Sri Aurobindo as I knew Him

More Recollections

Part I

My father, Ishan Chandra Chakravarti, was a Government servant and worked as a Bench Clerk at the office of the District Magistrate in Rungpore (now in Bangladesh). In the year 1905 there was a political conflict and struggle between the students of Rungpore District High School and the local Government officials. Due to the strong resentment among the students the Jatiya Vidyalaya (National School) was established. At that time myself, my two elder brothers, a cousin and another relative were students of Rungpore District High School. Father called all of us and asked, “Where do you want to study?” In high spirits all of us answered, “At Jatiya Vidyalaya.” Father said, “All right.” Mr. Emerson, the then District Magistrate of Rungpore, pressurised father to keep us in the District High School. Father replied, “They want to study at Jatiya Vidyalaya and I cannot go against their will.” Because of this independent attitude he lost his next promotion in service, as he had on two previous occasions. But somehow he could manage to hold on to his job.

One of my cousins, Sudhir Chandra Talukdar, studied at Rungpore High School. He stayed at our house under the care of father. We used to treat him like our elder brother. He passed matriculation examination in the year 1901 and went to Calcutta for further studies and joined Bangabashi College. Once he came to our house on vacation. We were surprised to see that he and father were always discussing something which seemed to be very serious. Another development on his part was that he procured a gun from somebody and used to go to K. D. Canal with all of us, to practise shooting of birds. (This canal was named in the memory of Sri Aurobindo’s father, Shri K. D. Ghose, who constructed it to eradicate malaria, when he was the Civil Surgeon in Rungpore.) It seems by then our cousin had been initiated by the revolutionaries at Calcutta and father knew about it.

After a few months father once asked us, “I will purchase a gun. Will you be able to take care of it?” Enthusiastically all of us answered, “Yes! we will.” Soon he applied for a license and bought a gun. There was no apparent reason for purchasing it for he never went out to shoot birds. Possibly he wanted to use this gun for a specific purpose. It seems he was aware by then of the plan to oust the British through armed revolution.

Anyway at the beginning of the National Movement Barindra Kumar came to Rungpore along with a few of his companions and met father. Most of the time they spoke in English. Possibly Naren Gossain (who was subsequently killed by Kanailal and Satyen Basu for betrayal in the Alipore Bomb Case) had also come.

At the beginning of the year 1908 some remarkable events took place:

Instead of killing Kingsford, Magistrate of Muzaffarpur, Mrs. and Miss Kennedy were killed by the revolutionaries.

Just before being caught, Prafulla Chaki killed himself with his own revolver.

The police discovered the place where bombs were manufactured at Muraripukur in Calcutta.

Barindra Kumar and all his associates were caught.

Sri Aurobindo too was arrested.

At Alipore Court Naren Gossain confessed and disclosed everything. Probably due to his confession our house too was searched by the police for the second time when father was arrested. Two other persons from our town were also arrested. All of them were charged with waging war against the Government and as accessories in political dacoities. Father was arrested on a Saturday so that he could not be released on bail on Sunday, it being a holiday. In anticipation of the raid father had made arrangements to hide his unlicensed rifle and a sword that he had. Anyway he was released and I still remember his bright face when he came back from the prison. Never had I seen such brightness on his face. He talked with great enthusiasm and joy for about an hour with all those who came to see him. Since Naren Gossain had been killed the case against father could not move further and the Government withdrew it. But father lost his job.

When Mahatma Gandhi came into the picture of national politics and launched a non-violent movement, my father being ascetic by nature, joined it and was imprisoned several times. Till his death, he remained the president of our District Congress Committee. He was nearly 70 when he left his body on April 15, 1932.

My elder brother Prafulla Chakravarti was born on a Saturday in the Bengali year 1296. He and Prafulla Chaki, my classmate at Jatiya Vidyalaya, were amongst the first batch of revolutionaries initiated by Barindra Kumar Ghose in the year 1905. Both of them sacrificed their lives for the cause of the Motherland. Prafulla Chakravarti died accidentally in a bomb blast and Prafulla Chaki shot himself with his own revolver.

