# Back to Godhead Magazine #56 *2022 (05)* Back to Godhead Magazine #56-05, 2022 PDF-View Welcome In 1975, in response to a suggestion from an ISKCON life member, Śrīla Prabhupāda requested the editors of this magazine to include an excerpt from *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* in every issue. That policy has been followed ever since. Prabhupāda’s emphasis on the Bhāgavatam was not arbitrary. Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, the incarnation of Kṛṣṇa in whose line Prabhupāda descends, cited the authority of the Bhāgavatam as the basis for His teachings, selecting it from among the numerous books in the vast library of Vedic literature. It is the ideal book to guide one’s life, and in this issue Vraja Vihārī Dāsa addresses that point in his article *“Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* and the Search for Fulfillment.” The Vedic scriptures, including the *Bhāgavatam*, can be understood to be sound in book form, and the books themselves as well as their teachers direct us to “hear” them regularly for spiritual progress. Viśākhā Devī Dāsī discusses the importance of such hearing in “The Power of Sound.” A central teaching of the *Bhāgavatam* is that each of us is an eternal soul with an innate devotional relationship with Kṛṣṇa. In his “Founder’s Lecture,” Śrīla Prabhupāda explains that those who use their human life to realize that relationship are the true Āryans, a historically misused term. Hare Kṛṣṇa. —*Nāgarāja Dāsa, Editor* What is the purpose of life? *Love—eternal, divine love.* Let’s analyze our current existential situation from the perspective of the timeless wisdom-traditions of the world. We are all like the biblical prodigal son. In the prodigal son story, Jesus describes how the son of a wealthy father leaves home to enjoy independently, suffers starvation and destitution, and finally returns home. Similarly, all of us, who are actually spirit souls, reject God to try to enjoy in the material world. But we are struggling for paltry material pleasures and are suffering multiple problems due to our disease-prone bodies, our conflict-prone interactions, and our disaster-prone surroundings. In the biblical story, the father’s joy on the return of his lost son reflects the unconditional love of our supreme parent, who overlooks our past rejection of His love and eagerly awaits our reciprocation of His love. But God’s love as revealed in the Vedic tradition is even greater than what the parable describes, because He not only awaits us, but also comes to this world to invite us to come to Him. In fact, His loving anxiety for our well-being impels Him to appear not just once, but again and again—and yet again. Indeed, He appears in every millennium to change our destiny, to install us in our eternal glory as divine princes. How does God, Kṛṣṇa, change our destiny? Primarily by reestablishing dharma, the underlying, governing principle of life. To be more precise, the essence of all dharma is love or loving service. Kṛṣṇa’s illuminating teachings as given in the *Bhagavad-gītā* explain what love—real, everlasting love—actually is. And through His enchanting pastimes (līlā) He demonstrates that love in His reciprocation with His devotees. These two legacies of divine love help us direct our loving propensity to Kṛṣṇa—and through Him to all his children—and thus experience complete fulfillment. Love for God ultimately conquers even death, for, unlike worldly love, it continues beyond death in the eternal spiritual world. The great saint Śrīla Prabhupāda offers a call to love: “If one simply reposes his dormant loving propensity in Kṛṣṇa, then his life becomes successful. This is not a fiction but is a fact that can be realized by practical application. One can directly perceive the effects that love for Kṛṣṇa has on his life.” *If God has designed our world, then why is there so much suffering here?* Suffering is an integral part of the purpose for which our world has been designed. Whenever we evaluate the design of any object, we need to keep its purpose foremost in mind; otherwise even the best design can be easily and erroneously faulted. For example, if we use a cellphone’s message-typing keypad for typing a book, we will naturally feel justified in criticizing the cellphone’s design and designer. But a well-informed person will remind us that the cellphone’s design should be evaluated keeping in mind its primary purpose: to serve as a portable audio-communication device. Similarly, spiritually well-informed people remind us that the world’s design should be evaluated keeping in mind its primary purpose. Most of us assume that the world’s purpose is to facilitate our comfortable and enjoyable living—and this often-unspoken assumption makes us feel justified in criticizing its design and designer. But could it be that this assumption is erroneous, that the world has some other purpose? How can we know that purpose? From God, the world’s designer. God is implicitly accepted as the world’s designer even by atheists when they point to the apparent faultiness of the world’s design as a proof of God’s non-existence. Therefore, for knowing the purpose of the world, logically we should turn to the designer’s words—the God-given scriptures, like the *Bhagavad-gītā*. These scriptures inform us that the world is meant primarily to serve as a transitional curative place—something like a hospital. Everything within a hospital—from the hi-tech MRI scanning devices to the spiceless meals—is well-designed, yet sufferings are also innately, unavoidably present in the hospital. The sufferings in a hospital are not because of the doctor, but in spite of the doctor; the sufferings are caused by the patients’ sickness, which in turn often originates in their imprudent lifestyle choices. Similarly, the Vedic scriptures explain that the sufferings in this world are not because of God, but in spite of God. They are caused by our own spiritual sickness, which in turn originates in our own imprudent lifestyle choice of wanting to enjoy separate from God. When patients start cooperating with the doctor by accepting the prescribed treatment, they experience the benefit of improved health and realize that the hospital is truly well-designed. Similarly, if we start cooperating with God by accepting His prescribed treatment of redirecting our love from matter to spirit by chanting the holy names, we will experience for ourselves the benefit of improved spiritual health accompanied by mental peace and inner fulfillment. Then we will realize that the world is truly well-designed. Founder's Lecture: The Real Āryans *Śrīla Prabhupāda explains the meaning and value of “Āryan civilization.”* Vrindavan, India—December 9, 1975 The concept of āryan in its original meaning in the Vedic literature differs significantly from its common understanding. > mugdhasya bālye kaiśore > krīḍato yāti viṁśatiḥ > jarayā grasta-dehasya > yāty akalpasya viṁśatiḥ “In the tender age of childhood, when everyone is bewildered, one passes ten years. Similarly, in boyhood, engaged in sporting and playing, one passes another ten years. In this way, twenty years are wasted. Similarly, in old age, when one is an invalid, unable to perform even material activities, one passes another twenty years wastefully.”– *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* 7.6.7 Out of one hundred years, fifty years are wasted by sleeping. And then with the balance of fifty years: twenty years in childhood and youthhood, sporting, playing; another twenty years in old age. In this way our time is wasted because we do not know how valuable this human form of life is. There is no such education. People think that human life is as cheap as a dog’s life, but factually that is not so. The human form of life is rare, especially advanced life, the Āryan civilization. Āryan means advanced, advanced in spiritual knowledge. The materialists see āryan only from the bodily conception, but that is not the fact. Anyone who is advanced in spiritual life is called an Āryan. Arjuna was chastised by Kṛṣṇa: “You are talking like a non-Āryan.” Anārya-juṣṭam. What is the difference between non-Āryan and Āryan? The Āryan civilization means varṇāśrama-dharma: four varṇas, or social divisions, and four āśramas, spiritual divisions. And non-Āryan means there is no division. Everyone is one, or equal. That is advocated now at the present moment. In India also, they think of casteless society, no caste. But varṇāśrama-dharma is not about caste; it is division of culture. Brāhmaṇa means advanced in culture, kṣatriya means less advanced than the brāhmaṇa, vaiśya means less advanced, and śūdra is less advanced. And the pañcamas—fifth grade, sixth grade—they are less. In this way there is high-grade and low-grade division of the society. Those who follow the high-grade culture are called Āryans, or ārya. In many places in Vedic literature the superior person is addressed as ārya. Without being culturally advanced, people do not know the value of life. They waste their life. The advanced persons try to reduce the waste of time. We have already discussed the Six Gosvāmīs. Rūpa Gosvāmi and Sanātana Gosvāmī were ministers. They came to Vrindavan not for begging but for advancing the spiritual culture of life. Rūpa Gosvāmī and the other Gosvāmīs came on the order of Caitanya Mahāprabhu to rejuvenate, re-excavate this land of Vrindavan. And they were engaged in the service of Lord Caitanya for preaching work. Whatever we are preaching now is based on the principles laid down by the Gosvāmīs. Narottama Dāsa Ṭhākura has sung, rūpa-raghunātha-pade, haibe ākuti / kabe hāma bujhabo śrī-yugala-pīriti: “When shall I be devoted to the principles of Rūpa Gosvāmī and Raghunātha Dāsa Gosvāmī so that I’ll be able to understand the pastimes of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa?” The loving affairs of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa are not ordinary material things as we conceive. Generally people are very much interested in painting pictures of Rādhā-Kṛṣṇa’s love. These pictures are very popular because people think, “Kṛṣṇa is like us. He is after young girls. So He’s a great support for us. We are also after young girls. As Kṛṣṇa has done, so we are doing that.” But Kṛṣṇa’s affairs are different. Narottama Dāsa Ṭhākura taught that one has to learn about Kṛṣṇa’s conjugal affairs through the teachings of the Six Gosvāmīs: rūpa-raghunātha-pade, haibe ākuti / kabe hāma bujhabo śrī-yugala-pīriti. It is not so easy to understand the loving affairs of Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa. It is meant for the most advanced spiritually. That is not an ordinary thing. Not only the loving affairs of Kṛṣṇa and Rādhārāṇī, but everything about Kṛṣṇa is not material; it is all spiritual. It has nothing to do with the material world. We have to understand how it is spiritual through the teachings of Rūpa Gosvāmī, who wrote *Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu*, which we have presented as The Nectar of Devotion. Without reading all these books—*Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu*, *Bhagavad-gītā*, *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam—if* we jump over to understand Rādhā-Kṛṣṇa, that is not good, and therefore it is not effective. You’ll find in The Nectar of Devotion that so many Vedic literatures are quoted. We must follow śāstra-vidhi, the rules given by the Vedic scriptures. Then we’ll be fixed up. *Vidhi-bhakti*, or devotional service in practice, according to the rules, is very important; then comes *rāga-bhakti*, devotional service in spontaneous attachment to the Lord; then *prema-bhakti*, devotional service in pure love of God. We should not imitate *prema-bhakti* and neglect *vidhi-bhakti*. This—what we are doing—is *vidhi-bhakti*: we rise early in the morning, perform maṅgala-ārati, follow all the regulative principles, wash the temple, wash the dishes, dress the Deities, then again ārati, then class . . . Because we have not yet awakened our natural love for Kṛṣṇa, we are required to practice *vidhi-bhakti*. That is compulsory. *Vidhi-bhakti* means one has to follow the injunctions of the śāstras and the order of the spiritual master. We cannot do anything whimsically. *Practice under Regulation* In the beginning, in the neophyte stage, it is not that “Because I have come to Vrindavan, immediately I have become advanced.” No. *Vidhi-bhakti* must be followed according to the regulative principles given by the injunctions of the śāstra and the order of the spiritual master. Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī writes: > śruti-smṛti-purāṇādi- > pañcarātra-vidhiṁ vinā > aikāntikī harer bhaktir > utpātāyaiva kalpate “Devotional service of the Lord that ignores the authorized Vedic literatures like the *Upaniṣads*, *Purāṇas* and *Nārada* *Pañcarātra* is simply an unnecessary disturbance in society.” *(Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu* 1.2.101) > sarvopādhi-vinirmuktaṁ > tat-paratvena nirmalam > hṛṣīkeṇa hṛṣīkeśa- > sevanaṁ bhaktir ucyate *“Bhakti*, or devotional service, means engaging all our senses in the service of the Lord, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, the master of all the senses. When the spirit soul renders service unto the Supreme, there are two side effects. One is freed from all material designations, and one’s senses are purified simply by being employed in the service of the Lord.” *(Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu* 1.1.12) Our practice is called pañcarātrika. In this age one must accept pāñcarātrikī-vidhi, not Vaidic vidhi. Vaidic is very, very strict. Unless one is born by a brāhmaṇa father, he is not given the advantage of becoming a brāhmaṇa. That is Vaidic vidhi. But pāñcarātrikī-vidhi means that although one is not born of a brāhmaṇa family, if he has got a little tendency to become a brāhmaṇa he can become a brāhmaṇa. “Brāhmaṇa” means brahma jānāti iti brāhmaṇaḥ: One who knows Brahman is a brāhmaṇa. So one who is inquisitive to understand Brahman should be given the chance to do so. When there is a little fire, one fans it, and by fanning, fanning, fanning, it becomes a big fire. Our process is like that. The pāñcarātrikī-vidhi offers facility for everyone. Anyone who takes shelter of a pure devotee of the Lord becomes purified by following the injunctions of the spiritual master, who knows how to deal with them, how to elevate them to the brahminical position. People sometimes protest because we are giving the position of a brāhmaṇa to the mlecchas and yavanas, those outside the Vedic civilization. But Caitanya Mahāprabhu has given an open declaration: *kṛṣṇa-bhajane nāhi jāti kulādi vicāra* *(Caitanya-caritāmṛta*, *Antya* 4.67). Kṛṣṇa consciousness is open to anyone who is desirous of becoming Kṛṣṇa conscious. It is open. Anyone can come. By proper training by the expert spiritual master everyone can be raised to the brahminical platform and then the Vaiṣṇava platform. The general process is that unless one is born in a brāhmaṇa family, he is considered impure by birth. That is a fact. But the devotee can change. A person can have a new birth, undoubtedly. Just like our European, American students—they have taken a new birth. They have given up their old birth practices, so their birth is changed. That is possible only by Kṛṣṇa consciousness. The body is changed. We see the same body, but it is not the same body. It is cin-maya, spiritualized. An iron rod put into the fire becomes red-hot, so it is no longer iron; it is fire. Similarly, if we constantly keep ourself in touch with Kṛṣṇa consciousness, then the body is no longer material; it is spiritual. Therefore a spiritual body is not cremated; it is kept in samādhi—entombed. In Western countries everyone is entombed. In India the tomb is offered only to a very spiritually advanced person. You’ll find many tombs in Vrindavan because the saintly person’s body is spiritual. This is the idea. *Don’t Spoil Your Life* There are many things to be done for cultivating spiritual life in the human form of life. So Prahlāda Mahārāja is giving an account: “Fifty years in sleeping, and twenty years in playing, and twenty years in old age, and ten years simply being absorbed in thinking ‘What to do?’—then life is spoiled.” Don’t do this. There is a Bengali song, pāyecha mānava janma, emona janam āra pābe nā: “Fortunately, you have got this human form of life. You’ll not get this opportunity easily again.” Don’t spoil it. So let us follow. We have come to Vrindavan. Let us follow the Gosvāmīs. Narottama Dāsa has written, rūpa raghunātha pade haibe ākuti: we should be very, very anxious to follow the principles laid down by the Six Gosvāmīs. Narottama Dāsa has sung many Vedic songs. Although his songs were written in Bengali, they are considered śruti, Vedic. Śrīnivāsa Ācārya has eulogized Narottama Dāsa Ṭhākura: “Your songs are Vedic evidences.” Whatever Narottama Dāsa Ṭhākura has said in his simple Bengali songs is all Vedic injunctions. Therefore Narottama Dāsa Ṭhākura’s songs known as Prārthanā are very popular and famous amongst the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavas and other Vaiṣṇavas also. We should not waste our time being mugdhasya—bewildered, befooled, or illusioned. Don’t be illusioned. Even children, bālye, should not be, because there is no question of bālya, childhood, or vṛddha, old age. At any moment life can be finished. You know. There is no guarantee that “Because a child is a child, oh, he has a got a hundred years, so let him play now.” No. He should be trained up. This is the duty of the father and mother. Na mocayed yaḥ samupeta-mṛtyum: one should not become a father or mother if one is not very careful to save the child from imminent death *(Bhāgavatam* 5.5.18). Imminent death does not mean by a motor accident. Imminent death means we are in the cycle of birth and death. It is the duty of the father and mother, the duty of the *guru*, the duty of the relative to save their dependents from the cycle of birth and death. This is real upakāra, welfare work—to save others from the cycle of birth and death. *Dying at Every Moment* This life we are thinking, “I am eighty years old or ninety years old.” But it is not eighty years or ninety years of life; it is mṛtyu, dying. You are dying every moment. It is the life of mṛtyu. Therefore one has to save one’s dependents. Na mocayed yaḥ samupeta-mṛtyum. Suppose a child is five years old, and suppose he’ll live a hundred years. That means he has already died five years. Therefore life is mṛtyu. I have grown eighty years old. Suppose I live a hundred years. Still, I have already died eighty years. Therefore life is mṛtyu. The whole life is mṛtyu. Every moment you are dying, dying, dying, dying, from the very birth. Suppose a child is born one hour ago. Because one hour passed, that means he has died one hour out of a hundred years. It is the beginning of death. This is called mṛtyum. We are thinking, “I am growing. I am living.” This is all mugdha, bewilderment. Where are you growing? Where are you living? You are dying every moment. Dying, death is going on. This world is called mṛtyu-loka, the world of death. As long as you are in the material world, you are simply dying, that’s all. At the end, when the balance of life becomes finished, we take at that time that it is mṛtyu. But no. From the very birth there is mṛtyu only—dying, dying, dying, dying. Mugdha. Someone is thinking, “I am living and growing. I am young. I am getting strength.” But he does not know that he is dying. Therefore it is explained, mugdhasya: “illusioned.” He is taking death as life. Mugdhasya. One should not be so bewildered, mugdhasya, and waste time by playing. Human life is not meant for that. *What Is Going to Happen?