I Remember

I Remember

PART I

Translated from the Bengali by Kalyan Chaudhuri

Walking with Mother on the beach - 1952

Pranab with Mother - 5.7.51

(1)

Sometimes Mother used to recount amusing stories. She told me one from the time when she was in Paris, in charge of a spiritual group called 'Le cosmique'. One day, she heard of a savant, a man of knowledge, who had arrived and was going to reveal God's Word.

So, along with a few friends, Mother decided to go and hear him speak.

They went on the appointed day. They arrived a little late and saw that the room was already filled with solemn people who sat in silence. There was an air of expectancy.

The speaker was sitting on a dais even more solemn- faced and with his eyes closed. The congregation waited with bated breath to hear him speak.

Mother sat down quietly in a corner.

After a long meditation the savant opened his eyes. Everyone sat up.

"The soul is immortal," the speaker pronounced gravely. And well, there ended his discourse!

Mother laughed a lot while recounting this.

(2)

Let me tell you another amusing story of Mother's. Some people are habitual hoarders and show great reluctance to part with their old possessions, no matter how worn out and useless they may have become.

Mother had a relative who was like this. He would not discard any old thing.

This gentleman had an old moth-eaten overcoat and he was greatly worried about what he should do with it.

After pondering over the matter, he announced one day to his household: "Don't disturb me at all today, as I have hit upon a new idea for making this overcoat useful. I shall work on it in my room today. Leave my morning, midday and evening meals in front of the door of my

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room and please don't bother me in any way. I will leave my room only when the work is done."

Saying this he locked himself in his room and began to work on the coat.

Morning, midday and evening slid away but he did not open his door.

Everyone in the house was worried as to what he was doing in his room.

When evening had well set in, the door finally opened, and everyone ran to see what had taken him so long. They were stunned to see that he had cut the overcoat into small bits measuring 1 to 1.5 inches and tied them up in small bundles. He walked out of his room, those bundles in hand, proudly sweating as if he had returned victorious from a battle.

The family asked: "What do you plan to do with these?"

"Why," he answered with the air of one who had done something truly creditable: "why, what could be more handy to clean and dry the pen-nib when one has finished writing?"

(3)

One of Mother's rules was to arrive early when she had an appointment. And in order not to be late, she often kept her clock well ahead, sometimes by as much as half an hour! This habit allowed her no rest at all after her midday meal. Sometimes mischievously I would put the clock back by half an hour once Mother had moved away after her meal. This mischief allowed her a little rest.

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(4)

Midday in summer.

It was naturally very hot in Pondicherry.

Mother went off to have her bath.

"Mother must be quite distressed by this heat," I thought to myself. So to make her room cooler I closed all the windows, drew the green curtains across them and switched on the air-conditioner. Like that when Mother came out of her bath she would relish the coolness and feel good.

But when Mother came out and saw what I had done, she was very annoyed: "Pranab, what have you done? You've stopped the fresh air from coming in. Won't you let me enjoy a little the breeze from outside?"

Quite abashed I quickly pulled back the curtains and opened the windows to let the hot summer breeze in.

I kept quiet and did not utter a word.

Mother never permitted the windows to be shut whether it was summer or winter.

Then, one night in winter, when Mother had gone to rest after dinner, a cold breeze was blowing into the room through the windows.

I asked very softly: "Mother, shall I close the windows?"

Mother replied: "No, no, let them be open."

I kept mum after this.

Much later at night I saw Mother fidget. I understood that she was feeling cold, but I ventured no suggestions.

After some time, I heard Mother call me: "Pranab!"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Pranab, you were wiser! Close the windows."

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I had just arrived in the Ashram and as is usual in the beginning many questions cropped up in my mind. I put these questions before Mother and she replied to them. After some time there were no more questions. I kept silent and so did Mother. I stopped asking her questions except for those concerning my work.

This happened during that early period when I used to ask her questions. During this time Pujalal used to sit quietly in a corner. One day Pujalal told me: "Why don't you write down these answers from Mother, all these valuable words may benefit others when they read them."

So I asked Mother one day: "Mother, should I write down all that you tell me?"

Mother countered: "Why do you wish to write them down?"

I said: "These are valuable words, what if I forget them later?"

Mother said: "All that I tell you, I say to your inner being. Your soul can never forget them. You'll remember them whenever they're needed."

(6)

One day Mother told me how two opposing dharmas are found side by side in a most wonderful manner. On one side patriotism, human goodwill, unflinching duty, self-sacrifice, courage and generosity, and on the other, just next to these, cheating, selfishness, petty intrigue, exploitation and oppression.

During the First World War Mother had some money in a foreign bank in Paris. As that country too was embroiled in the war Mother went to this bank to see if she could withdraw her money.

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When she got in she saw very few people inside and the Manager was sitting with a gloomy expression. He offered her a seat with great courtesy and despondently said: "Madame, please be seated. I'd like to tell you something as I can hardly hold it back. I'm terribly upset after discovering a military secret. The mere thought of it makes me suffer. But please don't tell anyone what I'll reveal to you."

Mother saw that the gentleman looked very downcast.

The gentleman said: "You know, two top-ranking commanders of France and Germany have come to a secret understanding: how they'll fight by winning in one zone and losing in another, advancing on one front and retreating on another. And they're bent on this purely for personal, monetary gain. War too has become mere speculation!"

Mother was shocked.

It is hard to imagine that while hundreds of noble soldiers were unperturbedly sacrificing their lives, their leaders were gambling for victory or loss.

(7)

Mother was told about another incident by a military commander.

The Germans had succeeded in capturing a strategically important bridge and a young German officer was put in charge. The French army was quite unsuccessful in dislodging him and gaining control of the bridge. Every time the French attacked, the young German officer would repulse them.

The commander told Mother: "At a certain moment I saw the man had come within my range of fire. I took aim and fired. The officer collapsed. Our French soldiers then rushed forward and quickly captured the bridge. I ran up to the German officer and saw that although he

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was still alive, his end was near. Before he died he muttered repeatedly, "Quelle terrible guerre, monsieur, quelle terrible guerre!" (What a terrible war, sir, what a terrible war!)

The commander told Mother: "We go to war, firing shells and missiles from afar without bothering to see who is killed and who is not. This is quite normal, but to shoot someone from close quarters, that's plain killing - murder."

Mother told me that the French commander was so deeply shocked by this realisation that within a few days he died.

(8)

The French had not all left Pondicherry yet. A French physician, who was a real gentleman, became a disciple of Mother. He was quite close to the Ashram. His wife, named Dutsy, also a physician, joined our Physical Education Department. Mother thought it good for a lady doctor like Dutsy to join the Ashram as this would enable our girls to receive some medical care.

This lady, however, was of a haughty temperament, and would always belittle others. She would very often boast about everything she had do. when she was eighteen and she enjoyed showing off.

On the basketball court she would come and remark: "How do you expect me to play basketball with the Ashram girls? I could perhaps try and score points by chucking some of these girls into the basket instead of the ball."

Mother told me: "Pranab, Dutsy's bragging nature must be curbed."

So in deference to Mother's wish I arranged a running competition with five girls of the Ashram. I can remember only Tapati and Kumud among them.

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I signalled the start at the Playground. The girls set off while Mother was waiting at the finishing line.

The trap had been laid! How could Dutsy match our Ashram girls?

And so, panting for breath, she finished last.

Mother said: "Now her pride is broken."

(9)

Mother would often use mischief to break this kind of pride in people.

In the early days of the Ashram an English woman used to be here who had been secretary to Paul Brunton, the philosopher. Mother named her Pavita. She stayed in the Ashram for quite some years. Then after Mother's passing she left for Australia. I hear now she is no more.

Pavita used to brag about her tennis. Not that she played well, but she harboured a false sense of superiority.

In those days tournaments were held in the Ashram. In the mixed doubles Pavita's partner was Nolini Sen. Mother used to play with these mixed pairs, one couple each day, late in the afternoons.

Mother said: "Pranab, you and I, we'll play against Pavita and her partner. Her false pride must be broken. Serve hard so that Pavita is unable to return."

The game started.

I began serving hard. Pavita just stood transfixed, her mouth gaping wide, unable to return a single serve. After losing the set she came to Mother and said: "Mother, Pranab served so hard that I could hear the ball being hit, I could even see the dust fly, but I just couldn't see the ball!" Mother smiled. Later she told me that Pavita had at last learnt her lesson.

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On Pranab's birthday - 18.10.51

(10)

When the Physical Education Department was set up, in the beginning we did not have much equipment for our physical demonstration programme. We needed some music-records. Benjamin, an old sadhak, said that he knew some people in town who would lend us some records. He requested Mother to allow him to get a gramophone.

So we held our physical demonstration programme in the Playground with music.

It was Pavita who looked after the children in the afternoon. Perhaps out of jealousy she reported one day to Mother: "Mother, Pranab is playing vulgar music at the Playground for the physical demonstration."

When Mother asked me I said: "Mother, I don't understand much about Western music. We selected the piece after listening to the melody and the rhythm."

Mother said: "No, Pranab, the music that was played wasn't good. If you come to me at five o'clock every evening, I'll play to you music of a higher inspiration. That'll make you understand what good music is. From now on you'll tell me and I'll select the right music for your drills." From that day I started going to Pavitra-da's room in the afternoons. On Mother's directions Pavitra-da would play the music of Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, etc. on the gramophone. After a few days Mother asked me: "Can you now feel what good music is?" For several years Mother kept her promise of selecting music for the drills.

(11)

A fine artist named Mrs. Kaspary was on a visit to the Ashram in those days. She used to play the piano very well. Another musician had come too and she was a violinist.

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There was a musical story Mother loved very much: The Son of a Star which Kaspary played admirably.

Then Mother herself sang the story. I do not know how many of you have heard her sing. It was simply wonderful! And only one who has heard her can understand this. Mother was a soprano: her voice was exceedingly sweet and strong even though high-pitched. It is impossible to describe its beauty.

Mother told me once: "I have known all the fine arts — painting, singing, instrumental music, dancing, acting, recitation. However I did not reach up to the highest heights. I laid the foundation for making a garden of fine arts in an all-inclusive way. I did not wish to do anything more."

On this topic Mother said: "Let me tell you of an incident. While travelling in France I once stayed at a hotel in a town. I found a piano there. As nobody was around and I don't know what came into me but I began to play the piano. So completely absorbed I was that I lost all awareness of my surroundings. Quite some time later when I looked up I saw that silently a crowd had gathered around me and was raptly listening to my playing."

(12)

I have already told you about Mrs. Kaspary. Once she was to play the piano at Golconde accompanied by a European gentleman on the violin.

Mother took me along to hear them. After the concert Mother asked me: "Have you ever heard the violin before?"

I said: "Yes, Mother, my grandfather Saratchandra Bhattacharya used to play the violin very well. The Nawab of Murshidabad had a Goanese bandmaster named Alexander. My grandfather learnt to play from him. I heard him play when I was young."

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(13)

I had just arrived in the Ashram, I was very young then and one day I remember telling Mother: "Mother, you and Sri Aurobindo are good friends, aren't you?" I had meant someone 'close' by 'friend'.

Mother did not answer. What she thought of it she alone knew.

Later in the afternoon at an opportune moment Mother showed me the book The Mother by Sri Aurobindo and said: "Do you know this book? It was written by Sri Aurobindo about me. Sri Aurobindo calls me 'Mother'. You must read this book with me."

After that for a number of days she read The Mother to me. We used to have our midday meal together and after the meal Mother would read the book to me.

Then later she fully read her Prayers and Meditations, Words of Long Ago and other books as well. As this reading went on in the afternoons, one by one many came to join us. A good number started coming. Then Mother shifted it to the hall in front of the room where Sri Aurobindo's darshan was held, just above the Meditation Hall, so that there was enough space for all to sit.

There was a lot of pushing and shoving as everyone wanted to sit very close to Mother. So, instructed by Mother, Udar got some paper slips prepared with each one's name and he would keep these slips at the fixed places. Udar used to play a very active role in these sittings which lasted for quite some time. After the reading there was a question-answer session. One day Mother said: "Just as a man has a soul every country has its soul too. That is its true existence and its mission is to express that truth." Tinkori-da (the teacher and not the singer) suddenly came out with a question: "Now that the country has been split into India and Pakistan what has happened

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to the soul? Has the soul been split too?" Mother looked rather annoyed and said: "No, India's soul cannot be partitioned."

(14)

I had taken charge of the Physical Education Department in the Ashram. Mother told me one day, "You know that the medium of education in the Ashram is French. You'll have to give orders in French too." I said: "Mother, I don't know French."

"You'll learn French from me," Mother replied.

Thus began my French lessons from Mother. She would teach me one sentence each day. The following day I had to repeat it to her. Then began a really systematic study of the French language. It lasted for about two or three months.

(15)

When I first arrived in the Ashram, a football team had just been formed. Occasionally, this Ashram team used to play matches with teams from outside. Very often, the young boys of the Ashram, would go to see the game. But I always took Mother's permission and received her blessings beforehand. We never did anything or went anywhere without informing Mother.

One day we were ready to go to see a match. It was a 'Prosperity Day' - on these Prosperity days Mother was very busy and did not have any free time because after all her work she had to get ready for the afternoon Darshan. On that day too she was in a hurry.

Anyway, I approached Mother and said: "Mother, I, would like to say something."

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"Can't you see I have no time?" she replied, very annoyed.

I returned somewhat disappointed after this rebuke from Mother.

I have, however, always noted that whenever we were hurt in any way, Mother would, on some pretext or another, make us forget the hurt with a caress.

The same thing happened on that day too.

I came to Mother to receive my Prosperity blessings. We were all standing in a line and many people were behind me. Usually she did not speak during this time. On that day, however, Mother held my hand very warmly and asked: "Oh, you're going to take the boys to see the match, aren't you?" With these words she gave me such a loving smile that all my hurt evaporated.

(16)

Towards the end of 1958, Mother fell seriously ill. Her body became very weak. Dr. Sanyal advised her to take some chicken soup. After a lot of effort I managed to persuade Mother to take chicken soup. She drank only the soup while I ate the chicken.

Almost a month and a half later, it was rumoured that a fowl-pest was raging in the area so Mother's chicken soup was stopped. After a lapse of many years, perhaps in 1967-68, Mother fell ill again, and the doctor once again advised her to take chicken soup.

But this time too Mother refused.

Then chicken-stock cubes were suggested to which Mother agreed. But this is not as nutritious.

So what was to be done?

After much deliberation we decided to give her chicken- stock cube without letting her know it was proper chicken soup. Mother was served the chicken soup after it was very

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finely strained. But however well it may be strained, some residue does collect at the bottom of the bowl.

While drinking this soup Mother said in perfect innocence: "You see how well they prepare the stock that even a few pieces of chicken meat are found at the bottom."

Then Champaklal let the cat out of the bag: "Mother, they're serving you chicken soup in the name of chicken stock."

Mother exclaimed: "Is that so?"

Then she gave us a good scolding and said: "From now on don't serve me soup anymore."

We kept quiet after Mother's scolding.

In the afternoon she raised the topic again as if to console us.

Champaklal said: "Whatever you may say Mother, these chickens are really fortunate, they've all attained liberation!"

Mother said: "Yes, I did hear a similar story. A Rishi once started a yagna to save the country from a severe drought. But someone had to immolate himself in order to make the yagna successful. A rabbit agreed and was thereby released from all suffering."

Very enthusiastically Champaklal volunteered: "Mother, then I want to be a chicken."

Mother smiled: "No, my child. I won't be able to eat such a big chicken!"

The day closed with laughter all around.

(17)

At about 10 o'clock in the morning Mother used to walk for some time on the terrace above Dyuman-bhai's room. Chinmayee used to walk with her.

At that hour a crow would visit Mother. Mother had named this crow Blackie.

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The poor fellow could not quite articulate "Ma-Ma" but daily at the right hour it would caw "Ka-Ka-Ka".

Immediately Mother responded from the room to say: "Yes, yes, I am coming."

Mother used to give it a slice of bread, and it would fly away with it. What an act of grace that was!

(18)

Now let me recount to you a story of Mother's mischief.

I always partnered Mother in tennis. So every afternoon at 4 o'clock I had to be present in the Ashram.

I used to wait near the staircase by the side of Nirod- da's room. Below the staircase there was a chair and a small table. Mother came and sat on that chair; Dyumanbhai used to bring a cup of milk and a piece of chocolate on a tray and after placing it on the table he would go away. I had to drink that cup of milk and eat that piece of chocolate while Mother watched. Mother's chair and table are still there as before.

After having the milk and the chocolate I would go with Mother for tennis.

Mother, however, did not take any chocolate. She used to say: "People imagine I'm very fond of chocolate and so they send me a lot of chocolate. It's good, like that I can give you some."

Mother was not fond of mangoes either. If anyone sent her some mangoes she used to give them to me and ask:

"Are they good?" Yet, hearing Mother speak about mangoes I got the impression that she liked the Langra variety best.

I arrived at 4 o'clock as usual. It was a Prosperity day. Mother was to go for a long drive after tennis. Dyumanbhai, as usual, appeared with the milk and chocolate. I drank the milk and put the piece of chocolate in my

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pocket, .intending to eat it at some more opportune moment during the drive.

We used to be driven by Pavitra-da. I sat beside him and Mother sat behind.

After some time, I quietly brought out the packet of chocolate and gave Pavitra-da a piece.

Suddenly I felt Mother poking at my back like naughty girls do. I turned to look at her and with a sweet smile she put out her hand. I immediately broke a bit from my piece and placed it on her hand. And even as she continued smiling she put it in her mouth and began enjoying it happily.

(19)

Here is a story, that many might not know. I was very moved when Mother told it to me. Once her father suffered a heavy loss in his business. After paying back all his debts he became, overnight, very poor. Mother and her brother Matteo suffered days of great privation. Their mother gave more attention to the son and the parents took much more care about his food, studies and other necessities.

Even in such poverty Mother felt no distress of any kind and faced everything very stoically.

Mother had to walk to her parties as she could not afford to hire a carriage. Her companions would mock at her and ask: "Why are your shoes so dirty?" Mother simply ignored them with great patience.

Much later, when Mother was older, about seventeen or eighteen, she used to tutor some young children in drawing. Often she also made large copies from photographs of people who had died. In this way she earned some extra money.

But her drawing-tuitions never lasted long. The masters

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of these houses, Mother said, were often more interested in her than in the progress of their children's drawing

lessons.

The following incident took place some time later when Mother was already married to an artist-friend.

As she was walking along the street she saw a beautiful petticoat hanging in a shop-window. Mother's petticoat was quite worn-out but she could not afford to buy the one in the shop-window. She came back home.

That very day Mother's husband said that he had sold one of his pictures and asked her what he could buy for her.

Mother said: "I'd like to buy the petticoat in that shop-window."

I was deeply moved when I heard this from Mother.

(20)

I remember another interesting story about Mother. It happened during the First World War. Mother was sailing on a ship. I do not remember where she was going.

The ship was out in the open sea when suddenly, the captain emerged, and informed the passengers that a German submarine had been sighted nearby and on account of possible danger he requested everyone to collect their valuables and get ready to leave in boats to be set adrift.

Everyone tied up their valuables in a bundle in great fear and got ready. But Mother remained calm, feeling no fear. All she did was put her nail-cutter, scissors and knives together and quietly she waited.

I asked her: "Mother, instead of taking your valuables why did you take such trifles as scissors and knives?"

Mother said: "It's madness, what can one do with things of value? Who knows to what unknown islands one would be carried by the waves. Was I to become a wild

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woman there with overgrown nails and unkempt hair? That's why I took the nail-cutter, knives and scissors."

She laughed a lot as she told me this.

(21)

I was reading something by Mahasthabir (pen name of a famous Bengali writer, meaning - 'the old one'). It was a story about a brahmin from Maharashtra. The man's surname was Pandit, and he had been to France to study engineering. There he came in contact with a group of spiritualists. Later this Pandit returned to India. The writer had taken refuge in this man's house after fleeing from home. Once when a sudden fire broke out he very heroically saved the Pandit's daughter.

After reading this writing by Mahasthabir it suddenly occurred to me that the group of spiritualists he had come in contact with might have been the same as Mother's.

I described the Pandit to Mother just as he had been featured in the book and asked if she had known someone of that description.

Mother was delighted when she heard this: "Yes, yes, Pandit, we used to call him Pandit too. He was a nice man, very amusing, and he was a good speaker."

(22)

I heard Mother once say that in one of her previous lives she had been the princess of a small kingdom somewhere in the Himalayas. She was very beautiful but she died very young.

The king announced: "Her body mustn't be destroyed, she should be beautifully dressed and her body kept in a cave filled with ice." This was done.

