After the disappearance of Prabhupāda from manifest physical presence, the ISKCON movement became very bewildered. Things first got worse, then worse than that, then even worse. A mistake got compounded with two solutions which were also mistakes.

Mistaken knowledge abounded. One such egregious “mistake” is described above, to wit: Whatever dress you put on, the garb will turn you into that thing. Put on the dress of a guru, and the dress will magically turn you into a guru.

Flawed at every stage, a narrative was created, and it metastasized. The mis-leaders of their own deviated movement--in the name of Prabhupāda and ISKCON, of course—kept trying to conceal what was unraveling badly by making even more mistakes. Distress was felt everywhere, although some were anticipating a great new development in the movement with eleven heartbeats overcoming the one strong heartbeat of the Founder-Ācārya, who had departed.

This was also proven to be a naive expectation. Those who were actually following that Founder- Ācārya knew, both within and without, that his movement, led by what proved to be ambitious, contaminated leaders, had now moved to the dark side of the Moon.

Why did all of it go down? If we did deep, if we try to get to the root of that descending octave, there is only one answer to this question which completely suffices: There were no gurus in the ISKCON Hare Kṛṣṇa movement of Kṛṣṇa consciousness after Prabhupāda. He left it to function on its own compromised power.

Your host speaker is analyzing the second publication of Henry Doktorski—his most important work to date—entitled Eleven Naked Emperors. As always, henceforward references to this book will be under the acronym ENE. The title of Chapter Six is “Rise of the Zonal Ācāryas.” It is a long chapter, and it is loaded.

It begins, however, with a major speed bump. You can overcome that flaw by understanding its blemish clearly. All the hell which followed what this chapter introduces can be summarized as stemming from the simple fact that, after Prabhupāda departed, there were no genuine gurus in his movement, and no one was trying to become siddha.

Nor was a genuine guru consulted.

The fact that there were no gurus in the movement after Prabhupāda combined with an irrational exuberance about and faith in the vitiated G.B.C.. The temple presidents did not emphasize becoming perfect. Everyone put too much stock into the institution, and not where it belonged: On the individual devotee utilizing the facilities of that institution in order to become a perfect man, a bona fide spiritual master. ENE touched upon this, somewhat obliquely, in the following excerpt:

“There was an amazing degree of faith in the concept that the G.B.C. were empowered and pure, that Srila Prabhupāda was going to act through them, and thus the correct and proper conclusions were going to be properly arrived at by our trusted senior godbrothers.” 4

It was not amazing. It was mind-boggling, because the G.B.C. had not produced anything of significance since the first year of its creation in 1970. Over and above this, you do not rely upon some kind of Commission in order to spread Kṛṣṇa consciousness to other conditioned souls in human form. It is spread by pure devotees who have received the order to become spiritual masters from the real Ācārya, not by the edicts or resolutions of some kind of Commission.

And now we get into the thicket of this Sixth Chapter. Doktorski cites what he considers to be fact, although there should be a red flag immediately spotted in connection with this so-called fact. He cites a Neo-Mutt 5 leader and sannyāsī of the name Bhakti Bhavan Vishnu. This fellow was (and if he is still alive) is cent-per-cent a pillar of Neo-Mutt. He was a devoted follower of Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. It is virtually certain that he received his new label . . . errrrr, his current name . . . from the Navadvipa mahant, as well as his bamboo cloth staff.

As stated in ENE in an Endnote (appreciated that this was added, of course), this belief—mentioned herein as a fact--was allegedly from a room conversation with Prabhupāda in his quarters in Vṛndāvan in October, 1978. An immediate problem: He had not been manifest for eleven months previous to that date. An error? Sure, but consider that publishing such an error can be Paramātmā’s way of signaling that the whole thing, in the guise of being a fact, is actually in error.

The excerpt from ENE I am about to read was from a book by this Vishnu sannyāsī, entitled: The Hare Krishna Movement: The Post-charismatic Fate of a Religious Transplant. There is a not-so-subtle aparādha contained in that subtitle. As could only have been expected, the sannyāsī’s book was published by The Guardian of Devotion, which is cent-per-cent Neo-Mutt. This was the Neo-Mutt organization until the emergence of its World Vaishnava Foundation later on, which is it current branding.

Bottom line, ENE utilizes this flawed excerpt—flawed in more ways than one—in order to make a point (allegedly a fact) which no listener or reader of this podcast is whatsoever obliged to accept as factual. Let us proceed to that comment by the Vishnu sannyāsī:

“Despite Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda’s order to his disciples not to associate with his godbrothers, on more than one occasion he gave permission for them to consult with B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja. One time, shortly before he passed away, Prabhupāda instructed Tamal Krishna Goswāmi, Hansadutta Swāmi, Tripurari Swāmi and others, “In my absence, if you have any question regarding philosophy you may consult my godbrother, Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja at Navadvipa. . . On another occasion, Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda recommended to several disciples—Jayapataka, Giriraja, Tamal Krishna and Ramesvara—that after his passing they should “consult [with B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja] about philosophy and practical points.” 6

That this excerpt was included in Chapter Six is a blunder. That sannyāsī’s recollection is inserted in ENE as if it is factual. Maybe it was, maybe not. You have every reason to be skeptical about it, although it was bandied about by a select section (described subsequently) as being a real event. Let me list five solid reasons you should be skeptical about it:

1) The excerpt is a written account in a book from a dyed-in-the-wool acolyte of Neo-Mutt. It tailors to the flawed Neo-Mutt perspective, obviously Another way of saying the same thing is that there is a strong probability—if not a certainty but nothing more than a biased account;

2) There is no tape recording of this so-called meeting (and so-called order) from Prabhupāda nor is there any transcript of it to be found;

3) What is the context? If we had a tape of it, we could glean a context. If we had a transcription of it, we could glean a context. Did Prabhupāda even say or order any of these things? Surmising that it is possible (although your host speaker considers the whole thing is bunk) that he did talk about this subject, what else did he say? We cannot know, because the Vishnu sannyāsī does not provide anything except what suits his narrative, the Neo-Mutt narrative, which is flawed;

4) What about the orders Prabhupāda gave in that important letter of April 28th, 1974 where he stated: “So it is better not to mix with my godbrothers very intimately because instead of inspiring our students and disciples they may sometimes pollute them. . . We shall be very careful about them and not mix with them. This is my instruction to you all. They cannot help us in our movement, but they are very competent to harm our natural progress.” He gave similar orders on November 9, 1975 to a president in Canada: “So I have now issued orders that all my disciples should avoid all of my godbrothers. They should not have any dealings with them nor even correspondence, nor should they give them any of my books or should they purchase any of their books, neither should you visit any of their temples. Please avoid them.”

We are to disregard these clear orders in favor of accepting a diatribe from a dedicated Neo-Mutt sannyāsī? You have every reason to be skeptical;

5) Phalena-paricīyate: Judge by the results. What was the result of such close and intimate contact with Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar? What was the result of lapping up all of his bad advice? DEVASTATION to Prabhupāda’s branch of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement, that’s what!

There is also something else you may note in connection to the references made about the supposed order of Prabhupāda to consult with Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. Everyone channeling this “order” is in one of two categories: They are either devotees of Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar (who crossed the river and took sannyāsa from him, betraying allegiance to Prabhupāda’s movement in the process), or they are useful idiots from “ISKCON.”

Remember, until the Great Schism of 1982, the “ISKCON” leaders (and their loyal followers) were favorable to the man. It appeared that he was helping them in their takeover. ENE shares an example of how “this story” (as another man recollects it) was passed around as ironclad fact in “ISKCON” at that time:

“Drutakarma dasa, an associate member of the Bhaktivedanta Institute who specializes in history and philosophy of science, also heard a similar story, ‘Before leaving this world, Prabhupāda told his leading disciples that if they had questions about Vaishnava practice they could consult with Narayana Maharaja or Śrīdhar Maharaja.’ Some have tried to create a myth that Prabhupāda wanted them to be overall guides for ISKCON in his absence. . . . Prabhupāda says that his own teachings were sufficient.” 7

At least the excerpt acknowledges that Prabhupāda’s teachings were sufficient, implying—at least indirectly—that the consultation was not really needed. It surely was not! What WAS needed were men who had taken the training from Prabhupāda and had actually qualified themselves as gurus. Over and above the fact that there were no gurus, such outside consultation produced disastrous results for Prabhupāda’s branch of the line, effectively polluting and destroying it.

ENE goes on to make an astute comment about the debacle:

“Why did the G.B.C. need B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja’s advice? Hadn’t their spiritual master already told them everything they needed to know? A few months before his passing, Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda announced to his disciples, ‘So there is nothing to be said new. Whatever I have to speak, I have spoken in my books.’”8

Nicely done. However, the counter-point to this—examples of it, specifically—is still presented near the beginning of Chapter Six. That counter-point is a blemish. It is questionable whether it should have even been included, what to speak of beating its drum via testimonials. Here is a quote from another senior man loyal to the institutional delusion (at that time), and how consultation with Gouḍīya Mutt was necessary, when it very much was not at all needed:

“Srila Prabhupāda had not given them one single instruction—zero—nothing, on how to set up such a system. . . They found that they had a million questions, and Srila Prabhupāda had given them . . . not a word or a vague hint how in the hell was the whole damn thing supposed to be set up and how was it to work? The G.B.C. found themselves totally in the dark.” 9

G.B.C. totally in the dark? How could that be? These were the senior men who were Prabhupāda’s direct agents for seeing to it that his movement was managed properly by the temple presidents. They consulted with him constantly. And now it is alleged that he gave them no light, that he gave them no knowledge as to how to become guru?

This bellicose man refers to what was to be created after Prabhupāda left as “the whole damn thing.” He alleges “not even a vague hint” was given by Prabhupāda and that there was not one single instruction (“zero!” he shouts!) about how to be guru given by Prabhupāda.

Wrong on all accounts. The right conception is that his leading men did not take the training, and therefore, the training was not complete. If any man had become even a regular guru, then how to set up the aftermath of the disappearance would be easily conceptualized and carried out. Yet, as noted repeatedly here, none of them were gurus. They were in the dark for that reason. Then they took very bad advice from Gouḍīya Mutt leading to a major schism with that asāra organization in 1982.

The resentment in this excerpt is blatant. Bad attitude creates bad commentary, creating bad narrative. This narrative of Prabhupāda being—at least, indirectly—responsible for what went down after he left (on the plea that his guidance was insufficient) is gurv-aparādha. You cannot pin any of it on him. Instead, pin it on the donkeys:

HIS EVIL LEADERS!

The author of ENE is not a devotee of Prabhupāda, although he is an excellent researcher and historian of Prabhupāda’s Hare Kṛṣṇa movement. Nevertheless, this chapter is mixed. There is quite a bit of really good stuff in it later. The debacle transpired because the leaders of “ISKCON” failed to become gurus, because they failed to follow the Founder-Ācārya’s instructions . . . although they enjoyed so many perks in the name of being the best of his devotees.

“However, despite the protestations by Tamal Krishna, Satsvarupa, Harikesh, and Bhavananda, some others claim that Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda had given some instructions—instructions which they had ignored: ‘When I order, ‘You become guru,’ he becomes regular guru. That’s all.’” Prabhupāda did not instruct his disciples to become acharyas and sit on elevated thrones. When the eleven, in tandem with the vitiated G.B.C., neglected their spiritual master’s instructions and embarked on the zonal-acharya dīkṣā-guru course, they became lost in uncharted and unfamiliar waters. A catastrophic shipwreck was inevitable.” 10

Once again, nicely done. A regular guru (which none of his leaders were) is not a mahā-bhāgavat. He is not a jagat-guru. He cannot accept lavish worship from his disciples, what to speak of from godbrothers or godsisters. It was not lack of instruction from Prabhupāda as to how to be a regular guru that resulted in “the whole damn thing” going down. It was lack of obedience which produced deviation, not a paucity of instruction.

“Although Jayadvaita did not specifically say that ‘some of the new gurus feel inadequate,’ it was implied in his question. B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja responded in effect, “Just wear the uniform of the guru, and if you are sincere God will direct what you have to do.” B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja explained: ‘When the second great war broke out in Calcutta, Dalhousie Square—military dress was written on the wall, was painted on the wall, and there was a saying: Just take this garb and the dress will tell you what you have to do. Do you follow? Take the military dress and the dress will direct what you have to do, what will be your duty.’” 11

Again, remember that the “ISKCON” leaders were all favorable to the Navadvipa mahant, because he was shining their apples. He was buttering their bread by providing fertile soil in which the eleven seeds of personal ambition could sprout, blossom, flower. Were they using him? Sure, but he was also using them, although it would take time to realize this with certainty. They should have been hesitant and skeptical about him, but they were not, and everyone paid the price for that.

Here, the “ISKCON” sannyāsī explicitly repeats one of the poisonous tropes doled out by the Navadvipa mahant concerning just putting on the uniform and you become the soldier. It was quoted at the very beginning of this presentation. It is New Age philosophy. Vaiṣṇava philosophy is: First deserve, then desire, the exact opposite of the uniform trope.

The consultation propaganda is there to convince the reader that all that went down between ISKCON and Gouḍīya Mutt Navadvipa was according to Prabhupāda’s desire, which it definitely was not. And then we have this little ditty from one of the eleven glorifying Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar: “I take it that Prabhupāda is speaking to us through you.” 12

Par for the course at that time. ENE also shares how Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar formulated the Ācārya Board:

“There should be an Acharya Board to guide the whole thing from behind, without non-acharya within the meeting. Then, if anybody within the meeting, then if anybody is considered to be the most expert for the management, he will work under the Acharya Board.” 13

This was a major deviation. Because “ISKCON” had no gurus, all of its fools bought into this board within the real board. Prabhupāda would never have approved of it. The non-guru contingent (all of them were members of the non-guru contingent, actually) within the G.B.C. were supposed to be subordinate to the eleven great pretenders of the vitiated G.B.C..

TATTVAMASI

The Ācārya Board (also known as the Ācārya Standing Committee), recommended by the Navadvipa mahant as the best way for the governing body commission to make all decisions about gurus and disciples, was approved 22-1. Only Harikeśa votes against it. Then, concerning whether or not to consult him, Harikeśa made a speech and voted against going to talk with Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. Chapter Six covers Harikeśa’s account about how his speech played out. Again, he was outvoted 22-1 and also ridiculed in the process by Jayatīrtha.

All the descriptions about Harikeśa’s initial resistance in the asat sabhā of the vitiated G.B.C. in late March, 1978—including his later jumping off of his so-called Vyāsāsan in Germany while being worshiped on it and running to his room—are examples of Doktorski’s bulldog research efforts to uncover such hidden facts and incidents.

Eleven Allegedly Appointed by Prabhupāda

Prabhupāda only appointed rittviks. He did not recognize any gurus or even a regular guru. The appointment of gurus alleged to have been made by Prabhupāda was an appointment that never was. What the eleven and their co-conspirators did was to merge the rittvik appointment into a covert appointment of future dīkṣā-gurus.

It proved to be a very effective strategy. On bulletin boards throughout the international centers of the movement, it was advertised that Prabhupāda, in the summer before his passing, had specifically appointed eleven spiritual masters to succeed him. It was a big lie, but virtually none of the rank-and-file could realize that.

ENE quotes one of the influential sannyāsīs in Raman Reti, and part of that excerpt describes their subterfuge:

“If Prabhupāda had actually appointed them, Prabhupāda would have announced their appointment during his manifested presence, or they would have announced it shortly after his passing. But no, they waited four months to announce their appointments. Why? Because Prabhupāda never appointed them. During those four months (and probably even before Prabhupāda departed) they were colluding between themselves. Not the entire G.B.C.; only select members were involved in this conspiracy. It was a conspiracy of silence. They knew what they wanted to do, but they kept quiet about it until the March 1978 G.B.C. meetings.” 14

This assessment is mostly factual, but not entirely so. Satsvarūpa, as editor of the BTG, spilled the beans earlier in an editorial. He was the scribe who wrote the most on the alleged appointment of gurus. This included a position paper with this sub-header: “in consultation with higher authorities,” referring to talks with Swāmi B.R. Śrīdhar.

ENE describes that as follows:

“At the same March 1978 meetings in which the zonal-acharya system was established, the G.B.C. approved a paper by Satsvarupa dasa Goswāmi entitled ‘The Process for Carrying Out Srila Prabhupāda’s Desires for Future Initiations.’ The paper contained many ideas that came from conversations with B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja, such as how a godbrother should act in the presence of one of the new ISKCON gurus. Satsvarupa wrote, ‘The sisya will not tolerate any other Vaishnava coming to disturb the absolute position of his guru. This is the heart’s feeling or proper Vaishnava sentiment, and disciples of Srila Prabhupāda should be sensitive to this and careful not to disturb the relationship between the new gurus and their disciples. . . . You may look upon your godbrother who’s now a guru in your own way, but you must behave so that the new bhaktas’ and disciples’ faith is not disturbed. Your conception of him may be kept in the mental world, but not shown on the outside.’”14

This G.B.C. position paper rubber-stamped the appointment of eleven spiritual masters and, in the process, injected more nescience into the mix. Through the institution’s monthly magazine and G.B.C. imprimatur—along with “consultation with higher authorities”--it was turned into “ISKCON” dogma that Prabhupāda named his gurus.

Divine Successors

Next, ENE segues to the zonals allegedly becoming Successors:

“Some (if not all) of the zonal acharyas boasted (or at the very least did not contradict the erroneous belief) that they had been miraculously promoted from a lower stage of devotional service to the uttama-adhikari stage by the inconceivable power of Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda. Tamal Krishna Goswāmi claimed, ‘Prabhupāda conferred his blessings upon these [eleven] disciples, seeing that they had dedicated themselves heart and soul to assisting him in the preaching mission. Thus he considered them to be uttama-adhikari, all highly advanced devotees worthy to be accepted as spiritual masters.’” 15

It was T.K.G.’s scheme from the beginning. Remember: He is the one who wrote the letter appointing the rittviks. Prabhupāda simply signed on a line at the bottom left of it, called “Approved.” T.K.G. knew well how he could parlay that appointment of rittviks into the eventual appointment of dīkṣā-gurus, and this he did.

He did so with the help—make that, tremendous help—of Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar of Navadvipa. This was a a boon for T.K.G.. Now, not only did the Navadvipa mahant back the rittviks automatically becoming spiritual masters (“rittvik-ācārya, then it becomes as good as ācārya”), T.K.G. also was encouraged to have all of them—himself obviously included—to be worshiped as mahā-bhāgavats (“mat-guru si jagat-guru”).

The pretenders certainly did praise Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar and give him all kinds of undue prominence for his poisonous advice. That was discussed in the next section of ENE:

Prominence Given to the Navadvipa Mahant

“B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja had became a highly-respected advisor in ISKCON. Zonal gurus, sannyāsīs and temple presidents visited him at his Navadvipa ashram and asked for his opinions about matters which vexed them. Puranjana noted, ‘Śrīdhar Maharaja then became the darling śikṣā guru of the ISKCON gurus and ISKCON overall. For example Satsvarupa was sending out audio tapes to all of ISKCON, where the G.B.C. were speaking with Śrīdhar. . . . Hansadutta installed huge photos of himself with Śrīdhar Maharaja in the foyer of the Berkeley temple, and anyone who doubted Śrīdhar’s authority was demonized and kicked out.’” 16

He was materially empowering them, so the eleven and their henchmen gave him prominence. It would come back to bite them not far up the road, but they were obviously quite short-sighted about that. Prabhupāda had taken mahā-bhāgavat worship as the real jagat-guru, and they looked upon the Navadvipa mahant as allegedly Prabhupāda’s śikṣā-guru. As such, they granted him prominence.

They imitated mahā-bhāgavat worship for themselves, because he told them “mat-guru si jagat-guru.” That Bengali trope carried the day, and the stricture of regular guru (which none of them were) was ignored. It was easy to ignore it, because nobody knew about it. The eleven and their co-conspirators made sure that everybody now knew about Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar, however, although he was a complete unknown previously.

Extravagant Worship

ENE describes the extravagant worship that the new gurus—supposedly Successors to Prabhupāda—were taking once they got back to their new fiefdoms as ācāryas of the zones. After all, if you are a jagat-guru, you can elect to be worshiped in that way. Prabhupāda was alleged to have recognized them in July of 1977 as being special; according to that false fact, he must have empowered them.

ENE comments upon this in summary, as follows:

“Few (or none) of the eleven it appears, including Kirtanananda as was revealed later, were firmly fixed on this basic rudimentary platform, much less on the more advanced platform of the “acharya,” who is not “an ordinary man, for he is the representative of all the demigods,” who is “non-different from Krishna.”17

Acting above your adhikāra or eligibility produces evil results in so-called spiritual life. This is a well-known principle, and, as stated earlier, that is why the accompanying principle of FIRST DESERVE, THEN DESIRE must be both honored and preserved in any genuine bhakti cult. “ISKCON” and its vitiated G.B.C. threw all of this to the winds. Sew the wind, and you reap the whirlwind in due course.

That’s exactly how it played out. They enjoyed more than any other humans on the planet, the extravagant worship and everything attached to it . . . but only for about eight years. Then, they suffered like anything, and they continue to suffer now. We should not at all sympathize with any of them for the vikarmic reactions that now they must endure.

My Way or the Highway

ENE then segues to its next sub-title, which we repeat (above) just as it was published in the book. After taking advantage of the rich and fertile soil provided to them by the Navadvipa mahant, the new gurus—now princes of their own principalities known as zones—decided that the implementation stage must be forceful. In effect, how they took over the movement was nothing more than a kind of covert brute force, i.e., a pseudo-spiritual smash-and-grab.

Here are two entries from Chapter Six that describe their mentality and the brute anti-brāminical action that accompanied it:

“Bhagavan dasa . . . the initiating guru and G.B.C. representative for France, Benelux, Italy, Israel, and co-G.B.C. for Spain and Portugal, had a straightforward and unforgiving policy in dealing with godbrothers who questioned the legitimacy of the new gurus. During an August 1978 conversation with Tamal Krishna Goswāmi in the stairwell of the guesthouse at the Krishna-Balarama Mandir in Vrindaban, Bhagavan boasted, ‘In my zone, it’s simple. It is my way or the highway.’ Tamal Krishna responded with a ‘loud laugh.’” 18

“In his book, Divine or Demoniac? Spiritual Movements and the Enemies Within, Dhanesvara dasa . . . recalled, ‘Many gurus demanded that godbrothers and sisters worship them as they had Srila Prabhupāda, and if they would not they were rejected from the Society. The new gurus, having the support of many adoring disciples, became the predominant political force, and Srila Prabhupāda’s disciples, although senior and experienced, were the odd-man out. Insubordination was dealt a heavy-hand. The policy everywhere was not one of love and cooperation, or even live-and-let-live, but my-way-or-the-highway.’” 19

The purport is self-evident.

G.B.C. Empowers Itself to Vote in New Gurus

The asat sabhā of the vitiated G.B.C. of 1978 also introduced another major deviation in relation to guru: All eleven of whom were recognized by the Commish as spiritual masters, and they constituted the Acharya Standing Committee, which was completely unauthorized. It introduced future guru by super-majority vote. ENE describes it in this way:

“The 1978 G.B.C. resolutions specified that new ISKCON gurus—in addition to the original eleven—could only be authorized by a three-fourths majority vote by the G.B.C.. One G.B.C. resolution indicated, ‘The G.B.C. will consider each year . . . the appointment of new Spiritual Masters to be approved by a 3/4 vote.’” 20

Although a deviated way to determine a genuine Vaiṣṇava spiritual master, the asat sabhā did make it very difficult to attain—at that time. Later on, this voting procedure—again, totally unauthorized—was modified substantially. ENE does not get into that in Chapter Six, however.

Back in the day (late Seventies), the minutes of its meetings were kept in semi-secrecy, so few knew of this concoction by super-majority. That’s the way the Commish wanted it. As could only have been expected, no one in 1978 was even nominated to receive that super-majority vote, and no new gurus were created in this impersonal papal voting dynamic.

Of course, those eleven impostors were created, but none of them were voted into the post. Everybody just assumed that they were gurus appointed and recognized by Prabhupāda, rubber-stamped by the Navadvipa mahant, and good to go as ācāryas of their zones. The band was playing a different tune, and no one would be able to make any progress in siddha realization by believing in or cooperating with it.

Eleven Naked Emperors

Doktorski chooses to close Chapter Six with a subtitle—The Naked Emperors--which is a slight modification of the title of his book. Always acceptable, although this technique is generally used for a chapter title rather than a subtitle. Your host speaker is quoted extensively in this final section of Chapter Six, and I choose to reproduce some of those excerpts in closing my review.

“The zonal-acharya system was a disaster waiting to happen, but few could foresee its negative effects at the time—except for Pradyumna, Guru Kripa Swāmi, Yasodanandan Swāmi, Gauridasa Pandit, Kailasa Chandra, and others . . . One last point regarding B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja must be noted: some say that he knew that Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda had appointed the eleven as ritviks, and he encouraged the eleven to become zonal acharyas: ‘Ritvik acharya, then it becomes as good as acharya.’

Kailasa-Chandra recalled: ‘Remember: None of us knew at the time how what was being received from Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar was loaded with nescience. I was, at most, only mildly suspicious of what he was spouting, and this is evidenced by the G.B.C. position paper of 1979, which still accepts Śrīdhar Maharaja as authority. Nevertheless, I specifically remember that 1978 statement, word-for-word!’” 21

Chapter Six begins with a major speed bump, which is certainly a blemish. That cannot be neglected in grading it. However, it recovers nicely. As such, it liberally grades out as a straight B.

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo spiritual scam. It got over via lies, false-pre-suppositions, Gouḍīya Mutt nescience, secrecy, intimidation, and a despotic kind of smash-and-grab with a bad astral smell.

Remember this: Nothing good can come from a so-called spiritual organization that is built upon a super-structure without gurus.

SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTES

1. Bhagavad-gītā lecture to select new students in N.Y.C., 3-2-66

2. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors, pp. 130-131, Kindle Edition;

3. Pink Floyd, “The Dark Side of the Moon”;

4. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors (p. 120). Kindle Edition;

5. Although most of you know what is being cited here refers to Neo-Mutt (and what that brand means), a handful of you do not. As such, a brief explanation should serve the immediate purpose. After Prabhupāda left and chaos immediately ensued, second echelon ISKCON men lost faith in both ISKCON and its leaders. In a term used in that aftermath, they “crossed the river” in order to become acolytes (of sorts) of Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar of the Gouḍīya Mutt in Navadvipa.

