Kirtan with Srila Prabhupada

[leyh 0]

The summer evening was warm, and in the storefront the back windows and front door were opened wide. Young men, several of them dressed in black denims and button-down sports shirts with broad, dull stripes, had left their worn sneakers by the front door and were now sitting on the floor. Most of them were from the Lower East Side; no one had to go to great trouble to come here. The little room was barren. No pictures, no furniture, no rug, not even a chair. Only a few plain straw mats. A single bulb hung from the ceiling into the center of the room. It was seven o’clock, and about a dozen people had gathered, when Bhaktivedanta Swami suddenly opened a side door and entered the room.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt and the saffron cloth that draped his torso left his arms and some of his chest bare. His complexion was smooth golden brown, and as they watched him, his head shaven, his ears long-lobed, and his aspect grave, he seemed like pictures they had seen of the Buddha in meditation. He was old, yet erect in his posture, fresh and radiant. His forehead was decorated with the yellowish clay markings of the Vaisnavas. Bhaktivedanta Swami recognized big, bearded Howard and smiled. “You have brought your friends? “

“Yes,” Howard answered in his loud, resonant voice.

“Ah, very good.”

Bhaktivedanta Swami stepped out of his white shoes, sat down on a thin mat, faced his congregation, and indicated they could all be seated. He distributed several pairs of brass cymbals and briefly demonstrated the rhythm: one … two…three. He began playing --- a startling ringing sound. He began singing: Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna, Krsna Krsna, Hare Hare/ Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare. Now it was the audience’s turn. “Chant,” he told them. Some already knew, gradually the others caught on, and after a few rounds, all were chanting together.

Most of the young men and the few young women present had at one time or another embarked on the psychedelic voyage in search of a new world of expanded consciousness. Boldly and recklessly, they had entered the turbulent, forbidden waters of LSD, peyote, and magic mushrooms. Heedless of warnings, they had risked everything and done it. Yet there was merit in their valor, their eagerness to find out the extra dimensions of the self, to get beyond ordinary existence --- even if they didn’t know what the beyond was or whether they would ever return to the comfort of the ordinary.

Nonetheless, whatever truth they had found, they remained unfulfilled, and whatever worlds they had reached, these young psychedelic voyagers had always returned to the Lower East Side. Now they were sampling the Hare Krsna mantra.

When the kirtana suddenly sprang up from the Swami’s cymbals and sonorous voice, they immediately felt that it was going to be something far out. Here was another chance to “trip out,” and willingly they began to flow with it. They would surrender their minds and explore the limits of the chanting for all it was worth. Most of them had already associated the mantra with the mysterious Upanisads and Gita, which had called out to them in words of mystery: “Eternal spirit…Negating illusion.” But whatever it is, this Indian mantra, let it come, they thought. Let its waves carry us far and high. Let’s take it, and let the effects come. Whatever the price, let it come. The chanting seemed simple and natural enough. It was sweet and wasn’t going to harm anyone. It was, in its own way, far out.

As Bhaktivedanta Swami chanted in his own inner ecstasy, he observed his motley congregation. He was breaking ground in a new land now. As the hand cymbals rang, the lead-and-response of the Hare Krsna mantra swelled, filling the evening. Some neighbours were annoyed. Puerto Rican children, enchanted, appeared at the door and window, looking. Twilight came.

Exotic it was, yet anyone could see that a swami was raising an ancient prayer in praise of God. This wasn’t rock or jazz. He was a holy man, a swami making a public religious demonstration. But the congregation was strange: an old Indian swami chanting an ancient mantra with a storefront full of young hippies singing along.

Bhaktivedanta Swami sang on, his shaven head held high and tilted, his body trembling slightly with emotion. Confidently, he led the mantra, absorbed in pure devotion, and they responded. More passersby were drawn to the front window and open door. Some jeered, but the chanting was too strong. Within the sound of the kirtana, even the car horns were a faint staccato. The vibration of auto engines and the rumble of trucks continued, but in the distance now, unnoticed.

Gathered under the dim electric light in the bare room, the group chanted after their leader, growing gradually from a feeble, hesitant chorus to an approximate harmony of voices. They continued clapping and chanting, putting into it whatever they could, in hopes of discovering its secrets. This swami was not simply giving some five-minute sample demonstration. For the moment he was their leader, their guide in an unknown realm. Howard and Keith’s little encounter with a kirtana in Calcutta had left them outsiders. The chanting had never before come like this, right in the middle of the Lower East Side with a genuine Swami leading them.

In their minds were psychedelic ambitions to see the face of God, fantasies and visions of Hindu teachings, and the presumption that “IT” was all impersonal light. Bhaktivedanta Swami had encountered a similar group on the Bowery and he knew this group wasn’t experiencing the mantra in the proper disciplined reverence and knowledge. But he let them chant in their own way. In time, their submission to the spiritual sound, their purification, and their enlightenment and ecstasy in chanting and hearing the Hare Krsna mantra would come.

He stopped the kirtana. The chanting had swept back the world, but now the Lower East Side rushed in again. The children at the door began to chatter and laugh. Cars and trucks made their rumbling heard once more. And a voice shouted from the nearby apartment, demanding quiet. It was now 7:30. Half an hour had elapsed. (From Prabhupada --- The Authorized Biography by Satsvarupa dasa Goswami,Chapter Two:Planting the Seed)

 

 

 

 

 

[This message has been edited by leyh (edited 10-03-2001).]

