His countenance showed concern. Yet he strained a smile and requested me to accompany him. As I followed Radhanath Swami, I wondered where he was taking me.
It was a hot summer day and as we walked through the corridors of the monastery, a pleasant breeze flowed in from the nearby sea. Our march ended at the parapet of the first floor. Radhanath Swami peered down into the adjacent Laxmi Narayan Garden .
It was 9:00 p.m., time to call it a day at the monastery. Spotting Radhanath Swami taking a casual stroll through the ashram corridors, some of us surrounded him. On such occasions our discussions were more informal, and Radhanath Swami often spoke of his personal life: his childhood, his travels in search for the truth, his realizations while staying in an austere monastery on a mountain in North America, and the adventures of his outreach programs. These intimate talks charmed the monks even more than the transcendental philosophy and drew us affectionately to him.
Shyly I walked into Radhanath Swami’s room and occupied a corner. Radhanath Swami, sitting relaxed on a rocking chair at the other end, beckoned me to come closer. And I sat closer.
Radhanath Swami was on a stroll down the corridor of the monastery. At the entrance of a room that faced the corridor sat Krishnadas at his study desk. The desk held an open scripture with Krishnadas’s face resting on it. He resembled a boxer on the rings, after a knock out. Perhaps a difficult passage from the scripture had pulled him down. Radhanath Swami rambled on, as though he had missed that scene. But the others around
