It once occurred to me that since every yoga has its guiding principle - Yogah karmasu kaushalam is the Gita's or Yogaschitta vrittinirodhah is Patanjali's - ours too should have one. I started thinking about it. One day I asked Nolini-da. He replied: "We have a guiding principle too: Atmashuddhi and Nivedita karma (self-purification and dedicated service)."

I began reflecting on it, self-purification: But whose? Purification of what? Every person's life has different levels. Truth too has different levels, different fields. What ever level or field a person is in, that is what he considers as his truth. As one rises higher one discovers other truths. So life's truths are hierarchical. They rise one after the other from level to level. In the words of the Vedic Rishis:

Yatsanoh shanumaruhadbhurya spashta kartvyam We must rise from one step to the next. Life's like a heavenward column of light - Udvangashamivah yemire. But who gets cleansed or purified? This thought has been with me.

I feel that instead of Atmashuddhi we should say self-culture, that is, taking all of life and all its elements in order to build something solid. There is an idea of development or unfolding. That is why, the guiding principle of our yoga could be said to be "self-culture and dedicated service".

(2)

Once, when I went out with Mother for a drive, evening fell. I always experience a strange sort of sadness in the dim darkness of evening-time. Like the quiet, soft, sad caress of sorrow. And I become almost melancholic. A line from a poem read in childhood comes to mind:

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A deep distress hath humanised my soul.

I asked Mother that day why I felt this way in the evening. Mother said:

"Yes, evening does leave a feeling of sadness because Nature goes to sleep in a quiet, recollected way."

(3)

Mother once told me about an English soldier. He was her devoted disciple. He had fought in the Second World War. In his breast pocket he always carried a packet of Mother's "Blessings". Once, a bullet hit his chest during battle and strangely right over the packet of "Blessings". But by Mother's grace nothing happened to him. The bullet did not pierce his chest and he was saved!

Later, this soldier came to see Mother and recounted this incident to express his gratitude to her.

He also told her that during war, he had to do some very strenuous, exhausting, monotonous chores and that he didn't enjoy doing them any more. He felt quite weary of it all.

Mother said: "Whatever work you may do, think of it as my work."

He wrote afterwards to say: "I try to do as you asked me. I do not find any work unpleasant any more. I find I am doing your work, I am serving you. Now, far from disliking very strenuous, monotonous jobs, I actually enjoy them".

We should all keep this in mind. How simply Mother taught the secret skill of karmayoga!

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(4)

One night I had gone to Mother's room upstairs for dinner. It was almost ten o'clock. Mother went into the bathroom to prepare two sets of "mouthwash" to be used after the meal. Just then Pavitra-da entered holding some papers and photographs. He looked rather upset as he exclaimed:

"Pranab, you know how ruthless the Germans are! You'd shudder to know the kind of atrocities they're perpetrating in war!"

He held out the papers and photographs saying:

"Are you strong-hearted enough? Will you be able to bear the photos without getting upset?"

"Pavitra-da," I replied, "the victors have always behaved atrociously with the losers. This isn't true only of the Germans. They're all the same."

"What are you saying, Pranab?" Pavitra-da retorted, "can you justify this abominable heartlessness? Has anyone ever behaved like this?"

I said: "Why, the French didn't? After conquering Algeria the French rolled their tanks over rows and rows of Algerians."

Just as our argument was hotting up, Mother came into the room. Startled, she dropped one of the mouthwash Covers onto the carpet. She asked: "What are you talking about? What's the matter?"

After listening to everything Mother took my side and said:

"Such incidents have always happened in war. The gruesome heartlessness of war is the same everywhere."

Talking about this I am reminded of a story Mother told me about mouthwash. Before we sat down to eat Mother used to always get two sets of mouthwash ready. They consisted of two small glass bowls, two small glasses filled with mouthwash and covered with glass tops. After

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the meal one took a mouthful of the liquid and rinsed into the glass bowl. Then everything was sent for washing. This is how we washed our mouths.

Mother told me that this used to be a daily habit in her family. And she once recounted an amusing incident about it.

One day Mother's father hosted a large feast at his house. Many well-known, respectable men and women of the time were invited. Various types of delicious dishes had been prepared and everyone ate to their heart's content. At the end of the meal trays full of mouthwash were served exactly as I described to you. The invitees thought that yet another dish was being served and they all got up protesting: Oh, no! Not anymore! We can't eat anymore!"

