SHYAMDAS 1953-2013 IN MEMORIAM

We sat down in a cozy, quiet corner by the counter, so that
Shyam could have easy access to ask for more goods from
the cooks. On the rare occasions he did decide to go out, he
would always get so deeply involved with the whole lila, inquiring
about every detail of how and what would be offered.
He was a high maintenance wallah, I would say, in these types
of settings.
We decided on two chocolate milkshakes and a few slices
of German bread as our incredibly romantic mercy meal
for the evening, and I filled in the space with a lot of chit
chat, Shyam doing almost all of the listening. He held an
unusual type of silence I had never really felt from him
before. I went on and on about the incredible hospitality
of Indian culture, how people welcome you into their oneroom
home, give you everything they have, and ask you to
stay forever, and how we as Westerners have a lot to learn
from this country. Shyam just quietly listened, nodding
his head, and ordering more of that German bread. Shyam
had an incredible way of honoring my not-so-great ideas,
like bread slices for our last meal together. He would order
more just to shower my pathetic little desires with so much
grace. A perfect gentleman. It’s seriously the little things
that eternally pierce the heart.
Soon we had our fill from the Magic Carpet, and Shyamdas
and I headed back to Anders’ home for what we thought was
going to be a viewing of Buddhist pilgrimages, but when we
arrived and assessed the scene, we found that the hard drive
which stored the documentaries was malfunctioning. There
was a lot of energy around the computer to try and get the
thing to work. We all ultimately gave up fussing over the technology
and just sat down for satsang with Shyamdasji and a
circle of friends at the dinner table: Andy, Krishna, Ira, Sophia,
Anders, Janna, and Mohan.
As our friend Andy expounded upon historical highlights
of Buddhism and how it morphed, expanded, and influenced
souls in India, Krishna spoke about the sacredness of
being within a pilgrimage, and Shyamdasji shared anecdotes
of his unique experiences living in this sacred land. The conversation
was deep, filled with great bhava and enlightening
information.
After a couple of hours of discussion, the group felt in synchronicity
the wave to move the lila along, to say our Radhe
Radhe’s, and dissipate into the night. As I went to grab my purse
and say goodbye to everyone, I looked up by the door, and there
was Shyamdasji, eleven steps in front of me as always, waving
me to come to him with his left hand raised and his right hand
by his side, looking quite familiar in that divine rupa, almost
like Śrī Nāthjī Himself, a form very beloved to him.
We headed out to the driveway with a small group of the
satsang, and Shyamdasji and I boarded our motorbike and
began our way back home. Our friends, Sophia, Janna and
Andy were getting into a taxi van that left just ten minutes
after we did.
Shyam and I both took so much joy from these night rides
on the motorbike, the soft cool breeze along our faces and
bodies, the darshan of Goa’s peculiar yet beautiful scenery,
its personality accentuated by its colorful, European style
houses amongst huge and numerous banyan trees, and people
from all different places around the world, Indians, Russians,
Americans, Danes, etc. all adding to the unique allure of this
realm. We would watch it all, like a movie reel, together, in
silent appreciation, as we flowed so easily onwards.
But on this particular night, the Lord had some special
plans. We were just about to enter into the town of Arambol
and were going around a turn in the road when the single
headlight of an oncoming motorbike shone directly in our
gaze. At that moment, I felt like we entered into a deep,
dreamlike state. Shyam steered to the right to avoid contact
with that oncoming motorcycle, and we came down onto our
right sides. We both sat up immediately, fully conscious and
alive. I could see out of my left eye fine, and I saw that Shyam
was also sitting beside me in the road, Indian style. I called out
to him, “Shyam! Are you okay?” He softly replied, “Yeah.”
Within what seemed like moments, our friends got out of
their taxi and came over to us. Sophia saw that we were okay
and were able to get ourselves up, so she called Anders to come
with his Jeep. He was there within five minutes. We got ourselves
into his car, and he took us directly to the nearest hospital,
Vrindavan Hospital, about thirty minutes away.
Anders was driving, Mohan was in the passenger seat, Shyam
and I were in the middle seats, and Sophia was sitting
behind us, holding our bodies from moving too much from
the bumpy roads. Shyam was silent. I was quietly whispering,
“Shri Krishnah Sharanam Mama" – "Shri Krishna is my refuge,”
and Shyam’s hand found mine as we traveled onwards.
Upon arriving at the hospital, we entered into the first floor
examination room, where they separated us. My last sight of
our beloved Shyamdasji was of him plopping himself down
on one of the examination beds like he usually does, with full
throttle and fearless energy. But at that point, his breath became
heavier, so they took him immediately up into the ICU
on a higher floor.
They hooked me up to an IV and started probing and prodding,
X-raying – you know, the whole hospital lila, but all I
wanted to know was where Shyam was and if he was okay.
Sophia eventually came back to me and told me that, “Shyam
is fine,” with full conviction in her voice.
I was able to eventually fall asleep after all of the X-rays and
all of the injections to satisfy the junior doctors on call that
night. I dreamt the sweetest dream of Shyamdasji checking
out of the hospital, looking rather lean and young, and calling
out to me from the checkout desk, “Let’s go.”
I awoke to Sophia’s voice. She told me to get up and come
sit in a wheelchair. She said, “Listen to me. Shyamdas has
passed away.”
And the lila goes on. I can’t fully express all of the
incredibly miraculous events that validate this truly divine
soul’s passing and which continue to reverberate the magical
mystery of his life. It’s beyond description. He’s beyond description.
What else can we say, besides, Jai Jai Sri Radhe! Jai
Jai Sri Radhe! Jai Jai Sri Radheeeeeee! Shyaaaaammmm!
January 2013
15