SHYAMDAS 1953-2013 IN MEMORIAM

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A PRACTITIONER’S TALE HARI’S LĪLĀ E-mailed from Vrindavan, North India, February 2003 <strong>SHYAMDAS</strong> Hari plays with thousands and somewhere along the way, I was called. The Director brought me two hours south of Delhi, to God’s playground, to the sacred lands of Vrindavan, úrà Käüóa’s làlá land. I was eighteen and determined: a dream that had become reality had brought me to Vrindavan, and I headed straight for Neem Karoli Baba’s ashram. Not finding the master at home, I wandered around the outskirts of Vrindavan and came to úyám Kuôi ashram. There, the Mahant, the ashram’s head, called out to me in Hindi, but realizing that I did not understand him, a silver-haired Gujarati man, Maïgaldás, the servant of auspiciousness, came down the stairs and greeted me in proper English. Within two minutes, he not only had invited me to live with him, but had given me a Käüóa mantra which I use to this day. My entrance into Vrindavan had begun! It was December, 1972, and every morning I would go out and lie on the sandy banks of the úrà Yamuná river, and feel very blessed for what seemed to be absolutely no reason at all. Any sense of doing some sort of sádhana to attain an assumption of samádhi left my consciousness; everything was perfect just as it was. Within days, my Vrindavan experience was again upgraded when I had the good fortune to meet the great saint, Neem Karoli Baba. The darùan and blessings of this siddha saint, in combination with my new-found friendship with my Vrindavan mentor Maïgaldás, was very uplifting. And yet still a question remained, “Is Brahman 32 Special Issue • Shyamdas ~ In Memoriam “Glories to úrà Käüóa, the Doer of Wonderful Deeds, Who played the world into existence by dividing râpa (form) and nám (name).” (úràmad Vallabáchárya) devoid of attributes, beyond name and form, ùânyatá, absolute suchness, or is Brahman personal, a Blessed Lord who relates directly with His bhaktas?” Little did I know that these concerns were ones that also divided the major Indian enlightenment schools, for every searcher inquires into the nature of things. I picked up a Gita Press English translation of the úràmad Bhágavata and read stories of úrà Käüóa’s làlás. They felt familiar, though not in the sense of events that had occurred in history. My curiosity only increased: “Are You formed or not?” Nearly five hundred years ago, the Muslim Käüóa bhakta-poet Rasakhān Lotus flower. Photograph by Pascale Willi. pondered similar issues in Braja and wrote: úeüa, Gaóeù, Maheù, Dineù and Sureù Sing continually of His glories. He is beginningless, endless, unlimited, Indestructible, void of difference– Revealed in the Vedas. The sages Nárada, úuka and Vyása try unsuccessfully To fathom his limits: Yet for those Gopis – He dances for a small glass of buttermilk!
Although the nature of Brahman is beyond reason, non-material, full of truth, consciousness, and for the most part bliss, it is with the grace of Great Beings that Brahman can be approached, known, seen and touched. Reunion with him is not a question of how much we practice, but rather how much we desire to know. Brahman chooses those who choose Brahman, though we will also want the saints and bhaktas to be pulling for us. They help with direct experience. My concerns over the nature of Brahman fled one evening when, with the guiding grace of Neem Karoli Baba, I received a glimpse of the Vrindavan that the bhakti poets described in their samádhi language. There could be no longer any doubt in my mind: Brahman was Käüóa, beautiful as a billion Loves and brighter than a million suns. He was devoid of worldly attributes and replete with divine virtues. I defer to the words of the mute boy Gopaldás, who became a devotional ocean when his spiritual eyes were opened after the bhakti master úrà Gusainji gave him some of his chewed betal. Immediately afterwards, he sang: In Vrindavan, the úrà Yamuná river flows. Her banks are graced with golden steps, inlaid with jewels. In Vrindavan, daytime and nocturnal lotuses bloom simultaneously, while beautiful black bees hover, singing the sweetest songs. In Vrindavan, the air is rich with the fragrance of golden vines, jasmine buds and the myriad flowers that flourish there. In Vrindavan, there is great pleasure in feeling the cool winds that blow from úrà Yamunáji’s waters. In Vrindavan, lovely Rádha resides. Her eyes are like a hundred-petaled lotus. There are also countless groups of Gopis, dancing many Rasa Làlas. They are playing with