Find Me At the Gates
Part Seven: A Visit to Old Terrace Street
07 July 2012 Saturday
My refrigerator was empty. I needed to go to the market. Instead of driving straight there, I decided to drive around, then stop for food on the way home. I drove to the Coast Highway and went north, turning on Sunset Boulevard, and heading back toward Los Angeles. Its banked curves and infrequent traffic lights make it one of the best drives in the city. Most of the way it's residential, lined with lush greenery and mansions. It winds around the UCLA campus before coming to West Hollywood. The mild breeze felt good in my hair.
Instead of going into Hollywood, I cut south to Beverly Hills, then decided to drive past Cinema City to look for the chanters. Beverly Drive took me to Palms Boulevard. My head felt light. My body was numb from hunger, but soon I would stop for groceries and go home. Rather than following Palms to Venice Boulevard, I made a right on Terrace Street, the back approach to the old temple.
The apartment buildings and thick magnolia canopy looked familiar. Cars from the 1980s and earlier models lined the narrow street. Rounding a curve, I realized that, instead of the concrete perimeter of Cinema City, the street continued all the way through to Venice Boulevard. The street sign said Terrace Street. I recognized everything. Near the end of the block, I pulled over and parked in front of the old pastel green stucco apartment. It was the building that once housed the organization's legal offices. I parked by the curb and got out, feeling even more lightheaded.
The street was deserted at first, but then several women in saris walked out of the green building. They looked vaguely familiar. They didn't seem to notice me, but walked on down the street, engrossed in conversation. There were people walking on the other side of the street, near what had been the community kitchen. I felt a tingle in my gut, realizing this was definitely the old temple. The devotees' buildings were still there; the pink temple building and parking lot were still on the corner. Children played with a ball near the kitchen area in front of the houses that had once been a grammar school. A loudspeaker atop one of the buildings played Indian ragas that drifted in waves across the peaceful setting of the temple grounds.
I walked up the concrete steps of the green building into the courtyard. It was just as I remembered it, a split-level courtyard with two floors of apartments. If everything seemed so real, then how could it be in my imagination? I approached the door that had once been my office and noticed that it was now apartment number one. It was really apartment two, but once upon a time I had taken the "one" off the front door and put it on my own. We never used the front door anyway, but a temple official had forced me to put the brass numbers back the way they were. Now the one was back on what was once my door.
I knocked; a hollow sound. A voice called out, "Come in." Shaking, I pushed the door open. Inside, behind a wooden desk sat a young, sari-clad woman. Even she looked familiar, reminding me of a younger version of myself. File cabinets lined an entire wall, just as they had when the legal offices occupied the space.
"Hello, welcome," the woman said. She was typing something on an IBM Selectric II typewriter, the same machine I had used there in the 1980s.
"I'm Ann," I said, staring at the typewriter, shocked. It seemed to be in perfect condition.
The woman stared at me for a moment, looking away when the telephone rang. She answered it and spoke for a few moments.
When she hung up I said, "I used to work here when Sat Swami earned his law degree and started traveling for the organization. Do you think anyone from those days is still here?" A shiver ran down my back.
"Yes, Sat Swami is here. Would you like me to tell him you're here?"
I felt dizzy. "Yes, tell him Ann Messenger is here."
The woman picked up the phone and pushed a button, reaching Sat Swami. "He'll be right out, have a seat," she said, pointing to a couch at the back of the room.
A Krishna World magazine lay on a side table, an issue I'd never seen before. There was no date on the masthead, but just the issue and volume number. Instead of the usual articles, the magazine was filled with pictures of temples in India. There was also a picture of the front gates of Cinema City, with the Indian devotees dancing. The headline said: "Visiting Devotees Draw Crowds at Former Los Angeles Temple Site."
I recognized Ganga. The other men looked familiar too. Then I saw my own face in the crowd. It made my heart flutter. I held the magazine closer, taking a better look at the photograph. Staring more closely, the picture turned into a mass of tiny, colored dots. The magazine dropped from my hand onto the couch.
Just then Sat Swami appeared. He was medium height and build, with olive brown skin. His head was shaven, except for a ponytail at the back and he wore the saffron robes of a monk. "I bet you didn't expect to see me here," he said. "Come in! It's been a long time." Smiling, he reached out to shake my hand. He looked exactly the same as I remembered him, but just a little older, like me.
