KCD’S MONTHLY MISSIVES – SEPTEMBER 2021

Video transcription:

Overcoming “ISKCON” Revisionism

By Kailäsa Candra däsa

Last of a Two-Part Series

HARIÙ OÀ NAMAÙ

We now segue to the second half our analysis of the interview with The Swämi, an interview with a former zonal and his follower asking him questions via a Power Point presentation. The Swämi’s generation—and, along with it (to a significant degree) its influence—is coming to an end. Yet, the mystery trend engendered by it still functions in “ISKCON.”

The humanism-cum-henotheism present in the Hippie generation (which, to a significant degree, bled over into “ISKCON”), has now been converted into techno-occultism by this generation. It is a kind of digital henotheism. This is an intricate subject, difficult to cover comprehensively.

Suffice it to say that many layers have been built up by The Swämi’s generation, and those layers have been added to by the next generation. In the late Seventies, these covering layers were initially laid down by the higher echelons of “ISKCON” when it broke away from the Founder-Äcärya and converted into a crude parody of itself.

Your host speaker can most effectively peel away those layers by deconstructing the hippie henotheism underlying them. Prabhupäda called it the hippie religion. It was the attitude of a disillusioned generation, and some of those hippies took shelter of him and his teachings. As it turned out, however, a section of them that did not renounce those former tendencies.

“ISKCON” is a revisionist organization. Your host speaker is engaged in, with diligence and determination, an effort to overcome the historical revisionism represented by its covering layers. Most of the second generation also has a vested interest not to have them peeled back. Absorbed in techno-occultism, they are ensconced in that new divergence in order to keep all of the layers in place while embellishing them in a different way.

We see, in the interview being analyzed, that The Swämi is able to promulgate his version of historical revisionism via high tech. The Metaverse and The Singularity will eventually merge, and this will lead to immersive digital technology on an unprecedented scale. “ISKCON” is in a very strong position to exploit this development. Big Tech can already observe us in the aggregate, but, when the Western adventure craters, it will require a henotheistic component: The marriage of The Technocracy with “ISKCON” is not inevitable, but it is too strong of a possibility to ignore at this time.

The Technocracy consists of the high priests of an anti-Vedic pseudo-religion. Indeed, quasi-spiritual terms bleed into descriptions of their revolution. For example, the Metaverse has been described as the Holy Grail of Social Networking. “ISKCON” is already taking advantage of this mystery trend, and it will almost certainly do so to a greater extent in the near future.

It is engaged in it own brand of mass delusion, and post-modern technology—with all of its bells, whistles, and divergences—is certainly trafficking, ultimately, in the same thing. There is an obvious compatibility between them, as high tech will become the best way to dominate the consciousness of those with only a paltry level of sincerity and seriousness in spiritual life.

The behavior of digital bits and the universe is considered by some technocratic wizards to be governed by a single programming rule. The Singularity, once it emerges, will pave the way for a One-World Government joined with a One-World Religion.

This will surface when dire worldwide conditions force its emergence. If “ISKCON” turns out to be the controller of that One-World Religion (in conjunction with The Technocracy controlling the One-World Order—or, if you prefer, The New World Order), that single vision will be implemented and converted into a henotheistic semi-reality that all must follow.

Genuine Kåñëa consciousness is a philosophical culture. Knowledge and realization is highly esteemed in it. Its perverted manifestations are many at this time, but those of them which do not esteem knowledge and realization will wind up in the dustbin of whatever counter-cultural narrative emerges. What The Technocracy is doing is replacing the pursuit of spiritual knowledge with the pursuit of technological expertise (and control) in the guise of spiritual life via its own techno-occult paradigm.

This fits right into how “ISKCON” has created, over the last forty-plus years, an imitation parody, one which still functions as if it is both bona fide and sacred. Its leaders still project that they are beloved by Prabhupäda, and, if YOU do not love and obey them similarly, then you are offending Prabhupäda.

Vaiñëavism is wrongly considered by many, including aging Baby Boomers, to be an adjunct of Hinduism. Henotheism is integral to a prominent branch of the Hindoo mindset. “ISKCON” certainly is affected by that misconception, deeply. The Third Transformation, as we have pointed out repeatedly, is the Hinduization of “ISKCON.” It was undertaken as a revenue substitute when the pick waned to such a degree that it was no longer able to keep the institution afloat, but the Hindu influence is much more than that now.

