(1393,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN\">\n<html>\n<head>\n<meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text/html; charset=WINDOWS-1252\">\n<title>-003_Yogic Initiation Amd Aptitude.htm</title>\n</head>\n<div align=\"center\">\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\n<tr>\n	<td>\n<p class=\"paracenter\">YOGIC\nINITIATION AND APTITUDE\n</p>\n<p class=\"paracenter\"></p>\n<p class=\"para\">\nIn the practice of Yoga a condition precedent is usually laid down: it is called \n<i>adhikara, </i>aptitude, fitness or capacity. Everybody does not possess this aptitude, it is urged, and cannot take to a life of Yoga at one\'s sweet will. There must be a preparation, certain rules and regulations must be observed, some discipline must be followed and one must acquire certain qualities or qualifications, must reach a particular stage and degree, rise to a particular level of life and consciousness before one can successfully face the spiritual problem. It is not everyone that has a <i>laisser-passer, </i>a free pass to enter the city or citadel of the spirit.</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nThe Upanishad gives the warning in most emphatic terms:\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n&quot;This Atman is not to be gained by the weakling&quot;<sup>1</sup> and again it declares:\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n<i><sup>1</sup> Mundaka </i>3-2-4 \n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-12</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">\n&quot;Nor to the fickle and the unsteady should this knowledge be given&quot;<sup>1</sup> and yet again:\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n&quot;Nor can one attain the Spirit by discussion and disputation, nor by a varied learning nor even by the power of intelligence.&quot;<sup>2</sup>\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nShankara, at the very outset of his commentary on the Sutras, in explaining the very first words, speaks of a fourfold sadhana to acquire fitness—fitness, we may take it, for understanding the Sutras and the commentary and naturally for attaining the Brahman. It seems therefore to be an absolute condition that one must first acquire fitness, develop the right and adequate capacity before one should think of spiritual initiation.\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nThe question, however, can be raised— the moderns do raise it and naturally in the present age of science and universal education —why should not all men equally have the right to spiritual sadhana? If spirituality is the highest truth for man, his greatest good, his supreme ideal, then \nto nay one on<b> </b>\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\"> <sup><i>1</i></sup><i> Swetaswatara, </i>6-22 \n</p>\n<p class=\"para\"><b> </b>\n<sup>2</sup> <i>\nKatha, 2-23</i><br></p><p class=\"pageno\">Page-13</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">the ground, for example, of his not being of the right caste, class, creed, or sex, to keep any one at a distance on such or similar grounds is unreasonable, unjust, reprehensible. These notions, however, are born of a sentimental or idealistic or charitable disposition, but unfortunately they do not stand the impact of the realities of life. If you simply claim a thing or even if you possess a lawful right to a worthy object, you do not acquire thereby the capacity to enjoy it. Were it so, there would be no such thing as mal-assimilation. In the domain of spiritual sadhana there are any number of cases of defective metabolism. Those that have fallen, strayed from the Path, become deranged or even had to leave the body make up a casualty list that is not small. They were misfits, they came by their fate, because they encroached upon a thing they were not actually entitled to, they were dragged into a secret, a mystery to which their being was insensible.\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nIn a general way we may perhaps say, without gross error, that every man has the right to become a poet, a scientist or a politician. But when the question rises in respect of a particular\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-14</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">person, then it has to be seen whether that person has a natural ability, an inherent tendency or aptitude for the special training so necessary for the end in view. One cannot, at will, develop into a poet by sheer effort or culture. He alone can be a poet who is to the manner born. The same is true also of the spiritual life. But in this case, there is something more to take into account. If you enter the spiritual path, often, whether you will or not, you come in touch with hidden powers, supra-sensible forces, beings of other worlds and you do not know how to deal with them. You raise ghosts and spirits, demons and gods —Frankenstein monsters that are easily called up but not so easily laid. You break down under their impact, unless your <i>adhara </i>has already been prepared, purified and strengthened. Now, in secular matters, when, for example, you have the ambition to be a poet, you can try and fail, fail with impunity. But if you undertake the spiritual life and fail, then you lose both here and hereafter. That is why the Vedic Rishis used to say that the earthen vessel meant to hold the Soma must be properly</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-15</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">baked and made perfectly sound. It was for this reason again that among the ancients, in all climes and in all disciplines definite rules and regulations were laid down to test the aptitude or fitness of an aspirant. These tests were of different kinds, varying according to the age, the country and the Path followed—from the capacity for gross physical labour to that for subtle perception. A familiar instance of such a test is found in the story of the aspirant who was asked again and again, for years together, by his Teacher to go and graze cows. A modern mind stares at the irrelevancy of the procedure; for what on earth, he would question, has spiritual sadhana to do with cow-grazing? In defence we need not go into any esoteric significance, but simply suggest that this was perhaps a test for obedience and endurance. These two are fundamental and indispensable conditions in sadhana; without them there is no spiritual practice, one cannot advance a step. It is absolutely necessary that One should carry out the directions of the Guru without question or complaint, with full happiness and alacrity: even if there comes no immediate\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-16</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">gain one must continue with the same zeal, not giving way to impatience or depression. In ancient Egypt among certain religious orders there was another kind of test. The aspirant was kept confined in a solitary room, sitting in front of a design or diagram, a mystic symbol <i>(chakra) </i>\ndrawn on the wall. He had to concentrate and \nmeditate on that figure hour after hour, day after day till he could discover \nits meaning.If he failed he was declared unfit.</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nNeedless to say that these tests and ordeals are mere externals; at any rate, they have no place in our sadhana. Such or similar virtues many people possess or may possess, but that is no indication that they have an opening to the true spiritual life, to the life divine that we seek. Just as accomplishments on the mental plane, —keen intellect, wide studies, profound scholarship even in the scriptures do not entitle a man to the possession of the spirit, even so capacities on the vital plane,—mere self-control, patience and forbearance or endurance and perseverance do not create a claim to spiritual realisation, let alone physical austerities. In conformity with the Upanishadic standard, one may not be an\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-17</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">unworthy son or an unworthy disciple, one may be strong, courageous, patient, calm, self-possessed; one may even be a consummate master of the senses and be endowed with other great virtues. Yet all this is no assurance of one\'s success in spiritual sadhana. Even one may be, after Shankara, a <i>mumukshu, </i>\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nWhat then is the indispensable and unfailing requisite? What is it that gives you the right of entrance into the divine life? What is the element, the factor in you that acts as the <i>open sesame, </i>\nas a magic solvent?</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nOnly one thing, represented by one small homely word—&quot;Call&quot;. Whatever may be the case with other paths of sadhana, for Sri Aurobindo\'s Path this is the keynote. Has the call come to you, have you received the call? That is everything. If you have this call it does not matter in the least whether you have other qualities, be they good, be they bad. That serves as proof and pointer that you are meant for this Path. If you have this one\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-18</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">thing needful you have everything, and if you have it not, you have nothing, absolutely nothing. You may be wise beyond measure, your virtues and austerities may be incalculable, yet if you lack this, you lack the fitness for Sri Aurobindo\'s Yoga. On the other hand, if you have no virtues worth the name, if you are uneducated or ill-educated, if you are weak and miserable, if your nature is full of flaws and lapses, yet if the call is there in you secreted somewhere, then all else will come to you, will be called in as it were inevitably: riches and strengths will grow and develop in you, you will transcend all obstacles and dangers, all your wants will be made good, all your wear and tear will be made whole. In the words of the Upanishad: &quot;Sin will not be able to traverse you, you will traverse all sin, sin will not burn you, you  will burn it away.&quot;<sup>1</sup>\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nNow what exactly is this wonderful thing ? This power that brings into being the non-being, realises the impossible? Whose is this Call, from where does it come? It is none\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n<i><sup>1</sup> Brihadaranyaka, </i>IV. \n2.23</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-19</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">other than the call of your own inmost being, of your secret self. It is the categorical imperative of the Divine seated within your heart. Indeed the first dawning of the spiritual life means the coming forward, the unveiling of this inner being. The ignorant and animal life of man persists so long as the inner being remains in the background, away from the dynamic life, so long as man is subject to the needs and impulses of his mind and life and body. True, through the demands and urges of this lower complex, it is always the inner being that gains and has its dictates carried out and is always the secret lord and enjoyer; but that is an indirect effect and it is a phenomenon that takes place behind the veil. The evolution, in other words, of the inner or psychic being proceeds through many and diverse experiences mental, vital and physical. Its consciousness, on the one hand, grows, that is, enlarges itself, becomes wider and wider, from what was infinitesimal it moves towards infinity, and on the other, strengthens, intensifies itself, comes up from behind and takes its stand in front visibly and\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-20</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">dynamically. Man\'s true individual being starts on its career of evolution as a tiny focus of consciousness totally submerged under the huge surface surge of mind and life and body consciousness. It stores up in itself and assimilates the essence of the various experiences that the mind and life and body bring to it in its unending series of incarnations; as it enriches itself thus, it increases in substance and potency, even like fire that feeds upon fuels. A time comes when the pressure of the developed inner being upon the mind and life and body becomes so great that they begin to lose their aboriginal and unregenerate freedom—the freedom of doing as they like; they have now to pause in their unreflecting career, turn round, as it were, and imbibe and acquire the habit of listening to the deeper, the inner voice, and obey the direction, the command of the Call. This is the &quot;Word inviolate&quot; <i>(anahata-vani) </i>\nof which the sages speak; this is also \nreferred to as the &quot;still small voice&quot;, for indeed it is scarcely audible at \npresent amidst the din and clamour of the wild surges of the body and life and \nmind consciousness.</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-21</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">\nNow, when this call comes clear and distinct, there is no other way for the man than to cut off the old moorings and jump into the shoreless unknown. It is the categorical demand of such an overwhelming experience that made the Indian aspirant declare:\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n&quot;The moment you feel <i>you </i>are \nnot of the world, loiter no longer in it.&quot;</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nIt is the same experience that throbs in the Christ\'s utterance:\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n&quot;Follow me, let the dead bury their dead.&quot;\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nThe inner soul—the psychic—very often undergoes a secret preparation, develops and comes forward but just waits, as it were, behind the thin though opaque screen; and because of that it gives no objective indication of its growth and readiness. We see no patent sign of what is usually known as fitness or aptitude or capacity. Otherwise how to explain the conversion of a profligate and dilettante like Augustine, or of a rebel like Paul, or of scamps like Jagai-Madhai. Often the purest\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-22</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">gold hides in the basest ore, the diamond is coal turned, as it were, inside out. This, one would say, is the Divine Grace that blows where it lists—makes of the dumb a prattler, of the lame a mountain-climber. Yes, but what is this Divine Grace and how does it move and act? It does not act on all and sundry, it does not act on all equally. What is the reason? Appearances often belie the reality: a contrary mask is put on, it would appear, deliberately, with a set purpose. The sense and significance of this mystery? The hard, obscure, obstinate, rebel outer crust may continue long but it is corroded from within and one day, all on a sudden, it crumbles and dissolves and becomes in a new avatar the vehicle and receptacle of the very thing it opposed and denied.\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nVirtues are not indications of the fire of the inner soul, nor are vices irremediable obstacles to its growth. The inner soul, we have said, feeds upon all—it is indeed fire, the omnivorous, <i>sarvabhuk,</i>—\n<i>virtues </i>and vices and everything \nelse and gathers strength from everywhere. The mystery of miracles, of a sudden \nchange or reversal or revolution in</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-23</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">consciousness and way of life lies in the omni-potency of the psychic being. The psychic being has the power of making the apparently impossible possible, for this reason that it is a portion of the almighty Divine, it is the supreme Conscious-Power crystallised and canalised in a centre for the sake of manifestation. It is a particle from the Being, a spark of the Consciousness, a ripple from the Delight cast into the fastnesses of Matter and the material body. Now, it is the irresistible urge of this particle, this spark, this ripple to grow and expand, to become in the end the Vast—the Ocean and the Sun and the sphere of Infinity—to become that not merely in an essential status but in a dynamic and apparent becoming also. The little soul, originally no bigger than a thumb, goes forward through one life after another enlarging and intensifying itself till it recovers and establishes its parent reality in this material body here below, till it unveils what is latent within itself, what is its own, what is itself,— its integral self-fulfilment, the Divine integrality.\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nHere in his inner being, as part and parcel\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-24</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">of the Divine, man is absolutely free, has infinite capacity and unbounded aptitude; for here he is master, not slave of Nature, and it is slavery to Nature, that limits and baulks and stultifies man. So does the Upanishad declare in a magnificent and supreme utterance:\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n&quot;It is he in whom the soul, sunk in the impenetrable cavern of the body, darkened by dualities, has awakened and become vigilant, he it is who is the master of the universe and the master of all, yea, his is this world, he is this world.&quot;*\n</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\nIn the practice of Yoga the fitness or capacity that the inner being thus lends is the only real capacity that a sadhaka possesses; and the natural, spontaneous, self-sufficing initiation deriving from the inner being is the only initiation that is valid and fruitful. Initiation does not mean necessarily an external rite or ceremony, a <i>mantra, </i>\nan auspicious day or moment: all these \nthings, are useless and</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n<i>* Brihadaranyaka, </i>4-4-13\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-25</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">irrelevant once we take our stand on the authentic self-competence of the soul. The moment the inner being has taken the decision that this time, in this life, in this very body, it will manifest itself, take possession of the body and life and mind and wait no more, in that moment itself all <i>mantra </i>has been uttered and all initiation taken. The disciple has made the final and definitive offering of his heart to his Guru—the psychic Guru— and sought refuge in him and the Guru too has definitely accepted him.</p>\n<br>\n<p class=\"para\">\n<i>Mantra </i>or initiation, in its essence, is nothing else than contacting the inner being. In our Path- at least, there is no other rite or rule, injunction or ceremony. The only thing needed is to awake to the consciousness of the psychic being, to hear its call—to live and move and act every moment of our life under the eye of this indwelling Guide, in accordance with its direction and impulsion. Our initiation is not therefore a one-time affair only; but at every moment, at each step, it has to be taken again and again, it must be renewed, revitalised, furthered and strengthened constantly and\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-26</p>\n<hr>\n<p class=\"para\">unceasingly; for it means that at each step and at every moment we have to maintain the contact of our external consciousness with the inner being, at each step and at every moment we have to undergo the test of our sincerity and loyalty—the test whether we are tending to our inner being, moving in its stream or, on the contrary, walking the way of our external animal nature, whether the movements in the mind and life and body are controlled by their habitual inferior nature or are open to and unified with their hidden divine source. This recurrent and continuous initiation is at the secret basis of all spiritual discipline—in the Integral Yoga this is the one and all-important principle.\n</p>\n<br><p class=\"pageno\">Page-27</p>\n	</td>\n</tr>\n	</table>\n</div>\n</html>\n','-003_Yogic Initiation Amd Aptitude','','publish','closed','open','','003_yogic-initiation-amd-aptitude','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/003_yogic-initiation-amd-aptitude/',0,'post','',0),(1394,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN\">\n<html>\n<head>\n<meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text/html; charset=WINDOWS-1252\">\n<title>-013_The Sprit Of Tapasya.htm</title>\n</head>\n<div align=\"center\">\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\n<tr>\n	<td>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\">\n	VII</p>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\"></p>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\">\n	THE SPIRIT OF TAPASYA</p>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\"></p>\n	<p class=\"para\">\n	TAPASYA (Asceticism) is usually understood to mean the capacity to \n	undergo physical discomfort and suffering. We are familiar with \n	various types of Tapasya: sitting in summer with blazing fire \n	all around and the fiery noondaysun overhead (Panchagnivrata), \n	exposing one\'s bare limbs to the cold biting blasts among the \n	eternal snows, lying down on a bed of sharp nails, betaking oneself \n	to sack-cloth and ashes, fasting even to the point of death: there \n	is no end to the variety of ways and means which man\'s ingenuity has \n	invented to torture himself. Somehow the feeling has grown \n	among spiritual, religious and even moral aspirants as well that the \n	body is the devil that has to be curbed and controlled with bit and \n	bridle and whip. Indeed the popular view measures the greatness of a \n	saint by the amount of his physical privations.</p>\n	<br>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\">\n	Page-91</p>\n	<hr>\n	<p class=\"para\">\n	One seems not to know that the devil cannot be so easily checkmated \n	or beguiled. For indeed it is easy for the body to take \n	punishment,to submit to all kinds of rigours, yet feel as if \n	it is making ample amends and atonement in that way rather than \n	really give \n	up its aboriginal instincts and \n	impulses. Often one deceives oneself, succeeds .in hiding, in \n	secretly preserving one\'s unsaintliness behind a smokescreen of the \n	utmost physical tapasya. </p>\n	<br>\n	<p class=\"para\">\n	Real Tapasya, however, is not in \n	relation to the body and its comforts and discomforts; it is in \n	relation to the inner being) the consciousness and its directives \n	and movements. Tapasya, austerity, consists in reacting to the \n	downward pull of the ordinary consciousness, turning and attuning\n	it \n	to the rhythm of higher levels. To \n	oppose the force of gravitation, to move ceaselessly towards purer \n	and luminous heights of being. and consciousness, that is Tapasya, \n	Askesis, true asceticism. Virgil, the great poet of a diviner order \n	in human life, expressed the idea most beautifully and aptly in \n	those well-known lines, one of the characteristic passages showing \n	his genius at its best:</p>\n	<br>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\">\n	Page-92</p>\n	<hr>\n	<p class=\"para\">\n	... <i>Superasque evadere ad \n	auras</p>\n	<p class=\"para\">\n	Hoc opus, hic labor est-</p>\n	<br>\n	</i>\n	<p class=\"para\">\n	To move out into the higher spaces-this is work, here is \n	labour. Heroism consists in this untiring march upward to more \n	and more rarefied heights. That means the growth of consciousness, \n	its uplifting and expansion, freeing it from the limitations of the \n	ignorant egoistic movement, pressing it forward to the domains of \n	higher illuminations, towards spiritual consciousness and \n	soul-knowledge, towards communion with the Divine, the cosmic and \n	the transcendent Reality. That is the real work and labour. Bodily \n	suffering is nothing: it is neither a sign nor a test of the ardours \n	of consciousness thus seeking to uplift itself. Indeed, Tapas, the \n	word from which tapasya is derived, means energy of consciousness, \n	and Tapasya is the exercise, the utilisation of that energy for the \n	ascent and expansion of the consciousness. It is this inner \n	athleticism that is the thing needful, not its vain physical \n	simulacrum-not the one which is commonly worshipped.</p>\n	<br>\n	<p class=\"paracenter\">\n	Page-93</td>\n</tr>\n	</table>\n</div>\n</html>\n','-013_The Spirit Of Tapasya','','publish','closed','open','','013_the-spirit-of-tapasya','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/013_the-spirit-of-tapasya/',0,'post','',0),(1395,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>Ill</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>\r\nIlI</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>\r\nMURARIPUKUR (2)</b></p>\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow I come to the last phase of our life at Manicktolla Gardens, that is when we \r\nturned towards terroristic activities like the manufacture of bombs, collecting \r\npistols and rifles and making good use of them. The first chapter had already \r\nbegun with the <i>Yugantar</i> newspaper.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAs we took up these revolutionary activities, we discovered that it was not easy \r\nto carry on this kind of secret work unless there was, common in the country as \r\na whole, a keen desire and hope for freedom. What was needed was a favourable \r\natmosphere from which the revolutionaries could get the desired sympathy and \r\nsupport. One could not expect anything but opposition from a people cowed down \r\nby fear, shut up within its narrow selfishnesses and wholly preoccupied with its \r\ndull routine. That is why Sri Aurobindo started his daily newspaper, \r\n<i>Bandemataram</i>, which was the first to declare in clear language that what we \r\nwanted was the freedom of India, a total freedom, a freedom untrammelled by any \r\nkind of domination by the British. Its aim was to carry into the ears and hearts \r\nof our people a message of hope and faith and enthusiasm, a message that spoke \r\nof independence full and absolute, not the kind of freedom that looked to \r\nEngland for protection and help, and such independence too not as a distant \r\npossibility of the remote future, but an immediate gain of the morrow.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEven so, Bandemataram had to keep within the letter of the law; its advocacy of \r\nfreedom had to follow as far as possible the lines of peace, its path had to be \r\nthat of Passive Resistance. But Yugantar shed off all the masks. It was the \r\nfirst to declare openly for an armed revolt and spoke in terms of regular \r\nwarfare. It wrote out its message in words of fire and spread it to the four \r\ncorners of the land. Balthazar the king of Babylon had once seen similar \r\nwritings on the wall of his hall of feasting, words that spoke of the imminent \r\ndoom of his empire. To the country and its youth the <i>Ygantar</i> gave</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-18</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;its \r\ninitiation of fire for nearly a couple of years. It was only after the <i>Yugantar</i> \r\ngroup had decided that the time had now come for action and not propaganda alone \r\nthat there came to be established the centre at Manicktolla Gardens in \r\nMuraripukur. The section entrusted with real work and the people concerned with \r\npropaganda were to form two distinct groups; one was to work in secret, the \r\nother out in the open. Hence the work of <i>Yugantar</i> was entrusted to the \r\npropaganda group. The gentleman who took charge was named Taranath Roy. Those \r\nwho had hitherto been on the staff of the paper left it and joined the \r\nManicktolla Gardens for intensive training and work. It was however agreed that \r\nhere too there would be two groups, one for regular work and the other for \r\npropaganda. Only, the propaganda here would be of a different kind, for here it \r\nwould not be possible to speak openly of armed revolt as that would be to draw \r\nattention of the authorities to the regular workers. It was therefore decided to \r\nhave a paper in Bengali with a policy analogous to that of <i>Bandemataram</i>. A paper \r\nnamed <i>Nava-shakti</i> was already there, owned and conducted by Sri Manoranjan \r\nGuhathakurta. It had a house rented in Grey Street (North Calcutta). An \r\nunderstanding was reached between the parties so that the spirit and letter of\r\n<i>Yugantar</i> could continue in and through Navashakti. The house was built more or \r\nless on the pattern of the one we had later at Shyamapukur. There were two \r\nflats. The one in front was used as the <i>Navashakti</i> office; Sri Aurobindo \r\noccupied the other with his wife, Mrinalini.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nA word about Manoranjan Guhathakurta will not be out of place here. In that \r\nepoch Aswinikumar Dutt and Manoranjan Guhathakurta of Barisal were two of the \r\nmighty pillars of nationalism. But whatever their achievements as political \r\nleaders and selfless patriots, as writers and orators, it was their greatness of \r\ncharacter that mattered more. By a great character I mean one in whom there has \r\nawakened in a certain measure and manifested to some extent the inner being and \r\nthe indwelling spirit; this is what Vivekananda used to call the awakening of \r\nthe Brahman in the individual.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-19</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad come to know Sri Manoranjan Guhathakurta personally and I had been to his \r\nhouse in Giridih and stayed with him more than once. Giridih being not very far \r\nfrom Deo-ghar, he was aware that we dabbled in the bomb. He was not only aware \r\nof it, he also gave us all his help and sympathy. It had even been suggested \r\nthat a factory for the making of bombs might be tried somewhere around the mica \r\npits he owned in that region. His eldest son Satyendra had been a schoolmate and \r\nfriend of Barin and the two were practically co-workers. This family had helped \r\nBarin a good deal by their offers of money and advice. But what I had in mind \r\nwas not these external things but an inner life. Manoranjan Guhathakurta had an \r\ninner life, a life of <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhana.</i> His wife in particular was known for her\r\n<i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhana.</i> \r\nIn his eyes the service of the country was an occasion and a means for the \r\nservice of God. But his saintliness or <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhana</i> did not stand in the way of his \r\nstrength of character. In him there was a fine blend of strength and sweetness.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nManoranjan&#39;s son Chittaranjan became for a time a centre of great excitement and \r\nviolent agitation in those days. There was a session of the Bengal Provincial \r\nConference at Barisal which was attended by all the leaders like Sri Aurobindo \r\nand Bepin Pal. But there came a clash with the Government, the police raided the \r\npavilion and attacked the procession with lathis. The boy Chittaranjan went on \r\nshouting &quot;Bandemataram&quot; as the police beat him mercilessly. He fell down wounded \r\nand covered with blood but he did not cease his &quot;Bandemataram&quot;. This raised a \r\nfurious storm of protest throughout the country, which gave an opening to the \r\nterrorists too.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis shining example of non-violent resistance occurred long before the Gandhian \r\nera. To us who were in favour of armed resistance this kind of forbearance \r\nseemed intolerable. When, after this incident, the journalists and the poets \r\nbegan to sing in chorus, of &quot;Barisal of glorious virtue&quot;, we could not help \r\nadding with a little sting, &quot;thanks to those beatings&quot;.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nI have said that Sri Aurobindo came to occupy with Mrinalini a portion of the \r\nhouse in Grey Street. It was</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-20</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;here \r\nthat they arrested him later. The <i>Navashakti</i> too did not last long. In the \r\ncourse of their search, the police discovered in one of the rooms occupied by \r\nSri Aurobindo a lump of clay, which Mrinalini had brought from Dakshi-neswara as \r\na sacred relic. But the suspicions of the police were not to be allayed so \r\neasily. They thought it might as well be some kind of raw material for the \r\nmanufacture of bombs, so they had it sent to their chemical laboratories for a \r\nchemical analysis!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow let me come to the story of this final rounding up. For some time past \r\nalmost all of us had been noticing one thing. Whenever we went out on whatever \r\nbusiness, for shopping or to visit people, somebody seemed to be following us, \r\nfrom a little distance no doubt but it was clear enough that we were being \r\nwatched. When we stopped, he too would stop; if we tarried a little, he too kept \r\nhimself occupied on some pretext or other. We talked about this among ourselves \r\nand made the great discovery that this must be what they called spying, and that \r\nwe must henceforth take extra precautions. So far, we had never had this kind of \r\ntrouble. Ours had been a secret society only in name, for the whole thing was \r\nout in the open. Anybody could enter the Gardens from anywhere at any time and \r\nmove about the place, for it was all open compound without any fencing or walls. \r\nThat is why on the morning of our arrest, a couple of boys from the \r\nneighbourhood also found themselves under arrest along with us. In piteous tones \r\nthey implored the policemen, &quot;We are innocent, sirs; we came here only for a \r\nmorning stroll&quot;. The poor innocents!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe evening before our arrest, it was already getting dark and we were thinking \r\nof retiring for the night, when some voices came to our ears in a rather \r\npeculiar way, and lanterns were seen moving about in the dark. &quot;Who are you? \r\nWhat do you do here?&quot; the voices said. We did our best to give evasive replies. \r\n&quot;Very well, then, we come again tomorrow morning and will know more about it.&quot; \r\nWith these words, the strangers seemed to make their exit. Were these warning \r\nvoices? In spite of our dull wits, we could</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-21</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;understand \r\nat least this much that things were now getting rather serious and that we must \r\ntake our precautions. The first thing we decided upon was that we should leave \r\nthe place before daybreak and disperse. Upen told us later that he had wanted us \r\nto disperse immediately and make no further delay. But that was obviously not to \r\nbe, for it was destined that we should pass through the experience of jail. \r\nNevertheless, we did start doing something at once; that was to remove all \r\ntraces, by burning or hiding away or whatever other means, of anything that \r\nmight raise a suspicion against us. The very first thing that came to our heads \r\nwas this. There were two or three rifles in the house where Sri Aurobindo lived. \r\nThey were in the custody of Abinash (Abinash Bhattacharya) who lived with him \r\nand looked after Sri Aurobindo&#39;s affairs. Those rifles must be removed at once, \r\nthey could on no account be left there. Had the police found them on Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s premises, it might have been more difficult to secure his release. \r\nThe rifles were brought back, they were packed in two boxes bound with iron \r\nhoops, together with the few revolvers we had and all the materials for the \r\nmaking of bombs, and hidden away underground. Next, getting hold of all our \r\npapers that might contain names and addresses and plans, we set fire to them. \r\nThis went on far into the night. We could not however burn up everything. A \r\nnumber of names were still left intact and with the help of these clues, the \r\npolice subsequently searched a number of other places and made several arrests. \r\nHad I been able to make good my escape then, it would not have been difficult \r\nfor the police to trace me through my address; there was the Imperial Library \r\ncard issued in my name and it gave the address of my Calcutta Mess, 44/3 \r\nHarrison Road.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nwent to bed after doing away with all we could, in the hope that we might run \r\naway by daybreak. But the running away did not materialise. In the early hours \r\nof the morning,—it was not yet light,—we were awakened by an eerie sort of \r\nnoise. We sat up in bed. But what was all this going on? Shadowy forms were \r\nmoving about the place,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-21</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthere was a clatter and a creaking of boots. Suddenly out of the dark silence, a \r\nconversation arose:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\">\r\n&quot;You are under arrest. Your name?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\">\r\n&quot;Barindra Kumar Ghose.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\">\r\n&quot;Arabinda Ghose?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\">\r\n&quot;No, Barindra Kumar Ghose.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;Well, we&#39;ll see.&quot; </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe next thing I knew was a hand clapping on my shoulders. \r\n&quot;Come,&quot; said a voice.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSeveral people have expressed great surprise at this facile surrender on our \r\npart, as though we were goody-goody boys, innocent as lambs. Why, it has been \r\nasked, did we not give them fight and take a few lives before we surrendered? \r\nBut our aims were of another kind, our path, our very policy was of another \r\ncharacter. Our goal was not to die a martyr&#39;s death. We wanted to be soldiers. \r\nThe martyr is happy if he can give up his life. But the duty of the soldier is \r\nnot to give his life but to take the lives of others. The soldier seeks the \r\nmaximum protection for himself, he goes under cover, and he seeks to kill as \r\nmany of the enemy as he can. He does not think it enough that he should only \r\nsacrifice himself. No doubt there comes a time when it is no longer possible to \r\nfind a shelter or go under cover, it may not even be desirable. Then one throws \r\noff one&#39;s masks, one comes out in the open and acts in the way so vividly \r\ndescribed in these lines of Rabindranath:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThere began a scramble</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nto who should be the first to give up his life;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat was the only hurry.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">Or \r\nelse, the way the Light Brigade of England acted at Balaclava in the Crimean \r\nWar:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nInto the jaws of Death,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nInto the mouth of Hell,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nRode the six hundred.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Japanese soldiers too in one of their encounters with</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-23</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthe Russians in the Russo-Japanese War did not wait to build a bridge over the \r\nramparts of a ditch; they made a solid bridge with the pile of their dead as \r\nthey jumped in&#39; one after the other and let the army march over their bodies. To \r\nsave oneself does not mean that one should, like Nandalal of the comic skit, \r\ntake a vow to &quot;keep oneself alive at any cost, for the good of the country and \r\nall&quot;, or live by the bourgeois doctrine that one should always save oneself \r\nanyhow, even by the sacrifice of one&#39;s wife,<i> <font face=\"Times New Roman\">\r\n&#257;</font>tm<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>nam satatam rakset darairapi \r\ndh<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>nairapi</i>.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat is why we used to tease Paresh Mallick and called him a descendant of \r\nNandalal. Have I told you the story? He was once deputed to present Kingsford, \r\nthe Presidency Magistrate, with a live bomb packed in the form of a book; the \r\nbomb was to explode as soon as the book was opened. Paresh went in the garb of \r\nan Englishman&#39;s bearer. We looked out every day for an account in the papers of \r\nsome serious accident to Kingsford. But nothing happened. He seemed to be \r\nattending court regularly and was apparently quite safe and sound. So we had to \r\nask Paresh at last if he had in fact reached the bomb to its destination or \r\nwhether he had thrown it away somewhere to save his own skin. However, the bomb \r\nwas found later among a pile of books belonging to the Magistrate. It had been \r\nlying there safely and caused no harm. The people were demanding vengeance upon \r\nKingsford because he had sentenced a young student, Sushil, to flogging, simply \r\nbecause the boy was involved in a tussle with the police. That was an occasion \r\nfor us terrorists. Sushil later on joined the revolutionary group at \r\nManicktolla.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe police had on more than one occasion suggested to Sri Aurobindo, in order \r\nthat he might feel flattered or perhaps even get excited and be moved to act \r\naccording to their wishes, that a strong and truthful and straightforward man \r\nlike him could certainly not adopt a false pose or act in secret; that he had \r\nthe courage to do openly whatever he considered to be his duty or the right \r\nthing to do; that he would never care to run away and hide himself; and that \r\nwhatever</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-24</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nhe did he would frankly acknowledge and say without hesitation, &quot;Yes, \r\nit is I who have done it&quot;. But Sri Aurobindo was not to be trapped like that. He \r\nheld that far more important than any question of personal honour or \r\nindignities, or a parading of one&#39;s capacity or virtue, was the work to be done \r\nand its success. He would cite the example of Sri Krishna in the Mahabharata \r\nstory; Sri Krishna had no intention of being caught by Jarasandha and he fled to \r\nDwarka in order to make ready for the adversary. That is why Sri Aurobindo did \r\nnot consider a retreat to be a bad thing always. &quot;We live to fight another day&quot;: \r\nthis should be the motto of the soldier. That is why he left standing \r\ninstructions with Barin and his group that they were not to admit anything \r\nimmediately they were caught by the police. They should keep their mouths shut \r\nand make whatever statements were necessary only when the time came at a later \r\nstage. It is however true that Barin and some of the senior members of the group \r\ndid make a full confession soon after their arrest. But they did that purposely, \r\nwith a view to save the party by the sacrifice of some of its members. They had \r\nhoped that by taking on themselves all the responsibility, the others might be \r\nproved to have been innocent, so that instead of all of us dying together, some \r\nmight still live on to carry the work forward.