DURING THE LONG flight, Śrīla Prabhupāda remained solemn. His servants were helpless to alleviate the difficult situation, as they might have in Vṛndāvana, and cigarette smoke, loud talk, and drunken laughter surrounded them. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, despite his concern, did not know what to do for Śrīla Prabhupāda or what to ask him. Śrīla Prabhupāda had often expressed a dislike for conversations with questions like “How are you feeling?”

Prabhupāda’s servants knew that they could not fully understand their spiritual master’s thinking, and the scriptures also warned that one should not attempt to understand the mind of the Vaiṣṇava. But they knew their service was to relieve him – by arranging for quiet, by assisting him in bathing and dressing, or by taking him to the temple for darśana of Kṛṣṇa-Balarāma. Now, however, they were helpless to perform any of these tasks. Now, more than ever, Śrīla Prabhupāda was in Kṛṣṇa’s hands. Earlier that year, in Bhubaneswar, he had said that his disciples, although willing to help, could not change the situation if he was inconvenienced by old age. And he had even given the example that although he might be in his opulent quarters at the Bhaktivedanta Manor, that did not mean he would not suffer inconvenience. But Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, being very sensitive to Prabhupāda’s desires and experienced in serving him, several times moved over and spoke with his spiritual master.

“Śrīla Prabhupāda,” he said, “when you get to London the devotees will be so pleased to be with you.”

“Yes,” Śrīla Prabhupāda replied, “it is good that we are going.” Otherwise, Śrīla Prabhupāda was mostly silent, meditating on Kṛṣṇa and his mission of bringing love of Kṛṣṇa to the world.

The flight turned out to be an unusually exhaustive ordeal. When the plane landed in Rome it was delayed there for four hours, and Śrīla Prabhupāda had to wait in the airport lounge. When finally they arrived over London, the captain announced that they could not land yet due to the strike, and so they continued circling for hours. Finally, twenty hours after leaving Delhi, the plane landed at Heathrow Airport.

Customs and immigrations officials and the British Airways ground crew allowed Śrīla Prabhupāda, in a wheelchair, to quickly pass through all the formalities. And soon he was amid a throng of enthusiastic disciples and then sitting in a white Rolls Royce en route to Bhaktivedanta Manor.

The London airport and the busy highways leading into the city are certainly a great contrast to the peace and spirituality of Vṛndāvana. But for Śrīla Prabhupāda to suddenly leave the climate and transcendental culture of India to fly to the West was not unusual. He had been doing that, going from East to West, from north to south, from one nation to another – to the snowlands, to the tropics, to the cities, to the jungles, mixing with white people, black people, and Orientals – at an almost constant pace for years. He was no Hindu village guru suddenly astounded to see hundreds of automobiles racing on the highway or to see factory smoke or skyscrapers or the blind rat race of the meat-eaters. There was no question of “culture shock” for Śrīla Prabhupāda.

But there was a shock for his disciples in London, who had never imagined that he would be so thin or that anyone could travel in such condition. For the devotees who had been at the airport to meet him, it had been a heart-rending experience. Even those who had heard the reports of Prabhupāda in Vṛndāvana were not emotionally prepared for such a change. Prabhupāda was as transcendental as ever, or even more than ever, but the devotees were shocked at first to see him so different. Now he appeared like a powerful sage who had been undergoing long austerities for the benefit of humankind and who had become transcendental to his body, although living within it.

At Bhaktivedanta Manor, Śrīla Prabhupāda went from the car to a palanquin and entered the temple room, where about three hundred disciples and well-wishers were waiting to be with him. Devotees from all the ISKCON centers in northern and southern Europe had rushed to England on a last-minute notice. They were holding kīrtana for Śrīla Prabhupāda as he entered, and they, too, like the devotees at the airport, were deeply shocked. And for a moment, when they saw Śrīla Prabhupāda wearing his dark sunglasses and appearing so thin, the kīrtana almost stopped. Yet they simultaneously remained joyful and ecstatic, realizing that despite such difficulty, he had actually come to the West to be with them and encourage their Kṛṣṇa consciousness. They had been praying for him for months. The prayer, “My dear Lord Kṛṣṇa, if You desire, please cure Śrīla Prabhupāda,” had been printed on a banner and hung over Prabhupāda’s vyāsāsana.

