by Karen Jonson
While Peter S. was on the stand, the defense lawyer asked him how much he had in personal wealth.
“About ten million,” Peter S. said.
The defense lawyer then asked: “Do you have such high regard for Swamiji that you would stake your personal wealth on his return for the trial?”
“Of course,” was Peter’s confident response.
With this pronouncement, Cathy Compton, the DA, saw her opportunity and took it. “Your Honor, I think the defense has just made a motion to raise the bail.”
District Judge Charles Ramsay called her and the defense lawyers into his chambers. By the time the private powwow was over, the defense had agreed to a $10 million dollar bond assurance from Peter S. in exchange for Prakash’s passport. The terms of the agreement stated that if Prakash missed any of the pre-trial hearings or did not show up for his trial, then Peter S. would have to pay the court $10 million. Further, the DA had requested that Prakash’s restrictions with regard to entering Barsana Dham be upheld.
When the judge returned to the bench, he specifically asked Prakash’s lawyers: “Do you agree to these conditions?”
They all agreed. Peter S. and Prakash signed the agreement. As soon as Prakash had his passport in hand, he immediately high-tailed it back to India.
Kate then told me about a newspaper reporter from the Austin American-Statesman, who had tried to contact Shyama. She refused to speak with him, but agreed to take his name and number in case she changed her mind. After we got off the phone, Kate emailed me his name and contact information. I thought I would contact him sometime in the future, when I was not so afraid to speak out publicly against the ashram. Just the thought of speaking directly to the media made me a nervous wreck. I’d heard too many stories of threats and worse that other former devotees had suffered at the hands of these gurus. I figured anything was possible in an organization with so much money, and so many people willing to believe anything and everything the gurus said.
After a brief mental tug-of-war, I realized I had to contact the reporter right away and share what I had just learned from Kate, especially since I knew Prakash would be leaving the country the next day. I was, however, determined to stay anonymous.
At 12:48 p.m., using an email address with a fake name, I sent an anonymous message to the reporter, Eric Dexheimer: “Hello Eric, I’ve been told you are doing research on an article about Barsana Dham and the recent arrest of its founding guru. I can supply you with insider information anonymously, but no interviews. I have information today that is particularly timely. Let me know if you wish to pursue this. Best, OT”
At 12:53 p.m., I received a two-word response: “I do.”
At 1:12 p.m., I wrote: “Will you keep me anonymous?”
At 1:16 p.m., Eric wrote: “Yes, of course. But we’ll have to figure out a way I can confirm what you tell me. If I don’t interview you, how will we communicate?”
At 1:21 p.m., I wrote: “Email is the best way for now. Let’s see how it goes.”
Eric sent me some questions about the ashram and Prakash. He also told me that he had been assigned to write an investigative report about Prakash. His editor wanted him to dig up whatever he could find about the girls’ allegations of abuse.
At 1:44 p.m., I wrote: “Do you want timely information right now for an immediate article, or just as part of a longer future report?”
At 1:50 p.m., Eric responded: “If the information was newsworthy enough to the general public, and I could confirm it, I’d write about it soon. But I’m primarily gathering information for a longer, more-comprehensive article to be published later, whenever it’s ready.”
At 2:13 p.m., I wrote: “He was given his India passport. The terms of the bail were raised to $10 million, plus the original $1 million. One devotee had to personally guarantee that he would pay the $10 million if Prakash doesn’t return for all court dates.”
At 2:21 p.m., Eric wrote: “Hmmm. This comes pretty close to meeting the criteria to write something soon (although my main project continues to be the longer, more detailed article later). Is there any way you can tell me who guaranteed the $10 million bail? I’m going to speak to my editor to see what he wants to do.”
At 2:58 p.m., I wrote: “It was a long-time devotee named Peter Spiegel.”
At 3:15 p.m., Eric wrote: “Ha! I would’ve guessed Peter Spiegel. I’ve traced a few of his businesses by searching for addresses on Barsana Road. I think he’s also the registered agent for the temple. You’ve proven very reliable and accurate, for which I am grateful.”
Within the hour, Eric wrote back to say that he wanted to write something for the next day. Over the next few hours, he emailed me several questions to help him prepare the article.
At 6:39 p.m., he sent me a final question about one of the women he was planning to mention in the article: “Is there any way to confirm, through some public document or other, that she has been involved at Barsana Dham?”
After searching through my files for some kind of tie linking her with the ashram, I hit pay dirt online when I entered her name in WhitePages.com. Her listed address was on Kalindi Lane—one of the roads on the ashram property.
At 7:14 p.m., I sent Eric the link: “Just found this.”
At 7:26 p.m., I received his last comment for the day: “Thanks for the link! Got it just in time. The story is running on the front page tomorrow.”
I immediately called Kate. We were thrilled that the news was going to reach the public. I was so excited I could barely sleep. In the morning, I hurried to get the newspaper. It was amazing to see the story on the front page knowing that I helped get the word out. Eric was an intelligent, well-balanced investigative reporter and an excellent writer. I felt we could trust him to write the longer, more in-depth article he was researching.
