Sarajevo April 19, 1996

 

 

Although we had taken rest at 1 a.m., we rose at 3.30 a.m. to begin a six-hour drive to Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia. We left Split Temple in a caravan of two vans and four cars, with a total of 32 devotees. Heading south along the coast, we passed many resorts dilapidated by the war. Just before the Croatia-Bosnia border we stopped briefly. A Croatian soldier walked up to our car, rifle in hand, and put his head in the window. I was a bit alarmed as he engaged in an emotional conversation with Lucas, our devotee driver. The soldier seemed disappointed by what he heard, and eventually shook his head and left. I asked what the soldier was inquiring about, and Lucas said he had wanted to know the whereabouts of his friend, a devotee, who had fought alongside him on the battlefield, and had helped him by speaking Krsna conscious philosophy.

 

As we entered the reality of war was revealed. We often saw three or four villages in a row destroyed and abandoned, with only a ghostly silence remaining. Troops from IFOR, the international peace-keeping force that has replaced Nato, are a common sight in the populated villages. A devotee can get a smile from people in most parts of the world, but here the death and destruction are all too obvious. It was very sobering for us, as the miseries of material existence about which Krsna speaks repeatedly in the sastras became manifest. Lucas, a middle-aged man who served in the Croatian Army as a major, pointed out positions where Serbian gunners had been only weeks before. He was able to determine how far their artillery could fire and what damage it would have done. Such knowledge came easily to Lucas, as if a sixth sense, and I understood how he had survived. He told me that during the war he constantly prayed to God, and felt that his prayers had led him to Krsna consciousness. I thought of Krsna’s statement in Bhagavad-gita that four kinds of men approach Him: the distressed, the desirer of wealth, the inquisitive, and he who is searching for knowledge of the Absolute.

 

 

Lucas and I were close because he had saved my life several months ago when I visited for the first time. We were on harinam in central Zagreb when a crazed soldier pulled out a pistol to shoot me during my lecture. Pointing it directly at my face, he screamed he wanted to kill the “bishop” because God had not saved his family. We later learned that the soldier’s wife and six children had been killed by Serbian forces a week earlier. He had lost all reason and was simply wandering the streets, happening upon our harinam in his army fatigues. Having had to deal with men in similar states of consciousness during the war, Lucas approached the soldier and began speaking to him in a calm manner. Gradually he convinced the man he shouldn’t kill me, and finally the soldier burst into tears, put his gun away and walked off.

 

After passing through mountains and over specially erected bridges, we reached Mostar. I had been there when travelling through Europe as a young man of 19, just before I joined Krsna consciousness. I remembered Mostar as a beautiful little town with a quaint 13th century bridge spanning a sparkling river. But the town we entered bore no resemblance to the one I had visited years ago. Literally every house, apartment, shop and building were riddled with bullets and shrapnel. Many had gaping holes in the sides, and we could see inside as people conducted their daily affairs. Buildings had been gutted by fires, and there were demolished vehicles strewn everywhere. The people went about their lives stepping over mangled steel or concrete and walking through bombed-out buildings. The damage was so extensive, I imagined it would be many years before the town could be rebuilt. However, nothing could have prepared us for what was waiting in Sarajevo , just two hours further up in the mountains. Approaching from the west, not a building in the suburbs of the city was untouched by the war. The same scenario continued as we drove into and through Sarajevo. We all stared in amazement, contemplating how an entire city had been ravaged.

 

One of the most startling things was that there were graves everywhere. Fifty-thousand people had died during the fighting, and because they were surrounded the local population had to bury their dead within the city limits. Thus there were graves in every available space [most parks and gardens had become graveyards]. Even patches of land between two buildings served as cemeteries for two or three bodies, or a single grave was marked with a cross or a Muslim tombstone on a grassy intersection.

