Spiritual Summer
A novel by Nori J. Muster
Chapter Three
Sandy woke in the middle of the night and heard the shower running. She held her watch up to the light coming in from the hall and saw it was four o'clock. Although she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, she couldn't. Then she remembered that she had fallen asleep at about eight o'clock the night before. The shower stopped and Prana entered the room dressed in a white slip that reached to the floor and a white midriff bodice. Prana pulled a sari from a hanger, unfolded it, and tucked a corner of the fabric into her slip. She wrapped it around her waist, tucking and folding the white cloth as she hummed a Krishna song to herself. In a final motion she swept the remaining cloth up and around her head. Sandy watched in the dim light.
"You awake?" Prana asked.
"Yes," Sandy answered. "I can't go back to sleep."
"Good, then do you want to get up and come with me to mangal-arotik?"
"To what?" Sandy noted another Sanskrit word she would never remember.
"The temple, do you want to come to the temple with me?
"At this hour?" Sandy could see that Prana was serious and it sparked her curiosity. She got up, took a shower, and got ready to leave by 4:15.
As they walked through the courtyard Sandy noticed the lights were on in most of the apartments. Outside, in the still-dark neighborhood, people were coming from all directions to congregate in the temple building. The soft glow of the street lamps seemed to illuminate the robed figures as they walked through the pre-dawn mist.
Prana instructed Sandy to leave her shoes outside on the steps and to follow whatever she did once they were inside. Prana knelt down on the floor and then lowered her head and hands to the floor and recited a prayer. Sandy did the same, noticing that even though it was June, the marble felt cold. Prana motioned for Sandy to follow her up the stairwell. They came out on a balcony where there were at least another thirty-five women. Some had their children wrapped in blankets, asleep on the floor.
The room buzzed with cacophonous chanting. All the people had their right hands in their cloth bead bags; some were walking, some were sitting still on the floor. Downstairs the men were following each other in a circular procession around the room as they chanted. Many of them were completely shaven except for a ponytail on the back of their heads. The sight of the bald-headed, pony-tailed men struck Sandy as whimsical, especially from her vantage point in the balcony.
"What are they doing?" Sandy whispered to Prana.
"This is japa time. Everyone is chanting japa on their beads. I'll show you how to do it, too."
At that moment the wooden doors of the altar swung open and the lights went down. Everyone in the room bowed, so Sandy did too. When she stood up again, three priests on the altar blew conch shells, making a loud droning sound. The men on the marble floor below started playing drums and cymbals. The room was dark, except for the lights on the altar illuminating the deities. The priests lit incense sticks and began waving them in a circular motion, as if offering the scent to the flower-covered deities.
The chanting started and everyone in the room sang along. The words were in Sanskrit. It started out melancholic, but gradually picked up a bouncy dance rhythm like the kirtan the night before. Two dozen or so men danced around the marble floor. To Sandy it looked like a sea of bald heads bobbing up and down. The women, dancing as excitedly as the men now, made Sandy feel uneasy. She pushed her way to the side and leaned against a wall.
When the music ended everyone bowed on the ground again; Sandy simply watched. The priests blew the conch shells again and then rang bells as they shut the altar doors. Next the overhead lights came on and the devotees started singing another song. When the singing finally ended, half the people in the building left, while the rest took out their cloth bags and resumed the cacophonous chanting. Prana joined Sandy in her corner, giving her a cloth bag with her own string of beads.
"You chant one mantra for each bead," Prana explained. "The mantra is up there on the wall, see it?"
"Yes, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna," Sandy read the words from a plaque at the front of the room.
"Yes," Prana said. "This is mantra meditation. While you're chanting the mantra you count the first bead. Then you move to the next bead and chant the mantra again. Then you move to the next bead. Try it. Everyone will be chanting until seven o'clock."
"What if I get tired?"
"You have a key, so you can go back and rest if you need to. But try to get into it; see if you like it."
While Sandy chanted on the beads, her eyes wandered around the dimly-lit temple, trying to make out all the images: the wall hangings, the paintings mounted on the ceiling, the women pacing in their own circle as they chanted on their beads. Downstairs, where the men were pacing in a circle and chanting, Sandy noticed a large framed picture of Swamiji, the original guru, sitting on a golden throne. Some of the men were standing in front of the throne, rocking from one foot to the other to the rhythm of their chanting.
