THE “FIRE IN the maṭha” broke out almost immediately. A senior disciple said that there should be one ācārya who would be the spiritual successor to Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī and who would perform all initiations and settle all controversies. But Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī had never said that. He had never called for one ācārya. Rather, he had instructed the members of the Gaudiya Math to form a governing body of twelve men and carry on a concerted effort. But that instruction was abandoned, and the suggestion that there be one leader took hold. A single person, instead of twelve, should take charge, and now it became a rush for who.

Two parties contested. Ananta Vāsudeva, one of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s leading preachers, was ambitious, and he pressed his claim with a group of influential sannyāsī supporters. Another man, Kuñjavihārī, shrewdly went after the properties. He had been a leading administrator under Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta, and now he claimed ownership of the palatial temple in Calcutta as well as all the other properties and assets of the India-wide Gaudiya Math. Although in his will Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta had expressed his desire that his disciples select a governing board to manage all properties and funds of the Gaudiya Math, Kuñjavihārī contested the will’s legitimacy. He and his supporters argued that since Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta had received the properties on behalf of God, he was not their rightful owner and therefore could not determine their future ownership. Thus he and the others disputed over the legal and theological aspects of the former ācārya’s position.

Shortly after Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s passing away, litigation had begun. Ananta Vāsudeva, supported by a majority of the members of the Gaudiya Math, had claimed that he, as the next ācārya, was the owner and director of the properties. But although Kuñjavihārī had only a few supporters, he defied the majority by pressing his claim through lawyers in court. Kuñjavihārī and his men had possession of the Chaitanya Math and the temples in Māyāpur. Vāsudeva’s party captured other buildings. Quarreling and fistfights broke out. The preaching of the Gaudiya Math stopped.

Abhay’s inability to take part in the activities of the Gaudiya Math was suddenly in his favor. He had always been more a visitor than a member at the maṭha and, at least externally, more the gṛhastha businessman than a missionary worker. This automatically put him at a distance from the fray. Of course, he was associated with the maṭhas in Bombay and Allahabad, but he had no managerial position, no claims to ownership, and no role in the litigation. Nor did he desire to take sides in the struggle for power. Like many of the other disciples, he was mortified to see that his spiritual master’s instructions for cooperation had been disregarded and his mission thrown into a legal dispute. Abhay knew that Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta had wanted the leaders to work cooperatively, and so he could not sympathize with the warring factions. Both parties were an insult to Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī.

But he wanted to preach. Although becoming “a very good English preacher” was something he was meditating on more than actively doing, the Gaudiya Math would logically have been the vehicle for his preaching. He had already contributed articles to the Gaudiya Math’s publications and had been working with his Godbrothers at the Allahabad and Bombay centers. Naturally he thought of serving his spiritual master in terms of serving within his spiritual master’s mission. But the Gaudiya Math, which had always been known for pure, bold preaching of the message of Lord Caitanya, was now becoming known for embroiled factions. As the Gaudiya Math broke down, he was also affected. Under the present circumstances, how could he carry out his spiritual master’s order to preach? Previously the main obstacle to his preaching had been family commitments, but now the obstacles were compounded. Now he had to wait helplessly for the outcome of this struggle. What would Kṛṣṇa bring about?

1938
  His Bombay business diminishing, Abhay, now forty-two, moved back to Calcutta with his wife and family and rented a house at 6 Sita Kanta Banerjee Lane. The street was but a narrow lane, lined on either side with three-story houses. His office was on the first floor, facing the street; the family lived upstairs. He rented the adjoining building, number seven, and on the first floor operated a small chemical laboratory manufacturing distilled water, De’s Pain Liniment, Vimal Tonic, Alpa (an injection for boils), and various other medicines. He also utilized a small outbuilding in the rear as part of his lab. Out front he hung a large signboard – Abhay Charan De and Sons – displaying a picture of a mustached Abhay Charan.

Sometimes he would employ two or three servants to assist him, but mostly he worked alone. And he would deliver his glass jugs of distilled water to agents, such as Bengal Company and Gluconet. He printed a brochure advertising De’s Pain Liniment: “Good for relieving gout, rheumatism, and all pains.” And if one wanted to be free of recurring diseases like rheumatism and gout, Abhay’s brochure directed that in addition to using De’s Pain Liniment one refrain from “alcohol and all sorts of drinking or intoxicating habits, and food and drink should be very simple and innocent such as vegetables and milk.”

The new Calcutta business enjoyed an early success, but Abhay didn’t have his heart in it. It was a duty – he had to do it to maintain his family. His new acquaintances in Calcutta found him to be a devotee of God at heart – a businessman, a family man, but more concerned with writing and preaching than with business and family.

