SpiritualAfter two weeks of association with Śrīla Prabhupāda, the German preachers naturally felt enlivened to continue expanding Kṛṣṇa consciousness throughout their country, but their manpower was stretched to the limit. It was increasingly difficult to attend to all the necessities, collect funds, and take care of guests. So while Prabhupāda welcomed Hansadutta’s enthusiasm for preaching, he also cautioned him not to become overextended: Now we have got so many students and so many temples, but I am fearful that if we expand too much in this way that we shall become weakened and gradually the whole thing will become lost. Just like milk. We may thin it more and more with water for cheating the customer, but in the end it will cease to be any longer milk. Better to boil the milk now very vigorously and make it thick and sweet, that is the best process. So let us concentrate on training our devotees very thoroughly in the knowledge of Krishna Consciousness from our books, from tapes, by discussing always, and in so many ways instruct them in the right propositions.
On this platform you shall be able to carry on the work satisfactorily, but if there is lack of knowledge, or if there is forgetfulness, everything will be spoiled in time. So especially you must encourage the students to read our books throughout the day as much as possible, and give them all good advice how to understand the books, and inspire them to study the things from every point of view. In this way, by constantly engaging our tongues in the service of the Lord, either by discussing His philosophy or by chanting Hare Krishna, the truth is that Krishna Himself will reveal Himself to us and we shall understand how to do everything properly. With his spiritual master’s words in mind, Hansadutta met with the leading devotees in the autumn of 1972 and discussed the situation. The centers in Düsseldorf, Frankfurt, and Stuttgart had the most difficulties— each had only two or three devotees. They decided to close these three centers and concentrate on a more fertile region, a city with lots of young people. Their natural choice was Heidelberg, halfway between Frankfurt and Stuttgart and near other important cities like Karlsruhe, Mannheim, Wiesbaden, and Mainz. The most important feature was Heidelberg’s world-famous university.
One idea they had to attract young people was to organize Hare Kṛṣṇa festivals. Cakravartī and Uthāla went to London, the music capital of the world, and bought a 2000-watt sound system with which they could stage a Kṛṣṇa conscious version of the increasingly popular three-day rock festival.
ŚILPARĀRIṆĪ DĀSĪ: In 1969—I was fourteen years old and still in school— I saw the devotees on harināma in Hamburg. Somebody handed me an invitation to the Sunday feast. And when I went to the temple on Bartelsstrasse, the first thing that happened was that someone put tilaka on my forehead. Then I was ushered into the temple room for ārati, and after the lecture, I received my first prasādam: simply wonderfuls, purīs, and other preparations I didn’t know.
During that visit, nobody bothered to preach to me. Probably I was considered too young a prospect for becoming a devotee. But I returned a few times because I really liked the chanting and prasādam. Finally, Kulaśekhara talked to me. He told me about the difference between soul and body and that after leaving the body a devotee returns to the spiritual world, things like that. I didn’t understand much, and I actually wasn’t particularly interested in the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, but somehow or other I felt strongly attracted to chanting. During the next couple of years, there were several situations, especially when I felt a little fearful when I would chant silently to myself.
In 1971 I went to America where I developed a strong interest in yoga. I began to read books on it, and after returning to Hamburg I thought I should visit the Hare Kṛṣṇa temple again. Maybe now I’d understand more of the philosophy. When I came to Bartelsstrasse, I learned the temple had moved to a new location on Kapitelbuschweg.
I arrived in the evening, and since it was a weekday, I was the only guest. Vaidyanātha gave me prasādam, and I purchased a copy of Śrī Īśopaniṣad. In the temple room, I watched as the devotees got up one by one and, before the Deity, reported on the services they had done during the day. I remember Aṣṭaratha saying, “My dear Rādhā and Kṛṣṇa, I cooked this offering for You, then I cooked that other offering for You, and another offering—actually, I have been cooking all day for You!” I thought, “What a wonderful life! These people are enjoying all day long.”
Then Bharata urged me to go upfront and also say something. I was completely embarrassed. What was I supposed to speak about? I hadn’t done anything for Kṛṣṇa. Afterward, there was a lecture, but I didn’t pay much attention. Besides being the only guest I was the only girl in a crowd of brahmacārīs, which didn’t add to my comfort. I actually felt relief as I finally closed the temple door behind me. I didn’t want to come back soon. After a half year or so, in the spring of 1973, as I was walking down MÎnckebergstrasse, I met the devotees again. Durgama handed me an invitation to a Hare Kṛṣṇa festival being held in Hamburg’s Amerikahaus. I was surprised that the Hare Kṛṣṇas were also doing festivals, so I decided to go and see.
