I Remember

(55)

Once we went to Darasuram near Kumbakonam. Darasuram is a tiny village on the outskirts of the town and the site of an ancient Chola temple. Perhaps not more than thirty or forty families live here.

I have noted a strange thing that wherever I may go I attract young boys round me. Here too among such a crowd I found a clever, smart boy who became my un-asked-for guide. He began showing me round. For instance he showed me a carving in the temple which when covered on one side becomes a bull whereas when covered on the other represents an elephant.

We went round the temple taking photos. Naturally the youngsters also wanted to be photographed. That smart boy stayed with us all the time. I asked him: "What does your father do?"

We gathered that his father was a film projectionist in a local cinema. They were not rich.

Four years later we went to Darasuram again. No sooner had we arrived than the village boys came crowding round me but I did not find that smart boy among them.

I brought out his photo and asked the villagers: " Do you know this boy?"

They said: "Yes, yes, we know him well." They went and fetched the boy.

I was sorry to see that the face had lost its earlier brightness. Piteously he came limping to me holding a ladies-umbrella over his head, penury writ large on his emaciated figure.

As we were talking he said: "Sir, you asked me to study but my father has no money for my studies. Why don't you enrol me in your Ashram school?"

So I told him: "Let me see what I can do for you. I'll let you know."

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On my return to the Ashram I asked Vishwanath-da: "What can I advise him?"

Vishwanath-da told me: "At Darasuram itself there are some institutions for artisans. Advise him to take up some craftmanship." He gave me the address of one such place.

I wrote to the boy accordingly and sent him the address hoping he could learn something there.

Then I got no further news.

But for a long time the pale-faced boy's memory lingered in my mind.

(56)

On a few occasions we went out on our bikes to Periamokkal, a beautiful small village covered with greenery at the foot of a hill. And as always young children flocked round us. Among them were two plumpish boys who would accompany me on either side. My companions from the Ashram named them my "Shumba-Nishumba."

They endearingly demanded that we take photos everyone in the village.

And we did.

Shumba-Nishumba asked me to photograph their elder sister who was to be married shortly.

They brought their sister wearing a crumpled silk saree that had probably just been fished out of a bundle.

I took her photo. They then asked me to photograph their grandfather.

They brought out an old chair from somewhere and seated their grandfather on it. That chair had only three legs so they quickly broke a branch from a tree and made up the fourth leg.

When the grandfather's photo had been taken they said: "Now please take one of our grandmother's."

They made her sit on that broken chair as well, took

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Temple at Mahabalipuram beach

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Mahabalipuram - the five chariots

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their sister's necklace and put it around her neck. She sat there and her emaciated face lit up with a smile as I clicked.

When the whole family had been photographed, Shumba-Nishumba declared: "Now it's our turn."

They hopped onto my motorbike. After taking all these photos we continued roaming about when we noticed that the parents of the girl I had photographed were laying out some food on dried sal-leaf plates. They called us to eat.

But we did not feel like eating and gently refused. Naturally they were very disappointed.

There is a cave here where Lava and Kusha are believed to have been born. It's a sacred place for the villagers. The mothers who lose their children at birth, go to that cave during their following pregnancy to pray for the survival of the next child. When I went back to Periamokkal, I took all the photos I had taken and distributed them to the villagers. They were delighted. But the old woman was absent. When I enquired I was told that she had died.

(57)

Once we went to Pannamalai which is the site of an ancient eleventh century Pallava temple.

As usual there was a bunch of youngsters hovering round us. They pushed a boy forward and proudly introduced him: "This chap always comes first in school."

A few months later when we went there again, we saw a group of boys, carrying books under their arms, going to school. They all ran to us as soon as they spotted us.

From the pages of their books they drew out the photos we had taken on the previous occasion. It was

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very heartening for us to see with what care and joy they had preserved the photos.

Quite some time afterwards one of the boys, aged about twelve or thirteen, turned up at the Ashram one day to meet me. He told me that he did not want to returr to his family and wished to work in the Ashram.

I made him sit in my office and gave him some milk and biscuits. I took him for a stroll to the seashore and while talking to him I found out that his father was a rich landowner with about 500 acres of land. He had left his father after a quarrel and wanted to stay in the Ashram.

Srikanta said: "He could be given some work in the gymnasium."

I said: "He is such a small boy, he has quarreled at home and come away. It won't be right to keep him in the Ashram."

After a lot of persuasion we made him understand and sent him back to his village.

