“CHASING RHINOS WITH THE SWAMI” – Excerpt.
Shyamasundar Dasa: For the past one month I have been cloistered in Mumbai, editing the huge manuscript of “Chasing Rhinos With The Swami.” The work is going well, and within a couple more weeks, I should have all 20 chapters edited as much as I can do them. By mid-February I am hoping to have everything readied for lay-out and printing. The following is an excerpt from Chapter Two.
(Chapter Two, in SAN FRANCISCO:)
‘The Swami comes in. While everybody’s chanting he starts building the fire, and smoke begins to fill the room. The four of us sit on the floor opposite the fire from Swamiji, and it’s getting hotter by the second; I discard my coat and loosen the tie. Devotees are chanting on every side, edging closer to the flames to catch the Swami’s words. He motions for us to take a few grains of rice and throw them whenever he says, Sva-ha! “Sva-haaa!” and we toss the rice at HIM, four handfuls of rice all over his gleaming head and robes. Unfazed, the Swami shakes his head and points to the fire. Oh, rice goes in the fire. Slow, but we’re catching on.’
His accent was still quite thick in those days-or we just hadn’t
learned to hear him yet-and he’s asking for bananas? Someone hands us bananas and we start to peel them-no, no, the Swami gestures, put them in the fire. Man, then the smoke really starts pouring out: four bananas smoldering, everyone coughing, eyes watering-along with rice, lentils, flowers, grapes, flour and, yes, more butter, which Swami ladles profusely over the flames between rounds of cryptic Sanskrit slokas ending with
Sva-ha! None of this bothers the Swami at all. He chants on our beads, hands them back with our new names, which we don’t understand-(wait, I got that one, Harry-das, that’s Harvey)-and devotees come forward to tie our neck-beads on with a knot.
‘Then the Swami says “Bo dun”, and we’re trying to figure out what he’s saying-Harry-das thinks he has it figured out and he rolls onto his knees, leans forward-so we do the same thing–and he blows on the fire. We all start blowing on the fire, hard as we can–a cloud of smoke flies in the Swami’s face, and his eyes get big as saucers.’