Sri Aurobindo as I knew Him

Reminiscences of Sri Aurobindo's Political Days

Silent Watcher

My eyes first set themselves on Sri Aurobindo—known at that time as Aurobindo Ghose—on a November evening on the eve of the Benares Congress held during the last days of December, 1905. The place of the meeting was a room at the Field and Academy Club in the Sib Narayan Das Lane just north east of the present Vidyasagar College Hostel on Cornwallis Street. The Club had been organised by the young men of the Bengalee higher classes headed by the then Maharaj-Kumar of Cooch-Bihar. Many of them had completed their education in Britain and the time-spirit had caught them and been influencing them to think of things other than personal pleasures and the diversions of intellectualism. Leaders of thought and society had been discussing the pros and cons of the then methods of political activity that were confined to petition, prayer and protest to the alien Authority which held India under subjection. Bankim Chandra had characterised these as "dog politics"—waiting for crumbs and bones from the master's plate; Rabindranath Tagore had directed at them his shafts of ridicule in his essays read before the Calcutta learned societies and in articles in the papers edited by him; Sri Aurobindo had held up the example of Parnellism* with a view to discredit this "mendicant policy" in a series of articles in the Indu-Prakash, the Bombay Weekly, during the later part of the last decade of the 19th century. Bipin Chandra Pal in his New India (Weekly), started in 1901, began challenging the postulates of the Congress politics.

It was in this climate of opinion that we had grown up and naturally were drawn towards principles and policies that suggested activities that were dynamic and "dangerous", to use a word very popular amongst us in those days. To young Bengalees in those days Bal Gangadhar Tilak, Rabindranath Tagore, Bipin Chandra Pal and Brahmabandhav Upadhyaya and those who came to be associated with them were objects of admiration and no little curiosity. On the November evening referred to above, there were gathered Bipin Chandra Pal, Chittaranjan Das, Surendranath Halder, and Sarat Chandra Sen—all familiar faces; the only exception was a retiring figure sitting quietly in a chair, whose name I later came to know was Aurobindo Ghose. The discussion that ensued referred to the resolutions of the forthcoming session of the Congress. The Boycott resolution had been passed at a meeting held at the Calcutta Town Hall on the 7th of August, 1905, it had angered and harmed Anglo-India—the finance-capital interests of British merchants and manufacturers. And the State in India whose only reason for existence was the service of these interests naturally attempted to stamp out the rising temper of the subject population symbolised by the Boycott resolution.

This repression helped to disrupt the front of the politically-minded India; the seeds of two party alignments were sown, the "Moderates" and "Extremists" had their birth, the former desiring to tone down the "Extremist" resolution on the Boycott, the latter desiring to have it and other items of a defiant policy endorsed by the Congress. Though the control of the Congress was in the hands of the "Moderates" they dared not resile from the position taken up at the Calcutta meeting. Advanced opinion in Maharashtra and the Punjab, represented by Balwant Gangadhar Tilak and Lala Lajpat Rai, pressed home this advantage, and the Benares Congress endorsed the resolution under pressure of that militant group of Indian politicians. All the possibilities of the situation were discussed at this meeting. Sri Aurobindo remained a silent listener. It appeared that he was a watcher of the sky over Bengal and was satisfied with the signs on the weather-chart; he could wait.

Another topic that had been discussed at this "gathering of the clan", was the need for a daily English-language paper to propagate the principles and policies of the New Party waiting to be born, as the New India Weekly was felt to be unequal to the task of interpreting the ever-evolving revolutionary changes in the country and of giving a lead that would bring to fruition the dreams and aspirations of the people. No decision could be arrived at as finance stood as a stumbling block. On this topic also Sri Aurobindo appeared to be watching developments.

The next occasion on which I saw Sri Aurobindo was during the days when the Bengal Provincial Conference was scheduled to meet at Barisal in April, 1906, during the Easter holidays. I accompanied Brahmabandhav Upadhyaya to Barisal as a delegate to this Conference. Chittaranjan Das, Bipin Chandra Pal, Surendra Nath Halder and Sarat Chandra Sen were guests of the Lakutia House, a famous zamindar family of the district. I found Sri Aurobindo there, studying the situation. The Conference was dispersed by the bureaucracy at the point of the bayonet and the "regulation lathi." This outrage inflamed even the leaders of the "Moderate" party, one of whom, Bhupendranath Basu, declared, "This is the end, the beginning of the end of the British Rule in India." The feeling all over India was electric; the Barisal episode laid the foundation of terrorism in Bengal. I recall that while all the others were excited, Sri Aurobindo was unperturbed; and interpreting the past in the light of later events, I can say that he was satisfied with the evolution of thought and activity precipitated at Barisal.

