Questions about Christ and the Bible often arose after Prabhupāda’s classes in the temple. One night Prabhupāda explained that even the most learned man studies in terms of the body only. Although a person may have many Ph.D.’s and may be talking philosophy, when he is asked, “Do you know what the soul is?” he will stop.

A man raised his hand. “I have here a Holy Bible,” he began. “Yes,” Prabhupāda acknowledged.

“So the Holy Bible is also written by the Holy Spirit of mankind. Should we believe in the Bible or not?”

“You can say it is written by mankind, but so far as I know, those who wrote, wrote with revelation.”

“The Holy Spirit?”

“Yes,” Prabhupāda said. “Therefore, you should read. Otherwise, if a man writes a book on his own, he will write on his own experience. And it will be imperfect.”

“You were speaking about men only knowing the body. What about the body of Christ?”

“Body of Christ is not ordinary body,” Prabhupāda said. “That is spiritual body. Kṛṣṇa says in the Bhagavad-gītā: sambhavāmy-ātma-māyayā. So this is a very subtle point. One has to understand that when God comes or God’s son comes or God’s representative comes, they do not accept a body like us. They have their spiritual body.”

“Kṛṣṇa means Christ,” the man replied. “He’s the whole spirit. So we are also in the body of man. That is the body of God?”

“No,” Prabhupāda replied. “The body of man is not exactly the body of God. With God there is no difference between the body and the soul because He is all-spiritual. Just like if you have a golden body and a golden soul – then there is no difference between the soul and the body. But in our case, as we are, we are spirit soul, but the body is material. Therefore I am different from this body. But when we are liberated, we get a spiritual body like Kṛṣṇa’s. At the present moment there is a difference between our body and soul. Therefore, as soon as a soul goes away from the body, the body, being matter – ‘Dust thou art, dust thou be-est’ – mixes with the matter, and the soul takes another body. The whole problem is that we have to stop repetition of migration from one material body to another material body. That is the highest perfection of life.”

During Prabhupāda’s stay in Montreal, Janārdana showed him several news items concerning Pope Paul VI. The Pope was staunchly supporting the Catholic stand against abortion, despite a large protest movement within the church. Prabhupāda admired the Pope for upholding the scriptures, even though millions of Catholics didn’t; he decided to write him. He had tried such things before: writing to Gandhi and writing to Nehru. And in that same spirit he dictated a letter one morning and sent it to the Vatican.*

* See Appendix for full text of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s letter to Pope Paul VI.

In his letter, Prabhupāda explained his personal background and mission. He then defined love of God (as it is explained in Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam) and stated that human life is especially meant for learning to love God. Noting that people were mostly interested in sense gratification, Prabhupāda remarked, “This tendency is very much deteriorating. Because Your Holiness is the Head of a great religious sect, I think we should meet together and chalk out a program for cooperation.”

Prabhupāda went on to describe some of the symptoms of society as degradation, including the pro-abortion movement within the Catholic faith. “I understand it from reliable sources,” Prabhupāda wrote, “that people are trying to get Your Holiness’s sanction for contraceptive method, which is certainly against any religion of the world. In the Hindu religion, such contraceptive method or abortion is considered equivalent to murder.” Prabhupāda said the same degradation was affecting India, and he suggested that the guardians of society treat this situation as a very serious one. Prabhupāda closed his letter, “If you think that a meeting with You will be beneficial for the human society at large, I shall be very much pleased if Your Holiness will grant me an interview.”

Janārdana mixed with many liberal, academic religionists interested in ecumenical aspects of religion, and he wanted to introduce Prabhupāda to these scholars of various faiths. He arranged a private get-together at a friend’s house, and Prabhupāda very willingly went and spoke about Kṛṣṇa consciousness. The next day he summarized his experience in a letter to Satsvarūpa.