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNevertheless, we were all arrested in a body. The police made us stand in a line \r\nunder the strict watch of an armed guard. They kept us standing the whole day \r\nwith hardly anything to eat. Only towards the evening, some of them were kind \r\nenough to get us some fried stuff from the market. Our throats were so dry by \r\nthe time that we would have gladly taken a sip out of that famous pond of ours. \r\nIn the evening, the order came, &quot;Follow us&quot;. But follow where? I somehow had the \r\nfeeling that here was the end—&quot;Remember, O soul, the day of the Great \r\nDeparture.&quot; I could not conceive at the moment that a case would have to be \r\nframed against us, that there must take place a trial and there might be a \r\ncounsel to defend us. I thought on the contrary that they would take us straight \r\nto Fort William and finish us off with</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-25</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;a firing squad! I was in fact getting \r\nmyself ready for that. But things turned out rather differently. The British \r\nGovernment could not be so heartless after all. We were taken to the lock-up at \r\nthe Lai Bazar police station. There, they kept us for nearly two days and \r\nnights. This was perhaps the most trying time of all. We had no bath, no food, \r\nnot even a wink of sleep. The whole lot of us were herded together like beasts \r\nand shut up in a cell. The police showed by their manner how rude and bitter \r\nthey could be. Then, after having been through all this, we were taken to \r\nAlipore Jail one evening. There we were received with great kindness and \r\ncourtesy by the gentleman in charge. He said, &quot;Now there will be no more of that \r\nharassment by the police. You will find it quite comfortable here.&quot; And he had \r\nus served immediately with hot cooked rice. This was our first meal in three \r\ndays, and it tasted so nice and sweet that we felt as if we were in heaven.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-26</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; line-height:150%\" align=\"right\">\r\n<a href=\"-00_Contents\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-05_Muraripukur-2','','publish','closed','open','','05_muraripukur-2','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/05_muraripukur-2/',0,'post','',0),(1396,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>V I</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p align=\"center\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><b>V I</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>PONDICHERRY (1)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo came to Pondicherry<sup>1</sup> and took shelter here. We might \r\nsay of course from another point of view that it was he who gave shelter to \r\nPondicherry within his own consciousness. But why this city in particular? There \r\nis indeed the usual view that he retired into French territory to escape the \r\nwrath of the British bureaucracy. But actually, all he wanted was to find a \r\nquiet spot where he might give himself to his own work undisturbed.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe place was so quiet that we can hardly imagine now what it was really like. \r\nIt was not quiet, it was actually dead; they used to call it a dead city. There \r\nwas hardly any traffic, particularly in the area where we lived, and after dusk \r\nthere was not a soul stirring. It is no wonder they said &quot;Sri Aurobindo has \r\nfixed upon a cemetery for his sadhana.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas a cemetery indeed. Whilst the Indian nationalist movement had been flooding \r\nthe whole country, nothing of that regenerating flood could find an entry here, \r\nexcept for one or two individuals who had felt a touch. It was like a backwater \r\nof the sea, a stagnant pool by the shore. There was here no such thing as a \r\npublic life or a youth movement or any kind of collective effort, or an \r\nexperiment in educational reform—there was no sign whatsoever of an awakening to \r\nlife.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">A \r\ncemetery it was no doubt, but one with its full complement of ghouls.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe first rank of these ghouls were the ruffian bands. Such creatures can appear \r\nonly in a highly tamasic environment. For, the greater the depth of inertia the \r\nmore is the need for keen rajasic excitement followed immediately by the silence \r\nof sleep. Pondicherry of those days had a still more notorious reputation for \r\nits cheap wine-shops and its rowdy tipsies. Of this type of ghouls there was a \r\nregular invasion from outside every week-end.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"left\">\r\n1 in 1910</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-42</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe ruffian bands—known locally as bands in French —were a peculiar \r\ninstitution now almost broken up. The French regime in Pondicherry was supposed \r\nto be in theory a reign of liberty, equality and fraternity. But in actual fact, \r\nit was the feudalism of pre-Revolution France that held sway here. Or perhaps it \r\nwas something worse, namely, the arbitrary rule of three or four high officials \r\nand rich men of ill-gotten means. The bands were in their pay and they were \r\nthere to do their bidding; the police had neither the will nor the power to \r\nintervene. On certain occasions, during the campaigns for political elections, \r\ncomplete anarchy seemed to reign in Pondicherry, while rioting and murder \r\ncontinued for days on end and blood flowed freely. People would not dare stir \r\nout of their houses, especially after dark. We were not openly involved in \r\npolitics, but some of our friends were. And Sri Aurobindo would sometimes send \r\nout some of us to meet them, even after nightfall and on purpose.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe local people marvelled at our dauntless courage.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">*</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">*&nbsp;&nbsp; *</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">These ruffian bands—these ghouls I was going to say— had turned against us too \r\non more than one occasion. Let me explain in a little more detail.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSoon after Sri Aurobindo came, he realised that a firm seat must be established \r\nhere, an unshakable foundation for his <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhana</i> and\r\n<i>siddhi,</i> for the path and the \r\ngoal. He was to build up on the ever-shifting sands of the shore a firm and \r\nstrong edifice, a Temple of God. Have we not read in the Puranas and other \r\nscriptures that whenever and wherever a sage or a Rishi sat down to his \r\nmeditation and sadhana, there rushed upon him at once a host of evil spirits to \r\nbreak up his work? They seemed to have a special liking for Rishi&#39;s flesh.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThose who tried most to stop Sri Aurobindo from settling down and were ever on \r\nthe alert to move him from his seat were the British authorities. The British \r\nGovernment in India could never accept that Sri Aurobindo had come away to \r\nFrench territory for carrying on his yoga. Religion and </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-43</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nspirituality, these to \r\nthem were a mere subterfuge. They thought they knew what Sri Aurobindo was—the \r\none most dangerous man in all India, the source of all the trouble. Pondicherry \r\nwas the place from where were supplied the necessary instructions and advice and \r\nperhaps even the pistols and other weapons. Here was the brain-centre of the \r\nIndian independence movement. That Sri Aurobindo had been the mainspring of \r\nIndian independence they had been told by their life-instinct, although the \r\nsuperficial sense in which they understood it was not obviously the whole truth.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\none time, they made up their minds that Sri Aurobindo should be kidnapped in a \r\ncar with the help of one of the chiefs of the local &quot;bandes&quot;. We had to patrol \r\nall night the house in which Sri Aurobindo lived, lest there should be a sudden \r\nattack. I gather the ringleader behind this move showed repentance later and \r\nsaid that to act against a holy man and yogi was a great sin and that a curse \r\nmight fall on the evildoer himself.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNevertheless, force having failed they now tried fraud. An attempt was made to \r\nframe a trumped-up charge at law. Some of the local &quot;ghouls&quot; were made to help \r\nforge the documents—some photographs and maps and charts along with a few \r\nletters—which were to prove that we had been engaged in a conspiracy for dacoity \r\nand murder. The papers were left in a well in the compound of one of our men, \r\nthen they were &quot;discovered&quot; after a search by the police. The French police had \r\neven entered Sri Aurobindo&#39;s residence for a search. But when their Chief found \r\nthere were Latin and Greek books lying about on his desk, he was so taken aback \r\nthat he could only blurt out, &quot;II sait du latin, il sait du grec!&quot; —&quot;He knows \r\nLatin, he knows Greek!&quot;—and then he left with all his men. How could a man who \r\nknew Latin and Greek ever commit any mischief?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nfact, the French Government had not been against us, indeed they helped us as \r\nfar as they could. We were looked upon as their guests and as political \r\nrefugees, it was a matter of honour for them to give us their protection. And \r\nwhere</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-44</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;it is a question of honour, the French as a race are willing to risk \r\nanything: they still fight duels in France on a point of honour. But at the same \r\ntime, they had their friendship, the <i>entente cordiale</i>, with Britain to maintain, \r\nand it is this that got them into a dilemma.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"center\">\r\n<font face=\"Arial Unicode MS\" size=\"5\">&#8258;</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\naddition to force and fraud, the British Government did not hesitate to make use \r\nof temptation as well. They sent word to Sri Aurobindo which they followed up by \r\na messenger, to say that if he were to return to British India, they would not \r\nmind. They would indeed be happy to provide him with a nice bungalow in the \r\nquiet surroundings of a hill station, Darjeeling, where he could live in \r\ncomplete freedom and devote himself to his spiritual practices without let or \r\nhindrance. Needless to add, this was an ointment spread out to catch a fly and \r\nSri Aurobindo refused the invitation with a &quot;No, thank you.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAfterwards came a more serious attack, perhaps the one most fraught with danger. \r\nThe First World War was on. India had been seething with discontent and things \r\nwere not going too well abroad on the European front. The British Government now \r\nbrought pressure on the French: they must do something drastic about their \r\npolitical refugees. Either they should hand them over to the British, or else \r\nlet them be deported out of India. The French Government accordingly proposed \r\nthat they would find room for us in Algeria. There we could live in peace; they \r\nwould see to our passage so that we need have no worry on that score. If on the \r\nother hand we were to refuse this offer, there might be danger: the British \r\nauthorities might be allowed to seize us forcibly.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ncan recall very well that scene. Sri Aurobindo was seated in his room in what \r\nwas later called &quot;Guest House&quot;, Rue Francois Martin. We too had come. Two or \r\nthree of the Tamil nationalist leaders who had sought refuge in Pondicherry came \r\nin and told Sri Aurobindo about the Algeria </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-45</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">offer and also gave a hint that they \r\nwere agreeable. Sri Aurobindo paused a little and then he said, in a quiet clear \r\ntone, &quot;I do not budge from here.&quot; To them this came as a bolt from the blue; \r\nthey had never expected anything like this. In Algeria there would be freedom \r\nand peace, whereas here we lived in constant danger and uncertainty. But now \r\nthey were helpless. Sri Aurobindo had spoken and they could hardly act \r\notherwise. They had no alternative but to accept the decision, though with a \r\nheavy heart.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe story of Danton comes to mind: Danton the leader of the French Revolution. \r\nFor a long time he had been on the crest of the wave of revolution, a leader \r\nrevered by all. The wheel of his fortune was now on the downward turn and \r\nanother party, the extremists, had reached the crest. Orders were out for his \r\narrest, which meant the guillotine. His friends rushed to him to give advice. \r\n&quot;Flee, Danton, flee,&quot; they said, &quot;there is yet time, flee.&quot; Danton was unmoved \r\nand he replied in a calm and quiet manner. &quot;That cannot be,&quot; he said. &quot;On \r\nn&#39;emporte pas le pays a lasemelle de ses souliers&quot;—&quot;You cannot carry the country \r\non the heels of your shoes.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Ashram has of course been subjected to fresh attacks later, and to some of \r\nthese many of you have been witness. But by then the Ashram had its foundations \r\nwell laid and the edifice had risen high. But in the days of which I have been \r\nspeaking there was no such thing as a foundation yet. Today the Ashram stands \r\nlike a banyan tree with head erect and branches spread all over; its body is \r\nsolid and immovable, the roots go deep and strong and firm., An attack may \r\ndislodge or even break a few leaves and branches, but nothing more serious can \r\nhappen. But in those days there was a possibility that the whole tree might get \r\nuprooted and such attempts too were there. The whole endeavour then was to find \r\na standing-room. Sri Aurobindo wanted, as the Vedic Rishis before him had done, \r\nto find a footing where there was none, <i>apade pada-dhatave.</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-46</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthose days there was in the College de France in Pondicherry a French professor \r\nnamed Jouveau Dubreuil—later on he became quite a well-known name—who had been \r\nengaged in research in ancient history and archaeology. We knew him quite well. \r\nHe was at that time working on the early history of Pondicherry. From a study of \r\nthe ancient documents and inscriptions he discovered that the city of \r\nPondicherry, which I have called a city of the dead, had at one time been known \r\nas a city of the Veda, veda-puri. That is to say, it had a centre of Vedic \r\nlearning. And this Vedic college, our professor found from ancient maps and \r\nother clues, was located exactly on the spot where the main building of our \r\nAshram now stands.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAccording to ancient tradition, the Rishi Agastya came to the South to spread \r\nthe Vedic lore and the Aryan discipline. His seems to have been the first \r\nproject for the infusion of Aryan culture into the Dravidian civilization. Many \r\nof you may here recall the lines of Hemchandra the Bengali poet:</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nArise, O Mountain, arise,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAgastya has returned;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nnew sign has been floated,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThere&#39;s a racing flood of Light;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnd lo, the sky holds a new splendor of the Sun</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHold this light, O Mountain,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat it spread a new Dawn over the land;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMay it hold the new Knowledge,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMay it acquire a new life;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMay a new Dream come to us all.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nRaise, O Mountain, your blue dragon-mass.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe legend goes that as Agastya journeyed South, the Vindhya mountains bent low \r\nto give him passage, and that they have remained low ever since and would \r\ncontinue in that posture until the Rishi came back. In connection with this \r\nstory about the Vedic Rishi Agastya, one is almost automatically reminded of the \r\nendeavour of Sri Aurobindo. Like Agastya he journeyed South and set up a \r\npermanent seat</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-47</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;here to emanate a new Light—he was even known in these parts as Uttara Yogi, the Yogi of the North. In his lines of work and sadhana too we find \r\na strange affinity with Agastya&#39;s effort, at least in one respect. Agastya had \r\nbeen for years driving deep into the earth, in the abyss of the subconscient, \r\nfor he nourished both the worlds, earth and heaven; he along with his companion \r\nLopamudra had been striving for victory here upon earth itself, in their battle \r\nand the sacrifice with its hundred fiery tongues, j<i>ay<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>vedatra\r\n<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>atan<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>tham<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>jim, \r\nyat samya<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>c<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font> mithunavabhyaj<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>va;</i> for the effort that had the protection of the \r\ngods could never fail, <i>na mrs<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font> <font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>r<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>ntam yadavanti dev<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>h</i>. To carry the effort of \r\nthe Vedic Rishis to a greater fulfillment, to make the victory complete in a \r\nhundred, nay, in a thousand ways, <i><font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>atan<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>tham,</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<i>sahasran<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>tham,</i>—this precisely was Sri Aurobindo&#39;s aim.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font face=\"Arial Unicode MS\" size=\"5\">&#8258;</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo was in Pondicherry for forty years. The first few years were spent \r\nin establishing a seat: he had to select a suitable spot and make a permanent \r\nabode where he could work undisturbed. This point about selecting a &quot;seat&quot; \r\noccurs in the story of all great spiritual aspirants and in all the disciplines. \r\nThe Tantriks had need of their &quot;seat of five skulls&quot;,<i> pa<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>camund<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font></i>. \r\nRamakrishna had his <i>pa<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>cavat<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font></i> the \r\ngrove of five banyans. But why this insistence on five? Perhaps the number stood \r\nfor the five main elements in man and the five worlds that constitute the \r\nuniverse,—what the Upanishads term body, life, mind, supermind and spirit. The \r\nVedas too speak of <i>pa<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>caksiti</i>, the five abodes, <i>\r\npa<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>cakrsti,</i> the \r\nfive fields of culture, <i>p<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>ncajana</i>, the five births or worlds. \r\nSri Krishna&#39;s conch of <i>pa<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>cajanya</i> may well occur to the mind. Lord Buddha too \r\nwhen he took his seat under the Bodhi tree is supposed to have said, &quot;I do not \r\nrise from this seat until my aim is attained, even though the body dry up or \r\nfall&quot; (:<i>ih<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>sane\r\n<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>usyatu me <font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>ar</i><font face=\"Times New Roman\"><i>&#299;</i></font><i>ram</i>).</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe site once chosen and the seat established, Sri Aurobindo had now to prepare \r\nthe ground. There were, as</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-48</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave said, shifting sands all around symbolising a changing world where all is \r\nin a state of flux, <i>yat ki<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>ca jagaty<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>m jagat.</i> All that had to be cleared and \r\nfirm ground reached. He spent many long years, even as Agastya had done, in this \r\nspade-work. For he was to erect a huge edifice, a Temple dedicated to God. He \r\nhad once dreamed of a Temple for Bhawani, Bhawani Mandir, where he would install \r\nMother India. Now too he desired the same thing, a Temple for Bhawani, a \r\nTemple-city in fact.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat needed a solid, firm and immovable foundation. For this he had to dig into \r\nthe farthest abyss, to fix, one might say, the &quot;five supporting pillars&quot;. All \r\nthis he did single-handed during the first four years, from 1910 to 1914. Then \r\nthe Mother came. And although that was for a short time, it was then that the \r\nplans were clearly laid for the thing that was to be and the shape it was to \r\ntake,—this New Creation of theirs.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe work of building the foundation took him till 1920. From 1920 to 1926 he \r\nworked with the Mother in giving it strength, testing it and making it fit and \r\nadequate for carrying the future load. In 1926 there began the construction of \r\nthe superstructure, and along with that proceeded the work of installing the \r\npresiding Deity. This work of installation took twelve years to complete and the \r\nnext twelve were given to making it permanent. His task done, Sri Aurobindo \r\nstepped aside, for a new task, for taking up another line of work. But to this \r\nfoundation he lent the entire strength of his bare back, that his work and new \r\ncreation should stand\r\nimmortal and with its head erect.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font face=\"Arial Unicode MS\" size=\"5\">&#8258;</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll that Sri Aurobindo had wanted to do with his body was to install permanently \r\nin an earthly form the Mother Divine. This Temple we call the Ashram has grown \r\nthrough the Power and Influence of her physical Presence, in order that she may \r\nmanifest anew. The Divine Mother of the worlds has installed herself here. In \r\nthe golden Temple </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-49</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthe living Goddess is manifest with all her Powers of \r\nrealisation. She has herself taken charge of the Work now. And the power of her \r\nGrace is working towards the goal that the entire earth and the race of men grow \r\ninto a living manifestation of Herself.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-50</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n			<p align=\"right\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-08_Ponicherry-1','','publish','closed','open','','08_ponicherry-1','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/08_ponicherry-1/',0,'post','',0),(1397,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>Publishers</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"80%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><font size=\"4\">Publishers&#39; Note</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIn this collection of essays only two were originally written in English (&quot;The \r\nWorld War&quot; and &quot;The Situation of To-day&quot;), the others are translations. The \r\nreminiscences of Nolini Kanta Gupta and those of Suresh Chandra Chak-ravarty \r\nwere written in Bengali and those of Amrita (Old Long Since) in Tamil. All these \r\nessays, both in the original and in translation, were at the outset published in \r\njournals and some subsequently in book-form. The collection here is presented \r\nfor the first time in book-form ; it may possess, we hope, more than an \r\nantiquarian interest.</p>\r\n\r\n			<p align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-02_Publisher Note','','publish','closed','open','','02_publisher-note','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/02_publisher-note/',0,'post','',0),(1398,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>V III</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>VIII</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>PONDICHERRY CYCLONE</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave once spoken to you of an earthquake and a small fire. Today I shall say \r\nsomething about two or three other inclement natural phenomena of which I have \r\nhad direct personal experience.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe first was when I was a child, it has left a clear imprint on my mind. Many \r\nof you, no doubt, are familiar with storms and hurricanes. But have you ever \r\nseen a whirlwind, what they call a tornado? This word has been rendered by a \r\nPundit into<i> t<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#363;</font>rna-da,</i> a thing that is swift in its flight. I have had a chance \r\nto see the thing with my own eyes. Just listen, you will see how terrible a \r\nthing it is and how well in keeping with its formidable name.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nwere at school then, the District School at Rungpur and were attending class. \r\nThe day was about over. The sky had been overcast and it looked as if it was \r\ngoing to rain. All of a sudden we heard people shouting, &quot;Fire, fire!&quot; Was there \r\na fire, a real fire? We rushed out in a body into the open field in front. As we \r\nlooked up we saw what they had at first taken to be smoke or rather a whirling \r\nmass that looked like smoke but was actually a cloud. There was a mass of clouds \r\nthat kept whirling almost over our heads, and from a distance there came a low \r\nrumbling and whistling sound. What could that be? What did it mean? They let us \r\noff from school and all of us ran in the direction of the sound. It did not rain \r\nmuch, very little indeed, if at all. We ran on, but the sound was nowhere near. \r\nThen we heard people saying, &quot;Something terrible has happened, over there, in \r\nthat direction.&quot; We kept running, for a distance of two or three miles from the \r\nschool and beyond the limits of the town. Suddenly we were brought up short. \r\nRight in front there was a wooded tract where the trees had been all smashed up. \r\nWe moved on straight into the heart of the ruin. It was a strange spectacle, as \r\nif an open zigzag path some fifty cubits wide had been cut across the wood</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-65</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">with \r\ndozens of bull-dozers driving through and leveling everything down. Bushes and \r\nshrubs and trees and houses —it was lucky there were not many houses—had all \r\nbeen swept clean away—for a distance of four or five miles, we were informed. \r\nThe place had been sparsely populated, so the casualties were not heavy—some \r\nhalf a dozen men, a few head of cattle and some houses. The demon of destruction \r\nseemed to have spent all his wrath on Nature. It was perhaps really the work of \r\nsome evil spirit.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThey said the whirlwind had arisen from a pool of water four or five miles away \r\nand it did look like a demon when it came rushing forward with a whirling motion \r\nafter having churned the waters of the pool. However that may be, we heard this \r\nabout a pedestrian who had been walking along the road just when the tornado \r\ncrossed his path. He was caught by the wind, given a few twirls up in the air \r\nand thrown down on the ground by the side of the road. As he shook himself up on \r\nhis feet, he went on muttering, &quot;What fun, I got a free lift to the sky!&quot;—<i>kais<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font> \r\nmaj<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>, <font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>sm<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>n dekh liy<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font> mufat se.</i> The man was a labourer type from Behar.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI moved for some distance along the clearing left by the wind, I could see how \r\nswift and powerful had been its impact. The trees that had not been uprooted \r\nwere twisted in a fantastic manner you could hardly imagine. All that was needed \r\nnow to make a paved road or highway out of the clearing was to remove the bush \r\nand throw in some gravel and mud.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhat I saw, or rather experienced, on the next occasion was not a tornado, but a \r\nprank of the wind-god all the same. It was a wild enough prank and rather \r\ndangerous for those of us who were among its victims.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas here in Pondicherry. At that time we were in the old Guest House; it is old \r\nindeed, for after that storm the very look of the house was changed. In those \r\ndays, Pondicherry used to have regularly every year, in October or November, \r\ncyclones of a rather severe type. We do not get anything like them now. The \r\nMother&#39;s presence seems to have pacified a great deal the wild forces of Nature.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-66</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In those days it would not do to bar our doors and windows with ordinary bolts \r\nand latches, they needed to be held by regular bamboo poles.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIt, all happened after nightfall. The sky had been overcast the whole day, it \r\nwas dark all around and heavy showers fell at intervals—real nasty weather, you \r\nwould say. We were upstairs. In those days we all lived in the rooms upstairs, \r\nthe ground-floor was used only for meals. We had just had our dinner and had \r\nmoved upstairs. In the meanwhile the wind had been gathering strength all the \r\ntime and the downpour grew heavy. Suddenly, there was a terrific noise, of \r\nthings creaking and crashing down, which meant that the doors and windows were \r\ngiving way before the ferocious gale. With it came a whistling sound and \r\nsplashes of rain. The doors and windows of the two rooms occupied by Sri \r\nAurobindo were blown away, leaving them bare to the wind and the rain like an \r\nopen field. He moved to the room next door, but there too it was much the same. \r\nThe upstairs was getting impossible, so we started moving down. We had barely \r\nreached the ground-floor when the shutters and windows along the walls of the \r\nstaircase fell with a crash on the stairs. We escaped by a hair&#39;s breadth. \r\nThings did not seem to be very much better in the rooms downstairs. There too \r\nthe doors and windows had given way and allowed free entry to the wind and rain. \r\nAll of us gathered in the central hall, and somehow huddled together in a \r\ncorner.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe early hours of the morning the storm abated and by daybreak all was clear. \r\nIndeed to us it seemed much too clear. That is to say, the rows of Porche \r\ntrees—we call them health trees—that lined the streets and were considered among \r\nthe attractions of the city now lay prostrate in their heaps on the surface of \r\nthe roads, making them impassable. Gangs of workmen arrived from the \r\nMunicipality with their axes and tools but it took them some time to cut through \r\na passage. Even now you could see, especially on the way to the Lake, huge trees \r\nlying about uprooted on the ground with their limbs broken and twisted out of \r\nshape</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-67</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnd now we had to think of our daily needs, about breakfast and lunch. But where \r\nto find the milk and foodstuffs, rice and pulses? Where were the shops? \r\nEverything was a shambles. I do not know if during a war the opposing forces \r\nbattling through a town or village would leave it in a condition somewhat \r\nsimilar to this. The number of wounded and dead was fairly large, somewhere in \r\nthe region of a thousand.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ncannot now recall the exact year of this upheaval. Most probably it was 1912 or \r\n1913, that is, shortly before the outbreak of the Great War. We may suppose \r\nperhaps that this minor upheaval came here as the harbinger of that \r\nworld-shaking calamity.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut it was no less strange that not long after the end of the Great War, there \r\ncame another storm, not of the same intensity but on a somewhat similar scale. \r\nThis time it brought a different sort of message and turned out to be a blessing \r\nfor us in the end.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Mother had already arrived for the second time, this time for good. She was \r\nat the Bayoud House where the Dowsetts now live. We were at the Guest House and \r\nI remember well how Sri Aurobindo used to call on her every Sunday and dine with \r\nher. We too would go along and have a share of the dinner. I need not add that \r\nthe menu was arranged by the Mother herself and she supervised the cooking in \r\nperson; she also prepared some of the dishes with her own hands. That is the \r\nreason why I say we were really lucky to have a share in those meals. At that \r\ntime we could only appreciate the physical taste of the food we were served; \r\ntoday I realise what lay behind it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAfter dinner, we used to go up on the terrace overlooking the sea front. Sri \r\nAurobindo and the Mother stood aside for a talk and we stood by ourselves. \r\nSometimes we would request Sri Aurobindo for some automatic writing after \r\ndinner. The writings that came through his hand in those days were frightfully \r\ninteresting. I remember somebody came and began to give an analysis of the \r\ncharacter of each one of us; he had many things to say about Motilal Roy as</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-68</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nwell. One day someone suggested that something might be given about the Mother. \r\nBut she immediately protested, &quot;No, nothing about me, please.&quot; At once the hand \r\nstopped automatically.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWell, during the Mother&#39;s stay in this house, there came a heavy storm and rain \r\none day. The house was old and looked as if it was going to melt away. Sri \r\nAurobindo said, &quot;The Mother cannot be allowed to stay there any longer. She must \r\nmove into our place.&quot; That is how the Mother came in our midst and stayed on for \r\ngood, as our Mother. But she did not yet assume the name. You can see now how \r\nthat last spell of stormy weather came as a benediction. Nature did in fact \r\nbecome a collaborator of the Divine Purpose.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-69</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n			<p align=\"right\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-10_Ponicherry Cyclone','','publish','closed','open','','10_ponicherry-cyclone','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/10_ponicherry-cyclone/',0,'post','',0),(1399,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>REMINISCENCES</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" width=\"80%\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n			<p align=\"center\">\r\n			<img border=\"0\" src=\"/Nolini/Reminiscences/_images/B-001.jpg\" width=\"600\" height=\"907\"></p>\r\n			<hr>\r\n			<p align=\"center\">\r\n			<img border=\"0\" src=\"/Nolini/Reminiscences/_images/B-002.jpg\" width=\"600\" height=\"691\"></p>\r\n			<p align=\"center\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','reminiscences-01_Pre content','','publish','closed','open','','reminiscences-01_pre-content','','','2021-11-23 17:21:24','2021-11-23 17:21:24','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/reminiscences-01_pre-content/',0,'post','',0),(1400,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>XIV</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>XIV</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>ETERNAL YOUTH</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis is about the time when you, the young, the children had not arrived here. \r\nThe few of us who were here had grown up, many had become aged, even old, that \r\nis to say, had passed the middle age. I often wondered, well, we were here, had \r\nbeen growing up and becoming old, what would be the nature of this institution \r\nlong after, 20 or 30 years after? Would it not be the home of a band of old men, \r\nof monastic sannyasis, an immobile structure without growth or evolution? \r\nHowever wise or accomplished we might be inwardly, even remain young or green in \r\nconsciousness, however far might our vision stretch towards the unseen future, \r\nyet externally, in the midst of surrounding society, should we not become like \r\nan isolated island? One day the proof came through an interesting event. After \r\nmid-day meal I was taking a little rest lying on the bed, suddenly a baby burst \r\nout weeping by the road-side window just near my head, and that went on for a \r\npretty long time. I could not hold my patience any longer, I got up and saw \r\nthrough the window a man standing by the side of the baby, perhaps its guardian. \r\nI said to him, &quot;Can&#39;t you silence the baby?&quot; That gave him the chance and the \r\nman burst out, &quot;What do you care? You do not keep children, neither will you \r\nhave any, you are comfortably living in solitude—what does it matter to you?&quot; At \r\nthat time I did not conceive that not only children, but hordes of them would \r\ninvade, there was no fear of the blank that I was apprehending before me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nan unexpected manner, yet so smoothly the blank was filled up. In our \r\ninstitution or around it, there remained no room for a full stop, not even for a \r\ncomma or a semicolon, a continuous unbroken line developed, beginning from the \r\nvery old to the very young; an unbroken flow of age, way of life, \r\nconsciousness—all that has been your contribution. How the young ones, the children, the parents of children,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-113</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\narrived here, an \r\naccount has been given by the Mother. This has been especially a gift of the \r\nwar; when the ill omen of the comet appeared in the sky of India, that is to \r\nsay, when there was the panic of bombing by the Germans, and the Japanese, even \r\ntheir advent in this country seemed imminent, then many thought that the only \r\nsafe place was at the feet of the Mother at Pondicherry. Therefore their \r\nsolicitations reached the Mother. The Mother said that it was not possible for \r\nher to refuse them. So the doors of the <i>achal<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>yatan</i> were opened and you came in!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut all this is external. It was like this from the outside— but there was an \r\ninternal necessity, an indispensable necessity.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe young brought in their youth, that is to say, a new vital force and that \r\nturned out to be an asset of the atmosphere here. For them the Mother had to \r\nopen the school, the gymnasium; the playground had to be prepared. Under the \r\ninfluence of that green new life, dry branches flowered, as it were, in the \r\nexternal life also of us, who were the old. Almost after 20 or 25 years, at the \r\nage of 60,1 had to join the play ground and do gymnastic drill, and I am \r\ncontinuing doing that for these 12 years.... This is the fact of life not only \r\nof myself, this history of many old men is a speciality of this Ashram. Not only \r\nin respect of the body, even in mental make up, there came youth, newness, for \r\nin order to teach children we had to learn the elementary lessons newly, and \r\nthat brought new fertility to the brain, there can be no doubt about it. Even \r\nfrom the side of education, by teaching young people, the elders do not get less \r\nbenefit.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBesides you have made other contributions also. About this I have told you \r\nelsewhere already. The Mother&#39;s creation is not an isolated construction, that \r\nis, it is not a community self-satisfied, self-sufficient, separated from the \r\ncommon universal life. The Mother&#39;s work encompasses the whole world, it aims at \r\na transcendence taking up the young and old, the men and women of the Ashram as \r\nwell as the whole human race. We work for the emergence of a great human race \r\nout of this human race and as a consequence a new development</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-114</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nof the whole \r\ncreation—therefore we require a community which will be representative of the \r\nwhole human race—that is to say, what is not here is nowhere else in the world—a \r\ncomplete sample of the whole earth, the whole human race. How various are the \r\nelements which constitute this earthly life, our institution will be a picture \r\nof that, a laboratory, as it were, for new creation, which element has to be \r\npurified, transformed in which way, which has to be rejected altogether—all this \r\nis being experimented. What has been accomplished here has created a \r\npossibility, a beginning in the whole earth, in the whole human race.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis thus that the appearance and coming of the young is going on daily, that is \r\nto say, the future is coming to us with its possibility—still there is something \r\nmore.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave spoken about the indispensable necessity of youth —fresh life and living \r\naspiration, that is the contribution of the young.... But what is lacking there, \r\nwhat has to be acquired is a peaceful and quiet mind and a wider consciousness. \r\nWith strong vitality there must be pure luminosity, with motion there must be \r\nvision. It is this that is the contribution of old age. With long experience \r\ncomes wisdom, with wisdom knowledge—consciousness progressing gradually becomes \r\nsettled understanding. It goes without saying, that simply age does not mean \r\nwisdom, similarly simply youth does not mean progress—that is, not always or \r\neverywhere.