Spiritual Summer
A novel by Nori J. Muster
Chapter Six
Hundreds of people now filled the parking lot and the elephants headed the parade. Sandy awoke to the sound of conch shells blowing, marking the start of the parade. The carts were stunning and fully decorated: the first one in yellow, the second in red, and the third one in blue. The elephants were also decorated with tempera paint flowers across their sides and backs and colorful decorations around their eyes, trunks, and ears. Each elephant carried a rider dressed in a silk costume.
The carts were designed to move by human power. At the front of each cart were two thick ropes, which were to be pulled by twenty devotees on each rope. Under the platforms of the carts two men sat in plastic bucket seats to control the steering and brakes. Additional braking power could be obtained by pulling on ropes tied to the back. Anyone can pull, so Sandy took her place on one of the ropes of the middle cart. At exactly noon, priests aboard each cart blew conch shells to signal the beginning of the parade. The elephants started down the boardwalk, followed by the three carts and about a hundred and fifty chanting devotees. Sandy let her sari fall off her head and down across her back, since there was no way she could hold the rope and her sari at the same time. She smiled at the onlookers, who lined the boardwalk. Many had cameras or video recorders to photograph the procession. Still pulling the rope and chanting along with the others, Sandy turned to admire the carts. They seemed to rock back and forth as they moved along; their silk canopies rippled and bumped. Devotees on board threw flowers and bags of peanuts to the crowd.
The parade and the chanting continued for over an hour, rolling steadily down the boardwalk. Sandy grew tired of pulling the rope and decided to walk at the front with the elephants. She dropped the rope and other people's hands filled in the slack. She walked on the sand to catch up with the beginning of the parade and walked with the elephants the rest of the way. As the procession poured into Venice Beach she noticed the tops of the festival tents in the distance. The boardwalk was wider now and the crowd enormous. As far back as she could see there were people, now thousands of them, following the parade. The devotees were in and among the carts, but there were now hundreds of beach-goers dancing and following the carts.
The parade of people poured into the festival site, where a crowd was gathered. On the stage, musicians were playing Krishna music through an electronic sound system with six-foot-high speakers. While the parade merged into the festival crowd, the carts were pulled around to the far side of the stage. Some of the lead chanters from the parade climbed onto the stage and began chanting through the microphones, joining the musicians who were already there. The chanting was loud and intense, and it had a rock 'n roll beat because the some of musicians were playing electric guitars. There were now hundreds of people dancing. Sandy danced too, enjoying the crowd, the devotees, the blue, cloudless sky, and the warm sunshine.
When the chanting ended, the atmosphere became still. Some in the audience sat down on the grass, while others remained standing. Nada Swami and the visiting gurus walked onto the stage. Devotees seated them in folding chairs and brought a microphone to the center of the stage. Nada Swami stood at the mike and began speaking.
"Welcome to our Ratha-yatra festival, we're very glad you could come. This is an ancient festival from India."
Nada Swami continued, but Sandy slipped away to look around the festival site, which extended across a grassy park area of the Venice Beach Pavilion. Besides the main stage, there were another twenty-five booths where devotees sold refreshments, books, and religious paraphernalia. There were tents and displays, all bearing signs the painting crew had worked on the previous month. Sandy recognized some signs she had painted, "Transcendental Refreshments," "Sights and Sounds of India," "India Boutique," and others. The sun blazed down on the crowded festival. Sandy bought a slice of watermelon and ate it as she walked around. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jeff coming out of a tent. He seemed to be heading away from the festival site, toward the parking lot. She followed him.
"Hey, Jeff," she said, catching up with him just outside the festival perimeters.
"There you are, stranger," he said. "I was looking for you."
"You promised we could spend some time together, remember?"
"So I did."
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere," he replied. "I helped all morning setting up the tents and I'm off now. I don't have to be anywhere until tonight when we break them down."
Sandy walked with him down the street.
"Hey, I'll buy you a soda," he said, pointing to a liquor store.
They walked along together, sipping their drinks.
"Where do you want to go?" Jeff asked. "I don't think it's right for us to walk around together, since we're dressed in our devotee clothes, and all."
"Do you have anywhere in mind?"
"My van's parked nearby," Jeff said. "We could drive around or something. Do you have to be anywhere soon?"
Sandy and Jeff drove north, up the coast, with the windows rolled down, the sun shining on their faces. They drove from Venice to Santa Monica, where the parade started, then further north, into Malibu.
