Volume 6, Chapter 17

[Guest guest]

Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 6, Chapter 17

 

By Indradyumna Swami

 

August 11 - 25, 2005

 

 

"The Last Festival"

 

 

By the time I returned to Poland after my short visit to Ukraine, the

devotees had broken down Krsna's Village of Peace at Woodstock and returned

to our summer base on the Baltic coast.

 

They greeted me with a small reception, and I spoke about our plans for the

next two weeks. This would be the final leg of our festival tour. The

devotees had been holding festivals almost every day since May, and they

were tired, but when I mentioned that the season was drawing to a close,

many of them had tears in their eyes.

 

For all of us here, the festivals are our life and soul. Though we had

experienced many obstacles in the past months, endured many austerities, and

bore witness to the sufferings of many people, the pleasure of giving Krsna

consciousness to others far outweighed any inconvenience we had undergone.

 

As in every other year, hundreds of thousands of people had attended our

festivals. I thought about the magnitude of what we had done, and I did not

know how to repay the devotees. Then I remembered the dream about Srila

Prabhupada I had had in Ukraine, and I shared it with the devotees. They

listened spellbound.

 

"What we accomplished this year was a team effort," I said. "Therefore the

embrace that Srila Prabhupada gave me in the dream is meant to be shared

with all of you."

 

Though rainstorms were predicted, the weather remained perfect throughout

the next two weeks, so we lengthened the hours of Harinama, causing the

attendance at the festivals to increase.

 

Each summer we hold our final event in the town of Pobierowo. As we were

setting up the grounds there, the mayor came by on her bicycle and spoke

with Jayatam dasa.

 

"When people heard that your last festival would be here," she said, "many

extended their vacation an extra three days. Our office has been flooded

with inquiries about the program. You can expect a very big crowd."

 

I heard about her prediction, and I decided to make it come true, so I took

the Harinam party out to the beach early that day. Even in the morning it

was so crowded that our group of 110 devotees had difficulty maneuvering

through the people lying on the sand.

 

At one point I noticed a man following us, and after some time I went and

spoke with him.

 

"Are you enjoying the chanting?" I asked him.

 

"Very much," he said. "I've been hearing about your festival for years, but

my wife and I could never get enough money together to come up to the coast

to see it, but last week I convinced 18 of my neighbors to pool their

resources with ours so we could all come."

 

He motioned with his head toward some people sitting in the sand nearby. I

looked over at them, and they smiled and waved.

 

"I was so excited I couldn't wait for the festival this afternoon," he

continued, "so I decided to join you people singing here on the beach. Many

of the townspeople say it's as good as the festival itself."

 

An hour later, I noticed another man following us. And I wasn't the only

one. A number of young people on the beach were pointing at him excitedly. I

took the liberty of approaching him, and he introduced himself.

 

"I'm the bass player in a famous rock band in Poland," he said. "When your

group passed by on the beach, I was impressed with the man singing and

playing the accordion. He's one of the best musicians I've ever heard.

What's his name?"

 

"Sri Prahlada das," I replied.

 

I could not hold back a smile. "But he's not for hire," I added.

 

As we moved along, people kept stopping us, asking if they could take a

photo with us. Posing for photos with people was a daily affair for us on

the beaches, and as they snapped away, we smiled and waved, happy that our

colorful procession would be remembered back home after vacation was over.

 

A little further down the beach I was startled by an unexpected sight. A

seal, lying in the sand, jumped up and lumbered into the water. I had never

seen a seal in the Baltic Sea before in all the years we had been doing

Harinam there.

 

"The locals say he's been here all summer," said a devotee. "They think he

must have wandered in from the North Sea."

 

I thought that was the end of it and continued the Harinam party, keeping

close to the shore, but then I noticed the seal swimming alongside us. I

thought he would pull away after a few moments, so I called out to the

devotees, "Look at that!"

 

The devotees laughed and raised their eyebrows, and the seal kept swimming

beside us in the water. Every once in a while he would let out a loud bark.

 

Soon the crowds noticed this and people started following us. As we kept

chanting and dancing down the beach, the seal continued to swim along,

perking its head up every few meters to look at us. The crowd following us

became larger and larger.

 

When we reached the end of the beach we turned around to go back, and sure

enough, the seal turned and followed us. Finally, a young woman entered the

water and started swimming, and the seal turned and followed her, a few

meters behind. That was the last we saw of him.

 

"It's like you mentioned the other day, Guru Maharaja," said a devotee. "The

beach is no place for brahmacaris."

 

On the way back to the festival site a devotee stopped in a camera store to

have her film developed.

 

A few minutes later she came running up to me. "Maharaja," she said, "the

store owner was really happy to meet me. He even shook my hand. He said that

practically every roll of film he's developed in the last few days has

pictures of us with people standing next to our kirtan party on the beach."

 

I entered our festival grounds with mixed feelings. I had no doubt it would

be a big festival, as the mayor had said, but it would be the last of the

year. The hours were passing, and soon the tumultuous roar of the holy names

would come to an end.

