TALKS BY AMAL KIRAN
TALK ONE
August 26, 1970
Introduction by Nirodbaran
Dear friends, I am in a dilemma. The speaker does not want me to introduce him, but some of the students do — and naturally the preference goes to the students. I hope he will have no objection if I address a few words, particularly to the younger generation who do not know much about him.
Well, he is our distinguished, (Amal covers his ears — laughter) renowned, celebrated Amal Kiran, poet, critic, philosopher, journalist, historian, etc., etc., whom, I am sure, you have seen hopping about with his stick in the Ashram (laughter) most conspicuously, and whom I have the privilege to count as a cherished friend. He can talk Relativity with an Einsteinian like Jugal, he can talk politics and communism with my colleague Manoj Das, he can talk history with our Sisir, and certainly he can perorate on philosophy with Arindam and Kireet, and even with Dr. Agarwal he can hold his own (laughter) — and with me on Supermind. (laughter) The other day my friend Champaklal remarked, "When these two persons get together they start talking about the Super-mind as though they have put the Supermind into their pockets!" (laughter) Well, that is the position. In short, our guest is a versatile genius. Still he said he felt shy to address you: that is why I make this introduction — so that the younger generation may know something of his versatility and that my words may help in breaking his nervousness. Geniuses are always a bit shy; only, I wonder how with so much knowledge packed in his brain the Supermind will find room in it! (laughter)
Now, the particular subject — I won't take much time (laughter) — I want him to speak about is his association with Sri Aurobindo on which surely he can dwell at great length. Out of a few of us on whom Sri Aurobindo bestowed special attention in the field of poetry, three survive here today: one, Amal himself; two,
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myself; three, Nishikanta's self. And the Master has left us. But, before leaving, he commanded: "Stick on!" And my two friends are sticking on literally and I am sticking on psychologically — though all with different movements. Amal has made his movement anapaestic (three-stepped), mine is iambic (two-stepped), Nishikanta's a jumble of both, depending on his inner and outer condition. Also, before leaving, Sri Aurobindo saw to it that, among those he had initiated into poetry with so much special care, one of us at least would be able to follow the path he has opened and I must say that my friend Amal has admirably fitted himself to that task, and is capable too of taking us along if we cling to his numerous appendages. I hope you understand what I mean. Then I can say without fear of contradiction that he is the best exegete of Sri Aurobindo's poetry, just as Nolini is the best exponent of Sri Aurobindo's yoga. I can go further and claim that in the vast field of English and European poetry Amal can stand on a par, not only in India but everywhere, with the best of critics.
Well, my friends, this is no mean achievement for our yoga. There are many other things I could say about him, but I should stop because otherwise it would be my talk and not his. (laughter)
Talk by Amal Kiran
By not announcing any subject on our Centre's notice-board, Nirodbaran left me in a quandary. Now, by presenting me as a universal genius and implying on my part a mastery of a great number of subjects, he has again put me in a quandary — as to the direction from which to approach the subject he has proposed in his Introduction. But the gist of his long speech — which is to be followed by my little talk (laughter) — is that I should make wonderful revelations. Well, then, I shall start by being startling!
Let me whisper into your ears at the top of my voice an unbelievable secret. It is this: twice in Savitri, which is a legend and a symbol, Sri Aurobindo has referred to the present speaker, symbolically, although the speaker is very far yet from being legendary, (laughter) The first reference runs:
But Mind, a glorious traveller in the sky,
Walks lamely on the earth with footsteps slow.
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Surely the person intended is unmistakable, (laughter) The lines indicate an inequality between the intellectual aspiration and the physical achievement. Not that the possibility of physical achievement is denied, but what is implied is that the glorious sky-traveller puts up a pretty poor show on the world-stage. The second reference is also more or less like the first, not very complimentary but on the other hand not altogether unappreciative and after all to be mentioned in Savitri in any way, however veiled or even unrecognisable, is itself a compliment, (laughter) The second reference goes:
A limping Yes through the aeons journeys still
Accompanied by an eternal No.
