Spiritual1970 promised to be an exceptional year for preaching in England. The London devotees were happy to have Tamal Krishna staying with them. Besides being an expert manager, he had a talent for dealing with nondevotees, and he arranged many engagements, including a six-month contract for the Radha-Krishna Temple group’s concerts in halls, colleges, and clubs (for £ 250 per week). The devotees began to dream of using their unexpected success to spread Kṛṣṇa consciousness not only throughout England but all over the world. Maybe this was Lord Caitanya’s way of fulfilling Prabhupāda’s desire for a World Saṅkīrtana Party.
However, when Prabhupāda received letters from Mukunda, Gurudāsa, Śyāmasundara, and Tamal Krishna describing the London preaching, he sensed the danger of their being carried away by the external features of their success. He also felt that the importance of some of his instructions given before returning to America had not been properly understood. Thus he reminded Mukunda: The purpose of World Sankirtana Party will be to establish a center in each and every city and village of the world. This idea is taking practical shape in various centers. Just like you started for London Yatra and now after one year it has taken a shape, similarly in Germany also it has taken a shape, but in Paris it has not taken as yet. Therefore World Sankirtana Party means to establish a center everywhere we go.
I do not mean a concert party or musical party that may go to a city, have some performances and collect some money without any permanent effect. For this reason the World Sankirtana Party should consist of members who can impress spiritual ecstasy in the hearts of the people, so that some of them may come forward and agree to establish a center where the Sankirtana may go on continually.
And to Tamal Krishna: You have written to say that you cannot go to Hamburg or Paris to organize their activities, but actually you were left in London for the purpose of organizing these three centers. If you stick only to London Temple then our former scheme will not be executed. I think it is proper that you should devote your time for all these three centers and train the local management for being self-supporting. As you are helping London Temple, similarly you should help the Hamburg and Paris Temples also. I think that was our original plan, and you should not change the same. Seeing the great potential for spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness in Germany, Prabhupāda advised Śyāmasundara: I have seen the list of ‘Hare Krishna Mantra’ record distribution and I am surprised to see that Germany alone has taken 57,000 records. Therefore we should open more branches in Germany immediately. So Krishna das has also written me about this prospect and I have asked Hansadutta to go to Germany via London immediately for this purpose and I have written to Tamal about this.
Śrīla Prabhupāda also asked Kulaśekhara and his wife Viśakhā, Suridāsa and his wife Jaṭilā, and Trivikrama to go to Hamburg. As soon as Hansadutta and Himavatī arrived in London at the end of February, they teamed up with Tamal Krishna. On March 1, the three preachers boarded a train to Folkestone, where they took a ferry across the channel. The next morning they arrived at Hamburg’s central train station.
TAMAL KRISHNA GOSWAMI: Our arrival meant a change. Śrīla Prabhupāda had now sent two of his trained leaders, and it was expected that they would reorganize things. As he had directed, Hansadutta, as the most senior, was made president. Himavatī equally established herself in the kitchen, easily winning the hearts of the German devotees with her spiced kḥīcarī and invigorating vegetable stews. Like a father and mother, they began tending to everyone’s needs, and the devotees responded appreciatively. Between them, they solved all problems—from mending socks to organizing saṅkīrtana to ending petty quarrels. Their presence made the temple a home, a place in which to feel sheltered.
The morning after our arrival, Hansadutta and I had the same inspiration: Let’s go on saṅkīrtana! Our enthusiasm was contagious, and soon we had a small group of devotees as eager as we were to give Lord Caitanya’s mercy to the conditioned souls. As we had done in New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and London, we now reenacted the drama of chanting the holy names of the Lord on the streets of Hamburg. And like a well-rehearsed actress, waiting in the wings for her cue, Māyā suddenly entered.
