Rukmini: I was in the San Francisco temple for a couple of weeks and then, when Malati, Shyamasundar, Yamuna, Gurudas, Janaki, Mukunda, and baby Saraswati left on Prabhupada’s order to open the London temple, I went with them as far as Montreal. I was to be initiated in Montreal and then join the devotee-artists in Boston. The group bound for London also stopped in Montreal to get Srila Prabhupada’s blessings for their preaching. So, I first saw Prabhupada in a house on West Prince Arthur Street in Montreal. I went into Prabhupada’s room with the devotees going to London, and my first impression was that a brilliant effulgence was coming from Prabhupada. I had read that when you see your true guru he will be effulgent, and he truly was. He was filling the room with light. Seeing him was like seeing the brahmajyoti.
They presented me to Prabhupada saying, “This is Wendy, she’s only 16 years old, and she wants to be your disciple.” Prabhupada’s compassion was so great. He said, “But where are your parents?” It’s funny to think of the most compassionate Prabhupada concerned that my parents were suffering because I wasn’t with them. That was very sweet.
Prabhupada wanted the devotees going to London to start a trend and he told them a story about Mr. Charles Chaplin—how some naughty boys came from behind and nailed his tailcoat to the bench he was sitting on. When Chaplin stood up, his tailcoat ripped. He went into the men’s room, ripped it more, came out and danced with more flourish than the other men. The other dancers thought, “This is the new trend,” and they ripped their tailcoats and started dancing just like him. This was Prabhupada’s instruction on how he wanted the devotees to plant the seed of Krishna consciousness in England, how he wanted them to start a trend, and they did that. They met the Beatles and started a Hare Krishna sensation in England.
Maybe because I was a young girl something about me reminded Prabhupada of Rukmini, and at my initiation Prabhupada told the story of Rukmini for the first time. Then he said to me, “Your name is Rukmini. Krishna can accept any number of beautiful girls. You are a beautiful girl, so now become beautiful within also.” It was a beautiful and powerful instruction.
Like a loving grandfather, Prabhupada was concerned when he saw that I was too thin. Amazingly, he said that my husband and I should live separately, so Baradraj stayed in Boston painting pictures for Prabhupada’s books and I stayed in New York. Then, with the permission of the temple president, Brahmananda, I went to Los Angeles and for six months was happy to learn pujari work from Shilavati. After being overseas for about a year, Prabhupada went to New York and then to Boston where he saw Baradraj and said, “Where is your wife?” Baradraj said, “You sent her away, Prabhupada. She’s in Los Angeles. Should I send for her?” Prabhupada said, “Yes. Husband without the wife is only one half, wife without the husband is only one half.” So I had the order to return to Boston.
There was one evening where he was looking around the room and he was looking at each and every devotee and he said, “I want each and every one of you to open a temple,” and he was looking into the face of each devotee. So my impetuous personality, I said, “Swamiji . . .” At that time, he was called Swamiji. I said, “Swamiji, even the girls?” He was laughing. He was always very grandfatherly. And he said, “Yes, there is no difference. When you are preaching, there is no difference.” And he began to speak about Jahnava Mata, that in the absence of Lord Nityananda, she was leading the whole sankirtan movement. So he said, “Yes, there is no difference.” It was a very nice instruction.
The pujaris in Los Angeles had a beautiful and high standard of Deity worship that didn’t exist anywhere else in the society. So, after being trained in Los Angeles, when I returned to Boston, where they didn’t have this nice standard, trying to introduce it was difficult. One night I had a dream that all the temple devotees were lying on the floor arguing with each other, “In New York we do it like this.” “Well, in Boston we do it like this.” “Well, in Montreal we do it like this.” Then the curtains closed and the Deities were gone. This dream upset and traumatized me and I wrote a letter to Prabhupada lamenting about how unacceptable our Deity worship must be. I wrote, “I think we’ve been very negligent in our standard of Deity worship and now I had this dream that the Deities disappeared. And I know that you said that without bhava, Deity worship is just like idol worship.” Prabhupada wrote a pragmatic letter back with a list of many items of cleanliness. He wrote, “Deity worship means to be very clean. You should try to bathe twice daily. The Deities should never be approached without having bathed first and changed to clean cloths after passing stool, etc. Keep teeth brushed after each meal, fingernails clean and trim. Be sure that your hands are clean before touching anything on the altar or the Deities. And cleanse the Deity room, altar and floor daily thoroughly. Shine the various arati paraphernalia after arati. This is described in the booklet for pujaris written by Silavati dasi. The idea is summit cleanliness—that will satisfy Krishna. Regarding your dream, it is a great blessing to you that Krishna warned you. So you should never be negligent. Always be careful, then in due course you will feel bhava.” That was very nice.
A bearded yogi stayed with us in the New York temple for some time, teaching Pradyumna Sanskrit. When we went on street harinam sankirtan, he used to stand in the front and no one thought much about it. But in retrospect, he was posing as the guru. Later, when Prabhupada came, this yogi became highly offensive. He brought a woman with him into Prabhupada’s room, and the two of them began yelling at Prabhupada. It was a terrible, embarrassing scene. Later Prabhupada spoke from the vyasasana about this yogi. With compassion and grace and an aristocratic demeanor, he looked at Pradyumna and said, “Is not a snake with a jewel on his hood even more dangerous than a snake without such a jewel?” It was amazing.