I could only nod and follow him through the door. The room was small, with more file cabinets and another large, wooden desk, which sat squarely in the middle of the room facing the door. Sat Swami pulled up a chair for me, then took a seat behind his desk.
"Well, how are things going?" he asked. "I will tell the receptionist to hold all my calls." He picked up the phone and spoke briefly with her.
"I heard you wanted to talk to me," Sat Swami continued. "I also heard you were in the hospital for a while. Are you okay now?"
"It was quite relaxing, actually. I'm fine now, but yes, there are some things I've wanted to talk to you about. If you remember, the last time we saw each other wasn't very nice."
"There are some things I've regretted that would be good to clear up, too. After all this time we have a perspective."
"Is it you? Is it really you?" I asked. "You're normally so busy, but you act like you don't have anything in the world to do, except talk to me. It's almost as if you were expecting me."
"There's plenty of time to talk to an old friend." Sat Swami smiled in a way that seemed familiar and comforting.
"After all this time, isn't it too much of a coincidence that we would meet again in this office? Weren't all the buildings torn down?"
"Good questions," the robed swami said, smiling and cocking his head. "You're thinking that maybe it's all an illusion, right? That's what I thought at first. But now it seems just like home. We spent so many years here; so many productive years. Perhaps I will leave someday. In fact, I have been thinking of moving to India. I met some men recently who invited me to their village."
"I feel comfortable, too. It is as if I never left, but is it really you? Are you also in my imagination? I have had so many things to tell you, but I need to talk to the real you, not just my imagination."
"Everything happens for a reason." His eyes seemed to twinkle with a secret as he smiled again and tried to reassure me. "I have been sitting in this office for some days now, visiting with all the old devotees. I've learned something about myself; about things we could have done differently back then. It seems only natural to me that you would drop in. Now I want to clear everything up so I can leave. Go ahead and tell me what's on your mind."
"It's just that there was so much turmoil that was out of our control. I regret defending a corrupt leadership."
"You did what you thought was right at the time," he said.
"What made you stay? Maybe I already know, but would you tell me the real story from your perspective?"
"We had some major court battles, but I've always liked to think that we did what was right," he said. "I just didn't see the conspiracy that you saw. In my view the problems came from bureaucratic stupidity and irresponsible individuals. It was my duty to stay and try to straighten things out. You actually kept up with me for a while! I appreciated your help."
His words broke over me like an ocean wave. My head was spinning. Tears were welling up in my eyes. His words reverberated and I remembered how hungry I was. "I need something to eat," I said.
"I can order from the restaurant. It's right across Venice Boulevard. They deliver. What would you like?"
"The restaurant is still open? Didn't all the World Krishna restaurants close down with the temples? Isn't there a parking structure across the street now?"
"What will you have? How about a homemade pizza or lasagna? Their Italian food is great. Maybe we should order one of each and you can take the leftovers home. Who knows when you'll be able to get over here again." He picked up the phone and gave his receptionist the order.
"While we're waiting, why don't you tell me what you've been doing lately," Sat Swami said. "What made you come back to L.A.?"
"It was a job offer from my family's company. You know, there are a lot of things I've wanted to tell you. I was angry when I left. You were part of it. How could you continue to support the organization, even when you knew about the leaders? They were into some strange stuff, yet you stood by watching, helping them. It got to a point with me where I just simply could not do it anymore. You understand, don't you?"
"I didn't at the time," Sat Swami said, shaking his head. "I've thought about it a lot. Maybe you were disappointed at the outcome of the case. Maybe I let you down."
I closed my eyes, trying to remember. "That wasn't it at all. Why should I blame you? But you stayed, why did you stay? Did you think you could change them? Oh, god, maybe I'm still angry."
"You don't have to apologize," Sat Swami said. "It was a confusing time. The system had its problems and I don't blame you for wanting to change it. By the way, certain people made me mad, too."
"But you rode the fence, keeping your mouth shut."
Sat Swami pulled his shoulders in slightly, then took a deep breath. "I was afraid. They had a lot of power over me."
We sat in silence for a moment, staring at the floor, then at each other.
Just then the receptionist knocked on the door and came in with the food. Sat Swami cleared a place for the boxes. The fragrance of melted cheese filled the small room.
