by Karen Jonson
“Once inside his room, Kripalu quickly pulled her onto his bed, she said, and began tugging at her clothing to get under her shirt and, eventually, rub her privates. Later, she said, she performed oral sex on him.”
Kathi also described her encounter with Prakash:
“In the early 1990s, as the temple was still being built, No. 2 recalled, ‘I was dressed in a costume for a dance.’ Before the performance, she entered an old stone building on the property and walked upstairs to go to the bathroom.
“The bathroom was next to Prakashanand’s bedroom, she remembered. ‘As I came out, I saw him,’ she said. ‘I told him I was excited for that afternoon’s program. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom.’ The woman said Prakashanand pushed her back against the door and groped her breasts and buttocks before quickly leaving.”
I was Woman No. 3:
“Woman No. 3 said she experienced a similar event. She moved to Austin from the Pacific Northwest to follow Prakashanand. Leaving the ashram one day in the early 1990s, she entered the guru’s bedroom to say goodbye. He grabbed her and pulled her close, kissing her and fondling her breasts, she said, adding that she broke away.”
Eric also reported my experiences with Kripalu:
“Woman No. 3 said that in a pressing session in the spring of 2007 she was stationed at Kripalu’s thigh. ‘He started to nudge my hand closer, to his private area,’ she said. When she resisted, he did it again, she recalled. Later during the holy man’s visit, the same woman said, she observed another woman rubbing his genitals. Another time, she saw his hand inside a woman’s blouse, fondling her. The women involved, she added, appeared to consent.”
Kate was Woman No. 4:
“Another woman, No. 4, lived on the ashram for more than a dozen years. She said she was called to Prakashanand’s room many times as a young adult, where, she said, the guru would tell her to lock the door behind her, and then kiss and fondle her. She spent the night in his room, next to his bed, on several occasions, she said. In the middle of the night, she said, he would wake her up and fondle her.”
Rachel was Woman No. 5:
“A fifth woman, a West Coast resident who never lived at Barsana Dham, said she was invited to massage Kripalu during a summer 2001 visit to the JKP temple in Mangarh (India). ‘I was told if I go there, he might do some personal things,’ she recalled. ‘Hugging and kissing.’ Not certain she heard right, she said she decided not to go to him. But in December 2003, during another pilgrimage to the temple, she accepted an invitation to accompany a group of women into Kripalu’s room. ‘They turned off the lights and closed the shutters, and I was told to stand next to him,’ she recalled. ‘He started groping me, feeling my privates.’ She pulled his hand away and quickly left the room.”
The 2,600-word article ended with the following commentary:
“N. Kumar, a California devotee since 1992, had hosted prayer sessions at his home. ‘We were shocked,’ he said. ‘This is absolutely not acceptable in the religion, in India, in the culture.’”
Eric’s writing was brilliant. One person told me the article was worthy of a Pulitzer Prize. I was so happy, and wanted to walk around Austin and watch people reading the newspaper—perhaps overhear them discussing it.
But mostly I just wanted people to be appalled, to be morally outraged, and to never set foot inside that place—especially with their children.
94
The Infomercial Guru
Mixing Spiritual and Secular
ALONG WITH THE GURU’S SEXUAL MISDEEDS, Eric uncovered the curious relationships between Prakash and some of his devotees’ infomercial businesses.
Sunday’s story was headlined “Infomercial Executives Help Support Hindu Temple”:
“In the mid-1980s, the leaders of a Hindu organization trying to gain a foothold in the United States contemplated how to raise money. Eventually, Prakashanand Saraswati and his devotees within the International Society of Divine Love - later called Barsana Dham, after they’d established themselves in Austin - ended up with an unorthodox source of support: infomercials.
“The result has been a peculiar but apparently profitable alliance between the sacred and secular. Through overlaps between temple leaders and direct marketing executives and their companies, it has paired Prakashanand, a 79-year-old Hindu holy man also known as Shree Swamiji, with such late-night fare as promotions for the Miracle Blade, Abflex, homeopathic impotency treatments and the Ionic Pro air purifier.”
