Notes from the Editor

A Day in Vṛndāvana, India, the Land of Kṛṣṅa

Walking in the early morning, I see the tower of the Madana-mohana temple in my path. The village of Vṛndāvana is still dark, and the temple tower is almost indistinguishable from the nearby trees. I enter the Yamunā's waters, and downriver I hear the sādhus' carefree cries. Chanting and singing, they sound as though they have nothing to lose.

On my way back to ISKCON's Kṛṣṅa-Balarāma temple, I visit the ancient Rādhā-Dāmodara temple: In the Rādhā-Dāmodara compound a small boy sits beside the samādhi (tomb) of Rūpa Gosvāmī. His lips are moving, repeating the name of God: "Rāma, Rāma, Rāma." He does not appear to be a particularly saintly boy, just a shopkeeper's son wearing an old sweater and pants. But he lives here. How fortunate he is to be a tot here and not in the Bronx. Things are gentle and simple. And not far from the surface is the special nature of Vṛndāvana-everything and everyone is close to Kṛṣṅa.

While it is still early morning I return to the Kṛṣṅa-Balarāma temple. An old woman is grasping a broom with no handle and whisking together leaves and dust, cleaning the temple courtyard. She bends low (the branches of the tamāla tree are also low) and sings Hare Kṛṣṅa, slowly sweeping.

* * *

Midmorning. From the window of my third-floor room in the ISKCON Vṛndāvana guest house, I can look down into several neighboring yards. A woman sits on a rope cot; another woman stands behind, combing the sitting woman's hair. On a nearby roof, a man is taking big balls of soft cow dung from a basket, bunching them and patting them down; after baking in the sun, the cow-dung patties will serve as fuel for cooking.

Little children, some naked, play in the dust of the parikrama trail, the trail along the perimeter of Vṛndāvana. Playfully they pour sand. on one another. A donkey, snorting and guffawing, rolls in the sand to scratch its back. A renunciant offering repeated obeisances lies prostrate On the ground. Bent old widows pass by with walking sticks. And dogs howl from rooftops, mischievous monkeys run, hogs eat filth in the riverside sewage—but even all this seems peaceful; it is not the violent, industrial city.

* * *

Late afternoon. From my window I see an old man with a gray beard, like an ancient sage's, petting his cow and feeding her from his hand. Cows come home and wait at the courtyard gate. The old man opens the gate, and the cows enter. They go stand before a mud-walled trough and feed. They have been out scavenging, sometimes eating paper and rags.

The economy of Vṛndāvana is based on the cow and the land, just as it was when Kṛṣṅa was here five thousand years ago. Nowadays there is much wrong in Vṛndāvana, but there is always a willingness to forgive. Even those who are condemned to the lower species of life are blessed and close to liberation. Nothing here is ordinary.

* * *

It is evening, and in the temple I stand before the Deities of Kṛṣṅa and Balarāma. There is a secret beyond the material vision of Vṛndāvana, and I pray to be able to understand it.

The scriptures say that Vṛndāvana in India is a replica of the original Vṛndāvana in the eternal spiritual world-but to see it as such requires spiritual vision. In the spiritual world of Vṛndāvana, the buildings are made of touchstone, the water is nectar, and the trees are known as wish fulfilling trees, for they yield whatever one desires. In Vṛndāvana, Kṛṣṅa herds His cows and plays on His flute, and He is worshiped by hundreds and thousands of cowherd girls who are all goddesses of fortune.

Śrīla Prabhupāda says, "When Kṛṣṅa descends to the material world, this same Vṛndāvana descends, just as an entourage accompanies an important person. Because when Kṛṣṅa comes His land also comes, Vṛndāvana is not considered to exist in the material world. Therefore, even today devotees take shelter of the Vṛndāvana in India [situated roughly eighty miles south of New Delhi], for it is considered to be a replica of the original Vṛndāvana."

I ponder: Can I undergo the austerities required to reach the transcendental understanding of Vṛndāvana—to attain to the bliss of pure love of God?

* * *

As I walk in the evening, most of the people I pass say, "Haribol," "Hare Kṛṣṅa." We exchange respects with folded hands. I walk Vṛndāvana.'s main road, which used to be Chattikara Road but is now named Bhaktivedanta Swami Marg, after His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda. Walking along Śrīla Prabhupāda’s road toward the Raman Reti neighborhood, back to where Śrīla Prabhupāda has his gorgeous Kṛṣṅa-Balarāma temple, I'm remembering my prayer to be allowed to understand Vṛndāvana. It's not an easy thing; it's the highest transcendental realization.

And I'm also remembering that it is a great fortune that Kṛṣṅa sent His pure devotee, Śrīla Prabhupāda, to spread the simple process of chanting the holy names:

Hare Kṛṣṅa, Hare Kṛṣṅa, Kṛṣṅa Kṛṣṅa, Hare Hare / Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare. By this process of chanting Hare Kṛṣṅa, even the most fallen souls can enter into the essential realization of Vṛndāvana: love of Kṛṣṅa. Śrīla Prabhupāda says, "For the devotee, there is no need to pray to the lord for transferal to the Vaikuṅṭha [eternal] world. A pure devotee can create Vaikuṅṭha or Vṛndāvana anywhere, simply by chanting the glories of the lord without offense."

As I walk, a peacock within a tree climbs upward through the branches. Light green parrots merge into the green trees. The gnarled trees, hundreds of years old, a few of them thousands of years old—and yet they are sprouting green sprigs and leaves.

At nightfall I enter the front gates of the Kṛṣṅa-Balarāma temple compound. Hundreds of guests are coming and going, attending the kīrtana before the Deities. I offer my obeisances before Śrīla Prabhupāda's samādhi. Overhead is a faint sliver of moon, and within the temple, devotees are proclaiming the glories of Vṛndāvana:

Hare Kṛṣṅa, Hare Kṛṣṅa, Kṛṣṅa Kṛṣṅa, Hare Hare / Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare.—SDG