I Remember

However, we asked the Sadhus: "What are your names? Where do you come from? Where are you going? And why on earth are you sitting here in this blistering afternoon?"

The Sadhus took no notice of our queries and kept sitting with the same grave expression.

We said again: "We have heard that Sadhus can do many strange things. Can you? If you can then show us something."

The Sadhus remained silent.

I felt slightly annoyed and said: "Are you Sadhus or fakes? I've heard that often thieves disguise themselves as Sadhus. You're not like that, are you? Then why don't you speak?"

Even this did not ruffle their silence.

Then I said: "Very well! We'll find out whether you are real or fakes." Saying this I took a small brick and made a diagonal mark across the road. Then I told the Sadhus:

"Look, from this side we'll throw bricks at you, if you're real Sadhus the bricks won't reach you across this mark, but if you're fakes the bricks will land on you."

And we began pelting them with bricks. The Sadhus finding their surroundings rather uncongenial collected their tiger and antelope skins and ran for their lives!

Turning round we noticed our mother had been watching all this from the window. She was beside herself with laughter.

We entered the house like proud victors from a battle. Our mother chided us in a mock scolding tone: "Now get back to your studies."

As I was weak in mathematics, father had engaged a mathematics tutor who would come in the evenings. That day most of my answers to the sums he had given me were wrong. Slightly annoyed the teacher said: "You should have concentrated on your sums instead of going after Sadhus!"

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I realised that our tutor too had got to know about our prank.

I said to myself: "Okay, the sums are not correct. But the lesson I taught the two fake Sadhus, wasn't that important?"

I remember so many things about our school. I was then in the eighth class at the Jagatbandhu Institute. We had a teacher who used to teach us grammar and translation - I cannot recall his name. There was another teacher named Bihari-babu who taught us English poetry.

This other teacher was teaching us some translation. One of the sentences was "Shey ratrey bahirey bhishan andhakar" from Shrikantd.

The teacher translated: "On that night there was thick darkness outside."

The following day this teacher was absent so Bihari- babu, our poetry-teacher, took the class instead.

As soon as he saw that translation he was furious.

"What's this, eh? Is this supposed to be English? Would you translate 'pana pukur' as a 'leg-no-pond'. Would you translate 'Malatir kapal bhalo' as 'Malati's forehead is good'?"

A boy stood up and asked: "Then how should we translate?"

"Write 'the night was deep dark'."

The next day our grammar-teacher arrived. He was enraged to see this new translation.

"Who has taught you this kind of English?"

"Sir, Bihari-babu."

"Bihari? What does he know about translating grammatical English? He is supposed to teach English poetry. That's fine. But teach grammar? Translation? It isn't as easy as he thinks!"

This sort of one-upmanship was common between the

*A Bengali novel by Sarat Chandra Chatterjee

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two teachers and the mischievous boys of the class enjoyed egging them on.

(35)

When we were still at Berhampore we began a competition of long-distance swimming. That was in 1942. In the beginning the distance was taken from Lalbaug to the Collegghat* of Gorabazaar, a distance of seven miles. Later the distance was increased to twenty miles and then farther to forty miles.

It was 1942, the year of the famine. People were dying all around. There were no men even for cremating the dead. Dead bodies were dumped into the river Ganga. I remember vividly that while swimming in the river we were at every moment on the lookout for a floating corpse.

In the rains the Ganga flowed swiftly. We used to practise swimming in that strong current. Youngsters would ride fast on cycles carrying our change of clothes but we used to arrive at our destination before them.

We used to swim even against the strong current. The current was so strong that even after an hour's effort with all our strength we would find ourselves exactly where we had started. If we relaxed even for a while we used to be pulled back by the current.

We practised regularly at one particular landingghat. At times we would go across the river to the other shore. Just opposite our ghat there was a country-liquor shop.

I remember one day we were swimming across the river when we heard some people on a boat remark: "See how mad they are for booze! Even a river in spate won't stop them!"

* A ghat is a bathing place constructed on the bank of a river, lake, tank, etc.

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One of my companions shouted out while swimming: "Pinu-da, you heard that? We're all boozers!"

(36)

We formed our Berhampore club with the ideal of moulding true men. Our youthful minds were convinced that only a straightforward, dutiful, skilled and selfless people could build a true society and country. If the youth of the land became healthy, strong in character, generous and patriotic then the country could become great. Keeping this ideal in mind we tried our best against all odds and in all sincerity to make our club really big.

