SpiritualSoon after Hansadutta’s departure, Śivānanda, Sucandra, and Gunnar went to Berlin to start a temple, and some weeks later, Vāsudeva, who was now married, joined them with his wife, Vṛnda Devī. Prabhupāda was pleased to learn that his disciples were preaching again in the largest city in central Europe. He wrote to Śivānanda: I am very happy to hear that you are once again in Berlin. When you first went to Germany by yourself, I was praying that Krishna would help you in every way to establish a center there in Berlin. Now you have done it by the grace of Krishna. Berlin is one of the most important cities in Europe and is one of the gateways to the communist world, and since your temple has a central location with good room space, everything is set for our preaching program. It is a good sign that the Berlin people are receiving our Sankirtana so well that with only one other devotee you have distributed 100 magazines in an afternoon. Yes, on Sankirtana we want everyone we meet to go away with a magazine and having heard and chanted Hare Krishna Mantra. That will be the sign of success.
BHAKTIVAIBHAVA SWAMI: When we went to Berlin we couldn’t afford to rent a place right away, so we stayed at one of the many communes. But our daily program remained the same as it was in Hamburg: We went out on harināma and asked for contributions. Sometimes the three of us, sometimes only Śivānanda and I, and occasionally I went by myself. We went out in any weather ― we tolerated the burning sun as well as the rain and snow.
One winter day, as I was standing alone in the snow for hours, chanting and distributing invitations, a big, strong drunk came in front of me and stared for a while. Then he pulled at my dhotī—he wanted to disrobe me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on taking shelter of the holy name. Suddenly, a disabled man came along. He had an injured leg and walked with a crutch. Even taller than this other huge guy, he grabbed him by his collar and pants and heaved him aside, sending him gliding over the icy sidewalk.
When it was time for initiation, I sent my beads to Śrīla Prabhupāda and included a postcard of the Gedächtniskirche. I had marked some crosses on it to indicate the spots where we were doing harināma. Later, Prabhupāda sent the postcard back. He had put a big cross over the church and written “ISKCON” on top of it. In a note, he asked us to acquire it.” ŚIVĀNANDA DĀSA: We tried, actually. We got in touch with the Kirchenamt (church office) and presented our case, but they refused our request. When we informed Prabhupāda, he said, “Tell them we will rebuild the church if they let us use it.” We didn’t know how this would be possible—we didn’t have any money—but we approached the authorities again, and again they said no. At any rate, Prabhupāda didn’t think small.
BHAKTIVAIBHAVA SWAMI: In my initiation letter Prabhupāda said, “Your name is Avināścandra, which means, ‘Kṛṣṇa, the moon who never dies.’” He added that I should read all his books, go on harināma regularly, and eat only Kṛṣṇa prasādam. As guru-dakṣiṇā I sent him a framed photograph of his spiritual master and some Simply Wonderfuls, for which he thanked me in another letter.
ŚIVĀNANDA DĀSA: We eventually rented a place in an office building near Kurfürstendamm. Because it was in a non-residential area, you were not allowed to stay there overnight. The office next door belonged to a publishing house, and the people were really envious, so they called the police and told them we were living in a nonresidential building. When the police investigated, they looked in all the rooms but saw no beds. We all used sleeping bags, and those were put away during the day. So they assumed that nobody stayed there overnight, and they said “No problem” and left. We laughed, but our neighbors fumed.
AKRŪRA DĀSA: I had been studying art in Berlin, but was finding it difficult to get established. I already had a family—a wife and two children—but I traveled a lot all over Europe looking for a situation that would fulfill our material and spiritual needs.
I had been searching for meaning in my life since the late ‘60s. I gave up drugs and alcohol, became a vegetarian, often visited the Buddhist center in Berlin, read esoteric literature, and had been in touch with Swami Devamurti, who taught meditation on the sacred syllable OM.
One day in September 1970, I had just returned from Paris, I visited a friend who was a writer, the author of some books. At his home, I met a Chinese woman who practiced I-Ching. I threw the sticks, and she told me that some extraordinary events were about to occur that would give my life a new direction.
My author friend filled me in on the latest news. He mentioned the people who could be seen lately on the streets dressed in long robes and chanting and dancing. I decided to look for them the next day to find out more.
The next morning I went to Kurfürstendamm and saw three men in long robes singing on the sidewalk. I used to carry a harmonica, so I wanted to join in their singing and playing, just as I had done many times with guitar-playing hippies. I looked wild, with my long beard and hair, but they tolerated me and laughed. When they had to return to the temple, they let me go with them.
I became convinced that I had found something genuine, that this wasn’t the same as the sidewalk artists, street theater groups, or the freaks and hippies. I decided to stay overnight.
The temple was only a transformed office, but I appreciated its simplicity. Everything was simple, clean, and clear, and that had a soothing effect on me. In those days I was as confused as could be; actually, I was on the border of total confusion. If someone had been a little more confused, he probably would have ended up in a madhouse. The sublime temple atmosphere was just what I needed, so I happily stayed overnight.” KAṆḌABHĀSĪ DEVĪ DĀSĪ: When my husband didn’t come home that night, I began to worry. I was used to his traveling at certain times, but whenever he was in Berlin he never stayed out of the house overnight. We had no phone, so once the children were asleep I took a bus and visited our friends to find him. But he wasn’t there.
