Volume 4 - Chapter 29

[Guest guest]

Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 4, Chapter 29

 

January 12 - February 6, 2003

 

 

Soon after my departure from the Persian Gulf, my curiosity as to how Krsna

consciousness would spread in Islamic countries was answered when my

godbrother, Bhakti Bringa Govinda Maharaja, invited me to Kazakhstan to

participate in a five-day festival celebrating the end of the Christmas

Marathon. After tolerating the heat of Arabia, I braced myself for the

severe winter of Central Asia and boarded a Kazakhstan Airlines flight from

Delhi to Almaty on January 14.

 

Central Asia lies on the ancient silk route to the Far East, the trade link

between China and Europe for 400 years until the 15th century. The

inhabitants are mainly farmers, living in river valleys and oases. A few

still live a nomadic lifestyle, continually moving with their livestock

across the virtually uninhabited tracts of land in search of fresh pastures.

By the 1930s, all of the countries in Central Asia (apart from Afghanistan)

had been assimilated into the former Soviet Union, where they remained until

1991 when, with Russia, they formed the Commonwealth of Independent States.

Since then, Kazakhstanis have reestablished their languages and their

Islamic faith, both of which were restricted under Soviet rule.

 

Two of the world's great sandy deserts, Karakum and Kyzylkum,

cover much of the western portion of Central Asia. To the south and

south-east a belt of mountain ranges, the Hindu Kush, the Pamirs, and Tien

Shan, tower above the land. It is at the base of these rugged mountains in

Kazakhstan that in 1997 Maharaja established his rural community, Sri

Vrindavan Dhama. At that time there were only a handful of devotees in the

region, but due to Maharaja's powerful kirtans and sweet lectures the entire

community, including congregation, now numbers more than 600 devotees.

 

His success was not without struggle, however, for the obvious

reason that he has been preaching Krsna consciousness in a Muslim country.

Just last year, the authorities confiscated the passports of all active

devotees, threatening to jail the locals and deport the foreigners.

Appealing to those sympathetic to our movement with connections in Almaty

(the former capital, which remains host to all foreign embassies and

Kazakhstani government agencies), Maharaja managed to get all the passports

returned without complication. In the process, he developed a close

relationship with the Indian Ambassador, who arranged for Maharaja to meet

the Indian Prime Minister, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, who was visiting

Kazakhstan. When Maharaja brought up the matter of restrictions experienced

by our movement in Kazakhstan, Mr Vajpayee said to the ambassador, "That's

your department. Give them all the assistance they require."

 

Mr Vajpayee's help could not have come at a better moment, for recently

Maharaja has embarked on a most ambitious project: the construction at his

community of the first full-scale Vedic temple in a Muslim country. Styled

after a beautiful temple on the banks of Manasa-ganga near Govardhan Hill in

India, the 5000sqm-building will include surrounding gardens, a lake, a

gosala, a gurukul and orchards. Maharaja expects the project to attract

tourists from throughout Central Asia. The architectural design is complete

and Maharaja already has a team of devotees raising funds. When I asked from

where they were seeking donations, I almost fell off my chair when he

replied, "Mostly here in Kazakhstan and other Muslim countries."

 

"You're funding a Vedic temple in an Islamic country from Islamic

donations," I said in disbelief.

 

Maharaja calmly replied, "Yes, we even have plans to approach

the wealthy sheikhs in the Persian Gulf. Why shouldn't they appreciate a

project like this? It's culture of the highest order."

 

I was impressed with his determination.

 

The celebrations at Sri Vrindavan Dhama consisted mainly of long kirtans.

Typical of festivals in Maharaja's zone, we had one day entirely devoted to

kirtan - a Holy Name Day - when we literally chanted all day long, from 7am

to midnight. On another evening a group of distinguished visitors attended

the festivities. I was not informed beforehand who was coming, thus when the

Indian Ambassador, a prominent local mullah (Muslim cleric), the Kazakhstan

Minister of Religious Affairs, and representatives from various religious

organizations were announced I was quite surprised. The guests all gave

short speeches pledging to support the new temple. As they spoke, I sat

mesmerized. By taking up the risks and challenges to preach Krsna

consciousness in a Muslim country, Maharaja was getting unlimited mercy from

Lord Caitanya Mahaprabhu:

 

"The members of this [iSKCON] Society must always remember that if they

stick to the regulative principles and preach sincerely according to the

instructions of the acarayas, surely they will have the profound blessings

of Lord Caitanya Mahaprabhu, and their preaching work will be successful

everywhere throughout the world."