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Mother told me that once she saw in a vision that the princess' body was still lying in that faraway cave.

(23)

Mother saw me in one of my previous births in a vision. It was in ancient Greece. I was playing marbles by the Acropolis on the street.

(24)

Once Mother told me of a vision she had when she had visited Venice.

She was in a gondola in one of the deep canals. A gondola, as you know, is a Venetian pleasure-boat. There are big ancient palaces and old mansions along the canals. The time was nearly evening and its fading light played with darkness on the old buildings.

As her gondola was going past a mansion she felt as if a man had been murdered there and thrown into the canal from the ramparts. The place was throbbing with the vibrations of a fearful nightmare. Perhaps the remnants of this horrendous incident from the past were still present in a very subtle form at the landing of this nearly dark fort. She saw this in a clear vision. Who knows? She may have been a witness to the murder.

(25)

Quite some time ago a Punjabi family decided to come and live here. The family consisted of a man, his wife, a daughter of about six and a son of two. They had brought a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy to look after the young

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son. His name was Bir Singh and he was from the British Garhwal of those days.

A number of years passed, the little son grew up and soon started moving all by himself. So Bir Singh's duties came to an end. But Mother did not send him back to his home but asked him to join the Ashram. He was given work at the Ashram Press. He also joined the Group-activities. In the C group of those days he used to play with Mona, Manoj, Sumantra and others. He was a good sportsman and used to be in the first division in the competitions.

Things were going on fine when suddenly he decided to go home for a visit. Mother tried a lot to dissuade him but Bir Singh was determined. He assured Mother that he would meet his folk and return within a month.

He did go but could not return. Mother had told him as he was leaving that he would not be able to return. And so it happened. That was his destiny. He had got the opportunity of rising from a servant boy to become an ashramite and then he squandered it. Let me tell you a funny story about him.

This happened after he had already joined the Group activities and had got to know the other boys well. He no longer looked like a servant. One fine morning my younger brother took upon himself the task of teaching Bir Singh English.

Bir Singh's English lessons went on in our house in the evenings. My brother taught him to count one, two, three, four, etc. in English, he was also taught a, b, c, d. Then cat, mat, sat, fat, etc., after which small English Sentences were taught. When this was done, English grammar was introduced. Noun, pronoun, verb, adverb, etc. were tackled.

To find out if he knew the difference between nouns and pronouns his teacher asked him one day in Hindi, "Bir Singh, billee kya hai?” (i.e., "Tell me what’s a 'cat’ (noun or pronoun)”). After a lot of thought Bir Singh

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answered: "Billee ek janwar hai.” (i.e., "The cat is an animal.”)

In utter despair Bir Singh's teacher put an end to his English lessons.

Bir Singh's story reminds me of another person. Now let me tell you about him.

When our Tennis court was ready in 1948, a French gentleman arrived whose name was M.Répiton. He had been a general in the French army. When General de Gaulle liberated Paris from the Germans with his army towards the end of the Second World War, M. Répiton was with him as well.

Later when France got embroiled in the Vietnam War, the French government wanted to send Répiton there as a general. By then, however, Répiton had understood the torture of being under a foreign yoke. He was no longer willing to go to a war in order to subjugate another nation. He resigned from the French army and came away to the Ashram.

He was an expert fencing master. It was due to his enthusiasm that in our Ashram the Physical Education Department started a fencing section. He got all the equipment for fencing from France. His fencing class began in the wall-practice area in the Tennis Ground with a group of about ten or twelve boys and girls. Some turned out to be good fencers. With these he gave a demonstration before Mother in the Playground. Everyone was pleased.

M.Répiton lived alone in the Ashram while his wife lived in France. Suddenly one day he felt the urge to return to France, earn some money and take care of his wife. He thought this was his duty. So he left for France. Not long after we got the news that M. Répiton had passed away after a heart attack. His wife however was still alive. How ironical fate is!

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(26)

Once I strongly felt like reading the life of Napoleon. I was told that Sri Aurobindo had asked some older sadhaks in the Ashram to read Abbott's Life of Napoleon. I found a copy of the book and I would read it daily in Mother's room. One day at noon while Mother was resting, I was reading the book in a corner near the window.

Mother suddenly woke up from her rest and asked me: "What's happening? I suddenly saw Napoleon get into my room. He was showing me his maps and charts of the war."

I said: "I don't know anything about that but I'm reading here a book on the life of Napoleon."

Mother asked: "Who's the author?"

"It's by Abbott."

"But Abbott's an Englishman. The English don't like Napoleon," said Mother.

I said: "Mother, that's true, but this writer writes beautifully." And I read the entire preface out to Mother.

Mother was pleased.

Once I heard that K. M. Munshi who was one of Sri Aurobindo's pupils wanted to make a poetic rendering in English of Abbott's book.

But Sri Aurobindo stopped him saying: "Instead of this useless labour why don't you write something in Gujarati?"

Later he jokingly told his friends: "You've all been deprived of an epic poem because of Sri Aurobindo."

(27)

Mother was very fond of animals and birds. One day She told me:

"In animals there is a simple, natural and strong beauty. Because of the remarkable resonance between

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their, physical and vital beings - there is a beautiful balance and harmony. Wild birds and beasts have it no doubt, but tigers and snakes too have an ancient original beauty and grace derived from Nature's creation - a marvellous harmony. This is so because in each one of them there is a miraculous harmony in the creation of their body and life. It is because of this that animals have an inborn, abiding feeling that we call instinct. The mind has not intruded into their system and destroyed this equilibrium as it has done in men. That is why they have neither maladies nor griefs. There is no distortion in their own nature. If they happen to fall ill then they can very easily restore the harmony in their body and life, and for this they don't need any great effort.

"But man is unable to do so because mind has come into him. Mind has disrupted the inborn, effortless harmony of his physical and vital.

"But again when Supermind enters man and takes charge of his being then man too will become capable .of a higher harmony. The result will be a new equilibrium of his mind, life and body. He will gain a nobler beauty and grace and all the modern crookedness and distortion will disappear. He will gain with ease an infallible direct Knowledge that is beyond the senses. We can discern some of it among Yogis and great men - this we call spiritual intuition. But the Supermind will bring into play a harmony that is far superior."

Mother studied the ways and movements of animals, birds and insects very keenly. She was able to exchange her feelings with them. She said: "Even among animals the tendencies of envy, hate, of dominating others are visible."

Mother recounted an amusing story about this. Once she went to a zoological garden somewhere in France. She saw there a pair of black panthers in a cage; a cave-like place had been got ready in which the two panthers were sitting with their tails curled in.

Page 24

Mother felt the male to be more open and as she approached the cage she gazed at him and called him with great affection: "You're so beautiful and so good!"

I have mentioned before that Mother was able to exchange feelings with animals. They too in their own way could understand Mother's feelings.

While Mother was speaking so affectionately to the panther he got up stretching his limbs with a big yawn and looking at Mother rather docilely began wagging his tail. Then with a strange rattling noise in his throat he came toward Mother near the railing.

Mother said: "How gentle you are. How beautiful and how good."

The panther, feeling flattered, began to wag his tail.

On the other hand the female panther who was observing all this began to growl in anger. After some time she could not stand it any more. She shook herself and growling angrily came to the male panther and whipped him hard with her tail. It was amply clear that she had had enough of this and she sat down at a distance and continued to growl.

A little confused the male kept glancing once at her and then at Mother. A little later he too removed himself from the proximity of the railing and quietly went and sat down beside his partner.

(28)

Hunting or killing animals was utterly distasteful to Mother.

Once Mother happened to join a hunting party against her will and despite her dislike for this sport.

In the woods one of the hunters placed a gun in her hands and said: "Now, shoot. There, look, there's a bunch of wild hares."

Page 25

Mother could have aimed quite accurately but she intentionally aimed a little above the hares and fired. She pretended to have missed. The party was happy that Mother had taken part and Mother too got away without killing the hares.

(29)

I was then only five. We lived in our country-house in Berhampore. I used to call my great grandfather 'Burodadu'. We were walking in the garden holding hands. I noticed a small bulbul on a tree and immediately I began to implore: "Burodadu, please catch that bulbul for me."

What could Burodadu do? So he called a servant and told him: "See if you can catch that bulbul."

Poor chap! how could he catch a wild bird? He climbed the tree and began to move from one branch to another. The little bird too kept flitting here and there.

Burodadu told me: "You can see that the bird can't be caught. The best you can do is to imagine this entire garden as yours. The trees are yours and even the bird is yours. It is your bird flying there from one tree to another."

I was consoled and very happy to hear these words.

(30)

In our home we were used to eating fish and meat. Young goats and sheep were bought and kept in the garden. If anyone felt like having meat then a young goat or sheep from the garden was sent to the temple of Kali, where after being sacrificed to Mother Kali it was cooked. No onions or garlic or chillies were used - only pepper was allowed.

Page 26

Once a young sheep was brought, and I used to play with it a lot. So sending it to Kali was out of the question. If anyone even suggested the contrary: "No, no, that one mustn't be sent to the temple, who will Pinu (Pranab) play with?" was the answer.

In a short while the sheep became big and whenever possible it would try to ram into people. Yet Burodadu's prohibition was there: "No, no, that one must be spared."

One day while I was playing with this sheep Burodadu came and lifted me in his arms. I don't know whether the sheep was overcome with jealousy but it made the ghastly blunder of butting Burodadu.

This annoyed Burodadu very much and at once he ordered: "There, send this one to the temple today and don't forget."

(31)

Let me tell you the story of my finding Sita.

When I was young, my grandfather's mother used to tell me stories from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata and I would always listen to her with great wonder, utterly spellbound. In my child's imagination Rama, Lakshmana, Bhishma, Drona all came to life to create a fairy-tale .world. And like all young children I used to get hold of a bow and arrow and walk around the tanks in the gar- den, imagining myself to be Rama himself and the banks of the tank as the bathing gnat of the river Saraju.

One day I saw Burodadu sitting in a chair in the courtyard of the house. A curly headed Santhal (an adivasi) was standing in front of him with a bare torso. He had placed a bow and arrow in front of Dadu.

Burodadu called me: "Here Pinu, here are your bow and arrow. Well, do you like them?"

With great joy I took up the bow and arrow and said: "Oh yes! They're wonderful!"

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Dada (Pranab) with brothers and pet dog in Calcutta (1936)

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Pranab at Calcutta Zoo - 1938

Page 29

Dadu said: "If you can break this bow like Rama did then I'll find a Sita for you too."

I tried my best to break it but a strong bow made by a real Santhal was not easy to break. I could not with all my might. Dadu kept smiling as he watched me try.

I had an armoury where I used to keep all my bows and arrows, shield and lance, and all my playthings. The staircase from Chandi Mandap* used to go straight up to Narayana's** room. My playthings used to be kept under that dark staircase. This staircase was rarely used by anyone except during pujas. Then again when I would get angry or felt unhappy about anything I would go alone to that dark staircase and sit there alone in silence.

Then I grew up and went to Calcutta to get into college. Once, while I was in Berhampore on a holiday, I suddenly felt an urge to see if the armoury of my childhood days was still there under the dark staircase. There, to my amazement, I found my bow and arrow, exactly as they were before. A lot of dust had collected over them.

As I took up the bow and pulled at the string the bow broke with a snap.

But by then my Burodadu was no more and so I could not win my Sita!

(32)

While at Berhampore I went to visit the palace of Maharaja Nandakumar. Although hardly anything was left of the palace I saw a painting of Sri Chaitanyadev. Perhaps a not-so-well-known artist had managed to get a sitting from Sri Chaitanyadev. Being an original painting it was of historical value.

* Place for worship

** Lord Vishnu

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I also saw two very big diamonds that people had named the Suryakanta and Chandrakanta gems. The Suryakanta gem was a little smaller but from it I saw a lustre coming out.

There was also a small Shivalinga made of solidified mercury, a beautiful and a rare thing. They tell me that none of those things are there any more.

In the Nawab of Murshidabad's palace I saw an original painting by Raphael. I believe this too was stolen.

(33)

In Berhampore we started a club in our courtyard. A few young ones like us started doing physical exercises there.

From the courtyard we shifted the club to our garden. There we installed the wooden pieces for dunds* and also fixed parallel bars thus getting together a physical culture set-up of some sort.

The club continued in this way for some time.

One day we were told that a saw-mill would be set up in the garden and we had better shift our club.

We started looking around for a suitable place.

One of my relatives had a garden which was sold. A number of people had bought small portions. Sri Sasankasekhar Sanyal had bought a slightly bigger plot than the rest.

He said: "Since I am not building now the place will remain empty, you could start your club there but, my friends, see that the fruits in the garden are not touched."

We promised to abide.

The plot was on the road towards the railway station. Our club started functioning there.

One day at noon while I was going towards the station

*Dips

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on an errand, I felt that some people were busy doing- something surreptitiously. I became suspicious.

No sooner had I entered the garden than some fellows quickly hid themselves in the bushes around.

I stood nonplussed.

All of a sudden a mischievous boy brought a some- what large coconut with its top sliced off. He held it before me and said: "Pinuda, please take this." I did not know whether to laugh or cry at this boy's brazen act.

It was quite clear that they were pilfering green coco- nuts from the garden. I gave them a good scolding and said: "We gave our word to the gentleman, and this is how you keep it, isn't it terribly unfair?"

They felt quite ashamed and promised that they would never do it again.

After that day no one ever touched the fruits of that garden.

(34)

I was then a student of class VIII at Jagatbandhu Institute at Ballygunje. I lived with my parents and brothers in a rented house on Ekdalia Road.

One day at noon my second brother and I were busy preparing for our examination. However we could not concentrate on our studies as our minds were restless.

Suddenly looking out of the window at the footpath opposite our house, we saw two mendicants sitting under a tree, one on his tiger-skin and the other on his antelope-skin.

Here was an opportunity for a short break. I told my brother: "Let's go and have a little fun with the Sadhus*."

We approached the hermits but they did not impress us as being genuine.

*Wandering monks

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

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

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

The Sadhus remained silent.

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

Even this did not ruffle their silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As soon as he saw that translation he was furious.

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

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

"Write 'the night was deep dark'."

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

"Who has taught you this kind of English?"

"Sir, Bihari-babu."

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

This sort of one-upmanship was common between the

*A Bengali novel by Sarat Chandra Chatterjee

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

(35)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(36)

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

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

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

* Mandal = A family name

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

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

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

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

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

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

(37)

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

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

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

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

(38)

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

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

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

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

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

(39)

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

* Elder brother

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

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

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

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

"What do you want?" he asked.

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

"Twenty five years."

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

Then I came away to Pondicherry.

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

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

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

I mentioned this very casually, but Mother became serious.

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

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

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

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

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

Another incident from another time.

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

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

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

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

How anxious Mother was for me!

However, the matter did not go that far.

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

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

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

(40)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Page 41

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Page 42

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

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

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

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

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

Bresson agreed to all her conditions and took the photos.

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

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

We started worrying a little.

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

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

In the meantime Sri Aurobindo left his body.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I could not find the occasion to do this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(41)

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

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

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

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

(42)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The children were elated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(43)

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

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I needed a heavy barbell for my exercises.

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

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

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

This gentleman from Bombay came and placed the barbell there.

Mother asked: "What's this?"

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

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

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

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

Mother came to know about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(44)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(45)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was quite common for Mother to act like this.

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

(46)

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

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

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

19 Juin.

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

19 June, 1914

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

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

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

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

(47)

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

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

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

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

(48)

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

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

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

Mother asked Sri Aurobindo.

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

And so Mother resumed eating.

(49)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(50)

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

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

Let me narrate to you another incident.

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

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

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

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

"How much are they?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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(51)

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

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

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

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

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

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

(52)

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

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

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

I said: "What would you like?"

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

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

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

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

(53)

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

He did so.

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

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

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

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

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

(54)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This went on for some time.

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

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

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

But then one of my letters came back.

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

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(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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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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bought two 16mm sound projectors for the Ashram. Mother gave Vishwanath-da the responsibility of operating these projectors. Arun Kumar began helping Vishwanath­ da from that time. Once a number of children's films were screened one after the other. Mother remarked jokingly: "We are becoming very filmsy." But she had enjoyed these films very much.

We once saw a film called Puss in Boots. I remember on the morning of the film Mother woke up early and with child-like glee told me: "Pranab, you know we're going to see Puss in Boots today!"

A few years later, Ajit Bose brought a 35mm projector and a few films and offered them to Mother. On the the Playground terrace, at the site of our present projector room, we put up a coconut-leaf shed to house our new projector. Mother often came to see films with us, and this lasted till December 1958.

Gradually, the hut-like projector room was replaced by the concrete room that you see today. This is how films started in the Ashram.

Mother disliked the idea of the inmates of the Ashram going to cinemas in town, though, before we got our own screening equipment, she did permit it once or twice and herself accompanied them. She objected because first, the outside cinemas were quite unhygienic, secondly, there was a sordid atmosphere in these places which was not quite consonent with the life of the Ashram, and thirdly, because the kind of films shown outside were beyond our control. So Mother organised the screening of films in the Ashram, not as a tool for enjoyment, but as one for education. In Mother's own words: "Films are permitted in the Ashram not as an amusement but as part of education."

At the very beginning, Mother would herself see and approve the film to be shown. Later when the 35mm projector was set up, Mother stopped taking the decision

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Many years later, towards the end of her life, one day Mother fell ill. And she remained unwell for a few days. Nirod-da too started worrying a little.

One day, as I went to her at about noon as usual, I found her room full of people - Sujata, Noren Singh, Satprem, Champaklal, Dr. Sanyal, Kumud - they were all there. The tape recorder was running.

Barely had I entered when someone told me: "Mother has something to say to you."

I asked Mother.

Then someone else said: "Sujata wants to tell you something."

Then I realised that the old story was being raked up again. A fit of great anger came into me on seeing that instead of trying to get Mother out of her condition, these people were, on the contrary, creating such an air that it would worsen her condition. Shouting and rebuking, I turned everyone out of the room. I blurted out whatever came into my mind.

After pacifying Mother, I fed her lunch and let her rest. Later by talking to her about other things, I managed to get Mother out of her downcast condition.

By evening she was perfectly all right. I went down and informed Nirod-da about it.

Towards the beginning of 1950 Mother had told me one day: "I've prepared a diary in which I have written down quite a few things for you. Of course I'm not saying that I am going to leave my body. But suppose I were to leave my body then you will find all my directions in that diary."

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(104)

I have told you that Mother would go out for drives. Pavitra-da drove and I used to accompany Mother. Pavitra-da drove very fast, sometimes between eighty to ninety miles an hour. Mother enjoyed being driven fast. When the car moved at great speed, Mother felt relaxed.

Once, we went somewhere quite far, and while returning evening fell, it became quite dark. The car was moving fast, Mother was sitting relaxed, even as on both sides of the road the vista sped past us.

Suddenly, Pavitra-da noticed a road block. With great skill he avoided the road block and swerved into a by way. Once he had overcome the danger, Pavitra-da stopped the car and began to laugh. On that day, even a little wavering could have caused a dangerous accident.

Once, many years later, Mother was going to the Sports Ground by car. Pavitra-da was driving fast as was his habit. Near the Sports Ground he knocked a rickshaw over while trying to overtake another. Two schoolgirls aged about ten or twelve were in it. The girls fell onto the road but were not injured. Neither was the rickshaw damaged. Men quickly gathered round, the locality was not very safe. Mother was in the car, and so before anything unpleasant could happen, I told Pavitra-da to quickly escort Mother to the Sports Ground and then return.

He left Mother in the Sports Ground and returned to the accident-site. He then took the two girls by car to their house. The girls' father was naturally quite angry.

Mother sent the two girls some chocolate, instrument-boxes and some other presents. And the matter ended there.

But Mother stopped going for rides after that.

When I asked her she said: "Pavitra is quite old now. Enough! I won't go for rides any more."

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I asked: "Why don't you take someone else to drive you?"

Mother answered: "Pavitra has driven all these years. If now I take someone else, he'll feel bad. It might bebetter for me to stop going for drives."

(105)

In 1945, when I came to the Ashram for good, I offered the little money I had with me to Mother. I thought now that I am an inmate of the Ashram, Mother has taken all my charge. I have no longer any need for money. Why burden myself with this?

Almost to the end of 1947 I did not have any money, nor did I have any need for it.

One day Mother put 40 rupees in a wallet and gave it to me saying: "It's necessary for you to have some money in hand. And this will be your fétiche” (A French word meaning an object believed to procure for its owner the service of a spirit lodged within it.)

One Saturday, a few days later, she gave me an envelope containing 12 rupees and said: "This is for your expenses."

