Volume 6, Chapter 21

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Indradyumna Swami

05-Jan-06 16:10 (11:10 -0500)

IDS Diary (of a Traveling Preacher) [142]

Volume 6, Chapter 21

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Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 6, Chapter 21

 

By Indradyumna Swami

 

November 16 - December 25, 2005

 

 

"A Little Corner of Hell"

 

 

After the Ratha-yatra in Buenos Aires and a week of preaching programs

around the city, I was visited by a devotee with a message from Gunagrahi

Maharaja: could I visit the ISKCON temples in Chile and Paraguay?

 

I hesitated for a moment, only because I was trying to figure out where

Paraguay was. I finally gave up. I turned to the messenger to agree, but

before I could say anything, he handed me an airline ticket. "You leave the

day after tomorrow," he said.

 

The exchange brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of a soldier

receiving new orders from his superiors. In fact, Srila Prabhupada sometimes

compared the expansion of Lord Caitanya's sankirtan movement with a military

exercise.

 

"Just as Arjuna and Krsna were victorious in the Battle of Kuruksetra, this

Krsna consciousness movement will surely emerge victorious if we remain

sincere devotees of the Lord and serve the Lord according to the advice of

the predecessors."

 

[Caitanya-caritamrta, Madhya-lila 4.79, purport]

 

So with my new orders in hand, I happily boarded a flight to Santiago late

in November. The prospect of visiting new preaching fields is always

exciting for a traveling preacher, not because of a love of tourism but

because of the opportunity to share Krsna consciousness with others.

 

The material world holds little interest for a devotee of the Lord. In fact,

as my flight descended over the Andes near Santiago and circled the city, I

didn't even bother looking out the window, unlike many of the other

passengers. I was certain the city would look much like many others I'd seen

during the past 35 years. Globalization has brought the same stores,

fashions, and advertising to practically every country in the world.

Indigenous cultures are quickly disappearing, giving way to a common world

order. By the grace of my spiritual master, Srila Prabhupada, only the

places of the Lord's pastimes, such as the town of Vrindavan, where Lord

Krishna appeared, remain dear to my heart.

 

"There are surely many cities

throughout the world,

each of them blessed by My presence

in the form of a presiding Deity

who can satisfy the minds

of devotees like you.

But, my dear friend, I swear

to you again and again

and with all sincerity, that none

brings as much joy to My heart

as this humble cowherd village.

 

[Krsna speaking to Uddhava, Uddhava-sandesa, Text 8]

 

Several devotees picked me up at the airport and drove me to the temple in

the center of the city. After a short reception I was taken upstairs to my

room, where I asked about the schedule for my visit. I was surprised when

the devotees told me they were having a Ratha-yatra festival the next day.

 

In the morning, all of us assembled outside the temple, where a group of

devotees were putting the finishing touches on the huge Ratha cart. There

were more than 300 devotees, including congregation and friends. Most of

them were teenagers.

 

"Many young people in Santiago are attracted to Krsna consciousness," said

Adi Keshava, the temple president. "Every year we make 10 to 15 new

devotees. It's like the early years of the movement in America, but here

it's been going on for decades."

 

I was impressed. The mood was upbeat and exciting. Suddenly someone blew a

conch, and 40 or 50 youngsters picked up the ropes and started running down

the street. As the cart raced off I broke into a jog to keep pace.

 

"Just their youthful enthusiasm," I thought to myself. "They'll slow down in

a minute."

 

But the pace increased, and my jog turned into a run as the gigantic cart

screeched around a corner, barely missing the parked cars.

 

Hundreds of young devotees were leaping and dancing all over the road.

Muscular boys played fast, powerful beats on mrdangas as the kirtan leader

chanted loudly, sweating profusely in the warm summer air and smiling

broadly.

 

After thirty minutes and five city blocks, I realized the devotees had no

intention of decreasing their speed, so I slowed down to a walk and fell

behind.

 

An hour later the cart turned and raced around another corner, then turned

again and headed down a street parallel to the one from which we'd come. I

cut through a side street and suddenly found myself at the front of the

parade.

 

"Maharaja," said the kirtan leader, handing me the microphone, "you lead."

 

"Okay," I said smiling, "but I can't sing and run at the same time."

 

I slowed the parade and led for 20 minutes. Then I handed the kirtan back to

the previous singer, who immediately broke into a fast tempo and raced off

with the devotees and cart down the street.

