Spiritual Summer
A novel by Nori J. Muster
Chapter Two
Sandy woke up and blinked a few times, looking around the bare room. Light poured in, splashing against the white walls. She sat up, remembering the events of the night before that had led her to spend the night at the Krishna Center temple. She was in Prana's apartment, but where was Prana? Sandy noticed Prana's sleeping bag had been rolled up and put in the closet. Sandy climbed out of her bag and walked across the clean linoleum floor to the window, where she could see a four-lane boulevard, now busy with morning traffic. Sandy could also see the temple street. There were a few devotees walking around and music was coming from the pink building again.
Too early to be up if you ask me, she thought as she walked back to her sleeping bag. There were no curtains on the windows to block the morning sunlight, so she put the pillow over her head and drifted back to sleep.
"Time to get up."
The words jarred Sandy awake. She pulled her arm out to look at her watch and removed the pillow from her face. "Eight-thirty?"
"Sure, you'll miss half the day if you sleep any longer." Prana looked even thinner than the night before and was dressed in another white sari. The only difference was that now the sari rested comfortably around Prana's shoulders, instead of like a headscarf.
"I have to go to work," Prana began. "When you get yourself up take a shower and get dressed, then come on over. We can talk about what you're going to do while you're here. Maybe you can stay with me, but we can talk about that. I work in the front of the green building. I'll be there all morning."
Sandy gazed up at Prana, who seemed to be in a hurry to leave.
"There's some cereal in the kitchen for you. I have to go." Prana walked through the door, but then turned back to Sandy, who was still lying in bed. "By the way, welcome to the temple."
After Prana left, Sandy rolled up the sleeping bag and put it in the closet. Taking a shower felt good and seemed to wash away the stress of the day before. Sandy unpacked a few things and looked around the apartment. Besides the bedroom and bathroom there was a kitchen with an adjoining living-dining room area. The apartment had a sliding glass door and tiny cement balcony looking into a courtyard. The only furniture in the place was a brick and-board bookshelf and a low table with an altar.
It's austere, Sandy thought, but might be just right for Prana.
In the kitchen she found a stainless steel bowl of oatmeal, an apple, an orange and a plastic cup of lukewarm milk. She poured the milk on the cereal and tasted it. It was sweet, like pure sugar. She ate standing up in the kitchen, since there was nowhere to sit down.
After walking out to the street, Sandy found a green building next door and climbed five concrete steps to an open apartment door. She peeked in and saw diminutive Prana sitting behind a long wooden desk. She seemed to disappear behind stacks of paper piled up. The rest of the dˇcor seemed equally unlikely: black slate floors and an ornate Persian carpet, a velvet couch with matching chairs, and framed oil paintings on all the walls.
"What is this place?" Sandy asked.
"This is Nada Swami's office," Prana said matter-of-factly. "Sit down."
"Who's Nada Swami?" Sandy asked, taking a seat in front of Prana's desk.
"He's the guru here."
"He has an office?"
"Well, sure. He has a lot of responsibility in the worldwide organization."
"Oh. Of course," Sandy said.
After some questioning, Sandy learned that the L.A. temple, being one of the biggest in the organization, was considered by some to be the world headquarters. The organization's founder, Swamiji, when he was alive, had spent much of his time there writing books. When the guru died, two years before, his top disciples became gurus to carry on his work. Nada Swami was one of those men, Prana explained, and she was his secretary. Part of Nada Swami's work was to manage the printing and distribution of the founding guru's books. Nada Swami also helped manage the day-to-day affairs of the L.A. temple and several other temples in Southern California.
"But his biggest priority is to publish books and encourage the other temples to buy and distribute them."
"At the airport?" Sandy asked.
"Yes, anywhere and everywhere."
"What about the other gurus? Do they work here too?"
"No. They're all around the world. But they come here for meetings sometimes, since this is the world headquarters. There's another world headquarters in India where they all meet once a year."
"Oh. Two world headquarters?" Sandy wondered why they couldn't agree on just one. Also, it still seemed odd that a guru would need an office and a secretary. It doesn't seem spiritual, Sandy thought, since a guru is supposed to be an old Indian man with a long beard; someone who would rather meditate than go to meetings or manage a book publishing business. That was what the Guru Swami was like. But then, he also had his secretaries at the Topanga Canyon Yoga Art School. Sandy let it go at that.
