Volume 5, Chapter 25

[Guest guest]

Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 5, Chapter 25

 

August, 2004

 

 

"Shoot for the Rhinoceros"

 

 

After the Woodstock festival, we returned to the Baltic coast to resume our

summer festivals. But no sooner had we arrived than Maya's forces dealt us a

blow. We had chosen a town near our summer base and had signed the contract

with city hall well in advance. Two days before the festival we did Harinam

and flooded the town with thousands of invitations. Our colorful posters

could be seen everywhere. Tourists were pouring in, and the whole town was

buzzing about the upcoming event.

 

The second day I took the Harinam party out for another day of advertising.

We chanted on the beach, occasionally stopping to speak to crowds about our

festival the next day. At the end, we were exhausted. I crawled into my van

after the Harinam was over.

 

"You look tired," said our driver, Radhe Shyama das.

 

"True," I said, "but it's worth it. Many people said they'll come for the

program."

 

Then my cell phone rang. It was Nandini dasi.

 

"Srila Gurudeva," she said, " I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but

the mayor just canceled tomorrow's festival."

 

I gasped. Such things sometimes happen inland, where people are less

familiar with us, but rarely on the coast where we have been holding

festivals for 15 years.

 

"How is it possible?" I asked.

 

"The town secretary told me in confidence that the mayor received a bribe,"

Nandini said.

 

"We have to do something," I said. "We put our hearts and souls into the

preparations for this festival. Last year over 5,000 people came to the same

town with even less advertising."

 

"I understand, Srila Gurudeva," Nandini replied. "I'll do my best."

 

I explained the situation to the other devotees in the van. A brahmacari

spoke up. "What does she mean she'll 'do her best'?" he said.

 

"I haven't got a clue," I replied, "but knowing Nandini, she's already in

action."

 

Sure enough, an hour later Nandini's husband called me. "Srila Gurudeva," he

said, "this is Jayatam. Nandini found the man who gave the bribe to the

mayor. She spoke with him for almost an hour. He regrets his action but says

nothing can be done. The mayor already has the money."

 

"How in the world did she find the man?" I asked.

 

"After speaking with you, she jumped out of the car with a determined look

on her face," Jayatam said, "and she started walking in the direction of the

area where the festival was to be held. There was a housing complex nearby

and she stood there for ten minutes looking at the houses. Then she walked

straight up to one house and knocked on the door.

 

"When a man answered, she said point blank to his face, 'Do you know

anything about the Festival of India being canceled?'

 

"He was so startled that he started shaking. 'Yes,' he said, 'it's me. I did

it. I didn't want to be disturbed by the noise so I paid the mayor.'

 

"Nandini scolded him and asked him to take the bribe back, but he said it

was too late. She admonished him some more and then stormed off. I saw the

whole thing with my own eyes."

 

A passage from the scriptures came to my mind: "These women have never

undergone the purificatory rites of the twice-born classes, nor have they

lived as brahmacaris in the asrama of a spiritual master, nor have they

executed austerities, speculated on the nature of the self, followed the

formalities of cleanliness or engaged in pious rituals. Nevertheless, they

have firm devotion for Lord Krsna, whose glories are chanted by the exalted

hymns of the Vedas and who is the supreme master of all masters of mystic

power .... " [srimad Bhagavatam 10.23.43-44 ]

 

As we talked, Nandini was already in another town making emergency

preparations for another festival the next day. As I finished speaking to

Jayatam she called.

 

"We have the central park in the next town for a festival tomorrow," she

said. "The mayor there was sympathetic to our problem."

 

"That's pretty quick," I said, "but it leaves only one day to advertise."

 

"It's enough," Nandini said. "Word is out, and people are already talking

about the event."

 

Early the next day our tired band of kirtaneers made a special effort and

went out on sankirtan in the next town. When I saw some of them fading after

four hours, I announced that we were stopping and going home. I turned to

lead the way and after 20 steps looked behind me to make sure everyone was

following. No one had moved. "Lets go!" I called out. "We're going home!"

 

Again, no one moved.

 

"Srila Gurudeva," said a devotee, "there are 2,000 invitations left."

 

"Real troopers, these devotees," I said to myself. We went on for another

hour and a half and ended up distributing 7,000 invitations that day.

 

The efforts of the devotees were rewarded when 4,000 people came that

evening, including many from the town where the festival had been canceled.

Jayatam had arranged for two buses to wait at the site of the canceled

event. The people were disappointed that the mayor there had canceled the

festival, but they didn't mind taking a 15-minute bus ride to the next town.

For over an hour the buses ferried people back and forth. I couldn't believe

my eyes.

 

Usually I watch the crowd as it comes into a festival, but that night I

watched the tired faces of the devotees as they looked up from their various

services at the festival and smiled as people walked in. How proud I was of

those devotees! I knew their selfless efforts would be rewarded by the Lord.

