These excerpts have been taken from Satswarup dasa Goswami's
Prabhupada-lilamrita ch 11-12.
With the manuscript for Volume Three complete and with the money to
print it, Bhaktivedanta Swami once again entered the printing
world, purchasing paper, correcting proofs, and keeping the
printer on schedule so that the book would be
finished by January 1965. Thus, by his persistence, he who had
almost no money of his own managed to publish his third large
hardbound volume within a little more than two years.
At this rate, with his respect in the scholarly world increasing,
he might soon become a recognized figure amongst his countrymen.
But he had his vision set on the West. And with the third volume
now printed, he felt he was at last prepared. He was sixty-nine and
would have to go soon. It had been more than forty years since
Çréla Bhaktisiddhänta Sarasvaté had first asked a young householder
in Calcutta to preach Kåñëa consciousness in the West. At first it
had seemed impossible to Abhay Charan, who had so recently entered
family responsibilities. That obstacle, however, had long ago been
removed, and for more than ten years he had been free to travel.
But he had been penniless (and still was). And he had wanted first
to publish some volumes of Çrémad-Bhägavatam to take with him; it
had seemed necessary if he were to do something solid. Now, by
Kåñëa's grace, three volumes were on hand.
Çréla Prabhupäda: I planned that I must go to America. Generally
they go to London, but I did not want to go to London. I was simply
thinking how to go to New York. I was scheming, “Whether I shall go
this way, through Tokyo, Japan, or that way? Which way is cheaper?"
That was my proposal. And I was targeting to New York always.
Sometimes I was dreaming that I have come to New York.
Then Bhaktivedanta Swami met Mr. Agarwal, a Mathurä businessman,
and mentioned to him in passing, as he did to almost everyone he
met, that he wanted to go to the West. Although Mr. Agarwal had
known Bhaktivedanta Swami for only a few minutes, he volunteered to
try to get him a sponsor in America. It was something Mr. Agarwal
had done a number of times; when he met a sädhu who mentioned
something about going abroad to teach Hindu culture, he would ask
his son Gopal, an engineer
in Pennsylvania, to send back a sponsorship form. When Mr. Agarwal
volunteered to help in this way, Bhaktivedanta Swami urged him
please to do so.
Çréla Prabhupäda: I did not say anything seriously to Mr. Agarwal,
but perhaps he took it very seriously. I asked him, “Well, why
don't you ask your son Gopal to sponsor so that I can go there? I
want to preach there."
But Bhaktivedanta Swami knew he could not simply dream of going to
the West; he needed money. In March 1965 he made another visit to
Bombay, attempting to sell his books. Again he stayed at the free dharmaçälä,
Premkutir. But finding customers was difficult. He met Paramananda
Bhagwani, a librarian at Jai
Hind College, who purchased
books for the college
library and then escorted Bhaktivedanta Swami to a few likely
outlets.
Mr. Bhagwani: I took him to the Popular Book Depot at Grant Road to
help him in selling books, but they told us they couldn't stock the
books because they don't have much sales on religion. Then we went
to another shop nearby, and the owner also regretted his inability
to sell the books. Then he went to Sadhuvela, near Mahalakshmi
temple, and we met the head of the temple there. He, of course,
welcomed us. They have a library of their own, and they stock
religious books, so we approached them to please keep a set there
in their library. They are a wealthy äçrama, and yet he also
expressed his inability.
Bhaktivedanta Swami returned to Delhi, pursuing the usual avenues
of bookselling and looking for whatever opportunity might arise.
And to his surprise, he was contacted by the Ministry of External
Affairs and informed that his No Objection certificate for going to the U.S. was ready. Since
he had not instigated any proceedings for leaving the country,
Bhaktivedanta Swami had to inquire from the ministry about what had
happened. They showed him the Statutory Declaration Form signed by
Mr. Gopal Agarwal of Butler, Pennsylvania; Mr. Agarwal solemnly
declared that he would bear the expenses of Bhaktivedanta Swami
during his stay in the U.S.
Çréla Prabhupäda: Whatever the correspondence was there between the father and
son, I did not know. I simply asked him, “Why don't you ask your
son Gopal to sponsor?" And now, after three or four months, the No
Objection certificate was sent from the Indian Consulate in New
York to me. He had already sponsored my arrival there for one
month, and all of a sudden I got the paper.
At his father's request, Gopal Agarwal had done as he had done for
several other sädhus, none of whom had ever gone to America. It was
just a formality, something to satisfy his father. Gopal had
requested a form from the Indian Consulate in New York, obtained a
statement from his employer certifying his monthly salary, gotten a
letter from his bank showing his balance as of April 1965, and had
the form notarized. It had been stamped and approved in New York
and sent to Delhi. Now Bhaktivedanta Swami had a sponsor. But he
still needed a passport,
visa, P-form, and travel fare.
