In the article Why Radha Is Not Mentioned in Bhagavata Purana on the Jiva Institute website (jiva.org), Satyanarayana Dasa Babaji explains why Radha is not mentioned in the Bhagavata Purana. The author’s task is clear: to reconcile two points that do not fit well together. On the one hand, in Chaitanya’s teachings Radha holds the highest position among Krishna’s beloveds. On the other hand, the name “Radha” is absent in the Bhagavata Purana. This is where the main methodological difficulty begins. If the name is not there, then one can no longer say: “the shastras speak about Radha,” “the Bhagavata speaks about Radha.” One must proceed differently: explain why the name is absent, and by what method Radha can still be “seen” in the work. In other words, the article inevitably turns into apologetics: the author is not so much proving Radha’s presence in the Bhagavata Purana as justifying the absence of her name. Satyanarayana Dasa, in essence, sets the direction from the start: not “let’s check what the Bhagavatam says,” but “how can we explain why the name is not stated, if Radha must be the main one.” This matters: the conclusion is predetermined by dogma, and the arguments are selected to preserve that dogma. Main thesis: “Radha exists, but is hidden” The main line of the article looks like this: followers of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu “see” Radha in the Bhagavata Purana, although the purana itself does not name her. That is, Radha is present, but not in a direct form. This is offered as the correct reading and the true meaning—provided the reader accepts the Chaitanya tradition as the key to the Bhagavata Purana’s meaning. But this immediately shifts the dispute from a general shastra-based proof into an intra-sampradaya one. If a reader does not accept the Gaudiya line of interpretation as binding, then he is not obliged to accept the conclusion “the work definitely means Radha.” The main argument that, in the view of Chaitanya’s followers, confirms Radha’s existence and supreme status is the stanza BhP 10.30.28: anayārādhito nūnaṁ bhagavān harir īśvaraḥ… “The Lord, pleased with her worship…”. Babaji introduces the basic Gaudiya interpretive move: the participle ārādhita (“satisfied by worship”) is read as a hint toward the name “Radha.” In other words, readers are asked to see Radha in the word ārādhita. An indication of her. But this does not follow from grammar. ārādhita is a participle, not a proper name. The work itself does not force us to turn a participle into the name “Radha”. For this to work, one must first accept a rule: “in a poetic work, a name can be hidden inside a word, and this is a legitimate way to establish the identity of a character.” This is where the main weakness appears. The move ārādhita → rādhā is not a linguistic necessity. It is only one reading from a particular school of North Indian Vaishnavism, and it works only for someone who has already accepted the premise: “the highest gopi is Radha,” and not someone else. Without that premise, the stanza remains what it is in its direct sense: “some gopi was especially dear to Krishna”—and not even “dear,” but simply: he was pleased with her worship. Why this is not a pan-vaishnava proof In classical systems of Vaishnava Vedanta (Ramanuja and Madhva), decisive in doctrinal matters is direct scriptural testimony (shabda pramana). If a dogma is declared central, the work must express it clearly. Of course, Indian tradition recognizes different levels of meaning and allows figurative senses, but a foundational doctrine is not built on what can only be “guessed” or “felt.” Ancient thinkers understood the limits of the senses and did not restrict themselves to sensory experience (pratyaksha); they developed an entire system of knowledge. In Vedanta the highest authority and criterion of truth is shastra—the word of shastra. Even A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, despite the problematic aspects of his views, emphasizes this in his comments on BhP 4.26.12 and CC 2.20.352; 1.7.48: guru shastra sadhu: «actual center is sastra… If a spiritual master does not speak according to revealed scripture, he is not to be accepted». Followers of Chaitanya and Satyanarayana Babaji operate with a different principle: “the name is not stated, but it is implied.” And here an important substitution happens. Instead of relying on a clear statement of shastra, the reader is offered an aesthetic-theological interpretation of a stanza: meaning is extracted through “taste,” “hint,” “secrecy.” Shabda-pramana is replaced by rasa hermeneutics. This can be natural inside Gaudiya tradition itself, but for other schools it has neither binding force nor authority. Weak reliance on the work and a substitution of categories Satyanarayana Dasa explains the same fact—the absence of the name—in several ways: “the name is hidden in the word ārādhita,” “no gopi is named,” “the name is too secret,” “one must read through poetic