Delegates from East Bengal clustered round the leaders of the New Party for light and lead. And they arranged that some of the latter should tour their areas and help preach the new message. Three of them—Bipin Chandra Pal, Sri Aurobindo and Subodh Chandra Mullick—agreed to this proposal. I had the privilege of accompanying them as one of the "volunteer" workers. Thus was I thrown into intimate relation with these leaders, and for about 45 days had occasion to observe matters and unconsciously imbibe the lessons of a new Sadhana, devoted work, in politics. Thousands had their initiation during these days, each receiving the gift of understanding and dedication according to the law of his being. Since then life has been different to them through good report and evil, through success and failure. The sacrifices made, the risks taken with the happiness of dear and near ones involved in this refusal to follow the ordinary path, have been worth-while. For, millions felt that "bliss was it in that age to be alive, to be young was very heaven." We had glimpses of the future, dreamt dreams, saw visions. Thousands of our fellow-workers left the field of their mundane activities; those of us who have lived to see their dreams realised, their visions taking concrete shape, have reasons to feel themselves blessed. Personally speaking I have remained a worshipper at the gate; so it was decreed.

Writing after about 45 years of those days of high exaltations and self-forgetfulness, the impressions of these 45 days of April-May, 1906, as these related to Sri Aurobindo, were those of a silent distant figure lost in his own thoughts, speaking the fewest of words, observing the effect of the language in which Bipin Chandra Pal clothed the present degradation and the future ennobling of his people. For he was the orator of the party; neither Sri Aurobindo nor Subodh Chandra would open their lips at public meetings. They had their closed-door discussions with active politicians, with young men burning to wipe out with their blood the insult implicit in foreign rule.

We, "Volunteers", sensed that something was afoot, some "new departure" from the lines of the then current politics. Hints were thrown at us, suggestions made that told us of days big with brave deeds and sacrifices in the service of the Mother, as Sri Aurobindo used to call the land of his birth. Thousands chose and trod the path indicated by the new prophets of a new life. This tour with its flaming words and silences created the history which reached its end on August 15, 1947.

Master Journalist of Nationalism

On return from this tour, I had few occasions to meet Sri Aurobindo for about two months. He was busy as Principal of the institutions started by the National Council of Education. Then something happened that threw me into his company—a privilege undreamt of. I have spoken before of a project for an English-language daily to propagate the principles and policies of the New Party. Since November 1905, it had been receiving fitful attention. The visit of Balwant Gangadhar Tilak to Calcutta on the occasion of the Sivaji Utsav of 1906 imparted an urgency to it. But in June and July, it appeared to halt. And in desperation Bipin Chandra Pal took the plunge almost unknown to the fellow-members of the Party. His weekly was being published from the Classic Press on Corporation Street, now known as Ranee Rashmani Road; its proprietor Biharilal Chakravarty agreed to take the risk of publishing the daily on the assurance that the daily sale proceeds of the paper would be his. Bipin Chandra could procure from Haridas Halder and Kshetra Mohan Singh Rs 450 for the initial stock of paper and certain other incidental expenses. The name chosen for the paper was Bande Mataram—Salutation to the Mother—the refrain of Bankim Chandra's famous song; the day fixed for the first issue was the 7th of August, 1906, the anniversary of the "Boycott Day." It had to be changed to the 6th owing to Bipin Chandra's absence from Calcutta on that day—a last minute change occasioned by the Political Conference in his own home district of Sylhet.

