True Tales

As the kirtan resumes after the Ardas and Hukum at the Golden Temple this morning (which I watch on television in my bedroom in Bangalore), I notice one of the sevadars handing out Prasad to those sitting behind the ragis. In all the times I have had my television tuned to this early morning tradition, this is the first time I ever remember seeing Prasad being distributed.

As the camera focuses on the section where the ragis sit, I see the tall, lean back of the sevadar, and the movement of his back and upper arm as he reaches with his right hand into the dull, well used steel bowl which is carefully balanced on his left arm. Each movement recalls the grace of a ballet dancer, a rhythm with each serving of Prasad that he delivers into the waiting hands of the faithful. I cannot see the bowl, or the people being served, or his hands giving, or theirs receiving.

With each movement of his arm, the vivid smell, texture and taste of the Prasad stimulates my memory, imagination, longing or all of it. I know that the Prasad is very soft and very hot and fresh, and perhaps some ghee might even be separated from the rest of the Prasad which would smart with a light burning feeling each time he dips his fingers in this sweet, blessed mixture. I could further imagine the texture, which is very soft and smooth. 

As I continue to watch, I begin to taste the Prasad. I slowly allow the taste to penetrate each taste bud and the sweetness and blessing washes over me in a way I don’t think has ever happened, even when I was physically present to receive it. This is the most conscious I ever have been of accepting the blessing of this sweet mixture, and suddenly all imagination and memory is replaced by a longing for a taste of that blessed Prasad, which has blessed so much of my life.

The light in Amritsar comes early in the morning in July and this morning the day is breaking with a beautifully defined, thickly clouded sky, all in a golden glow, and streaked with the pink of an unseen sun. The reflection of the sky gives a golden glow to the water in the Sarovar.

The sweetness of the Prasad is equally matched by the sweetness of this morning’s kirtan.  The devoted and faithful walk confidently with short sleeved cotton clothes and bodies relaxed, not having to fend off the damp, cold of the winter mornings. There are many people and many sitting around the tank on the Parkarma. The expanse of the Sarovar offers a cool respite to the hot, close quarters of homes in the nearby surrounding area and allows the devotees to be able to fully enjoy the Amrit Vela.

My longing becomes coupled with gratitude – gratitude for the times spent in the Golden Temple and gratitude to be able to call up the memories evoked by seeing it this morning. Surprisingly, but maybe not, my longing becomes stronger, and I know that until I once again touch my head on the cold marble of the parkarma and to the entry way into the Golden Temple itself, and kneel on the red carpet and bow to my Guru, my gratitude for what has been and the blessings that I have received will have to sustain me.

 (Written in the Amrit Vela, Tuesday, July 10 in Bangalore India)