The Mother : Contact
THEME/S
Mr Maitra replied: "Oh, they're my sons."
The gentleman called me near him and asked me my name.
"Shri Pranabkumar Bhattacharya."
A little astounded he asked Mr. Maitra: "How's this possible? You're Maitra and your son is a Bhattacharya."
Totally unfazed, he retorted: "Oh yes, my friend's son is my son."
The gentleman did not say anything more. But I became a little suspicious. Why had Mr. Maitra lied for no reason at all? I felt there was an unbecoming cleverness somewhere and I felt rather uneasy. The man did not seem to be very straight.
Anyway Mr. Maitra came away with one pigeon. On the way he made me shoot some sparrows. At home, as usual, he cooked the birds and called me.
I said: "I won't eat pigeon-meat."
So he gave me a piece of bread soaked in the gravy. Quietly and feeling ashamed, I ate it.
On the first-floor of our building there lived a south Indian family. They used to burn a big coal-stove in the yard. The house had a central courtyard closed in by flats. The smoke from the stove would enter our flat above and caused a lot of discomfort.
One day my father told the head of this south Indian family that if he lighted his stove outside the house then those living upstairs would not have to suffer the smoke. The gentleman did not agree to this and shot back instead: "What can I do if the smoke goes upward?"
Mr. Maitra's family upstairs on the third-floor used to suffer the same inconvenience. When my father told Mr. Maitra about what had happened during his meeting with the south Indian gentleman, Mr. Maitra said: "Just wait. I'll put an end to this whole smokey affair." From then on he began throwing all his garbage from his flat down onto the central courtyard. And it all just piled up there. One
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day this south Indian gentleman went to complain to Mr. Maitra that all the garbage that was being dumped onto the yard should not be thrown there. To which Mr. Maitra replied: "Well, actually I throw all the garbage towards the sky. But what can I do if it all comes down?"
The lighting of the coal-stove stopped from that very day. And we all breathed more happily.
Mr. Maitra seeemed otherwise to be a thorough gentleman. He came from a good family and his speech and manner were all very decent. He was educated and had a decent job. His family was very cultured and educated too. As for me, I had grown very fond of him. He would teach me shooting and all sorts of magic tricks. On my birthday, he presented me with a wonderful book called Treasure Island. But in the course of my acquaintance with him, I discovered that he was, in fact, a cheat. Deceit, dishonesty and cheating were his favourite pastimes. And he would enjoy recounting all his tales about these to my father. His exploits about how he had hoodwinked people. He also taught me how to break people's backs, how to master the opponent by pressing on the right places of his body. He knew a lot of sleight-of-hand tricks and many other marvellous things.
One day, during a conversation, he told me that he had won a lot of money in gambling with his 'shrafe' trick: bundles and bundles of ten-rupee notes. But then a swindler can be outswindled too. When he returned home with these bundles, he found to his dismay that each tied bundle contained two ten-rupee notes, one on top and one at the bottom and in between there were nothing but cleverly cut white sheets of paper! It was done so intelligently that there was absolutely no way of finding out. But despite this, he still managed to win two or three hundred rupees. And he used this money to organise a 'steamer-party' .
Sometimes I used to hear him argue with the landlord.
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God knows for how many years he had not paid the rent. In fact he used to brag before my father: "You know Dakshina-babu, I don't bother about rent. And I will never pay rent. If he complains too much I'll tell him to go to court."
"And what if he does?"
"You must be joking! I'll stand up in a court and say: 'Your Honour, I'm a retired man and have no income. I can't pay more than ten-fifteen rupees a month. I'll de posit this amount with the Rent-Control.' Then these simpletons will have a taste of reality. To get those 10-15 rupees from the court, he would have to cough out 25-30 rupees each month!"
Mr. Maitra proudly laughed and added: "Of course, I'm willing to vacate the house on one condition. He shouldn't ask me for a single paisa of rent. On the contrary he should pay me 500 rupees. I should be allowed to stay for two more months after which I'll vacate the house."
My father became a little anxious after hearing all this. His son had befriended a real swindler. If this relationship continued, his son's future would be in jeopardy.
One day it was discovered that Mr. Maitra had been picking up a lot of groceries on my father's account from the grocer who supplied us all our provisions. My father could not understand how his grocery bills kept increasing by two or three times. My father kept paying the bills while Mr. Maitra continued blissfully to pick up provisions for himself.
One day the grocer told my father about it. But how could my father tell Mr. Maitra and so he asked the grocer to refuse to give him anything on his account.
After this, father started looking for another house. He found one on Ekdalia road and we moved there.
Mr. Maitra, however, found out and started coming to this house as well, but my father did his best to ignore him.
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I heard later that Mr. Maitra knew the secret formulas of cafi-aspirin and other such things and he used to black mail the pharmaceutical companies into paying him. In the end these companies filed a police-case against him. When the police went to arrest him, he tried to jump off the fourth-floor terrace but was caught just in time. He ended up behind bars.