The devotees of England, wanting to reciprocate with Śrīla Prabhupāda with more than just the sentiment of their words, were also leading the world in transcendental book distribution. When, a few weeks ago, they had heard that Śrīla Prabhupāda might be coming to England, it hadn’t seemed possible, considering his physical condition. They had heard he might leave his body at any moment, but then later they had heard he was better and he was coming to London. Even when they had heard he was definitely coming, they had been incredulous. But now it had come true.

The Deity room curtains were open, and Śrīla Prabhupāda beheld Rādhā-Gokulānanda. Some devotees stood in front of him, and with a small gesture characteristic of his hand, he waved them aside. Without any change of expression, he sat with concentrated attention facing the gorgeously dressed Deities of Rādhā-Gokulānanda, whom he had named four years ago when calling for Them to come and be worshiped here by the devotees of England.

Without saying a word, Prabhupāda went up to his room, where as many devotees as possible joined him. He had always said he felt comfortably at home in these quarters, and once again he was pleased to see outside his window the large lawn, the lake, and the ducks. The devotees sat before him with their palms folded, aware that this was no casual meeting. They had already offered their lives completely to Śrīla Prabhupāda, and there was nothing more they could offer in words that would equal their dedication.

A devotee placed a large silver plate full of prasādam on the table before Śrīla Prabhupāda. He picked up a milk sweet and tasted it, then a piece of mango. The hundred devotees who squeezed into the room and looked in from the doorway watched his every movement with fixed attention. There was complete silence. Then Śrīla Prabhupāda looked up, smiling.

“So,” he said, “is everyone all right?”

“Jaya, Śrīla Prabhupāda!” was the warm reply. The tension of seeing Śrīla Prabhupāda’s different appearance suddenly melted, and everyone simply wanted to make him feel comfortable and to please him with their service.

For the rest of the day Śrīla Prabhupāda remained alone, resting. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa lectured to the devotees in the temple room, explaining how Śrīla Prabhupāda had decided it was better to travel, even at such a great risk, than to be invalid. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa told how someone had suggested Śrīla Prabhupāda go to Tehran or Italy or France, because of the airport strike in London, but how he had said, “I want to go to London.” Śrīla Prabhupāda has come to take shelter of you, said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa. He said that, according to śāstra, a devotee should stay in Vṛndāvana, especially at the end of his life, but because Śrīla Prabhupāda’s spiritual master had ordered him to go to the West and preach, he had returned, determined to fulfill that mission until the last.

The devotees were deeply touched that Śrīla Prabhupāda’s coming was at least partially in recognition of their preaching. They resolved to reciprocate with him while he was there by holding a book distribution marathon. If they showed him their dedication by preaching, maybe he would stay a long time.

At two o’clock the next morning Bhagavān and Tamāla Kṛṣṇa went into Śrīla Prabhupāda’s quarters to attend him. Śrīla Prabhupāda, who had just awakened, was very pleased to see Bhagavān, his leader from southern Europe. This was why he had come to the West: to be with his preachers, and to be encouraged by them.

“Tamāla has brought me with great difficulty,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “It was the correct thing. I thought, what is the use of dying? Better to come. So Kṛṣṇa-Balarāma has placed me in the care of Rādhā-Gokulānanda.”

Bhagavān presented Śrīla Prabhupāda with some newly printed books: an Italian Bhagavad-gītā As It Is, another volume of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam in French, and other books in Dutch. The total book distribution in Europe, Bhagavān reported, had surpassed that of America.

“Tamāla, did you hear that?” Prabhupāda asked. “This is my life. Come here.” Śrīla Prabhupāda began rubbing Bhagavān’s head, and tears fell from his eyes. “You have no problems,” he said to Bhagavān. In his own work on Śrīla Prabhupāda’s behalf, Bhagavān had been encountering a rough period, but when Śrīla Prabhupāda said, “You have no problems,” he took it that if he persevered, everything would be all right. As long as he stayed engaged in devotional service he had no problems. For Bhagavān, there was no need for Prabhupāda to say more; Prabhupāda’s order was already his heart and soul. But now that order and Śrīla Prabhupāda’s love entered deeper into his heart. Śrīla Prabhupāda’s mood was one of pure thankfulness, without his usual critical instructions. He simply wanted to be with his devotees and encourage them.

“Produce books,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “These books are all the mercy of my Guru Mahārāja. No author throughout the world has written so many books – Shakespeare, Milton, Dickens. Neither their books have been so widely read or with such appreciation.”

