Chapter 36 – Mountains and Shadows

(Dr. Omkar Nath Sharma and Svarūpa Dāmodara Dāsa)

Another guest who came to visit Mahārāja during his recovery was Svarūpa Dāmodara Dāsa, the head of the Bhaktivedānta Institute. Svarūpa Dāmodara from Manipur in North-east India, was born in a Vaiṣṇava family. Soft-spoken and jolly, he had received a Ph.D. in Physical Organic Chemistry from the University of California in 1974. He and Mahārāja had already corresponded while Mahārāja was in England, and although Mahārāja had no background in science, he was eager to assist Svarūpa Dāmodāra in promoting the Institute’s work. In fact, his enthusiasm was such that while passing through Delhi, he even had a business card printed: “Jagat Guru Swami – Representative: Bhaktivedānta Institute.”
Svarūpa Dāmodara needed as much help with the Bhaktivedānta Institute as he could get, so he warmly welcomed Mahārāja’s enthusiasm and paid little attention to the fact that he lacked any formal academic credentials. Śrīla Prabhupāda, however, was not particularly enthusiastic about the arrangement.

Svarūpa Dāmodāra sat beside Mahārāja’s bed on a small chair, smiling uneasily, gently rocking back and forth nervously.
“So, Mahārāja…I spoke to Śrīla Prabhupāda and told him about your involvement with the B.I.”
Mahārāja immediately propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Oh yeah? And?”
Svarūpa Dāmodāra gave a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “Well…Prabhupāda asked me whether you had any scientific background, and I told him no. So then Prabhupāda said it would be better if only devotees with a scientific background were members of the B.I., because it would give the Institute more credibility.”
Mahārāja slowly eased himself back onto the bed, though he could understand Śrīla Prabhupāda’s reasoning. Svarūpa Dāmodara reached over and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t help us,” he said encouragingly. “I think Prabhupāda’s point is simply that those giving seminars and speaking with scientists should have some academic qualifications. The B.I. still needs plenty of help though – especially with funding and management. The door is always open to you.”

Although Mahārāja quickly recovered from the malaria after a week or so, the disease would continue to revisit him periodically for the next twenty years.

As he gradually regained his strength, Mahārāja spent time considering what direction his preaching should now take. Although Śrīla Prabhupāda had personally engaged him in service at Rādhā-Dāmodara Temple, that service had been taken from him by Tamāla Kṛṣṇa Gosvāmī. As things stood, he was effectively a free agent.

He could remain in Vṛndāvana, but what would he do there? Śrīla Prabhupāda expected all his sannyāsīs to be actively engaged in preaching. Simply remaining at the temple without any meaningful service was not an option.

Never one to choose the comfortable path, he resolved to go and preach in a place where devotees had never been before. Africa had already been explored, the Middle East had already seen its share of visits, and Brahmānanda and Gargamuni had even gone to Pakistan, where they had come perilously close to being killed.

He decided to go to the one place where no devotee had yet set foot. As soon as he recovered, he jumped on a bus to Delhi to enquire about the cost of an air ticket to Afghanistan.

Before heading to Connaught Place to enquire about airfares, he stopped at the new ISKCON temple in Lajpat Nagar. As he stepped inside, he was unexpectedly greeted by a familiar face. It was Caitya-Guru Dāsa, a Punjabi devotee who had once been serving in Kenya when Mahārāja had been there. He had recently taken sannyāsa from Śrīla Prabhupāda and was now known as Bhakti Caitanya Swami. When Mahārāja mentioned his plan to open a centre in Kabul, Bhakti Caitanya Swami looked at him with visible concern.

“Not a good idea,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s a lot of political tension there right now. The country is on the verge of a revolution.”

Hearing this, Mahārāja fell silent for a moment. His mind drifted back to his earlier travels in Ethiopia, remembering how, when he arrived, Emperor Haile Selassie had been deposed, and the country had been plunged into social uncertainty and political upheaval.