"Hey, I just remembered, I know a neat place," Jeff said, turning off on Malibu Canyon Road. He started through the canyon.
"I didn't know there was a road like this in L.A.," Sandy said, observing the tree-covered hillsides.
"We're not in L.A. anymore," he said. "We're about a quarter of the way to Santa Barbara now." He pulled off the main road onto a dirt road and soon brought the van to rest on a hilltop.
"Let's get out and take a look," he said.
From the plateau they could see a panorama of ocean, canyon, and trees, that stretched almost three hundred and sixty degrees around. Jeff slid the door of the van open and they sat on the carpeted floor. A breeze blew across the top of the mountain, making it seem cooler.
"Sure was a nice festival," Sandy said.
"Sure was," Jeff said. They sat for a few more moments.
"Sure is beautiful up here," Sandy said.
"Sure is."
They sat quietly, looking at the ocean and feeling the wind blowing against their skin.
"Now that we're all the way up here, what do you want to do?" Sandy asked.
"I don't know, what do you want to do?"
"Oh, what day is this? I just remembered something," Sandy said. "It's my birthday. I'm eighteen today!"
"Happy birthday," Jeff said. "I wish I had known."
"I forgot myself. How stupid. Oh, I told my parents I would call them today. What should I do?"
"Don't worry, I'll drive you to a telephone on the way back."
Sandy smiled, looking into Jeff's eyes. "Can you believe I forgot?"
"No, I think you just wanted to surprise me. Happy birthday."
"How about a birthday kiss?"
Jeff put his hands on her shoulders and lightly kissed her. She put her arms around him and tried to pull him closer. He pulled back.
"What's the matter?"
"We shouldn't," he said. "You--it doesn't matter, but me--it matters."
"What is it, the saffron cloth thing again? What difference does it make? We're all the way out here."
Jeff stood up and looked over the landscape again, with his back to Sandy. A hawk soared over the canyon, diving and gliding. He watched its flight while Sandy sat in the van.
"We should go back. This isn't right," Jeff said, turning to Sandy.
"Let's stay, oh please. It's my birthday. We don't have to do anything, just talk."
"That's okay with you?"
"Of course, Jeff, come on. I don't even know you that well."
"I guess I don't trust myself," he said, sitting next to her again.
"You're brainwashed, you know," Sandy kidded. "You don't have to worry about that stuff. We women aren't as bad as they make us out to be."
"Oh, Sandy, come on, don't criticize something you don't know anything about." Jeff stopped for a moment, then added, "This is my life. Don't try to tell me how to run it."
"How come you have to be celibate? Who decides?"
"A man decides for himself. Look at the swamis, like Nada Swami. A swami takes a vow to never have sexual intercourse with a woman for the rest of his life."
"I know and I think they're nuts," Sandy said. "Some of those men don't look over twenty-five years old. How are they going to go for the rest of their lives completely celibate?"
"It's their decision. Swamis take a vow for life, but a brahmacari can later become a householder," Jeff continued. "I have to stay brahmacari at least until I get initiated, because Nada Swami wants it that way. Also, I want it that way, I guess. But maybe after I'm initiated I'll get married; I'll put on white." He looked at Sandy, smiling.
"We're not talking about getting married, are we?" Sandy asked. "That's a long way off for me."
"But there's no way we can associate otherwise."
"Can't we just get to know each other? It still doesn't make sense to me. You're a free person. This is a free country, isn't it?"
"Sandy! Oh, God, Sandy. Don't do this to me. I don't know what to do. Everything was fine until you came along. You're eighteen now. Why don't you forget school and just stay in the temple? After I get initiated we can get married."
"But I'm too young." Sandy lowered her head to rest on Jeff's shoulder.
Jeff put his hand on her head.
"I have another idea," she said. "You leave the temple and come with me to Santa Barbara. We can get an apartment together and both go to school. That way we can get to know each other before we get married."
"How could I?" he asked. "First of all I don't have the money and second, well, no, most important, how could I leave the temple?"
"Just leave. Nothing's stopping you."
"But I told you already, it's my family. It's my home. I don't want to leave. I've lived here more than a year. My friends, my work, my guru, everything is here."
"Nada Swami is a creep. What about when he yelled at you the other day? Didn't that make you mad?"
"No, of course not. I deserved it, besides I know he wasn't really mad. He's my guru, my father. I never had a real father and I need Nada Swami."
"You worship him on a throne, you throw flowers on his feet. That's not what I call a father."
