Kushakratha Stories

Remembrances and Stories

by Puskara Das

Posted October 12, 2005 on Chakra.org

In 1956, I moved from one area of Brooklyn (near the temple) to the Bensonhurst area, where I entered fifth grade. Peter Viggiani (a.k.a. Kushakratha) was in my class for the next two years. He also attended the same junior high as I, and we shared some of the same classes. For approximately 5 years we were good friends. He was always quite eccentric and didn't’t appear to have many other friends.

Those who knew “Kusha” found him to be a bit of an avadhuta, and he was no less so in his early days. There was one other odd fellow who was an artist. We would sometimes associate, and together we once built a sculpture in his yard composed completely of old wire coat hangers.

Predictably, other kids would pick on Peter. They would walk by and punch him in the shoulder or hurl some insult his way, but he tolerated it. Although I had varieties of associates, he was a loner as his aspirations were distinctly loftier than the average Jewish-Italian neighbor. Out of thousands and thousands of kids growing up in Brooklyn at the time it would not be possible to find someone similar to him. He had a younger sister, Rosemary.

Although her bodily features resembled his in many ways, I recall that they were distant. He seemed to be a bit distant from all of his family members-perhaps because his parents were a bit older than others. His mother once threw an open box of crayons at me, and loudly blamed me for being a bad influence on her son, because he was constantly doodling in his smaller-than-average loose leaf book.

As someone who had taken special art classes in early childhood and visited museums regularly, I can say that these “doodles” were not ordinary. They were amazing and unforgettable. His wonderful and original conceptions remain with me still. How I wish those sketches had been preserved! No doubt the world of art has been deprived of a great genius.

The figurative drawings swirled, lifelike, drawing the consciousness into the page more and more. The notes were barely detectable amidst the free unprecedented expressions decorating the pages. A few times I asked him to draw people congregating nearby in Central Park. With astonishing ease, capturing the gesture in perfect proportion, figures would manifest on the paper.

When sometimes the opportunity for an illustrated school project arose, he would stun the entire school, teachers and students alike, by utilizing his skill at watercolor and pencil drawings. In the sixth grade, who among us was able to paint the billowing sails of Columbus’s ships plying the waves in perfect perspective?

His talents were not restricted to the art world. His compositions were not to be rivaled in our tiny circle. Of course, the spelling and grammar were never faulty, but his wit was prodigious and while reading his compositions the teacher would sometimes laugh out loud. After all, by seventh grade he was already writing 60,000 word poems. Yin-Yang is one that I remember.

Kusha had zero desire to engage in sports like all the rest of us. As we rolled by quickly on our bikes, or skates, he was often seated on a bench in front of his house pouring over philosophy and poetry books. He would make his way to the main Library near Prospect Park, which was quite some distance by public transport. There he would take out as many books as they allowed, and then scrutinize them. They would range from the writings of the Ancient Greeks such as Homer, Socrates, and Virgil to modern existentialists such as Sarte and Camus. Kirkegaard, Kafka, and Pound are also some of the names that come to mind.

All of this extra study never prevented him from effortlessly getting the top marks in school. It was always “O” for outstanding, except for maybe P.E., and cleanliness. Whenever there was an oral quiz, Peter was the first one with his hand up, enthusiastically waving his hand, unable to contain himself. He was called on when no one else could answer. It was a syndrome; he would blurt out the answer, neglecting to stand, the teacher would admonish him for not standing, and then he would lean on the desk. When the teacher chastised him for leaning on the desk he would stand, and his pants would begin to fall.

He was then instructed to pull up his pants midst the chuckles of the other students. Kusa was the kind of guy that needed a shave even in the fifth grade, which added to his slovenly appearance. His dirty handkerchief hanging out of his pocket, waiting for his next amplified nose blow was another colorful feature.

At that time, I was often penalized for misbehavior and was sometimes locked in the principal’s office. On one occasion I had a chance to peak through the file cabinets. I checked up on everyone’s I.Q. score. Kusa’s was definitely the highest at about 158.At around 12 we were making trips to Manhattan to attend Ginsberg and other “beat” poetry readings and meeting off-beat artists in the “Village”. At that time he decided he would not touch money, so I was carried the subways tokens and change.

On one memorable occasion in about 1962 when I realized I would never be able to read all the books that he had, I pointedly asked him which books he considered to be the most important. He immediately replied,” Just read Bhagavad Gita. You don’t need any other books.”

By tenth grade I had moved to another neighborhood, and rarely saw him. He attended a local Brooklyn high school, Lafayette. During the U.S. attempted invasion of Cuba, the students at his school were required to salute the flag, but he and another boy defiantly spit on it whereupon they were attacked by other students. This incident actually made the newspapers and appeared on the front page border of the New York World Telegram-long defunct. After this period he attended college (Goddard ?) for some time, although he never graduated.