Admission was free. The program was simple: kīrtana, lecture, prasādam, more kīrtana, another lecture, more prasādam, like that. Mostly Cakravartī lectured, and this time I felt that his explanations were answering a lot of questions I had always been pondering but had been unable to formulate. I immediately accepted that we are not the body and that our polluted consciousness is like a dirty mirror that has to be cleansed. I also accepted that the cleansing method is the chanting of God’s holy names.
After the talk there was kīrtana, and Ātmavidyā jumped down from the stage and began moving through the rows in the audience—we were all sitting, watching the show like a concert—inviting us, with animated gestures, to take part. I was swept up by his enthusiasm and soon ended up onstage clapping my hands, chanting, and dancing. Those kīrtanas were really ecstatic.
During the break, the devotees served strawberry halavā, and Niṣpāpa offered me a music cassette featuring The Radha-Krishna Temple, which I readily accepted. After the festival was over I helped clean up, and when I was just about to leave the devotees draped me with garlands that had decorated pictures of Prabhupāda and the Pañca-tattva. They also gave me a huge plate of halavā to take home.
It was already late, and I had to hurry to catch the last S-Bahn train. It was a Saturday night, and the train car was packed with people, but luckily I found a seat. I must have looked pretty strange with those flower garlands around my neck and the big plate of prasādam on my lap, but I couldn’t have cared less. I just had experienced a most wonderful event, which would eventually change my life. That night I listened to the RadhaKrishna Temple cassette over and over again until six in the morning—the music was so attractive.
From that day on I visited the temple regularly. I’d arrive each morning by eight and stay until the evening. The devotees engaged me in polishing the brass ārati plate, cleaning pots, and sewing. From time to time Jayagoura would sit next to me and read from the Bhagavad-gītā, or Bharata would show me his collection of photos of Śrīla Prabhupāda. Then one day Jayagoura asked me when I would move in. I hadn’t thought about it. Actually, I’d had the impression that I wouldn’t be allowed to live there, so I was surprised at first. But then I thought, “All right.” So I got my sleeping bag and moved into the temple.
A devotee’s life is simple. Everything is centered on serving Kṛṣṇa, and for me every aspect of it was blissful. After a while, Hansadutta asked me to go to Heidelberg, where his wife was living and the temple had better accommodations for women. I soon began to go out and distribute books in downtown Heidelberg.
RAMBHORŪ DĀSĪ: In the early ’70s I was a college student at Gilford in Northern Carolina, studying religion and philosophy. I had become a Quaker, although I was from a Southern Baptist background. I was taking a Bhagavad-gītā course from a Māyāvādī professor teaching Indian Studies, and we had to pick out our own Bhagavad-gītā. So at a hippie bookshop, I found Śrīla Prabhupāda’s Bhagavad-gītā and bought it. My professor didn’t like it. He said that Bhaktivedanta Swami tried to make something devotional out of something purely scientific. But I liked the book; it was picturesque, and I continued to use it. When I read that one should sleep not more than six hours I tried to regulate myself by going to bed at midnight and getting up at six, but without the association of devotees I couldn’t really figure it out.
In the early summer of 1973, I met the devotees for the first time. Some brahmacārīs came to our college dressed in blue work shirts and yellow polyester bed sheets. They looked horrendous. Being a Quaker I felt sorry for them; I actually wanted to preach to them, because that was my duty as a Christian. I was living in a dormitory, and a brahmacārī was going around knocking on doors. I opened my door to him, and he fell to the floor in obeisances, and then he stood up, pulled out a book, and said, “Here, take it and give a donation.” I didn’t feel at all inclined. The guy looked so weird, but I think I bought a magazine just to get rid of him. Then I saw him again at the library, and I thought, “I really should save this poor fellow; he is obviously brainwashed.” So I sat next to him. I had learned at college that it is important in communication to make eye contact, but little did I know that a brahmacārī isn’t supposed to look into a woman’s eyes. So there I was, trying very hard to communicate with him, but he avoided looking at me. I was desperately trying to catch his eye, and he was looking at my shoulder. I lowered my head to catch his gaze and he lowered his to keep his eyes on my shoulder, and I thought, “These people are really pitiable.” It was about the most absurd attempt at communication I had ever experienced.