hints,” and so on. This very multiplicity signals a problem. If the work really gave a clear basis, one direct argument would be enough. When one has to build a “detour route” from several directions, it usually means: there is not enough direct proof, and the predetermined doctrine must constantly be rescued by different rationalizations. Another weakness is that Gaudiyas “extract” Radha from the same stanza by different methods: splitting the word into parts, “footprints,” semantic hints, etc. But if from one stanza one can confidently produce several competing “proofs,” this shows the flexibility of the method, not the strength of the Bhagavata Purana’s testimony. The work becomes material from which a desired conclusion can be “pulled out” if one has the right key. Multiple interpretations demonstrate not the strength of the proof, but its dependence on the interpretive tradition. Why the author needs vācya, lakṣya, vyaṅgya Babaji writes: “Bhagavatam is a book of spiritual taste (rasa). The Purana hints at Radha.” Since the stanza contains the participle ārādhita, “therefore this gopi is Radha.” To strengthen this approach, Babaji brings in Sanskrit poetic categories: vācya, lakṣya, vyaṅgya—direct meaning, figurative meaning, and hinted meaning. In itself, this is legitimate as an explanation of how poetry can express something subtly. But nothing more. Here one must draw a boundary. Poetics (alankara shastra) explains the form of expression: how something can be expressed indirectly in a poem, by hint. However, it does not prove that a hint must point precisely to Radha in the theological sense shaped by Gaudiya tradition. The interpretation of a hint can be broad: simply some gopi, the most beloved, different from the rest, and so on. Poetics is not an independent proof of dogma. It can accompany proof, but it cannot replace it. A hint is not a proof. A hint is a poetic category. In dramaturgy such categories describe how a word “works” in a treatise. vācya is the direct, literal meaning that a word expresses immediately according to its dictionary meaning and grammar. It is “what is said,” “literal,” “primary.” The principle is simple: the word is used, and its usual meaning fits the context without strain. Example: “a village on the Ganga.” If taken literally, it means the village stands in the waters of the Ganga. This is the level of vācya—what is said literally. In poetics this is the basic level. If vācya works and creates no contradiction, everything is clear at once. lakṣya is the figurative meaning extracted when the literal understanding does not fit: it contradicts reality or clearly does not match the author’s intention. The mechanism is called lakṣaṇa—“indicating,” “expressing indirectly.” Take the same example: “a village on the Ganga.” The literal meaning—vācya—“a village in the river” is absurd. So the mind automatically corrects the sense: lakṣya—“a village on the bank of the Ganga.” Here “in the Ganga” is understood not literally, but as indicating proximity to the Ganga. The key criterion: one moves to lakṣya only under necessity—when the literal meaning is impossible or clearly inappropriate. Why does this matter in theological disputes? In strict Indian hermeneutics, the art of explaining scripture, a hierarchy operates. First vācya (literal meaning) is tested. Only if it is impossible or absurd is lakṣya (figurative meaning) allowed. One cannot arbitrarily jump to a figurative meaning if the literal one works. This is exactly where problems arise for religious interpretations. If the literal meaning of a stanza (vācya) is clear and non-contradictory, but an interpreter still shifts into hidden or figurative levels, then suspicion arises: the work is not being explained, but being forced to fit a predetermined doctrine. And finally, the third level—the most subtle and therefore the most disputed in theological debates. Note: here I am speaking and arguing in the language of rasa theory, on which the entire theology of Chaitanya’s school is built. vyaṅgya is the implied, suggested meaning—a hint. A meaning that is not expressed directly (as in vācya) and is not derived by necessity through figurative transfer (as in lakṣya), but is suggested, “shines through” the work. The mechanism is called vyañjanā—“suggestion,” “hint.” So: vācya—said directly; lakṣya—must be understood differently; vyaṅgya—felt beyond what is said. This is the level of poetic aesthetics. Rasa theory. A classic example is the phrase “The king is a lion on the battlefield.” vācya: the king is literally a lion — impossible. lakṣya: the king is like a lion — metaphor. But in poetry a third layer can arise, vyaṅgya: heroism, greatness, terrifying power are suggested. This is not just a metaphorical shift of meaning, but an aesthetic effect produced in the receiver. But—and this is critical—it functions within poetics, not as a free replacement of literal meaning. At the same time, a “hint” (vyaṅgya) must not contradict