EVER SINCE THE BBT Press marathon in the summer of 1975, the Press had continued to keep up with Śrīla Prabhupāda’s writing. A sweet, transcendental competition had developed between Prabhupāda, his Press, and the book distributors. In November of 1975, Prabhupāda had written to one of the leading book distributors,

In recent months, however, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s literary output had been diminishing, mostly because of his involvement in management. His direct supervision of the construction in Bombay, his month-long managerial drive in Vṛndāvana, his struggle to heal a major ISKCON schism – such activities were not conducive to writing. In Māyāpur when the devotees had failed to control the slamming of doors, he had complained bitterly that this “heart-cracking” sound interrupted his meditative translating. He explained that he sometimes thought for two or three days about a single purport before actually writing it.

Actually, the word translating is incomplete in describing Śrīla Prabhupāda’s writing. Translating involved only the verses and synonyms, but Prabhupāda’s deepest meditations – what he referred to as his “personal ecstasies” – were his Bhaktivedanta purports. Composing the purports, as well as translating the verses, came best when he could think about them throughout the day, not just when he turned on his dictating machine at one A.M. He was translating the extremely grave and complex Vedic knowledge into a modern context, thus making it understandable to Western readers. And it was a great, demanding task.

To best speak to the people of the world through his Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam writings, Śrīla Prabhupāda required a very conducive situation. After the Māyāpur festival, therefore, he formulated an itinerary that, in about a month’s time, would bring him to Hawaii. There he expected to find an atmosphere beneficial for his literary work. His traveling secretary, Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa Swami, wrote ahead to Hawaii shortly after the Māyāpur festival.

Since Prabhupāda’s itinerary also included another U.S. tour, his secretary wrote ahead to Kīrtanānanda Swami in New Vrindaban.

Hawaii
May 3, 1976
  After brief visits in several Indian cities, as well as stops in Melbourne, Auckland, and Fiji, Śrīla Prabhupāda arrived in Hawaii on schedule. Immediately he began to increase his writing. The devotees were keenly noting the number of digits he ran up each night on his dictating machine, which for them was like a measure of the benediction for all humanity. Whereas in India he had done usually no more than a hundred digits a day, and sometimes none, in Hawaii his rate jumped to two hundred and even three hundred, day after day. Hari-śauri, who had accompanied Prabhupāda from Vṛndāvana as his servant, wrote in his diary, “Prabhupāda is translating like anything now, and he did 290 digits again last night.”

The temple was in a quiet neighborhood, with several acres of gardenlike property. In the backyard stood a large, stately banyan tree, and in the front, the largest tulasī bushes anywhere in ISKCON. The devotees grew their own vegetables, and flowers, mangoes, and coconuts were so plentiful that they were available free. The weather was sunny, interspersed with occasional showers.

Prabhupāda felt ill and could not sleep more than one-and-a-half hours at night and one or two hours during the day. But being transcendental, he used this inability to sleep as another way to increase his writing time. Despite his emphasis on writing, however, he continued lecturing in the temple, going on morning walks, holding discussions on the beach, and daily answering his mail. Still, Hawaii was far from being like Vṛndāvana or Calcutta, where old friends and new admirers demanded hours of his time. Here he was mostly alone with his trained staff.

He had been in Honolulu about a week when he announced one morning, walking along Waikiki Beach, that he expected to finish that night the last purport to the Seventh Canto. When Hari-śauri expressed his happiness to hear this, Prabhupāda replied, “Oh, I can finish very quickly, but I have to present it for your understanding. It requires deep thought, very carefully, to present it for the common man.”

That night around nine, Prabhupāda called for Hari-śauri and said that he would not take his evening massage; he wanted the time for finishing the Seventh Canto. Shutting the door and returning to his desk he worked all night until five in the morning. At the end of the Seventh Canto, he dictated a closing remark.

Immediately Prabhupāda turned to the Eighth Canto, beginning with a prayer: “First of all, let me offer my humble, respectful obeisances unto the lotus feet of my spiritual master, His Divine Grace Śrī Śrīmad Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Goswami Prabhupāda.” Prabhupāda explained that his spiritual master had instructed him at Rādhā-kuṇḍa in 1935 to stress book production more than temple construction. He had followed that instruction, beginning with his starting Back to Godhead magazine in 1944, and in 1958 he had begun Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. As soon as he had published three volumes of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam in India, he had started for the U.S. in August 1965.

Prabhupāda said he was making the Bhāgavatam understandable for the common man. This did not mean his writings were lacking in substance; they were pure substance. But in the essential spirit of the Bhāgavatam itself, Prabhupāda was omitting anything extraneous and distracting, selecting from the commentaries of the previous ācāryas whatever would best impel his readers to pure devotional service. At the beginning of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, the author, Śrīla Vyāsadeva, states that the Bhāgavatam excludes all materially motivated forms of religiosity and offers only pure devotional service. Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam is therefore called the ripened fruit of the tree of Vedic knowledge. And just as the Bhāgavatam is itself the most essential spiritual knowledge, so Śrīla Prabhupāda, in translating and commenting on the Bhāgavatam, utilized the same spirit of delivering the pure message, without any speculation or deviation.

