I Remember

deranged. He left the Ashram and after treatment for a while soon regained his balance. But he never really became fully normal. However he came back to the Ashram. He kept on looking after things in his own way in the Ashram. For example if he saw a mango leaf lying anywhere he would pick it up and put it in a fold of his dhoti near his waist. Whenever you saw him his dhoti was always stacked with mango leaves.

One day I asked him: "Haradhan-da what do you do with all this heap of mango leaves?"

Smiling he said: "You know Pranab how fond I am of mango leaves."

"But what do you do with so many leaves?" I asked.

"Why," he said: "I decorate my room with them."

After his return to the Ashram he used to stay in a room downstairs just below the present Archives.

Besides collecting mango leaves he had another quirk, a most peculiar one really. While walking on the road if he spotted a chameleon, he would snap it up and quickly put it in a fold of his dhoti.

I could not muster enough courage to ask him what he did with the chameleons.

He was a voracious eater as he worked very hard. He used to take two big bowls of rice and over a dozen slices of bread and eat them all.

When someone died in the Ashram, it was his responsibility to make all the arrangements for the cremation. The day he had to do this, he got up at three in the morning and ate his fill, saying: "Today I won't find the time to eat well."

Haradhan-da had a very old whistle. Daily exactly at eight in the evening he would blow on it. Why? He only knew. He would blow his whistle religiously all thirty days of a month. Although he was slightly off his head he was a very jovial and fun-loving man. Let me tell you another story of his.

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One day a Bengali visitor asked Haradhan-da: "Well, Dada, could you tell me the exact number of sadhaks here who know the Brahman?"

Hearing the question Haradhan-da requested him to come near as if he was going to reveal a huge secret. He whispered into his ear: "You really want to know how many God-realised sadhaks are here? I wonder if I should tell you?"

"Yes, please do," the chap pleaded eagerly.

"But you must promise not to tell anyone," Haradhan- da whispered.

"No, no, I promise," swore the visitor.

Then Haradhan-da leaned into the man's ear and said; "There are only two who know the Brahman here: one is you and the other is I!"

(73)

I was five years old then and living in our Berhampore house. One afternoon our mother dressed my brothers and me in fine clothes and shoes and socks and sent us out for a walk with a servant. I don't know what mischief entered into me, I escaped from the clutches of our servant and returned home. I don't know why but I wanted to play at catching fish. So I took out a length of thread from our mother's sewing box, wound one end of the thread round my finger and tied the other end to a bit of brick. I began going down the paved steps of our ghat. The month was Aswin (September), the annual Pooja was near. Like the house the ghat was empty too. After the rains the tank was full to the brim.

I went jumping down the steps. I threw the brick-end of the thread into the water and continued jumping from one step to the next unmindful that there was moss on them. And so naturally I slipped into the water. It pulled

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me away as I started drowning. And yet I did not get scared even though I kept bobbing in the water - as my feet touched the bottom I stamped hard and raised myself back to the surface.

With such continual ups and downs my mouth and nostrils were full of water, my head was throbbing and my ear drums felt they were going to split.

Later when I was a little more grown-up I was told that while one is drowning all the tales related to this accident come rushing into one's mind. This is very true.

Anyway, as I was drowning, I remembered the story my Burodidi had once told me about a prince who had a moon on his hand and a star on his forehead, he drowned and was carried away to an unknown country.

Although my hands and feet were becoming slack I felt my feet touching the bottom. That was my last effort, I gave a strong .push upwards and my head came above water; while still gulping water I gave a cry with all my might: "Maaaaaaa ... ."

My youngest aunt was combing her hair at the time on the terrace. She was startled to hear me call "Ma". She had however observed a while earlier that a head was bobbing in the water. She thought it was Kukré, our half-mad neighbour, who was bathing at this odd hour. So she just ignored it.

But when she heard and recognised my voice she called her elder sister and both came running to the bathing ghat, jumped into the water and swam up to me and caught an arm each and dragged me out of the water. I had by then lost my senses.

