Tour of Alachua (4 of 5): The Templeroom of Radha Madan Mohan

Imagine the evening has settled in on Alachua and the stars twinkle on in the sky. Cars pull into Raghu’s driveway, and gurukulis wrap scarves and sweaters tighter as they hurry into this warm templeroom.

It’s 8:00pm. It’s Kartik.

For the past four years, Raghu and Yamuna have hosted this tradition of singing the Damodar Prayers to his deities, Radha Madan Mohan, and we all offer a candle. (And can you believe someone different sings every single night?) I believe Radha Madan Mohan are the ishta-deva of Kartik in Alachua for the gurukulis. Well, that’s certainly how I feel.

Now that Kartik has ended, Raghu’s house has quieted once again. For the past year, I have come to dress Radha Madan Mohan every other Sunday morning. Even though I am not initiated and They are installed, somehow They smile, roll Their eyes, and allow me to dress Them anyway.

I feel this templeroom is an integral experience of Alachua for me. It is where I draw closer and closer to Radha and Krishna in Their deity form. On Sunday mornings I taste peace for two hours as I listen to soft bhajans or hum to myself, entranced.

Raghu makes much of his own jewelry for his Deities. These are handmade tikas, chokers, and bracelets for Srimati Radharani.

Even though this is my 19th time dressing (Raghu is militarily precise on these matters) it still took me three hours to dress my Lords.

Ah, whatever, time becomes irrelevant on these mornings anyway.

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In Memoriam

Out of several colorful options of yoga, homework, or bhajans, I choose to drive to the temple to chant. When I pull in, I see the parking lot filled with cars. What’s going on? I wonder curiously. As I circle around the temple, I see the room filled with people… in memoriam of Mother Srestha.

Stunned, I sit down in the very back. When Mother Sukhada comes around, I request if I could get up and speak after everybody else.

Over an hour and a half passes of people in her life speaking their memories and realizations. I keep flashing forward to an image of people gathered at my own memorial. I feel my emotions getting tighter and tighter. Finally, Sukhada calls me up.

In the silence I make my way to the microphone and gaze out at all of Srestha’s Christian friends seated in chairs, the elder devotees present, and the serene Muslim man sitting in front – her husband.

I take a deep breath. “I didn’t know Mother Srestha. Actually, I’ve never spoken with her in my life. Last year, my mother – who plays the orchestra harp – decided to play for Srestha’s benefit concert to assist in her chemotherapy expenses. When my mother returned to Hawaii, I heard random snippets here and there of Srestha, but I never dwelt on it long.

“And then, it was Radhastami morning – ” I breathe in deep, shaking, ” – and I was taking a japa walk on this sandy road on the temple property. I’ve been pondering life and death very deeply for the past couple weeks and suddenly, completely unbidden… I thought of Srestha. I thought of her condition, and how she was coming along, and her realizations while having a terminal illness.

“And then, I saw Mother Nirmala approaching me in the distance, chanting. And I thought, ‘If anyone knows how Srestha is doing, I’m sure she knows’ and so I asked Nirmala, ‘How is Srestha?’

“‘Oh, she passed away this morning.’ she replied.

“Completely stunned, I stood there in silence. Then I exclaimed quietly, ‘What??’

“‘Yes, I just found out about forty minutes ago.’

“‘But, but… I have not thought about her this entire year. I’ve never even spoken with her. I do not even know her. And all of a sudden I feel concerned for her.’ I pondered in disbelief.

“Mother Nirmala smiled. ‘You must be tuned in, Bhakti,’ and she twisted an imaginary radio dial. ‘Amazing how precious and fleeting life can be, no?’ she asked me. We conversed on realizations of life and death, and then began to walk back towards the temple for the noon arati for Srimati Radharani.

“We had discussed how a great saint in our tradition, Maharaj Yudhistir, was asked the question, ‘What is the most amazing thing in this world?’ and he replied, ‘We see our family, our friends, everyone around us all dying, and yet we believe as though we shall live forever,’

“Yet Srestha still lives through her example and the way that I feel as though I shall remember and reflect on her for the rest of my life.

“I look around to see that her love of God has impacted all of us, no matter which path we may have chosen – Christian, Vaishnava, or Muslim – her own husband. She has united us all here today. This is her legacy. And what could I aspire to more than when I pass away I leave a legacy of love, appreciation, and cooperation.

“I apologize if I have taken up time speaking in lieu of someone who has known her more deeply. I wanted to share with you, though, how she has somehow threaded into my life, even by me being here tonight. Thank you.”

As I sit down, my mind keeps returning to the thought that one day, people shall gather for my own small memorial service – laugh and cry… and then disperse for the night to return home and to life.

