CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS ANOTHER twelve-hour ride with dozens of stops. The train’s rattling and clattering and its rocking from side to side made writing difficult, but Abhay, crowded on the wooden bench with other third-class passengers, kept writing. Within the dingy compartment, passengers eyed one another complacently, and soot and dust blew in the open windows as the train sped along. Outside, past the monotonous embankment of loose stones, bright violet trumpet flowers bloomed on tall stalks in the shallow trackside ditches. Water buffalo and oxen grazed in the distance or sometimes pulled a plow before a solitary farmer.

Abhay was going to Jhansi – not for business, but for preaching. One month before, in October of 1952, when Abhay had visited Jhansi on business, Mr. Dubey, a customer and the owner of a Jhansi hospital, had invited him to lecture at the Gita Mandir. Many Jhansi people appreciated things religious or humanitarian, whether from Vaiṣṇavas, theosophists, Māyāvādīs, politicians, or whatever. They regarded almost any path as “dharma” as long as it showed some edifying piety or tended towards the public welfare. Mr. Dubey had read with interest several issues of Back to Godhead and had therefore requested Abhay to speak. Abhay had been eager. And he had found keen interest amongst the audience of more than a hundred people, many of them young medical students and graduates from the local Ayurvedic college.

Abhay was fifty-six, and his commanding presentation of Kṛṣṇa consciousness had impressed the young, religious-minded people of Jhansi. Twenty-five-year-old Prabhakar Misra, principal of the Vedanta Sanskrit College and head medical officer of the Jhansi Ayurvedic University, saw that Abhay was very forceful in his desire to spread Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Dr. Misra regarded him as a kind of guru, although dressed in white. “Here is a humble person,” he thought, “a real sādhu.”

Short and stocky Dr. Shastri, just beginning his career in Ayurvedic medicine, was an active young man, fascinated by Abhay’s purity and his vision of a world movement for distributing India’s culture. Older men, like tall, suave Ramcharan Hayharan Mitra, a utensils shopkeeper who wrote poetry and wore a white Nehru cap, also wanted to learn more about Lord Caitanya from Abhay. Dr. Mullik, who was the Gita Mandir secretary, and Dr. Siddhi from the university, along with their wives, had sincerely approached Abhay after his talk and asked him please to visit Jhansi again.

Abhay had come to them not as a pharmaceutical salesman or as a man with family concerns, but purely as a devotee of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu. Although the specific applications of Kṛṣṇa consciousness as given by Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī were new to his audience, these teachings had interested them, and the more Abhay had expressed these teachings and spoken of his ambitions for spreading Kṛṣṇa’s message, the more his hearers had encouraged him. Several of them had suggested he conduct his mission in Jhansi, and they had promised to help him. Dr. Shastri had even invited Abhay to come live with him; he would introduce Abhay to important citizens and arrange for lectures in the various meeting places of Jhansi.

After staying for ten days, Abhay had returned to Allahabad, but remembering Jhansi he had been unable to concentrate on his business. Something more important was on his mind: the need for an association of devotees propagating the teachings and practices of Kṛṣṇa consciousness worldwide. With the Gaudiya Math now broken into permanent schisms – his Godbrothers conducting their own private āśramas in separate locales, apparently impervious to any reconciliations – something would have to be done if the overwhelming atmosphere of godlessness were to be corrected. There must emerge, as Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī had envisioned, a league of preachers with activities worldwide.

The nations of the world had sought unity through the League of Nations, and recently through the United Nations. The League had failed, and so would the United Nations, unless it recognized the true, spiritual unity and equality of all living beings in terms of their intimate relationship with the Supreme Personality of Godhead. Abhay did not expect any good to come of such organizations; though they wanted peace and unity, their attempts were simply another feature of godlessness. No, creating peace and unity was the duty of Vaiṣṇavas.

So Abhay had been thinking that perhaps a likely place to start an organization of devotees would be Jhansi. It wasn’t a major city, but at least he had found concerned people. The students had listened and accepted and had said they would help. Abhay had sensed a certain lack of sincerity and depth in their appreciation and a sentimentality that made him doubt their seriousness – but if he could find a few or even one who was serious, then he would have a beginning. He wanted to preach – that was his mission. Besides, he was already getting older; if something were to begin, it should be now. So he would go to Jhansi again, to stay for an indefinite duration. Without much concern for his Allahabad affairs, Abhay left his pharmaceutical business with his son and nephew, informing them that he was going to Jhansi.

Abhay and Dr. Shastri would cook and eat together like family members. Abhay revealed his idea for a “League of Devotees,” an organization with worldwide scope but based in Jhansi. The citizens of Jhansi, he said, should all take part in helping spread Lord Kṛṣṇa’s mission. Lord Caitanya had said that Indians have a special responsibility to distribute God consciousness, both in India and around the world.

Dr. Shastri: In his heart, always it was burning that the whole world was suffering in the materialistic view – everyone is busy in eat, drink, and be merry. So the whole day he was touring and preaching his mission that was prescribed by Caitanya Mahāprabhu and his Guru Mahārāja. He was having iron-will determination and self-confidence about his mission. He was not doubtful at all. He was dṛḍha-vrata [staunchly determined]. Actually, he was always preaching: harer nāma harer nāma harer nāmaiva kevalam/ kalau nāsty eva nāsty eva nāsty eva gatir anyathā – no other way except Hare Kṛṣṇa nāma. So, always discussing, sometimes the whole night he was discussing with me, and sometimes I was fed up. I was requesting, “Please don’t disturb me. Please let me sleep.” And he – the old man missionary worker – he was just like a young man. I was a young chap, and he was just like my friend, my elder brother. He was like my guide and teacher – because the preacher is a friend, philosopher, and guide.

