DURING THE LONG flight, Śrīla Prabhupāda remained solemn. His servants were helpless to alleviate the difficult situation, as they might have in Vṛndāvana, and cigarette smoke, loud talk, and drunken laughter surrounded them. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, despite his concern, did not know what to do for Śrīla Prabhupāda or what to ask him. Śrīla Prabhupāda had often expressed a dislike for conversations with questions like “How are you feeling?”

Prabhupāda’s servants knew that they could not fully understand their spiritual master’s thinking, and the scriptures also warned that one should not attempt to understand the mind of the Vaiṣṇava. But they knew their service was to relieve him – by arranging for quiet, by assisting him in bathing and dressing, or by taking him to the temple for darśana of Kṛṣṇa-Balarāma. Now, however, they were helpless to perform any of these tasks. Now, more than ever, Śrīla Prabhupāda was in Kṛṣṇa’s hands. Earlier that year, in Bhubaneswar, he had said that his disciples, although willing to help, could not change the situation if he was inconvenienced by old age. And he had even given the example that although he might be in his opulent quarters at the Bhaktivedanta Manor, that did not mean he would not suffer inconvenience. But Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, being very sensitive to Prabhupāda’s desires and experienced in serving him, several times moved over and spoke with his spiritual master.

“Śrīla Prabhupāda,” he said, “when you get to London the devotees will be so pleased to be with you.”

“Yes,” Śrīla Prabhupāda replied, “it is good that we are going.” Otherwise, Śrīla Prabhupāda was mostly silent, meditating on Kṛṣṇa and his mission of bringing love of Kṛṣṇa to the world.

The flight turned out to be an unusually exhaustive ordeal. When the plane landed in Rome it was delayed there for four hours, and Śrīla Prabhupāda had to wait in the airport lounge. When finally they arrived over London, the captain announced that they could not land yet due to the strike, and so they continued circling for hours. Finally, twenty hours after leaving Delhi, the plane landed at Heathrow Airport.

Customs and immigrations officials and the British Airways ground crew allowed Śrīla Prabhupāda, in a wheelchair, to quickly pass through all the formalities. And soon he was amid a throng of enthusiastic disciples and then sitting in a white Rolls Royce en route to Bhaktivedanta Manor.

The London airport and the busy highways leading into the city are certainly a great contrast to the peace and spirituality of Vṛndāvana. But for Śrīla Prabhupāda to suddenly leave the climate and transcendental culture of India to fly to the West was not unusual. He had been doing that, going from East to West, from north to south, from one nation to another – to the snowlands, to the tropics, to the cities, to the jungles, mixing with white people, black people, and Orientals – at an almost constant pace for years. He was no Hindu village guru suddenly astounded to see hundreds of automobiles racing on the highway or to see factory smoke or skyscrapers or the blind rat race of the meat-eaters. There was no question of “culture shock” for Śrīla Prabhupāda.

But there was a shock for his disciples in London, who had never imagined that he would be so thin or that anyone could travel in such condition. For the devotees who had been at the airport to meet him, it had been a heart-rending experience. Even those who had heard the reports of Prabhupāda in Vṛndāvana were not emotionally prepared for such a change. Prabhupāda was as transcendental as ever, or even more than ever, but the devotees were shocked at first to see him so different. Now he appeared like a powerful sage who had been undergoing long austerities for the benefit of humankind and who had become transcendental to his body, although living within it.

At Bhaktivedanta Manor, Śrīla Prabhupāda went from the car to a palanquin and entered the temple room, where about three hundred disciples and well-wishers were waiting to be with him. Devotees from all the ISKCON centers in northern and southern Europe had rushed to England on a last-minute notice. They were holding kīrtana for Śrīla Prabhupāda as he entered, and they, too, like the devotees at the airport, were deeply shocked. And for a moment, when they saw Śrīla Prabhupāda wearing his dark sunglasses and appearing so thin, the kīrtana almost stopped. Yet they simultaneously remained joyful and ecstatic, realizing that despite such difficulty, he had actually come to the West to be with them and encourage their Kṛṣṇa consciousness. They had been praying for him for months. The prayer, “My dear Lord Kṛṣṇa, if You desire, please cure Śrīla Prabhupāda,” had been printed on a banner and hung over Prabhupāda’s vyāsāsana.

