Diary

[Guest guest]

It was by now the beginning of the second week of December,

and 5:30 in the morning. Chanting on my beads, I walked up

the steep stairs to the train station to take my usual 1 ½

hour ride on the IRT train from my parents' house in the

Bronx to the temple. I reflected that before I'd met

Prabhupada, my train journeys were always filled with some

kind of fearful anxiety. I had always justified the

existence of that anxiety by citing one thing or another as

it's source. I felt a sense of relief.

 

The train rolled back and forth for about twenty minutes,

forcing everyone to hold onto the poles and hanging

hand-straps in the carriage, or, if they were children,

onto their mothers- for dear life. The rattling train then

went underground and a few stations later I got off to

change to the IND. Walking through that station was like

entering a hellish realm. The artificial lighting imbued

the connecting tunnels with an unnatural, eerie glow, and

the arriving and departing trains roared as if there was an

earthquake overhead.

 

Still chanting japa, I boarded the next train. Some of the

people in the subway car stared at each other blankly; some

held newspapers in front of their faces, staring at

headlines announcing death by murder, death by traffic

accident, death by old age or death through the war in

Vietnam. I had some faith that my fellow passengers would

benefit spiritually by hearing Krsna's name, even if they

did not understand, so I chanted audibly.

 

At Canal Street I got off to change trains for the second

time. By now it was 6:30 and the station was filled with

thousands of people. Although most of them were passengers,

many were homeless, living right in the station, and I

tried not to breath too deeply the fetid air as I made my

way down the platform. How could all these unfortunate

people not die of hopelessness without Krsna consciousness?

 

I remembered Prabhupada telling us how a passenger absorbed

in contemplating his final destination, on board a crowded,

stuffy and bumpy bus is not disturbed. He had used the

example to show how a devotee does not mind awkward

situations, because he keeps his mind fixed on goal of love

for Krsna and going back to Godhead. I certainly wasn't

very fixed; in that I was new. But at least I was thinking

of going to see Prabhupada and his temple.

 

About two stations from Second Avenue, a young man took the

seat next to me. Recognizing my tilaka and japa beads, he

asked me a few questions about the temple. Then he

challenged, " What's wrong with killing a cow? Why do you

people give so much attention to the cow? And what's wrong

with eating meat anyway? "

 

I responded as best I could, but I knew my answers were not

really satisfying him. I was aware of the need for

vegetarianism because Krsna is a vegetarian and we offer

all our food to Him before we eat. I also knew that meat

eating was bad because the animals have a developed

consciousness and felt pain. Prabhupada had even written in

his first canto of Srimad Bhagavatam that the killer of a

cow and the killer of a child in a secluded place is

awarded the same punishment given to the killer of a cow.

But I had only become a vegetarian myself a few weeks

before, and I hardly knew anything about the cow's

importance. I invited the young man to the temple so that

he could put his questions directly to Prabhupada. He said

he had something else to do, and so we parted at Second

Avenue and Houston Street, where I got off. By now it was

already 7:00 a.m. and I was anxious not to be late for the

kirtana and class.

 

When the morning program was over, I went upstairs to begin

painting. Still thinking about my encounter on the train, I

was sorry that I had not been able to answer the young

man's questions to either of our satisfaction. After

Prabhupada completed his breakfast I knocked on his door,

and offered my obeisances. He looked up and greeted me as

he often did, saying, " Jah-du-raah-nee. " As usual, this

somehow made me feel as if we were the only two people in

the world.

 

" Swamiji, I tried to preach to someone on the train this

morning; but I'm frustrated by how it turned out. I

couldn't properly answer the boy's challenge about

meat-eating. Can you tell me what I should have said? "

 

" What have you done? " Prabhupada sarcastically replied.

 

I was speechless. What did I do? What did I do wrong?

