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<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="center">
<b>VII</b></p>
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&nbsp;</p>
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<b>PONDICHERRY (2)</b></p>
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&nbsp;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">I 
have said that this cemetery that was Pondicherry had been infested by ghosts 
and goblins. These had a special category known ordinarily as spies. The word 
&quot;spy&quot; carries with it, as you know, an association of all that is low and 
disgusting and unspeakable, things of dark import. But did you know that the 
word is pure Sanskrit? It was <i>spa<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>a </i>in the old Vedic language. The Vedic Rishi 
describes Indra as sending out these<i> spa<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>a</i> to trace the movements of his 
enemies, the forces of evil that clustered round the god. So, the Vedic gods had 
their spies, just as the modern British government had theirs, though of course 
there was bound to be a certain difference. These government spies tried to 
collect information as to who came to our houses, who were the people who met 
us, what places we frequented and how our guests spent their time. That was why 
Motilal (Motilal Roy of the Pravartak group in Chandernagore) when he first came 
to Pondicherry had to come dressed as an Anglo-Indian, and he never entered our 
house, the Raghavan House of today, except by the backdoor and under cover of 
darkness after nightfall.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">In 
fact, all of us on our first arrival here had to come under false names, the 
only exception being Moni (Suresh Chakravarti). He did not have to, for he had 
not been one of the marked men like the rest of us and his name had not been 
associated with any political trouble, as he was too young for that at the time. 
And in any case it would not have been wise to give him a false name to save him 
from the clutches of the law, for it was decided to rent our houses in his name 
and it was he again who was to act on our behalf in all official matters. Sri 
Aurobindo called himself Jatindranath Mitra, though only for a short while. It 
was under this pseudonym that he sailed from Calcutta as a passenger on the 
&quot;Dupleix&quot; and had presented himself before the doctor for the medical 
examination. The fun of it</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">
<font size="2">Page-51</font></p>
<hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">was that the doctor had no suspicion as to whom he 
was going to examine, although he did exclaim on hearing Sri Aurobindo&#39;s accent, 
&quot;You seem to speak English very well!&quot; to which Sri Aurobindo replied, &quot;Yes, I 
was in England for some time.&quot; Some time indeed—fourteen years! My name was Manindranath Roy, and eventually I came to be known as Monsieur Roy; some of my 
local friends of those days still know me as such and call me by that name. Roy 
and &quot;Sacra&quot; (that is, short for Chakravarti in French) became quite well-known 
figures both in town and elsewhere on account of their football. Bejoy was 
Bankim Basak—Basak for short—the noted half-back in our football team.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
The British Indian police set up a regular station here, with a rented house and 
several permanent men. They were of course plainclothes men, for they had no 
right to wear uniform within French territory. They kept watch, as I have said, 
both on our visitors and guests as well as ourselves. Soon they got into a habit 
of sitting on the pavement round the corner next to our house in groups of three 
or four. They chatted away the whole day and only now and again took down 
something in their note-books. What kind of notes they took we found out later 
on, when, after India had become independent and the French had left, some of 
these notes could be secured from the Police files and the confidential records 
of Government. Strange records, these: the police gave reports all based on pure 
fancy, they made up all sorts of stories at their sweet will. As they found it 
difficult to gather correct and precise information, they would just fabricate 
the news.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Nevertheless, something rather awesome did happen once. We had by then shifted 
to the present Guest House. There were two new arrivals. One was a relative.of 
Bejoy&#39;s, Nagen Nag, who had managed to get away from his family and had come to 
stay here on the pretext of a change of air for his illness. The other was a 
friend and acquaintance of his who had come with him as a companion and help; 
his name was Birendra Roy.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
One day, this Birendra suddenly shaved his head. Moni </p>
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<font size="2">Page-52</font>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p><hr>
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said he too would have his 
head shaved, just because Birendra had done it. That very day, or it was perhaps 
the day after, there occurred a regular scene. We had as usual taken our seats 
around Sri Aurobindo in the afternoon. Suddenly, Biren stood up and shouted, &quot;Do 
you know who I am? You may not believe it, but I am a spy, a spy of the British 
police. I can&#39;t keep it to myself any longer. I must speak out, I must make the 
confession before you.&quot; With this he fell at Sri Aurobindo&#39;s feet. We were 
stunned, almost dumbfounded. As we kept wondering if this could be true, or was 
all false, perhaps a hallucination or some other illusion—<i>m<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>y<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>, nu matibhramo 
nu</i>—Biren started, again, &quot;Oh, you do not believe me? Then let me show you.&quot; He 
entered the next room, opened his trunk, drew out a hundred rupee note and 
showed it to us. &quot;See, here is the proof. Where could I have got all this money? 
