Volume 5, Chapter 19

[Guest guest]

Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 5, Chapter 19

 

June 13 - 16, 2004

 

 

"Counting my Blessings"

 

 

After leaving Kielce, where we successfully defended our festival against

right-wing extremists, we arrived back in Warsaw at midnight. I fell asleep

by 1:00 a.m, but woke up at 4:00 because of a terrible nightmare where I

dreamt skinheads broke through the barrier of security men and beat up the

devotees. I sat up on my bed, wide awake, unable to forget the drama of the

previous day.

 

I thought about a lecture I had recently heard by Srila Prabhupada where he

mentioned that in days of yore people often dreamt about the Lord because of

their constant engagement in His service and meditation upon His lotus feet:

 

"In the evening, in the village, everyone would assemble in a place to hear

messages from Mahabharata and Ramayana. They would discuss while coming home

and would go to bed thinking that memory. So they'd sleep and dream Ramayana

and Mahabharata."

 

[srila Prabhupada lecture, May 31, 1972, Los Angeles]

 

My mind kept turning. "I also regularly hear the messages of Godhead and

discuss them with my friends," I thought. "Why then do I dream of skinheads

and hooligans? Obviously, it is due to their intense association."

 

"I spend most of my time in such association, day after day, year after

year," I thought. "What will happen if I remember such people at the moment

of death, when all the events of one's life pass before one, just like a

movie?"

 

Before getting up to shower, I prayed to the Lord that in my final hour, He

Himself would incarnate in my mind as the dominant force and personality.

 

vayur anilam amrtam

athedam bhasmantam sariram

om krato smara krtam smara

krato smara krtam smara

 

"Let this temporary body be burnt to ashes, and let the air of life be

merged with the totality of air. Now, O my Lord, please remember all my

sacrifices, and because You are the ultimate beneficiary, please remember

all that I have done for You."

 

[sri Isopanisad, Mantra 17]

 

After breakfast I asked Sri Prahlada if he would like to take a japa walk

with me in a park.

 

"That's unusual for you," he said, "to take a walk in a park."

 

"I need to get away to someplace in the mode of goodness, just for an hour

or so," I said.

 

"All right," he said, "lets go."

 

We drove to a nearby park, and we walked around softly chanting on our beads

and appreciating the lush greenery and beautiful flowers. I remembered the

old saying, "God created the country, and man created the city."

 

For a moment I felt as if I wanted to stay there, but I knew I couldn't, and

we left after half an hour. But it was enough simply to have had a glimpse

of the saner side of life, and it confirmed the need to preach in the

madness of the concrete jungles.

 

We returned to our apartment. Radhe Shyama das had already packed our van,

and we were ready to go. As I got into the car, my cell phone rang. It was

Bhakta Dominique. "The program tonight is in Bialystok," he said. "It's a

four-hour drive. When we arrive, we'll set up the hall and you can do

Harinam with the rest of the devotees."

 

"Fine," I replied. "We're looking forward to it."

 

"But there's something I must tell you," he continued. "Bialystok has a

reputation for being another one of those tough towns like Kielce."

 

"Here we go again," I said under my breath.

 

"What's that?" Dominique asked.

 

"Oh nothing," I said. "Just counting my blessings."

 

"Be careful during Harinam in Bialystok," Dominique said. "There's a major

football match at five PM and a heavy-metal concert in the evening. There'll

be plenty of people walking around looking for trouble."

 

"Trouble's becoming my middle name," I said.

 

"What?" asked Dominique.

 

"Oh just joking," I said. "Something from my American past."

 

We drove off, and I took a map out of the glove compartment. I turned to

Govinda Prema, a Polish devotee. "Where's Bialystok?" I asked.

 

He looked up. "We're going to Bialystok?" he said.

 

"Yes," I said, "that's where the festival is tonight."

 

"It's in the northeast, on the border with Russia," he said. "People are a

bit backward up there, from another era."

 

His eyes opened wide. "Some of them practice black magic," he said.

 

"Come on," I said. "You're kidding me. It's the 21st century."

 

His look became serious. "I'm not kidding at all," he said.

 

Then I remembered how Srila Prabhupada had confirmed that such things do

exist in some places, even in modern times.

 

"Such witches are called khecari, which means they can fly in the sky. This

black art of witchcraft is still practiced by some women in the remote

northwestern side of India. They can transfer themselves from one place to

another on the branch of an uprooted tree. Putana knew this witchcraft, and

therefore she is described in the Bhagavatam as khecari."

 

[Krsna Book,"Putana Killed"]

 

"Great!" I said. "Rightwing extremists and skinheads one day and witches the

next. Do the security firms up north know how to deal with witches who ride

on broomsticks and perform black magic?"

 

As a precaution, I took my japa beads and began softly chanting the Holy

Names of the Lord.

