an offering by a devotee
from the forthcoming book: Waiting for the Avatar by T.A. Drescher
Tirtha das in prison with Gaura-Nitai
Introduction
As popular opinion waned and prospects for victory faded America began the process of disengagement from the tragic debacle that was Viet Nam. Sadly, as America pushed away from the war it turned its back on the sons and daughters who were sent there to fight and die.
You are never safe from us. We are everywhere. We live next door. Across the street. Under the freeways. We marry your daughters. We collect your trash. We’re the people who’ll never return. We may look the same as before but you won’t know us. We’re offered belated words of honor and respect. But inwardly you fear us. Because everyone knows. After sending us into the combat zone things are never the same again.
After years of denial our government finally admitted what we knew all along. Post-traumatic stress. A disorder that won’t let your brain reset. Reluctantly acknowledging the facts only after the plight of its latest victims from Iraq and Afghanistan brought the matter into greater focus for the entire country to see. Along the way enduring years of cynicism, skewed evaluations and patronizing remarks. Motivated less by a sincere desire to help than to avoid political embarrassment. And the need to recruit fresh bodies for their continuing wars. All along knowing they were turning men into monsters for the killing they wanted. Then calling us criminals when we ripped apart at the seams.
The Bitter Sweet
Prison. A place of stifling punishment. There isn’t much good to be said about it. When it comes right down to it few things are worse. The very name conjuring up images of suffering, trepidation and fear. Ask anyone who’s ever been there and they’ll tell you what everyone already knows. That doing time in prison is a serious matter. Its immediate impact bringing the sudden, stark realization that you’ve entered a frightening new world where your former life holds no value. Where whatever freedom you once enjoyed is abruptly stripped away. Your once familiar lifestyle of comfort and predictability rudely supplanted by an unnatural life filled with uncertainty in a tumultuous, violent environment. Where everyone, whether guard or convict, is filled with fear.
The prospect of living under such aberrant conditions for even a few years presents a daunting challenge. What to speak of coming to grips with the harsh reality of serving a life sentence. Without hope of ever leaving. Where the sameness of each grey day pushes forward to become weeks the weeks months and months years and years decades. Where the passage of time softens nothing and where each day feels like a great mountain that is impossible to climb. The totality of it leaving a thoughtful person to wonder how it will be possible to survive in such an atmosphere without losing hope and going completely mad. It’s exactly what I was thinking when I came to prison nearly thirty years ago.
The old Civil War era penitentiary held an imposing presence. Like a gothic fortress shrouding a ghastly tomb. Located near the village center I probably drove past it dozens of times in the preceding years. Each time causing a shiver to rise up my spine. It was a place where demons, hobgoblins and all matter of evil entities lingered on.
As the rusty iron gates closed behind me I felt myself being pulled down into a seeming impenetrable darkness. Down and down into a deep, bone chilling abyss filled with gloom, despair and hopelessness. Here was a dark, morbid world hidden from view. Secreted away beyond the sight of normal society. A place where upon entering you instantly knew your former life was over. Where in the twinkling of an eye everything near and dear was abruptly ripped away. Left only with haunting memories of the actions that led to my imprisonment. My heart and mind overwhelmed with feelings of anguish, dread and shame.
Night after night with tear filled eyes I tried to pray but was unable to move beyond my own personal pain. With a grief stricken heart I was unable to console myself. I agonized over the prospect of never again being with my wife and children. Never more to spend a leisurely day at the beach or go for a walk in the park or take an evening drive into the countryside. Even the simplest of things like calling a friend on the telephone became a complicated matter. And worse of all was knowing I’d be forever separated from the association of devotees.
For a time my grief seemed more than I could bear. I was truly beaten down. Completely and utterly defeated by material nature. As my thoughts ran toward self-pity I reasoned that if this was to be the totality of my life there wasn’t much reason for living. It was at that point of my deepest despair that a calmness fell over me. And from a place deep within my being a small sliver of hope appeared like a shining light. Little by little I was able to see things more clearly.