The passport was not very difficult to obtain. Krishna Pandit
helped, and by June 10 he had his passport. Carefully, he penned in
his address at the Rädhä-Kåñëa temple in Chippiwada and wrote his
father's name, Gour Mohan De. He asked Krishna Pandit also to pay
for his going abroad, but Krishna Pandit refused, thinking it
against Hindu principles for a sädhu to go abroad—and also very
expensive.
With his passport and sponsorship papers, Bhaktivedanta Swami went
to Bombay, not to sell books or raise funds for printing; he wanted
a ticket for America. Again
he tried approaching Sumati Morarji. He showed his sponsorship
papers to her secretary, Mr. Choksi, who was impressed and who went
to Mrs. Morarji on his behalf. “The Swami from Våndävana is back,"
he told her. “He has published his book on your donation. He has a
sponsor, and he wants to go to America. He wants you to send him on
a Scindia ship." Mrs. Morarji said no, the Swamiji was too old to
go to the United States and expect to accomplish anything. As Mr.
Choksi conveyed to him Mrs. Morarji's words, Bhaktivedanta Swami
listened disapprovingly. She wanted him to stay in India and
complete the Çrémad-Bhägavatam. Why go to the States? Finish the
job here.
But Bhaktivedanta Swami was fixed on going. He told Mr. Choksi that
he should convince Mrs. Morarji. He coached Mr. Choksi on what he
should say: “I find this gentleman very inspired to go to the
States and preach something to the people there…" But when he told
Mrs. Morarji, she again said no. The Swami was not healthy. It
would be too cold there. He might not be able to come back, and she
doubted whether he would be able to accomplish much there. People
in America were not so cooperative, and they would probably not
listen to him.
Exasperated with Mr. Choksi's ineffectiveness, Bhaktivedanta Swami
demanded a personal interview. It was granted, and a gray-haired,
determined Bhaktivedanta Swami presented his emphatic request:
“Please give me one ticket."
Sumati Morarji was concerned. “Swamiji, you are so old—you are
taking this responsibility. Do you think it is all right?"
“No," he reassured her, lifting his hand as if to reassure a
doubting daughter, “it is all right."
“But do you know what my secretaries think? They say, “Swamiji is
going to die there.'"
Bhaktivedanta made a face as if to dismiss a foolish rumor. Again
he insisted that she give him a ticket. “All right," she said. “Get
your P-form, and I will make an arrangement to send you by our
ship." Bhaktivedanta Swami smiled brilliantly and happily left her
offices, past her amazed and skeptical clerks.
A “P-form"—another necessity for an Indian national who wants to
leave the country—is a certificate given by the State Bank of
India, certifying that the person has no excessive debts in India
and is cleared by the banks. That would take a while to obtain. And
he also did not yet have a U.S. visa. He needed to pursue these
government permissions in Bombay, but he had no place to stay. So
Mrs. Morarji agreed to let him reside at the Scindia Colony, a
compound of apartments for employees of the Scindia Company.
He stayed in a small, unfurnished apartment with only his trunk and
typewriter. The resident Scindia employees all knew that Mrs.
Morarji was sending him to the West, and some of them became
interested in his cause. They were impressed, for although he was
so old, he was going abroad to preach. He was a special sädhu, a
scholar. They heard from him how he was taking hundreds of copies
of his books with him, but no money. He became a celebrity at the
Scindia Colony. Various families brought him rice, sabjé, and
fruit. They brought so much that he could not eat it all, and he
mentioned this to Mr. Choksi. Just accept it and distribute it, Mr.
Choksi advised. Bhaktivedanta Swami then began giving remnants of
his food to the children. Some of the older residents gathered to
hear him as he read and spoke from Çrémad-Bhägavatam. Mr. Vasavada,
the chief cashier of Scindia, was particularly impressed and came
regularly to learn from the sädhu. Mr. Vasavada obtained copies of
Bhaktivedanta Swami's books and read them in his home.
Bhaktivedanta Swami's apartment shared a roofed-in veranda with Mr.
Nagarajan, a Scindia office worker, and his wife.
Mrs. Nagarajan: Every time when I passed that way, he used to be
writing or chanting. I would ask him, “Swamiji, what are you
writing?" He used to sit near the window and one after another was
translating the Sanskrit. He gave me two books and said, “Child, if
you read this book, you will understand." We would have discourses
in the house, and four or five Gujarati ladies used to come. At one
of these discourses he told one lady that those who wear their hair
parted on the side—that is not a good idea. Every Indian lady
should have her hair parted in the center. They were very fond of
listening and very keen to hear his discourse.