"You said you were hungry." He opened the box of pizza. "We also have this," he said, opening the lasagna box. Steam poured out carrying the strong smell of oregano, basil, and thyme.
Sat Swami handed me a plate with one piece of pizza and big square of lasagna.
The pizza was wonderful, the crust surprisingly light and crumbly. The cheese completely melted over bell pepper and other veggies in the sauce.
Sat Swami ate all of his pizza first, and then sampled the lasagna. "You should try this, too," he said, with his mouth still full.
I finished my last bite of pizza, then tried the lasagna. It melted in my mouth. We ate about half of the food, talking and reminding each other of funny things that had happened and people we had met along the way.
"That was great," Sat Swami said, wiping his hands and face with a napkin. "Why don't we put the leftovers in your car, then have a look around. A lot of things have changed."
"I would love to," I said, feeling physically and mentally satisfied.
We carefully packed the food, folding the boxes and returning the extra napkins and utensils to the bag. We washed up, then headed out. Sat Swami took the leftovers and opened the door for me. We went out to the curb, where my BMW was parked, and put the food on the floor in the front seat.
"One thing I've missed is the temple room," I said, turning to Sat Swami. "Do you think it's open now?"
He looked at his watch. "Yes, in fact the deity should be giving his audience just about now. Shall we go?"
It felt as though we were floating across the street instead of walking. We approached the salmon colored building, which had once been a church. When we stopped on the cement steps to remove our shoes, I noticed the temple doors. They were the same carved wood and brass doors that had been there years ago. I rubbed my hand over the door, amazed to see and touch it again. He pushed it open and we entered the dark, cool room.
Sat Swami followed me inside, where we both bowed down on the marble floor. But something was different. At the far end people were standing in front of an altar; bells were ringing. There was quite a commotion, as the thirty or so people shuffled back and forth to get closer to the altar. A man on the altar was giving out flower garlands; sprinkling holy water and throwing pieces of sugar candy and fruit.
There were people standing among the pillars on the sides of the room. Beyond the pillars were caverns that stretched hundreds of feet into the darkness. The ceiling and walls seemed to be made of roughly cut stone, instead of drywall and plaster. Incense mixed with the cool, dank stone, and sweet smell of the oil lamps hanging from the arched ceiling. A droning chant rose up from around the altar.
I looked through the shadows for Sat Swami. "This is like India," I said, sitting down next to him.
"It is a lot better than the old temple room, isn't it?" he said. "Do you want to go to the front and see the deity?"
I recalled the thousands of times I had visited the deity in the old temple room, which had been much smaller; only about thirty by forty feet. The marble floors in this room were worn and ancient. With only the oil lamps to provide light, this altar was dark and mysterious.
"Come on, pretend you're in India. Don't be afraid," Sat Swami said. He looked at me and smiled, indicating that I should go ahead.
As I walked toward the altar, the music grew louder. The crowd parted, making an aisle for me to approach. The priest on the altar had his back to me, tending the deity. The deity looked like Bankibihari, a tall, black Krishna from Vrindavana, a holy town in India. Bankibihari, although techncally made of stone, seemed to dance, and it is said that he walked off the altar sometimes to follow his devotees. The story goes that the priests would close the curtains every five minutes to prevent their Krishna from leaving. The tall black figure before me now was dressed in colorful silk with dozens of flower garlands around his neck. The black Lord's eyes roamed over the crowd.
The priest accepted garlands and food offerings from the audience, placing them at the feet of the deity. More and more people gathered around the altar now, jostling to get to the front to make their offerings. The priest climbed a small ladder to remove garlands from the deity's neck, distributing them to the people. He took handfuls of flowers from the deity's feet and threw them over the crowd. The people raised their hands to catch them. The droning chant continued. The deity swayed in celestial dance.
I stared at the black deity, studying his round face and smiling mouth. His nose was small and pointed. His eyes were decorated with white dots and eyeliner. A diamond tiara glittered in his thick, black hair. A silver flute was tucked into his belt.
The people in the crowd were also animated, swooning and crying out. The surging crowd pressed me against the stage, directly in front of the altar. Maybe it was all a hallucination, but it seemed that the deity held his right palm out to me. He turned his head toward me and smiled. The priest climbed the ladder, removed a bright orange and red garland, and came directly to me, placing it around my neck. It was heavy, moist, and warm. The scent of roses and carnations overwhelmed me.