"Nada Swami is quite an amazing man," Prana said. "Wait till you meet him." She paused a moment to see Sandy's reaction. "In the meantime, let's talk about some basics. First of all, how long do you think you'll stay?"
"I don't know, but I have to be ready to start school in September."
"That's a ways off, isn't it? But not indefinite. You're welcome to stay with me, then." Prana smiled.
"That would be great." Sandy smiled back.
"Now, second, how old you are you?"
"I'm seventeen, why?"
"I was afraid of that. Nada Swami would be against that." Prana tapped the top of her desk with her index finger. "See, it might be a problem because you're a minor. Normally we wouldn't care, but we're in the middle of this court case where a woman and her mother are trying to sue us for brainwashing and false imprisonment. It's a long story. Anyway, she was a minor and it's a big, expensive lawsuit. Right now we're not taking any minors." Prana trailed off, tapping her desk again.
"Oh, this is too much, being kicked out of two ashrams in two days. I'm going to be eighteen in August. I mean, I'm almost eighteen, doesn't that count?"
"Well, you could possibly stay if your parents give permission. But that might not be too easy." Prana tapped her pencil this time, trying to think of an alternative.
"I'm pretty sure my mom would say it's okay."
"Your mother wouldn't mind?"
"I don't think so. She let me stay at the art school in Topanga Canyon and that was an Indian yoga ashram, too. She'll probably think it's a good idea, since that place closed. She doesn't want me just hanging around the house the rest of the summer."
"Can you call her?"
"Oh, sure. I was thinking I should call home anyway."
"No time like the present," Prana said, turning the phone to face Sandy. "Go ahead."
Sandy's mother answered on the second ring.
"Hi, Mom?"
"Sandy, doll, how's the Art School? Great to hear from you."
"Actually, Mom, there's been sort of a turn-around."
"What do you mean, dear? A turn-around?"
"Yes, Mom. Actually, I almost ended up coming home last night. But, well, anyway, I'm in a Krishna Center temple right now."
"Are they still around? I lost track of them about ten years ago."
"Yes, I'm staying at their temple in Los Angeles. There's a really nice lady who's letting me stay in her apartment. Want to talk to her? Her name is 'Prana.' Sandy handed the receiver across the desk to Prana.
"Hello? Mrs. Edinburgh? Yes, your daughter is quite an avid student of Eastern philosophy."
"Just like my sister," Mrs. Edinburgh said, "Well. That's very nice of you to take care of her. Can you put Sandy back on the phone?"
"So, Sandy, honey, I thought you planned to stay at that place in Topanga Canyon. What happened?"
"I was there for a week and everything was going fine," Sandy began. "But then a telegram came from India saying the Guru Swami died! They canceled everything and told all the art students to go home. I was so upset, but then I met these nice Krishna Center people in the airport and they invited me to stay here."
"You won't be going to the airport to sell flowers, will you?" Mrs. Edinburgh asked. "What would your father say?"
"No, Mom! That's not all they do here. They have a big temple that used to be a church, and they have artists and it's very spiritual here. Can I stay?"
Mrs. Edinburgh was silent a moment and Sandy held her breath, hoping her mother would agree.
"Let me think about it, dear. You give me the phone number where you're staying. I'll call your Aunt Trina and find out what she thinks. Be a good girl and don't get into any trouble. And remember, if Trina says it's too dangerous, then you're on the first plane to San Francisco, okay?"
"Yes, Mother."
"Okay. I suppose it will be okay, but I want to talk this over with your father, too." Another moment of silence. "Honey, I'm sorry the Guru Swami died. I can understand your disappointment."
"Thanks, Mom."
"And another thing," Mrs. Edinburgh continued, "I suppose I'm glad you found something to do for the summer. You're just so darned independent, it scares me sometimes."
"Yes, Mom."
"Now give me the number and I'll be calling you back."
When Sandy hung up, she told Prana that her mother had tentatively approved of her staying at the temple.
"Wait until Nada Swami hears!" Prana said, standing up. "He'll be so pleased."
"Nada Swami?" Sandy asked. "Why should he know about me?"
"Oh, he knows everything that goes on in the temple. Anyway, I've already told him - we keep in touch by phone."