* Similarly, jarayā grasta-dehasya yādy akalpasya. This is also very important. Generally, the old man does not know what is going to happen. He is in the hands of nature. Ask anybody, any big, big man, old man, “What are you going to do?” I met some very important old man in London, Lord Brockway. I asked him, “What will you do? What is the end of your life?” “No, I shall die peacefully.” That’s all. He does not know what is going to happen. People do not believe in the next life; they think that when this life is finished, everything is finished. But that is not the fact. They cannot find the soul. But that requires expert knowledge. Gold appears to be a stone, but one who is expert, a soil expert, can understand, “Here is gold.” When I was in South Africa, I saw that even in Johannesburg there are so many gold mines within the city. How will an ordinary man know that there is gold in the soil? He must be expert. To find the soul within this body is not the business of rascals and fools. One must be very expert, exactly as the soil expert determines by analysis. This is called neti neti, or na iti: “not this.” It is very easy. If you study your body—take this finger, for example. You’ll say “my finger.” Nobody will say “I finger.” We sometimes examine a little child, “What is this?” “Finger.” “So, a finger . . . which finger?” “My finger.” “Head?” “My head.” “Leg?” “My leg.” Everything is “my, my.” And where is “I”? This is intelligence. Everything he is studying is “my,” and who is “I”? This very question will establish the fact of dehino ’smin yathā dehe: “I” is within this body *(Gītā* 2.13). Therefore I am speaking “my.” If one is expert in understanding, in analyzing this body by neti neti—“This is blood. This is skin. This is this. This is this. This is urine. This is stool”—and analyzes the whole body, then one must ask, “Where is that ‘I’?” We cannot see it. But why can you not see it? Whose stool, whose skin, whose bone? *Identifying the “I”* In this way, if we analyze then we can understand that asmin dehe—within this body—the “I” is there. And what is this “I”? *Ahaṁ brahmāsmi*. This is further advancement. But the rascals take ahaṁ brahmāsmi to mean “I am God.” No. Consult *Bhagavad-gītā* to learn what is this aham. Aham means the part and parcel of the Supreme Brahman, Para-brahman. Kṛṣṇa is Para-brahman. Kṛṣṇa says, “These brahmans, these living entities, are part and parcel of Me.” That is the understanding of aham: “I.” What am I? I am part and parcel of Kṛṣṇa. One has to study the body and ask, Where is the “I”? Then what is the relationship of the “I”? What is the position of the “I”? And “What am I?” This is intelligence. Caitanya Mahāprabhu begins from here to teach Sanātana Gosvāmī: *jīvera ‘svarūpa’ haya—kṛṣṇera ‘nitya dāsa’* *(Caitanya-caritāmṛta*, *Madhya* 20.108). This “I” is who I, you, and we are. This is the beginning of Caitanya’s teachings. Therefore rascals cannot understand the movement of Caitanya Mahāprabhu. They think, “This crazy fellow, unnecessarily chanting and dancing,” because they cannot understand what this movement is. This movement starts when one can understand what is “I.” From that point it starts. So what will they understand? Unless one comes to understanding the point of what I am, what will he understand about Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s movement? That is the defect. But Caitanya Mahāprabhu is so kind that without understanding, being a fool number one, if one simply joins Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s chanting and dancing, he understands immediately because his heart becomes cleansed and he understands who he is. We should not waste our time. No. We should immediately begin our spiritual life, ahaṁ brahmāsmi. That is called brahma-bhūtaḥ, self-realization. We must come to this point, ahaṁ brahmāsmi: “I am Brahman; I am not this body.” That is very fortunate, good fortune. But people throughout the world are under this bodily concept of life, and they cannot find out where the soul is, where the “I” is. So if by cultivation of knowledge, spiritual knowledge, one comes to understand, “I am within this body,” that is called brahma-bhūtaḥ. In this way the beginning of devotional life is there. Take advantage of Kṛṣṇa consciousness and make your life perfect. Thank you very much. Ten Thousand Years of Hare Kṛṣṇa This conversation between Śrīla Prabhupāda and the poet Allen Ginsberg took place on May 13, 1969, in Columbus, Ohio. Śrīla Prabhupāda: Lord Buddha is accepted as an incarnation of Kṛṣṇa. This is stated in the *Bhāgavatam*. He is accepted as the ninth incarnation. Baladeva is the eighth. And the tenth is awaiting. Allen Ginsberg: Kalki. Śrīla Prabhupāda: Kalki. Allen Ginsberg: Now, what is Kalki’s nature? Śrīla Prabhupāda: That is described in the *Bhāgavatam*. He will come just like a prince, with royal dress and sword, on horseback ¬– simply killing, no preaching. There will be no brain to understand God. Allen Ginsberg: There will be no brain to understand God? Śrīla Prabhupāda: People will be so dull. It requires a brain to understand . . . Allen Ginsberg: So Kalki comes at the end of the Kali-yuga? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Yes. Then Satya-yuga will begin. Allen Ginsberg: Which is? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Satya-yuga is the pious age. People will be pious, truthful, long-living. Allen Ginsberg: Are those the people that will remain, or are they from whatever new creation comes out of the destruction? Śrīla Prabhupāda: All the miscreants will be killed. And there must be some pious. They remain. Allen Ginsberg: Do you think of this in terms of a historical event that will occur in the lifetime of your disciples? Śrīla Prabhupāda: No. This will happen at least 400,000 years from now. So at that time my disciples will be with Kṛṣṇa. [Laughter.] Devotees: Haribol! Śrīla Prabhupāda: And those who will not follow them, they will see the fun—how they are being killed. Allen Ginsberg: Will people still be chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa in 400,000 years? Śrīla Prabhupāda: No. Hare Kṛṣṇa will be finished within ten thousand years. There will be no more Hare Kṛṣṇa. Allen Ginsberg: Ah. So what will be left? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Nothing. I’ll kill you and eat you, and you shall kill me. You shall eat me. That will be left. Allen Ginsberg: After ten thousand years? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Yes, there will be no grain, no milk, no sugar, no fruit. So I will have to eat you, and you will have to eat me. Full facility for meat-eating. Full facility. Kṛṣṇa is very kind. He’ll give you facility: “All right. Why cows and calves? You take your own son. Yes. Eat nicely.” Just like serpents, snake—they eat their own offspring. Also tigers. So this will happen. And there will be no brain to understand [God], no preachers, nothing. And then Kṛṣṇa will come: “All right, let Me kill you so that you will be saved.” Allen Ginsberg: But you see it as actually a historical thing of ten thousand years for the chanting? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Now it will increase. Allen Ginsberg: Until? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Up to ten thousand years. Allen Ginsberg: And then? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Then diminish. Allen Ginsberg: So what is the purpose right now? Śrīla Prabhupāda: People will take advantage of this up to ten thousand years. Allen Ginsberg: So this is like the last rope, the last gasp. Śrīla Prabhupāda: Yes. So the sooner we take shelter—shelter of Kṛṣṇa consciousness—the better. Allen Ginsberg: When did this yuga begin? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Kali-yuga began five thousand years ago. Allen Ginsberg: Where is all this information? Śrīla Prabhupāda: In the Vedic literature, the *Bhāgavatam*. Allen Ginsberg: It has the detailed analysis of what goes on in the Kali-yuga? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Oh, yes. I will read it to you sometime. In the Twelfth Canto, the Kali-yuga descriptions are there. And you will find that all the descriptions are coming true. Just like there is one statement, *svīkāra eva udvāhe*: “Marriage will be performed simply by agreement.” Now that is being done. And *lāvaṇyaṁ keśa-dhāraṇam*: “People will think that they have become very beautiful by keeping long hair.” That is coming true. Allen Ginsberg: In the Bhāgavata Purāṇa is there also provision for the Caitanya cult? Śrīla Prabhupāda: Oh, yes. We have given that in our book Teachings of Lord Caitanya. Allen Ginsberg: Within this period of ten thousand years, only those who hear Kṛṣṇa’s name and worship Kṛṣṇa by chanting . . . Śrīla Prabhupāda: They become liberated and go back home, back to Godhead. Allen Ginsberg: And everybody else gets involved deeper and deeper in the yuga. Śrīla Prabhupāda: Yes, yes. So if anyone believes in the śāstras [scriptures], he should take to this Kṛṣṇa consciousness. That is intelligence—to take advantage of the authorized scriptures. A Pause for Prayer All glories, all glories to the holy name, the abode of immortal transcendental bliss. The Supreme Absolute Truth, who possesses an eternal form, has descended in the form of the holy name. He shows mercy to His devotees and shows boundless compassion and kindness to all fallen souls. All glories to the Supreme Personality of Godhead, who is known by different names, such as Hari, Kṛṣṇa, and Rāma. He is the auspicious resting place of all living entities within the universe, and He delights the minds of all souls. Great sages, honoring His holy name, constantly sing that holy name, filling their mouths with the sound. O eternal holy name of Kṛṣṇa, You possess all powers and bestow auspiciousness upon the living beings. Without You there is no other friend to deliver us from the ocean of material existence. You have come for the deliverance of all fallen souls. For all souls within this world there is much misery and sorrow. O Harināma, if someone calls upon You just one time, feeling very meek and lowly, possessing nothing, and seeing no other remedy for relief, You then easily destroy all that person’s sorrows. If one simply obtains a slight reflection or glimmer of You, then all sorts of terrible miseries disappear. Ṭhākura Bhaktivinoda says, “All glories, all glories to the holy name of Lord Hari! O Harināma, I perpetually fall at Your lotus feet.” – Śrīla Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura Gītāvalī, Nāmāṣṭakam Song Two Lord Vāmana’s Mercy on Bali Mahārāja *Though apparently tricking Bali to take advantage of him, Lord Vāmana set the stage for revealing Bali’s extraordinary devotion.* Gaurāṅga Darśana Dāsa By humbly serving and pleasing spiritually advanced persons, we receive unlimited blessings from God. Here is the story of a great king who received blessings from great souls and thus became a recipient of the grace of God, who then lovingly became his gatekeeper. The Vedic scriptures tell of the churning of the milk ocean (samudra-manthana) by the devas (demigods) and the asuras (demons), which resulted in the appearance of immortal nectar (amṛta). The Supreme Lord Viṣṇu took the form of a beautiful woman, Mohinī-mūrti, bewildered the asuras, and gave all the nectar to the devas. Being thoroughly cheated, the asuras fought with the devas but were defeated in the war. Śukrācārya, the *guru* of the asuras, revived the asuras, headed by Bali Mahārāja, the virtuous grandson of the pure devotee Prahlāda Mahārāja. *The Power of Blessings* Bali became very grateful to Śukrācārya and served him sincerely. Pleased with Bali, the brāhmaṇas of the Bhṛgu dynasty had him perform a great sacrifice called the Viśvajit-yajña, through which Bali received a celestial chariot, a powerful bow, two quivers, and armor. Prahlāda offered Bali a celestial garland, and Śukrācārya gave him a conchshell. Thus they blessed him to be victorious. By satisfying great souls, one receives profuse blessings and success in one’s endeavors, and by dissatisfying them, one receives the opposite. Pleasing great souls is the easiest way to attain God’s grace, which is certainly more powerful than God’s wrath. By God’s wrath great planets, their rulers, and the entire universe can be destroyed, but by God’s grace even the most fallen person can be uplifted. The grace of God comes through His devotees. Compassionate devotees who are objects of Kṛṣṇa’s mercy are always ready to transmit that mercy to common people, but only some fortunate persons are willing to accept it. For example, the sun gives light to everyone, but only persons who expose themselves to the sunshine can take advantage of it, and not those who lock themselves in a dark room or a cave. Collecting blessings doesn’t require expertise or diplomacy, but it requires genuine humility, submissiveness, and a service attitude. Arrogance and pride never attract any blessings. *Blessings Are Beyond the Giver* Bali acknowledged the blessings of the brāhmaṇas by offering them obeisances and reverently circumambulating them. He also saluted Prahlāda, who blessed him to attain all success. The blessing of the pure devotee Prahlāda opened the door for Bali to attain the highest perfection. Equipped with all these blessings and with military paraphernalia, and accompanied by a great army of asuras, Bali attacked Indra’s city to settle past dues. One might question: How could Prahlāda bless Bali to conquer the devas, when it is the Supreme Lord’s arrangement that the devas rule heaven? The answer is that Prahlāda blessed Bali to ultimately get the shelter of the Supreme Lord. And Bali humbled himself to receive Prahlāda Mahārāja’s blessing. Had Bali Mahārāja not conquered heaven, Lord Vāmanadeva wouldn’t have come to take everything from Bali, allowing him to completely surrender. So Prahlāda was ultimately blessing Bali to go through whatever was needed to get the Lord’s grace. The immediate result of Prahlāda’s blessings was that Bali could conquer heaven, but the ultimate result was that Bali could receive the gift of love for Vāmana. Blessings are beyond the giver, who can only be an instrument of God’s grace. To be such an instrument is the most excellent way of living. When devotees sincerely do their best in their devotional service and thus access the grace of Kṛṣṇa, *guru*, and the Vaiṣṇavas, a great spiritual power far beyond them manifests through them. That humbles sincere devotees; it does not make them proud. By blessing Bali, Prahlāda humbly invoked the Supreme Lord’s blessings on him. Just by seeing Bali’s splendor and confidence, Indra and the devas were surprised and approached their *guru* Bṛhaspati. Bṛhaspati advised them, “This is not Bali’s power, but the power of the brāhmaṇas’ blessings (brahma-tejas). At present, no one can stand before Bali except the Supreme Lord. You all should now leave heaven and wait for the situation of the enemies to reverse.” The blessings of brāhmaṇas and *gurus* are more powerful than one’s own strength and independent efforts. *God Responds to Sincere Prayers* Hearing Bṛhaspati’s words, the devas left the heavenly kingdom in disguised forms. Bali entered heaven and brought it and all the planets below it under his control. He performed a hundred opulent sacrifices to secure his position as the king of heaven. Aditi, the mother of some of the devas, was pained by her sons’ predicament and wanted to regain the heavenly kingdom for them. On the advice of her husband, Kaśyapa Muni, she performed a vow called payo-vrata, which entailed subsisting only on milk for twelve days while worshiping the Lord. In response, Lord Viṣṇu became pleased to appear as Aditi’s son named Vāmanadeva, a dwarf brāhmaṇa. The Supreme Lord responds to the sincere prayers of His devotees. Vāmanadeva certainly appeared in response to Aditi’s prayers and to fulfill her desire to regain heaven for her sons. However, more than that, Vāmanadeva appeared in this world to bless Bali Mahārāja in response to the prayers of Prahlāda Mahārāja. Prahlāda had prayed for his grandson to get pure devotional service. Prahlāda had formerly prayed to Lord Nṛsiṁhadeva to show mercy on Prahlāda’s wicked father, Hiraṇyakaśipu, and the Lord responded. If Hiraṇyakaśipu was delivered, then why not Bali, who had many good qualities? The Lord manifests His inconceivable pastime to simultaneously restore cosmic order, fulfill His devotees’ desires, and give and experience pleasure. *Principles of Satisfaction* Lord Vāmana eventually arrived at the site of Bali’s sacrifice. Feeling blessed, Bali heartily welcomed Vāmana and washed His divine lotus feet, the source of the holy Ganges River. Bali was spontaneously attracted to Vāmana and wished to offer Him obeisances but couldn’t do so. Because Bali was in the position of the king of asuras, his offering obeisances to Vāmana with devotion wouldn’t have been appreciated by the asuras and Śukrācārya. Hence he was hesitant and fearful. Nevertheless, the Lord recognized Bali’s sincere intent. Even though a devotee may not render complete service to the Lord externally due to circumstances, the Lord is kind enough to accept the internal mood of a devotee, and thus He is called bhāva-grāhī, “one who accepts the purpose.” Bali then took the opportunity to wash Vāmana’s lotus feet. As it was natural for a kṣatriya king to treat a brāhmaṇa guest in this way, none of the asuras raised an eyebrow in objection to this. Bali washed Vāmana’s feet, sprinkled the water on his head, and promised to offer Him anything He desired. Vāmana praised Bali and his dynasty and asked for three steps of land. Considering the brāhmaṇa boy unintelligent owing to his tender age, Bali told Him to ask for as much as He might need to maintain Himself for all time. Vāmanadeva then spoke on the principles of satisfaction, and He condemned material greed. O my dear King, even the entirety of whatever there may be within the three worlds to satisfy one's senses cannot satisfy a person whose senses are uncontrolled. If I were not satisfied with three paces of land, then surely I would not be satisfied even with possessing one of the seven islands, consisting of nine varṣas. Even if I possessed one island, I would hope to get others. . . . One should be satisfied with whatever he achieves by his previous destiny, for discontent can never bring happiness. *(Bhāgavatam* 8.19.21-22, 24) Satisfaction leads to liberation, while dissatisfaction leads to transmigration. If one doesn’t have the inner fulfilment in experiencing the shelter of the Lord that’s accessed through hearing about, glorifying, and remembering Him, one hankers for the satisfaction of being praised by others. If we don’t learn how to be content and peaceful and don’t try to find satisfaction in our internal relationship with God, then finding true satisfaction in any of our external endeavors is impossible. Satisfaction in *bhakti* depends on the purity of our intent (ahaitukī, “without material motives”) and the consistency of our attempt (apratihatā, “unimpeded”). *Why & Why Not to Give Charity* Bali Mahārāja smiled and told Vāmana, “All right, take whatever You like.” To confirm his promise, Bali then took up his water pot and poured water to seal his solemn oath (saṅkalpa). Śukrācārya, aware that Vāmana was deceiving Bali and would take everything from him, gave Bali nine reasons why Bali shouldn’t give charity to Vāmana: 1. This boy is Lord Viṣṇu and has appeared to fulfill the purpose of the devas. 2. Your promise will bring great inauspiciousness to the asuras. 3. Lord Viṣṇu will take away all your wealth and give it to Indra. 4. How will you live when He takes everything from you? 5. You can’t even fulfill your promise, as He will occupy everywhere in just two steps. 6. Unable to fulfill your promise, you will have to reside in hell. 7. Charity that endangers one’s livelihood is not praiseworthy. 8. One has to divide one’s wealth for religion, reputation, opulence, sense gratification, and family, not for charity alone. 9. Take back your promise. One has to maintain one’s body even by untruth. Although it’s difficult for even great philosophers to understand the Lord’s plans, Śukrācārya could understand both the identity and the plan of Lord Vāmana. This is also a part of the Lord’s divine pastime. He allowed Śukrācārya to understand His intentions so that Śukrācārya could advise Bali not to give charity to the Lord. Then, to offer charity to Vāmana, Bali would have to disobey his *guru*—the appropriate action in this special case—and thus Bali’s glory, devotion, tolerance, and surrender would be revealed to the entire universe. To glorify His devotees, the Lord performs wonderful pastimes like this. Bali, being fixed in his truthfulness and especially his devotion to Lord Viṣṇu, humbly gave Śukrācārya nine reasons why he must give charity to Vāmana: 1. I’m the grandson of the glorious Prahlāda Mahārāja. How can I withdraw my promise? 2. There is nothing more sinful than untruthfulness. 3. I don’t fear hell, poverty, distress, or even death as much as I fear cheating a brāhmaṇa. 4. Wealth is separated from us at the time of death. Why not please a brāhmaṇa with that wealth? 5. Dadhīci, Śibi, and many other great souls sacrificed even their own lives for the benefit of others. 6. Time destroys everything except one’s reputation. 7. The chance to give charity to a brāhmaṇa is very rare. 8. Becoming poverty-stricken by such charity is very auspicious. 9. If it is Viṣṇu who has come here in the form of this brāhmaṇa, I must carry out His order. If a *guru* advises something against the desire of the Supreme Lord, there is no fault in disobeying such an order. Still, Bali’s disobedience displeased Śukrācārya, who cursed him to be deprived of his wealth. Magnanimous Bali then solemnly vowed to give the charity of three steps of land to Vāmanadeva. No one can give anything to the Lord, for He is full in everything and everything belongs to Him. What we offer doesn’t belong to us, nor does it enrich His opulence. But such an offering brings one recognition as a devotee, which is an ornament for the soul. Thus Bali Mahārāja offered charity of three steps to Vāmanadeva. *Humility that Shone in Humiliation* Vāmanadeva then manifested His divine pastime. Becoming Trivikrama (“one who took three great steps”), He increased His size and covered the entire earth with one step, all directions with His body, and the heavenly planets with His second step. Trivikrama then reduced to His original size as Vāmana. The asuras tried to attack Him, but Bali stopped them. Garuḍa, Lord Viṣṇu’s bird carrier, then arrested Bali with the ropes of the deva Varuṇa (varuṇa-pāśa). Vāmanadeva accused Bali, “O King, being falsely proud of your wealth, you have promised Me three steps of land, but I occupied the entire universe by two steps. Where shall I put My third step? Because you couldn’t fulfill your promise of charity, you should go to hell.”