I looked at the garland, then back at the deity. He seemed to smile at me again. Nobody else noticed. My eyes met with Krishna's for a moment that seemed like forever. I lowered my gaze, surprised that tears were running down my face.
Sat Swami led me away from the altar to the shadows of the pillars. The chanting sounded more distant. We sat down on the marble floor and leaned against the cool stone wall. Sat Swami now also wore a garland.
"Is that what you expected?" he asked.
"Not in Los Angeles, no. Things have changed a lot."
"Anyway, we got here at the right time. I'm glad I could be the one to bring you to see this."
"I'm glad, too," I said. We sat quietly for a long time, gazing at the altar.
People began filing into the temple carrying musical instruments. Their dress reminded me of the clothing we used to wear, but more colorful and flowing. I recognized several old friends. A great flood of recognition and love swept over me.
Sat Swami motioned for me to remain seated. "Come back tomorrow. You will have a chance to talk to everyone."
The people began playing music. Sat Swami and I listened for a long time, then went outside. Hundreds of people were on the street. Many of them looked familiar. The neighborhood seemed so alive, so real, just as it had long ago, before the troubles. Sat Swami and I sat on the steps in front of the green building and visited with several old friends. Somewhere deep inside, an alarm clock went off, awakening me from a dream. It was all so casual, like it went on every day, but it was time to leave.
Sat Swami walked me to my car and we said goodbye. I drove down Terrace Street feeling wonderful, took a quick look in my rear view mirror, then turned right onto Venice Boulevard. Remembering the original purpose of my trip, I drove to the supermarket. I took the garland off, laying it carefully on the boxes of food.
The market was deserted like a movie set after the movie is finished. There it was, practically dinnertime. Where was everyone? I quickly got what I needed and checked out. Back on the road, I headed west, toward Venice. After driving for a few minutes, I noticed that the food and garland were gone. Did I remember that correctly? Maybe we put them in the trunk. I continued on, as if on automatic pilot, but I started to get that feeling when you're having a dream and you start to realize it's a dream because it couldn't possibly be real.
The light was blinking on the answering machine, so I pushed the button.
"Can't wait to see you, Ann, hope you're doing well," Max's voice said. Outside the window the sun was sinking into the water with vivid red and purple clouds above and below it. Twilight set in at about eight o'clock. Tomorrow will probably be real again, I thought. I had something to eat, washed my hair, and went to sleep.
In the morning, I woke up to the smell of food cooking. There were voices coming from the kitchen; men's voices - Max and Ganga. I got out of bed, put on a robe and walked cautiously down the hall toward to the kitchen.
"Good morning," Ganga said. "Are you surprised to see us?" He laughed as he put two more slices of bread in the toaster.
Max greeted me with a warm smile and said, "We wanted to come over and tell you our crazy new idea."
"What are you doing here?" I asked, smiling, as if trying to catch on to a practical joke.
"Max Sir told me you would be at home this morning. He invited me to cook for you." Ganga, wearing a chef's apron over his saffron robes, held a spatula in his hand. He was frying some tofu with some of the potatoes I'd bought at the market the night before.
"You don't mind, do you?" Max asked. "I hope we didn't startle you."
"A little bit, but I'm over it." I sat down on a barstool to watch the men cook.
The toast popped up and Ganga buttered it and put it with the other toast on a plate. "Everything's ready. Let's sit there," he said pointing to the dining room. He served the stir-fried veggies and hash brown potatoes, then handed plates to Max and me, and then produced a bottle of sparkling cider and three glasses.
"I must be a little confused," I said. "What's going on here?"
"We have come to invite you to go on a trip with us," Ganga said. "You can take your time to decide."
"The project with I.C. Inc. is all finished now," Max said. "Your stories about India and meeting Ganga here, spending some time talking to him about Krishna, I want to go to India and see it. We came here to ask if you will go with us. How about it?"
"But this is so sudden," I said.
"We are flying to India tonight," Ganga said. "The plane leaves at six o'clock. In two days' time we can be in my village, in time for the holy appearance day of Lord Krishna."
The thought of going to India for the holy day seemed right, somehow, but I said, "I'll have to think about it."