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBankim has said, &quot;Are years only the measure of time?&quot; So youth or old age \r\ncannot be judged merely by years. It is seen that old age has come in youth, \r\nthat youth is retained in old age,—such instances are not rare. Certainly you \r\nwill remember the picture drawn by the Mother—the picture of the supramental \r\nboat. There the Mother could not find the well-known old people—all there were \r\ntender or young, the old could come there only by becoming young. But one should \r\nremember that supramental youth is the youth of rich and ripe consciousness. May \r\nbe that is something higher than both youth and old age.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-115</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; text-indent: 25px; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-16_Eternal Youth','','publish','closed','open','','16_eternal-youth','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/16_eternal-youth/',0,'post','',0),(1401,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>v</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b><font size=\"4\">v</font></b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>SHYAMPUKUR</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">On \r\ncoming out of jail, Sri Aurobindo found shelter in the house of his maternal \r\nuncle, Krishna Kumar Mitra; the place was known as the <i>Sanjivani</i> Office. Bejoy \r\nNag and myself had got our release along with him, but we could not yet make up \r\nour minds as to what we should do next; we were still wandering about like \r\nfloating weeds or moss. But both of us used to go and see him every afternoon.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAbout this time, he went out on a tour for a short while in the Assam area in \r\nconnection with political work and he took the two of us along. I shall speak \r\nabout that on another occasion. On return from the tour he told me one day that \r\nhe had decided to bring out two weekly papers, one in English and the other in \r\nBengali. The premises were ready, the arrangements were practically complete and \r\nwe could both of us come and stay there. He asked me if I had any practice in \r\nwriting. I said that I had never written anything beyond college essays, but I \r\ncould try. &quot;Then get hold of an English newspaper tomorrow,&quot; he said, &quot;pick out \r\nsome of the important items of news, write them out in Bengali and bring them to \r\nme. I shall see.&quot; I did that the next day. He seemed to be pleased on seeing my \r\nwriting and said that it might do. He gave me the task of editing the news \r\ncolumns of his Bengali paper <i>Dharma.</i> Half of it would be articles, etc., and the \r\nrest would be news. Needless to say, I accepted the offer. He added that for \r\nthis work he would give me a stipend often rupees per month and that I should \r\nnot take that amiss. For, he explained, this was for him a matter of principle \r\nas he did not consider it fair to exact work without giving its due reward. That \r\nwas why he offered this token payment and I should accept it as part of my \r\npocket-expenses. This was the first time I was going to earn any money.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">So \r\nwe came to stay at Shyampukur, on the Dharma and Karmayogin premises. There were \r\ntwo flats or sections. In the front part were set up the press and the office, \r\nand at</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-34</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;the back, in the inner appartments, so to say, we set up our household. \r\nThere were three or four rooms on the first floor and downstairs there were the \r\nkitchen and stores and things.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo used to come here every afternoon from his uncle&#39;s place. He would \r\nfirst look to the work in the office and then come to our rooms. Till about ten \r\nin the evening he used to spend his time with us.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis here that began our true education, and perhaps, nay certainly, our \r\ninitiation too. Three of us were permanent residents, Bejoy Nag, Suresh \r\nChakravarti and myself. But there turned up practically every day Ramchandra \r\nMajum-dar, Biren Ghosh and Saurin Bose (a brother-in-law of Sri Aurobindo) who \r\ncame with us to Pondicherry and stayed here many long years. A frequent visitor \r\nwas Ganen Tagore of Ramakrishna Mission who acted as the link with Sister \r\nNivedita. There were a few others who came once in a while. Sri Aurobindo had \r\nhis own novel method of education. It did not proceed by the clock, nor \r\naccording to a fixed routine or curriculum, that is, there was nothing of the \r\nschool about it. It went simply and naturally along lines that seemed to do \r\nwithout rules. The student did not realise that he was being educated at all. Is \r\nthere not something very similar about his <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhana</i>? Of fixed rules and processes \r\ndetermined in advance there is none; it moves by different paths and along \r\ndifferent lines, depending on the time and circumstances; its form and movement \r\nvary according to the individual seeker. Even the seeker hardly seems to realise \r\nthat he is doing any <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhana.</i> Does a fish living in water know that it has \r\nlearnt to swim?&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">By \r\ngiving me that work of editing the news he made me slowly grow into a journalist \r\nunderwriter. Next there came to me naturally an urge to write articles. Sri \r\nAurobindo was pleased with the first Bengali article I wrote. Only, he made a \r\nslight change at one place, I remember. I had written &quot;In the past, India held \r\nto the illusionist view. But in the present age, she cannot afford to reject \r\nlife and the physical world; these she must accept.&quot; He corrected the first \r\nphrase to &quot;At a particular stage in our past.&quot; This my first article</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-35</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;was \r\npublished in the 11th issue of <i>Dharma</i> dated 15th November, 1909. I was twenty \r\nthen. Some of my other articles came out in Dharma afterwards. My writings in \r\nEnglish began much later.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow we started collecting a few books. At the very outset he suggested two \r\ntides: <i>Carlyle&#39;s French Revolution and Green&#39;s History of the English People,</i> \r\nperhaps in consideration of our taste for history and revolution. Arrangements \r\nsoon came to be made, all of a sudden and it seemed as if by accident, for our \r\ncoaching in Hindi as well. A Marwari gentleman who used to help Sri Aurobindo in \r\nhis journalistic work had a Pundit as his prot<font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font>g<font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font> to whom he had to pay 70 or 75 \r\nrupees per month as an honorarium. So he asked Sri Aurobindo if instead of the \r\nPundit being paid for nothing he could not be made to give some service. It was \r\naccordingly agreed that the Pundit would come and teach us Hindi for an hour \r\nevery day. He was a Brahmin of the rigid orthodox type. But once in the grip of \r\niconoclasts like us, his orthodox habits were soon broken to bits. For instance, \r\nhe was made to drink water from taps in place of holy Ganges water brought from \r\nthe river by a carrier; he even accepted to eat sweets obtained from the market \r\ninstead of living entirely on his own cooking. Hindi has now embarked on its \r\ncareer of empire and perhaps it was in anticipation of this that Sri Aurobindo \r\nwanted to get us ready from that early date. But the Muse of Hindi did not \r\nprosper much in our hands.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas here at Shyampukur itself that Suresh Chandra had his first inspiration for \r\npoetry.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day, in the midst of all this, Sri Aurobindo asked me all of a sudden if I \r\nhad any desire to learn languages—any of the European languages, French for \r\nexample. I was a little surprised at the question, for I had not observed in me \r\nany such ambition or inclination. None the less, I replied that I would like to. \r\nThat is how I began my French. He said, &quot;At the National College (National \r\nCouncil of Education, now Jadavpur University) they have got the books I loaned \r\nto them. You take this note from me. They will give you a volume of Moliere&#39;s \r\nWorks.&quot; I started right away with </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-36</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\na play from this volume, <i>L&#39; Avare.</i> At several \r\nplaces in the margins he wrote out in his own hand the English equivalents for \r\nmy convenience. I still possess that volume with the marginal notes in his \r\nhandwriting.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo himself began about this time his study of the Tamil language, \r\nwith a Tamil gentleman who used to come to the <i>Karmayogin</i> office. A rather \r\namusing incident has been narrated in this connection by Suresh Chakravarti. You \r\nshould read Suresh Chakravarti&#39;s account along with mine in order to get a more \r\ncomplete picture of our life at Shyampukur. His Reminiscences (in Bengali) have \r\njust been published by the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. While taking up the study of \r\nTamil, Sri Aurobindo did not have the faintest suspicion that he might have to \r\ngo to Tamil Nad one day and make that his permanent home.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHere in Shyampukur and about the same time, there began for us another kind of \r\neducation, another type of experience, a rather strange experience I should say. \r\nEverybody knows about automatic writing, that is, where the hand of the writer \r\ngoes on automatically writing without any kind of impulsion, desire or direction \r\non his own part; he remains neutral and lets himself go.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis said that through this kind of writing are brought down spirits or bodiless \r\nentities. The Western savant may say that all this is a play of the subconscient \r\nmind as the waking mind then abdicates. But that is a matter for argument. Let \r\nme here describe what actually happened. Sri Aurobindo showed us, or rather made \r\nus hear, not examples of automatic writing but of automatic speech. About eight \r\nin the evening, we would take our seats around him. The lights were put out and \r\nall was silent. We kept still for a while. Then slowly there came a voice from \r\nSri Aurobindo. It was clearly not his own voice, there were many voices each of \r\na different character and tone. The voice itself would say who it was. Some of \r\nthem I remember very well. Once someone came and said many fine things about \r\neducation, about literature, about our country. We got eager to know his name. \r\nAfter putting us off for a while he finally gave out </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-37</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">that he was Bankimchandra. \r\nThe talks were in English. He had used a word, &quot;obfuscated&quot;, and as none of us \r\nknew the meaning of this unusual word we asked him the meaning. His reply was, \r\n&quot;In our days we knew better English than you do.&quot; Another day, somebody else \r\nappeared and immediately announced himself in a terrible voice, &quot;I am Dan ton! \r\nTerror! Red Terror!&quot; He went on discoursing on the need and utility of all that \r\nbloodshed of the French Revolution. Another who came introduced himself thus, &quot;I \r\nam Theramenes.&quot; Theramenes was a political leader of ancient Greece. He spoke in \r\na calm and subdued tone and gave us a lesson in political matters. So many \r\nothers came like this, day after day, and taught us many things on various \r\nsubjects. Someone even raised the question of Hindu-Muslim unity and offered us \r\na solution as well.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWho are these beings? Or, what are they? Do supra-physical beings exist in fact? \r\nAnd do they come and disclose their identity before men in this manner? It is a \r\nvery obscure and complicated affair indeed. Supraphysical beings do exist. But \r\nthe supraphysical world is not of a single piece. There are worlds upon worlds \r\nin a regular series, from the most gross to the most subtle; above the physical \r\nis the subtle-physical, above that is life, and above life mind, the series \r\ncontinues above mind also; and in each of these there are several layers or \r\nplanes. Any of the beings from any of these worlds or planes can manifest \r\nhimself. But he has to manifest through the instrumentality of the human medium, \r\nthrough the substance of the medium&#39;s mind, life and body. Therefore he cannot \r\neasily manifest his real nature or true being, he has to gather his materials \r\nfrom the medium&#39;s own substance. Very often it is the make-up of the medium that \r\npredominates and the being that manifests preserves very little of his own. But \r\nit may on the other hand be quite otherwise. All will depend on the capacity of \r\nthe medium. With an impure or unfit medium there will be a greater possibility \r\nof charlatanism and falsehood.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nmany cases it is not the true soul of a dead person that comes; what comes is \r\nsome portion of him, some fragments</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-38</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">of his mind, life or subtle body that may \r\nhave survived in the corresponding worlds or in some other worlds. By animating \r\nthese parts and using them as vehicles, some other being or entity or force may \r\ncome, as if a representative of the whole man. Or else it might even happen that \r\nan entirely different being presents himself under a false name. There is really \r\nno end to the complexities that may arise in these supraphysical worlds. There \r\nmay also be a medium who knows how to keep under his control the action and \r\nmodality of such appearances, that is to say, determine in advance the \r\nparticular beings or types of beings that will come or will not come, the kind \r\nof things they will say or will not be allowed to say. Or he may, if he chooses, \r\nopen the g^tes for anyone to appear, simply in order that he may watch and \r\nexamine what takes place. Needless to add that when Sri Aurobindo made himself a \r\nmedium, something like this used to happen.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\na record of one of his experiments along this line, Sri Aurobindo himself has \r\nsaid or rather left in writing something that ve all know. The book entitled \r\nYogic <i>S<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>dhan </i>was written entirely in this manner through his hand by somebody \r\nelse. And judging by the fact that at the time of the writing Sri Aurobindo had \r\nseen the subtle presence of Rammohan Roy around, it may be inferred that the \r\nbook was written or inspired by Rammohan Roy. Sri Aurobindo has likewise told us \r\nthat the subtle being of Vivekananda came to him in Alipore Jail to give him \r\ncertain instructions.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMeanwhile there came to us running, one afternoon, a young man—Satish Sarkar—to \r\ngive Sri Aurobindo the news that Shamsul Alam, the Police Inspector who had been \r\nthe mainstay of Government in the Alipore bomb case, had just been shot down, on \r\nthe steps of the High Court, by Bifen (Birendranath Dattagupta). He added that \r\nhe too had been with Biren, but had managed to escape, although he doubted if \r\nBiren could have escaped. Biren actually got arrested and was hanged. Satish \r\nhimself absconded. Afterwards he came to us in Pondicherry and stayed here for \r\nsome time, perhaps for a year or so. We christened him &quot;Junior</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-39</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSinner&quot;—as he was, as it were, a younger brother to us. But he developed into a \r\n<i>m<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>y<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>vadin</i> (illusionist) and finally left us as he could not reconcile himself to \r\nour viewpoint. Afterwards he became a <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>nnyasin.</i> He has an ashram and receives \r\nan allowance from Bengal Government as a political sufferer.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOur life in Shyampukur went on in its regular course, when, one evening as we \r\ngathered for our usual stance, our friend Ramchandra suddenly appeared with the \r\nnews that the Government had decided to arrest Sri Aurobindo again; everything \r\nwas ready, he said, and it might even be that very evening. Sri Aurobindo \r\nlistened to him in silence. Then he said, &quot;Come, let us move out just now.&quot; He \r\nhad received the Divine Command, as he told us later, to leave immediately for \r\nChandernagore. He came out of the house and made straight for the river-side, \r\naccompanied by Ramchandra, Biren and Suresh Chakravarti. Suresh has given an \r\naccurate and full account of what happened next, and I shall not repeat that \r\nhere. You should read it in his Reminiscences.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe story of this sudden exit or disappearance of Sri Aurobindo has appeared in \r\nseveral versions, with many distortions and not without a touch of colour. For \r\ninstance, someone has said that it was on Nivedita&#39;s advice and at her \r\ninsistence or request that Sri Aurobindo took shelter in French territory. \r\nAnother has given a vivid cinema-like picture of how Sri Aurobindo had to jump a \r\nwall, how he lost his way among the narrow lanes and finally landed on \r\nsomebody&#39;s doorsteps and the dramatic dialogue that ensued, and so on. But all \r\nthis is sheer myth and romance. Sri Aurobindo himself has left his record on the \r\npoint, and his companions of that evening have also written out the true facts.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThose of us who were left behind continued to run the two papers for some time; \r\nNivedita was of particular help in regard to the English journal. But \r\nafterwards, we too found it impossible to carry on and our pleasant home had to \r\nbe broken up. For news came that the police were after our blood; it became \r\nimperative therefore that we too should disperse and go into hiding. I have said \r\nthat there were three </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-40</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\npermanent residents in that house. Of these three, Suresh Chakravarti, at Ganen Tagore&#39;s instance, disappeared among the Tagore family, in \r\nthe house of Gaganendranath Tagore. Bejoy removed to a friend&#39;s in Calcutta \r\nitself. And I decided to leave for an obscure little village in distant Barisal; \r\nthere I put up with a friend of mine, Satish Chandra Sengupta who afterwards \r\nbecame professor of philosophy at the City College in Calcutta.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat expedition of mine was not less romantic than any Antarctic trip. First I \r\nwent by train; next came the ferry steamer that carried me across rivers; then I \r\nhad a country-boat that paddled along the little channels of East Bengal; and \r\nfinally I had to walk the last lap of my journey before reaching the \r\ndestination, Kumeru.<sup>2</sup> Perhaps I shall tell you about that romantic \r\nepisode in more detail later if there is luck. I spent a couple of months there, \r\nenjoying all kinds of delicious dishes and fine hospitality and lorded it over \r\nin the football fields out there. Then I got the news that the time had come for \r\nstarting on my travels again—this time on a far distant trip, to the verge of \r\nCape Comorin almost.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n1 If &quot;Sumeru&quot; could stand for the North Pole, surely &quot;Kumeru&quot; has a\r\nclaim on the South. - Translator</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-41</font></p><hr>\r\n			<p align=\"right\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b><p align=\"right\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-07_Shyampukur','','publish','closed','open','','07_shyampukur','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/07_shyampukur/',0,'post','',0),(1402,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>XI</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>\r\nXI</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>I \r\nPLAYED FOOTBALL</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n(1)</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSome of you have asked to hear about my performance in football. I have already \r\ntold you something on an earlier occasion. Let us have a little more today.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave dabbled in football almost since my birth or, to be more exact, from the \r\ntime I barely completed five. My hand was introduced to the pen or chalk and my \r\nfeet touched the ball practically at one and the same time. Would you believe \r\nit, I had my formal initiation into studies, not once but twice, and on both \r\noccasions it was performed with due ceremony on a Saraswati Puja day, as has \r\nbeen the custom with us. The first time it took place, I was only four years old \r\nand I cannot now tell you why it had to be at that early age. It may be that I \r\nhad gone into tantrums on seeing somebody else&#39;s initiation and a mock ceremony \r\nhad to be gone through just in order to keep me quiet. But I had to go through \r\nthe ceremony once again at the age of five, for according to the scriptures one \r\ncannot be properly initiated at the age of four, so the earlier one had to be \r\ntreated as cancelled and a fresh initiation given to make it truly valid. \r\nPerhaps this double process has had something to do with the solid base and the \r\nmaturity of my learning!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut if I was to play football, I must at least get hold of a ball. Here you have \r\nyour footballs by the dozen, as if they were tennis balls. But we had to move \r\nheaven and earth in those days in order to procure a single ball. Even the older \r\nboys could seldom boast of more than one, or at the most one and a half—one \r\nalready half-worn and the other a mere half, an old tattered ball with a \r\nthousand patches like the shoes of Abu Salim in the story. But young people \r\nnever lack devices. We discovered a substitute, the Indian grape-fruit or \r\nshaddock that looks like a ball. No doubt the touch was hard, but it could be \r\nreduced to a convenient softness with our</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-84</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nkicks and blows and poundings with the \r\nfist. The only trouble was that the thing gave way soon afterwards on receiving \r\nsuch treatment. But this particular fruit was no rarity in our part of the \r\ncountry. There were any number of trees and it grew in profusion; there were \r\nseveral trees in our compound itself.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow to announce my first victorious feat. I was then about seven, or eight at \r\nthe most. The older boys were playing and I stood as a spectator, perhaps an \r\nenvious one. They suddenly found themselves short of one player: one of their \r\ngoalkeepers was missing. Someone called to me, &quot;Hey, you there, would you go and \r\ntake your stand at that goal? You will have nothing much to do, simply keep on \r\nstanding.&quot; A nominal goal-keeping in fact, since they had to have a goalkeeper \r\nin order to play a game. And till the very last moment, the ball did not come to \r\nour side of the field at all. It was growing fairly dark when one of the \r\nopponents suddenly came in running and aimed the ball at my goal from a little \r\ndistance. No one had any doubts as to what would happen and they all began to \r\nshout, &quot;Goal, goal!&quot; for how could a little kid like me manage to stop the ball? \r\nBut the miracle happened: I did stop the ball and took hold of it before it \r\ncould pass into the goal. Our people now cried out, &quot;No, no, no goal!&quot; and what \r\na pandemonium followed! They started dancing about with myself caught up in \r\ntheir arms. &quot;Bravo, bravo, my dear fellow,&quot; rang the cry all around. For me it \r\nwas like the tiger&#39;s first taste of blood, to use a hunter&#39;s phrase.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nYears went by and I grew into an expert player while still in school. I played \r\nright-out in the forward line and began to get used to that position alone. But \r\nthis gave me the habit of using only one foot, the right, and I became an adept \r\nof, the single foot. I could not make much use of the left, except as an \r\noccasional stand-by at need, just as Rajen still does with his right. Do you \r\nknow where I got real good training in the use of my left foot? That was after I \r\ncame here in Pondicherry. And it took me several years to make it perfect. But I \r\ndeveloped a different style for each of the </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-85</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\ntwo feet. The right was used for \r\nhigh long shorts, such as corner kicks and overhead passes, and the left was \r\nreserved for the low powerful drives. It is these left-foot drives that have got \r\nme most of my goals. In the Pondicherry team there was no place for me as \r\nright-out, for the boy who played in that position could not play in any other \r\nposition but he played very well as right-out. His name should be recorded here, \r\nit was Sinnas, Evereste Sinnas; he was an Indian Christian and the name was like \r\nthat. So I was given the right-in position. I played on the right wing, and Moni \r\n(Suresh Chakravarti) played left-out. The two of us, Moni Chakravarti, or Chakra \r\nfor short, and myself soon acquired quite a name here thanks to our football. \r\nOur styles were very different, though. Moni&#39;s tactics were simple. Once he got \r\npossession of the ball—the ball had to be passed on to him for he seldom \r\nbothered to snatch it for himself—but once he got the ball he was irresistible. \r\nWhat a run he could give! He seemed to fly past the touch line and no one could \r\ncatch up with him or stop him till he reached near the corner post. From there \r\nhe would send a high kick which would land the ball right in front of the goal, \r\nas though it were a corner shot. I would be there to receive it and do the \r\nneedful.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nplayed a different style. I did not lag far behind Moni in the matter of speed, \r\nbut I was an extremely calm and steady player. Moni raced like a storm without \r\ncaring for anything or anybody, as if it was a matter of life and death. This \r\ncost him a broken collar-bone more than once and he had serious injuries on his \r\nface and nose. I too ran fast enough, and carried the ball past my opponents \r\nwhenever I could, but my aim was always to pass on the ball and to receive it \r\nback. I tried to keep my position, anticipate where the ball was likely to land, \r\nin what positions our men would be found. A well-known player from Coochbehar \r\nhad once remarked on noticing the easy manner and artistic style of my game, \r\n&quot;There is a fine individuality about your play; it is calm and steady, neat and \r\nclean and robust.&quot; Indeed my aim was to play a clean game: none was to</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-86</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">touch me \r\nin the legs nor was I to touch my opponent&#39;s body, whatever contacts came must \r\ncome through the ball alone. I had nothing to do with what they call a robust \r\ngame, that was miles apart from my idea of football. That explains why after so \r\nmany years of football, I have never had a fracture or injury except for a \r\nslight twist to one of my toes. I must however confess that I too have done a \r\nbit of roughing in my days, but I was forced to it; for in those days, &quot;push him \r\ndown&quot; was the accepted slogan and it was not treated as a foul. But even the \r\npushing had its do&#39;s and don&#39;ts; you could not just push your way through as you \r\nliked.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMoni and I, and with us our club, the Cercle Sportif of Pondicherry, suddenly \r\ncame into the limelight after a particular match. We had a visiting team from \r\nVellore. This team was thought to be invincible. They had won all the matches \r\nthey played on their way to Pondicherry. The first time they met with a reverse \r\nwas at our hands; we won by a margin of two goals. They felt humiliated and \r\ndemanded a return match the next day. It was a tense game ending in a draw, so \r\nwe could keep up our prestige. They never expected to meet such a formidable \r\nteam as ours in an obscure spot like Pondicherry—Pondicherry was certainly an \r\nobscure enough spot from the point of view of football. In our team, four of us \r\nwere what they called &quot;Swadeshi&quot; players—this was the name given to those who \r\ntook asylum here after doing patriotic work. All the four were from Bengal. Moni \r\nwas there and Bejoy—he played centre-half—and Purna-chandra Pakre, a student \r\nfrom Chandernagore who pursued his studies here, and myself. This Purnachandra \r\nhad gone one better than the rest of us at least in one respect. He had mastered \r\nthe Tamil language to such a degree that I could find him devouring Tamil novels \r\nof the &quot;yellow-back&quot; type with complete ease. How many of us here have learned \r\neven the Tamil alphabet?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow to come back to Bengal. When we returned to Bengal after a lapse of four \r\nyears and they saw us play at Rungpore, we were given the name, &quot;Madrasi \r\nplayers&quot;, and it was given out that two absolutely formidable &quot;Madrasi </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-87</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;players&quot; had arrived in town. So the Town Club of Rungpore decided that they \r\nmust now be able to annex the Dinajpur Shield, the most coveted trophy in North \r\nBengal. A couple of players were &quot;hired&quot; from elsewhere to make the team \r\nperfectly invincible. And off we went to Dinajpur. The performance of our team \r\nhad already received adequate publicity, for we had beaten Bogra Town by two \r\ngoals. One of these goals had been scored by me and it had brought profuse \r\napplause. Let me stop and tell you first about that particular feat. I was \r\nplaying right-out. A ball came to me about mid-field, near the touch line. The \r\nfield lay practically open. The half-back, a non-Indian, was a little farther \r\naway and I could easily pass him by. The full-back rushed at me, but he too was \r\nby-passed. As there was no point in waiting longer, I aimed a shot at the goal. \r\nBut instead of shooting with the right foot—I was playing right-out you \r\nremember—I used the left. The goalkeeper was naturally expecting the shot to \r\nland on his right; instead it went to his left and got us a fine goal, and what \r\nhurrahs! Needless to add, these things do not happen by previous plan or \r\ncalculations, they come in a matter of moments and automatically. One can of \r\ncourse try to reason out later how it all happened. This in the parlance of Yoga \r\nis what Sri Aurobindo calls an &quot;involved process&quot;.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">To \r\ncome back to the point. It was the last match of the tournament, the final: \r\nDinajpur Town Club <i>versus</i> Rungpore Town Club. Everyone felt certain that we \r\nwould be the winners, ours was such a strong team; the only question was: by how \r\nmany goals? We too felt the same way. However, soon after the play began, I \r\nthink it was before half-time in any case, something entirely unexpected came to \r\npass. One of the Dinajpur forwards, I cannot now recall his name but he was a \r\nvery good player, finding our side of the field almost empty—we were pressing \r\nthem hard on their side of the field —aimed a shot from beyond the half-boundary \r\nline, almost near mid-field. Our goalkeeper was caught napping and it was a fine \r\nscore. Everybody was flabbergasted. During the next half-hour or so, we held \r\nthem pressed to their goal</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-88</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">mouth and went on bombarding them with shots at the \r\ngoal. But each time we shot, the ball struck the post or the crossbar or it hit \r\nthe goalkeeper, it could never be placed inside the goal. It was a regular \r\nbombing every minute that we kept up, but nothing could happen; it looked as if \r\nsomebody had raised a wall against us. I tried six or seven corner kicks, all of \r\nthem first-class, but to no avail. A Kumartuli player in our team was so \r\nimpressed by my corner kicks that he extended to me an invitation. &quot;Why don&#39;t \r\nyou come and play in Calcutta? What is the point in wasting yourself here in a \r\nprovincial town? You should come and play with us in our team.&quot; I could not \r\nhowever accept the invitation; I am going to tell you why. Anyhow, we did not \r\nmanage to equalise that goal and had to accept defeat. I never felt so \r\ndisappointed. We returned to Rungpore with heads down and not a word spoken.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut do you know what had happened? It was explained to us soon after the match \r\nby one of their outstanding players, perhaps he was their captain. He actually \r\nhalf belonged to our team, for his relatives lived in Rungpore and he himself \r\nsometimes came and played for the Rungpore team. &quot;This serves you right,&quot; he \r\nsaid. &quot;Mother Kali is a living goddess, you see.&quot; With this, he took out a \r\nhalf-piece bit from his pocket and went on, &quot;We had been to the Kali temple, we \r\nmade this offering to the goddess and said to her, &#39;Mother, here we have come, \r\nbegging for thy protection; take this half-piece as our modest offering and give \r\nus the victory this afternoon.&#39; Now, see how she has got us the victory. How \r\nelse could we have stood up against a team such as yours?&quot; So, that was how. We \r\nhad been swelling with pride at our prowess and ability, somewhat in the spirit \r\nof Duryodhana haughty in the pride of his troops of the divine gift, whereas \r\nthey had been modest like the Pandavas reliant on Sri Krishna. This at least was \r\nthe lesson that came to me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me tell you a story here in this connection. It is not a story, but a thing \r\nthat actually happened. It was the time, at the beginning of the century or even \r\nearlier, when the</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-89</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nyouth of Calcutta took to football seriously and \r\nenthusiastically. And among the pioneers was the same team—of which I spoke just \r\nnow—Kumartuli. This club had at its head as manager and inspirer a gentleman who \r\ngave his all —money and time and energy—for his organisation. He had the \r\nambition to see his boys play and play successfully with the European and \r\nmilitary teams. It was an ambition. For there was no comparison in those days \r\nbetween a team of British soldiers and a team of weakling Indians. The Indians \r\nat football were almost like new recruits in comparison with the seasoned \r\nBritons. First of all, the Indians all played bare-footed against eleven pairs \r\nof high boots. Secondly, the Britons were strong robust beef-eating bodies while \r\nthe Indians were almost airy nothings. Thirdly, the British had a long strenuous \r\ntraining behind them: the Indians were newcomers in the field. However, this \r\nparticular Indian team worked and practised with zeal in view of a match with \r\nthe Britishers. The result, of course, was a foregone conclusion. They were \r\nlucky to get defeated by only a couple of goals.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow the British team had a generous captain who became interested in the matter \r\nand undertook to coach and train the Indians. A big tournament came on at about \r\nthat time and this Indian team was pitted against a famous Military team, \r\nBlack watch or something. The manager—the guiding spirit of the Indian team—was, \r\nas I said, a high-spirited, enthusiastic, ebullient personage—he had only one \r\ndefect, if defect you call it: he was addicted to drinking. That was a fillip to \r\nincrease this enthusiasm and buoyancy and dare-devilry. He used to invite his \r\nplayers to feastings and revelry —to inspire them and encourage them. Now the \r\nday of days approached. And the gentleman was in jitters, terribly nervous: how \r\nwere his boys to face these giants? And a change came upon him. On the previous \r\nday he refrained from drinking, fasted, adopted <i>mauna</i>, went to Kalighat and \r\nworshipped Mother Kali.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nthe next day the hour struck and the players were about to take the field. The \r\nteam of British soldiers came in</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-90</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">carriages (there were horse-carriages in those \r\ndays), with music, bugle and drum, singing and shouting, sure of their victory. \r\nThey were giants indeed, each a Hercules, and the Indians were pigmies before \r\nthem. The play started. Just then our manager noticed that at a distance, away \r\nfrom the field, under a tree was sitting a Sannyasi. Directly he saw the \r\nSannyasi, he ran, ran towards him and sat before him. The Sannyasi asked what \r\nwas the matter. He answered that there was to be a fight with British soldiers, \r\nour Bengali boys had to be protected, they must win. The Sannyasi enquired \r\nwhether they had guns and cannon and what was the strength of the enemy. He was \r\nanswered that it was not that kind of battle—it was a football game. The \r\nSannyasi shook his head and sent him away.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe gentleman returned and saw that with great effort his boys had managed a \r\ndrawn game and they pulled through till half time. Now the danger was ahead—half \r\nan hour more. He could not restrain himself and again he rushed to the Sannyasi \r\nwho was still sitting there in the same position, and prayed and entreated him \r\nsaying they were threatened with defeat at the hands of Mlechchhas, their honour \r\nand prestige were at stake. The Sannyasi asked, &quot;How many killed and wounded?&quot; \r\nThe gentleman explained again it was not like that. It was a football game. The \r\nSannyasi asked, &quot;How many on their side?&quot; They were eleven. The Sannyasi then \r\nasked the gentleman to get eleven bits of stone. These were collected and placed \r\nbefore him. The Sannyasi arranged them in a row, and then drew some circles \r\naround and sprinkled water and uttered something. And then he told the gentleman \r\nto go away. He returned, the game had already started after the recess. But a \r\nstrange thing he began to notice. He saw one of the soldiers—a giant of a \r\nfellow—rushing with the ball and nearing the goal and about to shoot into it, \r\nwhen suddenly he tumbled down and rolled over and the ball went off somewhere. \r\nIn fact all the mighty heroes were behaving in a curious manner. They were \r\nrunning but with difficulty as if with legs tied up. They fumbled, tottered, \r\nfell down</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-91</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;moved with great difficulty. Something was restraining and impeding \r\nthem, pulling them back. So the result was a victory for the Indians by two \r\ngoals. You can imagine what they did after this miraculous victory. The \r\ngentleman manager rushed towards the tree to thank the Sannyasi. But where was \r\nhe? Nothing was there, barring the row of stones.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n(2)</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ndid not go to play in Calcutta. One of the reasons of course was that I belonged \r\npermanently to Pondicherry and my trips to Bengal were more in the nature of \r\nholiday excursions and I did not want to enter into binding commitments. For \r\nanother thing, the atmosphere of Calcutta football was one that I was not likely \r\nto cherish; we belonged to different worlds as it were.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me now tell you about another match, this time in Jalpaiguri. As far as I \r\nremember, it was a Jalpaiguri Shield Final, Nilphamari <i>versus </i>Purnea. Young \r\nSamad, the great Mohan Bagan hero, was then playing for the Purnea team and his \r\ngame was already something worth seeing. Nilphamari enjoyed a peculiar kind of \r\nreputation—whether it was good or bad is for you to judge—they always played a \r\ngood game but they seldom managed to win. The same thing happened this time. You \r\nwill be surprised, four of us brothers were playing on the same side on this \r\noccasion. I believe one was at the goal, another at the back, the other two in \r\nthe front line. Out of these, my third brother played centre forward. He read \r\nfor his Degree in Calcutta and was a member of the junior Mohan Bagan team. I \r\nalternated between the out and the in positions at the wing, but he always \r\nplayed centre. One of the tricks I performed on this occasion brought tremendous \r\napplause and much excitement among our spectators. I held the ball and was \r\nplanning to make a run, when one of my opponents came and stood within less than \r\na couple of paces in front of me. Both of us stood perfectly still for a moment, \r\nboth manoeuvring for position. Can you guess what I did next? I drove the ball</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-92</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\npast his side, got around him and caught it up again. The poor fellow was left \r\nbehind and completely non-plussed. What a shout of joy rose from the crowds and \r\nwhat applause! I was right-out and as I passed along the touch line, stray \r\ncomments reached my ears: &quot;Blackbeard plays very well indeed, doesn&#39;t he?&quot; \r\n&quot;Carry the ball yourself, blackbeard, do not pass it on&quot;—this because my team \r\nseldom made good use of my passes. I wore a beard in those days, you know; it \r\nwas something like a French cut. Already, some of my friends had launched a \r\ncampaign against my beard. &quot;That is now wholly out of date in Bengal,&quot; they \r\nwould say. &quot;Shave it off, throw it away.&quot; One of them even went to the extent of \r\nmaking me a present of a shaving set. Finally, there was no other go for me but \r\nto follow the maxim, &quot;Eat to please yourself, but you must please others in what \r\nyou wear.