Prafulla Chakravarti was a brilliant student and stood first in the examination every year. In 1905 when the Jatiya Vidyalaya was established, Prafulla joined it and passed matriculation in the year 1907 and stood first. During this period of 1905 to 1907 there was an essay competition conducted by the Rungpore Sahitya Parishad. Prafulla sent an essay which was selected for the first prize. It was decided that the prizes for the first two winning entries would be awarded at a function in the Town Hall. The president of the function was our Pandit Jadaveshwar Tarakratna, who had a fondness for the British Government and whose only son was still a student at the Government School. On that day the Town Hall was packed with eminent citizens and students of the town. The president and other dignitaries of the Sahitya Parishad were seated on the dais. After the usual formalities of the function were over, Prafulla was called to receive his prize. It was thought that a shy boy, with his head bent low, would slowly come to the dais with uneven nervous steps and receive the prize from the president. Instead he stormed onto the dais and spoke in a loud voice facing the audience, “The person who speaks in the meeting such good words for the cause of the Motherland does not hesitate to send his son for studies to the Government School; therefore I refuse to receive the prize from him.” What a bombshell! Indeed a moral bombshell!

While Prafulla was studying at the Jatiya Vidyalaya, Satish Chandra Mukhopadhyaya, the founder of the Dawn Society came to Rungpore from Calcutta and conducted a meeting of the students of the Jatiya Vidyalaya. It seems Prafulla Chakravarti made his acquaintance and from then onwards he used to receive the magazine Dawn every month from Calcutta. Later in 1907, when he went to Calcutta after completing his matriculation, I used to receive the said magazine on his behalf. In Calcutta, Prafulla Chakravarti was initiated by Barindra Kumar Ghose. Our father knew it and consented to it.

I too went to Calcutta with my father’s consent. He gave me a ten rupee note and cautioned me in simple words, “Don’t try to do anything which seems to be too difficult for you.” Anyway, it was nothing strange for Prafulla to be initiated into the secret society preparing for armed rebellion. Even at Rungpore we had then a secret society. About 50 youths were members. Each had to sign a pledge of service to the Motherland with blood drawn from his chest. Prafulla was its member even before he left for Calcutta. However he came to Rungpore only once to distribute about 500 copies of a book which had originally been serialized in Jugantar, a weekly magazine of the revolutionaries. That was our last meeting.

No detailed information was available about Prafulla’s activities at Calcutta. When all the members of the Manicktolla Gardens were arrested including Sri Aurobindo, we assumed that Prafulla had absconded and dived underground. Gradually we began to receive information about his death in bits and pieces.

Part II

It was 2.30 a.m. of March 31, 1910. The whistle of the railway engine broke the silence of the night. The speed decreased, the train slowed, it slowed further, then one felt a jerk first backward, next as if a push forward and suddenly the train stopped. It was clear that it did not have a vacuum brake. I opened the door of the compartment and stepped onto the platform of the railway station at Pondicherry.

I am sure the readers are astonished and curious. They would think, Bengalis used to go to Bombay, Burma, Madras, even to Ceylon — but why to Pondicherry of all places? What is the reason?

To know the background, we have to go back to the month of February of the same year, 1910. It was about 8 o’clock in the evening. On the first floor room of a house, at No.4 Shyampukur Lane, near Shyam Bazar at Calcutta a few youths sat round a quiet young man. The young man was sitting on a cot, the only piece of furniture available in the room. A few of the youths also sat on the cot and the rest sat on the floor. The young man had a pencil in his hand and a paper in front. He was practising “automatic writing” and reading it out to the youths. They listened with rapt attention and often asked him questions, perhaps embarrassing the “spirits” called from other worlds.

The young man was none other than Sri Aurobindo Ghose and the youths were — Shri Birendra Nath Ghose, Shri Saurindra Nath Basu, Shri Bejoy Kumar Nag, Shri Hem Sen, Shri Nolini Kanta Gupta and this writer.

