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"I'll apologize that I had left out the enclosure you wanted me to send to him."

During this time in Los Angeles I received my most severe chastisement from His Divine Grace. He rang his bell one afternoon, and I entered while he was sitting talking with Srutakirti. I offered obeisances, touching my head to the floor, and then sat on the floor facing him. His room, with its light blue walls, burnt orange curtains, and low desk, had a pleasant atmosphere. And it was always exciting and awe-inspiring to be with Prabhupada. In a matter-of-fact way, Prabhupada asked me about a letter he had dictated to Guru dasa, which I had subsequently typed and mailed to New Delhi. He wanted to know if I had remembered to enclose a carbon copy of his previous letter, which Guru dasa had never received. I thought a moment and then told the truth, "No, I didn't." I was surprised Prabhupada was thinking of such an obscure detail. It seemed amazing that he should all of a sudden refer to this. And by his remembering he had caught me in a mistake. Prabhupada looked seriously concerned. "I wrote in that letter," he said, "that a copy of the previous letter was enclosed. Why did you send out a letter by me saying a letter was enclosed, but with no letter actually enclosed?" I shook my head, showing that I agreed it was wrong. "That is childish," said Prabhupada, "it makes no sense" "I couldn't find the copy in the files," I said defensively. That was a fact; it wasn't in the files kept by the previous secretary, or at least I hadn't been able to find it. I glanced over at Srutakirti and then back to Srila Prabhupada. How far was this going to go? I became more apprehensive. I could sense it wasn't over yet by any means. "This will be a reflection on me," Srila Prabhupada persisted, "that I sent such a childish letter saying something was enclosed but nothing was enclosed." Srila Prabhupada was demanding something more from me. I was aware that he was instructing me on a deeper level, in a basic lesson, but the whole thing was becoming hard to bear. It was hard to see him displeased with me?he whom I lived to please and worship. And it was hard to admit I was wrong. "I forgot," I mumbled. But Prabhupada wasn't satisfied. It was as if he couldn't even believe that I had been so careless. "Why did you do it?" he asked sharply. "How could such a letter be sent?" At these words my eyes began to water and my insides quaked. By this one mistake he was exposing my inadequate devotional attitude and my lack of surrender. Like a sudden rain, tears began to pour down my cheeks. I took out a handkerchief and blew my nose. I wiped the tears, but they kept coming. Srila Prabhupada, unmoved by this wet, emotional display, remained transcendentally angry, sticking to his point. All right, I thought, let me give the honest explanation. Let me confess. "I left the letter out", I said with a choked voice, "because I did not take seriously the duty you have given me. That must be the reason. I am simply not taking these instructions seriously. I am not taking the relationship seriously, therefore I made such a mistake." My negative confession did not pacify him. But now Prabhupada looked at me differently. His eyes were full of feeling and disappointment. This pushed me to an even more distressed state. I was no longer merely sitting in a room with light-blue walls having an official talk with my official spiritual master?I was desperately fighting to keep alive in spiritual life. His sincere disappointment in me was the last thing I wanted. Why do I say that I don't take his instructions seriously? I asked myself. Srila Prabhupada is everything to me! When it dawned on me that Srila Prabhupada was not going to let me go just by my crying or admitting my fault, I fought with my wits in a practical attempt to figure what to do. What I needed was a plan to rectify the wrong. "What I'll have to do," I said, "is send Guru dasa another letter that I will write myself." Now I could sense that my brain was working in the way Prabhupada desired. "I'll apologize that I had left out the enclosure you wanted me to send to him." "Do it," said Prabhupada, and I was at once dismissed. After that scene, Prabhupada maintained no grudge at all, and never referred to the incident again, even when I next saw him. I had learned several lessons. One was to not take my service lightly but to attend to all details with gravity. I also saw that I could not play games with Prabhupada and Krishna, because They would eventually know what I was doing. I had also learned, through the suffering of reprimand, that whenever I made a mistake I should neither defend myself nor uselessly lament but find a practical means of correction. "It's fitting," said one of the G.B.C. men visiting Los Angeles, "that Srila Prabhupada have a sannyasi as his servant." "You are like a Govinda, the faithful, constant servant of Lord Caitanya'" said another devotee. They encouraged me that this was my "eternal" service. "Well, I certainly want to do it eternally," I said. I felt that being Srila Prabhupada's personal servant was a great privilege.


Reference: Life with the perfect master - A personal servants account by Satsvarupa Das Goswami