Tranakarta: Prabhupada came to Chicago on the third of July, 1974. Sri Govinda, the temple president, said to me, “Tranakarta, Srila Prabhupada is writing letters in his room. Stand outside the door and don’t let anybody in. He probably won’t come out, so don’t worry.” “Okay.” Srila Prabhupada’s quarters were the many different rooms of the whole brahmachari ashram. I stood by Prabhupada’s door and a minute after Sri Govinda left, Prabhupada opened the door and walked out. I paid my obeisances and Prabhupada walked into the back bathroom. When he came back, I was still on my knees. In one swift motion, Srila Prabhupada walked past me, put his hand on my head, said “Hare Krishna,” and walked into his room. When Srila Prabhupada put his hand on my head, it was like a lightning bolt had hit me. I was completely surcharged with ecstasy and I was experiencing various emotions. I wanted to start chanting and dancing. A couple of minutes later Sri Govinda came to check on me. He looked at me and said, “Tranakarta, you’re glowing!” I tried to say, “Prabhupada . . .” and he said, “No, you’re glowing!” I said, “Prabhupada just touched my head!” Prabhupada’s touch on my head gave me unlimited mercy. It made me ecstatic.
Prabhupada was walking on the beautiful college grounds of Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. There were about thirty of us with him, including fifteen sannyasis. Prabhupada walked under a beautiful tree that had little white flowers covering its hanging branches. Prabhupada stopped, looked at the flowers, picked one, put it behind his ear, and continued to walk. He took two or three steps, stopped, looked at all of us and glanced up. We blissfully picked those white flowers and put them behind our ears. It was like a picture out of the ’60s. On the way back Prabhupada wanted to sit down so we made a seat for him by putting our chadars on the sand. Prabhupada sat and talked about how the material scientists dig up bones. Prabhupada said, “They dig up bones,” and he dug in the sand with his hands. He said, “They’re digging, digging, digging, just like dogs. They dig up bones and think they have conclusive evidence about how life began.” He blasted the scientists. That was an ecstatic walk.
I was standing next to Srila Prabhupada when a man came up on his bicycle, looked at the sannyasis and said to Prabhupada, “How come these guys carry sticks?” Prabhupada said, “What did he say?” Tamal said, “He wants to know why we’re carrying these sticks, Prabhupada.” Prabhupada said, “Tell him we carry them to chase away dogs,” and everybody laughed. We invited that man to the temple, but he was bewildered and I’m not sure if he came.
On a morning walk in Chicago, an ordinary man was in awe looking at Prabhupada and he said, “What do you think about the coming of Christ?” Prabhupada said, “Your messiah has already come.” We all said, “Jaya, Prabhupada!”
Prabhupada was so kind and merciful that just his glance took away my anxiety. Prabhupada first came to Chicago in 1974 and then returned in 1976. While he was away, I learned to play the mridanga from tapes. I got pretty good and when he came again I wanted to play in the kirtan for his pleasure. But when I grabbed my mridanga, the big devotees who were leading the kirtan said, “No, no, no, you can’t play.” I was hurt. I made my way back to the vyasasana because I was the kshatriya of the temple and I was supposed to be close to Prabhupada. When I got up to the vyasasana, Srila Prabhupada was looking at me and he gave me a big smile. He knew. He gave me his mercy and took away all my bad feelings.
On September 13, 1976 I arrived in India for the first time. A devotee said, “Prabhupada’s in Vrindavan now.” I said, “Really?” I hadn’t known that. So from Delhi, where I’d arrived, I went to Vrindavan and that night I led sandhya arati. The next morning I was chanting japa after mangal arati when Hansadutta Maharaj said, “Tranakarta, Srila Prabhupada wants to see you in his room.” I said, “You’re joking, right?” He said, “No, Prabhupada wants to see you. Let’s go.” “Okay.” I nervously went into Srila Prabhupada’s room, paid my obeisances and when I was still on my knees, Prabhupada, who was standing by the door, looked at me and said, “You play the mridanga very nicely. Where did you learn?” I said, “From tapes, Srila Prabhupada, and from playing in kirtans. But it’s all your mercy.” He said, “Jaya,” and then he said something that touched me. He said, “I remember you from America.” I said, “Jaya, Prabhupada.” Prabhupada said, “Can you play?” I said, “Yes, Prabhupada.” Prabhupada started playing his harmonium and singing to Krishna and I played the mridanga for Prabhupada, or rather, the drum just played itself. Harikesh recorded some of it. To say the least it was an amazing and very transcendental atmosphere. I was awed watching Prabhupada.