 

[Caitanya-caritamrta, Adi-lila, 7.171, purport]

 

The mercy continued to flow the next day when Maharaja received a

call from the secretary of the wife of the President of Kazakhstan,

Nursultan Nazarbayev. She wanted to meet Maharaja about a project on which

Mrs Nazarbayev was working - a meditation course to be made available in all

high schools. The secretary requested Maharaja to write a syllabus for the

course, leaving everything to his discretion. I thought, "Now the glories of

the holy name will surely flood the land." To me, such an opportunity was

simply another sign of Maharaja's love for (and ability to inspire others

in) the chanting of the maha-mantra.

 

The time spent with Maharaja and the Kazakhstani devotees passed quickly and

soon I was on my way back to Delhi. These days when my closest godbrothers

are scattered throughout the world establishing Krsna consciousness, I

rarely get their association. The need for spreading the movement to every

town and village has forced us to go our separate ways. While traveling to

the airport, I thought of Maharaja and hankered for his association again

soon. I long for the day that we can associate closely in service to our

spiritual master - if not in this life, then in the next.

 

ramacandra kabiraja sei sange mora kaja

tanra sanga binu saba sunya

jadi haya janma punah tanra sanga haya jena

tabe haya narottama dhanya

 

"I desire the association of Ramacandra Kaviraja. Without his company the

entire world is like a desert. If I must take birth again, I would feel

myself most fortunate to have his association."

 

[Narottam das Thakur: Prema Bhakti Candrika, Chapter 9, Verse 18]

 

The return flight was courtesy of an old Russian plane, as unclean as usual

and with a cabin crew of grumpy air hostesses. It was the beginning of

several awkward experiences before I would arrive in Vrindavan.

Unfortunately, I found myself seated next to a large Kazakhstan lady and her

three unruly children. From the moment I sat down the children were

fighting. Just before we took off, the lady asked if I would consider moving

to another seat, giving her children more room. As unhappy as I was with the

children's behaviour, I replied that I preferred staying in my window seat.

She then stood up and scanned the cabin. As she sat down again she announced

that there was one seat available at the back of the plane. I hesitated, but

as if on cue all three children started screaming, and I lost interest in my

window seat. Getting up slowly, I moved to the back of the plane.

 

The flight was full of Indian labourers returning home from Kazakhstan.

Some appeared to have been drinking. When I arrived at the empty seat I was

discouraged to find it was between the aisle and the window. After putting

my bag in the overhead rack, I was preparing to sit down when the man in the

aisle seat screamed, "What are you doing? You can't sit here! Sit somewhere

else!"

 

I replied, "Sir, I've given my seat to some children. This is the only seat

left."

 

"There's no way you can sit here," he barked. "If you want another seat

you'll have to sit on the floor!"

 

Although a few of his friends laughed, most people in the section became

quiet. The Indian workers especially were shocked by his behaviour. When the

air hostess walked by I appealed to her, "Madam, can you tell this man to

let me pass so I can sit here," but to my surprise she ignored me and walked

away.

 

I managed to force my way past the man and land in the middle seat just as

the plane began taxiing down the runway. At this point there was nothing he

could do to stop me. Both he and the man in the window seat grumbled and

moved in their seats in such a way as to enhance my discomfort. Rather than

confront them again I decided to try the humble approach, and started

chanting softly on my japa beads. This only infuriated them more, and the

man in the aisle seat shouted, "Shut up!"

 

But I didn't shut up, having no other shelter than the holy names.

 

An hour into the flight, the air hostesses started serving meals,

and when I refused the man in the window seat said loudly, "So, you don't

eat meat then!"

 

I was about to change my strategy and take a heavy approach, when a

nicely dressed man showed up in the aisle. He had been sitting in business

class as I entered the plane and had nodded his head as I passed. I had

responded by smiling and saying, "Hare Krsna." He had heard the commotion

about the meal at the front of the plane, and was now at the back to see if

he could help. With a raised voice he said, "Leave this man alone! Can't you

see that he's a sannyasi? Have you no shame?"

 

The man in the aisle seat was about to reply, when the man in the aisle

said, "I'll say it once more. The gentleman sitting next to you is a

sannyasi. If you persist I will notify the pilot!"

