Excerpts from the new book by Srila Prabhupada’s secretary Shyamasundara Das.
On the afternoon of October 2, not many noticed the tiny, two-propeller DC-3 with BASCO markings slowly steer its way through barricades and wreckage on the runway at Cairo International, dwarfed by giant jets from almost every nation, to park in front of the multitiered transit terminal. Few remarked the small gaggle of Hare Krishna devotees that stumbled from the fuselage to emerge in unfamiliar heat, escorted by khaki-clad men armed with Kalashnikovs to a shaded compound in front of the terminal. When these strange people began clanging cymbals, clapping hands, and singing and dancing around, their guards began to pay attention. What in Allah’s name was going on? Within minutes, dozens of soldiers and policemen surrounded the robed dervishes, and hundreds of stranded passengers ran to the airport’s balconies to witness the first wave of the World Sankirtan Party – eleven souls oblivious to war and politics on a journey to the East to meet their spiritual master.
Prabhupada. Always keeping things in perspective and enabling us to see the world through his eyes of rare wisdom, spoiling forever our impulse to gratify the body’s senses. Next he tells us that in earlier times, the maharajas would keep elephants as a symbol of their great wealth. “And above all precious elephants, the white elephant was supreme. When a maharaja happened to find an English wife, they used to say he was keeping a ‘white elephant.’ Now you American boys and girls, you are my white elephants. Everyone is seeing my dancing white elephants.” We roar with laughter – but the name sticks: Prabhupada’s dancing white elephants.
We were mesmerized as Prabhupada spoke on those golden mornings over the raucous cawing of crows outside, coo-cooing of pigeons in the courtyard. Changing expressions moved across his golden face, like the play of cumulus and sunlight over a varied landscape. One moment he was from our world and the next from a world we couldn’t penetrate, the self-contained knower of everything. Then suddenly he’s tossing a ball to you in a friendly game of verbal catch – maybe a fastball to see if you can catch it. He might break from describing Krishna’s vast cosmic design to real concern for your upset stomach: “Just try little bicarbonate soda, one spoonful in water.” None of us had ever seen such depth of personality.
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