Posts
Life is a struggle, no matter what condition we are in. Poor persons struggle to survive and rich persons struggle with subtle desires. Ignorant persons struggle with inferiority and intelligent persons struggle with arrogance. Everyone struggles with the mind and the senses. We are dominated by our own mind, while we think we are free.
Youths who protest for more freedom will never understand that real freedom can only be found within the heart, in the connection between our soul and Supersoul. Freedom is not political. Or economic. Or social. Freedom is not so cheap it can be found in a mob or on the internet.
The middle aged who work so hard to pay their bills and achieve their goals have no time for ideals like freedom. They have been put to sleep by the drug of progress and the drudgery of working to satisfy insatiable desires. To them freedom is sleeping.
For the aged and elderly who have become redundant and are pushed aside, they passively nurse their memories of good times and bad. They are told to distract themselves, accept their disappointments and remain quiet. Freedom for them is the very death they fear. At least death will give them another chance. But no one is dying voluntarily. We are all forced by nature to die.
So, where is freedom? Freedom is part of the very fabric of the soul. God gave us our freedom as an intrinsic quality of our self. It is freedom that gives us the opportunity to desire and pursue anything we want. Freedom allows us to exercise our will. Free will. In this world we use our free will to enjoy and control money, women, men, workers, citizens, autos, drugs, food, gold, fame. We use art and science to exercise our will and to lord over this endlessly mutable creation.
But finally, after many, many lifetimes, we realize the futility of our misuse of freedom. That is when we become receptive and receive the mercy of a saint or devotee. By his or her grace, we turn our attention to the Lord again. At that time, just before our soul fully awakens from its almost timeless sleep, the purpose of our freedom becomes realized. With hesitation at first, then later with single-minded will, we shall exercise our freedom to become students, servants, friends and lovers of our Beloved Prabhu.
Freedom comes to us in its perfected form as all-consuming love. It is a divine irony that full freedom, complete wisdom and voluntary slavery are interchangeable qualities when we become perfected in love. Freedom equals divine slavery equals love of God. Full freedom is found only when we fall in love with God. Freedom lovers.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Only Medicine that Works
Now that the terrorist attacks in Mumbai are gradually receding in the collective human consciousness, the puzzle remains how young boys, barely men, could be brainwashed into becoming mass murderers. The forces of fundamentalism -- using religious prejudice and misusing the words of God's prophets and messengers-- are today's fascism.
By appealing to popular desires, envy and prejudice, fundamentalist leaders of all persuasions -- Muslims, Christians, even Hindus -- mislead their followers, and create havoc for others who are complete strangers, innocent civilians caught in the crosshairs of Kali yuga.
It is a symptom of Kali that compassion is conspicuous by its absence. Pity the poor cows and bulls and other farm animals who have zero rights and who are tortured and murdered without any protest. And grieve for the innocent victims of terror attacks who are standing or sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time. None of us can say that we are free from the curse of Kali.
Harer nama, harer nama, harer nama eva kevalam..... only the holy names can nullify the miseries of the modern age. Only the chanting of divine names of God can pacify the heart. It's the only medicine that works.
That sounds simplistic and naive but it is based on the experiential evidence of genuine sadhus, fakirs and saints, and the transcendental words of wisdom found in all scriptures. God does not belong to anyone. Everyone belongs to God. And He is absolutely free from prejudice and therefore can be seen only by someone who is similarly pure in heart.
We are not sincere enough to appreciate the medicine we are offered. Instead we like to drink poison in the form of distractions, diplomacy and debate. Nevertheless, let us pray to become sincere. So that we can take the medicine and experience the cure. And taste the real sweetness and lightness that can be found beneath the heavy suffering of an iron age.
By appealing to popular desires, envy and prejudice, fundamentalist leaders of all persuasions -- Muslims, Christians, even Hindus -- mislead their followers, and create havoc for others who are complete strangers, innocent civilians caught in the crosshairs of Kali yuga.
It is a symptom of Kali that compassion is conspicuous by its absence. Pity the poor cows and bulls and other farm animals who have zero rights and who are tortured and murdered without any protest. And grieve for the innocent victims of terror attacks who are standing or sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time. None of us can say that we are free from the curse of Kali.
Harer nama, harer nama, harer nama eva kevalam..... only the holy names can nullify the miseries of the modern age. Only the chanting of divine names of God can pacify the heart. It's the only medicine that works.
That sounds simplistic and naive but it is based on the experiential evidence of genuine sadhus, fakirs and saints, and the transcendental words of wisdom found in all scriptures. God does not belong to anyone. Everyone belongs to God. And He is absolutely free from prejudice and therefore can be seen only by someone who is similarly pure in heart.
We are not sincere enough to appreciate the medicine we are offered. Instead we like to drink poison in the form of distractions, diplomacy and debate. Nevertheless, let us pray to become sincere. So that we can take the medicine and experience the cure. And taste the real sweetness and lightness that can be found beneath the heavy suffering of an iron age.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Punya Bhumi
Big chaos, Small heroes
The terror attack on Mumbai ended at least 173 lives and created havoc and fear throughout the city, and via cable news, the world. But it also brought out acts of spontaneous heroism from unassuming persons. Like Vishnu Datta Ram Zende, the platform announcer at Victoria Terminus Railway Station. His job is to use the public-address system at Mumbai's largest railway station to direct rushing hordes of travelers to their trains. His voice is similar to voices that most of us have heard traveling across India on trains.
But last Wednesday just before 10 p.m., Mr. Zende became a lone rescue worker in a horrific situation. He heard a loud explosion and saw people being shot at and running across the platform. He gripped his microphone in his small control booth and calmly directed a panicked crowd toward the safest exit.
"Walk to the back and leave the station through Gate No. 1," he chanted alternately in Hindi and Marathi, barely stopping to take a breath until the platform was cleared. The gunmen, armed with AK-47 automatic weapons and hand grenades, located his announcement booth and fired at him, puncturing one of the windows. But they missed Mr. Zende who was not hurt.
As Mumbai faced a brutal and merciless attack by ten highly trained Pakistani militants shooting at random on everyone they came across, ordinary citizens like Mr. Zende displayed extraordinary grace and fearlessness. Many times, they did so at considerable personal risk, performing acts of heroism that went far beyond their job descriptions. Without their quick thinking and courage, the toll of the attacks would have been greater than the 173 confirmed deaths from the attacks.
At Victoria Terminus, the gunmen acted with a cool precision. They first struck the long-distance section of the station, spraying the large waiting hall with gunfire. Those waiting were about to board the slow, crowded, cheapest train to Varanasi, scheduled to depart at 11:55 pm, and most of the fatalities at the station happened here. Satya Sheel Mishra, who runs a second-floor restaurant called Re-Fresh Food Plaza, saw the two gunmen take their positions and fire. Seven bullets pierced his glass windows. Crouching on the ground, he saw the men shoot indiscriminately and then march toward the other side of the station, where Mr. Zende was making his announcements.
Zende saw the gunmen walk in front of his window which was one floor up from the train platforms. He crouched on the ground and heard them shoot. One bullet shattered the window. Above his microphone, a murti of Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, sat in a blue box with twinkling red lights around him. Saved because the gunmen did not climb the stairs to his announcement booth, Zende called his wife when the shooting stopped. "I am in the office. I'm safe. Don't worry."
He is one of many heroes who displayed noble qualities in the midst of bullets, death and panic. Many of us westerners who regularly visit India or who have lived there have come to appreciate the finer qualities of ordinary Indians. Despite so many ugly and distorted influences, Punya Bhumi, the land of spiritual culture, remains alive somehow. No matter how much under attack it becomes, whether from within its own borders-- by corrupt politicians or misguided religionists-- or from outside forces who envy and hate the Indians because they do not embrace their fundamentalism, the character of India's people still shines thru, as it did in some of the darkest hours last week in Mumbai.
The terror attack on Mumbai ended at least 173 lives and created havoc and fear throughout the city, and via cable news, the world. But it also brought out acts of spontaneous heroism from unassuming persons. Like Vishnu Datta Ram Zende, the platform announcer at Victoria Terminus Railway Station. His job is to use the public-address system at Mumbai's largest railway station to direct rushing hordes of travelers to their trains. His voice is similar to voices that most of us have heard traveling across India on trains.