Chandi Mukerjee (a neighbor from nearby Bihari Street): He was interested only in devotional activities, and he did his business only to maintain the family. He didn’t seem interested in the profit motive, in accumulating money or becoming a rich man.

Charan Mukerjee (Abhay’s next-door neighbor): Abhay Charan De was always a very patient listener to every illogical argument that anybody, including myself, would bring to him. Not knowing philosophy, I would illogically present so many arguments, and Mr. De would always very patiently listen. Nothing agitated him. He was always very calm, and he taught me about God. He would speak only of Kṛṣṇa. He was translating the Gītā and was maintaining his business.

Neighbors would often see him sitting on his cot in the front room. He would read his spiritual master’s books and sometimes recite the Sanskrit ślokas out loud. He liked to discuss philosophy with anyone who came by. His family keeping mostly upstairs, Abhay would sit alone in the downstairs front room, dressed in dhotī and kurtā, or sometimes a dhotī and only a vest. Often he would be at his writing, while outside the door his children played with the children of the Ganguli family, who lived in the rear apartment of the same building.

The neighbors lived openly in a kind of joint neighborhood family, and Abhay talked freely with the other neighbors – but of Vaiṣṇava philosophy and only rarely of business. Mr. Ganguli found Abhay’s speech “scholastic and always very philosophical.” Abhay was absorbed in the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, and even in brief conversations he would refer to Lord Kṛṣṇa and to Bhagavad-gītā’s description of Lord Kṛṣṇa as the basis of both the material and spiritual worlds. While working in his laboratory, or receiving a delivery of empty bottles from the Muslim bottle merchant, or going out to sell his medicine, he would be talking or thinking about God.

In those days, for a person in Calcutta to be interested in God consciousness was not so unusual. Abhay found even a man like Abdullah, the Muslim bottle merchant, to be very religious. One day Abhay asked Abdullah, who had once been very poor but had become rich by his business, “Now you’ve got money. So how are you going to use your money?” The bottle merchant replied, “My dear sir, I have an intention to construct a mosque.”

Meanwhile, the war of the Gaudiya Math raged on. Both factions were ill-motivated, and both deviated from the instructions of their spiritual master. The very act of trying to determine ownership of the properties through legal action meant that the Godbrothers were disobeying the express desire of their spiritual master, as stated in his will. The litigation continued year after year, but the legal wrangling could not bring them together or purify them. One court ruled in favor of Ananta Vāsudeva, but then a higher court awarded two thirds of the maṭha’s properties to Kuñjavihārī and one third to Vāsudeva. Still, although Vāsudeva had fewer properties, he inspired more followers – he seemed to them more intent on reviving the preaching of the Gaudiya Math. But when Vāsudeva subsequently fell down from the principles of sannyāsa by going off with a woman, the groups broke further to pieces.

Most of the sannyāsīs continued to maintain their principles, but many now left the jurisdiction of the two contending factions in disgust. Individuals formed their own āśramas: Gaudiya Mission, Caitanya Gaudiya Math, and others. The unified entity of Gaudiya Math as an all-India mission consisting of many temples, several presses, and hundreds of devotees working cooperatively under one leadership ceased to exist. Godbrothers continued to uphold the teachings of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu as they had received them from Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, but because they were meant to work together, they lacked their former united potency. Illusions of proprietorship and prestige had superseded the spiritual master’s order, and Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s cause – a worldwide movement for propagating Lord Caitanya’s teachings – collapsed.

Wherever Abhay went he seemed to attract the company of his Godbrothers. Some followers of Śrīdhara Mahārāja – the same Śrīdhara with whom he had worked in Bombay and whom he had always regarded as a good devotee and scholar – met Abhay at his place on Banerjee Lane and told this news to Śrīdhara Mahārāja, who was then living at his own āśrama in Māyāpur. Śrīdhara Mahārāja had disaffiliated himself from the factions of the Gaudiya Math, but as a sannyāsī he was still preaching and was interested in publishing Vaiṣṇava literature. He had wanted to maintain an āśrama in Calcutta, so for twenty rupees a month he rented from Abhay the four rooms on the second floor of number seven, above Abhay’s chemical laboratory.

Now, whenever they came to Calcutta, Śrīdhara Mahārāja, Purī Mahārāja, and Bhaktisāraṅga Mahārāja based themselves there, staying in small separate rooms. It became a regular āśrama for sannyāsīs and brahmacārīs, and Śrīdhara Mahārāja put a sign out front: Devananda Sarasvati Math.