 

ya idam paramam guhyam

mad-bhaktesv abhidhasyati

bhaktim mayi param krtva

mam evaisyaty asamsayah

 

"For one who explains this supreme secret to the devotees, pure devotional

service is guaranteed, and at the end he will come back to Me."

[bhagavad-gita 18.68]

 

The next morning, as I was taking a little extra rest before the Harinam

party left, my phone rang again. I sensed it was Nandini. I hesitated to

answer, but I rolled over and pushed the receiving button.

 

"Srila Gurudeva," the voice said, "this is Nandini. I have to tell you

something"

 

"Here we go again," I muttered, and waited for the next installment of

sankirtan drama.

 

Nandini laughed. "The Indian ambassador to Poland has expressed an interest

in visiting our festival," she said. "His first secretary just called me and

asked what day they could come."

 

I sat up straight. This was something I had waited years for. In 1997, we

were invited to participate in a festival honoring Indian culture in

Swidnik, a town in the conservative eastern part of Poland, and the Indian

ambassador at that time was also invited. When a local priest found out that

the Hare Krsna movement was invited to the festival, he challenged the

mayor, who to everyone's amazement called off the entire event. The Indian

ambassador left embarrassed.

 

Although the media took our side and we received much favorable publicity,

it strained our relations with the Indian embassy in Warsaw, and the people

there became reluctant to be associated with us.

 

Nandini went on to say that the new ambassador had heard about our festival

from a number of people and was eager to see it. "I hope things go smoothly

this time," the first secretary had said.

 

"I'll make sure they do," I thought. "Such cooperation might even deal a

death blow to the anti-cult movements in Poland."

 

Nandini asked what town would be the best to invite the ambassador to. I

immediately thought of Kolobrzeg, the biggest and most important city along

the coast. It was brimming with tourists now, at the height of the summer

season.

 

"Phone city hall in Kolobrzeg," I told Nandini "and ask for an appointment

with the mayor. If he agrees to give us the main entrance to the beach to

hold our festival, we'll invite the Indian ambassador to open the event. It

will be prestigious for the city."

 

It was a long shot. Although the area would be a beautiful spot with plenty

of room for our festival, it was rarely, if ever, given to any group for an

event. It was prime territory, on the most prestigious beach in Poland,

where the wealthy, educated, and cultured often went. If the city officials

agreed to give us that spot, they would be seen as endorsing our event. We

had already held a festival in Kolobrzeg in late June, but in a large grass

parking lot half a kilometer from the beach.

 

Nandini thought for a minute. "Srila Gurudeva," she said, "it will be a

miracle if they give us that place."

 

"That's true," I said, "but let's shoot for the rhinoceros."

 

"What?" asked Nandini. "Shoot a rhinoceros?"

 

I couldn't help smiling. "It's American slang," I said. "It means try for

the impossible."

 

"Okay, Gurudeva," said Nandini, "a rhinoceros it is."

 

That afternoon Nandini telephoned. "I called the mayor's secretary," she

said. "At first he was reluctant, but then he thought about the idea for a

few moments and went to speak to the mayor. He came back to the phone and

said, 'The mayor has agreed to see you in two hours.' He sounded surprised."

 

In the evening I was outside with several devotees, waiting for Nandini.

Finally I saw her drive up with a big smile on her face, I slapped one of

the brahmacaris on the back. "Okay!" I said. "The beachfront's ours! Let's

get into action!"

 

"Aren't you going to speak to Nandini first?" he asked.

 

"She got the rhino," I said.

 

"What?" he said. "She got a rhino? What are talking about, Srila Gurudeva?"

 

I started to laugh. "You'll see soon," I said.

 

Nandini had convinced the mayor to give us the site for three days, the

three biggest days of the summer vacation. They made plans for the mayor and

the Indian ambassador to open the festival on the first day. I envisioned

thousands of people standing before our stage in the sand, listening to both

dignitaries speak favorably about our movement. But my dream almost became a

nightmare.

 

As the date for the festival approached, we began preparations for a bigger

and more prestigious festival than we had ever before held on the coast. We

started setting things up two days before the event. We put our big stage on

the main boardwalk, facing the sea, and set up 20 large tents that spilled

out onto the sand.

 

Setting up the festival site in the midst of the huge summer crowds was

enough advertising in itself, but I took further advantage of the

opportunity by taking the Harinam party out for five hours each day along

the one-kilometer beach. The devotees were tired from two months of Harinam

and festivals, but they chanted and danced in ecstasy. The weather was sunny

and beautiful, and the beach and the boardwalk were packed all day and half

the night. In just three days we distributed over 35,000 invitations.

 

"Don't you think we've given out enough invitations?" a devotee asked.

