Dear Śrīla Prabhupāda,
Please accept my humble obeisances. All glories to Your Divine Grace.
This year I would like to glorify you by recounting an event from my early days in Montreal.
It was the winter of 1975, and we had moved into the Pie IX temple about six months earlier, just in time to receive Your Divine Grace for a brief, sameday visit of only a few hours before you hastily flew to New Delhi to meet Indira Gandhi.
Like always, the Montreal winter was cold, and newly fallen snow had blanketed the streets. As saṅkīrtana leader, I left the temple a little after all the others, carrying three boxes of the Kṛṣṇa book trilogy in my arms, each stacked lengthwise upon the other – volume one, two, and three. The saṅkīrtana van had broken down, so I walked the 200 meters to the bus stop and rode as far as the next Metro station. The subway was crowded, and I received a few stares – people curious to know what treasures I was hugging to my chest. Little did they know!
I got off at Place Bonaventure, already perspiring from both exertion and my winter wear. From there I walked underground to the CN train station, where I opened a storage locker for twenty-five cents and packed in all the books bar those that fit into my book bag. It was 10 a.m.
The morning rush had passed, so the station was calm. I sat down on the nearest bench to catch my breath and took two sets out of my bag, opening a volume one to the introductory letter by George Harrison. It was the letter that would sell the books. I had to have it ready for customers.
Just then, a well-dressed gentleman sat down on the other end of the bench and nodded to me, “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” I replied.
The man recognized my accent, and so continued in English. “Are you from Montreal?”
I rested my arm on the back of the bench. “Yes, sir! And you?”
“No! I’m from Québec City. I’m just waiting for my train.”
I moved a little closer and asked, “Do you know the Beatles?”
He smiled at me. “Who doesn’t?”
I put volume one of the Kṛṣṇa book in his hand, open at the letter from George. “This is a letter from George Harrison, who sponsored this book on yoga and meditation.”
He looked at the letter and turned to the cover. “Kṛṣṇa, The Supreme Personality of Godhead.” He paused, then looked straight at me. “So this book is about Kṛṣṇa!”
It was a statement. I hesitated a minute. I didn’t know if he was deterred by what he saw. But there was nothing else to do but acknowledge that a book called Kṛṣṇa was indeed about Kṛṣṇa.
“It certainly is. It is about His life and teachings.”
The man now turned the book to the back cover and the picture of you, Śrīla Prabhupāda. “And is this your guru?”
“Yes! His name is A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda.”
The gentleman made no move to leave, and he appeared comfortable with our exchange. I moved closer and placed the other two books in his hand. “It’s a set, a trilogy.”
“Are you selling these books?”
“We pass the books out and ask people for donations. Please give as much as you can.”
He put the books down to his right side in an undefined gesture. I couldn’t tell if he would take them. He asked, “Have you read the book?”
I wasn’t certain whether he was distracting me from a sale, but I felt encouraged; “I have read it multiple times.”
He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Then tell me a little more about it.”
At this point, I hesitated. People who wanted to converse were rarely interested in books, and I certainly wasn’t keen on getting anchored before I had even started the day. But then he had placed the whole set on his far side, a gesture that may have indicated interest in a purchase. Or did it? Sometimes our phrase “We pass the books out” was taken as a license to take books for free. But he didn’t look the type. And he certainly had money. His eyes questioned, “Tell me a little more about it.”
At this point, a memory surfaced in my mind. It was the memory of a letter you had written a few years earlier – a letter that still hung on the saṅkīrtana bulletin board and which read: “I am convinced that if you simply glorify Krishna and our books in the best descriptive manner, that anyone and everyone, no matter even atheist or otherwise, they can be convinced to purchase. Of course that is a great art and not everyone can do it, but gradually by practice of preaching in this way, striving to so much present a wonderful picture of our books to the people, gradually you will master the trick how to do it.” (Letter to Bali Mardana, December 31, 1972)
I listened to your advice!
What followed was a lovely exchange that lasted almost twenty minutes: Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Lord who appears in the world to remove burdens created by gross materialists, but more importantly, to reveal His eternal sports in His eternal abode. He is calling us back to our original home – the place of no suffering; the place of unending happiness. This world is full of unavoidable suffering, and yet we continue to attempt to avoid it and seek happiness. It is a fruitless struggle. But if we hear about Kṛṣṇa from these books, and if we chant His names, we can end all that and return to Him. And more!
I took another volume one out of my bag and pointed to the picture of Rādhā-Kṛṣṇa in the oval frame. “Wouldn’t you like to be there, with them?”
At this question, something moved in my customer, and a few tears gathered in his eyes. He didn’t say anything but continued to look and listen. I asked again, “Wouldn’t you like to be there?”
He nodded silently. And perhaps I saw a tear roll down his cheek. At least, I thought I did.
Now he placed the stack of three books in his lap and looked away from me and at them. He looked hard and long.
This would be the moment of truth.
Just then, the PA system announced the express train to Québec City. My heart skipped a beat as the gentleman looked toward the escalator that led down to the platform.
There was silence, but it was clear that the message I had left him with had created a bond between us. He still wouldn’t look at me, perhaps to hide his tears. Clearing his voice, he said: “How much would you like for the books?”
I was elated, but tried to control myself. It would be another year before I developed the confidence to ask for large donations – at O’Hare Airport. So I gave the standard answer; “The books cost $5 to print, but some people even give $20.” Very few people gave that.
He turned a book to the back cover and looked at you. The PA called a second time for the QC Express. He reached inside his coat, took out his wallet, and fingered bills I could not see. Then he handed me $40.
Now I was speechless. He said, “I will read these books. They are what I have been looking for.”
He stood to leave, replaced his wallet, put the books in his briefcase, and extended his arm. We shook hands and smiled at each other. I said, “Thank you.”
He stopped me with a gesture; “No, I thank you. You have given me a wonderful gift.”
He turned to leave, and then again turned back. His eyes were still moist. “Your guru is a great man. Continue to serve him by selling these books. It is the best thing you can do.”
I was caught off guard and just watched as he stepped on to the escalator, soon to be lost from view. No one had ever told me to keep selling books, never mind that this is the best thing I could be doing. Usually, people told me to get a job. I looked at the $40 in my hand and put the bills in my pocket. It was a good start to the day. But I wasn’t ready yet. I sat down again on the bench and looked intently at your picture.
Now tears came to my eyes. I could barely make out your features. I prayed softly under my breath: “Śrīla Prabhupāda, what a wonderful gift you have given me in the form of distributing your books.”
I sobbed a little. “Let my life be dedicated to your book distribution.”
After a few minutes, I began my service. But that day I was surcharged. It seemed that whoever I approached took a set. I walked around CN until the transport police motioned for me to leave. I followed my usual rounds to Place Ville Marie, then out on to Sainte-Catherine Street. That day, I did not feel the cold; I felt only the bliss of serving my glorious spiritual master, whom even strangers could recognize as a great man. It was a memorable day that is still etched in my memory, over fifty years on.
Śrīla Prabhupāda, the exchange at the CN Station was one of many miracles I witnessed while distributing your books. I can’t say that all customers were as positive or that I was equally convincing, but whenever I kept your words in mind, somehow people took and gave.
“I am convinced that if you simply glorify Kṛṣṇa and our books in the best descriptive manner, that anyone and everyone, no matter even atheist or otherwise, they can be convinced to purchase.”
That morning I too became convinced. I still am.
Your servant
Śivarāma Swami