According to Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, kṛṣṇas tu bhagavān svayam: Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Personality of Godhead, the source of all incarnations, the cause of all causes. And Prabhupāda revealed this conclusion on every page. Although some Sanskrit scholars disagreed with Prabhupāda’s emphasis on Kṛṣṇa, his “Kṛṣṇa-izing” of the Sanskrit was not whimsical but followed strictly the ancient tradition of paramparā. Overwhelmingly, those university scholars who seriously read Prabhupāda’s books appreciated the faithful quality of his paramparā rendering. Reviews came from all over the world.

The Vedic literature mentions various spiritual paths and forms of yoga, and unless the commentator has realized the highest Vedic conclusion, he can easily miss the essential message of the Bhāgavatam. Indeed, impersonalist commentators have attempted to use the Bhāgavatam to support their speculations that the individual soul is in all respects one with the Supreme – even though this contradicts the purpose of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. As a commentator on the Vedic literature, Śrīla Prabhupāda was distinguished, even among Vaiṣṇava scholars, because of his being in disciplic succession from Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, who is glorified as patita-pāvana, the savior of the most fallen. As a follower and empowered representative of Lord Caitanya, Śrīla Prabhupāda was faithfully and perfectly carrying on the tradition of rescuing fallen souls, bringing them back to their original Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

Prabhupāda’s making Bhāgavatam’s message “available,” therefore, did not mean mere simplification. It meant urgently addressing the reader to give up the world of illusion and take to the eternal liberation of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Prabhupāda was making available to the average reader spiritual truth that had been hidden and unavailable, even to austere practitioners of yoga and learned brāhmaṇas proficient in Sanskrit. “Old wine in new bottles,” Prabhupāda called it.

The Vaiṣṇava’s arguments against impersonalism had been chalked out by Madhvācārya and Rāmānujācārya and later synthesized by Lord Caitanya into the philosophy of acintya-bhedābheda-tattva, “simultaneous oneness and difference.” These eternal truths had to be presented in every age, but in the traditional debates between the Vaiṣṇavas and the impersonalists, the authoritative basis had always been Vedic scripture.

Modern society, however, was so degraded that a preacher could no longer appeal to the authority of Vedic scripture – no one would accept it. Śrīla Prabhupāda’s writings, therefore, dealt with such theories as the origin of life by chance, Darwinian evolution, and chemical evolution. And he defeated them all with strong logic, establishing that life comes from life, not from dead matter. Prabhupāda had dedicated one of his first books, Easy Journey to Other Planets, to “the scientists of the world,” and had even adapted the Bhagavad-gītā verses quoted in that book into scientific jargon of “matter and antimatter.” Deftly he used both śāstra and logic to establish the Vedic conclusion.

Prabhupāda’s writings also combatted the false teachings of bogus yogīs, gurus, and “incarnations,” who had appeared like a tidal wave of falsity in Kali-yuga, both in India and in the West. His writings criticized modern political institutions also, analyzing why monarchies fell, why democracy was also failing and how dictatorship would increasingly harass the citizens. The governments’ policies of abusive taxation and their propaganda to bring people to the cities to work in the factories, abandoning simple, agrarian life, were all discussed in light of the scriptures.

In his travels, Śrīla Prabhupāda had observed the rampant degradation of human society: sexual liberation, the latest fads in intoxication, and the vicious crimes of animal slaughter and meat-eating. A Bhagavad-gītā purport dealt specifically with the threat of nuclear holocaust.

Prabhupāda’s criticisms were strong and authoritative, befitting a true ācārya; his uncompromising spirit was appealing. He was not a timid scholar pointing out some obscure historical references. Yet underlying his writing, a humble tone of request spoke to the heart. As the servant of the servant of Kṛṣṇa, he asked everyone to please take up Kṛṣṇa consciousness and be restored to his original, constitutional position of eternity, bliss, and knowledge.

Prabhupāda was making his books practical. But to do so required care and deep meditation. He combined the thoughtfulness of a textual scholar with the practical applications of a transcendental social and political reformer. So many scholars had already presented their English editions of Bhagavad-gītā, yet not a single reader had become a devotee of Kṛṣṇa. Prabhupāda’s Bhagavad-gītā As It Is, however, was creating thousands of devotees.

More than simply rendering valuable Vedic literatures, Śrīla Prabhupāda had come to the West, starting in New York City, to establish a way of life based on that Vedic literature. Consequently, he had gained firsthand experience in bringing the most materialistic persons to the standard of renunciation and devotional service. His books, therefore, reflected these practical realizations, and many times in his purports he would relate his difficulties and triumphs in trying to introduce spiritual principles within materialistic society.

In the Sixth Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam he had presented the story of Dakṣa’s cursing Nārada Muni, after Nārada had instructed Dakṣa’s sons in pure Kṛṣṇa consciousness. The jealous father, considering Nārada his enemy, had cursed him to be always traveling, without any home. In his commentary, Śrīla Prabhupāda had written that he also had been cursed by the parents of his disciples; therefore, despite his having many centers around the world, he had to constantly travel and preach.

And in the Seventh Canto, while commenting on the demon Hiraṇyakaśipu’s harassment of his son Prahlāda, Śrīla Prabhupāda had related the difficulties of the ISKCON devotees in distributing books amid the harassment of Hiraṇyakaśipu’s modern counterparts.

Thus Prabhupāda was imbuing his literature with the thoughtfulness of his own personality, that of a pure devotee faithfully dedicating his body, mind, and words in service to the Bhāgavatam. As the word bhāgavata refers not only to narrations about the Supreme Lord but also to the Lord’s devotee, Śrīla Prabhupāda was himself bhāgavata. And through his books one could gain the inspiration of service to both the book and the person bhāgavata.