But last Wednesday just before 10 p.m., Mr. Zende became a lone rescue worker in a horrific situation. He heard a loud explosion and saw people being shot at and running across the platform. He gripped his microphone in his small control booth and calmly directed a panicked crowd toward the safest exit.
"Walk to the back and leave the station through Gate No. 1," he chanted alternately in Hindi and Marathi, barely stopping to take a breath until the platform was cleared. The gunmen, armed with AK-47 automatic weapons and hand grenades, located his announcement booth and fired at him, puncturing one of the windows. But they missed Mr. Zende who was not hurt.
As Mumbai faced a brutal and merciless attack by ten highly trained Pakistani militants shooting at random on everyone they came across, ordinary citizens like Mr. Zende displayed extraordinary grace and fearlessness. Many times, they did so at considerable personal risk, performing acts of heroism that went far beyond their job descriptions. Without their quick thinking and courage, the toll of the attacks would have been greater than the 173 confirmed deaths from the attacks.
At Victoria Terminus, the gunmen acted with a cool precision. They first struck the long-distance section of the station, spraying the large waiting hall with gunfire. Those waiting were about to board the slow, crowded, cheapest train to Varanasi, scheduled to depart at 11:55 pm, and most of the fatalities at the station happened here. Satya Sheel Mishra, who runs a second-floor restaurant called Re-Fresh Food Plaza, saw the two gunmen take their positions and fire. Seven bullets pierced his glass windows. Crouching on the ground, he saw the men shoot indiscriminately and then march toward the other side of the station, where Mr. Zende was making his announcements.
Zende saw the gunmen walk in front of his window which was one floor up from the train platforms. He crouched on the ground and heard them shoot. One bullet shattered the window. Above his microphone, a murti of Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, sat in a blue box with twinkling red lights around him. Saved because the gunmen did not climb the stairs to his announcement booth, Zende called his wife when the shooting stopped. "I am in the office. I'm safe. Don't worry."
He is one of many heroes who displayed noble qualities in the midst of bullets, death and panic. Many of us westerners who regularly visit India or who have lived there have come to appreciate the finer qualities of ordinary Indians. Despite so many ugly and distorted influences, Punya Bhumi, the land of spiritual culture, remains alive somehow. No matter how much under attack it becomes, whether from within its own borders-- by corrupt politicians or misguided religionists-- or from outside forces who envy and hate the Indians because they do not embrace their fundamentalism, the character of India's people still shines thru, as it did in some of the darkest hours last week in Mumbai.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Massacre in Mumbai
As i write, the standoff between terrorists and Indian army commandos in Mumbai continues. Till now, more than 150 people have been killed, around 300 injured by the attacks. Yes, the remaining attackers will be killed, the body count of dead persons will go higher, the eyewitness accounts on 24/7 cable news stations will be told and retold, and the speculation about who may be responsible and how they did it will go on.
But behind the sheer horror of such barbaric and seemingly random acts of murder and chaos, what is the lesson to be learned? You will not get any underlying truths from the politicians' sound bites, the expressions of condemnation or the expert talking heads on cable tv. To get a clearer picture, we need to look at events thru the eyes of sastra.
The verse that first comes to mind is the famous padam padam ya vipadam natesam. Instead of Louis Armstrong's song, "What a Wonderful World," the reality is: What a Dangerous World this is. Anything can happen and in this world, it's often that it does. Shit happens here. You go to have dinner at a 5 star restaurant (as some were doing at the Taj and Oberoi Hotels in Mumbai yesterday evening), and without warning hand grenades are tossed, explosions go off and automatic rifles are firing rounds of deadly bullets in your direction. Who is shooting, who is dying, who is being injured, who is escaping unharmed?? In the chaos, all seems to be random, and all reason appears to be absent (although we know from sastra that everything follows nature's laws which includes the law of destiny or karma, and nature is under the control of Krishna). To the ignorant, which is basically everyone in the material world, life seems predictable, but this predictability is quite temporary and no one can predict how and when this life will end.
Another thought related to this tragic event is how this needless killing is a result of prejudice and brainwashing. My first reaction when i started seeing the unfolding drama on the internet and tv was to condemn the killers. But then i saw a photograph of one of the alleged terrorists who had attacked the VT train station in Mumbai. Most of the people he killed were innocent children, women and vendors who sell chai and snacks at the station. But this killer looked to be only around 20 years old, dressed in a t shirt and jeans, like he could have been a college student. What inspired such misplaced blind faith in him that he chose this path? For sure, it was the work of malicious hate-mongers who misuse the teachings of God to incite hopeless young men to think of themselves as martyrs and actually become murderers.
Fundamentalists of all religions are the best and worst at the offense of interpreting God's desires and His words to incite hatred, bigotry and violence to achieve not God's wishes, but their own perverted goals. How can anyone who claims to follow God not accept that everyone who has life, has God within him? How can they claim to be superior to others? How can they justify murdering other jivas, either in human form or animal form? How can one claim to act for the Father while making plans to destroy their Father's other children?
So brainwashed boys who still look like children, are inspired to kill innocents by their fundamentalist gurus. The secular societies are also ignorant about how to follow a divine system, a society based on equality and spiritual values. So they create sytems that breed injustice, greed and imbalances. These injustices are the nourishment of the envious fundamentalists. Ignorance on both sides. A world where everyone talks about freedom or truth or God, but no one listens to Him when he speaks or to his pure devotees when they appear. Everyone talks; no one listens.
The noise, both inside everyone's mind and outside in the geopolitical world, keeps getting louder and louder. It's the sound of danger. The only real protection in any dangerous situation, is the presence of God. In such dire times as these, we should remind one another of the promise of Mahaprabhu, that God is not different from his names. In fact, He is more accessible in his names than any other form. Unfortunately, i have no attraction for hearing his names. This is the real tragedy of the precarious times we live in.
But behind the sheer horror of such barbaric and seemingly random acts of murder and chaos, what is the lesson to be learned? You will not get any underlying truths from the politicians' sound bites, the expressions of condemnation or the expert talking heads on cable tv. To get a clearer picture, we need to look at events thru the eyes of sastra.
The verse that first comes to mind is the famous padam padam ya vipadam natesam. Instead of Louis Armstrong's song, "What a Wonderful World," the reality is: What a Dangerous World this is. Anything can happen and in this world, it's often that it does. Shit happens here. You go to have dinner at a 5 star restaurant (as some were doing at the Taj and Oberoi Hotels in Mumbai yesterday evening), and without warning hand grenades are tossed, explosions go off and automatic rifles are firing rounds of deadly bullets in your direction. Who is shooting, who is dying, who is being injured, who is escaping unharmed?? In the chaos, all seems to be random, and all reason appears to be absent (although we know from sastra that everything follows nature's laws which includes the law of destiny or karma, and nature is under the control of Krishna). To the ignorant, which is basically everyone in the material world, life seems predictable, but this predictability is quite temporary and no one can predict how and when this life will end.
Another thought related to this tragic event is how this needless killing is a result of prejudice and brainwashing. My first reaction when i started seeing the unfolding drama on the internet and tv was to condemn the killers. But then i saw a photograph of one of the alleged terrorists who had attacked the VT train station in Mumbai. Most of the people he killed were innocent children, women and vendors who sell chai and snacks at the station. But this killer looked to be only around 20 years old, dressed in a t shirt and jeans, like he could have been a college student. What inspired such misplaced blind faith in him that he chose this path? For sure, it was the work of malicious hate-mongers who misuse the teachings of God to incite hopeless young men to think of themselves as martyrs and actually become murderers.
Fundamentalists of all religions are the best and worst at the offense of interpreting God's desires and His words to incite hatred, bigotry and violence to achieve not God's wishes, but their own perverted goals. How can anyone who claims to follow God not accept that everyone who has life, has God within him? How can they claim to be superior to others? How can they justify murdering other jivas, either in human form or animal form? How can one claim to act for the Father while making plans to destroy their Father's other children?
