CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

THERE WERE, OF COURSE, other reasons for Prabhupāda’s returning to India besides meeting Indira Gandhi. His regular rhythm had become to alternate touring the West with staying in India. He was leading his movement by traveling from center to center, but for at least five years now he had devoted more of his time to India.

His ambitious projects in Māyāpur and Vṛndāvana, although increasing the prestige of the Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement, were by no means completed. And Hare Krishna Land in Bombay was still only a construction site. Unlike in America and Europe, where Śrīla Prabhupāda achieved his objectives by inspiring disciples to carry on the management, in India he was the manager. He had to be; otherwise his Western disciples would be cheated and become dispirited. Pressing managerial decisions, therefore, brought him frequently to India.

Moreover, he had a special inclination to be in India. He had a deep spiritual attraction to the holy dhāmas – Vṛndāvana was his home and Māyāpur was his place of worship – and he liked the unique opportunities for meeting and influencing people in places like Bombay. His upcoming meeting with India’s chief executive was the kind of opportunity that came rarely in the West.

And in addition to all these reasons Prabhupāda also felt most relaxed and at home there. When breaking some of his commitments to visit more cities in the U.S., he had written to a disciple, “I was not able to come to Atlanta because I was called here to India on urgent business. Also I was feeling inconvenienced by so much traveling.” Prabhupāda often referred to New York, London, and Los Angeles as his special homes and to America as his fatherland. And when a disciple had once remarked that Prabhupāda would feel more at home in India, he had replied, “My only home is the lotus feet of Kṛṣṇa.” Nevertheless, for whatever reason or combination of reasons, Śrīla Prabhupāda was showing a definite preference for staying in India.

Surabhi and Mūrti showed him drawings for other temples. An interested person in Nelore, near Hyderabad, was speaking of donating land, and the devotees had drawn up plans for a temple complex, complete with library and dormitories. Prabhupāda approved the plans. The temple buildings, he said, should be traditional, according to the śāstric directions, but the other buildings could incorporate more modern designs. He also studied and approved plans for temples in Hyderabad and Fiji.

Early the next morning, Śrīla Prabhupāda called for Surabhi and Mūrti and again went over their various plans with detailed interest. He had little time left before his meeting with the prime minister, however, and the next day he left for Delhi.
  

New Delhi
August 22, 1975
  At 9:15 in the morning, Śrīla Prabhupāda and several of his leading disciples arrived at the prime minister’s home, where they were confronted by a formidable security check. Two days before, the prime minister of Bangladesh had been assassinated, and Mrs. Gandhi was rumored to be next. Armed soldiers, therefore, surrounded her residence. The guards at the outer gate decided that the foreigners could not go in; Śrīla Prabhupāda alone could enter. While one guard opened the gate, another ushered Śrīla Prabhupāda into a car, which carried him to the prime minister’s front door.

Meanwhile, the devotees waited in anxiety by the outer gate. Always some disciples would accompany Prabhupāda wherever he went; his disciples worried, almost like doting parents, that he might need their assistance.

In tiny, cramped handwriting, Śrīla Prabhupāda had noted down in a small address book a list of points he wanted to discuss with Mrs. Gandhi.

The most pressing item was at the head of the list: Mrs. Gandhi should grant permanent visas to Prabhupāda’s Western disciples in India. Just a few weeks before, some of the foreign devotees in Māyāpur had been asked to leave the country. For years Prabhupāda had been asking for permanent visas whenever he met governors, members of Parliament, or other men of influence. Devotees were constantly being asked to leave the country to renew their six-month visas. The travel costs incurred and the disruption of the devotees’ services seriously hampered ISKCON’s work in India; therefore, Prabhupāda wanted Indira Gandhi to sanction up to five hundred foreign disciples to stay permanently in India.

The other points on Śrīla Prabhupāda’s list were scriptural directions for how the prime minister could make her leadership Kṛṣṇa conscious, in the spirit of the great rājarṣis of the Vedic age. These were the same tenets of God conscious leadership he preached wherever he went, and he had deep conviction that if the world’s leaders would apply them, an era of peace, prosperity, and happiness would dawn. Indira Gandhi had a tendency toward authoritative control, so she should exercise it in terms of Vedic directions. Then her rule could become most effective and beneficial.