It was then explained to them that this was not something to be eaten but something to wash the mouth with. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief. And how Mother laughed as she recounted this!

(5)

Mother used to say that the sadhana of the transformation of the body would take a long time. That is why in order to do this sadhana it was necessary to live long in a healthy body. And for this, beside spiritual effort, we also needed to make use of all the advance in worldly knowledge: science, medicine, various therapies, health building techniques and methods, exercise, etc., all knowledge is of use in varying degrees. Exercise and the education of the body keep it healthy and fit for work and it can help us in keeping that particular consciousness of the body awake. And that is why physical education and exercise have been given so much importance in our Ashram.

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Mother was extremely conscious about keeping her body fit for work. Although she didn't get sufficient time for herself, it being taken up by our affairs all day and night, she did manage to use whatever little time she could in taking care of her body.

She would not miss an opportunity to say something about the stage preceding the gaining of immortality: prolongation of youth and prolongation of life. She used to take deep interest in stories and fairy tales that shed light on this subject. Once we saw a children's film, Sleeping Beauty. It is a story about a princess who falls into sleep and remains in that state for a long time until a prince arrives to liberate her from the world of sleep into life. Mother watched this film with deep interest. Mother used to enjoy many other similar stories. And what about Sri Aurobindo's Savitri? There he has shed light on the mysterious secret for gaining immortality. Mother liked this epic immensely.

(6)

Once Mother told me that the kings of mediaeval Europe wanted to enjoy life in its fullness. For that, three things were needed: invulnerable health, a long life and inexhaustible riches. They engaged special scientists who would be able to discover the knowledge needed to obtain all this. Their only work was to explore this question. They were called alchemists. They would try to make gold and to discover the secret principle of eternal youth and immortality.

Once Mother told Pavitra-da in jest that he had been an alchemist in his previous life.

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(7)

I am reminded of four stories told to me by Mother about her childhood.

Mother was five or six at that time. She accompanied her parents and brother on a trek in the mountains. They were walking along a mountain path that zigzagged upward. Suddenly Mother felt like breaking away from the group to go forward. So she started running. A little further down, the path suddenly sloped steeply down-ward. One could see this path going downward from a little higher up. Mother couldn't control her speed as she neared the turning of the road and she started falling from the upper slope to the lower one. And as she was falling she felt as if someone was gently lowering her down. Mother reached the path below. The place where she landed was being repaired. Conical-shaped stones were piled on the road. Most of them were very sharp-edged and the edges faced upward. Mother tumbled and landed softly on this pile. And strangely, she did not suffer a scratch. She stood up and saw her parents and brother running towards her. And on finding her without any injury they were stunned. They were expecting a very bloody accident.

Mother grew up a little more. She must have been about nine or ten then. She badly wanted to grow tall.

One night she went to bed. Her heart was impatient to become a little taller and in that state she fell asleep. When she woke up the following morning what did she see? The frock that she was wearing and which normally ended at the knee was almost two inches higher! To grow taller by two inches in one night! She couldn't believe her eyes!

Now Mother must have been eleven or twelve. One day she was running about and playing inside the house. She found herself in the living-room which was quite

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large. It suddenly entered her mind to try and cross the whole room in three jumps. With the first jump she crossed almost one third of the distance, she advanced further with the second leap and with the third jump she reached the other end of the room. She was surprised at her own achievement! Afterwards she again tried to cross the room in three steps but she could not.

Another incident occurred some years later, perhaps when she was thirteen or fourteen. Mother was very close to her elder brother and both of them would try out different things together.

Once Mother sprained her ankle and it swelled and caused a lot of pain while her brother badly hurt his hand while playing. Both of them decided that while Mother would press her foot he would press his hand in order to see how much pain they could bear. And so both started pressing their respective injured part and increased the pain without any complaint. The pain kept rising and so did their endurance. Even when the pain became al most unbearable they continued to press. After a while they suddenly felt that in spite of pressing the injured spot, they were feeling no more pain! The pain had, as it were, melted away!

(8)

Now let me tell you some stories about my childhood.

My education began at the age of five with a ceremony called "hathey khodi" (chalk in the hand) in Bengal.

I still remember that day very vividly.

There was a lot of celebration in the house. Mother Kali, our family deity, as well as Saraswati, the goddess of learning, were being worshipped. Alipana (patterns made with liquefied rice-powder) had been done on the verandah in front of the store-room. Everyone had taken

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a bath and was moving about the house in a festive mood wearing new pleated dhotis and saris. And what was all this celebration for? It was for Pinu's "hathey khodi".