During floods or other natural calamities we would organise relief camps. Our boys were often called up by people to work as volunteers during festivals. In the tem- ple premises of the Mandals* we set up a library, where there were discussions on various topics, some used to write articles that were read there. We even started a hand-written journal. Thus our club became famous all over Berhampore. Young people came from faraway places to join our club for exercising, there were people right from the Bhattacharya para of Kadai upto lower Kadai, from Kotawali road, Radhaghat, Babupara, Khagda, Siadabad, even from the Barracks and Gorabazar. These were all students studying in schools and colleges. We were also invited to other parts of the district to go and build clubs there.

I was struck with the thought that if everything continued in this direction among the youth in the entire country, we would become important and powerful. We would build up a great strength. But what were we going to do with this strength? In what way could we utilise this

* Mandal = A family name

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strength in society and in life? We were all young in age and immature and if we were not able to channelise the strength in the right lines towards the right goal then the consequences might not be happy. We used to have these thoughts: What is the aim of life? Its goal? What brings the highest fulfilment to man? What is the ideal society? And we often discussed them with our local politicians of various parties. But their words and ideas never satisfied us. We thought their ideas and ideals were all somewhat incomplete, uncertain and unclear.

Such used to be my state of mind whenever I came to Pondicherry. I would go to Mother, do my pranam and receive her blessings.

Then a long time afterwards, when I came to the Ashram for good, and took charge of physical education, I came quite close to Mother. I wanted to ask her some questions. Perhaps it was 1950.

Mother said: "Why don't you give me your questions?"

I began to ask her my questions one after the other and Mother took them all down. I felt that Mother was happy to hear my questions. She even showed them to Sri Aurobindo. Sri Aurobindo too liked them; I am told that Sri Aurobindo remarked: "If I had had the time I would have written on them."

After Sri Aurobindo's departure Mother re-arranged my questions, put many more things and answered my questions at great length. It is those writings of Mother that were published in book-form as Mother on Education.

(37)

When the tennis courts were got ready, Mother told me: "You'll play as my partner everyday. Can you play tennis?"

I said: "Yes, Mother, many people in my house played tennis. But what I dislike is that poor people act as ball boys. Tennis is a rich man's game."

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Mother said: "No, tennis is a fine game. It gives very good exercise to the body. I used to play tennis when I was young. You'll play with me every day."

And so from 1948 to 1958, I played tennis as Mother's partner.

(38)

Youngsters no doubt, but even people older than me call me 'Dada' , that too from an early age. Probably this was in my destiny.

Way back in 1934, when I was 10 or 12, we lived in a house on the ground-floor and above us there lived a manager of an automobile garage with his family. The garage was a little further away from the house across the street.

Now my younger brother naturally called me 'Dada'. With him the garage owner's children also called me 'Dada'. Then their father, mother and sister also started calling me 'Dada'.

There was quite a large empty space in the big workshop. next to our house. We used to go to play there. There were about fifty workers in the workshop, they too all began to call me 'Dada'.

Then I came to the Ashram and here too everybody calls me 'Dada'. Even Mother one day called me 'Dada' when She was telling something to the children about me. So as you can see, I was destined to be called 'Dada'.

(39)

Let me tell you about an incident. I cannot express in words Mother's deep care and love for me. Not just for

* Elder brother

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me but for all her children despite their shortcomings. For Mother was not only divine but also so very human. Even while being the divine Mother, she used to be so concerned about us like any human mother. I cannot communicate this in words. She could be human because she was divine.

I have already told you about my Burodadu. While I was staying and studying in Calcutta, news reached us that Burodadu was very ill. We all went to Berhampore. Later Dadu passed away. On the occasion of his Sradh (a ceremony for the departed) many people came to our house even from faraway places. Among them was an expert astrologer who got busy reading people's palms and telling them their future.

I was only seven then. I was always a lonely child, withdrawn — what is called an 'introvert'. While everybody was having his palm read I too finding an opportune moment put my palm forward.

The astrologer did not probably realise that I was one of the family. And I felt he was a little annoyed.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Promptly I replied: "How long will I live?"

"Twenty five years."

I quickly withdrew my hand, but did not feel sorry to hear what he had said. On the contrary I felt happy. I »rapidly calculated in my mind and concluded that I would be dead in 18 years. It almost made me happy thinking about it. I have told you that I was lonely and an introvert. Probably my child's lonely mind was somewhat distraught at Burodadu's death. Quite often the astrologer forecast would return to my mind.

Then I came away to Pondicherry.

The year was 1947. I remembered what the astrologer had told me in my childhood. I was 25 that year.

One day in the course of a conversation I mentioned to Mother: "Mother, when I was young a astrologer saw

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my palm and predicted that I would live till the age of 25. This year I am 25."

I mentioned this very casually, but Mother became serious.