In effect, this created a new, Westernized (mostly, Americanized) edition of Gouḍīya Mutt representing a new organization, which was opposed to Prabhupāda (to be described when analyzing a later chapter in ENE). At first, this group—many of whom took sannyāsa from the Navadvipa mahant, was the mahā-maṇḍala and then the Guardian of Devotion (G.O.D., get it?). Their current label, which conclaves annually at Mathura in India, is now branded as the World Vaishnava Association;

6. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors, pp. 121-122), Kindle Edition;

7. Ibid, pp. 122-123 (Drutakarma);

8. Ibid, p. 126;

9. Ibid, pp. 126-127 (Ameyātmā);

10. Ibid, p. 127;

11. Ibid, pp. 130-131 (Jayādvaita);

12. Ibid, p. 132 (Rameśvara);

13. Ibid, pp. 132-133;

14. Ibid, p. 140;

15. Ibid, pp. 143-144 (T.K.G.);

16. Ibid, pp. 147-148 (Purañjan);

17. Ibid, pp. 151-152;

18 Ibid, p. 154 (Thomas A. Drescher, “A Letter From Prison,” reproduced in the “Sampradaya Sun,” Jan., 2007);

19. Ibid, p. 155;

20. Ibid, p. 156;

21. Ibid, pp. 158-159.

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Seven of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

“ . . . if there is bad boy, he can turn the whole family into ashes. Similarly, in this institution, if there is a bad disciple, he can burn the whole institution into ashes.” 1

Well, there were a number of bad boys. They did burn the ISKCON institution down with potent assistance from the imprimatur of the vitiated G.B.C. and from the Gouḍīya Mutt to do just that.

Who were they? They were as follows: Bad boy Satsvarūpa (the so-called Gurupāda), Bad Boy Hṛdayānanda (the so-called Ācāryadeva), Bad Boy Bhāvānanda (the so-called Viṣṇupāda), Bad Boy Bhagavān (the so-called Gurudeva, a.k.a. “The Sun King”), Bad Boy Hansadutta (the so-called Kṛṣṇa-kīrtan Ṭhākur), Bad Boy Harikeśa (the so-called Viṣṇupāda), Bad Boy Jayapātāka (the so-called Ācāryapāda), Bad Boy Jayatīrtha (the so-called Tīrthapāda), and Bad Boy Rameśvara, who, to his marginal credit, did not adopt one of those imitation labels.

Did I forget anybody? Well maybe I did, and maybe that was intentional. The nine bad boys just mentioned all engaged in activities of defiance against Prabhupāda’s orders, desires, and vision for his branch of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. A monthly podcast could easily be dedicated to their malicious exploits (some were worse than others), but that is not what the podcast for this month will be about.

Instead, it is about the other two of the eleven great pretenders who were not mentioned, who individually (what to speak of together) were the taproots of the colossal hoax of 1978, and who, arguably, did the most damage—not only for that reason but for other reasons, also.

Those two REALLY BAD BOYS are now both dead and gone. In terms of a life expectancy for transcendentalists engaged in a controlled and austere lifestyle is expected to be, they both died young. One, a lifelong Protestant (even in the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement) died of extreme renal failure in a Catholic hospital of suburban Bombay. The aftermath of his painful death was particularly gruesome.

The other died in the middle of the night, at an inauspicious time, in the middle of nowhere in West Bengal, in a gruesome and violent car crash that literally tore his body in half (although the actual cause of death was a severe blow to the head).

These men and their misdeeds are going to be discussed in this month’s episode. Their names: Bad Boy Kīrtanānanda (the so-called Bhaktipāda) and Bad Boy Tamāl Kṛṣṇa (the so-called Gurudeva). Henceforward, this second fellow will be referred to as T.K.G..

They were raised differently, their cultural and ethnic affiliation was different, their mentalities were very different, their type and level of charisma was different, their styles differed, and their level of cooperation was non-existent. They did, however, both go along with the vitiated G.B.C. plan in the aftermath of Prabhupāda’s disappearance.

There are only three photos of them together. Two of these were group shots of all eleven pretenders surrounding a painting of Prabhupāda. Most of them were smiling in those photos, because, by that time, they all knew that they had got over and no one could stop them. As such, those pictures tell us nothing of their interrelationship.

There is one other photo of just these two men together, and that one is a picture worth a thousand words. The tension exhibited between them is quite palpable—if you have the eyes to see it. They were deeply suspicious of one another. They were clearly not friendlies. That is why there was a subtle but distinct bifurcation of the movement when the zonal ācārya scam was implemented in the late Spring of 1978.

These men were the taproots of that massive deviation. Kīrtanānanda was of Anglo-Saxon ethnicity and a rather extreme version of its accompanying religion, so those of the eleven that had that Abrahamic background subtly aligned with him. Five others (along with T.K.G.) were born in Talmudic environments, and they aligned with T.K.G.

None of this was an explicit alignment, of course. It was covert. Only a few of Prabhupāda’s disciples were able to recognize it. Technically, Satsvarūpa (of Italian ethnicity) aligned himself with both men, so he straddled the fence, so to speak. This was all in the short-term, however.

As the zonal scam broke down, it was everybody for himself as they all had to jump ship. Most of them could no longer be worshiped as the gods they weren’t. For years, they had checked many ambitious godbrothers, but, when the levee broke, they had to try to survive the growing backlash that came their way. In other words, most of them had to acquiesce and allow for the expansion of so-called gurus.

As has been the case for months, we herein continue with our series of analyzing, in chronological order, the chapters of Eleven Naked Emperors (hereinafter, ENE) by Henry Doktorski. It is his second book (of twelve), and, in the opinion of your host speaker, his best one. We have now reached Chapter Seven, entitled “Two Architects of Evil.” He is referring to Kīrtanānanda and T.K.G. and, accordingly, we shall commit our focus to these two taproots of the massive deviation of 1978.

Your host speaker is quoted extensively in Chapter Seven. That is appreciated. I do not see any reason why I should not reproduce some of those quotations even at length. After all, they were put into the book by Doktorski, because they made points he wanted to make about these two egregious imitation mahā-bhāgavats.

The Cult of Kīrtanānanda

ENE spends much font space early via Chapter Seven discussing, in some detail, Kīrtanānanda’s misdeeds and exploits in the early years of the ISKCON movement. We shall not go over those. Then, ENE presents a quote about Kīrtanānanda from the leader of the institutional reform movement of the mid-Eighties, Kīrtanānanda’s chief nemesis. 2 The major change that his nemesis sparked is called The Second Transformation or the collegiate compromise by your host speaker. However, I am in agreement with this man’s analysis of Kīrtanānanda, to wit:

“You wouldn’t envy somebody unless they also had something you wanted. You love what they have, but somehow or other you want it to be all transferred to you. And that’s what was there in Kīrtanānanda. And māyāvāda philosophy can also take this form. Prabhupāda mentions, in Nectar of Devotion, it can take the form of envy of a spiritual master, also. So that was the case. This was the first big crisis with Kīrtanānanda.” 3

ENE later quotes a February, 1987 letter by the same man to Kīrtanānanda: “Your position in New Vrindaban mirrors that of Srila Prabhupāda in ISKCON with astonishing fidelity. . . . At the same time, there were problems of excess, of overstepping the bounds of propriety. You (along with Hansadutta) were severely rebuked by Srila Prabhupāda for accepting guru-pūja. It was an offense to him. He called it ‘a premature attempt.’ . . . It indicates that your relationship to Srila Prabhupāda is not entirely on center. That might be a small thing in someone else; in a person of your stature, it is a disaster.” 4

ENE goes granular into the many deviations of, as the subtitle calls it, The Cult of Kīrtanānanda. This was before he labeled himself “Bhaktipāda,” which was just after Prabhupāda’s disappearance. ENE discusses how Kīrtanānanda disobeyed a direct order to open a center in London. Instead, he flew from India directly to New York City, where, linking up with his homosexual buddy Hayagrīva, and he preached that the devotees there should give up all the trappings of Vaiṣṇavism. This was part of his plan to de-Indianize and Westernize the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement.

For this audacity, Prabhupāda said that he should be sent back to the asylum (Bellevue) that he came from when he joined, and that . . .

“Kīrtanānanda may be eager to address in the Harvard university, but recently he has lost his link on account of disobedience.” 5

Chapter Seven describes the reason that devotees began to call him “Black Keith.” It describes how he attempted to publish Prabhupāda’s Bhagavad-gītā manuscript under his own name, but no publishers believed him when he told them he was the work’s author.

ENE also describes that Kīrtanānanda began preaching that Prabhupāda had empowered him to be the sole devotee to carry on the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement as Prabhupāda’s Successor. It also mentions that Kīrtanānanda began chanting Oṁ Namaḥ Sivaya during kīrtans.

Chapter Seven describes how Kīrtanānanda printed stationary for an organization he planned to form and incorporate, entitled FIRST UNITED CHURCH OF KRISHNA: YOUTH ORGANIZATION UNDERGROUND. In case you didn’t notice, its acronym was F-U-C-K-Y-O-U.

For all of this rascaldom and more, Kīrtanānanda and Hayagrīva were directed by Prabhupāda to either return to the temples separately and go into the kitchen to wash dishes . . . or, as an option, to go into seclusion. They fittingly chose the latter alternative.

We are not going to get into all of that. If you are interested in those details, purchase ENE and read Chapter Seven for yourself. Kīrtanānanda came back and begged forgiveness. Unfortunately for all of us (at least, in the long run) Prabhupāda granted him that with no real penance attached to it. This should not be misinterpreted to mean that I am criticizing Prabhupāda for doing so, as he took many such risks.

Some panned out, and some did not.

Once back, Kīrtanānanda arranged to have some godbrothers and godsisters worship him at his rural Moundsville compound. This deranged devotion was the first seed of what would later become an all- encompassing tyranny of the mind for those inmates. Prabhupāda had to once again intervene, and in January of 1975, he gave Kīrtanānanda a severe scolding in Hawaii, mentioned previously.

The idea that Kīrtanānanda was recognized as śikṣā-guru for newcomers was directly contradicted by Prabhupāda during that chastisement session in his quarters. One senior man, a governing body commission present there to hear it, reported that Prabhupāda told Kīrtanānanda: “I am both the dīkṣā-guru and the śikṣā-guru for all of my disciples.” 6

Kīrtanānanda threw down the gauntlet just after Prabhupāda departed physical manifestation. He did this by initiating new people in late December of 1977 without any approval from, or consultation with, the other governing body commissioners. He also began taking opulent worship from his own godbrothers and godsisters in the temple room on an elevated seat at his Moundsville compound. This forced the situation, and ENE quotes your host speaker concerning it:

“Kailāsa-Chandra commented on Kīrtanānanda’s audacity . . . ‘Kīrtanānanda made it clear that he was not going to be relegated to such a vaidhi-bhakti status, and the others were forced to either imitate him or excommunicate him. They chose the former.’” 7

As such, the G.B.C. has its fingerprints all over the deviation, especially after it capitulated to Kīrtanānanda. It allowed all of the other so-called gurus (who made the claim based upon being appointed as rittviks) to accept similar worship from godbrothers, godsisters, and newcomers. It all went down during the implementation stage of the zonal hoax in the late Spring of 1978. ENE also quotes your host speaker in this connection:

“Although the eleven ritvik priests certainly deserve to be held accountable for their “take over” of ISKCON in 1978, the actual responsibility belonged to the G.B.C. . . . The G.B.C. could have stopped the eleven from taking over, but they did not.”

Kailāsa-Chandra noted, ‘If you walk back the cat . . . in the late Seventies, the responsibility for all the current hell in the so-called Krishna conscious movement falls squarely on the Governing Body Commission. . . . The eleven great pretenders did not actually impose the zonal acharya deviation; it was the G.B.C. that imposed it. It would have never even gotten traction without the G.B.C. imprimatur. . . . As the rituals within the movement changed, so did its ideals.

The G.B.C. was benefiting from this descent into the black hole of a shadow society, so it went unchecked. Prabhupāda was converted into a figurehead, and new leaders were replacing him . . . The whole debacle traces back to massive G.B.C. deviation. It traces back to its presumption of dominance that was never a part of the charter authorizing it.’” 8

ENE then quotes your host speaker about what should have been done if Kīrtanānanda and his “ten little Indian boys” had taken a more humble approach and acted as madhyam-adhikārī regular gurus:

“Almost all of the leading secretaries and (from what I have heard through the grapevine all of the contingent that would soon become eleven rittviks) attended that crucial room conversation with Srila Prabhupāda on May 28, 1977. All the important G.B.C. men knew that it was important, and they all knew that one or two (Tamāl Krishna and Satsvarūpa were selected) had to broach the difficult and touchy subject of how initiations were to continue after Srila Prabhupāda departed.

Srila Prabhupāda answered that difficult question: ‘Regular guru, that’s all. He becomes disciple of my disciple, that’s it.’ Everything is there. I was the first devotee to comment that the adjective “regular” refers to the noun “regulation.” Ravindra immediately responded favorably when I wrote this to him in 1985, but all of those men (Ravindra probably was not in Vrindaban in May, 1977) should have recognized this correlation as soon as Prabhupāda uttered the term “regular guru.”

The uttama is a liberated acharya, but the madhyama can still serve in the capacity of a dīkṣā-guru, as long as he has received the order to do so from the liberated Acharya. This is how genuine sannyasis carry on the line. A madhyama-adhikārī is qualified to be a regular guru. As such, he is conversant with the science of God. This stage of the science—the existence of a regular guru and the platform which he is thus on (if and/or when he becomes a dīkṣā-guru)—is part of being conversant in the devotional science related to the stages of atmarama.

It is not an advanced realization, i.e., you do not have to be expert in the science (uttama) to know and realize it. If the eleven (hypothetically eleven—the number is arbitrary) had been steady in self-realization, had thus been madhyama-adhikārīs, and were ordered—specifically and personally—to be regular gurus, they would have only paid a courtesy visit to Swami B. R. Sridhar. They would have seen immediately the dangerous flaws in his recommendations in so many ways, including “acharyas of the zone.” They would not have adopted any of them.

They would have, alternatively and individually (also, quite possibly, collectively), declared that Prabhupāda had recognized them as gurus and ordered them to initiate. His Divine Grace might well have done that (for some or all of them) before he departed. They would not have created zones for initiating disciples. They would possess Vaishnava humility. They would have taken the standard lecture seats available at each ISKCON temple, and they would have made disciples by the power of their preaching (personal charisma)—not via institutional mandate or institutional charisma.

Madhyama-adhikārī dīkṣā gurus do not compete with one another for disciples and resources nor do they rely upon governing bodies in order to become approved institutional gurus. They are far beyond these kinds of anarthas. Most importantly, they would have made sure that the G.B.C. functioned as a watchdog, i.e., as soon as any initiate of Prabhupāda declared that he was initiating disciples and/or began initiating disciples, a committee of learned brahmins would have traveled to his preaching center(s) in order to make sure that he was representing the philosophy and the process rightly.” 9

However, by jumping the gun, it was Kīrtanānanda who most effectively prevented anything bona fide being legislated at the G.B.C. asat sabhā conclave in late March of 1978. Of course, none of the eleven were madhyams, so that has to be figured into the equation of judgment. This man did so much damage, and much of it has proven to be irreversible.

TATTVAMASI

Kīrtanānanda was the oldest of the lot, he was personally charismatic, and he had dedicated followers. He misused that for aggrandizement to the detriment of the movement. Of the eleven, he was one of the two taproots. It was a dark diad. These two ambitious architects of the zonal ācārya scam were the sources of the conversion of the movement in 1978.

“The poison is personal ambition.” 10

Now, let us segue to that other dreadful taproot of the “ISKCON” movement of the late Seventies. Kīrtanānanda was obviously loaded with personal ambition, but there was another leader who was, arguably, even more ambitious. And that is, of course . . .

The Machiavellian Manipulator

An “ISKCON” pseudo-spiritual creeper, an imitation weed, eventually strangled the real creeper. It did so via its leaders which benefited from it. It had eleven prominent ones in the late Seventies–the great pretender zonal ācāryas—and it had one prominent leader in the mid-Eighties when The Second Transformation was ushered in. It has a different set of leaders now. The coin of its realm is has always been narcissism.

All eleven of those pretender mahā-bhāgavats were narcissists, but two of them were mega-narcissists. Those two are discussed prominently in Chapter Seven of ENE. That narcissistic coin of the “ISKCON” realm had two sides: Personal charisma and institutional charisma, the latter being Charisma of the Party Man.

Personally, I did not find Kīrtanānanda attractive whatsoever; he repulsed me. His neanderthal lectures were delivered to simply grind down the audience via his patented “we know nothing” tactic. His face was ugly; when smiling, it revealed horrific teeth. Nevertheless, I can understand why hundreds of devotees were enthralled by him, because he did have personal charisma. He took the air out of the room when he entered it, and that was always by design combined with his mega-narcissism.

He was clearly—and, for all practical purposes, totally–on that side of the coin of “ISKCON,” the one which represented personal charisma. Then we come to T.K.G.. He was on the opposite side. This should not be misinterpreted to mean that he was not self-centered. He was just as self-centered as any of Ocean’s Eleven. However, he utilized a manipulative expertise combined with institutional representation in order to coerce devotees to bend to his influence.

He considered himself to be the Moon of Prabhupāda’s movement. He was already angling—like some of the other eleven—to become the Successor in the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement . . . even before Prabhupāda departed manifest physical manifestation. ENE describes it as follows:

“Actually, Tamāl Krishna had a long history of wanting to be Prabhupāda’s successor, years even before Prabhupāda passed away. Naranarayana dasa Vishvakarma was initiated in San Francisco in September 1968 and knew Tamāl Krishna (who was initiated in August 1968) from the early days of the movement. . . Naranarayana described Tamāl Krishna’s all-consuming “manic fervor” to become Prabhupāda’s successor: ‘I knew Tamāl extremely well from the very early days of the movement onward. . . . From the very beginning, he wanted to be Srila Prabhupāda’s only guru successor. . . . Tamāl took me aside in 1969, and said, ‘Srila Prabhupāda has said that there are many stars, but I want a moon!’ Tamāl said to me with manic fervor: “I am that moon!’

The problem is that Srila Prabhupāda never recognized Tamāl as any sort of moon, and Tamāl could not reconcile his own self-perception with the idea that Srila Prabhupāda certainly did not see him as his sole successor as acharya after Srila Prabhupāda.’” 11

T.K.G. was eventually given sannyāsa and a G.B.C. post. He had proved himself, in the short-term, by effectively organizing magazine collection and distribution in California. He was appointed as the G.B.C. for India, but he did not endear himself to the other leaders already established there. He wanted to completely control them, but this was not within the jurisdiction of his power or assignment. He was to simply to oversee, witness, and report, but that is not how it was playing out. He especially alienated a couple of sannyāsīs, itinerant preachers, and even more than them, the president of the Bombay center:

“G.B.C. does not mean to control a center. G.B.C. means to see that the activities of a center go on nicely. I do not know why Tamāla is exercising his absolute authority. That is not the business of G.B.C.. The president, treasurer and secretary are responsible for managing the center. G.B.C. is to see that things are going nicely but not to exert absolute authority. That is not in the power of G.B.C.. Tamāla should not do like that. The G.B.C. men cannot impose anything on the men of a center without consulting all of the G.B.C. members first. A G.B.C. member cannot go beyond the jurisdiction of his power.” 12

Your host speaker had no dealings with the so-called “Bhaktipāda,” either before or after he adopted that concocted label. I did have some direct and indirect contact with T.K.G., however. Not very much, and none of it went well. I did not like him. He picked up on that, and, even previous to doing so, he was wary of me.

He called me “very intelligent,” but that was a far as anything favorable was spoken or acted upon by him in relation to me. He certainly disliked me, and intrigue and treachery were part of that mix. I shall not get into all of it (there really was not that much), but I shall share a few nasty nuggets with you here.

I briefly spoke with him and his chief loyal lieutenant at Govinda’s Honolulu restaurant sometime in late 1975 or early 1976. That brief meeting at his dining table was full of tension. Very unpleasant, but just a taste of what was to come! He harassed me while Prabhupāda was giving a platform lecture after the Janmāstamī parade down Fifth Avenue in N.Y.C., and he singled me out while subtly doing so.

In early 1977, he linked up with comrade Jayatīrtha. Knowing of the man’s deviations, they both corralled a sannyāsī I was working under with that leverage (of his theft and intoxication coverts) in order to force him to jettison me from his party.

I had led it successfully, and gotten under Jayatirtha’s skin while doing so. As such, I got bushwhacked. I learned about this betrayal that had me summarily dismissed by that clown sannyāsī later through the grapevine. It caused me severe distress at the time and accompanying illness, so much so that I barely had enough strength to get out of India.

When T.K.G. wanted to make your life miserable, he found a way to do so. That ominous black birthmark near his temple was not there for nothing, let me tell you. If you were in a lower echelon and did not admire him to his satisfaction, he made sure that you paid for it. Another irritable thing about him: It seemed like every second sentence he uttered began with the words: “You should.” He wanted to control everyone he met, at least, those who was not part of the upper echelon.

Another anecdote: In the late Spring of 1979, I introduced a pet disciple of Prabhupada’s, a sannyāsa at the time, to Mitralal Gupta in a suburb of Varanasi. This elderly Hindu was the most famous and expert palmist in India. The three of us were talking in the foyer of his opulent house, and the sannyāsī wanted to show him a picture of Prabhupāda. As Providence would have it, he had a BTG with a color photo, more or less a double head shot of Prabhupāda with T.K.G. next to one another.

He showed the picture to Gupta. The palmist’s head snapped back as soon as he saw it! He was aghast! There was a hesitation, then Mitralal said: “How could your guru associate with such a demoniac man?” As a side note, T.K.G.’s black birthmark was prominent in that picture.

Now, let us see what Chapter Seven offers us in terms of information, factoids, and knowledge of and about The Machiavellian Manipulator:

“Is it possible that Tamāl Krishna’s unfulfilled ambition to become Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda’s successor became such a heavy psychological burden that it eventually manifested itself in emotional angst, anger and ultimately madness? As Karandhar indicated to Ameyatma, ‘Tamāl Krishna is mad.’ In a candid moment of honest self-reflection two years later, Tamāl Krishna himself admitted, ‘When I was temple president in Los Angeles, I used to beat the hell out of people. That’s why I was the king of the heap there.’” 13

Please note: This is but another example of Doktorski’s granular research which reveals information that, without his great effort, only a handful of devotees would come to know. As we move toward the end of Chapter Seven, ENE discusses the poison issue and T.K.G.’s in the center of that controversy. There is substantial evidence that Prabhupāda was indeed poisoned by an inner coterie of his leading men and their sycophants. Indeed, there is a smoking gun, which was his statement made just a month before he departed: “Someone has poisoned me.”

I am against Rittvik. It has, in most of its presentations, aligned itself with the poison issue. It has done so, in many cases, by comparing Iesos Kristos with Prabhupāda. Note that I do believe Prabhupāda was poisoned and that T.K.G. was integral to that diabolical act. However, I intentionally avoid getting into the issue, although I have studied all of the evidence and arguments in excruciating detail. I tend to avoid it, because Rittvik has attached the crucifixion to the poisoning, which is outrageous.

As such, we shall move on to latter entries:

“ . . . Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda’s leading disciples (in no small measure due to Tamāl Krishna himself) disobeyed their spiritual master’s orders and, within a few short years, chaos erupted within ISKCON and threatened to split the Society. In hindsight, it appears that Tamāl Krishna (perhaps in collaboration with Kīrtanānanda Swami, as evidenced by Tamāl Krishna’s 1978 conversation with Gauridasa Pandit in Vrindaban mentioned earlier) masterminded the conspiracy to: (1) suppress Prabhupāda’s discussions regarding the installation of “regular gurus” . . . in ISKCON, and (2) promote the erroneous idea that Prabhupāda had appointed eleven men to become uttama-adhikārī dīkṣā-guru zonal acharyas after his passing.” 14

There might have been some collaboration between T.K.G. and Kīrtanānanda, but I doubt it. As far as Gauridās is concerned, to a significant degree he brought in the Rittvik heresy; as such, no one should take anything he says seriously. What has just been quoted encapsulates the devastating influence of T.K.G. on the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement. That diabolical man planned the whole thing; he was able to manifest his self-serving ambitions through the deviation he engineered.

However, as Hansadutta said to me on the front porch of Mt. Kailāsa in Lake County, California in early 1988: “We went way too far, and we couldn’t pull it off.” An honest perspective. And, by the way and for the record, Hansadutta was utterly contemptuous of T.K.G. and considered him a complete phony. No disagreement here from me, be assured.

“Most of the eleven may have been unaware of Tamāl Krishna Goswami’s deception, which he apparently kept only to himself. The other ritviks might have actually believed that Prabhupāda had appointed them to serve as uttama-adhikārī dīkṣā gurus after his passing. We should note, however, that none of the eleven refused their so-called appointments as uttama-adhikārī dīkṣā-guru zonal acharyas. But thinking that they had, by the grace of Prabhupāda, advanced to the perfect stage of uttama-adhikārī. Was that not far-fetched?” 14

All of Ocean’s Eleven were bad boys. However, without the influence of Kīrtanānanda and T.K.G., the zonal ācārya scam might not have gone down. Remember: They jumped from rittviks then to dīkṣā-gurus then to uttamas and then to Successors in a very short span of time, almost immediately. It was outrageous, but Kīrtanānanda set the tone and T.K.G. provided the explanation which satisfied the Party Men.

With the help of Swami B. R. Śrīdhar, virtually everyone in the movement was bamboozled by them. The other nine could not have even attempted such a devastating scam without the leadership provided by the two taproots of tyranny. They were the baddest of the Bad Boys, and Prabhupāda’s movement was thrown into an irreversible descent into one deviated transformation after another.

One final anecdote will now be shared. Be prepared: Your hair may stand on end after you hear this one and your skin may crawl. In January of 1978, on my twenty-seventh birthday, I had an intense discussion with the G.B.C. for the Southeast zone of America. It took place just outside the ofice he had bestowed upon me (although, I also slept there) in the building at the top of the Ponce de Leon complex in Atlanta.

The discussion centered around the intrigue, treachery, and betrayal that I had undergone at the hands of one of the temple presidents in his zone. What I had undergone (and how I had effectively responded to it) had led me to be gifted that private office. What I am going to reveal here should not be misinterpreted to be any kind of knock against him. Of the ISKCON leaders, he was, by far, the most favorable to me. We are not close, but I am grateful to him and still feel a mild liking of him.

Basically, in this private talk, he was trying to persuade me to move toward some kind of “realization” that he believed I should graduate to–in terms of how the movement was run. He was one of its top echelon leaders, so he should have known. Prabhupāda had even predicted that he would become President in America one day.