So brainwashed boys who still look like children, are inspired to kill innocents by their fundamentalist gurus. The secular societies are also ignorant about how to follow a divine system, a society based on equality and spiritual values. So they create sytems that breed injustice, greed and imbalances. These injustices are the nourishment of the envious fundamentalists. Ignorance on both sides. A world where everyone talks about freedom or truth or God, but no one listens to Him when he speaks or to his pure devotees when they appear. Everyone talks; no one listens.
The noise, both inside everyone's mind and outside in the geopolitical world, keeps getting louder and louder. It's the sound of danger. The only real protection in any dangerous situation, is the presence of God. In such dire times as these, we should remind one another of the promise of Mahaprabhu, that God is not different from his names. In fact, He is more accessible in his names than any other form. Unfortunately, i have no attraction for hearing his names. This is the real tragedy of the precarious times we live in.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Photos from the Dham
Here are a few photo albums from my recent visit to Vrindavan.
Click on the slideshow, the title of this post, or type in the link: http://picasaweb.google.com/jauvana
Click on the slideshow, the title of this post, or type in the link: http://picasaweb.google.com/jauvana
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Hairsplitting
"Couper les cheveux en quatre"
I just received an email from a nice godbrother from France who read my India Journal here. He especially liked the descriptions about being generous with the ricksaw wallas, and he elaborated on that point with some examples from Srila Bhaktisiddhanta and Srila Prabhupada. How, for example, in Haridwara, there was a long line of beggars sitting in front of their bowls and Prabhupada had his disciples go and put a few paisas in each one of them.
This godbrother explained the reason he didn't leave his comment directly on my blog was because of the tendency for others--especially on the internet-- to immediately tear apart another's opinions. He cited a French expression: Couper les cheveux en quatre-- splitting hairs in four parts lengthwise-- to describe this phenomenon. It seems that today's devotees, instead of focusing on unity in diversity, which is the basis of spiritual life and of Lord Caitanya's acintya bedabeda tattva, focus on debating and trying to defeat, ad nauseam, those who do not think, look, speak or act like they do.
This hairsplitting is one of the pastimes of the material world. It represents the backside of God-- along with other forms of false lordship/ false friendship/ worship-me ship. That does not mean i am against being critical when there is due reason. Anyone who reads this blog knows that i don't hold any punches if i see injustice or incompetence on the part of so-called leaders. Tyranny and oppression need to be weeded out, whether they are found in governments or in religious societies.
But being critical for its own sake, to exhibit one's superiority, while avoiding a tolerant mood of reconciliation that could bring jivas together in one house-- in this case the biggest tent in the universe, devotees who want to liberate the world-- is madness.
Hairsplitting is a holier-than-thou pastime. It splits us away from Kesava, the controller of Brahma and Siva, the possessor of the most beautiful, fine Hair. And it turns us into caricatures of sadhus, not worthy of the name.
I just received an email from a nice godbrother from France who read my India Journal here. He especially liked the descriptions about being generous with the ricksaw wallas, and he elaborated on that point with some examples from Srila Bhaktisiddhanta and Srila Prabhupada. How, for example, in Haridwara, there was a long line of beggars sitting in front of their bowls and Prabhupada had his disciples go and put a few paisas in each one of them.
This godbrother explained the reason he didn't leave his comment directly on my blog was because of the tendency for others--especially on the internet-- to immediately tear apart another's opinions. He cited a French expression: Couper les cheveux en quatre-- splitting hairs in four parts lengthwise-- to describe this phenomenon. It seems that today's devotees, instead of focusing on unity in diversity, which is the basis of spiritual life and of Lord Caitanya's acintya bedabeda tattva, focus on debating and trying to defeat, ad nauseam, those who do not think, look, speak or act like they do.
This hairsplitting is one of the pastimes of the material world. It represents the backside of God-- along with other forms of false lordship/ false friendship/ worship-me ship. That does not mean i am against being critical when there is due reason. Anyone who reads this blog knows that i don't hold any punches if i see injustice or incompetence on the part of so-called leaders. Tyranny and oppression need to be weeded out, whether they are found in governments or in religious societies.
But being critical for its own sake, to exhibit one's superiority, while avoiding a tolerant mood of reconciliation that could bring jivas together in one house-- in this case the biggest tent in the universe, devotees who want to liberate the world-- is madness.
Hairsplitting is a holier-than-thou pastime. It splits us away from Kesava, the controller of Brahma and Siva, the possessor of the most beautiful, fine Hair. And it turns us into caricatures of sadhus, not worthy of the name.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
India Journal, Conclusion
When i wake up i open the door to my room and walk out on the veranda, offering my pranams to the towers and cakras of the Imli Tala mandir within sight next door. The open courtyard of Yamuna Kunj has a net placed over the top of it, to protect it from becoming a monkey sanctuary. Monkeys run across it and they sometimes fight on it, using it as a bridge. Below in the garden is a tiny marble kund that is filled with water, some grass, a picnic table and on the brick wall, a painting of Yamuna devi. I have spent several months in this room on previous trips. This morning i realize i will be leaving Yamuna kunj and Vrindavan in a few hours.
I chant my rounds on the veranda, pacing back and forth. The early morning light and quiet with the sight of the cakras on top of Imli Tala make this a wonderful place to chant. Japa in this setting is effortless and immediately rewarding. Chanting on beads in Vrindavan is one of the opulences of Vrindavan. I read that some western devotees once approached Krishna das babaji, the great kirtaniya godbrother of Srila Prabhupada, to record his singing. They brought instruments and a tape recorder. It was ekadasi in Vrindavan. When requested, he declined to sing. He said, "tonight we shall chant without any distractions." And he began chanting japa. Vrindavan is perfect for such modest kirtan. There is no need of distractions, not even melody and rhythm.
Later in the morning i attend a Tirobhav (Disappearance day) festival for Srila Prabhupada at Vrinda Kunj. This is the day Prabhupada left us 31 years earlier and departed for Goloka Vrindavan. I was invited to speak at Iskcon but i am too negative towards the institution to speak there. They want to celebrate in their own sentimental way the fantasy that Iskcon still represents Prabhupada's legacy. They will never admit that they distorted his vision and drove away most of his disciples. I don't have the power or the purity to persuade them otherwise. Better to share my thoughts with a small group of devotees who are not victims or perpetrators of lies and envy.
There are four or five godbrothers who speak about Prabhupada at Vrinda Kunj, along with a few local Gaudiya math personalities. I am touched by the sincerity of the godbrothers. All of them had been in Iskcon, some more than 30 years. Now they are independent-- householder, vanaprastha, sannyasi. All keep Srila Prabhupada in the core of their hearts. Their allegiance and faithfulness is to him, not to a society. They are not blinded by politics. When their eyes finally open to transcendental reality, they will see Srila Prabhupada as he is.
They are not like those devotees who pretend to know Prabhupada while they focus on their narrow self interest. Such devotees are like those who pretend to be asleep. Try as you will, no one can awaken them. Shake them, shout, jump up and down, they continue their pretense of sleeping. But the honest disciples, even if they experience difficulty controlling their senses or depression due to lack of association, they will wake up when Prabhupada calls them. They are like the gopis who lost Krishna's darsan for some time, but will find him again by the intensity of their searching.
After the speaking program and puspanjali (offering of flowers to Prabhupada) we enjoy a satisfying (and not too spicy) feast. I stay after prasadam to sit with the godbrothers until things wind down. Then i go back to my room for one last tidying up. The books and clothing that i am keeping here i lock up in my almira, a large steel cupboard. An almira is very useful in India. Not only does it keep your things locked, but also keeps dust out of your things. I have already given extra keys to the room to the manager of Yamuna Kunj and the TP of Vrinda Kunj. Their guests can use this room when needed. I don't know when i'll return.
I find a ricksaw on the parikram marg and go up to Raman Reti. I still need to get a haircut. It's one of the simple pleasures of life in Vrindavan. The barbers are not fashion stylists; they are Brijbasis who make a meager living cutting hair and giving shaves with open razors. I find a barber and ask him for a trim. I explain it carefully otherwise he will think i want to shave up. The haircut takes all of 10 minutes. I offer him 40 rupees, at least twice the local rate, and he nods his head to signal his acceptance.
