Plundering the Legacy
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When Steve and Jane Bryant left the London temple with Marianne and Jerome Greene, they went to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where they worked and lived in a Krishna-owned incense factory. The city was dreary, and the small apartment they shared in the warehouse was damp and drafty and infested by mice.

Most days, Steve Bryant was as gloomy as the weather. He walked around in a funk and lashed out at Jane or her son, Rinnian. He felt trapped. Whenever Rinnian mispronounced a word, or Jane didn't greet him warmly, he flew into an uncontrollable rage. Bryant had been devout for five years, and all it had gotten him was an insignificant dead-end job in an incense factory, a rotten apartment, and a wife who cringed every time she saw him.

But Bryant had ideas about how to improve things—big ideas. Before joining the movement, he had been a flea-market junkie, hunting bargains all over the Greater Detroit Metropolitan Area. It was only natural that when he had gone to India, he'd spent hours prowling the open markets in New Delhi, Bombay, and Calcutta. He couldn't believe the bargains available—gold, silver, precious stones for a fraction of what they cost in the States. He had been too broke to buy anything, except for a few trinkets. But he never forgot those bargains.

One of Bryant's skills was working with his hands. Lately, he had been tinkering with a battered thirty-five-millimeter Canon camera, and

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had invented a low-cost way to put four miniature pictures on one frame. He did it by building a lens cap that blocked out three quarters of the film. He kept rewinding the film and reshooting, exposing a different quarter in each shot. When he finished, he had four separate pictures on each negative.

One afternoon Bryant went into a jewelry-supply store in Newcastle and bought a cheap pendant. Returning to his apartment, he carefully fitted a miniature picture of Radha into the setting and covered it with a beveled piece of glass.

"I gotta surprise for you," Bryant said to Jerome and Marianne that evening before prasadam. "Feast your eyes on this."

He tore open a small manila envelope and let the pendant slide onto the table. Jerome picked it up and held it to the light.

"This is really nice," he said, handing it to Marianne. "I've never seen anything like it. Where'd you get it?"

"I made it," Bryant said triumphantly.

"You're kidding!" Marianne squealed, handing the pendant to Jane.

"Think devotees would buy them?" Bryant asked.

"I sure would," Marianne said.

"So would I," Jane said.

"It's yours," Bryant said to Jane. "I want you to have it. It's my way of saying that I can be more than just the chief grump."

"Oh, Sulocana," Jane replied simply. Tears welled in her eyes as Marianne fastened the pendant around her neck.

"I got plans," Bryant said.

"Yeah?" Jerome said.

"Even though we make slave wages working here, Jane and I have saved a little money," Bryant went on. "I'm gonna use it to make five or six dozen pendants. With the money I make from selling them, I'm gonna buy all the cameras and tape recorders that I can carry. Then I'm going to India and sell'em all on the black market and make a killing."

The more Bryant talked about the plan, the more excited he became. He was soon pacing the floor, emphasizing each point by slamming his fist into his palm.

"I'll invest that money in gold and silver and precious stones," Bryant said. "There are some terrific deals in India. I'll come back and make some really nice stuff. You guys can put together a brochure and

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take care of the orders that will come flyin' in from temples all over the world. We can say good-bye to this stinking incense factory."

They stayed up late working on Bryant's ideas and were more than an hour late for work. When they arrived at the factory, they were surprised to find it empty, except for the manager.

"What's going on?" Bryant asked. "Where is everybody?"

"Haven't you heard? We've closed. Prabhupada died in Vrindaban two days ago. Word reached London early this morning. Go back to your apartment and chant to help ease his soul back to godhead."

The two couples were stunned. Prabhupada had been on the brink of death ever since the Jaladuta arrived in Boston Harbor twelve years before, in September 1965. Yet still it was a shock. It seemed impossible that he was gone. They made their way slowly back to the apartment without speaking. It was work just to put one foot in front of the other.

They spent the day chanting and praying for Prabhupada and moping quietly.

"I had nothing before I joined the movement," Jerome said in a teary voice. "Prabhupada taught me how to act around people. He was such a gentleman. Everything I know that's good came from him."

