Gopavrindapala: The first time I saw Srila Prabhupada was at the Los Angeles airport in 1972. With great anticipation, hundreds of devotees were waiting for him to come around the corner of the concourse. Every other person on the plane exited, and as every new face came around the corner, we thought, “No, that’s not him.” Finally Prabhupada came. He literally peeked around the corner of the concourse hallway with a playful look, gave a little wave, and then walked out. It may have been his plan to keep us all in anticipation and to heighten our ecstasy, and it worked quite well. The devotees went wild. From all the anticipation that had built up, I expected a six-foot man with broad shoulders and a great presence. Of course, the presence was there, but it wasn’t physical. He was much smaller then I expected, but no less regal. I was half-dazed at that moment, as was everybody.
In Vrindavan there were just a few book distributors who got an audience with Srila Prabhupada to discuss that very topic. I asked about the quality of our preaching and our book distribution and I suggested that there was a problem. People said that the only time they see us is when we are hunting for their money or trying to give them some of our books. They don’t know us other than that. His response was typically inspiring and insightful. There was almost a query on his face, as he said “No, no. They shouldn’t think like that. You should tell them, ‘You can be with me twenty-four hours a day. You come with me, live where I live, and in that way you can get to know me, and after three days of staying with me, you will become like me.’” He used the pronoun “me.” That inspired us all because it suggested to us that our example was just as important as our preaching and book distribution. Our example, how we lived twenty-four hours a day, should be public information.
In the early ’70s we were traveling from temple to temple teaching others how to distribute large books, the Srimad- Bhagavatams and the hardbound Bhagavad-gitas. At that time we were questioning whether or not we should perform book distribution skits for the devotees. In these skits, one of us acted as a nondevotee receiving a book, and the other acted as a devotee. We would pass each other on the street. The devotee would stop the nondevotee and have an exchange with him, ending up in a book sale. So we asked Prabhupada, “Should we perform these skits as we go around and preach to the devotees?” He said, “No. It’s a little unnatural. But you should travel, you should preach, and you should teach the devotees how to be sincere.” His point was that sincerity was the essence of book distribution and preaching. He went on to articulate that preaching depends on circumstances. I am paraphrasing, but he said that there is no static or rote way to distribute a book or preach. Each person is different. He said, “By teaching the devotees to be sincere”—and he made one of those gestures, which in my mind was very sweeping—pointed to his heart, and said, “If you teach them to be sincere, the real teacher from within will give them information according to the circumstances. Krishna will teach them how to distribute the books.”
Prabhupada had a unique innocence about our Western ways and our interpretation of things. Once we were discussing book distribution and sankirtan, street preaching. Tripurari said, “In many temples there is no sankirtan class,” meaning that they weren’t teaching each other how to distribute books and inspiring each other about street preaching and sankirtan in a class format. That was Tripurari’s intent. But Prabhupada took it in an entirely different way. He said, “No? No sankirtan class?” And we all in unison said, “No, Prabhupada,” because we were expecting him to suggest that, “Oh, this should happen everywhere and you should head it up.” We thought we were going to get some new service. He said, “No? No sankirtan classes?” We said, “No, Prabhupada. They are not doing that.” He asked three times, “No? There should be sankirtan in every class; before class and after class, always sankirtan.” He was thinking that there was no chanting of the holy names prior to the regular morning and evening Bhagavatam and Gita classes. But we were thinking that there was no technique class about preaching, which was a foreign concept to him.
Another time one of the local book distributors asked how, upon his arrival in New York, Srila Prabhupada had such success in distributing the first volumes of the Srimad-Bhagavatam. Prabhupada thought for a moment and said, “I do not think it was my success. I think that they saw me as some fancy Indian gentleman, and therefore, they took whatever I asked them to take.” He never thought that there was a technique. He thought it was his Indian flair, his Indian gentlemanliness.