After taking a shower, i go for darsan at Iskcon. The deities look stunning with a rainbow assortment of flowers behind them. Deity worship is one area where Iskcon never compromised. They have taken this instruction of Prabhupada's seriously. I think it goes along with a kanista (neophyte) understanding that God is in the temple. Outside, between brothers and sisters, anything goes-- envy, greed, money, power, control, prestige, backstabbing. But inside the temple, everyone agrees, God is here. And gorgeously dressed today are the Vrindavan deities, an opulent feast for the eyes. During my darsan i bump into a godbrother who is friendly to me, Bhurijan. I also like him. He's a scholar and keeps his own counsel. He reminds me about the ceremony in Srila Prabhupada's quarters that takes place later this evening, and asks me if i'm going. I tell him i'm not going, but it reminds me that i have not yet been to Prabhupada's rooms this visit. I wish Bhurijan well and offer my obeisances to Krishna Balaram and Radha Syamasundar, walking to Prabhupada's quarters behind the temple.
My first visit to Vrindavan was in 1974, when the temple was under construction. There where some shacks here for a handful of devotees, an open pit where the temple foundation was being laid, and one room had been built-- the first room of what later became Srila Prabhupada's quarters. I was lucky enough to spend a few freezing days in February of that year when Prabhupada was visiting. He was here to oversee the construction which was not going well. His foreign disciples were unable to order the building materials and organize the work. Prabhupada needed to personally come here to tell them how to do things. In those days India was a quasi-socialist country. All requests for supplies of materials like bricks, concrete, etc. needed to go thru government agencies. Somehow Prabhupada knew what to do and whom to see, and he was the only one who knew. So he was acting as a mistry (contractor) to build his own temple. It was an especially cold winter month in Vrindavan when temperatures dropped below freezing and there was no heat available. I was also freezing there, sleeping on a stone cold floor in Fogel Ashram, the closest ashram that had rooms at the time. But Prabhupada's presence was more than enough warmth to keep me in Vrindavan for those days.
Srila Prabhupada was continuously teaching us that as spirit souls we have a loving relationship with Krishna. He was also always engaged in creating facilities for us to serve Krishna with devotion. He lived for these principles and that's what i remember about my times with him. The morning walks, the darsans and the talks in his room, everything centered on the philosophy of devotional service and nice dealings amongst devotees. Now as i enter Prabhupada's room, i try to go back to that time. It's difficult, because there are distractions. The room is decorated ceiling to floor with flowers. Prabhupada's bed where he left this world is a duvet of roses. An elaborate kirtan led by Aindra is going on. The room is filling up with visitors and devotees are being screened at the door to determine who can remain and who needs to exit. At the gate outside the room there is a metal detector and security guards.
In my mind, i flashback to the same room 34 years ago when life was a lot more simple in Vrindavan. The temple, a construction site, was way out in what seemed like the countryside. The road in front was made of sand and there was only one shop across the road. Inside his room, Prabhupada was sitting cross legged behind a low table, and 20 or so disciples were around him, listening to him speak. Even on the Abirbhav (Appearance Day) of his spiritual master-- which happened to be the centennial celebration of his birth (Srila Bhaktisiddhanta appeared at Puri in 1874), Srila Prabhupada did not make a big show. He simply asked Jamuna to cook a feast in the kitchen and he called all his disciples, regardless of their positions (even me!), into his room, and asked us to sit with him as he spoke about our relationship with Krishna. His informal class went on for several hours that morning. During that time, Ravi Shankar and George Harrison stopped by to see him, unannounced. Without skipping a beat or asking any of us to leave, Prabhupada handled them expertly, making both of them feel welcome. He had Guru das feed George some samosas in the kitchen, even before the offering had been made. And when Ravi and George departed after their brief visit, Prabhupada continued talking with us as if there had been no interruption.
Now, 34 years later, the pomp and ritual in the room make the Prabhupada i remember difficult to place in this setting. I offer my dandavats in front of his murti, and get up to leave. It's the memory i want to keep, not the ceremony. For Iskcon, the spectacle has become the thing. For Prabhupada, it was his mission to wake us up to our real nature. I don't think he liked the pageantry, especially if it became a replacement for his message. The essence of his life was to speak about Krishna and to give us the vision to make us all mad after Krishna, like he was.
From Prabhupada's room, i walk quickly to my storage room, next to Radhapati's apartment. Radhapati and i meet and we talk as i fine tune my packing. I'm taking five pieces of luggage. I hope they will allow me to carry three on the plane. Otherwise i will need to pay. Whatever happens at the airport, at least i want to be within the weight limit. Using a hand scale that Kurma Rupa lent me the other day, i lift the heavy bags, while Radhapati bends down to read the kilo weight on the small metal scale. The bags weigh around 24 kgs, just a kilo over the limit. We wonder about the accuracy of the hand scale. It's probably meant for weighing straw for Kurma's cows. We laugh about it, but this is Vrindavan, and you use what you have.
Radhapati and i talk until around 8 pm, and then, knowing he takes rest early, i say goodbye to him. I try to relax, although waiting for a taxi to take you on a 3.5 hour ride to the airport with all this luggage is stressful. Downstairs i tell the chokidhar (guard) the taxi will come in an hour or so, just to prepare him. I had called Gopal das, the oldest and most reliable taxi walla in Vrindavan, to book a taxi. He has been meeting me at the airport and dropping me off for more than 10 years. He has Ambassador cars, the white work horse that was practically the only model in India for 45 years, before the motorcar culture exploded here. It's a heavy car with a 50s style and roundness to it. It's still my favorite.
Right on time, at 9:30, Gopal's driver shows up in a white Ambassador. I start bringing the bags downstairs and together we pack up the car. The two large bags just fit into the boot (trunk). The front seat is loaded with my harmonium, one guitar and a backpack. One last check and we take off. I sit alone, behind the driver, as we slowly pull away on a dark, back road leading out of Vrindavan.
I chant my rounds on the veranda, pacing back and forth. The early morning light and quiet with the sight of the cakras on top of Imli Tala make this a wonderful place to chant. Japa in this setting is effortless and immediately rewarding. Chanting on beads in Vrindavan is one of the opulences of Vrindavan. I read that some western devotees once approached Krishna das babaji, the great kirtaniya godbrother of Srila Prabhupada, to record his singing. They brought instruments and a tape recorder. It was ekadasi in Vrindavan. When requested, he declined to sing. He said, "tonight we shall chant without any distractions." And he began chanting japa. Vrindavan is perfect for such modest kirtan. There is no need of distractions, not even melody and rhythm.
Later in the morning i attend a Tirobhav (Disappearance day) festival for Srila Prabhupada at Vrinda Kunj. This is the day Prabhupada left us 31 years earlier and departed for Goloka Vrindavan. I was invited to speak at Iskcon but i am too negative towards the institution to speak there. They want to celebrate in their own sentimental way the fantasy that Iskcon still represents Prabhupada's legacy. They will never admit that they distorted his vision and drove away most of his disciples. I don't have the power or the purity to persuade them otherwise. Better to share my thoughts with a small group of devotees who are not victims or perpetrators of lies and envy.
There are four or five godbrothers who speak about Prabhupada at Vrinda Kunj, along with a few local Gaudiya math personalities. I am touched by the sincerity of the godbrothers. All of them had been in Iskcon, some more than 30 years. Now they are independent-- householder, vanaprastha, sannyasi. All keep Srila Prabhupada in the core of their hearts. Their allegiance and faithfulness is to him, not to a society. They are not blinded by politics. When their eyes finally open to transcendental reality, they will see Srila Prabhupada as he is.
They are not like those devotees who pretend to know Prabhupada while they focus on their narrow self interest. Such devotees are like those who pretend to be asleep. Try as you will, no one can awaken them. Shake them, shout, jump up and down, they continue their pretense of sleeping. But the honest disciples, even if they experience difficulty controlling their senses or depression due to lack of association, they will wake up when Prabhupada calls them. They are like the gopis who lost Krishna's darsan for some time, but will find him again by the intensity of their searching.