Snow! If the London bobbies had been a nuisance, this act of Māyā threatened to drop the final curtain on our fledgling saṅkīrtana activities. But Hansadutta and I were soon to gain great respect for the German devotees. The colder it got, the more determined they became. It became so cold that the streets were nearly empty, but still they insisted we should go out. Hansadutta and I had no choice but to comply with their enthusiasm.
There was no need to coax the devotees to dance. The icy polar wind blew through the streets, accelerating the speed of the kīrtana. At least in such hellish circumstances it was easy to remember Kṛṣṇa, and perhaps appreciating our austerities, some passersby willingly contributed small donations.
HANSADUTTA DĀSA: I was born in Braunschweig, Germany, in 1941, during World War II. Shortly after my birth, my family moved to Berlin where my father, who had not been recruited to the army because he was already over 40 years old, opened a type of dining establishment that included entertainment. However, as the war went on, flour, butter and sugar became more and more scarce, so finally he had to close down, and at the end of the war, when everyone was recruited —young people, old people—my father also had to go. But he was soon captured by the Americans and put into a prison camp. Fortunately, he spoke very good English, because in the 1920s he had been to America with some friends. And since he was also a very good cook and pastry chef, they treated him well.
After he was released, in 1947, some of his friends who had stayed in America contacted him and invited him to come over. Finally, in 1950, we crossed the Atlantic and arrived in New York where my father’s friends provided a place to live in the German part of Manhattan. After about one year, I had learned English.
In 1959 I signed up for the Navy where I stayed as a cook until 1962. After that, I went back to New York and spent some time in art school, but I soon realized that this was a waste of time. I was living on the Lower East Side, the meeting point of many young people who did not want to do what their parents were doing but were looking for alternative lifestyles. By the mid-‘60s I had moved to Hoboken, New Jersey, where I shared my flat with a friend named Bob. He was a bit eccentric, and after some time, he disappeared, and I lost track of him. The next time I saw him, he came up to me and told me that I should come and meet the Swami. He said, “The Swami loves everyone, and he sings beautifully.” Prabhupada was still living at Dr. Mishra’s Ashram at that time. So Bob would come on occasions to see me, and one day he gave me a small book, Easy Journey to Other Planets, of which Prabhupada had brought a caseful from India. I tossed the book into my car and forgot about it. I didn’t read it. One day in early 1967, one of my friends convinced me to take LSD which put me into a complete void. I lost interest in everything and was just sitting in a corner. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. Then suddenly it came into my head that I had to read that little book which was in my car. But the car had broken down, and I had abandoned it in Manhattan, at a spot that was about six blocks from the temple. So I went to New York. The car was still there, though all windows had been broken, and the book was also still there. I began reading the book right there in the car, sitting behind the wheel, and I became quickly completely absorbed.
At one point, Prabhupada talks about the yogīs who may want to go to the moon. “But,” he said, “all these planets are temporary, and even if you go there, you have to come back and ultimately they will be annihilated. But if you go to the planet of Krsna, that abode is permanent and you never come back.” These words completely “grabbed” me. So I decided to go to the temple. I walked in and said, “Whatever I need, whatever you have, give it to me.” The devotees asked, “Do you have any money?” I said, “Sure,” so they gave me a bunch of Back To Godhead magazines and a flyer.
Actually, the flyer I had gotten maybe a month earlier. While walking on the Lower East Side with my wife, Helena, who later became initiated as Himavātī, we suddenly heard this sound, ching, ching, ching / ching, ching, ching, and the drone of a harmonium. We followed the sound until we came to a circle of people, who were mostly sitting, and in the middle of that circle was my friend Bob, clean shaved, with a white shirt on, and he was swaying to the music. When I saw him, I thought to myself, “Wow, that is far-out. To do this, you have to be really somewhere else.” And somebody gave me a flyer, “Stay high forever! No more coming down. Spiritual philosophy, spiritual music and spiritual food.” I wondered, “How can food be spiritual?”, but I kept the flyer. We went back to our place, and I was trying to understand how food could be spiritual, but I couldn’t figure it out.