Every day he would go out trying to get his visa and P-form as
quickly as possible, selling his books, and seeking contacts and
supporters for his future Çrémad-Bhägavatam publishing. Mr.
Nagarajan tried to help. Using the telephone directory, he made a
list of wealthy business and professional men who were Vaiñëavas
and might be inclined to assist. Bhaktivedanta Swami's neighbors at
Scindia Colony observed him coming home dead tired in the evening.
He would sit quietly, perhaps feeling morose, some neighbors
thought, but after a while he would sit up, rejuvenated, and start
writing.
Mrs. Nagarajan: When he came home we used to give him courage, and
we used to tell him, “Swamiji, one day you will achieve your
target." He would say, “Time is still not right. Time is still not
right. They are all ajïänés. They don't understand. But still I
must carry on."
Sometimes I would go by, and his cädar would be on the chair, but
he would be sitting on the windowsill. I would ask him, “Swamiji,
did you have any good contacts?" He would say, “Not much today. I
didn't get much, and it is depressing. Tomorrow Kåñëa will give me
more details." And he would sit there quietly.
After ten minutes, he would sit in his chair and start writing. I
would wonder how Swamiji was so tired in one minute and in another
minuteï Even if he was tired, he was not defeated. He would never
speak discouragement. And we would always encourage him and say,
“If today you don't get it, tomorrow you will definitely meet some
people, and they will encourage you." And my friends used to come
in the morning and in the evening for discourse, and they would
give namaskära and fruits.
Mr. Nagarajan: His temperament was very adjustable and homely. Our
friends would offer a few rupees. He would say, “All right. It will
help." He used to walk from our colony to Andheri station. It is
two kilometers, and he used to go there without taking a bus,
because he had no money.
Bhaktivedanta Swami had a page printed entitled “My Mission," and
he would show it to influential men in his attempts to get further
financing for Çrémad-Bhägavatam. The printed statement proposed
that God consciousness was the only remedy for the evils of modern
materialistic society. Despite scientific advancement and material
comforts, there was no peace in the world; therefore, Bhagavad-gétä
and Çrémad-Bhägavatam, the glory of India, must be spread all over
the world.
Mrs. Morarji asked Bhaktivedanta Swami if he would read
Çrémad-Bhägavatam to her in the evening. He agreed. She began
sending her car for him at six o'clock each evening, and they would
sit in her garden, where he would recite and comment on the
Bhägavatam.
Mrs. Morarji: He used to come in the evening and sing the verses in
rhythmic tunes, as is usually done with the Bhägavatam. And certain
points—when you sit and discuss, you raise so many points—he was
commenting on certain points, but it was all from the Bhägavatam.
So he used to sit and explain to me and then go. He could give
time, and I could hear him. That was for about ten or fifteen
days.
His backing by Scindia and his sponsorship in the U.S. were a
strong presentation, and with the help of the people at Scindia he
obtained his visa on July 28, 1965. But the P-form proceedings went
slowly and even threatened to be a last, insurmountable
obstacle.
Çréla Prabhupäda: Formerly there was no restriction for going
outside. But for a sannyäsé like me, I had so much difficulty
obtaining the government permission to go out. I had applied for
the P-form sanction, but no sanction was coming. Then I went to the
State Bank of India. The officer was Mr. Martarchari. He told me,
“Swamiji, you are sponsored by a private man. So we cannot accept.
If you were invited by some institution, then we could consider.
But you are invited by a private man for one month. And after one
month, if you are in difficulty, there will be so many obstacles."
But I had already prepared everything to go. So I said, “What have
you done?" He said, “I have decided not to sanction your P-form." I
said, “No, no, don't do this. You better send me to your superior.
It should not be like that."
So he took my request, and he sent the file to the chief official
of foreign exchange—something like that. So he was the supreme man
in the State Bank of India. I went to see him. I asked his
secretary, “Do you have such-and-such a file. You kindly put it to
Mr. Rao. I want to see him." So the secretary agreed, and he put
the file, and he put my name down to see him. I was waiting. So Mr.
Rao came personally. He said, “Swamiji, I passed your case. Don't
worry."
Following Mrs. Morarji's instruction, her secretary, Mr. Choksi,
made final arrangements for Bhaktivedanta Swami. Since he had no
warm clothes, Mr. Choksi took him to buy a wool jacket and other
woolen clothes. Mr. Choksi spent about 250 rupees on new clothes,
including some new dhotés. At Bhaktivedanta Swami's request, Mr.
Choksi printed five hundred copies of a small pamphlet containing
the eight verses written by Lord Caitanya and an advertisement for
Çrémad-Bhägavatam, in the context of an advertisement for the
Scindia Steamship Company.