vācya, cancel vācya, or create a new dogma where there is no textual basis. And this is where followers of Chaitanya face their main problem. Even if one agrees that the stanza hints at “a particularly beloved gopi,” this still does not mean it is Radha, specifically in the Gaudiya sense. A hint in an artistic work can intensify an impression, but it does not automatically become a shastric norm. In classical poetics, a hint strengthens meaning, but it does not create a real image, a real figure, or a concrete character by itself. Otherwise a dangerous door opens: can one build the core of an entire teaching on a hint? If yes, then anyone can declare any hint “the deepest meaning” and build a system on it. If no, then Radha cannot be “proven” from this stanza—she can only be “read” into it through one specific tradition. If one neglects shastra, the criterion of verification disappears. Shastra ceases to be the criterion it was meant to be. The criterion of truth becomes the interpreter—the person. That is why schools with strict methods of interpretation (Ramanuja, Madhva) are extremely cautious about building dogma at the level of poetic hints. The argument “none of the gopis are named” does not save the doctrine Satyanarayana Babaji says: since the gopis are not named, the absence of Radha’s name is natural. But this argument ultimately works against him. If Radha is truly unique and holds the highest position, it is reasonable to expect at least some marking of this uniqueness, not complete leveling with the others. A contradiction results: Radha’s uniqueness is asserted as a theological axiom, but the absence of her name is explained by a general poetic style. That is, the Bhagavatam itself does not single her out at all, and the singling-out is moved entirely into a later tradition—not into antiquity, but into the 14th–16th centuries, when Radha was made into a goddess. The argument meant to “save” the doctrine in fact shows that the doctrine does not follow from the explicit structure of the Bhagavatam and is not grounded in it. The teaching about Radha is inserted into the Bhagavatam from outside. The “secrecy” argument collapses logically One central rationalization is: “Radha is too secret, therefore her name is hidden in the purana.” But the Bhagavata Purana is not a closed esoteric treatise for a narrow circle of initiates. It is a didactic work intended for a broad audience. It was recited at royal courts. If a work is meant for wide listeners, the logic “hide the name so the unworthy will not know” looks strange and forced. Then one must explain why the rasa lila itself is narrated openly, but the name supposedly must be hidden. If the purana is meant only for rasikas, then the argument “hide it from the unworthy” loses its meaning: the unworthy are excluded by the premise anyway. The “secret” motive wavers between two incompatible models and therefore does not provide a solid basis. Selective strictness toward sources Satyanarayana Dasa rejects some popular explanations (for example, that Radha was Shukadeva’s teacher, or that Shukadeva would fall into samadhi if he spoke her name) because it is unclear what sources these explanations come from. This demand is fair. But then a question arises: why is the same demand not applied with equal strictness to Satyanarayana’s own explanations? Babaji’s reconstruction also does not rest on early shastras accepted across Vaishnava schools where Radha is explicitly named and her divine status is confirmed. This is selective methodology: unwanted legends are rejected because “there is no source,” while convenient interpretations are maintained as theological norm. The history of the Radha image and the problem of retrospection Scholars have traced the gradual formation of the Radha image. The data show a gradual formation of Radha’s image. The earliest mention of Radha appears in a Prakrit poetic anthology, Gatha Saptashati of King Hala, roughly the 2nd century CE. Up to the twelfth century there are only rare poetic and dramatic references—not theological shastras such as shruti, the epics, or the puranas. A major cultural turn is linked with Jayadeva’s poem Gita Govinda (late 12th century), composed at the court of the Bengali king Lakshmanasena (1179–1205). Here Radha is primarily a heroine of love lyric (nayaka). Gita Govinda artistically canonizes the passionate love story of Krishna and Radha. In that poem she appears as the daughter of Vrishabhanu and the wife of the cowherd Ayana Ghosh. In the 14th century the story develops further in the Bengali poem Shri Krishna Kirtan by Chandidasa. By the late 15th century Radha begins to be worshiped as a family deity in Gujarat together with Damodara (Krishna). An important role in forming the Radha cult was played by the Brahma Vaivarta Purana (16th century), where the myth receives cosmological and theological framing. This historical context matters for seeing the mechanism. If a central theological