After I had read Easy Journey, I went to the temple again and talked to the devotees to find out more. At one point I asked one of them, “Do you guys do yoga?” “No, we don’t have time for that,” he replied. I thought, “How is this possible, I thought this was something spiritual.” I was almost out of the door when I turned around and asked, “Oh, how does that ‘Krishna Krishna, Rama Rama’ thing go that you guys do?” He showed me how to chant and we repeated the mantra together about a dozen times. As soon as I was out the door, I began to shout at the top of my lungs, as if there was a fire somewhere, “Hare Krishna Hare Krishna…”, and I do this while walking all the way back to my abandoned car, six blocks, and as I am walking, I noticed that people were like writing me off, “This guy is a goner.” “Goners” are people who “are gone.” They tend to talk to themselves or shout out loud, and others usually avoid them. I understood that people were seeing me like that, but I felt liberated. I knew that as long as I do this I am in another place. That was very clear to me right from the beginning.
BHAKTI-BHŪṢAṆA SWAMI: When Hansadutta came to Hamburg things really began to happen. He soon dominated the scene with his charisma. His energetic and enthusiastic kīrtanas carried people right onto the spiritual platform. He obviously had a vision, and his potent, direct preaching, simple and to the point, proved most convincing. Soon, many new devotees joined, among them Smita Kṛṣṇa, Jaya Gaura, Avināścandra, and later Uthāla, Cakravartī, Śacīnandana, Vedavyas, Pṛthu, Purujit and quite a few more.
Hansadutta led the devotees out on harināma almost daily. Because there was no book distribution, we chanted on the streets for hours while distributing invitations to the Sunday feast and collecting contributions in a basket. We soon figured out that leaving big coins in the basket worked best because people would look and give according to what they saw others had given. But finally, we left in only a few coins, because greedy people tipped the basket, quickly grabbed the coins that fell on the sidewalk, and ran away.
*** Śrīla Prabhupāda was pleased to receive encouraging reports from his disciples in Hamburg, and he replied to each one individually. He expressed his hope that Kṛṣṇa consciousness would spread everywhere like wildfire, if the devotees faithfully followed his instructions and worked cooperatively. To Tamal Krishna he wrote: I am glad that you have gone to Germany along with Hansadutta and his wife, and I am pleased to learn that things are being arranged nicely—that is my satisfaction.
Organization of the European centers and the World Sankirtan Party later on—for these two reasons I called you to London. Now Mukunda, Hansadutta, yourself, Krishna das, Woomapati, Janardan, Suridas, etc., all of you are tested devotees, now do everything nicely in full cooperation. And Hansadutta received this letter: I am so glad to learn that both of you have safely reached your destination. Now work with great enthusiasm and ask Himavati to take care of the Deities very, very nicely. Both of you have seen in L.A. how much they are careful about Deity worship. We have to make our steady progress, keeping both sides in balance; namely the Pancaratriki Biddhi and Bhagavat Biddhi. The Pancaratriki Biddhi is Archana or Temple worship, and the Bhagavat Biddhi is to preach by chanting and distributing literature. Although chanting is quite sufficient to cover all the Biddhis, still to keep ourselves pure and sanctified, we must observe the rules and regulations of Pancaratriki Biddhi.
Our London Deities are certainly very, very nice; and everyone is captivated by seeing the smiling face of the Lord. It is very enchanting. Now everything is there and you are also experienced, therefore go on opening branches as many as possible and preach Sankirtana movement to your best capacity. Srila Bhaktivinode Thakura entrusted the responsibility to my Guru Maharaja, and He also in His turn empowered us to do the work. Similarly, I am requesting you, all my European and American students, to spread this movement city to city and village to village and make all people of the world happy. Actually they are missing the central point—Kṛṣṇa: therefore they are unhappy. Let us inform them about this missing point, and certainly they will be happy.