A government official opened the door to Śrīla Prabhupāda’s car, ushered him into the house, and brought him before the prime minister. As Prabhupāda entered the room, Mrs. Gandhi stood up. Although she greeted him cordially and offered him a seat, he could immediately detect that she was distracted, fearful for her life. She openly admitted it, and added that this was not, therefore, a good time for their meeting. Prabhupāda felt that she would have preferred not to meet at all, but was allowing it only because she had promised. Her agreeing to see him, he felt, was an indication that she had some attraction for spiritual life, but he understood that on this visit at least, he could not introduce the extensive advice he had been contemplating.

Mrs. Gandhi complimented Śrīla Prabhupāda on the work he was doing all over the world. “They are good boys,” he replied, and he asked if she could arrange for permanent visas. She agreed, but again mentioned her present anxiety. They soon ended their talk, and Śrīla Prabhupāda left.

After promising delivery of books by October at the latest, the letter was signed by about sixty devotees: “Your unworthy servants at ISKCON Press.” On their behalf, Rāmeśvara stated,

Śrīla Prabhupāda wrote back the next day from Delhi.

On August 21 Rāmeśvara sent Śrīla Prabhupāda a telegram.

Although Śrīla Prabhupāda traveled on to Vṛndāvana, the devotees were able to dispatch advance copies of all fifteen volumes to him by his eightieth birthday on August 31. Just after Prabhupāda observed the ceremony in the temple, a devotee arrived in Vṛndāvana with the final six volumes of the Caitanya-caritāmṛta.

With great relish and satisfaction Śrīla Prabhupāda examined the books. He was pleased with the artwork and quickly became absorbed in reading the pastimes of Lord Caitanya. He felt so inspired, he remarked to the devotees in Vṛndāvana, that he was thinking of stopping all touring and just staying in Vṛndāvana and translating. The reciprocation of the devotees at ISKCON Press was so sincere that it increased Śrīla Prabhupāda’s desire to reciprocate with them. He wrote to “My dear Rāmeśvara and company,”

Immediately Prabhupāda found discrepancies. In the guesthouse, which was for guests, not disciples, he found married disciples living with their children. This was not proper, he said, and these families would have to find other quarters nearby or leave Vṛndāvana. He also found problems with the plumbing, the municipal sewage system, the financial management, the Deity worship, the cleanliness, and the devotees’ behavior.

Almost every area of temple life and every devotee required special attention. In the smallest discrepancies, Prabhupāda would sometimes see the essence of all problems, and he would instantly point it out. And because his disciples took his words with utmost seriousness, as coming directly from Kṛṣṇa, his reprimands were often devastating.

Prabhupāda was a difficult taskmaster. A Vaiṣṇava is said to be “as soft as a rose and as hard as a thunderbolt,” but Prabhupāda began showing more the thunderbolt side of his personality. Sometimes a neophyte’s conception of the spiritual master is that he must always be peaceful and pleased with everything that happens, and that this is a sign of his being situated in transcendental consciousness. Śrīla Prabhupāda, however, demonstrated many moods – including anger.

In its material form, anger (krodha) is described in Bhagavad-gītā as occurring when one’s lust (kāma) cannot be fully satisfied. A true sādhu, therefore, because he does not have lusty desires, does not become possessed by anger.

The Vaiṣṇava poet Narottama dāsa Ṭhākura, however, declares that anger may also be used in serving Kṛṣṇa. Narottama dāsa gives the example of Hanumān, the eternal servant of Lord Rāma, who displayed his great anger in fighting against Rāvaṇa and the other demoniac enemies of the Lord. Rūpa Gosvāmī also wrote in the Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu that a devotee should not tolerate blasphemy to Kṛṣṇa or to the Vaiṣṇavas and that his response might justifiably be transcendental anger. Even Lord Kṛṣṇa incited the anger of the nonviolent Arjuna, inducing him to fight. And that fighting was transcendental, whereas Arjuna’s reluctance to fight was material.

Among sentimentalists and impersonalists, however, the image persists that a sādhu should never show anger. When, at a large paṇḍāl festival in Delhi, Śrīla Prabhupāda had shown anger toward a man who spoke against Kṛṣṇa, many in the audience had misunderstood; some had even walked out.