As editor of the paper Bipin Chandra had to think of a leader-writer who in his absence would play the part. In this extremity he went to Sri Aurobindo on the evening of the 5th; the latter had been residing at the Wellington Square Mansion of Subodh Chandra Mullick. He appeared to be taken by surprise at this novel development but readily agreed to Bipin Chandra's request. Relieved of anxiety on this point, the editor started for Sylhet on the 6th August morning with the Bande Mataram hot and wet from the press in his hand. Sri Aurobindo started his contributions from the 2nd or 3rd issue, his first article was entitled; "John Morley—3 Phases." It fell to me to come to him every evening at about 5 p.m. and receive from him the article promised. I found it ready; I did not have to wait for it on any single day.

The Bande Mataram was an instantaneous success, and the soreness felt by certain leaders of the New Party for the way in which Bipin Chandra Pal had sprung a surprise on them soon wore away and was replaced by pride at the adventurousness of it. The Classic Press could not cope with the demand for the paper. And there was again a gathering of the clan. On the guarantee of Rs 6,000 by certain members of the party, Brahmabandhav Upadhyaya undertook to have the Bande Mataram published from Sandhya Press on Cornwallis Street from which his own Bengali-language daily, the Sandhya, used to be published. Till the end of August, the Classic Press printed the Bande Mataram and it was my privilege to put in a daily appearance at Sri Aurobindo's residence. Now and then he used to ask me questions with regard to how the rest of the paper got the materials for publication, with regard to Bipin Chandra's tour programme and whether articles from him came regularly. These were rare occasions.

Now and then I found him with friends—Subodh Chandra Mullick, Charu Chandra Dutt, Surendranath Halder, Bijoy Chandra Chatterjee, Rajatnath Roy, Hemendra Prasad Ghosh, Jogendra Krishna Basu—when he opened out; and still do I appear to hear the tinkling laughter that expressed the joy of his heart at the temporary release from the burden of thought and responsibility generally felt by him. Now and then politics cropped up in these discussions and their handling in the daily Press, in his own articles. He generally spoke in English, but when he used his mother tongue, Bengali, the foreign accent and a lisping sound made it pleasant to the ear. Even during these pleasantries, a book was always by his side into which he would dip and lose himself. And there were silences eloquent of the prevailing mood of all present. Now and then there was small talk, and Sri Aurobindo extracted the utmost pleasure from it. It is not easy to recall at this distance the nature of the discussions held on these occasions. But one stands out prominently where he and N. N. Ghosh, editor of the weekly Indian Nation and Principal of the Metropolitan College, now known as the Vidyasagar College, were engaged in a controversy over the principles and practices of the New Party. N. N. Ghosh had a reputation for crisp, nervous English and Sri Aurobindo was Sri Aurobindo and the controversy between these two giants attained the character of an epic, neither giving quarter. This controversy and the words and phrases used in it became the talk of the politically-minded people of the day.

But this was later in 1907. In August-September, 1906, Sri Aurobindo's writings showed the quality of a master that was an inspiration to thousands. And almost daily Reuter and correspondents of the foreign Press used to cable the news and views published in the Bande Mataram as reflecting the authentic feelings of the Indian people in their struggle for national self-respect, which is Swaraj. By the end of September, 1906, Bipin Chandra Pal returned from his East Bengal tour and took editorial control of the paper. Sri Aurobindo fell ill and repaired to Deoghar for recuperation. The problem of Bande Mataram's finances came up again and Subodh Chandra Mullick offered to take up the whole responsibility of this concern, and from Cornwallis Street had it transferred to Creek Row in a building owned by himself. This change was symptomatic of a minor change in the internal affairs of the new Party. Balwant Gangadhar Tilak tried to bring about a reconciliation during the Congress Sessions at Calcutta over which Dadabhai Naoroji was to preside. But he failed as the younger people were for a more outright support to the tactics of Parnellism—a combination of constitutional and unconstitutional activities directed against the alien State in India. Bipin Chandra Pal retired from the editorial charge of the paper and in a letter handed it over to Sri Aurobindo—a letter which I carried to the addressee's Mott's Lane residence.