I remember seeing him once at an anti-Vietnam war rally in front of the U.N. He was continually jumping up and down holding hands with an odd woman. I was trying to communicate with him when the police started unceremoniously dispersing the crowd by beating us with their lead- filled clubs.

Some years ago I asked him about some symphonies he had composed and he said that he had never actually heard them played.

From the earliest time that I remember he was practicing hatha yoga asanas, although I don’t really know how he learned them. Sometimes when I dropped in he would be sitting in a lotus position which seemed pretty odd at the time, even to me. He would be listening to a stereo that he had assembled.

I came to the L.A. temple via “Sai” in Hawaii sometime in October 1970. Besides chanting and other service I was engaged, by Karandhar, in painting sets of the parampara for temples on the west coast. One day Karandhar told me he thought I might like to join the other artists who had recently moved from Boston to New York. Anxious to see me, my parents arranged a ticket and I was on my way back to New York. Somewhere in the darkness a chilling premonition came over me. Someone I knew would be at the temple in Brooklyn. Then it came to me-it must be Peter. I reasoned, where else could such a person be?

After my arrival, at about 10:00 p.m., and an almost sleepless night, I was abruptly woken by a loudspeaker blaring Prabhupada singing and sat up for some minutes, groggily in an almost amnesiac daze. Somebody directed me to the tiny laundry room where there was a tangled merge of clean clothes in a few baskets.

Standing there was Bhakta Peter attempting to disentangle some extremely knotted wrinkled clothes. He appeared only mildly surprised to see me and I was half expecting to see him anyway. He asked me how I came to join, and I told him about joining in Hawaii with Sai. He asked in his kind of high pitched voice, “How is Sai?” We both seemed to adjust rather quickly to this “surprise” encounter.

PART TWO

by Puskar (das) (Alachua, FL - US)

Posted October 31, 2005 on Chakra.org

During the time leading up to and after the week long initiation of July 21st at the Brooklyn Temple, Bhakta Peter along with almost everyone else would go out on Harinam Sankirtan during the day. It was a decidedly colorful group and a big group it was -seventy to eighty plus brahmacaris and increasing daily!!

Once, a congregational member named Zubin, who was in in the tie-dye business had donated a bunch of tie-dye kurtas. Who could forget brahmacaris adorned in tie-dye kurtas? Almost everyone had tired of the novelty, but it seemed that Kusa had worn his longer than most of us. This combined with his unique and haphazard dhoti style along with two different socks was an unforgettable sight.

Of course, if you weren't careful to lift your dhoti while ascending or descending the filthy subway steps you were to sure to pick up an ever-widening decorative grayish-black border.

Before the big initiation Kusa was thinking that the four regulative principles should be embraced by the devotees more enthusiastically. Just after Srila Prabhupada gave Kusakratha his name, Prabhupada asked him to state the regulative principles which he did. Then immediately he asked him which one he like the best and Kusakratha kind of lost it -half gasping -laughing he replied, "Srila Prabhupada, you are reading my mind." Srila Prabhupada was also laughing, and this pastime was caught in a classic photo appearing in an early Vyasa Puja book.(1972?)

I was told that when Kusakratha first saw Srila Prabhupada in Buffalo, he was rolling on the ground back and forth in front of him. Although it appeared very weird to the devotees at the time, in retrospect this is actually a natural way to approach a pure devotee. Balavanta related that when they began the Atlanta temple, Kusakratha was one of the original founders and although very eccentric performed nice service.

Giriraja Swami remembers when there were hardly any devotees in Boston, Bhakta Peter used to sit in the hallway at the entrance to the building with his back to the wall and legs outstretched, absorbed in reading Prabhupada's books. When sleep overcame him he would simply lie down in the same spot and take rest. The first thing a guest would see was Peter, slouched in the hallway reading or sleeping. Satsvarupa Maharaja wrote to Prabhupada asking what to do.

Prabhupada wrote back, "What's the matter? Can't you tolerate?" Twenty years later when Giriraja visited New Dwarka and saw Peter he asked curiously, "Who's that?" A devotee told him, "Oh, that's Kusakratha." Kusa was now famous for translating so many scriptures. Although Maharaj saw so little potential, Prabhupada saw much more.

At the Brooklyn temple I would sometimes plead with Kusa to sketch or do something in art. He would just say that he had no inclination, although because of my persistence he did show me a sketch he had drawn that seemed to me half-heartedly done. It seemed to be his way of discouraging me from bugging him anymore.

Kusa never liked cold weather so he left Brooklyn for warmer climates. I saw him briefly in the famous 1972 festival in New Vrindavan, and he told me again how he couldn't tolerate cold weather. I don't remember seeing him again until 1975 when I returned from India and he was residing in San Diego.

Jayatirtha was GBC in those days and he became a great admirer of Kusa for his expertise in sastra. J.T. organized several retreats with Kusa and the zonal leaders to enthuse others to scrutinize Srila Prabhupada's books. After that J.T. wanted Kusa to give special evening seminars to all the devotees in New Dwarka. On the first night the temple was filled with expectant devotees. Several boards exhibited Kusa's summary descriptions of Bhagavad Gita chapters.