To Krishnadas he wrote: Yes, I am very glad to learn that Hansadutta and Himavati have arrived with Tamal Krishna, and they have in such short order set up a good program of activities. So now your Deities are being cared for under Himavati’s direction, and Sankirtana Party is more successful led by Hansadutta and Tamal. Now with this good organization please continue to work combinedly for spreading our Krishna Consciousness movement throughout Germany. You have said that there is such great scope for preaching there, so I am very hopeful that you will be very eager to carry out this preaching work, starting many new centers.
Desirous to please their spiritual master, the devotees made plans about where and how to open more temples, though they had hardly established a solid foundation in Hamburg. Himavatī, accustomed to assisting her husband wherever he went, had to be cautioned by Śrīla Prabhupāda: I am very glad to learn of your eagerness to help open new centers in Munich, Amsterdam, and Berlin. But unless some responsible devotee takes charge of the Deities, you should remain in Hamburg. Hansadutta may alone go for preaching work with the others. I think there are enough brahmanas there, so if one cannot be engaged full time, they should divide the duties amongst themselves—one takes the morning, another one at noon, and another in the evening, or like that. So unless they are trained up, you should not go. Deity worship is for old and experienced students; it is not good for new students to be given sacred thread. This Deity worship is exclusively for advanced students.
Regarding taking Lord Jagannatha to your next center, that will not be very good because you already do not have enough devotees to engage in Arcana. Unless there is a Deity worshipper available, we may worship Panca-tattva and Guru. That can be done by all initiated students whether they are once or twice initiated. Before an altar with pictures of Lord Caitanya, Panca-tattva and Acaryas, everyone can offer Aratrik and Bhoga. The order of worshipping is first Spiritual Master, and then Lord Caitanya, then Radha Kṛṣṇa (as in the mantras or Vande ’ham prayer). BHAKTI-BHŪṢAṆA SWAMI: On weekend evenings we used to go to Hamburg’s red-light district, St. Pauli, to chant on the Reeperbahn, because it was the only place where there were still many people out on the street. St. Pauli, besides being notorious for bars and nightclubs, was where all the dropouts and weirdos hung out. There were many communes like the one I had lived in.
People reacted to our chanting in various ways. Some loved us and some hated us. Once in a while, a flowerpot would be sent to crash on the sidewalk right next to a devotee, or someone would flip a cigarette butt at you or pour a bottle of beer over your head. But the devotees’
determination couldn’t be averted. They simply followed in the footsteps of Śrīla Prabhupāda, who had introduced Kṛṣṇa consciousness amid the dropouts and hippies on the Lower East Side.
One night we were chanting in front of a furniture store when a huge guy, a drunken sailor, came along and became so agitated that he tried to push us through the shop window. We didn’t know what to do, but an even bigger guy appeared on the scene and punched him in the nose. We took it as Kṛṣṇa’s arrangement and quickly walked away.
TAMAL KRISHNA GOSWAMI: It is hard to imagine a more degraded, godless place than Hamburg’s ill-reputed Reeperbahn. The area abounds in nightclubs, bars, prostitutes, pimps, thugs, and every other type of illicit professional who makes his livelihood catering to the degraded, lusty tastes of the population. By daytime, the area seems almost normal, but at night it undergoes a nearly total transformation. Then the Reeperbahn becomes a jungle, full of ferocious, blood-sucking animals.
Into all of this madness, amid the decadence and depravity, we dared to intrude—not as hired musicians under the cover of the name Radha Krishna Temple, but as representatives of God presenting the naked truth, the holy name of the Lord. We were sādhus, requiring no invitation. Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu’s order was our calling card.
