandering sage,
And showed him why the learned heart could ache:
Knowledge may chart creation’s every part,
Yet only devotion satisfies the heart.
IV
Thus Nārada, the traveller without home,
Could cross the worlds and yet nowhere alone;
He carried not possessions, rank, or claim,
But Hari’s remembrance as his wealth and flame.
He knew the test of every seeker well:
Not how much one has learned, but what one loves to tell.
For knowledge turns to wisdom when the quest
No longer seeks the world, but seeks the Best.
V
Then came Parīkṣit, king of earthly might,
With kingdoms spread beneath his sovereign sight;
Yet cursed to meet his death within seven days,
His royal maps were folded from his gaze.
What use were kingdoms when the end was near?
What wealth could purchase one more breath of fear?
The traveller at last discarded every chart,
And asked: What journey matters to the heart?
VI
Seven days remained; yet seven days were wide
When worldly destinations fell aside.
He did not ask, “How can I death outrun?”
But, “What should one remember when life is done?”
Here was the mark by which the seeker grew:
Not fleeing death, but asking what is true.
When urgency burns every lesser aim,
The heart becomes an adhikārin for the Name.
VII
And Śuka came, who wandered free and bare,
As though no world could bind him anywhere;
No throne could tempt him, nor possession stay,
No glittering planet draw his gaze away.
Yet Parīkṣit’s longing called him to remain,
For wisdom flowers when compassion breaks its chain.
One had the question, one possessed the key,
And both together opened what must be.
VIII
The sages listened; Parīkṣit heard;
Śuka spoke; and worlds arose from word.
Not worlds invented freshly by the tongue,
But ancient worlds awaiting to be sung.
The listener’s heart became the fertile field,
And what lay hidden slowly stood revealed.
The tale was one, yet each soul travelled through
A different sky according to its view.
IX
So vast is Bhāgavata’s unseen design,
Each story like a star, each name a sign;
The pilgrim enters, and the pathways grow,
And meanings bloom where only seeds did show.
The scripture does not merely hand a chart,
It generates new landscapes in the heart;
Its worlds were never made by me or you,
Yet through our seeing they become anew.
X
But not the ego saying, “I create”;
The sun was there before I opened my gate.
My opening eyes did not command the dawn,
Nor did my gaze invent the light upon the lawn.
Adhikāra is simply this: to see
What always was, but was unseen by me.
The universe does not await my birth;
I learn to recognize its hidden worth.
XI
From Vyāsa came the longing to disclose,
From Nārada, devotion’s inward rose;
From Śuka, freedom from the world’s embrace,
From Parīkṣit, urgency to seek the grace;
From sages, reverence; from Sūta, the art
Of carrying the word from heart to heart.
Each traveller came by a different way,
Yet each had learned what makes the hearing stay.
XII
So let me enter too, not claiming sight,
But asking for the eyes that read the light;
I have explored the worlds that rise and fall,
And found no final home among them all.
Now may the wandering turn toward the One,
The source of every star, each moon and sun;
And when the map dissolves and journeys cease,
May hearing become vision, vision peace.
For worlds are countless, but the traveller’s art
Is finding Kṛṣṇa in the centre of the heart.
– Br.Sri Hari Krishna Ji
