Bhajahari: The first time I ever spoke to His Divine Grace was on a morning walk. At that time it was the American devotees who were interacting with Prabhupada. The Welsh and English devotees were younger and felt somewhat intimidated and nervous. I was afraid to speak. I thought only Americans could speak to him, and I also thought, “Well, what’s there to say?” He’s speaking, and I’m listening. But one particular morning I felt inclined to ask my first question. Prabhupada had walked past some young hippies sleeping on the benches in St. James Park and had commented, “By good fortune all these people can come to Krishna consciousness.” As he carried on walking, the words “good fortune” kept going around in my mind. “Does this mean that there is some kind of luck involved, that somebody gets Krishna consciousness and somebody else doesn’t by some throw of the dice?” In my neophyte state I was trying to understand, “What did Prabhupada mean by good fortune?” So, after a few hundred yards I plucked up enough courage to nervously ask, “Srila Prabhupada, can you please explain what you mean by “good fortune,” because I understand from reading your literature and hearing you speak that nothing happens by chance.” He continued to walk for a bit and then all of a sudden stopped dead in his tracks. He frightened me, because he turned straight to me as we were twelve inches apart, pointed his cane at me, and said, “We are their good fortune.” I meditated on that for years and years and years. In his humility, Prabhupada never said, “I am their good fortune,” but, “We are their good fortune.” Gradually I began to understand the importance of spreading Krishna consciousness.
Prabhupada talked about ugra-karma and how people had difficult lives, how they worked hard with no result. Revatinandana Swami began to speak about how he used to work in a hellish canning factory in California before he became a devotee. I felt shy and nervous, but I began to talk about how, when I was twenty, I worked in a steel factory for a month. I described it in some detail, the huge hydraulic press and all of our activities. Prabhupada listened carefully. I said, “Well, Prabhupada, they invited me to make extra money by working the night shift. I thought they had asked me because I was a good worker, but actually nobody else wanted to do it. After one or two weeks of night shift, I nearly had a nervous breakdown from the strain.” Prabhupada said, “Actually that’s because in your last life you were all brahmans. Otherwise how could you come to the platform of Krishna consciousness so quickly?” He thought for a moment, leaning back on his cushions in a relaxed mood with his hand behind his head, and then said, “Actually my Guru Maharaj has ordered all of you to take birth to help me spread this mission.” There were about ten of us in the room, and everyone was very attentive at that point. Prabhupada looked at each person and finished on me. He said, “Now we are all together again,” and beamed. Everybody went “Jaya, Prabhupada.” Some devotees began to cry.
I organized the Janmastami festival, and for the first time arranged to make some extra prasadam, like pizza and chips. People who didn’t want to take the free rice, chapati, and subji would pay for this special prasadam. Later on I was in Prabhupada’s room, and Prabhupada said, “Are there any questions?” One Indian gentleman, who came regularly but complained often, began to criticize, “Why are you selling prasadam? Prasadam is prasadam. It should be given away.” My heart started pounding. I panicked. Prabhupada looked around and then said to him, “If we don’t charge you then you will never give anything.” I felt completely vindicated. It is okay to sell prasadam. The gentleman was quiet after that.
There were two important instructions I absorbed from the morning walks. One was in 1974, in relation to book distribution. At that time we were collecting money by distributing records. Prabhupada made it very clear that it was okay to use paraphernalia to collect funds, but a book must be given also. He was not in favor of just collecting. He said, “I am not a beggar. I never begged anything. Whenever I took a donation, I gave some literature.” That was very strong. Another morning while we walked through the village and around the fields, we talked about cleanliness. Prabhupada said that if you are not clean, rats and mice will come. One devotee piped up, saying that in the Edinburgh temple the devotees had exterminated the rats and mice. Prabhupada turned on him strongly and said, “You should be killed.” Prabhupada was angry that they exterminated vermin. His idea was that the temple should be so spotless that there was nothing for them to eat. That would keep them away.