From then on, she would give me every Saturday evening an envelope containing 12 rupees.

Then, on my birthday, she gave me an envelope with 250 rupees. I was 25 then. Since then on every birthday Mother used to give me an envelope filled with money and the amount was always ten times my age. When I was 26 years old I got 260 rupees, on my attaining 27years I received 270 rupees. And Mother enjoyed doing this sort of thing.

Mother always worried about my not getting into any difficulty if she were to leave her body. Whenever Mother came out of the Ashram, she carried a somewhat large

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white bag in her hand. In it she carried some of her personal necessities like a comb, pen, pencil, some loose sheets of paper, a glass to drink water from, a mirror, etc. One day, she filled the bag with some fresh currency­ notes and told me: "I'm not saying that I'll leave the body but if for some reason I do then this bag will be yours. This might help you out a little, though not much." Whenever she got down from the car to walk she asked me to carry this bag.

Once there was a great shortage of money in the Ashram. I told Mother: "You needn't give me the weekly 12 rupees in such times."

Mother said: "We aren't in such a situation yet that I have to stop your weekly 12 rupees. If we ever are, I'll see. I know that you use money properly, so let things go on as they have."

One day, soon after, Mother said: "I am in great need of money, I have nothing in hand, may I take some money from your white bag?"

I said: "Mother, the money is yours, you're free to spend it as you please. Why are you asking me?"

Mother took the money that was in the bag and said: "From this you'll get the assurance that I'm not leaving the body." And saying this she started laughing very much.

Years later, when she had stopped going out, one morning I went to her as usual. It was the first of January. On seeing me Mother wished ,me "Bonne Année" and continued: "Now look where you always sit."

My books, papers, pen, etc. were kept on one side of the room. I went there and saw an envelope with "Bonne Année" written on it in Mother's own hand. In it was one thousand-rupee note. "That's for you," she said: "But don't spend it."

After that, the money she would give me in the envelope on my birthday was one hundred times my age. On

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Mother would often worry about the time Sri Aurobindo had to sit through for a Darshan. Sometimes, a Darshan could go on for a whole day. That is why Mother used to say that it would be wonderful if Sri Aurobindo could come and stand in a beautiful garden, and everyone would have his Darshan together in a very short time without straining Sri Aurobindo. People would then be able to see him for a longer duration as well.

Besides her skill for meticulous work, Mother also had this astonishingly marvellous imagination.

One day a filtered-water tank was erected in the Play­ ground for the children. Mother came to inspect it and was very pleased.

I cupped my palms to show Mother how the children should drink directly from the taps. As children would not clean the glasses well, I thought it unhygienic to keep any.

And so it was arranged. They would drink after washing their hands and in this way unclean water would not be consumed. I went on explaining all this to Mother while she looked at the arrangement.

After listening to me she said: "If only we could have installed a machine here that would automatically wash and wipe and place the glasses in the correct place too. Then all the children would have to do is to put their glasses into this machine!"

Mother always tried to harmonise and unite the imaginary and the practical. That was her aim.

Mother once said, "France is the country of my birth, but India is the country of my soul." That is why we see in Mother's life a wonderful synthesis of all the positive qualities of the East and the West. Mother took birth, grew up and was educated in a European environment of practical knowledge and a scientific outlook on life. That made her possess these positive qualities of Europe: accurate practical knowledge and skilful mastery over every aspect

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Pencil Sketch of Pranab by Mother

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Mother with Pranab at her room on the second-floor - 4.1.60

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of earthly life. On the other hand, she also possessed the Eastern or rather Indian spiritual knowledge and insight. This enabled her to see life from the point of view of both spirit and matter. She took a balanced view, blending detailed knowledge, structure and mastery of the practical side of life and the inner spiritual truth of everything. She wanted to mould in this way a new life, a complete life for man, inwardly and outwardly, with beauty and power.

That is why, in all her actions we glimpse that clear practical knowledge and scientific approach and with it we also get a deep vision and understanding of the spiritual truth. For her, dream and reality were one. She gave shape to the spiritual dream on the plane of reality and sought to perfect that further. Actually, the difference between the dream and the reality is one of time. We can see in our world that yesterday's dream is today's reality. And today's dream or imagination will become tomorrow's truth and reality. It is through time that man's inner aspirations and dreams gradually become real. In the world of manifestation, Mother is that catalyst of time - she is Mahakali.

Mother and Sri Aurobindo sought to bring down a vast and lofty consciousness into man's present life so that it is renewed and transformed. As flowers spontaneously blossom at the coming of light, so will man's life become beautiful at the touch of the light of the new conscious­ ness. This higher consciousness has been brought down through the sadhana and tapasya of Mother and Sri Aurobindo. And if we see today all around our lives all this breaking and destruction, all this turmoil and disorder, all these attacks and counter-attacks of old and new values, they are all the result of the pressure of this consciousness towards change and transformation.

However, if we can follow the ideal set before man­ kind by Mother and Sri Aurobindo, the direction and guidance they have given us, we will be able to reach

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our goal: the Truth. Mother and Sri Aurobindo have filled and energised and dynamised the earth and the sky with the light of their consciousness. The more we are able to receive this divine power in our life and soul, the more our lives will be transformed as a result of its irresistible action.

Although Mother and Sri Aurobindo are not in their physical bodies anymore, their ideal endures before us. That ideal is the earthly realisation and perfection along with spiritual upliftment and glory - "spiritual height and material perfection through self-culture and dedicated service."

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I am reminded of four stories told to me by Mother about her childhood.

Mother was five or six at that time. She accompanied her parents and brother on a trek in the mountains. They were walking along a mountain path that zigzagged up­ward. Suddenly Mother felt like breaking away from the group to go forward. So she started running. A little further down, the path suddenly sloped steeply down-ward. One could see this path going downward from a little higher up. Mother couldn't control her speed as she neared the turning of the road and she started falling from the upper slope to the lower one. And as she was falling she felt as if someone was gently lowering her down. Mother reached the path below. The place where she landed was being repaired. Conical-shaped stones were piled on the road. Most of them were very sharp-edged and the edges faced upward. Mother tumbled and landed softly on this pile. And strangely, she did not suffer a scratch. She stood up and saw her parents and brother running towards her. And on finding her without any injury they were stunned. They were expecting a very bloody accident.

Mother grew up a little more. She must have been about nine or ten then. She badly wanted to grow tall.

One night she went to bed. Her heart was impatient to become a little taller and in that state she fell asleep. When she woke up the following morning what did she see? The frock that she was wearing and which normally ended at the knee was almost two inches higher! To grow taller by two inches in one night! She couldn't believe her eyes!

Now Mother must have been eleven or twelve. One day she was running about and playing inside the house. She found herself in the living-room which was quite

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large. It suddenly entered her mind to try and cross the whole room in three jumps. With the first jump she crossed almost one third of the distance, she advanced further with the second leap and with the third jump she reached the other end of the room. She was surprised at her own achievement! Afterwards she again tried to cross the room in three steps but she could not.

a bath and was moving about the house in a festive mood wearing new pleated dhotis and saris. And what was all this celebration for? It was for Pinu's "hathey khodi".

I was dressed in a gold-threaded "cheli" (a red silk cloth worn on special days), and my forehead was adorned with an auspicious sandal tilak and a gold aigrette. I was seated on a low wooden stool covered with alipana too.

My grandfather's father, that is my great-grandfather, put a child's chalk in my hand and made me write on a slate the first letters of the Bengali alphabet. In front of me were placed on a wicker tray grains of paddy and grass, sandal, ghee-lamps, burning incense. The priests recited some mantras and showered flowers on my head to the accompaniment of conches. My mother and aunts stood all round me and watched me with their laughing, loving eyes. "Just see how quiet Pinu is! He's sitting there perfectly still!" they kept saying.

Now Burodadu's worries began: there was no school close to the house. The nearest one was almost a quarter of a mile away. How could such a small boy walk that distance. The school was full of mischievous dare-devils too. To send me so far away to that unknown, strange place and then what might happen there, these thoughts preoccupied Burodadu.

In the end, it was decided that instead, a school would be started at home itself. Just outside the boundary of the house by the side of the road, a room was got ready with a covered verandah. An unemployed young man of the area was appointed as the teacher. His name was Harmohan. About twenty-five or thirty children who lived in the area joined as well. The school opened, we had classes in the morning and in the evening. In the afternoon we rested. But I didn't enjoy studying in the evenings and wanted to play. On certain days I would slip out from school to go to play or to go and watch a game. The

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other students would exclaim loudly: "Sir, Pinu has slipped out!" And I would bolt.

After a year, I was admitted into the collegiate school at Berhampore. My grandfather used to prepare my school-bag and a servant would accompany me to school. The servant returned in the afternoon with tiffin. Sometimes my grand­ father himself used to come to see me at school.

On the very first day, when I returned home from school my books and notebooks were in order but the pencil was missing. I had probably dropped it somewhere while running or playing.

Dadu got me a new one. And the following day on my return, it was discovered that the pencil was missing again. So Dadu said: "Let me clip a pencil onto your pocket. Then you won't lose it."

I came back from school with all my books and note­ books but that clip-pencil was missing.

"You've lost your pencil once again! Let me do some­ thing this time." Saying this he brought a new pencil, tied it with a strong thread and attached the thread to my buttonhole: "Let's see how you lose it now!"

On that day too I came back from school as usual. Everything was in order, only the pencil was not there! But the thread was hanging sadly from my buttonhole. Dadu started laughing on seeing this but didn't tell me anything. He brought a new pencil and with a knife cut it into three pieces. He gave me one and said: "Here you are Pinu. Everyday I'll give you one piece of the pencil. At least this way one pencil will last three days!"

I had this habit of losing things in my childhood. Once I remember being invited with my mother to a meal. In those days women used to pin a brooch onto their blouse over the shoulder to hold the sari in place. On reaching the place, for some reason, my mother removed this brooch and stuck it into my coat-pocket: "Keep it there, I'll take it a little later."

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The truth of the matter was that Chhotokaka had given something to be stitched to a local tailor. And as is usual with tailors he kept asking him to come back the following day. After several rounds to the tailor, Chhotokaka got a little irritated and scolded him soundly. The tailor retorted with an abusive word. And in anger Chhotokaka punched him. The tailor was in fact a police informer. His

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neighbour, a barber, was also one. After receiving the blow from Chhotokaka, they gathered some other police­ friends and in their plain clothes, brandishing sticks, they turned up to teach him a lesson. But as fate would have it they were paid back in their own coin!

Now we started discussing about what was to be done. The man we had caught was a policeman from the central prison. The superintendent of jails, Jaminimohan Mukherji, was our close friend.

I went out in the dark. His house was about a mile away. I explained everything to him. He told me: "All right, you go back home. I'll see what I can do."

I went back home. Suddenly I heard: "Pinu, run, run! S.P. Pollard-saheb is there with his armed forces. Run!"

This Pollard-saheb used to harrass the freedom-fighters of 1942. He arrested Chhotokaka and took him away. He also took with him the policeman we had caught. On the way Mr. Pollard got the police to beat up Kaka very badly and sent him to hospital. Eight or ten people from their camp too had been admitted into hospital as a result of our thrashing.

Some more young persons' names were added to ours and a police case was filed against us. The charge was that Kaka had beaten a policeman. When the police had come to arrest him we beat up the police-party as well and detained one of them. That is why Pollard-saheb turned up with his armed forces to arrest Kaka.

The case was heard first at the S.D.O.’s court. The S.D.O. was a decent, patriotic Muslim gentleman. He had once penalised Pollard-saheb himself for kicking a local advocate. And in another case too he had given a judgement against the police. That is why our case was transferred to another bench headed by their own man. The hearings went on for a year. Twenty or twenty-two of us were convicted to two months' rigorous imprisonment and a fine of 200 rupees. We knew people who were placed

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I showed the ticket to the judge: "This ticket has its

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For some time I did not have a boxing-coach. Then one day, a good-looking young man named Sri Madhusudan Majumdar turned up at the Y.M.C.A. He had been to America for his studies. After his studies he also learnt boxing there and then came back. After he joined the Y.M.C.A. the boxing coaching resumed in full swing. I became his student.

One day, when he came to teach boxing in our School and saw my enthusiasm for it, he told me: "If you want to really learn it well, then join my club."

His club was on Kakulia road behind his house on a piece of land that belonged to his family. The club was called Ballygunj School of Physical Culture (B.S.O.P.C). And so I joined this club and under Biren-da's guidance started learning boxing.

Some time later, there was a South Calcutta School Championship. I entered my name. I won my bouts in all the rounds and quite effortlessly became the champion. In order to improve further, I became a permanent member of Biren-da's club. And he too began teaching me with great interest. In a short time I progressed a lot and I became quite a good boxer. My punching power in­ creased tremendously and my self-confidence was very high. I began thinking that I was capable of taking on any good boxer.

Besides learning boxing in Biren-da's club, I also learnt to do free-hand exercises, weight-training, wrestling, asanas, folk dances, volleyball, drills, parades, etc. Biren-da used to always encourage me a lot and taught me everything with a lot of care. Soon I became his favourite student.

Along with physical development, Biren-da taught me how to build an ideal character and love the country. This is what gave a new direction to my life. At the age of 14-15 I resolved that the ordinary life was not for me and that I would consecrate my life for some greater purpose.

Biren-da taught me that to have a beautiful, strong body and to be a champion boxer was not the be-all and end-all of life. We needed to prepare the youth of the country into a honest, hard-working and self-sacrificing brigade. That was the only way to take the country forward, to make the country' great. It is this goal that has always guided me and has brought me where I am today.

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All my life and even today I have been engaged in this work of building the youth. Incidentally, Biren-da joined the Ashram one month after I did in May, 1945 and started working with me. He rendered invaluable help by his active collaboration in those early days, when our Department of Physical Education was taking shape.

I progressed a lot in boxing. Now it was time to join different tournaments and show my skill and capacities and become a champion. But the Second World War broke out in 1939 and all the Championships set up by ]agat­ babu fell through in that turmoil.

I had no opportunity of joining any competition but I continued my training with a lot of enthusiasm, just for the sake of physical development and for improving my boxing. I did not enjoy being in Calcutta during the War. Moreover, I missed Nature there.

In Berhampore, on the other hand, I was in the lap of Nature within five minutes' walk from our house. And so I decided to live and study in the Berhampore College. I somehow felt that it was at Berhampore that I would be able to achieve whatever I had resolved to do in life.

I passed my Matriculation in 1939. Maths was one subject I could not get to like but my father wanted me to take up Science in college. And so, for my father's sake and despite my unwillingness, I joined college to study science. The consequences were terrible. I lost one year and then joined the Art department of the Berhampore College. That was in 1940.

As I began my studies in college, I also managed to set up a little gymnasium. I called it "Vivekananda Vyayam Samiti" and strove to develop my body as well as my character. And with whatever knowledge I had then, I began my work of preparing young boys. Between 1940 and 1945 I managed through my hard work to give the club its moorings. A lot of fine boys came out of this club and succeeded in different fields of life to show their skill and abilities.

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After I came away to the Ashram in Pondicherry in 1945, the club has widened its activities and scope by opening many new sections. And in 1991 it celebrated its golden jubilee. It is now headed by Dulu (Sri Bimal Muk­ herji). The club is all his life. He did not even get married. The club that was launched with the aim of building humanity continues to work in the same direction today.

Although I managed the club and prepared the boys, I did not know clearly what ideal I was to set before them in life. I could not accept any political, social, religious, or economic philosophy of those times. I wanted to build innumerable gymnasiums throughout Bengal where the work of preparing man would go on. Behind every club there would be an industry that would bring in money for the club and its workers. But beyond that?

And so in search of that "beyond" I came to Pondicherry in 1942, and I finally found here what I had been looking for. But three more years were to elapse before I could get down to giving shape to this ideal.

In 1942 I returned home and took up history and philosophy as my subjects for B.A. I ran the club at the same time. And in this way the year went by. It was 1944 and the course of the War had changed. The Allies were on the rise. Calcutta was full of English and American soldiers. There were many well-known boxers among them. Once again I resumed my boxing training. That year I was to sit for my B.A. exam. But then I told myself that such an opportunity for boxing would not come my way again whereas I could always sit for the exam the following year. And I jumped into the boxing competitions.

and the white horse represented divine force. The un­ sheathed sword symbolised unhindered divine knowledge. But she could not tell me why he was lame. She said it was probably due to this collective suggestion from olden times that Sri Aurobindo too broke his leg.

You probably all know how Sri Aurobindo hurt his leg. Immediately before the Second World War, in 1938, the Asuric forces that were preparing to attack the earth through war, first attacked Sri Aurobindo's body.

Sri Aurobindo used to stay on the second-floor room then. Mother's room was adjacent to it. It was a Darshan day and very early in the morning Sri Aurobindo was going towards Mother's room to call her. There were several stuffed tiger-heads in the passage. His dhoti got caught in one of them and he fell, breaking a thigh-bone.

Dr. Manilal, the Ashram doctor, was informed and he came rushing to treat him. He put him in traction setting the broken bone in correct alignment in order to help it join faster. In the meantime Duraiswamy fetched a well­ known specialist. . After examining everything he said:

"There's no need to inflict so much daily pain on Sri Aurobindo by keeping him in traction. This is the old method of treatment." And after removing the traction he put Sri Aurobindo's leg into plaster.

After a few days, it was observed that the two ends of the broken femur had overlapped instead of joining in the correct position. The condition was much more painful now. Any ordinary human being would have been screaming in pain in such a condition, but Sri Aurobindo remained impassive. From time to time a gentle sigh or two would escape his lips.

The specialist announced: "The bone has to be set right with an operation." When Mother heard about it, she said: "That's enough. Enough has been done. There's no need for an operation."

It was on Sri Aurobindo's body that the adverse forces Won their first victory. Or it could be understood in the

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angry by teasing him. One day a devotee sent some fruits to Mother through him. I don't remember what fruit it was, it may have been a fruit that Mother liked. Mother told Pavitra-da that the fruits should be finished while they were still fresh. Then jokingly Mother said: "You know Pranab, the place Pavitra comes from in France, the people there never eat fresh fruit. They store the fresh fruit and eat the stale ones." Pavitra-da got a little angry and said: "And rightly too! If you don't eat the old fruits they'll get spoilt, they'll rot." Mother continued to laugh: "No, that's not the reason at all! You people don't know how to eat fresh fruit!" And then there was one more outburst of laughter.

Pavitra-da had participated in the First World War. A few days after the War ended he decided to turn to the spiritual path. He went to Mongolia in search of a guru and stayed there with a group of lamas.

Once while recounting his adventures of those times, he said: "The Mongolians did not understand that one could walk for pleasure. One walked for some work, that was fine but to walk for pleasure, that seemed absurd to them!" Pavitra-da used to walk in the morning and evening. People started being suspicious. Was he a spy?

During the Second World War, the French authorities ordered him to enlist. But somehow these orders never reached him and so he did not have to leave Pondicherry to go to France to join the War. With single-minded devotion he went on doing Sri Aurobindo and Mother's work.

Towards the end of his life, he was attacked by a dreadful cancer. When he got to know about it he did not flinch but abandoning himself to the Divine he continued unperturbed to do his work. He did not undergo any medical treatment and bore tremendous pain without a word right up to the end. He was indeed a great-souled man and one of the most distinguished devotees of Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

(56)

Mother and Sri Aurobindo are not the photographs, not the books, not the rooms, not the relics, not even the Samadhi - they are a Consciousness. Everything with which Mother or Sri Aurobindo's name is linked is invaluable to us, an article of supreme faith and devotion. But they are not all. The real thing is their Consciousness.

If we can be aware of that Consciousness and keep ourselves always in touch with it, then that is all. Otherwise all the bowing at the Samadhi and all the reading of Life Divine or Savitri are totally futile.

(57)

I first came to the Ashram in 1942, during the April Darshan. I was only nineteen then. Ranju, Gora and Sunil were my companions and we were put up at the Chettiar House.

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Pranab at the age of twenty-five working at the Laundry

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We were four at night but when I woke up the next morning I found myself alone. The others had gone away to their relatives' houses. I felt very bad.

All my travelling-clothes had become very dirty on the train to Pondicherry. I did not know where the laundry was nor did I know the local language to ask. What was

I to do? In the end I made a bundle of all my dirty clothes and got out. I went to the Ashram and sat down on the staircase in front of the cashier's room ... .

A little later, Nolini-da came and stood in front of me like a saviour. He asked: "What are you sitting here for?" And this simple question was warm with affection.

I said: "I have to get these dirty clothes washed. But II don't know anything here. I was just sitting here wondering what to do."