Lest you should misunderstand, I must hurry to say that if the "limping Yes" is Amal Kiran, the "eternal No" accompanying him is not his wife! (laughter) I may admit that my wife does have a strong restraining influence on many of my extravagances and recklessnesses; but here I take Sri Aurobindo to be speaking of two sides of a movement within one single person — yes, a person single, even if married! (laughter) The lameness mentioned here is also no denial of the possibility of reaching the Divine Goal. In fact the possibility of arrival is more emphasised. By the word "Yes" coupled with the word "limping", some sort of positive statement is made. But the central difficulty of one who limps upon earth is also brought out. There is all the time some kind of arresting of the onward journey — a negation which keeps on delaying the movement which goes forward, however haltingly. And so I understand here not only a limping but also a stumbling and falling: the "eternal No" involves, in this universe of discourse
— or shall I say, discord? — a stumble and a fall often and often. Indeed my life has been a series of fallings, physical and spiritual
— and perhaps some gossipers may add, moral, (laughter) However, one has to make the best of one's situation, and so even in the pre-Ashram days I looked out for some word of wisdom to throw light on my rather deplorable state. I followed Dr. Johnson's advice:
Let observation with extensive view
Survey mankind from China to Peru.
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And luckily at the very beginning of my survey — in China itself — I found the word of wisdom. It came from the sage Confucius. I would rather be a disciple of Lao-Tse than a Confucian, which is perhaps the Chinese for confusion, (laughter) Anyway, here Confucius was quite clear and not in the least confused. His aphorism read: "Our greatest glory lies not in never falling but in rising every time we fall." So this became my life's motto before I reached Pondicherry. After my arrival here, I let Confucius himself drop (laughter) and naturally looked for something in Savitri. There I found Sri Aurobindo saying that it is not easy for us to remain perched on the heights for long. He writes that "a dull gravitation drags us down." Then he adds:
This too the Supreme Diplomat can use:
He makes our fall a means for greater rise.
Confucius's prose statement was static: he indicated only a recurrence of falling and rising. Sri Aurobindo's poetic pronouncement is dynamic: it points to a sequence in which a greater ascension comes on the heels of a descension to earth or even to hell.
In my early days too the Supreme Diplomat turned to advantage my habit of falling. I shall tell you in brief how. Well, I was educated from my very boyhood in the Western way. I was completely Westernised in thought. Indian philosophy and spirituality came to me at a late period and, before that, I had the typical Western-educated young man's attitude. I developed a keen analytic mind, an independence of temper, a certain intellectual pride and a strong individuality, an unbending individuality. Now, this kind of education does not easily lend itself to accepting supra-intellectual truths, still less to accepting humbly a spiritual Guru. But, thanks to my habit and practice of falling, without very much difficulty I was able to fall — at the feet of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. (laughter)
Now that I seem to have stumbled upon my real subject, though not in a swift manner but rather with "footsteps slow" according to the description Sri Aurobindo has given of me, I may begin at the very beginning of the quest which has led me here. I won't go into great detail, but I may sketch a general outline. As you know from what I have said, I was not by nature inclined to take to yoga. The first opening, as it were, came through a friend of mine who boasted that he had done some yogic exercises and acquired a
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fund of inexhaustible energy. I, as a young man, was extremely struck with this. If yoga is a way of getting inexhaustible energy it is the right thing when you are young, (laughter) So I pleaded with him to let me see whatever he had read on the topic. He put into my hands a book of Vivekananda's. It was his treatment of Rajayoga, in which you have breathing exercises reduced to a minimum, but to a quite effective minimum, and several other things related to it. I tried to concentrate on merely the part dealing with a mode of harmonious breathing, which, according to my friend, could open you to a world of inexhaustible energy. But I could not stop there. I went on reading and found that there was more to Rajayoga than merely breathing exercises which make you super-young, (laughter) And so I was a little intrigued. Here was talk of the mind being stilled and ultimately passing into a higher state of consciousness, as a result of which you acquired various powers, not only having inexhaustible energy but becoming larger, becoming smaller, flying about and doing a lot of amazing things. Furthermore, just to read the book didn't seem enough. I wanted somebody, some example — greater than my friend — of the results of yoga. My friend, except for his unusual ability to be energetic, was a very poor specimen of a yogi, (laughter) Hence I started a search, looking out for people who might enlighten me.