The devotees of England, wanting to reciprocate with Śrīla Prabhupāda with more than just the sentiment of their words, were also leading the world in transcendental book distribution. When, a few weeks ago, they had heard that Śrīla Prabhupāda might be coming to England, it hadn’t seemed possible, considering his physical condition. They had heard he might leave his body at any moment, but then later they had heard he was better and he was coming to London. Even when they had heard he was definitely coming, they had been incredulous. But now it had come true.

The Deity room curtains were open, and Śrīla Prabhupāda beheld Rādhā-Gokulānanda. Some devotees stood in front of him, and with a small gesture characteristic of his hand, he waved them aside. Without any change of expression, he sat with concentrated attention facing the gorgeously dressed Deities of Rādhā-Gokulānanda, whom he had named four years ago when calling for Them to come and be worshiped here by the devotees of England.

Without saying a word, Prabhupāda went up to his room, where as many devotees as possible joined him. He had always said he felt comfortably at home in these quarters, and once again he was pleased to see outside his window the large lawn, the lake, and the ducks. The devotees sat before him with their palms folded, aware that this was no casual meeting. They had already offered their lives completely to Śrīla Prabhupāda, and there was nothing more they could offer in words that would equal their dedication.

A devotee placed a large silver plate full of prasādam on the table before Śrīla Prabhupāda. He picked up a milk sweet and tasted it, then a piece of mango. The hundred devotees who squeezed into the room and looked in from the doorway watched his every movement with fixed attention. There was complete silence. Then Śrīla Prabhupāda looked up, smiling.

“So,” he said, “is everyone all right?”

“Jaya, Śrīla Prabhupāda!” was the warm reply. The tension of seeing Śrīla Prabhupāda’s different appearance suddenly melted, and everyone simply wanted to make him feel comfortable and to please him with their service.

For the rest of the day Śrīla Prabhupāda remained alone, resting. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa lectured to the devotees in the temple room, explaining how Śrīla Prabhupāda had decided it was better to travel, even at such a great risk, than to be invalid. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa told how someone had suggested Śrīla Prabhupāda go to Tehran or Italy or France, because of the airport strike in London, but how he had said, “I want to go to London.” Śrīla Prabhupāda has come to take shelter of you, said Tamāla Kṛṣṇa. He said that, according to śāstra, a devotee should stay in Vṛndāvana, especially at the end of his life, but because Śrīla Prabhupāda’s spiritual master had ordered him to go to the West and preach, he had returned, determined to fulfill that mission until the last.

The devotees were deeply touched that Śrīla Prabhupāda’s coming was at least partially in recognition of their preaching. They resolved to reciprocate with him while he was there by holding a book distribution marathon. If they showed him their dedication by preaching, maybe he would stay a long time.

At two o’clock the next morning Bhagavān and Tamāla Kṛṣṇa went into Śrīla Prabhupāda’s quarters to attend him. Śrīla Prabhupāda, who had just awakened, was very pleased to see Bhagavān, his leader from southern Europe. This was why he had come to the West: to be with his preachers, and to be encouraged by them.

“Tamāla has brought me with great difficulty,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “It was the correct thing. I thought, what is the use of dying? Better to come. So Kṛṣṇa-Balarāma has placed me in the care of Rādhā-Gokulānanda.”

Bhagavān presented Śrīla Prabhupāda with some newly printed books: an Italian Bhagavad-gītā As It Is, another volume of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam in French, and other books in Dutch. The total book distribution in Europe, Bhagavān reported, had surpassed that of America.

“Tamāla, did you hear that?” Prabhupāda asked. “This is my life. Come here.” Śrīla Prabhupāda began rubbing Bhagavān’s head, and tears fell from his eyes. “You have no problems,” he said to Bhagavān. In his own work on Śrīla Prabhupāda’s behalf, Bhagavān had been encountering a rough period, but when Śrīla Prabhupāda said, “You have no problems,” he took it that if he persevered, everything would be all right. As long as he stayed engaged in devotional service he had no problems. For Bhagavān, there was no need for Prabhupāda to say more; Prabhupāda’s order was already his heart and soul. But now that order and Śrīla Prabhupāda’s love entered deeper into his heart. Śrīla Prabhupāda’s mood was one of pure thankfulness, without his usual critical instructions. He simply wanted to be with his devotees and encourage them.

“Produce books,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “These books are all the mercy of my Guru Mahārāja. No author throughout the world has written so many books – Shakespeare, Milton, Dickens. Neither their books have been so widely read or with such appreciation.”