I had not imagined that Mother would become so serious. She scolded me roundly. "So you've nourished this childhood incident all this time. It isn't good to dwell upon death in one's mind."

What a scolding she gave me! Then she said gravely: "All right, I'll speak to Sri Aurobindo."

Then one day she called me and said: "I have spoken to Sri Aurobindo about you."

I felt terribly embarrassed to see Mother so concerned and anxious about me.

However, the year passed and with it went Mother's anxiety.

Another incident from another time.

We used to live in captain Mona's present house.

One evening I heard some noise nearby. An unknown drunkard was trying to break through Lakshmibai's main door. Although many people were trying to stop him he wouldn't listen. He was bent on breaking in.

I ran out. At first, I tried to reason with the drunkard and calm him down. But when he refused to listen I thrashed him soundly and floored him.

Somehow the matter reached Mother's ears and later she told me: "After the beating you gave him suppose he identifies you and reports to the police? The police will come and arrest you and a police case would follow."

How anxious Mother was for me!

However, the matter did not go that far.

Incidentally, one evening, much later, Mother sent me a chit through Amrita-da. "Pranab," she wrote, "I have a strange feeling that there's some danger hovering over you. Be alert."

But thanks to Mother's grace no danger came my way.

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This is just an instance of how very alert Mother always was about my welfare and safety.

(40)

I mentioned to you earlier that Mother took a lot of trouble to learn all kinds of fine arts - music, painting, literature, poetry, dance, recitation, flower-arrangement, etc. She acquired a mastery over everything concerning beauty and joy in order to find these qualities in life. Mother used to say it was not enough to have a knowledge of one or two things of beauty, one had to acquire everything of beauty from all sides and learn to recognise it as well.

I used to do some bodybuilding. I also wrote a little. Literature and poetry appealed to me. After hearing Mother I thought I ought to try some of the other arts as well.

Taking up singing at that age was not possible but I thought I could learn instrumental music instead. I might not have been able to draw but I could always learn photography.

So I told Mother: "I'd like to learn photography, isn't that an art as well?"

Mother said: "Photography is an art if the photographer is an artist."

Saying this she gave me a very old Kodak box-camera and said: "Start with this."

With that old broken camera I took a number of snaps and showed them to Mother. She was pleased with my effort and began to explain to me the finer points of the art of photography, perspective, angle of vision, range and composition. She taught me the need of accepting some elements and discarding others, depending on the angle that is chosen. These lessons from Mother continued for many days.

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A few days later Mother asked Venkatesh to buy a rather expensive medium-sized camera for me. I have taken many shots with it.

Later Mother bought me a much more expensive camera, a Zeiss Super Ikonta. In those days taking photos of Mother was not permitted. But I took her picture in the Playground while she was taking a class and she did not object.

Mother herself arranged vases with flowers and asked me to photograph them.

On the Ashtami, Dasami, Lakshmi Puja and Kali Puja days Mother used to give special blessings. I took photos of Mother on these occasions. Mother had consented to these photos being taken only because of Dr. Sanyal's enthusiasm.

However, Mother told me very clearly the photos that could be printed and shown to people and those that could not. I followed Mother's directions very faithfully.

Mother asked me to take those photos that were to be printed for the new year calendars. Even today photos for these calendars are selected from those taken by me at that time.

From 1954 Mother permitted me to take all her pictures. Those photos and films have filled up three video cassettes. Four chapters of Sri Aurobindo Ashram; Four Aspects of The Mother, Flowers of Sri Aurobindo Ashram; and The Mother: Glimpses of Her Life.

Before that I made three films: A Short Life of Sri Aurobindo; Sri Aurobindo Ashram; and The Sri Aurobindo International Centre of Education. These too are now available on video cassettes.

Once Henri Cartier Bresson came from France to photograph Sri Aurobindo. As a press photographer, he had made a name for himself during the Korean War. He had a very expensive Leica camera. Mother wanted to buy me a similar one. Mother wrote to Elizabeth, a disciple who

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ran a centre in Mother and Sri Aurobindo's name in America, to buy a Leica and send it here. But she could not get one. Then Mother got Chimanbhai to buy a beautiful Leica for me.

Now let me tell you about Cartier Bresson's taking photos here.

Once, in Europe, and especially in France, there was a strong rumour that Sri Aurobindo had left his body long ago and that in his place a dummy was being dressed up and shown to people four times a year. This was because for a very long period Sri Aurobindo did not allow himself to be photographed.

These false rumours came to Mother's ears and she thought that a famous international photographer like Cartier Bresson was the best person to silence them by taking his photos.