 

As I approached the stage, two young girls, about nine years old, came

running up to me.

 

"Do you remember me?" said one, almost out of breath.

 

"Well, no," I said. "I can't say that do. I'm so sorry."

 

"I was at the festival last year," she said, "and the year before, and the

year before that. I live in this town, and I wait all summer for the

festival to come. This is my friend, Agnieska. It's her first time."

 

Agnieska smiled. "I was supposed to go to Italy today with my grandparents

on vacation," she said, "but I told my Mom I'd rather stay back and come to

the festival."

 

"Really?" I said. "You stayed back for the festival instead of going to

Italy?"

 

"Yep," she replied, "and I'm really glad I did 'cause I heard there's going

to be a wedding today."

 

"Yes," I said, "there will be a wedding."

 

"Can we be in the wedding?" the girls said in unison. "Please! Please!"

 

Their enthusiasm made me smile. "Sure," I said, "as a matter of fact, we

were just looking for two little girls to escort the bride through the crowd

onto the stage and to bring the rings out when the couple exchange their

vows. So you'll have to run over to the fashion booth and get dressed in

saris real quick."

 

In half a moment they were there.

 

A short while later, people started pouring into the festival. Before we

even started, the tents were filled with the curious, while the restaurant

was filled with the hungry, and the seats in front of the stage with those

eager for entertainment. It was just like all the other festivals of the

summer ... except that it would be the last.

 

I tried to forget that the end of the season was near and kept walking

toward the stage to tell the devotees to start the opening bhajan. The

hundreds of seats in front of the stage were already full, and there was

still 20 minutes to show time.

 

As I got closer, Nandini dasi came up to me.

 

"Srila Gurudeva," she said, "something wonderful just happened."

 

"What was that?" I said.

 

"As I was driving to the festival an hour ago," she said, " a

desperate-looking young man ran up to the window of the car and begged me to

stop. 'My girlfriend is about to commit suicide,' he said. 'Please take me

to her.'

 

"I asked him where she was, and he said, 'The train station.'

 

"I said I would take him and we drove off. I was not in devotee dress

because I had been doing legal work in some offices. As we drove along he

told me how grateful he was.

 

"In order to take his mind off the stressful situation, I asked him what his

interests in life were. 'The Festival of India,' he said. 'I visit their

website regularly. What these people do is simply incredible. I came to meet

them personally, but my girlfriend just had an argument with her mother and

wants to do something really stupid.'

 

"I tried to change the subject again, and I asked him if he was a student.

'Yes,' he said, 'I'm studying philosophy at the university in Krakow. But

it's all very boring compared to the philosophy I read on the Festival of

India website. The Hare Krishnas understand the bigger picture of life:

karma, reincarnation, the material world, and the spiritual world. And they

have a really pure lifestyle.'

 

"I was amazed. Then he told me, 'Actually, I'd like to become a volunteer

and help them spread their message.' He paused and studied me curiously for

a moment. Then he turned his head to look in the back seat and saw the

samosas I was bringing to the restaurant. He looked at me with his eyes

opened wide. 'Are you a member of the festival group?' he said.

 

"I smiled and told him I was.

 

"'Wow!' he said. 'This is incredible! I got to meet one of you personally.

Now I can see that you really do care for people. After I deal with my

girlfriend, I'll come straight back to the festival. Can you help me become

a volunteer?'

 

"I told him I could, and with that he jumped out of the car, just as we came

up to the train station. I'm waiting for him to come back to show him how he

can become a volunteer."

 

After speaking with Nandini, I continued towards the stage. As I walked

along, I noticed we had the biggest crowd of the summer. But rather than

make me happy, it only gave me more pain as I thought about the end of the

season.

 

Soon the stage program started. An hour later when Tribuvanesvara dasa, our

master of ceremonies, announced the wedding, the shops and restaurant

quickly emptied and people hurried forward to watch.

 

I started toward the stage. "They won't understand if I look sad," I

thought, so I forced myself to smile. Then I walked onto the stage with my

translator and welcomed the huge crowd.

 

"We're honored that so many of you have come to participate in this

traditional Indian wedding," I said, my voice bellowing out over the sound

system. "We're pleased to share this very colorful and joyful occasion with

all of you.

 

"Our bride and groom, Kunja-kishori dasi and Dayal Nitai dasa, are from St.

Petersburg, Russia. They're part of our international group of devotees who

have been putting on this festival for 16 years on the Baltic coast."

 

I suddenly felt overcome with emotion and had to stop. I took a few deep

breaths and continued.

 

"It has been Kunja-kishori's and Dayal Nitai's dream for several years to be

married at our festival. I'm sure they will appreciate that so many of you

have come to encourage them."

 

I paused for a moment. "But I must mention one thing," I said. The crowd

became silent as the tone of my voice changed.

 

"The bride is blind," I said slowly. "She won't be able to see anything that

takes place on the stage today."

 

Many people looked startled.

 

"But she told me that she's never felt her blindness a handicap," I said.

