In ignorance there is insecurity with a false sense of security. In knowledge there is security.

In love there is security with a false sense of insecurity. Welcome to the Ecstasy Matrix Where the Impossible becomes possible. Where the Innite appears nite. Where the Extraordinary appears ordinary. Where the Absolute carries a ute.

sarva dharman parityajya mam ekam saranam vraja aham tvam sarva-papebhyo mokshayishyami ma suchah

Give up all religion and surrender to me. I will free you from all karma. Do not fear. Bhagavad-gita; 18.66

I Introduction In India last year, a beautiful Israeli girl smiled at me, You have to meet Pete. The night before I met him, I woke up from a strange dream, shaking, convulsing, from my heart. Now I look back at that wonderful meeting as a moment Id been waiting for for a very long time, a prelude to the extraordinary events caused by this ordinary-looking whirlwind. Pete has helped me so much to shatter the false security in my world and replace it with real security and nally submerge it in divine, false insecurity. He showed me that my highest potential is really my true nature and my fantasies are inspirations towards my true goal. Now, each step I take in the direction of my dreams is met by a supportive cushion of air. If I waited for secure ground, I would never believe that one who runs towards God actually ies towards God. Now I am a Skywalker too! Pete is now here in America putting nal touches to the book. George Washington is not really God, he says.Quit work, play music, a black t-shirt with white writing, right in front of me, says. A glance from Pete conrms what I feel. This Monday I wrote an email to my boss at Stanford University explaining that I could wait no longer to do what the Soul, the universe, the whole, wants me to do. Just like an arm picking up a guitar, instinctively subservient to the desire of the whole for music, and completely satised in performing its duty, I had to endeavour towards my true dharma. Pay me any salary you wish, or not, I told him, feeling trust in the whole to feed its surrendered part. Within half an hour I got a phone call from Israel Outdoors saying There is one space left on the free trip. Two days later I received a check from work, $300 dollars more than I expected, $3000 owed me, and $8000 offered from a friend, out of nowhere. These were all signs that everything is available if I want it. Now I have seen that, I have no fear. Pete and I will remain together! So much love is coming to me these days from all angles. I start to cry, sobs without tears, energy in the throat. I shake and suck in my breath. I have seen Pete like this when I sing bhajans in front of him, but nowit is happening to me. And this love, this ecstasy, is just the start

I know who I am, what I am, my exact place in the scheme of things (not to mention the Gorgeous Schemer), and I know who Pete is, and what this book is going to do to the world. Be prepared. If you are prepared to die like Jesus, Pete would say, you attain his consciousness and destroy karma by your unwavering surrender. If you are prepared to live like Pete, I tell you, you will attain a reality beyond all dreams. Enjoy. Love, Renee (Radharani)

Caterpillar securing ground, luscious leaves all around A dream arrives that some day soon..., meditation, peace, cocoon Maturing wings then display the gracious colours made to play And decorate the forest sky, and yes, you are that buttery

IGNORANCE .

DOUBT

(Why like this?)

Chapter 1 The Present

Space aint mans nal frontier; mans nal frontier is the soul; guided by someone much more powerful than any human being. Someone felt, but never (rarely!) seen. You will be surprised, what resides in your insides. Arrested Development 12 Feb 2002 Pete. What the hell are you doing? Sat at my computer, in a mouse infested, cold box room, in the middle of urban India, stark naked; I wonder. The mind has questions for the soul. There are noises of banana sellers just outside my window, hooters of rickshaws in the distance somewhere and the sound of bells from the temple, which Im supposed to be going to in half an hour to attend worship; naked. The mind: How did I get myself into such a predicament? What happened to my cosy bedroom in England, my weekly pay packet, my Nissan Stanza, my friends and family, my sanity? The soul: Dont listen to the mind. Follow me all the way. All the way, whatever happens. Even if The mind: But these signs, maybe they are not real, maybe they are just coincidences. The soul: Ha, the minds favourite offering! Ignore it. Look straight at the goal. Dont take your eye off the goal. A strange yet powerful determination lled me. Condence and a spine-tingling ecstasy tagged along. The soul: Aaaaargh, Krishna, what a life.O.K. Fuck it, here goes.
th

Chapter 2 The Desert

Take me to another place; take me to another land, make me forget all that hurts me; let me understand your plan. Arrested Development I was born in Manseld, England, 1971. The year Arsenal did the double. Arsenal Football Club were my rst love. They taught me what is ecstasy and agony, the latter all too well. My identity: an Arsenal fan. A that rst word in the dictionary causing all the problems in life. It is amazing how the potentially unlimited capacity of love in the soul can be restricted by this tiny word and its implications. At eight years old I wasnt aware of this capacity to love Krishna, the Supreme Beautiful Innite Lord. I knew only Frank Stapleton; and loved him, till he joined Manchester United, the bastard. When love breaks down! It breaks down due to this a, due to designations given to us by family, society, religions, and so on. We dont want love to break down. We want eternal love. The soul has a pure state wherein it experiences three fundamental qualities: sat, (eternity), cit (knowledge) and ananda (bliss). Frank Stapleton did his best to provide for a few seasons, but he left me without so much as an apology. Cest la vie! Cest la conditional love! I remember singing, well 1support you ever more, in chorus with another hundred or so Manseld Town fans one dismal Saturday afternoon at Field Mill. In the rst half we were going to support the Stags ever more but they were atrocious. When it was 4-0 to Exeter a disgruntled miner from three rows back started singing, We want ve, we want ve. The whole of the North Stand erupted into song. We love you Exeter we do, oh Exeter we love you. Exeter obliged with a fth goal and the fans went crazy; cheering like never before. The Manseld players were stunned and the manager of ofcially complained in the local paper that week. I was born the fourth child, the rst male. My sisters wanted to return me but my father was delighted. At last, a footballer. Training began early. As soon as I could stand I was thrown a football with the instructions to kick with left then right. I was strapped in. Programming commenced. It wasnt until I was about twenty that I became aware of my natural propensity towards music and writing. In ancient India, at childbirth, an astrologer was called and the childs nature foretold. Then the child was guided according to his or her nature. In England, if youre born north of Watford Gap, youre a footballer.

10

However, being the only boy I had to play the games of my sisters and wear their passed down clothes. The worst thing for my dad was the Sunday fashion show when I was sister-handled into parading in front of relatives in a silver sequined dress and high-heeled shoes. Why? Why are we put through such dramas? Why are we born in Manseld? What connection did this have to my spiritual life? There are two angles of vision, karma and lila, the reaction to my previous actions and Gods play. Karma is the answer to why from one angle and why has no credence from the other, for Gods play is causeless, beyond reason. However, he too has a reason for playing with you as he does, and that is to bring you to surrender, which brings you to understanding of Him, which brings you to love of Him, which brings you to causeless play. So many whys are simply answered when the understanding comes that we only need to surrender to his whim. The silver sequined dress I see, in hindsight, was just part of that. Everything is just part of that. At school, my religious education teacher saw to it that I never took interest in religion as a child. There were no whys in R.E. I only remember drawing the map of the Sea of Galilee and trying to memorize the names of the parts of a church. I didnt know what divine love was but the ugly creatures on the outside of churches were called gargoyles. School? I was clever enough. Never top but thereabouts. I would never bunk school like some kids. I couldnt see the point. They would only come to school anyway to show off their bunking. The only time I would have off was if there was a World Cup match on T.V. Then the next day the teacher would ask, Where were you Amber? I was watching the England match sir. Thats no excuse. You should be at school. Bring a letter from your parents. I brought the letter, which read. Pete was unable to attend school yesterday afternoon due to the England match starting at two oclock. That is not good enough, my teacher said, feigning anger. He knew my mum and liked her sense of humour. Didnt you have a cold or something? Bring another letter. The next letter read, Pete was unable to attend school two days ago, not due to the England game, but because he had a cold or something. The letter was appreciated and I ran off to R.E. class to draw pictures of gargoyles. Love? I loved my folks, my sisters, and was proud of them. I was proud that my sisters could play football. I was proud that my mum worked in the local sh and chip shop, and I was proud that

11

my dad could take his teeth out. Romantic love? Well, I was late to develop sexually. My rst encounter with a girl was terrifying. What was I to do if things went well? What would she think of my penis? Was it too small? What were you supposed to do with it anyway? I had a rough idea where it should go but no further instructions had been given. It was a double date. We were to meet by the swings on Yeoman Hill Park. The local boys who owned the park gave scowls and insults. The sounds of bored youth blended with the sound of passing trafc. They arrived together, Susan and Tracy. I was shitting myself, more so when Kieron took away Susan and left me there, clueless. Somehow, conversation brought about a chance to kiss; but then I noticed it was nine oclock and football was about to start on T.V. Without thinking, hesitating, or walking the poor girl home, I left towards home. It was automatic, my programming big brother was calling. I was relieved to be away from the stress on the park and be with my dad in front of the television. That lovely green grass and those two inch men in coloured shirts running around, and the sound of John Motsons voice cradling me, soothing me, nursing me to sleep; my dad, too. Only my mum would watch the games. She would surprise me when I woke and was told that Ray Parlour had put a nice through-ball to Ian Wright, as she continued to knit one, pearl one, knit one, pearl one. I had a love.Trish. Only in hindsight is the depth of love realized as strong emotions come before knowledge of what has hit you when you are a teenager in love. I was in love and anguish that my indie kid sweetheart was only my friend. Even Arsenal beating her team Liverpool was overshadowed by the smell of her untouched (by me) skin. By the age of sixteen I left school and started working in a bank. Only God knew why. I wasnt good enough to be a footballer and four thousand pounds a year sounded to me like a lot of drinking money. I drank heavily. Life was predictable. I would return from work after begging the small hand of the clock to reach ve, eat my dinner, go to the pub, play pool, drink, get drunk, come home, ask my folks what was on T.V. in an attempt to communicate, then go upstairs to bed. Then again wake with a hangover, drive to work I had no ambition, no direction and no idea why there was a heart beating below my chest. I liked my friends and liked my music. I met the band Lush during one of their gigs and they invited me on the rest of their tour; during which I ended up in the same bedroom as my idol, my goddess, my worshipable pop star, Miki. It was the start of the Lord offering me anything I wanted; or at least

12

putting anything I wanted in front of my nose. Things in front of my nose, however, werent ending up in my mouth. As my closest friend, Guy, put it You beat six men, took the ball past the keeper and with an open net, shot over the bar from two yards. He was right. I was going through my shooting over the bar from two yards period. At the tender age of nineteen, I went on to have my rst romantic relationship and nally lost my virginity. Thank God. In the west, it is like some annoying leech that clings to you despite all attempts to get rid of it. And when you do get rid of it, you are so pleased that it is falling off, you are almost oblivious to the actual experience. My relationship with Bernadette was beautiful, yet intense. After two years of being a boyfriend the box was suffocating me. I needed to get away, to play the eld, to breathe. I needed to spread my love around. This need is apparent in most men and causes jealousy in most women. Was there a solution? Reconciliation? Does a man lack sacrice in loving or does a woman lack sacrice? If there is real love would a man desire another lover? Would a woman deny her lover another lover? I was everything to Bern and life, it seemed to her, was not worth living without me. When a box is created it can also be destroyed and that destruction feels like the destruction of you. I hurt her, and I hurt myself in attempts not to hurt her. Without a central understanding of each others eternal spiritual quest towards love of God, love in this world is more than tenous, it is inevitably leading to destruction, for when a box is created, destruction is guaranteed. After a few months of trying to please, I parted from my love to explore my desires. I hit the town, Manseld Town, then Stoke Town, then London Town. I broke through the fear of inadequacy. I broke through the adequacy of being merely adequate. I started to become quite good at irting, enticing, alluring, seducing and nally abandoning the targets of my game. I enjoyed the game there was no doubt, but as I became more procient, I felt only a gnawing dissatisfaction; and an increased appetite for sex was accompanied by an increased feeling of distaste at it being merely sex. I couldnt satisfy the lust. I couldnt stop the itch from itching no matter how much ghee I threw onto the re! Sex became a drug, and I was an addict. The love-hate relationship with my substance scorched my soul. I missed the love of Bernadette, that peaceful feeling of being adored, of giving life to a beautiful soul. I tried to love the girls I met, gave my all to them in our moments of ecstasy, but their esh never appealed a second time. It had been enjoyed. It was dead. I was dead. My mind replayed more perfect scenarios from past meetings with lovers and created perfect scenarios in the future

13

with potential lovers. Living in the past and the future, the world of regret and fantasy, I was avoiding myself, the living me. I travelled to Greece and Turkey one summer. Having been on a two-week vacation the year before and met travellers who just did what they wanted, I decided I would at last do what I wanted. It was a step forward. Though what I wanted was only sex and beer on the beach, the fact that I actually moved in the direction of my heart was positive. Now only my heart needed to understand itself and its real needs. Though still, apparently without direction, my travelling impregnated me with the inquiry into the meaning of I. In the beginning it is tough. There are times when you are bored and lonely and left staring at your own confusion projecting itself onto the guesthouse walls. Who am I? You dont know. You feel so empty. But somewhere is a God seeing an empty soul, at last an empty soul waiting to be lled. In Hawaii, the next year, my dissatisfaction really slapped me in the face. There I was in paradise on Earth feeling feeling just crap. What the hell is this? Where is the water? There was plenty around me but none for my soul. I felt like dying. Only hope kept me alive. I had reached the nal destination but again found only hope. So where was this pond which shimmered on the horizon? Where was the love to quench the thirst of the soul? It existed. I didnt know where. But it existed. I was deated but hope, hope began the immediate ination, continued the perpetual search. I stayed in Hawaii for a month then ew to San Francisco where I planned to get a job coaching soccer. One day I received a letter, sent out by my mum, from a girl I had met in Greece who told me she wanted to come and see me in England. I felt love. I sensed water. I returned to East Finchley, turned into heaven by the approaching angel. I returned and found another letter waiting for me. Sorry Pete, went to Australia instead. Murphys Law. Sods Law. It kept happening to me. Too many times for it to be coincidence. Just who was this Murphy? Who was this Sod? In my last year in London I became very thoughtful, philosophical and I had moved from alcohol, to marijuana, to speed and mushrooms, and was now on my E phase. Drunkenness didnt appeal to me anymore. More comfortable I was pondering the beauty of life in a stoned mellow, exploring new dimensions with hallucenogenics. Magic mushrooms broadened my consciousness, and my scope of acceptance, by allowing me a preview of alternate states of reality. How many states of reality were there? How many doors of perception could you enter into? If we were only using ve percent of our mental capacity, that meant a paradox universe, a complete opposite scheme of things was possible with only ten percent of our potential. What then would one hundred percent

14

awareness of reality unveil? I was open to the impossible being possible. Which meant I was open to God existing. A hole had been made for the divine to ow in. So show me, I breathed.

15

Chapter 3 The Dogs are Barking

Man is tethered; Spirit is free; what spirit is man can be. The Waterboys Before a storm, dogs start barking. They can feel the rain is coming. Coincidences were becoming more common, common to the point of extinguishing the theory of chance altogether. This is the rst insight in James Redelds book the Celestine Prophecy which I was directed to as an example and simultaneous explanation of this phenomenon. I was intrigued with these coincidences without knowing who or what was causing them. I would meet someone in a club in London then again the day after in a eld in Wales; or a village shop in Derbyshire; or somewhere else in the back of beyond. I noticed too that my own desire had something to do with it. The people I re-met were the people I would have chosen to meet again. Girls I was attracted to in a bar would appear very soon next to me on a bus. I began to even expect it. It was amazing. More amazing than the girls themselves! On New Years Eve I had my last experience on the drug ecstasy. In my ecstasy I was dancing in a club aptly named Return to the Source. I was always on stage throwing my love out to the people to catch and embrace. I loved the sense of freedom, the condence that had no ego, the desire to hug and caress with my whole heart, the world if I could. I wanted this experience to last forever. Why should I come down? Why cant this be a natural state of consciousness twenty four hours a day? When I asked myself these questions the answer came into my heart. You can. It will. This natural ecstasy is your destiny. The next day I wrote a song. In this year I will release myself, but in control of my life; this year will be the year of no return. I was excited. I was going to meet the girl of my dreams. I knew it. All my desires would be fullled. I would meet the one and experience deep love. I would be famous one day and be able to give my love to the whole world. The world felt smaller than my heart. Christmas day arrived sooner than I anticipated. I met Francis, a Spanish girl in a Nightclub in Camden Town. After two seconds of seeing her I ran up to her and poured my heart out. I was condent with girls by this stage but this was more like I was taken over by Cupid himself. She was sweet, and shy. We spoke a while and as I admired her further another girl came over to irt with me. I spoke with her. She wanted sex. I was given a choice. I would lose Francis by going with her. I would lose sex by going with Francis for I knew for that night I wouldnt be with her.

16

In the beginning the junctions are tests, difcult for those still intoxicated by the energy of the lower chakras. Tests are always stretching our consciousness, again and again till the perfect shape of our soul can accommodate the innite; till we become innite; till we become the goal. And the closer you get to the goal, the easier it is to see which way to travel. In the end, the y-junctions only apparently exist; choices are only apparently made. In the end it is a play where the left or right is glowing so brightly you merely follow that light without question, regardless of logic, accumulated knowledge, rules, society, and religion you merely follow the light which your polished heart is reecting. Left - Francis. Right - Cassandra. Left - love. Right - sex. My true ambition for love won over. My thirst for real water enabling me to put other desires aside, pushing the mirage behind me and swimming forward. Francis stole my mind completely. So beautiful, humble, sweet, and unassuming. I wanted to taste her repeatedly with all my senses. I couldnt wait to make love to her yet I could wait forever. We strolled around Covent Garden hand-in-hand, each second precious, full. Street noises were there only for the soundtrack of our love. The stars, the empty market place, the Victorian buildings only backdrops for our play. We were in the centre of the Universe, and the creator of the Universe had put us there. We kissed tenderly; then left each other for tomorrow. Aargh! But something was missing. Even the thought of it at the time I couldnt bare, I rejected. But in hindsight, in truth, in reality, something was missing. This awareness tried to knock on my door but I turned the volume up inside my own head so I couldnt hear it. This was the one; this was water not a mirage. This was love. It is over, I told Guy, when my hearts realization sang too loud. You told me everything was perfect, my best friend replied. Its over, I can feel it. Sure enough we met again and there was no spark, only sadness. We met at a busy Leicester Square and walked down Oxford Street, then Soho Street where I nally confronted what I didnt want to. Francis cried as she told me she wanted a love so badly that would steal her mind twenty-four hours a day; a love that would penetrate her whole being and exist in her forever. She thought I was the one, but still something was not complete. Still something was missing. She was braver than me, rejecting me as the mirage she realized me to be. We kissed a parting goodbye through snifed tears. I staggered along Tottenham Court Road towards Camden. The world was dark, uninviting and

17

Wow all of a sudden an ecstasy overcame me. An ecstasy like I had never experienced. Its avour different to the avours previously tasted. It was crisp, alive and very real. I began to laugh joyously. I didnt know why but I was swept off my feet by an overwhelming sense of optimism and love for life. There was something more beautiful than Francis ahead of me. I didnt know what it was but it was; I could feel it. My stagger turned into a dance. I had another amazing experience a week later. I was on the way to a party. As I walked through East Finchley cemetery, where I often would stroll and ponder, I noticed the full moon. It was alive. It had consciousness; and it was glancing down at me, comforting me, and sharing love with me. After the party, I walked again through the cemetery and again I felt a strong presence. All around me I felt those in the interim world, ghosts maybe, but I wasnt scared, the moon was protecting me. It was as if I met death and death was alive. There was no death; it was a fallacy. I realized there and then that this soul is eternal. Beyond the cemetery I walked up the hill towards home and saw the divine light. East Finchley, London, England, the Earth Planet, all became insignicant against the backdrop of the innite sky. The lights on the street were embarrassed by this effulgence which seemed to come from nowhere, yet everywhere. My life became impregnated, it seemed, with meaning. I had sought this light all my life without knowing it. It was God. The light was God. And the moon was God. East Finchley was God. An empty packet of cheese and onion crisps that blew past my feet was God. Gods feet at that. I was God. My God; the G word. I was using the G word. The G word to atheist friends was like the F word in front of my mother. How would I use it in front of them? I didnt for a while. I continued to smoke. I continued to joke. I continued to continue the life of Pete. Temping in the daytime, clubbing at night, playing football on Saturday for a local side. I was a normal guy intent on being a normal guy. I discussed philosophy with my friends, especially Phil, who would listen to me till a point where, apparently, obscurity took over. I would masturbate to get rid of my sex desire and then lie back listening to Van Morrison and Nick Drake, dreaming of real love and how we would magnicently ow into the Mystique. The love had to come. I had to taste more than anticipation. It wasnt enough anymore. I so badly wanted the real thing and I knew the wanting would entice it. I continued to reveal things to Phil that had never previously been revealed to me. Astrology and palmistry and all these occults are ways to read our karma and the outcome of past actions and desires produce our present experience and desires which lead to inevitable future experiences and desires. There is a law and because there is a law, the astrologers can ascertain the path of people. But

18

there is something higher than the law, and that is love. Love takes you beyond the law, because law means reason. You do something and there is a reaction. But if you do something for no reason then there is no reaction. If there is no reaction then nobody can say what you might do. Then you escape the law and reach God. By the time I had reached the word God I also realized that He was the one making me say it. This was huge. The next day I was returning from HMV music store after buying my weekly x of music, when a book was ceremoniously placed in my hand. I looked at the picture of a four-handed blue God on the front and read the title, the Science of Self-realization. It was going to change my life. I knew that much. I didnt know at the time it was a Hare Krishna book. I was so captured by the cover that I didnt notice the bald guy selling it to me. Phil produced a similar book and beads which Krishna devotees had given him on the street. The book, a compentary on the Vedic Scriptures, described exactly what I had described to Phil the night before, almost word for word. The mystical experiences left only one conclusion Divine Truth. Divine Guidance and Divine Inspiration had led me to a Divine Conclusion that extended itself in the book as Krishna. The Divine Being was described as ofcially responsible for everything I was experiencing, everything everybody experiences, and would experience in the future. Phil Krishna is God, You think? No. I know. I started to check the validity of the Vedic Scriptures by going to the library. I laughed at myself. I knew in my heart their validity. Why was I seeking a second opinion when that opinion would too need checking. I returned the authoritative book in my hand to the shelf and accepted the authority of my heart. My faith became even stronger. So there I was, in my blue bedroom; clothes, tapes, magazines, rolling papers scattered around the oor, staring at a picture of a bluish boy playing a ute, realizing for the rst time that this was God. And he was looking right at me with a cheeky smile. Right at me! The sheer beauty of Krishna! He was a lover who had no regard for anything except love, and in sharing that love with anyone who wanted it, anyone who wanted it would feel the highest ecstasy, forever. Even if a taxi driver in Romford had made up this philosophy I didnt care. Nothing I had ever read or heard was more beautiful. I knew Krishna was my Lord. At this point words like Lord and God still tasted strange but

19

Krishna was a new word for me and the word tasted great. This path was for me. Resignation was already complete and just awaited the formal ceremony. However, there were a few setbacks in my commitments. To be a Krishna devotee, the Hare Krishna books said, one must not have sex outside of marriage; one must not eat meat, take intoxicants or gamble. O.K. So I can stop my once a year bet on the Grand National but the other three rules, right now, seem to rob me of my existence. I was speaking to the Hare Krishna outside of HMV trying to nd a hole, a back door. There was no back door, it seemed. The devotee wasnt impressed with me, seeing that I was never going to make it through the front door and left me standing in the street, happy for having made another three pounds. I wanted to surrender to Krishna. I wanted to be a Hare Krishna. Did I? To surrender to Krishna; to be a Hare Krishna. Were they inseparable? In hindsight, I have to state here that I made a mistake. I made an a mistake. To surrender, to love Krishna = no box. To be a Hare Krishna = box.

20

Chapter 4 The Raincloud

I dont have much in my life, but take it its yours. The Smiths That was the beginning of the end. I past the following weeks like a ghost. I was still smoking and drinking but it was mechanical, like the movement of a fan after the power has been turned off. Kawika, my friend from Hawaii, surprised me by accepting my long-forgotten invitation to England. I had scuba-dived with manta rays, octopuses and sharks off the Big Island. I could only guarantee for him good beer, better pool tables and rain. It was enough. The mirage on the horizon always looks good. London was more inviting than Manseld. The clubs were better than in America and it was less likely that the guy walking towards you with his hands in his pocket was fondling a gun. Goa trance was hip. We visited a nightclub called Escape from Samsara. I sat alone while Kawika wandered. I heard the maha-mantra in the background of the music. Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare It was my father, my lover, beckoning me, dont worry my dear, youll be with me soon; just a little while longer now. My heart melted. My eyes lled with tears. A similar experience happened when we went to see the band Kula Shaker in the Dublin Palace. The band was unheard of then. I had gone to see another band that needed a guitarist. I couldnt play guitar very well but I had an ambition to write songs and change the world; the usual. I felt a deep connection with the songs and the lead singer Crispian. I found out later that he had been chanting the names of Krishna and that he was a devotee of Krishna. I was being dragged around. Krishna was everywhere. I never noticed Him before, but He and his devotees began to appear everywhere I was. Krishna was conducting my life and how I loved it. How peaceful the feeling of a guide, a lover, a protector, a well-wisher. How sweet was the taste of water, be it only little drops from the oasis. I wanted to drink this water; I wanted to swim in it and splash around like a drunken fool. The Bhagavad-gita owed out of me like a river that had been dammed since the beginning of time. One night, after speaking for a couple of hours to my friends I reached a crescendo. O.K. lads. Thats it. No more drinking. I passed my can of Guinness to Phil, who was happy with my new ways. No more smoking. Tim received my lump of cannabis pleasing him even more. And no more sex. I didnt intend to go so far but another force took over me. It felt so good

21

that I was happy that it did. There were no women in my room so I threw my pornographic magazines at Guy; who threw them back. Laughter followed. Im serious, I pointed out. We know. Just dont do the pink dress thing! I lit incense when alone in my room. I stared around at the posters on the walls the Pixies, P.J.Harvey, James Taylor, a Henri Matisse print, all of which became strangely irrelevant to who I was. I became aloof from that very person and started to chant the maha-mantra. I felt grave. I felt determined and inside I was comforted with an overwhelming conviction that this was it. Without want of return I chanted and gave myself over to the Lord. I dont know what you might want from me, but I am yours, whatever that is please show me. My heartbeat was loud. I didnt cry. I was just silent, for the rst time. The next day I woke up and got straight out of bed. I heard Van Morrison in my head singing Brand New Day . I scrambled through my tapes and found it. Van was still with me. I felt good. No sign of any blue boy though. Walking down the street on the way to catch the tube I took a glance at a few girls. Since puberty, I had walked down streets with my eyes searching out bums and breasts as a lazer-guided missile searches out enemy craft. Beep, beep, beep. Shit. This aint gonna be easy, I concluded and walked on. Reaching work I found Rosanna and told her my news. Rosanna was an Italian friend who had spent seven years in the Vatican as a nun. She left due to hypocrisy and an awareness of karma, reincarnation and vegetarianism, which the Catholics somehow denied. She also knew that we had been married in a previous life. Rosanna was overjoyed. This comforted me no end. I told everyone else that I was going to be a Hare Krishna. It sounded mad. They thought so and I thought so. There was a tote run. How long I could go without sex. Really, money was waged. Some said two days; some two months; nobody thought I was actually going to follow my vow of celibacy. The whole affair brought life to the dull ofce. That night I took my rst trip to the temple. It was only around the corner from my workplace but I had never noticed it before. Soho Street was the street where I had found the courage to ask Francis for the truth. I noticed it was right outside the Krishna temple where this strength had come.

22

I opened the door to the place and my nose was whisked away to heaven. The smell of food mixed with the smell of incense became the familiar smell of my love for Krishna. The temple was thriving. I found out it was Gaura-purnima, the full-moon day on which Lord Chaitanya, the Golden Avatar, had been born. It was Gods birthday. The chanting was loud and intense. All the saffron-clad monks were at the front of the temple going wild. I stood at the back looking like the guy who had just walked in for the rst time, with leather jeans and goatee beard. The deities captivated me. Krishna was right there, in front of me, the same Krishna from the book. It was the same recognition; the same welcoming smile. I was moved but I didnt move. I was too shocked. I felt calm yet nervous simultaneously. I felt very shy yet that shy person was attracting the glance of the Lord from the front. He seduced me right there, in front of everyone. I wasnt a guy anymore, but a new lover of the most beautiful guy, a lover who having abandoned her home was now destitute and offering herself completely to her lover. There was no longer security. No longer any guarantee of protection. Only love was left. Only the gift of ones very self. I was the gift and I prayed, no I whispered, again, to the beautiful boy at the front. I am yours now. Do as you want with me. Next to Him was Radha. They were together, in love, yet both looked at me with their own mood of love. They were individual. They were free yet tied to each other by the force of their own love. And as I felt love for Krishna, I felt no jealousy from the lover next to him. There was indeed more love coming from her it seemed. I was their servant. That was that. Nothing was ever going to get in the way of that, ever. That was who I was, who I am, who I will be, forever. I knew then and there myself. I enjoyed the feast that followed the chanting and made my way home. Walking up the hill from the tube station I started to cry. It was as if Chaitanya Himself had wrapped His arms around my heart. I had been waiting for this moment forever. It completely overwhelmed me. I was lost in an ecstasy I had never imagined possible. The next day it was still there. Finally, no coming down. The normal world appeared incredible. My friends, like angels, oated in and out of rooms. The post sailed magnicently onto the landing oor. The people outside looked discontent. But why? They were all so beautiful. I wanted to run onto the street, grab people out of their cars and give them a big hug; and tell

23

them, Dont worry about the damn trafc, it doesnt matter. Dont worry if Arsenal lost to Spurs, if your boyfriend has left you. God loves you. He wants you to love Him and experience this incredible thing. Just tune in. Just take the control knob of your life and tune in to a higher frequency. You dont have to go anywhere. The radio doesnt have to go anywhere. There is nowhere to go. Everything is here and everything is now. Tune in now. Why had nobody told me earlier? Why were the devotees of Krishna not telling anybody? I will tell the world. I will tell the world, I told myself. I felt like a sane mad man. I remembered Plato, Socrates and the Republic. It is as if we have been living in a cave forever. And only when we come out of the cave do we realize we were in a cave. But our hands have been tied for so long. How do we hold out our hands? How do we catch this mercy, this love that the Lord wishes to give? Krishna, in the Bhagavad-gita, describes different processes of yoga and meditation, and in the end glories the path of bhakti (devotion) as the means to attain the highest goal Divine Love. On the battleeld of Kuruksetra, Arjuna asks Krishna to lead him between the two opposing armies. Seeing his family members on the opposite side he becomes weak and dejected. Then he suggests to Krishna that he should not ght and kill, as it would be sinful; and that instead he should retire to the forest and become an ascetic. Krishna tells Arjuna to drop his sentimentality and to perform his duty as a kshatriya (warrior) but to do it for Him for the love of God. In short, he is telling Arjuna not to change his actions but to change his consciousness. To surrender his own will and merge it with the divine will, to play his part aware of the Director. Upon full surrender, he will become the perfect player. His will will be then Gods will. And his play will be blissful, fully satisfying. Thus, by love, the law of karma, the cycle of birth and death is transcended and one joins the Director in His own personal play in the next realm. In telling Arjuna to ght, He is telling the world not to run away from life but live fully with a spirit of love. Bhakti takes one to the highest experience of the divine. Spiritual reality has three features. Brahman, the all pervading, formless, divine energy; Paramatma, God within the heart of all living beings; and Bhagavan, the personal form of God Himself. Most paths will speak of the Absolute as light, or of a oneness, a unity; thus most people who come to understand God will initially understand this to be the truth. The yogis meditate on Paramatma. Nowadays, to be a real yogi is almost impos-

24

sible, so they are few. The devotees of the Lord are only concerned with a relationship with Bhagavan, the person whose energy is Brahman and whose expansion is Paramatma. Within the Absolute Truth every possibility is accepted. God has no form in the concept of God as Brahman. And God has form (character, personality, pastimes) in the concept of God as a person. The light is God. The spectrum is God. The difference between the light and the spectrum is based on avour, mood, ecstasy. Otherwise they are one. So God is one and different. Ontologically speaking, Brahman and Bhagavan are non-different, but experientially speaking, there is a difference. Objective oneness, and subjective difference. Jnana tattva and rasa tattva. Two angles of observing truth. In Indian philosohphy, rasa tattva, experiential truth is regarded as superior due to the basic fact the soul strives for the most pleasurable experience, and not truth. The intellect searches truth, the heart searches love. Brahman is the conclusion of the intellects. Love is the conclusion of the lovers. And love needs a lover. So that lover and the love of that lover is the conclusion of the lovers. The conclusion of the Vedas is that the experience of love with the Absolute Lover is the greatest experience possible for the soul to attain and therefore love is the greatest truth. Bhagavan, God has many characters, many faces. In Hinduism, there are said to be thirty three million gods. These gods represent the different energies that exude from the one formless, innite, source. Yet each energy is in itself unlimited, therefore each energy has its formless aspect and a presiding deity. This deity is an eternally existing personality. Therefore, wind, re, tenacity, shyness, etc. etc. (times 33,000,000) when observed under a divine microscope, appear as beings. These beings existed in the subtle dimensions and reciprocate with souls who are attracted by their different energies. The Vedas, interestingly, contradicts itself many times due to observation of the worshippers desires. Everyone is kept happy by hearing how their deity is supreme. Siva, Durga, Narayana, Visnu, Rama, are all propounded to be the highest incarnations of the divine in various scriptures. There is however, an objective study of the subjective experiences in the divine realm, and it is in the Srimad Bhagavatam, known as the spotless Purana (Vedic text which illuminates the four main Vedic Scriptures), where an open question is asked at the beginning of the book. What is the Supreme Truth? The unbiased question usurps the unbiased answer, and the unbiased answer expounded is Krsnas tu bhagavan svayam, (Krishna is the Supreme Person.) Why? Because He is the God of Unconditional Love. Krishna, therefore, is the prime minister who is absorbed in love play and designates his expanded incarnations Brahma, Vishnu and Siva to do the jobs of Creation, Maintenance and

25

Destruction of this universe so we may live, love and realize that highest love. And Krishna is the prime lover who offers you a role in His love play, advising you as he advised Arjuna in Bhagavad-gita, to forget about the knowledge of God, and surrender to the love play of God, in this life and the next. I was pulled in by the magnet of this ideal, and by the energy of this Ideal Person, this Ideal Love. The concept was the sweetest Id ever come across and the feeling was the sweetest Id ever come across. Krishna was not giving false promises, He loved me and that made me love Him, and that loving Him was tangible, amazing, beyond the efforts of description.

26

Chapter 5 The Excellence of Devotion

..and the only way to get free from this great big onion is to play love scenes. Marvin Gaye I oated off the tube and up the escalators at Goodge Street tube station. At the top I had the shock of my life. Straight in front of me was a nine foot advertisement of some supermodel in a bikini (probably advertising toilet detergent or dartboards, there is no connection anymore). She was looking straight at me with that Come on Pete, you know you want me, look in her eye. And for the very rst time in my life, I didnt. That was the shock. She actually looked ridiculous. I stood there staring at her for a while, unperturbed by my obvious sad appearance, amazed that nothing was stirring. Nothing. I started to laugh. I walked into my workplace tenuously. It was funny greeting everyone in the same manner as I had done days before. I was different. Good weekend Pete? I was asked. I couldnt answer. No and yes were both lies. Did I win the bet? What? It was a punter. I had forgotten Fridays tote. I couldnt really concentrate on my work for glancing around the room and seeing the scurrying around and serious faces. It all seemed completely irrelevant. I couldnt wait to go to the temple. I refused offers of a pint and made my way there after work. Home sweet home. I went into the gift shop and bought thirty copies of the book that sealed my fate. I was always successful in bringing people together. Therefore I gured I could convince my friends to take up chanting Hare Krishna and feel this ecstasy too. I imagined a new temple in Manseld after robing all my old friends. I was so sure I could make people understand the philosophy, which to me seemed common sense, obvious. I was in for a surprise. I phoned my mum and told her the good news about our eternal existence and sublime potential as lovers of a blue cowherd boy. Have you been taking drugs? This is really what she thought. I had to phone her again to reassure her I had gone mad and wasnt just stoned. My closest mates thought I was brave. They were all happy if I was happy but it wasnt for them. A few weeks passed. After no replies came from my friends (no volunteers for divine slavery) I knew it was time to leave the nest, to leave my friends and family and take a leap from the branch

27

of material life. I wanted so much for real love to be born in me. I could smell this love; I could feel it, yet to achieve the fruit of divine love and to really taste it, I knew I needed guidance. I needed to nd the one who would not only guide me to that love but also impregnate me with it. Every woman is potentially a mother; the soul has the potential to be full of love for God. The woman must meet a potent man and the seeker of love must meet a potent lover of God. The baby has not been lying dormant in the woman. Love has not been lying dormant in the heart. Though knowledge may be inside of us, as God is inside of us, love comes from one who loves. You may know who God is by your own endeavour but you cannot know him. Krishna resides in the heart of His lovers. To know him you need to know and love his lover. For this reason, the guru is necessary. The guru is the saint who has love in his heart for Krishna. He is the carrier of love in this world. There is no other way to get it. Jesus Christ was right when he said you could only get to God through him, because there and then he was the carrier. Love is a dance, a tango; and it takes two to tango. The guru is merely the dancing partner. It is only ego that denies the lover of God to impregnate you. You may profess your desire for a baby; you may know full well what a baby is; but to give birth to one you rst have to make love. The mood of one who loves God is to serve Gods lovers. Humility is born with this love. I will get to God alone, say the arrogant. They may. But they wont be able to love him, even if they can recognize him!! Bhakti is said to be causeless because it comes by grace of the guru who has gone beyond the law of cause and effect. There is no reason for his love. It is his nature to love. So he gives his love with no condition, no want of return. However, it is dif difcult to accept because of the ego. If there is no ego then love will come straight away. If there is ego then there has to be sadhana, endeavour, practice. Vaidhi bhakti is devotion following rules and regulations, prescription and prohibition. Religiously, one follows a discipline given by the guru and scriptures, and by following this discipline ones mind is drawn away from desires separate from the Lords desire, and drawn to the service of guru and God. I was in a period of transition. I nished the season playing football for Southgate County on top form. I remember turning up for an important cup match and the rest of the team were all tense. In the team talk the faces grew more serious. If we win this match then well be through to the semi-nals and in with a chance of winning the cup.

28

Finals, winning, cups. In my head hovered words like eternity, love, God. And I was their main hope for unlocking the defence. I just wanted to hug the defence. Who cares for a useless cup that no one ever sees anyway? Or for the brief mention in the local paper and the prestige of winning? Where does that prestige come from? And who gives a shit, really, about Southgate County? Needless to say I had a great game; I unlocked the defence, ran round like a child in the playground, scored two goals and Southgate made it through to the nal. I continued to go clubbing, feeling the desire to dance after I had been chanting. People were naturally attracted to me all of a sudden. For years I had chased girls, then, when I didnt want them they chased me. I wanted to remain normal in order to tell people Look, you dont have to shave your hair to love Krishna, but slowly I felt that I needed the company of those who knew my heart. I wanted to read all the scriptures and submerge myself in Krishna. As temple life started to appeal to me, my days as a sane member of society were dwindling away and the inevitable venture into robes loomed nearer. I resigned from my night job at the Forum in Kentish Town and my ofce job, too. My workmates were understanding. They bought me a rubber swimming hat with a small hole cut out the back for my Hare Krishna pigtail to come through so I wouldnt have to shave my head. The manager of Southgate County was also considerate, saying they would change their football kit from blue to pink if it meant I could play next season. I was touched but it was unlikely. I felt it was the Lords mercy that I was such a free spirit and wasnt attached to my job, nor did I have any serious relationships with girls. And my family, if confused by my movements, never got in the way of what I wanted to do. Krishna sped up my move into the temple. After Phil left, two Swedish girls moved into his room, the room next to mine. They were the rst people to know me only as a devotee and, trusting I was saint-like, wandered around the at in their underwear. I realized I wasnt so saint-like; not yet. Guy and Deep laughed at my predicament. The Last Temptation of Pete, they mocked. A couple of days before moving into the temple I was given an insight into the divine hand at work. I stood on the busy Oxford Street speaking to a workmate I had just bumped into. As he went on his way, immediately another old friend walked by. We spoke, and as she left Francis approached. At that moment I saw the whole play. I could see puppet strings attached to every person on the street, every bird, every ant. These strings ascended to the unlimited sky, to the demigods who fullled the desires and carried out the karma of every soul. I wanted to see Francis, to tell her about Krishna. She

29

was very happy to see me. I could see she wanted to rekindle an old ame, but she could also see I had a new one. She took my phone number but I never heard from her. After this I felt ready; ready to sail into the ocean of Vedic Literature and feel the peace and tranquillity of life as a monk!

30

Chapter 6 Faith
If the sun refused to shine, I will still be loving you mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me. Led Zeppelin When I arrived at the temple in the North of London I was prepared for the haircut, as I was prepared to sever my attachment to playing for Southgate the following season. The rst time I mentioned I was a footballer another devotee told me that Krishna plays football in the spiritual world. This comment made me smile. I realized it was a sweet attempt to make the new guy feel o.k. but I played with the idea and said, Krishna is omnipotent, so if He goes in goal and I take a penalty against Him, Hes gonna know which way to dive. He may ordinarily be omnipotent but He is covered by His divine illusory potency called yogamaya. In the spiritual world God just wants to play with His beloved souls who are saturated with love for Him. Therefore in Vrindavan, the spiritual forest where Krishna herds his cows, He becomes bewildered and behaves like an ordinary cowherd boy. This is the beauty of Krishna-lila, the pastimes of Krishna. In order for Him to experience the highest avour of love, His capacity to know everything is covered. If not, then He would not be able to experience the simple delight of a surprise. Krishna is beaten by his friends at wrestling, chastised by his mother and chased out the house for stealing butter and feeding it to the monkeys. He becomes mesmerized by the beautiful gopis, cowherd girls, who ash erotic glances at him from the rooftops as He takes the cows out to graze. He is God, complete in Himself, yet He is agitated by the love which His devotees have for Him. He becomes hungry, but it is the love of the devotees who have cooked for him that makes him hungry. He becomes sexually aroused, but it is the love of the devotees that makes Him lusty. It is not the lust arising from material passion, but the purest form of love -spiritual passion. There are ve types of relationship one can have with Him. Santa, or neutral, such as the trees in the forest who are souls experiencing the bliss of the topmost spiritual abode; dasya, or servant, such as the helpers in the house of Krishnas parents Nanda and Yasoda, who bathe Krishna etc; sakhya, or friendship, such as the gopas who accompany him to the forest and play games with him; vatsalya, or parental, such as Nanda and Yasoda and the other elder villagers who love Him as if He were their son; and madhura, romantic, such as the gopis, who visit him in the forest and romance

31

with him with no fear of social restraint. I was shaven, given devotee cloth and taught how to put on the tilak, the sacred mark seen on the head of holy men in India. Like a child who runs out into the park on his birthday in his new Arsenal kit who is more ready to play than any other day. It all seemed wonderful; even the external paraphernalia that was extra. I wasnt there to dress up but having done so it felt good. But, it was nobody elses birthday. Nobody else seemed to be as joyful as me. My heart was pounding with the prospect of my spiritual journey. I felt like sharing my joy with others and hearing the joy of people around me. But after a few days of pressurized conversations I realized that most of the devotees were more concerned with not doing anything wrong. There were so many rules and regulations that the simplicity of bhakti was somehow forgotten and instead a fear hung over the heads of devotees. Personally I experienced some incredible times in my rst days in the temple. The rst day I chanted in the temple room in front of the deities was overwhelming for me. I had to go outside. The temple had a small but beautiful garden that I walked around observing the owers. They radiated a magnicent hue and gave off otherworldly fragrances. I stared for a long time at the delicate designs painted by some wonderful hand. I was having the same intense sensual perceptions as I had had whilst taking magic mushrooms; only it was more rened, clearer, with no added confusion, and no impulse to stand on a chair and eat cheese. I went back into the temple room to take a look at Radha and Krishna. They looked at me directly. See how beautiful everything is? they asked. I saw. I saw. I also saw the reality of the temple life. Thirty or more devotees sat or stood in what were their personal morning postures as they chanted. Some were falling asleep, some just looked bored, some were glowing but most surprisingly, the guru what was he doing? Swaying around with pretentious devotion. I was in disbelief he could fool everyone and retain the position he did. Nobody it seemed could see through him. Was I an offender? No. I saw what I saw. I entered the temple full of bliss and three weeks later I was on the brink of punching the next person who said, offence prabhu. Those with superiority complex controlled those with inferiority complex. Fear of God is the controlling tool. Devotees feared not being humble because devotees were supposed to be humble. But instead of being humble, they became stupid. Stupidity is stupidity. It is not a great quality not to recognize it. Many religious societies are the same. Places where those with an inferiority complex serve

32

those with a superiority complex. It is nothing but a complex complex. And a complex complex is a complex complex complex too because people get complexed not knowing who has which complex in the complex. All the emphasis in the temple was external rather than internal. This too is not uncommon. One devotee asked, How should a devotee dance? How? This is an androids question. Dancing is a symptom of ecstasy, just as crying is. You dont learn how to do either. You free your mind and your ass follows. You work on your mind not your ass. I prayed in the temple room at the feet of Srila Prabhupada, the guru who brought Krishna consciousness to the west in the sixties. He was my only shelter. I cried for help, for direction. The next day a group of devotees from Birmingham came to the London temple. I could see brightness in their eyes that I had not seen in others. They were mostly disciples of Gour Govinda Swami who had just passed away. I was sad that I missed him but happy to move to Birmingham to unite with his followers. The Birmingham temple was a converted terrace house in an average residential area. The temple leader was Govinda, a tall black guy from the Bronx. He knew every trick in the book when it came to begging things for the temple. He had an irresistible charm that worked on everybody. He was our dad. Govinda took me on my rst Birmingham harinam. This is the familiar procession around the street that the Hare Krishnas are famed for. In London the processions were polite and choreographed. Govinda however, followed by four pimply trainees, dressed in white cloth and Reebok trainers, was more spontaneous. The rst place we hit was the betting ofce, disturbing the 3.40 at Redcar with drums, cymbals and chanting. After being stoned with betting slips and kicked out we approached the shopping centre. Storming through the front entrance, we echoed down the precinct with volume and out the back entrance of Marks and Spencers to avoid the shopping centre security, did a ten minute stint in a pub, much to the confusion of the drinkers, then back out on to the street. We formed an inner circle and chanted with enthusiasm. The Born Again Christians and Muslims, shouting abuse and threatening damnation, formed the outer circle. For the following two years this escapade was a daily ritual. I think in that time we attracted about fteen schizophrenics, twenty drunks, four psychopaths and a few loose women to the Lords movement. Well to the temple for a feast at least! But it was great. The Krishna mantra would give so much ecstasy that a feeling of real detachment would come and we would sing and dance in the middle of the street for hours, looking

33

like victims of a brainwashing cult, but without a care in the world. Some days however the mind was cloudy and it was a struggle. On those days the girls appeared to wear less clothes, the Muslims would appear more aggressive and you would inevitably see old friends who didnt know you were a Hare Krishna. It smashed the ego. It had its purpose. It is not so easy being theoretically aware of a seless existence and simultaneously being compelled towards apparently selsh actions. It was at times disheartening but the books of the previous gurus delineated all the traits of one beginning the path of bhakti. Sporadic endeavour, pride, indecision, struggle with the senses, etc. were all signs of a devotee in the novice stage. But, the fact that the books described these signs and spoke of how these traits would soon be overcome, helped in the overcoming. There was a controversy in the temple. A guru who was outside of the society had visited against the governing body sanction. Srila Bhaktivedanta Narayana Maharaja was an old friend of Srila Prabhupada and was now starting to tour around the world. Iskcon had banned him, thinking him to be speaking different conclusions to Prabhupada. He explained that he was merely emphasizing D, E, and F after Prabhupada emphasized A, B, and C. The Gour Govinda Swami disciples were split in two. Some followed his advice not to leave the society and others followed the advice not to leave the association of sadhus. I preferred the second one as it was the essence and not the form, the internal not the external. I prayed to Gour Govinda Swami and he gave me signs to go to India to meet my guru in waiting. After a month of accosting innocent Christmas shoppers for donations around the green and pleasant land I had enough money to travel to India, and to accompany Gurudeva (as I had already started to call him) on tour to Australia, Bali and Singapore. India!! I was immediately in love. Taking my rst rickshaw through Delhi I was enamoured by all the sights and sounds as if I had just come out of prison and into my hometown once more. Even the smells I adored and they arent too great in Delhi. But it all just triggered a sense of belonging as I gazed around at the cows walking down the middle of the road, oblivious to the honking horns of passing vehicles, and the old men squatting by the roadside, doing nothing but smoking leaf cigarettes. I wanted to merge myself into it all. I wanted to squat with the old men and watch the world go by expressionlessly. I wanted to oat along elegantly with the women who carried water pots or bricks on their heads. I wanted to hang out with the kids at the side of the road and play their games with sticks and tyres. I was home.

34

Chapter 7 Dirt Removal

This eye looks with love, this eye looks with judgement, free me, take the sight out of this eye. Edie Brickell The environment is always favourable. Theoretically one becomes aware of this fact when in the education stage of life. God is educating us and arranges everything for us; therefore even apparently negative situations should be seen with a positive eye. When the consciousness is developed and one acts with love constantly, there is no more karma created. The devotee experiences his external karma like a play; it doesnt disturb him internally. Because he is not creating any further karma his life will also become blissful externally till the point where he is totally connected with Krishnas pastimes. When a person leaves this body being totally connected with Krishnas pastimes, totally attached to guru and Krishna, then he will follow his guru and join Krishna in the Lords play, wherever that is taking place in the material worlds. Krishnas play is like a road show. Five thousand years ago He was on this planet, advertising His own lila, just as you may listen to football on the radio and it is interrupted with an advert for a music station. Krishna comes to the material frequency to advertise the spiritual frequency, and then leaves again, as if mortal. Yet He simultaneously never leaves His own dimension, the spiritual world. The last birth before entering the spiritual world is taken on the material Earth planet where Krishna is advertising His lila. There, the last trace of material attachment and karma is vanquished before entering the immortal world. In the immortal world Krishna is fteen years old forever and you It is said that Krishna takes away the karma of a devotee. He does this by giving the devotee the experience of love that renders the karma insignicant alongside the experience of internal ecstasy. Krishna may adjust the pattern of ones life but there is really no need to because the karma provides the very stepping stones for a devotee to walk towards the Lord; the thorns which a devotee climbs as he ascends the rosebush. As a devotee merges his will with Krishnas will, this will becomes more powerful. Krishna desires to full the desires of his devotee and the devotee is internally inspired how he may serve the Lord. Thus a pure devotee is very powerful and if served with love the result is the reward of Divine Love. Even people who unconsciously connect with the pure devotee are affected by his energy. For this reason sadhu-sanga, company with saints, is regarded as the highest accolade in this world.

35

But it isnt so easy in the beginning to be around saints or in holy places that have the ability to change the soul. The problem is the ego. Love means to surrender the ego. But the ego doesnt want to surrender. In the beginning of the spiritual path there is a continuous ght. The ego wants to be served and tries to nd many subtle ways to ascertain itself as a master, as the worshipable. When eventually one becomes completely humble and considers himself a servant with no desire for anything but to be able to serve his master, then, at that time he is actually qualied to become a master. I was in India; in the temple in Mathura and it was dirt-removal time; cleaning time. I wanted to be cleaned of my anarthas, my ugly traits, but the process was painful. Many people cannot even stay in the holy land of Vrindavan without becoming sick and having to leave; and what to speak of being close to pure saints whose mere presence continuously highlights the dirt in ones heart. In the beginning you see many faults in the saint, but the saint is nothing but a mirror reecting your own faults. Many devotees and saints speak in minute detail about the anarthas and how to spot them and uproot them. Gurudevas method was different. He enticed his disciples towards service by illuminating the glories of those who know how to serve best; those who are closest to Krishna - the gopis. Upon hearing about the sweet love of the gopis, one naturally desires to acquire their mood and thus all desires fall away. When you pour water into a glass, the air is naturally removed. Krishnas dearest gopi is Radha. And Radha is the personication of ecstasy. God has male and female energy. Krishna is the supreme expression of the male and Radha is the supreme expression of the female. The love between them is incomparable. But it can be experienced. There are groups of young gopis who are maidservants of Radha. They dont desire to enjoy separately with Krishna but are fully devoted in helping Radha to unite with Him. They are one with Radha at heart. What she experiences, through complete empathy, they too experience the same. They are called manjaris. A manjari is the name for the buds on a basil tree. When the stem of the tree shakes, the manjaris shake. To attain the mood of the manjaris is the actual goal of all devotees in the line of Chaitanya. All the gurus have the internal mood of these maidservants and have realized their identities in the spiritual world as individual manjaris, maidservants of Radha. It was when I arrived at the temple in Mathura that I learned of this real goal of the devotees. The qualication to become a manjari is absolute sacrice, absolute self-surrender. When one is surrendered then one may realize internally their eternal identity as a manjari. Mood is rst, and that shapes the form for the future, even in the cycle of birth and death.

36

I had to become completely seless. That was my goal of life. And that is what I was doing squashed up in a cold, dark cell in Mathura, 1997. I was no longer in the material world, the dog-eatdog rat race; nor was I in the spiritual world. I was spinning around in the washing machine. I was comforted by the beautiful affection of Premananda Prabhu, the devotee in the temple who was like the mother to all who were there. I was immediately attracted to him. He hugged me and stroked my face. He took me to his bosom and stole my heart. He wasnt a man or woman it seemed. Yet he was both masculine and feminine with pure love energy coming from every pore. His body shined. His cheeks like balloons, inated with child-like glee. There seemed to be no cause for his happiness except his being able to love. There was obviously no want of return. I could feel love coming from him and I knew he had an unlimited supply. At times, I felt like I was him and he was me. I looked at him deeply and I could see myself; and it was myself more beautiful than Id ever witnessed. I met Srila Narayana Maharaja, my Gurudeva to be. I could feel too his unlimited grace, but the impression wasnt as strong or intimate as with Premananda Prabhu, my Prabhuji. Prabhuji started to call me Pitambara Das, (a name of Krishna literally meaning yellow cloth; Krishna wears the colour of His lover everyday so is thus known). At initiation a new name is given to the disciple to coincide with the new ego one establishes. I liked that Prabhuji had named me without apparently taking initiation. I was on the roof of the temple, looking down at the street scene, wondering how the cycles didnt crash into the cars and the cows didnt knock over the cycles. It was time to take the step into real initiation, to give my life to Gurudeva, to hand my block of stone over for sculpting. I walked down the stairs past his room, he had never spoken to me before so I was shocked when he called me in, and stared at me with a face that told, I know exactly what you have just decided. I revealed my desire externally. Take initiation in Australia, he said. The whole scene proved to me that he knew what was on my mind. Such a person could surely help this mind become less polluted. On my initiation day Gurudeva also called me Pitambara. I was so happy and so ready to serve him as he liked. After the two-month tour of Australia I returned to India briey. One day, I travelled the short distance to Vrindavan. Krishna, it is said, is still perceivable in Vrindavan to those who have pure consciousness. Otherwise, what is perceived is India. Hogs, dogs, monkeys, rickshaws, shop after shop of specialized wares and the River Yamuna. The River Yamuna is so special. Yes, I could feel the incredible energy in Vrindavan, I could sense the divine play going off behind a thin curtain of ignorance, like standing on a stage and hearing the ankle bells

37

of the dancers who were practicing behind the curtain. It was so close but visually undetectable. My rst experience in Vrindavan was extraordinary. Divinity oozed from every inch of the place. The children looked so amazing, their eyes decorated with mascara just as Krishna wears, playing games, naked in the dirt or guiding buffaloes to drink from the river. Hindus regard the Yamuna, along with the Ganges, as the most sacred river in the world. I could feel why. As I approached her, a rush of somethingelseness made my spine tingle. As I sat on the bank of the river chanting Hare Krishna, I prayed to her to help me understand Vrindavans spiritual nature. Then, my eyes caught sight of owers oating downstream. Many people perform offerings at the side of the river and these owers were obviously from such an offering. As they were in front of me I had the sensation that they were alive, conscious. Then the owers formed a perfect shape of a peacock and that peacock started to y elegantly past me. I was transported to another dimension. A few metres past me, the owers split up again like the Red Arrows display team and became formless. I felt love pouring from the owers. I felt their contentment. I felt their eternal existence, their eternal happiness and whats more, I felt very much in touch with all my faculties. My soul felt really at home in Vrindavan. I prayed there and then for a chance to be able to stay forever. I really prayed. When I returned to Mathura that day I felt like a young girl who had been secretly seduced by her sweetheart for the rst time. I had lost my virginity and would never be the same again. I felt shy. The experience was attached to the front of my mind where all could see it. Yet it was beautiful. I had lost my virginity to the one who had stolen my heart. It was perfect. It had connected me forever to my true lover. Now, nothing else mattered. I returned to my motherland. For the next six months I practiced my devotional life in England but I knew it was merely an extended bank holiday. I belonged to Vrindavan now. I belonged to my lover now. The mood of Vrindavan came through the holy name as I chanted and gave me a taste of my real self again. But after a while it became a struggle to recollect that divine experience on the bank of the Yamuna, while standing in the middle of Birmingham City Centre surrounded by Babylons youth. Our temple moved from one crumby terraced house to a crumby semidetached to a crumby detached house; our crumbiness nally independent. We were continually moving, decorating, making a temple room, disturbing neighbours with early morning chanting, and then moving again.

38

We were a core group of about six devotees, supported by other devotees who made our numbers up on special occasions. They were good times, my university days, but my mind was always itching to get back to India. I was sure my heart was becoming cleaner but at times it was hard to perceive. Like digging in the ground, searching for a lost treasure, you dont know how deep you have to dig to nd the treasure. Fortunately, there are books written by devotees who have undergone this geological experience of digging through the material desires on the way to the core of the soul. It is not completely blind digging. Those devotees have left markers, beacons, signs for the unsighted to get some indication of how and where to dig. While surrounded by wall-to-wall dirt, the books were an incredible help. Summer became autumn and I was off to India again. I went only for a month to refuel. I felt again the connection in my heart with the land of the Lord but it was to become stronger the year later. On this trip, my steadiness in my behaviour as a monk was rewarded with saffron cloth. In the Gaudiya Math, the temple residence of my guru, to wear saffron is a vow to be celibate for life. It is not a small step but I was ready. Many take it on because it is praised. Some take to renounced life as a reaction from overindulgence in sex life. These devotees, instead of loving girls now hated them, seeing them as the objects that could contaminate their soul. In truth, one has to be free from raga, attachment, and dvesa, aversion, to remain happy and balanced. I felt happy and balanced and not desirous of female company anymore. The step was natural for me and I was happy when Prabhuji gave me his own cloth to touch my skin. My mum wasnt happy when I returned. The thought of her son appearing in Manseld market place wearing a pink dress repulsed her. My dad was not so impressed either. His dreams of me playing for a decent football team were now well and truly shattered. During the following year I became stronger. The battle with the senses was not so intense and keeping vows not so difcult, pride was disappearing. I attracted attention in my robes but that attention I had given up relishing. I was becoming more and more disgusted with life in the land of the Spice Girls. I needed Vrindavan. By the time October came around again I was totally nished with trying to preach to all and sundry about eternal bliss when it seemed everyone just wanted to hide themselves in drunken oblivion every Friday night. Temporary thrills. That is all that people seemed to want. I wanted permanent enthrallment. I wanted ananda. And most of all, I wanted Premananda, my Prabhuji.

39

Chapter 8 A Steady Flow of Devotion

Your love keeps lifting me higher than Ive ever been lifted before. Jackie Wilson I arrived in India determined to make some headway in spiritual life. I knew I would have to really dig deep into the depths of my soul and surrender to Krishna however he wanted me to. I was seeing around me devotees who had been chanting for twenty or thirty years with only sad confusion in their eyes. They had been so engaged in polishing their cars that they had forgotten to turn the ignition and go somewhere. Such beautiful cars there are sitting on the side of the spiritual highway. I was noticing them as I trundled passed in my 2CV. Better to trundle, that was my philosophy. It was Kartik month. Krishnas rasa-lila with the gopis was performed on the full moon night of this month, which falls between October-November. This is when Krishna played his ute and the love-intoxicated girls dropped all they were doing and made their way into the forest for dancing and romancing. Kartik month was the month for progression. During this time, the collected Indian and International devotees would travel to the area of Vraja where Krishna wandered ve thousand years before. We would bow our heads and pray to all the pastime places where he shared secret dalliance with Radha, stole butter from the elder cowherd women, and dived the wrong way during penalty competitions with his boy friends. At the beginning of the parikrama, (lit. circumambulation of sacred places), everybody made a vow, chanting Vedic mantras on the bank of the Yamuna River in Mathura. I prayed: Please Lord, allow me to serve my Gurudeva and Prabhuji honestly and sincerely in this life and forevermore. This was my prayer which I prayed at every holy place, every temple, to every Vaisnava, saint, Tom, Dick or Hare Krishna that we crossed. The energy-lled pastime places are really wonderful and they give an awe-inspiring sense of being immediately transported beyond the time zone and into the feeling of eternality. Govardhan Hill is one such place. Krishna once held the whole hill over the heads of the villagers to protect them from torrents of rain and lightning sent by the god Indra. This was because Krishna had told the villagers not to worship Indra for rain for the crops but to worship Govardhan Hill itself, as it was dear to Krishna Himself. Many people take the pastimes of Krishna to be mere stories that depict morals and philosophy just like Aesops Fables. Others just take the stories and ignore the meaning. But both are true. All pastimes are performed by Krishna out of the highest love. Therefore, all pastimes also depict the

40

psychology of Krishna and His closest lovers. I spent the rst week following the three hundred devotees around the pilgrimage sites, but my heart wanted to stay back in the kitchen to help Prabhuji with the cooking and cleaning. Prabhuji always said, You go on parikrama, it is good for you. I wanted to follow his advice, but when I did I felt a strong sense of being cheated. One day I refused to go and stayed to peel potatoes instead. Prabhuji was smiling. He was really happy. This was the rst glimpse of his crooked personality which, be it simple in this example, would reach well beyond the norm. I volunteered myself for slavery. A few other devotees and I stayed back and worked all day, cooking, cleaning, serving the food, etc. By the time I had swept the remaining dirty oor-space after the feast in the afternoon it was time for class. I was not tired. I was so fresh and ready to do more service. I was so full of ecstasy. I felt clear, sharp, and witty. I danced in the kirtans with effortless, inhibitionless bliss. Then I went into the kitchen to wash the night-time pots. Many devotees who came to Vrindavan became sick and had to leave. The more spiritual energy in the holy place, the harder it is to stay. But if you have a mood of compete surrender, complete egolessness, then it is hard to leave. I was owing. Happy to see more dirty pots come into the kitchen and refused to join dissatised moans of the other pot-washers. I laughed. This is Krishna seeing if you want eternal service or if you want to nish what you are doing. Forget about nishing, just relish the doing, and then youll be able to do it forever. When youre able to do it forever Krishna will promote you to massaging His Lovers feet. Devotion means to forget the parameters of start and nish, action and reaction, loss and gain. It is to work with no reason except for the love of it. Thus, washing pots became my practice and my goal of life, right there. The goal of life is only love and love is possible in every action. The goal is continually at hand because the goal is only an internal state of consciousness. The goal is not to massage Radhas feet. The goal is to love. The outcome of love is that one day you will massage Radhas feet. Many devotees were always dreaming Oh when will I be able to serve Radha and Krishna in the forest but none of them wanted to help me with the huge pile of pots after the feast. The doorway to the forest, I would tell them, is this kitchen door. The divine current swept me away. It was just a case of allowing it to. If you hang on to the branches at the side of the river, the rushing waters will slam you against the rocks. But if you let go and trust the very water that seems to be hurting you, you will nd that it caresses you and takes you

41

on a most exhilarating journey. The company with saints is like re. You can be burnt alive or made into a beautiful preparation for the Lords own palate. The secret of being cooked and not burned is the desire to be cooked. If you want the mercy of the guru, then the heat has its positive effect. If you dont really want it and you want to keep your temporary ego and not be a slave to love then it will be intolerable. So many ex-devotees have left Krishna consciousness and now protest against gurus and societies and religion etc. It was only their ego that got burnt and from attachment the pendulum swings to aversion. In reality, there is no such thing as an ex-devotee because when one has faith he wants to be cooked. Faith, therefore, is the seed of love, and it is not a small thing. The month passed fast, way too fast. I suddenly realized that my ight back to England was in one weeks time. Kartik was two days away from nishing and my travel companions were preparing to go back. They were burnt out. The thought of going back to England repulsed me. I had been immersed in the gorgeous aura of Gurudeva and Prabhuji and to leave them seemed as painful as death. I couldnt be separated from them any more. I couldnt. I broke down in tears. I felt such an intense desire to stay in India that my mind darted through the alleyways of its possibility. There was a similarity between my passion for staying and serving and the passion I had for sex in my London days, a passion that knotted my stomach, and a passion that created intense need. Gurudeva had stated many times that he wanted his disciples to go and preach in the west and didnt want anyone staying behind in India. He was quite adamant. I went to see him, my shirt soaked with tears. I took into his room a bag full of sweets that were offered to Govardhan Hill during worship. I had kept them aside for my family. I entered the room and saw that Prabhuji was there massaging Gurudevas feet. I closed the door behind me. We three were alone. Prabhuji was smiling at me. He knew exactly what I was going through and what I was about to do. When Gurudeva asked me to speak I laid the sweets at his feet and told him they were symbolic of my family and my whole attachment to England and the west. Please let me stay in Vrindavan, I uttered, before weeping pathetically. Gurudeva was unmoved. I was a little surprised by the lack of emotion in him. His disciple was in tatters yet he was the least perturbed. He said calmly, Premananda can give the sweets to the other devotees. We can talk in a couple of days. A couple of days! The few hours that had just passed were torturous! The next day I asked Prabhuji again and he smiled at me lovingly and said, Gurudeva is joking with you but you dont understand Vaisnava (devotee of Krishna)

42

humour. Joking! He was so icy cool, so stern. Then, almost as if the ability to understand the deepest of transcendental insinuations had dropped out of the heavenly sky on my head, I realized that his giving the sweets to the other devotees was an acceptance of my offering; and an acceptance of my offering was an approval that I could stay in India. I looked into the eyes of Prabhuji. He conrmed with a glance my conclusion. I was in ecstasy again. I went into the temple room where I could hear the drums starting to play. I lost myself in dance. I imagined that Gurudeva would then smile at me as I had understood his real desire and then he would just say O.K. Now you can stay, I was only teasing, but he carried on teasing. Teasing to the point of my complete inability to see through it. He said to me, why dont you go back to England and preach. You should go back now. Kartik is over. I was just dumbfounded. The last thing I wanted was to disobey him but my heart was confused. I thought he had given me permission to stay! I was sure he had. I went to see Prabhuji and he said again, Vaisnavass speech is very crooked. People prepared to go home, pleased at the thought of eating cheese on toast and cornakes. My head couldnt enter that once familiar space. I was called to Gurudevas room. In front of Govinda and other senior devotees he told me I must return to England. I said yes. How could I say no to my Gurudeva? You dont say no to your Gurudeva, you obey him whatever he wants. That was what a disciple was supposed to do. At that time Prabhuji started to give classes. Not so many people would attend his classes because he would give them secretly to his kitchen squad. In his classes he started pouring me with strength. He would speak some philosophy then look over to me and say, Vaisnavas speech is very crooked. When the gopis went to the forest to meet with Krishna, He told them to return, but they refused. Krishna was testing their love for him. Of course He wanted them to stay with him. In theory, it is not difcult to let go and allow yourself to be guided by the Supreme. It is just a case of being sensitive enough to feel the masters touch. You go left when the master in the back seat of your car touches your left shoulder and go right when he touches your right shoulder. You follow the touch even when it appears like the complete wrong way to go. That is part of the test of faith. That is how the guru helps you transcend your ego. The whole world may be screaming turn right but you feel a touch on your left shoulder. The master himself may be saying turn right but he is touching your left shoulder. It is the disciples duty to follow the internal desire of the guru. And it takes surrender and

43

love to understand the internal desire of the guru. The wife may say to her husband, No darling, I dont want a birthday present, save your money, and a husband with no love will follow her word. When it comes to her birthday he will use her words as evidence for his lack of a gift as she looks sad. A husband with love will ignore the bashfulness of his wife and buy a beautiful present against her order not to bother. To follow the order of anyone, be it a wife, an army commander, a guru, or a father, is easy. To jump when you hear the word jump is easy. This is the rst level of surrender. To follow is not so difcult. A sheep dog follows the whistle of his handler. A donkey follows a carrot. It doesnt require human intelligence to surrender at this level. But people come to the spiritual path and think that just following is going to lead them to a life in a superior world. Sheep are good at following; you may just end up in Wales. Love is tricky. It is not a straightforward affair. And to love Krishna is the trickiest business because He is the Supreme Tricky Lover. He is beyond logic. People of this world are easy to please because they have certain desires materializing from the inuence of the three modes of nature; goodness, passion and ignorance. There is a pattern. Their actions are reactions. There is no free will because the maya sakti, the material energy, is more powerful than them. A liberated soul, what to speak of God, is above these laws of nature. Though the laws appear to be working on them, they are not controlled like ordinary people. The king has placed the key of the palace in their hands. They can do as they like now they are free from the law of the kingdom. Krishna sets up the law of karma for the common people and simultaneously encourages those seekers of love to go beyond it. My heart was being lled. It seemed that I was going against my Gurudeva, but Prabhuji was directing me towards understanding the heart of a great devotee. Being a novice I needed the guidance of a great devotee to understand another great devotee. The sharp sword-like words from Gurudeva appeared to be coming down to behead me, but Prabhujis smile was letting me know that I was being knighted so I neednt worry. Rather the opposite. I began to laugh joyfully when Gurudeva told me that Birmingham was like a void without me. His teasing was starting to become obvious and I was starting to enjoy his crooked speech. The devotees around me hated the fact that I was just laughing. The nave devotees were so angry but I was sure the advanced devotees in the temple were laughing along with me. Prabhuji described how the lovers of Krishna, the gopis, didnt choose to stay in the forest. Their hearts had been stolen by the captivating sound of Krishnas ute. Krishna was the thief, their hearts the loot. He was in possession of them; hence his words were useless; his words were only

44

spoken to reveal the glory of his gopis who had allowed the Supreme Thief to capture them. There was no choice to return. Choice is an action of the mind, and lovers adhere to the heart. Greed is the qualication for a devotee to enter into spontaneous devotion or raganuga bhakti. Raganuga is one step beyond Vaidhi Bhakti. It is beyond the temple, beyond the laws. It is the path of the love-greedy heart. When this greed arises there is nothing you can do about it. It is the fruit of devotional service, the fruit of mercy, and the fruit of life. A hankering for the Lord, to live in His home came to me so strong that it destroyed all my desires of returning to the comforts of the west. When greed arises there is no need for a guru to instruct the disciple. In fact, his very instructing the opposite is fuel for this greed to burn more intensely. What Gurudeva was doing was taking this re of my spiritual yearning and stoking it with the taunting of his external rejection. He had made me fat with greed and now tried to force me through the sieve of his external instruction. How could I go through it? This rejection, however, wasnt rejection; it was acceptance. And it was acceptance with a cherry on top, for now he was dipping me into the world of loving speech. Gurudeva nally left for a preaching tour of Australia, taking with him most of his followers, who also were taunting me. Like waves, when Gurudeva taunted, his western followers taunted, yet they didnt realize he was joking. Gurudeva did it with love, his so-called followers with envy. I paced up and down on the rooftop of the temple observing the misty skyline. The noise of the city rose up to create a world of sound in the sky. The honking of horns, ringing of bells, crying of children, and shouting of fruit-sellers was by no means heavenly, but it was the sound of my happiness as I pondered my fortune. I didnt understand how I was understanding what many around me couldnt understand. It was too simple, perfectly simple, the path of love. My ight date was due but it had no signicance anymore. I wrote a Sanskrit prayer on a piece of paper and slipped it into the ight ticket envelope, then headed off to the River Yamuna. I greeted her with obeisance. Yamunadevi is the Goddess whose material form in this world is the River Yamuna. I prayed with my whole heart for her to grant me eternal service to Radha and Krishna. I threw the envelope in the river with a grave heart. My eyes suddenly darted left, as if taken by force, out of my usual control. To the surface of the river rose a deity of a woman with folded hands. She was looking straight up at me with a conrming, enigmatic smile. It was Yamunadevi Herself. I knew that immediately. She was accepting my prayer. I was completely overwhelmed, surrounded by the same mystical vibration as my experience with the owers in Vrindavan. Walking back to the temple I was oblivious of the busy street with its rickshaws and bikes, cows and camels. Nothing mattered anymore but my voyage to the Supreme. I felt like I had just cashed in my plane ticket for a ticket on the ship towards spiritual love. On returning to the temple, my eyes found Prabhujis. He gestured with a glance, Up, up.