He was always trying to create a good atmosphere through Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam and Bhagavad-gītā. The whole Bhagavad-gītā was his practical life. His mission was not a mission of preaching only, but of practical action. He was also trying to catch me for this mission, and I would try to slip away. I did not think that he would do any miracle for spiritual revolution of the world, although that is what he urged us.

While Dr. Shastri tended his clinic, Abhay sat and spoke with patients, occasionally recommending medicines but mostly preaching. For now he was content to live and preach in Jhansi. Here was life – people receptive to his preaching, who responded to his urging them to chant Hare Kṛṣṇa. His desire and determination to leave everything else behind and preach day and night, depending on Kṛṣṇa for the result, were increasing.

He began regularly lecturing and chanting at various programs in the city, sometimes at several in one day. On Sundays he would lecture at the Sadhana Mandir, another day at the Gita Mandir, another day at the Theosophical Society, and regularly in people’s homes.

Mr. Ram Mitra, the shopkeeper-poet, maintained a Śiva temple near his home, and Abhay began to perform kīrtana and lecture there. Sometimes Mr. Mitra would speak in Hindi on Bhagavad-gītā at the Sadhana Mandir, and Abhay would attend. Sometimes Abhay would visit Mr. Mitra at his utensils shop. The shop was in a crowded Jhansi bazaar and opened onto the busy street. Abhay would sit down like an ordinary customer, amidst stacks of stainless-steel buckets, plates, bowls, and loṭās, and speak to Mr. Mitra and friends about Caitanya-caritāmṛta. Or sometimes he would listen to Mr. Mitra tell about his published book of poetry and his literary reputation.

Mr. Mitra saw that Abhay’s ambition was no less than to make the whole city of Jhansi alive with Kṛṣṇa consciousness. Abhay quoted Caitanya-caritāmṛta: “One who has received the great fortune of taking birth in India should make his life perfect and then do good for others by spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness.” “And,” Abhay would add, “the whole world is waiting, Mr. Mitra, for our spiritual revolution.” Mr. Mitra would nod, his handsome Nehru-like face forming a smile. But he saw that Abhay wanted people to do more than merely listen to him – he wanted them to do something.

Once Mr. Mitra offered Abhay a copy of his book, showing him the foreword by a famous man, and repeatedly mentioned that the great sādhu Vinoba Bhave had liked the poems very much. When Mr. Mitra learned that Abhay was a regular milk drinker, he began offering Abhay fresh milk daily from his cow, a black cow (and black cows, Mr. Mitra said, gave especially good milk). Abhay invited Mr. Mitra to accompany him on foot to nearby villages along with a kīrtana party for preaching. But Mr. Mitra declined, being unable to get anyone to tend the shop for him.

Another young Ayurvedic doctor was Dr. Siddhi, who immediately expressed interest in Abhay’s enthusiastic plans for spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

Dr. Siddhi: He came several times to my place. I’ve got a kīrtana room on my roof, and he performed kīrtana there as well as at the Gita Mandir. We were also going daily to the Theosophical Society. There was an atmosphere, a very pious, sacred, and calm atmosphere, when the kīrtana and preaching and lectures were performed. He used to play harmonium. We accompanied him for meeting people and preaching his mission. The main thing was to perform kīrtana and give a lecture on the Bhagavad-gītā and the life of Kṛṣṇa. Caitanya Mahāprabhu was his Lord, and I also loved Him.

Radhelal Mullik, secretary of the Gita Mandir and Sadhana Mandir, began meeting often with Abhay.

Radhelal Mullik: I was very much influenced by him. I used to spend three or four hours every morning in his association. He had many, many big scriptures. He was mainly concerned about the books about Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu. He was also writing at that time. The president of the Gita Mandir and I both volunteered to cook for him.

It was during a morning walk with Radhelal Mullik that Abhay first spotted the Bharati Bhavan, a picturesque temple complex across from the large Antiya pond. The neighborhood, known as Antiya Tal, was quiet and sparsely populated, but it was near Sipri Road, the main thoroughfare between downtown Jhansi and Sipri Bazaar. Abhay inquired from Mr. Mullik about the temple, and together they turned from the main road and walked down a sloping footpath that led through the main gates of the compound.

There they found several secluded acres, nestled within a grove of nīm and mango trees. The main structure was the Radha Memorial. It was small like a chapel, but its proportions were stout and bold. Sitting on an octagonal stone base, it rose on eight ornate pillars of red and white chipped marble, to a stone dome on top. Two elephants, bearing the goddess of fortune, Lakṣmī, on their upraised trunks, decorated the entrance. Concrete bunting and striped patterns of red, green, and blue added to the decorative yet massive effect. The entrance was marked with the words Rādhā-smarak carved in Hindi script, and above it the English translation: Radha Memorial.

