remembering prabhupad

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Remembering Prabhupad

Daniel Clark© 1998

Preface

For a more complete understanding of Prabhupad, readSrila Prabhupada-Lilamrta by Satsvarupa dasa Goswami(Los Angeles, Bhaktivedanta Book Trust, Second Edition,1993). That monumental work, almost 1800 pages in length,conveys the essence of His Divine Grace far better than myshort reminiscence. The world remains in deep debt to theGoswami for his remarkable book.

A Vaikuntha Man His Divine Grace A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada,my spiritual master, enacted his life's activities from his birthin 1896 to his passing in 1977. I knew him for the last elevenyears of his exemplary and remarkable pastimes. But for meto say "I knew him" is going too far. I watched him. I listenedto him. I talked with him and corresponded with him. Ifollowed him and obeyed him -- and disobeyed him. Ilearned from him. I bowed down to him and prayed to him. I

loved him, and still do. But did I know him? Do I know himnow, 32 years after I first met him?

Not much, I think. But who could? Who could solve the riddleof this 20th Century saint who established a medievalBengali religion worldwide in a dozen years? Who couldreally understand his personality or his behavior or even thetrue nature of his spirituality?

How to reconcile, for instance, his grandeur and hissimplicity? How to integrate his liberality and his

conservatism? He said that God is "harder than thethunderbolt and softer than the rose," and we immediatelyapplied it to him, seeing those traits in him. He was a vastbeing who embraced contraries. But no, he was a humblegentleman who had a specific personality. His viewtranscended everyday ethics of right and wrong. But no, hewas a moral man whose behavior was beyond reproach. Hedisdained materialists and even average citizens. No, no, he



felt deep compassion for everyone and made no distinctionsin his dealings with people.

The paradoxes are endless. He resists all attempts to figurehim out. We disciples of his often quote his words in support

of our particular points of view. But usually the opposing viewcan be supported by some other statement of his. "He'sbeyond me," his personal assistant confessed on aManhattan sidewalk in 1967. He was beyond all of us.Yet there was something definite and distinct about him.

That quality was what attracted us and enchanted us. It wasa specific identity -- who he really was. But that remained amystery to us. And when we attempted to probe into it byasking him about his unique relationship with God, hiseternal identity in the spiritual world, he (often sternly)

refused to respond. Still, there was something there wecould sense. It was what we wanted for ourselves.

Sometimes he described a great devotee as "a Vaikunthaman," a dweller in the spiritual world. We knew that he livedthere, and that if we stayed with him, we would too.

Through those 11 years, that person I first knew as Swami,then The Swami, then Swamiji, then Prabhupad, then ShrilaPrabhupad, guided my life.

How I did I come to meet up with him?

My Story

I grew up as a Unitarian. In Sunday School we studied manyof the religions of the world. None of them were made toseem strange to us. Tolerance was the starting point.Beyond that, we were encouraged to appreciate them ontheir own terms. Really, we spent more time on other religions than we did on Unitarianism !

Later on, I took a class on Eastern Religions in college. Moreintensive than the Sunday School sessions (and presentedby a teacher who showed little enthusiasm for his subject), itconvinced me that I could never be a Hindu or a Buddhist.The obstacle for me was "the denial of the flesh." I couldn'tconceive of myself practicing a religion that turned awayfrom the bodily passions in order to contemplate afeatureless, if peaceful, radiance.



But in the early 1960s the influences of Zen Buddhism andpsychedelic drugs again changed my way of thinking aboutAsian spirituality -- though not about the "flesh" problem. Thelives and the words of the sages of the East now madesense to me as descriptions of the cosmic reality and of

God. Still, there were many unresolved questions in mymind. In my metaphysical struggles, I tentatively cleared aplace for myself: I declared that I was a Voidist. My sloganwas, "nothing is everything and everything is nothing."

It was in that context that I experienced my first contact withShrila Prabhupad, in April of 1966.

I didn't see him in person. It was a New York Times or Village Voice photograph with a long caption. The Swami,pictured sitting, was giving classes on the Bhagavad-gita in a

loft on the Bowery. For the Swami, first and foremost, God isa person, the caption stated. The best way to attain Godrealization, he said, was through devotion -- and specificallyby chanting names of God in a congregational setting. Thename of God preferred by the Swami: Krishna.

Since his theology was different from the viewpoint I'dworked out, I supposed my philosophical position was better.Still, I had great admiration for his courage and hisauthenticity. He was "the real thing," I felt. He could haveappealed to the vanity of wealthy uptowners, and satisfied

their curiosity for the exotic. Many gurus from India had done just that. He hadn't. He was speaking from the Bowery, thehome of New York's most hopeless outcasts. That gave mereason to trust in his integrity.

I lived on the lower east side of Manhattan, not too far fromthe Bowery. But I was involved in other matters. The littlearticle had moved me, but more was needed.

During the late spring and early summer I got snarled in ametaphysical tangle. I was unable to decide which was thenext level of reality after the Void -- Love or Knowledge. Ihad reduced my book collection down to two: a Zen textcalled On the Transmission of Mind (representingKnowledge) and the Gita (the Love book). The Gita waswinning the fight on points. But there was no knockout yet.

In July, Swami Bhaktivedanta and his students moved into asmall storefront on Second Avenue. It was seven blocks



south of my apartment. I often rode the bus south to afriend's place. That took me by 26 Second Avenue, where asign above the window bore the name "Matchless Gifts." Thefirst few times I went by I didn't see anything going on inside.

But one early evening, the lights were on. Through thewindow I could see a half dozen people sitting on straw matswith their backs to the street.

Facing them and me, at the far end of the room, was agolden glow. That's all I saw at first. Then, it was the Swami,in yellow or saffron cloth. Yet, he was a magnet, or a sourceof energy -- more than human, I felt, more like a principle, or a goal.

I was scared. Scared because I was attracted, and I knew

what that attraction meant. It meant I would have to stophaving sex! I would have to give up all kinds of things. Iwould have to commit myself to a path that would lead meinto an unknown world far more vast and more disconnectedfrom my present understanding than anything I couldimagine.

These impressions came to me in the three or four secondsallowed me by the fast-moving bus. I was shaken. The sexissue made an impact on me because of another article I'dread about the Swami and his band of followers. The

celibacy requirement had been mentioned.

During the late summer and early fall the KrishnaConsciousness people were the subject of manyconversations around the lower east side. The artists andavant-gardists living there considered themselves "way out"(and I was no exception), but we knew that the Swami's crewhad gone way beyond our outness. Of course, most of theneighborhood beats kept their distance, for various reasons.In the interests of what I considered to be scholarlyobjectivity (it was abject terror, really) I too hesitated to walkthrough the storefront door into that other world.

