Srila Prabhupada’s Disappearance Day—Morning Talk

Giriraj Swami: As time went on, there were so many that I can’t do it now, but I will just pick up on one which was the story of Srila Prabhupada giving a lecture in a large hall to a large audience, and a child crying or howling, and Prabhupada asking that the child be removed. So, once in Detroit, Srila Prabhupada was speaking, and a child started to make noise. So, the mother started to chastise the child, and Prabhupada said, “In Vedic culture, children cannot be punished.” So then, the mother’s husband started to chastise her for having chastised the child. And Prabhupada said, “In Vedic culture, women are not punished.” So then, the temple commander started to chastise the husband, and Srila Prabhupada said, “In Vedic culture, brahmans are not punished.” And he said, “Our society is simply made of brahmans, women, and children, so no one can be punished.”

I thought, because we are in Los Angeles and it’s a matter of history to read His Holiness Mukunda Goswami’s experience in New Dwarka when he received the news that Srila Prabhupada had left, and I will read from his book, Miracle on Second Avenue. The book focuses on his period with Srila Prabhupada in San Francisco and London mainly, up until 1973. And then in the epilogue, he gives a summary of what happened to him after.

Then he says, “In 1976, I returned to live at the Los Angeles temple where ISKCON’s Bhaktivedanta Book Trust published Prabhupada’s books, where the international lecture and photo archives were housed, and where the devotees had film production and recording studios. In this environment, I reasoned, I could write and develop a much-needed media and public relations department for ISKCON.

The deprogramming threat was already in full swing by then, so I became involved in dealing with the media on this and other issues. Despite the fact that I saw Prabhupada for only short periods of time during these years, I never felt separated from him. I lived in a community of devotees that sustained me, confident that this was the life Prabhupada wanted for me.

During the time I was living and working near Prabhupada, I got little direct praise from him. But he still always encouraged me by working with me in a way that seemed close and intimate to the point that he even appeared to depend on my advice.

Now, I felt the same intimacy knowing that Prabhupada was satisfied with my life and my work, and for the first time, I began to comprehend the significance of the Sanskrit word vāṇī, which literally means instruction, but which is often used to denote love or service in separation.

I had read in Prabhupada’s books that even when the spiritual master is not physically present, his instructions or words are accepted as his presence. Living my life in accordance with Prabhupada’s teaching, I felt him there with me. I began to realize that what I had heard from my spiritual master was that he himself, and the vibrations of his words, were alive. I genuinely felt Prabhupada’s presence in his absence, and over the years, the sense of him being with me increased rather than decreased.”

So, there are many relevant messages in Mukunda Maharaja’s words, and he did remind me of Nisingananda Prabhu’s talk about listening to Srila Prabhupada every day and associating with Srila Prabhupada through his vāṇī. And it reminded me of a relevant instruction from Srila Prabhupada. Srila Prabhupada agreed with the maxim, “God helps those who help themselves,” and he said that in the life of a devotee, helping yourself means placing yourself in the presence of transcendental sound.

“Inevitably, my conviction in Srila Prabhupada’s vāṇī was tested. On Monday, November 14th 1977, an announcement was made for all the Los Angeles devotees to gather in the temple room at 6:45 a.m. for an important meeting. It was on that morning that Rameshwar, devotee in charge of the Los Angeles temple, told the three hundred strong audience the unthinkable news that Srila Prabhupada had passed away, owing to the devastating illness that had ravaged his body for several months.

Later, devotees who had been at Prabhupada’s bedside, told us that he had continued translating Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam into a dictation machine until just minutes before his departure. His lips barely moving, Prabhupada had defied the pain that his doctor said a person of his condition would be in. And speaking softly into the microphone, he had dictated the translations and explanations of the verses of Chapter Thirteen, Canto Ten, of his Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam.

At one point, he had turned to a devotee close to him and said, “Don’t think this won’t happen to you.” Mentally active and philosophically astute, Prabhupada had spoken and interacted with his disciples almost until the moment when, suddenly rising, he had uttered Hare Krishna and sunk backwards as he left.