Prabhupāda’s disciples could accept his anger. They even welcomed it – theoretically. But to bear it was difficult. The spiritual master must cut through his student’s false ego to engage that student in pure service. The guru’s show of anger, therefore, is good for the disciple. According to Cāṇakya Paṇḍita, one should not be lenient with sons and disciples. Unless he deals strictly with them, he will spoil them.

Prabhupāda’s anger in Vṛndāvana was not, however, a mere exercise in student training. He strongly desired to see the temple solidly established. He trusted that his disciples were sufficiently loyal to him to withstand the pain of chastisement and take it for what it was: mercy.

Prabhupāda was vigilant about the devotees’ attendance at the morning devotional program in the temple. Calling for the temple president, he asked why some devotees were regularly absent. Maṅgala-ārati, he said, was very important, and everyone must attend. Punctuality was also important. The exact time for the maṅgala-ārati would vary according to the clock, he said, but it must always be one-and-a-half hours before sunrise.

Prabhupāda would take his morning walk, timing it so he would be back in the temple a few moments before the Deity doors were supposed to open for darśana. Once when he was waiting, with all the devotees gathered around, he looked at his watch and then asked Akṣayānanda Swami, “What is the time?” Aware that Śrīla Prabhupāda was speaking with exactitude, Akṣayānanda replied that it was thirty seconds after seven-thirty. Prabhupāda shook his head, and with a resigned look he said, “It is very difficult to be a brāhmaṇa – thirty seconds late. Why are they taking so long to dress the Deity?”

Akṣayānanda explained that the Deity dressing took about one-and-a-half hours.

“They are simply lazy,” Prabhupāda replied.

“How long should it take, Śrīla Prabhupāda?”

“Half an hour at most.”

Akṣayānanda was flabbergasted, since he knew of no pūjārī who could come even close to that. He remained silent.

“What is the difficulty?” Prabhupāda challenged. “Half an hour at most.”

Shortly after Prabhupāda had arrived, he had noticed that the path leading to the front gate was not clean. He had complained strongly, “Why this is not clean? It should be cleaned by the time daybreak comes. I want to see this cleaned.” The temple commander, a young Englishman from Australia named Hari-śauri, was supposed to supervise all the cleaning, but he had taken much of it for himself. After hearing Prabhupāda’s remarks about the pathway, Hari-śauri had resolved to rectify the problem. Immediately after maṅgala-ārati he would run out to the front of the temple, throw water on the stone pathways, and madly run the large squeegee over the front steps and walkway, so that by the time Prabhupāda came by, most of the area would be sparkling clean. And by the time he would return from his walk, all the outdoor walkways would be clean. Śrīla Prabhupāda didn’t say anything further about the walkway, which seemed to be a positive sign.

Getting the devotees to ring the bell in the temple dome on time was a major effort for Śrīla Prabhupāda, as was getting them to ring the bell in the temple hall at all. His desire was that the bell in the temple dome should sound the hour and ring once every half hour. The grounds watchman, or chaukīdār, was supposed to do it, and Guṇārṇava was to see that he did. But for weeks there were problems, especially during the hours of the night, when the chaukīdār tended to fall asleep.

For Śrīla Prabhupāda, the undependable bell ringing revealed much about the overall temple management in Vṛndāvana. He made it clear: “I am judging the management of this temple by the ringing of the bell.” If the nightwatchman was sleeping, and if the temple leaders could not execute a simple order, how would the temple and guesthouse, with all their complexities, operate smoothly? Akṣayānanda Swami and Guṇārṇava sometimes thought that they would never solve the problem of the bells, especially since they already had so many other things to do.

But Śrīla Prabhupāda was relentless. Whenever the bell missed by even a few minutes he would demand to know what was wrong. During the night he was usually the only one not sleeping, but he would wake Akṣayānanda or others and reprimand them if the bell failed. One night at midnight he woke Harikeśa, his traveling secretary.

“Do you hear that?” demanded Śrīla Prabhupāda.

Harikeśa strained to hear. “I don’t hear anything.”

“You can’t hear it?” repeated Prabhupāda.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t hear anything.”