Later, while staying at my sister’s in South Carolina, I saw two devotees. They were on saṅkīrtana. They walked past me, talking to each other, and I was attracted by their vibration. I thought, “Oh, this sounds like the Quakers.” As a Quaker, I had also become a vegetarian and was into natural living. The sound vibration and mood of these two devotees resembled that of the Christians I hung around with. So that piqued my curiosity.
Then I went to Heidelberg for an ecumenical year abroad. We students were also supposed to go to Egypt and see places connected with Jesus, a kind of pilgrimage. So I went to a college in Heidelberg. But to the questions I asked—like, “What happens after death?”—the professors said, “We can’t deal with those things now; that is postgraduate material.” I became frustrated. I wasn’t taking religion to get a job. I wanted to get my questions answered. But no one was talking about them. I also tried to find the Quakers, and I found one address. I went to a Sunday gathering they celebrated, but most of them were over fifty years old. I realized that they were not going to be a source of community for me. I felt very alone. Then I met Śilpakāriṇī on the main street in Heidelberg, and when I saw that she carried books I asked her for one. To my surprise, she was not all eager to sell me a book. Her face showed she was absolutely detached, full of love and peace. It seemed to me that she didn’t like to approach people, but that she was just doing her duty. Although she didn’t like it, she was doing it, and somehow I was impressed because in those days the trend was that people like the born-again Christians would come up to you, kiss or embrace you, and say, “Jesus loves you,” and I just hated that. But I was impressed that there was an element of sacrifice in her face and that she was not trying to get me. When I asked about the other devotees, because I was desperate to find them, feeling so lonely, she said, “Better not come to the temple now. Hardly anybody speaks English. Don’t bother to come until next week. Then one person will come who can talk to you. So I called up the following week, and Hansadutta was on the phone. When I heard his voice I could understand that this person would tell me who I am, and I felt so at home with him, much more than with the materialists that I was going to school with. I immediately went to the temple, and the first thing that happened was somebody offered me a plate of prasādam. There was rice and dāl and everything piled on top. It was stone-cold, but it was absolutely delicious. It was just incredible food. Then they invited me to come every day, and they told me that to eat anything else was like eating poison. So I walked for half an hour every day and got prasādam until I decided to move into the temple.
MAṆIDHARA DĀSA: I was fourteen when my parents emigrated from Prague to Germany in 1968. Having grown up in a communist country I was disillusioned with social and political issues, and my main interest was in art, which was my way of communicating with the world. Being a foreigner I had hardly any friends, and thus I spent most of my time at home and painted.
In 1973 I began to study at the art academy in Karlsruhe, and there I met another artist who had become interested in Kṛṣṇa consciousness. He was walking around with a bead bag, and as soon as we became a little more familiar with each other, he began to preach to me. Later he became initiated as Ajātaśatru Dāsa. Indian culture and Buddhist art with its mandalas already fascinated me, and thus he immediately awakened my curiosity when he spoke about Kṛṣṇa consciousness.
He showed me how to chant, and one Sunday he asked me to accompany him to the temple in Heidelberg. In my mind, I imagined a building like a Greek temple, with high columns, so I was surprised when he led me to a small house in the outskirts of the city. The first thing that amazed me was the pile of shoes at the entrance. I thought, “Why are these people collecting so many shoes?” Then I was told that I had to take off my shoes to go in.
The first person I met was Hansadutta. He had just shaved his head and had bloody cuts all over it. He immediately sat me down and began to preach to me. During the feast, I got to know other devotees, and on the whole, I was absolutely fascinated by their frank and open natures. I am an introvert, and never in my life had I met people who spoke to me in such a direct and friendly way. But I was also frightened; I knew they expected something from me.
I began visiting the temple regularly for the Sunday feast, and with each visit, the preaching strategy of the devotees became less and less subtle. Pṛthu, for example, was quite direct. He told me one day, “Just stay. There is nothing out there for you to do. Or is there anything you still want to achieve?” I couldn’t answer, because I actually didn’t have any concrete plans for the future. He went on, “Where will you go?”
“I still have to think,” I said kind of sheepishly.
“Think about what?” he insisted. “Do you see anything bad in what we are doing?”