As my eyes slowly opened I was struck by what a fool I had been. How much easier everything would have been if only I’d taken the words of the spiritual master more seriously. Had I not adopted such a cavalier attitude I could have avoided volumes of unnecessary pain and suffering. Were I a more serious devotee I could have grasped the need to surrender from a genuine sense of knowledge and duty. Sadly, the truth was much different. Only after having my consciousness violently jolted by a series of catastrophes was I able to attain a modicum of spiritual sanity.
As I pondered my situation I thought, what have I really lost? Certainly the world would continue on as always whether I was part of it or not. In a greater sense nothing had changed. The purpose and goal of my life remained the same. More importantly, I could understand that guru and Krsna had not forsaken me. It was at that moment that my path became clear. Only after reaching the precipice of utter despair and helplessness could I understand that I had nowhere to turn except toward Krsna. Thereafter, with a humble heart I firmly resolved to take up Srila Prabhupada’s order to spread Krsna consciousness in whatever situation or condition of life I was in. As soon as I made this internal commitment the thick coverings of doom and gloom began falling away.
If the outside of the old prison seemed scary the inside was hundreds of times worse. With open sewers in the cell houses where legions of hungry, fearless rats poured out each night from beneath broken iron drainage gratings in search of food. Experienced scavengers who freely roamed without hindrance, effortlessly scaling walls and climbing pipes and stairs to browse the entire prison without restraint. Indeed, no door or passage was ever locked or blocked for them. They were everywhere, living in the sewers and in condemned cells. On any given night it was not uncommon to awaken to find two or more of them staring at you from atop your bed.
On top of the grisly rat infestation the cockroach invasion was even worse. It was overwhelming. The roaches camped out around every corner and in every nook and cranny of the prison. At night they streamed out from ventilation ducts, light fixtures and any crack or crevice big enough to hide them. They lived in laundry, shoes and socks. They scoffed at the exterminator’s paltry attempts to eradicate them. His toxic sprays only serving to make them slightly drunk. They were unstoppable.
All new prisoners were first sent to the prison infirmary for medical screening. Due to chronic overcrowding and the general state of despair of the decrepit, crumbling prison new prisoners were often left to linger in the infirmary for days, weeks and even months until a cell could be allocated for them. With insufficient funding for prison maintenance a growing number of cells remained unusable, having been scavenged of their beds, sinks, toilets and electrical fixtures to keep other portions of the prison operable.
As I began learning the ropes of prison life I quickly realized that anything was possible and never to take anything for granted in such a bizarre atmosphere.
The infirmary was laid out in dormitory style, with a row of beds along each outer wall. Diagonally across from me was an eccentric old man who stayed on as a permanent resident. He seemed to live in his own world. Constantly mumbling to himself and rarely speaking directly to anyone. One morning just at sunrise I happened to look over toward the old man who was sitting upright in his bed. In the dim light it appeared that the covers on his bed were undulating like ocean waves as he jabbered away at no one in particular. But then as the light slowly increased and my eyes adjusted I could see it wasn’t his bed covers that were moving. His entire bed was covered with rats who had streamed in from a broken drain grating in the adjacent shower room. The old man was feeding the rats and petting them like they were his personal pets. Scores of rats crawled all over him as he personally hand fed them. Amazingly, none showed even the slightest bit of aggression toward him. It was as though the rats were attuned to him and were tame. All the while he laughed and played with them like they were puppies. Just seeing the spectacle made my skin crawl. The thought of having so many rats that close to me gave me the creeps.
Many of the guards were lifelong alcoholics. Drinking on the job was routine. It wasn’t hard to spot them. Nodding off in their chairs and stumbling about. When payday was still a week away some came to inmates for short term loans. A little something to tide them over for a few days. The interest on their loans paid back in favors of many descriptions. On one rainy day a particularly nasty guard named Stanley was arrested in a sting operation by the state police after two marked twenty dollar bills were found in his pockets. The inmate who finked on him given a free pass on several institutional charges in exchange for his assistance.