That is why Mother permitted him to take Sri Aurobindo's photos on certain conditions. One, all the pictures by him would be shown to her and only after obtaining her permission would they be made public. Two, all the negatives had to be deposited with us. If his photos were to be printed abroad prior permission had to be obtained from Mother and similar other conditions.

Bresson agreed to all her conditions and took the photos.

We offered to get his negatives developed here in ' Chimanbhai's dark-room. But Bresson did not agree to this. He said he would have them developed in France and send them to us.

He left for France. For a long time we didn't hear from him. We wrote many letters but there was no answer.

We started worrying a little.

After quite some time we were surprised to find Sri Aurobindo's photos both in Indian and foreign newspapers. Even the Darshan photos of Mother and Sri Aurobindo had been reproduced. The Illustrated Weekly of India too published some pictures.

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So we wrote to Cartier Bresson to send us the photos. What he sent us were some small photos of half-passport size. They had a lot of scratches and no copies could be made.

In the meantime Sri Aurobindo left his body.

In despair, we wrote to Cartier Bresson that there was no question of not paying him as these were priceless negatives and we were willing to pay him any price. But on condition that the negatives be deposited with us.

He did finally send them but for those few negatives he charged us eighteen thousand rupees.

Later Mother remarked that if she had had the photos taken by us, it would have been much better.

Chimanbhai started photography in the Ashram. I used to learn photography from Vidyavrata, Venkatesh, Chimanbhai and others. I set up a small dark-room and ordered an .enlarger. One day Mother eagerly came there to see how enlargements were made.

We did not have any elaborate arrangement in our dark-room. Working for six to seven hours a day in the dark and closed room we used to get soaked with perspiration as if we had had baths. We did not have the means to air-condition our dark-room and neither could the Ashram be asked to do it.

Once we made an intelligent contraption: we fitted a flash to my Leica and in this way we turned it into a copying device. Many projection slides were made with it and several people took those slides and offered us money. With that money we slowly modernised our dark-room.

To this day we develop all the photos of Mother and Sri Aurobindo ourselves. I started it and now Vishwajit and a couple of boys work on it. This brings in some money to the Ashram. But what is more, the devotees of Mother and Sri Aurobindo can have their photos. The photos are sold from the Sales Department of the Ashram.

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It is this Department that supplies us with paper and chemicals. All we have to do is prepare the photos to supply to them. I am told that the Sales Department sold photos worth one lakh and thirty-two thousand rupees this year (1991). Lately, Dinesh from France is also sending lots of photographs of Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

Once I took a number of photos of special movements and positions of Mother's hands (mudras). Let me tell you about this.

One day Udar's sister, Millie, wrote to Mother: "Mother, the hands you've used to build a new world should be photographed. Please ask Pranab to take some photos."

It was 1972, the year the Government of India issued a special stamp on Sri Aurobindo. Mother was to accept the first day cover and the first cancellation of the stamp. As was her way she arrived before the appointed time. This gave me the opportunity to take photos of her two hands in various postures.

Huta saw the photos and asked me: "Every posture of Mother's hand has a special meaning. Ask Mother and write it down."

But I could not find the occasion to do this.

Then Huta wrote the meanings below the photos and sent them to her. Then Mother herself wrote the name and meaning of each posture and corrected the spiritual meaning. This is how we got the spiritual meanings of the photos showing Mother's hand-mudras.

Now let me tell you about my attempts at music. As I thought vocal music at my age would not be possible I decided to try learning some instrumental music. From my very childhood I had loved the clarinet.

"Mother, may I learn to play the clarinet?"

In 1950, when our instruments for the band were ordered, Mother got a clarinet for me.

With great enthusiasm I began playing western music. Then after a few days I began a regular study.

Our Ardhendu-da was a scientist. In his earlier life he

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had been a chemist with Bengal Immunity. Although a scientist, he was also well versed in classical Indian music. He used to write down the musical notations of the various ragas and I filled a big notebook with these notations and named it Ragchayan meaning 'select Ragas'.

I used to practise music daily and regularly following the notations given by Ardhendu-da. I could play on my clarinet all the various modes (alap, asthayi, antara, sanchari, abhog, bistar, tan) and all sorts of tunes all by myself. At times I played on the flute.

In this way I went on for six or seven years till 1962. I used to play many ragas like Suddhakalyan, Yaman, Bhupali, Gaur Sarang on my clarinet. I remember once I taped Durga and played it to Mother and she seemed to like it.

I learned to play the clarinet on my own. In those days Rajen Sar,kar was a renowned clarinet player. I heard he was a friend of our Nolini Sarkar-da. I got his address from him and wrote a letter to Rajen Babu who answered back to tell me how to play the clarinet. Now, Mother wanted to hear Rajen Sarkar's music. So I played some of his records to Mother.