The devotees had come to see that Śrīla Prabhupāda actually looked very wonderful in his dark sunglasses and freshly pressed silk dhotī and kurtā, with clean, clear Vaiṣṇava tilaka on his forehead. He would come gliding down the stairs on the palanquin carefully carried by two able-bodied disciples, and he would sit on the vyāsāsana and watch them perform kīrtana of the holy name. Since he rarely spoke, the kīrtana and his appreciation of it was the main exchange between him and his disciples.

Externally, Śrīla Prabhupāda gave very little indication of even appreciating the kīrtana. Those who were standing or dancing near to him, however, could see behind his glasses the tears sprinkling from the corners of his eyes and onto his cheeks. And all the devotees chanted and danced, rejoicing in the knowledge that Śrīla Prabhupāda simply wanted to be with them. They knew that although he was a pure devotee and self-satisfied, he could actually be inspired by his disciples’ affection. By their intense enthusiasm to serve and praise Kṛṣṇa under his order, he could become enlivened to stay in the world longer and preach.

The devotees in the Manor agreed that Rādhā-Gokulānanda seemed to be looking especially at Śrīla Prabhupāda, and he was looking especially at Them. Some felt that by witnessing Śrīla Prabhupāda and Rādhā-Gokulānanda, they were looking directly upon the spiritual world, seeing Kṛṣṇa and His pure devotee. Therefore, there was no need for talks or demonstrations further than what Śrīla Prabhupāda was giving everyone by coming to be with them in the temple room.

Each morning the kīrtanas would build enthusiastically. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked that devotees not sing the guru-pūjā song because it created too much emotion for Śrīla Prabhupāda, so they chanted the Pañca-tattva mantra and then Hare Kṛṣṇa. After half an hour, the singing and chanting would be fervid, and Śrīla Prabhupāda would sometimes tap his thumbs together. Just this slightest movement of his body increased the intensity of the kīrtana. Then with the raising of one finger, Śrīla Prabhupāda set the whole roomful of hundreds of devotees into jumping ecstasy. The devotees felt that by chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa and dancing they were somehow singing and praying for Śrīla Prabhupāda’s good health and continued life. Śrīla Prabhupāda would sit, unmoving. But the devotees knew his desires, and many of them continued jumping several feet into the air, almost touching the chandeliers. After a wild transcendental hour of kīrtana Śrīla Prabhupāda would go upstairs again, carried over the heads of the devotees on the palanquin.

When the devotees in London heard that Śrīla Prabhupāda was getting many invitations to go to America, they began to worry. They were thinking this would be the last time they would see him, and they wanted to keep him with them forever. If they could distribute an incredible number of books, then maybe he would live longer and stay longer at Bhaktivedanta Manor. They were already feeling privileged that Śrīla Prabhupāda had chosen their temple out of all others, and as they spoke among themselves, they concluded that Rādhā-London-īśvara and Rādhā-Gokulānanda must be Prabhupāda’s favorite Deities. They realized that aside from chanting and serving, there was nothing they could do to help Śrīla Prabhupāda and keep him with them, and this inability made them helpless. Despite their efforts, everything was up to Kṛṣṇa.

Since Śrīla Prabhupāda had come to London, his emotions were much more noticeable than before. Where he would have checked his emotions before, he now did not or could not. He frequently cried in ecstasy. Because he was saturated with love for Kṛṣṇa, at any moment his tears might come – while hearing a kīrtana, seeing the Deities, hearing of a devotee’s service. The tears would pour down his cheeks, making his visage more beautiful. At other times, he would utter a long, deep “Hmmm,” not out of physical pain, since he said he was quite all right, but out of his Kṛṣṇa conscious emotions, the ecstasy of his love of God.

Śrīla Prabhupāda looked forward to traveling to America shortly after Janmāṣṭamī, which would fall on September 6, two weeks from the date of his arrival in England. “I want to live a little longer,” he said, “to make everything more perfect.”

“Will you do this by enthusing the devotees by staying with them,” asked Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, “or is there a specific program?”

“A specific program,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “I want to introduce varṇāśrama. At our Pennsylvania farm, the biggest problem of life is solved: food.”

Then Harikeśa Swami, the G.B.C. secretary for northern and East Europe, arrived, he entered Prabhupāda’s room and offered prostrated obeisances. Śrīla Prabhupāda, his eyes overflowing with tears, reached out and rubbed his disciple’s head, and Harikeśa also began to cry.

Harikeśa explained that he was setting up his own press for producing Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books in European languages. “Very good,” said Prabhupāda. “As a father likes to see his estate nicely managed, so I am like that. Get places and print books.”

