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New Jersey Sickness gets worse,

March 4th, 2003

New Jersey

Sickness gets worse, but Brajajana sends some comic relief. I’ve many times told the story of my kidnapping by Ted Patrick and described his hit-man assistant Goose. Brajajana sent me a description of Goose by Ted Patrick himself that he found in old book about deprogramming:

?Goose is big, about six-foot-five, and strong as iron. He wears long hair, with a sweatband around it. His arms are tattooed, and when he goes out on a mission he wears heavy boots, a leather vest, and black leather gloves like a strangler. I think all that is part of psyching himself up. At heart he’s really a gentle young man, but when he gets riled, he has known to become aggressive. That night he got carried away.?

January 26-February 1, 2003

February 1st, 2003

Sri Vrindaban

Sadhus of Vrindaban III

It’s our last official day of pilgrimage. We were planning to visit Nandagram and Varsana, but our jeep caravan wound up getting stuck at the train-crossing where we were forced to wait over an hour for six trains to pass. Is that a record? (Dina Bandhu told me that the most trains he ever waited for was five, and he has probably gone as many times as anyone.) While suffering the long wait, I took shelter of some advice that a friend offered in a moment of personal crisis: “If you tolerate, there will certainly be a fruit at the end of your difficulties.” I relayed the message.

Because of our delay we only managed to visit Varsana.

Instead of approaching the temple after walking the beautiful 7-kilometer parikrama path, we were forced to visit the temple first in order to get there before it closed. After seeing the Deities, we walked back down the parikrama path counter-clockwise, allowing us to pass Radharani’s beautiful gardens and Man Kutir, a sacred place of Radha-Krishna’s pastimes on one of the four hills of Varsana; a place I normally forego because of the climb and time constraint.

I was once told by a friend in Vraja that because Man Kutir is so non-accessible, it is one of the few places left where you can still experience the original Vraja. We can certainly feel that here. Even though the altar doors were closed, we peacefully absorbed ourselves in kirtan. After some time, a brahmacari appeared from the small ashram here to inform us that Ramesh Baba, the renowned sadhu of Man Kutir, wished to invite us to his room.

Baba’s room is perched on the third floor of their small ashram and is only approachable by a gang plank-type metal pathway to a small veranda outside his room. Ramesh Baba is famous in Vraja for organizing and sponsoring a yearly 40-day Vraja Mandala parikrama for the local brajabasis who can’t ordinarily afford such an extravaganza. The parikrama is massive, entailing tent cities at each stop and plentiful prasadam.

When our party arrived to Ramesh Baba’s room, he was sitting on his bed taking prasadam. Baba is fairly clean-shaven and naturally portly, a soft-looking and fine-featured gentleman–not a commonly haggard and bearded sadhu. Although he has lived a life of notable renunciation in this solitary place for over 50 years, he immediately stopped, acknowledged us, and in fine British English (evidently he was very educated) humbly asked, “Any service?” Because he is renowned for his bhajans, I asked him if he would sing for us when he was finished. Within a few minutes two brahmacaris placed an old harmonium on his bed and then sat at the foot of the bed to accompany him with mrdanga and kartals. He chanted a song in brajabhasa (the local language) about the names of Radharani. “Nitya Kisori,” he sang in a deep, melodic, and devotional tone. He sweetly translated what he sang into English in between classical riffs: “She’s an eternally sweet youth.”

We loved his bhajans and were affected by the depth of their devotion. We felt very welcome in his room and sat peacefully, sharing among ourselves the few delicious brajabasi rotis and gur that Ramesh Baba had immediately offered us. I offered some praise about Man Kutir, repeating what I had told the devotees before about how it was one of the only places left where you could still experience Vraja. Ramesh looked up sadly and said, “Materialism is moving by the force of time.” He explained that Man Kutir was not untouched and had changed considerably over the years. He told us how he was even opposed bringing electricity to Varsana, but the local sadhus wanted the convenience. He didn’t even want the proper stone steps to the hill to be constructed.