I remember something from Sri Aurobindo on music: "Music, no doubt, goes nearest to the infinite and to the essence of things because it relies wholly on the ethereal vehicle, Shabda... ."

(41)

In 1946 just before Independence, I was often depressed. To remove that depression Mother used to take me out for drives. The days we went out were mostly on Prosperity days or Darshan Days and it was in the evening. Pavitra-da drove the car.

We used to go quite far. Once we visited the temple

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in Mailam. Mother, Pavitra-da and I went up the steep steps to the top of the hill.

We heard of the strange temple-tradition of electing the murderer of the Mahant or Chief Priest to be the new Chief Priest. It seems that the succession in this temple has been decided in this manner for generations.

(42)

I told you that in the beginning I was often overcome by depression. It was the time when Manibhai, Chandrakant's father, was winding up his business in Africa to come to the Ashram. Mother requested Manibhai to buy a beautiful three-speed Raleigh cycle for me.

While giving me the cycle Mother told me: "Whenever you feel depressed cycle out to the countryside, wander about under an open sky in a field full of trees and shrubs, meditate and you'll feel very much better."

One day on my new cycle I went quite far, about twenty miles or so. Normally every afternoon I used to go to Reddiarpalayam about six miles away. There behind the government school was a large playing-field. I used to walk about on this field. We did not have our Sports Ground yet. I used to run in that field and do my exercises. My father had bought me a discus from Bengal. I would practice discus-throwing. At four in the afternoon I would return to join Mother for tennis.

On Sundays, with several other boys and girls, we used to go out on cycles. Mother used to pack for us bread, butter, cakes, biscuits and other eatables. We had to return by 10 o'clock because at noon I had to lunch with Mother.

Observing that I was fond of outings, Mother wanted to get me a very costly haversack from France but it never reached me. While the cargo was being unloaded in Pondicherry, the haversack somehow fell into the sea.

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Besides my outings on cycle, I used to go out to sea once a year. The fishermen here use a kind of raft called a catamaran - it is not really a boat, a raft is the right word for it. It never sinks and the fishermen also carry sails and oars tied with ropes.

Our Sisir-da, the historian, told me that vessels like the catamaran have been in use in our country right from the Vedic times. I used to enjoy riding catamarans.

Once, perhaps on my third trip, there were eight or ten children to come out to the sea. Two sailing men accompanied us. We also carried food and water. Merrily we shared our food with the men while sailing on the catamaran.

The wind was blowing strongly into the sails and our catamaran was moving at good speed. We were all very thrilled.

One of the sailing men borrowed a towel from us and he trailed it in the water. Attracted by it a shoal of fish began to swim along our raft.

The children were elated.

We had gone quite far and we could discern the coastline like a thin line etched by a pen.

Just as it was time to return the wind dropped and so the men began to row.

It was well past midday and we were still struggling. As I mentioned earlier I used to have lunch with Mother and so I was naturally worried that she might be waiting for me. After our meal Mother used to serve Sri Aurobindo. So he too must be waiting. My worrying increased.

The parents of the children who had come with me were also moving anxiously between the Ashram and the seashore.

Mother called Udar and asked him to go up the Light House with binoculars to see if we were visible.

Udar hastened to the Light House, climbed up to the top but could not spot us even with binoculars.

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When we finally came back it was past four in the afternoon. I was expecting a huge scolding.

When I arrived I saw Mother still waiting for lunch. She had not eaten and neither had Sri Aurobindo.

But Mother did not scold me at all. When I told her about the trip she said: "Pranab, I have full faith in you, I know nothing can happen to you. But since you take young children, their parents get worried about them. If others begin to go out to the sea following your example that won't be good. Why not stop these outings?"

Thus with the third trip my sea-faring came to an end.

Every Sunday morning I went for sea-bathing with some boys and girls. After a good oil-massage we used to get into the sea with a big inflated tube and we swam quite a bit.

Once while swimming we went a little too far and we found ourselves surrounded by a lot of jelly-fish. These jelly-fish have some sort of acid on their tentacles and their touch is enough to leave the skin burning.

Seeing ourselves thus surrounded by jelly-fish I told the children: "Hold on tightly to the tube." Then with my feet I held the tube and using only my arms started swimming fast. None of the children were touched by the jelly-fish but my whole body was full of blisters as though badly scalded.

Our Anilbaran-da used to swim in the sea too and 'when jelly-fish would touch him he would return to the shore and cover himself with sand. Nothing happened to him. People said he was jelly-fish proof.

(43)

I had just arrived in the Ashram. I used to stay in the house now occupied by Mona. In the verandah of that house I did my physical exercises in the afternoons along with a few youngsters.