Pundarika Prabhu’s father was the managing editor of Playboy magazine. His mother was a big writer and they came to see Srila Prabhupada in Chicago in 1975. His mother was respectful to the devotees and wrote favorable articles, but his father wasn’t so convinced. When Prabhupada talked about meateating, the father started to debate with Prabhupada a little aggressively. Because the father was so puffed up, Prabhupada finally stopped speaking and said, “Then why don’t you eat your own son?” Pundarika was sitting in the room. Whoa— there was complete silence. Prabhupada had made his point.
Once in Vrindavan we were circumambulating Krishna-Balaram with Srila Prabhupada. When we came around the side, Prabhupada stopped. His eyes got big and he looked right in my eyes and said, “Simply by circumambulating Krishna and Balaram in this way, no more traversing up and down in the material universe.” Then he kept walking and chanting, “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna…” Jaya, Prabhupada. Thank you, Prabhupada.
Srila Prabhupada cared about and loved the devotees. Like a concerned father, every morning he would come out of his room, come up to me and say, “How are you this morning?” and he meant it. And there wasn’t anything that got by Srila Prabhupada. One day we were chanting japa with Prabhupada while we circumambulated the Krishna-Balaram Temple, and when we came to the iron gate in the front, Prabhupada asked, “Why is the lock unlocked?” From where we were, you couldn’t see that the lock was unlocked and we looked at each other thinking, “You can’t tell the lock’s unlocked.” One devotee ran over and, sure enough, it wasn’t locked. Another morning Prabhupada said, “Why didn’t the chokidar ring the bell at two o’clock this morning?” The chokidar was supposed to ring the bell every hour on the hour throughout the day and night. The next day Prabhupada asked, “Why didn’t the chokidar ring the bell at three o’clock?” Srila Prabhupada knew everything in Krishna’s service, including the minute things that we were oblivious to.
I would love to play the mridanga when Prabhupada sang Jaya Radha-Madhava, and since I followed him nicely, Prabhupada liked my playing. The mercy I got from him will last forever and is what keeps me going right now. One morning I had the drum on my lap and Prabhupada was getting ready to sing when Hansadutta Maharaj said, “Let me have the drum, I want to play today.” I said, “Sure Maharaj”, and gave him the drum. Prabhupada chanted one line, “Jaya Radha-Madhava,” and then opened his eyes and motioned twice with his finger, “Give Tranakarta the drum.” I grabbed the drum. Through my whole stay in India, Prabhupada showered unlimited mridanga mercy on me. If we went to a village or to do a program in somebody’s house, after Prabhupada spoke he would look at me and say, “Play the mridanga, we will sing now.”
Once Jagadish, a few other devotees and I were in Prabhupada’s room when Prabhupada was speaking in Hindi with some big political guests. It was ecstasy seeing Prabhupada’s exchanges with these people but we couldn’t understand anything. When it was time for them to leave, Prabhupada graciously walked them to the door and in English one of the guests said something to Jagadish. Jagadish replied, “Accha,” in the same way that all the devotees say, “Accha.” Prabhupada said, “Just see, he’s speaking Hindi!” Everybody in the room busted up with laughter.
Prabhupada cared about and loved the devotees. It was October or November and we were sitting on the marble floor of the Krishna-Balaram mandir. One morning Prabhupada asked, “Are you cold?” “Yes Prabhupada.” That day Prabhupada sent another devotee and me to Agra to buy big madras carpets to cover the floor so the devotees could stay warm. Besides being the savior of the whole world, Prabhupada, like a loving father, was concerned about the health of all the devotees.
Hari Sauri Prabhu, Srila Prabhupada’s servant, was kind to me and would give me little things to do for Srila Prabhupada. Once he said, “Trana, I’m going on the roof for a few minutes to hang up Prabhupada’s clothes. Prabhupada is with some important guests and we just served them prasadam. Prabhupada probably won’t ring the bell but, if he does, please go in and see what he wants.” “Okay.” As soon as Hari Sauri left, ding, ding, ding, ding—the bell rang and I went running in. “Yes, Srila Prabhupada?” Prabhupada said, “More puris for the guests.” “Yes, Srila Prabhupada.” I ran to the kitchen, “Srila Prabhupada needs more puris for the guests.” “Oh, we’re out of flour, we can’t make any more.” “What? I can’t go back and tell Prabhupada there’s no puris.” “Well, Prabhu, we don’t have any more puris.” I’m such a fool that instead of making them myself, I went back to the room. Up to this point, Prabhupada had never chastised me but when I said, “Srila Prabhupada, there’s no more puris,” he was furious. “What do you mean there are no more puris? There must always be prasadam!” he yelled. But it was mercy. I felt bad, but it was mercy.