One afternoon, though, I did walk by. And I stopped. I readthe notices taped to the door and the window. One of them,written in the Swami's hand, was an invitation. It said, moreor less, "Any young man may live here if he agreees tofollow these rules." A list of abstinences and duties was thengiven. Two of the Swami's books, Easy Journey to Other



Planets and Who Is Crazy? were on a shelf. Taped to theglass was the dust cover of Srimad Bhagwatam. I wastransfixed by that cover. It was an illustration, or some sort of map, of the spiritual world, with deities drawn on planetsshaped like lotuses. The central lotus was occupied by a

dancing couple in colorful dress. What struck me first wasthe shape of the lotuses, or at least the central one. Theyweren't round. They were oval. This may seem like a minor point. But in every Asian or occult metaphysical diagram I'dever seen, realms were presented as circles. The circle is alogically consistent geometric figure, a depiction of mathematical perfection. In contrast, the elliptical planets,especially when framed with large, pink, soft lotus petals,came across as organic, tangible life forms. The implicationswere too stunning for me to consider. But in my astonishedstate of mind I was somewhat prepared to take in the

dominant image in the window.

It was an oil painting, perhaps two by three feet in size,propped up for public display. Bare-chested, yellow-robedmale figures with upraised arms and upraised eyes weredancing. Some swayed, with garlands of flowers drapeddown their fronts. One figure crouched slightly while beatingon a drum hung on a neck strap. There were other instruments. All the worshippers were evidently in an ecstaticmood. They looked like they'd been transported into thatother world -- the one that used to scare me, but now, on

looking at the painting, it called out to me -- with a promise of deep satisfaction and divine enjoyment.I didn't know what was going on inside me. All I could saywas, "That's what I need -- juice!"

Even after that experience, for a few weeks I balked atactually making the move to attend services at the storefront.

Then a neighborhood avant-garde newspaper, The East Village Other , published an issue in mid-October, its frontpage filled up with a large photo of the Swami standingunder a tree as he spoke to a crowd in Tompkins Park. Theheadline above the photo shouted SAVE EARTH NOW.

Under the photo was a mantra: Hare Krishna Hare KrishnaKrishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama RamaRama Hare Hare. Inside was a long article on SwamiBhaktivedanta and his disciples.



Included was an announcement that the Krishna peoplewould be holding outdoor gatherings every Sunday at thepark. They would chant the mantra and the Swami wouldspeak. It was only a block and a half from our apartment, somy wife and I decided to go the next Sunday.

The day was sunny and mild. As we entered the park, whichas usual was busy with colorful bohemians celebrating theweekend, we didn't know where the group could be found, or exactly what to look or listen for. I had imagined the chantingwould be pronounced in a low-pitched monotone, like someTibetan Buddhist ceremonies I'd heard on LPs. (This despitethe joyful singing in the painting in the window!)

By now everyone knows what I saw and heard. Although theSwami was the only one dressed in a traditional wrapped

cloth (and he was sitting down, batting on a little woodenbongo drum), the inner circle of adepts next to him includedseveral enraptured humans dancing at a stately pace aroundand around in a circle perhaps ten feet in diameter. Their arms were raised in supplication, as in the painting. Somewere concentrating on the words of the chant with furrowedbrows, some were peaceful, some were smiling with atrembling abandon as if being swept away on divine wings. Afew were dressed in the gypsy orientalia of the psychedelicsubculture. Around the dancers sat two dozen or so cross-legged meditators buried deep in the sound of the mantra

they sang. Around them stood a crowd of a hundred people.They were a cross-section of the lower east side population:students, Ukrainians, Puerto Ricans, bohemians, blue collar workers, and kids. Some jostled for a better view. Somestood solidly in place. Friends compared impressions. Themerely curious stayed for a few minutes, and the personallyinterested hung out longer. Many of the onlookers, helped byleaflets passed out by a disciple threading his way throughthe assembly, sang along with the exotic spiritualists at thecenter.

I was stunned. My life changed at that moment. I was pickedup and flung off to outer space. I was ripped to shreds andwas everywhere and nowhere. Without taking a drug I wascatapulted into a new world, an ancient world, a deep world,a high world. In my imagination I saw a silvery ramp comingup diagonally from -- the past? -- the pit? -- and on up to afuture that got better and better. I saw myself on the ramp,moving upward as I chanted the Hare Krishna mantra.



Another leaflet was thrust into my hand. It was an essayentitled "Stay High Forever" by its author, Howard Wheeler.The daring title and the article's radiant prose thrilled me. Itwas all I ever wanted there in the fall of 1966.

Political possibilities opened up. Here before me was a littlesocial group that could be the seed of a spiritual culture.Perhaps the seed would grow into a politics of love, totransform the world into a place of peace and happiness. Asa pacifist vegetarian ban-the-bomber and war-protester, Ispun out idealistic schemes while I chanted.

The Swami modestly kept himself out of the spotlight. Heallowed the words and the music of the mantra to work itssacred effect on the people there. After a while he stoppedthe singing and stood up to deliver a speech. There was no

public address system and I was too far away from him tohear much of what he said. Also, there was the matter of histhick Bengali accent. He spoke with intensity, though -- thatwas clear.

I wanted to hear more.

My wife, however, had mixed feelings. She enjoyed thechanting experience. She liked its power as an agent of bliss. But she didn't like its power as an agent of renunciation. Of course, we both shared a discomfort with

the celibacy that was directly stated as a principle of theSwami's -- and, that was indirectly inculcated by the sound of the Swami's magic mantra. For us, sex was an importantpart of our love. It held us together. If I were to get involvedin this Krishna stuff, it would be a slap in her face. I knewthis, and it troubled me. I loved her. I didn't want to hurt her.Yet, the Krishna Consciousness people were holding out tome the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. How was I tolive my life? What was the point of my life, or anybody's?

The metaphysical, the religious, the mystical -- I had seenthese as the answer to humanity's problems in relating toeach other. Now in my life the spiritual dimension wasbecoming a hindrance to my marriage. Or was it that mymarriage was a hindrance to my spirituality?

Now, 32 years later, I feel I've answered these questions. Butthen, I felt only agony -- agony, as a result of ecstasy. "AsGod gets more possible, life gets more impossible," I said to



her. She agreed, though to her the emphasis was on theimpossible aspect.

As we returned to our apartment, she asked me, "If pushcame to shove, who would it be, Krishna or me?" My

response was awkward and certainly not diplomatic. "Well,Krishna is God, after all," I blurted out. We were both tooafraid and too threatened by Krishna Consciousness tobehave well with each other. We started using Krishna as aweapon to push the other person away. The world revealedby the mantra was too dangerous to our well-foundedpreconceptions, too challenging to our relationship based onethical but still materialistic patterns of behaving that we'dbeen taught in the mid-20th- century United States, tooexplosive for us to handle.

