Waves of Devotion

Dhanurdhara Swami March 14th, 2022

Every morning Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura would step outside of his room, which was adjacent to the far wall of the temple room, and immediately take off his glasses before taking darshan of his Lordships from forty feet away, although he could hardly see without them.  A disciple who witnessed this made a humble inquiry as to why. Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s answer was instructive: “I am not here to see Krishna, but to be seen by Krishna,” expressing the essence of how one in devotion views the world.

We can’t imitate Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s elevated mood. We shouldn’t therefore blind ourselves before the deity. Rather we need to open our eyes to the beauty of the deity to redirect our desires from looking at beauty for selfish enjoyment to relishing beauty in a devotional mood as an offering of the best to Krishna. What Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta was therefore demonstrating, more than a particular action, was the general principle of adjusting our view of the world, even towards the deities, from seeing the world as an object for our enjoyment from the standpoint of the enjoyer and controller (the seer), to seeing ourselves as objects of God’s pleasure from the position of a humble servant (the seen). Let’s briefly unpack his message to understand its importance. First, I will introduce a basic philosophical principle and give a personal example in an attempt to put this issue in a clearer context.

When, by dint of one’s constitution, what one desires cannot be fulfilled in reality, one’s desire can only be fulfilled in Illusion. When thinking on how to illustrate this principle an example came to mind from when I went to high school. David Siegal was exceptionally squat and overweight. Somehow, he desperately wanted to make the high school basketball team. We watched as he practiced day and night, but obviously he couldn’t make the team and his aspirations failed.  Shortly afterwards, we would see him, even in the winter, carrying a basketball and wearing the uniform of the New York Knicks, the city’s professional basketball team. When approached, he would only talk in all seriousness about the great game he played the night before at Madison Square Garden. Sadly, he had gone mad in trying to fulfill his constitutionally unobtainable wishes. Similarly, we desperately want to be the enjoyer and controller, a position we cannot have by our constitution. That unattainable wish attracts the illusory potency of Krishna (maya) to fulfill our desire by covering us from the reality of God’s immanence, a view of God’s all-pervasive presence that would obliterate the false ego or our desire for and sense of superiority. Maya literally means “not this” or illusion. In other words, to satisfy our impossible wish for a sense of dominance and control, maya puts us in the illusion that Krishna’s energy is not His, but instead separate from Him and meant for our enjoyment.

Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s example was illustrating this exact same point. We are in reality “the seen”, the servant of God, but our false ego wants to be “the seer”, the center. Krishna fulfills this unreachable desire by putting us in the illusion that we are indeed primary, and that the world revolves around us to control and exploit. All devotional practices are meant to move us in consciousness from this deceptive centered self-identity by developing an attraction for Krishna, which puts God back in the center of the world and ourselves at the periphery in service as the seen. Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta was indicating something more—that not only can we engage in devotional service to accomplish this, but we can also make a direct conscious effort to make this shift. So, I tried something.

My sitting place in Govardhan directly faces the hill a hundred yards way. As usual, I see the world, including the sacred mount, rotating around this little speck of consciousness garbed in a man’s body with saffron robes. I closed my eyes and instead envisioned Giriraja as the seer and my seat somewhere on the periphery begging for service. I prayed: “I am not here to see You my Lord, but to be seen by You.” I then lamented my lack of devotion.

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Dhanurdhara Swami March 7th, 2022

Shlomo was one of my favorites. I met him 1982. He was an older Jewish man from Israel. He wasn’t a hippy, or one of the throngs of young cool Israelis who rushed to India after finishing the pressure cooker of their compulsory military service from eighteen to twenty years of age, or any of the kind of typical alternative Western pilgrim that would occasionally trek to India at the time. When I first met him, I just couldn’t place him in India. He was a simple, squat, balding, over-weight Jewish family man who was suffering, like most people, on the daily grind of work and family. It seems in that anxiety, and a thirst for some adventure, he got a sudden itch to follow some of his younger compatriots to India. According to him, he had no idea what Vrindavan was, or why he particularly came there on his pilgrimage. As he recalled, he was just mysteriously directed to Vrindavan and to our temple where something inexplicable happened.  When he got to the altar of Śrī Śrī Rādhā Śyāmasundara and gazed upon Their beautiful forms, he became overwhelmed with an intense joy. He broke down in uncontrollable tears and surrendered right then and there to Their lotus feet and never wavered in that conviction for nearly forty years. Strange? Not really, if you understand the way of faith.

Faith is trust by experience. We move and commit ourselves where we experience some happiness, but faith is not a trust in just some temporary stimulation or ego boost, but true sublimity in relation to God. Those on a legitimate spiritual path often come by an experience of divinity so profound, so transcendent, so undeniable that the maturity of that experience becomes their goal for the rest of their life. I don’t remember all the details, but at least for some time he stayed in our temple and had the fortune to serve in the deity kitchen under its head cook, Śrī Vibhu Caitanya, who was universally recognized in our community as its greatest saint. I was sometimes amused by the letters Shlomo got from his family. While some of us were getting letters from parents imploring their children not to commit ourselves to Krishna consciousness, his letters were from a new angle we hadn’t seen before. This time it was a parent that was being warned by their children. I remember one from his daughters: “Daddy, Daddy don’t join the cults!” But Shlomo was neither deterred in his faith, nor irresponsible to his family responsibilities.