Devotees perused these summaries awaiting Kusa's appearance. I began to sense that something could be going wrong, so I ran outside to find Kusa. There he was, near the alley, in the rain. I said, "Everyone is waiting for you." He just blurted out, "Tell them to move." Then I saw some women congregating at the entrance so I asked them to move. Kusa didn't appreciate microphones or any loud noises so he spoke without any amplification. He gave some homework tests for everyone to bring the next evening.

The next evening Jadurani handed me all the ladies' papers. I said, "Here are the women's papers." He said, "I don't want them," so I returned the papers to Jadurani. Rameswara was denouncing the classes as overemphasizing jnana-knowledge, but it had the good effect of encouraging people to put their heads to the books.

The time of the 1976 Gaura Purnima festival was drawing near, and J.T. decided to sponsor Kusa's plane ticket. I asked Kusa later if he had ever bathed in the Ganga and he said that he had put his toe in. In those days he used to wear several hooded sweatshirts even on the hottest day in Mayapur.

Sometime after the 1976 festival I was in front of the L.A. temple and I saw Kusa walking toward me from Venice Boulevard. First thing he said was that he was worried that he may have been banned from the L.A. . temple, and in fact- all of the temples. He recounted that while in India TKG had asked him to visit the Radha Damodar buses upon his return to the U.S. just to enthuse the brahmacaris in studying.

He seemed to be doing okay until he was pressured on one bus to clean and perform other chores while the men were out distributing. One over-zealous swami decided to kick him off the bus and made sure he was unwelcome at the local Chicago temple as well. Kusa had hitchhiked from there back to L.A. and here he was. I assured him that there was no chance of anyone heeding that swamis orders here in New Dwarka.

Allaying his anxieties, I took his arm and proceeded across the street to the BBT Sanskrit department, and left him there with Gopiparanadhana and others. Day by day, he advanced his grasp of Sanskrit and was soon translating simple texts. He was so enthusiastic in the beginning that he would come up to my studio and attempted to teach me Sanskrit grammar while I was painting. He was incredulous that I was unable to develop the same taste for Sanskrit that he now had. I did learn a bit, but in the end I remained a sudra, simply memorizing a few verses.

While in Europe in "78 I started to see some of his manuscripts, but it wasn't until 1984 that I had any real association again with him. At that time there were a few small books that he began to publish, but he had big plans. I was surprised that he had recently purchased a ticket to India at an exorbitant rate in order to procure as many original Sanskrit and Bengali works as possible for translation.

He was now translating at a feverish pace and had run out of books. Myself and a couple of others strongly insisted that he return his ticket and get one that was reasonably priced, but he refused again and again-not wanting to deal with the situation. After some days, in touch with Dasaratha-suta he was able to borrow quite a few books to continue with his translation work, so he now decided not to go to India. I accompanied him to the travel office, a few blocks away, to get a refund for the ticket.

When we walked in the door he blurted out immediately, "I want my money back!" When they asked him why, he wouldn't speak to them so I explained that he would be going later in the year with me. Although he lost seventy or eighty dollars the ticket was refunded. Some days later I noticed that Kusa wasn't at mangal arati. He used to stand at the far right side his ears plugged with toilet paper that would stream down the side of his face. Later that day I saw him and asked suspiciously, "Where were you today?" Sure enough, he had flown all the way to San Francisco on a separate ticket to get his visa which he was unable to get. I reminded him that there was no need for a visa since he wasn't going to India. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Oh yeah, that's right. I forgot."

When Kusa translated he would try to work under as strong a light as possible-practically always natural light. Often he would go to the roof of the temple and sit in the strong sunlight.

Although his father was a simple upholsterer he had received an investment tip and made some money. He had left Kusa a certain amount. I recall he was supposed to receive $20,000 at intervals. When he received the first twenty thousand he was able to launch his Krishna Institute publications and also pay his rent for some time. After his father's demise his family members had somehow arranged to prevent him from getting the rest, so he was totally dependent on the sales of his books which he printed in lots of one hundred, increasing the cost considerably.

Whenever I saw him he would give me the latest books and sometimes send them to me. He said that I should have an archive. I used to stay with him at his place when I was in L.A. for Rathayatra, etc. although it was famously funky. The windows were tightly shut and although kirtan from across the street was barely audible, he claimed it was "deafening" and whenever I tried to open a window he admonished me saying he couldn't handle the "Arctic breezes".

In 1985 I had done a painting of Lord Chaitanya instructing Rupa Goswami which I gave him to hang on his wall. He told me that for the next fifteen years or so he took inspiration from that painting. I picked it up when he left for India. It was quite dusty.