The first fellow I caught hold of once when I had gone for a stroll to a fashionable place was a sannyasi in an ochre cloth. I shadowed him and came to the house where he was staying. I went up to him. He was surprised that a man very stylishly dressed should seek out one practically in rags. I asked him: "What have you to teach me?" He said: "Come inside and I shall give you my secret." So I went into his room. Then he said: "I am a worshipper of supernatural beings — gods and goddesses. You have to invoke them, and in order to do so you have to dig a big square hole in your room and light a big fire there." This was a very tough assignment, especially as I didn't have a room of my own, (laughter) and I was at the mercy of a very orthodox grandfather, (laughter) I just said: "All right. I'll see what I can do." — and left.
Soon after, I read in a newspaper that a Maharashtrian yogi had come to town. His picture was very attractive. He looked remarkably proportionate as if he had done Hathayoga to perfection, and they said he had various powers: he could take away
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at will the light from an electric bulb and he could make his head as big as that (gesture with two hands) whenever he wanted — I had already a swelled head, (laughter) but this kind of power would be quite welcome to impress people all the more, I sought him out at the address given. When I went to the house, I found a small crowd gathered there and he was in an inside apartment. In the anteroom was his host, a burly old man who promptly stopped me and said: "Sit here." I inquired: "Why?" "Sit here first," he said peremptorily. "All right," I replied with as much dignity as I could muster, and sat down. His next order was: "Show me your right palm." I showed it to him. He exclaimed: "Look!" — and vigorously shook his head. "No chance," he continued, (laughter) "But why?" I asked. He answered: "You have got to have six children, (laughter) How can you ever become a yogi now? (laughter) Go back." I was a little taken aback at first; then I said: "But these six children are in the future, (laughter) I don't have them now, there is no prospect of my having them very soon either, (laughter) In the meantime please let me go in." Then he grunted: "Very well, go in" — as if meaning "Go and be damned."
I went in. Several people were sitting on the floor in various postures. The yogi himself was standing. He saw me and said: "Sit down." I obeyed him. He came near me and put a finger on my head. I felt a kind of electric current go up. (laughter) I said to myself, "Ah, there is something here! He has more power over electricity than merely taking off light from a bulb." He spoke again: "I shall teach you an exercise which you must do religiously every day. Lie in your bed and try to draw up your being, your whole consciousness, from every part of your body, beginning with your toes, right up to your head." This was very fascinating but seemed rather difficult. And I said: "Is this all that you can teach me?" He replied: "Yes, this is all. But when you sit on the top of your head (laughter) you will see a circle of light above. Try to jump into that light and you will be in Samadhi." I had read of Samadhi, the great yogic trance. I said to myself: "Very good. I must give it a trial." So I went home and started planning. At that time my brother and my sister were sharing a room with me; and everybody would have been frightened by my lying in bed every day trying to do this fabulous exercise. There was an empty room on a higher floor. I managed to coax my grandfather into giving it to me.
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Day after day, I went on practising the exercise — and, though I was in a separate room, my grandfather got the wind of what was going on; and he was rather perturbed. Somebody said to him: "This fellow is trying to become a yogi." Grandfather shouted: "Yogi? my God, that's the worst thing possible!" (laughter) So he came to a certain decision, and that makes me go back to the period immediately after my B.A. When I passed my B.A. examination, I asked my grandfather to let me go to Oxford. He at once said: "Nothing doing. If you go to Oxford you will bring back an English wife." (laughter) I told him: "I promise you that I will not bring back an English wife." He smelled the rat all right (laughter) and said: "No, I am sorry you can't go to England. Stick on here and study." Well, I had to, because I was dependent on him at that time.... Now when he heard that I was trying to do yoga he came out with an inviting proposition. He very sweetly said: "Why don't you go to England?" (laughter) Evidently, in his eyes an English wife was far preferable to the Divine Beloved! (laughter) Thus he went on tempting me time and again and I kept saying: "No, no, I'm not interested now. Leave me alone, leave me alone." But the temptation was indeed great. How long would I be able to hold out? That exercise was going on every day without any result.