Like myself, he was not willing to worship any of the zonal ācāryas, which made him and I exceptions to the rule. The statement he made to me on that memorable day is seared into my brain. It cannot be forgotten under any circumstances. I shall now share it with you word-for-word, advising you not to whatsoever assimilate it as a judgment of that commissioner but rather as to the dreadful influence of T.K.G.:

“This movement is run Machiavellian.
Tamāl Kṛṣṇa introduced it, and Prabhupāda approved it.”

In conclusion, I found one minor discrepancy in Chapter Seven. However, it was only mentioned as a suggestion and not as a factual; as such, it deserves to be dismissed. Chapter Seven is flawless. It deserves an A-plus, and that is the grade that I give to it.

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. It did not just happen. It was made to happen, and the two taproots of tyranny were its chief formulators. They will be mentioned briefly as footnotes in the coming anthology of this movement many decades from now. They will not be mentioned at all favorably, be assured.

The era of the Bad Boys, the zonal ācārya epoch, lasted for less than a decade. It was The First Transformation, and it was a horror show! It was completely unauthorized.

It was replaced by a kinder and gentler—but, nevertheless, just as deviated—Second Transformation. We are now past that one, also, but we are not past the root deviations that were and remain the foundation of the original hoax. And those two rascals, Kīrtanānanda and T.K.G., were integral to concocting that hoax and permanently placing it at the foundation of a sahajiyā movement built on sand. SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTES

1 Letter to leading secretary, 8-25-70;

2 Ravindra Svarupa dasa Adhikari;

3 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors (p. 169). Kindle Edition;

4 Ibid, p. 175;

5 Letter to senior leader of ISKCON, 10-6-67;

6 Ramesvara;

7 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors (p. 161). Kindle Edition;

8 Ibid, pp. 184-185;

9 Ibid, pp. 182-184;

10 Letter to Satyabhama, 11-1-70;

11 Op. Cit., pp. 188-189;

12 Letter to the president of the Bombay center, 8-12-71;

13 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors (p. 193). Kindle Edition;

14 Ibid, pp. 196-97;

15 Ibid, p. 198;

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Eight of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

There are perspectives you need in order to really conceptualize and assimilate what went down in Prabhupāda’s branch of the Hare Krishna movement after he departed physical manifestation. You will not get any of these perspectives from the “ISKCON” movement, nor can either Neo-Mutt or Rittvik help you to attain them. These perspectives crystallize understanding of the actual narrative of the saga in accurate context leading to further progress in genuine spiritual life.

The history of anything, big or small, is generally based upon the interplay of powerful personalities in conjunction to events. We would certainly find this to be the case in the history of the Western world just prior to the colonization of America by European citizens. Just to give one example of many, the Peace of Westphalia was a major event that has ramifications and repercussions effective to this day everywhere in the West. It created a new paradigm, but how many people are even aware of this event?

Of course, our study here in almost entirely focused upon the Hare Krishna movement, and all of us could name and acknowledge any number of major and important events in its timeline: Prabhupāda’s arrival, the establishment of his first center, his first initiations, the incorporation of ISKCON, the Columbus standing lecture and kirtan, the creation of the Governing Body Commission, etc.

Yet, there were events—both during his presence and the aftermath—that were just as important but are unrecognized today as being such. The aborted attempt to centralize his movement (the centralization scheme) by eight of the G.B.C. in 1972 would be one such example. We have discussed it repeatedly over the decades in our articles, videos, and podcasts. As such, we have not allowed it to major into oblivion.

It was not, for all practical purposes, even known about by any but a handful of leading secretaries when it went down and what it was on the verge of accomplishing (if Prabhupāda had not—in very forceful terms—aborted it before it could gain real traction) been disastrous. Almost entirely, it became known to the rank-and-file well after Prabhupāda had already left the scene, but the secretaries and the temple presidents knew about it in April of 1972 when it was nipped. They kept it secret.

This is a good example of what I shall be communicating to you today. I shall be discussing an event of major importance that went down in Raman Reti, India at the Krishna Balaram center in the first weeks of 1979. Many of you do not know of it, but that will not remain the case now. Of those of you know about it as an event, but little otherwise, that will also change when you finish assimilating this month’s podcast. Be assured: Virtually none of the rank-and-file in today’s “ISKCON” know about it. You will soon understand why that must be the case.

As far as Neo-Mutt and Rittvik are concerned, most of their followers—and even some of their leaders—do not know about it, what to speak of its actual repercussions in terms of historical cause and effective. However, despite its relative anonymity, you cannot put the pieces of the puzzle of the narrative together without knowing this event: What went down, why, what was the antecedent leading up to it, and, most importantly, what it ACTUALLY accomplished, you must know.

It led to today’s Rise of the Independents that many of you are taking advantage of, but could not otherwise do so. In other words, because, whether you acknowledge it or not, today’s general freedom in Krishna consciousness is dependent upon that event.

We continue with our chapter-by-chapter analysis of Henry Doktorski’s Eleven Naked Emperors (hereinafter, ENE), and we have now reached Chapter Eight, entitled “Crushing the Opposition.” Succinct and accurate title. Let us say that this chapter had not been included. Let us postulate that the book had skipped this almost unknown event and went straight to the effective rebellion of the North American temple presidents in their toppling of the zonal ācāryas–and all of that obscene worship and power falsely bestowed upon them. Would anyone have noticed?

Hardly anybody knows about the subject of Chapter Eight, but everyone in or out of “ISKCON” knows the history of the presidents’ rebellion and the installation of The Second Transformation, led by Ravīndra Svarūpa (yes, he was a temple president), a.k.a., the Collegiate Compromise. The relative obscurity of what preceded it and led to it has not been skipped by ENE, however. Now you are going to receive even more specifics about this event, allowing you to understand the repercussions and ramifications that it spawned.

Before we get into all of those specifics (many, but not all, of them covered by Chapter Eight) an important—nay, essential—point must be made and assimilated by the listeners and readers of this month’s podcast. In a nutshell, it is this: You must acknowledge and realize that confronting the leadership of any cult—and we only deal with Krishna cults here—is not the same as attacking Krishna consciousness itself. A confrontation can be an attack, granted, but it is not necessarily so. In the case of the event in the winter of 1979 in Raman Reti at the Krishna-Balaram mandir, the eleven zonals were attacked. They were confronted for the first time by a handful of their godbrothers, which can be called the opposition for the sake of the excellent title chosen by Doktorski for Chapter Eight.

They were punished in different ways for that so-called attack. They were cursed. The vast majority of them were forced to humiliate themselves and publicly apologize to the “new gurus” in front of the assembly. As a side note, your host speaker (and three others, of thirty-six) did not humiliate himself and apologize. There was nothing to apologize for, and I did not do so. This made my life very tough as far as the so-called Krishna movement was concerned, obviously, and I was singled out in the G.B.C. Resolutions of 1979 for allegedly promulgating “poisonous activities.”

The zonals fully deserved to be confronted, or if you prefer, attacked. They actually had no legitimate basis for what they had done and what they were doing in the late Seventies. They had successfully hijacked the movement by taking over the vitiated G.B.C. and dovetailed its imprimatur to rubber stamp their so-called appointment. It was an appointment that never was. Prabhupāda only appointed eleven rittviks in the second week of July, 1977 in a written notice to all temple presidents.

That was no big deal. In point of fact, he did not even dictate the one-page document. It was drawn up by T.K.G. who, intent to include his close buddy Bhavananda as one of the eleven, had to hear Prabhupāda check him by also adding Hansadutta, who T.K.G. abhorred. Of course, that sentiment was mutual, but there was no clause in the document stating that these rittviks would then automatically become dīkṣā-gurus after Prabhupāda departed physical manifestation.

Yet, T.K.G. was confident that this is what he could pull off when that time inevitably came, even sooner than most expected. It was T.K.G.’s document as his initial effort to manipulate the rittviks into dīkṣā-gurus. Prabhupāda merely signed it on a line labeled “Approved.” T.K.G. was the person who actually signed it since it was his letter.

However, no one knew this. It is even somewhat debatable that the other ten rittviks knew that Prabhupāda never appointed any of them as dīkṣā-gurus. It is possible (if not probable) that they believed the hype that Prabhupāda appointed gurus in July of 1977, what to speak of the inarguable fact that everyone else in the movement believed it. Actually, it was not even a question of belief; it was an accepted fact movement-wide. But it was not a fact: IT WAS A BIG LIE.

As such, the document which was issued to confront these so-called ācāryas in the winter of 1979 at Raman Reti conceded that they were all appointed as dīkṣā-gurus, despite the fact that none of them were appointed by Prabhupāda to the post. That this error was contained in the confrontation paper should be understood in that context. Nevertheless, it weakened it, because presentation had to be mistake-free in order for it to be fully potent.

T.K.G. basically chose not to speak during the confrontation, which was divided into two sessions by an unnecessary lunch break. Something as important as it was supposed to be, but T.K.G. insisted during the session that it be so divided so that everyone—especially, it is presumed, the enjoyer “new gurus”–could relish some “lunch prasādam.” The other time he spoke was when he bellyached about Pradyumna announcing to the assembly that he was leaving it. When T.K.G. whines, let me tell you, it is the most disgusting, nauseating, and agitating sound made by man! “Pradyumna, I have traveled thousands of miles for this, and now you are leaving to attend to your Deities?”

Although Pradyumna did not, and does not, have a warrior bone in his body, he can be adamant once he makes up his mind. And he was. Despite the bellyaching, he was justified to leave, and he made the decision. The word “decision” comes from the Latin root decere, which means “to cut.” When you make a decision, you cut off any and all options which are not part of it. Hṛdayānanda had decided to play the EMOTE AND DEGRADE card in his debate with Pradyumna. Hṛdayānanda was losing the debate, and you could feel the consternation of the zonals in that atmosphere of faithlessness and opposition.

He picked up on it and decided to throw down. A very proud man, he knew he could overlord Pradyumna emotionally, because Pradyumna was strong intellectually but had no real following and was fully brahminical. Hṛdayānanda decided that the debate should degenerate into conflict, and that was that.

Pradyumna had no chance once the parameters of the debate—which was not a debate anymore when Hṛdayānanda emoted—had radically changed into a kind of rancor. “Who cares about the Rāmanuja sampradaya? Are you saying that you know more than us? Are you saying that Prabhupāda’s selected men, his gurus, are to be subordinate to you?”

This may not be exactly the word-for-word translation according to my memory, but it is close to it. As such, Pradyumna gave up on them, and he also gave up in the confrontation. No one else could take his place. Yaśodanandan could not do so. He had been Guru-Kṛpā’s wingman for years, and he was no match for Hṛdayānanda. Debate was not within the wheelhouse of his expertise. Guru-Kṛpā had completely failed to show. He could of went toe-for-toe with any of them (including Hṛdayānanda), but instead, he was in Western Europe getting incarcerated at a Netherlands penitentiary for drug-dealing.

After all, he was the G.B.C. for the Krishna-Balaram mandir. He was the one who earlier the previous year had successfully confronted both Bhagavān and Bhāvananda when they demanded the inmates there worship them. Guru-Kṛpā said no.

He said no to big seats. He said no to foot worship. He said no to any kind of special worship. He rejected the pomp and circumstance of the zonal ācārya takeover, and he could confront with the best that any of the so-called zonal ācāryas could offer.

But, he didn’t. He left it to Yaśodanandan, who did not have Guru-Kṛpā’s confrontation skills. Nor was Yaśoda an abrasive personality. He was a pukka-sannyāsī, while Guru-Kṛpā was anything but. The man of the hour should have been Guru-Kṛpā, but he turned out to be an epic fail when push came to shove. Once Pradyumna defied all of them and left the asat-sabhā, Yaśoda was no match, Akśayānanda was no match, and Johnny-come-lately Jagad-Guru was no match to the bellicosity that many of the eleven then unleashed. The rout was on.

ENE describes all of this in Chapter Eight, so let us now segue to some of those excerpts. Your host speaker, as was the case in Chapter Seven, is quoted also in Chapter Eight, but none of those will be reproduced.

“Finally, Yaśodanandan Swami challenged the zonal acharyas to a debate at the February 1979 G.B.C. meetings in Vrindaban, India. Kailasa-Chandra dasa, who was regarded as a philosophical pundit, was asked to write a position paper for the challengers. Two years earlier in 1977, Kailasa-Chandra had served as the personal secretary for Balavanta dasa, an aspiring politician and president of the Atlanta temple. Kailasa-Chandra recalled, ‘It was there that I was privy to the politics that was going down amongst the power players just prior to, and just after, the implementation of the zonal acharya scam.’

In preparation for the debate, the Vrindaban temple president, Aksayananda, gave Kailasa-Chandra a typewriter and a room at the Krishna-Balarama Mandir. When Kailasa-Chandra completed his twenty-page paper, Yaśodanandan Swami, who was respected for his strict sadhana, canvassed thirty-six devotees to sign it. The paper was copied and presented to the zonal acharyas prior to the debate. Ravindra Svarupa confirmed, ‘In 1979 questions about the gurus’ position had burst out in major eruptions at ISKCON centres at Vrindaban and Juhu Beach, ejecting over the rest of the movement thick fascicles of photocopied papers.’

Although Yaśodanandan had issued the challenge to debate the new gurus, and Kailasa-Chandra had written their position paper, it was Pradyumna—a scholar whose knowledge of logic and shastra was formidable—who was chosen to be the spokesman for the reform party. All eleven new gurus showed up for the Vrindaban debate. The atmosphere was tense.

The chief points of contention by the reformers were: 1) The new gurus were not entitled to accept worship from their godbrothers and/or godsisters; 2) Any worship of the new gurus should be held in some kind of private quarters, not in front of the deities in a temple established by Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda; 3) The worship of the new gurus was far too lavish, and they did not deserve to accept such worship whatsoever;

4) To perpetuate the line of ISKCON, the current arrangement for the disciplic succession (by the G.B.C., which was dominated by the Acharya Board) was a counter-productive concoction, and had to be immediately reversed before it was too late; 5) There were other godbrothers who deserved to be able to initiate new disciples into Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda’s branch of the disciplic succession, and some kind of accommodation needed to be made.

The strategy of the reform group relied, in great measure, on the presentation of Pradyumna, who would represent them in the debate. They also relied upon the confrontation remaining civil and conducted in brahminical fashion but, unfortunately for the reformers, the debate was not conducted this way, except during the first ten minutes.”

Of course, the author of ENE was not present for this meeting, and I was only present for the first half of it. The first half was immeasurably more important then what went down after the lunch break, as that was nothing but an apology-fest.

Only males at Krishna-Balaram were approached for their signatures. All of the male devotees residing at the complex signed it, except for Rūpa-Vilāsa. He, on the contrary, made substantial efforts to undermine its initiative. I could go into minute detail about all of that intrigue but, for now, I am choosing not to do so.

Treachery and betrayal at the Raman Reti complex preceded the arrival of the zonals. Such was not just in relation to a suggestion (adopted briefly, then reversed) made by Rūpa-Vilāsa. It also took place at Bombay, where T.K.G. turned Girirāj around from a pillar of the opposition aligned with Yaśoda and Pradyumna to a loyalist with Ocean’s Eleven. That was not known until the meeting ensued, however.

TATTVAMASI

As far as the Raman-Reti treachery was concerned, Yaśodanandan (then Swāmi) resorted to a sickness ploy in order to gain sympathy and rejuvenate all the local signatories (who Rūpa-Vilāsa had turned) on the position paper. I never wavered nor did the men who were part of my team at that time. Most of the others did. Of course, Yaśoda could not convince Rūpa-Vilāsa to sign it, and he reported all that went down to Satsvarūpa upon his arrival at the complex, probably the first to reach there.

Yaśoda had sent a friendly, one of the signers, to find me in Varanasi in January, 1979. The message the young man carried was a request to meet with him at Raman Reti and discuss how to confront this situation going down worldwide in the form of the zonal ācārya takeover.

I was willing to oblige. Yaśodanandan got approval to set me up in my own room. I banged away at the document for hours each day, and, on most days, Yaśoda would come to my room and read what I had typed. He agreed with virtually all of my writing and proposals. There was little to negotiate. We were of the same intelligence, and he took particular delight in the format that I had employed.

His secretary then typed up the formal document, although she expressed her unhappiness in receiving that assignment. Yaśoda got all of the initial signatures. I signed the document as the fifteenth signature. Pradyumna did not sign it. He read it. He told me that he liked it, but in case it had a flaw somewhere (it had two of them), he did not want to risk that being exploited by the zonals in order to take away his assignment from Prabhupāda to continue the translation of the bhāgavatam.

Turns out, that went down anyway. They punished him for having the audacity to confront Hṛdayānanda in debate. And, as it turned out, the G.B.C. took away Pradyumna’s seva and gave it to that very man, Hṛdayānanda. That tells you, in one sense, all you need to know about the ethics of those eleven men. It was the ethics of the savage.

I was pounced upon by Jayatīrtha at the very end of the first session of the meeting. The stampede was on by that time, and it would increase exponentially (from reports that I heard about it) during the second session after the frivolous lunch break. However, I noticed something just as things were breaking down in the first session.

Two of the zonals (only one of which spoke) were not approving how the other nine were crushing of the opposition. Harikeśa spoke up about it, imploring the other men to listen to the points being made, i.e., that there was validity to many of them. Hansadutta did not speak, but his facial and bodily gestures conveyed quite a bit. It was clear that he was intuitively picking up that this was the beginning of the end. He was picking up that, despite all of this going down in Prabhupāda’s quarters of the complex, that His Divine Grace did not at all approve of how the opposition was being treated.

Hansadutta’s dread of the situation proved to be justified in the long run. The position paper was not perfect, but it deserved a completely different response. The opposition deserved to be respected. Yet, Paramātmā wanted more. He wanted the zonals to be destroyed, but it would take time. This was the first crack in the dam, but that would not be recognized until the summer of 1980, when the second crack emerged (and yes, I was later heavily involved in widening that crack, as well).

Paramātmā recognized the two flaws in the opposition’s position paper. One has already been mentioned: The concession (which never should have been made) that Ocean’s Eleven had been appointed by Prabhupāda as dīkṣā-gurus. We have already covered this one adequately. Everyone in the room that fateful day believed it, although T.K.G. knew very well that it was not true. T.K.G. knew that Prabhupāda had only appointed eleven rittviks, not gurus.

The position paper granted them all guru status, and Paramātmā was not satisfied with that. The appointment that never was would first be exposed in the summer of 1980, but time had not yet changed that major misconception. The second flaw in the document was urging the eleven zonals to once again go to Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar for advice. Were the fourteen points made by the plaintiffs bona fide? Should they be given due consideration? Everyone—or most everyone—was still bamboozled by the Navadvipa Mahant in February of 1979.

He was still considered, very wrongly, to be an elder godbrother of Prabhupāda who was his well-wisher. Most definitely, that was not the case, but no one recognized that harsh fact at the time. As such, the position paper advocated a resort for more bad advice that should have never been even suggested. The opposition was punished for doing so by being wiped out . . . with myself also being scapegoated by Jayatirtha just before the lunch break.

ENE continued in Chapter Eight:

“The eleven revealed, by their behavior during the debate, that they were most likely not on the topmost uttama-adhikari platform of spiritual development as they claimed. In a Srimad-bhagavatam purport written a few years later (There is this entry): ‘Being puffed up by his own ceremonial worship, . . . a kanistha-adhikari cannot imagine that anyone is more pious or religious than he, and he is not even aware that other devotees are more advanced. Thus he cannot understand the madhyama or uttama standard of devotional service, and sometimes, because of his false pride, he criticizes the more advanced devotees of the Lord, neglects them or simply has no understanding of their exalted position as preachers or completely self-realized souls.’”2

Actually, the eleven great pretenders were far from neophytes. They were all sahajiyās by the time that confrontation rolled around. They were all taking undeserved worship in front of open Deities on elevated, imitation Vyāsāsans. They were all accepting mahā-bhāgavat adulation from not only their improperly initiated disciples, but also from their own godbrothers and godsisters.

The position paper pointed out this discrepancy, and that fact deeply irritated them. This was because their delusion was so great that they had actually forgotten that, in the beginning, they all intentionally decided to imitate Prabhupāda, which is completely forbidden. They had bought into the so-called legitimacy of their showbottle imitation and, under the influence of mahā-moha, they believed themselves to be pure devotees.

ENE shared then this anecdote:

“In the end, Guru Kripa, Pradyumna, Yaśodanandan, Kailasa-Chandra, and a number of others who challenged the zonal acharyas in Vrindaban, India, all left or were forced out of ISKCON. Guru Kripa explained, ‘Most people [including ISKCON devotees] are basically sudras who want a master to tell them what to do. They do not have sufficient intelligence, or spiritual knowledge, therefore they accepted [what the zonal acharyas demanded]; and the more realized devotees left, after trying to correct things. They were told to leave because they were disturbing the faith of the new disciples. Because they could not take it any more, they left.’”

This was the developing situation at that time. You could argue that 1979 was the peak of the power of the zonals. No reform was at all likely, because the centers had been stacked with improperly initiated disciples. The godbrothers who accepted the new arrangement were allowed to stay, but the command and control was now shifting to new people. The zonals simply wanted to travel and enjoy all the luxuries made ever-ready to them. They parlayed all the work and promulgation activities off to their favorable godbrothers in the beginning. Still, the zonals knew that, on the whole, they could never really and fully trust them. By 1979, the newcomers were becoming influential and sometime soon would even become temple presidents.

This was addressed to a significant degree in the position paper, of course. The non-guru G.B.C.s were on islands. They had virtually no followers. The new people followed their gurus, and the temple presidents did not remain so if they were not cent-per-cent also kowtowing. The temple presidents who did not have, as their G.B.C. a guru-G.B.C., placed their allegiance in the guru of the zone, not in the G.B.C. zone.

As such, with all the territory of the world now carved up into eleven zones, the G.B.C. zones were nothing more than anachronisms that overlapped guru zones but were otherwise meaningless.

The G.B.C. of any such zone—the non-guru G.B.C.—had to go along to get along. He was hoping for guru expansion, of course, but in 1979 there were no such prospects. With the guru contingent, led by the aggressive pseudo-debating style of Hṛdayānanda, effectively crushing the opposition at Raman Reti in early 1979, prospects for non-guru G.B.C.s becoming appointed to guru-dumb looked bleak. Whose territory would any such new ācārya have given to him? Ocean’s Eleven all wanted to keep the share that they already had stolen via vitiated G.B.C. imprimatur. None would be willing to give up a slice of their own pie.

However, time changes things. There would be falldowns. Even previous to that, their would be in-house punishments of zonals who went too far, stretched the rubber band, and felt it snap in ways that embarrassed the remaining big guns. The power of the institution would creep back in, as it was always lurking underneath the whole facade anyway.

This was not at all apparent during the 1979 confrontation at Raman Reti, however. That was an exaltation of the greatness—so-called greatness, of course—of the glorified pretenders. ENE describes it as follows:

“Tamal Krishna, along with the other ten, falsely depicted the doubters to be little more than ‘malicious barking’ dogs. He explained, ‘Since the disappearance of our beloved spiritual master, . . . disenchanted persons come forward trying to cast doubt on the legacy left by Srila Prabhupāda. When Srila Prabhupāda appointed from among his senior disciples eleven persons to continue the process of initiation, and when after their spiritual master’s departure those whom he selected assumed their duties by his command, the critics began to bark their discontent.

Though they leveled their remarks against the successor gurus, in reality their criticism was aimed at Srila Prabhupāda himself. . . . The critics may argue that appointment alone is not a guarantee that one has actually achieved this perfectional stage of life; Prabhupāda might have appointed disciples for lack of anyone better, or hoping that they might one day achieve the desired realization. To such irresponsible criticism we answer a decisive ‘NO!’ Srila Prabhupāda chose them because they merited his confidence.’”3

Such a rascal hypocrite T.K.G. was! As we pointed out last month, he (along with Kīrtanānanda) were the evil taproots primarily responsible for destroying Prabhupāda’s branch of the Hare Krishna movement in late 1977 and throughout 1978. T.K.G. did not know it at the time, but the other gurus and the rest of the G.B.C. were about to come down on him. However, in February, 1979, he was flying high but soon to be shot down. He was soon to receive his first punishment, but that is another story for another time. We must stick with the immediate meanings, ramifications, and repercussions of the fateful confrontation at Raman Reti.

As already pointed out, although not all of the eleven great pretenders may have known it by that time (they all would soon come to know it, as would the rest of the movement), none of them had been recognized, selected, or appointed as dīkṣā-gurus. Ocean’s Eleven had only been appointed rittviks. There was no transitive device authorized by Prabhupāda to automatically convert them into full-fledged gurus.

T.K.G. knew this. He concocted and engineered that device, which was one of his own creation. He did so in advance. He planned it from the second week of July, 1977, and it worked like a charm. It got further empowered when the Navadvipa mahant made a similar statement backing the concept in the Spring of 1978.

Just see the hypocrisy! He knows what the actual fact is, but he claims the exact opposite in his “barking dogs” spiel. He knew that Prabhupāda never selected any of them to be gurus, yet he intentionally claims otherwise. Then, adding injury to insult, he throws in the line about all of them being Successors and not merely appointed to give initiation as madhyams (which was not the case either, because they were all sahajiyās causing only damage to the Krishna movement).

T.K.G. alleges that these so-called Successors merited Prabhupāda’s confidence, and that is why he specifically and intentionally selected all of them to be his Successors. T.K.G. knew it that everyone would buy into this propaganda, although a handful of malcontents (he tags them as barking dogs) would not. This was the attitude.

The points raised by the opposition were valid. They should have been considered, but Paramātmā did not allow any such reasonable dealing. Pride cometh before the fall. They were all going to be exposed, and the zonal debacle would crash and burn by the mid-Eighties.

As pointed out earlier, with (amongst the “ISKCON” leaders) Hansadutta being the only exception, none of them could foresee that eventual outcome at the time. T.K.G.’s rant represented where most of them were at. They were triumphalists in the winter of 1979. Hṛdayānanda had led them to a major yet ultimately phyrric victory. He was rewarded by the stealing Pradyumna’s seva and giving it to him, the great debater of rancor. Not all of the signatories apologized, but most of them did.

We have pointed out one flaw in this chapter, yet something else must be again considered. It deserves reiteration. Doktorski could have skipped this episode entirely, and the vast majority of his readers of ENE would have been blissfully unaware of it.

He did not skip it, however, nor did he merely mention it in a couple of paragraphs in the next or previous chapters. He dedicated a whole chapter to it. He thus put the incident on and for the record. It would not merge into oblivion. This was and remains yeoman’s service to the cause of the accurate historical narrative of Prabhupāda’s branch of the Hare Krishna movement of Krishna consciousness.

As such, I give Chapter Eight a straight-A grade for that alone.

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. Evil men took over after Prabhupāda’s departure. He gave them numerous chances to rectify themselves voluntarily, but none of that took. The training was far from complete. None of the eleven great pretenders were genuine gurus and none of their disciples were or are genuinely initiated.

