Nanda Kumar: My first instruction from Prabhupada was a little bit of sauce. The first day that I cooked for him I was very nervous. I served him his lunch and then waited. Prabhupada had a little buzzer that he would ring for his servant to come. After Prabhupada finished eating, he rang the buzzer, and I came in to take his plates to the kitchen, but I forgot to wipe the desk where he had eaten. After a few minutes he rang his buzzer again. I came back in and he said, “You have forgotten to wipe the spot.” I said, “I’m sorry, Prabhupada,” and went to get a cloth. The next day I forgot again. Again he rang his buzzer. I came in and he strongly said, “You have forgotten again!” I took it seriously but lightly. I said, “Oh, I’m sorry Prabhupada, I’ll go do it.” He saw that I wasn’t ready for heavy chastisement. For months and months and months after that he never chastised me for anything else. And I always remembered to wipe the place where he had eaten.
One morning early on, Prabhupada said, “Can you make halava?” I was a cook by nature but hadn’t cooked much before and didn’t have experience with Vedic cooking. I said, “I don’t know the recipe, but I’ll call the temple and find out.” I called the temple but couldn’t find anyone who knew the recipe. I was from a healthy, hippie background, and one of the reasons I didn’t join the temple was because I didn’t want to give up my raw diet. My first donation to the temple was a fifty-pound can of honey because I felt that we shouldn’t be eating sugar. So, I speculated and made halava with honey instead of sugar. It ended up like something you could play baseball with. I put it in the bowl and I took it in with Prabhupada’s breakfast. Prabhupada didn’t touch it. There was one small dent out of the corner where he was able to get his spoon into it a little bit. Prabhupada was very kind and didn’t say anything to me about that halava. Later on, Kartikeya Swami made halava that came out fluffy and light, and Prabhupada ate two or three servings. Prabhupada said, “This is halava. Find out the recipe.” I did. Just for the record it’s 21/2 water, 1 farina, 1 butter, and 11/3 sugar. There’s more water than what the recipe book calls for, but it makes the halava light. Since then I’ve always made halava with that recipe. Never with honey.
Over and over Prabhupada said that the prime prerequisites for a cook or a pujari are cleanliness and punctuality. For example, the original group of devotees that went to India would stay in wealthy people’s homes and then go to engagements in nearby villages. Once some villagers took us to their small, local Krishna temple, which was unkempt. The altar was dirty, and the pujari was wild. His front teeth were missing. During the arati he offered the various items quickly, and after he offered the water he turned around and threw it in our faces. As we were leaving I asked, “Srila Prabhupada, I have a question about this temple.” He said, “Ask me later.” Later, when there was no one else there, he said, “What is your question?” I said, “You have taught us that cleanliness is essential in Deity worship, but that temple was dirty. I was wondering if Krishna is really there.” He said, “Yes, Krishna is there. Our standard is cleanliness. You keep that standard. Don’t judge anyone else by what they do. I saw that pujari. He was different, but his heart was for Krishna, and therefore that’s what we see.” Several times he either said to me or I heard him say, “All the rules and regulations are meant for us to apply to ourselves. We are not to judge anybody else.”
It’s embarrassing to say this, but once Prabhupada told me that I was the king of faultfinders. When I tried to share with the other devotees what Prabhupada had taught me, due to my ego it sounded like I was finding fault with them. And there was some of that there. So one of Prabhupada’s instructions to me was to give up faultfinding, to accept and apply all his instructions and not worry about what anybody else was doing.
One chilly morning in Los Angeles, Prabhupada wore his kurta covered with two chadars he had put together. I was a little late and ran out with only a kurta on. Prabhupada walked in Cheviot Hills Park, and I was a couple of steps behind him feeling cold. Prabhupada turned around and like a brother said, “You’re cold. Here, take one of these,” and pulled apart his chadars. I said, “No, no, Prabhupada. I’m okay.” He said, “No, no, you’re cold. Wear this.” I said, “Prabhupada, these are your chadars.” He said, “No, wear it, you’re cold.” So I took his chadar and wore it for the rest of the walk. Prabhupada was so kind. I felt awe and reverence toward Prabhupada, and Prabhupada accepted that. Lord Chaitanya instructed disciples to have that mood with the guru. That’s how the guru assists the disciple to develop love for Krishna.
