In a quiet corner of Southeast Portland, just two blocks from a Dairy Queen--where gross materialists shovel in Blizzards and Parfaits--the Hare Krishnas are chanting. They rock back and forth, saying Krishna's name. They are detached from material things. They are far from the world of Dilly Bars.

If you were walking by the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) temple, you might hear the soft cling of finger cymbals or the beat of a drum. You might smell the drifting, sticky-sweet incense or hear the incantations, which are supposed to bring the Hare Krishnas closer to God. As you approach the house, it gets louder: "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, HareHare..."

ISKCON was formed in New York in 1966 by an enigmatic little man named A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. He stepped off the boat from India into a country in the midst of a cultural revolution. Prabhupada's mission was to open the world to Krishna consciousness (an offshoot of the Northern Indian Vaisnava tradition) and young seekers swarmed to him. Soon, ISKCON devotees--Hare Krishnas--peppered America's streets and airports, chanting and peddling flowers. In the mind-expanding mood of the 1960s, ISKCON looked like a harmless hippie fad. But as the organization grew, the material world became less and less immaterial. After Prabhupada's death in 1977, ISKCON descended into chaos and scandal. The Hare Krishna world was carved up among 11 gurus, and in each guru's zone, his authority was absolute. Some of the 11 became corrupted absolutely.

In 1998, ISKCON opened a six million dollar temple in India, complete with nine animatronic Gods. The "Glory of India" seemed to show how far the group had come. However, a $400 million lawsuit, filed in the US last year, points to a darker side. If it goes forward, it may be the last chapter of the story--a story of power struggles, drugs, and murders...