After the speaking program and puspanjali (offering of flowers to Prabhupada) we enjoy a satisfying (and not too spicy) feast. I stay after prasadam to sit with the godbrothers until things wind down. Then i go back to my room for one last tidying up. The books and clothing that i am keeping here i lock up in my almira, a large steel cupboard. An almira is very useful in India. Not only does it keep your things locked, but also keeps dust out of your things. I have already given extra keys to the room to the manager of Yamuna Kunj and the TP of Vrinda Kunj. Their guests can use this room when needed. I don't know when i'll return.
I find a ricksaw on the parikram marg and go up to Raman Reti. I still need to get a haircut. It's one of the simple pleasures of life in Vrindavan. The barbers are not fashion stylists; they are Brijbasis who make a meager living cutting hair and giving shaves with open razors. I find a barber and ask him for a trim. I explain it carefully otherwise he will think i want to shave up. The haircut takes all of 10 minutes. I offer him 40 rupees, at least twice the local rate, and he nods his head to signal his acceptance.
After taking a shower, i go for darsan at Iskcon. The deities look stunning with a rainbow assortment of flowers behind them. Deity worship is one area where Iskcon never compromised. They have taken this instruction of Prabhupada's seriously. I think it goes along with a kanista (neophyte) understanding that God is in the temple. Outside, between brothers and sisters, anything goes-- envy, greed, money, power, control, prestige, backstabbing. But inside the temple, everyone agrees, God is here. And gorgeously dressed today are the Vrindavan deities, an opulent feast for the eyes. During my darsan i bump into a godbrother who is friendly to me, Bhurijan. I also like him. He's a scholar and keeps his own counsel. He reminds me about the ceremony in Srila Prabhupada's quarters that takes place later this evening, and asks me if i'm going. I tell him i'm not going, but it reminds me that i have not yet been to Prabhupada's rooms this visit. I wish Bhurijan well and offer my obeisances to Krishna Balaram and Radha Syamasundar, walking to Prabhupada's quarters behind the temple.
My first visit to Vrindavan was in 1974, when the temple was under construction. There where some shacks here for a handful of devotees, an open pit where the temple foundation was being laid, and one room had been built-- the first room of what later became Srila Prabhupada's quarters. I was lucky enough to spend a few freezing days in February of that year when Prabhupada was visiting. He was here to oversee the construction which was not going well. His foreign disciples were unable to order the building materials and organize the work. Prabhupada needed to personally come here to tell them how to do things. In those days India was a quasi-socialist country. All requests for supplies of materials like bricks, concrete, etc. needed to go thru government agencies. Somehow Prabhupada knew what to do and whom to see, and he was the only one who knew. So he was acting as a mistry (contractor) to build his own temple. It was an especially cold winter month in Vrindavan when temperatures dropped below freezing and there was no heat available. I was also freezing there, sleeping on a stone cold floor in Fogel Ashram, the closest ashram that had rooms at the time. But Prabhupada's presence was more than enough warmth to keep me in Vrindavan for those days.
Srila Prabhupada was continuously teaching us that as spirit souls we have a loving relationship with Krishna. He was also always engaged in creating facilities for us to serve Krishna with devotion. He lived for these principles and that's what i remember about my times with him. The morning walks, the darsans and the talks in his room, everything centered on the philosophy of devotional service and nice dealings amongst devotees. Now as i enter Prabhupada's room, i try to go back to that time. It's difficult, because there are distractions. The room is decorated ceiling to floor with flowers. Prabhupada's bed where he left this world is a duvet of roses. An elaborate kirtan led by Aindra is going on. The room is filling up with visitors and devotees are being screened at the door to determine who can remain and who needs to exit. At the gate outside the room there is a metal detector and security guards.
In my mind, i flashback to the same room 34 years ago when life was a lot more simple in Vrindavan. The temple, a construction site, was way out in what seemed like the countryside. The road in front was made of sand and there was only one shop across the road. Inside his room, Prabhupada was sitting cross legged behind a low table, and 20 or so disciples were around him, listening to him speak. Even on the Abirbhav (Appearance Day) of his spiritual master-- which happened to be the centennial celebration of his birth (Srila Bhaktisiddhanta appeared at Puri in 1874), Srila Prabhupada did not make a big show. He simply asked Jamuna to cook a feast in the kitchen and he called all his disciples, regardless of their positions (even me!), into his room, and asked us to sit with him as he spoke about our relationship with Krishna. His informal class went on for several hours that morning. During that time, Ravi Shankar and George Harrison stopped by to see him, unannounced. Without skipping a beat or asking any of us to leave, Prabhupada handled them expertly, making both of them feel welcome. He had Guru das feed George some samosas in the kitchen, even before the offering had been made. And when Ravi and George departed after their brief visit, Prabhupada continued talking with us as if there had been no interruption.
Now, 34 years later, the pomp and ritual in the room make the Prabhupada i remember difficult to place in this setting. I offer my dandavats in front of his murti, and get up to leave. It's the memory i want to keep, not the ceremony. For Iskcon, the spectacle has become the thing. For Prabhupada, it was his mission to wake us up to our real nature. I don't think he liked the pageantry, especially if it became a replacement for his message. The essence of his life was to speak about Krishna and to give us the vision to make us all mad after Krishna, like he was.
From Prabhupada's room, i walk quickly to my storage room, next to Radhapati's apartment. Radhapati and i meet and we talk as i fine tune my packing. I'm taking five pieces of luggage. I hope they will allow me to carry three on the plane. Otherwise i will need to pay. Whatever happens at the airport, at least i want to be within the weight limit. Using a hand scale that Kurma Rupa lent me the other day, i lift the heavy bags, while Radhapati bends down to read the kilo weight on the small metal scale. The bags weigh around 24 kgs, just a kilo over the limit. We wonder about the accuracy of the hand scale. It's probably meant for weighing straw for Kurma's cows. We laugh about it, but this is Vrindavan, and you use what you have.
Radhapati and i talk until around 8 pm, and then, knowing he takes rest early, i say goodbye to him. I try to relax, although waiting for a taxi to take you on a 3.5 hour ride to the airport with all this luggage is stressful. Downstairs i tell the chokidhar (guard) the taxi will come in an hour or so, just to prepare him. I had called Gopal das, the oldest and most reliable taxi walla in Vrindavan, to book a taxi. He has been meeting me at the airport and dropping me off for more than 10 years. He has Ambassador cars, the white work horse that was practically the only model in India for 45 years, before the motorcar culture exploded here. It's a heavy car with a 50s style and roundness to it. It's still my favorite.
Right on time, at 9:30, Gopal's driver shows up in a white Ambassador. I start bringing the bags downstairs and together we pack up the car. The two large bags just fit into the boot (trunk). The front seat is loaded with my harmonium, one guitar and a backpack. One last check and we take off. I sit alone, behind the driver, as we slowly pull away on a dark, back road leading out of Vrindavan.
Friday, November 14, 2008
India Journal, Part 12
I wake up Saturday morning thinking that only two more mornings remain. Throughout this visit i have been aware of how limited (10 days) my time is in Vrindavan, and this economy of time has made me more appreciative. Today, however, my appreciation turns into melancholy when i realize that i will soon be on my way to the airport and back to the West.
I have been assembling the things i plan to bring back with me in a storage room located next to Radhapati's apartment. This gives me an oppotunity to have an ongoing dialogue with Radhapati. But today i can no longer put off the inevitable packing up and talk. To make things worse, i will be traveling heavy back to the US: three guitars that i had brought to India over the years (which are gradually getting ruined by the extreme temperature and humidity changes), a harmonium, a bag full of clothing, books, devotional stuff, plus a backpack filled with a video camera, digital recorder, still camera and other semi-valuables. To save money, i asked the luggage walla in Loi Bazaar to custom-make a black canvas carrying bag for me. I brought the hard guitar cases to the shop so the tailor can measure them to make the canvas bag large enough to fit both cases. I will place both guitars in their cases and tape the cases together with Gorilla duct tape (very sticky stuff). Then i will place the tapped cases into the black canvas bag and check in both guitars as one piece of luggage. That's my plan.