Every morning in Los Angeles, I drove Prabhupada to a place where he could take a walk. One morning he would go to Venice Beach, another morning to Cheviot Hills Park, and another to a wealthy part of Beverly Hills. In Beverly Hills there was a house with a large, plate-glass window and a giant German shepherd who would always come biting at the window. One morning, as Prabhupada was passing by with his cane, this dog came charging across the lawn up to the edge of the grass. I thought, “I’m going to be seriously injured or die here in Prabhupada’s service, and that’s okay.” I turned around to face the dog and stay between the dog and Prabhupada. This dog was barking and snarling at me. After a few seconds I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Prabhupada had nonchalantly kept walking. He hadn’t paid any attention to what was going on. I ran to catch up to Prabhupada, and the dog trailed me along the edge of the grass. As I caught up to Prabhupada, Prabhupada turned around, took a wide martial arts stance, lifted his cane over his head and said, “Hut!” The dog’s tail went between its legs, and he immediately turned and ran back to the house. I was amazed and not amazed also. Prabhupada said, “If you take a stick to an animal and give them a ‘Hut!’ you don’t have to hit them. Generally they will get the message and go on.” Years later, we were staying at the palace of the King of Jaipur in India. In Jaipur, there are langurs, big monkeys with long tails, and one day one of them tore the door off the kitchen and ate all the food. Workers fixed the door, and we started keeping a stick in Prabhupada’s room. The next day Prabhupada’s room was filled with Indian guests and devotees, when we heard a rattling sound. Again a monkey was trying to take the kitchen door off. I picked up the stick and went outside remembering the German Shepard in L.A. and what Prabhupada had told me. The monkey was bent over, and I was about ten feet away. When the monkey heard me he turned around. I stood tall and said “Hut!” Well, this monkey looked at me, puffed his chest up, bared his teeth, and started walking towards me. He was almost as tall as me, and his face was so humanlike it was strange. I turned around and ran back into Prabhupada’s room. I came in so quickly that Prabhupada and everyone else knew exactly what had happened. Prabhupada laughed and said, “You do not know the process. The monkey was testing you. If you had gone to him once more and said ‘Hut!’ he would have stopped.” That was my second lesson on animal training from Prabhupada.
One morning Prabhupada was walking along the beach, when a particularly big wave broke and Prabhupada had to jump and dance out of the way of the water. I said, “Srila Prabhupada, even the ocean wants to touch your lotus feet.” He laughed and was very humble. Many times I saw him take the glory that had been given to him and turned it to Krishna. Once, on his birthday in the temple in Los Angeles, he came in from his morning walk, paid his obeisances to the Deities, and sat on the vyasasana. Then one by one, devotees spoke about Prabhupada’s glories, about how Prabhupada had saved their lives and how he was saving the world by delivering Krishna consciousness. Prabhupada listened with his eyes closed. When the last person had spoken and Prabhupada was going to speak, there was a long silence. You could have heard a pin drop. There were some tears in Prabhupada’s eyes, and he was shivering. He had other ecstatic symptoms, but he was not allowing them to fully manifest. Then, when he finally spoke, he said, “I thank all of you so much for your praise and for your love for me. I am the servant of my beloved Guru Maharaj, and all this is happening by his grace. I am trying to do what he asked me to do, and it is his grace that he is allowing this to happen.” Prabhupada stopped speaking, and more tears came. He said, “Actually, all of you are my gurus. My Guru Maharaj has given me this service to do, and I came here with very little. It is because of you that this is going on. So I offer you my respects as my gurus.”
In India, we were challenged by opulent prasadam, which translated into dysentery for most us. For example, our host in Surat, Mr. Bhagubhai Jariwala, an elderly banker gentleman, was adamant about serving us seconds and thirds. We stayed in his home for a couple of weeks, and many of us were sick. Not being trained in the Vedic system from birth, we weren’t quite up to standard. We didn’t keep our little ashram in his house very clean. There were many ways that he could have found fault with us. Occasionally a devotee would rudely call for more prasadam, “Hey, bring me more.” On the last day of our stay, this gentleman gave each devotee an envelope with fifty-one rupees in it, which was a lot for us at that time. No one had ever done that before. Then he spoke. He was in his seventies, a small man with a thin, beautiful body, beautiful clear eyes, and a loving countenance. He said, “I am honored that you have been at my home and I have been able to serve you.” He started sobbing and said, “I really hope that you can forgive me for all the offenses I’ve committed against you.” Prabhupada looked at us, his eyes opened, and he said, “This is an example of a Vaishnava. This is the quality of a Vaishnava.”
