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.

Prabhupāda was displeased to see how slowly the construction was progressing at Hare Krishna Land in Bombay. The monsoons had flooded the foundation, and what little work had been done appeared to be of poor quality. The whole project should have been finished in six months, Prabhupāda said, but he startled the devotees by saying, “At least complete it within my lifetime.”

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.

1. Grant immigration for 500 foreigners.

2. All M.P.’s initiated brahmanas.

3. Sanjaya the King.

4. Close slaughterhouses.

5. Chanting.

6. Meat-eaters – at home. No public meat eating.

7. Prostitution punishable.

8. No religious group except Bhagavad Gita as it is.

9. All government officers must join kirtan at least twice a day.

10. Support Krishna consciousness all over the world.

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.

A few days later, while still in New Delhi, Śrīla Prabhupāda received a letter from Rāmeśvara. The BBT in Los Angeles was miraculously fulfilling Śrīla Prabhupāda’s order to publish seventeen volumes in two months. The composers, editors, artists, and workers had ecstatically finished their marathon – on schedule! When the first books had come back from the printers and had been offered on the altar of Rukmiṇī-Dvārakādhīśa, the devotees had cried in transcendental bliss, chanting again and again the mantras to Śrīla Prabhupāda. They were feeling the potency of the order of their spiritual master and seeing themselves as instruments in carrying out what had once seemed an impossible request.

Today our composer finished the last volumes of Caitanya-caritamrta. By Wednesday next week, August 20th, all volumes will be at the printer. Now they are just starting to compose the Fifth Canto, and the entire canto will definitely be at the printer by Vyasa-puja day.

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,

We have lost all desire to do anything except be engaged in producing and distributing your transcendental books by the millions in every town and village.

Śrīla Prabhupāda wrote back the next day from Delhi.

Regarding your desire for all twelve Cantos, you will get it, rest assured. Your so much ardent desire will be fulfilled by Krishna.

On August 21 Rāmeśvara sent Śrīla Prabhupāda a telegram.

BY THE MERCY OF LORD BALARAMA, NITYANANDA, THE LAST VOLUME OF CAITANYA-CARITAMRTA IS LEAVING TODAY FOR THE PRINTER. BY YOUR MERCY AND DIVINE ORDER IT IS DONE.

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,”

You have taken seriously the publishing and also the distribution of these books, and that is the success of our mission. You have taken seriously this work and I know that my Guru Maharaja is pleased with you because he wanted this. So by this endeavor you will all go back home, back to Godhead.

Although Śrīla Prabhupāda had mentioned that he would like to sit in Vṛndāvana and simply translate Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, his stay there was characterized by intensive management, not by writing. He had presided over the grand opening of the Krishna-Balaram Mandir four months earlier, and now he would demonstrate how the temple should be run. The Krishna-Balaram Mandir was a Vedic temple complex at a famous holy place, and it was being scrutinized by persons already strongly opinionated on how a temple should be run.

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.

Prabhupāda’s morning walks were usually filled with managerial and administrative talks, as he pointed out how the devotees could prevent being cheated, how they could save and collect money, how they could keep the temple clean, and so on. These talks were directed at specific individuals and were usually marked by criticism. Morning walks, therefore, were sometimes tense.

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.

Śrīla Prabhupāda had explained in his letters and books that one duty of a spiritual master is to expose the faults in his disciples – even if the fault is only slight. And the qualified disciple considers himself bereft of spiritual knowledge, always a fool before his spiritual master. He therefore considers the spiritual master’s criticisms as mercy.

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.

Another time Akṣayānanda Swami asked, “Is it true that it says in the śāstra that if you pass stool once a day you are a yogī, twice a day you are a bhogī [sense enjoyer], and three times a day you are a rogī [diseased person]?”

“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?”