The world is now flooded with hundreds of bogus gurus and improperly initiated disciples posing as advanced bhaktas when they are no such thing. The final chance for rectification went down in Raman Reti in the winter of 1979. It was rejected, and the result is one transformation after another. They showed their true colors at that asat sabhā in Prabhuapda’s quarters that fateful day, and you can read all about it in Chapter Eight of ENE. I highly recommend that you do so. SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTES

1 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement (1977-1987) (pp. 210-211). Kindle Edition.

2 Ibid, p. 161, Kindle Edition;

3 Ibid, p. 161-162;

4 Ibid, p. 163;

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Nine of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

Aside from its institutional absurdity, a previously bona fide and powerful branch of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement of the Gaudiya sampradāya was converted into a hypocritical illusion–full of pretension, conflict, and maleficence–in the Spring of 1978. The conversion was for the benefit of eleven men and their sycophants. Those eleven, who took de facto control of the institution’s wavering governing body, captured the movement. Each prince imitated a mahā-bhāgavat, and they divided the world into eleven principalities as their individual jurisdictions.

These were called guru zones, and the princes became known as zonal ācāryas. In that devolving process, they became self-appointed so-called spiritual masters, heralding themselves as Successors to His Diving Grace A. C. Swāmi Prabhupāda. He had departed physical manifestation just months previous to this mutiny by his leading secretaries, who had hijacked the movement, imitated him, and betrayed him.

During the all-too brief time that he guided it (1966-77), Prabhupāda, the Founder-Ācārya of that branch of this Caitanya movement, had empowered it to become the most influential international representation of the disciplic succession in Vaiṣṇava history. Our podcast is going to focus upon the dissolution of that zonal ācārya scam during the eight years that it was operative. It is going to discuss how the conversion of Prabhupāda’s organization invalidated the movement, how it converted that international organization into the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation, and how all of its bogus gurus created only improperly initiated disciples.

It will concisely analyze the negative ramifications and repercussions of the hijackers, the leading secretaries who engineered the movement’s takeover via vitiated governing body imprimatur in the Spring of 1978. However, all of this will be summarized and discussed briefly. Near its end, the chief point of this month’s podcast will be to communicate the reasons of how and why the zonals cratered in less than a decade.

Materially speaking, there was no obvious or tangible reason why they should have done so. Nevertheless, the debacle did. What did and does that mean both then and now? Is there a silver lining to its fall? Even though the zonal deviation was replaced in the mid-Eighties by but another transformation, is there something to still glean from that epic fail which is spiritually positive? All of this will be analyzed so that you can understand the actual narrative of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement.

As most of you know who have followed my podcast for the last half year or longer, this month’s presentation is also a continuation of our multi-part series analyzing and reviewing (mostly, favorably) a book by Henry Doktorski entitled Eleven Naked Emperors. As always, we shall refer to the book by its acronym: ENE.

We have now reached Chapter Nine. The title of Chapter Nine is: “ISKCON Gurus Begin to Deviate.” To some degree, this title is a bit misleading. There is no need to fault-find the title but to simply mention—and Doktorski is in full agreement with this fact—that the deviations by the unauthorized zonals began well before the events discussed in this particular chapter.

Perhaps a more accurate title would have been: “ISKCON Gurus Begin to Deviate Egregiously.” Last month, we discussed a major confrontation of the zonals in early February, 1979 at Prabhupāda’s headquarters in Raman Reti, India. The zonals emerged from it having crushed, ruthlessly and unscrupulously, the devotees who had brought up legitimate points of contention related to Ocean’s Eleven’s gross and astral smash and grab of Prabhupāda’s movement.

The zonals wound up finally taking over in Vṛndāvan, also. This gave them a full steam of triumphalist fervor, and that overconfidence foreshadowed what would soon come to pass in their movement. It is first described in Chapter Nine of ENE. There were subsequently shocking deviations manifested amongst many of princes, culminating in the cratering of the zonal ācārya scam in the mid-Eighties.

Let us now see how ENE opens this chapter:

“Afflicted by pride and ambition, a few of the ISKCON gurus began falling with alarming rapidity. As early as 1980, it was no secret in ISKCON that some of the new “uttama-adhikari” gurus, after hardly two years in business, had deviated from Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda’s standards and teachings. Although the G.B.C. was concerned about the erratic behavior of several of the initiating gurus, they never-the-less believed that the dīkṣā guru zonal-acharya system they had established after Prabhupāda’s passing was legitimate.” 1

This is, on the whole, a good entry. However, it lends itself to an inaccurate interpretation if your understanding of guru is not adequate. None of those men were gurus. In that sense, they were already fallen. The falldowns spoken of in this excerpt are of the egregious category. Almost all of them are connected to ācara, or behavior. This is referenced when ENE includes “erratic behavior” in the excerpt. They deviated from Prabhupāda’s instructions more than they deviated from his teachings.

Of course, by creating a sahajiyā arrangement, their teachings on who is and is not a spiritual master were severely flawed. The guru must be a very perfect man. None of those eleven counterfeits met the bill. However, the falldowns discussed in Chapter Nine are going to center around ācara or standards of behavior for bona fide gurus.

We now proceed to the next excerpt from Chapter Nine:

“The entire zonal acharya dispensation, however, according to some, deviated from Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda’s standards and teachings. First, at the March 1978 meetings, the G.B.C. incorrectly assumed that the eleven ritvik acharyas had been appointed as diksha gurus by Prabhupāda. Second, the G.B.C. resolved that future gurus could be elected by a three-fourths vote by the G.B.C.. On March 19, 1978, the G.B.C. resolved, ‘The G.B.C. will consider each year at Gaura-Purnima the appointment of new Spiritual Masters to be approved by a 3/4 vote. However, for 1978, no new Spiritual Masters shall be appointed other than the eleven selected by Srila Prabhupāda.’” 2

Certainly, the zonal concoction was a major deviation in and of itself. You cannot wall off gurus into zones. Any genuine guru must be both allowed and encouraged to meet his future disciple by the Will of Providence anywhere in the world. Zonal principalities would never be even slightly countenanced by any bona fide spiritual master.

And then we come to determining guru by vote. That is completely condemned. Godbrothers do not elevate other godbrothers to the post of guru by vote. It is patent nonsense. Even at the madhyam level, the guru is determined by the śakti of his own charisma and preaching.

Institutional guru means bogus guru. A guru determined by an ecclesiastical body via vote is an institutional guru. As such, if half of the vitiated G.B.C. (at that time, in the late Seventies) votes to recognize one of their own as guru, he lacks that three-quarters margin, so cannot be guru. However, if that candidate is able to recruit about five more or so of his comrades to vote in favor of him, then with the three-quarters mandate being reached, he is voted in by the Board to become a bona fide spiritual master? The whole thing is politics!

The opening section of Chapter Nine continues as follows:

“Some claim that a guru appointed by a three-quarter majority vote of an ecclesiastical body—in other words, an ecclesiastical guru —was condemned by Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda, who cited a verse by Jiva Goswāmi—a Medieval Gaudiya-Vaishnava saint, philosopher, prolific author, and one of the six great followers of Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu—in this regard: ‘It is imperative that a serious person accept a bona fide spiritual master in terms of the shastric injunctions. Sri Jiva Goswāmi advises that one not accept a spiritual master in terms of hereditary or customary social and ecclesiastical conventions. One should simply try to find a genuinely qualified spiritual master for actual advancement in spiritual understanding.’” 3

ISKCON was converted into “ISKCON” when Ocean’s Eleven hijacked the movement in the Spring of 1978, utilizing vitiated G.B.C. imprimatur in order to carry out that mutiny. “ISKCON,” both then and now, is the glove, and the vitiated G.B.C. is the hand within that glove.

The G.B.C. was obviously an ecclesiastical body at that time. It thus, by a combination of its voting resolutions (which tended to change every two years or so)–along with the lie that Prabhupāda appointed eleven specific disciples dīkṣā-gurus in the summer of 1977–created institutional gurus, or, if you prefer, ecclesiastical gurus.

However, this is condemned in that statement from Jīva Gosvāmī. It should be clear to everyone by now that the vitiated G.B.C. was doing its own thing—completely independent of the Founder who was allegedly its guru—as well as independent of scripture and standard Vaiṣṇava tradition for determining guru and disciple.

ENE then gets into the history of three specific zonals and their shocking activities in the aftermath of being appointed spiritual masters by the vitiated G.B.C. The chapter does an outstanding job of describing the egregious foibles of those three men, as well as giving some background info. Their exploits in their zones rocked the “ISKCON” movement in many ways, and it was forced to engage in damage control.

What this meant practically was that the G.B.C. was superior to the guru or spiritual master. That was controversial for obvious reasons, especially since the eleven pretenders had established the Ācārya Board within the G.B.C. during its first conclave after Prabhupāda’s disappearance.

Establishing that Board within a Board was urged by Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar, who gave the leaders of “ISKCON” much bad advice in order to ruin Prabhupāda’s movement from within. This was accomplished very quickly. Indeed, once the vitiated G.B.C. recognized eleven unqualified and unauthorized men to be zonal ācāryas and to be worshiped as mahā-bhāgavats, the movement was destroyed. It no longer was a conduit for deliverance from saṁsara via the guru-paramparā, because it had broken its connection to the Gaudīya Vaiṣṇava guru-paramparā.

The Ācārya Board exacerbated all of that, obviously. It allowed the eleven men to act independently of G.B.C. resolutions. However, in one sense, the G.B.C. resolutions had no spiritual sequence, so it really did not matter. Of course, the G.B.C. and its loyalists—which, by the late Seventies and early Eighties, still constituted the majority of Prabhupāda’s initiated disciples—thought that everything connected to G.B.C. resolutions and mandates still mattered . . . and mattered greatly.

None of it mattered anymore once the major deviation went down, but the majority of devotees did not recognize this. Please note, your host speaker was not part of that majority, and I did recognize something was profoundly wrong very early on.

The zonal ācārya imposition was The First Transformation. Three men created localized havoc via personal scandal in their zones of power after that Raman Reti confrontation. This lit a fuse for reform, but a guru is not supposed to be subject to reform. He is supposed to be a very perfect man. Their scandals created this major conundrum.

Although much of what then flushed out had commenced even before 1980, it was not known movement-wide. The three most badly behaved so-called gurus were Jayatīrtha, Hansadutta, and T.K.G.. ENE describes all their exploits in detail. However, I see no need to get into any of that or to reproduce those excerpts.

Instead I wish, later in the presentation, to pursue an in-depth analysis of deeper subjects related to the hijacking of Prabhupāda’s movement by the eleven imitation mahā-bhāgavats. In doing so, I want to present an overview of The First Transformation. It must be comprehensive but not dependent upon the sordid details of the puss, which triggered, admittedly, the major backlash. That backlash could not be ignored at a certain point, and a Second Transformation ensued.

There were built-in contradictions in the G.B.C. making this attempt, which was only partially successful. In other words, the effort to rein in three men who had gone rogue (to such an extent that it was becoming obvious to everyone movement-wide), backfired . . . after initially accomplishing its purposes.

It especially backfired with Jayatīrtha. He crossed the river and joined the camp of Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. That Goudiya leader had voiced strong objection to the “ISKCON” governing body taking action against what he considered to be Prabhupāda’s designated gurus. This objection was based upon the principle that guru cannot be disciplined by non-guru. True as far as that goes, of course.

However, it was not applicable to any of what was going down in the early Eighties relative to G.B.C. disciplinary action. The gurus were all bogus gurus. The vitiated G.B.C. was just as bogus, because it initially gave them its imprimatur in setting the whole thing up, including dividing the world into eleven playgrounds for its enjoying princes.

The world was being flooded with bogus Vaiṣṇava gurus and their improperly initiated disciples by the early Eighties. Scandals became, slowly and surely, known to an ever-increasing number of the congregation. Reform thus entered the picture, but reform actually had no place in meaningful rectification. Only a major overhaul, a revolution entailing a return to square one, could have any meaning. The devotees at large did not recognize this fact, and the saga continued unabated, although a cry for change was in the air.

A big part of that was a major change in attitude relative to Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. The G.B.C. decided that he was the root cause of their problems in their movement. He was supposedly an elderly, laid back, well-wisher who gave advice and direction in 1978, but now the scheme that he assisted in creating—although the vitiated G.B.C. was responsible directly for its creation—was falling apart.

I am not going to say that the leaders of “ISKCON” were justified in deciding to make Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar its scapegoat. That may have been their intention, but such a ploy was never going to work. They went all-in with him, and they are fully responsible for what went down after they did so. The whole debacle was an institutional delusion, with the vitiated G.B.C., as a body, primarily responsible for the initial transformation. Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar contributed to it, that’s all.

ENE then mentions how “ISKCON” decided to scapegoat the Swāmi. The following excerpt if found on page 173 of the Kindle edition of ENE:

“The G.B.C. condemned B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja for meddling in ISKCON’s affairs. Puranjana dasa, recalled, ‘In 1982 especially, Satsvarupa, Tamal Krishna, Jayapataka, Bhavananda, Kirtanananda, Harikesh Swāmis and other prominent G.B.C.s all began to denounce Śrīdhar Maharaja as a dangerous, unauthorized, even insidious deviant. Bhavananda Swāmi, for example, began to openly lecture, ‘It is better to eat hamburgers than to listen to Śrīdhar Maharaja.’ Kirtanananda Swāmi, Jayapataka Swāmi and other G.B.C.s even visited Śrīdhar in Mayapur and insulted him viciously. Then a huge, practically unanimous G.B.C. chorus began howling, ‘Srila Prabhupāda never trusted Śrīdhar Maharaja, he is poison,’ and so on.” We should note that this sudden accusation came from the very same people who had gone to B. R. Śrīdhar Maharaja to get their new guruship certified in 1978, claiming that he was a trusted authority, etc.’”

TATTVAMASI

One major contradiction was thus revealed, and word of it spread. The Great Schism between “ISKCON” and Goudiya Mutt was its resultant. These superficial causes produced another contradiction: What was the status of those initiated by gurus who were excommunicated (Jayatīrtha) or, as in the case of both Hansadutta and T.K.G., were suspended and had their zones taken away from them?

Were their new people still initiated? Could someone initiated by a former institutional guru (who was then rejected by the vitiated G.B.C.) still remain in “ISKCON”? Could he still be considered viable for expanding brahminical activity in the cult?

Relying upon an obscure comment from recent Bengali lore, a solution the vitiated G.B.C. came up was implemented: It became known as “re-initiation.” There was a rationalization which preceded it, but that card from the bottom of the “ISKCON” deck was not pulled out. The rationalization was that any and all initiations performed by its approved gurus (post-Prabhupāda) were only legitimate due to “ISKCON” itself, not due to the status of its recognized gurus.

All such newcomers were thus allegedly initiated by “ISKCON.” Their link to the guru-paramparā was established by “ISKCON,” not by any of its agents or rent-ācāryas in the form of ecclesiastical gurus. Despite the high-flying era of the great pretenders, this hidden and underlying factor of institutional control now reared up from its subterranean influence. It had always been there. It had never went away. It was suppressed by the narcissism of Ocean’s Eleven, but some of them were becoming degraded by egregious falldowns, triggering its re-emergence.

This idea (that the newcomers were initiated by “ISKCON,” combined with so-called re-initiation), was time-serving damage control. It had not been previously preached or even mentioned. It was not part of the guru-disciple contract. It was never spoken about or explained by any of the gurus who performed initiation ceremonies in “ISKCON” post-Prabhupāda. It was unprecedented. It had no basis except for one remote quote by a relatively unknown Bengali pandit.

ENE quoted your host speaker in connection to my view of re-initiation:

“Eventually, ISKCON leaders recognized the dangers inherent in re-initiation, and some concluded that the disciples of fallen gurus were still connected to the sampradaya because they were linked to the paramparā by ISKCON. Kailasa-Chandra explained, ‘. . . some kind of better ‘adjustment’ had to be made, otherwise most of these newcomers would leave and/or join the Neo-Gaudiya Math. At least one commissioner began to advocate that these newcomers were still linked to the paramparā even if their dīkṣā guru was no longer considered bona fide by the cult. The rationale for this was that they were initially linked to the paramparā through ‘ISKCON’ and not through their guru.

Taking this concoction one obvious step further, since it was (and remains) an undisputed fact that ‘ISKCON’ was controlled by the Governing Body, the sanction of the Governing Body, in the form of its approval of its initiation process, confirmed that these newly-initiated devotees were initially connected to the sampradaya by the sanction of the process itself. This, of course, would also mean that any neophyte devotee could give initiation, since the ‘sanction of the process itself’ would be sufficient.’” 5

As has already been mentioned, unlike Jayatīrtha, Hansadutta and T.K.G. were only suspended. They could no longer initiate. Their zones were taken over by other “ISKCON” leaders. They were called “spiritually sick” in order to placate their disciples. They were sent into limbo.

This was anathema to both of them, but they had engaged in utterly unacceptable behavior which triggered this reaction. Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar did not approve of the governing body disciplining what he considered to be Prabhupāda’s selected men for spiritual master. However, like almost everybody else, he did not know that they were never selected as guru by Prabhupāda: They were only appointed as rittviks.

Unlike almost everyone else, however, T.K.G. and Hansadutta knew. They thus had a potent trump card to play. They were in a position to upend the whole “ISKCON” apple cart and invalidate all of the post-1977 initiations—and the so-called gurus who performed them—in one fell swoop. T.K.G., with Hansadutta present and having introduced him to the assembly, decided to play that trump card. This went down at what was known as the Pyramid House Talks in the first week of December, 1980.

It turned out to be a negotiating tactic, but the other devotees at that assembly did not know that it would be only used as leverage. Basically, it forced the vitiated G.B.C. to re-admit those two suspended gurus to the spiritual master fold, because here is what T.K.G. revealed:

“(T.K.G.) actually said, ‘Prabhupāda never appointed any gurus.’ Tamal Krishna explained: ‘Actually, Prabhupāda never appointed any gurus. He didn’t appoint eleven gurus. He appointed eleven ritviks. He never appointed them gurus. Myself and the other G.B.C. have done the greatest disservice to this movement the last three years because we interpreted the appointment of ritviks as the appointment of gurus.

What actually happened, I’ll explain. I explained it, but the interpretation is wrong. What actually happened was that Prabhupāda mentioned that he might be appointing some ritviks, so the G.B.C. met for various reasons and they went to Prabhupāda—five or six of us. We asked him, ‘Srila Prabhupāda, after your departure, if we accept disciples, whose disciples will they be, your disciples or mine?’ Later on there was a piled-up list for people to get initiated, and it was jammed-up. I said, ‘Srila Prabhupāda, you once mentioned about ritviks. I don’t know what to do. We don’t want to approach you, but there’s hundreds of devotees named, and I’m just holding all the letters. I don’t know what you want to do.’

So Prabhupāda said, ‘All right. I will appoint so many,’ and he started to name them and he did name them. He made it very clear that they are his disciples. At that point, it was very clear in my mind that they were his disciples. Later on . . . I asked him, . . . ‘Srila Prabhupāda, is this all or do you want to add more?’

He said, ‘As is necessary, others may be added.’ Now I understand that what he did was very clear. He was physically incapable of performing the function of initiation physically; therefore, he appointed officiating priests to initiate on his behalf. He appointed eleven and he said very clearly, ‘Whoever is nearest, he can initiate.’

This is a very important point, because when it comes to initiating , . . it isn’t whoever is nearest, it’s wherever your heart goes. Who (you) repose your faith on, you take initiation from him. But when it’s officiating, it’s whoever is nearest, and he was very clear.

He named them. They were spread out all over the world, and he said, ‘Whoever you’re nearest, you just approach that person, and they’ll check you out. Then, on my behalf, they’ll initiate.’” 6

It was a breath of fresh air, but this was the early Eighties. No INTERNET. The means to spread ideas was position papers via copy machines or slow-moving word of mouth. Those two men and other leaders on the Commish knew that they could cover this revelation up before it reached any kind of critical mass. As could have been predicted, the two gurus had their suspensions reversed, they returned to their zones, re-engaged with their disciples, and everything got covered over again . . . just like it was previous to the Topanga Canyon talks at Pyramid House.

As expected, T.K.G. then sang a different tune. Hardly anyone in the movement knew of these machinations, and, for those who did, they acquiesced to their leaders. Things were breaking down, but the center still needed to hold. That center now became the vitiated G.B.C. The Commish issued a position paper which apparently explained everything. It was not the real explanation, however; it was only damage control. Chapter Nine closes by quoting this “ISKCON” propaganda:

“‘It is the duty of ISKCON’s initiating gurus to sit on their Vyāsāsanas and defeat the ignorance of the age by their strong preaching. Some of our men may have difficulties, but their problems are due to their having lost sight of Krishna for the moment, not due to sitting on a Vyāsāsana. . . Arjuna also wanted to step down from his chariot and abandon the fight, but Krishna condemned this as a great mistake.

Similarly, it will be a great mistake if our initiating gurus step down from their Vyāsāsanas. Rather, let them preach boldly by the side of Krishna as Arjuna fought boldly to crush the demoniac forces . . . So let us accept these failures and setbacks as pillars of success.’

Despite the G.B.C. paper, which attempted to rationalize the falldowns of so-called “uttama-adhikārī” gurus, more and more ISKCON members became disillusioned.” 7

Chapter Nine is a very long chapter. Your host speaker made a determination as to its essence, which is not immediately self-evident. We have already indicated this decision, so now let us proceed to that essence, which entails comprehending WHY the zonal ācārya scam collapsed much more quickly than it should have.

The Hare Kṛṣṇa movement (in terms of an international organization) is neither a democracy nor a republic. Nor is it an oligarchy or a tyranny, although, once deviated, it can degrade into that. It is not totalitarian but, to the unschooled eye, it may appear to be so. It is not a monarchy, but there is an indirect element of monarchy (the transcendental autocrat) in it, although that element is on a higher level.

The Hare Kṛṣṇa movement is, and must be, authoritarian. It is so at all levels. In terms of ISKCON (when it was bona fide), it functioned at the local level via spiritual authoritarianism. It did not, however, function as a Communist entity. Prabhupāda constantly deprecated Communism, and the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement made little if any tangible inroads into strictly Communist countries. That is an established historical fact. Indeed, in the early Eighties, three devotees in the Soviet Union were executed simply because they were Hare Kṛṣṇa members.

Then we come to the theocratic consideration. This is a touchy subject. The Hare Kṛṣṇa movement can be considered a kind of theocracy. Bogus theocracies are always totalitarian, and the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement can never be any such thing. It is a cultural movement, not an organized religion. It advocates and recognizes the legitimacy of totalism, but it utterly rejects totalitarianism.

Real theocracy is necessarily authoritarian, but not oppressively so. While it was bona fide, there was a distinct, viable, and authorized chain of command in Prabhupāda’s branch of the Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement. That is always wanted, even at the granular level of guru and disciple. Consider this purport from Bhagavad-gītā, 3.30:

“The Lord instructs that one has to become fully Kṛṣṇa conscious to discharge duties, as if in military discipline. Such an injunction may make things a little difficult; nevertheless duties must be carried out, with dependence on Kṛṣṇa, because that is the constitutional position of the living entity. The living entity cannot be happy independent of the cooperation of the Supreme Lord . . .”

Accepting orders in the authorized hierarchy of his movement was integral and all-pervading in Prabhupāda’s arrangement, while it remained bona fide previous to the zonal imposition of the late Seventies. As long as all the authorities observed this principle rigidly—as the purport says, as if in military discipline—then everything progressed quite well. The intrigues and treacheries of Maya could be overcome as long as this injunction was honored. The authoritarianism of his movement had Prabhupāda as its capstone and functioned down-line from him.

Devotees were dependent upon their assigned sevas, which were determined by the orders they received from those in command directly above them. This did not make the movement a military outfit, but from one perspective, it shared something with that paradigm.

Devotees wanted authority. They wanted orders. The orders generally remained bona fide while Prabhupāda was still with us, but everything went into the crapper in the Spring of 1978. This only became apparent—as in, more and more apparent—when the egregious falldowns of many comprising Ocean’s Eleven became common knowledge.

Devotees were much more compulsive than society at large, because they functioned according to non-egotistical desires. Acting in that way did not generate karmic reaction, because it did not entail making choices based upon self-centered, individual desires.

They knew they were fallen and not in a position to determine whether or not their services—if individually determined separate from the chain of command—actually were connected to the guru-paramparā. Once the zonal ācārya scam surfaced, no seva performed in that movement was connected to the paramparā, including initiations conducted for the egotistical benefit of “ISKCON” bogus gurus. However, that did not mean that the fan immediately stopped spinning.

For a short while, everything appeared to be the same to most devotees (your host speaker not included) because, to a significant extent, superficially it was so. Ocean’s Eleven should have been able to exploit this for decades, but they could not. They blew their opportunity to enjoy like Prabhupāda (and they were all imitation Prabhupādas), because they went way too far. They imitated ostentatiously, and, more importantly, they criticized each other and fought amongst themselves.

If you employ higher intelligence (prajñā) to its analysis, these are the chief and deeper realizations to glean from Chapter Nine. These conclusions lie at the base of the falldowns and what ensued in “ISKCON,” and they became too much to any longer bear by the rank-and-file. This theme will be expanded upon next month, because Chapter Ten of ENE continues to describe how the internal breakdown of that pseudo-Kṛṣṇa abhāsa-dharma degraded even further. Expect more on this topic in order to understand the deeper realizations intrinsic to it.

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” is a pseudo-spiritual scam. It is very late in the game if you have not yet realized it as such. An in-depth analysis provided herein, for your edification and realization, is now provided for you.

You should have no inclination whatsoever—what to speak of compulsion—to follow any orders, routines or worship services promulgated by “ISKCON,” because all of its leaders and gurus are bogus. They have been so for decades. As long as that organized religion is kept from securing political power from behind the curtain, it will continue to be exposed, it will continue to degrade. The tainted preaching of “ISKCON” will then find its momentum checked, stopped, and reversed.

OM TAT SAT

ENDNOTES

1 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors, (p. 166). Kindle Edition;

2 Ibid, p. 167;

3 Ibid, p. 167;

4 Ibid, pp. 173-74;

5 Ibid, pp. 181-82;

6 Ibid, pp. 188-89;

7 Ibid, p. 207.

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Ten of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

Having spent my adolescent years in Wisconsin, I had plenty of experience with snow. It is a very cold and snowy State in the winter months, and I had plenty of experience to pick up snowfall patterns. One of these was a counter-intuitive tendency demonstrated by incoming storms: The really large snowstorms, the ones that eventually dropped many feet of snow, almost always started off very light for the first hour or two.