Bhakti Caitanya Swami told Mahārāja that due to his successful preaching in Chandigarh, Punjab, Prabhupāda had just made him the GBC for Punjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, and Jammu and Kashmir. Through contacts with the local government in Chandigarh, he had acquired three acres of land in a prime spot. There was also the chance of getting more land nearby. At present, he was collecting donations for their preaching activities in Chandigarh, and was on his way back there the next day.

Mahārāja weighed his options. He could return to Vṛndāvana, where Śrīla Prabhupāda was, but due to Prabhupāda’s failing health, morning classes had ceased and access to him was increasingly restricted. Mahārāja felt that Prabhupāda would be more pleased to see him actively engaged in preaching rather than simply remaining nearby with no tangible service.

Since it was obvious that ‘ISKCON Kabul’ was now out of the question, Mahārāja decided instead to accompany Bhakti Caitanya Swami to Chandigarh.

Narasiṅgha Mahārāja: It was very much like what I’d been doing in Africa with the Indian community there – you would go to some businessmen, give them some of our books, talk about Prabhupāda etc. tell them about the Chandigarh project, and ask them for a donation. Sometimes, I would speak in English, and sometimes Bhakti Caitanya Swami would speak to them in Punjabi.

I remember one house in particular we went to. There was one very rich life-member who was going to give us a check for 2 lakhs. We were sitting in his living room, talking with him. His daughter was standing in the corner, leaning on the wall, and by the way she was dressed, you could tell she was a ‘modern girl.’ She looked bored to the back teeth. It was pretty obvious she really didn’t want to be there, but was only there because of her father.
Anyhow, during the conversation, the life-member pointed to the hari-nāma chaddar that Bhakti Caitanya Swami was wearing – he always wore a hari-nāma chaddar over his shoulders – and he asked him, “Oh, Swamiji, what is written on your chaddar?”
Bhakti Caitanya Swami told him, “It’s the mahā-mantra – Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Rāma.”
The life member liked the cloth and said, “Very nice! You should also make make a dhoti like that.”
Then Bhakti Caitanya told him that we never put the holy name below the waist. At that point, the life-member’s daughter chimed in.
“Why? What’s wrong with sex?”
We were like, “What?”
Again she said, “What’s wrong with sex?”
Bhakti Caitanya Swami said to her, “Who’s talking about sex? It has nothing to do with sex – the lower part of the body is considered to be impure.”
“Why?” she asked, all indignant.
“Because we pass stool and urine from there.”
“What’s wrong with stool and urine?” she asked.
“It’s impure.”
“Why?”
“Look, if it’s not impure, then why do you wash your hands after using the toilet?” he asked.
“I don’t!!” she answered.
At that point, her father started shouting at her in Punjabi – I had no idea what he was saying, but he sent her out of the room. I was just watching all this. Finally, the life-member signed the cheque, and while he was doing that, his daughter came back in with a tray of refreshments.
She asked me, “Swami, would you like a glass of lemon water?”
I asked her, “Did you squeeze the lemons yourself?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Er…no thanks!” I said. 

Before long, they decided to visit all the other states under Bhakti Caitanya Swami. For this purpose, they assembled a group of brahmacārīs and established what Mahārāja referred to as the ‘Himalayan Saṅkīrtana Party.’

The first destination of the party was Himachal Pradesh. Haṁsadūta Swami and his book distributors had already established a number of contacts there, one of whom was Hari Bābājī in the town of Solan. Known locally as ‘Mauni Bābā, he had been observing a vow of complete silence (mauna) for over twenty-five years. Some years earlier, Hari Bābājī had visited Vṛndāvana, where he met Śrīla Prabhupāda and was deeply impressed by ISKCON and its mission. He later told Haṁsadūta Swami that any devotees who came to Solan would always be welcome at his āśrama, and that he would gladly place the entire ground floor at their disposal.