Baba continued, “Even 20 years ago you would have to go down the hill to get water and carry it up on your head on a clay pot. Do you know Radhanatha Swami? A very sweet person. He used to live here at Man Kutir before taking diksa. I remember. He would also go down the hill and carry the water up here in a clay pot on his head.” He lamented again. “Time cannot be checked.”

“How did you come here?” one devotee asked.

“Loneliness,” he soberly replied. “Fifty years ago I was living alone in a dense forest outside of Vrindaban, so dense that you couldn’t even see the sunlight. I then came to Vraja, but I could not easily live around people, so I came to this hill. I always wanted solitude. At that time there were only snakes, scorpions, a few dacoits, and a large python living here.” (After he spoke I realized that when he said “loneliness,” he meant that he wanted to be alone, not that he was feeling lonely.)

Varsana was the last parikrama for many of us on our pilgrimage, so I related how sad many of us were to be leaving. He responded seriously from his own realization: “No need.”

I pointed to Donia and joked, “But she has to go back to school to study Dante and Shakespeare.”

He paused for a moment, considered carefully what I said, and then thoughtfully replied, “There is no need.

“I also studied all these things,” he shared, “but now I just want to forget the world. Even if someone I met three months ago comes here and then returns, I also forget them. I only want to remember love, the love in Vraja.”

He was sincere. He had renounced the world from his very youth and maintained his mood, but it was not false renunciation. He honestly wants only Vraja, the love of Vraja, and nothing else.

His advice for those leaving: “Harinama, only harinama.”

He also offered some memorable parting words of wisdom: “First there must be thought. Then action. Then habit. Then character. Then destiny. If your thought is Vraja, your destiny will certainly be Vraja.”

January 8-9, 2003

January 9th, 2003

Jaipur

I seem to recall that Srila Prabhupada once said that devotees need to spend some time in India to understand the Vedic culture. Whether he said it or not, it is evident that seeing something practically demonstrated often gives one a depth of understandingthat book knowledge cannot. Visiting Jaipur gives one a practical view of Vedic life because it was a city that was built around a deity-the crux of Vedic society. Jaipur was constructed by Maharaja Jal Singh II, in 1727, for the original deity of Srila Rupa Gosvami, Sri Sri Radha-Govinda. The Deity is situated directly in the center of the city in the palace courtyard and to this day, by city ordinance, buildings in Jaipur can only be painted saffron-the color of renunciation and spiritual life in India-in honor of Govindadeva. One of the ten largest cities in India, Jaipur is commonly called “the pink city.”

After work, thousands of people rush to see Radha-Govinda. Several people go twice or several times a day. Jaipur is thus also “a city of devotees.” I remember watching one mangal-arati here ten years ago and witnessing the throngs of regular citizens arriving for darshan by any means possible-foot, horse carriage (tonga), bicycle rickshaw, and even car-rushing through the stately Gauranaga and Nityananda gates.

It then dawned on me what Krishna consciousness could possibly look like in New York if our preaching succeeded: People pouring from the A train onto Schermerhorn Street for the deity greeting at 7AM while the masses walking south on Nevins Street from the 2,3,4, and 6 trains come to join them. Taxi after taxi dropping people off at the front door. The conch shell sounding off as multitudes from all walks of life hurry to the temple from all directions. (Of course, if Krishna consciousness were successful, one might wonder, “What are we still doing in Brooklyn?” This was just my frame of reference at the time for this spur-of-the-moment vision.)

We arrived in Jaipur just in time to settle in and rushed to the Radha-Govinda Mandir for sandhya-arati. I especially liked the spontaneity of the devotees and the varied means the temple affords them for worship: Hundreds eagerly crowd by the wooden gate meant to distance the worshipers about forty feet from the Deity so His view is not obstructed from His devotees, while a smaller group congregates another twenty feet back doing kirtan-pouring their heart into traditional bhajans. Hundreds, sometimes thousands, are constantly circumambulating the Deity around the wide indoor path, while other devoted pilgrims are strategically stationed around the temple carefully distributing the Sri Sri Radha-Govinda’s prasadam. There is a constant stream of pilgrims arriving and leaving all evening.