45

He meant class was about to start. He meant I was going up from here on in. He meant both.

46

Chapter 9 - Taste
Utopia in your mind is conned by what your eyes have seen. Reality you will see is sweeter than your wildest dreams. Cowboys in India When a person suffers from jaundice, the cure for his illness is eating sugar. Although sugar tastes bitter to him, after repeatedly eating it the taste comes back and he is cured. Similarly, the cure for the illness of material suffering is devotion to the Lord. And though in the beginning there is no taste in chanting, hearing the Lords pastimes, meditating etc, by repeatedly practicing with faith the taste will come back. That is the natural state. To reach this natural state, one only need be sincere, patient, prayerfully humble and open to Gods sculpting. Otherwise the expert sculptor cannot work with you. He is trying to make you into the most amazing piece, yet you are alive with other desires and ruining his craftsmanship. We are pieces in a game of chess, pawns. Yet we want to behave like knights or bishops. If the pawn starts moving like a knight independently then he has ruined the plan that the player has been cultivating for umpteen moves. If the pawn is patient, surrendered, then he can become a queen when he reaches the other side of the board. Then he can serve the player more dynamically, and the player protects him more than any other piece. We can all have the experience of Radha, but we must humble ourselves rst. A monk I was, but I felt no emptiness. I could see other devotees looking lonely but I could feel Krishnas warmth constantly, even though I could only hear His name as I chanted more and more. I had many people around me but I was always aware of my individual quest, my striving for perfection. I wanted so much to realize Krishna, to come closer to him, to make the promises of communion a reality. I would wake at four in the morning to attend morning service, then go inside, chanting, praying, asking my Lord, When will it be? When do we meet? I want it so bad, now tell me when! At times I wondered what would happen after the six months when my visa expired. I would have to buy another ticket and go home. Although it wasnt a big concern, being many months away, the mind needs only a second to speed to that occasion and force you to ponder. Even if it were ten or twenty years, it would only be a second for the mind. The mind searches forward for a point in time. I didnt want there to be a point in time. I was feeling the urge to move completely into time itself, into eternity.

47

I needed to go to Delhi. I cannot remember exactly why I needed to go because the real, internal reason covered it. I arrived there and cut through the hoards of scurrying people on the platform and autorickshaw-wallahs, hotel-wallahs and other annoying persons sent to disturb travellers since time immemorial. I made it to the relative safety of the main road. Then I noticed my bum-bag had gone missing. I underwent the usual panic and swearing of someone having lost their money and belongings and then stopped to contemplate. Youve taken it. It wasnt everyday I accused God of thieving but I was convinced. I felt so happy. It doesnt matter what He does to you, but when He does something to you it is amazing. It feels like you are the most special person in the universe. (And once completely surrendered, you realize He is doing absolutely everything!) I went to the police station and lled in forms. I failed to disclose the name of the suspect on the form, though thoughts of doing so made me smile. I was told where the British Embassy was but somehow I knew Krishna didnt want me to go. Instead I returned to Mathura a materially poorer, spiritually wealthier monk. That night I opened a book and read the paragraph, if one has acquired a visa from the spiritual world what need is there of a mundane passport? It was uncannily specic. This coincidence and the use of beautiful timing, together with the weapon of guided eyes to a paragraph, were like artillery that demolished the approaching enemy of doubt in my head. Concern shattered by the Lords wonderful repower, I felt overwhelmed with the freedom and comfort of His divine protection. It was beautiful. My mind raced forward to nd a point in time upon which to x itself, but it found nothing. The future was just an unlimited bright light. My mind came back scared, and grasped again at the past, but the brightness of the future had cast a shadow there. At last my restless mind came back to the eternal reality of the eternal present and refused to move. I was in Vrindavan. I was always to be in Vrindavan. This is all I knew and all I wanted to know. I was with the company of lovers of God today, and that would bear fruit of further company of lovers of God and God Himself. I was a caterpillar feeding on the luscious greenery, knowing one day I would be a buttery. I was hankering for the day I would y but simultaneously absorbed and content in devouring the tasty leaves of a pure devotees presence. This hankering is not for a different future, it is a yearning to achieve your true potential. My next course of action was to tell my folks back home that I wouldnt be returning. It wasnt a lack of love for them but an intensied love for my Lord and His homeland. I wanted to shed the cloth of my temporary identity; to be stripped bare so Krishna could clothe me with the garments

48

of His choice. I knew the pain they would suffer was not coming from my actions but from attachment. Whether separation comes today or tomorrow is inconsequential in the awareness of eternity. The pain exists with the temporary pleasure. Tails exists even when heads is upturned. Whether my folks would be crying when I left them to stay in India or as they or I die, the tears would come. Unless they could realize my and their own spiritual identity, only then would our bond be everlasting. That is what I wanted, and being true to myself I knew was being true to my family, friends and the whole world. But really, it was not a choice. I wrote to my mum and dad and my three sisters and told them I was never coming home again. This is not a necessary move in spiritual life, but I felt guided to do it. In the spiritual world there is no why. Love is an independent force, moving and owing spontaneously. I was beginning to move with that ow and thus behaving like an alien in this world of reason. . My sadness as I sent the letters was engulfed by a deeper happiness in realization that I was doing the right thing. I was following the Lords tap on the shoulder to turn left. Two weeks after I sent the letters my sister arrived at the temple in Mathura. She and her ance had collected money from the whole family and came to talk to me. Zoe was a close friend as well as a sister. Her deep love brought her to India, not to convince me I was wrong, but to say goodbye. We spent only a couple of hours together before she left. The goodbyes said to Zoe at the porch of the temple that day felt like the snapping of the nal thread of a rope. As her rickshaw drowned in the midst of other rickshaws and scooters on the busy street, and her presence became engulfed by her absence, I was left without reason to stand on the porch except to pray that my family would one day understand the Lord I was getting to know and love. As I stood there I felt the comfort of the Lords hand on my shoulder, empathizing with my loss and reminding me of my gain. I cried that night. It was a mixture of moods. I drank weakness and strength together. The shedding of my material ego was painful but its disappearing was helping to bring about the emergence of my Real Self. I settled back into the daily routine. My taste in chanting was growing. I relaxed, thinking now it was a one straight path home. Routine, routine, routine, chanting, chanting, love - easy. But Krishna, the Crooked One, had other plans. He had seen me offer myself to his hands that he then eased into a pair of surgical gloves, ready to operate on my heart. It would take a sharp

49

scalpel and steady hand to remove the subtle desires and insert divine love. I just had to be willing. The maha-mantra was my anaesthetic. Prabhuji hit me with a test that was to be irresistible and painful. We had come back to the temple from Govardhan Parikrama, a sixteen-kilometre walk around the sacred Govardhan Hill. On returning my feet were throbbing. I gathered Prabhujis feet would be too, so I heated a bucket of water and took it to his room. As I arrived, he passed me, suggesting we all go and sit in the room where class was given. I left the bucket by his door. His feet probably hurt, but he was already absorbed in the next play. There were only ve or six westerners in the temple, so the classes were intimate and sweet. We sat down and he looked at me with a message in his eye. Prepare yourself for what I am about to say to you. He held his scalpel aloft and began to recite invocatory prayers. My adapted shorthand recorded the next twenty minutes. Prabhuji spoke in sweet shorthand, his English confusing for the virgin listener. I would be referring back to these notes for the next two months to clarify my lack of insanity. Krishna happy then take test, big test. He was looking at me. What test? My question was telepathic. Anyone has love then fasting for fteen days, no problem. If he had not said fteen days then it would have been an ordinary statement. Sure, fasting is no problem for those with divine love. But this was an instruction for sure. The gopis have love for Krishna. They only eat remnants of food left by him. The condition. I was only to eat what he would give me, nothing else. Guru outside abusing, teasing, taunting, beating; but inside pleased. The challenge. Prabhuji, who I respected as my guru was about to turn the external mood. He had been loving, hugging, kind, and full of obvious affection since Gurudeva left for Australia, but now he was about to drop the petting. Vaisnava mood like gopis mood, difcult for common man to understand. Outside kicking, inside love. Outside speaking one thing, desire inside different. He had spoken this philosophy many times. I had learnt it well from my last test. Now he was telling me it was about to happen again, only this time he was the guru who would be kicking and speaking in a crooked manner. All the time, Prabhuji was icking me glances.

50

Full surrender, then Krishna returning all things. Full senses giving, then senses becoming spiritualized. Full surrender, full return. The reason. If I fully surrendered to this, Krishna would replace my material energy with spiritual energy, transplanting my selshness with selessness. That was enough. I was ready. But then he continued, Big test. Anyone have love then no problem. Then Radha giving darshan. The benediction. These last few words almost trailed off as if they were embarrassed to touch the ether and sought a way back into the unspoken realm. I couldnt believe that Radha would appear to me. I had heard of elevated devotees seeing Krishna in person or Radha in person but not some lad from England who still had problems not picking his nose in public. The boon was certainly an incentive for completely surrender, but I didnt even need it. I would do what Prabhuji wanted without reason. Right then, Prabhuji gave me a smile that I would hang on to in future meditations. At that moment I could have fasted forever, at that moment I could have tolerated any external beating. That moment was That Moment. I wanted to stretch it out into eternity so I could experience it forever. After the smile to shame all smiles, he reached for a box of sweets, plucked out a big laddu, and pushed it in my mouth, almost choking me. The symbolism tasted better than the sweet itself; I am going to ram this mercy down your throat. Prabhuji told another devotee to heat up some water for him to bathe his feet. He looked at me in acknowledgement that I had already done it. He was accepting the love with which I had done it and was now giving someone else the chance to follow his order. (The water had also gone cold.) It was another sign of his ability to know what was happening in places his body was not, his deep ability to know the mind of disciples and feel their mood. I went to bed that night, excited at the prospect of having a chance to grasp at the Lords mercy. I was given a tangible assignment, with a tangible goal. Krishna was giving me the favour of His grace by allowing me the opportunity to show my love. Love is in His hands. Now he was dishing it out so He could receive it back. Would I fast for fteen days? Of course I would. I woke. The test had started. Nothing happened, but the day was different. The other devotees seemed to me strangely unaware of the signicance of the morning. The class had not meant anything to them like it had to me. The atmosphere was acute and the sound of the cymbals crisp. The mrdanga drums were alive, and accompanied the beating of my heart. I bowed to the deities with more conviction, more

51

prayer, more understanding of their not being merely deities but manifestations of Radha and Krishna who were staring out at the scene of prostrated saffron-clad bodies. I sang the morning hymn as carolsingers sing O little town of Bethlehem with more gusto on Christmas Eve night. The bell for breakfast rang and I smiled, remaining xed in my place. One meal down, fortyfour to go. Forty-four sounded a big number. I forced it out of my head and carried on chanting. That day, Mukunda arrived from England with a couple of other devotees, all of whom lived in the Birmingham temple. They had heard that I had gone mad and offended Gurudeva. They had been told to avoid me. Mukunda however shared a room with me in Birmingham and knew me better than anyone else. He rejected the ban and rushed into my room, hugged me and inquired after the real story. I told him the whole episode and he laughed. He was probably the only westerner to understand it from my side. I warned him that there was another lila unfolding and that allegiance to me would take some deep understanding. I told him then of the previous days class. I saw that he was sent to be a support for me. Over the next weeks, Mukunda was a shoulder to lean on and an ear to hear me speak my realizations. Mukunda wanted to stay in India too and was inspired by my bravado. I needed a hill that would be silent yet understanding of my need; that would return my own words across the valley between us. Those words would come back to me stronger than when I spoke, and would shatter any lingering doubts that covered them as they left my side of the valley. The external abuse from Prabhuji came. It was more than I expected. He looked at me with disdain if I tried to approach him. I had sought comfort previously in his warm embrace as everyone else coming in contact with his gorgeous energy had. But now was the time for me to practice love, even if I was not naturally overowing with it. The love I could show was acting as Prabhuji desired despite contrary feelings. Faith is the seed of love. My faith had grown, and now I had a taste for bhajan, performance of devotion. The seed had become a shoot and then a small tree. Now more water was needed. Following this order to fast against outside pressure was the pouring of water onto that tree. Aslisya va pada ratam pinastu mam Let Krishna tightly embrace this maidservant who is attached to the service of His lotus feet, and thus make me His very own. Or let Him break my heart by not being present before me. He is a debauchee and can do whatever he likes. Even if he sports with other lovers directly in front of me, He is still the love of my life. I have no other than Him. This mood is the mood of someone lost in love, and this type of love completely controls

52

Krishna. It is love beyond all expectation. Whether embraced or beaten I will continue to love. Now I was feeling the blow of Prabhujis external neglect and torment but I knew it was my duty to keep my ow directed towards him. Even though he had told me exactly what would happen, when it happened it was more intense than I could have imagined. I wanted the embrace again. I wanted the kind gestures and smiles. But I only received shrugs and scowls. Two days passed and I was hungry like I had never been before. Water was my only sustenance, or whatever Prabhuji gave me from his hand. Previously he had always given all the bee-like devotees sweets from the ower of his hand but for the last two days he gave to all but me. There was no reason for such a turnaround in mood. He had no reason to feel disturbed that I was fasting. It was a good reminder that this was a test. The lack of food made my mind weak and I repeatedly needed to remind myself what was happening. I realized that this was not a small feat. I had thirteen days to go. On the fth day there was a day trip to a local place of pilgrimage where the Srimad Bhagavatam was written. During the day there was a feast, so I took my role as server. Prabhuji surprised me by shouting, Pitambara, why are you not taking prasad? Sit down and take. Should I? I had never done anything against his will. What was his will? It was covered in a veil of external expression that I couldnt see through. I sat down with the other devotees and watched as food was put onto my plate. I lost all desire to follow my internal guidance and let my tongue off its leash. I ate with infatuation and disappointment. I ate too much. Prabhuji started smiling at me. It was his rst smile in ve days. I relished the smile and I hated it. It was conrmation that he was jesting me when he told me to sit down. I had failed the test. My belly was full but my heart was empty. I wanted my belly to be empty and my heart to be full again. Vomiting was not the answer. I asked him, What does one do if he fails to follow gurus internal order? Try again, he calmly replied. Right. Next time no failing. I was more determined. Now I had seen the veil. I was ready for it appearing again. I would recognize it. I had only heard about it the rst time. Now I had seen it. I placed the vow in my head and calculated what date fteen more days would be. The rst ve days went by. Prabhuji was blanking me but his classes were lling me. My chest was expanded. I walked with condence. I attended morning service and I felt a real taste for my chanting. Then Prabhuji started criticizing me to other devotees in the temple. This was quite

53

painful. I tried to tell people why I was fasting, but Prabhuji would tell everybody I was just a mental case. This made me a mental case. My ego was being smashed to a pulp, ground to a powder. I could see the benets of the ego being smashed but that knowledge doesnt help when the pestle is coming down on the mortar and you are the helpless peppercorn staring up. Five days became six, eight, and ten. People were coming to me with offerings of fruit. As I served out the prasad at meal times the other devotees abused me. It all became too much. I sat down after serving and let someone ll my plate with rice, sabji and dal. Everybody was happy that I was eating. I wanted to carry on with my test but my body, mind and soul were disconnected and I witnessed my hand placing food into my mouth. I was just a helpless onlooker. I went upstairs to Prabhujis room. He sat me down and offered me prasad. He was inferring that I wait for food from his hand. He was externally playful again though he didnt see me eat. I had a day off from fasting but I knew I would have to start again. I was getting a taste for the inner food now, which was cut off when I took the outer food. A special incident happened on this day. Prabhuji whispered to me that there were some biscuits in his room. He didnt say anything more but I understood that he wanted me to take them. I went into his small room and there were four or ve other devotees asking him questions and being petted. Prabhuji started shouting at me, What do you want you madman? I have nothing here for you. You are causing so much disturbance to everybody. Why cant you eat normally like everyone else? You throw your passport away, your plane ticket; you disrespect your Gurudeva by not going back to England when he asks you. Get out of here, you fool. There was no sign of joking on his face, but his words which sounded harsh comforted me in realizing he was joking. I had only followed his order to stay in India. I looked in the corner of the room and there were a few home-made cookies. I was nervous and wanted to get out of the room. All the boys were stabbing me with their sharp eyes. But I had to do it. I took the biscuits and stormed out. I ran to my room and sat by pictures of Radha and Krishna. They comforted me of the guilt I felt and my shaking faded. Five minutes later, Prabhuji came to my room on the pretext of looking for a bottle of water. He glanced over at me in the corner of the room and smiled the sweetest smile I had ever seen, relegating his previous winning smiles to silver and bronze positions. There was so much pride in his eyes, so much love. He was laughing with me inside, and that union between us was so secret and beautiful. He was teaching me the ways of love in the spiritual world. The way love is kept undercover

54

and disclosed through glances and smiles until a rendezvous in the forest is possible. I knew that he was giving me more clarication that all his external anger was feigned and that I should know that it is pleasing him so much for me to tolerate it and proceed with my test. Roll on tomorrow. Forget tomorrow. Let the fast commence. I didnt bother to ask him this time. When the prasadam bell rang, I again took to serving and not eating. Third time lucky. I had to get it right. I had already done the austerity of fteen days fast, except for one day in between. First ve days, then ten days. This time fteen days, I said to myself. I went over my notes. I spoke with Mukunda. I was prepared. One, two, three; nine, ten, eleven. My mind was starting to lose its stronghold, leaving me with faith and prayer. Prabhuji didnt lay off the gas. He found a new technique to disturb me. One day a devotee told me that he was so hurt that I wasnt eating that he was in tears not knowing what to do and not eating himself. I went to the Yamuna and cried at the thought of him being so distraught. Let me give up this fast if he is really disturbed, I prayed. Please give me a sign what to do. In the following class I was ooded with fuel to carry on. Prabhuji gave a story of how Srila Bhaktisiddhanta, Prabhupadas guru, had performed a fast for fteen days, ekadasi to ekadasi, to strengthen his bhajan. I was not a freak. The next day was also tough. I was just holding on. I staggered to the Yamuna and started chanting, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna My eyes were guided to a cutting from a newspaper. It was in English. I picked it up and read, To succeed in your goal you need to have a strong mind and a BRAVEHEART. It was an advert for the Mel Gibson lm. There were no other words on the cutting. I meditated on how amazingly Krishna had inspired someone to rip at a newspaper, exactly cutting out the appropriate message, how he had used the wind to guide it to my feet and then guided my eyes to noticing it. I felt the boost would carry me on for the last three days. It did. I woke up on the fteenth day excited. I wasnt bothered about any boons anymore. I wanted food. That was the boon at this point. But a fear overcame me. What if I didnt get it? Prabhuji was like Krishna; spontaneous and unpredictable. Inconsistency was Prabhujis only consistency. This kept me alive, awake and shitting my pants. Prabhuji pulled me into his room and alleviated my suffering. He locked the door after we both entered, grabbed my hands and started singing, fteen days, fteen days. He started dancing with me, spinning me round like a gopi. He was overowing with pride and happiness. I was overowing with relief.

55

My Pitambara, so strong. Sit down. After my rst meal for fteen days, my second for thirty days, Prabhuji said, Now, only eating from my hand. I was so happy. I spent the next two days relishing Prabhujis sweetness. I felt the love that you receive from your mother when you have chicken pox. I absorbed the pampering and I cherished the prasadam from Prabhuji. I had received the boon of eating only his remnants. It was forever. Finally I could rest and catch the comfortable fast train to my desired destination. It was for two days. As I skipped merrily over to his room on the second day of my new life, beckoned by Prabhujis enticing smile, I did not suspect a thing. Two yards from the door, he winked his eyelids and closed the door in my face. The expression on his face was so beautiful. What he did so horrible. I was xed to that spot for half an hour not knowing what to do. What to do? He had given me no sign to start eating from anywhere else. The answer came to me as I started chanting in front of my mini-altar. He wanted complete surrender, which meant complete surrender from expectation. The answer followed the question without break. I would only eat from Prabhujis hand as he had instructed me. His order was my life. I had nothing else to live for. If he wouldnt feed me then I would die. So be it. The fasting started again. Prabhuji gave classes about unconditional surrender. It seemed unlikely that he wanted me to die, but he was pushing me to the brink. My hearing started to falter and my limbs were disgustingly thin. It was getting increasingly harder to lift myself from the bed in the morning, and to walk up stairs I needed to support my knees with my hands. I read how Mother Yasoda was prepared to die a million times over to wipe away the sweat from Krishnas brow. This was the point. Not that she died, but she was prepared. I had to be prepared for anything. To be qualied to enter Krishnas world dying would have to be no problem. Ten days passed again, only drinking water. I had eaten maybe three or four times in thirtyeight days. I was still serving prasadam and washing the pots, although I could barely lift the pots. Mukunda said to me one night. I have lost where you are going with this but I know one thing, this energy you are creating is not from this world, it cant be. In one class, Prabhuji looked at me and said, body weak, but still doing Govardhan Parikrama. Sure enough, the next day, everybody was told to prepare for going on parikrama. I could barely walk. I got in the jeep and we set out for Govardhan. I thought I would probably bow my head down in respect and go back to the temple. Prabhuji

56

is renowned for whipping round the walk at break-neck speed, like a hovercraft, not feeling the bumps or touching the oor. It was ridiculous that I was even going to attempt to keep up, but all I could think about was his instructions in the previous days class. We arrived there, walked to the foot of the hill, the place where Radha and Krsnas footprints are embedded in a rock. Everybody followed Prabhuji in prostrating themselves. The hundred-yard walk was tough but prostrating myself was a little easier. Then off they went, about sixty devotees ying down the rst stretch of the walk, leaving me trailing immediately. I felt like a distance runner from Lichtenstein who had been allowed to compete in the Olympic Games as a goodwill gesture. I was a gimmick. I walked like a gimmick. I was starting to feel that my whole life was just a gimmick, and God was just rolling about laughing somewhere, watching this ailing idiot. The rst stop wasnt very far and I caught up with everybody. The rst stop was also prasadam stop. I arrived as everybody sat down with leaf-plates in front of them. Prasad was brought from the temple. It was still hot and smelt great. I started to serve the halava, my favourite dish. My hand trembled as I spooned it onto the plates. As if that wasnt enough, Prabhuji decided right there and then to turn up the heat to boiling point on my austere trip out. He started yelling at the top of his voice at me. Why are you not eating? This is Maha-prasad. Go home. Go back to England. I never want to see you again. I hate you, you big offender. Go. Why are you disturbing me and everybody by killing yourself? Do you think you can get bhakti by not eating? Who ordered you to do this fasting? Your mind is crazy. You fool. He red all his ammunition in one nal bid to nish my pride. Devotees started panicking and they sat me down putting a plate and a helping of gorgeous smelling halava in front of me. Eat, you idiot, or go to hell for good. Believe me I wanted to, but there was something stopping me from responding to my mind, my mouth, my devotee friends, my Prabhuji; and that was the ringing in my ears of the nectar from his classes he had been dishing out to me for the last two months. I was in tears. I was lost. Everybody packed up and left, and followed Prabhuji who had started walking again. I sat there staring at my plate. I peered through my tear-stained, blood-shot, bewildered eyes at Mukunda who, incredibly, was still offering an ear and a shoulder. I said with a pathetic whine, I know hes joking. I picked up my plate and gave the food to a nearby cow who was unperturbed by the whole affair.

57

Mukunda and I walked on. I cried and spluttered some words. Quite amazingly, we caught up with the pack. I wasnt supposed to be following now, but I was on autopilot. I couldnt think straight enough to not follow. When I got closer and saw Prabhuji sitting on a slightly raised platform of rocks, he did something that I will never forget. He looked at me through the corner of his eyes, behind the curtain of everybody elses attention, and darted a glance so loving, so endearing, and so full of pride, so full of mercy, so full of soothing for my desperate heart. He was on my side. I had pleased him. I had come through the toughest of challenges. I was his. He beckoned me to sit next to him. I staggered to his side and although we didnt touch, his loving energy enveloped me as if we were two people trapped inside one bubble. We all set off again. I lagged behind again. At least I wasnt carrying my mind around anymore. I was light but still very weak. I caught up with the pack at the next prasad stop. I thought I might get a nibble now that I had gone through the challenge, but Prabhuji again never looked at me. Pain returned, but I took it away by thoughts of that one loving glance. Taking inspiration from stories of great Vaisnava saints who walked the parikrama path every day despite old age and bad health, I somehow managed to keep catching up with the pack as they stopped. I realized, actually, that Prabhuji was waiting for me every time, because usually he ies all the way round without stopping. On the last kilometre I was nearly running. I felt like I could have walked around again. The energy owing through me was from another dimension. It was beyond logic that I had completed the walk at all. On the way back to the temple, I was alive and ready for dancing in kirtan, while all the others were sleeping and exhausted. The fasting continued. I had ve more days left to nish another fteen. As far as I could tolerate, Prabhuji was pushing my austerity. My sense of taste was deprived of any pleasure and I was desperate. It would try and relish the three drops of caranamrta, (water the deities are bathed with; lit. feet nectar) as I allowed myself at least to continue taking that. One day when I was in the small room where prasad was saved, I noticed a few leftover sweets. I couldnt resist. I put one in my hand, closing my st so it could not be seen and made my way to the roof where no one could see me enjoy it. I could have just eaten it without anybody noticing, probably, but I became like a guilty thief, and saw eyes on me from all angles. As I passed Prabhujis room, the door opened. He smiled at me, the rst smile I had received since the parikrama about six days earlier. He held out another, bigger, more gorgeous looking sweet. I held out my empty left hand. He insinuated that I accept it with my right hand, so I opened up and revealed the sweet. He

58

dropped the second sweet in my hand, winked his eyebrows at me and said, I know all things, then closed the door. I reached fteen days without eating another morsel. I was waiting to be grabbed into Prabhujis room for a private dance and luncheon but he ignored me all day. In class that night he spoke the words two more days while looking at me. He was breaking me apart. Two more days was a lifetime. And that is what he wanted, - unconditional surrender. I knew that I couldnt even bank on two days being the last two days. He could very well deceive me again. I came to understand that if I were to really love God, I would have to ditch the idea of justice. God may very well be unfair, yet still I must love Him. He may give or take, but I must give. Love is not a business arrangement whereby ten love-credits equal ten reciprocations from God. It may. It may not. I sat on the roof, trying to soak in the afternoon sun to warm my decapacitated body. The other devotees were bathing comfortably, but I was cold even with six layers of clothes on me. When the devotees dispersed to take prasad (I had been relinquished from my serving duties at this stage), I absorbed myself in chanting. With my mind consumed, I began to have a most wonderful experience. I was suddenly lifted above all concern for hunger and cold, honour and shame, body and mind, as I oated, fearlessly, aloof from what I had previously conceived of as myself. I didnt oat anywhere. There was nowhere to oat. Everything was already there. What I was experiencing was what the Lord wanted me to experience. I realized that everything is everywhere. Here and there are just concepts given to us for the purpose of experiencing independence. But in reality there is no independence. It was an overwhelming feeling of oneness. Where one object ended and another began was my own assessment. I saw that the bucket and the oor were inseparable, as were my body and the mat I was sitting on. Everything blended into itself. I was just observing the phenomena. Soon, the oneness that I experienced vanished. The bucket became a bucket and I was separate once more from my mat. I realized Krsna had shown me a reality that many yogis and religious people from all faiths strive for. But, although the experience brought about an immense feeling of bliss, it was only the bliss of freedom. I didnt want just to be free. I wanted to love. I prayed to Krsna to let me go beyond this experience of absolute oneness to the spiritual realm of absolute diversity. Acintya bhedabheda tattva, oneness and difference simultaneously. That is the absolute teaching of Sri Chaitanya. On that day, I defeated the bliss of liberation. But a day later salted peanuts defeated me. I was serving again (I cant recall why), and I lost control at the sight of an innocent looking bowl of salted peanuts. I nervously lled a plate and added to it some sweet halava, then more peanuts

59

and more halava. Twelve hours later I would have completed the two extra days Prabhuji had asigned to me. The next morning I ate about fourteen fried sweets. The elastic band snapped. It was dangerous to have pulled it back so far. I unleashed my tongue on the food and ended up in the hospital. For the next week I was put on a simple diet of fruit and rice. I was escorted to and fro for check-ups at the hospital to make sure I hadnt done any serious damage to my insides. I had lost all my energy, internally and externally. Prabhuji was supplying the money for my special meals. I was too exhausted to wonder about my test. There was obviously no way I could fast again. Maybe hours away from receiving my boons, after forty-ve intense days, I was back to square one. I looked disgustingly malnourished. For the next two months I tried to put weight back on, but the Indian food wasnt fatty enough. I can only remember devotees arriving at the temple telling me how disgusting I looked. In the aftermath of the event, the whole thing was just like a weird dream. It was too hard for me to reconcile it with my mind in the drivers seat. I was trying to adjust once more to being a normal English monk in a normal Indian temple and it was dry as hell. No juice, no taste, no rasa. No inner thread to pull myself along. Meals three times a day, singing a bit, sleeping. I merged into the program, unable to discern what had happened to me. I couldnt hear any clues in Prabhujis classes anymore. There were no more sidelong glances. Everything became disappointingly normal. I had to settle for this normality for some time. But I knew that abnormality again would have its day. The police came to the temple one day to check everybodys passport. It was two days before my passport was to expire. This really bewildered me. I had forgotten the possibility of being questioned about it. I had concluded months ago that Krsna had stolen it. I couldnt blame Him now. I looked to Prabhuji but he totally blanked on me. He gave class that day and I listened for a clue what to do but I couldnt hear anything but the panicking in my mind. That was it. Game over. I went to Delhi and told them I had the passport stolen. I had, but I had to lie about the date. Within a week I was on a plane, dazed and confused. Maybe Krsna gave me a taste of being a resident of Vraja, and a feeling of eternity, but now I had to abide by the law also. It was all His plan, I concluded. Before I left, Prabhuji looked at me and said come straight back. It was the closest connection I had felt from him for a while. He had maintained a distance despite my breaking of the fast. But this message gave me the strength I needed to see through the short time I was to spend in England, collecting for my immediate return. In England, I stayed in the Bristol temple, which wasnt a temple but a shop front across from

60

the local brothel. Devotees in Birmingham were unimpressed with my antics in India, so I tried to lay low. I had brought a bag full of incense back with me from India to make a quick buck. My mind was xed on nothing but returning to India to Prabhuji. The energy around the temple (the drunks and ravers) didnt affect me. I was hardly in England. My body was there but my mind refused to leave India. The devotee in charge of the Bristol temple phoned Prabhuji a couple of times. Prabhuji would say Tell Pitambara never to come back to India. I laughed. It was an obvious hurry up and return instruction. The devotee took my word for it. I tried to explain my backwards relationship with him, and he liked the crooked philosophy. He allowed me to give classes from Prabhujis own classes in Mathura, but they were a little too controversial for most, so I was stopped. Other devotees started phoning Bristol with messages from Prabhuji for me. Dont come back to India, there is no place for you here. Never come again, stay and preach in England. If you come you will make a big offence to guru and Krsna, stay away. Whenever anybody phoned India, there was a message for me. I relished the messages, knowing they were all the hidden calling of a caring guru. Everybody lost faith in me, but I booked my ticket after two months of selling my incense on the street. Two days before I was to y, a call came from India. It was a devotee staying in the temple. He warned, Pitambara, dont come. Prabhuji is furious with you. He says he will not let you enter the temple. I realized my next test was about to happen. I knew he wanted me back there. He knew I knew. But he was preparing a test for me so I could once again catch the inner thread of divine mercy. I was simultaneously nervous and excited. My mind nervous and my soul excited. Just before I left, I spoke to Bon Maharaja, a close disciple of Gurudeva who was visiting Birmingham, giving lectures. He had a lot of affection for me and I knew he was no ordinary soul. I had massaged him daily for a while, even during my fasting. He embraced me as I prepared for my ride to Birmingham airport and said, Vrindavan is very nice place. Why was he saying Vrindavan as opposed to Mathura where all the brahmacaris stayed? Im going to Mathura, I said; the question Why are you saying Vrindavan? attached to my tone. Again he said Vrindavan is so wonderful, and with this he shot a sidelong glance from the corner of his eyes. His eyes took the shape of a lotus in that second. He was a gopi in a mans body,

61

and he was telling me to go to Vrindavan. I didnt know why. I put the information on hold, storing it in my to be understood later le in my mind, and after paying my respects to everybody in the Birmingham temple, made my way to the taxi outside. Needless to say it was a strange journey. In forgetfulness I felt like I was walking into a lions den and in awareness I realized I was a lion cub myself and I was going to be with my own. Prabhuji was both the installer of fear and reassurance. He was both the st threatening and the hand beckoning me. When I arrived at the temple, I received the expected coldness. Prabhuji saw that I arrived and darted in the other direction, letting me know I was really in for a test. What could he have up his sleeve which would be more challenging than the fast? I didnt want to meditate on that but I knew deep down I wanted whatever it was. I had faith that I only wanted the real thing, real mercy and love; and I had faith that he only had mercy and love to give. Whatever shape this mercy would take I would accept. I was a little bold, I suppose, but also a little shit-scared. Somehow I managed to get myself located in a room next to the temple building. I settled in the best I could, but most devotees ignored me. Out of the ve western devotees in India at that time, only Nitai from Cameroon was friendly with me. A nice friendship sparked off. In the absence of Mukunda, Nitai became my ear, shoulder and laughing companion. Nitai was the national champion lightweight boxer of Holland, his adopted country. Seeing his boxing potential his father had put him on a boat full of sheep and packed him off when he was younger. One day he read a book on Vaisnavism and somehow or other ended up in India, at the feet of Gurudeva and Prabhuji. Everybody loved him. He would dance at four oclock in the morning like no one else. At four oclock in the morning it was enough just to show ones face. But Nitai, with hips gyrating, chest pumping, and legs jumping, would circle the deities in such a gorgeous African style that he became the darling of the place. That is, until he met me! Once again, I was expecting Prabhuji to abuse me and then give me guidance in his classes. And once again my presumptions about his plans fell short. I skipped merrily for my feed of harikatha, Krishna stories and philosophy, only to be ejected from the room. It was a shock. Those classes were my oxygen supply. Without the classes I would have died for sure during my previous stay. How would I breathe now? What would I do? I had no external guidance. First I followed Gurudeva externally, and then Prabhuji helped me understand his internal mood. Then I followed Prabhuji externally till he cut me off and introduced me to his internal mood through his classes. Now he was cutting off the classes. I was stranded on an island with no food, and no idea how to get it. I had learnt

62

how to sh but now he had taken away my rod. I refused to accept that I couldnt attend his classes, so I went anyway and was turfed out. I tried again and again but Prabhuji refused to start class while I was there. The other devotees were really angry with me now. They threatened to beat me if I tried again. Their energy was intense. One day, thinking the test was my determination to hear class, I mustered strength and burst through the guarded door. I was unceremoniously wrestled to the ground and slapped in the face, then booted out. Before I left the room I managed to look over at Prabhuji sitting at the front of the room. Everybody was looking my way, so I was the only one who saw his cheeky smile and delighted face. He was shaking his head as if to say what wont you do for me. I was in ecstasy. My neck was a little sore from the bout but my heart was dancing with the conrming smile from my Prabhuji. I noticed how Prabhuji was allowing me to be there despite, apparently, it not being to his pleasure. I felt comfortable again, realizing I was where I was supposed to be, and under guidance. I returned to serving prasad and washing pots. I gured that I really wasnt going to be able to hear class, so I started to go over my notes from the classes during my winter-fast. I increased my chanting, and I returned to Yamunadevi and rekindled our relationship by her banks. I started to feel my spirit elevate to the platform it was on when I was fasting and following the inner thread of mercy. Everything was coming back to me. My soul was alive again. I was feeling the ow of Prabhujis mercy directly now. That must have been it. He was giving me the power of understanding in my heart. I came back from chanting by the Yamuna one day and found a scrap of paper on my bed. I never found out who wrote what was on it, or how it landed on my bed. I knew it was all divine arrangement. It read when a devotee is sincere, Krsna will guide directly in the heart as caityaguru. Caitya-guru is the paramatma, the Lord within, who inspires the soul to act. In most people, the inspiration is undetected, as the paramatma allows the soul to follow the dictates of the senses. I knew that such a stage would come when a disciple doesnt need any guidance as he becomes in touch with Krishna in the heart and automatically feels what he should do, how he should serve, etc. I realized what was happening to me. Prabhuji was taking away the stabilizers of external guidance and classes, and encouraging me to walk on my own. He had held my hand as I stumbled and fell and grasped onto his arm. Now, though staggering, he was saying go forward, walk alone. This gives real pleasure to the mother who has come to her knees to help with the rst steps. Guru comes to his knees to meet the disciple and encourage him from his own platform. Then one day he gives a push and says off you go. At this time, the other children who cannot walk free see fault in the child who is running away

63

from the mother. All they have known is the warm embrace of the mother. They cannot understand how by walking away from her she feels pleasure. The guru has experienced divine love and by his compassion has relinquished the most intense avour of divine bliss to enable the disciple to understand and attain it. The mother can run and play. The only reason she gets on her knees is to help her children do the same. The guru cannot teach if he is so in bliss that he sees everybody else is in bliss. There are Vaisnavas with such consciousness. They are mad in love. They are no good as gurus. I read over again the last class, from the day the police came for my passport. I was on the mental platform at the time but now I could see clearly that Prabhuji was giving me instructions. His words were so clear. How did I not catch his guidance on that day? Prabhuji had been calling me Babaji since my fasting. The signicance of this will become apparent later. However, in this class he was mentioning babajis so much. Dont go to babajis. This meant the Babajis in Vrindavan and Radha Kund who were apparently preaching bogus philosophy. Four devotees of Gurudeva had gone to one Babaji Maharaja the previous year under much controversy. These devotees started appearing in front of my minds eye as I chanted. As soon as I picked up my beads and chanted I saw their smiling faces. They were all quite down-to-earth and amiable devotees, so their leaving was a little strange. As I meditated on this, I felt more and more that I had to go and nd this Babaji. I had to go and take shelter of him. Prabhuji was sending me to him. I missed this on the day of the class but now everything was coming to me. I also remembered a class of Gurudevas when he gave an example of how psychology works on people. In one story a devotee is advising someone: Dont go to Kesi Ghat (bathing place by the Yamuna). If you do go, dont look upon that blackish boy who is playing a ute; he is a thief. Such restrictions are obviously positive instructions working in reverse, swelling the curiosity of a person. In such a case dont actually means do. After giving this example, Gurudeva immediately said, Dont go to babajis they are offenders. Most of the audience of devotees had already slipped into direct mode, but I remember thinking it was more than a coincidence that he was speaking like this. This came back to me now, as everything seemed to point in one direction - to Vrindavan. I remembered the devotee in Birmingham saying, Vrindavan is very nice place. No other information came to me. Everywhere I looked there were signs that I should go to Vrindavan.

64

I packed a small bag and caught a rickshaw to the holiest town in India the next day. I slept overnight in Kesi Ghat by the Yamuna River, with babas, beggars and dogs. When I woke I started walking aimlessly. I was searching for Babaji in a town full of babajis. There are about ve thousand temples and asrams in Vrindavan. It is a small town now, becoming busier and less like a village every year (and certainly less like a forest vrinda means tulsi/basil tree and van means forest). I was in the middle of this bustling town with no money, no friends and no real idea of what I was looking for. I only knew Prabhuji and Krsna wanted me there, so there I was. Later, as I walked along the riverbank and took in the tranquillity of the sunset, I felt completely connected to the divine will, to inspiration, to the sun, the river, the universe and to myself. Fear left me, despite having an opportunity to pervade me. Although I slept again that night on a dusty ledge, alongside the town dogs in the humidity of the early summer, when I closed my eyes I could only feel myself in a giant soft hand, being fanned by angels. For the next ve or six days, I wandered around, asking the whereabouts of Navadvipa Prabhu one of the western devotees who had jumped the Gaudiya Math ship to go to a Babaji. Those who knew him didnt want to tell me. He has left his guru, and now you are leaving your guru. You want to follow him to hell? I ate here and there, sometimes nding asrams that gave food to sadhus and hapless wanderers, and sometimes begging at different houses. One night I woke with an unsettled mind. I didnt want to sleep. I wanted to be taken further and further into the lap of God, to be completely with Him. I chanted all night. Radha kund, Radha kund. My inner voice was telling me. I had to go to Radha kund. Radha kund is the most condential place in Radha and Krsnas conjugal pastimes. It is a place of no inhibitions that only a few fortunate souls can enter. This place is said to be non-different from Radha Herself. It is regarded by Vaisnavas as the most special place in the universe. I was ready to leave in the middle of the night, bare-foot, naked if necessary, to walk the thirty or so kilometres north of Vrindavan. But the guesthouse gate was locked. Krsna, I felt, accepted my mood but chose convenience for me this time. The next day, sure enough, I bumped into a devotee who lived in Radha kund. He suggested I should go and stay there for a while. This was before I mentioned to him my plans from the night before. He gave me money for the tempo fare and told me he would see me there if I stayed longer than the two weeks he was going to be in Vrindavan. Externally I was sweaty and tired when I reached Radha kund. But there was an inner ceremony taking place deep down, below my sodden shirt.

65

Im here, I felt myself declare to Her. I have no where left to go, I have no right to be here, I have no devotion, I have many bad habits still, but please take me into your care. I sank into melancholy. I could have died at that time and there would have been no one to know. Nobody knew where I was. I was without identity, like a tree who leaves the world without a funeral or an obituary. But I was also free like a tree, in touch with nature, my branches spread wide and my leaves rustling in the wind. I saw a girl I recognized. `Manjari was a disciple of Gurudeva, my god-sister. She recognized me though we had never spoken. I told her my predicament and she seemed impressed with my cavalier spirit. We spoke a while. Our stories were similar. She had been attracted to another guru in Radha kund, who she said was her nal guru who imparted the nal instructions of devotion - siddha pranali the revealing of ones spiritual identity and service. I hadnt heard about siddha pranali much at that time. It is a controversial topic, some groups decrying it; some saying it is the only process for a devotee. After speaking I felt a natural desire to know my real identity as a manjari. I would meet her guru when he returned from Calcutta. Maybe this babaji was the one I was searching for despite being a different babaji from the one who the other devotees had sought shelter. I was open. The girl looked after me, arranging that I stay in a temple in the neighbouring village of Mukhara. This was Radhas grandmothers home ve thousand years ago. I felt like I had just turned up out the blue and Radha Herself was saying O.K., you can stay at my grannys. It was so sweet. The priest there took care of me for two weeks. I needed it. I was struck down with u and dysentery. Despite being decapacitated, I was the hero of the village. It doesnt really take much to be the hero of a village of course. Though I suffered in those two weeks, running to the eld to pass stool for the umpteenth time, then wriggling awkwardly to the water pump thirty yards away, to ll my toilet cup for washing. Still, village life captured my heart. It was hard to imagine Krsnas pastimes sometimes in the midst of the auto-rickshaw mayhem on the streets of Mathura. But the sweetness of village life was epitomized in the kids games in the dirt, and how, by the age of two a little girl is responsible for her little sister, handling her like jelly, but never dropping her. The men in the village all have their own trade, following in the footsteps of their fathers, grandfathers and greatgrandfathers. Everyone goes to the cobbler for their shoes to be repaired. Everyone goes to the man with the trouser press to have his trousers pressed. Everyone supports everyone else. And everyone is happy. The village girls are chaste and beautiful, like Ive never seen. I loved how the women of the

66

village came to the small temple where I was staying to offer their morning worship to the Lord, to the sun, to the well, to the banana tree, and to each other. I could see what respect the Vedic scriptures had implanted in the heart of Indian folk. I only respected Liam Brady and co. as a kid. My mum was alright, but she couldnt cook. My dad was alright but he was stingy with pocket money. Of course, they were amazing in truth. It was my attitude that was pretty dire. These kids in the village would touch their parents feet as a mark of respect rst thing every morning. Even in their twenties, the youths dont go against their fathers wishes. This is unheard of in Manseld. Your reputation is at risk if you listen to your folks at all. I observed the beauty around me as I tried to recuperate enough to start meditating again on what I was doing there rather than if I could make it to the eld next time. My biggest conclusion in those two weeks was there were two many bloody ies in this country. It was hot. I was pissed off and irritable. Still, I was a hero. I visited Radha Kund a couple of times to bathe and see if I could have darsan of Ananta das Babaji Maharaja, Manjaris guru, but he was still away in Calcutta. As I chanted, I began to feel the urge to return to Vrindavan and nd Navadvipa Prabhus guru. I had developed an attachment for Radha Kund and a desire for siddha pranali, but now I was being sent back to Vrindavan. I was becoming a little anxious at times, but as I meditated on Prabhuji and Gurudeva in my heart, the anxiety was alleviated. I spent another four nights sleeping roughly by the Yamuna and a couple of nights at a friends house after youths had scared me away from my patch the previous night. It wasnt really safe for me wandering round like a duck at a fairground attraction. Id had enough of bumming it. I couldnt get away with being a sadhu; I needed the dreads, beard, leather skin and wrinkles. Other westerners are just fairground ducks. The friend who put me up for the last two days told me where to nd Navadvipa prabhu. I set off for the Institute where he had been studying, walking along the parikrama path, near the Yamuna. Low and behold, there was Nitai. It was great to see a familiar face, one that on seeing me lit up. We hugged and laughed. He had been searching for me. My energy told him I was doing O.K.. Im just on the way to meet someone, you should come along. In his wonderful Cameroon accent he hollowed, Krsna, let me go to hell, and came along.

67

Chapter 10 - Offence The Blazing Sun Which Dries the Heart

Ive got too much energy to switch off my mind, but not enough to get myself organized. My heart is heavy, my head is confused and my aching little soul has started burning blue. The The We met the Swamiji in charge of the Institute. He was a disciple of Sri Haridas Sastri Maharajaji, the Babaji I had been searching for. At last I was in the right place. Everything around the situation glowed with subconscious familiarity. When Swamiji spoke philosophy, all the conclusions that had been coming to me for the last few months, along with secretly spoken conclusions from Prabhuji, were conrmed. In one class Prabhuji said, All have eternal seed, apple seed will become apple tree, mango seed will become mango tree. (This is the understanding that the seed of identity is already in the heart.) Then he said quickly Babajis saying that guru gives seed, then watering and becoming apple tree. He spoke in a negative tone as if the babaji philosophy was incorrect. But immediately I knew that that was a disguise. My heart told me, No, thats the truth. This speaking in opposite tone to the intended meaning is one of the Vaisnavas secret tools when giving secret guidance. I was in no doubt that I had been sent to Sri Maharajaji. While I was there Navadvipa amazingly phoned from England. This gave me great comfort. I knew he was a sincere and mature devotee. I had expected him to be in India, but the summer season is too hot for most westerners. I, however, gured my body could suffer and my mind be among the peaceful atmosphere of Vrindavan and its resident Vaisnavas, rather than my body be comfortable and my mind soaked in the mesmerizing hubbub of Birmingham City Centre. Swamiji wasnt impressed with my renunciation of country and family and told me that most westerners should get married because it is almost impossible for one with such bad samskaras, previous subtle impressions from this or past lives, to be truly free from sex desire. What happened to my souls strength at this moment, Ive no idea. I had a relapse of inferiority complex and decided he was right. The worst thing that happened was that I became convinced that the whole lineage of gurus in Iskcon and Gaudiya Math was bogus. Logic given seemed more than plausible. Where did Gurudeva and Prabhuji t in? I didnt know. I knew I was in the right place but I couldnt reconcile my experiences anymore. In short, I lost the plot. And as I was catapulted beyond the clouds to grab the fast plane towards spiritual enlightenment years earlier, I now fell out of that plane and was hurtling towards material entanglement once more. Acceptance and rejection only take a second. And just as

68

acceptance and faith is an affair of the heart and not a display of religion, rejection and offence is an attitude and not an external show. I left my Prabhuji to follow him and felt his presence. He was passing me to Maharaja but somehow I slipped away on the slope of the mind. I never rejected Krsna for a second but I had rejected my guru, Prabhuji. Offence to guru is worse than offence to God. It is the gravest mistake in this world and not to be tried at home. In hindsight, I should have demanded that I meet Maharajaji, but from descriptions of him, he sounded disinterested in spaced-out devotees like I was led to believe I was and only spoke Hindi and Bengali. I lost faith in myself and played it by the book. That book cost me a couple of years. Nitai did the same. We both returned to Gaudiya Math with the intention of getting some money and getting out. On returning I was prepared to tell Prabhuji what had happened to me. I gured he would drop his external coldness as the test was over. I was right. But when I tried to speak to him he just pulled me into his chest so I wouldnt bring the affair into the open. That would have meant he would have had to be heavy with me again. It wasnt time for that. He spoke to me only two Sanskrit words as I was held in a loving half-nelson. Guru nistha. ([Have] faith in guru.) My mind didnt want to capture anything so it slipped away from me, into the pot of future remembrances. For the present I was like a brick wall, stubborn and unconscious. For two weeks, Nitai and I felt like prisoners in a sauna. The room was so hot we tried to give some relief by keeping a couple of inches of water on the marbled oor. We pretty much abandoned the daily routine in the temple and spent our time laughing and waiting. I loved Prabhuji but my brain was confused. The course my soul had run and the logic Swamiji had given in Vrindavan both led me to the same conclusion that I should be with Maharajaji. But I couldnt quite work out where Prabhuji t in anymore. Was he merely a primary school teacher, happy to see his student take to secondary education? That logic t. But why was Swamiji not giving credit to the primary school teacher? And if he was right about the faulty parampara, disciplic succesion, then how did Prabhuji get to be a teacher? Swamiji managed to convince me that my whole experience was a hallucination of the mind. Faith breeds faith and doubt breeds doubt.. My faith was strong but somehow the snowball of doubt found a way into my brain and started to pick up more snow that disguised itself as sound logic. An avalanche, this time of doubt, loomed ominously over my immediate destiny. My whole outlook ipped in a matter of days. I decided to call my mum to apologize for my disturbing the family and to tell her I wanted to come home. I asked her to send me the money, which was not good timing but your mum is your mum through thick and thin. I was happy to hear Zoe was about to marry and I would be there for the wedding. I was happy to hear my nephew and niece were

69

healthy and doing well at school. I was happy to hear my two other sisters were O.K. and I was happy to hear my dad tell me who Manseld Town had just signed! I started thinking about a girl called Sarah who used to come to Sunday programs in the Birmingham temple. She was attractive, mellow and attracted to me and had an interest in philosophy. I had not thought about sex for a whole year, but the doubt in my own ability to be a monk created a hole and my mind quickly ran through it for sensual meditation. I started planning all sorts of things. Within a few days I had the whole illusory dream world back in mind, just as I had in my days previous to devotion. I stopped living in the present and returned to the future. I stopped living in Vrindavan or Mathura and returned once more to Cloudcuckooland. Soon I was back in England again. Two months earlier I had been there but my mind never entered the world of western passion. Before, I had skated happily on the icy surface of the lake, but now I had fallen through it and was trying once more to entertain myself in the cold water beneath the ice. I had my ing with Sarah. She was obviously more concerned with me than Krishna and I was more concerned with the fact that she should be more concerned with Krishna. In reality she was being herself and I was like a confused dog in the middle of the Viraja River. I made promises and broke them like an average guy and hurt her in the process. It was hard for me to let anybody know where I was at because I wasnt sure myself. My devotee friends in the Gaudiya Math ostracized me after hearing I had left to go to the babajis. That was not my rst experience of having to put aside all my friends in one go. I was banned from Iskcon and Gaudiya Math. There was only one devotee, Navadvipa, who I could speak to, and he was travelling most of the time. My old friends and family couldnt really understand me. I didnt know who my real guru was anymore. I had left my guru for someone I hadnt yet met on the basis of his sending me there. I was pretty mixed up. Through all this, though, I never lost my faith that I would restore my spiritual well being. Not for a second did the eld of future produce disappear; it was just covered temporarily by snow. When the snow is deep, there is no telling the eld from the lane. I had sex in my mind about three thousand times with a couple of girls who seduced me as I was selling incense on the streets of London. I was tired, lazy, restless, bored, lusty, angry and utterly confused. I was confused about how I could be so confused. Thats the quagmire. From a high vantage point, you can see the easy way out of the maze; in fact it is obvious that the entrance to the maze should have been avoided. But being so low, I thought I was walking into a beautiful garden,

70

and now I could only see hedgerow after hedgerow. I was back in the wonderful ocean of Vrindavan before long. Only I was no longer a dolphin, darting through its waters in delight. I was a desert-camel, wondering what the hell I should do with so much water and none to drink. My mind clung to the desert of material life of the past months, being afraid of not seeing any shore as I peered into the future. I stayed in a room in Swamijis Institute, praying for strength. After a couple of months, other devotees arrived and lectures started. I was inspired by hearing philosophy again and the desire to do some service crept back in to my consciousness. th th On the 29 of October, my 28 birthday, I met Sri Haridas Sastri Maharajaji. Maharaja kept sixty cows in his goshala attached to his temple and asrama. As soon as I stepped inside the grounds, I remembered that I had seen the place in a vision while chanting in my inspired days in Mathura. I felt embraced by the surroundings, by the sound of the cows, and by the smell of the cow dung. When I met Maharaja, I felt a deep sense of love, along with great respect and reverence. Maharaja was at that time 80 years old, going on 14. Maharaja is probably the greatest scholar in the world. In India, it is rare for someone to master more that two of the six complex systems of Indian philosophy. Maharaja became a master in all of them plus six more complementing philosophies. On top of that he has degrees in metrical science, astronomy and astrology. I was amazed to sit in front of such a learned saint and witness the sweet smile of an innocent child. He appeared child-like, but also mother-like and father-like. His touchstone smile crossed the temple room and inated my punctured cheeks, as optimism found its way back into my thoughts. Why did I wait so long to come in front of him? Swamiji also worked every day in the goshala. I was impressed that someone of his scholarly stature was humbly serving his guru, picking up cow dung and carrying heavy sacks of fodder, not seeking any praise. I was inspired by his mood and wanted to help him. I started by just being on cow dung. I was so pleased to run in behind an old bull, pick up the dung and run back out while Maharaja fed him lumps of sugar, fruit and chapattis. It was tiring to start with, but steadily I increased my service. I felt completely happy in Maharajas presence, and in December I asked for initiation, convinced he was my guru, however I had come to be with him. I concluded that my Gaudiya Math initiation wasnt completely proper, despite not understanding or reconciling why that was. All I knew was Maharaja was pure and real. Krsna had led me to him and I had faith he was going to lead me to Krsna. I put behind me what happened with Prabhuji in the Gaudiya Math and concentrated on establishing my relationship with Maharaja.

71

The language barrier didnt help. I had enough trouble with Americans, Germans and Russians understanding my Manseld accent. I was the only one in my classes whose English questions had to be translated back into English. Hindi then was going to be an uphill struggle. Anyhow, I came to enjoy the cow service and after a while I knew all the names of the cows and their characteristics. By April, Maharaja seemed to be pleased with me and I felt great warmth as he beckoned me around the place, giving me duties. Maharaja had been known for his strict discipline and intolerance for slackness. He could be very heavy if something wasnt to his satisfaction. In fact I have never witnessed so much anger from anyone. One time, he threw down the buckets of our he was carrying and belted out torrents of abuse at another disciple. Everyone ran for shelter. The remarkable thing was that moments later he was smiling with the same disciple in appreciation of the sweetness of a baby calf. His anger wasnt ordinary. It was totally extraordinary. He used it, and then dropped it just like a child. It didnt manipulate him because he was in control of it. A real saintly Vaisnava is attached to Krsna and service to Krsna, just as an ordinary man is attached to his body and his work. Because the devotee is xed in the present, emotions come and go, and because they are based on love, they ornament the character, not overwhelm it. I reached some level of devotional sanity by the time I had to go back to England. I hadnt attained the taste in chanting which I had previously experienced, but I was climbing the ladder of spiritual consciousness again. In England I bought an old van and travelled the country selling incense again. I really wanted to take back to India a healthy sum of money so the Institute could be completed. This time I quite enjoyed the festival season, sharing my thoughts and forcing crap incense into innocent folks hands. I didnt pretend that the incense was good or that the money was going to help children in Mongolia with no limbs or head. I just trotted around happily letting Krsna inspire the money to come from whatever source. After collecting in Glastonbury and Reading festivals I returned to the streets and market places. It was the day of Ratha Yatra, the day the deities from the Hare Krsna temple in London are pulled through the city, ending up with a festival in Trafalgar Square. I thought about showing my face, but I still quite liked the position of my nose so I opted for Camden Town instead. I preferred the idea of conversation with young pretenders than arguments with pretending youngsters. I did debate in my mind whether I should go and preach to some other devotees. I concluded that I would just serve, collecting money for the Institute and my fare for India, if I was to preach

72

to anyone, Krsna would send that person to me. Id had enough of extraneously endeavouring for preaching. That day I met Anela. Anela! Her name deserves its own paragraph! I held out a packet of incense in front of her and she took it and stopped. I looked in her eyes and said Do you like philosophy? What I meant was Lets speak about our Lord. I saw in her the vibrancy of a lover of God, and I felt a connection so deep that I felt instantaneously attached to her. We went and sat down outside a coffee shop, shut the mad Camden hustle and bustle off from our world and dove into conversation, nding ourselves deep under the lake of divine beauty. Speaking to her was like relieving a pressure valve. I didnt realize the need welling inside me to let out my love for Krsna to someone who was ready to hear. We spoke about Him for two or three hours hardly noticing the scurrying trendsetters setting trends around us. As her heart opened wider, my water poured faster. She was a Christian and spoke many beautiful things about Jesus that I could relate to in Vaisnavism easily. I had met quite a few Christians who were deeper thinkers than your average Sunday morning tea-suppers, but her love for Jesus and understanding of His teachings, I had never come across. She said she believed Krsna was God, the spirit-father of Christ, and she had believed so since getting Prabhupadas book in Croatia two years before. She went along to the Krsna temple but was unimpressed with the devotees lack of depth in understanding, so she didnt go again. She said she had been waiting for two years to meet me, and that her visit to London was obviously about our connection. She left Croatia only two weeks earlier in search of a guru. She knew she needed a living person to take her hand and lead her into a life of divine love. She wanted nothing else. By the end of our excited chat, she agreed to come to India with me. It was rare for me to meet a person who was so in tune with divine will that no hesitation came about for such a big move. Anela was alone in London but, she walked down the street as if it were her back garden. She knew nobody but loved everybody. I could sense her arms stretching out to anyone who was ready to accept her embrace. I was ready, so we hugged. It was like hugging myself. I felt no difference between us. We were immediately on such a wavelength. We parted, arranging a next meeting, and I continued to sell incense with her energy still embracing mine. With happiness, I voiced Van Morrisons song Wa-aaaa-velength to curious passers-by. Over the next couple of months we saw each other most weekends. It was the beginning of a love affair, but of a totally different kind. It wasnt passionate and full of inner anxiety, but calm, full of peacefulness. I was amazed to nd that in the presence of this girl, my gross sex desire was

73

fading and being replaced by a sweet loving feeling. We wrote to each other a few times, our words forming spontaneous poems as they danced off our tongues onto the paper. In one of my rst letters from Anela, she wrote two poems; one for the Lord and one for me. This was just, she said. This is how it is meant to be.

Imagine only; Krsna In the midst of unconsciousness of reality the Lord is creating a gift Wrapped up in shiny see-through cellophane for the whole world to see it. I am asking myself over and over again, really am I worth it, being so small Being so unimportant with all my weaknesses to be fed directly from His hand So close I can almost smell the perfume that He decorates Himself with. His food steaming fresh nourishes the whole being with eternal ecstasy And a feeling of unconditional love in which giving becomes a need for breath And forgetting yourself is nothing of a loss In every new moment a new universe is created and discovered at the same time And every action brings conclusion in truth And a need to create a word so pretty to offer to His feet with gratefulness And to compose it with a melody which the heart is so energetically sending into the ether In search for those who lack and need How little do we know of the truth when realizing all this was always within us? Before, now and after, connecting itself with eternity And existing with beauty in His never-ending play of love And how comforting the thought is that this is only the beginning of discovering the endless elds Where owers are carrying unimaginable pallets of colour And their smell is lling a soul with fragrances of immortality I am bowing my head low, humble and unimportant as in reality I am Offering my strings to the mercy of His love play I am putting my hands gracefully together, crying in prayer Laughing in thankfulness in realization of how deep, how endless, how beginninless His mercy is When He is letting us swim freely in this ocean of pure love Imagine only; Krsna, directly from the blue of His existence All we are are His children All we need is a little respect and to remember Him and now and then

74

to shed a tear in shame Remembering how imperfect we are And realizing He is our lover and only by His mercy are we walking this path What a great chance given to ght and search for a way of coming back to His open arms Because He is waiting Patiently Patiently Words for You You know love I was waiting for years for you to nd me And while waiting I created my own vision of your presence You know love I have known for years now your soul, deep, deep, within I was swimming in your hugs, bathing in your smile Floating in the sweetest dreams While you were hushing me down with your mellow voice You know love While waiting all these years many mistakes I have made Giving myself to those who did not know what they were taking The woman I lost within me And the child left crying in pain, abandoned You know love Thousands of birds are ying through my heart, my soul and my whole being And it is you who opened the cage I had locked safely long ago in fear of being used again and misunderstood When only I wished for loving You know love That woman is sensual in loving again And that child is laughing in happiness Cleansed and puried after being born one more time Take my hands my dear and let me wrap you in colours that my heart is creating Let me give you all this love He has sent me through you Because when you receive it I know He will have it too And the circle will keep on oating in eternity You know love Now when I have found you I have found myself And peace is welcoming me in the joy of living I am thanking you for your love, which I will cherish like a precious jewel And let peace overcome you because freedom I am giving you and to myself As we are dancing away on this uffy white cloud Embracing the cause of our creation On the day I met Anela, I explained how I was sure that one day I would be a monk again. I meant it. She understood me and never showed signs of disappointment, even though I felt that I was the one for her, as she was the one for me. Ramble on! I went round the world and found my girl. I achieved what I thought was my goal. But now the goalposts had been moved. Of course I could get married happily to Anela and still walk towards the net, but I feared this walking, as I had tasted running. No problem, we were both now shooting at that same target and would one day meet there in a celebratory dance. Krsna would reveal His plans.