 

 

Eventually we arrived at the small Sarajevo Temple in the Muslim sector of the city. The 15 local devotees greeted us with a kirtan, which seemed a cheerful contrast to the destruction around us. As I got out of the car, I saw that the temple was also riddled by bullets and shrapnel. As we entered the temple I asked about the two matajis, Janukanyaka dasi and Hamsahina dasi, who lived alone here through the height of the war from April 1992 – July 1994. When Bosnia declared its independence from the Yugoslav Federation in 1992, the serb forces immediately laid siege to Sarajevo, and the citizens were unable to leave. Most of them remained indoors to shield themselves from the relentless mortar attacks that rained indiscriminately upon them. However, Janukanyaka and Hamsahina ventured outside daily to distribute books and prasadam door to door, or to the few souls on the street who were braving the shelling and sniper fire.

 

The temple became a shelter for refugees from the hills, who were driven from their homes by the advancing armies. To live outside meant certain death, so throughout Sarajevo people with homes or apartments gave shelter to others less fortunate. Several families came to the temple seeking shelter, and 15 people actually lived in the temple room throughout the siege. They always rose early, so that Janukanyaka and Hamsahina and a few congregational devotees who risked coming to the temple, could have a morning program. The refugees also shared the prasadam that the devotees took daily.

 

Getting food and water was not easy, because water, gas and electricity had been cut off. Every day, Janukanyaka or Hamsahina had to risk walking to areas of the city where water was available [either from an open pipe or a spring], and much of their time was spent fetching water or food. Janukanyaka later told me that for her and Hamsahina obtaining water was a necessity – while others remained soiled and dirty throughout the siege, she and Hamsahina always bathed daily, wore fresh saris, and kept the temple spotlessly clean. One man told them that compared with the dirty appearence of most Sarajevans, they looked like angels living in hell.

 

Many people starved in Sarajevo, but by Krsna’s mercy, Janukanyaka and Hamsahina had no shortage of food. At first they begged for foodstuffs, but one day they heard that city officials were meeting relief organizations to ration the limited food supplies that were being allowed into the city in UN convoys. Janukanyaka and Hamsahina went to the meeting, pleading that they were Hare Krsna devotees wanting to distribute food. They had little chance of gaining support for their activities, and were told the food would be given to institutions such as the Red Cross and the Red Crescent.

 

But the next day, one of the officials, who was sympathetic to them, arranged for one ton of food for prasadam distribution. However, Janukanyaka and Hamsahina had to pick it up themselves and transport it to the temple. Janukanyaka wondered how, with no vehicle, two small matajis could accomplish such a task. She decided to visit the local Bosnian Army base and somehow got to see the commanding officer, convincing him to give her a driver and one of his trucks to ferry the food from the UN depot to the temple on the other side of the city. In order to ration the food for distribution, Janukanyaka and Hamsahina ate sparingly. Each day they would bake cookies or bread and go to hospitals, schools and refugee centers to distribute prasadam. They would even go to the front lines 300 metres outside Sarajevo. Bosnian soldiers were amazed to see two ladies in saris with cakes and cookies approaching them in their foxholes. Naive to the reality of war, Janukanyaka and Hamsahina often thus exposed themselves to enemy fire, and on more than one occasion had to be pulled down to avoid the bullets. In any event, Krsna protected them in their service.

 

 

The most amazing thing was that they also distributed Srila Prabhupada’s books. A large supply of books had arrived in Sarajevo for the Yugoslavian yatra just days before the fighting began, but it had not been possible to deliver them to the temples. The problem was that they were being stored in a house occupied by people unfriendly to the devotees. Worse still, when Janukanyaka visited the house she was shocked to see the books being used to fuel fires. When she pleaded with the inhabitants not to do that, they ordered her away at gunpoint.

 

Janukanyaka and Hamsahina [like all ISKCON devotees throughout the world] wanted to participate in the December Srila Prabhupada Book Marathon, so Janukanyaka went back to the base where the officer had helped her transport the UN supplies. She again begged for help – this time to rescue Srila Prabhupada’s books. The officer submitted to her purity and determination, and sent a number of soldiers in armed personnel carriers to get the books. Within hours the entire shipment was safe in the temple compound. Putting their lives at risk from snipers, Janukanyaka and Hamsahina went out daily to distribute the books, keeping aside the money owed from the sales. Even in the hardest times, when they lacked the bare necessities of life, they never used the money – and when the war was over they sent the entire amount, equivalent to 10,000DM, to the Bhaktivedanta Book Trust in Sweden.