Because the Rajputs, the powerful kings of Jaipur, offered protection to the deities of Vrindaban when the Moghuls attempted to plunder it, many of the other major deities of the Gosvamis are also here. We visited them all, but were especially impressed by the small but devoted following of Sri Sri Radha-Gopinatha, the deity of Madhu Pandit. A group of mostly older ladies sat in front of Gopinatha for hours on end, pouring forth melodic songs of His glories with devotion and fervor. “Are the lotus feet of Radha-Gopinatha now their home?” I ponder.

The most powerful visual of the ancient culture of India, however, came surprisingly on the train ride here. Our seats were originally scattered throughout the train, but a pious Indian gentleman, on his own accord, sacrificed his own seat next to his father just so our group could sit together. The gentleman’s name was Major Colonel Tushyant Singh of the Indian Army. As he sat and chatted with us, we became increasingly impressed-not only with his gentleness and loyalty, but with his unfettered courage and determination which became evident as, on his father’s coaxing, he began to describe his life as a soldier. I noted the contrast between his fearlessness, born out of nobility and purpose, and the bravado of the so-called fearless people I encountered growing up, whose apparent courage was actually frustration born of neglect, depression, and desperation. On the contrary, Tushyant Singh was exceptionally gentle and spent the entire train ride serving his fellow travelers. He was also humble and listened carefully as I explained the duty of all cultured Indians-to work for the world’s welfare by supporting and preaching Krishna consciousness. When we finally disembarked at Jaipur, he was on the platform helping an old lady with her luggage and talking with some friends. Ekacakra overheard him. He was preaching the same points I had explained to him hours before:

“India is embracing second crow philosophy. America has chewed materialistic life which is the refuse of real pleasure. Frustrated with it, some people are now rejecting it. Now India is adopting the same exact things. They are like second crows, chewing what was already rejected by other crows.”

Singh was in charge of an artillery unit of 150 soldiers stationed in Kashmir. Once, after picking up his wife and daughter at the airport, he was stopped at a road block. The guards informed him that two Kashmiri militants had recently entered one of the compounds, sabotaged the electricity, and were currently moving around inside as snipers, covered by the abject darkness. Four people were killed and nineteen were still trapped somewhere in the compound, afraid to leave for fear of being shot.

The police faced a dilemma. They couldn’t blast the militants out without risking the lives of those trapped. To personally search the snipers out in the dark would be suicide. Something had to be done immediately. Hearing this, Major Colonel Singh immediately left his family by the side of the road and proceeded to the compound. As soon as he entered, a grenade went off, blasting him to the floor. Another grenade landed by his head. By the grace of God, it didn’t explode. Still, he was critically wounded. Although he was seriously losing blood, he lay silently in the dark. The slightest movement could target him exactly. Although in great pain, he struggled to remain alert. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the ever-so-faint shadow of two armed men, streaking to the next building. He quickly, and painfully, rolled to his right side and-before the militants could reposition themselves-grabbed his gun and shot them dead before finally collapsing into unconsciousness.

Major Colonel Singh lay in a coma for eight days and was bedridden for another eight months. He was finally released from the hospital after more than a year. The military classified his condition as “80 percent disability.” He would never be sent to war again and could retire with a full pension.

After narrating his story, Major Colonel Singh rolled up his pants to show us two large scars he received on each thigh, another across his stomach, and two on each shoulder. He explained that shrapnel was still lodged within his body, and although he could walk, he had absolutely no feeling in his right leg.

I was surprised when he told us that last January, during the Indo/Pakistan border showdown, he immediately signed a waiver with the Army that absolved them of liability for joining his troops on the battlefront. When I asked him why he would volunteer to serve again, his eyes lit up like a child and he humbly replied, “Maharaja, as you feel ‘ananda’ sitting peacefully with your books, I feel a great peace on the battlefield.”

I immediately thought:

“O Partha, happy are the ksatriyas to whom such fighting opportunities come unsought, opening for them the doors of the heavenly planets.” (BG, 2.32)

Note: I not making a political comment on the worthiness of any nationalistic cause, but rather commenting on the inborn spirit and character of a ksatriya.