Apart from myself and Saurin, all the others were arrested in the famous Alipore Case. It is not necessary here to go into the details of the Case. At the beginning of the century, among those who dreamt of the independence of our Motherland, a few resorted to terrorism and consequently an underground group was formed at Calcutta. Gradually, the police came to know of the activities of this group and arrested most of the members of this group in the month of May 1908. The police recovered bombs, revolvers etc. from them. They were tried in the Alipore Court for a year and in the month of May 1909 some of them were released and others were sentenced. Barindra, Hemdas and Ullaskar were initially sentenced to death by hanging. On an appeal to the High Court, the sentence was reduced to life imprisonment and they were deported to the Andamans.

After his release from the Alipore Jail, Sri Aurobindo again devoted himself to the service of the country and began to contribute articles to the weekly magazines Karmayogin and Dharma — that were published and edited by him, the former in English and the latter in Bengali. Whatever he had written earlier in Bande Mataram was essentially political in content. But his writings in Karmayogin and Dharma took a new dimension. They went much deeper, and expressed as if the very soul of India, they expressed its very eternity. It is now evident that these writings were a preparation for the future activities he would undertake and the great mission assigned to him. Anyway, the office of the Karmayogin and Dharma was at the house I mentioned earlier, No.4 Shyampukur Lane. In one portion of the house were the office and the press for the magazine and in the other part, Biren, Nolini, Bejoy and myself lived. Hem Sen used to come occasionally to stay with us there. Saurin was staying at Serpentine Lane with his uncle, Bhupal Chandra Basu, who was Sri Aurobindo’s father-in-law. Here we had to prepare the food ourselves and it was vegetarian, not because of any ideal but because it is easy to cook. At that time, Sri Aurobindo was staying at College Square, at the house of Krishna Kumar Mitra, his maternal uncle who was the editor and owner of Sanjivani. Once I visited Sri Aurobindo at his house for a few seconds. I went there at about 9.30 a.m. to bring money from him for our daily expenses. He came out of a room wearing a shirt, dhoti and slippers. He gave me some money and just went back into the room without uttering a single word.

Sri Aurobindo used to come to the house at Shyampukur Lane daily, at about four or five in the afternoon, from College Square. Though we were not habituated to tea, there were arrangements for tea in the house. It used to be served to Sri Aurobindo daily with something, like luchi or aludam or halwa bought from a shop at Grey Street Junction. On reaching the house at Shyampukur Lane he used to spend a few hours working for the magazines, then in discussions with us and then would come the session of automatic writing. During this period he was learning the Tamil language at his house from a South Indian gentleman. Sri Aurobindo used to go back from this house to College Square at about 9-9.30 in the evening by tram car, or, if it was too late by horse-drawn carriage.

On that evening in February 1910, Sri Aurobindo was practising automatic writing in the house at Shyampukur Lane and his young companions were listening to his reading of the contents of the automatic writing. Rambabu entered the room. His name was Ramchandra Majumdar, a man below 30 and a resident of a nearby lane. He was on the staff of the magazines Karmayogin and Dharma. Rambabu anxiously informed Sri Aurobindo that a warrant for his arrest had been issued again. The information was given to him by a high ranking police official and there was no reason to disbelieve him. It was not unexpected either. In fact, a rumour was afloat that the Government would arrest Sri Aurobindo again. An uneasy silence filled the room. Everybody anxiously waited without uttering a single word. Within a few seconds, Sri Aurobindo said, “I will go to Chandernagore.” Rambabu asked, “Now?” Sri Aurobindo replied, “Now, at this very moment.” (The words used in the conversation are not exact, I just want to convey the mood, the way they were speaking.)

