My Last Morning

The morning after Mother Mitravinda’s memorial was the last time I could dress Radha Madan Mohan. I asked Ragu if I could choose the outfit – this is the one Mother Mitravinda ingeniously made from the shorts of one of Shyamasundar’s outfits from the temple. The outfit was for Govardhan Puja, Mother Mitravinda’s favorite festival, and with this particular outfit I helped her make the decorations for the altar and she also spontaneously asked me to make Radha’s bouquet.

When Ragu came back from his morning ventures, he was busily rushing about but took the time out to let me listen to an mp3 recording of Mother Mitravinda wherein she mentioned me.

He glanced over at one point to the Deities and said, “Hm, I can’t tell if They’re beautiful from here, but I’ll give you a call and let you know,” I just laughed. He has always had very high standards and was always very honest, which I can say he had handed down from his mother.

And then, after rummaging around, he finally found the recording.

Paraphrase: “Oh Bhakti, don’t cry. Don’t worry, you’ll be up there soon, dressing my beautiful boy and girl, Radha Shyamasundara.”

p.s. Thank you Vijay for approaching me at the Festival of Inspiration and thanking me personally for these posts about Radha Madan Mohan.

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Dancing with Mother Mitravinda

I wrote this last night…

Mother Mitravinda passed away this morning. Gaura Shakti held bhajans at his house in honor for her this evening.

And as Jagi settled down to the harmonium to sing, he said, “So this was Mother Mitravinda’s favorite tune,” he paused and everyone went quiet. “I went to go visit her and I was singing this tune. Then she said softly, ‘It’s not fair,’ and I asked, ‘Why is it not fair, Mitravinda?’ and she replied, “It’s not fair because this is my favorite tune… and I want to dance but I can’t,’ She then bagan to weep,”

When Jagi sang the first mantra, chills ran down my spine. Everyone sang so deeply and so beautifully and my face shone with tears to remember Mother Mitravinda dancing. Her spirit moves me, even now as I write this.

I remember the very last time I danced with her – it was the Sunday Feast before she would go to the hospital to begin treatment. I was elated to still see her at the temple. At one point in the kirtan, we both raised our arms as we sang. And as we faced each other, the expression on Mother Mitravinda’s face took my breath away. Her intensity, her prayer to Radha Shyamasundar, hit me like a wave, enough to bring tears to my eyes… much the same tears I wept at bhajans tonight. And suddenly I knew – this is the last time I will ever dance with Mother Mitravinda.

And so it was.

Now I am realizing, though, that really she hasn’t stopped dancing. I know this sounds all poetic, but I believe that she dancing in the hearts of all the lives she has touched.

She’s dancing in mine.

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A Letter to an Inspiration

I wrote the following letter to Mother Mitravinda, an inspiration in my life, during her final days. So often we appreciate people when they leave us, so I wrote this letter to give her my appreciation and went to visit her in hospice. I was thinking I would just give it to Raghu (her son) to read, but when I arrived she asked me to simply read out my own letter. So I took deep breaths and began…

Dear Mother Mitravinda,

I feel such love and appreciation when I can simply gaze at Radha Shyamasundar and know: Mother Mitravinda dressed today. Your elegance and sincerity in your service has always inspired me in my spiritual life. Receiving your compliments after dressing Radha Madan Mohan was the ultimate sign that I was on the right track.

I shall never, ever forget the moment you asked me if I wanted to make Lord Nityananda’s turban for Janmastami. How you believed in me, inspired me, and then guided me to serve the Lord.

And I shall never forget clasping each other’s hands, tears in our eyes, as the curtains swung open on Janmastami day. A beautiful feeling of gratitude washed over me: Mother Mitravinda has helped me serve the Lord.

Thank you. Thank you for your service, your spirit when we dance, your example, our kinship… you are deep within my heart. Maybe one day, Radhe Shyam will allow me to dress Them, and I shall pray to you, here in my heart, to serve Them with sincerity and devotion.

And one day we’ll be clasping hands as the curtains swing open and Radhe Shyam and Gaura Nitai smile upon us.

With love,
Bhakti lata dasi

It was the last time I ever saw Mother Mitravinda. Thank you, Krishna, for the blessing of her association.

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My Lighthouse

Back in Kartik, in garba-season, I wrote in my journal an experience, and would like to share it with you all. You can also read a previous blog entry titled “The Vrindavan Virus” to know more of who Mother Tulasi is.

I had one of the sweetest experiences, since living in Alachua, last night for Sayana Arati. At this point I have literally attended hundreds of Sayana Aratis here in Alachua, but last night took the cream.