The next time Prabhupada visited, many devotees were going to the airport to meet him. I decided to stay at the temple to make sure that everything was nice for his arrival and to make a fruit offering for him. When Prabhupada arrived, he and all the devotees greeted the Deities and then went to his room. I came in quickly with a nice silver plate covered with different fruits. I offered the prasadam, the bhoga at that time, and paid my obeisances. As I was on the floor, Malati piped up, “Srila Prabhupada, Bhajahari has taken a wife since you were here last.” I had been struggling for two years to remain a brahmachari, and I felt I had fallen down by getting married. I thought that getting married was a step backwards in spiritual life. So I was thinking, “Oh, give me a break, Malati.” But she had said it with so much enthusiasm and joy that everyone said, “Jaya!” As I looked up, embarrassed, Srila Prabhupada was looking at me and smiling. He said, “That’s all right; one wife, that is brahmachari life.” Prabhupada was always encouraging.
One time in 1973 or ’74 Prabhupada was not well but still wanted to visit Radha-London Ishvara. I drove Prabhupada from the Manor to Bury Place, where many devotees were waiting for him. After greeting the Deities, Prabhupada sat on his vyasasana while Yogeshvara tried to sing a song about Radharani, “Radhe jaya jaya madhava dayite.” He got that far, and it was obvious that he didn’t know any more words. Prabhupada took over and began to sing, “Radhe jaya jaya madhava dayite,” and we all tried to follow, but we didn’t know it very well. Then Prabhupada chanted Hare Krishna. Afterwards he rose from the vyasasana to leave the temple, and the devotees cleared a path for him while I ducked out through the door first to put his slippers on. As I got out the small door, Prabhupada came into the door and playfully stood in the doorway. All the devotees were behind him chanting, dancing, and leaping in ecstasy in a blissful kirtan. Yogeshvara shouted, “Srila Prabhupada, you are Radharani’s mercy personified.” The devotees went “Jaya!” At that moment I was putting Srila Prabhupada’s slippers on, and I looked up to see his reaction. As I looked up, Prabhupada looked down at me and said, “Radharani’s mercy contaminated.” I was the only one who heard that. I have spent the last twenty years meditating on Prabhupada’s humility in saying that. But I also wonder if he was talking about me, since I was touching his feet and now, “I am Radharani’s mercy contaminated.” There are different ways to look at everything.
Another time, before I was asked to be in charge of the Manor, I was trying to organize Bury Place. At that time Shyamasundar was having spiritual difficulties, at least from the external point of view. He wasn’t coming to mangal arati or chanting his rounds. He was out in the evenings. The devotees were struggling to maintain themselves, because there wasn’t much money, but Shyamasundar rented a car. There was some agitation about his behavior. Devotees were talking, but nobody would directly bring it to Srila Prabhupada’s attention. Revatinandana Swami, a senior devotee, wanted to complain to Prabhupada about Shyamasundar, and he approached me saying, “You come with me to tell Prabhupada,” because I agreed that Prabhupada should at least know what was going on. We went in, paid our obeisances, and within a minute or two Srila Prabhupada had understood our purpose. He looked at me in disgust. He was not happy that I had come to him to complain. He said, “You should not criticize senior Vaishnavas.” Then, without talking to me anymore, he looked at Revatinandana Swami and said, “You tell him to leave,” he didn’t even want to tell me to leave himself. I practically crawled out on my stomach. I had gone there to complain about the GBC and Shyamasundar and his inappropriate behavior. I didn’t know anything about Prabhupada’s relationship with Shyamasundar. By complaining about one of Prabhupada’s dear disciples I was being impertinent.
Prabhupada was always trying to give Krishna to others, whether it was in the form of a sweet, some dialogue, his books, the Deities, or his disciples’ association. He was always trying to create a situation where people would advance in Krishna consciousness. Even if people thought they were happy, he could see beyond that and was constantly aware of their suffering. He understood everything. He knew the only business in life was to give Krishna consciousness to others, and I like to think that he instilled a little of that in me. On that morning walk he said, “We are their good fortune,” in other words, you and I can also give Krishna consciousness to people. After all, Prabhupada didn’t say, “I am their good fortune. I have come from India to give this knowledge.” No, “We are their good fortune.” That is also Prabhupada’s humility and compassion. His was the greatest compassion.