&quot; But Sri Aurobindo did not much appreciate my beardless face; he \r\nseemed to prefer us to wear a moustache and beard, at least in those days.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nshall end this story of football with an account of my last performance in this \r\nline. By then I had practically given up and was on the &quot;retired list&quot;. I began \r\nas an ordinary player, then I was captain for a year, an Inspector of Games (in \r\nour club) for another year, and finally a retired man. I never played in matches \r\nany longer. The juniors now took our places. I would however pay an occasional \r\nvisit and play just a little. They once held a six-a-side competition. The final \r\nwas between our team, Cercle Sportif of Pondicherry, and the Missionaries&#39; team, \r\nSoci<font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font>t<font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font> le Nid. For a long time, the two teams had been keen rivals. The \r\nMissionaries never liked us, as you know, and their supporters naturally took \r\ntheir side. The boys of the Cercle Sportif were the enlightened, nationalist \r\nelement in the local population. Now, the play began. One of the conditions of \r\nthe match, laid down in advance, was that if any of the players on either side \r\nwere to get disabled in the course of the game, he could be replaced by another. \r\nThe Sportif boys had arranged among themselves that in case the game did not go \r\nwell and they found themselves giving way, they would get some one &quot;disabled&quot; \r\nand take me in, as a substitute</p>\r\n<p align=\"center\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\nPage-93</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">That is what happened in fact. Our team lost a \r\ngoal and immediately afterwards one of our boys—he was later the Hon&#39;ble Mr. \r\nJustice Antoine Tamby, now in retirement—sat down with a thump. He said he had \r\ngot hurt and could not play any more. So they shouted for me. &quot;Roy, where is \r\nRoy?&quot; I was &quot;Roy&quot; and ready at hand. I entered the field, with my red and white \r\nuniform, the Mohan Bagan colours. I changed immediately the whole tactics of the \r\ngame. What our boys had been doing was to cluster close around the ball for \r\npurposes of short passing—all the three or four out of the six were doing that. \r\nThere was to be a centre kick following the goal. I stood with the ball at the \r\ncentre and told the two boys on my right and on my left to keep as far away as \r\npossible from the centre and to go on making long passes. I sent the ball from \r\nthe centre straight to the right wing. Our outside man was ready. He took the \r\nball and passed it back to me at the centre. I was already far ahead, almost \r\nbeyond the half-back. As soon as the goalkeeper saw me rushing with the ball \r\ntowards the goal, he lost his nerve: &quot;Oh, Roy coming!&quot; It was an easy score. \r\nWhat an excitement among our boys, what uproarious hurrahs! We won by two goals \r\nin the end and the cup was ours. After the game was over, how they danced with \r\nme on their shoulders! Moni led the boys. He too, like me, had given up playing, \r\nand was on the retired list, acting only as a spectator. Moni was so pleased \r\nwith this performance of mine that he took me straightway to a nearby hotel or \r\nbar. There was no Ganpatram in those days, alas!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me conclude this narrative with a few incidental remarks, some reflections \r\nconcerning &quot;style&quot; in games. In my native town in Bengal I had a friend who \r\nplayed tennis. Once I made this comment on seeing him play, &quot;There is no grammar \r\nabout his play.&quot; My dictum became a classic among our sporting circles. He used \r\nto play in what may be described as a &quot;hit and miss&quot; style. Not that he broke \r\nany of the rules of the game, but there was about his manner something loose and \r\nslovenly; he had no style or system. But often enough he hacked his way to \r\nvictory by sheer force of vital energy.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-94</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBejoy and our Benjamin with his \r\nleech-like grip— they were the two half-backs in our team—followed exactly the \r\nsame method. In fact, there are two essentials to a good game: grammar and \r\nstyle, or grammar and rhythm, to use the terms of ancient rhetoric. In our time, \r\ngrammar was no doubt important in school, but we were never to be bothered by \r\nany such bugbear in the field of sports, at least as far as our country was \r\nconcerned. In those days, men became champions through sheer genius, that is, by \r\nvirtue of an innate skill. Without any systematic training or practice on \r\nscientific lines, they developed a skill in the game through an inner urge or \r\ninfluence. Perhaps all men of genius are creatures of this type. They say this \r\nabout Napoleon too. He went on winning his victories without end and no one \r\ncould stop his onward march. The old experienced generals of the enemy Powers, \r\nthe Austrians for example, practically gave up trying. On being criticised for \r\ntheir failure, they said, &quot;But what on earth can we do? The fellow does not \r\nobserve any of the principles of warfare. How can one fight under such \r\nconditions? He breaks every rule of battle.&quot; But today we are in an age where \r\nnot untrained skill but close mastery of detail and unfailing practice are the \r\nthings that count. Here in the Ashram, through your games and physical \r\nexercises, you are being trained to make every posture and movement of all the \r\nparts of your body orderly, precise and disciplined. You practise day after day, \r\nmonth after month, for years on end. We in our days had no knowledge of any such \r\nthing, we were utterly ignorant and illiterate in this regard. The time has now \r\ncome when man has to make his advance by conscious method, not drag his feet \r\nalong somehow in a blind ignorant way, not rest satisfied with what comes \r\nautomatically. In our country, in ancient times at least, grammar was considered \r\nimportant in two fields: in the study of language and in the art of Yoga. The \r\nrules were extremely strict and there was no end of manuals and glosses. But in \r\nour ordinary life, in the art of day-to-day living, there grew up an enormous \r\namount of slackness and indiscipline, at least during the more recent times.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-95</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave just now spoken of two things, grammar and rhythm; style is mainly a matter \r\nof rhythm but it presumes grammar, for you cannot have a good style without \r\ntaking note of grammar. Grammar is like the skeleton and bony structure in a \r\nman&#39;s body; without that support and foundation, the body becomes limp like a \r\nmass of flesh. By grammar I mean the right arrangement of the different limbs. \r\nWhether it be tennis or cricket or any other game, or even ordinary jumping and \r\nrunning, one must know in minute detail and apply in practice the knowledge as \r\nto how the arms and the chest and the back and the abdomen are to be held, in \r\nwhat position the legs should be, down to the smallest fingers and toes. And it \r\nis not enough that you control the separate movements of the different parts of \r\nthe body, you have to combine all these movements into a single harmonious whole \r\nand give them a fine well-formed and one-pointed rhythm. This last quality is \r\nwhat characterises rhythm or style. It is said that the style is the man. It is \r\nreally something that belongs to the inner man; in a game, it is a quality of \r\nthe inner body-consciousness. It needs a harmony between the consciousness of \r\nthe body and the inner vital being, it implies a natural sense of measure and \r\nrhythm. In our days, we did not know anything of all this. We did have the gift \r\nof imagination and feeling, but now is the day of science. You have the great \r\ngood fortune that you can now acquire both these gifts, effect between the two a \r\nsupreme synthesis and harmony and arrive at a higher fulfilment.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-96</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-13_I played football','','publish','closed','open','','13_i-played-football','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/13_i-played-football/',0,'post','',0),(1403,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>II</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>\r\nII</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<br>\r\n<b>THE SITUATION OF TODAY</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<br>\r\n<b>11-2-1965</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis not of today, nor of yesterday, but also of the day before yesterday and the \r\nday before and the day before. The story is as old as human consciousness \r\nitself. Whether it will be the same tomorrow remains to be seen.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis the fate of all spiritual endeavour to raise in its wake a contrary movement \r\nthat declares and demands its negation. The Buddha says: surrounded as we are by \r\nenemies, let us not be inimical to them. The Christ, as we all know, when being \r\nled with a crown of thorns on his head and the cross on his back, heaved a sigh \r\nand prayed to the Lord to pardon all those who did not know what they were \r\ndoing. In the early centuries of the Christian era when Rome sought to spread \r\nher gospel of Christendom and extend its frontiers, the vandals rose up against \r\nit and from their barbarian soil of Germania swept through the countries like a \r\nhurricane, laying waste everything before them till they reached the Holy City \r\nitself, pillaging and ravaging it, desecrating the basilica, —leaving their name \r\nas an immortal legacy to mankind for deeds of theirs. And centuries later, the \r\nlittle maid of Orleans, Jeanne d&#39;Arc, was burnt alive, because she said that she \r\nsaw the angels and heard their voices and conversed with God. And Mohammad—whose \r\nglory today rings reverberant in all the four corners of the globe—in his day \r\nwas tracked from place to place like a hunted animal. Since then the situation \r\nseems to have worsened, not improved; for even as late as the enlightened \r\nnineteenth century, towards its end, we find a poignant picture, by the great \r\ndramatist Ibsen, of the social crisis of today, how the people, the masses, are \r\nnot capable of recognizing their own secular good—not to speak of any higher \r\nspiritual welfare—and one who does or tries to do a really good turn to them is \r\ndubbed &quot;An Enemy of the People&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-127</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nToday the opposition is infinitely greater. The call now to humanity is for an \r\ninfinitely greater change—an inner change in the consciousness and an outer \r\nchange in life and material existence. Also the change is to be a radical \r\nchange, that is to say, from the very root, not merely a superficial reform. The \r\naim is not to leave the world as it is or just a little better in some way, if \r\npossible; but to remould it in the very substance and constitution of the \r\nSpirit. And the ultimate goal of earthly life is not the Divine&#39;s crucified \r\nbody, but the perfected glorious body.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNaturally the old habits, the millennial forces, the ignorant and obscure \r\nmovements of instinct and tradition cannot suffer such an upsetting. Earthly \r\ncreatures, wherever they are, cannot bear the light that descends to illumine \r\nthe earth. Its impact is too strong: the beings that abide in cool shades or \r\ncosy darkness struggle and wriggle, they fear to be dissolved ; they desire no \r\nchange. But the decree has gone forth. And earth moves...towards the Light.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo founded the Ashram to give a form to the descending light, to make \r\nof man an angel, not leaving him to remain an animal or half animal as he now \r\nis.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Mother&#39;s dream from her childhood was to find a place upon earth where men \r\nwould be free, happy, wise, pure, one in love, above want, dwelling in the \r\nplenitude of prosperity, both inner and outer. She was building up, she is \r\nbuilding up a structure in that direction, naturally under the restrictions and \r\nconditions of prevailing circumstances, seeking to open them out for the play of \r\na higher order of consciousness, a superior status of being, a luminous mode of \r\nlife.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOpposition from the stagnant order, opposition from domains that do not want man \r\nto be free from his past and present and become a being of the future, is \r\ninevitable in the nature of things. Opposition is also meant to be a test and a \r\ntraining for perfection. Through troubles, tribulations, through whatever \r\naccidents and incidents that happen, we move unfailingly to the Divine \r\nFulfilment.Trials and tribulations are not new to the Ashram.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-128</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFrom the first day Sri \r\nAurobindo planted the seed here more than half a century ago, it has been \r\nbuffeted by bad weather. He was advised to quit, offered a cozy retreat in the \r\nHimalayas by the Imperial British. The French regime offered him an equally \r\nagreeable resort, a peaceful haven on the Mediterranean coast of Africa. And \r\neven among well-wishers here, some were eager to take him out for a joy ride \r\nto...an unknown destination. But Sri Aurobindo had made his choice. This is the \r\nholy spot, this is the seat for his sadhana and siddhi—Pithasthan. The Mother \r\nhas not abjured his choice, she continues.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEven so the Buddha had taken his seat under the Bo-tree and declared: I am here \r\nand I do not move. Let my body dry up, I sit firm and go through, to the end.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe passage to heaven, Sri Aurobindo says, lies through hell. Here is his \r\nwarning and beckoning:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHere must the traveller of the upward way—</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFor daring Hell&#39;s kingdoms winds the heavenly route—</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nPause or pass slowly through the perilous space,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nprayer upon his lips and the great Name.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font face=\"Arial Unicode MS\" size=\"5\">&#8258;</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhere the red Wolf waits by the fordless stream </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnd Death&#39;s black eagles scream \r\nto the precipice...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe nether forces can never divert or deflect the Divine Decree. That alone is \r\ncarried out and fulfilled. And in His Will is our peace.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen a mountain surges up, lifts its peak high in the heaven, an opposite \r\nmovement is generated that seeks to drag it down and bring it to the original \r\nlevel ground—the result being formidable glaciers and cataracts and landslides \r\nhurtling down. But through these accidents and incidents—they are no more than \r\nthat—the mountain remains firm, the living structure that is to be there abides \r\nin its integrality and greatness, although the accidents look</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-129</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;like a tearing and \r\na mauling of its body.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThrough all contraries and adversities, through all things that are broken and \r\ntorn, through all that pass and disappear grows slowly and emerges irrevocably \r\nthat which the Supreme wills towards the final consummation. And one day we all \r\nshall see</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBuilt is the golden tower, the flame child born.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-130</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; text-indent: 25px; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-18_The Situation of Today-12-2-1965','','publish','closed','open','','18_the-situation-of-today-12-2-1965','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/18_the-situation-of-today-12-2-1965/',0,'post','',0),(1404,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>OLD LONG SINCE</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>OLD LONG SINCE</b></p>\r\n			<blockquote>\r\n				<blockquote>\r\n					<blockquote>\r\n						<blockquote>\r\n							<blockquote>\r\n								<blockquote>\r\n									<blockquote>\r\n										<blockquote>\r\n											<blockquote>\r\n												<blockquote>\r\n													<hr>\r\n												</blockquote>\r\n											</blockquote>\r\n										</blockquote>\r\n									</blockquote>\r\n								</blockquote>\r\n							</blockquote>\r\n						</blockquote>\r\n					</blockquote>\r\n				</blockquote>\r\n			</blockquote>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>OLD LONG SINCE</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(1)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n1905-1910</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nour village and all around, four names of four great personages were being \r\ncontinually talked of. It was the time when Independence, Foreign Rule, Slavery \r\nwere the cries that used to fill the sky. And the four great names that reached \r\nour ears in this connection were Tilak, Bipinchandra Pal, Lajpatrai \r\n(Lal-Bal-Pal) and Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">Of \r\nthese only one name caught my heart and soul. Just to hear the \r\nname—Aurobindo—was enough.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll the four persons were pioneers in the service of the country, great leaders \r\nof the front rank. Why then did one name only out of the four touch me \r\nexclusively? For many days to come the mystery remained to me a mystery.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\n1905 I came to Pondicherry for study. In 1910 Sri Aurobindo also arrived here. \r\nWhat a coincidence! He came to the very town where I had come! I was full of \r\njoy, thrilled with delight.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nstrong desire arose in me that I must see Sri Aurobindo. He had been there in \r\nour town for six months, very few knew of his arrival, but I knew of it on the \r\nthird day itself. My uncle was engaged in politics and was in contact with the \r\nnational workers and leaders. He came to know of the incident on the very day. \r\nIn fact the number of those who knew could be counted on one&#39;s fingers. The idea \r\ngained on me that somehow I must see Aurobindo. Hearing must be translated into \r\nvision.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDay after day, night after night, this was my sole thought. Two years passed by.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFinally one day, at about six in the evening, my friend Krishnaswami Chettiar \r\nand I started from Muthialpet, a suburb of Pondicherry,—near about our present \r\nSports Ground and proceeded towards the beach where Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house stood. \r\nWe walked the whole distance. </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-141</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nI was a boy of about fourteen years. Chettiar had \r\nhis cycle, but he was wheeling it by him as he walked along. As it had become \r\nsomewhat dark, Chettiar proposed to leave the cycle in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house \r\nbefore going to the beach He thought it would be burdensome to carry a cycle \r\nwith us and we would not be free to walk about as we liked. That was the only \r\nreason why we went to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nword about Krishnaswami—who is no longer in the land of the living—would not be \r\nout of place. He was a well-to-do man of Muthialpet and a great devotee of \r\nBharati—the great poet and national worker. He used to give all possible help to \r\nBharati and attend to his needs. He knew neither English nor French, his only \r\nmedium of communication was his mother-tongue, Tamil. He had a kind of \r\ninstinctive respect for Sri Aurobindo because of Bharati&#39;s association. He would \r\nnow and then go and stand a little afar and have his Darshan, but naturally had \r\nno talk with him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe Mission Street (Rue des Missions Etrang&amp;res) close to the Dupleix Street \r\nthere was a house with its front facing west. It extended from the Mission \r\nStreet backward down to the Rue de la Cantine on the East. It consisted of three \r\ncourtyards. Each courtyard had four verandas around it; Sri Aurobindo&#39;s room was \r\nin the third block. The front block was occupied by Nolini, Sourin, Bejoy; Moni \r\nwas in the second block. I heard it said that Sri Aurobindo would daily walk \r\nround and round the courtyard from about five in the afternoon till the other \r\ninmates returned from their playground at about eight or eight-thirty in the \r\nevening.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen Chettiar and I approached Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house, we found the door bolted. \r\nWe both knocked at it with some hesitation. All on a sudden the door opened and \r\nwas left ajar. Sri Aurobindo had come quietly and turned back immediately as the \r\ndoor opened—it looked as if he did not want to let us have a glimpse of his \r\nface.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthat fading twilight only his long hair hanging gracefully upon his back and his \r\nindescribably beautiful small feet caught my eyesight! My heart throbbed within \r\nme as though</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-142</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad been lifted up into the region of the gods! It took me long to come back to \r\nnormal composure.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ndid not know what were the feelings and thoughts of Chettiar and I did not care \r\nto know!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(2)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n1910-1914</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll these five years served the need of my preparation. It should be called a \r\npilgrimage to Sri Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEach act of mine, each event of my life had become, as it were, offerings in the \r\nsacrifice done unknowingly by me. Prior to my surrender to Sri Aurobindo, \r\nBharati helped me a great deal to attain wideness in the heart, to loosen the \r\nties of old samskaras and the like, to impart purity and newness to my thoughts, \r\nby means of his words, his deeds and his way of living.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBecause of Bharati&#39;s association with Sri Aurobindo and his immense respect and \r\ndevotion for him, I felt in me a great inexplicable attraction to Bharati.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEvery evening, a little after dark, Bharati would go to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. \r\nHe chose that time not with the purpose of avoiding people who would want to \r\nmake a note of his visit. It was because Sri Aurobindo used to come out of his \r\nroom and receive his friends only after seven in the evening. An exception, \r\nhowever, was made for close friends like Bharati and Srinivasachari, who, at a \r\nvery urgent need, could see him at any time of the day. Their visits to Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house after seven had become a regular affair. Bharati would visit \r\nwithout fail; it was not so with Srinivasachari, however.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThere was hardly any subject which they did not talk about in their meetings at \r\nnight. They discussed literature, society, politics, the various arts; they \r\nexchanged stories,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-143</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\neven cracked jokes, laughed and had a lot of fun. In the absence of \r\nSrinivasachari their talks Would no doubt disregard all limits of sect or cult. \r\nIn Bharati&#39;s absence, Sri Aurobindo&#39;s talks with the inmates of the house at \r\ndinnertime would reach the height of the humorous. That apart, I heard people \r\nsay that Bharati and others would return home by eight-thirty or nine at night \r\nand carry in their hearts lovingly whatever share of the divine riches they had \r\nthe capacity to receive. In consequence of their inner and outer change they \r\nwould find the exterior world also &quot; changed the next morning,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nlong time after, I too had a little of this mystic experience. But now as I cast \r\na retrospective look, I perceive that the past was in a way a period of tapasya \r\nbefore reaching the Gurudeva.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI said, not a single evening would pass without Bharati&#39;s _ calling on Sri \r\nAurobindo. Bharati delighted in pouring out to Sri Aurobindo all that he had \r\nread in the dailies, all about local affairs and happenings in the suburbs. And \r\nif, however, Sri Aurobindo made comments on one or two of the points raised, his \r\njoy would know no bounds.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nhis way to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house, Bharati would first call at Srinivasachari&#39;s, \r\ngo with him to the beach, stay there till 7 p.m., and then make for Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house. The three together would jocularly discuss a variety of \r\nsubjects. Bharati, on his way back, would often halt for a while at \r\nSrinivasachari&#39;s and then go home. As soon as they reached home from Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s, the people assembled there would put the identical question: &quot;What \r\ndid Sri Aurobindo say today?&quot; It was as though the Jivatman wanted to know the \r\nWill of the Paramatman.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nTwo years passed in this way. At home we had a strict observance of orthodox \r\nrites and rituals. But the moment Bharati arrived, these began to crumble away; \r\nin his presence all rules and ceremonies, habits and customs slipped off from me \r\nand disappeared in no time. Why so? Because it was Sri Aurobindo&#39;s wish that \r\nexpressed itself through him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">My \r\nneighbor was no more a stranger to me, whether</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-144 </font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">a \r\nshudra or a pariah; he was as I was, a man; little by little my heart got soaked \r\nin the feeling that he was my brother. This feeling began to translate itself \r\ninto due practice. Today it might appear as nothing uncommon. But even to \r\nimagine today what difficulties it might have created some fifty years ago can \r\nmake one shudder with fear. The village life was orthodox in its ways; the town \r\nlife was somewhat different to the same extent as green leaf and green fruit \r\nmight appear to differ. Later on, Bharati did away with these customs and threw \r\nthem off like chaff, as things without substance. It would be interesting to \r\nfollow the whole development and examine it through all its stages. That was the \r\ntime when the removal of the mere tuft of hair from the head would mean the loss \r\nof the very truth of Brahmin-hood. But now the white people are not only not \r\nlooked upon as Mlechchas as before, but, in addition, they as well as the \r\nChinese and the Negroes and other races are all felt as pertaining to humankind. \r\nAfterwards I realised that the disappearance of the sense of division from \r\nwithin me had been the effect of a continuous shedding of light upon my heart \r\nimperceptibly by Sri Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhether in Bharati&#39;s house or by the tanks or beside the big lake, at the time \r\nof collective dining the so-called Pariahs, Shudras, Brahmins would all sit \r\ntogether comfortably without any distinction of caste or creed and take their \r\nmeals. Today it may appear quite common. But in those days many of us would not \r\ndare to disclose such a conduct at home. We would be alarmed if some family \r\nmember chanced to see us taking part in a collective dinner. Along with Bharati \r\nwe would make fun of caste distinction. The feeling that all were men had taken \r\ndeep root in the heart of each of us. Now as we look back upon the past we come \r\nto realise how far we have progressed in our endless pilgrimage to Sri \r\nAurobindo. Looked at from another standpoint it would appear clearly as but one \r\nstep in the path leading to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s ideal.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe truth must manifest itself in the heart; the manifested truth must grow up \r\nstep by step. An unending, ever-growing </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-146</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\naspiration hailing from afar in the bourn less space of my being fell upon me like a golden light.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe matter of ritual observance a change within me was going on without my \r\nknowledge during two or three years; the truth had dawned upon me that the outer \r\nwas nothing else than the inner. Old habits and customs had lost all meaning and \r\nlooked like worm-eaten things to me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad to pass through a period when my inner being would say one thing and my \r\nouter life would express something else. Gurudeva, whom I had not yet seen with \r\nnaked eyes, caught hold of my heart and brought about its radical change. \r\nBharati was very helpful in effectuating my inner nearness to Sri Aurobindo. \r\nOften it would occur to me: &quot;Why did I not have, like Bharati, courage enough to \r\nact according to the inner voice?&quot; As I grew more and more familiar with \r\nBharati, the rites and ceremonies, rules and regulations dropped off from me as \r\nwithered leaves from a tree. During that time my old orthodox friends and \r\nrelatives took upon themselves the task of explaining to me what amount of truth \r\nlay in religious rules and regulations, in what way they were true. But they \r\nfailed to strike my mind as true. Was it because of an attraction for the new? \r\nOr was it that I could find no relation ever existing between the eternal and \r\nthe old?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\ntimes Bharati made us hear what. Sri Aurobindo had told him on the Shakti cult. \r\nBut I put no question on its details.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nmade repeated requests to Bharati to take me to Sri Aurobindo. He, however, kept \r\nsilent each time I made this request. Several times I requested my late uncle \r\nalso. But no definite reply from him either. I used to hear that a very limited \r\nnumber of persons had permission to see Sri Aurobindo; that only Bharati and \r\nSrinivasachari could see him daily; that my uncle had his Darshan only once a \r\nmonth.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nhad been made evident to me after those numerous attempts that Sri Aurobindo&#39;s \r\nDarshan was a rarity and to obtain it with the help of Bharati or Srinivasachari \r\nor my uncle was well-nigh impossible. Then how was I to have</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-146</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s Darshan? In the core of my heart burnt a living faith incessant \r\nand unwavering, that somehow some day I would have his Darshan.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDuring that period, one day at about five-thirty or six in the evening, I \r\nhappened to meet on the beach Ramaswami Iyengar, who a few years later became \r\nwell renowned as Va Ra. He had been living then in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. As \r\nintimacy with him grew, I felt a singular attraction for conversation with him. \r\nHis remarks were always trenchant and scintillating. Never would he speak of \r\nanyone with respect. His face had charm. His eyes beamed. While returning home \r\nfrom the beach I would always feel sad to break off conversation with him. And \r\nthe hope to meet Sri Aurobindo through him drew me all the more to his company.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(3)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">As \r\na result of my stay at Madras, the tuft of hair on my head got shortened and \r\nshrunken. In my Pondicherry days this tuft (<i>shikha</i>) had drawn its strength from \r\nthree-fourths of my head. Such a beautiful shikha Bharati would always insist \r\nupon being removed whenever he would happen to see it. My mother, however, \r\ncherished for my shikha the same affection as she did for myself. Somehow a fear \r\nhad crept into my mother&#39;s mind that I might one day reduce the shikha to nil. \r\nShe would often tell me, &quot;Keep the shikha as it is. Do nothing with it in play.&quot; \r\nShe would mutter to her companions that if someday her child&#39;s shikha came to an \r\nend, it could only be through Bharati.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDestiny, however, did away with this stately tuft! How, I shall narrate.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDuring my two years&#39; stay at Madras, my shikha&#39;s form shrank to a lean twine. \r\nThat was the price I had to pay for my life in Madras!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe year 1917—I do not quite remember the day and</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-147</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">the month—probably during May \r\nI put up as usual in the house of Sri Aurobindo when I came to Pondicherry. This \r\ntime I had decided to stay for two days instead of one.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe inmates of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house would sometimes begin a conversation at \r\nabout 9.30 p.m. and continue it till after midnight. And when I was in their \r\nmidst the conversation would prolong itself much later than midnight. This \r\ndiscussion would embrace diverse subjects such as philosophy, social reforms, \r\nthe changes that ought to take place in the manners and customs of Indian \r\nlife, various yogic practices, the characteristic difference between Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s yoga and the traditional ones, etc. Amidst such talks Sri Aurobindo \r\nwould shine as the light of Truth laying bare the central significance of \r\neverything.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nluck would have it, on the second day of my stay, when the talk was about to \r\nterminate, it suddenly turned towards my shikha. The talk was indeed carried on \r\nin a spirit of jest and fun. But I had the apprehension that night that the \r\nshikha would no more be on my head. The importance of the shikha for such \r\nceremonies as the upanayana (investiture with the sacred thread), marriage, \r\nsraddha (annual ritual for the deceased), etc., is of course not unknown to \r\nanyone.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNext morning having got up, as I -felt for the shikha I found it non-existent.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ngot struck with fear. How should I dare look straight in the faces of my parents \r\nand relatives? A Brahmin youth without a shikha was no better than a pariah! \r\nThoughts like these troubled my mind.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nput off my decision to start for Madras to the third day. There was none to \r\nsympathize with my mental agony, the bewildered state of my heart. All inmates \r\nof Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house appreciated the extinction of my shikha and scoffed at \r\nsuch senseless customs.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nthen went to Bharati thinking that he alone would show sympathy with my \r\ncondition then. He listened to all that I said and exclaimed, &quot;Do you have the \r\ncourage to leave your family completely and come out of it? If so, from this \r\nvery </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-148</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">moment stay on with me&quot;. Emphatically he pronounced the sentence and made \r\nno attempt to pacify my perplexed feelings.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nmy heart was attached to my parents, specially to my mother, I hesitated a \r\nlittle before replying to the words of Bharati and said, &quot;Now the shikha is no \r\nlonger with me. It is in somebody else&#39;s grasp! How am I then to stay with you?&quot; \r\nIt was in this strain that the reply came. I found at last a consolation in the \r\nthought and feeling that on going to Madras I would stay there in hiding, out of \r\nmy parents&#39; and relatives&#39; ken.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nstarted for Madras two or three days later. I heard afterwards that in \r\naccordance with Sri Aurobindo&#39;s decision and order the shikha had been cut off. \r\nThere is a custom still prevalent in South India to go to a temple and offer \r\nprayers there in order to remove the tuft of hair. The temple of Tirupati is \r\nheld to be the foremost among the places for this purpose. Why does God ask for \r\nthe shikha, what mystery lies behind it? I cannot explain. Nor can I say why Sri \r\nAurobindo demanded my shikha.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNot even ten days had passed since my arrival in Madras when my father who had \r\nfound out my lodging came to my room. Astounded at my appearance he stood fixed \r\nlike a statue. It took him about ten minutes to come to his own self and then he \r\nsat down on the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Some more time passed for \r\nthe words to come out of his mouth. His words when uttered simply stupefied me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;You have broken our religious traditions and set at naught all religious rites \r\nand customs.&quot; Why did he speak so? There was no religious mark on my forehead—a \r\nblank brow! No tuft of hair on my head! No sacred thread across my chest! What \r\nelse was needed? This was the ghost my father saw of me!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nspoke not a word.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAbout an hour elapsed before my father, without turning to me, said, &quot;A girl has \r\nbeen chosen for you at Bangalore. She belongs to a rich family. Her parents have \r\nof themselves offered to bear all the expenses for your studies up to</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-149</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nB.A. They are likely to give as dowry fifty thousand rupees in cash. I have just \r\nseen the girl. Yes, she is quite dark in complexion with pock marks on the face. \r\nHer family is extremely orthodox. But of what use now to think about all this? \r\nYou have pulled down the whole edifice that I had built.&quot; So saying he got up \r\nall of a sudden and left.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe sacred thread can be bought and put on; the religious mark can also be \r\npainted on the forehead; but where to go for the shikha?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe shikha was offered as first fruit to Lord Sri Aurobindo. Was this not a \r\nscrupulously orthodox Brahmacharya?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe shikha was scissored off clean by Nolini Kanta Gupta in obedience to Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s order at about 2 a.m. on the altar of the temple at sacred \r\nPondicherry in which Sri Aurobindo is the<i> murti </i>(deity). He performed this \r\nservice when I was asleep.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(4)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe days when the French were in considerable number in Pondicherry, there was a \r\nbakery called Boulangerie in French at the crossing of the Ananda Rangapillai \r\nand the Mission streets. Bread used to be supplied daily from here to Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house. A young man of about twenty-five would carry from house to \r\nhouse a basket full of bread and biscuits, deliver them as per arrangement, take \r\nthe signatures of the residents and go back.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe story I am going to narrate took place about fifty years ago. Sri Aurobindo \r\nlived then in the Francois Martin street. I remember only the name of one person \r\nout of the several who stayed with him; the other names are lost to my memory.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe lunch in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house would generally finish by 12 noon. The main \r\ngate and the room doors of the house were not shut or bolted in those days. Even \r\nso, no outsiders or thieves would get in.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-150</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAfter the midday meal the inmates of the house, all except Sri Aurobindo, were \r\nin the habit of going to sleep after closing their windows to keep off the heat \r\nof the sun. They would sleep from 12.30 to 2.30 or 3. The boy carrying bread \r\nused to put it in the proper place between 2 and 2.30 and go out. He would enter \r\nby the main gate, climb the stairs and approaching the table in the middle of \r\nthe verandah, which would be dark owing to the shutting of windows, put the \r\nbread and account book on it and leave the house. After 3 the bread was removed \r\nto its place and the signature put in the book. The boy returned before 5 or \r\n5.30 to collect the book for bringing it again next day with the bread.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe verandah table had but one drawer. It had no locking arrangement. Some ten \r\none-rupee notes and five rupees&#39; worth in small coins would generally be inside \r\nthe drawer. The inmates were not in the habit of counting the money while \r\nkeeping it in. The amount would sometimes be more, sometimes less.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day when Bejoy Nag opened the drawer to take some money out, he by chance \r\ndetected an appreciable shortage. He was a bit startled. He kept observing for 2 \r\nor 3 consecutive days. All the notes vanished mysteriously. Only the small coins \r\nremained. Bejoy Nag one day kept a five-rupee note and two or three one-rupee \r\nnotes together with the small coins to observe the result. The very next day a \r\none-rupee note was missing. The next day to that, another one-rupee note \r\ndisappeared. He was convinced by this that it was during their sleep that the \r\nmoney was being stolen. He resolved to catch the thief anyhow; he called me, \r\nasked for my help to catch the thief red-handed by keeping an eye on him from a \r\nhiding place between 12.30 and 2.30 p.m. Being young, I was over-enthusiastic to \r\ncatch the culprit.