 

This prevented the belligerent man from further abuse. I thanked the

gentleman in the aisle, and as things quieted down I started chanting japa

again. I chanted loudly for well over an hour and finally dozed off. When I

awoke 30 minutes later, the man in the aisle seat turned to me and said,

"I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have treated you in that way. You're a

sannyasi. Please forgive me."

 

The man next to the window then said, "Me too. We acted improperly. Our

anger got the best of us."

 

I was amazed. I could only assume that the unexpected chastisement they

received had changed their hearts. Srila Prabhupada once said of his fellow

countrymen that whoever they appear to be, just under the surface they are

Krsna consciousness, and if one knows the right method that Krsna

consciousness can be made manifest.

 

Seeing their change of heart, I immediately said, "Please don't

worry. It's OK."

 

The man in the window seat got up and said, "Take my seat." When I

hesitated, he said, "Please you must."

 

The man in the aisle seat then got up and left, returning five minutes later

with some bread and jam. "Here, take this," he said. "You have to eat

something." I wasn't hungry, but took the bread and jam from him out of

gratitude.

 

When the flight landed, the pair were the first to jump up and

retrieve my luggage, clearing an area so I could get out of my seat and into

the aisle without difficulty. At the baggage claim they collected my luggage

and carried it through customs and immigration for me.

 

As we were leaving the arrival hall, I wanted to reserve a taxi for

Vrindavan from the official taxi offices, but my new-found friends said,

"Don't worry, we'll arrange a cheaper taxi for you outside." By this time it

was after 11pm and becoming foggy. Under the circumstances I considered

staying in Delhi and not risk taking a taxi to Vrindavan. However, my

traveling companions encouraged me to get a taxi and continue on my way. I

have no doubt that they were sincere in their attempts to help me, but as an

experienced traveler in India I should have known not to take a

non-registered taxi from the airport so late at night. Walking in the cold

night air to the far end of a parking lot, we found an old taxi parked in

the shadows near some dim street lights. One of the men inquired about the

fare, which turned out to be 1000 rupees (compared with 1500 rupees

normally). Opening the door for me and throwing my bags in the trunk, they

apologized once again for their behaviour on the plane and waved goodbye.

 

>From the beginning I was suspicious. The driver had a scarf wrapped around

his mouth and nose preventing me from getting a good look at him, and he

didn't speak much English. After reminding him of my destination, I fell

asleep in the back seat. Almost one hour later I woke up and was surprised

to see that we were still in Delhi and driving down a dirt road in what

appeared to be a poor part of town, even by Delhi standards. The houses were

nothing more than shacks. I sat up and said, "Where are you taking me?"

 

The driver replied in broken English, "My brother come with us."

 

Because it's not uncommon for taxi drivers in India to take another

person with them on a long journey, especially at night, I relaxed a little.

However, I was becoming increasingly wary of the surroundings. After another

few minutes he stopped the car and got out, saying he was going to get his

brother. As I waited, the fog became thicker so that I couldn't even see the

shacks three meters away. When another 40 minutes had gone by I'd finally

had enough and got out of the car. When I noticed the vehicle's license

plates were different in the front and back I became apprehensive. I

thought, "Could this be a setup for a robbery?" When the dim street lights

suddenly went out 10 seconds later I decided not to wait around for an

answer. Reaching into the taxi I grabbed my bag and started walking quickly

in the direction from which we had come. When I heard men shouting behind me

I broke into a run, and after 10 minutes I reached a well-lit major road

where I flagged down a taxi. As I got in the driver said, "What in the world

are you doing here?"

 

I was wondering the same thing.

 

Driving slowly through the thick fog we arrived at an hotel back near the

airport well after 1am. When the man at the reception told me the price of a

room was equivalent to $180 I hesitated, but then relented, wanting to bring

that day's difficult and arduous journey to an end. While taking the

elevator to the third floor, I scolded myself for the stupidity which had

put me into a potentially dangerous situation. I also reflected on finding a

traveling companion. Of course, a sannyasi is meant to travel alone and

learn to depend on God's mercy, but he shouldn't throw caution to the wind.

As I settled into bed I considered Chanakya Pandit's sober advice:

 

ekakina tapo dvabhyam pathanam gayanam tribhih

caturbhir gamanam ksetram pancabhir bahubhi ranah

 

"Religious austerities should be practiced alone, study by two,

and singing by three. A journey should be undertaken by four, agriculture by

five, and war by many together."

 

[Niti Sastra, Chapter 4, Verse 12]

 

www.traveling-preacher.com

Official website for Diary of a Traveling Preacher