(58)

A twelve or thirteen-year-old French boy named Alain arrived in the Ashram one day with his parents. He joined school and was also good at games. He learnt to speak Bengali and would converse with his friends in this language.

One morning Alain was playing marbles in the Playground while I was there. I saw that while playing he suddenly got excited and began cursing his companion: "Shalaki pusha, shalaki pusha."

I went up to them and asked: "What's the matter?"

It seemed that while playing Alain's companion he cheated a little, so in his excitement Alain started speaking Bengali: "Shalaki pusha" - intending to say: "Chalaki peyechho?" (Trying to be smart, eh?)

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(59)

A Frenchman once came to the Ashram wishing to stay here. He was told that to stay in the Ashram he would have to work eight hours a day.

The gentleman was of a lazy temperament. On hearing this he said:

"Pas de fruits, pas de beurre.

Comment travailler huit heures?"

(No fruits, no butter. How to work for eight hours?)

(60)

Now let me tell you about a strange incident.

It was after Mother had left her physical body in 1973. This occurred in 1974.

I was sitting in my office. A gentleman accompanied by his wife and two daughters arrived. The father was an engineer. One of his daughters was aged six or seven, the other thirteen or fourteen.

The gentleman said: "I had a seventeen-year-old son. He was good at studies and games too. He was sharp and clever, healthy, modest and humble. We loved him very much, we depended a lot on him. But as fate would have it, one day while we were travelling by train, the boy in trying to get down from the moving train onto the platform suddenly slipped and fell under the wheels. He died at once. But strangely he always seems to be with us, eating, sleeping, coming and going, happily smiling all the time. We seem to feel his presence constantly. So when we sit down to eat, his plate is laid out for him with food and a glass of water. When we go to bed, a bed is made for him with a mosquito net, he seems to even sleep with us. My youngest daughter and her mother see him a little hazily like a shadow. They speak to him and he answers."

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I asked him: "Now that you're sitting here with me do you think he's here with you?"

The youngest daughter said: "Yes, dada's here with us! You could even talk to him."

I was a bit surprised: "Very well, get me to converse with your elder brother."

The girl said: "Let me hold your hand then the contact with my dada will be made."

The girl kept holding my hand.

I called the dead boy by his name: "If you're here - how do you feel?"

The little girl said: "There he's smiling and he's saying that he likes it very much."

The gentleman turned to me and said: "Now tell us, what should we do?"

I said: "Mother is no longer in her body. Had she been present I could have asked her to help you in the matter. Why not wait for a few days and see what happens?"

They went away.

A few days later they came back to the Ashram and met me. They said: "Nothing has changed. But a bodiless presence in the house has given rise to an unpleasant atmosphere and we don't like it any more.'"

I said: "You can do something. Go to Gaya and do the ceremony of Pinda (a ceremony connected with the dead for their soul's release). But don't call him yourselves, if he comes by himself let him come but don't give him a call, don't invite him."

The gentleman said: "My wife is very keen that I should come into her womb and be reborn. Let him return as our child. But the physicians say that she is too old to conceive."

I said: "Do as I've suggested and see what happens. But don't call him at any cost."

The gentleman left.

After his return he wrote to me to say: "We're following

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your advice. We don't feel the presence of our son as intensely as before although he comes often and does not stay for long."

Some time later the gentleman wrote again saying: "My wife has given birth to a boy. The doctors say it is something of a miracle. You will be astonished to hear this. We, however, firmly believe that our dead son has been reborn and come back to us. We have given him the same name too."

Later the gentleman came to see me with his son and Family. I saw the boy. He was already quite grown-up, smart and intelligent and he looked very happy.

(61)

Since we have started talking about phantoms let me tell you a story connected with Vishwajit. Vishwajit's elder brother was a police officer. He was a bachelor and a carefree wandering man. When he was transferred to Calcutta he rented a house. Everybody asked him not to rent that house as it was supposed to be haunted.

He did not pay much heed to the advice. Besides, it was a nice house and the rent was very reasonable.

As I mentioned earlier he was not married and was very disorderly in his living. When he returned from work he would take off his uniform and throw his trousers and shirt and shoes helter-skelter. His papers and books were strewn all over the table. If he got up to go for his bath he would leave his pen open.

But when he came back from the bathroom he found everything arranged, his clothes on the rack neatly stacked, the pen closed and replaced on the pen-rack, the bed nicely made.

Who could have done all this in such a short time in the evening? No one had entered. Who could it be?

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He remembered clearly closing the main door. The bathroom was next to the bedroom and he had closed the bedroom door too. Then who could have come in?

The shoes were in their place, the socks clipped together and in place. What was going on?