Sri Aurobindo stood up and came out of the house with Rambabu. Then Biren followed them keeping a distance of a few metres and I followed Biren keeping a little more distance. We formed a silent procession of four persons, its members apparently disconnected in the physical world but certainly connected by a subtle link. It had been noticed that whenever Sri Aurobindo visited this house, spies watched the house from the road. Very recently we had had to shift from the roadside first-floor room to an inside room where Sri Aurobindo practised automatic writing. But that evening, there was nobody nearby. After walking for 15 to 20 minutes through dark lanes and by-lanes in order to avoid the attention of the police, we reached the banks of the Ganges and a boat was hired. Rambabu then bade us goodbye. The boatman sailed down the river all through the night, and very early in the morning, before the day had really broken, Sri Aurobindo, Biren and myself reached Chandernagore. From the boat Sri Aurobindo sent Biren to Charuchandra Roy, a respectable citizen of Chandernagore. He refused to provide any help, possibly out of fear, and instead he asked Sri Aurobindo to go to France. In the meanwhile Shri Motilal Roy, upon hearing the news of Sri Aurobindo’s arrival, welcomed him and provided shelter to Sri Aurobindo in his own house. Biren and I then returned to Calcutta by the same boat and reached there in the evening. Within the next three or four days all of us left the house at Shyampukur Lane. Bejoy and I stayed in a house in Kashipur. Biren and Nolini left for Barisal (now in Bangladesh). We came back to Calcutta after 10 days. I took shelter in a boarding house meant for students, Bejoy somewhere else. In the meantime Biren and Nolini also came back to Calcutta and we — Saurin, Biren, Nolini, Bejoy and myself used to meet every evening at pre-arranged places.

While I was in the boarding house for about a month, one day I received a letter from Sri Aurobindo written on a very small piece of paper. It carried instructions for me to go to Pondicherry to make the necessary arrangements for Sri Aurobindo’s stay there. It also informed me that Sukumar (maternal cousin of Sri Aurobindo and son of Krishna Kumar Mitra) and Saurin would arrange everything for my journey to Pondicherry on March 28, 1910.

On that day I combed my hair, and put on new clothes which had been purchased for the occasion. In the afternoon I left the boarding house with three ten-rupee notes and a few coins kept in a new purse, and a letter of introduction from Sri Aurobindo to his acquaintance in Pondicherry. I reached Howrah Station to board the Madras Mail and found Saurin there with a small trunk waiting for me beside a second class compartment. He handed over the trunk and a second class train ticket to me.

A Bengali gentleman was also travelling in the same compartment. I have forgotten his name. He was an engineer and was going to his working place in Trichinopoly. He introduced himself and offered to share his food, brought from home. I accepted his offer and thus avoided going to the railway dining car or refreshment room with its knife-fork-napkin, salt cellar, cruet stand etc. to which I was not accustomed. During the course of our conversation he asked me, “Where are you going?” I replied, “Madras.” Naturally he asked, “What for?” I answered, “To learn tanning.” When the National Movement had just started, our leader at Rungpore had sent one of the students of Jatiya Vidyalaya to Madras for training in tanning, so that a tannery could be started. At that time I was happy with my clever answer, though now I realise that it was foolish. Had the gentleman enquired for details of the tanning course, I would have been caught. Anyway, he did not ask me anything about tanning.

The train was running at full speed towards Madras. As we neared Madras an intense anxiety seized me. Without much thought I had informed the gentleman that my destination was Madras. But I had to travel to Pondicherry on the same route by which he would go to Trichinopoly, a few miles away from Madras, in desperation I told him, “See, Paris is the capital of France. I have heard so many things about Paris. Paris is the most beautiful city amongst the capitals of the world. Since Pondicherry is also the capital of French India, there might be at least some similarities between Paris and Pondicherry. I want to go to Pondicherry first and then I will be back in Madras.” The gentleman was happy that we would be fellow travellers for some more distance. I was relieved of my anxiety and now the train journey became enjoyable. Everything — the sky, the world around seemed brighter to me.

