Volume 5, Chapter 14

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Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 5, Chapter 14

 

January 30 - February 10, 2004

 

 

"Narottam! Narottam! Narottam!"

 

 

"Why do you want to visit my country?" the Bangladesh Ambassador asked

suspiciously. "We're the poorest people on earth."

 

"I know, Sir," I replied as I adjusted my Yankees baseball cap, "but in a

BBC survey several years ago it was determined that the people of Bangladesh

are the happiest on earth. I am curious to find out why the poorest are the

happiest. My country, America, is the world's richest, but came in a

disappointing seventh place in the survey in terms of contentedness.

Obviously, happiness is not synonymous with material prosperity."

 

"I'm intrigued by your reasoning," the ambassador said. "I'm a Muslim, and

the Koran teaches the same principle. I'll make an exception and grant you a

visa. As an American, you'd normally have to obtain it at our embassy in

America, not here in a foreign country.

 

"Thank you very much," I replied, for I had been unsuccessful in applying

for the visa at Bangladesh embassies in three other countries, and was

relieved to have been granted it before leaving the Islamic nation I was

visiting.

 

"I've got one request, though," the ambassador said. "Please come to my

residence this evening for dinner. My wife is an excellent cook and she is

preparing stewed lamb. We can continue our talk about the illusion of

material happiness."

 

I had to think quick. An invitation to an ambassador's house is rarely

refused.

 

"I'm so sorry, Sir, I have a flight out tonight," I replied.

 

"Well, here's my card. Next time you come and stay with me," he concluded.

 

As I got up to leave, the ambassador took a photo guidebook from his desk.

He then quickly signed it and gave it to me with a handshake. It read: "To

Mr Tibbitts with love. May you find the happiness you're looking for in our

beautiful Bangladesh. Mohammed Ilah."

 

I had no doubt I would find happiness in Bangladesh, but it would be of a

specific nature. The former Indian State of East Bengal (known as East

Pakistan after the partition of India by the British in 1947) became the

sovereign state of Bangladesh in 1972 as a result of the war for

independence. Being part of India's rich spiritual past, it contains many

holy places especially dear to the followers of Lord Caitanya. Numerous

devotees of Lord Caitanya took birth there and the Lord Himself performed

many sankirtan lilas throughout Bangladesh's towns and villages. The

capital, Dhaka, was a favorite preaching place of Srila Bhaktisiddhanta

Saraswati in the 1930s. He once called Dhaka a second Vrindavan, because it

contains more than 700 magnificent Radha-Krsna temples.

 

I would be traveling to these holy tirthas with a dear godbrother, Radhanath

Swami. Months ago, we had met in our travels and discovered that we shared

the same attraction to the pastimes and songs of Srila Narottam das Thakur,

one of the principle acarayas in our Gaudiya Vaisnava sampradaya, who

appeared after Lord Caitanya's departure from this world. We had longed to

visit his birthplace, Keturi, in Bangladesh, for years. Our trip was a dream

come true for both of us. I would be meeting Maharaja and several of his

brahmacaris in Dhaka the next day. My visa had come at the last moment!

 

As I was packing my bags that afternoon for the overnight flight to Dhaka, I

realized I needed a number of toiletries, so I left the apartment where I

was staying and took a short walk to a local store just across from a large

mosque. On the way back, three young Oriental women ran up to me in apparent

distress. Sensing they might be in danger, I instinctively stepped forward

to help when suddenly they threw their arms around me and said in unison,

"Nice American man need a lady?"

 

In the split second it took me to realize they were prostitutes, one of them

drew closer to kiss me. Yelling out "Nrsimhadeva," I broke free from their

grasp and ran down the street in a state of shock that prostitutes would

operate on the streets of such a strict Islamic country. When I returned to

the apartment, several devotees saw me. One said, "You look like you've seen

a ghost!"

 

"Worse," I said. "Some prostitutes accosted me. I feel contaminated by their

touch."

 

"Take shelter of Haridas Thakur," another boy suggested. "He was also

attacked by a prostitute, but was protected by the holy names of the Lord."

 

I recalled the incident during the flight that evening and prayed: "Dear

Namacarya, please give me shelter at your lotus feet and free my mind of any

impurity."

 

At Dhaka Airport I handed the immigration officer my passport and a form all

passengers had to complete with their personal details. I was in nondevotee

clothes, as Hindus comprise only 10% of the population and there is

sometimes tension between them and the majority Muslims. After studying the

form for a moment the officer looked up and said, "You wrote that you'll be

staying in a hotel, but you didn't mention which hotel. You have to tell me

which hotel or I can't let you in."

