Remembering Srila Prabhupada - First visit to England

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First visit to England

 

The devotees in London had advised me to enter England as a tourist. Standing

in queue, waiting to speak to the immigration officer, I tried to look as calm

and casual as possible. But I felt constricted by the three-piece suit and

heavy overcoat, and the tie was choking my neck. I wondered if the

plastic-brimmed hat I was wearing looked odd. It had become crumpled on the

airplane, but I had to keep it on to cover my shaved head and sikha.

 

The queue was moving quickly. Immigration procedures were a standard formality,

I reminded myself, and there was nothing to worry about. Now it was my turn. I

moved up to the desk and handed my passport and entry card to the officer. How

long was I planning to stay? he asked. Did I have any friends or relatives that

I would be staying with?

 

"I am planning to see the country," I replied, "and travel for about two

months. I have one friend whom I will be contacting, Mr. Michael Grant."

(Mukunda had suggested I use his name in case a contact person was asked for.)

 

The immigration officer had been taking notes. Now he asked me to wait by

standing over to the side. I tried my best not to be anxious. His questions had

been ordinary, and I had answered them without hesitation. But what did this

delay mean?

 

After a few minutes he returned. "I phoned your Mr. Grant, but he was not

available at this number," the officer began in a heavy British accent.

"Instead I spoke with a Syamasundara dasa. Apparently he was aware of your

arrival. But his explanation for your visit is quite different than what you

have written here. I would suggest, in fact, that you have actually come here

as part of a religious organization. And furthermore, you will be remaining

here to help organize missionary activities and centers throughout Europe."

 

I was dumbfounded. Why had Syamasundara revealed my identity in such a careless

manner? I tried to look surprised at what I had just heard. "I don't know of

any Syamasundara, and I have come here as stated, as a tourist for seeing the

sights. You must have gotten the wrong number." But the British officer was not

convinced.

 

"Young man, please take your seat in the rear of the hall," he said coldly,

pointing to a section of vacant seats. There was no alternative but to follow

his direction. As I turned around and walked toward the seats, I tried to

maintain my composure. But inside I felt devastated. What would happen now?

Would I be refused entry into England? I had given up my position in Los

Angeles, handed over all of my responsibilities to others, and had received a

farewell send-off from all of the devotees. And in New York and Boston everyone

expected me to be assuming a new service for Srila Prabhupada in Europe. To

return without even entering the country would be an embarrassing defeat. I

felt bewildered by this unexpected turn of events. What should have been a

simple formality was suddenly becoming an insurmountable obstacle.

 

I watched the long queues of passengers dwindle down until I alone remained.

Nearly one hour had passed. Then the officer who had interviewed me approached,

along with another official. They requested me to state again the purpose of my

visit to England. But this time they wanted to know more of my back ground.

Where did I reside, and what was my occupation? Suddenly the official reached

at me, yanking at my tie and hooking his fingers into my neckbeads. "What are

these?" he challenged. His intense gaze seemed to penetrate my attempted

disguise. There was no longer any point in trying to conceal my identity. I

admitted that I was a devotee of Krsna and that I had come to London on the

order of my spiritual master to help him spread Krsna consciousness. I was

ready to tell them whatever they wanted to know.

 

But the officers had heard enough. After taking my baggage claim tags they left

me alone again. Although I had been exposed, somehow I felt safer than before.

At least now I could think and act as a devotee. I began to pray to Srila

Prabhupada. He had called me here, and now I was only minutes away from his

lotus feet. "Srila Prabhupada," I prayed, "please help me. I only want to serve

you. Please don't let them turn me away. Please allow me to see you." I was

physically and mentally exhausted from the long flight and this present ordeal.

 

After another hour's wait the officials returned with my luggage, which they

made me open before them. They searched through the clothing and found my

chanting beads, the Bhagavad-gita As It Is, and other devotional items. When

they came across a file of correspondence, they took this with them into a

nearby office.

 

After some time had elapsed they returned and requested me to follow them. I

walked behind, carrying my bags. We passed out of the main hall and walked

through various corridors, eventually arriving at the office of the airport

physician. The doctor introduced himself and asked me to sit down. I was glad

to be in his office. Compared to that of the immigration officials, his manner

was personal and friendly. But why had they brought me to a doctor?

 

Suddenly I realized what had happened. On the physician's desk was a letter

from my files. The letter was a psychiatrist's report addressed to the medical

officer of the Draft Board. The report indicated that I was a highly

maladjusted individual with severe psychological problems. The British

officials had no doubt concluded that to allow me entry into the country would

be a great risk.

 

I laughed to myself. In order to avoid being drafted into the armed forces I

had obtained this letter, written by a friendly psychiatrist who had produced

an exaggerated report to convince the U.S. government that I was not fit for

military service. I had not yet made use of the letter, but I had kept it in

case it was ever required. Rather than helping me, it seemed that the report

was about to be the cause of my undoing.

 

My only hope was to sincerely explain the facts to the doctor and hope that he

believed me. He seemed intelligent and not prejudiced. "You see, sir," I began,

"many of my countrymen do not agree with the American government's policies in

the Vietnam War. For this reason, young men like myself are not agreeing to be

drafted." I knew that Britain did not approve of America's position in the war.

"There are also many sympathetic professionals, such as the psychiatrist who

has written this letter," I went on. "Actually, you can see I am quite normal,

and if you speak further with me I am sure you will be convinced of my sanity.

I have not come to England for any purpose other than to assist in the

missionary activities of our religious society, which will greatly benefit all

the people of England. Because I was unsure of the official policy regarding

missionaries, I listed the purpose of my visit as tourism.'' The British doctor

was intrigued and asked me a number of questions

about my beliefs. Within a short time he was convinced that I was not a

dangerous element and recommended the officials allow me entry into the

country. He smiled, shook my hand, and wished me good luck.

 

Within minutes I was once again at the immigration desk. This time the

officials quickly stamped my passport with an entry visa and smiled, bidding me

an enjoyable stay in England.

 

- From the "Servant of the Servant" by HH Tamala Krsna Goswami

 

 

 

 

 

CHANT HARE KRISHNA HARE KRISHNA KRISHNA KRISHNA HARE HARE

HARE RAMA HARE RAMA RAMA RAMA HARE HARE AND BE HAPPY

Your humble servant

radhabhava gaur das

 

 

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