[leyh 0]

Originally posted by Krsnacandra dasa:

I really liked reading this. In particular, I am interested in learning about what Srila Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada did between boarding the Jaladuta in India to having at least 2-3 temples in America. I want to read about how it all came together. All I've read so far are little bits and pieces. Anyone know where I can get the whole thing on the internet?

Krsnacandra prabhu:

I'm glad you enjoyed reading that excerpt.

 

You can try http://www.iskcon.net/prabhupada/where you can find stories about Srila Prabhupada told in words and pictures, mainly from the Srila Prabhupada Lilamrita by Satsvarupa Das Goswami.

 

 

 

[This message has been edited by leyh (edited 10-03-2001).]

[Krsnacandra dasa 0]

I really liked reading this. In particular, I am interested in learning about what Srila Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada did between boarding the Jaladuta in India to having at least 2-3 temples in America. I want to read about how it all came together. All I've read so far are little bits and pieces. Anyone know where I can get the whole thing on the internet?

[leyh 0]

San Francisco

January 16, 1967

When the announcement for United Airlines Flight 21 from New York came over the public-address system, the group of about fifty hippies gathered closer together in anticipation. For a moment, they appeared almost apprehensive, unsure of what to expect or what the Swami would be like.

Roger Segal: We were quite an assorted lot, even for the San Francisco airport. Mukunda was wearing a Merlin the Magician robe with paisley squares all around, Sam was wearing a Moroccan sheep robe with a hood --- he even smelled like a sheep --- and I was wearing a sort of blue home-made Japanese samurai robe with small white dots. Long strings of beads were everywhere. Buckskins, boots, army fatigues, people wearing small, round sunglasses --- the whole phantasmagoria of San Francisco at its height.

Only a few people in the crowd knew Swamiji: Mukunda and his wife Janaki; Ravindra-svarupa; Raya Rama --- all from New York. And Allen Ginsberg was there. (A few days before, Allen had been one of the leaders of the Human Be-In in Golden Gate Park, where over two hundred thousand had come together --- “A Gathering of the Tribes…for a joyful pow-wow and Peace Dance.”)

Swamiji would be pleased, Mukunda reminded everyone, if they were all chanting Hare Krsna when he came through the gate. They were already familiar with the Hare Krsna mantra. They had heard about the Swami’s chanting in the park in New York or they had seen the article about Swamiji and the chanting in the local underground newspaper, The Oracle. Earlier today they had gathered in Golden Gate Park --- most of them responding to a flyer Mukunda had distributed --- and had chanted there for more than an hour before coming to the airport in a caravan of cars. Now many of them --- also in response to Mukunda’s flyer --- stood with incense and flowers in their hands.

As the disembarking passengers entered the terminal gate and walked up the ramp, they looked in amazement at the reception party of flower-bearing chanters. The chanters, however, gazed past these ordinary, tired-looking travelers, searching for that special person that was supposed to be on the plane. Suddenly, walking toward them was Swamiji, golden-complexioned, dressed in bright saffron robes.

He had heard the chanting even before he had entered the terminal, and he had begun to smile. He was happy and surprised. Glancing over the faces, he recognized only a few. Yet here were fifty people receiving him and chanting Hare Krsna without his having said a word!

The crowd of hippies had formed a line on either side of a narrow passage through which Swami would walk. As he passed among his new admirers, dozens of hands stretched out to offer him flowers and incense. He smiled, collecting the offerings in his hands while Rancora looked on. Allen Ginsberg stepped forward with a large bouquet of flowers,a nd Bhaktivedanta Swami graciously accepted it. Then he began offering the gifts to all who reached out to receive them. He proceeded through the terminal, the crowd of young people walking beside him, chanting.

At the baggage claim he waited for a moment, his eyes taking in everyone around him. Lifting his open palms, he beckoned everyone to chant louder, and the group burst into renewed chanting, with the Swami standing in their midst, softly clapping his hands and singing Hare Krsna. Gracefully, he then raised his hands above his head and began to dance, stepping and swaying from side to side.

To the mixed chagrin, amusement, and irresistible joy of the airport workers and passengers, the reception party stayed with the Swami until he got his luggage. Then they escorted him outside into the sunlight and into a waiting car, a black 1949 Cadillac Fleetwood. Swamiji got into the back seat with Mukunda and Allen Ginsberg. Until the moment the car pulled away from the curb, Swamiji, still smiling, continued handing flowers to all those who had come to welcome him as he brought Krsna consciousness west.(From Prabhupada --- The Authorized Biography by Satsvarupa dasa Goswami,Chapter Three: Only He Could Lead Them)

 

[karthik_v 0]

Originally posted by Krsnacandra dasa:

I really liked reading this. In particular, I am interested in learning about what Srila Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada did between boarding the Jaladuta in India to having at least 2-3 temples in America. I want to read about how it all came together. All I've read so far are little bits and pieces. Anyone know where I can get the whole thing on the internet?

 

Hare Krsna Prabhu,

 

You can also buy Srila Prabhupad's biography and it has all the information. It makes an excellent reading.