East Indian henotheism is NOT the pan-entheism of Kåñëa consciousness. The worship of many gods, all vying for more power amongst themselves in a universe controlled only by them, is not the teaching of the Vedic tattva and siddhänta. Genuine devotees have no interest whatsoever in humanism-cum-henotheism; they know that it is nothing but another illusory description of how the universe actually functions.

In effect, henotheism is part of the pagan uprising in the West that surfaced during the Hippie Sixties. The Universal Form was very popular at that time, and many wrongly consider it to be a henotheistic icon. One of the Party Men of “ISKCON” from back in the day, just when the zonal scam had gained traction, called them the eleven demigods. In one sense, he was not wrong, because what manifested in his cult at that time, on a limited scale, was similar: An imitation, version of how garden variety Hindus think the universe is conducted via their peculiar henotheistic paradigm.

In the second half of the interview, The Swämi praises some of the eleven zonals and criticizes some of the others, particularly Kirtanänanda and Bhagavän, who he says brutalized those who did not cooperate with them. The Swämi alleges that the movement in the late Seventies and early Eighties, during the zonal heyday, was not the same everywhere. He predictably praises what went on in his zone, and, astoundingly, also praises Jayatértha and his zone.

He then segues to a related theme, wherein he claims that he was “demonized and vilified” by some of the other big guns (”including G.B.C. people”), further claiming that such vilification was, to use his word, “inaccurate.”

During this part of the interview, he apologizes to The Interviewer for having interrupted him previously. The Interviewer then confirms that he is a friend of The Swämi, so they patch things up. In the process, The Interviewer predictably does not follow up on what the Swämi alleged about Jayatirtha and his representatives running a praiseworthy zone, an incredible claim! The Swämi also praised the operation in Australia during that period. This is just as outrageous, but The Interviewer also lets it slide.

Then the Swämi segues to Prabhupäda’s godbrothers and the consultation issue, saying: “We consulted with Çrédhar Swämi in 1978. Disaster. And later, devotees consulted with Näräyan Mahäräj. Another disaster.”

Why was not this seen as such at the time? Why was not the very bad advice of the Navadvipa mahant rejected on the spot? Harikeça Swämi recommended that Çrédhar Swämi not even be consulted. It was proposed as a G.B.C. resolution. It was voted down almost unanimously in the G.B.C. with only one vote in favor, Harikeça’s vote.

Everyone was warned, but all of them, including The Swämi, ignored that warning. Now, over forty years later, he makes this assessment about Gouòéya Mutt. However, if he actually was a guru at that time, he would have known not to have taken any of that bad advice from the Navadvipa mahant.

As he goes on to explain all of this, he stresses how he only wanted to cling to Prabhupäda. How he did not want to consult Prabhupäda’s godbrothers. How he only wanted to continue the movement the way that Prabhupäda would have wanted it to continue:

“When we were dealing with this traumatic situation that Prabhupäda had just left, we are being attacked by the Gouòéya Mutt. Some Gouòéya Mutt gurus are clearly trying to sabotage what we are doing. It was very dangerous. It was very difficult. We were in a situation where we had zero experience. We had never done it before. We had no idea . . . It was Prabhupäda beating into my head, over and over” ‘Do what I am doing. Do not concoct anything. Do not change anything.’ . . . So, that’s what we did.”

Zero experience? Do gurus have zero experience? They are supposed to be very experienced! There are some mind-boggling statements in this excerpt, and we shall return to them. The Swämi, in the same vein, goes on to say:

“Obviously, I knew that Prabhupäda was much more advanced than me, that I cannot sit on the same level as Prabhupäda. I wasn’t a complete moron.”

However, he did sit on the same level. He says that it was being pounded into his head not to change anything. This statement cannot be accepted with a straight face, because of one obvious factor: THERE WAS A MAJOR CHANGE! Prabhupäda was no longer available to be directly consulted as the final arbiter. He was no longer physically manifest. That is in the category of a major change. Indeed, it turned out to lead to a cataclysmic change, although it did not have to play out that way.