When news came of a temple president having difficulty with his G.B.C. authority, Śrīla Prabhupāda saw it as another example of how his writing work – his most important preaching – could be hampered by disruptions. He therefore composed a letter addressed to all the Governing Body Commissioners.

While maintaining his excellent progress on Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, Prabhupāda also got the opportunity in Hawaii to begin another book. His long-time disciple and editor Hayagrīva wrote, asking to assist Śrīla Prabhupāda in a series of interview-commentaries on the Western philosophers. This was the same project Prabhupāda had begun with his former secretary, Śyāmasundara, but when Śyāmasundara had abandoned his duties in ISKCON, he had also misplaced the tapes and transcripts of the considerable work they had done together.

Hayagrīva proposed to start again, beginning with Socrates and Plato. The process would be that Hayagrīva would present before Prabhupāda a summary of a particular Western thinker’s philosophy. Prabhupāda would then respond extemporaneously, giving appreciation and criticism of the philosopher according to the Vedic viewpoint.

Prabhupāda and his disciples had been enthusiastic about the interviews done in former years, and Prabhupāda had even titled the series – “Dialectical Spiritualism.” But when Śyāmasundara had misplaced the tapes, the project had dissipated. Now Hayagrīva, the former college English professor and original editor for Back to Godhead in America, asked to be allowed to come to Hawaii for reviving the philosophy book and for spending time with Prabhupāda.

Like various other disciples, Hayagrīva had given up strictly following the regulative principles. Śrīla Prabhupāda had come to tolerate the reality that some disciples, even after taking vows of initiation, would be unable to resist the strong pull of the senses and would give up the path of active devotional service in ISKCON. In the early years, he and his followers had reacted with great shock whenever a devotee had gone away; but with time, as the unfortunate event had continued to occur, sometimes even striking down leading, trusted disciples, Prabhupāda had grown to live with it. But he never stopped feeling bereaved over a lost son or daughter, especially if that disciple had rendered him significant service. And he never withheld his affection from them or his open, loving invitation for them to return.

Such a case was Hayagrīva, a dear son who had come to Śrīla Prabhupāda during the summer of 1966 in New York. He had given valuable service, but had eventually been unable to follow the simple but strict principles of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Now, after suffering the vicissitudes of material life, he had gathered his resolve to come back to his beloved spiritual master.

Prabhupāda gave him a garland and asked him how he and his family were doing. Then in the presence of the other devotees, Prabhupāda related how Hayagrīva had been sent by Kṛṣṇa to help him spread the Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement all over the world.

When Hayagrīva said he had never forgotten Prabhupāda, even for a day, Prabhupāda replied, “And I also never forgot you. I was thinking, ‘Has Hayagrīva gone away?’ I was thinking like that.” Prabhupāda’s voice broke, his eyes filled with tears, and he could not speak. Finally he asked everyone to leave the room.

Prabhupāda and Hayagrīva began meeting daily, sometimes for as long as two or three hours. Dialectical Spiritualism was again underway, moving side by side with the Eighth Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, and Hayagrīva was again in his original position, at Śrīla Prabhupāda’s lotus feet.

Madhudviṣa’s telegram was a resignation from the G.B.C. Although he wanted to continue in devotional service, he felt forced to resign due to spiritual weakness. The telegram gave no details, but Prabhupāda heard rumors that Madhudviṣa had had an affair and had left the temple. Prabhupāda said that this was his Godbrothers’ main argument against Westerners’ taking sannyāsa: they would not be able to maintain the strict vows. He said that a German Godbrother of his had also caused disruption by his intimate dealings with women.

“What can I do?” Prabhupāda said sadly. “I am working with all third-class men – fools and rascals. Things are going on simply by Kṛṣṇa’s mercy.” Prabhupāda sent a telegram back, asking Madhudviṣa to come and speak with him. Although he restrained his emotions, the devotees could see that he was distracted. It was another case of a strong affectionate bond for a son who had rendered wonderful service, a disciple whom he had patiently trained over the years. Again the possibility of Prabhupāda’s retiring from active management looked doubtful.

Śrīla Prabhupāda said he was trying to engage fools, rascals – anyone – to spread Kṛṣṇa consciousness. He was unable to find strict followers, but what could be done? If someone fell from sannyāsa, he said, then that person could become a gṛhastha. But no one should go away. Hari-śauri mentioned the Caitanya-caritāmṛta story of Lord Caitanya and Choṭa Haridāsa. From that story, said Hari-śauri, it appeared to be very difficult for a fallen sannyāsī to regain the mercy of Lord Caitanya.

“One who falls from sannyāsa,” Prabhupāda replied, “is called vantāśī, one who vomits and then eats it.”

“So if they become gṛhasthas again, then how can they get Lord Caitanya’s mercy?” asked Hari-śauri.

“If the spiritual master gives that facility and makes that arrangement,” said Prabhupāda, “then Kṛṣṇa will accept the arrangement. And later he can again become sannyāsa.” It had happened before, and Prabhupāda mentioned a few cases where he had asked fallen sannyāsīs to get married and stay in their service. “Of course, it is a shameful position,” he said, “but what can be done? My Godbrothers and sannyāsīs in India criticize me for giving brāhmaṇa and sannyāsa initiation and installing Deities in the West and allowing women to stay in the temples. But for all that, I am expanding Kṛṣṇa consciousness. And for all their strictness, they are doing nothing. If I discriminate, then I will again be one alone, as I was in Vṛndāvana, and ‘again become a mouse.’ ”

“It seems,” said Hari-śauri, “that it will take several generations before we can become purified.”