Thus began my four-month wild ride as the “Deep Throat” of Barsana Dham.
80
Barsana Dham Calls
Fear and Loathing
TWO WEEKS AFTER I MOVED OUT of the ashram, I received a phone call from a resident that freaked me out—the last thing I wanted was an interaction with any of them.
My new apartment was in a gated community in a safe neighborhood, where security guards regularly patrolled the streets. I felt secure surrounded by wealthy people who could afford extra security.
I believed that when it came to Barsana Dham, anything could happen. Prakash and Prabhakari had shown up at the doorstep of several ex-devotees in the past, including the home of a girl raped by Kripalu, the son of an ex-devotee, and the apartment of a girl whom both Prakash and Kripalu had molested. There were also stories of JKP hurting former devotees who had dared to speak out. One of Prakash’s own preachers who left him said she was afraid of them. Now, with me out of the organization and on the girls’ side, there was no telling what they might do to me. For all I knew, they might send some thug to threaten me—or a rogue devotee might decide to take matters into his or her own hands in an attempt to become a vigilante hero.
The call was Pam, who left a chirpy message: “Hi Karen. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I miss you and want to be sure you are okay.”
Pam was one of the sweetest people in the ashram. We had taken Hindi classes together for years and had been study partners. She had always been supportive of me, but now felt sure she had been put up to the phone call by the powers-that-be. I had no intention of calling her back to find out.
Much to my chagrin, Pam called again the next morning. This time she sounded anxious. “I really want to talk to you. Please call me as soon as you can.”
When she called a third time later that evening, I picked up the phone. I needed to put an end to this invasion into my new life.
“Hi Karen. It’s nice to hear your voice. How are you?”
“I’m doing great,” I said truthfully.
“I just wanted you to know I miss you and want to stay in touch with you. We should have lunch some day.”
“Are you
sure you want to have a friend in the world?” This was a pointed question, because she had once said of another devotee: “Why would anyone need friends in the world?”
She hesitated for a split second. “It might be good for me.”
“Okay, we can meet for lunch some day,” I said, with no intention of following through.
She continued, seeming to be following a script that she needed to see through. “So how did you feel when you heard Swamiji was arrested?”
“I guess I felt disassociated from the situation.” I certainly wasn’t going to tell her I was thrilled.
She seemed surprised by my response, then rushed to her next question. “We heard some people were tipped off that he was going to be arrested. Had you heard anything about it?”
“No, I had no idea,” I lied.
“Well, there are some rumors going around that someone down at the Hays Sheriff’s Office had said something to someone, and some people found out.”
“Really?” I said.
There wasn’t much more to say. As much as I liked her, I could not trust Pam now. When we said goodbye, I knew it was for good.
A couple of weeks later, I was having lunch with Carol, a once-dedicated devotee who had moved out so she could have a boyfriend. We had met a couple of times recently. One day she said: “There’s a rumor going around the ashram that you knew Swamiji was going to be arrested.”
“How would I have known that?”
“You were tipped off by your press contacts.” I nearly laughed out loud. Typical Barsana Dham, I thought, drawing crazy conclusions.
I was tipped off, all right—just not by the press.
81
My Life as Deep Throat
Digging Deep
FRESHLY DEPARTED FROM THE ASHRAM, I was the perfect person to provide an investigative newspaper reporter with the “insider” information he needed to expose Barsana Dham’s hidden side.
My four months as an informant for Eric was a roller coaster ride of exhilaration and anxiety. From May 20th to September 27th, my life revolved around telling Barsana Dham’s secrets to Eric. We exchanged hundreds of emails as I did my best to provide him with factual information and contacts.
It was the worst of times and the best of times. The worst part was uncovering many more salacious facts about Barsana Dham’s corrupt gurus and their minions. The best part was that my research connected me to several ex-devotees who had all suffered mightily during their years in this organization and afterward, as they dealt with the aftermath. We formed an informal support network of people who could understand each other’s unique experiences, and the shared pain and regret at having once been members.
Eric made it clear he was interested in exposing the organization’s secretive and suspicious activities. He had told me early on: “When lots of money is involved in an organization, there tends to be corruption.” And I wanted to help him expose it all as best as I could.
Originally, Eric was only going to write about Prakash. It was not clear to the average outsider that there were actually two “gurus” running the show. But, in terms of sexual abuse of children and female devotees, Kripalu was more prolific. I told him about Kripalu and provided him with the relevant information. Eric decided he would investigate both men and their exploitation of their followers.
Newspaper journalists follow a strict code of ethics and standards for obtaining information, confirming its validity, and reporting it. I knew from the start it was going to be a challenge to supply Eric with information that was not only newsworthy, but also could be corroborated. After all, I myself had seen the true face of the gurus only after fifteen years on the inside. Most of what I knew had been gleaned from people who would never confirm the facts to any outsider, because they were still devoted to the gurus.
A majority of women who’d had sexual contact with the gurus would not speak out either, for reasons ranging from fear to denial to humiliation and the need to close that chapter of their lives. Another problem was that so many of them had left suddenly and quietly, and I had no idea where to find them.