“That’s right! Go out there and wake up the chaukīdār, and make him ring the bell!”

Harikeśa went out into the darkness, woke the sleeping chaukīdār, got him to ring the bell, and then returned to sleep. And so did the chaukīdār.

At 12:30 Prabhupāda again rang.

“Did you hear it again?”

“No, Śrīla Prabhupāda,” said Harikeśa.

“So go out and wake him again!”

In addition to getting the temple dome bell to ring on time, getting both the bells to operate properly was also a problem. The bells were of heavy brass, worked by a rope. Prabhupāda wanted the bell in the temple to be rung constantly during the ārati kīrtanas. It took weeks for Guṇārṇava to arrange it.

And the bell in the temple dome was particularly difficult, since the rope rubbed on the stone walls and soon snapped. The thicker rope Guṇārṇava got simply spoiled the clarity of the chime and made the ringing uneven, which Prabhupāda immediately noticed. Guṇārṇava tried a chain – too heavy. A nylon rope – it broke. Materials were scarce in Vṛndāvana, and each change meant another delay, sometimes days. Nothing seemed to make the bell work properly.

Śrīla Prabhupāda told Guṇārṇava to try a pulley. Somehow Guṇārṇava couldn’t surrender to that particular instruction. He thought the rope would just jump the track. One of the devotees did purchase a pulley, but Guṇārṇava said it was useless.

When Prabhupāda called Guṇārṇava to his room and demanded, “Where are the pulley wheels?” Guṇārṇava said he had sent them back. “You rascal!” Prabhupāda shouted. “I am asking for pulleys, and you are sending them back!”

Guṇārṇava apologized, ran out, and got a pulley. It didn’t work. Then he got the idea of designing a bracket with a hole in it. The next morning Prabhupāda came out of his room and walked around to the front of the temple to check on the bell. For Guṇārṇava and others the whole affair was becoming unbearable.

“Let us hear the bell,” said Prabhupāda.

Giving mighty tugs to the rope, a devotee rang the bell again and again.

“No, that’s wrong,” said Prabhupāda.

Guṇārṇava showed Prabhupāda the wooden bracket arrangement, and Prabhupāda thought it was a good idea. Guṇārṇava even tried to improve it by greasing the hole, and it worked for a while. But then the rope snapped again.

One morning Guṇārṇava invited Prabhupāda to see the new book display. In a sincere effort to please Prabhupāda, the devotees had set up a book display just inside the entrance to the temple. There were bookshelves with built-in lighting, a display case, and a counter for sales.

Showing off the book display was a triumph for the temple managers. The lights worked, and Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books were neatly placed. The G.B.C. secretary for Vṛndāvana, Gopāla Kṛṣṇa, was also present, telling Śrīla Prabhupāda that actually the temple was first class and that things were now going smoothly. As Gopāla Kṛṣṇa, Akṣayānanda Swami, Guṇārṇava, and others pointed out the features of the book display, Śrīla Prabhupāda was silent, then suddenly agitated.

“You say that everything is first class,” he said, “but I see that it is fifth class! Just see!” He banged his cane on the floor and then lifted it up, pointing. “I have come six thousand miles to tell you about a bird’s nest.” The assembled devotees all looked up to behold a large bird’s nest within the chandelier. Birds were nesting there, amid the protruding straw. Yet until now, no one had noticed the dirty, unsightly presence.

One day Śrīla Prabhupāda was meeting with the temple managers. He wanted practical ideas, not sentiments. He complained about overspending, in Vṛndāvana and now in Bombay also, where construction was just beginning. “You will squander money here,” he said, “and Surabhi will squander money there. What is your plan to stop this? What will you do?” No one knew what to say. There was a long silence.

Finally Akṣayānanda spoke up. “We will become Kṛṣṇa conscious.”

“An impractical suggestion!” Prabhupāda exclaimed.

Akṣayānanda Swami regularly expected the thunderbolt, but that didn’t keep him from wanting to be with Śrīla Prabhupāda. On one morning walk Prabhupāda mentioned how the climate in Vṛndāvana was very harsh, both in summer and in winter. In winter, he said, the cold would sometimes be accompanied by rain.