With these thoughts he stretched out on his bed. He felt a little too hot and thought of getting up to switch on the fan. But he felt too lazy and tired to get up.

Suddenly he heard a switch click.

The fan began to rotate.

Good heavens! He could hardly believe his own eyes.

He felt someone standing outside the door.

The curtain moved. "Who's there?" he asked but there was no reply.

Evening had set in quite some time back. The room felt dark and weird. He thought of switching on the light. And at once a switch clicked and the light came on.

The gentleman was at the end of his wits.

He had already had his meal before coming home, so he immediately lay down in bed to read. He did not know when he fell asleep. He suddenly woke up at about nine or ten at night.

He saw the light had been switched off in the room, the book removed from behind his head and placed neatly on the table.

There was a bookmark at the place where he had stopped reading. Mind-boggling indeed! He lay down again and began to think. Who is doing all this? A ghost? People say it is a haunted house. Then all this, is it a ghost's doing? But a ghost is said to frighten people by revealing fearful forms and terrible noises, by wailing through its nose, groaning and laughing with flashing teeth. But none of these things were happening. This ghost was doing exactly the opposite, it arranged everything that was in a mess and was trying to be as helpful as it could.

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He went on pondering. He felt a little cold and thought the fan was whirling too fast so he tried to get up to switch it off. But just then with a click the fan stopped.

He could now sleep no more. Day broke.

This occurred day after day.

So he decided not to remain in that house any longer. How can one stay with a phantom all alone? However good and helpful it may be.

Later he came to know that a European lady had committed suicide in that room.

Mother told me that there were bodiless beings, whom she called 'goblins', who often helped men.

Mother also spoke to me of her experiences: once when she had put some milk on the stove to be boiled, she felt someone tugging at her dress to take her to the stove. As she hastened there she found the milk was almost boiling over.

(62)

I too once saw a ghost but I was not frightened. It did me no harm. I had neither fear nor any reaction. Just as I see trees, birds and other such things and happenings, I saw the ghost in the same natural way too.

Savitri and I once went to the Satanur Dam on my motorbike. After going round the dam we started back at about two in the afternoon to get to Pondicherry by five or six in the evening.

About ten miles before Tiruvannamalai my motorbike had a puncture. As there was no garage around for repairs we were in a fix.

So we had to push the motorbike for ten miles to reach Tiruvannamalai. It was already past seven in the evening. We got the puncture repaired and resumed our journey.

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Barely had we done five miles that we had another puncture! At that time I did not know any motorbike repair work so I had no tool-kit.

A little further on we found on the roadside a motorbike repair shop where the mechanic lived with his wife and child. The mechanic took the wheel and left for Tiruvannamalai on his cycle. He returned with a new tube and got the motorbike ready for the road. It was now one-thirty in the morning.

However, we started back home.

After the hectic day and the pushing of the bike for ten miles, I was feeling rather tired. I noticed Savitri, riding pillion, frequently nod with sleep. I was afraid she might fall off and that would be another tragedy.

By then we had arrived at Gingee. There was a culvert on the road with a drain underneath. I spread a light cotton 'durrhy' on the wall of the culvert and asked Savitri to rest for a while. I was sitting near her head. The motorbike was parked in front. The night was bright with moonlight. A little way off there was a village of farmers from where at intervals the village guard's call could be heard. On the road occasionally a truck or two zoomed by with their glaring headlights. On the trees lining the road some nocturnal birds kept flapping their wings frequently.

By now Savitri was fast asleep.

Suddenly I had the feeling that someone was standing behind me, I felt a pressure, it was somewhat heavy, Leaning a little I looked behind and saw someone looking at Savitri over my shoulders. He had a long dark face, prominent white teeth, long hair parted in the middle. He seemed young and was gazing intently at Savitri. His eye were dreamy.

After a short while the face disappeared. I felt a hot breath behind and then nothing. ,

I said nothing to Savitri then in order not to frighten

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her. After our return to the Ashram I asked her in the morning: "Do you know who came to see you last night?"

"Who?" she asked puzzled.

"A ghost! He was staring at you wide-eyed."

"What?" she stiffened with fear. If I had told her this at night she would probably have fainted.

Mother had told me that there was nothing to fear from ghosts and phantoms, as they can do no harm to humans, for they have no body and man's body is a fortress. One must never be afraid. The harm comes when one is afraid.