 

sarvany etani bhagavan

nama rupanukirtanat

prayantu sanksayam sadyo

ye nah sreyah pratipakah

 

"May the glorification of the transcendental name, form, qualities and

paraphernalia of the Supreme Personality of Godhead protect us from the

influence of bad planets, meteors, envious human beings, serpents,

scorpions, and animals like tigers and wolves. May it protect us from ghosts

and the material elements like earth, water, fire and air, and may it also

protect us from lightning and our past sins. We are always afraid of these

hindrances to our auspicious life. Therefore, may they all be completely

destroyed by the chanting of the Hare Krsna maha-mantra."

 

[ Srimad Bhagavatam 6.8.29 ]

 

As we drove northeast, the countryside turned from green fields to thick

forests with lakes and streams. I noticed many old wooden houses dating from

the previous century, and as we got closer to Bialystok, I was surprised to

see farmers plowing their land with horses and old-style plows.

 

"Govinda Prema was right," I thought. "It's as if time had stood still

here."

 

But the real surprise came just a few kilometers outside of Bialystok. We

passed many roadside stands selling rustic brooms made from the branches and

twigs of trees. I had never seen anything like it in all my world travels.

It was right out of Grimm's Fairytales.

 

"Look at that!" I said to Sri Prahlad.

 

"What about it?" he said, unimpressed. "Those types of brooms are practical

for outdoor use."

 

"And for flying in the sky?" I asked.

 

No one answered, so I left it at that.

 

We entered the town and searched for the center square. Ominous black clouds

were descending over the city. It looked as if it might rain at any moment.

 

At the square we were met by several congregational devotees. "Srila

Gurudeva," said one, "the police just told us that rival groups of fans are

in town for the football match, so we can't roam about the streets with the

kirtan party. We have to stand in one place where the police can watch us."

 

"We'll never distribute all our invitations like that," I said. "It's three

p.m. now. The match doesn't start until five. I think we can go out for an

hour without any difficulty."

 

I saw a few of the local congregation members disappear down the street.

 

"Okay, Prabhus," I said, "let's everybody get ready for Harinam."

 

They responded slowly. It wasn't because they knew the risks of Harinam that

day in Bialystok. Not everyone was aware of that. It was because they were

still spooked by the incident on Harinama the previous day, when the

political extremists stopped us and later tried to stop our festival. The

devotees were still jittery.

 

"All right," I said, "We're going out for an hour to advertise the festival.

Everybody move forward. Let's go!"

 

Our fearful and reluctant kirtan party moved out, looking more like a

funeral procession than a blissful assembly proclaiming the glories of God.

Devotees had trouble even looking at the people.

 

I was jittery too. I knew the problems we could face, and I hadn't had much

sleep the night before.

 

Suddenly Narottam das shouted, "Hari Bol!"

 

I wheeled around. I thought we were being attacked again. But he was simply

expressing his joy, as the kirtan party picked up speed - and a little

enthusiasm.

 

After 100 meters, the kirtan started becoming blissful. Sri Prahlada, true

to form and focused as always on the holy names, was building up a melodious

and powerful kirtan. Gaura Hari das, catching his mood, was playing a

rhythmic mrdanga beat that permeated the street. With kartalas chiming in

time, devotees were soon caught up in the ecstasy of the holy names.

Gradually their apprehensions disappeared, and they began chanting loudly

and dancing blissfully.

 

The sun, as if on cue, broke through the clouds, flooding the town with

light. The sunshine bounced off the colorfully dressed devotees, making them

sparkle with blue, red, and yellow, like vaidurya jewels.

 

The devotees had overcome their anxiety, fear, and lamentation. They were

chanting from their hearts, and the people on the street became enlivened.

Everyone seemed to be smiling. Many waved, and a number of kids passing by

on their way to the football match gave a thumbs-up to our joyful band. The

tempo of the kirtan increased even more, and the joy of the devotees spilled

out into the streets. The whole atmosphere changed.

 

What a contrast to the events of the previous day, to the nightmare that

still lingered in my mind, to my dark expectations for Bialystok! I stepped

back for a moment in amazement. "Where are the witches?" I thought. "And

where are the tough boys looking for a fight? Where are the backward people

who live in the past?"

 

All of them seemed transformed, at least for the moment, by the mercy of the

holy names.

 

The festival that night was the biggest and best we had ever had inside a

public hall. People from all walks of life came, young and old. Even rival

football fans forsake their match to come with us and chant and dance.

 

yatredyante katha mrstas

trsnayah prasamo yatah

nirvairam yatra bhutesu

nodvego yatra kascana

 

"Whenever pure topics of the transcendental world are discussed, the members

of the audience forget all kinds of material hankerings, at least for the

time being. Not only that, but they are no longer envious of one another,

nor do they suffer from anxiety or fear."

 

[srimad Bhagavatam 4.30.35]

 

indradyumna.swami (AT) pamho (DOT) net

 

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