At their loud calls several other people turned up at the bathing ghat. Then I was held upside down by my feet and twirled round in order to get the water out of my stomach. I was given some hot water with salt to drink and as I vomited all the water came out. I was laid flat on the ground till I regained my senses.

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Then I was given some medicinal water; a Pooja to Mother Kali was performed at home, mantras for peace were chanted, etc.

Later when we came to Calcutta with our father, he told me: "If you don't wish to drown again then learn to swim."

And so this is how I became a member of the Bhowanipur Swimming Association at Padmapukur.

Much later when I had grown up and come away to the Ashram in Pondicherry, to our Mother, then my bio-logical mother told me one day: "When you were very young and were drowning you had called out 'Ma' aloud, it was not me that you were calling. The 'Ma' you were calling was Mother, it was this Mother who saved you and now you've found refuge in her."

(74)

And so I learnt to swim. And since then how much I have swum! In the Ganga, in the Padma. We swam for miles even in the heavy rains in the swift-flowing waters of the Ganga.

About two or three years before coming to the Ashram a group of four or five of us used to hire a boat to sail on the river Padma. We would shoot wild duck which the Muslim boatmen cooked with rice and we really relished the game. We slept in the boat and in the morning we did our ablutions on the strips of land risen from the river, then wandered around freely to our hearts' content. This sort of trip lasted two or three days.

Motakaka (Charupada, my father's younger brother), was a very good shot and was able to hit flying ducks. Once two geese were flying overhead and uncle brought one down that fell a little further away; in my enthusiasm I dived into the river, the boatmen set up a row shouting, but I swam to the goose and brought it back.

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Observing my swimming a boatman remarked: "I see, the young master's a very good swimmer."

Another boatman replied: "Why, these are college students, they can do everything!"

(75)

Let me recount now the story of that half-mad Kukré. He used to live very near to our house. They were a poor brahmin family and we regularly helped them out. They lived a miserable life, eking out their living with difficulty. They were four brothers and the eldest was called Kalachand. Except for him the rest of the brothers were a little eccentric. Of these Kukré was the most eccentric. In his childhood he behaved very much like an animal, he used to walk like a monkey, gaze like one and scratch himself exactly like a monkey too. He was not even remotely intelligent. He roamed the jungles and spent most of his time on trees.

In the evenings, after a lot of calling and cajoling his mother managed to bring him back into the house. The mother had a nasal voice. She used to call through her nose: "O Kukré, where are you? Come down from the tree."

One day Kukré's father died. His body was kept in the open yard.

His mother was crying.

Kukré suddenly came in from God knows where, calling out aloud to everyone: "Come, come and see, how father is lying there showing his teeth!" and he went on laughing.

Once Kukré stole a male calf from somewhere. His mother asked him in her nasal voice: "O, Kukré, what will you do with a calf?"

Kukré just giggled and said: "Hi, hi, there will be milk

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and I'll drink it." With a lot of difficulty he was saved from the hands of the police.

And one day this Kukré grew up. People succeeded in making him a peon at the Municipal Health Office after great persuasion.

And believe it or not, one day Kukré got married!

The entire locality was agog with curiosity at this marriage.

Kukré was on the way to his father-in-law's in a rickshaw. People lined up on both sides of the street and others watched from house-tops.

At the sight of so many people Kukré felt abashed and became very stiff in the rickshaw. But his wife aged a mere twelve or thirteen went on chewing a mouthful of betel and ogling at everybody with her protruding eyes.

It was a very funny sight indeed!

(76)

Since we are at amusing tales, let me like the poet Kalidas, "instigated with frivolity" (chapalya pronoditah), add a few more.

In Berhampore, there lived a family named Bagchi.They had lost their aristocratic life-style of former times J and were living a miserable life. People used to call them: "Phooto Bagchi" (Bagchi with a hole). As a pitcher with a hole cannot hold water so this family too with its false pride could not hold any dignity.

The boys of this Bagchi family would always show off as aristocrats and used to make fun of their friends in conversation.

