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Thank you so much for accepting the invitation for this interview. I feel very fortunate to have met you about 10 days ago in the UAE, where we had a wonderful class with you. I’d love to hear how you were introduced to Krishna Consciousness, Prabhuji, and how your journey has unfolded over the years.

I was introduced to Krishna Consciousness during my college days when I was studying engineering. I would say there were three main factors that led me to embrace Krishna Consciousness: intellectual, social, and relational—more spiritual in nature.

Krishna is the ultimate master in our lives, and I like to summarize it with the acronym SIR. The “S” stands for social. From childhood, I had a deep interest in the power of education to transform people. While in college, I was involved in a social welfare organization, where I volunteered to teach uneducated and poorly educated children in slums, offering free tuition in various subjects.

While doing this, I observed that many of the children came from dysfunctional families, with issues such as domestic violence and alcoholism. It made me wonder how much teaching subjects like history, math, or English would truly help them in the long term. To address this, we brought in anti-alcohol campaigners to speak to the families. We managed to encourage the fathers, who were mostly alcoholics, to give up drinking, and we considered it a great success.

However, when I returned after my semester break, I found that not only had the fathers relapsed, but their children had also started drinking. The local elections had taken place in the interim, and one of the candidates had brought in truckloads of free liquor to woo voters. That made me realize that even though we were trying to help by providing education or employment, everyone has these inner “trap doors” — self-destructive habits — and opening external doors without the ability to close those inner traps wouldn’t bring lasting change.

I saw that this wasn’t just a problem in underprivileged slum areas, but it was prevalent everywhere, even in my college. Many intelligent students were sabotaging their potential through unhealthy habits. A close friend of mine was struggling with alcoholism and couldn’t seem to give it up. I also had anger issues. That’s when I came across Bhagavad Gita, and verse 3.36 really stood out to me: What is it that impels us to self-destructive actions? This became a crucial question for me, and I started studying the Gita to understand the answer.

I applied its teachings in my life, invited speakers to my hostel to discuss the Gita, and noticed significant improvements. My anger issues subsided, my friend overcame alcoholism, and I realized that this knowledge was of real value.

After completing my engineering degree, I started working at a software company in India while also teaching Bhagavad Gita at various colleges in small study groups during the evenings. One evening, I had a study group meeting scheduled, but my boss told me I had to stay late to meet a project deadline. I explained I’d come back early the next morning, but he insisted I stay. I tried to arrange for someone else to lead the group, but no one was available, so we had to cancel the session.

That night, as I walked back to my place around midnight, it struck me that if I didn’t write the software programs, there were thousands of others who could do it—many of them probably even better than I could. But if I didn’t teach the Bhagavad Gita, how many others were there who could do that? I realized I could contribute much more to society by studying and sharing the Gita’s wisdom than by writing software programs.

This was the social aspect of why I chose to pursue Krishna Consciousness. It’s one of the main reasons my focus has always been on teaching. I never ventured into management or other areas. I was deeply moved by the power of education. If we equip people with knowledge, we give them the resources to choose to improve their lives, if they so desire.

The second factor was intellectual. I always strived to be the number one in my class, and while I was consistently among the top students, I never made it to the top of the entire university or across all divisions. This created a nagging sense of disappointment in me.

However, I had an aptitude for language from childhood, which led me to excel in English. While many Indian students typically do well in mathematics and analytical subjects but struggle with English, I did exceptionally well in it. Not only did I top my college, but I also became the top scorer in the entire Pune University, making history as the first student to do so at that time.

I was delighted when I first became aware of my achievement, but soon I realized that simply looking at the marks didn’t bring much happiness. It was when others congratulated me that I felt a sense of fulfillment. Yes, I became somewhat of a celebrity in my college, but then something strange happened: one after another, three of my friends forgot to congratulate me. They weren’t extremely close friends, but they were reasonable friends. They probably thought, “Everyone knows it. Everyone has congratulated him, so why do we need to?”

When the first friend forgot, I was annoyed. When the second friend forgot, I was irritated. By the third friend, I was enraged. I didn’t want to sound pathetic, but I found myself wondering why they hadn’t congratulated me. Suddenly, I felt as though I was observing myself from above. It dawned on me that I had thought becoming a topper would make me happy, but instead, it had made me more dependent on others for my happiness. I had gone from being content hanging out with my friends to becoming needy when I was with them.

I started reflecting on my life. I thought about my future achievements: perhaps I could get into an Ivy League university, publish papers in Nature or Science, or become a best-selling author. I had always dreamed of intellectual success, and I thought these things might bring me happiness. But I realized that even if I achieved all of that, I would still be dependent on others for my happiness. This realization led me back to the Bhagavad Gita, particularly verse 6.22, where Krishna speaks about the stage of samadhi. He describes a state of such inner enrichment that we no longer crave for anything more, nor do we lament when something bad happens.

When I read that, I realized that this is the real achievement in life. No external achievement—whether academic, professional, or material—can free us from craving or lamenting. Only this inner state of contentment can bring true fulfillment. I decided that this was what I should aspire for, and that’s what I’m still striving for.

From an intellectual perspective, I had always wanted to be at the top of my class. While I was often among the top, I was never the number one across the entire university or in all divisions. That created a nagging sense of disappointment in me. However, I had a natural aptitude for languages, and I excelled in English, which many Indian students typically struggle with. I didn’t just top my college; I became the top scorer in Pune University, making history as the first student to achieve that distinction.

From a relational perspective, my father always had a traveling job, and it was my mother who took care of me. When I was in 10th grade, just after my exams, my mother was diagnosed with terminal blood cancer and passed away within a month. This was a traumatic experience that left me feeling emotionally numb. I started questioning the purpose of relationships—what is the point of having them if they can be so fleeting?

During that time, I had read about Christian saints and some Indian swamis, and I decided then that I would never get married. I wanted to focus on my education and outreach. However, when I read the Bhagavad Gita, especially verses 10.8 and 10.9, I realized that relationships are not just about understanding with the head, but also directing our emotions toward Krishna. I understood that my own emotional withdrawal, my shutting down from relationships, was meant to be directed toward Krishna and those who are connected with Him.

That realization led me naturally to pursue Krishna Consciousness not only as a spiritual practice but also in the form of monastic life, aiming to stay within the community of devotees and direct my love toward Krishna.

Thank you for sharing such an inspiring journey, Prabhuji.

