Spiritual Summer
A novel by Nori J. Muster
Chapter Five
"Excuse me sir," Sandy said, approaching a man in a suit and tie.
"I'm in a hurry," the man said, holding up his hand.
Sandy backed away. She saw a woman in a yellow dress coming the other way and walked toward her. "Excuse me ma'am," she said.
"Leave me alone!" the woman said, walking past.
Sandy shoved the plastic daisy in her pocket and looked around. The other devotees had gone off in different directions leaving her alone near one of the airline waiting areas. She threw the book bag on the ground and several passers-by turned their heads to look, but kept walking. Sandy dragged it the floor and walked to one of the boarding areas. She found an empty seat near the window where she could hide from the ICKW women, and sat, slumped over, resting her forehead on her hand. How did I get myself into this? she wondered. Taking the wallet from the book bag she counted her collections. Oh, God! I've been doing this for more than an hour and I've only collected four dollars. She decided to tell her companions that she felt sick and wanted to go back to the temple. What would her mother say, anyway, if she knew Sandy had been at the airport soliciting? She thought she better not tell her mother or she might have to leave.
Downstairs, as she waited for the temple van, she recounted the events of the morning that led to her coming to the airport. During japa time Prana had informed her that Nada Swami wanted her to try going to the airport. He had asked for her by name. At first she had protested, but then remembered Jeff would be driving the van. It seemed like a good opportunity to see him, but unfortunately there were other women along and he talked to them the whole way, ignoring her. It was frustrating, but she felt she couldn't say anything, since it might give away their secret. She waited by the curb, looking out for the van, hoping that this time he would be alone.
"I thought you'd never come," she said when Jeff drove up.
"I thought you'd never go out on the marathon," Jeff said, smiling.
"Oh, sure, why not?" she said, fastening her seat belt.
"How was it?" Jeff smiled and looked into her eyes.
"Not bad."
"Nada Swami will be so pleased. It's the highest form of preaching, you know. Nada Swami said these books can save all the conditioned souls in the world. He said that just seeing the books, even just touching the books purifies them. They get purified even if they just talk to a devotee."
Being with Jeff, listening to his voice, made the morning's frustration at the airport fade. She didn't listen to what he was saying and secretly hoped she would never have to collect donations at the airport again.
She interrupted his talk about Nada Swami, saying, "I don't think he's as great as you say. I mean, I don't think Nada Swami wants to save people. He just wants to get his money back for all those books he printed."
"Come on Sandy, Nada Swami is a great devotee!"
"Oh Jeff, Nada Swami is a businessman, you'll see."
"No, you'll see, he's a transcendental personality. You haven't been around him enough."
Plenty long enough, too much, in fact, Sandy thought to herself. But she decided not to badger Jeff about his guru now. It could break up their relationship for good.
"Okay, let's compromise," she said. "He's a transcendental businessman. I'm sure it will hit me soon."
"You'll see." Jeff sped up to merge onto the freeway, then added, "By the way, things back at the temple are picking up. The festival carts were towed in from Culver City last night and I think they're going to start painting them this afternoon. People were asking where you were."
"Did you tell them I was at the airport?"
"They weren't asking me. But anyway, you didn't miss anything except, well, Nada Swami has been walking around all day encouraging people to do service for the festival."
"Nada Swami! Nada Swami! If I say I like your guru will you promise to talk to me at the festival?"
"I'm talking to you right now," Jeff said.
"But when we get back to the temple you'll ignore me again?"
"I sort of have to. I'm sorry."
"See, Jeff, you should grow your hair out and tell them to leave you alone. Then you and I can move to Santa Barbara and escape together."
"But what if I don't want to escape?"
"Then I'll kidnap you."
"Don't joke about it," Jeff said. "My mother tried that once for real."
"Okay, then I won't kidnap you, I'll just lure you away gradually."
When Jeff dropped her off at the temple, Sandy changed into her work clothes and went to the parking lot to see the parade carts. They were like nothing she expected. They were huge. The wheels alone were six feet tall! It would take a lot of work to repaint them, even with the whole crew working overtime. She looked over the carts again. The giant wheels supported a platform with railings, and above that was a spire. They would only have to paint the wheels and the main deck, since seamstresses at the temple were preparing silken covers for the spires. While the men finished washing them down, Sandy and the other women set up their painting supplies. She spent the rest of the day painting the carts and thinking about her encounter with Jeff.
At the morning services the next day, Nada Swami stood at the front, right before the altar. Then he retired to his guru throne for his own worship. All the men faced him, chanting his name, "Nada Swami, Nada Swami," to a familiar chanting tune. While the ceremony continued they approached him one at a time to drop flower petals on his feet. After dropping the flowers, the men bowed down at the foot of his throne. All the while this was going on, a priest performed a worship ceremony, offering Nada Swami incense, candles, and other sacred items, fanning him, and so on. Sandy watched from the balcony in disbelief. Nada Swami rarely showed up for the morning service, but when he did, he always received this god-like worship. The chanting continued. When all the men were finished offering their flowers, the women lined up. Each took a handful of flower petals from a silver tray and filed past the guru, adding them to the pile already on his feet.
