Volume 5, Chapter 10

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Sun, 23 Nov 2003 17:19 +0300

"Indradyumna SwamiIDS Diary (of a

Traveling Preacher>

Volume 5, Chapter 10

 

 

 

Diary of a Traveling Preacher

 

Volume 5, Chapter 10

 

September 15 - November 1, 2003

 

 

"Lessons on the Road"

 

 

After the meetings in Rome, I went on a whirlwind tour

of temples in

Kazakhstan, Russia, and Ukraine.

 

These countries share a common past of authoritarian

communist rule,

and

their present situations are similar: weak economies,

unemployment,

crime,

and political uncertainty. Although some things have

changed

superficially

since these countries were freed and took up

democratic rule, the pace

of

progress is slow and the struggle for existence as

real as ever. Most

of my

disciples live in this part of the world, and as their

spiritual

master, I

share their happiness and distress as they struggle

with the material

world

and advance in Krsna consciousness.

 

When these disciples are sometimes overcome by the

strong force of the

material energy, I must practice tolerance and

patience in my dealings

with

them, like a father with his children. While in

Russia, I learned of

one

disciple who, in a moment of spiritual weakness,

joined the Russian

mafia

for quick money. Through bad association he gradually

gave up his

spiritual

practices. He lost his intelligence and engaged in

many criminal

activities.

One day he ran away in fear, with the mafia in close

pursuit. He

managed to

elude them for some time, but fearing they might find

him, he robbed a

bank

and let himself be caught. Now he sits in jail in

relative safety.

Recently

he wrote that he is chanting again and asked for

spiritual guidance.

 

On my trip through Ukraine, my heart went out to many

disciples who,

like

most people in their country, live a meager existence,

earning a wage

of no

more than $100 a month. On their insistence only, I

would accept their

donations of $10 and $20 bills for my preaching

programs in other parts

of

the world. In fact, I kept their donations is a

special pouch marked

"For

Krsna's service only," not wanting to spend their

money on my bodily

needs.

 

I saw further evidence of the struggle for existence

in southern

Ukraine

when I gave a darshan to 30 children of the devotee

community in

Dnepropetrovsk. The young audience included some kids

from the

congregation.

When I asked how many children chanted japa, all but

two raised their

hands.

Those two children, sitting just in front of me,

turned out to be a

brother

and sister, 11 and 9 years old respectively. When I

innocently asked

why

they didn't chant, the boy shot back, "Our father's a

drunkard and a

thief!

What do we have to thank God for?" I was unprepared

for such a sharp

answer, and as I gathered myself to reply, his sister

started sobbing.

"I

want to chant," she said, "but my brother won't let

me."

 

"Why should we chant?" he shouted at her. "You think

anyone cares for

us?"

 

A silence came over the room. I put my arms around the

two children and

hugged them. "I care," I said. Then I let go.

 

The boy turned to his sister. "Okay," he said, to my

surprise, "you can

start chanting, and if you want, I'll chant too."

 

For the rest of my three-day stay in the temple, they

wouldn't leave my

side, and during kirtans they jumped the highest of

all. On their last

day

in the temple, they came into my room with tears in

their eyes.

 

"We have to go back to our village for school," the

boy said.

 

"But we wanted to give you a donation," his sister

added.

 

Then they handed me all the money they had - the

equivalent of two

dollars -

but I wouldn't take it. When I saw how upset they were

that I wouldn't

accept their offering of love, I opened up my "For

Krsna's service

only"

pouch, and they happily put their donation inside.

 

That morning, the devotees were rehearsing a marriage

ceremony in the

back

yard of the temple for a festival in the park that

afternoon. While I

was

looking on, I noticed an old couple watching us from

their porch just a

few

feet away. I asked a devotee who they were.

 

"They sold us the house we use for our guests," he

said. "Then they

wasted

the money on gambling and liquor. They're quite bitter

now."

 

But I noticed the old woman couldn't help but smile as

she watched the

young

couple rehearse the wedding. Afterwards, I walked over

and sat down on

a

chair next to them, much to their surprise.

 

"Did you like the wedding rehearsal?" I asked.

 

The old man scowled. "What's there to like?" he said.

 

His wife remained silent.

 

"Don't you speak to him," the man said to her.

 

"I'd like to invite your both to the festival we're

having in the park

this

afternoon," I said.

 

The man was obviously startled by the invitation.

"We're not

interested," he

said, "and besides, my wife can't walk. She's

crippled. Can't you see?

She

hasn't left this house in six years."

 

"It's going to be a wonderful program," I said.

"Indian dance, theater,

singing, and music." The old woman's eyes lit up.

 

"I'll send a car for you," I said. "We'll pick you up

at your doorstep

and

bring you straight home after the program."

 

For the first time the old woman spoke. "Konstantin,"

she said, "can't

I go?

I haven't been out in such a long time."

 

Her husband relented. "Okay," he said, "you can go -

but not me. They

took

our house away."

 

I arranged for a car to pick up the old woman at 4:30

that afternoon.

The

devotees put her in the seat and drove her to the

park. When she

arrived, I

had her brought before the big stage and we gave her a

seat in the

front

row. She seemed amused by the way people were looking

at her, as if she

were

a celebrity.

 

And wasn't she thrilled when the show started! She

rocked back and

forth

during the Bharat Natyam dance, clapped her hands

during the bhajan,

and

cried during the wedding. And to my amazement, as I

led the final

kirtan

from the stage, I saw her chanting Hare Krsna along

with us.