“But Prabhupāda,” said Akṣayānanda, “even if it rains stool and urine and pus and blood from the sky, still we should stay in Vṛndāvana?”

Śrīla Prabhupāda gave an almost impish smile and said, “Oh, you are expecting?” The devotees burst out laughing.

“Yes,” said Prabhupāda, and he kept walking. After a while he added, “But don’t try for passing stool once a day.”

“Acchā,” responded Akṣayānanda.

Śrīla Prabhupāda smiled. “Do you think if you pass stool once a day that you are a yogī?”

“How inauspicious,” Hari-śauri thought. “The first time my spiritual master has ever called for me, and it’s over a bad incident like this.”

Prabhupāda did not immediately reprimand him, but first asked for his version of what had happened. Hari-śauri appreciated the opportunity, and he began to tell the whole story. When he mentioned that the old man had asked to speak with an authority and that he had told him he was the temple commander, Śrīla Prabhupāda interrupted. “Hmmm.” Prabhupāda gave his disciple a penetrating glance. “Temple commander does not mean commander-in-chief. Where have you heard this, about eating prasādam in front of the Deity?”

Hari-śauri could not remember an exact reference, and he became embarrassed. “Well, I thought I read it in one of your books, Śrīla Prabhupāda,” he said.

“Hmmm.” Prabhupāda looked at him again. He could understand his disciple’s ignorant mistake. Because of the boy’s inexperience in India, he had not understood the serious implications of what he had done. Actually, because of the sensitive relationship between ISKCON devotees and the residents of Vṛndāvana, he should have tolerated the abuse. His was an ignorant mistake, but ignorance was no excuse.

“This is a great offense,” said Prabhupāda. “He will go out and tell so many people that the foreigners have thrown him out. This is very bad.”

Prabhupāda looked gravely at Hari-śauri. “Now you find out where this man is staying,” he said, “and you bring him back here. Invite him to come back.”

Hari-śauri tried his best, looking all day for the young Bengali man, who was reportedly staying at a hotel in Mathurā. He was unsuccessful, however. Disappointed, he returned to the temple, and as soon as he returned, a devotee came and told him Prabhupāda wanted to see him. “Oh, no,” he thought. “Now Prabhupāda will really be angry.”

Hari-śauri entered Śrīla Prabhupāda’s room, which was filled with guests.

“This boy has come,” said Prabhupāda, and as Hari-śauri looked around he saw the young Bengali man. The man smiled and said, “Hare Kṛṣṇa.” They embraced and began to make apologies.

“So you give him this fruit,” said Prabhupāda to Hari-śauri, indicating a basket of fruit sitting on the floor. He then dismissed them and continued preaching to the others in the room. The disagreement was settled, but it had been Prabhupāda himself who had changed the young man’s heart and rectified a volatile incident.

“Oh, she must do everything?” Prabhupāda replied. It was far from being as heavy as some of his criticisms of the temple managers, but Daivī-śakti took it as an indication that she should become much more attentive to the details of her service.

Kiśorī would also bring a garland for Śrīla Prabhupāda in the afternoon. To make it cooling, she would sprinkle it with water. For two days Prabhupāda said nothing, but on the third day he remarked, “Take this away. Why do you put water like that? It is very displeasing.”

Viśāla had a practice, which other devotees considered eccentric, of standing at the gate and loudly reciting Sanskrit verses as Śrīla Prabhupāda passed. One morning Prabhupāda approached the gate in a thunderbolt mood, and as usual Viśāla came forward reciting verses.

“Why don’t you do something useful?” Prabhupāda said. “Sweep this water away.”

And so it was with each department. Even when riding in the car, Prabhupāda would ask, “You are having it oiled regularly? You are having it lubricated and serviced?”

Constant travel, Śrīla Prabhupāda said, was becoming more and more inconvenient – one reason for his return to India. But he was by no means stopping; unless he traveled, his movement could not remain vital and healthy. So he was prepared, despite inconvenience, to continue touring. Disciples never stopped inviting him to travel, and recently Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa Swami had asked him to come to South Africa. When Prabhupāda agreed, Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa had quickly arranged ten festivals and other engagements in Durban and Johannesburg, covering a period of three weeks in October.