(63)

Let me tell you about a few sadhaks who had very amusing characters. They were simple people, capable workers but extremely whimsical, somewhat bohemian in nature. Manibhai was one of that odd kind. He lived in Africa before coming to the Ashram. A man of fine taste, he loved to change his clothes twice in the day. He was married to Lila and Tara. His room and smithy used to be where our present post-office is situated. He was strong and very powerfully built.

But Manibhai was a most peculiar man. He always walked head on as if he were following his nose and never stepped aside for anyone coming from the opposite direction. He would rather collide than change his direction.

Purani who was a wrestler had a similar quirk.

It was funny when the two faced each other on the road. Manibhai walking from one direction and Purani coming from the opposite. Both would walk straight on and end up colliding.

Once the key of the bakery got lost. It was past five o'clock in the evening and bread for Mother used to be baked in the evening. Jyotin-da of the bakery was in a

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dilemma. He came to Manibhai and requested him: "Please make me a duplicate."

Manibhai gravely answered: "I can't do it now, it's past five o'clock. The smithy is closed. Tomorrow morning when my department reopens, I'll make it."

Jyotin-da tried a lot of cajoling: "Brother, if you make the key tomorrow morning at eight then how can I bake Mother's bread this evening? Please come now, I'm in real trouble."

But Manibhai was one who walked straight and a rule was a rule. He would not budge. However, he went with Jyotin-da and inspected the lock, fiddled with it a little but his refrain did not change: "Now it's five and time to close. I'll make you the key tomorrow morning at eight."

Next morning, however, exactly at eight he came to the smithy and made the key. This illustrates Manibhai's single-mindedness.

Later on Manibhai went to stay in our garden called Le Faucheur. A lot of thefts were taking place there at that time. Manibhai kept watch. He made a huge torch with a long bamboo-pole which could hold several batteries.

He loved dogs and had quite a few big ones. He used to eat from the same plate as the dogs. While eating he would wipe the mouths of the dogs with his handkerchief and then use the same to wipe his own.

Once a few boys went there at night to guard the fields. When they asked Manibhai for some drinking water, he gave them a peculiar pot to drink from.

When they had slaked their thirst he said: "Do you know that I picked this broken pot from a cremation ground? I joined the pieces together. Whenever I have a guest I serve him water in this pot."

When Manibhai died, people who went to fetch him found his pet dogs sitting around him with their eyes fixed on his face.

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(64)

Another peculiarly amusing character was Benjamin.

The year Mother came to Pondicherry for the first time with Paul Richard, a few local young lads were attracted to Mother and became attached to her.

Benjamin was a local Christian boy. In the beginning the local Christians nursed a lot of hatred for the Ashram. When they saw Benjamin become Mother's devotee they used to belittle and curse him too. But Benjamin paid no heed at all. There was a club in the town in those days where Benjamin, Suresh Chakrabarty and Nolini-da used to play football.

Benjamin's work in the Ashram was repairing umbrellas, making slippers, caps and shorts. His caps were nick- named after him 'Benjamin cap'. We had a team of football players whose president was Benjamin.

I remember going to him to get a pair of shorts made. He used to jab at my belly and ask: "When you eat does your belly expand or remain as it is?"

Measurements depended on your answer to this question.

In those days, unlike now, everyone did not have his own Cycle. There were a few in Benjamin's charge. Whenever a cycle was needed for some work one took a chit from Mother. When the work was over the cycle was returned to Benjamin.

Benjamin was a most temperamental chap. If he liked someone he chose a good cycle for him. He used to give me the very best. And if he disliked anyone then he would tear up the chit, even though it was from Mother, saying: "No, you can't have a cycle, go away."

Even old age did not improve his short temper. He could get into a quarrel with almost anyone. One day Sudhir-da came and told me: "Just look! While marching in the evening I broke my finger trying to punch Benjamin."

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One day Benjamin started a quarrel during a game of tennis. Raju, who was their captain, went up and told Benjamin: "You must listen to me, I'm your ..." Instead of saying 'captain' his tongue faltered and he said: "You must listen to me, I'm your 'husband'!" Everyone burst into loud laughter. From then on Benjamin began to be called "Mrs. Raju."

Once Benjamin had an inspiration: he would learn Bengali. Naughty boys began to teach him chosen Bengali expletives. The simple-minded Benjamin would go round proudly showing off his Bengali: "I'm a dog!" or "I'm a monkey!" "I'm a rascal, a good-for-nothing!" or "I'm a louse!"

Every morning he would be seen cycling by the sea- shore. He used to show off various kinds of riding tricks without holding the handlebar. Even when he grew old he used to try all sorts of tricks on his cycle and suffered many a tumble as a result.