75

I nished my collecting with a weekend at the Womad Festival, which I attended with Anela. As we journeyed to London after the event, the sun shone brightly through the window and made our breasts as warm on the outside as our hearts were feeling inside. There were no other cars on the 303, no stress in our minds and no hovering mothers hand stopping us tucking in to the full bag of Fruit Pastilles on the dashboard. We bounced in our seats to the sounds of Van Morrison and James Brown in synchronicity. I never wanted the road to end. The journey to London was just symbolic. The real journey would never end, and I had with me the most beautiful travelling companion I could have dreamed of. Somewhere along the way, the van started to make funny noises and smells. Amazingly Van began to sing Youre not supposed to break down. I pleadingly sang it loud to my unreliable four-wheeled friend. Anela couldnt believe it. It was uncanny. But it was again symbolically uncanny. Krsna is always behind the uncanny. He was in the projection box arranging the soundtrack to our lives. I turned up the stereo to drown out the engine noise and we ve (me, Anela, Krsna, the van and Van) happily cruised onto the M3 and into London together. Anela dozed off. She looked serenely beautiful as I stroked her head like a baby. I felt the Lord was still with me. Van had nished singing and the van had nearly nished running. We were alone. I chanted softly His name and cried in happiness. I had to force myself to stop otherwise I would have crashed. And I didnt want to wake my baby. I returned to India two days later. It was early September. As I said goodbye to Anela at North Finchley tube station, we kissed what could have been our nal kiss. Go, I said. She left me with my bags to wait for the train without performing any lm scenes. I watched her walk up the slight gradient of a street, her stride as sure as ever, her head not turning back to see me, her gait straight and elegant. I adored her. I loved her. She told me once she loved me. I refused to echo the sentiment aloud, especially just after she had said it. It would have detracted from her offering. I always hated I love you toos. I accepted her love and told her never to tell me again. She said No I wont, that once will last forever. I wrote in a letter to her, the I, I understand that I am at present, loves to the degree I know love, the you which I understand to be you at present. I wasnt being clever, just honest. I hadnt yet realized, in absolute reality, love, her or me. I was back in India, this time with a long visa that was also extendable. I told my folks I would maybe return in two years, but I didnt want to give myself a date. I really wanted to absorb myself again and become spiritually strong. Anela was due to come out in October. I When I returned from England, I placed about ve thousand pounds on Swamijis desk. He

76

didnt even look at me, or the money, but his silence was an agreement that I could live again like a brahmacari, only accepting money for necessities such as soap and toothpaste. Shortly afterward, a library and new cow stall were built on the property. There was an immediate difference in my relationship with Maharajaji. Responsibility was thrust upon me in the goshala and I grasped at it with delight. I started working in the daytime, looking after the running of now seventy cows and four workers. Maharajaji showered me with loving smiles and hearty appreciation. When Anela came out, she immediately fell in love with India as I did. She attracted so much attention with her sun-bleached blonde dreadlocks, pink ares and bright yellow shirt with a big red heart sewn on. She adored Maharajaji immediately and asked to take initiation into the mantras that Vaisnavas receive from guru. I never once mentioned taking initiation, as steps forward on the path of love are taken individually. Surrender is the rst step, and surrender cannot be forced. This way there is no blaming anyone else when the going gets tough. I was happy of course that she was becoming my ofcial god-sister. Before her initiation day we visited Rshikesha, as she had a long-time desire to go to the Himalayas. The surroundings were breathtaking with the wide ganges river surrounded by snowcapped mountains. I was pleased to be able to full a dream of hers, and to be in such a beautiful place, but inside, I missed picking up cow dung. I realized I had more taste in doing one simple thing for my Maharajaji than anything else in the world. It was a good sign that my taste was returning for devotional service. Two days before she returned to England, after a four-week visit, Anela became Jaya Sri. She told me later that during initiation she cried like a baby, feeling absolute trust in Maharaja. Maharaja told me, Keep in touch with Jaya Sri, she is very sincere. The next year was externally repetitive. I lled my hours with service; cooking chapattis in the morning, goseva in the day, transcribing lectures or attending classes in the evening. I was growing strong, in direct accordance with my relationship with Maharaja. Everyone remarked, with envy or without, that he had a soft spot for me. I loved when he called my name, be it gently like a mother, or angrily, like a furious father. I saw that Maharaja at times wouldnt even bother acknowledging people who came to the goshala if they werent committed to service. But I was his. He could use my name as he liked. During evening question and answer sessions, the room would ll with the serious, religious

77

mood of students intent on learning the truth from a great sage. Then Maharajas clock would chime three blind mice, three blind mice The mood continued, but in my heart I would laugh realizing that the seriousnes would fade, while the simplicity of a child would remain throughout all time. Maharajaji only knew service. I worked with him right through the following summer, nine to ve in the intense heat. Sometimes I had no time to drink any water and by ve oclock I had to force myself to leave the service before fainting. I never saw Maharaja drink or eat. He would only eat alone, sitting down in peace, respecting the remnants of the Lords offering. He spent many years only eating at twelve midnight after his days service was complete and his deities were put to rest. One time I did a stupid thing. I was sweeping the road outside the goshala gates. Maharaja was there orchestrating affairs. I slipped with the broom and icked sewage water in his face. Maharaja would become so angry if I made a mistake in my serving his beloved cows, and I was expecting even more abuse from him right then, but he barely even noticed. His own body was secondary. I learned so much from being with him, day in and day out. He worked me hard, making me clear a whole yard from mud in the wet season without any help. After pushing myself all day, I would return light and uffy to the Institute where I was still staying, with a renewed desire to chant the Lords name. By the time a year had passed, I could no longer stand sleeping in the Institute. I had to be in the same building as Maharaja. One day I started crying as I lay down to sleep. What was I doing in this place? I felt like a prostitute. I wanted to be home, with Maharaja in shouting distance. I wanted to be able to serve him at the drop of a hat. Even if he would never call me. The goshala was the spiritual world, and the Institute was feeling heavy and uncomfortable, despite the apparent comforts of nice food and clean rooms. When I asked Maharaja if I could come and stay in the goshala, he replied yes before the question was even out, as if to show me not to be shy where love is concerned. This step was a major changing point. It was the move that created a springboard for what was about to happen to me. My whole being started to merge into the newly painted pink walls of the goshala complex. I saw it all as a manifestation of Maharajas desire. In the beginning there is expectation of a return in the form of some recognition of your work. Maharaja could spot the subtlest desire for this pratishta, recognition. Now, though, I wanted only to work, as work meant love. I was ready to do anything to support the place. I wanted only service, and I was rewarded with it. After service in the goshala was over, I would massage Maharajas legs. He was shy to accept service for himself. His other disciples from Delhi were surprised if they came

78

and saw me massaging him. They thought he would never let anyone touch him. I was honoured but didnt want the honour. It was enough to be so close to him, to caress the feet that were truly treading the path of love. I was very happy when Maharaja would slap me round the head and call me an idiot as my mind wandered during my service. After the slap, my mind returned to the present and concentrated on doing my service perfectly. After the service, Maharaja would (sometimes) give a gentle smile, as if to conrm his motives during the abuse and his pleasure that I pulled my mind back towards service. On such days I really experienced how service with a xed mind gives bliss, so much so that I would forget about eating altogether, just like Maharaja. I was still going to the Institute for classes and eating, but I had no taste for it anymore. Swamijis philosophy was philosophy. For two years I heeded his words surrender to guru, and my surrender was only producing the desire to hear about the Lords sweetness. By December, my taste was back in chanting. Everything was owing through my heart again. I only wanted to hear about Krsnas secret pastimes with the gopis. I stopped going to the Institute altogether and just ate the kichadi (rice and lentils) twice a day which Maharaja cooked every morning. I could taste the love with every bite. Taste for bhajan was also back, along with inner inspiration. When it returned I didnt know how I had gone two years without it. Every day became fresh and exciting again. No dragging the body out of bed in the morning. Every morning was like Christmas day. A psychologist from New York was also staying in the goshala for a couple of months. She had a traumatic time after the twin tower disaster there and needed support. We enjoyed speaking about Maharajas beauty with each other. Somehow, when I started talking about guru/disciple relationships, I began recollecting my time in the Gaudiya Math with Premananda Prabhuji. Once I started I couldnt stop. I talked for about two hours, recalling the whole saga of my long fast and refusing to go back to England. By the time I was nished, I was literally shaking with ecstasy. I brought Prabhuji from the dusty subconscious, and it rekindled intense emotions within me. When I went back into my room, Prabhuji was still there in my mind. I looked into the eyes of Krsna and Maharaja (I had pictures and photos on my small altar) and asked Really, who is he? The next day when I was in the market, I bumped into a devotee I used to live with in the Birmingham temple. . I immediately asked about Prabhuji. Prabhuji is well, he said. He said he saw you in Radha Kund recently. Really, I said. I havent been to Radha Kund in two years.

79

Thats what he said, he replied, unconcerned with his role as a vessel for a riddle. I told the devotee I would visit Prabhuji again soon. I felt Prabhuji strongly now.. He saw me in Radha Kund recently Somehow I knew he was talking about the future and not the past. I was excited. Caitya-guru was again speaking and being heard. I started praying and chanting. I had to reconcile the differences between Prabhuji and Maharaja, the philosophies of the Gaudiya Math and the babajis. Just as one may say that the sun moves from East to West, they may also say that it is static and the Earth moves around the sun. It moves and it doesnt move. I knew there was some explanation for the differences and that they were only external and apparent. I chanted and answers came. Why did Prabhupadas guru change so many things? He gave Brahmin initiation to people not even born within the caste system, and Brahmins wore red cloth instead of white. He even changed the mantras from those of the original lineage. My mind raced to what Maharaja had said to a Canadian devotee who complained that his preaching wasnt working because people in the west wanted something external to feel they were performing devotional service. In essence, bhakti is just a change in consciousness and needs no external indication to anyone else. It is difcult to accept something so simple, people want to enter spiritual life and have something to show for it. Maharaja recommended to his disciple that he should give some mantras of Krsnas name, and then when he comes to India in the future, and has deeper faith, he can receive the correct mantras and guidance. The devotee was shocked. How can I give some false mantras? he asked. If you dont, then people will go to someone else giving false mantras. Better he comes to the right path doing the wrong thing, was Maharajas message. It occurred to me how brilliant Prabhupada and his guru were, creating the whole organized bid to attract worldly people to spiritual life. If it meant stepping away from the standard rituals of Gaudiya Vaisnavism then it was only for the benet of bringing people to that path. Prabhupada set up hundreds of temples and attracted thousands to Vaisnavism. One may argue that most give up the path, or even end up being a disturbance to society. If one is going to disturb society he will disturb in robes or jeans. They have not understood Prabhupada so he is not to be blamed. However, there are devotees who are now advancing on the path of bhakti. Those people are the ones who caught the essence of what Prabhupada preached. Many will cling to form. The majority always does. Another doubt became erased as I chanted.

80

Why are there mistakes in Prabhupadas books? Comparing them with Jiva Gosvamis works, there are undoubtedly errors. Should people reject Prabhupada on this count? Many have. Again, though, my mind recalled an example to reconcile this. There was a saint called Sridhara Swami who lived before Lord Chaitanyas time. He took initiation in the Mayavadi line of impersonalist philosophy, yet Chaitanya accepted him to Vaisnavism. Sridhara Svamis writings are mixed between the two schools of thoughts. His conclusions are not completely in line with the conclusions of Gaudiya Vaisnavism. Yet if anyone criticized him, Chaitanya would become irate. What Sridhara Swami did was attract and allure impersonalists to the much sweeter personalist thought by mixing personalism with what they already accepted. In other words, for them to be able to accept the food of Vaisnavism, he rst had to mix it in with the food they were used to. When they got a taste for sweet rice, they were given it without mixing it with the leafy vegetables that they once preferred. Jiva Gosvami himself is also an example of this tactic. He wrote books glorifying the conception that Krsna was married to the gopis and later Visvanatha Cakravati Thakur revealed and established the condential truth about Krsnas extramarital affairs with the gopis. Jiva Gosvami and Visvanatha Cakravati Thakur differ in their writings on this subject, yet both are in the same line of thought. Prabhupada taught that the individual soul used to be in the spiritual world with Krsna, but turned his head away from the Lord, desiring to separately enjoy, and thus came to this world. The truth is that we have always been in the material world. Our being here is anadi, (there are four words for eternal in Sanskrit; anadi means without beginning but ends). Therefore our existence here can end but it never began by falling from any spiritual world. Once you are in the spiritual world you cannot fall. Only love exists there. There is no scope for forgetting Radha and Krsna, the divine lovers. The three modes of nature dont touch that place. It is super-soaked with love. If you could fall from the topmost place, if you could desire to do something but love in the planet of love, then it would be imperfect. Another perceived problem with Iskcon is the chain of gurus, the parampara. It seems that there is no real link between guru and disciple. The mantras are supposed to be passed down in an unbroken chain. If there is a break in a ow of water between point A and E at C, then it cannot start again at D. Having accepted that Prabhupada and his guru had altered some practices and given watered-down philosophy for preaching sake, it was easy for me to accept that there was some hidden aspect about the parampara too.

81

In my heart I knew they were bona de, pure devotees. And to give logic to faith, I had tasted sweet water at point E, so there must be a stream running from point A. Spiritual life is nothing without sweet taste. An American devotee wrote a paper condemning the parampara of the Gaudiya Math. He had interviewed a number of old Vaisnavas, asking about the relationships in Vrindavan in the early 1900s. He was given information and acted according to that. I thought to myself, What if somebody asks about me in the future. Most devotees will call me an offender to Prabhuji, and Prabhuji himself will also call me an offender. Why should he reveal the sweetness of our relationship to some nosy reporter? A reporter can never understand the mood of the person he interviews. Only a lover can know the heart of a lover. Another question: Why, if there were no differences between the great Vaisnavas I had met, were they rebuking one another openly? When one becomes wiser and reaches a certain level, he sees no difference and can reconcile all apparent arguments. The truth is that a young spiritualist needs reigns. Some gurus are giving lectures on advanced subjects that would bewilder the baby practitioner. For the baby to hear such lectures could damage their faith in their own guru and Krsna. Just as a mother punishes her teenage boy in front of her younger son after the teenager had tried to tell the youngster about sex. The mother calls the teenage son a rascal and then tells the young son the stork story. The young son, feeling the affectionate embrace of the mother, is condent that the teenage boy has got it all wrong. The teenage boy however, realizes his mothers chastisement is to protect his brother, so he is not concerned with it. The spiritualist who sees above contradictions needs no reigns. He can assimilate everything in his broad understanding and he can accept the abuse of his guru when other younger spiritualists are around who need the reigns. In spiritual life, one-pointedness to ones guru is a necessity. When love is there this is natural, but before the faith and love are strong, the guru warns against other gurus, otherwise the baby practitioner will wander around from guru to guru and not attain deep love for any of them. If deep love is there then a guru may even send you to another guru to learn a particular aspect of devotion! There seems to be so much difference in some of the different Vaisnava groups, let alone religions of the world, but these differences are only apparent. Some Vaisnavas emphasize one aspect of bhakti and some emphasize another. Some, out of individual mood, are attracted to different types of service. Spiritual life is multi-dimensional. Everyone is individual and consciousness cannot be chained to a list of rules.

82

At this time I felt for sure that Maharaja and Prabhuji were connected on a level that the common man could not perceive or understand. I felt that there was no difference in them. I felt the desire to go and see my Prabhuji again and beg forgiveness. I stopped by at the Institute in Vrindavan the next day. Outside the door I found lying on the ground a small altar picture of Prabhupada, his guru Bhaktisiddhanta, and the two gurus preceding them. I knew it was for me, from them. I placed it upright and paid full obeisance, lying on the oor stretched out with my hands folded. This was only an external offering. Inside was most important. I prayed forgiveness for losing my faith in them and at one time thinking they were against the real ow of devotion. I had learned the direct way what not to do in spiritual life. I had learned. I turned the negative into a positive. I now knew where the trap was, and realized now that the trees in the spiritual forest around me were looking dry. The rain had stopped. I wanted it to rain again. I wanted it to pour down relentlessly on my head.

83

Chapter 11 - Attachment to the Lord

For you alone, you are the everything. R.E.M. It had been too long. On the ve-mile journey between Vrindavan and Mathura, on my way to see Prabhuji, I wondered to myself why I had waited so long before going to visit him. I walked through the city of Mathura, but I really wasnt in it. I could only see Prabhuji. Like a hunters arrow xed on the deers breast, I made my way swiftly through the city with one goal. The closer I came to the temple the more lled with joy I became. I ran the last few metres to the temple and up the stairs to his little room, where he had grabbed me after fteen days. When I got to the top of the stairs, we met. I half reached for the sweets I had bought him, half hugged him and half fell at his feet. Too many halves - never mind. He pulled me up into an embrace and I managed to apologize for my offences. He was already showing forgiveness. He was actually showing signs that I had not been offensive, that he was just waiting for my return. He held me at arms distance, like a mother studying her child who has returned from a lengthy trip, and stroked my hair and beard with causeless affection. How I needed my beard stroked. I was pleased at not being bothered to shave for a year, so I could feel this amazing sensation. I soaked in Prabhujis beauty. His cheeks, inated with a loving smile, seemingly causing his body to become light; his eyes, full of wisdom, affection and child-like playfulness; his lips, beautifully swollen, as if stung by the bees which waited for the nectar of his words; his body, perfectly masculine, yet emanating a subtle femininity. Love oozed from all the pores in his body. I allowed myself to be drenched in that love for a while, before other devotees started to gather and shyness remembered herself. We both knew there and then that this wasnt a one-off visit but a rekindling of our gorgeous love affair. Without the slightest feeling of disobedience to Maharaja, my heart again opened to Prabhuji, my ear again opened to his crooked riddles. He started right away, erasing the memory of separation. He asked me Your visa is O.K.? This is your problem, not following the rules. No, I have a long visa this time. I know you; you will not follow the rules. The next day as I approached him in class he asked again as if for the rst time

84

O Pitambara, you have passport? I told you yesterday... I stopped. He had stopped looking at me. I knew he knew everything. I knew he didnt want me to make the same mistake as before when I lost my passport. Prabhuji told me he was happy that I was staying with a pure Vaisnava, continuing to conrm for me my understanding that all are Lord Chaitanyas family. He asked me if I had taken babaji vesa, sannyasa initiation into renounced cloth, and encouraged me to take that step. In my mind, I was ready to give myself over to complete renunciation. To take the order of babaji vesa was, at this stage, a vow of complete surrender, to serve only guru and Krishna forever. Even Jaya Sri was encouraging me in that direction. She wrote of how she was beginning to understand why I was attracted to the order of total surrender. Her surrender was obviously increasing too. I wanted to know what was the implication of taking babaji vesa though I was prepared to do anything. To me, the rituals were secondary, but I also had faith that there must be a deeper implication than merely wearing the white cloth of a babaji. Maharaja told me when I had previously asked for babaji initiation that the colour of your cloth is not going to change your heart. There was obviously more to it than cloth. Maharaja was just saying not yet. Prabhuji seemed to be hinting that it was time for me to move into complete renunciation, complete surrender and dedication. He gloried Maharaja, saying how all devotees use his books as the authority for philosophical conclusions. He asked me to bring a list of his books. I knew immediately that he was saying come back soon. The next day I returned with a small pamphlet with a list of Maharajas books. I soaked in Prabhujis presence and felt like we had never been apart. In front of a class full of people, he told me to quickly take babaji vesa. I sometimes wondered what the other devotees thought, because the babajis outside of the Gaudiya Math were condemned as demoniac. Every time Prabhuji was straight with me, the devotees around him thought he was joking. When he was joking or feigning anger they thought he was serious. When I was taking lunch in the math, some devotees who remembered me from two years beforehand, called my name with pleasure in seeing me. Hey Pitambara! I was surprised. Nobody called my name in delight like this before. It was a few of the Indian devotees who noticeably welcomed me back with cheerful voices. Even a devotee who I nearly ended up ghting with seemed to forget our bad connection and he gave

85

me affectionate smiles. Later, the signicance of this warmth became apparent. I returned to the goshala and continued to do my daily cow service. I felt weightless as I contemplated the beauty of my reconciling thoughts concerning my apparently clashing spiritual guides. Now I could keep photos of them on my altar knowing they were both my family members. They were both my teachers whose goals were one. With this feeling of release, I became blissfully energetic and sought to serve my Maharaja and his cows with increased devotion. The next day I went into the goshala at about six oclock. The cows, imbibing the crispness of the morning hours, were alive and happy. I cleaned the oors and troughs and bodies and with each cow I felt a connection. They accepted me as one of them. The relationship had reached the point of friendship and service beyond the boundaries of duty. I became aware of the relationships that Krishna must have with His cows and how he calls them all with His ute and melts their heart with his affectionate scratching and pampering. The day became more joyful. I wasnt doing anything different but my mood had changed. I could see the distress on the workers faces as they trudged around the compound heavily. Its all a play, I thought. Why is everybody working? It felt like there was a choice between the two to work or play, to feel heavy or light. Why were people choosing to be heavy? I started to skip around the place like a young girl, singing any pop song that came into my head. Holding a baby calves head I sang, I lost my heart to a starship trooper, hand in hand in outer space, and gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight. The Western mind is polluted young! The joy became more intense. I was slowly losing all seriousness, which I needed to control the workers. Images of Krishnas pastimes started racing through my mind and I found myself relishing his cheeky antics while at work at play. I was taken over by a sort of drunken lethargy, a stoned carefreeness, which made me stumble around, almost tripping over my own feet with laughter. Walking through a group of young bulls however, I became quite scared. I was losing my balance and everything became intense. I didnt need to be in the middle of bulls in such a state. The ecstasy was becoming dangerous. The next day it continued. I found myself standing in one of the goshala rooms wondering why I had entered there. I left one room to bring hay for the oor and returned with a bucket of water. I left another room to bring fodder to eat and returned with a bucket for cow dung. I was becoming a complete scatterbrain. I realized it was due to the intense pleasure I was feeling. Laziness also came over me but

86

it wasnt the laziness of not wanting to serve the Lord. I wanted now only to chant and think of the Lord. After years of trying to drag the mind to the Lord in meditation, I found it running there of its own accord. I wanted to nish my service so I could go to the River Yamuna to chant. When I did, I felt like a young boy running off to play with his best friend. I could all but see Krishna grabbing my hand as I turned off the footpath and headed out onto the sand dunes that were exposed due to a lack of rain. I felt my Krishna very close. And he was mine, no one elses. I wasnt meditating on God anymore, I was thinking of my Krishna. I felt the urge to dance. I wanted to stroke the faces of passersby. I wanted to run around naked and stick two ngers up at grumpy old men. It was springtime in my heart. New owers came forth from my happiness not caring for anything but showing their beauty to the world, unabated, with a refreshing fearlessness. Days passed, and the cow service was becoming intolerable. Not for my lack of desire to serve, but something more deep and inexplicable was happening. Maharaja came out one day and looked deep into my eyes. He could see what I was going through. I apologized with a glance, which also transmitted my plea, What can I do? Im stoned. I cant help it. When he arrived to serve the cows and inspect the service, I felt no longer that he was my revered guru who I should bow down to; I felt like he was my best friend who I wanted to hug and share my idle banter with. Reverence was there but it had become sub-ordinate to the love, which he himself had blessed me with. I was not at fault for all this change of consciousness; he was. I picked up Madhurya Kadambini, my map-book to devotional evolution. It read, the difference between ruci (taste) and asakti (attachment) is that ruci mainly has devotional service as its subject while asakti mainly has the Lord as its subject. Asakti polishes the mirror of the heart to such a state that the reection of the Lord suddenly seems to be almost visible there. My mind was agitated by desires of a spiritual kind thus the service was difcult. Madhurya Kadambini also states that in the stage of asakti friends will think he has become scatter-brained, neighbours will conclude hes an idiot, students of philosophy will think he is illusioned and misguided, offenders will say hes a pretender and elevated devotees will say he has attained the essential truth. But that devotee, oblivious to honour and dishonour, having fallen into the current of the great celestial river of attachment to the Lord simply continues in the same manner. There is no choice. You cannot decide to take a few steps back so that people dont consider you mad. Everyone thinks youre mad except for the advanced devotees. The opinion of one sane

87

person is worth more than the opinions of millions of crazy people. Thus I simply carried on in the same manner. I offered myself into the unknown. I knew I couldnt continue to be stoned amidst frisky bulls. Nor could I operate the grass-cutting machine for too much longer before I would be feeding a fodder of grass and diced ngers. I tried my best to seriously engage myself to my service, but on seeing a calf jumping around I cracked up laughing so much, I had to lie down and slap the oor. Had somebody been slipping magic mushrooms into my dal? Did Maharajas humour extend so far? I lost all my concern for public opinion. I lost my concern for being nice, for being a respectable devotee. I was becoming myself, and I realized Krishna liked me. Society has carved multitudes of ideal characters. Every person, in his or her vain attempts to emulate them, has forgotten Krishnas advice. Emulate only the internal mood of devotees who have perfected being themselves, who have realized their own true nature. This does not mean imitating their external behaviour but learning how to be yourself. That is their message. That is what they did. I fully realized why all philosophers and saints compared spiritual awakening to a return to childhood. Only this childhood didnt include a father who made you eat your brussel sprouts before going out to play, or a mother who punctured your new football because a superb low shot had devastated a daffodil patch in the garden. Trying was over. Like a huge weight lifted from my head, I felt the burden of effort leave me. I looked out into the horizon from the goshala grounds. Gravity overcame me for a while but was challenged by laughter, then replaced by tears. All the ower-like emotions were coming from the same owerbed, the rose, lily and chrysanthemum appearing equally delightful. All my striving seemed to be a joke in the face of what I was feeling. I knew that day that my life in the realm of cause and effect was nished. I would just serve with no reason, like the causeless love that had gracefully plundered my heart. I felt condent, relaxed, fearless, bold, happy, patient, calm, and completely humbled all at once. My mind became easily xed on Maharaja, Prabhuji and Krishna. Just like a true devotee, who is with the most beautiful Lord at all times, I felt so comparatively meek, that I knew I would inherit the earth by this remembrance. It occurred to me immediately that whatever I did would be with love for guru and Krishna so it didnt matter any more what I did. Whatever form devotion would take was secondary. If I wore the white cloth of a babaji, my wifes owery sari, a silver sequined dress or an Arsenal kit, it didnt matter anymore. In such a state of consciousness, no service which I could think of seemed

88

burdensome. No amount of time I would spend would be misspent. My mind went to Jaya Sri. I felt a deep love for her. I had feared that a relationship with a girl would obstruct my striving for the Lord but now I felt no fear and no striving. There was no dam curtailing the spirit of my river. There was no river. I had reached the ocean. I was a baby in it, but now the task was getting to know my new home, not running towards it. All of a sudden, despite Prabhuji speaking of my taking the renounced order, I found myself wanting to share my happiness with the only girl who ever mirrored my own consciousness. Maybe the babaji thing was just to help me to reach her quicker. The only one thing stopping me from immediately proposing to marry Jaya Sri was Krishna. I had to wait openly for his green light. I had to wait without a hint of desire for the tap on the left shoulder. I knew that He could arrange what I wanted, but I wanted to see if my desire matched His desire for me. I wanted conrmation of my inspiration. Later in the afternoon I was given a letter. It was from Jaya Sri. It was my seal of approval for sure. It was the rst letter in a while that I had received from her. I read her letter. It was like waiting for a game-show host to reveal my prize. Was Cilla Black going to send us to Cleethorpes for a weekend or Trinidad for two weeks? Was Jaya Sri ready to climb aboard the same train as me? My doubt was that her faith in Krsna was still not strong enough to be able to leave the station, to leave all she had known before. The letter put an end to that doubt. She spoke of how her chanting was increasingly revealing divine secrets to her, and though she had problems, she was convinced the holy name was cleaning her heart. She told of how when she was cleaning the rooms in an old peoples home, she would meditate on it being the goshala, and clean it as if Maharaja was standing over her, making sure she wasnt lazy in her service. This gave her great pleasure and Maharaja started coming to her thoughts and in dreams. The old women in the home cried when she was posted somewhere else. They had never seen anyone do work with such love and care. She was alone, without any other devotees to talk with, without guru physically with her to grab hold of her mind like Maharaja had done with me. Yet in her remembrance of Maharaja, she had been supplied with divine intelligence and power to understand how to serve. Many devotees become bewildered being in the west,.but Jaya Sri gured out how to perform sadhu-sanga, association with the sadhu, without his physical presence. I felt so proud of her. I wanted to marry her. I knew that together or alone we were travelling towards our destination. A joy overcame me as I contemplated our wedded life. In that contemplation

89

I never let go of my bond to Maharaja or Krishna. It would work. It would actually work. I was just waiting for this stage to come where my attachment was so strong for the Lord that nothing could steer me away. Now I could love a woman and God at the same time. I could serve her by loving her and know that that service was to God as she was dedicated to him. Everything was being perfectly arranged. I had curtailed my romantic nature towards women and now I was going to let it free again, like the returning of caged parrots to the forest. In my happy state, I never considered that Jaya Sri might say no to the idea. I wrote to her a romantic letter, promising a life of paradise. Come to me and we will live a simple Indian village life, raise gorgeous kids, write poetry, serve Maharaja together forever, and cruise happily into the arms of our beloved Lord. I nished the long letter to her, speaking of my realization, of my love, and of my marriage proposal. Everything felt right. I posted the letter the next day. Then came the day after that. I woke, still a teenager, and excited, almost cutting the wedding cake in my mind. I sat in front of my pictures of Radha and Krishna, and Maharaja, and chanted my usual number of rounds on my beads for the morning. Krishna gazed at me from the photo, then took control of my limbs and rendered me helplessly grasping for a book. I icked open the book and at a random page my eyes shot to a paragraph. It rea King Bharat was performing raganuga-bhakti while being married to many wives and taking care of his kingdom. There was no need for him to give up his duties to perform bhakti. However, a true servant of the Lord gives up everything for the Lord. King Bharat was such an exemplary surrendered devotee, giving up his wife, family, kingdom, and honour to take to renounced life in the forest. I was stunned. I looked towards my picture of Krishna again and He was alive more than I had ever seen, gazing at me with a cheeky smile. Different advice is given by scriptural statements for encouraging different types of people. It wasnt that I couldnt be married and be a true devotee, it was just the pertinence of timing in reading this that made me realize I wouldnt I felt a wave of ecstasy rise up my spine as Krishnas presence entered my simple bedroom more tangibly than ever before. Then I felt despair as I realized the consequences of His game. I knew what He had just done. He had given me the inspiration to propose to Jaya Sri and now he was letting me know that I should give up that idea if I really wanted to please Him. There was really no if

90

involved. The presence I felt was too enticing to ignore; the ecstasy of His closeness too immaculate. He was giving me a wife to renounce. I was ling for divorce before Jaya Sri even knew of the engagement. I went through so many emotions. I had renounced pretty much everything before, but not a wife, not someone I loved so deeply that hurting her would crush my heart. That morning was lled with anguish and pain. Though it was presumptuous that she would be in pain, having already presumed she would agree to marry, I couldnt stay calm when the possibility of her distress was so real to me. I realized this was Krishnas wonderful way of forcing me into complete surrender. Prabhuji had said to me three years earlier in my special class, Complete surrender then Krishna giving complete return. Now, having surrendered everything I had, I was being made to surrender things I didnt have. An expert guru is like Michelangelo. He takes a block of stone, and before starting to chisel at it, he sees the form of David. The disciple is like the block of stone who feels the pain of the initial blows from the chisel. Huge chunks are taken out of the stone and there is pain. However, once Michelangelo starts working on the stone with a ner chisel, he starts to reveal his vision of David. Once the disciple starts to see his own form starting to appear, he at last sees the kindness of the sculptor and not his cruelty. Once this vision is there, the blows of the sculptor seem sweet, just as the rebuking, teasing, taunting, chastising, beating of the guru are the sweet strokes which mould the disciple into a beautiful work of art. And it is more than theoretical understanding. After surrender the Lord awards the soul with ananda, ecstasy. My pain turned into sweet joy. I wanted to feed Jaya Sri this joy that was bursting out of my heart. I wanted to wrap her up in this joy so every inch of her being could feel it. I wrote more letters to Jaya Sri. In the space of ten days I had written pages and pages, attempting to express this expressionless joy. I swung from apologizing for my drunken state as I started the letters with a view of my own actions in this karmic world, to rejecting my own apologies as my vision took ight and soared above the clouds of misunderstanding, witnessing my own actions to be movements of the Lord as He pushed me around like a pawn in His chess game. As I became aloof and observed my life through His eye, I no longer only experienced the movement of my physical body from one square to another, but now I could see His master plan. The white pawn looks forward and sees only the formidable defense of the black opposition. Slowly as the game of spiritual life unfolds, he sees the help of the white rook, bishop, knight and queen. These pieces are the mature saints who whisper the game plan to the pawn as they move in to capture and

91

destroy the black rook of greed, the black bishop of lust, the black knight of anger and the black queen of envy. By losing independence and successfully working together, they uproot the black king of ignorance. Checkmate. Game over. Then divine reality is permanently instilled. I was happier than ever but I knew something had to change. My friends were also thinning out. I had my Prabhuji and my Maharaja and Jaya Sri. My only other friend who knew my deeper moods was Lolita. Lolita has lived with Maharaja in the goshala for ten years. She has not been home to Bengal in that time and has not had any desire to take to married life. She is quite unique. She doesnt seem to do much service yet she wanders gaily around the compound singing and laughing like a little child. At rst I felt she should grow up and concentrate on bhakti, becoming a pure devotee instead of skipping around and disturbing serious sadhakas. I sometimes became angry with her but deep down I couldnt help but be attracted by her sweetness and charm. As my consciousness ascended into newer heights, I started to realize that Lolita was no ordinary Bengali lass. As I started to acquire a tad of devotion, she revealed to me that her heart was full of it. My rst memory of her was walking into the goshala and seeing her draped over Maharaja like an affectionate granddaughter as he was sitting on a cows trough while seeing over the service. Maharaja is a strict follower of Vaisnava etiquette, which dictates that someone in the renounced order of life never touches a woman. Being a pure saint of nearly ninety years, Maharaja was hardly likely to fall to the allurements of sensuality over an embrace but still, such carefree affection revealed briey the depth of love between two spiritual souls. On one occasion, Lolita sat on a chair next to Maharaja and picked up his hands and started cleaning his nails and playing with his ngers. Maharaja showed disdain but she carried on, leaving him to take shelter in bashfulness. Nobody around me caught on to the beauty of their interactions, but this bashfulness was like a ray of sunlight coming through the window for those inside to witness the sun. Lolita was just the girl who made chai (tea) at four oclock in the Institute. Little did people know that this tea maid was blessed the jewel of prema, divine love. It is difcult for outsiders to detect who has love, for those that have this divine love are not concerned with showing it to anybody. They are happy being the tea maid or sweepers or potwashers. It is so beautiful. Lolita could see my consciousness being drawn towards the Lord and she embraced me with sweet knowing glances, welcoming me into the secret wavelength.

92

Chapter 12 The Dawn of Divine Love

. Im a dweller on the threshold and Im waiting at the door, Im a dweller on the threshold, I dont wanna wait no more. Van Morrison It was January 1 , 2002. The New Year had slipped in without the auld lang syne, without the hugs and kisses of the neighbours, without the hangover; there was just the sound of the cows calling their young, the bells of early morning arati in the temples and the loud speakers playing the same hideous tapes. I came down from my room at six oclock as usual, wearing Marks and Spencers thermals and a balaclava to fend off the early morning nip in the air. I groomed the cows as usual, feeling the pleasure of their pleasure. I cleaned the oors of cow dung as usual and threw down hay for warmth and comfort as usual. I nished my morning duties two hours later as usual and drank hot milk with ginger as usual. The usual morning was creating a stage for the unusual to come and dance. How do I describe what happened in the afternoon without it sounding too ordinary or too extraordinary? To non-devotees it will sound ordinary and to devotees it will sound extraordinary. I was wandering around the goshala grounds, my mind nding some middle ground between bliss and lethargy. The big gates opened to let in the bullock cart that was loaded with cauliower stalks for the cows. Maharajas other land had yielded a good crop of caulis so the cows got a fair share. As the laden bullock cart came to a halt on the large driveway, my consciousness, the scene, time itself, was spiked with a mystical haze, a somethingelseness like I experienced when I witnessed the ower-peacock on the River Yamuna. My usual day was impregnated with something superbly unusual. As the cart-driver took Uttama the bull to his room for resting and feeding all the other devotees and workers in the area also seemed to vanish from the scene. Then a girl walked through the open gates and towards the bullock cart. I took one glance at her and was completely mesmerized by her beauty. She was wearing a green sari and shawl, through which I observed her remarkable, perfectly shaped form. No, more than perfect. This was something else. She lled her shawl with a few cauliowers, with condent audacity. I tried to hide my spontaneous admiration so I could scold her. It was my duty to stop the villagers nicking the cows food. As I opened my mouth to voice a
st

93

complaint, my words were stunted by her glance. She looked straight into my eyes, her glance not only halting my words but also my breath. She had the beauty of no other girl I have ever seen or dreamed of. She had gravity and depth in her eyes that I could only really compare with Maharaja. She had the sadness of a million rejected lovers and the happiness of a million newlyweds. She had the condence of the rising sun and the shyness of the setting moon. She looked at me as if she had always known me and every move I had ever made, yet she looked as if it was the rst time she had seen me. She walked passed this frozen English statue, standing there with cow dung buckets, and proceeded through the gates. The mystical haze cleared and the world around me began to move again. Workers entered the scene again, oblivious to the mysterious cauli-ower thief. I was uninterested in the world that had restarted from where it left off thirty seconds earlier. Was it thirty seconds or thirty years, or maybe thirty lifetimes? It was beyond all of these estimations. I staggered into one of the goshalas, my mind completely xed on the event. How come I was so attracted to this girl? I had come through the lust, or so I thought. But this attraction, I could feel, was not of lust, it was love. She was feeling some sort of pain, which my level of spiritual understanding could not empathize with, yet her expression ripped out any other desire, leaving only the desire to take away her pain. I was lost. I was no longer in the goshala. I was no longer in the world. My body was staggering around with buckets of dung, but my mind and heart had left through the goshala gates with the Cauliower Girl. A thought came to mind. She was too beautiful to be of this world. As I thought this, I knew she would be untraceable, even if a million-strong search party tried to track her down. She had appeared to me like a vision. And that vision had vanished from this dimension. After this thought came another one, supporting it. I remembered reading about how one devotee was enamoured by a beautiful young girl who had lost her ankle chain. Then two younger girls (manjaris) came past holding an ankle chain and asked if he had seen our Svamini. That devotee then saw the young girls walk round the corner, and as he also went around the corner, they were no longer visible to his eyes. He then sunk into a state of awe and wonder upon realizing he had been given the vision of Radha, Krsnas beloved, his life and soul. Immediately another thought came which gelled together the other thoughts and the experience itself to leave me stunned in divine realization. I remembered Prabhuji and his boon, promised during my special class almost three years earlier. Complete surrender, Radha giving darsan (vision). I had forgotten. The gatekeepers of my sub-conscious had halted such an unlikely occurrence from

94

entering the curiosity of my conscious mind. I felt an overwhelming sense of wonder as the whole episode repeated itself in my heart. My body became stunned, my limbs covered with goose bumps. I stood frozen still in simultaneous disbelief and absolute conviction of the identity of the girl I had just seen right in front of my very eyes. The bliss I felt was mixed with a feeling of despair as I failed to capture those few moments and wrap myself forever in their wonder. The vision had already been covered by the non-vision. The timeless experience had already been swallowed again by time. The world seemed like a void, like death. There was no point in looking at anything ever again which wasnt the nature of her sweetness. The cauliowers were only symbolic; Radha came to the goshala to completely steal my heart. I had always wondered what devotees seeing Radha and Krsna in Vrindavan meant. I somehow imagined it to be more like a brilliant ghost oating around over the top of this world of matter. I realize now that they are human, appearing like you or me, but their human forms contains the unlimited universes and energies within them. Krsna is so high that you cannot even detect him unless you understand his sweetness. And Radhas sweetness and love surpasses even this. I cried for hours after this experience. Radhas sadness, I realized, was due to being in separation from Krsna. The manjaris main duty is to bring the divine couple together. This desire was instilled in my heart on the rst of January by her merciful glance. I needed to go forward now and attain my goal of life so I could make the vision of sweetness my eternal reality and not a mere ash of light in the dark. The next day I was internally inspired to go to Radha Kund. Despite not wanting to leave Maharaja, I felt an urge to feel that holy place. As I settled on the idea, I realized that Prabhuji had said he had seen me there. Maybe Radha Kund was calling me from my future. Upon arriving, I met with Ananta das Babaji, the mahanta, the most revered sadhu, of Radha Kund. I could feel his greatness and see his eyes were of the depth of my Maharaja. However, there was no spark of love, no immediate sign of a transcendental relationship. I knew I was sitting in front of him for a reason though, so I listened for my guidance. He spoke of how the Gaudiya Math had no bona de lineage. I let him speak the external spiel, paying no attention to it. I knew it was just for controlling immature devotees, and I knew he knew that I knew too. Then he said have you read my books? That was the sentence I had come to hear. This ability to decipher Krsnas guidance from other words was something which started to become clearer and clearer; as if certain words carried another vibration that could penetrate the souls ear. These simple words had their direct

95

meaning, which was that I should start to read his books. Also, the instruction implied that I should now concentrate on meditating on Krsnas intimate pastimes with Radha and the gopis, for that is the main focus of all his books. Vaisnava culture is so vast that different saints and realized sadhus have emphasized different aspects of it. Maharaja emphasized philosophy and ontology, and cow service, whereas Ananta das Babaji emphasized lila smaranam meditation on the Lords pastimes. Krsna was telling me to focus on Him now. I returned to Vrindavan with a thirst for reading. Without asking, a friend came up to me and gave me two thousand rupees. I bought four of his books and one book on Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu written by another author. This book stole my attention in the bookshop. I had always been curious to know more about Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu and His lila, which is said to parallel Radha and Krsna lila. I took the books to the Yamuna. I was feigning sickness. I knew my goshala days were numbered. The book on Mahaprabhu captured my heart, from the cover picture of Him to the esoteric philosophy describing His pastimes. Something strange happened. As I felt Mahaprabhus presence in my heart, Vrindavan disappeared. The Yamuna was still there, the temples and ghats were still there, and the sadhus were still there taking bath, but the divine spirit that made Vrindavan like no other place in the world seemed to vanish. I felt like the Lord had a magnet under the earth and he had just shifted it from under me and placed it under the earth in West Bengal, the birthplace of lord Chaitanya. I was a mere iron ling. I had no option. When the iron ling is free of dirt, the magnet attracts, and the iron ling runs. The Lord of Navadvipa, Bengal, had captured my mind. That night I went to see Prabhuji in Mathura with my friend Navadvipa prabhu. After listening to Prabhuji speak and absorbing his sweetness for half an hour, I said simply Now Im going mad again. I liked to leave room for him to speak as he liked. I liked to give him a blank sheet so he may create a riddle without the obstruction of a direct question. My question was in my heart and I knew he was able to see into it. He smiled at me and pointing to Navadvipa prabhu said, Take his dust. In Vaisnava lingo this meant take his foot dust, take his help, take his mercy. When using this term when speaking of a place it means take the dust of that place on your head, go there and receive the mercy of that place. So when Prabhuji said take his dust, nodding at Navadvipa prabhu, he actually meant go to Navadvipa, the place in West Bengal. I was happy to be receiving sweet riddles again. I was also happy that he was conrming my desire to go to Navadvipa and reconrming his ability to see into my heart and guide me accordingly.

96

Three words from the mouth of a realized soul go a long way. I didnt see any difference between Prabhuji and Maharaja and caitya-guru, guru manifest as direct inspiration. I had two conrmations of my move. I wanted Maharaja to make it three out of three. I told him when I was with him in the goshala grooming cows that I wanted to go to Navadvipa. Why? he said, Goseva (service to cows; (or senses)) is everything. I knew he would be apparently ignorant of my desire but still it gave me the butteries. I have a desire to know more deeply about Mahaprabhu, I said. Maharaja shot out the corner of his eye, which found its way into the deepest chambers of my soul and spoke words that my souls ear captured, Go there. The next day I approached Maharaja for money for the train. I had never asked him for money before so I was little shy. I hadnt needed money for quite a while. The money I had been given by a friend was spent on books. Maharaja appeared before me and looked at me, as if waiting for my courage to bring my question to surface. Maharaja, can I have some money for the train? How much do you want? The answer almost intercepted the question, reassuring me that he really wanted me to go to Navadvipa. I asked for ve hundred rupees. The fare was more than four hundred rupees, which would leave me with next to nothing but I knew Mahaprabhu was going to look after me on this trip. Maharaja gave me the money and smiled. As I packed a few things, Lolita came up to me with a gold coloured silk dhoti and said This is Maharajas cloth, take it, I only wore it once. I was in a rush and in my haste I was blind to any symbolism. All I saw was a shiny piece of cloth in which I would look ridiculous. Its O.K. I have two pieces of cloth which Maharaja gave me. (Maharaja had given me this cloth one day after he was pleased with my service.) I left for Mathura train station, visiting Prabhuji in the Gaudiya Math on the way. Prabhuji said two things to me. Did you take babaji vesa? I hadnt asked Maharaja, but when Prabhuji said this I realized that Maharaja was giving me vesa, cloth, through Lolita. Both Prabhuji and Maharaja were inspiring me to take the step into the Babaji lifestyle. And my inspiration told me to only wear the cloth Maharaja gave me from now on. In my heart, there and then, I accepted babaji vesa. I would make it ofcial later on but if I was going to wander around with no money, it was a good idea to be a Babaji.

97

Prabhuji also said Where are you staying, Haribol Kutir? Haribol Kutir was the only place mentioned in the book that had inspired me to go to Navadvipa. I didnt know where I was heading, but Prabhujis words were more instructive than questioning. Yes, I was going to Haribol Kutir. There was no external reason for Prabhuji to even know I had read that certain book. Maharaja had asked me how long I was going to Navadvipa for. I didnt know why I was going, let alone know how long I would be gone for. Like a dog running to his master, I heard Mahaprabhu call and I ran, not knowing whether he had a bone, a biscuit or a slap in the face in store. On arriving in Navadvipa, I bathed in the Ganges. I felt Mahaprabhu watching my every move. Despite attracting attention, being the only foreigner around, I felt I was home. I found my way to Haribol Kutir and was surprised to nd a small asram with one Bengali devotee living there. I expected a big asram with many devotees. This added to the marvel of Prabhuji mentioning the place. I was sent to another, nearby temple so I could speak to an English-speaking devotee. I met Sri Visnu das Maharaja, who, I could tell immediately, was waiting for me. He asked me questions pertaining to my visit, but deep down I could feel that he knew Prabhuji had sent me and that he was about to shelter me as a favour between devotees. He did. I told him I was a babaji and had no money. After a few days I found the author of the book who gave me directions to meet his guru, Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja, and the next day I set off on the two-hour journey to his small temple in the forest. I expected only to bow my head and depart; I knew he couldnt speak English or Hindi. Krsna arranged some guy to lead me through the beautiful tropical forest ,past simple village homes, to the temple that was denitely not traceable by the map I had. The small temple had deities of Gadadhara and Gaura (Chaitanya Mahaprabhu). Babaji Maharaja came out to greet me as if he had been awaiting my arrival. He bowed down to me and touched my feet. Not out of duty, or sarcasm, (as some do), but out of real humility. It felt like I had never witnessed humility till that point. This ninety seven year old saint, a realized soul on the highest platform of consciousness was bowing his head in honour because a devotee from Notts had shown up at his temple. It wasnt a show. I felt completely beautiful as he did it. It was obvious that I was the nobody and he the great soul, but his greatness was such that he felt himself to be the nobody and he had me feel I was a great (beautiful) soul. I almost forgot to offer my respects; I was in such a state of shock. I fell in love with him. His eyes were like two pools of sweet cooling water and his enthusiasm

98

for life exuded from him like a bright light. I managed to relate through a Hindi/Bengali speaker that I had come to him because of a book written by Pandit, who he had not seen for two years. He was so happy. He burst into tears and peered with wonder towards his Lordships who were gazing at us from the altar. I was left alone with him as he decided to write a letter to Pandit. I was happy just to watch him, to feel his mood, to relish his divine mannerisms. Once he started to write the letter, he lost himself to it, becoming oblivious to anything else. He wrote one sentence and then went over it again and again, his pen bouncing over the words to the rhythm of the mood in which they were written. He changed the sentences again and again, completely transforming them into new sentences by the fourth change. Then again he bounced his pen across the paper, giving a murmur to its rhythm. Even if it was only a shopping list, it merited the status of a song by the very manner in which it was composed. Reading over his words, he broke down in tears and glanced again towards Mahaprabhu in ecstatic disbelief. He sobbed openly in front of me, in front of his Lords, in front of anyone who was coming and going, in front of the world he was like a naked baby, weeping without thought of controlling; no ego. Then back to the letter. I started to wonder if he would ever nish it. He was stoned. Crossing out text, adding more, bouncing the pen over the paper, humming the words to himself, sobbing, starting again from the beginning. Occasionally he would hold his hand up, gesturing that he would just be another minute. Two and a half hours later he was pleased with his composition. Then, on a fresh sheet of paper, he re-wrote the letter in beautiful hand-writing. That took another hour and a half. After four hours, he noticed I was sitting in front of him and upon looking at the clock he became shocked at the time. He shouted over to an old lady who lived in a small shack next to his, and she carried pots of food to the temple room. He was disgusted with himself for not having fed me. I had forgotten about food. The four hours watching him write seemed like four minutes. He sat me down and placed a big plate in front of me and lled it with all the preparations from the dishes. Then he squatted in front of me and delightedly gestured that I should eat. I felt comfortable even though he was staring right at me. I ate a little sabji and chapatti and he immediately gave me extra sabji and another chapatti. I ate a pakora (fried ball) and again he reimbursed me with two more. I cracked up laughing. Was I ever going to nish this meal? I laughed at the attention he gave to my eating, as if he himself was experiencing the pleasure of tasting the delicious food. I realized that he was relishing more than me. I had observed this mood of selessness before when Maharaja would

99

sit me down and feed me sweets and pancakes and his own kichadi. When you feel this love, you feel you have no duty to return any money or favour. Instead a natural desire comes to serve him. Not out of duty, but naturally. That is how love comes. By being with pure devotees and experiencing their love, naturally you desire to give them your love, then naturally you become like them. If you spend time in a pub, you come away smelling of beer and cigarettes. If you spend time in a beauty parlour, you come away smelling of perfume. Selshness is swallowed by the seless saint; therefore sadhu sanga, the company of saints, is the most desirable attainment in spiritual life. The next day I was given my marching orders by the temple where I was staying. The order had come from Visnu das Maharaja. I knew that it was a friendly incentive, knowing I had found the person I had been looking for. Externally however, the other temple devotees gave the ultimatum stay here and read our books or leave. I was in such bliss after spending the day by the Ganga feeling Mahaprabhus presence closer still to my heart that I merrily said O.K.. Where will you stay, they asked with ironic concern. I picked up a dry leaf and threw it up into the air. The light breeze took it only a few yards away before it settled on the concrete oor. There, I exclaimed, pointing to the motionless leaf. A belly laugh came out, pushing my head back as it made its way into the evening sky. I went with Pandit on my second visit to see Babaji Maharaja. Dont marry, came an unexpected English instruction from the lips of Babaji Maharaja. I dont intend to, I replied. I knew he knew what I had just gone through. I asked him about siddha-deha, ones perfected internal spiritual form. Should I ask Maharaja to reveal my eternal form also; and does one need to perfect ones meditation as a manjari before attaining ones siddha-deha in Caitanya lila. Gaudiya Vaisnavas have two destinations; Krsna and Caitanya Vrindavan and Navadvipa manjari and kisora brahmana brahmana, handmaid and romantic brahamana boy. The fortunate soul who attains the mercy of Lord Chaitanya acquires both a manjari form to serve Radha and Krsna in their Vrindavan lila and kisori-brahmana form to serve Gadadhara and Chaitanya Mahaprabhu in their Navadvipa lila. Maharaja said I should receive my siddha-deha as a manjari rst. It was discussed where I should stay. I had a small bag and no future plans. Pandit translated Babaji Maharajas question. Are you prepared to beg alms and cook for yourself?

100

Yes, I replied. O.K. you can stay here with me. My heart leapt out of my mouth, circled the temple four times, and reentered just in time for the bad news. His son raised an objection. I couldnt speak Bengali. I would be a hindrance to the family. Babaji Maharaja admitted, I want to give him everything which is in my heart, but I am unable to, what can I do? A real lover is pained by not being able to give love. Babaji Maharaja was more pained by me not being able to receive his grace than I was. The combination of the offering of his mercy and the rejection caused a trauma inside of me. Babaji Maharaja embraced me and whispered, Dont marry, ananda coming, prema coming prema, (divine love), not kama, (lust); prema not kama. I was ushered away by his son and Pandit. The three of us walked away from the temple and down one of the many paths linking the homes. The oodgates opened. Tears came gushing from my eyes and bounced off my cheeks onto the dusty earth. I was walking only because my body was following the actions of the other two bodies. I would have collapsed otherwise. I was nowhere. I had nothing. I was deprived of everything. Even the thought of going back to Navadvipa, which had, for me, replaced Vrindavan as the epicentre of the universe, was like plunging into a void. The whole world was a void, a black hole, a useless waste of atoms. Why was I walking away from the lotus feet of Babaji Maharaja? I loved him. His presence was the only residence my heart wanted. Why was I being led away by people who knew better? To them I was just a young lad with a bit of spunk, riding his luck on a book Id read. To me Babaji Maharaja was my life and soul. Id known him only three days. So what. What is the required time for love to sprout? My tears to them were the tears of a boy lost in the fairground of life. But really, they were of a boy who had met life and was being dragged away from it. As I sailed away from the bountiful island of Babaji Maharajas association, I could only make out two other masses of land in the ocean of lovelessness my Maharaja and my Prabhuji. The next day, after only ten days in Navadvipa, I would return to Maharaja and Prabhuji. My car was travelling fast on the highway of spiritual life and the noise from my engine begged a gear change. Only Maharaja and Prabhuji could ease me into fth gear. I knew it was time to cruise in fth gear; to take babaji vesa, to take siddha-pranali, to acquire the real knowledge of who I am, and what relationship I have with Radha and Krsna in the eternal world. I was full of greed, at last, for this. The following day I returned to Mathura. I related my adventures to Prabhuji like a child

101

describing all the rides on a fairground. Prabhuji listened like a mother who had not taken an eye off her child having sat on a hillside overlooking the fair. He allowed my enthusiasm to recall the personalities I had met. I asked him if he knew Sri Visnu das Maharaja. His smile told that he not only knew him but he had sent me to him. Do you know Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja? His eyes told me that he was the reason he had sent me to Navadvipa. His eyes told me that Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja was not an ordinary soul. His smile had something else to tell, which he disclosed later on. I asked Prabhuji, What is my duty now? Follow your inspiration caitya guru dont ask direct questions any more, guru will only cheat you and give opposite answer. I returned to Vrindavan and asked for siddha-pranali and babaji vesa. Alone Maharaja delighted in my boldness and stories from Navadvipa; together with other devotees he condemned my audacity. Nothing came. The next day I went to Mathura to see Prabhuji. After he nished tutoring some Indian boys, he turned to me and gave a sakti-lled lecture. Two analogies stuck in my head. On the eld there are young budding trees needing water for growth. There is a river nearby. But that water, if it ows onto the eld will drown the trees. Therefore a canal is cut from the river, a stream is cut from the canal, a drain is cut from the stream and the trees are given that water. I am like the drain feeding the trees. He insinuated the Indian boys were the new trees. He said, There is a primary school teacher, secondary school teacher, college teacher and university teacher when you leave one to go to the other, you are pleasing the teacher you leave, you have rendered their purpose successful. No primary school teacher wants a twenty-year-old student who wont leave because he likes the teacher. All the teachers have the same knowledge but different purposes due to the different levels of students. I meditated on these analogies as I returned to Vrindavan. In the rst there was a difference between the greatness of the river and the drain. Prabhuji referred to himself as the drain but I knew he was the river doing the duty of a drain, just as a manager of a bank may also become the cashier if he chooses. The analogy extended in my contemplation. If there was a mature tree in the eld then that tree could receive water from the river underground, its roots drinking undetected. It may appear to be drinking from the drain water like all the other trees but its real sustenance would be unseen just as the relationship between guru and mature disciple is unseen. In the second analogy Prabhuji was clearly suggesting that I might need to move to another teacher to receive my siddha-pranali, (specic details of siddha deha). Not that Maharaja wasnt

102

qualied but because it was not his duty. The analogies were not just oating riddles but answers to my burning questions. I also asked about guru. A devotee may have a guru who gives the Hare Krsna mantra, a guru who gives diksa, initiation mantras, a guru who gives siksa, instruction, a guru who gives sannyasa and babaji vesa and a guru who gives siddha-pranali. It may not be the guru who gives all to a disciple, so who is the nal guru, the guru-manjari, the guru who is your life and soul, your shelter forever? Prabhuji smiled. He liked my question for both its content and pertinence. The last person who steals your heart, he said, (i.e. the guru who gives you your eternal form siddha deha.) My inspiration was conrmed. That night I cried and prayed, Krsna, guide me to my nal master, my guru-manjari who I will serve forever in the forest of Vrindavan. I felt I couldnt stand just being Pitambara das, just an external servant, anymore. I was ready now to take siddha-deha, but who from? I had gone through so much. I had almost arrived at my destination but again I was asking where I was going. I really didnt want to leave Maharaja but I knew I had to be decisionless. My guru was my guru. I had to be open now more than ever before so Krishna could put me, nally, in his hands. I was greedy for spiritual life at last not impatient. I was greedy to do something right now not greedy to do something, right now. The next day was some day. Swamiji called me to his room and inquisitioned me. One devotee had passed on the information regarding my loss of sanity, asking Maharaja for siddha-pranali. I wasnt ready to justify myself, but I tried to nd a balance between being truthful, honest, respectful and uncompromising. It was impossible. The desire has come into my heart to receive my siddha-deha, I said, denouncing the act of desiring. Youd better get rid of it or move out the goshala. I am responsible for you being there and this is not Maharajas philosophy. Actually, I had left his Institute of my own accord and with the blessings of Maharaja, took up residence with him in his temple/goshala. There was no argument. I had not broken Swamijis rules. But my message came. Externally, I was not being kicked out, but internally Krsna was saying, now is the time to leave, to move forward. In spiritual life, if anyone asks you to give up your inspiration and hearts realization, then it

103

is time to leave; otherwise there is no spiritual life, you are an animal again, a sheep. I asked for time to consider and tried to look a little concerned. I went straight to Mathura to see Prabhuji. He was relaxing on the roof after tutoring. I asked him without hesitation, I feel like you want me to go to Radha kund to take siddha-deha from Ananta das Babaji, but when I met him I felt no natural heart connection with him, though I could feel he was a pure devotee. Ah, Prabhuji responded, this is not good. There should be spontaneous heart connection. Go and take lunch. I did as he said. I returned to Prabhuji who was sitting on the same bench. He looked like a pink amingo surrounded by white cranes; the white clothed devotees around him. He looked elegant, beautiful and serene in his perfect yet slight movements. He broke away from his discussion with the cranes to focus on my arrival, leaving one world to enter another. Prabhuji intoxicated me with his gaze, deeper and more penetrating into my soul than ever before. In this hypnotic trance the surrounding sights and sounds became hazy and mufed, the face of the most beautiful Bengali amingo captivating all my senses. Then he killed me and gave me re-birth simultaneously. You are Premila Manjari, Prema Manjari for short. Your service is to milk cows, and then take the milk to Radha to make sweet rice for offering to Krsna. Your gurus name is Haripriya Manjari. Premila Manjari, today you are so fortunate, today you are getting siddha-deha, now everyday meditate on your real self, this is no imagination. This is who you are. When you are completely pure, you will see this form in your heart. This is your last life in this material world. Awareness of my true identity ooded my heart like the glorious sun dispelling the darkness of night. Love ooded my heart like the rst rains of the monsoon. Together, a rainbow formed within me and could see the purpose of my whole life in red, yellow, pink, green, orange, violet and indigo. I had been wandering around a beginningless maze, and now nally the pathway led me up a gradient which enabled me to peer down and see all the useless lefts and rights I had taken, and all the useful lefts and rights which were guided by a mysterious light. That light, as I ascended the nal path and left behind the nal hedgerow revealed itself to be a mystical, wonderful, simple yet eccentric, adorable Bengali Vaisnava by the name of Premananda Prabhuji. It was ofcial and unbreakable. I was to be his forever. He was to be my eternal serving companion and guide in the realm of Goloka

104

Vrindavan, the topmost divine realm. From the day he met me, before that even, I was scrap metal, and he had melted me down by his loving and embracing, testing and abusing. He had sent me to Maharaja for further renement. In the re of pure association the false ego had melted and the mould of my real ego was created. Now Prabhuji was pouring the liquid of my melted heart into it. He stroked my head. Today you are so lucky. I will never fully realize the reality in these words. I told Prabhuji, In the morning Swamiji told me to leave the goshala if I wanted to take siddha-deha. I know, he said, I have a room waiting for you. I was just watching the lm of my life, a lm that others, it appeared, had already seen. Prabhuji had never taken sannyasa ofcially. He was not known to be able to give mantras to anyone, let alone siddha-deha. I never thought to look beyond this, to see my eternal guide. I recalled that three years earlier one devotee asked why I had left Gaudiya Math. Prabhuji told him. He had to leave for certain reasons but he will be back in three years. I have his heart and no-one can really leave me when I have their heart. It was a few months before three years but Ill forgive him for his inaccuracy. Before I left, I watched Prabhuji going about his duties. I was love-struck. He could feel my energy. He walked across the roof, and then a few yards past me he stopped, looked round, then danced a sweet manjari dance, then carried on walking. He brought his inner self to my eyes for all of half a second. But that half a second was a light which put into darkness millions of years. That dance revealed that his straight role is just an act and inside he is playing a different play. And in that play he (she) is always dancing. Now he (she) was calling me to join him (her). I returned that afternoon to Vrindavan. I entered the goshala grounds, barely leaving footprints in the dusty path heading towards the inner courtyard door. I saw Maharaja and put my head at his feet and looked up. He was smiling the most beautiful smile. His cheeks were like full moons, his eyes dancing like two love-intoxicated grebes. Everything is O.K.? It was in the tone of a question but in his eyes there was only the answer, everything is O.K.. Any fear of my disappointing him subsided. My perfect day was sealed by seeing the delight of my Maharaja, who was happy to see that I had understood my reason for being. Lolita walked passed and gave a similarly knowing smile. I was like a young Luke Skywalker being blessed by the vision of Darth Vader and Obi Won Kenobi.

105

May the force be with you, they had said. Now it was with me and the carriers of the blessings returned to smile, beautiful this force, isnt it?

106

Chapter 13 Prema - The Supreme Goal of Life

Aint no wrong now, aint no right, only pleasure and pain. Janes Addiction In the Institute I gave my decision regarding the worlds easiest ultimatum the next day and I told a couple of friends the inside story. Again I was moving camps leaving devotees perplexed as to how I had become independent-minded and left my guru. In reality it was only surrender of independence that led me back to Prabhuji. Again, I had no feeling of leaving Maharaja despite external appearances to the contrary. On my last night in the goshala, I prepared myself for darsan with the expectancy of being externally cast aside by Maharaja. As I chanted I began to feel his real soft mood in my heart. I spoke to a friend who was charting my heart movements and soaking in the waves of bliss created by my speeding boat, spilling over into his boat. He had an empty boat. The waves had somewhere to spill. Its all lila its all a play, why is everyone so damn serious. I cracked up laughing. Now I knew why Lolita just giggled when Maharaja looked disgusted with her frivolity as she played with the cows tails and threatened to swipe him with them. I understood at last that her reluctance to be serious was not a stubborn childishness but the manifestation of a seer, of one with real love. Lolita told me, Go and tell Maharaja to hurry up. It was a little after the usual darsan time. She knew I could see the play and now she offered me a part. It would have tickled Maharaja. But this was more of an indication that the type of crooked relationship which I had with Prabhuji, I could have had with Maharaja had I been qualied. However, I would have been more condent with a bit part rather than a ght scene in my rst drama. I declined. I entered the temple room expecting a whip lashing of cutting words from Maharaja as my decision to leave was broadcast. He didnt look at me. Not once. Maharaja sat as usual behind his small desk, with scriptures behind him appearing like army phalanxes, each book like a soldier, waiting to come forward at any moment but none required as the general had the power of all the soldiers. My laughter turned into gravity. I studied Maharaja as he answered questions put to him. Though he wasnt looking at me, the invisible hand of his inner self reached over to me and caressed

107

my forehead. I started to thank him internally for softening my heart with his unfathomable kindness. Tears came. I kept my head down not wanting to cause a scene. I recorded the vision of his beautiful form so I could play it back as and when I liked. Darsan was over. I ran to my room. I knew Maharaja had picked up on my inner communication thus I felt no need to say anything. I went straight to my bedroom and hit the mattress like a child refused of pocket money. I cried. I really cried. This crying was beyond any childhood experience, beyond the experience of worldly love-loss. It was as if my heart had been smashed on a concrete slab and split completely open; and owing out was pure liquid emotion, which had been forever encased. I knew it was prema. I howled and howled the sound found its way down the corridor, bringing my neighbours out of their rooms. The pain was so intense; the pleasure so immaculate. I felt so much love it literally hurt. After one howl I had to take a deep breath, at the end of the breath it was still coming out. I sounded like I was vomiting. Then again, and again. What was I thinking to cause this? I was for the rst time truly aware of the causeless mercy of Maharaja. The question why echoed in my mind; my intelligence, seeking an answer but halted on the edge of the abyss of causelessness. My intelligence died, embarrassed. Only my heart was left to pinpoint the reason for Maharajas love. It took the plunge into the abyss. It was exhilarating and terrifying, like the rst attempt at sky-diving. Maharaja came into my mind. It was almost as if the mental world was real and the physical world the make-believe. I ran towards him and fell to my knees. Embracing him, I put my head against his belly. Then I stood and pulled him into my tight grip, crying and crying, drenching him with the tears of love he had produced in me. I began to stroke his beard and kiss him. I had not known him so close before. All boundaries had collapsed. Every atom of me was for him. But I was only a limited number of atoms. Again I was lost like a drop of water in the unlimited beauty of the ocean. I wanted to give but the ocean swallowed me with its own vastness. Why? Why? Why me? Krsna, I dont understand. Why is he giving me this love? Why are you giving me this love? I searched for a reason. My heart jumped into the abyss again and again my heart wailed and wailed and wailed. Strangely, I was experiencing contradictory sentiments at the same time. I was beating my st against my pillow erratically yet I felt other-worldly tranquillity inside. I was lost in the feeling of love yet I was aware that it was love and that it had been given by Maharaja. I was surprised that I was experiencing it too. I was assessing the experience while still experiencing. Similarly, I was in pain at the thought of leaving Maharaja, yet I was in bliss in the understanding that he was returning

108

me to Prabhuji and that could only come from his happiness with me. That made me intensely happy and I howled more. What I couldnt do was control the crying. It went on and on for about an hour. Lolita encouraged me to go to Maharaja, but I couldnt. I wanted to hold her too, but I didnt. I was distraught, but I was absolutely peaceful. I had strived for this love, and now attaining at least a glimpse of it, I revolted at the thought of striving for it. Krsna, guru, inspires, encourages you to strive on attaining, the very idea of striving, you realize, is actually opposite to the very experience of love. I didnt want love anymore. I wanted just to love. To hell with the ecstasy! Let others have it, I pleaded. Please let others have it. I beat my hand repeatedly on my mattress. Maharaja had given me something that is not available in the three worlds; it comes only from a realized saint like himself. And he wanted not a rupee, not a thank-you, not a nod of appreciation in return. The word return isnt even known to him. I cried more. I woke up cold in the middle of the night. I calmly covered my body, pondered for a few seconds in the silence, turned the light off, took a deep sigh and drifted off again. It was my last night in Maharajas goshala. Shall I come naked? I had asked Prabhuji after agreeing to return to the math. I have collected so many things. Bring everything, he said, all is Krishnas things. It was a new beginning and I was prepared to do as he wanted. Should I start again with nothing or bring my laptop computer? (I had been transcribing lectures in the Institute). Bring the computer, you can transcribe my classes, Prabhuji said. He was answering an inner question, conrming an inspiration to start writing this book. When I expressed that it would be encouraging to read a book about someone who attained prema, who was not a saint from boyhood Maharaja replied sarcastically, You write it. I carted my stuff from Vrindavan to Mathura the next morning. The sadhus and babaji renunciates carry with them only a begging bowl and stick. I carried a bed, cupboard, table, ofce chair, two-ring hob, pots, pans, rice, dal etc etc. All that was missing was the fondue set and cuddly toy. I set up my luxury babaji suite in my allocated room behind the math, sharing with only a couple of hungry mice, grateful for my possessing more than a begging bowl! Prabhuji began to shower me with affection. I asked what service he wanted me to do.

109

Reading, writing and chanting, bas (thats all). The word writing was the lightning bolt that set re to the desire to write the book. I had it all planned. I would write the book, chant and meditate on my relationship with Radha and Krsna, and attend the temple program, smiling when smiled at, and keeping my madness locked inside for no-one to detect. It felt like I had never been away, yet simultaneously I had the feeling that I had been away for lifetimes, my own consciousness was so different I felt the difference between boyhood and adulthood as I compared my current mood to my mood of three years before. The devotees are suspicious of me still, I confessed to Prabhuji. I was so crazy before. Soon they will see you are qualied. Soon you will change their hearts. Soon you will change all hearts. I envisioned my role as a big brother and looked forward to settling down, kicking back and sailing into the arms of the Lord undisturbed. This is not the rst time I have written these words in these pages. Fool! A few days passed. I was experiencing spells of intense bliss without any endeavour. My chanting was smooth and the Lords name slipped off my tongue with ease. I could chant and chant for hours and nally collapse in a happy heap, staring at one spot on the ceiling in a sort of stoned mellow. I drifted in and out of the temple scene without much of a care. Instead of blending in I stuck out like a Barry White fan at a Metallica gig; but I was oblivious to opinion. After a short while, the desire came strong to wrap myself in the cloth previously worn by Prabhuji just as the gopis all wear cloth passed down from Radhika. Sitting next to Prabhuji on the upstairs bench, my heart pounded as I caressed the edge of his shawl. Prabhuji always looked glorious, his dazzling saffron cloth always draped beautifully, owing and dancing to the rhythm of his elegant yet short stride. I wanted his cloth to be touching my skin at all times. I approached him in his room. I am a prostitute, I said jumper from my sister, sandals from a friend, shawl from another devotee, when will I completely be covered in my Gurudevas remnants? (I always spoke to him in a third person way, as if he wasnt my guru). Soon everything will come, no hurry. I dont know Prabhuji, I said, it seems Krsna is inspiring me to run. He was pleased. Good. Running is good. He gave me a glance which said, O.K. if you want to be in the fast lane, great, but hold on to your bead-bag.