Gouòéya Mutt influence was pernicious, no doubt. However, they all bought into it, despite Harikeça’s warning, which went unheeded. With the exception of Swämi Näräyan’s warning against them taking those high, opulent seats in the temple rooms—another warning that went unheeded—we can certainly pin significant blame on the Gouòéya Mutt, especially in the form of so much bad direction from Swämi B. R. Çrédhar.

However, the seeds needed the soil, and those eleven men acted on that bad advice. Were they supposed to imitate Prabhupäda like that? Under the rubric of the “no change” trope, such a conclusion can only be believed by deluded people, but The Swämi alleges he was not such a moron.

He says that he realized that he was nowhere near Prabhupäda’s level. Then, why did he go along with the scheme and imitate him? Can that be justified under the rubric of the “no change” trope? Today’s rittviks use the same bad logic in order to justify their heretical concoction, but they apply “no change” in a diametrically different way, of course.

He claims they had zero experience. They had all kinds of experience! They were running an international movement. All eleven of them—some more than others, obviously—were past masters in the black art of cult control. They already had de facto disciples and dedicated followers before the great zonal imitation was set into motion in the Spring of 1978.

“Do not concoct anything.” He claims that was beat into his head after Prabhupäda left. The whole zonal äcärya scheme was a MASSIVE CONCOCTION, and The Swämi was integrally implicated in it. He also benefited from it in many undeniable ways. We are now supposed to give him carte blanche? We are now supposed to believe him when he tells us that DO NOT CONCOCT ANYTHING was beating constantly in his brain since 1978?

“Do not concoct anything.” “ISKCON” gurus were converted into territorial initiators. Where is there any sanction for that concocted idea in Prabhupäda’s statements or writing? It was a blatant anti-Vedic concoction! Any madhyam-adhikäré would have seen it as such.

The whole zonal acarya scheme was founded upon numerous concoctions, and The Swämi was implicated in it. The Interviewer, however, does not do the job by pressing him about any of this. A palsy-walsy approach to uncovering the REAL HISTORY of the institutional Hare Kåñëa movement needs to completely transcend such fraternization.

Most unfortunately, however, The Swämi dives deep into bad logic when he makes his next startling point. He conjectures: “Let’s say none of the eleven gurus had fallen down . . . Would it have been obvious to everyone that The System, as we set it up, was wrong?”

This is dreadful logic. First of all, every one of those eleven men were fallen from the gate. As soon as they imitated Prabhupäda in the way that they did—which was NOT following in his footsteps, but instead, egregious imitation—they were busted down to the sahajiyä level. Not in their institution, of course, but IN REALITY. That’s how the demigods certainly viewed them, and that’s how a handful of their godbrothers, your host speaker included, saw them.

Secondly, he is using the Machiavellian dictum of a plan only to be considered evil if it turns out a failure. The Guru System—a term The Swämi employs repeatedly in the interview—was a failure, but that fact was not readily and immediately exposed until the mid-Eighties. It was exposed as such for a handful of godbrothers right away, but communication facilities were far, far more limited back then than they are now.

Besides that essential point, most of the movement was swept up in the zonal fervor. That movement—as The Swämi readily acknowledges and bemoans in the interview—was run by “little dictators,” by “petty dictators,” and “corrupted by power to bully, to dictate.” He even admits that this is still a problem in the contemporary scene of his cult, although obviously less so than back in the heady day of the zonals.

As such, the bad logic he employs is that the Guru System—meaning the high-flying, big worship, uttama-adhikäré pretender system that lasted for about eight years before cratering—was only wrong because some of the gurus fell down. An awful assertion! The Interviewer does not call him in it, but, as this interview proceeds, it becomes clear that he is enamored.

The Guru System that was imposed upon the institution in the Spring of 1978 was CENT-PER-CENT UNAUTHORIZED! It was based upon deception, the false allegation that Prabhupäda appointed eleven gurus via the appointment of eleven rittviks some months previously. In point of fact, those appointments were merged into a so-called guru appointment on the bulletin boards in many temples when the scheme was implemented in 1978.

It was based upon deception and imitation, but there is no need to rehash the details of that dreadful imitation. Prabhupäda said “Regular guru, that’s all,” and he did not, officially or otherwise, even recognize, during his physical manifestation, any of his leading men as regular gurus.

He did not do so, because none of them were.

The Guru System was also related to the creation of the Äcärya Board in the Spring of 1978, which was supposed to be the centerpiece of the interview we are now analyzing, although it was not really discussed much in the second half. The Äcärya Board was a major deviation. Prabhupäda never wanted a separate board within his governing body to be the arbiter of his movement.