In his old age his reason was a little impaired and his health declined. So his brother and sister-in-law wanted to take him to their place. But Benjamin would not go saying: "I've lived in the Ashram. I shall die here and go nowhere else."

Finally he did die in the Ashram as he had wanted.

(65)

Another sadhak with a quirk was Ardhendu-da. What an extraordinary man! He started life as a chemist with Bengal Immunity. And although a scientist he was well-versed in classical music. It is he who taught me to read musical notations when I started learning instrumental music.

Ardhendu-da had a passion for cats. In his house he kept thirty to forty cats of various types and various colours. One could call Ardhendu-da a synthesis of laboratory, music and cats. He spent all his time catering to

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his cats' needs. He himself ate only Dining-Room food, all purely vegetarian, but for his cats he would go to the market with a bag in hand to buy fish. Ravindra had nicknamed him 'Cat Monsieur'.

One day Mother told Ardhendu-da: "It would be so much better if all the time you spend on cats was spent on contemplating God."

Ardhendu-da replied: "But Mother, until contemplation of God enters my mind what am I to do?"

After his death when some of his diaries were found it was discovered they were filled with prayers like "Mother, my black cat is ill. Please take care of him." Or "Mother my white kitten is not eating well. I am worried about her." Or "Mother, my brown puss is often chased by dogs. Please protect her." Page after page Mother had been beset with implorations of this kind.

(66)

Every one has probably heard of Dara. He came from an aristocratic Muslim family of Hyderabad. Sri Aurobindo has said about him that in his previous life he was the son of Emperor Shahjehan named Darashikoh and that is why he was named Dara.

Dara was a dreamy type. He was also very fond of food. Sitting for much of the time on an upper story window he would call out all the wandering hawkers. The money was lowered in a bag tied to the end of a rope, the hawker would take the money and fill the bag with food. Dara would then pull up the bag and enjoy the food with great relish.

Once Purani-ji came to his house and found him with a couple of mosquito coils on his hands, two more between his toes and the fifth between his teeth while he was reclining in an easy-chair. What was going on? Well, there were just far too many mosquitoes! And so to save

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himself from being bitten he had lighted all those coils on his hands and feet and teeth and was now sitting in undisturbed Ananda.

He had a brother, a graduate from Oxford, who stayed for a long time in the Ashram. Mother named him 'Prashant'. He used to wash bananas in the Dining-Room.

Once Vishwajit asked him: "You're a graduate from Oxford washing bananas in the Dining-Room, why don't you teach at the Ashram school?"

He said: "Well, it's far better work washing bananas than teaching."

One day it was raining lightly. Prashant entered the Ashram his head covered with a folded English newspaper. Someone remarked: "You've not only folded the paper but made it wet as well. How will you read it now?"

. He said: "I don't read newspapers! What Churchill said today or where a certain leader went or what he did doesn't interest me. Who has time to read all this rubbish?"

"Then why do you buy newspapers?" he was asked.

He said: "Well, because then the hawker gets some money. Anyway I sell them away later by weight. And then with that money I buy myself 'mixture'."

Once the idea got into his head that he would go home to Hyderabad not by train but on foot. And he did it! He followed the railway track all along and munching ground- nuts all the way he reached Hyderabad in a few days.

Dara was good at doggerels. Once he had no more tea left so he sent Mother a chit:

O Mother Divine Almighty

I have come to the end of my tea!

I recall another couplet:

Mother, Mother, do not fear

I am here on the pier.

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(67)

Now let me tell you about Kiran-da.

Just as Manibhai had a passion for dogs and Ardhendu-da for cats, Kiran-da had a passion for cows. Cows were his very life. He came to the Ashram in 1939- 40 from Chittagong. Since his school days he had been eager to come to Sri Aurobindo Ashram and began saving money in order to come here. Regularly he wrote to the Ashram praying for permission to come. But permission never came.

He appeared for the Matriculation Examination but could not get through even there. What was he to do? Unable to get permission to come to the Ashram and unable to pass his exam as well, he decided to stay at home and live only on milk. So he bought a cow with the money he had collected.

People asked him: "Why have you bought a cow?"

He said: "Why, I'll look after it and drink its milk."

And so began his love for cows.

Eventually, however, he arrived in the Ashram. He was capable of very hard work. He built the Paper Factory working day and night. Even after everyone had left, after a day's hard work he would continue to arrange and count the bricks that were needed for the following day's work.

His love for trees and plants was as strong as his love for cows. He felt hurt if even a single leaf was plucked.