Kusa was really bummed out when some traveling salesmen began to pirate his work. It was difficult for him to maintain his service and simple lifestyle. For a few years I had helped arrange a regular stipend from an ex-member of the Sanskrit department who had become quite wealthy and was happy to see the new books being produced. Kusa was pretty stubborn as far as discounts go. Once for more than an hour in his room Mahamantra brahmacari was begging for a discount on buying a bunch of books, but Kusa was humorously unmovable.

At various times Kusa taught gurukula students in L.A. and later in Vrindaban, sometimes making funny cartoons on the chalkboard as part of his lesson. Sometimes he wrote spoofs of the perceived foibles of the devotees. He particularly poked fun at T. V. watching, sporting events such as ping-pong, and social events. He used to laugh heartily at these things. He invented original funny expressions spontaneously such as "dizzydasis". He found it amusing that people were attending college to learn Sanskrit and in the end were translating Mahabharata, when there were so much Goswami literatures that needed translating.

I saw Kusa in 2000 in Vrindavan when he told me that still, after several years, he continued to translate Jiva Goswami's monumental Gopal Champu which he said was the most difficult task he had ever undertaken. At the same time he was composing his own poems in Sanskrit and English. These works are as yet unpublished. He was handwriting everything over the last few years as his computer had failed and he was unable to get it going again. I saw him in April and he was serenely detached coming out to chant for a while every day, take darshan, and get prasadam.

I'm hoping that other friends of Kusa will share some other memories as Visoka has so nicely done.

by Devaki Nandana Das

Posted November 6, 2005 on Chakra

First met Kusakratha Prabhu in Los Angeles in the Early 90's. I was from San Diego and would regularly spend many months at a time there distributing books at the airport.

I used to see Kusakratha prabhu regularly. My friend would visit him at his apartment to buy his books and my friend told me what a wonderful Devotee Kusakratha was. So I would like to go over to Kusa's place when I had the chance. Once we went over to Kusakratha Prabhu's apartment and the apartment was so full of boxes of books and things you couldn't even get in the door.

We could barely see him in there, but we heard Kusakratha's voice say," I'd invite you in, but as you can see there is no possible way you could get past all this stuff". Eventually he cleared a path after about five minutes or so. We had gone there to get a book from him so he had to clear a path eventually. After we went inside I was a little shocked by the state of the Apartment but I knew he was no ordinary soul. I had seen his translations and was really impressed with the beauty of his work.

I figured he was like an Avadhuta and was just otherworldly. Not conscious of bodily maintenance beyond the bare necessities. Many great devotees wore old torn clothing or lived next to latrine's for their sadhana. It was there way to avoid too much association with worldly people. L.A. has plenty of worldly people to watch out for.

I used to go do my laundry at a laundromat in the alley behind the temple and sometimes Kusa would be there. If I saw him sometimes he would read from his books. It was pretty ecstatic some of the nectar he was translating. He would wear these rubber sandals(The kind you get in india I think) and he would drag his feet and the sandals would make a scraping sound as he would walk. kind of like a penguin or something. He would pull his sleeves out too over his hands and wave the part of the shirt that went out over his

hands in a peculiar way. He was a very jolly fella. I liked him. I remember him as a real nice devotee. I wish that such devotees could live longer and give us their association longer. It seems that the real ecstatic devotees don't live long, but the Kanishta's and enemies of ISKCON live to be like a hundred or so. I still haven't worked that one out. I'm sure all who Knew Kusakratha Prabhu will miss his association. Maybe Krishna just wants these great souls back in his association. That's a nice way of looking at it.

Being from San Diego Temple, many devotees used to talk about Prabhupada's visit to San Diego and stories for the old temple on Third and Thorn near Balboa Park. During Srila Prabhupada's lila, Kusakratha Prabhu stayed at that temple for some time. One devotee who was there at the time said that Kusakratha was a strict Brahmacari and didn't like to have to see the Mataji's, so to enter the temple he would climb in through the window. Pretty funny.

Another devotee told me that Kusakratha prabhu would go out on book distribution and sankirtana everyday. He would take the bus and that's how he learned sanskrit. He would study on the bus to and from Sankirtana. Pretty amazing. That's all I know about Kusakratha Prabhu. He was an advanced devotee, and we can learn from his example to stay fixed in Krishna Consciousness and return home back to Godhead at the end of this life.

by Vishoka Dasa

Posted October 20, 2005 on Chakra.org

Kusakratha Prabhu's life is an inspiration to the devotees of Lord Krishna. I first saw him in the San Francisco temple, where he was staying for a short time, just coming from the NY temple. He was sensitive to the cold weather, and so he wore pants or jeans under his dhoti. He chanted japa very, very slowly, carefully pronouncing each syllable of the maha-mantra, taking several hours to chant his rounds. This is a great example for us all, to remember to slow down and carefully enunciate the holy names during our japa.