"Where is he?"
"He's in New York, meeting with the other North American leaders. He should be back in a week." Prana turned off her desk lamp and said, "Come on and I'll give you a tour of the temple."
Prana led Sandy around the community introducing her to people with exotic names. Along the way they visited the temple gift store, museum, grammar school, and the production offices where devotees prepare the Krishna Center books for printing.
After the publication offices, Prana and Sandy continued their tour by car. Prana took Sandy to a warehouse in an industrial area nearby. On the front of the buildings were the words "ICKW Publishing."
"ICKW stands for International Center for Krishna Worship," Prana explained. "This is where we have our legal department, our warehouse, and our Spiritual Scents incense factory."
Prana led Sandy inside the air-conditioned building, again introducing her to people with long Indian names. About three-fourths of the people looked like they could be working in any casual office; the rest wore ICKW devotional clothes. Aside from the obvious things, the offices were typical of any small business with lots of activity and communication. Prana and Sandy went through the offices and out the back door into a large warehouse area. They stood on a platform overlooking a 20,000 square foot room filled with boxes. Sandy recognized them as the same boxes Jeff had in his van the night before. They were arranged in orderly rows and reached fifteen feet into the open space of the room. Sandy had to admit the sight was impressive.
"These are all our books," Prana explained. "From here we ship them to temples all over North America." She gazed at the books, obviously feeling a sense of pride. "Want to go down?"
Sandy followed Prana down the metal stairs to the warehouse floor. Now the piles of books seemed to tower over head. Sandy noticed a green forklift with the words, "Chant Krishna," stenciled on the side. How fitting, she thought, a spiritual forklift.
"Around this way is the incense factory," Prana said, walking through the rows of books. She led Sandy to a chain link gate enclosing a work area with barrels of scents and dipping machines.
"They're not open today or you would get a demonstration," Prana said. "ICKW developed this business. We even distribute the incense to boutiques and department stores."
They left the building through a door on ground floor of the warehouse and walked out into a parking lot. The sun seemed bright after the darkness of the warehouse. Sandy noticed a semitrailer at the loading dock. On the side was the ICKW Publishing logo, painted in bright blue. After the tour Sandy and Prana drove back to the green building in time for lunch.
"Lunch is upstairs," Prana said, leading Sandy toward the temple.
Instead of going to the first floor guest reception area where Sandy had waited the night before, they went up a flight of stairs to a level with several large rooms. Sandy didn't see anything in the first room, but when she tried to go into another room, Prana pulled her back saying that was for the men. Sandy didn't see any furniture in there either, and although both rooms had large sunny windows, there were no curtains or shades. After Sandy looked in a man came up and pulled the door closed.
Women sat in rows on the bare linoleum floor in their room. Many had babies or small children, who squirmed and made noise. The room hummed with the sounds of chanting and conversation, as a woman in a pink sari walked down the rows, laying a paper plate in front of each person. Another woman, who dropped a plastic spoon and plastic foam cup on each plate, followed her. Then a woman with a stainless steel pot and wooden spoon walked down the rows scooping rice onto each plate. The woman in the pink sari passed by again, this time dropping a serving of vegetables on each plate. And another woman put a ladle of soup in the cups.
After the devotees sang a long Sanskrit prayer, Sandy sampled the soup and found it tasted good.
"We're vegetarian and we offer all our food to Krishna."
"This food?" Sandy asked, tasting it again.
"Yes, it's called prasadam."
Another impossible Sanskrit word, Sandy thought, blocking it out.
"It means 'the grace of the Lord.' " Prana took a bite of rice. "We offer everything to the Lord and he offers everything back to his devotees."
Sandy kept eating, not giving any indication of whether she was actually the good little student Prana seemed to take her for.
"Why don't you have any carpet or curtains here?" Sandy asked.
"Well, that's a good question. We believe in offering all opulence to Krishna and taking nothing for ourselves. You will see in the temple room that everything is very beautiful. We get pleasure from making Krishna's house beautiful, but we keep our own quarters very simple."
"But your office, that place is decorated like a Marin County lawyer's office."
"Well, that's for the guru. The same principle applies to him. The guru is Krishna's representative, so we offer all opulence to him, also. He passes it on to Krishna as the offering of his disciples."
