Upendranath Bannerjee (1879-1950) was born and raised in Chandernagore. He passed his F. A. Examination in 1898 and then studied medicine at Duff College, Calcutta. Before graduating, he left college and became a sannyasin, living for two years at the Adwaita Ashram in Mayavati, where he studied Vedanta and practised Yoga. Returning to Chandernagore he became the assistant headmaster of Garbati High School. Aroused by the Nationalist cause, he gave up his position in 1906 and joined the staff of Bande Mataram, serving under Sri Aurobindo as sub-editor of the paper. He was also one of the chief writers for Yugantar; Sri Aurobindo remarked that he and his fellow-writer Debavrata Bose were "masters of Bengali prose".
From mid 1907 Upendranath helped Barin Ghose in educating the young men who lived at Maniktola Garden. Both men believed that a firm moral and spiritual foundation was essential to the fulfilment of their political aims; thus, along with courses in history and political science, they taught the Gita and the Upanishads. In May 1908 Upen was arrested with other Maniktola revolutionaries [Alipore Bomb Case]. As one of the secret society's leaders, he was sentenced to transportation for life. Shipped to the Andamans, he was not released until January 1920, at the end of the First World War. Sensitive and intellectual, he found it hard to bear the hardships suffered by the Swadeshi prisoners. Returning to Bengal, he wrote a number of articles protesting the brutal treatment of the revolutionaries in the Andamans. He also wrote memoirs of his experiences as a revolutionary.
It was the winter of 1906. In the columns of Sandhya Brahmabandhab Upadhyay was pouring out his mighty words in a spicy and appetising style. Arabinda Babu had joined the National Council of Education after giving up his position in Baroda State and Babu Bipin Chandra Pal had broken from the old Congress Party. As for myself, I had recently discarded my Sadhu's robes and was trying to fit into the tight clothes of a schoolmaster. Just then Fate threw my way a chance copy of Bande Mataram. In a leader devoted to a speculative discussion about the political aspirations of India, the paper remarked: "We want absolute autonomy free from British control." These few words in blazing print made my heart leap! That bold comment wormed its way into my brain and fixed me in its grip like a vice. A voice within my heart began to cry out every now and then: "Arise! Awake! The hour is at hand and will soon be over."
The Yugantar had just made its debut and was having a roaring time of it. Rumours were thick in the air that its office was a den of revolutionaries. A keen desire seized me to find out what these men were like. A few visits brought me into closer touch with the leaders of the paper. Then one day I went home, packed up my kit and returned to be safely berthed in the office building of Yugantar. After a few days I found that only Barindranath and I were left to run the paper; suddenly I discovered that I was somebody!
The Yugantar sold like hotcakes! One thousand, five thousand, twenty thousand copies a week - that is how sales leaped up in the course of a single year.
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In the jail there was only one man among us who remained supremely above our petty partisan squabbles - it was Arabinda. We heard many strange stories about him from the warders. He was supposed to take no food. Many thought he had gone off his head. I often tried to find out the truth, but never had courage enough to question him. Then one day I noticed that his hair was shining with oil. This was extraordinary and very puz-zling, for we were not allowed to have oil. So I made bold to ask him, "Do you have oil for your hair?" He stunned me with his reply: "I don't bathe." "But your hair looks shiny," I said. "It does", he replied. "But, you see, as I develop spiritually I am going through certain physical changes. My hair draws fat from my body."
Later I saw more of this sort of wonder in Arabinda. Once, in the courtroom, I was sitting in the prisoner's dock when I happened to look at him. I saw that his eyes were set like glass balls. I had heard that a total suspension of the various functions of the mind and its concentration on a single object might produce a physical result of this kind. At once I called the attention of some boys to it, but none dared approach him. At last Sachin approached to him and asked, "What have you got by your spiritual practices?' Arabinda put his hand on Sachin's shoulder and answered, "Why, the thing I was looking for.
Then we shook off our timidity and gathered around him for an account of his strange experiences. I could not follow him into the wonderful mysteries of the inner life he spoke of, but I plainly saw that this extraordinary man had turned a new corner in his life. He told us how he had gone through the Vedantic system of spiritual culture and was now on his way to mastering the Tantric system; he noted that it was an extremely difficult process. When someone asked where he had learned the Tantric practice, he replied, "A great Yogi visited me on the mental plane and initiated me into it." Then we asked him if he could foresee the outcome of the court case we were involved in. "I shall be acquitted", he said, and his prophecy came true.
Upen-da occupied the position of both leader and teacher. It was he who taught us the Gita at the Maniktola Garden. Here in jail, by living in his company I learned a lot of things from him, he gave me much courage and energy and enthusiasm and some very good advice. I am grateful to him for that. . .. He gave me a suggestion as to what sort of defence I should put up in court. "You should say", he explained, "that you do not know anything, that you met me accidentally at your mess, and that it was I who on finding in the course of our talk that you were interested in Indian philosophy invited you to come to my readings on the Gita's philosophy. You had no other motives or evil intentions." Upen-da also explained to me certain ways of doing meditation and this helped me pass some of my time in jail.
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