The sound of the devotees chanting and crying had filled the room. None of these details were yet known to me that morning, as I rose blindly from the temple room and walked out into the early morning Los Angeles sunshine. Everything was too bright, like a plastic set from the huge Hollywood movie lots just a few blocks away. I scuffled north toward my office and apartment. My thoughts clambering to be noticed in the whirlwind that raged inside my head.

Prabhupada, what was it like as you left your body? I thought. How can I make it without you? I don’t even know what it means to say you are dead. Dead—the word sounded ridiculous in connection with Prabhupada. I knew I had experienced that even without being physically present, Prabhupada was always with me. Why then did I feel like this? Why couldn’t I draw on my realization of Prabhupada’s vāṇī to overcome the grief that I felt engulfing me?

I fumbled for my keys and heard the phone ringing inside my apartment. I got to it just in time. ‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Is it true about Srila Prabhupada?’

When I heard Shyamasundara’s voice, my eyes flooded and I couldn’t speak. Here he was on the phone, this person who was so dear to Prabhupada and who was so close to me, with whom I chaired San Francisco and London, and with whom I had planned projects, and with whom I had excitedly torn open envelopes with AC Bhaktivedanta Swami written on the back.

This, all of this, poured from my memory triggered by the sound of his voice. How could this be happening? How could Prabhupada be gone? I gasped for breath. The voice on the other end of the phone was silent.

‘Yes,’ I croaked at last, ‘it’s true.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t really know many details yet,’ I said. Tears dripped from my chin, but I tried to control my voice. ‘A few hours ago, I guess, in India, but you know that.’

‘Were you at the temple?’

‘Yes, Rameshwar made the announcement.’

I wondered why such details mattered now. Shyamasundara seemed to be waiting for me to say more, but I didn’t know what else to say.

‘I owed Prabhupada money,’ Shyamasundara said finally. ‘I hope I can clear up my financial situation soon and make good on the debt I owed him and pay it back to the book trust. Yes, you want to go now?’ he asked me.

‘I guess so, but I don’t know where or for what,’ I said.

‘I know,’ he said, and we hung up.

I put my head in my hands and sobbed, thinking of the words of the sixteenth century Bengali poet Narottam dasa Thakura, who had written that being devoid of the association of Lord Chaitanya and His followers, all he could do was weep. Then I went into the bathroom and threw some cold water over my face. It trickled down my neck and over my crumpled clothes.

I will go back to the temple to be with Prabhupada’s disciples, I thought. I will greet the deities that he installed because that’s what he would want. From the street I could hear the Deity greeting had already started. Yamuna’s amplified voice rang out from the open doors: govindam ādi-puruṣaṁ tam ahaṁ bhajāmi.

I remembered the happy moments making the record with her in London, and how Prabhupada loved the way she sang about his Lord Govinda. My thoughts were interrupted by a good-natured devotee named Gauranga, who came up to me as I headed toward the temple. He didn’t live in the community, but he came almost every day at some point or other.

‘Hey, Haribol, Mukunda,’ he said, smiling as bright as ever. ‘Do you have any jumper cables, I’m having some car problems. As usual, right?’ He laughed, ‘That’s what you get for buying a car for under five hundred dollars.’

His routine concerns took the wind out of me for a second, until it dawned on me that he hadn’t heard yet. I opened my mouth to tell him, but he spoke again before I could form the sentences out loud. ‘Mukunda, are you okay?’ he asked. And I nodded mutely. ‘The thing is, I’m kind of in a hurry, do you have any cables or not?’

Instead of telling him the news, I said simply that I could help. He was still unconsciously living in the old world where Srila Prabhupada was physically present, and I didn’t want to be the one who broke his last few precious moments in the safety of that world.”

And that’s the end. I also wanted to read it apart from its profound relevance, because Mukunda Maharaja himself has faced some very severe health challenges recently, one after the other. I guess he broke his hip and then it turned out that he needed cardiac bypass surgery, which is a very difficult combination, and very painful. But by Krishna’s grace, he passed through both of the severe challenges.

I mean, at one stage, the doctors were saying it’s very likely that he could pass away on the operation table. But it was really quite a miracle that he was able to pass through both of those. But still, I thought it would be nice to remember him on this occasion and pray for him.

So, thank you very much. We will continue with the program. I’ll be here in the evening also and speak as part of the Sunday program and hope to see as many of you there, as possible. Hare Krishna.