Everybody nodded.

The silence hung over them.

"In retrospect, you know what's really weird?" Marianne asked after a while. "He kept telling us not to be dependent on him because he wouldn't always be here. He kept saying, 'Krishna Consciousness is not in my body, Krishna Consciousness is in my books. Read my books.' And yet, I haven't really read his books. I don't think any of us have."

"That's true." Jerome said, "I always thought, why bother? Why read the Bible if Jesus Christ is alive? I figured I could always sit at his feet and absorb his wisdom."

Bryant was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. His arms were wrapped around his legs and his head was propped up on his knees. He hid his eyes and began sobbing. The others looked at each other. Their eyes filled with tears and they started crying, too.

"Prabhupada was our inspiration," Bryant said between sobs. "When things got hard, we could always think of him and find the strength to go on. Who's gonna do that for us now? Who's gonna stand guard over our spiritual lives?"

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"Prabhupada appointed us rtviks, not acharyas!" Ramesvara, the Los Angeles guru, screamed.

"There's no difference!" Hansadutta screamed back. "There is, so!" Ramesvara said petulantly. "There's a huge difference. When he named us rtviks, Prabhupada made us generals. You guys want to be emperors."

"Call me a Napoleon if you want, as long as I get Australia," put in Bhavananda, Charles Backus, the GBC member in charge of building the Mayapur temple. "I pioneered Australia. It's mine."

"I did the same in South Africa. I'm claiming South Africa with Europe," said Bhagavan.

"How are you going to handle Europe and South Africa?" Ramesvara asked. "In case you haven't looked at a globe lately, they're rather far apart."

"I have devotees in both continents," Bhagavan said superciliously. "Geography is no barrier to love."

Prabhupada's eleven successors were seated on pillows, facing each other across a long, narrow table in the half-finished GBC room in the Mayapur temple. They had been meeting in the same room every day throughout February and March of 1978. They were trying, unsuccessfully so far, to determine the movement's future. Like Mafia dons carving out exclusive territories, they were dividing the world into fiefdoms.

Bhagavan slowly got to his feet and waited until all eyes were fixed on him. A tall, strikingly handsome former medical student from the University of Buffalo, Bhagavan was already infamous as the Krishna Sun King. The faucets in his private bathroom were gold plated. He would eat only from gold plates and drink from gold goblets. He was chauffeured around Europe in a Mercedes 500.

When the silence was complete, Bhagavan pointed his finger at Tamal Krishna, whose cross-country campus crusade had irritated many temple presidents.

"I charge that man with trying to steal my devotees," Bhagavan said. "My devotees love me and regard me as Prabhupada's legitimate successor. And now I learn that Tamal has sent letters to certain devotees claiming that he and he alone is Prabhupada's successor, and that devotees must surrender to him."

"I am the only one really Qualified to lead the movement," said

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Tamal, who claimed the American Southwest and the island of Fiji, as well as several other Pacific islands.

Kirtanananda shook his head. When this is over, he told himself, they'll see that there is only one true swami fit to lead ISKCON: Kirtanananda Swami Bhaktipada.

"Let's go back to the subject of vyasasanas," Ramesvara said. "Let's start by trying to settle this chair thing."

"Each guru must have his own vyasasana," Bhagavan said.

"Absolutely right," Hansadutta said.

"What about when another guru visits? Where will he sit?" Ramesvara asked.

"Good point," Bhagavan said. "Symbols are very important, and what talks louder than furniture? I propose that each temple have three vyasasanas right next to each other. One will be Prabhupada's forever. We'll rope it off and put his picture on it so that no one will even think of sitting there. A second will be for the local guru, and the third will be reserved for visiting gurus. That way, every devotee will instantly know that we are now equal to Prabhupada."

"If we're equal, I suppose we're supposed to get puga, too?" Ramesvara asked, referring to the ceremony in which devotees worship their spiritual masters.

"But of course," Kirtanananda said.