"You needn't worry." With that one sentence he took all my worries away. He called someone and said: "Will you please take him to the Ashram Laundry?"

I used to feel like asking a lot of questions about the Ashram. But I would see Nolini-da busy all the time. Considering it improper to disturb him I asked: "I would like to know more about the Ashram. Who should I go to?"

"You needn't go to anybody," he promptly replied, "come to me, I'll tell you everything."

"But you're so busy all the time," I said hesitatingly.

With the same warmly affectionate voice he said: "Don't worry about that. I'll find some time. You come."

Then suddenly one day I saw a little notice at the Ashram Gate: Pranab to see Nolini.

I went to see him. He lovingly asked me to sit and offered me a tinful of Crisps. And then he began calling me every Friday and Saturday and would warmly offer me plenty of sweets.

And in this way, enveloped by his affection and love, I have had the chance to hear and understand a lot of

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things from him. His words did not just leave an indelible impression on my mind but infused my heart as well with immense force.

One day I said to Nolini-da: "For the short time I'm here I'd like to work somewhere. Give me a type of work that needs a lot of physical effort."

"Very good," he laughed, "you can go and work in the Laundry, then. You will have to wash Ashramites' clothes."

And so I began working in the Laundry.

During that time I used to experience a strange sort of ardour within me. As if something were trying to express itself, as if I was seeking something but could not touch it, I was looking for something but could not find.

One day I told Nolini-da about this state and asked him: "Can you tell me what is it that I want?"

"You want to remain absorbed in a state of permanent contentment," he answered and in that brief reply cleared my mind completely.

That was the first time I came to know consciously what my inner being longed for.

In this way in 1942, when I first came to the Ashram, I got an uninterrupted and inexhaustible supply of love and affection from Noloni-da. Whenever I came in front of him, I felt that same stream of love pouring into me and out of respect and gratitude my head would bow before him.

(58)

Like Hanuman was to Ramchandra, Dyuman-bhai was to Mother. I always remembered Hanuman whenever I saw Dyuman-bhai.

He did not know anything besides Mother, Sri Aurobindo and their work. He spent all his time serving them or doing their work. I saw him for almost fifty years and

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he was always the same Dyuman-bhai, one-pointedly following Mother and devoted to her. He forgot all about time, food, rest or sleep. His one preoccupation was to keep in step with Mother's work. He never paid any attention to himself, he had hardly anything he could call his. Once he had just come back from an operation and was still bleeding a little. But he did not let this interfere with his duties of attending to Mother. His clothes would get soaked with the bleeding, he would go down, change and return to work with Mother. What an amazing human being he was really!

From outside he seemed a little hard but within he was very emotional. If he felt something needed to be done for someone, it did not matter who the person was he would somehow do it. After Mother's physical withdrawal he felt a little strait-jacketed by some rules and regulations. And so, despite his wanting to he could no do many things. He used to feel bad and he was also pained by not being able to do what he wanted. He could not express his inmost thoughts to everyone. Sometimes he would say something to one or two people he trustee very much.

Both his letter-writing style and his conversation were telegraphic. But he succeeded in communicating hi thoughts. If anything good took place in the Ashram, he would be extremely happy and he would come forward to extend his help. If he developed confidence in some one, he would go all out to help him.

He was born in a middle-class Patel family in Gujarat In the first part of his life he studied in Shantiniketan Then he returned to Gujarat and he did a lot of work for the country under the leadership of Vallabhbhai Patel. A a young man he came to the Ashram to have Mother an' Sri Aurobindo's darshan. And that was it! He resolved the Mother and Sri Aurobindo were his only goal in life. It was almost 60 years ago that he joined the Ashram at

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tender age. In fact the whole Ashram took its shape in his presence and he played quite an active role in this growth. It is from then that he was totally absorbed in Sri Aurobindo and Mother. He spent his entire life in meditating on them, in trying to know them and to work for them.

I received more than my share of love from him for this I am truly grateful. When Mother took me under her care all the people round Mother felt slightly jealous about it. Except Dyuman-bhai. He was beyond jealousy. This is not my opinion but of someone who was close to Mother. He told me this. I did not know anything about it. He told me about it after Mother had left body, and he also admitted being among those who used to feel jealous.

I cannot say that I agreed with Dyuman-bhai on everything. He himself knew this but then he also said that this was how things should be. Everyone ought to be free follow his own ideas on things but this should not cause any hard feelings or ill-will. In reality, we are all one this is what keeps us united over and above our personal differences.

(59)

Andre-da (André Morisset) first came to the Ashram 1949 during the November Darshan.

Mother had occasionally spoken to me about him. Mother told me that when André-da was born, she felt that she did not want much from him. She just wanted him to grow into a true human being. In French "André means man. That is why Mother had called him André. André-da did not disappoint Mother, he became indeed a true human being.

Right from his childhood Andre-da was a brilliant

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student and a human being with a fine temperament. He was especially attracted to Truth and extremely devoted to his mother. A lot of people used to frequently criticise Mother for various things, and if ever these comments reached the little André-da's ears, he would strongly refute them. He would loudly affirm that people did not know what they were talking about, that his mother was a seeker of Truth and she was always sincere in whatever she did.

André-da passed out from the Polytechnique in Paris. Next to Mother's house there used to live a little girl with her family. Her name was Wanda. André-da knew Wanda very closely from his childhood and he would always say that on growing up he would marry her and no one else. And that is what happened. He married Wanda and spent his whole life with her. They had two daughters, Janine and Francoise, and both are Sri Aurobindo's disciples.

André-da participated in both the World Wars as a French soldier. Later he became a reputed and successful businessman. Before coming to the Ashram in 1949, he had had a long correspondence with Mother. During the time he stayed in France, he continued to dedicate himself to Sri Aurobindo and Mother's work, right up to the end.

When André-da came to the Ashram for the first time, Mother was seeing him after many many years. They met in "Golconde". She then made arrangements for him to become acquainted with everything in the Ashram. During that time I used to cycle out on Sundays with five or six boys and girls. One day Mother told me to take André-da along as well. Not on cycle, naturally. She arranged an Ashram car for all of us and we took André-da one Sunday morning and went round to quite a few places. He enjoyed the trip very much.

At that time I used to take the Blue-group gymnastic marching in the evenings. André-da too joined in, wore the blue uniform and did exercises with us during the whole time he was here on that trip.

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André-da always stayed at his own expense whenever he came to the Ashram. And he always worked for the Ashram during the period of his sojourn here.

When he came to the Ashram for the last time, his health had deteriorated very much. One evening we sat together and talked about the ups and downs of the Ashram. Mother was no more in her body then.

On the evening of Mother's physical withdrawal, André-da was one of the six people who were present in her room. About twenty or twenty-five minutes after her withdrawal André-da took me to one side of the room and said that Mother had once told him that if ever she were to leave her body, Pranab is the one who would be most affected. André-da had replied that they were all there and they would take care of Pranab. André-da told me not to worry, that they would see that everything was all right. And that is what happened. I have not experienced any sort of difficulty till now. The unlimited love I received from André-da I have received from few people in my life.

(60)

While talking of Purani-ji, the first thing that I'd like to say is that he was a lion among men.

Of medium height, almost short, he had a compact, robust body. Energy flowed out of his face, his eyes and out of every part of his body. There was a spring-like buoyancy in his movements. Ever jovial and genuinely optimistic. Mother told me that Barin Ghosh had brought Purani-ji to the Ashram.

He and his brother had plunged into national work from a very young age. He was in close contact with Aurobindo's revolutionary group. He was a pioneer in propagating physical culture and organising association

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He was known as the "Father of physical culture" in Gujarat. He also taught English and Dyuman-bhai was one of his students. He was an accomplished writer. His Evening Talks with Sri Aurobindo in English is an invaluable book. Towards the end of his life he went to England to do some research on Sri Aurobindo's life as a student, all the houses he lived in, how he studied, what his life was like. He shed light on all these aspects of Sri Aurobindo's life that were totally unknown to us.

In 1942, when I came here at the age of 19, I stayed here for about four months. I had come to find and understand the vision and path of Sri Aurobindo and to decide what I would do in life in the future.

Four of us, Sunil, Gora, Ranju and I, stayed at the Chettiar House. I do not know how Purani-ji found out that I was interested in physical culture and had been involved in organising physical culture associations. One fine morning he turned up there while I was alone. We talked about physical culture and when he found out that I liked wrestling he got down to a bout at once.

Nirmal-da had a garden in the open space in Chettiar House. Some earth had been dug out for planting trees. With Nirmal-da's permission we got into that excavated portion and started our wrestling bout there! He taught me a lot of holds in wrestling: saukhini tang, harin fansh, tabak faad, machhi gota and many others. After the bout he washed himself under our house-tap and said that he was very happy to see my wrestling. If I wished to learn wrestling well he could make the arrangements. He knew someone in Gujarat who was an expert. By spending five or six months with him I could learn wrestling really well. He would make all the arrangements for lodging and boarding.

Naturally, I never went to Gujarat to learn wrestling. But when I came away to the Ashram for good and was setting up the physical education department, I built with

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Purani-ji's help a beautiful wrestling pit in 1949. The earth for the pit was prepared under Purani-ji's instructions. A special kind of soil was brought from the Lake. Then oil, turmeric, neem-leaves, khuskhus, sandal powder, lodellium, soapstone, etc. were mixed into it. And then Purani-ji himself taught me wrestling with a lot of interest. How can I ever forget his gift of affection?

In my work of organising the physical education department, he always lent me his support. He always kept track of all the developments and never ceased to encourage me.

In 1957 our swimming pool was built. The opening was fixed for Mother's birthday. Arrangements were made for a swimming demonstration. Mother came to see. There was a special item that day: Purani-ji's swimming and diving demonstration. He was already sixty then. I announced: "Now a young man of sixty will give a demonstration on swimming and diving." Purani-ji gave demonstration as planned and impressed everyone.

To me he was always a source of inspiration. And the love he bore for me was unlimited and constant.

(61)

My first meeting with Sudhir-da took place in 1942 at the Pondicherry station. It was one late evening at the beginning of April. On that day four of us, Sunil, Gora, Ranju and I arrived in Pondicherry for the first time for the April Darshan. Sudhir-da had come to the station to fetch us.

I did not know Sudhir-da then. But when he looked at me I could see in his look the love and trust he bore for me. I too felt a strange attraction for him, an attraction mixed with respect and love. And the bond that we formed on that first day remained firm till the very end.

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Sudhir-da accompanied us to Chettiar House, where arrangements for our stay had been made. We had a quick shower and then he took us for dinner to the Dining Room. After our meal we were taken to Nolini-da.

In those days, there used to be a collective meditation in the Meditation Hall at 8 in the evening. After the lights had been turned off in the Meditation Hall, Mother used to come down and stand on the staircase. After the meditation was over, in about thirty minutes, she went up and stood at the landing. People would then line up and go to her one by one, do pranam, receive a flower, etc. After that we either returned home or we went to the sea-front for a walk. This was our usual programme.

It was Sudhir-da who took us for our first darshan of Mother that evening. It was on that day that I asked Ranju at one point who he was. Ranju replied: "He's Sudhir Sarkar. He worked .with Sri Aurobindo." Hearing this about him my respect for him increased even more. I felt that we could not have met a better man on the first day.

Sudhir-da was an extremely simple, cheerful person. He normally wore shorts and a vest and he had a crop of short pepper-and-salt hair. Later his hair turned completely white. I was told that he used to cut his own hair. His wrinkleless, taut-skinned figure spoke of the solid, robust health he possessed in his youth. His heart was simple like a child's, but he had tremendous will-power and stamina. If he saw or was told of any act of courage and heroism he would exult with joy. A few years later I took a photograph of Sudhir-da's to show to Mother. After seeing the photo Mother remarked: "His face looks exactly like an ancient Roman's."

He loved his country more than his life and kept himself informed about both the positive and negative developments in the country. He identified himself completely with everything of the country.

During the 1947 riots and a few days after the partition

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of India, he fell very ill. When Mother was informed she fully-agreed with the doctor's reading: it was the news of the riots that had resumed once more that had upset him so much and that is what caused his physical illness. He reposed in Mother and Sri Aurobindo his total faith. And this he has exemplified with his entire life. It is hard to believe this without having seen it.

After the April Darshan, I stayed till August and then returned home in order to complete my studies. The first time I came to Pondicherry, it was to see for myself what was going on here even though my family was in contact with the Ashram from 1934 and I already knew something about the Ashram and Sri Aurobindo and Mother's ideal and vision.

I came away to the Ashram for good on May 1st, 1945. Within a short time at the Ashram, and with Mother's blessing, I started my work for the physical education department.

I used to stay with my mother and brothers at the Fanovard House that Mother had chosen for us. Now it is Captain Mona's family's house. Sudhir-da used to stay in the house on our right with his children.

Right from the beginning, Sudhir-da always encouraged me in my work. He was helpful in my starting group-activities for the elderly. I used to conduct gymnastic marching for the elderly. He was extremely interested in this and would say: "Pranab, they do Bharatnatyam whereas we do Mahabharatnayam!" And he encouraged everybody to actively participate in the gymnastic marching and in physical education.

While we remained neighbours, I used to seize the least occasion to go and listen to his stories about former times. And he would tell us so many stories. I have forgotten a lot but if I had known then that I would write about Sudhir-da I would have noted those stories down. I regret it immensely now.

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I have heard from Sudhir-da that during the Swadeshi movement's inception, when their Revolutionary Volunteer Force went to Jamalpur for action, he was part of the team. He was then a mere teenager. The group leader had taken him along impressed by the young boy's courage and eager­ ness. The group-leader's name was Sri Indranath Nandi.

The Volunteer Force got into action, the police started firing and soon encircled the whole group. But Sudhir-da, being small, managed to slip out from under the nose of the police. On the way he stopped by a cobbler's house. Taking the cobbler's tools he disguised himself as the cobbler's son and after walking for many days he reached Mymensingh and stayed at the zamindar's palace. He was worried that since he had escaped, the elders of the group might dismiss him as a little coward. But later he saw that just the opposite happened. Everyone was impressed with his presence of mind. He had done the right thing by slipping out. Otherwise no one would have ever found out about their action.

On another occasion, he told me how Sri Aurobindo took upon himself the responsibility of he educating him. They would all sit round Sri Aurobindo and would recount to them the stories of the French Revolution even while he continued to directly translate on his typewriter the Mahabharata into English poetry.

One day, Sri Aurobindo told Sudhir-da that unless one read the Mahabharata, it was impossible to know anything about India. And he asked Sudhir-da to go and buy a copy to read to the others. Sudhir-da took the money from Sri Aurobindo and went to a bookshop. He found there that the best version of the Mahabharata by Kaliprasanna Sinha was much too expensive. And so he bought another cheaper version. "After all, this too is the Mahabharata,” he said to himself, "it should serve their purpose." They were going through a severe financial crisis at that time. So that was the justification.

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When Sudhir-da gave the book to Sri Aurobindo he did not like it at all. He told him that it was not possible to learn the essence of the Mahabharata from that book And so he asked him to go back, return that book and buy the Kaliprasanna Sinha edition. One ought to remember one thing though. The revolutionary group was going through a terrible financial problem at that time.

In the Alipore Bomb Case, the whole group was caught. Along with Sri Aurobindo the co-revolutionaries were all plunged in deep thought. At that time Sudhir-da used to do all the personal errands for Sri Aurobindo. They all would be discussing something but everyone seemed to be holding himself down. Sri Aurobindo would not say anything, he was lost in some other state. Sudhir-da was looking after his personal needs then. He would feed him and Sri Aurobindo would silently eat. He was not conscious of what he ate or how much. The fact that Sri Aurobindo could trustingly leave the entire responsibility for his life on Sudhir-da showed how much faith and reliance he placed in him. It is amazing even to think of it.

The government convicted Barin Ghosh, Ullaskar Dutt, Upen Bandopadhyaya and, along with these principal revolutionaries, Sudhir-da was also sent away to the Andamans. And there, in spite of the thousand and one tortures and pains, he did not let either his ideal or his inner strength flag. He remained in good spirits even there. A senior officer in Andaman Jail began trusting him but never once did he think about himself. He could have obtained a lot of advantages for himself from him. But instead of that, he would sneak out the personal printed envelopes of the officer. And in these envelopes Barin Ghosh would send news to the mainland about the country's revolutionaries imprisoned in the Andamans. The police, never suspected anything as the envelopes were government stationery.

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After the end of the First World War, Sudhir-da was released and returned to India along with all the others who had been jailed in connection with the Alipore Bomb Case. But the police did not let him live in peace. Through all these experiences, Sudhir-da lived on with great courage and dynamism. Then he brought his five sons and one daughter to take refuge in Mother and Sri Aurobindo in Pondicherry and dedicated his own life in one-pointed service of Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

I have seen a lot of political sufferers make a lot of effort to try and obtain the "Freedom Fighter's Pension" get the amount increased. But when Sudhir-da. received the offer of this government pension he said: "I worked for the country only out of love and not to get a pension. And now that Mother has taken charge of me, what need do I have to take advantage of the government's generosity?" It is seldom that we come across such a selfless person and one with such trust in Mother.

Mother told me that whenever an avatar comes down the earth he brings with him his instruments for his work. Sudhir-da undoubtedly was one such instrument. He consecrated his entire life to the given work with single-minded devotion. Today, I can say with conviction that among the followers of Sri Aurobindo, Sudhir-da walked in the foremost rank.

(62)

I had come to the Ashram for the first time in 1942, for the April Darshan.

At that time, I saw a slim, fair, energetic young man, always moving busily to and fro in the Ashram main building and he immediately caught my attention.

Then I asked an old sadhak who he was. I was told that he was a Konkani youth called Madhav. He was

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coming and going for quite some time. Whenever he was coming to the Ashram and staying for a few days, he was helping Nolini-da in his secretarial work as his assistant. So I knew him at that time as the Assistant Secretary of Sri Aurobindo Ashram.

When I came to the Ashram permanently in May 1945 he had already come and settled here.

At first, I did not have much contact with him. But from time to time we were meeting in connection with our work, and I could feel that both of us were gradually growing in an genuinely friendly relationship between us.

Very soon Mother had taken me close to her and my time in the Ashram was flying very fast. During this time I had an opportunity to see Madhav-ji from a close range, in various activities on various occasions. I came to know him as an able organiser, an efficient executive, a good writer, an erudite scholar, and a sadhak of high order, serving Mother efficiently in various capacities.

Back in 1936, my father had sent a photo of mine to Mother. Madhav-ji was keeping the disciples' files. When Mother had heard from me in 1947 about my photo sent to her, she wanted to see it and told Madhav-ji about it. In five minutes he had brought the picture out and gave it in Mother's hands. I was astonished to see his meticulous care in keeping disciples' files.

Occasionally, I was writing something or the o on certain subjects and I was taking my write-ups Madhav-ji, for the necessary corrections. He was ma1' them with much sympathy and interest, and with a strokes of his pen, or changing one word here and word there he was bringing life in my writings, wit changing my style and mood. Those were excellent corrections.

He had a sharp intelligence and a wonderful memory and I have seen him serving Mother with utmost sincerity and dedication.

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In the later part of his life, he was often going out on foreign tours and also on various tours in India in connection with Mother's work that he had taken upon himself. That had made the impact of his presence in the Ashram a little weaker, and his hold over Ashram matters got a little loose. His health also deteriorated very much.

When he came and settled in the Ashram quietly again, I had felt that he was not the same spirited Madhav-ji. I was feeling sorry for him. But he was still attending to and taking keen interest in Ashram work.

All along, he had a very soft corner for me and he was keeping all my news. We had a long and interesting correspondence between us about the present situation in the Ashram.

Now Madhav-ji is no more. Mother's beloved child has gone back to Mother's lap and is enjoying Eternal Bliss.

We all know that an incessant war is going on between the Divine and undivine forces. The Divine Force wants to establish a Divine kingdom in this world, and the undivine forces, with all their might, are trying to prevent it.

I feel strongly, that all our elders, who are leaving us one by one, are no less than able generals and great fighters in this Holy Battle, and falling one by one, fighting heroically for the Divine Cause, and Madhav-ji was surely one of them in the foremost rank.

May we take all the benefits of their efforts, toils and sacrifices and bring fulfilment for the Truth they stood for.

(63)

Many people often ask what Sri Aurobindo Ashram does for society. I would like to put before the readers my ideas on the subject.

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Indirect work

(a) The Ashram provides an unparalleled opportunity for the aspirants of the Higher Life to live in a dynamic atmosphere, conducive to spiritual growth, under the direct guidance and protection of Mother and Sri Aurobindo and to perfect themselves in the Truth of the Divine Spirit

(b) The vast literature of Mother and Sri Aurobindo and their disciples, continuously published and circulated by the Ashram, is a force for widening of the intellectual horizon of humanity, and has gone a long way in rooting out beliefs and traditions of a dead past and sowing in their place new seeds of a luminous future.