figure is shaped historically and strengthened in medieval North India, then the attempt to “find” her in an earlier canon is retrospection: later theology is projected back onto an older work in order to give the teaching antiquity and authority. Divergence from the traditions of Ramanuja and Madhva Now the key point. Satyanarayana Dasa proceeds from premises that Gaudiya commentaries are an authoritative key to the true meaning of the Bhagavatam; that later works of Chaitanya’s school (16th–19th centuries) and North Indian religious literature have normative force and are treated like shastra; and that reading through “taste” and “hint” (rasa hermeneutics) is acceptable as a method of proof. But for followers of Ramanuja and Madhva, authority is established differently. There operates a strict hierarchy of shastras and a discipline of commentary. Later regional works can be valuable, but they do not become binding foundations if they are not confirmed by the widely recognized canon. And most importantly: a foundational dogma must have clear textual, shastric testimony, not be extracted from a hint. Therefore, the teaching about Radha in the theology of Chaitanya’s school, from the viewpoint of these traditions, remains intra-sampradaya. It may be internally consistent, but it cannot be presented as a pan-vaishnava norm “flowing from shared pramanas.” Interpretation must not contradict grammar and direct meaning. A hint cannot replace a direct statement in matters of fundamental doctrine. Hermeneutical circle The very structure of Satyanarayana’s argument is closed: 1. Radha is the highest. 2. The Bhagavata Purana has no name “Radha”. 3. Therefore the name is hidden. 4. ārādhita hints at Radha. 5. Our school’s commentators confirm this. But step (4) works only if one has already accepted step (1). If one does not first accept that the highest gopi must be Radha, then ārādhita remains what it is: a past participle describing someone’s special closeness to Krishna. This is a circle: the conclusion is built into the premise. Conclusion The name “Radha” is absent in Shrimad Bhagavatam, a work that the Chaitanya tradition considers the highest authority. To “see” Radha in this work, one needs a special reading mode: ordinary words are treated as hidden hints, and poetic tools are used as support for a dogma. From the viewpoint of strict Vedantic methodology this is a signal of a problem: a central theological figure is not named directly and is extracted only through complex and mutually inconsistent interpretations that function only if one accepts Gaudiya tradition as a mandatory key. The historical context makes the problem even clearer: the image of Radha forms gradually, strengthens in the literature and religious culture of medieval North India, and only then becomes a theological center. Against this background, attempts to “discover” a fully developed teaching about Radha in an earlier canon look like retrospective legitimation. A relevant question is: is the Gaudiya reading of the Bhagavata Purana a binding method for all Vaishnava schools? Based on the examined argumentation, no. What we have is not a pan-vaishnava shastric norm, but an intra-sampradaya interpretation. It relies on specific reading rules and on later traditional literature. And finally, a practical point. For Chaitanya’s school, Radha is not “one of the gopis.” She is the core of the system: supreme love, the key to rasa lila, and the key to understanding Chaitanya as “Krishna in the mood of Radha.” That is why the attempt to “find” Radha in the Bhagavatam is not a minor philological debate, but a defense of the entire construction. In classical schools, doctrine is derived from the work. In the Gaudiya model the reverse happens: first there is a theological center, and then the work is selected for it—through hint, through “depth,” through one’s own tradition. In inter-sampradaya dialogue this is the weak point: without a shared “criterion of depth,” appeals to “hidden meaning” turn into self-assertion by the interpreter, not proof from shastra. The Gaudiya’s approach is simple: where grammar does not give a name, the idea of hint is brought in. Where there is no direct testimony, one appeals to a “deep spiritual meaning.” From the viewpoint of strict Vedantic epistemology this looks not like extracting doctrine from shastra, but the reverse process—projecting later theology onto an earlier work. Gaudiya Vaishnavism needs Radha for religious identity. Any sampradaya forms around distinctive doctrines. If one admits that Radha as the highest theological figure has no clear basis in widely recognized scriptures, then the argument for the superiority of their interpretation collapses. Therefore, the attempt to “find” Radha in the Bhagavata Purana is not just a philological dispute. It is a defense of the system’s integrity. In vedanta, in matters of transcendent reality, the highest and final source of knowledge is shastra: shastra as