Mr. Choksi: I asked him, “Why couldn't you go earlier? Why do you
want to go now to the States, at this age?" He replied that, “I
will be able to do something good, I am sure." His idea was that
someone should be there who would be able to go near people who
were lost in life and teach them and tell them what the correct
thing is. I asked him so many times, “Why do you want to go to the
States? Why don't you start something in Bombay or Delhi or
Våndävana?" I was teasing him also: “You are interested in seeing
the States. Therefore, you want to go. All Swamijis want to go to
the States, and you want to enjoy there." He said, “What I have got
to see? I have finished my life."
But sometimes he was hot-tempered. He used to get angry at me for
the delays. “What is this nonsense?" he would say. Then I would
understand: he is getting angry now. Sometimes he would say, “Oh,
Mrs. Morarji has still not signed this paper? She says come back
tomorrow, we will talk tomorrow! What is this? Why this daily going
back?" He would get angry. Then I would say, “You can sit here."
But he would say, “How long do I have to sit?" He would become
impatient.
Finally Mrs. Morarji scheduled a place for him on one of her ships,
the Jaladuta, which was sailing from Calcutta on August 13. She had
made certain that he would travel on a ship whose captain
understood the needs of a vegetarian and a brähmaëa. Mrs. Morarji
told the Jaladuta's captain, Arun Pandia, to carry extra vegetables
and fruits for the Swami. Mr. Choksi spent the last two days with
Bhaktivedanta Swami in Bombay, picking up the pamphlets at the
press, purchasing clothes, and driving him to the station to catch
the train for Calcutta.
He arrived in Calcutta about two weeks before the Jaladuta's
departure. Although he had lived much of his life in the city, he
now had nowhere to stay. It was as he had written in his
“Våndävana-bhajana": “I have my wife, sons, daughters, grandsons,
everything, / But I have no money, so they are a fruitless glory."
Although in this city he had been so carefully nurtured as a child,
those early days were also gone forever: “Where have my loving
father and mother gone to now? / And where are all my elders, who
were my own folk? / Who will give me news of them, tell me who? /
All that is left of this family life is a list of names."
Out of the hundreds of people in Calcutta whom Bhaktivedanta Swami
knew, he chose to call on Mr. Sisir Bhattacarya, the flamboyant
kértana singer he had met a year before at the governor's house in
Lucknow. Mr. Bhattacarya was not a relative, not a disciple, nor
even a close friend; but he was willing to help. Bhaktivedanta
Swami called at his place and informed him that he would be leaving
on a cargo ship in a few days; he needed a place to stay, and he
would like to give some lectures. Mr. Bhattacarya immediately began
to arrange a few private meetings at friends' homes, where he would
sing and Bhaktivedanta Swami would then speak.
Mr. Bhattacarya thought the sädhu's leaving for America should make
an important news story. He accompanied Bhaktivedanta Swami to all
the newspapers in Calcutta—the Hindustan Standard, the Amrita Bazar
Patrika, the Jugantas, the Statesman, and others. Bhaktivedanta
Swami had only one photograph, a passport photo, and they made a
few copies for the newspapers. Mr. Bhattacarya would try to explain
what the Swami was going to do, and the news writers would listen.
But none of them wrote anything. Finally they visited the Dainik
Basumati, a local Bengali daily, which agreed to print a small
article with Bhaktivedanta Swami's picture.
A week before his departure, on August 6, Bhaktivedanta Swami
traveled to nearby Mäyäpur to visit the samädhi of Çréla
Bhaktisiddhänta Sarasvaté. Then he returned to Calcutta, where Mr.
Bhattacarya continued to assist him with his final business and
speaking engagements.
Mr. Bhattacarya: We just took a hired taxi to this place and that
place. And he would go for preaching. I never talked to him during
the preaching, but once when I was coming back from the preaching,
I said, “You said this thing about this. But I tell you it is not
this. It is this." I crossed him in something or argued. And he was
furious. Whenever we argued and I said, “No, I think this is this,"
then he was shouting. He was very furious. He said, “You are always
saying, “I think, I think, I think.' What is the importance of what
you think? Everything is what you think. But it doesn't matter. It
matters what çästra says. You must follow." I said, “I must do what
I think, what I feel—that is important." He said, “No, you should
forget this. You should forget your desire. You should change your
habit. Better you depend on çästras. You follow what çästra wants
you to do, and do it. I am not telling you what I think, but I am
repeating what the çästra says."
As the day of his departure approached, Bhaktivedanta Swami took
stock of his meager possessions. He had only a suitcase, an
umbrella, and a supply of dry cereal. He did not know what he would
find to eat in America; perhaps there would be only meat. If so, he
was prepared to live on boiled potatoes and the cereal. His main
baggage, several trunks of his books, was being handled separately
by Scindia Cargo. Two hundred three-volume sets—the very thought of
the books gave him confidence.