Sandy continued chanting and staring over the railing at the men below. She noticed Jeff and some other men sitting by the foot of the throne, chanting peacefully. She stared at Jeff, hoping he would look up and see her. He seemed different, as he now wore his orange-colored ICKW robes. She had never seen him in anything but his jeans and orange T-shirt. His hair was a little longer than most of the men; at least it looked like it had been a while since he shaved his head. She could see now that he clearly did have a ponytail that hung down his back. She watched him closely, pressed up against the railing, trying to communicate to him somehow, "I'm here. Look up in the balcony."
A woman tapped Sandy on the shoulder. "Hey, 'scuse me, girl," the woman said. "But you're not supposed to look at the men." The woman stared Sandy right in the eyes and then walked away, chanting loudly on her beads.
Shocked, Sandy whirled around so her back was against the railing. Prana was gone now and suddenly Sandy felt all alone. Not look at the men? She couldn't figure it out.
Another woman walked toward Sandy and knelt down. In a more gentle tone the woman said, "When you're in the temple you're supposed to sit cross legged, not with your legs sticking out, okay?"
Sandy nodded and crossed her legs, even though her jeans felt tight. What is this place? she wondered. Resentment welled up inside her and she decided she couldn't take any more. She got up and walked down the stairs.
Outside she searched for her shoes, but could only find one. She looked around at the morning sky; the sun had just risen. Holding onto the metal rail she spotted her missing shoe and hopped over to it. Then she saw Jeff coming out the other temple door. There was no one else in sight, except some devotee men gathered across the street.
"Jeff!"
"Oh, Sandy, I was hoping you would be up this morning. Hey, come on over here and say hi." He motioned for Sandy to follow him around the corner to an alley. They sat down on the curb.
"I see you have some japa beads."
"Oh, Prana gave me these," Sandy said, hanging the bag around her neck.
"That's great, Prana's taking good care of you. Chanting is the real nectar, of course, it's also the hardest part for me since I'm so busy."
"It's okay, I guess."
"What's the matter? Don't you like it here?"
Sandy's heart sped up. Some things she liked and some she didn't. She didn't know exactly what to say. "I like it yes and no," she replied, not wanting to hurt his feelings. "There are some things I guess I just don't understand about temple life."
"Like what?" Jeff's voice was calm but concerned.
"Like all the rules. I'm new at this and everybody in there keeps telling me what to do."
"That happens a lot to new devotees, not just you. This community has a pretty high standard. Once you've been around awhile you forget how hard it is for new people to get used to."
"But it's just, well, I'm trying but some of them are so mean."
"Ignore them. Pretty soon they'll leave you alone," he said. "You're going to make a good devotee."
"There's so many things I don't understand. Can I ask you a few questions?"
"Sure, like what?"
"Like how come all the men stay downstairs and all the women have to go upstairs?"
"It's not discrimination, it's Vedic."
"Vedic?"
"Vedic culture, ancient India, the Vedas, you know. That's the religion we're following and in Vedic culture the men are always separated from the women, that's all. It's not a sexist thing. See, in spiritual life, we see all living things as spirit souls, so women, men, everyone is a spirit soul, perfectly equal."
"Equal?" Sandy asked. "Then why can't the women stand with the men?"
"See, there has to be separation because," Jeff hesitated again. "Just like I can't talk to you unless it's for preaching," Jeff continued, pointing to his orange cotton robes. "Look, I'm wearing saffron. That means I'm a brahmacari, I'm not supposed to associate with women."
"That's ridiculous," Sandy said, remembering Prana's similar explanation.
"It's a spiritual vow. If I want to get initiated I have to be a brahmacari, because that's what Nada Swami wants."
Sandy stared into his eyes and smiled. "Then you and I can't talk to each other?"
"I'm preaching to you, that's different."
"Oh. Well, go ahead and preach to me then. Tell me why you want to get initiated." Sandy smiled at Jeff, wishing he wasn't such a staunch spiritualist.
"See, I wanted to get initiated by Swamiji, but well, he was sick for a long time and then he left his body. No one was getting initiated. But after a while I found out that Nada Swami would be the new guru here, and see, I immediately realized, 'Hey, Nada Swami is my real guru!' So I approached him for initiation. I should be getting initiated any time now. I've been waiting more than a year."
Jeff noticed some men coming their way from the opposite end of the alley. "I better go, but, hey, I'll see you around. Keep chanting." He jumped up and disappeared around the front of the building.