Sitting in the verandah, talking with others, one of them would say: "Do you know, my elder brother is so strong that when he punches the wall with his fist his hand goes in by about this much." And he would indicate up to his elbow.

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On another occasion he would say: "You can't even dream about this but my maternal uncles are so very rich that their lavatory is paved with gold bricks!"

And then again another boy would say: "What a brain for business my uncle has! Listen, he left his house and his family without a penny in his pocket, none knew where he had gone. He returned two years later and can you imagine what he had with him, one mug, a blanket and a ten-rupee note."

One of the Bagchi-boys decided to come to the Ashram. He was travelling with a group of caterers on the Kundu Special. Unfortunately on the way one of the travelers caught small-pox so all of them were quarantined. He could not come to the Ashram. Another boy of this family became a devotee of Ma Anandamayi.

(77)

In my youth I was very keen on keeping dogs as pets. My father used to get me dogs of various breeds. How- ever, I am sorry to say that in spite of my taking great care they never managed to live long. Perhaps the change of climate from England to India was the reason. Those dogs were got by my father mostly from his British friends in the office.

One day, father came in with a beautiful cocker-spaniel for me. It was not a very big dog and was fully black, with such long ears that they reached the tip of his nose and nearly touched the ground. He was very playful and played a lot with me. I looked after him myself: feeding, bathing, brushing, taking him out for walks - I would do everything. His name was Blackie.

He remained quite healthy for some time. Then one day he suddenly fell ill. .

In spite of all that care his body was infested with

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ticks and his eyes always watered. Even after a lot of treatment he did not recover.

One day he was lying in the yard and breathing in such a way that we knew his days were numbered. My mother and brothers and I sat around him. He was gasping hard and all the ticks from his body crawled down to the ground. His breathing became more and more laboured.

I called out loudly to him "Blackie, Blackie." Gathering up all his strength even in that condition he raised his head and looked at me just one more time. Then his head dropped and he was dead.

I still remember that last look and everything it wanted to say - such amazing compassion and love flowed out from him!

(78)

While still very young I once suffered from tonsillitis. An operation was the only cure for it. But my mother's family believed in homeopathy. We were living then in Calcutta and there was a famous homeopath Dr. D. P. Saha on Asutosh Mukherjee Road. My father took me to him.

The doctor gave me medicines; he liked me so much that he told my father: "For treating your son I won't accept any fees."

I do not know why he was so pleased with me and advised my father: "Bring up your boy with much care. I see a bright possibility in him. See that he doesn't get into bad company. And take care that his surroundings are properly chosen, as is his education."

It is written in my horoscope that I would either be y great sadhu or a brigand.

So my father was constantly on the lookout for an ideal school for me.

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After looking round a great deal father finally found something. It was the Anandamayi School near Padmapukur on Prannath Pandit Street run by a true idealist and patriot, Sri Charuchandra Dutta. He had named the school after his mother. There were only thirty to forty students, five or six to a class.

The school started at 6:30 in the morning. The first half hour was spent on P. T., parade and prayer. Then the lessons would start. Classes were held from 7 to 9. After 9, students went for swimming. During the hot season we used to swim in the Padmapukur and for three months at the Bhowanipur Swimming Association enclosure. Then again from 11 to 1:30 there were classes followed by a 30-minute break for tiffin. After the light repast all the students met in an assembly where discussions were held on various topics. The students took part in the discussions. As a result students got to know about their own country as well as foreign lands and we were all full of curiosity. In the assembly I came to know about the famous Gama wrestler renowned all over the world who was sponsored by the Maharaja of Patiala. They said that Gama took five seers* of milk and ate eight chickens and other things besides. After the assembly we had classes again from 2 to 4 in the afternoon. After four we were Shepherded out to play football. After the game we would return home at 6 in the evening.

All our teachers were scholars and idealists too. Moreover, Sri Charu Chandra used to invite famous teachers from other schools to conduct classes. I remember Sri Haren Sarkar from St. Xavier's College who came to teach us English. Sri Tarapada Bhattacharya taught us Bengali and then there were Sri Amiya Pathak, Sri Dhiren, and others.