The Swämi misrepresents all of this. We have already exposed, in last month’s presentation, how he insisted that the Äcärya Board never had any power, and how UTTERLY FALSE that statement is!

TATTVAMASI

Now, in this month’s presentation, he goes on to belittle the imposition engineered by the great pretenders—of which, he was one—claiming it to be merely “a detail,” attempted in good faith. One which would have been bona fide if only some of the more brutal section of Ocean’s Eleven had not fallen down, thus exposing it to ultimately fatal ridicule.

He completely avoids the fact of how the whole thing was based upon eleven men imitating Prabhupäda, which was and is always condemned. None of them had any right to imitate Prabhupäda, and every one of them—which was all eleven of them, is responsible for the movement’s murder.

Instead, he dismisses the imitation, indirectly and covertly, by passing it off as “no change” and “do what I am doing.” They had no right to do what Prabhupäda did in the form of grand worship, because they were nowhere near his level of power, realization, and purity. This has been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, and it could be seen back then by those who were completely dedicated to the Founder.

In frivolously dismissing the Guru System—the zonal imposition—as simply little more than “a detail,” he indicates that it was a good faith effort to create a viable system of guru and initiation. In claiming this, he is laying down another layer of historical revisionism.

And it gets better: “A detail is right or wrong according to its effects . . . it was working, so just keep going.” It was working?!? It was not working that well, even in the beginning years. Nevertheless, this kind of justification rationalization has nothing to do with tattva and siddhänta.

A SYSTEM is not “a detail.” A system pervades everything, and, in one sense, IS everything. A detail is, by definition, a minor thing—far, far below the dominance of a system within an organization. The Guru System of the late Seventies and the early Eighties constituted a major deviation that affected everybody and to minimize it as a mere “detail” is preposterous!

It was proven to be, in the words of The Swämi: “a disaster in ISKCON.” Certainly, but it was his duty to have seen that inevitable development beforehand. He had plenty of warning. And he also had significant experience, despite his protestations to the opposite.

The Swämi alleges that The Guru System (we shall continue to use his terminology here) was still working in various zones of the world. He alleges that “souls were being saved” during the operation of The Guru System. No, they weren’t. They were all being put under the astral whammy of a massive institutional delusion that was cent-per-cent unauthorized.

They were all misguided. They were all assured that Prabhupäda appointed eleven dékñä-gurus, although he never did so. They were all misled—in whatever zone they first encountered or later moved to—into worshiping conditioned mis-leaders on the same level of the Founder-Äcärya.

That is not a prescription for being saved. It is, instead, a prescription for almost all of them to become very confused when The Guru System first started to crack due to infighting, when the major schism with Gouòéya Mutt soon thereafter ensued, and then when The Guru System—which The Swämi dismisses as a mere detail—cratered in the mid-Eighties.

Of course, as integral to the historical revisionism rampant in “ISKCON,” the movement was allegedly saved by the Guru Reform Movement, beginning with Ravindra Svarüpa’s first potent tract in 1984. Remember, The Swämi has already belittled him, and we discussed all of that last month. In the second half of the interview, The Swämi—this time without naming him—puts him and his cohorts down some more.

He uses the same worn method of belittling Ravindra Svarüpa’s accurate and effective criticism of the Äcärya Board by saying that all of the critics of The Guru System were not present in any of the G.B.C. meetings. He further belittles those critics by saying that whatever they found fault in could not be considered fact-based, because they did not travel to all of the zones throughout the world to witness where, allegedly, The Guru System was functioning well.

How disingenuous! Who of the very few critics was in a position to do such a thing? Nobody! None of the critics had the money to make any such worldwide fact-finding mission. None of the critics would have been authorized by the G.B.C. to do any such thing. Once it became known that someone was attempting it—and nobody did, of course—that devotee would have been shunned wherever he went.

He would have been considered a threat and, at the very least, a potential whistle-blower. To buy into The Swämi’s argument that their criticism—which turned out to be fully justified–cannot be accepted because none of the critics visited all of the zones–is simply another example of bad logic.