Yes, I am getting good opportunities to meet here several learned scholars. Last night we had a meeting in the house of Mr. Abdul Rabbi, and there were some university professors and a Dr. Abbott, a Dr. MacMillan, and many others. Two clergymen were with their wives. One Father Lanlais was without a wife. So there was a very good discussion, and by the grace of Krishna, I was able to give them some impression of this philosophy, that it is nicer than anything. Professor Abdul is Mohammedan, and he is writing a thesis of Sufi religion. And he was also impressed. Unfortunately, I had to eat there, but I accepted a little fruits only, while they were eating all sorts of nonsense, but at least they did not drink. We were the only two persons, Janardana and myself, who avoided all kinds of nonsense.

Prabhupāda attended a more formal ecumenical meeting, a religious conference. About fifty people, including Prabhupāda and a group of his devotees, attended. A panel, representing various religions, honored Prabhupāda as the main speaker as well as a member of the panel. Prabhupāda lectured. After the lecture, a Catholic priest asked how Prabhupāda could be so sure of his statements about God.

“Why not?” Prabhupāda said. “What is the difficulty? I have consciousness. There is God. Now I have forgotten Him. I have to revive my consciousness of God. What is difficult in knowing that much?” The questioners were not his submissive young disciples, and this was not Prabhupāda relaxed and sitting back on a pillow in his room. He was alert, logical, and very sociable. But some of the panel were not satisfied with his presentation. The moderator took up their cause.

Moderator: “Are you saying that you are perfect?”

Prabhupāda: “I am imperfect – that’s all right. But I know what is perfection.”

Moderator: “But I cannot see that.”

Prabhupāda’s disciples laughed at this, and Prabhupāda turned to reprimand them: “Don’t laugh.” Then returning to his debate with the moderator: “Therefore, you are here. You have to go to London. If you have purchased a ticket for London and if you have gotten to the airplane, so even if you have not gone to London, you are sure that you are going to London.”

Moderator: “Yes, I can be sure. I understand that. I have no doubt about that. But how can your security – ”

Prabhupāda: “No, no. If I have understood that my destination is London, I feel secure that I am going to London. Then that is my happiness.”

Moderator: “So you are completely happy.”

Prabhupāda: “Yes, because I know that if I go to London I will be happy. And I am going there.”

Moderator: “But you’re not in London yet.”

Prabhupāda: “That’s all right!” Prabhupāda raised his voice confidently. “I have already told you that when you purchase a ticket and you understand that you are surely going to London – that is happiness.”

Moderator: “But then there is no question.”

Prabhupāda: “Hmm? But what is this? If my destination is London, why then question? There is no need of question.”

Moderator: “Well, then why a conference with men of other religions?” The other panel members listened intently as the moderator pursued a line of argument many of them empathized with. They wanted to see Prabhupāda defeated.

Prabhupāda: “That conference is used to consult together that London is the destination.”

Moderator: “But then you know the destination.”

Prabhupāda: “Right.”

Moderator: “The idea that you have behind your mind is to tell other people where the destination is.”

Prabhupāda: “Yes.”

Moderator: “Not to search for it with them.”

Prabhupāda: “No, I don’t say search. I have already searched out.”

Moderator: “Yeah. So then I feel myself that this is not a conference.”

Prabhupāda: “Hmm? Then if I have got some good news to tell you, it is not conference?” Prabhupāda’s disciples burst into laughter despite themselves. This time Prabhupāda did not check them. He was too busy, too alert with the debate, as several persons started talking at once.

Panel member: “As far as you are concerned, it may be London. As far as I am concerned, it may be Paris or Hawaii.”

Prabhupāda: “No, then we have to consider where is real happiness, whether it is in Hawaii or in Paris or – ”

Moderator: “You! But if you are not willing to concede” – the moderator could not help becoming accusative in his tone – “that it is not London, and if I say I am not going to that place – ”

Prabhupāda: “That is going on, that is going on. There are innumerable planets, and in the Bhagavad-gītā it is said: yānti deva-vratā devān pitṝn yānti pitṛ-vratāḥ. So if you think that London is not good for you, Paris is good for you, then it is good for you.”

Another panel member (with a German accent): “Well, therefore, conference is all useless.”