We washed our hands and face before eating and two towels were kept for each one of us, one for the hands

* Equivalent to 1 litre.

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and face, the other for our feet. We had to take off our shoes and socks and keep them at the allotted place with a number and a label.

Each class had a monitor who was called 'shir' or head. And there was a captain for the entire school. He was called the 'sirdar'. Besides these we had the garden supervisor, salesman, librarian etc. All these were selected through elections among students. I, too, once became a sirdar and a librarian.

During the tiffin-break, the boys served at the counters. In this way discipline and organisation were taught in practice. We looked after our library and were also responsible for selecting new books. Planting of saplings in the garden, gardening and even climbing trees were a part of the curriculum.

My mother, on hearing this remarked jokingly: "They teach you to climb trees at school, don't they teach you to steal as well?"

There was a sales counter at school where exercise books, pencils, erasers, scales, ink, blotting paper, all these were sold, we ourselves managed the sales counter whereas we were also the buyers. We kept the accounts too. Then for the Bengali year-end when there was Charak-pooja* at Padmapukur we ran a counter to sell refreshing drinks and from the sales money the students went on a holiday-excursion once a year.

We were often taken to different places; I remember once we were taken to the cemetry at Park Circus where we saw the poet Michael Madhusudan Dutta's cenotaph. At that time there was a huge gathering of people around it. Some of them came forward and spontaneously recounted to us some anecdotes from the poet's life. I was listening with rapt attention, when suddenly I fainted, probably because the midday sun was too strong over our

* Festival of Shiva

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heads. I was very young and as we had walked up to there I was feeling very hungry as well. All this perhaps added up and I fainted.

After dousing my head in water and fanning me, when I came to, the teacher accompanying us said: "Luckily you fell backwards when you fainted otherwise the spokes of the railings along the grave may have injured your eyes."

Once Sri Charu Dutta took us to a brick-kiln near Behala. It was a long trek and the return walk was too much for me. Being the youngest of the group I could hardly walk towards the end and so a rickshaw was hailed. The rickshaw-puller asked for a rupee for the trip but Sri Charu Dutta was willing to give only eight annas (half a rupee). To this the rickshaw-puller did not agree.

And so we went on walking. When we had come some way we found another rickshaw-puller who wanted eight annas. Sri Charu Dutta offered four annas but he did not agree. So once again we walked. When we had come quite some way we came across another rickshaw. This one wanted four annas but he was offered two and he refused. Once again we walked on and by then we had come very, very near to the school, so Sri Charu Dutta said: "What's the need of a rickshaw now, we've reached our school." He turned to me and said: "There! you see you managed it quite well, even though you thought you couldn't walk."

In this way he taught us to be hardy, patient and enduring. The foundations of my life were laid in those seven years as a schoolboy at the Anandamayi school.

After leaving this school I was admitted to the Jagatbandhu Institute in Ballygunje. So from seven to fourteen years of age I was at the Anandamayi school and then for two years at the Jagatbandhu. I passed my matriculation examination from this institute.

Also since then, I've taken to regular physical culture and my life changed as a result.

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(79)

Let me tell you an amusing story from my childhood. We were living then on Ekdalia Road in Ballygunje. I was thirteen or fourteen years old.

One day at noon, my mother saw a man in the street eating from a dustbin. She was greatly pained.

She asked her servant: "Go and call that man in. Set a banana leaf and let him have a good meal with whatever has been cooked for us."

The servant brought the man in. He was served rice, dal, fried fish and vegetable on a banana leaf and fed with real love and care.

He licked the leaf clean with great relish.

After the meal he remarked: "Your cooking wasn't quite up to the mark. The fried brinjals were not quite right, they were half fried. Since this is a house of brahmins I've eaten here otherwise I would never have."

And with these words he hurried out.

(80)

During my youth, while travelling from Calcutta by train, a caretaker used to accompany me.

When I got through my matriculation examination, people at home thought I was now ready to travel alone.

