SHYAMDAS 1953-2013 IN MEMORIAM

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 2013
33