* Even though the Lord seemed to have mistreated Bali and deliberately made him break his promise, Bali tolerated all this humiliation and spoke to the Lord with an undisturbed mind. “O Lord, if You think my promise has become false, I shall rectify the situation. Place Your third lotus footstep on my head. I consider the most exalted punishment that which is given by You, the supreme well-wisher and benefactor even of the asuras. I don’t feel ashamed or aggrieved on being arrested by You.” Thus Bali offered himself to the Lord after having offered all his property. To show the entire universe Bali’s tolerance, Vāmana humiliated him in this way. Generally, wealthy persons are famous, but Bali became famous for all time by being deprived of all his wealth. Tolerance and equanimity in humiliation are a manifestation of true surrender. *God’s Favor* Being profusely pleased, Vāmanadeva then spoke about His own merciful nature. “I favor My devotee who is puffed up with material opulence by taking away all his possessions. If despite possessing high birth, youth, beauty, education, opulence, and wealth one is not proud, such a person is understood to be favored by Me.” False prestige and impudence caused by material qualifications are impediments to spiritual advancement. The Lord protects devotees from illusion and pride by taking away opulence that made them proud. Lord Vāmana praised Bali’s forbearance and truthfulness. “Bali has surpassed the insurmountable māyā. He is fixed up in his vow of truthfulness despite being bereft of his riches, fallen from his position, defeated and arrested by his enemies, rebuked and deserted by his relatives, and cursed by his *guru*.” A pure devotee never deviates from the Lord’s service despite all difficulties and impediments. Vāmanadeva blessed Bali: “You will become Indra during the reign of Sāvarṇi, the eighth Manu.* Until then you may live on the Sutala planet, which is more opulent than heaven. I shall be your doorkeeper, staying awake all the time to protect you from any attacks. By My prowess you will not adopt a demoniac mentality even in the association of the demons.” The Lord offers Himself to those devotees who offer themselves to Him by mind, words, and actions. Bali was overwhelmed upon hearing Vāmandeva and thanked him. “I merely offered obeisances to You within my mind, yet I attained results sought by fully surrendered devotees. The rare mercy You have shown to this fallen demon (by putting Your foot on my head) was not achieved even by the devas.” Bali offered respects to the Lord and happily went to Sutala along with other asuras. Prahlāda joined him, following the Lord’s instruction. Although a pure devotee may appear to have gone to hell or heaven, he doesn’t live in either place. Rather, he always lives in Vaikuṇthā, the spiritual world, engaged in the Lord’s service. Bali Mahārāja was not a sādhana-siddha (one who becomes perfect by following the prescribed principles of devotional life), but a kṛpā-siddha (one who becomes perfect by the mercy of the devotees and the Lord). Lord Vāmana mercifully took away Bali’s opulence and gave him the opportunity to completely surrender himself. If a devotee is puffed up, thinking himself the proprietor of everything, and thus forgets *bhakti*, the Lord takes the opulence away. This is to protect His devotee from illusion and pride, and to show His special mercy on such a devotee (*yasyāham anugṛhṇāmi hariṣye tad-dhanaṁ śanaiḥ*, *Bhāgavatam* 10.88.8). By the blessings and mercy of Prahlāda Mahārāja and the Supreme Lord, Bali attained love for the Lord. In this way God became the gatekeeper of His devotee who surrendered everything, including himself, to the Lord. *The word hell in the context of this narrative does not refer to the place where the sinful are punished after death. It refers to the planets below the earth, which although extremely opulent, are considered hell because they are inhabited by atheistic asuras. *Lord Vāmana appeared during the reign of the current Manu, known as Vaivasvata, the seventh of fourteen Manus in one day of Brahmā. *Gaurāṅga Darśana Dāsa (www.gaurangadarshan.com), a disciple of His Holiness Radhanath Swami, is the dean of Bhaktivedanta Vidyapitha at ISKCON Govardhan Eco Village, outside Mumbai, and a member of ISKCON Board of Examinations. He is a* śāstric *teacher and is the author of over twenty books, including the Subodhini series of study guides and storybooks like Bhagavata Pravaha and Bhagavatam Tales.* *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* and the Search for Fulfillment *When the God-empowered author Vyāsadeva feels dissatisfied after compiling the Vedas, the sage Nārada tells him why.* by Vraja Vihārī Dāsa “Simply by one’s giving aural reception to *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam*, the feeling for loving service to Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, sprouts up at once to extinguish the fire of lamentation, illusion and fearfulness.”—*Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* 1.7.7 What is common to Elvis Presley, Robin Williams, Kurt Cobain, Virginia Wolf, Marilyn Monroe, Guru Dutt, Jimi Hendrix, Ernest Hemmingway, Nafisa Joseph, and Divya Bharati? You might not recognize all these people, but all of them had their claim to fame before their tragic and premature death, often by suicide. The cameras flashed, people eulogized them, and suddenly it was all over. While die-hard optimists might shrug off these examples as exceptions to the general rule of money and fame leading to happiness, careful observation reveals otherwise. Unhappiness is a common feature of modern life. While the rich and famous continue to put up the faśade and assure us all’s well, we find a classic parallel to the modern tragedy of discontentment in Vedic history. The most accomplished writer and poet of all time sat on the bank of the river Saraswati wondering where he’d gone wrong. Śrīla Vyāsadeva had composed not only the voluminous Vedas, Mahābhārata, and Upaniṣads, numbering over a million verses, but he had also delineated steps to achieve mastery in manipulating matter. The eight mystic perfections, such as becoming smaller than the smallest, getting whatever one wants at any time, and developing special skills to increase beauty and wealth, were all known to him. He would be renowned as the most proficient writer from then on, with no mortal coming close to his achievements. Yet an emptiness engulfed his heart, and he pondered over the root cause of his dissatisfaction. Logically it didn’t make sense because, through his unparalleled works, he had immense access to all that one considers synonymous with happiness in this world. As Vyāsadeva sat despondent, Śrīla Nārada Muni, his spiritual master, arrived on the scene. In an interesting conversation between them that’s elaborately described in the First Canto of *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam*, Nārada teaches his disciple that real fulfillment comes only when we lovingly connect with and glorify Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead. And as long as we are absorbed in the nonspiritual aspects of our lives, especially in the pleasures this world offers us, we’ll feel a gaping vacuum in our hearts. *Finding Nectar in Matter* Why is someone attracted to Bollywood, Hollywood, cricket, football, or politics? Or why does a mango or a dish of ice cream excite us? Because these phenomena contain a rasa—“juice”—that pulls us towards them. We are not usually pulled by the color or shape of the mango; it’s the essence carried by the fruit that tempts us. Whether relationships, news, events, hobbies, or whatever, practically everything of this world carries a rasa that makes it appealing. Unfortunately, all rasa of this world follows the law of diminishing returns: the more we increase our consumption of something, the more we experience a decline in the satisfaction we derive from it. When you eat a sweet, initially you may crave more. But as you take a second and third helping, you’ll feel less desire for the sweet, and eventually you’ll stop consuming it. In a romantic relationship, couples go gaga over each other at first but soon realize it’s not easy to tolerate each other’s idiosyncrasies. Mushy expressions change to daily rifts and squabbles; soon the “juice” is out of the relationship. *Problems Worsened by the Mind* While everything in this world has a unique taste, it’s limited. The inherent attractiveness fades after a while. Besides, our mind has an inexhaustible appetite to feast on negative experiences. From a mixture of mostly happy events, it expertly picks up one unpleasant incident and chews it with the gusto of a teenage boy chewing bubblegum. After all the juice is sucked out of the gum, the boy can only blow a bubble to try to extend his happy experience. Similarly, the devil within us relishes a taste in grumbling over a failure, or a perceived injustice by the boss can abruptly throw us into an angry mood, which we also try to enjoy. Although the juice is out of the event, the mind, desperate for more, swells it and blows it far beyond proportion. What would happen if the teenager were to inflate his bubble beyond a certain limit? It would explode onto his face. He’d then have to clumsily pick up each strand of the stuck gum. If we don’t check the mind’s bubble, which is often cut off from reality, it will likewise get stuck on our consciousness, requiring us to remove its sticky mess from our psyche, a task more difficult than removing bubblegum from our face. Recently a leading publisher in India rejected my book proposal on a day that also saw me achieve many of my self-growth goals. I exercised, read scriptures, gave two talks, wrote for an hour, improved relationships with friends, learned poems, and much more. Still, the mind moaned: “Oh, I am unworthy, but this publisher is selfish, heartless, and opportunistic.” The pessimistic self-talk often goes unnoticed by our higher awareness; we don’t realize its sinister presence in our inner world. Even the mind follows the law of gravity; we slip to lower consciousness, as if naturally. The mind’s tricks are real, and before we realize it, we plunge into quicksand. Fortunately, spiritual activities and connection to God offer us a healthy alternative to being victimized by the mind’s games. *Kṛṣṇa: The Embodiment of all Rasas* A fish taken out of water will suffocate even if you give it the latest iPhone, designer jeans, or pizzas. Water is the natural environment for the fish; likewise, Kṛṣṇa is the space where the soul finds shelter and safety. We belong to the spiritual realm and are part of God. The material world is foreign to us, and all endeavors aimed at satisfying our body and mind will only prove frustrating. Nārada Muni diagnosed the cause of Vyāsadeva’s despondency in these (paraphrased) words: “You have written many books, but in none of these have you sufficiently and exclusively glorified Kṛṣṇa as the Supreme Personality of Godhead. All kinds of literature and activities that do not intend to glorify the most attractive pastimes of Kṛṣṇa and please His transcendental senses can never satisfy us. Besides, I consider such pursuits to be a waste of precious time.” Nārada reasoned that we should refrain from squandering our rare and valuable human form of life by occupying our time and energy in bodily and mental activities. Our real identity transcends these bodily designations, and if we connect ourselves to Kṛṣṇa, the supreme transcendence, we can experience a natural state of happiness. As parts of the Supreme Lord, we constitutionally seek rasa. It is our desire to relish this taste that attracts us to enter any relationship or pursue any activity. Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, is defined as akhila-rasāmṛta-mūrti, the source and embodiment of all rasa. When we connect with Kṛṣṇa, our taste increases with the passage of time. This is in stark contrast to rasa contained in matter, which wanes with time. For example, devotees in the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement chant the same Hare Kṛṣṇa *mantra* daily. Some devotees have been chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa for the last five decades. Imagine singing the same song or poem daily. Wouldn’t it get boring after some time? When you read the news, you want the latest. If I hand you last year’s newspaper, you won’t be interested. However, we daily read the same pastimes that Kṛṣṇa performed five thousand years ago. And we don’t feel a need to tweak the storyline—say, by having Kṛṣṇa descend from a helicopter to vanquish His enemy Kāliya. There is no need to change anything about Kṛṣṇa. His rasa gets better with each day, and that’s because He’s the personification of all rasa. We learn from Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s biographers that He heard the history of the great devotee Dhruva Mahārāja many times and each hearing of the same narration from *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* increased His spiritual joy. In contrast, when we watch the same movie or read a sports or film magazine more than a couple of times, we are saturated. *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam: Identical to Kṛṣṇa* Śrīla Nārada Muni therefore advised Vyāsadeva to broadcast the messages of Kṛṣṇa without hesitation. Thus Śrīla Vyāsadeva composed *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* at his most mature stage of realization. This work contains the immortal nectar (rasāmṛta) of Kṛṣṇa and His dealings with various devotees. In each of the twelve cantos Vyāsadeva described the pastimes of Kṛṣṇa and His avatars in detail. *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* is considered identical to Kṛṣṇa. It is His literary incarnation. It gives us the same benefits we’d get from His direct, personal association. Nārada Muni predicted that sincere glorification of Kṛṣṇa would cause a spiritual revolution in the impious civilization of the world. He assured Vyāsadeva that descriptions of Lord Kṛṣṇa, even if filled with literary discrepancies, would transform people’s hearts and fill their lives with unlimited happiness. *Śrīla Prabhupāda’s Gift of Kṛṣṇa* Śrīla Prabhupāda reveals his own humble state of consciousness in one of his purports to the conversation between Nārada Muni and Śrīla Vyāsadeva: We know that our honest attempt to present this great literature conveying transcendental messages for reviving the God-consciousness of people in general and respiritualizing the world atmosphere is fraught with many difficulties. Our presenting this matter in adequate language, especially a foreign language, will certainly fail, and there will be so many literary discrepancies despite our honest attempt to present it in the proper way. But we are sure that with all our faults in this connection the seriousness of the subject matter will be taken into consideration, and the leaders of society will still accept this due to its being an honest attempt to glorify the Almighty God. The evidence of the potency in the honest presentation of *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* is seen in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s own preaching. In America, where Śrīla Prabhupāda established his movement in 1966, he faced an audience that included mostly young people absorbed in sensuous pursuits, and many of them were addicted to truly harmful habits. Moreover, his English had a Bengali accent, and he was almost fifty years older than the boys and girls he was teaching. Yet he could transform their hearts in an almost magical way. Like a benevolent pied piper, he attracted thousands of young people by the love of Kṛṣṇa he carried in his heart. Despite the language challenges, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s heart resonated with love for Kṛṣṇa as he filled the world with Kṛṣṇa’s message and love. The fortunate souls who were willing to tune in to these vibrations caught the transcendental infection of love of Kṛṣṇa that Śrīla Prabhupāda carried and distributed profusely. In less than a dozen years, Śrīla Prabhupāda spread the message of Kṛṣṇa consciousness across six continents. As an ambassador of the spiritual world, he came to invite us to the beautiful world of Kṛṣṇa, where the rasa of Kṛṣṇa gives one succor and the strength to face the repeated onslaughts of the material energy. The pages of *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* thus call us to experience Kṛṣṇa rasa and fill the hole of our heart with the complete whole. *Vraja Vihārī Dāsa, a disciple of His Holiness Rādhānath Swami, has served full time at ISKCON Chowpatty since 1999. He has an honors degree in economics and a master’s in international finance. He teaches Kṛṣṇa consciousness to youth and the congregation and has written four books. You can read his daily reflections at www.yogaformodernage.com.* “Only God Can Make a Tree” *Some thoughts about trees in the context of the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness.* By Satyarāja Dāsa Everything is connected to Kṛṣṇa, and therefore even trees, notably some special ones, play an important role in Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Trees are indispensable: they give us oxygen, store carbon, brace the soil, offer us wood and food, and thus provide life to all living things. Additionally, they provide materials for tools and shelter, give us shade and, of course, beautify the earth. We simply cannot exist without them. One could argue that more than any other living being—barring only God Himself and the demigods—trees are central to our welfare and overall sustenance. Although these things are all pragmatic and necessary, they might seem indirect in terms of our Kṛṣṇa conscious tradition. But in fact, trees play a major role in direct Kṛṣṇa consciousness too. *The Greening of Kṛṣṇa* Kṛṣṇa self-identifies as a certain kind of tree in the *Bhagavad-gītā* (10.26), in the section where He claims Himself the first and foremost in all categories—e.g., “of letters I am the letter ‘A’ . . . Among compounds I am the dual word . . . I am also inexhaustible time, and of creators I am Brahmā,” and so on. “Of all trees I am the **aśvattha*”* (**aśvattha*ḥ sarva-vṛkṣāṇām*), for the *banyan* (*aśvattha*) is one of the tallest and most beautiful of all trees.1 To this day, many people in India worship it as part of their daily morning rituals. Elsewhere in Vaiṣṇava texts, Kṛṣṇa in Vrindavan favors a special bhāṇḍīra tree, near which He often sports with His young friends. He once magically teleported them there after swallowing a forest fire *(Bhāgavatam* 10.19). Bhāṇḍīra is a kind of vaṭa (banyan), identified in Rūpa Gosvāmī’s Padyāvalī (379) as the Lord’s favorite. It is said that Kṛṣṇa’s love for trees even rivals His feelings for cows, the creatures He is known to love with all His heart: > gavāṁ keva kathā kṛṣṇa > te te ’pi bhavataḥ priyāḥ > mṛgā vihaṅgā bhāṇḍīra- > kadambādyāś ca pādapāḥ “Why speak only about the cows, dear Kṛṣṇa? All the animals in Vraja are Your beloved friends, and equally beloved are the birds, and the trees like the bhāṇḍīra and the kadamba.” (Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.6.116) And let us not forget tulasī. Two verses in the Skanda Purāṇa praise the tulasī tree, dearest to Lord Kṛṣṇa: “Let me offer my respectful obeisances unto the tulasī tree, which can immediately vanquish volumes of sinful activities. Simply by seeing or touching this tree one can become relieved from all distresses and diseases. Simply by offering obeisances to and pouring water on the tulasī tree, one can become freed from the fear of being sent to the court of Yamarāja [the king of death, who punishes the sinful]. If someone sows a tulasī tree somewhere, certainly he becomes devoted to Lord Kṛṣṇa. And when the tulasī leaves are offered in devotion at the lotus feet of Kṛṣṇa, there is the full development of love of Godhead.” This tree is so dear to the Lord that any association with her will result in extreme good fortune: “Tulasī is auspicious in all respects. Simply by seeing, simply by touching, simply by remembering, simply by praying to, simply by bowing before, simply by hearing about, or simply by sowing this tree, there is always auspiciousness. Anyone who comes in touch with the tulasī tree in the above-mentioned ways lives eternally in the Vaikuṇṭha world.” Tree imagery is ubiquitous in the Vaiṣṇava tradition. In addition to tulasī, we often hear of trees such as the tamāla and the neem, their beauty and natural wonder permeating the Vedic tradition. *The Tree of Bhakti* The *Caitanya-caritāmṛta* *(Ādi*, chapter 9) even apprises us of a metaphorical *bhakti* plant, wherein Caitanya Mahāprabhu—Kṛṣṇa in the guise of His own devotee—is envisioned as the gardener as well as the trunk and the plant itself. He enjoys the flowers of its garden and distributes them to others. The seed of the plant was first sown in Navadvīpa, the text tells us, the birthplace of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu. The plant is then brought to Jagannātha Purī and Vrindavan. We are thus to understand that *bhakti* is first and foremost in these transcendental places, even as it exists in the heart of the pure devotee. The seed sprouts and the plant bears fruit when cared for by the founding fathers of the lineage. All the devotees who follow—then, now, and in the future—will spread the roots of this plant far and wide. The tree surrounds the world, and its fruits are to be distributed everywhere. Clearly, the *Caitanya-caritāmṛta’s* vision includes an expansive “tree” that goes well beyond India: [inset] From these two trunks grew many branches and subbranches that covered the entire world. (Cc., Ādi 9.22) Thus the disciples and the granddisciples and their admirers spread throughout the entire world, and it is not possible