 

As I looked around, I saw people enjoying the sight. "It's a fast-track

festival of mercy," I thought. Then I took a shortcut to the festival

grounds and waited for the parade to arrive.

 

An hour later the procession approached the park at a normal speed, with a

good-sized crowd of young people following. A few minutes later I gave an

introductory lecture about Krsna consciousness from the festival stage and

noticed a number of teenagers listening attentively, mesmerized by the

philosophy. "All right," I thought. "If racing with Lord Jagannath through

the streets of Santiago is what it takes to bring those kids to the

threshold of spiritual life, so be it."

 

The only drawback was that the next morning I was so sore I could hardly get

out of bed.

 

Some of the students came to the lectures I gave in the temple over the next

few days, and I was happy to introduce them to Krsna consciousness. In fact,

I was enjoying myself so much that I was taken by surprise one morning when

a devotee reminded me that I had a flight that day to Ciudad del Este in

Paraguay.

 

As I hurriedly packed my gear I found myself again wondering, "Where in the

world is Paraguay?"

 

I arrived at the airport an hour early, and after passing through

immigration, I sat at the boarding gate for the first leg of my trip: a

flight to Asuncion. I relish such moments, as they are the only time I have

to myself. I use them to catch up on correspondence, read, or chant extra

rounds.

 

But this time, I opened my computer, linked it to a wireless connection, and

did a quick Google search on Paraguay. I selected the U.S. Department of

State's consular information site. As I read the information, I started to

feel uneasy: "Travelers outside the capital, Asuncion, should consider

seeking travel agency assistance, as satisfactory or adequate tourist

facilities are very limited in major cities and almost nonexistent in remote

areas."

 

"Why do tourists even bother going there?" I wondered.

 

"Most urban streets consist of cobblestones over dirt," the website

continued. "Some roads in Asuncion and other large cities are paved.

However, these roads frequently develop potholes that often remain in a

state of disrepair. Nearly all rural roads are unpaved."

 

"My gosh," I thought, "it's even worse than Russia during the communist

era."

 

"Crime has increased in recent years with criminals often targeting those

thought to be wealthy. U.S. citizens have on occasion been the victims of

assaults, kidnappings, robberies, and rapes. Under these circumstances, U.S.

citizens traveling to or residing in Paraguay should be aware of their

surroundings and security at all times."

 

"Wow!" I said out loud.

 

"U.S. citizens should avoid large gatherings or any other event where crowds

have congregated to demonstrate or protest. Such activities have resulted in

intermittent road closures, including major routes traveled by tourists and

residents. U.S. citizens who encounter roadblocks should not attempt to

continue the planned travel or to confront those at the roadblock."

 

I made a mental note: "Avoid roadblocks."

 

As I continued to read, I began to wonder if I had made the right decision

in going to Paraguay.

 

"Organizations providing financial support to extremist groups operate in

Ciudad del Este and several high-profile kidnappings for ransom have

occurred."

 

"Avoid kidnappings," I thought, half joking with myself.

 

"Armed robberies, car thefts, and home invasions are common in both urban

and rural areas. Street crime, including pick-pocketing and mugging, is

prevalent in the cities, particularly during the evening hours in the

vicinity of hotels and airports."

 

"Better be careful when I land in Ciudad del Este," I thought.

 

"Americans living or traveling in Paraguay are encouraged to register with

the nearest U.S. Embassy or Consulate through the State Department's travel

registration website and to obtain updated information on travel and

security within Paraguay."

 

I immediately registered my travel plans on the website.

 

As the boarding announcement started, I quickly consulted another website.

It confirmed what the U.S. State Department's site had said: "An unruly

region of convergence of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay, Ciudad del Este is

a place of money laundering, smuggling, arms and illegal narcotics,

trafficking for extremist organizations and a major location of illicit

production of cannabis."

 

"Anyway, no reason to be discouraged," I thought. "Experience has shown that

such places often present the best opportunities for preaching."

 

After a two-hour flight we landed in Asuncion, where I immediately

transferred to a connecting flight to Ciudad del Este. After take-off, a

stewardess made an announcement in Spanish. I could catch only a few

sentences, something about three stops on the way to Buenos Aires.

 

"How will I know which stop is Ciudad del Este?" I thought.

 

I called the stewardess. "Habla ingles?" I said in my best Spanish. "Do you

speak English?"

 

"No, Señor," she replied, rushing off to her duties.