revelation (shruti) and shastra as remembered and written (smriti). If something is not confirmed by recognized shastras, it cannot be declared a binding truth. An important clarification: in vedanta what matters is not “shastra in general,” but the corpus of shastra recognized by a particular school and the accepted rules of interpretation. In the traditions of Ramanuja and Madhva, what is normative are the vedas, the upanishads, the brahma sutras, the puranas (with reservations), and certain smritis, explained within a strict discipline of commentary. In these systems, doctrine must be supported by clear textual evidence, not reconstructed from hints. If the figure of Radha as the highest theological category is not attested in shastras authoritative for all Vaishnava schools, then it cannot be the dogmatic foundation of the whole system. From the viewpoint of strict textual methodology, the Gaudiya Vaishnava position is weak because it shifts the center of gravity from clear shastric statements to interpretation through tradition. But inside their own system this does not look like a “fiction,” but like uncovering a deeper layer of scripture. Given all this, Bengali Vaishnavism has a very weak inter-sampradaya position. If we take the widely recognized corpus of shastra and ask: why do Ramanuja and Madhva not see Radha there, then Gaudiyas have, in essence, only three possible lines of response. All three are problematic. The first line: “they saw it, but did not reveal it.” That is, the meaning supposedly existed but remained unexpressed because of “secrecy.” This is weak because in vedanta commentary exists precisely to make decisive meanings clear. If Radha is the foundation of the highest understanding of Lord, it is hard to explain why this foundation had to remain unspoken and unseen by leading acharyas who argued, formulated doctrines, established interpretive rules, and fixed the canon. This looks not like a historical fact, but like a protective hypothesis. The second line: “in their time there was no maturity of perception, and later the meaning unfolded.” This is effectively a doctrine of “gradual revelation”: the truth is in scripture, but tradition “matures” and reveals it later. But this directly conflicts with the classical Vedantic requirement: in matters of transcendent reality, what decides is not “historical maturation of taste,” but the authority of shastra confirmed by strict exegesis. If the meaning is so hidden that the most influential and methodologically strict lines of Vaishnava vedanta do not identify it, then in inter-sampradaya dialogue this looks like insufficient basis, not “mysterious depth.” And I remind you: some branches of Bengali Vaishnavism consider themselves part of Madhva’s school and treat Madhva as an important link in their sampradaya. The third line (the most radical): “they simply did not understand the deepest meaning.” This sounds like “they were blind.” Gaudiyas usually do not phrase it so bluntly, but the logic sometimes effectively leads there: a later tradition declares its reading “higher” and retroactively implies that earlier acharyas stopped at a less deep level. In inter-traditional dialogue this move barely works, because it requires recognizing the superiority of a later school over normative Vedantic lines without a shared proof. A comparison helps. Shastra is law and constitution. Poem and drama are art and experience. One can be inspired by art, one can build religious emotion around it, one can even make it central to a community. But when a character from love poetry is presented as an originally shastric deity, and “proofs” are forced from the ancient canon through hints and verbal tricks, this is no longer “following shastra.” It is turning literature into dogma, and then trying to make shastra sign off on that dogma. The problem is the method. If a main pillar of faith does not stand on a clear basis of recognized scripture but rests on later poetic plots developed in medieval culture and on a special internal reading strategy, then it is a particular tradition, not a pan-vedantic norm. And when such a tradition claims succession from Madhva, it effectively asks for the following to be accepted: our later literary-aesthetic foundations matter more than your shastric standard. That is the conflict. Again, the argument “we read more deeply” works only if there is an external criterion by which one can check that it really is “deeper,” and not just “different” or “more convenient for our doctrine.” If there is no such criterion, it becomes not theology, but the psychology of conviction: “it seems to me that I see more.” In vedanta the “criterion” must be objective and reproducible. And the only candidate for such a criterion in transcendent matters is an authoritative corpus of scripture and strict rules of reading it. Otherwise we get exactly the arbitrariness we see in followers of Chaitanya: one can invent any idea, then declare it a “deep