Śrīdhara Mahārāja’s establishment of a maṭha in Māyāpur with a branch in Calcutta was his response to the Gaudiya Math’s split. Like other sannyāsīs, he had been initiating disciples and preaching, not waiting for the outcome of the litigation, with its continued appeals and counterclaims. Abhay was glad to encourage Śrīdhara Mahārāja and the others who joined him at his little āśrama. Here Abhay and Śrīdhara Mahārāja and his followers could remain aloof from the warring factions and together pursue their plans for spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

The sannyāsīs cooked in their separate kitchen, performed their pūjā, and held morning and evening kīrtanas and lectures. Abhay remained with his family, taking his own meals and performing his own pūjā, but he often went to discuss Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam with Śrīdhara Mahārāja. From his roof, Abhay could see the towering steeple of his spiritual master’s building, the Gaudiya Math of Baghbazar, its ownership now contested by bitter factions.

Abhay would often accompany Śrīdhara Mahārāja and his assistants at preaching programs, where he would play the mṛdaṅga. And when Śrīdhara Mahārāja fell ill, Abhay led the other devotees on preaching engagements, performing kīrtana, playing mṛdaṅga, and giving lectures on the Bhāgavatam.

Śrīdhara Mahārāja: We did not see Abhay as working very hard for making money, nor did he seem very rich or to have a lot of liquid funds. He was attracted more to the spiritual side of affairs than to his family affairs. He never discussed business prospects with me – whether the business was up or down, or whether he was planning to do this or that. Monetarily, he did not have sufficient funds for giving any to the mission.

Abhay began to think seriously about writing Vaiṣṇava literature. His spiritual master had seemed very pleased and had told the editor of The Harmonist, “Whatever he writes, publish it.” Business profits, if he could somehow expand them, could go for printing books in English, as his spiritual master had said. “If you ever get money, print books.” Certainly the Gaudiya Math was not going to do it; Kuñjavihārī had sold Bhaktisiddhānta’s printing presses to offset his legal expenses. No, Abhay would have to continue on his own, maintaining his business and simultaneously trying to write and publish. And that was also the prescription of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta: “It is better that he is living outside your company. When the time comes, he will do everything himself.”

It was in 1939 that Abhay wrote “Introduction to Geetopanishad.” It was a short piece, but it signaled his intention to take on the task of one day translating Bhagavad-gītā into English with commentary. Of course, there were already many commentaries in English, but most of them had been written by impersonalists or others who had not delivered the original spirit of the Gītā, the spirit of Arjuna on the Battlefield of Kurukṣetra hearing Bhagavad-gītā directly from Lord Kṛṣṇa. Abhay knew, however, that he could present Bhagavad-gītā in the proper spirit by writing an English commentary based on the teachings of Lord Caitanya and the disciplic succession. So he began. Whenever he could make time, he would write. Although a strict grammarian could find fault in his English composition, his meaning was always clear.

Abhay had not been satisfied with the agnostic conclusion, “because I had been trained by my father to be engaged in the worship of Śrī Śrī Rādhā-Govinda. But as a result of the Vidyā-ratna lecture, I was experiencing some mental conflict between agnosticism and the existence of Godhead.” Later, having heard from his spiritual master, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta, Abhay understood that the Personality of Godhead exists in every sphere of activity. “But we do not have the eyes to see Him,” Abhay wrote. “Even if the Lord personally manifests Himself on earth, the quarreling mundaners will not stop their fighting and look upon Godhead or His representative, due to ignorance. This is the birthright of the individual soul by the grace of God.”

Bhagavad-gītā is the true “jewel of education.” And in the Gītā Lord Kṛṣṇa “declares to the fighting people on earth, ‘Here I am. Do not quarrel.’ ” The agnostic who had spoken of the “jewel of education” had been blinded by the jewel and therefore could not see and appreciate the Personality of Godhead. Thus he had gone on to convince others to become so-called jewels also.

Following his spiritual master, Abhay displayed an aggressive spirit for confronting all opponents of pure theism. In responding to his spiritual master’s order to develop into an English preacher, Abhay was not simply making neutral scholarly presentations; he was willing and ready to fight – whether against modern agnostics or Vaiṣṇavism’s old, traditional enemy, Māyāvāda impersonalism.