But now i have no energy for packing so i take a ricksaw to Rupa's Sandipani Muni School to see the kids one more time, during their morning program. I take my camera and almost immediatly i'm taking portraits at the request of the boys. The girls are shy, but the boys have no inhibition about getting their pictures taken. (I will upload some of these photos soon and will include the web address where they are located in a future post.)
After the morning program at the school i force myself back to the storage room to sort thru my things and begin the packing process. It takes me the rest of the morning. I have been a gypsy my whole adult life. I have not stayed in one place. I must have lived in 60 places in the past 40 years. This has given me a kind a forced detachment in terms of place. But also a kind of weariness. Whenever i pack up now this sadness appears, and all the more when it means i'm leaving the dham.
In the afternoon i go to see Manjari at her MVT apartment. We have a good friendship now and i consider myself fortunate to have been close with her for so many years. She is a unique person and a devout bhakta. But it is difficult to reconcile a failed marriage, no matter how friendly it is. It is hard not to find fault or relive regrets. In some states, they have "no-fault" auto insurance. I'm not sure what that means, but there should be something similar for marriages. After all, everyone enters their vows with the best of intentions and highest of hopes. And after 5, 10, 20, 30 or 40 years, either by commission or omission (by infidelity or by death) it ends in disappointment. It's a law of nature underlined by a disposable society. One jiva who was a source of happiness for another becomes a source of grief. When we hear the great personalities discuss this topic in the Bhagavatam, we see that sometimes even they experience these changes and feel bewildered by them.
It's all part of the cosmic wheel that keeps us spinning around. Destiny, the hand of providence, is the mover and shaker! Shakin' that tree ("i"). Causin' that grief ("me"). Makin' us cry ("mine"). But, it's not really i, me, mine. It's destiny. Destiny drives a hard bargain. To experience suffering. To become exhausted. And finally, to chase after and embrace my connection with Sri Guru and the pure vaisnavas with a full heart. Hey vaisnava thakur! Only you can relieve me from this burden of samsara.
I go back to the storage room to complete my packing. Tomorrow is my last day in Vrindavan, and i don't want to spend it packing up. Kesava Maharaj, a nice sadhu godbrother who preaches in Latin America, comes by to say hello to Radhapati while i'm packing. We all sit down in the storage room for a chat. His presence along with Radhapati makes me feel less sad about leaving Vrindavan. When he gets up to leave we all hug each other and wish each other good fortune. When someone is a genuine devotee, i don't feel envious or uncomfortable in their presence. I feel a lightness in my own being, a contact high, a hopeful spirit. That's what sadhu sanga is. It's not a performance. It's a matter of the heart.
I have been assembling the things i plan to bring back with me in a storage room located next to Radhapati's apartment. This gives me an oppotunity to have an ongoing dialogue with Radhapati. But today i can no longer put off the inevitable packing up and talk. To make things worse, i will be traveling heavy back to the US: three guitars that i had brought to India over the years (which are gradually getting ruined by the extreme temperature and humidity changes), a harmonium, a bag full of clothing, books, devotional stuff, plus a backpack filled with a video camera, digital recorder, still camera and other semi-valuables. To save money, i asked the luggage walla in Loi Bazaar to custom-make a black canvas carrying bag for me. I brought the hard guitar cases to the shop so the tailor can measure them to make the canvas bag large enough to fit both cases. I will place both guitars in their cases and tape the cases together with Gorilla duct tape (very sticky stuff). Then i will place the tapped cases into the black canvas bag and check in both guitars as one piece of luggage. That's my plan.
But now i have no energy for packing so i take a ricksaw to Rupa's Sandipani Muni School to see the kids one more time, during their morning program. I take my camera and almost immediatly i'm taking portraits at the request of the boys. The girls are shy, but the boys have no inhibition about getting their pictures taken. (I will upload some of these photos soon and will include the web address where they are located in a future post.)
After the morning program at the school i force myself back to the storage room to sort thru my things and begin the packing process. It takes me the rest of the morning. I have been a gypsy my whole adult life. I have not stayed in one place. I must have lived in 60 places in the past 40 years. This has given me a kind a forced detachment in terms of place. But also a kind of weariness. Whenever i pack up now this sadness appears, and all the more when it means i'm leaving the dham.
In the afternoon i go to see Manjari at her MVT apartment. We have a good friendship now and i consider myself fortunate to have been close with her for so many years. She is a unique person and a devout bhakta. But it is difficult to reconcile a failed marriage, no matter how friendly it is. It is hard not to find fault or relive regrets. In some states, they have "no-fault" auto insurance. I'm not sure what that means, but there should be something similar for marriages. After all, everyone enters their vows with the best of intentions and highest of hopes. And after 5, 10, 20, 30 or 40 years, either by commission or omission (by infidelity or by death) it ends in disappointment. It's a law of nature underlined by a disposable society. One jiva who was a source of happiness for another becomes a source of grief. When we hear the great personalities discuss this topic in the Bhagavatam, we see that sometimes even they experience these changes and feel bewildered by them.
It's all part of the cosmic wheel that keeps us spinning around. Destiny, the hand of providence, is the mover and shaker! Shakin' that tree ("i"). Causin' that grief ("me"). Makin' us cry ("mine"). But, it's not really i, me, mine. It's destiny. Destiny drives a hard bargain. To experience suffering. To become exhausted. And finally, to chase after and embrace my connection with Sri Guru and the pure vaisnavas with a full heart. Hey vaisnava thakur! Only you can relieve me from this burden of samsara.
I go back to the storage room to complete my packing. Tomorrow is my last day in Vrindavan, and i don't want to spend it packing up. Kesava Maharaj, a nice sadhu godbrother who preaches in Latin America, comes by to say hello to Radhapati while i'm packing. We all sit down in the storage room for a chat. His presence along with Radhapati makes me feel less sad about leaving Vrindavan. When he gets up to leave we all hug each other and wish each other good fortune. When someone is a genuine devotee, i don't feel envious or uncomfortable in their presence. I feel a lightness in my own being, a contact high, a hopeful spirit. That's what sadhu sanga is. It's not a performance. It's a matter of the heart.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
India Journal, Part 11
Yamuna Kunj is a beautifully preserved 19th century bath house for Hindu Queens who took their baths in the Yamuna, when the holy river formerly flowed in front of it. It was purchased by Paramadwaiti Swami in a state of complete disrepair and he and one of his disciples renovated it while keeping its classic elegance. It's now an ashram for an odd assortment of brahmacaries, vanaprasthas and sannyasis who are friends or followers of Paramadwaiti's mission.
I stop off in Loi Bazaar on my way back to my room at Yamuna Kunj. I'm looking for peacock feathers, conchshell eyes and jewelry for my Giriraj sila, in the bazaar where murti wallas and jari wallas have their storefronts or in some cases, simple stalls. It's a pleasure to shop for God, much more fun than for myself. I also enjoy the human exchanges with the shopkeepers. No impersonal dealings here. At the bazaar i realize that i'm running out of rupees, so i find a money changer to exchange $200, enough rupees for the rest of my trip plus some extra. I'm taking excess baggage back with me to the US, and it may cost me at the airport. The money changer gives me the daily exchange rate of 48.20 for one dollar, down a bit from last week. I agree to the rate and give him my dollars. He starts counting out 9640 rupees with 100 rupee notes. I stop him and explain i don't want to carry 96 pieces of currency with me. I want 500 rupee notes which have been standard currency in India for several years. He doesn't have 500 rupee notes he apologizes. How can you not have them, i reply, currency is your business. After some prodding, he insists he is out of 500 rupee notes. I feign anger and demand my dollars back. He tries to calm me down by promising "to find" some 500 rupee notes. We finally agree on a compromise: 7500 in 500 notes (15 pieces) and the balance of 2100 in 100s (21 pieces). All the notes are counted twice by him and once again by me. Rather than end the transaction on a positive note, he sarcastically lets me know that i was aggressive to demand the 500 rupee notes: So, are you satisfied now? he asks. Yes, I say, packing the bills away in my money belt, mentally deciding to avoid him if i need more rupees. Being personal cuts both ways.