Sandy didn't think Nada Swami deserved flower petals on his feet, but since everyone else was doing it, she lined up too. The chanting was loud and fast and the men were now facing toward the main altar. She took a handful of flowers and waited her turn. The guru had a placid smile on his face, his eyes barely opened, as the women honored him with their flowers. He swayed to the music, seated on his velvet pillow, oblivious to the offerings. Sandy looked straight at him when she dropped her flowers, but he continued playing his cymbals, unaware. I wonder what Jeff sees in him? she thought.
At the end of the service, with a swish of saffron silk, Nada Swami exited the building, followed by his male devotees. Sandy watched as he crossed the street and slipped into his office. This time, instead of disappearing, he reemerged on his terrace. All the men stayed, gathered on the cement steps and sidewalk. Only a thick hedge separated them from the guru. The guru placed his bead bag on his hand and walked back and forth on the terrace chanting loudly and shaking the bag. All the men put their hands in their bead bags and imitated his loud chanting. The women watched from the temple side of the street, also chanting on their beads. Sandy stood with the women, noting how intently all the devotees watched their guru, as if studying his every gesture.
"Chant louder!" the guru commanded.
Everyone seemed mesmerized by his presence and continued chanting.
"Where is Jeff Miller?" the guru shouted. "Bring him here."
One of the men took off in search of Jeff. Everyone else continued chanting. Jeff returned dressed in his jeans and orange T-shirt, his bead bag hanging from his neck.
"Where were you this morning?" the guru demanded.
"Loading the book van."
"You missed everything."
"I'm sorry, Your Divine Grace," Jeff replied.
"Sense gratification," the guru snapped.
Jeff lowered his head.
"Now get going, you have a lot of work to do."
"Yes, Your Divine Grace." Jeff bowed down flat on the sidewalk and then stood and looked at Nada Swami for a moment.
"Well, get going."
Jeff ran down the driveway.
"That goes for the rest of you too. It's time for everyone get to work. We have a festival coming up." The guru gazed over the devotees a moment before turning sharply to go inside. The chanting stopped and everyone disbursed.
Sandy felt dazed and self-conscious after the incident and wondered if it had anything to do with her. Could Nada Swami somehow know about her relationship with Jeff? She couldn't imagine how, since she had not told anyone and was sure Jeff had not, either. Could he be angry just because Jeff had missed his worship ceremony? She followed the other women up to the breakfast room and spotted Prana.
"I have a question for you," she said, sitting down. "Were you just out there?"
"No, I've been here," Prana said. "Why?"
"Nada Swami was just outside and he, well, it seemed too harsh. He called one of the men over and yelled at him for nothing."
"Transcendental anger," Prana said, peeling an orange. "When the guru is angry, that means Krishna is angry; when the guru smiles, that means Krishna is pleased."
"Oh? But this was material anger."
"He can be pretty intense, I know," Prana said. "The guru is soft like a rose and hard like a thunderbolt."
"But I can't see any reason why he would be so mean."
"Did I ever tell you the first time I met Nada Swami?" Prana asked. She continued peeling her orange, looking at it, smiling.
"When Nada Swami first came to the community his job was to organize the book distribution," Prana began. "Book distribution was the main thing going on and I was just a lowly temple devotee, taking care of the deities. A festival was coming up and I needed people to help decorate, so I dared to ask one of his book distributors to stay back from the airport to help me. Well, I guess that was the wrong thing to do because he was having a marathon too. He didn't even know who I was, at least he had never spoken to me.
"Anyway, that afternoon I was walking down the street, right out there," Prana gestured toward the street where the incident had just taken place. "He drove by in a car and yelled out, 'Hey Mother Prana! Don't you ever, ever try to take one of my girls away from the airport again!' "
"He yelled at you like that?" Sandy asked.
"Yes! And I was thrilled! At that moment I knew I wanted to work for him."
"Why?"
"Because no one had ever yelled at me like that before!"
"He yelled at you, so you wanted to work for him?" Sandy tried to share Prana's enthusiasm for the memory.
"Yes. He was so powerful."
"Does he still yell at you?" Sandy asked, horrified.
"Oh, yes, all the time. But that's because I always do stupid things."
"Does he yell at everyone?"
"Not everyone," Prana said. "He would only yell at an advanced devotee. He can judge who's ready for it and who isn't. It's the guru's mercy that he corrects his disciples. The guru is supposed to train the disciple and he uses the rod of chastisement to do it. He's not really angry, it's transcendental anger to train the disciple."
"Hmmm," Sandy said, contemplating. "But this incident I just saw, just outside here. That seemed different because he seemed to be mad, really mad about something."
"Who was it?" Prana asked.
"It was Jeff Miller, the man who drives the shuttle."
"Oh him, well he's a nonsense."
Sandy bit her lip, not wanting to defend Jeff, for fear of making things obvious. "A nonsense?"