(22)
I remember in my childhood there used to be such a spontaneous feeling of oneness and love between different communities and religions in our town, such a strong sense of togetherness between them: Hindus, Muslims, the poor and the rich, the high and the low castes, everyone lived in a happy solidarity. All those we consider to be the 'lower' class or 'lower' caste people, fishermen, bagdis (scheduled class), potters, carpenters, they all came to our house regularly. During the pujas they would all receive clothes, puffed rice, coconut-sweets and other things. During weddings and the thread ceremony and during the preparations for pujas, arrangements were made so that they could all eat to their heart's content.
I observed that they too would bring to our house any new vegetable or fruit that had grown in their garden. Perhaps just a cucumber or a pumpkin but with what joy they would offer it to Burodadu: "Babu, this is my gar den's first cucumber (or first pumpkin). Kindly accept it." And Burodadu would take it with equal joy and love. Through this giving and taking with love, through this joyous earnestness and acceptance, an insignificant little cucumber would become incomparably beautiful. If any one had any problem or suffered some calamity in our locality people would come to one another's assistance regardless of his being a Hindu or a Muslim, of higher or
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lower class, educated or illiterate. These thoughts never entered our heads. Compared to those days when I look at people today and their behaviour I am filled with sadness. What we were and what we have become! What has Man made of Man!
Even today so many interesting pictures of that past surface to my mind.
I remember during Moharram a group of Muslims used to gather in the yard of our house. Each one of this group of 40-50 people was bare-bodied, bare-footed, donned a fez on his head, wore a lungi and a gamcha (a light Indian towel) tightly tied round the waist. They used to carry a stick glistening with oil. They would show all kinds of lathi-play and other movements with spears, daggers, swords, etc. Two opponents would stand facing each other holding lathis. The drum would sound and to the beat of drums they would move their feet and with a shout "Hara-ra-ra-ra" they would alternately advance and retreat. The lathi in their hands would move and rotate very fast. Then suddenly they would charge towards each other and the sound of the clashing lathis would resound. What excitement there was in the air! Burodadu would watch from the verandah sitting in his armchair. And we stood near him. Wide-eyed, filled with fear, wonder and delight. People of the locality would stand in a circle in the yard. The drums would sound and a flute would accompany them beautifully. These groups of lathi-wielding acrobats comprised both Hindus and Muslims.
They would enact the battle of Karbala and Hassan Hossein. When the play was over they would stand in a row in front of Burodadu placing the lathis on the ground and bow down to him. Then Burodadu would offer them new clothes, brass utensils, copper pots as "bakshish".
On Janmashtami the local milkmen used to come with
* Lord Krishna's birthday
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their drum and cymbals. And there were Muslims among them. A big pot of turmeric water would be kept ready on the previous day and baskets full of luchis and va dais made with palm-fruit. The milkmen were all robust, strong-bodied men. To start with, the servants would place either a one-rupee coin or a coconut covered with oil in the centre of the yard: Then the scramble between 8 or 10 people would begin. The one who could lay his hand on the coin or on the coconut was the winner. While they were busy wrestling that potful of turmeric water would be poured onto their heads. And all the while one group would go on playing the drum and singing:
Brahma dances, Bishnu dances, Indra dances too.
Cowherds dance in Gokul with their friend, Gobinda blue.
Such joy there is in dancing, friends, oh such entrancing joy!
The tal-vadai dances with the luchi, oh boy, oh boy!
Then, these baskets full of luchis and tal-vadais would be distributed among them. The more luchis and vadais they received the more the sound of their drum and cymbals rose and the more tumultuous became their dance.
During the cold season in the month of Paush (December-January), the festival of Paushali was celebrated. It was most enjoyable. Boys below sixteen-seventeen used to come in groups of eight or ten one after the other. They each held a long flag-like stick to which a garland of marigolds was tied. We children used to rush and assemble round the yard the moment we caught sight of them, calling one another: "Come, come, the bbandbols have arrived!"
They used to stand in groups in the yard holding their marigold-sticks high in the air. At first one person would
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shout out and immediately the whole group would take up the refrain: "Bhaaand .......... bol!" One person would say:
Kan Tulshi kan Tulshi
And the whole group would exclaim:
Bhaaand. . . . . . . . . . . bol!
Beney bauley ki rey bhai?
Bhaaand. . . . . bol!
Lak kudakud ladu khai
Ladu khaovar kivey goon
Pantabhatey khanik loon
Jey deybey chaal muthi muthi
Tar haubey laak-kaata beti.
Jey deybey chaal katha katha,
Tar haubey shonar chand beta.
Bolo bhai shi. . . bo,
Bhaaand. . . .. bol!
Ek katha chaal lota bawdi lota poysha Ii. .. bo
Then we had to give them a certain quantity of rice and money. And barely had one group left another would arrive. And the morning passed with one group followed by another. The boys would organise a delightful picnic with that rice and money.
On the "Manasa puja" day, there arrived a group of
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Behula Bhaashan. (The group re-enacted the story of Behula who after being bitten by a snake was placed on a raft and floated down the river.) This group too had Hindus and Muslims and people of other communities as well. They would come in the evening and sing:
Cheyey dekho ma jaugot-jaunoni,
abola, saurol bala
bhanshey ekakini -
What a strange song it was, with all kinds of voices, shrill and base, young and old, singing together. The word "bhanshey" used to be sung with such a flourish and with so much "gamak" that we used to laugh a lot. And eagerly we would wait for "bhanshey" to be sung again.