When the day came for him to leave, he needed that confidence. He
was making a momentous break with his previous life, and he was
dangerously old and not in strong health. And he was going to an
unknown and probably unwelcoming country. To be poor and unknown in
India was one thing. Even in these Kali-yuga days, when India's
leaders were rejecting Vedic culture and imitating the West, it was
still India; it was still the remains of Vedic civilization. He had
been able to see millionaires, governors, the prime minister,
simply by showing up at their doors and waiting. A sannyäsé was
respected; the Çrémad-Bhägavatam was respected. But in America it
would be different. He would be no one, a foreigner. And there was
no tradition of sädhus, no temples, no free äçramas. But when he
thought of the books he was bringing—transcendental knowledge in
English—he became confident. When he met someone in America he
would give him a flyer: ““Çrémad Bhagwatam,' India's Message of
Peace and Goodwill."
It was August 13, just a few days before Janmäñöamé, the appearance
day anniversary of Lord Kåñëa—the next day would be his own
sixty-ninth birthday. During these last years, he had been in
Våndävana for Janmäñöamé. Many Våndävana residents would never
leave there; they were old and at peace in Våndävana. Bhaktivedanta
Swami was also concerned that he might die away from Våndävana.
That was why all the Vaiñëava sädhus and widows had taken vows not
to leave, even for Mathurä—because to die in Våndävana was the
perfection of life. And the Hindu tradition was that a sannyäsé
should not cross the ocean and go to the land of the mlecchas. But
beyond all that was the desire of Çréla Bhaktisiddhänta Sarasvaté,
and his desire was nondifferent from that of Lord Kåñëa. And Lord
Caitanya Mahäprabhu had predicted that the chanting of Hare Kåñëa
would be known in every town and village of the world.
Bhaktivedanta Swami took a taxi down to the Calcutta port. A few
friends and admirers, along with his son Vrindavan, accompanied
him. He writes in his diary: “Today at 9 a.m. embarked on M.V.
Jaladuta. Came with me Bhagwati, the Dwarwan of Scindia Sansir, Mr.
Sen Gupta, Mr. Ali and Vrindaban." He was carrying a Bengali copy
of Caitanya-caritämåta, which he intended to read during the
crossing. Somehow he would be able to cook on board. Or if not, he
could starve— whatever Kåñëa desired. He checked his essentials:
passenger ticket, passport, visa, P-form, sponsor's address.
Finally it was happening.
Çréla Prabhupäda: With what great difficulty I got out of the
country! Some way or other, by Kåñëa's grace, I got out so I could
spread the Kåñëa consciousness movement all over the world.
Otherwise, to remain in India—it was not possible. I wanted to
start a movement in India, but I was not at all encouraged.
The black cargo ship, small and weathered, was moored at dockside,
a gangway leading from the dock to the ship's deck. Indian merchant
sailors curiously eyed the elderly saffron-dressed sädhu as he
spoke last words to his companions and then left them and walked
determinedly toward the boat.
For thousands of years, kåñëa-bhakti had been known only in India,
not outside, except in twisted, faithless reports by foreigners.
And the only swamis to have reached America had been nondevotees,
Mäyävädé impersonalists. But now Kåñëa was sending Bhaktivedanta
Swami as His emissary.
SPL 12: The Journey to America
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Journey to America
Today the ship is plying very smoothly. I feel today better. But I
am feeling separation from Sri Vrindaban and my Lords Sri Govinda,
Gopinath, Radha Damodar. My only solace is Sri Chaitanya
Charitamrita in which I am tasting the nectarine of Lord
Chaitanya's lila. I have left Baharatabhumi just to execute the
order of Sri Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati, in pursuance of Lord
Chaitanya's order. I have no qualification, but have taken up the
risk just to carry out the order of His Divine Grace. I depend
fully on Their mercy, so far away from Vrindaban.
—Jaladuta diary
September 10, 1965
The Jaladuta is a regular cargo carrier of the Scindia Steam
Navigation Company, but there is a passenger cabin aboard. During
the voyage from Calcutta to New York in August and September of
1965, the cabin was occupied by “Sri Abhoy Charanaravinda
Bhaktivedanta Swami," whose age was listed as sixty-nine and who
was taken on board bearing “a complimentary ticket with food."
The Jaladuta, under the command of Captain Arun Pandia, whose wife
was also aboard, left at 9:00 A.M. on Friday, August 13. In his
diary, Çréla Prabhupäda noted: “The cabin is quite comfortable,
thanks to Lord Sri Krishna for enlightening Sumati Morarji for all
these arrangements. I am quite comfortable." But on the fourteenth
he reported: “Seasickness, dizziness, vomiting—Bay of Bengal. Heavy
rains. More sickness."