 

I was stunned. I had no idea of the name of any hotel in Dhaka. I stood

there for a moment, and then the officer motioned me to a nearby room.

Suddenly, an Indian man who was watching us stepped forward and chastised

the officer.

 

"For goodness sake, man, he's a tourist. How is he supposed to know which

hotels we have here? Foreigners don't come here often and when they do we

can't treat them like this. Let him in through!"

 

Somehow his words worked and the officer stamped my passport. As I collected

my baggage the Indian man walked by and whispered softly, "Hare Krsna. Have

a good trip."

 

Outside the terminal I met Radhanath Swami and 12 brahmacaris from his

temple in Mumbai, also all in nondevotee dress. We took prasadam and then

sat in a nearby field to discuss our itinerary. We had only 10 days and had

to select which tirthas to visit. We decided to begin our journey at the

birthplace of Rupa Goswami and Sanatana Goswami in Jessore in the southwest

of the country. Our guide, Caru Candra das, the regional secretary for the

Bangladesh yatra, quickly purchased our tickets and two hours later we were

on our way.

 

During the flight Radhanath Swami leaned over and said to me, "Maharaja, I

have a suggestion. Before visiting the home of Rupa and Sanatana we should

first visit Benapol, which is only a 45-minute drive outside Jessore."

 

"Fine," I replied, not bothering to ask which pastime took place at Benapol.

I trusted that Maharaja knew best, as he is familiar with the tirthas of

Lord Caitanya and his followers.

 

As I reclined in my seat, exhausted from the long-distance flight, I

reflected on my good fortune to be traveling with Maharaja and his men. "I

need it," I thought, "especially after that encounter with the prostitutes."

 

Just as I was about to fall asleep curiosity got the better of me. I opened

my eyes and looked over at Radhanath Swami. "What pastime happened in

Benapol, Maharaja?" I said.

 

"Oh, that's where Haridas Thakur delivered the prostitute who approached

him," he replied nonchalantly.

 

I practically jumped out of my seat.

 

"What's wrong, Maharaja?" he said, amazed at my reaction.

 

"I'll tell you when we get there," I said, "but I think the Lord has

answered my prayers." I was thinking of a passage from Srila

Bhaktivinoda Thakura's "The Bhagavat: Its Philosophy, Its Ethics & Its

Theology":

 

"Do the spiritual masters, after they disappear, bestow their mercy upon the

living entities? The souls of great thinkers of bygone ages, who now live

spiritually, often approach an inquiring spirit and assist him in his

development."

 

>From Jessore Airport we took a taxi to Benapol, a small village in the

jungle. It was dark when we arrived, but Haridas Thakur's bhajan kutir was

still open. I almost ran to it and falling down before his murti repeated my

prayer for mercy. As I studied the altar I was curious to see the murti of a

shaven-headed woman in a white sari, the same size as that of Haridas

Thakur.

 

"That's Laksahira, the prostitute who was sent by a government official to

make Haridas Thakur fall down," Radhanath Swami said. "The idea was that

soldiers hiding in the foliage would catch them in union and arrest and

defame Haridas Thakur. But after listening to Haridas Thakur's chanting of

the holy names for three days, Laksahira became purified and surrendered to

him. He initiated her and she became a great devotee."

 

I prayed for the mercy of Haridas Thakur and Laksahira.

 

That night we slept in a darmsala on the property and I had a wonderful

dream. All night I dreamt that myself, Radhanath Swami and the brahmacaris

were dancing around the courtyard of Haridas Thakur's bhajan kutir. In fact,

I woke up several times, but when falling asleep again would have the same

dream. In the morning I awoke feeling purified. For the rest of the trip I

never again thought of the prostitutes who attacked me. Such is the mercy of

the "soul of a great thinker."

 

The next day we went to Rupa and Sanatana's birthplace outside Jessore. Like

most of the other holy places we would visit, there wasn't much to see.

After partition, the minority Hindus were persecuted and many of their

temples destroyed. The policy continued after the founding of Bangladesh.

Thus, wherever we would go, all that would be left of most tirthas was one

or two reminders of the lilas that manifested there. This was particularly

true at the home of Rupa and Sanatana. All that was there was a single tree.

But when we learned it was the very tree under which the goswamis did daily

bhajan, we ourselves nestled under it and had kirtan for several hours.

Often a holy place is built up with many shrines and temples to attract

pilgrims and impress upon them its importance, but here we had only a single

tree on which to focus. As we were chanting in the simple jungle

environment, I was thinking that one day it, too, might become a renown holy

tirtha. For the moment it remains hidden from the world, retaining a charm

rich in Gaudiya history and saturated with mercy. As the hours passed, I

closed my eyes and absorbed myself in the holy names at the spot where Rupa

and Sanatana chanted the very same names.

