Some lives do not follow a straight line.
They unfold like rivers—sometimes playful, sometimes forceful, sometimes quiet, but always guided by a deeper terrain beneath the surface.
This is the story of such a life.
Not a saint’s biography.
Not a philosophy.
Not a method.
But a lived exploration of what Sanātana Dharma looks like when it happens naturally—through childhood, love, confusion, failure, attraction, restraint, devotion, awakening, withdrawal, and maturity.
Early Life: When Survival Itself Is Yoga
Before conscious seeking begins, life itself often prepares the ground.
In Premyogi’s early years, survival was not guaranteed. Illness, loss, and narrow escapes marked childhood. Siblings did not survive. Circumstances were harsh. Yet something endured quietly, without panic, without grasping.
Even at birth, there was no cry.
It was as if prāṇa had already learned to settle.
From a yogic lens, this was not tragedy alone. It was tapas—not imposed, but lived. Yamas and niyamas enforced not by discipline, but by circumstance. Attachment loosened early. Fear visited, but did not dominate.
Sanskaras formed not through teaching, but through atmosphere—scriptures read aloud at home, rituals performed with humility, service offered without discrimination, dignity maintained without wealth.
Krishna-living does not begin with devotion.
It begins with resilience without bitterness.
Childhood and Play: Līlā Before Knowledge
As childhood unfolded, Premyogi did not become serious or withdrawn. Quite the opposite.
There was mischief, wandering, curiosity, frankness, and play. He observed people more than books. He roamed markets and parks. He learned human behavior instinctively. Authority was questioned—not rebelliously, but naturally.
This is an often-missed truth:
Krishna-consciousness is not solemn.
It is playful clarity.
Play is not distraction when awareness is present.
It is līlā.
Even conflicts, accidents, and encounters with danger carried lessons—not moral ones, but energetic ones. When to act. When not to interfere. When force worsens imbalance. When restraint is intelligence.
Without knowing the language of yoga, life itself taught it.
Adolescence: When Attraction Becomes a Teacher
Then came attraction.
Not romance as society understands it, but a powerful inner stirring triggered by a feminine presence. There was no contact. No confession. No possession. And yet the energy was intense—strong enough to awaken deeper layers of the psyche.
This was not repression.
It was fullness without discharge.
Held in nonduality, attraction refined itself. Energy rose instead of spilling outward. Desire did not fragment attention; it sharpened it. The mind became clearer, studies deeper, confidence steadier.
Here rasa was born—not as lust, but as sustained joy.
Rasa, in this sense, was not excitement. It was taste—the deep savoring of life without ownership. Beauty was neither rejected nor consumed. It was allowed to act as a yogic force.
This phase revealed a crucial insight:
love without contact can rotate energy rather than dissipate it.
Bhakti: When Love Loses Its Object
As time passed, physical separation happened naturally. The outer form disappeared.
Yet something unexpected occurred.
The inner presence did not fade—it spread.
Attraction completed its work and transformed into bhakti. Not devotion to a deity or belief, but devotion to presence itself. Remembrance flowed without effort. Meditation happened without posture.
Life itself became the practice.
This bhakti did not withdraw Premyogi from the world. It made him more attentive, more capable, more grounded. Stillness coexisted with movement. Silence lived inside activity.
This was bhakti born of lived rasa—not learned, not adopted, not chosen.
Gopī Samādhi: When Love Becomes Ground
As remembrance deepened, a threshold was crossed.
The beloved dissolved as an object. Love remained without direction. Attention forgot itself. Samādhi arose—not from silence, but from love.
Then came a brief, decisive moment.
In a dream-like waking state, Premyogi experienced a total collapse of observer and observed. River, bridge, mountain, sun, and self appeared as one unified reality. Everything was equally luminous. Nothing was higher or lower.
It lasted only seconds.
But it changed everything.
This was savikalpa-samādhi—a glimpse of self-realisation. Not sustained, not repeatable by will, but unmistakable.
And then it faded.
Not as loss.
As completion.
Withdrawal: When Sweetness Finishes Its Work
Krishna-living, by nature, does not last forever.
Its intensity softened. The inner image faded gently. There was no grief, no clinging. Readiness replaced longing.
This withdrawal was not renunciation. It was maturity.
What remained was fragrance—guidance without attraction. Protection without effort. The inner refinement guarded Premyogi through education, work, marriage, responsibility, temptation, and pressure.
Krishna-living no longer burned.
But it kept him safe.
Transition: From Sweetness to Power
Eventually, even sweetness felt insufficient.
Not wrong—just complete.
A new need arose: structure, direction, power. The feminine tone gave way to a masculine clarity. The image of Dada Guru replaced the consort. Ritambharā—truth-bearing intelligence—began to dominate.
There was no visible austerity. No public practice. Yet inwardly, discipline and tantra began quietly.
Krishna had refined the heart.
Now Shakti would build the spine.
The Deeper Pattern
Looking back, Premyogi saw that nothing was accidental.
Flooded rivers crossed safely. Lineages tested. Play, love, loss, awakening, withdrawal—all followed an intelligent sequence.
Water and energy behaved the same way. When consciousness accompanied intensity, even floods made way. When awareness guided energy, danger turned into passage.
In this light, the Bhāgavata Purāṇa no longer appeared as mythology—but as ancient spiritual case studies. Patterns repeating across time, expressed differently in different lives. All the scriptures evolved from the Vedas, the Vedas are called Shrutis. Shruti means knowledge gained through listening over ages. These Shrutis are different cases of awakenings. By studying them, an average pattern of events experienced by awakened beings was identified and written in a style simple enough for the general public. This became the timeless Bhagavata Purana. In it, the main event was love, so it is love-dominated.
Similarly, Tantra-type listenings formed the Shiva Purana, with Shiva as the main character. Since the primary events in such awakenings were Tantric in nature, the Shiva Purana is Tantra-oriented. Likewise, Shakti-oriented and Rama-oriented scriptures were created, all evolved from the Vedas as listenings.
It was a scientific age—not material science, but spiritual science. Data collection, segregation, averaging, and analysis were the same as today, but they were applied to spirituality in the form of boundless human growth, not the limited physical growth of today.
The Essence
This journey does not argue for belief.
It does not offer technique.
It does not promise permanence.
It reveals something simpler and deeper:
- Awakening often comes through intensity, not avoidance
- Love can be yogic when held without collapse
- Sweetness is a phase, not a destination
- Withdrawal can be intelligence, not loss
- Power becomes safe only after the heart is refined
Krishna-living is not the end.
It is the preparation.
When play teaches awareness,
when love teaches restraint,
when devotion teaches stillness,
and when sweetness teaches when to leave—
life itself becomes the guru.
And the river, however flooded, always finds a way forward.
Krishna Living is not about imitating the divine, but dissolving the ego that stands between life and love. When play, love, and life become yoga, they do so in the spirit Krishna revealed—effortless, spontaneous, and free of self-importance. The river of life flows playfully yet powerfully, just as His leelas flowed from pure awareness, not from desire to prove or possess. Childhood joy, mischief, and curiosity here are reminders of innocence, not identity—signposts pointing toward surrender rather than superiority. To live this way as a premyogi is to walk lightly, love deeply, and act joyfully, knowing that all beauty belongs to Krishna alone, and we are merely participants in His rhythm, not claimants of His grace.
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