The long boundary-wall of the Paper Factory was also built by him. While it was being raised a coconut tree came in the way which had to be cut. But he would not allow it nor was he willing to shift the wall. So he and a European friend of his tied the coconut tree with a rope and made it lean on one side and the wall was built straight along while the tree was kept leaning.

At times he could be quite irrational too. Once he left the Ashram after a quarrel and went to live with a gentleman

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from Noakhali in Madras.

This gentleman had a very successful business of different goods. His family looked after Kiran-da well. He took up some work there and occasionally visited the Ashram. He looked hale and hearty, dressed well and even sported sunglasses.

One day Kiran-da was struck by another brainwave: he left the family he was living with in Madras and decided to settle down in Chinglepet. Here he faced a lot of hardship and could hardly make both ends meet.

Then once again he bought a cow and by selling its milk he somehow pulled through, scraping together just enough to eat.

It was in such a state that he came back to the Ashram.

I told him: "Kiran-da, let me tell Mother and arrange for your stay in the Ashram. Why don't you come away here?"

And so he did. He began working in the Corner House.

He bought eight or ten cows near Matrikunj about 10 kms away and began to live there. During the day while working in the Corner House he would shoot off about four or five times a day either on foot or on cycle to see his cows. Often he had barely returned that he would start feeling restless again thinking of his cows.

He collected all the vegetable peelings from the Dining-Room, all the leaves and grass he could find and took these bundles of feed for his cows. One evening he was cycling back with a large bundle. On the way he parked his cycle outside the Sports Ground and went in to talk to someone. As he was coming out he saw a strong and well-built fellow sneaking away with his bundle from the cycle, hoping to find some valuable things in it.

Kiran-da began chasing him and shouting: "Hey! what are you doing, look there's nothing valuable in that bundle, it's fodder for the cows, that's all. Stop!"

When he finally managed to catch up with the man it

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was already dark and quite deserted around. The thief opened the bundle and saw that indeed it contained only some vegetable peelings, leaves and grass. He was terribly disappointed and began beating up Kiran-da angrily.

Kiran-da returned home limping. He would always tell me: "You know, Pranab, I may starve but I must feed my cows."

I would ask him in jest: "Kiran-da how many cows' food can you eat?"

In fact, even though he worked so hard and spent quite some money to rear his cows he got nothing from it. Whatever he earned he spent on the cows. I have heard it said that he even gave milk to his cows.

Kiran-da's obsession with cows was perhaps known even to the thieves of Pondicherry. One evening a few chaps came to him and said: "You want to buy a nice cow? Come with the money, we'll show you the cow."

He asked: "A good cow? Really?" Nothing could stop Kiran-da now. But luckily he went out with them just with five rupees.

After going some way the men took him to a secluded dark place, surrounded him and threatened: "Now come! Out with the money!"

"But where's the cow?" Kiran-da asked perplexed.

There was no cow. They pommeled him in order to ' get the money out. Out of despair he brought out the five rupees from his pocket.

"Where's the rest?" they roared.

"That's all I have," Kiran-da meekly replied.

The men were now fuming. When they found out that in fact he had no more money he was punched mercilessly on his face. He lost all his teeth from the battering he got but managed to save himself and come back home.

Then there was a brief lull.

All on a sudden he had the impulse to learn to play the sitar. He had learnt something of it in his earlier days.

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After the day's work, quite late at night, he would sit down with his sitar and strum on till daybreak.

An American - a swimming-coach for our youngsters — lived next door. One day he came to me and said: "Dada, please save me. I just can't sleep anymore thanks to Kiran-da's sitar-practice!"

I called Kiran-da and told him: "Kiran-da, I think you should go to bed early, soon after dinner, and then before daybreak go to the Sports Ground with your sitar and play there to your heart's content. I'm sure you'll enjoy that."

He took my advice. He went to bed early after his meal, woke up before daybreak and trundled off to the Sports Ground with his sitar and began to play there with his habitual zest.

One day he came to me and said: "Pranab, you were right. I can hardly describe to you the joy I get playing the sitar in the Sports Ground before dawn. I'm so overjoyed that I even trot out four or five times round the track!"

That year an Anti-Merger riot took place in Pondicherry. During those days one of Kiran-da's cows was stolen. He discovered later that a butcher had done away with the cow. However, he did manage to save its skin.

Kiran-da used to send his cow-fodder on a hired rickshaw everyday. The rickshaw-pullers used to smuggle liquor by hiding it in the fodder. Kiran-da did not know anything about it.

One day the police stopped the rickshaw. Poor Kiran-da got into trouble with the police.