After his short time in India was up, he went back and took care of his family, but remained unflinchingly dedicated to his spiritual path, eventually retiring to serve in the temple there. One learned friend shared his realization with me that our taste in Krishna consciousness, what activities in devotional life we have a passion for, are our doors to spiritual world. Shlomo was a grandfatherly presence to the younger devotees, especially the young girls that came, as he had daughters himself whom he cared for when they were younger. He liked to do that, but mostly his passion was prasādam. He loved to cook for the devotees. I remember when visiting Israel, he passionately shared with me his deep appreciation for Gauranga potatoes, a buttered, sour cream and sauteed potato prasādam. Yes, he was anything but an archetypical yogi. He just loved Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī and to distribute and taste the prasādam from the deities.

Last week in Vrndavan, when I was walking from my room in the Russian Building, I saw my friend Shlomo, now in his eighties and initiated as Vibhisana das, sitting on the stoop in front of the simple guesthouse, which has been his residence for many years. He loves to sit there in the winter chanting and basking in the sun and his fortune. He goes to the temple every morning without fail on crutches, which is fifty meters down from his door. It takes forever, but he tells me how he relishes every step. He needs a chair when he gets there, so he sits in the back in one provided for him. Although he can’t see the deities over to the packed temple crowd standing in front of him, he can see the video screen on the wall. When Śrī Rādhā’s form comes into view, he cries out of joy for the whole ārati and then slowly shuffles off to his room. He loves Vrindavan, and by Krishna’s blessing he will meet his vow to never leave there for the rest of his life.

I sat next to him for a short while, as I often do when passing him, to feel his affection and show my own. That day he looked up at me and with deep gratitude said, “I could never imagine such an old age!” Imagine such an old age? He lives in the simplest of rooms and in a rundown guesthouse, can barely walk, but is the happiest man in the world. In his final years he has the blessings of Śrī Vrindavan with the association of the devotees, but most importantly he has Śrī Rādhā in his heart. He sometimes gently pounds his heart and talks about Śrī Rādhā’s mercy in utter disbelief that he has earned a drop: “I wake of up in the morning, and I am still here. And look where I am!”

When you talk to Vibhisana, he seems to be filled with gratitude for every breath in the land of Śrī Rādhā. I remember him years ago expressing to me the suffering he had experienced in life before Krishna consciousness, but whatever that difficulty was, rather than making him bitter, had simply increased his feelings of appreciation for the peace and joy that Śrī Rādhā has offered this humble soul.

Shlomo can’t touch his toes or even sit with his legs crossed. He never could, nor does he seem to possess, any other feature of the classic or modern fit yogi, but somehow by Śrī Rādhā’s grace he has become the greatest yogi, for he lives focused in a heart welling with gratitude for the unfathomable mercy of his spiritual master and Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī. And that is the tale of Shlomo, the greatest yogi!

“And of all yogis, he who always abides in Me with great faith, worshiping Me in transcendental loving service, is most intimately united with Me in yoga and is the highest of all.” (Bg. 6.47)

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Dhanurdhara Swami February 28th, 2022

I want to be a Vaishnava! [1]

November 7, 2016

Amidst the throngs of seemingly ordinary people here in Vrindavan, just one old Vaishnava sadhu has to smile and greet you in his raspy voice “Jai Ho, Maharaja!” and you realize why you have come to this place. Does that sound sentimental? After living here for more than forty years, that is my strong conviction, that the endearing voices and bountiful smiles of such beautiful people inform us powerfully of the real goal in life: to become simple hearted, happy, and in a mood of service. Yes, the beautiful things in life are simple and sweet, because they are born not from opulence but from the hearts of devotion. And that’s the glory of Vrindavan, the jewels of mādhurya (sweetness) that are hidden in the hearts of the real vraja-vāsīs, those who are born in Vrindavan or who live there and imbibe its mood.

Yesterday I mined one.

Govinda Kuṇḍa is just a forty-minute walk down the parikramā path from my place near Dana Ghati (the place of the tax pastime). It sits next to the side of Govardhana Hill. It’s where Indra performed the ceremonial bath of Krishna to beg pardon for his offense, and those bath waters formed this beautiful pond. Five of us took a late-morning outing there to visit this small sadhu hamlet.

Our visit eventually took us down a small road off the main path on the southern side of the kuṇḍa that ended at a yellow iron gate with a sign above announcing the place as the ashram of the renowned late Vaishnava saint and mystic Manohar Baba. We entered and walked straight alongside the ashram building under an enclosed pavilion to the end of the property, where we faced an old wooden door. We cautiously pushed the door open and entered a dimly light hall and the altar of small Sri Madana-mohana deities. A simple sadhu was sitting there chanting, but he immediately stood up to greet us and beamed, “Prasādam, prasādam,” enthusiastically pointing our way through a corridor to the back of the property, where their kitchen and prasādam hall stood.

As we entered the rustic kitchen pavilion of this ancient ashram, Sitanath Baba, the recently installed mahant of the place, was standing over an open fire vigorously stirring a wok of vegetables. When he saw us enter, he turned and also beamed, “Prasādam, prasādam,” pointing to a single-plank table with chairs for our group all facing where Sitanath was cooking as another joyful sadhu fed us a sumptuous meal. Sitanath then suddenly left his cooking to scurry around the ashram to find whatever he could in to please us, from their special stash of sweets for guests to hot cow’s milk at the end.

We felt so welcomed. I loved their culture, especially their smiles, worn almost as badges of their faith. And what was their faith? It was the happiness of prīti, or love, their deep conviction that pleasure is not to enjoy or control the world but to genuinely serve God and his devotees. And that’s what Vraja, the holy district of Vrindavan, really is, what I really hanker for—the simple heart of service reflected in the beautiful smiles of its residents.

