How can we deign a method to get him back home?
Wondered the devotees on the battlefield
In his royal dress and armies it’s just not the same
He’s from the land of the cowherd men
Where the milkmaids churn butter
Red, white with black trim and Srimati Gandharvika’s hood
It’s quite the reason to get excited Giridhari’s waistcoat
As he dances it lifts a gentle breeze and delicately floats
Mums, roses and wildflowers combine to make the leis
This darsana will lead all out of the mundane maze
So let us not talk falsely now the hour is getting late
Pedaling easily down the long and winding
over the main street in to the southland near friends are confiding. Other pedalers are preparing for the promise of a better day ahead. The boats are coming in as Murkha and I pass the harbor and I take my leave at the Natasala and he continues to the bridge over the first highway trying to beat the clock passing the Mercado de las pulgas and charging left at the go light on to the long and winding where the ratha-bhojana-vrksa is letting out it’s last call for the sandhya. He joins the kalarupa and as they get to the mailbox of the asrama the raindrops begin to fall.
As the rain continues through the night the thakuras get into their baby blue nightdress where Giridhari wears white with blue trim and Mahaprabhu and Srimati Gandharvika have blue with white.
Heard the peacock calling as I was getting Krsna out of bed
“Krsna’s guru, Nath! Can you teach me how to dance?
Is this dress’ name
Mayur said I’m a dancer and I’m going to teach you too!
Your dear most sent me you know it’s true
Walk behind copying my moves you’ll see how it’s so much fun
Once you’ve learned it will delight everyone
Now I’ve joined the temple,
Thrown my former prospect to the fire
To raise my idea of vaisnava seva higher and higher
O hey Prabhu! Look at the leis
Full roses and petals lovely fruit of sun’s spring rays
What a day for pedaling! Precisely tailored for whatever level the pedalers are at. Murkha and I are off to see the tour when the luminaries race through town. From the most tricked out road or mountain rig down to those with streamers from the handlebar all are carrying enthusiastic pedalers. Murkha and I start along Main Street to the pathway along the beach. There is a plan to go on that way but ahead pedals a “punk” of the feminine persuasion with a two-word poem comprised of no more than seven letters who has a plan. Following the group is whisked around just in time see and hear the finish and be deposited at the entrance where the luminaries make their move to their team busses. The winner’s jerseys are handed out on the podium while the onlookers cheer. Murkha and I turn to go on to the sufferer thakura and Bhakta Blade’s kutir where he is taking the name. Purchasing gandha for the Deities bath Murkha and I spin along the beach once again. Pedaling the last few feet of the course leads on to the shop where I take my leave and Murkha goes through the treacherous triangle sneaking by a city bus that didn’t want to let him pass. down the ramp circling to the navapatra. Sprinting on the big street to the long and winding where the ratha-bhojana-vrksa pleads with Murkha to return for the sandhya along with the kalarupa they are greeted by Kesar Kulfi upon return
With the white hot pink and deep emerald green Bhakta Blade mounts a uniquely decorated horse and exclaims “Avast me hardies! That’s Marakatamani Puri!” and helps the Thakuras into their nightdress leaving Murkha to put on Giridhari’s mukut and kundalas disappearing into the chill of the spring evening.