Cheyey dekho ma jaugotjaunoni,
Kauto paashan bhangilo ei behularee bookey,
Behularee bookey kauto paashan bhangilo.
Cheyey dekho ma ....
A group of wandering minstrels used to come too. their heads covered with turbans, wearing long robes with waistbands, carrying an ektara, a tabor and a tambourine. And they would sing such amusing songs. The fields green with paddy, the sky covered with white clouds and the strong autumn winds added to the beauty of the songs. I still remember some.
Bir hanuman darpo kauro na.
Kaular chuka khaorey buka,
Bhunyer koley macch utheychey,
tao pét bhaurey na.
Bir hanuman darpo kaurona.
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Here is another one:
Dadarey -
Bangali manush ar holo na.
Chokhey choshma hatey ghodi,
Bobkata ei lomba teri,
Edikey pyatétey bhat jotey na.
Bairey tahar konchar pautton,
Bhitorey jey tar cchuncchor ketton.
Bhengey jaoa ghor tar sharey na.
Makey bauley 'my dear',
Bapkey boley 'damn shuar',
Ma hoey jhiyeyr shathey tulona.
Bangali manush ar holo na ....
Occasionally, a Baul used to come too. He was a middle-aged man, his head covered with long, salt-and pepper hair, wearing a white robe and carrying an ektara in his hand. And as soon as we asked him to sing, he would tunefully sing this favourite song of his and play his ektara.
The day has ended,
Walk with prudence,
Don't waste today and tomorrow.
This soul is caught
In this body's cage,
It will not wait for ever.
Alone you have come to the world,
And alone must you leave,
No companion will go with you.
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And during pujas, street actors called bohuroopis (literally: of many forms) would come out. What a thrill I felt when I saw bohuroopis for the first time in my childhood!
One evening, I was returning from my sports. Two other boys were with me. Night had almost fallen. We could hear the sound of conches from the surrounding houses. We were coming through a mango-grove. Suddenly I saw a statue of Kali in front of me, holding a glistening sickle in one hand and a garland of human skulls in the other. Her bright red tongue flashing out. Dark, long, luxurious hair. A red glow beneath the eyes and another eye on the forehead where a light burned. She wore anklets and was dancing to the sound of bells under the trees. My two companions jumped up in fright and bolted. I remained unperturbed and did not move.
This living Kali came dancing towards me: "Child, don't be scared. I'm but a bohuroopi.”
On another occasion, a beggar turned up in front of our house one evening: "Sir, give me some alms, please!"
At first I thought it strange that a beggar should come to ask for alms in the evening. But I still took a plateful of rice to give to him. He refused. He folded his hands in salutation and said: "Actually, I'm merely a bohuroopt1" And saying this he walked away leaving me quite befuddled.
Sometimes in the evening, a Muslim dervish used to come. A "mushkil asan" fakir. He wore a long, loose, black robe and a black cap on his head. He had a long white beard. In his left hand he held a serpent-like twisted stick and in the right a plate full of all sorts of things. On top of the plate there burnt a kerosene lamp in the darkness. In that light the coils of black smoke could be seen trembling in the air. A red glow brightening that wavering smoke in the darkness. And that black statue-like fakir had an aura of mystery about him. Only his two eyes burned bright in that tangle of beard and moustache. He Would stand at the door and loudly call:
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Mushkil asan fa ... ki. ... r.
Jaha mushkil taha asan.
Ma tumi sautyopirer maunobancha purno kauro,
Mago, mushkil asan fa ... ki. ... r.
I would then run and give him one paisa. It was strangely exhilarating to stand in that thick obscurity be fore a black-robed, white-bearded fakir enveloped in a reddish, smoky glow.
The fakir would laugh and apply a tilak on my forehead and say: "Mushkil. ..... asan!"
In the Bengali villages of our childhood we used to see a procession of jugglers called Raibeshey. They would go from village to village showing all kinds of jugglery, circus-acts and feats of strength. And earn money through dance and music. Most of them were from the lower castes. Their bodies were strong and well-formed like the alchemist's stone and their hair was long and shaggy. They wore earings, tied a gamcba round their forehead and amulets round their neck.
They would play tom-toms and tabors and sing. They would run on stilts and could even perform somersaults on them.
Ordinary people were both curious and frightened of them. They believed that during the night they robbed and in the daytime they wandered about performing their circus acts and jugglery.
One afternoon, one such group gathered in the open space in front of our house. They raised their cry: "Hare re-re-re-re-haaaa ... " to the sound of drums. Young and old thronged round them.
Lag, lag, lag,
Lag, bhelki lag.
Hare-re-re-re-re- haaaa
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The drums kept beating. One of them started crossing the open space from one end to the other doing hand springs.
The group leader, his chest bedecked with medals, announced: "Clap all of you, come on, clap all together!"
The spectators obeyed. The leader then taunted him:
"You're doing handsprings, that's great. Now can you do the same thing with one hand?"
The man feigned fear: "Oh my goodness, no! What if my arm breaks?"