This is the reward of my evil deed. Never, I shall never do this work again. I 
give my word to you, I ask your forgiveness....&quot; No words came to our lips, all 
of us kept silent and still.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
This is how it came about. Biren had shaved his head in order that the police 
spies might spot him out as their man from the rest of us by the sign of the 
shaven head. But they were nonplussed when they found Moni too with a shaven 
head. And Biren began to suspect that Moni, or perhaps the whole lot of us, had 
found out his secret and that Moni had shaved on purpose. So, partly out of fear 
and partly from true repentance, for the most part no doubt by the pressure of 
some other Force, he was compelled to make his confession.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
After this incident, the whole atmosphere of the house got a little disturbed. 
We were serious and worried. How was it possible for such a thing to happen? An 
enemy could find his entry into our apartments, an enemy who was one of 
ourselves? What should be done? Bejoy was furious, and it was a job to keep him 
from doing something drastic. However, within a few days, Biren left of his own 
accord and we were left in peace. I hear he afterwards joined the Great War and 
was sent to Mesopotamia with the Indian army.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
During the Great War, Bejoy had his spell of bad luck.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">
<font size="2">Page-53</font></p>
<hr>
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That makes another story. I have said the British Indian police had set up a 
post here. It was placed in charge of a senior official, no less a person than a 
Superintendent of Police. He was a Muslim, named Abdul Karim if I remember 
aright, a very efficient and clever man, like our old friend Shamsul Alam of the 
Calcutta Police. We used to go to a friend&#39;s house very often, particularly 
myself. This gentleman too, we found, was a visitor there and we used to meet 
him as if by accident. He was very nice and polite in his manners. He even 
expressed a desire once to have Sri Aurobindo&#39;<i>s dar<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>an</i> so that he might pay his 
respects. Sri Aurobindo did not refuse, he was given the permission. The 
gentleman arrived with a huge bouquet by way of a present and had the <i>dar<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>an.</i></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
The three of us, namely Moni, Saurin and myself, who had returned to Bengal 
after an interval of four years, had to hasten back here almost immediately 
owing to the outbreak of War, for there was a chance that old criminals like us 
would again be shut up in jail. As we had come back, Bejoy said he wished to go, 
for he too wanted to have a change. He would return after paying a short visit 
to his people. He said he had been away for so long. But the question was: would 
it be all right for him to go? What did the French Government think? What would 
they advise? It was informally ascertained from the Governor that he did not 
consider it advisable to leave here, for the intentions of the British 
authorities were not above suspicion. Abdul Karim too was sounded as to their 
intentions. He said the British Government meant us no harm, for he was well 
aware that we were saintly people engaged in <i>s<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>dhana</i> alone, and so on. But Sri 
Aurobindo had serious doubts. Bejoy however was a headstrong man. He got eager 
to go and set foot on British territory, that is, offer his neck to the 
scaffold. And that is what happened. The moment he crossed the border and 
entered British Indian territory, he found the police waiting. They put him in 
handcuffs, and for the next five years, that is, till after the War was over, he 
was held in detention. Once he had managed to get away earlier with</p>
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<font size="2">Page-54</font></p><hr>
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only a year&#39;s custody in jail; this time it was not so easy.</p>
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But why dwell on this dark tale of the lawless wilds and the demons and beasts. 