Once when Prabhupada was in London, I was on the street outside the temple when an elderly nun walked by. She was of the Carmelite order, which is vegetarian. I said, “Hare Krishna,” and she said, “Hare Krishna” and stopped to talk to me for a minute. I said, “Our spiritual master is here; would you like to meet him?” She said, “I would be honored to.” I brought her in the temple and went in Prabhupada’s room and said, “Prabhupada, I was speaking to a Christian nun, and she’s anxious to meet you.” He said, “Oh, bring her in.” As I came back in with her, I offered my obeisances, and she offered her obeisances, putting her head on the floor. Prabhupada was beaming. For ten minutes they talked in total accord about Christianity and Krishna consciousness. Prabhupada would say something about our philosophy, and she would say, “Yes, Prabhupada, and Jesus said . . .” Prabhupada would say, “Yes, and Krishna said . . .” Then she said, “Prabhupada, I am so grateful to have met you. I appreciate this connection, and I don’t want to take any more of your time. I know you have a lot to do, so may I take my leave?” Prabhupada said, “Yes, thank you very much.” Then he looked at me and said, “Give her this garland.” He had his garland on the desk. The nun offered her obeisances again, and as she was coming up, I gave her the garland. It was beautiful to see the interchange. Many times I saw Prabhupada have interfaith dialogues in that way. He could see a person’s heart and would find a way to see the similarities of the faiths. However, if he saw a person who wasn’t following his or her own faith, sometimes he would be strong with that person. But for someone sincere, Prabhupada would find a way to see similarities rather than differences.
In London, Prabhupada’s room was on the second floor of the Bury Place temple, and just off of his room was the secretary’s office, which was like a long closet. Shyamasundar was Prabhupada’s secretary. Sometimes Prabhupada would let me do some minor secretarial work, and one day I was doing some typing when a head popped in the door and said, “Hello; Shyamasundar there?” in an English accent. I looked over and said, “No, he’s not here now,” and went on typing. Then I did a double-take, because it was George Harrison. I said, “He’s not here, but Prabhupada’s here, and I’m sure he’d like to see you.” George said, “Oh, I don’t want to bother.” I said, “I don’t think it would be a bother.” I went to Prabhupada and said, “George Harrison is here.” Prabhupada said, “Oh, send him in.” I told George, “Prabhupada wants to see you.” George said, “I get so nervous when I go to see Prabhupada. Actually, I just got my hair cut to see him.” He had had long hair and a beard and he cut it short. He went in and closed the door. I stayed outside for a couple of seconds but was too curious. I opened the door, and George was offering his dandavats. He was flat on the floor saying the prayers in Sanskrit. I offered my obeisances. George sat by the door, and Prabhupada’s desk was on the other side of the room. Prabhupada said, “Come closer, come closer.” George humbly inched his way forward. Prabhupada said, “No, no, not there, here” and patted the other side of his desk. George came to his desk, and as soon as he was within reach, Prabhupada grabbed him, pulled him in, and hugged him. Prabhupada put George’s head on his chest and messed up his hair. Prabhupada said, “It is so good to see you. How is your wife, Patty?” George said, “Very good, Prabhupada.” They spoke, and George said, “Prabhupada, I’ve been wondering if I should join the temple, shave my head, and take up full-time practice?” Prabhupada said, “No, no. You have a great gift. You have a place in the world where you can spread Krishna consciousness in a big way. Stay where you are and adapt Krishna consciousness into your music. I will teach you some of the songs.” The next day George came with Ravi Shankar. For a week George came every day, and Ravi Shankar came two or three times. Prabhupada went through Srila Bhaktivinode Thakur’s songbook and gave George some of the essences to use in his music. It was a loving exchange and a beautiful thing to see.
Prabhupada was strong about the purity of the Krishna conscious philosophy, and he was aware of the loopholes in many of the philosophies that were preached by Indian gurus. But with Yogi Bhajan, whom Prabhupada met twice, there was a real brotherhood. The two of them would laugh and tell jokes together. Once they talked about the future. Yogi Bhajan said, “Prabhupada, my vision is that the streets of the major cities of America will be rivers of blood.” Prabhupada said, “Yes, there is a lot coming.” Another time Prabhupada said to Yogi Bhajan, “You Sikhs have always protected us, the Vaishnavas. We are the brahmans, and you are the kshatriyas. You are the ones that came to Vrindavan and saved the temples and the devotees. Similarly when this world becomes more dangerous, our movements will join together.” Srila Prabhupada saw Yogi Bhajan’s spirit and accepted him, although he was of another faith.