"Let it break! I'll fix your arm with the bone of a dead
man from the cremation-ground!" the leader continued.
"You promise?" "Yes, yes."
"Clap all of you, come on, clap all together!"
The spectators obeyed again. The man then began doing one-handed handsprings. The leader exclaimed:
"Bravo, bravo! Now can you do handsprings with support on two sticks? Can you?"
The man feigned fear once again: "Oh God! What if my head cracks?"
"Let it crack, I'll get a skull from the cremation-ground and make you a new head!"
"Clap all of you, come on, clap all together!" Everyone began clapping. The man went up in the air and did somersaults like a turning catherine-wheel. And like a spring he landed on the ground.
"Hare-re-re-re-re-haaaa. . . "
And in this way, they showed us one trick after an other.
There is one more thing I saw in my childhood that has left an indelible impression on me.
Occasionally groups of patriotic singers used to go out in procession. They used to carry a big map of India
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drawn on a mud-plastered mat. And on the map was the image of Mother India in chains. All their songs were about India:
"Who seeks escape in the absence of freedom?
Who seeks escape?"
And so many others. The melodies of these songs, their meaning and the ever-present image of Mother India in chains touched me very deeply. I am told that even after independence was won such groups of singers continued to wander from place to place singing their songs. But now in place of an enchained India there stood a smiling, liberated Mother.
It is this that inspired me to have Mother sit in the Playground in front of the map of India while we marched past her to the accompaniment of the band or did other types of physical activities. On Tejen-da's encouragement and active initiation we made up the map on the Play ground wall first with small leaves and then with cement. Before we started working with cement Mother drew the map of undivided India. And she always stood in front of this map during March-past. And even today her seat is kept there as before. And she continues to preside over us in her spiritual force and greatness just like in former times.
(23)
It was around 1942-43. I was studying in the third year of college at Berhampore. I had started a club for physical training for boys and a youth association.
One evening when I returned at eight from my club after exercises, I noticed in the living-room Chhotokaka talking about that day's hockey-match with another uncle
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of mine and his friend. They too had just returned from the match and they were still carrying their hockey sticks. I asked them about the result of the match and went inside to have dinner. While I was eating I suddenly heard a lot of commotion outside: people were shouting and fighting. I left my food to go out. Across the street I saw people fighting with sticks. Both my uncles and the friend were wielding their sticks freely to counter the blows from the other side. As I was going out from the main gate I saw a stick coming towards my head. I quickly ducked and the blow fell on the ground with a loud thud. What could I do unarmed in such a situation? Where was I to find a stick? There used to be a long bench on the verandah. I broke it with one stroke, took a two-and-a-half inch wide plank and jumped into the fray.
Faced with our relentless blows the 15 or 20 people got unnerved and started running. We gave chase but they were running for their lives with such desperation that we managed to catch just one of them. We brought him inside our house and tied him up. Hardly a few minutes had passed that an emergency bugle was heard from the neighbouring police-station.
On interrogation we found out that the man we had tied up was a policeman from the local central prison. He was in plain clothes like the other 15 or 20 people who had come to attack us with sticks. But we failed to understand why suddenly we were being attacked by the police in plain clothes. What was the reason behind the attack?
The truth of the matter was that Chhotokaka had given something to be stitched to a local tailor. And as is usual with tailors he kept asking him to come back the following day. After several rounds to the tailor, Chhotokaka got a little irritated and scolded him soundly. The tailor retorted with an abusive word. And in anger Chhotokaka punched him. The tailor was in fact a police informer. His
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neighbour, a barber, was also one. After receiving the blow from Chhotokaka, they gathered some other police friends and in their plain clothes, brandishing sticks, they turned up to teach him a lesson. But as fate would have it they were paid back in their own coin!
Now we started discussing about what was to be done. The man we had caught was a policeman from the central prison. The superintendent of jails, Jaminimohan Mukherji, was our close friend.
I went out in the dark. His house was about a mile away. I explained everything to him. He told me: "All right, you go back home. I'll see what I can do."
I went back home. Suddenly I heard: "Pinu, run, run! S.P. Pollard-saheb is there with his armed forces. Run!"
This Pollard-saheb used to harrass the freedom-fighters of 1942. He arrested Chhotokaka and took him away. He also took with him the policeman we had caught. On the way Mr. Pollard got the police to beat up Kaka very badly and sent him to hospital. Eight or ten people from their camp too had been admitted into hospital as a result of our thrashing.
Some more young persons' names were added to ours and a police case was filed against us. The charge was that Kaka had beaten a policeman. When the police had come to arrest him we beat up the police-party as well and detained one of them. That is why Pollard-saheb turned up with his armed forces to arrest Kaka.
The case was heard first at the S.D.O.’s court. The S.D.O. was a decent, patriotic Muslim gentleman. He had once penalised Pollard-saheb himself for kicking a local advocate. And in another case too he had given a judgement against the police. That is why our case was transferred to another bench headed by their own man. The hearings went on for a year. Twenty or twenty-two of us were convicted to two months' rigorous imprisonment and a fine of 200 rupees. We knew people who were placed
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higher up and so after some effort we were exempted from our jail-term. But we all had to pay the 200 rupees fine.
