By Louise Guthrie
Holborn is a strange place to build a castle. Not only that, but I can’t seem to find it. Surely Krishna’s Castle must be here somewhere, because, not only does this fantastic Food Fort commendably provide 1,500 free meals a day to those in need, but it (most importantly) has an official London postcode and address. However, as we all know, London street-numbers are not necessarily any more visible to the naked eye than hidden castles, and those door-numerals that are apparent don’t necessarily follow in sequential order. All of this makes it *difficult for me to second-guess any missing figures that might reliably have indicated a fortress of some kind (*particularly within the limited timeframe of my precious Friday lunch-hour). So, in the absence of anything even vaguely resembling a castle – let alone one belonging to Krishna – I abandon my search, cross the road (appropriately named ‘Holborn Viaduct’) and head for a building where I can see a receptionist behind a ground-floor desk. There seems little point in asking at a corporate front-of-house where something as ethereal-sounding as Krishna’s Castle is located, so I give the lady some earthly coordinates to work with, namely 26-30 Holborn Viaduct EC1A 2AQ. She googles obligingly then helpfully points to a regular-looking office-building (back on the side I just came from) that is clearly labelled ‘Morley House’. I thank the receptionist and start to walk back to work, phoning my colleague to explain my slight delay.
“I’m running a bit late, I’ve been looking for something on Holborn Viaduct.”
“Really?” my workmate replies “What?”
“Krishna’s Castle”
“I see” (Nothing surprises her) “Did you find it?”
“Sort of….except it’s Morley House. See you in ten minutes”
And so I head back to my office. Thanking God it’s Friday.
Holborn Viaduct – but where’s the Castle?
Time is approaching Sunday noon and Hyde Park Corner is teeming with thousands of Krishna followers in their best colourful finery, all singing, dancing, jostling or just eagerly convening for what is all set to be the Fiftieth annual Rathayatra festival, a glorious affair which will see the Deities of Jagannatha, Balarama and Subhadra poised up high on ornate wooden chariots and hand-pulled by devotees and pilgrims through Park Lane, Piccadilly and Haymarket to ultimately settle in Trafalgar Square, for a celebration of dance, drama, philosophy and, significantly, a feast served to some 16,000 people.
For The Fiftieth Time
So where, realistically, in this overpopulated City of London can you rapidly cook up a culinary storm of such gargantuan scale? Fear not, for today’s epically proportioned Sunday lunch has been cleverly conjured up in – you’ve guessed it – Krishna’s Castle.
The Obvious Place
Of course I was, all along, (vaguely) aware that you cannot possibly hope to enter Krishna’s Castle through anything as obvious as a main-road-facing entrance on Holborn Viaduct, whether it’s properly numbered or not. The correct way into this bastion’s sacrosanct interior is, apparently, through a less easily found portal in the rather more appealingly-named ‘Plumtree Court’ (all carefully concealed by soft shadows) at Morley House’s rear. The trouble is, I just don’t have any lunch-hour left to go looking for either castles or plumtrees. Still, at least it’s Friday. No-one can take that away from me.
Moving Along Nicely
The Sunday procession moves off at noontime, and, as we head along Piccadilly past famous landmarks like The Royal Academy of Arts, upmarket department store Fortnum & Mason and The Ritz Hotel, we are collectively buoyed along by a self-generated musical and party-like atmosphere that not only keeps everyone’s energy and enthusiasm levels high through a hot, humid, and, thankfully, gloriously sunny afternoon, but which also consistently turns the heads and arrests the attention of each and every passer-by.
Adding Another Dimension
Fun as the parade is throughout, its supremely spiritual precepts are never subsumed by revelry, as participants clamour to take their turn at pulling Lord Jagannath’s famous chariot in the hope that this relatively short but auspicious part of their precious life’s journey will, in the end, bring them emancipation from a relentless cycle of birth, death and subsequent rebirth.
Sacred Chariot
But while we are earthbound we might as well eat and enjoy it, and sanctified food rustled up in Krishna’s own stronghold sounds like a pretty safe gastronomic bet in anyone’s books. With Krishna Castle denizens having magnanimously pledged to fix up and drop off that 16,000 plate-strong consecrated Sunday feast at Trafalgar Square to feed all those who will, by then, have paraded three sizeable sacred carts through our capital, I, as a central London resident and prospective partaker in these revelries, feel it only polite to turn up on Saturday and pitch in with preparations. Fellow devotee Denise feels the allure of Krishna’s Castle strongly enough to even come in from outside of London.
