Volume 4 - Chapter 8

[Guest guest]

Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 4 - Chapter 8

 

December 23, 2001 - January 18, 2002

 

After our visit to the orphanage in Chelyabinsk, Uttamasloka das and I

caught a flight to Moscow. It was the first time in many weeks that we'd

afforded the luxury to fly, and although Russian airline Aeroflot is

undoubtedly my least favorite, I welcomed the change. The rigors of driving

and taking trains across the vast expanse of Siberia and through the Urals

had taken its toll on me. I was completely exhausted. It wasn't simply the

mode of transportation, but living in a different apartment almost every

night, eating irregularly, and having practically no regular sleep.

Altogether, it had brought my health to a dangerously low level. I was aware

of it because my vision was sometimes blurring, my knees gave in when I

walked up stairs, and I was forgetting the most simple things. My body was

warning me to slow down.

 

On the flight to Moscow I began seriously considering my god-brother,

Atmarama prabhu's invitation to visit the Sydney temple. He had recently

offered to pay for my flight there as well as give a donation towards my

festival tour in Poland. He repeatedly mentioned the hot summer in

Australia. As I settled into my seat for the flight to Moscow, I asked

Uttamasloka how my Russian disciples would feel if I took time away to

briefly visit Australia. I didn't even hear his answer as I fell asleep. I

woke up three hours later as our plane began its descent into Moscow.

Uttamasloka was shaking me, trying to wake me from my unconscious state. As

I came to, he repeated what must have been his answer to my question hours

ago, "Your disciples will be disappointed if you shorten your Russian tour,

but they will certainly understand."

 

When we arrived at a disciple's apartment in Moscow, I called Atmarama and

accepted his invitation. As I had to wait two days for the flight to

Australia, I decided to go to Riga in Latvia to spend time with the devotees

there. Latvia was in the midst of the severest winter in memory, and when I

arrived at the airport the devotees apologized for the austere conditions. I

asked how cold it was, and they replied, "Minus 5°C."

 

To their amazement I replied, "Oh, that's warm," as I remembered the

chilling minus 47°C I had endured for weeks in Siberia. In fact, when we

left the airport and walked outside, I took off my jacket, wearing only my

heavy sweater on the way to the car.

 

After many years of legal battles, the Latvian devotees have finally gained

ownership of their temple building, situated on one of Riga's main streets.

The five-story building is over 100 years old, but in fairly good shape. Its

prominent location downtown adds to the stature of the temple restaurant

inside the building and the attendance at the Sunday feasts. The devotees

have also maintained a Food for Life program in Riga for nine years.

Hundreds of plates of prasadam are served daily from a temple kitchen on

street level.

 

Because I was in Riga for only two days, the devotees kept me busy with

classes, kirtans and individual meetings with my disciples. But I had to

struggle through every minute, as my health continued to deteriorate. I

began to seriously consider taking a month or two break, before this year's

Polish festival tour begins. I will be 53 in May, and Canakya Pandit's

aphorism about aging was becoming more apparent to me:

 

"A horse becomes old by remaining tied up, a woman ages by lack of attention

from her husband, a garment becomes old by being left in the sun, and a man

becomes old by constant travel."

[Niti Sastra, Chapter 4, Verse 7]

 

But I had many miles to go before experiencing the peace and solitude any

rest and recuperation would offer. On December 26, I boarded a flight for

Moscow where I then caught a 15-hour flight to Tokyo. I had requested the

travel agent for a day's stopover in Tokyo before continuing south to

Sydney. I wanted a break in the journey to ease the travel, but also out of

curiosity to see Japan. It is one of the few countries I haven't been to in

my years as a traveling preacher.

 

Visiting the many parts of God's creation is one of the ways in which a

sannyasi gains detachment from the world and inspiration to go back home,

back to the spiritual sky. Everywhere a sannyasi goes in the temporary,

material world he sees nothing that compares with the beauty of the

spiritual world he hears about in the Vedic scriptures.

 

"It is the duty of a mendicant to experience all varieties of God's creation

by traveling alone through all forests, hills, towns, villages, etc., to

gain faith in God and strength of mind as well as to enlighten the

inhabitants with the message of God."

[srimad-Bhagavatam 1.6.13, purport]

 

For some reason I had assumed Tokyo would be warm, and I wasn't prepared for

the chilly winter weather that was, in fact, in season. I had not brought

any warm clothes, and during my 36-hour layover (during which the Japanese

devotees kindly showed me their temple, restaurant and some of the country's

sites) I started to come down with bronchitis. Of course, the illness was

the cumulative affect of many months of intense service in austere

conditions, and by the time I reached Sydney two days later, even the warmth

of summer couldn't check the illness.