There was a time when Prabhupada was having some physical challenges. I had come from a health-food background, and there was a doctor in India that also said, “Prabhupada should eat raw food.” I thought, “Yes, yes, this is good. I can do that. I can make raw-food preparations.” I told Prabhupada, “This person has suggested eating a very light diet without ghee.” Prabhupada said, “I will do this.” I thought, “This is going to be really good. Prabhupada’s health will become strong.” I prepared one meal like that, and Prabhupada said, “This is very good.” The next morning—his morning prasad was almost always simple things like fruits and milk—I said, “What would you like for lunch?” Prabhupada said, “Dahl, rice, chapatis, halava.” I asked him about the raw diet. He said, “Since I was a child, I have always loved prasadam, and I’m not going to give it up now. I will eat prasadam, and Krishna will protect me.” Along those lines, there was a time when I was feeling physically challenged. Ghee and sugar and some of the general fare seemed too heavy for me and would make me sleep or get sick. When I ate light foods, I would be healthy. Devotees told me, “That’s maya. If you take prasadam, Krishna will bless you. Whatever you get is just a tiny fragment of your karma. Devotees eat prasadam and don’t worry about health food.” That was philosophically sound, but practically speaking if I ate a light diet I served better and had a clearer mind. I asked, “Srila Prabhupada, I understand the principle of accepting Krishna’s mercy by taking prasadam, but when I eat light it’s easier, when I eat heavy it’s difficult. What should I do?” I was ready to do whatever he told me. He said, “If you’re Rupa Goswami you should just take prasadam. But if you are a neophyte, which all of you are, you have to decide what is good for your devotional service and what is not good for your devotional service.” Then I asked him, “If I’m feeling sick and I need to eat something other than what’s offered to the Deities, how do I offer it? How do I feel like I’m taking prasadam?” He said, “If you need to prepare something simpler than what’s being prepared for the Deities, you prepare it at the same time the Deity offering is being prepared and set it aside. It doesn’t go on the altar but it’s set aside, and after the offering is over it’s also offered. But you can’t make preparations more opulent than Krishna’s offering. If you have to take simple foods, you can do it that way. But don’t make opulent dishes without offering them.”
Once we were in the Bombay suburbs during the initial time in India when there was the original group of devotees. It was very sweet. We would all go in Prabhupada’s room every morning and evening for an open yet confidential dialogue. The mood was nice. One afternoon, I made fresh panir without pressing it, put a little honey and cinnamon on top, and offered it to Srila Prabhupada with his food offering at four o’clock. Prabhupada ate about half the bowl. He didn’t comment, but I saw that he had eaten quite a bit so I thought, “I found something that Prabhupada likes.” The next day I made it again, but when I came to get his tray there was one bite gone. I thought, “Maybe he’s not in the mood for it today.” The third day I made it again, and he didn’t touch it. He said, “The panir was very nice, very tasty. As brahmacharis, we can eat panir only once a week. Otherwise, sex desire,” and he moved his hand. That was the panir instruction.
Kartikeya’s mother had cancer and was passing away, so Kartikeya went to be with her. Kartikeya’s mother was not favorable to Krishna consciousness, but as she was taking her last breath, she looked up at Kartikeya and said, “Is your Krishna here now?” and then she died. When Prabhupada heard this, he was grateful and loving with Kartikeya. Prabhupada said, “Your devotion has saved your mother. Your mother has gone back to Godhead because of you.”
By the blessings of guru and Krishna, once I got a taste of transcendental energy. We were having a program in a village near Bombay, and in a worshipful mood many of the older village women were offering flowers to the altar I had set up. Kirtan was going on, and Prabhupada was sitting on the vyasasana while I offered the arati. I really felt I was serving Krishna. I could feel love in the offering, and this one time Prabhupada had the arati go on for almost an hour. As I offered the different items to the Lord, I felt a connection with Radha and Krishna. As I fanned Them, I got chills in my body. It was ecstatic. It was a gift. As I turned around to fan Prabhupada, I saw that he was watching me and broadly smiling. I was still feeling ecstatic after the arati, and when I offered Prabhupada the maha flowers and sprinkled the offered water on his head, he looked at me and said, “Thank you so much.” I melted. I hit the floor and started crying. It was a wonderful gift of, “This is what it’s like to serve Krishna. Now work for it.”
