Swamiji’s Gravity

If a disciple intruded too much or assumed to know the mind of Prabhupada, he got a rebuff.  This would serve to remind him not to assume that he knew everything about his spiritual master, Srila

Prabhupada.  I experienced this one time when I went with Prabhupada to see the lawyer on Chambers Street in Manhattan.  My assignment was to bring Swamiji back to the storefront at 26 Second Avenue after the meeting was over.  I was happy with this mission and concerned that I get Swamiji back safely.  I tried to guide him in crossing the streets and protect him from the traffic, but his tendency was to rush out before I did and dart across the avenue.  At one point I remarked, “This city is like a jungle, except there are no snakes.”  Swamiji replied, “What about Mr. Paine?”  Then on the bus I sat beside him and tried to keep my mind purified and not spaced out.  I wanted to be a good but menial companion, and not pester him with a lot of philosophical questions.  When we got near our bus stop I said, “Swamiji, this is it,” and I stood to ring the buzzer.  But Swamiji said, “No, there’s one more stop.”  I sat down and at the next stop, on his indication, I pulled the wire buzzer.

When we were walking the last few blocks, I realized that this was the end of my special mission of intimacy with Swamiji.  My main idea was just to deliver him to his room safely, but I couldn’t resist asking him a question.  So I leaned over while we were walking and said, “Swamiji, the Ramakrishna Mission has spread themselves very effectively.  So how is that they’ve done that if they’re not bona fide?  And how can we become effective also?”  Swamiji didn’t answer me at all, although I had spoken loudly and clearly.  By now we were standing on the curb of Second Avenue waiting to cross, with the storefront in full view.  I felt humiliated and had to swallow my question in silence.  I couldn’t say, “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Or, “What did you think of what I said?”  For some reason unknown to me, he had decided to ignore me.  I realized that this was his right, but it felt very heavy.  I thought I must have displeased him and I felt a great distance between us.  But I continued my mission and went across Second Avenue with Swamiji and brought him to his room.

The episode left me thinking, “What happened?  What did I do wrong?”  I told myself, “Don’t make a big thing out of this.  He can do that if he wants.”  Now when I think of it, I guess that I overstepped my bounds—I’d become proud that I had successfully brought Swamiji home and I tried to enjoy his association by asking an impressive question.  At least his silence came to me as a good slap.  He reduced me to what I actually was supposed to be, the menial boy who was accompanying him home.  I should have been satisfied doing that, relishing it for what it was.  So what if he didn’t answer my so-called philosophical question?  What right had I anyway, to ask about the Ramakrishna Mission or how the Krishna Consciousness Movement is going to be spread?

As time passed, I accepted that rebuff and began to relish it.  As Prabhupada would say, “The guru is not a pet.”  I became more assured that Swamiji was definitely a person; he was always caring for you, but he may teach you in his own way—so take the lessons.