 

" What have you done for society? " he repeated. " The cow

gives so much to society in the form of milk, which is made

into so many health giving products. Milking the cow means

drawing the principles of religion in a liquid form. The

great rsis and munis would live only on milk. What have you

given? "

 

I finally realized Prabhupada was not speaking to me as

Jadurani, but to " me " as the young man. So I repeated his

version. " He says there's no mention in the Bible that

meat-eating is sinful or that a meat-eater can't enter the

kingdom of God. "

 

Prabhupada used neither the Bible nor the Vedas in his

answer. " You have to use common sense, " he said. " Suppose

one son kills and eats his less intelligent brother. If the

son then boasts, 'Oh father, I've just killed your foolish

son,' would his father, who loves both sons, be pleased? "

 

" Wow! All beings are Krsna's children and He loves them

all. I've heard that before-in many other ways; so many

people have said it. But it never meant anything to me

until now. "

 

Prabhupada continued, " Better-endowed sons should not live

by exploiting those less fortunate, and that includes the

animals. " He described briefly how calves are taken from

their mothers just after birth and slaughtered. " These

sinful acts are responsible for all the trouble in the

present society, they don't know what they are doing in the

name of economic development. As he spoke, a few tears fell

from his eyes. Cow is mother. Mother supplies milk, and you

are killing mother. Is that very good gratitude? Is that

advancement of civilization? "

 

I had to shake my head in agreement and disgust.

 

" Now every twenty-five years there is big war. Wars and

crime. This is their punishment. And they will suffer

more. " Now they are repenting, and they will have to repent

more and more. "

 

I thought of the Vietnam War. So many mother cows in

America had their calves taken from them, and now so many

mothers had their sons taken from them and slaughtered in

Vietnam.

 

Prabhupada seemed lost in his own reverie, and I looked

above his head at the picture on the wall. It was an Indian

print of a youthful and debonair Krsna, looking about

fourteen or fifteen years old, holding His flute and

standing on the earth globe-a soft, beautiful white cow

behind Him. The cow was craning her neck backward to look

at Krsna with loving eyes.

 

I looked at Prabhupada again. His eyes were also full of

love, so much so that I was almost embarrassed to look back

at him. Feeling totally unqualified, and uncomfortable

because I didn't know how to react, I just offered my

obeisances and left.

 

 

 

Later that afternoon, as I was sweeping the altar room

floor, Prabhupada was speaking with a few devotees in the

next room. I heard him mention my name, and through the

window between our rooms I saw him motion toward me. I

strained to hear him say, " Krsna's housewife. " Flattered by

the designation, I swept the floor more enthusiastically.

 

When he had finished speaking with the others, he called me

into his room. " Just wait a minute, " he said, walking over

to his bookshelf and pulling out one of the volumes of his

Srimad-Bhagavatams. He handed me only the dust jacket and

asked me to duplicate the cover art in a large painting.

 

" The whole thing? " I asked, looking at the many forms of

Krsna within the spiritual planet bubbles floating in the

blue sky.

 

" No. Only the middle section showing Radha and Krsna and

two cows in Vrndavana. "

 

I squinted at the middle section. It looked like the center

of a lotus flower. Was this Vrndavana? Although I hadn't a

clue as to what the picture was about, I was too shy to ask

any more details, and so I merely agreed to do the

painting.

 

On my way out to go the art store for supplies, I passed

Hayagriva who was speaking with a guest, and I stopped for

a moment to listen. Hayagriva had joined Prabhupada seven

or eight months before me, and seemed to be very

knowledgeable in the Krsna conscious philosophy. The guest

asked him why Krsna is blue, and Hayagriva answered. " The

Swami actually just answered that the other day. He said

that the shade of blue which is Krsna's color is the most

beautiful color existing. "

 

" Well, why is the sky blue? " the guest joked.

 

" Swamiji says it's because the sky is a reflection of

Krsna's body, " Hayagriva answered good-naturedly.

 

As I hurried on to purchase my art materials, I reflected

how timely it was to have heard about Krsna's color. If I

could remember things like that while I painted Krsna's

form, surely I would be able to imbue my paintings with

more devotion.