Because of my marriage's deterioration, my earlyimpressions of Swami Bhaktivedanta, founded on a sense of wonder, were tinged with sadness. The Swami was my hero,and yet I couldn't deny I was angry at him for wrecking theaffection my wife and I had shared. That competitionbetween love of God and love of humanity was to occupy mythoughts and feelings for years afterward as I served theSwami in the context of his International Society for KrishnaConsciousness.

Despite the marital trouble I knew I was getting into, I

attended the next regular evening meeting at 26 SecondAvenue. Yes, I walked through the door and entered intoKrishna's world. Once again, the chanting, which I learnedwas called Kirtan, was deeply fulfilling to me.

After a Kirtan of 20 minutes or so, the Swami spoke. It wasat that moment that I started to get to know him.

Preconceptions got in the way at first. I had expected asmiling, light-hearted wizardly fellow who would dazzle uswith paradoxical wordplay while chuckling at the absurdity of existence. Instead, the Swami was dead serious. In fact, hisface bore an expression that struck me as melancholy or sour. Furthermore, his lecture concentrated on the evils of sex, which he railed against with vigor and not the leastsubtlety. During the question and answer period, however,as his followers displayed the sincerity of their purpose withsearching inquiries, he employed a quickness of wit and astartling perceptiveness in his responses. A repartee



between the Swami and Mr. Wheeler, the essay's author,delighted me as it progressed into a dialog not unlike manyI'd read in classic spiritual texts. I felt privileged to be in thepresence of the Swami and his disciples. No matter howmuch grief it caused me, I was determined to proceed further

along this path.

I bought the two pamphlets of the Swami's I'd seen in thestorefront window. During the next two days I read them. Itwas another revelation of the guru's spiritual depth. Thewritings showed his ability to apply ancient teachings tocurrent situations without losing sight of the flavor or theintent of the original. He was conservative and liberal at thesame time. It was plain that he dwelled in a world of yogis,mystics, and saints who were completely real to him andwhose nature he didn't want to change or water down at all.

He promoted the Vedic culture of thousands of years ago asthe only culture worth considering for anybody anytime. Buthe was willing to adapt it to the present -- as he put it,"according to time, place, and circumstance."

Those two tendencies were contradictory, but he managed asubtle balancing act. He was faithful to the original,sometimes even to the point of dogmatism. But -- as I foundout during my successive visits to the storefront -- he wasalso a practical and businesslike person who could be asclever as anyone while he wound his way through the

necessities of life.

Many accounts of his expertise have been publishedelsewhere. One of my favorites is how he collected the finaldollars of the first month's rent money at 26 Second Avenuefrom none other than the real estate agent -- by persuadingthe man to become a dues-paying member of the Society!

But even as he artfully negotiated the obstacle courses of agiant industrial metropolis, he relentlessly reminded us of thefutility and the misery of life in the material world. He citedscripture. He gave examples. He recounted personalexperiences of his. He narrated the lives of saints and theexploits of avatars. He made use of colorful and, to us,exotic vignettes from the jungles and villages of India. Whocould forget the "cereal mixed with sand," the "camelchewing thorny twigs," the ever-present "hogs and dogs,"and each lecture's chosen philosopher-villain, who was often



saddled with the Swami's epithet, "simply rascal number one!"

The Swami had a genius for balancing opposites. "TheAbsolute embraces all contradictions," he taught us. And the

best example of that was his skill at the art.

Once, a pychedelic group with a store in Greenwich Villagedecided that you could get high from smoking dried bananaskins. Knowing that the Krishna Consciousness people useda lot of bananas in preparing free public feasts, they offeredto contribute to our cause the bananas they'd peeled. Amongourselves, we discussed the ethics of us teetotalersaccepting the "fruits" of their labors to intoxicate themselves.As I recall, the virtuous among us outvoted the pragmatists.But to our surprise, the Swami told us to accept the gift on

Krishna's behalf. He said the donation would "engage themin Krishna's service." Thus we learned one of the centralprinciples of Krishna consciousness -- active devotionalservice can spiritualize something ordinarily consideredmaterial. Service to Krishna can harmonize apparentlydissonant worlds. The Swami had struck a balance betweenmatter and spirit.

On another occasion, a similar discussion ensued among usas to whether the Swami should attend a rock concert a fewblocks up Second Avenue at the Village Theater (later the

Fillmore East). It was organized by Louis Abolafia, a beatnikrunning for some political office, promoting himself as "TheLove Candidate." Of course, as his ads made clear, he didn'tmean Love of God! He invited the Swami and the "Krishnapeople," as we were sometimes called, to perform kirtanonstage. So we argued about ethics again. For some of us, itwas a good advertising, or preaching, opportunity. For others, the sex-and-drugs motif of the gathering wouldpollute the purity of our message. Two disciples,Brahmananda and Rayarama, emerged as the leaders of thetwo parties. (I can't remember which side each was on.) Oneof them went up to the Swami's second-floor apartment topresent his case. On returning to the storefront shortlythereafter, he reported that the Swami had agreed with hisopinion. Then the other went upstairs and came down sayingthe Swami had agreed with his point of view. Back upstairswent the first lobbyist. On returning, he said the Swami hadtold him that we should decide it by ourselves, and theSwami would then go along with that conclusion. After a



while, we voted to accept the invitation. And the Swami wentalong with that. As it turned out, however, something elsecame up and we didn't go! (That's as I remember it.Satsvarupa dasa Goswami writes that we did go.)

Nonetheless, the incident showed how the Swami was ableto deal with contradictory points of view. To him, it was allpersonal. He related to each person as an individual and notas an abstraction. The "truth" of a situation included theperson who was experiencing it. His concern was for theconsciousness of the person before him rather than for someimpersonal concept. This trait of his led one disciple(Gargamuni) to state, "nothing the Swami says is absolute."The phrasing was bold, but it showed an appreciation for our guru's dedication to personhood. Because of hispersonalism, he was able to integrate and balance apparent

opposites.

Just as Krishna bewildered Arjuna (in the Bhagavad-gita) bysimultaneously embracing apparent opposites such asaction and inaction, so the Swami bewildered his disciples. Irecall one devotee getting really annoyed at him, saying, "henever gives you a straight answer." But then, that's the samecharge Arjuna leveled against Krishna. So the Swami was ingood company!

As I attended more Kirtans and lectures through October

and November of 1966, the Swami's erudition andpersuasive logic convinced me that the original reality wasindeed a person with form, and not a formless void. But wasmy "conversion" only a rational and scholarly process? Notat all. The conceptual arguments had weight, but far moresubstantial was the force of the Swami's character -- thedepth of his vision and the warmth of his love.