110

I received a letter from Jaya Sri. She wrote about my proposal of marriage. I had nearly forgotten. My two months since Christmas were like two decades. She wrote: I received both marriage and divorce letters on the same day. As I read the marriage letter, I could feel you had changed your mind, so I wasnt upset. I would have said no anyway. First, I want to completely connect myself with Krsna and if we are to marry, it is not yet. What could have been catastrophic was quelled in a few lines. Then, as always, she concentrated on her inner feelings and sentiments. For some reason, she wrote, I have started thinking of Radha more than Krsna when I chant. One day it just happened. I felt a strong connection with her, as if she has been guiding me all along. I realized that all my life she has been with me. In Gaudiya Vaisnavism, Radha is worshipped more that Krsna. This is natural because ultimately the successful devotee will become her maidservant. Jaya Sri was uncovering these truths in a unique way. At rst, when I met her, I explained a little of the subtleties in the philosophy, but as time passed, I only conrmed her own realizations. It was obvious she was just dry grass waiting for that lit match of pure Vaisnava association. I am crying and it feels like pain and pleasure blended together. I dont know whether I want it to stop or carry on. What is this? My face becomes purple. I am like a mad woman. When I read Krsnas pastimes it feels like Im there already, running in the forest, laughing and dancing. One night, I held a pillow case to my face thinking it was Him. I cried myself to sleep. When I woke up, I immediately started reading again. I want to be there with Him now. I can feel Him so close. I want to just completely offer myself to Radhas service, not knowing anything else. The maha-mantra is a ower garland which Caitanya Mahaprabhu threaded with the prema of the manjaris. That love was revealing itself to my unsuspecting Jaya Sri who was experiencing the reality of the mantra due to her clean heart. The maha-mantra rst cleans, then reveals. Jaya Sri sent with her letter two books that had recently inspired her. One was Hidden Journey by Andrew Harvey and the other The Path of Love by Nigel Watts. I knew the two books were going to contain divine messages for me. It was becoming more and more apparent how Radha was totally dictating my life too, though I use the word Krsna to mean God. Radha and Krsna are God. They are one and two. Prabhuji told me directly that Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja was my Gaura-lila guru and later I would go to him, but why the difference? Where was my Vrindavan guru in Navadvipa lila and where was my Navadvipa guru in Vrindavan lila? The answer came before the question had time to surface. Prabhuji pointed to a young Bengali

111

boy. He can teach you Bengali, He is Sacidulal Babajis grandson. Really? I asked, the literal meaning hitting me rst. Really, Prabhuji replied, meaning in reality, not this body reality, but soul reality. It occurred to me that he meant Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja was the guru of the boys guru the paramguru. I was sure that this boy was Prabhujis hidden disciple, like I was. To make sure that the two of his words and the two of my understanding made the four of a correct conclusion, I asked Prabhuji, If Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja is his grandfather, then who is the father? Prabhuji smiled the smile of a math teacher on seeing I had my homework correct. As a devotee called Gopal das approached him, he said quickly, Gopal das is his grandfather. Then Prabhuji fell to the oor, offering heartfelt respects to Gopal das, who, surprised by Prabhujis behaviour immediately fell to the oor to return the respects. Both on their knees, Prabhuji started rubbing his head against Gopal dass head, and behaving like Gopal das was his worshipable deity. He tried to grab the perplexed devotees feet but he refused to allow such an elevated devotee as Prabhuji from showing this Indian way of awe and respect. Then Prabhuji looked at me and said, One day I am catching his feet. In the context of the external playing he meant one day in the future I will catch his feet. But this was a double entendre. In context of the instruction to me he meant one day in the past I caught his feet. Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja was to Prabhuji what Prabhuji is to me. My Navadvipa guru was my Vrindavan gurus guru. Thus they are both in both of my spiritual realities or lilas. The jigsaw puzzle wasnt just tting together, the joints were also disappearing and the whole thing was coming to life. I had met an old man in the middle of a West Bengal forest village and didnt realize he was my grand-guru. My connection with him was so strong due to this eternal relationship. During this time a new avour of ecstasy was entering my cup. After chanting one day I felt a desire to be close to Maharaja beyond friendship; completely surrendered to him like a lover. This feeling came too with Prabhuji; then Jaya Sri. But rst my gurus; despite them being male. What was male and female? I could only feel love. I had come to learn about babajis in Radhakund who had girlfriends and made love to them freely. It was condemned of course, but inspiration told me that these elevated devotees had reached a level beyond rules and their love was now owing with a sexual avour. This sexual avour was

112

owing in me now, too. It was something magical; totally different from the lust of my youth. I remembered Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja speaking the only words of instruction to me, holding my shoulders to keep me stable while listening, Prema (divine love) coming, not kama (lust). He knew. I was surprised. I had never read anywhere about devotees becoming divinely sexual; but in the writings of great saints the hints were there; clues which only those in the experience could pick up on. If it were open, maybe those needing to surrender would not be able to. Babaji vesa is important for you, this mantra is important for you. In my sampradaya, (spiritual family), there are two types of sannyasa danda sannyasa and babaji sannyasa. You are babaji. I didnt know anyone else with Babaji vesa in the Gaudiya Math. Come to think of it I dont recall meeting any other westerner with this initiation. All took saffron-clothed danda sannyasa. Babajis wear white cloth. It looked like I would be able to save a few bob (rupees) on the red dye. I asked also about the importance of wearing the correct tilak and chanting the correct mantras, and Prabhuji just said. Just never forget me. The essence in a gorgeous nutshell! Dont worry about the net as the sh is within your grasp. The next day I sat next to Prabhuji on the bench with two questions in my head. What is the power given by the babaji mantra? Why were the gopis and the girlfriends of the babajis not getting pregnant? I asked telepathically. He looked at me and said with an air of occasion Tantra mantra giving mystic power. He enclosed the words in an envelope of understanding and I swallowed. I was ready for initiation. I knew he was going to give it though he didnt say. He did it in his own special way, secretly. So secretly that I didnt even realize myself till I picked up my beads and started chanting hours later. I entered Gurudevas room where Prabhuji gave his classes. It was class time. He stared at me like a father about to give his son his rst bike. He gestured I sit right next to him. I obeyed. His wonderful energy was drenching me. He started speaking gibberish with a few of the devotees, and I lost myself in his gorgeousness. He spoke a couple of mantras aloud and asked everyone to repeat the words back. He was in a joking mood so no-one took him serious. After we had repeated the mantras he looked at me and said new babaji.

113

In hindsight, the initiation ceremony was obviously an initiation ceremony, but I was thinking the mantra would be spoken softly in my ear. New Babaji. It hit me just before I was about to sleep. Oh my God, that was it. But everyone spoke the mantra yes but where did Prabhuji plant it. Such power is the will of the devotee. I couldnt sleep that night. I chanted instead. I tried to doubt what had happened but I was full of an amazingly reassuring certainty that that was it. To make completely sure, in the morning I approached Prabhuji, as he was sat in his usual chopping vegetables position, with a deep prayer within let me know for sure that you have given me Babaji initiation. He looked at me in full understanding and said: Ah, Babaji Maharaja, thik hai (are you O.K.)? I became Babaji Maharaja. Prabhuji called me this with affection and so did his intimate followers. I tried to say to them, Look, Im just Pitambara das, Pete if you like, but they carried on calling me Babaji. Outsiders thought they were being sarcastic, calling me this because I had wandered off to babajis for a while. I noticed there was a secret family in the temple, Prabhujis secret family. They got to know I was Babaji Maharaja and through their affectionate glances I got to know all the secret family. All the family members were completely dedicated to the service of Prabhuji, they were all tadatma (of one heart) with him as the manjaris are with Radha. As such, Prabhuji was Radha in the place. I had naturally become more attracted to him than Narayana Maharaja who was like Krishna. I barely noticed him anymore, seeing him as my Prabhujis closest, but feeling the desire to serve Prabhuji with all my heart. The secret family who revealed themselves were like Lalita, Visakha (gopis) and the manjaris. Future service to them would be non-different, nay, more pleasing, than service directly to Prabhuji himself. Were there more undercover babajis? was my next telepathic question. In a class that evening Prabhuji proudly spoke, In my temple only one babaji. So I had Babaji vesa but no vesa. Prabhuji hadnt given me any cloth on my initiation day. It seems he had hidden all the Easter eggs. I had been reading the book about Mother Meera Hidden Journey which Jaya Sri had sent. The rst half of the book contained no new insights for me. But one day click Krsna took the book and used it in a magical way. There were two matters wandering around the motel of my mind, not having found a suitable room in which to rest. One was to start writing this book. The other matter was an intensely strong

114

desire in me to wear only Prabhujis old cloth. This became so strong that the cloth I was wearing started to make me feel disturbed. Take off these clothes until his cloth adorns your body. It was my inner voice piping up again. My logical mind retorted Dont be extreme, how can you go to the temple, and how will you eat if you cant go to the temple? Dont care for these things. The body is Krsnas, he will maintain it, my inner voice replied. I knew this was true of one completely surrendered to the Lord, but I had just moved back into the math, and wanted to preserve some integrity this time. Forget integrity, just surrender. I couldnt gag this inner voice. I felt strongly like I had to just go naked, taking the step towards the Lord before he stepped forward to me. But I had learned already with steps towards the Lord that there cannot be any expectation. Surrender is not a business. I was to go naked forever if no cloth came to me that had to be my resolve. My logical mind shivered at the thought of the consequences of such a move. Could I really walk naked into the temple shocking the whole Vaisnava community? No way! Not on the urging of my inner voice alone. I needed clarication of such an intense measure. I looked to the book Hidden Journey. It started to glow. My inner voice was saying, O.K.. If you dont have faith in me, open and read. I was at a point in the book where the author had started receiving clear guidance from his inner voice. The rst thing I read was the story of a woman he had met who used to only eat what was brought to her. She also wore no clothes as she felt them burning her skin. She could not wear them. When I read this conrmation, my intrepid soul and rational mind produced between them a feeling of being on a roller-coaster ride, producing excitement and nausea. My soul laughed out loud here goes, my rational mind cried out oh shit. What the hell! The manifestation of inspiration usually followed these three little words. I ripped my clothes off and threw them dramatically into the corner of the room. I felt great. A rush of assurance entered me as if my actions were rewarded with energy cookies for the soul. Two minutes later, the cookies were digested and I just felt cold. It was still February and my pad didnt have central heating. I had a pathetic heat convector that blew out hot air, to warm whichever tiny part of your anatomy you preferred to warm but the electricity was off. I went back to the book. As if the book was reciprocating with the faith I had in its guiding me it guided me. I continued reading. Now the book was alive its words pertinent for the moment, as if they

115

had lingered on the page, waiting for this time. The author described the inner vision of the mature spiritualist as the opening of the third eye. Andrew Harvey said to his guide Mother Meera; Now you are giving me this eye so I can begin to play the great game. The great game is known as lila. Entering Krsnas lila, his pastimes of endless play in ones own eternal form of a manjari, is the goal of Gaudiya Vaisnavas. Lila begins with guru and Andrew Harveys exchanges with his master were reecting mine with Prabhuji. Your Grace has opened my eye so I can see your glory. Your eye is open now, awake. It will never close. She was telling him and Prabhuji, using her words, written by Andrew Harvey, was telling me. A H: This is the beginning of the end of the journey, isnt it? I mean the end of the rst journey, the journey to unity with you. To me this meant that this relationship was a permanent, eternal and unbreakable connection. The next journey was realizing the inner relationship with guru manjari and Radha Krsna. A H: I have understood so many things today. I have understood that I will soon be able to write because at last I have seen who you are. I had to stop believing I could write my book at all so you could begin to write it in me, write it with every vision, every experience. M M: Yes, now, soon you will begin. It will come quietly. A H: In your rhythm? M M: Yes. You are my sweet child; you are my sweet child always. A H: Bliss lled my body. Bliss lled my body. And this bliss had avour. It carried with it desire. The book dealt with any lingering doubt about this new experience. I read on. Like a greedy gambler on a successful day at the bookies it was my day. The book continued to be relevant. AH: Does realization mean the end of desire? MM: No, it means beginning of the true desire, the desire that comes out of union for an even deeper union. Madhurya Kadambini also revealed how prema reverses the tendency of selsh desire to become tendencies of seless desire.

116

Though previously the countless emotions of the devotee were tightly bound by the ropes of attachment to body, family, relatives, home and wealth etc, prema now effortlessly sunders those bonds. Then prema, by its own power, takes the same emotions and dips them into a well of divine nectar whose mere touch completely transforms them into spiritual emotions. Then it rmly binds these spiritualized emotions to the sweetness of the Lords name, form, and qualities. This attachment and these emotions are experienced rst with guru as explained above. Prabhuji had given the goal of prema. And that prema, love, mood, bhava was manjari bhava, the mood of the maidservants of Radha. My destiny now inevitable, I still needed moulding, shaping, perfecting. My gurus now worked with ner tools, their work nearly complete. The manjaris are spunky. They have balls. They have to trust their inner intuition of Radhas real desire and drag her into the secret forest dwelling to meet with Krsna against her external pleading to be taken home. That was why I was naked. That was why Prabhuji was testing my surrender. Was I a cowherd girl or a coward girl? Was I to be the rst pathetic maidservant to enter the spiritual world? The manjari has to understand Radhas intimate desires and she must be able to understand her subtle hints and gestures and act swiftly. When the Divine Couple are locked in intimacy the situation is imminently dangerous due to suspicious in-laws. The manjaris have no time to say to Radha, What was that love, can you just write it down on a slip of paper? Oh you want me to sidetrack your sister-in-law, too late - the divine couple are caught. I had embraced dharma, religion. I was a religious man at last. Now Prabhuji reminded me of Krsnas concluding statement in the Bhagavad-gita. Give up all dharma and surrender unto Me. Krsna wasnt bothered about religion, only love, and now it was my time to embrace a love beyond the parameters of religion.

117

Chapter 14 The Grace of Sri Guru: Unconventional and Torrential

You give me the sweetest taboo, thats why Im in love with you. Sade Enter the mind. No, its too cold, I cant sit here just waiting to be fed and clothed, and I cant go out and disgrace myself. Ive only just returned to the Gaudiya Math; let me give my reputation a bit of a chance. I dressed myself again having spent only four curious hours naked. Walking the short distance to the math I tried to imagine being naked. My brave soul saw no problem; my mind saw the minds of others. I met with Prabhuji in his little room on top of the stairs. He was full of smiles. Prabhuji, one day I sat by the River Yamuna and noticed a breeze was making waves on the surface, and the water seemed to be going up-stream. I realized thats just like gurus mercy, it appeared to be owing one way on the outside, but the current below the ripples was owing only towards the sea. His smile went from ten to eleven on the smilometer. He always appreciated a good analogy. Did you take bath or was it too cold? He replied. I was as stunned as Pete Sampras having his four hundred mph service returned down the line. Did I take bath? I asked. Prabhujis response was as if my analogy wasnt an analogy. Was it too cold? he further probed. For some reason, divine stupidity covered my fathoming faculty. It took me until I started chanting till I solved the ripple riddle. Chanting was now like my scratching the silver off the tacky lottery cards on which no-one ever wins. Ha, ha. I won. I would have if Id had the guts to follow my hearts advice. Did I take bath, was it cold? Did I dip into the ow of gurus grace beneath the ripples on the surface? Was it cold naked in the room? I was right. The naked lila was a divine inspiration. I should have done it. I realized that following these sort of internal instructions were chances of scoring big mercy points. There is a general knowledge T.V. show in England where if you answer correctly after receiving one clue to the identity of some personality then you get ten points. After two clues you get nine points etc. After ten clues you get one point. The tests given by the guru are like this. At rst there is inspiration in the heart. If you can act on that you get ten mercy points. Then Krishna gives divine guidance, leading your eyes to words in a book. Nine points if you can follow. Then he may send someone to speak

118

something to you; eight points. And so on, till the guru is telling you to do something directly and you follow and pick up the one point. And what do points make prizes. The prize for following with love and taking the mercy points is the ability to follow quicker next time. The prize for love is more love. This all may sound gross. It is; thats the point. Love is so subtle and we are so gross. Guru gives us the chance to love by bringing mercy to a gross level. He makes the inaccessible accessible. He turns contrived love into spontaneous love. Once we are fully in tune with guru and scoring ten points every time, understanding the hearts inspiration every time, then we become qualied to enter into the spiritual realm where spontaneous lovers are continually dancing to the sound of Krishnas ute. Not following the naked lila wasnt displeasing to guru; it was just failing to pick up ten points. I couldnt go wrong now. I had gone through the knockout rounds and into a position where all the qualiers end up winning. In bhakti, there are no losers. Once there is real faith, there is no looking back. You can of course be knocked out if you have been pretending to be holy for thirty years, donning saffron robes and fooling nave devotees into thinking you a great devotee, pretending you are wet when you are dry. The next day Prabhuji blessed me with two sets of cloth and a runners-up smile. I dont think he really expected me to enter the temple butt-naked in my rst week back, but he was giving me a little indication of the madness which would accompany my following his internal orders. The next couple of weeks were full of smiles, embraces, secret jokes, and emphasized respect and love. In his classes, I would sit where there was a space. Prabhuji started saying Where is my babaji? Come, and he beckoned me next to him. One day he arranged an excursion to a holy site, calling six jeeps to the temple to take everyone along. In front of a group of devotees he told me, You cannot come. All were keen to be with Prabhuji for the whole day and I was a little disappointed but knew there was a reason for my ban somewhere. As I was chopping vegetables that morning, Prabhuji came and sat in his usual place, radiating an air of divine cheekiness. Securing a pile of potatoes to cut he looked at me and said, I am never leaving you. He had jumped out of the jeep at the last minute and sent the jeeps off without him. There were only about fteen devotees left in the temple all of whom were laughing at Prabhujis antics. The atmosphere was homely, cosy.

119

An hour passed and I was called to attend a house program by about ten of the fteen left-over devotees. I just wanted to stay in the warmth of Prabhujis energy so I hid in the kitchen. Again I was beckoned. Prabhuji who could see into the kitchen echoed the calling Pitambara Babaji, go on the program. No. I shook my head in childlike disobedience. Prabhuji was happy. I could see he didnt want me to go. I was called and called and eventually dragged out of the door. However, as the small party set off, drums sounding down the road and the ten pairs of eyes following that sound, I dropped off the back of the procession and sneaked back into the temple. I sat in my position across from Prabhuji, grabbed a bunch of coriander leaves and looking up exclaimed, I am never leaving you. My babaji, he whispered, audibly. It was so sweet. It was too sweet, but like things that are too sweet, you never refuse another serving. I was so happy. The rst western devotee I managed to befriend was a girl from Finland called Sudevi. We connected immediately. I had seen her when I came from Vrindavan for a brief visit months earlier and knew that Prabhuji had stolen her heart. We plunged into long conversations regarding the beauty of his every move, his every word, his every limb. She was concerned about speaking together openly. I had forgotten the Gaudiya Maths policy of separation between sexes. I couldnt be bothered to play that game again. I was thirty years old. We are adults. Sit down next to me and dont worry. Prabhuji wont be happy, she feared. She sat down. Then Prabhuji came out of his room and placed a huge sweet ball in her hand, broke it in two, and then gave me the other half, winking at her. There you go, I said, unnecessarily. Sudevis friends, my new friends, were keen to acquire the goal of divine love. I never noticed such determined devotees three years earlier. As they were the rst devotees I met this time round, I concluded that there must be many devotees like this who Id not seen. No. They were the cream of the crop in the eld of western devotees. This is how Krishna works. He puts you together with people on your wavelength immediately. The three girls were sharing a room near the math. I ended up speaking to them till one oclock in the morning one night and on returning to my place, had to jump a fence. The next day there was a

120

complaint and Prabhuji asked me what I was doing. I knew he knew everything. Chanting by the Yamuna, I said, telling him I was lying with my eyes. O.K., move into Mohans room. That day Sudevi asked Prabhuji what time the (temple) program was. Midnight till 3:00 a.m. he said. She was confused. Hes just giving an o.k. for our speaking till late, I told her. People started to whisper rumours. I easily ignored them but it was harder for Sudevi. In my new room there was a constant turnover of devotees. Mohan was the permanent force whose energetic mind was the cause. I had a soft spot for him and wanted to help. I told Sudevi, Im just going to give him love, love and more love then his negative energy will be swallowed by it. That evening Prabhuji came and spoke to me on the roof of the math. He approached me like an equal, a friend. It was beautiful. Help Mohan, he said. Never mind his negative mood, just feed him love constantly. I have given to you, now you give to him. This is family dynasty. Aside from conrming my duty with Mohan, this was a statement packed with the weight of responsibility. It conrmed that I was capable of passing his love on to others. I knew that would be my service from now on - revealing Prabhuji to people. But my own rening was still in progress. And Prabhuji had an amazing lila up his divine right sleeve. In India, divinity is commonly represented by the four-handed form of Krishna called Narayana or Visnu. Thus for my up-and-coming pastimes, I had the guidance of Prabujis other three hands. Ramanandaji, Dinanath and Haridas became my immediate superiors, illuminating the inner heart of Prabhuji and providing steadiness in a potentially unsteady time. The gopis are the manifestations of different moods of Radhika. In the same way, Prabhujis dearest disciples are manifestations of his different moods and qualities. Ramanandaji is loving, caring, calming. He is always cooking, preparing,cleaning, or serving. Haridas is funny, condent, cheeky, carefree. One day I was searching for a photo of myself and Prabhuji together, thinking it would be a good back cover for the book. That day Haridas said to me: I have a photo of you and Prabhuji together. Krishna was providing. He didnt give me the photo for a few days, though I begged him for it. After the fourth day he looked at me and said: I dont have any photo, I was just inspiring you. Nobody knew I was writing a book, let alone looking

121

for a photo. Dinanath is a law unto himself. He is above law. Having pleased the king, he wanders around the palace joking, rebuking, more joking, chastising, and creating mischief. His role in Prabhujis service is to help him smash the pride of new devotees. He does it so brilliantly most of them end up threatening to beat him. He doesnt care for that. His duty is to serve Prabhuji and help other devotees whether they appreciate it or not. He did this with me three years ago and I thought he was a useless guy causing trouble. I couldnt help notice however, his beaming lotus-petal shaped eyes. If anyone wants some idea of how Krishna looks as an infant boy, stealing butter from the gopis homes, then Dinanath is the perfect example of such divine mischievous beauty. He wanders around the math in anyones shoes. One time he walked past me wearing two pair of shoes. The look on his face was so innocent and the corner of his mouth gave evidence to the hysterics going off inside. Ive never seen anyone having so much fun. These three devotees are very close to Prabhuji, but it is not obvious. The way in which Prabhuji looks into their eyes when speaking reveals the relationships. Dinanath is especially beyond reverential worship. One time, Prabhuji offered him money to buy cardamon for the sweet rice. Dinanath pushed away his hand. He was the cook. I asked Haridas one time, Who cooked this prasad, you or Dinanath? He looked at me as if I was being ridiculous. Radharani cooked it. I helped. These devotees are manjaris. This cooking, over-seen by Prabhuji, the head manjari, is cooked in the mood of helping Radha to prepare food for Krishna. I have introduced a few of the cast. In hindsight, Haridas, Dinanath and Ramanandaji were all instrumental in my fasting lila from my rst stay in the math. They were all playing different roles at that time. Rama was caring, encouraging me to carry on serving despite being physically weak. Haridas was then a local resident with a moustache, trotting in to see Prabhuji after college. He was the one Prabhuji kept inviting to his room to eat, purposefully ignoring my hungry eyes. Dinanath was the devotee who slammed the door shut as I looked for food after my fasting had nished. They all knew it was a play and that I was Prabhujis eternal disciple. I knew it was a play but didnt realize there were other players playing roles knowingly, or that Prabhuji was my eternal guru.

122

The Stealing Lila - (Unconventional) Im gonna be iron, like a lion, in Zion. Bob Marley The next major lila was about to unfold. First came the inspiration as caitya-guru, the inspirer in the heart. I started to feel like I only wanted to eat remnants from Prabhujis own plate, or whatever he would give me. I felt uncomfortable seeing him after Id eaten, having a full belly, whilst he was still running around making sure everyone ate sufciently. On top of that I started to read in a few different places how the manjaris only eat the remnants of Radha, who only eats what Krishna leaves. Of course, nobody else was doing this (Ramanandaji and Haridas did only eat after everybody else. Dinanath ate before everybody else, not caring for the prayers to nish). But when an instruction descends into your fortunate in-box, then it doesnt matter what is in anybody elses in-box, or even if they have one. In his classes, Prabhuji said: I only used to take prasad from my gurus room. This is the thing which gave me so much spiritual strength. I was overjoyed then when Prabhuji beckoned me to his room to eat. Babaji not eating downstairs with others. Take from my room, I have saved for you. So, I had my own way. No hardship. No fasting for forty-ve days. Everything was suspiciously smooth. Then Prabhuji said as I came to his room. Take from downstairs today. So I followed. Then after eating, I passed his room and he said Why taking downstairs? The obvious reply of you told me to somehow didnt spill out. The next day, I went to sit down to help cut the vegetables. Did you take prasad? Prabhuji asked. No, I replied. Take, he said, pointing to the breakfast, which was sitting in a pot nearby. I ignored him and searched only for a potato peeler. O.K. Go in my room and take. In his room was a plate with the same breakfast food on it. This happened a few times. Prabhuji made it obvious that I was only to eat whatever was in his room. Then he cut out the external instruction. He stopped asking me if Id eaten. He stopped sending me to his room. Thinking maybe my fortune had run out, I sat downstairs and ate with everybody else. Ramanandaji looked disgusted with me, as if Id dome something dreadful, and he

123

served me a smaller portion than everyone else. Prabhuji then walked past me with a plate of prasad from his room. I watched him as he lled the plate with more preparations from the serving pots and walked past me with the bulging plate, glancing at me quickly, and then disappearing upstairs. Maybe the plate was for someone else? came a poor offering from my mind. It was mine. After Id nished eating, I went upstairs and took a look in his room. The full plate was sitting there, unattended, untouched, apparently without purpose. It sat there all day. Before class, Prabhuji glanced at me then spoke to a devotee entering the room. There is a plate of prasadam in my room, why dont you take it? The devotee somehow didnt register what he said and Prabhuji didnt repeat it despite this. He just glanced again at me and started the pre-class prayers. After the class, I nipped into his room and took the plate. I was never a good thief. A couple of times, as a kid, I slipped a packet of football stickers in my Roy of the Rovers comic but the experience was too traumatic for the little gain. I made a vow. Now I will only eat from Prabhujis room no matter what. Somehow this food contained a secret ingredient: krpa, mercy. Prabhuji even said one day that food from his room was not the same as the food downstairs. And he was like the mother blackbird governing which oesophagus it would traverse. Surely the greedy edglings would attract the worm and become big and strong. I was greedy for his favour, but, of course, I wouldnt steal from his room if it wasnt his wish. That would be so offensive and destructive to my spiritual progression. BUT what if he wanted me to steal it? Then could I do that? The challenges I would face started to unfold as the light of realization gave shape to the path ahead. Here we go again. The Corkscrew at Alton Towers theme park chugs upwards, slowly it rounds a bend and allows its passengers to witness the steep drop and double loop ahead. There is no turning back. You have queued for three hours to go on the ride and you are sat in the car. The anticipation now becomes coloured with apprehension. You take a deep breath The next day I went into his room after he had eaten, sat down and helped myself to the remnants of food in his triple-layer tifn. It wasnt so difcult as the other devotees had seen Prabhuji inviting me to his room the day before. The day after, I did it again and they questioned me. Did Prabhuji say you could take his remnants? Yes. I condently replied. The next day I was stopped at the door. Prabhuji said he never said you could go in his room, go and eat downstairs with everyone

124

else. I was a bit stumped as what to do. I went back to my room, having eaten nothing. For a few days I ate very little, only a few tit-bits I managed to plunder on a quick morning raid. One morning, when stealing some prasad had become a bodily requirement, I entered Prabhujis room on the pretext of giving owers for his altar. I noticed a bowl of kichadi in the corner of the room. Before I had a chance to smuggle the contents into my plastic swag-bag, the door opened. It was Ramanandaji. Babaji, utho (take, lift) he said, eyes pointing to the bowl. I smiled and started to lift the prasad. Then Prabhujis personal servant from Iceland, Doyal, came in and he shouted Get out. Ramanandaji joined in as if he too had just caught me doing something I shouldnt be doing. I went hungry again but I was pleased to note that I had an accomplice. And not just anyone I had Prabhujis real right-hand man. The days passed. I would steal when I could and Prabhujis western guards would try and prevent me while Prabhujis secret service would try and encourage me. Haridas one time came into the kitchen while I was washing pots and hollowed, Whatever my Babaji does is ne, no problem. Whatever my Babaji does, no problem. He was being Prabhuji for ve seconds; speaking aloud my gurus inner mood. I became simultaneously loathed and loved. Every time I ate my catch I became stronger for my next mission. Prabhuji however also fuelled the guards, speaking how disgusted he was with me and how I would go to hell. As I attended the daily services I met nearly every devotees eyes. A set of eyes would say dont you steal again, another set of eyes, go on, for us. And it was a play. I was chosen as Robin Hood and I had my merry men to please. But the Sheriff of Nottinghams men were ready. Prabhuji, the Sheriff, was the only good guy disguised as a bad guy. The only robber disguised as a cop. The only gopi disguised as an in-law. One day, Prabhuji scolded me in front of about ten devotees. If he steals from my room again, I will kick him out the temple. He thinks he is better than anyone else. He thinks the prasad in my room will give him extra mercy. He thinks Krishna is speaking to him in the heart. He must think he has some mystic power which others dont nonsense boy. I loved these beautifully selected words. The next day was a festival day. Vaisnavas celebrate the appearance into this world of prominent incarnations of Krishna and the disappearance (into the other world) of prominent saints and gurus. Prabhuji is always very magnanimous on such days. My mind cherished the idea of a reprieve. My

125

heart was to cherish more the actual events of the day. In the morning I was sat besides Prabhuji chopping vegetables. This alone defeated the understanding of the Sheriffs men. I reached for the green beans which needed cutting. They were right in front of him. Hey he shouted, and shook his head giving me a disgusted look. Ramanandaji laughed. I tried again, half managing to secure the pot of beans. Prabhuji looked at me and raised his hand like a mother to her naughty son. I ignored the threat and pulled the beans the nal distance. Prabhuji smiled a proud smile, revealing the previous vibes to be fake. A small test. But still I had to go against him to produce the smile. The smile, which no-one except for Ramanandaji saw, infused me with enough condence to perform the Italian job. After cutting the vegetables I pondered a raid. Ramanandaji and another devotee both encouraged. Now! The door is open. I went to Prabhujis room. He was there, and so was Doyal, the chief guard on duty. I acted as if they both were not there and went straight to the bowl of kichadi in the corner. Prabhuji pretended not to notice me. Doyal, startled, grabbed the bowl from my hand, my resistance retarded by a laughing t. Prabhuji glanced over to me as Doyal pushed me out the door. The delight on Prabhujis face as he watched me carrying out my secret duty lled my heart. My belly didnt need the kichadi after that. That afternoon I was going to serve out prasad at the feast. Prabhuji was going to try to stop me. Then I was going to serve. That was the script, I knew it. Arati was performed, the prasadam bell sounded, the mats were rolled out and the devotees and guests were seated. Only those who wanted to serve and those who wanted to be seen serving remained standing by the full pots of hot prasad. Prabhuji seated the latter, whom obliged his request. Prabhuji then hovered over the prasad like a top class midelder with the ball at his feet, looking around the eld to see who he was going to distribute the ball to. It wasnt going to be me. I would have to take it off him. Other devotees tried to sit me down, fearing I was going to do what I was going to do. About fteen of his secret family gathered round sensing the same, smelling from a distance the sweet rasa of a divine comedy sketch. For the rst time I noticed they all had the same eyes Prabhujis eyes. I felt like Prabhuji was giving me fteen affectionate smiles, simultaneously. It started. The rst runners sent with a chutney starter and pakoras, the next with rice and then dal. It was my turn. I stuck my hand out to receive the bucket of sabji. Prabhuji snapped and pointed to the exit. I hesitated, not moving. The sabji went out. The bee-like devotees, smelling the nectar of the feigned quarrel honed in, along with Giri, one of the Sheriffs men. The cooked preps having

126

been allocated to various devotees, I lunged for a basket of potato crisps. Prabhuji raised his hand, threatening me with a divine karate chop. I grabbed the crisps and sped off down the line of devotees who were tucking in to what they already had on their plate. Giri followed and grabbed the basket. I resisted a little but only enough that a few crisps ew here and there. Giri shouted for me to leave. Prabhuji was pleased. I could feel it. I was red up for more fun. Prabhuji shouted Go! meaning leave. I said O.K., and picked up a bucket of sweet rice and made off down the line again, quickly this time, leaving Giri trailing behind a slow chapatti distributor. I came back with an empty bucket and a smile and asked: Shall I go again. Prabhuji laughed fteen times simultaneously. The original pair of eyes pierced mine as the original Prabhuji picked up a large sieve and threatened to beat me with it. I stuck my chest out and refused to move. How I would have loved to threaten him with a bigger sieve. None were at hand. It was enough for my rst performance in front of a home crowd. Prabhuji then cracked a smile as if his feigned anger was too weak to contain it, as it forced its way from his heart to his face. You rascal! Go, before I beat you. He pointed to his room. Go and take prasad in your room. If you dont follow my order then big problem. O.K I climbed the few stairs with the determination of a David Platt run. The door of his/our room was unlocked, the guards timely misplaced. His food ask sat on the oor and cried out take me. I whipped the ask, and ran downstairs, out the temple, across the road, and into my apartment and closed the door. I was too excited to enjoy the food like a transcendentally steady person I just wolfed it down and cleaned the ask - just in time to greet Doyal who was banging on the window. With him was one of the merry men, smiling at having the fortune of being the only one to witness the next act. I came out the room, was pushed to the oor and had the ask ripped out of my hand. I marched back to the temple and walked into the arena where folks were still nishing their prasad. I dont believe it. Hes too much. Oh no, hes got a nerve, were the whispered comments which deserved comic book bubbles. I walked over to the washbasin and washed my hands calmly. Prabhuji was right beside me. As I walked back he stopped me, right in the middle of the centrle grill, the middle of the arena. Haridas was by his side giving me a feigned disgusted look, which was blended with a proud smile.

127

Why you taking my food? Prabhuji asked. Silence. Too much silence. I was hungry, I replied. There is so much food down here. No thanks, Im full now. I started to crumble a little and wanted the stage curtain to drop. I left quickly, a little shaky, having been pierced by the dagger-glances of the Sheriffs men around the arena. I blew my chance of a huge, transcendentally juicy, gag-lled, feigned argument. Returning to my pad, I picked up my beads, only managing a couple of mantras, as Prabhujis delighted face from the morning lila appeared in my head. I fell onto the oor laughing. Half an hour later, ve devotees came to my room. On noticing two of them were undercover protectors one being Haridas I opened the door. I was interrogated for the next thirty minutes by three young guards. Haridas was a little behind making quips which I bounced back to him, to the amazement of the st-bearers. The Monty Python crew would have been proud. It went something like this. Guard: Why did you steal all Prabhujis food? Me: I didnt. G: You did. P: I forgot the sweet rice. Haridas: You want sweet rice? G: Never mind sweet rice, why did you do it? P: Love. H: You want love? G: Never mind love. P: Never mind love! Love is everything. G: You think youll get love by stealing. P: If necessary. H: You nonsense, you think you are some Babaji who can do anything? P: Not everything. I cant x plugs like you. H: Ill show you if you like. P: Thanks. G: Never mind plugs. P: Never mind plugs, thats the problem in India, no plugs, and open cables. Its

128

dangerous. G: I dont believe it. It went on for little while more, then G: If you dont follow his rules, were gonna beat you and Prabhuji has just said hell call the police. He said hell give you one more chance to follow his order. Do you understand? P: Yes. H: Yes, follow his order, unconditionally, said Haridas on his way out, unheard by any of the others. (Haridas later came back to my room to tell me that he was going to Navadvipa soon and wouldnt be able to protect me again and that love is unconditional.) In the morning I continued my daily service of bringing the milk from the goshala across the river. As I crossed the bridge that linked the city of Mathura with the villages in the country on the other side, all the events of the previous day raced through my mind. I stumbled through faces of delighted and horried observers of the stealing lila and nally reached the centre Prabhuji. Then it went from his face and eyes, into his mind and motive, then his heart and compassion. Tears welled up as I walked by the rail track and cut off down a footpath towards the goshala. My heart started to drown in thoughts of Prabhujis compassion on me. Then my mind travelled again to the observers of the play, especially the guards, and, as it soaked with the compassion of my beloved Prabhuji, my heart collapsed inwards. In my mind I embraced Doyal and Giri and all the devotees in Class A, who didnt understand my actions. I felt so much love for all of them. Inside my heart I pleaded with the Lord give them love, give them this incredible feeling which you have given me. I tried to control the tears. I did till I arrived at the goshala, then my heart collapsed again, but this time I lost control. I staggered away from the hut and fell onto the oor wailing, Why? Why? I cried like a distraught baby. I tried to chant, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna That was it. It was if I had never chanted the names of the Lord before. Hearing myself repeat Hare and Krishna only a couple of times created in me a burning desire to behold them, to see them, to serve them, to drown myself in their sweetness. Hare... I was lost. Tears poured out. I kept my head in my lap and tried to control my sobbing, but the dam had broken, and the gushing waters of the holy names of Radha and Krishna ooded the valley of my heart. This was the second intense experience of prema. First Maharaja had given it to me; now Prabhuji. Devotees and workers in the goshala came to console me. For a grown man to wail so loudly I must have just lost my father or something. No. I was in ecstasy. It is a pleasure that is

129

impossible to relate. One devotee, a little unimpressed, turned away and said sarcastically, Oh, hes in prema. It was Krishna saying Yes, this is prema. To most, prema is something you experience in a future life, but not now. Therefore it remains for them in the future where they put it. I gathered myself after a while, still mentally stroking all the heads of the guards. They were just babies in spiritual life. They werent to know that Prabhuji was testing me. I wanted their hate for me to die, for their sake, as hate only pains the hater. I didnt want them to feel any pain. In fact I wanted to take their pain, and the pain of the whole world, on my head. I walked back with the milk after regaining composure. When I reached the temple, Prabhuji was nishing class, which he gave in Hindi every morning. As I walked passed him with my container of milk, purple face and grave and tranquil mood, he glanced at me, letting me know he knew what I had just experienced. A child may approach his father at Christmas and say, Dad, look what Santa brought, unaware that the same kind dad had bought and wrapped the present. I was growing. Prabhujis Santa outt didnt fool me anymore. I knew where the love in my heart was coming from. I sneaked into the room where Prabhuji was giving pre-class training to some young brahmacaris. I listened in. I was always aware that at any time Prabhuji could speak to me through speaking to them. He did. The devotee asked: How do you practically follow Siksastakam. Earlier in the book I have mentioned a verse from Siksastakam where the gopis are saying to Krishna Whether you embrace me or leave me for another, I am your surrendered soul unconditionally. It was on that day of writing that this question was asked. My question had slipped out from the tongue of another devotee. That devotee was just being used. It was my question, and Prabhuji knew it. He replied, Staying on the street. The answer didnt seem to t the question so the boy asked again. How do you follow Siksastakam practically? Staying on the street. No, how can one apply the Siksastakam... Staying on the street. Then Prabhuji started speaking something else and a few seconds later the boy forgot that the question ever existed. It was almost as if I had possessed him for twenty seconds. When Prabhuji went into irrelevant mode I always knew something pertinent was emanating from his divine tongue. As others would switch off, I would become more alert. When alert, all answers not only seem like they are for you, they are for you. Only the inattentive fail to hear and see the Lords guidance (and

130

gurus guidance) everywhere. The answer he gave was clear. Unconditional love for him will mean I will have to tolerate being kicked out of the temple. He was warning me of the hardships ahead and the warning itself was the bedding laid out on the street for that forthcoming day. Before the class started, Prabhuji shouted, Hey you, outside! Not coming my class! Go! The red card. It was inevitable. Id been on a yellow for a while. I didnt leave without an argument with the ref. Why? What have I done now, I said innocently, choking the guards. They allowed Prabhuji to do the retaliating. Not following my rules, if you have no digestion power, at least take once a day. You can take in your room, no problem but now no class, get out. I respectfully dragged myself out the room before cracking up. Digestion power. Take once. At least try and steal one time if three times is too intense for you. And take in my (your) room no problem. Such words dispelled my fear of potential capture and beating from the guards. I wanted more fun. I grabbed a shawl from the washing line and draped it completely over my head and face and entered the classroom again. I made it half way across the room before Doyal kindly escorted me to the door. I could feel Prabhuji laughing inside. Outside the room were reinforcements stopping me from grabbing a rug and crawling into the room underneath it. I was starting to have so many ideas for gags. I passed a little boy on the street selling Groucho Marx type moustache and glasses sets. I had no rupees on me. It surely would have been worth a beating to walk in to class, straight-faced, in my super disguise. Take once a day. Take in your room. No problem. Prabhujis words echoed in my ears as I woke the next morning. For a few days I managed to sneak into his room to take prasad. There were fewer guards around due to the pilgrimage. I pondered the purpose of the test. Was I to be as crafty as a monkey or as bold as a lion? Maybe a little of both, but my heart told me that snooping around and grabbing the odd piece of fruit wasnt the objective. I knew sooner or later I would be caught again. Sooner was better than later, I concluded. I generated courage by chanting and meditating on Prabhujis inner guidance. When the understanding that I could delight him by stealing his prasad came to mind, the task seemed not

131

only easy, but a joy to perform. I made my way over to the temple around the time Prabhuji usually ate. What would be my excuse for going upstairs past his room? I thought. I needed an alibi. At the entrance to the temple, a postman stopped me and gave me a letter. It was for Doyal, the very guard on duty who I would have to dodge. Brilliant. When your determination is xed, Krishna is always ready to link hands and give you a leg-up over any wall. I walked all the way to the roof, passed the dining devotees and Prabhujis room, where he too was eating. From the roof I had a vantage point of Prabhujis door, and Doyal was pacing up and down as usual, waiting to clean Prabhujis plate and eating area. My mind was xed and I had no fear. Prabhuji came out of his room to wash his hands; Doyal went into his room to collect his plate. When he came back out the room, I dashed across the roof, down the stairs, into the room and locked the door from the inside. I took a deep breath and looked around the room for eatables, remnants. The bowl in the corner of the room contained breakfast kichadi. It always did. I put it on a paper plate that was nearby and sat myself down for lunch. There was a knock at the door. I remained silent and continued to eat. Whoever it was went away. As I nished eating, another knock; the door-handle being tried forcefully and Doyals voice. Pitambara, what are you doing in Prabhujis room? I slipped into lila mode. Ah, Doyal prabhu, a letter for you. I opened the door and gave him the letter, standing there as if it was my own room. From Australia, I added. If the balance wasnt already tipped, the sarcasm tipped it. Doyal lunged at me with a right hook to the ribs, and pushed me back into the room. What are you doing here? Prabhuji told you never to take from his room. I didnt take... Another punch to the chest, a big one which threw me back against the window, knocking it out its frame. It smashed on the oor. My heart was somehow excited. Doyal looked worried. He threw me out the room and down two ights of stairs. I landed on my feet both times and then walked into the dining area and across the centre grill. Prabhuji was there and most of the other devotees. Doyal ran in and grabbed me. Let me wash my hands at least, I asked. He threw me down two more ights of stairs and out the door onto the street. Again I landed on my feet both times. I entered my room and locked the door behind me, fell on to my bed and pissed myself laughing. The delight in my heart subdued the pain in my chest. In fact the pain in my chest somehow gave delight to my heart. After some time, I went to see Sudevi to hear about the news of my imminent departure

132

from the math. For the rst few minutes Sudevi feigned gravity pretty well, which triggered my contemplating the next move. Then she broke into a big smile and said, Prabhuji was laughing, and laughing and laughing. He had taken her upstairs and told her that I had taken prasad in his room. He took just a little prasad and smashed my room, Prabhuji told her. Big problem? Sudevi asked. No problem at all. Prabhuji told Sudevi all this in front of Doyal who was fuming. She said Prabhuji was the happiest shed ever seen him. He spoke not with condemnation for my actions but pride. Prabhuji said, The only problem is he is eating out of the pots so now they cant be used for Radha and Krishna. Pitambara told me that he doesnt eat from the pots, Sudevi replied. Dont believe everything he tells you or youll end up in the Yamuna. Sudevi related the whole conversation and spoke of how his energy was so positive. She was confused with the last comment, which went against the ow of his proud words. I smiled when I heard his riddle. I meditated on it and the meaning came to me. The current of the Yamuna was like the ow of gurus mercy. This analogy I had spoken to him now he was re-using it. If she believes everything then shell end up, not oating dead in the Yamuna River, but oating in the glory of gurus mercy. Telling her this was a bit like saying you listen to me, but what could I do. He knew that I would be able to explain the riddle. I was so happy to hear of my gurus happiness. Pleasing Prabhuji is my only goal in life, and if storming into his room, nicking his food, smashing his window and completely annoying everyone in the temple makes him happy, then I am happy to oblige. I was prepared for more of an aftermath but Prabhuji told Doyal, the guard, I want to give Pitambara one more chance to follow my rules. My rules. I knew his rules by now, and they werent written in any rulebook. They were gopis rules, one rule - love over reason. I spent the next day away from the temple. That night I opened the book I was reading, The Way of Love, a story based on the life of the poet Rumi written by Nigel Watts. It was the second of the two books Jaya Sri had sent me. She told me that there was an account of Rumis life in the book that mirrored what I was going through. That account, as if waiting for perfect timing to add weight

133

to its content and my own realization, sprung forth from the book, as I opened exactly on the right page. I read: Rumi: (To his unconventional guru Shams): I will do anything you tell me. Shams: Then we will get drunk together, you and me. Rumi knew he was being tested but still he hesitated. For an imam, a religious leader chosen by the community, to drink liquor would bring disgrace and public condemnation far greater than had already been expressed. There was nothing for Rumi to say; it was no use protesting against the request, explaining the censure that such an act would bring. It was pointless questioning the intent of Shams, for the master has only one purpose for his student liberation from all that holds him back from full submission to God. Submission to the teacher is the rst step on that path. But although Rumi trusted Shams, he had been trained well in the matters of morality. The commandment forbidding the drinking of wine was no minor prohibition and Rumi had never allowed strong liquor to touch his lips. He had made his home in the nest of religious law; but if a edgling is to y, it needs to leave the nest as surely as it left the egg, and abandon itself to the mystery of ight. If Shams wanted him to drink wine, he would do so, even if it meant falling to his destruction. And so he fell from the nest. Rumi walked to the wine-sellers quarter as though in a dream. He watched himself buying a ask of wine, paying for it, carrying it through the streets. The news quickly spread and a crowd followed him back to the college. He was aware of the whispers and the pointing ngers, and his soul was stung as though by the ails of a whip. Though he had never sought approval, it had always been his. He had been one of the people, yet not one of them. He had been better, more pious, uncontaminated by sin. Rumis cheeks burned. He wanted to protest, explain himself to the crowd, but what could he say? That he would follow Shams to the end of the earth, even to hell if he was asked. Worshippers were leaving the mosque as he passed, and their eyes were drawn to the crowd. What is happening? they called. See what has befallen our master a voice called back. Buying wine and getting drunk in public, shame on you, may Allah punish your transgression. It was like a weight falling from his shoulders. Suddenly Rumi gave up the need to defend himself. He opened his heart to their denunciation, allowing the acid of their remarks to burn away layer upon layer of his self-importance. As he did so, something else took the place of humiliation. His limbs were light and his senses sharp. The cool breeze that blew from the mountain passed

134

straight through him; there was no obstruction, just a vast, glorious space where his pain had been. Sun of Tabriz (Shams), Rumi called out, I am your slave, your servant, your wine bearer. If you order me to drink this wine, I will. If you order me to drink poison, I will. Shams took the wine ask and addressed the crowd. I have tested your master. Nowhere have I met such devotion. Truly is the lowest highest, the highest lowest. Truly this slave is a king, this servant a master, this wine bearer the source of wine. Saying this he poured the wine onto the ground and bowed to Rumi. And complete surrender was the challenge for Rumi as it was for me. Would reputation or religious sanction obstruct that surrender? the master has only one purpose for his student, liberation from all that holds him back from full submission to God. These words held the hands of my own and danced together on the stage of my soul. Not drinking for Rumi was easy. Not stealing for me was easy. Rumi had perfected piety. I too had no more desire for sinful ways. Morality had found its way into my ways. Now divine immorality offered itself as a challenge. The guru is needed to offer that challenge, for the way of love needs a lover and the way of surrender, the rst step on the ladder of love, needs a master. Guru is master and lover. Shams saw that Rumi was ready. Prabhuji saw that I was ready. Ready to offer myself unconditionally to his desire. Krishna told, give up all dharma and surrender unconditionally to me. Dharma, religion, piety, it seemed was the nal obstacle to the blossoming of real love. To jump from the nest which once sheltered you as a edgling, but now limited your movement. To escape from the net which once plucked you from the ocean of suffering but now has caught you in its mesh. Religion captures you from the world of misery and love releases you into the world of continuous bliss. Then you will witness that subtle world; then you will see God. The expert guru has in his care, a net and a pair of cutters. He will use the net on the sh-like disciples trying to wriggle free and back into the ocean where they had always previously existed. For those who have grown attached to Guru and have forgotten about that ocean, he will use his cutters and release them from the net. That is why an expert guru may seem to contradict himself. His objective is one, yet the qualications of disciples are many. In his class he speaks and many listen; many see. Yet from the notes of his words, only those with deep vision may read the small print, which reads, ignore the large print, you are free now. The book inspired me as Jaya Sri had promised. I felt however that Rumis test was decidedly easier. I was hungry. I wished I just had to go out and buy a bottle of wine, and not have the possibility

135

of a beating for trying to maintain my now feeble frame. The next day Prabhuji gave me a blasting in front of a few guards. Ill give you one more chance. If you dont follow then they will beat you. He gestured to Dibu, the only soft devotee standing there who knew Prabhuji was joking. He then banned me from going upstairs and said if I can follow his order for the next ve days then he would consider my situation. That night he gave class, which I heard on tape the next day. Prabhuji spoke of the Kaliya demon, the snake demon that Krishna killed to protect the residents of Vrindavan. He said, The gopis never feared the snake. For one who is completely surrendered to Krishna, the snake cannot bite. If anyone has an envious mood then he is like the Kaliya snake he will be against the Vaisnavas, the guru, then God he will be close to guru physically but soon Krishna will kick him out of Vrindavan one who is liberated, how can the snake bite one who has siddha-deha, then snake never disturbing. There are no problems if one truly takes shelter of Krishna. I felt the whole class was spoken for me to be fearless of the snake-like guards. That is what the test was all about fear. The gopis have no fear. I felt fearless in comparison to my previous self but this test revealed a subtle fear lurking inside of me. Yes, I feared being beaten up. I never liked confrontation. Prabhuji was making me confront people who hated me just to get some food. The test was bizarre, but I could see its purpose. For the next ve days I managed to get into Prabhujis room, sit down, eat as people passed by the door, leave the room unseen, and make it back to my place across the road. Each day I confronted fear and I could feel it evaporating into the glowing light of Prabhujis remembrance. Nobody challenged me about the food which was obviously going missing. Prabhuji must have kept quiet and not alerted the guards. The sixth day marked the sixth year of my devotional life. It was Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhus appearance day. I wanted to do something special; to make Prabhuji really happy. Chaitanyas appearance day also coincided with the coloured powder throwing festival of Holi and outside the temple was a makeshift stall selling colours, squirters and water pistols. A light bulb hovered over my head. I had no money to carry out my great idea. Then, suddenly, a local boy came up to me and placed ten rupees in my hand. I want to give you this, he said. I went outside to the stall. How much for the water pistol, I asked. Ten rupees. So there I was, an hour later, swaying to the music in the temple service, preparing mentally for my big moment, with exhibit A tucked in the fold of my cloth.

136

Prabhujis look of delighted disbelief ashed across my mind, but, unfortunately, it was all too quickly replaced by the guards look of furious disbelief. I lost the bottle. And in so doing, I lost the opportunity, then I lost the gun, putting it down as I danced in kirtan. Had I of found the bottle, I would have surely found the opportunity and Prabhuji would have found himself staring down the barrel of a plastic red water pistol loaded with sweet scented coloured water. I knew that the more controversial my lila, the more beautiful, and the more exquisitely funny it would be. I wanted to go to Prabhujis room, grab him, throw him out of the room, lock the door and eat from his own plate. One devotee, Mohan, proved my theory correct. He arrived from Calcutta one day in trousers, jumper and moustache. He didnt look like a devotee! He came up to me and said Are you O.K.? in a tone like we were best friends. I dont know you, I said. I know you, he replied, looking inside me, and walked off. So deep. So deep! The next day there was a scandal. He had taken Prabhujis shoes and was walking around the temple in them. In Vedic culture the only thing you do with gurus shoes is touch them to your head in respect. These shoes had been brought from Iceland by Doyal. Doyal went crazy, calling the devotee an offender. Prabhuji was in hysterics. The shoes were replaced by another pair and the next day this devotee took them and wore them all day as he went visiting different temples. Uproar. Doyal in anger. Prabhuji in laughter. Later, I saw the devotee, who all the secret family adored, hugging Prabhuji. They were so close. I approached them together as they were sitting on a bench and sat at their feet. Both of them looked down at me and the devotee whispered something in Hindi to Prabhuji and smiled at me. I felt like his protg. I felt like they were football managers discussing my abilities with pride. A couple of days after Gaura Purnima, Gurudeva returned to the math for a ve day stay between stops in his sixth consecutive year world tour. Hundreds of devotees, including many westerners, came to see him and listen to his lectures. Gurudeva gave darsan and I stood in line, ready to offer my respects and forgiveness for leaving him three years earlier. As I bowed at his feet and sought recognition in his eyes before speaking, Haridas, who was stood by his chair, whispered, Pitambara has been stealing prasad from Premananda Prabhus room. Haridas was giving me the cheekiest smile. It gave me strong faith that Gurudeva was more into the crooked humour of the lila than the grave apologies he so often received. I started to laugh.

137

Why are you stealing? he asked. Haridas ashed his eyebrows enjoying seeing me squirming before a capacity crowd on the roof of the math. I laughed. Why are you laughing? he asked. What could I say? Im happy Gurudeva. I had to say something. Gurudeva turned to one of the head western guards and told him to make sure I returned back to England. The manjaris have so many obstacles to clear the way for Radha and Krishna to meet. They are like expert jugglers, juggling different lilas like amesticks. I was juggling with a few amesticks in my training session and now Gurudeva was lighting another stick to throw into my circle of dancing ames. I gured the more I could juggle, the more I would be made to juggle. The next day, Gurudeva was leaving for his continued preaching in the west. His western personal servant came to me and said, Gurudeva says you dont have to go back to England as long as you follow Prabhujis order and keep taking his medicine. Dinanath made me do it again. Prabhujis door was open. One guard was sitting inside. An old lady came with a tif tifn and placed it in the room. Dinanath passionately gestured go go in, take the tif tifn and run. I looked at him as if he was crazy. Again he mimed the desired looting scenario. His energy entered me and I grabbed the tif tifn, legged it down few ights of stairs, and ran to Sudevis place. After a couple of hours, having enjoyed the local cuisine, I returned to my room. Outside the door were all my possessions. Inside the room was Mohan, who told me, I cant let you in or they will beat me. Eventually he opened the door and allowed me to give him a massage. He was stressed by the situation. I saw it as Prabhujis mercy. He had told me I would be staying in the street. The time had come. The guards had left me a note. Pitambara Prabhu, Enough is enough. Take your things and dont come back. Any more games and we will denitely sort you out. - Prabhujis servants Sudevi agreed to put me up in her place despite opposition. She was warned that if she did so she would go to hell. She sheltered me. On seeing Prabhuji, he opened himself up to a more intimate relationship with her. He was warm with her, smiling with her, he invited her to eat with him. You passed your rst test, I said, now starts your life as a blissful black sheep. I was on the roof of the math. I chanted and prayed for a clear sign of what to do. Mohan came up to me. I watched him approach and knew he had a secret message for me, whether he knew or not.

138

Prabhuji said in class last night stealing prasad, melting gurus heart, then receiving big mercy. Mohan related the message with surprise. Really, I said. He denitely said that. It was a rare class that Sudevi didnt tape and Mohan was allowed to attend. I realized that it wasnt taped so I didnt have any external ammunition to justify my actions. The beauty of Prabhujis dealings is that every subtle instruction is completely negligible. One may hear the whole episode and believe it or disbelieve it. I knew I had more stealing to do. The next night, on the roof of the math, I prayed again, Krishna, what should I do? Let me know for sure. Within ten seconds a lady approached me and handed me a three-layer tifn. Premananda Prabhu prasad, she declared and walked off. What could I do? Krishna was now putting the loot in my hand. My accomplices were becoming really divine now. Suddenly the lights went out. It was pitch black. I left without anyone seeing me. The next day, at the Math, I had my head kicked in! A well-built American guard grabbed me and punched me in the head. He held me to the ground, suffocating me until another devotee realized I couldnt possibly answer their interrogations. I was surrounded by devotees in saffron dress who hated me. I was beaten in the head again and again. Why are you taking his food? You want to kill him? Bang, another blow to the head, then the chest. I switched off my mind and thought of the Lord. Krishna, you wanted me in this situation, so I accept it with pleasure. My heart became still. I looked into the eyes of ve hateful devotees and prayed that one day they would receive Prabhujis mercy and Krishnas mercy. I actually felt love for them. They hit me again but I wasnt bothered. My body and soul were distinct. I have never felt so much calm. Haridas came on to the scene. Our eyes met a warm proud smile lit his face. His lack of concern for me told me he had the faith that Prabhuji was trying to instil in me. The Kaliya snake cannot harm the gopis; they are always protected by Krishna. One more blow to the side of the head came, accompanied by the words, I just want to kill him. I looked at the devotee with a compassion Id never felt before. My eyes tried to reach his soul. Haridas defused the situation. Let the fool go dont waste your energy, Prabhuji will sort him out now, for sure.

139

I got to my feet and walked downstairs. I couldnt help walking over to the washbasin and ashing Prabhuji a smile before washing my mouth out and spitting out the blood from my cut lips. I gave Sudevi a smile to comfort her. She followed me back to her place and attended to my bruised head. As the day passed, I felt the ecstasy in my heart increasing. The bodily pain became bodily pleasure, metamorphosized by the sunrays of love. I started to laugh and sing. I wanted to grab a drum and enter the temple and release my rapture. Then I started to cry and cry. I was crying again for the devotees who hated me. I prayed that they shouldnt suffer any reaction for their actions. Later, reections on what had transpired produced more understanding. The animal is controlled by karma. The human being is controlled by samskaras or impressions in the memory. The devotee is controlled by love. Love brings freedom and because a devotee is controlled by love he has real freedom, the freedom to create, maintain and destroy. A guru knows. He only wants to create love and sometimes he has to destroy to do it. So he does it. Prabhuji watched me as I passed him with blood pouring out of my face after I was beaten for stealing from his room. He showed no emotion, and I knew why; I was in ecstasy. The guru may also change the rules, the regulations, and the path of love. He is so powerful he can say, O.K., now to get to God it is like this. In the beginning there is the word, but thats just the beginning. The most important thing is to connect to one with love and not be attached to the processes of old. Those who set up various processes in the past knew the future. The primary school teachers are aware of the methodology of future university teachers, and they are aware that their students need to leave their school one day to enter the university of life. The next day was a feast day. There was an enthusiastic kirtan taking place in the temple room. I entered and stood in the back corner of the room. The chanting found its way into every cell of my body, every corner of my soul, and I felt an intense desire to release my limbs to the rhythm of the drums. The kirtan ended, but then Prabhuji started it up again and as one of his special disciples took the lead, Prabhuji began to dance. Like a graceful ballet-dancer, he bounced on his toes and held his hands aloft. Then his arms dropped by his side in surrender before they rose up again and caressed the air around him. His movements became more feminine, miming the actions of the gopis approaching Krishna and serving him. Hand on hip, he lost himself to this world and his male body began to spontaneously follow the dictates of his manjari soul. His cloth elegantly swung around his beautiful, rose-garlanded body. The kirtan ended, prayers were recited, and as everyone was bowing Prabhuji disdainfully

140

threw his garland in front of me. A few seconds later he ashed his eyebrows in conrmation of his intention. He still didnt want for me to be seen openly receiving his garland, his love, but he wanted me to have it. The prasadam bell rang. I took a plate and sat down on the roll-mat proudly, no, humorously wearing the rose garland. One guard tried to kick me out. I didnt resist. Haridas then came over to the scene and rebuked the boy. Then he went in to the guards room to tell them that it was O.K. for me to take prasad now that I am eating downstairs with everyone else. I sat down and was served by Ramanandaji who lovingly called out Babaji, babaji, then Dinanath came round with the sweet rice. My stomach had been a little weak so after one spoonful I placed my hand over my plate signalling I didnt want any more. Dinanath kept pouring the sweet rice over my hands, then four spoons later it was overowing my plate. His crazy laugh and divine smile lled my heart. The re-like energy of the guards was distinguished by the torrents of loving energy showered by Prabhujis loving disciples, my beautiful brothers and sisters, my eternal manjari friends. I diluted the sweet rice with my tears, and then drank it down with joy, remembering the inconceivable magnanimity and the unlimited grace and love of my wonderful guru. I relaxed. I knew it was the end of the stealing lila.

