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True prosperity, real wealth, is the name of God. It is a treasure no one can take from you, one that only increases day by day and never diminishes. The story of Meera is a long and profound one. She was a princess born in Merta, Rajasthan, India—a place about 70 kilometers from my own home village. From a very young age, perhaps three or four years old, she was drawn to Kṛṣṇa. One day, as her mother combed her long hair on a balcony, a wedding procession passed in the street below. The little Meera asked, "And who is my husband?" Her mother, perhaps casually, replied, "What do you say about it? Our Lord is Kṛṣṇa." Taking this to heart, Meera declared, "Oh, then I marry Kṛṣṇa." From that early age, she knew, heard about, and sang of Kṛṣṇa, weaving spirituality into her life. Such divine quality comes with the soul; it cannot be hidden. Love has a fragrance all its own. This innate quality only needs a little support or protection to blossom, or sometimes just a touch to make it explode into being. In those times, marriages were pre-arranged by parents, typically for two reasons: to seek position and wealth, or to align with astrological constellations. A marriage based on the constellation is a happy and lasting one. The other kind, now common in the modern Western system, is the "love marriage." This love is often like bubbles from soapy water—beautiful when formed, but they burst and vanish at the slightest touch. Such transient love leaves people unhappy, dispirited, confused, and disappointed—a state so prevalent today that few could claim they have never felt it. Meera was compelled to marry a prince of Mewar, a union she did not desire but, as a woman of her time, had little power to refuse. Upon arriving at her husband's home, she told him, "I am already married. I love Kṛṣṇa, that's all. I will stay with you, but as a good friend, a best friend." This caused the young prince great suffering, and he was unhappy in the marriage. Her father-in-law was arrogant and terrible, and many stories arose from their conflict. They tried to kill her, but as the saying goes: "Jisko Rām rakhe, usko kaun chakhe?" (Whom God protects, who can harm?) You may have as many enemies as stars in the sky, but with the protection—the kṛpā of the Gurudev or the mercy of the Lord—not a single hair on your body can be harmed. That is perfect protection. Life was complicated for Meera. There are key episodes that illustrate her trials. On one occasion, they decided to kill her indirectly. They placed a highly poisonous snake inside a beautiful, wrapped box. The Rana, her father-in-law, sent it as a present, telling the servant to inform Meera it contained a statue of Lord Kṛṣṇa. For Meera, anything associated with Kṛṣṇa sent her into ecstasy. She accepted it immediately and opened the box. Inside, the servants found not a snake, but a beautiful idol of Kṛṣṇa with a golden chain. Meera placed it around her neck and danced. The astonished servant reported back, and the king was confounded. Another day, they decided to give her poison directly. They mixed poison into a beautiful bowl and told her it was holy water from her master's feet. Meera came to know it was poison, but at the mention of her master and Kṛṣṇa, she drank it and danced, singing: "Jehra ka pyaala Rana ji bhejaya, Jehra ka pyaala Rana ji bhejaya, Kar charanamrit mira pri gayi re and pagya gunga ruband mira nachi re." She tied bells to her ankles and danced, and God protected her. Her husband grew jealous, desperate, and angry. Jealousy is a dangerous emotion, a hidden power in humans that burns both the one who holds it and others. A jealous person is blind, even praying for the destruction of the object of their jealousy. Someone told the prince that Meera might have a secret relationship. He posted guards at her door around the clock, changing them every three hours. One night at 3:30, a guard heard her laughing, dancing, and talking in her room. He alerted her husband, who, in a rage, took his sword, broke down the door, and entered. Meera was sitting on her bed. She smiled and stood to welcome him. He accused her, "Meera, you are talking to someone." She replied, "Yes, I am talking to someone." "To whom?" "My beloved." "Who is your beloved?" "Kṛṣṇa." "Where is he?" "He is here with me, sitting." The prince called her schizophrenic and crazy, blaming her for destroying his life and family peace. "Meera, I can't see Krishna here." She smiled and said, "I understand you can't see because you don't have those eyes to see him. You need other eyes to see him." Enraged, he declared, "That's enough. This is the last minute of your life, Meera. Get ready, I will chop your head." She stood calmly before him. As he raised his sword to strike, he suddenly saw four Meeras standing before him, four identical forms, all smiling. A voice spoke: "Rana, be careful, only kill that Meera which belongs to you." How could he know which was the real one? He threw down his sword, bowed to Meera, and apologized, acknowledging the difficulties in both their lives. Meera wrote many bhajans. Her guru was Raidasjī Mahārāj, who bestowed wisdom upon her. Yet, she felt profound disappointment and sadness. She traveled across India and one day decided to give up her life. Walking to Kṛṣṇa's temple, she sang a beautiful, sorrowful song: "Agar main yeh jaanati, preet kariyaan dukh hoi, nagar pitara peetati, preet kariyo nahi koi." (If I had known that loving you would bring so much sorrow, I would have announced with drums and loudspeakers that no one should ever fall in love.) As a princess, she was accompanied by bodyguards and many people. She entered the temple, where a ghee lamp burned before Kṛṣṇa's statue. Full of tears, she prayed: "Kṛṣṇa, you didn't come to me, you didn't fulfill my desires. Now I have only one wish: Meera wants to die. Take her with you. Meera dasi janam janam ki hari tumhare paas. (Lord, Meera is your servant from life to life.)" She bowed before Kṛṣṇa, and a flame emerged from her body. It joined the flame burning on the altar, and Meera's body vanished completely—dematerialized. She was a great holy saint. What this story tells us is that spiritual awakening is not the sole copyright of men. Women, too, can attain the highest spiritual heights. There were, there are, and there will be many spiritual women dedicated to the Supreme. In divine consciousness, there is no duality of the body. The anatomical distinctions of the physical form do not exist beyond these material boundaries.