On the nineteenth, when the ship arrived at Colombo, Ceylon (now
Sri Lanka), Prabhupäda was able to get relief from his seasickness.
The captain took him ashore, and he traveled around Colombo by car.
Then the ship went on toward Cochin, on the west coast of India.
Janmäñöamé, the appearance day of Lord Kåñëa, fell on the twentieth
of August that year. Prabhupäda took the opportunity to speak to
the crew about the philosophy of Lord Kåñëa, and he distributed
prasädam he had cooked himself. August 21 was his seventieth
birthday, observed (without ceremony) at sea. That same day the
ship arrived at Cochin, and Çréla Prabhupäda's trunks of
Çrémad-Bhägavatam volumes, which had been shipped from Bombay, were
loaded on board.
By the twenty-third the ship had put out to the Red Sea, where
Çréla Prabhupäda encountered great difficulty. He noted in his
diary: “Rain, seasickness, dizziness, headache, no appetite,
vomiting." The symptoms persisted, but it was more than
seasickness. The pains in his chest made him think he would die at
any moment. In two days he suffered two heart attacks. He tolerated
the difficulty, meditating on the purpose of his mission, but after
two days of such violent attacks he thought that if another were to
come he would certainly not survive.
On the night of the second day, Prabhupäda had a dream. Lord Kåñëa,
in His many forms, was rowing a boat, and He told Prabhupäda that
he should not fear, but should come along. Prabhupäda felt assured
of Lord Kåñëa's protection, and the violent attacks did not
recur.
The Jaladuta entered the Suez Canal on September 1 and stopped in
Port Sa'id on the second. Çréla Prabhupäda visited the city with
the captain and said that he liked it. By the sixth he had
recovered a little from his illness and was eating regularly again
for the first time in two weeks, having cooked his own kicharé and
purés. He reported in his diary that his strength renewed little by
little.
Thursday, September 9
To 4:00 this afternoon, we have crossed over the Atlantic Ocean for
twenty-four hours. The whole day was clear and almost smooth. I am
taking my food regularly and have got some strength to struggle.
There is also a slight tacking of the ship and I am feeling a
slight headache also. But I am struggling and the nectarine of life
is Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, the source of all my vitality.
Friday, September 10
Today the ship is plying very smoothly. I feel today better. But I
am feeling separation from Sri Vrindaban and my Lords Sri Govinda,
Gopinath, Radha Damodar. The only solace is Sri Chaitanya
Charitamrita in which I am tasting the nectarine of Lord
Chaitanya's lila [pastimes]. I have left Bharatabhumi just to
execute the order of Sri Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati in pursuance of
Lord Chaitanya's order. I have no qualification, but have taken up
the risk just to carry out the order of His Divine Grace. I depend
fully on Their mercy, so far away from Vrindaban.
During the voyage, Çréla Prabhupäda sometimes stood on deck at the
ship's rail, watching the ocean and the sky and thinking of
Caitanya-caritämåta, Våndävana-dhäma, and the order of his
spiritual master to go preach in the West. Mrs. Pandia, the
captain's wife, whom Çréla Prabhupäda considered to be “an
intelligent and learned lady," foretold Çréla Prabhupäda's future.
If he were to pass beyond this crisis in his health, she said, it
would indicate the good will of Lord Kåñëa.
The ocean voyage of 1965 was a calm one for the Jaladuta. The
captain said that never in his entire career had he seen such a
calm Atlantic crossing. Prabhupäda replied that the calmness was
Lord Kåñëa's mercy, and Mrs. Pandia asked Prabhupäda to come back
with them so that they might have another such crossing. Çréla
Prabhupäda wrote in his diary, “If the Atlantic would have shown
its usual face, perhaps I would have died. But Lord Krishna has
taken charge of the ship."
On September 13, Prabhupäda noted in his diary: “Thirty-second day
of journey. Cooked bati kichari. It appeared to be delicious, so I
was able to take some food. Today I have disclosed my mind to my
companion, Lord Çré Krishna. There is a Bengali poem made by me in
this connection."
This poem was a prayer to Lord Kåñëa, and it is filled with
Prabhupäda's devotional confidence in the mission that he had
undertaken on behalf of his spiritual master. An English
translation of the opening stanzas follows:*
I emphatically say to you, O brothers, you will obtain your good
fortune from the Supreme Lord Kåñëa only when Çrématé Rädhäräëé
becomes pleased with you.
Çré Çrémad Bhaktisiddhänta Sarasvaté Öhäkura, who is very dear to
Lord Gauraìga [Lord Caitanya], the son of mother Çacé, is
unparalleled in his service to the Supreme Lord Çré Kåñëa. He is
that great, saintly spiritual master who bestows intense devotion
to Kåñëa at different places throughout the world.