You mentioned how we often have this false ego, where we desire appreciation from others. I resonate with this, as I, too, sometimes feel the need for others’ validation. It was a valuable realization when you said that we often look to others for our happiness, and not in what we achieve ourselves. It made me realize that this could indeed be a form of false ego.

However, as you pointed out, it’s hard to categorize it as purely false ego. As humans, we have a basic need for appreciation. The difference, as you mentioned, is that false ego is about seeking glorification—public acknowledgment of our achievements—while the need for appreciation is more about receiving feedback within close relationships. For instance, after conducting this interview, I might want to know how well I asked the questions, and if you acknowledge that, it’s not about boosting my ego but about knowing whether I served the purpose well.

So, seeking appreciation is a natural human need, while glorification is driven by the ego. I now understand this distinction clearly. Thank you for helping me see the difference.

Now, about your question on how to maintain consistency in sadhana despite a busy schedule:

I often have multiple commitments every day, balancing various forums and activities. With constant travel, late-night flights, and irregular schedules, I realized that two things are crucial: we must take responsibility for our spiritual well-being, but at the same time, we cannot neglect our physical health.

There’s a letter from Srila Prabhupada where he says that if we don’t take care of our health now, even if we have the enthusiasm to serve Krishna, we won’t be able to. So, I’ve learned that we need to find a balance. When we start moving towards satvaguna, even a little, we understand the difference between what our body needs and what it craves. We need to rest when we need rest, but not sleep because we are lazy. We need to eat when we are hungry, but not give in to cravings.

It’s not always easy, but I try to avoid fighting against my body. I work with my body, understanding its needs. I make sure to get enough rest and then focus on my sadhana. I don’t follow strict rules for my schedule, but instead focus on what’s the responsible thing to do at a particular time. Sometimes, that means resting more; other times, it means pushing through to get something done. The key is to be mindful of my inner strength—whether I get irritated or upset if something goes wrong—and adjust accordingly.

It’s like a meter to gauge my spiritual strength. If I start getting too annoyed or too irritated, that’s an indication that my spiritual strength is low. Life is full of dualities, and if my reaction to these dualities is escalating, then it’s time to prioritize. For me, it’s not just about chanting; it’s more about immersing myself in scripture and spiritual wisdom. That’s what gives me strength.

If I find that I’m not being affected by the dualities too much, then I take some time off. I might disconnect from the phone, social media, and responding to messages. I can’t cancel speaking engagements, but I try to cut down on meetings. I carve out a period to immerse myself in shastra. Of course, I maintain my daily sadhana with chanting, scripture study, and writing. I also need time to contemplate the shastra and reflect on what I’ve taught in my classes.

Having some time to immerse myself in what gives me strength is essential. Once I take responsibility for myself, I ensure that I am doing what nourishes me spiritually. This helps me sustain myself in the long term.

Very beautifully explained, Prabhuji. What I understand from this is that we need to know how to sustain ourselves in bhakti. While our daily sadhana is important, we must also keep engaging in bhakti in ways that are sustainable for us.

In serious bhakti, there are two aspects: intensity and sustainability. Sometimes, in the name of intensity, we might do things that aren’t sustainable, and at other times, in the name of sustainability, we might lose intensity. Finding a balance between the two is not easy, but I think it’s something each of us needs to discover for ourselves.

For me, sustainability in chanting is an issue. I find it sustainable, but the intensity seems to be lacking. As you said, both sustainability and intensity should be there, Prabhuji. Thank you for helping me understand this better.

Prabhuji, according to your view, what is the most important quality a devotee should develop in themselves?

I think curiosity is a vital quality for a devotee. While endurance to hear is certainly important, I feel that curiosity plays a big role. A lot of problems within our devotee community and outside arise because of judgmentality. We often categorize things as “wrong,” “deviation,” or label people as “Mayavadis” or other such terms. But our philosophy teaches us to give up all labels, yet we still create labels for everything we don’t agree with.

The opposite of judgmentality is curiosity. Instead of labeling someone’s actions as wrong, we should ask, “What makes you think this is the right approach?” Everyone has a reason for what they do, even if it’s not very reasonable. Curiosity is an essential part of Brahma Jijnasa—the desire to understand the truth. It’s not just about realizing “I’m not the body; I am the soul” at the start of our spiritual journey. Curiosity should remain with us throughout our lives.

I have traveled across the world, and because of my outreach work, I meet not only the successful devotees but also those who have been alienated from the community due to harsh words or judgments. I believe very few people are inherently bad-hearted; most people don’t want to drive others away from Krishna. But judgmentality pushes people away.

In the devotee community, there’s often a tendency to categorize devotees as either “serious” or “insincere” based on whether they fit into a specific box. But Prabhupada accepted and appreciated both full-time devotees who traveled the world at his command and life members who served in various ways, even if they didn’t chant 16 rounds or get initiated.

So, I think curiosity is vital for devotees. Curiosity prevents judgmentality and the presumption of certainty that “this is right and everything else is wrong.” This kind of certainty can lead to fanaticism. Curiosity, on the other hand, is open-minded and humble.

Curiosity is not about devaluing what we know, but about valuing what we don’t know. It’s an intellectual humility, where we recognize that what we don’t know might be more important than what we do know. In this way, curiosity is non-different from humility. We may show physical humility by offering obeisances, but sometimes, we might still harbor a dehumanizing or dismissive attitude toward others.

If I know something about a person—say, they did something I don’t like—I should ask myself, “What don’t I know about this person?” If I have curiosity, it will prevent relationships from breaking down. This quality allows us to open our hearts to others and allows others to open their hearts to us. Without curiosity, we close ourselves off from others, leading to loneliness, especially for leaders. Leaders, who must set an example, often feel they can’t share their concerns or struggles with anyone, as it might reflect poorly on them.

So, curiosity helps us to avoid labels, to open our hearts, and to prevent relationship burnout in our spiritual lives.

I used to think, “You’re such an advanced devotee; how can you have worries?” But when there’s no curiosity, judgmentality takes over. Everyone starts acting based only on what other devotees might think about them. Instead of addressing our concerns, we worry about them, and that only leads to bigger problems down the line. A wound that is denied only doubles, and it becomes a much bigger issue in the long run.

Prabhuji, you mentioned that we tend to bury our concerns. Does that mean we’re not opening up to other devotees?