"He has Krishna painted on the inside of his eyelids," wechildishly used to say, trying to convey what we felt about theSwami's closing his eyes while chanting. Or when his eyeswere open, we felt we were looking into pools on Krishna'slotus planet. He moved with physical grace, and his patiencewith our ineptitude revealed his divine grace.

The experience of being with him was unsettling. It forced usto question our assumptions about every move we made.Yet to be with him was also the most comforting andreassuring event of our lives. We used to say our beads,



speaking the mantra aloud, in the courtyard right under hisapartment window. Sometimes he would look out and smile.To be so close to him was like being at the center of theuniverse. We felt no fear or anxiety. It was safe. He was our eternal protector.

So my ideas changed from impersonalism to personalism.

What made the change permanent -- and not just another philosophical phase -- was the living example of A. C.Bhaktivedanta Swami. Unlike the usual exponent of a theory,the Swami was swimming in an ocean of realization thatwent far beyond the shores of the mind, beyond the horizonof our limited powers. And that magnificence wascommunicated to us in a simple, affectionate nod of the heador a little cracking of the voice when he spoke of Krishna's

woodland home.

Living Memories

Shrila Prabhupad's life, especially during the period of theInternational Society for Krishna Consciousness, has beenrecounted in great detail elsewhere. His written words arepublished in a hundred books and have been preserved on ahuge digital database. His spoken words have beencaptured on tape, and now transferred to discs.

What can I add to that? Not much. Still, I feel a need toshare some moments with him, some words of his, with you.The memories will come to me of their own accord. I have nostructure in mind. Please come along with me.

Do you wonder about his authenticity? One young manattending a lecture in New York did. He asked Prabhupad, ina rude, sarcastic tone of voice, "Can you see God?" Theanswer came swiftly: "Yes, but you're in the way!"

The swiftness of his responses was astonishing. At anoutdoor program at the New Vrindaban farm in WestVirginia, a woman asked, "If the purpose of life is to beKrishna conscious, why is Maya so strong?" Right at the lastsyllable of her question, the answer: "Because your purposeis not strong."

(Are these things written anywhere? I don't know. Am Imaking them up? No, I remember them clearly. Maybe a



word or two is inaccurate. I can only pray to God for help inconveying to you Shrila Prabhupad as he is.)

Krishna Devi told me this story in 1969. She had walked intoPrabhupad's room in San Francisco as he was getting his

daily massage. Since Prabhupad wore only his loincloth atthese times, it was an unspoken rule that females shouldstay outside. She had more or less blundered in, but KrishnaDevi wasn't easily embarassed. She took one look at her guru and said, "Swamiji, you're so skinny!" Whereupon hesaid, "Oh? You want me to be fatty?"

To contrast the spiritual world with the material, Prabhupadwould say, "You never see Krishna playing with a machine,"or "You never see Krishna smoking a cigarette."

He spoke of Krishna so vividly and intimately that we all feltwe were in love with the Supreme Personality too. ButPrabhupad cautioned us, "First you must know God, thenyou can love him."

The movements of his hands were decisive yet supple. In1966, before the Society had a treasurer, Prabhupad keptthe meager fund of petty cash in his little snap-claspedpurse. Brahmananda asked him for fifty cents. Prabhupadpicked up the purse with a slow-motion sweep and elevatedit to his eye level with his arms outstretched. He deftly

unsnapped the clasp with one hand as his other handdescended into the purse, thumb and forefinger together likea bird's beak, the other fingers straight out like wings.Somehow the beak immediately found a fifty-cent piece. Thegraceful bird flew out of the purse holding it as if it were agolden coin from a king's treasure chest and released it intoBrahmananda's hand, a fragile egg placed in a nest. Arethese metaphors? Not really. The coin, after all, wasKrishna's, and deserved special care. Prabhupad was amighty eagle, flying in heaven, sheltering Krishna's specialpossessions -- including us -- under his wing. In the spiritualworld, one thing can be many things.

He could be controversial. In explaining the lovingrelationship between Krishna and the gopis, he said, "Sex isthe hallmark of the spiritual world." That stopped us! Howcould one resolve such a statement with his relentlessattacks on sex in the material world? (Sex is a "linking of urinals.")



Or how could a teacher who demanded concentrationexclusively on Krishna say, as he once did, "We worshipeverything." Was he a hard-liner or a free-thinker? But then,it's true that he often said, "We are not fanatics."

Still, in 1968 when the first traveling chanting party wasbeing planned, and a disciple asked Prabhupad how they'dget money to eat, he advised, "Let them eat Hare Krishna."

Service was always his standard. A devotee was using apower saw, drowning out the lecture at a morningBhagavatam class. Complaints about the noise were lodgedto the Swami, who decreed, "That is also Bhagwat!"

He told us, "Actually, we have never left the spiritual world,"when asked what form we'd first have on returning back to

Godhead. We puzzled over his answer. And the discussionis still going on.

While walking in Central Park, Shrila Prabhupad saw astatue with the name "Webster" on its base. "Brahmananda,is that the dictionary man?" he asked. "No, Prabhupad,"Brahmananda answered, "that's Daniel Webster, thepolitician." "Daniel -- Daniel has come," Prabhupad said.What did he mean by that? Brahmananda asked him."Daniel has come," Prabhupad repeated. "That is from TheMerchant of Venice. Don't you know Shakespeare?" We

mumbled ineffectually. "Yes, that is what Shylock says whenhe thinks Portia has ruled in his favor," he continued. Our beloved guru then proceeded to give a concise synopsis of the play's plot. He emphasized Shylock's elation atapparently winning the court case, and then his dejectionwhen he was outsmarted by the judge, who was Portia indisguise. Then he miraculously drew a lesson from the story."So," he said, "when Shylock thought he was successful, hethought God had favored him. 'Daniel has come.' What doesDaniel mean?" My name is Daniel, so I said, "God is my

judge." "Yes, he thought God had decided in his favor. Butthen later, when he lost, he was angry and forgot about God.But," Shrila Prabhupad said firmly, "we must accept both thesuccesses and the reverses as Krishna's mercy." Onceagain Gurudev had found Krishna where no one before hadseen him -- in an ordinary statue in Central Park.

"This typewriter is not different from Krishna," he taught us inhis apartment at 26 Second Avenue. He patted the grey



metal portable machine he was using to type out his purportsto the Bhagavad-gita. We had no way of knowing that itwould become the largest-selling English language Gita of all time. But he could see the immensity of God in the mosthumble of things. And his point for us was, as he'd stated so

many times, that matter engaged in the service of Godbecomes spiritualized. "When you place an iron poker in thefire, it becomes just like fire."