“If one is sincere,” Prabhupāda replied, “he can become purified even within one generation.”

That same evening, as Prabhupāda prepared to stay up all night translating, he was still thinking of Madhudviṣa. Nevertheless, he turned to translating the texts in the chapter called “The Elephant Gajendra’s Crisis.” The chapter told about the king of elephants, Gajendra, who lived on the heavenly planets. One day Gajendra was bathing in the river along with his wives, when suddenly a crocodile attacked. The crocodile fastened his jaws on Gajendra’s leg, and although the elephant was very powerful, he could not release himself from the strong grip of the crocodile while in the water.

“Thereafter,” Śrīla Prabhupāda dictated, “because of being pulled into the water and fighting for many long years, the elephant became diminished in his mental, physical, and sensual strength. The crocodile, on the contrary, being an animal of the water, increased in enthusiasm, physical strength, and sensual power.”

“I can do it very quickly,” Prabhupāda had said, “but I have to meditate, how to prepare it for the common man.” How could he convey the significance of this event, which happened millions of years ago between two animals on a heavenly planet? How to make it clear and understandable, and capture the essence of the significant Sanskrit words and the paramparā comments of ācāryas like Viśvanātha Cakravartī, Sanātana Gosvāmī, and Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī? In the quiet solitude of his room, Śrīla Prabhupāda began speaking his purport.

“In the fighting between the elephant and the crocodile, the difference was that although the elephant was extremely powerful, he was in a foreign place, in the water. During one thousand years of fighting, he could not get any food, and under the circumstances his bodily strength diminished, and because his bodily strength diminished, his mind also became weak and his senses less powerful. The crocodile, however, being an animal of the water, had no difficulties. He was getting food and was therefore getting mental strength and sensual encouragement. Thus while the elephant became reduced in strength, the crocodile became more and more powerful.

“Now, from this we may take the lesson that in our fight with māyā we should not be in a position in which our strength, enthusiasm and senses will be unable to fight vigorously. Our Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement has actually declared war against the illusory energy, in which all the living entities are rotting in a false understanding of civilization. The soldiers in this Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement must always possess physical strength, enthusiasm and sensual power. To keep themselves fit, they must therefore place themselves in a normal condition of life.

“What constitutes a normal condition will not be the same for everyone,” Prabhupāda continued, “and therefore there are divisions of varṇāśrama – brāhmaṇa, kṣatriya, vaiśya, śūdra, brahmacarya, gṛhastha, vānaprastha, and sannyāsa. Especially in this age, Kali-yuga, it is advised that no one take sannyāsa. …

“From this we can understand that in this age the sannyāsa-āśrama is forbidden because people are not strong. Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu showed us an example in taking sannyāsa at the age of twenty-four years, but even Sārvabhauma Bhaṭṭācārya advised Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu to be extremely careful because He had taken sannyāsa at an early age. For preaching we give young boys sannyāsa, but actually it is being experienced that they are not fit for sannyāsa.

“There is no harm, however, if one thinks that he is unfit for sannyāsa; if he is very much agitated sexually, he should go to the āśrama where sex is allowed, namely the gṛhastha-āśrama. That one has been found to be very weak in one place does not mean that he should stop fighting the crocodile of māyā. One should take shelter of the lotus feet of Kṛṣṇa, as we shall see Gajendra do, and at the same time one can be a gṛhastha if he is satisfied with sexual indulgence.

“There is no need to give up the fight. Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu therefore recommended, sthāne sthitāh śruti-gatāṁ tanu-vāṅ-manobhiḥ. One may stay in whichever āśrama is suitable for him; it is not essential that one take sannyāsa. If one is sexually agitated, he can enter the gṛhastha-āśrama. But one must continue fighting. For one who is not in a transcendental position, to take sannyāsa artificially is not a very great credit. If sannyāsa is not suitable, one may enter the gṛhastha-āśrama and fight māyā with great strength. But one should not give up the fighting and go away.”

From out of his direct confrontation with the forces of illusion, Śrīla Prabhupāda presented his realizations. He had taken the case of Madhudviṣa, refined it of its temporal aspects, and immortalized it into an instruction for persons everywhere.

Prabhupāda’s job was to strengthen his disciples so they would not fall. Even if they took to the gṛhastha-āśrama, the crocodile of sense gratification was still very strong. And illicit sex was the “permanent disease” of the Western people. They were raised on it and addicted to it, and their society promoted it. To change this mentality would be very difficult. Therefore, in addition to writing, Prabhupāda would have to continue traveling and preaching to sustain his disciples and make them strong preachers.

As Prabhupāda had originally left his writing at the Rādhā-Dāmodara temple in Vṛndāvana to preach in the West, so he could leave his writing retreat in Hawaii for preaching. In any case, he was prepared to continue writing wherever he went. All along he had planned to stay in Hawaii only for a month, not permanently. His disciples needed to see him for strength and inspiration, and as long as he had life and breath, this was his purpose.