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Vyasa Puja Offering 2006

Note: I wrote this several months ago, yet because I have been reflecting on guru so deeply for the past several weeks, I wanted to share this offering with all of you.

In Summer, 2002…

I’m chatting with Mother Jayasri about baking a cake for Rathayatra when suddenly we hear a distant, “Jai, Haribol!”

Jayasri exclaims in our conversation, a look of delight crossing her face. “Oh, I completely forgot! Maharaj is having a darshan!”

“Darshan? Who? Which Maharaj?” I ask curiously.

“Just come,” she ushers me into the hallway, grasping my hand. We head up to a cluster of people that spill out into the hall, peering into a room. We nudge our way in, but a sudden bout of shyness overcomes me, and I simply peek past the doorframe. I take in a light-filled room of devotees, all gazing attentively upon two people: Radhanath Swami and a bright-eyed boy who’s narrating some spectacular story from the Mahabharat.

Suddenly Maharaj speaks, “And who is this?” he’s peering straight at my shy face.

“Oh yes, Maharaj, this is Bhakti lata, Mahesh and Brihan’s daughter,” Jayasri says immediately, clasping my shoulders, steering me more into view. I have never felt so shy around a Maharaj in my entire life of living and breathing around them.

Radhanath Swami’s eyes light up. “Ah yes, the last time I saw you, you were about this high – ” he gestures somewhere around his shoulders… and he’s sitting down. The whole room chuckles, and I smile abashedly.

“You’re making me blush,” I reply. Did I really say that??!

He laughs. “Please, come sit down,” he gestures to a spot right in front of him, and the devotees make room. I settle myself down, feeling as if all the eyes turned on me are spotlights. Maharaj grins serenely at me, and then turns towards the boy to continue his storytelling.

Without missing a beat, the boy continues on, and I listen in total loss and awe at how WEIRD this story is. I mean, maybe it’s just because I’ve jumped in on the middle of the story, or maybe that’s just how stories are that involve gods and goddesses and the Supreme Personality of Godhead. But I chuckle and gasp along with the rest, sensing everyone’s enthusiasm, feeling as though a match has been lit within me. I glance to Maharaj every once and awhile, and when he laughs and listens intently, suddenly I gain more meaning from the story, suddenly I find something more funny.

When the boy finishes his story, Maharaj continues to chat with other devotees in the room, and albeit I feel shy, so many devotees hold such a deference to Maharaj. I’m a bit taken aback. All my life I’ve grown up around Swamis, including Radhanath Swami, and although we’ve been trained to respect Swamis, it’s always been a kind of “Yo, what’s up Swamiji?”

And yet now, it’s as if a light has clicked on, and I understand the deference of the devotees. When Maharaj begins to hand out cookies, I find myself wanting to serve everyone else. I become the busboy, ferrying these peanut-butter cookies to the back of the room, all in silence. I’m the final one to receive a cookie. As we all sit there in silence, holding or nibbling our cookies, Maharaj says matter-of-factly, “My dear Mataji, I’m sure they’re wonderful, but are these cookies green?” The entire rooms bursts into laughter. Only Maharaj would have the boldness to ask what was all on our minds.

When we all leave the room when the darshan ends, I walk away, nibbling on my green cookie, lost in thought. My mind is etched with the image of Radhanath Swami illuminated by the light from the window in his orange robes. In all my life I have never seen a Swami so… effulgent. I feel it. And for the first time, I wonder what it’s like to be under the guidance of a guru, a teacher. And so begins my quest for a guru maharaj…

Over the years, I wonder if maybe this is my guru… maybe this one… and although each Swami teaches me a lesson, I simply recall that match being lit in the simple and sweet darshan in that distant summer in that distant room, listening to a strange story, eating green cookies.

And then on the 2005 bus tour, we’re all in DC when Yadu returns from experiencing his guru maharaj pass away – Bhakti Tirtha Swami. He recounts beautiful stories of his own guru maharaj and Radhanath Swami and suddenly I realize, “This time, it’s my turn to go to Radhanath Swami. It’s time to surrender,” I simply say the word and Manu grants me permission to leave the tour for almost three weeks to head to New Vrindavan to finally make my decision.

So I find myself, three years later in that very same room. Once again, my mind fills with how the sun illuminates Radhanath Swami’s saffron robes. He peers at me with kind eyes that seem a little weary. I take a deep breath, and with a shaking voice I say, “Maharaj, I would like to take instruction from you. What does it mean to be a disciple?”

And so the journey continues on.

I just want to thank you, Maharaj, for your guidance and inspiration to always search for the nectar. Even if I never associate with you again face-to-face, I thank you for showing me the way of service… and to be an example.