I meet a Swedish godbrother and fellow musician, Raivata, in front of Prabhupada's samadhi and we go for lunch together. He lives in rural Sweden, almost like a hermit. Still he meets young people and has brought several young Swedes to Krishna consciousness. He tells them he cannot recommend a guru, but he develops friendships and instills the spiritual practice in them. I admire him for that. After lunch we both get on a ricksaw and meet Paramadwaiti Swami and a group of mostly Latin devotees for Harinam.
Maharaj is in a jovial mood, and he leads the group to the nearby Gopinath Gaudiya Math, the Vrindavan base of the late Bhakti Premode Puri Maharaj who lived to be over 100. The temple is charming: the presiding deity is Lord Balaram who is known as Dauoji in his deity form here. Dauoji is a marble vigraha who has been in Vrindavan for several hundred years. He shares the altar with a large Giriraj, making this an unusual Mandir. We have a lively kirtan in front of the deities, while the Bengali pujaris offer everyone leaf cups with guava and banana prasadam.
From Dauoji, the kirtan makes its way thru the lanes of old Vrindavan to another little known temple of Narasinga dev. The pujari and his children know Paramadwaiti and run ahead of the kirtan party to unlock the temple and let us in. According to the pujari, this is the only deity of Lord Narasinga in Vrindavan. He was discovered 150 years ago in the Yamuna. The temple is quite simple and basic but the deity is nicely dressed. It is a bit of a shock to see Narasingha dev in Vrindavan, a feeling of awe and reverence, although i'm sure He has his own pastimes here.
When the kirtan party moves on, i somehow get separated from them. I don't mind, as i want to complete the shopping i started earlier in the day, and Loi Bazaar is walking distance. I have only 48 hours left in Vrindavan, and i need to use the remaining time efficiently. I stay in the Bazaar until 8 pm and then take a ricksaw back to my room. By the time i reach there, i'm tired from a long day. I unzip my mosquito net and climb inside. I may not be doing much bhajan here, but just lying down and drifting off to sleep in Vrindavan, next to Imli Tala on the Parikram marg, feels more holy to me than anything i do in the West.
I stop off in Loi Bazaar on my way back to my room at Yamuna Kunj. I'm looking for peacock feathers, conchshell eyes and jewelry for my Giriraj sila, in the bazaar where murti wallas and jari wallas have their storefronts or in some cases, simple stalls. It's a pleasure to shop for God, much more fun than for myself. I also enjoy the human exchanges with the shopkeepers. No impersonal dealings here. At the bazaar i realize that i'm running out of rupees, so i find a money changer to exchange $200, enough rupees for the rest of my trip plus some extra. I'm taking excess baggage back with me to the US, and it may cost me at the airport. The money changer gives me the daily exchange rate of 48.20 for one dollar, down a bit from last week. I agree to the rate and give him my dollars. He starts counting out 9640 rupees with 100 rupee notes. I stop him and explain i don't want to carry 96 pieces of currency with me. I want 500 rupee notes which have been standard currency in India for several years. He doesn't have 500 rupee notes he apologizes. How can you not have them, i reply, currency is your business. After some prodding, he insists he is out of 500 rupee notes. I feign anger and demand my dollars back. He tries to calm me down by promising "to find" some 500 rupee notes. We finally agree on a compromise: 7500 in 500 notes (15 pieces) and the balance of 2100 in 100s (21 pieces). All the notes are counted twice by him and once again by me. Rather than end the transaction on a positive note, he sarcastically lets me know that i was aggressive to demand the 500 rupee notes: So, are you satisfied now? he asks. Yes, I say, packing the bills away in my money belt, mentally deciding to avoid him if i need more rupees. Being personal cuts both ways.
I meet a Swedish godbrother and fellow musician, Raivata, in front of Prabhupada's samadhi and we go for lunch together. He lives in rural Sweden, almost like a hermit. Still he meets young people and has brought several young Swedes to Krishna consciousness. He tells them he cannot recommend a guru, but he develops friendships and instills the spiritual practice in them. I admire him for that. After lunch we both get on a ricksaw and meet Paramadwaiti Swami and a group of mostly Latin devotees for Harinam.
Maharaj is in a jovial mood, and he leads the group to the nearby Gopinath Gaudiya Math, the Vrindavan base of the late Bhakti Premode Puri Maharaj who lived to be over 100. The temple is charming: the presiding deity is Lord Balaram who is known as Dauoji in his deity form here. Dauoji is a marble vigraha who has been in Vrindavan for several hundred years. He shares the altar with a large Giriraj, making this an unusual Mandir. We have a lively kirtan in front of the deities, while the Bengali pujaris offer everyone leaf cups with guava and banana prasadam.
From Dauoji, the kirtan makes its way thru the lanes of old Vrindavan to another little known temple of Narasinga dev. The pujari and his children know Paramadwaiti and run ahead of the kirtan party to unlock the temple and let us in. According to the pujari, this is the only deity of Lord Narasinga in Vrindavan. He was discovered 150 years ago in the Yamuna. The temple is quite simple and basic but the deity is nicely dressed. It is a bit of a shock to see Narasingha dev in Vrindavan, a feeling of awe and reverence, although i'm sure He has his own pastimes here.
When the kirtan party moves on, i somehow get separated from them. I don't mind, as i want to complete the shopping i started earlier in the day, and Loi Bazaar is walking distance. I have only 48 hours left in Vrindavan, and i need to use the remaining time efficiently. I stay in the Bazaar until 8 pm and then take a ricksaw back to my room. By the time i reach there, i'm tired from a long day. I unzip my mosquito net and climb inside. I may not be doing much bhajan here, but just lying down and drifting off to sleep in Vrindavan, next to Imli Tala on the Parikram marg, feels more holy to me than anything i do in the West.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
India Journal, Part 10
During lunch at the Food for Life Restaurant (near Lalita Ashram on the Parikram Marg), an Italian devotee offers us a box of sweets. I indulge in a couple of burfi and pushing my luck, a rasagulla. Later that nite, my throat becomes sore and chocked with mucous. The next morning i'm sick-- low fever, sneezing, symptoms of a full blown cold. Indian microbes have no mercy on western bodies. They are serious about their business. We are sitting ducks for them. So i fast all day, no appetite anyway. I need a low key day. Chanting and resting.
The following morning i feel well enough to get up and visit my favorite temples. I have only a few days left in Vrindavan and i have not yet had darshan. I find a very humble riscksaw walla and ask him to take me to Radha Damodar. I leave my shoes in the ricksaw and go inside. After obeisances and having darshan of Radha Damodar (and a collection of other deities: Radha Chalchikan, Radha Madhava, Radha Vrindavan Candra, Lalita Devi) and a giant black stone that the pujaris show only when someone offers a donation --they claim Lord Krishna gave this sila to Sanatan Goswam to circumambulate in his old age, and also claim the sila has the footprint and flute print of Lord Krishna melted in it-- i quickly go to Srila Prabhupada's room.
There has been a big controversy over Prabhupada's rooms at Radha Damodar. Iskcon was negligent about paying rent on the rooms; the Goswamis kept raising the rent. Iskcon made a grand plan to renovate the rooms and in the midst of their planning, the Goswamis tricked them and got possession of the rooms. The police came, Iskcon protested and finally it went to district court where Iskcon lost possession of the rooms, except for doing seva on alternate months. Then, Narasinga Swami (formerly Jagat Guru) who has his own mission based in Karnataka, somehow became involved with the Goswamis. So the simple peaceful place i used to visit, greeted by a godbrother from Hyderabad who cooked and cleaned and was pujari in these rooms for 10 years, is no more. I enter Prabhupada's room and after paying my obeisances, i'm greeted by an unknown western devotee who asks me, in a forced friendly manner: "Where are you from?" Without thinking, i respond: "What difference does it make where i'm from?" He says: "Well it helps to know where you're from in order to be personal." I reply: "I didn't come here to be personal. I came to offer my respects to my spiritual master." He gets the hint and graciously leaves the room, allowing me a few minutes alone with Prabhupada's murti. I don't stay long. The atmosphere is not the same as before. The walls are painted and it's clean, but there's an edge in the room that makes me uncomfortable. It's become someone's collection spot.