Then I said: "Kiran-da, you either give up your cows or you give up the Corner House work."

Kiran-da did not give up his cows. He gave up the Corner House work.

After cows he turned to rearing goats. He was so keen on it that once he went as far as Haryana to buy them. And he returned from the expedition with goats.

He had another hobby besides cows and goats and

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that was doing research on algae and weeds in tanks. One day he came to me and said: "You know Pranab, people think I'm a mad scientist."

I said: "No, no, how dare anyone call you mad?"

Kiran-da zealously believed that good people never get married. One day sitting at the Ashram gate Prabhakar-da was talking to him about his father, how his father used to help many poor boys in their studies, how he was always ready to assist them in difficulty. Raptly Kiran-da listened to him thinking what a wonderful man Prabhakar-da's father had been. Then out popped the crucial question: "Tell me, was your father ever married?"

(68)

There lived in the Ashram a very old sadhak named Kanai-da. His work was to make panjabis (an Indian shirt) and underwear. For the latter he had only two standard sizes, one to fit Gautam and another to fit me. Whenever anyone came for an underwear he would ask: "Whose size should I follow, Gautam's or Pranab's?"

Once a young boy came to me for doing exercises. I sent him with a chit to Kanai-da. That same afternoon I met Kanai-da in the street. He told me: "That boy you sent, Pranab, he came to me for his underwear. And as it is with you that he is going to do his exercises I've made him one to your size!"

(69)

Let me tell you something about Madanlal-ji. He came from Rajasthan. A quiet sort of person, he was then in charge of the Dining Room. He was quite keen on physical exercises and did a good deal of exercises over

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a long period. He would say that as in his early life he had done nothing for his body, he was trying to make up for lost time.

During a certain period in the Ashram a lot of things were often being stolen in a perplexing manner. From locked rooms clothes would disappear from the hangers. No one quite understood how such thefts were taking place, so baffling they appeared.

One day Madanlal-ji was lying in his bed in the afternoon with his door bolted. As he rolled over to one side he saw a long bamboo pole entering the room through the window, the pole slowly lengthened, picked up one shirt, then another after which it returned towards the window and soon both the shirts and the bamboo pole disappeared.

Madanlal-ji observed the entire operation wonder-struck and said to himself: "So this is how things are disappearing." And then he turned over to continue his nap!

(70)

Bhavani Prasad had been a priest in a temple before coming here from North India. He was handsome and healthy and good at fast-walking. His was given work in our bakery. In our annual competition organised by the Department of Physical Education, standards were set for three types of events - runs, jumps and throws. If anyone achieved these standards, he would get a pair of sports shoes as prize for his achievement.

Bhavani Prasad used to participate in the hammer- throw event. Every time he hurled the hammer he would end his effort by shouting 'Jooti' (shoes). After the throw he would rush forward to see if he had reached the prize-winning mark!

The year when the anti-Hindi agitation goondas came

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to attack the Ashram, the Ashram boys came forward and challenged them. Bhavani Prasad who was at that time working in the bakery picked up a long stick in a very composed manner and went out to meet the threat. He wielded the stick very well and drove the goondas away. He then came back, washed his hands and resumed his work with the same calm, as though nothing had hap- pened and he had merely driven a stray cow away from the garden. While putting the stick back he said: Yeh log lathi pakadna to jante nahin, ladai karne aye hain!("These fellows can't even hold a stick and they have the cheek to fight!")

At the very end of the competitions there were some Novelty Races where often the items were rather funny. Mother enjoyed them very much.

One of the items was pillow-fighting. At either end of a log, seven or eight inches in diameter, two supports were fixed. Over this the two competitors sat facing each other, carrying two long cotton pillows in their hands. They had to strike at each other using the pillows and whoever managed to throw off the oponent was considered the winner.

Bhavani Prasad joined this Novelty event and got Udar's sister Millie as his opponent. Both of them got ready with their pillows. Now Bhavani Prasad being a puritanical brahmin from North India could not even dream of touching a woman! But he would neither let Millie win without a fight. So he began to twirl the pillow over Millie's head, but never once touched her. Whereas his opponent kept pounding him. Millie was quite plump so while swinging her pillow she lost balance and tumbled down. There was laughter all around and Bhavani Prasad was declared the winner without having hit Millie a single blow. In this way he shot two birds with a single stone!

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(71)

There used to be a Bengali sadhu in the Ashram whose name now slips my mind. We used to call him Sadhu-ji He worked in the Dining Room. When Dilip-da sang he accompanied him on the manjira (symbols). He had beer in the Army during the First World War. He would often say: "Bangalira lucky jat." (The Bengalis are a lucky people.)