I had zero empathy for the women who refused to speak out. That was the easy road. I believed it was important to speak out, because it was the silence of so many for so long that had allowed these conmen to run amok in the world, wreaking havoc in the lives of innocent spiritual seekers and children.
One day, Eric pressed me for the names of any women who might talk about their sexual experiences with the gurus. He told me he would need to speak to at least three women with stories of abuse by each guru before the newspaper would feel comfortable going to press with stories of sexual improprieties. The women could stay anonymous if they wanted to.
I had decided I would tell him my experiences with both gurus, as uncomfortable as I knew it would be, if I could stay anonymous. I asked Kate if she would talk to him about her experiences, and she agreed. But she needed to save the details of her underage sexual experiences with Prakash for the courtroom, so she decided to reveal only that had happened to her after she turned eighteen. I wracked my brain for more women. There were a few other women whom I suspected of having sexual relations with Prakash, but knew they wouldn’t speak out if they did.
Also, Eric wanted to talk to anyone who might have insider information about the organization’s management and money handling. In that area, too, I could not compile even a short list of names of people who I thought might speak out.
But my intuition told me there had to be someone out there besides me who knew the truth and would be willing to talk. Then, out of the blue, a stroke of pure luck that would change everything. I recalled an encounter one month before I left, a few days before the annual Holi celebration, also called the “festival of colors.” I saw Jack sitting in his truck talking on his cell phone. I walked up to say hello. As I approached, he was ending his call.
“That damned Wayne,” he snapped.
“What’s wrong?”
“He won’t come and help park cars at Holi.”
“Why not?”
“He said he’s fed up with the people and the gurus. He told me to tell Prabhakari to park the cars herself.”
Bingo! Wayne had been a devotee for as long as I had, but had dropped away a couple of years earlier. Curiously, his wife, Kathi, still went to the ashram regularly for worship and to do seva. That night I sent Wayne’s contact information to Eric.
The next day he called him. Then he emailed me: “I reached Wayne. He said to call him back this evening at home.”
The next morning I got a call. The caller ID said Austin American-Statesman. I was alarmed. I had not yet spoken to Eric or even given him my real name.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
“Hi. You don’t know me, but I’m Eric Dexheimer, a reporter with the Austin American-Statesman.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, actually we do know each other.”
He was stumped for a few seconds. Then he said, “Oh, are you Orianne?” That was my fake name.
“Yes.”
“Hi. Good to meet you finally. I talked to Wayne last night, then to his wife, Kathi. She gave me your name and number after telling me about her experiences with the gurus.”
Kathi and I had never interacted much and I had no idea what her experiences were. But hearing that she had already spoken out emboldened me. It was as good a time as any to tell Eric my own experiences. I blurted out my personal experiences with the gurus Eric seemed shocked. I could tell he was typing feverishly, trying to capture it all. I told him about Prakash French kissing me and pinching my nipples. I told him about Kripalu trying to guide my had toward his penis during a charan seva session, and how I had seen him touching a woman’s breasts and another time witnessed a woman massaging his penis.
After I told Eric everything, I called Kathi. It was a relief to finally have another ex-devotee who felt as upset and traumatized by her experience in the cult as I did. That day Kathi and I formed a bond that helped us
both heal from our horrible experience—and helped us ensure that justice was done.
Kathi told me how she happened to speak to Eric. She was in the room when Wayne was talking to him. “He was hardly saying anything and it was driving me crazy. Just as he was getting off the phone, I said, ‘Doesn’t he want to talk to me?’”
Wayne asked Eric and of course he said yes. The conversation with Kathi was a reporter’s dream come true. Kathi described an encounter when Prakash had touched her inappropriately. Later on, when she felt stronger, she also told him about her interactions with Kripalu, including a bath seva and two other “private time” encounters. Eric’s determined investigative work was finally paying off. He also asked Kathi if she knew of any other women who might talk to him. She did know several women who had had sex with Kripalu, but she also knew none of them would speak out, as most of them were still staunch devotees.
Ironically, she gave him my name—even though she knew nothing about my actual experiences, just that I had recently moved out.
82
Suzy’s Story
A Near-Bliss Experience
ERIC NOW HAD STORIES FROM THREE WOMEN—he just needed a few more.
Then I remembered another experience from my past. One day in the summer of 1994, a fellow devotee, Suzy, and I decided to drive to downtown Austin to have lunch. During the trip, we told each other random stories about our lives before we moved to the ahsram.
Among the stories Suzy told me was one about an orgasmic encounter she’d had with some man. Then she told me: “I nearly had a similar encounter with Swamiji.”
My mind closed down, and I changed the subject. I did not want to hear another word about my guru in such a context.
Now, the memory of that conversation crept out of my subconscious, and I wondered what Suzy was going to tell me that day. Now I was ready to hear every detail. But I had no idea where she lived or how to contact her. She and her husband had moved out of the ashram in 1997. Fortune smiled when I had lunch with Carol one day. She was an ex-devotee who had moved out before I did to live with her boyfriend. She informed me that Suzy had recently called her and left a message, but she had not returned the call.