I arrived at the temple in my garba gear, wanting to chant and bid goodnight to my Lords before I headed out to dance the night away. As I made my way through the trees to the softly glowing templeroom, the thought crossed my mind that tonight was Tulasi’s last night of dressing Radhe Shyam before she would fly off to India.

I must bid her goodbye, I thought to myself.

I chanted in the templeroom, the grounds hushed in sweet silence. When the curtains swished open, I sang to the Deities a lullaby with only two other people present, plus the pujari – Tulasi. When the curtains closed, it occurred to me that I needed to leave earlier than I thought to make it to an appointment on time.

So I started to hear the clock tick – I needed to leave… but I wanted to hug Tulasi goodbye.

I paced back and forth on the verandah, checking the clock every time I switched directions. Come ON Tulasi… what’s taking so long? In my experience, the pujari is completely finished with putting Krishna to sleep and closing the entire temple by 9:15pm, latest.

It was 9:20pm. Tulasi was still on the altar.

I considered just leaving. I considered popping my head in the templeroom and letting her know through the curtains I was waiting. I considered writing a short note. I needed to GO.

And then I smiled. I realized why she was taking so long: her love for Radhe Shyam. She was putting in such sweet care and devotion in her puja to put Them asleep and bid goodbye that she was losing track of time.

Finally, I did peep my head in the templeroom and murmur, “Goodbye, Tulasi,” I readied to leave, then saw she had come off the altar. I went around to greet her.

Tears were in her eyes as she smiled and gave me a hug. “I’ve been waiting for you to say goodbye, I know it’s your last night here,” I said.

“I was giving Shyam a hug,” she laughed softly, wiping a tear from her eye. She breathed deep, “But I’ll be going to His hometown soon, right?”

“Yes, you will, and you shall see Him everywhere there,” I reassured her.

“You’re right, I will,” she paused. “But I won’t be able to give Him a hug,” and then she laughed. We spoke of Vrindavan for a few moments, one last embrace, and then I headed back into the trees and the cool night, under the stars.

As I drove away, I reflected that I want to serve and love Krishna as Mother Tulasi loves Krishna. She is my example, my lighthouse. In this dark ocean where I can barely tell left from light, her devotion shines.

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Tour of Alachua (5 of 5): Where Love Resides

“Whenever you give your time, you are making a sacrifice, and sacrifice is the essence of love.” Unknown

I remember the very night that Sayana Arati flew into my heart like a swift bird and has lived there ever since.

I had just moved to Alachua two years ago, and the gurukulis were holding a meeting in the lobby of the templeroom, discussing our involvement in the upcoming celebration of Srila Prabhupad’s Appearance Day. And then, a conch shell clarioned through the evening.

“What? What is that?” I asked, taken aback.

“Oh, it’s the last arati of the day before the deities go to sleep,” Raghu explained. We all flowed into the templeroom.

In that warm cocoon, the only lights on in the room were shining from the altar, illuminating quiet faces. Someone was singing a bhajan a bit off-key, with only kartals to accompany his song. Radha Shyamasundar were wearing gentle, flowing clothes, with no jewelry or garlands.

I remember the feeling. Something blossomed in my heart – a tenderness for deities of Radha and Krishna that I had never really felt before in all my life growing up around Them.

When the curtains closed, I wanted to return the next night. And the next. But being the new kid on the block in Alachua with zero form of transportation and few connections, several months passed. When I had settled into my own home and bought a car, one evening I wandered over to the temple to chant japa.

And Sayana Arati caught me by gentle surprise once again.

Like chanting my rounds, Sayana Arati has become a part of my life. I give this time to bidding goodnight to Krishna and I feel as though Krishna reciprocates with this sacrifice of time by giving me a foundation to love Him. Although I love the discipline of chanting my rounds every day, which is also a sacrifice of time, Sayana Arati is completely on my own whim.

When I miss too many nights, I feel as though something is missing in my spiritual life.

Ah, yes, the essence of love.

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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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In The Stillness

March 16th, 2006

The sun sillhouettes the moss in gold, and in the cooling day I make my way to the temple. Tents lay empty, powerlines and lights still strung about, a shell from the hundreds of people that milled about here only last night.

Now, not a soul stirs in the stillness. Except… a man sits on the edge of the verandah, quietly reading a soul-searching book. I smile to myself and enter the templeroom.

The Deities stand there in Their splendor, as if it’s another festival day. I pick up the harmonium and place it close to the altar – I settle down and begin to play.

No one is here, only the Deities, and I sing the bhajan over and over again, not even realizing that I’m going in a loop. So many times I’ve sung this song in the misery of living away from the devotees, always in some secluded place or along some abandoned road.

And here I am, a peace soothing my heart… alone.

But not alone.

ekaki amare nahi paya bala
“Without you [the vaishnava] I have no strength.”

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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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