"It's not a throne. It's a vyasasana."
"I don't care what it is. It looks like a throne to me. Anyway, you worship him and then he yells at you. And you still think he's your father? He's not your father. Can't you see that?"
"Stop right there," Jeff said, pushing Sandy away. "I don't have to break my vows to satisfy a lusty little teenager. Nada Swami is right: women are the incarnation of lust. It says in the scriptures that women are ten times lustier than men. You're just maya in disguise trying to make me fall down. You should be ashamed of yourself!"
His words echoed in the silence of the hilltop. Sandy felt tears starting to form in her eyes. Jeff turned toward the mountains as if searching the horizon for a reply.
Sandy started to weep slightly. "They've ruined you!" she shouted. "You're brainwashed. You're cruel. I hate you!"
Jeff lay back on the floor of the van and clenched his fists together over his face. "I'm sorry," he said in a vague, quiet tone.
"I didn't start this, you know. I didn't drive us out to this place and park here. It wasn't my idea to come here. I just wanted to talk. And I still do just want to talk. I wasn't trying to make you fall down. I'm not sure I even know what that means."
Jeff rolled onto his stomach and then sat up. He stared down at his Indian shirt and shook his head.
"It's me, I know," he said. "It's been a constant struggle for me being in the van with the women. They talk to me every day and I'm around women all the time. Me wearing saffron is a joke. It's not Nada Swami. He knows what's in my heart, he can tell. That's why he always has to chastise me. He knows I'm no brahmacari. I can't blame it on you. You're innocent. It's me, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought us here. Please forgive me."
"It's okay with me that you brought us here. We were just driving around, weren't we? There's nothing wrong with that."
"I had it all planned," Jeff said. "I brought you here because I wanted be alone with you to kiss you. I admit it. Okay, I'm fallen."
Sandy reached for Jeff's hand, smiling, and he pulled her down to him. Then he wrapped his arms around her.
"I don't agree with all the rules," Jeff said. "I don't know what I'm doing. Can you forgive me?"
"It's okay," Sandy whispered. "It's brainwashing for fanatics. There's nothing wrong with you."
"Would you consider marrying me?" Jeff asked, still holding her.
"I don't know. I still think I'm too young."
"When you get older?"
"Maybe, but I don't know where I'll be."
"If we still know each other, then would you?"
"Yes," she said.
"You're the only woman I've kissed since I've been here. I think I love you."
"Thank you."
"Can I kiss you again? Then we'll go back?"
"I don't want to make you break your principles."
"No, no, I won't. I don't want too. I just want to hold you, to kiss you a little bit longer. I've wanted to do this since I met you. Please?"
"Here are the address labels," Prana said, entering her office after a brief trip to the copy machine. Just put one label in the middle of each envelope and try to keep them in order. I'm going back to the copy machine and will be gone for about an hour. Then we can get these together and get all the packets ready to mail." Prana tucked the originals of the finished newsletter under her arm and left for the warehouse again.
Sandy sat down at the folding table and looked at the box of envelopes and pages of label stickers. She sighed. Not as much fun as working on a festival, she thought. Nevertheless, it was something to do. She peeled off the first label and stuck it squarely in the middle of the first envelope. She read the label, "ICKW, P.O. Box 1100, Durban, South Africa 3680." ICKW, she thought to herself. It sounds like some mysterious corporation, not a spiritual group. She tried to imagine what the ICKW temple in South Africa was like. The next label was for an ICKW temple in Kenya, then Nigeria, and Sierra Leone. She skimmed through the sheets and noted there were labels for India, Europe, Latin America, Australia and the South Seas, as well as North America. Man, these guys are taking over the world, she mused as she put the sheets back in order and continued preparing the envelopes.
In the days since the festival Sandy had been helping around the office. Nada Swami had been out of town, but was due to come back the next day. She felt comfortable in the office with him gone, but worried what it might be like when he returned. The alternative, street chanting with the other new devotees, would be worse because it was the hottest part of summer. Besides, she wasn't a real Krishna Center devotee and didn't feel right representing herself as one on the street.
She hadn't spoken to Jeff since the day of the festival. In some ways she felt she was the one who had let the relationship die down. But then it was he who always seemed to ignore her. Sometimes he came to the morning service, but usually not. In the morning, when he picked up the airport devotees, she would try to be around. But there was no way she could talk to him. Too many people around. Sandy wished she had respected his spiritual principles and felt guilty for allowing him to kiss her. She felt confused about what the relationship was, since he had not given any indication. In view of the circumstances, she thought it best to try to forget about him.