Before reaching Madras, the train stopped at Basin Bridge Station and our tickets were collected. Passengers from Calcutta had been asked to notify their names, addresses, etc., as precautionary measures against the plague epidemic. It occurred to me that plague was just an excuse for the authorities to keep a list of Bengalis travelling South. Naturally my heart beat faster. We reached the Madras station at about 11 o’clock in the morning. Immediately a person approached us. It was difficult to assess his age. He might have been 40 years old or even 60. Also it was difficult to guess from which part of the country he hailed — whether he was from the north or the south or from the eastern part of the country. He was dressed very peculiarly. Certainly he was not a coolie because he did not try to carry our luggage. Yet he did not look like a tramp. Apparently he wanted to extend his services to us for some compensation. But we did not require any such assistance or service. We called a coolie to carry our luggage and came out of the station. The man followed us. We hired a horse-drawn carriage. The man also came along and silently sat down at the back of the carriage. We reached Egmore station. Our train would leave in the evening, therefore myself and the engineer took shelter in the waiting room. At about 5 o’clock we came out of the waiting room to purchase our tickets and found that the man was still there. He seemed to be more interested in me than in the engineer. Now straightaway he asked me, “Where will you go, sir?” I did not reply. When we stood at the counter to purchase the tickets, he came closer to us. He heard me asking for a ticket to Pondicherry and came even closer to look at the ticket and verify the truth. He seemed to be relieved to note that I was leaving Madras. The person was either impudent or had a sense of humour, for he asked me for bakshish as if he wanted to be rewarded for spying on me. I was not in a proper mood, otherwise I would have given him some money.

The engineer’s destination was Trichinopoly, therefore he reserved a berth for himself. My destination was Villipuram, only five hours journey and hence I was not allotted any reserved berth. I was just standing on the platform when a railway employee on duty came and advised me to try for the next train because there was not a single seat available in any of the second class compartments. But I wanted to leave the place immediately and answered anxiously, “Must leave by this train.” The railway employee smiled and said, “Must you? Well, let me see what I can do.” After a few minutes he came and allotted a seat to me. I was to get down at Villipuram to board another train for Pondicherry. The engineer came to me from his compartment and again invited me to share his food. I accepted it gladly and accompanied him to his compartment. I bade him goodbye at about 9 o’clock in the evening of March 30, 1910. We never met again. . . . I got down at Villipuram at about midnight and boarded the train for Pondicherry.

The whistle of the train shattered the silence of the night. The train became slow, then slower and finally jerked to a sudden halt. It reached Pondicherry at about 2.30 a.m. At last I stood on the platform of Pondicherry railway station.

A few persons approached me even at that hour with the intention to help me. One of them took charge of me and it was decided that I would spend the remaining hours of the night in the railway waiting room. Early in the morning he came and woke me up. A hired carriage was arranged for me. It was called pousse-pousse, a peculiar carriage drawn by two men, then found only in Pondicherry.

My destination was 10, Rue Valdaour, later renamed Rue Dupleix. On reaching No.10 Rue Valdaour, we found that the house was a press and nobody stayed there. On enquiry the local people guided us to a house in Rue Muthumari Amman Koil and I handed over the introductory letter from Sri Aurobindo to Srinivasachari, a Tamil Brahmin, about 30 years of age. Srinivasachari was then assisting Subramanya Bharati, the famous Tamil poet against whom a warrant had been issued by the Madras Government and who was harassed even by the local French Police at the instigation of the British. When I was taking rest in Srinivasachari’s house, Bharati came and we met. For some days my only work was to persuade Mr. Srinivasachari to rent a house for Sri Aurobindo. I found him somewhat indifferent in this regard. At last, on April 3, when I asked specifically about the arrangement for a house for Sri Aurobindo, he showed me a house which was situated in a narrow lane of a dirty locality. There was a printing press on the ground floor and a very small room on the first floor for Sri Aurobindo. Naturally I was perplexed and disappointed but did not say anything.

Next day was April 4, the day Sri Aurobindo was expected to reach Pondicherry. Perhaps Mr. Srinivasachari had enquired at the office of the shipping company and had found that the ship from Calcutta would arrive at about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Mr. Srinivasachari and I went to the jetty to receive Sri Aurobindo.