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I needed a heavy barbell for my exercises.

How strange! Just then a gentleman from Bombay arrived with a barbell saying that he wanted to offer it to Mother.

I was very happy to see that iron barbell and thought that now I'd be able to exercise well.

Every day at the bottom of the staircase next to Nirod-da's room the vegetables grown in the Ashram gardens were laid out. Mother came down at about noon to have a look at them. Young boys and girls used to come and gather there - some grown ups were there too. It was a happy moment with Mother. It was named the 'Vegetable Darshan'.

This gentleman from Bombay came and placed the barbell there.

Mother asked: "What's this?"

"Mother, it's a barbell. I'll exercise with it."

Mother said: "No, no, you mustn't. All those who exercise with heavy instruments have short lives. You mustn't."

With these remarks Mother asked Udar to take it away. Udar had it melted in his workshop.

A few days later I got to know that Udar also had a similar barbell. So secretly I began exercising with that.

Mother came to know about it.

She told me: "Show me how you exercise with the barbell."

I showed her my weight-training and weightlifting, the way I exercised and its action on the several parts of the body.

Two boys went on adding plates on either side. I began to lift to show Mother. This demonstration was done at the Playground where in those days Mother used to come everyday. After the groundnut distribution she sat and watched the demonstration. She just said: "It's wonderful to see these barbell exercises."

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I told Mother: "What I don't like very much is that these boys must help me."

Mother said: "Why, in clubs everywhere it's the young people who help. It's good. You'll do your exercises everyday and I'll watch."

Then I asked Mother why she had previously asked me not to use the barbell.

Mother said: "Look Pranab, I have no fixed rules. I advise each person according to his need. If I see some- thing to be good for someone then I ask him to do it whereas if I see it as being harmful then I dissuade him."

For quite some time, Mother used to come to watch me exercise with weights, three days in a week on alternate days after distribution. The sessions lasted about one hour.

(44)

Once Mother felt like cooking something with eggs for me. In fact, she cooked for me on several occasions. One day Ravindra happened to be standing near her. While cooking Mother had to go to the next room for something so she hurriedly passed on the egg she was holding to Ravindra saying: "Here, hold this for me for a while, I'm coming."

Now you may know that Ravindra belongs to a family where far from eating fish, meat or egg, no one even touched these things.

What could he do, poor fellow! He did not know how to hold an egg and so as he held the egg it broke and his whole hand was full of yolk. Stoically, Ravindra stood there with the crushed egg in his hand. We were hardly able to suppress our laughter.

This reminds me that before coming to the Ashram Ravindra was Vinoba-ji's disciple. His life was disciplined

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and hard under him. He had only one and a half anna for food for the whole day. (One anna was equivalent to 6 paise)

Once Vidyavrata turned up and decided to have his meal with Ravindra. They both had their meals for six paise each. But to make up for the extra six paise spent for Vidyavrata, Ravindra went hungry the following day.

One day I asked Ravindra if this story was true and he confirmed it.

Ravindra told us that Vinobaji had told him to go to the fields in the morning with a crowbar. There he would dig a hole in order to empty his bowels. The hole was later covered with earth. This had three advantages: first, he took a morning walk; two, the activity did not dirty the field on the surface and three it enriched the soil.

Ravindra used to say: "These advantages used to give me a lot of mental satisfaction as well!"

(45)

Let me tell you the story of how Mother's jewels were sold. Once there was a shortage of funds in the Ashram so Mother decided to give some of her jewels in exchange for some money. It was decided that according to their capacities devotees would be given a jewel or two to keep as a sacred souvenir from Mother.

But Mother knew everything so she called and told me about one lady in the Ashram: "You know this lady is very keen on having one of my jewels but as she hasn't got the money she's very depressed."

With these words Mother quietly slipped some money into my hand saying: "Go, and secretly give this money to the lady and tell her that when Mother asks she should indicate what she'd like to have."

I did as told. When she came to receive Mother's

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blessings the next day she gave the money to Mother and requested her for a ring.

Mother gave the money to Dyuman-bhai and told him: "Get a ring made to her size."

When the ring was ready she herself gave it to her. In this manner without outwardly showing any special favour to anyone Mother still managed to fulfil the lady's heartfelt wish.

It was quite common for Mother to act like this.

In the early days every sadhak used to be given some butter which was later stopped for want of funds. Even then Mother would quietly give me some money and listing out a few sadhaks say: "See, for their health they need to take some butter, kindly go and give them this money to buy some butter."