Once, when a faithful disciple of Srila Prabhupada said to him, “You are greatest Vaishnava!” he became grave and replied, “No! Vaishnava is not an ordinary thing!” Of course, part of being of Vaishnava is humility, and in one’s deep hunger for the service of God one naturally feels a lack of devotion. Indeed, Srila Prabhupada was one of the greatest Vaishnavas, but he highlighted the rarity and value of a simple heart and mood of service.

Being here in Vraja and being inspired by the Vaishnavas here, I find that my chanting has taken up a singular prayer for this auspicious month of Kartik:

“I want to be a Vaishnava!”

[1] I wasn’t able to complete this week’s Monday Morning Greetings. I have chosen to publish a reprint about a pilgrimage I took in 2016 here in Govardhan to one of my favorite places. I have chosen this entry because I visited that same place this week and was similarly inspired by the humility and the sweetness of the devotees there.

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Dhanurdhara Swami February 21st, 2022

I Fell in Love with a Mountain

I gaze towards the path just outside my ashram gate. A river of faithful scurry around Govardhan. My favorites? The old Brijabasi ladies whose Olympic pace seem to defy their age. Their dress? Have you ever seen Granny from the show Beverley Hillbillies?[1] I put my ear to the ground. I hear only kirtans or joyful chatter. Even the struggling out-of-town businessmen with their puri and pakora potbellies seem to somehow enjoy the arduous five-to-seven-hour trek. I hit the ground in prayer. I’m off. My own trek of gratitude begins.

Roti Baba

I pass a twenty-foot lean-to kitchen on my right that is open to the pilgrim road, the dwelling of Roti Baba. I have gone by that shanty thousands of times. I have never failed to see him majestically standing there, well over six feet, strongly built, light swarthy complexion, shirtless, covered with a short white cotton wrap from waist to knees, sporting a perfect long grey sadhu beard and dreadlocked beehive hair. He is the emblem of calm, the picture of perfect dignity, as he soberly oversees his operation of volunteers who feed hundreds, often thousands, of pilgrims day and night. His specialty: rotis!  As I pass by, I bow my head, appreciating his life of steady service.

Seeing Govardhan

The real Vrindavan is the hearts of the residents and pilgrims. It takes only a simple kirtan to bring their mood of devotion to the surface. If their smiles fortunately touch your heart, you too may become blessed with a vision of the dhāma. Then what was once a land too often carelessly cluttered with refuse becomes the spiritual world. It is still two hundred yards to Jatipur, but I can distinctly smell the sour milk spoiling in its gutters from the gallons of milk poured daily in non-stop ceremonial bath of Govardhan. I immediately think, “Spoiled milk incense – my favorite brand!” – reminding me of the rivers of devotion offered at the feet of Sri Giriraja. I love it!

Super Bol![2]

I pass the Jaya Radhe team. You heard me right. They all wear red sweatshirts with their team’s name “Jaya Radhe” scribed on the back of the shirt below their shoulders and their number just below that. What’s their sport? Who do they compete against? I inquire. They are a group of men from Gwalior in their thirties. Years ago, they bonded together with the vow to yearly do a daṇḍavat parikrama around Govardhan beginning on Rasa Purnima. They sit together exhausted, but in bliss, a short respite from their tapasya before they continue their six-hour daily jaunt, the first day of a week-long effort. What a team! By dint of their determination and devotion I am certain they have won the Super Bol.

Radha Tantra

I arrive back at the ashram. Sri Madhava Misra is finishing up a Radha Tantra yajña in my courtyard. Radha Tantra? He asked to use my courtyard on Rasa Purnima for a fire yajña to invoke auspiciousness for the world. My thing is the shakti of the holy name, but he is kindhearted and expert. It doesn’t hurt that he is the grandson of Acarya Prabhakar, Srila Prabhupada’s first disciple,[3] and loves to serve the devotees of ISKCON. He is fifty now and had, since the age of nine, traveled for more than thirty-five years with his guru perfecting his spiritual craft until his guru passed from this world a few years ago. Anyway, I trust my instincts that his intentions are good. It seems he is the real deal tantra. It’s quite a spectacle of svāhās seen practically no other place in the world. He sat for the last nine hours without blinking, focused on his craft of feeding a hundred kilos of the finest oud and agar wood and other fine ingredients into an emblazed twelve-foot square aṣṭa-dhātu kunda[4]. I sat for a while chanting the Hare Krishna mantra and with each svāhā I offered myself to the fire in service to Sri Radha. Only in India, only in Govardhan. Yes, I have fallen in love with a mountain!

[1] Granny was a prominent character on the popular sit-com from the 60s called the Beverley Hillbillies. The local village Brijabasi ladies typically wear a skirt to their ankles with a buttoned-down shirt past their waist. Just reminded me of her character from that show.

[2] Sometimes it is difficult to know the frame of my audience, which is international. The Super Bowl is the biggest sporting event in the USA.

[3] https://prabhupadabooks.com/letters/bombay/may/01/1974/acarya_prabhakar_mishra

[4] A fire sacrifice is often done in a kunda, a vat to contain the fire. Aṣṭa-dhātu is when something is an octo-alloy, made of eight different metals.