Their ranks are still powerful and I do not wish to add to their strength by 
talking about them. Now let me say a few nice things, about some good people, 
for such people too had their abode here. At the very outset I should speak of 
the Five Good Men. It is quite possible that there was a law in French India 
that applied to foreigners. But now the law was made stringently applicable to 
refugees from our own country. It was laid down that all foreigners, that is, 
anyone who was not a French citizen, wanting to come and stay here for some time 
must be in possession of a certificate from a high Government official of the 
place from where he came, such as a Magistrate in British India, to the effect 
that he was a well-known person and that there was nothing against him; in other 
words, he must be in possession of a &quot;good-conduct&quot; certificate. Or else he must 
produce a letter to the same effect signed by five gendered of standing 
belonging to Pondicherry. I need hardly say that the first alternative was for 
us quite impossible and wholly out of the question. We chose the second line, 
and the five noble men who affixed their signatures were these: (1) Rassendren 
(the father of our Jules Rassendren), (2) De Zir Naidu, (3) Le Beau, (4) Shanker 
Chettiar (in whose house Sri Aurobindo had put up on arrival), (5) Murugesh 
Chettiar. The names of these five should be engraved in letters of gold. They 
had shown on that occasion truly remarkable courage and magnanimity. It was on 
the strength of their signatures that we could continue to stay here without too 
much trouble.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
The story of these local leaders reminds me of another incident. When I came 
here first, I had to adopt a subterfuge in order to ward off all suspicion. I 
posed as if I had come from Chandernagore, that is, from one part of French 
India to another, as a messenger carrying a letter from one political leader to 
another. I had a letter from the leader of a political party in Chandernagore to 
be delivered by hand to his opposite number in Pondicherry. The Gentleman for</p>
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&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-55</font></p><hr>
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whom I brought the message was called Shanmugabhelu; I forget the name of the 
Chandernagore Genevan. The letter suggested that he might help me find suitable 
accommodation for my stay here. I came and saw Mr. Shanmugabhelu at his 
residence with that letter. My pronunciation of the name as Shanmu-gabhelu must 
have shocked those of you who know Tamil! I found the huge Mr. Gabhelu leaning 
on an easy-chair, surrounded by his henchmen and discoursing in tones of 
thunder—although the thunder must have been of the dry autumnal sort, for his 
party was Radical Socialist, something like our Moderate Nationalists who 
shouted but produced nothing. He spoke in clear French. &quot;Sommes-nous des 
citoyens fran^ais, ou non?&quot;—&quot;Are we French citizens, or are we not?&quot;—he shouted. 
This was a plaint addressed to the French authorities, a petition and protest: 
&quot;Where exactly do we stand here in the matter of rights?&quot;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Among our first acquaintances in Pondicherry were some of the young men here. 
The very first among them was Sada—you have known him, for he kept up with us 
till the end. Next came Benjamin, Rassendren and a few others. Rassendren joined 
us again at the end of his career; in his early days he had been our playmate. 