Then all of a sudden — I suppose because of the state of desperation, which always brings about a breakthrough — there came something. One night, as I was doing my yoga — trying to pull myself up hopelessly (laughter) to the top of my head — I forgot for a single second, in the midst of my straining upward, that I was doing anything, and in a flash I found that I was hovering above my body! It was at the same time a confusing and an exhilarating experience. I could see my body lying in bed, absolutely paralysed — as if dead — and I was in a subtle form up there in the air and perfectly conscious. It wasn't as if I were dreaming. When you dream, things happen to you, you sort of glide willy-nilly upon the stream of events. Here I was in full possession of my faculties: I could think and I could will, and when I willed to move I just went floating to one end of the room and touched the wall and from there I bounded to the other end, touching the wall there. "Hello, this is something really strange," I told myself. Then I began to argue with myself. That is a very bad habit. Arguing with others is bad enough, arguing with oneself is much worse. Here it proved disastrous, because as soon as I started to analyse
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my condition — "How can I be up here when I am lying down there?" — it was immediately finished and with a rush of sudden warmth in the middle of my chest I felt I was back in my body. I opened my eyes but couldn't move a single limb. I was still totally paralysed. Only, I could see my whole body lying like that. Then gradually the limbs came to life and I got up and said: "Now I have found something. Now in a most concrete way I know I am not merely my body. No materialist can ever argue and convince me that I am only this physical form and nothing more. There is another reality behind the whole show." This brought a great deal of assurance that, after all, yoga was not bunk, there was genuine substance to it.
Then I commenced reading books and practising other things, going about all the time endeavouring to concentrate and lift my consciousness. But there was no repetition of that crucial experience. So I wasn't quite ready to plunge into anything and the old temptation was still gleaming. However, one day I went to a theosophical meeting. The theosophists are supposed to be in touch with all kinds of subtle Masters. There I patiently heard what they spoke but it didn't go home to me. Before I left, I was introduced to a South Indian who was a critic of painting. We became friends immediately and went out for a stroll. I spoke to him about myself and he kept asking me what I was looking for in life. I said: "I am interested in a host of subjects" — as my friend Nirod has told you, though 1 am not a master in each as he has said, (laughter) Then the art-critic remarked: "Well, for a chap like you who is quite a complexity, a knot of many strings, there is only one person who can help you and be your teacher." I asked who, and he said: "Sri Aurobindo." That was really revealing, coming from a theosophist. Theosophists would want to guide me to Master Moria or Master Kuthumi or some other Master out of the group which has completely monopolised the management of the universe, leaving poor Sri Aurobindo no room at all anywhere, (laughter)
The name "Sri Aurobindo" remained in my mind. After some months I came across a booklet. I don't remember whose it was, but the writer spoke about Sri Aurobindo, and two things struck me. One was that he could appear at several places at the same time (laughter) — and the other that he could speak half a dozen languages: Greek and Latin were at his fingertips, he was a scholar in French, he knew German and Italian and, of course, English,
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which went without saying. Out of the two extraordinary achievements, the second struck me more, because if a man was a yogi I thought he would naturally have a faculty like appearing at several places at the same time; but that a yogi who is usually a renouncer of the world should know so many languages and be a master in them — this impressed me as very super-yogic. (laughter) So I said: "Sri Aurobindo is my man." But that was all. The seed had fallen inside and I thought now and then of him, but he was still only a name and my search still went on. It led me to diverse places.
The most unexpected was a shop! One day I went to Bombay's popular Crawford Market to buy a pair of shoes. People tell me I need a new pair even now pretty badly, but I undoubtedly did at that time and I bought it. The shoes were put in a box, and the box wrapped in a piece of newspaper. I carried the packet home. No sooner did I come home than I unwrapped my new possessions, and the moment I did so the sheet of newspaper fell back in front of me and I saw in a big headline: "The Ashram of Aurobindo Ghose." Somebody had been to the Ashram and written about it. At once I fell upon the article, read it most avidly and at the end of it I exclaimed: "I am going there! My mind is made up at last and I have found my goal, or at least the path to my goal." And ultimately I came here, wearing the same shoes, which became the shoes of a real pilgrim!
Now you know how I ended up here. But I did not have much of an idea of what whole-time yoga could be like, much less that the "integral yoga" was entirely new. Though in that article some indications had been given, I couldn't quite understand them. But I did feel that the life here was the sort of life I should like to lead — in which all the faculties were given a full flowering and a free field. They were not suppressed and you didn't have just to shoot up into the circumambient gas!
