This sight of Him made the bhaktas very life go out of their bodies. Then Swarup with all the disciples loudly dinned the name of Krishna into the Master's ears. After a long while the name entered His heart, and He shouted Hari-bol! He became conscious and His limbs were joined to His trunk again, as before. This miracle of the Master has been reported by Raghunath-das in his Chaitanya-staba-kalpa-briksha. As Raghunath-das always lived with the Master, I accept as true and write here what I have heard from him.
One day the Master, on the way to the sea, suddenly looked at the Chatak hillock, and taking it to be the Govardhan hill, He ran towards it in rapture with the speed of the wind. Govinda could not overtake Him.
A hue and cry was raised and there was a great bustle. Everyone ran up from where he was,—Swarup, Jagadananda, Gadadhar, Rámái, Nandái, Nilái Pandit, Shankar Puri, Bhárati Goswámi, all went to the sea-shore. The lame Bhagabán Achárya hobbled slowly behind.
After running at first like the wind, the Master suddenly became stiff on the way, unable to move further. Every pore of His skin swelled like a boil, the hair stood on end on them like the kadamba flower. Blood ran out of His pores like sweat. His throat gurgled, not a syllable could He utter. Ceaseless tears ran down both His cheeks He lost colour and became death-pale like a conch-shell. Then a quivering burst over His frame like a tempest on the bosom of the sea. Trembling, He fell down on the ground, and then Govinda came up with Him, sprinkled Him with water from the flask, and fanned Him with his sheet. Swarup and the rest now arrived and all began to weep at the Master's plight. They loudly sang the kirtan in His hearing and sprinkled Him with cold water. After they had done so many times, He rose up with the cry of Hari-bol! The Vaishnavs in delight shouted Hari! Hari! The sound of joy rose up from all sides. Half-conscious again, the Master addressed Swarup, "You have brought me back from Govardhan to here. You have snatched me away from viewing Krishna's lilá among the herds of cows and calves, Radha and her handmaids, on Govardhan hill Why have you brought me away thence, only to cause me grief?" So saying, He wept, and the Vaishnavs wept at His plight.
Thus did the Master live at Niláchal, plunging day and night in the ocean of grief at separation from Krishna. In the early autumn nights radiant with the moon in a cloudless sky, He roamed up and down with His disciples, visiting garden after garden in delight and reciting or listening to the songs of rása lilá. At times, overcome with love, He danced and sang; at other times He imitated the rása lilá in that mood; at times in a transport of passion He ran hither and thither, at others He rolled on the ground in a faint. As soon as He recollected a verse of the rása lilá He expounded it.
I cannot describe all the acts He performed from day to day in these twelve years [of residence at Puri], lest it should make my poem too long.
While rambling thus, the Master one night suddenly caught a sight of the sea from Ai-tota. The moonlight silvered the heaving billows they sparkled like the water of the Jamuna. Unseen by others, the Master went to the sea and leaped into it. He fainted and knew not what He was doing;—the waves now sank Him, now floated Him; on the waves He was carried about like a dry tree-trunk. On the waves He drifted towards Konárak, now under water, now above it,—and he dreamt all the time of Krishna sporting in the Jamuna with the milkmaids.
In the meantime, Swarup and other followers were startled when they missed Him. Uncertain whither He had gone, to the Jagannáth or any other temple, to some other garden, the Gundichá house or the Narendra tank, to the Chatak hill or to Konárak,—they searched for Him everywhere. A party of them came to the beach and there walked, looking out for Him, till near daybreak, when they concluded that He had disappeared from the earth. They all thought that the worst had happened.
They took counsel on the beach, and some of them went towards the Chiráyu hill, while Swarup moved east wards with a party searching for the Master in the sea-water. Overwhelmed with sorrow, almost out of their senses, they still walked on searching for Him in their love.
They met a fisherman coming towards them with his net on his shoulders, laughing weeping dancing and singing "Hari! Hari!" Swarup questioned him in surprise, "Tell us, fisherman, have you met a man on this side? Why are you in this mood?" The fisherman answered, "I have not seen any man here. But a dead body was caught in my net, and I carefully dragged it ashore, thinking it to be a big fish. The sight of a corpse frightened me, and when I was clearing my net I happened to touch it. At once the spirit of the dead entered my body, striking me with tremor, weeping, choking of voice, and bristling up of hair. It lay stiff as a corpse, with a fixed stare in the eyes, but at times it groaned, at others remained inert. If I die of the possession of this ghost, how will my wife and children live? If I can find an exorcist, he will expel the evil spirit from me. I work at my trade of catching fish alone at night, but no ghost can seize me as I remember the god Nrisingha. This ghost, however, holds me with a double grip when I repeat Nrisingha's name. Don't go there, I advise you, lest this ghost should possess you, too."