 

Our next destination was ISKCON's large temple a few kilometers away. As we

drove there I inquired from Caru Candra why the temple was not built at the

auspicious site we had just visited. He replied that the local Muslim

authorities would not sell it to us, so ISKCON accepted an offer from a

Hindu organization that owned land nearby. It proved to be a better

arrangement, because the ISKCON land is situated in the center of 96 Hindu

villages. It is a more secure location and we have a captive audience. In

fact, when the beautiful temple was opened in 1999 after years of

construction, more than one million people from all over the country

attended.

 

Two days later we flew to Rajshahi in the northwest, a short distance from

Keturi on the banks of the Padmavati River. As our car rumbled along the

dirt roads leading to the isolated village my heart beat in anticipation of

the darsan ahead. I was praying that we'd find more than a single tree. I

wasn't disappointed. Though Keturi consists of only 40 families (38 Muslim

and two Hindu), we were happy to discover a small, walled temple compound

just outside the village.

 

One of Narottam das Thakur's major contributions was organizing the

inaugural Gaura-purnima festival, the yearly observance of Lord Caitanya's

appearance, at Keturi, with many important Vaisnavas of the time attending,

including Lord Nityananda's wife, Jahnava mata. At that historic event,

Narottam das Thakur installed six Deities - five Krsna Deities and one pure

gold Lord Caitanya Deity. The six Vaisnava devotees currently living at the

lakeside temple, built by a pious Hindu businessman more than 100 years ago,

told us that Jahnava mata collected water from the lake for cooking for the

Keturi festival, and to this day the water is used only for the purpose of

cooking. I was unable to discover what happened to most of the Deities - Sri

Krsna, Vallabha-kanta, Radha-kanta and Radha-raman. I do know that

Vraja-mohan was sent to Vrindavan soon after the installation and the

Gauranga Deity was moved to India during the war for independence. I

noticed, however, six beautiful salagram-silas on the altar. When I later

inquired about Them, the pujari told me They were from the Keturi festival

era.

 

We spent most of the next day hearing and chanting. It was clear that being

literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by paddy fields, there was

nothing to do but fully immerse ourselves in hearing and chanting. The

following day, however, a trip was arranged to a small hill where Narottam

das Thakur did his daily bhajan. It was a 4km walk through the fields, and I

was again struck by the fact that such a tirtha was so isolated. There was

only a small stone asana with no inscription marking the spot. Of course,

the fact that there was no significant shrine didn't diminish its spiritual

potency, so we again immersed ourselves in bhajan and japa, trying to open

our spiritual eyes and see the sanctity of the place with spiritual vision.

 

In the afternoon, we visited the place on the Padmavati where Narottam das

Thakur received the special mercy of Lord Caitanya. Once while having kirtan

with His associates in the village of Rama Keli, Lord Caitanya began calling

out, "Narottam! Narottam! Narottam!" and fell to the ground unconscious.

When He awoke He revealed that soon a great devotee named Narottam das would

take birth and would be instrumental in carrying on His mission. Mahaprabhu

told the devotees that He would deposit his prema (love of God) in the

Padmavati, and at a certain time Narottam das would take bath there and

attain pure love of God. Years later, when Narottam das was still a boy, he

bathed in the exact spot where Mahaprabhu had deposited His prema and

immediately he was overwhelmed with ecstatic love for Krsna. Imbued with

that mercy, he was constantly floating in the ocean of love of God and was

empowered to spread that love everywhere.

 

As we searched for the precise location of the lila, we came to a small

Vaisnava temple on the banks of the river. Inquiring further, we discovered

it was indeed the place. The devotee couple and their two children who

oversee the temple were overjoyed by our unsolicited visit. Because

Bangladesh is a Muslim country, it is rare that devotees visit such holy

places. The man excitedly showed us the tree under which Narottam das Thakur

had bathed and which the couple worship daily. We paid our obeisances to the

tree, had kirtan there and then bathed in the sanctified waters nearby. I

had brought a two-liter plastic Bisleri water bottle for the occasion, and

after emptying it carefully filled it with water from the holy river.

 

As we were preparing to leave the next morning, I went to the main temple at

Keturi to take a last darsan of the Deities. The pujari was doing a quick

puja of the salagrams, and I was surprised to see him simply throw some

water over Them, dry Them quickly and place Them back on the altar. It was a

simple worship at best. He didn't massage Them in oil, which is customary,

or even offer sandalwood paste or Tulasi leaves. When I saw the small fruit

plate he offered Them I became disappointed. Just then the superintendent of

the temple appeared and I brought the seemingly poor standard of worship to

his attention.