The interesting thing was that right after our case the judge and the prosecution lawyer were awarded titles on New Year's Day by the government. The lawyer was awarded the title of Raisaheb and the judge, Raibahadur.
From then on our relations with the police became strained.
When our club used to play hockey-matches with the police-team, I was not allowed to play by my club. They were afraid that the police-team might be tempted to retaliate then.
Once, we organised a charity football-match in aid of our District Sports Association of Murshidabad. We had invited the Bhowanipur and Kalighat teams from Calcutta.
There was a large square field in Berhampore. The field was closed off with tin sheets for the match. The District Magistrate was the president of our Sports Association.
The game had not yet begun and spectators were still coming in. I was standing at the 25-paise ticket gate. Vishwajit was beside me. He was very young then. So we stood at the gate and stopped anyone without a proper ticket from getting in. It didn't matter who he was. I had a lot of coins in my pocket and when I saw one of our people without a ticket I'd give him a coin telling him to go and buy a ticket. I gave money for tickets to some young boys of our club, to the servants and cook from our house. They all went to buy a ticket before entering. Just then the Muslim inspector from our police-station arrived at our gate. I asked him for his ticket. He glared at me as if saying: "I'm an inspector, why must I buy a ticket?" And suddenly pushing me aside, he got in. I was not prepared for this, and so could not react.
Then the junior inspector arrived. Now I was ready.
"Where's your ticket?"
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Just as the sub-inspector tried to push me aside to get in, I landed a punch on his face. He staggered and fell a little away quite bewildered. Then he gathered five-six policemen with sticks and came charging towards me. He kicked me in the stomach with his shoe. My body was like steel then, I stiffened my abdomen and the sub-inspector fell back with a jerk like a spring. The other policemen then began raining blows on me with their sticks. Luckily I was standing in such a position that the sticks all struck the tin-walls. Not a single blow touched me. And as they approached to strike, I punched and kicked them from this position of vantage. The policemen who were standing on duty at my gate began wielding their sticks on me. In the meantime Vishwajit quietly slipped inside to go and inform Motakaka and our president, the District Magistrate: "The police are beating Pinu-da. They've finished him."
And then something incredible happened. Just as we read in detective novels about the hero being rescued by some miraculous happening, I too experienced a similar thing.
A thunder-storm suddenly broke out and people began scrambling out in fear. And in the melee the junior inspector and his gang of policemen got scattered. I got in and told the District Magistrate about the unjust conduct of the policemen.
"What a vindictive attitude!" he answered. The Muslim S.D.O. was sitting beside him. The Magistrate told him: "Take up the case at once. Arrest the junior inspector."
The S.D.O.’s residence was near the field. He set up a court there that evening and began typing out the statement himself. In the meantime, the junior inspector picked up a ticket from the field and showing it to the judge protested: "Sir, look, I did buy a ticket. And still I wasn't allowed to go in and instead was beaten up."
I showed the ticket to the judge: "This ticket has its
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corner torn. This means that I checked and let this person through. Otherwise how could the ticket be torn?"
The junior inspector's face turned pale on hearing my reasoning. The S.D.O. rebuked him: "You've cooked all this up!"
The sub-inspector was eventually punished.
(24)
Our contact with the Ashram began in 1934. It is from then that we started receiving news from the Ashram, books and letters, Sri Aurobindo's and Mother's messages, etc.
Once during this period, we went from Calcutta to Berhampore. On entering the Chandi-mandapa (an altar to Mother Chandi) I noticed that in place of Mother Kali's statue photographs of Mother and Sri Aurobindo had been placed. I was furious when I saw this. How was this possible? To keep Mother's and Sri Aurobindo's photo graphs in Mother Kali's place? They may be great yogis, advanced souls, spiritually realised, but still... . I was really angry. However, I kept mum. The elders of the family had done this so I repressed my own feelings.
A few days later, I realised to my astonishment that quite unknowingly I myself had begun following their path. A strange change had taken place deep within my being almost imperceptibly. It happened all by itself. And then I realised how right everything was. This is exactly how it ought to be.
During the whole period that I spent in Berhampore, I used to take "Kamini" flowers (botanical name - Murraya Puniculata) along with their leaves and arrange them in front of Mother's and Sri Aurobindo's photographs. And I experienced a great sense of joy doing this. When I was decorating Mother's and Sri Aurobindo's photographs with
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these flowers, I did not know the spiritual significance Mother had given to this flower: Peace in the Vital, the result of abolition of desires.
Now I understand how Mother and Sri Aurobindo eliminate and disperse all obscurity and hostile feelings in this silent, imperceptible, secret way through the light of their Grace and Love. This is perhaps what is called Divine Alchemy.
(25)
When I was about seven years old, father took us to Calcutta, his place of work. He was a member of the Y.M.C.A. in Bhowanipur. Every evening, after work, he would go to the Y.M.C.A. and take me along. In those days at the Y.M.C.A. there was the possibility of playing basketball, table tennis, boxing and exercises. I was greatly attracted to boxing.
I wanted to learn boxing. My father made the arrangements after taking permission from the Y.M.C.A. administration.