meaning,” and fit any work to it through hints and wordplay. What criteria of “depth” are acceptable within classical Vedantic hermeneutics? The first criterion: the work must state it clearly, or at least the conclusion must be unavoidable. Not “possible,” not “poetically beautiful,” but compelled: if one accepts grammar, context, and normal word meanings, then a certain conclusion is inevitable. But even here there is nuance: one can involve morphology, etymology, etc., and derive an idea—but then it must be consistent with the rest of the canon. The second criterion: consistency with the rest of the canon (samanvaya). A Vedantic interpretation is tested by how it aligns with other places in recognized scripture. A “secret meaning” cannot contradict clear statements of the canon. If, to preserve a doctrine, one must rely on works not accepted as normative by other Vaishnava schools, or on late works, this is precisely the sign of an intra-traditional construction, not a shared shastric truth. The third criterion: independence from an already accepted dogma. In strict methodology doctrine is derived from the work, not the other way around. If one first accepts Radha as the center and then “discovers” her in the word ārādhita, this is a diagnostic example of reverse dependence: the work becomes material to confirm a thesis already set. Then “depth” is not measured by shastra, but declared after the fact. The fourth criterion: intersubjectivity, i.e., checkability for another competent reader. If “secrecy and depth” are accessible only to “those who already belong to the tradition and share its emotional and doctrinal experience,” then this is not an objective criterion, but a closed circle: “those who read correctly are those who already agree.” In Vedantic commentary culture, key conclusions must be argued so that another trained reader can reproduce the conclusion from the work and interpretive rules, not from personal feeling. And how is depth defined in the Radha question among her devotees? Like this: deeper is what supports the Gaudiya system of rasa and the centrality of Radha. But this is not an external criterion. It is internal self-confirmation. If one accepts such an approach, one can justify anything. Any school—or any individual—can say: “I read more deeply,” “it is hidden in scripture,” “it is a hint,” and then it is only a matter of how skillfully words are selected. Then shastra is no longer the judge. The judge becomes the interpreter, who declares himself the owner of “depth.” But everyone argues! Then where does the diversity of teachings and interpretations of shastra come from? And how does the Gaudiya method differ from the method of Ramanuja and Madhva, if both defend their dogma by searching for useful stanzas and fragments and interpreting them as needed to prove their idea? Moreover, in scholarship there is a term for this phenomenon: Steinbruch-Exegese—“quarry exegesis,” when fragments are extracted from scripture to support an already accepted doctrine. From the mere fact of interpretive pluralism it does not follow that all reading methods are equivalent. The key is not to confuse different levels. 1. Interpretive pluralism is not the same as “quarry exegesis” Yes, vedanta has many schools and interpretations. Schools do compete over the meaning of the same authoritative sources. This is a normal part of Indian intellectual culture. But Steinbruch-Exegese usually means a harsher critique: when a work is treated as a “quote quarry,” and convenient fragments are taken for a predetermined thesis without serious binding to context and overall argument. Commentators of classical vedanta schools, despite sharp polemics, still work within certain constraints. These constraints matter for evaluation. 2. What constrains Ramanuja and Madhva Yes, R and M sometimes see different meanings in the same place/stanza/mantra. But this does not mean “anything can be seen anywhere.” In the classical discipline of commentary there are fairly strict frames. a) Context and coherence (prakaraṇa, saṃgati) A stanza or sutra is not read in isolation, as if by itself, outside context, outside the chapter, etc., but in connection with the topic of the section/chapter, with the previous and following reasoning, with the overall line of argument in the source. The dispute is about how best to explain a problem already set by the work, not about extracting a new theological character from a single word. b) Grammar and semantics as a threshold of admissibility Schools may argue about which meaning is preferable. But there is an important difference between a possible interpretation and a compelled interpretation. Vedantic argumentation aims to show necessity of the conclusion. If an interpretation is merely possible but not required by grammar and context, its probative force drops sharply in inter-sampradaya debate. c) Canonical control Any strong interpretation must pass a test of coherence with the rest of