On the morning of the third day of his absence, the doorbell rang and there was my husband—accompanied by a monk. The monk introduced himself as Śivānanda. I wasn’t too surprised, even though he was dressed in a dhotī and had a shaved head. Akrūra used to bring weird people all the time—people from Asia, America, and France—actors, artists and other bohemians. Actually, I had seen the devotees earlier, while my husband had been traveling, but I didn’t dare to approach them. I was kind of afraid. I could sense that this was something powerful, and I didn’t feel ready to encounter it. But now there was no escape. My husband had decided to become one of them.
Fortunately, Kṛṣṇa didn’t make things too difficult for me. When I visited the temple the next day, I met Vṛndādevī, a bright-faced girl dressed in a colorful sari. I liked her immediately, and we soon became friends. She appeared to me like an angel, and the peaceful, spiritually surcharged atmosphere of the temple seemed like heaven. The kīrtanas were especially attractive, no complex melodies, but simple, meditative tunes that you could take part in effortlessly. The chanting of the holy name transported me to a timeless environment and let me forget I was sitting in the middle of a bustling city.
HARERNĀMĀNANDA DĀSA: In 1971 I worked for the US Army in Berlin as a photography teacher. I lived with artists in a commune, and a friend of mine received copies of Zurück zur Gottheit, the German magazine the devotees distributed. He always left the magazines on my desk, and I read them cover to cover over and over again.
It was a year of inner searching. I was fed up with the so-called bourgeois life. I wanted to find God, and I knew I needed the help of like-minded people. My friends and I dabbled in philosophies, yoga, and the counterculture.
Early in 1972, a friend visited the Hare Kṛṣṇa temple. He told us about offering food and Lord Caitanya and showed us the English edition of Teachings of Lord Caitanya. We were not too impressed. To me, it sounded like just one more philosophical and spiritual group among the many I had read about.
One spring evening a few months later, I was sitting in a cafe with a friend on Ku’damm. It was the first balmy weekend following a long winter, and the sidewalk was packed with people. As we were sipping our tea, we heard a faint bell-like rhythm and the chanting of Hare Kṛṣṇa. My friend and I had once tried chanting the mahā-mantra printed in the magazine, but we always got the names mixed up. Now as I listened closer, the sound of the karatālas and the chanting grew louder. The ring of the cymbals defied the heavy noise of traffic and the sounds of people strolling by.
Finally, a lone chanter came into view. It was Akrūra, his forehead veins bulging as he chanted with utmost intensity. Navigating his way through the ocean of pedestrians and giving one and all the mercy of the holy name, he appeared like a being from another world. When I saw him like this, angelic and alone, “one against everybody else,” so to speak, unfazed by people’s reactions and fully absorbed in chanting, I could only admire his courage, devotion, and conviction. I knew this guy was for real. He was what I had been looking for, someone genuine and advanced on the spiritual path. I could see that Akrūra was here but also not here. Walking down Ku’damm he had nothing to do with it. And yet he wasn’t chanting for himself, but for all of us.
The next time my friend invited us to come along with him to the temple we readily agreed. The temple on Nordbahnstrasse, near the Wall, was in a run-down apartment, and the only devotees there that day were a householder named Vāsudeva, his wife, his son, and Akrūra. Despite its material shortcomings, I appreciated the unusual atmosphere of love, peace, and tolerance. I felt these people could probably tolerate even someone like me. I decided to move in.
When I dumped into the garbage, the hundreds of photographs and negatives that I had taken during my twelve-year career it was a definite break with my past. I took only a few belongings with me. And I didn’t mind that my first services—cleaning the floor and cooking cereal with honey for breakfast—were a lot less sophisticated than my previous occupation.”
*** Śrīla Prabhupāda was pleased with Śivānanda’s efforts to spread Kṛṣṇa consciousness in “the divided city,” and when informed that Śivānanda planned to become a German citizen and more involved in organizing the preaching there, Prabhupāda wrote him a long and encouraging letter: Please accept my blessings. I beg to acknowledge receipt of your letter of December 1, 1971, and I have noted the contents with great pleasure. You have from the very beginning been a very determined and nice servant of Krishna, and just now as I am taking my daily massage, I remember that you also used to massage me. You are a very good boy, thank you very much for helping me.
If you can recruit many members there and get German language books published, that is the very best idea. The German people are very intelligent and advanced in philosophy. Lately we have been discussing some of their philosophers like Kant, Hegel, Marx, and so on, so I can understand that there are many intellectual people in Germany who will appreciate our Krishna philosophy. They have got good respect for India’s philosophy, so now we must take advantage and present it purely. Therefore the printing of so many books in German language is very necessary.
I have heard that you may be going to Heidelberg, Germany, where there is a very large and important university. That is our best field. Become yourself very convinced and learned in our Krishna philosophy and take it into such university and contaminate everything with it. We are not afraid to challenge every mundane philosopher and defeat them, because they are simply operating on the mental platform which is constantly changing, so they cannot have any real authority. But because we are hearing from the Source of all knowledge, Krishna, through His representatives, the saints and acaryas in disciplic succession, we have got solid basis for understanding. If we are very much convinced to preach in this way, the intelligent class of men will respect and join us, and this will be your success in Germany. If a Marx can change so many men’s minds to follow his imperfect philosophy, what can Krishna, the Supreme Perfect, accomplish! If we remain pure and teach others purely, then we will achieve all success and the whole world will listen to us and be delivered from their very dangerous condition.
Thank you very much for assisting me in this great endeavor, I think you are convinced that it is the highest and most exalted activity of all.Gracias por asistirme en esta gran labor; creo que estás convencido de que es la actividad más elevada y exaltada de todas.