Although there were a number of supranatural events in Ajaan Lee's autobiography that were truly remarkable, a rarely seen facet of his personality that the following excerpt highlights is nothing short of amazing in its own right, especially in light of the period's lingua franca and his solemn wilderness warrior-monk persona. 

While it was neither as spectacular nor as intensely focused as in the episode where he stopped a raging elephant in its tracks by radiating thoughts of good will towards it, Ajaan Lee's metta and kindness towards those around him are just as palpable here. 

Instead of trying to maintain the image of an infallible teacher and keeping to himself to avoid the embarrassment of faltering over foreign languages, he was willing to step out of his and into the comfort zone of others, trying his best to communicate with these people in their languages though he could not speak them properly, even going out of his way to the extent of using sign language to answer the questions that a person who had impinged on his sleep had for him.

Ajaan Fuang once described Ajaan Lee as a very curious person who would, if he had met Ajaan Geoff, pick his brain to learn what a modern university education teaches. As could be seen in the manner with which he had conducted himself here, virtues like patience, humility, and being genuine underlie his ability to win over strangers. In fact, these were the same qualities that worked together with his intellectual inquisitiveness to help him develop into a consummate meditator and a nonpareil teacher, and should serve as food for thought for the discerning person looking to enhance their own practice. 

Through his exemplary conduct and endearing mannerisms in a foreign land, Ajaan Lee further affirmed the truth of the following stanza in the Mangala Sutta for the people who had the good fortune of meeting him, all of which served to strengthen their conviction in the Triple Gem whilst he played his part- like he'd always been doing- to ensure that the true Dhamma might last for a long time with his relatively brief yet absolutely meaningful life: 

Khantī ca sovacassatā

Samaṇānañ-ca dassanaṁ

Kālena dhamma-sākacchā

Etam-maṅgalam-uttamaṁ.

Patience, composure, seeing contemplatives,

discussing the Dhamma on timely occasions: 

This is the highest blessing.

~ Admin, 

Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo's Facebook Page

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"After daybreak, when I had finished my meal, the wife of the man in whose house we were staying got us onto the bus to Kyondo (Steamboat) Landing. From there we took the boat to Moulmein. The ride lasted about four hours. While we were on the boat, Indians and Burmese came to talk with me, but I couldn’t understand much of what they were saying. At about four in the afternoon the boat reached Moulmein. From here we had to take another boat across the river to Martaban, a ride that took a fair while. Reaching the shore we could see the railroad station far in the distance.

The train wasn’t going to leave until 7 p.m., we learned at the station, so we went to wait under the shade of a tree. A young man, about 30 years old and very well-mannered, came and approached us, saying, ‘You have special permission to sit and wait in the train before it leaves, because you’re Thai and have come a long way.’ He called me ‘Yodhaya Gong Yi.’

So I said in English, ‘Thank you very much.’

He smiled, raised his hands in respect, and asked in English, ‘Where do you come from?’

‘I come from Siam.’

Then we went to rest in the train car. Some of the railway officials came to chat with me, and we were able to understand one another fairly well, speaking in Burmese mixed with English. 

When the time came, the train left. We traveled by night, and the air was very cold. I slept all wrapped up in a blanket. Nai Chin sat up and watched over our things. When the train reached the station at Pegu, a woman about 30 or so got on and sat down right near where I was sleeping and started asking me questions in Burmese, some of which I could understand and some of which I couldn’t. I sat up to talk with her, in order to be polite. I said in Burmese, ‘I’m going to Rangoon.’

‘Where will you stay?’

‘Schwe Dagon.’

We talked using sign language. She seemed quite taken with me. The train traveled on until about 5 a.m., when she got off. Nai Chin and I stayed on until the train reached Rangoon at dawn, just as the monks were going out for alms.

A layperson came running into the train car and helped us with our things, as if he knew us well. 

He invited us into his car. We got in and sat down without saying a word. He took us to Schwe Dagon Pagoda, where we found a place to stay. The man—his name was Mawng Khwaen—turned out to be a very faithful supporter all during our stay in Rangoon, looking after our needs and helping us in every way.

We stayed twelve days at the Pagoda and got to know a good number of Burmese laypeople. 

We were able to converse and understand one another fairly well.

Nai Chin and I then left Rangoon, taking the boat at the city docks and heading on to India. The boat took two nights and three days to cross the Bay of Bengal, reaching the docks at Calcutta just at dark. On the boat I met a Bengali monk from Kusinara. We discussed the Dhamma, sometimes in Pali, sometimes in Bengali, sometimes in English. Sometimes in one sentence we’d have to use up to three languages before we could understand each other, starting out in Bengali, going on in Pali, and finishing off in English. 

It never occurred to me to feel embarrassed about not being able to speak correctly, though, because I really couldn’t speak correctly. Even what I could say, I couldn’t pronounce properly. 

We seemed to become close friends during our time out on the ocean."

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From The Autobiography of Phra Ajaan Lee, translated by Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu 

https://www.dhammatalks.org/books/AutobioAjaanLee/Section0001.html