Like, Misunderstood (excerpt of ashram life)

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CHAPTER 70: Gurudev

 

Three weeks later I’m reading to myself, out loud, in my tiny

windowless dark cell with a small oil lamp for light. I’m reading a

Sanskrit Srimad Bhagavat Maha Puranam by Gita Press – the world’s best

full translation into English of the Bhagavat Puranam. Even my first

Guru, Swamiji, never finished that book in his life. But, then again,

his translation also includes important notes from several Sanskrit or

Bengali purports, so it was mammoth by comparison to any others.

 

‘…and when Lord Krishna returned to Dwaraka the city was decorated with

flowers and sandalwood scented water was…’ Suddenly I grab my stomach

and double over from the pain. I run out the small lockless door to the

outhouse, making an agonized sound. Yeah! What else is new?

 

Later I’m sitting on the temple steps to the Ashram's stone courtyard.

‘Today is purnima,’ Swami Madhav tells me. ‘Full Moon, so we are

shaving head on this day every time.’

 

‘Why?’ I enquire sincerely.

 

But the swami looks at me like the dunce I am and asks, ‘Vhy?’

 

Jeez, I’m thinking. Is there am echo around here? But that’s not what I

say. ‘The hair, why shave it off?’

 

‘Hair,’ explains Swami Madhav, ‘it represents ahamkar. Ahamkar is ego.

“I am this body, I am so nice!” So hair must be shaved to remove ego.

Every full moon. Gurudev is returning soon. You must be pure to meet

Gurudev, he is pure bhakta,’ the swami says solemnly.

 

‘Yes, really, I'm anxious to meet Gurudev,’ I reply. ‘But I feel

blessed to know you, too. You are so kind. You are also my guru!’ I’m

serious.

 

But Swami Madhav is like, ‘No! I am less than dog. I am no guru!

Gurudev is param-bhagavat and he is connection to God Krishna. He sees

Krishna! He knows Krishna. Gurudev has prema! We only try to get his

mercy, so we can love Krishna.’

 

‘Maharaj, how old is Gurudev? I mean, his body?’ I wonder.

 

‘Gurudev is going on 70 years, he has been Sannyasi for whole life; he

was one great disciple of Prabhupada.’

 

‘Prabhupada? Who is Prabhupada?’

 

The swami folds his hands and bows his head: ‘Nitya-lila pravista Om

Vishnupad Paramahansa Srimad Bhakti Siddhanta Sarasvati Prabhupad; he

is Param-guru, like grandfather Guru; Prabhupada is Guru of our

Gurudev.’

 

‘Wow! I feel nervous to meet Gurudev! I'm so unqualified! What can I do

to get ready?’

 

‘Vell,’ replies Swami Madhav, ‘first you must be shaving head!’

 

‘OK, I'm ready. When can I shave?’

 

‘Last. You can be last.’

 

After my head is shaved, for the first time in my life, I can see my

face reflected in a tiny two-inch rusty broken mirror being held up by

the wrinkled old barber.

 

‘Maharaj! How do I look?’

 

‘Like a monkey!’

 

‘Really?’

 

Swami Madhav assures me: ‘No! No! You look like devotee, now you are

ready to meet Gurudev.’

 

I get up and walk over to where Swami Madhav is sitting on the temple

steps. I pass by an old Bengali devotee. Suddenly the old man starts to

shout in Bengali and points an angry finger at me. I’m shocked, and

jump next to Swami Madhava. The angry old coot runs to the well and

starts to bathe.

 

I’m stunned. ‘What happened?’

 

The swami is laughing: ‘Oh! You have stepped on his shadow! So he is

polluted by you!’

 

‘What? Polluted?’

 

‘Remember, you are mletcha,’ Swami Madhav patiently explains.

‘Untouchable. But you can become pure by mercy of Gurudev he is coming

soon. We must prepare.’

 

‘Prepare what?’

 

‘To receive Gurudev! His return is always utsava and we will come back

to life with his return. In his absence we are feeling separation.’

 

‘Is Gurudev coming alone?’ I ask.

 

‘Of course not, Gurudev is always with servant.’

 

‘Who’s his servant?’

 

‘You do not know Gopesh Prabhu? But of course, you have not met. He is

cook for Gurudev, he is vonderful cook.’

 

‘Can he speak good English?’

 

‘Gopesh Prabhu not speaking.’

 

‘No, I mean Gurudev?’