Prabhupāda wanted to first visit his Los Angeles center, now a large, thriving community of devotees. He would see their new temple room, with its marble arches and gallery of gorgeous transcendental paintings, and observe the opulent worship of the Deities Rukmiṇī-Dvārakādhīśa. He would see the latest technological applications of Kṛṣṇa consciousness at Golden Avatara recording studios and at the FATE museum, which utilized multimedia dioramas to depict the teachings of the Bhagavad-gītā. He would sit in his garden and hear Kṛṣṇa book and walk on Venice Beach discussing scientific theories with Dr. Svarūpa Dāmodara. And, of course, he would increase the already swelling waves of book distribution. One day in the car he had said, “My books will be the lawbooks for human society for the next ten thousand years.”

Then in Detroit he would stay for a few days in the mansion he had purchased over a year ago, to see how the devotees were taking care of the fabulous gift Kṛṣṇa had given them and to advise them on how to use it as a showpiece of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. For himself, Prabhupāda was not interested in living in a mansion, and constant traveling proved difficult regardless of where he stayed. The mansions, the opulence, the American money and expertise were all for Kṛṣṇa’s pleasure.

From Detroit Prabhupāda would go to Toronto, where a year ago he had encouraged the devotees and the Indian community to purchase a big church in the city. Now in recent months they had actually purchased it, and they were awaiting Prabhupāda’s arrival.

He would also travel to New Vrindaban, where for two years the devotees had been anxiously awaiting his return. They wanted him to sit on the grand new vyāsāsana they had carved for him, to behold the Deities of Rādhā-Vṛndāvanacandra, and to grace the palace they were building for him. And they wanted to see him again with his dear disciple Kīrtanānanda Swami. He would drink the milk of the New Vrindaban cows and teach about varṇāśrama-dharma. He would praise the simple life and blast away at the follies of urbanized, industrialized civilization.

For the fourth of July, 1976, the bicentennial anniversary of the United States’ independence, Śrīla Prabhupāda would be at the ISKCON temple in Washington, D.C., where he would hold kīrtana at the monuments before millions of people; and on July 6 in Washington he would observe the tenth anniversary of the formation of ISKCON.

Then he would go to New York for that city’s first full-scale Ratha-yātrā. He would stay in the newly acquired ISKCON “skyscraper,” the twelve-story building in mid-town Manhattan.

Śrīla Prabhupāda had sometimes said his greatest fear was that his disciples would fight with one another, causing serious splits in his movement. Therefore he traveled, using his great influence to unite all elements. He had seen how even those to whom he had given great responsibility could again become victims of sense gratification. But he had also seen how his being with his disciples strengthened them.

He was declaring humanity’s dependence on God, Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, and making a forceful revolution against the prevailing decadence of the day. Although America, in her two-hundredth anniversary, was abandoning her God consciousness, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s ISKCON was fresh and vital, instilling pure God consciousness in America and everywhere. The cover of the latest issue of Back to Godhead, which Prabhupāda liked, depicted a devotee singing Hare Kṛṣṇa in front of a red, white, and blue bicentennial exhibit. The cover caption read, “Declaring Our Dependence on God.”

Prabhupāda had complete confidence in the eventual victory of Lord Caitanya’s saṅkīrtana movement. Although now eighty years old, he was the leader, the strongest devotee. Wherever he traveled he brought life and strength, and so he continued.
  

New York City
July 9, 1976
  Jayānanda was driving the car. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa Goswami and Rāmeśvara Swami were also there. They had picked up Śrīla Prabhupāda and Hari-śauri at La Guardia Airport, and as they proceeded toward Manhattan, Prabhupāda asked, “Things are going on here nicely?”

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa replied that everything had really just begun. “You will see that all of the work is just in progress,” he said.

“Yes,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda, “manage nicely. Kṛṣṇa is giving us everything. There is no scarcity. If we simply sincerely work, Kṛṣṇa will give us intelligence – everything. By His mercy everything is available. That is Kṛṣṇa. He can give you anything.”

As their car approached the colossal Brooklyn Bridge, Śrīla Prabhupāda inquired, “That is Brooklyn Bridge, I think? Sometimes I was coming here and sitting down near the bridge.”

“Near the water?” asked Tamāla Kṛṣṇa. They were fascinated to hear of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s early activities alone in New York. “You were sitting near the water?”

“Yes, that river,” said Prabhupāda. “Because I was on that Bowery Street. It is not very far away. So I was coming, walking there, and sitting under that bridge and thinking, ‘When I shall return to India?’ ” He laughed. He asked about other places, almost like inquiring about old friends – the Fulton Street subway station and Chambers Street.

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa told Prabhupāda that the ISKCON center was not far from the Empire State Building and that he would be able to get a nice view of it from his room on the eleventh floor. “Our building,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, “is right in the midst of the theater, restaurant, and entertainment section of the city.”

“In New York,” said Prabhupāda, “I feel a little at home, because first I came here. I was loitering on the street here and there. From 1965 September to July 1967, continually I stayed in New York.”

“Tamāla Kṛṣṇa Mahārāja gave a class this morning,” said Rāmeśvara Swami. “He was explaining that we cannot understand the good fortune of this city, that you have come here.”

“Yes, when I decided that I shall go to a foreign country,” said Prabhupāda, “I never thought of going to London; I thought of coming here. Generally they go to London, but I thought, ‘No, I shall go to New York.’ ”

“Very progressive,” Tamāla Kṛṣṇa commented.