I was dressed in a gold-threaded "cheli" (a red silk cloth worn on special days), and my forehead was adorned with an auspicious sandal tilak and a gold aigrette. I was seated on a low wooden stool covered with alipana too.

My grandfather's father, that is my great-grandfather, put a child's chalk in my hand and made me write on a slate the first letters of the Bengali alphabet. In front of me were placed on a wicker tray grains of paddy and grass, sandal, ghee-lamps, burning incense. The priests recited some mantras and showered flowers on my head to the accompaniment of conches. My mother and aunts stood all round me and watched me with their laughing, loving eyes. "Just see how quiet Pinu is! He's sitting there perfectly still!" they kept saying.

Now Burodadu's worries began: there was no school close to the house. The nearest one was almost a quarter of a mile away. How could such a small boy walk that distance. The school was full of mischievous dare-devils too. To send me so far away to that unknown, strange place and then what might happen there, these thoughts preoccupied Burodadu.

In the end, it was decided that instead, a school would be started at home itself. Just outside the boundary of the house by the side of the road, a room was got ready with a covered verandah. An unemployed young man of the area was appointed as the teacher. His name was Harmohan. About twenty-five or thirty children who lived in the area joined as well. The school opened, we had classes in the morning and in the evening. In the afternoon we rested. But I didn't enjoy studying in the evenings and wanted to play. On certain days I would slip out from school to go to play or to go and watch a game. The

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other students would exclaim loudly: "Sir, Pinu has slipped out!" And I would bolt.

After a year, I was admitted into the collegiate school at Berhampore. My grandfather used to prepare my school-bag and a servant would accompany me to school. The servant returned in the afternoon with tiffin. Sometimes my grand father himself used to come to see me at school.

On the very first day, when I returned home from school my books and notebooks were in order but the pencil was missing. I had probably dropped it somewhere while running or playing.

Dadu got me a new one. And the following day on my return, it was discovered that the pencil was missing again. So Dadu said: "Let me clip a pencil onto your pocket. Then you won't lose it."

I came back from school with all my books and note books but that clip-pencil was missing.

"You've lost your pencil once again! Let me do some thing this time." Saying this he brought a new pencil, tied it with a strong thread and attached the thread to my buttonhole: "Let's see how you lose it now!"

On that day too I came back from school as usual. Everything was in order, only the pencil was not there! But the thread was hanging sadly from my buttonhole. Dadu started laughing on seeing this but didn't tell me anything. He brought a new pencil and with a knife cut it into three pieces. He gave me one and said: "Here you are Pinu. Everyday I'll give you one piece of the pencil. At least this way one pencil will last three days!"

I had this habit of losing things in my childhood. Once I remember being invited with my mother to a meal. In those days women used to pin a brooch onto their blouse over the shoulder to hold the sari in place. On reaching the place, for some reason, my mother removed this brooch and stuck it into my coat-pocket: "Keep it there, I'll take it a little later."

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My mother's gold-brooch studded with pearls and precious stones was very expensive and her name was inscribed on it "Prafulla". But my mother just forgot all about it and I too did not pay any heed. When we returned home and started looking for it we found that it was no more in my coat-pocket. God knows how or where it could have fallen, we looked everywhere but it was nowhere to be found. My mother felt very bad about my losing that brooch. She could not hold back her tears.

(9)

At night, I used to sleep with my Burodidima (great grand-mother). She would tell me all sorts of fairy-tales, stories from the Mahabharata and the Ramayana in order to put me to sleep. Burodadu used to sleep in another part of the room. Early in the morning he would wake up and sit in yogasana on his bed. I would then quietly crawl onto his lap. He used to recite all kinds of Sanskrit shlokas and ask me to memorise them. Then he would begin asking me questions on our ancestors.

"Tell me, Pinu, what's your name? Fine! What's your father's name? Good! What's your grandfather's name? Very good! And your grandfather's father's name? Excellent, now that's a good boy! And his father's name?" And in this way he would ask me the names of our seven ancestors. Those I did not know or remember he would tell me. Then he would ask: "What's our gotra (lineage)? Which Rishi do we trace our descent from?" and so on and so forth. Once I asked Burodadu: "Burodadu, tell me why do thieves steal?"

