THE HIDDEN HISTORY OF KUSAKRATHA (part-I) by Puskar Das

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THE HIDDEN HISTORY OF KUSAKRATHA (Part - I) By Puskar Das

 

In 1956, I moved from one area of Brooklyn (near the temple) to the Benson

Hurst area, where I entered fifth grade. Peter Viggiani (a.k.a. Kusakratha)

was in my class for the next two years. He also attended the same junior

high as I, and we shared some of the same classes. For approximately 5 years

we were good friends. He was always quite eccentric and didn't appear to

have many other friends.

"

Those who knew "Kusa" found him to be a bit of an avadhuta, and he was no

less so in his early days. There was one other odd fellow who was an artist.

We would sometimes associate, and together we once built a sculpture in his

yard composed completely of old wire coat hangers. Predictably, other kids

would pick on Peter. They would walk by and punch him in the shoulder or

hurl some insult his way, but he tolerated it. Although I had varieties of

associates, he was a loner as his aspirations were distinctly loftier than

the average Jewish-Italian neighbor. Out of thousands and thousands of kids

growing up in Brooklyn at the time it would not be possible to find someone

similar to him. He had a younger sister, Rosemary. Although her bodily

features resembled his in many ways, I recall that they were distant. He

seemed to be a bit distant from all of his family members-perhaps because

his parents were a bit older than others. His mother once threw an open box

of crayons at me, and loudly blamed me for being a bad influence on her son,

because he was constantly doodling in his smaller-than-average loose leaf

book.

 

As someone who had taken special art classes in early childhood and visited

museums regularly, I can say that these "doodles" were not ordinary. They

were amazing and unforgettable. His wonderful and original conceptions

remain with me still. How I wish those sketches had been preserved! No doubt

the world of art has been deprived of a great genius. The figurative

drawings swirled, lifelike, drawing the consciousness into the page more and

more. The notes were barely detectable amidst the free unprecedented

expressions decorating the pages. A few times I asked him to draw people

congregating nearby in Central Park. With astonishing ease, capturing the

gesture in perfect proportion, figures would manifest on the paper.

 

When sometimes the opportunity for an illustrated school project arose, he

would stun the entire school, teachers and students alike, by utilizing his

skill at watercolor and pencil drawings. In the sixth grade, who among us

was able to paint the billowing sails of Columbus's ships plying the waves

in perfect perspective?

 

His talents were not restricted to the art world. His compositions were not

to be rivaled in our tiny circle. Of course, the spelling and grammar were

never faulty, but his wit was prodigious and while reading his compositions

the teacher would sometimes laugh out loud. After all, by seventh grade he

was already writing 60,000 word poems. Yin-Yang is one that I remember.

 

Kusa had zero desire to engage in sports like all the rest of us. As we

rolled by quickly on our bikes, or skates, he was often seated on a bench in

front of his house pouring over philosophy and poetry books. He would make

his way to the main Library near Prospect Park, which was quite some

distance by public transport. There he would take out as many books as they

allowed, and then scrutinize them. They would range from the writings of the

Ancient Greeks such as Homer, Socrates, and Virgil to modern existentialists

such as Sarte and Camus. Kirkegaard, Kafka, and Pound are also some of the

names that come to mind

 

..All of this extra study never prevented him from effortlessly getting the

top marks in school. It was always "O" for outstanding, except for maybe

P.E., and cleanliness. Whenever there was an oral quiz, Peter was the first

one with his hand up, enthusiastically waving his hand, unable to contain

himself. He was called on when no one else could answer. It was a syndrome;

he would blurt out the answer, neglecting to stand, the teacher would

admonish him for not standing, and then he would lean on the desk. When the

teacher chastised him for leaning on the desk he would stand, and his pants

would begin to fall. He was then instructed to pull up his pants midst the

chuckles of the other students. Kusa was the kind of guy that needed a shave

even in the fifth grade, which added to his slovenly appearance. His dirty

handkerchief hanging out of his pocket, waiting for his next amplified nose

blow was another colorful feature.

 

At that time, I was often penalized for misbehavior and was sometimes locked

in the principal's office. On one occasion I had a chance to peak through

the file cabinets. I checked up on everyone's I.Q. score. Kusa's was

definitely the highest at about 158.At around 12 we were making trips to

Manhattan to attend Ginsberg and other "beat" poetry readings and meeting

off-beat artists in the "Village". At that time he decided he would not

touch money, so I was carried the subways tokens and change.

 

On one memorable occasion in about 1962 when I realized I would never be

able to read all the books that he had, I pointedly asked him which books he

considered to be the most important. He immediately replied," Just read

Bhagavad Gita. You don't need any other books."

 

By tenth grade I had moved to another neighborhood, and rarely saw him. He

attended a local Brooklyn high school, Lafayette. During the U.S. attempted

invasion of Cuba, the students at his school were required to salute the

flag, but he and another boy defiantly spit on it whereupon they were

attacked by other students. This incident actually made the newspapers and

appeared on the front page border of the New York World Telegram-long

defunct. After this period he attended college (Goddard ?) for some time,

although he never graduated.

I remember seeing him once at an anti-Vietnam war rally in front of the U.N.

He was continually jumping up and down holding hands with an odd woman. I

was trying to communicate with him when the police started unceremoniously

dispersing the crowd by beating us with their lead- filled clubs.

 

Some years ago I asked him about some symphonies he had composed and he said

that he had never actually heard them played.

>From the earliest time that I remember he was practicing hatha yoga asanas,

although I don't really know how he learned them. Sometimes when I dropped

in he would be sitting in a lotus position which seemed pretty odd at the

time, even to me. He would be listening to a stereo that he had assembled.

I came to the L.A. temple via "Sai" in Hawaii sometime in October 1970.

Besides chanting and other service I was engaged, by Karandhar, in painting

sets of the parampara for temples on the west coast. One day Karandhar told

me he thought I might like to join the other artists who had recently moved

from Boston to New York. Anxious to see me, my parents arranged a ticket and

I was on my way back to New York. Somewhere in the darkness a chilling

premonition came over me. Someone I knew would be at the temple in Brooklyn.

Then it came to me-it must be Peter. I reasoned, where else could such a

person be?

After my arrival, at about 10:00 p.m., and an almost sleepless night, I was

abruptly woken by a loudspeaker blaring Prabhupada singing and sat up

groggily in an almost amnesiac daze. Somebody directed me to the tiny

laundry room where there was a tangled merge of clean clothes in a few

baskets. Standing there was Bhakta Peter attempting to disentangle some

extremely knotted wrinkled clothes. He appeared only mildly surprised to see

me and I was half expecting to see him anyway. He asked me how I came to

join, and I told him about joining in Hawaii with Sai. He asked in his kind

of high pitched voice, "How is Sai?" We both seemed to adjust rather quickly

to this "surprise" encounter.

 

To be continued.........