"But he lives like that while his disciples live with no furniture at all?"
"Not exactly." Prana took a breath and hesitated.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a creep," Sandy said.
"It's okay. They're good questions."
"No, I can see you're into what you're doing," Sandy said. "I respect that."
"See, we believe the material things aren't important," Prana tried again. "Just like this sari," she said, holding the cloth in her fingers. "This sari is white to show that I'm renounced. I was married, but now my husband and I don't associate anymore. He serves Krishna in the photo department and I serve Krishna as Nada Swami's secretary. We're both serving Krishna but we're separate. And I'm not trying to find another husband."
"So you're a celibate?"
"Yes, but it's blissful because I'm serving Krishna," Prana continued. "We get our happiness from serving Krishna, either as a devotee, a friend, a parent, or as a lover."
"I see, so it's like a nun? Devoting your love to the church, right?"
"Yes, that's it exactly. And all the men wearing saffron are also celibate. The men wearing white are married. They're the only ones who associate with women."
"Wait a minute. When the women wear white it means they're celibate, but when the men wear white it means they're not?"
"Yes."
"And when the men are celibate they wear orange?"
"Yes, simple."
"I don't think it's simple at all," Sandy said.
"You'll get used to it."
After lunch, Prana took Sandy to see the artists' studios, which were located in converted apartments in the green building. They walked past Prana's office and up a flight of stairs. After passing through a darkened art library, they found a woman working on a canvas in a room that looked like it had been a kitchen at one time. The artist was wearing a white sari like Prana's, but was taller and had thick, short brown hair and glasses.
"On a tour?" the artist asked, looking up from her work.
"This is Sandy. She might be staying with us until September," Prana said. "She's an artist so I'm showing her around the art department."
"An artist?" the woman asked, blinking at Sandy.
"Not an artist yet," Sandy said. "I'm starting college in September and I plan to major in fine art."
"Prana," the artist said, dropping her brush into a bottle of turpentine, "Why don't you get her to help with the festival painting? Then I won't have to. How many artists do you need, anyway?"
"That's an idea," Prana said.
"What?" Sandy asked.
"Let me see if I can pull some strings," Prana said.
As Prana and Sandy walked down the steps, Prana explained, "This just could work out. We might have an art job for you."
"What kind of job?" Sandy asked, following Prana into her office.
"I can't say for sure, because it may not go through, but the temple needs to pull about eight of the artists from their regular work. They'll be painting signs and decorations for a festival. I think they've already decided, but depending on what they need, you may be painting full time starting right away. But it's not for sure, so don't be disappointed if it doesn't happen."
"Painting? Full-time?" Sandy felt a rush of excitement.
"I have to get back to work now," Prana said, taking a seat behind her desk. "I'll check with the temple about the job. And, oh, and here's a key to my apartment, Sandy. You'll probably want to get unpacked."
Sandy took the key, thanked Prana, and left. She skipped down the concrete steps and started toward Prana's building, when she saw Jeff, standing on the sidewalk across the street.
"Jeff!" she called, waving at him while crossing the street.
When she reached his van he reached inside and turned off the ignition.
"What's happening?" he asked. "You look ecstatic."
"I am. You'll never guess how well things might work out."
"I saw you coming out of Prana's office."
"She took me to meet one of the artists and they want me to start painting decorations for the temple, for a festival."
"I knew you were an artist. Prana is good association. You know, she's Nada Swami's secretary. You're lucky she's taking care of you."
"She's great. She took me all around today. We went to a big warehouse where there were thousands of Krishna Center books."
"Quite a place, isn't it? I was just leaving to go there. I have to make a book run at six o'clock."
"You drive to the airport every day?"
"Every day? I drive back and forth an average five times a day, seven days a week. More during marathons!"
"No wonder you're never around here, then," Sandy said.
"It's my service to Krishna. In fact, I'd better get going."
"Everyone seems so busy around here."
"There's a lot of service to do."
"Why did you decide to become the van driver?"
"I didn't decide, exactly. When I first moved here they needed someone to drive the van. I wasn't doing anything, so Nada Swami gave me the keys one morning and told me to make a run to the airport. I've been doing it ever since."
Sandy smiled and looked into Jeff's eyes. He smiled back, a warm, caring smile, and then turned to his van.