Hearing this strange question from me he was quite surprised in the beginning and then laughing replied: "Well, they steal because they don't have anything to eat.

"Must one steal when one doesn't have anything to eat?" I enquired.

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"What else can one do then, my little boy?"

"Why, they can just sit glumly in a corner!" I replied. Burodadu burst into a laugh on hearing this and took me into his arms: "Well, they don't have a Burodadu and a Burodidima like you to feed them lovingly every time they sit down glumly in a corner. And so they have to steal."

"All right, Dadu, tell me what is the lantern-top made of?" I asked then.

"Of glass," Dadu answered.

"What's glass made of?"

"Glass? Glass is made of sand."

"What's sand made of?" I persisted.

"I don't know anymore, I can't answer all your questions," Burodadu replied, throwing up his arms.

(10)

I was studying then in one of the lower classes. One day I could not read something in class. Angrily the teacher told me: "Mind you! No dinner for you tonight!"

I returned home from school. At night my mother called me to eat: "All right, Pinu, now stop your homework and come to eat."

"I won't eat tonight."

"Why, why won't you eat? Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, just like that."

"Now come on! Why should you fast for no reason?"

That night no one was able to make me eat. After

pressing me a lot, when I finally told them that my teacher had punished me, everyone started saying: "Pinu, now sit down to eat. Tomorrow morning we'll explain everything to your teacher. He won't scold you. Now come along and eat."

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(11)

When I remember my childhood days I feel both a thrill and a sadness in my heart. I think everyone feels this way. Wordsworth has a beautiful line about this:

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts

Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

It was the day of the rathayatra. In the evening we were all supposed to go with the elder ones to the ratha mela. One of my paternal cousins, whom I called Khanuda, was to take us along.

Suddenly Khanu-da said: "No, Pinu, you're too small. I won't take you to the mela (fair). You might get lost or something."

I was crestfallen. I began pleading and persuading him in every possible way: "Oh, please, Khanu-da, please, take me with you."

"Okay, I'll take you but on one condition."

A glimmer of hope lit my sky.

"I'll do whatever you say, Khanu-da. Really!"

Khanu-da became serious and said: "If you can rub your nose all the way from this end of the corridor to that, then I'll take you with me to the mela.”

He had hardly finished his sentence that enthusiastically I began crawling over the floor. I had crossed half the distance when Khanu-da exclaimed, all bewildered: "What's this you're doing, Pinu? Get up now! I promise I'll take you to the mela. What an amazing boy you are, really!"

My nose was bleeding by then, but the pain didn't matter to me. I was overjoyed with the thought that Khanu-da would take me to the ratha-mela!

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(12)

I was five or six then.

There was a garden in our house in Berhampore and for some reason some digging was going on there. While digging, the workers found a lot of small round marble like things, all glistening and colourful. They removed and kept them on a kachu leaf.

Everyone gathered to see and I followed them.

One of the workers asked me: "You want some, hokababu?"

"What are they?" I enquired.

"They're the eggs of a bulbul. Do you want them?"

I kept looking interestedly: "Tell me, if these eggs break, will bulbuls come out of them?"

"Oh, yes! Khokababu, tiny, tiny bulbuls will come out of the eggs!"

"Will you give them to me?"

"Here, take them!"

I took them along with the leaf and went and kept them under a cupboard in one of the rooms. But I couldn't wait to see the little bulbuls come out of the eggs, and so I kept going into the room again and again. I must have bent down to peep under the cupboard at least a thousand times during the day.

Seeing me do this my chhotokaka (younger uncle) asked: "What's going on, Pinu? What are you looking at under the cupboard?"

"Bulbul's eggs! I want to see whether the baby-birds have come out of the eggs."

"Let me see."

I took out the eggs on the kachu leaf to show him.

"Oh, good heavens! Pinu, these are serpent-eggs! Where did you get them? Who gave them to you?"

"The workers found them in the garden while digging, they gave them to me."

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"Now, go, hurry and throw them away!" Saying this he himself took them from me and threw them far into the garden.

(13)

This happened at about the same time.

It was almost evening.

There was Rani's garden next to our house and next to Rani's there was Kamakhyababu's garden. On one side of this garden there was a huge deodar tree. That evening, a kite that had been 'cut', fell and got entangled in this tree. Many of us, young and old, gathered there. The kite had to be taken down from the tree but who would climb the tree so late in the evening?