In Delhi, the temple was a house in Anand Niketan, a neighborhood of embassies and diplomats, and Prabhupada’s room was on the roof. One night when we came in, a sannyasi was playing the harmonium. Prabhupada saw Baradraj and said, “Let him play, he is better.” The sannyasi gave up the harmonium so Baradraj could play. Prabhupada loved Baradraj’s harmonium playing. After the kirtan, Prabhupada was quoting from the Siksastakam prayers. I was sitting toward the back as there were many sannyasis in the room as well as Pradyumna the pandit. As Prabhupada would sometimes do, he tested us by appearing to forget a verse. He said, “Nayanam galad-a . . . what is that? Nayanam galad-a . . .” There was a room full of people who were much higher in the hierarchy than I was, and none of them appeared to know the verse, so I quietly said, “Nayanam galad-asru-dharaya.” Prabhupada’s eyes got big and he said, “Yes, what is that? What is that verse?” and I said the verse. Prabhupada teased the sannyasis by making sure that they noted I had spoken, and when he did that, I fell into the trap of false pride. Then Prabhupada quoted the last verse of the Siksastaka prayers, “Aslisya va…what is that verse?” I guess the sannyasis had memorized other verses, so I again said the verse, aslisya va pada-ratam pinastu mam. Prabhupada said, “Yes, what is that verse?” and made me chant the verse. Then he looked at all of them and said, “You see? This little girl knows. You don’t know, she knows.” He was our teasing grandfather. But then, of course, he had to take care of my false ego. Prabhupada began to talk about the ugrakarma civilization and about how people work long hours in hellish factories. He said, “Just like they have these…what is it called? A crucible?” I went, “Hmmm.” Prabhupada looked at me and said, “Do you know what a crucible is?” I didn’t but I said, “A crucible is a little room where monks meditate.” Prabhupada tossed his head disgustedly. He threw my answer away and said, “Does anyone know what a crucible is?” Brahmananda said, “Yes. A crucible is a vast form in which they melt molten steel to make beams for building skyscrapers.” Prabhupada said, “Yes, that is crucible,” and looked at me. I was properly chastised.
The devotees wrote to Prabhupada that our new temple was like a palace and I was distraught about that because I thought, “Prabhupada will be disappointed or maybe angry when he comes. Our new temple is only slightly nicer than the first one and is simply a gala storefront.” Our first temple had been right off the Bowery on 26 Second Avenue, and the second temple was a few blocks north, on the second floor at 61 Second Avenue. It had been a tuxedo shop and there were mirrors on the wall. When Prabhupada came into the new temple he sat down on his vyasasana and said, “I prayed to Krishna to send me one moon, but He has sent me so many moon-like boys and girls.” I was amazed at his gratitude and love. I thought he would be disappointed or perhaps angry and he was grateful for even the slightest service endeavor.
Sometimes Prabhupada would give his mercy to someone who seemed undeserving, and sometimes he would not give it to someone who seemed deserving. Once an elderly, pious-looking Indian gentleman ardently said to Prabhupada, “Swamiji, give us your mercy, give us your mercy!” But Prabhupada saw his heart and off-handedly said, “I have already given everything, but you do not take it. What is the use?” I was shocked. Prabhupada said, “It’s like a man who has fallen in a well but does not take the rope someone throws him.” Prabhupada gave that man bittersweet compassion.
One night in his room in Vrindavan, Prabhupada told some stories about common sense intelligence and the ability to be observant. He said, “If a man is intelligent, when he is lying on his back he will naturally count the rafters.” He said that when he was a child in Calcutta, during the rainy season a pipe dripped outside his window and he used the beat of the drips as a metronome to practice his mridanga beats, faster or slower according to the drips. He also told a story about a question on a job application that read, “Have you ever ridden the Punjab Mail train, the train that brings the mail to Punjab?” One applicant answered, “Yes, many times.” And the next question was, “How many cars are there on the Punjab Mail?” The idea was that an intelligent person would notice such a thing. Prabhupada told another similar story, about a man and his assistant who were interviewing two job applicants. One of the applicants came in, sat down, had his interview, had many qualifications for the job, and left without closing the door after him. Then the other man sat down, had his interview, had none of the qualifications for the job, but closed the door properly behind him when he was dismissed. The interviewer said to his assistant, “Who do you think will get the job?” The assistant said, “Of course, the man with all the qualifications.” The interviewer said, “No, the man who has none of the qualifications will be given the job.” “Why?” “Because he closed the door behind him. So we can train him, we will be able to work with him. The other man, although he has the qualifications, he was not observant enough to close the door properly. So we won’t be able to work with him in our company.”
Prabhupada’s servant, Nanda Kumar, came out of Prabhupada’s room one day shaking his head in bewilderment. He said to me, “Prabhupada said an amazing thing. He said that I’m too creative to be a good servant and that I should do business.” At that time I thought, “What’s creative about business?” I was surprised and Nanda Kumar was also surprised, but now that I’m doing business, in retrospect I can see how right Prabhupada is—business really is creative. I have often mentioned that to people.
Lord Krishna is described as being bhava-grahi janardanam, which means that He takes only the essence of a devotee’s attitude. Prabhupada was also like that. He saw the essence of what was being presented. If someone approached him with arrogance, he could cut right through that. If there was a kernel of sincerity, he would take that. He saw what was hidden and what no one else could see. He was unstereotyped and transcendent. A single word can’t describe him because he was also so much more. He was aristocratic yet had a child-like innocence. He was meek and humble, yet had the regal air of a king. He was beautiful, unassuming, imminently present at every moment, observant to every detail, and yet kind to everyone. In 1968 or 1969 in Boston we had a small temple with only one brahmachari—Devananda—and he was having some difficulties. At that time the medicine for anyone who was having trouble was to travel with Prabhupada for a while. Devananda expressed a desire to travel with Prabhupada and Prabhupada asked Satsvarupa, the temple president, if Devananda could travel with him. Satsvarupa said, “Well, Prabhupada, if you give me someone else.” Prabhupada said, “Ohhh, conditional.”