 

Often their lives were threatened by soldiers, but Janukanyaka and Hamsahina were determined and undaunted in their desire to preach. Although it was sometimes possible to flee undercover of the UN convoys to the Croatian safe zone [or if one was determined, through the sewer system], Janukanyaka and Hamsahina always refused. They had their service and they were in Sarajevo to stay, because they had faith in guru and Krsna. At the time they were both uninitiated devotees. Only after the war were they able to travel to to take initiation from H.H. Harikesa Maharaja by letter. There are so many stories of their courage and bravery, so many things to say about their devotion. Thus upon entering the temple, I looked eagerly for Janukanyaka and Hamsahina. But everything happened so quickly, and I soon found myself receiving guru-puja on the vyasasana. I lowered my head, thinking that somewhere in the crowd of devotees who were worshipping me were the two matajis who were worthy of my respect. I waited patiently for the opportunity to speak and glorify the devotees of Sarajevo. When the arati finished and that moment came, I spoke to the 50 devotees present, my voice filled with emotion.

 

“Thank you very much for the wonderful reception. Traditionally sannyasis travel from village to village and town to town giving association and inspiring people in Krsna consciousness. But knowing the austerities you have all undergone in your preaching here, we have come to be inspired in your association." "No doubt, Srila Prabhupada is very, very pleased with you. I’ve just been reading My glorious Master, a book written by one of my godbrothers, Bhurijana prabhu. Therein he relates how Srila Prabhupada was pleased with even the most insignificant service rendered by a sincere disciple. Considering the great service you have all done here, I’m sure that from his transcendental position Srila Prabhupada is showering blessings upon all of you."

 

 

"We have also come because we know that preaching is especially good in situations where people are in distress. For the time being, no one in this city is in any illusion about the real nature of the material world – how it is a miserable place of birth and death. Such people are excellent candidates for Krsna consciousness. We should take advantage of this moment and plant the seed of devotional service in their fertile hearts. If you plant an ordinary seed in poor soil it won’t grow, but if the same seed is planted in fertile soil it grows quickly. Now is the time to plant the seed of Krsna consciouness in the ferile hearts of the people of Sarajevo , who are weary of war and destruction and are looking for relief."

 

"Because of your eforts in distributing books and prasadam there is some semblance of peace in this city at the moment. Others may say that peace has come as a result of the arrangements of politicians. But we know that it has come, at least in part, due to your efforts. Srila Prabhupada once said, ‘If just one percent of the world become Krsna conscious, the whole face of the earth will change for the better.’ He also said: ‘If it were not for the Sankirtan movement of Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu we could not even imagine how horrible this planet would be at the moment.’ So please go on with your valiant efforts and may Lord Caitanya bless you.”

 

After my talk to the devotees we prepared to go on Harinam Sankirtan, the first in Sarajevo since the war began. The devotees received permission for the harinam from the local police, who also agreed to send an escort of two or three policemen in case there was any trouble. But the devotees didn’t expect any trouble because of our good relations with the local Muslims. We were so excited about going out, we even decided to skip lunch prasadam and honor it when we returned later in the afternoon. I busied myself assembling the devotees, requesting them to gather all the colourful flags and banners they had made especially for the occasion. Within a short time Sri Prahlad was leading 60 of us in a blissful kirtan along the street. Little did we know that we were walking right into the lion’s den.

 

 

From the beginning, I sensed that something was wrong. I kept turning to the local devotees, inquiring: “Are you sure it’s safe to chant in public like this? Won’t the Muslims take offense at our big kirtan party coming through their part of town?” They kept assuring me: “Maharaja, don’t worry, they love us. We distributed prasadam here throughout the war.” But in spite of their many wonderful qualities, the Sarajevo devotees are young and naive. None of them had told me that it was a holy day for Muslims, and we were enroute towards the largest mosque in Sarajevo just as the prayer hour was finishing. The war was over, but not the feelings of hatred and desire for revenge between the people of the region [the Serbians, the Muslims, and the Croatians], many of whom are fiercely loyal to their traditions.