"Why do you say that, Sadhji?" he was often asked

"Well, then let me tell you," he would reply, "you know I was enlisted in the Bengal Regiment in the War The War was on in the Middle East then. We attacked the Germans and they fled from their camp. Two of our regiments - the Bengal and the Gorkha Regiments - occupied the German camp. As the camp was too small for both the regiments the problem arose whom to assign the camp. Both the Bengal and the Gorkha Regiments were keen on staying there.

"Ultimately it was left to the two Commanders and they reasoned, 'Since the Gorkha Regiment had permanent soldiers they should stay in the camp and the Bengal Regiment could stay under the trees a little further away.'

"There was nothing we could do! We stayed under the trees a little further away while the Gorkhas stayed comfortably in the camp.

"However, in the continuous German shelling that followed the camp was totally destroyed. The Gorkhas were all killed whereas we Bengalis living out in the open were miraculously saved. That's why I say the Bengalis are a lucky people.

"I know of another similar story.

"A Bengali sadhu set off on a pilgrimage along the river Narmada. He walked all alone through dense forest and lodged at night in any temple he found on the way, In his bag he had a little sago and some sugar-candy. If

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he got any alms from the villagers, it was fine, otherwise he had to rely on his sago and sugar-candy.

"It has been observed among some fierce clans or sects of sadhus that they often raid one another.

"One night this Bengali sadhu found refuge in a Shiva temple in a forest on the bank of Narmada. He settled down comfortably in a corner after tidying up the place. He lit a fire and sat on his blanket. It was winter-time and the night was very cold. He brought out a palm-leaf manuscript from his bag and started reading it.

"Late at night about six or seven powerfully-built, fierce sadhus entered the temple. They were wearing gar- lands of bones, carried tridents tucked in their waistbands and daggers and staffs in their hands. They rushed in shouting 'Hara, Hara, Thikarji!' They were a sect of Kapaliks that belonged to the Rudra-Bhairav group, addicted to liquor and who lived on what they got from their raids. The first thing they did was search the bag of the Bengali sadhu but they found nothing except a little sago and a few lumps of sugar-candy. Then angrily they said: 'Now come on, Pandit! Get out of here!' and sat down on the sadhu's blanket close to the fire.

"Sensing danger the sadhu went out of the temple in the cold dark night and sat shivering beneath a tree.

"Suddenly a storm broke out. The sadhu found a hollow in the tree and sheltered himself inside even as he kept muttering the name of his beloved Lord.

"The Kapaliks inside the temple went on drinking and making a lot of noise, shouting from time to time: 'Hara, Hara, Thikarji.'

"Rain and thunder were raging outside. Just then a thunder-bolt struck the temple and one side of a wall collapsed onto the Kapaliks and they were all crushed to death.

"Fate had pushed the Bengali sadhu out of the temple and saved him. That's why I say: 'Bangalira lucky jat.' "

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(72)

Do you remember Haradhan-da in the Ashram? Before coming here he lived in Chandernagore. He too had participated in the First World War. On his return from the War he wrote a book called A New Strategy for Combat.

Prior to that he had lived in the Sunderbans. He die not know what fear was: tigers, snakes or rhinoceroses did not frighten him.

Early in the morning he used to go to the fields for his ablutions, carrying a jug of water in one hand and a hookah in the other. One day, just as he was sitting down a huge cobra reared up in front with the hood outspread Haradhan-da dropped the jug and quickly caught the snake's head with his left hand and held it very firmly The snake wound round his arm hissing fiercely but could not do any harm. Holding the snake with his left hand and his hookah with the other he came back to his house. While he went on smoking his hookah, the cobra, unable to bear his tight hold, died!

Haradhan-da was said to have been a very strong man

At a certain time in his life he came away to the Ashram. When I first saw him he had a powerful body He applied a red sandal mark on his forehead and wore a white shining sacred thread. A white dhoti and a chaddar round his torso and wooden sandals that made quite a noise as he walked. He inspired respect in all who saw him. I have heard that in ancient times when Mother was the queen of Egypt, Haradhan-da was a priest in a famous temple there.

In any case, when Mother gave Pranam he used td stand in the courtyard and try and organise things and people. Haradhan-da used to stay in the Meditation Hall where the mats used to be stacked. We could hear Mother call: "Haradhan, Haradhan," as she came down the stairs,

Later on Haradhan-da became mentally a little

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