"Go on with sankirtana activities as you have been doing and let them arrest us if they like. We will not stop. Better to forget this business of lawyers and judges and simply go on with sankirtana. That is Civil Disobedience Movement. Let them fill their jails with us again and again" - Srila Prabhupada, from a letter to Caru
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Saturday, 29 April 1972
It was 9pm on Saturday night, at the intersection of Darlinghurst Road and Macleay Street, about 2km east of downtown Sydney. The reflected lights of Kings Cross glittered and sparkled in the ephemeral spray from the famous dandelion-shaped globe of El Alamein Fountain, the Kings Cross landmark built to commemorate Australian troops killed in the decisive North African battle of 1942.
Sometimes compared to London's Soho, or San Francisco's North Beach, Kings Cross had become a popular venue for bohemians, tourists and especially US servicemen on leave from Vietnam. Becoming equally synonymous with "The Cross", a party of about a dozen neatly-dressed Hare Krsna devotees swayed next to the fountain to the metronome drum rhythms and clipped, nasal tones of Upendra, who danced and chanted at their side. Understandably, it had been a popular spot for devotees ever since Bali-mardana first conducted his one-man kirtanas here more than two years ago.
Warmly dressed in the crisp winter air, the devotees followed their usual night-time routine. They chanted for a while, then dispersed to sell Back to Godhead magazines to interested passers-by. Then more chanting. The line of devotees moved from the fountain through the heart of the Cross in its customary circuit down Darlinghurst Road.
Waves of people ambled along: bewildered drunken tourists in papier-mache cowboy hats, bearded hippies, US servicemen in zany gear and shades, identities and non-entities, locals and suburbanites, policemen in pairs with measured steps; they were all there, absorbing the sights and sounds and smells of the Cross. In several shop doorways were little stands selling rings, leather trinkets and incense. Prostitutes hovered in similar dark alcoves, clutching the symbolic handbag, plying their trade without flair.
For the devotees, however, the chanting of the Hare Krsna mantra cut through all the brash, sleazy and blatantly vulgar tinsel that was Kings Cross. The coarse chatter of the strip-joint hustlers, the live music from the wine bars, the disco sounds and the occasional foul-mouthed, staggering drunk all seemed irrelevant. It flowed past the devotees without effect. This was the miracle of chanting. Absorbed in the holy names of Krsna, the devotees felt themselves protected and immunised from the poisonous effects of Kali-yuga. They were sustained in their knowledge that as the kirtana party passed, Krsna's holy names would enter the ears of the sensuous Kings Cross throng, and start them on their spiritual journey.
Two men in plainclothes suddenly lunged across the pavement towards Upendra. Grabbing his arms they yanked him towards the nearby "paddy wagon". A whole team of police had converged on the kirtana party in a well-planned attack, inspired by the recent decisions of the City Council. One by one, devotees were rounded up and marched into the cold, looming vehicle. By now, quite a crowd had gathered, some heckling, although mostly sympathetic.
"Leave 'em alone, ya mugs!" cried an anonymous voice from the crowd. "Pigs!" cried another. The steel door slammed shut. It was a quick, dark and bumpy ride to nearby Darlinghurst Police Station.
Minutes later, the doors opened and the devotees were marched into the station through a line of hard-faced policemen. "Alright," said the sergeant from behind the desk, "which ones are the boys and which ones are the girls?" His fellow officers guffawed along with him at the devotees' expense. "You won't be needing those," he said, indicating for another officer to collect the Back to Godhead magazines from the ladies.
A red-faced constable pointed at the picture of Radha and Krsna on the cover of the magazines. "Who are they?" he asked, then answered his own question with a blasphemous remark that offended the devotees' ears. After much laughing and joking amongst the police, the devotees' names and fingerprints were taken.
"If any of you say your name's 'Hare Krsna'," barked the sergeant, "I'll slap your head so hard it'll go through the wall." The men were led into cells that smelt of urine and vomit, while the ladies sat on the cold bench. And there they stayed until the other devotees bailed them out at dawn next morning. For the police, it was all in a night's work. And for the devotees, it was yet another opportunity to remember Krsna and pray for the strength to execute the mission of Lord Caitanya and Srila Prabhupada.
- From "The Great Transcendental Adventure" by HG Kurma Prabhu
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