Harikeśa Mahārāja had brought with him most of the book distributors from Germany, and he arranged that they meet privately with Śrīla Prabhupāda. The men, most of whom had never been with Prabhupāda, gathered in his room and sat in overwhelming appreciation of the moment. Śrīla Prabhupāda quoted, yāre dekha tāre kaha ‘kṛṣṇa-upadeśa,’ and then asked, “So what is this kṛṣṇa-upadeśa?” At first no one replied, but then one of the boys spoke and said, “One should preach everywhere.”

“No,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda, “what is kṛṣṇa-upadeśa?” Then again there was a silence. This time another boy recited, “Sarva-dharmān parityajya mām ekaṁ śaranaṁ vraja.”* Śrīla Prabhupāda accepted that and spoke for a few minutes about surrender to Kṛṣṇa. Thinking it an opportune moment, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa brought out a package of color photographs just arrived from Los Angeles. It was a complete story-in-pictures of the recent Los Angeles Ratha-yātrā. The pictures were brightly colorful eight-by-ten-inch enlargements, and as Śrīla Prabhupāda saw one after another and heard the descriptions from his secretary, he began to make long, low humming sounds, and tears came to his eyes.

Earlier that morning, as soon as he had awakened, Śrīla Prabhupāda had begun spontaneously speaking about the Ratha-yātrā he had performed as a child in Calcutta, and now he was seeing the pictures of a grand procession and festival conducted by his disciples. Seeing the photo of the chariots with a large crowd following, Śrīla Prabhupāda raised his eyebrows and said, “We have never seen such carts!” Another photo showed long lines of people waiting to see the “Changing Bodies” exhibit, a diorama depicting the transmigration of the soul. “I told you this would happen!” Prabhupāda exclaimed. “I am very much glad to see this.” Śrīla Prabhupāda remained so affected by seeing the Ratha-yātrā pictures that he wouldn’t take his usual massage. “Not now,” he said in a choked voice, and he sat meditatively, silent for two hours.

The next day was Vyāsa-pūjā, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s eighty-second birthday. Again, upon waking he recalled his childhood and how an uncle had called him Nandulal, because he was born on the day Nanda Mahārāja gave presents to the brāhmaṇas, the day after Kṛṣṇa’s birthday. Śrīla Prabhupāda went down to the temple, and after a fully exultant kīrtana by hundreds of devotees, he accepted, without tasting, a three-tier, five-foot-long birthday cake. He noticed that the devotees had only used eighty-one candles, due to counting age by the Western method, so another candle was added. At Śrīla Prabhupāda’s request, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa stood and spoke.

The next day Śrīla Prabhupāda’s health suddenly became much worse, and he couldn’t come down to the temple. This was the first crisis since his coming to England, and suddenly his plans changed. Instead of going on to the United States as he had planned, he now requested that he be taken back to India. He spoke of Bombay. “If I live a few days more,” he said, “let me see the opening of the Bombay temple. We can wait here and then fly to Bombay. I have worked so hard for it. If I see the opening and then die, it will be a very peaceful death. Even if I live, I can come back here.”

The health crisis seemed to pass, but Śrīla Prabhupāda now felt he would be unable to go to New York. He asked to hear the various astrological calculations. “Let us have a laugh,” he said. The readings predicted that these would be the most difficult days.

For many of the devotees, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s not going to America upset their hopes of his getting better and living a long time. But Prabhupāda felt he had traveled as far as he could, and now he should return to Bombay and Vṛndāvana. For a few days more he stayed, waiting for a clearer indication from Kṛṣṇa. And he resumed going to the temple in the morning.

Brahmānanda Swami had come from Africa, and Śrīla Prabhupāda watched with pleasure as heavy-set Brahmānanda, the first disciple to dance for him eleven years ago in New York, rose to dance again before his spiritual master. As Brahmānanda jumped up and down, dancing ecstatically, Śrīla Prabhupāda smiled and clapped his hands.

Afterwards, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked Śrīla Prabhupāda what he had prayed that morning as he had sat looking intently at the Deities. Prabhupāda replied, “I was praying to Rādhā-Gokulānanda to please engage me in the service of Śrī Śrī Rādhā-Rāsavihārī.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda wanted to return to India, and his desire was his servants’ order. “If I survive this time,” he said, “we shall do Vṛndāvana parikrama. You can carry me on a palanquin.”