I was to travel to Calcutta by train. That was the first occasion when I was allowed to travel alone. I got into the train at eight in the morning. The previous night I had been invited for dinner to a zamindar's house. As we were approaching Calcutta, I suddenly felt a great twisting pain in the stomach and had to visit the lavatory time and again. A little later I began to vomit. Fever came on and the body started aching all over. I felt as if someone was pricking my whole body with needles. I was so exhausted

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that it seemed I was going to pass out. I was afraid of this happening. Then who knows where I would be taken or what would happen to me? So I made an effort not to lose my senses.

I had a blessing packet from Mother in my pocket. In our family we were all asked to always carry a blessing- packet. I took out mine and swallowed two petals from it.

And what a surprise! In a short while the pain in the stomach disappeared. The vomiting and running to the toilet stopped. But I still had fever. Soon the train pulled into Sealdah.

I came home from the station in a carriage to our Ballygunje residence. No sooner had I reached home than the fever intensified to 104 degrees. Everyone thought I had caught malaria in Berhampore.

Next day, however, I was quite fine.

(81)

Let me tell you of my forays into poetry.

I was then twelve or thirteen years old and on holiday. We were raising such a ruckus in the afternoon with a group of friends that the whole house was literally shaking. My father who was at home at the time tried to stop the pandemonium. He called all of us and said: "I have a competition for you with a prize. Each one of you has to write a funny poem. Whoever writes the best poem will get the prize."

Some time ago I had heard a truly funny story. A milkman used to sell milk from house to house. He had a cow that he used to tie in the yard of each house as he went there to sell milk. And still the milk was watery. People could not make out how this was possible. The milkman came with the cow, how then could water get

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into the milk? In actual fact the pot he carried with him already contained watered milk and he just poured out the "milk" from this pot. The cow was just an eyewash. One day he could not find a cow so he brought a bull instead and his trick was found out.

I wrote my poem based on this story. Father liked it very much and awarded me the prize. I used to get prizes from my father in two ways, first, when I did something too mischievous, father would give me a sound beating and later after he had calmed down he gave me all sorts of things. And two, if I did well in my studies I received presents too.

This poem of mine was published in the first issue of Bhai-Baun, a children's magazine. It was my first poem to be published. I still remember it and so here it is:

Ramdhan is his name, a milkman everyone knows,

With ass-like ears and a blob-like nose,

He dresses in shorts and with a pot he goes

From house to house, to friends and foes,

Tugging his cow along for fresh milk to all.

But is it milk or a "white waterfall"?

Friend and foe wonder, wonder one and all,

He comes with his cow and gives us a call

And yet the "milky water" does everyone gall!

One day Ramdhan the milkman was finally caught

Selling us this milk which seemed a lot.

Was Ramdhan distracted or was he a simple sot?

A bull was beside him and o'erbrimming milk in his pot

(82)

I have spoken about cats and dogs and cows in our Ashram. Now let me tell you about a donkey.

Sometime during 1945-46, Udar appeared with a

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young donkey from God knows where. On Christmas day he dressed it up nicely, placed a conical cap on its head and brought it to Mother.

In French a donkey is called 'Ie baudet'. Mother was happy to see it and named it 'Baudet' and asked that it be kept in the Ashram. And so Baudet became the Ashram donkey.

Now who was to look after it? Richard was a young boy then aged about thirteen or fourteen and had just arrived from England. Richard was put in charge of the donkey.

Richard was young and so was the donkey and both grew up together. Slowly Richard became very friendly with the whole community of donkeys. Once Richard got to know that a donkey had been found on the road bleeding profusely with its ear sliced off. No sooner had this news reached him than he dashed towards the donkey. He took it to the hospital and did not return until it was properly treated and dressed. That is how he began to be called 'Richard the Donkey-Hearted'.

July 14th is the French national day. In Pondicherry, the festivities start on the previous day. They used to also organise a donkey-race.

Richard appeared for the race with his donkey.

The rule for the race was that each rider must ride on his donkey and race till the finishing line.