Natural Habitat (Torrential) No guru, no method, no teacher, just you and I and nature, and the Father, in the garden, wet with rain. Van Morrison Radha. After dressing and decorating You with various ornaments I will take you out on abhisara, (romantic journey to meet the lover.) When you see Krishna from a distance You will become shy and try to return home. Firmly grasping the border of your outer garment, I will pull you just in front of Him. I will enjoy all your scolding and abusive words for doing this as nectar pouring on my head. In the book Sri Sankalpa Kalpadruma, Visvanath Cakravati Thakur allows us to peek into the heart of a pure Vaisnava to witness the hankering of one who has realized his eternal relationship as a sweet young manjari maidservant. The selessness of the manjari is apparent in his prayer. In the spiritual realm of Vrindavan,

141

the manjaris only concern is Radhas pleasure. Even if she externally abuses them, the manjaris act according to what she really wants. Then they experience even more pleasure than Radha does when she unites with Krishna. That pleasure is unparalleled. It is a concomitant effect of the pure love of the manjaris for Radha. They receive only the desire to give. Another great saint, Narottama das Thakur, prays: I will follow in the footsteps of the manjaris and request them submissively for a chance to perform prem-seva. I will become so in tune with them that I will be able to understand what to do by their subtle gestures alone. In this way, becoming completely overwhelmed by the forms and qualities of Radha and Krishna, in deep thirst for service, let me reside in the company of the gopis. We become in tune to Radhas desires while on earth. Sudevi became criticized for sheltering me, but Prabhuji cascaded her with more and more affection. She related a dream she had. She was sitting in the back of a car that was travelling hairraisingly fast, swerving in-between other cars, nearly crashing again and again. She didnt see the drivers face but she noticed Gurudeva was in the front passengers seat. She was frightened for her life till her attention became completely absorbed in the calm of Gurudevas face. The car was still travelling recklessly, but now she knew it was safe and she relaxed back in her seat. I didnt need to be the wearer of an amazing technicolour dream coat to gure out the meaning of the dream. Krishna was the driver; guru, the guide; life, the journey; danger, the false sense of insecurity; and keeping close attention on the faithful, the key to attaining faith, was the moral. During the stealing lila, my car, which at times looked certain to crash, managed to avoid catastrophe again and again. This made my faith stronger and stronger. After receiving divine protection once, twice, three, four times then you realize it is forever. Your anxiety is over. After being lulled into a false sense of insecurity you are washed over by the feeling of absolute security. The false sense of insecurity provides scope for rasika lila, for a tasty play. Anxiety carves the receptacle for the following avour of ecstasy, union, to be poured. Therefore even Krishna, when playing in His forest (not driving cars) becomes covered by His own internal energy to experience this rasa, taste. Then He too becomes relieved from His anxiety on meeting His beloved Radharani. I remember going to a theme park as a child, and going to see the people on the log ume come splashing down at the end of the huge roller-coaster drop into water. There was a viewing area with a huge thick window protecting the dry onlookers. As the car came and splashed down, the onlookers all jumped back thinking they were going to get drenched. But of course the water always only dripped back into the splash tank. It took three or four splashes for the mind to have faith that

142

you were going to stay dry. Then it was even more fun to stand with a new group of people who all jumped back as the car splashed down. And you looked the odd one out. When Prabhuji blasted me time and time again, all devotees around me would become grave and serious, but I just laughed and joked. The other devotees couldnt understand why I wasnt jumping back. I had stood my ground three or four times and found that there was an unseen screen between the water of his abuse and my dry body. That screen was his crooked humour, undetected by those who couldnt perceive this ornament so beautifully worn by elevated Vaisnavas. However, in the spiritual world there are in-laws who dont want Radha and Krishna to meet. They provide the necessary anxiety to stir the drama, to avour the play. Love, then, has to be secret, and language too. Messages are passed by sidelong glances that go undetected by the in-laws. So in the spiritual world, in the perfect place, why are there those who dont want Krishnas pleasure? Why in Vaisnavism are there so many rules, regulations and prohibitions? Rasa. Taste. Mellow. Fun. Without rules there can be no real fun. Fun. FUN! At last, the answer to my question that I wrote seven years earlier on a scrap of paper during a dull ofce day in London: What is religion about, really? In the beginning religion controls the mind. In the end it provides scope for enjoyment, fun. The word enjoy almost becomes a swear word to regimented Hare Krishnas. Any enjoyment is accompanied by guilt. But look at Krsna. He is the Supreme Enjoyer. And to add avour to his enjoyment he creates religion and the prohibitions of a moral Vedic society just so he can relish more the seducing of the gopis. Without religion, the beauty of his pastimes is curtailed. No rules, no naughtiness, no taste, no fun. So real Krsna devotees are absolutely full of fun. Visvanatha Cakravati Thakur gives a warning in his commentary to Ujjvala Nilamani. The behaviour of advanced devotees should not be imitated because in them we can see independent behaviour like that of Sri Krsna Himself. They have transcended all rules and prohibitions and they move in whatever direction the waves of love steer them. Therefore no one should nd fault in their actions. Bhaktivinoda Thakur in his book Jaiva Dharma also warned in the last pages, dont judge a devotee by external actions. if you see a devotee stealing butter and then feeding it to monkeys, hesitate before giving a curse! Krishna is cheeky. Cheek is so beautiful. Everybody adores the boy who denies the thieving

143

of butter yet his face is covered with the loot and an innocent smile. To be serious is to be avourless, but without seriousness there can be no avour. Krishna, and a lovers may appear to be serious when they are laughing inside. You cannot even tell they are joking. Even I know when my secret family members are joking, but still when I try to make them smile they dont budge. They are in control. When they want, they ash the glance. Prabhujis secret family members sometimes just grab me and stare at me with a serious face. I try too but I fail and start to laugh. They are training me, preparing me for the next world; making me build the straight platform for the crooked glance to dance. When in the spiritual world I cant afford to crack up laughing as Krishna releases His best innuendo in front of gopis and in-laws. Krishna is called Rasaraja, the king of all mellows. He experiences every taste, every mellow, every rasa to its zenith. The highest mellow is the extra-marital romantic mood of paramour love. Thus Krishnas mood as a lover of the gopis is the highest expression of God. In this world a woman becomes attracted to the irting male. Then she marries him and his peacock feathers are never seen again. Krishna is an eternally dancing peacock. He remains constantly beautiful. He sees Radha every day but by divine illusion it seems to Him (and Her) like it is the rst time. They experience that beauty of fresh love every day and Krishna tries to woo Radha. Radha plays hard to get which increases his passion. Radha experiences a type of jealousy called mana, which produces contrariness. This jealousy produces disgust in Her, which results in complete absorption in Krishna. The disgust is not the disgust of this world but a avour of ecstasy, as all emotions are transformations of ecstasy in the spiritual world. Both really want to share their love but the contrary mood forces the play, the dance of the peacock. If there would be no contrary mood then there would be no play. It would be like a game of penalties: more goals, but less pleasure. Therefore Radhas jealousy, which is actually manifest by Her divine madness, creates the necessity for Krishna to irt. Otherwise the highest drama would be boring and Krishna would go to another girl who was contrary to Him. But Her inner desire is for union. So after Radha is wooed, she gives a slight conrming glance. Krishna becomes condent and they begin romancing. Radha says, Your body is as tender as a lotus ower and Your waist is slender. How could You lift Govardhan Hill for seven days? Krishna replies, It was easy. But how do You lift these two golden mountains on Your tender body continuously. Krishnas courtship melts Radhas ice, His cheek melts Her unprotected heart, then He

144

drinks. Visvanatha Cakravati Thakur meditates; For the purpose of taking a cooling summer bath, You (Radha) will enter the waters of Pavana Sarovara in Nandagaon. At that time Krishna and His friends will be bathing on the opposite bank. Unseen by others, Krishna will dive underwater, swim across the lake, embrace You underwater and return to the same place. Even though Jatila and Kutila, Radhas mother-in-law and sister-inlaw, will be standing near You and Balarama, (Krishnas brother), and others will be bathing with Krishna, no-one will understand what has happened. But seeing Your face as Krishna disappeared, I will understand exactly what has happened and my hairs will stand on end in ecstasy. Let me always remember Your face at that time. The saints who are internally manjaris reveal the pastimes and also their own ecstasy in the pastimes. The Lords erotic nature is a delicate subject and cause for controversy in a world dominated by mental activity and not heart activity. A doubt came into my head as I was writing this book, knowing some parts would be considered too controversial. I asked Prabhuji telepathically before one class to erase this doubt. During class he shot me a glance and said, Parrots will eat pomegranates, crows will eat neem leaves. Parrots will eat pomegranates. Those with a taste for sweet will always taste sweet. Crows will eat neem leaves. Those who opt for the bitter will always taste bitter. In other words, whatever I write, there will be parrots and crows reading and tasting accordingly. The crows will complain about the bitter taste to Prabhuji, and he will say, Pitambaras a fool, dont believe anything in that book. Its all concoction. Dont read it. So they wont. Again, if one is put off by external injunction, he is not yet qualied for internal revelation. But parrots will eat pomegranates. The manjaris have love; and that love controls them. There is no longer a need to control. Forces of nature control the materially conditioned soul; then religion, austerity and penance help him achieve some self-control. He becomes stable. Then love enters and takes control. I read in the book The Way of Love that Rumi was asked Why dont you control yourself? He replied, I have tried to control for so long, now I will ing myself into the river of life and let it take me wherever it will. The river goes left; you go left. There is no why. Those asking why cannot understand this. But when one has the ego of servant, he knows how to serve. He serves guru and doesnt ask why. Servants dont ask why. Servants just serve. Lovers just love. A true servant/disciple is a lover and

145

a lover doesnt need or seek orders or advice. He is internally inspired. A disciple who has not yet fully surrendered needs external guidance. Those accepting external guidance think themselves to be dependent on the guru and others independent-minded, while in truth, those who are accepting only internal guidance are the ones surrendered to guru. They are simultaneously dependent and independent. A speculator speculates you are speculating and a realized soul realizes you realize. And as you realize, as you ow with the river, the rushing waters embrace you and guide you. Everything becomes favourable. God is on your side. Maya is defeated. Then yogamaya takes control. Visvanatha Cakravati Thakur prays: During the time of Surya Puja, Krishna will appear in the disguise of a brahmana boy. Seeing Him, Jatila will say, Hey Brahmana, will you please engage my daughter-in-law (Radha) in Surya Puja? Saying this, Jatila will make you (Radha) fall at the feet of the so-called brahmana to offer respects. She will hand you over to Krishnas charge and leave. I will forever worship this moment seeing the mild smile on Your face as a result of this favourable turn of events. In one pastime, Radha is sitting by a secret pond in the forest (Prema Sarovara) in the lap of Krsna, their intimate friends serving them. A bumblebee mistakes the sweet fragrance of Radhas body to be a lotus ower and Radha becomes scared. The bee is shooed away by Madhumangala, one of Krsnas boyfriends, who then proclaims Madhusudana has gone. Madhusudana can mean bee or Krsna. Radha heard Krsna has gone and instantly became overwhelmed in a state of separation. Krsna was amazed by the ecstatic symptoms of Her love for Him. His beloved was there in His arms yet She was bewildered and experiencing intense separation. She could not at all perceive Krishna due to Her divine madness. A person cannot be in a more secure position, yet Radha was feeling insecure. She was experiencing the ecstasies of union and separation together. For Radha, everything is always favourable, yet She becomes bewildered by yogamaya and her knowledge of her own eternal succession of successes disappears. Then She is feeling a false sense of insecurity. In the education stage, this feeling entices surrender and encourages the play; then it continues, and nurtures the play. In my play, I was starting to feel intense separation from Jaya Sri more and more. As if Krishna was arranging me to experience Radhas pain in separation from Him so I could empathize with Her condition, and vice versa. After all, the manjaris are supremely empathetic. What a brilliant way to feed the seed of empathy so it may ower and produce the perfect manjari maidservant. Was this Krishna Consciousness? I wasnt philosophizing. The Vaisnava books I had read explained a

146

little of the experiences of a devotee but the main point is for you to get your backside in the river. I wanted to bathe Jaya Sri in my tears. I wanted to kiss her all over. I wanted to eat her, merge into her. I had a dream that I was staring into her eyes and she was staring into mine. We met each other deep, so deep. Then I became her and she became me. It was only a dream yet I could feel this experience and remembered it on waking. I was staring at me asking who are you and Jaya Sri (me) was asking me (Jaya Sri) who are you? That day I read that Krishna and Radha in intense love for each other become each other. I realized Krishna could show me everything and my sthayi bhava, perminant senitment as a manjari, would not waver. I opened myself up to pain and now pleasure was ooding me. I had given up everything and now Krishna was returning it to me. Full surrender, full return. I could feel real love and this love I wanted to give and give. It was becoming a need. Yes, need had returned but wearing a different dress; not the need for more water as if there was a hole in my pond, but a need to give, as my pond was overowing. I started to feel so much love for Jaya Sri. I knew she was a gift from Prabhuji, and more, I knew she was Prabhuji. Krishna had become Prabhuji, and now Prabhuji had become Jaya Sri. He had, in a way, merged into her so I could express my love openly, to experience madhura bhava, to live and learn of love. Now there was no distinguishing between material and spiritual. I was at last spiritual and therefore everything I experienced was spiritual. Including mothers! I contacted my family again. They were happy not only to hear from me, but as I was being true to myself, they could also feel me close. I was Babaji, a sannyasi; I had taken the renounced order. That ego, I renounced too. My nal renunciation. Neale Donald Walsch writes in Conversations with God, Renunciation is not a decision to deny action. It is a decision to deny a need for a particular result. In such a state of consciousness love rules and creates the play, and the players are obedient to the rules of love only. That is the gopis rules, Prabhujis rules. Summer was coming. Sudevi decided to move into the math, a dream she had long cherished. I thought the time might have come for me to wander aimlessly around Vraja with nothing but a spare pair of caupins, (loincloth), and a begging bowl. I was prepared for any circumstance, knowing that what would be would be perfect. I asked Haridas where I should stay. Without hesitation he said, goshala. So, in a second, the goshala, where I had been collecting milk every morning was my home. Prabhuji had told me, I have a special place waiting for you. The revelation of that special place brought remembrance of this and

147

excitement at the prospect of being with cows again, this time in Isapur, a beautiful village, perfect for remembrance of my Radha and Krishna, and perfect maybe for my Jaya Sri.

148

Chapter 15 The Present

Too many people take second best but I wont take anything less, it has to be, yeah, perfect. Fairground Attraction 15 June 2002 I am sitting under a large charismatic Neem tree, gathering thoughts for these pages. Dholi, Madhuri, Syama and Bhaura, the four charming goshala calves are beside me chewing cud, happy in the shade of the tree. The landscape around is luscious and green; the rare summer shower giving the trees and grass a healthy sheen. Villagers are wandering between the boundaries of the elds, passing thirsty buffaloes waiting for their owners to take them to the River Yamuna for drinking and bathing. A Hoopoe ies past me. The Hoopoe is a black and orange bird with a mowhawk. I had painted birds as a boy and the Hoopoe was my favourite. Now it appears before me representing the fullment of my desires; all my desires, including my intense desire to unite with my lover. Krishna, now in the form of a simple bird, is relieving my anxiety. He is His world. A world which has begun to speak to me in my own personal way, through my own personal omens and signs, guiding me towards my own personal relationship with my own personal God. Though God is one, He is many. Though He is many, there is one form which affords complete self-surrender to the highest degree, and thus, concomitantly complete love and ecstasy to the highest degree. This is the perfection of life. That form will be personally experienced by each soul in a unique way; for we are unique. We (one) are unique (different). Acintya bhedabheda tattva. So, as we travel towards one destination experiencing the beauty of unity, we will simultaneously be on our own individual path, experiencing the beauty of diversity. It is hot as the sun reaches its highest vantage point in the sky. I am resting; writing after feeding the cows. I am wearing the Hare Krishna cloth and tilak on my head still but slowly my adhering to the form of religion is fading. I still follow the customs as I am still supported by the temple, but in my heart I cling only to my Prabhujis words Just never forget me. And he doesnt let me. Yesterday I listened to a lecture of his from a week before. We had seen a snake slithering around on the land and I was warned not to sleep on the ground, but on the roof instead. Pondering
th

149

this, I listened to the class. Prabhuji spoke in my ears, Surrendered devotee who has received eternal form from his guru, how can the Kaliya snake bite him Maharaja... when Krishna is protecting? I was amazed. There was no Maharaja in his class. His words were directly for me, comforting me, reminding me of his own proximity. I am here, I am always with you, and by the way, dont worry about the snake, O.K.?

150

151

152

KNOWLEDGE BELIEF

(Same same but different)

153

Chapter 1 The Ecstasy Matrix

Life is but a dream, a dream is but a life; but a life without a dream is a dream without a life. So for life to be a dream, a dream which comes to life, let life be led by dreams, and dreams be led by life. Eroom Leinad Retep A friend recently challenged me; How do you know that your God, your reality, is not just a hallucination, a dream? So what if it is! I replied. He was surprised. He had presumed that I needed a stamp of approval from the clerk of reality to continue my love affair with God. But no, let it be a dream. If the dream is more ecstatic than reality then dont wake me. I am not seeking reality. The head seeks reality. The scientist concerns himself with the objective, and reduces, to the point of zero, the subjective experience. I am seeking love, ecstasy, and my heart is in control. Incidentally, I sought, and I found, and it spoke, this is reality, the highest one. But you may call it a dream. In a sense it is. But ecstasy is the measuring implement, the ruler, to investigate the realness of reality. If one accepts that the absolute reality is absolute ecstatic experience, then we have a device for comparison. And when we nd this absolute ecstatic experience, then we have a means for comparison. Otherwise, and it is a truth, there is no right or wrong reality - just unlimited experiences within unlimited dimensions. But who is happy? The soul every soul desires ananda, bliss. Neo, in the lm The Matrix, knew that the world was a computer simulated illusion. Philosophies around the world agree that this world, by its very diversity, is not aligned with reality, which is in essence non-dual, one. So Neo knew and achieved liberation. But his liberation didnt bring a sense of happiness and peace. Some might say his liberated reality was more stressful than in the matrix. Perhaps he would have been better off remaining ignorant. But in reality, reality is a higher experience than the dream. And the dream is not that the world in its diversity is not real, but that ones experiences of happiness are proportionately followed by sadness, and both are experienced with underlying fear, insecurity. In other words, the happiness is not happiness at all, possession is not possession at all, and love, which should, and is, a phenomenon that only brings more love, is not really love. The Vedic scriptures describe the fundamental qualities of reality as sat (eternity), cit

154

(knowledge) and ananda (bliss). So, to bring about eternal bliss, awareness of the Absolute is required. The Absolute is experienced in three progressive ways. 1) Brahman, 2) Paramatma and 3) Bhagavan. Firstly, awareness of Brahman, of the spirit of God, pervading each atom, each corner of each universe in each dimension. Awareness of this objective reality of God gives the feeling that all is God, God is one. Secondly, awareness of Paramatma, God within the heart of the living, the animate, gives the sense that I am God, and you are God too. It is not an incorrect understanding but it is not absolute either for, despite the cessation of fear and suffering there is no experience of divine love towards the divine person, Bhagavan, God Himself. Merging oneself into Brahman is similar to the Buddhistic idea of dissolving the ego to the point of zero, and reaching nirvana. Nirvana is in fact a pretty name for eternal suicide. You throw the baby away with the bath water. You throw yourself away and there is nothing left. Death at last! But there is an alternative experience to eternal nothingness that is also beyond illusion, beyond the matrix, and that is the experience of eternal somethingness. That something is love and its endless myriad of ecstasies. For love to be a reality there is a pre-requisite; a lover. So, the Absolute appears as Bhagavan, God, the personal aspect of the divine. Bhagavan is one and many. The many incarnations represent and embody the many energies which exist within the one energy of Brahman. The deities are eternal so there is no actual point of separation. And though the deities are within Brahman, they are subtler than Brahman, so to understand the deities one must go beyond that which is whole. The Brahman is light, the source of all, yet that light may be dissected to nd a prism, the difference inside the oneness. The prism is the ecstasy matrix, the form of the formless. This light is eternal. The prism is eternal. The chicken and egg are both eternal. Neither came rst. So Bhagavan (and concomitantly, simultaneously, His character, His world, His lovers, His play) is eternal and the highest expression of Bhagavan is RadhaKrishna (and Caitanya!) because they embody, They are the full spectrum of, all energies, all moods, all avours of all the deities, and ultimately, and more pertinently, their capacity to love is the highest of all deities. The Absolute is absolute when all polarities, all contradictions exist simultaneously, providing the highest bliss. The Absolute has no form and form (to love); is satised and unsatised, (desirous of love); has knowledge and ignorance (due to love); is free yet bound (by love). Love in the divine realm allows the paradox. However, there is no opposite to bliss. Sanskrit has no opposite word for bliss as bliss is an ever-increasing phenomenon. Happiness and distress both exist in the absolute dimension, yet, unlike this dimension, both are blissful. Separation from the lover brings absolute depression which

155

brings absolute absorption in the lover, which brings absolute internal union, which brings absolute bliss. Absolute union also brings absolute anxiety of separation, which brings simultaneous bliss of union and separation. Each ecstasy gives rise to the next ecstasy. Thus, the change in avours produces the necessary dynamics for the ecstasy to increase eternally. The absolute therefore is dormant (the experience of unwavering bliss of Brahman - Brahmananda), and dynamic (the experience of the different waves in the ocean of the bliss of the love of Bhagavan - Premananda). Due to this dynamic ecstasy, Bhagavan (the creator) is also the created. Love creates him over and over. And whats more, your love creates him. On (you) entering the ecstasy matrix, He experiences the ecstasy of you as his lover, a new experience for Him, and this makes him grow. This is how those who believe that you create God are indeed not wrong. Nobody is wrong (only people are unaware how they are right!). Those who only understand the oneness of God and not the diversity cannot understand this paradox. Lord Brahma is confused when he greets Krishna, who is sitting, crying at the base of a tree. Brahma is the creator of this universe, and fully aware that he himself is born from Maha-Visnu, an expansion of Krishna. Thus he enquires, Why are you crying? You are the all-knowing (sarvajna), self-satised (atmarama), Supreme Lord. Where is my Radha? Krishna cries. Immediately Brahma sees Radha, and She too is crying in separation from Krishna. Brahma is confused as he witnesses the ecstasy matrix, and sees his creator so anxious, so sad and so confused. Yet, really, Krishna is so in love that his ecstasy is far beyond Brahma. Krishnas sweetness makes God simple, innocent, beautiful, adorable and of course, intimately lovable. Sweetness is a stronger force than majesty. Madhura is higher than aisvaria. It is Krishnas agent Yoga-maya, the Goddess of Divine Illusion, who arranges the necessary covering for the sweet play to exist. So it is Krishnas ignorance that actually makes Him so exalted. Those with knowledge as an ideal see Krishna as less than other Gods. Those with love as an ideal realize after many lifetimes that Krishna is the Supreme Lover and the Supreme Goal of Life. The soul entering the ecstasy matrix takes a form to serve Radha and Krishna, and there are ve types of relationships, ve thickening degrees of intimacy viz. neutral, servant, friend, parent and lover. The romantic love is split into legal and illegal. The illegal love of Radha, the favourite girlfriend of Krishna, is the highest love there is. Radha supplies the highest love for Krishna. She controls Him and thus Her love actually controls the whole play in the ecstasy matrix. The goal of life is Radha-bhava, the love of Radha. Each soul therefore is connected with the service of Radha. This

156

is how individuality is harmonious. In this world individuality brings disharmony. Yet it is due to ego, not individuality itself. In this world each soul desires a different fruit and thus there is no unity. In that world each soul desires Radhas pleasure, thus all desires and all fruits, are merged into one pot. Individual instruments played harmoniously produce one huge divine jam session. This is called sankirtan, the Supreme Process and the Supreme Goal. Krishna experiences the perfection of male love. He loves unlimited gopis, reciprocating with their unlimited desires to enjoy his amorous company. Radha experiences perfect female love, which is deeply loyal. She cannot see anything but Krishna. Therefore her separation from him is deeper than his from her, which carves the groove for Her union to ow into. Thus Her experience with Krishna is deeper and more profound than His with Her. This depth of love is experienced by the maidservants of Radha, the manjaris who exist to arrange the perfect romance for their beloveds. Wait, come back. Maidservants! Why do you accept what you cannot prove? My friend posed the next question; Why? Experience is my proof. And my faith is the key to my experience. But faith is blind so how can knowledge come from the blind. Love is blind, but the experience of love is higher than the experience of clarity, that is my point. Have you ever fallen in love? Yes. Did you go to any books to conrm your experience before proceeding to relish it? Love just is. There is no why to it. It has no reason. It has no cause. It is independent, free. So how can you aspire for it? This is the best question. This is the mystery of all mysteries. How to attain faith, freedom, love? The very move from the question why to the question how is the rst step. For the why keeps you in the intellect and love is beyond the intellect. How is a cry of the heart, a cry with which the absolute reciprocates. This is how. Why is the movement of the caterpillar, the deductive approach, the head approach. How is the dream, the cocoon. When one has the how, the how will appear rst in the form of knowledge, the theory of love. That very theory will melt the heart, which will lead to faith, trust. Trust is the movement of the buttery, the inductive approach, the heart approach. Trust induces love. The cycle of doubt and lovelessness is broken. Therefore understand that there is another matrix, a completely perfect one, a divine subjective reality that embarrasses objective reality in terms of sweet bliss. Then the relevant question will be how to get there? Because the Absolute reality is one and different, objective and subjective, it is

157

like a real dream. Once you know about the dream, you can dream about the dream. Knowing the ideal, you may want to experience the ideal. Otherwise you become complacent with something less than your potential. God allows us to create our own reality. In the world of karma, the individual can veer from Gods intention of love. Thus, karmic reality is simultaneously completely controlled by the Lords will and the individual souls will. This is non-harmonious duality. When you think everything is chance, it will be. When you think everything is God, it will be. It is, quite literally, both. Absolute Truth is the aerial view and apparent truth the ground view. Chance, however, leaves ecstasy to chance, while faith assures it. When one is awake to God, wills merge. You will will Him to will and He will will you to will because you are both Gods will, and that will made manifest. Therefore there is harmonious duality and love separates the wills again. They are separate wills with one cause. The desire to please the other merges with the desire to please yourself and everything looks amazingly the same in both matrixes. There is individuality in both worlds. But individuality is not the problem. The problem is lack of harmony! So, after much masturbating with philosophy, how can one dive into the lovemaking? Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Ram Hare Ram Ram Ram Hare Hare... You offer what you have. You use your energy only to attain your ideal. You act realizing you are not acting. You act with love contrived with the desire to attain spontaneous love. You act with love and realize all you attain is grace. You accept no credit for achievement. You are a ute giving acclaim to the utist. The process of love, bhakti, devotion, is perfect. It is Gods path to Himself. Krishna says in Bhagavad-gita, all ways are my ways. But if you want the most beautiful way, go this way to Me. The way is unpredictable and predictable. It is different to all paths but there are denite similarities. There are rules in the beginning, while your consciousness is egotistic and there are common experiences shared. This ability to share realizations allows people to help each other grow. Gods love comes through his agents, each other, and most notably from the one who has reached completion, who has reached the ecstasy matrix, who has reached Radha Prema. This love is the love of the guru, and is the essential component of grace. When, by grace you become aware of this grace, you will become aware of how essential surrender is. This is further grace, as to love the lover of God is more pleasing to God than loving Him directly. It is beautifully ideal that the best way to

158

please God is to love a person, the most beautiful person in the world, who we can communicate with physically, mentally and heartily. In this way, the lover of God can grab your hand while you remain in the body and mind and he can drag you to the heart and through its secret passageway to the Supreme. And once in the heart, you are the guru whose love may uplift. Once in the heart, there is no difference between spiritual love and physical love; in fact, physical love is the zenith of spiritual love. The miraculous is before us. We naturally desire that which is best for us love of each other. Understanding this is grace, and understanding this grace is like moving from the apparent line where everything is automatic to the absolute line where everything is a gift. It may appear to be a dream to others. It may in fact be a dream. But so what! By Gods grace, He has made the impossible possible, He has made His innite love available to souls in the nite world. Despite His love, the ultimate crazy love, being beyond method, there is a method in his madness. We understand in stages. The scale of ecstasy is also the scale of loving intimacy, the scale of subtlety and the scale of sensitivity. From the divine comes sound: Aum, which is the beginning of the manifestation of matter. Brahma turns spirit into matter (they are in essence also non-different; E=mc2) by the most subtle sound which is hosted by the element ether. Then comes touch hosted by the element air. Then sight hosted by the element re, then taste hosted by the element water and nally fragrance hosted by the element earth. Within earth are all the other elements and sensory perceptions as within water there are four elements and four senses etc. On the spiritual path we accept the subtlest sound as the porthole to the divine. Mantra puries the atma, the soul, and allows one to vibrate in spiritual consciousness. The sound Aum contains three separate sounds, A, U and M, which represent male and female divinity and the individual soul. The M is a resonation in the third eye chakra, which opens and invites the male and female, which in the subtlest expression, the most intimate and ecstatic expression, is RadhaKrishna. Aum is the Objective Truth, but RadhaKrishna is the highest Subjective Truth. Nothing is above love. Not even nothing itself. Positive includes zero, but zero doesnt touch the positive. The personal expression of Aum is therefore the maha-mantra, which carries the mood of love for Radha and Krishna. Contained also is the specic love, mood of the guru and the gurus in the disciplic succession. Love increases from neutral to conjugal, and culminates in manjari-bhava. This love is also coinciding with deepening degrees of ecstasy, subtlety of elements, and sensitivity. The mystery is that sound, the subtlest sense in the matrix, is the most gross in the ecstasy matrix. Thus, when chanting, the maha-mantra rst elevates one to oneness by cleansing the dirt of selsh

159

desire, and then it reveals the Name itself to be Krishna. Then it reveals the form of Krishna (sight, re). Then it reveals the personality and qualities of Krishna, (taste, water) and nally it reveals the play of Krishna, the lila (fragrance, earth) along with Vrindavan forest, the other lovers of Krishna, and your own identity in the play. Attaining this realization, you are awake and so is the king of the forest. You meet God and He kisses you on the cheek and asks you why it took so long!? The whole process develops according to the depth of relationship with the guru. The depth of relationship also changes the depth of language, of communication. As you become more intimate with Him, so does the language of love. 1) Sound is the rst, the most gross. One listens to philosophy or stories about Krishna from the lips of a saint. This is neutral. There need not be a relationship in this stage. 2) Touch. One decides to accept the saint as a teacher. He gives the mantra and touches his hand to the head of his student. Initial relationship of master and disciple is established and the maha-mantra given. The guru may chastise the disciple but the loving touch conrms the harsh words to be lovingly spoken. 3) Sight. Communication becomes deeper as the love for guru becomes deeper. Guru teaches and shares love with his eyes as the relationship becomes one of friendship. The guru, using this language to convey his desire may now lie in the rst two languages but the disciple understands the gurus real desire. 4) Taste. The disciple is then able to read the gurus manner. One is able to taste the gurus sweetness and love. This melts the heart and love is born in you. You are born. The guru is like your mother. This is the second initiation, diksa. Once born the growing potential is guaranteed thus it is only a matter of time before the tree bears fruit and owers. At this level, even the eyes of the guru may lie, but the disciple can read the gestures and manner of the guru and is not fooled. 5) Fragrance. The gurus love becomes scented with the fragrance of a lover. The guru and disciples hearts merge, become one. The guru enters you, thus he also enters your universe everywhere. He becomes the earth. He becomes your food, your water, your vision, your touch, your music. Spirituality meets sensuality. God is experienced in all actions. Bhakti becomes your nature. When you are bhakti, you cannot not do it. Doing becomes being. Father and mother merge and the Star of David is formed. Unity within diversity.

160

The guru then becomes unnecessary? Not quite. In Zen Buddhism, the guru is happily discarded, is seen as a hindrance even in your search for freedom. But love contains freedom. You have both. The gurus language now is so subtle. Knowledge pours into your heart directly from God, and God speaks directly through his nature; through the plants, the waterfalls, the birds, butteries, the rain Signs, omens the world is a collection of hints. Nature is a language (can you read?). When you can read the guru may speak, look or move as he likes. You are aware of his desire. His desire is your desire. Krishna makes no sense here. Mathematics and quantum physics are useless in a world beyond mathematics. Mother Yasoda ties a rope around His waist after catching him stealing butter. The rope is two inches too short so she brings more. But still the rope is two inches too short. She brings all the rope in the village but still two inches short. Krishna is nally bound as he allows the effort of Mother Yasoda to bear fruit. At the same time he is crying because he is unaware that he allows her, being completely absorbed in the pastime and just concerned with getting out of the rope. He is innite and nite. He is both the Supreme God and a charming village boy. One time, after child Krishna decided to eat some earth, Mother Yasoda caught him and made him open his mouth just like an ordinary mother. Inside she saw not only dirt, but all the universes in creation, and in one universe she sees herself looking into Krishnas mouth, and in that mouth she sees more universes and again her very self looking into the mouth of Krishna ad innitum. We are there too. In His mouth, in His dream, in our dream yet He may close His mouth one day while we are still looking Him in the eyes, in more love than wonder. For in His world, His forest, love is more wondrous than wonder. And like sh in the ocean who dont know what is water, in His forest you may not know who He is or who you are but you will love and be loved, Absolutely.

161

Dont be afraid of the love my dear embrace the tormoil built on ecstasy Dont shy away from the heart too soon the house of love is your destiny Dont say it wasnt meant to be and hide yourself in clarity Accept the blindness that your sweet love brings and see me then in the mystery

162

LOVE BEYOND BELIEF

(Sab kuch milega)

163

Chapter 1 The Present

Nothing you can sing that cant be sung, nothing you can do that cant be done; nothing you cant say but you can learn how to play the game, its easy The Beatles th 11 June 2004 One rule - Love! One education - Love! Love that leads to love! The play in this matrix that leads to play in that one, this is the love I am talking about.

-----Gita Govinda----The wondrous mystery of Krishnas sexual play in Vrindavans forest is Jayadevas song. Let its celebration spread Krishnas favour.--------

As I start for a second time the expedition into my expedition I take words from the book that was handed to me a few days ago with the pertinent God-induced words, You must read this. This is Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse, an admired seeker and lover; an expeditionist. It is apt. (What isnt now?) For I, as Hermann Hesse must have been, am, reected in both Narcissus and Goldmund, the ascetic and the romantic. Narcissus, despite following strict penances and discipline, told Goldmund, You are not me, you are you, you are only beautiful as you and you are not a monk, just as Krishna told Arjuna, You are not an ascetic, you are a warrior, so, with love, ght. And me? I know my dharma now. I know what is going to become of me. And knowing this, having such unwavering conviction in this, is, ironically, the seed for its happening. It happens in football. You know youre going to score. You score. You doubt. You miss. Maradona knew. He knew he was going to single-handedly win the World Cup. And after Argentina beat England due to a goal which he handled into the net, he rightly claimed, it was the hand of God. When there is love of God, you can go beyond the rules and win love has no boundaries, everything is possible, sab kuch milega. There are cows to my right being guided along plateaus by a local mountain girl. The river in front of the secluded guest-house where I sit provides a steady monotone, soothing the sub-conscious. Butteries decorate the forest in front of me and the birds sing to each other; the many languages of

164

the many species creating a symphony. To my left, the white peaks of the Himalayas, and my good friend Devaki. It is time. Two years after completing my book I am restarting, aware now that I only completed Part I . It was enough, I thought. And for the time it was. But now I pause. Breathless, wordless, calming the ecstasy of my heart to a subtle rush so that words still have room to form. It is incredible. Krishna has revealed his plan to me, he has shown me the battleeld after the battle, the future which will be the outcome of what I am about to do. So I take my pen in hand like Arjuna takes up his weapon. It is indeed mightier than the sword for it will kill many who dont even see it. I am prepared now, for anything, for everything. He has arranged the perfect arena for the battle, the service, the play. At midnight last night I scurried through the dark forest, torch in hand. My lover needed space; my presence becoming more intense than my absence. She needs time; she trusts me, believes in me. After all, she saw the blood.

165

Chapter 2 Separation
No more words to say, nothing can convey, this feeling I have inside for you. Tracy Chapman Staying in the goshala, I was rising early, cutting grass, mixing the fodder, feeding the cows and minding my own business. Only my business had become someone elses business. Sudevis. The weeks leading up to my arrival in the goshala had been more colourful than revealed in Part I. Part I was written whilst still in the temple. There was a lingering fear of reaction. Now, the cat can no longer stay in the bag. In spite of my growing love for Jaya Sri, I also found myself feeling strong love for Sudevi. One night, I stayed very late in her room and I found myself caressing her hair, and kissing her forehead. I was excited to give all my love I felt for her, and knew it was Krishnas desire also, but six years of conditioning is not easy to overcome. Now I had a problem with sex completely opposite to when I rst joined the temple. I had been conditioned to think it was bad. It, like all actions, is neither good nor bad. I had to come into the middle, nd the balance and nd my natural self again. The day after this was a celebration day. When will the festival begin? Sudevi inquired from Prabhuji. Midnight till three oclock, he replied with a cheeky smile, the same colour as my cheeky desire to make love to Sudevi. Conrmation. Afrmation. Instruction even. Prabhujis delight was my delight. My delight was his. We were one. So, in a room a hundred yards away from the Mathura temple, after six years of celibacy. Yes, it was sweet. But that had nothing to do with the six years of celibacy. Many think that it would be a great relief. But I was already relieved in my celibacy. This was love and in the present moment, yes, that love was sweet. As we held each other, Sudevi began to cry tears of love. And not just for me but for Prabhuji too. His presence pervaded her. The awareness of his grace made her sob as I too had sobbed for my Maharaja and Prabhuji. Sudevi was forty years old, but in the depth of surrender she took on the appearance of a beautiful seventeen-year-old. The beauty of surrender I relished and experienced, both as I was surrendering my adherence to religion, and surrendering to love. But why are you the only one with this philosophy? When Sudevis mind reasserted itself, there were questions. I replied, My philosophy is not about sex, but surrender to ones own play. But what use is sex? We could have been chanting or doing something useful.

166

What use is there for Krishna stealing the gopis clothes? Sex, to Krishna, is not about procreation, usefulness. It is about giving love, ecstasy. It is about beauty. And what did that play produce? Tears of love for your guru. Maybe it was useful after all. An hour after making love I went to see my Prabhuji, slightly apprehensive, aware that he knows every move I make. He greeted me on the temple roof like a close friend, warmer warmth than Id ever experienced from him. Manjaris only eating Radhas food remnants, he riddled, dismissing the past by ignoring it and pointing me to a future stealing lila. Sudevi was comforted by the news too, and more so after receiving a cheeky, warm smile from Prabhuji, the colour of her warmth for me. The play was sweet. On attending a class, smiling after love-making, Prabhuji teased, Babaji Maharaja, so happy, Why? He has mystic power? I glanced at Sudevi. It was mystical. Mystical until Sudevi came to me one day with a fear. Im pregnant, she told me. I have been pregnant four times before, so I know. I can feel the symptoms for sure. I went to Prabhuji. My friend has stomach problems, but I told her nothing will come of it. Good, said Prabhuji, you should trust your inspiration. You are Babaji Maharaja. A few days later Sudevi had her period. One time we were caught naked on Sudevis bed and the landlord reported us to Prabhuji. Haridas overheard the conversation and teased us both with brotherly love. All my secret family did the same and all of them embraced Sudevi with the same loving energy they had for me. Sudevi became more interested in tantric sex. The tears stopped and the seventeen-year-old sweetheart turned into a forty-year-old wife. Our energies parted and our bodies could no longer share the same space. I was kicked out of her room. It was at that time that Haridas advised me to go to the goshala. Another boon from Krishna disguised as a curse. Haridas, understanding Krishnas mood, was able to give boons disguised as curses. Sudevis pendulum swung right again as quickly as it swung left, and she started writing love letters to me. She moved into the temple dharmasala. Our energies united again and our bodies followed. Sudevis letters were the same avour as Jaya Sris, her love for me strong, and separation more beautifully painful. Through all this, I kept writing and receiving letters from Jaya Sri. I told her about Sudevi and how it wasnt taking away anything from our love. People in this world think that love is like a cake and if half is given to one person, only half is left. But love is not divisible. Real love is innite. Innity divided by 2 = innity.

167

-----Gita Govinda----- I reach the lonely forest hut where he secretly lies at night. My trembling eyes search for him as he laughs in a mood of passion. I shy from him when we meet; he coaxes me with attering words. I smile at him tenderly as he loosens the silken cloth on my hips. I fall on the bed of tender ferns; he lies on my breasts forever. I embrace him, kiss him; he clings to me drinking my lips. My eyes close languidly as I feel the esh quiver on his cheek. My body is moist with sweat; he is shaking from the wine of lust. I murmur like a cuckoo; he masters loves secret rite. My hair is a tangle of wilted owers; my breasts bear his nailmarks. Jewel anklets ring at my feet as he reaches the height of passion. My belt falls noisily; he draws back my hair to kiss me. I savour passions joyful time; his lotus eyes are barely open. My body falls like a limp vine; Krishna delights in my love. Friend bring him here to revel with me, Ive gone mad waiting for his ckle love to change. Jayadeva sings about Radhas fantasy of making love with Sri Krishna. Let the story of a lonely cowherdess spread joy in his graceful play.----

At exactly the same time I was with Sudevi, Jaya Sri met a guy in London. She described in detail how they had met, how on the rst night they only kissed, but then on the second night they made love, and how it was a gift from Krishna. It pinched at rst but feeling Jaya Sri ever close, and soaking in her words, my love is more for you, not less, I felt great pleasure knowing nothing could break our bond. She, too, admitted jealousy and then confessed her happiness in dropping it. After all, the lovers happiness is derived from the lovers happiness. The philosophy worked in practice. Jealousy, the deepest rooted anartha, was uprooted and rejected. Sudevi became a beautiful wreck; destroyed by love. For months I have never missed one of Prabhujis lectures but now I only want to be in the goshala with you. So at last you understand his lectures. Krishna is the power station. Guru is the huge power cable, and then gurus connected disciples are the smaller cables, where, at the end, you get the shock. Prabhuji is happier that you are with me than if you are with him; just as Krishna is happier if you serve the leader of Radhas manjaris than if you serve Him directly. The mood of love is to serve the servants servants. Haridas understood without asking Sudevis desire and told me to take your mother to the goshala. Babaji needs mataji. All authorities miraculously agreed to the move, and there we were, sleeping together on the small building roof in the countryside, making love under the stars, being

168

woken by peacocks and Prana, the other resident, a monk who did more than turn a blind eye to our nocturnal activities. Where it would all lead to, I didnt know, or care. I loved Jaya Sri and she kept telling me, soon I will come, next month. I loved Sudevi too. Where it would lead, it would lead.

Where will all this lead? Lydia asked Goldmund. I dont know. I just know I want to kiss you, said Goldmund to Lydia!

It was a bizarre situation. Sudevi moved into the only bedroom in the small place. I kept my few things in the kitchen-cum-reception-cum-engine-room-cum-bedroom. Slowly, Sudevis room became our room. My secret family giving a sign always preceded moves into the controversial. This is your room? Hari-das asked. The instruction disguised as a question, a family favourite. Precariously, time moved on. Sudevi would need consoling after I received letters from Jaya Sri. I looked forward to Jaya Sri coming. I only dreamt of holding her, anything practical looked totally impractical. But I knew that as much as I was the leading actor, I was also the audience. I had no fear. Sudevi confessed that I was the link to Prabhuji and forgetting me would mean forgetting Prabhuji. It was a whiff of the future; a sub-conscious premonition. She made big efforts to keep Prana happy. It worked. He was very happy, and she was very happy with his happiness. Her love moved to him and I was soon sleeping with the cows and Prana on the roof, under the stars, in the arms of Sudevi. They fell in love of a kind that creates an impenetrable iron-bubble. I was happy for them, yet I was sad they couldnt realize it. Their position was more controversial than ours had been, and Prana lacked the condence that I had that everything was pleasing to Prabhuji and Krishna. The iron bubble didnt allow for Prabhuji and Krishna. In their paranoia, also, I appeared to them as the enemy; the guy who tells. Though I made big efforts to hide their obvious romance, I was still threatened by a village friend of Prana. The police came round twice asking to see my passport. I was criticized for every eggshell I stepped on. The atmosphere was arctic. Jaya Sris love was constant, but separation was becoming unbearable. I cried pathetically. I

169

howled unceasingly, bringing villagers running to console me. But what could I say to them? Love is not understood here. The days passed slower and slower. Gurudeva arrived back from his tour. Sudevi was told to leave. Prana followed. Then Giri moved into the goshala. Where is she? I look across the valley towards the footpath that leads to the Holiday Home. I see only kids coming to bathe in the river during their school holidays. My beautiful surroundings turn from fullling to unfullling as desire pounds my heart. Where is she? What is going through her mind? If she loves me then why doesnt she come? Sonu, the owner of the Holiday Home is going away for a ten-day hike with Devaki. I will stay with his younger brother Vicky to look after the place and write. We are brothers, this is your place, he told me. We had only met about three times but when my Lord wants to give to me I worship Pitambara, said Son, showing me a picture of the Goddess Pitambara wearing yellow cloth. You are Pitambara too, so I like you. This was extra. He liked me for me. So, my Lord has arranged a perfect location for me to write, but as I write about life, I am still involved in it. Where is she? From bad to worse: The attack on me over, Giri came and attacked the cows. We fought. I protested in the temple to Ramanandaji. O.K., just bring one girl from the west then He smiled and brought one to my face. Giri protested too. I had thrown down all his bedding for the cows after he became angry that I used the hay for bedding. It was cold. So was Giri. During my time in the goshala, I wrote and typed my book onto the computer. The same devotee, who sarcastically told me when I started that it will be a best-seller, entered the goshala the day I nished to tell me to, get it published. Krishna was telling me through him that it was ready for now. I had a friend, Henning, who stayed behind after the annual Kartik festival. During the festival I printed my book and gave it out to a few people. It found its way into the hands of the orthodox and copies were collected and destroyed. Prabhuji was advised I was writing blasphemous material. In a class of his he answered my nal prayer for conrmation of his pleasure. Swamiji had mystic power... the next line I knew was for me, not only printing books but inspiring people all over the world. Not only was he saying do it but it will be done and it will have this effect.

170

Henning read my book and ignored warnings of ruination if he continued to befriend me. Even Gurudeva warned him, but Prabhuji encouraged him to keep helping me in the goshala. When Gurudeva arrived back from his preaching tour, Henning was apprehensive about not following the external order. As he stood in front of his guru, a fear struck him. He was ignored. But then, a trailing hand stroked him as he walked away. It was sign of appreciation and love that he had followed the internal order, even against the external order. Since then, Henning has been introduced to the secret family and the secret ways of love. Henning was a help in my separation from Jaya Sri for a while, and Mukunda too, with whom I spent nearly two months in his little room (running back and forth from the goshala), writing songs, with an eye on recording. The Cowboys in India would happen, but in the future. Mukunda was disappointed with our recordings in a Delhi studio and returned home to England. I returned to thoughts of my love. th A long awaited email came. I am coming on the 12 of March. I had a date to cling on to. A deadline. A lifeline. Isapur was my home. I cried at the thought of having to leave. I didnt know what would happen when Jaya Sri came. I knew I would be with her that was all. The villagers in Isapur loved me. I belonged to them. The children clambered upon me every time I made my way to the local temple. The boys invited me to bowl and wed laugh together as I was hit for six by a budding Tendulkar. The men appreciated that I was a cowherd as they were, and the women invited me for chai. All admired me as I admired too the beauty of village life. It was uddipana for me; a stimulant for remembering my Lord. The young girls in the village were sweetly irtatious. My favourite girl, a black-skinned buffalo girl with darting eyebrows had a melancholic air that I loved. She icked water at me playfully, stole owers and enticed a chase... and one day offered me her femininity, her virginity, her very self; with eyes so sad, so longing. I didnt take. I had two seconds to choose. It wasnt an opportunity for those in the mind. The opportunity left me. She didnt offer again. Though such beauty was experienced, I would quickly plummet back into separation and thoughts of Jaya Sri. The days grew longer. Five days, four days each day twice as long as the last.

What is beauty? The green mountains around me? The colourful rocks below, providing an adventurous course for the river to ow? The clouds now hide the white peak. I have only glanced

171

once in that direction since arriving forty hours ago. Yet thousands of times I glance ahead of me and pick out the grey pipes carrying water to the villages. The pipes indicate the path to Naddi, the nearest village. Occasionally gures move on the path, but not the one I want to see. So much beauty. But is it? The butteries mock me, disturb me in their happiness. Devaki, Sonu and co. have left, leaving me alone in this beautiful environment. In this prison. I am here, and I know I am to be here, helpless, waiting. Bhagsu lays beyond the hills an hour and a half away. It may as well be light years away. I am here, waiting, watching my play. Is this love pain or pleasure? I feel such ecstasy, yet incredible sadness that she is not coming to me. I know that this desertion is part of love, the necessary ingredients, no, the components immersion and desertion. I laughed proudly yesterday at my rhyming translation of loves two riverbanks, milan and viraha; union and separation. Now, like anything joyful in this world, it depresses me. I think of Radha, of her mood in separation described in Jayadeva Gosvamis Gita Govinda. -----Gita Govinda----- The cooling breeze, sandalwood paste, the rays of the moon are all scorching her in separation; only Krishnas presence can cool her scorching heart.-----

O.K. Krishna. I see. I feel. Now bring me my lover!

172

Chapter 3 Union
Erotic Jesus lays with his Marys, loves his Marys, bits of puzzle tting each other, all now with wings. Janes Addiction 12 March 2002 I wandered the streets of Delhi, still looking like a villager, folks passing by observing me as if I were green and sported antennae. In the airport lounge I began to cry and seek solitude for my condition. I watched as sisters greeted brothers, friends greeted friends, and business contacts greeted business contacts. We had both played out the upcoming scenario many times, curious as to how the rst meeting would be, having developed a deeper, more spiritual, more romantic relationship by letter. The Munich ight inched its way up the arrival board. It was late an hour and was leapfrogged by other ights. Then nally my number came in my Jaya Sri nally came in. Two stars ashed next to the Munich ight. We were close now. People gathered around the arrivals enclosure to catch the attention of their expecteds. I hung back, and wiped tears from my eyes. I could barely see outside my own head. She came rst. I noticed a composure in Jaya Sri, a calmness, a wise woman, steady. Somehow I wanted that crazy, love-torn, bewildered girl who had confessed her madness to me. I was ready for madness. I was ready for that one girl who would dive into loves uncertain waters; to be thrown around whirlpools, through rapids, over waterfalls. The calm woke me up. Maybe the expectation was the seed of the negative in me. When she wrote in a mad state of love it was not false. But another side was there; the wise one. This side was vanishing in me to allow love to fully blossom. I knew it was in Jaya Sri too, but less. It scared her. Wisdom had brought about a surety, a condence, a steadiness to her life. Now love threatened, rattling the cage of desires and there was a reluctance to open the cage-door, remembering the rattling, remembering the distress it once brought. We held each other, not talking for a while. I gave her ankle bells, which my favourite village girl, Laru, had made. We took a bus to Delhi station and waited in a nearby dhaba (caf). A deep conversation led us to a comfortable space, and rekindled excitement for our times ahead. Jaya Sri was an event in the temple. That very evening we both attended the temple service; Pitambara with his new Rasta girlfriend from Croatia. Who was she? What would happen to them?
th

173

Everyone was curious; myself more than anyone. The drums sounded and Jaya Sri began to dance. This was normal. For her. She felt the energy of the deities and lost awareness of her surroundings. This was normal. For her. But not for the congregation of Hindu women and Western monks. My family smiled; my enemies scowled. Same story, new character. One family member, who had already greeted Jaya Sri with a garland of warm smiles approached us after the service, and shouted abuse at us, then kicked us out the temple. It was so funny. I see it. I see it, Jaya Sri laughed. Now all the stories you have been telling me for two years have come to life. I see it. Ha. So amazing. We walked to the goshala hand in hand. How many times had I walked that walk, through the streets of Mathura, across the rail bridge, down the rail track, through the village, to the small hut in the middle of elds of long grass? Now I had become we. Disappointment had vanished, sweetness rose from my love as I knew it, remembered it, from my letters. We lay down together, the moon providing ample light on each others faces. For the rst time in two years we kissed, we touched; both bodies as if made of love energy. We wrapped each other in that energy till naturally we became one. The next day we were evacuated from the goshala. I went to see Ramananda and he suggested I stay in the goshala for a week, then go and be with Jaya Sri for a week, etc. At the time, not being with her was not an option. In hindsight, he was preserving our love, encouraging the necessary space, which would prevent suffocation. I ignored his advice and left with Jaya Sri to stay with Navadvipa in his apartment in Vrindavan. Monk life over, I, we, were happy, light, in love. Our future was uncertain, our caressing precise, captivating, beyond time, eternal, forever. The meeting with Jaya Sri was signicant for Navadvipa. She gave him healing and we both dragged him from his computer to the Iskcon temple for a reunion with God. He wept like a child. Jaya Sri and I danced in ecstasy. For a few evenings we enjoyed this whirling round to the sound of chanting and drums, ashing glances across the temple room dance oor. But before long, the attention we attracted, she attracted, became tiring. It was hard for Jaya Sri being with me all day after years of contented solitude. I too noticed that the composed monk would now have to get to know himself all over again, nding himself, composing himself, losing himself in the areas of himself freshly being rediscovered. Being like Buddha was simple. To be like Krishna was to invite all contradictory experiences into the same space - my self. It was Gaura-purnima and the seventh anniversary of my devotee-hood. Jaya, Navadvipa and

174

I visited the temple in Mathura for the celebration. A curious trio. Prabhuji embraced Navadvipa like an old friend and asked him to speak in front of the assembly before grabbing him, ushering Jaya Sri into the temple, and delighting me with a delighted glance. Jaya Sri had never experienced such penetrating smiles as the smiles from my secret family, previously strangers, but now her eternal family also. Sitting on the same bench as Prabhuji, I felt no need for introductions. He didnt say anything, he caressed her without words. In his hand he twirled a ower, the same type of ower that I had given to Jaya Sri the night before after dancing in the Iskcon temple. She witnessed again that ower between Prabhujis caressing ngers. She witnessed herself between his ngers. He never looked at her but never took his mind off her. We returned to Vrindavan and she wept and wept tears of love. This is stronger than with Maharaja. I didnt expect it despite your glorifying him to me. Nav too was touched to the core by Prabhuji. One day he began to weep, telling me how Prabhuji had embedded himself in his heart; tears for Gurudeva, tears for me, tears for the world. I held him as he slid down the wall onto the oor. Inside our room I could see Jaya Sri in the same condition. I dragged Nav into the room and the three of us sat on the bed and hugged and cried together. We stayed in Navs place for a couple of weeks but it wasnt our home. What were we to do? Travel, was Jaya Sris desire. Pushkar came to mind and Ramananda amazingly conrmed our next destination. Nav decided to join us. What to expect? Why were we going? There was no expectation and no reason. We were the colours on Krishnas pallet with which He would continue to paint upon the canvas of our destiny. Act on inspiration like a child was the only message, the eternal message. We sat on the platform waiting for our train to Jaipur. It was three hours late. It could have been thirty hours late, it didnt matter. We sat and watched a group of beautiful kids begging. Dirty hair, dirty clothes and radiant smiles beneath imitated sadness. They were pests to some people, nonexistent to others. Navadvipa broke his trance to declare their beauty. He brought them three packets of biscuits, which the eldest passed out evenly among the group. She was about nine years old, yet a mother, a friend, a guru, a sadhu. There was no anxiety inside her. She knew she was in Gods hands, that food everyday reached her belly and the bellies of her dependents. Life had been cruel to her? Maybe. Maybe not. She had natural bliss, no fear, no doubt. Brought down in early life to a raw existence, she could see the mechanisms of life, and knew that all was safe. Whether she knew the

175

controller of the mechanism, I doubt. But that is the next, most beautiful step. Knowing the law of karma helps. Knowing its creator takes you to the threshold of his palace. Understanding the creators qualities, His love, sucks you in and you are happy to hear the door slam behind you. Nav was nding his own youthful bliss again and thus recognized the beauty and freedom of childhood. He had been a Hare Krishna for twenty-four years, a scholar for many of those years, a husband, a teacher, an editor. Now he was to be Nav. In Jaipur, some tension came between me and Jaya Sri. Arguments started to occur where there was no need. It was the ght of the remaining egos within us, trying to dominate each other; the tendency of this competitive world. In Pushkar I noticed a restaurant called The Third Eye, serving traditional Israeli food. So the strange squiggles must be Hebrew I gathered. What was an Israeli restaurant doing in the middle of India? Perhaps there was a group of Israeli settlers - twenty nomads gone to Pushkar from the small holy country I started to meet them, one after another. Israeli. Israeli. Israeli. From the countryside, I hit the highway. The sound of Enelds was to be a part of my new India. Jaya Sri wanted to dance. It was the end of the season in Pushkar and all the parties were over. The weather was just this side of bearable. It was time to organize a party ourselves. In a quiet caf we met Nicholas and Noura, a great Belgian couple. Noura, I observed, was the most beautiful girl in existence. Dark locks of hair cascaded over soft dark glowing limbs, and in the centre, a face so gorgeous I was shaken from my mind. We joined together and arranged a party in the desert, hiring camels and a p.a. system. The party was the external play. The scenario was a test of jealousy and honesty. I had talked with Jaya Sri about the state of no envy many times. We had gone through the experience of another lover while writing to each other, but now we were together, and despite not desiring to create an a, it was created despite us by our living together, and the test came. Always, after philosophy is grasped, expect the tests to come. I revealed my attraction for Noura to Jaya Sri. It shook her a little. I tried to analyze who was the most beautiful, but I couldnt. There are no comparisons between different avours. Chocolate is not better than vanilla. Who should I love? Both was the answer. It could work on a divine platform. Dropping the idea of Noura was a lie to myself even if it was unlikely I would be with her. It would happen again with someone else if not her. I wanted to confront the situation given by the Lord with honesty to myself. Jaya Sri was disturbed. We arrived in the desert and danced till dawn. Thirty ve beautiful souls had been drawn

176

together by divine magnetism and enjoyed the camel cart races at dusk. There were other beautiful girls besides Noura. I was attracted. A guy approached Nav and gave him a lump of cannabis. Not for me, he said, I havent smoked in years. Take it, I owe it to you. I met you in Jaipur, remember? He said. No Take it. He insisted. Take it, said Jaya Sri. I agreed with a glance. Nav had not smoked or danced in twenty-four years. Krishna knew how to use his world and its herbs for kick-starts. It was a test for Nav, going beyond the rules and regulations of Hare Krishna life. He was ready. We danced all night, played drums and chanted bhajans. The sun came up and revealed camels chewing, travellers sprawled out on the sand dunes and Nav still dancing. My connection with Jaya Sri was not good; my attraction for Noura, Annabel and Emmanuelle was very strong. A few days later the thread snapped and Jaya Sri decided that we needed to part. I cried like a baby seeing that she was regretting our years of loving. She was so cold. My tears were so misunderstood. I left Pushkar the next day. Jaya Sri stayed. Bernie, a sweet Austrian girl decided to join Nav and me to see Vrindavan. I had no plans, no idea what to do. Travel? go back to the goshala? live with Nav? On the way back it seemed like a million years since I had fallen in love with Jaya Sri. But now was now, and now I was with Nav and Bernie, and everything was surprisingly perfect. In Mathura, Nav and Bernie went and sat with Prabhuji, I stood at the door absorbing and returning sweet glances. Prabhuji spoke for half an hour in Hindi to Nav, who kept looking at me, letting me know that I was being given my masters guidance. My heart was open for anything he wanted. Nav said in English, Your babaji is very good with people. Another accurate shot reached me at the door. Nav also spoke how in Pushkar we met many people interested in Krishna, but people who would not become temple devotees. No need, said Prabhuji. Not everyone attracted to Krishna needs to come to the temple. I knew that the people I was meeting were in a sense beyond the necessity for vaidhi bhakti, rules and regulations, and were qualied to enter raganuga bhakti, spontaneous devotion, the real thing. Prabhuji answered my hearts question, and told Nav that there are two types of babajis. One stays in Vrindavan and absorbs himself in chanting, the other goes wandering, speaking the glories of Krishna to all he meets. This Babaji is the best of the two and is most pleasing to the Lord. I was to wander.

177

Bernie left for Dharamasala in the Himalayas. I felt inspired to join her, but I waited. I waited for Ramananda to hint, Dinanath to hint, for my eyes to catch the word Dharamasala on a signboard, for a book on Dharamasala to be put straight on Navs bookshelf, as it was the only book lying crooked! Then I waited no more and boarded a train the next day. Nav gave me one thousand rupees and a send-off hug. I had no idea why I was going, what I was going to do when I got there, where the hell it was, etc. I just knew I should be in Dharamasala. There was no future, no plan, and very soon no money. I felt a sense of insecurity. A pinch. I met Bernie and other Pushkar partygoers after a couple of days. I was amazed by the close friendships established within only a few hours of interaction. Travelling opens people, and open people create immediate bonds. My money ran out and divine intervention took over. Actually, there is no such thing as divine intervention, the divine just becomes apparent. The divine is always there. It is awareness only that makes itself known inside of ignorance. Having let go of Prabhujis reigns, Krishnas subtle guidance began steering me through my life and was becoming more obvious. He started to speak more clearly through the voices of people I met. You going to the Rainbow Gathering? I was asked. Yes, I replied to the couple who were glowing with positivity, where is it? It was in a valley near a quaint hilltop village called Naddi, a few kilometres from Dharamasala. The setting was beautiful and so were the people. I had been dragged to this place, in the middle of nowhere, to connect. After three days of drumming, swimming, discussing, massaging and circling together I had many new friends. I realized immediately that these people were more pure hearted than many of the western devotees in the temple. The potential for a huge awakening on this planet was obvious. Back in Bhagsu, I came upon a village area resembling a hilly university campus, with offerings of courses in massage, yoga, meditation, belly dance, and many other subjects. I sat pondering my way. I felt a desire for romance, feeling the love surfacing from within. Why am I on my own my Lord? I couldnt understand this waste of energy. What do I do with this excess? Then, Pete, Pete. I looked around and saw the beautiful Israeli girl Annabel from the party in Pushkar. The timing was signicant. We would be together. We would have been had I been more precise with my nishing. It had been seven years. I would need to practice the art of seduction all over again!

178

The next day I met Netta; another Israeli girl, another soul on the path to God. Yesterday I prayed for an angel to come and help me, someone to give me spiritual strength. Its obvious you are that angel. I picked her up, apped my wings, and took her to see Matrix 2. I couldnt tell what was going off. It was all too fast after three years in India. Netta afterwards declared, fate and free will are only different angles of vision; they are both true despite being apparently contradictory. Wow. A nineteen-year-old girl with such insight. I became good friends with Netta. She was like my sister. Flavour ve didnt suit us. For a week she paid for breakfast, lunch and dinner. After a week, a caf owner, for no apparent reason, said you two may eat what you like; breakfast, lunch and dinner, if you bring a few people to our place. Business is low. She was amazed to see that for a week we paid nothing. It was the rst insight for me that people who helped me were not only rewarded with nancial return but a dose of faith in life, in the universe, in me, in God, in Krishna. It gave me the condence to be poor and wiped away the false sense of insecurity. Nettas yoga teacher was organizing a yoga festival and asked us to help. With him, an Indian guy called Zed was quick to encourage me onto the committee. Immediately I agreed and wrote yers and posters. I had an idea. To mix the Rainbow Gathering spirit with the yoga and meditation. I started to collect people. People started to collect around me. It was effortless. The festival was a huge success. Yoga and meditation were the vehicles for what can only really bring bliss. Love. Twenty people had become one, through sharing, through crying, laughing, singing, making love! Stav and I had connected during the nighttime jam session. She laughed as I revealed to her that I had never really studied Ayurvedic massage. The cheek of having my novice hands on her breasts that day! Everyone had gone to sleep leaving us alone around the embers, alone under the silver moon and its lovers, making luminous the Himalayan peaks. Passion was stirred, but, hesitancy Tomorrow well be able to be together in my room alone. Tomorrow is a fallacy, I told her, and your plan is not as good as the Lords. Look at this moment we are given now. Stav was like a child, yet with incredible naughtiness and sexuality in her eyes, eyes that I drank till she surrendered to the fallacy. The next day by the waterfalls we slipped away and found a quiet place. Forest, mountains, running water, a comfortable rock, birds, sunshine, and the smell of each others naked skin. Maybe tomorrow we can make love in your room? I asked. She understood and guided my hand to her breast.

179

Lying satised on our sofa/rock a buttery landed on her nger. Stav giggled sweetly. It ew off and returned, and then again, three times. Her open mouth and eyes turned towards me questioningly. I answered, It means everything is perfect and the Lord is pleased. The buttery then came and sat on my nger as if it heard me and wanted to conrm my statement. Then there was Ayelet. She arrived halfway through the festival. We spoke to each other without words. I was in love, dreamily infatuated by this delicate beauty whose eyes were the shape of a does longing for understanding, sensitivity, love. I longed to provide all she longed for. I asked for a kiss. A mistake. She shyed, and revealed the next day that it felt strange that I asked, and if I had just taken she wouldnt have resisted. She was teaching me how to be a man. The next day I kissed Ayelet on the lips seconds before boarding the coach to Delhi, a day before her departure to Israel. I was like an apprentice in the penalty area receiving perfect crosses from Beck-ham during training. Ball after ball, I would try to shoot. Sometimes connecting, sometimes scoring, sometimes ailing pathetically, but always next ball, next delivery. Israeli girls, one after another, melted me with their beauty, allowed me a chance at love, and then disappeared. It was dizzying; delightful, yet dizzying. And what was the connection to Israel? Even the guys were beautiful. Such deep, poignant, thoughtful, mature, child-like, open, warm people from a land so spiritual, yet so politically messedup. Israel. I fell in love with a land I had never been to. Not in this life at least. I was part of a festival team; a team that moved to Leh, running from the monsoons in Dharamasala to the sun in the desert and oasis land of Ladakh. I didnt have my passport with me, but Krishna gave me the sign to go despite there being four police checkpoints. I set off on the twentytwo day journey in a jeep with seven others. I told the driver, who was driving on the pass over the Himalayas for the rst time, after an hour or two of our journey, that I didnt have my passport but it was O.K. I would just duck. The slight apprehension turned into a more tangible panic after the police asked him who that man was walking past. It was me of course. I decided against ducking. So the next checkpoint was tense. I just stayed in the jeep. No problem. The third checkpoint we slept nearby in tents. Again, no problem, but the fear had accumulated to unacceptable proportions, so coming up to the last checkpoint, my jeep driver told me to get out. There was tight security at this checkpoint and I was a liability for him. So I was dumped out of the jeep and left in the middle of the desert moonscape, alone, to watch my jeep, along with my bag, speed off to the checkpoint. There I stood. No passport, no money, no clothes, no transport, no idea how I was going to get past the police checkpoint, then on to Leh which was still hours away.

180

I gathered myself. O.K. Krishna, this was your idea, your inspiration, now a little inspiration how to get out of this one, please. Movie time. I noticed the road after the checkpoint started its ascent up the mountain with a hairpin bend. The road was above me. My path became clear. I ran up the hill to my left, completely conspicuously. I must have been in my non-camouage. I laughed as I climbed the last few metres to the road. How had I come to this? Five seconds after I made it to the road, my jeep drove past, stopped, and I jumped in, much to the complete astonishment of my co-passengers. I could have been stranded and branded and landed in jail! No chance. Likir was the setting for Tribal Veda 2 and 3. Two amazing weeks of togetherness, bhaktiyoga secretly gifting the people with its fruit as seeds of love were planted and simultaneously tasted. Love was again usurped from my soul by the seemingly endless stream of gorgeous travellers. Sivani, making love to me on the same rock by the river we spoke our rst polite banter; Nathalie, laughing like Ive never heard a person laughing, enough to make everybody laugh without any other reason; Daniel, a natural seless servant, lover of life and God; Nathalie (II), Shobby, Chen, Asvoer, encouraging my Krishna stories. So much beauty in the sleepy oasis of Likir. Where was it all heading? Nowhere. There was no destination. Only the experience of love. After the festival we partied for a couple of days before the group split. I had no idea what was in store, and still, despite the festivals, I had no money. Zed, my friend, and co-organizer, broke even and supported me in his room. Leh was over. I no longer saw vessels thirsty for knowledge. There are many people here, spoke Uri. None with space for me, I said. I would see in people what I could offer them within a second. When there was no one to ll, it was time to move. It was time to move, but I had no idea where to go. I sat and played guitar happily, ready for Krishnas nudge. A girl approached me. I have a ticket for Manali which I wont use, I dont want money, but do you know anybody who will use it? The jeep leaves in two hours. I know someone, I told her. I was going to get a police report the next day but heh, Krishna knows best. On the way back down, at each checkpoint, the police ofcer was going to send me back to Leh and each time I was just let through. The jeep driver again became mad and drove me to the police station before the nal checkpoint. It was in a village, busy due to the local fete taking place. After half an hour the policeman told the driver to just take me through and tell him to duck. He took me. I ducked and my friends passed me a CD player playing Nick Drake and a joint. Gifts from God.

181

I woke in a cheerful mood; an active mood, ready to write, ready to give my soul to the world. Solitude felt good. I appreciated again the ow of the river, how the ripples made the bed of the stream appear unsteady, transitory like a mirage. Subjective beauty returned to the objective beauty around me. It lasted till lunchtime. Then a thought, why isnt she here? She knows I must be longing to see her. This heart, meant for the world, sought only one heart. Though I knew Krishna was doing this on purpose, it didnt ll the hole which love had created; it only allowed me the awareness of it, and the meaning of its existence. I longed for love, romance. I could barely live without it. And now, minutes after lying poleaxed, tears streaming down my face, dejected, no end in sight to my suffering, I am awakened to a different ecstasy, a full ecstasy. I am dipped in the Lords avours. I am helpless, distraught, savaged by separation, unable to move my hand from the leafy ground I lay upon, then strong, condent, ready to lift the whole world with that same hand. I know my play has a positive ending, so why the anxiety, the insecurity? And to whom do I submit my prayer? For Krishna too, in His lila, is anxious, praying for circumstance, fate, to be kind upon him, feeling as he does the consequences of love.

I was listening to the Director, following signs, reading omens, and scenting hints. Many Israelis and of course seekers from all over the globe are listening, following, learning. They may not know who Krishna is, but they are becoming aware of His methodology of instruction, His guidance. And as I was leading the life of a wandering babaji, the signs, omens, afrmations, realizations became more common, and more obvious. They produced in me a deep trust, wonder, and space for amazing pastimes. The more apparently outrageous the play and the further away it appeared from society or religion, the more Krishna was pleased. He left signs of conrmation. On leaving the rock which I and Sivan had used as a ower-bed, I noticed what appeared to be a footprint, exactly like the footprints of Krishna found embedded in rocks around Vrindavan; and in its groove, one rupee, leaving no doubt that He had been before me, arranging the spot for our love-play. From Leh to Manali and from Manali to Kasol in Parvati Valley; from Parvati to Dharmasala to Rishikesh and back to Dharmasala, creating gorgeous festivals and linking energies. From Sivan to Tali to So and Lizzy, each girl I made love to was like losing my virginity. Radha and Krishna are continually losing their virginity; ve times a day, twenty ve times a day. In Dharamasala I had two girlfriends; So and Lizzy. Both knew of each other. I met So in

182

Rishikesh. Born in Sri Lanka and raised in Sweden, So looked perfectly like the description of a manjari; petite, black skin, large breasts, large lotus-petal eyes, beak-nose, ruby lips and gorgeous ways. Lizzy from Israel also had gopi eyes. I saw this as a trait of a soul who was only one life away from Absolute Beauty as if missing out in the last life by a whisker. I met So during our second festival in Naddi and Lizzy the next night. They both knew of each other. I had nothing to hide. I didnt own anyone and no one owned me. This mood was in line with truth, but it was a little painful, especially for So who loved me deeply. On the last night before returning to Vrindavan I danced all night with So at a trance party in Siva Caf. In the morning we walked into Bhagsu and sat for breakfast. There was Lizzy. We joined her. I smiled as the three of us sat there. They wanted to meet each other and on doing so both agreed She is beautiful. I made my way to Vrindavan. So and Lizzy stayed, and as jealousy uprooted, they became friends. They agreed to come to Vrindavan later.

I havent seen Shirley in four days. It is meant, but so is my longing.

---- Gita Govinda ------ Her joyful responses to my touch, trembling liquid movements of her eyes, fragrance from her lotus mouth, a sweet ambiguous stream of words, nectar from her red berry lips --- even when the sensuous objects are gone, my mind holds onto her in a trance.How does the wound of her desertion deepen? -----

I sat in my room last night considering my future. It is exciting. It is enormous. Alone, quiet, the world unaware of me, of what Im planning; what He is planning. Shirley knows everything and she has faith in me. But has her mind interrupted? Is reason now clouding her heart just as the low clouds in front of me obstruct the vision of the forest? There is something different about me and Goldmund. He loses himself to the ecstasy of the senses; and also to the awareness of God. Whereas for me, God dove from the altar, from the mantras, from the scriptures into these apparent objects of the senses. From the dark pink lips of Shirley he calls me; from the large breasts and warm smile of Liloosh he calls me; from the silk brown hair of Michaela he calls me; from the depth of Amits loving dark eyes he calls me. The world is divine;

183

nothing less than divine. He is not lost to me; even as I lose myself to others. All is united. Material, spiritual. Life, death. Happiness, sadness. Goldmund noticed that ecstasy and agony produce the same expression on a woman. Love is the uniting force. Without love there is good and bad; distinction, duality, separate existence of emotions. In love, ecstasy is agony and agony is ecstasy. In ecstasy, Goldmunds lover cried out, I want to have a child by you. Drink me to the dregs, beloved, melt me, kill me. Life and death merge in the experience of love; for to surrender totally means to die, to lose the ego. In lovemaking there is no thinking about what is pleasing to the other. It is mindless. There is no conscious effort to please the lover, only complete sensitivity, passion. Yet it is certain that the mans greatest pleasure is the womans greatest pleasure. The design is perfect. In union there is separation, forgetfulness of the lover. Souls merge, minds merge, bodies merge and all is one. Coming out of sexual trance is then like giving birth to your perfect self, as you rediscover the other half of you, your subjective universe, your lover.

