, how did I miss this post?! Sri Keshavadas is my guru and indeed, he is a devout bhakta of Sri Hari in that form (Panduranga). (I see you're in California, too. Did you meet Sant Keshavadas?) So many stories of this form of God intervening, protecting and playing with His bhaktas. Here's mine (from
). This happened within months of meeting Guruji and my initiation.
After determining to go on the 1982 pilgrimage, Vandana plants the seeds of an American basil plant in a pot on her dining room table; they sprout and grow nicely (a minor miracle right there for her) and she culls them one by one until only the most primo is left to get all the attention. She has been to enough satsangs by now that she has learned the sacred tulasi plant, the holy basil (
ocimum sanctum) is very dear to Lord Vishnu.
She cannot get tulasi seeds so American basil, like her, will have to do. The tulasi represents faithful devotion. God can have or create anything He wants. But by the rules of His own game, He cannot demand that His own creation love Him. That has to be given freely.
She plans on taking a clipping of her American tulasi plant to India to offer to the feet of Lord Panduranga, whom Guruji keeps calling “Heavenly Father.” This event is supposed to happen in a place called Pandharpur. “Heavenly Father” is Vandana’s God. She has a private Name for Him, but Heavenly Father is her God. She knows Him and He knows her.
On the morning the tour bus pulls into Pandharpur, it’s relatively quiet. In July and November during two festivals, however, the streets and roads for miles and miles around are jammed with celebrants, devotees of Lord Panduranga all chanting His Name and dancing. But the temple where this murti resides is actually closed today. That is unexpected by the tour arranger. Guruji and he alight from the bus while everybody else waits on board. They’re gone for a few minutes and when they return, the temple doors open. Guruji makes things like that happen.
The group goes inside and it’s dark, really dark. It seems like a dank labyrinth with rope or cloth stanchions which direct foot traffic through a winding maze towards the deity, like the long lines which snake from the ticket turnstile to an attraction at Disneyland. Since the temple doors opened, Indian devotees who were unexpectedly blessed that day to get the Lord’s darshan also crowd behind and up to the American pilgrims. Vandana is the last one in the group. An Indian mother comes up and pushes and bumps her and continues to push and bump her. Enough!
Vandana spins around and her eyes flare. Lady, don’t you have any sense of personal space? Well, it’s true Easterners can stand people a lot ‘closer’ in space to them than Westerners. We’re probably spoiled with so much room. But this behavior is rude no matter where you come from. Remember, Vandana’s still the cub in training. So, roaring at that poor lady, she gains about seven feet clearance.
Satisfied, she turns back and continues to try to prepare herself for the momentous occasion—really, the secret highlight of her pilgrimage—of offering the homegrown American tulasi flower top to Heavenly Father. Before she left, the plant had bloomed in the most extraordinary manner—in January, no less! The tip-top of it had flowered into a beautiful purple flower which exuded the characteristic mildly pungent scent of American basil, an herb.
She had snipped it the day she left, moistened a small piece of paper towel and slipped both into a small, black 35mm film canister. It is that which she is opening as the line moves around and through and forward into the temple. Finally, it’s her turn and she is face to face and maybe six feet away from Lord Panduranga.
Heavenly Father? He isn’t even dressed! The murti must have just had a bath. Really. He’s just this little four foot tall black murti standing in a puddle of water with His arms akimbo on His waist... smiling, waiting for Vandana’s offering. And she doesn’t have seven feet clearance anymore from the prancing Indian mama behind her.
Quickly, Vandana unwraps the tulasi flower and reverently as she can tosses it toward Lord Panduranga’s Feet. It doesn’t weigh enough to make the distance! It won’t make... it’s going to fall way... short and the arc of descent is fixed. But while she’s observing with dismay her clumsy, ineffectual toss to get her symbol of devotion to her Most Beloved Lord’s Most Holy Feet, before the purple flower falls to the ground, it is lifted up and its trajectory altered by an unseen force. The flower literally defies gravity, commences another upward arc and then floats gently, exactly, exactomundo, precisely in between Those Two Feet. O Jai Panduranga!!!!