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DIARY OF A TRAVELING
PREACHER >>
By His Holiness Indradyumna Swami
Volume IX, Chapter 13
"Rain or Shine"
07/08/08 - 20/08/08
With the success of Polish Woodstock fresh in
our minds, we returned to the Baltic Sea coast for our last two
weeks of festivals. We had completed 40 to date, and the devotees
were exhausted.
But I knew the devotees wouldn't agree to canceling
any of the remaining programs. They had felt the deep satisfaction
of preaching Krsna consciousness, and nothing was going to stop
them. Some managed to catch a few hours of extra rest here and there,
while others nodded out on the job, but by Krsna's mercy we went
on and somehow held our festival in Mrzezyno, just two days after
returning to our base.
We enjoyed perfect weather the first two days of
the next festival, in Rewal. On the third and final day, we began
preparing early in the morning for a Vedic wedding of two couples,
expecting a big crowd. But Mother Nature had other plans, and just
before noon it began pouring rain. The rain continued unabated and
20 minutes before starting time, I called Jayatam das to say I was
canceling the event. The brides and grooms looked devastated.
I turned to them. "We can't conduct an outdoor
marriage in the middle of a storm," I said.
Or could we?
Just as I ended the call I glanced towards the
entrance of the festival grounds. I couldn't believe my eyes. Hundreds
of people were coming onto the grounds, each one carrying an umbrella.
I watched dumbfounded as they wiped the water off the benches in
front of the stage. Within minutes the benches were full. I counted
632 people.
By that time many devotees had gone to the buses
to go back to our base. I ran behind the stage and jumped into one
of the buses.
"Prabhus!" I yelled. "Hundreds of
people are sitting in front of the stage! The wedding's on!"
No one moved. They sat staring at me in disbelief.
"Guru Maharaja," a devotee said, "it's
pouring rain."
"I know," I said, "but the people
came. They're waiting. Let's go."
Within minutes all the devotees had returned to
their duties around the festival site. I stepped onto our covered
stage to address the crowd and looked out on a sea of umbrellas.
In between, here and there, I saw a face or two peeking out from
under them.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I began, "I
must thank you for coming today in this terrible weather. We were
about to cancel this event, but seeing your enthusiasm, we have
decided to continue. Let the wedding begin!"
Everyone applauded, and the two grooms and a kirtan
party made their way forward to the stage. Like everyone else, each
groom carried an umbrella over his head. As they reached the stage,
I introduced them, and the crowd roared with pleasure.
Next the two brides came forward with their kirtan
party. The crowd rose and stood respectfully as the girls passed
by. The brides came on stage and circumambulated their husbands
to be, and as I introduced them, the storm became more intense.
Throughout the ceremony it continued to rain, and
sometimes I had to speak up in order to be heard over the downpour.
People watched intently, sometimes adjusting their umbrellas.
But no one left. Everyone stayed for two hours,
until the very end, and rushed forward to give presents and take
photos with the couples when they came down from the stage.
I turned to Amritananda das. "That's one wedding
I'll never forget," I said with a chuckle. The crew cleared
the stage for the rest of the program.
Heavy rain was predicted for the rest of the week,
making it almost impossible to advertise our last festival, in Ustronie
Morskie. Nandini dasi called the town hall and asked officials to
post a warning on its website that if the bad weather prevailed
we would have to cancel the festival.
The next morning the office was deluged with calls
from people requesting that the festival go on at any cost. Finally,
a secretary changed the number on the website to Nandini's cell-phone
number, and Nandini was inundated with calls all afternoon and into
the evening.
Nandini finally called me. "Guru Maharaja,"
she said, "it's like you say in America, 'Rain or shine the
show must go on.'"
Despite the bad weather, some people were out on
the streets of Ustronie Morskie shopping, and we were able to do
Harinam. As we got out of the buses one morning and started down
the street, a well-dressed man ran up to me and began vigorously
shaking my hand. "You're here!" he said. "Thank you!
We heard you might not come. We've been waiting for you."
When I woke up on the day of the festival, I looked
out the window and was disappointed to see it was still raining.
I was even more discouraged when I went online and saw the weather
report: it would continue raining steadily for two more days.
"Not the way I hoped to end a successful tour
this year," I said to myself. "It's always best to end
on a high note."
Sure enough it poured throughout the day. I passed
by Dominik, who was setting up the sound equipment on the festival
site. "Maharaja," he said, "nothing short of a miracle
will stop this storm."
He broke into a smile, "But I've been on this
festival tour for 10 years," he said, "and I've seen plenty
of miracles."
Because it was the last day of the tour, I went
around thanking devotees for their service. When I had almost finished,
one of our hired security guards approached me.
"Sorry about the rain," he said. "Looks
like it will be the first time you'll have to cancel the event this
summer."
I looked up at the sky. "Maybe it will change,"
I said.
"It's a long shot," he said. "The
show is supposed to start in an hour. Anyway, I did want to thank
you for all these wonderful festivals. I love these programs, and
I don't need this job. I'm an accountant by profession."
"You are?" I said.
"Yes," he said. "I took this job
only so I could be with you people all summer. I love it when I'm
assigned to guard the questions-and-answers tent. I learn so much."
Forty-five minutes before show time, the rain slowed
down to a heavy drizzle. No one expected it to stop, save perhaps
Dominik. I was watching him make the last adjustments on the sound
equipment when the wind suddenly began blowing strongly. As the
wind roared, Dominik smiled and looked upwards.
I'll never forget what happened just then. Right
before our eyes, the big, dark clouds started moving across the
sky. It was happening so fast it seemed as if someone were fast-forwarding
a video. After a while the sun broke through, and in the distance
we could see clear sky. Devotees started to cheer.
Forty minutes later the clouds were gone. Then
the wind died down as quickly as it had started. I looked at my
watch. There were just five minutes left till show time.
Dominik turned to me with a smile, "It's not
the first time, Maharaja," he said, "but it is amazing.
There's not a single cloud left. "
As I moved around getting everything ready, I watched
the familiar sight of people flooding into the festival at the last
minute.
Suddenly Amritananda jumped up. "Hey!"
he shouted loud enough for all to hear. "There's a rainbow!"
I looked up and saw a beautiful rainbow perfectly
framing our stage.
A few latecomers took their seats. The stage show
started, and the audience applauded loudly. "Only God himself
could write this script," I thought. "It's a perfect ending
to a perfect summer tour."
Srila Prabhupada writes: "The Madhya-khanda
of Srila Locana dasa Thakura's Caitanya-mangala also relates that
once at the end of the day, when evening clouds assembled overhead
and thundered threateningly, all the Vaisnavas were very much afraid.
But the Lord took His karatalas in His hands and personally began
chanting the Hare Krsna mantra, looking up toward the sky as if
to direct the demigods in the higher planets. Thus all the assembled
clouds dispersed, and as the sky became clear, with the moon rising,
the Lord began dancing very happily with His jubilant and satisfied
devotees."
[Sri Caitanya-caritamrita, Adi-lila 17.89, purport]
Indradyumna.swami@pamho.net
www.travelingmonk.com
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