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(true story by Malika Mala Devi Dasi, a preacher in Russia and Kazakhstan) Malika-Mala: “Once with Mataji Kirtirani, we performed some festival in Astana, Kazakhstan. We did not have time to have dinner and rushed to the plane because we were going to be late for the flight. The local devotees handed us a big […]
The recent terrorist attacks in Paris have caused the Western World to hold its breath. Many questions have been asked and many answers have been given. Let’s look at what is happening from the spiritual perspective. The other day I came across the following article on the BBC website, ‘Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Reverend […]
The Amazing Story of an Azerbaijani Devotee of Lord Narasimha. This amazing story is about a saint named Mataji Pada Sevanam, from Baku, Azerbaijan (former part of the USSR), who re-established devotional service to Lord Narasimha and changed the hearts of many devotees due to her limitless love to Krishna, fearlessness, and determination. Once upon […]
Dear Sivarama Swami, Hare Krishna. Please accept my humble obeisances. All glories to Srila Prabhupada. I hope you don’t mind my writing to you. I have never written to a spiritual master before. You don’t know me. My name is Bhaktin Dora and I live in Pecs (Hungary). I’m 14 years old, and I live […]
A Son helps his Mother Prepare for the Ultimate Test
ARE YOU READY to hear about a miracle? Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with yet another story about some pseudo-miracle-worker. This story is about a seventy-nine-year-old woman completely set in her ways who, at the most difficult time of death, had a change of heart that brought her from the brink of terror to tears of joy.
The woman was my mother. Born Nadine Alma Eastlack, she was conservative to the extreme. Her early life read like a chapter from John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. Her family narrowly escaped the dust bowl by migrating from Grinnell, Kansas, to the “Promised Land” of Southern California, landing in the fire of the Great Depression. After struggling to put herself through college and marrying a minor war hero, Leslie Waldo Beck, she attained middle-class status.
While raising me, their only child, in the northern California town of Oroville, my parents both worked — he as a parts manager of a local car dealership, and she as a high school teacher of sewing, cooking, and home economics. My parents watched with pride as their only son excelled in music, scholarship, and athletics, achieving numerous awards culminating in the “Young Man of the Year Award” for the class of 1964 at Oroville High. After high school, I attended UCLA, graduating with honors in 1968 and landing my first job as assistant to the studio manager at Columbia Pictures. About a year later, however, shortly after sweeping my mother off her feet with a whirlwind tour of the studio, I left that promising career, disillusioned with the superficiality of the Hollywood scene.
“My creative urges aren’t being fulfilled,” I thought, so I packed up and moved north to San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district to pursue a career as a professional musician.
From the mundane view, I was flying home. I was born and raised in San fransisco before joining the Hare Krsna movement in 1970. But there is nothing left for me there now. Both my parents have passed away and my brothers and sisters are scattered throughout the country. Nevertheless, as i looked out of my plane window, memories of my childhood came to mind, bringing with them sentiments not worthy of my attention. I quickly caught myself and came back to reality remembering the words of my spiritual master – reflections on his own family members with the passing of time.
Dear Sivarama Swami,
Hare Krishna. Please accept my humble obeisances. All glories to Srila Prabhupada. I hope you don’t mind my writing to you. I have never written to a spiritual master before. You don’t know me. My name is Bhaktin Dora and I live in Pecs (Hungary). I’m 14 years old, and I live at home with my mother and older sister.
In 1992 I went to the Hare Krishna Festival with a friend. I was not very interested, but I enjoyed the chanting and dancing at the end. After it was over I bought a book, The Science of Self-Realization. I don’t know why; generally I never read. I think it was because of the chanting.
I took the book home and cannot remember what happened to it. One day my mother found it and was very angry with me. She thought that I was reading this kind of thing. You see, our family members are very strict Catholics. They thought Krishna consciousness was some kind of “brainwashing”. Actually I wasn’t reading the book; I had forgotten all about it. Somehow it just “appeared.” Anyway, my mother was going to throw it away.
I spent most of the winter chanting and studying in Vrindavan. Then, in the early spring, I headed for South Africa for a number of preaching programs, including the Ratha-yatra festival in Durban.
I was also looking forward to writing again. In Vrindavan I had been sitting in one place, so there had been little material for new chapters. Several devotees had written to ask if I’d stopped writing.
“As much as I love to write,” I replied, “I have to wait for something to happen.”
After leaving India, I didn’t have to wait long.
Today is the last day of our yatra. On the request of devotees we have come to this place. It is a very unknown part of Vrindavana this particular temple. It is not to be found in any of the parikrama books. We only are aware of these deities Sri Sri Radha Gopijanavallabha. The mercy They have personally bestowed upon myself.
Yesterday devotees had a vote, by democratic process; conclusion was we come here today.
We understand Krishna by the grace of Krishna’s devotees. We cannot approach Krishna directly. It is by His own sweet will that He has arranged. Krishna wants to give credit to His devotees, He wants to bestow His mercy through His devotees. It is only through the mercy of Vaisnavas that we can understand what is Krishna, what is the Holy name, what is Vrindavana, what is the purpose of life beyond just greed and egoism.
I would like to briefly narrate a few personal encounters in my life in relationship to Sri Sri Radha-Gopijanavallabha – with your permission.
The first time I visited India was in 1989. My flight arrived at the Delhi Airport at some early hour and I took a precarious taxi ride through the morning fog to the holy town of Vrindavan. Upon arriving, I prostrated in the dust of Vraja and headed straight for the Krishna Balaram Temple. It was shortly after the daily scriptural discourse and the place was nearly empty. As I approached the foot of the alter a musician caught my attention. He was alone, sitting before the shrine of Sri Sri Radha Syamsundar. He appeared austere. It was cold and he was wrapped in a ragged wool shawl. His voice and melody were unlike anything I had heard before. The melody was stripped bare. A desolate voice accompanied only by a frail harmonium scale, slow and slightly off beat – crawling, barely dragging along. His song was the cry of a dying man. A man in the desert, drying up and desperate, crying for some water – just a small cup – just a drop. It was almost pitiful, but hauntingly beautiful – like nothing I’d heard before. It sounded so remorseful, so humble and completely sincere. It was the first time I heard a man desperately crying out to God.