Sri Vrindaban Something New A

January 2nd, 2003

Sri Vrindaban

Something New
A friend once suggested to me that a good class is where you learn at least one new thing. Today, during my afternoon class on Brhad-Bhagavatamrta, I came across something I had never heard before–that Nanda Maharaja achieved the position of Krishna’s father because of his compassion for the fallen souls.

This point was brought to light in reference to a Dwaraka pastime where Devaki defends the Queens of Dwaraka from the verbal abuse of the Padmavati, the mother of Kamsa and the wife of Ugrasena. Padmavati, along with Krishna’s Queens, observed Krishna in an ecstatic trance, where He revealed his unparalleled love for the gopis. Taking advantage of this scene, the envious Padmavati berated the Queens as poor and wretched in comparison to the simple cowherd girls of Vraja.

Devaki, however, spoke up to give support to the Queens. They need not feel humiliated, she argues, for the Vrajavasi’s love for Krishna is so superb that it is an unmatched category of love and cannot be envied. She humbly submits the example of Nanda and Yasoda, whose parental affection for Krishna is more intimate and pure than hers. Since she and her husband (as Prsni and Sutapa) prayed to get the Lord as their son in their previous lives, her intention was somewhat self-serving. But the motives of Nanda Maharaja for becoming Krishna’s father were pure in comparison.What were his intentions?

Nanda, in the role of the Vasu Drona, expressed the unconditional purity of his love when he prayed to Brahma:

jatayor nau maha-deve
bhuvi vivesvare barau
bhaktih syat paprama loko
yayanjno durgatim taret

“Please permit us to be born on the planet Earth so that after our appearance the Supreme Lord, the Personality Godhead, the Supreme Controller and master of all planets, will also appear and spread devotional service, the ultimate goal of life. Thus those born in this material world may very easily be delivered from miserable materialistic life by accepting devotional service.” (Bhag. 10.8.49)

“Nanda was concerned for the upliftment of the unhappy conditioned souls. He wanted Krishna to exhibit His childhood pastimes so that the world would hear and recite them and regain the taste of love of Godhead. (BB 7.79, commentary)

It was not only a new point for us, but a comforting one, confirming Srila Prabhupada’s conviction that the foundation of braja-bhakti is tenderness of heart, or compassion, which develops from selflessly dedicating oneself to the sankirtan movement.

It also corroborates a similar point I just read in Srila Bhaktivinoda’s Jaiva-dharma, where the similarity between the mood of bhakti and true compassion is described. Bhakti is defined as the tenderness of heart for Krishna, while compassion is described as the tenderness of heart for the living entities. The self-evident conclusion: Without compassion for the living entity’s suffering from forgetfulness of God, it is difficult to cultivate the tenderness of heart required for bhakti.

Sri Vrindaban Compatibility and Incompatibility

December 17th, 2002

Sri Vrindaban

Compatibility and Incompatibility With Guru

I met once more with the Godbrother who came yesterday. He offered a very thought-provoking analysis of his relationship with Srila Prabhupada. He confided, “I’m not compatible with Srila Prabhupada.” I was initially taken aback by his statement because he is so staunchly dedicated to Srila Prabhupada and his mission. Fortunately, He quickly explained himself:

“I recently met a close devotee friend who is somewhat astute at psychology and offered me this analysis in response to some of the things I revealed to him. I thought carefully about what he said and agreed. Srila Prabhupada was the great General–the ‘senapati’ that Vrindaban dasa Thakur predicted would be sent by Lord Caitanya to push on the sankirtana movement.

“Prabhupada thus pushed and pushed his sankirtana movement like a General and empowered such powerful leaders as his trusted assistants. I am so shy, bookish and reclusive by nature. I have so little taste for that mood.”

Concerned, I inquired, “How does that realization affect your relationship with Srila Prabhupada?”

“Not at all,” he sincerely replied. “Srila Prabhupada is my guru because he gave everything to the Bhagavat (God)–like almost no one has ever done before. How wonderful! I can only sit at his feet with the deepest appreciation and try to imbibe his mood of total surrender.”