 

Nevertheless, although the bronchitis got worse day by day, I gave my best

to preaching during my 10-day visit to Australia and New Zealand and tried

not to let on how sick I was getting. After several days in Sydney, I

traveled north to the Gold Coast, Australia's summer resort area, and

participated in a wonderful evening Ratha-yatra festival in Byron Bay in New

South Wales on December 31. Over 45,000 people witnessed the chariot

festival that had many dancing in kirtan with us until the stroke of

midnight, when we all welcomed in the New Year with Krsna's holy names.

 

The next day, as I lay ill in bed at the New Govardhan farm, I decided that

Mother Nature was giving me a clear signal: it was time to stop for a rest.

I decided not to return to the Russian winter and instead booked a ticket to

Durban, South Africa. The devotees there keep a room for me in the temple -

a vestige from when I was temple president in 1987. It would also be

mid-summer there, and I figured I could rest and recuperate completely

before a preaching tour of America with Sri Prahlad in March and April.

 

To confirm my decision, that morning a young boy walked up to me on my way

to the temple and said, "You don't look well, Maharaja. My daddy says you're

traveling too much. He says it's not good. He says more rest and a good swim

would fix you up."

 

"OK," I replied, remembering the swimming pool near the temple in Durban -

and the words of Lord Jesus, "From the mouth of a child."

 

On January 7, I flew from Sydney to Johannesburg. It was a long flight,

during which I sat next to a businessman from New Zealand. An hour into the

flight, he asked me who I was and what I was doing. He had heard something

about the Krsna consciousness movement and wanted to know more. I told him I

was a traveling monk on my way to South Africa for rest and recuperation. I

mentioned a few of the ordeals of traveling that I had experienced in the

past few months, but he wasn't impressed. In fact, he replied that I

shouldn't complain. Then he showed me a book he was reading, Farther Than

Any Man, about the life of Captain James Cook, the 18th century British

navigator. He briefly explained that traveling during the days of Captain

Cook was much more difficult and austere than I could ever imagine. He

handed the book to me and asked me to read the first chapter. Out of

curiosity, I began to read.

 

Captain Cook was a sailor by profession, as well as an adventurer, but his

life at sea was certainly not a pleasure cruise. The wooden sailing ships in

those days could hardly be called comfortable or safe. The upper decks were

full with huge masts and ropes, leaving little space for walking. Down

below, the crew slept in dingy, rat-infested, foul-smelling holds. Sailors

slept in hammocks 2m long and strung just 350cm apart. At sea they faced

storms, lightning, freezing temperatures, danger from fire, and sudden death

from crashing masts or amputation from snapped ropes.

 

The ships' toilets - "seats of ease" - were planks, one extended over either

side of the bow. A hole was cut, and the edges sanded. A man did his

business precariously, dangling over an open ocean. When the weather was

perfectly calm (which was rare), there was no problem, but when the sea was

violent, answering nature's call became difficult - if not extremely

dangerous.

 

"Those who go to sea for pleasure would go to hell for pastime" was a

popular saying. If one chose to travel from Australia to South Africa (as I

was doing), his association would be more austere than my friend the

businessman, who comfortably fell asleep as I read the first chapter of his

book.

 

Sailors in those days were poor, foul-mouthed and disease prone. Most would

die at sea, so they drank as if there were no tomorrow. Earnings were often

squandered gambling or getting drunk, and fights were common because of

heavy drinking and the close living quarters. The fights tended to be bloody

and fatal, as sailors were in the habit of arming themselves with a sharp

knife at all times.

 

Most sailors in the Royal Navy in those days were the dregs of society,

physically abducted by press gangs and thrown onboard ships against their

will. Most didn't know how to swim and were prone to seasickness. The long

duration of voyages meant ships were deliberately over-manned at the start

to compensate for the multitudes of deaths. Hundreds of men died of typhus

or scurvy on every voyage.

 

I'd had enough after finishing the first chapter and put the book aside,

counting my blessings as a traveling preacher in the 21st century. I wasn't

ready to give up my idea of a short break for one month, but I would never

complain again about the trans-Siberian railroad. I never had to deal with

typhus, scurvy and drunken sailors wielding knives!

 

I landed in South Africa on January 8. After resting for a few days, I did a

little preaching to keep in form, including an interview with a local

newspaper. The subject was genetic engineering through cloning, for the

eventual purpose of using pigs' organs for human transplants. I told the

reporter that such procedures were demoniac, and the severe karmic reactions

for such experiments on animals far out-weighed the so-called medical

benefits. I quoted Prahlad Maharaja in Srimad-Bhagavatam - a verse which

states that often the solution the materialists pose for solving problems is

worse than the problem itself.