"She perceives the world fully through hearing. If anything, she told me,

her blindness is a mixed blessing, as it has brought her closer to God.

 

"I told her how many of you have come to her wedding today, and she is

thrilled. My request is that you help her enjoy this auspicious occasion in

a way she can understand: by loudly applauding the special moments of her

wedding."

 

Many people nodded their heads.

 

Then we began. First Dayal Nitai walked to the stage from the back of the

festival through the crowd, accompanied by his friends, all chanting Hare

Krishna and playing musical instruments. The crowd looked pleased as he

walked up onto the stage.

 

But they were really waiting for Kunja-kishori. Soon she appeared, walking

slowly on the same path with her girlfriends and the two little girls in

their new saris. The entire audience stood up and gave her a round of

thunderous applause.

 

She came onto the stage and circumambulated her husband seven times with the

help of a friend. Then she stood before the crowd to another round of loud

applause. "Bravo! Bravo!" yelled a man.

 

When Dayal Nitai lifted Kunja-kishori's veil, revealing her lovely face, the

crowd burst into applause again and continued for a long time. When the

couple exchanged garlands, the crowd applauded even louder.

 

When, on behalf of her father, I gave her away to the groom, the crowd

applauded yet again and roared with approval.

 

And so it went at every stage of the wedding. I couldn't remember ever

having participated in a public presentation of Krsna consciousness where

the crowd participated so eagerly. At the end of the wedding, Dayal Nitai

helped Kunja-kishori down the stairs and off the stage, where they were met

by hundreds of people, all applauding.

 

As I stood on the stage watching it all happen, I remembered Srila

Prabhupada's words:

 

"India will conquer the world by this Krsna culture. Rest assured."

[Pandal lecture, Mumbai March 31, 1971]

 

Then once again I remembered that the festival season was coming to a close,

and my joy at seeing so many people appreciating Krsna consciousness faded

into sadness. I went behind the stage curtain and sat alone for a few

minutes, trying to regain my composure.

 

After I came down from the stage, I met Nandini and Jayatam. I could see by

the looks on their faces that they were feeling the same emotions as I. Just

at that moment, a well-dressed older couple approached us.

 

"That was a beautiful wedding," the man said, "as is everything else you are

presenting here."

 

"Thank you," I said.

 

"One of your members told me you've been doing this festival for 16 years,"

he continued." Is that true?"

 

"Well we started out simple," I said, "but yes, this is the 16th year."

 

He looked at me for a moment and then put his hand out. As I shook it he

said, "May your festivals go on until the end of time and one day more!"

 

I was so touched I couldn't reply.

 

As he and his wife left I turned to Jayatam and Nandini. "That's the only

reward we want for our service," I said. "Whatever difficulties we've

undergone this summer, that one handshake makes it all worthwhile."

 

The next couple of hours went quickly. Before I began the final kirtan on

stage I opened my heart to the thousand people standing in front of me.

 

"Ladies and gentleman" I began, "this is a very emotional moment for all of

us here at the Festival of India. This next performance, the singing of Hare

Krishna, will be the last of the season.

 

"We have enjoyed sharing with you and others, this wonderful spiritual

culture of India. It has much to offer the world. We live in troubled times,

but this Krsna consciousness movement is teaching the best way to live in

this world, while preparing us to return home, to the spiritual kingdom."

 

The crowd was listening to every word. I didn't have to convince them of

much. The festival itself had already done that.

 

"We look forward to seeing you again at another one of our festivals," I

continued. "God willing, we'll be back again next year. The following kirtan

is dedicated to all of you. Without your enthusiastic participation this

festival wouldn't be the great event that it is."

 

When I stopped they applauded, just as they had so done many times

throughout the program.

 

"They're appreciating Krsna consciousness," I thought, "by the mercy of Lord

Caitanya Mahaprabhu."

 

I paused for a few seconds before beginning the last kirtan. As I looked out

at the sea of people, I prayed to the Lord that I might envision that moment

when I leave my body. It was everything I had worked for in life.

 

Then fighting back tears, I began the final kirtan. I took shelter of the

holy names knowing that deep feelings of separation would soon overcome the

other devotees and me when the program finished. What would life be without

the festivals, which bring joy to the lives of hundreds of thousands of

people?

 

saiveyam bhuvi dhanya gauda nagari velapi saivam

so'yam sri purusottamo madhupates tany eva namani tu

no kutrapi niriksyate hari premotsavas tadrso

ha caitanya krpa nidhana tava kim viksye punar vaibhavan

 

"The fortunate town of Navadvipa remains. The seashore remains. The city of

Jagannatha Puri remains. The holy names of Lord Krsna remain. But alas,

alas! Nowhere do I see the same kind of festival of pure love for Lord Hari

that I saw before. O Lord Caitanya, O ocean of mercy, will I ever see Your

transcendental glory again?"

 

[srila Prabodhananda Saraswati, Sri Caitanya Candramrta, text 140]

 

Indradyumna.swami (AT) pamho (DOT) net

 

www.traveling-preacher.com

Official website for Diary of a Traveling Preacher