However, when heavy, wet snow fell at the beginning of an incoming storm, it almost always petered out, only dropping a few inches of the wet stuff on the ground. Analogously, ISKCON history records shocking revelations exposing the illegitimacy and pretensions of the eleven great pretenders (the zonal ācārya era) to have entered the collective consciousness of the rank-and-file Hare Kṛṣṇa devotees as only drips and drabs in the beginning years. These eventually coalesced and snowballed into an avalanche, but it took years. Time changes things, but sometimes it changes things very slowly . . . and then it doesn’t.

In our ongoing review of Eleven Naked Emperors (henceforward, ENE) by Henry Doktorski, we now reach Chapter Ten. It is a bit of a tough read. It is a bridge chapter. There is no falsity in its recollection of what went down in the incipient years (1980 and 1981) in which the deviations and egregious actions of the “new gurus” were initially exposed.

Yet at the same time, the account in this chapter does not read smoothly. The story jumps at a number of points. It takes on a number of threads and tries to effectively mesh them, but that proved to be a tough task. It does its best to accomplish the meld, but comes up short.

Chapter Ten is helpful. I am not going to delve into all of the threads brought forth, but I shall share my knowledge, realization, and intelligence with you relative to what I consider its essentials. I am mentioned (not criticized) often in the chapter. One of the ways I am discussed is very obvious, but that vantage point will not be explored here.

My contribution to exposing the zonal ācārya pretension during those incipient years (of my whistle-blowing) in the early Eighties was in a certain way, namely, I worked from behind the scenes. There is no need for the listeners and readers of this podcast to be brought into any kind of granular account of my personal life during that subset of the “ISKCON” saga, although Chapter Ten does touch upon it to some extent. You either get my drift or you do not. Either way, that should have no effect on the transcendental benefit you can herein derive.

The only potential blemish in this bridge chapter is its reproduction of an exchange in West Bengal, a long diatribe from Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar relative to the early difficulties in “ISKCON.” This was precipitated by one of its new gurus, Rāmeśvara, who approached him having lost faith in the grandiose worship demanded of all eleven of the great pretenders, himself included. He wanted to stop pretending, and he tried to do so.

Although I am going to criticize him in this review, he deserves positive acknowledgment for having made an effort to stop taking that ridiculous maha-bhagavat worship. He did this before any of the others then followed his lead. He also was the only one of the eleven that did not concoct an elevated title for himself. He deserves credit for that, also.

Rāmeśvara is a central figure throughout Chapter Ten. He approached Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar for advice and relief. He went from the fire pan into the fire by doing so. Once again, catchy tropes from the Navadvipa mahant disguise the irrefutable fact that his advice in 1978 to the G.B.C. was integral to the ācārya hoax which was implemented that year.

I choose not to reproduce any of the exchange. If you have the correct perspective of how much damage that Bengali Goudiya Mutt leader did to Prabhupāda’s branch of Lord Caitanya’s movement, you will not be negatively impacted by reading the exchange, but I shall not facilitate it here. The contradictions and hypocrisy of all of his flowery advice in the exchange is reprehensible . . . but can be intoxicating, also.

The First Transformation could never have gotten liftoff without his input, and now, in the early Eighties, the chickens were coming home to roost. The nihilistic seeds of its own destruction already were in “ISKCON” in the late Seventies. In no small measure, they were planted by Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. Yet, Western Guru (as he is called sometimes in the chapter) ironically goes to the man who did that to us for more advice.

The gerund of his words being intoxicating is applicable to the extent that a reader of Chapter Ten—particularly, one with a poor fund of knowledge–could become bamboozled by imbibing what only appears to be sage advice. If you know what is what, then ENE relating this exchange (with all of its syrupy slogans) is not foreboding but instead is a recording a historical exchange that few even know about to this day.

Doktorski, as we have pointed out repeatedly, is a first-class investigator. He has discovered an account of this meeting in Bengal and chose to bring it to our attention. Western Guru was clearly bewildered, and he became further bewildered after soaking up more nescience from Navadvipa. He did not get what he was seeking . . . at least, not in the long run.

We find the following excerpt from a Prabhupāda purport in Chapter Ten:

“Unfortunately, when the ācārya disappears, rogues and non-devotees take advantage and immediately begin to introduce unauthorized principles. . . . The ācārya, the authorized representative of the Supreme Lord, establishes these principles, but when he disappears, things once again become disordered.” 1

This well-known excerpt is reproduced by ENE in this chapter, and rightfully so. Although the BBT editors decided otherwise, I would have chosen to capitalize Ācārya, because the excerpt only refers to an uttama-adhikārī Successor in the line. Only he can establish the real principles of spiritual life in human society. Things became very disordered after His Divine Grace departed, and almost every devotee can see that now. However, in the early Eighties, hardly anyone saw it, although your author was an exception to that rule of cult blindness.

The unauthorized principles established by The First Transformation were mind-boggling, but few knew that Prabhupāda had nothing to do with it. You cannot pin it on him. This has been established as an irrefutable fact by now, although those who fell away do not recognize it. They blame him. Prabhupāda did not appoint a Successor nor did he appoint gurus. He spoke on the principle of regular guru (which means a madhyam who has received the order to be an initiating spiritual master), but he did not recognize any of his men as guru.

Chapter Ten discusses some early fallout after knowledge of inevitable personal anomalies, anachronisms, and fall downs began to very slowly (but what proved to be irreversibly) filter into the collective consciousness of the devotees. However, in the early Eighties, it was not a stone cold metaphysical lock that this momentum of exposure was irreversible, although it is certainly irreversible today.

ENE introduces pointed excerpts in this chapter, so let us reproduce two of those and discuss them. Remember, they are valid because they apply to the situation of “ISKCON” in the early Eighties:

“Self-made guru cannot be guru. He must be authorized by the bona fide guru. Then, he’s guru. This is the fact. Nobody can be self-made anything. A medical practitioner, he cannot become self-made, that ‘I have studied all the medical books in my home.’ No.

Have you ever gone to the medical college and taken instruction from the bona fide teachers? Then, if you have got the certificate, then you are medical practitioner. Similarly, bona fide guru means he must be authorized by the superior guru.” 2

The right interpretation is this: The ultimate bona fide guru is non-different from the superior guru referenced in this excerpt, and he is non-different from Prabhupāda in the context of his statement. Did any of the eleven rittviks receive any kind of certification from Prabhupāda as to their alleged guru status? They did not.

There was no appointment of gurus . . . what to speak of eleven Successors! There was no such recognition. The eleven were only appointed as rittviks, which was no big thing, because there had been rittviks serving in that formal and ceremonial capacity since 1970.

Prabhupāda never recognized any of them as regular gurus, what to speak of uttama-adhikārīs. If he recognized any of them as initiating spiritual masters, he would not have appointed them as merely rittviks. The eleven parlayed their appointment as rittviks into a covert appointment of initiating spiritual masters, and this was bogus. It was a false pre-supposition that was finally being revealed in the early Eighties. Chapter Ten is all about that incipient exposure, which was the beginning of the end of the zonal ācārya scam, although few saw it as such.

The author of ENE later received a Facebook message from Robert Grant concerning his (Rāmeśvara’s) vacillating change of heart in connection to the “ISKCON” gurus during the early Eighties. He had been read the riot act by one of the prominent and powerful female devotees at his Los Angeles headquarters after she listened to the “appointment tape” and discovered that there was no guru appointment on it.

This shook him up. He removed his opulent seat from the temple room (a good first step, obviously) and then busted himself down from uttama-adhikārī to madhyam-adhikārī. However, he was not a madhyam-adhikārī since he was still heavily entangled in institutional anartha. That is proven in his Facebook message to Doktorski, which is loaded with contradictions. We shall be detailing those here.

Rāmeśvara had significant local influence, but the other powers that be in “ISKCON” at that time—namely, most of the other so-called mahā-bhāgavats (three others were also being disciplined)–decried his new realization. They convened an emergency meeting in Dallas to confront and threaten him. Here is that Facebook message to Doktorski:

“The G.B.C. convened an emergency meeting in Dallas, where they voted to excommunicate me for heresy against the gurus. I tried my best to convince the others to step back, or at least let me step back from the concept that simply by Śrīla Prabhupāda’s order for us to give dīkṣā, that automatically elevated us to a level that none of us were on. Unfortunately I was not able to convince them. I debated them for a day, but the outcome had already been fixed: they had already voted and written the excommunication letter before I even arrived.

They said withdrawing my papers wouldn’t be enough—they insisted that I write a new paper retracting everything I had previously said. So I went back to my writing team and asked that we find the most extreme elevated statements about the exalted pure devotees who appear from the spiritual world as bonafide gurus, thinking that maybe when they read about the guru seeing Krishna in Vrindaban it would embarrass them into finally stepping back. Instead, they praised the new paper, saying it was the greatest thing I had ever written!

That’s when I started to fall away, having lost faith in the ISKCON gurus and the G.B.C. that endorsed them. They ordered me to live as a hypocrite. That loss of faith gradually affected my sadhana and I became an easy victim to the illusory energy. It took many years to shake that off and eventually I began crawling back to ISKCON. That was only possible because I never doubted Śrīla Prabhupāda and his books.” 3

Decades after the zonal debacle, it is almost mind-numbing to see how deluded this man still is. Granted, for a brief time, he came to his senses and stopped taking uttama worship; that somewhat radical step deserves positive acknowledgment. We have already given him that.

Despite these positive steps, none of his position papers and actions actually produced anything tangible. Why they did not is practically self-evident in his Facebook message to Doktorski here decades after the zonal ācārya hoax cratered. He starts it with a historical inaccuracy, viz., that he was excommunicated. Due to the fact that he capitulated to the G.B.C. at the Dallas conclave, he was only threatened with excommunication.

He claims that he tried his best. His best? No. There are many steps that he could have taken which would have been far better than his capitulation to the pressure they put on him. For starters, he could have accepted excommunication. That would have been the obvious right move, but he was not courageous enough to take it. Had he done so, he could have made strong propaganda against the hoax, having accrued street cred in doing so, because he accepted ostracism.

You may counter this by imagining that they would have assassinated him. Is that so? Would they actually have been so immersed in their so-called allegedly untouchable status as to have ordered the murder of one of their own? And without drastic repercussions? If he was excommunicated and making propaganda against them–combined with śāstric evidence and a clear ethical stance–law enforcement and the press would have jumped all over any such assassination attempt.

At any rate, it would probably have only amounted to, at most, an unsuccessful effort. He had dedicated disciples, and some of them were enforcers and hatchetmen. He would have been well-protected, and he would not have been hurting for income from his many disciples in order to maintain himself and his preaching. The path was wide open for him to have exposed the whole thing at an early stage. If he had done so, the rest of the movement would have been spared much grief. Remember: The zonal imposition dragged on for many years after this Dallas incident recounted in Grant’s Facebook message.

He mixes in again the major misconception that Prabhupāda ordered the eleven great pretenders to be initiating spiritual masters. He most certainly did not. None of them received that order. If any of them had individually received that order from him, that disciple would have let it be known just how and when and under what circumstances he had received it. None of them did that, because none of them received it.

Yet, in this much later message to Doktorski, Rāmeśvara is stating that they were ordered to give dīkṣā as an initiating spiritual master. The eleven were only appointed as rittviks, nothing more. Fortunately, this fact is starting to become common knowledge now, and people are catching on. The accurate interpretation of the reality in the late Seventies will continue to expand until almost everyone finally realizes it.

When this transpires, it will contribute to critical mass, which has not yet been attained. Then, the current “ISKCON” make-show will be rejected and railed against in a way which will accelerate until it no longer has any influence in the world. That is sorely wanted.

Rāmeśvara’s current mentality (as demonstrated in this Facebook message reproduced in ENE and herein being analyzed) will not help us much. He is still bewitched. He claims that it was wrong for the eleven to take uttama worship. However, in the same sentence, he makes the false statement that Prabhupāda appointed them as initiating spiritual masters. When you multiply a positive number by a negative number, guess what: You get a greater negative result! He’s part of the Old Guard, not part of the solution. It is doubtful that he will ever become part of the solution.

He then says that, at the Dallas conclave, they ordered him to retract his previous position paper, which had urged the rest of them to follow his lead and act as madhyam-adhikārīs or regular gurus. Well, he wasn’t one, so that paper had no potency or spiritual sequence. He was no longer a sahajiyā, but now he moved up to a miśra-bhakta . . . and very mixed within his own compromised intelligence. Returning to those early Eighties at the Dallas conclave, so what does he do? By his own admission, he accepts their order and authorizes a new position paper taking an opposite tack glorifying the guru as uttama.

It spews out all kinds of adulation about the inviolable status of every guru, because they are on the highest platform of realization and purity. He expected this to work? Incomprehensible! They all praised his new position paper, and he was astounded by that? Of course that would be their reaction! All of those men were absorbed in self-apotheosis. They were constantly surrounded by sycophants and yes men. They were glorified by pranam mantras and worshiped by adoring fools in front of open Deities while sitting upon high, lavish seats.

And they were, in effect, forcing him to once again do the same thing under threat of cult ostracism. It would have been a badge of honor for him to have accepted excommunication from “ISKCON,” seeing it as a gift offered by Paramātmā. The mere fact that he thought going so extreme in his paper would, somehow or other, be effective demonstrates that this man did not understand cause and effect.

TATTVAMASI

We then proceed to the end of his message. He writes: “That’s when I started to fall away, having lost faith in the ISKCON gurus and the G.B.C. that endorsed them.” This term “fall away,” in his mind, is nothing more than a synonym for falling down; that is proven by the context of his final paragraph in the Facebook message.

He still mixes up his capitulation with justifiable doubts that he could not eradicate. Doubt can be either a product of sinful actions or it can be a facet of intelligence. In this case, back in the early Eighties, when applied to “ISKCON” gurus, it was the latter. The colossal hoax of the zonal ācārya era was ati-pāpam, and all those entangled in it individually suffered sinful reactions. Everyone should have doubted what the vitiated G.B.C. was doing at that time. Rāmeśvara doubted but could not act upon that intelligence, so he capitulated.

As his compromised Facebook message closes, he writes: “It took many years to shake that off and eventually I began crawling back to ISKCON. That was only possible because I never doubted Śrīla Prabhupāda and his books.” Crawling back to what? ISKCON no longer existed when he came crawling back. It had been converted into a doppelganger, taken over and killed by “ISKCON.” Although somewhat subtle and only communicated between the lines, he is covertly (or subconsciously) urging all those who left the death cult to return to it now that it has repudiated the zonal ācārya hoax, which he helped implement in the early Eighties.

This Facebook message from Rāmeśvara to Henry Doktorski was transmitted on June 22, 2022. The lack of self-awareness and even basic intelligence in it is staggering. The man had over forty years to ponder what went down and why—and how he was entangled in it—but he had practically learned nothing. Did he actually make any contribution to the zonal debacle eventually cratering?

You can’t light a fire by pouring water on it. He simply produced smoke during that incipient stage of its exposure, but no real light. His initial steps to rectify the situation bore no fruit, because he was still to compromised. Fire serves, but smoke disturbs. He was not at all at the forefront of combating The First Transformation.

ENE goes on to explore how others in the early Eighties began to doubt the hoax of the uttama-adhikārī worship program:

“Satsvarūpa, like Rāmeśvara, also had doubts about his own purity and requested the G.B.C. in 1982 to allow him to reduce his worship. He was also voted down. Bahudaka dasa . . . remembered, ‘In Mayapur, 1982, Satsvarupa Maharaja requested to reduce his worship. The G.B.C. refused him. We were very angry about it. It was the first breakthrough that one of the eleven gurus wanted to come down to a reasonable level and the other acharyas said no.’

Three zonal acharyas—Tamal Krishna, Rāmeśvara and Satsvarupa —realized that they had been cheating the Society by pretending to be uttama-adhikārīs, and they expressed doubts about their legitimacy. But all three, under mounting pressure from the other zonals, recanted and once again mounted their thrones and began enjoying the extravagant worship unbefitting their status as show-bottle pure devotees. Why were they forced back into pretending to be acharyas?

Some say that the eleven had lied and cheated to gain their counterfeit positions as so-called uttama-adhikārī dīkṣā gurus, therefore they could not allow even one member to follow his conscience, protest the charade, and abandon the make-show.” 4

Some of the rank-and-file were beginning to doubt at that time, but it was a very slow process in the early Eighties. The First Transformation was still believed in by the majority of “ISKCON” devotees, especially the new people. Nothing like the INTERNET had yet emerged. Word spread but not quickly. Hansadutta could be added to this three-man list of zonals who expressed doubt about their opulent worship, which culminated in his de facto excommunication in May of 1983. His previous suspension as initiating guru had been earlier reversed by the vitiated G.B.C., but his personal shenanigans had continued unabated.

Ocean’s Eleven began to segue into damage control in the early Eighties. This was quite ironic considering their previous triumphalist attitude after crushing the malcontents at Raman Reti in early February of 1979. The best defense is a good offense, as the saying goes. As such, the pillar of the zonal scam was the assumed mandate of its great men, the eleven former rittviks, to be worshiped as sākñāddhari. That had to be kept in place! This idea (that the guru must be an uttama-adhikārī) required the worship program to continue, although all of them were light years away from such eligibility. Yet, according to their scheme implemented in the late Spring of 1978, they had to be seen as such by their devotees.

There was not enough resistance in the early Eighties in order for the majority of the zonals to consider changing their worship protocol. Obviously, they also got off on it, big-time! Those four who doubted were not united, but the rest were still united against them in order to keep it in place. They were able to beat back this incipient attack against the pillar of their pretension. ENE points all of this out.

Of course, they had lied and cheated in order to gain false statuses as uttama-adhikārī gurus, a monopoly which they still held in the very early Eighties. However, as we shall explore next month, they were soon forced to expand their number. Also, the backing of their uttama scheme by Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar–despite the fact that he was essential to formulating and forming it in 1978–was now on shaky ground.

In particular, he was criticizing actions that the G.B.C. had taken against Jayatīrtha, culminating in its schism with him in the Spring of 1982. To say that this split negatively impacted the zonal scheme in a profound way is a bridge too far. It remained strong, because the majority of the movement had fully invested in it for years.

And there was another factor: Those who had not bought into it were no longer part of “ISKCON.” They were outside the walls of the cult, and their influence was non-existent within it. Such was the case with Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar by that time, also. The schism was the right political move within the institution’s paradigm. It did not harm the pretension, which was still considered to be Prabhupāda’s will.

However, doubts expressed by four of their great men–and especially the falldowns of some stalwarts–required a new explanation in order to continue legitimizing the zonal scheme. Other first and second echelon sannyāsīs and commissioners wanted a slice of the initiating pie; they were chomping at the bit. The remaining zonals no longer could rely upon the so-called appointment tape. Word that this recording did not actually establish the eleven as appointed spiritual masters by Prabhupāda was spreading. Such an unsound source of legitimacy would not be able to hold up much longer, because Prabhupāda did not appoint them.

ENE delves into this conundrum as follows:

“Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda had not appointed eleven acharyas to succeed him in his absence, and the G.B.C. eventually admitted it. So they changed their story: they said the eleven acharyas were appointed by the G.B.C., and the G.B.C. was ‘the same’ as Prabhupāda. Bhaktivedanta Swāmi Prabhupāda had allegedly said, ‘ISKCON is my body,’ and he wrote in his will, ‘The Governing Body Commission (G.B.C.) will be the ultimate managing authority of the entire International Society for Krishna Consciousness.’ Therefore, the eleven acharyas claimed, becoming guru by a vote of confidence from the G.B.C. was the same as if Prabhupāda had personally ordered a disciple, ‘You become guru.’

The G.B.C. resolved, ‘The G.B.C. is the supreme authority in the management of The International Society For Krishna Consciousness and the direct manifestation of His Divine Grace Śrīla Prabhupāda.’ Puranjana recollected, ‘Sometimes gurus will actually admit that the alleged appointment tape of May 28^th is weak evidence that they had been appointed. Hridayananda Swāmi later . . . began to contradict the original G.B.C. statement . . . that the evidence was in the May 28^th, 1977, tape. He began to argue that Śrīla Prabhupāda’s WILL had named the G.B.C. as ‘the ultimate managers of ISKCON . . . ’” 5

Actually, it was Kīrtanānanda who initially came up with this rationalization. It did not establish a new transformation, obviously, but it continued to buy time. Exposing the fact that Prabhupāda did not directly appoint them got manipulated into another misinterpretation, viz., that his Governing Body Commission, allegedly non-different from him, appointed them. It did so, obviously. However, they made more out of it then originally designed, and this was the basis of the new transitive theory.

The “ISKCON” transitive theory is that Prabhupāda equals ISKCON, and the will of ISKCON is non-different from the G.B.C.. This simplistic formula satisfied the chelas if and when they finally began to hear about the so-called appointment tape being no such thing. Of course, at that time, no one had access to the letters.

Earlier in Chapter Ten, the following well-known excerpt (well-known now) from the one of the letters was reproduced:

From a letter to Commissioner Hansadutta, dated 4-11-72: “What will happen when I am not here, shall everything be spoiled by G.B.C.?” 6

This letter was sent to Hansadutta just days after Prabhupāda suspended the Governing Body Commission, busted it down, and transferred all the power back to the temple presidents where it originally resided before the creation of the G.B.C.. You host speaker has discussed this incident in detail in a number of articles, videos, and via other media formats. It had been buried, but it was resurrected, mostly by myself.

That centralization scheme of 1972 was the seed of deviation that eventually sprouted into a full-blown mutiny and takeover by the Ācārya Board of the G.B.C. in 1978. It proves, beyond doubt, that the G.B.C. was never non-different from His Divine Grace Śrīla Prabhupāda. It is a myth that it ever was. It is also a myth that it ever had or has a so-called automatic corrective mechanism intrinsic to or inherent in it.

Prabhupāda never officially ordered any of his disciples to become an initiating spiritual master. Show me where he did this. No one can show any such thing, because such a statement of appointment or recognition by him does not exist. He only appointed rittviks in July of 1977.

He never appointed a Successor, and he did not appoint any regular gurus, either. He briefly mentioned the principle of regular guru on the so-called appointment tape, but no names were attached to that principle. To link the May 28^th discussion of the regular guru to the appointment of rittviks well over a month later is to create an illusion only.

This illusion was the basis on the zonal ācārya imposition, and people are catching on. They will continue to realize this fact. That illusion, that cheating, that massive institutional mendacity, was then parlayed into the uttama worship of eleven sahajiyās movement-wide, beginning in April of 1978, when it was implemented by force almost everywhere.

In the early Eighties, things were beginning to break down. Doubts were in the ascendant, but this was still only applicable to few devotees worldwide. It was the minority report. To staunch the developing situation, some kind of nifty explanation had to mined from the ocean of nescience. That came in the form of the above-mentioned rationalization, courtesy of Kīrtanānanda, one of the taproots of the uttama scheme.

It allowed “ISKCON” to kick the can down the road and bought the major players, those integral to the massive deviation, more time. Chapter Ten discusses an incipient counter-momentum—which was not at all strong in 1981-82—slowly seeping its way into the collective consciousness of Prabhupāda’s sincere and serious disciples. As mentioned, Chapter Ten is a bridge chapter. It is a recollection of the facts surrounding the beginning of the breakdown of the zonal ācārya imposition.

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. The First Transformation of this make show was the zonal ācārya imposition. It took time for it to crater, and the die was not cast with certainty until the early Eighties. Rome did not fall in a day, and during the heyday of its decadence, virtually none of its citizens could envision that a small and persecuted cult would eventually replace emperor worship.

Rome was actually destroyed from within, and “ISKCON” was also in the incipient stage of being destroyed from within during the early Eighties. The tune of its fan was unplugged, but that fan was still spinning. The tune of its enchantment was still being heard, but the music was slowing. SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTE

1. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement (1977-1987), p. 215). Kindle Edition. From a Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam purport to 4.28.48;

2 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement (1977-1987), p. 215). Kindle Edition. From a Nectar of Devotion audio transcript, Vrindaban, India recorded on October 31, 1972;

3 Ibid, p. 219;

4 Ibid, p. 221;

5 Ibid, pp. 222-223;

6 Ibid, p. 215.

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Eleven of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

By the mid-Eighties, fanaticism and reliability became issues in “ISKCON”: Too much of one and not nearly enough of the other. The second and third echelon fanatics were confronted with an unexpected problem: The gurus which energized their fanaticism were being exposed as frauds. They had placed blind and fervent faith in those so-called perfect men, but it was being demonstrated on a regular basis that their faith was misplaced. Of course, this was the case for only some of them.

Besides the rank-and-file that had no position one way or the other, amongst all loyalists, there was an unspoken, in-house split within “ISKCON.” On one hand, there were the Party Men who adhered to the G.B.C. (and not the gurus) being the source of legitimacy and connection to the guru-paramparā. By the late Seventies and the early Eighties, those who believed this constituted a minority report. Nevertheless, it was a substantial subset of the movement.

At every center in the world—with the notable exception of the Kṛṣṇa-Balarām complex in Raman Reti, India—the gurus and their men were the be-all and end-all in the eyes and minds of this majority faction. That spirit, however, was being severely tested in the mid-Eighties. A significant number of devotees yearned for a solution to the developing situation in which the gurus were being exposed.

In our running commentary of Eleven Naked Emperors (henceforward, referred to by its acronym, ENE), the second major publication of Henry Doktorski, we now reach Chapter Eleven. The previous chapter was a bridge between the ninth and the one we now analyze. This one, Chapter Eleven, contains more substance.

In no small part, that is because, during the years 1984 and 1985, “ISKCON” and its fanatics were being rocked by a perfect storm. Eight new gurus had been added previous to and during those years. The zonal system of principalities for the great enjoyers was thus breaking down. Nevertheless, all nineteen of them still took utterly undeserved uttama-adhikārī worship from their improperly initiated disciples.

However, the gurus’ remaining godbrothers and godsisters who were genuinely initiated by Prabhupāda—an ever-dwindling lot—were not worshiping them anymore . . . at least, not very many of them. This provoked doubt in the new people, all of whom barely grasped the spiritual science. These newcomers, with some exceptions, had little contact with their own spiritual masters. As such, they relied upon their temple presidents and the advanced members of the local congregation to be representatives of their gurus. Or they relied more upon a local sannyāsī who bivouacked at a given center.

One of the waves of this perfect storm was that many, if not most, of these presidents and sannyāsīs–outside the inner sanctum of the approved dīkṣā-gurus—were beginning to have doubts about what had been imposed on their movement since the Spring of 1978. Some of these malcontents were expressing these doubts. Some were having meetings where these doubts were being discussed. Even if the doubts weren’t being outwardly expressed, these sannyāsīs and presidents were no longer fired up about any of the gurus, including the zonal who was featured the center which they ran on his behalf.

