Old Long Since

The Scene I Saw

It was for the first time I got up to the first floor of Sri Aurobindo's house. In the long verandah overlooking the wide courtyard below, there were big windows giving a wide view southwards... all the doors of all the rooms were open... Everywhere and on everything there fell an all-revealing light, nothing but light... nothing was seen covered or screened, nothing was unrevealed... no spot hidden from light... My heart too, unwittingly, with no doors to close or conceal anything, free of confusion or perplexity, wide-open, soared up in sheer delight! I was in this state and Sri Aurobindo stood there, his eyes gazing southwards... His small feet appeared to my eyes as two red lotuses. His hair partly hung on his chest, partly on his back. It was still wet from his bath; water dripped from its ends. His bare broad chest shone in great beauty... His divine gaze did not yet turn towards me...

Bejoykanta got up first, I followed him, reached the head of the long corridor and, as I just stood there, Sri Aurobindo, who was about twenty feet away, turned his eyes upon me. Whether I walked to him or took a leap to him, I do not know. What I remember is that a lamp was lit everywhere in me and I saw in a spontaneous and automatic movement in front of me an intense celestial beauty. My being unknowingly swam, as it were, in a sea of silence, it fell prostrate at the lotus-feet of the Master, it did not utter "My Refuge, my Refuge", but lay there body, life and mind all together a single block. Sri Aurobindo touched me with his flower-like hands and made me stand up. I drank the drink he gave me. That eternal sight still lives in my memory in the same form. I do not know why I burst into sobs as I clasped him. Tears streamed down from my eyes. Were they tears of delight now that I had attained the celestial joy of Indra-loka, or were they the regrets of my ego watching the imminent end of its life? I cannot say. Bhakti is a divine acquisition, a thing of wonder; it cannot have its birth without divine grace. When the heart is aroused from sleep by the all-ruling grace, one sees that greatness; it is so delightful to the sight; then only one's life, possessed of the knowledge of the Lord's universal state and His transcendent state, will know how to live at once in all the three states.

The sight seen by me at that young age, as I lay at Sri Aurobindo's feet, comes vividly into my memory. Immeasurable wonder drowned me. What I saw was the repetition of a marvel of many years before.

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Our village. A huge sand-hill far away from the village. On the sand-hill stood rows of thick-set palm trees almost striking the sky. On the north of the hill in the lowland was a wide and deep reservoir of water. It was the village-tank. The tank was full of lotuses and there were lilies too in a little corner of it. On its eastern bank was a banyan tree; at a distance from that a peepal tree.

In the evenings the Brahmins of our village in order to perform their evening rites (sandhya-vandanam) would start from the village, cross the mango-grove, amalaki-grove, tamarind-grove, date-palm forest, etc., wade through the small stream flowing with a soft murmur, climb the sand-hill with its palm forest, get down to the bank of the tank and sit by its edge. After having performed the evening rites, Japa and Tapa, they would get up and, all of them reciting together the Vishnusahasranama (the thousand names of Vishnu), come back to the village.

On the eastern bank of the tank was a small temple of Ganesh, the holy image of Eyenar at the border of the village.

One evening. Darkness had just crept over the place. I was sitting on the sand-hill by the tank. I was then about 8 or 9 years old. Four or five Brahmins were still on the bank occupied with the performance of rites.

In that dim darkness of the evening, just two or three stars twinkled in the western sky.

And then, in front of me at a short distance and gradually drawing nearer and rising above as it came close to my head, there appeared a shining ball, a big ball of the size of a palm fruit. Its lustre was dark blue. My eyes fixed on it, I kept looking at it. That ball shone soothing my eyes, comforting my body, seizing my heart and, as it slowly swam up, proceeded far to the south; my sight followed its course till it disappeared.

I must have been immersed deep within me at that time because I was oblivious of the earth and voyaging in the sky. Someone in the darkness, his face I could not see, called me to go home and so I came back to the waking state. Ten miles away from our village to the south-east was Pondicherry!

Sri Aurobindo had not yet come to Pondicherry. The beings of the upper worlds were as if making ready the blessed town of Pondicherry to receive Him!