(46)

In France,, at bedtime Mother used to prepare some coffee with milk and keep it covered on the window-sill. In the morning the coffee was completely frozen. Mother would have that coffee after waking up in the morning and then sit to meditate. After her meditation she would write prayers in a notebook - a long-standing habit of hers. Even after coming to India for some time she continued to write prayers. There were seven or eight fat notebooks filled with Mother's prayers.

A selection from those prayers was brought out as Prayers and Meditations. Then she destroyed all those fat notebooks. From one book she cut out a page and gave it to me. The following prayer was on it:

Remplis les coeurs des délices de Ton Amour
Inonde les esprits des splendours de Ta Lumière
Permets que nous réalisons Ta Victoire.

19 Juin.

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Fill our hearts with the delight of Thy love.
Flood our minds with the splendour of Thy light.
Grant that we may effectuate Thy Victory!

19 June, 1914

... par I'Illumination, la Connaissance et Ie Pouvoir O Ie cantique d'allégresse de Ta Présence Victorieuse...

... with the Illumination, the Knowledge and the Power. Oh, the canticle of joy of Thy victorious Presence...

I asked her: "Why did you stop writing the prayers?"

She replied: "The work they had to do was done, so I stopped writing."

(47)

After 1958, when Mother moved to her room upstairs, she did not come out regularly except on special days. After 1962 that too stopped. She never came down again. And so she could not do any exercises. Then I arranged chairs in a circle in her room and every morning and evening Mother walked for thirty minutes.

In the afternoon, after her thirty-minute walk, she rested for a while. At that time I would get her to do some freehand exercises - these gave the required movements to her arms and legs, abdomen, shoulders and other parts of the body. Then once again she walked for thirty minutes.

In the mornings she walked while it was still dark and during winter, when afternoons became dark much earlier, I used to light some candles. Mother liked this very much. Getting to know of her liking for candle-light many devotees began to send lots of beautiful coloured candles. We got so many candles that we still have some left with us.

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I lit the candles near her when she sat down to rest. The soft candle glowed on her face marvellously. I have a photo of it too. In that soft candle light to watch Mother sitting or walking while her shadows danced on the wall was like a dream-vision.

(48)

Once Mother decided not to eat anything but instead absorb from the atmosphere the energy needed for the body. She gave up food completely.

She inhaled only the fragrance of fresh jasmines. From this she drew in a lot of energy.

But the human body as it is now, needs some intake of food. After a few days she felt that lifting even a cup from the table seemed difficult. She understood that the body was getting feeble from within.

Mother asked Sri Aurobindo.

Sri Aurobindo said: "You're looking weak."

And so Mother resumed eating.

(49)

Quite some time ago, one cold limpid-blue January morning, at about seven o'clock, the golden rays of the sun embraced the earth and along with the soft cool winter breeze one felt a wonderful joyous peace and Ananda all around.

I had just come out of my house to go to the Ashram main building to fetch milk, fruits and flowers. A scavenger-cart stood on one side of the street just in front of the house. They were collecting garbage from a few Ashram houses. About five or six young street-urchins were trying to glean some left-overs.

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I had hardly moved a few paces when I heard some shouting behind me. Turning around I saw some boy were trying to get hold of a somewhat large piece of papaya skin from the bottom of the scavenger-cart. They were fighting and shouting among themselves. The papaya skin had some lumps of pulp sticking to it.

Pushing the rest away the youngest of the lot came out of the melee triumphantly holding that piece of papaya. I thought he would sit down on one side of the street and start eating the pulp still sticking to the papaya skin.

But that is not what I saw! In a corner of the footpath a naked child of about two was asleep. She might have been the young boy's sister.

The boy went straight to the sleeping child and woke her up with gentle caresses. Lifting her head onto his lap with a deep feeling of love he started feeding her. His eyes were aglow' with warmth and affection.

The hands that just a moment ago were fighting with envy were now full of moving affection and humanity The face that was contorted with anger was now beautifully alight with a smile of satisfaction. The fierce tussle of the past was forgotten in this revelation of a being of peace and love.

What a touching sight! In the affection and love of that street-urchin and from his generosity I received touch of God. In this small insignificant incident I saw God revealing Himself - Truth, Goodness, Beauty - true beauty and true goodness. To me it was a fascinating experience.

(50)

From the expression on their faces, especially in their eyes, the Light of God can be so wonderfully perceived. I am referring to that piece of papaya and the fight for it

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among the young urchins. This episode was enacted by our Ashram children.

Let me narrate to you another incident.