“No,” I replied, “it’s not bad, but I am not sure I am ready yet.” Then, during the feast, in front of everybody, he caught my long hair at the back of my head and held it up like a śikhā. “This is the right haircut for you!” he said with a broad grin. Although I was shocked at first, I was also taken in by his unusual and personal approach. He was like a big daddy. Devotees were so different.
At the beginning of 1974, I bought a Bhagavad-gītā, but I have to admit that I understood very little of the philosophy. I liked the chanting, though, and I was also fascinated by Prabhupāda’s bhajanas. I had one tape on which he sang Gurvāṣṭaka and gave a purport, and his voice made a deep impression on me.
I shared a flat with an artist friend who was also interested in Kṛṣṇa consciousness, and the only things we had—in an otherwise empty apartment—were the Bhagavad-gītā, chanting beads, and sleeping bags. So for some time, we followed a strict schedule of rising early, taking cold showers, and chanting sixteen rounds on our beads. Once we even fasted for three days. We were thinking of joining the temple, but somehow or other we couldn’t bring ourselves to take that final, decisive step. But then one spring day everything just fell into place. I took my sleeping bag and a few other belongings and went to the train station. The train to Heidelberg arrived just at that moment, and I was on my way to the temple. I didn’t have a single penny and no train ticket. When the inspector came I simply said, “I have no money, I am chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa.” “All right,” he said and left me alone.
When I arrived at the temple, all the devotees had gone out to preach except Aṣṭaratha, who was the pūjārī. When he opened the door, I asked if I could stay. “Of course!” he exclaimed with a huge smile, and I thought to myself, “Wow, simply for that smile I’ll stay.
NIKHILĀNANDA DĀSA: After the summer of 1972, during which I had seen Śrīla Prabhupāda in Paris and Amsterdam, I had come to the firm conviction that I wanted to get rid of my long hair and become a regular devotee. I told my mother that I was determined to live in the temple but that I would continue to attend school and visit her regularly. In the end, she consented, and I joined the temple in Hamburg. Even my teachers and classmates accepted my new way of life, and I had the opportunity to give lectures on the introduction to Īśopaniṣad and distribute prasādam at school.
In November—I had recently turned fifteen—Cakravartī, the temple president, felt I was ready for initiation and suggested that I write a letter to Prabhupāda. I received the answer in December. Prabhupāda was willing to accept me, but he had not yet received Cakravartī’s recommendation and so wanted to wait. He said that he was pleased that I was engaged in translating his books and editing articles for Zurück zur Gottheit: “This is very important work. I need some men to dedicate their lives to publishing these books in all languages of the world. So if you can do this, that will be very nice.”
I felt much encouraged by his letter, and it helped me to convince the temple managers to free me from other services and give me more time to translate. Thus I soon moved into the translator’s office, a makeshift shed we had built on the temple’s terrace, where I had the opportunity to work with Vedavyas and improve my translation technique.
In March 1973 Prabhupāda formally accepted me as his disciple, and it wasn’t long before māyā put me to the test. My mother had changed her mind, and one morning two policemen came to escort me home. I set up an altar at home, and every day I went to the temple right after school to continue the translation work. On Sundays, I took the first train in the morning to arrive in time for maṅgala-ārati. It took me a year to convince my mother to let me live in the temple again.
*** By the end of 1972, Hansadutta was sending Śrīla Prabhupāda samples of the fine Bible paper he was considering for the German Bhagavad-gītā along with quotes from printers. Always eager to give his spiritual master results and receive encouragement, he gave the impression that the publishing of the German Bhagavad-gītā was imminent, although it would take another year to finish it. But Prabhupāda didn’t mind reciprocating: I know that the German printing and bookmaking is always the first class, so if you are satisfied then you may go ahead with printing as you have arranged. That is a very great step of progress in spreading this Kṛṣṇa Consciousness to the German people. Kṛṣṇa Consciousness movement rests upon the words of Kṛṣṇa, so if people can read for themselves what Kṛṣṇa is saying, then they shall understand our movement. Otherwise it will be very difficult to convince them. So you have done the right thing, printing Bhagavad-gita in German language, and I very much appreciate that you have done this great service.
Hansadutta was ambitious and had a strong desire to distinguish himself and be recognized for his achievements. During the GBC meetings in India in March, he had expressed his desire to leave Germany and take up a position of responsibility in America, but Prabhupāda had not approved those plans and instead ordered him to concentrate his efforts permanently on preaching in Germany.