When Prabhupāda came down to the temple in the morning, all the devotees were able to be with him. “Devotees here are all Vaikuṇṭha men,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda, “ – good-looking and nice-dressing. Gokulānanda is so beautiful. I shall be glad to die in that condition – amongst the devotees and seeing Gokulānanda.”

The devotees had come to see that Śrīla Prabhupāda actually looked very wonderful in his dark sunglasses and freshly pressed silk dhotī and kurtā, with clean, clear Vaiṣṇava tilaka on his forehead. He would come gliding down the stairs on the palanquin carefully carried by two able-bodied disciples, and he would sit on the vyāsāsana and watch them perform kīrtana of the holy name. Since he rarely spoke, the kīrtana and his appreciation of it was the main exchange between him and his disciples.

Externally, Śrīla Prabhupāda gave very little indication of even appreciating the kīrtana. Those who were standing or dancing near to him, however, could see behind his glasses the tears sprinkling from the corners of his eyes and onto his cheeks. And all the devotees chanted and danced, rejoicing in the knowledge that Śrīla Prabhupāda simply wanted to be with them. They knew that although he was a pure devotee and self-satisfied, he could actually be inspired by his disciples’ affection. By their intense enthusiasm to serve and praise Kṛṣṇa under his order, he could become enlivened to stay in the world longer and preach.

The devotees in the Manor agreed that Rādhā-Gokulānanda seemed to be looking especially at Śrīla Prabhupāda, and he was looking especially at Them. Some felt that by witnessing Śrīla Prabhupāda and Rādhā-Gokulānanda, they were looking directly upon the spiritual world, seeing Kṛṣṇa and His pure devotee. Therefore, there was no need for talks or demonstrations further than what Śrīla Prabhupāda was giving everyone by coming to be with them in the temple room.

Each morning the kīrtanas would build enthusiastically. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa asked that devotees not sing the guru-pūjā song because it created too much emotion for Śrīla Prabhupāda, so they chanted the Pañca-tattva mantra and then Hare Kṛṣṇa. After half an hour, the singing and chanting would be fervid, and Śrīla Prabhupāda would sometimes tap his thumbs together. Just this slightest movement of his body increased the intensity of the kīrtana. Then with the raising of one finger, Śrīla Prabhupāda set the whole roomful of hundreds of devotees into jumping ecstasy. The devotees felt that by chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa and dancing they were somehow singing and praying for Śrīla Prabhupāda’s good health and continued life. Śrīla Prabhupāda would sit, unmoving. But the devotees knew his desires, and many of them continued jumping several feet into the air, almost touching the chandeliers. After a wild transcendental hour of kīrtana Śrīla Prabhupāda would go upstairs again, carried over the heads of the devotees on the palanquin.

When the devotees in London heard that Śrīla Prabhupāda was getting many invitations to go to America, they began to worry. They were thinking this would be the last time they would see him, and they wanted to keep him with them forever. If they could distribute an incredible number of books, then maybe he would live longer and stay longer at Bhaktivedanta Manor. They were already feeling privileged that Śrīla Prabhupāda had chosen their temple out of all others, and as they spoke among themselves, they concluded that Rādhā-London-īśvara and Rādhā-Gokulānanda must be Prabhupāda’s favorite Deities. They realized that aside from chanting and serving, there was nothing they could do to help Śrīla Prabhupāda and keep him with them, and this inability made them helpless. Despite their efforts, everything was up to Kṛṣṇa.

Śrīla Prabhupāda confided to his secretary that he was disturbed by thoughts of India, and that he had no wish to go back. “In India,” he said, “whatever project I made the government has simply given me obstacles. I had to tax my brain so much.” India, he said, had lost its culture. “Now they think everyone is God, and they do not understand bhakti, the teachings of the Bhagavad-gītā. From the members of Parliament to the members of the street, everywhere there is suspicion that I have brought the CIA. Such a mistake they have made!”

Since Śrīla Prabhupāda had come to London, his emotions were much more noticeable than before. Where he would have checked his emotions before, he now did not or could not. He frequently cried in ecstasy. Because he was saturated with love for Kṛṣṇa, at any moment his tears might come – while hearing a kīrtana, seeing the Deities, hearing of a devotee’s service. The tears would pour down his cheeks, making his visage more beautiful. At other times, he would utter a long, deep “Hmmm,” not out of physical pain, since he said he was quite all right, but out of his Kṛṣṇa conscious emotions, the ecstasy of his love of God.