On April 4, at about 4 p.m. the ship “Dupleix” reached Pondicherry carrying, amongst others, Jatindra Nath Mitra and Bankim Chandra Basak. This Jatindra Nath Mitra was none other than Sri Aurobindo and Bankim Chandra Basak was Bejoy Nag. Since the sea at Pondicherry was not deep enough, all the ships had to stop about half a mile away from the jetty. A boat was arranged for the passengers at the jetty. Srinivasachari and I got into the boat and as it neared the ship we could see Sri Aurobindo and Bejoy standing on the deck looking at our boat perhaps with some anxiety as to whether I had reached Pondicherry and could meet the friends here. Anyway, soon we reached the ship and met Sri Aurobindo and Bejoy.

Initially Srinivasachari and the others wanted to hold a grand reception for Sri Aurobindo upon his arrival. When I came to know of the plan I persuaded them to drop it since Sri Aurobindo planned to stay incognito in Pondicherry. Somehow they agreed and dropped this plan for the reception. Anyway, from the jetty, Srinivasachari arranged a horse-drawn carriage for Sri Aurobindo and they left for the house arranged for him. I do not remember whether Bejoy also accompanied them or came with me. I followed with the trunks and the other luggage with the help of a Tamil gentleman who hired a pousse-pousse for the purpose.

The Tamil gentleman brought me to quite a decent house, not the one we had seen the other day. Upon reaching the house I discovered that the second floor of the house had been kept ready for Sri Aurobindo and he was sitting in an easy chair and Srinivasachari and a few others stood in front with reverence. The room was very clean and quiet. Remembering the dirty house we had seen the day before, I was astonished and puzzled. At that time this house was the only three-storied building in Pondicherry. The owner of the house was Shankar Chettiar. There were two rooms on the second floor. Bejoy and I lived in the house along with Sri Aurobindo for about six months. Saurin came to Pondicherry in the month of September and Nolini in November of the same year.

The riddle of why I was shown the wrong house was solved after about two years. In fact, I had forgotten to enquire about the reason. It seems that initially our Tamil friends were suspicious of me. They were not quite sure whether I had really come from Sri Aurobindo or whether I was a spy. Therefore they had planned to wait till April 4 and if Sri Aurobindo did not arrive it would be proved that I was a spy and they would teach me a good lesson. On that day I fathomed the true meaning of the proverb “Ignorance is bliss.” Had I known of their suspicion I would have spent four uneasy days and sleepless nights.

For the first six months at Pondicherry, we continued to live on the second floor of Shanker Chettiar’s house. During this period one Mr. Aiyar looked after our needs. He visited us daily, as if it was an official duty, from 8 a.m. to 11 a.m. and again from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. However, we did not trouble him financially even once.

Bejoy and I were in our teens. Usually at such an age, nobody cares for comfort and luxury. We observed that Sri Aurobindo’s daily needs and requirements were very simple, not at all complicated. It was as if the outer circumstances did not touch him, in fact even when circumstances put a great pressure on him they never touched him. He was always detached from and indifferent to all the matters of the physical world, they could never trouble him. I may cite a very small example. Mr. Chettiar had given us a small silver pot for our use. We used to serve tea to Sri Aurobindo in this pot, mornings and afternoons. To drink tea from a metallic pot is so inconvenient and difficult that anybody who has taken tea once from such a pot would refuse to do so the next time; yet Sri Aurobindo drank tea from this pot for six months, as if this had been his lifelong practice. I believe any other person in his place would have asked whether porcelain cups and saucers were not available in Pondicherry market, but no, Sri Aurobindo never enquired about any such thing. So many persons practise austerities either voluntarily or under compulsion. In most cases, there is some hidden pride or complacency, but Sri Aurobindo was above all these things, for him it was so simple as if nothing had happened.