Gradually, they formed a group of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s devotees. The strange thing 
about it was that they were all Christians. We did not have much of a response 
from the local Hindus; perhaps they were far too orthodox and old-fashioned. The 
Cercle Sportif was our rendezvous. There we had games, we arranged picnics, as 
you do today, we staged plays, and also held study circles. Only students took 
part.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Afterwards, when the Mother came in 1914, it was with a few men chosen from out 
of this group that she laid the first foundation of her work here; they formed 
the Society called &quot;L&#39;Id£e Nouvelle&quot;.<sup>4</sup> Already, in her Paris days, a 
similar group had been formed around her, a group that came to be</p>
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&nbsp;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
1 We publish after this article a notice relating to the Society called &quot;L&#39;Idee<br>
Nouvelle&quot;, which originally appeared in the first number of the Arya, in August<br>
1914. - Editor.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="center">
&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-56</font></p><hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
&nbsp;known as the Cosmique, a record of whose proceedings has appeared in part in the Mother&#39;s 
Words of Long Ago <i>(Paroles d&#39;Autrefois)</i>. Here, in Pondicherry, she started 
building up an intimate circle of initiates simultaneously with the publication 
of th<i>e Arya</i>.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Let me speak now of a strange incident lest you should miss the element of 
variety in our life of those days. We stayed at the Guest House then. The Mother 
had finally arrived. The Great War was over, I mean the first one. And with the 
declaration of Peace, nearly all the political prisoners in India had had been 
released. Barin, Upen, Hrishikesh had all come back from the Andamans, although 
they were still hesitating as to whether they should join us here in the life of 
yoga or continue for some time longer their work in the outside world.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
One day, something rather extraordinary happened. Into our compound there came a 
Sannyasin. He had a striking appearance, tall and fair, a huge turban wrapped 
round his head, a few locks of hair hanging down upon his shoulders. There were 
three or four disciples too. He begged for Sri Aurobindo&#39;s <i>dar<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>an</i>. 
But the<i> dar<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>an</i>.orian turned out to be somewhat spectacular. There he disclosed his identity. 
Concealed behind the thick cloak of Sannyasa was our old comrade Amarendra, 
Amarendranath Chatterji, the noted terrorist leader for whose capture the 
British Government had been moving heaven and earth, that is, the worlds of the 
dead and the living, and also raising hell in the world of the underground. 
Perhaps they had set a price on his head too. And here he was in person! There 
was a wave of joy and excitement, mingled with some apprehension as well, for no 
one knew what the British or the French would do in case the news got abroad.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Amarendra had suddenly disappeared one day. He lived the life of a primitive 
savage in the jungles of Assam; he had been selling poultry and eggs at the 
steamship stations along the rivers of East Bengal, in the garb of a Muslim 
complete with lungi and fez. And so many other things he had done just in order 
to avoid the Government&#39;s vigilant eye. </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="center">
&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-57</font></p><hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
It was a long romantic tale. Finally, he 
made himself a Sannyasin, became a Guruji. Near Tanjore he set up his Ashram. 
Disciples gathered, his mantras and teachings brought him fame; he styled 
himself, if I remember aright, Swami Kaivalyananda. The British Government were 
completely fooled.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
The Swamiji, our Amarendra, came here to obtain Sri Aurobindo&#39;s instructions as 
to what to do next. This, as I have said, was after the end of the War, when 
practically all the political prisoners had been set free and even those 
deported to the Andamans had been allowed to come back. He wished to know if he 
could now disclose himself and also what he was to do afterwards. He was advised 
to go back to Calcutta and await the turn of events for a while. The Swamiji now 
ordered his disciples back to the Ashram and said that he would like to live in 
solitude for some time.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
That was the end of Swami Kaivalyananda. He had had his nirvana and his place 
was taken by Amarendra Chatteiji. The disciples had in the meantime gone back to 
their Ashram. There they kept waiting, but the months passed without any news of 
Guruji. They came here at last to find out where their Guruji was. Where indeed?</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">I 
met Amarendra for the last time just before I came away to Pondicherry for good. 
I had been to his shop. It was a drapery stores known as the Workers&#39; 
Cooperative that served as a veil and a meeting ground for terrorist activities. 
He knew all about me and also that I was on my way to Pondicherry. As a parting 
gift, he handed me a shawl from his stores, adding, &quot;Payable when able.&quot; I 
distinctly remember the phrase. I came in touch with him again long after this. 