At the airport there were delays. During the wait, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa put earphones on Śrīla Prabhupāda so he could listen to a tape-recorded kīrtana. Prabhupāda slowly rocked his head, listening, until finally he was allowed to board the aircraft, riding in a wheelchair.

September 14
  With no disruptive incidents, Śrīla Prabhupāda arrived with his party in Bombay, where he was promptly escorted from the plane into a waiting car and driven to Hare Krishna Land at Juhu. This time the elevator worked, and Śrīla Prabhupāda reached his quarters on the fifth floor and went at once to bed.

He called for Girirāja, who came and sat on the floor beside the bed. Prabhupāda told him how in Vṛndāvana, Mr. Somaiya, a very important man of Bombay known to both of them, had come to see him in bed and had started to cry out of sympathy. Prabhupāda then told Girirāja of his pleasant stay in London, especially mentioning the kīrtanas, which he said were wonderful. When Girirāja asked if the chiseling and hammering and other noises of temple construction in Bombay were going to disturb him, he replied that it was like music. He then lay back and rested.

When Prabhupāda awoke at the end of the day, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked him if the noises were bothering him. “These sounds do not disturb me at all,” he replied, “because I am thinking that work is being completed. You can note the distinction, how in London I was feeling restless, but here not. It is because I like Bombay. Of all the cities in India, I like it the most.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda wanted to get reports from some of his sannyāsī disciples in Bombay. He heard good news from Gargamuni Swami of his party’s selling complete sets of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam and Caitanya-caritāmṛta and also other books to libraries and universities throughout India. Now they were preparing to go into Muslim countries to sell books. “Whoever preaches in the Muslim countries,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda, “I take the dust of his feet on my head.” Lokanātha Swami told Śrīla Prabhupāda of his success in traveling to Indian villages in a bullock cart. Śrīla Prabhupāda loved it.

Within a day or two of his return to India, Prabhupāda had abandoned the simple regimen he had agreed upon with a doctor in England. The doctor had said Prabhupāda was a difficult patient. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa mentioned that when he had told the doctor that Śrīla Prabhupāda was trying to cooperate, the doctor had said Śrīla Prabhupāda’s only compromise was to wait until Friday instead of Thursday before traveling. Śrīla Prabhupāda gave a little laugh and said, “And then I went even earlier – Tuesday. Supercompromise. I could understand when he wanted blood that he would begin his allopathic treatments.”

For weeks Śrīla Prabhupāda had been taking a commercially prepared food supplement, Complan, but now he refused it. “What is the use of artificial food,” he said, “when there is natural? You Westerners like the taste of canned, frozen, preserved, rotten food. You eat and then keep the leftovers for seven months, and this you like. And you like drinking cold milk. This Complan is not fresh. I shall try to live on milk and fruit juice. Nothing artificial.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda’s plan was to stay in Bombay and wait for the grand opening of the temple, now scheduled for Rāma-viyaja Daśamī, in five weeks. But he didn’t expect to get much stronger. Although he had spoken in favor of fresh food, he was actually taking nothing more than a little fruit juice and a little mung-jala (water in which mung beans have been soaked).

Śrīla Prabhupāda began chanting constantly on his japa beads, which he insisted on keeping around his neck at all times. During his massage he would finger the beads and silently chant, and even while resting they remained around his neck.

When Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked Śrīla Prabhupāda how he felt, he simply replied, “Crisis.” After a few days he named a certain Bombay doctor and suggested that he be brought in. But Tamāla Kṛṣṇa gave arguments as to why calling in yet another doctor would not be good at this time. Śrīla Prabhupāda listened and agreed.

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa said he felt confident that Śrīla Prabhupāda would live to see the temple opening in Bombay and later go on to Vṛndāvana. Śrīla Prabhupāda seemed very relieved by these words and rubbed Tamāla Kṛṣṇa’s head affectionately, saying, “May your words be blessed. Bless me that I may fix up my mind.”

Within a day or two of his return to India, Prabhupāda had abandoned the simple regimen he had agreed upon with a doctor in England. The doctor had said Prabhupāda was a difficult patient. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa mentioned that when he had told the doctor that Śrīla Prabhupāda was trying to cooperate, the doctor had said Śrīla Prabhupāda’s only compromise was to wait until Friday instead of Thursday before traveling. Śrīla Prabhupāda gave a little laugh and said, “And then I went even earlier — Tuesday. Supercompromise. I could understand when he wanted blood that he would begin his allopathic treatments.”