By his strong desire, the holy name of Lord Gauraìga will spread
throughout all the countries of the Western world. In all the
cities, towns, and villages on the earth, from all the oceans,
seas, rivers, and streams, everyone will chant the holy name of
Kåñëa.
As the vast mercy of Çré Caitanya Mahäprabhu conquers all
directions, a flood of transcendental ecstasy will certainly cover
the land. When all the sinful, miserable living entities become
happy, the Vaiñëavas' desire is then fulfilled.
Although my Guru Mahäräja ordered me to accomplish this mission, I
am not worthy or fit to do it. I am very fallen and insignificant.
Therefore, O Lord, now I am begging for Your mercy so that I may
become worthy, for You are the wisest and most experienced of
all…
The poem ends:
Today that remembrance of You came to me in a very nice way.
Because I have a great longing I called to You. I am Your eternal
servant, and therefore I desire Your association so much. O Lord
Kåñëa, except for You there is no means of success.
In the same straightforward, factual manner in which he had noted
the date, the weather, and his state of health, he now described
his helpless dependence on his “companion, Lord Krishna," and his
absorption in the ecstasy of separation from Kåñëa. He described
the relationship between the spiritual master and the disciple, and
he praised his own spiritual master, Çré Çrémad Bhaktisiddhänta
Sarasvaté, “by whose strong desire the holy name of Lord Gauräìga
will spread throughout all the countries of the Western world." He
plainly stated that his spiritual master had ordered him to
accomplish this mission of worldwide Krsna consciousness, and
feeling unworthy he prayed to Lord Krsna for strength. The last
verses give an unexpected, confidential glimpse into Çréla
Prabhupäda's direct relationship with Lord Krsna. Prabhupäda called
on Krsna as his “dear friend" and longed for the joy of again
wandering the fields of Vraja. This memory of Krsna, he wrote, came
because of a great desire to serve the Lord. Externally, Çréla
Prabhupäda was experiencing great inconvenience; he had been aboard
ship for a month and had suffered heart attacks and repeated
seasickness. Moreover, even if he were to recover from these
difficulties, his arrival in America would undoubtedly bring many
more difficulties. But remembering the desire of his spiritual
master, taking strength from his reading of Caitanya-caritämåta,
and revealing his mind in his prayer to Lord Krsna, Prabhupäda
remained confident.
After a thirty-five-day journey from Calcutta, the Jaladuta reached
Boston's Commonwealth Pier at 5:30 A.M. on September 17, 1965. The
ship was to stop briefly in Boston before proceeding to New York
City. Among the first things Çréla Prabhupäda saw in America were
the letters “A & P" painted on a pierfront warehouse. The gray
waterfront dawn revealed the ships in the harbor, a conglomeration
of lobster stands and drab buildings, and, rising in the distance,
the Boston skyline.
Prabhupäda had to pass through U.S. Immigration and Customs in
Boston. His visa allowed him a three-month stay, and an official
stamped it to indicate his expected date of departure. Captain
Pandia invited Prabhupäda to take a walk into Boston, where the
captain intended to do some shopping. They walked across a
footbridge into a busy commercial area with old churches,
warehouses, office buildings, bars, tawdry bookshops, nightclubs,
and restaurants. Prabhupäda briefly observed the city, but the most
significant thing about his short stay in Boston, aside from the
fact that he had now set foot in America, was that at Commonwealth
Pier he wrote another Bengali poem, entitled “Märkine
Bhägavata-dharma" (“Teaching Krsna Consciousness in America"). Some
of the verses he wrote on board the ship that day are as
follows:*
My dear Lord Krsna, You are so kind upon this useless soul, but I
do not know why You have brought me here. Now You can do whatever
You like with me.
But I guess You have some business here, otherwise why would You
bring me to this terrible place?
Most of the population here is covered by the material modes of
ignorance and passion. Absorbed in material life they think
themselves very happy and satisfied, and therefore they have no
taste for the transcendental message of Väsudeva [Krsna]. I do not
know how they will be able to understand it.
But I know that Your causeless mercy can make everything possible,
because You are the most expert mystic.
How will they understand the mellows of devotional service? O Lord,
I am simply praying for Your mercy so that I will be able to
convince them about Your message.
All living entities have come under the control of the illusory
energy by Your will, and therefore, if You like, by Your will they
can also be released from the clutches of illusion.
I wish that You may deliver them. Therefore if You so desire their
deliverance, then only will they be able to understand Your
message…
How will I make them understand this message of Krsnaconsciousness?
I am very unfortunate, unqualified, and the most fallen. Therefore
I am seeking Your benediction so that I can convince them, for I am
powerless to do so on my own.
Somehow or other, O Lord, You have brought me here to speak about
You. Now, my Lord, it is up to You to make me a success or failure,
as You like.
