Just outside the city of Kazan in Tatarstan, a Muslim state in the Russian Federation, I was distributing Srila Prabhupada’s books near a market with a friend. We had planned to distribute for about three hours and then leave for lunch, but by the end of the third hour, I still hadn’t distributed a single book, so I started to pray.
Near us a few old ladies were selling knitted items and apples from their gardens. One of them—a small, elderly lady wrapped in a shawl—came over to me and started talking to me in Tatar. I know Tatar, so I answered her and we began to converse, half in Tatar and half in Russian.
She asked if I had a book titled “The Song of God.” Surprised, I answered, “Yes, I have this book, ‘The Song of God.’ ”
“Let me see!” she said. I handed her the Bhagavad-gita and asked how she knew about “The Song of God.”
She replied, “You know, I believe in Allah. All my life, I have prayed to Allah. And a few days ago Allah came to me in a dream. I didn’t see Him, but I saw a strong glow emanating from Him. I immediately realized it was Allah, and He told me, ‘Soon you will see a person handing out books.’ He then described you to me. But He warned me, ‘Do not approach him right away. Wait and make sure it is him. And when you are sure that it is him, as I described, ask him for a book called, “The Song of God.” ’ ”
How amazed I was to hear that! “Yes, dear mother, the name of the book, Bhagavad-gita, means exactly that, ‘The Song of God,’ because God Himself sang it five thousand years ago.”
The lady looked at me with tears in her eyes. “How much does it cost?” Her piety was priceless.
“We don’t sell the books. Just give 200 rubles—or whatever you can.” She looked very poor.
She then took out a small plastic bag, and from that bag another bag. And from that bag a handkerchief, and from the handkerchief another handkerchief, where she kept the money she earned from selling apples every day.
She gave me some rubles, probably more than she could afford, took the Bhagavad-gita and with both hands pressed it firmly against her chest, her eyes filled with tears of joy. She gazed skyward and spoke to Allah: “I did exactly what You wanted me to do!” And then, suddenly, she turned and ran away, holding the Bhagavad-gita like the most precious treasure.
Overwhelmed, I wanted to tell my friend what had just happened. I had about fifteen books left as I moved toward him, but the people must have seen my own tears of joy, because they kept asking me, “What kind of books do you have?” They spontaneously took them, and all the books disappeared.
I thank Allah for helping us distribute Srila Prabhupada’s books!
[Editor’s note: Quite a story, but it’s curious that the writer didn’t give his name. The pious old woman reminds me of the Christian seeker in The Way of a Pilgrim, the anonymous 19th-century classic set in Russia and first published in, of all places, Kazan, the city where the distributor met the old woman. How clever and kind the Lord is to reach us in many ways—awake or dreaming—as Christ, Krishna, Allah, and now through the anonymous writer of this sankirtan story. Hare Krishna.]
Source: https://girirajswami.com/blog/?p=20032
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