Yes, exactly. We feel others will judge us, and because of that, we don’t share our concerns. But this is what happens when we bottle things up. When we do speak to others, we think, “Devotees are merciful,” but often we don’t open up because we fear judgment. That’s why we need to develop curiosity as a general principle among devotees, though this takes time. On a more personal level, we can try to find like-minded devotees.

If you’re going through a situation, it helps to talk to someone in a similar situation. For example, if someone has lost their job and is feeling anxious, someone with financial security might just say, “Depend on Krishna,” or “This will pass.” While that’s true, it doesn’t always offer a practical solution. We need like-minded devotees who can give us both philosophical and practical advice. If someone only gives philosophical advice without any practical steps, it might not be as satisfying.

We need to take responsibility for finding like-minded devotees so that we can open our hearts and share with them.

Thank you, Prabhuji, that was very helpful. How were you introduced to Bhakti Sanga?

I think it was probably Shama Gauri Mataji who told me about the classes happening at Bhakti Sanga. It was after I started traveling abroad, in 2014, when I came across the online programs. I was amazed by the number of devotees who joined. I didn’t realize the scale of what was happening before that. I think I may have given one class before, but I don’t really remember. However, when I came abroad, I saw the full picture, and that was the first significant memory of Bhakti Sanga. Since then, I’ve been trying to serve in whatever way I can.

We should also thank Shama Gauri Mataji for bringing you here! We’ve been enjoying your deep perspectives in every class you give, both in Bhakti Sanga and in other places. Thank you for offering such valuable insights.

In the context of Krishna consciousness, if there’s one project you think would be beneficial, what would it be?

I believe that sharing shastric insights with the world is something we could do more of. Right now, philosophy is largely seen as a tool for converting people into bhakti, which is good. We study philosophy so we can inspire others and attract them to Krishna consciousness. However, philosophy can also help us make better sense of our own lives and the world around us. Even those who may not become devotees can benefit from the wisdom of shastra in a practical way.

I think we have insiders—teachers and students within our movement—and we also have outsiders. While insider-to-insider teachings (like Bhakti Sanga, Bhakti Shastri, or Bhakti Vaibhava) are important, there’s also the outsider-to-outsider connection we need to focus on.

For example, when we conduct Sunday programs or outreach events, those are insider-to-outsider engagements. But we’ve largely neglected the outsider-to-outsider connection, which is crucial for building our reputation. If someone doesn’t become a devotee, we might neglect them, but they can still be a well-wisher. Outsiders who are in positions of influence can help spread positive awareness about us.

Prabhupada also interacted with many prominent non-devotees. He spoke to people like Arnold Toynbee, not with the expectation that they would become devotees, but to build a meaningful relationship. If we can strengthen connections between insider teachers and outsider influencers, we can create a positive multiplier effect, spreading the wisdom of scripture even to those who may never join our movement.

Many other religions, like Islam and Buddhism, have done well in reaching out to influential outsiders. When there are extremist attacks, for instance, the first response is not to condemn the religion but to distance themselves from the extremists and prevent Islamophobia. Similarly, Buddhism is often seen as a peaceful, “cool” religion.

I think we, as a movement, should focus on engaging with outsiders in a way that doesn’t push them to convert, but allows them to be appreciative of the wisdom we offer. Our programs like Food for Life and Midday Meals are doing great humanitarian work, but I think we need more intellectual and philosophical outreach as well.

This is something that I feel is lacking, and I would love to contribute to it in any way I can.

As you said, yes, we try to make outsiders become insiders, but this perspective is really very nice. That is, um, that will be helpful also, as you said. And even in the case of, as you mentioned, one example is George Harrison. He was also not initiated, and my father just had and did become a follower. But then, he did being a follower so that people would not think that he had joined a cult. So, he was like, he used to chant, but never became initiated. So, I would say that, yeah, he was an outsider. Well, I think it was a little harsh to consider him an outsider, especially considering the amount of service that he did. So, even the categories of insider and outsider are not watertight.

You know, sometimes Ravindra Swarup was telling me that when they were doing outreach, at that time, becoming a devotee, when they were preaching, meant joining the temple and moving into the temple. That was the idea. He said that when he was president in Philadelphia, there were many Indians who started coming. They were coming every week, and when they were coming, we were really excited. We would preach to them and connect with them. But soon, they realized that these people were not going to enter the temple. The Indians had come to America for professional success and financial growth. Then he said, “These are not going to become devotees.” So, we would pay no attention to them, but they would still keep coming.

So, the situation was such that if any person on the streets had asked these people who were coming to our temples, “Which religious group do you belong to?” they would have said, “We are Hare Krishnas.” But if those same people had asked us, “Are these people Hare Krishnas?” we would have said, “No, they are not Hare Krishnas.” Because, just after some years, especially in the late 1980s, we started realizing that these people were actually committed. But their commitment was different—they were never going to become insiders in the sense of becoming residents of the temple. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t serious.

So, in that sense, sometimes the insider-outsider category is also subjective. So, I would hesitate to consider George Harrison an outsider. He called himself, uh, what were the words he used in the chant, “Hare Krishna and be happy.” We have a shorter version of that interview in the book, but there’s an unabridged interview in the VedaBase. There, I think he uses the words, “I am a plain clothes devotee,” something like that. “A plain clothes devotee” means he didn’t wear devotional attire, but he said, “I’m like… There’s another word, a closet devotee.” A closet devotee means you don’t show in public that you are a devotee. But he was very much devotionally inclined. So, if Prabhupada didn’t force him to become an insider, that is true.

So, in that sense, you could say he was not exactly an insider according to the conventional definitions of what an insider was expected to be in those times. But calling him an outsider is a bit too dismissive of the service he did. Thank you, thank you, Prabhuji.

You have been in Bhakti Sangha since around 2014, and it’s been 10 years now. You’ve seen how Bhakti Sangha is functioning. So, what do you think? Do you have any suggestions for us to improve Bhakti Sangha?

What you are doing is remarkable, and I feel that it has led to many others also being inspired and trying to do something similar at various levels. I saw that apart from the morning class, you also have other classes and multiple speakers. It’s become like a university in itself, with multiple departments and avenues of connecting with Shastra and encouraging others to connect with Shastra.

So, it’s a remarkable initiative. My only suggestion would be to spread the word around and inspire others. Not everybody may be able to join. I think you also have two or three different forums where people can join at different timings. But if people cannot join here, encourage them to create similar systems. Nowadays, there’s a lot of phenomenal outreach happening in the vernacular languages in India. I know some devotees who do regular classes in Telugu or Tamil, and they get several hundred devotees in the mornings. Some of these classes are centered around a particular person, while others are not.