A big boy from our group volunteered. He disentangled the kite from the deodar tree and dropped it down. All excited, we jumped up to catch it and the boy climbed down. He came to us and said: "Look at this!"

We saw two big white eggs in his lap.

"What are these? They're so big! Whose eggs are these?"

"Vulture's. I took them from a vulture's nest."

Everyone turned pale.

"What have you done? You know what happens when you steal a vulture's eggs?" someone said.

"What happens?"

"The vulture swoops down to snatch at your head and gouges out your eyes."

Everyone was really scared now. What was to be done?

"Shall I put the eggs back on the tree?"

"Come on, it's too dark to climb the tree now. And if by chance the vulture attacks you on the tree? If he snatches at your head and gouges out your eyes?"

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Someone suggested: "We could do one thing."

"What?" everyone asked.

"If someone can break the eggs, then the vulture might think that they fell off the tree and broke."

No one dared break the eggs. The vulture could come down and attack him. On seeing no one gather enough courage, I volunteered.

"Give them to me. I'll break them."

I took the two big eggs and hurling them against the wall smashed them.

After that our group started walking back on that dark path to go home. We were holding the kite but we kept looking skyward. God knows when the vulture would swoop down through that darkness and attack us!

(14)

I am reminded of a small incident. How old must I have been then? Maybe five or six. A child's head is bubbling with all kinds of mischief and ideas.

One day, on entering the office in our house, I saw on the table some money stacked in piles. I do not know why but suddenly I picked up two fistfuls of coins and stuffed them into my pockets. Just then Chhotokaka entered the room. Feeling terribly nervous and not knowing what to do, I began jumping vigorously. As if I was playing. And with every jump, the coins in my pocket clinked out loud.

Naturally Chhotokaka found out. "What's that you have in your pockets?" And saying this he emptied my pockets of all those coins.

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(15)

It was around the same time and Kali-puja was on. It was afternoon. After a lot of work and a good meal everyone was taking a nap. I was not feeling sleepy at all. So I was wandering distractedly about the house. The whole after noon I went from one room to another, up and down the staircase, to and fro on the terrace. And meandering about in this way I arrived in front of the puja-room. The puja had taken place here. There was a little room next to it. It was used as a store. I got in and discovered that it was stacked with hay from the floor to the ceiling. Suddenly I had a flash. How about setting fire to it? I began looking for a match. I came into the servants' room and saw kerosene-cans, matches, wall-lamps, lanterns and oil lamps were all nicely arranged. In the evening these lamps were cleaned and refilled with oil and placed in the house, lanterns in all the rooms, lamps on the walls, oil-lamps in the courtyard.

All the servants were blissfully snoring away.

I picked up a match-box and came back to the store next to the puja-room. I struck a match and lit the hay. The dried hay burst into flames at once.

And then fear gripped me. I tried to put the fire out but without success. I realised that this was turning into a serious problem. I closed the doors of the room and quickly walked away. And then I just forgot about it and began wandering in the house like before. When I came near the puja-room again, I found a real brouhaha. Everyone was caught in a commotion, buckets of water were being drawn and splashed into the store. But the fire was still raging\ inside. Everyone was shouting: "Hurry! Hurry! Get more water! Come on, hurry! If the ceiling catches fire the whole house will cave in!"

The burning stacks of hay were being pulled out with the help of a long bamboo pole and a hook. Finally after

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a lot of time and trouble the fire was put out. Then the adults in the family started speculating about the cause of the fire: "How did this accident happen? How could it have caught fire?"

I stood looking at them fearfully like a guilty person. My throat was dry like wood and my mouth incapable of uttering a word.

Someone said: "There must have been some mistake in our Kali-puja. The fire was Mother Kali's wrath."

Another disagreed: "No, no, not at all. You see, it's summer-time. The floor must have warmed up so much that the hay caught fire."

A third person speculated: "What nonsense! Nothing of the sort happened. One of the servants must have thrown his burning bidi into the hay."

At that I quietly slipped out of there.

I told them the real reason much later. If I had told them then what a thrashing I would have got!

(16)

I was eleven or twelve and had become quite a dare-devil by then. I made myself a bow with split-bamboo and an arrow from jute-stalk and started wandering all round the place with it.

It entered my head to make a real arrow, and so, at the end of the jute-stalk, I fixed a big packing-needle. With my bow slung over my shoulder and holding an arrow in my hand, I felt like Robin Hood or Ramachandra as I paced proudly all over the place. Now that I had a bow and an arrow I needed a prey.