Richard got ready on his donkey. It was a strong animal and if any other animal came near it would lunge to bite it. Another problem was that it would not respect the starting line. So it was decided that it would be placed behind all the other donkeys. Like that both the problems were solved in one shot.

The race started. Richard's donkey being very strong caught up with the rest. After taking the lead it would rush to bite whichever donkey tried to come in front.

Richard's donkey was running ahead of the others but

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a couple of yards before the finishing line it suddenly stopped and stayed put and no one could make it move.

At this impasse Richard got off its back and literally pushed it across the finishing line. And this is how he won the race.

In this context I remember an incident about Babloo. He was a sort of half-demented whimsical chap. He was studying in the Ashram school but one fine day he disappeared.

After quite a long time he wrote to me from Germany. He wrote how in spite of having no money he managed to reach Germany moving from one place to the next. There he got a good job in a steel plant. He said that he was quite happy. Then there was a long silence, no news came to me for quite some time. I do not know where or how he is.

This boy Babloo came one day limping to the Play-ground. Mother was distributing something at that time.

I asked him: "Babloo, what happened?"

"Oh, what can I tell you, Dada! I passed by a donkey on the road while coming. I felt like pulling its ears but as soon as I went near, it gave me such a kick that I can hardly walk now."

(83)

Everyone in the Playground knows Nirmal Poddar. Today he is grown up and portly. This Nirmal, when he was five years old would bite anyone he could get close to. When Mother was informed about this she said: "Get a good net ready. When he comes to the Playground tie his mouth up with this net and before he leaves for home take it off. With the net on his mouth he'll be able to breath but not bite anyone. Have two of these nets. When one gets wet from his drooling the second one can be tied."

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This was done and Nirmal was unable to bite anyone anymore. In a few days this habit disappeared altogether.

(84)

I heard this story from Purani-ji. Purani-ji was a friend of Dilip Kumar Roy. In those days we, young and old, used to wrestle together. After wrestling we would go to Vidyavrata's place and he gave us Mohan Bhog (an Indian sweet). While we were relishing this sweet, Purani-ji told us that when Dilip went to England he met Bernard Shaw. Dilip thought that his father D. L. Roy was the foremost poet of India, even greater than Rabindranath.

Dilip told Bernard Shaw that his father had unfortunately died very early otherwise he would have been an even greater poet than Rabindranath.

Bernard Shaw listened to him and kept silent for a while. Then Shaw said: "Let it be Dilip. You remember Darwin's theory, don't you? Let's not go back in time so much. For who knows where we might end?"

(85)

During the holidays, when we had some free time, a few of us used to go on motorbike-rides. All sorts of strange things happened on our trips, we met strange people and even got close to some of them. I can't help marvelling when I think of them.

Early one morning, Bharati and I set off for Mahabalipuram. We reached Madurantakam at about seven feeling rather hungry.

We got into a restaurant called Karpagam. A respectable-looking gentleman of about forty was sitting at a table not far from ours. Two other men sat with him.

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The gentleman called the waiter and said: "You see those two persons? Serve them well with piping-hot food."

We presumed he was the owner of the restaurant, After our sumptuous breakfast I asked for the bill.

I went up to the counter and asked: "Where's our bill?"

Our waiter appeared and said pointing to the gentle- man: "He has already paid your bill."

I was rather embarrassed and approaching the gentle- man asked: "Why did you pay our bill, we are..."

He just smiled and said: "Friendship."

Perhaps he did not know much English but he man- aged with just that one word to convey everything.

We thanked him profusely and as we came out we saw a big expensive car parked outside. Our generous host came out and got into it along with his two companions.

The car moved out. I asked some people who were standing there, "Could you tell me who this gentleman is?"

They were surprised: "Don't you know him? He is a very well-known rich man, very rich indeed. He lives in Madurai. He is a gifted guitarist. The other two friends are a violinist and a vocalist. They had all been to Madras for some shooting or audition."

I still remember his nice warm smile as he uttered "Friendship."

On another occasion we went to Pannamalai, aboul 40 to 42 miles from the Ashram. There is an ancient Pallava temple on the hill. We visited it and saw everything there. Savitri's sister Aditi was with me.