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthe appointed time three of us (besides Bejoy Nag there was someone else whose \r\nname I forget) concealed ourselves behind the doors and kept a watch from three \r\ndirections. It was about 2 p.m. My heart was beating fast with impatience. The \r\nbakery boy climbed up the stairs and then walked up to the upper verandah \r\nwithout the least sound as if he </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-151</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">did not intend to disturb our sleep. He took \r\ndown the bread basket from his head, put the fixed number of loaves and the \r\naccount book on the table (a bit of pencil would always be attached to the \r\nbook), silently opened the drawer of that rickety table, picked a five-rupee \r\nnote out of it and thrusting it inside his turban retraced his steps. I could no \r\nlonger contain myself. All three of us leaped lightning-like upon the boy and \r\ncatching him dealt resounding blows to him. The sound of beating in that silent \r\nhour fell as that of thunder upon my ear. At the first two or three blows the \r\nboy uttered no word. As the fourth blow came upon him he could not bear it and \r\nstarted to cry out. He confessed that he had been stealing for sometime past and \r\npromised that he would do it no more. Either on hearing the cry of the boy or \r\nfor some other reason Sri Aurobindo came out of his room straight to the \r\nverandah and appeared before us. For a little while he stood without a word. On \r\nthe face of the boy who had received blows there shone the solace of having seen \r\nhis Saviour. Our raised fists dropped down of themselves and we stood still as \r\nthough we had been the culprits. Sri Aurobindo forbade us to take the five-rupee \r\nnote away from him and when we heard the order we felt as if a sentence had been \r\npassed upon us.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(5)</b></p>\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nbecame a habit with me to meet Ramaswami Iyengar on the beach every evening at \r\nabout 5-30 just after leaving school. It was natural for my school friends also \r\nto accompany me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHow did Ramaswami Iyengar come to Pondicherry? How did he meet Sri Aurobindo? I \r\ndid not know well then. I heard that it was he, Ramaswami Iyengar, who had \r\nsecretly invited K.V.Rangaswami Iyengar, of whom more presently, and arranged a \r\nmeeting between him and Sri Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-152</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe story is this. A Siddhapurusha—a Yogi—called Nagai Japta was the Kulaguru (family preceptor) of K.Ranga-swami Iyengar and a close \r\nfriend of his. My uncle used to tell me of many a miracle which the Yogi had \r\ndone. It was rumoured that when paddy fields went dry for want of water, Japta&#39;s \r\npower would bring down the needed rain and make the withering paddy plants shoot \r\nforth again.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis great man had also said to the family members of Rangaswami Iyengar to this \r\neffect: &quot;A great saint will come to the South from the North; he is a great Yogi \r\nand will show the way not only to our country but to the whole human race; he \r\nwill be indeed your Kulaguru after me, you should accept him as such.&quot; This he \r\nsaid and after a few days disappeared, one did not know where.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nlearning of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s arrival at Pondicherry, Rangaswami came here \r\nsecretly with the help of Ramaswami, to see Sri Aurobindo and talk to him. \r\nSecrecy was necessary at that time to avoid suspicion of the British Police.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nRangaswami came several times afterwards to meet Sri Aurobindo openly. But it \r\nwas during the earlier secret visits Sri Aurobindo wrote—apparently—the book \r\nYogic Sadhan for him and gave it to him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe company of some close friends like Srinivasachari, Ramaswami and Rangaswami, \r\nthere used to be now and then what is called &quot;automatic writing&quot;, that is to \r\nsay, writing by spirits, as they are named. I am not sure whether the persons \r\nmentioned were the only ones present, there might have been a few others too. I \r\ngathered different versions from different people on the matter. It is said that \r\nBharati also used to be in those meetings.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow, what does automatic writing mean? It is usually done at night only. In the \r\ndim light of a lamp sits a man— the right sort of man, it goes without saying—in \r\ndeep quietude in a chair beside a table, with pencil and paper in front. He \r\ninvites or awaits the coming of a spirit, most often the spirit of a dead \r\nperson. The spirit enters into the quietly expectant medium and taking hold of \r\nhis hand writes down answers to questions put by the people assembled or sets \r\ndown whatever it pleases the spirit to say for the amusement</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; text-indent: 25px; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-153</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nor enlightenment of \r\nthe assembly. I myself witnessed such a phenomenon when Sri Aurobindo did the \r\nwriting and I was full of wonder. Of course it is truly interesting when the \r\nmedium is a qualified person; every one is not <font face=\"Times New Roman\">a`</font>Sri Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe book <i>Yogic Sadhan </i>had its origin in this way. It is said that it was written \r\nthrough the medium of Sri Aurobindo by some great spirit, probably Rammohan Roy; \r\nfor it seems Sri Aurobindo said that he saw the figure of Rammohan as he was \r\ndoing the writing. The spirit entered into him, that is to say, into his hands \r\nand wrote down the book. That is why the book, printed at Srirangam Vani Vilas \r\nPress, at the instance of Rangaswami Iyengar, was ascribed to an Uttara Yogi as \r\nauthor or editor: that is to say, a Yogi who had come from the North gave form \r\nto the book.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI already mentioned I used to go to the beach after my school hours and stay \r\nthere till seven or seven-thirty in the evening. Among the persons I met there \r\nthe most important one was, of course, Ramaswami Iyengar. There I met also \r\nSubburattinam, who became famous later on as the writer Bharatidasan. The young \r\nSwaminathan, whose traces I have now lost, was also there and a few schoolmates. \r\nAll of us used to sit on the sands and, as is the way with youngsters, left no \r\nsubject undiscussed.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthat time naturally I did not realise what was the new and precious thing which \r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s active presence was shaping in me. Not that even now I have the \r\nfull knowledge of it. It was, however, Sri Aurobindo&#39;s dynamic presence that \r\naccounted for the indescribable joy experienced by me. And it was through \r\nRamaswami that the great riches of Sri Aurobindo came down to me as Grace from \r\nthe Divine, and also spread in a somewhat formless or informal way among all. My \r\nthought remained absorbed in whatever Ramaswami would say about Sri Aurobindo, \r\nhis message, his talk, his jokes, everything.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day all of a sudden a thought arose in me; I told Ramaswami while on the \r\nbeach, &quot;I would like very much to dine with you once.&quot; I could make out from his \r\nface</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-154</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthat this proposal of mine came to him like a thunderbolt. The proposal was \r\nnot made in the presence of others, I whispered it into his ears, when I found \r\nmyself alone with him; very clearly there was but one motive behind it. I hoped \r\nthat if I dined with him, Sri Aurobindo also would be there. Ramaswami, \r\nevidently bewildered, thought for a moment and then questioned me, &quot;But it is no \r\nvegetarian meal in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house; how do you propose to dine there?&quot; He \r\nsaid this somewhat hesitatingly and hoped it would put an end to the matter. But \r\nI was not to be baulked so easily. A little perplexed, I too retorted, &quot;What if \r\nthere be no vegetarian meal? I am ready to dine with you all.&quot; He must have been \r\nterribly vexed to get such an unexpected reply and in such a categorical manner, \r\nwithout a moment&#39;s hesitation. He however gave no expression to his surprise, \r\nbut asked me to come next day straight from the school at 12 noon and join him. \r\nI was beside myself with joy.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNext day the closing bell at the Calve School went ding-dong at 11-30 sharp. \r\nAlong with the other students, I too walked out of the school. I went straight \r\nhome to Muthial-pet, took my bath—rather hurriedly—and reached Sri Aurobindo&#39;s \r\nhouse at 12 noon precisely. Plunged in the thought that in a little while I \r\nwould be seeing Sri Aurobindo, I became forgetful of everything else.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe main door of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house in Mission Street was left open. As soon \r\nas I entered, Ramaswami came and received me. There was none else. The house lay \r\ndead silent in the intense heat of broad daylight. My heart too was motionless.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nRamaswami made a move and said, &quot;Let us go to the hotel.&quot; On hearing these words \r\nI felt as if I had suddenly been thrown down from a height to which I had been \r\nlifted up. I could not understand anything. I was then almost dying with hunger. \r\nThe citadel built by me was cast down by one breath as it were. Well, I started \r\ntrudging, in that excessive heat, with Ramaswami towards a hotel more than a \r\nmile away; I walked the distance with bare feet, without sandals. The meal was \r\nserved for me alone. Silently, without</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-155</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nuttering a single word, I swallowed the \r\nfood and then proceeded towards my school, Ramaswami accompanying me. I entered \r\nthe Reading Room of the School, the classes were to start at 3 p.m. And I tried \r\nmy best to attend to my lessons. In the same street, just a little to the south, \r\nlay Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house and Ramaswami moved towards it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">So \r\nfar as I remember this happened in the first week of July in the year 1913.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(6)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIn \r\nthe Matakoil Street, called Mission Street, Sri Aurobindo lived for six months \r\nin a house with a tiled roof. That house has at present undergone a radical \r\nchange; the very spot is unrecognisable. It was in this house that I had Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s Darshan. There I had the firstopportunity of seeing him but from a \r\ndistance.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDuring his stay in this house I had the habit of meeting Ramaswami Iyengar every \r\nevening on the beach, as I have already said. His heart started melting in my \r\nfavour little by little even as ants slowly and persistently leave a trail on \r\ngranite. The result was: he began to welcome me to his room. The school remained \r\nclosed two days in the week, Sundays and Thursdays. Those days I could meet \r\nIyengar in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house at about 4 p.m. From 4 to 5 p.m. we would be \r\nalone conversing with each other. Our relation thus began to ripen. After 5 we \r\nwould go straight to the beach and join other friends.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBecause of my friendship with Iyengar Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house appeared to me as my \r\nown. That is why I felt no timidity or shyness to go to Iyengar&#39;s room; whether \r\nhe was at home or not, I would go there. But I never took, courage to go farther \r\nthan his room; to do so seemed improper.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI got more and more familiar with Iyengar, the names of the inmates of Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house came to be known to me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-156</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">Only one of them is still here. His \r\nname is Nolini Kanta Gupta. Of those who are no more, Bejoy Kumar Nag was \r\none—his name became Vijayakantan in Tamil. In order to escape from the clutches \r\nof the British Government he had assumed the pseudonym Bankim Chandra Basak. \r\nLikewise, Suresh Chandra Chakravarti was known to the people of Pondicherry by \r\none name alone: &quot;Sakra&quot;. Sourindranath Bose went by his own name. Nagendranath \r\nNag and Biren Roy came later to stay in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAmong the inmates Nagendranath was laid up with tuberculosis. Some evenings when \r\nengaged in conversation with Iyengar on the verandah outside his room I would \r\nsee Sri Aurobindo come out from the back portion of the house to the hall in \r\nfront, take his seat on the same mat with the sick man, put to him some \r\nquestions and return to his room. I was lucky to have Sri Aurobindo&#39;s Darshan in \r\nthis manner several times without going near him. At that time I could not speak \r\nEnglish well. On his way to the front part of the house and back from there, Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s preoccupation seemed to be wholly with what he had come for. He \r\nwould pay little attention, as it were, to any other thing around him. And yet, \r\nI was told, nothing could escape his notice.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDuring this period I requested Iyengar once or twice to introduce me to Sri \r\nAurobindo. But my requests seemed to carry no weight with him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s birthday was drawing near—August 15, 1913. I requested Iyengar \r\nonce more. I appealed to him to take me to Sri Aurobindo on his birthday. He \r\nreplied, wonderful to say, in a consenting tone. I felt an immense joy.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nthe 15th August Iyengar asked me to come at about 4.30 p.m. I reached there \r\nslightly earlier. All the invitees started coming one by one from all sides. By \r\nabout 5 or 5.15 all of them had arrived. It was probably one hour before sunset. \r\nThis I surmised by the dimness of the light inside the house.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe hall of the front portion of the house some twenty or twenty-five banana \r\nleaves were laid out on three sides just as it is done during a marriage feast.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-157</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nfar as I can remember, no sooner was the main gate bolted from within than Sri \r\nAurobindo came into the hall and stood on one side; some one garlanded him with \r\na rose garland; all present clapped their hands and Sri Aurobindo spoke \r\nsomething in English. All this I can recollect but vaguely. This vagueness of \r\nmemory is due, I suppose, to an overwhelming joy and palpitation in me on that \r\noccasion.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">All of us sat down before the banana leaves as we do at a collective dinner. I \r\nwas one of the guests; with eyes full of delight I saw Sri Aurobindo as he stood \r\nbefore each banana leaf, looked at the person seated there, gently passed on to \r\nthe next and thus to the last person—meanwhile someone walking by his side \r\nserved various kinds of sweets and other preparations.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe courtyard a big jar full of water was kept and by its side a small tumbler. \r\nWe took some refreshments and after washing our hands we gathered together and \r\nkept chatting for a short while. In the meantime Sri Aurobindo had gone to the \r\nverandah of the middle portion of the house and sat there in a chair kept for \r\nhim before a table covered with a cloth. Evidently he was waiting for some other \r\nitem in the programme. By then it had become dark. In each section of the house \r\none or two lighted hurricane-lamps were put up. The guests took leave one by one \r\nor by twos and threes and went home.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nkept on waiting, not knowing what to do. As soon as the guests left, Iyengar \r\ncame and told me that three big persons, namely, Bharati, Srinivasachari, V.V.S. \r\nAyer, would see Sri Aurobindo to pay their respects to him. If I could wait till \r\nthey left, there would only be the inmates of the house, five or six, alone with \r\nSri Aurobindo. He had a mind to take me then to Sri Aurobindo. But for that Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s permission was required, he said finally. I nodded assent \r\nimmediately. It might have already struck seven or gone on to seven-fifteen. A \r\nfear lurked in me that I would be questioned at home, &quot;Why this delay?&quot; But \r\nstill I ventured to give my consent.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIyengar once again asked me, &quot;Do you intend to see SriAurobindo with</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-158</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBharati and others? Or with the inmates?&quot; I could not make out \r\nwhat answer to give. Whether in the midst of Bharati and others or in the midst \r\nof the inmates of the house Sri Aurobindo would be the same Sri Aurobindo. I \r\nbegan to revolve in my mind how there could be any difference. A little while, \r\nit might be less than a minute, I wavered in mind and replied, &quot;When the inmates \r\nare there.&quot; &quot;If so, you must wait for some time,&quot; said Iyengar and left.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad to wait till 8 p.m. Bharati, Srinivasachari and Ayer at the time of going \r\nout of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house looked closely at me with a view to recognise me. \r\nThey did not expect me there so late. They at once doubted and wondered if I had \r\nbecome an inmate of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. Their faces betrayed this mixed \r\nfeeling.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nabout 8.15 p.m. Iyengar came to me and said: &quot;You may get Sri Aurobindo&#39;s \r\nDarshan as you pass before his table. Go with folded hands. But no permission to \r\nspeak with him. While passing by his right just stand in front, stop awhile, \r\njoin your hands, Silently take leave of him and go home&quot;. Iyengar&#39;s words were \r\nimprinted upon my mind.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nwas soon called in. I got up and approached Sri Aurobindo&#39;s table. From the \r\nceiling hung a hurricane-lamp that served to dispel the darkness only partially. \r\nGoing round Sri Aurobindo by way of <i>pradaksina </i>I stood in his presence with \r\njoined palms and made my obeisance to him. Sri Aurobindo&#39;s eyes, it seemed, \r\nburned brighter than the lamplight for me; as he looked at me, in a trice all \r\ngloom vanished from within me, and his image was as it were installed in the \r\nsanctum sanctorum of my being. Nothing was very clear to me. I went behind him, \r\nstood again in front, offered my homage to him and not knowing whether to stay \r\nor go I staggered perplexed. Sri Aurobindo made a gesture with his heavenly \r\nhands to one of those who stood there. A sweet was given me once again. I felt \r\nwithin that he had accepted me though I did not quite know it. I left Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house and proceeded towards my own.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen I reached home, it was 9.30 p.m. What happened at home? What trouble befell \r\nme? All this is of little importance.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-159</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nStudents of my age of that time can easily \r\nimagine all the hubbub that took place in my house!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFor long my heart had been in a state of suspense thinking that I might or might \r\nnot attain the goal; my life drifting in distress on the shoreless ocean had \r\nsomehow come to perceive the light-house. In the midst of gathering despair my \r\nbeing had found a new life and I allowed it full freedom.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\none hand trouble at home; on the other trouble in studies. All this did not \r\ntouch me to the extent of upsetting me. At times it appeared to me as if no \r\nrelation existed between anything and me. There was a screen within; all desires \r\nknown to me and others unknown were outside the screen. Behind the screen there \r\nexisted incalculable possibilities, innumerable things happened not -within the \r\nrange of my vision. Something non-human, something strange and bodiless had been \r\nshaping my being and consciousness. That is how I think now.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad been familiar with Bharati since 1910 or 1911; I had imbibed from him, \r\nwithout understanding, a distaste for the old and a boundless attraction for the \r\nnew. When I look at it now even this revaluation—this mere rejection of the past \r\nand acceptance of the new—seems to have had its origin not deep within but meant \r\nsimply a surface attraction. For the real reality was quite different. It was \r\nnot the old or the new, it was not the snare of the old or the temptation of the \r\nnew but the opening of something else behind or within or above that gave form \r\nto everything and touched me profoundly without my knowing it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nstarted now frequenting Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. My family members knew nothing of \r\nit. I became acquainted with one or two of the inmates—mainly Bejoy Kumar. He \r\nused to send letters twice or thrice per month by registered post—called Poste \r\nRecommandee in French—to Chandernagore. As intimacy with him grew, he began to \r\nsend letters through me. There was no fixed hour for this work. He used to send \r\nme at any time between 12 and 3 p.m. He ordered me not to disclose this posting \r\nof letters to anyone.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nPondicherry there were two types of post-offices in those days:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-160</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">one was French, \r\nthe other British. The bundle from the French post-office would be carried in a \r\nsmall hand-cart with a French policeman escorting it. The bundle woujd be \r\nsecured under a seal. It would then be entrusted to the British head \r\npost-office. Nobody was authorised to handle it until it was delivered to the \r\nFrench post-office at Chandernagore. That was why all correspondence of Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house would pass through the French post-office. The duty of posting \r\nletters of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house luckily fell upon me. Now and then, however, \r\nthe British Secret Police would persuade the French postal authorities or their \r\nsubordinates, and procure letters addressed to Sri Aurobindo or those coming to \r\nV.V.S. Aiyar from Europe, open them and after scrutiny seal them back before \r\nhanding them over to the postal authorities. At least a strong rumour was \r\ncurrent then to this effect</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(7)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s household moved from Mission Street to Francis Martin Street. \r\nThere arose a difference of opinion among those called &quot;swadeshis&quot; as to the \r\nnecessity of this change of residence. A strong dispute started in their midst \r\non this account. The disputation, I was told, reached Sri Aurobindo&#39;s ears.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhy this controversy over Sri Aurobindo&#39;s change of residence? The city of \r\nPondicherry was divided into two by a canal running north-south. The eastern \r\nside of the city was called by the people &quot;European Quarter&quot; whereas the western \r\nside, comprising more than three-fourths of the population, was known as &quot;Indian \r\nQuarter&quot;. The &quot;European Quarter&quot; was mosdy, we may even say totally, inhabited \r\nby the white or mixed white people. As a rule, the houses in this part of the \r\ncity had in front a footpath for pedestrians and, further away, the road for \r\nvehicles. Standing on the</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-161</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nfootpath one would open the gate of a house and then \r\nget in. The houses in the &quot;Indian Quarter&quot; had commonly covered platforms in \r\nfront to sit upon, but no footpath. In the &quot;white town&quot;, pedestrians would find \r\nno shelter from rain and storm. The gates remained always closed. The streets \r\nwere nearly always silent. People were hardly seen walking there. Sometimes with \r\nthe arrival of French steamers the shores of Pondicherry were a little busy and, \r\nin the interior either the next day or the day after, one might come across one \r\nor two pedlars carrying, on the head in baskets or big wooden boxes, perfumes, \r\nspecial biscuits, children&#39;s playthings, stitching threads of many kinds and \r\nColours, and other French products. These pedlars would cry out in French, \r\n&quot;Merchandises, marchandises&quot;&#39; (i.e., &quot;Goods for sale&quot;), with a view to attract \r\nthe attention of customers. This business was run by one or two of the French \r\nfamilies which had settled down at Pondicherry for supplying the needs of the \r\nlocal French people.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEvery house had two gates—one for the inmates and the other for the &quot;Push-push&quot; \r\ncarriages. The latter had a wide opening, a big one-leaf door or, in some \r\nplaces, folding doors.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s house in Mission Street was rented at Rs. 15/- per month whereas \r\nthe rent of the house now taken was settled at Rs. 35/-. Now the great question \r\narose: Why did Sri Aurobindo change his residence when the rent was so high? A \r\nperplexing question! Why this extravagance? The difference in rent would be \r\nsufficient to meet the needs of a whole family. All this was brought to \r\nBharati&#39;s notice. But he did not utter a word about it to Sri Aurobindo, because \r\nthere was no point in discussing about it when Sri Aurobindo had already taken \r\nthe decision. It was Bharati&#39;s firm belief that Sri Aurobindo would not do \r\nanything without a definite purpose behind it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDescription of the new house: it was a big self-sufficient house in Francois \r\nMartin St., No. 37. It had two entrances —one on the north and the other on the \r\nwest. This well-built structure stood at the junction of two streets. Rue \r\nFrancois Martin ran from north to south whereas Rue Law de Lauriston from east \r\nto west.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-162</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe western gate faced Rue Francois Martin. This was evidently the \r\npostern gate, the northern indeed was the main entrance; but as it remained \r\nalways locked, the western became the main gate. Entering by this gate one would \r\ncome across an open space which could be termed a courtyard. The northern gate \r\nled straight to the staircase; it was later on closed up and the entrance \r\nconverted into a room, as you see at present. The house being tenant less so \r\nlong, grass had grown thick at places along its walls. There was only one tap \r\nfor the whole house and that too in the open courtyard, against a wall near the \r\nback staircase. The tap still exists and is used by our Green Group boys. Under \r\nthis water tap—it was fitted up almost to a man&#39;s height—lay a big round stone \r\nresembling the lower part of a grindstone.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe interior of the house, at one end of the verandah there was a wide staircase \r\nleading to the first floor. Each of the steps had its rim strengthened, almost \r\ndecorated, by a wooden plank. The back staircase had no protection from sun and \r\nrain. It was constructed for the passage of cooks, servants, the menials. I have \r\nsaid before that the house was big but it looked desolate.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe upper storey held spacious rooms and a spacious verandah. The east and the \r\nwest ends had both an open terrace facing south. On the west, at the corner \r\nthere was a wide room, adjoining which was another room and then the open \r\nterrace. Both the terraces had seats under the parapets. I mention this because \r\nwe used to sit there, including Sri Aurobindo, and chat for long hours at night. \r\nThe big room, the front room and the terrace—the three together being considered \r\nthe best part of the house—were set apart for Sri Aurobindo. Such a big house \r\nbut without electric lights!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe events that took place from after Sri Aurobindo&#39;s birth anniversary in \r\nAugust, 1913 to his shifting to the Francois Martin Street, i.e., from August \r\n1913 to December 1913, left no clear impression upon my mind. My memory is dim \r\nnow about this period.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-163</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">To \r\ngo a little back in our story, Sri Aurobindo reached the shores of Pondicherry \r\non board the Dupleix at 4 p.m. on April 4, 1910, got down with Bejoykanta and \r\nmade straight for Shankar Chetty&#39;s house in Comoutty Street.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe persons who escorted Sri Aurobindo to Shankar Chetty&#39;s house were \r\nSrinivasachari, C. Subramania Bharati, Suresh Chandra Chakravarti and Shankar \r\nChetty. Of them only Srinivasachari is still alive (1962).</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo lived <i>incognito</i> for six months in Shankar Chetty&#39;s house. Later \r\non, his stay in Pondicherry came to be known more and more by others.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas during his stay at Shankar Chetty&#39;s that he observed a fast for 21 days. \r\nThough he lost weight, as he said, due to this fast, his energy increased many \r\ntimes.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas again in Shankar Chetty&#39;s house that a distinguished scholar and savant from \r\nFrance met Sri Aurobindo in secret. His name was Paul Richard. He was sent from \r\nFrance by Mira—she whom we now know as the Mother. She handed over to him the \r\nsketch of a yogachakra, saying that its interpreter was to be found in India; \r\nand he who could interpret it would alone be her helper and master on the path \r\nof yoga. Paul Richard received the meaning of the symbol from Sri Aurobindo, and \r\nthen left for his country with the message. While returning to France he said to \r\nSri Aurobindo that Mira and he could come in the year 1914. Accordingly, they \r\nsailed from France, disembarked at Dhanushkoti, took the train and reached \r\nPondicherry on March 29, 1914 without a halt on the way.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow, what accounted for that change of residence to No. 37, in the Francois \r\nMartin Street, many thought, was the impending arrival of these two persons from \r\nFrance. So far as I remember it was in the middle of December 1913 that the new \r\nhouse was first occupied.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe &quot;revolutionaries&quot; who had settled at Pondicherry whispered to one another \r\nthat two Europeans had accepted Sri Aurobindo as Guru and would stay here. This \r\nnews spread abroad and reached my ears also. One day in December, 1913, as was \r\nmy habit, I went to see Ramaswami</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-164</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIyengar in the evening. He was downstairs on the verandah in front of his room \r\nand said that two persons from the topmost cultural circle of France were coming \r\nto Sri Aurobindo for practising yoga. They would be coming very soon. &quot;It was a \r\nsecret till now; I have disclosed it to you today,&quot; he concluded.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nfelt very happy: European savants! they have approached a countryman of ours \r\nwith reverence. My heart rejoiced to hear of it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe upper storey—its verandah, to be exact—was somewhat beautified. One old \r\ncracked table, two arm-chairs, four or five folding armless chairs with \r\nback-rest—these were borrowed and arranged there, luckily with no binding to \r\nreturn them.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMoreover, four electric lights were put up, one in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s room, another \r\nin the centre of the upper verandah, the third in the verandah downstairs, the \r\nfourth I do not remember where. There was no electric meter in the house. For \r\neach point the charge was one rupee and four annas per month. Whether the lights \r\nwere kept burning or not, five rupees had to be paid and the charge would be the \r\nsame even if they were kept on through all the twenty-four hours. Less than four \r\npoints were not given as a rule.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe weeds in the courtyard were pulled out. Daily sweeping of the house was now \r\nattended to. The house put on almost a gay appearance because of these \r\nmuch-needed changes.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ndo not distinctly recollect what took place after Ramaswami Iyengar had shifted \r\nfrom Mission Street and before he finally left Pondicherry. The succession of \r\nevents and their chronology have become hazy in my remembrance. Naturally I \r\ncould not know everything, since I was not an inmate of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAfter Sri Aurobindo had moved to the new house, not a day passed without my \r\npaying a visit to the place. Ramaswami was put up in a room downstairs adjacent \r\nto the staircase. I used to call on him every evening without fail and accompany \r\nhim to the beach. As I said, I was much attached</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-165</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;to Ramaswami and identified \r\nmyself with him without being quite conscious of it. In the Mission Street house \r\nI used to have Sri Aurobindo&#39;s Darshan once a day. Here it was not so. I had no \r\noccasion to go upstairs. Sometimes he would gome down and if I happened to be \r\nthere—well, my good luck!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne event. The year 1914 was born. It was towards the end of March. Time: \r\nevening, about 6 p.m. Ramaswami Iyengar was sitting all alone in the open court. \r\nThere was no other soul. The sense of solitariness was somewhat awesome. Not a \r\nfly, not a crow near about. I entered the house. He made a sign and calling me \r\nnear said: &quot;The two persons from France have arrived. They will just now come \r\nand see Sri Aurobindo. The order is that none other than the inmates should \r\nremain in the house. You go alone to the sea-side.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThere was a reaction of sorrow and confusion in my heart. I not an inmate! a \r\nstranger! Yes, that must be the cause. I said once that there was a kind of \r\nscreen in my consciousness. The &quot;I&quot; behind that screen was not a stranger; the \r\n&quot;I&quot; outside the screen was one.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIyengar did not stay long in this new house. So far as I remember, he left for \r\nhis village in May 1914. Whenever I called at the new house I found Ramaswami \r\nwith a big copy of the Ramayana printed in Devanagari script. He had started \r\nreading Sanskrit. Nolini Kanta Gupta was his tutor. Whenever Ramaswami spoke \r\nabout his tutor, he spoke with love and respect.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNolini Kanta Gupta gave him lessons in the Bengali language also. In the new \r\nhouse Ramaswami rendered into Tamil Bankim Chandra Chatterji&#39;s short story \r\n&quot;Jugal Anguria&quot; and got it published in some periodical—I have forgotten the \r\nname, it might be &quot;Swadeshimitram&quot;. Iyengar&#39;s handwriting looked like a string \r\nof tiny pearls. Bharati used to write each letter separately, juxtapose one \r\nletter to another and so his handwriting would look like an arrangement of \r\njewels.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIyengar would send his translations to the press only when they had been shown \r\nto Bharati.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nRamaswami cherished an immeasurable affection for his mother. </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-166</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nA year had passed \r\nsince he had left his mother&#39;s house. He must see his mother now, he decided. He \r\nspoke about this to Sri Aurobindo. Sri Aurobindo was reluctant to permit him. He \r\ntried to dissuade him from going back to his place and the old life. But Ramaswami stuck to his decision stubbornly and set out for home. It was some \r\ntime in May 1914. When I went to the house the day after Ramaswami had left Sri \r\nAurobindo and gone home, I found the downstairs as if all forsaken. Sorrow \r\ninvaded my heart. My eyes swam in tears. I felt as if I had been deprived of \r\nhelp or support. With what affection and what love had Iyengar talked with me \r\neven on the day previous to his departure! Did all that now become an illusion! \r\nSeeing me thus, and realising my piteous condition, Bejoykanta, who was on the \r\nspot, approached and comforted me with words of kindness.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIyengar&#39;s departure was but an excuse for me to be in that condition. There was \r\ncreated a vacuum in me. The parental affection could not fill it. The one chosen \r\nby my inner being only could make this emptiness disappear. Bejoykanta was a \r\nhelp in reaching the Guru&#39;s Feet.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(8)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nbegan now to pass more time in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house and less in mine. I would \r\ngo home for food and sleep only. And for this I had a good excuse to give to my \r\nfamily. I was then studying in the Matriculation class of the Calve College, \r\nPondicherry. My class-mate was Krishnamachari, the son of M. Srinivasachari&#39;s \r\nelder brother; he was perhaps two years younger than I. As Krishnamachari and I \r\n(I was then known as Aravamudachari) had been very intimate and as there were \r\ngreater facilities for study in his house, such as space, books, etc., I began \r\npreparing for the Matriculation in his company. My family was under the \r\nimpression that my time was all devoted to study. The time left after studies </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-167</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nwould spend mostly in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. Sometimes I would take my bath \r\nthere and sometimes meals too. But I would not eat with the inmates. Bejoykanta \r\nwould bring for me a shoe or two of bread with butter. As my heart wasfull, the \r\nneed for food was not much felt. Even some light refreshment would be a feast to \r\nme. My association with Bejoykanta grew into intimacy. Once a month or once in \r\ntwo months, seven or eight of us together would go out picnicking to the suburbs \r\nof Pondicherry such as Villenour, Oosteri, Pakkamadayanapathu, etc. We would set \r\nout early in the morning to return as it grew dark</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBefore my friendship with Bejoykanta, I used to go with Ramaswami Iyengar to \r\nVillenour or some other villages around Pondicherry. Several times Bharati \r\njoined us. When he was in the party, the expenses would be borne by the late \r\nKrishnaswami Chetty of Muthialpet. With Bharati we could not remain out at \r\nnight. If Bejoykanta accompanied us, we had to come back by all means before 10 \r\np.m. because Sri Aurobindo used to take his meal between 9-30 and 10 p.m.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThus those who led an orthodox life were felt by me as strangers whereas others \r\nI felt as my kin. I developed a dislike for the family rites and ceremonies and \r\nlost all faith in them.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI record my reminiscences here, I follow all along in the background the \r\nineffaceable footprints visible anew on the path of my life&#39;s pilgrimage. In \r\nthis interminable flaming journey the chronological order and the successive \r\narrangement of things are sacrificed. What I consider important is the series of \r\nsmall changes brought about in me by the action of light. To return to the \r\nsubject. My heart realised that all attachment to the orthodox way of life had \r\ndefinitely fallen off from me as do the withered leaves from trees. Something \r\nelse more important had begun to take shape in me imperceptibly. It was not \r\nvisible to my surface consciousness. Because it was working behind the scenes my \r\nwrong conduct, <i>mithy<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>c<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>ra</i>—the false way of life—continued yet for a few years. I \r\nshould live firmly in the truth, express the truth in \r\n<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;&#257;</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-168</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">each movement of life, be \r\na fit instrument of true realities— such were the sweet notes that kept \r\nvibrating ceaselessly and noiselessly in my dream-state and that I heard now and \r\nagain as a soft music in my waking state also. Although all attachment to the Vaishnava way of life had left me radically, my attachment to my parents, \r\nspecially to my mother— should I call it desire? love? bondage?—still continued \r\nits hold on me. My mother had the feeling that she would some day in some way \r\nlose her eldest child. But as she could not give expression to this feeling, she \r\nkept silent. She knew nothing in her outer consciousness about it. &quot;My child \r\nspends his time with his friend in the house of Srinivasachari, preparing for \r\nthe Matriculation examination. After the examination, before he joins the F. A. \r\nin Madras, he will come to stay with me for two or three months&quot;—these thoughts \r\nmy mother cherished in herself and these she expressed as they were clear to her \r\nouter mind.