Few people who had worked in the devotee-run businesses and knew the secrets would talk to Eric. But that didn’t stop him from finding the facts that produced a complete picture of a so-called spiritual guru with his hands involved directly in several very profitable business operations.
I had done my best to help him research the organization’s financial activities. It was common knowledge among the devotees that Prakash was active in their operations and management—advising the principals in most major decisions, from naming products to hiring executives to opening new offices. Over the years, the businesses had some incredible successes—they were practically minting money by selling items like the Miracle Blade (named by Prakash himself) in late-night infomercials.
From the beginning of his mission in the U.S., Prakash looked to his devotees to start businesses that would support his plans to build a U.S. ashram. Sometime in the 1980s, Katie W. and Peter S., both former members of Transcendental Meditation TM and a couple, brought him the idea to start an infomercial media buying company, because she had worked for an infomercial company in Fairfield, Iowa, when she was in TM. Prakash thought it sounded like a good way to make him some money. Another long-time female devotee joined them and started an infomercial production company. When these three high rollers were staying in the ashram, they had standing meetings with Prakash in his bedroom every night at 10:00 p.m. to discuss business matters.
When I discovered Prakash had an infomercial business running on the Barsana Dham property, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. After all, infomercials are often viewed as one of the lowest form of product sales, rife with the potential for scams. The first devotee-run business on the property shipped the products. A second company bought media time for the 30-minute ads.
I had some level of inside information on the businesses, because I had freelanced as a writer for the media buying agency. In fact, I was once assigned to help smooth over a PR crisis when one of the companies went bankrupt—and almost immediately, a new devotee-run company picked up where the other had left off. This led to a court trial with a media industry magazine. The president of the new company tried to claim “freedom of religion” as a reason for not submitting to a deposition, but was denied. So instead she was less than truthful and forthcoming in her deposition to help find Prakash’s level of involvement in the businesses.
Of course, Prakash wanted to keep his business activities a secret—if for no other reason than to avoid issues with the ashram’s tax-exempt status. As a result, the businesses took great pains to act as if they were disconnected from the ashram. The party line about the businesses housed on the property was that they were simply “renting office space” from Barsana Dham (even though the companies themselves paid to build the buildings).
Along with the business opeations, I also informed Eric about one of JKP’s highly unusual system of collecting donations—charging devotees for “seva opportunities.” As with sex, Kripalu was greedy—in this case, for every dime he could milk from his followers. I sent Eric a long price list of the costs for different sevas. He was happy to receive it, but also shocked. After all, what kind of organization charges people to push the spiritual teacher on a swing ($200), or wash his feet ($600), or celebrate your birthday with him ($2,500)! I laughed out loud when Eric commented on the price to receive a cookie from the guru ($220). “What kind of cookie?” he asked, incredulously.
One Indian man made it perfectly clear that JKP’s seva activities were extremely unorthodox
in traditional Hinduism:
“Some temples accept sizable donations from devotees who, in exchange, are given a place of honor at large celebrations and ceremonies, said Sannyasin Arumugaswami, managing editor of Hinduism Today magazine. But, he added, ‘while the practice of being with, serving and honoring the guru is a central Hindu tradition, the idea of putting detailed price tags on interacting with the spiritual teacher would be regarded by most Hindus as inappropriate, even reprehensible.’”
By sheer coincidence, I would soon discover evidence clearly indicating that Prakash and Kripalu had planned—right from the beginning—on making millions in the U.S. from Westerners.
95
Conmen Correspondence
The Forgotten Tree House
THERE ARE TWO LETTERS IN A CERTAIN safe deposit box in Austin that speak to the monetary side of the con game Prakash and Kripalu brought to the U.S. shores from India.
One is from Kripalu in India to Prakash in Barsana Dham. Postmarked 9 March 1993, it contains a handwritten note from Kripalu written on a light-blue airmail stationary, firmly requesting money for the construction of an ashram in India. The second letter contains Prakash’s sternly worded reply on lined college notebook paper.