I believe that he went to San Diego after that, where he told me that he would sometimes eat 20 japatis in a single sitting. Eventually he settled down in LA, and it was there at New Dwarka that I got to know him. I went to his room occasionally and we would talk for some time. He taught Sanskrit to the kids in gurukula and served with the BBT. Kusa was a transcendental genius, and a bit of an avadhuta. He was always in high spirits.

Often we would see each other at a distance, on Watseka, and he would immediately raise both arms above his head, in the Lord Caitanya mudra, walking briskly with a gleeful look on his face. I would raise my arms too as we both shouted out "Nitai-Gour!" He had a cowherd boy sense of humor and his speech was always full of Vaikuntha happiness.

Kusakratha was resolute in purpose, reminding me of the Gita verse, ekaha kuru nanadana, "Those who are on this path are resolute in purpose, and their aim is one."BG2.41. He utilized every moment for his service, being requested by devotees to produce the Krishna Library Corporation editions, the translations of some of the Gosvami's books.

He was a transcendental genius, being precocious as a boy, in music and literature. Along with being a genius, he was eccentric like an avadhuta, always inattentive to the exterior world, because of his constant internal absorption in Krishna and His service. A typical genius, like Einstein, is usually eccentric and absent minded, being absorbed in material lofty subjects like physics, trying to figure out the Lord's material energy, with quantum theories and so on, but such genius is inconsequential to the real goal of life.

Fortunately for us, Kusakratha's genius was not wasted on material calculations, but was properly used for glorification of Lord Sri Krsna, by rendering transcendental literatures of the Gosvamis into English, only for the glorification of Sri Uttamasloka, meaning "one who is worshipped by the best of selected Sanskrit verses."

Srila Prabhupada writes in Cc that he recommends for some devotees to read Lalita-madhava and other works of the Gosvamis, [and I may add this recommendation, after one has read Srila Prabhupada's books 2-3 times], and these are his exact words- "Actually going to Vrndavana involves taking shelter of the six Gosvamis by reading the Bhakti-rasamrta-sindhu, Vidagdha-madhava, Lalita-madhava and the other books that they have given.

In this way one can understand the transcendental loving affairs between Radha and Krsna."Adi 8.31P. Srila Prabhupada made several other statements like this, and I believe there was a morning walk comment that he aspired that his disciples would finish the translations of the works of the Gosvamis. Kusa took up this service, requested by devotees, so that we could take advantage of Srila Prabhupada's recommendations above.

After 1977 some devotees formed the Vaisnava Institute, which was later changed to the Krishna Library Corporation. The purpose was to fulfill Srila Prabhupada's desire that the works of the six Gosvamis be printed. The Krishna Library was mainly Kusakratha dasa as the translator, with several members of the board to oversee his productions.

The board members were comprised of several devotees like Rabindranatha and Srikanta, mature disciples of Srila Prabhupada, who all encouraged Kusa to do this service. In this way, the edict of Srila Krishna dasa Kaviraja was fulfilled, that being that no one should attempt to write or translate transcendental literatures without being sanctioned and blessed by other Vaisnavas.

So, Kusa was single-minded in unalloyed devotion to his work. For this reason, when I came over for a visit, I had to think of many philosophical points and questions to pose to him about one of his books, or some passage and it's meaning. I had to keep the philosophic topics flowing, because if the conversation got a hole in it and started to sink, then he would say, "time to get back to work." I never wanted to leave because such discussions were so nectarine and rare. He never wasted a moment.

When he first went to India and arrived in Vrndavan, he told me it only took him 5 minutes to know that he belonged in Vrindavan, and he decided to move his whole operation to Vrndavan. He said that he would sneak into the prasadam hall at odd times, when nobody was around. Because, if there was a crowd, then inevitably someone would say, "hey kush, how's it going?" and then he'd be captured for about 20 minutes of prajalpa and distraction.

He didn't care for that, he just liked doing his work for Krishna. Kusa also told me that only a few people on the planet were able to make conversation in Sanskrit, and he would sometimes converse with them in that way.

I remember one night, I accosted Kusa on Watseka, and we stopped on the sidewalk, leaning against the fence, telling a few jokes, with Kusa laughing hard. [Humor of a transcendental nature, of course.] I was thinking, "here I am, hanging out with Kusa on Watseka, cracking jokes, what an oddity." After a few minutes, he was back to work. It didn't matter if it was day or night, he was always going full throttle at his work.

He told me about the most amazing book order I've ever heard of. It must have been a Guinness world record for a book sale in a single day, for a solitary self-publisher. Here was just one man writing, translating, producing and printing and selling hundreds of titles, all by himself. One day he got a call from a German devotee, who asked him how much it would cost to get two copies of every book Kusa had in stock, plus the shipping to Germany. Kusa calculated for a while and then told the German devotee it was, [if memory serves], about 5,000 dollars. The German devotee told Kusa that he was writing out the check, as they spoke. What a sale. What a flood of nectar for the German devotees.