Prabhupada could reveal something to you that other people could not see. A few of my God-brothers and I have had that experience. Once, on a drizzly Delhi morning we walked in a park with Srila Prabhupada. Prabhupada wasn’t speaking but intensely chanting, “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,” and we chanted too. Suddenly Prabhupada walked off the path onto the wet grass, and we wondered, “Where’s Prabhupada going?” He went to a little hill with a big bush tree on each side of it and another one behind it, which made a little cave. We ran ahead and laid our chadars on the ground. Prabhupada walked in and sat down, still chanting, “Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna.” Suddenly, to my eyes, Srila Prabhupada emanated an incredible molten gold effulgence that so lit up the area that I could not make out his features. I was awestruck. Why did I see that? It was causeless mercy. Maybe I got a little glimpse of Krishna coming to sit next to Prabhupada to tell him exactly what to say. I have no idea, but it was beautiful. Then, after a minute that seemed like forever, Prabhupada came back. He looked in the distance and saw two men walking some three hundred yards away. Prabhupada said, “I know those two men. Before I came to America I used to buy paper from them for my Back to Godhead magazine.” “Wow, Prabhupada!” Two devotees invited those men to speak with Prabhupada and when they came they paid their obeisances and were ecstatic to see him.
Prabhupada loved to sit on the rooftop of the 55th Street temple in New York. Before he arrived at that temple, the devotees had cleaned the whole building and made it spotless except for one little utility storage shack on the roof. Thinking that Prabhupada would not look there, the devotees threw stuff in it and locked it. As he usually did, Prabhupada toured the whole building and eventually went to that shack on the rooftop. I can see the faces of the devotees, “No!” Prabhupada said, “What is in here?” “Oh, it’s just storage, Prabhupada.” “Open it.” I opened it and it was full of junk. Prabhupada didn’t say anything. He just made a face.” Prabhupada knew every little aspect of everything that had to do with devotional service to the Lord. He knew things that we were completely oblivious to.
Pishima, Prabhupada’s sister, loved Prabhupada. One day I was sitting on the large terrace outside of Prabhupada’s room in Calcutta when she came with that little bottle of Ganga water that she always carried under her sari. She reached under her sari, poured some water from the bottle onto her hand and, laughing and ecstatic, threw it—poof—right in my face, saying, “Ganga jal!” That’s how I remember Srila Prabhupada’s sister and I enjoyed seeing her. She looked like Prabhupada. You could tell they were brother and sister, and you could tell Prabhupada really loved her, too. Once when Prabhupada was speaking with some guests, she came in the room talking in Bengali and Prabhupada said, “Old woman, sit down!” She obediently sat down and didn’t say a word.
We were walking in New York City’s Central Park when a big, dried up, dead branch fell from a tree. Motioning with his cane, Prabhupada said, “This is our modern society, dead. Why are they dead? Because they are disconnected from Krishna.” I always remember that.
Once in Prabhupada’s room, Sri Govinda’s son Sudarshan, who was 2 or 3, touched his crayon to a picture of Srila Bhaktisiddhanta. Prabhupada said, “Don’t do that to my guru maharaj!” Sri Govinda’s wife took Sudarshan out of the room and Sri Govinda felt bad that his son had done that. Prabhupada said, “When a young child is a rascal it means he will be a great soul when he grows up.” Prabhupada took away Sri Govinda’s anxiety.
Prabhupada woke us up to how fragile this material world is and how we are deeply rooted in it. He wanted us to get out of here by chanting Hare Krishna. When someone asked Prabhupada, “How can we please you the most?”, sometimes he would say, “Learn Bhagavad-gita.” But most of the time he would say, “Chant Hare Krishna and be happy. Become Krishna conscious.” That’s what he wanted. We don’t have to work like an ass to make a few bucks, Krishna will provide. We need to chant Hare Krishna, always remember Krishna, and do everything for Krishna. Krishna, Krishna, Krishna. That was Prabhupada’s mercy on us. This personality, His Divine Grace, gave us Krishna, gave us His holy names, and gave us Lord Chaitanya’s movement. Wow! Jaya, Srila Prabhupada.