(c) Thousands of visitors coming to the Ashram go back with the breath of a new atmosphere, charged with the vibrations of a collective endeavour, to grow in the ways of a Higher Knowledge, Power and Beauty, and they carry back with them a living inspiration.

(d) Many of the disciples and followers of Mother and Sri Aurobindo staying outside the Ashram have organised themselves into groups and centres all over the world, and are working effectively, in ways suited to their environment, to spread the light of their inspiration among the public in different spheres of their life.

(e) The Ashram is helping the economy of this place by opening up job opportunities for the common men in Pondicherry. The Ashram provides work to about 2000 people directly for domestic work and in its various departments. Shopkeepers, vendors, restaurants, hotels, rickshawallas, house-keepers etc. get their clients from the thousands of visitors coming regularly to the Ashram. Devotees of Mother and Sri Aurobindo, wanting to stay independently near the Ashram, open business centres, workshops, factories, mills, etc., and a good number of people get employment there.

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Our work

Why do we not want to go out of the Ashram?

For the practice or sadhana leading to the fulfilment of our ideal, certain conditions are needed in the environment. Mother has organised the life of the Ashram with this object in view, namely, to provide surroundings, conditions and opportunities for such a growth and she is actively helping it to blossom under the protective wings of her Divine Grace. We have no wish to lose this golden opportunity even for a moment. Besides, it is futile to go out on any mission until we are really equipped in an adequate measure. That is not yet.

Why do we not work for the uplift of worldly people?

Though on the way to fulfilment we do not claim to have achieved it yet. Our gains are still to be gathered and consolidated. At present, we neither come in the category of men of the world governed and guided by their own standards of life and conduct, nor have we arrived at a full status in the higher life with its own godly values. It would be helpful to no one but only add to the chaos if anyone in this transitional stage were to set out on "work for the future".

Truth is active

But one thing is certain: the Divine Force embodied in Mother and Sri Aurobindo is actively at work in each individual, not only in the Ashram but everywhere in the world in proportion to each one's capacity to receive it and his or her aspiration. The power may not be visible but it is acting and to those whose eyes are open, the results are fully visible, though man in the mass is not conscious of it or perhaps is unwilling to recognise it.

Slowly but certainly the Ashram is taking humanity through a process of a silent revolution.

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(64)

Some time ago, Tark, Amit and Anuradha, all 12 or 13 -year-old, asked me a few questions. My answers to their questions are given below.

Q: How did you feel when you first met Mother?

A: I felt as if she was our "Buri-Ma", Grandmother, looking after us and taking care of us.

Q: What did Mother tell you on your first birthday?

A: Many things, but I do not remember them now. In those days I used to go to her while she would give Darshan to children at midday in the hall above the Meditation Hall in the Ashram. She would greet me with "three cheers" in a French way together with the children.

Q: How did you feel when Mother gave you the responsibility of looking after the P.E.D.? Do you feel that it has been a success?

A: I felt that she had given me a big responsibility and I had to do it well. Yes, it is a success, but I am not satisfied with it. I wanted it to be better in many ways.

Q: Could you please recount an interesting incident with Mother?

A: It was a Prosperity day. From the morning Mother was doing everything very quickly so that she could have some time to get ready and come for Prosperity blessings in the afternoon. She would be in a hurry during the children's darshan too. That day I was to take the boys to a football match in which our Ashram team was playing. During the children's darshan I wanted to inform her about it because in those days nothing was done without Mother's approval. But being in a hurry she did not let me tell her about taking the children to the match. I was hurt and I quietly returned home.

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Q: What do you think of the new generation? What do you expect of us?

A: They are very good. I have great hope for them. They are bold, upright, straightforward and fearless. Most

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of them know what they want. When I started my work amongst children, I thought that we would make finished jewels out of them, so that wherever they go, they would emit light. I want our children to become strong, healthy, honest and capable and so build a better India and a better world.

(65)

A long time back, some boys and girls requested me to speak about the Physical Education Department. I have included here the text of what I told them.

Brothers, Sisters and Friends,

Like many other activities of the Ashram, the organisation of Physical Education here, as you see it now in your daily routine, has had a long history of development behind it. You find the facilities offered by this Department so natural, easy and normal, and you are accustomed to taking them in such a carefree, casual manner that I often feel whether any of you ever sit to ponder on how all this came into being. Yet each and every item in connection with physical education such as our student-groups, uniform, equipment, grounds, instructors and captains, medical examination, the Ashram Band, afternoon tiffin, our programmes and competitions, etc., each one has an interesting story of its own to tell. About thirty six years of thinking, planning, hard-work and sacrifice have gone into the organisation of physical education. It has not grown out of nothing!

We started our work in May 1945, with the blessings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo. Mother must have seen some possibilities in physical education as regards physical transformation and integral education for making a more complete being. So she gave her help, support and guidance in all possible manner and the Department of physical Education shaped up as you see it today.

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Mother inaugurating the "Body-building Gymnasium" on 24.4.52

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In the early phase of its development, Mother once told me: "The organisation you are going to build up will be so nice that people from everywhere will come to see it." And her prediction has come so true! People who have seen and travelled much tell us that they have not seen such an organisation anywhere in India and few of its kind exist abroad.

I should like to mention here the special features of our organisation, each one of which can be an interesting topic for discussion. They are:

1. We draw our inspiration and motivation from the teachings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo. The object of our Physical Education is to help individuals in their efforts at physical transformation. For students, it is a part of their integral education and for sadhaks, it is part of their sadhana.

2. We have a hundred percent participation of our student community who follow a complete programme.

3. We have an all-round programme as far as our present condition permits us, catering to an all-round physical perfection.

4. Our programme of Physical Education is conducted round the year, during all the three hundred and sixty five days in a year.

5. We offer boys and girls the same programme and facilities and do not stop the girls from participating in any activity simply because they are girls.

A friend of mine once asked me how I see the future of this Department. I would like to say that all depends on how best we can utilise it for our ideal, the ideal of physical transformation. Things live and grow as long as they are useful. When the utility is finished, they die out. As long as we are able to take advantage of this Department for the achievement of our ideal, it will survive and grow and there is no end to its possibilities. If we cannot make use of these opportunities, it shall be denied to us.

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Shaungey roeychhey bhogini Minoti, Smriti, Hiro ar Nirata

Galaye tader mitha kaj bhari aachhey jey loyer sthirota.

Bhayeydeyr majhey roeychhey Aumor, Tapos, Bishwojit,

Gaular awaaj baj podey jeno, kenpey othey griho bhit.

Taubia baajabey chhoto Raja bhai, Milon baajabey bongo,

Tublu-dadar banshir shureytey kheley jabey kauto raungo.

Saub sathey korey himshim kheyey khatichhey Tinuda jauto,

Satya-didio biskut chayey ador janayey tauto.

Gaaner malati gentheychhi je ami prana-bhaura shob gaaney,

Auntar theykey theyley ber haoa jey kautha bajilo kaney.

Tinkodi-dar maurom shureytey prana eyney dilo tatey,

Akash batash runrun kori bhaurey othey moutatey.

Ogo Ma jaunoni, tabo payey ditey arghya eneychhi aji;

Modeyr milito proyashey amra bhoreychhi gaaner shaaji.

Shauto bhuley bhaura upoharkhani lauho tuley O Ma aaj,

Tomar tareytey kichhu korey bhabi shaarthok holo kaaj.

Translation

I get all sorts of letters. Some are very interesting. Once a 13 or 14-year-old girl wrote to me asking about God and his work. It is very hard to explain this to such a young girl. But I took up the challenge. What I wrote turned out to be a short essay which I sent to her. From her reply I understood that she had understood and enjoyed my answer.

Here is that answer for the readers and I hope they too will enjoy reading it:

What is God and Why?

(As learnt from Mother)

God is a conscious Being, who is present everywhere, who is all-powerful, who is all-knowledge and who is all-perfect.

He cannot be recognised by the mind, understood by the intellect, known by the reason; He has to be felt in the heart.

God expresses Himself through whatever is true, whatever is beautiful and whatever is good.

He wants to taste Himself through many. That is why He has created trees and plants, pests and insects, birds and beasts, animals and men, and this whole universe! Through the evolutionary process, He is taking everything towards His perfection, so that, ultimately, everything becomes Himself. In this whole universe, good or bad, whatever is happening, whatever is becoming, all are His will, His play and His plan.

His presence can be felt everywhere and in everything, everything is a part of Himself, everything is moving under His law and in accordance with His wishes.

Through the evolutionary process, man has reached such a stage that he can be conscious of God within

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Mother distributing prizes for sports at the Playground on 21.2.53

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himself. That is why, in the Divine's play, he has a special role, a special responsibility. When everything else in the universe, including nature, moves unconsciously through this evolutionary process, man alone, if he so desires, can realise God within himself, make his will one with His will, go through the evolutionary process consciously, realise within himself God's truth, God's beauty and God's goodness, and establish them in the material world.

Then, in the play of God, man's special role is - to realise God in himself, make his will one with the Divine's will, express Him through all his efforts and make his life and his surroundings God-pervading.

(68)

Some of the big boys of the Ashram, who became inmates after finishing their studies here and are now working in various Ashram departments, asked me a few questions in April 1991. Hoping that my answers might be of interest to the readers, I have included them here:

Background

How did you and your family come to the Ashram? What did Mother say in your first meeting? What was the work that you were given? How did your contact with her develop?

My grandfather died in 1934. My father and my uncle (Motakaka) wanted some spiritual guidance and were in search of a Guru. The late Ananta Kumar Sarkar, a disciple of Sri Aurobindo, residing in our town, had put them in contact with Sri Aurobindo and his Ashram.

My uncle came to the Ashram for the first time in the year 1936. My father came in 1938. Then they became regular visitors. I came to the Ashram for the first time in 1942

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Mother blessing children on 11.10.54

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During my first visit to the Ashram, I wanted to do some work as a service. In those days, Nolini-da used to assign work to people. I told him to give me a work that needed plenty of physical labour. He sent me to work at the laundry. I liked the work very much and when I came here permanently in 1945 I went straight to the laundry and started working there.

My mother joined the Ashram with four of my brothers in 1944. My uncle and aunt came and settled here in 1950. And a little after that, my father retired and came to the Ashram.

In my first meeting with Mother, we did not talk but I felt she had put a special Grace on me. That grew more and more and she took me more and more into her fold. She did not say anything special during my first meeting with her.

Did you ever have an occasion to talk to Sri Aurobindo?

Yes.

Physical Education

How did sports commence in the Ashram? What was her purpose in introducing sports? What was your role in the organisation?

Before the Second World War (1939-45), children were not admitted into the Ashram. Calcutta and Vizag were bombed by the Japanese in the early years of the War. Some disciples of Sri Aurobindo, thinking that the Ashram was the safest place for their children, requested Mother to accept their children in the Ashram. Mother could not refuse and these children got a place in the Ashram. Once they were here Mother thought of making arrangements for their education and play. That is how the School and Playground gradually came into being.

Whatever Mother did she always oriented it towards

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Mother distributing groundnuts to the Dining Room workers on 23/24.4.50

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a great spiritual ideal. Education and children's sports were no exception. The children's play gradually developed into Physical Education and through education in general, and physical education in particular, Mother wanted to prepare the youth for an integral perfection which would ultimately lead them towards an integral transformation of which physical transformation would be the ultimate aim.

Using me as her instrument, Mother has built our organisation of Physical Education.

When did the physical education get properly organised? When were the groups formed and how were the colours for each group chosen?

Starting from a small beginning our Department of Physical Education grew slowly and got organised into its present form. It grew by stages. In the beginning children used to play on the road and then in the passage of the Red House. Mother offered the Playground in the beginning of 1945. At that time it was just some play and fun. I came here in May 1945. At the end of the month, on my proposal, Mother put me in charge of Playground work. The rudiments of organisation started then and began to grow.

We got the Volleyball Ground in 1946 and when we got the Tennis Ground in 1948 our programme and activities truly started growing. Regular age groups for children, youth, men and women with distinct uniforms were made. The colour for each age group was chosen by Mother. She distributed uniforms to each member of the different age groups herself. Before receiving the uniform, each group said a prayer and Mother responded to it.

In 1951, we got the Sports Ground and our programme was further enlarged. With the addition of the Swimming Pool in 1957, our swimming activities started. Then in I960 we got the Sports Ground Annexe and the three

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Mother taking the salute from Biren-da at the daily Marchpast (before 1954)

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basketball courts to the north of the Sports Ground. The programme got further impetus. Our Judo section started in 1957, first in our Theatre and then the section got a permanent place in our present Dojo,

In the Playground the old School hall Was used for gymnastics. A very small room on the western side of this hall was used as tiffin-room for the children. When our School shifted to its present building, the old dilapidated School building was broken and we got there a courtyard, a covered verandah and a room for keeping some body building instruments, a storeroom for keeping body-building apparatus and a room for the caretaker of this place. The whole place was used as a weightlifting and body building gymnasium.

In the year 1976 we started building our gymnasium complex and the work was completed in 1986. We have in this gymnasium complex a storeroom, an office, a caretaker's quarter, a gymnastics hall for the practice of Olympic gymnastics with bathrooms, toilets and changing rooms attached; a covered terrace for roller-skating, a warming-up place before starting gymnastics and for various other uses; an open terrace as big as the Playground, for the practice of various activities. This is on the northern side of the gymnasium complex.

On the southern side of the gymnasium complex, we have a spacious weightlifting and body-building gymnasium, a bathroom and changing room and fourteen toilets on the ground-floor. On the first-floor we have an Asana room, the caretaker's quarter, a covered terrace for the practice of various exercises and our Projector Rooms with recording and T.V. facilities constructed earlier. On the second-floor we have just finished the construction of our Sports Medicine and Research Section. There is another open terrace here for certain activities.

In the year 1986 we took up the complete renovation of our swimming pool which we had been using since

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Mother distributing groundnuts to Group members after their physical education activities on 23/24.4.50

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1957. After finishing this work we built the galleries in the Sports Ground to accommodate more spectators for the programme of 2nd December and other programmes.

In the early days, in 1946, we started giving afternoon tiffin to the children from the Playground and side by side we would distribute roasted groundnuts or sometimes coconut with jaggery after the children's physical education activities. We did this in order to supplement the diet that our students got from the Dining Room.

When we acquired the Corner House in the year 1967 we shifted our tiffin-room from the Playground and started giving afternoon tiffin from the Corner House. This arrangement gradually grew and took the present shape of the Corner House arrangement, giving four meals a day to the children, boys and girls, captains, teachers and sadhak workers in our School and playgrounds. At present we are building on top of the Corner House seven residential rooms for our sadhak workers, a video and T.V. room for our students and teachers, an area for indoor games for the children, a computer room, photocopying room and an air-conditioned storeroom for keeping our films and video cassettes. We expect to finish this construction work by the end of 1991.*

The Library of Physical Education had also a very small beginning with a few personal books of mine. Now we have about four thousand books on various subjects relating to physical education in this library. We also receive about forty physical education magazines from various parts of India and abroad.

Our medical examination room, from a very humble beginning, has become a very practical and decent place;

We have a batch of dedicated captains, instructors and workers, full of good-will, who have kept our stupendous work running.

So now we have everything to do our work properly.

* The work was finished as scheduled.

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Mother taking the salute from all the different Groups (before 1958)

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What was the uniform of the women when they started the sports? Why was it changed later on?

When I first started the women's group with 33 girls they used to wear salwar and kameez as their uniform. On the 13th of July 1945 our boys participated in the route march that the French Government here used to organise with the sporting clubs of the town on the eve of their National Day, 14th July. In 1946 Mother wanted our girls also to participate in the route march of 13th July. Mother changed the girls' uniform of salwar and kameez to trousers and jackets for the occasion.

This uniform continued for some time. Then it was noticed that girls could not make free movements during vigorous activities and also, while running, they often fell when their back foot got caught in the front leg-opening of their trousers. So Mother introduced the present type of uniform. She chose white as the colour for girls.

In the beginning, when the number was small and the members were almost all of the same age, white shorts, shirts, shoes with socks and kitty cap were all right. But when the number increased very much and the age difference among the members became great, we had to make first two and then three groups for women. After a few trials we gave three colours to the three groups, as they are now.

When was marching first introduced? Who taught us? Which marching system was adopted?

I started regular physical education in the Ashram with only fourteen boys, and marching was introduced as a part of their training. I used to teach marching myself according to the English pattern. One day Mother told me 'that as in the School French was the medium of instruction so marching commands and all commands for the different exercises should also be given in French. Mother

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Mother at the "concentration" of all Group-Members of Physical education in 1954

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herself translated the English commands necessary conducting the different drills.

Madame Baron, wife of the Governor of Pondicherry at that time, was in the Army during the Second World War. She was a devotee of Mother. So Mother asked her to teach marching to the girls in the French way. She continued for some time but this stopped when she for France.

Then, at Mother's request, two sergeants of the French Army of Pondicherry came and taught us marching in the Playground, according to the French method. One was called Sergeant Muttukrishna and the other Sergeant Duerot. Both of them are dead now.

When I had finished learning French marching with French commands I made our own marching system, taking something from the French, English, American Swedish systems, but with French commands. This system is still being used in the Ashram at the present time.

On 24th April 1948, Mother wanted us to do a marchpast in front of Sri Aurobindo before the Darshan (in the Darshan Room). Our elderly members wanted to have some training before the actual March Past. So I had to give special marching training to our elderly members, so that they could walk smartly before Sri Aurobindo. The March Past on 24th April 1948 was very successful so Mother fixed up 24th April every year for the March Past in front of Sri Aurobindo. We had this privilege up to 1950 when Sri Aurobindo left his body. Then for some years we did the March Past on 24th April around the Samadhi

After the first March Past on 24th April 1948 our elderly members wanted me to continue the marching as an exercise every day. I thought that marching as an exercise every day would seem monotonous. So I introduced some free-hand exercises for the whole body into the marching and it was very much appreciated. I called it "Gymnastic Marching". Mother herself had translated my English commands of Gymnastic Marching into French.

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Mother with Nehru, Kamaraj and Indira Gandhi, Amrita-da, Nolini-da and Pranab are on the left.

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Mother on her way to the "Island" on 18.3.59

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Mother visiting the Handmade Paper Unit on 9.12.59

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Gymnastic Marching was born in 1948 and it has been going on since then. I conducted it every evening up to December 1958. In the early days Mother would watch it from the beginning up to the end for about 45 minutes every day. First we had the March Past when Mother, standing in front of the map of India, would take the salute of all the groups. After the March Past Mother went to attend to some work and I called her to take our "concentration" after the Gymnastic Marching was over. She would again stand in front of the map of India as she took the salute.

After December 1958 Mother stopped coming out and I had to remain with her. So Mona Sarkar took up the work of conducting the Gymnastic Marching and it has continued to this day.

When did the Ashram Band come into existence?

When we started route marching on the 13th July 1945, under the management of the French Army of Pondicherry we hired a bass-drum and a kettle-drum from the town and that was our band party. Biren-da played the bass drum and Hriday played the kettle-drum. The following year, in 1946, we did the same thing. Then on 15th August 1947 India got its independence. A few months before that there was some political confusion in Pondicherry and the French stopped organising the route march. It was then abandoned by the French. When Pondicherry became free in 1954 the route march was completely forgotten. But then recently, for the last few years, the French ex-soldiers assisted by the French Consulate and some clubs have been organising a shorter version of the route march on the eve of 14th July.

Seeing our enthusiasm to build a band in the Ashram a group of Mother's devotees who had organised a centre at Calcutta called "Mother's Centre" promised to help us. They sent us instruments from Calcutta; a big number of

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drums (bass-drums, tenor-drums, side-drums and kettle- drums), several English bugles and a good number of brass flutes. They also sent us a teacher called Mr. Paul who stayed here for three months and organised our band party. The "Mother's Centre" also paid the salary of this bandmaster.

So Mr. Paul came and started his training. Previously we had received two small bagpipes from England but we did not know how to use them. Mr. Paul knew how to play the bagpipe and made them work. One day, while Mother was distributing groundnuts in the Playground, Mr. Paul played the bagpipe during the whole time of distribution. In those days all the Groups would stand in formation for Mother's groundnut distribution and Mother went from Group to Group and person to person distributing groundnuts to each member.

Mr. Paul gave his training and went away after three months. We had then an amateurish band party which we were not satisfied with. We wanted a regular brass band archestra.