to enumerate them all. (9.24) “All the parts of this tree are spiritually cognizant, and thus as they grow they spread all over the world.” (9.33) “Distribute this Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement all over the world. Let people eat these fruits and ultimately become free from old age and death.” (9.39) “If the fruits are distributed all over the world, My [Lord Caitanya’s] reputation as a pious man will be known everywhere, and thus all people will glorify My name with great pleasure.” (9.40) [end inset] These verses use Bengali words like *jagat* (“world,” “universe”), *sabe sakala bhuvana* (“all parts of the world”), and *jagat* *vyāpiyā* (“spreading all over the world”). At the time these verses were written, this tree had not spread its branches beyond India. Thus the *Caitanya-caritāmṛta*, a seventeenth-century text, engages in prophesy, suggesting that its teachings would one day engulf the world. For one who knows the tradition, this prophesy can only point to the work of His Divine Grace A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda, and Prabhupāda says this himself in his purport to verse 9.40, quoted above: [inset] This prediction of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s is now actually coming to pass. The Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement is being distributed all over the world through the chanting of the holy name of the Lord, the Hare Kṛṣṇa *mahā-mantra*, and people who were leading confused, chaotic lives are now feeling transcendental happiness. They are finding peace in saṅkīrtana, and therefore they are acknowledging the supreme benefit of this movement. This is the blessing of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu. His prediction is now factually being fulfilled, and those who are sober and conscientious are appreciating the value of this great movement. [end inset] *Prabhupāda at the Helm* In the modern era, the tree of *bhakti* manifested as an old elm tree in the center of New York City’s Tompkins Square Park, in the heart of the East Village, thousands of miles from the birthplace of Lord Caitanya. Stationed strategically near a semicircle of old benches, between Seventh and Tenth Streets and Avenues A and B, Prabhupāda chanted for the pleasure of Lord Kṛṣṇa—under this very tree—and thereby attracted numerous sincere souls to his side. It was October 9, 1966, soon after the founding of his International Society of Kṛṣṇa Consciousness. It can be said that his movement began under that tree. Years later, on November 18, 2001, a plaque was placed in Tompkins Square Park to honor that first kīrtana in the Western world, which served as the springboard for every kīrtana to come. The inscription on the plaque describes the context: [inset] One of Tompkins Square Park’s most prominent features is its collection of venerable American elm (ulmus americana) trees. One elm in particular, located next to the semicircular arrangement of benches in the park’s center, is important to adherents of the Hare Kṛṣṇa religion. After coming to the United States in September, 1965, A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada (1896–1977), the Indian spiritual leader, founded the International Society for Kṛṣṇa Consciousness in New York. He worked from a storefront on nearby Second Avenue that he used as the Society’s American headquarters. Prabhupada and his disciples gathered in Tompkins Square Park in the fall of 1966 to introduce the East Village to the group’s distinctive 16-word mantra: Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare. On October 9, 1966, Prabhupada and his followers sat beneath this tree and held the first outdoor chanting session outside of India. Participants chanted for two hours as they danced and played cymbals, tambourines, and other percussive instruments; the event is recognized as the founding of the Hare Kṛṣṇa religion in the United States. Prabhupada’s diverse group that day included Beat poet Allen Ginsberg (1926–1997). Kṛṣṇa adherents continue to return to the tree to acknowledge its significance. – October 2001, City of New York, Parks and Recreation, Rudolph Giuliani, Mayor; Henry J. Stern, Commissioner [end inset] *Tree Consciousness* According to Vedic texts, plants account for 2,000,000 of the 8,400,000 species of life. They are conscious beings, animated by a living soul. In terms of the real entity within, they are the same as human beings and all other species. It is only the body that differs. “The evolutionary process of different types of bodies is something like that of a fructifying flower,” writes Śrīla Prabhupāda. “Just as there are different stages in the growth of a flower—the bud stage, the blooming stage, and the full-fledged, fully grown stage of aroma and beauty—there are 8,400,000 species of bodies in gradual evolution, and there is systematic progress from the lower species of life to the higher.” *(Bhāgavatam* 3.31.19, Purport) This metaphysical understanding of trees is now being confirmed by modern science. Although they are reluctant to speak in terms of “soul” or “consciousness,” researchers now know that plants have “preferences,” such as roots moving toward water and branches moving away from possible harm. They also have “memories” and can “learn from experience.” In one famous 2014 experiment, for example, potted plants (in this case, a species called Mimosa pudicas) were dropped from a window at a short distance, just to see how they would react. At first, they curled their leaves in an attempt at self-defense or self-protection. But when it became clear that no real harm would come to them, they stopped trying to protect themselves.2 A pronounced understanding of “tree consciousness” is eloquently expressed in Peter Wohlleben’s bestselling book The Hidden Life of Trees. Although some hardline scientists criticize him for anthropomorphizing trees, not one of them has been able to refute his insights and findings, for he draws on first-rate scientific studies, and more have supported him than doubted him. Wohlleben teaches that plants process information just as animals and humans do, even if they do so much more slowly. Plant life is central to life on earth, he argues, and while undeveloped in certain ways, they are far more evolved than most people think they are, with feelings and emotions buried deep within their earthy frame. Many scientists are confirming Wohlleben’s work, building on his findings and perceptions, all of which are originally based on the early-twentieth-century experiments of Jagadish Chandra Bose, biologist and physicist extraordinaire. Accordingly, tree consciousness has again become a viable theme and subject of scientific research. Looking at a recent series of experiments, for example, The New York Times sums up the field in a recent breakthrough article, noting that trees’ response to anesthetics suggests that plants are conscious and intelligent. It can no longer be argued otherwise.3 Of course, all of this had already been affirmed by Vedic texts, as previously stated. It is a part of Vaiṣṇava teaching: Again, plants are conscious beings, with a soul. In this regard, Prabhupāda repeatedly lauded the work of Jagadish Chandra Bose: “Even in plants’ life you will find. Sir Jagadish Chandra Bose, one of the greatest scientists of the world, he has proved by machine that when you cut the trees or the leaves, they feel sensation, pain, and that is recorded by machine. So everyone has got soul.”4 *Symbol of Tolerance* There is much to learn from trees, and Lord Caitanya Himself was clear about this: > tṛṇād api sunīcena > taror iva sahiṣṇunā > amāninā mānadena > kīrtanīyaḥ sadā hariḥ “He who is humbler than a blade of grass, more forbearing than a tree, giving due honor to others without requiring it for himself—such a person is ever worthy of chanting the holy name and can do so without limit.” (Śikṣāṣṭakam 3) A tree is blown mercilessly by the wind, endures the elements, allows all to eat of its fruit, is abused by animals and children, and withstands being pruned or even cut down. Yet, would that it could, it never complains. We are advised to be similarly flexible and strong, forbearing, and supremely tolerant. Such tolerance comes from seeing oneself in perspective, as a tiny soul in a very large universe. It is through a genuine sense of humility, says Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, that one becomes eligible to chant the holy name. The humble devotee knows that Kṛṣṇa is the ultimate truth and we are meant to humbly serve Him. Moreover, the devotee recognizes that, because all living beings exist as parts of Kṛṣṇa, we are meant to serve them as well. Thus the *Caitanya-caritāmṛta* (*Madhya* 22.78–80) lists twenty-six qualities that are essential for serious practitioners of *bhakti-yoga*. Amānī, meaning “humble” or “free from false prestige,” is one of them—and among the most important. Indeed, the *Caitanya-caritāmṛta* *(Antya* 20.26) tells us: “If one chants the holy name of Lord Kṛṣṇa in this mindset, he will certainly awaken his dormant love for Kṛṣṇa.” *NOTES* 1. Sometimes aśvattha is translated as “fig tree.” This is because banyan trees are one of the species sometimes called “strangler figs.” Other common names for this plant include Bengal fig and Indian fig. 2. See Ephrat Livni, “A debate over plant consciousness is forcing us to confront the limitations of the human mind,” https://qz.com/1294941/a-debate-over-plant-consciousness-is-forcing-us-to-confront-the-limitations-of-the-human-mind/ 3. JoAnna Klein, “Sedate a Plant, and It Seems to Lose Consciousness. Is It Conscious?” The New York Times, February 2, 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/02/02/science/plants-consciousness-anesthesia.html 4. http://vanisource.org/wiki/Lecture_on_BG_7.1-3_--_Stockholm,_September_10,_1973?hl=Sir%20Jagadish *Satyarāja Dāsa, a disciple of Śrīla Prabhupāda, is a BTG associate editor and founding editor of the Journal of Vaishnava Studies. He has written more than thirty books on Kṛṣṇa consciousness and lives near New York City.* Trees Sidebar: by Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918) I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. Book Excerpt: Hare Kṛṣṇa: An introduction to its philosophy, history and fundamentals *Iconography and Vedic Theism Unlike an image that is the product of our imagination, the form of Kṛṣṇa is an eternal reality.* by Ikṣvāku Dāsa “The Supreme Lord can reveal Himself through the visible elements that emanate from Him and are part of His existence.” Excerpted from Hare Kṛṣṇa: An introduction to its philosophy, history and fundamentals, by Ivan M. Llobet. Copyright © 2021 Ivan M. Llobet. All rights reserved. This excerpt, from chapter four of the book, retains the book’s style for Sanskrit and other considerations. The book is available from the Kṛṣṇa.com Store and Amazon.com. When we look at the Indo-Vedic religious model, the first thing we notice is the great variety of icons and three-dimensional shapes of different divinities. In contrast, although the use of icons is very common, most of the Judeo-Christian culture is essentially iconoclastic; that is, it condemns the use of icons or images, considering them idolatry. Thou shalt not worship images is a fundamental commandment of the Mosaic Law. The ancient Hebrews made a radical distinction between spirit and matter, between the creator and the creation, with the result that matter, destitute of all grace, is unable to reveal its creator. Any attempt to worship God through His creation is considered a form of idolatry. However, in the eighth century, the Christian theologian John of Damascus suggested that the expression of the divine through matter is possible; therefore, an authentic form of the Divinity that becomes visible in the world for the benefit of the faithful should not be seen as an ordinary image. For John of Damascus, the incarnation of Christ provided a solid foundation for the use of devotional icons, since they act as a window that offers us a clearer and closer view of the divine. According to John, since Christ became visible, it was now possible to make an image of what was seen, since the mystery of his form had been revealed.* This understanding is compatible with the version of the Vedic sages. *The Religious Icon: A Sacred Form or a Pagan Image?* The worship of the forms of Lord Kṛṣṇa composed of physical elements is far from idolatry, since the similarity that we find between an ordinary image and His visible forms is only apparent. Unlike an image that is the product of our imagination, the form of Kṛṣṇa is an eternal reality. These visible forms made of physical elements in the Vedas are known as archa-vigraha: the adorable form. These adorable forms are not the result of fertile human imagination, but replicas of the forms in which Lord Kṛṣṇa has manifested in this world and whose appearance is described in the Vedic texts; therefore, although the archa-vigraha externally may appear to be an ordinary image, in reality it is not. For example, to ordinary vision a murderer and a surgeon are similar: both have masked faces and their hands are stained with blood; both hold a sharp object and before them lies an unconscious and bloody body. Despite sharing such similarities, there is a fundamental difference: while the murderer takes our life, the surgeon saves it. Thus, appearances may deceive us; often idolatry exists in the eye of the beholder. Iconography is so natural to human beings that even religious societies that condemn the use of icons recognize their emotional value even without realizing it, since in their publications we see colorful illustrations about the life and work of Jesus and other biblical passages. Without a doubt, when the faithful observe the graphic representations of these stories, their feeling of communion deepens; as such, it cannot be denied that the iconography has a positive impact on spiritual awareness. A cross may be an ordinary piece of wood for someone outside of Christianity, but seeing it, a Christian will feel communion with the life and work of Jesus. The truth is that icons, symbols, graphic depictions and three-dimensional representations that we ordinarily call images function as something more than simple didactic mechanisms. When we say that God is the Absolute Truth, we acknowledge that everything that exists emanates from and depends on Him, that there is no other source of existence outside or independent of Him. According to the Vedas, the Supreme Lord and His energies are simultaneously one and different. They are one with Him because they are the same in quality, being spirit, but they are also different because God is the creator or energetic source and His energies are the emanation of the created. God and His energies are a single unit. For example, the sun and the sun rays form a single unit, but there is also a difference between the two, since the sun is the sun and its rays are its rays. The sun’s rays emanate from the sun; they are its potency, its energy. This means that there is an equality between God and His creation in the sense that there is no other source of existence independent of God; all the creation is an expression of His powers. However, simultaneously, in His personal form God is different from everything created. This constitutes the proper understanding of Vedanta philosophy and it is one of the essential philosophical principles of the Vaishnava religion (Hare Kṛṣṇa). This concept is known as achintya-bheda-abheda-tattva; that is to say: God is inconceivably equal to and simultaneously categorically different from all His creation: (achintya=inconceivable, bheda=equal, nondifferent, abheda=different, tattva=category of existence). His energies are to Him what light and heat are to fire—an integral part of His own essence, different aspects of the same entity. Because of this, the Vedas tell us that in one sense, everything that exists is divine in nature because it emanates from the Divine Absolute. In His *Bhagavad-gita*, Lord Kṛṣṇa tells us that material energy is also divine since it is part of His own self, although such divinity is not evident to our eyes because we are souls covered by illusion. The human concept of “material” arises when we see things as separate from God, when we are unable to perceive the connection that everything has with its divine origin. This implies that “material” is not the substance itself but the observer’s conditioned consciousness. Lord Kṛṣṇa describes His spiritual potency as “superior energy” (*para-prakriti)* and the one we call material as “inferior energy” (a*para-prakriti)*, and yet He also describes them both as divine (*divya*). The superior energy (which we call spiritual) is immutable, conscious, and dynamic, while the inferior one (which we call material) is mutable, unconscious, and inert. Although they have different attributes, both are divine since they originate from the Divine. It is like the right and left arms of a person; both may be described in different ways, but they are not different for the person himself, who uses each one as he likes. In fact, the idea of right and left is based on our point of perception. In a similar way, the concept of superior and inferior energies is but a description for our conditioned experience. However, when we individual souls (jiva or atma), being extremely tiny, come into contact with what we call inferior spiritual energy (which we call material), there is a condition of incompatibility that makes us forget our superior spiritual nature and, consequently, our relationship with God. The condition is just like that of water: despite having the potential to extinguish the fire, when a small drop is thrown into the flames, instead of extinguishing it, it evaporates. As a result of this “extinguished consciousness” or state of forgetfulness, the soul identifies with the temporary physical body composed of qualitatively inferior spiritual substance and calls it material. However, for the Supreme Lord there is no such difference between His “superior spiritual” and “inferior spiritual” energy, just as for an electric generator there is no difference between the negative and positive current, since both emanate from itself. As the master and source of His energies, the Supreme Lord has the sovereign potential to manifest in His entirety through any of His potencies. An example of this is the revelation that Moses received in the form of a fire burning in a bush. If the Lord can manifest Himself through fire, what makes us think that He cannot do so through some other element of nature? That is why the archa-vigraha, or the adorable forms of Lord Kṛṣṇa, although made of physical elements, do not lose their divine nature, since the Supreme Lord can reveal Himself through the visible elements that emanate from Him and are part of His existence. We should not assume that the acceptance of the visible form of the Lord implies imposing limitations on Him, but quite the opposite. If, despite being endowed with inconceivable potencies, the personality of Godhead could not manifest His form for the well-being of conditioned souls through the physical elements that are aspects of Himself, this would really impose limitations on His person. Since in the conditioned state our spiritual vision is null, it is natural that the archa-vigraha appears to be devoid of life, for only the highest mystics can appreciate its spiritual nature, since the Lord reciprocates our vision of His manifested form in the way we approach it. For those who see Him as a pagan image, the Lord reciprocates with them in the same way within their heart. If we consider that there is an irreconcilable and incompatible difference between God and His energies (or spirit and matter), forgetting the absolute nature of God, we will naturally be carried away by the iconoclastic feeling, so we will conclude that devotion to the archa-vigraha is nothing more than idolatry to a pagan idol and that no visible form is worthy of veneration since it limits and offends the divine nature. The fact that the personal concept of God does not constitute a limitation in the divine nature will be a topic that we will deal with later in this work. Absolute means not only that the Lord is not different from His energies, but also that He is not different from His form, His name, His activities, etc., and that therefore, each one of them can be present within the material universe without diminishing their power. Being the Absolute Truth, Lord Kṛṣṇa is not different from His creative energy (which we ordinarily call material) or His name or His form; so the archa-vigraha, or the visible form made of physical elements, is not different from Kṛṣṇa Himself. The archa-vigraha is carved following the specific instructions given to us by the Vedic texts and sages of yore who eye-witnessed Kṛṣṇa’s personal appearance. Therefore, when His own form is carved out of His own energy, by virtue of His absolute nature there is full equality between the Lord and His adorable form. The archa-vigraha, or the adorable form of Kṛṣṇa composed of physical elements, is only material to our eyes and conditioned consciousness. Its purpose is to give the fallen souls devoid of spiritual vision the opportunity to see, appreciate, and meditate on the eternal form of Lord Kṛṣṇa manifested through the elements that we can perceive with the physical eyes. The conclusion is that the worship of the archa-vigraha, rather than an idolatry to a pagan image, is an authentic means of devotion to His most merciful form. *Anthropomorphic or Theomorphic?