For weeks Śrīla Prabhupāda had been taking a commercially prepared food supplement, Complan, but now he refused it. “What is the use of artificial food,” he said, “when there is natural? You Westerners like the taste of canned, frozen, preserved, rotten food. You eat and then keep the leftovers for seven months, and this you like. And you like drinking cold milk. This Complan is not fresh. I shall try to live on milk and fruit juice. Nothing artificial.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda’s plan was to stay in Bombay and wait for the grand opening of the temple, now scheduled for Rāma-vijaya Daśamī, in five weeks. But he didn’t expect to get much stronger. Although he had spoken in favor of fresh food, he was actually taking nothing more than a little fruit juice and a little mung-jala (water in which mung beans have been soaked).

Śrīla Prabhupāda began chanting constantly on his japa beads, which he insisted on keeping around his neck at all times. During his massage he would finger the beads and silently chant, and even while resting they remained around his neck.

When Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked Śrīla Prabhupāda how he felt, he simply replied, “Crisis.” After a few days he named a certain Bombay doctor and suggested that he be brought in. But Tamāla Kṛṣṇa gave arguments as to why calling in yet another doctor would not be good at this time. Śrīla Prabhupāda listened and agreed.

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa said he felt confident that Śrīla Prabhupāda would live to see the temple opening in Bombay and later go on to Vṛndāvana. Śrīla Prabhupāda seemed very relieved by these words and rubbed Tamāla Kṛṣṇa’s head affectionately, saying, “May your words be blessed. Bless me that I may fix up my mind.”

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa was pleased to see Prabhupāda take some encouragement, although he felt himself to be in no position to bless his exalted spiritual master. But this kind of exchange had been occurring for weeks now, where Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and others sometimes took the role of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s advisors. Such dealings made the disciples feel uncomfortable, yet because Śrīla Prabhupāda was instigating the relationship, they accepted it as very intimate service. He had openly said, “Encourage me,” and had allowed himself to become dependent in many ways on the care and intelligence of his disciples. Sometimes he was like a small child turning to his disciples to pick him up and carry him. But his disciples remained aware – and if they didn’t, he reminded them – that he was deliberately arranging and allowing this so that they could render him intimate service, for only by serving Kṛṣṇa’s pure devotee can one attain love of Kṛṣṇa. This intimate service was completely spiritual, and for doctors who came and went, with their medicines and prescriptions, it was incomprehensible.

Śrīla Prabhupāda was teaching his disciples right up until his last days – instructing them in how they should prepare for their own inevitable death. And he was also instructing them in the advanced stage of devotional service, testing them to see whether they were willing to serve, not just as official devotees but out of spontaneous love, love which goes sometimes beyond the rules and regulations. This love was tested, for example, by the disciples’ willingness to stay up all hours of the night and constantly attend Śrīla Prabhupāda, assisting him in even his most basic bodily functions. And it was tested as Prabhupāda engaged his disciples in the ordeal of deciding whether he should fight to live or pass away peacefully. It was on the basis of such intimacy, for example, that Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, unsure what was best, argued against Śrīla Prabhupāda’s request for a certain doctor. He was completely involved in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s well-being, and he was always thinking about it and ready to do whatever was required.

Ultimately, Prabhupāda never changed from being the authority and master of all his disciples, and they knew it. They could offer countersuggestions, as he inspired them to reach across the barriers of ordinary protocol and serve him with love to their heart’s content. He even allured them to reprimand him. But when he liked, he would have the final word, emerging again as the absolute authority for his disciples. It was only to serve his will that his disciples lived and acted. Śrīla Prabhupāda said that his disciples’ determination and complete surrender and their desire and prayers for him to remain with them, for him to fight and stay – this was all that was still keeping him in the world.

Certainly Prabhupāda was not being kept in the world by Complan or by the ordinary therapeutic effects of massage. In fact, he was so thin that the massages were no longer actual massages, but were more soothing caresses, which could be given only by faithful, surrendered servants. When one day Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked Prabhupāda if he felt he could stay for five weeks until the temple opening, he replied, “If you encourage me.”

When Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked Prabhupāda if he would see any important guests, Prabhupāda replied that he would only see Mr. Bhogilal Patel and Mr. Mahadevia if they came. A few minutes later, as if summoned, Mr. Mahadevia showed up and was brought before Prabhupāda. Although usually very talkative, Mr. Mahadevia seemed too shocked by Śrīla Prabhupāda’s appearance to speak as freely as usual. At Prabhupāda’s request, however, he described the present political climate in India.

