Diary of a Traveling Preacher 6.17

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Indradyumna Swami

04-Oct-05

IDS Diary (of a Traveling Preacher)

Volume 6, Chapter 17

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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

 

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