Prabhupāda: “No. If you don’t agree, if you do not understand what is the highest goal, then conference is useless. If you keep yourself to the understanding where you are, then there is no need of conference.” Several persons, some on the panel and some even in the audience, began to speak at once in protest of Prabhupāda’s remarks.

Prabhupāda: “That is conference – I want to convince you that London is the real place of happiness.”

Moderator: “But I think that I know better than you.”

Prabhupāda: “You may think, but you have to be convinced that your thinking is wrong.”

Moderator: “Or maybe I can convince you that your thinking is wrong.”

Prabhupāda: “That’s all right. Therefore, conference is required.” Prabhupāda began to laugh. Finally everyone laughed, and the tension that had been building to animosity relaxed. But the formal order of the conference had been lost, and now everyone began to speak at once.

Moderator: “Excuse me, Swamiji, but the time is running out … ”

Prabhupāda: “Yes.”

Moderator: “And I would like to thank you very much for coming.”

Prabhupāda: “Now you are convinced that conference is required?”

Moderator: “Yes.”

Prabhupāda: “You have to convince me, and I will have to convince you.”

Moderator: “And I think that’s true. These confrontations, these listenings, lead to further understanding.”

The program ended, and the crowd began dispersing, talking among themselves, moving out into the summer evening. The moderator, still intellectually piqued by Prabhupāda’s brand of ecumenicity, approached Prabhupāda amid the crowd moving toward the exit.

“The question is,” the young minister pursued, “where should we go, if you believe that you must go to London, yet I believe very strongly I must go to India, and I am convinced that, at least for me, India is wonderful?”

Prabhupāda: “No. If you are convinced that going to India is good for you, so similarly you must accept that going to London is also nice.”

Minister: “Yes. But so may you also be convinced that India is better than London.”

Prabhupāda: “Yes, if you can convince me.”

Minister: “But if you believe that you cannot be convinced … ”

Prabhupāda: “No. You can convince if we are reasonable.”

Minister: “But then we have to search together to become complete.”

Prabhupāda: “No, my version is complete.”

Minister: “Then I cannot convince you of anything.”

Prabhupāda: “No. Why not? You have got reason, I have got reason. You have to show me that there are favorable conditions in Paris or India … ”

Minister: “But how can I convince you, because you say that you cannot – ”

Prabhupāda: “No, no, no, no. Convince means you have to convince me with your reasoning power of presentation.”

August 1968
Śrīla Prabhupāda was in his room with several devotees.

“Prabhupāda?” Śivānanda asked.

“Yes.”

“May I go to England?” Śivānanda had asked once before, and Prabhupāda had told him no, that he should stay in Montreal and help. He was only twenty, and his desire to go seemed to be mostly restlessness. He was sincere but inexperienced. But now he was asking again – and it was timely.

“My mother will give me money for the trip,” Śivānanda continued. “She says it’ll be all right as long as I go back to college after opening a temple there.”

Prabhupāda nodded. “Yes, that’s all right. You can go. You are sincere. But be careful. I was an old Calcutta boy, and so when I came to New York I never got cheated.”

Prabhupāda’s spiritual master, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, had wanted to spread Kṛṣṇa consciousness in Europe. He had sent his most experienced sannyāsīs, giving them financial support from India; but they had returned, accomplishing nothing. Perhaps these boys and girls could succeed where others had failed. Prabhupāda felt it was possible. He knew it would greatly please Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī.

Prabhupāda had faith that his disciples would be able to establish something in Europe, just as they had done in America. He gave the example that if someone finds a gourd lying on the road and picks it up and finds a wire and picks that up, although the two parts are in themselves useless, if he puts them together to make a vīṇā, he could play beautiful music. Similarly, Prabhupāda had come and found some hippies lying here and there, and he himself had been rejected by the people in New York City; but by Kṛṣṇa’s grace it had become a successful combination. If his disciples remained sincere and followed his orders, then they would be successful in Europe.