 

Anything different was bound to provoke them. Oblivious to all this, we chanted and danced without abate. The kirtan was ecstatic, and very loud. Some people smiled as we went by, and a few took the cookies we were passing out. But most were cautious. They had literally been through hell, and the contrast of so many people singing and dancing was difficult for them to adjust to. As we weaved our way through the old streets, suddenly the mosque loomed ahead. The moment I saw it I wanted to turn around, but it was too late. Among the crowd emerging from the mosque, three men in their late twenties saw our procession, and after exchanging a few words among themselves charged towards us, their faces twisted in hate. They ran at full speed and within seconds were upon us. Priyavrata das was in front of the harinam filming it with his video camera. He didn’t even see what hit him, as the man leading the charge struck him full force in the jaw with a karate kick. Priyavrata spun backwards, his camera flying, and fell on the ground. The three men then plunged into our party, furiously kicking and punching the devotees.

 

The kirtan stopped and some devotees fought back. One of the attackers came for me, but I ran towards him swinging my karatals over my head and he retreated. To my left I saw three devotees beating back one of the attackers, who fell into a store window smashing it to pieces. Although we bloodied them, I noticed they seemed unphased. Nevertheless, outnumbered, they retreated. The devotees stood immobile in the middle of the street. We sang Nrsimha prayers afraid to take another step forward, yet at the same time unsure whether to remain. I looked around and noticed that a number of our party had bloody noses and cut faces. The matajis were screaming: “Nrsimha! Nrsimha! Nrsimha!”

 

 

Within minutes, a large group of tough-looking men had joined the original three attackers. As I studied them, I had a feeling that they weren’t simply young hooligans [we later learned that they were all soldiers, just back from the war with the Serbians. They were hardened killers.] A female reporter from a local television station was filming the scene, when suddenly one of the men took her camera and smashed it on the ground. On that cue, about 30 of them came rushing towards us. It was a well-planned operation – as they charged at the center of our party, we ran to either side of the street. The attackers then turned and cornered the devotees, picking off those who looked the strongest first.

 

The first to go down was Nrsimha Kavaca das. One of the thugs [a former soldier who had once interrogated Janukanyaka - and had also promised to kill her] shoved a pistol into Nrsimha Kavaca’s face threatening to pull the trigger, but instead smashed the butt over his head. Nrsimha Kavaca fell to the ground unconscious, blood gushing from the wound. As he lay in a pool of blood, four men began kicking him in the ribs. In the midst of the chaos, as each devotee was fighting for his life, Thakur Bhaktivinoda das tried to rescue Nrsimha Kavaca – but he was overpowered by several men, one of whom pulled a knife and stabbed him in the back. I stopped fighting to scream at the matajis to run away. Turning to my right, I saw four men overpower Bhakta Colin and stab him. One of our police escorts tried to stop the fighting, but was slapped in the face by the attackers and thrown to the side of the road.

 

There was blood everywhere on the street, and I wasn’t sure where all the devotees were. Nrsimha Kavaca was still unconscious on the ground 20 metres in front of us, but to try to rescue him would mean certain death. We started backing down the street, but the men followed us screaming: “Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar! God is great!” When they stabbed a local bhakta we broke into a run, carrying the wounded devotees. As we approached a main road, two traffic policemen saw us and stopped a passing car. They put Thakur Bhaktivinoda and the bhakta into the back seat, instructing the driver to take them to a hospital. While Thakur Bhaktivinoda was getting in I was shocked to see that the back of his kurta was drenched in blood. I then asked the policemen if they would rescue Nrsimha Kavaca.