Devotees on the predominantly Hindu island of Mauritius had also requested Prabhupāda to visit, mentioning that the prime minister wanted to meet him. Prabhupāda agreed. Leaving Vṛndāvana – making brief stops in Delhi, Ahmedabad, and Bombay – he was off to Africa.

Mauritius
October 1, 1975
  Relieved of management, Prabhupāda was freer now to lecture to interested gatherings. Reception by the press and government ministers in Mauritius was good, but most public questions reflected a lack of sincere interest in spiritual knowledge: “Is it necessary to be a vegetarian?” “Is the soul locked in the third eye?” “You seem dogmatic. Is there any doubt in your philosophy?” Nevertheless, people were respectful and considered Śrīla Prabhupāda an important leader and spiritual authority. He remained there a week.

Durban
October 5
  This was Prabhupāda’s first visit to South Africa. For two years the devotees there had been trying to get him a visa, but the government was wary of foreign missionaries. The bureaucratic delays, therefore, had taken months. The devotees had even had to send copies of Prabhupāda’s books for the government officials to review.

Every night for a week, Śrīla Prabhupāda delivered public lectures to crowds of at least a thousand – mostly Hindus, but also many whites. After Prabhupāda’s lecture at the University of Durban, Westville, a member of the faculty tried to discredit the lecture by stating, “Well, this is just the Hindu concept.” Repeatedly Śrīla Prabhupāda tried explaining how the principles of Kṛṣṇa consciousness were universal and scientific, but the man kept replying that it was Hindu culture. Dr. S. P. Olivier, rector of the university, sympathized with Prabhupāda’s presentation and stayed afterward to speak at length with him. “I think you are quite right,” Dr. Olivier began, “but very few people tonight got the point you were trying to make, that this is a scientific reality.”
  

Johannesburg
October 12
  Śrīla Prabhupāda’s arrival at the Johannesburg airport was culturally extraordinary for South Africa – white men bowing down before an Indian! The devotees had borrowed a yellow Mercedes-Benz and had parked it in a spot reserved for state ministers and other dignitaries. No one objected. As Śrīla Prabhupāda arrived, devotees threw flower petals, some young European onlookers bowed down, and the police – impressed by all the protocol – saluted Śrīla Prabhupāda and respectfully opened the door to his Mercedes.

As in Durban, Prabhupāda’s lectures were well attended. He was keen to have his books sold during these programs, and he would go to the book booths and ask his disciples, “Are they buying the books?” He was concerned that the Europeans, not just the Hindus, buy the books.

Prabhupāda spoke strongly against racial discrimination, but unlike Mahatma Gandhi, who had been imprisoned in South Africa for his outspoken views, Prabhupāda spoke on the authority of scripture. “What is this black-white business?” he said. “It is nonsense. It is the bodily concept of life.” In South Africa such statements would ordinarily have been considered volatile politics, yet everyone appreciated Śrīla Prabhupāda, because he spoke on a purely spiritual level.

One of Prabhupāda’s disciples in South Africa, Ṛddha, asked privately how to deal with the racial issue in Johannesburg. The only solution, Prabhupāda said, was mass hari-nāma saṅkīrtana. When Ṛddha asked about starting a farm community, Prabhupāda replied, “Don’t be so eager to move out to the country. The preaching is in the cities.” He said he was very pleased with what his disciples had done in South Africa within such a short time.

While Prabhupāda was in Johannesburg, Rāmeśvara and company fulfilled their promise and reached him with copies of both volumes of the Fifth Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. Śrīla Prabhupāda took the books with him to his lecture at one university and quoted from them, speaking on Lord Ṛṣabhadeva’s instructions, beginning with the verse in which Ṛṣabhadeva advises His sons not to live for sense gratification.
  

Mauritius
October 24
  Prabhupāda had returned to meet with the prime minister. As a friendly gesture, the prime minister had sent a chauffeured car for Śrīla Prabhupāda’s use in Mauritius. One day Prabhupāda was leaving to take a ride in the countryside, but as he was about to enter the car on the right side, Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa Swami suggested, “Śrīla Prabhupāda, come to the other side. It’s safer.” And Prabhupāda complied. For half an hour they rode through the beautiful countryside, past sugarcane fields, mountains, and the ocean. At one point, they stopped and walked along a cliff beside the sea. When they returned to the car, Brahmānanda Swami opened the right-side door and Prabhupāda said, “No, the other side is safer,” just as Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa had previously suggested.