When I arrived,1 I first went to Purani's room because I had written to Sri Aurobindo for permission to come and Purani had replied to me on his behalf. His field was Gujarat and I was from Bombay. Now he had sent somebody to receive me at the station: it was Pujalal. He came and met me and took me to Purani. At that time the Mother used to take a walk early in the morning on
1 For accuracy's sake I may mention that 1 did not arrive alone. But that part of the story would have taken me rather off the track. So 1 did not bring it in.
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the terrace above her own room. I had reached Purani's room just when she had come up. From a northern window, I could see her. I said: "She is very beautiful!" She was at a considerable distance and it was my first glimpse of her, but the impression of beauty was very definite. She walked for a while and went down. And I stayed on in Pondicherry.
The Mother had engaged for me a house just opposite the Ashram: it was the house on Rue Francois Martin, in which Vasudha has been staying for nearly four decades. I had the entire place for Rs.12 a month! (laughter) In those days the room where Kamala now stays was the Mother's store-room; and she used to come from her room every now and then to her store-room across the open passage on the first floor, and I used to see her from one of my windows. It went on like that and then I asked for an interview. She gave it to me. She sat on one side of a table and I sat on the other. She asked me: "What have you come here for?" I made a dramatic sweeping gesture with one hand and replied: "Mother, I have seen everything of life; (laughter) now I want nothing except God." (laughter) She said: "Oh yes? How old are you?" I said I was 23. (laughter) "Oh, at 23 you have seen all of life? Don't be in such a hurry, you must take your time. Stay here, look about, see how things are, see if they suit you and then take a decision." I was much disappointed at this kind of cold water poured over my dramatic gesture. But I said: "All right." When I was talking with her I felt as if from her face and eyes some silver radiance were coming out. I am very critical and sceptical, you know, but I could not make out how this was happening — nor could I doubt that it was happening. Apart from this impression of light, there was another — of something out of ancient Egypt.
After our brief talk, the Mother got up. "I am going," she said and moved towards the door. "No, please wait," I urged. Then I started to indulge in my habit of falling. It was taking a new turn, for I was preparing to fall — as I have already told you — at her feet. She seemed a little surprised at a man clad in European clothes, with a necktie and so on, wanting to fall like that. Seeing the surprise on her face I made an explanation: "You see, Mother, we Indians always do this to our spiritual Masters." (laughter) I taught her what was the right thing to be done. Afterwards I learned that the Mother at that time couldn't move from one room to another without 20 people falling at her feet! (laughter) When
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she found me determined she said: "All right" — and let me go down. Then she put her hand on my head and I got up. At home I thought I had done something very important: I had asserted my Indian-ness, I had shown my Indian-ness in spite of those clothes, and I was sure the Mother must have appreciated it. It seems the Mother went and told Sri Aurobindo: "There is a young man here who came to see me and taught me how Indians do pranam!" (laughter) Sri Aurobindo was much amused.
Days passed in the Ashram. Every night I used to go to the pier. We had the old pier then — a long thing a quarter mile into the sea. I would go there at about 11 p.m. and sit in the dimness at the furthest end and attempt to meditate. I was hoping to see visions, but I saw nothing except when I opened my eyes at times and found hideous faces of fishermen in front of mine, uncomfortably close. They were peering into my face, seeming to wonder who this lunatic could be, coming at so late an hour all alone, and sitting with shut eyes. I was a little frightened, but I kept my courage up and went on visiting the pier. Nothing very much happened by way of inner experience. Only once I felt as if the waves of the sea were washing into me and washing through me and out of me: I suppose it was some opening to the cosmic forces — though a poor and small opening — a very wishy-washy feeling, I may say. (laughter)
Then came my first Darshan Day.. .but no, I must tell you something else before that. I reached Pondicherry in December just before the year in which — somewhere in April — I was to sit for my M.A. examination — or rather I was to submit my thesis. I had the thesis drawn up in outline — in the form of chapter-headings. Nothing had yet been written out to develop the various themes. The two years after one's B.A. are the most enjoyable and one keeps everything troublesome to the dead last. My subject was: "The Philosophy of Art." Now I had to decide whether or not to start writing the thesis. If I didn't I wouldn't have any M.A. But how after coming here could I start again going round and round in the intellectual mill? I would never be able to take advantage of whatever new consciousness was there in the Ashram, a light beyond the mind. So I decided to let my M.A. go hang.... Nor did I know how long I would be staying at the Ashram. Every minute seemed precious. Some circumstance might cut across my stay.