"Absolutely correct," Hansadutta added. He closed his eyes and imagined the ritual. It pleased him to think about how he would at last receive the obeisances he so richly deserved. Finally, he would be worshiped as he should be—as a "pure devotee," a link between God and man. He saw himself seated on his vyasasana. In his mind, Hansadutta watched a devotee blow a conch shell three times and ring a small bell. Then another devotee approached and offered a stick of incense.

The devotee circled Hansadutta's feet with the smoldering stick three times, then circled his chest twice and his entire body seven times. The devotee then did the same with a camphor wick, a ghee lamp, water, a handkerchief, and a flower. Hansadutta smiled. He could practically feel the devotee fanning him with a yak's-tail whisk and peacock feathers.

"Our godbrothers will never go for it," Ramesvara said, interrupting Hansadutta's daydream. "For years, we've all been more or less equal. Then Prabhupada dies, and all of a sudden we're baby Prabhupadas."

"That's your mistake." Bhagavan said, leaping to his feet. Once

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again, he waited for silence. "We're not demanding to be worshiped just because we want to raise ourselves above our godbrothers. We're only doing it because we love them. Worshiping a spiritual master is a vital part of every devotee's faith. We have to appear absolute, or their faith will be shaken. We have to be worshiped just like Prabhupada, or our disciples won't think we're his equal."

"Devotees will offer puga willingly because they love us," Kirtanananda interrupted. "You cannot check their love."

"That's right," Hansadutta added. "This movement has always been about love."

The room was silent for a moment. Ramesvara looked troubled.

Bhagavan walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Don't you see? You've got no choice," Bhagavan said. "You've got to accept puga. We all do. We've got to be absolutely consistent. If even one of us does not go along with the program, we'll all look fallible. Come on, Ramesvara, for the good of the whole movement. So, what do you say?"

Ten pairs of eyes bored into Ramesvara. "Maybe you're right," he sighed. "Prabhupada always said we're an autocratic movement. The authority of the spiritual master has to be absolute. If you doubt him, you doubt the link to Krishna and everything falls apart."

"Absolutely right," Bhagavan said.

"I'll go along with it," Ramesvara conceded. "But I want you to know I'm not going to be comfortable, sitting up there on the vyasasana receiving puga from some devotee who knew me when I was Bobby Grant. It just doesn't feel right. I don't know, but maybe I'll get used to it."

"Of course, you will!" Bhagavan cried enthusiastically. "It's new for all of us. But we'll get used to it."

"Let's finish working out who gets what," said Hansadutta, who had staked his claim to Berkeley, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, and several temples in India. "My devotees need me."

"As mine need me," echoed Tamal.

"And mine, me," added Bhagavan.

It took another week to finish carving up the world. As soon as the meeting concluded, the newly minted gurus hastened to return to their

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temples. Comfortably settled in first-class seats, they congratulated themselves on the agreement.

But only a few were satisfied. The rest were scheming to seize control.

When the Palace of Gold is finished, devotees everywhere will visit New Vrindaban and see that only the true acharya could build such a splendid temple, Kirtanananda told himself as he winged his way back to the States. I don't have to take over the movement; the movement will come to me.

I'll send sankirtan parties all over Europe, Bhagavan planned. I'll buy palaces and convert them into temples and recruit the wealthiest people in every country. I'll turn ISKCON into the modem equivalent of the Holy Roman Empire.

I'm going to build a magnificent temple in Fiji, Tamal promised himself. The population is already half Hindu and growing. I'll convert them all and turn Fiji into the first Krishna Consciousness nation on earth. When that happens, no one will be able to deny that I am the next acharya.

Hansadutta's plans were simpler. His whole life, he had been controlled by authority figures. First, his father, then his commanders in the Navy, and finally Prabhupada. Even Himavati, his ex-wife (they separated because Hansadutta insisted on taking a vow of sannyas) had tried to control him in her own gentle way. But now, for the first time, he was free, free of all control. He was a guru. He could do whatever he wanted; he could tell people to do things and they would do them.

He strapped on his seatbelt and grinned. He could hardly wait to get back to Berkeley and find out what real freedom was all about.