A few minutes later, as Prabhupāda’s black Citroen was rounding a curve, a Volkswagen suddenly appeared, heading toward them in the same lane. Prabhupāda was seated behind Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa, and Brahmānanda was seated behind the driver. The moment before the Volkswagen had appeared, Śrīla Prabhupāda had sat up, cross-legged, planting his cane against the floor of the car to support himself.

As the Volkswagen rushed toward them, the chauffeur braked, swerving to the left, but the Volkswagen swerved in the same direction. There was a head-on collision. Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa’s head hit the windshield, cracking the glass. The driver’s head also slammed against the glass, and his face was covered with blood.

In the back seat, Śrīla Prabhupāda remained sitting, his face set gravely. Brahmānanda, in shock, suddenly embraced Prabhupāda, as if to protect him, although the danger had already passed.

Brahmānanda then jumped out of the car to try and flag down a motorist, and Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa got out and opened the back door, where he found Śrīla Prabhupāda with his face bruised, his leg bleeding, and pieces of glass scattered at his feet. Prabhupāda didn’t speak or indicate how he felt. Suddenly Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa realized that the car, disabled on a curve, was in a dangerous position, so he joined Brahmānanda in the road to caution motorists and to try to get someone to stop.

The Citroen and the Volkswagen were totaled, and the man and woman in the Volkswagen were both injured. Motorists soon stopped, and when the injured persons had received help, Prabhupāda and the devotees got into a car and rode back to the temple.

Harikeśa was waiting anxiously, wondering why Śrīla Prabhupāda was so late, when suddenly Prabhupāda entered, walking very stiffly, saying nothing. When Harikeśa saw all three were injured, he cried out, “My God! What happened? What happened?” But Śrīla Prabhupāda just walked to his quarters and sat down, silent. A devotee brought bandages for the obvious injuries: Prabhupāda’s chin, hand, and leg, and Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa’s and Brahmānanda’s heads.

Śrīla Prabhupāda had said nothing since the accident. Finally he spoke: “Asann api kleśa-da āsa dehaḥ.” And he translated: “As soon as you accept this material body, there are so many difficulties. We were sitting peacefully in the car, and the next moment – crash.” He talked briefly about the collision, and Brahmānanda Swami told how just before the accident Prabhupāda had braced himself with his cane, preventing perhaps more serious injuries.

“Get some resin and turmeric,” Prabhupāda said. “Mix it together with a bit of lye, and heat it.” Prabhupāda was again speaking – Bhāgavata philosophy and practical medical remedies. It remained a frightening event, however, and Prabhupāda asked the devotees to have kīrtana. Kṛṣṇa had saved them, he said. Considering that both cars had been destroyed, the injuries were negligible.

Prabhupāda sat like a battle hero, anointed in three places with the yellow poultice, while Harikeśa read aloud from Caitanya-caritāmṛta – “The Disappearance of Haridāsa Ṭhākura.”

Then Śrīla Prabhupāda began talking about the dangers of traveling, questioning the advisability of his extensive touring. His mission of translating Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam and other Vaiṣṇava literature was too important for him to be risking his life traveling in automobiles. He had been considering a visit to Nairobi before returning to Bombay, but now he said he would cancel his visit. He said he had never wanted to leave Bombay, but because they had made so many arrangements in Africa, he had come. Perhaps the accident was a sign that he should go back to India.

The next morning, with Brahmānanda Swami and Puṣṭa Kṛṣṇa Swami hobbling along, Prabhupāda went on his morning walk as usual, although he favored his injured knee. Again he discussed with his disciples whether he should go on to Nairobi or return to India. Cyavana, the president of ISKCON Nairobi, argued that Prabhupāda should go to Nairobi. The devotees there were expecting it, he said, and they had made arrangements. If Prabhupāda canceled now, he would probably not come back for a long time. Others, however, argued that there was no question of asking Śrīla Prabhupāda to keep going now, after this traumatic accident; he should go directly to Bombay.