It was as if the sun’s movements had suddenly been reversed and night had become day without prior warning. Our unexpected presence was an unwanted intrusion to the hellish denizens. And these lifetimers of the Reeperbahn were ready to let us know how they felt. From out of the bars came bouncers, burley-chested and strong-armed, kicking at us, as we danced down the street, like maddened dogs attacking trespassers. From overhead we were assailed by missiles—rocks and flowerpots—hurled at us by loud-swearing prostitutes. We were sneered at, ridiculed, harassed. The young couples, fun-seeking businessmen, and old lecherous pensioners who had come to spend their money were equally degraded, if not as aggressively hostile. When we approached them for contributions, their breath reeked of schnitzel and liquor.
It was without a doubt the worst place I had yet encountered, the most difficult of circumstances under which to perform saṅkīrtana. It was a test of our sincerity. No one would have blamed us for leaving that place and not ever returning. But that would not have reflected the compassion of Lord Caitanya’s mercy, nor the mood of Śrīla Prabhupāda when he had entered alone the equally hellish jungle of New York City. We had to stay and to come back the following night. Kṛṣṇa was watching and so was Prabhupāda. If we took such risks, they would give us all protection. *** After having helped organize the Hamburg temple, Tamal Krishna felt it was time to move on, and he consulted with Hansadutta. Then one evening in April he boarded the train for Paris, where a few devotees were struggling to find a place for a temple.
Umāpati was in Paris trying to publish a French edition of BTG, but his facilities were minimal. Tamal Krishna suggested he go to Hamburg, where he could join the devotees who were organizing a translation department for European languages. The project was called ISKCON Press Europa. Soon Umāpati and his wife, Ilāvatī, were on their way to Hamburg.
By the end of the summer, another French-speaking couple joined them: Yogeśvara and Jyotirmayī. These two had begun translating Kṛṣṇa conscious literature into French at the London temple.
SMITA KṚṢṆA SWAMI: In the winter of 1968, when I was sixteen, I came across a book called Message from Space that talked about karma, the soul, reincarnation, and elevation of one’s consciousness by prayer. Although written in simple language, this book left a deep impression on me. The author recommended studying the words of Jesus, and thus I began reading one chapter of the Bible every day. I felt that my life became more meaningful after this, but at the same time, I was torn between the desire to lead a pure life and the desire to associate with the fair sex. In fact, in late spring 1969, I met some girls from Hamburg, and after they returned to Germany, I decided to visit them during my summer vacation.
Thus in early July, I hitchhiked from Sweden to Hamburg, and during my stay, I made friends with a boy who showed me around town and helped me in various ways. One evening he took me to a psychedelic club called Grünspan, near Grosse Freiheit. When we came back out on the street, I noticed not far away from us a group of people standing on the sidewalk and watching something. My curiosity aroused, I went up to them, and there I saw two monks—Śivānanda and Maṇḍalibhadra— sitting on a rug with a straw basket and a stack of pamphlets in front of them. For a second I thought they might be students in costume, but I quickly discarded this idea, because they looked too serious, more like Buddhist monks, not like youngsters having fun. I was intrigued and wanted to find out more, but before I knew it, my friend had dragged me away, and off we went to the Reeperbahn.
Not long afterward I returned to Sweden, but in late August, just before my vacation ended, I again went to Hamburg, this time for the specific purpose of finding out more about those monks. No matter where I looked, however, I couldn’t find them. My desire for spiritual life had increased, but the inner conflict between the desire for purity and the desire to enjoy material pleasures raged on. At one point I became so desperate that I rejected God. Then I read A Pilgrim’s Progress, and that book touched me so deeply that I decided I would forget about sex and dedicate myself to God. Shortly afterward I came across a Swedish translation of the Bhagavad-gītā, and for the first time I read about Kṛṣṇa. I liked the philosophy, but I didn’t really understand what it was all about. The following months were tough because I realized that materialistic life was not for me, but at the same time I still felt the pull of the material energy.
When the next summer vacation came, in July 1970, I decided to hitchhike again to Hamburg. I was determined to find those monks, and I had made up my mind that if they were genuine, I would stay with them. So for several days I looked around town—at Reeperbahn, at Grosse Freiheit—but I couldn’t find them.