And since this letter afterwards gained importance as evidence against Sri Aurobindo as Editor of the Bande Mataram in a sedition case, the episode should be related. "The charges concern the article entitled 'Politics for Indians' which appeared in the Town Edition of the 27th June and the Dak edition of the 28th June and the republication on the 26th July of certain seditious articles which had originally appeared in the Jugantar newspaper," to quote from the judgment delivered on September 28, 1907, by Mr Kingsford, first Chief Presidency Magistrate of Calcutta. Sri Aurobindo was acquitted, as the prosecution failed to bring home to him the charge that he was the editor of the Bande Mataram on those days in spite of the letter of Bipin Chandra Pal found in a course of police search of his house at Mott's Lane. And as Bipin Chandra refused to swear in the witness box when called upon to do so by the Magistrate, the latter drew up proceedings against him for contempt of Court and sent him to his subordinate Magistrate, Mr. Ram Anugraha Narain Singh, for trial. Mr Kingsford had not allowed Bipin Chandra to put in his plea for refusal to cooperate in the discharge of justice by the State. But in Mr Singh's court he fully explained his stand. His was not a case for total non-cooperation with British Administration as was evolved in the "open conspiracy" during the twenties of this century under Gandhiji's inspiration and guidance. But he stood on his right as a citizen to withhold co-operation from the State in a particular case in which the policy followed would be creating greater confusion in the country by suppressing the liberty of the people to express their opinion on particular matters of State or the basic principles of its being. He was sentenced to six months' simple imprisonment on the 10th September, 1907. The Press of India hailed the action of Bipin Chandra's as confirming the opinion of Srinivas Shastri that Bengal was introducing an element of "grimness" into Indian politics which had become more than ever necessary.

With the transfer of Bande Mataram from Cornwallis Street to Creek Row my connection with it ceased. But in March, 1908, I was called in by Sri Aurobindo to serve as a sub-editor. Here I found as my colleague Krishna Chandra Ghosh who has died this year on the 8th of May. We "edited" the telegrams, and Sri Aurobindo passing through our room would ask us for the day's news on which to comment. He generally finished his articles by 3 p.m., and when handing these over to us would inquire whether they would be sufficient. If we replied in the negative, he would stand by our table, look over the telegram sheets, and write a "para" or two, as the mood was on. Other denizens of the editorial sanctum were Syam Sundar Chakravarty and Hemendra Prasad Ghosh, the latter still happily with us, a witness to the "high audacity" of those days. Sri Aurobindo's favourite words. The "Chief", the title by which he was known in the Bande Mataram Office, showed an instinct for journalism that was remarkable for one of his retiring and recluse habits.

During 1907, I had been a fitful visitor to Sri Aurobindo. On the eve of the Surat Congress, December, 1907, the organisation of the New Party delegation to it took me more often to the Wellington Square mansion of Subodh Chandra Mullick where Sri Aurobindo generally resided or passed the evenings when he had his own house at Calcutta. One day I found him absorbed in "automatic writing", and certain of the indications about the Surat developments were fulfilled; the insult to Surendra Nath Banerjee, for instance, which was compared to death. I was one of the Bengal delegates who accompanied Sri Aurobindo and Syam Sundar Chakravarty to Surat. All of us travelled "3rd Class." On reaching Surat we were housed in a Dharmasala; we spread our beddings over carpets. Sri Aurobindo and Syam Sundar had cots to distinguish their position. We took the same vegetarian food arranged on behalf of the new Party's conference, and Bengal delegates were recipients of marked public notice as having done something significant in the evolution of Indian Nationalism during the British period.

Guide and Deliverer of the Indian People

Sri Aurobindo presided over this Conference. He was no orator. But the Conference hung on his words limpid and flowing, instinct with a new meaning, though the words had been familiar enough. Even during this Conference Sri Aurobindo appeared as a soul that dwelt apart from the tumult and shouting of politics of an awakened people newly roused to the degradation of its subjection and grown conscious of its high destiny in the world recalling and fulfilling the achievements and promises of our storied past. Sri Aurobindo had been chosen to help in transforming the thoughts and activities of his people, and it was enthralling to watch the evolution of this drama involving individuals who left home and family, and dared and did deeds that awed millions and thrilled them to a new realisation of their weaknesses and a new determination to rid their social polity of these. As the guiding spirit of the Bande Mataram he had been a distant figure; the Surat Congress ended that recluse life and pushed him before hundreds of thousands as the tribune of their rights, as the long looked-for guide and deliverer.