Although few scholars taught the way of surrender to Lord Kṛṣṇa, as espoused in Bhagavad-gītā, almost all respected Bhagavad-gītā as presenting the essence of all knowledge. The Gītā, therefore, was the perfect vehicle for confronting those who misrepresented God and religion. The Gītā was a “challenge to the agnostics, apotheosists, anthropomorphists, impersonalists, henotheists, pantheists, and absolute monists.” Although there were already more than six hundred commentaries on Bhagavad-gītā, they had been written by persons with “an inner hatred for the Personality of Godhead,” and therefore they were imperfect. “Such envious persons,” Abhay wrote, “have no entrance into the real meaning of Bhagwat Geeta inasmuch as a fly cannot enter into the covered jar of honey.”

Abhay described Indian culture as an almost impassable ocean, due to its depth of thought and apparent mixtures of conclusions. “But in this book,” Abhay declared, “I will establish that Krishna is the Absolute Personality of Godhead by referring to the available records of scriptures which are the recorded history of Indian culture and thought.”

Abhay continued regularly associating with Śrīdhara Mahārāja and discussing with him Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. Abhay encouraged him to preach widely, although Śrīdhara Mahārāja was admittedly more the scholar and rather shy about going out and preaching. On several occasions, Abhay tried to convince Śrīdhara Mahārāja to go with him and charge Gandhi and Nehru as to why they weren’t following the principles of Bhagavad-gītā.

Another fruit of the spiritual association at 7 Banerjee Lane was a book called Prapanna-jīvanāmṛta, compiled by Śrīdhara Mahārāja. A collection of verses from various Vaiṣṇava scriptures, including excerpts from the works of Rūpa Gosvāmī, it was divided into six chapters, according to the six divisions of surrender. Abhay, along with the sannyāsīs of the Devananda Sarasvati Math, financed the publication. Thus it was published as a joint effort by friends.

September 3, 1939
  Lord Linlithgow, viceroy of India, announced that India was at war with Germany. Thus England swept India into the war – without consulting any Indians. Although independence-minded India certainly resented such a show of foreign control, there were mixed feelings about the war. India wanted independence, yet she sympathized with the allied cause against fascism in the West and feared an invasion by imperial Japan in the East. “Since you dislike the British so violently,” one author asked a typical New Delhi student of the day, “would you want Japan to invade and conquer India?” Student: “No, but we Indians pray that God may give the British enough strength to stand up under the blows they deserve.”

Although at the outbreak of the war India had only 175,000 men in her armed forces, the British managed to increase the number of Indian soldiers to two million. There was no draft, but the British sent recruiting agents all over India, especially in the Punjab, where military service seemed an attractive offer to the local poor. The Punjabis proved good fighters, whereas Bengalis enlisted as officers, doctors, contractors, and clerks. Indian soldiers were dispatched to battlefields in Egypt, Iraq, Syria, Persia, Malaya, Burma, and Assam.

While the British were attempting to mobilize Indians for the war, the Indian nationalist movement, which had continued off and on for more than twenty years, became very active. Members of the Congress Party refused to cooperate with the war effort and demanded guaranteed independence for India. Some thought that since England had her hands full with Germany, the time was ripe to revolt and gain independence by force. Gandhi’s position had been one of unconditional pacifism, and he had opposed the idea of Indians taking up arms, even to defend India. But by 1942 he had become more inimical and had reduced his policy towards the British to a simple, unequivocal “Quit India!” Thousands of Indians responded by chanting slogans in the street and even by tearing up the railway lines.

Abhay’s militant former schoolmate Subhas Chandra Bose fought against the British in his own way. He had approached Hitler in Germany and gotten him to agree that when the Germans captured Indian soldiers, Germany would return them to Bose, who would maintain them in his nationalist army. With this army Bose planned to return to India and drive the British from Indian soil. But dissatisfied with his progress in Germany, Bose made a similar agreement with Tojo in Japan, and soon thousands of Gurkhas and Sikhs (the best fighters in the Indian army) had defected from the British army to join Bose’s freedom fighters in Singapore. Bose began to prepare his army to invade India from the north.

Then in 1943 the British found that the Japanese, who had already taken Burma, were at the doors of India, approaching Bengal. By their tactic known as the “denial policy,” the British sank many Indian boats carrying food and destroyed large rice crops, fearing that they would fall into the hands of the enemy. This left local Indians starving and without the boats they needed for trade. The famine that ensued was the worst that had hit Bengal in 150 years. The government removed all control of food costs, and those who could not afford to buy at the skyrocketing prices died in the streets of Calcutta.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: I have got experience – the government created artificial famine. The war was going on, so Mr. Churchill’s policy was to keep the people in scarcity so they will volunteer to become soldiers. So this policy was executed. Big men, they collected the rice. Rice was selling at six rupees per mound. All of a sudden it came to fifty rupees per mound. I was in the grocer shop purchasing, and all of a sudden the grocer said, “No, no. I am not going to sell any more!” At that moment the price was six rupees per mound. So suddenly he was not going to sell. A few hours later, I went back to purchase, and the rice had gone up to fifty rupees per mound.