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I had come here without telling anybody in Bombay that my destination was Pondicherry. Else I would have been hindered. I shall now make a little digression. I am all the time digressing, but this is a bigger version. I had gone to Calcutta before turning south, and from Calcutta I went to Puri to see Jagannath's Chariot and Temple. 1 wanted to know what exactly traditional orthodox Hinduism was like. So I stayed in an Ashram in Puri and asked the man-in-charge whether I could go into the temple. He said: "No, you are not a Hindu." I said: "I am not a Hindu, I am a Parsi, but can't I go? Is there no way?" He answered: "Who says there is no way? Of course there is a way." "Then please tell me what to do." He said: "Just pull your shirt out of your pants, (laughter) make it hang over and you become a Hindu!" (laughter) I immediately did the conversion ceremony and went into the temple. Nobody stopped the newly made Hindu. I walked right in, saw the image of Jagannath — Lord of the World. He looked pretty frightening. I stood there and watched all the rituals going on. I visited also the place nearby where Chaitanya was supposed to have stood daily at the same spot so long that his footprints had got imbedded in the stone. They were rather outsize footprints, I must say. (laughter) Going about, I tried to talk with whoever could talk in English and let me learn something of what traditional Hinduism meant. I had the feeling that there was something important at the heart of it, but, as things were, it didn't appeal to me a great deal. And it is from Puri that I came to Pondicherry.
Now in Pondicherry my first Darshan Day was approaching — it was the 21st of February, the Mother's birthday. People were not very encouraging at that time, they left me in doubt whether I would be able to attend the Darshan or not. Up to almost the last minute I didn't know my fate. I had to go and scrutinise the list of names put up. At last I found my name. "Good!" I said, "I am lucky to be allowed." Later I took my place in the queue. Of course in those days the queue was a small one: I think there were only 40 people staying in the Ashram and perhaps as many visitors.
The Darshan used to be in the long front room upstairs. I went in my turn — first, of course, to the Mother because Sri Aurobindo I didn't know, while the Mother I had seen again and again. I knelt down at her feet, she blessed me; then I went to Sri Aurobindo's feet and looked at him. My physical mind came right to the front:
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"What sort of a person is Sri Aurobindo? How does he look?" I saw him sitting very grandly, with an aquiline nose, smallish eyes, fine moustaches and a thin beard.... I was examining him thoroughly. At length I made my pranam. He put both his hands on my head — that was his way — a most delightful way with his very soft palms. I took my leave, looking at him again. I observed to myself: "Quite an impressive Guru: (laughter) he is very fine in appearance, very grand — I think I can accept him!" (laughter)
The next day I met the Mother and asked her: "Mother, did Sri Aurobindo say anything about me?" (laughter) She answered: "Well, he just said that you had a good face." (laughter) Here was a piquant situation. When I was examining him, he was examining me — on the same level, it seems, (laughter) He had come down, as it were, to meet my physical mind. I didn't think the compliment he had paid me was very satisfying or quite sufficient. Only a good face? Then I asked myself: "What did you require of Sri Aurobindo? That he should have a good face for you to accept him. Why shouldn't he accept you for your good face if that's the sole qualification you have got?" (laughter)
Round about this time I began writing to Sri Aurobindo. It was the start of a process that went on and on for years — sometimes two or three letters a day! Since he replied to everything, we never felt he had gone into retirement. You see, unfortunately a year before I reached Pondicherry he had withdrawn for concentrated work: the 24th of November 1926 was almost a year earlier. I am a pretty ancient person, you will now understand! (laughter) After 1926 we could come into touch with Sri Aurobindo only by writing. I wrote to him my first letter informing him of all my difficulties: I could not do this and I could not do that — how the devil was 1 to do his yoga? He wrote to me a long letter, very encouraging and helpful. It gave me a lot of hope that I would be able to do everything and go through if I rejected the lower forces, aspired after the light and surrendered to the Divine: a steady will to change and conquer was all he considered necessary to get me through the hard period. Strangely, he dated his letter 1998 instead of 1928! (laughter) I was set wondering whether it would take me so long, (laughter) Would all the things he spoke of happen after 1998? That letter is really unique — postdated by seventy years! I don't know what exactly it implies. At least on a quick computation the year 1998 falls within the 12-year cycle which is said to distinguish Sri Aurobindo's life. In 1914 he met the
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Mother and started the Arya. 1926 marked what is called the descent of the Overmind Consciousness into his physical being and into the Mother's. The Ashram too was officially started — under the Mother. Next, 1938 is the year — 12 years later — in which it seems a decisive step was taken to draw the Supermind into the outer physical consciousness, even if the step was partial and not continuous in its effect. Then comes 1950 — the year of the strategic self-sacrifice of Sri Aurobindo. The result of the sacrifice was not only that his body got filled with the Supramental Light as it lay in his bed as if in a deep trance for 5 days. Something also happened to the Mother. She has told me that as soon as Sri Aurobindo left his body what he had termed the Mind of Light got realised in her. And the Mind of Light she has described as the physical mind receiving the Supramental Light. So the individual fixation of the Supermind in a conscious part of the gross physical took place in 1950. The other years in the same series are 1962, 1974, 1986 — and 1998!