Denise – Turning Up in London
The two of us meet late-morning at Farringdon Station to hopefully not only find, but also effectively manoeuvre our way into this hitherto impenetrable but no less beguiling inner-city citadel of sustenance. (Denise assures me there is, reportedly, an outsized Nirshingadeva (half-man, half lion) at the door, so we can’t possibly fail to spot it). Luckily we (only narrowly) manage not to miss a couple of hand-made and strategically-placed ‘Krishna Castle’ signs and somehow stumble our way onto our destination’s lengthy and downward sloping access area, where, sure enough, looms the great protector himself.
We Made It
As someone conditioned, by countless exits from Holborn tube-station during the dreaded weekday morning rush-hour, to never ever, (regardless of how late I might be running for work), jostle my way through any crowd, I wonder how I am going to get anywhere near Lord Jagannath’s sacred cart-ropes without so much as mildly breaching this golden rule of health and safety. Our route narrows at one point, bringing the elusive ropes almost within my grasp. But those stalwarts who are conscientiously steering the carriage while trying their level best to smoothly negotiate its passage can do without extra bodies (like mine) causing bottle-necking, so I quickly retreat. Remember the saying: “Dance like there’s nobody watching, Love like you’ll never be hurt, Sing like there’s nobody listening, And live like it’s heaven on earth.” But, most importantly, behave like you’re at Holborn station in rush-hour.
Behave Like it’s Holborn Underground Station
Never mind, perhaps there will be another opportunity to exert at least a modicum of control over my own karmic destiny before we reach our end-point, Trafalgar Square.
Inwardly relieved, and outwardly rejoicing that we have succeeded in infiltrating Krishna’s Castle before Saturday high-noon, Denise and I venture bravely past Nirshingadeva to see what lies in store. And lo, there before us awaits a vast underground space that is home to enormous vats, industrial-sized pots, pans, vessels, cookers, burners, hoses, buckets, butts, barrels, tools and trappings, tables, cargo rickshaws, oh, and one fairly large delivery van.
A Hive of Activity
Random persons are dotted around, wholly engrossed in their assigned tasks. But we don’t have time to stand and stare. A huge, and fortunately friendly, giant soon steps from the ether and gravitates towards us, introducing himself as “Bhima”.
Bhima The Giant
The Friendly Giant invites us to follow him to the back of this expansive and cavernous warren of activity and up a concrete ramp, as he lumbers past sundry arranged canisters, cartons, containers and crates, tins, trays, boxes, drums, packages, platters and palettes. We arrive in a kitchen-area packed with specialised equipment and cooking utensils, where three colossal tubs of chopped courgettes, carrots and aubergines gleam in the half-light as they occupy centre-stage, surrounded by a support cast of rice bags, potato sacks, tins of ghee and bottles of orange squash, vegetable oil decanters and box upon box of garden-fresh vegetables.
The Inner Sanctum
An unassuming little helper sits quietly in the wings by a metal contraption that faithfully promises to remove the skin from potatoes, as he patiently waits for the magic moment when this most useful of machines will dutifully regurgitate, all nicely peeled, the piles of staple veg he fed it just a few short moments ago.
Waiting for the Magic to Happen
Bhima the Giant turns back around and stoops over us confidingly: “We built this place in the winter” he says.
A Dream Kitchen
It’s hard to imagine deep dark winter as we steadily progress, as one unified heaving human mass, along Piccadilly in the sweltering Sunday heat towards Piccadilly Circus. Individuals of sound sense are prudently arranging their head-gear of choice to ward off the sun’s penetrating rays.
Wearing the right Head-Gear for the Sun
Or maybe not….
(But who cares?)
I still haven’t managed to pull at that cart, not even for an instant, but, theoretically, there’s still time. Meanwhile, the exultant and densely-packed multitude is so mixed, varied and vibrantly diverse that, were it not for intermittently materialising red London buses, telephone boxes and circular tube signs, this scene could be playing out almost anywhere in the civilised world – because, lest we forget, Rathayatra is celebrated all over the globe.
This Can Only Be London
At the behest of Bhima The Giant at nigh on Saturday noon, the pair of us take a right turn out of the kitchen-space and continue past big bags of coriander seed, large tins of tomatoes, raw and prickly pineapples, firm broccoli and crunchy peppers into the farthest reaches of a long and narrow food-prep bay that is lined with neat spice-pots and pert pieces of ginger root, fresh strands of fragrant coriander, mounds of aromatic mint leaves and heaps of fiery green chilies. Half a dozen matajis who make up the Saturday morning volunteer shift are industriously chopping their way through the last of a dozen or so 10-kilo-bags of carrots in preparation for Sunday’s spread.
Overlapping with the early shift
We grab a couple of knives and begin to slice.