I think the model you are using is excellent. Just try to expand or replicate it, perhaps in different languages for different people. Best wishes to all of you who are involved in sustaining this day after day, week after week, year after year.

The name, Bhakti Sangha, is also very nice, because we all need sangha in bhakti. I think many people took it up during the pandemic because there was no alternative. That was nice in one sense. You know, I had asked my spiritual master, Adhanatma Maharaj, that when the child is in the womb, and the child prays to Krishna, “I don’t want to come out of this womb because outside there is pleasure, but I hear there’s pain and realization; there is pain.” So, I am prayerful and devoted to you; I don’t want to come out here. But still, the child comes out. Is it that Krishna does not listen to the prayer?

Maharaj said, “No, Krishna always listens to our prayers, but Krishna does not want devotion under compulsion. If there was no alternative, that’s why you wanted to practice bhakti. Okay, it’s good that you practice bhakti then, but do you keep practicing bhakti even when those circumstances are not there?”

So, when the child is sent out of the womb, that is not Krishna rejecting the prayer of the child, but Krishna is, in one sense, testing the seriousness of the child’s devotion. Similarly, when there was no alternative, going online was something that everyone did, but you had started this long before that and continued long after that. So, it is devotion not out of compulsion but devotion out of innovation. It is devotion out of creativity—to create a forum for devotees to connect regularly.

Kudos to you! Continue it on. Thank you.

Thank you so much for your wonderful words for Bhakti Sangha. Yes, we are also trying to make it more accessible to all devotees all over the world. With your prayers and blessings, hopefully, we will make it even more accessible to all the devotees.

Thank you so much. So, with this, I think we can end the interview. We are very grateful to you for giving us your time and association once again for this interview. With your permission, we can end the interview with Vashma Pranams.

Thank you.

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Hare Krishna. I’m grateful to be here with all of you today. Thank you for joining. If at any time you’re not able to hear me, please let me know.

Today, we are assembled on the occasion of the festival commemorating the sacred union of Sita and Ram. I will talk about this from three different perspectives, broadly. I’ll talk about the philosophical perspective in terms of what is actually happening. Then, we’ll talk about the historical perspective of how the event happened. And finally, I’ll talk about the human perspective—what it means for us when we celebrate such festivals.

From the philosophical perspective, to give a broader context of what is happening, there are broadly two extremes in approaching God. One is to consider God to be so great, so sacred, and so sublime that God becomes almost inaccessible, in the sense of being too otherworldly. The other extreme is… so, when we talk about the conception of God, one extreme would be too divine to be humanly acceptable. Here, we focus on the principle of divinity so much that the personhood of divinity is lost.

Sri Prabhupada gives the example of how, if we consider God to be great, the sky is great. The sky extends as far as our eyes can see, and just beholding the sky can fill us with a sense of awe and insignificance about our own existence. But how do we really surrender to the sky? How do we develop a personal relationship with the sky? It doesn’t happen very easily.

So that’s why, if we perceive God as too divine, then God becomes reduced in the very attempt to make Him so great. In emphasizing God’s greatness, we end up making God inaccessible and unrelatable.

The other extreme is to make Him too human to be divine. That means, if we focus only on the personhood of God and start thinking of God as just another person like us—just a little more powerful than us or maybe much more powerful—then that’s all there is to it.

Here, there is the danger of sahajiyaism. When we make God too divine, there is the danger of impersonalism. Even if we don’t accept the impersonal philosophy, we may end up having a very formal, almost impersonal relationship with God. On the other extreme, we can have sahajiyaism, wherein we connect with God but take Him very cheaply. That is a challenge.

So, we want to avoid both these challenges. In between lies the understanding where there is both God’s greatness—His Aishwarya—and His sweetness—His Madhurya.

Now, generally, the words Aishwarya and Madhurya are used frequently in relationship with Krishna, but they apply to all manifestations of divinity. Especially in the Bhagavata Amrita, the Sanatana Goswami explains that there is a greater manifestation of intimacy in Ram and Narasimha avatars as compared to other manifestations of divinity.

And thus, there is the greatness that arises from remembering that God is not just a person—He is a principle. And the sweetness arises from remembering that He is a person.

When the Lord descends to this world, there is a higher spiritual level of reality and there is our material level of reality. Intermittently throughout history, the Lord descends to this world. He stays here for some time, and then He departs. His descent is the avatar.

When the Lord descends as an avatar, what happens is that His descent is, at one level, like a trailer. A trailer of a movie is meant to trigger desire within people. If this trailer is so good, we want to watch the full movie. In the trailer, the Lord reveals a beautiful, exquisite, mesmerizing form of His pastimes. Through that panoramic revelation, He inspires our heart to move towards it.

But that is not all the avatar, especially the avatar and leela, does. The second is that it sets up a dream. The Lord doesn’t just give us a glimpse, but He also tells us: “Okay, this is what you can do to come to Me.” Just like when a movie trailer comes, after it, there is information that says when and where it will be released—on an OTT platform, in theaters, in a country, or so on. Similarly, the Lord gives us much more than just information. The Lord outlines a path by which we can come toward Him.

This trailer is what is described in Bhagavad Gita 4.7 and 4.8. Krishna says that “I come and I perform; I establish dharma.” Those who become attracted to His pastimes can actually attain Him.

In one sense, the trailer is displayed for everyone. But, say, a trailer is released to the public—that doesn’t necessarily mean everybody is going to go and watch the movie. Relatively, a very small number of people will go and watch the movie. So, the trailer is for the select. Not everybody who hears about Krishna will necessarily want to become His devotee.

Still, Krishna gives that path to everyone.

Now, when the Lord descends to this world, one of the fascinating aspects of the avatar is the mysterious nature of the very concept of His descent. The Lord is infinite, and an infinite Lord comes into the finite domain. How does He manifest?

The Lord is unlimited, and this world is limited. The mystery of the avatar lies in how the unlimited manifests in the limited. How can the Lord, who transcends space and time—indeed, the Lord from whom space and time come, the Lord within whom space and time exist—how does that Lord, who is the container of space and time, who is the source of space and time, the source of everything, and the sustainer of everything… how does that Lord become contained within space and time, appearing to be just like another human being?

That is the mystery of the avatar, and that’s how the Lord descends to fill our hearts with wonder and spiritual desire.