I went on writing to Sri Aurobindo, and all types of questions I used to put him, just as Nirod did, bombarding him with queries. Most of my questions were either philosophical or literary — because, though I had my own share of common difficulties, the real difficulty at the beginning was my Westernised intellect. Once I told the Mother that I found Sri Aurobindo's Life Divine not sufficiently logical! (laughter) She opened wide her eyes — and said: "This is the first time anybody has said such a thing." As with the first pranam, she related the incident to Sri Aurobindo: "Look at what he says...." Sri Aurobindo, it seems, just nodded and smiled, as he often used to do. He was not given to being very voluble or demonstrative. The Mother, I am told, would go and tell him something or other quite animatedly and he would do nothing but gaze. Then she, thinking she had not made herself clear, would repeat the matter in other words. Then he would say: "I see." (laughter)
To come back to my own troubles: the intellect was a great bar. Though I put it off a little by not appearing for my M.A., I still couldn't do without it. And several times I have surprised the Mother by asking for an interview and rushing up to her with my difficulties. Once I said: "How can there be the One and at the same time the Many? Explain this to me. It's a terrible difficulty." And she said: "Read Sri Aurobindo more and more and you will find out how it is possible." Again, a very great difficulty
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— the supreme crisis of my mental life — came when I began to think of the problem of Freewill: have I freewill or not? I read all the philosophers; they could not enlighten me. Even in Sri Aurobindo I could not fasten upon a clear-cut solution. I tossed arguments to and fro and I got so tangled up in my mind that all the day I was debating with myself. Nothing else mattered in the world. Finally I felt my head was so full of these attacks and counter-attacks that the only way to get rid of the commotion was to knock my head against the wall and break it! In that desperate condition I asked for an interview with the Mother. As usual, she said: "Yes, come." When I went, she asked: "Now what is the trouble?" I said: "Have I got freewill or have I not?" She began to speak. I at once interrupted: "Please don't argue with me, Mother, (laughter) I have argued enough with myself. Don't say anything because I am sure to say something to contradict you. Just tell me whether or not my will is free, to however small an extent. Don't say anything more than 'Yes' or 'No'." (laughter) She said: "Yes." I said: "That's enough." And I went away. Our Gurus are so patient with all our vagaries! I told myself: "I must not argue at all now. Once I argue I am lost. I must cling to this one word of the Mother's — until I get some light." And, for 12 years or so; I clung on to it. At the end of that period I felt I could see something, even in a philosophical way, and I wrote out a short essay: Freewill in Sri Aurobindo's Vision. I had the sense that now I had stated something philosophically cogent. I sent my compact piece to Sri Aurobindo and Nirod read it out to him. The comment simply swept me off my feet. He said — well, I should not quote it in public, but now that we are at it, now that I have talked so much of myself, I might as well put a crown to it all — he said: "The article is excellent. In fact it could not be bettered." That set me on top of the world, of course, (laughter)
There are a lot of other things to say, but we don't have the time. For, once I start, it would take another 40 minutes at least, and I don't have the heart to keep you waiting hungry so long. Let me therefore thank you and make a halt. I call it a halt because some time in the future I may resume. So thank you very much, and I suppose I must make a long speech thanking the Chairman in order to stop him from delivering another speech himself! (laughter)
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Well, this is the preface; so the face you'll see again, he has promised! (laughter)
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