Hare Krishnas in War-Torn Grozny

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Hare Krishnas in War-Torn Russia

 

By Michael Specter, The New York Times,

 

 

Krishnas Cast Bread on Boiling Waters in Russia

 

Grozny, Russia - It is never hard to spot the relief workers spread

among the desperate people of this

shattered city: they are the ones in the white Land Cruisers with

bold, colourful flags flying from the

hoods. They wear Gore-Tex hiking boots, carry satellite phones in

their day packs, and usually report

to headquarters in Geneva, Paris or Bonn.

 

Except, of course, for the crew based in Boarding School No.1.

 

They mostly dress in pumpkin-colbred balloon pants and wear sandals

even in the coldest weather. If

they need to make a phone call, they stand in line at a telephone

point like everyone else. The man

shave their heads and the women keep theirs covered.

 

They are up every morning by 3:30 to chant and pray, and they have

plenty to pray about - with the

heavy fighting that often occurs in their neighbourhood each night,

the residue of Russian

counterinsurgency campaign that began on Dec. 11, 1994.

 

There may be places in the world where simply seeing a bunch of Hare

Krishna members would make

people turn tail and run. But Grozny isn't one of them. Here, they

have reputation like the one Mother

Teresa has in Calcutta: it's not hard finding people to swear they are

saints. In a city full of lies, greed

and corruption, the Krishna's deliver the goods. Each day they serve

more than 1,000 hot meals, as

many as any organisation in the city.

 

"Whatever they do God helps them do it", said Raisa Malocheva, 72, who

has been in Grozny every

minute of the last year, when it has practically been levelled. "They

are the only people left in my life I

can rely on." At least two dozen people waiting for lunch applauded

when she spoke. There are not

hard sells from the Krishna team in Grozny. It wouldn't do them any

good.

 

"These people have been through enough," said Viktor Makarov, a slight

31-year-old Krishna

member from St. Petersburg who has been living in Grozny for six

months. "They are destroyed.

They hardly need us telling them to look on the bright side."

 

Working in a makeshift kitchen with ingredients they drag around town

in a 10-years-old discarded

Russian ambulance, Krishna members serve simple vegetarian meals and

bake what some people

consider the best bread in Grozny. "I know what Americans often think

of us," Mr. Makarov said.

"They think we are some sort of annoying cult. But we are not. Our

goals are all spiritual. If people

want to learn more about us that is great. But usually they just want

food. And that's the reason we

came here."

 

Unlike New York or Chicago, or even Moscow, where most of Russia's

several thousand Krishna

members are based, this is not a city where they would feel

comfortable wandering the streets banging

tambourines and dancing. There are no temples here, or meetings to

discuss the International Society

for Krishna Consciousness. There is just the rule that the members of

the sect must live by: no people

within 10 miles of their residence should go hungry.

 

The job is never easy. The school is in the eastern side of the city,

and fighting continues there each

night. There are no windows and few doors in the abandoned shell in

which Grozny's entire cadre of

12 Krishna members spend most days and nights. There is only enough

electricity to power a few dim

light bulbs.

 

"At first I was in shock," said Shula Vasiny, 28, a former banker who

said she gave up her life of

increasing success in St. Petersburg to find something more

spiritually meaningful.

 

"I would wake up at night and it was like I was in the forest on the

middle of a huge thunderstorm.

There was lightning, and thunder, But there was never any rain. You

could see people shooting at

each other. We learned to stay down low. And everyone leaves us

alone."

 

The building in which they work looks like most others around it: it

is blackened, badly shelled and

surrounded by debris. Inside. guests quickly take off their shoes and

breathe in the deep, rich - and

totally incongruous - smell of baking bread. There are seven ovens,

which only work when power

permits, and many huge racks to cool the loaves.

 

For some reason this place has become a 'Russian' kitchen. Most of the

refugees in Grozny are ethnic

Russians with nowhere else to go. The Krishnas say they have no

politics other than trying to please

God and serve anyone who asks, but they are all from St. Petersburg

and most people who ask are

Russian.

 

The future has started to seem grim for the Hare Krishnas of Grozny.

The central administration has

threatened to take their ambulance away. Without it they wont be able

to buy flour. They haven't heard

from their bosses in Moscow for months. A local merchant recently

demanded rent on the shelled,

hollow building they use to keep hundreds of people alive. And the war

isn't getting any friendlier.

 

"Every job has its ups and downs," said Mr. Makarov, whose sense of

optimism sometimes makes

even his colleagues laugh. "I intend to be here when Grozny is a city

people want to live in again."