My first coach was a South Indian boxer. I don't remember his name now. He began teaching me with a lot of interest even though I was only seven. But then, quite unexpectedly, he had to leave Calcutta because of some work.
For some time I did not have a boxing-coach. Then one day, a good-looking young man named Sri Madhusudan Majumdar turned up at the Y.M.C.A. He had been to America for his studies. After his studies he also learnt boxing there and then came back. After he joined the Y.M.C.A. the boxing coaching resumed in full swing. I became his student.
I learnt from him for some time, but then father got too busy with his work to be able to go to the Y.M.C.A. And my boxing classes too came to an end there.
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When I was fourteen, I passed out from the Anandamayi School to join the Ballygunj Jagatbandhu Institution. The sports teacher there was the famous boxer and athlete of the time Sri Jagatkant Sheel. His club was situated on Wellington Square and was called S.O.P.C (School of Physical Culture). In order to promote boxing he had formed the B.A.B.F. (Bengal Amateur Boxing Federation) and initiated the All Bengal School Championship, the All Bengal College Championship and the Bengal Amateur Boxing Championship in the whole of undivided Bengal.
The time for the Inter-School Boxing Championship was near. Our School was supposed to take part. Every evening after classes, the boys started practicing boxing in the school courtyard. I too joined in, having been given the chance to fight. After a mere week's practice, I was asked to enter my name in the lightweight category of the Championship for the Juniors. And what was the result? I was soundly pommelled in the very first round and was out of the Championship.
After losing, I began to practice my boxing in earnest.At that time a couple of Jagat-babu's students used to come to assist him in coaching. One of them was Sri Biren Chandra.
I think here something needs to be said about Sri Biren Chandra. He was one of Jagat-babu's best students and quite well-known in the boxing circles of the time. The period was 1934-36. In his weight-category he was the All Bengal Champion and the Civil Military Champion. He also took part in categories above his own and almost always won on knockout. Sri P. L. Ray was an "Oxford Blue" in boxing. He held a high post in the Railways. In his free time he used to organise boxing associations in the country. He nicknamed Sri Biren Chandra the "Knockout King". In the Civil Military Championship Sri Biren Chandra knocked out eight British soldiers successively in order to win the Championship!
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One day, when he came to teach boxing in our School and saw my enthusiasm for it, he told me: "If you want to really learn it well, then join my club."
His club was on Kakulia road behind his house on a piece of land that belonged to his family. The club was called Ballygunj School of Physical Culture (B.S.O.P.C). And so I joined this club and under Biren-da's guidance started learning boxing.
Some time later, there was a South Calcutta School Championship. I entered my name. I won my bouts in all the rounds and quite effortlessly became the champion. In order to improve further, I became a permanent member of Biren-da's club. And he too began teaching me with great interest. In a short time I progressed a lot and I became quite a good boxer. My punching power in creased tremendously and my self-confidence was very high. I began thinking that I was capable of taking on any good boxer.
Besides learning boxing in Biren-da's club, I also learnt to do free-hand exercises, weight-training, wrestling, asanas, folk dances, volleyball, drills, parades, etc. Biren-da used to always encourage me a lot and taught me everything with a lot of care. Soon I became his favourite student.
Along with physical development, Biren-da taught me how to build an ideal character and love the country. This is what gave a new direction to my life. At the age of 14-15 I resolved that the ordinary life was not for me and that I would consecrate my life for some greater purpose.
Biren-da taught me that to have a beautiful, strong body and to be a champion boxer was not the be-all and end-all of life. We needed to prepare the youth of the country into a honest, hard-working and self-sacrificing brigade. That was the only way to take the country forward, to make the country' great. It is this goal that has always guided me and has brought me where I am today.
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All my life and even today I have been engaged in this work of building the youth. Incidentally, Biren-da joined the Ashram one month after I did in May, 1945 and started working with me. He rendered invaluable help by his active collaboration in those early days, when our Department of Physical Education was taking shape.
I progressed a lot in boxing. Now it was time to join different tournaments and show my skill and capacities and become a champion. But the Second World War broke out in 1939 and all the Championships set up by ]agat babu fell through in that turmoil.
I had no opportunity of joining any competition but I continued my training with a lot of enthusiasm, just for the sake of physical development and for improving my boxing. I did not enjoy being in Calcutta during the War. Moreover, I missed Nature there.
In Berhampore, on the other hand, I was in the lap of Nature within five minutes' walk from our house. And so I decided to live and study in the Berhampore College. I somehow felt that it was at Berhampore that I would be able to achieve whatever I had resolved to do in life.
I passed my Matriculation in 1939. Maths was one subject I could not get to like but my father wanted me to take up Science in college. And so, for my father's sake and despite my unwillingness, I joined college to study science. The consequences were terrible. I lost one year and then joined the Art department of the Berhampore College. That was in 1940.
As I began my studies in college, I also managed to set up a little gymnasium. I called it "Vivekananda Vyayam Samiti" and strove to develop my body as well as my character. And with whatever knowledge I had then, I began my work of preparing young boys. Between 1940 and 1945 I managed through my hard work to give the club its moorings. A lot of fine boys came out of this club and succeeded in different fields of life to show their skill and abilities.