Among the various pastimes that He performs, there are some pastimes that are clearly divine, and there are some pastimes that are almost like human ones. He is always divine in the sense that He is the Supreme Lord, but He sometimes acts divine and sometimes acts human.

That means when Ram is chasing after Maricha in the form of a deer, at that time, He doesn’t act divine. If He were divine everywhere—in hands and legs—He could just extend His arm unlimitedly and catch the deer. But He does not do that. At that time, He is just a human.

However, there are moments when He acts divine. For example, when the ocean does not give Him a way, even after He acts as a human and performs austerities diligently, the Lord becomes angry. He starts glancing with anger at the sea, and the vast ocean begins churning and burning because of the heat. The Lord of the ocean immediately rushes out, seeking Lord Ram’s mercy.

So, there are times when the Lord acts human, and there are times when the Lord acts divine. There are pastimes in which, at different phases, He manifests both these abilities—both these sides. For instance, He acts human while chasing Maricha, as I mentioned. But then, He acts divine when He scorches the ocean.

Let’s now see how this human-divine dynamic within the avatar manifests in the pastime we are going to discuss: His first encounter with Sita, His subsequent winning of her hand, and His marriage to her.

In the manifest leela of the Lord, He appears to Dashrath as the son of Dashrath in Ayodhya. He lives in Ayodhya until He is about 14 years old. He hasn’t even reached the age of 16—16 or 18 generally being considered the age of adulthood. Nowadays, the legal age of adulthood is 18.

This is one of the reasons Dashrath gives when objecting to sending Ram to fight demons. Dashrath argues that Ram is too young and cannot fight demons. He offers to accompany Ram with his army if demons need to be fought. But Vishwamitra insists that he wants Ram, and since Lakshman has never been separated from Ram, Lakshman also goes along.

So, Ram and Lakshman leave Ayodhya and, for a brief while, they stay in the forest at Vishwamitra’s ashram. It is here that we first witness Ram’s phenomenal promise. Before this, Vishwamitra blesses them with celestial weapons. He teaches them the mantras by which they can invoke the higher powers within the universe and be blessed with weapons from those higher beings.

Thus equipped, Ram exhibits extraordinary valor in protecting Vishwamitra’s sacrificial arena. The sacrificial arena is primarily meant to bring auspiciousness. It is said that when we perform Sankirtan Yajna, it brings auspiciousness into the world. Similarly, sages perform sacrifices to bring auspiciousness, but demons try to prevent such auspiciousness. That is why they desecrate and even attempt to devastate the sacrifices.

And here, Lord Ram takes the responsibility of protecting the sacrifice.

And thus, he manifests how he is the protector of dharma. Vishwamitra is pleased, as he has a particular plan for him.

Until this point in his childhood, Ram has shown extraordinary virtue and skills, but he has never had such phenomenal feats of promise. Krishna, right from his childhood in Vrindavan, faced demons attacking him, which he playfully dismissed. In the case of Ram, there is no description of demons coming to Ayodhya and attacking. Ayodhya itself, by name, indicates a place that was unconquerable (Ayodhya). It was a formidable and powerful kingdom. Therefore, there were no such dangers, and Ram did not face any threats as a child.

But now, through a series of heroic activities, one after another, Lord Ram displays his valor. He destroys those demons who have been terrorizing the earth and desecrating the hermitages of the sages. At this point, Vishwamitra says, “I have something else for you to do.”

Now, princesses often live in luxury, being constantly served by others. Yet, they know that their lives are also meant to be lives of service. Sometimes, we may find ourselves in roles where we receive service. And yes, sometimes it may even be our service to receive service. But that should never make us forget that, at our core, we are still servitors.

Sometimes, we may need to perform a particular service in a specific way. And to do that service, others may offer us some service in turn. But we remain servants. The princesses, accustomed to being served, suddenly find themselves plunged into a life of austerity. There are no servants accompanying them.

Vishwamitra insists that he only wants Ram and Lakshman for this mission. In truth, he wants only Ram, but since Ram and Lakshman are inseparable, they go together. There are no guards, no servants accompanying them. They are all alone. Not only do they take care of themselves, but after the sacrificial ceremony is completed and everyone celebrates and rests, Ram and Lakshman wake up the next morning, offer their respects to Vishwamitra, and ask him, “What service can we do for you today?”

Vishwamitra replies, “The King of Janaka is performing a great sacrifice. I would like you to come with me there.”

Service can sometimes mean to give service, and at other times, to receive service. But even receiving service can contribute to a greater service. Here, Ram and Lakshman are not taking on the roles of princes but of servitors of the sages. As servitors of the sages, they agree to the mission.

Vishwamitra then leads them. They cross the Son River, come to the Ganga River, and follow the Ganga until they finally reach Mithila.

Mithila purajanmoha kara, videhi maana saranjakarama.
In the Ramayana, it is described how, when they arrive in Mithila, the emperor is captivated. Vishwamitra is a well-known sage, a celebrity in that region.

It is fascinating to note that although Ram and Lakshman are princes and, by worldly standards, might be considered far more illustrious and famous than sages, the culture at that time revered the sages. We might imagine a wealthy, influential person being constantly in the media, with their children also gaining fame by association. On the other hand, sages, unless they were actively involved in societal affairs, might not have been as well-known.

Yet here, Vishwamitra is a celebrity. The culture of the time placed brahmanas and sages as role models. In our lives, there are different kinds of role models. Some inspire us, while others provide us with a pathway. Inspiration comes from seeing something great and respecting it. But not everyone who inspires us is someone we can immediately follow.

Like we cannot always follow the great austerities of Vrindavan, or at least not at the same level as the sages or great spiritual personalities. We need role models who are similar to us—people who have careers, families, and social lives, but who are still very serious about their spiritual lives.

In those times, sages were like celebrities high up in the sky. Not everyone could become like them, but they were respected immensely. Unlike today, where social media makes everyone’s face and identity easily recognizable, that was not the case back then. Painters were also not very common. Unless someone had personally seen another, it was difficult to recognize them.

This is how, during the Pandavas’ Ajnaatvas (period of incognito exile) in the palace of Virata, no one could recognize them. Normally, we think that if someone is a celebrity, their face is known to everyone, making them instantly recognizable. But that wasn’t true in those times.

When Ram and Lakshman arrived in Mithila with Vishwamitra, the citizens were curious and began speculating. Visitors entering the city caught their attention. The people lined up, peering at the young men accompanying Vishwamitra.