From Radha Damodar i get back on the ricksaw and want to go to Radha Raman. But Radha Shyamasundar Mandir (the deities of Shyamananda Prabhu) is just down the lane, and the ricksaw walla kindly reminds me of Them. So i enter the open courtyard of the temple and have darshan of these very beautiful, large deities, still in their early morning clothing. Some ladies are singing Hindi bhajans with the high-pitched female voices one hears in India. The pujari is relaxed and allows me to take photos of the deities. I leave a small donation and go back to the ricksaw. We proceed past Loi Bazaar and around Nidhuvan, a mysterious walled area that no one enters at nite, and arrive at Radha Raman Mandir. This is one of the favorite temples in Vrindavan. Radha Raman is self-manifest from a salagram sila that was worshipped by Gopala Bhatta Goswami. The Goswami was originally from Sri Rangam in Tamil Nadu, and Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu was his father's guest for four months when he toured South India. Later, Mahaprabhu asked him to move to Vrindavan, and the charming temple he built with first class puja for Radha Raman, reflects his South Indian brahminical upbringing. The deity worship is going on uninterrupted for 450 years. In the evenings classical musicians come here to play their instruments for Radha Raman, and a few vocalists sing bhajans in the improvisational style known as Drupada. Arotik is a community affair with a priest banging a loud gong and local Brijbasis shouting praises to Radha Raman.
Radha Raman jui is kind to me. At least he lets me pray to Him to allow me to return to Vrindavan, and has always granted me that prayer. He is the Chief Immigration Officer of Vrindavan for me. Just outside the temple, i walk thru a courtyard surrounded by apartments that house the many families who are descendents of the original pujaris. They have the right to live inside the temple complex and each have a turn doing temple seva. Padmanabha Goswami is the most well known of these sevaites to western devotees. His late father was a friend to Srila Prabhupada. Some mornings Prabhupada would walk to Radha Raman from his room at Radha Damodar and have darshan and visit with Padmanabha's father.
Around the side of the temple courtyard is the samadhi of Gopal Bhatta Goswami. It is nicely maintained by a small group of older babas who are bearded and dreadlocked. They are always friendly to me. The front door to the room containing the samadhi has a special bolt to secure the door from being pried open by monkeys, who hang out in abundance in the courtyard. Sometimes the babas let a cow into the samadhi area but monkeys are strictly unwelcome guests.
Despite my cold, i continue to visit several more temples this morning. The body really troubles us when the mind is unengaged. Experiencing pain and pleasure in this world is more a function of mind than body. That does not mean the body has no reality. But the mind is a higher reality and therefore controls the experience of the body. All reality is subjective, and the highest subject for us is our relationship with God. So when one experiences the Ultimate Subjective Reality, lower realities become insignificant and tolerable.
After visiting a Hanuman temple i had never seen before, across from Lal Babu Mandir, i land up at Vrinda Kunj, the ashram of my godbrother, Paramadwaiti Swami in the old section of Vrindavan. He tells me that this afternoon he will be taking his group out on nagar kirtan thru Vrindavan. That's always a treat for me. I tell him i will try to make it and take off for my room to get some rest.
The following morning i feel well enough to get up and visit my favorite temples. I have only a few days left in Vrindavan and i have not yet had darshan. I find a very humble riscksaw walla and ask him to take me to Radha Damodar. I leave my shoes in the ricksaw and go inside. After obeisances and having darshan of Radha Damodar (and a collection of other deities: Radha Chalchikan, Radha Madhava, Radha Vrindavan Candra, Lalita Devi) and a giant black stone that the pujaris show only when someone offers a donation --they claim Lord Krishna gave this sila to Sanatan Goswam to circumambulate in his old age, and also claim the sila has the footprint and flute print of Lord Krishna melted in it-- i quickly go to Srila Prabhupada's room.
There has been a big controversy over Prabhupada's rooms at Radha Damodar. Iskcon was negligent about paying rent on the rooms; the Goswamis kept raising the rent. Iskcon made a grand plan to renovate the rooms and in the midst of their planning, the Goswamis tricked them and got possession of the rooms. The police came, Iskcon protested and finally it went to district court where Iskcon lost possession of the rooms, except for doing seva on alternate months. Then, Narasinga Swami (formerly Jagat Guru) who has his own mission based in Karnataka, somehow became involved with the Goswamis. So the simple peaceful place i used to visit, greeted by a godbrother from Hyderabad who cooked and cleaned and was pujari in these rooms for 10 years, is no more. I enter Prabhupada's room and after paying my obeisances, i'm greeted by an unknown western devotee who asks me, in a forced friendly manner: "Where are you from?" Without thinking, i respond: "What difference does it make where i'm from?" He says: "Well it helps to know where you're from in order to be personal." I reply: "I didn't come here to be personal. I came to offer my respects to my spiritual master." He gets the hint and graciously leaves the room, allowing me a few minutes alone with Prabhupada's murti. I don't stay long. The atmosphere is not the same as before. The walls are painted and it's clean, but there's an edge in the room that makes me uncomfortable. It's become someone's collection spot.
From Radha Damodar i get back on the ricksaw and want to go to Radha Raman. But Radha Shyamasundar Mandir (the deities of Shyamananda Prabhu) is just down the lane, and the ricksaw walla kindly reminds me of Them. So i enter the open courtyard of the temple and have darshan of these very beautiful, large deities, still in their early morning clothing. Some ladies are singing Hindi bhajans with the high-pitched female voices one hears in India. The pujari is relaxed and allows me to take photos of the deities. I leave a small donation and go back to the ricksaw. We proceed past Loi Bazaar and around Nidhuvan, a mysterious walled area that no one enters at nite, and arrive at Radha Raman Mandir. This is one of the favorite temples in Vrindavan. Radha Raman is self-manifest from a salagram sila that was worshipped by Gopala Bhatta Goswami. The Goswami was originally from Sri Rangam in Tamil Nadu, and Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu was his father's guest for four months when he toured South India. Later, Mahaprabhu asked him to move to Vrindavan, and the charming temple he built with first class puja for Radha Raman, reflects his South Indian brahminical upbringing. The deity worship is going on uninterrupted for 450 years. In the evenings classical musicians come here to play their instruments for Radha Raman, and a few vocalists sing bhajans in the improvisational style known as Drupada. Arotik is a community affair with a priest banging a loud gong and local Brijbasis shouting praises to Radha Raman.
Radha Raman jui is kind to me. At least he lets me pray to Him to allow me to return to Vrindavan, and has always granted me that prayer. He is the Chief Immigration Officer of Vrindavan for me. Just outside the temple, i walk thru a courtyard surrounded by apartments that house the many families who are descendents of the original pujaris. They have the right to live inside the temple complex and each have a turn doing temple seva. Padmanabha Goswami is the most well known of these sevaites to western devotees. His late father was a friend to Srila Prabhupada. Some mornings Prabhupada would walk to Radha Raman from his room at Radha Damodar and have darshan and visit with Padmanabha's father.
Around the side of the temple courtyard is the samadhi of Gopal Bhatta Goswami. It is nicely maintained by a small group of older babas who are bearded and dreadlocked. They are always friendly to me. The front door to the room containing the samadhi has a special bolt to secure the door from being pried open by monkeys, who hang out in abundance in the courtyard. Sometimes the babas let a cow into the samadhi area but monkeys are strictly unwelcome guests.
Despite my cold, i continue to visit several more temples this morning. The body really troubles us when the mind is unengaged. Experiencing pain and pleasure in this world is more a function of mind than body. That does not mean the body has no reality. But the mind is a higher reality and therefore controls the experience of the body. All reality is subjective, and the highest subject for us is our relationship with God. So when one experiences the Ultimate Subjective Reality, lower realities become insignificant and tolerable.
After visiting a Hanuman temple i had never seen before, across from Lal Babu Mandir, i land up at Vrinda Kunj, the ashram of my godbrother, Paramadwaiti Swami in the old section of Vrindavan. He tells me that this afternoon he will be taking his group out on nagar kirtan thru Vrindavan. That's always a treat for me. I tell him i will try to make it and take off for my room to get some rest.
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