Volume 4 - Chapter 7

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Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 4, Chapter 7

 

December 23, 2001

 

The road leading up to the old orphanage on the hill was icy, and so we

needed several tries before our van reached the top. We'd get halfway, and

then the wheels would spin on the ice and we'd begin sliding backwards. As

we struggled, I could see little faces peering out of the orphanage windows,

anxious that we'd make it. Deprived by destiny of mothers and fathers and

brothers and sisters, they were hankering for some Christmas cheer, like all

children at this time of year. When we finally succeeded in maneuvering

beyond the icy patches, all the faces lit up and then suddenly disappeared.

It wasn't hard to imagine where the children had gone -- I envisioned all of

them running out of their rooms and down the stairs to greet us.

 

It wasn't the first time I'd been to that house in Chelyabinsk, which has

served as an orphanage since the communist era. I had come a year earlier

during my last visit to the Ural Mountains region in central Russia. As I

got out of the van, I saw that the house hadn't improved much -- in fact,

the place had deteriorated. The roof gutters hung over the side, paint was

peeling off the walls, several windows were broken, and in general the

creaky wooden building was badly in need of repair.

 

But there had been *some* improvements. As a result of the kirtan we'd had,

the stories I'd told, and the wonderful feast we'd distributed the previous

year, many children had taken a serious interest in devotional service. It

hadn't taken much to convince the orphans about the happiness of Krsna

consciousness. Srila Prabhupada once said that when a spark from a fire

lands on wet grass it's extinguished at once, when it lands on damp grass it

smolders for some time, but when it lands on dry grass it immediately

ignites a fire. Similarly, when Krsna consciousness is presented to sinful

materialists nothing usually happens, when it's presented to pious people

they may become curious, but when it's presented to those seeking real

relief from the miseries of material life, it often ignites within their

hearts a fire of devotion to the Lord.

 

A few days after my last visit, several of the teenage boys in the orphanage

had begun chanting Hare Krsna on beads, and gradually they had worked their

way up to sixteen rounds a day. Their new-found enthusiasm was infectious,

and soon other children became interested in chanting. Because the

orphans were poor and couldn't afford to buy beads, they had ingeniously

carved them from the branches of trees on the property. Before long, most of

the fifty children were waking early in the morning to chant together. In

the evenings they would assemble and read the Bhagavad-gita, the older boys

trying their best to explain the philosophical concepts to the younger ones.

The more talented children began drawing and painting Krsna's pastimes, and

within a few weeks every room of the orphanage boasted several "windows to

the spiritual world." Devotees from the area continued their weekly visits,

bringing prasadam and having kirtan with the children. Those devotees soon

became the kids' heroes.

 

But when some of the children refused to eat meat by feigning illness or

lack of appetite, the authorities had finally had enough. They didn't

appreciate Krsna consciousness like the children. At first they had agreed

that devotees could visit and teach the orphans devotional practices, but

after some time, when they saw the spontaneous attraction the children had

developed for Krsna consciousness and how every one of them had embraced

devotional service, they put a stop to the practices. They forbade the

children to chant Hare Krsna, read Srila Prabhupada's books, or decorate the

orphanage with devotional drawings and paintings. They couldn't forbid the

devotees' visits, however, because they provided the children's main meal of

the week. But the authorities stopped everything else -- or so they thought.

 

In fact, Krsna consciousness had given the children such soothing relief

from their bleak orphanage existence that nothing could hold them back. They

began going to sleep early to wake up before dawn and chant softly on their

beads so as not to wake the authorities. They would also meet in their rooms

or on the playground and secretly share stories about Krsna. When three of

the boys reached legal age and "graduated" from the orphanage, they went

straight to the local temple and joined. Orphans who found a place in foster

homes (a step up from the orphanage) continued their Krsna conscious

practices and began interesting their new stepbrothers and stepsisters in

devotional service.

 

A spiritual revolution was taking place in Chelyabinsk, with the orphanage

at its center! Rumor had it that the head of the orphanage was about to

really clamp down on all devotional activity -- but then she mysteriously

lost her job. When I heard this news, I suspected Krsna was taking a direct

hand in the orphans' lives, and I saw the work of the Supersoul in

everyone's heart when the new director turned out to be favorable to the

devotees' visits and concern for the children. When she heard I was coming

to Chelyabinsk, she asked the devotees to invite me to the orphanage to meet

the children, most of whom had no memory of my previous visit because many

new orphans had replaced the graduates and those who had gone to foster

homes.