When Abhay saw the Sanskrit inscription across the side of the stone temple – Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare – he turned to Radhelal Mullik and said strongly, “The Lord has built this building for my use.” From that moment, Abhay was determined to have the building.

Mr. Mullik explained that the temple had been built in 1939 as a memorial to the wealthy Vaiṣṇava landowner Radha Bhai but at the present was not in use. Dr. Prabhakar Misra, whom Abhay had already met on several occasions, was occupying some of the rooms, but otherwise it was deserted. Mr. Mullik and Abhay sought Dr. Misra in his quarters in the main building, and when Dr. Misra saw Abhay’s enthusiasm, he invited Abhay to stay there with him. Dr. Misra confirmed that except for his Sunday-morning Gītā class the facility was sitting idle, and he welcomed Abhay to carry on his writing and preaching there.

Abhay liked the idea. Immediately he began thinking of uses for the buildings, surveying the land with increasing interest. A second, larger building, also with stone pillars and facades, held a hall and five rooms. Abhay made mental plans for each room: in this room, kīrtanas and lectures with large gatherings; in this room, the Deity of Lord Caitanya Mahāprabhu; in these rooms, resident brahmacārīs and sannyāsīs; guests here; an office there; the printing press here. There was even land for grazing a cow. It was a self-contained unit. Hundreds of people could come here for kīrtana, prasādam, and discourses. Preachers could go out from here distributing Back to Godhead magazines; some could even go abroad with Lord Caitanya’s message.

As Abhay and his companions walked through the compound, appreciating it as a suitable place to start an āśrama, his companions encouraged him, saying they were sure that Mr. Reva Sankar Bhayal, the agent who handled all the properties of Radha Bhai’s descendants, would have no objection to Abhay’s living there. Why couldn’t the landlord give him the buildings? Abhay asked. They were simply going to waste. If it were actually to be a memorial to Rādhā, it should be used in Kṛṣṇa’s service, since Kṛṣṇa is Rādhā’s worshipable Lord.

Abhay was determined, and his friends agreed to help him. First they met with Ram Mitra, who said that he was such a close friend of Mr. Bhayal’s that Mr. Bhayal would probably give the place simply at his request. Dr. Shastri said that he also wanted to go to impress upon Mr. Bhayal how much the people of Jhansi wanted Abhay to have this place.

When Reva Sankar Bhayal met with his friend Ram Mitra, also present were Abhay, Dr. Shastri, Radhelal Mullik, Prabhakar Misra, and Suryamukhi Sharma, a young, educated Jhansi woman. They presented the case from several angles, and Mr. Bhayal listened. He agreed that he wasn’t using the place at present and this seemed to be a good cause. He agreed to let Abhay use the facilities for his League of Devotees for as long as he liked. And, at Abhay’s request, he agreed to become a member of the League. They shook hands. On behalf of the estate, Mr. Bhayal presented the Bharati Bhavan properties in charity to Abhay Charan De and the League of Devotees.

During December and January, Abhay prepared a League of Devotees charter. He wanted to begin vigorous, extensive preaching, following the example of his spiritual master. Once he began to set his goals to paper, the project immediately began to expand – beyond Jhansi, beyond India. Of course, the League of Devotees was for the young people of Jhansi – they were already expressing great interest – but Abhay’s charter described more than merely evening classes and kīrtana. It was a broad scheme, including a description of the four orders of society (brāhmaṇa, kṣatriya, vaiśya, and śūdra) and detailed plans to accommodate a worldwide religious movement. The charter set forth a probationary period for prospective members, it described spiritual initiation, it arranged for economic reciprocation between individual members and the League, it arranged to provide lodgings for preachers, and it defined prohibited activities: “illegitimate connection with women, intoxicating habit, diets [other than] regulated strictly on vegetable kingdom, gambling, [and] unnecessary sporting or recreation enterprises.”

To establish his League with the registrar in Lucknow, Abhay required a “Memorandum of Association” signed by the League members. In this document, which was to list the objectives of the society, Abhay expressed his vision for the continuation of his spiritual master’s mission. Like his Godbrothers who had created new maṭhas after the dissolution of the Gaudiya Math, Abhay was forming a new branch of the Gauḍīya sampradāya, to be called the “League of Devotees.” He was not simply claiming proprietorship of a few buildings; he was establishing a Kṛṣṇa conscious society that would expand into a world movement. His intentions were clearly not insular, but were directed towards creating “centres for spiritual development all over the world… .” Abhay wrote: “… Lord Chaitanya … revealed the transcendental process of approaching the ABSOLUTE GODHEAD, and in [His] teachings nothing appears to be absurd from the point of human reasoning and nothing against any religion as accepted by the human and civilised world.” In enumerating the League’s goals, he included the opening of centers in all parts of the world, thus establishing the League as “an International Organisation for spiritual developments through education, culture as also by recruiting members from all nations, creeds and castes.” The League would publish literature in many languages and print a monthly magazine, Back to Godhead.

Abhay obtained the necessary signatures for his Memorandum of Association. He then took the train to Lucknow and, on February 4, paid the deposit of fifty rupees and filed his application. He returned to Jhansi.