Sandy felt excited about her encounter with Jeff as she started to walk home. Then she heard the music starting inside the temple and decided to go back. The service lasted about a half-hour, followed by a reading. When everything was over she met Prana outside and they went to the building next door for another oatmeal breakfast.
"You've had quite a morning, haven't you?" Prana asked, as they sat down to be served.
"Yes, I was tired at first, but now I feel okay."
"Do you think you need to take a nap?"
"No, I feel fine."
"Perfect, because I've set it up for you to start painting the decorations for the Ratha-yatra festival."
"The ratha-what?"
"Oh, sorry," Prana said. "I guess I forgot to tell you about it. The Ratha-yatra is the festival. It's a festival from India. We had it at the beach last year and we're doing it again this year. It will be August eighth."
"That's my birthday!"
"Oh, how auspicious," Prana said. "Then you'll have a great time because the festival is like a big party. We have a parade down the Santa Monica boardwalk and then there's a festival with all kinds of exhibits and entertainment. People come from all over the city just for our festival."
"What's it for?" Sandy asked.
"God is in the temple all the time, but once a year he wants to go out and bless all the people who can't come to him. So we organize this festival to bring him out. We get the Jagannatha deities, the wooden deities from the altar, and take them for a ride at the beach."
Sandy wasn't sure what it all meant, but she was sure she would find out if she stuck around. After breakfast Prana dropped her off at the temple and told her to wait inside for the other artists. They were supposed to be on the way, but Sandy waited for over an hour and started to get discouraged. She stood in front of the gold throne and looked at the picture of the old guru. He looks sad, Sandy thought. She noted that he wore orange robes and had his hand in an orange bead bag, like the devotees she had seen that morning. She walked to the altar to look at the deities that would ride in the parade. The three-foot-high wooden figures had large black and white eyes and painted mouths. They looked friendly, almost humorous with their big red grins. Like the other deities, they were dressed in beaded garments and had thick flower garlands hanging from their shoulders.
When the other women artists arrived they welcomed Sandy and explained that she was to help them make signs for the festival booths. One of the women explained that they were waiting for two dozen plywood boards, which they would decorate with green, yellow, and red enamel paint. Once the wood arrived, Sandy spent the rest of the day painting with the other artists.
She daydreamed about Jeff as she worked, especially remembering the way he said, "Do you like it here?" as if it was so important to him that she did. She tried to imagine what he was like as a student and wondered why he decided to become celibate. She thought about how he jumped up when he saw the men coming. Was it bad that he was talking to her? Wasn't he just "preaching" to her? She thought about his soft brown hair and ponytail and the way he sat so contentedly in the temple chanting.
She also thought about the morning program at the temple. That was okay too; it reminded her of the rituals the full-timers at the Yoga Art School practiced.
By evening Sandy was tired and fell asleep early again. The next day she got up at four A.M. and went to the temple again. After a few days her mother called and said she had gotten a good report about Hare Krishnas from Trina.
Since she was going to stay, Sandy decided to buy a sari from the temple gift store to wear to the morning program. She and Prana picked out a purple cotton sari, covered with roses.
"Now, wearing a sari, you look like a representative of Krishna," Prana said after showing Sandy how to drape it.
"Me, a representative of Krishna?" Sandy said, trying to appear flattered. She admired her reflection in the mirror, but was sure Prana overestimated her level of devotion. To Sandy it was just a pretty piece of cotton and she was certain she didn't know enough about Krishna to consider herself his representative.
Prana took a lot of time from her busy schedule to help Sandy understand the philosophy and the organization. One day she spent an extra half-hour of her lunch to make it clear that the figures on the altar were not "idols," but rather "deities" of Krishna. Prana compared the devotees' feelings for the Krishna figures to the Catholics' feelings for images of Mary and Jesus. Prana explained that the deities accept the devotees' prayers. She told Sandy how Swamiji, the original guru, was raised in the Krishna religion in Calcutta; how he had worshiped the deity of Krishna since childhood. And how, at the age of seventy-two, he brought the Krishna religion to the shores of America. From there it spread all over the world.
Sandy decided that devotees like Prana were sincere in their religion, but some things still bothered her. Especially wearing the sari. It was okay for the morning program, but after a few hours the cloth always seemed to sag and feel like it was going to fall off. She wore her regular clothes as much as possible, aside from the morning program.