The "Mother's Centre" of Calcutta promised to help us in building up a regular brass band orchestra also. They told us to get all the instruments from France which they would pay for. Our bandmaster, Selvanadan, had then just retired from the French Army in Pondicherry and joined us. He was the bandmaster of the Pondicherry Army. With his help we made a list of band instruments and sent our order to France.

But very soon there started internal quarrels among the members of the "Mother's Centre", and it was disbanded. Finally we purchased the brass band instruments in France with Mother's money and all the instruments arrived in the middle of November 1950.

Then Sri Aurobindo left His body on 5.12.50 and His body was put in Samadhi on 9.12.50. After that when regular life started in the Ashram Mother distributed the

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band instruments to all those who wanted to join our band party. Our brass band orchestra party started under bandmaster, Selvanadan.

What was Udar's responsibility and contribution in shaping the physical education?

Udar played a great role as an organiser and administrator in the formative years of our Department of Physical Education in the Ashram. I took up the work in 1945. Udar joined me when we got the Tennis Ground in 1948 and were extending our programme. We were at that time an inseparable pair. Both of us were guided by Mother. I would tell Udar my ideas and he would plan them out. He proved himself to be a very good organiser and administrator. He founded our office, regular filing system, regular record keeping system and all the paper work necessary for an organisation. With his help I could plan our normal programme, competition programme, seasonal programme and yearly programme. He planned, organised and conducted our various activities. He worked out the details and some of his methods are being continued even today. He was an engineer and so we fully utilised his talent in manufacturing our equipment and various instruments. He laid the cinder track and produced our football ground of beautiful lawn from a fodder land of our dairy. Even the basic plan for our swimming pool complex was made by him.

He was the captain of Blue Group and led the group in the daily and special March Pasts. Up to 1959 he was everything in physical education in the Ashram. Then he shifted his line of action and went to construct Laljibhai's Sugar Mill. We then had our different vocations and parted as friends. But I must say that because of him physical education in the Ashram is what it is today, without him I could not have done much.

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How and when were the Playground, Sports Ground, Annexe and Tennis Ground acquired?

Mother offered the Playground to us in the beginning of 1945. We got the Volleyball Ground in 1946. Then we got the Tennis Ground in 1948, the Sports Ground in 1951, the Annexe and basketball courts in I960. We got the swimming pool in 1957 and the Dojo came some time in 1958, Corner House came into existence in 1967 and the gymnasium complex in 1986.

Why was Comer House created?

When I came here and started physical education work I felt that the three meals served from the Ashram Dining Room were all right for the grown-ups and sadhaks but they were not sufficient for the growing young children engaged in physical education activities. Mother supported my view. She once said that somebody must take interest and busy himself with this work of giving nutritious food to the children.

Gradually we started tiffin before the physical education activities, snacks after exercises and games and the distribution of eggs. These were meant for the young but adult sadhaks were also given some facilities.

Then an idea came to have a special dining room and kitchen for the growing youth, which would provide them nutritious and tasty food. Mother gave her full support and help and the Corner House was born. Though it was meant for the young, a concession was made for those who worked for the children. So teachers, captains and sadhak-workers who worked for the young were also extended the Corner House facilities.

Why was meat introduced in the Corner House? What did Mother have to say about serving non-vegetarian food to the students?

Refer to Part I, page 116.

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We all know about the visit of the Russian Gymnasts. How did they come to the Ashram? Did Mother have anything to say about them?

After 1947, when India became free, Rajkumari Amrit Kaur was the Health Minister of India. To improve sports and physical education in India she had made a scheme which was called Rajkumari Amrit Kaur Coaching Scheme. One of the items in the scheme was to invite world-famous teams of various sports from various countries to India to give demonstrations to the Indian public. It was thought that this would develop awareness of sports in India.

So a Soviet gymnastics team came to India and went round giving demonstrations in some important cities. They were to come to Madras too. Sri Anil Kumar Jauhar who was staying at Delhi had a good contact with the Gymnastics Federation of India. He sent a proposal that if Mother agreed, he could arrange to send this Soviet gymnastics team to the Ashram after their programme in Madras. Mother agreed and the Soviet gymnasts came to the Ashram on 2nd April 1956.

Mother once said to me that the Russians were mystic people. She praised their proficiency in music also. Mother wrote an address which I read before the Russians at the commencement of their gymnastics demonstration. It was published in the Bulletin.

What was Mother’s opinion on matches with outside organisations? Why were they stopped?

When sports started in the Ashram the first important activity was football. We formed a team which was called J. S.A.S.A. (Jeunesse Sportif de L'Ashram de Sri Aurobindo).As we had no grounds of our own at that time we played on the grounds of other clubs whenever we got an opportunity. Very often we used the Military Ground, where

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they are presently building a big stadium. Benjamin was the president of our club and he arranged games on grounds of various clubs.

A football team means football matches, so, from time to time, we would play matches with different teams in the town.

When the Second World War was over in 1945 the French sporting authorities started organising tournaments again and we took part in them. We had several races on the beach road on the 13th of July and on the 24th of November and this continued for some time until the French went away. They even organised a big athletics meet which was held in the Military Ground. The Pondicherry Military were the champion and the Ashram was the runner-up. Naturally Mother gave her sanction when it was expected that the outcome would be good.

Our last participation in the town matches was in the final of the football tournament with our team on one and the Pondicherry Military team on the other. As it so often happens everywhere some rough play started which developed into a big fight. The spectators also became excited and some of them became aggressive when they saw an Ashramite on the road near the football ground. It was a very unpleasant experience and so we stopped participating in outside tournaments from that time in order to avoid such incidents.

In those early days physical education in the Ashram was not as well organised as it is now and so our people, both players and Ashram spectators, enjoyed the matches with outside teams very much. But there were various conveniences also and so, in order to avoid all these troubles, we had to stop them. Mother has given us a very great ideal to achieve through physical education. As it benefits both health and physical fitness our students participate in it as a part of their education and sadhaks as a part of their sadhana. Our present programme is abundantly satisfactory

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from every angle, therefore there is no need to invite trouble and divert our attention from our original goal. If we again join outside matches and tournaments the following things are likely to happen:

Our objective would be to win, therefore, we have to make the best teams possible. That would make us concentrate on a few elite athletes and the rest of our students would gradually be neglected.

Whenever our team would go for a match all our members, both students and sadhaks would also like to attend. It would then be very difficult to keep our members busy with their own physical education programme. Our big organisation would then go to waste.

There would be a constant clash with the programmes held in the Ashram and outside. Both may fall on the same date and that would bring in confusion, diverting our attention from our goal.

There would be a free mixing between our youth and the youth of the outside world. Our way of life is different. Free contacts with outside youth would bring in certain habits and an outlook on life which may not be quite conducive to our ideal.

Free. mixing also will bring in serious boy-girl problems which would be impossible for us to deal with.

Our children in the Ashram have grown up in an atmosphere of maximum security. They also enjoy great freedom. They do not know and would be unable to defend themselves should physical and moral dangers come from unexpected quarters.

In what sort of sports activities did Mother participate?

As far as I know, Mother played tennis and did cycling in her youth. She did a "tour de France" on her cycle. In her childhood she had done plenty of skipping, played croquet, took part in rhythmic activities and childhood games. Mother was always busy with her work. She did not find sufficient time to concentrate on sports.

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How and when did the 2nd December celebrations start? Why were people from outside invited?

The first 2nd December programme was held in 1944 in a modest way. There was only a cultural programme then. The physical demonstration programme started from 1945. Our friends, staying in the town, wanted to attend it and so they were invited. Later a big government official of Pondicherry insisted that he must be given a formal and official invitation with his designation printed on the invitation card and making him the chief guest. Mother did not like the idea. Since then we do not invite anybody but issue our passes to whoever wants to come and see our programme.

Though the Ashram was one of the pioneers in sports in India, why is it that none of our boys or girls ever made a mark on the national level?

Because we do not work on that line. Our aim is to achieve maximum health and physical fitness and to imbibe all that physical education can give to build up high moral and spiritual gains. Our programme is made on this line, giving an all-round training and keeping opportunities open for everybody.

To make a mark on the national sports-scene we need to concentrate on a few elite athletes, giving them specialised training and exposing them to plenty of competitions etc. Then, also, genetics will play a very important part.

Since Independence India has been trying hard to produce world-class athletics, but how many have they produced so far?

The Ashram has been attacked several times in the past and each time you have organised its defence and infused confidence in its members. What do you think was the root cause of these attacks? Does that cause still exist?

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You must have discussed this matter with Mother. What had she to say about it?

We have many friends and admirers of the Ashram in the town. But the vast majority seems to be indifferent. Since a few years, it has been noticed that many local people have started visiting the Samadhi and many attend the Darshans and the "calendar distribution" on 1st January. Their number seems to be slowly growing.

But we seem to have some enemies also who want to harm us and at opportune moments they organise attacks on the Ashram. We have had three attacks so far: in 1947, 1965 and 1979. But the possibility of any future attack seems to be diminishing.

The attack on the Ashram in the past seems to have been the outcome of one of the following reasons —

The North and South sentiment, brought in by selfish politicians to serve their own purpose, gathered force on some occasions, which led to the attack on the Ashram, as the impression was given that the Ashram was a North Indian organisation. But this feeling seems to be gradually decreasing.

The Christian mission here did not like us and in their own way they kept instigating people against us. But this attitude also seems to be changing.

Some commercial people saw in our business enterprises their rivals, and therefore worked against us.

Our paid workers, when dismissed because of negligence of work, bad behaviour or mischievous action, became our enemies.

Any new idea will always have some opposition and we were no exception to that.

Ashramites sometimes behaved in public in an undignified way and that brought a bad name to the Ashram.

Some people and organisations became jealous seeing us so well-off, and that made them our enemy.

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Attacking the Ashram seemed to serve as a great propaganda media to some agitators, as it would focus the attention of the whole of India and the world on their ease.

We have among us some traitors who work from behind to foment trouble in the Ashram.

After the attack on the Ashram during the anti-Hindi agitation, Udar had given a statement from the Ashram's side. Mother had guided Udar to write it. If you collect a copy of that statement, you can get Mother's views on the subject.

We hope and pray for the best but suppose that some time in the future by some force of circumstances we fall prey to such attacks, how should the Ashram defend itself? Have we prepared any contingency plan? Do we possess some equipment for self-defence?

After the first attack on the Ashram on 14.8.1947 the French Commandant Captain Bohar offered to give us 20 guns to defend ourselves in case of any future attack. But Mother refused this offer. During all the three attacks, we organised ourselves very quickly and defended ourselves effectively. Of course during the second attack in 1965 the Indian Army helped us a lot.

Quite some time back, in my Ashram re-organisation scheme given to the Trustees, I proposed to build up a defence squad, with the permission of the Indian Government to meet similar incidents. But like the rest of the proposals it was not found necessary by the management. Or perhaps they found it too much or too difficult to implement.

But I am sure that if there is an attack on the Ashram again we can very soon organise the defence and meet the challenge. Our equipment will be stones, sticks and our physical strength.

It looks like the situation is changing. The Government

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is aware of the situation and at the slightest possibility of an attack they take preventive measures.

The possibilities of future attacks on the Ashram seem to be decreasing.

Photography and Cinema

How and when did photography start in the Ashram?

How were you involved? When did Mother consent to have her photographs taken?

Actually it was Sri Chimanbhai Patel who started photography in the Ashram around 1946 perhaps.

I wanted to have some artistic culture so I proposed to Mother to start photography and clarinet-playing. Mother encouraged me and I began those two activities. As I was interested in photography, Mother gave me the responsibility of looking after photography in the Ashram.

Mother consented to have her photograph taken from 1950 when she permitted Henry Cartier Bresson to take photographs of Sri Aurobindo, herself and the Ashram.

How did cinema start in the Ashram? What sort of films were shown? Did Mother see the films before screening them to the sadhaks? How did this responsibility fall on your shoulders?

Refer to Part I, pages 117 to 122.

Mother

What was the nature of your relationship with Mother? When did she ask you to attend upon her? Did you have any correspondence with her?

My relation with Mother was that of a Mother and child, of a Guru and shishya, of a leader and follower and that of a true friend.

She gradually took me into her fold after she saw me

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for the first time in 1942. From 15th August 1947, she gave me the permission to see her whenever I wanted. The responsibility of attending on her came about slowly.

As I was almost always with her, I did not need any correspondence. I have perhaps a few letters written to me by her.

Can you describe her daily routine?

Mother had various daily routines at various times. They could be divided into five main phases and I can say only what I have seen: (i) up to 1946, when she did not come out from the Ashram main building; (ii) from 1946 when she started coming to the Playground up to 1950, when Sri Aurobindo left His body; (iii) from 1950 to 1958 when Mother stopped coming to the Playground regularly; (iv) from 1958 to 1962 when she stopped coming down from her room on the second-floor and (v) from 1962 to 1973 when she left her body.

Her day always started very early and finished very late at night. Up to 1950 her main work was to look after Sri Aurobindo and His needs. Then she attended to the spiritual and material needs of the sadhaks staying in the Ashram. She gave several darshans throughout the day. Thus we had Balcony darshan at 6:30 a.m. Before coming for the Balcony darshan she would meet some individuals. At about 8 a.m. there was the Window darshan. At about 10 a.m. Terrace darshan. After that there was Staircase darshan. At about 12 noon there was Children's darshan. Then for some time we had Vegetable darshan, when she came down near Nirod-da's room to see the vegetable products of the Ashram-farms which were kept in the courtyard in front of staircase. There was even that Cow darshan on Sundays at about 3 p.m. when she came to the balcony to see our cows waiting on the road in front of the balcony. In the evenings she pre-sided over a meditation of people sitting in the Meditation Hall and in the courtyard. Mother came and stood on the

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staircase just behind where her big picture is now kept, and gave darshan in the Meditation Hall. Then she went up and stood at the top of the staircase and people came, one by one, to do pranam.

Four times a year she and Sri Aurobindo gave Darshan to the devotees. Then there was Prosperity darshan on the 1st of every month. She also used to see the books of various departments which contained the reports of the work being done and in which she wrote her instructions. She would see those department heads who needed her urgent guidance. People who had birthdays had their special darshan and disciples with special personal problems went to her for advice.

Nolini-da, Pavitra-da, Amrita-da and some others used to take to Mother the letters of devotees staying in India and abroad, and who placed their problems before her for her advice. On top of all this, she used to write messages for people and for the centres, articles, books, plays etc., guiding and instructing the organisers of the 2nd December programme. She also played the organ and read her message for the New Year at midnight and gave her blessings. For her food, sleep, rest, bath, etc., she had very little time left.

On 2nd December 1946, she came to the Playground for the first time to see the physical demonstration in the afternoon. That year our cultural programme was held at Salle Jeanne d'Arc in the morning. Mother did not go there but she had seen it little by little in bits every day in the I room above the Meditation Hall when children used to go to her at midday. Gradually she started coming out more and more and would see people and follow the Playground and Ashram activities closely.

By this time table tennis had started in the Ashram. There were tables in several houses. In Nanteuille, there was first one and then a second table. Mother started playing table tennis there.

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Then Mother started coming to the Playground more often and giving increasing time to the children. Then we got the Tennis Ground in 1948 and our physical education programme got widened. Mother started playing tennis every day. At 4 p.m. she came out from the Ashram main building to go for her tennis. Then she came to the Playground to see the physical education activities; attend to training and competitions; distribute roasted ground-nuts to all members of physical education; censor films before they were shown to people; attend to the practice of the cultural and physical demonstration programmes for the school anniversary; distribute school and physical education prizes and, before that, she would sign all the Cards, besides doing so many other small things.

Up to 1947 the cultural programme and physical demonstration were both held on 2nd December, the cultural programme in the morning and the physical demonstration in the afternoon. Both took place in the Playground. But it was found too much for the organisers to hold two programmes on the same day. So Mother fixed 1st December for the cultural programme and 2nd December for the physical demonstration and both were held in the Playground in the afternoon. When we got our Theatre and the Sports Ground, the cultural programme shifted to the Theatre and the physical demonstration to the Sports Ground.

On 5th December 1950, Sri Aurobindo left His body and His body was put into the Samadhi on 9th December. When things in the Ashram got settled again Mother started giving herself more and more to the work and to her children.

In addition to all this she started evening classes in the Playground three times a week for the green group children; once a week for the red group boys and girls and twice a week for the grown-ups. She started giving interviews after coming to the Playground from her tennis,

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holding meditation once a week and distribution every day. She used to return to the Ashram very late at night and there again she would see people, give blessings in special cases and do lots of other work. This routine continued up to 3rd December 1958 when her programme changed.

After the programme of the Centre of Education, on 3rd December 1958, Mother became badly indisposed. She had to stop coming out altogether and remained in her room on the second-floor. When she became all right again she would go down to the first-floor in the morning, give Balcony darshan at 6:30 a.m., see some people and then come up and do some writing work. After lunch she would take a little rest before going for her bath. After that she went to the first-floor to see people and this continued up to 5 p.m. Then she came up and I would give her some exercises and make her do some walking in the room. Her exercise programme continued up to the end of 1972.

During this time she used to go to the Playground to attend Darshan March Past and to the Sports Ground to see the final programme of 2nd December. She used to come down to the Meditation Hall to give special blessings on puja days and she used to go to the Theatre to see the Christmas celebrations. This routine continued up to April 1962. Then she was indisposed again and completely stopped coming down from her room on the second-floor.

From 1962 up to August 1972 she used to come out of her rest at about 4 a.m. She would have her morning walk in her room for about 30 minutes. At about 7 a.m. She changed into fresh clothes, etc. and then she had her simple breakfast.

After breakfast she saw people, listened to various problems regarding the running of the Ashram and offered her guidance. She used to attend to the individual problems of

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the Ashramites. Nolini-da, Amrita-da, Pavitra-da and other secretaries communicated to her the news of the devotees staying outside. Many visitors vent to her for darshan and she attended to various other small activities. This continued up to 12 noon.

Then she had lunch, rested a little, took her bath etc., and then again saw people up to 5 p.m. After that she walked in her room for two spells of 30 minutes each. In between I would give her some exercises for her neck, shoulders, arms, abdomen etc. In the evening some special people came to see her. After that she had dinner at about 8 p.m. Then, after getting ready, she prepared birthday cards to give to people when they came to her in the morning. When she finished her work and was ready for her night's rest, it was always well past midnight.

After 15th August 1972 her health condition started going down very fast and she gradually cut down many of her activities. Then her physical condition became so bad that she could not see people any more and on 17th November 1973, at about 7:20 in the evening she left her body.

What did she say about the World War II? About the Partition? During the Pakistan War? During the Bangladesh War?

Mother has said and written many things on these topics. I do not remember them. But I remember her saying that the asuric force wanted to destroy the Divine's work and so there occurred the Second World War. The partition of India was a mistake. The Pakistan War was the result of that mistake and during the Bangladesh War India got a chance to unite Bangladesh with her.

Can you describe what happened when Sri Aurobindo passed away? What were the changes that came upon her after that? What were her instructions to you? Why

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didn’t you take any photographs of Sri Aurobindo when he left his body? Did she give you any special instructions at the time?

When Sri Aurobindo left His body it was a stunning blow to all of us. But Mother held the rudder firmly and steered us through. There was no confusion at all. Everything became normal very soon and Mother's work continued. Mother did not give me any special instructions except that I had to stand by her side. All her true children felt that they had to do their part of the work as well as possible.

I expected to see Sri Aurobindo's supramentalised body so when He left His body I did not feel like taking photographs.

What was your role in her work? Can you enlighten us on the reference that she makes about a fight in the subtle world where you were the only one who did not desert her?

Like all her children I felt that I had to do my inner and outer work properly and I have tried to execute my responsibility as well as I could.

When her body rested she would often go out of her body and fight with adverse forces in the subtle world. Somebody was needed to take care of her body at that time. She told me that she had full confidence in me and that I was doing my work all right.

I do not remember about the incident mentioned in the question.

When did she decide to withdraw and why? Why did she isolate herself in the last few months? Why did she leave? What are the implications of her withdrawal to her work? What was her main work upon Earth? Did she accomplish it?

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Mother left her body because the body had failed. She had done what she could do in her present circumstances. We have lost her physical presence and we have become leaderless in the material world. That has brought in certain difficulties, not yet so overwhelming, into our daily activities. There is nobody now we can turn to and confide in as regards our woes, both inner and outer, and seek for guidance.

Mother's main work upon earth was to bring down the Supramental Consciousness in the material world so that physical transformation or the divinisation of the body could take place. She has done it and we can see everywhere man's urge for this change and which, therefore, explains the necessary upheaval. Now this new consciousness will go on acting and bring in the promised changes. It is absolutely certain.