In his room in the Radha Memorial, Abhay would rise daily at 4:00 A.M. and arouse his young neighbor, Prabhakar Misra. From four to five Abhay would write, at five he would walk in the Antiya Tal area, at five-thirty bathe, and then chant Hare Kṛṣṇa on his beads until seven, when he would hold a class on the Caitanya-caritāmṛta or Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam (although Prabhakar Misra was usually the only listener). At eight he would return to his literary work, typing until after ten, when he would begin to prepare a meal. In the afternoon he would often go around Jhansi, meeting people and preaching, looking for anyone willing to take part in the League of Devotees. In the early evening he would write until seven, when he would prepare for the kīrtana and lecture he would hold at one of various places in the city, depending on where he was invited.

Although Abhay had no money for continuing Back to Godhead, a well-established part of his preaching was to write essays, regardless of whether they were to be immediately published or not. He wrote a long essay, some twenty-four thousand words, entitled “Message of Godhead.” He also wrote a series of chapters propounding the teachings of Bhagavad-gītā, especially as they applied to world problems, and Science of Devotion, a summary study of Rūpa Gosvāmī’s Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu.

On May 16, 1953, Abhay held a grand-opening celebration for the League of Devotees, with continuous readings, kīrtana, and prasādam distribution from early morning until night. The buildings were decorated with leaves, flowers, and many earthen waterpots. In the evening, when attendance was the greatest, Abhay lectured from the Ninth Chapter of Bhagavad-gītā on “Rāja-guhya Yoga.” Prabhakar Misra conducted a fire sacrifice, and several brāhmaṇas chanted mantras from Brahma-saṁhitā. Guests received a sixteen-page prospectus containing Abhay’s essay on the need for the League and an excerpt from the charter explaining its goals. It was signed, “OM … TAT … SAT, Abhay Charanaravindo Bhaktivedanta, Founder and Secretary.”

The opening was a pleasant, auspicious event for the people of Jhansi, and hundreds gathered in the evening for Abhay’s lecture. Dr. Sharma, a charter member of the League and editor of the Jhansi daily newspaper, had already publicized the event and was planning a write-up for the following day. The Gauḍīya Patrikā also reported on the opening.

Abhay felt confident that the Bharati Bhavan would now be established and recognized as the home of the League of Devotees. He was happy to see that the opening day was not merely his private affair but an event celebrated by the most important citizens of Jhansi.

His past life was seeming further and further behind him each day. But one day after he had been in Jhansi about six months, a telegram arrived, bringing a startling reminder of his past connections. His business in Allahabad had been burglarized. His servants had stolen all his money and medicine and anything else of value. It had been a loss of seven thousand rupees. Abhay read the news, laughed, and uttered the Bhāgavatam verse

Prabhakar Misra advised Abhay to go back to Allahabad to recover what he could. “No,” Abhay said, “this is good for me. I was sad, but now one great attachment has come to an end, and my life is fully surrendered and dedicated to Śrī Śrī Rādhā-Mādhava.”

Abhay’s son Brindaban soon arrived in Jhansi, requesting Abhay to come to Calcutta to revive the business, Abhay Charan De and Sons. As they sat together in Abhay’s room at the Radha Memorial, Abhay explained that he could not go back. He requested Brindaban to stay and assist him by doing typewriting. But Brindaban returned to Calcutta.

From his first meeting with Prabhakar, Abhay had urged the younger, educated man to take part in the League of Devotees as a full-time assistant. Although as lecturer and medical officer Prabhakar had many duties at the university, he helped as much as he felt he could; he soon became Abhay’s most active assistant. Abhay appointed him secretary to the League and, after several months, initiated him. Thus Abhay became Prabhakar’s spiritual master, and Prabhakar became Abhay’s first disciple. As a preacher, Abhay was duty-bound to accept disciples, giving them the Hare Kṛṣṇa mantra and the paramparā instructions as he had received them from his spiritual master. Prabhakar, however, not being a completely surrendered disciple, remained independent, more like an assistant than a disciple. As university principal, Sanskrit scholar, and medical doctor, he continued to pursue his own interests also.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: That League of Devotees – I was alone. There were some students, but they were not so active. I was doing everything. I wanted to organize with Prabhakar Misra and others, but they were not interested to devote their whole time. If you asked him to do full-time work, that he’d not do. But he was initiated. They were all learned scholars in Sanskrit – medical men.

Thus when the Gauḍīya Patrikā had reported the opening-day ceremonies, it had referred to Prabhakar in honorable terms, as Abhay’s partner in the League of Devotees, although he was actually Śrīla Bhaktivedanta’s initiated disciple.

According to time and circumstances, Abhay was engaging this young man in devotional service. Abhay was interested not in collecting disciples but in establishing the League of Devotees. And for that he needed assistants.

Prabhakar Misra: When I first met Swamiji, he said to me, “You’re a brāhmaṇa and a prabhākar, and you are eating in a restaurant? You come with me – I will feed you myself, and I shall cook.” So we would prepare prasādam, and offering it to the Lord, we would take bhagavat-prasādam together. In this way, by his mercy, I got the chance to take prasādam. He also said to me, “You become keśa-hīn [shaven].” So I went with shaven head to the college where I taught, and everyone laughed at me. When I told Swamiji the situation, he said, “Since you are a medical officer, you can grow out your hair.”