The government-appointed agents began to purchase the rice and other commodities which are daily necessities. They can offer any price, because the currency is in their hands. They can print so-called papers, a hundred dollars, and pay. A man becomes satisfied, thinking, “Oh, I have a hundred dollars.” But it is a piece of paper. …

That was the policy. “You have no money, no rice? So another avenue is open – yes, you become a soldier. You get so much money.” People, out of poverty, would go there. I have seen it. No rice was available in the market. And people were hungry. They were dying.

Abhay managed to purchase just enough for his own family to survive. But he saw the beggar population increase by the hundreds. Month after month he saw the footpaths and open spaces congested with beggars, cooking their food on improvised stoves and sleeping in the open or beneath the trees. He saw starving children rummaging in the dustbins for a morsel of food. From there it was but a step to fighting with the dogs for a share of the garbage, and this also became a familiar sight in the Calcutta streets. The British had little time to spare from their war efforts, and they worked only to save those lives essential for the fight. For the common people the empire’s prescription was uniform and simple – starvation.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: One American gentleman was present at that time. He remarked, “People are starving in this way. In our country there would have been revolution.” Yes, but the people of India are so trained that in spite of artificial famine they did not commit theft, stealing others’ property. People were dying. Still they thought, “All right. God has given.” That was the basic principle of Vedic civilization.

Abhay knew that under the laws of nature there was no scarcity; by God’s arrangement the earth could produce enough food. The trouble was man’s greed. “There is no scarcity in the world,” Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī had said. “The only scarcity is of Kṛṣṇa consciousness.” And this was how Abhay saw the 1943 famine. Now more than ever, this spiritual vision was relevant – Kṛṣṇa consciousness was the prime necessity. How else could man be checked from his evil propensities to become greedy, hoard, make war, and thus create misery for millions?

He had seen the heinous activities of the British in India – their cutting off the thumbs of the weavers so that Indian-made cotton goods could not compete with the foreign-made cloth, their shooting down of unarmed, innocent citizens, their creating artificial famine, their propagating the myth that Indian civilization was primitive – still, he did not believe that an independent Indian government would necessarily be an improvement. Unless the leadership was Kṛṣṇa conscious – and neither Gandhi nor Subhas Chandra Bose was – then the government would be able to provide no real solutions, only stopgap measures. Without obedience to the laws of God, as expressed by the scriptures and sages, governments would only increase human suffering.

Or was it? Some said it was the forces of Subhas Chandra Bose, since the bombs fell mostly in the European quarter. But for the people of Calcutta it made little difference who was attacking. After the first bombing, people evacuated the city. Blackouts were imposed, and at night the entire city was dark.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: The whole Calcutta became vacant. Perhaps only myself and a few others remained. I sent my sons to Navadvīpa – of course, my daughter was married. My wife refused to go out of Calcutta. She said, “I’ll be bombed, but I will not go.” So I had to remain in Calcutta. I have seen bombing in Calcutta all night. I was just eating when there was the siren. So, the arrangement was that … in your house would be the shelter room. I was hungry, so I first finished eating. Then I went to the room, and the bombing began. Chee – Kyam! I was thinking that this was also Kṛṣṇa in another form. But that form was not very lovable.

In the midst of these calamities, Abhay felt more than ever the need to propagate Kṛṣṇa consciousness. He had something to say to the war-weary citizens of the world, and he longed for a more effective forum – a publication of some kind, a way to present the world’s crises through the eyes of scripture in the same bold style as had his spiritual master. There was no shortage of ideas, and he had been saving money from his business for this very purpose.

Yet how could he dare produce such a journal when even learned sannyāsīs, senior disciples of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta, were not. He never considered himself a great scholar among his Godbrothers. Although they called him kavi and now Bhaktivedanta, as a gṛhastha he wasn’t expected to take the lead or publish his own journal.

But times had changed. The English journal The Harmonist had not been published since before Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta’s passing away. Now almost a decade had passed, and the Gaudiya Math had been too busy fighting in court to consider preaching. Long gone was the tireless spirit that for ten consecutive years had produced the daily Nadiyā Prakāśa. No longer were four separately located printing presses pumping out transcendental literature under the direction of Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura’s empowered son; the presses had been sold by Kuñjavihārī. Times had changed. The Gaudiya Math was only fighting, while the nondevotees were killing each other in a world war.