Prabhupāda asked to be raised up, and he showed an unusual amount of interest in the report. “They’re missing the point,” he said. “The whole world is. This is the disease of the body. One party is no better than the other. It is stool, one side or the other. What they can do?”

Although Prabhupāda was not able to go down to the temple for seeing Rādhā-Rāsavihārī, he daily asked to see Their picture, which he would look upon lovingly. He could also hear the ārati-kīrtanas coming from the temporary temple. Then one day he asked that the framed picture of Rādhā-Rāsavihārī be fixed to his bedpost so that he could see Them always.

Jayapatāka Swami arrived from Māyāpur, asking Śrīla Prabhupāda to sign a legal statement concerning the recent attack on the ISKCON center in Māyāpur. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa said that Prabhupāda had already written his will, stating that everything in his name belonged to ISKCON; he didn’t want anything further to do with management. Śrīla Prabhupāda confirmed this, saying, “Now there is no other way but to make me completely aloof from all management.”

Prabhupāda wanted to stay absorbed in hearing the holy name and the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. He liked to sit up in bed, wearing his reading spectacles and looking at the photo of Rādhā-Rāsavihārī, while a devotee read aloud from Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. For hours at a time he would meditate in this way, hearing and seeing Kṛṣṇa. This was the medicine he desired. Those who observed him in this way could understand that he was completely transcendental to thoughts of his body and that he was relishing the reading with great relief. When Tamāla Kṛṣṇa suggested that these readings go on each day, Śrīla Prabhupāda said, “This is the most important thing. Read as much as possible.”

One evening, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and Brahmānanda recounted to Prabhupāda the history of his purchasing the Bombay land. Prabhupāda lay, listening carefully to each word of the narration of his tolerance and triumph over many obstacles.

At one point, Prabhupāda interjected, “That dog.” The devotees paused, not knowing what he meant. Was he referring to the landlord or one of the politicians? But then he made it clear. He said that when he had stayed at the house of Mr. Sethi, he would have to ride each morning in Mr. Sethi’s car to the beach, and he would have to sit next to Mr. Sethi’s big German shepherd. Śrīla Prabhupāda continued to talk, and as he did, both Tamāla Kṛṣṇa and Brahmānanda realized that he was still conducting a battle. He was fighting for the strength to go on preaching for Rādhā-Rāsavihārī, if They desired. At the end of the recitation, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa offered his obeisances and said, “All glories to Kṛṣṇa’s great soldier!”

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa began by making various comments in favor of going to Vṛndāvana. He directed his comments to Prabhupāda and pointed out that even if Prabhupāda were to remain in Bombay in his present condition, he would not be able to attend any of the functions. Also, Prabhupāda was known for his powerful speaking and preaching, and it would not be fitting for the public to see him in his present condition. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa also pointed out that Prabhupāda could come back to visit after the temple opening. Prabhupāda heard these remarks without commenting.

Brahmānanda Swami said that Śrīla Prabhupāda should definitely go to Vṛndāvana. Hari-śauri spoke next, saying that he felt it was difficult to decide but that it depended upon how strongly Prabhupāda desired to stay in Bombay as opposed to doing the best thing for his health. “It is for health,” Prabhupāda replied, and Hari-śauri immediately said he was in favor of Prabhupāda’s returning to Vṛndāvana.

Gopāla Kṛṣṇa, however, thought that it would be better if Prabhupāda remained in Bombay until after the opening. How could he leave Bombay after so many arrangements had been made and so many important guests had been invited? Surabhi also voted for Prabhupāda’s staying in Bombay, because he wanted Prabhupāda to see the temple being opened. He said that if Prabhupāda went to Vṛndāvana, he might not come back.

Then Girirāja spoke. Each day in Bombay was very difficult for Prabhupāda, he said, and each successive day would be even more difficult. And the noise from the construction was constant. Therefore, Girirāja concluded, waiting three weeks would be too risky. As Girirāja spoke, Śrīla Prabhupāda moved his head in affirmation. But for the most part Prabhupāda was noncommittal, asking a question now and then, but mostly listening. For the devotees, the mood was very tense and momentous. Abhirāma spoke next, in favor of going to Vṛndāvana. Upendra said he didn’t know.

If Prabhupāda’s purpose in asking for opinions had been to get a majority vote, the decision had gone in favor of leaving Bombay. Even as they discussed, the hammering and chiseling noises were constant and almost drowned the sound of Prabhupāda’s voice.