I wasn’t sure that I totally agreed with his analysis of Srila Prabhupada. It seemed almost simplistic to make Srila Prabhupada so one-dimensional, especially since Srila Prabhupada inspired surrender primarily by his intimate relationship with the devotees, and not just by his authority or position.

I could definitely see how difficult it must have been for this devotee to deal with anything or anyone so corporate or militaristic, which ISKCON definitely was. And Srila Prabhupada was also “the great General” leading the charge. I could also appreciate his insight, that our relationship with guru is not primarily one of personality, but one of studentship based on service and surrender. Still, compatibility is helpful in any relationship.

I’m not finished mulling this one over, but I am definitely inspired by his core meditation on guru as that person who “gave everything to the Bhagavat!”

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Vrindaban A Lesson In Detachment

December 16th, 2002

Vrindaban

A Lesson In Detachment

It’s a very unseasonably warm winter. I can’t imagine a more pleasant day. I can see that I am becoming attached, but I’m trying to remain neutral. If I don’t, the heavy cold will eventually settle in and I will suffer more. Always better to be equal in happiness and distress, otherwise undue attachments will eventually cause pain.

The new owner of the japa-kutir came in and told me very apologetically that he plans to sell the place. I try to maintain my resolve to be detached in Vrindaban. It’s more anxiety for a sannyasi to worry about suiting their environment for their comfort than to live simply and depend on Krishna.

Later, the owner came back and told me that a sadhu told him not to sell the house; that we should never take money out of Vrindaban. Let’s see what he decides.

I met a Godbrother who I haven’t seen since last year. He’s quite philosophical. I noticed a small mole on his face that I haven’t seen before. I asked him what it was. I liked his thoughtful and detached reply, which was said in all earnestness.
“We’re getting old and dying. Isn’t it fun? You get to apply what you learned!”

Japa Thoughts VIII

Lately, I’ve been thinking more about chanting with a relationship to the holy name. What does a relationship mean? It means an attraction for someone that manifests in a desire to serve them, and vice versa. We have an eternal relationship with Krishna.

If we are cognizant of that, then chanting His holy name should naturally invoke an attraction that inspires love and service, ideally in our particular relationship with Krishna. We should feel servitude, friendship, affection, or romantic love depending on our relationship with the holy name.

But what if we are not at that level? Whatever our specific relationship with Krishna is, we all have the basic relationship as His servant. Chanting the holy name should invoke at least a sense of reverence and appreciation for our Lord. What if we are not on that level? Then we should at least chant with the conscious knowledge that we have a relationship with the holy name, even if we are not realizing it. We should pray that one day our attraction for the holy name will awaken, and feel comforted that Krishna has now appeared to protect us and give us full shelter.

Vrindaban It got back to

December 11th, 2002

Vrindaban

It got back to me that a devotee I knew was being critical of me. Initially,I became critical of him. But then I thought that maybe he was right.

We should not find fault in others. Why? Unless we are correcting that person out of affection, our words are just a manifestation of envy. When we criticize people out of envy, especially a devotee, it generally means that we are making the mistake of identifying someone’s weaknesses or faults as the whole person. That’s especially dangerous to do in relation to a Vaishnava because we are neglecting their primary nature as devotees of God.

We are all conditioned souls with many faults. Faults can be found with anyone, just as even the bright moon has pocks. And if you want to hone in on another’s weakness in an inimical way, there are probably plenty of ill-intentioned people who see our own conditoning as our person, and not just incidental parts of our nature to be purified. How does that feel?

I remember a friend of mine who made a serious mistake and needed help. I called up Tamal Krishna Maharaja and asked if he could help. He said he would. To make sure Maharaja understood all the facts, I reminded him what this person had done. His answer struck me and is probably the basis of my comments above.

“Anyway, his faults are not the whole person. I love [name withheld]!”

Vrindaban Sadhus of Vrindaban II

December 9th, 2002

Vrindaban

Sadhus of Vrindaban II

On my way to the temple every day I pass the Radhe-Shyama baba who lives in that small austere room next to the Radhe-Shyama well at the end of the parikrama path. He’s a nice old man and sometimes I see him across the road chanting and catching a few minutes of winter sun. Sometimes he calls me over and asks for some wheat or rice, which I assume is how he maintainshimself. I always forget to bring something, so today, I decide that I will just give him a hundred rupee donation–a lot for a poor sadhu. I walk over and hand him a hundred-rupee note. His eyes lit up and he hugged me affectionately. We embrace, and I then ask him his name.