* Anthropomorphism (anthropo=human, morphe=form) is the projection of human qualities and emotions onto the divine plane—in other words, to conceive the Divine based on our human experience. For example, if in our experience corpulence denotes strength and power, then God, who is the strongest and most powerful being, must be corpulent. If a long life results in old age, then God, who is the oldest being, must be an old man. Perhaps the most universal artistic expression of anthropomorphic thought is found in the Sistine Chapel, where God is represented by Michelangelo as a corpulent old man. Anthropomorphism is a primitive form of thinking that reduces God into an amplified reflection of the human. The natural outcome when we reject this crude vision of the Divine is God as the opposite of everything we perceive in the world—that is to say, the impersonal concept of God: an amorphous, ineffable, inexpressible, unknowable, intangible being, without its own identity and which cannot be defined or represented. However, the Vedic texts transcend this impersonal idea by presenting a theomorphic ideal (theos=God, morphe=form). Vedic theomorphism is not limited to stating that man is created in the likeness of God, but that even human society is a replica (although distorted) of His transcendental kingdom. Unlike the anthropomorphism that makes God a reflection of the human, the theomorphic version makes the human a reflection of God. In other words, because God possesses personal attributes, such as form and individuality (etc.), it follows that these attributes are also visible in His creation, and therefore, in all living beings. However, since both primitive anthropomorphism and Vedic theomorphism pay tribute to a visible physical form, the casual observer will make no difference between the two and considers them to be the same despite being the opposite. It is like the two ends of a line that are hard to distinguish when joined by making a circumference with it, or like the surgeon and the murderer, which at first glance appear to be the same. It is for this reason that the archa-vigraha, or the adorable form of the avataras of Kṛṣṇa, is far removed from primitive anthropomorphic idolatry. *The Christian Theology Reader, Alister E. McGrath, Blackwell Publishers, 1995, p. 150. *Ikṣvāku Dāsa (Ivan M. Llobet), born in Havana, Cuba, has been practicing Kṛṣṇa consciousness since 1986. He holds a bachelor’s degree in religious studies from Florida International University and is a disciple of His Holiness Hridayānanda Dāsa Goswami.* Understanding the Needs of the Driver *Modern life can mean a lot of time traveling in conveyances, affording us many opportunities to remember that we’re not the body.* by Karuṇā Dhārinī Devī Dāsī Where am I heading in the technologically sophisticated conveyance that carries the body that carries me, the soul within? In the eyes of a small child an automobile may appear to be moving of its own accord. When a little older, the child understands that a car cannot move unless it has a driver. Beyond the shiny automobile’s exterior sits a living person. Like a car with a driver, our physical body is a machine with someone stationed inside. The spirit soul, a particle of the energy of God Himself, inhabits and “drives” the material body. *Bhagavad-gītā* describes the human body as a yantra, i.e., a matrix or machine, temporarily occupied by spirit. This yantra is useful for the soul inside, but within certain limits. Just as a driver is limited by the abilities of his car, so the soul’s natural freedom is curtailed by the matrix of the body. Anyone who has experienced modern traffic jams will admit that moving inch by inch inside a machine with a motor is at best only a simulation of freedom. Similarly, for the spirit soul, originally a free agent in the service of God, there are many unnatural restrictions because of dwelling in the body. The soul originates in a world where movement is effortless. *You’ve Hit Me!* During Prabhupāda’s childhood many machines of conveyance were conceived and manufactured—planes, cars, buses, etc.—and Prabhupāda created many descriptive analogies based on them. Strong identification with combustion-engine conveyances became a social norm, and he evaluated this tendency. His example of the man driving along the road whose car was suddenly hit by another car is a self-realization classic. Jumping out of his car the man shouted, “You’ve hit me! You’ve hit me!” Śrīla Prabhupāda: First of all one must know, “What is my position? How am I packed up with all these twenty-four elements?” In the Vedas it is said that the soul is unaffected with this material condition. I have several times given this example, that a person has got a good car, and it is somehow or another broken, and he becomes upset, because of his car. Although he knows that “I am not this car,” but his thoughts being absorbed by the attraction of the car, when the car is broken somehow or other, he becomes almost unconscious. So this is due to our attachment. (Lecture on *Bhāgavatam* 7.6.8) Due to a lifetime spent in a city sometimes compared to an enormous parking lot, I am delighted by Śrīla Prabhupāda’s comments regarding travel in vehicles. To travel in sprawling Los Angeles County, people invest in a car, and whether it is ordinary or fancy, it is usually to their liking. Cars seem an extension of ourselves, a shiny steel-framed statement of a faster, abler me. The unending increase in the number of vehicles jammed on the road does not seem to create any hesitancy to hurtle about in them, regardless of the danger of collision—or of poisonous fumes that sabotage the environment—so strong is our want to get out and defy our bounds. As pure spirit souls we were never meant to live in a word sans Kṛṣṇa. By our spiritual nature we are meant to be fully enlightened, always ready to soar in the pure liberated state of ecstatic love. By virtue of our own natural deep relationship with God, we are meant to be released from the problems that now shackle us. “The need of the spirit soul,” Śrīla Prabhupāda writes, “is that he wants to get out of the limited sphere of material bondage and fulfill his desire for complete freedom. He wants to get out of the covered walls of the greater universe. He wants to see the free light and the spirit. That complete freedom is achieved when he meets the complete spirit, the Personality of Godhead.” *(Bhāgavatam* 1.2.8, Purport) *Goat Nipples* Driving highly engineered cars and flying in jet planes mimic this complete freedom. Spectators line up to get only but a feeling of it at racetracks and airports, for such machines certainly defy human limitation. Prahlāda Mahārāja, however, offers a caution. He explains in the *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* that every material facility carries with it an equivalent and opposing inconvenience. So it has come to pass that human society’s long-cherished identification with moving vehicles is causing a grand environmental backlash. Carbon emissions have accelerated the warming of earth’s atmosphere and triggered unprecedented natural disasters, costing the loss of various types of life and trillions of dollars. Now begins the big rush to be the inventor of the perfect clean-energy car, while we continue to plaster the earth with asphalt highways. The relentless din of gross physical conveyances echoing through every valley, sometimes just on the other side of one’s bedroom window, is hardly a success for the bewildered scientist. Modern science is striving to make adjustments to engineer material nature, but its attempt is like trying to get milk from a goat’s neck nipples. No milk can be found there. The attempts to discover the perfect energy for the new, improved car, plane, or truck is laudable in one sense, but making it our priority will find us milking the neck of the goat; nothing is actually there. No one can eat nuts and bolts. We have failed to ask the most fundamental of all questions: Who is seated in the car? *Who Is This Gentleman?* Commuters can attest to how much precious time commuting takes out of one’s day. In this regard Śrīla Prabhupāda told of a commuter he knew whose son could not recognize him. The man went to work very early in the day and came back very late. The little child’s waking hours were not the same as the father’s, so the son did not see his father while growing up. One night he saw his father coming in late and asked, “Mother, who is this gentleman?” She replied, “Why, that is your father, my dear son!” Prabhupāda commented: “Now we are utilizing this facility of aeroplane; that means we are getting good chance for serving Kṛṣṇa. But others, materialists, they are getting this facility so that his child cannot recognize him. So we can take all facilities . . . So therefore we are actually utilizing the scientific improvement for the benefit of the people.” Traveling the boulevards, freeways, airways, and rails, we may spend hours to get to a destination to earn money, see a specialist, or buy something. If it means getting good facility for Kṛṣṇa’s service, then the trouble or inconvenience is sanctified and pleasing because Kṛṣṇa’s blessings are there. We are traveling, essentially, toward Him. Otherwise, travel in a conveyance here and there to try to satisfy one material demand after another cannot be satisfying. One of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s favorite questions to modern man: What is the difference between an animal’s scurrying on four legs and a harried man’s running about on four wheels? Formerly, a man used to work on his field, a few steps from his house. Now we have created facility of transport; therefore we have to go to work three hundred miles away from home. This is the position. But they have no brain. They’re thinking they’re advancing. [Chuckles.] Six hours I have to spoil. Then I can go to my office. Then I work there the whole day, and again come, again six hours. Then I come at night to sleep along with my family for three hours. (Lecture on *Bhāgavatam* 1.3.10) *The Need of the Soul* Like the child who lost his father to commuting, people are losing their real needs in the furious blur of modern transport. Science proposes to curb an impending environmental crisis with more evolved technology for optimum travel. But without the full Vedic science that takes into account the fundamental need to serve the Supreme Lord, no one can solve the problem of continually circling around and about in the material atmosphere. The driver remains stuck in congestion, his finest, optimum destination obscured. It is the soul, not the body, who is the conscious living being. The soul’s needs are not made of petrol and steel. They are satisfied by the super-fine activities of devotional service. Śrīla Prabhupāda writes, There is a dormant affection for God within everyone; spiritual existence is manifested through the gross body and mind in the form of perverted affection for gross and subtle matter. Therefore we have to engage ourselves in occupational engagements that will evoke our divine consciousness. This is possible only by hearing and chanting the divine activities of the Supreme Lord, and any occupational activity which does not help one to achieve attachment for hearing and chanting the transcendental message of Godhead is said herein to be simply a waste of time. This is because other occupational duties (whatever ism they may belong to) cannot give liberation to the soul. The hankering soul must be satisfied by the perfect scientific process of perfect devotional service. *(Bhāgavatam* 1.2.8, Purport) The systematic process of perfect devotional service is easily practiced by joining with other devotees to chant Kṛṣṇa’s names. This sometimes requires the use of physical conveyances. Devotees go out to chant in crowded locations, and they risk safety and comfort commuting to their favorite places to offer saṅkīrtana—the chanting of the names of Kṛṣṇa and distribution of Kṛṣṇa conscious literature. Other devotees make their way by bus, plane, or train, following a speaking itinerary to a variety of venues to share Kṛṣṇa’s glories and enthuse others by the depth of their spiritual association. Still others faithfully pack a van with cases of fruits and vegetables and head to the temple kitchen to prepare sumptuous prasāda. Eager devotees load colorful festival tents and exhibits into trucks to move all over a continent, city after city, where crowds gather and come in contact with Kṛṣṇa’s message. *Friday Night Harināma* We are on the I-10 freeway in a passenger van, ten of us, on the way to an evening chanting engagement. Our van has to cross an overpass above the 405 freeway, which climbs through the black hills to the right and across the coastal-cities basin to the far left. The five lanes of stalled white headlights beside five lanes of red taillights glow like an immense winding jeweled snake in the dark. If I were in this situation for anything other than Kṛṣṇa’s service, I’m sure I would be disturbed. This is no brilliant sleeping snake, nor is it a long shining necklace. It is a veritable sea of steel material conveyances, idling bumper to bumper, complete with thousands of passengers anticipating the night’s potential sense gratification. Their vehicles leak emissions into the air that repeatedly bring this population to its knees with severe drought and one wild fire after another. I am happy to remember Śrīla Prabhupāda’s words: “For preaching we are getting good facility, but for the other . . . ” And I pray that all of my movement on this earth will stop being for “the other,” the harried pursuit of material wants. Then I surprise myself with a positive thought: the sea of red and white lights becomes auspicious. Beyond the shiny automobile exteriors are eternal living beings, perched upon chassis, a river of souls seated in marvelous yantras made of Kṛṣṇa’s material energy. A stream of these souls will make their way to the tourist spot where the devotees of Kṛṣṇa will play musical instruments and sing a variety of melodies to deliver His holy names. A succession of dear, tender chords will carry the holy names up in the streets to soar higher than any city roar, washing through the ears of the living beings. Everything is situated perfectly. *A Precious Gift* The vehicle of this human body is a rare and precious gift, not to be shuttled about in search of various sense indulgences or technological tricks. Modern science and its attempt to discover the perfect transport cannot ultimately solve the mystery of our existence. Like the child who thinks a car moves on its own, they do not understand that there is an inner driver. They have neglected the need of the soul. Our genuine satisfaction lies in steering the conveyance of the human body toward the ultimate destination, back home, back to Godhead. On that journey, Kṛṣṇa is discovered at every turn of the road. The solution to our perennial failure to engineer a pleasure ride against the odds of birth, disease, old age, and death is to drive the vehicle Kṛṣṇa gave us according to the regulations of the Vedas. The skills and propensities we are born with are to be used in His service, not to prolong our stay here by improving physical conveyances to move at—in Prabhupāda’s phrase—“neck-break speed.” Free movement is our primordial nature. Our natural home is back home, back to Godhead. It is the unfettered soul’s only desirable destination. In that place dance is the mode of travel, and the flow of eternal movement is toward rendezvous with the Supreme Lord Kṛṣṇa. It is a world that lies beyond the accumulation of grime and waste. Every morsel, blossom, and waft of energy there is pristine because it exists in full affection for the pleasure pastimes of Nanda Dulāla, the son of the king of Vraja. Hearing the descriptions of this topmost destination by the great ācāryas who are ambassadors of the spiritual realm inspires us to make wonderful pilgrimages to sacred places on earth such as Māyāpur or Sri Vrindavan Dham to get a further glimpse. Embodied souls carried by physical conveyances to destinations inhabited by great devotees are always rightly situated, especially if motivated to serve those great souls. The progress of devotion to Kṛṣṇa conveys the driver of the material body back to Godhead, a destination never reached by modern travel. *Karuṇā Dhārinī Devī Dāsī, a disciple of His Grace Vīrabāhu Dāsa, serves the Deities at ISKCON Los Angeles, where she joined ISKCON in 1979. She has also been distributing Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books since her earliest days in Kṛṣṇa consciousness. She lives with her husband and daughter.* The Power of Sound *If material sound can create astonishing effects, what transformations might transcendental sound produce?* by Viśākhā Devī Dāsī Transcendental sound can transport us from this world of suffering to our eternal, spiritual home. The beauty, harmony, and quality of our existence often depend on the nature of sounds we hear and make. We’ve all experienced how hurtful and undermining, as well as how enthusing and empowering, words can be. Words can shape the intent and direction of our lives, strengthen or dismantle our fortitude, make us angry or gentled, alienated or grateful. While mundane sound is undoubtedly powerful, transcendental sound can’t be compared to anything of this world. We get a hint of that fact in the beginning of *Bhagavad-gītā* (1.14), where we learn, “On the other side, both Lord Kṛṣṇa and Arjuna, stationed on a great chariot drawn by white horses, sounded their transcendental conchshells.” The sounds that Kṛṣṇa and His sincere devotees make are transcendental; they are qualitatively different from mundane sounds. God makes sounds? Yes, He’s a person, and when He wants to communicate He makes sounds. But unlike the sounds we make, His sounds are divine. The infinite Supreme Person cannot be conceived by or contained within our senses, mind, and intellect; however, since He really is infinite, He has the power to make Himself known to our finite selves through the medium of sound. If we take the opportunity to know God through sound, it’s tremendously exciting—who can fathom that our tiny, fallible self has the possibility of connecting with the primal creator of all that be? Yet, if that Supreme Person decides to reveal Himself to us, who can stop Him? Who can declare that He couldn’t or shouldn’t or wouldn’t? For millions of years, great sages have chanted and spoken philosophical truths on the banks of holy rivers. Piercing the mind, the supra-mundane sound uttered by such sages enters our consciousness through scriptural writings, and we ponder deep philosophical and metaphysical truths. By infusing our consciousness with supramundane sound, saturating it with divinity, we’re spiritually nourished and enlightened and begin to experience the transformative potency of transcendental sound. Those vibrations cut through our worldly mind and intellect and awaken our understanding of our spiritual existence. We learn that beyond the intellect is the spiritual element, the soul—me. When we open ourselves to authentic transcendental sound waves, our progress and happiness in spiritual life are assured. Our worldview radically shifts, along with our values, goals, priorities, diet, habits, likes, dislikes, and the way we want to spend our time. What happens is “a revolution in the impious lives of this world's misdirected civilization” *(Bhāgavatam* 1.5.11). *Hare Kṛṣṇa* Śrīla Prabhupāda’s followers are world famous for unabashedly promoting the chanting of the *mahā-*mantra**: Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare / Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare. The skeptic in us will wonder at the remarkable potency attributed to reciting these words both privately as a personal meditation (*japa*) and publicly in call-and-response fashion (kīrtana) accompanied by musical instruments. Unequivocally, we’re informed that chanting the Hare Kṛṣṇa *mahā-*mantra** wipes material dust from our mind. In other words, the sound of the *mantra* powerfully alters our consciousness by shattering our misconceptions and establishing us in our actual identity. As the transcendental *mahā-*mantra** conquers the material mind and allows it to access the spiritual knowledge, quality, and energy of the soul, we feel the practical results of chanting: the distresses of conditional life lessen, and we are more peaceful and positive. As spiritual beings, we’ve been searching for these experiences from time immemorial. We crave more than negation; we want a full draught from the ocean of divine nectar. When we chant the *mahā-mantra*, the holy name bathes us, a soul, in spiritual joy, knowledge, and love. With our heartfelt exclamation of “Hare Kṛṣṇa,” our mind, body, and intelligence are saturated with transcendence. Material energy is transformed into spiritual. *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* (2.1.11) tells us, “Constant chanting of the holy name of the Lord after the ways of the great authorities is the doubtless and fearless way of success for all, including those who are free from all material desires, those who are desirous of all material enjoyment, and also those who are self-satisfied by dint of transcendental knowledge.” Whoever we are, we will achieve spiritual success when we chant without material desire. And there lies the rub. *Caveats* Just prior to the beginning of the great battle of