“I do not know,” Prabhupāda laughed. “It is Kṛṣṇa’s dictation. I could have gone. London was nearer. But I thought, ‘No, I shall go to New York.’ Sometimes I was even dreaming that I had gone to New York.”

As they passed through various neighborhoods, Śrīla Prabhupāda recalled the old days. He mentioned Dr. Misra’s yoga studio and his room at 100 Seventy-second Street, where his tape recorder and typewriter had been stolen; the West End Superette, where he would buy fruit.

“Sometimes I think I was coming to this part,” said Prabhupāda, looking out the window, “ – aimlessly. Yes, sometimes walking on Second Avenue.”

Acknowledging his senior disciple who was steadily and silently driving the car, Prabhupāda said, “Our Jayānanda was driving a taxi and chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa, and one day he brought me five thousand dollars. It was given for the publishing of Bhagavad-gītā, but I think Macmillan took it.”

“Then you put him in charge to sell all the Teachings of Lord Chaitanya,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa. “I remember.”

“Didn’t sell too many books, though,” said Jayānanda. Prabhupāda laughed, while Jayānanda remained silent, intent on the task of driving through the city.

“I thought he was the best, most appropriate person to drive you,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa.

“He was chanting and driving,” said Prabhupāda. “Very good boy.” As they weaved through Manhattan traffic, a taxi driver shouted at them.

“What does he say?” asked Prabhupāda.

“He said you have a nice car,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa. “That’s good – they like the car.”

Prabhupāda laughed. “Ask him, ‘Why don’t you come here? Why are you driving a taxi? Come join us.’ ”

“This car is the Ford company’s version of a Cadillac,” said Rāmeśvara. “They cannot understand, because we say we are not after material opulence for ourselves. They cannot understand why we drive in these cars.”

“They think that we unnecessarily criticize,” said Prabhupāda. “But we require everything. Just like a man – when he is alive, his decoration, his nice dress, everything is good. But if he is dead, then it is useless. Similarly, without spiritual consciousness we are dead, because the body is dead. Only because the spirit soul is there, therefore it is moving. The important point is the spirit soul. So if you are simply taking care of the body nicely, that means you are decorating the dead body. What is the value of it? Is it clear?

“The body is important because the soul is there. So long the life is there, if you decorate the body everyone will appreciate. But if you decorate the dead body, everyone will say, ‘What a fool he is!’ Similarly, without spiritual knowledge, this dead civilization simply on the bodily concept of life, it is ludicrous. That we have to condemn. Take Kṛṣṇa consciousness, then everything has value. Just like one – if there is zero, then it becomes ten. Add another zero and it becomes a hundred. But without that one, it is simply zero. It is only useless.”

“That ‘one’ is Kṛṣṇa,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa.

“And Kṛṣṇa’s representative,” added Rāmeśvara.

As they drove down Fifty-fifth Street, the devotees pointed out to Prabhupāda the ISKCON building, with the words Hare Krishna written in gold letters down the side. A large yellow banner showing a devotee of Lord Caitanya performing saṅkīrtana flew from the front of the building, and a stylish awning, emblazoned “Hare Krishna Center,” extended onto the sidewalk. At the sight of Prabhupāda’s car, hundreds of devotees at the entrance began to cheer and chant his name.

It was the largest gathering of ISKCON devotees since the Māyāpur festival. Many had come from distant places to be with Śrīla Prabhupāda, and more than six hundred devotees were staying in the building. The kīrtana was tumultuous. Standing before the Deities of Rādhā-Govinda, Prabhupāda appeared pleased. A picture of Lord Jagannātha, Balarāma, and Subhadrā was on the third altar, and Prabhupāda said he was anxious to see them on Ratha-yātrā day.

As Prabhupāda sat on the large green vyāsāsana, he was at first too moved with emotion to speak. “First of all I must thank you all for bringing me in the new temple,” he began. “Because when I first came, my ambition was to start a temple here in New York, and I was seeking the opportunity.” He described some of his first, almost helpless, attempts to buy a twenty-five-by-one-hundred-foot space in Manhattan; but he had been unable to get any money.

“I had no place,” he said. “What to speak of a temple, I had no residential place even. So in that condition I was thinking of returning to India. Practically every week I was going to the shipping company. So it is a long history, that I came here with determination to start a temple in New York first. But at that time, ten years before, in l965, it was not possible. But by the grace of Kṛṣṇa and by the grace of my Guru Mahārāja, you have got this place. So I must thank you very much for organizing this temple.

Later in his lecture Prabhupāda stressed how guru and Kṛṣṇa were saving the conditioned souls from eternal suffering in the material world. “Don’t lose this opportunity,” he said. “Don’t be foolish, misled by so-called scientists, philosophers, or politicians. Take to Kṛṣṇa consciousness. And that is possible only by guru-kṛṣṇa-kṛpāya. By the mercy of guru and by the mercy of Kṛṣṇa you can achieve all success. This is the secret.

So this guru-pūjā we are doing, it is not self-aggrandizement. It is real teaching. You sing daily, guru-mukha-padma-vākya cittete kariyā aikya.* I tell you frankly, whatever little success is there in this Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement, I simply believed what was spoken by my Guru Mahārāja. You also continue that. Then every success will come. Thank you very much.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda then toured the entire twelve-story building. He spoke little but approved of almost everything he saw. His disciples seemed to be managing things properly on his behalf. His quarters were well appointed, with separate rooms for sitting and resting.

“So I shall again stay in New York?” he asked as he sat at his desk.