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After I came away to the Ashram in Pondicherry in 1945, the club has widened its activities and scope by opening many new sections. And in 1991 it celebrated its golden jubilee. It is now headed by Dulu (Sri Bimal Muk herji). The club is all his life. He did not even get married. The club that was launched with the aim of building humanity continues to work in the same direction today.
Although I managed the club and prepared the boys, I did not know clearly what ideal I was to set before them in life. I could not accept any political, social, religious, or economic philosophy of those times. I wanted to build innumerable gymnasiums throughout Bengal where the work of preparing man would go on. Behind every club there would be an industry that would bring in money for the club and its workers. But beyond that?
And so in search of that "beyond" I came to Pondicherry in 1942, and I finally found here what I had been looking for. But three more years were to elapse before I could get down to giving shape to this ideal.
In 1942 I returned home and took up history and philosophy as my subjects for B.A. I ran the club at the same time. And in this way the year went by. It was 1944 and the course of the War had changed. The Allies were on the rise. Calcutta was full of English and American soldiers. There were many well-known boxers among them. Once again I resumed my boxing training. That year I was to sit for my B.A. exam. But then I told myself that such an opportunity for boxing would not come my way again whereas I could always sit for the exam the following year. And I jumped into the boxing competitions.
Jagat-babu and Biren-da were organising the competitions in Calcutta and they informed me in time at Berhampore. I went to Calcutta to fight. I fought 10 bouts of which I won eight (one technical knockout). I went into the finals of the Bengal Championship but I lost by just a few points. The same thing happened in the invitational
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fight for the Governor's Red Cross Fund Boxing Championship. Many thought that the final bout was much too close to be judged. Anyway in life there are always wins and losses and I accepted defeat graciously. In the Bengal Championship Finals I fought against the British boxer Sergeant Harris. And in the invitational fight for the Governor's Red Cross Fund Boxing Championship my opponent was L. A. C. Kent of the English Royal Air Force. On that same night, in the very same ring, Joe Louis's sparring partner James Rouss had fought against the Indian champion Baby Arratoon and beaten him on a technical knockout.
In 1945, I sat for my B.A. exam. Soon after that I came away to Pondicherry. And there ended my boxing career. It was in Pondicherry that I received news of my success in the exam.
(26)
This was in 1945-46. By this time I was completely absorbed in my work of physical education in the Ashram. I used to organise games and exercises for boys and girls in the Playground. After everyone had finished, I would switch on one lamp and do my own exercises (during that period we just had one light in the Playground). Sometimes I was alone, sometimes there were some other people as well. That day everyone had left except Dayakar. Dayakar was Satyakarma's son and although he studied outside the Ashram he did his exercises with me. So we were both doing exercises. It was already quite dark. Suddenly I noticed quite close by, towards the north-east, the sky was glowing red. I understood a fire had broken out somewhere. I turned to Dayakar and said: "I think there's a fire somewhere nearby. Let's go and see if we can help."
We ran and saw that a little further from the Distilleries
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a fire was raging in the fishermen's colony. Some of their huts were burning furiously while some old women beat their chests and cried. There were between 100-150 people - young and old -around them watching quietly. But no one moved to do anything.
Dayakar could speak Tamil and so he went up to them and asked why nobody was doing anything to put out the fire. They answered unfazed: "Ti anaykkum padaykkut teyribhittayiraru." (The fire brigade has been informed. They're coming.) And in the meantime the houses continued to burn. All they could do was stand and passively watch! I was astounded. I noticed many earthen pots and vessels lying around. If each one of them would just stand in a chain to bring sea-water in these pots, the fire could be extinguished in no time, I said to myself. The sea was hardly 50-60 yards away. I asked Dayakar to tell them my idea. But they did not move an inch. They kept repeating: "Ti anaykkum paday vandokondirakkirude." (The fire engine is coming.) But by the time it arrived, all the huts would be reduced to ashes. The fire engine would come and with their water-hoses just level the place.
Later I found out that the fire had been started by a rival group. And the reason for which they all stood there like wooden statues was fear. They were afraid that anyone who tried to put out the fire might see his or her own house set on fire.
(27)
In the course of a conversation, I spoke to Mother about the Kalki avatar. Kalki was lame and he was supposed to come on a white horse, holding an unsheathed sword. After ending the Kaliyuga he would pave the way for the advent of the Satyayuga. What was the meaning of the white horse, the sword and 'his slight limp?
Mother replied that the horse was a symbol of force
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and the white horse represented divine force. The un sheathed sword symbolised unhindered divine knowledge. But she could not tell me why he was lame. She said it was probably due to this collective suggestion from olden times that Sri Aurobindo too broke his leg.
You probably all know how Sri Aurobindo hurt his leg. Immediately before the Second World War, in 1938, the Asuric forces that were preparing to attack the earth through war, first attacked Sri Aurobindo's body.
Sri Aurobindo used to stay on the second-floor room then. Mother's room was adjacent to it. It was a Darshan day and very early in the morning Sri Aurobindo was going towards Mother's room to call her. There were several stuffed tiger-heads in the passage. His dhoti got caught in one of them and he fell, breaking a thigh-bone.