184

Chapter 4 The Avalanche

I met someone some time ago, his eyes were clear to see; he showed me things with my own mind, I wish all the world could see; he stopped me from living so insane, I can be just what I want to be; things appear as they really are; I can see just what I want to see. Well come on, and let it happen to you; well come on, let it happen to you; youve gotta open up your mind and let everything come through. Spacemen 3 There it was. My rst stint away from monastic life; apparently making up for lost time. But only apparently. In truth, I never dissected my life. I never saw anything but a continuous play; a meandering river running towards the sea. On the way from Delhi to Vrindavan, an Indian man sat next to me on the bus. He pulled out a copy of the Bhagavad-gita, which he had carefully wrapped in velvet cloth. I read over his shoulder and he inquired from me if I knew the book. I quoted a couple of verses and told him I was on my way home. He took a brooch of Krishna from his jacket and pinned it to my pullover. I felt low, humble, and ashamed; I had not served the Lord to my fullest. I felt fully content yet simultaneously discontent. I began to cry. Krishna appeared on my heart to let me know He was happy with me. I cried, aware of my futile nite insignicance. I felt beautiful. From the bus to the auto rickshaw which took pilgrims from the main highway into Vrindavan, tears rolled down my face as the simple, squashed village people around me joyously sang Radhas name. Vrindavan entered my nostrils and made its way through my life airs; became my life air. In an instant, the festivals, the wandering, the girls, all seemed like a dream, a great adventure, a yellow brick road. I had left India and returned home. Vrindavan is not in India; India surrounds it like a moat. Vrindavan is the castle, standing tall, erect, and proud, piercing the sky. Vrindavan sucks you into the present and whispers Gods glories into your ear. If you like to live in the future or the past or are averse to these whisperings, you have to get out. There is no room for ego. It is Gods place. No. It is Krishnas playground and the playground of His lovers. I entered on the second day of the Kartik festival at lunchtime. Five hundred devotees sat in a makeshift tent enjoying a feast. Five hundred mixed reactions greeted me. I felt tall and proud. My family members nudged one another and prepared sarcastic remarks, sweet glances and warm embraces. Dvija Krishna, who had already melted me with a gorgeous smile, now came up to me.

185

Why are you here? Only for sex. You should leave at once before the western devotees beat you. Gadadhara, my pal, my side-kick, who had been travelling with me for a short time, was shocked. Ramananda and I both laughed. Ramananda asked if I had any girlfriends coming. Two for sure, maybe more, I told him. Gadadhara was a special western devotee. The day we met I could see in his eyes a close relationship, a future play friend. He gave me ten thousand rupees, gathered from new admirers, friends of his who had read my book. Dinanath looked at Gadadhara the year before and said to me, He is your son. Prabhuji winked conrmation. Around me were other familiar faces, devotees I had known for years, most ignoring me, most looking grey. Over the years, I witnessed energetic youths become fat monks, beautiful girls become grumpy widows. Few were shining, radiating the same enthusiasm I had witnessed in young travellers over the past months. With all these people clambering around, the room still seemed empty. I looked around me searching for my Prabhuji. Then, for two seconds, I glimpsed him and the room lled up. I was strangely satised with my brief darsan. I felt so alive, yet only in the eyes of my mostly Bengali family was my life recognized and reciprocated.

Such emptiness. Last night I searched for Shirley in my soul. I arrived with owers at her door within my heart. I waited and waited, just as I wait in this valley. But there was nothing. I felt sadness, a disappointment, a let-go. I threw the owers onto the grave of our love.

I met Prabhuji the following day. I approached him, bowed down and touched his feet, almost sarcastically; my love for his beyond reverence. He showed no signs of surprise or curiosity as to what Id been doing or where Id been. Sudevi has your babies, he said. Sudevi, I knew, was now the mother of Pranas twin boys. What do you mean mine, theyre the wrong colour. Prana is black. I presumed the babies were a little too. You met with her twenty times a day, they are yours.

186

They should have been mine. He was bringing my attention to the mystic siddhi (supernatural power) he himself gave to me eradicating any trace of fear or guilt in my promiscuous ways. Nothing else was spoken. I sat next to him, bathing in the sun of his aura. He was my life. I knew I could surrender the girls and take to cleaning pots for the rest of my life if he so desired. Ramananda walked over to us, and asked, Your friend is here? I walked onto the street and met Lizzy coming into town on a rickshaw. The next day another Israeli friend, Alon, came. I wanted them both to meet Prabhuji, to hear his bhajans and class. He had a secret hideaway. We followed one of his boys down Vrindavans alleys and into a small courtyard where a seat was waiting for him and scripture ready on a stand. Inside were three Indian monks who had assisted in my beating two years before. A torch light was in my face. Pitambara! I approached the source of the beam. Dont come here. This is a private place. Whatever happens here is none of your business. If you come back we will use methods to get rid of you. What methods. Alon was tugging at my shawl. Im sure you remember what methods. Alon, Lizzy and Gadadhara were shocked. I was only going to see my guru; my godfather. I didnt expect to see Al Pacino or Robert de Niro. Two camps. Lovers and haters. One camp; Dont come on this bus, we have standards. The other; Pitambara, quick. It was Bon Maharaja and Tirtha Maharaja; both beautiful; both drenching Lizzy with sweet smiles from the spiritual ocean of their hearts. On Lizzys last day she wanted to try chanting. We sat by the sacred pond Kusumasarovara as she sang the melody from the lm Hair one hundred and eight times; counting on the beads I gave her. It took forty minutes. She looked so sweet. An hour later she lit a cigarette then threw it down in disgust. Enough of smoking. No more. She didnt connect it to the chanting but that didnt matter. I gave her the instructions, Chanting will make you feel good, but never think you are a Hare Krishna, O.K.? She smiled. I returned to kitchen service. Prabhuji returned to bizarre methods of showing affection, slapping me in front of a crowd, then laughing with me in a secret place.

187

Everyday I cried during the bhajans, which I had missed so much during my time away. One day, while I was sat at the back of the gathering there was a commotion coming from the back of the ladies side of the temple room. Peoples heads, like polecats, sought the reason. Something amazing rushed through my heart, an excitement, a mystery. I saw a Japanese lady, Kalavati, waving her arms in the air and then collapsing into a bed of arms. She was carried into the basement, followed by about twenty people, myself one of them. What is wrong with her? A question directed at the Japanese man stood next to me, obviously her husband. He was silent, but not worried. Is it epilepsy? He shook his head. Ghosts? She fell onto the oor, rolled around hysterically, screamed, Krishna! Krishna! No! No! She yelled as if in excruciating pain. One guy grabbed her and tried to perform exorcism. She was terried. I pulled him away. She looked into my eyes with more love than Id ever witnessed. Mmm, Krishna. She looked so deeply into me, she looked beyond me, and saw my Lord. Oh, Krishna. I just observed. Her husband was next to me and allowed her to stroke my hair. Prabhuji was in the basement but never came over. No elevated devotees were concerned at all. The energy was very high; intensely high and strangely beautiful. What I witnessed so close was the agony and ecstasy of the gopis; so animated, so magnicent. Kalavati felt comfortable with me, so her husband allowed me to hold her until she calmed down. When she came to her senses, I witnessed the sweetest, most humble, most beautiful lady supported by her husbands arm. They both thanked me before retiring. This was something amazing. I wanted to meet them again and did the next day. May I ask one question? You looked like you were in great agony. Was that agony also ecstasy? Her husband, Jayanand, translated. A nod. Both together. It was prema; divine love of God. Kalavati was experiencing the highest symptoms of ecstasy that Id only previously read about. Even in my gurus I had not seen this. Krishna keeps the gurus from this divine madness so they can teach. Otherwise there is no bridge. Kalavati could barely chant one mantra, listen to one bhajan before she would go into a trance. Even wearing tulasi neck beads was too powerful for her. She was criticized for not wearing them by neophyte devotees who didnt realize which end of the scale she was tipping. It started four years ago, Jayanand told me. We have been asked not to come to the Iskcon temple, and now I feared what is happening here, everyone is telling me she has ghosts, or needs to see a doctor. I think it is prema but I want to be sure; Gurudeva just said no problem.

188

No problem, I enforced Gurudevas conclusion. It is prema for sure. He was happy and nally convinced of his wifes fortune. Devotees were trying to drag her to Gurudeva so she could take initiation and be saved. This was a joke. She had the sh. What was the use of a net? I wanted to take her to Prabhuji to receive siddha pranali instead. Later, I was serving in the kitchen. Babaji, bring this. Prabhuji pointed to an empty container. I brought this to him, to Ramananda. Nobody needed this. It was a useless instruction. However, his instructions are never useless. I pondered a deeper meaning. This was an empty container. Kalavati was an empty container. Bring her to me. I was right. Prabhuji would reveal her spiritual identity to her. The next day I saw the couple with Gurudeva and whole entourage of nosey devotees. Kalavati knelt to receive Gurudeva without looking up; a real example of a lady. Other female devotees push and scream at the front of Gurudeva, making it hard for him to walk anywhere. He held his hand aloft in blessing pose and shot me a glance. Jayananda was concerned that Gurudeva had walked past. Come with me, I said. We walked to the temple and to Prabhuji. Kalavati has a problem. She has forgotten who she is. Can you remind her? Prabhuji brought the hidden talk into the open. They want siddha pranali, you give it to them, he smiled. I cant see my own form yet, how will I tell anyone else their form? I will give you blessings then you give it to them. Now go and wash the pots. No babaji, then this place is useless. I was amazed. More amazed than my Japanese friends who thought maybe he was being sarcastic. But he was conrming something that had been appearing in my heart already. The fact that one day, I like he will be the nal guru of people, revealing their identities and escorting them to the spiritual world. He also conrmed that I was the link, the bridge in the place, for the young devotees to cross over to the pure devotees, the guide for students of Class A and B to move to Class C. I went to wash the pots, but not before catching Kalavati as she lunged at Prabhuji with raised arms, mesmerized by his beauty. I had to catch her the next day too, as she began to dance like a mad woman at the back of the temple room. As she screamed Krishna envious devotees angrily insisted something should be done. We took her to the next building where she could at least hear the chanting yet be alone to dance. When she came out of her trance, we spoke, through her husband.

189

Krishna told me that there will be a new place in Vrindavan separate from the Gaudiya Math and Iskcon, said Kalavati. Yes, I know, Im already planning it for the future. You are the only one here who understands me. I am so happy. I am so happy too. I have experienced something of what you are feeling, but not the full blooming; it is a pleasure and an honour to be with you. She clapped her hands like a little child, like a manjari. The next day I found Kalavati at the main gate, in trance, shocking people by approaching them and tearing at their auras shouting, Hare Krishna in a desperate attempt to encourage them to resign themselves to Him. She saw all the dirt and performed a spontaneous witch-like ceremony. She saw me and folded her hands before returning to her duty. We took her away to my room where she sat holding me, Gadadhara and Jayanand. I began to play the ute and she rose like a snake from a charmers box, captivated by the sound. She giggled insanely and then listened again, intently. I played and she danced like I have never witnessed anyone dance; divinely beautiful, absolute. The following day I introduced them to my Maharajaji at the goshala in Vrindavan before waving goodbye as they left for Japan. The forty-two year old housewife skipped and jumped in circles, waving profusely. I returned to my room, in Navs place, and cried for twenty minutes in love for her. One day I will open the Kalavati Asram and she will dance and bless this universe. One question was in my head. When would I achieve vastu siddhi (ultimate perfection)? When? As this word pervaded my consciousness, Dibu, one of Prabhujis hidden gems, looked at me deep in the eyes.When you are forty, like Prabhuji. What! It was too uncanny. Dibu started laughing and talking gibberish. Prabhuji had revealed to me that he reached perfection at forty, now, my guide, his disciple, my good friend and elder brother, was telling me that in eight years time I would achieve the same. I felt far from this stage but I realized how far I had already come in the last eight years. It was possible. I wanted conrmation. I checked my emails the next day. One from Lizzy, missing me. One from Gil, Im in Varanasi. My next destination foretold. One from mum, Charlotte, my niece, is sick and Manseld Town have just signed two new players. One from the devotee who was going to help me publish my book but after reading it decided that I needed to see a psychiatrist: He sent a block message with information regarding the upcoming planetary formation of a Star of David on the full moon night, which was also a lunar eclipse. This, apparently, signied the start of a global spiritualization there will be a nine year period leading up to the winter solstice of 2012, and a massive spiritual awakening

190

during this time. Then the words I hope this information is useful and relevant for you. Krishna was not only giving conrmation but also being polite about it. As well as my own enlightenment, I was already aware that 2012 is going to be a huge year for many people. The Mayan calendar ends. The world wont explode, but there will be a denite disintegration of materialism in many peoples lives as a unied spiritual awakening takes place. All across the planet, religions, colours, races, ideologies, people all uniting under one common roof, Krishnas roof. Many know about 2012 but not Krishnas role. It is not 2012 yet! And the Star of David. Israel. The Seal of Solomon. The jigsaw pieces were falling into place.

All my pens ran out. Curiosity shrieked. I hiked to Bhagsu. Condence, then sadness, knowledge then love, fearlessness then fear; one after the other. I uctuated as my conclusions did. I would be strong and tell Shirley, I know you need space, and kiss her forehead then leave. I would cry at her feet and profess my undying love. I would throw her onto the bed and full her most erotic desires. She wasnt there. Sadness won the bout of emotions. I wandered around Bhagsu. I couldnt nd my guitar; I couldnt nd Neer or Liloosh. I couldnt nd myself. In the caf near the Vipassana centre I saw many familiar faces. Moran, Yael, Sarita, Sheera, the girl with my guitar. The sun came out. All these beautiful girls wore purple! I wanted to make love to all of them. I wanted to kiss them, one after the other. Imagine a person who perfects himself doing just that. Attaining the beauty of Krishna, imagine if someone became endowed with His charm and His play became so similar that such a love-play would itself attract the world to the Supreme Lover. Imagine if the seless world would come down and pervade this world. Then the lila could penetrate the karma. The gopis steal Krishnas ute. As He searches for it Radha suggests it is in Tungavidyas blouse. Krishna doesnt nd His ute there, but is not unhappy! Tungavidya suggests Sudevi has it. It is not inside her blouse either. Krishna deliriously forgetting what he began to look for searches all the gopis then suddenly notices His ute behind the back of Radha, who runs off through a secret doorway into a beautiful hideaway. Krishna chases Her, and the other girls then block the entrance and giggle. When it comes to distribution of universal love, I am clear-sighted.

191

When it comes to specic love, I am blind. I swing from this love to that love, experiencing both. Krishna, as God, gives love to all His children. He is omnipotent, aware. As a lover, he panics, She doesnt love me; what is my life worth, and cries at the base of a tree. To love him we need both experiences. Narcissus knew he had to do what Siddharta did; keep his wisdom, love his Father, but dive back into the world, to love his mother. Krishna, when he told Arjuna not to become a sadhu, but to ght, to accept his nature was saying, Love your father and your mother, together; then God and the world will merge in the total experience of divine love. Then you can move into the divine playground. Otherwise you may go to the spiritual world, pay fteen pounds, and take your seat in row G. Your mother loves your father; your father loves your mother; and you, you have to love both to please either of them.

All through the festival Prabhuji was giving me strength in abundance, conrming my realizations and dragging me into feigned arguments in front of seven hundred people. My good friend Yitzhak arrived and was witnessing the sweet play. We, along with Gadadhara, sat at Prabhujis feet as he rested in the basement one evening. Gurudeva was giving class in the temple room. Immediately Prabhuji told me. You will give them siddha pranali. What about harinam and diksa? I asked. Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna... Prabhuji looked at Yitzhak who repeated back the mantra. But then Prabhuji stopped and smiled at me. Earlier that day I had told Yitzhak the mantra while giving him beads in Radha Kund. I also gave him the name Kesava. And diksa? I asked. Only giving siddha pranali. Everyday bathing in Radha Kund, then everything you will realize. Then giving all siddha pranali. The process for my enlightenment. Bathing in Radha Kund, the topmost waters of romantic love. It wasnt literal. He was encouraging me with my love play. I was already bathing in Radha Kund internally in my meditation, serving the Divine Couple mentally. That didnt need repeating.

192

What does Kesava mean? Kesi Manjari, that is his real name. Prabhuji looked me in the eyes with amazing depth, a brand new proximity. I was amazed. Kesava hadnt really accepted Krishna as his Lord yet and my guru was revealing his identity in the next life. A devotee approached with an information question. Prabhuji, what is the name of the garland which Krishna makes for Radha? Kesi Manjari. He answered so quickly and with an accompanying glance in my direction. She asked again. Mukta mala, he answered, this time giving the correct information. The beauty of the rst answer penetrated me. Krishna was making a garland of Kesava and offering it to Radha as Kesi Manjari, her maidservant. Kesava asked me afterwards, Is this my spiritual form? What is it like? Ill tell you in eight years, I replied, come, lets wash the pots. When Kesava left for Israel, So arrived from Dharamasala. Criticism came with her. One non-devotee girlfriend was frowned upon. Two was a scandal. In front of Prabhuji, Mohan, the secret family member who once stole Prabhujis shoes, gloried me while So stood, looking beautiful, beside me. Hes bringing this girl to Vrindavan very good, no? Hes bringing thousands, conrmed, instructed, enlightened, enthused, encouraged, desired Prabhuji. So and I continued to get closer. We stayed in a room away from all the other devotees in Varsana; the village where Radha grew up. In the main temple, the fairytale castle on the hill, the site of Her fathers house ve thousand years before, we took darsan, and I held my hand out to receive prasad. The pujari (priest) gave red bindi dots and red lac powder; both worn by married Indian women. I laughed, understanding Radhas sense of humour. We had just discussed how Radha is actually married to Abhimanyu and lives with his mother and sister. They are continually in fear of Radha meeting Krishna and they try and stop her, the opposite of the manjaris. The whole play is for the enhanced erotic experience of parakiya rasa, extramarital romance. So, having been given the props, we entered the evening worship as wife and wife-thief. Kartik, the month for progression was now the month for play. After a few more plays So left. Kartik was nearly over. So travelled to the Andaman Islands with a new friend Yoletta (Yasoda) from England, an eighteen year old punk who had been dragged to Vrindavan off the streets of London; a beautiful soul who saw the real beauty of devotees and the

193

real pretence of the pretenders. Chrissie Hind, not a pretender, from the Pretenders, turned up in my village of Isapur and connected with me, much to the terror of the senior devotees. Jaya Sri arrived to talk for the rst time since our split. We became friends again, but nothing like our previous closeness. I was closest with Gadadhara, who left for Australia leaving me alone to travel to the South. Prabhuji shouted at me on my last day in the temple, You bring your disciples to eat, but give no money. I had two thousand rupees left after buying a minidisk player. I handed it over to him and mentally prepared for a penniless journey. He smiled and handed it back. Babaji knows all things, he said proudly to an Indian devotee next to him. I felt strong, energized after my time with my Prabhuji. I was ready to give his love, his bhava to the world, to whomever I met in the world. So off again I sailed into the unknown. I travelled to Varanasi, to Goa, Gokarna in Karnataka, Varkala in Kerala, to Kanyakumari, the southernmost tip of India where Vivekananda did some pondering, and then again North, to Bangalore. I made new friends wherever I went; I met old friends wherever I went. I slept and ate with these friends, all of whom were grateful for what they received from me. What that was, was trust - faith in the Universal Spirit, in Godand for the fortunate few, faith in the Supreme Lord Krishna. I lost all fear of poverty, knowing that even if it was midnight, Krishna was still to arrange food and shelter. He never let me down. Each arrangement was mystical and people were surprised I could live on a knifes edge without fear of falling, or cutting myself. I was more than keeping myself from being cut; I was living fully, freely. If you are a lover of the king, you may enjoy the fruits of his palace. In fact, more than you may enjoy the fruits of the palace; the king wants you to enjoy the fruits. But rst you have to fall in love with the king. And such a loving king! I wanted so much to end peoples idea of Krishna, God, being some sort of jealous gure that enjoys seeing you suffer. During my touring I met beautiful souls, many undergoing powerful experiences in my presence. Roi (Arjuna) witnessed Ganesh rising from a carving in the sand to occupy the whole sky in front of him. Noa witnessing a freak gust of wind blow a postcard to my feet, me showing her the card without seeing the front saying Radha Krishna, and Radha Krishna appearing before her eyes. The pure-hearted were shown things they had never previously believed in. Krishna was waiting to reveal himself to many. I knew I was just planting seeds for the future. Sai Baba was calling me to Puttaparthi. I knew little of him. I knew he was controversial due to claims of producing gold from nothing. I knew some people thought he was God because he could do such a thing. I knew that the ability to manipulate matter was one of the nine mystic siddhis that a

194

human being could acquire so I thought maybe he was some great yogi. I was open. I made it all the way thanks to donations on the way but had no money when I arrived. I sat in a chai shop being attracted by the energies of two American girls. Then an English woman sat down and enthusiastically started playing my guitar. She invited me to stay in her at while I was in town. I walked around the asrama grounds. It was so straight. People were so concentrated on behaving spiritually; the atmosphere was tense and unnatural. I felt like pinching the bums of the cute girls, what few there were. Straightness makes naughtiness more tempting. When it was time for Sai Baba to give darsan, I sat with the thousands of polite folk and waited patiently. Mantras were chanted, bhajans sang; God was on His way. The bhajans skipped from Siva, to Durga, to Rama, to Krishna, at last settling in one mood, my mood. This started making me want to dance, so I took myself to the back but was asked to sit down or leave. I walked out of the main auditorium and danced on the path outside. I felt ecstasy increasing till a point where I was uncontrollably laughing, just as Sai Baba entered in a slowly driven red car. I was so happy to see Him. I was laughing out loud much to the disturbance of devotees around me who seemed to think that God didnt like laughing. Sai Babas energy was amazing, like a small orange beam that lit up the whole sky. I was impressed, but I wanted to meet him face to face, eye to eye, before I bought the Sai Baba is God t-shirt. That night I had an incredible dream. I was in the auditorium, close to the front, and in front of me was Sai Baba; or was it Krishna; this small boy with long hair down to his knees jumping up the steps with divine nesse. The boy was shyama, the colour of rain clouds, Krishnas colour. It was very real, tangible still when I awoke. The next day the question was more seriously on my head. So is Sai Baba an incarnation of Krishna? I hadnt expected this. I turned a corner and saw a picture of Krishna next to a picture of Sai Baba, both had the same energy, the same smile. I waited for darsan again, this time staying outside. His car entered with the usual fanfare; then, unusually it turned left and drove out the back entrance where I and about ten other people stood. As the car drove past me, I knew this was the time. He looked me in the eyes; one, two seconds, then gone. Enough. My life story in my eyes; my understanding, my desires, my premonitions; all in my eyes; all I offered for him to see. And he saw, he accepted, he conrmed, he appreciated. I saw in him as he gazed into me, through me, something I had never seen in any other person, not even Prabhuji. Masculine divinity. In Sai Baba I saw the universe, beyond the universe, myself, my history and future, everything - just as Mother Yasoda witnessed the entire cosmos in Krishnas mouth. As he drove off, Sai Baba returned to being Sai Baba as everyone knew him. I was delighted.

195

He spoke to me very deeply, told me that he knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what I would do. His look was very friendly and full of fun, laughing at the ridiculous way people were treating him, but allowing them to do so. I knew the reason. Sai Baba has come down; he is an expansion of the divine. He is not the full avatar as is claimed Krishna is that. Yet he is bhagavat-sakti, energy of the divine, whereas we are jiva-sakti, soul energy, energies that can love the divine or be covered by maya-sakti, the material energy. Sai Baba attracts millions. He performs some miracles, which are really nothing to him. But this very God energy appeals to a certain type of person. Puttaparthi is full of rich, sattvic followers. It is akin to Vaikuntha, the spiritual abode of Lord Narayana. In Narayanas dimension his servants bow down in reverence, in awe of His Godhood. There is opulence, grandeur, aisvarya. The citizens are happy and beautiful in awareness of their fortune of being near to God. Sai Baba gives a taste of Vaikuntha, a taste of the presence of God. But there is something higher! That is the taste of intimate love of God; and particularly the love of the gopis and manjaris. That love is available for attainment on this planet right now; not from God, but from His lovers from His lovers lovers. God Himself is represented here as Sai Baba, but He knows, and He desires that all should experience the topmost bliss, the love of the manjaris. As the golden age approaches, Sai Baba will undoubtedly be hugely popular. But He is a red herring. And He knows it. That is the beauty of Him. That is the beauty of God. He doesnt want to take the glory; He wants to give all the glory to His lovers. That is the humility of the Lord. In the auditorium the next day I met a beautiful Indian boy chanting Hare Krishna on beads. My place next to him was reserved. In an hour I spoke my realizations, some of which had never previously entered my head. He loved Krishna, He loved Sai Baba, but for years he couldnt reconcile his love. In that hour it was reconciled and he touched my feet; right there in front of God. I smiled. This pleased God more than anything in the world! The way to His heart is through His lovers. Through the back door. Lovers always use the back door. It was obvious to me that all the most beautiful people in the place were attracted to me. They were attracted to the sweetness of God residing in my heart rather than the opulence of God, parading in a long orange robe in front of them. I walked through Puttaparthi village and town, feeling its divinity. I felt grave. I had known for a while that my book would be a best-seller, I would be famous and introduce people to the highest conception of love of God. But it was going to be bigger than this. I was going to be huge, bigger than Sai Baba; bigger than God. Shit, I thought, I hope my acne clears up! I laughed in

196

the middle of the street at the sheer brilliance of the Lords plan. To have a nobody, a bricklayers son from Manseld, an ex-bank clerk come monk who was good in the air for Southgate County, starting and leading the biggest spiritual revolution seen on this planet, in competition with God Himself. It is so damn funny, so preposterous even, that it has to be true. Otherwise I would have a better idea than Him, and that is not possible because my ideas are his. I wandered. In bliss. Sometimes grave, sometimes light. People bought me food as if they could hear the rumbling of my stomach. In the German Bakery I prayed to Sai Baba for conrmation, What is your duty here? I icked open a book. I have come to reestablish the Vedas. Usual Avatar stuff. But of course, the Vedas spotless scripture is the Srimad Bhagavatam, and the Srimad Bhagavatam glories Krishna as the Supreme Lord, and love for Him in the mood of the gopis as the highest goal of life. So, Sai Baba has come to support that. It has to be, of course, otherwise Chaitanyas incarnation would have no meaning. And He doesnt forget what He is doing. Even Buddhas goal, though apparently different is absolutely the same. He is preparing, like a primary school teacher. When a mother tells her son never to speak to strangers, she doesnt mean forever. She knows the child will grow and naturally understand when that time has come to speak to strangers. Knowledge is given step by step by God to His children, and as the children grow all the stages are available according to maturity of spiritual awareness. The mother doesnt really believe that babies are brought by storks! Responsibility of my future service made me feel grave, and very small; incompetent. I cried and prayed, Tell me. I am happy to pick up cow dung. I am happy to wander penniless and speak to inquisitive folk. I am happy to start a revolution if you desire. I will do it. But really? Me? Is this some kind of weird ego test? It didnt feel like a weird ego test. I felt no pride of greatness anymore, but something like this begged for conrmation of ones sanity. A woman immediately walked up to me. I knew she was going to answer my prayer. Magdalene, a Belgian woman in her forties looked into my eyes, took my hands and started stroking my face. We have met in a previous life. Yes. I was your mother. Beautifully she petted me. Id not seen my own mother for over three years so I drank it in. Then she grabbed me, as if in stark recognition of truth What you are doing is right. Have no fear. You will help many people. Many people are going to come to you. It was powerful. I remembered Prabhuji saying, You will change all hearts. I glanced at a photo of Sai Baba. He was there, staring at me, blessing me. It was time to leave. None of the people I met had any more space for me. It happens many times. People open to me, I pour. When they are full they cannot sometimes even look at me. It

197

depends on the ego. If there is no ego I can pour or allow Gods pouring through me forever. If there is a big ego then very little can be conveyed of the truth. God wants to give but he needs a hole to pour his grace into, and an unlimited container to continue pouring. Otherwise, when the pouring reaches the ego, the bottom of ones container, then the cup lls and as it is full, then any more produces a negative feeling. Many Krishna devotees have preached without being aware of the limit of the peoples containers; pouring their information into small vessels, into souls who are not yet hungry for truth and making them vomit. Then the word Krishna, God, Jesus, etc have negative samskaras, impressions. Then the most beautiful word Krishna will remind one of vomiting. So, after three days in Puttaparthi, I would leave the next day. I felt uncomfortable already in Jos at; I felt I had overstayed my welcome there. And I got hit. In the middle of the night her boyfriend came round, argued with her, opened the door to my room and threw punches at my head and walked off towards the kitchen. I had two choices; leave Jo alone with this guy, or do what I had never done in all my thirty-two years; beat someone. Or try to. I punched him a few times then he turned me over and we reached a stalemate. Jo ran out. He got up and left. I packed my things and received one nal blow as I met him with all my bags on the stairs. I slept for a couple of hours on a rooftop, still shaking and in pain. Prabhuji came into my dream. It was more like Mork reporting to Orson than a dream. Prabhuji was laughing. This reminded me of my beating being a mere play that I had to go through; to learn. I had to be strong. I was still fearful of dramas like this; hence, a drama like this occurred. He smiled and said, Why are you going to Pondicherry? I woke. Why was I going to Pondicherry? O.K, Pondicherry then. I didnt know why, or where it was, but I knew I was going. Krishna arranged the necessary transport the next day. I jokingly asked Sai Baba if he could turn my thirty rupees into the three hundred I needed. Instead, a free ride to Bangalore and a gift of two hundred rupees from Jos friend manifested. I met a friend, Keren, in Bangalore who advised me to stay in Auroville. We arrived there together at three in the morning. I slept on the beach and woke to nd a note and one hundred rupees given by her. I opened up to favourable energies that guided me to Anton, a beautiful Italian guy who after two minutes conversation agreed that I could stay in his chalet. I have one hundred rupees, I started to tell him, stuttering at the sight of a ve hundred rupee note. In the same pocket as the note was a picture card of Sai Baba holding aloft a golden nugget, which he manifested with a message, this photo has the power to make miracles happen. When I tried to conrm the miracle

198

later with Keren she told me she gave me ve hundred rupees. Was I crazy? Insecurity, mistrust in my inspiration, popped its head up, then realization that Sai Baba was actually performing a miracle in such a way that it was totally negligible for outsiders; something that Prabhuji always did to me. It was a scenario that provides scope for increasing faith. Most of my most amazing experiences are quite easily disproved to outsiders with logic. Mysticism, faith, God are beyond logic which is why Sai Baba turned ve hundred rupees into one hundred then back again to show me his powers. He, Krishna, still put the money in my hand. It is all miraculous; all divine intervention! And indirect intervention is more sweet. Auroville was a little spooky: a large wooded area with scattered villages and projects. The villages were strewn with frantic barking dogs and none-too-friendly people, and the project areas were full of mainly European and American folk, the type who give their clothes to charity and ride bicycles. As in every place my unsuspecting entourage was waiting to hear about my Lord, to hear about the beauty of bhakti-yoga. Auroville is a karma-yoga haven. You work for food and board. Krishna propagated karma-yoga so the business minded people could be uplifted spiritually. Karma emphasizes the giving and receiving. It is for those still concerned to receive, whereas in bhakti you have to forget about what will come, totally. Then, what will come totally is totally amazing. Karma-yoga, action-reaction, give-receive, tit for tat. If you dont give tit, you dont get tat. To the owner of the place, I was just taking tat without giving tit. I didnt really give tit for tat; I knew my tit was to get people away from tit for tat. Bhakti is all about tits not tats. You give your tits and if anyone gives you their tits with love, then great. They did. Crystal was pretty with blonde hair, braids and black glasses as if trying to hide her superhuman identity. She was so good, so helpful, and so polite why was I attracted to this nice person? I noticed there was s something deeper than her niceness - her crystal clear perception. When I looked at you, for some reason, I thought of Krishna, though externally theres no telling you are a Hare Krishna. I was amazed when you started speaking about Him. I also knew you had some message for me. What made you come to India? I asked her. I wanted to feel a sense of insecurity, to live a little on the razors edge; its all too safe in the U.S. I told her about my book and its title (at that time, A False Sense of Insecurity). That day I was walking back to my beach hut when Crystal rode past on her bicycle. Then

199

yards past me a tyre exploded, breaking a couple of spokes. It was no accident; I knew it and I was pleased to hear that she too knew it. We walked to the beach and relaxed by the ocean. Crystals lips started to appear like the most succulent fruits. Oh, to touch my lips to such fruits! One time I was in a Reiki session and suddenly I spontaneously decided to give Reiki in a certain place and because I acted without thinking it was perfect. She didnt know but she was telling me to kiss her. Yet I paused, and then she sat up. Rewind, rewind, I said. Sorry? Lie down again and tell me what you just said.One time... I kissed her quite passionately on the mouth, which she moved in beautiful response. Our ngers touched each others thighs; a bubble surrounded us. Through the gateway to that world we slipped and almost forgot this one; almost. There were many people around us not looking, but we had only begun the play. We walked back up the road, into the Auroville woodland, hand-in-hand, not speaking. I spotted cows grazing and pulled Crystal in that direction. Then I noticed a clearing with a beautiful tree divinely lit. We stopped and lay our shawls down, our selves down, our cards down. We had the same cards. At last our bodies could entwine thigh to thigh, breast to breast. Only essence, she said, man and woman. And mosquitoes, I added. She was a woman, more lost in beauty than me. Theyll be gone in an hour. Beautiful. My lover was in no rush. The mosquitoes vanished as dusk became night; cows with cowbells sounding walked close-by; peacocks started calling and the three quarter moon shone through the gap in trees. I took off Crystals clothes and her white body lit up in the moonlight. I stroked her porcelain shell, kissed again her pastel lips. We dove into each others eyes. She undressed me and touched me beautifully. A cool breeze caressed our naked bodies. Perfect, perfect. I lay on top of her. No, she said, I dont want to succumb to lust. Then succumb to beauty, to love. She did. We did. We made love freely, moving around with no inhibitions. We were in India. No, we were in the castle. I feel like Ive taken the role of a Goddess for the night. As we rested I told her of the Goddess she had indeed become for the night.

200

---Gita Govinda--- Her eyes transgressed their bounds straining to reach beyond her ears. They fell on him with trembling pupils. When Radhas eyes met her lover, heavy tears of joy fell like streaming sweat.----

The level of trust in me was rewarded always by circumstances and arrangements of the sweetest kind. Girls who looked in my eyes and trusted me completely experienced the beauty of fearlessness, mindlessness, and egolessness. And signs, omens, dreams guiding me through these gorgeous erotic encounters. The night before I met Crystal in the forest I dreamt of dolphins circling in the water with only their tail-ns sticking out of the water. Such a strange, unnatural motion, even for a dolphin, made the image stay in my mind. That image, carved in wood, hung around the neck of Crystal. She woke me the next morning. I had stayed in an unused room in the Buddha Garden. It was good to sleep alone, giving us both the space for dreamy thoughts and remembrances. The owner passed me and with a glance told me it was time to leave. Sarah passed me. A glance told me it was time to leave with her. Crystal, Musaka, Sarah and I, all left the next day to go to Ammas asrama in Kerala. I left Anton who told me that what I called Krishna he called fortune, only different angles of vision. He is right of course. And I am one hell of a lucky guy. I met Roman who fortunately threw his wallet at me and told me to take what I needed. Then I met Anton again who luckily was going to Pondicherry on his motorbike, where I auspiciously bumped into Harry, a friend from Om Beach, who kindly paid for my train ticket and opportunely bought me breakfast. Then, by chance, on the train, I fell in love with Sarah and she fell in love with me. Amma. Known as the Hugging Mama, she spends hour after hour hugging thousands of people. Her asrama is a huge pink tower block surrounded by palm trees and squeezed between the ocean and Keralas backwaters. Pankaja, a handsome Indian asramite with beard and glowing eyes, received me at three in the morning. I had left the others to nd rooms while I, with only a few rupees, looked for oor space. Where did you come from? Pankaja asked. Vrindavan. I replied.

201

Ah, you are babaji. He knew Vrindavan, and my Maharaja, and seemed to be expecting me. Go and nd a space to sleep in the canteen, meals are free here so you have no problems. Then a western asramite came up to me. One hundred and fty rupees a room. How many nights? I walked past him. In the morning I met Daphna (Devaki) and Nicole (Naranya), who were both amazed to see me. Daphna, opened by Amma to a more spiritual path, now saw me in a different light, a real light. I kept my bags in her room and spent the next three days sleeping on the roof. I met many people in those three days; past, present and future lovers and friends; all of whom wore purple! For no apparent reason, but for one absolute one. They were all my children. The western asramites all wore white and paraded around the site with egoistic importance. Those who were apparently close to Amma were absolutely not. I knew the play. I was dressed in a purple longy, purple shirt and purple shawl. Purple is your colour, you look good in purple, one guy came and told me. The rst comment penetrated with deeper meaning. I looked around and noticed all the beautiful souls with good energies were in some way wearing purple; be it a full dress, shirt, skirt or head-band. Devaki wore all white as she had been following the asrama standards. Half an hour after I talked her out of asrama life, she arrived in front of me in a bright purple skirt. I love you and I will hug you, she said feeling free of religious clutches. From that day on, I noticed that most people I connect with on the occasion of our rst exchange wear purple; the colour of the third eye chakra. It was my turn for a hug; number 471. I laughed as I considered my rather exhausting roll as the future Shagging Papa. Ammas entourage of musicians sang Radhe Govinda as I drew closer to the front. I noticed for the rst time her divine radiance, her beauty, her kindness and incredible grace. I knelt before her. My boy. My boy. Ma, ma, ma, she uttered into my ear. I looked into her eyes desiring a deeper communion and she obliged looking straight into my heart. She disappeared with me for two innite seconds as we strolled around the universe, hand-in-hand, conrming each others desires, each others ambitions and loves, then she insinuated the act of touching my feet with her hands, then her hands to her head, quickly, three times, in a gesture of honour as if I were worshipable. It meant Krishna is her worshipable lover, and thus she honours me. It meant much more. It was very personal and melted me into her. I sat down and the musicians sang Hare Krishna. I cried like a baby, profusely for about twenty minutes feeling Radha so close. Pankaja, in front of me, turned around, you had a nice darshan. It was impossible for him to see but he was revealing that he knew what had happened. Yes, and Krishna bhajans too.

202

Amma is Krishna, he said, and my head swung left and witnessed a painting of Amma as Krishna. Amma is Radha, no? I asked. Radha and Krishna are non-different, said Pankaja. No other clarication was necessary for my faith but one was given. I walked into a chai shop and saw a picture of Amma next to a picture of Sai Baba. Both were looking at me with the same divine parental smile. I headed back to Vrindavan via Pune and Puri. I was happy in my heart but my mind was somehow tense. I felt strangely lacking in composure, paranoid, edgy. An astrologer pointed out that the planets were messing with my brain. I saw it too as Krishnas plan. From whichever angle, I was not feeling myself. I was trapped in a cage, unable to play joyfully, only left observing a mental sickness, and waiting for it to end as internal meditation, internal sentiments of deep love for my guru and Lord continued. Somehow I felt external unhappiness and internal bliss. It was unusual. As one advances the scale of ecstasy there are stages of uctuation and stability. As a monk, I attained a peaceful grounded state and then entered stage three, combining the lover with the monk, combining Narcissus with Goldmund to get Siddhartha, my mind became disturbed, yet my heart remained steady. I needed to ride the waves of this new erotic ecstasy, which was very intense. I knew the experiences of my ship being upturned were temporary and I would overcome this unsteady stage, which is quite shocking after the calm of the lake of Brahman. My secret family poured me with deep love. I wanted to pour that very love into the sweet receptacles of an increasing number of beautiful devotee girls who had come for a short pilgrimage around Govardhan Hill. Through hints and riddles my Dibu, my Ranchor, my Tirtha Maharaja, my Prabhuji were all encouraging me to eat more sweet rice. The cure for my ills: I needed to play more. Wow! Love was addictive and god was encouraging my addiction. All things have their absolute reality! A lack of romance left me dry, empty. This emptiness was important. It made me run for it, be concerned for it. Without the feeling of a lacking there is lethargy on the spiritual path, therefore god always keeps this feeling of lacking close to you. I felt a one hundred and eighty degree turnaround from my early devotee years. On some days I felt spiritually low. I couldnt think of sex. On inspired days, I was possessed by Kamadeva (Cupid) Himself. It used to be the opposite. Kama from prema (divine lust) has its reection in the material world in the mode of passion. This path I was treading I had never read before. It was only much later that I read about the tantric Vaishnava path known as Sahajiya. The Sahajiyas of Bengal had been deeply criticized

203

by orthodox Vaishnavas for integrating sex in their practice, but upon reading their philosophy I could see that they were serious spititualists with an eye to attain manjari bhava, and part of their experience was to experience the experience of Radha and Krishna while here, just as Saivites see themself as Siva and Sakti. Realization ooded me. Krishnas mood was shown through me and it was intense. I took to chanting again. I had stopped due to the intense effect it had while climbing the stages. At that time I would chant two mantras and burst into tears, then throw my beads across the room, cursing the idea of repeating something so immediately powerful. That was then. Now, the mantra came to me in a smoother way and began to coax me into my love play. As did Prabhuji. Why are you going to Rishikesh? he asked. There are many pretty girls there. Exactly, I replied. You will get disease, he said, just in case I thought I might.

Leeches? Or a false sense of insecurity? Is Shirleys love for me nished? Or a false sense of insecurity? Am I blind with love or wise with inspiration? Somehow the doubt brought a deep anguish, which emptied my whole system. In that emptiness, only desire for love remained. Such a pristine emptiness, one drop of love would colour my whole being. Such emptiness, it was difcult to work out whether I was happy or sad; whether I wanted it to end or continue. I hid under my blanket, but it was still there; I was still there. There was nothing and everything, absolute vacuum, innite possibility.

----Gita Govinda---- Sighing incessantly he pours out his grief. He endlessly searches the empty directions. Each time he enters the forest thicket, humming to himself, he grasps for breath. He makes your bed of love again and again, staring at it in empty confusion. Lovely Radha, your lover suffers passions mental pain.----

I began to write. Not through inspiration but as a medicine. The medicine worked, inspiration followed. The trees became green, the low clouds beautiful, the story of my life impressive, surprising me all over again. Can you imagine how I feel? In this moment? Aware

204

of my destiny? It is impossible. If you put yourself in anothers shoes you need also to change the shape of your feet. Yes. That is how I feel. With my feet in my shoes, playing my play. And however big that play seems to be I know all plays are merely plays. A person playing the role of Jesus Christ is the same as a person playing the role of an ant. Surrendering to God means surrendering to your role. There is no pride in it. I have climbed the mountain of knowledge and looked around from the top of a grain of sand witnessing an endless desert. Yet in that desert I witnessed too the oasis, and now the desire to bathe will take me there. What is it to lead a revolution on a grain of sand, to be famous for two thousand years, to go down in history, when history itself has no meaning in the face of eternity? He who thinks he is big or small is still enraptured by this grain of sand, is still conditioned by relative mathematics. One second with God is worth unlimited lives of saviours, saints, prophets and kings on the mortal plane. Even if I was Mohammed, or surpassed him in mega status, it is nothing, just a wink goodbye before diving into eternal reality; eternal bliss and love. To be Premila Manjari for one second is greater than Greater than. Ha mere mathematics!

One year of wandering the country was over; a short visit to Vrindavan was over. I started again on my second tour of North India. Before I managed to put my bags down in a Laxmanjhula (Rishikesh) caf, a beautiful Swiss girl, Angelina, was staring into my eyes. Somehow I managed not to kiss her, and the next day I noticed that Prabhuji was right. Sweet rice, sweet rice, sweet rice. And different avours; with cardamom, strawberries, roasted almonds, chocolate; sometimes thin, sometimes thick; sometimes ying past me on a trolley, out of reach, teasing me with ne aroma, sometimes served onto my table in front of me and sometimes two avours at one time. Yael (Kisori) I had met in Ammas asrama. This time she had no boyfriend. Amit (Amrita) I met for the rst time, her eyes capturing my soul with their incredible beauty and spontaneous magnetism for my very own eyes. I loved both girls but not together. I moved from Yael to Amit, loving and revealing my love for the other with honesty and nding only a little jealousy, which, being brought out, was also dispelled. If I had ice cream would it pain you if I gave some to another girl? I asked Yael, trying to highlight the pointlessness of jealousy. No. Well I have more love than ice cream.

205

Yael, the cutest girl in the world naturally preferred the girlfriend/ boyfriend bubble than my idea of open love. Im sorry it had to end, she confessed. Its always end. We kissed. Lovers again. No designations, no reason, no relationship, just love, just a kiss. The two Israeli girls left for Almora together, my romance still in tact with Amrita. This beautiful twenty year old, with long red hair and gopi eyes, eyes that attained divine status as with love she gazed upon me, bathing in a secret waterfall in the forest, accepting me as a teacher as well as a lover. All the prophets in the bible swore their insignicance, she told me as I swore my insignicance, and in response God said to them, you are the chosen one. I am the chosen one, I revealed. I know, she replied, with calm. I had sat with my Amrita, Visnu-priya, Chen, Kishori, Lalita and other Israeli friends in the Jewish House for Passover. I felt so at home with Israelis; so comfortable, as if I was one of them. They were ready for spiritual life. The compulsory military service made the softhearted souls also mature. The Kibbutz gave impression of community, sharing. The war, and antagonism from the rest of the world gave them unity and humility. Whatever it was about the Israelis, there was no denying. It was. And it would be! I saw the spiritually wealthy, grounded, yet free youth were ready for a love beyond religion, en masse. And Krishna, through an Israeli friend Anna, had told me in Pushkar the year before, You will be a legend in Israel. I moved to Dharamasala with Lee. We shared a rickshaw that was adorned with pictures of peacocks; then we shared a bedroom, in which the pillow covers were adorned with peacocks; then we shared kisses and more. The next day, while with Lee, we both noticed a peacock feather sticking out from a girls bag. She turned around. It was a Dutch girl I had spent the night with in Hampi. Lee was amazed. At night when Radha and Krishna are making love, all is quiet except for the enigmatic call of the peacocks. Krishna wears the peacock feather in his hair to remind Radha of that time. It symbolizes the epitome of beauty, and the Absolute Romantic Love between the Greatest of Lovers. I was holding my shirt above my chest, explaining the symbolism of the peacock feather that was now tattooed to my chest, above my heart. It came to symbolize more than Radha and

206

Krishnas love for each other but romantic love in my own life. At times when my eyes were drawn mysteriously, compulsively, to a peacock feather at the time of meeting or speaking to a girl, I knew romance would have a chance to blossom with that girl. I enjoyed revealing my world, a world that was becoming crazier and tastier by the day. Revitol, Netta, Adi, Eka, Ambika, Sylvina, Stephanie, Dana, Sarita, Merav, Anna, Erika, Odaya, Genna, Tessan, Yael, Tulsi, Lavanga, Antara, Sarah, Zoah; Dharamasala, a cauldron of sweet rice. With some girls I would merely taste the offerings of romantic irtation; with some girls a second and third bowl was necessary. On a hilltop, high above Bhagsu, during a full moon party, I met Dorin. She is Radha, my baba friend spoke as we sat beside him. I had danced with Dorin through the night, admiring how ecstasy moved her. I dove into deep conversation with her about Krishna, till the point where dancing became a necessity in the absence of warm clothes. I had held her hand during the lunar eclipse that entertained us for two hours, creating previously unseen skies to the backdrop of psychedelic ambient music. We had watched the sunrise together, witnessing Dharamkot, Bhagsu, Mcleod Ganj, Dharmasala and miles beyond, another world in the distance, becoming green, blue, red, brown. I had put my arms around her and allowed her head to rest on my chest and I had felt my heart calm yet excited, in love with this blue-eyed maiden with soft freckled skin. No thoughts of sex came into my mind. It was enough that our ngers were gently meeting. We moved into the shade of a tree as the heat of the sun began to burn my skin; though my bones were still cold from the night. We barely looked at each other. When eye contact revealed romance, she turned her head and smiled at me without looking. It was the sweetest mood Id ever seen. Sitting behind her, I moved her hair to the side and slowly touched my lips to her neck. Then I carefully replaced her soft hair and put my arms around her stomach. As I moved slightly, she turned and glanced at me the sweetest glance ever recorded with mortal eyes. I saw Radha. The sweetness of my Goddess I witnessed right before me. I relished this sweetness for many moments. We danced again. I was the only guy surrounded by about eight beautiful girls. Gopis. I knew all of them from here or there. The girls presence made me feel beautiful. I could sense other girls watching. I felt masculine, powerful, yet delicate and sensitive to Dorins movements. I only wanted her. Krishna came into me. When Radha is dancing, He only really wants Her. In the rasa dance Krishna dances with all the girls that he calls with his ute into the forest, and expands Himself to dance with each one individually. Radha notices later and becomes jealous. This jealousy is called mana and it comes at the highest peak of love. It is not born of selshness, not the jealousy we know,

207

but the state of madness where she feels blocked from being able to give her exclusive love. So she sulks and leaves the dance. Krishna disbands from the other gopis and searches after her. He nds her in the forest crying, consoles her, then inexplicably he leaves her again. He has a plan. Radha now wails profusely and the other girls who were searching for Krishna nd her. On seeing her love-torn state they realize the depth of Her love for Him is more than theirs. Krishna too witnesses Her mood in separation, hiding behind a bush nearby. The girls give up the idea of union with Krishna themselves and go in search of Him, to bring the couple together. They have more love for Radha and Krishna than their own selves. Krishna is found and the pair are guided to a solitary forest bower where Krishna falls to His knees and utters words of apology and courtship. Radha is won over and the couple experiences the intense pleasure of union in exclusive love. After Radha is completely satised she looks into Krishnas eyes and tells him, Go and please Lalita, Visakha, Citra and all the other gopis. She too loves Krishna and Her girlfriends more than She loves Herself. So She will only be completely satised when they are satised. Thus Krishna expands again and enjoys seducing all the other girls. The outcome? Krishna experiences both exclusive love for His one dearest lover and the love of unlimited beautiful damsels. Radha experiences Krishnas loving dedication to Her, the love of all Her girlfriends, and their ecstasy as they enjoy with Krishna. The gopis experience both the love of Radha and the love of Krishna. The manjaris experience directly the love Radha experiences being non-different from Her. They are allowed to be with Radha and Krishna when they make love for there is no separate desire to enjoy for themselves. They ornament Radha. Because they are allowed to witness all the erotic pastimes of the Divine Couple, when the two are alone and feeling separation, the manjaris bring internal union by massaging, touching Radha just as Krishna touches Her. So the answer to the proposed question Who sacrices? is both. Then, due to love, both are unlimitedly satised. Films such as The Unbearable Lightness of Being highlight the psychology of man and woman but cannot resolve the apparent contradictions in desire. Only on the absolute plane, only with unconditional love, is everything harmonious. The perfection that is divine reality cannot be touched upon with the human intellect. Only by heart realization can the Beautiful Reality

208

be experienced, only by surrendering selsh desire. In that world there is no selshness. Due to this, nobody there bathes himself, dresses himself; nobody does anything for himself because everyone is always busy doing something for someone else. No one is left out and every single action is soaked with love. The gopis dress Radha with owers tied in her long braid, with pearls resting on her large breasts, a chain of bells around Her perfect hips, all waiting to be scattered on the forest bed. The manjaris desire the Sweetest Boy to be attracted to their beloved Radha. Each little mark on Radhas body painted by the manjaris has stories of previous encounters, promises of future encounters, mesmerizing both Radha and Krishna. They help Radha in cooking for Krishna. She prepares many dishes at Krishnas home in Nandagaon after Mother Yasoda has called for her. Krishna enjoys all the food then notices one sweet ball. Radha makes one sweet ball, in which she discloses Her most intimate desires. She watches Krishna eat through a lattice window, and sees that He leaves the sweet, pretending He is too full to eat anymore. Radha goes crazy, Krishna knows. Then just as His plate is taken away He says, O.K. let me try this, He then tastes and puts on a disgusted face, while simultaneously shooting arrow-glances through the window. He leaves the rest of the sweet for the manjaris to experience before leaving for the forest with His cows and boyfriends, and perhaps a fortunate meeting with the Goddess of Fortune Herself. Radha controls Krishna with Her love and thus they both experience the ecstasy of loyal, onepointed devotion. It was this loyalty, this beautiful one-pointed love of Krishna that I felt with Dorin that full moon night. When the sun became stronger we walked the steep path down to Bhagsu village, glancing at each other occasionally, holding hands, occasionally smelling and kissing her head. We ate, bathed, and then slept in each others arms. The next day I received a sign from my Lord to leave and go to Kasol. Dorin found me weeping on a bench. In her room she too cried and bitterly asked Why? There is no why. Krishna gives me a sign and I trust it is the best for me to follow that sign. I dont even think why anymore. I just do. It was so painful. After an hour or so our embracing calmed the tears. She realized my love wasnt leaving her, only my body. But she wanted all of me. In a beautiful huff she cried, Cant you get another sign there, that book is a sign, she said, picking up the nearest

209

object. My mind raced to an event three hours earlier. I had opened Meravs Hebrew dictionary randomly and read one word, freckle. I stored the experience in a mental le knowing only that it referred to Dorin somehow. Now it came out of the le and presented itself as another sign. O.K., Ill stay, I told her. You cant stay till you get a sign, Dorin protested, doubting my words. The book is a sign, I explained. Well, what is your Lord doing? Changing my direction. But it is your love that made Him do it. Love is a powerful creator you see. She strangled me with delight. I was due to go to Kasol in Parvati Valley, to meet people with open hearts, people ready with love for me perhaps. Only Dorins heart now outweighed those hearts, and tipped the scale back to Bhagsu. We spent days together. It was a playful love, steadily romantic, not too erotic, but beautiful, everlasting. Another sign came to go to Kasol. At eight oclock one morning I was ready to say goodbye to Dorin. My bags are packed too, I want to go with you, only I want to say goodbye to Lila and Goodbyes are not necessary. Nobody goes anywhere. We meet and part, meet and part. Only the apparent experience of time stands in between. That is how it is. You probably want to be with the girl in the taxi? If I do, I will, but my love for another wont interfere with my love for you I know, I know. She came. And in Kasol days later left me to wander up the valley and connect with those waiting for me. Eran was one of them. I met him by the bank of the Parvati River, learning how to play his new sitar. We were pleased to meet each other that night. We dived deep into philosophical discussion. I was surprised by his ability to go with me into newer and newer thoughts, which were making themselves apparent to me. I told him my premonition about my book and the revolution. It is going to happen, I can feel it, he told me. Eran, come here. I was staring at the base of a tree lit by the single light bulb to the side. A denite image was

210

formed by the shadows cast against the bark and leaves. What? You see? Face, beard, chest, with nipples even, and legs crossed, I see, I see, And carrying a big cross. You see? Wow. Jesus. He is here, come to bless us. I touched his feet and put my hand to my head and Erans. The mood was crisp and, the image of Christ so real. Eran. In front of this beautiful man I want to tell you that one day I will be more famous than him on this planet! Eran looked in my eyes and sought my soul; and found total conviction lying there. I returned to Bhagsu quickly. Henning, who had been with me for over a month, had one week left before returning to Germany. He too had succumbed to Israeli charm by falling in love with Merav. Lee was with them and she had news for me. Lee was pregnant. She told me I was the father because she had not been with another guy. It shook me. How could it be? I was suspicious but wanted to offer comfort for the girl as she was depressed. The doctors told her she was six weeks pregnant yet we had known each other only four weeks. She felt hatred for me after we had been together; a hate for herself reected in my mirror. I walked off with doubt, with suspicion, with strong desire for an answer so I could re-evaluate my life, change my ways, or continue without fear. A prayer so strong needs no time for my Lord to answer. I bumped into Lalita and Devaki. If you feel sure it is not your child then it is not, they, Prabhuji, Krishna, told me. Truth brings a feeling, a taste, and I am familiar with that taste; it is the taste of bliss and I can taste it when I think that it is not my child, I repeated to them. The next day I sat in a caf and opened an Osho book. Someone had drawn a picture of mushrooms and written Truth is Bliss. On the opposite side was the print from the leaet that had been ripped for the paper, no connection to the artists doodle. You can get the H.I.V. virus from sexual intercourse; True or False. It was personal question, a personal reiteration to wipe away doubt. False. Later Lee had an abortion. She became less angry with me seeing I didnt believe her claims

211

that the child was mine. It was all arranged, another dip into the feeling of insecurity, a false sense of insecurity. Where I could have doubt, Krishna would bring it out and now in very sensitive, extreme ways. I am going to lead the next spiritual revolution, I told Henning, over a peanut butter sandwich. He laughed. Then, I know. Theres more. I wanted to reveal to him what was rising in my heart. What, its not enough that you are the new messiah? I think I was the last one too. Pause. Hmmm. One with marmalade? I had accepted that I was the most fortunate westerner to receive Gods grace in this world. I had accepted that I would be perfectly self-realized and give nal initiation to many people. I had accepted the apparently enormous claim that I would start and lead a huge spiritual revolution in the coming years. Being the second coming was just a term for what I knew would happen. It wasnt a big deal to me then, interesting, funny, fascinating, if I was Jesus Christ reincarnated. So Krishna, my next question. Am I the next Jesus Christ? Was I the rst one? I checked my emails. Gadadhara asked me not knowing my own question that day, Who is Jesus Christ? His question was my answer. I am, I replied. I walked down the street laughing knowing and laughing. A chameleon shot across the road in front of me and into a rock wall, leaving its tail sticking out. I used the reptile as an excuse to stop three pretty Israeli girls who were passing. Eh, look! They looked. I tapped the wall with my ute three times. You are Jesus Christ, one girl said. What? I was startled by her pertinent delivery. I mean Moses. Too late. I returned to Henning. He had a story too and was quicker than me to reveal. I overheard a Hebrew conversation and in the middle of it two sentences were spoken in English. The only words I heard were, Jesus came to India. He is here now.

212

Right here. I laughed from the bottom of my belly. It was hard enough telling my mum I was a Hare Krishna! I told Henning, who laughed from the bottom of his belly. I returned to Vrindavan with Henning to collect my diaries. It was time to write Part II of my book. Driving past a church and seeing all the crosses on the tombstones brought a lump to my throat. I felt strangely, amazingly responsible, almost guilty. I sat disguised yet feeling simultaneously exposed as the bus rattled along. Youre condent about this Jesus thing? asked Henning. Many mad people think they are Jesus, you will be considered another one. Of course. That is inevitable. And where did Jesus reach? A few people saw him ascend. Others believe he escaped and returned to India. Did he realize Krishna, or the impersonal Brahman? Maybe he had to come back to achieve a higher proximity to God though he was realized in Brahman. Maybe now he is realizing his greatest potential and becoming a manjari maidservant of Radha. It is said that the Gods in heaven are incarnating on earth right now because manjari bhava, the highest attainment, is available through the saints who are here, walking the planet. The earth is a springboard to the next life; whether it is heaven, hell, or the spiritual plane. So Jesus, on returning, needs a face, needs a play. Simultaneously, the upcoming revolution needs a revolutionary, because love is personal, it has a face. All orchestras need someone to orchestrate, someone with baton in hand to bring the people together. There is no difference between man with baton and man with trombone; they are just playing different roles in the creation of beautiful music. I know it is my dharma to wave the baton and get things kicking. If I was Jesus before, this is just interesting fact, not a sensation but it will be taken that way because Jesus was sensationalized. Yet, because he was sensationalized, it will encourage inquiry towards me, exactly where Krishna wants it. It is all such a beautiful double-whammy, a divine set-up. There are many people on Jesus level on this planet now. Simple, unassuming people who are nearing self-realization. Jesus is beautiful. Everyone is beautiful. But it is down to the people to realize their own beauty. When that happens then they will not think I am a big deal, but they will love me. Just like the gopis love Krishna. O.K. so he is God, but the lovers of God have the same depth of love so while the Gods in heaven all revere the Supreme Personality of Godhead, the gopis enjoy chastising him in play, and enjoy enticing him into erotic scenes of romance in the forest. Jesus Christ has returned to merge his consciousness into

213

this supreme reality and take many beautiful friends with him. But you are just a lad from the north of England with a bad stomach, Henning told me and smiled. I had a bad stomach. You think Jesus never farted? You think he never laughed at straight people slipping on banana skins? You think he never kicked a football against his grandmas garage door, smashing a few windows? Probably not, but I get your point. The beauty lies in simplicity, realness. Jesus was real if he was realized because all people who are realized are simple, real not grand, self-important. Even God Himself is simple and gets chased by his mum for stealing butter. Only simple, real people will understand that I am Jesus because I am simply too simple for the complicated to understand. And the religious will denitely not understand because they think Jesus is concerned with religion, when actually he is only concerned with love. Only those who are ready to go beyond religion, and there are many on this planet, will accept me, realizing God is love and is not conned by any box, whatever shape it is. Those who are attached to the religions, who are attached to Christianity and not Christ will not see Christ however he returns, be it wearing a white robe, carrying a lamb, or wearing leather pants, or suit and tie. To them Jesus will be an impostor. Doubt cannot be quashed from the outside, just as faith cannot be quashed from the outside. So. I am Jesus. And whatever I wear or do, those with faith will realize and not be bothered. They will be happy to receive my love. For all I want to do is give my love to whoever wants it. Those with love will love. Those with awe will bow, those with doubt will ignore, those with envy will abuse. Recently one old baba argued with me after he heard me tell a girl I was a Baba. I have been a baba for sixty years, you only two, he told me, a baba never tells he is a baba. Why not? I said, Only those who think it is a great thing to be a baba dare not say he is a Baba. If I am a window cleaner and tell people I am a window cleaner there is no pride, just fact. The Baba, after sixty years, was still in religion, the rules of a Baba. And still in the world of relative mathematics. A real baba doesnt talk in years. And the real Jesus doesnt think it a big deal to say he is Jesus. Yet those on a lower consciousness level will either try and knock him down or bow in reverence. And those souls who are equal to him will simply sneak him a kiss. I had to ask Prabhuji. What happened to Jesus Christ?

214

He walked over to me, told me you know with his eyes and then said, He went to Vaikuntha. Vaikuntha is the abode of Narayana, the spiritual world where reverence predominates. If Jesus did go there then it is likely that he may have to come back to go to the highest dimension; Goloka Vrindavan, the home of Krishna. I picked up my diaries and returned to Dharamasala with the intension of condensing my travel journals into Part II of this book. Dharamasala is the residence of the Dalai Lama. I was curious to know if he actually knew about manjari bhava, about divine erotic love, about the ecstasy matrix, or did his conception of reality really end at nirvana? During a discourse I looked around and felt sad by the empty faces of those who just wanted to end existence by realizing nothing. I had just come from the temple in Vrindavan and seen the multidimensional kaleidoscope of Vaishnavism in full living colour. Was this all Buddhism had to offer? The Dalai Lama passed me after his lecture but he didnt look in my eyes like Sai Baba had. Could he not hear my plea? One thing I noticed was how beautifully charasmatic he was. His aura totally colourful. That night my question was answered, indirectly. My friend Visnu-priya told me the next day of a dream. She was shy but amazed. The Dalai Lama made love to me in my dream last night. It was so real, she told me. I was so happy. Of course. Dalai Lama represents Buddha and Buddha is an incarnation of Krishna who, it is said, came to cheat the atheists. It was brilliantly done. Buddha comes and sees there is too much violence in the name of animal sacrice and people in general with no belief in God. So Buddha came and said, there is no God, ignore the Vedas, follow me. And so people loved him. And that is the point. They are hooked. After being hooked you cannot drop God for nirvana, or Dalai Lama for his teachings. Love is too powerful, and God is so clever. In Bhagsu I also met Dorin again. She had returned from Kasol eager to see me. We came close in our last days, yet shyness still restricted deeper diving. That shyness however made her habit of taking my hand and putting it to her breast ever sweeter. Her best friend of the whole trip was Shirley, a petite Yemen Israeli with gopi-eyes like huge black discs, open for receiving love. I felt she was my lover from the rst second I saw her. She had made a romantic connection with Manu, a beautiful French guy with soft eyes. Manu had been paralyzed for six months three years earlier. He had died, looked around, decided to return and here he was, a little thin but walking, running, enjoying life to its fullest, appreciating all the little details. We had a night together. You are the rst person in my life that I have met that can understand how I think, he told

215

me. His thinking was the thinking of a very spiritually advanced soul. His beauty was a reection of his ideals, which he lived by. He lacked the usual competitive edge of most men. Thus I told him, I want Shirley. I have my relationship with her. You have yours, he replied. The next day was set up. Completely set up. Manu had things to do, Shirley and I didnt. We walked together from Bhagsu, to Dharmkot, calling in at the Jewish House. As a Rabbi debated with me, and as I told him that if he couldnt t Krishna into his conception of the Absolute he would have to expand to accommodate, his friend entered and declared jokingly, Ah, the messiah! We left and walked into the forest. The pathway to Naddi village overlooked McLeod Ganj, the Dalai Lamas residence. My potential lover and I rested by a rock, which encouraged the witnessing of a breath-taking view. I sought only the breathtaking sight of Shirleys eyes. We kissed. We kissed as if all our lives we had been waiting for it to happen. Conversation ceased; philosophy was over; the play began. We walked through the beautiful pine-forest, hand-in-hand, now no longer stopping to admire woodpeckers and panoramic views but stopping occasionally to admire the scent of passion, exuding from each others necks; the form of passion pressed up against each others limbs; the sound of passion as exaggerated inhalation of breath; the avour of passion as tongues met, and the sight of passion as each others thirsty souls lay naked on the pupil of each others eyes. Then on again, relled towards a destined spot, arranged but not yet discovered. Down into the valley, skipping over pipelines, bounding over rocks, hand-in-hand, desperate, we turned up at the Holiday Home, a small guest house by the river. I had been here before, planning a festival, and now I planned to stay there to write my book. I expected to see my friend Sonu, but not Devaki! Pete! Everywhere. Everywhere. We embraced. It was true. Everywhere Devaki went I showed up now in the middle of nowhere. We spoke later. I told Devaki the unfolding plot with my eyes and escorted Shirley to the river where we rambled down its large boulders and small falls, to a secret place. And there it was. Hidden from view of the path, a large at rock, our rock, our owerbed. There were no questions, no doubts, no waiting. The sound of water against the rocks emulated the sound of each others souls blending frantically. There we joined the forest in its naked beauty. It felt

216

so good not to deny the elements of the body, the elements of the universe. We shared love. Washing each other in the cool pool of excited water, I asked the butteries to speak to me as they had done a year earlier, in a place only ten minutes downstream. As I told Shirley the story of that time, I noticed about twenty butteries sitting on my shoes, as if out of respect. Then, standing, I noticed on our rock a footprint; just like in Vrindavan, just like the rock in Leh where I made love to Sivan. My foot t the groove perfectly, uncannily. This is all amazing, exclaimed Shirley. We walked back to the guesthouse, back up the path towards Naddi, where we did more than admire the passion, but allowed it to take control. Against a rock we made love again; fearless despite the apparent possibility of by-passers. I pointed to a painted circle on the rock. My lovers writing, I claimed, and moved my nger around it uttering slowly, O.K. no one is com ing. I laughed as Shirley squinted to read. Then she understood and laughed too. We set off again, walked round the corner and were halted by the magnicence of a large, rising golden moon over Mcleod Ganj in the distance. Goracandra. I began to tell Shirley about Chaitanya; how Krishna is so amazed by the ecstasy He sees Radha experiencing that He wants to know what it is, to taste it. Thus, he appears as Goracandra, the Golden Moon, having taken Radhas complexion as well as her mood of love. Gora is the complete incarnation of God, being the taster and tasted in one form. Come, I pulled her delicate arm. We were caught in that world. Angels guided us to the roadside, some throwing owers on our path. The world was our playground. We could jump on any ride we liked. It was late and dark so we hitchhiked to Mcleod Ganj, turning the frowning faces of two taxidrivers, despite not paying them, with loves Midas touch. We ate the most beautiful Indian meal after being guided to a restaurant we would never have found alone. Then back to the little family guesthouse in Bhagsu. We made love once more, this time for a long time. Witnessing the sight of Shirleys eyes disappear upwards in ecstasy gave me ecstatic goosebumps and another glimpse of the absolute beauty of the divine female. As I stroked her, my hand couldnt nd any contour between us, and I continued stroking my own arm. Shirley laughed, seeing we were one. As we lost ourselves in each other, Radha and Krishna were clear to me. I could almost see, feel, touch that other world. I collapsed in an exhausted heap on top of my beautiful, surrendered, sweetheart. I kissed her one last time and asked, Nice day?