 

"We're not going out chanting just to distribute invitations," I said. "The

chanting party itself is a festival. In my eyes, it's just as important as

the main event. Big, beautiful and well organized chanting parties

themselves create faith in the hearts of the people."

 

I thought about something Srila Prabhupada had written: "The Krsna

consciousness movement has started performing sankirtana-yajna in different

places, and it has been experienced that wherever sankirtana-yajna is

performed, many thousands of people gather and take part in it.

Imperceptible auspiciousness achieved in this connection should be continued

all over the world. The members of the Krsna consciousness movement should

perform sankirtana-yajnas one after another, so much that all the people of

the world will either jokingly or seriously chant Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna,

Krsna Krsna, Hare Hare/ Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare, and thus

they will derive the benefit of cleansing the heart. The holy name of the

Lord (harer nama) is so powerful that whether it is chanted jokingly or

seriously the effect of vibrating this transcendental sound will be equally

distributed." (Srimad-Bhagavatam 4.24.10, purport)

 

The Indian ambassador asked us to pick him up at 2 p.m. at the airport in a

town 100 kilometers away and drive him to Kolobrzeg, where he would be

officially greeted by the mayor. We told him that after his address from our

main stage at 6 p.m. we would take him and the mayor on a tour of our

festival grounds and then have a banquet in one of the tents. Afterwards,

there would be a press conference.

 

I fell asleep that night feeling good. Everything was going our way: the

prestigious site, the dignitaries, the media coverage, the weather ...

 

Then at 2:00 in the morning I was awakened by a loud "Boom! Boom! Boom!" It

was thunder, shaking the windows in my room. I jumped up from bed and ran to

the window. "Oh no!" I said out loud. "It's not possible!" Then a flash of

bright lightning lit up the dark room and confirmed my worst fears: a huge

storm had descended over Kolobrzeg.

 

I couldn't fall back asleep. I just sat there chanting as the rain poured

down.

 

At 5:30 a.m. I woke up Jayatam. "Call the weatherman," I said.

 

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Huh? Wha ...?" he said. "Uh, now?"

 

"As soon as possible." I said.

 

Later that morning Jayatam came with the weatherman's forecast: "Three days

of stormy weather. Constant rain and heavy winds with hailstones."

 

"Hailstones?" I said. "In the middle of summer?"

 

"That what the weatherman said," Jayatam replied. "He even said it's 100

percent sure."

 

I was down at the festival site by 10 a.m.. The rain continued to pour and

the offshore winds howled through the festival site. A number of boys from

the set-up crew were struggling to tie down the tents, several of which

seemed about to blow away. Other than our boys, there was not a single soul

in sight, either on the long boardwalk or the beach.

 

I sat alone on the covered stage and looked out at the dismal scene.

 

By the afternoon the rain and wind had not abated at all. Ten or fifteen

devotees came down to the festival site and sat with me on the big stage,

looking out with long faces at the pathetic scene. By 3 p.m. some people

appeared along the boardwalk with umbrellas, most likely unable to bear

staying inside all day long.

 

"Perhaps if we have kirtan and beg for the mercy of the Lord, the festival

will go on," I thought.

 

"Grab the drums and kartalas," I called out to the boys. "We're going on

Harinam."

 

They looked at me in amazement. "They probably think I'm crazy," I thought.

 

"Let's go!" I yelled.

 

And so we went onto the wet boardwalk in our raincoats - a few devotees

struggling with umbrellas in the wind.

 

"Chant louder!" I told the devotees as we danced down the pavement, while a

few boys handed invitations to people, who were astonished to see us

chanting in the rain.

 

After half an hour a devotee came up to me. "Srila Gurudeva," he said.

"Everyone already has an invitation from the previous days. In fact, some

have four or five. All the devotees are soaking wet. They're going to get

sick."

 

"You're right," I said. "Let's go back."

 

At 4:15 p.m. Nandini called me. "The ambassador is in the car with us," she

said. "We just left city hall and are taking him on a tour of the town with

the mayor. We'll arrive at the festival site exactly on time, at 6 p.m."

 

"Great," I muttered with no enthusiasm. I looked at the empty festival site

as the rain poured down.

 

By 4:30 p.m. most of the devotees had arrived and were busy with final

preparations for the festival.

 

At 5 p.m. I was doing a television interview on the stage when suddenly a

few rays of bright sunshine broke through the dark clouds, lighting up the

entire area. Everyone looked to the skies. Even the cameraman turned his

camera upwards and filmed the sun peering through the clouds.

 

The camera turned back toward me. "What do you make of it?" asked the

interviewer. She was obviously as surprised as everyone else.

 

"It can only be the good Lord." I replied. "After all, it's His event."

 

"His event?" she asked.

 

"That's all for now," I said. "We've got to get ready for the crowds."

 

She looked around at the empty festival site. "The crowds?" she said. "What

crowds?"