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDuring the one year of my preparation for the Matriculation I was reducing the \r\nnumber of my visits to Bharati&#39;s house and increasing the time of my stay in Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s, with the result that an intimate relation was formed with \r\nBejoykanta and Saurindranath Bose who too was living there. Bharati once or \r\ntwice asked me, &quot;Why, my boy, have you stopped coming to my house?&quot; I could not \r\nforget this. In this respect, in my mother&#39;s heart and in the heart of Bharati I \r\nseem to perceive the same thing, an echo of the play of the World Mother in her \r\nfragmented nature of the three gunas.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day it was noon. I proceeded as usual to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. No human \r\nvoice was heard as I walked down the street. The sun was at the meridian; it was \r\nall lustre. So extraordinary was its light that nothing could keep hiding in the \r\nplaces lit up wide by it; all must come to light. Not a speck of dust in that \r\nbroad daylight; it was as though the presence of Lord Krishna behind the sun, \r\npervading the whole sky, was there to enhance a hundredfold with its dark blue \r\nthe light of the sun shining therein. Nothing could conceal itself in that great \r\nlight. As I note down my expedience of this time, it comes to my memory</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-169</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nclothed in that significance. What was then only an impression left on my \r\nconsciousness seems now to have been an unforgettable experience, an unearthly \r\nsunlight.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ndo not know what account I gave to my family, specially to my mother, for my \r\nabsence from the midday meal. The real reason, of course, was that it was the \r\ntime for me to go to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house, after taking my bath in \r\nSrinivasachari&#39;s house.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nUnaccountably joyful, I entered Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. I found Bejoykanta \r\nwaiting in the verandah downstairs and, on seeing me, he called me to him, his \r\nface smiling. I too approached him with a heart full of delight, not knowing \r\nwhy. He then said, &quot;I told Sri Aurobindo about you and also told him about your \r\nstrong desire to see him.&quot; (Nowadays we say &quot;to have darshan.&quot;) Bejoykanta \r\nadded, &quot;I was just thinking how and through whom to send for you. Gome up, let&#39;s \r\ngo.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas twelve or twelve-fifteen at noon. As I think now of my climbing the stairs, \r\nit seems to me as if I was truly going up towards the sun out of the dark state \r\nof my consciousness!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>The Scene I Saw</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas for the first time I got up to the first floor of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. In \r\nthe long verandah overlooking the wide courtyard below, there were big windows \r\ngiving a wide view southwards... all the doors of all the rooms were open... \r\nEverywhere and on everything there fell an all-revealing light, nothing but \r\nlight... nothing was seen covered or screened, nothing was unrevealed... no spot \r\nhidden from light... My heart too, unwittingly, with no doors to close or \r\nconceal anything, free of confusion or perplexity, wide-open, soared up in sheer \r\ndelight! I was in this state and Sri Aurobindo stood there, his eyes gazing \r\nsouthwards... His small feet appeared to my eyes as two red lotuses.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-170</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">His hair \r\npartly hung on his chest, partly on his back. It was still wet from his bath; \r\nwater dripped from its ends. His bare broad chest shone in great beauty... His \r\ndivine gaze did not yet turn towards me...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBejoykanta got up first, I followed him, reached the head of the long corridor \r\nand, as I just stood there, Sri Aurobindo, who was about twenty feet away, \r\nturned his eyes upon me. Whether I walked to him or took a leap to him, I do not \r\nknow. What I remember is that a lamp was lit everywhere in me and I saw in a \r\nspontaneous and automatic movement in front of me an intense celestial beauty. \r\nMy being unknowingly swam, as it were, in a sea of silence, it fell prostrate at \r\nthe lotus-feet of the Master, it did not utter &quot;My Refuge, my Refuge&quot;, but lay \r\nthere body, life and mind all together a single block. Sri Aurobindo touched me \r\nwith his flowerlike hands and made me stand up. I drank the drink he gave me. \r\nThat eternal sight still lives in my memory in the same form. I do not know why \r\nI burst into sobs as I clasped him. Tears streamed down from my eyes. Were they \r\ntears of delight now that I had attained the celestial joy of Indra-loka, or \r\nwere they the regrets of my ego watching the imminent end of its life? I cannot \r\nsay. Bhakti is a divine acquisition, a thing of wonder; it cannot have its birth \r\nwithout divine grace. When the heart is aroused from sleep by the all-ruling \r\ngrace, one sees that greatness; it is so delightful to the sight; then only \r\none&#39;s life, possessed of the knowledge of the Lord&#39;s universal state and His \r\ntranscendent state, will know how to live at once in all the three states.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe sight seen by me at that young age, as I lay at Sri Aurobindo&#39;s feet, comes \r\nvividly into my memory. Immeasurable wonder drowned me. What I saw was the \r\nrepetition of a marvel of many years before.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOur village. A huge sand-hill far away from the village. On the sand-hill stood \r\nrows of thick-set palm trees almost striking the sky. On the north of the hill \r\nin the lowland was a wide and deep reservoir of water. It was the village-tank. \r\nThe tank was full of lotuses and there were lilies too in a little corner of it. \r\nOn its eastern bank was a banyan</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\ntree; at a distance from that a Peepal tree.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-171</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe evenings the Brahmins of our village in order to perform their evening rites \r\n(<i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>ndhya-vandanam</i>) would start from the village, cross the mango-grove, \r\namalaki-grove, tamarind-grove, date-palm forest, etc., wade through the small \r\nstream flowing with a soft murmur, climb the sandhill with its palm forest, get \r\ndown to the bank of the tank and sit by its edge. After having performed the \r\nevening rites, Japa and Tapa they would get up and, all of them reciting \r\ntogether the Vishnusahasranama (the thousand names of Vishnu), come back to the \r\nvillage.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nthe eastern bank of the tank was a small temple of Ganesh, the holy image of \r\nEyenar at the border of the village.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne evening. Darkness had just crept over the place. I was sitting on the \r\nsand-hill by the tank. I was then about 8 or 9 years old. Four or five Brahmins \r\nwere still on the bank occupied with the performance of rites.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthat dim darkness of the evening, just two or three stars twinkled in the \r\nwestern sky.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnd then, in front of me at a short distance and gradually drawing nearer and \r\nrising above as it came close to my head, there appeared a shining ball, a big \r\nball of the size of a palm fruit. Its lustre was dark blue. My eyes fixed on it, \r\nI kept looking at it. That ball shone soothing my eyes, comforting my body, \r\nseizing my heart and, as it slowly swam up, proceeded far to the south; my sight \r\nfollowed its course till it disappeared.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nmust have been immersed deep within me at that time because I was oblivious of \r\nthe earth and voyaging in the sky.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSomeone in the darkness, his face I could not see, called me to go home and so I \r\ncame back to the waking state. Ten miles away from our village to the south-east \r\nwas Pondicherry!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo had not yet come to Pondicherry. The beings of the upper worlds \r\nwere as if making ready the blessed town of Pondicherry to receive Him!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhile I lay at Sri Aurobindo&#39;s lotus-feet for the first time</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-172</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nsaw once again that glowing ball, familiar to me and quite close, appearing in \r\nthe dark blue sky within me and leading me towards the south. It seemed as if \r\nthe star had accomplished its ordained work.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(9)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ndo not quite remember after how many days I next saw Sri Aurobindo. I think it \r\nwas after ten or fifteen days. The second time also it was Bejoykanta whom I \r\nasked as to when I could see Sri Aurobindo. He said he could give a reply only \r\nafter asking Sri Aurobindo. On the fourth or fifth day, he told me one morning \r\nthat I could see Sri Aurobindo the same evening. When I requested him to take me \r\nto Sri Aurobindo that very evening he thought for a little while and said rather \r\nhesitatingly, &quot;All right.&quot; The hesitation was natural because he could not \r\nreadily consent to my request without having asked Sri Aurobindo first. But, as \r\nhe had a firm belief that Sri Aurobindo would not say &quot;No&quot;, he replied, &quot;All \r\nright.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat evening as soon as the school was over I hastened to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house \r\nlike an arrow flying from the bow. It might be five-fifteen. Bejoykanta was \r\nwaiting for me. He was in uniform ready to go out for football at Odeon-sale. As \r\nI reached there he took me up straight to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s room and without a \r\nmoment&#39;s delay started for Odeonsale.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nsaw Sri Aurobindo the second time thus:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">He \r\nwas in his room seated in a wooden chair beside a table, writing something in a \r\nbook, facing west. He moved his book a little, faced south and welcomed us both \r\nwith a gleam of kindness in his eyes. I looked at him and when after a minute I \r\nturned I found Bejoykanta was no longer by my side.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">He \r\nand I alone! None else! Solitude! Seated he kept on looking at me and I too drowned myself in his sacred look.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-173</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthose days I could not speak English well. With Bejoykanta I had to talk in \r\nEnglish. He struggled to speak Tamil. His knowledge of Tamil was, however, \r\nconfined to a.few words like &quot;rice, salt, chili, tamarind, pulse,&quot; some names of \r\nvegetables. A few verbs in addition such as &quot;come, go, take&quot; he had picked up \r\nfor his purpose. He employed these for all purposes while instructing the cook \r\nto make purchases. I saw him manage other needful things by gestures.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nendeavoured to speak in English with Sri Aurobindo as I used to do with \r\nBejoykanta. At that time even one or two English words that I knew well would \r\nget stuck in my throat. With an herculean effort I could just say:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&quot;I \r\nwant come daily see you!&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis I struggled to finish with bated breath. I was able at that time to read \r\nand understand short stories written in easy English. But I had no habit of \r\nspeaking English. I could follow others when they spoke simple sentences in it. \r\nThis reminds me of a small experience at school. A teacher named Mariat was \r\nappointed to teach us History and Geography. He was in charge of giving lessons \r\non these two subjects in the Fifth and Sixth Forms. He made it binding on his \r\nstudents to speak only English and with this end in view he gave one of us a \r\nsmall wooden block, about 2<sup>11 </sup>thick-, with the following order:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;One who holds this block of wood should be alert to pass it on to the student \r\nwho starts speaking Tamil, and he in his turn should pass it to another student \r\nindulging in the same habit.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthis way the habit of speaking some English grew in us. The habit of using \r\nEnglish, even if imperfectly, acquired in this way stood me in good stead when I \r\nhad to express myself to Sri Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">He \r\ncomplied with that request of mine for seeing him daily and asked me to come \r\nafter five in the evening. His compliance filled my heart with joy and I did not \r\nknow then if I were on earth or in heaven.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFrom the very next day, I began going straight from school at 5 p.m.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-174</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nto Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s house to see him. Before I reached there—a little later than \r\nfive-fifteen—Sri Aurobindo would come out of his room and sit on the west side«of the southern terrace. I used to stand before him and go on talking. I \r\nwould forget then that I knew little English. Day after day I would tell him \r\nfluently and unwaveringly my home-story, etc., trying to make the details as \r\nvivid and elaborate as possible. I knew no halt. In his presence my heart would \r\nflow out like an undammed flood either out of deep love for him or inspired by \r\nhis supreme grace. It cast aside all human measures of what ought to be said and \r\nwhat ought not to be said. Today I may venture to call it bhakti. At that time I \r\ndid not know its name. My heart was full to the brim with the <i>rasa</i> of sweetness.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEveryday I talked with Sri Aurobindo from five-thirty to six-thirty and returned \r\nhome.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nplayed the role of the speaker. I poured out to him everything without \r\nexception. He would hardly ever put in more than a word or two. In this way days \r\npassed into weeks, weeks into months. The feeling that, because of this \r\nintimacy, his unfailing grace would hasten the change that had already been \r\ntaking place in me cheered me up. Does ego possess any sight? It is indeed \r\nblind. I realised afterwards that his grace was equal, impartial, pure, as \r\nconstant as an eternal truth.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\na month or two, without my noticing the fact it became easy for me to speak \r\nEnglish. I acquired also a confidence in myself. I got into the habit of \r\nspeaking English, right or wrong. As its proof, I had only a very few occasions \r\nto get the wooden block in the school.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day almost in playfulness I asked Sri Aurobindo if I could stay with him. It \r\nwas probably during November or December, 1914. I had practically prepared \r\nmyself for the Matriculation examination. It was to take place in March 1915. \r\nThe day of submitting my name and depositing the examination-fee drew near.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nInstead of giving a direct answer to the above question Sri Aurobindo simply \r\nsaid he expected it of me to pass the</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-175</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nexamination and make arrangements for further studies.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nwas at my wits&#39; end. History I had not read attentively. Chemistry seemed to me \r\ndifficult. Mathematics was quite interesting: I had attained a proficiency ip \r\nit. In English, though I was fairly strong, I had not reached a high standard. \r\nSo a doubt that I might not come out successful pinched my heart.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll this apart, I had an opportunity to observe the lives led by the inmates of \r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s house. I saw no trace of care and worry on anyone&#39;s face. This \r\nwas a matter of surprise to me. I had worries due to poverty, due to the coming \r\nexamination, etc. nibbling at my heart. The inmates led a care-free life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhat it was I cannot say but a small thought had taken birth in my heart. This \r\nthought had an infinite power— I realised this fact much later. A tree out of a \r\nseed!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day I told Sri Aurobindo in passing that I wanted to practise Yoga and I \r\nasked him to show me the way to its practice.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">He \r\nput me a counter-question, &quot;Do you know what is meant by Yoga?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nreplied, &quot;I don&#39;t know.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat much only. No further talk about it for a long time.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut whenever I approached Bejoykanta he would without fail raise the subject of \r\nYoga. By Yoga, he would say, one could fly in the air, walk over water, remain \r\nfree from death, be immune to disease, conquer old age, etc., etc. In addition, \r\nhe said finally, one could drive away all English &quot;Ferin-ghees&quot; from India.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMention of these miracles, however, gave rise in me to other thoughts, other \r\nhopes. By Yoga my family&#39;s poverty would disappear; we would no more feel the \r\npinch of hunger; I could score high marks in the examination; I might procure a \r\ngood job, etc.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthe close of the year 1914 the question came up of my going to Madras and of my \r\nlodging there. It was decided that I should be put up in M. Srinivasachari&#39;s \r\nhouse.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-176</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">His house was a big one and quite near the temple of Partka-sarathi at \r\nTriplicane.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFebruary, 1915.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\ncrucial stage arrived in my life. Along with this came a quietude of mind, a \r\nconstant memory of something which was fundamental.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad not yet developed the capacity to comprehend what I might achieve by <i>tapasya</i> \r\nor that for a while I had come to prepare myself here for things. Even the \r\ndesire to understand them had not been born in me. The Matriculation examination \r\nsolely occupied my mind. The thought of it, burdened with the heavy feeling of \r\nmy family&#39;s poverty, did not allow me to stand erect, depressed my spirit and \r\ncreated a struggle, made me live a half-alive and half-dead life, a life beset \r\nwith hardships. The time then was like this.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe whole of our village had experienced failure of rams for two or three years \r\nin succession, resulting in a drying up of its fields and then followed \r\nceaseless rains for ten or fifteen days inundating the village, bringing down \r\nand tearing to shreds a number of houses, rendering the villagers homeless and \r\nthrowing them in utter distress. It was a time when our stored paddy and other \r\ngrains in the granary had been consumed even before the interminable rains broke \r\nout. It was a time when even the cash-crop like groundnut could not be \r\ncultivated. It was a time of dryness and barrenness for us and other villagers \r\nwithout any way out of it. And it was time I should have to go to Madras. I Was \r\nshort of Rs. 9/- for the deposit. I found no way to make tip this deficit. A \r\nmonth of the year 1915 had already passed.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nsome occasions, when I sought for Sri Aurobindo&#39;s advice for deciding whether I \r\nshould appear in the examination or not, he always exhorted me to do so. His \r\npurpose behind this advice and his jokes at such examinations which I heard four \r\nor five years later when I finally joined him, I could not for long comprehend. \r\nI may cite the case of an Andhra friend of mine to illustrate my point. It was \r\nChandrasekhara, and he had passed creditably the B.A. examination. Sri Aurobindo \r\nmade him the butt of such a</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-177</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">volley of jests for this success in the examination \r\nthat he all but wept for it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nwas at a loss to know how to procure the amount needed. Once I broached the \r\nsubject to Sri Aurobindo. I also informed him of the approaching time-limit. \r\nThe day after this talk, when I went to him, he handed over to me the sum of Rs. \r\n9/- and ordered me to deposit the fee. Astounded and forgetful I stood \r\nstatuelike in his presence.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\n1915 I went to Madras to sit for the examination. Back to Pondicherry from \r\nthere, I first met Sri Aurobindo and then Bharati. There being no longer any \r\nplace here to stay at, I went back home.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne part of my being was given to endearing play and prattle with my mother; \r\nanother and greater part of it felt all bonds with my parents and relatives \r\nloosened. It felt them as strangers only. This major part unknowingly and \r\nimperceptibly was captured by Sri Aurobindo. The small part enjoying my mother&#39;s \r\ncaresses and fondlings stood long in my way.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nletter from my friend Krishnamachari apprised me of having passed the \r\nMatriculation examination. That I had passed, even if not very creditably, gave \r\nme satisfaction. I immediately started from home for Pondicherry to convey this \r\nnews to Sri Aurobindo. I put up in Bharati&#39;s house. In Pondicherry I stayed only \r\nfor a day or two. At the time when I informed Sri Aurobindo of the result, he \r\nencouraged me in a way for further studies. But I felt perplexed. If I went on \r\nstudying like this, when should I join Sri Aurobindo? This apprehension, partly \r\nperceptible to my heart and partly imperceptible, evoked a struggle in me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\ncoming back to my village, I set myself to collect all that was necessary for \r\nhigher studies—money, books, clothes, etc., etc. I had to find also a lodging at \r\nMadras.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-178</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(10)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe year 1914 I had the darshan of the Mother. I could not perceive then that \r\nthe Mother&#39;s was not an ordinary human birth. In 1914 the Mother came for the \r\nfirst time to the land of India, the decreed repository of spiritual riches.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\ndirected by Sri Aurobindo in 1910, the Mother reached Pondy on March 29, 1914. A \r\nfew days after her arrival, Bejoykanta introduced me to her. How did he do it? \r\nHe introduced me as one of the students of the Calve College and as one keen on \r\npractising Yoga.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Mother lived in the house No. 3 facing the North, in Dupleix Street. She had \r\nso much work to attend to that she met people only at an appointed time. Steps \r\nwere taken even then to start the monthly review Arya both in English and in \r\nFrench.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nStudents from our school, in small groups, would come at their leisure hours to \r\nsee the Mother. We did not know then who the Mother was.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthat time the book <i>Yogic Sadhan</i> could be seen in the hands of many of those \r\npersons who frequented Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house. This book Bejoykanta taught me. I \r\ndid not consider him a teacher. The terms Guru, Acharya, teacher, instructor, \r\npreceptor were not current amongst us those days. All that we had been taught \r\nwas social etiquette and hospitality, no one had given us any idea of modesty or \r\nhumility or devotion.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAmidst all these superficialities I approached the Mother with the help of \r\nBejoykanta. My dumb heart at once came to feel the magic power of the Mother. \r\nOver my poor heart lay loads of dirt. If one load dropped down, another would \r\nroll in to occupy the empty space.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nmy first approaches to the Mother I thought her to be one like others. My mind&#39;s \r\nway led me in one direction, my heart&#39;s voiceless feeling led in another. I had \r\nnot learnt at that time either to listen attentively to the still voice of the \r\nheart, or forgetting all outer hankerings, to feel the inner urge.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-179</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">The\r\n<i>tapasy</i><font face=\"Times New Roman\"><i>&#257;</i> </font>perhaps that I had failed to do in my previous births I began doing now in this \r\nshort span of life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHad someone seen the Mother and myself seated on chairs, facing each other, \r\nalmost as equals, with the book <i>Yogic Sadhan </i>in hand, he would have been in a \r\nfix to know who was teaching whom. In truth, however, I approached the Mother in \r\nthe spirit of a seeker of knowledge.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe school remained closed two days per week—Sundays and Thursdays. On these two \r\ndays, at 10 a.m., I would go to the Mother, study with her for half an hour one \r\nor two Pages of the <i>Yogic Sadhan,</i> proceed to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house for his darshan and return home.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">An \r\nimage of immeasurable power—that was how I felt the Mother to be whenever I \r\napproached he; She, however, held that power in herself without allowing the \r\nleast display of it. On some occasions the great power would shine forth \r\nirresistibly. Our inner sense would perceive this radiation if it was awake.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNot only myself but some of my friends of those days had felt certain necessary \r\nchanges taking place, whether we had wanted them or not and without our being \r\nconscious of them, changes not only in our basic consciousness but in some of \r\nour external parts too. We would approach the Mother with our contradictory \r\nideas and doubts and after a talk with her each one of us would be filled with \r\nan unaccountable purity and joy, and self-oblivious we would come back home \r\ntalking merrily like people living in a happy world.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthis year 1914 Ramaswami Iyengar left Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house and started from \r\nPondicherry for his native place. In this year 1914 again, during April and May, \r\nefforts were made, as I said, to bring out the monthly magazine Arya. On July 28 \r\nof this very year the First World War broke out. On August 15 the first issue of \r\nthe Arya saw the light of day in English and French versions. In this 1914 \r\nindeed the foundation was laid of my close contact with Sri Aurobindo. And in \r\nthis same year 1914 I began feeling like a simple child the Mother&#39;s continuous \r\naffection.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nAugust 15, 1914, Sri Aurobindo&#39;s birthday was celebrated </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-180</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">more openly. In the \r\nspacious hall upstairs two or three big tables, taken on hire, were placed side \r\nby side; on them were spread thick washed sheets, white as jasmines; and« above \r\nthese sheets was heaped, mountain-like, milk-white rice. Finally, rose-petals \r\nwere strewn over the rice.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nabout 11.30 a.m. Sri Aurobindo came and stood in the long verandah, south of the \r\nhall, at the western end and, looking at us eastwards, spoke something in \r\nEnglish for two or three minutes.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nTen or fifteen persons only out of those who had assembled that day stayed \r\nbehind for sometime and I was one of these few. I do not remember now where the \r\nMother was, where she sat and took her food.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nOctober 1914, I suppose, Abdul Karim, a chief C.I.D. inspector of the Madras \r\nPresidency sought Sri Aurobindo&#39;s permission for an interview. I do not remember \r\nthe date. He was asked to come on a particular day at 10 a.m. for the interview. \r\nAbdul Karim came on that day in time and met Sri Aurobindo. The talk must have \r\nlasted for more than half an hour in private. While going to Sri Aurobindo Abdul \r\nKarim had carried a big rose-garland and two or three plates full of fruits, \r\netc. Not being an inmate of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house, I had no means of knowing \r\nwhat transpired between them. Even if I had been an inmate, Sri Aurobindo would \r\nhave said only what could be disclosed. It was rumored in Pondicherry that the \r\ntalk must have been mainly about the World War and Abdul Karim sought to know \r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s views about it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne or two months passed after the outbreak of the World War. Nolini Kanta Gupta \r\nand Saurindranath Bose who had gone to Bengal came back hurriedly to \r\nPondicherry. Now Bejoykanta also grew impatient to go to Bengal like them for a \r\nshort visit. He persisted in it. Sri Aurobindo gave no consent to it. \r\nBejoykanta&#39;s friends in Pondicherry and some others, including Abdul Karim, had \r\ncome to know that he was about to leave for Bengal.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEither the very next day after Abdul Karim&#39;s interview with Sri Aurobindo or one \r\nor two days later, Bejoykanta</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-181</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nstarted for Bengal. The news circulated in the \r\ntown that, as Bejoykanta was suspected to be a revolutionary, a warrant of \r\narrest was in Abdul Karim&#39;s pocket the very day of his interview with Sri \r\nAurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBejoykanta started from Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house and caught the train to Madras. \r\nDirectly he crossed the French border he was arrested and taken into police \r\ncustody at cuddalore; he was then transferred a few days later to his native \r\nplace in Bengal and interned there till the end of the War, that is to say, five \r\nlong years. As soon as he got released he came back to Pondicherry.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBefore the publication of the <i>Arya,</i> it was widely talked about—and most amongst \r\nthe Tamil poet Bharati and his friends—that a Review of the kind was soon going \r\nto be published. The idea also spread, along with the talk, that a new age was \r\nabout to dawn, this new age was for the whole human race and Sri Aurobindo was \r\nthe Rishi of this new age. Poet Bharati was chiefly instrumental in spreading \r\nthe idea.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nwas fortunate enough to hear many say several times that the <i>Arya</i> would \r\nelucidate the secrets of the Veda and, as a corollary, unravel many a knot, till \r\nnow unloosened, in the Upanishads, Itihasas, Puranas, etc. I heard many also \r\ndeclare that Sri Aurobindo had found a new method of Yoga for the sake of \r\nmankind and would divulge in the <i>Arya </i>the characteristic process of sadhana for \r\nfollowing this method.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHardly a month had passed since the declaration of the great War when I heard \r\nelderly people, rich in knowledge, affirm that the World War was but the \r\nunhealed sore in the human consciousness and the appearance of the <i>Arya </i>was \r\ndestined to heal the sore. I could not grasp all that clearly then.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne day at the beginning of September I took up a copy of the first issue of the \r\n<i>Arya</i> from the table on the long verandah upstairs in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s house and \r\nstarted reading the first article of the series, &quot;The Life Divine&quot;, written by \r\nSri Aurobindo, just loudly enough for myself to hear. I read it over and over \r\nagain. Great thoughts clothed in great words—I could not at all comprehend! \r\nHowever, it was </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-182</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nsweet to read and re-read it. It was as if someone else in me \r\nwas comprehending all that was read!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI was reading, Sri Aurobindo came, stood in front of the table and kept \r\nlistening to my reading. When I put down the copy of the <i>Arya</i> and lifted my head \r\nI saw Sri Aurobindo standing there. I told him that the reading was delightful \r\nbut nothing could be grasped.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo heard all that I said and replied, &quot;It is not necessary to \r\nunderstand it all at once. Go on reading. If you find a joy in reading, you need \r\nnot stop it.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnyone may perceive in Sri Aurobindo&#39;s writings a wealth of experiences, a \r\nmantric power and an extraordinary superhuman attraction. That first sublime \r\narticle in the <i>Arya</i> begins with one or two Riks from the Rig Veda.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;Hear:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;She follows to the goal of those that are passing on beyond, she is the first \r\nin the eternal succession of the dawns that are coming,—Usha widens bringing out \r\nthat which lives, awakening someone who was dead.... What is her scope when she \r\nharmonises with the dawns that shone out before and those that now must shine? \r\nShe desires the ancient mornings and fulfils their Light; projecting forward her \r\nillumination, she enters into communion with the rest that are to come.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:100px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nKutsa Angirasa—Rig Veda I. 113.8.10.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWithout being conscious of my relation with the Mother before and after my birth \r\non this earth I felt a child&#39;s love for her at the very outset.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Mother left for France in February 1915. I too went to Madras for the \r\nMatriculation examination that very year.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-183</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(11)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">I \r\narrived finally at Madras and was, therefore, cut off from my family. When now I \r\nlook back upon this event, I seem to realise how far away was the action of my \r\nown will from that of the divine Will. If I had been acting according to my own \r\ninclination, I could never have come near the divine Presence. We are for the \r\nmost part subject to petty desires and feelings. My life&#39;s course, was settled \r\nwithout my knowing it, as soon as the Master&#39;s glance embraced me. When \r\nI reached the crucial stage of my life, and felt pulled to and fro by the force \r\nof attachments on one side, and by that of the divine Light on the other, and \r\nstood swaying in the thick of the conflict, what was it that made me give up the \r\nlife of the world and turn towards that of the Spirit? Who brought about this \r\nturning? Each time that I think over it, I have the feeling that I was not an \r\nagent but a mere tool, an instrument only, <i>nimitta matram.</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nstayed at Madras till the 3rd April, 1919. Even though I lived there, it was the \r\nMaster&#39;s presence that guided me; in my heart there was ever the remembrance of \r\nPondicherry. The word &quot;Pondicherry&quot; meant to my soul Sri Aurobindo —there was \r\nroom for nothing else there. I studied for a year in the Intermediate Class at \r\nMadras. I used to come back to Pondicherry once a month. Sometimes, due to \r\nunforeseen circumstances, it would be once in two months.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nMadras I was fortunate to have one or two intimate friends. One of them was V. \r\nP. Karunakaran Nambiar. He was a student of the Law College. He had a boundless \r\nlove for Sri Aurobindo. He believed that it was Sri Aurobindo who had given a \r\nnew life to the Indian political movement. He felt, moreover, immensely \r\nattracted to Sri Aurobindo&#39;s writings. He made friends with me when he came to \r\nknow of my association with Sri Aurobindo. He began accompanying me to \r\nPondicherry without fail once a month. He used to put up at some hotel there. We \r\nwould start from Madras on Friday by the night-train, get down at Pondicherry on \r\nSaturday morning, and return by the</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSunday night-train.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-184</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNambiar had the good fortune to see Sri Aurobindo and speak \r\nwith him on the Saturday night. Sometimes, on the Sunday night also, he would \r\nhave a talk with Sri Aurobindo for half an hour, solely or mostly on English \r\nliterature. It was Nambiar who, for the first time, made arrangements to borrow \r\nbooks in his own name from the Madras University Library and Connemera Library \r\nfor Sri Aurobindo! He is no more—he died a few years ago.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nMadras I passed four years in George Town, in the house No. 14 at the corner of \r\nBaker Street, opposite to the Law College. Madras was&#39; not so crowded between \r\n1915 and 1919 as it is at present. I would go after 5 p.m. to the <i>vast maidan</i> of \r\nthe High Court and be there all alone till 7.p.m. I would read at that time over \r\nand over again Sri Aurobindo&#39;s magazine <i>Arya</i> or his book of poems <i>Ahana</i>, and \r\ntake immense delight in them. Did I understand them or not? What was it that \r\ndelighted me? How did I enjoy them? All this my soul alone knows, I know \r\nnothing.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWherever I happened to be—on the sea-beach, in the High Court grounds, in \r\nPachchiappa College, in Baker Street or at Triplicane—no matter where, the \r\nmemory of Sri Aurobindo burnt bright in my heart. The single thought in me was, \r\n&quot;When will the next opportunity come for me to go to Pondicherry?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOnce on my way to Pondicherry, I met an Andhra young man, Chandrasekhar Ayya by \r\nname. He enquired of me, &quot;How can I meet Sri Aurobindo?&quot; I told him, &quot;You may \r\ncome with me and take your chance.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen I broached the matter to Sri Aurobindo, he put me several questions \r\nrelating to Chandrasekhar—&quot;Where does he come from?&quot; &quot;Why has he come to \r\nPondicherry?&quot; &quot;Is it on account of some business?&quot; etc., and then, at last he \r\nconsented to meet him. The interview between Sri Aurobindo and Chandrasekhar \r\nlasted not more than five minutes.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLater on, I remember to have met Chandrasekhar Ayya once or twice in Madras. \r\nWhenever he came to Pondicherry, I would be with him. He never failed to have \r\nSri Aurobindo&#39;s <i>darshan.</i> His first interview with Sri Aurobindo</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-185</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nfor only five \r\nminutes laid the foundation of the priceless things he gleaned in future from \r\nSri Aurobindo. Unlike the late V.P. Karunakaran Nambiar, Chandrasekhar plunged \r\nheart and soul into Sri Aurobindo for a few years.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nman of intellectual attainments, he was a scholar in Sanskrit and knew English \r\nvery well. He could intently open his heart without reserve to whatever he would \r\nsee as the best. Sri Aurobindo kindled the fire in him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nChandrasekhar Ayya came ten or twelve times after I had left Madras finally and \r\ntaken refuge in Sri Aurobindo. He used to put up at a hotel. At times he would \r\nstay four or five days at a stretch. He gave himself entirely to Sri Aurobindo. \r\nThere grew up steadily an intimacy between them. As a consequence, he started \r\nreserving a room for himself on rent in a hotel here. Can the fire so kindled \r\never forsake him?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSubramania Bharati learnt the Rig Veda from Sri Aurobindo. Chandrasekhar also \r\nstudied the Rig Veda with Sri Aurobindo methodically at a particular hour. He \r\nstudied in this way for two or three years, not by the old traditional \r\ncommentaries, nor in the old style, but in the light of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s own \r\nrevealing interpretation. I listened to the interpretation with great delight, \r\nwhenever I could be present.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nMadras I had the opportunity of contacting a number of big persons, some of whom \r\nwere really great, and had talks with them. I met and talked with Annie Besant \r\nseveral times. I approached Mahatma Gandhi through Va Ra on Bharati&#39;s behalf. \r\nBut none of them could appeal to my heart, which the Master had captured, whole \r\nand entire. I felt it had become indissolubly one with him. My Master— how great \r\nhe was! An Avatar! He mixed with me as if he was one of us, and had taken hold \r\nof my soul. How could I then be drawn to others ?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">My \r\nfriends urged me to join the Theosophical Society and, later on, some of them \r\npressed me passionately and untiringly to join the Non-cooperation Movement of \r\nMahatma Gandhi. My mind gave no response to such talks.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-186</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">How could it respond, \r\nwhen the Master&#39;s command had been otherwise, even if he had expressly told me \r\nnothing?