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Dhanurdhara Swami February 14th, 2022

Well, who is this about? The answer is a bit bewildering. It is about Krishna’s greatest devotees. When the gopīs heard Krishna’s flute, they immediately abandoned whatever they were doing, even putting down the young babies in their arms, just to run off to the forest to see their beloved Krishna. We can say this is lila, the Lord’s play, but what about the little ones?  Somehow even couched in the concept of transcendence, it just doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t a devotee think of others before themself, what to speak of the mood of the topmost ones? To reconcile this, we need to talk about the relationship between responsibility and renunciation. What scope, if any, within the philosophy of Krishna consciousness, is there justification for the abandonment of one’s duties, even such consequential responsibilities as the protection of those dependent on our care?

The Bhagavad-gītā seems to support that one who realizes the soul is not bound by any duties at all:

“But for one what takes pleasure in the self, whose human life is one of self-realization and who is satisfied in the self only, fully satisfied—for him there is no duty.” (3.17)

That’s all fine—that one who is self-realized has no duty. However, Krishna makes it clear in the verses that follow this one that although the duties that are prescribed to purify one’s individual material condition lose rule over one who has transcended that condition, it doesn’t mean one gives those duties up. In fact, Krishna recommends not to. And the reason Krishna specifically gives is because of the harm that abandonment of duties can do, not only for those one is responsible for, but for the health of society in general.[1]  Krishna even uses Himself as an example. Although naturally there are no duties prescribed for Him, He still does them out of concern for the harm it would cause to society if He renounced them, both to those who are not qualified to transcend them, but would follow His example, and the effect people leaving their duties would have on a healthy social structure.

“If I did not perform prescribed duties, all these worlds would be put to ruination. I would be the cause of creating unwanted population, and I would thereby destroy the peace of all living beings.” (3.22-24)

Krishna couldn’t be clearer. A bhakta must never think selfishly in his transcendent pursuits. He must be cognizant about the effect of his actions, and therefore must perform certain karmic duties, even if they no longer are relevant to his personal condition and consequent purification. But is that always the case?

Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava history is filled with examples from Śrī Caitanya, who left home at the age of twenty-four, to Śrīla Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī, who abandoned dependents, in this case a young wife, without any issues for a seemingly higher cause. There are contemporary examples also. Śrīla Nārāyaṇa Mahārāja had two young daughters, but left his family in the middle of the night when he felt a strong calling to serve his guru’s mission. Was that wrong?

I think the answer is found in the purport of the verse I quoted above (3.17), where Śrīla Prabhupāda explains:

“By such cleaning of consciousness, one becomes fully confident of his eternal position in relationship with the Supreme. His duty thus becomes self-illuminated by the grace of the Lord, and therefore he no longer has any obligation to the Vedic injunctions.”

In other words, one who is self-realized is no longer ruled by obligatory junctions but is instead directly inspired from within. Although that self-illumination almost always directs the self-realized to continue in his duties at least until his family responsibilities are covered, as in the case of Arjuna, who was directed to fight in battle for righteous reasons, Krishna can also direct one in exceptional cases to leave home prematurely. And if that is the case, and the person is truly in communion with a higher direction, Krishna assures His unmotivated devotee that he will be protected from any sin.[2] In terms of others, one can also be assured that Krishna will also protect them, as guaranteed in the famous adage and analogy that when one waters the root of the tree (full surrender and service to God) all the leaves and branches are replenished (it is auspicious for everyone).

Back to the gopīs.[3] I explained the principle of full surrender and how Krishna fully protects those who are, and how full surrender automatically invokes auspiciousness for everyone. As a needed caution, I also explained the rarity of Krishna directing one to renounce worldly dharma, even for spiritually elevated devotees. The gopīs, however, saw Krishna face to face.[4] Therefore, in all their activities their pure love of God nourished the world and everyone in connection with them, even when renouncing their “worldly” dharma to see Krishna. By His grace, how can it be otherwise?[5]

[1] The word Krishna uses is loka-saṅgraham (keeping the world together).

[2] “Abandon all varieties of religion and just surrender unto Me. I shall deliver you from all sinful reactions. Do not fear.” (Bg. 18.66)

[3] Another reason that the gopīs cannot be held responsible for the abandonment of their family is that on the level of continuous samādhi, especially the full absorption after hearing Krishna call them, has no awareness of the buddhi (intelligence), manasā (mind), or ego (external identity), and thus societal relationships.

[4] The purpose of this post is to explain the gopīs actions by discussing how one dictated by Krishna is absolved of any sin. I should note however, that it’s not always easy to perfectly port the “lessons” from Krishna-līlā into our world. The gopīs teach us absolute surrender, but not necessarily how we are supposed to absolutely surrender in our own lives. The laws of Krishna-līlā and yogamāyā are different from ours. I doubt that babies left alone in Vraja starve or are kidnapped or killed. But they can be in our world. So we take the correct lesson and inspiration from them, but that doesn’t mean we can do the same exact things.

[5] In discussing this post with another devotee, they referred me to Krishna Sandarbha Anuccheda 177 where this subject is discussed. A short excerpt from Śrī Jīva’s interesting commentary. “Though it is said they had children, it refers to the children of the husbands’ relatives. If they had children, it would produce rasābhāsa because of irregularity in the vibhāva.

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Dhanurdhara Swami February 7th, 2022

We just finished our first B.I.G. retreat (Bhakti Immersion Govardhan). It was one of our best. The facilities here are very good, and the prasadam and kirtans were especially wonderful. Between preparing and giving classes, long kirtans, and absorbing parikramas, there literally was not a moment free for anything else, especially writing. I will therefore share with you a previous post. First, here are some short videos of our kirtans: Bhakti Immersion Govardhan Kirtans Part 1 and Part 2.

On Criticism
October 10, 2016

“The poison of that which you criticize comes to you.”

“Criticism is worse that throwing a spear in someone’s body, because the spear can only pierce the body but criticism can pierce the heart.”

“Criticism is worse than envy. Envy is when it is in the heart. Criticism is when it comes out.”

I have repeated these statements often. I am sure I read them someplace, though I can’t find their reference. I have no difficulty, however, embracing their conclusion. And here is one strong, clearly referenced statement about the necessity to avoid criticism:

“Of the nine processes of devotional service, the most important is to always chant the holy name of the Lord. If one does so, avoiding the ten kinds of offenses, one very easily obtains the most valuable love of Godhead.” (Caitanya-caritāmṛta Antya 4.71)

It’s a good reference, for the most serious of the ten offenses against the holy name is criticism. Of course, the word for criticism used here, nindā, is qualified by the word sadhu, and there is also allowance for constructive criticism. We will get to that, but we need to realize that the stakes for an offender are high: you won’t get love of Godhead. And for the devotee, that is everything. Best to err on the side of caution.

I struggle with that. So many people, devotees who are dedicated and senior, sometimes do things that disturb me. How can one not criticize? Be careful! If one’s criticism is not born of compassion but harbors even a trace of ill will, that hate will certainly cover the soul, for the soul is simply consciousness meant for love and devotion.

And if I think about it honestly, I too must do things that serve as fuel for other people’s lower nature. We all struggle with our own impurities and conditioning, and it’s bound to be just the thing that annoys someone else, especially someone with a different nature. That is simply the way of the world. But I don’t want to be a self-righteous hypocrite who is always clamoring for justice for others and mercy for himself.

But what about all the injustice? By all means, speak up and speak up strongly, but first make sure there is no hate in your own heart; otherwise your kirtan of others’ faults, which merely embodies the impurities of your own heart, will spread only hate of others, not love of God. We have seen too often that the modern champions of controversy create threads that attract mostly the bitter.

I remember reading in a history of the Gauḍīyā Math of a younger devotee who had a very critical intelligence. He would often see things that were wrong. But when he sought the counsel of a senior and elevated Vaishnava, he was given a piece of simple advice—“Observe and don’t talk”—and he followed that instruction for the rest of his life and attained spiritual heights. Yes, it may be one’s service to point out mistakes. I just don’t envy that person, and I pray they are pure. Otherwise:

“We all become well-disguised mirror image of anything that we fight too long or too directly… Most frontal attacks on evil just produce another kind of evil in yourself, along with a very inflated self-image to boot.”— Richard Rohr, Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life.

My prayer is to be a Vaishnava. In so many places in shastra that is defined as one who is free from the propensity to criticize others. Who else can a Vaishnava be other than one who has no hate in his or her heart? I hanker for such saṅga. And by Srila Prabhupada’s grace, there are many such souls. I just have to be the bee that seeks the honey and not the fly that looks for the sores.

I conclude with another statement that I often repeat without a reference but which I embrace whole-heartedly:

“Bhakti is simple. Even a child can do it. What is difficult is avoiding offense.”

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Dhanurdhara Swami January 31st, 2022

I started a new book. I haven’t seen in the contemporary Vaiṣṇava movement a book on Vaiṣṇava behavior. Years ago, I began writing a book called Lessons from the CC, but I had other writing projects. I only wrote a few chapters. It contained lessons on behavior, but also basic philosophical points. I now have time to again take up that project, but I thought it would be more relevant if I limited it just to Vaiṣṇava behavior and could gradually include the excerpts here.

The “CC” stands for Caitanya-caritāmṛta, which describes Śrī Caintanya’s life and teachings. The phrase “Caitanya-caritāmṛta” literally means “The character of the life force in immortality”. That character is love of Godhead. It also includes how a Vaiṣṇava should behave with others.

The book has a simple format. I go through the Caitanya-caritāmṛta systematically until I find an example of Vaiṣṇava behavior. I then list that principle. Next, I put that principle in context of a particular story in the text. Finally, I state the exact verse in the text that illustrates the point. I have started my research with the Antya-līlā. Eventually I will cover the previous sections. I suppose when I finally finish and publish, the book will be in order starting with the Ādi-līlā. Here is my first excerpt.

Lessons from the Caitanya-caritāmṛta– Antya-līlā Chapter 1

Lesson 1: A Vaiṣṇava removes the impediments to his spiritual endeavors by acknowledging his shortcomings and praying for the mercy of saintly devotees.

Nearing the end of his life, Śrīla Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja humbly acknowledges his frailties and fervently prays for the mercy of the saintly devotees before beginning the most confidential subject of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s Antya-līlā.

“My path is very difficult. I am blind, and my feet are slipping again and again. Therefore, may the saints help me by granting me the stick of their mercy as my support.” (Antya 1.2)

“I pray to the lotus feet of the six Gosvāmīs—Śrī Rūpa, Sanātana, Bhaṭṭa Raghunātha, Śrī Jīva, Gopāla Bhaṭṭa and Dāsa Raghunātha—so that all impediments to my writing this literature will be annihilated and my real desire will be fulfilled.” (Antya 1.3-4)

Lesson 2: As a Vaiṣṇava grows older and increasingly frailer, he should feel an urgency to complete his legacy.

After completing the Ādi-līlā, Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja feared he wouldn’t be able to complete the Caitanya-caritāmṛta because of his advanced age. He therefore summarized the remainder of Śrī Caitanya’s pastimes before elaborating on them in more detail. In the beginning of Antya-līlā, Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja expresses the urgency of completing his task before comprehensively expounding upon Mahāprabhu’s final pastimes.

“I am now almost an invalid because of old age, and I know that at any moment I may die. Therefore I have already described some portions of the antya-līlā.” (Antya 1.11)

“In accordance with the synopsis previously written, I shall describe in detail what I have not mentioned. (Antya 1.12)

Lesson 3: A Vaiṣṇava is very liberal-hearted in terms of giving shelter to others.

Śivānanda Sena took responsibility for arranging and managing all aspects of the Bengali Vaiṣṇavas’ long journey to Purī to join Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu. A dog began to follow his pilgrimage party, and he gave it shelter.

“While going to Jagannātha Purī, Śivānanda Sena allowed a dog to go with him. He supplied it with food to eat and maintained it.” (Antya 1.17)

Lesson 4: A Vaiṣṇava makes no excuses for mistakes made in carrying out his or her responsibilities.

Śivānanda Sena gave shelter to a dog who joined his pilgrimage party. He fasted when the dog was nowhere to be found because the assistant forgot to feed it.

“When the men returned without success, Śivānanda Sena became very unhappy and fasted for the night.” (Antya 1.23)

Lesson 5: A Vaiṣṇava seeks forgiveness for his mistakes.

Śivānanda Sena’s response when the dog is found:

“When he saw the dog sitting in that way and chanting the name of Krishna, Śivānanda, because of his natural humility, immediately offered his obeisances to the dog just to counteract his offenses to it.” (Antya 1.31)

Lesson 6: A Vaiṣṇava should make it a priority in his life to seek the association of and serve advanced devotees.

The results of Śivānanda Sena’s favor to a stray dog:

“The next day, no one saw that dog, for it had obtained its spiritual body and departed for Vaikuṇṭha, the spiritual kingdom.” (Antya 1.32)

“This is the result of sādhu-saṅga—consequent association with Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu and promotion back home, back to Godhead. This result is possible even for a dog, by the mercy of the Vaiṣṇava. Therefore, everyone in the human form of life should be induced to associate with devotees. By rendering a little service, even by eating prasādam, what to speak of chanting and dancing, everyone can be promoted to Vaikuṇṭhaloka.”  (Antya 1.32, Purport)

Lesson 7: When Vaiṣṇavas meet, especially after a long time, they sit together and discuss good news (about Krishna consciousness).

Upon his arrival at Jagannātha Purī, Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu meets Haridāsa and Rūpa Gosvāmī at Haridāsa’s hut.

“Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu then sat down with Haridāsa and Rūpa Gosvāmī. They inquired from one another about auspicious news and then continued to talk together for some time.” (Antya 1.49)

Lesson 8: One should honor the prasadam of the Lord with great respect.

“When they [Śrī Rūpa and Haridāsa Ṭhākura] received the remnants of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s prasādam through Govinda, they respected it, and then they both began to dance in ecstasy.” (Antya 1.64)

Lesson 9: A Vaiṣṇava should not be surprised if the spiritual master tests them to strengthen their resolve in spiritual life.

While Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, accompanied by His most confidential devotees, was going to visit Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī, He praised Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī profusely to test those devotees and observe their reaction.

“Just to examine Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya and Rāmānanda Rāya, the Lord began to praise the transcendental qualities of Śrī Rūpa Gosvāmī before them.” (Antya 1.106)

Lesson 10: The Lord is liberal in His dealings with devotees, and a devotee should follow this example. 

“The Supreme Personality of Godhead, who is known as Puruṣottama, the greatest of all persons, has a pure mind. He is so gentle that even if His servant is implicated in a great offense, He does not take it very seriously. Indeed, if His servant renders some small service, the Lord accepts it as being very great. Even if an envious person blasphemes the Lord, the Lord never manifests anger against him. Such are His great qualities.” (Antya 1.108)

Lesson 11: A Vaiṣṇava should be reluctant to sit on the same level as spiritual seniors, unless requested by them.

“Rūpa Gosvāmī and Haridāsa Ṭhākura sat at the foot of the elevated place where Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu was sitting. Although everyone asked them to sit on the same level as the Lord and His associates, they did not do so.” (Antya 1.111)

Lesson 12: A Vaiṣṇava is averse to personal praise.

Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu was exceptionally impressed with Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s poetry and requested him to share it with the devotees. Śrī Rūpa’s reaction to his request shows how a devotee responds to personal praise:

“When Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu ordered Rūpa Gosvāmī to read the verse they had previously heard, Rūpa Gosvāmī, because of great shyness, did not read it but instead remained silent.” (Antya 1.112)

Lesson 13: A devotee is patient and works steadily towards his goal.

The six Gosvāmīs made great literary contributions. Even their works of philosophy were composed in verse. The books that we enjoy were thus not produced overnight, but after years of austerity. Below Śrīla Bhaktisiddhanta reveals that the dramas that Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī took decades to write.

“Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura informs us in this connection that Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī finished the drama known as Vidagdha-mādhava in the year Śakābda 1454 (A.D. 1532) and the Lalita-mādhava in Śakābda 1459 (A.D. 1537). The discussion between Rāmānanda Rāya and Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī at Jagannātha Purī took place in Śakābda 1437 (A.D. 1515).” (Antya 1.126, Purport)

Comment: The discussion described was about the introductory verse to the Vidagdha-mādhava. So if the introductory verse was existent in at least A.D. 1515, and the book was finally published in 1532, it means that the work took at least eighteen painstaking years to finish!