From his front room at 6 Sita Kanta Banerjee, Abhay conceived, wrote, edited, and typed the manuscript for a magazine. He designed a logo, a long rectangle across the top of the page. In the upper left-hand corner was a figure of Lord Caitanya, effulgent with rays of light like rays from the sun. In the lower right were silhouettes of a crowd of people, in darkness but groping to receive light from Lord Caitanya. And between Lord Caitanya and the people, the title unfurled like a banner – BACK TO GODHEAD. In the lower right corner was a picture of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī seated at his writing, looking up thoughtfully as he composed. Above the logo ran the motto “Godhead is Light, Nescience is darkness. Where there is Godhead there is no Nescience.” Below the logo were the following lines:

Abhay had already gained some printing experience in connection with his business, and after completing the manuscript he brought it to Saraswaty Press, the best printers in Bengal. He also hired an agent, Calcutta’s prestigious booksellers Thacker, Spink and Company, who would take responsibility for distributing the journal to bookstores and libraries, including outlets in several foreign countries.

But when he went to buy paper, he met with government restrictions. Because of the war and the subsequent paper shortage, they wanted to assay what he had written in terms of the national needs; during this time of world crisis, an ordinary citizen’s religious newspaper was hardly top priority.

Abhay’s request for paper was perfunctorily denied, but he persisted. He appealed that using paper to print the teachings of the Personality of Godhead was not a waste and not untimely in the present troubled atmosphere. Finally he obtained permission to print his first edition of Back to Godhead, a forty-four page publication.

Abhay Charan greeted his readers by defining his motto: “Godhead is Light, Nescience is darkness.” When man forgets that he is the son of Godhead and identifies himself with the body, then he’s in ignorance. He’s like a man who’s very concerned with the automobile’s mechanism yet with no knowledge of the driver.

It was 1944, and Abhay specifically addressed the crisis of world war. The world’s political leaders were expressing their disgust at their people’s suffering and scarcity. After four years of fighting, costing millions of human lives, the second world war within twenty years was still scourging the earth. Although the end was in sight, leaders expressed not so much happiness and hope as weariness and uncertainty. Even if this war ended, would there be yet another war? Had man not yet grasped the vital lesson of how to live in peace?

Abhay quoted the Archbishop of India: “India guided by God can lead the world back to sanity.” He quoted the President of the United States: “A programme, therefore, of moral re-armament for the world cannot fail to lessen the dangers of armed conflict. Such moral re-armament, to be most highly effective, must receive support on a world wide basis.” He mentioned former President Herbert Hoover, who had affirmed that the world needs to return to moral and spiritual ideals, and he quoted a resolution by the British House of Commons affirming that spiritual principles are the common heritage of all people and that men and nations urgently need to acknowledge the sovereignty of God. He quoted Wendell Willkie, who, after his return from Russia, had reported millions of Russians killed, wounded, or missing in the war and millions more suffering from a winter of terrible scarcity and subjugation.

“What is true for the Russian people,” Abhay wrote, “is also true for other people, and we Indians are feeling the same scarcity, the same want, and the same disgust.” He quoted Britain’s foreign secretary, Anthony Eden, who had been filled with lamentation and indignation at the miseries of war. He quoted the Archbishop of Canterbury:

He also quoted Sir Francis Younghusband of Britain: “Now that religion is everywhere attacked brutally, we look to India, the very home of religion, for a sign.” And finally he quoted Sir Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan:

And in another quote from Dr. Radhakrishnan, Abhay offered a statement he also used as one of the mottoes of the magazine:

Abhay expressed his confidence that the spiritual resources of India could be used by everyone, not only to enhance the glory of India but to benefit the whole world.

Next he told how he had come to begin Back to Godhead magazine – how he had written a letter two weeks before the disappearance of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, and how his spiritual master had instructed him to preach in English.

Abhay stated that his paper would contain only the transcendental messages of the great sages of India, especially Lord Caitanya, and that his duty would be simply to repeat them, just like a translator. He would not manufacture anything, and so his words would descend as transcendental sound for guiding people back to Godhead. He admitted that the subject matters of Back to Godhead, being from a totally different sphere of consciousness, might seem dry to his readers, but he held that anyone who actually gave attention to his message would benefit.

