The Police Get the Mercy
During the fall, one rainy morning I find myself distributing books in Kansas City at the corner of Troost and 63rd, perhaps a mile from the temple. This part of town is a little shaky, to put it lightly. There are chicken bones strewn everywhere, and creepy looking hobos constantly give me bad looks.
I approach a young African American gentleman smoking a cigarette outside the local gas station and strike up a conversation (he later buys a soft-bound Bhagavad-Gita). The manager of this particular gas station has a real antagonism towards me because I distribute here about three times a week to all the locals who come to buy their blunts and alcohol. So she frequently threatens to call the police.
On this particular morning the books are flying, and I'd just called the temple to send over the van with more books because I am running out. All of a sudden four cop cars pull into the gas station at full speed with their sirens blaring.
I think, "Okay, I'm finished. They're going to arrest me."
I turn white as a sheet and nearly jump out of my skin. It seems that the end is near. Six police officers spring from their cruisers with pistols drawn and walk briskly toward me. I almost have a minor heart attack and try to play it cool. I’ve been hassled by cops before, but had not anticipated this.
It turns out that someone had robbed the station while I was distributing books.
After the police question all the witnesses, the Chief of Police walks up to me and asks, "What have you got there in your bag?"
Without batting an eye, I tell him that I'm a monk passing out books about self-realization. And I hand him a Gita.
The Chief tells me that he is a student of world religions, and happily pulls out $5 for the book. I was flabbergasted to say the least.
“Thanks”, I stammer, and then it’s all over. Everyone goes home. Soon the temple van arrives, and I continue to distribute for a few more hours.
Later that day, a policeman returns to the scene and asks me whether I have the same book that the Police Chief bought. I tell him 'yes,' and he hands me $10 for a soft Gita.
Simply amazing.
Your servant,
Yashoda Dulal Dasa
