Invasion by Imposition

“I think the gods want us to be with people,”

my sister-in-law said over the phone, protesting my divorce. The first time we had spoken in eight years, she felt no compunction interrogating my personal life nor my spirituality. My divorce, still fresh and raw, was a playground for her personal musings on the nature of God. Why? Because I had the audacity to ask my then-partner for a divorce to fulfil my vows to a deity.

“You can never come between me and Shiva,” I had said to him. It was my only condition for marriage. It happened after eight years, but the violation of that condition wasn’t the only factor that led to this breakdown. It was more like the trigger, the announcement, of the dissolution of our agreement.

My friend had a similar reaction to my sister-in-law, bargaining with me over whether I should have stayed after the divorce had already been filed. I was surprised at my friend, having known her for years. She was a particularly religious person, strict and disciplined in her practice. She never missed her prayers; she always made up her missed fasts. To my friend, I said, “If you made a promise to Allah, would you keep it or would you turn back?” She smiled an awkward, anxious smile, and then I changed the topic.

I realized later that neither would have made the promise in the first place, to allow no one to come between them and their deity. That’s fine, of course. But I did make my promise and with full intent to fulfill it. I had hoped when I put forth that condition that such a day would never come to pass, and so when it did, I asked for the divorce with a heavy heart.

Sometimes, we have to make difficult choices without any guarantees. But my actions have the guarantees that I can try to do them. I can make every effort. I loved my husband when I asked him for the divorce, but for the situation I was in, it was for the best. My decision to divorce him, to fulfill the agreement between my deity and myself, was a deeply personal and difficult one, developed across the entirety of an eight-year relationship.

But people feel like they own the gods. And so when you take their names, people like to fill the gods’ mouths with their own desires and wishes. I think it frightens humans to consider a relationship with Divinity where one must fulfil their promises even when they do not want to, when leaving promises broken is easier. In the end, my relationship with a human husband is temporary, but my relationship with Shiva is eternal.

“All I’m saying is that Sanjaya saw Krishna’s Divine Form, too.”

It was a strange interruption by my uncle, talking over me and my anecdote to ensure that I understood that Arjuna was not the only one to have seen Krishna’ viśvasvarūpa. I tried to steer the conversation back on track, but in the end, I had no choice but to allow him to finish his monologue. I had to look it up later, but it appears to be quite a common question. Did Sanjaya also get to see Krishna’s viśvasvarūpa?

(Bhagavad Gita, 11:47-49)

I’m not so interested in actually answering the question if Sanjaya saw this svarūpa. What I want to draw our attention to is the intimacy between these two friends, between the Divine and Arjuna. Krishna makes his intention clear: that Arjuna will be the first to have seen this form and that it is Krishna’s love for Arjuna that has led Krishna to manifest this form. There is no tradition or rule-following, no intense austerity or regimented method by which anyone else may manifest this form, Krishna says, as it has organically sprung from within Krishna as a response to his being pleased with his beloved friend.

In the end, when he sees Arjuna frightened, Krishna calls on him to be cheerful again. He consoles and comforts the overwhelmed Arjuna, admitting this form is intense. When I read these verses, I find how tenderly this form, intimate and private, was revealed to Arjuna. I wonder how Krishna felt, watching Arjuna become overwhelmed and even terrified by this form. To reveal oneself so fully and with such specialization to someone, only to have them be unable to hold something so whole and complete must have been a complicated experience for Krishna.

Of course, for Arjuna, what a change it must have required in his mindset! Only the previous chapter, he had heard of Krishna’s Divine Form, and in the next chapter, upon his request, Krishna has revealed it to Arjuna. Truly, when one asks, one receives.

And all this is relayed to us by Sanjaya, a third party, who describes Krishna’s viśvasvarūpa as well. The invasion of this intimate moment by hungry spectators makes itself immediately visible. Whether Sanjaya saw the viśvasvarūpa or not is less relevant. Perhaps, the better questions are why did he see it? And should he have looked? Should he have revealed it to us?

Let us not forget that all Sanjaya has done is seen the viśvasvarūpa and revealed it to his audience by description. Just to bear witness to such an intimate revelation between two friends, where the intent for exclusivity is clear, that no one but Arjuna should in the world of men see this form, is itself a privilege. Quite lucky that Sanjaya wasn’t there in person, I think, as he might have missed the viśvasvarūpa entirely!

But why do we care?

I think we care because this little bit of knowledge makes us feel like we got one over on God. But I think it says something about us that we feel the need to impose our will over the privacy of even deities. I think this is a violation of autonomy that is meant to impose the will of one person over the spirit or experience of another. Why should Arjuna be so special is Sanjaya saw Krishna’s form too?

Deities, even when they are pleased with one person, even when their relationship with someone is personal and private, are still in the public domain. Their splendor and wonder are still for the appreciation of many, and the one who inspires this type of intimate darśan can be sure that their primary duty is to reveal to all others for their benefit.

But why?

What do the opinions of a spectator really matter when Arjuna is the one on the battlefield? Anyone can build their own relationship with Divinity, and it will be as personal as you allow it to be. You can pour your effort and love into your relationship with the Divine. This is the weird jealousy of humans, where everything slowly becomes about sharing resources through taking rather than growing resources by giving.

Instead of bargaining on our promises and vows, we could spend our time fulfilling them to the best of our ability. If we want a relationship with a deity in a certain capacity, we should allow ourselves to build it, patiently. I don’t know why any deity would entertain a relationship with a being more interested in getting one over on them than reflecting on their own desire to violate the privacy of others.

I’m not here to argue what the exact nature of the Divine is in relation to every individual. As I have said, it is up to each of us to decide how we cultivate that relationship, and there will be as many different experiences of Divinity as their is Experience Itself. That is the beauty of the Boundless and the Infinite.

It cannot be stolen from another; it cannot be invaded through imposition. The only thing one sacrifices in such endeavors is trust: the trust one has with themselves, with their fellow souls, with deities. Hardly a worthy sacrifice to not even erase the underlying insecurity.

It is better to believe yourself fully.

It is better to know and accept what your relationship to a deity is and what you want. It is better to not pretend one has desires for the benefit of others that they do not actually have. It is better to do the difficult thing even when no one watches than it is to only do what others expect of you. It is better to believe your own experience and to cultivate that experience than to try to live off the experiences of others.

That is a radical honesty that deities appreciate, even if humans don’t. That is the kind of radical self-acceptance that deities help you cultivate that humans can’t. And as time goes on, and you develop your relationship, you will naturally find that you have to make decisions that conflict between the cultures of people and the cultures of gods. Not everyone understands, so you should believe yourself fully and trust yourself.

In the end, you are the one who will stand in the battlefield, looking at a form of Divinity that only you can see, surrounded by people who all have something they desire hanging in the balance.

Note: The translations of these verses are my own, and so are all the mistakes and creative liberties.

Bibliography

Sargeant, Winthrop. “Book XI.” In The Bhagavad Gita, 499–501. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2009.