Prabhupāda wanted to also discuss the best course of treatment. His friend Dr. Ghosh had written recently, and Prabhupāda asked Tamāla Kṛṣṇa to read the letter. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa then read aloud Dr. Ghosh’s advice that Prabhupāda should go to a good hospital for a thorough check-up and treatment. Almost with the attitude of an impartial judge asking for discussion, Prabhupāda said, “So what is wrong with this proposal?”

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa mentioned that the doctors would probably want to give intravenous feeding. Prabhupāda replied, “What is the use of artificial feeding when there is no digestion?” Making a point in favor of the hospital, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa then remarked that although Ayurvedic medicine was perfect, the practitioners have lost the science in the present day and are mostly quacks, whereas allopathic medicine, although imperfect, has many expert practitioners. Prabhupāda conceded.

“Well, Prabhupāda,” said Upendra, “the doctor should come, but only here in your house. You should never go to the hospital.” Abhirāma was even stronger about Prabhupāda’s not going to the hospital. They already knew that Prabhupāda was not in favor of going to the hospital, and that in fact he had already made up his mind to go to Vṛndāvana. They took it that in his kindness and mercifulness he wanted to consult them and give them the opportunity to decide. At least apparently he was submitting himself to their decisions. But some of them got an eerie, uneasy feeling in thinking his well-being could be the subject of their argumentation.

Finally Prabhupāda concluded, “The hospital is not a guarantee, but we take it as up-to-date scientific knowledge. My Godbrother Tīrtha Mahārāja had to undergo all these treatments, and they were very proud that he died with the best scientific treatment. My Guru Mahārāja, however, did not like it when he was given injection. He objected, saying, “Why are you giving?” Going to a hospital means giving in to the mercy of the material scientists. Whatever they like, they will do. They cannot guarantee, and we cannot be confident. And going to Vṛndāvana – whatever may happen, let Kṛṣṇa do it. Hospital is a chance technique. Going to Vṛndāvana, I have no objections. But now there is a dilemma – I am neither dying nor living.”

When Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked whether the Vṛndāvana kavirāja was any better than the present one in Bombay, Prabhupāda replied, “Better or worse, some husband must be there.”

Tamāla Kṛṣṇa then offered a new argument. As long as Prabhupāda was in Bombay waiting for the opening, he said, then he would have a reason for living. But if he returned to Vṛndāvana, it would mean he was going there to die. So on that basis, Prabhupāda should remain in Bombay, since it would help give him motivation to live. Śrīla Prabhupāda smiled and said, “That is sentiment.”

Now that Prabhupāda sounded so convinced, there was no alternative. There was no question of the devotees controlling him; only Kṛṣṇa could. Some of the alternatives had been frightening, and certainly the idea of voting about Prabhupāda had been. Now some of the devotees laughed nervously, relieved to hear Prabhupāda’s final decision.

“Vṛndāvana,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, Prabhupāda,” said Surabhi.

“But Śrīla Prabhupāda,” said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, “what will happen to all the devotees here? They have been serving you so sincerely. How will they be able to open the temple without you being here? I mean, all the devotees, when they hear you are going to Vṛndāvana, they will all want to come. They won’t want to stay here. Then they will all want to leave their posts and come with you to Vṛndāvana.”

“Yes, then let them come,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “I have no objection.” Tamāla Kṛṣṇa mentioned that if a thousand devotees might come to be with Prabhupāda, that would slow down the ISKCON work all over the world. Prabhupāda again said he had no objection. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked whether it was compulsory for the G.B.C. members to come, and Prabhupāda affirmed that it was.

There were no more questions, and the devotees excused themselves to go and make immediate preparations for Prabhupāda’s moving to Vṛndāvana. Only Kulādri remained in the room with Prabhupāda.

“So, Kulādri,” asked Prabhupāda, “what do you think?” Kulādri had been disturbed by the fact that some of the devotees had seemed to be opposing Prabhupāda’s desire and even arguing against him.

“Śrīla Prabhupāda,” he said, “I don’t really understand. How can they give you advice like that? I feel like an intruder. I shouldn’t even be here. But it seems to me that you are waiting for Kṛṣṇa to make some decision on whether you stay or go.”

“What?” Prabhupāda asked.

“It seems you are waiting for Kṛṣṇa’s decision,” said Kulādri. “If you are going to wait for Kṛṣṇa’s decision, that might as well be in Vṛndāvana.” Prabhupāda smiled and closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said, “that is very good advice.”