Can you describe the period of confusion immediately after? What was your role then? How do you see the future of the Ashram?

There did not seem to be any confusion after Mother left her body. Everything worked out very smoothly and her work continues. I kept my poise and did what was demanded of me.

You have asked me to tell you how I see the future of the Ashram? Well, truly speaking, I do not know.

On l6th February 1934 Sri Aurobindo issued a booklet called "L'Enseignement et L'Ashram de Sri Aurobindo", in order to clear certain misunderstandings existing at that time among the public. It had its English translation also called "The Teaching of Sri Aurobindo and Sri Aurobindo Ashram". Mother told me that though the author of this booklet was not mentioned, it was actually Sri Aurobindo's work.

While describing an Ashram, Sri Aurobindo explained:

"An Ashram means the house or houses of a Teacher

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or Master of spiritual philosophy in which he receives and lodges those who come to him for the teaching and practice. An Ashram is not an association or a religious body or a monastery—it is only what has been indicated above and nothing more.

"Everything in the Ashram belongs to the Teacher, the sadhaks (those who practise under him) have no claim, right or voice in any matter. They remain or go according to his Will. Whatever money he receives is his property and not that of a public body. It is not a trust or a fund, for there is no public institution. Such Ashrams have existed in India since many centuries before Christ and still exist in large numbers. All depends on the Teacher and ends with his life-time, unless there is another Teacher who can take his place.”*

Well, you can draw your own conclusion from the above statement.

Later, this booklet was enlarged and published for the general public under the title "Sri Aurobindo and His Ashram”. In the last few editions the above mentioned passages have been changed and the last line in the previous paragraph has been carefully deleted. The learned editor must have thought himself to be very clever in avoiding this line and bringing in the changes, perhaps thinking that it could change the fate of the Ashram. But Truth remains true in all circumstances.

It is absolutely certain that Mother and Sri Aurobindo have shown us our goal; laid the path on which we have to walk to reach the goal; given us the necessary instructions regarding how to walk on this path; given us a place, the Ashram, with wonderful facilities, where we can do experiments with our lives undisturbed and practise their Teaching. And they have kept the atmosphere of the Ashram surcharged with their powerful presence, guiding us at every step, if we keep ourselves open to their Light.

* Italics added

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Now all depends on us. If all of us can execute our share of responsibilities to the best of our ability, new vistas will open before us and the Ashram will play a very important and leading role for the progress of humanity. If we fail, all the facilities will be denied to us and the Force, brought down by Mother and Sri Aurobindo, will still continue doing its work, elsewhere, wherever It finds sufficient aspiration and sincerity.

We have committed ourselves to the work of Mother and Sri Aurobindo. If we are truly worthy of the Grace and Compassion that Mother and Sri Aurobindo have poured on us abundantly, we must remain absolutely loyal to them. Individually and collectively, we must do our inner and outer work, with absolute dedication and efficiency, and then wait and see what happens.

Mother will never fail her children.

(69)

Some time back two officers of the Indian College of Defence Management visited the Ashram. They submitted a questionnaire to eight or ten people in the Ashram. Many people liked my answers and that is why am I including them here:

Q: Every Indian feels that he has drifted from his rich heritage of culture and values. Yet, on questioning he is unable to postulate from what be has drifted and towards what. Is it possible for you to elaborate what these values are that we appear to have drifted from?

What would you ascribe as the dominant reasons for the shift and how pronounced is it in our population?

A: Times have changed and with that have changed the values of life. Principles that kept man together, do

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not work anymore. Nor has man found new values. Hence this feeling of vacuum and void. It is the problem with the whole of humanity.

Q: In clarification of the earlier question would you agree that an increasing degree of materialism coupled with a shift from spiritual education have been the most important causation factors?

A: There is a seeking everywhere and man is trying to find a way out. He experiments with whatever idea comes to his mind. Some try new things, some try to revive the old ones. Materialism and religious education are only two examples of these.

Q: Since change is an unavoidable social phenomenon would you care to comment as to whether these changes in our value system are desirable or otherwise?

A: Truth is progressive. So, with the change of time man must try to find out greater and higher Truths. There cannot be any undesirability about the changes.

Q: If undesirable, would you kindly elaborate on the consequences thereof and suggest measures by which we could bring about a restoration or renaissance of our earlier cherished values?

A: X

Q: If you feel that such inevitable changes have been in consonance with the process of socialisation, would you care to suggest measures by which we could reinforce these new sets of desired values?

A: Man has to be spiritualised. At the same time man has to achieve material perfection in every domain. Matter and Spirit must work together. There lies our salvation.

Q: For the measures suggested by you, both for

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restoration as well as reinforcement, what modalities would you recommend in terms of education or training? Should these be formal or informal, structured or unstructured?

A: The approach must be from both sides - individual and collective. Each individual must try for his inner and outer progress. At the same time, by his example and teaching he must exert his influence to bring about spiritual and material perfection in the collectivity. Various methods can be followed depending on the peculiarities of each circumstance.

Q: Linked to the earlier question, which would be the most appropriate agencies or institutions that could be tasked for the same?

A: Old and existing institutions working in the field of various forms of education, must adapt to the new ideas and change their methods. New centres must also be opened to create new avenues.

Q: In all forms of organisation in life including the family unit there has been an identification of the karta figure. Our value system has suggested a pragmatic subservience to the same and in response that karta figure reciprocates by granting boons, favours and sustenance. Is this concept relevant in today's context; if not, what should be the type of alignment?

A: In every field of human endeavour there must be good leaders and good leadership. Kartas are nothing but leaders. So the karta element cannot be ruled out. The most important thing is that the right man must be put in the right place.

Q: In organisation life, growth, development and achievement of aims are in .direct proportion to the degree of human responses from the individuals, who

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man these organisations. For optimal results what, in your opinion, should be the role of the leader and his code of conduct in running his organisation?

A: The task is heavy and difficult. There must be a good number of intelligent, progressive, honest, dutiful and capable people, dedicating their lives for the cause, and be living examples of what they say and teach; and they must exert their influence to create a new world order.

Conclusion

Truth is active, and whether we want it or not, it will go on doing its work and will establish itself.

If we follow the evolutionary process, we would see that whenever there was a change in world circumstances, those who could change and adapt themselves to the new ways, survived as better species, and those who could not, perished. Now we see a similar change in the world; it is more in the psychological field. So, if we want to survive, we must change according to the need of the hour and continue our existence as improved beings.

Now has come the age of higher Truth and greater sincerity.

(70)

I was requested to say something about the later part of Mother's life. And so, as a result, on 4th December in 1973 I spoke a little. I hope the readers find these words useful.

Dear Friends,

Being advised by my elders and with their blessings, as well as requested by my friends, brothers and sisters, I now present myself in front of you to say a few words about our Mother.

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I must tell you from the beginning that what I shall relate will be what I have seen and felt personally. I am sure another person in my place would have seen and felt in a different way and I do not wish to go into a controversy about it. I shall be faithful to my own feelings and observations.

After Mother left her body on the 17th of November, I have met people in small groups and answered their questions. I have now an idea of the pattern of questions people generally ask. I shall take up some of them and try to say all that I know.

The first thing people ask is: "Please tell us something about the last days of Mother."

All of you know that at the beginning of April this year, Mother became unwell while she was giving blessings. We stopped this as well as the special interviews. She took to her bed, she rested more and after a few days she became a little better. She wanted to see people again as usual, but immediately she understood that it was no longer possible. So she saw only a dozen people, who used to come to her daily for work. She went on attending to that.

It continued like that for some time but, to be exact, on the 20th of May, at about 9:30 p.m., when I left her room to go to the terrace after Champaklal-ji had come in, I was suddenly called to see what had happened to Mother. I found her extremely restless, a bit dejected and, I must say, annoyed with herself. At least that was what I saw, what I felt. She said she didn't have any control over her body. From then, she completely stopped seeing people and almost all the time remained in bed with her eyes closed. In the beginning, she refused to take any food or drink, but somehow we persuaded her. Things went on in this way.

According to Dr. Sanyal's advice we were to give her about 20 to 25 ounces of food everyday. It consisted o

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a little vegetable soup, milk with some protein compound, a paste made of almonds, mushrooms, artichokes or things like that and some fruit juice at the end. She took them all right; and sometimes the quantity was just what the doctor had suggested, sometimes it was more, at other times less. All those who were in the courtyard below must have heard how we had to fight with her to make her eat a little. This continued for quite a long time. On the 10th of November, we noticed that she developed a kind of hiccup.

Actually, we had seen this kind of hiccup about eight or ten days earlier but then it lasted for a short while. This time, I noticed this hiccup coming soon after her lunch, I think it was 12:30 p.m. or so, and in the evening when she started taking her dinner it was still there. Then the doctor examined her and found that her blood-pressure was very low, her heart extremely weak and there was a frequent missing of beats. In fact, the heart started failing from that time. That day, and on the following two days, she took very little food. On the night of the 13th, at about 10 o'clock, she told me to lift her shoulders up from the bed. From 10th November onward she remained all the time in bed. After the doctor had examined her he said we should not bring her out of her bed any more. On the 13th night, at about 10 o'clock, she asked me to just lift up her shoulders so that she might take a sitting position for a little while. I did so. Afterwards, she told us to lift her legs also a little. I did that, too. Then she asked that her whole body be lifted from the bed. With Champaklal-ji on one side and I on the other, we lifted her. I noticed that she was finding it very comfortable. But we could not hold her in that position for long. After a few seconds we lowered her.

I must tell you that she had developed some bedsores on her back, on her hips and on other parts of her body. She would remain constantly in one position, semi-reclined,

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leaning on the raised back of the bed. That habit she had formed probably from her early youth or childhood. As she lay only in one position, we could not give relief to the pressed parts. And our lifting her must have given her some comfort. She asked that night, after every ten, fifteen or twenty minutes, to lift her up. So the whole night, from 10 to 4 o'clock, every few minutes, Champaklal-ji and myself kept lifting her up from the bed. At 4 o'clock she went to sleep.

That day, the l4th, she was more or less normal. She took some food and the day passed quite well. Then at night she started telling me again to raise her shoulders, her legs and later her whole body. We did that several times. Then she said, "Make me walk." We were hesitant, but as she insisted, we lifted her up from the bed. She could not walk, staggered a little, almost collapsed. Seeing this, we put her back in bed. We saw that her face had become absolutely white and the lips blue. Then we decided that whatever she might say, we must not take her out from the bed again to walk. She took about twenty minutes to recover; she started saying, "Lift me up again, I shall walk." We refused. She asked us why we were refusing. We said, "Mother, you are in such a weak condition that it will do you harm." Then she said, "No, lift me up." We did not. She began to plead, sometimes shout. All this continued until fifteen minutes past one. At that time we thought we would give her some sedative, so that she might rest quietly. Then we gave her Siquil as the doctor had prescribed. It took her about 45 minutes to become quiet and she slept from 2 to 4 o'clock, but after getting up she started saying, "Pranab, lift me up and make me walk. My legs are getting paralysed; if you help me to walk again, they will become all right." But we did not listen. After the first frightening experience, we had to remain quiet. She went-on entreating till about 6 o'clock when she fell asleep.

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The 15th passed off quite well. She took more food than usual. At night again she began asking me to lift her up. We lifted her up, then she wanted us to help her to walk, we refused to do that. We said, "Mother, you should not walk." She immediately obeyed us. We had to lift her up several times and the night passed off smoothly.

That was on the 15th. From that day she became absolutely obedient. Whatever we told her she did; she ate the food we gave her and she did whatever we suggested. The l6th also passed nicely.

The 17th morning passed very well. Every morning we gave her a laxative. She took it without any objection that day. Her breakfast she took very well, lunch also. Then when Kumud and Champaklal-ji had left after her lunch, I was with her; I noticed that she was making some strange sounds, and sometimes lifting her hands, but as she used to do this often in her sleep, I did not pay much , attention. I left at 2 o'clock, when Champaklal-ji and Kumud came. I reported to them what I had seen. When I came back at 5 o'clock, Champaklal-ji told me that he had seen the same thing, but sometimes Mother had been shouting a little louder. I was with her from 5 to 6:30. At 6:30 Champaklal-ji and Kumud came. As I was leaving, Mother called me and said, "Lift me up." Again from two sides Champaklal-ji and I held her and lifted her up. Then we lowered her on the bed and I left. At that time Kumud as usual asked her if she would take a few spoons of glucose water. Mother said, "Lift me up." Kumud lifted her shoulders up. Mother wanted that her whole body be lifted. So that was done.

After she had been lowered on the bed, Andre-da came in. A few minutes later Kumud noticed that there was some sound coming from her throat and the head was moving in a certain way which she did not like. She consulted Champaklal-ji and then sent for Dr. Sanyal and for me.

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I arrived at about five past seven and saw that Dr. Sanyal was already there examining her. Dyuman-bhai also had come. I went and felt Mother's pulse. It was still there, beating at long intervals. There was still some respiration. But slowly everything stopped. The doctor gave an external heart massage to her. It had no effect. Then he declared that Mother had left her body. This was at 7:25 p.m. Then, being present and feeling my responsibility, I thought about what I should do. At that time, there were present Andre-da, Champaklal-ji, Dr. Sanyal, Dyuman-bhai, Kumud and myself. I talked with Andre-da and told him that I wanted to wait for some time and then take Mother's body down, place it in the Meditation Hall for people to see. We would keep the body in such a way that it was not disturbed, then we would decide what to do. Andre-da agreed to my proposal. He wanted to remain with us but as he was not well, I suggested that he should go home and take rest and come back the next day. He left. We remained there and discussed what to do.

Now we thought that if people immediately came to know about Mother's passing, there would be a big rush, and the crowd would all clamour to see her. There would be noise and shouting and tremendous confusion. So we thought of keeping the event secret for some time. Also Dr. Sanyal said that we must not disturb the body in any way for several hours. So Mother was left as she was and after 11 o'clock, when the gate of the Ashram was closed, we cleaned her body with Eau de Cologne, put a beautiful dress on her, arranged everything and then Dyuman-bhai and I went down and called Nolini-da. Nolini-da came up, saw everything, and asked what we were going to do. I mentioned my plans to him. He said Mother had once told him that if it seemed to us that she had left her body we should not be in a hurry-, but see that her body was properly kept, and then wait. I said, "We are just about

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to do the same. We have cleaned her, otherwise ants and insects would have come. We have put on her a new dress and we shall carry her quietly, carefully downstairs and lay her in the Meditation Hall. After some time we shall call people." He agreed to our proposal. We came down, Dyuman-bhai, Bula-da, Nirod-da, Kumud and myself and arranged the place with the bed there as you saw. At about 2 o'clock we brought Mother's body down, placed her on the bed, arranged everything. Then I went out, called Mona, told him to come and see me with four other boys, five of my lieutenants, so to say. When they came I explained to them what to do: to call the photographers first, then to call the trustees, then all those who were very close to her. I told them also to organise volunteers to look after the work that was coming. They went out and did their work wonderfully well. Then, from 3 o'clock, the people who had been called started coming. While we were upstairs, we prepared some kind of statement that would go to the Press and to All India Radio so that no wrong information might go out as it had happened some time back. Our draft of the statement we got corrected by Nirod-da and gave it to Udar to circulate. At 4:15 in the morning we opened the gate of the Ashram for people to come in and have a last Darshan. You know everything that happened afterwards.

The next question people ask is: "Did Mother give you any indication that she was going to leave her body?"

To this I would say, "No." She fought and tried up to the end. She had a tremendous will and she was a great fighter and she fought and tried to do what she had taken upon herself. She suffered a lot, there was much suffering. Once, a few years back, when she was suffering terribly, she sometimes said that perhaps death would not be so painful, death would perhaps be better. But she never said that she would like to leave her body. And the explanation for her suffering, I can give like this: because she

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resisted, because she fought, she suffered. If she had yielded to what we call natural laws, that is, decay, disintegration and death, there would not have been so much suffering for her. But that she did not want; she tried, she fought and she suffered and showed us how suffering could be taken.

Another question asked is: "Did Mother say anything before leaving her body?"

To this also I say, "She said nothing." In fact, during the last six months that she was confined to bed, she spoke very little. Most of the time she remained with her eyes closed. At regular intervals we raised her from the bed, gave her food and drink, cleaned her, put a new dress upon her... . Whatever she said was mostly about her body, that she was feeling pain, she was feeling cold, she wanted water or asked us to place her in such a way that she did not have pain but could be comfortable. This is all that she said. She never said anything about our work, about the Ashram or about anybody. One thing she repeated to me often, quite some time back, and to some other persons also. She said that all the work she was doing on her body could be spoilt in two ways; one this force she was pulling down on her could be so strong, so great, that the body would not be able to tolerate it and the body might fail. That was a possibility. The second thing was that if ever she went into a deep trance and it looked to us that she had left her body, then if by mistake we put her in the Samadhi, that would absolutely spoil her work. And she gave instructions that we should give the body necessary protection, we should watch, and only when we were absolutely sure that she had left her body should we put her in the Samadhi. I think we have done as she wanted.

About the first possibility that she mentioned, it is left to you to find out and draw your own conclusion. But it is quite certain that she did not want to leave her body

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and she worked up to the end. After she had been seriously unwell since the 20th of May, when Dr. Bisht came for the first time to examine her, she said that she was undergoing a process of transformation, something was happening to her, she didn't know what it was, she didn't know what to do and she asked Dr. Bisht if he could help her in any way. Naturally, Dr. Bisht, a scientific man, could not see the inner things, and he said, "Mother, to see and tell you what is happening, I must make a big .progress; only then can I give my answer to you." Mother 'immediately said, "Make a-big progress!" So from that we can understand how eager she was to continue her work of physical transformation.

The next question comes: "Have you seen on her body any sign of physical transformation?"

Well, this is an inner process and with our human eyes it is not possible to see anything outwardly. Perhaps, a man with an extraordinarily high spiritual capacity could have; but for myself, I did not see anything. During all this time, I appreciated how she was trying, and that invincible will of hers I appreciated so much that I thought that unless one was doing one's work effectively according to one's plan, one could not have this kind of will, this determination and strength.

Then I am asked: "What did you feel when Mother left her body?"

Actually, I was holding her when she left her body. It looked to me as if a candle was slowly extinguishing. She was very peaceful, extremely peaceful, and when Dr. Sanyal declared that she had left her body, truly speaking I did not feel any want. Since that time I have felt that my heart is never empty and I feel no want. Another thing, what relieved me much, was that, having seen her suffer so much, when the end came, to tell you the truth, I was quite relieved and thought that at least the suffering had stopped. Her suffering had to be seen to be believed.

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Those who were there have seen how she suffered. When that ended, at least for myself I felt that at last she was delivered of this agony. And really, I, like many others, don't feel that she had gone physically. After seeing the message signed by Nolini-da, all of us know that she promised to him that if ever she left her body she would not withdraw her consciousness. This thing which came now, I think she had prepared me sufficiently for it quite a long time back. Long before, say, in the year 1948, when Sri Aurobindo was still living, she told me, "I am not willing to go, I will not go, and this time there will be no tragedy; but if it so happens that I leave my body, then put my body under the Service Tree." At that time there was a kind of brick platform on which there were some ferns. She asked us to lay her body there. And when Sri Aurobindo passed away, she ordered Udar to make two chambers in the Samadhi vault, one upon the other. Then several times she said how she was working, how she met resistance and how sometimes she found the work difficult; and lately, say, after 15th August 1972, I felt that perhaps what has happened was going to happen. I could not tell anybody and everybody, but to my close associates I said what I was feeling. Afterwards, I felt strongly that it was going to happen, I was counteracting this idea, saying that it should not happen. But behind everything the idea was there. So I was fully prepared from almost the beginning and, as I told you, I did not feel any want inside me when she left her body, so I did not feel any difference.

Then I have been asked: "What do you think were the causes that made her leave her body?"

It is a very delicate question, very difficult to answer also, but I would say that the physical laws still held tight and they could not be brought under control. That was on one side. One the other side, our insincerity, our unfaithfulness, our deceptions, our treachery. With all

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these we were throwing lots of mud upon her and she had to fight on two fronts. On one side she had to fight the onset of decay and old age and on the other she was fighting against this dirt that we were constantly throwing upon her. But I hold the failing body more responsible for what happened. Often I saw that she would try to counter these forces but when she saw that she could not concentrate much, she could not talk much, she could not write much, she could not see people, she could not do as she wanted, because the body was failing, and the dirt and dust that we were throwing upon her was increasing, increasing and increasing, I felt and I have seen also some kind of despair and I think these two things were fully responsible. If she had been in good health and if she had possessed a strong body I am sure she would have fought the other side out; but if the heart went wrong, if the kidneys went wrong, if there was trouble in the teeth and gums and other parts of the body and if she was losing control over her body-functions, she couldn't do much. So these two factors come to my mind when I am asked about the causes that made her leave her body. But I still think she had not taken any decision, nobody can convince me that she had decided and therefore she left. I think this happened because it could not be otherwise. I am absolutely sure that if she had not the conviction that she would bring the Supramental Transformation in her present body, she would not have been able to do all the Great Work that she has done. This conviction has made it possible to establish this truth firmly in the earth- consciousness. For the moment perhaps what has happened is just a postponement of the work that she was doing on her own body.