This was ever-increasingly problematic for the gurus, because they were all enjoyers. They depended upon local sannyāsīs and their temple presidents to keep their (the gurus’) disciples faithful and loyal to them. They depended upon the local sannyāsīs and their temple presidents (of their zones, for those who still had zones) for their disciples to stay in those centers and be productive, especially in the matter of collections.

The gurus wanted nothing to do with management. However, the management which these gurus depended upon was becoming jeopardized, because the presidents—at least, many of them in America—were doubting the whole arrangement. Even if they did not openly express doubt, their lack of enthusiasm vibed it to the newcomers.

This first wave of the perfect storm hitting the “ISKCON” gurus was tough enough for the gurus, but there was more than this hitting them. The second wave buffetting the deviated cult was that of Neo-Mutt and its allegiance to Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar of Navadvipa. This was an outgrowth from second echelon “ISKCON” men.

They were led to this new faction by the foolish decision of the G.B.C. to promote Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar into something he never was. While Prabhupāda was physically manifest, Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar was not at all prominent in the movement. He was, more or less, a nobody in it. Almost no one in the rank-and-file knew anything about him.

That would change when the vitiated G.B.C. used him in order to formulate and form their zonal imposition. It was Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar who coined the bromide “ācārya of the zone,” which then got converted into the term used in “ISKCON,” zonal ācārya. It was Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar who used the Bengali slogan mat-guru si jagat guru in order to allege that the guru—even if he is only a madhyam-adhikārī—must be seen by the disciple as a mahā-bhāgavat and worshiped accordingly.

There were so many of these tropes. All of them were manufactured ideas meant to spoil Prabhupāda’s branch of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, although this was not recognized by the leading secretaries. Instead, these manufactured ideas became the basis of a transformation that indeed spoiled the Kṛṣṇa consciousness Prabhupāda gave us.

“ISKCON” and its G.B.C. followed that bad advice. They followed all of the man’s bad advice. This would bite them big-time in the early Eighties, and that pain would only worsen by the mid-Eighties. With the exception of Jayatīrtha (obviously, a first echelon man), an ever-growing number of the second echelon “ISKCON” stalwarts “crossed the river” and joined his Navadvipa cult. They became a new branch of Gouḍīya Mutt.

Initially, they adopted The mahā-maṇḍala label. They are now known as the World Vaishnava Association. None of this would have transpired had not “ISKCON” bestowed all of that prominence, in the Spring of 1978, on the Navadvipa mahant. They used him at that time, but inadvertently made him out to be the father figure guru of the new gurus, since his manufactured ideas were adopted entirely by Ocean’s Eleven.

By the mid-Eighties, when the legitimacy of the zonal imposition and its opulent worship scheme was being profoundly questioned, Neo-Mutt was stirring the pot. It was recruiting more stalwarts, such as the influential Tripurārī Swāmi, who at that time was president at San Francisco. The Great Schism of 1982, although necessary, did not stop this second wave from crashing into “ISKCON” when it was even more vulnerable in the mid-Eighties. For awhile, it appeared as if the cult would crater.

Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar was making propaganda against it, as he had been doing even before the schism. The needle in and the damage done. He had said: “Rittvik-Ācārya, then it becomes as good as Ācārya.” The G.B.C. accepted this, which got parlayed into rittviks automatically becoming gurus, who then automatically were uttamas, who then were automatically Successors to Prabhupāda in the disciplic succession.

The Navadvipa mahant advocated for an Ācārya Board within the vitiated G.B.C.. That was adopted by the Commish, believing that the non-guru faction cannot have any authority to rule over, chastise, punish, correct, or even advise the new gurus. This made Ocean’s Eleven untouchable. It was never the intention of Prabhupāda, but it was Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar’s vision in the form of his advice . . . all of which was swallowed hook, line, and sinker and converted into The First Transformation.

By the mid-Eighties, a Neo-Mutt center had been created in Santa Cruz by Dhīra Kṛṣṇa, the former temple president at Los Angeles. This second Neo-Mutt wave was recruiting and hitting the cult hard, and it had its own rationalization as to why things were going awry in “ISKCON.” It preached that all of the problems were due to “ISKCON” not strictly following Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. Ironically, just the opposite was the actual truth: So many of the problems the cult was being harmed by in the mid-Eighties was due to imbibing and implementing all of that disastrous advice from the Navadvipa Mahant.

Neo-Mutt had now become the “ISKCON” nemesis. Neo-Mutt was against the teachings of Kṛṣṇa consciousness brought to the West by His Divine Grace Śrīla Prabhupāda, particularly in relation to his siddhānta that the jivātmā originated in the spiritual world. Devotees in general were now being misled by both of these warring cults.

The third wave of the perfect storm hitting “ISKCON” in the mid-Eighties consisted of what may be called the outsiders. These were the initiated men and women of the movement—none of them higher than the third echelon while they were in it—who left. Many of them were not kicked out but could not tolerate the deviation imposed when Ocean’s Eleven came back from India in the Spring of 1978 with a new dispensation.

This third wave comprised those who chose to take action, not to remain silent about what was going down. Most of those who left the cult of the new gurus–or were, directly or indirectly, driven out—just went away on their own. They created no ripples or spiritual sequence. Many of them threw out the baby with the bathwater and became non-devotees again, taking up their previous lifestyles.

This third wave was a factor in the mid-Eighties, although it was ostracized, ignored, and mostly kept away from “ISKCON” centers. The third wave took action. It was kind of a subterranean movement. Their position papers hit hard and tackled formerly taboo subjects. The “underground Hare Krishnas,” as one Hindu newspaper labeled them, punched above the weight of their limited numbers.

A handful did not, however. They took action. They made propaganda both of the verbal and written variety. Your host speaker was a part of this contingent. Position papers were produced. There was no INTERNET yet, so this preaching did not spread quickly . . . but it did spread. These dedicated disciples, from one perspective, were put into a lose-lose situation at the onset of the zonal ācārya scheme. They chose the lesser of two evils, as staying within the cult required buying its unauthorized transformation, which they were not willing to do.

The February, 1979 confrontation at the Kṛṣṇa-Balarām complex in Raman Reti (discussed previously in one of our podcasts) was the leading edge of this third wave. This third wave was anti-Neo-Mutt, however, and it had to be distinguished from any allegiance to Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar and Gouḍīya Mutt. Neo-Mutt was unable to recruit these particular outsiders, who stayed true to Prabhupāda’s tattva, siddhānta, and process.

This third wave was a factor in the mid-Eighties, although it was ostracized, ignored, and mostly kept away from “the walls of ‘ISKCON.’” It was kind of a subterranean movement. An article in a prominent Hindu newspaper at the time labeled it as “the underground Hare Krishnas,” designating your host speaker as its leader.

With these three waves of a perfect storm hitting “ISKCON” in the mid-Eighties, the cult was reeling. It needed a savior. And, although he was imperfect and did not tackle or uproot the real problem, that savior emerged in the form of Ravīndra Svarūpa dās adhikārī. 1

In 1984, Professor Blueblood issued a position paper entitled “Ending the Fratricidal War.” He insisted that it was only meant for a handful of his close associates, as he was a temple president at the top of the second echelon of “ISKCON.” I doubt that this was his intention. Instead, I am convinced he issued it so that it would spread like wildfire, which it did, although it could not have as much impact—or immediate effect—as it would have had if the INTERNET had existed then.

Thus, Ravīndra became the leader of what he called a revolution. However, this is a mislabel, although he was only the immediate leader of an incipient development. It was never a revolution. It was never a rejuvenation. It did not return to square one. It was always nothing more than a reform, a transformation.

As we shall see, his tracts against the new gurus got him appointed by the G.B.C. as the nineteenth institutional dīkṣā-guru in the cult. Was this actually unexpected? How could it be? He was expert at knowing institutional cause and effect, and he admitted that he had to accept a leadership role in his so-called revolution.

He had a couple of assets that other men in the cult did not. For starters, he claims (and it is likely true) that he was never a hippie. Fine, although they were Prabhupāda’s best customers. As already mentioned, he was an established professor at a well-known university in Philadelphia, where he was temple President. These assets were utilized and manipulated well by him. He had peers who would back him in his reform effort, ultimately successful, meant to transform “ISKCON” into something different.
We find the following excerpt in Chapter Eleven:

“‘When we got the gurus, we got eleven different ISKCONs,’” Ravīndra Svarūpa confirmed. “‘There were some real unfriendly tensions between the gurus right from the start. They propped each other up because if the power of one guru was threatened, they all felt threatened. But when somebody finally fell, they turned on him and destroyed him.’” 2

That was Ravīndra’s main argument, to wit: It had become a sole ācārya movement instead of a united confederation under the G.B.C.. There were eleven sole ācāryas, and the movement was thus cut into pieces since the preaching, mood, and worship systems varied from zone to zone. It was a powerful argument, but not as legitimate as you might first surmise. All eleven of those great pretenders were dependent upon G.B.C. imprimatur in order to keep their scam going.

They were not as free as Ravīndra made them out to be. He probably intuited this. Even if he didn’t, he acted upon this fact of division, and that is integral to how he brought them down and introduced the collegiate compromise of The Second Transformation. In summary, the man was a powerful writer, and he had significant influence.

He also was expert at projecting a particular emotion. This basic and fundamental emotion will be directly presented near the end of our presentation. It was used by all of them to great effect, and Ravīndra was adept at it. Besides this, a key plank of his new manifesto for “ISKCON” was that it had degenerated into a neophyte cult.

The implication to this—which was a false pre-supposition—is that it previously was dominated by fixed-up devotees, by madhyams. As such, he was saying that the zonal ācārya imposition was now run by neophytes, who are intrinsically envious, and that this “sole ācārya system” needed to be made unified once again. Then, it would automatically revert (allegedly) to its former status as a worldwide, unified congregation guided by advanced devotees loyal to its G.B.C..

All kinds of falsity was embedded in this pre-supposition. Were they formerly madhyams? They were not, and the track record proves it. Were they, the eleven great pretenders, neophytes? Would abandonment of the zonal ācārya system—and replacing it with a Commission-centric model—automatically produce a movement run by madhyams. History proves that it did not after The Second Transformation gained power. ENE quotes your host speaker as follows:

“He (Ravīndra) is claiming that ‘ISKCON’ (and that Society certainly was ‘ISKCON’ by 1984-1985) was a kaniṣṭhā-adhikārī society. It was not. It was led by charismatic sahajiyās. These men were not kaniṣṭhās. In point of fact (with, perhaps, a temple president here and there that may still have been kaniṣṭhā), all the leaders of ‘ISKCON,’ by 1984-85, were either sahajiyās or mixed devotees. Mixed devotees are far lower than kaniṣṭhā-bhaktas, but few devotees know this bhakti science.” 3

This may appear to be radical, but the actual fact is that it may be too soft. Some of them may not have been even sahajiyās by the mid-Eighties. Remember, although very deviated and fallen, sahajiyās are, nevertheless, still devotees. Some of those eleven men—as well as some of the eight others who captured the gadi after them (by the mid-Eighties)–may have become either covert māyāvādīs or materialists. There is plenty in and on the record to indicate this potential.

“The Guru Reform Movement” was not only the title of Chapter Eleven, but it was also a sub-header within the chapter. There is a major misconception embedded in this idea, although it was considered just that (a guru reform movement) by the mid-Eighties. The guru is never in need of reform. The guru must be a very perfect man. The movement he founds, if it has not severely deviated from him, may require reform. However, the guru is never in need of correction or reform.

If he is fallen (and was previously a genuine guru), then he needs to elevate himself back to the perfectional stage. However, the implication of the guru reform movement in “ISKCON” was not referring to that; it was referring to men who were still improperly initiating new disciples but remained institutionally approved gurus.

By the term “guru reform movement,” what is being referred to in Chapter Eleven of ENE is the initial (and rather tepid) emergence of the temple presidents who were protesting the uttama-adhikārī worship program integral to the cult. Professor Blueblood was preeminent amongst them, and he penned the initial position papers which started the ball rolling. This was distinctly different from the rebellion at Raman Reti in 1979, and it was the chief point made by ENE in Chapter Eleven. Here is an excerpt verifying this fact:

“ . . . this was the first time large numbers of devotees with real political power—the ISKCON temple presidents—began organizing together to combat the menace. Actually, for many years, the temple presidents had been a formidable force in ISKCON. Although they had no legal power over the G.B.C., sometimes they had exerted their influence . . .” 4

The movement was starting to crater, and Professor Blueblood’s first position paper lit the fuse. From his own words in ENE:

“Ravīndra Svarūpa recalled, ‘In the autumn of 1984 a routine meeting of the temple presidents of North America led to a collective and public acknowledgment that nearly everyone held deep private misgivings about the manner in which the position of ‘guru’ had been established in ISKCON. They organized an immediate second meeting, to further consider the issue, and thus the ‘Guru Reform’ movement was born. With the engagement of a significant number of second-tier leaders, men whose loyalty to ISKCON was not in doubt, a credible and potent movement was established. The majority of North American temple presidents believed something was drastically wrong.’” 5

This was the same time-frame in which Ravīndra issued his first position paper, so none of it was accidental. He knew how to play them, and he was already the first amongst equals on the second echelon. The acceptance of his arguments solidified this power for him. ENE describes the situation in “ISKCON” at that time quite well:

“When new devotees began to take initiation from the zonal acharyas, the power of the temple presidents eroded. They no longer could motivate devotees to follow their direct instructions, let alone their vision . . . The new disciples often looked down on temple presidents, especially if they were householders, and consequently they rebelled in subtle and less-than-subtle ways against the temple presidents’ authority.” 6

Such was also the case for the non-guru contingent of the G.B.C.. Their zones became meaningless. The guru zones of the zonal ācāryas was all that the newcomers considered important. As genuinely initiated devotees of Prabhupāda kept departing from “ISKCON,” the idea that there was legitimacy to a non-guru G.B.C. at any given center or temple became, for all practical purposes, an anachronism.

It was costly in terms of airfare and other accouterments for a non-guru G.B.C., or even a temple president, to attend meetings in distant parts of America, what to speak of overseas in India. That these members of the second echelon of the cult were dependent upon the pick to cover those expenses did not sit well with them. The new disciples, all improperly initiated, didn’t want the money they collected to be used by leaders who were now fighting against their own gurus.

TATTVAMASI

“ISKCON” loyalists were coming to tough realizations. One of them—who eventually became completely disloyal, changing his name and status after joining Neo-Mutt—commented as follows:

“Practically the present ISKCON leaders don’t have truly brahminical advisers anymore because everybody in their zone has something to lose and thus will leave or shut up . . . Even though gurus and the G.B.C. amongst themselves and in public will discredit and condemn each other, officially there is no one who can question an acharya in his zone, nor is there anybody to consult in such difficulties.” 7

The temple presidents began outwardly expressing their disgust about what they had repressed for years. They wanted to get together, and thus they had a meeting in New Jersey. Word got out, and then the actual base emotion which controlled everything came to the fore. As excerpted from ENE, here is an example of that base emotion in the words of a major organizer of those initial meetings, Viṣṇugada:

“However, after we scheduled our next meeting for sometime in the spring of 1985, we immediately got black-balled by a group of gurus. My recollection is that temple presidents were forbidden to attend the next meeting. It was quite a shock to me.” 8

Do you pick up on the emotion underlying this? We shall specify it subsequently. Ravīndra, as aforementioned, was expert at utilizing it. There should have been nothing shocking about it. We all had experienced it. The cult was a tyranny of both thought and action.
You were subject to condemnation and excommunication if you did not accept the self-apotheosis of the “new gurus,” although they were never actually spiritual masters. Their false status as so-called Successors to Prabhupāda could not be questioned by anyone below the level of the vitiated G.B.C.. And the Ācārya Board of the G.B.C. also kept them from being challenged, although that broke down eventually.

Which brings us to the Moundsville compound, a.k.a., New Vrindavan, in August and September of 1985. There would be meetings each month there at that time. These were not solely temple presidents meetings, although many presidents (Ravīndra being one of them, obviously) attended at least the second one. The first one was, technically, a G.B.C. emergency meeting called mostly by American commissioners, as something had to be done. Of course, it really wasn’t. ENE records that one as follows:

“In August 1985, the North American G.B.C., temple presidents and eleven ISKCON gurus attended a two-day emergency meeting at New Vrindaban to discuss issues, such as the development of a constitution, expanding the number of gurus, discussing the role of the spiritual master within ISKCON and evaluating the qualifications of current and future gurus.” 9

Ravīndra confirmed that his second position paper was integral to that meeting. Actually, it was also integral to the next one a month later. ENE quotes him as follows:

“‘Under My Order: Reflections on the Guru in ISKCON’ became accepted as the position paper of the reform movement, and the paper’s thesis helped lead, two years later, to the formal dismantling of the zonal-acharya system.” Indeed, it did.

Professor Blueblood’s first position paper, “Ending the Fratricidal War,” was well-received and circulated by “ISKCON” presidents and other malcontents. However, his second position paper carried more weight. The first meeting (in August) was not well known. The September meeting was very well attended, as word got out that the opulent worship arrangement was now going to be challenged. In point of fact, your host speaker thought, for years, that there was only one conclave in the late summer of 1985, but there actually were two of them.

Not much progress was made on formulating or forming a new constitution in either of these. The two issues that were confronted (to a significant extent) were both related: One general and one specific. The specific one centered on Bhāvānanda. The general topic centered on the guru system, advocating reform.

After conclusive evidence presented as to Bhāvānanda’s homosexual activities while he was (allegedly) a guru, he was suspended from initiating for six months. Bhāvānanda was also put on probation by the Privilege Committee. At the September conclave, it was determined that he would again be examined at the Annual G.B.C. Meeting in 1986. The writing was on the wall. Except for Kīrtanānanda, the high-flying gurus were all being busted down to dedicated Party Men. One by one, they were baling from a Sinking Ship of Fools.

Aside from Bhāvānanda’s malfeasance being exposed–along with the cult having disciplined three (of the eleven) gurus previously in the early part of the decade–things were starting to tear apart. The center was not holding. The G.B.C. was supposed to be that center.

However, it was–to a significant (but not complete) degree–controlled by the new gurus up to that time. Ravīndra’s opposition had to be ameliorated somehow–or, at least, compromised. As such, practically out of nowhere and without him going through the bureaucratic process, Ravīndra was awarded guru status at the September conclave.

Bhāvānanda took some responsibility for his illicit homosex, but he also blamed the guru system (which, however you cut it, was instituted by the governing body) for his massive deviations. He pleaded that there was really no ill intention on his part. ENE reproduces one of Hansadutta’s former disciples commenting on that plea:

“This is something like the fox saying he had no ill-intention when entering the hen house. Of course those who have committed crimes will attempt to claim innocence.” 11

To his credit, Doktorski in Chapter Eleven covers both the micro and the macro. He gives us important details to and for the historical record. He also allowed all of his readers access to essential overviews of not only what was going down in “ISKCON,” but why. He quotes your host speaker as follows to explain some of that why:

“The Party Men . . . are masters at creating doubt and guilt, masters of deception, masters at bewilderment, masters at enticement, masters at pseudo-persuasion, and, when the situation calls for it, masters at harassment and various psychic punishments. They have their own spheres, both gross and subtle. The various followers, who are weak in knowledge, mind control, and yogic development, can hardly escape the network of the Party Men once they become entangled in it. The Party Men buttress this astral network via the buildings, deities, vehicles, properties, and money on the gross plane, and those innocent but foolish devotee followers are completely trapped by them and their manifestations.” 12

Besides Bhāvānanda and the guru issue, Kīrtanānanda blackballed the whole effort. He issued a paper to counter Ravīndra, and mostly nothing of substance came from this follow-up meeting with his peers at Moundsville. Kīrtanānanda told his disciples to consider all of his godbrothers to be nothing more than the Rotary Club.

Of course, there were some notable exceptions. Professor Blueblood became a Commission approved spiritual master at the second multi-day meeting, even though he had no disciples ready for initiation at his center. That brought to five the number of new gurus added by 1985, along with the three which were added earlier in the Eighties, totaling eight.

Secondly, the vitiated G.B.C. made a list of resolutions to bring to Mayapur in the Spring of 1986 to be voted on . . . which meant, in effect, kicking the can down the road and buying more time.

Meanwhile, although this was the developing situation throughout America, hardly any of devotees elsewhere in the world knew about it. One exception to this—although he heard about the controversy later—was Jayānta Kṛt in France. He was a second echelon man. In the beginning zonal years, he was quite dedicated to Bhagavān, who was one of the most gung-ho of all the high profile gurus.

Jayānta Krt was dealt with severely by Bhagavān when he went to the other side on the guru controversy. In the short term, he wound up opening his own center, unaffiliated with “ISKCON,” in southern France. As such, he followed the same path as Dhīra Kṛṣṇa in America, who opened up that aforementioned separate center in Santa Cruz.

However, there was one big difference, since the one in California was a Neo-Mutt center. As Fate would have it, Jayānta Krt soon joined Neo-Mutt and became dedicated to Swāmi B. R. Śrīdhar. We shall be reproducing excerpts from him in a later presentation of this series. Suffice it to say that he and I are not only on opposite sides but inimical to one another. You will find that out soon enough. ENE, via the following excerpt, shared Jayānta Krt’s transformation to a completely different viewpoint from Bhagavān in 1985:

“I opened a small preaching center . . . in southern France and started to communicate with my godbrothers everything I had learned in the USA about the acharya issue. They were all flabbergasted, because no information on that topic had ever made it from abroad to the devotees at large in France and in the rest of Bhagavān’s zone . . . Between that meeting and Mayapur, Bhagavān spent thousands of dollars on phone calls all over the world to rally the troops for a counter-reform. In Mayapur, he gave a lecture quoting a verse from the Srimad-Bhagavatam according to which those envious persons who criticize the Vaishnavas will remain in hell as long as the sun and moon exist. . .” 13

Notice the method used by Bhagavān: F-E-A-R. This was always the foundation upon which Ocean’s Eleven utilized. This was that base emotion. Most everything else was window dressing meant to attract followers and keep at least a handful of godbrothers onboard for the purpose of upkeep and management of the centers. However, when the rubber met the road, it always came down to fear. Doktorski is to be commended for this chapter in his book. It was thorough, painstakingly researched, and it revealed facts and truths that otherwise would have merged into oblivion. Well done.

In summation, the revelations in the late summer of 1985 that Bhāvānanda had seduced a teenage boy gave the Guru Reform party encouragement and determination to challenge the high-flying zonals. As a backlash, the vitiated G.B.C.—which was still mostly controlled by the great pretenders—legislated and imposed various political road blocks so that the reformers could not make much progress:

“The G.B.C. knew the zonal acharya gig was up, but they had to act fast to save themselves and keep their power as best they could. The G.B.C. enacted measures to restrain the temple presidents and the opposition movement. They gave every G.B.C. member the right to appoint two people in their zones to participate in the (upcoming) Mayapur meetings with voting rights. However, the G.B.C. did not appoint temple presidents who were opponents to the zonal-acharya system; they appointed sycophants.” 14

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. Let us close this month’s presentation with the following excerpt from Prabhupāda:

“So, don’t spoil the movement by manufacturing ideas. Don’t do that. Go on in the standard way and keep yourself pure. Then this movement is sure to be successful. But if you want to spoil it by whimsical, then what can be done? It will be spoiled. If you manufacture whims and disagree and fight amongst yourself, then it will be another edition of these so-called movements. It will lose the spiritual strength.” 15 SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTES

1 His Western name is William Deadwyler III, a professor at Temple University. He will be often referred to in this presentation as Professor Blueblood due to his obvious lineage;

2 Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: The Crisis of Charismatic Succession in the Hare Krishna Movement, p. 233, Kindle Edition;

3 Ibid, pp. 234-235, Kindle Edition;

4 Ibid, p. 235, Kindle Edition;

5 Ibid, p. 236, Kindle Edition;

6 Ibid, p. 237, Kindle Edition;

7 Ibid, pp. 237-238, Kindle Edition;

8 Ibid, p. 239, Kindle Edition;

9 Ibid, p. 241, Kindle Edition;

10 Ibid, p. 242, Kindle Edition;

11 Bhakta Eric Johanson, Ibid, p. 243, Kindle Edition;

12 Ibid, pp. 246-247, Kindle Edition;

13 Ibid, p. 256-258, Kindle Edition;

14 Ibid, p. 261, Kindle Edition;

15 Room Conversation in Aukland, New Zealand, 4-27-76.

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Twelve of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

The mid-Eighties, “ISKCON” was embroiled in contentiousness. Kali-yuga was having a field day amongst the various groups of argumentative and disturbed devotees trying to get over. The whole debacle was due to the vikarmic reactions that had been hammering the movement for its many deviations. Kali-yuga saw that it was a time for a change, similar to the big one that went down in the Spring of 1978.

Superficially, there appeared to be two factions vying for institutional supremacy. That was already acknowledged as The Guru Reform Movement versus the Zonals. The reformists were composed of malcontents opposed to the opulent worship of the “ISKCON” gurus, particularly the ten which remained from Ocean’s Eleven. Each of these two warring factions, however, also had sub-factions somewhat inimical to one another within them. As such, there were actually four factions vying for supremacy. One of these four would have to prevail, and that was to be decided in 1986 and verified in 1987.

If the established faction (Ocean’s Eleven and its hatchet men, sycophants, and vested interests) was able to overcome the reformers, then it would remain, although somewhat weakened, its own version of no change at the top of the turtle tank. That still seemed quite likely in 1985. However, by 1986, it appeared to be less so. It might not prevail. Let us call this one Status Quo. It produced The First Transformation of the late Seventies, and launched the apa-sampradāya.

Status Quo was still in power in early 1986: It controlled the vitiated G.B.C., and the majority of “ISKCON” devotees remained bamboozled by it. However, within it, there was another faction. This faction agreed with The Status Quo more than it did not. Nevertheless, its chief point of contention was a desire to expand the number of “ISKCON” gurus. A handful had been added to Ocean’s Eleven beginning in 1982. Status Quo didn’t like that but accepted it.

A minor expansion could be tolerated, but the eleven great pretenders—already whittled down due to Jayatīrtha’s defection—did not want their scheme challenged. If a mass of newer gurus was approved by this otherwise loyal guard within The First Transformation, then the zonal arrangement would necessarily be jeopardized.

This second group was Status Quo Modified. They accepted that uttama worship of the gurus of “ISKCON” must continue, they accepted that pranām mantras and concocted labels still be part of the program . . . but they wanted the number of gurus to increase. Status Quo considered them the loyal opposition—and they were that—but nevertheless these two constituted what should be seen in retrospect as an in-house struggle, a milder version of the real fratricidal war.

Then there was Ravīndra’s group. He wrote the position paper on “Ending the Fratricidal War,” but somewhat ironically, that treatise and a follow-up was only the opening shot across the bow. As already mentioned, this warring faction of reformists was also divided, although that internal division would mostly not be recognized as such in late 1986. It would be fully recognized in the next year just previous to the Māyāpur Annual Conclave of 1987, where many more changes were made.