He had a funny way of getting prasadam sometimes. Cooking was not his proclivity, as it took too much of his time. Living in the green apartments there in New Dwarka, he said there were always an occasional Vaisnava gathering, or some birthday party, in one of the green apartments. Kusa had this uncanny sixth sense of knowing exactly when the prasadam was about to be served, and at the opportune time he would crash the party with his big steel plate, and the servers would load him up to the top.

In that way he would get prasadam that lasted another day. At feasts in the temple he would come with a huge bowl and tell the server in his ever-jovial voice, "don't be shy," and they would fill up his bowl, and that would hold him over to the next day.

His rooms were always full of books, and in my mind it was compared to a pastime of the sixteenth century, when Srila Jiva Gosvami formed the first traveling sankirtan party, which consisting of Shrinivas, Narottam, and Shyamananda. They left Vrindavan with the manuscripts of the original works by Rupa, Sanatan, Gopal Bhatta, Raghunath Das, and Jiva, in a large wooden chest.

These manuscripts were the only existing copies of these works, and so this wooden chest was said to be a treasure of "the most precious gems." During their journey, one night the chest was stolen by some dacoits, and afterwards there ensued the very nice pastime of how Srinivas recovered the stolen manuscripts and how King Birhambir became his disciple.

In that way, Kusa's room was a treasure chest of the "most precious gems" of thousands of books of the Gosvamis and Vedic literatures. These books were stacked up all over the living room and other rooms, and it was difficult to walk around his apartment. Kusa lived and breathed books as his life and soul. He produced thousands of books, and was always producing new titles.

In fact, he also wrote several books of his own poetry, in Sanskrit and English, several of which I have, very amazing books. He explained to me the business end of it all, how there was a mystical hand in the printing and selling of books. He said how he would send new titles to the printers, get hundreds printed, and then get a printing bill of several thousand dollars, with no plan of how to pay it. Then shortly after he would sell a whole bunch of books, which would cover the printing bill.

Then the same thing would happen all over again, he would print a whole bunch of books, get a huge bill, and then sell enough books to pay off the bill, and then be broke again. He was going on, with faith that Krsna would provide, and the books expanded unlimitedly.

Kusa employed a few devotees to do the typing of the manuscripts into text form, but he did a lot of this typing himself. I asked if he was a good typist, and how fast he was. He told me that he only used his two forefingers, never learning the keyboard like most people do. He taught himself a method of memorizing keys only for his two fingers, and said he was "the fastest two finger picker west of the Mississippi." He gave me a little demonstration and he was right, his fingers were blazing fast.

Kusa was totally resolute and fixed in a single purpose of doing this book service, which was his service to Srila Prabhupada and Lord Krishna. For this reason, Kusa was completely oblivious to the world around him, because he was always thinking of what to do next. You might call him an avadhuta, because he wasn't so much aware as to the degree of neglect of his personal appearance and so on. He just didn't see the external world around him.

He had this bundi where one section of the coat was completely disintegrated, should have been thrown away long ago, but he wore it like nothing was strange. His apartment was very untidy, and the books were stacked up with little organization. He told me that a certain devotee would sometimes come and clean the apartment and arrange the books in order.

But, in a few weeks it would all be back to normal, chaotic and untidy. This is totally excusable though, because Kusa just didn't have time to think about anything but his service. He showed me his astrological chart, done by Srikara dasa, and I noticed that Venus was in the 12th house, which always means untidy appearance and unkempt house, and so on. Of course, Mercury was very strong in the chart, indicating "a man of letters," an author, or dealer of books.

His apartment at one time got infested with roaches, and I could see highways of roaches commuting on the wall, more congested than the Santa Monica freeway. But, being a roach in Kusa's house wasn't so bad for the roach, I guess, as Srila Bhaktivinode wrote that he prayed to be born in a devotee's house, even as an insect. Kusa was completely oblivious to the roaches, didn't see them at all, when some other person would be freaking out.

Kusa handed me one of his new books, and it had a baby roach crawling on it. It surprised me that Kusa didn't see the roach, maybe he did see it, I wasn't sure. I said, "even the cockroaches are liberated." Kusa laughed inaudibly so hard, that his whole body shook while rocking back and forth. Those were great times in my life.

One day, by great fortune, he treated me to a narration of Vidagdha-madhava in the local Laundromat. I was walking around the temple at night and saw Kusa carrying his laundry, so I walked with him to the Laundromat behind the temple. The subject of Vidagdha-madhava came up, and Kusa decided to narrate to me a synopsis of the pastime of Vidagdha-madhava, written by Srila Rupa Gosvami, which are very intricate pastimes of Lord Krsna and His devotees.

While he did laundry, he recounted the whole story off the top of his head. Ordinarily, if I were to read such a book, I would have to read it over and over again, just to slightly understand just a fraction of one such amazing pastimes of Krsna. But Kusa knew it all by heart, and recited it like he perfectly understood it. And hearing it, my heart understood it at the moment, but I've forgotten it all since then.