He suggested to me that I make a movie of the Bhagavad-gita. I immediately agreed. But then he wondered if it wouldbe possible, saying, "It requires too many elephants."

Or did he ever really wonder about anything? It seemed tous that he knew everything, either by himself or becauseKrishna told him. Nevertheless, he would sometimes pause

in a lecture to ask, "What is that verse?" as if he'd forgottenand was casting about for help. There were times when he'dbe sitting down on his mat, looking up at a disciple, and hiseyes would be as big and vulnerable as a baby's. Then at alecture his eyes would seem to be shooting out fire as heverbally assailed the demons. At the La Cienega Boulevardtemple, some devotees told him he was like a lion. "Oh, youlike me like that?" he said. "Then I will always be like that."Because he was humble and wanted to serve his students,he would act like a proud king. The paradoxes of his beingknew no end.

Because this is a reminiscence, I'm using the past tense. Butit could just as well be the present tense. The activities of thepure devotee aren't limited by time, or by space. He was theone who told us, "There is no time. It is all just a flash."He was indifferent to the duration of "this spot life."

He lived in the eternal world with Radha and Krishna.Krishna's birthday features a fast until midnight. In Montreal,Prabhupad said, "Radharani is not so cruel," because her birthday's fast is only until noon.

On the other hand, one of his favorite slogans was, "our fasting is feasting." The spiritual benefit that others try toderive from refusing food can be gotten more easily byaccepting delicious food offered to God.

He mentioned Radha again when he initiated a disciple asMahamaya. The devotees laughed a little -- her new name



meant Great Illusion. But Prabhupad interjected, "Mahamayais not all bad. She is another feature of Radharani." In sayingthat, he taught us theology, reassured his new student, andmade us say, "Aahh."

The "Aahh" phenomenon got out of hand for a while in 1968.Some teenage girl devotees liked to sit right in front of theSwami's dais, gazing up at him as he spoke, every now andthen exhaling an emotional "Aahh" at the high points. Therest of us got to "Aahh"-ing along with them. Prabhupaddidn't say anything to us directly, but asked Brahmananda,the temple president, to tell us to stop emoting and exhibitmore decorum.

A young woman in Los Angeles was dejected. Prabhupadhad her come to his room, where he conversed with her for

some time about turtles! The other devotees in the roomwere both charmed and surprised by his psychology. Thewoman went away feeling much better. (I wasn't there. Iheard about it third hand.)

Shrila Prabhupad, for many years, acceded to our requeststo name our newborn children. When my daughter was bornin July, 1971, I called Rupanuga, who was in Los Angeleswith Prabhupad at the time, to ask His Divine Grace to dothe usual. But Rupanuga told me Prabhupad had justdecided to give up the practice, not being a suitable activity

for a renunciate. "But, I'll see if he'll do it once more,"Rupanuga said. Shortly, he called back. "I asked him if he'dname your new child," Rupanuga said. "He was smelling ayellow rose someone had given him. He said, 'Why not,' andlooked at the rose and said, 'Her name is Gulab. It meansRose.'" To my knowledge, she was the last newborn child tobe named by him. As of this writing, she's in her late 20s,and with her beautiful yellow hair, still chanting Hare Krishnawith enthusiasm.

How did he come to be holding a yellow flower when henamed a child who would have yellow hair? How did heknow I wanted to be named Damodar? I never told anybody.Of course these are the things people can explain awayeasily. But when you were with Prabhupad, they happenedso often that you got the feeling you were in another world. Aworld where there were no doubts.



When he initiated Rupanuga, we couldn't hear the nameclearly. After the ceremony we asked Robert what his newname was. He said, "I don't know. All I heard was,'Baarrooomm!'"

I was initiated a few months later. When I asked the Swamito accept me as his disciple, I forgot to bow down. But hewas so kind that he never mentioned it. How many of our stupidities and offenses he overlooked! That was a big partof His Divine Grace.

But then he could be just the opposite. A servant of his triedto second-guess Prabhupad, whereupon the lion-like gurushouted at him, "You must know that everything I do isperfect!"

What constituted his perfection? Was he God? For a fewdays in 1970, some influential devotees were claiming thathe was indeed Krishna. But Prabhupad squelched them. Hesaid it was offensive to make that equation. After all, he'dalways stated that a person who was a "pure devotee"derived the purity from surrender to God, not from anyindependent effort. The pure Vaishnava isn't concernedabout developing mystical powers. Loving God is all.Whatever remarkable abilities a pure devotee may possessare given directly by Krishna. Could Shrila Prabhupad readour minds? Could he know the future? Could he see all

events happening everywhere in the universe? There's noguarantee. His magnificence resided entirely in his love of God. Still, many of Shrila Prabhupad's disciples tend to thinkof such extraordinary abilities as certainties. He certainly hadhis perfections, but the only one that really mattered was hisdevotion to Krishna, which was constant and unwavering inall circumstances. Whatever he did, he did it for Krishna.Whatever opinion one might have about something he did,there was no doubt that he was doing it for Krishna. That ishis qualification as a pure devotee and a spiritual master.

Among his perfections was his gentlemanly behavior. Inpreparation for his return to New York in 1969, the devoteesworked hard to fix up and paint his apartment on the secondfloor of the rear court building at 26 Second Avenue. AsPrabhupad climbed the stairs and saw the rooms throughthe open door, he said, "This is my old home," and meltedour hearts. He knew we wanted him to stay there and never



leave. He couldn't give us that, but he gave us his love sodeeply. And he did it in such a gracious and elegant manner.

At every moment he won us over again and again. Wecouldn't resist him because he was such a gentleman.

"I am old man, and I could die at any time. So I want you mydisciples to spread this movement." He said that in manyways at many times. One winter morning as he entered thestorefront (at least at the beginning, he didn't call it atemple), he had a sour expression on his face. "It is quitebitter," he said. Where he'd lived in India, it would get downinto the 40s (F). But the 'teens were probably an awfulshock.

And later in 1967 he had a stroke.

That day, I went to the storefront after work to find thedevotees in extreme anxiety. They said Swamiji was up inhis apartment. He'd had a stroke. Most of the devotees wereup there with him. A doctor, an Indian man, had come andsaid Swamiji should go to a hospital.

I went out to the rear court building and up the stairs to thesecond-floor apartment. The door was open. On steppinginside, I saw a dozen or so disciples in the front room. Theywere all looking through the open window in the wall of

Prabhupad's room, hesitantly reciting Sanskrit words I hadn'theard before.

Someone told me it was a prayer to Krishna's form asNrisingha, the lion-man avatar. Lord Nrisingha would protecthis devotee in a time of danger. I took up the recitation aswell as I could.