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMany great movements were, of course, going on, but they did not seem to me to \r\nreflect in any way the truth of man&#39;s inner being. They were conceived and \r\ncarried on in the rush-light of the human mind.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo had somehow put away from us all outer attractions, turned our \r\ngaze inwards and made it centre in him. Politics, patriotism and social welfare \r\nhad no attraction for me. What can the outer activities express but only our \r\ninner imperfections so long as we do not change our consciousness and nature ? \r\nWhat use then being wholly absorbed in them ?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nTen or twelve days before I left for Madras, Sri Aurobindo, in response to my \r\nrepeated requests, consented to say a few words about the practice of Yoga. I \r\nwould go to him daily between 5 and 5-30 p.m. He would speak to me in a simple \r\nway about the practice of Yoga. I noted down the major portions of his sayings.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMany years before his passing, Sri Aurobindo took away the note-books from me. \r\nHe probably did not intend that those secrets of Yoga should be disclosed to \r\nothers.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHis sayings had been written down by me in two small pocket-books. They would be \r\nwith me constantly as a guide throughout the four or five years of my stay at \r\nMadras. At night, during my sleep, they would remain under my pillow. Throughout \r\nthe day they would be in my pocket. I would read them time and again.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nMadras my association with the members of the Theosophical Society began to grow \r\nby degrees. The &quot;Home Rule&quot; movement was in full swing. On the first floor of \r\nthe house No. 2 at Broadway, almost facing the Law College, the &quot;Home Rule&quot; \r\nlibrary was opened by Annie Besant with great <font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font>clat. Dailies, weeklies, \r\nmonthlies in English and a small section of them in Tamil were displayed there. \r\nThe Reading Room remained open from 7 or 7-30 in the morning to 9 at night. Many \r\npeople would come to read the magazines. The hall was quite spacious and a \r\nnumber of</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-187</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">electric lights kept burning from 6 to 9 p.m. There were about half a \r\ndozen cupboards which got filled up within a month of the inauguration of the \r\nReading Room.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">By \r\n9 p.m. the library-gate would close. I was left in charge of the vast library \r\nwith its Reading Room. From 9 at night to 7 next morning it would be, as it \r\nwere, my own home.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nnight my friends, relatives and school-mates used to come and see me whenever \r\nthey liked. In addition to the hall, there were a small room and, to the East, a \r\nbathroom. It was like a palace for me. I arranged for my meals at a Brahmin \r\nhotel in Tambu Chetty Street. I had not given up my room in the house No. 14 in \r\nBaker Street.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave written all this in detail, because when I moved from the house in Baker \r\nStreet, I made the house at Broad Way my residence for nearly four years.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis not necessary to write how I was in Madras and in what way I lived. But how \r\nthrough certain circumstances, through association with some genuine and sincere \r\npersons my Soul took its course in this life, and how my life developed under \r\ntheir shadow by the grace of the Master—all this becomes a source of \r\ndisinterested joy as I remember and describe it.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSome four or five months before I left for Madras, Sri Aurobindo would sometimes \r\nsay in a casual way, &quot;Whatever happens, detach yourself from the happenings and \r\nlearn to watch them as a Witness. Do not get involved in them.&quot; Although I could \r\nnot grasp the full implications of this mantra of initiation, it left a deep \r\nimprint upon my heart.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis single mantra acted as an unfailing sustenance of my life during my stay at \r\nMadras for four or five years. How it became by stages effective in my sadhana \r\nis, however, another story into which I do not wish to enter here.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave already mentioned that many persons used to come and read magazines in the \r\nHome Rule Library when I was there. One of them was a student of the Law \r\nCollege. He became intimate with me and kept a close watch over my way of life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-188</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen I was with the members of my family I had to observe the usual religious \r\nrites and ceremonies. But in Pondicherry, out of their sight and reach, I could \r\nafford to be free. In Madras I was quite free to move about and act as I wished. \r\nNo rule was binding on me. But in the heart of this freedom something within me \r\nwould go on uttering in a low &#39; tone, during sleep or at odd moments during the \r\nday, something like a voice from afar, &quot;You are in bondage. The chains are \r\nholding you tight.&quot; I could not clearly catch the sense of it—I was drowned in \r\nthe surface noise and whirlpool. I lost all discrimination of the true and the \r\nfalse. But in whatever condition I was, and into whatever hell thrown, the \r\nMaster, the Lord of my soul, would be with me and within me, and never abandon \r\nme.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe person who was closely observing my movements in the &quot;Home Rule&quot; Library had \r\ncome to Madras from Kum-bhakonam to study in the Law College, as I have said \r\nabove. He lived in a small rented house with his wife in Mannadi. He was a \r\nVaishnava, and, having somehow come to know that I too was a Vaishnava Brahmin, \r\nhe tried to correct my nature and my life in what he thought was the right way. \r\nHe would bring to the Library books of short stories in English, written in a \r\nsimple style. Each story contained moral lessons to help one live religiously. \r\nHanding over one such book to me, he would say, &quot;Keep it as long as you need it, \r\nand return when you have finished it. I shall then give you another book.&quot; He \r\nwas probably older than I by three or four years.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nhe had a doubt that I was not reading the books he gave me, he proposed one day \r\nthat we should read the books together. This, after a few days, I found rather \r\nboring. So far as I remember, his name was Krishnaswami Iyengar.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOnce a week he would invite me to his house for meals. He found out in a few \r\nmonths that all his efforts to change my ways of life and make me follow \r\nreligious observances had been in vain. He had failed to perceive that in my \r\nheart was ever burning the light of Sri Aurobindo.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave referred briefly to my initiation. It did not, how-ever, follow</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-189</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">the traditional way. And what I have called the mantra of \r\ninitiation—the often repeated command of Sri Aurobindo to detach myself from all \r\nhappenings and practise to be only the Witness Purusha—this mantra was not given \r\nas such. The traditional method consists in the Guru&#39;s choosing an auspicious \r\nday and moment, and softly uttering the mantra in the sishya&#39;s ear. But Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s way was quite different. One may intensely seek for the Guru and, \r\nseeking thus, one may, by rare luck, find him. But the Guru, so found, may keep \r\none waiting for years to be accepted as his disciple. This is the traditional \r\nway. But Sri Aurobindo&#39;s way, I repeat, was different. As we grew intimate with \r\nhim, we felt within us that he had already accepted us. In silence the sadhana \r\nhad begun in us. The Guru&#39;s Grace and the sishya&#39;s receiving it were a \r\nspontaneous development, without even the need of a single spoken word. \r\nAccording to their capacity and fitness—<i><font size=\"2\">adhikara</font></i>—some disciples would make \r\nsteady progress in Yoga, while others would have a sudden and, sometimes even a \r\nmarvellous, out-flowering of literary and artistic talent. Each one would \r\nreceive the Master&#39;s silent inspiration in his own distinctive way, and \r\naccording to the fitness and aptitude of his nature.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-190</font></p><hr>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-21_Old_long_since','','publish','closed','open','','21_old_long_since','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/21_old_long_since/',0,'post','',0),(1405,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>CONTENTS Subhas-Oaten</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>\r\n<font size=\"5\">REMINISCENCES</font></b></p>\r\n		<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n\r\n<p align=\"center\" style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p align=\"center\" style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">CONTENTS</p>\r\n<p align=\"justify\" style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><br>\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" width=\"60%\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n			<p align=\"justify\" style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n			<a href=\"reminiscences-01_Pre-content\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">\r\n			Pre content</span></a></td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n			<a href=\"-03_Subhas-Oaten\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Subhas-Oaten: Ullas-Russell</span></a></td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-04_Muraripukur-1\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Muraripukur </span></a>(1) </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-05_Muraripukur-2\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Muraripukur</span></a> (2) </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-06_Deoghar\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Deoghar</span></a> </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-07_Shyampukur\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Shyampukur </span></a>.</p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-08_Ponicherry-1\">\r\nPondicherry</a> (I) </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-09_Ponicherry-2\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Pondicherry </span></a>(2) </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n<a href=\"-10_Ponicherry-Cyclone\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">\r\nPondicherry Cyclone</span></a> </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-11_Two-Great-War\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Two Great Wars</span></a> </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n<a href=\"-12_I-bow-to-the-mother\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">I bow to the Mother </span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n<a href=\"-13_I-played-football-\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">I \r\nplayed Football</span></a> </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-14_Soviet-Gymnasts\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Soviet Gymnasts</span></a> </p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-15_My-Athletics\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">My Athletics</span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-16_Eternal-Youth\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Eternal Youth</span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n<a href=\"-17_The-World-War-1939-1945\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">The World War (1939-1945)</span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">\r\n<a href=\"-18_The-Situation-of-Today-12-2-1965-\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">The Situation of Today-12-2-1965</span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-20_Appendix\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Appendix-Extracts from Late Suresh Chandra</span></a></p>\r\n			<p style=\"margin-left: 20px; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">Chakravarti\'s \r\n			Reminiscences</p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td width=\"15%\">\r\n			<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n			<td width=\"45%\">\r\n\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><a href=\"-21_Old_long_since\">\r\n<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">Old Long Since</span></a></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','reminiscences-00_Contents','','publish','closed','open','','reminiscences-00_contents','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/reminiscences-00_contents/',0,'post','',0),(1406,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','ï»¿<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC \"-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN\"\r\n	\"http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/loose.dtd\">\r\n<html>\r\n<head><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text/html; charset=UTF-8\"/><meta name=\"generator\" content=\"ABBYY FineReader 10\"/>\r\n</head>\r\n<body>\r\n<table border=\"0\" width=\"100%\" cellspacing=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\">\r\n	<tr>\r\n		<td>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>I</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>SUBHAS â€” OATEN </b> </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>ULLAS â€” RUSSELL</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Subhash-Oaten encounter has attained some notoriety, as a number of people \r\nhave on several occasions given an account of how Subhash Chandra once gave a \r\nthrashing with his shoe to one of his British professors, Oaten. But it seems to \r\nhave almost been forgotten by the general public that this incident was a mere \r\nreplica or imitation of an earlier and identical performance. Subhash did not \r\ninstitute anything new; he was simply following in the footsteps of eminent and \r\nheroic predecessors. Today I propose to give an account of that original \r\nperformance.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIt was in the year 1905. The Swadeshi movement was in full tide, flooding the \r\nland with its enthusiasm, particularly the student community. But how about the \r\nCalcutta Presidency College? That was an institution meant for the &quot;good&quot; boys \r\nand for the sons of the rich, that is, for those who, in the parlance of the \r\ntime, &quot;had a stake in the country,&quot; those who, in other words, had something to \r\nlose. How far were they touched by that flood? Those that were touched might be \r\ndescribed as something of a phenomenon.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIn 1905, I was in my Second Year class. Among my class-mates were Narendra Nath \r\nLaw, a well-known name in later years, and perhaps also Bhupati Mohan Sen who \r\nsubsequently came to be known as Principal B. M. Sen.<sup>1</sup>Sitapati \r\nBaneiji too was there; he won the Ishan Scholarship in his B.A. examination and \r\nwas ultimately given the name Swami Raghavananda or Sitapati Maharaj at the \r\nRamakrishna Mission. These more or less made up the list of the &quot;good&quot; boys. \r\nAmong the &quot;bad&quot; ones was Indranath</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">1 I cannot now exactly recall if Bhupati Mohan had been at the \r\nPresidency College right from the First Year class, or whether he joined the \r\nThird Year &#39;from the Scottish Churches College, known at the time as the General \r\nAssembly&#39;s Institution.</font></p>\r\n		<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-1</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNandi, a son of Colonel Nandi of the Indian Medical Service. Let me recount some \r\nof his exploits.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHe had been a colleague of Barin Ghose of Manicktolla Gardens fame, and also a \r\nmember of the Atmopnati Samiti, an &quot;Association for Self-improvement&quot;. This \r\nSamiti was really a centre for the recruitment and training of revolutionaries. \r\nI too had been one of the junior members of the Samiti. Bepin Behari Ganguli was \r\namong its organisers. We had just given up football as being a non-Indian sport \r\nand had taken up lathi and dagger play. I had already attained such proficiency \r\nin these games that I was once asked to give a demonstration of <i>lathi</i> play \r\nbefore Mrs. Sarala Devi Chowdhurani on the occasion of one of her visits. But \r\nIndra Nandi was engaged in something much more serious; he was trying to make \r\nbombs. And he ended by blowing up his fingers in an explosion during a test. \r\nCaught in this maimed condition, he was sent up for trial in the Alipore Bomb \r\ncase, although he could not be convicted. Our counsel managed to prove that the \r\nstate of his hands was due to their being crushed under an iron chest.<sup>1</sup></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me in this connection announce one of the feats of my college life. It was \r\nin that same year, 1905. Loud protests had arisen on account of the Bengal \r\nPartition and there was going to be observed a Day of Fasting or Rakhi-day or \r\nsomething like that. In what manner did I register my protest? I went to college \r\ndressed as if there had been a death in my family, that is to say, without shoes \r\nor shirt and with only a <i>chuddar</i> on. As I entered the class, everybody seemed a \r\nlittle stunned. The professor cast an occasional furtive glance at me but said \r\nnot a word. My action must have appeared as rather unconventional, perhaps even \r\nincorrect to many, but I felt at the same time there were quite a few who gave \r\nme an admiring look.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAt that time, in the class just above mine was Charu</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\"><sup>\r\n<font size=\"2\">1</font></sup><font size=\"2\"> But there was a rumour that Colonel \r\nNandi had compounded with the Government on condition that his son would thence \r\nforward behave like a thoroughly good boy.</font></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-2</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBiswas. Next above him was Rajendraprasad, and a year senior to Rajendraprasad \r\nthere were Benoy Sarkar and Atul Gupta. Ramesh Majumdar was perhaps a year \r\njunior to me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow let me come back to what I was going to sayâ€” <i>revenons \r\n<font face=\"Times New Roman\">Ã </font> nos</i> <i>moutons</i>, as they \r\nsay in French.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">At \r\na time like this, when the sky was getting red and the air was hot, with so much \r\nagitation in the minds of men and the young hearts, one of the Englishmen in our \r\ncollege, Russell, our professor of Logic and Philosophy, got it into his head to \r\ncome out with something tactless against the Bengalis. It was like a spark in a \r\npowder dump. There was much excitement and agitation among the students. Could \r\nthis not be avenged? Should the white man be allowed to escape scot-free, just \r\nlike that? The day of reckoning came at last, like a bolt from the blue. How did \r\nit all happen? One of our classes had just been over and we were going to the \r\nnext class along the corridor, when all on a sudden there rang out all over the \r\nplace from a hundred lusty throats shouts of &quot;Bande Mataram&quot; that tore the air \r\nwith its mighty cry. Everybody ran helter skelter. &quot;What is the matter? What \r\nhappened?&quot; &quot;Russell has been thrashed with shoe!&quot; &quot;Who thrashed him? Who?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Principal cameâ€”it was Dr. P. K. Roy, the first Bengali to have become \r\nPrincipal of the Presidency College, though in a temporary capacity. We all got \r\ninto our classes. He entered our class first as it was nearest to the scene of \r\nthe incident. Russell was with him, his face red with shame and indignation. He \r\nglanced around at those present in the class and said that he could spot no one. \r\nAfter the class was over, we went into the Physics Theatre for the Physics \r\nclass. There too the Principal came in and broke out in a deep thundering tone, \r\n&quot;I see, &#39;Bande Mataram&#39; has become a war-cry.&quot; But the whole class was utterly \r\nquiet, there was not a sign of movement. All that high excitement and agitation \r\nof an hour ago was now hushed in dumb motionless silence. We were all a bunch of \r\ninnocent lambs!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 3</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut who was the culprit? It was Ullaskar Datta, one of our class-fellows. He was \r\na boarder at the Eden Hindu Hostel. He had come to college with a slipper \r\nwrapped up in a newspaper sheet and had made good use of it as goon as he got a \r\nchance....</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe life-story of this Ullaskar is a real drama, although its last stage is \r\nrather tragic. Soon after this incident he joined the Manicktolla Gardens with \r\nBarin Ghose and gave all his thought and energy to the making of a bomb. He did \r\nnot know even the a b c of bombs. He read up by himself books on Chemistry, \r\npieced out information from all kinds of books and finally mastered all alone \r\nthe principles of explosivesâ€”nobody ever taught him. His father, Dwijadas Datta, \r\nwas a professor at the Sibpur Engineering College. He had something like a small \r\nlaboratory at his residence. It was here that Ullaskar took his training in \r\nsecret. To what extent he had finally succeeded in his efforts was proved one \r\nday when to the first of his bombs one of our own men had to fall a martyrâ€” \r\nPrafulla Chakravarti.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nI too had been an associate of his in this enterprise.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nUllaskarâ€”&quot;one who abounds in energy&quot;â€”fully lived up to his name: he was indeed \r\nan inexhaustible fount of energy and enthusiasm. When they used to escort us in \r\na prison van from the jail to the court room (during the trial of the Alipore \r\nBomb case), we rent the air all the way with our shouts and songs as we drove \r\nalong. It was Ullaskar&#39;s idea; he led the chorus and the rest of us followed. \r\nSome of the old refrains still ring in my ears, I can still recall the wordsâ€”of \r\nsongs like &quot;Deep From the Heart of Bengal Today&quot;, &quot;The Soil, the Rivers of \r\nBengal&quot;, &quot;My Golden Hindusthan&quot;.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nI have heard that Ullas is still alive, though almost half-dead, they say. Ten \r\nor twelve years of jail in the Anda-mans deranged him in body and mind. But this \r\nafter all was part of the ritual of sacrifice. As Barin used to say, &quot;Such \r\nindeed was the vow in this kind of marriage&quot;.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFor, the enthusiasm of that day, that reawakening to </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 4</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nnew life, took no account whatever of the gains and the losses. It forged ahead \r\nby itself, it drew its secret support from its own momentum. That was why people \r\ngazed wide-eyed in wonder, that was why they all joined in a mighty chorus:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\n&quot;A day indeed has dawned,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\nWhen a million hearts</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\nHave known not to fear</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\nAnd leave no debts unpaid.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\nLife and death are</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\nBondslaves at our feet;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:75pt\">\r\nOur hearts have forgotten to care.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 5</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"right\">\r\n<font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">\r\nHOME</span></a></font></p>\r\n		<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n	</tr>\r\n</table>\r\n</body>\r\n</html>','-03_Subhas-Oaten','','publish','closed','open','','03_subhas-oaten','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/03_subhas-oaten/',0,'post','',0),(1407,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>APPENDIX</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>APPENDIX</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<i>[Extracts from Suresh Chandra Chakravarti&#39;s Reminiscences in Bengali Smriti \r\nKatha bearing on Sri Aurobindo&#39;s life.]</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas about two-thirty in the morning. The date was March 30, 1910. There came a \r\nsound of the whistle from the engine. Then the train began to slow down; it \r\nbecame slower and slower and slower, until finally it came to a dead stop after \r\ngiving a jolt backward and a slight push to the front. It was obvious that there \r\nwas no such thing as a vacuum brake on this train. I opened the door of my \r\ncompartment and got down on the platform. This was the railway station at \r\nPondicherry. I feel sure that my readers will wonder with wide-open eyes at \r\nthese lines. They will want to know why of all places the railway station at \r\nPondicherry and at dead of night? They are familiar with the story of Bengalis \r\ngoing to Bombay or Burma, Madras or the Malay Archipelago. Sons of the soil of \r\nBengal have even been visiting the island of Ceylon since the days of \r\nVijayasinha. But what is this strange thing now?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">To \r\nmake that clear, I have to explain something of what had gone before. That is \r\nwhat I am trying to do.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nall began in the same year of grace, 1910, in the month of February. Perhaps it \r\nwas about the middle of the month, or was it towards the end, about eight \r\no&#39;clock one evening, at a house Number 4 on Shyampukur Lane in the Shyam-bazar \r\narea in Calcutta, in a room upstairs, there sat a mature young man surrounded by \r\na certain number of younger people. The older person sat on a small wooden bed— \r\nthat was the only piece of furniture in the room—and of the younger group one or \r\ntwo sat on the same bed and the rest sat on the floor. The older person had a \r\npencil in his hand and a sheet of paper in front. He had been doing some \r\nautomatic writing and reading it aloud. The youths listened intently as he spoke \r\nand were bothering with their endless questions the spirits who came presumably \r\nfrom the other worlds.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-131</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis mature young man was named Sri Aurobindo Ghose. The names of the others \r\npresent were Birendranath Ghosh, Saurindranath Basu, Bejoykumar Nag, Hem Sen, \r\nNolini-kanta Gupta and Sureshchandra Chakravarti. All of them with the exception \r\nof Saurin and Suresh had been among the accused in the Alipore Bomb case of \r\n1908-09. I need not enter here into the details of that case. About the \r\nbeginning of this century, a few of those who had been dreaming of the freedom \r\nof their motherland were attracted by the idea of terrorism. As a result there \r\ncame to birth in Bengal a secret society with Calcutta as its centre. In course \r\nof time the police came to know everything about this secret society and in May \r\n1908 they arrested in Calcutta most of its members. They also came in possession \r\nof some weapons like live pistols. The trial lasted a whole year and in May \r\n1909, some were discharged by the court and others were convicted. Three among \r\nthose convicted were sentenced to death; these were Barindra, HemDas and UllasKar. Their death sentences were quashed on appeal and they were given \r\ntransportation for life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">On \r\nhis release from jail, Sri Aurobindo resumed with full force his work for the \r\ncountry and began publishing two weekly journals, <i>Karmayogin</i> in English and \r\n<i>Dharma</i> in Bengali. But now it seemed a change had come in his manner of writing. \r\nFormerly, what he used to write for the daily English paper, <i>Bandemataram</i> was \r\nprimarily of a political nature. But in the <i>Karmayogin</i> and <i>Dharma </i>articles one \r\nfelt a deeper strain. It was as if he was now preparing to bring out the inner \r\nspirit of India, the eternal soul, by penetrating beyond the workaday veil of \r\nthe shallow and superficial politics till then familiar to the anglicised mind. \r\nThe politics now served only as a pretext. One seemed to get from these writings \r\na feeble hint of the path he was to traverse in his subsequent days. He seemed \r\nto be leaving behind the ranks of political leadership and moving towards the \r\nAshram of the ancient Indian Rishis, seers of the Self and seers of Truth. This \r\nchange in attitude was obviously necessary both for self-discovery and for a \r\nclearer understanding of one&#39;s country.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-132</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">Especially is this an essential need in \r\nIndia today, not for India alone but for the whole of humanity...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthis Shyampukur house was situated the <i>Karmayogin</i> and <i>Dharma</i> office... Those of \r\nus who lived here as permanent residents used to cook our own food. It was all \r\nvegetarian food, not because that was part of our ideal but because it was the \r\neasier to cook. Our breakfasts were very regular, since they came from the \r\nshops; they consisted of fried rice, coconuts and fritters,—we had not yet \r\nacquired a taste for tea. But about our lunch there reigned a concrete anarchy. \r\nIf we felt the urge, the cooking was done and the lunch was over before it was \r\nten. And on the days when we did not feel the urge, we went on idling and \r\ncoaxing each other to the task till it was about three in the afternoon before \r\nthe whole business was done with. Some kind of order was introduced in this \r\nreign of irregularity only when Hem Sen happened to be present. HemSen was a \r\nHathayogin. Perhaps it was his Hatha Yoga that had taught him how not to \r\nencourage this kind of physical lethargy. It is rather strange that I have no \r\nrecollections about our evening meal. This much however is certain that we did \r\nnot skip this meal, and I do remember about an occasional visit to a hotel and \r\ntreating ourselves to dishes prepared in Western style...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthis time Sri Aurobindo lived in College Square, at the house of his uncle, Sri \r\nKrishnakumar Mitra, editor and proprietor of <i>Sanjivani,</i> a Bengali nationalist \r\npaper. I saw Sri Aurobindo in this house only once and that too for a few \r\nseconds. Once we were out of funds and I had been deputed to see him on that \r\naccount. The impression I carry of that house and its approaches are those of a \r\npress and of things connected with a press. I came at about nine in the morning \r\nand was taken to a room upstairs. I had waited barely a couple of minutes when \r\nSri Aurobindo entered by one of the inner doors. He was dressed in a twill shirt \r\nand <i>dhoti </i>and had chappals on. He put some money into my hands and left without \r\nsaying a word. I do not remember how much it was, perhaps some twenty or \r\ntwenty-five rupees. I came back to Shyampukur with the money.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-133</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFrom this College Square house, Sri Aurobindo used to come to Shyampukur Lane \r\nevery day at about four or five in the afternoon. I have said that none of us \r\ntook tea in those days. But we had the tea things ready and when Sri Aurobindo \r\ncame he was served a cup of tea with some <i>luchi</i> and potatoes and <i>halwa</i> obtained \r\nfrom a corner shop in Grey Street. He would be busy for sometime with his work \r\nconnected with the papers. Then he would come and chat with us and there was \r\nautomatic writing almost every day...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAbout this period Sri Aurobindo had been studying Tamil. A South Indian \r\ngentleman used to come to this Shyampukur house and gave him his Tamil lessons \r\nin one of the office rooms. I remember how one day, after he had finished his \r\nlesson, he came back and said to us full of glee like a schoolboy of fourteen, \r\n&quot;Do you know what is Pirentir Nat Tatta-kopta?&quot; We were of course all left \r\nspeechless in our ignorance. Then he explained, &quot;That is Birendranath \r\nDatta-gupta in Tamil.&quot; Tamil has only the first and the last letters in each of \r\nthe first five groups of Sanskrit consonants and does not seem to recognise in \r\nits alphabet the existence of the other three, nor does it have the conjunct \r\nconsonants. Hence in Tamil Birendra can be Pirentir, Nath became Nat, Datta \r\ndevelops into Tatta. But Gupta need not have become Kopta but for Sri \r\nAurobindo&#39;s sense of fun.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave said earlier that Sri Aurobindo used to come to Shyampukur at about four or \r\nfive in the afternoon. He returned from here to College Square by nine-thirty or \r\nten in the evening. We used to see him off at the Grey Street corner where he \r\ncaught the tram... Sometimes he got very late, so late that the trams were not \r\navailable and a carriage had to be hired for him. The horse-drawn carriages had \r\nnot yet disappeared from the Calcutta streets under the law of survival of the \r\nfittest...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow to return to my story. One day, in the month of February, in the year 1910, \r\nin a room upstairs at No. 4 Shyampukur Lane, at about eight in the evening, Sri \r\nAurobindo was doing some automatic writing and reading it </p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; line-height:150%\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-134</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\naloud to some of us \r\nyoung people. If anyone were to suppose that this being the writing of spirits, \r\nthe thing was entirely serious from the beginning to the end, he would be making \r\na mistake. All spirits are not serious people; there were some who loved humour \r\nand mirth. Hence those s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font>ances were sometimes grave with solemn voices and \r\nsometimes bubbling with laughter and fun. The spirit-writings were going on at \r\nfull speed when there came into the room our friend and associate Rambabu, \r\nRamchandra Majumdar.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">He \r\ntoo was a young man, still below thirty, a man with a fair complexion. He wore a \r\nbeard, not carelessly but very well-trimmed. The care he took of his hair and \r\nthe manner in which he dressed suggested always as if he was out for his \r\nwedding. I do not remember to have ever noticed anything untidy or dirty about \r\nhis dress or hair. He had a scar on his forehead, perhaps a relic of his docile \r\nchildhood. Rambabu was a man of Calcutta and belonged to that particular area \r\nwhere we lived. His house was in a lane off Grey Street. He was on the staff of \r\n<i>Karmayogin</i> and <i>Dharma.</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nhe entered the room, he informed Sri Aurobindo in a rather anxious voice that \r\nthey had again issued a fresh warrant against him. The information was from a \r\nreliable source, had been conveyed to him by a high police official. This was \r\nnot something very unexpected. For some time past there had been a rumour that \r\nthe Government would not rest until they had Sri Aurobindo in their grasp again. \r\nNevertheless, the whole atmosphere of the room immediately changed as the news \r\ncame. In place of the bubbling mirth there prevailed a deep silence, like sudden \r\ndarkness after a strong illumination. All of us waited with anxious hearts. Sri \r\nAurobindo seemed to think for a few seconds. Then he said, &quot;I shall go to \r\nChandernagore.&quot; Rambabu said, &quot;Just now?&quot; Sri Aurobindo replied, &quot;Just now this \r\nvery moment.&quot; You need not however suppose that these were the actual words \r\nused. I am trying merely to convey the manner of their conversation and outline \r\nthe events that followed.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-135</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSri Aurobindo stood up and left the house accompanied by Rambabu. A little \r\nbehind them followed Biren and I came out next and followed the three. We thus \r\nformed a small procession, not a festive one but a silent procession, with Sri \r\nAurobindo and Rambabu at the head, Biren following them from a little behind and \r\nkeeping them within view, and last of all myself a little farther behind Biren \r\nkeeping him in my view. This silent procession of four, apparently disjoined but \r\nlinked together by subtle bonds, went along a northerly route.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nlong as Sri Aurobindo remained in that house it used to be watched by the men of \r\nthe CID. Just a few days ago, simply in order to escape the attentions of the \r\npolice officials, our s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">é</font>ances of automatic writing had had to be removed from a \r\nroom overlooking the lane to an inner apartment. But we found that on that \r\nparticular evening, when Sri Aurobindo and Rambabu came out of the house and the \r\ntwo of us followed in succession, there was not a trace of any policeman \r\nanywhere about the house.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nmy childhood I had once seen a play entitled <i>Surath Uddhar</i> (The Rescue of \r\nSurath). Puranjaya Singha, the trusted commander of King Suratha, had been \r\nthrown into prison as a result of an intrigue. As he was about to be rescued \r\nfrom prison, the gods sent the goddess of sleep to close the eyes of the \r\nsentries. The sentries of course had to yawn half a dozen times and rub their \r\neyes and then roll down the stage. Whether in like manner the gods had on this \r\noccasion sent the goddess of drink to seize the throat of the CID man, or \r\nwhether the man had gone somewhere for some fresh air or anything more solid I \r\ndo not know. Or perhaps the man had been used to temper his sense of duty by his \r\ncleverness and skill all these days. Sri Aurobindo used to come to this place \r\nabout four or five and leave only after nine in the evening. To cool one&#39;s heels \r\nin that narrow lane all this length of time was nothing but foolishness; the \r\ntime could be better utilised elsewhere on some other distraction that might \r\nsoothe the heart. So, perhaps he used to leave the place after seeing Sri \r\nAurobindo enter the premises about four or five in the afternoon, fully assured \r\nthat everything was all right</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-136</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">and he would return to duty before nine o&#39;clock \r\nafter having had his fill of pleasure. However that be, it was found that on \r\nthat particular occasion the CID man was not present, whatever might be the \r\nreason. I am rather curious to learn what happened to him at Headquarters after \r\nthat day.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nany case, I do not think that the police could have done much even if they had \r\nbeen present. I have said that Rambabu belonged to that area and it was evident \r\nthat he knew every little nook and corner in that locality. With Sri Aurobindo \r\nhe entered an area which to me looked something strange and unthinkable. I was a \r\nrecent arrival in Calcutta and had not yet got over my &quot;provincial&quot; outlook. So \r\nfar I had come across in that city rows of tall buildings proudly flanking the \r\nspacious streets. But I could not have even dreamed before I entered that area \r\nthat a creature called man who is usually credited with an amount of \r\nintelligence could have made his dwelling into such a maze. I felt certain that \r\nthis could have had no other object in view than to forestall on that particular \r\nday a possible pursuit by the CID men. The houses stood huddled together in \r\ncompact line, the lanes appeared in quick succession, there came a turn at every \r\nstep. Not a soul was about and not a sound could be heard at that early hour. \r\nThe radio of course had not yet come, but the gramophones were there and in any \r\ncase, a certain amount of practice in singing had already become a sine qua non \r\nfor securing a husband for the young maid. But no strains of music reached our \r\nears from anywhere, either from a gramophone or from the do-re-mi-fa of the \r\nharmonium. On that solitary path in a locality criss -crossed by so many lanes \r\nand turns, in that dense silence, it was impossible for the police or for anyone \r\ndoubly more competent than the police to give chase and keep the fugitive within \r\nsight till the end. That is why I say that even if the CID man had been actually \r\npresent on duty, I do not think he would have achieved much. The only thing he \r\nwould have learnt would be that on that particular evening, Sri Aurobindo on \r\ncoming out of the house had instead of returning home to College Square left for \r\nan unknown destination through the mazes</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-137</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">of a particular locality. It may be \r\nthat if the Calcutta CID had on its staff a man like Sherlock Holmes or the \r\nFrench Pirot, he might have managed to trace him to Chandernagore with the help \r\nof that faint clue. And in that, case perhaps this story would not have been \r\nwritten.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut as it happened, we walked on in silence for some fifteen or twenty minutes \r\nand finally landed at one of the river <i>ghats</i>. As I have said, I was a newcomer \r\nto Calcutta—it was not yet three months since I arrived—and I was therefore not \r\nvery well acquainted with the city. Hence I cannot say for certain which \r\nparticular <i>ghat </i>it was; it might have been the Bagbazar ghat for all I know. On \r\narriving at the<i> ghat,</i> Rambabu hailed one of the boatmen and said, &quot;Hey, would \r\nyou take a fare?