Up to that point I wasn’t eating much. The prison administration refusing to provide me with a proper vegetarian diet. Sometimes waiting for days for cereal to be served. Most times I was forced to eat around the meat that was placed on my tray. Each week I renewed my complaint by asking the warden for a vegetarian diet that would accommodate my religious needs. Not only were my requests ignored but the warden threatened punishment if I continued to make waves with my “unreasonable demands.” My plight further complicated by the fact that my narrow minded tormentors considered anything other than Christianity to be an aberration. A few days later when my simple request for a bowl of corn flakes was refused I decided I’d had enough. It was time to fight back.
I contacted a couple of news reporters I’d become acquainted with and explained my situation saying I was about to go on a hunger strike to protest the prison’s discriminatory policies against practioners of the Hare Krsna religion. They promised to give the story front page coverage. Simultaneously, the devotees from New Vrindaban rallied behind the cause and organized a demonstration at the front gates of the prison.
On the first day of the hunger strike about 20 devotees showed up chanting, dancing and playing their musical instruments at the front gate of the prison. True to their word the news media folks put the story on the front page of the local newspaper. It also made the 5 o’clock news on local television. The media coverage included interviews with several Hare Krsna protesters who berated prison officials for denying me my religious rights and vowed to return each day until the matter was satisfactorily resolved.
On day 2 of the protest over 50 Hare Krsnas arrived in front of the prison along with Malini, New Vrindaban’s pet elephant. Malini, who was not much more than a baby by elephant standards, immediately captivated the hearts of all the spectators. Moving among the devotees under the guidance of her trainer, she danced and performed her repertoire of tricks. Soon the crowd of onlookers ballooned into the hundreds as news of the Hare Krsnas and their dancing elephant spread. All the streets surrounding the prison were lined with curious spectators eager to witness the grand spectacle. Shortly thereafter when news of the event hit the airwaves it was as though a bomb went off.
That evening the front page of the Wheeling paper featured a large photograph of Malini and the devotees dancing in front of the prison under the caption “Krsnas Protest Unfair Treatment – Hunger Strike at Pen Continues.” It became the lead story on the local 5 o’clock news.
The Krsna Juggernaut continued gaining momentum as the following day the event expanded to become national news. Overnight news people began pouring in from Pittsburg, Washington D.C. and New York City. Likewise, the big guns from CNN, NBC, ABC and their various affiliates arrived shortly thereafter with their large truck mounted satellite dish transmitters.
By the 4th day the sankirtana party had swelled to over 100 devotees. They, along with Malini, continued to please the crowds as they danced in front of the prison. What had started out as a simple protest had now morphed into a great carnival. Suddenly sidewalk vending tables sprang up everywhere, selling homemade lemonade, popcorn, snow cones, T-shirts and various arts and crafts souvenirs. Lunch wagons appeared as if by magic to sell coffee, hot sandwiches and other roach coach specialties to the crowds.
Inside the civil war fortress the mood among the convicts was buoyant. Happy that someone was finally standing up to the warden. Even the guards seemed to be enjoying themselves. As the kirtana roared outside the street side windows of the prison were opened up, allowing the full sound of the kirtana to roll in.
As if taking their cue from the outside kirtana groups of laughing prisoners began mimicking the dancing of the devotees and shouted Krsna! Krsna! as they spun around. But the warden wasn’t exactly feeling the bliss. Like Kamsa sitting in his gloomy castle, the warden was inconsolable as he sat in his office, nervously wringing his hands and praying that the demonstration wouldn’t turn into a full scale riot.
As the crowds grew each day it became clear that the warden was completely out of his depth. The entire situation was more than he could handle. Visibly shaken he seemed near panic. That’s when he reached out to members of his old Alma Mater, the West Virginia State Police. Shortly thereafter, dressed in full riot gear, they marched up to the front gate, linked arms and formed a human barricade around the prison entrance. Lest the rambunctious Hare Krsnas attempted to burst into the pen and feed the prisoners vegetables.
The next day I was summoned to the warden’s office. Okay, you’ve made your point. You’ve gotten everyone’s attention with your little publicity stunt. But you’ve got another thing coming if you think we’re going to be cowed or forced into giving in to your demands. You’re the convict and I’m the warden. If this keeps up I’ll have you buried so deep in the hole you’ll never see the light of day. Do you understand me? It’s time for you to end your hunger strike and tell your friends outside to go home. Otherwise there’ll be some real trouble. And so on.