 

After everything was over, I went down to help escort

her to the car

waiting

to take her home. When she was in her seat she called

me over and took

my

hand. "Young man," she said softly, "this was the best

day of my life.

Thank

you." Then she kissed me on the cheek.

 

As the car pulled away, I noticed she'd put some money

in my hand. I

shook

my head and put it in my special pouch. "I'll really

have to find a

good

service for all this," I said to myself.

 

As I left the temple the next day, the devotees

crowded around the car

and

had a big kirtan. There were so many that my driver

was worried about

how we

would get away and make it to the airport in time.

 

"Drive slowly" I said. "I'll open the window and ask

them to move

aside."

 

As we drove carefully down the street, devotees threw

fruit, flowers,

and

even coins through the open window. We picked up speed

and broke free

from

the crowd. Then we sped off to the airport. I gave the

fruit and

flowers to

my driver and put the coins in my special pouch. It

was quite heavy by

now -

the accumulated offerings of love from my disciples

and well wishers.

 

When we arrived at the airport, I was one of the last

persons to check

in

for the flight to Warsaw, Poland. After getting my

boarding pass, I

changed

the local currency I had received during my visit. It

came to $200.

 

I carefully put it into my pouch. "This is two months'

salary in this

country," I thought, shaking my head.

 

As I was late, I proceeded straight to customs and

passport control. In

Ukraine, one has to fill out a form declaring how much

money one is

carrying, both upon entering and leaving the country.

As I had no money

coming into the country, I filled out the departure

form and declared

$200.

 

I was in no anxiety. Customs officials are only

concerned about large

sums

of money going out. Little did I know how greedy they

would be for my

disciples' offerings of love.

 

"Show me your money!" barked the customs official in

English.

 

"I only have two hundred dollars," I replied.

 

"Show me!" he said louder.

 

I could tell something was up. I pulled out the $200

and showed it to

him

from a careful distance.

 

He looked around to make sure no one was watching.

"You must give me

one

hundred dollars customs tax," he said.

 

I knew from years of traveling in and out of Ukraine,

that there was no

customs tax for travelers, so I put the money back in

my pouch.

 

"Quickly!" he said, looking around him again.

 

"Sir," I said, "you know as well as I do that there

is no such thing

as

customs tax for someone carrying this amount of

money."

 

"Give it now, or I won't let you go any further," he

said impatiently.

 

I could see he was determined, but so was I. I wasn't

about to hand

over the

money I'd received with love from the little boy and

girl, the old

woman,

and the devotees as I'd left the temple. No way!

 

The customs official grabbed my passport, put it in

the drawer in front

of

him, and locked the drawer. He was smiling with

confidence. "You're

going to

miss your flight unless you give the tax," he said.

 

Angry at his audacity, I leaned over the counter. "Go

to hell," I said.

 

It may not have been the most tactful thing to do. He

picked up the

phone

and called several other customs officials over. As

they talked off to

the

side, it was obvious that they were all in on the

effort and for me to

appeal to higher authority would be useless.

 

Another customs official, apparently of higher rank,

then came around

the

counter. "Come with me," he said as he led me to a

nearby office.

 

With the rest of the officials behind him, he turned

on the computer

and

made a show of looking for something. "Ah!" he said.

"Mr. Tibbitts,

you've

had some trouble in this country before, isn't it?"

 

"What do you mean?" I replied.

 

"Some criminal activity," he said with a little grin.

 

I knew what he was up to.

 

"Shall we blacklist you?"

 

One of the customs officials, younger than the rest,

looked at me from

the

back and shook his head from side to side. He was

giving me a silent

message: "Don't do this. Don't fight them."

 

I hesitated for a moment. These criminals were

stealing Krsna's money.

But

if I didn't give in, my disciples and I would suffer a

worse fate. I

wouldn't be able to visit Ukraine again.

 

I decided that discretion was the better part of

valor, and I slowly

slid a

$100 bill across the table.

 

The customs officer slid my passport across the table.

 

I gathered my things, stood up, and walked towards the

door. As I

walked

out, an official standing there put out his foot, and

I tripped and

fell to

the ground. Because I had not closed my handbag

properly, everything

spilled

out onto the floor. Without looking back at the

customs officials, who

I

imagined were getting a good laugh, I collected my

things on my hands

and

knees and then stood up and left.

 

As I went through passport control without incident

and proceeded

quickly to

the departure gate, I tried to understand what lesson

Krsna was trying

to

teach me. I was angry that I had been forced to give

away the money of

my

disciples. And I was disgusted by the behavior of the

customs

officials. I

concluded it was just another of the rigors of being a

traveling

preacher

and one more lesson from the road to make me more

humble and dependent

on

the Lord.

 

trasto smy aham krpana vatsala duhsahogra

samsara cakra kadanad grasatam pranitah

baddhah sva karmabhir usattama te nghri mulam

prito pavarga saranam hvayase kada nu

 

"O most powerful, insurmountable Lord, who are kind to

the fallen

souls, I

have been put into the association of demons as a

result of my

activities,

and therefore I am very much afraid of my condition of

life within this

material world. When will that moment come when you

will call me to the

shelter of Your lotus feet, which are the ultimate

goal of liberation

from

conditional life?"

 

("Prahlada Pacifies the Lord with Prayers," Srimad

Bhagavatam 7.9.16 )

 

 

 

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