KCD’s Monthly Podcast – December 2024

Podcast transcription:

On and For the Record

(Ch. 7 Review of Eleven Naked Emperors)

Analysis of Chapter Seven

by Kailäsa Candra däsa

HARIÙ OÀ NAMAÙ

“ . . . 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 Gouòéya Mutt to do just that.

Who were they? They were as follows: Bad boy Satsvarüpa (the so-called Gurupäda), Bad Boy Hådayänanda (the so-called Äcäryadeva), Bad Boy Bhävänanda (the so-called Viñëupäda), Bad Boy Bhagavän (the so-called Gurudeva, a.k.a. “The Sun King”), Bad Boy Hansadutta (the so-called Kåñëa-Kértan Öhäkur), Bad Boy Harikeça (the so-called Viñëupäda), Bad Boy Jayapätäka (the so-called Äcäryapäda), Bad Boy Jayatértha (the so-called Térthapäda), and Bad Boy Rameçvara, 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 Prabhupäda’s orders, desires, and vision for his branch of the Hare Kåñëa movement of Kåñëa 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 Kåñëa 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 Kértanänanda (the so-called Bhaktipäda) and Bad Boy Tamäl Kåñëa (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 Prabhupäda’s disappearance.

There are only three photos of them together. Two of these were group shots of all eleven pretenders surrounding a painting of Prabhupäda. 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 äcärya scam was implemented in the late Spring of 1978.

These men were the taproots of that massive deviation. Kértanänanda was of Anglo-Saxon ethnicity and an 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 Prabhupäda’s disciples were able to recognize it. Technically, Satsvarüpa (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 Kértanänanda 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 mahä-bhägavats.

The Cult of Kértanänanda

ENE spends much font space early via Chapter Seven discussing, in some detail, Kértanänanda’s misdeeds and exploits in the early years of the ISKCON movement. We shall not go over those. Then, ENE presents a quote about Kértanänanda from the leader of the institutional reform movement of the mid-Eighties, Kértanänanda’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 Kértanänanda, 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 Kértanänanda. And Mäyäväda philosophy can also take this form. Prabhupäda 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 Kértanänanda.” 3

ENE later quotes a February, 1987 letter by the same man to Kértanänanda: “Your position in New Vrindaban mirrors that of Srila Prabhupäda 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 Prabhupäda for accepting guru-püja. It was an offense to him. He called it ‘a premature attempt.’ . . . It indicates that your relationship to Srila Prabhupäda 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 Kértanänanda. This was before he labeled himself “Bhaktipäda,” which was just after Prabhupäda’s disappearance. ENE discusses how Kértanänanda 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 Hayagréva, and he preached that the devotees there should give up all the trappings of Vaiñëavism. This was part of his plan to de-Indianize and Westernize the Hare Kåñëa movement.

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

“Kértanänanda 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 Prabhupäda’s Bhagavad-gétä manuscript under his own name, but no publishers believed him when he told them he was the work’s author.

ENE also describes that Kértanänanda began preaching that Prabhupäda had empowered him to be the sole devotee to carry on the Hare Kåñëa movement as Prabhupäda’s Successor. It also mentions that Kértanänanda began chanting Oà Namaù Çivaya during kértans.

Chapter Seven describes how Kértanänanda 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, Kértanänanda and Hayagréva were directed by Prabhupäda 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. Kértanänanda came back and begged forgiveness. Unfortunately for all of us (at least, in the long run) Prabhupäda granted him that with no real penance attached to it. This should not be misinterpreted to mean that I am criticizing Prabhupäda for doing so, as he took many such risks.

Some panned out, and some did not.

Once back, Kértanänanda 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. Prabhupäda had to once again intervene, and in January of 1975, he gave Kértanänanda a severe scolding in Hawaii, mentioned previously.

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

Kértanänanda threw down the gauntlet just after Prabhupäda 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:

“Kailäsa-Chandra commented on Kértanänanda’s audacity . . . ‘Kértanänanda 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 Kértanänanda. 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.

Kailäsa-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. Prabhupäda 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 Kértanänanda and his “ten little Indian boys” had taken a more humble approach and acted as madhyam-adhikäré 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 Prabhupäda on May 28, 1977. All the important G.B.C. men knew that it was important, and they all knew that one or two (Tamäl Krishna and Satsvarüpa were selected) had to broach the difficult and touchy subject of how initiations were to continue after Srila Prabhupäda departed.

Srila Prabhupäda 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 Prabhupäda uttered the term “regular guru.”

The uttama is a liberated acharya, but the madhyama can still serve in the capacity of a dékñä-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-adhikäré 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 dékñä-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-adhikärés, 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 Prabhupäda 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-adhikäré dékñä 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 Prabhupäda 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 Kértanänanda who most effectively prevented anything bona fide being legislated at the G.B.C. asat sabhä 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

Kértanänanda 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 äcärya 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. Kértanänanda 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 äcäryas—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 mahä-bhägavats 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 Kértanänanda 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 Prabhupäda’s movement. He was already angling—like some of the other eleven—to become the Successor in the Hare Kåñëa movement . . . even before Prabhupäda departed manifest physical manifestation. ENE describes it as follows:

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

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

T.K.G. was eventually given sannyäsa 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 sannyäsés, 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 Tamäla 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.. Tamäla 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 “Bhaktipäda,” 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 Prabhupäda was giving a platform lecture after the Janmäñöamé 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 Jayatértha. Knowing of the man’s deviations, they both corralled a sannyäsé 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 sannyäsé 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 sannyäsa 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 sannyäsé wanted to show him a picture of Prabhupäda. As Providence would have it, he had a BTG with a color photo, more or less a double head shot of Prabhupäda 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 Tamäl Krishna’s unfulfilled ambition to become Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupäda’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, ‘Tamäl Krishna is mad.’ In a candid moment of honest self-reflection two years later, Tamäl 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 Prabhupäda 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 Prabhupäda. Note that I do believe Prabhupäda 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 Prabhupäda’s leading disciples (in no small measure due to Tamäl 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 Tamäl Krishna (perhaps in collaboration with Kértanänanda Swami, as evidenced by Tamäl Krishna’s 1978 conversation with Gauridasa Pandit in Vrindaban mentioned earlier) masterminded the conspiracy to: (1) suppress Prabhupäda’s discussions regarding the installation of “regular gurus” . . . in ISKCON, and (2) promote the erroneous idea that Prabhupäda had appointed eleven men to become uttama-adhikäré dékñä-guru zonal acharyas after his passing.” 14

There might have been some collaboration between T.K.G. and Kértanänanda, but I doubt it. As far as Gauridäs 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 Kåñëa 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. Kailäsa 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 Tamäl Krishna Goswami’s deception, which he apparently kept only to himself. The other ritviks might have actually believed that Prabhupäda had appointed them to serve as uttama-adhikäré dékñä gurus after his passing. We should note, however, that none of the eleven refused their so-called appointments as uttama-adhikäré dékñä-guru zonal acharyas. But thinking that they had, by the grace of Prabhupäda, advanced to the perfect stage of uttama-adhikäré. Was that not far-fetched?” 14

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

With the help of Swami B. R. Çrédhar, 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 Prabhupäda’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. Prabhupäda had even predicted that he would become President in America one day.

Like myself, he was not willing to worship any of the zonal äcäryas, 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.
Tamäl Kåñëa introduced it, and Prabhupäda 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 äcärya 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, Kértanänanda and T.K.G., were integral to concocting that hoax and permanently placing it at the foundation of a sahajiyä 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;