Unlike English, the Hindi language allows people to speak to others in ways that connote the relationship between the two parties, such as adult to child, peer-to-peer, and superior to subordinate. In public, Prakash showed great reverence to Kripalu, addressing him in the most formal, respectful, and subservient mode of Hindi dialogue. But the tone of the letters portrayed a very different relationship between the men. They read as one businessman talking to another—with a detectable level of contempt between them.
What’s more, the letters proved Prakash and Kripalu viewed the U.S. as the goose that was going to lay the golden egg—and keep on laying it to the tune of “millions of dollars.” In Kripalu’s letter, he insisted Prakash was not sending him enough money. He wanted more, and he wanted it soon. He spoke of “black money.” But Prakash’s letter to Kripalu was the smoking gun. He basically ranted to Kripalu about asking for too much money and stated that the constant haranguing could get him in trouble, including with the IRS. Then, in one fateful sentence, Prakash revealed the true intent of the two conmen: “So if this happens our planning to collect millions of dollars for Barsana (India) will be finished.”
I could not believe I had such incriminating evidence in my possession. I had found the letters in a pile of discarded newspapers in a tree house at Barsana Dham years before. I had asked to use the tree house as a place to study Hindi. Built on a whim at Prakash’s request, it was just big enough for a single bed, an end table, and a small cupboard. For a while, Prakash was rumored to occasionally spend time up there with female devotees, but the novelty apparently wore off quickly when he stopped going. He had left the letters there in the cupboard and forgotten about them.
Since both letters were written in Hindi, I had no idea what they said. I thought perhaps someone in India had written Prakash a love letter. I knew he received many such letters from devotees. I had written him a few myself. But, despite studying Hindi, I could never Hindi decipher handwriting. So I kept the letters in a shoebox along with devotional notes I collected over the years, thinking I would one day be able to translate them.
When I moved to my new apartment, I pulled the letters out one day and tried to read them again. But it was impossible. Then I learned that Eric had asked Deepak and Sushma to translate some newspaper articles from India about Kripalu, which someone had sent him. I could ask them to translate the letters, as well. I called Sushma and she agreed. The next day I dropped them off with her. We made a plan to meet for lunch the next day. When we reconvened, she was beside herself with excitement.
“They are very bad,” she said. “They are very revealing about the true nature of Kripalu and Prakash.” Sushma instructed me to keep the letters in a safe place.
In Kripalu’s airmail letter to Prakash, he wrote:
“My Dear Prakashanand, Your brief description didn’t explain everything. Send us the drawing, then it will be clear. In Shyam Shyam Dham they are putting granite. But in the Trust we have no money. Your 2.5 lakh rupees ($5,500 U.S.) in black money is gone. Now we have to put tiles. Please send 15 lakh rupees ($33,000) in the name of the Trust so that the work does not stop. The other side is already finished. It will take 15 lakh more. Granite costs have gone up 1.5 times. If you can, send it fast. The Barsana Hall (in India) is not a rush. Kripalu”
In Prakash’s handwritten draft, he wrote back:
“My Dear Kripalu, 1. Today you called me to send some more money. Now I cannot send more than 2 lakhs ($4,400). I’m sorry to say this, but I have told you several times before that anytime for special expenditures we have to make a plan at least one year in advance. If you want something suddenly, I can make an arrangement for only 1 to 2 lakh. Last time you asked me, I promised 10 lakhs ($22,000) and I fulfilled my promise. The only cash money I have in a year’s time in my possession is 3 to 4 lakhs, which I receive in donations. The rest all belongs to the Society (ISDL).
“2. In this country, if something goes wrong you cannot pay a bribe and get away. Here if you bribe someone, you will go to jail for two years. In Canada, the license of a famous, reputable person was taken away because of a simple mistake. If you don’t follow the law in this society, they will finish you forever. So if this happens our planning to collect millions of dollars for Barsana will be finished.