He became a devotee and disciple of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother and remained a 
faithful follower till his death.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">It 
will not be out of place here to say something about the sort of education and 
training we received in those early days of our life in Pondicherry. One of the 
first needs we felt on coming here was for books, for at that time we had hardly 
anything we could call our own. We found that at the moment </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-58</font></p>
<hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">Sri Aurobindo was 
concentrating on the Rigveda alone and we managed to get for him two volumes of 
the original text. He had of course his own books and papers packed in two or 
three trunks. It was felt we might afford to spend ten rupees every month for 
the purchase of books. We began our purchases with the main classics of English 
literature, especially the series published in the Home University Library and 
the World Classics editions. Today you see what a fine Library we have, not 
indeed one but many, for there is a Library of Physical Education, there is a 
Medical Library, there is a Library for the School, and there are so many 
private collections. All this had its origin in the small collections we began 
every month. At first, the books had to lie on the floor, for we had nothing 
like chairs or tables or shelves for our library. I may add that we had no such 
thing as a bedding either for our use. Each of us possessed a mat, and this mat 
had to serve as our bedstead, mattress, coverlet and pillow; this was all our 
furniture. And mosquito curtains? That was a luxury we could not even dream of. 
If there were too many mosquitos, we would carry the mats out on to the terrace 
for a little air, assuming, that is, that there was any. Only for Sri Aurobindo 
we had somehow managed a chair and a table and a camp cot. We lived a real camp 
life. I should add that there were a few rickety chairs too, for the use of 
visitors and guests. And lights? Today you see such a profusion of electric 
lighting in every room and courtyard; we have mercury lights and flash lights 
and spotlights and torch lights; we are even getting well into the limelight! 
There is light everywhere, &quot;all here is shining with light&quot;, <i>sarvamidam vibh<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>ti.
</i>In those days, on the other hand, we did not even have a decent kerosene lamp or 
lantern. All I can recall is a single candle-stick, for the personal use of Sri 
Aurobindo. Whatever conversations or discussions we had after nightfall had to 
be in the dark; for the most part we practised silence. The first time there was 
an electric connection, what a joy it gave us! It came like a revelation almost. 
We were in the Guest House at the time, had shifted there only a little while 
ago. We were out one afternoon for</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="center">&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-59</font></p>
<hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">&nbsp;our games (that is, football), and it was 
already dark by the time we returned. As we opened the door and entered the 
compound, what a surprise it was! The place was full of light, there were lights 
everywhere, a real illumination^ The electricians had come and fitted the 
connections whilst we had been away. They had fitted as many as four points for 
the entire building, the Guest House that you see, two for the first floor and 
two downstairs!-</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">We 
were able to purchase some French books at a very cheap rate, not more than two 
annas for each volume in a series. We had about a hundred of them, all classics 
of French literature. I find a few of them are still there in our Library. 
Afterwards, I also bought from the secondhand bookshops in the Gujli Kadai area 
several books in Greek, Latin and French. Once I chanced on a big Greek lexicon 
which I still use.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Gradually, a few books in Sanskrit and Bengali too were added to our stock, 
through purchase and gifts. As the number of books reached a few hundred, the 
problem was how to keep them. We used some bamboo strips to make a rack or 
book-stand along the walls of our rooms; the &quot;almirahs&quot; came later. I do not 
think there were any &quot;almirahs&quot; at all so long as we were in the Guest House. 
They came after the Mother&#39;s arrival, when we shifted with our books to the 
Library House. That is why it came to be called the Library House.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
This account would be incomplete without a few details as to our housekeeping. 
As to the furniture, I have already said the mat alone did duty for everything. 
