This is a Prabhupad Miracle: Fredrick Street Temple, Haight Ashbury, July 1967

His Divine Grace Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada
The chanting ended. Mukunda and I talk
about my AWOL legal problems. “So if you
escaped, and the Army catch you, man,
you better split to India, go stay with
Swamiji in Vrindavan.” “Where’s
Vrindavan?” I ask. “Does the Swami live
there?”
“Vrindavan is the land of Krishna,” he
explains. “It’s where Krishna lived 5,000
years ago. Yes, Krishna was before
Christ. He’s the most beautiful form of
God. Don’t you think so?” I look at the
picture of Lord Krishna playing His flute
and think, yeah! Krishna looks super cool!
I like that God is a musician; and I’m
attracted to meditation through music and
sound. In fact, that’s really what my band,
the Misunderstood, was experimenting
with to some amateurish degree.
“Swamiji is coming soon,” Mukunda
reminds me, “and you will really love him.
He is so genuine and powerful! Swamiji
will know what you should do. He knows
everything; he’s connected to Krishna!”
— I can hardly wait!
A week later I’m finally going to meet
Swamiji at a place called Stinson Beach,
where the swami is staying while
recuperating on route back to India. “So
how you gonna get there?” asks my friend
Harvey. “Does Mukunda have a car?”
“No,” I reply. “Nobody has a car. But he
says that by following Swamiji all things
become easy. So I guess Krishna will
arrange everything.”
Stinson Beach, Marin County, California, July 1967 *
Later we’re standing on the roadside with
our thumbs out, hitchhiking. Lots of cars
pass us, but finally, after some time, a
colorful Volkswagen van full of hippies stops to
pick us up. “See, I told you Krishna would
arrange everything,” Mukunda tells me as
we squeeze inside the crowded van.
Once we arrive at Stinson Beach, the van
stops to let us off at the roadside near the
shore. We both thank the driver for the lift
and start walking towards the beach, “OK,
are you ready to meet Swamiji?” Mukunda
asks. “Let’s go, I can feel him already.”
As we enter through the back gate I can
see effulgent-orange Swamiji standing
and talking with a shaved-head devotee
wearing what looked like a white bed
sheet. I learn later his name is
Kirtanananda. I can’t believe how
physically small and fragile Swamiji looks.
Mukunda introduces me as Rick. I offer
my hand and Swamiji shakes it with a
warm grin.
Swamiji welcomes me inside and offers a
place to sit on the floor. Swamiji sits down
on a bed with his back to the window
overlooking the ocean. I’m sitting on the
floor at his feet. He begins chanting
silently on red-painted wooden beads
given by Malati, which will be for me to
use.
I sit straight looking intently at Swamiji, as
Mukunda, Kirtanananda and Upendra sit
behind me and chant on rosary beads,
watching the simple ceremony. I look into
Swamiji’s face, so grave and serious and
kind, his lips moving in slow motion as he
chants the entire 108 bead rosary.
“So, your name shall be Hrisikesh! Please
chant ‘Hare Krishna’ Hrisikesh.” he
advises. “Do you know the meaning?”
Swamiji asks me. “Of Krishna?” “Of your
name, Hrisikesh, it is name of Krishna! It
means, Master of the Senses.”
“Thank you, Swamiji!” I tell him sincerely.
“I’m so happy to meet you and get
initiated.”
I hate to bother Swamiji with my problems
but Mukunda did say that he could solve
them, so I continue: “I have to tell you that
I’ve run away from the Army draft and
don’t know where to go. I can never go
back home. I’m a fugitive now.” Swamiji
looks deeper than the center of the Earth.
“Yes, I have heard.”
“Mukunda said you could guide me!” I
say, with the guilty grin that only a person
AWOL can possibly muster. “Hmmm...
Then you should come to live in
Vrindavan.”
“Can I go with you? I don’t have a
passport, Swamiji!” I ask. “Don’t worry,”
my new Spiritual Master replies. “Chant
maha-mantra! Krishna will help you!
Please believe in Krishna and His Name!
He will save you from any danger and
help you reach Vrindavan. It is the most
holy place on Earth. You can come as
soon as possible. The address of Radha
Damodhar is in my book, Srimad
Bhagavatam. Please come.”
“Yes, Swamiji! I’ll go as soon as I get a
passport and ticket.” He looks mercifully
upon me, as I offer my obeisances and
belief in him.
Haight Ashbury, Summer 1967
We’re sitting in the living room and
conversing with friends. Paulette’s gone
out to buy some groceries. “Paulette really
likes you,” says Sue. “I can’t believe she
got you that ticket to India.” “Yeah, just
two days until I leave. I gotta split fast. I’m
sure the Feds are looking for me.”
Harvey
gives me a hundred bucks to get to
Vrindavan from Delhi, just in case. “I plan
to stay with Swamiji and live with him. I
won’t need money after that. Mukunda
says the devotees don’t care about
money. He says that Krishna protects His
devotees, and now I am a devotee, so I
am protected from any danger. Now
nothing can harm me. Don’t you think so,
Harv?”
As if on cue, there’s a hard knock on the
door. Harvey starts to get up. “It’s
probably Paulette.” “No sweat,” I tell him,
“I’ll get it.” I’m closest to the door, which
has a slide chain lock. I open the door the
length of the slide chain, then, BAM! The
entire door comes crashing open and the
room is filled with plain clothes and
uniformed police officers. “This is the
police!” the head COP shouts, showing
his badge. “You’re all under arrest!” I
glance at Harvey and he looks back at me
like DOOM.