Kurukshetra, the Kaurava leaders blew their conchshells. “Bhīṣma, the great valiant grandsire of the Kuru dynasty, the grandfather of the fighters, blew his conchshell very loudly, making a sound like the roar of a lion. . . . After that, the conchshells, drums, bugles, trumpets and horns were all suddenly sounded, and the combined sound was tumultuous.” *(Gītā* 1.12–13) Unlike Kṛṣṇa’s and Arjuna’s conchshells, mentioned earlier, the sounds of these conchshells were of this world, not transcendental. Śrīla Prabhupāda notes the vast difference between the material and spiritual sounds: “The sounding of the transcendental conchshells indicated that there was no hope of victory for the other side.” *(Gītā* 1.14, Purport) We cannot overstate the importance of the distinction between material and spiritual sound. That which is connected to Śrī Kṛṣṇa is transcendental and victorious, and that disconnected from Him, mundane and subject to the inviolable laws of material nature. When we consider the transformative effect of hearing from God and His representatives, we must use our discriminatory powers to determine who is actually representing God as opposed to those who are after their own interests. Failing to do this, we may be cheated. A representative of God follows high moral standards, serves God selflessly and ceaselessly, and speaks what is confirmed by saints and the scriptures. God’s representatives do not make up their own process for realizing the self and God, but instruct others in bona fide, God-given processes. Hearing from an authentic representative, however, is half the equation. The other half is for us to become qualified recipients of the glorious message those representatives offer. For an understanding of how to do this, we can look at the ten offenses against the holy name mentioned in the Padma Purāṇa, for if we can avoid those, we’ll experience the spiritual potency of transcendental sound. The first offense, to vilify devotees who teach the Lord’s glories, indicates that we need to appreciate rather than find fault with God’s devotees. God’s devotees are dear to Him, and He will not be pleased with or reveal Himself to those who criticize His near and dear ones. The second offense is to consider the holy names of the Lord mundane. The Lord is known in different places by different names, but that does not in any way minimize His fullness. Śrīla Prabhupāda writes, “Any nomenclature which is meant for the Supreme Lord is as holy as the others because they are all meant for the Lord. Such holy names are as powerful as the Lord, and there is no bar for anyone in any part of the creation to chant and glorify the Lord by the particular name of the Lord as it is locally understood. They are all auspicious, and one should not distinguish such names of the Lord as material commodities.” *(Bhāgavatam* 2.1.11, Purport) God’s names are as transcendental as God Himself, and, grasping this, we honor those names. And we do not equate His names with the names of demigods, however powerful they may be. The third offense is to neglect the orders of the authorized spiritual masters. The spiritual master’s instructions are to help us control our mind and senses so we can come closer to Kṛṣṇa. When we follow those instructions, our spiritual journey will progress unhampered. To vilify scriptures or Vedic knowledge, the fourth offense, like vilifying God’s devotees, displeases God and will alienate God from us. We honor all bona fide scriptures. The fifth offense is to think the glories of the holy name are exaggerated. We need to humbly recognize our minuteness and limitations and acknowledge that the potency of the holy name of God is beyond our comprehension, just as God Himself is beyond our comprehension. The sixth offense, to interpret the holy name, is along the same lines. Our minds are continuously accepting and rejecting, and our duty is to accept what’s favorable and reject what’s unfavorable for our spiritual development. There’s a place for creativity and imagination in Kṛṣṇa consciousness, but they need to be guided by the saints and scriptures, not based on our mental concoctions and flights of fancy. So we don’t interpret the holy name, but accept it as it’s described in the scriptures. In Śrīla Prabhupāda words, “Neophytes, due to their being in the lower stage of devotional service, are invariably envious, so much so that they invent their own ways and means of devotional regulations without following the ācāryas. As such, even if they make a show of constantly chanting the holy name of the Lord, they cannot relish the transcendental taste of the holy name.” *(Bhāgavatam* 2.3.24, Purport) The seventh offense, to commit sins intentionally on the strength of the holy name, is especially egregious. Śrīla Prabhupāda explains, “In the scriptures it is said that one can be liberated from the effects of all sinful actions simply by chanting the holy name of the Lord. One who takes advantage of this transcendental method and continues to commit sins on the expectation of neutralizing the effects of sins by chanting the holy name of the Lord is the greatest offender at the feet of the holy name. Such an offender cannot purify himself by any recommended method of purification. In other words, one may be a sinful man before chanting the holy name of the Lord, but after taking shelter in the holy name of the Lord and becoming immune, one should strictly restrain oneself from committing sinful acts with a hope that his method of chanting the holy name will give him protection.” *(Bhāgavatam* 2.1.11, Purport) The eighth offense is to consider the holy name of the Lord to be a materially auspicious activity. Chanting God’s names is much more than a pious activity. Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Person, is the supreme enjoyer, not our servant or order supplier. We shouldn’t use Him or His names for our personal service. The holy name of Kṛṣṇa is nondifferent from Kṛṣṇa and allows us to connect with Kṛṣṇa and resume our natural, happy position of serving Him with loving abandon. So our chanting should be for Kṛṣṇa’s pleasure, not our own material profit. There are various kinds of pious activities that are done for material benefit, but our motivation for chanting the holy name should not be to benefit ourselves materially but to please Kṛṣṇa. The ninth offense is to instruct those who are uninterested in chanting the holy names of Kṛṣṇa about the transcendental nature of His name. Such unwilling people may blaspheme Kṛṣṇa and the process of chanting, which will serve to increase their distance from Kṛṣṇa. We’re advised to share this knowledge with those who are receptive to it. The tenth offense is to maintain material attachments and to become uninterested in the holy name of the Lord even after hearing many instructions about it. We want to steadily increase our attachment to spiritual activities, for this will free us from the mistaken idea that we’re the enjoyers and controllers of this world and give us entrance into Kṛṣṇa’s world. *Our Motivation* Transcendental sound comes from a realm beyond this world, and that sound can transport us to that divine realm. To be so transported, we first need to hear from authentic spiritual teachers—people who have properly heard the sages and scriptures and have realized and are following their teachings. And we need to avoid committing offenses to the holy names of God. The sound of the *mahā-*mantra** powerfully shatters our misconceptions and establishes us in our actual identity as spiritual beings, ātmās. By chanting attentively, we feel practical results: we’re less fearful and angry, less envious of others, and more satisfied within ourselves. In a word, we’re happier. We enjoy the sound of the *mantra*, its pleasant company, and the effect of listening and hearing. The holy name bathes us in spiritual joy, knowledge, and love. As we go on chanting God’s names with attention, carefully hearing each divine word, our mind and body are transformed. By mindfully chanting Kṛṣṇa’s holy names in the company of His devotees, we come closer to Him. In this way we can have a full draught of the ocean of bliss and satisfy our self—a soul—who has been thirsty from time immemorial. Chanting the holy name of the Lord is the doubtless way of success for all; the more attentively and sincerely we chant the names of the Lord, the more spiritual progress we will make and the more He will reveal Himself to us. In Śrīla Prabhupāda’s words *(Caitanya-caritāmṛta*, *Ādi* 17.212, Purport), “Any man from any part of the world who practices chanting of the holy name of Kṛṣṇa can be liberated and after death go back home, back to Godhead.” *Viśākhā Devī Dāsī has been writing for BTG since 1973. The author of six books, she is the temple president at Bhaktivedanta Manor in the UK. She and her husband, Yadubara Dāsa, produce and direct films, most recently the biopic on the life of Śrīla Prabhupāda Hare Kṛṣṇa! The Mantra, the Movement, and the Swami Who Started It All. Visit her website at OurSpiritualJourney.com.* Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s Delusions: From Verbal Illumination to Spiritual Elevation *Spurred on by Vidura’s blunt instructions, Dhṛtarāṣṭra salvages his often dishonorable life.* by Caitanya Caraṇa Dāsa Lessons from the last years of the life of Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Dhṛtarāṣṭra tensed as he heard the heavy footfalls of Bhīma in the palace corridor. They stopped near the window to his room. Standing there, Bhīma spoke in a voice loud enough for Dhṛtarāṣṭra to hear. Slapping his arms, he declared, “These are the arms with which I crushed all the hundred Kauravas, cut off the very arm that Duḥśāsana used to touch Draupadī’s hair, and broke the very thigh that Duryodhana bared before Draupadī. Not one of those hundred scoundrels could escape my wrath.” Among the Pāṇḍavas, Bhīma was the most bellicose. He couldn’t bear to see Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the same person who had consented to the many atrocities done against them, now enjoying royal comforts at their expense. He vented his anger by speaking stinging words within Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s earshot. Though Dhṛtarāṣṭra had heard Bhīma speak those words many times, he felt their sting each time—all the more so because he knew they were true. Yet such was his attachment to royal comfort that he continued to live in the Pāṇḍavas’ palace. Attachment Humiliates, Detachment Liberates Attachment promises pleasure, but over time it gives decreasing pleasure and increasing pain. Such was Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s predicament. His attachment to royal comforts forced him to stomach Bhīma’s humiliating words. The more he stomached them, the more they devoured his sense of honor. Our sense of honor propels us to act honorably and deters us from acting dishonorably. It is not arrogance; it is basic human self-respect and is essential for us to act respectably. But attachment deadens our sense of honor. Indeed, it acts like a narcotic that numbs us to the pain of our pitiable condition. Being thus numbed, we act reproachably, even reprehensibly, just to protect the thing we are attached to. Thus our attachment sets us up for humiliation, again and again. For someone thus numbed, a shock therapy is called for. That therapy came to Dhṛtarāṣṭra in the form of Vidura’s words—words that jolted, detached, and liberated. *The Verbal Knockout Punch* “O king, why are you staying here, like a household dog, eating the remnants that Bhīma has discarded?” These words spoken by Vidura stung Dhṛtarāṣṭra like nothing else. Dhṛtarāṣṭra had been sitting in the royal palace, eager to meet his half-brother Vidura, who had left for pilgrimage many years before and had just returned. But the meeting hadn’t gone anything like he had expected. Vidura seemed be on a mission to speak words that hit him where it hurt. Vidura had quickly assessed Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s plight and had started verbalizing it without mincing words. “O king, what do you have to look forward to in life? Death awaits you in the near future. Your body is aged and diseased. What are you doing apart from producing cough? Do you feel no shame in living at the mercy of those you repeatedly wronged? Why do you keep living comfortably when you know that the serpent of death is creeping closer to you with every passing moment?” Vidura’s words were like verbal arrows that pierced Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s defenses and wounded him unbearably. Vidura had spoken strongly to him earlier too. But now his words seemed to have a force and ferocity like never before. They were like the final blows of a boxer who knows that the opponent is on the verge of collapsing. For Dhṛtarāṣṭra, the statement that he was like a dog eating Bhīma’s remnants was the knockout punch. For anyone to be compared to a dog was painful. For a king to be compared thus was especially painful. For a king to be compared to a dog who ate someone’s remnants was far more painful. And for that someone to be a person the king resented was much, much more painful. And for that person to be Bhīma was unbearably painful for Dhṛtarāṣṭra, even when he knew that the comparison was nonliteral. The very thought of Bhīma pained Dhṛtarāṣṭra—this was the person who had killed all his hundred sons. Worse still, Bhīma’s repeated harsh words were like a regular torture for him. To hear Vidura say that his condition was like that of a dog eating Bhīma’s remnants jolted Dhṛtarāṣṭra like nothing else. As those words entered Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s head and heart, they cut off his long-lingering attachments. He resolved immediately to renounce royal comforts. *Operation Renunciation Successful at Last* When Dhṛtarāṣṭra finally became detached, that detachment was the fruit of a multi-pronged operation by multiple sages for decades. During Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s reign, many sages had visited Hastinapura to persuade Duryodhana to curb his animosity towards the Pāṇḍavas. And if that attempt proved unsuccessful, they had hoped, more realistically, to detach Dhṛtarāṣṭra from Duryodhana. Neither purpose had been successful. Amidst so much cautionary counsel, how had Dhṛtarāṣṭra rationalized his passivity and complicity for so long? By refusing to contemplate that counsel—by letting his thoughts and emotions stay with his attachments, leaving no room for considering anything that threatened his attachments. And for neglecting wise counsel, he had got help—chiefly from the unwise counsel of the brāhmaṇa Kaṇika. Kaṇika was a brāhmaṇa in name only; he was a wily expert in politics and statecraft. He was a friend of Śakuni, who had been the source of much bad counsel for Duryodhana, his nephew. Śakuni knew that his words, which had much weight for Duryodhana, who was younger to him, wouldn’t have that much weight for Dhṛtarāṣṭra, who was elder to him. So he enlisted the service of Kaṇika, who helped Dhṛtarāṣṭra rationalize his wrongdoings. Kaṇika infamously told Dhṛtarāṣṭra that one could and should kill even one’s son, friend, brother, father, or preceptor if that person came in the way of attaining royal opulence. Whose words we hear is important, but even more important is whose words we hold dear. Dhṛtarāṣṭra chose to value Kaṇika’s words more than Vidura’s—and thus continued with his passivity and complicity. We need to take the advice that rejects vice, not the advice that rationalizes vice. Even the great sage Vyāsa, who had fathered Dhṛtarāṣṭra through the ritual practice of surrogate insemination, had tried to enlighten Dhṛtarāṣṭra. Desiring to ground him in reality, Vyāsa had offered Dhṛtarāṣṭra eyes to see the Kurukshetra war. With those eyes the king could have seen the destruction of his sons, which was the inevitable result of their many vicious activities. The sight of that graphic destruction could have awakened detachment within him. But unfortunately, Dhṛtarāṣṭra refused those eyes, passing the gift on to his assistant, Sañjaya. Though hearing about the death of his sons shocked and devastated Dhṛtarāṣṭra, still, it did not awaken detachment within him. But now in his old age, he had lost all access to worldly pleasure, either vicariously through his sons, who were dead, or directly through his own body, which was dying. He could live in denial no more. In this situation, Vidura’s words became like a mirror that showed Dhṛtarāṣṭra what he had been reduced to. And that sight was so unflattering that he immediately became ready to rectify it by renouncing the world. Vidura succeeded where Vyāsa and other sages had failed. Did that mean he was more potent than those sages? Not necessarily. In the past, Vidura’s words too had failed. In fact, Vidura had spoken far more words of advice to Dhṛtarāṣṭra than had Vyāsa. After all, Vidura was a prominent minister in Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s court, being his half-brother. He saw Vidura practically daily. And yet Vidura’s words hadn’t changed him. The Vedic tradition compares the words of the wise to sharp swords that cut the attachments of the ignorant. But this sword sometimes cuts and sometimes fails to cut. Whether a sword cuts a bond depends not just on the sharpness of the sword but also the strength of the binding material. For some people, their bonds are made not of ropes but of iron. That is, their situation and disposition make them utterly unreceptive to any higher wisdom. Even the most cutting words of the most potent sages can’t enlighten those who are bent on holding on to their attachments. Such attached people need to learn adequately in the school of hard knocks before they can learn through words of wisdom. They need to go through life’s harsh experiences till they evolve to a point of becoming more spiritually receptive. Only then will the sword of wise words cut. Life had finally brought Dhṛtarāṣṭra to that point—and Vidura’s timely words were effective. Soberingly, Dhṛtarāṣṭra had to lose everything before he lost his attachments. Surely, we can do better when our turn comes to let go of our attachments. *The Sudden Departure* “Alas, my master has left me behind. Why didn’t he inform me when he was leaving?” Sañjaya’s lament alarmed Yudhiṣṭhira. He had come in the morning to offer his daily respects to Dhṛtarāṣṭra, his uncle. But he couldn’t find him in the places Dhṛtarāṣṭra usually frequented. As he searched with increasing anxiety, he came across Sañjaya. When Yudhiṣṭhira understood from Sañjaya that Dhṛtarāṣṭra had renounced the world and gone to the forest, he was aghast. Dhṛtarāṣṭra had never lived in a forest. His entire life had been spent in the comforts of the palace; his blindness had precluded his doing anything physically challenging. What he had never done in his youth, how could he do now, in his old age? Such considerations impelled Yudhiṣṭhira to follow Dhṛtarāṣṭra and request him to return to the palace. While Yudhiṣṭhira was contemplating where to go to search for Dhṛtarāṣṭra, Nārada appeared. That celestial sage informed Yudhiṣṭhira, “Dhṛtarāṣṭra has chosen the path of no return. He has embraced the renounced order, which prepares one for death. He will soon shed his mortal coil and attain a spiritually elevated destination.” On hearing this prophecy, Yudhiṣṭhira reluctantly restrained himself. *Give the Mind No Excuses* On being enlightened by Vidura’s words, Dhṛtarāṣṭra became so determined to renounce the world that he didn’t want to stop for even one moment more than necessary. He decided not to inform Yudhiṣṭhira or Sañjaya about his decision, for they would try to dissuade him. Dhṛtarāṣṭra recognized that his mind had befooled him into living in undeserved royal comfort for so long. That same mind wouldn’t allow him to renounce everything so easily—it would latch on to any excuse for putting off the resolve to renounce. He had listened to his mind long enough. Enough was enough. For long, he had sensed vaguely the shamelessness of his staying in the palace of the very Pāṇḍavas he had wronged repeatedly. Now, thanks to Vidura’s strong words, that vague sensation had become a forceful realization; he wasn’t going to let anything dim that realization. He acted on it right away by embracing renunciation. Deep within all of us is something that longs for a better life. We sense that we are meant for something better than decay and death. Our heart beats towards mortality, yet it beats for immortality. With every heartbeat, we move closer to death. Yet with every heartbeat, we long to live forever and to love forever. Lord Kṛṣṇa’s wisdom in the *Gītā* echoes our intuition for immortality. He explains that we are souls who are the children of immortality. We can attain immortality if we evolve spiritually by redirecting our love from the temporary to the eternal. In that spiritual evolution, renunciation is a significant step forward, especially when we near death. All the worldly things we have to lose eventually and inevitably, if we choose to give them up voluntarily, we open our heart for spiritual enrichment. Such renunciation is courageous and glorious. *The Self-created Fire and Pyre* Dhṛtarāṣṭra sat in mystic meditation, focusing on inner spiritual reality. He was a kṣatriya—and had the power of determination. Though he hadn’t used it much earlier in his life, he now resolved to use it fully. By determined *yoga* practice, he went into deep meditation. Over time, his meditation gave rise to a mystical inner fire that emerged from his body and consumed it. While being thus immolated, Dhṛtarāṣṭra remained in trance, having transcended bodily consciousness. While such a death might seem ghastly and tragic, it was actually auspicious and heroic. In the Vedic tradition, fire is considered sacred. Indeed, fire is central to the yajñas that are a prominent dharmic practice. What is offered in a sacred fire is transported mystically to higher beings as an offering for their propitiation and pleasure. During life, the pious offered valued possessions such as ghee and grains into the fire. At the end of life, they offered the body to a sacred fire during cremation. Whereas cremation was done by others after the soul had left the body, self-immolation was done by some spiritually determined souls while they were still in the body. In a mood of selfless sacrifice, they would offer to the sacred fire their most valued possession: their body. When done in proper consciousness, such sacred self-immolation guaranteed an auspicious spiritual destination. By choosing to depart from the world in a sacred trance and a sacred fire, Dhṛtarāṣṭra ensured that his inglorious life had a glorious end. *Caitanya Caraṇa Dāsa serves full time at ISKCON Chowpatty, Mumbai. He is a BTG associate editor and the author of twenty-five books. To read his other articles or receive his daily reflection on the Bhagavad-gītā, “Gītā-Daily,” visit gitadaily.com.