Ravīndra Svarūpa Dāsa
nama oà viñëu-pädäya kåñëa-preñöhäya bhü-tale
çrémate bhaktivedänta-sväminn iti nämine
namas te särasvate deve gaura-väëé-pracäriëe
nirviçeña-çünyavädi-päçcätya-deça-täriëe
Dear Çréla Prabhupäda,
Please accept my most fallen obeisances at your lotus feet, which tirelessly traversed this world,
shedding the mercy of Lord Gauräìga at your every step among the condemned internees of this prison
camp.
A number of years ago I undertook an especially sustained effort to x my attention on the holy
name during japa. Whenever my mind wandered, I brought it back, again, and again, and again . . . This
wrestling match with the mind kept on for many, many rounds, day after day. It seemed not to become
easier. At last I noticed that my mind was veering away from the mahä-mantra not out of an attraction to
some object of interest but rather from an avoidance of a strange, entirely mental sensation of discomfort
or distress, which would disperse upon a slacking of concentration.
Why would the mahä-mantra cause distress? I puzzled over this for some days. I’d never heard of
such a thing. I feared something was profoundly wrong with me. I feared I might be a demon. In any
case, what should I do?
I decided that I would simply put up with it; I would keep my attention focused on the holy name
and just endure the distress. And see what would happen.
The distress did not go away, and I persisted in the face of it. Finally, after a week or two, something
happened. Without warning, the pressure of the distress abruptly soared, and an overpowering grief
poured unceasingly from some newly unstopped valve in my heart, as water gushes from an opened
re hydrant.
It was as if this grief had been always somehow contained, under pressure, inside me, and now it
was stunningly released to my consciousness. And while I had been unable to discover the source of my
mental discomfort, I knew at once the cause of my grief: I had turned away from Kåñëa; I had broken away from Him, abandoned Him, and had departed for this material world.
Of course, I had believed this teaching for a long time. But that was theoretical. Now I underwent
the reality. As the grief of the heart owed on and on, there came along with it a revelation in all fullness
of the enormity of my crime.
It was unforgivable. For now I understood completely that Kåñëa was perfect and awless and gracious 42
Śrī Vyāsa-pūjā 2011
in every respect. He was utterly wonderful, through and through. Here, in this world, if a pair of friends,
relatives, or colleagues experience a ruptured relationship, a mediator or counselor enlisted to aid in
repairing the breach will inevitably announce that there are faults on both sides. In this case, however,
in the case of my alienation from Kåñëa, it was starkly evident that the fault was all on my side. Kåñëa
was full of goodness, grace, and charm. There was no fault in Him. The break was all my doing, and I
had to gaze on it without any relieving blurring, acknowledge the full hideousness, the nastiness—the
sheer spitefulness—of my deed.
For the rst time I understood the impulse toward suicide. I was wretched beyond all measure. I saw
no relief, and I was completely isolated in my suffering. Our movement’s vaunted slogan was “Chant and
be happy!” No one ever said, “Chant and be miserable.” I thought, therefore, I was an anomalous case;
if I shared what I was going through with another devotee, he would surely tell me what I already knew:
I was different. I was a demon.
Yet quickly relief came. Grief remained and engendered joy.
It occurred to me that I felt such grief only because I was chanting Kåñëa’s name. Light dawned: if
so, then although I had turned away from Kåñëa, he had not turned away from me. I had already been
granted a sense of the wonderfulness of Kåñëa, and that sense also disclosed my own contrasting vileness
to me, and now I saw even more of Kåñëa’s perfection: however monstrous I had been in rejecting him,
he did not reject me. I saw nothing worthy in myself. Kåñëa cared for me nevertheless. I couldn’t see
why, but He did. That is simply the way He is.
I felt gratitude as great as my grief. And then the full range of Kåñëa’s care became clear to me. For
how was I able to chant the mahä-mantra? Kåñëa had sent you, Çréla Prabhupäda, to bring it to me. I recollected all the difculties and trouble you underwent to come to America. I recalled your preparations
in starting the English-language Back to Godhead in India (in 1944—the year of my birth!), in the long
and solitary undertaking of translating and printing Çrémad-Bhägavatam, in your arriving in America in
your seventh decade, without money, without good health, without institutional support: your one asset
your commitment to the mission of causeless mercy, to the order of your Guru Mahäräja. I thought of all
the ceaseless effort, your gifts to the unworthy. And I saw you as the embodiment of Kåñëa’s care. You
are proof. And so my gratitude grew and grew.
I should note that I received, years later, an explanation of my rst great emotional experience of the
holy name. I was studying the nal chapter of your Caitanya-caritämåta, in which Lord Caitanya recites
the Çikñäñöaka verses to Rämänanda Räya and Svarüpa Dämodara. He recites each one in Sanskrit and
then explicates them in Bengali; Kåñëadäsa Kaviräja also names the various emotions Mahäprabhu
underwent as He recited each verse. The second verse—which describes anartha-nivåtti, or the stage of
chanting while clearing up offenses—presents a stark juxtaposition between acknowledgement of the
Lord’s mercy (tava kåpä) and the speaker’s sense of his own misfortune (mama durdaiva). Kåñëadäsa
Kaviräja writes that when Lord Caitanya recited this verse, He felt two emotions: lamentation (viñäda)
and humility (dainya). When I saw the word “lamentation” my heart jumped. I thought, “It’s bona de!”
And so I understood that my own grief was not anomalous after all.
It is clear that you have given us everything, Çréla Prabhupäda, and spared no effort. Once you told
a reporter in Hong Kong:
They have forgotten Kåñëa, they have forgotten God, and I am trying to make them Kåñëa conscious.
It is a very difcult job. I have to shed my blood three tons before I make one convinced in Kåñëa
consciousness. That is my experience. I have to talk with them, especially these Europeans and
Americans.
Please bless us that we may do for others what you have done for us.
Aspiring to be your most unworthy servant,
Ravéndra Svarüpa Däsa