"Can you come out to the car and help me carry something?" Prana asked, poking her head in the front door.
Sandy put the labels down and followed Prana to the driveway. There were two cartons of paper, so they each took one. "I'm almost finished with the labels," Sandy said. "I never realized how many ICKW temples there are."
"I do this mailing once a month, and believe me, they're out there." Prana cleared the table and set out six piles of paper to collate. "I'll hand you the finished newsletter, then you staple the corner and fold it in half, okay?"
"Doesn't this take you forever by yourself?"
"I always manage to get help," Prana said. She worked quickly, her slender fingers snapping up one page at a time and then tapping the finished newsletter on the table before handing it to Sandy.
"You remind me of my little sister," Prana said. "Only she died in July, just before you came here."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I went to her funeral and saw my mother and father. They took it pretty hard."
"I didn't realize."
"Of course everything is temporary in this material world. You can't hang onto anything, or anyone, forever. But try to tell my parents that." Prana was silent a few moments and then added, "My sister didn't have to die. She was a good kid, basically; just hung out with the wrong crowd. One more reason to surrender to Krishna and live in a temple, for me. The world is a dangerous place."
Sandy stapled another newsletter. "But there are good things about it, too."
"Temporary," Prana said, handing her a newsletter.
"Temporarily good then," Sandy said.
"People risk their lives, they even kill, just for some temporary sense gratification. There's a story of an old yogi who lived in the heavenly planets. He had a life span of one hundred thousand years, but he never built himself a house. He would sit outside in the rain and the scorching heat. Then one day a man came up and asked the yogi why he didn't build a shelter. And you know what he said?"
"No, what?"
"He said he didn't need a shelter because life is temporary. His life span was a hundred thousand years and he didn't even want to build a shelter! Here we are with our one hundred years at most and so worried about getting our wealth, our sense gratification."
"You have to try to be happy, though, don't you?"
"No. The key to a good life isn't sense gratification, it's serving God. If we can just do some little service for God during our wretched lifetime, then everything is perfect."
"Sounds kind of depressing. What if God wants us to be happy?" Sandy asked. She noted Prana's tense, quick movements and wished she could say something to comfort her. God must want people to be happy, Sandy thought, but devotees seem so worried all the time.
"We're not trying for our own happiness," Prana continued. "We may become happy in the process of serving Krishna, but we basically just want God's happiness." She put together the last newsletter and Sandy stapled it.
"Good, now let's put one in each envelope. Try to keep them in order so I can separate them into zones before I put the postage on."
"Got it," Sandy said. She wondered where in the scriptures Krishna said people couldn't be happy just for happiness' sake. "If people don't feel happy," Sandy said, "and if believing in God doesn't make them happy, then what's the point of believing in God?"
"A pure devotee is always happy because he is in complete harmony with God's will," Prana said. "But for some devotees, who are still influenced by material desires, sometimes they aren't happy because they want things God doesn't want them to have. The best they can hope for is that God will let them do some service anyway."
"What if someone is forced to do something they wouldn't ordinarily have done? Would God forgive that person?"
"God will forgive him if he doesn't slip and do it again. There's a reason for everything. Sometimes a sinful reaction is good because it's a lesson. We can never know what God's purpose is."
Sandy felt uneasy, imagining again that Prana somehow knew about her and Jeff. She wanted to change the subject to a more philosophical key.
"Then what good does prayer do?" she asked.
"We should pray for pure devotional service," Prana said. "Like I said, maybe God puts a devotee into suffering to teach him a lesson, so we shouldn't pray to God to take away our problems. And we especially shouldn't pray to him for material things."
"It sounds kind of hopeless."
"No, not at all," Prana said, folding newsletters.
"Can I ask you something else?" Sandy continued. "How come at the temple the men always stand at the front and the women have to stand separate, at the back or off to the side?"
"These women's bodies were created to be a temptation to men. If men and the women mingle together there's sure to be sex-life. Have you heard the story about fire and butter? Men are like butter--they can be strong and firm, but when you put them near fire they melt. Woman is the fire. That's why women have to stay at the back, where the men can't look at them and become lusty."
Sandy stuffed newsletters, listening to Prana's preaching, and concluded there was no way Prana could know about her and Jeff. She wondered if Prana had ever been young and in love. Maybe something happened that was disappointing, that turned her toward the hereafter.