We shall thus speak of the war of the mid-Eighties as four groups vying for control of the governing body. Besides being called The Guru Reform Movement, this third group can more accurately be called Compromise Reform. It did not want to draw any hard lines which it knew The Status Quo would fight to the bitter end.

Ravīndra called his movement a revolution, but it was never any such thing. It was always nothing more than a proposed reform, amounting only to another transformation when it got over. It would be different from Status Quo, but it would not confront the root issues of the deviation that opened Pandora’s Box and launched the institutional catastrophe just after Prabhupāda left the scene.

Yet, there was a group within the Guru Reform Movement (an absurd anachronism and misnomer if there ever was one) which would eventually oppose Compromise Reform. They were also Party Men, second and third echelon loyalists to the institution, but they were unwilling to compromise on the issue of initiation of the post-1977 newcomers.

Was this one actually revolutionary? Of course not, because it wanted everything to still work through the G.B.C., i.e., it did not recognize that the G.B.C. had been the chief scourge since Prabhupāda’s disappearance from material manifestation. However, in one way—and one way only—they were tapping into a raw nerve: They demanded that all the new disciples throughout the movement be informed that none of them had received a genuine initiation since joining in late 1977.

We shall label this fourth faction Radical Reform.

In summary: In 1986, the four contenders vying for “ISKCON” Supremacy (which would have to include control of the vitiated G.B.C.) were: 1) Status Quo, 2) Status Quo Modified, 3) Compromise Reform, and 4) Radical Reform. You may object that the fourth group should not have the adjective “radical” applied to it. This objection would be legitimate if it stood for a revolution, but because it was advocating only reform, the adjective remains applicable and acceptable.

All four had a strong argument. Which would win?

We continue with our running review of Henry Doktorski’s manuscript, his second book (of twelve, total), entitled Eleven Naked Emperors. This is his most important work to date. It will be referenced by its acronym ENE throughout this presentation.

We have now reached Chapter Twelve, which basically centers around the pivotal year of 1986. The chapter is entitled: “Preparing for Battle.” To some extent, that is accurate, since the conclusion of the war between the four factions would only be known in 1987, also a contentious year. However, the battle was already fully engaged. The preparatory battle stage was throughout late 1984 and all of 1985. No need to quibble about chapter titles, but your host speaker still chooses to mention it.

Let us now segue to some excerpts related to the historical narrative as presented by ENE in Chapter Twelve:

“The public revelation in August 1985 that Bhāvānanda had tried to seduce a teenage boy gave the members of the Guru Reform movement renewed determination to dethrone the zonal acharyas.” 1

In 1986, that determination increased exponentially, as Bhāvānanda’s status had been suspended, and he could no longer be guru or initiate new disciples. His fanatical disciples in Australia were greatly displeased by this punishment. They were materially productive . . . and loose like him when it came to enjoying sensual opportunities they could easily create for themselves in the cult atmosphere in which they operated. They threatened to crater the whole Australia yatra if Bhāvānanda was not reinstated at the Māyāpur Conclave in the Spring of 1986. They had the power to do that, and the vitiated G.B.C. capitulated:

“The powerful influence of the establishment was manifest when the G.B.C. reinstated Bhāvānanda as a guru in good standing, although he had been suspended only six months earlier after being confronted with an allegation of homosexual activities with a teenage brahmachari in Vrindaban, India; an allegation to which he confessed guilt. . . A pretender acharya confessed to having homosexual relations with a minor and within six months he was considered completely pure and able to initiate disciples? The temple presidents were appalled.” 2

The vitiated G.B.C. did not share what the final vote was to allow Bhāvānanda back into the club, but the scuttlebutt was that it was razor thin: Apparently, he made it by only one vote. Except for the Australian leaders, almost all of the other presidents were deeply disturbed by this G.B.C. capitulation. ENE relates how one of them, Yasomatinandan, the leader in Gujarat, was particularly appalled:

“We all went back to our temples with our hearts broken and hopes shattered having given Lord Chaitanya a wonderful gift of a faggot guru in his parampara on his 500^th appearance day. We were absolutely convinced our leaders were destroying ISKCON.” 3

Of course, “ISKCON” had already replaced and killed the real ISKCON movement by that time. However, those still operating in the cult refused to recognize that . . . except, now it was dawning on them just what was going down. This example of corruption was mind-boggling.

As could only have been expected, the vitiated G.B.C., representing Status Quo, rejected Ravīndra’s latest position paper, entitled “Under My Order: Reflections of the Guru in ISKCON.” This was, of course, the treatise that bucked up against Kīrtanānanda’s “On My Order” in the confrontation at Moundsville of 1985. However, due to this Bhāvānanda brouhaha, there was now momentum generated for Status Quo Modified:

“Also at the March G.B.C. meetings, the G.B.C. gave official approval for twenty-six senior Prabhupāda disciples to begin initiating disciples.” 4

One of these twenty-six was Ravīndra, who actually got his guru approval the previous September at Moundsville. They needed to buy him off. Now they considered that not just him but all of his backers, allies, and potential allies needed some kind of institutional encouragement. In 1986, the zones were made more or less irrelevant, and “ISKCON” was going for guru numbers, abandoning exclusivity completely.

In doing so, it was implicating as many second and third echelon men as possible in its deviations. Compromise Reform demanded more than this, however. Would Status Quo Modified actually prevail in 1986?

There was another modification that was passed in the Spring of 1986 by the vitiated G.B.C.: How gurus at any local temples throughout the world would be worshiped would be determined by the temple presidents. If they chose to do so, they could restrain the undeserved uttama-adhikārī worship of the high profile ācāryas, particularly the ones who remained from Ocean’s Eleven.

As could have easily been predicted, the so-called Vyāsāsan [for the ISKCON gurus] at Raman Reti inside the Krishna-Balaram mandir was removed; indeed, the word got around that, immediately after Māyāpur, 1986, the devotees at that mandir threw it out of a second story window in order to watch it shatter into pieces. Yet, these changes did not satisfy The Guru Reform Movement very much. They demanded more than this.

Status Quo Modified prevailed at Māyāpur in 1986, but that was not the end of the story. The prominent gurus—along with the new gurus who strongly backed them (and, in many cases, imitated them)–still controlled the vitiated G.B.C.. And Bhāvānanda was a short-term winner, but a big-time, festering sore soon thereafter.

A comment I made about the scandal via a later email to Doktorski was shared by him in Chapter Twelve:

“With such a high percentage of new gurus being exposed for scandalous behavior, the 1986 G.B.C. should have acted with dispatch to reverse the whole scheme. It should have realized the importance of genuine guru—which none of the eleven, along with the other elected men later, were. None of them were gurus, because Prabhupāda said, ‘Regular guru, that’s all.’” 5

In other words, simply tweaking the protocol by allowing the presidents to determine whether or not their guru of the zone or a visiting new guru could or would receive (or would not receive) pompous worship did not constitute anything remotely near a root course correction of the real problem haunting “ISKCON” since 1978.

For much of 1986, your host speaker was the Treasurer and chief lecturer at the Berkeley center in California. Many of the devotees there respected me, and some of them questioned me when the word reached us about what went down in Māyāpur. We had all been cooperating with Atreya Rishi, the local G.B.C., and Trivikram Swami, the local sannyāsī. We were all thus part of The Reform Movement. I was, of course, a radical reformer, but I mostly (although not entirely) kept that to myself.

We did not think that Atreya and Trivikram would, in effect, sell us out like that. We thought wrong. Atreya was immediately made into an “ISKCON” initiating guru, and Trivikram was put on a one-year wait in queue 6 to be automatically approved as dīkṣā-guru if he remained scandal free when Māyāpur, 1987 rolled around.

Those who liked me at Berkeley considered all of what we were then informed about to be a betrayal. When we got this news about what went down, I drew up a concise petition condemning the G.B.C.. We considered Māyāpur, 1986 to be a massive expansion of deviant dīkṣā-guru by vote, combined with Bhāvānanda’s sexual exploits swept under the rug via re-admitting him to the “ISKCON” guru club.

We considered all of it to be a betrayal of Prabhupāda, and most of the devotees there in Berkeley put their necks out and signed the petition. Atreya and Trivikrama were confronted with an active bee hive of discontent when they returned to the Bay Area in April. “I was in Berkeley at that time and, when we heard that Atreya Rishi and Trivikrama had sold us out and accepted a ‘guru’ appointment, I created and circulated a petition against the G.B.C., which virtually all the members of the Berkeley temple signed.” 7

The movement had degenerated into a kind of oligarchy that even resembled, to some limited and incomplete degree, a form of fascism. Many of its devotees could no longer sincerely believe in it. They were internally horrified by what was going down.

Yet, they took a risk if they chose to express any of that in an open way. The demand for loyalty and an insistence on humility was demanded of them by the zonals and top echelon. That top hierarchy was loaded with hypocrisy, in no small measure because it was itself utterly devoid of humility. That created a kind of institutional parody or satire, as a once spiritual institution had become anything but.

The lifting of the suspension of Bhāvānanda and his provisional re-instatement as dīkṣā-guru was the most obvious gas fueling discontent amongst the temple presidents. Their anger was being supercharged, and the zonal scheme was not holding. The center—if you consider the center of “ISKCON” to be its vitiated G.B.C.—was not holding, either.

Expanding the number of dīkṣā-gurus weakened the zonal arrangement. The guru principalities were losing meaning. Bhāvānanda becoming free of his suspension, along with his provisional re-instatement as dīkṣā-guru in his zone, was resolved on unsound, shaky, emotional grounds. The expansion of gurus, along with Bhāvānanda being dealt with so permissively, was spelling an end to Status Quo.

And Status Quo Modified gave way to Compromise Reform.

Actually, Bhāvānanda was still checked to some limited degree, and rightly so. His probation was lifted, but he was not allowed to initiate new disciples until October of that year. He had to keep his nose clean for another six months. As it turned out, he didn’t. In “ISKCON,” an institutional guru was considered automatically good unless caught in deviation. That rubber-stamp was still in full effect in the Spring of 1986. Bhāvānanda had been caught the previous year, but he got provisionally re-instated, nevertheless.

Kīrtanānanda had not been caught yet, so the underlying institutional hypocrisy was practically all-pervasive at a foundational level. Although previously this realization had been subconscious, it was not entirely so by this point. “ISKCON” was without real honesty, but such had been the case for years. Cheaters all of them, but not all of them had yet been caught in a flagrant act of cheating.

There were indications that Bhāvānanda had not brought himself back up to the standard that was demanded of him. He was ordered at a San Diego G.B.C. meeting in August, 1986 not to travel any longer with his young disciple and male companion, Bala. The purport of that order is quite self-evident; his guru reinstatement was not yet solidified.

The zones were becoming shaky entities; as such, the zonal divisions had been re-affirmed at Māyāpur, 1986. Obviously, they were no longer fully effective. Some token concessions (besides the expansion of gurus) were made to the temple presidents in relation to Vyāsāsans, photographic placements of guru pictures on altars, and how the altars were to be arranged. This amounted to nothing much.

Technically, seventeen men (led by Ravīndra) had been given preliminary approval to be dīkṣā-gurus at Moundsville in 1985, and they all were fully approved (read, re-affirmed) at Māyāpur, 1986. Seven more received full approval at that conclave. Six more so-called advanced devotees (led by Trivikram) were put on a one-year list to wait in queue. As such, a total of thirty new gurus were either institutionally activated (or soon to be actuated) as per G.B.C. rubber stamp in the Spring of 1986.

The G.B.C. insisted that it was not making new gurus via this method, because authorization was allegedly not the same as appointing or creating gurus. This was and is very weak logic: What is the real difference between making and authorizing? That is a rhetorical question.

Another change was a new rule applicable to how someone became an institutional guru in “ISKCON.” The new G.B.C. mandate required a potential candidate for guru to be presented by at least one G.B.C. man, the minimum requirement. A vote was then taken by the whole of the G.B.C.. If the majority did not object to the nomination, he was put in a one-year queue, after which he was recognized as a full-fledged dīkṣā-guru. The no-three-blackballs protocol of 1985 was thus abandoned.

TATTVAMASI

Superficially, it appeared that the issue of fairness was at the core of this guru expansion ploy, but that was not the case. It was politics, plain and simple. It was a compromise which kept Radical Reform in check. The radical reformers (what to speak of the revolutionaries outside the cult) were disappointed by what went down at Māyāpur.

Subsequently in this presentation, we shall present details about the assassination of Sulochan in the fourth week of May, 1986. What is mentioned now is just a prelude. Everyone knew that Kīrtanānanda was behind the hit and authorized it. He was a recognized “ISKCON” guru, but this was murder!

It was a scandal that required damage control at a different level. Murder is not what saintly gurus are supposed to be implicated in. Compromise Reform, which turned out to be the 1986 triumphant party, received fresh impetus to rein in wild-card gurus, especially since one of them proved capable of ordering hits on malcontents. Icing opponents was not part of “ISKCON” protocol.

After the assassination of Sulochan, Kīrtanānanda was not institutionally removed as a dīkṣā-guru from “ISKCON.” However, steps were taken by the vitiated G.B.C. to remove him. A G.B.C. representative received a verbal promise from Kīrtanānanda, via a telephone conversation, that he would resign from the G.B.C. (which would also mean that his guru status would be revoked) if he was named as a co-conspirator in indictments for either the murder of Sulochan or Cakraddhārī or both.

Two other gurus were exposed in the summer of 1986. Bhagavan resigned as G.B.C. and left his zone to run away with a female disciple. Rāmeśvara, disguised by a wig and dressed in karmi clothes, was accidentally seen (read, caught) by one of his godbrothers at a Southern California mall holding hands with a female teenager, probably his disciple.

As could only be expected, the Sulochan murder shook up the whole of the movement. The North American Temple Presidents (NATPA) called for an emergency meeting in Chicago, mostly to request (read, demand) that Kīrtanānanda be removed from “ISKCON.”

In the wee hours of May 22^nd, 1986, Sulochan had parked and turned off the engine of his Dodge van (which he slept in) near an abandoned trestle bridge within a mile of Watseka Avenue. This was the chief avenue of “ISKCON” action in L. A., and the temple complex was located on it. There is evidence that he had enjoyed himself at the house of one of his godbrothers, who lived on a street close to the temple. The man who would murder him had discovered Sulochan’s van parked at that godbrother’s house; he was prepared to find the best spot for an ambush when Sulochan decided to call it a night and drive away somewhere nearby.

At zero dark fifty-seven in Culver City, California on the night of May 22^nd, Sulochan was sitting in the driver’s seat of his old Dodge van. According to Doktorski’s research (in a previous book), he was rolling a joint. Unknown to the manhunters pursuing him, Sulochan had given up his campaign against Kīrtanānanda and the vitiated G.B.C., which still backed the “Bhaktipada.” While living in the mountains near Badger, Sulochan had found a new devotee girlfriend. Her mother, who backed his cause, approved of him, a handsome, thirty-three year old man, who was also well built and interested in starting a family.

He saw no hope in getting his children back, and he no longer was interested, either sexually or otherwise, in his former wife, who was fully dedicated to his arch-nemesis, Kīrtanānanda. That “ISKCON” guru had started the whole ball rolling by, without Sulocan’s consent, initiating his wife against his will. Sulochan was now going to start a new life, but the demigods had other plans.

The astral situation at that time was extremely inauspicious. The Moon was conjunct malefic Ketu in Libra. The lunar phase was the third worst possible: The fourteenth tithi of the waxing Moon. It was night time, and evil planets are stronger at night than during the day.

At zero dark fifty-seven on May 22^nd, malefic Mars was in the twelfth, the house of loss. The ascendant (Capricorn) was ruled by retrograde Saturn in the sign of revenge, Scorpio. Saturn was casting his full seventh house aspect on the Sun, who was lord of the eighth, the house of death. The Moon was fully under the aspect of Rahu.

Mercury is the planetary karaka for writing and communication. For most of 1985, he was not combust and working for the young man, but that night Budha was completely wiped out by the Sun. Sulochan had lost his mojo. As a result, his sporadic brilliance as a writer was compromised, and he had descended into intoxication, ruled by Rahu.

Sulochan had transformed his attack on Kīrtanānanda to that of becoming a vociferous critic of the zonal ācāryas, including Rāmeśvara. Rāmeśvara had hatchet men, and his bodyguards were similar (in their killer mentalities) to the wicked enforcers which Kīrtanānanda had employed at his Moundsville prison compound in West Virginia. One of those manhunters, a Vietnam vet named Thomas Drescher, was a disciple of Kīrtanānanda; his Vedic name was Tīrtha. He was there in Culver City that night. He had tracked his prey and was ready to act.

Kīrtanānanda and Rāmeśvara had reasons to be paranoid about Sulochan, but that is a long story. Sulochan was now in Rāmeśvara’s zone, within striking range. Rāmeśvara had warned Sulochan that he would be “dead meat” if he did not return all of Prabhupāda’s letters, copies of which he had obtained by surreptitious means through the agency of a godbrother who had access to them. Sulochan was not going to give any of those back, especially since potent excerpts from them were the basis of his upcoming expose, The Guru Business, which your host speaker had edited for him the previous summer.

The wrong idea that the Raman Reti room conversation of May 28^th, 1977 had allegedly established eleven Successors to Prabhupāda would be exposed by Sulochan via his commentaries on the partial transcript of that room conversation. He would accomplish far more than that in his book, which was on the verge of being published. He would not live to see it, because he would be assassinated that night, nine years later (almost to the date) of that important room conversation in India.

In Chapter Twelve, ENE reveals the following:

“Sulochan began writing a book about his findings, but he discovered he was not a writer. He badly needed an editor. . . Sulochan contacted a brahmin godbrother who was not only highly regarded as a scholar but also as one who had battled against the zonal acharyas in 1979: Kailasa-Chandra dasa. The two traveled together in Sulochan’s van for three months during the summer of 1985, during which time Kailasa-Chandra edited Sulochan’s manuscript, The Guru Business.” 8

Sulochan fancied himself a ksatriya or warrior, but he was no match at any level to Drescher. Tīrtha was an accomplished killer in Southeast Asia, had already murdered a devotee (Cakraddhārī) at the Moundsville compound, was being paid to kill Sulochan, and had back-up with him when he advanced upon Sulochan’s van that night. Sulochan had ran his mouth off about the violence he hoped to carry out on gurus (but never did). Despite his change of mentality, the lag effect of that was still attached to him on the psycho-physical plane. He had to pay the price for it.

As already mentioned, the planets were unfavorable to him that Wednesday, which was ruled by Mercury, who was completely wiped out. ENE mentions Sulocan’s effort as follows:

“Sulochan began a smear campaign against Kīrtanānanda and the other zonal gurus and went so far as to suggest that violence was an acceptable method for removing the zonal acharyas from power. Sulochan, who had a kshatriya spirit, sharpened his marksmanship skills on a target range by shooting a pistol at a picture of his arch-nemesis: Kīrtanānanda.” 9

Shared by ENE, here is a direct quote from Sulochan:

“Sulochan explained, ‘Kīrtanānanda lived by violence. He personally authorized so much physical violence against his godbrothers and godsisters that it was no surprise to us that his punishment also came by violence. . . . By failing to rectify themselves at New Vrindaban on September 16^th, these gurus more or less declared open season on themselves and they have no one else to blame. It is only a matter of time before each guru is dead or wishes he were. This is just a fact of life. Their fate is sealed by their own actions.’” 10

There are indications that a number of American temple presidents were aware that Sulochan wanted to execute mortal force against what remained of the original eleven zonals. In turn, some of those gurus wanted the same fate for Sulochan. In ENE, Rāmeśvara is quoted as follows:

“Sulochan should be given a new body.” 11

An accomplished female disciple of Rāmeśvara, who worked at the ISKCON Public Relations Dept. under Mukunda (in Los Angeles), had, somehow or other, negotiated a friendly relationship with Sulochan whenever he was in the area. She is quoted in ENE as follows:

“As far as I know, Sulochan wanted to kill all of the gurus.” 12

Ravīndra was of the opinion, not without evidence, that Sulochan had shifted his focus of violence to Rāmeśvara from Kīrtanānanda, who was heavily guarded at his Moundville compound. ENE quotes Professor Blueblood as follows:

“He wanted to assassinate Kīrtanānanda but decided it was too hard, and instead said he was going to try and assassinate Rāmeśvara, so there were Rāmeśvara security agents kind of following this guy around. He was in disguise going from place to place, and then some people came from New Vrindaban to help them. One of them was a guy by the name of Tīrtha, who had been trained as a killer by the United States government in Vietnam, so he had valuable skills.” 13

Drescher creeped up on Sulochan’s van undetected and fired two bullets into his head at point blank range. Later, he would comment that brain material slowly oozed out from the holes made by the bullets similar to what was depicted in “The Deer Hunter.” It is certain that Sulochan died instantly and possibly became a ghost, as sudden and violent death often results in the astral body remaining on Earth. No conditioned soul can know for sure about that, but it is certain that Sulochan let his guard down . . . and that carelessness cost him his life.

Let us summarize Chapter Twelve as follows: There were key entities (read, sub-movements) and personalities which or who dominated “ISKCON” throughout 1986. The question is: Was there one person who was integral to, or implicated in, all of them? There was all that centered around Bhāvānanda, and we have covered much of that. Was there a prominent personality who worked to not only expose him but to make him the centerpiece of discontent?

There was the Guru Reform Movement. Did one person not only dominate it but, by his position papers, more or less inaugurate it? There was the North American Temple Presidents Association (NATPA). Was there one president who was most prominent in it?

There was the vitiated G.B.C.. It added a new member the previous year, who then was privy to what was going on in its contentious meetings. Who was that special individual? Did he also qualify in the other categories just mentioned?

The G.B.C. made a substantial number of new initiating gurus in the Spring of 1986. Was there one of them who got preliminary approval to be an “ISKCON” dīkṣā-guru the year before and then got fully rubber stamped as guru by the Commish in 1986?

Taking into account all of these lateral octaves operative in “ISKCON” in that fateful year, is there one man—and one man only—who was integrally involved in every single one of them?

The answer is in the affirmative, and you all know that answer. That fellow was THE MAN in “ISKCON” in 1986. He was at the top of the institution’s turtle tank. His name and title is Professor William Deadwyler III, a.k.a., Ravīndra Svarupa das adhikārī.

Over and above all of these inclusions, this man accomplished something else. You could argue that he did so the following year in 1987, but, to a very significant extent, he actually accomplished its leading edge, without question, in 1986. He changed “ISKCON.” Kali-yuga required a change, and Professor Blueblood was Kali’s agent in order to accomplish it. Ravīndra was the inspiration, the seed, and the director of the collegiate compromise, The Second Transformation.

The details of how this came about will be discussed in next month’s presentation by your host speaker, which will center on 1987. Yet, it behooves me now to mention that The Second Transformation was a complete disaster in terms of any hope of Prabhupāda’s international movement returning to square one.

There was a chance for this in 1986. That chance was snuffed out by Professor Blueblood. He wanted a kinder, gentler “ISKCON” free from zonal tyrants. He accomplished that with his collegiate compromise, but he did so by ignoring this obvious truth: A bogus guru cannot transmit a genuine Vaisnava initiation.

We shall cover all of it threadbare next month. Compromise Reform was the winner in 1986, and that fact did not change the next year. Compromise Reform was Ravīndra’s baby, and he took full responsibility for it.

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. “ . . . if there is lack of knowledge, or if there is forgetfulness, everything will be spoiled in time.”14 It didn’t take much time for ISKCON to be converted into “ISKCON.” It has been a semblance of a spiritual institution for decades. A movement where victory in the turtle tank and political competition to fulfill personal ambition replaces advancement through the perfect knowledge is what “ISKCON” is now. SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTES

1. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors: p. 261, Kindle Edition;

2. Ibid, p. 262;

3. Ibid, p. 263;

4. Ibid, p. 264;

5. Ibid, p. 266;

6. Due to its penchant for secrecy, none of us knew that Trivikram had not technically been appointed a dīkṣā-guru. We all thought that he was, but as a practical matter, it did not mean much that he was put on a one-year waiting list. He and Atreya were thick as thieves, and they acted in tandem. As such, we considered both of them to be dīkṣā-gurus in 1986, and they did or said nothing to disabuse us of that notion, although only Atreya actually received that guru appointment that year;

7. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors, p. 267, Kindle Edition;

8. Ibid, p. 269;

9. Ibid, pp. 269-70;

10. Ibid, p. 270. Indirectly, this quote alludes to the violence that Michael Shockman severely hurt Kīrtanānanda with in late 1985 via a rebar from a construction site at the Moundsville compound;

11. Ibid, p. 271;

12. Ibid, p. 271 (Nandini);

13. Ibid, p. 271;

14. Letter to Hansadutta, 6-22-72.

To listen to Kailāsa Candra dāsa recite his review and commentary on Chapter Thirteen of Eleven Naked Emperors, go to: YouTube.

HARIḤ OṀ NAMAḤ

The root issues of why and how Prabhupāda’s branch of the Hare Kṛṣṇa movement was converted into an abhāsa-dharma is analyzed every month in our presentations. This month, we shall shed more light upon that make-show. Today’s analysis centers on dogma, pretension, and the avidyā feeding that dogma and pretension. It is a procedural avidyā before it becomes cult dogma. Once the dogma is believed, it continues to exacerbate a major institutional delusion in “ISKCON.” Since the mid-Eighties, this delusion is at the core of maintaining the cult’s pretense of offering genuine gurus and genuine initiations.

People who are still under the spell of the “ISKCON” version of mahā-māyā mistake dogma for truth, and their progress in spiritual life is thus bollixed. Some of them push all their chips to the center of the table. Doing so, they identify with the deviated cult out of fanaticism.

Once an unfortunate seeker of the Absolute Truth gets sucked into the cult’s vortex, there is little chance of escape. There is dogma in “ISKCON” which serves as the mortar to hold its wonder wall together. It works to keep each of its countless so-called initiated disciples in illusion, adrift without a spiritual rudder. Although there are exceptions, for the most part, that dogma covers over the fringies, also.

The “ISKCON” narrative of what went down since Prabhupāda’s disappearance is deeply flawed. Yet, its dedicated followers, all with a poor fund of knowledge and meager discriminatory power, are unable to realize this fact. The dogma, buttressed by unsound sentiments, was promulgated aggressively during the heady zonal ācārya era. Because that particular broken arrow—which we rightly term The First Transformation—derailed the bhakti train from the tracks (at very high speed), it soon enough led to an intense internecine war within the organization.