(Hari Bābājī)

Narasiṅgha Mahārāja: He was a Hindu kṛṣṇa-bhakta – always smiling and full of energy. The local people said, “Oh, Bābā is a hundred years old!” but I think that he was probably only about seventy or seventy-five.
I remember how eager he was to show us a certificate issued by the Indian government recognising that he’d observed mauna-vrata (a vow of silence) for the last twenty-five years. Because he didn’t speak, he communicated with us by writing messages on a small slate with a piece of chalk.
Whenever we had a kīrtana in his āśrama, he would jump up and begin dancing. While we were chanting, he would hold his slate up in the air with the mahā-mantra written on it.

From Solan, Mahārāja gazed upon the rolling ridges of the outer Himalayan range, known as the Shivalik Hills. It was his first encounter with the Himalayas, but it would certainly not be his last. Captivated by their grandeur and natural beauty, he would return to the Himalayan region many times over the ensuing decades.

(The Shivalik Hills)

After staying in Solan, the party continued on to Shimla, the capital of Himachal Pradesh, before proceeding to Jammu and Kashmir. While there, Mahārāja hired a professional photographer to take photographs of the saṅkīrtana party. These were then sent to Śrīla Prabhupāda in Vṛndāvana, along with a report describing their preaching activities. Later, Mahārāja heard that Prabhupāda had been elated to see the photos and hear the report of the preaching of the Himalayan Saṅkīrtana Party.

It was the devotees’ regular practice to perform nagara-saṅkīrtana through the city. They would chant and dance in the local vegetable market and the vendors were generally delighted to contribute, freely giving vegetables and other produce to the saṅkīrtana party. The devotees would then take these donations back to their residence, cook them, offer them to Kṛṣṇa, and finally honour prasādam. However, in Srinagar, the capital of Jammu and Kashmir, things did not go quite as expected. When the devotees went to collect bhikṣā in the vegetable market, the vendors only gave them handfuls of red chilis.  By the time they returned to their residence, they found themselves with two large baskets full of red chilis – and very little else. The devotee in charge of cooking was a Bengali and knew exactly what to do. Sitting for over an hour, he carefully deseeded the entire pile of chilis, fried them in mustard oil, and prepared a large stack of chapatis. The result was a surprisingly delicious meal that the devotees relished with great satisfaction, proving that even two baskets of red chilis could still be transformed into a feast for Kṛṣṇa and the devotees.

By the middle of August, Mahārāja had begun making plans to return to Vṛndāvana. His relationship with Bhakti Caitanya Swami had become somewhat strained. The two men had different approaches to preaching, and since Bhakti Caitanya Swami was the local GBC, Mahārāja chose to step aside.

A few days later, Mahārāja found himself standing at the side entrance of the Kṛṣṇa-Balarāma Temple, his bag slung over his shoulder. No sooner had he stepped inside than Akṣayānanda Swami, the temple president, approached him.
“Haribol, Mahārāja! Welcome back! How was the preaching in the Himalayas?”
Mahārāja briefly recounted the good, the bad, and the ugly of the journey. Then it was Akṣayānanda’s turn to share some news.

“Śrīla Prabhupāda’s going to England!”
Mahārāja was shocked, “Really? But how’s his health?”
Akṣayānanda Swami shrugged his shoulders, “Well, it seems to be a bit of a roller-coaster. One day he is talking of leaving his body, the next, he’s talking about finishing the Bhāgavatam and visiting all the temples around the world! Tamāla-Kṛṣṇa had told Prabhupāda that the GBC should discuss the plan first, but Prabhupāda said, ‘No discussion! I’m going!’ I heard that after England, he’s going to the US, and he said he won’t leave the US until the Bhāgavatam is completed.”

Although Śrīla Prabhupāda was performing pastimes of illness, he remained very concerned about his disciples and the future of his movement.