“Fool Das,” he replies.

“No, seriously. What is your name?”

“Fool Das,” he says louder.

Japa Thought VII

A respected and spiritually adept friend confided in me about his chanting that morning. “It works,” he said, “to feel terrible about yourself and take shelter of Gaura-Nitai.”

Spiritual Test I

I am contemplating the idea of writing another type ofjournal taken from the notes of my morning reading. I’ve already started. I want to use one excerpt here to form a self-evaluation. Here it is:

“Tests are necessary in spiritual life to strengthen one’s resolve in spiritual life.

“While going to see Srila Rupa Gosvami, Sri Caitanya praised him profusely before the other devotees. He then observed their reactions to test them. Just like we shake a nail to see if it can withstand the force of being banged, the Lord or the spiritual master tests our capacity to handle their full mercy before bestowing it. Lord Caitanya even tests his most confidential associates:

“‘Just to examine Sarvabhauma Bhattacarya and Ramananda Raya, the Lord began to praise the transcendental qualities of Sri Rupa Gosvami before them.’ (Cc. Antya 1.107)

“Of course, their reaction was to become joyous that Sri Rupa was so fortunate.

“The test: Imagine being with someone you consider a peer in front of your spiritual master. How would you feel if the spiritual master profusely praised them?”

Govardhana Sadhus of Vrindaban I

December 8th, 2002

Govardhana

Sadhus of Vrindaban I

Whenever I go out on Govardhana parikrama, I see a very peaceful and slightly built old sadhu doing dandavat parikrama, but bowing many times in one place before he proceeds. Rather than count the number of prostrated obeisances by using a cumbersome pile of small stones as most sadhus do, this particularly sadhu uses a huge five-foot tulasi-mala counter of 250 large beads to count his dandavats. Evidently that’s the number of times he bows in one place. He has a small sign in Hindi which I cannot fully read, but I can read the date he started: January 1, 1994.

I have been told by many experienced Vrindaban devotees that prostrated obeisances around Govardhana takes about 50 hours, or seven hours a day for a week. Most people, however, do fewer hours every day and complete it in over two weeks. For those who do 108 prostrated obeisances in one place, it takes at least four years to complete–even at a pace of three to four hours everyday without fail. I estimate that that our sadhu friend, who is doing 250 flat obeisances, will need at least ten years to complete his vow. And that’s if he pays his full obeisances in one place for four hours everyday for ten years without respite–a daunting physical task even for a younger, trained athlete.

Today I brought a translator to speak to him. I found out that he is a disciple of a Godbrother of Srila Prabhupada named Parvat Maharaja. After chatting for a minute he very humbly pointed to the last line of his sign for my friend to read:

“Please don’t bother me now and may God bless you.”

Govardhana I went to Govardhana

December 7th, 2002

Govardhana

I went to Govardhana for the weekend to spend sometime with Niranjana Swami. There are many more devotees staying here now then there were during Kartik. Jayadvaita Swami, Suhotra Swami, Madhava Maharaja (formerly Maha-Mantra), Partha Sarathi Prabhu, Tejyas Prabhu, and Purnachandra Prabhu are also here. Of course, Kesava Bharati lives here. Many of them probably came now to avoid the crowds at Kartik. Ironically, although senior devotees want to avoid the crowds at Kartik, for the better part of that month, I was the only senior devotee visiting the ashram besides Jayadvaita Swami and Kesava Bharati Prabhu, who are more or less residents.

I’m thinking more about Gaura-lila lately, and how it more easily unifies one’s external and internal life. The internal mood of Lord Caitanya is compassion. The external life of a preacher is also compassion. By immersion in Gaura-lila, it becomes easier for a preacher to relate his active life to his internal life. I think it is important to see some relation between the two–especially as one matures. Otherwise, one may gradually lose attraction for one or the other. We need to do both with fervor.

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