Generally between the 10th and 15th December, once a year, we go out on a motorbike trip. Sometimes we go far, sometimes close by. Once, eight of us on four motorbikes, went on a journey of fifteen hundred kilometers. On the way back while approaching Madurai we went to see the Vaigai Dam. It was past midday and deserted all around. A small Tamil boy came towards us as he saw us approach. He was probably from a nearby village. He looked very poor. He had no clothes on his upper body and carried a tray hanging from his neck with a few groundnut chikis to sell.

None of us were in a mood for chikis, moreover, who was going to eat those chikis covered with dirt? Everyone said: "No, no, we don't want any, go away."

I saw the boy's young and soft face darken with disappointment. He went on repeating in Tamil: "Sir please take some."

I called him to me; slowly, hesitatingly he came near.

"How much are they?" I asked.

With a rupee I bought one, then putting the chiki in his hand I said: "Now eat this and go home."

The boy kept looking at me and wonder filled his eyes. I saw his small young face glisten with joy and his eyes sparkled with great happiness.

He broke a small piece out of the chikis I had given him and offering it to me said: "Sir, first you take some; I'll eat after you." I took the piece from his hand and ate it.

The way he stretched his hand out and looked with his eyes, a simple child's eyes full of a light of happiness and love and gratefulness, overwhelmed me completely.

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(51)

I am reminded of another incident. An example of love and trust in very young children.

In one of our godowns a place was made for the little children to play table-tennis. That was the arrangement before the present place was set up.

One evening as I was passing by I heard the children making a lot of noise, there was pandemonium.

I went in; with a light 'knuckle-knock' on someone's head, a tug at someone's ear, a scolding to another, I tried to quieten them. One of the small boys ducked as I moved as I towards him and cut himself on his head, as it dashed against a corner of the table.

This was not what I wanted. I ran to the doc carrying him in my arms. The doctor stitched his cut, applied some medicine and bandaged his head.

What was astonishing was that when his parents and friends asked him how he had hurt his head he simply said: "Oh, it happened while playing."

(52)

The love of young children takes strange forms and ways indeed. Let me illustrate this through a story.

This happened when I was still in Berhampore. As I told you before, we had a club where I used to train young boys for physical exercises and games.

One day a boy of about 15 or 16 came and told me: "Pinu-da I am leaving Berhampore. My father is taking me to Darjeeling for my studies. I want something from you to remember you always."

I said: "What would you like?"

He replied: "I want to box with you and get a thorough thrashing. That will remind me of you always."

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I was, very amused at this proposal but refused. But the boy was adamant.

So what could I do but have three or four rounds with him? I thrashed him a good deal but was careful not to hurt him badly.

After the bout he shook off the dirt from his body and did a pranam to me saying: "This is quite enough Pinu-da, now can I take my leave?"

(53)

In that very club at Berhampore there was a very mischievous boy. I punished him by asking him to do a hundred baithaks (squats).

He did so.

Then for three or four days he was not seen anywhere not even in the club.

I thought he must have felt insulted, perhaps he has given up his membership of the club.

He came limping to the club after about two three days.

I asked him: "Hey, why didn't you come all these days? I thought you had given up the club out of anger."

He said: "No, Pinu-da. After so many baithaks my knees began paining so much that I could hardly walk. That's why I didn't come. How could I be angry with you Pinu-da, or even think of leaving the club?"

(54)

We were out on a motorbike trip driving slowly through Kancheepuram as there were many people on the streets.

Suddenly I noticed a bright and beautiful Tamil boy running alongside my bike. Normally Tamils are dark but

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this boy was very fair. He seemed to be a brahmin. In South India the brahmins are generally fair.

The boy said: "Sir, give me some stamps."

I stopped and told him: "I am out on a journey, little brother, I have no stamps with me now."

He was very smart. He pushed a chit of paper in my pocket. "Here is my address and name. When you get back send me some stamps."

The youngster's spontaneous simplicity and smartness delighted me very much.

On my return I did not forget to send him some beautiful stamps and snap shots by post.

He too replied in his childish handwriting. He used to send me some matchbox pictures that he collected with a lot of care and also some pictures cut out from news papers that his child's mind liked.

This went on for some time.

Then one day I got a letter written not in the familiar big-lettered hand but by someone slightly older than him.

The letter asked: "Who are you? Why do you send my brother such beautiful stamps and pictures? You write such nice letters. I am his elder sister, I am twelve years old. We have no parents and so we live with our maternal uncle. My brother goes to school, whereas I do all the housework. I have to work hard. We are very unhappy." I was rather saddened to read this short but touching letter.

However after that I sent them stamps and pictures once or twice again.

But then one of my letters came back.

I felt sad for these two children without parents. I thought perhaps they had been sent away from their uncle's. Or perhaps they were no longer alive. Who knows? In the firmament of my mind two beautiful flying kites were blown away, their strings snapped.

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