Vishwamitra had not brought many of his disciples or followers; he came alone with Ram and Lakshman. The princes offered their respects to Vishwamitra, and the citizens began whispering among themselves, wondering who these two were.

“They look like princes, but they aren’t dressed in royal opulence. Yet, they look so illustrious. Could they be the princes of Ayodhya?”

When the news spread that the great sage Vishwamitra had arrived, King Janaka personally came to greet him. He fell at Vishwamitra’s feet, offered his respects, and invited him into his palace. After washing the sage’s feet, he allowed him to rest, served him a sumptuous feast, and ensured he was refreshed.

Once Vishwamitra had rested and eaten, King Janaka approached him with great reverence.

“O blessed sage, it is an honor that you have come to my kingdom. Please instruct me—how may I serve you? What is your desire?”

He then asked, “Who are these two powerful and majestic young princes?”

Janaka was already impressed by their physical strength and personal beauty. Vishwamitra replied, “These are the princes of Ayodhya. They have come to see the special bow of Lord Shiva that you have.”

Just hearing this filled King Janaka’s heart with excitement and anticipation. Could they string the mighty bow? Could one of them become his son-in-law?

Janaka looked at Ram with fresh eyes. He had heard of Dasharath’s son Ram before—Dasharath was a close friend of his—but now seeing Ram grown into such a majestic and regal figure, Janaka was filled with admiration.

With great joy, Janaka said, “Rest today, and tomorrow, I will fulfill all your desires. I will take you to see the bow of Lord Shiva and honor your request.”

Now, to provide some context, Janaka is a dynastic title. Just as we refer to a pharaoh in Egypt or an emperor in Rome, the king of Mithila was referred to as Janaka. This title was passed down through the dynasty. The particular Janaka in this context was named Siradhvaja.

Siradhvaja had a brother named Kusadhvaja, and he had two daughters: Yonija and Ayonija. Yonija means “one who is born from a womb,” i.e., born naturally. Ayonija refers to someone not born in the usual way. Sita, the divine princess, was Ayonija.

Sita’s birth was miraculous. While Siradhvaja was performing a royal sacrifice, the plow being used in the ritual struck something hard beneath the earth. Stopping the ritual, he looked down and saw a beautiful baby girl emerging from the earth. This baby was Sita.

Sita’s name comes from a Sanskrit term related to her miraculous origin. Sita means “furrow,” as she was discovered during the plowing ritual. It is also derived from the Sanskrit phrase Sheela Jata, where Sheela means “stone” or the hard earth from which she emerged.

The origins of the name Sita have many interpretations, but the central idea is that she was not born in the usual way. She was Ayonija, not born from a womb, but discovered during King Siradhvaja’s sacred plowing ritual. His other daughter, Urmila, was born naturally through his wife.

Now, in this dynasty, there was a great legacy inherited from the gods—a divine artifact known as the Shiva Chapa. Chapa means “bow.” This bow carried a fascinating history connected to Lord Shiva.

Among the devatas (celestial beings), Lord Shiva is quite an outlier. Unlike Indra and other devatas who live in regal majesty and partake in elaborate ceremonies, Shiva lives a more austere and unconventional life on Mount Kailash. He is indifferent to the social and ceremonial norms that other devatas observe. This unconventional nature of Shiva is one reason why Daksha Prajapati disapproved of his daughter Sati marrying Shiva.

At one point, the devatas, thinking Shiva was not fully one of them, neglected to offer him a portion of the sacrificial offerings during a yajna (sacrifice). Lord Shiva was deeply displeased by this offense, not merely for personal reasons, but because it indicated the devatas’ pride and their disregard for the universal order. Such arrogance, Shiva knew, could lead to their downfall.

In his anger, Lord Shiva appeared before the devatas wielding a formidable bow. He chastised them, saying, “You impudent devatas! Do you understand the offense you have committed? With this bow, I will destroy all of you. If any among you has the courage, stand and fight!”

The devatas, terrified and humbled by Lord Shiva’s fury, realized they could neither confront him nor escape his wrath. They fell at his feet and begged for forgiveness. True to his nature as Ashutosh (the easily pleased), Lord Shiva was quickly pacified by their remorse.

It’s interesting to note that while Shiva is often referred to as Yogiraj (the great yogi), embodying qualities like equanimity and detachment, his personality also reflects volatility. He can get angry very quickly but is also easily pacified. However, this apparent contradiction is part of how Lord Shiva serves the Supreme Lord—acting as both a protector and a purifier in the universal order.

After forgiving the devatas, Shiva, in his satisfaction, gifted them his personal bow as a symbol of his mercy. Later, this bow came into the possession of King Devarata, an ancestor in the dynasty of Janaka. Devarata had performed great sacrifices to please the gods, and as a result, he was entrusted with the Shiva Chapa.

This divine bow was not an ordinary weapon. Its size, power, and celestial origin made it practically unusable by any human being. It became a symbol of divine legacy, kept not for practical use but as a sacred relic representing immense power.

When King Janaka came into possession of this bow, he had already been told by Narada Muni about the divine identity of Sita. Narada informed him, “The daughter who has appeared to you mystically is the eternal consort of Lord Vishnu. In the future, she will marry Vishnu.”

Taking this to heart, Janaka decided that Sita’s hand in marriage would only be granted to someone who could fulfill an extraordinary task—a feat that only Lord Vishnu could accomplish. The challenge he set was to lift and string the Shiva Chapa. This ensured that only the Supreme Lord, in his human form as Lord Ram, would be able to claim Sita as his consort.

This extraordinary condition had been set. So in this way, it’s almost like, while the Lord is performing His pastime, the stage is being set for Him to manifest His divinity. Now, in some later retellings of the Ramayan, there are descriptions of Ram doing some wonderful and even miraculous activities in His childhood, but in the main retellings of the Ramayan, that is not so much the case. Ram’s killing of Tataka and Subahu is extraordinary. At the same time, that’s a feat of heroism. That’s not necessarily a feat that establishes His divinity. There could be kings who were extremely valorous and skilled, and they could achieve extraordinary things. Arjuna was a spectacular warrior. Arjuna had defeated all the devatas combined together, and that made him extraordinary, but that didn’t still mean that he was divine. So this is one of the first incidents in which Lord Ram’s divinity will become manifest, and as we move forward, there are more such incidents.