Lesson 14: Despite substantial accomplishments a devotee never feels proud, especially in the presence of senior Vaiṣṇavas.

Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s reaction to Śrīla Rāmānanda Rāya’s profuse praise of his poetry:

“Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī said, ‘In your presence, which is just like brilliant sunshine, I am as insignificant as the light of a glowworm.’” (Antya 1.173)

“You are so expert in dramatic expression that each of my statements before you is like a wave from an ocean of impudence.” (Antya 1.185)

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Dhanurdhara Swami January 24th, 2022

Initially, I was thinking to write about Covid fatigue. You get the idea—long restriction, then a little freedom, then restriction, again and again. One can become tired of the whole thing. But the more I thought about it, it seemed Covid fatigue was just a microcosm for life in general, a kind of life fatigue. But there seems to be a purpose to it. Let me share something about my own recent fatigue. Hopefully, it will make my point clearer.

I wrote last week about how when I came here to an Ayurvedic clinic for a panca karma detox I was unexpectedly quarantined for Covid. My computer also had problems, so I couldn’t write. I was basically stuck in a room for ten days with limited sevā, reduced communication, and due to increased fatigue not even the best mental focus to chant more. Initially, I wasn’t so happy about that. That’s natural when one is stripped of what Śrīla Prabhupāda called “one’s material protective agents”—the temporary powers and possessions that give us the false sense that we are independent controllers. Quickly, however, some clarity came. It was obvious. I just needed to be “crushed” again. To the extent that you think you’re the controller, you can never see who is. I remember sitting helplessly on my porch outside my cabin, looking at the forest, meditating on our philosophy, and suddenly “seeing Krishna”. His care and protection, which is always there, became pronounced. Only when we shed the ahaṅkāra, the sense of being the doer or controller, will Krishna’s all-pervading presence and shelter be uncovered and our natural loving responsiveness (bhakti) to that presence of divine care be awakened. It is no wonder why we sometimes must be “crushed”.

Back to Covid fatigue. Barring the fact that everyone wants and should have their needs met, and when they are not it is disturbing, shouldn’t we also see this fatigue as part of God’s plan to give Himself to us by detaching us from the sense of ahaṅkāra that covers our connection to the Divine? Isn’t not being the controller part of what we are tired about? Isn’t this all part of God’s plan to put a brake on our excessive enthrallment with a material civilization that is moving at a breakneck speed to enslave us in the illusion that we are independent of God? Can we not see fatigue as part of a higher plan to help us become humble and conquer death, the illusion of non-existence? I was crushed, tired of it all, saw God, and devotion welled in the heart. I pray to always embrace the heart and wisdom of Queen Kunti:

“I wish that all those calamities would happen again and again so that we could see You again and again, for seeing You means that we will no longer see repeated births and deaths.” (Bhag. 1.8.25)

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Dhanurdhara Swami January 17th, 2022

When Akrūra was on his way to see Krishna, he saw a very auspicious omen. A deer to his right was staring at his chariot. He was therefore confident that he would be welcomed by Krishna, even though he was serving as the top minister to Kamsa, who had vowed to kill Krishna. We learn this science of omens from our sacred texts. A contemporary commentator of this text gives an analogy to help explain the phenomenon of omens: “Just as when one does not put on his seatbelt the car is programmed to automatically make a sound to indicate danger, in a similar way the universe has ways of indicating auspicious and inauspicious future events.”[1]

For the last three weeks my left eye had been twitching on and off—an inauspicious sign. I knew something was coming. I have watched exactly this type of portent unfold too many times in my life. The day after I arrived in Kerala at the Vedasudha Ayurvedic Hospital for a panca karma detox, the doctor noticed I was run down. He tested me for COVID-19. I was positive. To me it seemed that this was the portent foretold. They quarantined me for ten days in a quaint forest cabin with excellent medical, nutritional, and cleaning services brought by staff in quasi-hazmat suits. My symptoms were only a slight fever, moderate sore throat, and increased fatigue and sleeping. In other words, a mild flu. I immediately took a COVID protocol of repurposed drugs and vitamins that I have kept with me for the last two years, which are prescribed by my doctors just in case I got COVID, in addition to taking whatever Ayurvedic medicine the doctors here recommended. After two days, all initial symptoms were almost gone.  Some karma was foretold, but as I thought about it, I questioned if my sickness was just destiny or whether there was also an element of free will. In other words, to what extent were my own actions the cause of my malady.

Destiny is what happens to you; free will is how you react. Both are factors to one degree or another in any karmic outcome. Basically, I think I could have avoided or lessened my ill destiny if I would have responded to my destiny more maturely, especially as there was already a hint of something unwanted to come. In other words, I will be 72 this year. I should have been much more mindful of the arduous two-day trip beginning from Mayapur to the Ayurvedic retreat center outside of Cochin, especially how I ate during the journey. Different members of the Mayapur Russian community lovingly packed different preparations for my meals for two days. The problem was that almost every preparation was heavy. I couldn’t take much, but I was hungry, and it had its effect. When I woke that morning in the hotel to go to the airport, I was already feeling run down from the four-and-a-half-hour ride to the Kolkata hotel and my late afternoon snack the day before, making me a fertile breeding ground to manifest or catch something during my journey, especially COVID.