Then I looked through the open window. Swamiji was lyingdown on the mat of blankets where I'd seen him sitting somany times, his head slightly propped up on a pillow.Brahmananda was massaging his legs, as I recall. Theremay have been one other person in the room.

Shrila Prabhupad was talking about Krishna. He said thatunlike our bodies, Krishna's body is perfect. Any one of Krishna's senses can perform the function of any of the other senses. He can eat just by looking at the food.



Swamiji was speaking slowly and quietly. He looked sodrawn. Brahmananda asked him if it hurt. "Yes," Prabhupadsaid, "very much." Yet, other than that, he didn't try to invokeour pity. He gave some instructions to Brahmananda, andkept talking about Krishna. Despite his weakened state, he

didn't stop telling us about Krishna. We kept chanting "tavakara kamala bare," and he kept talking about the SupremePersonality of Godhead. It went on for hours. Finally, heagreed to be transported to Beth Israel Hospital, about 20blocks north of 26 Second Avenue.

It was clear to us that Swamiji was showing us what to dowhen death is near. Think about Krishna, talk about Krishna,pray to Krishna. But of course that's what he wanted us to doall the time anyway. So in that sense death is no differentfrom any other event. Once Prabhupad called death "the

birthday of the soul." He had no fear of it, as his name Abhay(fearless) indicates.

Since I worked at a job every day, I spent less time withPrabhupad at the hospital than most other devotees. It wasobvious, however, that he didn't enjoy being there. Heparticularly disliked the diagnostic machinery that gotwheeled in regularly. As far as he was concerned, it was awaste of time to poke and probe in that way. His ownprescription for his condition was simple: massage, day andnight without stopping. The devotees took shifts. I got a

chance one day. He told me to massage his temples. Istarted gently. "No, harder, harder," he said. I applied morepressure. "Harder, harder!" I squeezed with all my might, andthat seemed to be what he wanted. But how long could Ikeep it up? Fortunately, he told me to stop so he could talk tosomeone. The wonderful thing was, the constant massagingwas helping to revive our Gurudev's strength.

A few days later, he was back in his apartment. But he stillneeded to recuperate. He flew to Stinson Beach near SanFrancisco, but it was too cold. Back east, he andKirtanananda rented a cottage on the New Jersey Shore.One day the rest of us drove down to visit. In the cottage,Shrila Prabhupad complained that Kirtanananda wasfollowing the doctor's orders and preventing him from eatingwhatever he wanted. But he laughed as he said it.Kirtanananda said, "You can see Swamiji's improving,because he's getting ornery again."



Outside in the sun, we sat in a circle and His Divine Gracespoke. He asked us all, one by one, how we were. Iremember him talking about the elderly woman who ownedthe cabins. She lived there in her house. She liked theSwami and confided in him that she felt sad because she'd

never had children. Prabhupad said he'd told her, "Just makeKrishna your son."

His compassion -- how we loved him for it! His devotion toKrishna, and his concern for our devotion to Krishna, werenever at odds. He always found a way to engage people inKrishna's service. He wore a high school ring given to him bysomeone. (I never heard whose it was.) By wearing the ring,he kept that person connected to Krishna.And we loved his sense of humor. Interviewed by a TV talkshow host, he demonstrated the benefits of a vegetarian diet

by opening his mouth and saying, "See? I have all my teeth!"Because so many of his first students in New York camefrom Jewish families, he proclaimed, "I am Jewish Swami!"Once I asked him how a devotee could attain the position of Lord Brahma, the progenitor of all the living beings in theuniverse. "Oh?" he asked me pointedly, "You want tobecome Brahma?" And when I visited him at the La Cienegatemple in Los Angeles, confessing that our Washingtoncenter was having financial problems, Prabhupad lookedover at Gargamuni and said, "Gargamuni can give youmoney. Garga-money!" He laughed and laughed.

Shrila Prabhupad often said that it was better to associatewith him via his books than via his body. I think of that as anexample of his modesty. To me there is no doubt about it: hisphysical presence, which was definitely not a "material"presence, was extremely significant for us as we developedour perception of what Krishna Consciousness is all about.That may have been because we weren't sufficientlydeveloped to begin with. Our spiritual vision hadn'tsharpened yet. We needed to start out at the point where wewere situated. Yes. As Prabhupad once said, "we have thesesenses and we are practiced to use them," so let us usethem to serve Krishna. For the neophyte spiritualist,interacting with a teacher in the same physical space ismuch more demanding and inspiring than a relationship at adistance. Words on a page can have power, but a breathing,immediate person -- a person who challenges you andmaybe scares you sometimes -- is stronger medicine.



The written words are attributes of that person. Of course, itcan be argued that the physical body of the liberated soul isalso an attribute, as the printed words are. True. The eternalself remains hidden until ones's eyes "are smeared with thesalve of love." Until then, we must make do with attributes.

The more of them, the better, I say! The books arenecessary. The books, the audio and video recordings, thereminiscences. And for most of us, the body is alsonecessary.

Am I implying that with Prabhupad's disappearance theKrishna Consciousness Movement came to an end? Not atall. He wanted all his students to grow so deeply in love withGod that they also would be gurus. Then there'd be noshortage of qualified teachers to carry on his legacy. Sincereseekers would be able to find sincere teachers. That is

always possible. "By the grace of Krishna one finds a guru,"Shrila Prabhupad said. God is in everyone's heart, directingour wanderings according to our desires. Do we doubt that if we sincerely want to serve a real spiritual master, thatKrishna would not send one to us? It's in Krishna's interest,after all. Because "by the grace of the guru one findsKrishna." It's up to us to become pure devotees. Prabhupadnever wanted any less from us. There's no other solution. Acrowded roster of "representative priests" and "officiallysanctioned initiators" won't do the job. The change comesfrom within, from the heart, not from a bureaucratic decree.

If I had not been there with Shrila Prabhupad for days andweeks and months, my life would be nothing but dry, tatteredscraps. The sound of the words from his mouth was like aripe, delicious mango, and it drove you mad for more andmore. His eyes were like swans illuminated by flashes of lightning. His hands danced, and his lotus feet protected theentire cosmos. There was nothing material about hisphysical presence. His body was not, in fact, in the materialworld at all. The sight of him blessed our eyes with spiritualvision, for on seeing him we gazed into the kingdom of God.That is why I bow down before him and offer him songs of praise.

Shrila Prabhupad: A Principle or a Person?

Prabhupad passed away in November, 1977. From that timeuntil the present (1998), the International Society for KrishnaConsciousness has carried on his mission. Inspired by hisexample and following his instructions, his sincere disciples



have had countless successes. Yet it's also true thatISKCON has been in turmoil.