After a few days, Śrīla Prabhupāda got a good report on the progress of his U.S. residency. Balavanta had gone to Washington, D.C., and now phoned to say Śrīla Prabhupāda would have no difficulty in getting his expired residency renewed. All the officials Balavanta had contacted were friendly and invited Śrīla Prabhupāda to return. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa conveyed this while Śrīla Prabhupāda sat on a mat, his frail body being massaged by Upendra. Instantly tears welled up in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s eyes, and with a choked voice he said, “America has been so good to me to give me money, men, everything. I have no designation that ‘this is my country,’ but because they have given me so much facility, I cannot forget my obligation to them. I want to make them happy, and through them, the whole world.”

Śrīla Prabhupāda looked forward to traveling to America shortly after Janmāṣṭamī, which would fall on September 6, two weeks from the date of his arrival in England. “I want to live a little longer,” he said, “to make everything more perfect.”

“Will you do this by enthusing the devotees by staying with them,” asked Tamāla Kṛṣṇa, “or is there a specific program?”

“A specific program,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda. “I want to introduce varṇāśrama. At our Pennsylvania farm, the biggest problem of life is solved: food.”

Letters from Ghanaśyāma in Eastern Europe had brought Śrīla Prabhupāda repeated pleasure. When Ghanaśyāma came to England, therefore, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa brought him before Śrīla Prabhupāda. Calling him near, Prabhupāda stroked his head. “This is the paramparā system,” he said. “My Guru Mahārāja pushed me, I am pushing you, and you are pushing others. It is like a train.” The following day, at Tamāla Kṛṣṇa’s request, Ghanaśyāma came in and read his latest report – which was lengthy – to Śrīla Prabhupāda. He explained some of the difficulties in his preaching and how he was getting around them. But Prabhupāda’s mood had changed, and he reminded his disciple that the credit was all due to Kṛṣṇa.

Then Harikeśa Swami, the G.B.C. secretary for northern and East Europe, arrived, he entered Prabhupāda’s room and offered prostrated obeisances. Śrīla Prabhupāda, his eyes overflowing with tears, reached out and rubbed his disciple’s head, and Harikeśa also began to cry.

Harikeśa explained that he was setting up his own press for producing Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books in European languages. “Very good,” said Prabhupāda. “As a father likes to see his estate nicely managed, so I am like that. Get places and print books.”

Harikeśa Mahārāja had brought with him most of the book distributors from Germany, and he arranged that they meet privately with Śrīla Prabhupāda. The men, most of whom had never been with Prabhupāda, gathered in his room and sat in overwhelming appreciation of the moment. Śrīla Prabhupāda quoted, yāre dekha tāre kaha ‘kṛṣṇa-upadeśa,’ and then asked, “So what is this kṛṣṇa-upadeśa?” At first no one replied, but then one of the boys spoke and said, “One should preach everywhere.”

“No,” said Śrīla Prabhupāda, “what is kṛṣṇa-upadeśa?” Then again there was a silence. This time another boy recited, “Sarva-dharmān parityajya mām ekaṁ śaranaṁ vraja.”* Śrīla Prabhupāda accepted that and spoke for a few minutes about surrender to Kṛṣṇa. Thinking it an opportune moment, Tamāla Kṛṣṇa brought out a package of color photographs just arrived from Los Angeles. It was a complete story-in-pictures of the recent Los Angeles Ratha-yātrā. The pictures were brightly colorful eight-by-ten-inch enlargements, and as Śrīla Prabhupāda saw one after another and heard the descriptions from his secretary, he began to make long, low humming sounds, and tears came to his eyes.

* “Abandon all varieties of religion and just surrender unto Me [Kṛṣṇa]. I shall deliver you from all sinful reaction. Do not fear.” (Bhagavad-gītā 18.66)

Earlier that morning, as soon as he had awakened, Śrīla Prabhupāda had begun spontaneously speaking about the Ratha-yātrā he had performed as a child in Calcutta, and now he was seeing the pictures of a grand procession and festival conducted by his disciples. Seeing the photo of the chariots with a large crowd following, Śrīla Prabhupāda raised his eyebrows and said, “We have never seen such carts!” Another photo showed long lines of people waiting to see the “Changing Bodies” exhibit, a diorama depicting the transmigration of the soul. “I told you this would happen!” Prabhupāda exclaimed. “I am very much glad to see this.” Śrīla Prabhupāda remained so affected by seeing the Ratha-yātrā pictures that he wouldn’t take his usual massage. “Not now,” he said in a choked voice, and he sat meditatively, silent for two hours.