“Last year, I sent you 10 lakh from the U.S. and before that I also gave you 10 lakh in Vrindavan. For that we wanted some type of journal entry, which was not given to me. So we had to answer a lot of questions from an income tax officer (in Delhi) because everything was not documented. The IRS also questioned me here (in U.S.). I had to answer the question: How come you get so much cash with no accounting?
“Last time also when I sent you money from here and I told you in Vrindavan to show me the accounting, you never did. I told the people in Vrindavan about the money, but they have never showed me anything yet. For the last two years, I had to tell you not only one or two times, but 25 times. This time when I told you ‘No’ over the phone, you got very angry. Right now I don’t have any money, but even if I have, how should I send you. Prakashanand”
(This part was scratched out:) “You will also not want me to do illegal things over and over, or I will ruin the Society. How many, how many, how many times do I have to repeat for one simple thing. Same thing I say over and over. Because of those people’s foolishness, now I cannot give any money to Vrindavan Society. Because of those people now I cannot give because I have done so much illegal work. But I cannot do over and over. You get very upset with me; always it happens when things go wrong. Then everyone lies to each other. Then more bad comes and everyone lies.”
I was frantic to get those two incriminating letters—which had been lying around for years in a tiny forgotten tree house and then a shoebox—into a bank safety deposit box.
96
The Truth Project
Exposing the Gurus’ Dark Side
A FRIEND WAS FLIPPING THROUGH the May 2010 issue of Austin Monthly at my home one day, when she stopped suddenly—“They’ve mentioned Barsana Dham in this article.”
“What?” I stated horrified.
And there it was. In an article titled “110 Fun Things to Do in the Summer,” number 90 was: “Tour a Temple.” The blurb read:
“Heading toward the Salt Lick on FM 1826, you wouldn’t expect to pass a gorgeous Hindu temple perched on a hill. And yet, Driftwood is home to Barsana Dham, an ashram complex sitting on 200 acres of gardens. Visitors are welcome to tour the grounds and temples. They can even participate in the morning chanting, a ritual called darshan.”
“Are they out of their minds?” I said. “Don’t the editors read the local newspaper? If they had, they’d know the main guru is an accused pedophile and the main guy in India is an accused ritual rapis
t. And they want to send families with children out there?”
The next day I emailed to the editor and publisher. On May 25th, I received a response:
Hi Karen,
Thanks for contacting us and bringing this to our attention. We’re looking more closely into this situation right now, and we certainly will keep this in mind for the future.
Best,
Melissa
On June 22nd, I received an email from a freelance writer for the magazine. He wanted to interview me for an article.
I met John at a local coffee shop and answered all his questions about my life in the ashram, why I moved there, what life was like, and why I left. I thought the article was going to be published right away, but when I contacted the editor a few months later, she said they had decided to wait until the outcome of the trial to publish anything. In the end, the magazine never did repair the damage it had done by promoting the ashram.
Despite the revealing articles in the Austin American-Statesman, it was an uphill battle to inform the public about the true nature of Barsana Dham. Various media outlets would occasionally run small stories about events being held there, as if the organization was a benevolent religious and cultural center. I knew Barsana Dham had spent big bucks to hire a large local PR firm to steadily work on its public image. I felt like David facing off with Goliath.
Meanwhile, I had been keeping our ex-devotee group updated about everything I was gathering about the fake gurus. The list of deception kept growing—for example, I discovered Prakash was never really offered a prestigious religious seat when he was twenty-three, as he claimed. The organization that supposedly gave Kripalu the title of Jagadguru did not. Also, several Hindu organizations were against Prakash’s ill-fated campaign in the mid-1990s to change the depiction of Hinduism in school history books in California according to his views.
I had been doing my best to inform the public by blogging, talking to local university professors of religious science and meeting local Hindu leaders. But I was fighting an uphill battle to educate the public at large. I wasn’t the only one trying to get the word out. A few people were doing what we could to prevent more people from being hurt by JKP. For example, Vijay Mehta, an Indian man in Temple, Texas, reported on the cult regularly on his blog. Others had tried to get the Wikipedia pages about the organization and its gurus corrected to reflect the truth.