While the men talked about the travel plans, I picked up the morning paper and scanned the headlines. My eyes focused on an article on page three of the California section. A headline caught my eye: "Doctors Decide to End Woman's Life Support After Tragic Car Accident." A cold chill ran down my back. At first I couldn't make out anything except the headline. The room seemed to spin. Bits and pieces of the article entered my consciousness. "I.C. Inc. facilitator Ann Messenger . . . critically injured in a car wreck in Santa Monica is still in a coma at University Medical Center. . . . After nearly three months, doctors have given up hope that she will recover. . . ."
The sound of the men's voices faded in and out.
"More apple juice, madam?" Ganga was smiling turning to me and holding the bottle over my cup.
"Max, look at this article." I said, leaning across the table.
Max read for a moment, rubbing his forehead, as if in deep thought. He looked at me cautiously. "You honestly didn't know about this?"
"Know about it?" Then suddenly it did seem that I knew about it all along and it was okay.
"Look at this one," Max said, reaching for his wallet. He opened it and took out a carefully folded piece of newsprint. "Here," he said holding it out.
I took it and read the headline, "Family Grieves Over Son, Dead After Fatal Car Crash at Forty-five."
"Look at the date," he said.
"This article was published the day after I was born," I said.
"I've been with you in spirit all your life," Max said. "Now we have a sacred mission. Please come to India with us. It's an opportunity to leave your former life behind and learn what's beyond ordinary reality. Take it."
My mouth fell open and I shuddered. "I don't want to be dead."
Max clipped out my article, then folded it with his own and placed them both carefully in his wallet. "Pretend you forgot about it. It's easier. Life remains very much the same, really. You'll see. Actually, it just keeps getting better. Please come with us."
I looked over at Ganga. He was sitting quietly, grinning slightly, but otherwise somber. He was a friend of Krishna's and so was I. Suddenly I remembered dozens of friends, including people I had not thought about since I was a child.
"Are you . . ." I felt my throat tighten.
"I'm from Vaikuntha," Ganga said. "Remember? Maybe I've not made things clear, but there is plenty of time to talk on the way." He held the juice bottle over my glass, offering a refill. He seemed to glow with a golden aura.
"Yes, please," I said, holding out my glass. The juice was cold and sweet. Drinking it felt like a sacred initiation. "But what's really real, the old world, or this?"
"Which do you want to be real?" Ganga asked.
A vision of why I had this life and why everything happened as it did flashed into my mind. It was as though everything had been written in a script and I had only been playing my part, which ended precisely like this. Everything that ever happened in my lifetime had a purpose that made sense.
"Come with us," Max said.
I looked into the faces of the two men. They had become my trusted friends.
"Our plane leaves tonight at six o'clock," Ganga said. "We can go a few hours early to book your ticket. I'm sure you will like my village. The people are all very nice."
I pictured myself on a warm September evening in Bengal, watching the sun set into the jungle; seeing the reflection of the moon play on the soft ripples of the Ganges River.
"We're all ready to go," Max said. "All I have to do is call a taxi."
"What about J.D.? Who will take care of him?"
"You already talked to your mother about it, remember?" Max said.
Suddenly I remembered all the planning I had already put into returning to India. "Yes, I do remember," I said, feeling more lighthearted, forgetting all about the article. "But what about a visa?"
Ganga laughed. "You don't need a visa anymore."
I realized he was right. I went back to my bedroom to pack while the men washed the dishes and put the leftovers in the refrigerator.
That evening I settled comfortably into my window seat on the Air India flight to Calcutta, along side my traveling companions, Ganga, in saffron robes and Max, in his business suit. The months of summer seemed to fade from my mind. The plane took off into the last bit of evening sunlight. As we climbed into the sky, gravity pressed me into the seat. I gazed out the window as we flew over the ocean and doubled back toward the desert. Blue ocean water, brown hills, millions of tiny rooftops. How small they looked. Moisture collected on the outside of the windows.
Max pushed his seat back and closed his eyes.
Staring through the window, I could sense that the atmosphere was more pleasant now, moist and soothing, not burning like it had been before the cure. My senses were stronger now; it seemed that I could feel the healing moisture on my own face.
The plane flew eastward into the gathering darkness. In the morning we will be in India. Images of a hospital crossed my mind. White walls, doctors telling me it would all be over soon, bidding me farewell. I sensed the presence of a minister reciting the Lord's Prayer. He sprinkled water on my forehead.
"I loved my life. Thank you," I whispered.