After they read us our rights, we’re all
handcuffed together, marched outside and
loaded out into a paddy wagon waiting on
the curb.
San Francisco City Jail 1967
Five days later we are still in a jail cell. It’s
crowded with about 50 hippies, all busted
for various hippy activities. “Shit, Harv,
we’ve been in here five days already and
nada,” I complain. “I missed my plane.
They even got my passport.”
Harvey is bummed big time. “Not even
arraignment. We got no bail set. This is
bad, Rick.”
I have to agree that he’s right. Things look
about as bad as they can get. Now the
cops have my passport in their hands
they’re sure to find out my identity and
then I’ll
be facing Army desertion charges as well.
“You said Swamiji told you that Krishna
would save you,” points out Harvey
sarcastically. “So how’d you end up
here?” “I believe in Swamiji, and I hope
Krishna will save me,” I reply. “That’s what
he said, and that’s my only hope.”
As we continue to sit there, hour after
hour, I wonder what happened to Paulette.
She must have been freaked out when
she arrived back at the pad and found
we’d all been busted. I
don’t know where she could be. Maybe
she got arrested too and is stuck in the
women’s jail? “What a bummer! This is
real bad, Harvey, real bad.” “Well, maybe
Krishna will come and break you out,” he
says with a straight face.
In the early morning of the next day I’m
woken from a fitful slumber by the sound
of my name being called. “Private Richard
Brown, front and center! Private Brown
front and center, on the double!”
I freeze, acting like I don’t know I’m being
called. Finally the guard opens the door to
the cell walks in and shakes me. “Let’s go!
The MPs are here for you. Let’s go!” I’m
racked with fear. I get up and see two
MPs at the cell door. A white MP and a
colored MP.
The cell guard walks me over to the MPs
at the door. What can I say? “No. This is a
mistake!” “Private Brown!” yells the white
MP in a deep Southern drawl. “You AWOL
from the U-nited States Army!”
“No!” I insist. The black MP holds up a
military photo in my face. “Lookie here,
Private, you da man!”
“No, NO!” I blurt.
“OK, put him in special hold while we go
clear his papers,” the white MP tells the
cell guard. Then he looks at me. “Well,
you going home, soldier, and you’re under
military law! Ya hear! We got a special
place for deserters!”
The two MPs leave and the guard tells
me, “OK, Private, let’s go!” He leads me to
the end of the cellblock and into a small
solitary cell. “Those MPs will be back for
you, Private, so don’t you plan on going
anywhere,” he says as he slams the door
shut and locks it. He’s still laughing to
himself at that little joke as he clomps
down the cellblock.
I sit on the small wall cot and just roll up
into a ball placing my head to my knees,
in a fetal position. I’m in shock. I’m
devastated. What choices do I have left?
NONE! So I turn inward and pray to God
as advised by Swamis. “Oh no, no, no! Oh
Krishna! I believe you will save me if I
chant your name. Now my only hope is
gone. But I can’t live like that. I can’t live!
I’m going to stay rolled into a ball and they
can carry me out. I’m not eating anymore.
I’m not speaking. I’m not moving. Let them
carry me away.”
I imagine Lord Krishna and address Him
in my heart. “Oh Krishna I believe in You, I
believe in your name! I’m just going to
start chanting and never stop, no matter
what they do to this body.”
“Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna
Krishna Hare Hare,
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama
Hare Hare.”
Mentally shattered, I enter into a trance
like mental state induced through intense
dread combined with spiritual peace. And
slowly the name of Krishna begins to
vibrate on my lips.
“Hare Krishna!” In my ears. “Hare Rama!”
I lay on the solitary bunk and continue
chanting nonstop, my head tucked up to
my knees.
“Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna
Krishna Hare Hare,
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama
Hare Hare.”
“Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna
Krishna Hare Hare,
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama
Hare Hare.”
Over and over I vibrate the sound of Lord
Krishna’s Names, the Maha mantra, “Hare
Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna
Hare Hare, Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama
Rama Hare Hare.” I’m lost in the mantra. I
surrender my life to God’s protection. I’m
His.
“Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna
Krishna Hare Hare,
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama
Hare Hare.”
Suddenly another guard comes up to the
door of my cell. “Greenly! Harvey
Greenly? That you? Let’s go, you’re out!”
I’m lost in trance and hardly hear the
words of the new guard.
His voice is garbled in slow motion echo
as I only concentrate on the Maha Mantra,
the chant for deliverance.
“Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna
Krishna Hare Hare,
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama
Hare Hare.”
A voice from Paramatma inside my head
says, “Listen to him, stupid!” So I listen.
His slow motion echo words start to
become more clear and pronounced.
Finally I hear: “You’ve been bailed out.
Let’s go! You want outta here or not?”
Slowly it begins to dawn on me. A miracle!
Could it be real? Saved by Maha mantra?
“Let’s GO! You been bailed out! Move it.”
I quickly unwind my body. He opens the
cell door and I get up, half in a daze of
disbelief. I’m taken – still chanting “Hare
Krishna” nonstop – out of the cell block,
into an elevator, and up to the police
clerk’s counter.
I scribble on a paper. They give me a
wallet – but no passport. I’m still in a
trance of belief and disbelief. There is
Paulette waiting for me. She is shocked to
learn that the Army is right there to take
me away. A total mix up occurred. We
departed the station and drove away only
minutes before the Army and guards had
a blowout. Destination: Vrindavan, India.
This is a Prabhupad Miracle.
* According to “Timeline of Srila Prabhupada’s Life,” Bhaktivedanta Swami stayed in a rented house at Stinson Beach from July 5th to the 8th, 1967.