One night at about 11:00 I was chanting japa outside Prabhupada’s room on the third floor in the guest building in Mayapur. I had chanted japa there previously, and one of the Mayapur temple authorities had told me, “Once this gate is closed, I don’t want it opened for anybody. I don’t care what they say.” I said, “Okay. I am up late chanting my rounds. I will help you with that.” So there was a lady downstairs shaking on the gate, the very gate that this temple authority had told me not to open. I just sat there chanting my japa. I heard this lady’s voice, “Haribol!” and the gate rattling back and forth. I was ignoring this ruckus on the local authority’s plea. Finally it got so bad that Prabhupada came out. He was a bit upset. He said, “Why are they banging?” I said, “Well, Prabhupada, so-and-so told me that after these gates were locked, they should just remain that way no matter who wanted to get in.” Prabhupada shook his head. He was almost disgusted. He said, “Come on.” He and I walked down three flights of stairs and he personally unlatched the gate for the lady, who was a hard-working, sincere cook in Mayapur. She had been in the Mayapur temple for a long time and was the backbone of the kitchen. He let her in, and they chatted for a while. Then he closed and locked the gate behind her. As we were walking up, he looked at me disdainfully, and I was feeling very bad that I hadn’t done the needful at the time. He said, “Why didn’t you let her in?” I repeated that so-and-so told me not to do this. He laughed and said, “Do not listen to so-and-so swami.” From that point on I let anybody in who wanted to come in. I figured that the sannyasi’s authority had been superseded.
We were some of the first book distributors to begin wearing pants and a skullcap. Kirtanananda was upset by this non-devotional clothing, while Karandhar thought, “What the heck. It works.” They were both approaching Prabhupada by letter in an attempt to influence him to their own view. To encourage me, Karandhar would show me the letters that were coming to him and explain the letters that Prabhupada was sending to Kirtanananda. In the letters to Karandhar, it was quite clear that Prabhupada’s mood was “whatever is going to maximize our effect.” One of Kirtanananda’s arguments was, “They dress like hippies when they go out.” Prabhupada responded, “They shouldn’t dress like hippies. But that doesn’t mean that they can’t dress like they are non-devotees.” As far as I heard that was the last word. From that point on, we regularly distributed books and approached the public in nondevotional clothing.
Sometimes he liked to hear about how we approached the public. Once we were talking about the energy crisis which had become a big issue. The approach we used was, “You know this energy crisis that has people backed up for miles at local gas pumps? Well, there isn’t any. This book explains the absence of the energy crisis that everyone thinks they feel.” Prabhupada liked our creativity in distributing books. He liked to hear the anecdotes that we weaved about his books and how we created a positive impression.
A rumor went around that Prabhupada had successfully distributed his periodical to folks in tea stalls in India. So I asked him how he had succeeded. He was a bit incensed. He said, “No, not tea stalls,” as if that were beneath him, and he suggested that, “My success was with government men. I would meet the government officers in their offices. I would go to downtown Delhi, to the bigger cities, and offer my books to the bigger men, the more reputable men of society, and somehow or other try and preach to the higher class of people.” The idea of him approaching folks that were sitting at the roadside tea stalls was not his idea of how he had begun book distribution.
Hawaii was one of Prabhupada’s favorite places to poke fun at. I think Hawaii was a pet peeve for him. He saw both sides of it. On one hand, he claimed it was a holdover from another era of goodness. On the other hand, he said that the enjoying mood was very strong there. It was in Hawaii that he coined his famous reaction to the surfers, calling them “sufferers.” Another time he described how people become very attached to their flat on the tenth or twentieth floor of the high-rise apartment buildings that were coming up like wild in Waikiki. Because of their attachment, he said, they would come back in a subsequent life as a cockroach in that very same flat.
I said something about, “When we distribute your books Prabhupada . . .” He stopped me and said, “Do you know what book distribution means?” I wanted to think of something quickly to save my skin, but I couldn’t. So I said, “Actually, no. I don’t. I know that there is a lot of depth to it and things about it that I don’t understand.” He turned to me with a strong glance and said, “Book distribution means distribution of knowledge. Do not forget this.” It wasn’t a sales thing. He didn’t look at the distribution of his books as something that would be done with a sales mentality but rather with the mentality that we were giving knowledge to people who needed it.
Another thing that I liked was his attempt to reconcile with the Gaudiya Math. Although many times Prabhupada tried to steer his disciples clear of involvement with Gaudiya Math issues and Gaudiya Math representatives, his personal approach to the Gaudiya Math was always one of reciprocation and reconciliation. In one letter he said, “We have been involved in fratricidal warfare; we don’t see the same philosophically. Nevertheless, there is no reason why we can’t unite for the higher cause, preaching the mission of Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu and Srila Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati Thakur.” While he wanted to compartmentalize our understanding and keep our fledgling outlook on the philosophy pristine and free of external input, his personal approach to the Gaudiya Math was always one of reconciliation. When he was dealing with his God-brothers individually, either through letters or personal interaction, he was always seeing the higher purpose of uniting for the preaching cause of the sankirtan movement.