From Surat he went to Bombay: the conduct of the Bande Mataram devolved on Syam Sundar Chakravarty and Hemendra Prasad Ghosh who had deputised for them all during the Congress session; and it was he who put in the Bande Mataram a banner head-line describing Dr. Rash Behary Ghosh's speech as "The undelivered Masterpiece." We resumed our normal life at the Bande Mataram office. The "Chief" returned after about 30 days. I do not remember anything particularly noticeable to be recalled except that the newspaper controversy between the "Moderates" and "Extremists" with regard to the responsibility for the abortive Surat Congress showed no signs of abatement. During those tumultuous days at Surat, he had been his own self, unaffected by them, indrawn generally to a world of which we knew little. And, therefore, we could not imagine that the days were hastening towards a crisis in the affairs of his own life, in the fortunes of the Bande Mataram. Financial difficulties had always been dogging this paper. Except in an extremity, the management generally did not pester him with them. And the majority of us were taught to treat them as part of the day's work, the "Chief" preferring to forgo any "salary" that he now and then drew; the others followed the example. For, in those days journalists regarded journalism as part of a mission, not a profession to be carried on under Trade-Union rules. Those of us who linger on the scene still follow something of the old-world practice.

Sri Aurobindo during the three months that he remained free was in requisition as a speaker at public meetings, he having got over his resolve not to address his people in English, and the latter refusing to accept any refusal now that reports of meetings addressed by him in Western India had carried eloquent head-lines. His articles in the Bande Mataram gained a new reality from this closer touch with the people imparting to his thoughts a this-worldly colour of their daily struggles with wants and other deficiencies in their material existence. The alien bureaucracy having failed to capture him with laws of sedition were ever on the watch, and their "spies" were on the prowl, even planting themselves in the Bande Mataram office. We members of its staff were careful of our words and avoided "loose" talk before less known people such as generally crowd into newspaper offices. We felt the tension in the air. But we were not prepared for what happened on April 30, at Muzaffarpore in Bihar then under a common Lieutenant-Governor. A bomb burst at about 9 p.m. shattering the carriages in which Mr. Kingsford was supposed to be returning home. In reality the victims turned out to be Mrs. Kennedy and Miss Kennedy, wife and daughter of one of the leaders of the Bar and a Congressman, Mr. Pringle Kennedy. Rumours floated over Calcutta of this event on the 1st of May, 1908. The next day-break found Sri Aurobindo in police custody. Days of confusion followed. The Bande Mataram struggled heroically to ride the storm. It was in vain. The bureaucracy itself inflicted the death-blow by confiscating the press which printed the paper.

Life became a victim to rumours. The "Chief" was withdrawn behind the jail lock-up; the Manicktala Bomb Conspiracy case was lengthening its weary days; the assassination inside the jail of the approver Narendra Nath Goswami by Kanai Lal Dutta and Satyendra Nath Basu introduced an element of exaltation that upheld public morale. The blackest day, however, has to come to an end. The Conspiracy case before Mr. Beachcroft, a fellow entrant of the year into the Indian Civil Service with Sri Aurobindo, resulted in his acquittal. The judge accepting the verdict of the two assessors on the 13th of April, 1909, Sri Aurobindo was let out of the jail lock-up about 30 days after. He came to a world where a "hush" and a "silence" had set in, the national mind waiting for a new lead. I was then teacher in the National School of Sylhet, the headquarter station of the farthest east Bengalee-speaking district. During the next Puja recess two or three of us hastened to Calcutta to meet the "Chief"; he was putting up at the College Square house of Krishna Kumar Mitra, husband of his maternal aunt. We had our darshan, a winsome smile welcoming us. We felt ourselves as on a pilgrimage, believing that he was engaged in a new Sadhana that would give him supernatural powers which would make an end of the hated foreign rule. My companions were more receptive of the new psycho-physical discipline that the "Chief" was prepared to impart; the Karma-Yogin (English) and Dharma (Bengali), the two weeklies preaching a new Nationalism, were more in my line. We interpreted the truths inculcated through these two papers in the light of our own experience, in consonance with our individual capacities. These brought to our thoughts and activities some sort of a coherence out of the confusion created by the repression by the Government and the safe policy of our elder politicians. He showed us the way out of bewilderment; we learnt to understand what Indian Nationalism stood for and the ideal of the "Karma-Yogin:"

"It (Indian Nationalism) must be on its guard against any tendency to cling to every detail that has been India. This has not been the spirit of Hinduism in the past... In all life there are three elements, the fixed and permanent spirit, the developing and constant soul, and the brittle changeable body. The spirit we cannot change, we can obscure or lose; the soul must not be rashly meddled with, must neither be tortured into a shape alien to itself, nor obstructed in its free expression, and the body must be used as a means, not overcherished as a thing valuable for its own sake..."