From Pannamalai we went to Gingee fort, about 25 miles from there.

On the way our motorbike had a puncture. This was rather annoying.

We had neither a spare tube nor the necessary tools What is more, I did not know how to repair a motorbike puncture. I was thinking about what to do when a chap

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walking on the road stopped and said: "There is a rice mill nearby. Go there, you might find a mechanic."

Pushing the bike we got to the rice mill. The owner of the rice mill was a Muslim gentleman. We told him of our problem.

He said: "I have a mechanic here working in the mill. Let me call him."

He called the mechanic and told him: "This gentleman has a problem. Stop the mill work and go and repair the motorbike."

The mechanic said; "There are no repairing facilities here, I would have to get it done in Gingee."

The mechanic removed the wheel and took me along to Gingee in a rickshaw. Aditi remained behind.

When we returned after repairing the puncture, I saw Aditi had in the meantime got together some young children of the area and was playing Hopscotch with them on the roadside.

We gave some money to the mechanic and went to thank the owner. Very courteously he made us sit and began to talk to us about various things. He had just returned from Mecca from the Haj pilgrimage. He showed me his five-year-old grandson and said: "You know, Sir, my grandson can't stand studies."

I recited a Hindi couplet I knew:

"Padhe tota padhe maina

Sher ka baccha kyon padhta hat?”

(The parrot studies and the Mynah studies,

Why does a tiger-cub study too?)

The old man was very pleased. Whether his grandson would study or not did not matter, but I had called him a tiger-cub and that made the old fellow very proud and happy.

He thanked me and escorted us part of the way to see us off.

On another occasion, we were on our way to Tiruvannamalai, Savitri was with me. With about twenty miles still

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to go the rear wheel had a puncture. This was trouble indeed. We stood on the roadside pondering what to do. Just then a car came along and stopped. The gentleman inside asked: "What's the matter?" After hearing about our trouble he said: "Take your things and come into the car."

Then he called a man on the road. We noticed that the man obeyed the gentleman and stood respectfully beside him. We thought the person must be a local respectable rich man. The gentleman gave him a chit and said: "You stay here and guard this motorbike. If anyone comes with a similar chit give him the motorbike but let no one else touch the bike."

He asked me then: "Where do you want to go?"

We said: "We were going to visit the Ashram of Ramana Maharshi."

The gentleman took us to a mechanic he knew and giving a, chit to him said: "Take your motorbike's rear wheel with you on a bus. Go to this place and you'll find this gentleman's bike on the side of the road. Fix your rear wheel onto it and go and get the punctured tube repaired. After it's repaired fix the wheel back and bring his bike to Ramana Ashram by three o'clock."

After making all these arrangements he called for a horse-drawn cart and settled the fare.

He then told us: "I have to go for some work or else I would have taken you to my house." And giving us visiting card he drove away.

We got to Ramana Ashram on this cart and after going round we began waiting expectantly. The mechanic had not arrived till then and as it was still a little before three o'clock, we started walking down the road hoping to meet him on the way.

We reached the garage and found him still working on it. However, soon the wheel was repaired.

After giving the mechanic a tip we rang up the gentleman's number. We were told that Mr. Murti, as he was

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called, had not yet arrived. He had gone to Satanur on some work.

We later came to know that Mr. Murti was an important rich businessman.

On our return I wrote a letter to thank him.

On another occasion, I was going with Gangaram to Tanjore. Just beyond Chidambaram our motorbike had a puncture. By then I had learnt how to repair a puncture. We also carried a spare tube. We got busy changing the tube. Anyone who passed by expressed some sympathy and continued his way.

Much later a young man came and began circling around us. Then while leaving he said: "Sir, be on your guard as there are thieves round here."

After he had left, Gangaram discovered that his wallet was missing. The chap must have been a very clever thief indeed, for not only did he pocket the wallet but civilly also warned us of possible theft. We felt sorry but also quite amused.

However, we got to Tanjore. There we visited the art gallery, Saraswati Mahal, the Brihadeshwar temple and many other things as well.

