Shri Nagridas (Maharaj Sawant Singh Ji) lived in the 18th century was a Nimbaraki saint, whose name was Maharaj Sawant Singh, a king of Jaipur, but later lived in Braj in complete renunciation.
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What does one truly gain even by becoming a king if one has never tasted the bliss of devotion to Śrī Hari, the very essence of all happiness? Such a person merely bears the fruitless burdens of worldly life, labouring in vain for this transient world.
Without devotion, human life is fruitless. Such people constantly quarrel and fight among themselves, just as wild horses ceaselessly clash with one another.
Śrī Nāgarīdāsa wonders when, far removed from the clamor and distractions of the world, he will attain the association of deeply experienced rasika saints in some confidential and secluded kunja of Vraja—those exalted souls who relish the sweet nectar of the eternal nikunja-līlās of Śrī Yugala Sarakāra, and in whose company he will have the good fortune of hearing the most confidential, nectar-filled discussions of the ever-fresh nikunjas.
Śrī Śyāmasundara lovingly applies mahāvara to the lotus feet of His beloved Śrī Rādhā.
Those who abandon the sacred banks of Śrī Yamunā and the rasa-filled abode of Vṛndāvana, and instead rush toward places like Bīkāner or elsewhere in pursuit of worldly pleasures, are the true fools — as if forsaking infinite bliss, they rush towards the very flames of suffering.
In the Raṇgīlī galī of Barsānā, the festival of Holī is being celebrated with boundless joy. On one side stands the charming son of Nanda, the rasika Śrī Kṛṣṇa; on the other side is Vṛṣabhānu’s beloved daughter, Śrī Rādhā, standing amidst Her sakhīs.
Beholding such divine sights of Barsānā and gazing upon the sacred Gahvar Van, waves of love surged within the heart. The moment I offered a heartfelt daṇḍavat praṇām to this holy land and rolled in its divine dust, all royal decorum and formal restraint naturally fell away.
O Śrī Rādhārānī, now nothing remains for me to say. You have held me in Your arms, granted me the cool shelter of Your lotus feet, and bestowed residence in the supremely sacred land of Śrī Dhām Vṛndāvan.
I have wandered long through this world, entangled in the spell of Maya. Alas, when will that blessed day arrive — the day my feet find their true purpose, carrying me to Vrindavan at last, never to turn back again.
As my eyes fall upon these love‑deprived beings, the pure devotion and sweetness of the Brajvāsīs come to my mind with even greater intensity.
While milking the cow, the moment Krishna beholds Shri Radha’s divine form, He becomes so entranced that the milk twists here and there instead of going directly into the bucket.
The flute of Śrī Kṛṣṇa, whose melody everyone longs to hear — that same Kṛṣṇa yearns to hear the sweet, nectar‑like words spoken by Śrī Rādhā.
At last, the true purpose of this human life has been fulfilled. For so long, Maya led me astray, making me dance helplessly to her illusion.
The state of mind, entangled in the divine beauty (form) of Shyama Shyam, cannot be expressed in words, for the tongue has no mind, and the mind has no tongue to express itself.
The divine couple, Shri Radha Krishna, embodies supreme auspiciousness and the essence of nectaran bliss. In the ever-auspicious land of Vrindavan, the divine Holi of love and rasa is forever celebrated.
Why should Brahmapurī (the abode of Brahmā), Kailāśa (the abode of Lord Śiva), or even the celestial realms of Indra dwell within my heart?
The people of Braj are filled with boundless love. They lovingly exchange playful words, laughter, and meet with love, as their hearts overflow with affection.
Make your home at the foothills of Barsana, and dwell among the sacred vines of Gahvar Van, chanting the sweet name “Radha-Radha.”
Where the pastimes of Śrī Kṛṣṇa effortlessly resonate everywhere, and the melodious kīrtan brings joy to the heart.
These residents of Braj are dear to Shri Hari. They reside in Hari, and Hari resides in them, never separating even for a moment.