217

In the morning, Manu woke us. Some envy had crept in. I told him he was free to be with Shirley however he wanted. This I also told Shirley regarding Manu. I love you both; I wont be hurt if you love each other, Manu smiled. All was well. The three of us went to eat breakfast. Shirley felt a little awkward so I left them alone to talk and found them later in love with each other. Shirley came to me, I love you both; what shall I do? Love us both, I replied. It was Manus last night before leaving for France. He wanted to be alone with Shirley, so I spent the night writing a song for Shirley about our Golden Moon Night. I sang for hours, alone, peaceful, content in love, knowing that my lover was with another man, but knowing she loved me too and that love was total, not dissected like a piece of cake or like a portion of ice-cream. Returning, I desired so much to go into the room and sleep with them both, just to feel her touch, the squeeze of her hand. It was dark and I didnt want to disturb them. In the morning I entered as they stirred. Nice night? I asked, smiling. She slept the minute you left. I ate a takeaway and watched T.V. I pissed myself laughing. A reaction for planning, I told him. It was a nice mood, the three of us, very close. I kissed Shirley. She was happy to see me. I didnt mind kissing her in front of Manu, feeling him a close friend. He watched and I eyed him as we kissed. Shirley held both our hands. I watched as she kissed Manu, then I closed the door and curtains. In India sab kuch milega (everything is possible), Shirley said as she regained consciousness. This is only India. Imagine the spiritual world where there are no egos, no envy at all. This can happen to you because you have no ego, because you are beautiful. Beautiful things happen to beautiful people. And it will get better and better; spiritual ecstasy in love only increases; there is no come-down. Manu left that day. He took a step back and allowed Shirley and I to bond as a couple. We had become very close. Friends delighted in being with us, amazed we had only just met. We both wrote to Dorin to express our individual love for her, and that our love had not been diluted or reduced by

218

being with each other. You told me about Pete and now I can understand you. We can be closer friends when I see you in Israel. Dorin replied how she experienced jealousy then rejected it in awareness of love for both of us. At night I read Gita Govinda to Shirley, explaining the moods of Radha and Krishna as they cried in separation from each other, then reunited. How they lost their minds and enjoyed each other like mad elephants; then how Krishna painted designs on Radhas love-marks, to cover the signs of the nights battle. We both felt incredible ecstasy. In the morning we were pleased to nd each other. Happy like children on Christmas morning, we dove into our gifts. During lovemaking I felt a drip on my foot. It was raining outside. I looked to the ceiling but there was no water. I moved my foot but dripping continued in the same spot. Shirley pulled my attention back towards her lips. Our passion wild, like never before, almost embarrassed me. Can I let go like this? Like a wild elephant? Let go, let go, she encouraged. After letting go we rested. Then I noticed blood on the sheets; then blood on my foot, on both feet. I washed the dry blood away. There were two holes in exactly the same spot on each foot and blood was still oozing from the holes. I felt a rush up my spine. You know what this is? I asked Shirley. Jesus marks. I explained everything to Shirley. Who I was. Who I will be. Her faith in me had no limit. She wasnt in awe, in shock, in disbelief. She just loved me. Like a gopi she was only interested in madhurya, sweetness. We walked out, hand-in-hand, passed a guy with a purple t-shirt. It had a picture of a church on the front and a cross with beams of light radiating out. On the back it read, touch, taste, sight, sound, fragrance, producing desire, experienced with faith and love, God is enjoying His world. A strange yet perfect t-shirt! When connected to God, God experiences the pleasure of His devotee. He tastes His own creation through oneness with His devotee, as lovers experience the ecstasy of each others ecstasy. In the caf, another t-shirt; a black one, an ugly one looking miraculously beautiful due to circumstance: It read, Fucking Angel. Shirley laughed and kissed me. I bent to kiss her feet. We ate Israeli breakfast, cheese and tomato toasties and banana lassie.

219

Chapter 5 The Present

Ill take your brain to another dimension, pay close attention. The Prodigy

19 June 2004 That was last week. Shirley was going to come with me, to stay here in the Holiday Home, to make love to me between my periods of writing. It wasnt meant to be like that. It was meant to be like this. Exactly like this. For two days I have been faithful to my lover, the pen; my lovers, I should say. Each one moved swiftly over the paper, my hand a mere support for their energetic dance. I am

th

220

experiencing the bliss of knowledge and the bliss of love simultaneously. In knowledge I am aware that the Lord is at the helm of my boat and I am now the captain. I desire to give the awareness of love of God to the world. I know He will full this desire. I desire to see Shirley, soon, to make love to her again before she returns to Israel, to bond with her deeply so that nothing can come between us, not even a husband. I know I will see her again but love itself covers the knowledge, producing the experience of different avours of ecstasy. First the anxiety, the false sense of insecurity, then I know I will feel the relief of union. A few people saw the stigmata. One guy before seeing my feet explained how Jesus had one nail through both feet so the holes were there and there, he said, pointing to his own feet. There and there. I showed him my feet with the scars. Devaki, having more faith in me than even I did, said, This is not just empathy. This is Pete. Not everyone has Devakis faith, so one should enquire. O.K. Krishna, show me, tell me, Im listening. Is this Pete guy for real? Go on, ask him. Then if you get afrmation bring your individual snow-akes and lets pack them tightly into a ball and roll down the hill of knowledge, which we have for lifetimes attempted to conquer. I have not yet reached perfection. It seems now as I write, I am a long way from the consciousness of my guru. But there is such a thing as exponential growth. There is such a thing as premonition. There is such a thing as knowledge, awareness. There is such a thing as God, and love for God. And there is such a thing as a huge spiritual love revolution. In 2012 there will be an avalanche. Then the snow will come to you. But if you cant wait until then, dont. Look inside. The truth is there. Find it out for yourself. Dont believe me, believe you, then when you believe you will come to believe me too because I am speaking the truth also. The faith has to come from within. Dont ask anyone but God within you. You have God inside so ask yourself sincerely and His truth will shine through. Dont ask outside. Dont go to my mum, shell just tell you, Hes not the messiah; hes a very naughty boy. When actually hes both.

221

Afterward After I nished writing the book in the Holiday Home, two girls, one wearing purple and the other a peacock-adorned skirt, took me to Parvati Valley. As I collected my bags that day I saw four hoopoes, promising a dream-like play ahead. However, egos intervened, and the play of complete surrender to two girls remained a potential. That day David Beckham skied his penalty over the bar. I overheard a girl next to me tell a friend, your desire can change the game. My play was starting to affect the world. I returned to Bhagsu to meet Shirley, nally. She had been with another guy who was sick, and she knew we would meet again so didnt rush to see me. Our meeting was deeper, yet less sexual. Shirley became very introspective, prayerful. One day I walked into her room as two friends tried to console her. She had been crying profusely. I looked into her eyes. Do you feel like consoling them? I asked. Yes, she replied. Is it pain and pleasure together? Yes. I feel like Ive been waiting for this to happen to me for millions of lifetimes. We embraced and merged our tears together. She left for Israel days later, taking my heart with her.

222

223

You. You are me. You are all I see. You are more than me. For I am the projector and you are my movie. So I have heard that I am me and you are you. But all I see is you. All I feel is you. All my emotions it seems are born of my love for you. You are me. You are my lazy days and my chaos. You are my enthusiasm and my ecstasy. You are in control of what is supposed to be mine me. You are me. Your heart has wrapped everything in the glory of yourself. The material things become immortalized. Everything becomes love. Including I. I am you. Yet I need you. You are my desire and my desire is the essence of me. You are my fulllment and my fulllment is the goal of me. You are my sperm and my ovum. You are me. You are my beginning and my end, my reality and my dream. You hold a sword to my neck and you may knight me or slay me. As you wish. Your wish is my movement. Your fulllment my bliss. Without you I cease to be. And if I cease to be without you, it is obvious. You are me.

224

BEYOND DEVOTION THE INFINITE PARADOX

(Full power, twenty-four hour)

225

Chapter 1 The Present

Nothings shocking. Janes Addiction 25 of May 2005 Beyond ignorance is religion. Beyond religion is love. Beyond love is nothing. Not nothingness but no thing. No thing is beyond love as love increases eternally and is broad enough to accomodate every paradox, every postive and negative emotion and action. Therefore, for a lover of God no thing is inherently shocking as it may be a symptom of divine love. Everything is potentially beautiful. When you reach your potential you actually see that.. yes, everything is beautiful. Life is beautiful. Death is beautifuland beyond both, living death, humiliation can be so erotically fucking gorgeous.
th

226

Chapter 2 Gora Lila

I want them if they want me, I only know they want me. Janes Addiction The gap between desire and fullment of desire is becoming increasingly shorter, approaching the time when spontaneity, lila takes over. The immediacy of the heart world! That world is here, now but we are not. Not yet. As we approach the herenow however, we feel God, and see meaning and prophecy everywhere. Closer still, and what happened to Sacidulal Babaji in Vrindavan years ago will happen to us. Babaji Maharaja described how he was sweeping a lane in Vrindavan, absorbed in his service and the Lords name, when he fainted. As he lay unconscious of this world, he became conscious of that one. He witnessed the spiritual world, Krishna lila. Radha came up to him and told him to write books for the people of this world. The two worlds are not in different places geographically only the spirit world is moving so fast you cannot experience it till you move that fast, i.e. faster than the mind, heart speed. Sacidulal Babaji told the story with such a matter-of-fact tone, highlighting the lack of awe, reverence, and pride of one so intimate with God. Oh yeah my Sacidulal Babaji. Gadadhara, who met me in Dharmasala, left Manali for Puri, leaving me alone to meet a few Israelis. I journeyed to Malana, an amazingly beautiful, ostracized village in Parvati Valley, where you are ned two thousand rupees if you touch one of their houses! I left their daughters alone (not without realizing how the extra prohibition raises the excitement level!) After another stint in the Israeli settlement of Kasol I got an email from Gadadhara in Puri. Prabhuji is going to Navadvipa. He told me not to tell anyone, as the black snake might come. In Sanskrit, Krishna also means black snake. In the message, black snake meant me, dont tell meant tell and might come meant will come. I bought a ticket to Delhi the next minute. A girl sat next to me with a purple bag on which the word buttery was embroided. To see Prabhuji in Navadvipa would be special. I had not been in two years. Memories of Sacidulal Babaji came racing back. I had fallen in love at rst sight, more immediately than even my Prabhuji and Maharaja. I had absorbed him for just a short while but enough to feel ever-connected to him, and I had wailed stubbornly at being dragged from him. Then my Prabhuji had comforted me,

227

taken me to his bosom, given me siddha pranali and babaji vesa secretly. Though not ofcially. On arriving in Navadvipa, Prabhuji soon made me aware that now it was time to receive siddha pranali of my Navadvipa lila form. (Remember, there are two destinations for Krishna-Chaitanya followers.) I had concluded Prabhuji would give me this too, but one day he came straight out with it. Go to Sacidulal Babaji for siddha pranali. So there I was, sat at the feet of the most adorable Vaisnava, now nearly one hundred years old, asking him to reveal my Navadvipa form. Sanskrit littered his Bengali and my English and Hindi, and from that litter understanding was somehow gathered. After a couple of hours of kirtans, and breakfast and lunch prasad, (Babaji Maharaja was crying, uttering I am so poor man, revealing his true wealth!) he began to meditate, chanting Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna ..Premananda Premoda.. Premila, he nally declared, revealing my manjari name. Premila? I asked surprised at hearing the name Prabhuji had revealed to me two years earlier as my manjari name. I was happy to witness both my gurus selecting the same knowledge, individually, from the storehouse of absolute awareness. Babaji Maharaja then advised me to return to him after he meditated for eleven days, to reveal all the details of my siddha pranali, both Vrindavan and Navadvipa lila. We returned as requested with a sweet Bengali Iskcon devotee who attempted to translate Maharajas words, and my request, once more, for siddha pranali. Babaji Maharaja acted as if he was unaware that I had ever been before. It was potentially frustrating, but I knew he knew I knew that he knew, and I knew too that he knew how to play with my insecurity. I was calm and waited. Babaji Maharaja spoke for an hour without looking at me and about me. I caught the gist of the conversation that was moving externally more and more against me. His brain is cracked. Babaji shouted. Connection. I was delighted as he used the two words which my own (Haridas Sastri) Maharaja has used since my consciousness left its mental casing to seek and nd divine love of a romantic avour. My Maharaja would always ask with a smile when I would visit him Pitambara, brain cracked? Those words which I cherished were used in an apparently negative way, but an absolutely beautiful way, pulling me towards Babaji Maharaja, allowing me to taste again the secret relationship with a realized soul. I was full of bliss. Those around me couldnt understand why. After his lengthy discourse Babaji Maharaja turned to me and asked me to speak my realizations and glorications of my other gurus. After I told him I was travelling and preaching around India he said, I will give you

228

both Vrindavan and Navadvipa siddha pranalis, then you go and preach everywhere. That was it for the night. Me and Gadadhara slept in the small temple room, the most exquisite accommodation in this universe. Fire ies entertained us in the darkness as we chatted excitedly like two fortunate kids who had somehow stumbled across a magical other-world, hours from Calcutta. That night I experienced ecstasy again. It was Chaitanya Mahaprabhus mood, waking me, stirring me, penetrating me. As I nished the book for the rst time two years ago Prabhuji told me not to disclose this information on the street. It was the time when I learned of Goras inner pastimes as a lover. Now, I cannot contain myself, feeling like Vedavyasa, who after compiling all the Vedic Scriptures felt unsatised due to the fact that the gopis love for Krishna had not been revealed. Thus he wrote Srimad Bhagavatam the spotless Purana, which describes all those sweet pastimes in the forest of Vrindavan. Gora is a secret incarnation. Krishna came with his brother Balarama as incarnations of Visnu, then Buddha appeared. Kalki is due to appear in 286,000 years to put an end to the universe, but ve hundred years ago, Sri Chaitanya, the Golden Avatar, came to instigate the Golden Age. Gora is Krishna with the mood of Radha. God as the lover of God, arriving on Planet Earth to, a) fully taste the highest love of God which Radha alone tastes, and b) to give that love to the souls bound in this mortal world. So a), He tastes. And specically he wants to taste Radha-bhava, the intense ecstasy Radha experiences in romantic love with Himself. In His incarnation in this world Gora is known as a scholar, defeating all logic and theological philosophies with his all accommodating acintya-bhedabheda tattva (inconceivable oneness and difference of the Absolute). He is known as a dancer, leaving the scholars amazed as He took to dancing through the streets of Navadvipa in love of God, announcing the chanting of Krishnas name to be the perfect path of enlightenment for this age; and nally He is known as a sannyasi, at the age of twenty four taking the renounced order leaving Navadvipa for Puri and immersing Himself in thoughts of Krishna. In this way He tasted the separation of Radha for Krishna. But what is rarely openly discussed, let alone known about is Gora as a lover. Gora is Krishna, and Krishna is a lover. In Navadvipa, Goras affairs are underground, secret, just like the affairs of Krishna with the gopis. Who are His lovers? - O.K, throw out the mind and exercise the inconceivable part of His philosophy - You are! Wait. Potentially you are. Ill stick with point a). Gora tastes romantic love in meeting with the

229

nadiya nagaris , the damsels of Nadiya, Bengal. Separation is the sculptor of all perfect unions, and God, of course, tastes that union after the sculpting. He cannot be the Supreme Lord and be scared of a little romance just because He has taken sannyasa vows. In fact, His very taking sannyasa means He can taste the romantic mood in the dangerous way Radha did. This danger provides for the bliss of divine illicit sexual intercourse. So, as Krishna laid the law down in the Vedas, only to break it with panache with the gopis, so does Chaitanya with the nadiya nagaris. Locana Das Thakur, a revered Vaisnava saint reveals in Dhamali his inner sentiments in the mood of a nadiya nagari. Speaking to a dear friend she (internal mood) says, O listen, listen, Im speaking in condence. What is going on? And what shall I do? Theres a great calamity happening in Nadiya, and to remain here is becoming dangerous! Gauranga is setting traps and giving havoc to every pretty girl who goes out! For whomever His shifty glances fall upon, their minds and hearts get stolen. His eyebrows reign like Cupids bows, and His face defeats the autumn moon. His lips resemble red coral and His teeth look like two rows of pearls. His strong arms could pass for elephants trunks and their palms are tinted red. That body of His is like lightening, or should I say molten gold. Uh! His curling hair falls over His back so sweet, and His strong thin waist out matches a lions. He is wearing thin, thin, garments they look so elegant. He must be Madana Mohana (Krishna, the Enchanter of Cupid). Whats more, His body is smeared with sandalwood paste; there is beautiful tilak on his forehead. As He walks along Goras arms are swinging. Is there a chaste girl whose mind doesnt totter? When I heard from the sakhis about His superb limbs my troubles began. But as I looked at Him from the corner of my eye, my body and mind was hooked. Hence, my status, my family, my character, my austerity, everything, went for Him, what to speak of my beautiful gure! O sakhi, how did Goracandra enter my heart? Im seeing Him inside and out. My love for Gauranga is like a necklace of scandals... still, I shall adorn that necklace over my breasts. In Chaitanya lila there are two worlds co-existing (this is beyond logic a little like I said). The gopis take the form of brahmana boys who dance with Him on sankirtan, group chanting. These boys have secret identities as girls, lovers of the Lord. So Gora enjoys with them, pouring them with the love of Krishna, a love that now has the depth of Radha. And the manjaris? The souls who naturally seek to give pleasure to the divine female, by uniting Her with the divine male, now give pleasure directly to Gora. However, they also serve Radha and Krishna who are Gadadhara Pandit and Chaitanya. Radhas role in the pastime is twofold. Externally She comes as a man, a teacher of love, guiding Chaitanya in His devotion to Krishna; internally She is a woman, allowing Krishna as Chaitanya to taste with Her the sweetness of divine

230

intercourse in Her very mood. We woke, bathed, chanted Hare Krishna, were fed and sat down. Babaji Maharaja wasted no time. Teasing was over. He opened a sheet of paper out on the mini-desk, a siddha pranali sheet. In the next couple of hours he told me my Navadvipa brahmana name, my nadiya nagari name, my manjari name, age, complexion, dress colour, service, home, mothers name, fathers name, husbands name, mother-in-laws name, and sister-in-laws name. He told me I must never disclose this information as that would mean I would never attain it. That was his only prohibition. He told me his own eternal identity and I wrote both on the chart which had written in Bengali his gurus pranali, his gurus gurus etc, till, at the top of the paper I read Radhas own details. Babaji Maharaja continued. He ofcially gave me babaji sannyasa, providing me with two pieces of white cloth, two loincloths, a danda (stick), and mantras to chant each day. I shaved my hair, keeping the traditional sikha, and put on tilak, the markings of a Vaisnava. Maharaja had me beg at seven houses for biksa (rice and offerings), chanting Gora, Gora, Gora. My Beloved then ordered me to take darsan of Jaganath Puri before going to Radha Kund to deliver a letter he wrote for Ananta das Babaji. In the Gambhir where Chaitanya spent so long in extreme separation from Krishna, in the mood of Radha, there remains a light which never goes out, a ghee-wick lit over ve hundred years ago, representing eternal love. I cried pathetically in front of that re desiring to be ever caught up in it. On the way to Radha Kund I lost my babaji danda. So the garb was a detail.

231

Chapter 3 - Shyamali
I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul. Where Ill end up well I think only God really knows. Cat Stevens 24 Feb 2005 Here I am in Radha Kund. Well, just outside actually, in the shade of a tree where me and my baby sat last week. Radha Kund has become my home. At last. Mathura and Vrindavan have pushed me out and Radha Kund has sucked me in, and here is where I am to stay mentally, if not physically, heartly if not mentally. I feel I could stay here forever and chant, and cry, and accept the showering of blessings readily available in Radhas sacred pond. I could quite easily now throw the book and ideas I have for a revolution in the pond and be more than content to merge insignicantly into the surroundings; into the dust of the Vaisnavas feet, into the walls surrounding the kund; into the continuous chanting of Hare Krishna and Radhe Radhe which lls the sky. I want to. But not yet. I have a play to play, a lila to perform, a message to give, beans to spill. Radha Kund is the porthole to the topmost transcendental realm. When you are here you feel the whole of the universe is spinning around this small pond. And I am here, willing to be drowned in the essence, the energy, the love of this place. Here Radha meets with Krishna fearlessly. Her manjaris guard the area so she may totally relax and enjoy erotic pastimes with her illegal paramour. It is Her home from home. Thus it is the home of many aspiring and realized manjaris, devotees with the internal mood of maidservants of Radha, and they decorate the scene with their beautiful gravity. Gravity is the predominating mood here as these devotees swallow all ecstasies and emotions to dive deeper and deeper into the heart of Radha. To them, even a trip out of the village to Govardhan or Varsana seems harsh for when love becomes specic, one becomes minutely sensitive to energies. Plus, there is a pain leaving the sweet taste of internal bhajan, performed in the most conducive, spiritually romantic area in all the three worlds. I feel too close to the magnet almost. I will not be here long this time as I realize Radha wants me to sprinkle the little amount of love and knowledge I have on the people of the world. To create a bridge, a way to enter the otherworld; to here. Someone must call people to the party; someone conscious of opposite realities, someone who has not gone completely sane, yet! My Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja gave me a letter to bring to Ananta Das Babaji when he gave
th

232

me babaji initiation. It was a letter of introduction, asking the topmost guru of Radha Kund to take care of his new son. On hearing Sacidulal Babajis name, Ananta Das Babaji appeared very humble and told me how he was like a father to me when he was here. I will do whatever he wants. At that time however, he returned my siddha pranali form and told me Sacidulal Babaji had a different mood and he himself is not in the line accepting the controversial nadiya nagari bhava. This was months ago. Now I am feeling his acceptance, his warmth, his love. His humility he displayed was a subtle sign of his acceptance of the greatness of Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja (and his ideals!) I have opened my heart to him at last, now it is time to reside in his home. In the last couple of days realization has ooded my heart, and Babaji (Ananta das) Maharaja is emerging every day to be the most amazing, exalted, effulgent saint, father, lover, in the universe. This, of course, takes nothing away from all the other saints and lovers. If only devotees, if only people of the world, could realize that true saints, true lovers, are happy when you receive love, knowing that wherever it appears to be from, it is from God. So Radha has arranged a room near to the kund and a western devotee who has been living here six years to welcome and serve me. It is refreshing to hear of his amazing experiences, his visions, his meetings with Radha and Krishna. There are three types of visions; sphurti or vision which is like a quick ash, a quick revelation appearing in your consciousness; visphurti, a vision which is more tangible to ones senses, Radha or Krishna fully possessing a mortal being to reveal themselves, or come to you directly; darsana, which is where you lose consciousness of this dimension, and are transported to the spiritual world fully witnessing everything through your own eternal form of yourself, which is a maidservant. My friend encourages me. What else do you want from this world? Dive into this reality now, stay in Radha Kund. Yes, it is my home. I am happy here, but...God has given me a but(t) and now is not the time to sit on it...someone has to be Steve Mcqueen. Today, I met Manjari, the girl who took care of me ve years ago when I rst searched for Babaji. I had to meet my other gurus and thus didnt connect with Ananta das Babaji at that time. Now the relationship is starting, and immediate is the feeling of possession, of being possessed. And this book. When will it be nished? You know better than me, dear reader. You can see that you have x no. of pages, but all I know is. I dont know anything. Wow! I have so many more beautiful things to tell you. I have to tell you about my Shyamali such a Classic Girl... whom I met.

233

. Yes, lets go back.. to Rishikesh ..it was September.. ..I was eating breakfast in the Cnaan restaurant. I was eating breakfast in the Cnaan restaurant, a place where I had met So for the rst time and a few other close friends. I sat in the middle of the small caf, cross-legged on the cushion seat, which over-looked the Ganges in Laxmanjhula. That morning I noticed several beautiful faces around me. Beautiful girls, all wearing purple or yellow shawls or butteries and peacock feathers. Around the outside was Nama, Orit, Karina and next to me Lior, and Shyamali. She introduced herself as Shiran but quickly confessed to feeling no connection to her name. I called her Shyamali (Radha, the possessor (by love) of Shyama (Krishna who has skin the colour of a dark raincloud)). I could sense romance with a few of the other girls as well as Shyamali but Shyamali was Radha, the absolutely captivating one. In her eyes I found myself. They were like pools of joy, pools which you could dive into and splash around naked, with no inhibition, but somehow, also very secret places of intimacy. I was in love ... I have heard how she spoke of the same moment in the same way about me. So we were in love and it was a struggle not to kiss in the middle of the caf. Shyness, however, prevailed till we walked to a lonely beach on the way to Ramajhula. Shyamali was so beautiful and delicate. She absorbed me my words, my idiosyncrasies, and my expressions. I cant remember what you were saying, she said later as I asked about the conversation, but your faces were beautiful. We kissed a nervous kiss. But somehow we both knew that it didnt matter that it was nervous, that the mind could tread wearily, for the heart was sure. Possessor of the Rainbow Surrounded by beautiful youth emanating rays of truth I look around, my heart expands and touches all who are at hand Then noticing the sweetest thing sat next to me my heart does sing a gentle song but loud and clear Im shy and feel that all can hear Eyes meet eyes and words they fail to put in form the endless trail of echoed thoughts from stolen heart our love it seems, it had no start Into a world, a sacred one, the scene turns pink as I go numb, I speak at last of lovers

234

plight, of destined skies, of innocent might Of dancing girls and spotless treasure, of eternal games and endless pleasure, my words, my sweet, she does adore my face, my soul, she reads much more The tales of highest Prince, Princess revealed, reected in common dress, but rare it is the softest charm, the mirror sits close, the length of my arm I love you, yes, I love you too, not uttered but we know its true, so to a distant beach we sail and reach a shore, begin a tale The ocean then I leap and dive, passion so quick then comes alive, Oh Shyness, mind, both leave me now, naked I should be somehow. And so disrobing of my self, I dug, discovered, hidden wealth; was this re inside of me? Or did she light my ecstasy? When my good friend Tvika left Rishikesh I moved from his room to stay with Shyamali. We made love many times thanking Yogamaya for the red light bulb and large mirror. There I met Divine Sexiness incarnate. We were together, but Shyamali knew from the outset that I wasnt a boyfriend to be kept away from other girls. I stayed one night with Lior and returned in the morning to nd Shyamali had missed me, but had understood me. I loved her more. I took her to my secret waterfall where for the rst time I noticed my footprint in the perfectly designed rock! It was nearly the beginning of Kartik month. I had plans to go to Vrindavan, but before then I felt a pull to Pushkar. As I left Shyamali she cried openly in my arms. I was amazed by her love, almost embarrassed by its depth. I was attracted to other girls around me as well as Shyamali. Shyamali was grave and more gorgeous than I could, at that time, perceive. In Pushkar I found $100 in my notebook and a message from her. She had limited money for her stay in India, yet it seemed, unlimited love for me. Come to Vrindavan, I requested her... There, a week later, we met. The rst time she came to Vrindavan was the full moon night when Krishna enticed the gopis with his ute song, the most energetic night of the year. We met late in the evening and had no place to stay together. My reputation in town meant my previous homes were not choices for the present, plus, it is a holy town, not meant for lovers apparently! We searched to no avail, but I knew that Yogamaya was on our side. I let go, and trusted and eventually found a friends house with nobody home. By the side of the house was hay for cows fodder and the place was sheltered yet

235

allowed the light of the moon. We touched each other like teenagers on a rst date. Wow. This is how Radha and Krishna are continuously enjoying ever-fresh pastimes despite continuously meeting. Shyamalis body shone blue, her fragrance accounted for my goose bumps. Vrindavan, tis a holy place, meant for lovers, absolutely. The next day we found a room and joined the Gaudiya Math Parikrama. Sort of. We were banned from the temple for posing too closely to God much to the delight of my secret family who encouraged a private tour for Shyamali. So, we left for the villages together, alone. Radha Kund, Govardhan, Varsana, Ucchagaon. Each day was full of beauty. Each night we looked forward to with excitement. Krishna had given me enough charras for one joint a night. We read Krishna Bhavanamrta and fell into each others embrace in bliss. Shyamali amazed me how she not only understood such deep truths but imbibing the spirit of Radha, she took my own understanding deeper still. We were both mere instruments, simultaneously speaking, listening, understanding, crying, laughing till peacocks called to wake us from our slumber. What side of me do you love the most? I asked, attempting to probe her fancy. This one, she replied. What, asking stupid questions? No, this one, she said again, revealing how she loved the present mood, whatever it was. Even when Im ugly, and I know sometimes Im still ugly, Im not 100% yet. To me you are always beautiful. Such is the blindness of the really beautiful. I fell sick and we moved back to Vrindavan. A fever of 40 degrees and a pain in my liver. I could hardly breathe. Each breath in was accompanied by a sharp bolt of pain. Faster I breathed. It was serious. Nav gave me Reiki healing for about two hours and in my mind I was soothed by an email from Amrita, which read, I dont want you to die at thirty three like Jesus did. So I knew I wouldnt die, yet I felt I was dying. I moved to Delhi where an absess was diagnosed. The liver it was an accumulation of all my fears, all my nervous energy, and maybe much more than my ownkarma. I started to absorb, but I was still a baby at this guru thing and Id missed my Sunday lectures on how to be a healthy Messiah. Shyamali took care of me like an angel. But she was too sweet an angel. She nearly killed me

236

a couple of times with over-erotic nursing! Death would have been a small fee. When I could walk without grunting we bought tickets for Goa. In the hip resort of Arambol we decided to try and give each other space solitude. After months together there were feelings of claustrophobia. It was difcult. When I walked to a hidden forest cave, Shyamali also walked there. If I wanted to pee, she did too. Our bodies were in sync. We needed separation but had no in-laws to fear, no husbands to return to and no manjaris to drag us apart. Then something happened which surprised us both. A day after which I declared we would write about as a whole book in itself, called Love-making With God after being inspired by Conversations with God, but seeing that you have to be a lover and not a questioner to get the real low down on His heart. It may end up a few pages, written herein, but it felt like a book and could have been if time could stand still while you write!! Ananta das Babaji looked into my eyes this morning with so much sweetness, so much relationship, so much conrmation that my life is owing in a positive direction towards my ultimate goal and more specically, due to timing, that my crazy ideas about the nal push, which you will read about soon, are not so crazy at all. Such loving glances from immaculate saints reveal that they know exactly what you are thinking and what you are thinking they are happy with. These glances are the life-air, the sakti, and the treasure of a devotee, a lover of God.

It was one morning when I did manage to drag myself away from my lovers side to wander to the sweet water lake. There I met Dani, a good friend from Brazil who I chatted with allowing irtation to lead us back towards Arambol. On the way we passed Shyamali sat in a caf with another friend, Nama (who I met in Rishikesh) so I stopped and allowed Dani to carry on alone. It was quite an occasion for I had revealed to Shyamali my feelings for Nama. If there was any other girl I would have liked to be with at that time it was Nama. I told Nama in Rishikesh the rst time we were alone, I love you, I dont know why but I feel beautiful love for you. All the banter about where are you from and where have you been travelling, was happily stripped away from conversation to allow speech to catch up with eyes. It was a gentle romance with Nama, which remained in the heart as I was with Shyamali. They became good friends when I had left for Pushkar, Shyamali manifesting no signs of jealousy.

237

We three walked (back for me) to the sweet lake beach and sat on shawls and towels besides the other, mainly Israeli, travellers. As I started to talk with Nama, Shyamali strolled down the beach leaving us alone. Nama confessed the sweetness of our romance as it reignited. Shyamali returned, picked her bag up and walked away. Nama tried to call her back, but she carried on walking. Shyamalis mood was not angry, only giving. I kissed Nama. Its O.K. with Shyamali? she asked. For sure, I replied, knowing that Shyamali wanted me to be with Nama. In the sea we kissed more, but it was too open. So was the sweet water lake, so I suggested we go into the forest behind the lake. We walked up the stream, out of the way of a footpath leading to the famous banyan tree where different travellers have lived off and on for thirty years, including myself, in a nearby cave, the year before. We hopped over rocks looking for (again) what I knew my Lord had already found, and Yogamaya had already preserved. Sunlight shone onto a at rock by the stream. I sat down and smiled at Nama. There was my footprint. Nama was amazed by how uncanny it was that there was a perfect footprint in this perfect rock. Then I explained the whole uncanny footprint phenomenon. The sound of the water and the birds, the sun rays pouring through the trees creating different shades of green. Stillness, silence and the beautiful sweet Nama. Surrounded by such naked beauty clothes feel uncomfortable, so soon after we began kissing we too were naked, and it was comfortable, refreshing. Sensitive, sensitive. We moved closer to lovemaking but at the last minute something in her mind rejected the idea. It was too quick, I was not gentle enough I dont know. But we parted and she wanted to smoke to relax again. I wanted to soothe her and could have if she had stayed in my universe. But where was my universe? My heart chakra had already exploded open and I couldnt think to utter words of this world. Nama became agitated and the smoke made me conscious of my inability to communicate in her universe, which she had returned to. It is late, I must go, she said, and we trekked back down to the beach. My kiss goodbye was mistaken for an effort to reconnect. We hugged tentatively and parted. I knew I loved her and also that her mind was spinning and regretting and rejecting. I was calm inside in the awareness that clouds pass and there is a light that never goes out. Shyamali. Where was my Shyamali? My heart was open and immediately Shyamalis being rose up from my sub-conscious, from inside my heart. She had been with me and Nama, silent but present. Where was my love? I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to hold her, comfort her, make sure the experience wasnt painful for her.

238

I found her sat with a guy I didnt know. Carefully I approached and with subtlety asked if she wanted me to leave them alone. No, what happened? She enquired, love still in her eyes for me. We walked to a quiet spot between large rocks at the end of the beach. Before words, we hugged and kissed and reassured and felt good. I told her the whole story. I encouraged her and she told me. I felt pain as I walked away. I knew you were about to be together. But as I walked you came into my heart so strong and I felt incredible ecstasy. I felt you closer than ever. I walked to Arambol but something brought me back here, now I know why. Youre not angry with me, No, my baby, I love you. And so we kissed more. And it was amazing. So deep. So full of love. It felt like we had been apart for months, such was the depth of separation caused by the circumstances of it. And that depth had cut the groove for the beautiful emotion to ow inside. After the rain comes sun, after the sun comes rain again. Rejuvenation. We were in love. I caressed her fresh body and we talked and talked and talked of love and its crazy dynamic ways. Radha and Krishna ooded our consciousness. I was drunk. So drunk. So intoxicated with my sweet one. Moran appeared. Our good friend, an angel who always appeared like a fairy godmother to sprinkle blessings on us. She held out her hand and I took it. Zap! I gave her an electric shock. Wow, youre alive, she said. She left us alone, though I thought Shyamali might want to go with her as I was talking like a madman about Krishna, Radha, Radha, Krishna. No way she took my ideas and ran with them further. We gloried the Lord till the sun went down, then noticing the sea was warm, the beach was empty of people, the stars adorned the moonless sky, the radiance of each others love, we skinnydipped. Wet esh on wet esh. Flesh made completely of heart! With an air of occasion we entered the Little Italy Restaurant and ordered whatever we wanted. We had been trying to eat cheap thalis watching the rupees, but I think from that day we never looked at the right hand side of the menu again. Before our sizzler arrived in all its ceremonial glory, the restaurant lled up with the usual crowd of Israelis. Shyamali and I were so deep in discussion and so deep in love that our vibration gave an otherworldly appearance. Corners of eyes sought to understand our plane. A beautiful, sexy girl came in with a group of friends. She sat near to us. She was attracted immediately by our energy and moved to stare right into our eyes, unashamed. This I want, I could read in her eyes. Like the most beautiful of damsels unsatised by all other energies in the universe, she had

239

found at last the vibration her heart sought. Shyamali, I want this girl, she has stolen my senses completely, I said spontaneously, without a trace of fear or concern for our own love. Take her, she replied, and seemed excited for me. One, two. Missed. Two seconds is way too long for such bravado. I relished the girls charm and turned again in amazement at Shyamalis love and how it had grown in those two seconds. Can I describe the night with my sweet motek? No. ---Gita Govina---- Displaying her passion in loveplay as the battle began, she launched a bold offensive above him. And triumphed over her lover. Her hips were still, her vine-like arms were slack, her chest was heaving, her eyes were closed. Why does a mood of masculine force succeed for women in love?----

In the morning, Shyamali was not there. She is on the beach, my insides told me. Left it spoke again as I walked onto the beach. I literally (well!) bumped into her as she came from a morning paddle. I was still stoned, immaculate and we were still very much in love. There was no need for her to go to Gokarna as planned. The separation had fed the union; the love of another had increased our own love. The space she gave me enticed me to run through it to her. I had freedom and love. I had all the ingredients for complete happiness. Osho says in Krishna, the man and his philosophy, If I am loving, if love is the state of my being then it is not possible to con-ne my love to a single person. It is unfortunate that people all around the world are trying to capture love and keep it caged in their relationships. But it is not possible to make a captive of love. The moment you try to capture it it ceases to be love. Love is like air; you cannot hold it in your st. It is possible to have a little air on you open palm, but if you try to enclose it in your st the air escapes. It is a paradox of life that when you try to imprison love, to put it in bondage, love degenerates and dies. And we have all killed love in our foolish attempts to possess it. We possess nothing. Yet we may taste everything. We own no-one but we may love everyone. So what is the need of creating anything. There is nothing to create. We have innite potential relations with everything and everyone. As soon as we create a relationship, it is destined

240

to sink. Shyamali could have been with other men if she wanted. Few were the men that attracted her enough, and even then she would just want to be with me. In this way the love of the woman is deep and I cherished it. When she did go to be with someone else it was a girl. During a Hilltop Sunday rave we met Sunata tripping beautifully. She danced like a fairy, unreserved and out of this world. Shyamali was captivated, equally unreserved, and so incredibly gorgeous. Wearing a new red hippy mini skirt and backless top and the mood of absolute feminie erotic power, she danced with Sunata rand joined her world. They both looked incredibly beautiful together. They began to kiss passionately despite people staring. They were aloof from this plane. I sat with them and Shyamali woke from her trance, surprised that there were other beings on the planet. Later, they both invited me to go with them to Sunatas hotel but I wasnt vibrating the same level of intimacy so I suggested Shyamali go with her alone. All night I felt my baby happy and slept peacefully back in Arambol. I found Shyamali the next morning and she was in bliss. I missed me so much but when I looked in her eyes I saw you smiling at me, it was amazing. So I had never left her. After the separation we became closer still. Other beautiful girls around adored Shyamali. It is amazing that Shyamali allows you to be with other girls though she loves you so much, they would say. I designed a tattoo. A clever one with Radha Krishnas names surrounding a blue/yellow yin yang, inside a Star of David and lotus. This is just the game, a wise old guy said of it, where are you in it? He had a point. Moran said, This is not you, then a few minutes later in an unrelated conversation, you are really a buttery. That was it. Where am I? Who am I? I am the buttery sitting on my Shyamalis skin and when it sits on my skin it will be like Pitambara (the cloth, the colour of Radhas skin which Krishna adorns). Shyamali already desired to have my peacock feather tattoo, hand injected onto my heart in Rishikesh the year before, on her belly, and in a second, I desired her buttery on my shoulder. I desired her self to be forever with me, inside and outside. Miraculously, well, miracles are common these days, six thousand rupees was sent by Jeff (now Jaya Gopal). This was the exact amount of the two tattoos. We were booked in for boxing day (26th Dec). The day before was Christmas Day. The rst one of personal signicance for me. All that

241

day I felt a great pain in my left side, surrounding my heart, the same as the liver on my right side the month before. If the liver was fear, this was compassion, and it hurt, physically. I danced in the daytime in Anjuna, but couldnt much due to the pain. The energy in the party was apprehensive. I could feel the trembling of an earthquake. (This I have just written allegorically, but the allegory is too close to reality to detect it being an allegory!!!) The anticipation of an eruption as many people I could see wanted ecstasy, love the revolution. The wise can smell it.. it is coming soon, soon. I looked people in the eyes and told them, soon, soon.. I said. I wanted to give it now. Ladies and gentlemen, the revolution is about to begin. I wanted to grab a microphone and start the thing, but I couldnt. Where was my energy, my sakti, why was I still mental, nervous, edgy where was my centre. Soon, soon. Of course, I had to be delayed for the right timing. I wasnt really in control of me. Trembling, trembling beneath the surface of the earth. I was half way through the receiving of my new tattoo, my lovers buttery, the symbol of Gods pleasure, when the tattooists girlfriend put on the T.V. and revealed the traumatic news of the tsunami. I looked at my shoulder and felt immediately responsible. Gaia. The movement of the buttery causing the tidal wave. The chaos theory now made sense to me. The movement of the buttery is the movement of divine inspiration. When spirit moves it creates a disturbance in material consciousness. It smashes material intellect, the doubting mind, and the ether, air, re, water... and earth. The earth itself shakes causing the tsunami. Material dissolution and spiritual evolution are intimately linked! The day was strange. In the evening the tide was high and threatened Arambols beach cafes. People stared out into the violent sea not knowing whether to run in land or wait for further encroachment, further signs. Signs came to me to stay. The energy was chaotic. Many people had crazy nights. Myself included. The tidal wave caused so much pain. I felt it in my body, in my mind, in my heart. I cried for the crying. Not for the dead; the dead are still alive somewhere, feeling the pleasure of rebirth. If only people could see tails when heads is upturned. And their lost ones are where they they should be. All is perfectly timed. Who has ever heard of an untimely death? I wondered if I had friends killed in the disaster. Many Israelis were in the Andamans. Miraculously, once again, only a handful of Israelis were killed or missing, and nobody who I knew. Many people told me stories of how they were misdirected away from the devastated areas, to Bombay or Goa etc. There is a revolution on the way. Those who will be here will be here.

242

If human beings collectively unite to serve the source of our existence, then after the tremors there will be an avalanche of love. People will grow very quickly, together. Disaster brings the unity. Individually and unitedly. The journey may be somewhat like going towards the centre of a tornado. The journey may become intense. The mind may resist, but slowly and surely it will become broad enough to embrace the way of the heart. You rise up from the depths of this world to sail on a calm ocean, and achieve the rst level of spritual ecstasy. Then as the tides move, and waves move your boat in the dynamic ocean of love, your boat may be ooded or capsize. But it cannot really sink once you have attained to the surface. What you need to do is to ride the waves, to allow your boat to not leave the surface of the water, to go high and low as the wave does; to go where your emotions take you and not try to change the intense experiences. Then you will be an expert boatman and feel ecstasy in every mood. Do you want to come with me to Om Beach? A question out of the blue from a guy booking a taxi jeep. O.K. So, we jumped in the jeep, no further question. It was New Years Eve the day we arrived. A guy approached me. Are you going to the New Years Eve party in Jog Falls? he told me. Shyamali wasnt inspired. Again we were drawn away from each other. I had a signature a sign in nature - to move away from Shyamali. At this time she really needed me. In Om Beach Shyamali had no girlfriends around her. This lack highlighted the power of the gopis love for Radha. Without me and them, she was empty. Shyamali was feeling weak. I knew, I saw, but still I couldnt leave the signature to console her. I saw signs on chocolate bars keep on munching. She was wanting me to stop irting but at this time I was more attracted sensually to other girls and could not follow the opposite of my inspiration. Did I not have love enough? Was it I or love itself creating the signature?
th

26 February 2005 Readers! I am trying once more to keep up with myself. The present saga more intense than the previous saga Im writing about. It was seriously on my head today, after writing about how ones own mood dictates Gods signature or decisions. We are male and female. Inspiration comes from

243

God to us, male to the female, and thus we act in nature, male upon the female. As we come close to the goal of divinity, He allows us to be Directors and thus, more and more, the signature, the inspiration, we feel is actually our own. Yet it is very important to realize how the dance of the divine works, when to accept, entice inspiration and when to act on it. On the journey from unconsciousness, there is a stage where you are aware that God is impregnating you with inspiration and at times that inspiration will seem very difcult to enact. Yet, as your life swings from acting out of habit (karma) to acting out of love (lila), it will also seem very difcult to not to enact. This is the stage where the spiritualists look so much more indecisive and spaced out than your average materialist. But what is happening on the inside is surrender, listening. You may here a devotee ponderingshould I stay or should I go, this indecisions bugging me, and you may think, does it really matter so much, but yes it does. Externally, no it doesnt, everything is good, but internally the devotee wants to enter the lila, enter the level of consciousness when there is no deliberation between inspiration and action; when life becomes like a childs play again. So the dilemna is due to breaking away from adult life to acquire a child-like life of a sadhu, one who is aware of sat, reality. At the stage of lila, indecision is over, fear is over, and the craziest stunts that you are inspired to do, which may upset everyone around you, is no problem at all. So the question. Shall I be the Messiah, change the world, make love to all its beautiful people etc etc (for the sake of the decision why not presume the whole damn lot), - or shall I remain in Radha Kund and go completely internal, forget the world (it is a small world anyway and a few limited souls is not worth losing my own chance over, for to succeed in reaching myself is what God really wants from me!) Is this the nal test? Am I about to fail. Is option A just the allowance of my own desires? Clearly, I want to see YOUR signature, I will do either I told Radha. I sat to eat and noticed a beautiful photo of Prabhupada. It was smaller than the picture of Ananta Das Babaji above it. They looked equally beautiful, same energy. Ananta Das Babaji in Radha Kund, Prabhupada in London. Of course, Radha loves each soul. She is the essence of compassion, so attaining Her qualities, so I will be. Let me achieve my transcendental visions later, now I have the power to feed the desire for Her love. Radha is complete with sixty four qualities. It is as if we are in the process of piecing together a jigsaw of our divine self which is directly connected to Her qualities, as the goal of life is to be her tadatmic (heart-connected) maidservant. And I see people with different parts of the puzzle lled in. Sudha, who has just left Radha Kund after three nights with me, is surrendered, willing to do anything, dreamy, playful, emotional, thus she is tasting prema, and much crying. Isa is methodical,

244

sincere, devout, austere, one-pointed, thus he is tasting prema, living in Radha Kund, attaining spritual visions. But at the moment neither can understand the other. Some people ll in the land part of the jigsaw rst, and some ll in the sky. The sky is more difcult part of the jigsaw to ll in for it all looks the same. Some lucky people have the sun, God, awareness of Krishna as the Supreme but still need a lot of pieces to be complete. Others have most pieces but not the piece with the sun. One step away from realizing why there is light, shadows, colour and smiles in the puzzle. When the jigsaw is complete it comes to life and you step inside it. Till then you live and learn the art of love, imbibing Radha and Krishna and their Supreme Moods, feeling the inspiration of God on your female soul, and dancing with Mother Earth as a male soul.

One night I cried and cried, aware of the decision to leave me in my lovers head. She spoke it in the morning. I was devastated. We argued. I felt sick. I stopped irting but Shyamali saw irting where there wasnt irting. And I wasnt happy not owing with my desires to irt. We both felt bad. It was terrible. She left for Paradise Beach and I lingered in my dead body, not speaking to anyone. The next day was different. Shyamali wasnt on my mind. The world looked colourful again. She had left my heart for now and Krishna was still there inspiring me in different ways. I wrote the middle chapter of this book and met a few new people. Then I met Shyamali again. We hugged. She told me how she had been together with another guy, and how he gave her what I couldnt. It killed me. Jealousy erupted. I was suggesting she could be with the same guy a few weeks earlier, no jealousy, but then we were in love. Then I would have been in her heart. But now, I made her a victim of my negligence and she had found a rescuer. The story is eternal. It was hard for me to see my faults. Who moved rst from one hundred percent love, trust. Was it her jealousy, which moved me away or my lack of consideration which moved her away? We talked and talked and loved againBut it was unsteady, delicate. We decided to move apart, this time on loving grounds. We cried, but happiness mixed this time with the sadness. I left for Arambol. Shyamali for Hampi. I felt so free on the way to Arambol. I read a few pages of Zorba the Greek which was divinely placed in front of me to stoke this feeling. I didnt want ever to be caged in a relationship which would curtail this freedom. I wanted all ecstasies. Did I really have to choose freedom over love, or love

245

over freedom? No. Achieving the highest consciousness is there any avour which is kept from you, physical, mental or spiritual? What had happened to us? The question I put aside. We still loved each other and Krishna was now allowing me a taste of other lovers. When I left Shyamali on Om Beach I was crying like a baby, in love, but lost. By the time I was in Kudle Beach, twenty minutes later, on my walk to Gokarna town, I was alive, and the rst girl I met was the closest to Shyamalis beauty Id met in months. She thanked me, but no-thanked me for my kiss ever-so-sweetly and led me to our mutual good friends, Kamal, Roi and Yamuna. In Arambol I met Moran who put me up on her oor. I told her I was the Messiah,and she told me she had been waiting to meet me. Since childhood she had known she would be one of seven protectors of the Messiah. I also met my good friend Tamal to whom I had given initiation in Rishikesh. After a night of sharing stories and truths on the beach I opened the book I was reading, Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol. The whole page which I opened was pertinent, ridiculously uncanny. If you can draw water from a water well you can draw treacle from a treacle well.. The guru is needed(we had just disgussed this).. They were learning drawings and drawing things (for no reason whatsoever) with the letter M.. ..to understand love beyond reason Did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness? ..so write about the ecstasy matrix.. Very curious. But everything is curious (uncanny) today. I think I may as well go at once.. and go immediately.. Then Alice noticed a door in a tree, she entered and found herself among bright owerbeds.. ..into the forest, and there you will play like me. It was a conrmation of an earlier inspiration to go and live in the forest indenitely, to feed my soul on nature, as it was feeling wounded by materialism once again. I spent my last rupees on a mattress and blanket, and farted around for a whole day (unnecessarily in hindsight, and if Id been a tad more spontaneous wouldnt have!) nishing my book (again). It took another night, but I was rm in my conviction. I would go for one month, two months, however long it would take. I would not move from my spot and follow the vow of a snake-baba, one who

246

eats what passes his hole. I could live on water. There was a spring in the forest. I left in the morning, slicing through Arambol with causeless cause. My cave from the year before was being used for water supply so I moved further into the forest, ten minutes up from the Banyan Tree where a handful of people were living. I heard a guitarist play Sweet Thing by Van. All was perfect. I found my spot and the next day started to write what I thought then may be my second book. I felt good lying naked on my luxury suite. I listened. I listened to birds being birds, monkeys being monkeys, trees being trees. I watched how leaves gave shape to the wind, how vines made love to the trees, how regulated were the sun and the moon, and after only a couple of days of observing, I saw the different levels of regulation and the varying degrees of freedom, the scope of choice, in nature. It is all about choice. In this matrix Im watching, listening to the forest. There is evolution in consciousness. The birds are like clockwork. Different birds do their same singing at the same time each day. Not exactly of course, but they are very regulated. Not as regulated as the trees which seem to stand in their positions the same way each day (Im sounding like Alice now). Mountains have even less choice, planets like the sun and moon even less. I have worked with cows and seen the differences in character between them, but still, in a day, they are pretty regulated. I watch the monkeys. They like being naughty. This naughtiness is a gift to them. They can be regular or irregular. Then the soul reaches the human platform. Evolution. Now you have full choice. In fact you can choose to have choice even. Because unless you come to the level of consciousness of the Creator, your choices are only apparent. Your choices are reactions to circumstances governed by samskaras. So, although you feel independent, you are obliged by the modes of nature to act as you do. When you transcend the modes of nature you tune in to your dharma, the dharma of a human being. The Vedas offer ve choices for the human being. Sensual satisfaction, wealth, auspicious living, liberation and love of God. Love of God is the highest attainment which concomitantly awards complete satisfaction in all the other dharmas. Bhakti opens all chakras, fulls all desires perfectly, harmoniously, ecstatically. When you love God, you realize your path, what is your way. You give up choice and receive it back. Giving up choice means giving up your apparent choice. When you do that you are a spritiual baby. Then you grow, and live through Gods choice. You and the Creator are one, in love. He allows you control. You are a fully creative priniciple. But you want only to love so you allow love to be in control. Again, no choice. Again, ignorance, yet this ignorance is bliss. No choice and choice,

247

awareness and ignorance, mixed together. This is wonderland. The human being has three basic divisions. Ignorance, knowledge and love. The ignorant are no different to animals and will return to animal species. The wise follow religion, you make the choice, to follow the rule book and thus attain to a state of peacefulness in control of you life. Then you throw the rule book away and follow the rule of love. If you dont follow the regulations you will fall down, said Prabhupada many times. But what path are you on. The regulations of raganuga are no regulations, only love. If you take off your stablilizers too early however, yes, you will fall down. Unorthodox and not in control. Orthodox and in control. Unorthodox and controlled by love. To reach the goal of life, to reach love of God, you will have to accept unorthodoxy again because God is not orthodox. He may lie, cheat, beg, stealand you may inspired to do the same for the sheer love of it. Three basic stages. Ignorance of God, fear of God, love of God. Three groups of human beings who cannot understand each other. The ignorant think themselves as the same as those with love of God. The fearful of God think the other two as ignorant and themselves as superior. Those with love of God dont think, they know. (Sometimes they dont even know but it doesnt matter anymore!!) Work, prayer, play. You may be able to petition the Lord with prayer and that may let Him know you are outside His front door wanting to come inside. But love is spontaneous. If you love Him, break through His bedroom window, steal His heart and then demand what you want!! He is not in control. Love is. Deep breath. I could here my soul. I slept little, two hours a night. The rest of the time I was soaking in the beauty of the silver moonshine and chanting My Sweet Lords name. You have to come to Israel! You have to come to Israel! Id heard it many times over the two years Id been travelling India. You have to come to Jerusalem. It echoed loud in the middle of the night. I listened carefully to instructions given spontaneously to me from inside. In the morning I sang bhajans and opening my Vaisnava songbook, I was surprised. Out fell a little ag, the type you stick in sand castles or cheese and pineapple party snacks. It had two blue stripes on it and a six pointed star (it had been given to me months earlier.) I read the page it fell out of. It was prayer written by Prabhupada as he voyaged on the

248

Jaladhuta boat to America. He set up Iskcon, a society based strongly on vaidhi bhakti. He created a huge following, a religion, a phenomenon in twelve short years. Now I will introduce raganuga bhakti, the heart path, the essence of bhakti, the goal of Prabhupada. Prabhupadas heart was full of love but he preached religion. He formed a foundation. My job is easier, therefore a person of less stature can do the job. To reveal the essence Give up all dharma and surrender to me, there will be no rules, no society, no bald heads. The haircut will not be obligatory. Nothing will. Only mood.. only love. Vaidhi is about doing. Raga is about being. Doers need to be told what to do. Beers you drink and get drunk. With this initiative, my stillness vanished. My being had something to do. Should I leave the forest now? I opened two books. Why is Narada dwelling in the forest The rst thing one should do is go and prepare for the journey. I was ve days in the forest. Moran had brought food after two days and Scott, an Aussie, food and two Spanish girls, after four. I was light and excited. I ran down and checked my emails. Mum; I want to see you now. Shyamali; Im going back to Israel, I want to see you now. I booked my ticket for Hampi. Shyamaliis love for me jumped out of the computer and entered my soul, lled my lungs and made my skin shine. I met a girl in the morning, who was in a thinking space and purple!. She was attracted to me and she was in the internet shop saying shed like to see the forest. Shyamali like Radha is split into two categories. Shyamali who is Shyamali and Shyamali who is not Shyamali. When I made love to the girl in the forest I was making love to Shyamali but not just to Shyamali, Shyamali wasnt in my mind but in my soul and in the soul of the girl. She was everywhere. I read; Krishnas deceitful behaviour brings about intense separation which ensures the necessary contrary mood in Radha for the dynamic play between them. It wasnt something considered by the lovers, but a product of love itself. And the product of love is always ecstasy, though externally it may not seem like it. And I saw it. In Hampi I revealed what happened, and Shyamali felt pangs of jealousy which I soothed by extra comforting.

249

We could both see it. We both witnessed our own play mirroring Radha and Krishna. We had to move in the directions we did. The split in Om Beach was nobodies fault. Love was moving us, inspiring us, not inspiring us, to create the play. We could both see it, but philosophy in us was also being overpowered by the loveplay itself. On arriving in Hampi I was eager to meet my love. She was waiting for me. I arrived at eleven at night and couldnt cross the river. No boat men till the morning. The only place in the goddamned universe with no bridge! I slept in a local caf. After half an hour I felt rain coming down on me through the partial roong and thunder, lightning; loud and beautiful. The rst time in Hampi in January for twenty ve years. I was the dark cloud, my lover the lightning. In the morning I woke her with a kiss. I knew you were close, she smiled.

28th February 2005 Today I met Mary Magdalene. Walking along the parikrama path towards Goverdhan Town, I met a boy who I recognized. After telling him I was going home to see my parents before going to Israel he told me Dont go back to England. This was a sign from Krishna but a deceitful one. He (Krishna) told me the night before in a line I read the mood of Chaitanya. Although His mercy is dependent on His willpower, still sometimes His compassion becomes so great that it may overwhelm His willpower, which then becomes a mere assistant to the power of his grace. How beautiful. God is not in control. And neither are His lovers. They are more concerned with others than themselves. So Prabhupada left Vraja to go and give the love of Vraja to the world. And I will go too. Dont go back to England, Now I hear lying signs, but signs, which preserve anxiety, a false sense of insecurity then I met Manjari, the girl who I met a few years ago who took me to Radhas grandmothers village, the girl who, like me, has love for all gurus, the girl who always wears purple. Her energy is soft and sweet, like an angel. I had full faith in her as if the eyes of my guru were her every movement.

250

Im going back to England soon, I told her, observing reaction closely. Great,she smiled. I want to give my heart to the people now. You should go. Every one is a manjari and every place is Radha Kund. That is what a great devotee sees and he wants to bring this potential to all people. I brought attention to her bright purple sari. Purple is the colour of compassion, she told me and also the colour of Goverdhan, whose eyes are Radha Kund and Shyama Kund. It is very powerful. All the followers of Christ in America wear purple. Really? I didnt know. Yes, it is his colour. Mine too. In fact, I was Jesus Christ. A pause. Really. Thats interesting. I used to think I was Mary Magdalene. My mother gave me this name. My name by birth is Mary Magdalene. A psychic once told me that I would meet Jesus in this life and he would be my guru. She also insinuated I was Mary Magdalene reincarnated. I believed it for a while and I thought Narayana Maharaja may be Jesus, but then I though that Mary Magdalene would be someone much more special than me. I knew it was her. I felt so close to her, like a husband. The psychic was right. My eyes smiled. She was shy. Three owers dropped from her hand onto the oor, she picked them up and gave them to me. An autorickshaw passed close-by and she was forced into my arms, for a brief moment. She pulled away. This is interesting, she said, we have to talk more, but Im tired now. She left with a deep glance into my soul.

I received an email the next day from Shyamali. An idea to go to Rishikesh had already entered my head as Radha Kund had delivered everything I needed. I want to kiss your eyes, and lay you down in silence, easyto be born again.

251

1st March 2005 I have a ticket. I y on the 9th (cum 10th) of March at half past midnight. Krishna is a deceitful bastard. From ignorance to knowledge to love. From impaired vision to repaired vision to re-impaired vision. From deceiving yourself to receiving your wealth to being deceived by your wealth for the sake of your self.

I left Radha Kund alone and arrived in Delhi to book my ight ticket. I changed my last fty pounds and received rupees worth one hundred pounds. I needed it. God gave it. In Delhi, I met Yamuna who decided, as we were about to leave the coffee shop, to come with me to Rishikesh. -(Junctions my friends, at junctions go the way of love. Krishna helps you in between your doings. He can penetrate your being when you are not doing. The problem is we are too busy doing to be. In India, many people grow because they have nothing to do. Because of raja-guna, material passion, it is difcult for some to relax, so they ll their day with plans, objectives, doings. You meet people, Im just doing my laundry, Im just doing my emails. You meet me. What are you doing? Nothing, lets go. So God tries to get you when you have no objective, when you are in transit between doings. Junctions. Big junctions are bus rides, train rides to your next destination, great meetings happen, because you are open at that time. But allow yourself to be completely open all the time, and then life is one big junction, which means at any time you can do a left, right, or u-turn.)

Hampi (Jan 2005) Shyamali left for Israel. Sudhamukhi arrived from Vrinavan. Prabhuji asked her, you are going to Pitambara or Pitambaran coming here? She felt it a sign to come to Hampi. I spent a couple of days with her. I felt so in love with Shyamali it was at rst difcult to be with such a different energy. But in her surrender Sudha allowed me all the space to meditate on my love. I started to touch myself in front of her, and Shyamali possessed me. I felt skin next to me. My body

252

responded. We made love. It was the rst time a man had entered her. It was the rst time love so strong had entered her. Within a second of our united orgasms she cried, wailed, so loud, like I had wailed in love for my Maharaja. Her heart had cracked wide open. The next day I left her all alone in the south. She was clinging to me. It was time to take away the stabilizers. I returned to Vrindavan. Prabhuji was full of mercy, full of close love and kept telling me to give people siddha pranali. I drew a table and he lled in the gaps.

Devotee Pitambara Premananda Narayana Haridas Sacidulal Sudhamukhi

Manjari in Vrindavan Premila Haripriye Raman Mani Shyamapriye Rati

Brahmin in Navadvip Premananda Vijay-vilas Gaura-narayana Hiralal Sacinandana Ranchor

Concluding with Sudha, he told me her manjari name and brahmin name. Rahul, he said at rst, smiling at his beautiful boy next to me. Is Rahul Sanskrit? I asked. O.K. Ranchor, he decided, giving Rahuls initiated name. He was making it up. This is true? I asked. Reality, he replied xing a gaze on me. Two weeks later Shyamali arrived in Delhi after too long at home. I met her from the airport. Wow. This separation had increased our love no end. We hugged and kissed and drank each other in the arrivals hall. We exchanged more love and presents in the taxi to our hotel. She read a poem I wrote on a picture of Gadadhara Gaura, then forgot it in the taxi as we left. (A few days later she still asked, why did I forget that beautiful picture? To keep it in your mind, I told her. Separation makes the heart grow fonder. If you would have had the picture, it would have remained in your bag and not in your mind.) We made love that night like never before. I looked Shyamali in the eyes and she told me, Pete, you can do anything you like except think!

253

Rishikesh, the present. MY LOVER ARRIVES. The next day (Rishikesh). Shyamali entered the room yesterday just as I reached the beautiful remembrances of our meeting while writing. I never considered her arriving. It was a complete surprise. And like Radha, I held my head coyly under my arm and listened to her laugh. Then I heard her walk over to the bed in which I was writing. Then I felt her touch, and I pulled her to me to smell her skin, and then I glanced quickly to see her eyes. One beautiful jewel after another, the senses battling for a place in my conscious attention. We held each other. I had never been with her before, yet I had loved her since before the beginning of time. Her sweetness I tasted repeatedly. I was amazed. She was amazed. I felt shy to look at her beautiful slender waist, decorated with peacock feather and green amber stone, on a purple thread which I bought for her in Hampi. I whispered words of love, words that seeped from heart, pulled by her beauty. Tears then and now. Forgive me baby for my insensitivity. I am an ignorant animal and you are so kind to let this dull creature touch you. I will learn to touch you sensitively baby, but Im a man. Be patient with me, I love you more than anything Ive known. We kissed and passion threatened to ignite. But like two fourteen-year-old virgins, it was enough to witness the potential, the possibility that we could make love soon and complete each other. After loving for a while, Shyamali revealed to me how she was going through a crazy spell, feeling insane, fearful, and edgy. People were sucking her energies, envious of her beauty. They came to offer but always took, and she felt so fragile and defenceless. I explained the phenomenon. Baby, your fear is the fear of someone who is travelling fast, high into the sensitive realm. To be yourself seems like it will lead to craziness, yet acting, as others desire you to, you lose yourself and become unbalanced. In this case take shelter of eyes that love you my sweet, for they alone can see you. And though you may not be able to smile, though your mind may feel agitated with depression, your heart will feel warmth, blissful.

254

In ecstasy, you need company of those in ecstasy, but they are few in number. As you travel towards the centre of the hurricane towards you, you need company of those in the same crazy whirlwind, or those in the centre. When you reach the centre you are never knocked off-balance again. You may feel any emotion, but you will feel in balance with that emotion.

In Delhi, before I arrived in Vrindavan, me and Shyamali walked past a shop. Hare Krishna, the man called, do you want to change money? We did, so we followed his beckoning. In the shop were many pictures of Radha and Krishna that we scanned before any dealings. The man gave us a card. It was an email card printed with calendar on the back and picture of Radha and Krishna on the back. The picture was of Radha and Krishna all in green. Green is life. The union of lovers. The colour of meeting. When Krishnas aura merges with Radhas aura, there is a green effulgence. When they are just about to meet, they see this green shine and know they are about to meet. Green reminds them of this excitement. That is why the forest is green. Green sends the lovers crazy. The email number insanityisavirtue@yahoo.co.uk. A gentle reminder of the sanity of insanity, a coax towards further surrender, a coax towards craziness. Do not fear this fear, this whirlwind, Krishna was telling us. Shyamali looked so amazing, so fragile and so incredibly beautiful. I reminded her of Radha and the maidservants who attended to her needs due to Her ecstasy disturbing Her ability towards social and bodily obligations. We have no manjaris as yet. People in this world dont understand love yet. But soon the world will be full of manjari bhava and at that time it will be easier to be in love. Love, love, love, love, crazy love will be the norm; therefore it will not be considered insanity. It will be known as love and you will be allowed to play the divine play. The party is soon. I have seen it already. Just as you witness your clean bedroom in your mind before cleaning it, the revolution has already happened.

6th March 2005 2.00a.m (Rishikesh) Five days to go before I leave for England. Welcome to the craziest night of my life. I dont know where to begin. It is not over. Ive just eaten a small lump of cannabis that was left for me in the Bombay Guest House. It is time to write, but I have a question, a big one.

255

Who is she? I am looking at the scene. The same photos, the burnt ones, and a couple more

A clip from Santi Mayis mail out. You have heard me mention many times this year that the next few years will be even more dif cult than the one we have just passed through. This is sure. Times will be increasingly more dif dif cult and will take on a sort of snowball effect. Starting out a bit manageable and then once the dif situation gathers momentum and volume, well, you know how it goes. The snowball is no longer a snowball. Yes, thats whats coming and we are in the centre of it all.

