A Story of True Devotion

Jadurani/Syamarani didi is a master painter of Bhakti Art and one of the most stalwart teachers of bhakti-yoga in current times. She is among the first disciples of Srila A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, the world-renowned founder-acharya of ISKCON (the International Society for Krsna Consciousness), and she is also a prominent student of Srila Prabhupada’s close associate, Srila Bhaktivedanta Narayana Gosvami Maharaja. Under their expert spiritual guidance, she has created nearly 300 works of devotional art and is recognized as one of the most influential artists to emerge out of the Hare Krsna Movement and its subsequent school of art.

After meeting Srila Prabhupada in Tompkins Square Park in New York City in 1966, her life quickly evolved into a vibrant whirlwind of devotional service and sacred art which has expanded over the past five decades, touching the lives of millions around the world. She is also a senior editor for Srila Narayana Gosvami Maharaja’s lectures and books with Gaudiya Vedanta Publications, and she continues to produce vivid canvases which serve as windows into the spiritual world.

ACHIEVEMENTS 

As a beloved spiritual guide and leader, Syamarani dasi has spoken at temples, universities, and festivals around the world, and she is regularly invited to speak on television and radio programs in the countries she visits each year.

In 2018 at the Bhakti-Fest in Joshua Tree, California, she was presented with the annual Humanitarian Award by Deepak Chopra. This honor was bestowed upon her for over 50 years of exquisite devotional art and her efforts to alleviate the suffering of the world’s people through the teachings of bhakti yoga.

How it all began

At that moment, an onlooker tapped me on the shoulder. “Hi. Would you like to visit the temple to meet Svamiji?”

The tap and invitation seemed to be an arrangement of the same force that drew me to the chanters. Totally forgetting about my boyfriend, I left the park with this stranger who, speaking little, brought me to a small storefront at 26 Second Avenue. I noted a hand-painted sign above the front window, “Matchless Gifts,” which looked suitably psychedelic, and my guide announced that this was the temple.

Through the window I saw four young men in the center of the narrow 10’ by 50’ temple room, dancing and singing that same chant I had heard in the park. Their hands raised in the air as they danced, their faces gazing upward, they seemed genuinely happy. I was determined to know what this was all about.

The storefront had been transformed into what I imagined an Indian temple would look like, with just a few simple pieces of furniture. A wooden platform at the front of the room was covered with a dark velvet cloth, the lectern upon it flanked by flower vases and ornate plaster candlesticks. A large metal gong hung from the side of the platform, and dark purple curtains covered the wall and windows behind it. Oriental rugs lined the long floor, decorative Indian silk cloths hung on the walls, and Indian style illustrations further ornamented the silk cloths. I was attracted to the Indian prints: a cloud-complexioned youth dancing joyously on a large, multi-hooded serpent; that same youth feeding ball-shaped sweets to a calf; that same bluish youth sitting on a rock; and that same youth a little older, standing by a beautiful, golden-complexioned young lady, a cow standing between Them.

I was so enamored by the pictures, dancers, music, and the room itself that I didn’t notice when my guide left. I decided that my ‘inner self’ – whatever that meant – would take that guide’s place, showing me all I needed to know. Trusting the supreme ‘It,’ I resolved to be a passive witness and let whatever was destined to happen happen.

…Another young man came in from the side door and invited me to come upstairs and meet “the Svami.” I followed him to the courtyard, and then to the building behind the temple. We climbed a dim fluorescent-lit stairway to the second floor, and then entered the apartment on the right. I noticed a sweet, exotic incense fragrance, and several men and women sitting on the floor chanting with rosary-like beads in their hands. Although the words they uttered were indistinct, the mystical drone once again evoked remembrance of some primeval place.

The Svami, that same glowing personality I’d seen in the park, sat in their midst, looking simultaneously ascetic and aristocratic. He bowed his head on the ground, which to my mind confirmed my belief that everything, including the floor, is God. As the chanting continued around him, he stood up and, followed by a few others, walked into the next room – the ‘greeting room.’ His name, I was told, was Svamiji – or, more formally, om visnupada Sri Srimad Bhaktivedanta Svami Maharaja– who would later become known throughout the world by the honorific title “Srila Prabhupada.”

I watched as he interacted with each of the guests. If someone folded their palms in respect, he returned the same gesture; if someone offered to shake his hand, he extended his hand to them; if someone waved good-bye, he waved good-bye in return.

When he finally turned his attention to me, it was electric. His radiant eyes pierced through me, as if in attempt to cut my speculative misconceptions. I felt he could see my very soul and that he already knew me thoroughly, but I fought this feeling and looked away. I told myself, “You’re making all this up. This person is your own creation.” I had taken LSD earlier that day, which would account for my exaggerated sense of myself.

He looked squarely into my eyes and spoke calmly, “This is not a concocted process, or something that we have made up. This process is very old, simple, and sublime.” Then, as if nothing unusual had just transpired, he sat back comfortably and slowly looked around the room. “We are eternal,” he continued, “and everything around us is temporary.” Though he spoke softly, his words penetrated my being. I found myself anxiously waiting to hear what he would say next. Rather than expound on other philosophical truths, however, he politely asked me, “Do you live near here?”

I was nervous, not knowing exactly how to reply in a way that would demonstrate how ‘enlightened’ I was; so I deliberately drew out my words in a strange, affected way. Trying to imply that I, as the ultimate divine being, live everywhere, I answered, “Yeeeeess…, I live veeeery near.” Again, it was more the LSD talking than me.

“Good,” he said, smiling. “Then you will be able to attend the morning program at 7:00 a.m.”

I immediately realized my blunder. I lived in the Bronx, an hour and a half subway ride away! The idea of waking up at 5:00 in the morning and taking five trains was untenable, especially considering how late I usually went to bed. Besides that, it would be scary to ride the subway that early; there were many drug dealers, thugs, drunkards, and others who made travelling alone dangerous. Still, the conviction in the Svami’s voice made me want to try. How could I say no? (From the Art of Spiritual Life, 1966).