Dr. Manilal, the Ashram doctor, was informed and he came rushing to treat him. He put him in traction setting the broken bone in correct alignment in order to help it join faster. In the meantime Duraiswamy fetched a well known specialist. . After examining everything he said:
"There's no need to inflict so much daily pain on Sri Aurobindo by keeping him in traction. This is the old method of treatment." And after removing the traction he put Sri Aurobindo's leg into plaster.
After a few days, it was observed that the two ends of the broken femur had overlapped instead of joining in the correct position. The condition was much more painful now. Any ordinary human being would have been screaming in pain in such a condition, but Sri Aurobindo remained impassive. From time to time a gentle sigh or two would escape his lips.
The specialist announced: "The bone has to be set right with an operation." When Mother heard about it, she said: "That's enough. Enough has been done. There's no need for an operation."
It was on Sri Aurobindo's body that the adverse forces Won their first victory. Or it could be understood in the
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sense that Sri Aurobindo took upon himself the first impact of these forces and thus saved the earth.
(28)
India became free in 1947. All around the country there was celebration: fireworks, illuminations, singing processions in the morning, parades, etc.
During this time I spoke to Mother about the national flag and the national anthem. I told her that even though Vande Mataram was the national hymn, jana Gana Mana had to be played by the band as the national anthem. Mother said that Vande Mataram was not merely a song, it was a mantra. We played to her a record of Rabindranath's musical rendering of Vande Mataram and jana Gana Mana. Then I played to her Timirbaran's rendering of Vande Mataram. Mother preferred Timirbaran's rendering. It was also more suitable for the band. But we did not have its musical notation for the band. At first we tried to get our Hiru Ganguly to contact Timirbaran but we could not. Sahana-di wrote down a notation thanks to which we could at least sing Timirbaran's Vande Mataram to Mother in the Playground and she really liked it.
In the meantime, I found out that an English music conductor named Simpson had prepared a musical notation for a brass band. That tune was much better than jana Gana Mana. It was almost like a mantra and most appropriate for a national anthem.
And so, before starting any programme in the Ashram, we always begin with that piece played by our brass band. And for those programmes that are also attended by people from outside the Ashram and from the government, we play Vande Mataram at the beginning and jana Gana Mana at the conclusion of the programme.
I also spoke to Mother about the national flag at that time. The Indian government had asked many people and
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Mother taking the salute from the Balcony on 24.4.56
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organisations just before our Independence about the design of the Indian flag. From the Ashram Jayantilal-da sent the Mother's flag. Finally the Indian government chose the tricoloured Congress flag to represent the country. The central "charkha" was replaced by the "Ashoka-chakra". The tricoloured flag was orange on top, white in the centre and green below. The three colours symbolised freedom, peace and progress. The dharma-chakra at the centre symbolised movement and union.
After seeing the national flag Mother told us that the chakra was there only on the white band in the centre and since it did not cover all the three colours the total life of all the communities of India, their movement and union were not symbolically highlighted. She thought that this would not help in making India's unity and oneness symbolically stable. On seeing this flag, one gets the impression that India's unity is slightly disturbed. If the chakra in the centre had covered all the three colours then it would have been much better.
Incidentally, in 1947, while the whole country was celebrating our Independence Day, Mother came out of Sri Aurobindo's room and she seemed to be in a trance. I was standing under the covered verandah in front of her room. She came out and told me with a lot of intensity that in forty years from then India would go through a very bad time.
Now when we think about it we realise that she had spoken truly. However, Mother has also repeated constantly that with her spiritual force India will become great again. And one day it will show the path to the earth's future. India will be the guru of the world.
The partition of India prior to Independence had pained Mother very much. But she said: "Sri Aurobindo has said that India will become one again." About India Mother said:
"India is like a big pot in which ingredients have been brought from everywhere to cook a fine dinner."
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(29)
In 1947, during the month of August, some riots occurred in Pondicherry. After this, I started staying in Mother's room. Early in the morning after Mother had rested, I used to make her do some exercises so that all the parts of her body were strengthened.
I noticed that Mother's back was quite curved, her lower cervical and upper dorsal bones had moved forward and remained curved. She was very conscious of this.
Mother told me that in her childhood she had noticed this problem and had tried to rectify it. This defect of physical structure was there in her family.
I too tried my bit to alleviate Mother's discomfort with her back. I observed that with time the vertebrae of her spine had got calcified and firmly joined to one another. This is why I did not dare put too much pressure or give too much movement to her back. I might have harmed her more than done her any good. And so I would make her do some very light exercises and she did them with great enthusiasm.
Then I thought of making her do some stretching exercises. I showed her how to stretch leaning against the wall using both the arms and shoulders.
When Mother's room was set up on the third-floor, all the walls were covered with wall-cupboards except for a small space that was kept for her to do her stretching exercises every day.
Mother did these exercises regularly for some time but then due to the pressure of work, as always happens, she was unable to continue.
Another thing I noticed was that Mother never lay flat on her back. In her childhood she had been told that if the head remained lower or even at the same level as the body, then the consciousness declined. And that was the reason why right from childhood she used to sleep in a semi-reclined position. This soon became a habit with her and
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