A Hidden Memory

Posted by Devamrita Swami on 20 October 2009

At the Krishna-Balaram Temple in Vrindavan, I had finished giving Bhagavatam class, when an elderly lady devotee handed me a gift box of maha-prasada with a signed card on top. "Thank you Devamrita Maharaja. You began the movement of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu in Bulgaria. Only one conversation and instruction to the first Bulgarian devotee, Radhavallabha das, trained him to be the first leader. Now the Krishna consciousness movement in Bulgaria is blossoming."

This unexpected consideration touched my heart while at the same time unsealed a flood of piercing memories, from dire and dangerous Iron Curtain days. In the summer of 1978 , way out on a limb, seeking Prabhupada's mercy, another devotee and I made our first foray into Soviet shackled Bulgaria. Freshly arrived in Europe a few months earlier, I was on a determined personal quest to catch Prabhupada's attention, eight months after his departure from this world. At that time, the ISKCON temple near Frankfurt, Germany, was the base for clandestine communist country preaching. The handful of devotees in that special program would disappear from the temple for weeks at a time, our itinerary kept secret--for our own safety and for the protection of the fledgling devotees in those imprisoned countries.

Pressed to arrive in Europe from Los Angeles before summer, I had schemed how to obtain my driver's license though I was still struggling at the wheel. Especially, learning on a manual gear shift put me in fits. Automatic transmissions, though common in the USA, were rare in Europe back then, so for Krishna's service I had to persevere. Because I had never driven before, my Godbrother Yadubhara das, ISKCON's famous film-maker, kindly gave me a few crash driving lessons. But the date for my departure loomed before my driving abilities had sufficiently bloomed. To quickly dispose of the road test, I had a great idea: Yadubhara would drive me to the test center, and we would follow behind the cars of people undergoing the test. Upon my repeatedly observing the test routine, I would then just practice and master only the route and maneuvers the road test specifically entailed. It worked--I got my license and flew overseas. Of course, though officially certified, my actual driving abilities were primitive, especially for changing gears. Yet, the communist bloc preaching, demanding massive long-distance driving, couldn't wait.

The ISKCON leader at the time, Harikesa Swami, resolved the dilemma. He took me out in his car on the autobahn--no speed limits--put me in the driver seat, and told me to go for it. As Mercedes and BMWs thundered by at 200 km (125 miles) per hour, I quickly got over my road fear. Gear shifting, however, still eluded me. Though not crucial on the autobahn, it was completely necessary on ordinary roads. Never mind--the time for a mission to Bulgaria was upon us. A 24-hour drive from Germany to Bulgaria would surely cure my ailing manual shifting. Off we went, my Godbrother Rama Sraddha--who couldn't drive at all--at my side, and yours truly at the wheel.

Noisily grinding the gear box all the 24 hours to Sofia, Bulgaria, I then lurched our car 7 more hours through the country to a secret program arranged at some unknown contact's house at Varna, on the Black Sea. There we celebrated Janmastami and Prabhupada's Vyasa Puja, aided by a translator, surrounded by 15 total strangers, all eager for something beyond the bleak life in Soviet Bulgaria. After two days the mini-festival ended, and the group dispersed. Fed by an informant at the gathering, the KGB roared into action, grilling all who had attended. Ram Sraddha and I had departed only hours before the raid. Regardless of the brutal Soviet regime, though, Krishna's nectarean poison was already at work. One of the people I had spoken to and instructed later emerged as Radhavallabha das, a fearless, empowered leader and organizer on behalf of Lord Chaitanya.

To be precise, there were already three or four Bulgarian devotees in Sofia, far inland to the west, but they were quite timid about preaching and just mixed bhakti into their private family lives, rarely venturing outside their tiny closed circle. Anyone knowing the ferocity of the Bulgarian KGB could hardly blame them. Radhavallabha's divine, bold service, however, decisively broke open the dam that had blocked the floodwaters of love of God there. Bulgarian devotees now refer to him as the original devotee, because it was he who first came out of the closet, to actually launch the active Krishna consciousness mission in that nation. He was certainly the original leader.

Radhavallabha turned out to be too good and effective at his precious devotional service. The KGB took note and let him know about it. Still he fearlessly pushed on, throughout Bulgaria. The Russian KGB, as you may have read in Salted Bread, were more subtle than their Bulgarian brethren. The Russian secret police would snatch devotees and then, after a mock trial, dispatch them to forced labor camps in Siberia, for gradually destroying their body and mind. The Bulgarians lacked such patience and finesse.

One day Radhavallabha was walking alongside a road, when out of nowhere appeared a speeding car. Veering off the road, it rammed him, and raced away--a trademark KGB killing.

Those were the days. We thought they'd never end.

I offer my most respectful obeisances to the departed bhakti hero Radhavallabha das, who, as a daring servant of Lord Chaitanya, is surely situated in the spiritual world.

Krishna in the Gita certifies the status of the devotee dedicated to spreading His glories: "Pure devotional service is guaranteed, and at the end he will come back to Me. There is no servant in this world more dear to Me than he, nor will there ever be one more dear."