 

I soon fell asleep and woke up abruptly 45 minutes later as the flight was

landing. Groggy from sleep, I grabbed my hand luggage and quickly got off

the flight. I was the only passenger to alight. As I was walking towards the

terminal I suddenly realized I wasn't sure if the flight had actually landed

in Ciudad del Este. I looked at the terminal building, but the sign on it

didn't mention anything about Ciudad del Este.

 

I presented my passport at immigration. "Is this Cuidad del Este?" I asked

the officer. Either he couldn't understand English or he thought I was mad,

because he just shook his head and laughed, stamping my passport and waving

me forward.

 

I had only hand luggage, so I quickly walked towards the exit to meet the

devotees outside. Along the way I was surprised to see a sign in English,

and I stopped to read it.

 

"Warning! Dengue fever prominent in this area. Transmitted by mosquitoes, it

is found mainly in urban areas and around human dwellings. Take all

necessary precautions."

 

"One more thing to watch out for," I thought as I walked out the door. But

as the automatic doors closed behind me, I realized there was nobody there

to meet me. I broke out in a cold sweat. "Maybe Cuidad del Este was the next

stop," I thought.

 

I pulled out my cell phone to make a call, but the there was no connection.

I decided to wait, and I sat down on the curb. At that moment a group of 10

or 15 taxi drivers approached me. "Habla ingles?" I said. "Is this Ciudad

del Este?"

 

They laughed. Some said "Si." Some said "No."

 

Immediately all of them moved in and surrounded me. I knew I was in trouble.

When I tried to stand up, one of them shoved me back down. The next moment I

saw my computer bag being picked up and I grabbed it tightly. Off to my left

I saw my Deity box being dragged away and I quickly caught it as well. As

the men moved around me, I jostled to keep my bags by my side. Suddenly, a

van pulled up and I saw devotees inside. Then, as quickly as they had

arrived, the taxi drivers disappeared into the darkness.

 

"Everything okay?" said a devotee.

 

"Couldn't be better," I said. "You guys arrived just in time."

 

"How do you like Paraguay?" another devotee asked as I got into the car.

 

"So far it's everything I expected," I replied.

 

I was a bit shaken by the incident at the airport, and I was silent as we

drove through the night to a small temple on the outskirts of the city. As

the van bounced along the cobblestone streets I tried to study the scene

outside, but it was too dark. I imagined it would look much like what I'd

read - poor, undeveloped, and rampant with crime.

 

When we arrived a small group of devotees received me, and I then retired to

my room. I lay down on my bed, exhausted. It was hot and humid, so I didn't

cover myself until the mosquitoes discovered me. Then I wrapped myself up,

preferring to swelter under the covers rather than risk Dengue fever.

 

"A little corner of hell," I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

 

That night I dreamed that the taxi drivers kidnapped me at the airport,

threw me in the back of a taxi, and drove away. They sent a message to

ISKCON's Governing Body Commission that it had 24 hours to pay a ransom of

two million dollars. The GBC wrote back that it couldn't pay because too

many temples were in debt. As the kidnappers prepared to kill me, a host of

angels appeared in the sky and started singing, scaring away my kidnappers.

 

I woke up sweating.

 

"Was it a dream?" I thought, groggy from sleep.

 

"Of course it was," I said out loud, sitting up in the darkness. Suddenly I

heard the angels singing again. I quickly got out of bed and opened the door

of my room. A flood of early morning light entered. I walked outside, and

the singing became louder.

 

A devotee approached me. "Good morning, Maharaja," he said. "Did you sleep

well?"

 

"Where is that singing coming from?" I asked.

 

"There's a Christian school just behind the wall of your room," he said.

"All morning the children sing beautiful Christian hymns."

 

"Bless those little angels," I said as I went to take my shower.

 

Later I walked to the front of our property and was amazed to see a

beautiful landscape of simple homes set in serene subtropical foliage.

 

"Everything OK, Maharaja?" asked a brahmacari.

 

"Yes," I said, "I'm fine. "It's just that I didn't expect this. I mean it

wasn't in the reports I read. It's all so beautiful."

 

On the way back to my room, I was surprised to meet a Godbrother of mine,

Jagajivan dasa.

 

He'd told me he'd been preaching in Paraguay for many years and had

established a temple in Asuncion. I could only admire his determination.

 

I asked him what programs had been arranged for my three-day visit.

 

"At two o'clock this afternoon you're on national television," he said

smiling.

 

As we drove to the temple's vegetarian restaurant downtown, where the

interview was to take place, we passed a crowded area near the River Padana.