Work in Progress
Jagannath’s carriage stops in its tracks, presumably for its occupants, attendants and general entourage to compose themselves before winding into Haymarket. Sensing a sliver of opportunity I reach through the narrowest of gaps between two assistants and grip the prized and heavy rope. With the cart now static, I am all-too-aware that once it starts moving again, I will only get in the way. Remember: “Behave like you’re in Holborn Underground at peak time.” So, after a mere couple of seconds I pre-emptively extricate myself from the incumbent line-up of carriage-conveyers to better allow them freedom of movement. Having, however, had the blessed and weighty cord, albeit fleetingly, in my hand, have I, I wonder, in some small way, edged my way not only physically closer to Lord Jagannath, but perhaps also speculatively nearer to some sort of spiritual atonement?
Big (Karmic) Wheel keep on turnin’
Proud Mary keep on burnin’
And we’ll be rollin’…..
“Is this the last carrot?” says Denise, in faint disbelief. It would, incredibly, appear so, and we start to chop our way through several crates of green courgettes, while purple aubergines wait next in line. We are however, instructed to dissect orange peppers first, as every single one of these well-formed and ripe beauties has yet to be touched, never mind prised open. The Saturday morning matajis down tools at 1 pm and bid us farewell, leaving Denise and myself not unwilling, but slightly doubtful that we, as a mere double-act, can make significant enough inroads into the mountains of veg still needing to be tackled in the hours remaining to us. Fortunately, our overseers, wisely wishing to avert even the mildest trace of despondency on our part, take us downstairs to form part of paneer and lemon teams, a move which enables us to not only agreeably socialise as we work but also get to see some real results even as we reluctantly abandon those shiny aubergines and leave them for the night-shift.
It’s almost Sunday 2pm. We’ll soon be at Trafalgar Square, and, hopefully, witness the food we played our own small part in prepping unfailingly feeding the masses. “I did manage to pull at the carriage-ropes for a few seconds, although it wasn’t actually moving”, I tell Ian, one of my companions. “That’s okay” he confirms “it’s good enough”. I am reassured, but still hope to make a better effort, if not at this year’s Rathayatra, then, with a bit of luck, at the next one. I’ll just have to get there earlier.
Some Reassurance
As Denise and I head back down the kitchen-ramp to take up our subterranean places by paneer and lemons, I notice parking-space lines painted on the ground, a sure sign that an underground car-park once formed the foundations of what we now know is indisputably Krishna’s own Castle. (NB A waiting pan of potatoes is so broad that it could easily fill its own parking-space.)
Well-parked Potatoes
We delve into a pile of 5-kilo-bags of pre-cut paneer and separate the countless pieces onto trays so that a couple of fellow-volunteers can delicately fry it. By the time we finish we will have jointly shifted some seventy such bags.
Turning Nice and Crispy
Working in line is conducive to deep conversation. Having sorted out sufficient citrus fruits, Denise and myself are in sound agreement that the best way to separate lemon flesh from its own thick peel is to dig your thumb in first; we’ve concluded that time, as a concept, is circular not linear, decreed that consciousness really does affect matter, and decided that limes are not worth peeling and best just squeezed. Oh, and fried paneer is better when slightly crispy. A gentleman operating diligently with us on the bulkiest lemons any of us have ever seen in this our mortal lifetime tells us that he has been to *47 out of 50 London Rathayatras. His memory highlights include “Srila Prabhupada dancing the whole way round” and “George Harrison in a yellow tent” (*not a bad track record, then). We finish our stint, handing over the (metaphorical) vegetable baton to the late-shift, and leaving the real alchemy to be worked out overnight by ‘King of Krishna’s Castle’ Parasurama das and his inner circle of nocturnal cooks.
It’s now Sunday 2pm and we, as planned, arrive in Trafalgar Square. After a rousing kirtan at the edges of the iconic plaza, we dissipate into its big open heart in order to assimilate a scene of devotional music, transcendental book distribution, kirtan CDs, crafted peacock-feather jewellery, spiritually-themed paintings and so much more. But what about those nutritious provisions we helped to prepare yesterday?
Coming to Rest
A long and hungry queue is snaked all the way around the square’s peripheries, and, though the sheer length of this human crocodile makes the prospect of joining it look a little daunting, we are pleasantly surprised by how quickly it moves once we’ve slotted ourselves into line. With plates of delicious prasadam at last in our hands, we finally feel we have come full circle. Our mission is accomplished. And, as the tight row of peckish folks continues to self-perpetuate, the fine fare shows no signs of running out.
Keep On Moving
“I was still chopping in my sleep on Saturday night” says Denise “But seeing the Rathayatra made it all worthwhile. It filled my heart to see thousands of people celebrating and chanting the maha mantra before taking this prasadam.”
As any discerning diner will tell you, it’s good to know exactly where your food comes from. And it’s even better when you get to see the kitchen it’s concocted in – especially when that happens to be Krishna’s Castle.
Source: https://blackcohoshblog.wordpress.com/