Of servants we had only one; he did the shopping. But as we did not know his 
language, we had just memorised a few words connected with shopping and we 
somehow managed to make him understand with the help of these words and a good 
deal of gestures. Bejoy had his standing instructions: <i>meen moon anna</i> (fish 
three annas)—it was lucky meen in Tamil is the same as in Bengali—<i>ille</i>, then 
<i>nal 
anna</i> (if not, then four annas), the Tamil equivalent of &quot;if&quot; or &quot;then&quot; being 
beyond the range of our knowledge. Today we have practically one </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">
&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-60</font></p><hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
servant per 
head, thanks to the boundless grace of the Mother. Sri Aurobindo used to smile 
and make the comment, &quot;We have as many servants as there are sadhaks here.&quot;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">We 
did the cooking ourselves and each of us developed a speciality. I did the rice, 
perhaps because that was the easiest. Moni took charge of <i>dal </i>(pulses), and 
Bejoy being the expert had the vegetables and the curry. What fell to the lot of 
Saurin I do not now remember—Saurin was a brother-in-law of Sri Aurobindo, a 
cousin of Mrinalini&#39;s. Perhaps he was not in our Home Affairs at all; his was 
the Foreign Ministry, that is, he had to deal with outsiders. We had our first 
real cook only after the Mother&#39;s arrival, by which time our numbers had grown 
to ten or twelve. There was a cook who had something rather special about him: 
he had been to Paris and made quite a name there on account of certain powers of 
foreseeing the future and other forms of occult vision which he possessed. The 
Mother had these powers tested in the presence of some of us. He was asked to 
take a bath and put on clean clothes and then made to sit with us. The Mother 
took her seat in a chair. We did a little concentration in silence and then the 
Mother asked him, &quot;What do you see? Do you see anything about anybody present 
here?&quot; and so on. He gave truly remarkable answers on several occasions. And yet 
he had had no sort of formal education, he was absolutely illiterate, had only 
picked up some French by ear. Another cook who came later has become, as you 
know, quite a celebrity thanks to his spiritist performance. The story has 
become well-known, it is now almost a classic. Sri Aurobindo has referred to it, 
the Mother has spoken and written about it, the well-known French poet and 
mystic Maurice Magre who had been here and lived in the Ashram for some time has 
recorded it in one of his books. You must have heard or read what Sri Aurobindo 
and the Mother have said on the subject. I do not wish to add anything of my 
own, for I was not an eye-witness; I had been away in Bengal for a while.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Now that we are on this topic of cooks and cooking, let me add a few words about 
myself in this connection. I had, as</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">
&nbsp;<font size="2">Page-61</font></p>
<hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">I 
said, some practice in the work of the kitchen and I took it up again later on. 
For some time—we were about fifty in all by then—I did some serving in addition 
to cooking once a week. What kind of cooking was that? In those days<sub>?</sub> 
we used to have pudding for dinner three times a week, ordinary rice pudding, 
fried rice pudding, and tapioca pudding. I did the tapioca. It was rather in the 
fitness of things that the hands that had once been used to making bombs should 
now do some sweets.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">At 
one time, one of our main subjects of study was the Veda. This went on for 
several months, for about an hour every evening, at the Guest House. Sri 
Aurobindo came and took his seat at the table and we sat around. Subramanya 
Bharati the Tamil poet and myself were the two who showed the keenest interest. 
Sri Aurobindo would take up a hymn from the Rigveda, read it aloud once, explain 
the meaning of every line and phrase and finally give a full translation. I used 
to take notes. There are many words in the Rigveda whose derivation is doubtful 
and open to differences of opinion. In such cases, Sri Aurobindo used to say 
that the particular meaning he gave was only provisional and that the matter 
could be finally decided only after considering it in all the contexts in which 
the word occurred. His own method of interpreting the Rigveda was this: on 
reading the text he found its true meaning by direct intuitive vision through an 
inner concentration in the first instance, and then he would give it an external 
verification in the light of reason, making the necessary changes accordingly.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
Sri Aurobindo has taught me a number of languages. Here again his method has 
often evoked surprise. I should therefore like to say something on this point. 