We did pandal programs in India, and inevitably someone would come in a sahajiya mood, start chanting and dancing with us, and exhibit symptoms of ecstasy like crying or falling on the ground. Once, an elderly, thin man with a shaved head started dancing and doing his brand of ecstasy. Prabhupada leaned over and told one of the devotees, “Go throw a bucket of water on him.” Prabhupada saw that his “ecstasy” was just a show, and he encouraged us not to put on a show about devotional service. When I first joined the temple in Los Angeles there was a tall brahmachari who would cry in ecstasy every time we’d have a kirtan. After the kirtan he would be on the floor weeping and crying for Krishna. I thought, “I guess that’s what we’re supposed to do,” and I would try to do that, but one day Prabhupada commented on it. Prabhupada was very kind. He didn’t bring it up directly to the brahmachari, but he said, “Please don’t imitate the symptoms of advanced devotees. Just remain humble.” I got it, but that brahmachari left.
When I first moved into the temple, I ate whatever prasad was served. Then I became Prabhupada’s cook, so I had a kitchen, and I could prepare what I wanted. I had come from a Southern California raw-food background, and I started eating salads and fruits and simple food but I wanted to make sure that I was not going against what Prabhupada wanted. One day I decided to ask him about a raw diet as opposed to taking prasadam. He said, “Actually, a raw diet is the best diet for Krishna consciousness. It’s simple. It keeps your body healthy and clear. We don’t tell the masses about it, because most people can’t follow it, and we don’t want them to get distracted from Krishna. But if you can do it, it’s the best diet for your Krishna consciousness.” Also, one of the things that I had to give up when I moved in the temple was hatha-yoga. Everybody told me that hatha-yoga is included in bhakti-yoga and I didn’t need to do hatha-yoga; I only needed to dance in kirtan. I was stubborn about that for a while, but when I moved in the temple, there was no time for it and no place to do it. Then when I got to be with Prabhupada, I started doing it again. In the midmorning, before cooking for him, I went in the backyard and did some yoga-asanas, but I wanted to make sure it was okay. After I’d been doing it for two or three days I had full intent to ask Prabhupada about it that day but when I brought his lunch plate in, he said, “I see you’re doing yoga exercises in the yard.” I said, “Yes sir. I was going to ask you about that. The devotees told me that that’s not bona fide, it’s not our process.” “Actually,” Prabhupada said, “these exercises are very good for your health. We don’t want anyone to become distracted, so we don’t teach it. But for you, it’s very good and I encourage you to do it.” A short time later, we were taking a walk in a park in San Diego when someone was doing a headstand off in the distance. Prabhupada looked over and said, “Oh, this is Sirshasana. That’s very good for the health. There are so many of these exercises; Sirshasana, Yogasana, Padmasana, that are very good for the health.” With a bit of sarcasm towards yoga, an elder God-brother said, “So, we should do this everyday, Prabhupada?” Prabhupada didn’t answer him but just kept walking. When he finally got back to the car, Prabhupada turned around and said, “It’s not necessary.” I remembered what Prabhupada had told me and I realized that Prabhupada was answering the mood of the question. The real idea is that whatever is good for your Krishna consciousness, do it. Whatever is not good, stop it.