There was a kitchen on the first floor of the Chettiar House. Bejoy and I would cook there. Actually Bejoy was the Chef de Cuisine and I was his assistant. We ate on banana leaves spread on the floor of the kitchen. They were bought from the market along with the vegetables. Sri Aurobindo used to eat first, then myself and Bejoy. Purchase of vegetables and other provisions, cleaning of the kitchen and our few utensils was done by a maid servant. For the entire six months certainly there was no change of menu:

1. Rice
2. Moong dal
3. Brinjal
4. White pumpkin
5. Milk

We used to make tea for Sri Aurobindo at about 6.30 in the morning. Then at about 11 a.m. Bejoy and I used to start cooking. There were few cooking utensils — one iron pot and two or three earthen pots. We used to cook rice first and then the moong dal with pieces of brinjal and at the end a hotch-potch of pumpkin. These were the items for our daily lunch. At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon we made another cup of tea for Sri Aurobindo and immediately after tea we cooked Payas with milk, rice and sugar.

For about three months Bejoy and I always remained indoors, then Sri Aurobindo permitted us to go out. At that time, once it so happened that we bought some eggs from the market to improve our daily menu. But then arose the problem of disposing the egg shells. The Chettiars were vegetarians and naturally non-vegetarian food was not allowed. Therefore we had to think of some way to dispose of those egg-shells. We discovered a pipe of about 4 inches diameter running along the wall from the second floor. Under the impression that the pipe joined some underground sewer we threw the empty egg-shells down this drain. Bejoy and I were relieved to find such an easy solution.

Either on the same day or the next, the moment I came down Mr. Chettiar caught hold of me and led me to a particular spot where those shells lay on the ground. I was shocked to see that the pipe ended one foot above the floor. I did not know French and Mr. Chettiar did not know English, therefore he asked me in Hindi, “What are these things?” Not that he did not know what those things were. He asked me in a tone which the reader can guess. I stood petrified and tried to keep my wits about. That day it was proved again that the dumb can have no enemy. Mr. Chettiar cautioned me in a soft voice, “Don’t do it again.”

While living in Mr. Chettiar’s house we ate eggs three or four times after this incident, certainly abiding by the instructions of Mr. Chettiar, “Don’t do it again.” We interpreted his caution to mean that we should not throw the egg-shells into the pipe. Whenever we went out of the house we carried out the empty shells in our pockets.

Then came the episode of the fish. Eggs are gentle and comparatively free of odour. If one cooks eggs, nobody next door would have an idea of what is being cooked. But cooking fish is another thing altogether. In that case Mr. Chettiar would not let me go with a “Don’t do it again.” Instead he would perhaps have said, “Mar dalega! [I will kill you!]”

Although our good friend Mr. Aiyar was a Tamil Brahmin and naturally a vegetarian, he agreed to allow me to cook fish at his house. So one day I purchased some fish and after frying them at Aiyar’s place, carefully wrapped them in paper and returned to our house. After a few days I did it again. On this occasion as soon as I entered the house I saw Mr. Chettiar sitting in his drawing room. Immediately I tried to move towards the staircase without looking anywhere, making a bee-line for it. But Mr. Chettiar hurriedly came out of his room and stood in front of me. Then pointing at the packet he asked me, “What is there?” I answered, “Some sweets.” I hope nobody will call me a liar. At best you can call it high diplomacy on my part. Anyway my chest started betraying me. I felt as if somebody was beating with a hammer on the left side of my chest. The next question from Mr. Chettiar, “From where did you buy them?” “From the market.” I was terribly afraid anticipating his next remark, “Show me.” I am sure that in such an eventuality nobody could have turned fishes into sweets. Suddenly, like a flash from the intuitive mind I spoke the next sentence, “For Babu [Sri Aurobindo] only.” And that was the end. I have heard that demons run away upon hearing the name of Rama. I do not mean that Mr. Chettiar was anything like that, but at once he allowed me to go upstairs and I reached our kitchen. In society so many make their living encashing the name of the Avatars, and I hope it was the only time we took fish using the name of Sri Aurobindo.