The Power of Kīrtana and Faith

With deep gratitude in my heart, I wish to share with you a memory that goes back fifteen years, but that still vibrates within me with the same strength and sweetness as the day it happened.

In a moment of great trial for my mother, Divine Grace manifested in a way as unexpected as it was wonderful. What follows are the words I wrote at that time, so as not to forget—and to testify how the Holy Names and Kīrtana can reach even where our heart alone could never go.

Dear Śrīla Gurudeva,

Hare Krishna. Please accept my obeisances. All glories to Śrīla Prabhupāda.

I would like to share with You, and with my Godbrothers and Godsisters, a wonderful story that happened to me today, Sunday, May 10th, 2009, around 7 p.m.

On May 6th, in the early afternoon, I was called to be told that my mother had fainted in the street and had been rushed to the hospital. I went immediately: her condition was stable, but they decided to keep her at the hospital for observation.

So, reassured, I went back home thinking I could go the next morning to Villa Vrindavana for the Nṛsiṁhadeva festival. But at 12:20 a.m. that night, the hospital called me: my mother’s life was in danger because of an aortic hemorrhage. When I arrived, she had already been taken urgently into the operating room (she had already lost 3 liters of blood!). The doctor immediately told me how dramatic the situation was and to prepare myself for the worst. Thus began my night at the hospital. The atmosphere was surreal—silence everywhere, yet suffering could be felt in the air.

My first reaction was to take my japa and begin chanting the Holy Names, thinking intensely of that poor soul who in this life is my mother. Yet I confess that I perceived her more as a soul than as my mother. I spent the entire night this way, chanting:

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare

…while at intervals listening with headphones to some lectures of Gurudeva. In that uncomfortable and sorrowful situation, I could not understand why in my heart there was so much tranquility and peace.

I was trying to help a soul while the surgeons were attending to her suffering body—on the very day of Lord Nṛsiṁhadeva.

So far, nothing unusual: it is normal that an eighty-year-old woman may risk leaving her body. But I wrote all this only to introduce what came next.

The surgery went well. She was placed in intensive care, yesterday taken off the respirator, and today, around 6 p.m., I went to visit her. She was perfectly conscious, immediately recognized both me and my father, and told us she was suffering a lot, and more. Then suddenly she looked at me and said:

“Are the Indians still behind the glass?” (she was in a glass cubicle isolated from the ward).

I turned, thinking perhaps there was an Indian family visiting someone in the intensive care ward, but I only saw Westerners.

Then she asked again: “Are they still there?”

And continued: “Last night they held a big festival for me—they were singing, ringing bells, so kind to me!”

Honestly, I thought she was delirious. But then I noticed that she asked my father some very lucid questions, and this made me reflect.

Then turning again to me, she said: “Such good people, so kind. Last night they were all in front of the glass greeting me, singing and ringing their bells—imagine, until midnight!”

I felt chills down my spine. My father did not understand. I must clarify: my mother had never seen a Kīrtana. She knew I was a devotee, but she was never interested in my spiritual path. She is a practicing Catholic—in fact, that very afternoon a priest had come to visit her.

I began to realize that something extraordinary had happened. She had described to me the scene of these Indians celebrating around her, saying that she had almost been overwhelmed by the sound of their bells and singing. Without knowing it, and without ever having seen it, she had described a Kīrtana!

Words fail me now—it is impossible to describe my state of mind. Moreover, my relationship with my mother has always been complicated—we are very different—but despite this she was blessed with this vision: a festival of devotees singing and playing instruments around her!

I do not know what will remain in her mind and heart from that night. Her soul has its own journey. Yet, despite everything, she was blessed, and the fruits will come.

I believe it is important to share stories like these, and on the advice of Śrīla Gurudeva, I wrote it down immediately so as not to lose the memory and realizations.

Thanks to Śrīla Gurudeva, who introduced me to the path of Bhakti—the pure source of love, compassion, and mercy towards all living beings.

Hari Hari!!!

Your servant,
Naradamuni dāsa