Then I asked a few of the hippies hanging around on Spitalerstrasse, in the city center. One of them gave me a magazine, Zurück zur Gottheit. Inside I found the address of the temple and an invitation to the Sunday feast. I was determined to visit, but at the same time I felt kind of weary and thought, “After this visit, I’ll go back to my parents’ house; at least there, I have a nice bed.”
On Sunday I went to Bartelsstrasse. Maṇḍalibhadra gave the lecture, and when I heard him talk about yoga, karma, and reincarnation, I thought, somewhat proudly, “Sounds familiar.” I wasn’t that impressed. But then he mentioned that one needed a guru and had to be sincere to take up spiritual life and that God, Kṛṣṇa, was non-different from His holy name. His words were a revelation to me.
After the lecture, during prasādam, Maṇḍalibhadra sat next to me and asked, “Do you have any questions?” I thought for a second and said, “How do I become sincere?”
“Well,” he replied, “you just stay in the association of those who are sincere.” His words struck me because I was seriously looking for answers. I thought, “Then I shall have to stay here.”
At that very moment, all kinds of thoughts about things dear to me came to mind, and I felt so sad at the prospect of giving them up that tears came to my eyes. I felt devastated.
Meanwhile, the devotees began kīrtana in the temple room, and I thought, “Why not join them?” As I chanted Hare Kṛṣṇa with them my sadness gradually disappeared and an unknown feeling of happiness surged within me. I thought, “How nice! This is the real thing—to sing the names of God.” When I learned that there was an early morning program, I decided to return the next morning before going back to Sweden.
On my way to the underground, I loudly repeated the Hare Kṛṣṇa mantra, and I continued to do so even inside the train. A couple was sitting opposite me, and they observed me with mixed feelings, alternating between suspicion and curiosity. Although I was only eighteen I was already balding and looked much older. So when they heard me chant the man remarked to his wife, “Young people do this, but such an old man?” The next morning, after prasādam, the devotees invited me to come with them on harināma. We went to Jungfernstieg, and for a couple of hours, I immersed myself in the chanting of the holy name. Then back in the temple, we had lunch prasādam, and afterward, I was given my first service: washing pots. I spent most of the afternoon cleaning pots, and at the end of the day I had given up the idea of returning to Sweden. I stayed at the temple.
BHAKTIVAIBHAVA SWAMI: (Gunnar and after initiation Avināścandra): By the end of the ‘60s I was on a definite spiritual quest. I lived in intellectual and artist communes and tried to express my inner thoughts and feelings through music while experimenting with psychedelics. Our aim was to provoke a change in the thinking of society.
Later, I began to dabble in Eastern philosophy, and I remember having lively discussions with students in Hamburg’s Philosophenturm (Philosopher’s Tower). At the beginning of 1970, I made up my mind to go to Tibet on pilgrimage and adopt the life of a Buddhist monk. Somehow or other I felt a strong urge to purify my existence.
Just before my departure I went to a concert by Quintessence, one of the more spiritual bands, who dressed in Indian clothes and chanted the Hare Kṛṣṇa mantra. During the show, I felt a strong attraction to the chanting, and after the concert, I got to meet the band. I asked Shakti, the bandleader, about India and the mantra, because I had never seen any devotees, and he told me about the Hare Kṛṣṇa temple on Bartelsstrasse. The next Sunday I went to the temple, but once inside the courtyard I hesitated to go in. It was raining heavily, and I was standing outside in the yard, not sure what to do. Then I went in the door, but I hesitated to climb the stairs. Just when I was about to leave, Maṇḍalibhadra looked down from the second floor and said jovially, “Oh, are you here for the first time? Why don’t you come up?” Now it was too late to back out, so I made my way up to the temple room.