Ādi-keśava Swami, the temple president, said, “This is your triumphant return, Śrīla Prabhupāda.”

“Yes,” Prabhupāda replied, “that is my sentiment.”

Devotees were eager to point out the features of the rooms, the view from the window, and the relative quiet.

“It’s very peaceful for translating work,” said Rāmeśvara Swami.

“Oh, yes,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “When my Guru Mahārāja left, I was alone. So he has sent so many gurus to take care of me. You are my Guru Mahārāja’s representatives.”

“We are guru-dāsa,” a devotee said.

“So you are taking care,” said Prabhupāda, “and I am very much obliged to you. I sometimes think of my childhood. I was very, very pet son of my father. I had admitted that in the book. My father was not very rich man, but still, whatever I wanted he would give me. He never chastised me, but full love. Then of course I got friends, and I was married. So by Kṛṣṇa’s grace everyone loved me. And I came to this foreign country without any acquaintance. So Kṛṣṇa sent me many fathers to love me. In that way I am fortunate. At the last stage, if I live peacefully, that is the great mercy of Kṛṣṇa. By Kṛṣṇa’s mercy everything is possible. So we shall stick to Kṛṣṇa’s lotus feet. Then everything is possible.”

One morning Prabhupāda went to where the carts were being built, and Jayānanda and his men showed him the improved construction of the giant wheels. Jayānanda, who was terminally ill with leukemia, was absorbing himself in the service that had made him dear to Prabhupāda and to all the devotees: organizing Ratha-yātrā and overseeing the construction of the carts.

Prabhupāda would ride to Central Park to take his morning walks. Passing through familiar neighborhoods, he recalled the old days of 1965 and 1966. One morning Kīrtanānanda Swami rode with him in the car.

“My best memories are those early days,” said Kīrtanānanda. “Especially the morning classes, Śrīla Prabhupāda, when you’d be sitting behind the desk. The sun would just be coming in, and you would talk for an hour.”

“Yes,” said Prabhupāda, “only Hayagrīva and you and…” Prabhupāda and Kīrtanānanda recalled some of the other early devotees: Umāpati, Carl Yeargens, Jim Greene, Rāya Rāma, Satsvarūpa, Brahmānanda.

“At that time,” said Prabhupāda, “Kīrtanānanda Mahārāja was taking one capātī.”

“Nothing else?” asked Tamāla Kṛṣṇa.

“I would offer,” said Prabhupāda, “but he would take one or two, that’s all. Later on, one dozen. And that boy Stryadhīśa, he would take at least twenty capātīs. I would say, ‘Stryadhīśa, can I offer you?’ He would say, ‘Yes.’ I gave four. Again finished. Again four.”

“Originally,” said Kīrtanānanda, “we all ate from Prabhupāda’s plate. There was one plate of prasādam. And Prabhupāda would just give a little for everybody, and everybody would be satisfied.”

“I used to keep some prasādam,” said Prabhupāda. “Anyone would come, I would give.”

“After class,” recalled Kīrtanānanda, “you always distributed some prasādam. After kīrtana and class.”

“Yes,” said Prabhupāda. “I was clapping my hands. In the meeting, I used to collect not less than six dollars, not more than twenty dollars. Three times a week.”

Although Śrīla Prabhupāda’s triumph was that the early days of struggle were over, when he recalled them, he was immersed in a very special, sweet remembrance. He changed from one mood to another, and sometimes mixed them – the days of his helpless, utter dependence on Kṛṣṇa when no one else was present, and his present satisfaction, surrounded by hundreds of faithful disciples. While remembering the old days, he was now realizing his original goals for ISKCON New York, “the beacon-light for our worldwide propaganda.”

One evening, some of the devotees described to Śrīla Prabhupāda some of the abominable activities going on in the city. They told him of prostitution and pornography, of acts of rampant criminal violence, and of the strange fetishes and fads of the flesh-eaters, including the eating of human fetuses.

“This means,” said Prabhupāda, “that we are actually preaching to animals.”

One night on the roof, Rāmeśvara Swami asked Śrīla Prabhupāda to reveal his plan for conquering the world with Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Prabhupāda was silent. Finally he said, “No. Because if I tell you my plans, then they may be spoiled.” He had a plan, he said, but they were not ready for it.

At Thirty-fourth Street Prabhupāda joined the procession. As he came forward to board the chariot of Subhadrā, the devotees converged around him, amazing the policemen and other onlookers with their spontaneous adoration of Kṛṣṇa’s representative. Although the inner meaning of Ratha-yātrā is the gopīs’ desire for Kṛṣṇa to return to Vṛndāvana, these devotees were more absorbed in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s return to New York.

It was a gorgeous, appropriate climax to Prabhupāda’s ten years of preaching in New York City. When he had first come he had had no money, no place of his own to live, and no place for people to congregate and hear about Kṛṣṇa. Now he was riding in splendor down Fifth Avenue at the Ratha-yātrā festival, and his Rādhā-Govinda Deities had a skyscraper. In 1965 he had been alone on the street, but now he was accompanied by six hundred disciples, loudly singing the holy names and benefiting millions of conditioned souls.

In front of Subhadrā’s cart walked Jayānanda, holding the steering tongue, keeping the cart on course. As Prabhupāda sat comfortably on the cart he fondly glanced at Jayānanda from time to time. Jayānanda, steering with his left hand, would hold his right hand upraised, cheering Prabhupāda’s Ratha-yātrā and rallying the others to pull the ropes and chant Hare Kṛṣṇa.