"Well, he tries, but he's been around for more than a year now and still isn't initiated."
Sandy couldn't believe Prana's cold judgment of Jeff, but she bit her lip and didn't say anything.
"People who want to get initiated must learn to control their senses," Prana continued. "There's a lot to do and everyone must be willing to work hard. Nada Swami doesn't want to initiate people who are just going to fall down. He has enough nonsense disciples already."
Could Prana possibly know about her and Jeff? Sandy wondered. Maybe she and Nada Swami could somehow tell. No, no that's impossible, she assured herself. She ate her oatmeal quickly, without asking any more questions.
"I heard you went to the airport yesterday," Prana said. "How did you like it?"
"I didn't do too well," Sandy admitted. "I think I should stay here and work on the carts."
"At least you tried," Prana said.
Sandy nodded. But I'll never do it again, she thought.
Sandy climbed the stepladder with her paint and brush and began to carefully trace over the Indian designs on the cart's railings. With each stroke she reviewed the recent events. She wondered how Jeff must feel after Nada Swami's tantrum. Did he take it as a lesson, as Prana suggested, or was he upset by it? Sandy wondered if Krishna really was showing some displeasure through Nada Swami. No, she concluded. There's nothing wrong with what Jeff did. It must be that Nada Swami has a bad temper. She continued painting, trying to imagine why all the people in the temple were so in love with Nada Swami.
Throughout the day Nada Swami's personal driver brought VIP visitors back from the airport in the Mercedes. Gurus were arriving from all over America and one from Australia had come, according to some of the other women. Ordinary devotees were also arriving by car from other parts of the country; the temple street was clogged with traffic. The sidewalks were filled with devotees she had never seen before. Where would they all sleep? she wondered, amazed that there were so many people in the organization.
Preparations for the festival were in full swing. To accommodate the massive festival cooking projects, the kitchen parking lot had been cordoned off and covered with a colorful tent. Devotee-cooks stirred giant kettles, which were set up on portable gas stoves. Other workers loaded the food into cardboard barrels and wheeled them onto a refrigerator truck, which would later carry all the food to the festival site. Inside the temple, visitors washed and cut potatoes.
Sandy noticed an animal trailer pull up and unload a live elephant in front of one of the temple bungalows. She learned from the others that this elephant would lead the parade, so it had been brought there for a press conference. Late in the day Sandy observed men with television cameras and boom mikes walking around the community. Nada Swami followed them, talking to a woman reporter.
Nada Swami seemed to be everywhere all day, Sandy noticed, shouting out orders to anyone who looked idle. Whenever he came into the parking lot where she was painting, she got up on a ladder so he wouldn't talk to her. She could hear his shrill voice, though, which seemed to carry for quite a distance. Later in the day she saw him walking around with an entourage that included some of the visiting ICKW gurus.
The next morning when she went to the temple for the morning program she noticed seven thrones about the same height as Nada Swami's. Those must be for the visiting gurus, she realized. During one part of the service, all the gurus sat on their seats or honor and accepted flower petal offerings from the devotees. Sandy didn't participate this time, since the temple was crowded and the flower queue was long. Besides, she didn't know any of these men and felt a little embarrassed about putting flowers on their feet. The chanting intensified as Sandy slipped out the door. There were many more devotees outside; some chanting, some talking or bowing down to one another.
Considering that the festival was the next day, Sandy decided to get out to the parking lot early to work on the carts. There still seemed to be so much work to do. Some of the others artists had the same idea, so they worked together through the morning without stopping for breakfast. Seamstresses had finished the silk canopies and men were stretching them over the spires. There wasn't much time, but Sandy hoped everything would be ready for the next day. One of the women on the crew had to spend most of her time rounding up volunteers from among the visitors to string flower garlands. That left all the more work for the few artists that remained. Sandy worked steadily, sometimes thinking of Jeff, but also absorbed in her work. She remembered his promise that they could meet at the festival.
On the morning of the festival, some of the devotees went to the pre-dawn services as usual, but the artists and other volunteers gathered at the curb to catch a ride out to the parade site. Sandy boarded a van with the rest of the painting crew. They were going to finish decorating the carts, which had been towed to the beach in the middle of the night. The first rays of sun were just lighting the eastern skyline when the van pulled into the Santa Monica Beach parking lot. Sandy got out and stared for a moment at the three carts, which stood poised just at the edge of the sand, awaiting the parade. They seemed to loom above the flat and placid Pacific Ocean, their red and blue silk canopies rippling in the breeze. Sandy felt a rush of pride at seeing the freshly painted carts. All was still except for the sound of the canopies and the ocean waves. In the morning's peace, Sandy couldn't believe that in just six hours hundreds of devotees and spectators would gather there for the parade.
The women unloaded decorations and crates of flower garlands, along with tools, ladders, staplers, ribbons, and tape from a flatbed truck. They spent the rest of the morning applying flower garlands, colored streamers, and helium balloons to the carts.
Breakfast arrived from the temple in a station wagon at 9:30 A.M. After eating, Sandy fell asleep in the back of a car.