Thank you for switching that light on, four years ago. Where would I be if Jayasri and I had not heard that distant “Jai! Haribol!”?

Probably still surrendering to your feet.

Bhakti lata dasi

photo courtesy of satoxi.com

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A Purport for Rumi

Out beyond ideas of
wrong-doing and right-doing
there is a field
I’ll meet you there
when the soul lies down in that
grass
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase,
each other
doesn’t make any sense.

- Rumi

The other evening I attended a sanga amongst devotees of Ananda Mayi. As we sang together and I looked around, I felt utterly humbled. Here are devotees of the Lord, maybe wearing a different dress and singing different songs. The persons I encountered were – as Srila Prabhupad put it – ladies and gentlemen.

Although their philosophy may teach “all is one” – which is diametrically opposed to the teachings that I follow – I felt myself rise above judgment. How? Simply, I did not feel judged.

I felt a deep appreciation for their devotion to God and their teacher, Ananda Mayi. And my favorite moment in the evening was when the visiting Swami, Nirvananda Swami, sang the maha-mantra and in the interlude he sang, “And Krishna comes and plays flute…. on the banks… of my heart.”

I closed my eyes. Krishna does not belong to ISKCON, Gaudiya Math, or to Ananda Mayi. Who am I to say that Krishna “prefers” anyone? But one day, maybe my heart shall be clean and simple enough that He does come and play His flute on the banks of my heart.

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I can’t help it…

I can’t help it. I miss Radhe Shyam. Through my quiet, hermit-like adventures, I remember Them and how Their beauty rivals the ocean, or the clouds, or the mountains. Or when I’m singing by myself and I softly end the bhajan,

“Jaya Radhe Shyam…. Radhe Shyam…. Radhe Shyam…

“Jaya Sri Radheeeee Shyam….”

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Views From Paradise

Srila Prabhupad once said that Hawaii is a remnant left over from the previous Yuga.

I believe he has a point.

The view from our house.

Sri Sri Radha Raman, my parent’s Deities.

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Reminisce…

Sometimes my mind turns to Mexico and the beauty and adventure of such a vivid country. The photos transport me right back there, so here is a little photo essay to glimpse into the eye of the winter 2005 – 06 Bus Tour.
Group shot at Mexico city temple. I believe one of my coolest experiences in Krishna Consciousness happened here. After the Sunday Feast kirtan, most of the Bus Tour troupe left during Bhagavad-Gita class for the simple fact that, well, it was in Spanish. And yet I stayed… and understood every word. I sat there, utterly enthralled. I experienced – didn’t just read about – that Krishna philosophy reaches into every corner of the world, no matter the culture or language. Srila Prabhupada ki, jai!On top of the Pyramid of the Sun, you can see the Pyramid of the Moon over our shoulders. Yeah, this WOULD be those ghastly pyramids where they sacrificed millions of people to the Sun God, believing the sun would not rise if they didn’t do so (which I think is a load of B.S. … I think the priests were power-tripping.)“This New Year’s harinam is INSANE!!!” We rocked it out in La Plaza de Los Toros in Mexico City. In about twenty minutes, hundreds of people in the Plaza were dancing and smiling with us. We were already 45 minutes into 2006 before I glanced at the giant clock and realized it was a New Year. That’s how amazing this was.
A clearer idea of the insanity. And no, that’s not really Bus Tour or Mexico devotees. Those are the Mexicans.

These little Mexican village boys were hilarious! (Spiderman? Batman?) They joined us for campfire bhajans and absolutely LOVED us.Turns out they loved Lord Jagannath, too. Check out the boy in the striped shirt’s expression.

I sang in the shade, closing my eyes, listening to the ocean and feeling the breezy shade of the waving palm tree above me. Then, a boy I had been playing chess with earlier made his way over (and eventually his papa and uncle). I then smiled and shared in my halfway-Spanish the beauty of chanting. I have no idea who caught this gentle moment. Christmas Day in Mexico, and we got some snow… well, from a distance. We shared our realizations of Christmas and feeling humble while in the presence of this breathtaking mountain, El Popo.
This sunset in Acupulco stole my breath away. I went on a long walk away from the crowds and the soccer games that lined the entire beach. I hummed, and then finally sang at the top of my voice, when not a soul was in sight, Mama Mana Mandire.

“Oh, please, Krishna Murari, may you always reside in the temple of my heart.”

(This was just a tiny, tiny glimpse of Mexico. I can post more if someone is interested.)

Guess what? We’re doing it again. Winter Bus Tour, 2007-08, Mexico. Stay posted to Krishna.com/bustour or contact me.

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