When the procession arrived, Washington Square Park was crowded with people. A temporary stage had been erected, and Śrīla Prabhupāda and the Deities took their places. Kīrtanānanda Swami introduced Prabhupāda before the crowd, and Prabhupāda stood up to speak.

Beginning by explaining the significance of Ratha-yātrā, Śrīla Prabhupāda told the story of how the Jagannātha Deities were carved at the request of the King of Orissa over two thousand years ago. When the King had disturbed the sculptor before the Deities were completed, the sculptor had left. “But the King decided, ‘I shall worship this unfinished Deity, never mind.’

“So the devotee is offering,” Prabhupāda continued, “and Kṛṣṇa accepts … if it is offered with love and affection. He says in the Bhagavad-gītā, patraṁ puṣpaṁ phalaṁ toyaṁ / yo me bhaktyā prayacchati. Kṛṣṇa says anyone who offers Him a little flower, a little water, a little fruit with love and affection, ‘I eat them, I accept them.’

“That means that even the poorest man in the world can worship God. There is no hindrance – ahaituky apratihatā – devotional service cannot be checked by any material condition. There is no restriction of caste or creed or country, nation. Anyone can worship the Supreme Personality of Godhead, according to his means.

“And our Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement is a propagation to teach people how to worship the Supreme Personality of Godhead. This is our mission, because without relationship with God, without reviving our eternal affinity with God, we cannot be happy.”

All living entities, Prabhupāda explained, are children of the supreme father, Kṛṣṇa, or God. But only in the human form of life can one understand his relationship with God. If one misuses his life and doesn’t understand his duty to Kṛṣṇa, then his life is spoiled.

“So please do not take this Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement as any sectarian movement. It is the science of God. Try to understand the science of God. Either you accept it directly, or you try to understand through philosophy and science. We have got so many books. Kindly take advantage of this movement, why we are distributing so many literatures. Soberly and with calm head, try to understand this movement. This is our only mission. Thank you very much.”

As Śrīla Prabhupāda left to return to the temple, prasādam distribution began and the dramatic actors prepared to go onstage with their rendition of “Kali and His Consort, Sin.”

In the evening the parade and festival received good coverage on all major TV stations, and the next morning, pictures and articles appeared in the newspapers. Prabhupāda particularly liked the New York Daily News centerspread, where several photos bore a large caption: “Fifth Avenue, Where East Meets West.”

“Send this cutting to many places,” Prabhupāda said. “Send it to Indira Gandhi. This title is very nice. This is the point. ‘East meets West.’ As I always say, the lame man meets the blind man. Together they do wonderful, and apart they cannot do anything. He is lame, and he is blind. But if they join together – Indian culture and American money – they will save the whole world.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda heard from the New York Times article, which stressed how the parade included hundreds of Indians “who were pleased to see they could keep faith even in New York City.” The article quoted “an Indian immigrant” as saying, “We love New York City, America. It’s the most beautiful place in the world. No other country will give such freedom for our own ceremony.”

“That’s a fact,” Prabhupāda said. “That I always say. The Times first published about my activities when I was in Tompkins Square Park.” At the festival site, prasādam had been served to seven thousand people. And even when the devotees had walked back uptown with the carts late at night, hundreds of people had followed and chanted. The devotees were already talking about how to improve the festival for next year. They could have a press box, and Prabhupāda suggested they rent a small building downtown and call it Guṇḍicā.* Lord Jagannātha could stay there for one week. Then the devotees should have another procession and festival with Lord Jagannātha returning to the temple on Fifty-fifth Street.

“Last night,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa Goswami, “all night we were cleaning up the grounds at the park. So one woman who lives next to the park said, ‘In all my years of living here I’ve never seen such a wonderful festival held.’ And on CBS television, the official who’s in charge of the park said, ‘We are very proud to be able to say that this park was founded hundreds of years ago when America was religious and that spiritual life is still present in Washington Square Park.’ ”

“So why not ask the mayor to construct a temple there?” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. The devotees all laughed. But Prabhupāda thought such things were certainly possible.

But he could not be bound by the G.B.C. – only by Kṛṣṇa. He already had his plane tickets, and he remained set on traveling.

On the morning of Prabhupāda’s departure, a few devotees came to his room to make a last attempt, begging him not to travel. He said nothing, though he was obviously set on leaving. His servants were packing his bags and everything was ready to go. Nevertheless, even as he left his room and got on the elevator, a few men followed, still suggesting he not go.

“Prabhupāda, please reconsider,” said Rāmeśvara Swami. Śrīla Prabhupāda had remained jolly so far, despite his physical weakness, and despite his disciples’ pleading. But now his face changed.

“Don’t travel,” one devotee said. And another added, “Just stay. Sit down and rest.”

Prabhupāda turned, and his eyes were very deep. More than ever he seemed not of this material world. “I want the benediction to go on fighting for Kṛṣṇa,” he said, “just like Arjuna.”

Everyone remained silent, and the important instruction burned into their memories. The elevator opened on the main floor and hundreds of waiting devotees chanted and cheered as Śrīla Prabhupāda walked to his car.

On the way to the airport the devotees again began talking about how degraded Kali-yuga was. “But you have to go on preaching,” Prabhupāda advised them. “You have to go and try to save these people.”