When I took dīkṣā, Swamiji gave me my name, Ācārya Prabhākar. My original name was Prabhakar Misra, so he said, “You don’t write the Misra. You are Ācārya Prabhākar.” He gave me the name and offered me a tulasī-mālā and put tilaka on my forehead and tied a kaṇṭhī-mālā around my neck. He had registered the foundation of the League of Devotees, and he appointed me as its secretary for preaching throughout the world. We used to go to the villages for saṅkīrtana and Bhagavad-gītā kathā continuously.

Abhay started a saṅkīrtana movement in Jhansi. At first, accompanied only by Ācārya Prabhākar, he used to walk about the neighborhood of Naybhasti, chanting Hare Kṛṣṇa. As he continued this practice, his group gradually increased until fifty people were gathering regularly to go out on parikrama, chant together, and visit temples. Afterwards, they would gather at the Radha Memorial for an evening lecture.

When Abhay would go to preach in the nearby villages, he would usually be accompanied by whatever League members were free. Once he went with Ācārya Prabhākar on pāda-yātrā (traveling on foot and preaching) to Chirgoan, some twenty miles from Jhansi. In Chirgoan there lived a nationally known poet, Maithili Saran Gupta, who received Abhay and his disciple at his home for dinner. Abhay told his host that since he was an accomplished poet, he should write something glorifying Kṛṣṇa, and the poet agreed. After preaching in Chirgoan, Abhay and Prabhākar returned to Jhansi, spending one day in each of five villages along the way. At night the villagers would gather, and Abhay would lead kīrtana. He explained to Prabhākar that although most of these simple farmers were not scholars in Bhagavad-gītā or Bhāgavatam, they could achieve the highest spiritual benefit simply by kīrtana. Abhay was well received by the villagers, who begged him to return soon but to give them notice next time so that they could prepare a proper reception.

While preaching locally, Abhay was simultaneously working to give an international scope to his League of Devotees. He wrote to government agencies, asking them to help him expand his genuine educational project, and he also tried to recruit preachers from amongst his friends. He wrote to his old college classmate Rupen Mitra in Calcutta, inviting him to join in worldwide missionary activities.

Abhay wanted a deed stating that the Bharati Bhavan belonged to the League of Devotees. So far he had only a promise. Thinking of Jhansi as a permanent headquarters, he wanted a written commitment. When he approached Reva Sankar Bhayal for “a deed of gift,” Mr. Bhayal gave Abhay a form requesting him to pay five hundred rupees to register the buildings. But since Abhay had just suffered a loss of seven thousand rupees in Allahabad and had recently spent three thousand rupees in his preaching (much of it going towards the opening-day festival), he found himself unable to raise even five hundred rupees. Ācārya Prabhākar, despite his academic position, had very little money and was being subsidized by his parents with three rupees a day. Most of Abhay’s congregation, especially the students, were in a similar position. Mr. Bhayal’s request for five hundred rupees didn’t seem urgent, nor did he say what would happen if Abhay couldn’t pay. But he soon made another request: Mr. Abhay Charan De should buy the Bharati Bhavan for five thousand rupees.

It was disconcerting; the generous gift had turned into a purchase offer. The people in town were already referring to the property as Abhay Bhaktivedanta’s āśrama, and “The League of Devotees” was printed in large letters across the wall of the compound. When pressed by Abhay’s friends, Mr. Bhayal assured them that Abhay could go on living there. But ultimately he would have to buy. Mr. Bhayal said he would give the League of Devotees first consideration and a good price.

Abhay worried, not knowing what the landlord would do next. If the League could purchase the property, that would be best. But he had been unable to raise even five hundred rupees; five thousand seemed impossible. Abhay found no strong financial backing from his congregation; his League did not include even a single full-time worker.

He did know of one way to raise money: his pharmaceutical business. He still had a small operation being run by his son in Calcutta. Abhay had formerly been earning three thousand rupees a month. He considered approaching Godbrothers for help, but the prospects for earning the money himself seemed more likely. For thirty years he had earned money by his pharmaceutical business, and he could do it again – for the most worthy cause.

When he arrived in Calcutta in the spring of 1954 he was without money. He chose to live with his Godbrothers at the Gaudiya Sangha in Chetla, the same neighborhood his family lived in. Since he had no money, the head of the āśrama bore his expenses. Abhay gave daily discourses on Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, which the Gaudiya Sangha brahmacārīs highly appreciated.

Kṛṣṇa Kumāra Brahmacārī: Even after he left, his sweet, melodious voice would ring in my ears. He used to often express a desire to go abroad and preach.

One of his sons was running a small business, Vimaltone Laboratory, and thus supporting the family. Abhay knew that his wife would not be interested in his work in Jhansi; his son had been there but had not been impressed. The family would see his preaching in Jhansi as a threat to their home life. Abhay, however, was sustaining himself by his vision – which was now taking practical shape – of a world reformed by Kṛṣṇa consciousness. He even thought of opening a branch of the League of Devotees in Calcutta.

But inevitably he was plunged again into family responsibilities: some of his children were still unmarried, rent and bills had to be paid. Even if he were to develop the Vimaltone Laboratory, the family would demand whatever he earned, and even if he were to accede to their demands, live at home, and give up preaching, the greatest difficulty would still remain: they weren’t serious about devotional service. Nor could he change them. What was the use of conducting a business if they would not be devotees?