I climbed onto the terrace on the third-floor. It did not have an enclosing wall. On one side of the terrace I saw a big monkey sitting quietly. Standing it would have been taller than me by many heads. Brown eyes, black face

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Pranab aged eleven

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and terribly tall and robust. We used to call him goda Hanuman.

He sat before me, ten to fifteen feet away. He was looking at me but without much interest. He just sat there quietly.

I said to myself that I had found my prey at last. I placed the arrow on the bow and taking aim shot it.

Surprisingly, just as I shot the arrow, the monkey bent forward and the arrow whizzed away over his head.

Now it was his turn. In a trice he was up and charged towards me. I started running towards the staircase. I was afraid he might grab me on the staircase and so I leaped down. The monkey jumped too. But while I landed on the ground, he landed on a canister over which Khudima had put some bodis (sun-dried lentil-paste dumplings) to dry. And so, as he landed on the canister there was a big noise. And startled by this noise the monkey scampered away over the wall, leaving me alone. If this had not happened, he would have certainly mauled me badly.

On another occasion, a monkey was creating havoc on the terrace. Thakur-da climbed onto the terrace with a gun. And as luck would have it the monkey found himself just in front of Thakur-da's gun, at point-blank range.

Thakur-da raised his gun and just as he was about to shoot he saw that the monkey, realising the danger he was in, held up his folded hands pleadingly and continued to stand there. Thakur-da lowered the gun on seeing this. He did not have the heart to shoot anymore.

How very clever the monkey was!

Let me tell you another story regarding the monkey's Intelligence. My mother recounted it to me.

It was almost evening. My mother was standing on the terrace combing her hair. There was a garden in front of .e house and in the middle of the garden stood a pond. r ducks were still in the pond then. Soon the servants

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would come to take them away to their pen. My mother saw that some of the ducks were sitting on the shore already. A little further away on the garden wall, there sat a huge monkey looking at the ducks. Suddenly my mother saw a jackal jump over the garden wall and enter. And on seeing the ducks it started advancing stealthily towards them. By then the monkey sitting on the wall had seen it. While the jackal was creeping forward the monkey kept watch. When the jackal was almost close to the ducks the monkey jumped on the jackal. The jackal, realising the danger, abandoned its idea of hunting the ducks and started running for its life. The monkey kept chasing the jackal until it jumped over the wall and disappeared.

How intelligently the monkey saved the ducks that day!'

(17)

I was now a little older. Maybe eleven or twelve. We were staying in Calcutta. One day it occurred to me that I too, like the goondas, should carry a dagger with me all the time.

I bought a glistening, sharp knife for two annas (12 paise). The knife had blades on both sides and a beautiful handle. And it was perfect for carrying in a pocket.

I always carried this knife in my pocket. And whenever I found time I sharpened it. One day I took my younger brother to the terrace and started doing all sorts of exercises with my knife, showing him all kinds of tricks. While I was doing this all of a sudden the knife cut me below my right ear near the cheek. I started bleeding profusely. And the bleeding would not stop. I told my brother: "Go down quickly and get me some old cloth."

My brother went down and after a long search brought me a tattered piece of rag. But how could the bleeding

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stop with such a small piece of rag? Then pressing my cheek hard, I went into the bathroom. The blood was flowing down my hand onto the floor.

suddenly my father saw me: "What's happened, Pinu? Why are you bleeding so much? Let me see."

promptly he bandaged my cut after putting some benzoin and tincture iodine. When I looked at myself in the mirror I felt really strange. Having lost so much blood I passed out. When I came to, the doctor was standing beside me. And all the family members were standing round me with a scared and worried expression.

The doctor said: "If the knife had entered a little lower then it would have been impossible to save him."

My brother Himadri, who was watching me do all those knife-tricks on the terrace, assembled all the brothers. Still looking quite terrified he told them: "Come, let us thank God and let us pray for Dada!"

(18)

When I was fourteen or fifteen, I was crazy about flying kites. All the time I thought only of kites. And of spools and strings and powdered-glass glues. All the different types of kites have different names like Mukkhi, Dobaj, Shatranchi, Chandiyal, Petkati, Chaukhuppi, Ghayala and so on. All day I discussed kites. I would be walking on the street but my eyes were fixed on the sky: what kind of kites were flying in the sky, what were their names, their colours? Which kite dropped height suddenly? Which kite got 'cut'. And then the chase to get hold of the 'cut' kite!