 

yasmat priyapriya viyoga samyoga janma

sokagnina sakala yonisu dahyamanah

duhkhausadham tad api duùkham atad dhiyaham

bhuman bhramami vada me tava dasya yogam

 

"O great one, O Supreme Lord, because of combination with pleasing and

displeasing circumstances and because of separation from them, one is placed

in a most regrettable position, within heavenly or hellish planets, as if

burning in a fire of lamentation. Although there are many remedies by which

to get out of miserable life, any such remedies in the material world are

more miserable than the miseries themselves. Therefore I think that the only

remedy is to engage in Your service. Kindly instruct me in such service."

[srimad-Bhagavatam 7.9.17]

 

The next day my picture, along with my name, appeared on the second page of

the newspaper with the article condemning cloning.

 

After one week in Durban, I decided to begin a light exercise program to

build back my strength. Remembering the young boy's words at New Govardhan,

whose father had recommended a good swim, I decided to visit the nearby

swimming pool. The next morning, as I dove in the clear water and raced back

and forth in the lanes, I remembered my days as a swimmer in high school.

Memories of racing competitions surfaced in my mind. My father and mother

would often be in the bleachers cheering me on. But I quickly thought, "Of

what use are such memories, now faded with time? Where are all the family

members who used to encourage me? Most are dead and gone. Now I'm alone in a

pool, just exercising to stay alive."

 

naikatra priya-samvasah

suhrdam citra-karmanam

oghena vyuhyamananam

plavanam srotaso yatha

 

"Many planks and sticks, unable to stay together, are carried away by the

force of a river's waves. Similarly, although we are intimately related with

friends and family members, we are unable to stay together because of our

varied past deeds and the waves of time."

[srimad-Bhagavatam 10.5.25]

 

Pushing aside thoughts of times gone by, I began reciting Sanskrit slokas

that I had been learning during the past few weeks. With each stroke in the

water, I repeated a line from a verse and tried to remember the meanings.

After swimming 1km (which surprised even myself), I sat catching my breath

on the side of the pool. An elderly Indian man, who had just finished his

own exercise in the pool, came alongside me and said, "Aren't you the swami

whose interview about cloning pigs appeared in the newspaper yesterday?"

 

"Yes, sir," I said, "that was me."

 

"I appreciated your comments," he said. "Cloning is tampering with the laws

of nature given by God. No good can come from it. But Swami, I have another

question for you."

 

"Yes, of course," I said, adjusting my goggles for my next set of laps.

 

"You're a sannyasi," he said. "What business do you have in a pool like

this? Sannyasis should be studying scripture or traveling to enlighten

others."

 

"It's a long story," I said as I jumped back in the pool. "Come to the

temple for the program tonight and we can discuss it."

 

I smiled to myself as I raced to the other end of the pool. It seemed I was

subject to criticism whether I continued traveling or took a break! I

remembered a story that Srila Prabhupada told of a man and his son's journey

on a horse.

 

Once a man and his son were traveling to visit family in a nearby village.

The man was riding the horse and the son was walking alongside. As they

passed through one village, they heard a man criticize, "Just see, that man

is riding the horse and his son has to walk."

 

Hearing this criticism, the man got off the horse and put his son on it.

When they passed through the next village, a man spoke up saying, "Just

look, the boy is riding the horse and his father has to walk."

 

So the man jumped on the horse along with his son, and they rode together

towards the next village. As they entered the town, they heard a man

exclaim, "Just consider how cruel that man and his son are. They are both

riding the poor horse!"

 

Finally, the man and the boy got off the horse and walked alongside it into

their relatives' village. But as soon as they arrived at their destination,

their relatives greeted them with the words, "How foolish you both are not

to ride on that horse."

 

That night the Indian gentleman came to the temple and asked for me. I was a

little surprised when he came to my room. I asked him to sit down, and after

a half hour of discussion he again brought up the issue of a sannyasi's

traveling as opposed to recreation. Suddenly, an idea came to me and I

reached into my dresser drawer, and pulling out my passport I handed it to

him. The eighty-eight pages (I have had supplementary pages added three

times) were full of immigration stamps from all over the world. His eyes lit

up.

 

"You do travel a lot," he exclaimed.

 

"Yes," I replied, "and now on the advice of the Lord, I'm taking a short

break."

 

"On the advice of the Lord?" he said, with a puzzled look on his face.

 

"Yes, on the advice of the Lord even a yogi is allowed recreation from time

to time," I said.

 

Picking up the Bhagavad-gita, I read to him from the Sixth Chapter:

 

"He who is regulated in his habits of eating, sleeping, recreation and work

can mitigate all material pains by practicing the yoga system."

[bhagavad-gita 6.17]

 

As he stood up, he smiled and said, "We'll meet at the pool tomorrow, Swami.

Thank you very much."