In Vrindavan, I stayed in the back of the temple for one night with Jagadish. Vasanta, the only other person to have taken siddha pranali from Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja was also staying backside and he was happy to see me. Vasanta and I went to see Prabhuji. I will help you with your book and everything if Prabhuji tells me to, he told me. We stood at Prabhujis door, perhaps the most mystical of all holy places for me, Prabhuji joked with me and told him to help me. Still he wasnt sure, thinking that maybe he was being cheated. I called Prabhuji back. He still doesnt know, I said. Prabhuji, is Pitambara a rascal? Prabhuji had him in a half nelson. Yes. Rascal. Ras, Kel. Rasa Keli. (Rasa means tasty, keli means play; together it means sex.) And I am a rascal too, he added. It was sublime. We started to design the book cover straight after. I had planned to use the Radha Krishna painting on a rock in Dharmasala but was still unsure. Prabhuji once told me to bring him a sari (a green one) so he could dress as a gopi, then have a photo taken, and this would be the front cover of his book. My book, he said. My and your were now interchangeable. I went to check my emails. Shyamali had sent me some photos. Nearly all

256

of them were perfect, and one of me in her sari looked amazing. It was the photo described by Prabhuji, only I was wearing purple, the colour of union and separation (red) together. It seemed though that Shyamali herself, looking to be in a false sense of insecurity, was the front cover. My lover should adorn the front of the book; after all, I am merely a concoction of love. My lover is thus more me than me. She is the subjective me and I am the projector!! But You should use this one for the cover. Three people all told me to use the picture of the little girl. I loved this photo of a village girl that was taken in Uccagaon (lit. the highest village). Uccagaon is Lolitas, Radhas dearest friends, childhood village home, a short stretch from Varsana, Radhas childhood village home. The photo was amazing. I would lose myself in it. I had aimed the camera at this girl who I fell in love with because she had the deepest grave expression on her face, the closest to Radha Id ever seen. Then as the camera was pointed that gravity turned into helium ecstasy. She had the full range of emotions, sentiments, rasas. I was astonished. Yes, it would be a great photo to use but how relevant is it on the front of an autobiography about me? In Vrindavan I stayed in Navs place. The conversation between Nav and me turned to siddha pranali. Suniti and Jagadish opened their cups to hear two people coming together and sharing exactly the same conclusion. Then it expanded as we spoke. There is a point on the path where knowledge goes one way and innocence the other. At this y junction if you dont choose innocence you become too wise to play with God. The path of innocence renders the fact that Krishna is God insignicant to the point of useless, neh, obstructive, neh, comical. As you traverse the path of innocence Krishna gifts his creative power fully. He hands choice to you. He hands your life back to you and gives you his paints to paint your own destiny. His desire is your desire. Revelation now comes through your creation. Fantasy now creates reality. I remembered Prabhuji giving me Sudhamukhis nitya svarup, eternal identity. He made it up. Then I remembered Babaji Maharaja telling me how he would meditate on my form and tell me, only to nd that when I returned to him he sat and MADE IT UP. How can it be made up? Is it not something that exists and is witnessed? Yes. This as well. But only because the guru knows what you are going to create. So he lies to you. Prabhuji told me I wore white cloth, Babaji Maharaja said blue, it confused me. Two lilas, Prabhuji told me when I quizzed him. Possible. Everything is possible. If

257

everything is possible, I can be who the hell I like. The siddha pranali is given to help you conceive of your form before you witness it, and it is the conception that bares the fruit of witnessing. It is creation that gives birth to revelation, and simultaneously revelation that gives birth to creation. So if it is creation. Nav told me just then that Bhaktivinode Thakur had discussed his form with his guru and between them they changed a few things. Change? Eternal reality? Of course. This is the paradox. The moment you step into eternal reality, not only is the future endless but also the past, even though the reality you stepped in from records a time you stepped in. But there is no time. So there is no beginning. You have been Premila Manjari forever and will remain Premila Manjari forever. You are an immortal and simultaneously mortal, beautiful eleven year old maidservant, who specializes in massaging Radha and Krishna in union and separation, whose body is golden like Radhas, whose mother is Premoda Gopi, whose father is Ishan Das Gopa, whose husband is Atal Gopa, in whose home is Yavat, whose mother-in-law and sister-in-law is Manoda and Sharola. There; now let me to go to hell. Do not tell anyone this information, my guru had told me, knowing damn well I am no longer in control and that I will follow the demands of love despite any prohibition. Prabhuji, Haripriye Manjari, asked me. So you have my manjari name in your book? I took it out. I didnt see it necessary on second thoughts and it disturbed people who read the draft because you are not supposed You put it back in. Prabhuji, you want me to write everything. The devotees will stop me coming here and I fear I wont be able to see you. Not possible. We have eternal relationship. You have no fear. Write EVERYTHING. I am giving you one hundred more pages to write. The siddha pranali is like a photograph. But a few details to CONSTRUCT the image in your mind, to stir the fantasy. But just before you enter the play you reach complete surrender. When totally hollow, the music that comes out of your ute is His. The phantasmagoria of a future world is His idea. Your every fantasy His creation... AND YOURS. And what does Radha look like. And Krishna? They have denite character, no? I was speaking to the creator inside of me. Yes. Krishna is Krishna. He plays a ute, wears a peacock feather in his turban, he has skin the colour of a raincloud, and he is unlimited. Every single soul who glances upon him sees him as they

258

want to see him. He is the complete subjective experience. So, you can see him how you like to see him. He will be as you want him to be. Radha will appear as you want Her to appear. YOU CREATE GOD. Yet it is non-different from GOD CREATING YOU. Revelation meets creation. Creation is revelation. All of a sudden you realize the possible is impossible (lovelessness), the nite is innite, the ordinary extraordinary. Matter creates spirit and YOU step through the looking glass. Ergo cognito. I think therefore I am. And further, I think I am a manjari therefore I will be. So, if the guru can create and make things up, he can do it without having seen it. The guru may give siddha pranali and the disciple sees it before him. In fact the guru may also allow the disciple to be who he wants to be but some things, the name especially, is sweeter received. Otherwise it is a Christmas present bought with the twenty pounds your thoughtful husband gave you. In theory, you dont need a guru, but once you have love you have a lover; or once you are a LOVER you have LOVE. So once you have love then the theory of having no guru is too late. You do and you dont. LOVE IS YOUR GURU projected through the body. Though it is projection (subjective), the projector (objective) depends upon it. There is no separation. Take away the guru, and you take away love. Someone criticized me to Prabhuji in front of me. Pitambara has four gurus. Pitambara has thousands of guru, Prabhuji replied proudly. Love creates you. You are made of the love of all the people who have loved you. Everyone who has touched you is your guru. Stepping into the ecstasy matrix, the nal lovers would be the closest, the most intricate creators giving the nal touches to YOU.

259

Chapter 4 - The Final Touches

Till the shadows and the lights were one. Janes Addiction I prepared to write more as the others became tired and took rest. I placed a candle on my new mixing bowl that Nav gave to me. I arranged a book under the at-surfaced bowl so the carpet wouldnt burn. I was careful. I placed my favourite photos near me so I could fall in love as I wrote before I slept I didnt remember falling asleep. All I remember was a voice in the sky of my dream, Do you realize something now? I answered with no hesitation, a condent, Yes, then woke up. I was on re. A tall blaze came from my sleeping bag. I had no fear and put it out quickly. Then I noticed the photos were burning. I blew out the ames and watched the last attempts of heat attack my lovers. My heart beat fast. What the fuck was this? I could hear the voice, do you realize something now? I was excited. Just as the stigmata had sent an ecstatic shiver down my spine, so this too, I knew was a huge gift for me. I noticed Navs carpet had a big burn, not to mention a huge hole in his sleeping bag. I thought to wake him, more to bring him into the excitement than apologize. What did I realize? I looked at the photos that had caught re. They had all moulded into one clump, no longer separate. I lay them out like a tarot deck and studied. There was meaning everywhere. I could see my favourite photo of Shyamali was burnt. The right hand side of her head parched, but the burn swerved around her eyebrow perfectly, and a single black teardrop burn covered a drop that was there on the photo. My favourite photo of Prabhuji was cindered, but not his face. (I showed him the next day didnt get my face he said as if the whole event lacked any drama whatsoever.) Chaitanyas right leg was burned. My favourite picture of Radha and Krishna left Krishnas eyes and legs, and Radha looked as if she was leaning away from the attack of the ames as she leant away from Krishnas approaches. And ahhh inside the photo of Radha and Krishna was a police report which I needed to get a

260

new passport, having lost again, somewhere, my forth one in a row. I put the photo in a safe place then put the safe place in a dangerous place. How could I accidentally burn this form? There was no sense of accident at all of course, and a question came. Krishna, you want me to stay in India forever? but it didnt feel right knowledge. I noticed the village girl was also burned exactly in the same way Shya-malis photo had burned. She was staring at me with Absolute expression. She was inside me. SHE WAS ME. SHE IS ME. I placed the photo on the police report that had my name on it. A perfect match. There was one word missing from the police report. Only the word British was missing leaving the report to declare Peter Daniel Moore, national, lost his passport... Where was the British? It was stuck on the back of the photo of PREMILA MANJARI. This was Premila Manjari. I loved her more than anyone ever. This was the nal touch from my nal guru. A smile on a photo stealing my mind for the step from material male to divine female to take place at death. I noticed more closely now how she looked exactly like Noura, the girl from Belgium who was the most beautiful girl Id met before Shyamali. But this was an eleven year, six month old manjari. My destiny revealed, created. An explosion of being, meeting on a horizontal line of eternity where ascension meets descension. There was one more photo. From out of the pile cameSAI BABA, unscathed. He was in the middle holding his hand out; the ame had come from where his hand was. The voice was his. I remembered it again, seeing his photo. Now do you realize something? Yes. I realize me. Thank you. No. Thank you. No. Thank you. No. Thank you. I somehow managed to sleep again for a while and woke up clutching the photo, and diving into it eagerly, astonished; intoxicated by my future self. Nav came in; the carpet wasnt a deal to him (though I did get banned from using candles!). He listened well to my tarot reading, but, of course, from the outside even faith doesnt give the sense of crazy ecstasy. I walked to the Yamuna that day, and sat on the bank opposite the town. Staring, staring, into

261

my eyes. I placed the picture together with the photo of Shyamali. Perfect. More perfect. Only with Radha she was a manjari complete. Maybe Shyamali. Hmmm!!! An email from Shyamali after I told her the story. ``Im crying reading your mail. I felt you yesterday so strong, too strong, I didnt know what it was. I was thinking, feeling, you falling in love with a little girl, but was so intense and strange that I couldnt understand why I think and feel this. I also couldnt check my mail from you though it was all I wanted to do, and rst thing as I wake up today I read your mail, and it is so .. I cannot write. I feel stoned. I have things to tell you but baby.mmmmmm..tears. I know the world is speeding up, I feel it. I had so many thoughts, feelings, signs, and my heart is full and Im crying and laughing like crazy. And it is so secret, no one sees it..its like Im here but Im also someplace else..its amazing. But wow baby, the rst sentence you start writing about the village girl you fell in love with, I know and I cry and I read your mail and you write all the things I was thinking about the last few days I was thinking how all the things you love through your life people, music, movies, art, avors, colours, owers, touch, beauty, everything your heart is attracted to is what you are, your love creates and reveals you. It is like every time you fall in love with someone, something, anything that evokes and inspires love from your heart, even in your imagination, dreams and when you remember and miss someone or thing, and your feel this magic, this spark, it is God tickling you, drawing, stealing, a smile from your heart, and this spark of life, love, you feel is a creation, but as the same time it is revelation of your eternal self. Love is your guru. I realized that as I was crying and laughing at the same time because I realize it is revealtion and I feel Gods smile in my heart. I have had these thoughts before and I was wondering why they came back so strongly the last few days and then you wrote the answer, you wrote that you can create your own manjari, and I realized that it is not about you can, YOU ARE: Because as you said, Krishna reveals through your creation. I want to see you, I want to speak to you. I love love love you and there is an amazing picture of Radha Krishna on the swing behind me and your love is in everything that is beautiful. My sweet xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxsxxxpxxxx`` The next night I spent in Mathura, clinging onto this precious photo and this precious message. Vasanta gave me photos of Sacidulal Babaji Maharaja and one of himself looking like the Messiah,

262

on which he wrote, For My Very Dear Friend Premananda Das Love is Strong Gaura, Gaura, Gaura. It was written in the most gorgeous handwriting. It was Gauras writing. I am Premananda Das Gosvami in Navadvipa lila. My favourite name Babaji Maharaja selected for me. Prabhuji, giving me his very self forever. And Gaura giving me Shyamali. Forever. As the photo of Premila Manjari sat next to Shyamali, the words, quoted from my own song Love is Strong took on the most fantastic meaning. When love is strong you can create that which already is. Radha. Radha looks like Shyamali. Of course. It was so obvious within a second. Radha can look like anything; though she keeps to her traits, her complete character, her self. Creation meets revelation. Radha meets Shyamali. As I thought this a photo came in my mind that was shown to me the day before of Vasanta super-imposed into a photo of the Mona Lisa. So Shyamali, my sweet love, was super-imposing herself into my eternal love affair with my Svamini, Radha.

Visiting Delhi, an email from Shyamali kept me there. I miss you, I miss your softness. I want to hide somewhere but Im too big. I wish I could hide in your pocket. Baby, I feel so small but not in a bad way, just like a little ower or maybe a baby bunny. I wish I could switch my body now, maybe I can, baby, my stupid thoughts, my supid heart. I love you, so so so much Im coming back to India on Valentines Day. Meet me at the airport if you can. I feel your warmth my baby. Your breath on my neck, your soft kisses on my lips and your hand on my ass.. Im so in love with youx I loved Shyamali so much. She came and I offered myself at her feet. In my heart now was surrender. I will give up all girls for you. I cannot be without you. Whatever you want is now what I want, forget Krishna. But what I want is what you want, dont go against any desires to be with other girls, I want you to be free.

Prabhuji icked through the photos that Shyamali brought from Israel. As he passed Premila I

263

asked with a loud mind, Who is this? but he skipped through and when he reached the one of me in a sari he laughed. Then he said calmly, this is you. He never does things straight. We decided to go to Radha Kund for my nal time in India and our last days together for a while. Radha Kund, Radha Kund, Radha Kund The energy is electrifying. Radha is present. So present you can almost see Her. So present that many are seeing Her. The deep-sea divers are here. The divers into the nectar ocean of Radhas avours. Our rst night was full of agitation. We couldnt nd ourselves, so we couldnt nd each other. I was awake crying all night because the desire to hold my baby close was exactly what she didnt want. It will sort itself out tomorrow, was always the parental advice, but in Radha Kund there is no tomorrow, and there is no parent. Everything is powerfully now, and powerfully erotic. We passed Ananta Das Babaji as we strolled down a back lane. I bowed to him and he said a few words. Shyamali afterwards said, Next time you meet me I want you to stand on your head. So beautiful the mellow. So poignant the point. We committed the cardinal sin of doing what God does where He does that night. And He was happy. We returned to Mathura where our loving ascended beautifully, crazily. Shyamali left for Varanasi, the Absolute opposite of Radha Kund on spiritual terms. She felt it very harsh. Sweetheart, the last few days together were.so amazing. So different from anything before.. so special, my baby.. and the last daymmmm..so beautiful, baby you are so beautiful, and you did GREAT for one day efroach shli. Baby Varanasi is intense, but in a strange way, not a nice way.. no sweetness here like in Vrindavan.. so much male energy. My heart is so soft now but this ground is too rough. But I got you my baby. Your beautiful love, and you are kissing my heart all day and night, and dont worry about me meeting a boyfriend. My soul could never live in a dark box, this is only for dead people, and as long as I have a spark of life in my heart and love to all that is sacred and magic in this world I will not accept any boxes. Living means breathing and breathing means open air and just ying, like you and I, my buttery..

After spending time in Radha Kund full of the desire for manjari seva, and fully understanding that my people have to go there I was nearly ready to journey to my baby. In the Hare Rama Guest House foyer in Delhi (on my way to Rishikesh) was a gopi. Her

264

energy caught my attention, not to mention her rosy smile, sidelong glance and big tits! Hee. I wanted. Yamuna, who I was sat with said she reminds me of an animal but I dont know which one. I studied. A squirrel, I said. Yeah, a squirrel. Do you like nuts, I asked the girl, opening our connection. She nodded, surprised. I wasnt surprised to nd out she was going to Rishikesh or that she had the seat next to me, or that she turned down my kiss as it was mistimed. Damn neophyte, I am. By the

My baby just came and sprinkled me with sweetness. (Rishikesh)

time the bus reached Rishikesh ve hours late all the people on the bus were friends. I was so happy. The journey was a great success, but others were complaining, tired. They dont see the beauty of disasters!! Shyamali had arrived a few days earlier from Varanasi. I was pulled immediately to her. She was eating breakfast in the Ganga View Caf. Instantly I felt the surprise was too intense for her. We hugged for a while and then spoke a little but then a cold mood came over her. Baby, I cant give you love or receive it at the moment, but I do love you. Im just in a strange space. We walked down the street totally disconnected from each other. She was sharing a room with a girl, so I found a room in another guesthouse. In the Cnaan Restaurant I cried and cried. After a while we found a sweeter space and managed to whisper, mmmm, to each other. I returned to my room. Pain, pain. So empty the room. So empty my heart without my Shyamali. I cried and cried, and then picked myself up and walked to the Bombay Guest House. Yael (Yasodhara), the girl on the bus, saw me on the way and comforted me with parental affection. Yamuna took me in her sisterly arms and comforted me no end. I walked home, dazed, but peaceful, and bumped into Shyamali. She had found a happy spirit and was running around with a

265

young seven-year-old girl scaring people. It was beautiful to see my Radha with a sweet manjari an aquarian child, a demigod, or fairy, come to this universe for manjari bhava, left only to play and teach the adults through it. We went alone to the Cnaan again and fell into cuddling, and words, beautiful words of love for each other. I walked her home happily. I had never been so in love with her. The play was becoming intense, ecstastic. ButWHY THE UNSTEADY, MENTAL, EDGY, SELF-CONSCIOUS, PARANOID ENERGY? I sought Prabhujis eyes in a photo for an answer. Despite my soul growing, my love for Krishna and everyone growing, I have been feeling mentally agitated, depressed. Before enlightenment there is a nal depression, Kamal told me he had once read. It was time to make spiritual the apparent negative. In the spiritual world, in the ecstasy matrix of Goloka Vrindavan, all emotions are found, even depression, disgust, suicidal tendency. These moods are all manifestations of divine love, so they are all ecstatic. It is hard to understand that they could be positive, but the depression of Radha in separation from Krishna is producing such intense inner ecstasy that She is unsure if she wants to die or live. The way to turn all emotions into ecstasy is to accept all emotions. Like a child. A child will cry, sob frantically at small things. But they are not small to a child. Everything looks small to adults yet everything looks huge to a child, who is super-sensitive. Radha is the most supersensitive soul so She feels everything to unimaginable proportions. As we grow towards this sensitivity, our mind checks us, and tries to tell our soul, dont go there. And this causes the imbalance. If we allow our soul to go there by embracing the emotions now caused by an inux of divine love, then we will nd that in the emptiness of a depression is the fullness of life and in the turbulence of insecurity is absolute steadfastness. Once we embrace the ocean waves we dont capsize. Once we embrace our dharma we are in the play. And Krishna will force you into the play. If you are lazy to be crazy he will make you hazy. He forces you to accept yourself by giving you a bash on the head if you step just slightly outside of his perfect vision of you. Stability and instability, clarity and confusion, security and insecurity become separated by the thinnest of lines, till the line disappears completely and everything is everything, and everything is ecstastic.

266

I woke late and wrote for hours, laughing, playing ute, crying, singing; Shyamali arrived and blessed my meagre existence. So sensitive. Our bodies are becoming souls. Radha Kund had stripped me naked, transformed me. I was so delicate and at last I started to understand the female. We made our way to her guesthouse where I heard, after playing Shyamalis ute for a while, its you. It was Noura smiling at me in disbelief. The most beautiful girl in the universe. She looked like the most beautiful girl in the universe, Premila Manjari, me. She looked like how I was going to look. A shiver down my spine. I had three days left in India. Something told me they were going to be a full three days. There was instant attraction. Noura was the reason I split with Jaya Sri. She had been depressed at that time but now an Israeli guy, who I knew, had changed this and she glowed bright with joy. I introduced Shyamali and Noura to each other. Instant attraction. For an hour I observed them talking, the two most beautiful girls in the world. And as they did their bodies became mirrors for each other, reecting exact same poses. My mind was in a spin. I was ostracized from the ow of conversation, and happily became the photographer. But Noura I was so attracted, in front of my Shyamali? Nearing the end of my book did my soul mate arrive to add the strangest twist. Both girls were beyond comparison it seemed, but so different. Absolutely different! Later, I returned to the guesthouse after Kamal had pulled me away from my writing. I shouted to you on the street but you didnt hear me, you looked busy. I was avoiding the play to be able to write about the play, I told him. It was all so intense. I was trying to avoid falling in love by looking down at the oor and walking fast through Laxmanjhula. Yamuna wants to see you, he said. I had to go. In the Bombay guesthouse that evening was a circle of friends, old and new, beautiful souls congregated for the intensity of lila. I could feel Shyamali wasnt there so didnt go to her room. Instead I sat with Yasodhara, who kissed me, squeezed my hand. Yamuna brought me a present a peacock feather. It was, I knew immediately, a blessing for my romance with Yasodhara. Yasodhara was wearing all orange, my second colour, then Noura arrived in a piercing purple shawl, stealing my mind. I smoked ek shakta and was so high, so sensitive, so delicate so quickly. A beautiful guy was

267

speaking beautiful things but then Shyamali arrived. I cannot hear you now, I told him. He tried to speak more clearly. No, no my senses have been stolen so it will be wrong to pretend Im listening to you. She came to me and sat. She was more distant than I. I absorbed her. She wore an orange bindi which looked amazing, but why orange and not purple? I wanted my baby to be number one; I didnt have the energy to nd a new Radha? What was happening? I had been caressing the foot of Yasodhara as we sat on a blanket. I continued again as Shyamali sat next to me speaking to the guy next to her. I didnt know what was going to happen but it felt huge. Shyamali left to join the jam session upstairs. After a while I noticed Noura had gone to her room and was there with Kamal. I joined them leaving Yasodhara for a moment. They were reading Osho tarot cards. Without shufing, or any faith inducing meditation, I picked up half the pack and turned. Trust. A picture of a man in a mid-air swallow dive. All cards have truth, Kamal said, questioning the poignancy of tarot. But it is now, I said, and everything has truth. I read trust in the tarot book. Now (the rst word) is the time to be a bungee jumper The rest I didnt need to catch. Noura was smiling at me, revealing her beauty. I knew what He was telling me to do. I half did it. Which is worse than full or not doing anything. I kissed her on the cheek. What was that? she asked. A pathetic attempt at bungee jumping, I told her and laughed. From that moment her defences were on guard and any words from me became apparent attacks of a desperate lover. I didnt care much. She was my destiny. Was she? Shyamali arrived in the room. I barely noticed her. What the fuck was happening? Shyamali and Noura connected and after a while of chatting joked how maybe they should be making love with each other. They are reections of each other, said Kamal (aka Truth). But so different, he continued. Noura is male on the outside and female on the inside and Shyamali is female on the outside and male on the inside. I left the room for space and sat back with Yashodhara. I told her about the bungee jumper. I knew what He wanted me to do, I told her. What was that? There He was again!! I leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. She allowed me to with happiness. I began to speak deep

268

truths of love. There was a guy next to us listening to our conversation and I didnt feel comfortable revealing my heart in his presence. I knew what He wanted me to do. Lets go to the roof, I suggested. A yes with the eyes. We kissed. It was so powerful for me I couldnt be normal about it. I was abnormal, insane so in ecstasy, and she allowed it. I spoke for hours about what was happening that night, about what was going to happen in the world in the next few years, about how Jesus Christ was sitting next to her, everything. We were close and kissed between revelations. Shyamali came onto the roof. Immediately I held out my hand for her to join us. I didnt feel bad. Things were too intense to feel bad. I encouraged her to sit. What is this, a picnic? Im going to bed. She said and walked off. I dont want to upset anyone, said Yasodhara. Me neither, but I am not in control. It has to be. Yasodhara returned to the conversation. We kissed a parting kiss a few times, and I wondered what is the next play? I was aware of the power of junctions and the power of curious nights. We peered over the roof wall. Layalatov. It was Noura saying goodnight (in Hebrew), just on the way to her room. I knew what He was telling me. I took a deep breath and refused the invitation. When I become a child with no fear my world will be so crazy! But I will be in the centre of the tornado. At this moment I am close and it is producing the last intense imbalance before eternal peace. And I will not be alone in this truth. So much on my head. Come and see me tomorrow. Yasodhara Whats this? A picnic? Shyamali And Noura? Who was she to me? I returned home. A beautiful note from Shyamali was on my door. I had seen her since she wrote it. The words were full of sweet possessive love and gentle affectionate words I always longed to hear from her. But strangely, they didnt melt me. I felt aloof from her. I sat, prepared for writing, when I noticed on my bed the burnt photos and other photos laid

269

out in a reading. The photo of Sai Baba resting higher on a pillow than the others on my shawl. I had looked through the photos and arranged them without knowing before I left earlier. It was the second reading. Who was she? The answer was in front of me. I studied well. Krishna was missing. It was obvious that this was signicant to the study. Shyamali I could barely feel. These photos had given me such ecstasy, but at this moment I felt nothing for her. It was strange. I chanted a while. I looked into the photos. The photo of Shyamali on the front cover of the book was signicant. I put it against the picture. She was Radha. The exact same energy. I put the photo of Premila there complete attraction. I had two photos of Premila; the burnt one and a new reprint. The burnt photo was underexposed, revealing a golden complexioned girl. The reprint was dark, revealing Premila to have blackish skin, the colour of Noura, and the colour of KRISHNA. They are exact opposites. I remembered Kamals words. Next to the photo of Premila, which I placed under the burnt picture, Radha glowed with complete love. It was not that Premila was Krishna. Noura was. My Krishna, who is very feminine compared with this worlds man, would look like Noura. And I would look like Krishna. Of course, how else would Radhas maidservant look? Premila is a golden skinned manjari, the complexion and qualities of Radha and the features of Krishna. An eleven-year-old girl, internally the same as Radha, externally resembling Krishna. In this way she constantly reminds Radha of Krishna in Her separation and Krishna of Radha in His. And in my eternal play, Premila Manjari, me, I am the favourite manjari of both Radha and Krishna. Therefore, in my play, when Radha is in need, she immediately remembers me and allows me to serve Her. That is my reality. You will be the favourite in yours. So how would Noura t into my life? She didnt and doesnt know any of this of course. I remembered the name I gave her, secretly, two years ago. Lolita. Premila is a servant of Radha, through Lolita. Premila is born in Lolitas village. Would this mean I would have to fall in love with her as well as Shyamali. Should I politely suggest it giving her my crazy evidence? I thought about the two girls who were to be super-imposing themselves into my eternal reality. Noura immediately attractive, her diamond smile constant, for everyone to see. Shyamalis diamond smile is hidden, like a secret treasure. Nobody knows it and she uses it only for me. As I thought again of Shyamali, her qualities came to mind. Nowhere in this world have I met such a girl with divine qualities, Radhas qualities. She rushed into my heart through all the pictures and

270

memories and I cried in love, in union with her. I read the message she left me again. It melted me over and over. Krishna is the attractor of all souls. Yet Radha is the attractor Him. The world is absorbed by Gods beauty. The peacock however is absorbed by the peahen. Who then is the most beautiful. Krishna is the essence of love. Radha is RADHA IS THE QUINTESSENCE OF LOVE AND LOVE IS THE QUINTESSENCE OF EVERYTHING RADHA IS EVERYTHING Lavanya sara rasa sara sukhaika sara Karunya sara madhura cchabi rupa sare Vaidagdhya sara ratikeli vilasa sara Radhabhide mama manokhila sara sare She is the essence of elegance; the essence of rasa; the essence of bliss; the essence of compassion; the essence of sweet effulgent and beautiful forms; the essence of cleverness and the essence of erotic playfulness. My mind is completely absorbed in Sri Radha who is the essence of the essence, the quintessence, of everything. Radha Rasa Sudhanidhi It was dawn by the time Id sussed out what God looked like and why, so I slept for a while. I had a drama in the morning to prepare for.

I have one night left in Rishikesh, four in India. Im going to meet Shyamali. I think.

7th March 2005 After writing, I walked to Bombay Guest House. No immediate connection with Shyamali. I sensed her mana. The rst person I saw was Noura to whom I showed the picture of Premila.

271

She doesnt look that like me, she said. Wow, she really does, came the judgement of an indefensive impartial judge. Yasodhara appeared. Everyone appeared except for Shyamali. They were all like shells to me. I wanted my baby. Only my baby. And she was locked in a room accepting a massage. Desperately I played songs she loves on guitar to break her contrary mood that was obviously symbolized by the bolted door in front of me. Finally I was allowed to see her. She was writing a beautiful note expressing how amazing the guys touch was in massage. Deeper pain. Are you still here? she said after a minute or two of me hovering. Go away. I walked out the room. But where to go? There was only a void. I had no desire to do anything but smell the neck of my lover and feel her warm love. I returned after pacing around for a while and she met me as I was in tears. No sympathy. Maybe you need to nd another Radha. Why do you do it in front of my nose? I know you had something romantic going on on the roof. I dont deny it. But baby, you said... It was pointless repeating her words of allowance. It was now, and she was angry, cold, and nothing I could say was going to change it. I cried pathetically. This made things worse as if I was attempting to make her feel guilty. I will never be with another girl again babe. I only want to be with you. You are lying, she retorted. I wasnt.

----Gita Govinda ----- In my hearts sleepless state I wildly enjoy her loving me. Why doI follow her now in the woods? Frail Radha, I know jealousy wastes your heart, but I cant beg forgiveness if I dont know where you are. You haunt me, appearing, disappearing again. Why do you deny me winding embraces you once gave me? Forgive me now! I wont do this to you again. Give me a vision, beautiful Radha.I burn with the passion oove.Damn me, my wanton ways made her leave in anger.----I felt like jumping off the building. For the rst time in my life I felt like committing suicide. I wanted to disappear. My body was in the way of that. My existence was in the way. I left;

272

a walking corpse. I staggered down the road and into Yamuna and Yasodhara. Both allowed me to cry with them, on them. The love I needed from them they gave. I felt relieved, unbelievably peaceful. I became full, alive. Lets go and see Santi Ma, they said. I followed. I knew I would see her soon as the town was talking about her and her photo told me come. Beautiful people were gathered there; the type of beautiful people who have no beautiful devil in them. People smiling and bowing and praying and thanking God for all sorts of beautiful things. Yasodhara and I sat touching each other. The energy passed swiftly between our bodies. We found each others ngers during the dance performance and left before any discourse. We wandered to Ramajhula. We became closer, holding hands and feeling warm. I had lied to Shyamali. Had I? I said I would never be with another girl. It was true. But now was now. Now this beautiful gopis eyes soothed me and I was where Krishna wanted me to be. Where I understood so closely how he gets to be where he gets to be. I knew that Yasodhara was playing the role of Candravali in my movie. There are two main groups of gopis in Krishna lila - Radhas group and Candravalis group. Candravali is the right wing expansion of Radha, who picks Krishna up, gives him life when He is feeling total pain having been shunted from Radha due to her mana. Krishna cannot say no to love, and thus, when he is with Radha he swears that he will never be with Candravali again, but then when He is empty, near death, Candravali gives Him the sweet love which is His life-air. It is not out of hate he goes with Her but out of surrender to love energy. Candravali is the way Radha loves Krishna in times that she hates Him. And this hate of Radhas is the most mysterious product of divine love, existing to move the play from intense separation to intense union. We ate and walked back to Laxmanjhula, passing Shyamali on the way. It had to happen, we both knew. Shyamali invited us both to go with her to a jam session but she behaved as a happy new friend and it made me feel sick. We walked on and Yasodhara came with me to my room. We talked, mostly about Shyamali, and touched each other. We ended up naked, caressing each other, but she didnt want to make love to me. I was Shyamalis. She left me and so, alone, I wept for my baby. The next morning she came to me. Shyamali. I was surprised. I saw she was warm, open, calm. She sat next to me on the bed and I cried in her lap, tears of remorse. Soft words and soft

273

touches brought us to sensitive love. It touched new heights. Her beauty Id never truly seen before this. I was so in love, like I had never known love before, like I had never even seen it portrayed in lms or written in books. ----Gita Govinda---- Friends are hostile, Cool wind is like re, Moon nectar is poision, Krishna torments me in my heart. But even when he is cruel I am forced to take him back. Women with night-lily eyes feel love in a paradox of passion-bound innity.----

Now it was becoming clear that Shyamalis contrary mood was a symptom of prema becoming thickened and becoming mana. We were servants of love who were unable to love at times due to a certain crooked consciousness that doesnt allow union. The separations were painful but even during the deepest insecurity I felt as Shyamali was cold, I felt deep down unbelievably secure in the knowledge that our hearts were well and truly welded together and nothing could ever separate them again. 8th March 2005 Yesterday evening, rather fragile due to heightened sensitivity, I entered Bombay Guest House not knowing who It was Yamuna who saw me rst. Then Shyamali came in smiling. Pete, I think you have to meet this girl. She had brought with her another girl from America who had just met a guy who seriously claimed he was Jesus Christ! Other people started to gather in the room as if an arranged sermon was about to commence. The girl, Renee Finkelstein (Radharani), started to tell about this guys plans to gain power, become rich and destroy America. Maybe I had got the idea all-wrong, and should consult him in my own bid to be the Messiah. Either that or he was the six millionth fraud to date. The Messiah will be protected by orange effulgence, Radharani Funkenstein started to quote him, just as Yasodhara walked in dressed all in orange. It was fun to tell the girl I was Jesus Christ. Wow this is some day, she said, then began to pile into a thousand and one spiritual questions,

274

providing me with the opportunity to show the glory of acintya bhedabheda tattva. Every question I answered both and explained how and why the every answer is always both due to reality existing on opposite paradigms simultaneously and how that both answers always came back to LOVE. Beautiful people sat attentively, absorbing, some more shocked, more concerned with my status than others. At times Shyamali beautifully took over from me to give commentary. I loved this so much. As I wrote down ideas for this writing, she voiced, Dentist, more concerned that I should see to my toothache than world redemption. This is madhurya, sweetness which covers aisvarya, reverence. Shyamali came back with me to sleep. In the night I had intense energy. I could hardly touch my love as my body was lled with electric. There was confusion around me in my dreams, in my premonitions. There were volcanic eruptions and a big explosion; and a voice. YOU ARE THE EXPLOSION. Do you have an ego about being the messiah? Sivaray asked me, straight, the next day. Does Mel Gibson? I replied. He understood. And the revolution? Sensitive people know it is coming. Along with the catastrophes. In fact, this is the law of nature. One extreme guarantees the other. With spiritual revolution comes material devolution. From material disaster comes spiritual unity. People know something. But folks, be prepared. It is more than just something. These disasters will shake cities to the ground creating a huge population loss on this planet. There will be chaos, people whose security has been in the temporary will suffer and ght with eachother. Governments will lose their power. Money will be no longer. The computer network may crash and destroy the tenous foundations of all societies. In the mayhem, the spiritually aware will unite, forming a web, a bond all over the world. As the sky becomes black the stars become brighter. The apocolypse will make the revolution apparent, and all the shepherds will call the sheep, and the choice between chaos and ecstasy will be easy to make. In Brahma Vaivarta Purana the GOLDEN AGE is predicted. This is the age of aquarius. It is not a small change in the planet but a huge pole shift. Literally, the north will be the south, and every man for himself will become every man for eachother. Heaven on Earth. Eternity will begin, (will be experienced). The clock will stop. The Mayan Calendar discontinues in 2012 not because of the

275

end of the world but because of the end of time! Imagine what a radical change needs to take place for this to be. But dont fear. You can stay for the party. You can choose to be a chosen one. If not, if you are one of the many to leave the dance oor for the sake of the party people, then you will remorse in the last moment before you leave and in that nal moment you will remember the prophecy, you will remember me and that will allow you to come to the a future party on another happening in the wake of Mahaprabhus appearance elsewhere if not back to this world for the aforementioned advertised, prophesised bash. Disaster is Gods love cunningly disguised. And death, once you know it to be the gateway to (eternal) life, will be, in the next life, or this one. You are fortunate souls to be here now; especially if you know it. Radharani decided she would come to Vrindavan with me to see it through my eyes. She had been there the week before but was not impressed by the religious insensitive fanatacism. 6.00p.m. On the train to Mathura And here she is sat next to me. Along with Efrat (Indulekha) who also decided to come after the sermon. My goodbye to Shyamali was another example of the disaster/unity logic. She couldnt touch me. She couldnt allow me to touch her. I dont know why, it just feels violent sometimes. Im too sensitive, she said. Shirley had been exactly the same with me last year, therefore, this time I could understand both occasions. After a period of much sex, the last week with Shirley was an intense assortment of emotions. It was the soul becoming naked, and when the soul becomes naked it moves in the opposite direction as the body becoming naked. In other words, the body becoming naked means less clothes, and the soul becoming naked means more clothes. The body becomes the souls clothes. This is transformation of matter to spirit and it is a delicate affair. This is why the highest expression of God is a God with esh and blood. The journey therefore is from body to soul to soul body. I understand, I understand, I told Shyamali, for I truly did. With my understanding she softened, and allowed me slowly but surely to embrace her. It became sweet, SO sweet. Let me go now, I said, I want your last photo to be sweet. I kissed her and left. She chased me and caught me on the stairs. Baby, I love you.

276

These words. These words. We kissed, gently but steadily more passionate. I pulled her into me, her body, what substance was this? I touched her soul body, squeezing, feeling joy, so much joy. Too much joy. I tried to get away while the going was good in fear of it being bad again. Let me go, I told her. No. She kept me in her embrace on the stairs. You want to go to the roof? I asked with a cheeky smile. Baby... So shy. So innitely gorgeous. I want you more than ever before my sweet; even the thought of making love now exceeds every previous experience. mmmm... she told me, trying to hide in the wall. We left each other like this. So from Rishikesh to Haridvar to Delhi to Mathura. Two days to go and a premonition of further intensity. Maybe this has something to do with the three LSD tabs Tamal gave to me as I visited him. Jesus on acid? What next?

277

Chapter 5 The Present

However far away, I will always love you. However long I stay, I will always love you. Whatever words I say, I will always love you. I will always love you. The Cure 9th March 2005 Good morning. Anyone for chai? Feels nice now Im in the present and no more history to write. I can be personal. I dont know what is in store for me but it better be damn good, I dont want a shit end to my new testament. Forgot to mention the jam session on my last night in Rishikesh. The beautiful fruit of youth sat around a circle. Shyamali was distant from me, on the other side of the circle. Iona, the sweetest manjari, started playing games, teaching the adults how to live. She ran over to me. I told her, Tell Shyamali pshpshshpssh, I whispered She ran over and lifted Shyamalis hair and put her mouth to her ear, and then her ear to Shyamalis mouth, and ran back to me. Shyamali says pshpshpshpshshhspsh, she whispered. I smiled. The message was perfectly untainted. Shyamali smiled over at me. Radharani sat on the makeshift bed used as a seat next to me and played guitar. Shyamali came to sit with me. Then Noura arrived with Tamal. All the people around me, mostly girls, couldnt take their eyes off Noura, shes so beautiful. This is the magnetism of Krishna. They sat with us on the bed also. Radharani sat between Shyamali and Noura, entertaining them both. So when Radharani asked what I saw in the jam session, I told her, your eternal manjari service. I met Parvati Muni, a disciple of my Maharaja who was still following my story attentively. He had a lot of space and I had a lot of stuff to put in it. Parvati, Radharani, Indulekha Krishna was giving me clean mirrors to reect the nal teachings, coming through me with a crescendo. Indulekha had crystal clear eyes. My madhura bhava was reected in them thus I saw that she had the same mood for me. She could have had quite easily but was happy in a crystal clear neutral mood. India has taken away my sex desire, she revealed later. She was moving beyond triguna, the

278

modes of nature, and Krishna was pleased. As we set out into our day, a buttery landed on Indulekhas eyebrow, then ew onto her nger. I had just, minutes earlier, told her about the time a buttery landed on Stavs nger after we had made love in the Naddi forest. She understood the symbolism immediately. I was proud to take the girls to Iskcon. There is something very magnanimous about everything which the crown-jewel of magnanimous saints, Prabhupada, created. The magnanimous swoop low to catch and lift high. The deities are very pleased to shower their grace on folk who have too many anarthas to even recognize this grace. Such is grace. Radharani started to dance in kirtan, as I did. She offered me her arms, innocently unaware that it just isnt done in the temple. So after just a moments hesitancy, brought about by my religious samskara, we were whirling each other round in the middle of the temple dance oor. I stared into her eyes as we spun fast. So stable!. Then we stopped and the world around us began to swirl around. It is dizzying when you notice yourself as part of that world but if you keep you eye on your lover you will nd total stability in the midst of apparent chaos! It was Siva Ratri, so it was an auspicious day for visiting the place where Siva Himself begs entry for. We bathed in Radha Kund and I relished the gopi-like qualities of my friends who felt so at home in the nal playing place of the romantics. Isa came over to us to offer lunch prasadam and accommodation for the night. Everything was beautifully owing. Once you penetrate with positive desire, Krishna reciprocates with gracious acceptance. God helps those who help themselves by becoming the female, the invisible force behind your creation. So where did I want to go next. Uccagaon. Parvati paid for the taxi (a stylish last day for the baba!) and left me and the two girls to enter the beauty of Vraja alone. Beauty, beauty, beauty. Pristine, soul-caressing beauty in my favourite village of Lolitas birth and Premila Manjaris birth. Would I see her again? Was I supposed to or was a photo enough? The scenario would have made a great movie of course, what movie is better than the real one especially this one, especially today. I wasnt so anxiously in search of myself. We met many beautiful girls and boys in the village, but no Premila. We were shown all the places where Radha and Krishna picnicked and a ve thousand year old rock which photographed the scene of Krishna playing the ute next to Radha and Lolita. In Varsana, down the road, I cried for half an hour at the thought of leaving my Radhas playground. I was only a day away from the ight but it seemed a million light years away, more that

279

that, no, not more the concept of eternity is not comparable. I was in the present more than ever, but for a moment the knowledge of my imminent departure sabotaged my consciusness and broke my heart. And then it was put together again by Radhas near perfect reections, who were pouring me with their sweet love, forcing me with that very power, to pour mine into them. We were beautifully close in Varsana, where an electric energy brings thousands every day scurrying to get a glimpse of Radha and Krishna at darsan time. I made my way right to the front and looked at the sea of crazed women at the front. A few of them were decidedly masculine, stubble, muscles, Adams apple. Are there any men here today? I felt like asking aloud. No, no, in pretend high voices. These girls were, are, the craziest, so deep in gopi bhava that it has reached the outside. We three were in ecstasy. Everything was beautiful. We played with each others hands all the way back to Radha Kund. We had one room for one night. Three people all with love for each other. We had been given three tabs of LSD the day before. We were in the most erotic place in the universe. It was the climax of my book. Yes, I wanted the obvious but that want was a desire beyond desirelessness, agitation beyond satisfaction. So what did the girls want? Indulekha attracted both me and Radharani romantically, but she wasnt willing. We swallowed half a tab each and went to sit by Radha Kund. It was raining, lightening decorated the village horizon thunder announced the occasion. I jumped into Radha Kund, into Radha, naked. No one followed. In fact, Radharani, reversed history by stealing my clothes and running off gleefully. She was gorgeously naughty, playful and mercifully forgetful. She left my blanket by the steps! We chanted for a while with the babas who keep 24hr maha-mantra ow-ing through the night, before returning to nish the LSD. The girls were sensitive enough. They could feel the place had heightened there consciousness and extra stimuli threatened to be too much. We were alive through the night, and sensual. Sensual enough to detect the spirit of CHAITANYA. Whats the deal with Chaitanya, Indulekha asked. I couldnt take my eyes off him in the Iskcon temple. He has the mood of Radha... As soon as I said it I noticed it. The photo of Shyamali and the photo of Chaitanya had exactly the same energy. She was He. He is She on the inside and He on the outside. A man with female

280

energy. A lover of the Nadiya Nagaris and a lover of the brahmana boys, especially the incarnation of Radha Herself, GADADHARA PANDIT GOSVAMI. Indulekha looked at me intensely with her crystal gopi eyes. Radharanis eyes had become the shape of a does eyes with greed for rasa. Chaitanya makes love to the manjaris who are in His lila brahmin boys-cum-Navadvipa damsels. The truth which I felt when I rst read about Chaitanyas mood of a lover now had nowhere to hide Prabhujis words tell everything rendering me without shelter. The highest expression of love anywhere in existence is the love between Chaitanya and Gadadhara and though that love is portrayed by those revealing His secret madhura rasa as heterosexual love Gadadhara becoming female as love changes His body, there is also another avour, unnatural yet super-natural. Yes folks. God is gay. Mahaprabhu is a lover with whom everything is possible. So why does our own mental taboo stop Him from tasting ALL FLAVOURS in life. It doesnt. He does. And it is the highest thing. Apparently the lowest but absolutely the highest. One matrix, the perfect reection of the other. What is considered the lowest here, when touched by prema becomes the highest. It is so obvious, Indulekha exclaimed. I kissed her and then explained how Chaitanya is actually from Middlesex. And so, I realize as I write on the train to Delhi, that, not only did Prabhuji give me his name, Premananda, and not did he give me his premananda, but he also gives me his form and qualities. I will become him to make love to Chaitanya, who is none other than Premila, Noura, Krishna, Shyamali, Radha, and I mixed in one form. Thus, in my highest play, I AM Premananda das Gosvami, who, when love becomes so intense that the priti nagara, the abode of love subjectively experienced also becomes an objective abode of love, and the male turns once more into a female, known as Premila Nadiya Nagari, servant and lover of Chaitanya and Gadadhara. The mind boggles. And this boggling is amazing! Sab Kuch Milega. Everything is possible. You will turn into Chaitanya yourself sometimes in the height of mad love. God does allow you to be God. But He does it like this. For then you can experience the oneness and the difference of the Absolute Truth. So why would he lump you with only being God. Dream high! Your fantasy creates your destiny. I was in total ecstasy, spiritual, mental and physical, together. Prema leaves nothing out. Indulekha turned shy seeing me touching myself, so I switched off and came to meet the girls in their mood. It could have been more perfect, but that is the perfect thing about perfect things. They are

281

perfect and couldnt be more perfect and could be more perfect simultaneously. We moved onto the roof to witness the fantastic sky, the sun rising over Radha Kund. That was this morning. Now is now. All I know is Im writing on a train. 00.00 Midnight 10 March 2005 Am I going to see my family? Am I going to save the world? Maybe, but all I know is that Im going. I thought I may feel a huge sense of occasion as I leave India after four and a half years to head for the west on a mission from God. But it feels like taking a bus to town. This is reality. Everything is capable of the opposite polarity. Everything is a paradox if it wants to be; if you have the space for it being. And it is love. I am sat next to Tamal. Radharani told me she had a dream and you would meet someone very special on your ight. Tamal mailed me to say we were on the same ight. I bumped into him in Delhi as I said goodbye to Radharani and Indulekha, so we shared a taxi. And as we boarded the plane, sure enough he was row 30 seat C and I was row 30 seat D. My best friend from all my travels on his way to Israel; me on the way to England, sharing the same rst leg to... Uzbekistan! I was looking forward to introducing my new disciples to Prabhuji. Having just read the above to Radharani and Indulekha in the Ajay Guest House in Delhi, Radharani pointed out how I had missed out the beautiful initiation ceremony, which we performed on the bank of Radha Kund. It was beautiful, in the sense that it created a deeper bond between us. Otherwise, what is initiation but a formality, a tradition, an acceptance of discipline? But the girls are not my disciples, they are my lovers. I cannot discipline them; they can do that themselves if they feel the need to. I merely love them. I gave them beads to chant on and recommend they chant, to clean the mirror of the heart and drift consciously into the ever increasing ocean of divine ecstasy. They may or may not use them. That is their part. One name of Krishna may in fact create a surge of prema. I look at Shyamali and see how she has grown. She has grown due to love, and due to the re of devotion touching her simple dry grass heart. She is now a re herself; a goddess of love. After obtaining my visa stamp in Mathura we walked to the Gaudiya Math. It was the last time I would see Prabhuji forI didnt know. The girls nearly walked past. I shouted them back. For
th

282

sensitive girls such apparent mistakes point the nger at a deeper reason. The temple was empty. I walked up to Prabhujis room, the room where I had rst met him, the room where I had stolen food from him, the room where I had received so many crooked riddles and sidelong glances. That room was locked and owers lay at the bottom of the door. He was in Navadvipa. How could it be? I was horried. Stunned, I remained on the spot, tears streaming down my face. Yet in that non-meeting was most intense meeting. I saw him in my heart staring at me standing there, aware of my desire to see him, aware of my desire to accept and give love. I took a ower and left. Not one secret family member was there to greet me. On passing the temple minutes later I knew I could not re-enter it. Ever. Prabhuji had set me free. Now I was totally his. Both union and separation merged, perfected in my heart. I cried in the arms of my sweet friends on the way to Isapur. It was over. It had begun. 00.30 10th March 2005 Ping pong Ladies and gentleman please fasten your seatbelts the ight is about to commence

283

Afterward, again Stories, so many stories. I cannot possibly convey what has happened to me since being in the west again. So much happiness receiving my familys love again, deeper than before.So much revelation in Germany, Switzerland and Brazil, where Krishna introduced me to ayahuasca, the medicinal plant used by Shamans which melts the ego and allows perception of subtle dimensions. An increase in sensitivity is a blessing and mixed with the love from the heart of Radhas devotees can only be a step towards Absolute Sensitive Love. And that love comes with all avours of emotions. So much suffering in Barcelona as Shyamali felt I was suffocating her with my desire to hold her one time. As we came together without cause, we split without cause, leaving me desperate, suicidal, empty, then full, invincible and alive. Now I understand that she loves me. Her love for me was beyond my belief as she looked into my eyes and told me. Now, as she castes me aside almost hatefully, I know only she loves me. I cry at times for her, but Krishna turns my attention to the revolution. I can tell you that people all over the world are ready. I myself am still preparing for the time when it happens. I am creating it. You are creating it too. Everyone has been creating it. But I, meaning you are the important one. I am taking it upon myself to change the world. You do the same. That is what you can do. What more can we do? Together we should do whatever we can to see as many people reach the highest divinity possible. I will be hung on a cross again maybe but I am not concerned for that. Everything is perfect. I am nothing but a mirror into which people look and decide they want to love or destroy. The whole world is in fact a mirror. It moves as we do. It is very subtle so the gross cannot see this. Gross see gross. Divine see divine. Gross meet gross. Divine meet divine. God is just the guy you meet when you have reached the highest point in internal consciousness. Soon, the movement will increase and people will have to ght or surrender. After ghting for a while, the masses will join the growing ball of divine love and many will be swept into the highest internal realm. It seems far away but when the sky becomes darker the stars shine brighter. We are brothers, we need to share what we have. It is simple. It is not a new philosophy. Yet, now is the time we must apply it. We have enough for everyones needs, not for everyones greeds. So we will soon be forced to give up our greeds and then we must rebuild our planet on the basis of needs. And incredibly, we will all realize that our needs are very simple, yet absolutely satisfying.

284

We need love. We are eachothers satisfaction. We are not meant for isolation, we are meant for unity. It is coming. It is going to be AMAZING people. First disaster then unity. Be prepared for both. It is two days away from Christmas. I will travel to England tomorrow to visit my family for the rst Christmas in ten years. They do not know who I am yet. It doesnt matter. Love matters, and they love me. From there I will go to Israel. At last. I am looking forward to being with old and new friends, and maybe Ill just open that tenth gate. Tenth gate? If you have heard me it is already opened! So I will nally bow out of this impossible task of putting a life in print. Of course, every time I read back, I squirm. I have not come close to glorifying the beautiful people I have met, or the Beautiful People I am about to meet. But really, all this effort is worth is to encourage you towards your beautiful self. I beg forgiveness for disturbing anyone along the way, especially my sweet baby, who adorns the cover. But I am helpless, given to the movement of love. It has moved me thus that is all I know. So America, I leave you tomorrow. You need so much help. Caught up in the nightmare you call a dream, common sense has almost been completely swallowed by law and order. But hope is there. Beauty is there. Beauty is everywhere. Just open these portholes above your nose. Open your heart and your legs will follow. But please, heart rst. Radharani, my partner in crime, has been experimenting her hypnotic regressions with me. Following are two trances. Much love to everyone. I dont care where youve been or what you plan to do. I am yours as you want me. Pitambara. x website: ecstasymatrix.com email: peteamber@gmail.com

285

Trance 1: San Jose, CA, November, 2005

Radharani: you are now completely relaxed. Id like you to increase your perspective, to go to an objective place where you can look in on Petes life. What do you see? Pitambara: I see this play going off. Im being controlled. R: Who is controlling you? P: God. R: Why? P: To create a perfect example. R: I want you to imagine yourself in a hallway. To your sides are doors that contain answers to any questions you may have. I want you pick a door that interests you. What do you see? P: People are shouting at me. You slut. We dont need you. (Petes voice is now slow and he takes a long time to answer the questions) R: Do they represent your fears? P: No They dont understand. R: Where are you? P: Israel, the place that is now Israel. R: What is your name? P: Jesus. R: Do you have followers? P: I feel quite alone. R: Do you have teachers? P: I dont feel any teachers. R: Have you gone anywhere else? P: I went. I came back. R: To the place that is now India? P: Yes. R: What else can you tell me about your life? P: I am a simple man. R: What is your message? P: Love

286

R: Does Krishna have anything to do with it? P: I dont see that is too far away. R: Who is Pete? P: I am Pete I am Jesus and Pete. Always. There is no time. There is only Now. R: Do you heal people? P: I have a lot of power R: How? P: Gods power. R: You have come with Gods power? P: When there is a certain pattern of energy, I come. R: Radharani has a selsh question. P: (Grin). R: Will she travel with you? By Radharani I mean Renee. P: I know. (Grin) She wont leave me R: What about ShyP: - Wait I see something. Whenever someone surrenders I see Radharani and then a light. R: Is the year 2012 important? P: mm I have power again. R: Do you have power in 2011? P: Yes. R: Were the same people with you in Israel? P: Same people. R: They say you had 12 disciples P: I dont see I feel quite alone. They might be, but I feel very alone. R: Who was Mary Magdalene? P: She believes me. It gives me strength. R: Shall I ask about specic people? P: Try. R: I dont know I think there was a Mark? P: I dont see it. R: What do you see? P: There are hecklers. I am walking. There are some supporters in the crowd, but they are shy. They

287

cant do anything. R: Where are you going? P: Prosecution. R: What are they acusing you of? P: Hm Truth. R: Id like you to go back into the corridor. Choose another door: What do you see? P: Cows. Water. R:Where are you? P: Vrindavan R: The Vrindavan on earth or Krishnas Vrindavan? P: Krishnas Vrindavan. R: What is your name? P: Premila I was thinking of lying. I like to lie. (cheeky smile). R: You lie a lot? P: All the time. (smile continues). R: What are you doing? P: I am walking in the forest. R: Where are you going? P: To meet with Krishna. R: Do you see him? P: Yes. He is standing by a tree. He is full of pride. R: Why? P: Because he told his boyfriends about all of his girls. He likes girls. (laughing). R: Does he see you? P: No... Yes, now he sees me. Now he is more proud. (smile). R: Why? P: Because he knows I will relate his beauty to Radha. When he sees manjaris he knows he is seeing Radha. He is so powerful but sweet we are going for a swim. He is spitting the water. He loves girls, but he just uses them for their bodies. (laughs).

288

R: Does Radha miss Krishna? P: She thinks she is with him!... I am with Radha now. She is washing clothes. She sees her own reection in the water. She is looking inside her own eyes and in her heart she sees Krishna R: What does she look like? P: She looks like Shyamali. To me, she looks like Shyamali. R: Is Shyamali Radha or a manjari? P: Both. She is a manjari who looks like Radha. (Smiles) hm now she is dancing around showing off like he is there. She is so happy. Stupid girl (smile) Her mother-in-law asks why she is so happy. She says it is because her husband is coming back. She likes that answer. R: Hes away? P: Hes always away. She doesnt really know him. R: What does he do? P: Business (smiles) Radha loves me. R: Because you look like Krishna? P: Yes. Im an expansion of Krishna. To Krishna I look like Radha, to Radha I look like Krishna. Im like a magnet between them drawing them to each other. R: What is she doing now? P: I am jumping between the lives now. (Pete reaches over without opening his eyes and begins petting my face, then twirling my hair. He laughs who is Mark - then he begins breathing quickly, turns his head) P: Too much ecstasy. I am afraid of myself. I have too much energy. Im like a bomb. But a good bomb (calms down) Okay Im back in the forest My touch gives life to Krishna, otherwise he would die. My touch gives life to Radha otherwise she would die. R: Why? Because you are healer? P: No. Because. No reason. Just because Because Radha gives life to Krishna and Krishna gives life to Radha This hand right here has the power to save Gods life. (holding up his hand) R: Lets go back to Jesuss life. P: You want to take me out of the forest? (smile) R: We dont have to. P: Lets go. Okay back into the corridor R: What do you see?

289

P: I am playing with some rocks. Thinking. R: What are you thinking about? P: How to tell them. R: Are you the Messiah of the Jews? P: I could only reach a few people that time. And this time I will get the rest. I am the messiah. R: What is your message? P: Time. Timing. Faith in timing. R: What do you mean? P: I want people to love. But rst they must have faith in timing. If they understand timing, they can see God. If they understand timing, time disappears. Then they will see the eternal world. R: Is Krishna God? P: Krishna is the highest. Love is the highest. I am back in the forest now (smiles) hm. I see my gurumanjari. Shyamapriya Manjari. She is a quiet girl. But she is very wise, my guru. She lets me play I have many disciples, many manjaris. I am the active one, between Radha and Krishna. What is your name? R: I forgot something Kunja. About the forest where they play. P: Nikunja Vilasini (smiles). (We hear footsteps outside. Pete says, Here comes Dan. Dan walks in.) P: Dan. Kumkuma Manjari. (smiles). R: Do you see Dan in Jesus life? P: mm He is a young boy. A very good boy. He believes me. O.K. Im ready to come out now.

Trance 2
R: What do you see? P: Water R: Are you swimming? P: Bathing. R: What else do you see?

290

P: Trees. R: Is there anyone else around? P: Friends. R: What are they doing? P: Bathing together. R: What is your name? P: Premananda. R: How old are you? P: 15. R: Where are you? P: Bengal. Ganga Bengal. R: Do you know what year it is? P: No. R: Are you sannyas? P: Not sannyas. R: You have sannyas name. Do you know Krishna? P: Yeah. R: Is he your friend? P: Krishna is my Lords deity. R: Do you know Chaitanya? P: Yes. R: Are you a brahman boy? P: Yes/. R: Tell me about Chaitanya. P: Chaitanya is in love. Chaitanya is always dancing. Chaitanyas in love with Krishna. He always wants us to dance, to follow him.. He wants to hear Krishnas name all the time. He tries to reach Krishna by chanting all the time. Before he knows it he becomes Krishna. When he becomes Krishna, his eyes change. Instead of holding out his hands to Krishna he holds out his hands from Krishna. He becomes the Lord. He is the Lord. R: Does he make love to you? P: When he sings gopi gopi gopi gopi (Pete hides his face under the blanket coyly). We go into the forest singing Krishna Krishna Krishna Krishna he comes out singing gopi gopi gopi gopi. (laughs)

291

R: You know what its like to make love to Krishna? P: Do I? Chaitanya comes to me and starts singing gopi gopi gopi gopi and then, he holds me. Looks into my eyes. I see Krishna. So Chaitanya changes. He changes his dancing from like a girl, for Krishna, and then he becomes Krishna, and he looks at me with male eyes, and I become a woman. I am Premila now. R: You become Premila? P: I am Premila. R: In all of your different lives you become the characters from all of your lives? P: I am Premila Nadiya Nagari. I am in Bengal. But in front of me is Krishna-Chaitanya. But this world is in the forest. Nobody can see this world. My body is a boy, but my heart is a girl. But now, my body is a girl also priti nagara. Time stands still, but life continues. The boy is stationary, but the girl is dancing. R: Nobody notices. P: Nobody notices but Chaitanya? Gadadhara Gadadhara is there. R: Who is he? P: Gadadhara is Radharani. Now shes smiling at me. Im unable to say no to Chaitanya. This is Radharanis delight. Like theyre ganging up on me. Both of their desires is to have me experience this. R: And you want it? P: Yes. R:How does it feel? P: Im shy. R: Both want you to experience being a Manjari or being Radha? P: Chaitanya now is Krishna. But Krishna with Radhas heart. So now I see Chaitanya, I see Radha, but its both Radha and Krishna. So I have to comply. Not have to. Now I feel completely the want of Radha for Krishna. R: Its intense? P: I cannot feel it so intensely now. But yeah, its intense. R: If you did youd probably be all over the oor, right? P: Mmmm. (smile) ..but Im still an observer right now. R: Everyone gets to be a brahman boy and nadiya nagari? P: Only a manjari.

292

R: Does everyone get to be manjari? P: Everyone? Not everyones a manjari. From that side everyone here can become a manjari, because theyre not anything yet in that world. R: You are something already in that world? P: I am now. Yes. R: When did you become something? P: Theres no when. When depends on where youre looking from. Now Im in many places. R: Are you in many places because of this state or because of what you have achieved? P: Im in many places because Im aware of many places. Once youre aware of many places, youre in many places. Beforehand youre heading towards getting there. R: In body awareness of Radha Kund, you are in both places? P: In the body? Radha Kund, wow. So Radha Kund, on this planet, both is there. Those of consciousness, theyre in two places. Radha Kund, Uttarpradesh, and Goloka Vrindavan. R: When we were there (in Radha Kund), we were in both places? P: Were you? You know if you were in two places or not. R: Can you experience the high energy there without being in both places? P: You can feel the other world but some people can actually see both when their eyes are clear and Radha reveals. The energy is high. Objectively its the highest place in the subjective realm. R: What about Kurukshetra? P: Kurukshetra I cannot feel it so much. I dont have knowledge so much, but something is happening special. R: What is going on in America... P: (interrupts)..But like Jaganath Puri Jaganath Puri is the place where Chaitanya experienced intense separation. Like Radhas separation. That intensity of separation is not there in the spiritual world, so the material is necessary to experience that separation. So Kurukshetra is like this. R: In Kurukshetra there was separation? P: Meeting and separation together. R: Krishna came down to Kurukshetra? P: Gopis come to Kurukshetra and see Krishna but they cannot be with him. R: They can only be with him in Vrindavan? P: Yes. R: Will you take people to Vrindavan and they will see Krishna?

293

P: If theyre on a level. R: Will you? P: Yeah why not? We can all see him. R: Will His world become this world? Will it reach utopia? P: Yes and no. Subjectively yes, objectively, no. But then objective doesnt matter. Yet there will still be separation from Krishna. Even when everybody realizes they are Krishna in this world. They are not in that world. R: How can they get to that world? P: Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare R: How does that work? P: Hare is Radha, Krishna is Krishna. Radha is in Hare, Krishna is in Krishna. Everything is manifest through their names. R: How long will we have to chant to perceive Them? P: Its not a time, you just have to chant with a pure heart. First you chant, then your heart becomes pure, then your chanting and your heart become full of rasa, and rasa becomes higher and higher. Guru has mood from guru, has mood from his guru who has mood from his guru who has mood from Gadadhara Pandit. Then you become the mood of Radharani, then you see Krishna. R: Is the goal to see Krishna? P: The goal is to love Krishna, and more, the goal is to love Radha. R: Why? P: Cause this is highest experience in the world. R: Are there higher experiences in other worlds? P: No. Their world is ever increasing. The experience of Vrindavan grows. So its not a stagnant place, its an ever-increasing place. So absolute love increases forever in this place. R: Its always seen through Radha/Krishna? P: You have a part in the play. Radha consciousness / Krishna consciousness. R: Which is higher? P: Both is complete, Radha is deeper. Krishna is broader. R: Krishna is universal love and Radha is deep love? P: Yeah, I know what you mean. Krishna has deep love, but its deep love for everybody. Radha has deep love, only for Krishna, she is totally possessed. Therefore Krishna doesnt have this

294

experience. He loves other girls. Other girls are actually Radha. But he doesnt understand that, hes not aware of that. So even though Krishna never really loves any one apart from Radha, his experience is that he does. But Radha never experiences loving everybody else, so objectively and subjectively she is only xed in one place. R: Were they once people? P: Once? They are always people. R: By people I mean with physical forms that die. P: In a sense, because the spiritual world came to this world. And it looked just like ours. You think when divine world come to ours youll know but it looks so perfect you cannot tell. R: What world do you come from? P: I was just thinking of me. Cause I am the same. I am not from here only. R: Where are you from? P: There. But there is a big place. There means energy. That energy is one. And when you are there you can split up. You can experience many different aspects of there, or one, or have no individual perception of reality at all. When you come here you have individuality. You have pastime, you have yogamaya for the play. R: Am I from here or there? P: Mm, good question. You from here or there not sure. And it doesnt really matter. It matters in the sense of energy. But practically if youre covered by yogamaya, covered by maya, then its important that people consider you from here. Once they consider you from there, theres no bridge. R: Then they worship you? P: Worship you, but then they fail to emulate you. If you are shown to be an ignorant boy then ignorant boys can emulate you. And their covering is so perfect that you dont know anything else, just like the spiritual world, its perfect. And you have the consciousness of an ignorant boy. Stress, insecurities, thats important. R: Do many people do this? Come as a bridge? P: Yeah, its been done. R: By who? P: Nitya Siddhas. R: Amma is not like that? P: Amma is divine as the divine. Im more complex than this. R: And jesus? Divine as Divine?

295

P: No. Divine as human. R: You and Jesus are the same energy or same individual souls? P: Everything is possible. R: So I could have been Jesus? P: Possible. But theres possible and theres what is. It is important to understand both. I was Jesus cause I was Jesus. Individually. But you could have been. R: You mean P: Theoretically. R: You mean green could be blue? P: I dont understand. R: Because blue is part of white and green is part of white? P: Okay I understand. It is one and different. By the time you understand that you are Jesus Christ, it doesnt matter anymore. Because by that time youll understand that you are a manjari. Because youll go into the spectrum and experience manjari bhava. You are in it and were in it, it doesnt matter anymore. Its irrelevant. The only point is getting your ass into the lila. R: By chanting? P: By chanting. Its so easy. So easy that only simple people can take it. Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krisha Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare Everything is there. First you understand the sound, then form, then quality, then the lila. Lila is in the mantra, once you understand, you chant, and you are with him in form. You are aware of the identity of yourself, a young manjari. And you play as a manjari, serving Radha and Krishna in union and separation. Because Hare Krishna means Radha Krishna together. Union. You are with them as they make love. Then Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Separation. You serve Radha Krishna individually as they are separated, that is the eternal truth. Everything is there. First sound, it is the most subtle form. Its a porthole. Singing is your eternal duty to Radha and Krishna. Once you act in your eternal duty, then you perceive. You have that duty on this planet. You have material and spiritual dharma together: R: So what I really want to know is P: Yes, you nish the job. Quit work, play music. But thats for everybody. Its specically for you, symbolically for everybody. If you play Hare Krishna, sing, chant, dance, fruit will come out of the ground. Eat it. Then you will piss on the ground and fruit will grow. You will shit on the groiund and an apple tree will grow. But we are so far from nature, weve lost the vision of its

296

perfection. We think, we interfere and faithlessness steps in. Lack of faith is the virus. R: How come there are so many on Earth. Trying to eat off it. P: Its a big place. R: And the earth can support us all? P: Of course. But we have greed. Were all taking too much. Some have nothing, some have too much, because we dont have community consciousness. We dont have spiritual brotherhood, spirit of sharing. Once we have this, no problem. We realize mother is our earth. You take milk from the earth. From the cow. Cow is also the mother. You give back, you feed with your human consciousness. You make endeavor to make her happy. You grow, you take milk, you support your mother. This is human and divine consciousness working harmoniously. You can have heaven on earth in this respect. R: Where do humans fall in terms of consciousness. If we are not all divine becoming manifest? P: We are. R: What about Nitya siddhas. P: He is still divine become manifest. Objective is different, but thats secondary. Whats the difference between one covered by maya and one covered by yogamaya? Both have to realize divinity. The path is the same. The Nitya Siddha will inevitably wake up. R: As will you? P: Yes. And inevitably he will drag people with him because hes woken up. Now theres a comparison between ignorant and woken days. That will drag people. Sai baba, you can worship him but you cannot follow him. R: Do they like coming here? P:They dont like or dislike. It is their duty, whether they know it or not. Still, you have to learn, you have to follow the example? R: So how can I follow? P: Faith is the way. And youll have to jump, now or later. Better now than later. There is only now. Now or later. The same question will come. So now is a good idea. R: Even with bills to pay? P: There is no such thing as bills to pay. R: When the chaos comes they may try to imprison anyone they can. P: So Krishna is in prison also. The point is to listen and follow what he wants you to do. And if you have to get pinned to a cross, get pinned to a cross. Nobody can do anything to you. Because

297

were talking aobut a consciousness growth. Nobody can stop your consciousness growth. Youll see god is your lover and your enemy. Its all a play. Its all perfect and youll move in whichever direction he wants you to move. Hell tell you. And youll move. If you have faith youll move regardless of consequence. The apparent negative will just test you and will help you grow. God doesnt give tests to see how well you are doing. He gives you tests so you can do better than what you are doing. Then you look down and see wow, that was not much of a test. You have to grow until nothing is a problem. Not even insecurity. R: Thats why Christ died on a cross. P: He knew that was his way. As soon as he received the message, he knew god was creating a way for everybody to look at what he did. 2000 years later people still say look. Even though ego consciousness took it the wrong way, the intelligent changed consciousness to become equally surrendered like him. R: Its a bigger test to take the job and quit? P: Its the same. You will have to face whatever you are not capable of doing. Just be prepared. That is surrender. That is what Christ taught.The fear we have is upsetting people. But thats not the fear of causing the disturbance, its fear that well be the disturber. So if god tells you to disturb then disturb. Cause ignorance is only disguised chaos. And chaos created by god is only disguised love. No one will marvel at you for sticking out your job. But one person looking back will say she go for it, I go for it. By going towards god you are helping everybody. R: How do you see the conversation we had today with Dans dad? P: Dans dad told me, you nish your book today. So who am I to argue with Dans dad when Krishna speaks through him. R: How does Krishna want you to end the book? P: However I want. R: But today? P: Hmmm. This is perfect. Because my tears for Shyamali cant be understood. Because you see, this world is something different than the spiritual world. The body is not different from the soul and actually every atom is divine. So when you become aware of this, you are in the spiritual world. Even when you are not objectively in the spiritual world. But the objective will follow. Maybe 21st of 12, 2012 we ask Krishna beam me up Scotty, but I cannot say exactly what will happen, maybe this day is judgement day. Maybe the Earth will explode and we all head for our deserved destinations, or maybe we all live here happily ever after. The maybe is important cause we are to

298

live here now and not worry about then. R: What would that mean, deserved destination? P: It means wherever one is at, they go to where their consciousness is resonating. Or maybe not. Maybe there will be heaven on earth. But the point is, objective is second. Once consciousness is high it doesnt matter at all what will happen. You have your revolution inside. Revolution is just many people having evolution. Many will not have that evolution also. Many will stick it out to another day. And then they will go to another planet and meet somebody called Haili Salasi or Mohammed. R: But Krishnas time is now? P: This is the time to go to Golokha Vrindavan. So come with me. And God bless America.

299

300