I was thinking of how only a very few devotees on the whole planet even knew these pastimes, even read the book, and even fewer understood them, and I was lucky to hear the straight narration of pastimes, in synopsis, from Kusa, and it was a river of nectar.

Here are a few of some of the many verses composed by Kusakratha, and these particular verses are personal aspirations of the highest order, his fervent petitions to Lord Krishna for service-

From "Sri Vedanta-rahasya" by Kusakratha dasa, English only-

Some day will I, acutely aware of how Lord Krsna is concerned for the welfare of the conditioned souls, earnestly preach the glories of Lord Krsna's holy name to the people of this world?

Some day, simply by speaking the word 'Krsna' will I place lotus-limbed Lord Krsna in the hearts of all who hear me?

When, as I walk in Vrndavana and see the holy places of Lord Krsna's pastimes, will tears flow from my eyes, and my heart become stunned, overcome with bliss and love?

When, chanting japa of Lord Krsna's names, will I suddenly see Radha and Krsna, splendid like a lightning flash and a dark monsoon cloud?

When, walking in charming Vrndavana forest, suddenly seeing lotus-eyed Lord Krsna, and falling down to offer dandavat obeisances, will I recite many sweet and poetic prayers?

Yes, my dear godbrother, Kusakratha prabhu, I'm sure you've attained the treasured goals of these pure desires expressed in hundreds of your original verses. I'm sure you are walking in Vrndavana right now, with tears flowing from your eyes. You were always thinking, speaking, chanting and hearing the holy names of our Lordships, Sri Sri Radha-Krsna, every minute of your life. You have placed lotus-limbed Lord Krsna in many devotees' hearts, and even my hard heart as well.

Thank you so much for your life of dedication, all glories to your service, I will always think of you, and Krishna willing, may we all be reunited some day, in the green pastures of Goloka.

Begging to remain your servant, and a friend feeling your separation, Vishoka dasa.

by Maha-saumya prabhu 7/30/2010

On Sunday, February 3, 1974, I went to the San Diego Rādhā Krishna Temple for the first time. Kuśakratha Prabhu was there giving the lecture. I remember it all so clearly. My friends and I had heard that the Krishna people had a free feast on Sunday, and I was very interested in that, but had no idea what I was in for. We arrived early, about 3 pm, and the aroma of Indian spices from the Lord’s kitchen and the sweet incense was intoxicating.

It seemed to evoke some past life memories. Anyway, we had to wait and so wandered off to Balboa Park where it is likely we consumed our usual ration of cannabis. When we got back to the temple the program had begun.

Kuśakratha Dāsa Brahmācarī was sitting in the middle of the temple room speaking into a microphone, wearing several hooded sweat shirts. He looked like Fra Girolamo Savanarola, the 15th century Italian monk who took control of Florence, burned secular art and books, and was himself burned by the order of the Holy See (I’m fairly sure they hung him first). Google an image of Savonarola, and you will see why I was astonished to see him emerge from the 15th century and hear him reciting Sanskrit and preaching the Bhagavad Gītā!

And what was up with all those sweatshirt layers, on a warm Southern California day? The man was clearly an alien, but we were both (well, all three of us) Italian and there was an immediate bond. Lots of people thought Kuśakratha was Jewish. He told me that once, while on sankīrtana, someone asked him, “What’s a nice Jewish boy like you doing in a movement like this?
”
After the lecture was kīrtana—a kīrtana I will never forget. There were the Americans jumping around like spastics and Hindus standing stock still. And the first Deities I ever saw—their Lordships Śrī Śrī Rādhā Giridhāri—were effulgent. And God was a male and a female! This religion had so many attractive features! I felt like I had come home. But the image of Kuśakratha stands out the most, for it was in his erudition that I was convinced that Śrī Caitanya was the Golden Avatāra. None of the other devotees in the San Diego temple knew the śastras like Kuśakratha did. So I apprenticed myself to him. This was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Kuśa, as we affectionately called him (Koosh), was a sight to behold when he was chanting japa. It took him all day long, because he would sit in the strangest of places (like next to the washing machine) and chant very slowly: Hare Krisna Hare Krisna Krisna Krisna Hare Hare…no kidding, not Hare Krishna. I never got around to asking him why he pronounced the s in Krishna like the s in sampradāya. You know how it is; when you are with an exalted person you don’t ask inconsequential questions. But his pronunciation of other Sanskrit words set the example.

Long before I officially began studying Sanskrit with him, I learned that pūjā was pronounced like poojah, not pooj or even worse, poozh. It was difficult to hang out with Kuśa and not share his concern for the utter—and indeed, contrary—lack of interest in proper Sanskrit pronunciation that typifies American devotees to this day, for as he always pointed out Sanskrit is not difficult to pronounce.

