“Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.” – Albert Einstein
Dr. Rakesh Kumar Dhingra was financially endowed, yet he lived with the simplicity of a monk—spending less than a hundred dollars on himself each month. A recluse by choice or perhaps by destiny, his family and friends had long abandoned him. But he found refuge where real wealth resides: the temple. He came quietly, chanted sincerely, and served the Deities faithfully.
But as it often happens in this world, the man who was forgotten in life became suddenly unforgettable in death. When he passed away, a colourful parade of nephews, cousins, and long-lost relatives sprang out of nowhere—not to mourn, but to sniff out inheritance. Their love for Dr. Dhingra could barely fill a thimble, but their interest in his estate could sink a ship. As soon as he died, his family remembered two things: his bank account and their forgotten love for him. Love was scarce when he was alive; lawyers were plenty when he was gone.
And then, enter the divine orchestrator—the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Lord Giriraj Himself, ever-smiling, ever-unpredictable. Just when things seemed like a routine tale of worldly greed, Giriraj performed one of His signature miracles: Thirty crores rupees made their way to ISKCON Houston.
Here’s where it gets even more fascinating.
Years earlier, the temple president, Shyamsundar Prabhu, had been casually requested by Dr. Dhingra to sign some documents. “Might give something to the temple later,” he had said, probably in the same casual tone with which we say, “Let’s catch up sometime.” Shyamsundar Prabhu had almost completely forgotten about it.
Meanwhile, Dr. Dhingra, quietly investing in mutual funds and shares, grew his wealth. As he aged, forgotten by his family, it was Shyamsundar Prabhu and the temple devotees who cared for him, chanted by his bedside, and prayed for his soul as he left his body.
Months passed. Life resumed. Devotees returned to their usual struggles—raising funds to worship Radha Nila Madhava, Gaur Nitai, and the most enchanting Giriraj, the largest Giriraj Deity in all of North America.
And then… Giriraj waved His flute.
The relatives, with lawyer-laced tongues and crocodile tears, began squabbling over the inheritance. But the courts found something unexpected: the signature of ISKCON’s Shyamsundar Prabhu on a legal document. He was summoned. He recalled the papers vaguely. And suddenly, like a dam breaking open, the funds came in—a landslide of divine grace.
Behind every event in a devotee’s life, there is Krishna’s signature, though often written in invisible ink. Krishna didn’t just lift Govardhan—He lifted 30 crores out of nowhere.
The relatives protested, their cries of “unfair” echoing in the courtroom. But as they moaned, Giriraj smiled, and justice danced its way to the rightful hands. All the money came to the humble, sincere devotee—Shyamsundar Prabhu, who took none for himself but instead built an awe-inspiring replica of the Jagannath Puri temple in Houston, Texas. Yet, with a heart full of kindness, he gave some money to the relatives and gently pacified them. As the saying goes, a devotee is often more merciful than the Lord Himself. While the Supreme had withheld mercy, Shyamsundar Prabhu extended it freely. Dr Dhingra’s relatives cried over the money. Devotees cried over the mercy.
The world sees Dr. Dhingra’s donation as legal documentation and court rulings. But a devotee sees the invisible hand of Krishna, moving through mundane systems to fulfill His divine purpose.
This story confirms that Krishna does not forget even the smallest act done for Him. Years passed, papers were forgotten, people moved on. But Krishna didn’t. The Deity is not a statue—He is a person. A very active person. A strategist. A silent miracle worker. The court called it a case. We called it līlā.
Dr. Dhingra wasn’t a public preacher, social media star, or temple leader. He was a quiet soul. Yet, he died in Krishna’s care, surrounded by devotees chanting. And Giriraj claimed his offering for His own service.
“Even if one offers Me a leaf, a flower, a fruit, or water with devotion—I accept it.” (Bhagavad-gītā 9.26)
This reminds us that external roles may fade, but Krishna remembers the inner sincerity. Devotion tucked away in the corner of a temple, or in the last years of one’s life, still has the power to move eternity.
Dr. Dhingra didn’t speak much, but apparently Krishna was listening. He gave more in silence than most give in speeches.
Also, the pastime confirms that temples are built by divine arrangement, not just by fundraising. As devotees, we sometimes burn out in fundraising, thinking everything depends on effort and contacts. But this story is a slap (a loving one) to our self-dependence. Who would’ve imagined 30 crores would appear from an unexpected will? It’s as if Giriraj is saying, “Do your best, but don’t forget—I run this show.” Devotees don’t chase wealth—wealth chases those who are chased by Krishna. When devotees plan fundraisers, Giriraj plans a plot twist. Many temples and leaders raise money; Giriraj just rearranges fate.
The whole incident wasn’t justice. It wasn’t luck. It was Giriraj’s signature miracle. Just when you think the story is over, Krishna adds a twist worthy of a Netflix season finale. And Giriraj doesn’t need our plans; he drives the whole plot Himself.
The ISKCON temple at Houston is today an architectural marvel, and a crown jewel of devotion. You walk in and think, “This isn’t Texas; this is a transcendental slipstream into another world.”
And now, the legend himself—Shyamsundar Prabhu—is nearing eighty. He sleeps barely three hours a night. The rest of the time, he’s either chanting, gardening, reading Srila Prabhupada’s books, or simply radiating energy that would put a 20-year-old to shame.
He has single-handedly confirmed my theory: as we age, we must eat less and chant more to stay truly alive. He eats almost nothing, yet seems to feast daily on spiritual nectar. I jokingly say he’s the Anand Vrindavan Prabhu of America—a Gujarati by birth, a Bhakta by heart. Every morning at 3:30 am, a steady group of devotees joins him in chanting till 9:30 am. Six hours of unbroken japa. No snooze button. No distractions. Just pure sound vibration.
Recently, he showed me his towering stack of handwritten notes from Srila Prabhupada’s books. Each page a testimony to dedication. I was humbled. No, I was moved. No, I was recalibrated.
Sometimes you meet someone and feel like you just read a chapter from the Bhagavatam. That’s what time with him feels like.
Shyamsundar Prabhu has convinced me of this truth. Krishna consciousness is real. Giriraj is watching. He is providing. He is orchestrating. And He loves to take care of Himself—and those who care for Him.
Shyamsundar Prabhu’s vibrant life at nearly 80 is a living proof that spiritual energy trumps biological age. While the world sells the idea that you retire with golf and pills, he shows that a diet of japa, seva, gardening, and Prabhupada’s books makes the soul younger, not older.
He sleeps three hours, chants six hours, eats like a bird, thinks like a sage—he’s basically a Vaishnava superhero. His diet plan is simple: less food, more holy name. I was joking with a friend, “They say Gujaratis can make money from anything. Shyamsundar Prabhu made 30 crores just by signing a piece of paper.”
Bolo Sri Giriraj Maharaj ki—JAI!!!