Prabhupāda heard both opinions, but he was more affected by the consideration of disappointing the devotees in Nairobi than of recuperating after the accident. He decided to go to Nairobi.

But after only a few days in Nairobi, Prabhupāda became anxious to return to India. Reports were reaching him about mismanagement in Bombay and about building materials being stolen from the property through a conspiracy involving the workers, the storekeeper, and the chaukīdārs. When Śrīla Prabhupāda heard this, he became so morose he stopped translating. He even stopped eating. Although thousands of miles from Bombay, he was feeling the pain more than any of the devotees there. Many of them, in fact, were not even aware that the theft was taking place. When Brahmānanda Swami asked Prabhupāda why he wasn’t eating, he replied, “How can I eat when my money is being stolen?”

Bombay
November 1
  Śrīla Prabhupāda’s plane from Nairobi arrived in Bombay at one A.M., yet even at such an early hour he was greeted at the temple by a gathering of intimate life members, disciples, and even some of the tenants on the land. When the group followed him to his room, he confided that he had had a serious accident, and he even showed them the scar on his knee. He said he was relieved to be back. In a letter from Bombay he wrote,

ISKCON Bombay was Śrīla Prabhupāda’s office, and he immediately got to work. He fired the engineer, whom he held responsible for the poor, slow work and stolen building materials. At first Prabhupāda had tried to avoid hiring a construction company by having Surabhi oversee the whole project, assigning work to various subcontractors. But that wasn’t working.

Śrīla Prabhupāda wanted a change, but there was no clear alternative. “We have come to Kṛṣṇa consciousness for a life of eternal bliss,” he said to Surabhi. “But instead of eternal bliss, I am suffering eternal anxiety.” He appealed to Surabhi, Girirāja, and the others to do something.

One day a life member, a construction engineer, visited the site and told Śrīla Prabhupāda the temple and hotel could easily be completed in six months. Prabhupāda then berated Surabhi, who said that six months’ time was not enough. “Now I am nowhere,” thought Surabhi. “I’m losing my service.”

Then another life member, Mr. Omkar Prakash Dir, the chief engineer with E.C.C., one of India’s largest, most reputable construction companies, came to the Sunday feast and examined the work. Appalled at the poor quality, he said that after two or three years it would fall apart.

Girirāja, impressed with the idea of hiring Bombay’s biggest, most competent construction firm, spoke with Prabhupāda, who was also interested. At first Surabhi resented that the work was being taken out of his hands, but after meeting with Mr. Dir, he also liked the proposed change.

The contract was made with E.C.C., and Mr. Dir presented a progress chart, detailing each phase of the work and showing when it would be completed. Śrīla Prabhupāda was pleased with their professional methods, despite the higher cost. Now the work would be done as professionally and as quickly as possible, and this was what mattered most.

Prabhupāda stayed for the greater part of November, and the construction progressed quickly. There was no question of cutting corners to save a little money, Prabhupāda explained to Surabhi. The temple had to be a beautiful jewel, so that people from all over India would want to come and stay. During the Vṛndāvana construction Prabhupāda had emphasized, “Why so much? Why not just simple?” But now he was stressing, “Why not more?” The temple should be opulent and ornate, with marble everywhere. The hotel should be the finest, with beautifully furnished rooms and an elegant restaurant. And the air-conditioned theater building should be one of the best in Bombay.

“Why not marble on the floors?” asked Prabhupāda, speaking of the hotel rooms.

“It’s going to be very expensive,” said Surabhi.

“Don’t worry about the money,” Prabhupāda said. “Can we put marble on the floor? Then do it.” Surabhi did it, but tried to save money by putting a cheaper stone in the hotel hallways. When Prabhupāda saw it, he was displeased. It should have been all marble, he said.

When the temple president from ISKCON Denver wrote asking about starting a jewelry business, Śrīla Prabhupāda wrote back, disapproving.

Prabhupāda envisioned that book distribution could not only finance Bombay construction but could also support his even more ambitious plans for Māyāpur. Book distribution was good business, and it was the best preaching. It was Prabhupāda’s formula – American money combined with India’s spiritual culture – and he encouraged Rāmeśvara to motivate the saṅkīrtana in the U.S.A. in accordance with this principle.