* Journey Home to Tim *A devotee’s death in a car accident brings his sister to Māyāpur for a moving and unforgettable experience.* by Dr. Nona Carter “I could imagine Tim walking the streets of Māyāpur as easily as I could see him lying prostrate in worship on the marble floor of the temple.” One year ago today* I got the call: “Mom, don’t you know it is 6:30 in the morning? Can’t this wait?” “There was an accident last night. Honey, Tim is gone. He’s gone. Oh my God, he can’t be gone . . .” After two hours of eternal hell punctuated only by denial, at 8:45 a.m. on February 1, 2012, the Buffalo police arrived at my parents’ house to deliver the official notice that their youngest child had been killed in a car accident. Although we could not imagine it at the time, my family’s pilgrimage to India and our journey back to Tim began that morning. Much to the surprise of his thoroughly nonreligious family, in college my brother became a devout member of the International Society for Kṛṣṇa Consciousness movement, more informally known as the Hare Krishnas. Although his spirituality remained foreign to us, with time we learned to respect the selfless, austere and nonmaterialistic lifestyle that his love for Kṛṣṇa inspired him to lead. When Tim traveled to India a year previous to his death, we all smiled endearingly at his stories of pilgrimage around Govardhan Hill barefoot, sleeping on the marble floors of temples, and staying up all night playing kirtan. Tim lived and breathed to the rhythm of kirtan, a style of devotional music involving the call and response chanting of a *mantra*. Kirtan was his spiritual sustenance, and while in India he often played and sang all through the night in the twenty-four-hour kirtan hut, where the live music never ends. How interesting, and yet how strange it seemed to my upper-middle-class American family that our little Tim was off doing such bizarre things in India—a place more alien to us than the many-headed Deities who reside there. After his passing, our endearing smiles dissolved into remorseful frowns. Why had we listened to his thoughts as if they were filtered through the veil of strangeness instead of whole-heartedly trying to understand him? We would never be given a second chance to truly hear him, but it was not too late for us to attempt to understand. It was with a deep desire for understanding that we booked our tickets to India: my mom and dad, my brother and sister-in-law, Tim’s fiancīe and her mother, my husband and me, and a box of ashes. Nine of us. Destination: Māyāpur. ETA: January 1, 2013. *Māyāpur: A new year, a new beginning—if only it were that simple.* Māyāpur, located 130 km north of Kolkata on the banks of the holy river Ganga, is the home to ISKCON headquarters. The Hare Kṛṣṇa community in Māyāpur lives within a large gated compound with guards stationed at all entrances and along the path leading to the residential area. Over a million Hindu pilgrims from around the world visit this holy place where Lord Chaitanya was born, but today the large number of “white Hindus” who worship there are as big a tourist attraction as any for domestic tourists. Having grown up near Alachua, Florida—another hotspot of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement—I immediately felt both at home and completely alien in Māyāpur. Of all the places I visited in India, nowhere did I look more like I belong, yet feel more like I didn’t. Devotees from Russia, South America, the Balkans, the U.S., Europe and Africa all congregate there, giving the gated ISKCON temple complex the feel of an isolated world with fantastic diversity and stifling homogeneity. One would think I’d feel right at home in this scrupulously clean complex where nutella crepes were the featured breakfast item, but I was intensely aware of the world just outside the gates. While I had grown accustomed to being perceived of as rich because of the color of my skin in other parts of India, at first it was somewhat unnerving to be greeted with “Hare Kṛṣṇa” on the streets, because in Māyāpur my skin color became a marker of my devotion to Kṛṣṇa. I secretly enjoyed this sense of belonging, as a child enjoys a secret handshake, but I was hyper-aware that my “Hare Kṛṣṇa” response came from the lips of an imposter. Imposter I may have been, but insincere I was not. Life had led me to Māyāpur, and it was my challenge to tackle the enigmas inherent there. The place and the people sent my mind chasing after answers to questions I was not even able to articulate. My confusion was matched only by my sense of utter awe as I witnessed many fellow Americans passing me by on the streets mumbling “Hare Kṛṣṇa” repeatedly under their breath. Beads in hand, heads hung, walking along a dirt road at dusk, chanting their way methodically through the strangely imposing fog: “Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare / Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare.” Each one hurriedly trying to fit in all sixteen rounds of the Hare Kṛṣṇa *mantra* before dinner, their chants repeated seamlessly as they walked completely absorbed in their task towards the residential area of the compound. I listened hard, but I could not hear Tim’s voice amongst their breathy chants. I tried to make eye contact, but in their trancelike state it was as if they could not see me. I walked faster, back to our hotel, where I fell asleep to the muted sound of God’s name and the almost inaudible clinking of japa beads. *Contrasts* I jolted up on my rock-hard mattress, shaking my husband (who could sleep through Armageddon) awake. I could nearly feel the hot breath of some ferocious beast on my face as it bellowed out its most foreboding sound. “It’s a cow, Nona. Just a cow.” Well, it turns out it was not “just a cow.” It was a Brahma bull. Our hotel was directly across the street from the Goshala (cow sanctuary), which is the home to approximately fifty of the most majestic cows I’ve ever laid eyes on. I recalled a picture of Tim leaning down to pet a white calf taken a year earlier at this Goshala. I peeked out the window towards the sanctuary and through the thick fog I could see him there. The bulls’ bass calls were well matched with their strong physique and long powerful horns, and as they continued to call out for breakfast, my own stomach joined their chorus for food. Eating options in the ISKCON compound were limited, and the litany of warnings we received against the complex’s sole Indian restaurant further restricted our options. Fortunately, there was the Russian-owned Madhu’s bakery, a small open-air restaurant that served delicious crepes, pasta, pizza, and about any other Western delicacy that one is apt to crave after an extended stay in India. Unfortunately, however, Madhu’s (or any other store in the complex) did not serve any caffeinated beverages or foods made with onions or garlic, which made Māyāpur a great culinary challenge for me. Once, when I ventured outside of the temple gates to seek out a deliciously caffeinated chai masala from a street vendor, I was met by confusion as to why we would want to consume anything out there. In fact, as I spoke to more and more devotees, I sensed a latent antipathy towards the India that was bustling outside the complex’s boundary. Although the two communities exist side by side peacefully, there are indeed some major differences between the Hare Kṛṣṇa community and its neighboring villages. For example, Hare Krishnas are meticulously clean and understandably dislike it when masses of Indian tourists descend upon their compound and throw trash all over their grounds. Beyond such superficial annoyance, however, exists an underlying distaste towards the way they perceive of many contemporary Indians as having fallen away from religion. One devotee told me that it is one thing for someone who does not know the Vedic scripture to eat meat, and another thing entirely for an Indian who should know better to do so. What stood in starkest contrast between the two neighboring communities was the Indian mindset of practicality in the material world juxtaposed with the ISKCON single-minded devotion to the spiritual path. While religion seems to be one aspect of daily life for most Indian Hindus, for Hare Kṛṣṇa devotees it is all consuming: Their religion seems to be a combination of a Western-style evangelist religious zeal with Hindu-based beliefs. I was surprised that people belonging to a Western-based religion that idolizes India were quite critical of Indians. Perhaps the problem is that the “real” India doesn’t fit nicely into the romanticized image of India that many Westerners construct in their minds. But my purpose in Māyāpur was neither material survival nor religious awakening. I was there to see the India that Tim had loved so deeply. I saw that India in both the chaotic vitality of the surrounding villages and in the sanctity within the ISKCON gates. I could imagine Tim walking the streets of Māyāpur as easily as I could see him lying prostrate in worship on the marble floor of the temple. *Raw Worship* After devouring our nutella crepes, my husband and I headed to the temple for the 7:00 a.m. morning worship. We happened to be in Māyāpur during the Indian holidays, and the line for nondevotees to enter the temple was long. Unlike other “lines” we experienced in India, this one at least attempted to maintain its structure with line railings and guards performing security checks near the entrance, but nonetheless it was a struggle to maintain my own position against the many who tried to push to the front. We were forced to stand in separate lines for men and women, and after our separation, we never found each other again inside the massive temple. Before our journey I had read on various blogs about India as a “mass of humanity.” I did not internalize their meaning until I attended that Hare Kṛṣṇa service. Imagine a very spacious room decorated with marble carvings, arched doorways, and three sets of large, beautiful curtains behind which the statues of the Deities reside. Now imagine this one room packed from wall to wall with people from around the world. India gives a new definition to “maximum capacity,” and a new meaning to “worship.” Many of the devotees in the room had already attended the 4:00 a.m. service earlier in the morning, but you would have never guessed it by their passion during the second. The people surrounding me alternated between singing, dancing, and lying prostrate on the cold floor, as the pujari priests bathed and changed the Deities from their pajamas to their daytime clothes behind closed curtains. Once the Deities were properly dressed in their brilliantly beaded outfits, the pujari blew the conch horn and the curtains opened in a climactic moment when the Deities were revealed dressed in their magnificent robes. The crowd’s enthusiasm heightened and the singing grew more fervent: > Govindam adi purusham tam aham bhajami > Govindam adi purusham tam aham bhajami > Govindam adi purusham tam aham bhajami As each of the three curtains was opened, the crowd moved in a rushed unison as if participating in a choreographed dance towards the next set of Deities. Indian tourists pushed to the front to get the best view, and each time the curtains opened the crowd broke out into glorious kirtan once more. For me, an unsuspecting outsider who did not grow up with organized religion, the experience of the morning service, known as mangala-arati, was an assault on all of my senses. The constant movement, bright colored saris, beautiful kirtan, low-pitched drone of the conch horn, outbursts of celebratory emotion, free-style dancing, and musky incense left me dizzy and exhilarated. Unlike how I have self-consciously tried to imitate others at church in an attempt to blend in and perform the rituals correctly, at the Hare Kṛṣṇa temple I was freed from self-awareness by mind-blowing sensory overload, and I experienced what I believe to be unadulterated worship in its rawest form. I let go of all thoughts as I was herded by the crowd to face one set of Deities after another, and while I was left in a state of dazed confusion, I too was finding what I sought in the wide-eyed faces of the gods: the answer to what drew Tim to this religion. ISKCON worship is invigorating and their music has the power to convert even a skeptic like me, at least in the moment. After the service ended and I rejoined with my husband, we took some time to wander the grounds, eventually ending up at the immense Samadhi, or mausoleum, of the founder of ISKCON, Sri Prabhupada. Sri Prabhupada founded the ISKCON movement in 1966 on the belief in Lord Kṛṣṇa as the supreme Deity. During the last decade of his life he traveled as a monk propagating Guadiya Vaishnavism all over the world. After arriving in New York City by boat with only two dollars to his name, Prabhupada built from scratch the largest Hindu movement in the West, and is today worshiped internationally by approximately 250,000 Hare Kṛṣṇa devotees. The Māyāpur Pushpa Samadhi, one of many memorials of Sri Prabhupada, is at the heart of the ISKCON campus. After Prabhupada’s death in 1977, his followers built this large golden-domed palatial Samadhi over the garland that he was wearing when he died. At the center of the Samadhi building is a life-sized colored statue of Prabhupada surrounded by paintings depicting scenes from his life along the inner rim of the domed ceiling. The Samadhi building also includes a museum, gardens, an auditorium, and an expansive room for chanting on the exquisite marble floor around Sri Prabhupada’s statue. Visitors stream in and out only during limited hours, and despite it being the most architecturally impressive building in the complex, it is not heavily used. As we left through the marble arched doorway, I found myself lamenting the emptiness of such a magnificent structure, erected in close proximity to families living in poverty on the streets. The rest of the day I spent with my family exploring the town and sharing stories about Tim. It was the first time since his death that we could remember him with laughter instead of tears. But concealed behind our laughter were heavy hearts and dread, knowing what awaited us the following day: the ashes ceremony. *Goodbye in the Ganges* It is Hindu tradition to spread the ashes of the deceased in the Ganges. The holy river Ganga is believed to be the manifestation of Mother Ganga, who came roaring to earth in the form of the river to offer purification in this world. By the release of their remains into this sacred river, the deceased return to the arms of Mother Ganga, where their soul is put to rest for eternity. During our meeting with the priest the next morning before the ceremony, we were assured that the faith of Hare Kṛṣṇa devotees ensures their ascent to the side of Lord Kṛṣṇa and their removal from the cycle of death and rebirth. The thought of my mischievous little brother, Tim “Gopinath” Carter, sitting by Kṛṣṇa’s side made me smile. I tuned out the priest’s explanations of the rituals as I amused myself by imagining all the tricks he would surely play on Kṛṣṇa once he got there. My musings, however, were short-lived. We met a handful of Tim’s friends from Alachua at the main entrance to the ISKCON temple, and as I watched his beautiful young fiancīe carefully and meticulously arrange a garland around a picture of him, the pain of our loss flooded me all over again. That picture was all she had left of the joyful, kind, gentle and loving man she had planned to spend her life with, and as she delicately arranged each petal perfectly around his image, I could see that all the tenderness she felt towards him was now directed at that photograph. As we all processed down the street towards the Ganges, she walked silently, gently cradling his picture to her breast, it hit me that this was our final goodbye. Although my deeply rooted agnosticism serves as an impenetrable, and sometimes unwelcome, shield against faith of any kind, my spirituality has always been kindled by Hare Kṛṣṇa music with its rich harmonies, infectious rhythms and its gradual progression towards a raucous climax. Over the years Tim sent me numerous CDs and I witnessed him play in many impassioned kirtan sessions. Tim lived for kirtan, and as we all walked through the ISKCON complex and out into the village towards the river, I truly understood why. The singer’s gentle and soulful voice accompanied by the slow mridanga rhythm as we walked and boarded the boat gave voice to our emotions. I could hear Tim in their tunes, and as I watched them tirelessly singing praises to God, I could see him there with his harmonium, playing along with them. He never could resist a chance to participate in a kirtan. My memory of the ceremony is a blur of one ritualistic movement after another. My dad mixed Tim’s ashes with spices and mud, we bowed this way, repeated these lines, cupped water from the river in our hands, released the flowers that had been adorning the boat into the river, and finally, Tim’s fiancīe, my older brother and I walked out into the cold Ganges water and let his ashes float away. The sensation of ice-cold water lapping at my waist; of my older brother’s calloused hand in mine; the frailty of Tim’s fiancīe’s tiny shoulders as we embraced; my kurta top plastered to my legs as the water rose and fell around me; and my desperation to hold onto that last glimpse of Tim’s ashes as they sunk beneath the water, are all etched permanently into my mind like a series of snapshots that will forever form the landscape of my mind’s eye. The ceremony was perfection, but what moved me more than the ritual was the feeling I had as I let go of his ashes that some of him would float out to the Indian Ocean, and a little of that part would make it to the Pacific Ocean. Eventually his matter would reach America and someday many years from now Tim might float up on the beach at Lake Erie near my home. Tim would end up in the soil and provide life force to growing plants. He would get evaporated and I could comfort myself on a rainy day knowing it would be raining Tim. *Food for Life* The day before the ashes ceremony, we met a devotee from Nigeria. He was one of those rare people who exudes peace and contentment from every pore in his body and who naturally wins the admiration of all who meet him. He is the leader of Food for Life in Māyāpur, and remembered Tim from when he had visited the previous year. Through him my family was able to sponsor Food for Life in Tim’s name following the ashes ceremony. Hare Kṛṣṇa Food for Life is an international food relief organization that distributes vegetarian food in over sixty countries worldwide, often responding to need after natural disasters. In Māyāpur devotees walk the streets singing kirtan and distributing food every Thursday. For a donation of only $100 we were able to provide healthy kitchiri for hundreds of locals. $100 seems like such a small amount compared to the difference between health and hunger, but it seems like an even smaller sum of money to pay for the experience we had serving in Tim’s name. We walked with a group of approximately 15 devotees behind large speakers and a statue of Lord Chaitanya and Nityānanda singing the Hare Kṛṣṇa *mantra*. Every day at 3:00 p.m. devotees walk through the streets towards the birthplace of Lord Chaitanya singing behind these Deities, and locals know to expect them. Many emerged from their homes and stores to watch or even join our procession. For the domestic tourists, we provided a great photo opportunity, and the reversed gaze forced me into the shoes of the many people I had photographed going about their daily lives over the course of our trip. Once I acclimated to being photographed and shed my inhibitions—by nature I am not someone who feels at ease singing and dancing in public—Food for Life was the best celebration of life, both past and present, that I’ve ever experienced. Sing. Stop. Serve. Keep walking. Keep singing. Keep serving. Hundreds of people ignoring the devotee who was desperately trying to organize them into a line, thrusting