We had strict orders in our family that we were not to fly kites all day. We were allowed some time in the evening after school. That was all. On Sundays we were given a little more time.

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There is a kite-flying season. In Berhampore it took place during winter whereas in Calcutta it happened in summer and it would conclude on the day of Visvakarmapuja. On that day we had the kite-flying festival. Innumerable accidents took place every year during the season. People falling from terraces, people coming under trams and buses, people tumbling off trees and breaking their legs and arms.

Let me tell you about one incident.

At that time we were staying on Rashbehari Avenue in a fourth-floor apartment. My brother and I were flying kites on the terrace. A little further away, on another terrace some other people were flying kites too. I started to unwind my spool. My kite soared far above the neighbouring kites. And then I began to manoeuvre my kite to attack. My Chandiyal against the neighbour's Ghayala. Our strings got intertwined. In such a situation the unwritten rules of the game said that the kites should be disentangled and left to fly again. You were a winner only if you could 'cut' the other string with a clever manoeuvre. When my Chandiya/ got entangled with their kite, they pulled down my kite onto the terrace and cut the string. This was against the rules and totally unfair. I was indignant. Handing my spool to my brother, I said: "Hold this, I'm just coming."

I went straight to their house although I did not know anyone there nor had I ever entered the place. Without looking anywhere, I headed for the staircase leading to the terrace. Two boys were playing with my kite on the terrace. I went and snatched it away from their hands: "Give me back my kite!"

As the boys realised that they would not be able to fight with me they began shouting: "Baba! Dada! look, this boy is taking the kite away, come, Baba, Dada!"

I realised that with the kite in my hand I would not be able to go down the staircase very fast. And so,

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throwing down my kite onto the street, I started running down the staircase. The father and brother came after me: "Catch the boy! Catch the boy!"

But by that time I was already on the street. Picking up my kite from the pavement, I victoriously returned to our terrace.

(19)

Some time later I went to Berhampore from Calcutta for my holidays.

Motakaka was sitting on the verandah one evening, slightly distracted and absent-minded. Probably for some reason he was a little sad. Just then an extremely emaciated old beggar passed that way. There used to be a special pot full of rice for the beggars. That rice used to be called the offering-rice. It was a rule in our family that no beggar was to be sent away empty-handed.

The old beggar came very close to Motakaka and suddenly hollered: "Offer something to the poor man, offer something, sir!"

I told you that Motakaka was a little distracted that day. Startled and disturbed by his sudden hollering, he scolded him loudly. And as a result of that bad scolding, the poor old man went away wailing. I was standing a little away. I do not know why but hearing that man cry like that I too started crying. And I just could not stop. I rushed into the bathroom. And after washing my eyes and face I felt a little relieved. Then I filled up a bag with rice from the store and went out of the house. Carrying the bag of rice I went looking through all the streets for that old beggar. Where had he disappeared after all? After a long search I finally found him by the side of a road. He was still whining. I filled his bag with the rice. On receiving this rice he looked at me and once again burst into tears!

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(20)

Every year during the mango-season, we used to go to our Berhampore house for the holidays. Motakaka used to buy for us kilos and kilos of select, tree-ripened man goes: Maldai, Fajali, Birey, Molamjam, Langda, Rani pasand, Shadolla, and many other delicious kinds. They would be kept soaking in water overnight.

In the morning we would sit in a circle. And mother would cut the mangoes and pass them round. All of us brothers used to joke and chat and eat these mangoes. Mother would go on cutting mangoes on her boti (a kind of knife used in certain parts of India) and we would go on eating. After a certain time when mother got tired of cutting, Khudima would replace her. And she would keep cutting and we would go on eating without stop. After Khudima also got tired, Pishima (father's sister) would come. She would go on cutting and we would go on licking them clean. Then Pishima too would get up, un able to continue. Then it would be mother's turn to sit down again with the boti. And so in this way, they would take turns to cut mangoes and we would sit and gobble them up.

One day, I decided to check how many mangoes I had eaten. On counting I discovered that I had forty stones next to me! I had eaten forty mangoes all by myself that day!

At night we used to have "luchis" (puris) and meat for dinner. The cook's helper rolled "luchis" and the cook kept frying them in ghee over the fire and serving them to us. We went on eating them, one after the other, one after the other, without counting. The cook just went on serving. Poor man had no time even to breathe!