 

He hung his head and said, "It's true what you say. I've tried to impress

this on the priests for years but they don't seem to care."

 

I thought, "These are such important Deities, a part of the pastimes of

Narottam das Thakur. They deserve more than this," and decided to take a

chance.

 

"Narottam das Thakur is a great source of inspiration for me," I said. "He's

a great preacher and a deeply realized devotee. He's one of my heroes. I

often think of him while preaching his message in western countries."

 

Pausing for a moment and praying for mercy, I then said, "Would you consider

giving me one of those salagrams? I'll take good care of the Deity, offering

Him opulent worship. And He'll be part of Lord Caitanya's preaching movement

in the West, inspiring many devotees."

 

I was stunned by his reply.

 

"I've been observing your group closely," he said. "I can see that you are

sincere Vaisnavas and that you all have deep affection for Narottam das

Thakur. So take any salagram you want. Just indicate to the pujari which one

you desire."

 

I had already chosen the principle salagram on the altar. He was the biggest

one, exquisitely beautiful and smooth as glass. He had a big mouth with two

enormous cakras inside. A sweeping cakra also came around His side.

 

"I'll take Him," I said, motioning with my head (not my finger, which is

considered impolite in Vedic etiquette).

 

The superintendent instructed the pujari, who took the salagram off the

altar without any apparent emotion. He quickly put Him in my hand. I stood

there, my hand trembling, trying to fathom the mercy I had received.

 

When I went back to my room to collect my belongings for our departure, I

showed the Deity to Radhanath Swami, who was struck with wonder.

 

"He's so majestic," were his first words. "You are so fortunate. You're

taking a part of Keturi's history with you. Who is He, which incarnation?"

 

"Because of His large mouth and cakras, He's surely Nrsimhadeva," I replied.

"But because he has that tusk coming around the side, I think He's also

Varaha. And from what I learned from the late Viswambara Goswami, of the

Radha-Raman temple in Vrindavan, that small cakra inside could indicate that

Laksmidevi is present. I think this sila is Varaha-Nrsimha. But let's call

Him Keturi-nath, Lord of Keturi."

 

"That's wonderful," Maharaja said.

 

"Tomorrow we'll offer Him an elaborate bathing ceremony, with lots of Tulasi

leaves and a big feast," I concluded.

 

Sadly, we then left Keturi, the holy abode of Narottam das Thakur's

pastimes. While clutching the precious gift to my heart, I considered that

not only our small group of pilgrims had received the good fortune of Keturi

but so, too, would many Vaisnavas around the world.

 

We visited several other holy tirthas in the following days, such as those

of stalwart associates of Lord Caitanya like Pundarik Vidyanidhi, Vasudeva

Datta, Mukunda Datta and Murari Gupta. We even visited the ancestral home of

Lord Caitanya's father, Jagannath Misra, an ancient array of stone buildings

in the jungle in northern Bangladesh. But our experiences in Keturi left the

greatest impression upon me. After Keturi I hankered to get back to my

preaching services in the West. In more ways than one, I had received

special mercy - and I wanted to share it with others.

 

I didn't have long to wait. At Dhaka Airport, while in a lounge preparing to

board my flight out of the country, a Muslim holy man approached me. As a

security measure, I was dressed in nondevotee clothes and sported a two-week

beard. Many Muslims assumed I was one of them, and had been respectfully

addressing me with salamalekam (greetings). This particular man pointed to

my bottle of special water and said in broken English, "Allah Akbar! I'm

very dry. Very thirsty. Please water."

 

I froze. He wanted to drink from my bottle of water from the Padmavati River

where Narottam das Thakur had received prema. Every drop in that bottle was

sacred. It was capable of giving more than liberation, it could give love of

God. But he thought it was just an ordinary bottle of water. I hesitated for

a moment, and several Muslim men looked at me. Obviously, you don't refuse a

Muslim holy man's request for a simple drink of water. So I handed him the

bottle and he proceeded to drink with gusto. I watched in shock as he

guzzled more than half the bottle. He then turned to me and said, "Allah has

been very kind to me today!"

 

"Yes, indeed He has," I replied with a smile.

 

I thought, "My preaching has already begun. Even before leaving Bangladesh

I' m sharing the good fortune of my pilgrimage with others. Indeed, this

must be the perfection of visiting a holy place."

 

gaur amara, je-saba sthane,

koralo bhramana range

se-saba sthana, heribo ami,

pranayi-bhakata-sange

 

"All those places where my Lord Gaurasundara traveled for pastimes I will

visit in the company of loving devotees."

 

[srila Bhaktivinoda Thakur - Suddha-bhakata, from Saranagati]

 

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