SOME places, like like people, have their own personality; they cast a spell of fascination on those who encounter them. And some sacred places, like some holy people, have a certain spirituality; they possess a halo whose mellow light envelopes like an aura the memory of having encountered them. Vrindavan turned out to be such a place, such a sacred place, for those whose memories are enshrined in the pages of this book.
This book is a collection of memoirs of those Western visitors and scholars for whom living in Vrindavan turned out to be a trans-formative experience. They came from different parts of the world-France, Germany, Australia, America and now live in different parts of the world. But what they share in common, and through these pages try to share with the reader as well, is the prismatic quality of their stay in Vrindavan. They belong to the charmed circle of those Westerners who, in one way or another, to a greater or lesser degree, were captivated by Vrindavan and who have tried to capture in their memory-pictures the magical quality of their experience.
Although this book will be read, we hope, even by scholars with relish, it is not meant to be a scholarly work, for it aims at exploring experiential ethos of the place rather than harvesting its history or graphy. With this in view we have not tried to standardize either the form or content of these essays. Thus, readers will find that the me city has been spelled in different ways by different contributors-Windavana, Vrindavan or Vrindaban; and that the same god has called Krsna or Krishna. These differences have been retained and spelings and expressions have been modified only when the hallistic element began to appear idiosyncratic, or when the natic began to appear aberrant.Â
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