My Sweet Lord: New Vrindaban, WV

Every time I breach the subject of our religious beliefs – as I did in the post on the Meher Spiritual Center in Myrtle Beach – whether in conversation or in writing, I am always quick to say it is a personal matter. Not anymore. In terms of religious thought, I find the most clarity in the philosophies, teachings, scriptures, and sages of the Hindu faith. I am a Hindu, though some may argue that given that I am not Indian (at least not in this lifetime) that I am a practitioner of Sanatana Dharma, which translates as “the Eternal Law.”

Whatever. Labels are stupid.

In a similar vein as my discovery of Meher Baba by way of Pete Townshend, my first glimpse into Hinduism – albeit a very specific denomination of the faith – came through George Harrison and his involvement with the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, or ISKCON. They are also commonly referred to as the Hare Krishna movement. One Christmas my grandparents gave me a massive coffee-table book called The Beatles: A Celebration by Geoffrey Giuliano. (Giuliano himself has had a long relationship with ISKCON, as well.)

Throughout were full-color photographs of The Beatles, their cohorts, consorts, rare picture sleeves, and all manner of Beatles ephemera. The chapter discussing each Beatle’s solo pursuits included a photo of George, his wife Patti, and two bald men in yellow/orange colored robes. (Back then I only conceived of colors as defined by Crayola – 16 years later, I now know that color to be saffron.)

Swami Prabhupada, Patti Harrison, George Harrison, and Dhananjaya Das, circa 1974.

I remember, even back then, thinking the man on the left – despite being the shortest person in the photo – had quite a unique presence about him. (This is saying something, because back in 1997 there was nothing I wanted more than to be a Beatle.) I also remember his name looking like a smattering of letters that I thought I would never be able to pronounce: His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada.

Swami Prabhupada was the founder of ISKCON, and much like Meher Baba, Swami Vivekananda, and Swami Sivananda, I have found nothing – NOTHING – in the way of a juicy postmortem confessional from disillusioned former students, nothing indicating he had a secret stash of Rolls Royces, no sordid private life, no sharply-worded critiques of other religions made in secret, no secret agenda to establish a one-world religion, and no racist newsletters published under his letterhead. (These are all misdeeds attributed to various 20th Century spiritual leaders…except that last one. That one was Ron Paul.) In short, the man truly was, to use a cliché turn of phrase, the real deal.*

In the latter 20th Century, Swami Prabhupada introduced Hinduism to the Love Generation, arriving in the United States in 1966. His message was simple: Krishna – an avatar of the god Vishnu – is the Supreme Godhead, and the chanting of his name will bring about a legion of good. For strict adherents, there is a code of morals and ethics, but taking up the chanting of the Hare Krishna mantra** was offered as a simple practice for anyone and everyone. The only other prescription Prabhupada had for the general public was to give up eating meat.

Nestled away in the Appalachians, just south of Wheeling, West Virginia (the birthplace of my maternal grandfather, Charles Rowan) is a community of 350 ISKCON devotees called New Vrindaban. (Old Vrindaban is in Uttar Pradesh, India, the boyhood home of Krishna.) The community has an ornate temple, a farm where cows are protected and venerated, a larger-than-life statue of Lord Caitanya (the 16th Century propagator of the Hare Krishna mantra), living quarters for guests, and what was intended to be Prabhupada’s home during his visits to America. Unfortunately, Prabhupada died before the latter’s completion.

Our visit was brief, but most memorable. Visiting the temple in the early evening, a monk named Venkat introduced us to each of the deities. We talked about our familiarity both with Hinduism and my knowledge of ISKCON via George Harrison. Unlike the folks at the Baba center with Pete Townshend, Venkat was very familiar with George’s connection to ISKCON. (In all fairness, Townshend distanced himself from Baba’s organization due to his drug problems in the early 1980’s.) George had been a benefactor for ISKCON in England, producing first a single and then an entire album ofdevotional music, and he remained a lifelong devotee.

During the evening worship service, the chief monk, Parampara Das, tapped us on the shoulder and took us to his office, where we chatted at great length about society, religion, and God. It is too much for me to go into details here – for more, you’ll have to wait until American Weirdness becomes a full-on book – but it was refreshing and a sheer delight to hear from someone with a level of spiritual authority things I have said, thought, and written about these topics. We were offered the warmest of welcomes by the devotees and other visitors alike. (There was a large group of Indians with Ontario license plates visiting that same weekend.)

The following morning began for us at five, with worship beginning before dawn. After worship – which included prayers and obeisance to Krishna, Narasimha (another avatar of Vishnu in the form of a half-man, half-lion), and Prabhupada – Parampara Das gave a humorous but instructional talk on using prayer beads to count the Hare Krishna mantra, which is ideally chanted 108 times in one sitting. (If it sounds nuts, consider that it only takes about 12 to 15 minutes.)

After lunch and midday services, we left for Charleston, the state capital. Our visit was too brief, and yet we both had very transformative experiences at New Vrindaban. We were invigorated, spiritually awakened, and at peace.

* For any wayward Westerners seeking sources of enlightenment from the East, I strongly encourage you to do your homework on the authors! Some of them are legitimate men and women of God, sharing, reiterating, and spreading a strong message for no purpose other than the betterment of the species. Many, however, are hucksters who prey upon the Western exoticizing of all things from the “Mysterious East.” Their messages carry the depth of a Hallmark greeting card, which they peddle at an exorbitant rate, with a personal life that would make Caligula blush. Back in Massachusetts, I picked up a book on meditation by a “Swami” who I later learned was accused of rape by several former students. Since I don’t believe in burning books, at the next possible juncture, I traded it in at a bookstore in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, in exchange for a book of Shakti prayers, hymns, and poems.

** The Hare Krishna mantra is remarkably simple to remember:

“Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,

Krishna, Krishna, Hare, Hare,

Hare Rama, Hare Rama,

Rama, Rama, Hare, Hare”

Here is the George Harrison-produced recording of the Hare Krishna mantra, as performed by the devotees of the Radha Krishna Temple in England.