While I lay at Sri Aurobindo's lotus-feet for the first time I saw once again that glowing ball, familiar to me and quite close, appearing

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in the dark blue sky within me and leading me towards the south. It seemed as if the star had accomplished its ordained work.

(9)

I do not quite remember after how many days I next saw Sri Aurobindo. I think it was after ten or fifteen days. The second time also it was Bejoykanta whom I asked as to when I could see Sri Aurobindo. He said he could give a reply only after asking Sri Aurobindo. On the fourth or fifth day, he told me one morning that I could see Sri Aurobindo the same evening. When I requested him to take me to Sri Aurobindo that very evening he thought for a little while and said rather hesitatingly, "All right." The hesitation was natural because he could not readily consent to my request without having asked Sri Aurobindo first. But, as he had a firm belief that Sri Aurobindo would not say "No", he replied, "All right."

That evening as soon as the school was over I hastened to Sri Aurobindo's house like an arrow flying from the bow. It might be five-fifteen. Bejoykanta was waiting for me. He was in uniform ready to go out for football at Odeon-sale. As I reached there he took me up straight to Sri Aurobindo's room and without a moment's delay started for Odeon-sale.

I saw Sri Aurobindo the second time thus:

He was in his room seated in a wooden chair beside a table, writing something in a book, facing west. He moved his book a little, faced south and welcomed us both with a gleam of kindness in his eyes. I looked at him and when after a minute I turned I found Bejoykanta was no longer by my side. He and I alone! None else! Solitude! Seated he kept on looking at me and I too drowned myself in his sacred look.

In those days I could not speak English well. With Bejoykanta I had to talk in English. He struggled to speak Tamil. His knowledge of Tamil was, however, confined to a few words like rice, salt, tamarind, pulse, some names of vegetables. A few verbs in addition such as "come, go, take" he had picked up for his purpose. He employed these for all purposes while instructing the cook to make purchases. I saw him manage other needful things by gestures.

I endeavoured to speak in English with Sri Aurobindo as I used to do with Bejoykanta. At that time even one or two English words that

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I knew well would get stuck in my throat. With an herculean effort I could just say:

"I want come daily see you!"

This I struggled to finish with bated breath. I was able at that time to read and understand short stories written in easy English. But I had no habit of speaking English. I could follow others when they spoke simple sentences in it. This reminds me of a small experience at school. A teacher named Mariat was appointed to teach us History and Geography. He was in charge of giving lessons in these two subjects in the Fifth and Sixth Forms. He made it binding on his students to speak only English and with this end in view he gave one of us a small wooden block, about 2" thick, with the following order: "One who holds this block of wood should be alert to pass it on to the student who starts speaking Tamil, and he in his turn should pass it to another student indulging in the same habit."

In this way the habit of speaking some English grew in us. The habit of using English, even if imperfectly, acquired in this way stood me in good stead when I had to express myself to Sri Aurobindo.

He complied with that request of mine for seeing him daily and asked me to come after five in the evening. His compliance filled my heart with joy and I did not know then if I were on earth or in heaven.

From the very next day, I began going straight from school at 5 p.m. to Sri Aurobindo's house to see him. Before I reached there – a little later than five-fifteen – Sri Aurobindo would come out of his room and sit on the west side of the southern terrace. I used to stand before him and go on talking. I would forget then that I knew little English. Day after day I would tell him fluently and unwaveringly my home-story, etc., trying to make the details as vivid and elaborate as possible. I knew no halt. In his presence my heart would flow out like an undammed flood either out of deep love for him or inspired by his supreme grace. It cast aside all human measures of what ought to be said and what ought not to be said. Today I may venture to call it bhakti. At that time I did not know its name. My heart was full to the brim with the rasa of sweetness.

Everyday I talked with Sri Aurobindo from five-thirty to six-thirty and returned home.

I played the role of the speaker. I poured out to him everything without exception. He would hardly ever put in more than a word or two. In this way days passed into weeks, weeks into months. The feeling that, because of this intimacy, his unfailing grace would hasten

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the change that had already been taking place in me cheered me up. Does ego possess any sight? It is indeed blind. I realised afterwards that his grace was equal, impartial, pure, as constant as an eternal truth.

In a month or two, without my noticing the fact, it became easy for me to speak English. I acquired also a confidence in myself. I got into the habit of speaking English, right or wrong. As its proof, I had only a very few occasions to get the wooden block in the school.

One day almost in playfulness I asked Sri Aurobindo if I could stay with him. It was probably during November or December, 1914.1 had practically prepared myself for the Matriculation examination. It was to take place in March 1915. The day of submitting my name and depositing the examination-fee drew near.

 Instead of giving a direct answer to the above question Sri Auro­bindo simply said he expected it of me to pass the examination and make arrangements for further studies.

I was at my wit's end. History I had not read attentively. Chemistry seemed to me difficult. Mathematics was quite interesting: I had attained a proficiency in it. In English, though I was fairly strong, I had not reached a high standard. So a doubt that I might not come out successful pinched my heart.

All this apart, I had an opportunity to observe the lives led by the inmates of Sri Aurobindo's house. I saw no trace of care and worry on anyone's face. This was a matter of surprise to me. I had worries due to poverty, due to the coming examination, etc. nibbling at my heart. The inmates led a care-free life. What it was I cannot say but a small thought had taken birth in my heart. This thought had an infinite power—I realised this fact much later. A tree out of a seed!

One day I told Sri Aurobindo in passing that I wanted to practise Yoga and I asked him to show me the way to its practice. He put me a counter-question, "Do you know what is meant by Yoga?"

I replied, "I don't know."

That much only. No further talk about it for a long time.

But whenever I approached Bejoykanta he would without fail raise the subject of Yoga. By Yoga, he would say, one could fly in the air, walk over water, remain free from death, be immune to disease, conquer old age, etc., etc. In addition, he said finally, one could drive away all English "Feringhees" from India.

Mention of these miracles, however, gave rise in me to other thoughts, other hopes. By Yoga my family's poverty would disappear;

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we would no more feel the pinch of hunger; I could score high marks in the examination; I might procure a good job, etc.

At the close of the year 1914 the question came up of my going to Madras and of my lodging there. It was decided that I should be put in M. Srinivasachari's house. His house was a big one and quite near the temple of Parthasarathi at Triplicane.

February, 1915.

A crucial stage arrived in my life. Along with this came a quietude of mind, a constant memory of something which was fundamental.

I had not yet developed the capacity to comprehend what I might achieve by tapasya or that for a while I had come to prepare myself here for things. Even the desire to understand them had not been born in me. The Matriculation examination solely occupied my mind. The thought of it, burdened with the heavy feeling of my family's poverty, did not allow me to stand erect, depressed my spirit and created a struggle, made me live a half-alive and half-dead life, a life beset with hardships. The time then was like this.

The whole of our village had experienced failure of rains for two or three years in succession, resulting in a drying up of its fields and then followed ceaseless rains for ten or fifteen days inundating the village, bringing down and tearing to shreds a number of houses, rendering the villagers homeless and throwing them in utter distress. It was a time when our stored paddy and other grains in the granary had been consumed even before the interminable rains broke out. It was a time when even the cash-crop like groundnut could not be cultivated. It was a time of dryness and barrenness for us and other villagers without any way out of it. And it was time I should have to go to Madras. I was short of Rs. 91- for the deposit. I found no way to make up this deficit. A month of the year 1915 had already passed.

On some occasions, when I sought for Sri Aurobindo's advice for deciding whether I should appear in the examination or not, he always exhorted me to do so. His purpose behind this advice and his jokes at such examinations which I heard four or five years later when I finally joined him, I could not for long comprehend. I may cite the case of an Andhra friend of mine to illustrate my point. It was Chandrasekhara, and he had passed creditably the B.A. examination. Sri Aurobindo made him the butt of such a volley of jests for this success in the examination that he all but wept for it.

I was at a loss to know how to procure the amount needed. Once I broached the subject to Sri Aurobindo. I also informed him of the

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approaching time-limit. The day after this talk, when I went to him,  he handed over to me the sum of Rs. 9/- and ordered me to deposit the fee. Astounded and forgetful I stood statue-like in his presence.

In 1915 I went to Madras to sit for the examination. Back to Pondicherry from there, I first met Sri Aurobindo and then Bharati. There being no longer any place here to stay at, I went back home.

One part of my being was given to endearing play and prattle with my mother; another and greater part of it felt all bonds with my parents and relatives loosened. I felt them as strangers only. This major part unknowingly and imperceptibly was captured by Sri Aurobindo. The small part enjoying my mother's caresses and fondlings stood in my way.

     A letter from my friend Krishnamachari apprised me of having passed the Matriculation examination. That I had passed, even if not very creditably, gave me satisfaction. I immediately started from home for Pondicherry to convey this news to Sri Aurobindo. I put up in Bharati's house. In Pondicherry I stayed only for a day or two. At the time when I informed Sri Aurobindo of the result, he encouraged me in a way for further studies. But I felt perplexed. If I went on studying like this, when should I join Sri Aurobindo? This apprehen­sion, partly perceptible to my heart and partly imperceptible, evoked a struggle in me. On coming back to my village, I set myself to collect all that was necessary for higher studies — money, books, clothes, etc., etc, I had to find also a lodging at Madras.

(10)

In the year 1914 I had the darshan of the Mother. I could not perceive then that the Mother's was not an ordinary human birth. In 1914 the Mother came for the first time to the land of India, the decreed repository of spiritual riches.

As directed by Sri Aurobindo in 1910, the Mother reached Pondy on March 29, 1914. A few days after her arrival, Bejoykanta introduced me to her. How did he do it? He introduced me as one of the students of the Calve College and as one keen on practising Yoga.

The Mother lived in the house No. 3 facing the North, in Dupleix Street. She had so much work to attend to that she met people only at an appointed time. Steps were taken even then to start the monthly review Arya both in English and in French.

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Students from our school, in small groups, would come at their leisure hours to see the Mother. We did not know then who the Mother was.

At that time the book Yogic Sadhan could be seen in the hands of many of those persons who frequented Sri Aurobindo's house, This book Bejoykanta taught me. I did not consider him a teacher. The terms Guru, Acharya, teacher, instructor, preceptor were not current amongst us those days. All that we had been taught was social etiquette and hospitality; no one had given us any idea of modesty or humility or devotion.

Amidst all these superficialities I approached the Mother with the help of Bejoykanta. My dumb heart at once came to feel the magic power of the Mother. Over my poor heart lay loads of dirt. If one load dropped down, another would roll in to occupy the empty space.

In my first approaches to the Mother I thought her to be one like others. My mind's way led me in one direction, my heart's voiceless feeling led in another. I had not learnt at that time either to listen attentively to the still voice of the heart, or forgetting all outer hankerings, to feel the inner urge. The tapasya perhaps that I had failed to do in my previous births I began doing now in this short span of life.

Had someone seen the Mother and myself seated on chairs, facing each other, almost as equals, with the book Yogic Sadhan in hand, he would have been in a fix to know who was teaching whom. In truth, however, I approached the Mother in the spirit of a seeker of knowledge..

The school remained closed two days per week — Sundays and Thursdays. On these two days, at 10 a.m., I would go to the Mother study with her for half an hour one or two pages of the Yogic Sadhan, proceed to Sri Aurobindo's house for his darshan and return home.

An image of immeasurable power — that was how I felt the Mother to be whenever I approached her. She, however, held that power herself without allowing the least display of it. On some occasions the great power would shine forth irresistibly. Our inner sense would Perceive this radiation if it was awake.

    Not only myself but some of my friends of those days had felt certain necessary changes taking place, whether we had wanted them or and without our being conscious of them, changes not only in our basic consciousness but in some of our external parts too. We would approach the Mother with our contradictory ideas and doubts

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and after a talk with her each one of us would be filled with an unaccountable purity and joy, and self-oblivious we would come back home talking merrily like people living in a happy world.

In this year 1914 Ramaswami lyengar left Sri Aurobindo's house and started from Pondicherry for his native place. In this year 1914 again, during April and May, efforts were made, as I said, to bring out the monthly magazine Arya. On July 28 of this very year the First World War broke out. On August 15 the first issue of the Arya saw the light of day in English and French versions. In this 1914 indeed the foundation was laid of my close contact with Sri Aurobindo. And in this same year 1914 I began feeling like a simple child the Mother's continuous affection.

On August 15, 1914, Sri Aurobindo's birthday was celebrated more openly. In the spacious hall upstairs two or three big tables, taken on hire, were placed side by side; on them were spread thick washed sheets, white as jasmines; and above these sheets were heaped, mountain-like, milk-white rice. Finally, rose-petals were strewn over the rice. At about 11.30 a.m. Sri Aurobindo came and stood in the long verandah, south of the hall, at the western end and, looking at us eastwards, spoke something in English for two or three minutes.

Ten or fifteen persons only out of those who had assembled that day stayed behind for sometime and I was one of these few. I do not remember now where the Mother was, where she sat and took her food.

In October 1914, I suppose, Abdul Karim, a chief C.I.D. Inspector of the Madras Presidency sought Sri Aurobindo's permission for an interview. I do not remember the date. He was asked to come on a particular day at 10 a.m. for the interview. Abdul Karim came on that day in time and met Sri Aurobindo. The talk must have lasted for more than half an hour in private. While going to Sri Aurobindo Abdul Karim had carried a big rose-garland and two or three plates full of  fruits, etc. Not being an inmate of Sri Aurobindo's house, I had no means of knowing what transpired between them. Even if I had been an inmate, Sri Aurobindo would have said only what could be dis­closed. It was rumoured in Pondicherry that the talk must have been mainly about the World War and Abdul Karim sought to know Sri Aurobindo's views about it.

One or two months passed after the outbreak of the World War. Nolini Kanta Gupta and Saurindranath Bose who had gone to Bengal came back hurriedly to Pondicherry. Now Bejoykanta also grew

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impatient to go to Bengal like them for a short visit. He persisted in it. Sri Aurobindo gave no consent to it. Bejoykanta's friends in Pondicherry and some others, including Abdul Karim, had come to know that he was about to leave for Bengal.

Either the very next day after Abdul Karinfs interview with Sri Aurobindo or one or two days later, Bejoykanta started for Bengal. The news circulated in the town that, as Bejoykanta was suspected to be a revolutionary, a warrant of arrest was in Abdul Karim's pocket the very day of his interview with Sri Aurobindo.

Bejoykanta started from Sri Aurobindo's house and caught the train to Madras. Directly he crossed the French border he was arrested and taken into police custody at Cuddalore; he was then transferred a few days later to his native place in Bengal and interned there till the end of the War, that is to say, five long years. As soon as he got released he came back to Pondicherry.

Before the publication of the Arya, it was widely talked about — and most amongst the Tamil poet Bharati and his friends—that a Review of the kind was soon going to be published. The idea also spread, along with the talk, that a new age was about to dawn, this new age was for the whole human race and Sri Aurobindo was the Rishi of this new age. Poet Bharati was chiefly instrumental in spreading the idea.

I was fortunate enough to hear many say several times that the Arya would elucidate the secrets of the Veda and, as a corollary, unravel many a knot, till now unloosened, in the Upanishads, Itihasas, Puranas, etc. I heard many also declare that Sri Aurobindo had found a new method of Yoga for the sake of mankind and would divulge in the Arya the characteristic process of sadhana for following this method.

Hardly a month had passed since the declaration of the great War when I heard elderly people, rich in knowledge, affirm that the World War was but the unhealed sore in the human consciousness and the appearance of the Arya was destined to heal the sore. I could not grasp all that clearly then.

One day at the beginning of September I tool up a copy of the first issue of the Arya from the table on the long verandah upstairs in Sri Aurobindo's house and started reading the first article of the series, "The Life Divine", written by Sri Aurobindo, just loudly enough for myself to hear. I read it over and over again. Great thoughts clothed in great words — I could not at all comprehend! However, it was sweet to read and re-read it. It was as if someone else in me was compre­hending all that was read!

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As I was reading, Sri Aurobindo came, stood in front of the table and kept listening to my reading. When I put down the copy of the Arya and lifted my head I saw Sri Aurobindo standing there. I told him that the reading was delightful but nothing could be grasped.

Sri Aurobindo heard all that I said and replied, "It is not necessary to understand it all at once. Go on reading. If you find a joy in reading, you need not stop it."

Anyone may perceive in Sri Aurobindo's writings a wealth of experiences, a mantric power and an extraordinary superhuman attrac­tion. That first sublime article in the Arya begins with one or two Riks from the Rig Veda.

Hear:

"She follows to the goal of those that are passing on beyond, she is the first in the eternal succession of the dawns that are com­ing,—Usha widens bringing out that which lives, awakening someone who was dead.... What is her scope when she harmonises with the dawns that shone out before and those that now must shine? She desires the ancient mornings and fulfils their Light; projecting forward her illumination, she enters into communion with the rest that are to come."

Kutsa Angirasa—Rig Veda 1.113.8.

Without being conscious of my relation with the Mother before and after my birth on this earth, I felt a child's love for her at the very outset.

The Mother left for France in February 1915.1 too went to Madras for the Matriculation examination that very year.

(11)

I arrived finally at Madras and was, therefore, cut off from my family. When now I look back on this event, I seem to realise how far away was the action of my own will from that of the divine Will. If I had been acting according to my own inclination, I could never have come near the divine Presence. We are for the most part subject to petty desires and feelings. My life's course was settled without my knowing it, as soon as the Master's glance embraced me. When I reached the crucial stage of my life, and felt pulled to and fro by the force of attachments on one side, and that of the divine Light on the other, and stood swaying in the thick of the conflict, what was it that

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made me give up the life of the world and turn towards that of the Spirit? Who brought about this turning? Each time that I think over it, I have the feeling that I was not an agent but a mere tool, an instrument only, nimitta matram.

I stayed at Madras till the 3rd April, 1919. Even though I lived there, it was the Master's presence that guided me; in my heart there was ever the remembrance of Pondicherry. The word "Pondicherry" meant to my soul Sri Aurobindo — there was room for nothing else there. I studied for a year in the Intermediate Class at Madras. I used to come back to Pondicherry once a month. Sometimes, due to unforeseen circumstances, it would be once in two months.

At Madras I was fortunate to have one or two intimate friends. One of them was V.P. Karunakaran Nambiar. He was a student of the Law College. He had a boundless love for Sri Aurobindo. He believed that it was Sri Aurobindo who had given a new life to the Indian political movement. He felt, moreover, immensely attracted to Sri Aurobindo's writings. He made friends with me when he came to know of my association with Sri Aurobindo. He began accompanying me to Pon­dicherry without fail once a month. He used to put up at some hotel there. We would start from Madras on Friday by the night-train, get down at Pondicherry on Saturday morning, and return by the Sunday night-train. Nambiar had the good fortune to see Sri Aurobindo and speak with him on Saturday night. Sometimes, on the Sunday night also, he would have a talk with Sri Aurobindo for half an hour, solely or mostly on English literature. It was Nambiar who, for the first time, made arrangements to borrow books in his own name from the Madras University Library and Connemera Library for Sri Aurobindo! He is no more — he died a few years ago.

In Madras I passed four years in George Town, in the house No. 14 at the corner of Baker Street, opposite to the Law College. Madras was not so crowded between 1915 and 1919 as it is at present. I would go after 5 p.m. to the vast maidan of the High Court and be there all alone till 7 p.m. I would read at that time over and over again Sri Aurobindo's magazine Arya or his book of poems Ahana, and take immense delight in them. Did I understand them or not? What was it that delighted me? How did I enjoy them? All this my soul alone knows, I know nothing.

Wherever I happened to be — on the sea-beach, in the High Court grounds, in Pachchiappa College, in Baker Street or at Triplicane — no matter where, the memory of Sri Aurobindo burnt bright in my heart.

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The single thought in me was, "When will the next opportunity come for me to go to Pondicherry?"

Once on my way to Pondicherry, I met an Andhra young man, Chandrasekhar Ayya by name. He enquired of me, "How can I meet Sri Aurobindo?" I told him, "You may come with me and take your chance."

When I broached the matter to Sri Aurobindo, he put me several questions relating to Chandrasekhar—"Where does he come from?" "Why has he come to Pondicherry?" "Is it on account of some business?" etc., and then, at last he consented to meet him. The interview between Sri Aurobindo and Chandrasekhar lasted not more than five minutes.

Later on, I remember to have met Chandrasekhar Ayya once or twice in Madras. Whenever he came to Pondicherry, I would be with him. He never failed to have Sri Aurobindo's darshan. His first interview with Sri Aurobindo for only five minutes laid the foundation of the priceless things he gleaned in future from Sri Aurobindo. Unlike the late V. P. Karunakaran Nambiar, Chandrasekhar plunged heart and soul into Sri Aurobindo for a few years.

A man of intellectual attainments, he was a scholar in Sanskrit and knew English very well. He could intently open his heart without reserve to whatever he would see as the best. Sri Aurobindo kindled the fire in him.

Chandrasekhar Ayya came ten or twelve times after I had left Madras finally and taken refuge in Sri Aurobindo. He used to put up at a hotel. At times he would stay four or five days at a stretch. He gave himself entirely to Sri Aurobindo. There grew up steadily an intimacy between them. As a consequence, he started reserving a room for himself on rent in a hotel here. Can the fire so kindled ever forsake him?

Subramania Bharati learnt the Rig Veda from Sri Aurobindo. Chan­drasekhar also studied the Rig Veda with Sri Aurobindo methodically at a particular hour. He studied in this way for two or three years, not by the old traditional commentaries, nor in the old style, but in the light of Sri Aurobindo's own revealing interpretation. I listened to the interpretation with great delight, whenever I could be present.

In Madras I had the opportunity of contacting a number of big persons, some of whom were really great, and had talks with them. I met and talked with Annie Besant several times. I approached Mahatma Gandhi through Va Ra on Bharati's behalf. But none of them

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could appeal to my heart, which the Master had captured, whole and entire. I felt it had become indissolubly one with him. My Master — how great he was! An Avatar! He mixed with me as if he was one of us, and had taken hold of my soul. How could I then be drawn to others?

My friends urged me to join the Theosophical Society and, later on, some of them pressed me passionately and untiringly to join the Non-cooperation Movement of Mahatma Gandhi. My mind gave no response to such talks. How could it respond, when the Master's command had been otherwise, even if he had expressly told me nothing?

Many great movements were, of course, going on, but they did not seem to me to reflect in any way the truth of man's inner being. They were conceived and carried on in the rush-light of the human mind.

Sri Aurobindo had somehow put away from us all outer attractions, turned our gaze inwards and made it centre in him. Politics, patriotism and social welfare had no attraction for me. What can the outer activities express but only our inner imperfections so long as we do not change our consciousness and nature? What use then being wholly absorbed in them?

Ten or twelve days before I left for Madras, Sri Aurobindo, in response to my repeated requests, consented to say a few words about the practice of Yoga. I would go to him daily between 3 and 3.30 p.m. He would speak to me in a simple way about the practice of Yoga. I noted down the major portions of his sayings.

Many years before his passing, Sri Aurobindo took away the note­books from me. He probably did not intend that those secrets of Yoga should be disclosed to others.

His sayings had been written down by me in two small pocket-books. They would be with me constantly as a guide throughout the four or five years of my stay at Madras. At night, during my sleep, they would remain under my pillow. Throughout the day they would be in my pocket. I would read them time and again.

In Madras my association with the members of the Theosophical Society began to grow by degrees. The "Home Rule" movement was "1 full swing. On the first floor of the house No. 2 at Broadway, almost facing the Law College, the "Home Rule" library was opened "y Annie Besant with great eclat. Dailies, weeklies, monthlies in English and a small section of them in Tamil were displayed there. The Reading Room remained open from 7 or 7-30 in the morning to

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9 at night. Many people would come to read the magazines. The hall was quite spacious and a number of electric lights kept burning from 6 to 9 p.m. There were about half a dozen cupboards which got filled up within a month of the inauguration of the Reading Room.