 

When I entered the room where the children were assembled, the head of the

orphanage introduced me as a Hare Krsna monk from America. Most of the

children had never met a foreigner, and as I stood tall before them with my

shaved head, saffron robes, and tridanda, they stared in wonder. At that

point one of their teachers ordered them to stand and sing a song for me. As

they rose I couldn't help but feel pity for them -- their clothes were

obviously hand-me-downs, and some children didn't even have socks or

shoelaces. A number of the little girls' heads had been shaved due to lice,

and when I saw the dark circles under the children's eyes due to the rigors

of orphanage life, the whole scene reminded me of old black-and-white

pictures of distressed children in World War II. The lady at the piano cued

them, and as she began to play, the children started mechanically singing a

song about Christmas -- but with no Christmas presents and no families to

share them with, the children simply sang the blues.

 

Then the director asked a nine-year-old girl to come forward and recite a

poem. Uttamasloka translated for me as she began: "And life is full of

happiness at the time of the holiday season, when we meet and share the joys

of life with all our friends and loved ones . . ." Suddenly she stopped

short and her eyes welled up with tears. "But it's not actually like that,"

she said, and covering her face with her hands, she ran crying back to her

seat.

 

For a few moments no one said or did anything. Then I stood up and said, "OK

kids, we don't want this to be an unhappy holiday! Everybody come sit down

here on the floor with me!"

 

The children hesitated, unused to such informality. "It's OK," said the

director, and all the children ran forward and sat close to me.

 

"We'll make sure you have a nice holiday -- at least today," I said to the

little girl who had tried to recite the poem. After telling the kids a few

Krsna pastimes, which had them wide-eyed and opened-mouthed, I grabbed a

mrdanga and said, "And now our holiday will *really* begin!"

 

I asked them if they knew the Hare Krsna song we sing, but only three

children raised their hands, the ones who were still in the orphanage from

the previous year. We were beginning anew, so I went through the mantra

several times until they had learnt it. Then I started the kirtan. At first

the children seemed too shy to chant, but when they noticed last year's

veterans chanting enthusiastically, it caught on, and soon all fifty kids

were chanting at the top of their lungs. When one of them stood up

spontaneously to dance they all followed, and soon we were all dancing

around the room. The children were desperate to enjoy the holiday season and

gave the kirtan all they had, and in so doing everyone was swept away in

bliss. I had the kids take turns dancing in the middle of our big circle,

and even the orphanage teachers were amazed at their feats of twisting,

turning, and leaping. There was no containing them, and I began to wonder if

I had the energy to keep up. After an hour I brought the kirtan to a close,

and as I sat on the floor all the kids crowded around me. One boy said,

"That was a real party, sir!"

 

Just then several devotees brought in a multilayered cake. The children's

eyes lit up and they all ran for their plates. I served big pieces to

everyone, and they all came back for seconds. I told a few more pastimes of

Krsna as the children, completely satisfied by kirtan and prasadam, sat

listening intently.

 

Finally, as I stood up to go, the kids pushed one of the older boys forward

with a question: "Can we write to you?"

 

"Yes, of course," I said, "and I'll write back." Then there was a stampede

for pencils and paper -- they wanted to write their first letter right then

and there!

 

As they started to write, one boy looked up and said, "What do we call you?"

 

"Just call me Maharaja," I said.

 

"What does it mean?" he said.

 

"Something like a big father," I said, and all the kids clapped.

 

As we got into our van and started back down the icy road, with fifty or so

heartfelt letters tucked into my bag, I again saw all the little faces

peering from behind the windowpanes. But this time each one was smiling. I

laughed to myself and wondered how soon it would be before they'd all be

carving their japa beads and putting pictures of Krsna on the walls. It

didn't look like there'd be any impediment this time. The Hare Krsna

revolution in Chelyabinsk would continue in earnest.

 

 

krsnotkirtana-gana-nartana-kala-pathojani-bhrajita

sad-bhaktavali-hamsa-cakra-madhupa-sreni-viharaspadam

karnanandi-kala-dhvanir vahatu me jihva-maru-prangane

sri-caitanya daya-nidhe tava lasal-lila-sudha-svardhuni

 

 

"O my merciful Lord Caitanya, may the nectarean Ganges waters of Your

transcendental activities flow on the surface of my desertlike tongue.

Beautifying these waters are the lotus flowers of singing, dancing and loud

chanting of Krsna's holy name, which are the pleasure abodes of unalloyed

devotees. These devotees are compared to swans, ducks and bees. The river's

flowing produces a melodious sound that gladdens their ears."

 

[sri Caitanya-caritamrta, Adi-lila 2.2]