Once I gave Prabhupada something with fresh boysenberries. He said, “Oh, this is very good. What is this?” I said, “That’s called boysenberries. It’s a cross between a couple of different kinds of berries by a man named Boysen.” Prabhupada said, “It is very good. Poison berry?” I said, “No, sir, boysenberry.” He laughed. He was joking. So I told the devotees that story. It was one of Prabhupada’s lighthearted joking moods. Sometime later, boysenberries were in the kitchen, and one of the matajis said, “You can’t offer those, they’re poisonous. Prabhupada said they’re poisonous.” I told Prabhupada, “You joked with me about boysenberries and poison berries, and now the story is out that boysenberries are poisonous.” He laughed and said, “Everyone is saying, ‘Prabhupada has said this, and Prabhupada has said that,’ but I’ve never said. Believe what you read in my books and what you hear me speak, and take everything else with a grain of salt.” Another example of that was in Bombay. The devotees were at one end of the building, and Prabhupada’s room was at the other end, and once I was carrying Prabhupada’s plate through the prasadam room when I heard someone say, “In New York Prabhupada told us that you could only serve seven chickpeas.” Somebody else said, “No, no, it’s eleven. I heard it in Los Angeles.” Somebody else said, “No, it’s twenty-one. Prabhupada told us that.” I went into Prabhupada’s room and gave him his plate and said, “Srila Prabhupada, there’s a controversy about how many chickpeas we can eat. Some say seven, some say eleven, some say twenty-one.” He gave the same answer. He said, “Everyone is quoting this and that and this and that. Believe what you hear from me directly and what you hear in my books. And as far as chickpeas are concerned, eat as many as you can digest.” Prabhupada took Ayurvedic medicine. Once he said, “The three things that keep me healthy are my morning walk, my massage, and the Ayurvedic medicines.” Every other morning he would take medicine made of freshly ground black cardamom seeds and a little pill of Yogendra Rasa, which was a heart medicine made of pearls and coral and other things. I would mix those two together and then add a quarter teaspoon of honey and mix that in with water. I ground and mixed the medicine with a pestle in a boat-shaped mortar, and Prabhupada drank it out of that. One morning I had extra honey on the teaspoon, so I put it in the medicine. I thought, “It’ll be sweeter and maybe Prabhupada will like it.” He drank it, and about five minutes later he rang his bell. I came in, and he said, “How much honey did you put in the medicine?” I said, “I had a little extra on the spoon, about a half teaspoon.” He said, “Keep it at a quarter. I’m intoxicated.”
Prabhupada talked about people in our movement who weren’t devotees but who had ulterior motives. On two occasions Prabhupada pointed out to me that one person in particular was of that mindset. This person was charismatic and powerful. He held a high position. When Prabhupada was ill, Prabhupada said, “All my disciples are praying for me to get well except for this person. This person is praying for my death so he can take over.” Once I was traveling with Prabhupada when Prabhupada heard that there had been a rezoning of the GBC and that different people had taken different positions. Prabhupada became furious. He said, “This is total nonsense.” He pointed out this person and said, “This person has spearheaded this because he wants to take over the world. Send a telegram to every center telling them that the GBC is temporarily disbanded. The temple president is the only authority until further notice. You don’t need to send anything to New Vrindavan.” At that time he trusted Kirtanananda Swami. He also said, “Call Karandhar and find out what the truth is.” Prabhupada had implicit faith in Karandhar. He saw in Karandhar someone who was totally trustworthy in management and in his ability to be Krishna conscious around politics. I was in Vrindavan serving as Prabhupada’s guard two weeks before Prabhupada passed away. The situation was very intense, very heavy. Prabhupada’s body was frail. Baradraj was singing beautifully as he always did. Prabhupada absolutely loved Baradraj and his singing. When Prabhupada heard Baradraj and Yamuna devi sing, he would go into trance. He would just listen. When the Govindam album was a record, sometimes Prabhupada would call me and ask me to play it. He would sit and listen to Yamuna devi singing Govindam, and he would say, “Oh, this is so beautiful. She is such a devotional person,” and he would say the same about Baradraj. So, one day in Vrindavan, Baradraj was singing for Prabhupada, and it was a somber mood. Devotees were sitting on the floor in Prabhupada’s room, except for this person who was sitting on a chair. Baradraj was emotional and his voice broke on a note. This person, who was a singer and a musician himself, elbowed Baradraj and laughed. He made fun of the mistake. I realized that I have a situation here. I have to decide what to do. I’m Prabhupada’s guard, and Prabhupada has told me that this person prays for his death. I see this person in that mood. What do I do? My alternatives were to either kill this person or to go to the senior God-brothers and share what I knew. Of course, the first one was out. I thought about the second one and realized that I wouldn’t be heard. This person wields power that I don’t have. The third alternative was to leave because I couldn’t be there and see that. So I left. At that time, Kirtanananda was sincerely spearheading a group of devotees who were begging Prabhupada to stay. Kirtanananda was crying, “Please Prabhupada, we can’t carry on without you. We’re not advanced enough, we need you here.” Prabhupada yawned and said, “All right, I’ll stay.” Because Prabhupada said that, I thought he was going to stay. I didn’t want to stir up trouble at this special time, and I couldn’t watch it. So I left Vrindavan and left India, and two weeks later Prabhupada passed away.
