Another Sunday Evening with Swamiji

I have been to the Sunday love feast and then to my apartment to finish up some typing.  Now I’m going back to the storefront to give Swamiji the typing.  As I enter the storefront I see that many guests have already left.  Kirtanananda is sitting on the front shelf of the storefront window talking with a guy and girl about Krishna consciousness.  He’s speaking examples he’s heard from the Swami and some of his own.  His friend, Umapati, stands by.  Someone mentions Buddhism, and Umapati says, “Buddhism is actually a kind of mysticism for atheists.”  On the left side of the front entrance is a shelf with ISKCON literatures where Gargamuni has set up pamphlets (“Krishna, The Reservoir of Pleasure” and “Who is Crazy?”).  The first issue of BTG is there, and some incense in homemade packs.  Gargamuni wears red джапа beads around his neck and he smooths his “Shakespearean locks” with his hand.  He says, “You can burn this incense when you chant Hare Krishna.”  He laughs, but he’s trying to make a sale.  A man picks up a leaflet.  “Is this free?”  Gargamuni says, “We have to pay for the printing.  You can give a little donation for it.”  Gargamuni holds his fourth plate of feast Прасадам, and he’s picking a little from it as he talks.

At the back of the room where the dais is, there are big pots on the floor, and the devotees are giving out whatever Прасадам is left.  Acyutananda is serving out Прасадам with a large spoon.  Stryadhisa is sitting quietly, eating.  Rupanuga and his wife and little child are sitting, having finished Прасадам, and talking with Rayarama.  Rupanuga says to Rayarama, “Something should be done to make the temple a cleaner place.”  He says that he and his wife sometimes feel ashamed to come there because of the cockroaches and the dirt.  There are even sweet juice stains on the rug.  Rayarama smiles and says, “Well, what can be done?”  But Rupanuga is serious about it.  He says it’s really bad, and he will tell the Swami about it.  Jagannatha dasa (James Green) is also there, and he’s talking with a newly- initiated devotee named Dvarakadhisa.  Dvarakadhisa is comparing Krishna consciousness to Western philosophy and saying that the arguments on the existence of God by Thomas Aquinas are very good.

A moody young man is playing the tamboura, but pressing the strings down as if it were a guitar.  Bob Lefkowitz says to him, “Hey, that’s not the way you play a tamboura.  You’ll break it.  It’s just a drone instrument.”  The young man continues playing the tamboura by pressing the strings and finally Lefkowitz takes it from him.

I walk through this scene and out the side door into the courtyard.  Paper plates are scattered around, and the janitor, Mr. Chuddy, is upset.  “I told you this before,” he says.  “This is not your place.”  Brahmananda says, “We’re just like your sons.  So just tell us what to do and I’ll do it.  I’ll clean up right away.  It won’t happen again.”  Brahmananda has heard Swamiji say he should approach Mr. Chuddy this way.  Mr. Chuddy is pacified, but another tenant comes; they both complain again about the plates.  “Did you get some Прасадам?” asks Brahmananda of the tenant.  “Yes, I got a plate. It was nice, but that’s not the point.”  Stryadhisa sits at the picnic table blinking, looking detached from everything.