 

‘Gurudev?’ Swami Madhav laughs. ‘Yes, of course! Gurudev is great

scholar. Perhaps he can speak English much better than you? He is

speaking so many language. You are most fortunate man of all western

world! You are only mletcha in Vrindavan! You must be having so much

pious karma to come here! Yes, Gurudev can teach you about Lord

Krishna.’

 

‘You think he'll teach me?

 

‘Of course! Gurudev is already teaching you!’

 

‘Already? How?’

 

Swami Madhav looks in my eyes with his honest and sincere expression,

and says, ‘Guru has two forms, outside he is great devotee, and in our

heart he is teaching as antaryami, that means Supersoul, antaryami,

bhakta shrestha ae dui rup. So you are here by mercy of Guru and

Krishna! Otherwise, it is not possible for anyone to reach this holy

land of Sri Vrindavan.’

 

 

CHAPTER 71: Gurudev Arrives

 

It’s a hot summer night and a few devotees are sleeping on the roof of

the temple hall. I’m getting ready to sleep on the bare cement roof. I

spot a dirty, crusty red brick, which I grab and lay my head on as I

doze off to sleep.

 

Next morning, after getting the serious cold-shoulder from all the

ashramites, I come up quietly and bow down to old Swami Madhav.

 

I say: ‘Vancha kalpataru-byas ca kripa sindhu-bhy eva cha /

patitanam pavane bhyo vaishnave-bhyo namo namah.’

 

Or, when translated from Sanskrit into surf speak, simply: ‘DUDE!’

 

Swami remains silent.

 

‘Maharaj, what's wrong? No one will talk to me?’

 

‘Vell,’ he explains, ‘they are disappointed!’

 

‘But why?’

 

‘Because you were enjoying luxury life!’ Swami Madhav finally reveals.

 

‘When?’

 

‘Last night you were using pillow, isn't it?’

 

I’m like, ‘Pillow? No, I used a red brick. Just a bare brick!’

 

But the swami is adamant: ‘Pillow is pillow, that is not bhakti!’

 

I’m thinking, brick pillow? Well I’ll be goddamned.

 

The next morning, everyone seems busy, like ants. A crude arch has been

constructed over the gate, and both are covered with brightly colored

garlands of yellow flowers.

 

Devotees are working on decorating the gate, supervised by Swami

Madhav.

 

‘You go collect Tulasi leaves,’ he orders me. ‘Bring 108 leaves.’

 

‘OK, but, I'm not sure I can remember the mantra,’ I plead.

 

‘Go see your notes you have written down, no?’

 

I try to remember it. First I wash my hands by tipping a lota pot at

the well. Then I go to the Tulasi garden. I bow to the Tulasi trees and

then mumble a silent Sanskrit prayer. Then, placing my right hand down

before feet I tiptoe into the garden and begin picking leaves. I count

as I pick the leaves, while chanting the mantra.

 

Whoa! Suddenly Swami Madhav is blessed-out: ‘Hurry, Gurudev is coming

now.’

 

‘Now?’ I hear myself say. No, stupid, the day after New Years Eve.

 

‘Yes, quickly bring!’ urges the swami.

 

I finally get out of the garden, bowing again to the sacred trees, and

run into the temple hall to give the Holy Basil leaves to the priest.

 

Suddenly bells start ringing, a conch shell starts blowing, and a gong

is sounding. I run to the temple door and see an older effulgent being

with short white hair, dressed in glowing orange clothes, and sitting

in a cycle-rickshaw. In another rickshaw behind the first is a 30 years

young and very dark Bengali man, also dressed in saffron robes, sitting

with the luggage.

 

Everyone in the ashram shouts, ‘Jai Gurudev! Jai Gurudev! Jai Gurudev!’

And they all bow down as Gurudev and Gopesh Prabhu enter the ashram

gate.

 

Gurudev has tears of love in his eyes from this kind and loving

reception. He embraces each devotee, one by one, until he sees me

standing there, scared stiff.

 

‘Oh my!’ he says to me. ‘Who has Krishna sent? What is your name?’

 

Gulp! ‘Ah, my name is Hrisikesh,’ I stammer out. ‘I'm a disciple of

Swami Bhakti Vedanta and came to stay with him, but he's gone back to

America.’

 

Swami Madhav speaks something to Gurudev in Bengali: ‘Kuub chesta kori,

Gurudev!’ (He is trying very hard, Gurudev!). Or, translated into surf

speak, ‘Dude’s busting his ass!’

 

Gurudev smiles broadly. ‘Yes, Swami Maharaj is my God Brother, we have

same Guru. He has given you name Hrisikesh. That is very good.’

 

‘Whew!’ It sure is good that it’s good!

 

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