úrà Käüóa, the son of Nanda. Such are the flavors of Vrindavan! Once we have determined where we are going, more than half of the path is covered over. Vague notions create obscurity, which is why the guru lineages arose: to save us time. Better to first hear about it or, better still, to be shown it by someone who has been there before, rather than to try to figure it out on our own. Now, in Vrindavan, I saw a striking similarity between the nature of Brahman’s ultimate reality and what the land of Vrindavan actually looked like. There was no longer any need to figure it out; the issue moved to the heart. Six months later, a visa complication drove me out of India, and I returned to the States, where my enthusiasm was seen by my parents as madness. They sent me to a psychiatrist, thinking he would either cure me or, more likely, put me away — far, far away from India. But I was judged to be fine and, with the guru’s grace, found myself back in India within a few months, back again by the banks of the Yamuná River. Neem Karoli Baba had just left his physical body, and I moved in again with Maïgaldás at the úyám Kuôi ashram. Maïgaldás’ was a làlá personality. He told me that, one evening when he was fifty years old, úrà Käüóa had awakened and given him darùan of Vrindavan Divine, and that from that day on, he had never returned to his worldly home. He moved to Vrindavan and spent his evenings weeping for his Beloved. A seventy- year-old yogi, who looked forty, used to visit us in Vrindavan and to ask Maïgaldás to teach him how to cry for the Blessed Lord. What could Maïgaldás say? There is simply no formula to attain this divine expression. Maïgaldás’ bed was even surcharged with Käüóa devotion, and sometimes when he was out, I would lie on his mattress and could actually feel the force of his bhakti: pure sweetness. His picture of úrà Käüóa playing the flute by the Yamuná river, although a print, would look up and smile at me from time to time. All these experiences nourished the tender sprout of my devotion. It was an amazing year! One day, Maïgaldás suddenly decided that, with five thousand other pilgrims, we should go on a fortyday pilgrimage to the sacred lands of Braja. We began in Mathura and, arriving in Jatipura by the Govardhan Hill a week later, Maïgaldás took me to meet His Holiness Goswámi Prathameùji, the head of the first seat of úrà Vallabhácárya’s Puüôi Márga, the Blessed Path of Grace. When I requested initiation, His Holiness told me to come back in a few weeks, but I was stubborn and he finally relented. In this way, I became the first Westerner to enter the pure, non-dual devotional path, in which nourishment is His Grace. It all seemed seamless. My relationship with His Holiness was still another amazing blessing and as my relationship with him grew, so did my understanding and entrance into the Loving Path. It is certainly easier when the blessings we receive in life, that develop over lifetimes, correspond with the teachings, views and practices that exist in the outside world. My relationship with His Holiness Goswámi Prathameù, whom I began to call Jai Jai (Victory Victory), was from the very beginning a pure delight. He was my guru, but also my father. He was at times a friend, at others, a fellow bhakta, and after a while I simply could not live without him. What he spoke of, I could see. He was a bhakti Vedántin, a divine lover who knew the essence of the Upaniüads. He was also an amazing singer – the songs he sang were directly from úrà Käüóa’s realm – and an expert pakhavaja player and master of many other instruments. He was a Vedic scholar, and an inspired, full-blown Ächárya steeped in the mood of devotion, yet innocent like a child. The day he was born in Jatipura, úrà Käüóa’s small footprints appeared on the local temple floor. I felt lucky to be in his orbit. January <strong>2013</strong> 33
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Page 5 and 6: Calling out to Sweet Radhe in the m
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Page 11 and 12: uge. In the Bhagavad Gita Krishna s
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Page 15 and 16: We sat down in a cozy, quiet corner
Page 17 and 18: Leading Kirtan at Bhakti Fest Midwe
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Page 21 and 22: “To awaken the wives of the gods,
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Page 31: YAMUNA’S STORY SHYAMDAS few years
Page 35 and 36: joy of His own Being. And it was th

SHYAMDAS 1953-2013 IN MEMORIAM

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