the recognized corpus. If a conclusion holds only within a narrow reading key and aligns poorly with other clear places in the canon, the conclusion is considered weak. 3. Where exactly the problem arises in the move from ārādhita to Radha The problem is not that Gaudiyas interpret. Everyone interprets. The problem is the type of interpretation and the burden placed on it. a) This is not just a dispute about the stanza’s meaning In classical disputes, one usually discusses what the work actually states. In the ārādhita case, it is already different: it is the identification of a specific theological figure through a non-compulsory word-formation association. The work says: “this gopi is especially honored.” Tradition adds: “this gopi is Radha.” But this second step is not compelled by the work itself and does not follow from it. b) A central dogma is built at the level of hint If Radha in the Gaudiya system is not a secondary character but the key to understanding Krishna and Chaitanya, then from an inter-sampradaya perspective one expects a stronger textual foundation. When the foundation rests on “it is implied,” other schools have the right to respond: this is an acceptable intra-traditional reading, but not a binding shastric pramana for all. c) Historical-textual asymmetry For Ramanuja and Madhva, key doctrines rely on a corpus they themselves recognize as central and that already functioned as normative in their time. In the Radha case, the situation is different: much of the material that makes her the central theological figure forms in later layers of tradition and is then read retroactively into an earlier canon. This does not automatically make the position “invalid,” but it seriously weakens its claim to pan-vaishnava obligatoriness. Thus, the question is not whether Gaudiyas have the right to their interpretation. In Indian tradition any school has that right. The question is different: can the result of this interpretation be presented as a binding Vedantic norm for all Vaishnava traditions? Given the criteria discussed, the answer looks negative. The move from the participle ārādhita to Radha remains possible within Gaudiya hermeneutics, but it does not become a compelled consequence of the work itself. This is the key methodological line of dispute. Radha: a shastric deity or a poetic image? If one follows strict Vedantic criteria, Radha is not a shastric deity. And this is not only an inter-vaishnava dispute. In a normative Vedantic sense, her status does not rest on clear and direct testimony of the basic canon. She is simply not in the shastras. In Vedanta, “shastra” primarily means the corpus of revelation—shruti, foundational smriti, epic, and those Puranic passages that are stably recognized and fixed by early commentary tradition. From this foundation binding theological points are derived. Everything later—commentaries, regional works, poetry—may have spiritual value, but by itself it does not create what is universally binding. It is especially important to understand the status of puranas correctly. In strict Vedantic methodology, puranas do not function as a fully autonomous source equal to shruti. Their authority is derivative. They are accepted insofar as they agree with shruti and are confirmed by early exegetical tradition. Already in the Middle Ages, Vedantins understood the problem of the textual instability of puranas, their layered character, and later interpolations. Therefore, in inter-sampradaya debates decisive force belongs either to shruti or to those Puranic stanzas that are fixed in early authoritative commentaries. If one applies this criterion, the picture is fairly clear. In the basic canon, Radha is simply absent. She is created much later. She is not a supreme, system-forming deity. To see her in the Bhagavata Purana requires a special reading method—through hints, poetic categories, and later interpretive tradition (16th century). The historical development of the image only strengthens this observation. Radha is shaped most clearly in medieval poetry and not as a goddess. Then theological thought steadily raises her status and makes her central to religious experience. First a vivid poetic image forms, and then it is given ever higher theological weight. For Indian culture, a close link between poetry and religion is normal. But in strict Vedantic epistemology what remains decisive is clear testimony of recognized canon. A poetic hint, an aesthetic reading, or later theological development is not Shastric proof and cannot replace it. Within strict Vedantic criteria, Radha is not a pan-shastric deity. Her central status is formed within the theological tradition of Chaitanya’s school and rests on its own way of reading scripture, including a special use of Puranic material. This is not about the right to believe and not an evaluation of the religious value of the image. It is about the source-critical status of the claim within classical Vedantic methodology.