Abhay focused on presenting the timeless message of the Vedas, but in the context of current crises. In his essay “Godhead and His Potentialities,” he presented Vedic evidence and logical arguments to explain the transcendental nature of Godhead and the individual souls, both being deathless, blissful, and full of knowledge. Because men have forgotten and neglected their vital connection with God, they can never be satisfied in the material world, which is temporary and beset with unavoidable miseries. As spiritual souls, everyone is eternal by nature, and therefore everyone tries to avoid the onslaught of distresses and dangers, which come one after another. But the material body is meant for suffering and ultimately for destruction.

Abhay wrote that never by their own devices could men escape the conditions of destruction. So many world leaders were seeking relief from the war, but all were useless, because their attempts for peace were within the material conception of life. Their attempts were like attempts to alleviate darkness with darkness; but darkness can be removed only by light.

Abhay did not deal exclusively with the war. In “Theosophy Ends in Vaishnavism,” he criticized the shortcomings of the fashionable ideas of Theosophy, which the followers of Madame Blavatsky had popularized in India.

In “Congregational Chanting,” he upheld the scriptural prediction that the saṅkīrtana movement of Lord Caitanya would spread to every town and village on the surface of the earth.

The central theme of Back to Godhead was clearly the order of Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī. In its cover with its picture of a thoughtful Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta, in its “Dedication,” in its statement of the magazine’s purpose, in its handling of issues, its analysis of Theosophy, its prediction of the spread of saṅkīrtana – in its every aspect, the theme of Back to Godhead was the order of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī.

There were also four shorter essays by other contributors, including Bhaktisāraṅga Gosvāmī.

An advertisement on the back cover highlighted

And a second major work: Lord Chaitanya, in two parts, totaling one thousand pages. Neither of these manuscripts was actually near completion, but Abhay was expressing his eagerness to undertake such large works on behalf of his spiritual master.

In attempting to print the second issue of Back to Godhead, Abhay encountered the same difficulty as before. Twice he requested permission to purchase newsprint, and twice the government denied his request. Paper was restricted on account of the war. On July 10, 1944, Abhay wrote a third letter.

Abhay also remarked that the editorial board of Back to Godhead felt that there was not so much a scarcity of paper as a scarcity of education. Taking the opportunity to preach, Abhay explained that although the ultimate supplier was the Personality of Godhead, godless men consider themselves the proprietors of all things.

Abhay conceded that there might indeed be a paper shortage in India. But in ancient times, he wrote, enlightened Indians had regularly sacrificed tons of valuable ghee and grains in the fire during religious sacrifices, and in those times there had not been any scarcity. People now, however, having abandoned all sacrifices to the Supreme Lord, were producing only scarcity.

The letter was successful. Now, with veiled sarcasm, he headlined his second issue, “Thanks to the Government of India.” He informed his readers, many of whom had been disappointed to learn that the government had curtailed his printing, that he would be able to continue his magazine every month. Abhay printed his letter to the government paper officer and also the reply granting him permission.

His articles were shorter, this time displaying the flair of a news columnist, as with philosophical criticism, verve, and a touch of ironic humor he commented on world leaders and crises. “Gandhi-Jinnah Talks,” “Mr. Churchill’s ‘Humane World,’ ” “Mr. Bernard Shaw’s Wishful Desire,” and “Spontaneous Love of Godhead” comprised the issue.

“Gandhi-Jinnah Talks”: “We are sorry to learn that Gandhi-Jinnah talks about unity of the Indian people have failed for the present.” Abhay was not very optimistic about the results of such “occasional talks between several heads of communities.” Even if they made a successful solution, it would break up and take the shape of another problem. They were looking for unity between Muslims and Hindus, but in Europe the fighting parties were Christians, and in Asia they were mostly Buddhists – but still they were fighting. “So fighting will go on between Hindu and Mohammedan, between Hindus and Hindus or between Mohammedan and Mohammedan, between Christians and Christians and between Buddhist and Buddhist till the day of annihilation.” As long as there was the contaminated self-interest of sense gratification, there would be fighting between brother and brother, father and son, and nation and nation. Real unity would stand only on a plane of transcendental service to the Supreme. “Mahatma Gandhi,” Abhay wrote, “is far above ordinary human being and we have all respects for him.” But Abhay advised Gandhi to give up his activities on the material plane and rise to the transcendental plane of the spirit – then there could be talks about the unity of all people. Abhay cited Bhagavad-gītā’s definition of a mahātmā: one who concentrates his attention on the service of the Supreme Lord, Śrī Kṛṣṇa. He requested Mahatma Gandhi to adhere to the teachings of Bhagavad-gītā and preach its message of surrender to the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Śrī Kṛṣṇa. In this way, Mahatma Gandhi, through his influential position in the world, could bring about universal relief, simply by preaching the message of Bhagavad-gītā.