He visited his family, and the same, old scene occurred. Local friends came to visit, and Abhay began preaching, giving Bhagavad-gītā classes just as he had been doing in Jhansi. Meanwhile, his wife and the rest of the family would take tea in a separate room.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: I wanted as much as possible to get her to work with me in spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness, to get her help. But she was very determined. She wouldn’t help me in spreading Kṛṣṇa consciousness. So finally, after many years, I could understand – she would not be any assistance to me.

She was very attached to drinking tea. I was always telling her not to drink tea, because I wanted to have a nice Vaiṣṇava family. So although I was repeatedly telling her, this time I finally said, “You have to choose between me or tea. Either the tea goes or I go.” In this way, I was even criticizing my own family. But because they were thinking I was the husband or father, they couldn’t take my instruction seriously. So she replied, “Give up tea-drinking or give up my husband? Well, I will have to give up my husband, then.” Of course, she thought I was joking.

One day, Radharani made a great mistake. There was a system of barter in which a customer would place on a scale an object a shopkeeper considered valuable and the shopkeeper would then balance it with an equal weight of merchandise. So while Abhay was out, his wife took his worshipable Bhāgavatam to the market and traded it for tea biscuits. When Abhay came home and looked for the book, she told him what had happened. She hadn’t taken the matter as a very serious thing – she was out of tea biscuits – but Abhay was shocked. At first he felt depressed, but then a wave of absolute resolution passed over him: his family life was finished.

When he told them he was leaving, they didn’t understand what he meant. He had been leaving for thirty years. He was always coming and going. When he walked out the door, they thought, “There he goes again. He’s leaving.” It was the usual routine. Everyone could see, even the neighbors – Mr. De was going again. He had been at home; now he was going. He would be back again. But Abhay knew he would never come back.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: Before leaving my family, I wanted to get all my sons and daughters married, but some of them disagreed. But then … the time is up. Never mind whether they are married or not. Let them see to their own business. Suppose I die immediately – who will take care of my daughter? At that time we say, “God will take care.” Then why not now? God will take care. My Guru Mahārāja used to say [that renunciation of family life was] “civil suicide.” If you commit suicide, that is criminal. But that [renunciation of family] is voluntarily committing suicide – “Now I am dead. Whatever you like, you do.”

Kṛṣṇa says, sarva-dharmān parityajya – give up all religion. So family is gṛha-dharma, the religion of the family. But Kṛṣṇa says give that up. But that attachment is there. And if we say that feeling of attachment has to be given up gradually, then that we cannot do, because the attachment is there. But if God will take care of them if I die immediately, then why not now?

His spiritual emotions were so turbulent that he wasn’t thinking of going to Jhansi. He wanted to take a train to … anywhere. Then he remembered some old Godbrother friends who were living in an āśrama in Jhargram, only a short train ride south of Calcutta. So he borrowed ten rupees from a friend and bought a ticket to Jhargram.

It was a small maṭha. When Abhay arrived, he was welcomed by Paramahaṁsa Mahārāja, Dāmodara Mahārāja, and others. Paramahaṁsa Mahārāja had been present when Abhay had first met Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī, and he remembered Abhay as he had looked then, dressed in white khādī, looking like a Gandhian “anarchist.” Abhay explained to him, “I couldn’t fulfill my family’s needs. So now let me preach the message of Lord Caitanya.” Abhay told him how his business had failed and how he had willingly left his family and was now destitute.

Paramahaṁsa Mahārāja: When Abhay arrived he appeared very poor, starving. He had no means. He came alone to the maṭha, and when he arrived he only chanted Hare Kṛṣṇa, nothing else.

Abhay spent his time in Jhargram chanting the holy name and becoming settled in detachment from his family. For several days he chanted japa almost continuously. Paramahaṁsa Mahārāja would lecture in the evenings, and then Abhay would also speak on Bhagavad-gītā. But as time passed, his thoughts turned again to Jhansi, and he soon felt ready to go back to the League of Devotees. He had to secure the buildings and go on with the preaching.

But before returning he obtained a large Deity of Lord Caitanya that he planned to install at the Bharati Bhavan. Ironically, he had gone to Calcutta to do business and raise money, but now he had no money, no business, and no family responsibilities. He had been married thirty-six years, and now, at age fifty-eight, he had fully taken to the vānaprastha order. Now he could dedicate his life fully to preaching Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

Abhay did not adopt the saffron dress of a vānaprastha, but continued wearing a white dhotī and kurtā. The people of Jhansi had always known him as a preacher with no family, ever since he had first arrived, a year and a half before. Now he was returning to them with a Deity of Lord Caitanya and a determination to establish Lord Caitanya’s temple in Jhansi. Abhay met with a warm welcome from Ācārya Prabhākar and others. But he also met with competition for possession of the Radha Memorial.

It began with a Sanskrit conference, the Bandelkand Sanskrit Sammelan, which brought to Jhansi the governor of the province, K. M. Munshi, and his wife, Lilavati. An active social organizer, Lilavati Munshi had opened several branches of the Mahila Samity Sangha, a society that aimed at socially uplifting women by teaching them secretarial skills and English. Two educated Jhansi ladies, Candramukhi and Suryamukhi, wanted such a women’s social program for Jhansi, and they took the opportunity to approach Lilavati Munshi during her visit. She inspired them, and they began to talk about where in Jhansi they could open one of her social centers. Perhaps, suggested one of the ladies, the Bharati Bhavan could be used. Although Suryamukhi Sharma had been one of the sympathizers who had first approached Mr. Bhayal on behalf of Abhay Charan De and had asked that he be given the Bharati Bhavan for his League of Devotees, she felt that the ladies’ cause was more important – and she knew that Abhay’s ownership of the buildings was not settled. The women agreed that the buildings would be an excellent facility for a Mahila Samity Sangha branch and that their cause was more urgent than Abhay Charan’s.