When the three married couples – Mukunda and Jānakī, Śyāmasundara and Mālatī, and Gurudāsa and Yamunā – arrived in Montreal, they created a new enthusiasm in the temple. These three couples had begun the temple in San Francisco and had had close association with Prabhupāda. They had helped Prabhupāda make kīrtana, feasting, and Ratha-yātrā successful among the hippies of Haight-Ashbury. Now they were eager to help Prabhupāda bring Kṛṣṇa consciousness to London.

It was an emotional reunion. Jānakī began crying, and Prabhupāda patted her head, saying, “There is no need.” When Prabhupāda saw Sarasvatī, Śyāmasundara and Mālatī’s daughter, he said, “I dreamed of that child last night, that exact child.” And he took the baby in his arms and gave her his garland. Prabhupāda laughed. “They will say, ‘What kind of sannyāsī is he?’ ”

Prabhupāda wanted these three couples to stay with him for a week or two so that he could train them to perform kīrtana very expertly. Of course, chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa was not a theatrical performance; it was an act of devotion. In fact, it could only be properly done by pure devotees – not by professional musicians. Yet if these disciples could learn the standard tunes and practice singing together, Londoners would better appreciate Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

Prabhupāda wanted to teach his London-bound disciples to sing and play instruments in a specific way. Someone should learn to play the harmonium properly – following the melody, not simply pumping it, as the devotees had been doing for years. And the Sanskrit mantras and bhajanas should be pronounced properly and the melodies sung correctly. Some melodies were to be sung in the morning, others in the evening. Each word was to be pronounced correctly and with the right intonation.

Prabhupāda liked Yamunā’s singing, and Mukunda was an expert musician for organizing the party. The spacious Montreal temple was a suitable place for them to practice. Ideally, Prabhupāda said, the party should have two mṛdaṅga players, one harmonium player, one tamboura player, and at least six karatāla players. He talked about sending the group not only to London but to the European continent and then to Asia also. So he wanted them to become expert at kīrtana.

“Can we put on plays and things like that?” Gurudāsa asked.

“Yes,” Prabhupāda said, “you can put on plays in the street with a Lord Nṛsiṁha mask and costumes and wigs. Or one boy can be dressed as Lord Caitanya, another as Lord Nityānanda, Gadādhara, Advaita with a white beard, and Śrīvāsa.”

Prabhupāda became ecstatic at the thought of his disciples performing kīrtana in England. They would become more popular than the yogīs with their gymnastics and impersonal meditation. Sometimes they could dramatize scenes from Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, sometimes they could recite Sanskrit verses and explain them by singing in English. Now that the London program was a tangible fact, Prabhupāda voiced one visionary plan after another. To the devotees it seemed that Prabhupāda had already thought out in detail hundreds of plans for implementing Kṛṣṇa consciousness around the world and that all he needed were some willing helpers.

Prabhupāda began holding daily kīrtana rehearsals, teaching the devotees to chant Hare Kṛṣṇa, very slowly at first, gradually building the tempo. Regularly he would interrupt and have them begin again. As Yamunā led the singing, Prabhupāda would listen carefully, stopping her at times to correct her Sanskrit pronunciation.

The six London-bound devotees had arrived in Montreal only a few days before two of the biggest festival days of the year: Janmāṣṭamī, the appearance day of Lord Kṛṣṇa, and Vyāsa-pūjā, the appearance day of Śrīla Prabhupāda. Now, with the festival days approaching and devotees from other cities arriving to be with Prabhupāda, the usually quiet Montreal temple began to stir with activity. Cooking became so enthusiastic that it was like a big kīrtana in the kitchen. Prabhupāda supervised the cooking of some of the preparations and then returned to his apartment, where he personally cooked several special dishes.