I left the organization in April, 1978. During that winter andearly spring I'd been in charge of the college lecturing

program at the Los Angeles center. But I becameincreasingly distressed by the difference between what I waspresenting to college students when I spoke in their classrooms and what was being presented as the official"philosophy" at the temple.

I'm glad I left when I did. Had I stayed on, I would only havebecome more upset. Instead, my life has been a positive,productive one all these years.

The specifics of Iskcon's post-1977 troubles are not mine to

describe. I haven't experienced them first hand. But I do readabout them and hear about them, and I'm reminded of similar confusions from the early days. In the 1960s thestage was being set for the conflicts of the 80s and 90s. Iexpress it this way: is Shrila Prabhupad a principle or aperson? Or both at once?

My answer is, he's both.

The first time I saw him, when I was in a bus rolling by 26Second Avenue, he was a principle. He was a spiritual force,

a golden glow, a vision of truth. He was one with The One, afixed and unvarying principle.

But as the months went by, I got to know him as a person.His purity never wavered. But it took on form and movement.It showed a variety of moods and colors and sounds. Itdeepened as I came to feel the Swami's compassion. Itbroadened as I admired his erudition and his wit.Then I grew aware of his contradictions, and of thelargeness of this great soul who could embrace hisopposites within something vaster still.

Then I noticed that his students, myself included, tended tosee him as the Swami that conformed to our own concept of who he should be. One devotee preferred the liberal Swami,another the conservative Swami. One liked the Swami whoasked us to "dovetail" our propensities in Krishna's service.Another liked the Swami who instructed us to renounceworldly contact. For some of us, he was friend of humanity.



For others, he condemned the population to hell. A few sawhim as affirming family life. Most saw him as an advocate of monasticism.

Meanwhile, His Divine Grace continued to be who he really

was: someone beyond our convenient categories.

As long as he was physically present with us, he repeatedlypulled the carpet out from under us and kept us fromhardening our concepts into dogma. As soon as we thoughthe wanted us to have big buildings, he pronounced them anobstacle to spiritual advancement. When we were certain hewanted the society's magazine to be topical andprofessionally laid out, he ordered us to print only articles onscripture and to reproduce photos without any cropping or size alteration -- and to spend four hours a day going around

the city chanting and dancing. When we thought weunderstood him to say that we could sell his books usingunethical methods, he told us all our dealings must be aboveboard.

He kept us guessing! And every time, he was showing usthat spirituality includes the dualities, and goes beyond themtoo.

After his passing, though, there was no one to push usforward. Concepts hardened. Dogmas solidified. Mistakes

became policies. Most of all, the aggressive managers tookcontrol, unchecked by the humble rank and file. Those whoprotested were made to leave, directly or indirectly.

The organization devolved into flag-waving. Prabhupad theperson faded away as Prabhupad the principle took center stage.

I believe that I can strengthen my devotional life if I consider my guru to be a person -- at least as much, if not more than,a principle. He did urge me to "follow the principles," but healso called Krishna Consciousness "Personalism."

What does this mean? For one thing, it means that ShrilaPrabhupad is an individual living being with specificcharacteristics that may be different from my characteristics.His psychological temperament may not be the same asmine. His way of doing things may not be my way.



All I can do is pray to Krishna to help me balance myself onthe narrow "razor's edge" of spiritual life.

And play my hunch.

That's what Shrila Prabhupad did.

He was criticized in India for breaking certain long-established rules of behavior for a renunciate. He allowedmen and women to sit together during temple services. Heperformed marriage ceremonies.

Most of all, he started his own corporation, ISKCON, rather than opening branches of his guru's organization, theGaudiya Math.

These bold moves earned him disfavor from many of themembers of the Gaudiya Math. They considered him tooloose. But most assuredly, from the point of view of hisWestern students, he was sufficiently strict. ShrilaPrabhupad, from our point of view, was orthodox. And that'sone reason we were attached to him. He was the real thing.He didn't make up anything. He could ask us to "just repeat"because that's what he did. Prabhupad laid down the law --an ages-old, orthodox law. He never wavered from thatstandard.

Clearly, he saw that his mission was to deliver the sankirtanmovement of Lord Chaitanya to the West without anychange. He then asked us to continue his work and alsopresent it "without any deviation."

Yet, he was obviously willing to accomodate some changes.After all, there are people in India who feel that Sanskritliterature has no effect when translated into other languages.There are those in India who feel that Westerners cannot bedevotees of Krishna. And some say using industrial andtechnological machinery will taint their purity. ShrilaPrabhupad certainly ignored their warnings about thosemodern changes to the traditional path.

His teaching was that when matter is employed in Krishna'sservice, it becomes spiritualized. When he was physicallypresent with us, we regularly asked him, in effect, just howfar we could go with that. Could we use rock music inKrishna's service? Could we read newspapers in Krishna's



service? Watch movies? Eat pizza? His responses were notalways consistent. He'd give different advice to differentdisciples on different occasions. Again, he was answering tothe person as much as the principle.

Which brings me to say this. Shrila Prabhupad too was aperson. He took birth in Calcutta, India, in 1896. His parentswere devotees of Krishna. He briefly sided with Gandhi'snationalism, but soon was won over to the Vaishnavism of anorthodox guru. Furthermore, he had a specific personality.His boyhood friends recognized his position as a strong-willed leader. During his householder life, he held religiousgatherings in his house despite the opposition of his wife. Inlater years, when he lived in the holy city of Vrindaban beforetraveling to the US, the residents there noted his insistentzeal. As the spiritual master of ISKCON, he often described

the society's activities in military terms and called on hisstudents to oppose all scientists and "kick them in the facewith boots." He was a lion, a commanding general in the war against materialism. Against the falsities of Western culture,he vigorously advanced the truth of traditional Vedic culture.(Of course, as I've already mentioned, in addition to being"harder than the thunderbolt" he could also be "softer thanthe rose." But, even though the evidence suggests he hadboth qualities in equal measure, his thunderbolt aspectbecame predominant for most of his disciples.)

Prabhupad never apologized for being the kind of person hewas. He never apologized for having complete faith in theorthodox Vaishnavism of his upbringing. Nor did heapologize for asking others to become as orthodox as hewas.

I can learn a lesson from that. I will not be ashamed of who Iam. My specific personality may be a material personality for now, but it can be spiritualized by engagement in the serviceof Krishna. Likewise, I will not be ashamed of having abirthplace outside India. National or regional characteristicscan also be spiritualized.

Is Vedic culture the only social context within which devotionto Krishna can be practiced? Is it possible to make adistinction between the religion and philosophy of KrishnaConsciousness on the one hand, and the society and cultureof Vedic (or medieval) India on the other hand? SinceKrishna appeared in Vedic India ca. 3,000 BCE, does that



mean the Vedic culture of that time and place is identical tothe culture of Krishna's eternal abode? Or did Lord Krishnamanifest his pastimes in terms of a culture that was astransitory as any other on this planet? If KrishnaConsciousness is a non-sectarian and universal sanatan

dharma, then can it not be lived within the terms andterminologies of any time or territory?

