Sex and the Swami

Mayavadi Literature Gives Impetus to Illicit Sex Life

Shrila Prabhupada taught in the most practical terms how impersonalism—even that form that is claimed to be followed by strictly celibate renunciates—leads to sex life. This is a fact, and how this works is easily explained.

In the material world all living entities are running on the modes of passion and ignorance which produce the desire to reproduce. Each one who has been born in this miserable place of birth and death has been undergoing this delusion for countless lifetimes. Even though sex is the source of all misery and is the chain to the infinite cycle of birth and death, still a victim of lust who is caught up in the lower modes of material nature considers sex as the highest pleasure. 

Now, the Mayavadi considers himself as one with the Supreme Lord—the all-encompassing Brahman. Since he considers himself as being on par with God Almighty, therefore he mistakes that his position is one of enjoying on par with God. It is this misconception that keeps the Mayavadi trapped to material nature, and this is the meaning that “one who studies Mayavadi literature becomes doomed.”

This gross defect is clearly seen in The Journey Home wherein Radhanatha Swami describes an uneasy interlude he claims he had with a seductress in Afghanistan. From page 77 we read:

“Trembling I sat down on a lonely roadside, closed my eyes in meditation, lifted my harmonica to my lips, and poured out a song from my heart. Sometime later when I opened my eyes, a shapely young woman stood in front of me, her dark blonde hair flying on the cold wind. She looked upon me with pity. “Aren’t you freezing here in the middle of the night without proper clothing? She asked. She shivered as she gazed at me with sparkling blue eyes and I told her what had happened to me. 

‘I’m from Holland,’ she answered tenderly, ‘but I have been living in Kabul for several years. You may come to my home and keep warm tonight.’ Grateful, I followed her. From the frigid street outside she escorted me through a door into a warm beautiful room. Bedecked with gold and green curtains, it contained a white sofa and a fine dining table with chairs. She welcomed me to sit on the soft sofa. This was like nothing I had experienced since I had left my family in Highland Park, which seemed like ages ago. The Dutch woman invited me to the dinner table where she served warm bread with butter, baked vegetables and chocolate cake for dessert. I considered that it might have been a hidden blessing that I’d missed the bus.

After some casual discussion she invited me to sleep. ‘You must be terribly tired after sitting in the cold for so long.’ She led me across the room where there were two beds. ‘Here’s your bed. I’ll sleep in my bedroom.’ 

Suddenly from another room, a giant of a man appeared. My hostess introduced him, ‘This is my bodyguard. He’s an Afghan warrior obedient to me.’ I looked upon this gargantuan figure standing about 6’4” with a body like a mountain, each limb bulging muscles like boulders. His long oily hair was as black as coal and an unkempt beard covered his face. I sat down on my bed and the Afghan warrior sat on the other. Squinting, his pitch black eyes pierced mine. He then stretched his fists above his head with a prolonged growling yawn, his body radiating with the stench of sweat. My hostess continued, ‘He is my protector. I have seen him crush a man’s skull with one blow of his fist. You may now sleep.’ She crossed the room to an adjoining room. Before disappearing to an adjoining room through a beaded curtain, she switched off the light. ‘I will go to my bedroom now.’

The Afghani warrior was my roommate and oddly enough I felt safe by his side. The house was so warm and comfortable that as I lay my weary body in bed I felt fortunate. How would I have survived the freezing night if this friendly woman had not taken pity on me? Pulling up the soft blanket, I savored the experience as I drifted off to sleep.

Minutes later I awoke to my hostess parting the beaded curtain between our rooms. She was wearing only a transparent silk nightgown. Incense burned and soft music played. She approached my bed and spoke sweet words into my ear.  ‘You are so young and good.’ Her eyes were glazed with passion. Slipping off her gown she presented to me her naked body, and then wrapping her arms around me she laid her perfumed body over mine. Bewildered, I struggled to focus on the purpose of my journey. 

‘I’m sorry. I don’t want this. Please let me sleep,’ I pleaded, Undaunted, she tried to arouse me in various ways. ‘Please leave me alone,’ was all I could say. Tormented, I laid there like a cold dead fish. 

In a frenzy of passion, she whispered in my ear, ‘If you don’t satisfy my desire, my bodyguard will crush your skull. You can’t escape.’ 

Scorned, she cried for his help. The warrior sprang from his bed, bounded across the room, and stood over us. ‘Submit. Submit or die,’ he growled.

My mind was reeling. As my seductress continued her efforts to overcome me I lay under her trembling. Meanwhile the Afghani warrior towered over us. He yanked my hair and roared, ‘Submit or die. Submit or die.’ The words were like bombs exploding in my head. Questions rushed through my mind. Was this a nightmare? Must I surrender to her or die? Why was this happening to me? 

In a flash, with all my strength, I heaved the woman off me, grabbed my bag and shoes and raced to the door, leaving my sleeping bag behind. She screamed. The bodyguard roared and lunged to capture me but I dodged him. With all my might I bolted through that door and burst into the street. The warrior was close behind. Seething with wrath, he wailed. I ran without once turning back terrorized by the thought of his mammoth fist crushing though my fragile skull. I ran and I ran. Somehow I escaped.’

OK—our hero escaped and that is well and good. That is, if this fantastic event actually happened which is unlikely. But this is a description of a lusty interlude with a bare naked woman that is written by a sannyasi guru in ISKCON, in the disciplic succession from Shrila Prabhupada and from Lord Shri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu. So ask yourself, does this titillating episode seem like appropriate subject matter in a book by an author in the fourth order of life? Do sannyasis write such material meant for risqué novels, or are they avowed to preach pure bhakti? What should any sane Gaudiya reader think if such a description were found in the literature of any past acharya of the sampradaya? This form of braggadocio is unbefitting a genuine swami.

But, in fact such impetus to sex life is directly related to Mayavada. And this is something that we will explore in more detail tomorrow in Part Eighteen …