6/2000
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MY FIRST |
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| For me, Hanuman
Jayanti was more than just the event itself on Saturday. It was the week
of seva leading up to it and all the people who gave their time and energy,
in whatever capacity, to insure that it was something befitting the Son
of the Wind. All week long, people were shining up the brass and polishing all the wood, scrubbing the porch and installing outdoor sinks, buying groceries, cooking meals, and washing piles and piles of dishes. It took nine hours on two outdoor stoves and at least a dozen people taking shifts stirring and preparing ingredients just to make the khir. Two days prior to the actual ceremony, I was raking the children's play area when Hanuman das came to me and said, "I know it seems like there's nothing to rake, but since Maharaj-ji left His body, His ashrams are His body, so it's like grooming Him." After that, I could almost hear Maharaj-ji sighing as I raked. I could see his eyes sparkling in the wood and windows and brass. All the people began to bubble and it was obvious who was hosting this party. Saturday morning at four everything was "go," and the first Chaleesa rang out. During the eleven hours of singing, the crowd fluctuated, as some people came and went. Others seemed to hold on for hours with barely a water break. The music was sometimes slow and lilting, sometimes quick and pounding. Always, it was moving, with everyone singing their hearts out, until the music culminated in a feverish pitch and dozens of bhuttis burned like the forests of Lanka as pulses raced and aarti was sung. After the music and shouts had faded, beautiful faces were streaming with tears, sweat and smiles as the crowd slowly filtered out of the temple, to share a feast fit for Ram and Sita themselves. When all of the food had been eaten or packed up and taken home, the dishes washed and the last of the flower petals swept away, only a few footfalls lingered about the ashram. Hanuman was still alive in all our hearts, and echoes of the Chaleesas still stirred in our minds, carrying us into sleep, ringing on in our dreams. |
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