The Janmāṣṭamī festival was scheduled to last all day and on through the night until midnight, the time of Lord Kṛṣṇa’s appearance, culminating in a midnight feast. Gopal had mailed invitations to many Indians and had made hundreds of phone calls. As a result, more than three hundred guests attended. Prabhupāda spoke in the evening before a distracted, talkative audience of Indian families with children. Afterwards he had Gaurasundara, Mukunda, and Yamunā speak in turn. Pleased by the large gathering of guests and devotees in the bowling-alley-turned-temple, Prabhupāda considered the Janmāṣṭamī festival the high point of his stay in Montreal.

After the midnight feasting, as Prabhupāda was leaving the temple, he stopped at the door and turned to Haṁsadūta, who had done most of the cooking. “The sweetballs were very good,” Prabhupāda said.

“Thank you, Prabhupāda.”

“But mine,” Prabhupāda smiled, “were better.”

The next day, Prabhupāda’s appearance day, the devotees gathered again, fasting until noon and then feasting. In the morning they offered little speeches in praise of their spiritual master. After most of the disciples had spoken, Prabhupāda turned to a new boy and indicated that he should speak. The boy stood and said that although he didn’t know much about Kṛṣṇa consciousness, he was serving Prabhupāda each day by rolling capātīs in the kitchen. He said he loved hearing Prabhupāda’s taped lectures and rolling capātīs and that he was satisfied and happy and simply wanted to go on eternally rolling capātīs and hearing his spiritual master’s tapes. This simple talk caused Prabhupāda to smile, and he thanked the boy for his realization.

Then Prabhupāda spoke, describing the spiritual master as a transcendental broker. The broker acts only on behalf of his firm, and the customer must deal with the firm through the broker. Approaching Kṛṣṇa through the spiritual master was like that.

The London party, now ready to go, went for a final meeting with Prabhupāda. He was sending them to start a center in London and thus fulfill his spiritual master’s dream. The sannyāsīs Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī had sent to London had lectured in a few places, posed for photos with lords and ladies, and then returned to India. But Prabhupāda said his disciples should boldly go out and chant the holy name and attract others to chant. Then, when those persons were practiced at chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa, they could continue on their own, and the devotees could move on to another place and chant. Prabhupāda was enthusiastic about London, and as he spoke he filled his disciples with the same enthusiasm.

When Mukunda asked Prabhupāda if he had any specific instructions, he replied with a story. In his youth, Prabhupāda said, he had seen a movie of Charlie Chaplin. The setting was a formal ball held outdoors, and off from the main dance arena were lanes with benches where couples sat. Some mischievous boys plastered glue on a bench, and a young man and his girlfriend came and sat down. “When the young man got up” – Prabhupāda laughed as he told the story, and his disciples, who could hardly believe their ears, were also laughing – “his tailing coats tore up the middle.”

The man and woman didn’t notice what had happened and returned to the dance, where they began to draw stares from the other dancers. Wondering why he was suddenly drawing so much attention, the young man went into the dressing room and saw in the mirror that his coattails were torn. Deliberately, he then tore his jacket all the way up to the collar, returned to his partner, and began dancing exuberantly.

Then another man decided to get into the spirit and, ripping his own coattails, began dancing with his partner almost in competition with the first couple. One by one, the other dancers all followed suit, ripping their coattails and dancing with abandon.

By the time Prabhupāda finished the story, the devotees in his room were all laughing, forgetting everything else. Then, as the laughter subsided and the meeting drew to an end, Mālatī asked, “Prabhupāda, I don’t think we can go to London unless we have the shelter of your lotus feet. May we kiss your lotus feet?”

The other devotees were taken aback at her sudden request. No one had ever done such a thing before. But neither her husband nor the others said anything to oppose her, and Prabhupāda consented. One by one, the six London-bound preachers came and offered their obeisances, kissing the bottom of their spiritual master’s feet.

Not until the devotees were already at the airport did Mukunda, talking with Śyāmasundara, begin to appreciate and marvel that Prabhupāda had expertly answered his question by telling the story of the ripped coattails.

Mukunda: I realized that Prabhupāda was telling us that preaching Kṛṣṇa consciousness may be difficult or unpopular in England at first. But if we preached boldly, enthusiastically, and purely, then everyone would follow.