He never asked me to begin the study of a new language with primary readers or 
children&#39;s books. He started at once with one of the classics, that is, a 
standard work in the language. He used to say that the education of children 
must begin with books written for children, but for adults, for those, that is, 
who had already had some education the reading material must be adapted to their 
age and mental development. That is why, when I </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">
<font size="2">Page-62</font></p><hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
took up Greek, I began 
straightway with Euripides&#39; <i>Medea,</i> and my second book was Sophocles&#39; 
<i>Antigone</i>. I 
began a translation of <i>Antigone</i> into Bengali and Sri Aurobindo offered to write 
a preface if I completed the translation, a preface where, he said, he would 
take up the question of the individual versus the State. Whether I did complete 
the translation I cannot now recollect. I began my Latin with Virgil&#39;s Aeneid, 
and Italian with Dante. I have already told you about my French, there I started 
with Moliere.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">I 
should tell you what one gains by this method, at least what has been my 
personal experience. One feels as if one took a plunge into the inmost core of 
the language, into that secret heart where it is vibrant with life, with the 
quintessence of beauty, the fullness of strength. Perhaps it was this that has 
prompted me to write prose-poems and verse in French, for one feels as if 
identified with the very genius of the language. This is the method which 
Western critics describe as being in <i>medias res,</i> getting right into the heart of 
things. One may begin a story in two ways. One way is to begin at the beginning, 
from the<i> <font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>dik<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>nda</i> and 
<i>Genesis,</i> and then develop the theme gradually, as is done 
in the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, the Bible. The other method is to start 
suddenly, from the middle of the story, a method largely preferred by Western 
artists, like Homer and Shakespeare for instance.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">
But it was not found possible for Sri Aurobindo to continue with his own studies 
or even to help us in ours. For, as I have already hinted, our mode of living, 
our life itself took a different turn with the arrival of the Mother. How and in 
what direction? It was like this. The Mother came and installed Sri Aurobindo on 
his high pedestal of Master and Lord of Yoga. We had hitherto known him as a 
dear friend and close companion, and although in our mind and heart he had the 
position of a Guru, in our outward relations we seemed to behave as if he were 
just like one of ourselves. He too had been averse to the use of the words 
&quot;Guru&quot; and &quot;Ashram&quot; in relation to himself, for there was hardly a place in his 
work of new creation for the old traditional associations</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="center">
<font size="2">Page-63</font></p><hr>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
&nbsp;these words conveyed. 
Nevertheless, the Mother taught by her manner and speech, and showed us in 
actual practice, what was the meaning of disciple and master; she has always practised what she preached. She showed us, by not taking her seat in front of 
or on the same level as Sri Aurobindo, but by sitting on the ground, what it 
meant to be respectful to one&#39;s Master, what was real courtesy. Sri Aurobindo 
once said to us, perhaps with a tinge of regret, &quot;I have tried to stoop as low 
as I can, and yet you do not reach me.&quot;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">It 
was the Mother who opened our eyes and gave us that vision which made us say, 
even as Arjuna had been made to say:.</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px" align="justify">&nbsp;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px" align="justify">
<b><i>sakheti matv<font face="Times New Roman">&#257; </font>prasabham yaduktam </i></b> </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px" align="justify">
<b><i>he Kr<font face="Times New Roman">&#61477;</font>s<font face="Times New Roman">&#61477;</font>n<font face="Times New Roman">&#61477;</font>a he y<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>dava he sakheti </i></b> </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px" align="justify">
<b><i>aj<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>nat<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font> 
mahim<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>nam tavedam</i></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px" align="justify">
<b><i>may<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font> pram<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>d<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>t 
pranayena v<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>pi.</i></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px" align="justify">
&nbsp;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px" align="justify">
<b><i>yaccavahasarthamasatkrtosi</i></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px" align="justify">
<b><i>vih<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>ra-<font face="Times New Roman">&#347;</font>ayy<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>sana- 
bhojanesu </i></b> </p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px" align="justify">
<b><i>eko&#39;thav<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>pyacyuta tvat-samaksam</i></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px" align="justify">
<b><i>tat ks<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>maye tv<font face="Times New Roman">&#257;</font>m-aham-aprameyam&nbsp;&nbsp; </i></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
&nbsp;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="justify">
&quot;By whatever name I have called you, O Krishna, O Yadava, O Friend, thinking in 
my rashness that you were only a friend, and out of ignorance and from 
affection, not knowing this thy greatness; whatever disrespect I have shown you 
out of frivolity, whether sitting or lying down or eating, when I was alone or 
when you were present before me,—may I be pardoned for all that, O thou Infinite 
One.&quot;</p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0" align="center">
<font size="2">Page-64</font></p>

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