Narasiṅgha Mahārāja: Prabhupāda was on his bed, and myself and one or two other devotees were sitting chanting for him, very close to his bed. Then also many devotees came in – Kīrtanānanda Swami, Satsvarūpa Goswami and others came in. They all came to Prabhupāda by his bed. Śrīla Prabhupāda began to speak to Tamāla-Kṛṣṇa Goswami. No one could quite hear, and behind Prabhupāda there were the domes of the temple, and peacocks were crying around in Vṛndāvana their calls. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa raised up from listening to Prabhupāda and had a complete mixed look on his face of happiness and distress. And then all of a sudden Śrīla Prabhupāda sat up in the bed in front of everyone and began to preach about the varṇāśama system, how it is essential that we have our farms and we instruct the people in the varṇāśama institution.
So I found out later what he had spoken to Tamāla-Kṛṣṇa Goswami was that “At this moment, I’m either going to pass away or I am going to eat five chapatis.” And Tamāla Kṛṣṇa was just shocked by this statement. And then instead of doing either of these, Prabhupāda sat up and began to preach.

Śrīla Prabhupāda was scheduled to depart from Delhi for London on 27th August, but the day before his health suddenly took a turn for the worse. Tamāla Kṛṣṇa Gosvāmī and several members of the GBC earnestly pleaded with him to reconsider his plans, yet Prabhupāda remained resolute.

Shortly before midnight on 26th August, a convoy of cars departed from Kṛṣṇa-Balarāma Temple and made its way to the airport.

Narasiṅgha Mahārāja: Back then, the airport in Delhi looked like something out of World War I – only those rickety old biplanes were missing! We finally managed to find an airport wheelchair for Śrīla Prabhupāda and there were about ten devotees  pushing it – myself, Tamāla-Kṛṣṇa Gosvāmī, Akṣayānanda Swami, Guru-Kṛpā, Abhirāma, Pradyumna, etc. Everyone had a hand or a finger on it. Everyone wanted to do some service for Śrīla Prabhupāda.

It was pretty hectic, a lot of red-tape and bureaucracy from immigration. I think at one point, the officials just grabbed Prabhupāda’s wheelchair and took him away to some lounge, and the devotees were all freaking out. There was lots of shouting and waving of papers, passports and stuff. First, they wouldn’t let the devotees accompany him – even those travelling with him. Then, after arguing left and right, they allowed them to go in with him. Then, they wouldn’t let the rest of us see him off – more arguing! Finally, they agreed. While all this was going on, Prabhupāda just sat there.

So, when they made the announcement for boarding, again we all started pushing Prabhupāda’s wheelchair to where he had to board the plane. But at a point, the hallway narrowed, and finally it got so narrow that only one person could push the wheelchair – and that was me. Tamāla-Kṛṣṇa Gosvāmī and the other devotees with Prabhupāda were dealing with some officials or something, but somehow or other, I ended up pushing Prabhupāda’s wheelchair. So, I pushed his wheelchair to the airplane the last time he flew out of India.

While Śrīla Prabhupāda stayed at Bhaktivedānta Manor in England, devotees from all over Europe came to see him and present reports of their preaching activities. These accounts seemed to enliven him, giving him renewed enthusiasm and energy. However, a few days after Janmāṣṭamī and Vyāsa-pūjā, his health once again began to decline.

After fainting, Prabhupāda was taken to a local hospital, where he underwent a minor surgical procedure. As a result, his travel plans had to be revised. Any prospect of continuing on to the United States was abandoned, and on 13th September Prabhupāda and his party flew back to Bombay. After spending several weeks there, they departed by train on October 2nd and returned to Vṛndāvana.

Narasiṅgha Mahārāja: We all knew that Prabhupāda’s health was bad, but when he left Vṛndāvana to go to England, although he had lost some weight, he didn’t look too bad physically.

When we heard that he was returning to Vṛndāvana, I was in charge of preparing his rooms – making sure they were cleaned, and everything was suitable for his arrival. There were at least ten devotees, mostly ladies, helping me. Outside, they had a special chair waiting for him, like a palanquin. He would sit in that, and they would carry him in that chair into his rooms.

Then, when Prabhupāda’s car arrived from Mathurā railway station, everybody left his room and went out to greet him. I decided to stay inside, so I would be there to open the doors and welcome him home with a big handful of flowers.

But when Mahārāja opened the doors and saw Śrīla Prabhupāda’s condition, he froze. The flowers slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor…