Reminiscences

Appendix

[Extracts from Suresh Chandra Chakravarti's Reminiscences in Bengali Smriti Katha bearing on Sri Aurobindo's life.]

It was about two-thirty in the morning. The date was March 30, 1910. There came a sound of the whistle from the engine. Then the train began to slow down; it became slower and slower and slower, until finally it came to a dead stop after giving a jolt backward and a slight push to the front. It was obvious that there was no such thing as a vacuum brake on this train. I opened the door of my compartment and got down on the platform. This was the railway station at Pondicherry. I feel sure that my readers will wonder with wide-open eyes at these lines. They will want to know why of all places the railway station at Pondicherry and at dead of night? They are familiar with the story of Bengalis going to Bombay or Burma, Madras or the Malay Archipelago. Sons of the soil of Bengal have even been visiting the island of Ceylon since the days of Vijayasinha. But what is this strange thing now?

To make that clear, I have to explain something of what had gone before. That is what I am trying to do.

It all began in the same year of grace, 1910, in the month of February. Perhaps it was about the middle of the month, or was it towards the end, about eight o'clock one evening, at a house Number 4 on Shyampukur Lane in the Shyam-bazar area in Calcutta, in a room upstairs, there sat a mature young man surrounded by a certain number of younger people. The older person sat on a small wooden bed— that was the only piece of furniture in the room—and of the younger group one or two sat on the same bed and the rest sat on the floor. The older person had a pencil in his hand and a sheet of paper in front. He had been doing some automatic writing and reading it aloud. The youths listened intently as he spoke and were bothering with their endless questions the spirits who came presumably from the other worlds.

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This mature young man was named Sri Aurobindo Ghose. The names of the others present were Birendranath Ghosh, Saurindranath Basu, Bejoykumar Nag, Hem Sen, Nolini-kanta Gupta and Sureshchandra Chakravarti. All of them with the exception of Saurin and Suresh had been among the accused in the Alipore Bomb case of 1908-09. I need not enter here into the details of that case. About the beginning of this century, a few of those who had been dreaming of the freedom of their motherland were attracted by the idea of terrorism. As a result there came to birth in Bengal a secret society with Calcutta as its centre. In course of time the police came to know everything about this secret society and in May 1908 they arrested in Calcutta most of its members. They also came in possession of some weapons like live pistols. The trial lasted a whole year and in May 1909, some were discharged by the court and others were convicted. Three among those convicted were sentenced to death; these were Barindra, HemDas and UllasKar. Their death sentences were quashed on appeal and they were given transportation for life.

On his release from jail, Sri Aurobindo resumed with full force his work for the country and began publishing two weekly journals, Karmayogin in English and Dharma in Bengali. But now it seemed a change had come in his manner of writing. Formerly, what he used to write for the daily English paper, Bandemataram was primarily of a political nature. But in the Karmayogin and Dharma articles one felt a deeper strain. It was as if he was now preparing to bring out the inner spirit of India, the eternal soul, by penetrating beyond the workaday veil of the shallow and superficial politics till then familiar to the anglicised mind. The politics now served only as a pretext. One seemed to get from these writings a feeble hint of the path he was to traverse in his subsequent days. He seemed to be leaving behind the ranks of political leadership and moving towards the Ashram of the ancient Indian Rishis, seers of the Self and seers of Truth. This change in attitude was obviously necessary both for self-discovery and for a clearer understanding of one's country.

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Especially is this an essential need in India today, not for India alone but for the whole of humanity...

In this Shyampukur house was situated the Karmayogin and Dharma office... Those of us who lived here as permanent residents used to cook our own food. It was all vegetarian food, not because that was part of our ideal but because it was the easier to cook. Our breakfasts were very regular, since they came from the shops; they consisted of fried rice, coconuts and fritters,—we had not yet acquired a taste for tea. But about our lunch there reigned a concrete anarchy. If we felt the urge, the cooking was done and the lunch was over before it was ten. And on the days when we did not feel the urge, we went on idling and coaxing each other to the task till it was about three in the afternoon before the whole business was done with. Some kind of order was introduced in this reign of irregularity only when Hem Sen happened to be present. HemSen was a Hathayogin. Perhaps it was his Hatha Yoga that had taught him how not to encourage this kind of physical lethargy. It is rather strange that I have no recollections about our evening meal. This much however is certain that we did not skip this meal, and I do remember about an occasional visit to a hotel and treating ourselves to dishes prepared in Western style...

At this time Sri Aurobindo lived in College Square, at the house of his uncle, Sri Krishnakumar Mitra, editor and proprietor of Sanjivani, a Bengali nationalist paper. I saw Sri Aurobindo in this house only once and that too for a few seconds. Once we were out of funds and I had been deputed to see him on that account. The impression I carry of that house and its approaches are those of a press and of things connected with a press. I came at about nine in the morning and was taken to a room upstairs. I had waited barely a couple of minutes when Sri Aurobindo entered by one of the inner doors. He was dressed in a twill shirt and dhoti and had chappals on. He put some money into my hands and left without saying a word. I do not remember how much it was, perhaps some twenty or twenty-five rupees. I came back to Shyampukur with the money.

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From this College Square house, Sri Aurobindo used to come to Shyampukur Lane every day at about four or five in the afternoon. I have said that none of us took tea in those days. But we had the tea things ready and when Sri Aurobindo came he was served a cup of tea with some luchi and potatoes and halwa obtained from a corner shop in Grey Street. He would be busy for sometime with his work connected with the papers. Then he would come and chat with us and there was automatic writing almost every day...

About this period Sri Aurobindo had been studying Tamil. A South Indian gentleman used to come to this Shyampukur house and gave him his Tamil lessons in one of the office rooms. I remember how one day, after he had finished his lesson, he came back and said to us full of glee like a schoolboy of fourteen, "Do you know what is Pirentir Nat Tatta-kopta?" We were of course all left speechless in our ignorance. Then he explained, "That is Birendranath Datta-gupta in Tamil." Tamil has only the first and the last letters in each of the first five groups of Sanskrit consonants and does not seem to recognise in its alphabet the existence of the other three, nor does it have the conjunct consonants. Hence in Tamil Birendra can be Pirentir, Nath became Nat, Datta develops into Tatta. But Gupta need not have become Kopta but for Sri Aurobindo's sense of fun.

I have said earlier that Sri Aurobindo used to come to Shyampukur at about four or five in the afternoon. He returned from here to College Square by nine-thirty or ten in the evening. We used to see him off at the Grey Street corner where he caught the tram... Sometimes he got very late, so late that the trams were not available and a carriage had to be hired for him. The horse-drawn carriages had not yet disappeared from the Calcutta streets under the law of survival of the fittest...

Now to return to my story. One day, in the month of February, in the year 1910, in a room upstairs at No. 4 Shyampukur Lane, at about eight in the evening, Sri Aurobindo was doing some automatic writing and reading it

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aloud to some of us young people. If anyone were to suppose that this being the writing of spirits, the thing was entirely serious from the beginning to the end, he would be making a mistake. All spirits are not serious people; there were some who loved humour and mirth. Hence those séances were sometimes grave with solemn voices and sometimes bubbling with laughter and fun. The spirit-writings were going on at full speed when there came into the room our friend and associate Rambabu, Ramchandra Majumdar.

He too was a young man, still below thirty, a man with a fair complexion. He wore a beard, not carelessly but very well-trimmed. The care he took of his hair and the manner in which he dressed suggested always as if he was out for his wedding. I do not remember to have ever noticed anything untidy or dirty about his dress or hair. He had a scar on his forehead, perhaps a relic of his docile childhood. Rambabu was a man of Calcutta and belonged to that particular area where we lived. His house was in a lane off Grey Street. He was on the staff of Karmayogin and Dharma.

As he entered the room, he informed Sri Aurobindo in a rather anxious voice that they had again issued a fresh warrant against him. The information was from a reliable source, had been conveyed to him by a high police official. This was not something very unexpected. For some time past there had been a rumour that the Government would not rest until they had Sri Aurobindo in their grasp again. Nevertheless, the whole atmosphere of the room immediately changed as the news came. In place of the bubbling mirth there prevailed a deep silence, like sudden darkness after a strong illumination. All of us waited with anxious hearts. Sri Aurobindo seemed to think for a few seconds. Then he said, "I shall go to Chandernagore." Rambabu said, "Just now?" Sri Aurobindo replied, "Just now this very moment." You need not however suppose that these were the actual words used. I am trying merely to convey the manner of their conversation and outline the events that followed.

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Sri Aurobindo stood up and left the house accompanied by Rambabu. A little behind them followed Biren and I came out next and followed the three. We thus formed a small procession, not a festive one but a silent procession, with Sri Aurobindo and Rambabu at the head, Biren following them from a little behind and keeping them within view, and last of all myself a little farther behind Biren keeping him in my view. This silent procession of four, apparently disjoined but linked together by subtle bonds, went along a northerly route.

As long as Sri Aurobindo remained in that house it used to be watched by the men of the CID. Just a few days ago, simply in order to escape the attentions of the police officials, our séances of automatic writing had had to be removed from a room overlooking the lane to an inner apartment. But we found that on that particular evening, when Sri Aurobindo and Rambabu came out of the house and the two of us followed in succession, there was not a trace of any policeman anywhere about the house.

In my childhood I had once seen a play entitled Surath Uddhar (The Rescue of Surath). Puranjaya Singha, the trusted commander of King Suratha, had been thrown into prison as a result of an intrigue. As he was about to be rescued from prison, the gods sent the goddess of sleep to close the eyes of the sentries. The sentries of course had to yawn half a dozen times and rub their eyes and then roll down the stage. Whether in like manner the gods had on this occasion sent the goddess of drink to seize the throat of the CID man, or whether the man had gone somewhere for some fresh air or anything more solid I do not know. Or perhaps the man had been used to temper his sense of duty by his cleverness and skill all these days. Sri Aurobindo used to come to this place about four or five and leave only after nine in the evening. To cool one's heels in that narrow lane all this length of time was nothing but foolishness; the time could be better utilised elsewhere on some other distraction that might soothe the heart. So, perhaps he used to leave the place after seeing Sri Aurobindo enter the premises about four or five in the afternoon, fully assured that everything was all right

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and he would return to duty before nine o'clock after having had his fill of pleasure. However that be, it was found that on that particular occasion the CID man was not present, whatever might be the reason. I am rather curious to learn what happened to him at Headquarters after that day.

In any case, I do not think that the police could have done much even if they had been present. I have said that Rambabu belonged to that area and it was evident that he knew every little nook and corner in that locality. With Sri Aurobindo he entered an area which to me looked something strange and unthinkable. I was a recent arrival in Calcutta and had not yet got over my "provincial" outlook. So far I had come across in that city rows of tall buildings proudly flanking the spacious streets. But I could not have even dreamed before I entered that area that a creature called man who is usually credited with an amount of intelligence could have made his dwelling into such a maze. I felt certain that this could have had no other object in view than to forestall on that particular day a possible pursuit by the CID men. The houses stood huddled together in compact line, the lanes appeared in quick succession, there came a turn at every step. Not a soul was about and not a sound could be heard at that early hour. The radio of course had not yet come, but the gramophones were there and in any case, a certain amount of practice in singing had already become a sine qua non for securing a husband for the young maid. But no strains of music reached our ears from anywhere, either from a gramophone or from the do-re-mi-fa of the harmonium. On that solitary path in a locality criss -crossed by so many lanes and turns, in that dense silence, it was impossible for the police or for anyone doubly more competent than the police to give chase and keep the fugitive within sight till the end. That is why I say that even if the CID man had been actually present on duty, I do not think he would have achieved much. The only thing he would have learnt would be that on that particular evening, Sri Aurobindo on coming out of the house had instead of returning home to College Square left for an unknown destination through the mazes

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of a particular locality. It may be that if the Calcutta CID had on its staff a man like Sherlock Holmes or the French Pirot, he might have managed to trace him to Chandernagore with the help of that faint clue. And in that, case perhaps this story would not have been written.

But as it happened, we walked on in silence for some fifteen or twenty minutes and finally landed at one of the river ghats. As I have said, I was a newcomer to Calcutta—it was not yet three months since I arrived—and I was therefore not very well acquainted with the city. Hence I cannot say for certain which particular ghat it was; it might have been the Bagbazar ghat for all I know. On arriving at the ghat, Rambabu hailed one of the boatmen and said, "Hey, would you take a fare?" These words of Rambabu and his voice still ring in my ears. The conversation that took place next between the boatman and our Rambabu was in a low voice. Sri Aurobindo now got into the boat and Biren and I followed. Rambabu took his leave. The boat sailed off. As we sailed up the river and reached midstream, it was clear that it happened to be a moonlit night. The waves danced and sparkled all round in the bright light of the moon. I do not know what was the exact phase. Perhaps it was, in the words of Tagore,

"The Eleventh day of the bright phase,

When the sleepless moon went

Sailing alone on her dream-boat."

All else looked so remote now—the police and the city with its spite and violence and strife; even the questions that preoccupied us of the country's freedom and bondage became insignificant. We felt as if reborn into the calm wide-ness of Nature out of the cramping hold of our man-made civilisation...

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