One day, however, I counted the "luchis" I was eating and it came to fifty with a proportional amount of meatcurry. I remember that day Khudima had to pull me away

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from my seat: "No, that's enough. You'll croak with over eating!"

Once the cook had a boil in his armpit. Motakaka went round telling everyone that the cook had got the boil from rolling "luchis" for Pinu!

(21)

How many childhood-memories come to mind like the faint echos from a distant mountain. They bring such an air of dreams from some strange world of sleep.

This was in 1937-38. I was thirteen or fourteen then. We were living in Calcutta. In a flat on a four-storied building on Rashbehari Avenue. There were about twenty four flats in that building. We were staying on the second floor.

Motakaka had bought me a foreign air-gun while coming from our home-town. It was a fantastic Daisy air-gun. I used to carry my gun all the time on my shoulder. I would even sleep with my gun. I spent my time cleaning the gun and practicing target-shooting. I was quite a good shot.

On the third-floor there lived a gentleman who was quite old, healthy and strong. He seemed to enjoy the good things of life and flaunted an air of dignity. His name was Mr. Maitra but he was a Christian. At one time he had worked in the Army. He was extremely smart about everything. His wife too had an impressive figure. They had four daughters. The eldest one was a teacher in some college. The youngest daughter was four.

One day I was going up to the terrace with my gun. The gentleman called out: "Come here, my boy!"

I stopped and went towards him. He laughed and asked: "What's your name?"

"Shri Pranabkumar Bhattacharya."

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"Oh, that's a wonderful name! What's your petname?"

"Pinu."

"Pinu? Very good. Is that a gun you are carrying?"

"It's an English-made Daisy air-gun."

"Can you use a gun?"

"Yes."

And conversing in this way we came up to the terrace.

He asked me: "All right, hold your gun for target-shooting."

I raised the gun for target-shooting.

"Very fine. You know, I was in the Army. I too can use a gun."

Saying this he showed me how it was done in the Army: how to hold the gun, how to position the feet, how to take aim, how to press the trigger.

Thanks to this we became very good friends. He got me a lot of small shot. He prepared a good target on the terrace and he started training me in the art of shooting.

"Very good, Pinu. You are now a perfect gun-boy," he once told me encouragingly.

After this he took me out in order to shoot sparrows. Then at home he would nicely dress the birds and fry them with a lot of ginger and chillies. Once I too tasted this.

One day he told me: "Pinu, let's go for a big hunt."

"Where?" I asked.

"In Behala. One of my father's students has a house there. They have a big rice-godown. You can find a lot of pigeons there.

I felt slightly odd: "But. .. "

"No buts now. You're a brave gun-boy."

A child's chest swells up with pride if he is called brave.

So I excitedly replied: "Let me go and inform my mother."

With a lot of persuasion I managed to convince her.

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Mother said: "All right, but don't go alone. Take your younger brother with you. And mind you, don't touch pigeon-meat. "

Mother obviously did not know that in Mr. Maitra's company I had already tasted sparrow-meat.

We reached Behala. An old dilapidated two-storied house stood there. It was uninhabited. The staircase was absolutely dark. A damp, stale smell filled the air. I felt physically uncomfortable. On the second-floor there was a row of dark and damp rooms. Although the doors and windows were broken, the rooms were all locked. It seemed like an abandoned, haunted house.

After opening the main door Mr. Maitra took us straight to the second-floor verandah. There was a rice godown just in front. Here some pigeons were flying about.

Maitra ordered: "Shoot!"

With my very first shot a pigeon dropped on the floor. Mr. Maitra rushed happily to collect the pigeon. Countless pigeons began fluttering round in consternation.

When I looked below I noticed that some local people had gathered. They were talking excitedly and looking at us above.

Mr. Maitra kept giving his military orders waving his arm: "Shoot! Shoot!"

From below some people hollered: "Who are you? Why are you killing pigeons? Don't you know pigeons shouldn't be killed? Pigeons are Lakshmi."

Mr. Maitra remained unmoved. He kept waving his arm and ordering: "Shoot! Pinu, shoot!"

Deliberately I started missing the targets so that no pigeon would die.

After a long time the house-owner arrived. Mr. Maitra's father's student. He made us sit and wanted to be introduced to us. So he asked Mr. Maitra: "Who are these two boys?"

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