Suryamukhi, assured of support by the governor’s wife, called on A. C. Bhaktivedanta. She explained that his league of worldwide Vaiṣṇavas would never take shape. He was a nice person, and she liked him, but she didn’t think he could realize his extraordinary expectations. She suggested he vacate the Bharati Bhavan so that the governor’s wife could organize a women’s social center. “You can go here and there for the sake of building a temple,” she told him. “You are free to travel anywhere. But these poor women in Jhansi have nothing, so they must be given these buildings for their use.” She found him adamantly opposed.

“No,” Abhay said, “find another building.” Abhay argued that his work was not just for a section of people, but for all living beings. Suryamukhi left frustrated. Abhay was surprised that a member of the League of Devotees was now working against him. And the maneuver was being backed by the governor’s wife!

Mrs. Munshi could work at a much more influential level, without having to confront Abhay directly and without his even knowing what she was doing. After she talked with Mr. Bhayal, word got around that Mr. Bhayal had been pressured to persuade Abhay Charan to relinquish his claim on the Bharati Bhavan. Mr. Bhayal owned a cinema house in Jhansi and there was talk that he could have a lot of difficulty with his operator’s license unless Abhay Charan vacated the Radha Memorial.

In December 1954 Mrs. Munshi wrote Abhay in reference to his failure to raise the five thousand rupees. “Dear Bhaktivedantaji,” she wrote, “You wanted to organize there, but you could not. But I have got this institution, Mahila Samity. Why not give it to me?” Abhay was of a mind to resist. He had lawyer friends who advised him that even though he was opposed by the governor’s family, he had a good case that would stand up well in court; India’s tradition of respect for religious buildings was on his side.

Abhay replied to Mrs. Munshi, introducing himself as the founder of the League of Devotees. He explained the goal of the League, enclosed a copy of his prospectus, and presented many statements by prominent people – Dr. Rajendra Prasad, Sri Sitaram, Raja Mahendra Pratap, and even her husband, Sri K. M. Munshi – praising the wonderful work of the League of Devotees. He also mentioned that the president of the League had recently received a one-hundred-rupee donation in Mathurā from His Excellency the Governor, Mr. Munshi himself. Abhay said that although work had been going on slowly but peacefully in Jhansi, his mind had now been bothered by Mrs. Munshi’s negotiations. He requested her not to pressure anyone about his occupying the Bharati Bhavan, though he admitted, “If you or any one of your agents do try … the pressure will be more weightful. … I am a nonentity in that comparison.”

Abhay hoped that by his presenting the details of his League, she would understand that his was a better cause than the Mahila Samity. He quoted the first three verses of the Fourth Chapter of Bhagavad-gītā, wherein Lord Kṛṣṇa describes how the ancient science of bhakti-yoga is received through paramparā (the order of succession from one teacher to the next) and how kings are responsible for seeing that Kṛṣṇa consciousness spreads for everyone’s benefit. He also argued that since, according to Bhagavad-gītā, only a few amongst thousands and thousands of men endeavor for self-realization, and since the League of Devotees engaged its members in self-realization, he was providing an important and rare service. He offered to meet with Mrs. Munshi along with some fifteen sannyāsīs from the area and suggested that she work cooperatively with them and understand the importance of the League. The League of Devotees was benefiting all classes. As Śrī Kṛṣṇa had said in Bhagavad-gītā, “Even one of a low birth can attain the shelter of the Supreme Lord.” But the Mahila Samity, Abhay pointed out, was based on bodily conceptions of caste, creed, color, and sex; therefore, it could not be as important a cause. Abhay closed by requesting Mrs. Munshi not to try to occupy the Radha Memorial, which was already being used for a noble and well-appreciated cause. He signed, “A. C. Bhaktivedanta, Founder and Secretary, League of Devotees.”

Aware that he was involved in an intrigue, Abhay organized his thoughts and set down on paper a “Short History,” outlining important events surrounding his possession of the Bharati Bhavan.

Abhay went on to enumerate more than thirty points, including news publicity and congratulations he had received. He listed the story of how he “came here sacrificing my business and family. … I received a telegram from Allahabad instructing the news of burglary by breaking lock. I could not attend the business for work here and it was closed subsequently at a loss of Rs. 7,000.”

Abhay thought of turning to some of his sannyāsī Godbrothers for help. If he or they could purchase the buildings, his competitors would be silenced. He thought it worthwhile to interest his Godbrothers in purchasing the buildings as an adjunct to their own missions.