Then I am asked: "Will she come back again in the same body?"

To this I say my feeling is, "No." If she were to come back, there would have been no necessity of leaving the

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body. And the body itself was worn out, all the organs worn out by age; and to come into such a body and to cure all that and to bring back health and youth, it is my feeling that is not possible.

Then I am asked: "Will she come back in a new body amongst us?"

To this I must say, "Certainly." Throughout the ages, from the beginning of creation, she has come several times, many many times, to help us progress, to help us go forward, and I think and I am sure, and all of you will agree with me when I say this, that she will come again in the future to lead us further.

Then somebody has asked me: "Before, whenever we were in trouble, we wrote to her and she helped us. Now what should we do?"

To this I must say what she used to tell us constantly. She said "I am installed in all of your hearts. Just be quiet, try to hear what I say inside you and act according to the Directions I give. But for that you must be very, very sincere and you must allow only the right type of vibrations in you." I think there can be no other solution but this.

And the last question that I am often asked is: "Do you think we shall able to go through on the path she has laid down for us?"

To this I must say: "Yes, if we have a strong aspiration, a strong will, and the maximum of sincerity. Mother and Sri Aurobindo came to us and they have shown us our goal. They have brought down the necessary powers into this world so that this goal may be reached. They have given instructions, which if followed will surely take us forward, and they have given all their support and blessings to us. So, being Mother's children, I don't see why we should not be able to go through. Truly speaking, the Truth and the Power, the Truth that they have established upon earth and the Power they have brought down for

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the implementation of that Truth, are spread throughout the length and breadth of our country and the whole world, and I am sure that wherever there will be sufficient sincerity, sufficient aspiration, this Truth will work itself out, and this Truth will be realised. But staying in the Ashram, we are in a more privileged position. We have seen them, we have heard them, we were personally guided by them and I am sure that it would be easier for us to walk on their path here in the Ashram where they have created a suitable atmosphere. I think two things are absolutely necessary. We can already feel there are people who want to see us disintegrate, they would be very happy if we were all demolished. To them we can give a fitting answer if we remain strictly on the path of Truth. This will enable us to get the maximum protection from Mother and Sri Aurobindo and there is no power on earth that can harm us in any way. The second thing that we must do is to remain strongly united, forgetting "I" and "Mine" and replacing them by "We" and "Ours".

(71)

In the month of February in 1990, I fell ill and was taken to the Nursing Home. After a few days when I felt a little better many people came to visit me.

One day Rani-di told me that she had brought a beautiful notebook from France. She requested me to write something on the first page. I said I would dictate something and she could take that down. She got ready.

I just kept on dictating whatever came into my head. When I had finished, all those who were present there liked what I had dictated and requested for a copy too. So I made copies for them.

During the last forty-nine years Mother told me a lot of things about the sadhana. The fact that I could express

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all that so briefly and so beautifully took me by surprise as well. I felt that Mother had herself spoken through me. Here is what was said:

Supramental Process of Action

Formula given by Mother

1. Remain absolutely quiet in all parts of your being.

2. Aspire and call.

3. You will get a response from above.

4. Place your problem before it and wait peacefully.

5. The direction will come from above.

6. Receive it and implement it through your mind, life and body.

7. There should be no likes and dislikes and preferences.

8. Help will come. The right man will come. The resources will come.The material will come and the right action will take place.

Note:

Absolute surrender, no personal reaction, no personal preference and absolute detachment, and have no fear whatsoever.

Observation:

Tried many times and obtained wonderful results.

(February 26, l990)

(72)

I have heard a lot of things from Mother about the body's transformation and about gaining immortality. One day I decided to try and put down in a nutshell all that Mother had told me. What follows is the result of that effort:

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Physical Transformation

Steps Towards Transformation

1. Consciousness

2. Control

3. Mastery

4. Transformation

Steps Towards Physical Immortality

1. Prolongation of youth and maintenance of the health and physical fitness of the body for a very long period - to stop or slow down the process of deterioration.

2. Ichha Mrityu - death only when wished - Example of Bhishma in the Mahabharata - He must have reached the first step also.

3. Physical Immortality.

The Process

1. The psychic Contact - this is the very first step.

2. Putting the whole being under the psychic guidance.

3. The vital and the mind must not rule over the body. They spoil it by their ideas, their impulses and their desires (their excessive demands spoil the body).

4. Cooperation from the mind and the vital (a long process). They are a great force.

5. The body has to be protected and taken care of by an application of the knowledge of health, hygiene, physical exercise, preventive and curative medicine.

6. Growth of the body consciousness - the special role of physical education leading to gradual control, mastery and transformation of the body.

7. Physical education can help a lot in developing body consciousness. The body must be kept in a perfectly balanced state - Physical Sat-Chit-Ananda.

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8. Integral progress - this is the aim of life. It helps to keep one young; both inwardly and outwardly.

9. Ananda is our prime mover. It is the rejuvenator and must saturate our whole physical being.

10. Love which is the source of Joy, is pure and desireless. It gives freely without any demand or bargain. Hatred and jealousy, which destroy the body, have no part in love.

11. Each individual has to find out his own way. It is a dangerous pursuit and there is no set method. Utmost sincerity and a clear vision are the guiding and protective factors.

(73)

People usually look upon Mother as the Universal Mother pictured as a serious Goddess. But this very same Divine Mother could also behave like a little girl full of laughter, curiosity and playfulness. Let me give you a little instance.

After our evening meal, Mother used to rest on her bed while I would spread a sheet on the carpet in the centre, take a pillow and sleep. I used to sleep in such a way that I could keep an eye on Mother all the while and assist her if she needed me for anything.

On that night too I was spreading my sheet on the carpet. Mother had still not gone to sleep. In order to spread it evenly I was on the floor on all fours. Seeing me like that Mother exclaimed like a little girl: "There! you make such a fine horse! Can I ride you now? We can play horses on your back. Won't you play with me?" And saying this Mother burst into laughter. I too could not resist laughing. I felt at that time that if I had said "yes" even once, Mother would have jumped onto my back and started playing horses in that late hour of the night.

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(74)

Let me tell you about an incident. I have heard it from a sadhika. Mother used to give darshan in the mornings from the northern balcony. One day, crows had dirtied the railing. And so Mother started cleaning the mess herself.

This sadhika who told me this story was present there at that time. At once she said to Mother: "Mother, you needn't clean up this dirt. Let me do it!"

Mother answered: "You know, I clean much filthier dirt in men!" And she continued to clean the railing.

(75)

Once an elderly sadhak protested to Mother that the work given to him was not in keeping with his dignity.

Mother recounted this to me and said that she considered all work as equal. "They are all equally necessary. I don't distribute work to sadhaks according to their dignity. Whatever work I give is what is appropriate for him or her. The work given to a sadhak is for his sadhana. So whatever the work, if it is done in the right attitude, it becomes an aid in his sadhana. In every work there is my consciousness, my Grace. If the sadhak adopts the right attitude in doing his work then through that Grace he can progress much more."

And so you should all know that whatever work is given to you is the work you are worthy of and the place you should be in. Mother has kept the Ashram environment and field of action as a free open field. Here everyone carves a place for himself according to his deeper needs. Mother never really imposes anything on anyone.

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(76)

Mother once said that the one whom she accepts and envelops in her spiritual embrace, his destiny is invisibly stamped. And when adverse forces see this stamp they understand at once that this person has been accepted by the Divine. And then they begin their terrible assaults on him in order to waylay him from the divine path or to destroy him.

But if he can have total faith in her, if he can keep her love and compassion close to his heart, then he can overcome all obstacles and difficulties. The adverse forces cannot harm him in any way.

The adverse forces attack only those who have taken to the divine path. That is why the first condition for" "taking this" path is to be full of fearlessness and courage.

(77)

I have said earlier that Mother could also be very much like a human mother. Here is a piece of writing that I found later about this. It shows how much Mother kept her chosen children within her vigilant, ever-concerned and protective gaze.

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26 July 1952 : 1 a.m.

Mon aimé, there is a very violent and dangerous attack upon you. For my sake and the sake of the work be very careful and take great care of yourself.

My love never leaves you.

- Mother

On 24th November 1958, after the Balcony darshan, I walked away along the road. Later when I met Mother she told me that she had seen me walking away on the road after the darshan. "I saw you from behind. I wrote something about it afterwards." And she showed me what' she had written:

24.11.58

This morning I saw your back when you were walking away from the balcony. It was very interesting. Your back and your steps were full of decision and resolution. I was seeing somebody going straight to his purpose filled with the strength to conquer all obstacles, the power of victory.

- Mother

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Mother with Pranab on his birthday watching a physical demonstration - 18.10.51/52

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(78)

On my birthday in 1949 when children came to wish me Happy Birthday, they had been given something by Mother to read before me. Later she gave me a copy of it too.

18.10.49

Happy Birthday to Pranab!

Our big brother, our good friend. We wish on this day of happiness that you lead us by the surest and fastest path towards the integral Transformation.

(79)

Mother used to frequently write something about me in her diary. I am including here a few of those writings:

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22.6.58

My beloved child,

You are for me the living and perfectly representative symbol of the physical life ready for the transformation and wanting that transformation consciously. In all the plenitude of the Supreme Presence I say to you: "I love you."

- Mother

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26 January 1954

My beloved child,

Your consecration to the divine work is so total that you have given your life to save mine. With all the mighty ardour that I have, I pray that this offering may not be in vain. My will to overcome all obstacles and to triumph is complete and unshakeable. You can depend on it, it will not weaken.

- Mother

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16.5.57

To thee whom my love selected when the time had come to start my work on the most material level -

I did not see in thee the man, but the human being capable of supramentalisation, the aspiration for physical perfection, the effort towards total transformation, the will to divinise the body and a natural and spontaneous capacity to do so, a physical harmony already partly realised and a growing possibility of expressing materially the psychic consciousness. With the certitude of a final Victory.

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To that one of my children who has entirely dedicated himself to the realisation of the miracle, which for the ordinary eye seems an impossibility.

Your psychic is wonderful in its loving consecration.

Your physical is most attentive and careful in its effort towards unselfishness.

Your vital submits and obeys, but unfortunately, could not do it through love, and that is why, until now, it is not happy and feels no joy, inspite of the great psychic achievement and the bliss it procures.

3.6.53

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(80)

From my childhood I had been a lonely child. It is since then that I would often feel extremely lonely. Right from the time I was 14 or 15, I felt that something was pushing from within, something was trying to come out into the open. But what this was I could not understand. As I grew up, this feeling increased in me even more.

My family had been in touch with the Ashram since very early. At the age of 19, in 1942, after passing my Intermediate Examination, I came to the Ashram for the first time to spend my vacation here. I wanted to see the Ashram with my own eyes and to try and understand Mother and Sri Aurobindo's ideal and vision.

From then on, I started feeling this push of something that wanted to express itself very intensely, so much so, that it would make me feel uneasy. It was difficult to be in direct contact with Mother during those times. One had to go through Nolini-da.

One day I told Nolini-da about my condition and asked him what it was that I was really seeking.

After a little thought Nolini-da replied: "You want to remain absorbed in a permanent state of contentment."

I understood, but I still could not get out of my problem.

After spending four months in the Ashram, I returned to Bengal. There I finished my studies and three years later came back to the Ashram. This time it was for good.

I began my life at the Ashram. Mother poured her affection, encouragement and help on me. She drew me close to her at once.

However, the inner pressure and pull remained. On the contrary it went on increasing and sometimes became so acute that occasionally I fell into a terrible depression. During this attack of depression I used to experience an intense pain for a week or two. Then it would pass and everything would become clear again.

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Mother kept a close watch on me and several times she tried to get me out of these depressions. Once my condition got so bad that Mother dragged me to Sri Aurobindo and left me at his feet. Sri Aurobindo looked at me with immense love and I felt a great hope and peace within me. Everything would get all right, he assured me.

From then on Mother would keep repeating: "I'll give you a present. With that, you'll see, everything will become all right. You will experience such a peace and ananda in life that you will be able to overcome all obstacles with ease." But she never told me what the real problem was. Neither could I understand where this depression was coming from as externally there was no apparent cause for it.

At that time two things helped me a lot. One, I tried to do my work as best I could from morning till night. I never tried to shirk any of my responsibility. And two, I exercised my body vigorously for two to two-and-a-half hours every day. Through this solid work and exercise routine I kept my body happy and with a healthy and strong body I could confront life much better.

Then from 1968 onwards, that is after 23 years of staying in the Ashram, I started feeling as if I had begun at long last to receive Mother's "present". Within me I felt a peace and ananda filling up. And as they increased they pervaded my entire being. I told Mother that I had received her present. She was very happy to hear this.

After coming out of my depression I finally found out the reason for it.

Right from my childhood I had hitched my life to an ideal. My discipline was very severe. I lived through this discipline. But at the unconscious levels of my being, my mind and vital yearned for the hopes, desires, joys and satisfactions of an ordinary life. As I had no connection with this .unconscious part I' could not in any way control it. And so, unable to satiate their desires, my mind and

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vital would revolt and not cooperate and as a result I would fall into a depression.

Mother illuminated this dark part of my being and by purifying it she saved me. And I became rightfully a vessel of pure ananda and peace.

And then I began walking on Mother and Sri Aurobindo's true path.

(81)

Epilogue

In the enthusiasm of youth I made a mistake. However, I only gained something through it. It is thanks to that mistake that I was brought to the divine path.

I imagined that Sri Aurobindo had realised the supramental consciousness in his sadhana, that he was totally transformed. He had no more illness, death could not touch him, no bond of the mortal world had any hold on him. Consequently, if I surrendered myself to such a guru then under his guidance I too could quickly progress in the supramental sadhana and completely transform myself.

I used to think that there was no illness in the Ashram, there was no suffering, no human weakness. No one could die here. This was some sort of Paradise. My life too would be blessed if I could live there. It was such ideas that brought me to the Ashram. Had these ideas not entered my head I may never have come here.

Naturally no one told me about these things nor did I read about them in any of Mother's or Sri Aurobindo's writings. This sort of certainty had entered my head without any outward reason. When I came to the Ashram for the first time in 1942 and stayed here for four months, I never realised that this belief was wrong.

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Just before coming to the Ashram for good, I had seen a film called Lost Horizon. In this film they showed such an ideal place called Shangri-la. I decided that Sri Aurobindo's Ashram was my Shangri-la.

In 1942, on the first day of my arrival in the Ashram, I went to the Dining Room for dinner. There I found out that the wife of a sadhak named Madangopal had died and the sweetmeat was being served as part of her funeral rites. Something struck me as odd. So death did exist, after all, in the Ashram, I wondered. Later I found out that Madangopal's wife was not an inmate of the Ashram but lived outside. My mind was reassured. Madangopal's wife died because she had not lived in the Ashram. Had she lived in the Ashram she would not have died.

A few months after coming definitively to the Ashram I got a real shock. A very sincere devotee of Mother and one who was extremely close to her, Chandulal, died. He had been a civil engineer outside and had lived in the Ashram for a long time. He was in charge of house maintenance, construction, repairs, etc., in short the Building Service. He was the head of this section. He had been admitted to the Town Hospital for a hernia operation and immediately after the operation he died.

At that time the Ashram did not own a van to take the corpse to the cremation-ground. We carried him there on a cot for the funeral. His death shook my belief greatly. But I controlled myself and went on single-mindedly on the path indicated by Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

Sometime after this incident - Mother had drawn me very close to her by then - I asked her if she and Sri Aurobindo had realised the supramental consciousness.

Mother answered: "No, not yet." The supramental consciousness came down into them from time to time but it was not yet established. "But we have caught the tail of it."

I was very disheartened. But I consoled myself thinking

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that even if they have not established the supramental consciousness in them they are at least marching ahead on this path and soon we will see its result.

I thought this especially after hearing Mother say to me one day: "Pranab, this time there will be no tragedy. We will certainly complete our work. Pavitra, Nolini and all these old sadhaks are waiting to witness the supramental realisation. I can't dishearten them."

Then on 5th December 1950, for some reason, Sri Aurobindo left his body. I was quite upset, but by then I had made my determination firm. Now that I was on this path, come what may, I would keep trying till my very last breath. I also thought that Mother would complete Sri Aurobindo's unfinished work. She would bring about the physical transformation in her own body. I lived on with that hope.

Then on 17th November 1973 Mother left her body. But by then by Mother's Grace, a poise and peace had taken root in me. And that is why even though I was saddened by her passing, I did not let it overwhelm me. And I have continued to walk on Mother and Sri Aurobindo's path. Let me see what they have kept in store for me: "Mantra-sadhan or the body's dissolution."

(82)

Soul-Searching

In childhood I used to hear from my Burodidi stories from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. There, rishis and munis used to undertake tapasya of a thousand years in order to win some boon from the Divine. In my child-like way I used to imagine that these rishis and munis certainly knew a secret mantra that enabled them to live for so long to do this tapasya. I was very eager to know that mantra.

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Then on growing up a little, I came to know that Buddha did tapasya in order to conquer disease, suffering, old age and death and after achieving Nirvana he attained his goal. But even at such a young age my mind just wouldn't accept that what he achieved could really be 'everything. I had the feeling that what he achieved was perhaps not exactly what he had sought.

I would remain rapt in such thoughts from a very young age. I did not understand much, I did not even know much then. But still a deep thought or awareness of some secret existence enveloped me all the time. And because of this I became a somewhat lonely child.

Then I grew up a little more. Through physical culture I developed my body. But then I thought to myself that this body was not going to last forever. According to Nature's law the body would decay with time and then die. That old dream of childhood came back to me: is not there a way of obtaining immortality by preserving youth?

Already at the age of fourteen I had resolved that my life was not for me. But I did not understand then who or what it was for. It was then that I entered Biren-da's exercise-club to learn boxing and take up physical culture. Biren-da used to lay great stress on character-development. Exercise and boxing instilled courage and self-confidence in me. And there began my search for the true path.

When my family's contact with the Ashram started, I was twelve or thirteen. Mother and Sri Aurobindo's vision and thoughts impressed me a lot but I did not still know then that one day I would walk on their path. I was still looking for a path at that time.

This exercise-club and these youth associations gave a totally new direction to my life. I began feeling the urge to offer my life for some great work, some great ideal. All sorts of ideas and plans began buzzing in my head. But nothing in a clearly perceptible or definitive way.

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At the age of nineteen I came and spent four months in the Ashram. That trip was, in fact, part of my search for a path. That was my first direct contact with Sri Aurobindo's teaching and vision. And although I was greatly impressed by this vision, I still did not imagine that I would return to the Ashram and take to this path. I had other plans then. And just as I was proceeding accordingly and getting ready to reorient my life, I suddenly had an impulse that brought me here.

Once I had made contact with Mother and Sri Aurobindo, I felt that the answers to all my questions will be found only from them. That was another reason for my coming to. the Ashram.

As time passed, I received Mother's love and affection and came extremely close to her. I benefitted from her active guidance. Life, I felt, was now moving at a set pace towards the goal.

To say that there were no obstacles and difficulties would be incorrect. In fact, I had to go through tremendous hardship. But I overcame all. Someone protected and preserved me from everything and brought me across. I experienced fulfilment within me and it remained with me.

I found a permanent and clear goal and I found a path to reach that goal. I also received all the directions needed to walk on that path. Whatever is necessary in this life I got in ample measure. And I gained an extraordinary support and confidence which filled me with the energy and dynamism needed to eliminate all difficulties.

Today, at the threshhold of my seventieth year, when I look back I feel that all through my life someone has led me by the hand. So many misfortunes came my way, misfortunes that should have completely wiped me out, but I just sailed over them. This would certainly not have been possible if a conscious Being, a guiding Power had not led me. I feel very strongly that a great pilot is guiding me on.

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I gained the knowledge of this mystery of life after many, many years of closeness to Mother. Well, I have found the road. Now the journey remains to be completed. And I am on this journey now. I know for sure that some day, whether in this life or in the next, with Mother's blessing I will reach my goal.

I want to see the end. And I am waiting for it.

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