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard someone talking tough. And from my life experience I knew the difference between tough and bluff. It was at that moment that I knew we had won. Because it was suddenly clear that he had no control over the situation. All he had left was hollow threats.
As expected things continued on for several more days. With the momentum of the kirtana building and building each day. Then one sunny morning after nearly two weeks Arch More, Governor of West Virginia and resident of nearby Glendale, happened to be driving nearby when he caught a glimpse of the prison. And what’s this? Television trucks and hundreds of people out in the streets. As he drove nearer he thought he saw an elephant! Was the circus in town?
But it was the television trucks that Arch really focused on. Never one to shy away from the spotlight, Arch straightened his tie and told his driver roll up for a closer look. That’s when the nice lady from CNN spotted Arch’s WV-1 license plate on the front of his mini-stretch limo. Smelling an exclusive interview she thrust her microphone in his face. Governor Moore, tell us what you think about the protest going on here at the prison…Caught momentarily off guard and a bit flatfooted, the dismayed governor stammered, “Oh, um…it looks like a fine parade.”
You’d best get up early in the morning if you wanted to upstage Arch Moore. Needless to say, the Guv wasn’t amused. After beating a hasty retreat, the red faced governor was spitting mad. He wanted to know what was going on at his prison. Who called the television trucks? Why were there crowds of people on the sidewalks and people dressed in robes singing and dancing out there with an elephant, no less! Governor, sir…Haven’t you followed the news for the last 2 weeks? Where have you been?
It wasn’t long before the guv’s chief aide called the commissioner of corrections who in turn called the warden to express in no uncertain terms Arch’s displeasure. Because when Arch actually learned about what had precipitated the demonstrations he became even more livid and threatened to fire everyone. Listen. I don’t want any more ruckus going on in front of my prison. You idiots have made us the laughing stock of the entire country. You people better start using some common sense and do whatever it takes to resolve this. Do you understand? Am I making myself clear? Do it. Do it today. Not tomorrow. Today. I don’t want any more dancing elephants, television trucks or protestors in front of my prison. When I come back tomorrow I better not see any more elephants in front of my prison. And that was that.
I must say it was a truly great day. Like a meteor streaking down from the sky to light up the world the warden suddenly saw the light too. And with the governor’s words still burning in their ears all their nasty threats, hard looks and angry, bulging forehead veins were suddenly turned into smiles and soft words and with a peaceful, agreeable tone they asked how they could make us happy. Or words to that effect. That’s when Garga Risi from the New Vrindaban Community handed then our list of 25 demands. And no sooner had they read it when all the blood drained from their white faces and they were left speechless for at least a minute or more. Yes. We knew we had them. We had won. But more importantly, they knew it too. And with agonized hearts they were forced to agree to everything.
You might think that this was the end of our story but it really was only the beginning. Because within one week we were cooking our own prasadam meals in our own section of the prison kitchen. We had weekly programs in the prison chapel. The same chapel that the prison chaplain, Leonard Payne, once vowed he’d rather burn down before letting any heathen Hare Krsna devil worshippers set foot in. And on the inside of the chapel we put up a big book display with all of Srila Prabhupada’s books. We all had our own japa beads, bead bags and neck beads. And the frosting on the cake was when I obtained a set of beautiful Gaura-Nitai Deities.
At the beginning of our ordeal I agonized over why it seemed so difficult to establish a base for preaching. But that’s always the way it is in the material world. It takes patience and determination to see things through to their natural conclusion. Unless we are fully determined and dedicated to the cause of preaching we can get deterred or sidetracked from our mission. Maya will test our resolve to see if we are sincere. When we realize that our service to the preaching mission is our greatest possession Maya becomes powerless to check us.
In the ultimate issue we are all awaiting our appointed time of death. The moment when we will be forced to relinquish every material thing we have accumulated in our lifetimes. This is true for the prince and the pauper. To the degree we maintain material attachments then to that extent we will experience pain, anguish and bewilderment when we are forced to leave our bodies. Thus, the fewer attachments we hold, the easier it will be for us to negotiate the transition known as death. For those who remain attached to the things of the material world the mere thought of death is frightening. Therefore it is said that we must die before we die. Die in the matter of our material attachments and be reborn in spirituality.