I don't have to impersonate Bengalis. In doing so, Idepersonalize myself.

This may seem an unnecessarily harsh judgment. Isn't itnatural for us to imitate a person we admire? Perhaps it's ablessing to be able to do so. For in this way we can begin totake on those admirable qualities. If a Bostonian or aBulgarian pretends to be a Bengali, surely the play-acting

can be forgiven if they improve themselves thereby.But the danger is that the "self" does not improve. Thedanger is that only the external costumes, mannerisms, andparrotings improve -- at the expense of an inner self that isonly slightly touched by the outer efforts.

If I am convinced to bury my personality under the weight of an adopted personality (no matter how noble a soul I may beimitating) then I've lost my ability to make discriminations, tomake intuitive decisions, perhaps even to make the simplestchoices. Those abilities (which are central to the psychology

of Krishna Consciousness) depend on perceptions madewith my mind in clear view. I can't have that view if I'mpretending to be somebody other than who I am.

If ISKCON has been dysfunctional, I maintain that's thereason why. I too used to identify myself with a mental imagecreated out of hope, rather than accepting my psychologicalreality. That projected image was not a person. It was alifeless, frozen, shallow invention made of fear, preventingme from being able to contact the God-given psychologicalresources by means of which I could make responsiblechoices. Instead of being responsible, I turned myself over toa bureacracy that made my decisions for me. But they werealso acting through a mask, a projected image of themselves. And they turned themselves over to their invented image of Shrila Prabhupad. That can be defined asneurosis.I won't deny that I derived enormous benefit from being inISKCON, even under those circumstances. But there came a



time when I had to set aside my mask and take the next steptoward the ultimate reality.

If I'm going to achieve the self-control that Lord Krishnaspeaks of in the Bhagavad-gita, I have to be in touch with

myself at all times. Self-deception will block my progress."Honesty is the best policy."

I've been referring to the conditioned personality as "who Iam." Granted, that's not who I really am. But is ShrilaPrabhupad really a native of Calcutta, or of India? Is hereally a speaker of British-school English? No. Still, he didn'tattempt to hide his traits or his temperament, which wereconditioned by the facts of his birthplace and birthdate. Heaccepted them, spiritualized them, and by Krishna's mercybecame a powerful source of inspiration for the world.

I can do the same. Not by pretending. By accepting mypersonhood as Krishna's mercy -- and straightforwardlyengaging my heart and mind, as they are, in Krishna'sservice.

To me that is one of the greatest lessons Shrila Prabhupadtaught, by his own example. Not to make excuses for myself.To accept everything as the mercy of God and go forwardwith clarity of mind and a positive attitude. Then I'll be able tomake good decisions and choose reality over illusion everytime.

As Shri Krishna said to Arjuna in Prabhupad's translation of the Bhagavad-gita , "Everyone is forced to act helplesslyaccording to the qualities he has acquired from the modes of material nature ... Even a man of knowledge acts accordingto his own nature, for everyone follows the nature he hasacquired from the three modes. What can repressionaccomplish?" (3.5, 3.33) Arjuna wanted to imitate therenunciates. Krishna warned him that performing another'skarma, or duty, is dangerous for those in spiritual life. SoArjuna accepted his "material" nature as a warrior, andachieved spiritual self-realization. Whether I'm a warrior or apoet, and whether I'm a native of India or Indiana, I too canachieve the same goal.

The master of my body, mind, and soul, His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, has given thatcompassionate teaching to the world.



END

Appendix

During the years 1967, 1968, and 1969, I made five 8mmfilms. They were silent "home movies" in a style I called"poetic documentary." The subjects were Shrila Prabhupadand his disciples.

Vaishnavas (1967, color) Using a zoom-fisheye lens I'd builtand superimposing three image tracks, this effort sported a"psychedelic" look. It featured the 26 Second Avenuedevotees at the storefront in the winter and spring of '67,

plus the joyful arrival of Swamiji at Kennedy Airport in April.Before I showed the movie to His Divine Grace in hisapartment, he closed the curtains of his altar (I assume, toavoid any offenses to the Radha-Krishna dieties). Iintroduced the film by trying to prepare Prabhupad for all thetechnical gimmickry. I thought he might find itincomprehensible, or worse yet, the work of a madman.Nevertheless, he sat patiently through it, and at the endpronounced it "beautiful." Shortly afterward, he asked me tomake a movie of the Bhagavad-gita. That project was never realized.

Swamiji (1967, b&w) It was July. Prabhupad was going toleave for India the next morning. His disciples were morose,thinking they might never see him again. They asked me toshoot some footage of him, so we'd at least have his movingpicture image to meditate on. I had a couple of rolls of highspeed black and white film handy. When I asked hispermission, explaining the devotees' request, Swamijiagreed to let me film him as he sat in his apartment. As Ifilmed, he read the Gita, told Kirtanananda how to pack theluggage, and ate his lunch prasadam. There never was amore charismatic movie star. He was a nobleman, a gravesage, a simple child, and a friend. As I opened the secondspool and pulled off a C-shaped plastic gripper that held theroll in place, he asked me to show him how it worked. I did."They think of everything," he observed.

Paramhansa (1968, color) At the (Allston) temple in Boston,Shrila Prabhupad leads a kirtan and gives a lecture. Later he



goes for a morning walk through the city accompanied byJadurani and Gaursundar. Then, in Montreal, he conducts afire ceremony.

The Full Nectarine (1968, color) Nayana Bhiram and I

worked together on this one. The New York devoteesenacted the story of Lord Chaitanya giving up his married lifeand becoming a renunciate, then moving from Bengal toOrissa, where he worshipped Jagannath in the Puri temple.As a framing device, we used footage of Shrila Prabhupadand the devotees in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens (whichwe called "Brooklyn Brindaban"). His Divine Grace wastalking. Since it was a silent film, we were able to suggestthat he was recounting the above narrative, which wedisplayed as screen titles, intercutting between ShrilaPrabhupad and the actors. Part of the movie was filmed in a

forested park on Staten Island. The scene of ChaitanyaMahaprabhu's tearful parting with his family was filmed in thecourtyard between the two buildings at 26 Second Avenue.

Gurudev (1969, b&w) By now, His Divine Grace is a worldtraveler. Here, he arrives at Kennedy Airport, welcomed by athrong of enthusiatic devotees. Then, at the 61 SecondAvenue temple, he leads a Kirtan, lectures, and initiatesseveral new disciples.

Jai Shri Guru

remembering prabhupad

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