I noticed a large bridge crossing the river. There was a high fence along

both sides of the bridge.

 

"Why is there such a large fence on the bridge?" I asked Jagajivan.

 

"So smugglers don't throw goods off the bridge and float them downstream to

Brazil," he replied.

 

"I read about that smuggling," I said.

 

"Let's take a quick drive over the bridge," Jagajivan said. "It's a good

vantage point for seeing the city."

 

As we neared the bridge we were suddenly caught in heavy traffic. After a

few minutes, we weren't moving.

 

"Is this normal?" I asked.

 

"No," he said. He rolled down the window to ask some nearby vendors what was

happening.

 

"They said the bridge is blocked by a demonstration," he said. "We'll wait

it out."

 

I immediately remembered the advice of the U.S. Department of State about

roadblocks.

 

"No," I said. "Let's turn around and go to the restaurant. We don't want to

be late for the interview."

 

Along with national television, there was national radio and several

prominent newspapers waiting for us when we arrived. It turned out to be

more like a press conference. "This would be very difficult to arrange in

Europe," I thought. "It's one of the advantages of preaching in a place like

this."

 

The next day devotees told me they had arranged two lectures at a local

university. I was thrilled by the prospect.

 

As it turned out, however, the university was a combined grade school and

high school. The first class consisted of 200 children, 8 to 10 years old.

As they sat staring at me, I tried to explain the basic philosophy of Krsna

consciousness in the simplest terms. But their attention span lasted only a

few minutes, and soon most of them were talking among themselves, so I

started discussing something they might better understand: kindness to

animals.

 

I was trying to tell them that animals have souls when I noticed a little

girl about 9 years old in the front row listening intently. When I said that

we should not be cruel to animals, I saw a tear glide down her face. I

decided to direct my talk to her alone. When I said that all creatures are

part of one spiritual family, her face lit up.

 

When the recess bell rang, all the other children jumped up and rushed

outside, but the girl sat still for a moment, reflecting on what she'd

heard. Then she slowly got up and left.

 

After the break, a group of 300 high-school students entered. I asked

Jagajivan prabhu to speak to them. A different scenario unfolded as the

students listened intently to his talk.

 

Suddenly, I saw the little girl from the previous group enter the classroom

and walk quietly along the back of the hall and down one side to take her

previous seat in front. She immediately became absorbed in the lecture.

 

After half an hour, Jagajivan prabhu ended his talk and asked me to lead

kirtan. I jumped at the opportunity. I wanted the little girl to experience

the bliss of Krsna consciousness. As I taught the students the mantra, I saw

her repeating it carefully, word for word.

 

As I started singing, many of the students stood up and started to dance.

Perhaps intimidated by the older children, the little girl remained her in

chair, but chanted with a concentrated look on her face.

 

The kirtan became more ecstatic, and other students joined the dancing. At

one point they all formed a single line weaving through the classroom. After

a while I looked at my watch and realized we'd gone way over our time limit,

but when I stopped the kirtan all the students started screaming for more.

 

I had no choice to but to start again. The campus was small, and I imagined

the whole student body hearing the kirtan. I looked through the window

across the yard into other classrooms, and I saw students swaying in their

seats as they concentrated on their studies. About an hour later I brought

the kirtan to a close and glanced at the little girl. She was still in her

seat, smiling and radiant, relishing the nectar of the holy names. "She's

Yours now my Lord," I thought. "Please guide her to Your lotus feet."

 

After a few moments she glanced at her watch, jumped up, and quickly ran

towards the exit. When she reached the door she stopped, turned around, and

smiled at me, a look of deep appreciation in her eyes. Then she was gone.

 

When all the children had left I sat down and quietly reflected on how I'd

been apprehensive about coming to Paraguay. Shaking my head, I looked upward

and laughed. "Good Lord," I said, "You can send me to hell anytime you wish,

as long as I can hear the angels sing and there are souls like that little

girl eager to chant Your holy names."

 

narayana para sarve

na kutascana bibhyati

svargapavarga-narakesv

api tulyartha-darsinah

 

"Devotees solely engaged in the devotional service of the Supreme

Personality of Godhead, Narayana, never fear any condition of life. For them

the heavenly planets, liberation and the hellish planets are all the same,

for such devotees are interested only in the service of the Lord.

 

(Srimad-Bhagavatam 6.17.28)

 

Indradyumna.swami (AT) pamho (DOT) net

 

www.traveling-preacher.com

Official website for Diary of a Traveling Preacher

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