But I was nervous. I wasn’t sure how to act, so I tried to adapt to my surroundings. I sat in a lotus posture and closed my eyes. Somebody said something to me, but I kept my eyes shut and didn’t respond. When devotees served the feast, I pretended I had already eaten and wasn’t hungry. But somehow they convinced me to take a little prasādam. Then Vāsudeva put tilaka on everyone’s forehead, and I actually felt proud to have that big tilaka mark on me. On my way home on the S-Bahn people stared at me in disbelief. I had bought chanting beads, and to chant on my way home, I got down from the train a few stations early.
The next day I decided to move into the temple. I didn’t know anything about the philosophy, but I figured, “Why take the trouble to go to a Buddhist monastery in Tibet when there is something similar here in Hamburg?” When I came to the temple and told the devotees that I wanted to stay with them, they asked me to visit every day for a week before making a final decision. I agreed externally, but within I was determined to become a monk then and there. So the next day I returned with all my belongings and I was allowed to stay.
Life at Bartelsstrasse was austere. It was winter, and there was no central heating or hot running water. For weeks we had no heat because we couldn’t afford it. Maṇḍalibhadra used to offer maṅgala-ārati in gloves and a wool hat. Smita Kṛṣṇa and I used to go to the market in St. Pauli early in the morning to beg for partially rotten fruits and vegetables. Our main daily engagement was harināma for at least six hours.
Generally, we went to the busy commercial section around Jungfernstieg, Große Bleichen or Mönckebergstrasse. While most of us chanted, one devotee passed out magazines and asked for donations.”
BHAKTI-BHŪṢAṆA SWAMI: For some time we went to the same spot every day—the corner of Jungfernstieg and Große Bleichen—and chanted in front of a bank. Sitting or standing we were there every day. After a while, the people working at the bank became annoyed and called the police. The police told us that we couldn’t use our instruments there, so we put them down and continued to chant, clapping our hands. When the police told us, we couldn’t clap our hands, we stopped clapping but went on chanting. Then they told us we couldn’t sing. So we took out our japa beads, formed a line, and began chanting on our beads: Hare Kṛṣṇa Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa Hare Hare... Then they told us, “You are not allowed to stand in one place.” So we began to walk up and down the street. Finally, the police arrested us and took us to the station. They tried to stop us in so many ways, but there were no laws that prohibited saṅkīrtana. We didn’t fit into any category.
BHAKTIVAIBHAVA SWAMI: Every fortnight Hansadutta and Maṇḍalibhadra received a letter from Prabhupāda, which they read aloud to all the devotees. It was a special occasion, of course, because most of us had not yet met Prabhupāda. But for me, it was always a frustrating experience because I didn’t speak English and it was rare that somebody took the time to translate the letter for me. Finally, I wrote a letter to Prabhupāda myself, which one of my godbrothers kindly translated into English for me, and in which I asked how I could understand his books and letters without knowing English. Prabhupāda mercifully gave me simple, commonsense advice: “Simply try to read all of my books. Kṛṣṇa will help you.” He underlined “all”. So I got a dictionary and tried to understand his books word by word. And it worked. Kṛṣṇa actually helped me. This is how I learned English.
*** In the spring of 1970, Acyutānanda informed Prabhupāda by letter that he had drawn the attention of the news media in India. Several magazines and newspapers had written about Prabhupāda’s intention to return to India with his Western disciples. The official date given was January 1971. But when Prabhupāda heard that Communism was spreading in Bengal day by day and that acts of violence were causing widespread turmoil, he decided to go earlier and preach to his countrymen. He would tell them that even communism, without Kṛṣṇa in the center, was void and that all animosity between capitalists and communists would cease completely if everybody agreed to chant Hare Kṛṣṇa. Prabhupāda wrote letters to several of his older disciples to inform them of his plans and invite them to join him in India. Hansadutta and Himavatī were called, and in midSeptember, they left for Calcutta.