In this regard, I think it is worth analyzing the extent to which a germ or the unhealthy body is the main cause of a disease, especially in terms of COVID, which is also connected to my original thoughts about the relationship between omens (destiny) and free will. The last time I remember getting ill in India was about thirty-five years ago. The conditions were very similar. I had eaten very heavy foods, this time at the homes of ISKCON life members in Mumbai, which was followed by a long journey—a train ride from Mumbai to Mathura. I fell ill with malaria immediately upon arriving at my destination, Vrindavan. At the time, however, I was studying a book called A Yogic Cure to All Diseases,[2] which posited the theory that although bacteria and viruses cause disease, they can only fester and harm someone if the body is unhealthy, which made sense to me. I saw in Vrindavan how although everyone at the time was drinking the same water and eating the same food, certain people always got sick, and others never did. I followed the yogic protocol for curing malaria mentioned in the book, which included complete fasting on water and enemas. The idea was that if the intestines were completely clean the virus would have no place to fester, and the disease would be finished. I was encouraged to continue the protocol as the book gave guideposts to indicate whether a particular treatment was working. For malaria it was that the intermittent fevers, the intense fever that arises at the same time every other day, would gradually come closer together until they would merge into one big fever, indicating that the disease was finished. Sure enough, as I fasted, every other day the fever would inflame several hours earlier than normally expected, until on the tenth day they merged into one big fever. I was completely cured without any medicine at all, which I believe is unheard of in the modern medical treatment of malaria.

I think we can bring this practically back to COVID. There are very inauspicious signs that portend that many or most of us will likely get COVID, which has serious side effects if not treated. In that sense, what is happening in the world is a kind of omen. We shouldn’t, however, think that the outcome is exactly fixed. We should, of course, do whatever we can to prevent it. To the extent that we can build up our immune system is just as important, if not more, a factor in how much we will suffer from COVID if we get the disease as is our destiny. And for God’s sake don’t touch anything with fried cheese and cashews during a long journey! What was I thinking? I wasn’t. Be well. I am now. Thank Krishna!

[1] I heard this analogy about omens from a lecture by Srila Radha Govinda Swami

[2] I can’t find the exact book and I am not sure of the title. Perhaps it was A Natural Cure to All Diseases, but it had an elaborate set of exercises and detox protocols for each disease.

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Dhanurdhara Swami January 10th, 2022

Old Soul (and Body Too)[1]

I recently went with Jaya Jagannath to visit someone who is perhaps New York’s oldest living servant of Sri Sri Radha-Muralidhara. When I say oldest, I am referring not only to age, now past eighty, but to years at Their lotus feet, now past thirty. Jayati Radhika was visiting Sri Sri Radha-Muralidhara even before the Bhakti Center or The Sanctuary (its former namesake) existed, when They resided in a humble storefront on Manhattan Avenue in Brooklyn, just eight blocks from her home. But I think she must have worshiped Them even longer than that, perhaps for many lives. I see in her all the symptoms of an old soul.

Jayati Radhika was not a hippy or a straight edge or from the yoga scene, and she was not born in the movement, or in any of the prominent sources, or veins, from which Hare Krishna devotees are usually mined. She was just a simple middle-class New York housewife, a mother and a dedicated registered nurse, when, returning home from work in 1981, she encountered a young Hare Krishna monk on the street and purchased from him an Easy Journey to Other Planets, one of Srila Prabhupada’s first books. When she reached home, she read the book from cover to cover, searched the address of the nearest ISKCON center, and that same Sunday visited Radha-Govinda Mandir. She never looked back, even though her family, although supportive, didn’t follow her on her journey.

Jayati Radhika is now bed-ridden, spending her last days in an assisted living facility in Western Massachusetts near the home of her daughter, but somehow she still greeted me with that same simple smile of contentment, a beam that had endured forty-eight regimens of chemotherapy over the last sixteen years and the constant pain of rheumatoid arthritis. That same smile had also belied her condition as she had trekked to the Bhakti Center every Sunday all the way from her home in Howard Beach, Queens. As we began kirtan, she closed her eyes and tapped her feet under the covers. When we finished the kirtan, I began to reflect.

We read about advanced yogis who have practiced santoṣa (contentment). How many of them could have endured such hardship year after year without even the slightest scent of dejection or bitterness, not even when her husband fell ill in the last few years and was incapacitated mostly under her care?

I asked her, “How did you remain so joyful over the years despite the tribulations you faced, and how do you remain so now even in the face of death and distanced from the association of devotees?”

She replied in her simple and guileless brogue: “Krishna is in charge. Leave it to Him. Everything will be OK.”

I pressed further: “But aren’t you afraid of death?”

“People ask me that all the time. Not at all. I kind of look forward to it. I just know that Krishna is in charge and that if I leave it to Him, everything will be OK. I felt that from the first day I went to the temple.”

Although she spoke with such conviction, there was no alarm or drama in her reply. It was so matter-of-fact, almost amused, and certainly without fear. I pondered what she shared.

“Krishna is in charge. Leave it to Him. Everything will be OK.”

What takes a lifetime of trial to realize, what is the essence of approaching the world and death with fearlessness, what is a realization so deep that it guarantees us entrance to the kingdom of God (see Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 10.14.8), and a thought so transforming that it gifts us a heart of contentment and a smile of joy, was the property of this very simple housewife from the beginning of her spiritual life. How is this possible?

This is indeed a very old soul.

[1] As Dhanurdhara Swami is currently on a health retreat and is also experiencing some computer problems, we are resharing this Monday Morning Greetings originally published August 22, 2016.

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