O spiritual master of all the worlds! I can simply repeat Your
message. So if You like You can make my power of speaking suitable
for their understanding.
Only by Your causeless mercy will my words become pure. I am sure
that when this transcendental message penetrates their hearts, they
will certainly feel gladdened and thus become liberated from all
unhappy conditions of life.
O Lord, I am just like a puppet in Your hands. So if You have
brought me here to dance, then make me dance, make me dance, O
Lord, make me dance as You like.
I have no devotion, nor do I have any knowledge, but I have strong
faith in the holy name of Krsna. I have been designated as
Bhaktivedanta, and now, if You like, You can fulfill the real
purport of Bhaktivedanta.
Signed—the most unfortunate, insignificant beggar,
A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami,
On board the ship Jaladuta, Commonwealth Pier,
Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.A.
Dated 18th September 1965.
He was now in America. He was in a major American city, rich with
billions, populated with millions, and determined to stay the way
it was. Prabhupäda saw Boston from the viewpoint of a pure devotee
of Krsna. He saw the hellish city life, people dedicated to the
illusion of material happiness. All his dedication and training
moved him to give these people the transcendental knowledge and
saving grace of Krsna consciousness, yet he was feeling weak,
lowly, and unable to help them on his own. He was but “an
insignificant beggar" with no money. He had barely survived the two
heart attacks at sea, he spoke a different language, he dressed
strangely—yet he had come to tell people to give up meat-eating,
illicit sex, intoxication, and gambling, and to teach them to
worship Lord Krsna, who to them was a mythical Hindu god. What
would he be able to accomplish?
Helplessly he spoke his heart directly to God: “I wish that You may
deliver them. I am seeking Your benediction so that I can convince
them." And for convincing them he would trust in the power of God's
holy name and in the Çrémad-Bhägavatam. This transcendental sound
would clean away desire for material enjoyment from their hearts
and awaken loving service to Krsna. On the streets of Boston,
Prabhupada was aware of the power of ignorance and passion that
dominated the city; but he had faith in the transcendental process.
He was tiny, but God was infinite, and God was Krsna, his dear
friend.
On the nineteenth of September the Jaladuta sailed into New York
Harbor and docked at a Brooklyn pier, at Seventeenth Street Srila
Prabhupada saw the awesome Manhattan skyline, the Empire
State Building, and, like millions of visitors and immigrants in
the past, the Statue of Liberty.
Srila Prabhupadawas dressed appropriately for a resident of
Vrindavan. He wore kanthi-mala (neck beads) and a simple cotton
dhoti, and he carried japa-mala (chanting beads) and an old chädar,
or shawl. His complexion was golden, his head shaven, çikhä in the
back, his forehead decorated with the whitish Vaisnnava tilaka. He
wore pointed white rubber slippers, not uncommon for sädhus in
India. But who in New York had ever seen or dreamed of anyone
appearing like this Vaiñëava? He was possibly the first Vaiñëava
sannyäsé to arrive in New York with uncompromised appearance. Of
course, New Yorkers have an expertise in not giving much attention
to any kind of strange new arrival.
Srila Prabhupada was
on his own. He had a sponsor, Mr. Agarwal, somewhere in
Pennsylvania. Surely someone would be here to greet him. Although
he had little idea of what to do as he walked off the ship onto the
pier—“I did not know whether to turn left or right"—he passed
through the dockside formalities and was met by a representative
from Traveler's Aid, sent by the Agarwals in Pennsylvania, who
offered to take him to the Scindia ticket office in Manhattan to
book his return passage to India.
At the Scindia office, Prabhupäda spoke with the ticket agent,
Joseph Foerster, who was impressed by this unusual passenger's
Vaiñëava appearance, his light luggage, and his apparent poverty.
He regarded Prabhupäda as a priest. Most of Scindia's passengers
were businessmen or families, so Mr. Foerster had never seen a
passenger wearing the traditional Vaiñëava dress of India. He found
Srila Prabhupada to be “a pleasant gentleman" who spoke of “the
nice accommodations and treatment he had received aboard the
Jaladuta." Prabhupäda asked Mr. Foerster to hold space for him on a
return ship to India. His plans were to leave in about two months,
and he told Mr. Foerster that he would keep in touch. Carrying only
forty rupees cash, which he himself called “a few hours' spending
in New York," and an additional twenty dollars he had collected
from selling three volumes of the Bhägavatam to Captain Pandia,
Srila Prabhupada, with umbrella and suitcase in hand, and still
escorted by the Traveler's Aid representative, set out for the Port
Authority Bus Terminal to arrange for his trip to Butler.
(These excerpts have been taken from Satswarup dasa Goswami's
Prabhupada-lilamrita ch 11-12.)