We have been discussing that contentiousness in our recent presentations, and we shall continue to do so this month. Rationalizing dogma becomes easy as long as even a couple of major misconceptions are believed to be true by everyone in an occult institution. “ISKCON” is just such an institution under just such a universal spell. Undeniably, massive, mind-boggling pretension was at the heart of the zonal ācārya era.

Yet, “ISKCON” is warping the actual historical narrative when it promulgates the belief that pretension disappeared after the temple presidents, via the Guru Reform Movement led by Ravīndra Svarūpa, finally got over in 1987. He and his comrades spread the illusion that they had overcome pretension after the eleven great pretenders, along with some later additions, were all busted down.

In the course of the zonal pretense, all of Ocean’s Eleven had taken constant exalted worship as so-called mahā-bhāgavats. It was utterly undeserved. The T. P.s [Temple Presidents], finally triumphed, believing that they were justified to then carry on the organization via a new dispensation, unimpeded by all those who had previously imitated Prabhupāda. However, although mostly unrecognized, pretension remained in their new paradigm.

What it did was morph into an imitation which was and is different at the outer circles, but not at the core. As the outrageous zonal era segued into the contentious mid-Eighties, some “ISKCON” leaders, and even some rank-and-file devotees, began to think that the godmen— supposedly appointed by Prabhupāda as dīkṣā-gurus and worshiped as uttama-adhikārīs on lavish seats in front of open, Deities in temple rooms— did not deserve the hype and adulation.

The developing internecine war was then in its incipient stage, and those who would become its stalwarts on the reform side of the coin (Ravīndra, in particular) could not fail to see signs that the leaders at the top echelon, the high-flying gurus, were not expert in spiritual science. How could they be? If they were, then that schism with Gouḍīya Mutt would not have, and could not have, transpired.

Remember: “ISKCON” relied heavily on Gouḍīya Mutt—one of its prominent leaders, in particular—for what was implemented in the zonal imposition during its incipient stage. By 1984, that scheme was floundering. Actual experts in the knowledge of cause and effect, what to speak of spiritual science, could not have drafted anything for the movement that would so soon wind up in such dire straits.

Real transcendental experts, on the other hand, produce successful results according to a plan which is in accordance with Providence. What was the result of the zonal era? It would not have collapsed if it had produced excellent or even good results in spreading pure Kṛṣṇa consciousness, if it was actually guided by very perfect men. It didn’t, and it wasn’t, and it cratered under the weight of its own contradictions.

Spiritual master in “ISKCON” was, and still is, determined by the vitiated G.B.C. As such, all of the gurus (post-Prabhupāda) are institutional gurus; this includes the eleven great pretenders who kicked off the massive show bottle. In the late Seventies and the first half of the Eighties, they were expert only in playing the governing body and climbing the latticework of its bureaucracy. They were trained and ruthless cult manipulators, granted, but more than this was needed in order to prevail during the fierce internecine war that they seeded.

In our ongoing review of Eleven Naked Emperors by Henry Doktorski (henceforward ENE), we have now reached Chapter Thirteen. Mostly, it centers around the fateful year of 1987. Last month, we covered 1986, the full emergence of the war. The appropriate title of ENE Chapter Thirteen this month is: “Fall of the Zonal Ācāryas.”

It details how Compromise Reform got over and successfully busted down the so-called uttama-adhikārīs to the alleged status of madhyam-adhikaris. The great pretenders who did not manifest egregious falldowns during this new “ISKCON” transformation (and who cooperated with Compromise Reform) were now supposed to be seen as madhyam-adhikārīs, but they were nowhere near that level.

Directly related to this will be “ISKCON” dogma manifested in the form of a major misconception (avidyā) about the spiritual science of bhakti-yoga. Just as importantly, like the zonal imposition, it was also a pretension. “ISKCON” since 1987 has been dependent upon its loyalists fully buying into this particular avidyā. It is the not-so-hidden linchpin of what afforded The Second Transformation to gain needed traction in order to last as long as it did, which was not very long.

In 1987, T.K.G. removed his Vyāsāsanas from all of the centers in his zones, indicating that he should only be shown the respect due a madhyama-adhikārīs. He gave up the pretense of being a God-realized mahā-bhāgavat, and it was an effective move. He knew which way the wind was blowing, and he acted accordingly. The chief scribe of the cult almost immediately followed his lead, having indicated even previous to it that he no longer wanted to be seen and worshiped as an uttama-adhikārī.

In the same time frame, ENE reveals that Harikeśa, delegating his power and autocratic style to his own men, transitioned four new gurus in his zone from sannyāsīs and a brahmacārī. This was an unprecedented move, part and parcel of the reactions which were breaking bad for the zonals who did want to be ostracized after being busted down. The gurus who were most shrewd made those adjustments, setting the stage for Compromise Reform to prevail in the Spring of 1987.

In the Sixties, politically inclined hippies, rejecting the host culture in America, often turned to Marxism as their positive alternative; they were located in urban centers, particularly in New York City. They concluded amongst themselves that the struggle against Capitalism was not how the final battle against the most potent enemy would ensue. As such, their infighting was fierce, because they all believed that the final fight would be between Socialism and Communism.

Similarly, the writing was on the wall in early 1987: The battle with the high-flying gurus was not the essence of this “ISKCON” internecine war. The battle against Status Quo and Status Quo Modified still had to be fought to its destined end, but it was clear how it would play out and which party would win. Reform would triumph, and that became more and more evident by the day. Instead, the essential battle was, in 1987, between Compromise Reform and Radical Reform.

ENE describes this as follows:

“The Radical Reformers argued that ISKCON should return to ‘Square-One,’ to the time before the zonal acharyas took office after Bhaktivedānta Swāmi Prabhupāda’s disappearance. They advocated making all previous initiations by the zonal ācāryas null and void. They said that all the thousands of disciples of the new gurus should be notified that their initiations had been conducted under false pretenses; that they had actually not received initiation into the sampradāya.

The Radical Reformers also insisted that the zonal acharyas who had taken over the G.B.C. in 1978 and who were still in office—Jayapataka, Bhavananda, Hridayananda, Satsvarupa, Harikesh, Tamal Krishna, Ramesvara, Bhagavan and Kirtanananda—should be stripped of their guru-ship and disciplined. For nearly a decade, the reformers claimed, these pretenders, with the authorization of the G.B.C., had instituted their own totalitarian regime and persecuted the actual brahmins in ISKCON, such as Pradyumna, Yasodanandan, Kailasa-Chandra and others, who had so bravely tried to confront the charlatans and keep Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda’s movement on track.” 1

In the same time frame, one of three gurus initially expanded from Ocean’s Eleven–when it shared the franchise for the first time in 1982–chastised the vitiated G.B.C.. ENE offers a part of his critique as follows:

“An ISKCON guru and G.B.C. member, Panchadravida Swami—who had been ordained as a guru in 1982—advocated removing every single G.B.C. member and electing entirely new members. All the leaders, including himself, he claimed, had a hand in corruption. Panchadravida Swami explained: ‘I want to apologize to the devotees for what I consider was a great injustice perpetrated over the last nine years. As a G.B.C. and guru I can’t absolve myself of responsibility for many of the injustices that devotees have experienced. . . for the last nine years, ISKCON underwent a shift from being a very scientific and scripturally presented movement to a personality cult. . . We established elaborate worship of ordinary persons. We’ve worshiped people who are more astute politically than spiritually. By establishing that kind of worship for persons who aren’t pure, we diminish Prabhupāda’s position.’” 2

The wheels were coming off, but the vitiated G.B.C. would not be converted to reform without a fight. Their corruption was being exposed by insiders, but point man had to be punished. It expelled Païcadravida from “ISKCON” in the Spring of 1987. As a result, he soon joined the fledgling Neo-Mutt adversary.

As noted previously, the insurgents in “ISKCON” became commonly known as the Guru Reform Movement. Ironically, this anomalous title would be modified and adapted less than a decade later by one of the Rittvik groups. The Guru Reform Movement of late 1986 wanted to establish a committee in order to check the power of the vitiated G.B.C.. Astonishingly, they were able to do just that in the last month of 1986, and it had quite the bite during the fateful next year. As per ENE:

“Finally, after nearly three years of struggle, the guru reformers constituted a formidable force against the guru-controlled G.B.C.. A fifty-man committee consisting of temple presidents, sannyāsīs and other senior Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda disciples who opposed the zonal acharyas, was formed at the December 1986 North American G.B.C. meeting in Dallas, Texas. Tamal Krishna Goswami was elected chairman. Besides being ambitious and determined, Tamal Krishna was a superb administrator and political strategist. He saw the fall of the zonal acharyas coming, and in an effort to retain as much power as possible, he jumped ship to join the side he thought would win: the guru reformers.” 3

Remember: The temple presidents had the gurus by the short hairs. The gurus were big-time enjoyers. They exploited more psycho-physical pleasure than anyone else in the world, because they received so much adulation not afforded to anyone else, anywhere. They obviously needed to keep their disciples in the “ISKCON” institutional system, if for no other reason than to be able to secure a portion of the pick their men and women brought in daily.

It was up to the temple presidents to train (this word is used in a loose sense here, obviously) thousands of new people, keeping them loyal to “ISKCON.” Such loyalty necessarily entailed adherence to their gurus, supposedly on the highest level of purity and realization. ENE describes more about the Guru Reform Movement and its fifty-man committee in the showdown at Māyāpur, 1987:

“The fifty-man committee dominated the agenda at the 1987 G.B.C. meetings in Māyāpur. The committee discussed a suggestion that the entire G.B.C. resign and new members be elected, but it was rejected “due to the consideration that Srila Prabhupāda’s mood was more to reform someone than to throw him out.” However, the fifty-man committee succeeded in suspending the G.B.C., an amazing feat . . .” 4

From what I heard through the grapevine, the committee targeted the most powerful of the gurus, the right tactic in order for their strategy (to overthrow the zonals) to succeed. Although it is not mentioned in ENE, your host speaker heard that they jettisoned Hṛdayānanda first, and he was very resentful about it when later re-instated.

However, the committee had its momentum checked when it came to attacking Harikeśa, because he was very influential and wealthy. He threatened to start his own movement. It appeared that he could pull central and eastern Europe completely out of the “ISKCON” sphere, so the committee had to back off when it came to him.

Nevertheless, please note that the Guru Reform Movement being able to suspend the G.B.C.—no matter for how short the length of time it was—is mind-boggling. Prabhupāda did this in the first half of April, 1972, and fifteen years later it was done again. These suspensions proved (and still prove) that the G.B.C. was never endowed with absolute power. If it was, it could never have been suspended or checked in that way.

The G.B.C. was supposed to be the ultimate managing authority in the movement, but it only held that status for as long as it remained bona fide. By 1987, it had been severely deviated for at least nine years. It was never the ultimate spiritual authority, although it appeared to be so by its actions of appointing . . . or not vetoing . . . or voting in spiritual masters through ever-changing, ecclesiastical devices (read, concoctions).

Chapter Thirteen devotes substantial font space to the North American temple presidents and their meeting in Towaco, New Jersey just prior to Māyāpur, 1987. There is almost no record of it, because they wanted it that way. Their penchant for secrecy had been assimilated by them from their leaders at the top echelon. However, some information about that Jersey mini-conclave did eventually surface.

We are simply going to summarize it. It marked the final battle between Compromise Reform and Radical Reform. One of the chief leaders of the latter group did not attend, and that contributed in a major way to the outcome. Ravīndra and his comrades (the Bolsheviks) prevailed against the Mensheviks. Not only did they prevail by their numbers, but the most powerful scholar was on their side.

In Chapter 13, what went down in this smaller battle within the bigger battle was analyzed by a former disciple of Hansadutta as follows:

“According to the compromise, . . . the remaining ‘zonals’ would keep the ‘disciples’ they had acquired under the blatant lie that they had been appointed by Srila Prabhupāda, and a number of guru ‘reform’ movement leaders like Ravīndra Svarupa dasa and Atreya Rishi dasa would abandon any appearance of principle by also joining the make-show as an ecclesiastical ‘guru.’ This Machiavellian pragmatism is unfortunately how things often get done in the G.B.C.. It isn’t . . . trying to do what is pure or even according to Srila Prabhupāda. Although his instructions are selectively invoked, when the going gets tough, it is too often what is going to keep the powerful in power and keep the mass of devotees bewildered about how the G.B.C. really does things so that they will keep producing the results of new members and money.

In this way, the blatant abuses and deviations of the zonal acharyas were only replaced by a lesser evil. The remaining ‘zonals’ who had the real power of many so-called ‘disciples’ and temples were forced to come down a notch or two and largely surrender the movement’s management . . . Then the new bosses painted a new face on the fading patient by ostracizing the more strident reformers, quieting the more dependent with assurances of ‘righting the wrongs,’ and ushering in a less autocratic, collegial, far more Western and warm and fuzzy ‘ISKCON.’” 5

All of this was courtesy Professor Blueblood. It is virtually certain that he had been in consultation with some of the “ISKCON” leaders still backing the original gurus. By Towaco, at least two of them (mentioned already) had signaled a willingness to accept a compromise. Ravīndra proposed compromise with arguments against rejecting post-Prabhupāda initiations. He warned that the schism it would cause was not worth the solution it would produce, and the majority bought into that argument.

Radical reform lost at Towaco. As such, the new Guru Reform Movement came into Māyāpur, 1987 with a strong and united momentum. They came in free from the radicals formerly in their group, because the few who still believed in Radical Reform no longer had a runway.

The torch was passed to a new transformation. Four prominent sannyāsīs–embroiled in scandals and all initiating gurus and influential members of the vitiated G.B.C.–either resigned or were removed from office. Damage control was still in vogue at the 1987 Māyāpur conclave, which would pass many resolutions. The Second Transformation of “ISKCON” was now the wave of the future, but for how long would its collegiate compromise last? And what was it really based upon?

What may surprise some of you is that, at root, it was based upon the same things The First Transformation of the zonals was based upon: It was based upon both institutionalism (in an even stronger way than during the zonal era), and it was still based upon pretension. The pretension of cutting obnoxious mahā-bhāgavat profiles employed by the zonals was eradicated. However, it was REPLACED by another pretension.

TATTVAMASI

It was based upon the idea that the zonals institutionally being busted down to madhyam-adhikārī actually qualified them as being madhyams. In point of fact, they had no such qualification. It was based upon the pretension that all of those initiating gurus added to the cult in the Eighties were madhyams. None of those pretenders were madhyams. It has always been a pretension that they were. None of them were anywhere near being genuine madhyam-adhikaris.

Since the mid-Eighties, it has been integral to “ISKCON” dogma that its gurus are madhyams. There is no substance to that whatsoever. Since then, they have all been pretender madhyam-adhikaris. A madhyam-adhikari initiated by Prabhupāda can become a dīkṣā-guru only if he receives Prabhupāda’s order to initiate new disciples. A madhyam-adhikārī is an advanced transcendentalist. We shall discuss this in detail later in our presentation. A madhyam guru is never an institutional guru.

Here are some of the resolutions passed at 1987 māyāpur:

1. Kīrtanānanda Swāmi was expelled and henceforward forbidden to participate in any ISKCON functions;

2. Bhāvānanda had his status as dīkṣā-guru suspended (again);

3. Bhagavān and Rāmeśvara (each no longer recognized as a swami but as “dasa” in the resolution) were suspended as ISKCON gurus;

4. Only Prabhupāda’s Vyāsāsan was allowed in any ISKCON temple;

5. The only guru-pūja allowed would be for Prabhupāda;

6. ISKCON gurus could not be worshiped by their disciples in the temples;

7. Honorific titles for gurus could not be used in public forums;

8. The term “Ācārya” could not any longer be used for ISKCON gurus;

9. Only Prabhupāda’s name would be chanted in temple kīrtans. 6

Your host speaker is quoted as follows in Chapter 13:

“On the other hand, the radical reformers were saddened by what they saw as the victory of ecclesiasticism and the defeat of philosophy. Kailasa-Chandra noted, ‘Sahajiyas cannot be allowed to keep their so-called initiated disciples if they superficially clean up their act. Pretender mahā-bhāgavats cannot retroactively be accorded the status of advanced devotees—and know it for a fact that any Vaishnava madhyama-adhikārī is an advanced devotee—simply because they jack down the opulence of their worship and say that their godbrothers and godsisters are no longer obliged to also serve and love them as gurus.’” 7

ENE quotes Yaśodānandan prabhu, an important initiated disciple of Prabhupāda (and formerly an influential sannyāsī), as follows:

“The current G.B.C. still maintains as members some of the ‘unrepentant architects’ of the zonal-acharya system. . . . And yet we are being told that a reform took place in 1986-1987 and that everything is back to normal. I question whether or not this was a merely cosmetic reform, while some of the masterminds and ‘unrepentant architects’ merely toned down their style, even though their ‘acharya ambitions’ had been clearly unmasked. Is the G.B.C. of our movement really serious about re-establishing the much-needed integrity of its board? Or are we to sadly conclude that it is simply the same ‘old boys’ network’ with a different gloss?” 8

ENE quotes Nityānanda prabhu, a powerful disciple of Prabhupāda, who single-handedly opened the New Orleans yatra in the Sixties, as follows:

“’Many senior devotees are not at all satisfied with the meager repentances that followed after the fall of the absolute gurus in 1987. From what I have seen, only Satsvarupa Maharaja genuinely regrets his involvement with the G.B.C.-Guru Era of 1978-1987. . . . As far as I know . . . there was little to no public repentance for what a few powerful G.B.C.-Gurus did to nearly destroy Srila Prabhupāda’s movement. Some of them are now gone, and some are still here.” 9

Actually, there has been a complete turnover in the G.B.C. since 1987. As far as functioning gurus from that time are concerned, there are only a handful left. Time changes things.

The ISKCON Shastric Advisory Council is quoted to have warned:

“We should also be aware from the history of other sampradāyas and religions of the real danger of gradual corruption. Even if apparent purity were maintained for some time by a bureaucratic regulating system of authorization, the eternal temptations of misusing the status of guru for self-aggrandizement could ruin the system and the institution. In future generations we, like other sampradāyas, could become burdened with gurus who collect disciples mainly for money and power. Such corruption could occur even while maintaining the external appearance of bureaucratic purity.” 10

ENE, in Chapter 13 at its very conclusion, shares the following analysis by Dhaneśvara Swāmi, a genuinely initiated disciple of Prabhupāda and today an influential preacher:

“’As the highest authority of ISKCON, Srila Prabhupāda was final arbiter (decision maker). His decisions on all matters were the final word. In Srila Prabhupāda’s Last Will and Testament, he wrote that the G.B.C. would be the Ultimate Managing Authority for the entire Society, just as Srila Prabhupāda was during his manifest presence. There is nothing wrong with that. However, again this title (form) has been misinterpreted by the G.B.C., mistaking this phrase to mean that they are both the ‘Ultimate Managers,’ and the ‘Ultimate Authority.’

Thus they think they can do with ISKCON as they see fit (creating substance), while disregarding Srila Prabhupāda’s earlier statements of what ISKCON is meant to be—forgetting that their authority stems from him even to this day. They interpret their title to mean they are equal to Srila Prabhupāda himself, even stating that whatever they say is as if Srila Prabhupāda himself had said it. And beyond that, through this idea of being the ‘ultimate authority’ they attempt to create siddhanta (spiritual principles), contradicting long-established Gaudiya Siddhanta.

Thus many of their ‘laws’ are simply dogma. The most glaring example of this is their idea that all gurus connected with ISKCON must be subordinate to their control, ignoring the fact that the bona fide guru must be a transcendental autocrat. . . . The G.B.C. have failed in every respect to carry out Srila Prabhupāda’s instructions to themselves and for his mission. They have taken charge of Srila Prabhupāda’s ISKCON as if it were their own to do with what they please, rather than acting as fiduciaries carefully protecting what Srila Prabhupāda had entrusted to them, and are in fact acting in opposition to Srila Prabhupāda’s direct instructions.” 11

Dhaneśvara brought up dogma in his analysis. Dogma was also mentioned at the beginning of this month’s presentation. We are, of course, only referring to “ISKCON” dogma. Along with it, continuing pretension was also mentioned earlier. The dogma that replaced the pretension of The First Transformation, of the massive deviation of the zonal ācāryas (and all of the hell it brought to everyone), relied upon, and continues to rely upon, the following procedural avidyā:

THE DUMBING DOWN OF MADHYAMA-ADHIKARI.

We find the description of a madhyam-adhikārī in TLK:

taj joṣaṇād āśv apavarga-vartmani
śraddhā ratir bhaktir anukramiñyati

Cultivating that transcendental knowledge, one quickly advances on the path of liberation. Firm faith, attraction, and devotion will follow in order. (Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 3.25.25, verse 12)

“One who has firm faith in the Supreme Personality of Godhead becomes fixed” (Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 3.25.25, purport)

Also in TLK, we find the following commentary:

“The madhyama-adhikārī. . . wants to see that not a moment is wasted without engagement in Kṛṣṇa consciousness. He is always careful not to spoil life’s valuable time. That is the first qualification of a madhyama-adhikārī.” 13

The komala-śraddhā of the neophyte is not being described here. What is being described is prauddha-śraddhā, firm faith. This is the beginning of madhyama-adhikārī. The madhyam is an advanced guru. He is automatically a śikṣā-guru and a vartma-pradarśaka-guru as soon as he reaches this advanced stage of madhyam, which entails real śraddhā. Firm faith means fixed faith. It means being fixed in buddhi-yoga.

An advanced transcendentalist in the bhakti line has this fixation at the very beginning of madhyam; he progresses from there. You can pick up that he is advanced and perfectly self-controlled by his vibration. He is a special man. The guru must be a very perfect man. The madhyama-adhikārī is a very perfect man.

The uttama is more advanced, but the madhyam can never be compared to the neophyte, who is not qualified to be guru and is not a perfect man. The real path to perfection, as evidenced in the verse quoted above, begins at real śraddhā, which is firm faith.

The institutional guru is never fixed. Institutional guru means bogus guru. Organized religion, when it enters into the outer level of bhakti (and that level is not bona fide), produces fake madhyams. It produces fake gurus who are all institutional gurus. That is all that you get in “ISKCON,” and such has been the case since the mid-Eighties.

Previous to that, you only got fake uttamas, which was more outrageous. That pretense broke down badly in about eight years. Yet, as mentioned previously, the pretense simply transferred itself to fake madhyams, appointed or not vetoed or forced to wait in queue to be approved to be institutional gurus by the vitiated G.B.C..

Always remember that the vitiated G.B.C. has its fingerprints all over the transformations which surfaced out of the ocean of nescience and became intrinsic to the “ISKCON” movement. Ocean’s Eleven were all governing body commissioners. The zonal imposition was overturned by the vitiated G.B.C., after having first authorized it. The collegiate compromise was engineered by the vitiated G.B.C., also. Professor Blueblood was appointed to the vitiated G.B.C. in 1987. And wouldn’t you know, the very next year, Ravīndra Svarupa was elected chairman of the Governing Body.

Since the manifestation of The Second Transformation, the dumbing down of madhyam has become procedural avidyā in the cult. It manifests as “ISKCON” dogma in the form of the belief that “ISKCON” must always have gurus. In point of fact, it has never had any gurus. Its so-called initiated disciples are all cheated, all improperly initiated. The so-called madhyams of “ISKCON” are now the cult’s primary cheaters.

“. . . we have created these G.B.C.. So, they should be very responsible men. Otherwise, they will be punished. They will be punished to become a śūdra. Although Yamarāja is a G.B.C., but he made a little mistake. He was punished to become a śūdra. So those who are G.B.C.’s, they should be very, very careful to administer the business of ISKCON. Otherwise they will be punished.” 14

Genuine gurus are never punished, but bogus gurus are. A genuine madhyama-adhikārī, if he is ordered by Prabhupāda to initiate disciples, will not cheat them. As such, they will not develop resentment against him, recognizing that he is an advanced man who, unless he becomes fully God-realized, can provide only insufficient guidance.

In the absence of any genuine madhyama-adhikārīs in the Western world, the recourse, the āśrama, is the book bhāgavat:

“There are two types of bhāgavatas, namely the book bhāgavata and the devotee bhāgavata. Both the bhāgavatas are competent remedies, and both of them or either of them can be good enough to eliminate the obstacles. . . bhāgavata book and person are identical.” 15

The Ācārya in the true sense of the term is the real Transcendental Autocrat. The disciple of that Transcendental Autocrat follows in his footsteps. From that perspective and in that sense, his direction is as good as the Ācārya’s. The madhyam is an ācārya as a regular guru:

“When I order, ‘You become guru,’ he becomes regular guru. That’s all. He becomes disciple of my disciple. That’s it.” 16

Prabhupāda wanted all of his men to become regular gurus. He expected this from his leaders, in particular. When the pronoun “he” is used for the first time in this concise quote (above), it refers to Prabhupāda’s initiated disciple being a regular guru. When that pronoun is used for the second time, it refers to the newcomer who that regular guru initiates. Prabhupāda wanted regular gurus. They are, by quality and definition, all madhyama-adhikārīs . . . and they are all very perfect men.

They are like monitors in class, teaching assistants working under The Professor, The Ācārya, to guide newcomers up the ladder of devotional service through perfect spiritual science. The man who has attained niṣṭhā in buddhi-yoga can certainly guide his initiated disciple to his same advanced stage of mind control.

Stop dumbing down madhyam-adhikārī!

The colossal hoax known as the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation is a pseudo-spiritual scam. It is loaded with dogma. It is loaded with avidyā. Its gurus are all still sahajiyās, just not as blatant in their actions as were the previous pretenders. Pretension has not at all been extricated from “ISKCON.” SAD EVA SAUMYA

ENDNOTES

1. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors, pp. 276-277, Kindle Edition;

2. Ibid, p. 277;

3. Ibid, p. 278;

4. Ibid, p. 279;

5. Ibid, pp. 284-85 (Bhakta Eric Johanson);

6. Only a handful of the resolutions are listed here. The numbers assigned to each resolution listed in this article (nine) are not the numbers assigned to any of those specific resolutions by its documentation at Māyāpur, 1987;

7. Doktorski, Henry. Eleven Naked Emperors, pp. 290-91, Kindle Edition;

8. Ibid, p. 291;

9. Ibid, p. 292;

10. Ibid, pp. 294-95;

11. Ibid, p. 297. Please note: Your host speaker has broken down this long quotation into three paragraphs for easier assimilation. The original transmission was in one continuous flow, without any paragraphs;

12. Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 3.25.25, verse translated by your host speaker;

13.Teachings of Lord Kapila, Chapter 15, “Meditation on the Lord’s Transcendental Form”;

14. Platform lecture on Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, June 4, 1974 in Geneva;

15. Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, 1.2.18, purport;

16. Room conversation in Prabhupāda’s quarters with the Governing Body Commission at the Krishna Balaram temple, May 28, 1977.

(to be continued)