 

 

 

Once I had the first layer of color on the painting,

Prabhupada came over and asked me to paint nice garlands

hanging from Radha and Krsna's shoulders. He said to make

them look like they did on the book cover. But that tiny

picture was anything but clear. Besides being only about

two inches high, it was obviously not made on the best of

presses, because the primary red, blue and yellow colors

did not exactly overlap each other. Bright blue stuck out

on one side, and a very bright red showed through on the

other. It was not easy to see what Radha and Krsna were

wearing on Their shoulders.

 

I had never even heard the word 'garland' before, what to

speak of seen one. I had seen Hawaiians wearing leis in

movies, but I did not know that garlands and leis were the

same thing. Consequently, my garlands looked more like

diagonally striped garden hoses than flowers.

 

Prabhupada told me that the trees in the background were

" desire trees of the name kadamba " . " Whatever you like, you

can get from these trees, " he said. " In this world from

apple trees you get apples; from mango trees, mangos. But

in the spiritual world, anytime, anything you like, you can

have. "

 

It sounded magical, for sure, but I had no idea what a

kadamba tree looked like. Therefore, trying to copy the

tiny print, I made abstract kadamba trees that looked more

like light green skies with dark green stars than a forest

of wish-fulfilling trees.

 

When the painting was nearly done, Prabhupada again came

over and, in his distinctively graceful Indian way,

squatted in front of it. He handed me a small piece of

paper on which he had written some Sanskrit words complete

with diacritical marks indicating their phonetic

pronunciations, and recited:

 

namo brahmanya devaya

go brahmanaya hitaya ca

jagad dhitaya krsnaya

govindaya namo namah

 

" I offer my respectful obeisances to the Supreme Absolute

Truth, Krsna, who is the well-wisher of the cows and the

brahmanas, as well as all living entities in general. I

offer my obeisances to Govinda, Krsna, who is the pleasure

reservoir for all the senses, and especially the senses of

His devotees. "

 

Prabhupada asked me to write the prayer on the lower right

cover of the canvas, by Radharani's feet. Not knowing how

to print letters professionally, I used stencils and

painted the words as best I could.

 

Soon after I completed the painting, three Indian gentlemen

visited Prabhupada. As I was in the next room, he called me

into his greeting room to welcome them. I then watched him

offer the men pieces of an Indian sweet called pera, which

had been sent from Mathura by his intimate friend and

siksa- disciple, Srila Bhaktivedanta Narayana Gosvami

Maharaja. I watched the guests first touch their sweets to

their heads and then put them in their mouths, without

touching their hands to their mouths.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Prabhupada indicated to me

that I should note their reverential behavior and follow

their example in showing respect to prasadam.

 

Prabhupada then directed the men to look through the window

to my painting, now hanging above his small, oblong altar.

" She is not painting out of concoction, " he said. " She is

authorized by higher authorities. " I felt honored. For me,

of course, that higher authority was Prabhupada; I knew no

one else. But, at the same time, his words reaffirmed my

connection to our important and authorized spiritual

lineage and disciplic succession.

 

After the men left, I admitted to Prabhupada that I felt

discouraged about how the painting had turned out, that it

was crude and flat. " It seems like every painting I do is

worse than the previous one. " A part of me wanted him to

say, " Oh no, you are getting better and better. You are

doing wonderfully. " But instead, looking at me seriously,

he said, " What can you do? The demigods are painting Krsna,

and Radharani is painting Krsna. What can you do? "

 

I felt humbled and embarrassed to have had such a proud

desire exposed. During the kirtana that evening I looked

around the temple walls at the Indian prints and at my own

paintings. I prayed to Krsna that He might dispel my

thoughts that those paintings were mine, and that He might

take away all my sense of false pride in relation to them.

I prayed that He would show me that they are really

Himself.

 

http://www.gaudiya.net

[Guest guest]

anubhava108 wrote:

>Milking the cow means

>drawing the principles of religion in a liquid form. The

>great rsis and munis would live only on milk.

 

Although most of anubhava108's messages looked like pure spam to me (I

don't think you can get vegan spam, can you?), this part probably isn't. I

wonder if the great rsis and munis have considered trying rice milk, soy

milk or oat milk.

 

Gerry