Another thing about Yamuna-devi struck me as amazing. About the time of the first Bombay pandal, when we staying in Akash Ganga, a high-rise apartment building in an affluent part of central Bombay, she would stay back and clean. She would clean the whole place, for hours. And while cleaning, she would sing in a very ecstatic mood. The rest of us were going here and there—for service, of course, but there were incidental benefits: seeing exotic India, meeting all sorts of cultured and interesting people, tasting varieties of delicious prasada—and she was staying back and cleaning. She put her heart into it and would be singing in an ecstatic mood.
Later, in April 2007, when she visited me in Carpinteria, I asked her about this, and she said that Srila Prabhupada had put greater emphasis on bhagavata-marga because he wanted his books produced, so they would be there for all time, and because he wanted his books distributed, so the income from the sales would support the expansion of the mission. So he didn’t have much time to personally train disciples in pancaratrika-vidhi. But he did train her, and she considered personal service to him to be in the same category as personal service to the Deity. And of course, she is right. Once, a devotee came forward to fan Srila Prabhupada and Srila Prabhupada stopped him, saying that he wasn’t a brahmana. So, cleanliness is one of the basic principles of Deity worship. But Yamuna-devi didn’t distinguish between cleaning the guru’s ashram and cleaning the Deity room. As she told me, “In Bombay, I learned to take joy in that cleaning. Whether you are serving the spiritual master or the arca-vigraha, the cleaning is external and internal. It is a very spiritual engagement—as powerful as distributing books.”
She explained that Srila Prabhupada would teach each servant about the importance and standards of cleanliness according to the servant’s capacity to understand. And she told me how strictly he had trained her. He had his four-tiered cooker, and if he found a black spot on the bottom of any of the pots, he would really chastise the servant. She would use the word “whipping.” He would chide the servant, “This is not Vaisnava. This is Muslim. [laughter] No Vaisnava will ever leave a black spot on any of the pots in the kitchen.” Prabhupada’s cooker was always to shine like gold.
Based on Srila Prabhupada’s instructions, Yamuna developed a whole system for cleaning his quarters in Vrindavan—an elaborate five-step procedure, going from bottom to top and top to bottom. First, she would get the big dirt off the bottom, then she would go up as far as she could reach, dusting, and then she would go back to the bottom, cleaning everything as perfectly as she could. If there was anything wrong, Prabhupada would notice and tell her about it. And keeping the rooms clean in Vrindavan was very hard: with the simmering sands of Ramana-reti and the whole place being a construction zone, there was always dirt and corrosion—everywhere. The walls of Prabhupada’s rooms were pale yellow, and the floors were black stone. The floors were covered with rugs, and the rugs were covered with white sheets.
One morning when Srila Prabhupada came back from his walk, after Yamuna had gone through her five-step procedure and everything looked as clean as could be, he told her, “Please clean my room, Yamuna. Haven’t I taught you to clean?” “No, Srila Prabhupada,” she said. “How may I improve my cleaning?” He didn’t say anything. On his desk were a picture of Srila Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati, his eyeglass case, his tilaka, pens, a flower vase, and a staple gun. Srila Prabhupada took the staple gun, which was about two and a half inches long, removed it from its plastic case, lifted up the metal staple holder, and ran his little finger, his pinkie, across the thin metal strip between the staple holder and the hinge. . . . Dust. Dust. “When will you learn how to clean?”
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