Vṛndāvana was not far away – a four-hour train ride to Mathurā and then a short ṭāṅgā ride. He had gone there on pilgrimage in October of 1953 and had even looked at an available room in a temple near Keśī-ghāṭa, with the idea of staying there some day. He had also traveled there several other times since he had begun residing in Jhansi. This time, he went to the Imlītala temple to see his Godbrother Bhaktisāraṅga Gosvāmī and ask if he would like to take over the proprietorship of the Bharati Bhavan so that it might be used for preaching Kṛṣṇa consciousness according to the teachings of Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī. But Bhaktisāraṅga Gosvāmī was not interested. After approaching another Godbrother, Dāmodara Mahārāja, who was also not interested in Jhansi, Abhay took the short ṭāṅgā ride back to Mathurā to see another Godbrother, Keśava Mahārāja. Keśava Mahārāja was in Mathurā with a group of his disciples to establish a center, but he had not yet located a suitable place. So when Abhay told him about the buildings in Jhansi, he was interested. Abhay and Keśava Mahārāja composed a letter to Mr. Bhayal presenting their requests and the aims of their movement and then traveled to Jhansi in a group – Abhay and Keśava Mahārāja with his disciples.

Keśava Mahārāja and his party stayed for several days in Jhansi, holding kīrtanas and lectures. They had an appointment with Reva Sankar Bhayal, but Mr. Bhayal broke it, so they had to wait to see him on another day. Meanwhile, Keśava Mahārāja had time to form an opinion of Jhansi and discuss with Abhay the likelihood of making this his headquarters. He noted that the people were receptive but that the location was too remote. Even before meeting with Mr. Bhayal, Keśava Mahārāja felt reluctant to stake his whole mission in Jhansi. Abhay agreed, aware that Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī had said that a preacher should go into the big cities and not practice his bhajana in seclusion, and he admitted that after two years in Jhansi he had made no full-time followers.

When they finally met with Mr. Bhayal, Mr. Bhayal failed to present clear terms for purchasing the property. He said they were eligible to buy it, but he made their use of the buildings conditional: he wanted to have a say in the nature of the programs they would hold. Abhay knew that this was just a further sign of shady dealings, and he suspected that Mr. Bhayal was under mounting pressure to give the buildings over to the Mahila Samity. Keśava Mahārāja, having lost all interest, decided to go back to Mathurā, and he invited Abhay to join him.

But Abhay remained. Mr. Bhayal wanted him out, and he even returned Abhay’s deposit of 210 rupees, claiming that Abhay now had no justification for residing at the Bharati Bhavan. Abhay noted down the latest events in his “Short History.”

But he saw it as the inscrutable will of Kṛṣṇa. Events and opinions were turning him against conducting a mission in Jhansi. It no longer seemed auspicious.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: I wanted to start from there. It was a nice, big house. It was not given to me rightly, but I was using. So, somehow or other, she got imagination that this house is very nice. She was the governor’s wife. Through collector and through government officials, she made pressure. So, of course, there were many lawyer friends. They advised me, “You do not give up.” But I thought, “Who’s going to litigate?” I thought that “I have left my home, and now should I take up litigation? No, I don’t want this house.”

Abhay remembered how the Gaudiya Math preachers had expended their energy for years in the courts. Having terminated his long entanglement with family and business, he had no taste for a legal fight. He could have fought, but he remembered what Keśava Mahārāja had said about Jhansi’s being out of the way. Of course, the whole thing had just sprung up here; otherwise Abhay would never have chosen to establish his worldwide League in such an obscure place. The educated young men and women wished him well, just as they had good wishes for the ladies’ league, the Theosophy Society, the Arya Samaj, and many other causes. But their good intentions were certainly short of pure surrender and devotion: even his one disciple could offer him only part-time help. But these considerations had not been sufficient to force him out. The real thing was that he was being driven out.

Śrīla Prabhupāda: If I did not leave, nobody could drive me, that was a fact. But I thought, Who is going to litigate these things? It is the governor’s wife, and she is pressing through collector. The manager who is in charge, he had some cinema house. So they had to renew the license. And the collector pressed him that unless you arrange for this house, we are not going to renew your license. I thought, unnecessarily this man will be in trouble. I will have to pay many rupees, and she is the governor’s wife.

He decided to leave. He told his friends to carry on the League of Devotees in his absence. They were sad to see him go, and yet even some of his friends openly praised the work of the ladies’ society and were glad to see it come. They had not been able to help him financially, although they knew he had been unable to purchase the buildings on his own.

His closer followers were more affected, but he assured them that their relationship would continue. He would write letters to them – Ācārya Prabhākar, Radhelal Mullik, Mr. Mitra, Dr. Shastri – and he gave them instructions on what they should do. Especially Ācārya Prabhākar – Abhay told him he would be calling for him and expected him to continue as secretary of the League of Devotees, even if they didn’t make Jhansi their main residence. Yet it was obvious that this chapter of making ambitious plans for a world movement, going from house to house and village to village, performing saṅkīrtana, lecturing on the Gītā, distributing prasādam – this was ended. And it was not likely that he would return or that the residents of Jhansi could expect to see him again.

When Abhay left the Bharati Bhavan, with its six-foot-high lettering – “LEAGUE OF DEVOTEES” – painted across the outside wall, he felt sad. It had been a natural, spontaneous success for him. The young, educated people of Jhansi had looked up to him from the start, and had it not been for the intrigue, he would never have left. But he felt he had no real choice. He had come as a family man on business and was leaving as a homeless vānaprastha, forced to take shelter of Kṛṣṇa. His plans were uncertain, but his desire was strong and his health good. So he moved on to Mathurā, carrying with him the Deity of Lord Caitanya.