It was time to return. When we came to our motorbike we found the handle bar wobbly. The left side of the fork was broken. Now what could be done on a Sunday, with all the shops closed?

We were pondering over our problem while slowly driving the motorbike, when at the end of the town we found a garage. Luckily it was open.

A chap at the garage said: "I have no spare parts with me, and moreover it is Sunday, all the shops are closed. But I have a friend nearby, he may have some parts."

The man then closed his garage and took us with him to his friend. We arrived there and found that his friend had gone for his meal. He made us sit and wait while he went to fetch his friend.

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Let me tell you two more stories to show how much Mother enjoyed joking.

Pondicherry was still under the French Government.

A military bandmaster of the Government retired from his governmental job and joined the Ashram. He spoke only French and Tamil.

We were at that time considering setting up a band section of our own and we thought ourselves lucky to have him work for us.

One day he expressed his wish to meet Mother as he wanted to say something to her. I took him to Mother.

Our bandmaster said something to Mother in French, but his French was such that Mother could not understand a word of it. Then I told Mother in English what he wanted to tell her.

Mother then gave her reply in French, speaking very slowly.

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to enter the cage, wrestle with the beast and come out only after he had won.

Shyamakanto had built up a circus troupe in order to inspire the youth of the country to take up physical culture.

One day this remarkable man was sitting in front of his tent when a thin and weak-looking sadhu came and stood before him.

The sadhu said: "You're terribly strong, aren't you? You can fight wild tigers. Let me see if you can take me on in arm-wrestling."

Shyamakanto said nothing and merely stretched out his right palm towards him. Gently smiling the sadhu held Shyamakanto's strong hand and began twisting it.

Shyamakanto was astounded to see such strength in that frail-looking sadhu. He lost but challenged him again but once more the sadhu beat him easily.

The sadhu then said: "You're familiar with the strength you can acquire through physical exercise but see how much more can be acquired through spiritual tapasya!"

Shyamakanto was dumbfounded. He gave up all physical culture and became the sadhu's disciple, a sannyasi.

When Mother heard this story she exclaimed: "What a shame! If instead, Shyamakanto had combined both physical culture and spiritual tapasya how much better it would have been!"

So I asked Mother: "Mother, who can be truly called a strong man?"

Mother replied: "He who is not touched by anything is not necessarily a strong man, but he is really strong who can bear the most intense ananda and can endure the most intense pain: A strong man is he who can bear a maximum of pleasure and a maximum of pain."

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if one eats fish and meat the strength of the body increases is but partially true, but in truth they aren't so nutritive. I'll serve you vegetarian dishes that are equally nutritious and tasty."

A little later Manoranjan-da opened a restaurant-cum-guesthouse.

On the very first day, he sent to Mother some wellprepared non-vegetarian dishes.

Mother said: "I don't eat these, so you can eat them and tell me how well they're made."

I did and I admitted I liked them.

Mother asked: "Pranab, shall I get you a dish everyday?"

I said: "No Mother, since you don't like non-vegetarian food, I won't take it either."

Sometime later later the Soviet gymnasts came to the Ashram. Mother decided to feed them non-vegetarian food cooked in Mother's Kitchen. Mother said: "Pranab, just eat and tell me how it's been cooked."

Incidentally, let me tell you that at the beginning of our physical Education activities, all the group members used to have the same three vegetarian meals a day that the other Ashramites had. My old teacher of physical Culture in Calcutta came to the Ashram at that time. He saw and remarked that for growing children, this kind of food was not enough.

I reported it to Mother. She too said that she herself thought it insufficient for children; so from then on at 3:30 in the afternoon tiffin was arranged. After the group exercises, roasted groundnuts or coconut and jaggery were distributed. From that time I started feeling the need for a separate kitchen and dining room for the young.

The Corner House used to be previously a godown and office of .the Savanna Cloth Mill. Later a Marwari named Jaypuria bought the house from the mill and later the mill as well. After that, its name was changed to Swadeshi Cotton Mill.

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