Janak Maharaj, sorry, King Janaka tells the sage, as well as especially the princess. He knows that the sage already knows, but still, they are going to see something wonderful. If we have some guests coming, we have a grand temple, and when we show them the temple, we like to give them some background. We explain, “This temple was built in this way, it has this kind of stone, this kind of marble.” You want to give them the context, explain the glory of what is going to be seen. Similarly, Janaka is giving this context, and then they come into a part of the palace where the Shiva Chapa is kept. It’s bedecked with jewels, and several hundred people are required just to move that trunk itself into visibility for everyone to see. Then that trunk is opened, and both the princes, Ram and Lakshman, gasp with admiration. As I told before, it is a massive bow, bedecked with gems and bells around it. This is more of a ceremonial bow rather than a practical bow for fighting.

Holding it, Ram turns toward Vishwamitra with inquiry on His face, and a smile gently spreads across Vishwamitra’s face. He nods; he knows what Ram is going to do, and he is eager for Ram to display His divinity. He knows that he has a role to play in Ram’s pastimes, and this is going to be the most significant thing he will do. Vishwamitra has the role of being a king who renounces his kingdom to become a sage, but now, as a sage, he has been given the role to reveal the divinity of one who has manifested in royalty.

So first, this divinity is displayed, and now, again, it’s heroism, but heroism of such a superlative nature that it amounts to almost divinity. Ram then comes forward and nonchalantly places His hand on the bow. Before Him, many of the greatest kings of the earth had come, and they had to lift this bow. They hadn’t even been able to shrink it out of the casket, let alone lift it, much less bend it so they could string it. Each of these acts required great strength—first lifting, then moving it, and even after lifting it, they had to bend the bow. When you string a bow, the string has to be tight enough, so the tension in the string allows the arrow to fly properly. The bow has to be firm enough so that it is not easy to bend, and once bent, it needs a substantial amount of tension.

Most of the kings hadn’t been able to lift the bow, let alone bend it or string it. But Lord Ram just nonchalantly picked up the bow, bent it silently, and everyone watched in anticipation, wondering what He would do. Lord Ram kept one end of the bow on the ground. It was a huge bow, and as He bent the bow downward, He was going to string it, but the force with which He bent the bow caused it to break. When it broke, the sound was like the crash of thunder falling on the palace. It felt as if the whole earth was shaking, as if in an earthquake. Everyone who was beholding it was stunned and became temporarily senseless and speechless. Just this was what had happened. Their sense of peace was diminished, and then erupted celebrations and glorifications. They all started cheering and praising the spectacular feat of Lord Ram. The celestials assembled overhead, cheering for Lord Ram and showering flowers upon Him.

All this had been happening in a part of the palace, and there was a terrace nearby. In that upper floor, Sita was watching. She was very devout. From her childhood, she had an innate attraction toward Lord Vishnu and had prayed that, “May Lord Vishnu be my husband.” Until then, many great kings had come to seek her hand, but none of them had charmed her heart. She found them too arrogant, too boastful. But when she saw Ram move forward toward the bow, her heart suddenly filled with excitement, joy, and affection. When Ram broke the bow, she became so elated that she was almost bursting with happiness. But due to chastity and feminine shyness, she restrained her emotions and waited.

Then Janak Maharaj looked at her, took a step forward, and she came down the stairway. At the time when Lord Ram beheld her, and both of them beheld each other, their hearts filled with love for each other. Sita came forward and offered the garland to Lord Ram. This matrimonial garland was offered by Sita. Now, this itself was not the wedding ceremony; it was her accepting or congratulating the person who had won the contest, the person who had stood up to match the target, the criteria that had been set.

And then Janak Maharaj turned to Vishwamitra and said, “You will see Ram and Sita’s wedding to be held as soon as possible.” He said, “For such a wedding to happen, naturally Ram’s parents must be informed, they must give their consent, and they need to come immediately. Send the messengers immediately.” He sent the messengers—though not just messengers, he sent his ministers. They rushed from Mithila to Ayodhya, and it took them three days to reach there. When they arrived, there was anxiety; Dashrath was concerned, “My son has gone out, and I don’t know what is happening. Where is he? Has the battle with the asuras been going on for such a long time?” But then, after he was informed, he calmed. When he heard that messengers from Mithila had come, he wondered, “Why are they here?” Though there was some anxiety in his heart, he welcomed them with a benign expression. Janak was his great friend, and when he heard the news, it brought him joy. Not only had Ram been saved, not only had he been victorious in killing the demons and fulfilling Vishwamitra’s desires, but beyond that, he had broken the bow—the Shiva bow—that no one could move, and he had won the hand of Sita. In great joy, Dashrath immediately planned to go to Janak Maharaj’s kingdom. Janak Maharaj welcomed him, and Dashrath came with his entire family.

Then Janak Maharaj said, “Let there be a bond between our families that runs across many individuals.” Lakshmana had also come there, so Janak said, “Let Lakshmana marry Urmila.” “Thus,” he continued, “both my daughters will be married to your sons.” He also said, “Ushant Vajay has two daughters; let them be present as well.” In this way, four marriages were performed. Now, Janak had his royal priest, Shatananda, and Vishwamitra, and Dashrath had his priest, Vashistha. The two priests conferred and decided that the next day itself was an auspicious day for the marriage ceremony. Normally, these ceremonies take weeks or months of planning, especially if royalty is involved, and kings from other lands need to be invited, with many arrangements to be made. But Janak Maharaj had been so eager for the wedding of Sita that he had already made arrangements. He had already set up the pandal and was waiting for a suitor who met the criteria. A standing invitation had been issued: when news came that the bow had been broken, the wedding would happen soon.

Many kings had already gathered out of respect for Janak Maharaj and their eagerness to witness the majestic event—the wedding of Janak’s daughter, Sita, with the person who had broken that phenomenal bow. Under the supervision of Vashistha Muni and in the presence of Vishwamitra, the wedding ceremony took place. Then Janak came and brought the princes, who were already sitting around the fire, and he placed his daughter next to Ram. Janak placed Sita’s hand in Ram’s hand, and together they offered the offerings to the fire. They circumambulated the fire and sought the blessings of the elders. This way, after the wedding of Ram and Sita was performed, the weddings of his brothers were also performed with the sisters and cousins of Sita. All four young couples would be married and return together to Ayodhya. Of course, while they were returning to Ayodhya, they met Parashuram.