“Mr. Churchill’s ‘Humane World’ ”:

Until men were educated to see the soul within the body, the dual frenzy of love and hate would continue, and a humane world would not be possible. “This introspection,” Abhay concluded, “is … easily attained by the service of Godhead. So Mr. Churchill’s Humane World implies that we must go ‘Back to Godhead.’ ”

“Mr. Bernard Shaw’s Wishful Desire”:

But death does not respect our “wishful desire.” Neither Mr. Shaw nor Mahatma Gandhi, nor any other great personality, had ever been able to solve the problem of death.

Men were preoccupied with the problem of how to get bread, although this problem was actually solved by nature. Man should try to solve the problem of death.

Bhagavad-gītā tells that the problem of death can be solved. Although death is everywhere in the material world, “One who attains to Me,” says Kṛṣṇa, “never has to take his birth again in the material world.” There is a spiritual world, nondestructible, and one who goes there does not come back to the region of death. Why should the leaders of nations cling to the planet of their birth, where death is inevitable? Abhay concluded, “We wish that in their ripe old age Mr. Shaw and Mahatma Gandhi will make combined effort to educate men to learn how to go back to home, back to Godhead.”

One night, Abhay had an unusual dream. Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta appeared before him, beckoning. He was asking Abhay to leave home and take sannyāsa. Abhay awoke in an intensely emotional state. “How horrible!” he thought. He knew it was not an ordinary dream, yet the request seemed so difficult and unlikely. Take sannyāsa! At least it was not something he could do immediately. Now he had to improve the business, and with the profits he would print books. He went on with his duties, but remained shaken by the dream.

In 1945, the war over and India still in turmoil under British rule, Abhay saw a good opportunity to make his business more successful. In Lucknow, six hundred miles from Calcutta, he rented a building and opened his own factory, Abhay Charan De and Sons.

It was a major investment, requiring forty thousand rupees to start, and he began on a larger scale than ever before. Also, according to law, to insure that he was not dealing in the black market or misusing chemicals, he had to employ three government inspectors. Yet despite a high overhead he established a good market, and his products were in demand. He closed his small operation in Calcutta and concentrated on the Lucknow business.

Although the building was known locally to be haunted by ghosts, Abhay had not been deterred. But when he began his operations, some of the workers came to him frightened: “Bābū, Bābū, there is a ghost!” Abhay then went through the entire building chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa, and after that there were no more complaints of ghosts.

On November 13, Abhay wrote to his servant Gouranga, mentioning some of his difficulties in Lucknow and asking him to come there to help. In this letter, Abhay spoke bitterly of his wife, Radharani, and children.

The two interests – family and preaching – were conflicting. Radharani had never shown any interest in Back to Godhead. She seemed to work against his enthusiasm, both for publishing and for earning. The business was called Abhay Charan De and Sons, and yet the sons were disinclined to help. And when he had called for his servant to join him in Lucknow, the family had objected, saying they needed Gouranga more there.

What was the use? The family was interested neither in backing him in his business nor in taking up the life of devotional service. And since his business was primarily an outcome of his family life, he resented that he had to give it so much of his energy. It was the old economic law by Marshall that he had learned in college: Without family affection, a man’s economic impetus is weakened.

Of course, there could be a compatible balance between family service and devotional service. Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura had described two simultaneous obligations: bodily and spiritual. Social status, mental development, cleanliness, nourishment, and the struggle for existence were all bodily obligations; the activities of devotional service to Kṛṣṇa were spiritual. And the two should parallel one another. In Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura’s life, his family was a source of spiritual encouragement, and he used his social position to advance his preaching.

But Abhay’s experience had been different; the two paths seemed to be at war, each threatening the other’s existence. He felt himself operating somewhat like the materialists he had criticized in his writings, absorbed in the struggle for existence with insufficient time for self-realization. Although his family made more and more demands of him, he was feeling less inclined to work for them and more inclined to preach Kṛṣṇa consciousness. It was a predicament. He could only push on diligently, support his family, expand his business, and hope for a great success so that he could revive his publishing.

But the Lucknow factory seemed almost beyond his means. He had purposely begun on a large scale with the aim of making a larger profit. But monthly expenses were high, he had fallen behind in his rent, and now he was involved in a court case with the landlord. Although he was visiting Calcutta regularly and shipping raw materials from Calcutta to Lucknow daily, he always found his family members in Calcutta uncooperative. His servant Gouranga was also reluctant to work as Abhay required and was thinking of going back to live with his family. Abhay again wrote to Gouranga on the twenty-third.