By 9 p.m. the library-gate would close. I was left in charge of the vast library with its Reading Room. From 9 at night to 7 next morning it would be, as it were, my own home.

At night my friends, relatives and school-mates used to come and see me whenever they liked. In addition to the hall, there were a small room and, to the East, a bathroom. It was like a palace for me. I arranged for my meals at a Brahmin hotel in Tambu Chetty Street. I had not given up my room in the house No. 14 in Baker Street. I have written all this in detail because when I moved from the house in Baker Street, I made the house at Broadway my residence for nearly four years.

It is not necessary to write how I was in Madras and in what way I lived. But how, through certain circumstances, through association with some genuine and sincere persons, my soul took its course in this life, and how my life developed under their shadow by the grace of the Master — all this becomes a source of disinterested joy as I remember and describe it.

Some four or five months before I left for Madras, Sri Aurobindo would sometimes say in a casual way, "Whatever happens, detach yourself from the happenings and learn to watch them as a Witness. Do not get involved in them." Although I could not grasp the full implications of this mantra of initiation, it left a deep imprint upon my heart.

This single mantra acted as an unfailing sustenance of my life during my stay at Madras for four or five years. How it became by stages effective in my sadhana is, however, another story into which I do not wish to enter here.

I have already mentioned that many persons used to come and read magazines in the Home Rule Library when I was there. One of them was a student of the Law College. He became intimate with me and kept a close watch over my way of life.

When I was with the members of my family I had to observe the usual religious rites and ceremonies. But in Pondicherry, out of their sight and reach, I could afford to be free. In Madras I was quite free to move about and act as I wished. No rule was binding on me. But in the heart of this freedom something within me would go on uttering

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in a low tone, during sleep or at odd moments during the day, something like a voice from afar, "You are in bondage. The chains are holding you tight." I could not clearly catch the sense of it—I was drowned in the surface noise and whirlpool. I lost all discrimination of the true and the false. But in whatever condition I was, and into whatever hell thrown, the Master, the Lord of my soul, would be with me and within me, and never abandon me.

The person who was clearly observing my movements in the Home Rule Library had come to Madras from Kumbakonam to study in the Law College, as I have said above. He lived in a small rented house with his wife in Mannadi. He was a Vaishnava, and, having somehow come to know that I too was a Vaishnava Brahmin, he tried to correct my nature and my life in what he thought was the right way. He would 'bring to the Library books of short stories in English, written in a simple style. Each story contained moral lessons to help one live religiously. Handing over one such book to me, he would say, "Keep it as long as you need it, and return when you have finished it. I shall then give you another book." He was probably older than I by three or four years.

As he had a doubt that I was not reading the books he gave me, he proposed one day that we should read the books together. This, after a few days, I found rather boring. So far as I remember, his name was Krishnaswami lyengar.

Once a week he would invite me to his house for meals. He found out in a few months that all his efforts to change my ways of life and make me follow religious observances had been in vain. He had failed to perceive that in my heart was ever burning the light of Sri Auro­bindo.

I have referred briefly to my initiation. It did not, however, follow the traditional way. And what I have called the mantra of initia­tion — the often repeated command of Sri Aurobindo to detach myself from all happenings and practise to be only the Witness Purusha — this mantra was not given as such. The traditional method consists in the Guru's choosing an auspicious day and moment, and softly uttering the mantra in the sishya's ear. But Sri Aurobindo's way was quite different. One may intensely seek for the Guru, and seeking thus, one may, by rare luck, find him. But the Guru, so found, may keep one waiting for years to be accepted as his disciple. This is the traditional Way. But Sri Aurobindo's way, I repeat,— was different. As we grew intimate with him, we felt within us that he had already accepted us.

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In silence the sadhana had begun in us. The Guru's Grace and the sishya's receiving it were a spontaneous development, without even the need of a single spoken word. According to their capacity and fitness— adhikāra — some disciples would make steady progress in Yoga, while others would have a sudden and, sometimes even a marvellous, out-flowering of literary and artistic talent. Each one would receive the Master's silent inspiration in his own distinctive way, and according to the fitness and aptitude of his nature.

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