However, it gets even better! The Swämi alleges that HE was actually the chief guru reformer. None of the eleven can take any such the credit, because the reform was FORCED upon all of them! The temple presidents rebelled, and that’s what forced the end of the so-called Guru System. The temple presidents rebelled when the egregious scandals became too obvious, and in such a great number, that they had no choice but to reject that zonal scheme.

The reformers, combined with the presidents, created such a dust up that The Guru System had to crater. The Swämi insists that he was a vanguard of this. Over forty years after the fact, with almost no evidence to back it up, he goes so far as to claim the following: “As soon as the reformers took over, I was considered a demon.”

By this he means that many of the other gurus—all still taking opulent worship in The Guru System from deluded disciples—labeled The Swämi a demon for cooperating with the Guru Reform movement. Very convenient . . . and almost certainly a self-serving historical revision. By the mid-Eighties, you didn’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind was blowing in the fabricated, so-called “ISKCON” confederation.

The gurus who took the big seats out of the temples in their zones were, for the most part (or, more likely, in every case), doing so because they could clearly see that their Ship of Fools was foundering. The devotees were catching on, and it was time to make plans for a partial resignation.

He then bemoans how he was treated by some of his fellow guru-godbrothers—like himself, so-called gurus—as if it was a very traumatic experience for him:

“I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover from it.”

How about all the devotees who took shelter of you while you were a part of it? While you took egregious worship in front of open Deities? Why should we have any sympathy for you now? After the die was already cast, why should not we have exponentially more appreciation for them rather than for the minuscule efforts you may have made?

He takes a defiant stance about how he so bravely fought to bring The Guru System down: “I don’t give a damn if anyone believes me.” Does any sane and serious devotee believe him? He got out just in time, that’s all.

Near the end of the interview, The Swämi pulls another rabbit out of the hat in order to cast further doubt upon his critics:

“There was a real problem in ISKCON with The Guru System, because of certain people who were misusing it. It was an existential threat to ISKCON; it was that serious of a problem. The people who led the reform movement were also not so advanced. Some of them were equally ambitious and proud . . . Many of them fell down. It was not that they had great preaching careers.”

Careers. Notice he talks about “careers,” as if a career is something of great importance in Kåñëa consciousness. He casts aspersions on the reformers, creating confusion via self-serving revisions of the real history.

Sure, the zonal scam was an existential threat to the movement . . . beginning in 1978. The Swämi says, in the interview, that 1985 was the key year, because that was when the movement almost split into two, yet barely survived.

It did not survive! The movement was ruined in the late Seventies, well before the conclave at Moundsville in the late summer of 1985. There was a potential cleavage brewing between one system (already in place) and another one in the ascendant in 1985, but they were both bogus. The Guru Reform movement, which ultimately prevailed a couple of years later, ushered in the collegiate imposition of The Second Transformation.

However, although it was a reform of sorts, it was not anywhere near a solution: It was an unauthorized compromise. All of those bogus gurus were allowed to remain so-called dékñä-gurus. They weren’t spiritual masters, of course, but the illusion that they still were was integral to the compromise.

Also integral to it was the status of all the newcomers: They remained institutionally initiated and recognized as such. A genuine reform would never have made such a cowardly compromise, but The Swämi and his ilk could do no better than concocting that particular whitewash.

The big gurus had to become smaller. They had to be busted down from uttama to madhyam, but they were never madhyams. They were sahajiyäs, and their initiated disciples received the “ISKCON” béja, a bogus béja, from them. In other words, one deception was replaced with what was nothing more than a superficially improved deception, but the Hare Kåñëa movement is based upon honesty, not deception. And it is also based upon genuine history via the guru-paramparä, of which The Swämi instead presents a false history which is made all the more puzzling by his revisionism.

He opines that the reformers were really no better than the big gurus of The Guru System, who they overturned in the mid-Eighties. Due to the compromises the reformers accepted (although, not all of them), that statement is only accurate when seen in the proper context. The Swämi does not present us this context. Instead, he continues his criticism of the reformers on the basis of an insular critique, which is ultimately meaningless.

He says that the reformers should not be glorified, because many of them fell down after they pushed through their reform (which, as we have noted, was simply a compromise). He says that they should not be held in high esteem, because none of them had outstanding preaching careers. It is a diversionary argument, embellished by The Swämi’s outrageous assertion that he was, in reality, the real leader of reform. That was not so, but, if it is believed to be so, then he should be held accountable.