The return of self-respect to a people is characterized by a sort of revivalism that leads men and women to "cling to every detail" that is in practice in every-day life. Indian nationalism of the times I have been trying to indicate was not free from this defect. And it was in the fitness of things that Sri Aurobindo, the "prophet of Nationalism" as Chittaranjan Das had called him during the peroration of his address to Mr. Beachcroft and the assessors, should take the earliest opportunity to warn his people of this aberration of their life. Many of us who had been carried away by this spirit of revivalism needed this warning so that we could devote ourselves to the service of our people with a becoming spirit of humanity, with a new awareness that the alien values introduced into their life by Britain had made contributions towards its enrichment, winnowing the chaff from the grain. Thus would we be able to take part in rebuilding the life of humanity on a new basis in the construction of which East and West would cooperate out of mutual knowledge. Sri Aurobindo, a graft of the East put on a Western trunk, was best suited to work out this synthesis. The Karmayogin and the Dharma were chosen as the instruments fit to be placed in his hands for the evolution of the Master Plan of a saner humanity rooted in honest labour, disdaining to exploit the labour of others, and bearing love for all created things. This was an earnest of the "divine life on earth" of which Sri Aurobindo speaks with certitude in his 76th Birthday Message. The Karmayogin and the Dharmagave us intimations, faint and obscure, of the "human dream of perfectibility", of "aspiration to a heaven on earth common to several religious and spiritual seers and thinkers."

The weakening of political fervour turned the minds of many of us inwards. But the presence of External Authority in our country had had such a disturbing effect on our minds that, except the chosen few, none could settle down to this new Sadhana. The majority of us looked to the Karmayogin and the Dharma to give us a new lead in our political bewilderment. Sri Aurobindo's "Open Letter to My Countrymen" that appeared in the Karmayogin on July 31, 1909, was regarded by us in this light. And we who lived in the countryside could not know that this letter would prove to be his "Last Political Will and Testament" to his people. So, when in August, 1909, rumours reached us that he had vanished from Calcutta, we thought that it was part of political tactics — a refusal to be caught and put behind prison bars; we fondly hoped that he would come back to his accustomed place in the political leadership of his people, refreshed and renovated by the new Sadhana he had undertaken. We of the generation that grew up under his piercing eyes, caught fire from his flaming words, the few of us who have had no inspiration other than the ending of alien rule, the few of us who still linger on the scene have been awaiting for 40 years for the arrival amidst us of one of the builders of our youth whom the Creator has yet spared to us. We have waited in vain. So it has been decreed. Sri Aurobindo is a distant figure to us beyond our comprehension. The realisation of this disability in us has not been a pleasurable experience. But we have learnt to accept it as a decree from on high.

These reminiscences cover a period of about 45 years. They are coloured by growth and retrogression in thought and life that are part of human evolution. I am conscious that they do not throw much light on the development of the personality from a political thinker and activist into a seer. They are here for what they are worth. I am thankful to Mother India for according me an opportunity to recall the age when Sri Aurobindo was the centre of a people's hope, a path-finder to them over stretches of life littered with lost opportunities, it may be with failures and weaknesses, but now and then shot through and through with exaltations of spirit, acts of high audacity, silent dedication to a far-off divine event that dawned on the 15th of August, 1947, coincident with the anniversary of Sri Aurobindo's birthday. This attempt to recollect has been a healing experience. It has confirmed my faith in the people. Saint Augustine's mother had been consoled with the words — "the child of so many tears can never go wrong for long", the people among whom Sri Aurobindo was born can never go wrong for long. This thought upholds many of us.

More Recollections

Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barindra Kumar and all his associates were caught.

Sri Aurobindo too was arrested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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