Death is the great equalizer. It spares none. Even for the greatest man it is a humbling experience. Reducing all of us to a common status where we are brought to answer for our deeds. But only the devotee can honestly say he has no cause to fear death. “Living beings who are entangled in the complicated meshes of birth and death can be freed immediately by even unconsciously chanting the holy name of Krsna, which is feared by fear personified.” (Srimad-Bhagavatam 1-1-14)
When everything was taken away from me it became much easier to focus on Krsna consciousness. As soon as my consciousness changed I began to formulate plans on how best to preach to other prisoners and pushed myself toward that end. And that’s where I am today.
I’ve learned that while the holy name is available to everyone it can only be revealed by the mercy of the devotees. Only the most fortunate of persons will realize how it provides a practical means to defeat the darkest fear and be saved from the greatest danger. But convincing people to take up chanting Krsna’s names is not so easy. And therein is the challenge. Successful preaching requires patience, determination and above all, an impeccable example for others to follow.
The process of chanting the holy names is an exercise in purification. Likewise, it provides a practical solution to all of our problems and fears in life. But for us to fully realize the holy name it must be chanted with purity. Therefore it is imperative that we avoid offenses to the holy name that act to block our spiritual development.
Avoiding offenses to the holy names is the preliminary discipline required for successful chanting. These offenses, primarily listed as 10 in number, are described in the Nectar of Devotion. It is important that we pay close attention to avoiding these offenses. Otherwise we can easily become mired in a type of spiritual stagnation that blocks our progressive advancement in Krsna consciousness. Therefore it is important to regularly perform a thorough examination of our conscience to assess where we are really at in terms of our advancement in Krsna consciousness. Yet even this is not enough. We must humbly submit ourselves before more senior devotees for their frank assessment of our progress. Otherwise we risk imagining we are far more advanced than we really are. Therefore submitting ourselves to an examination by other devotees is an essential component for rooting out the unwanted things that act to block our spiritual development.
Especially for prisoners, along with pure chanting, it is important for each person to undergo a process of internal healing that will allow him to come to terms with the impact his actions have had upon others. We must think deeply and honestly about our actions and how we have affected those in our midst. Not in a sentimental or politically correct sense but with true feeling from the heart. It is not enough to think that Krsna will automatically forgive us and allow us to start fresh. Often we cannot even gauge the far reaching ramifications that our actions have had on others. Accordingly, a genuine sense of regret must be present if we are to honestly come to terms with ourselves and our past actions.
First we must beg Krsna for forgiveness and vow never to repeat our sinful actions. Next, we should humbly ask forgiveness from those we may have hurt or wronged. In this regard we must also be prepared for rejection. Not everyone we encounter may be ready to forgive us of our indiscretions. Finally, in a mood of true humility we must find the means to forgive ourselves. Even if others cannot forgive us. In this way we can move forward in our lives and put the past behind us. In my own case this was easier said than done. It took some time for me to come to terms with the impact of my actions. Along the way I was forced to reassess who I was and what my place was among the devotees. Not only once but numerous times. Sometimes on a daily basis.
Therefore the surest way of developing our own Krsna consciousness is through assisting others in becoming Krsna conscious. Just knowing that Krsna is God and that He will be merciful to us is a strong start. If we simply repeat the message of Bhagavad-gita as it is it will be effective in purifying both the audience and the speaker. Thus, the key to successful preaching is to always repeat what we have learned exactly as we have heard it. By presenting the philosophy of Krsna consciousness as it is we are favored and protected by the entire disciplic succession of acaryas in our spiritual line, dating back to Krsna Himself.
It is to this end that I vowed to dedicate my life. And although it is not an easy path to follow it is the only path I know. It is the path given to us by the previous acaryas. We may be confident that it is the sure path to take us all back home, back to Godhead. For more Krsna conscious stories, please visit www.100monkeyz.com
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