As such, if you choose to believe him, then hold him responsible for being at the capstone of two deviations: 1) The First Transformation of the zonal äcärya imposition, he being on the Äcärya Board and all that those pretenders put the movement through for about eight years, and 2) The Second Transformation of the collegiate compromise, led by the Reform movement, in which the root issues of the deviation were never confronted and resolved.

If his claim is—and it is—that he was really the chief reformer, then he is in a special category relative to both deviations and should be held more responsible than any other initiated disciple for the hell all of it has produced in ruining Prabhupäda’s movement. What is attractive about a man who, with his patented rata-tat-tat delivery, expounds so much egoism?

In sidereal astrology, you make a judgment of a planet based upon whether that planet is benefic or malefic. We see something similar in the Sixteenth Chapter of Bhagavad-gétä, wherein the two lower modes are considered demoniac, and the highest mode is considered divine. The heavenly strata of planets is mostly divine, as the demigods reign there. Still, Mars and Saturn are also part of that strata of the universe, and, generically speaking, they are not benefic.

As such, we need to ask some questions: Are sahajiyäs part of the divine energy of human society? We know with certainty that Prabhupäda did not consider the Mäyävädés to be part of that divinity. We also know that some sahajiyas (think henotheism) are like covert Mäyävädés.

Is it sattvic to create confusion in the minds of the rank-and-file devotees? Which is sattvic: Clarity or confusion? To engage in historical revisionism is conducive to creating only confusion. Did the chaos of the zonal äcärya epoch—or, if you prefer, The Guru System—create clarity? Or, instead, did it sow puzzling features in an ever-transforming paradigm?

And who is The Swämi? Is he playing a game with us here? We all know by now that he and his cohorts were great pretenders. We all know by now that they, without spiritual authority, imitated the Founder-Äcärya. Is pretension and imitation divine? Or is it another energy entirely?

We find in Bhagavad-gétä, in the purport to 16.7, the following:

“. . . (they) do not know the scriptural rules, nor do they have any inclination to follow them. Most of them do not know them, and even if some of them know, they have not the tendency to follow them. They have no faith, nor are they willing to act in terms of the Vedic injunctions.”

Did the G.B.C. know what was to be done and what was not to be done after Prabhupäda departed? He enunciated a stricture in May of 1977 in his room at Kåñëa-Balaräm: “regular guru, that’s all.” It was as good—actually, superior—to any Vedic injunction. Did the G.B.C. follow it?

Swämi B. R. Çrédhar advised them to imitate jagat-guru in order to create faith in their disciples. How did that play out? The eleven great pretenders followed that bad advice, indicating that at least some of them had faith in him rather than in Prabhupäda’s stricture about regular gurus.

And always remember: Prabhupäda never named any regular gurus.

What about the deception that Prabhupäda appointed eleven gurus? Did it create clarity? It took years for devotees to figure out that it was an appointment that never was, and that they were only appointed rittviks.

Are we to put our faith in any of these men? Or their governing body? They demanded respect and a kind of worship only accorded to the highest level of a çuddha-sattvic personality. Did they actually command that respect?

As far as that goes, were they ever spiritually advanced? After they murdered the Hare Kåñëa movement of Kåñëa consciousness, should we sympathize with them when they tell us about the difficulties they had to experience?

Isn’t it high time to overcome the “ISKCON” Boogie-Woogie? 

Consider the following relevant excerpt from a position paper authored by Ravindra Svarüpa, ironically entitled “Pillars of Success”:

“From the very outset, there was trouble: (Prabhupada’s) authority was challenged, his position compromised, his instructions distorted, neglected, or selectively followed, his teachings muddled to various fancies, his assets misused, mismanaged, and misappropriated, his standards broken, his dependents neglected, exploited and abused. And the worst of this was committed by men Prabhupada entrusted with responsible positions. . . Internal weaknesses and shortcomings turned the eleven years of Prabhupada’s personal supervision into a concatenation of crises.”

In 1994, the ISKCON Communications Journal produced the following entry: “Çréla Prabhupäda was well aware of the defects of his handiwork; in writing about his difficulties in managing the movement, he made the following striking statement: ‘Kåñëa did not send me any first-class men. He sent me only second and third-class men.’”

Think about these things.

SAD EVA SAUMYA