There were other things that disturbed Hansadutta’s mind. Because the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement was growing all over the world, Prabhupāda found it a burden to chant on the beads of all his prospective students, and therefore he introduced the system that some older disciples would do it on his behalf, just as they were already performing the fire sacrifices in his absence. But Prabhupāda had so far selected only two sannyāsīs, Kīrtanānanda Swami in America and Revatīnandana Swami in Europe, for this service. Now Hansadutta was asked to send the beads of new devotees to Revatīnandana, and he was not happy with the arrangement. Actually, he would have liked to take sannyāsa himself, but his wife was adamantly opposed and had written to Prabhupāda several times about her concerns. In reply, Prabhupāda had assured her each time that he would not give her husband sannyāsa without her sanction. He tried to pacify Hansadutta by explaining to him the nature of sannyāsa: Actually, all of you are more than sannyasis. Anyone who has dedicated his life to Krishna, he is sannyasi, yogi, and everything. That is the statement of Bhagavad-gita: one who does not work for his personal benefit is a sannyasi. It doesn’t matter what is his dress. So all our devotees are more than sannyasis. We are members of Krishna’s family. Our aim is not to become a Mayavadi sannyasi, but to become family members of Krishna’s devotees. Krishna maintains 16,000 families, and if you get a chance to serve in one of the families, then your life is a success. Real sannyasa means no more interest in material activities, but simply dedicated to Krishna’s service. That is real sannyasa. So you are greater than a sannyasi. You train all these boys to be practical sannyasis in the service of Krishna. But Hansadutta still felt that he was stuck in Germany, and although he was the undisputed authority there, it was a small kingdom compared to North America. When he expressed again his underlying dissatisfaction with his engagement and a certain discouragement because of not being able to apply his talents to the fullest, Śrīla Prabhupāda wrote him a long letter explaining the difference between mature devotional service and whimsical action born of the desire to enjoy: Now you appear little restless. I know that is your nature, you like to do big things and you are very capable and intelligent young man for executing tremendous tasks on behalf of Kṛṣṇa. But I think that you have got a huge field of endeavor in the German speaking countries and other countries of Scandinavia, Communist countries, and other places like that. Now work very vigorously to develop these places, that is your great task at hand.
You needn’t look further to find some big challenge. The challenge is very near at hand. That means developing and expanding along the lines as you have begun. Of course, we are not ever very much anxious to repeat the same activity many times, that is the nature of the living entity, that he seeks to enjoy varieties of flavors. But mature understanding of activity means to take it as our occupational duty. That is to say, suppose I am established as a good carpenter, then it will be foolish if after some time I am thinking, “Oh, I have done this cutting of woods so many times, now it is becoming boring and uninteresting, therefore let me become a doctor.” No. That is not recommended by Kṛṣṇa, neither is it common sense.
Occupational duty means to stick with one type of occupation which is just suitable for me, considering that it is my duty, therefore I am throughout my life obligated to perform it to the best of my ability. This is mature understanding of occupation. That means I must not leave it even for so-called good cause, just like Arjuna wanted to stop his fighting activity just to avoid killing so many of his kinsmen, cousin brothers, and other friends.
So we are preachers on behalf of Lord Kṛṣṇa, that is our occupational duty, we haven’t got to search any further some new challenge or change our engagement. No, that has been already settled up. Now best thing will be to develop more and more what we have begun. I have built the skeleton of the building, but there is so much more work remaining before us. The GBC men are there, the world is divided into 12 zones for gradual development by these, my chosen right-hand men.
So, however you manage it, that you know best, my only point is that I do not like to see you become discouraged as you are indicating, because there is no actual cause for such discouragement. Rather there are all encouraging prospects ahead. Now you have started something tangible and solid in German-speaking countries, you are printing books, magazines, and distributing them widely, collecting huge funds, now the work is just beginning. So you have got a little facility now, utilize this opportunity to take advantage of Kṛṣṇa’s favoring you in this way. Consider that each day shall be a new challenge for you to push on Kṛṣṇa Consciousness movement within your range of managing. But I think that you are developing things nicely already, you are one of my senior disciples, and you know these things already, only you are little humble so you have said like that. Yes, even the devotee doesn’t care a pinch for even Lord Brahma, Lord Siva, like that, because devotees are the most exalted personalities as the servants of Kṛṣṇa, still they think themselves lower than everyone, and that humble attitude is their credit. What credit is there for someone who is himself actually lower than everyone but claims that he is better than everyone, or even he may claim that he is lower than everyone, still what is his credit? But the devotee, being the topmost grade of living entity, when he gives all credit to others and takes nothing credit for himself, that is his credit. Thank you, along with your good wife Himavati, for helping me in this way.
