Sri Jagannatha and Gaura Nitai’s Lilas

Blessings in Disguise

It all began in 2014. About six months before arriving at the āśrama, Rishi Brindavan had already taken brahmacārī initiation while still in Russia. One day, Guruji sent word— not directly, but through a Swami— calling him to the āśrama.

´Before I arrived, something unusual happened. I was living in Moscow with a few devotees—five, six, sometimes seven of us in one flat. It felt like a small āśrama. We did pūjā every morning and evening, which was a beautiful experience.

At that time, Guruji often spoke in satsaṅgs about saving water and energy. One Swami took it very seriously, going around switching off every light. I needed some light and kept turning it back on. He got annoyed and looked me in the eyes: “One day you won’t even have money to pay your electricity bill!”

We both realized it sounded like a real curse. We never spoke of it again, but I understood how careful we must be with our words—they hold power.

Some people later joked that maybe Guruji called me to the āśrama to protect me from that curse. Who knows? Perhaps it was one of the reasons—but certainly not the only one. Maybe it was all part of His plan. ´

After receiving his visa, Rishi Brindavan arrived at the āśrama in autumn 2014. For many years he was not a pūjārī; he only began serving the deities after the new temple was built.

At first, he mainly served Gaura-Nitāi — Sri Jagannātha had not yet arrived. Becoming a temple pūjārī had never occurred to him. One day, while watching a movie about Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, he noticed that some of His gestures were exactly like Guruji’s. It felt as if Guruji and Śrī Caitanya were one.

Five days later, Guruji instructed Swami Keshava to allow Rishi Brindavan to begin serving in the temple, and he was certain that the two events were connected.

While serving Gaura-Nitāi, Rishi Brindavan sometimes felt Their presence intensely—especially during kīrtana that overflowed with ecstatic joy, almost wild in Their energy.

´Over time, I came to feel that Nityānanda Prabhu is a gentle caretaker, always watching over me, while Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu is pure bliss—present yet absorbed in another world.

They are easy to serve. They never demand anything; whatever you offer, They accept with love. It’s different with Lord Narasiṁha, who inspires deep, respectful awe.

Once I had a vivid dream: I was in the temple at night when a loud, terrifying roar echoed. I tried to run, but the door was locked. Then I realized—it was Lord Narasiṁha. Fear instantly turned to joy, and I felt His protective, loving presence.

I’ve also dreamt of doing pūjā or abhiṣekam with Guruji nearby, blessing me. In dreams, I sense Him giving or removing something, bestowing grace.

For me, Lord Narasiṁha is a friend; Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu inspires devotion; Guruji is both—a guide and loving presence. ´

Later, Śrī Jagannātha came to the temple, fulfilling Guruji’s long-held desire.

A devotee from Bali discovered a log floating in the ocean—just as in the original story—and that log became our Śrī Jagannātha.

It is believed that Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu disappeared into Śrī Jagannātha Himself, deepening the connection even further.

When Rishi Brindavan visited the Śrī Jagannātha Temple in Puri some years ago, he was not allowed inside because foreigners are prohibited. Yet one day, while standing on the street outside, he suddenly felt the Lord’s presence in the very air—as if he were swimming in Him. The feeling lasted only a few minutes, but it was unforgettable.

“Serving the deities is the greatest blessing. Of course, being with Guruji is the highest grace, but serving in the temple brings me close to the divine every day. It’s not just about dressing the deities or offering pūjā —it’s about being with Them, letting Their presence cleanse and transform me.

The temple is alive with grace, and when I serve there, I feel the blessing not only in the pūjā but in the very air. This is what I have learned: simply being with the Lord—serving, sitting nearby, meditating—is the most precious gift.”

The Power of Devotional Service

´Hello, my name is Vandana. For the past seven years, I have served as a pūjārī—since the very day the temple opened. What began unexpectedly has become the center of my life.

I still remember that first day vividly. When the Deities were installed and the first āratī began, I felt a powerful energy move through me—like fire spreading across my body. For weeks afterward, it was as if I were burning from within.

At first, this intensity frightened me, but gradually it settled into a deep calm. Then I knew, in my heart—this was my place, my home.

From the beginning, we served Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu and Nityānanda Prabhu. Later, with Guruji’s blessing, we welcomed Śrī Jagannātha, Subhadrā, and Balarāma. Their arrival made everything feel complete. ´

Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu spent His final years in Puri, where He visited Śrī Jagannātha every day.

His life unfolded in two remarkable phases. As a young scholar in 16th-century Bengal, He was exceptionally brilliant. Yet at the height of His fame, He renounced everything—accepting sannyāsa and dedicating His life to kīrtana, the joyful chanting of God’s holy names.

That transformation spoke more deeply than any debate. In His only known composition, the Śikṣāṣṭakam, He revealed the essence of His wisdom:

´To be a true devotee is to be humbler than the grass on the street.´

´My name, Vandana, means “bowing down in respect.” For me, this name is a daily reminder to stay humble.

Every day, I spend many hours at the altar. I offer flowers, chant mantras, and dress the Deities in their bright clothes and crowns. From the outside, it might look the same each day—but for me, it never feels the same.

Pūjā feels like a real conversation with God. Some mornings my heart is full of love; other days, my mind feels dry or distracted. But still, I come—every day. Showing up again and again is also a kind of love.

In seven years, that has meant thousands of hours sitting with God. It has changed me in ways no book or teacher ever could. ´

Living and serving within the saṅgha has shaped Vandana as much as serving at the altar.

When he first arrived, he carried a certain seriousness—perhaps even a touch of stiffness. Community life soon offered many opportunities to let go of that. Misunderstandings arose, and sometimes feelings were hurt. In the beginning, he would quietly avoid anyone who offended him. Now those moments pass quickly. Either he no longer feels offended, or he forgives almost at once.

He has also become less afraid—less afraid to try new things, to speak before others, or to take on responsibilities that once felt too heavy. The temple has a gentle way of dissolving fear, simply by inviting him to keep growing.

´My relationship with Guruji has also grown in unexpected ways.

When I first met Him—in the same part of northern Germany I had once dreamed of leaving—I felt certain He was a saint. I held one simple rule in my heart: if you meet a saint, you listen and follow.

In the beginning, I asked many questions, seeking guidance. Patiently, He turned me inward, until I realized that the real answers were not in His words but in the quiet space He awakened within me.

Now I rarely speak with Him, yet I feel His presence more than ever. His true gift was teaching me to trust the divine within—to see that the Master lives both outside and inside.

As a brahmacārī, I’ve watched my motives grow purer. Even noble wishes can carry a trace of ego. Bhakti is a strong yet gentle river, washing those traces away until only unconditional love remains.´

For Vandana, pūjā is not about what God receives—it is about what awakens in the heart of the devotee. Each offering opens that heart a little more, deepening his relationship with the Divine. As he sits before the Deities, placing small gifts with love, his fears and desires quietly fade away. Over time, the ritual becomes something greater. Vandana lives with God as with a close friend. Pūjā is no longer performance, but presence—simply sharing life with the Beloved.

Through his years with Guruji, the saṅgha, and service at the altar, Vandana understood one essential truth: bhakti is simple. It is not about mastering scriptures or perfecting rituals but about turning from ego toward God—with a heart as humble as grass. Each morning, as he softly chants the Lord’s names, he returns to that steady friendship of divine love.

After seven years, the temple is no longer just the place where he serves—it is where he learns, each day, what it truly means to be free.