Parashuram had become quite proud of his Brahminical promise, and he realized that now his time was over, except for his official discount. So, this event of the wedding, in one sense, is the trajectory through which Ram demonstrates His heroism and, indeed, His divinity. While His divinity is manifested by His breaking of the Shiva bow, it becomes even more evident when Parashuram tries to attack Him. Lord Ram doesn’t want to attack Parashuram because he is a Brahmin, but through His mystic powers, He disarms Parashuram. Parashuram is unable to shoot his arrows, and he understands that Ram is the Supreme Lord.

So, this trajectory is extraordinarily manifested, with divinity coming forth in the union with His eternal consort, Sita. Now, what can we learn from this? Probably three distinct things. First, I started by talking about how the Lord may not be easily relatable to us if we focus only on the principle.

There are certain events of great significance in our lives. For example, when we get married, it is a time of great significance—one of the most consequential decisions we will make. Traditionally, in India, when a couple would get married, there would always be comparisons such as, “Oh, the couple looks like Sita and Ram,” or “They look like Parvati and Shiva,” or “Lakshmi and Narayan.” The idea is that two things are being reflected here: one is that the Lord, when He descends and goes through the ceremonies of life—the typical rites of passage—demonstrates how we seem to go through them. The Lord gives us sacred memories through these rituals.

When we say, “The couple looks like Sita and Ram,” this does not mean that our relationship should mirror theirs in every way. Ideally, by being reminded of that divine love, we are encouraged to recognize that, although love in this world is temporary, it can point toward the eternal. The temporary can be an ear toward the eternal. As Prabhupada said, one of the purposes of the scriptures is to bring all people closer to each other and closer to Krishna, the supreme entity. So when we form a bond here on earth, we should remember how the Lord descended and formed a bond. It is not that we look at the Lord’s wedding and simply remember our own wedding day, or participate in the ceremony for our own enjoyment. We remember that this relationship is not just for us to come together and enjoy, but to come closer to the Lord through this relationship. We come together so that we can strengthen our eternal relationship with Him. This is the eternal enjoyment.

When the eternal Lord manifests as earthly love, particularly when He and His consort get married, it is a spiritual stimulus for us to enhance our remembrance of the Lord. The Lord’s wedding, or Sita Kalyanam, can serve as a reminder for us—whether it is our own wedding or someone else’s. At that time, instead of just focusing on the two people involved, we can see it as a spiritual reminder. Krishna tells us in the Bhagavad Gita (10.41) that everything in this world can become a stimulus for us to remember Him.

The second point is that when the Lord descends into this world, as I mentioned earlier, it’s like a trailer. The beauty, sweetness, potency, and majesty of the Lord, by which He wins the heart of Sita, are not just about the criteria He meets to win her hand. It is by His personality, His nature, and His sweet, loving disposition that He wins Sita’s heart. So much so that Sita insists on going with Ram, and she is excited when He is excited. Even though He doesn’t have to go, she insists on accompanying Him. This shows how the Lord exhibits extraordinary virtues.

Then, some of His extraordinary virtues are manifested. His promise, however, does not lead Him to pride. Even when He wins the hand of Sita, He does so under the guidance of His elders. Vishwamitra asked Him to break the bow, and He does it. But even then, He doesn’t rush into marriage; He waits for His parents’ approval. It is only when His father gives His blessing that He proceeds with the marriage. So, the power that Lord Ram has is accompanied by respect. His individual power doesn’t go to His head; He maintains His respect for the elders.

The final point is that through the loving union between Ram and Sita, and in this particular instance, the eternal love between them is manifested in this world. They are the ultimate “power couple”—Sita-Ram, Lakshmi-Narayan, Radha-Krishna. All the power in this world comes from them. They are the divine couple, but when they manifest and develop their relationship, it’s not just a demonstration of the sweetness of divine love; it’s also a model for how relationships in this world should be formed—with humility, respect, and a gradual opening of the heart.

Lord Ram is Maryada Purushottam—He always respects the boundaries (Maryada), follows dharma, and maintains the proper etiquette. His life is a model of respect and Maryada.

Finally, Lord Ram unites with Sita. This union is an example of true love and devotion. Ram’s heart is conquered by Sita to such an extent that He vows never to marry again and remains in pati-vrata (faithful to one wife). Though it was common for kings to have many queens, Sita completely conquers His heart. Their bond becomes sealed, and what is eternal is manifested and fulfilled in this world.

For us, the relationship between us and Krishna is different from relationships in the material world. But the principles of relationship-building are the same. In any relationship, there must be virtue and valor on both sides for a glorious relationship to form. Sita and Ram each had their set of virtues, and from these virtues, a beautiful relationship was born. What was eternal in them was manifested on earth.

Just as Ram and Sita had their virtues, their example inspires us to develop similar virtues so that we can form deep, fulfilling relationships in this world. By doing so, we move toward our eternal relationship with the Lord, which is more hidden in this world but will be revealed and fulfilled in its fullest in the Lord’s eternal love.

To summarize what we discussed today:

1. Philosophical Perspective of the Lord: Our conception of the Lord should not be overly focused on His divinity to the point where He becomes depersonalized, nor should it be reduced to just human characteristics. There needs to be a balance of appreciating both His greatness (Aishwarya) and sweetness (Madhuriya). The Lord’s avatar lila is like a trailer for those who want to follow Him, guiding them toward higher pastimes.
2. Lord Ram’s Glory: Through incidents like killing demons, breaking the bow, and confronting Parashuram’s pride, Lord Ram’s heroism and divinity are revealed. His glory is manifested not only through human actions but through the divine powers He possesses. In defeating Parashuram, His divinity is made evident.
3. Lessons for Us: We can see the Lord’s wedding ceremony as a reminder to cultivate our remembrance of Him. Any wedding we are a part of can serve as a spiritual stimulus, encouraging us to recall the divine wedding of Ram and Sita. The relationship between Ram and Sita was built on virtues, and their example teaches us how to form relationships with respect, valor, and humility. Ram’s power did not make Him arrogant; He remained humble and respectful of His elders. Similarly, relationships in this world should be based not just on physical attraction but on virtues. The ultimate purpose of any relationship is to come closer to Krishna and to each other.

In conclusion, the way Ram and Sita manifested their eternal relationship in this world provides us with inspiration for developing fulfilling relationships in our lives. By cultivating virtues and devotion, we can draw closer to Krishna and experience deeper, more meaningful connections with those around us.

Thank you very much.

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