their leaf plates towards me, “Mataji! Please mataji.” I filled them as fast as I could with a healthy serving of kitchiri, a “Hare Kṛṣṇa” and a lot of goodwill. My mom and Tim’s fiancīe joined a group who began dancing, my sister-in-law served across from me, my dad and brother passed out leaf bowls, and my husband sang as he attempted to document the concoction of smells, laughter, food, colors, people, song, dance, and outreach. Amidst all the activity and the barrage of people surrounding the kitchiri cart, it was difficult to coordinate with the other servers. One devotee thought we would start moving towards the next stop while another kept serving, resulting in the cart tipping and one huge three-foot-deep pot full of kitchiri crashing to the ground, spilling all of its contents on the side of the street. For a moment, everyone fell silent and collectively mourned the wasted food now lying in a yellow and green puddle on the dirt sidewalk. The silence was broken by the jovial laugh of our Nigerian friend and the resuming of kirtan. As we walked pulling the cart to our next distribution location, our friend, still smiling, told us a story. Tim had loved serving with Food for Life, and had participated every chance he got while he was in Māyāpur as well as in his daily life in Florida. Our Nigerian friend remembered Tim because he would always secretly save a little bowl of food for the many street dogs, who most people simply ignored. The Māyāpur street dogs became so fond of Tim, that whenever he left the compound gates, they were there waiting for him and would follow him wherever he went. Once, when the singing procession led them across the river to a town on the other side, Tim begged unsuccessfully for the dogs to be able to join them. This devotee remembered Tim as the one who cared for the dogs when no one else did, and when the pot of food spilled onto the ground, he laughed knowing the street dogs would be having a feast in Tim’s name that evening. Upon hearing this story, I could almost hear Tim’s contagious laugh echoing from up above. If there is an afterlife, and if the ones we love really can see us, then knocking over that pot of food is exactly the type of good-spirited trick Tim would pull. Our Food for Life experience transcended any particular religious belief and was a celebration of Tim’s spirit and our shared humanity. When Tim had visited Māyāpur, he had been a regular presence in the streets. I could see him there with his slightly devious grin gleaming with amusement at watching his family singing Hare Kṛṣṇa and serving food. I smiled. We all smiled. This is exactly what we had come to India for. Like an exclamation point at the end of a sentence, Food for Life ended our time in Māyāpur with an enthusiastic, climactic finality. After one last visit to the Goshala and some tearful goodbyes, we loaded into our twelve-seater van and headed off for Vrindavan. As we left Māyāpur I caught one last glimpse at the still half-finished Vedic planetarium, which had been looming in the background during our entire visit. The building of the Planetarium was inspired by Sri Prabhupada in the 1970s. For a religion only half a century old, I was profoundly impressed by the enthusiasm and devotional energy of the Hare Kṛṣṇa devotees. Our van turned the narrow corner to exit the ISKCON compound, and from the opening in my slightly cracked window I heard the faint sound of kirtan emanating from the twenty-four-hour kirtan hut. “Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare . . . ,” until the song was drowned out by the sound of our driver’s honks as he navigated our large van through the narrow Māyāpur streets that our vehicle shared with pedestrians, rickshaws, and many species of animals. *Hare Kṛṣṇa!* Devotees whom my family had never met previous to Tim’s passing helped arrange kirtans and memorials for him in Florida, West Virginia and Māyāpur. Their community knows no national boundaries, their philosophy emphasizes similarities over differences, and their attitude is one of service and compassion. My gratitude and admiration for Hare Kṛṣṇa devotees knows no end, and although I wish tragedy had not been the impetus for my encounter with ISKCON, I am sincerely thankful that our paths crossed. For at that intersection, I found my way back to Tim. Hare Kṛṣṇa! Rest in peace, my dear brother. *This article, written in 2013, was received at BTG this year, which marks the tenth anniversary of the ashes-to-the-Ganges ceremony of the author’s brother, Gopīnātha Dāsa. *Dr. Nona Carter was born and raised in Gainesville, Florida, but currently lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She is a professor of Asian Studies and a homeschooling teacher/mom to her twins.* Choosing the Right Quest in Life *Constantly looking for success outside ourselves diverts us from the true source of success within.* by Rukmiṇī Vallabha Dāsa We can make our life’s journey inward or outward, and our choice makes all the difference. Every one of us wants happiness in life, and we are searching for it everywhere all the time, trying various means to achieve it. Based on our education, association, experience, and environment, we envision different means to this ultimate happiness. It is but natural for us to look for happiness outside ourselves. After all, we are born into this world and grow up witnessing different forms of “enjoyment,” often on the silver screen. We go through education, equipping ourselves with skills and talents, we come in contact with people and form relationships, and based on what we see and learn we develop various conceptions of what can make us happy—careers, hobbies, relationships. We work hard, using everything we learned to run in the rat race of this world. We face reversals, but we keep going day after day, fueled by the promise of the happiness success will bring. If at last we make it—success!—we celebrate, trying to compensate for our hard toil. But too soon we realize—alas!—we have not reached the end. There is more to go. And the cycle starts again. The ladder of success in this world does not have an end. Whatever we achieve after arduous effort seems insufficient; our cravings seem insatiable. What the world can give us is limited; what we want from the world is unlimited. Our happiness is under constant threat because we define it in terms of the changing things of this world. The more we possess the more we fear losing it. The price of our pleasure is anxiety. *An Ancient Outward-looking Prototype* The above principles were well illustrated through the life of the demon king Rāvaṇa in the Rāmāyaṇa. Rāvaṇa was born to a well-cultured, pious father. Bu due to the influence of his mother, who was from an atheistic family, he was drawn towards materialism. He performed severe penance, pleased Lord Brahmā, and thus acquired unsurmountable strength and several mystic powers. He waged wars, conquered kingdoms, and amassed great riches. Nonetheless he was never satisfied. He kidnapped celestial nymphs and princesses from different parts of the universe. And though he conquered the whole world, still he could not conquer his desires to enjoy. His lust became so intense that he dared to kidnap Sītā Devī, the consort of the Supreme Lord, despite several warnings. This ultimately led to his ruin. Rāvaṇa exemplified the person unable to look within, being consumed by outward quests. When we find that happiness gained from outside does not satisfy us properly, the only solution left is to explore within. We are not the external body. Each of us is a spirit soul covered by a subtle body and a gross body. We are part of Kṛṣṇa, the all-attractive Supreme Lord. We can become happy only when we situate ourself in loving service to Kṛṣṇa through the process of *bhakti-yoga*. Worldly pleasures affect only the gross and subtle bodies. They cannot touch the soul. But because the soul misidentifies itself with the subtle and gross bodies, it mistakes external pleasure as actual pleasure. But we cannot be satisfied with material pursuits. The happiness we experience through *bhakti-yoga* is at the spiritual level. It is true happiness. Everything in this world, including our gross body and subtle body, is subject to constant change. Therefore pleasure based on such changing entities is temporary. But because we are eternal beings and need eternal pleasures, we face frustration and fear while pursuing worldly pleasures. The eternal soul, like Kṛṣna, is unaffected by external factors. The pleasure the soul experiences in the service of Kṛṣṇa is eternal. And once attained, that pleasure can never be lost. Worldly pleasure is filled with pain, whereas spiritual pleasure through *bhakti-yoga* is full of joy and supremely auspicious, and it spreads good fortune everywhere to everyone. The world has limited resources, and our desire to be happy is unlimited. This dichotomy has led to economic conflicts and crime throughout history. Our ability to enjoy worldly pleasures through gross senses is also limited, as is our ability to endeavor for worldly pleasure. The endeavor, effect, and the ability to experience are all constrained by various limitations. People constantly struggle to maintain their standard of material enjoyment and then improve it. Spiritual pleasure is not limited by space, time, and circumstance. Kṛṣṇa can bestow unlimited pleasure for eternity. And devotional service cannot be constrained by any material factors. The happiness we experience through *bhakti-yoga* is without limitations. There is also no competition involved in seeking spiritual happiness. Every one of us has equal opportunity to practice and perfect *bhakti-yoga*. It is our natural right. Kṛṣṇa has unlimited capacity to reciprocate with every one of us for eternity. And we can relate with each other without any conflicts by keeping Kṛṣṇa in the center. *An Emblem of the Inner Quest* The above principles were illustrated in the life of Vibhīṣaṇa in the Rāmāyaṇa. Despite being the younger brother of Rāvaṇa, Vibhīṣaṇa was not attracted to materialism. He immersed himself fully in the practice of *bhakti-yoga*. Since he was tasting factual spiritual pleasure, he was not distracted by the superficial material pleasures provided by his brother Rāvaṇa in the city of Lanka. Vibhīṣaṇa was also unaffected by temporary material calamities in the form of dishonor and banishment by Rāvaṇa. Vibhīṣaṇa purely loved Lord Rāma and served Him selflessly without personal agenda. He served Him throughout his life, even after being coronated as king of Lanka. His service was never limited by any material circumstance. *The Divine Helping Hand* We need the help of others in our attempts to find happiness. But while trying to offer us help, our friends and family are bound by various limitations. Parents cannot protect their dying child despite all their riches and medical facilities. Often our benefactors are tainted by selfish motives. But in our spiritual quest, the Supreme Lord is actively present to help us at every step. He is all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving, and all-accommodating. Kṛṣṇa distributes spiritual happiness, not while expecting any gain, but with compassion. He feels for the troubled souls in this world tirelessly searching for true happiness. Lord Kṛṣṇa says, “For them I am the swift deliverer from the ocean of birth and death.” *(Gītā* 12.7) Therefore He provides them opportunity to take to devotional service. Often our benefactors in this world are motivated by selfish gain and profitmaking. Relationships are often formed for business motives. Charity is more of a status symbol than a virtue of the heart. But Kṛṣṇa gives to give not to get. He just wants to see us happy. We just need to make ourselves an object of Kṛṣṇa’s compassion, to give up our false hopes in worldly happiness and approach Kṛṣṇa. For Kṛṣṇa, compassion is not a chore or duty. It is His heart, His very life. In *Bhagavad-gītā* (18.69) Lord Kṛṣṇa says that no one is dearer to Him than one who helps Him in His compassionate mission. For most benevolent people, charity is a duty. It is impossible for us to give our heart and reciprocate and be compassionate to many people simultaneously. Our compassion is limited by space, time, and resources. Kṛṣṇa is not just compassionate but supremely compassionate. All we need to do is give our heart, try to understand the compassion of the all-merciful Lord, and reciprocate with it. Kṛṣṇa’s compassion is not conditioned on favorable responses. If He sees a slight inclination, He is ready to bestow His mercy. He descends to this world to distribute spiritual happiness, giving everyone the opportunity to receive it. He sends His representatives as well. He takes a hundred steps towards us when we take one step towards Him. He helps us disentangle ourselves from sensual indulgences to take advantage of His compassion. Lord Kṛṣṇa says in *Bhagavad-gītā* (18.58) that by His grace we can overcome all obstacles in conditioned life. We tend to be compassionate to those who are receptive and reciprocal. But God’s compassion is beyond all these considerations. *Another Example of God’s Compassion* The Supreme Lord’s compassion is very much evident in the case of Sugrīva in the Rāmāyaṇa. Sugrīva was never interested in serving Lord Rāma; he was interested in defeating Vālī. Lord Rāma was powerful enough to destroy Rāvaṇa singlehandedly. Nonetheless Lord Rāma wanted to offer Sugrīva and others an opportunity to serve Him. Therefore He befriended Sugrīva and sought his help. He tolerated all of Sugrīva’s faults, including his neglect and sense indulgence, and fanned the spark of devotion in him. The Supreme Lord’s causeless and boundless mercy offers us infinite assurance and hope in our spiritual quest. It gives us the confidence to go ahead in spite of various obstacles and inabilities. Therefore the spiritual quest is a sure way to true, complete, and everlasting happiness. Since we are trapped in a body of mind and senses, we need to cater to their needs to function properly in this world. We need to pursue external joy and comfort to some extent, but these should be in harmony with our spiritual quest, which alone can bestow true happiness and fulfillment. *Rukmiṇī Vallabha Dāsa, a disciple of His Holiness Rādhānāth Swami, began practicing bhakti-yoga in 2010 and serves full time at ISKCON Pune. He blogs at spiritualwisdomonline.com.* COVER: Lord Kṛṣṇa is the primary focus of *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam*, composed by Śrīla Vyāsadeva in his full spiritual maturity and thus the pinnacle of the Vedic scriptures. Please see the article beginning on page 18. (Painting by Dhṛtī Devī Dāsī.) From the editor *Beyond God* We Gauḍiyā Vaiṣṇavas accept Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu as Kṛṣṇa Himself on the authority of the Vedic scriptures and the testimony of His superbly qualified associates. Kṛṣṇa descended as Caitanya Mahāprabhu for a variety of purposes, a chief one being to introduce the spiritual practice for this age as recommended in the Vedic scriptures, namely the congregational chanting of God’s holy names. While chanting constitutes the core of Lord Caitanya’s teachings, He also gave elaborate instructions on theology to some of His disciples, including the brothers Rūpa Gosvāmī and Sanātana Gosvāmī, who wrote many books based what Lord Caitanya taught. They also deputed their nephew Jīva Gosvāmī to firmly establish the philosophical underpinnings of Lord Caitanya’s movement. He dedicated his life to that task by writing many books and scriptural commentaries, his chief work being the Ṣaṭ-sandarbha, or “Six Treatises.” This work is also known as the Bhāgavata-sandarbha because it presents the philosophy and theology of *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam*. In Tattva-sandarbha, the first of the six Sandarbhas, Śrī Jīva presents a series of arguments for why the Bhāgavatam is the ultimate book of Vedic revelation and is thus the authority on which he will make his points throughout the Bhāgavata-sandarbha. Śrīla Prabhupāda often extolled the books of Jīva Gosvāmī and his uncles, declaring them unequaled in religious history. No other works have revealed as much about God, whether in depth, breadth, clarity, or nuance. The second of the six Sandarbhas is the Bhagavat-sandarbha. Bhagavat here refers to Bhagavān. In this book Jīva Gosvāmī cites the *Bhāgavatam* and other authoritative scriptures to define “Bhagavān” as the original person, the source of unlimited energies and expansions. In his third book, Paramātma-sandarbha, he discusses Bhagavān’s energies (the living entities and the material world) and expansions, specifically the three Viṣṇus involved in the material creation: Kāraṇodakaśāyī, Garbhodakaśāyī, and Kṣīrodakaśāyī. The highest conception of God in what are considered the world’s three great monotheistic traditions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—is of God as the creator. They don’t go beyond that to an understanding of Bhagavān, “the Supreme Personality of Godhead” in our terminology. And more specifically, they don’t know that Kṛṣṇa is Bhagavān. Śrī Jīva’s fourth book, Kṛṣṇa-sandarbha, presents the evidence in support of Kṛṣṇa’s ultimacy. The fifth and sixth books *(Bhakti-* and *Prīti-sandarbha)* are, respectively, about devotional service to Kṛṣṇa and pure love for Him. Using material logic, people sometimes challenge, “Well, who created God?” Jīva Gosvāmī could reply, “Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa did.” Of course, the creator Viṣṇus are eternal expansions of Kṛṣṇa, so they are God as well. But the point is that what Caitanya Mahāprabhu taught is a vastly expanded, up-close-and-personal picture of God. Kṛṣṇa theology is still mostly unknown today, by the public and even among theologians. Scholars may gain academic expertise related to Kṛṣṇa, but unless they are seekers as well as scholars, their detached academic perspective tends to impede the spiritual benefit they might otherwise gain by learning about Kṛṣṇa. Still, Śrīla Prabhupāda was always pleased to hear scholarly appreciation of his books, which strictly adhere to the teachings of Śrī Jīva and the other Gosvāmīs. Professors gain spiritual merit by giving their students access to Prabhupāda’s enlightening books, which may inspire students to inquire further about Kṛṣṇa. Prabhupāda encouraged his disciples to introduce as many people as possible to Kṛṣṇa through his books. He saw that people were abandoning religion, and he was confident that if they got acquainted with Bhagavān Śrī Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead—His qualities, pastimes, associates, and so on—their natural spiritual inclinations would be awakened. Hare Kṛṣṇa. —*Nāgarāja Dāsa, Editor* *Bhakti* Wisdom One’s only concern should be to satisfy the Lord by one’s activities. If the Lord is satisfied by an action, whatever it may be, then it is successful. Otherwise, it is simply a waste of time. That is the standard of all sacrifice, penance, austerity, mystic trance and other good and pious work. His Divine Grace A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* 3.9.41, Purport Do not be preoccupied with the end result of chanting. Rather, chant Kṛṣṇa’s name constantly with patience and forbearance. The Lord will surely not sit silently and do nothing. . . . As you run your hands over the japa mālā, think that you are touching Lord Gaurasundara’s [Caitanya’s] lotus feet. That is the way you should chant. Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura *Śrīla Prabhupādera Patrāvalī*, Vol. II, p. 10 O son of Kunti [Arjuna], one who becomes joyful upon seeing a person who is inclined to chant the holy names of the Lord will also go back to Godhead and enjoy the association of Lord Viṣṇu. Therefore, My advice is that you go on chanting My holy names with firm determination, because one who is attached to chanting My holy names is very dear to Me. Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa *Ādī Purāṇa*, quoted in *Hari-bhakti-vilāsa* 11.470–1 When one accepts the Vedic literature by interpretation or even by dictionary meaning, directly or indirectly the ultimate declaration of Vedic knowledge points to Lord Kṛṣṇa. Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu *Śrī Caitanya-caritāmṛta, Madhya* 20.146 It is the duty of every conditioned soul to engage his polluted consciousness, which is now attached to material enjoyment, in very serious devotional service with detachment. Thus his mind and consciousness will be under full control. Lord Kapila *Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam* 3.27.5 A person who is engaged in devotional service in full Kṛṣṇa consciousness is to be understood to be doing the best service to the whole world and to be pleasing everyone in the world. In addition to human society, he is pleasing even the trees and animals, because they also become attracted by such activities. Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī *Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu* 1.1.28 Go ahead and worship Lord Brahmā! Go ahead and worship Lord Śiva! Go ahead and worship the Supreme Brahman! I will not follow you. I will simply worship Vrindavan forest, which brought transcendental delight to Lord Kṛṣṇa. Author unknown Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī’s Padyāvalī 126 Only the wise person who can see that Supreme Soul within his heart becomes peaceful and enjoys transcendental bliss. *Kaṭha Upaniṣad* 2.2.12–13 BTG56-06, 2022