Many devotees actually take pride in pronouncing it all wrong, especially if their guru says it wrong. And I take pride in pointing out that this is nonsensical! I got that from Kuśa.
He was invariably kind. Much kinder than the authorities, who had to recognize that they were dealing not only with a scholar, but also a saint and an eccentric avadhūta. Let’s face it, Kuśa had some bizarre habits.

He could be oblivious to all ritual standards, and dealt with sickness by eating a lot and sleeping it off! I suppose this worked for him because he was slim well into his forties. Yet aside from the prodigious amounts of prasāda—especially halava—he could consume, he was austere. He always slept directly on the floor and was never interested in anything but Krishna. But he had a sense of humor, showing up at the New Dvāraka Sunday feast with a sign that said, “Curd Pickers Union 108.”

People tended to love Kuśa. Perhaps they were attracted to his scholarship, sense of humor, gentle nature, or his bizarre antics. Or maybe it was his independence. He was a very strong person; if he had any weakness, I have no idea what it was. Puskara Prabhu, who knew him since 8th grade and so had a more informal relationship with him—without the awe and reverence I experienced—might know. But Kuśa was deified in my mind from the very beginning. He could do no wrong.

However, he frequently behaved like a wild Zen master or a love-crazed babaji. I guess you could say he was sometimes rather extreme…

Let me tell you about the most bizarre Kuśa episode that I personally witnessed. You see, Kuśa was not at first comfortable around women. For the first few years that I knew him, he avoided them like the plague, literally. Once a woman was standing in the doorway of the prasāda room in San Diego, and to keep a safe distance, Kuśa, rather than pass by the lady on his way out, serenely picked up his plate, opened the window, and jumped out. “Krisna, Krisna…”

Later he was a changed man, and would even discuss business with women if he had a reason to. I believe this is because he had finally transcended all attachment to women and became comfortable in their presence, not like the rest of us attached men—always comfortable. Too comfortable! In his younger years he was taking no chances. Many women will find his avoidance offensive, but I can assure them he meant no disrespect, and intention is the key. Anyway, I am confident that Kuśakratha was a real brahmācarī, and that is not something that I would say lightly, because I am suspicious of the brahmācarī asrama. But Kuśa was a very authentic person.

At one point our respective careers were finished at San Diego, and I was fortunate enough to have Kuśa’s association in Los Angeles. I lived with him in his office at the BBT as a (so-called) brahmacārī, and later, after my first marriage collapsed, he took me in and helped me to bandage my wounds. Once my first daughter had a fever, and having heard that water spat on a child from the mouth of a brāhmana was curative, I brought the girl to Kuśa for the holy spit. If Kuśa was not a brāhmaṇa, then nobody I knew was a brāhmana!

I began studying Sanskrit with Kuśa in 1978. He had some photocopied exercises written out in his own hand, intended for school children. So I figured if they can do it, I can do it. He kept the exercises very simple, and I was able to pick it up. I have since gone on to teach Sanskrit in college, thanks to Kuśa, although I could understand sandhi rules better than I could teach them.

This is because Kuśa was lax about teaching sandhi, understanding that ISKCON devotees had a passive understanding of it just by long association with Prabhupāda’s books. But once you have a passive understanding of something and you make it work for you, getting a solid grip on it does not seem quite profitable. However, Kuśa’s pedagogical presumptions and methods have made Sanskrit accessible to many put off by the elite vision of most Sanskrit professors.

Kuśa’s vision was like Prabhupāda’s—just get started on a project, and the Lord will help you. There may be difficulties with this approach, but not starting is far worse.

I’ll always remember him sitting in his swivel chair in his office, chanting japa with his big Monier Williams Sanskrit dictionary open upon his lap. He would sit there for hours turning the pages, grazing while chanting. He once told me I had good Sanskrit handwriting. He was a very encouraging, enabling sort of person, and he helped me in many ways to get through my early years as a devotee.

One of the most important things he taught me was to trust Prabhupada and Krishna, not any ISKCON authority. He didn’t teach me to despise them or disrespect them, but he emphasized that I must use my own judgment. I knew then that this was good advice, and I still know it. Being a decade older than me, he was an older Godbrother in many ways.

Kuśa introduced me to the rasa śastras, the work of the Vrndāvana Gosvāmins, and of course the Caitanya Bhāgavata. This is stuff that I don’t visit very often these days, for I stick mainly to the Gītā. Kuśa taught it to me very thoroughly when I was only 18 years old, and then he explained its nuances when I was in my late 20’s. I always loved the way he was into the most esoteric scriptures, but at the same time, he lived and breathed the Bhagavad Gītā.

Kuśa was also one of the most tolerant devotees I ever met. Of course, he had his human side, but I think it is very interesting that his occasional ill mood seemed to always correspond with some nonsense on my behalf. But he only chastised me twice. And he was very, very humble

I owe so much to this man. I’ll always remember him. I love him.

Sincerely, Mahāsaumya Dāsa.