 

But sure enough, within 45 minutes, as the sun continued to break through

and dissipate the clouds, people poured out from their homes, apartments,

tourist bungalows, and tents onto the boardwalk and the beach. A huge crowd

began to gather in front of our stage. An equal number began browsing

through our tents. As I marveled at the scene, I looked at my watch. It was

5:45. The mayor and the ambassador would arrive in 15 minutes.

 

We quickly swept the rainwater off the stage, turned our big generator on,

and started the lights and sound. Within minutes our Indian dancers were

performing onstage. They drew a crowd of more than a thousand. The sun was

now fully visible, and most of the clouds had disappeared.

 

Suddenly I looked toward the boardwalk on my left and saw Nandini and

Jayatam 50 meters away, strolling casually toward the festival site with the

Indian ambassador, the mayor, and a number of city officials.

 

The hot sunshine caused the water on the ground to evaporate quickly and

rise like steam, creating an almost mystical scene, as the dignitaries

walked across the festival grounds and onto the stage.

 

I stood there dumbfounded. Everything had come together so quickly, and

people were streaming onto the festival site.

 

The huge crowd was silent as the ambassador came to the microphone. I

studied the audience and saw what appeared to be many wealthy and

influential people. "They will certainly take the ambassador's words to

heart," I thought. It was a historic moment in the spreading of Krsna

consciousness in Poland.

 

The ambassador's voice boomed out across the boardwalk and the beach:

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen,

 

"It gives me great pleasure to be amongst you today to inaugurate the

Festival of India in your lovely city.

 

"Polish interest in India dates back to the 15th century, when a number of

Polish writers, soldiers, and missionaries started visiting India and

fostered the abiding interest of the Polish people in the civilization,

philosophy, art, and culture of India.

 

"In more recent times, the International Society for Krishna Consciousness

has done tremendous service in the spreading of Indian culture in Poland and

other parts of the world. ISKCON has published several great Indian epics,

including Bhagavad Gita, Srimad Bhagavatam, and Mahabharata into Polish and

made these wonderful books available for our Polish friends.

 

"In addition, the hosting of these Festivals of India for so many years has

helped in forming an international network of India-lovers. As you will see

over the next few days, most of the artists and performers are from Europe

and Africa.

 

"I will not be exaggerating if I say that the people associated with this

festival are the real forces behind the spreading of Indian culture and

civilization across Poland. They are the ambassadors of India here. And we

are proud of this. Seeing such enthusiasm for spreading Indian culture,

without any direct support of the Indian government, gives a feeling that is

not easy to express in words. I can only say that it is the privilege of

being born an Indian that I can find such great friends of my country here.

 

"I am really honored for all that they are doing for spreading the culture

of my country.

 

"Thank you."

 

During the ambassador's speech many people nodded in agreement with points

he made. When he finished there was a loud, sustained applause.

 

All I could think was, "All glories to Srila Prabhupada, Krsna's ambassador

from the spiritual world, whose mercy is making all this possible!"

 

Then the mayor spoke. Afterwards, he and the ambassador left the stage and

were escorted around the festival site and eventually into one of the tents

for the banquet. At the press conference later that evening, one doubting

reporter spoke to the ambassador. "Does this festival actually represent

your Indian culture?" he asked.

 

"Oh yes," the ambassador replied, "indeed it does, more than I imagined

before I came here. In fact, these devotees are doing more to spread

Indian's rich spiritual culture than we at the embassy are doing."

 

When he saw the reporter hesitating to write these favorable words, he moved

his head in such a way as to oblige him to do so.

 

As the festival came to an end and the ambassador left the tent for his

hotel, I saw him give his card to Nandini. "We'd like to cooperate with

you," he said. "I have a number of proposals. Please come to see me in

Warsaw next week."

 

Just at that moment I heard the rumbling of clouds in the sky, signaling the

return of the storm.

 

"Let it rain," I said looking to the skies. "Let it pour."

 

Sure enough, just as we ourselves left the festival site, the clouds opened

up and it began pouring rain. But to my amazement, by the next morning, it

was clear again and for the next two days, thousands of people enjoyed our

festival on the sands of the most prestigious beach in Poland.

 

And what happened to the hailstones the weatherman had predicted, 100

percent sure? They must have melted in the sunshine of Lord Caitanya's

mercy, 100 percent sure.

 

"We should always be enthusiastic to try for shooting the rhinoceros. That

way, if we fail, everyone will say, "Never mind, no one can shoot a

rhinoceros anyway," and if we succeed, then everyone will say, "Just see,

what a wonderful thing they have done." So if you are determined in this

way, then you can try for it by begging for the protection of Krishna."

[srila Prabhupada, Letter to Balavanta dasa, December 22, 1971]

 

indradyumna.swami (AT) pamho (DOT) net

 

www.traveling-preacher.com Official website for Diary of a Traveling

Preacher