 

When we returned to the temple, which was in total confusion, I tried to account for the devotees who had been on the harinam. We called all the hospitals in Sarajevo asking if any devotees had been admitted. Within an hour we had located them. A store owner had pulled Nrsimha Kavaca off the street into his shop, and had then driven him to hospital [the same one to which Thakur Bhaktivinoda and Bhakta Edin, the local bhakta, had been taken], while the driver of a car had stopped and taken Bhakta Colin to a different hospital. I left immediately to visit our injured comrades. Some devotees warned me not to go to the hospitals in devotional clothes, as the men who attacked us could still be roaming the streets. But no one had any pants or shirts, and time was short – I didn’t know if my disciple Nrsimha Kavaca was dead or alive.

 

Approaching the first hospital, I was shocked to see its condition. Like most of the buildings in Sarajevo, it was partially destroyed. Sections were bombed-out, the entire building was riddled by machine-gun bullets, and many parts were blackened by fire. When my devotee driver and I arrived at the main gate we were refused entry. The authorities had stopped allowing visitors long ago, for often the “visitors” were soldiers dressed as civilians trying to enter the hospital with the intention of killing their enemies. But eventually they agreed to let me in, mainly because they trusted the fact that I am a monk. Upon reaching the main floor of the hospital, a doctor was introduced to me as the head surgeon, Dr. Nakash. A large man with a big moustache, his eyes had deep black circles under them. Dr. Nakash is well known internationally for his work during the war, when he performed operations for days at a time without sleep or food, often when the hospital was under artillery and rocket attack. His work was complicated by the fact there was no electricity and water, and during that entire period he operated without anaesthesia.

 

Approaching me with his arms raised, he said: “In the name of Allah, please forgive my people for what they have done to all of you. The people of Sarajevo are with you, only some maddened soldiers have done this.” As we walked to the room where Bhakta Colin was laying, I was surprised as Dr. Nakash turned to me and said: “I have your Bhagavad-gita. It helped me during the war”. Bhakta Colin was asleep, his chest and stomach covered in bandages. He woke as we approached the bed, grimacing in pain as he saw us. Dr. Nakash said to me: “Sorry, we don’t have any pain killers here”. I spoke briefly with Bhakta Colin, who told me he wanted to be discharged as soon as possible. As I was leaving, Dr. Nakash told me Bhakta Colin’s lungs were slowly filling with blood, and that he was going to have to operate within an hour. He said Bhakta Colin would be in the hospital for several weeks.

 

My driver and I made our way to the next hospital, which was in an even worse condition than the previous one. There I found a doctor stitching up Nrsimha Kavaca’s head on the operating table. One of the doctors pushed me from the operating room, telling me to wait outside. Later he said that Nrsimha Kavaca’s condition could be serious, because he had no memory of anything since five days ago. I found Thakura Bhaktivinoda in another operating room, his wife, my disciple Syama Gauri dasi, was crying outside. She told me the doctors were uncertain about the extent of her husband’s wounds, and that he would also have to stay in the hospital. Bhakta Edvin was about to go into surgery. As I waited in the hall to speak to the surgeon, my eye caught two men approaching from the other direction. They appeared to be Muslims, and were looking at me with the same look of hate we’d experienced this morning. As I braced myself for trouble, they walked up to me one of them spat in my face. With that they left, and I looked for a washroom to clean myself.

 

At the temple, I gathered the devotees and we discussed what to do next. Some felt the men would come to the temple and attack us again. One devotee said, “After all, this is a Muslim neighborhood and they can do what they want”. But I replied that the police were aware of what had happened, and were coming to the temple to get our report of the incident. They had also promised to guard the temple 24 hours a day for the next few days. As we were ending our discussion the police arrived. They had somehow obtained the video from the photographer whose camera had been smashed, and they wanted us to watch it to identify the attackers.

 

As the video began many devotees started crying, having to relive those moments so soon after the event. One by one the police asked us to identify the attackers. It wasn’t difficult – you don’t easily forget someone who has tried to kill you. The Police Chief of Sarajevo later apologised for the incident on national television saying it did not represent the feelings of most Sarajevans towards the Krsna consciousness movement.

 

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