Hansadutta resigned himself to Prabhupāda’s will that he stay in Germany and develop the preaching there, and he put all his energy into book publishing and organizing festival programs. To stage a Hare Kṛṣṇa festival was not a new idea. This was what Prabhupāda had planned for the World Sankirtana Party and what he had done with his disciples in India two years earlier. Therefore, whenever he received reports from Hansadutta describing the success of the festival programs in Berlin, Hamburg, Munich, and Heidelberg, he gave him all encouragement to continue with this type of preaching. In several letters, written in May and June 1973, Śrīla Prabhupāda said: I am very glad to hear how our festival program is going on so nicely in Germany. These festivals will be successful all over the world. As GBC member it is your duty to carefully make a broad program for implementing Kṛṣṇa Consciousness in every sphere of life, in this way we will become respected as the most important members of human society. I have carefully studied the contents, including photos of posters from the festival in Heidelberg. Your report is very encouraging to me. The communists by dry philosophy have spread practically all over the world. We are holding festivals, feasting, philosophy and salvation-why shall we not spread our influence and overthrow them? Regarding your plan to travel around the world staging such Hare Kṛṣṇa Festivals—yes, do it, you have my blessings.
Your progress in translating work is very nice. It is actually most important of all that this translating of books is going on at the same time as the festivals. I have seen the photographs of your festival blocking the traffic and I am very much encouraged. The pictures should appear in all languages and you should write an article for Back to Godhead.
Hansadutta gladly complied, and in the October issue of the American Back to Godhead magazine his description of the Heidelberg Hare Kṛṣṇa festival was one of the main articles: On June 9th and 10th of 1973 the devotees of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement from Germany, Holland, Sweden, Switzerland, France and England assembled in Heidelberg, Germany, for the celebration of a massive Hare Kṛṣṇa festival. What is a Hare Kṛṣṇa festival? It is a transcendental event organized for the pleasure of the Supreme Lord, Kṛṣṇa. Just as in the material world a meeting or event is conducted especially to show respect and honor to a great man, so a Hare Kṛṣṇa festival is especially organized to please the Supreme Person.
In every community we find scriptures that give us names of God like Allah, Jehovah or Kṛṣṇa. Authorized scriptures like the Bible, Bhagavadgītā, and Koran give hundreds of names for God, and through the mercy of Caitanya Mahāprabhu everyone can take advantage of the holy name of God by taking part in such Hare Kṛṣṇa festivals as the one conducted recently in Heidelberg.
Practically the whole city population was in one way or another connected with our Hare Kṛṣṇa Festival. To get the permission to conduct the parade on the Hauptstrasse (Main Street) and the fire ceremony on the Marktplatz (town square), we took permission from the director of city planning, and from the chief of the Heidelberg police, who was very happy to give our parade a police escort. We engaged a printer to do our poster, which an advertising company placed all over the city. The television people sent their man to film the festival. Thus at least for the time that our festival was in the planning and execution stages, people from all walks of life focused their attention either knowingly or unknowingly on Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Lord, through the execution of their daily work.
The success of the festival program lifted Hansadutta’s spirits. And he printed 100,000 copies of the next German Back to Godhead. Prabhupāda congratulated him on the fine layout: “The magazine is gorgeous, better than Dai Nippon [the printer of the American BTG]. Continue the standard, increase the pages, increase the articles, increase the distribution. May Kṛṣṇa bless you more and more.”
Things were going well. Because of the festivals and the concentrated preaching in Heidelberg, devotees were joining in droves. The only drawback was that another summer would pass without Śrīla Prabhupāda visiting Germany. For several years he had regularly gone to London and Paris, but Hansadutta felt unable to offer Prabhupāda adequate facilities and attractive preaching opportunities. The temples were small and could not accommodate more than thirty devotees at a time. And so far he had not been able to attract the intellectual and scientific community, so there were no prospects of inviting prominent persons and university professors to meet Prabhupāda.
Consequently, the German devotees would again drive to Paris, where Prabhupāda was expected in August. And a few weeks later, they would go to Stockholm, where two young Swedish who had emigrated to Australia and been initiated there as Vegavān and Ajita, had returned to Stockholm in May and opened the first temple in Scandinavia.