&quot; These words of Rambabu and his voice still ring in my ears. \r\nThe conversation that took place next between the boatman and our Rambabu was in \r\na low voice. Sri Aurobindo now got into the boat and Biren and I followed. \r\nRambabu took his leave. The boat sailed off. As we sailed up the river and \r\nreached midstream, it was clear that it happened to be a moonlit night. The \r\nwaves danced and sparkled all round in the bright light of the moon. I do not \r\nknow what was the exact phase. Perhaps it was, in the words of Tagore,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:75px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;The Eleventh day of the bright phase, </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen the sleepless moon went </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSailing \r\nalone on her dream-boat.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll else looked so remote now—the police and the city with its spite and \r\nviolence and strife; even the questions that preoccupied us of the country&#39;s \r\nfreedom and bondage became insignificant. We felt as if reborn into the calm \r\nwide-ness of Nature out of the cramping hold of our man-made civilisation...</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-138</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-20_Appendix','','publish','closed','open','','20_appendix','','','2021-11-23 17:21:25','2021-11-23 17:21:25','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/20_appendix/',0,'post','',0),(1408,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>IX</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p align=\"center\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><b>IX</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>TWO GREAT WARS</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nhave been through two great World Wars in the course of our life in Pondicherry. \r\nThis was quite an experience.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe two Wars were identical in their inner nature and import. From our point of \r\nview, they were both of them a battle of the gods and the titans. On one side \r\nwere the instruments of the gods, on the other of the titans. It is a curious \r\nthing, if not altogether strange, that Germany and, to some extent, Russia \r\nshould have sided with the titans and England and France and America fought on \r\nthe side of the gods.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis is something that happens always in the history of man, this battle of the \r\ngods and the titans. Whenever there is a New Creation in the offing, and man is \r\nto be carried a step forward in his evolution, there comes up ranged against him \r\nthe forces of Evil who do not want him to rise to a higher level of \r\nconsciousness, towards the godhead. They want to hold man bound down in their \r\ngrip.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSuch a moment of crisis came to man in the time of Sri Krishna. The Kurukshetra \r\nWar is known as a war of righteousness, <i>dharma-yuddha;</i> it was a war of the gods \r\nand the titans. On the battlefield of Kurukshetra Sri Krishna gave his message \r\nthat was to initiate the New Age that was coming. In exactly the same way, Sri \r\nAurobindo began to proclaim his message with the opening of the guns in the \r\nfirst World War. The War began in August 1914; on the 15th August of the same \r\nyear came out the first number of his Review, the <i>Arya.</i> Another point of note: \r\nthe <i>Arya </i>continued almost as long as the War lasted. The &quot;official end&quot; of the \r\nWar came towards the close of May, 1921; the <i>Arya </i>ceased in January of the same \r\nyear. The Mother had arrived in the meantime to make Pondicherry her home.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe War left India practically untouched and without any major upheaval. It came \r\nand blew over like a stray wind, even as the raids of the Emden did on the \r\nIndian seas. Our memories of the War are still associated with that</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-70</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nstrange \r\nepisode. The German cruiser passed by the shores of Pondicherry without doing \r\nany damage here, though Madras city received a few shell-shots. But I distinctly \r\nremember how many of the local residents, that is, those who lived on the \r\nPondicherry sea-face, fled pell-mell towards the west, in the direction of the \r\npresent Lake Estate. They packed themselves into rows of &quot;push-push&quot; carts—we \r\nhad no rickshaws in those days—and looked for safety among the ravines of the \r\nRed Hills, or perhaps was it to hide themselves in the waters of the Lake, like Mainaka of the Indian legend?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIndia had been under the protection of England, so it was Europe that had to \r\nbear the burnt of the attack. We escaped with just a mild touch, though it did \r\nproduce a few ripples here and there. First and foremost of these was the birth \r\nof the Bengali army—not a professional army of paid soldiers serving under the \r\nGovernment, but a corps of national volunteers. With the sole exception of the \r\nPunjabis and the Gurkhas, Indian troops were not in those days considered as on \r\na par with European soldiers in the matter of fighting capacity. And Bengalis of \r\ncourse were treated with special contempt. They had of late shown some courage \r\nor skill in the art of secret assassination, but in the opinion of many that was \r\na &quot;dastardly crime&quot;. But a trained and disciplined army was quite another \r\nmatter. Now, a band of young men from Chandernagore taking the opportunity \r\nprovided by the War formed themselves into a corps of Volunteers, some fifteen \r\nof them. They were French citizens and were therefore to join the War on the \r\nside of the French and the British. They arrived in Pondicherry on their way to \r\nFrance, a band of young men beaming with courage and intelligence. Our Haradhan \r\nwas among their number. The picture of young Haradhan, a tall erect figure of a \r\nman, calm and audacious, still lingers in my mind. He used to narrate to us on \r\nhis return from the War many stories of his experiences. Once he had even been \r\nshipwrecked by a torpedo and had to swim for his life to a life-boat off the \r\ncoast of Tunisia. Haradhan has recorded his experience of the War in a book </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-71</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nlet entitled &quot;The New Ways of Warfare&quot;, modelled on Barin&#39;s &quot;Principles of \r\nModern Warfare&quot; that we used to read in our early days.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nSome of the War scenes of Pondicherry come to mind. Here there was no question \r\nof volunteers. France has compulsory military training and Frenchmen on \r\nattaining the age of eighteen have to join the armed forces and undergo military \r\ntraining for a full period of one or two years. The Renoncants of Pondicherry, \r\nthat is, those Indians who had secured their full citizenship rights by \r\nrenouncing their personal status under the Indian law, were also subject to this \r\nobligation of compulsory military service. There was in consequence a great \r\nagitation among our local friends and associates. They had to leave in large \r\nnumbers to join the French forces. Among them was our most intimate friend, \r\nDavid, the noted goalie of our celebrated football team. He had only just been \r\nmarried. I remember how regularly his wife used to offer worship to Mariamma \r\n(Virgin Mary) praying for his safety and well-being, during the period of nearly \r\nthree years that he had to be away: they were of course Christians. The \r\nplaintive tones of her hymns still ring in my ears. David returned after the War \r\nwas over, perhaps with the rank of Brigadier. I still remember the welcome he \r\nwas accorded on his return. He later became the Mayor of Pondicherry. I also \r\nrecall the story of our Benjamin. His mother burst into sobs as she learnt he \r\nwas to leave our shores. There were so many mothers and sisters who had to shed \r\nbitter tears as they saw off at the pier the boatloads of men. Benjamin however \r\ndid not have to go. He became a &quot;reforme&quot;, that is, disqualified in the medical \r\ntest.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWithin the country itself, Indian patriots with terrorist leanings tried to use \r\nin their own way this opportunity to bring England down to her knees. One such \r\ngroup, &quot;the Gadar party&quot;, as it tried to land arms and ammunition obtained by \r\nship from America, was caught red-handed. Another was led by &quot;Tiger&quot; Jyotin, our \r\nTejen&#39;s father as you all know, who waged open war with the police at Buri-balam</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-72</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;in Orissa and died fighting with all his followers. We have a cinema film of the \r\ndramatic episode here. A third consisting of our &#39;refugee&#39; patriots assassinated \r\nthe tyrannical Magistrate, Ashe, through a conspiracy hatched in Pondicherry \r\nitself.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhether or not such sporadic acts and activities had any real utility may be \r\nopen to question. But a great and noble movement does not keep within the bounds \r\nof &quot;expediency&quot;; it proceeds along the lines of its inner urge and law. These \r\npatriots and revolutionaries had shown how much could be achieved by ,a nation \r\nof slaves, even in that epoch and under those circumstances, by a band of slaves \r\nand prisoners bound hand and foot by their chains; they had worked to the utmost \r\nof what was possible then and according to their capacity. The World War had \r\nbrought them an opportunity; they thought they might be able to shake England \r\noff the seat of her power. They had taken it as self-evident that England&#39;s \r\ndifficulty was going to be our opportunity.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFrom a larger point of view, the first Great War can be taken as ushering a \r\n<i>finale</i> to the French Revolution. The Revolution had rolled to the dust the heads \r\nof a single monarch and his queen. But the end of this War saw the disappearance \r\nof practically all the crowned heads of Europe. Those that remained like the \r\nmonarchy in England were left as puppets without power. This was an external \r\nsymbol whose real significance lay in the awakening of the masses and their \r\ncoming to power. This meant that not only wealth and affluence but also \r\neducation and culture were no longer to be the privileges of the few; they must \r\nbe made available to all. Money and position must be within everybody&#39;s reach, \r\nall must get a chance to show their merit. To use our own terminology, the \r\nhigher Light and Consciousness that are descending on earth and helping man \r\nforward in his march to the heights were now to find their fulfillment: they \r\nwould be firmly established and become a living force in the general level of \r\nmankind.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat is why in the second place the message brought by</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-73</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;the War was that of \r\nfreedom and autonomy for all, for the individual as well as for the collectivity \r\nor nation. Colonialism was to cease to exist; even the smallest nations were to \r\nwin their freedom. This new era of progress was begun by the First World War.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nthird boon was to lay the foundations of an International Society. This no doubt \r\nimplied that the different countries and peoples of the world were to attain \r\ntheir freedom and autonomy. But in order that the smaller units might be left in \r\nsecurity and there might be a check on unjust dealings among the nations, there \r\nhad to come into being a Society of Nations where the representatives of all the \r\nnations could meet. This is what came to be known as the League of Nations. The \r\nunity of the human race was to be founded on a complex harmony of the diverse \r\ngroups of men.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe ideal now was to create a race of men endowed with the highest gifts of \r\neducation and training—what in the view of the sages and mystics would be a race \r\nof god-men— the transformation of man from the animal-state to that of the gods. \r\nBut that was precisely what stirred the opposing Forces to action. They were to \r\nkeep man distracted, lure him from the good path into evil ways, change him, not \r\ninto a god but a demon, a titan, a ghoul. (Goethe once had presented this \r\npicture.) That is how man got his notion of the super-race, and the notion took \r\nconcrete shape among a particular people and some particular individuals. That \r\nis what lay behind the rise of Hitler and his Nazis in Germany. Stalin and his \r\nBolsheviks appeared as their counterparts in Russia. Mussolini was their \r\nhenchman, a &quot;satellite&quot; in modern parlance. Our Puranic scriptures tell of the \r\nancient Shumbha and Nishumbha, Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu, Shishupala and \r\nRaktadanta, dual power of Evil defying the Divine Power. Something similar \r\nseemed to be happening again.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHere was precisely what lay behind the origins of the second Great War: the \r\ndescent of Evil incarnate to bar the descent of the Divine Power</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-73</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-11_Two Great War','','publish','closed','open','','11_two-great-war','','','2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/11_two-great-war/',0,'post','',0),(1409,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>XIII</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>\r\nXIII</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>MY \r\nATHLETICS</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThere is in the Upanishad a description of the stage in man&#39;s life when he \r\nbecomes so old and decrepit that he cannot walk except on a stick, <i>tvam j<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>rno</i>\r\n<i>dandena va<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>casi. </i>At precisely that stage in our life, we in the Ashram received \r\na call to plunge into the activities of our Playground. I was then perhaps the \r\noldest among the inmates, and had long passed the fifty-year limit once set by \r\nthe ancients for repairing to the forest, <i>pa<font face=\"Times New Roman\">ñ</font>c<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>sordhe vanam vrajet;</i> I was in \r\nfact in my early sixties.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFor at least twenty years previous to that, we had been taking it rather easy \r\nand were doing very little physical work or exercise. That had been what might \r\nbe described as a period of inner preparation, a time devoted almost entirely to \r\nmeditation and study. Lest however I should lose all elasticity of body, I had \r\nbeen making use of two opportunities for some kind of exercise. One was to ride \r\non a bicycle once a week to the local French Post Office and back. The Mother \r\nused to receive her foreign mail in those days through that Post Office, and on \r\nme had devolved the task of bringing in the mail. That incidentally was how I \r\ngot my famous headgear: it came in connection with this particular item of work. \r\nDuring summer, the hot summer months of Pondicherry, I had to go to the Post \r\nOffice in the blazing sun. It was quite a distance in those days and I felt I \r\nneeded some kind of protection for my skull. I struck upon a device. The mail \r\nhad to be carried in bags, one or two white canvas bags. I folded them up in two \r\nand put them on my head, the two corners of the bags sticking out on either side \r\nlike a pair of horns. This gave the children of the local school an occasion for \r\na hearty laugh one day: &quot;Quel bonnet! quel bonnet!&quot;—&quot;What a cap! what a cap!&quot; \r\nthey cried. When I mentioned this to the Mother, she said, &quot;All right, we shall \r\nsee.&quot; We had a French lady, called in the Ashram by the name of Sarala, staying \r\nwith us here at &quot;Belle Vue&quot;, with her husband who was known as Shuchi. Shuchi \r\ndied later and was buried in the public cemetery in Pondicherry.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-106</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;This Sarala was \r\nasked to devise something for my head. It was she who designed my skull-cap \r\nwhich has since been the inspiration for many a subsequent imitation.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me in this connection tell you another amusing story. One day there came to \r\nthe Post Office a packet addressed to the Mother from Japan. It was war time and \r\nthe rules were very strict, lest any kind of undesirable matter should find \r\nentry. One of the Post Office employees, a Frenchman, opened the packet in my \r\npresence. He found in it nothing else except a single sheet of paper with \r\nsomething on it that looked like a sketch—-just the branch of a tree. The \r\nofficial handed me the paper with obvious disappointment, adding his comment, \r\n&quot;Une branche quelconque&quot;—&quot;some sort of a branch!&quot; The &quot;branche&quot; happened to be a \r\nfine piece of Japanese painting. But who would appreciate that? Not in any case \r\na detective of the Post Office. I mentioned the incident to Sri Aurobindo. He \r\ncould never forget the story; at the slightest opportunity he would come out \r\nwith that &quot;une branche quelconque&quot;.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow to come back to the point. I was speaking of the kind of exercise I had in \r\nthose days, that medieval period of our existence, perhaps you would call it. \r\nThe second item in my physical education programme was still more impressive. It \r\nconsisted in giving a very careful wash to my clothes when I took my bath. This \r\nallowed some exercise to the limbs and body and I considered this as the minimum \r\nneeded for keeping up the physical tone; it did duty for push-ups and dumbbells \r\nand everything else. I should add another item: that was walking, a kind of \r\nmorning walk. Early in the morning every day I used to go out and deliver to the \r\nsadhaks the letters written to them by Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. In those \r\ndays, of course, the Ashram houses were not so many and not so far apart, so it \r\nwas not exactly a 1500 or 5000 metre walking race.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhave told you, we received the call to join the Playground activities. I was \r\nenlisted in the Blue group. In those days it was the Mother who decided who \r\nwould go to which group;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-107</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">in \r\nany case it was done with her knowledge and approval. Udar was our captain. We \r\nstarted learning the steps, &quot;Un, deux, un, deux&quot;. Ages ago, I had done some \r\nmilitary marching with the Volunteer Corps, but that was only for a, few days. I \r\nremember how in that enthusiasm for everything Swadeshi, they had started giving \r\nthe marching orders in Bengali: &quot;Turn to the left&quot;, &quot;Turn to the right&quot;, &quot;Drop \r\nout&quot; (in place of &quot;Dismiss&quot; or &quot;Rompez vos rangs&quot;)!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nhad to start on this new athletic career without any preliminary practice or \r\ntraining. Many of you may recall how we joined in our first competitive \r\ntournament, on the site along the sea-face where the Tennis grounds stand— they \r\nhad not yet been built. I had no knowledge of the special technique, there was \r\nno warming up or anything. We just walked in and took our positions along the \r\nstarting line, and off we went as soon as the whistle blew. We simply ran for \r\nour lives, with the result that I sprained a thigh muscle in my first run. \r\nLuckily, this happened near the goal, so I could finish the race. The results \r\nwere not bad: I shared the second place with Pavitra and Yogananda—the first \r\nposition went to someone, a sannyasin who is no longer with us. I took part in \r\nthe long jump in the same manner, without any previous practice or warming up. \r\nSome people advised me to do a little preliminary training, but I was obliged to \r\nreply, &quot;My sole events in the course of a whole year are a single race and three \r\njumps. They do not deserve more.&quot; This is the opening chapter in my new career \r\nof athletics.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthat time I had not the faintest notion that one day I would develop into a \r\nregular athlete, that is to say, undergo all kinds of training and exercise. I \r\ntold you once about the difference between the physical training activities here \r\nand the way we used to set about them in our time. This is an age of science and \r\nthose were the days of untrained skill. Let me illustrate from an experience I \r\nhad in football. We never observed the rule that a proper warming up is needed \r\nbefore one joins the game. We entered the field straightway, and it has happened \r\nseveral times that after the first long run at the beginning of the game I felt \r\nabsolutely worn out and wondered </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-108</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">how on earth I was going to last through the \r\ngame. Of course, everything was all right after a while and the body received a \r\nnew influx of energy as it got warmed up—we used to call it &quot;heating up the \r\nblood&quot;. Today, the first and most important principle of any kind of game or \r\nother exercise is &quot;training&quot;, a detailed and minute training. Formerly, one \r\ncould pass off as a master by simply mastering the rules of the game. This \r\napplied not only to games like cricket or football; even in our own native \r\nwrestling and lathi-play, &quot;training&quot; meant nothing more than getting acquainted \r\nwith all the tricks and applying them correctly in practice. But that is not \r\nwhat is now meant by &quot;training&quot;. &quot;Training&quot; implies a special preparation of the \r\nbody, making it apt for a special kind of activity. First of all, one has to \r\nacquire a general all-round physical fitness. Next, one has to find out which \r\nparticular parts of the body and which of the muscles are specially called into \r\naction in any particular movement and these have to be specially trained with a \r\nview to give them the necessary strength, endurance and skill, exactly like a \r\nmaterial instrument, as if they were bits of dead matter. In whatever activity \r\nyou wish to specialise, for specialisation seems to be the aim of physical \r\nculture today, you have to prepare yourself for it; the preparation itself \r\nbecomes the main objective, the end in view is relegated to the second position. \r\nYou take part in a 100 metre race, actually a matter of a few seconds only. But \r\nin order to prepare for the race, you have to train for several hours every day, \r\nfor days on end over a period of months and perhaps years.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFormerly, the entire emphasis was on the game itself, not so much on the person \r\nwho played the game; it used to be said that it was the game that made the \r\nplayer. But now the scales have turned the other way: the player has become the \r\nmain interest. The concentration is on the player himself and his training is \r\nthe main thing. He has first of all to build up the body, next his vital forces, \r\nand finally even his mind and will power have to be geared to the end in view; \r\nthe inner psychological factors are taken particularly into account today.</p>\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-109</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;In \r\nscience too the same thing is noticeable, even in the study of physical science. \r\nFormerly, the whole effort of science lay in discovering and establishing the \r\nexistence of the separate, self-existing and independent, elements in Nature and \r\nin finding out the mechanism of their action through the methods of observation \r\nand experiment. Now it is being said, observation and experiment are all right \r\nso far as they go, but at the same time one cannot ignore the person who makes \r\nthe observation and experiment; he too has an importance, perhaps a prime \r\nimportance.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">To \r\na certain extent, I too have gone through this phase of modern &quot;training&quot;, as \r\nyou all know. I have given up the old methods of learning by rule-of-thumb and \r\nhave tried to acquire some kind of proficiency through a process of regular \r\ntraining, following in the footsteps of many among yourselves, although I may \r\nnot have been able to tread the lines of our Madanlal. His theory seems to be \r\nthat the more effort you put in the greater becomes your skill or ability and \r\nthat there is no game on earth that you cannot master by sheer dint of hard \r\nwork. Madanlal himself is a living proof of his doctrine, for he is without a \r\nrival in this method of hard painstaking practice. There are, as you know, two \r\nmain types among those who do well in studies or—shall we say? —there are two \r\nways of becoming a good student. There are those who, gifted with natural \r\nintelligence and ability, waste the whole year in all sorts of extra-curricular \r\nactivities and in pleasures and pastimes and then read up for days and nights \r\nfor a month or two just before the examination and get through the test and even \r\nsecure high places. There is the second type who read and work hard throughout \r\nthe whole year, devote some time every day to their studies, and never run the \r\nrisk of falling ill or having a nervous breakdown about the time of the \r\nexamination on account of excessive work. Our Madanlal belongs to this second \r\ncategory. He is really out to prove by his own example that definition of genius \r\nwhich makes it nothing but the capacity for taking infinite pains.I \r\nhave to mention another name in this connection.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-110</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">For much of what I have now \r\nachieved in the field of athletics I owe a deep debt to our Chinmoy. He has been \r\nmy coach. What have I learnt from him? It is enthusiasm. What do I mean by \r\nenthusiasm? I shall explain. One of the secrets of physical training is that you \r\nmust always try to perform a little more than your capacity, or what you may \r\nthink is the limit of your powers. Perhaps it was with this end in view that in \r\nour time when one had to exercise a particular part of the body, the \r\ninstructions were to go on repeating the movement until one began to sweat and \r\nfelt exhausted. For how long am I to manipulate the dumb-bells or the Indian \r\nclubs? Until you are tired, the chart said, that is, until you felt you could do \r\nno more. Now of course, nothing is done by such haphazard guesswork. You have to \r\nrepeat the movements for a certain definite number of times, by actual count, \r\nsay, five or six repetitions for the first day, to be increased by one or two \r\nevery day or every week, a final limit being set in respect of each individual \r\naccording to his capacity. This is the method of scientific training today.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhatever the method you adopt, your strength and capacity have to be increased \r\nin this manner. If you go beyond your limits, there is always a chance of \r\naccidents, but you accept the risk. The carefree enthusiast asks you to hitch \r\nyour wagon to a star whereas the more cautious would point to the tragedy of \r\nIcarus. The legendary hero of Greek mythology had invented wings for man to fly, \r\nbut he built them of wax. His aim had been to reach the sun, but as he came near \r\nthat burning orb the wax got melted by the heat and his wings vanished and he \r\nwas hurled back headlong down to earth.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWell, it was from Chinmoy that I got the courage or the fool hardiness for an \r\nattempt of this kind. This has been of great help to me. But there was a \r\nconsiderable resistance born of old age, even though we are here precisely to \r\nget rid of that. The resistance comes from two sources. It is there first of all \r\nin your own individual consciousness; you have heard of the adage about getting \r\nold before twenty. It is true that here in the Ashram we are often apt to \r\nforget, or</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-111</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nwe try to forget, to take count of our age. For example, even at the \r\nage of sixty, I did not quite realise or, rather, my body did not feel—it is \r\nquite natural for the mind not to feel, but the body itself must realise—that it \r\ncarried any load of ignore than twenty-five or thirty years. This kind of \r\nfeeling must have come at one time or another to many among the older people \r\nhere. This is indeed the root idea behind our desire to conceal the true age and \r\nreckon our age at less than the true figure. This recourse to a slight falsehood \r\ncomes of an attempt to express and maintain the fact of our youth that is still \r\neffective in our life and inner consciousness in spite of our years. But the \r\ninexorable law of the external physical nature is still in operation. It invades \r\nour mind and pains it at times. Moreover, in addition to this resistance in our \r\nown individual consciousness or frame of mind, there is pressing upon us from \r\nall around the collective resistance, a resistance that comes from the \r\nconsciousness and mental attitude of everybody else, the neighbours with whom we \r\nlive. Even if we manage to forget, they will remind us of the pressure of \r\nadvancing age. It is difficult ordinarily to escape from the influence of this \r\ndouble pressure. But to get rid of this influence and pressure is after all the \r\nvery aim of our endeavour here.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-112</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; text-indent: 25px; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-15_My Athletics','','publish','closed','open','','15_my-athletics','','','2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/15_my-athletics/',0,'post','',0),(1410,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>MURARIPUKUR—</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\"><b>\r\n<u>MURARIPUKUR — (1)</u></b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nlast I made up my mind finally to take the plunge, that I must now join the \r\nManicktolla Gardens in Muraripukur. That meant goodbye to College, goodbye to \r\nthe ordinary life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nA little while ago, Prafulla Chakravarti had come and joined. Both of us \r\nbelonged to Rungpore, both were of nearly the same age, and intimate friends. \r\nThis too pushed me to my decision.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nI had already taken a vow about a year ago, in front of a picture of Kali at a \r\nsecret ceremony at dead of night, a vow written out in blood drawn from the \r\nchest, that I should dedicate my life to the whole-hearted service of the \r\nMotherland. With me there was a companion, and also a local leader who had read \r\nout the oath. This leader became a Sannyasin later on and rose to be the head of \r\na <i>Math;</i> he has since given up his body, so I have heard. My companion of \r\nthat day is still alive; he did not give up the world and in fact became a very \r\nsuccessful man; at present he is enjoying his rest in retirement.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nI lived in a students\' Mess, one that had acquired quite a name. Among the \r\ninmates were Atul Gupta, Charu Bhattacharya (late of the Visvabharati), and a \r\nlittle before my time there was Naresh Chandra Sengupta. In my first year of \r\nCollege, Atul Gupta was in his fourth year, Charu Bhattacharya in his fifth and \r\nNaresh Sengupta had just passed out. I happened once to set foot in the room he \r\nused to occupy and there I found scattered about the floor a few pages torn out \r\nof a notebook which read very much like love letters. This seemed to me a little \r\nstrange, but later I. realised these were some pages from the manuscript of one \r\nof his novels.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25pt\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis decision to choose my path came while I was in my Fourth Year. That I would \r\ndefinitely join the Gardens was conveyed to Barin by Prafulla. He had already \r\ntold </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 6</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;him about my antecedents, so one day I received a call— Barin would see me, as \r\nif at an interview for a post. Escorted by Prafulla, I arrived at his residence \r\nin Gopimohan Dutt Lane at Goabagan. This place acquired some renown during the \r\nAlipore case as a den of the terrorists. Next to the house there was a gymnasium \r\nfor the young men of the neighbourhood where wrestling and boxing and all kinds \r\nof dangerous martial exercises were practised.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis happened to be my first meeting with Barin. He received me with great \r\nkindness and had me seated next to him. I cannot now recall the details of the \r\nconversation we had, but perhaps there was nothing much to remember. One thing \r\nhowever I distinctly remember. He asked me if I had read the Gita. I said I had \r\nread it in parts. He handed me a copy and asked me to read aloud. I began \r\nreciting <i>&quot;Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre...&quot;</i> in a pure and undiluted Bengali \r\nstyle. He stopped me and cried out, &quot;That won\'t do. One doesn\'t read Sanskrit \r\nhere in the Bengali style. Listen, read like this.&quot; He gave a recital in the \r\nHindi style, that is, with the pronunciation current in the other parts of \r\nIndia.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThat was my first lesson in Sanskrit pronounced in the Sanskrit way. Later I \r\nhave heard the correct Sanskrit accent so often from Sri Aurobindo himself. I \r\nhave heard him recite from the Veda, from the Upanishads, from the Gita. Today, \r\nI too do not read Sanskrit in the Bengali way, even when reading from an article \r\nin Bengali.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas settled that I would join the Gardens and stay there. But I did not give up \r\nmy rooms at the Mess. My books and papers and furniture<sup>;</sup>—a bedstead \r\nand the table-lamp, for there was no electric light in those days—were all left \r\nin charge of my room-mate, and I paid only an occasional visit. I attended \r\nCollege as well, but at infrequent intervals. College studies could no longer \r\ninterest me.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas about this time that I hovered around the newly founded National College in \r\nCalcutta for a short while. My aims were a little &quot;dubious&quot;. At the Gardens, \r\nthere </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 7</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;used to be discussions about the bomb, so an idea came to my head: could not \r\nthe National College offer an opportunity to study the subject? I thought of \r\nreading Chemistry and by joining the Chemistry practical learn the principles of \r\nexplosives. At that time the Superintendent (or perhaps Principal) was Satish \r\nChandra Mukeiji, Founder-President of the Dawn Society. I had met him several \r\nyears ago in the rooms of the Society.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me then narrate this earlier story in the present connection. I had just \r\ncome to Calcutta and joined the First Year. Atul Gupta took me to a meeting of \r\nthe Dawn Society. Benoy Sarkar was there, Radha Kumud Mukerji too was there, I \r\nthink—not his younger brother Radha Kamal who became one of my class-fellows in \r\nthe Third Year after he had passed the F.A. examination from Berhampore. Here is \r\na sketch of one of the Society\'s meetings. Satish Mukeiji took the chair. We \r\nwere about twenty or thirty young men in all. He read out a verse from the Gita: \r\n<i>yad yad vibh<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#363;</font>timat sattvam, \r\n<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>r<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>mad-<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#363;</font>rjitameva \r\nv<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>\r\n</i>and gave a short explanation in a few words. Then we formed ourselves into \r\nsmall groups of four or five. We were to discuss what is meant by &quot;<i><font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>r<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>man&quot;</i> \r\nand \r\n<i>&quot;vibh<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#363;</font>tim<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>n&quot;</i>, \r\nwhere is the difference between the two, what do we understand by <i>&quot;<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#363;</font>rjita&quot; \r\n</i>? Each group was to discuss separately, each member was to say what he had \r\nto say, and finally all of us were to write out in the form of an essay our \r\nrespective viewpoints. The essays would then be submitted to the chairman for \r\nhis consideration and judgment. I sat absolutely dumb in that first session, an \r\nignoramus among the learned, like a goose in the midst of swans. (I must have \r\nbeen about fourteen at that time.) But I did not feel quite at ease in that \r\natmosphere, I had an impression it was all fine talk and dry debate, purely \r\nacademic, one would say. Satish Chandra had no doubt wanted to use this as a \r\nmeans of forming the character and not merely as an intellectual training, a way \r\nof moulding the life, something that had been missing in our college education. \r\nI do not know to what extent he succeeded in actual fact.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 8</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis was about the middle of 1904. It was three years later, about the middle of \r\n1907, that I met Satish Chandra again. He could not have remembered about me, \r\nnor did I remind him. He asked me, &quot;You are a student of literature and \r\nphilosophy. Why do you want to read Science? &quot;I have read physics and chemistry \r\nfor my F.A. (that is Intermediate). I have a special attraction for those \r\nsubjects, that is why.&quot; However, the matter did not proceed very far, for I was \r\ngetting more and more engrossed in the life at the Gardens.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAlmost about the same period, I had thought of another childish plan, again in \r\nconnection with the making of a bomb: the thing had so got into my head. I was a \r\nstudent of the Calcutta Presidency College where the great Jaga-dish Chandra was \r\nprofessor at the time. Here was the idea and it was approved by my leaders—could \r\nI not join his laboratory, as some kind of an assistant? Then one could carry on \r\nresearch and experiments on bombs. But how to get hold of him? I thought of \r\nSister Nivedita. She was a great friend of Jagadish Bose and it was easy to \r\ncatch hold of Nivedita, for she was one among our circle of acquaintances. But \r\nthe occasion did not arise for this line of advance, for things had been moving \r\nfast at the Gardens.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me say a few words about our life there. But may I preface it with an \r\namusing incident? I have said that my attendance at College had been getting \r\nmore and more irregular. This attracted the notice of some of my class-fellows. \r\nOne day, I found one of their representatives arriving &quot;on deputation&quot; to meet \r\nme at the Mess. He began questioning me as an intimate friend and well-wisher \r\nwith a show of great kindness and affection. &quot;Tell me,&quot; he said, &quot;what has been \r\nthe matter with you? What makes you keep away from College? Has there been a \r\nmishap somewhere? You have been such a good student and so regular in your \r\nattendance, what could have come over you all on a sudden?&quot; I could guess what \r\nhe must have been suspecting: surely it had something to do with my morals—<i>chercher \r\nla femme</i>! Was that the case here? Comp-laints</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 9</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nand entreaties having failed, he finally sought to console and encourage me with \r\nthese words, &quot;Don\'t you worry. If Calcutta does not suit you, let us leave the \r\nplace and go somewhere else. The two of us could stay together, and if we worked \r\nhard for, say, three or four months, we would get ready for the examination \r\nwithout fail. Our absence from College would make no difference.&quot; To this I \r\nreplied in a grave tone, &quot;Very well, I shall think it over.&quot; Lest there should \r\nbe similar attacks in the future, I practically gave up the Mess.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">One \r\nwould not say that life at the Gardens had settled down to a definite routine \r\nyet, for we had just begun. There were about a dozen or fourteen of us in all. \r\nThere were occasional visitors from outside who would come for a short stay and \r\nthen go back to their work. Naren Gos-wami had come like that for a couple of \r\ndays, so had Bha-vabhushan who later became a Sannyasin. We began with readings \r\nfrom the Gita and this became almost a fixed routine where everybody took part. \r\nEven the local Inspector of Police expressed a desire to join in these readings \r\nwith us Brahmacharins. But he had to pay dearly for that. He did not realise \r\nthat these were no ordinary lessons in the Gita but served as a fagade for our \r\npreparations for the bomb. For this he was, as we heard, later dismissed from \r\nthe service. The poor fellow had wanted to acquire a bit of spiritual merit \r\nwhich seemed to turn against him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">A \r\nbeginning however was made to introduce some kind of discipline and \r\norganisation. It was decided that the entire group should be formed into two \r\nsections, one &quot;civil&quot;, the other &quot;military&quot;. The &quot;military&quot; section was to \r\ninclude the active members and the others were to serve as auxiliaries. The idea \r\noriginally was to build up an armed force, a regular army in fact, with its full \r\ncomplement of weapons and equipment and trained by regular drills. The &quot;civil&quot; \r\nside was to deal with external work like journalism, propaganda and recruitment. \r\nThe \r\n<i>Yugantar</i>, and later the <i>Navashakti</i>, became our publicity organs. I \r\nwas not much attracted by this &quot;civil&quot; side; I wanted to become one of </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 10</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthe &quot;military&quot; men. Prafulla who was one of those dreamy, &quot;introvert&quot;, \r\nintellectual types and a good writer and speaker took up the &quot;civil&quot; work. They \r\nused to say with a touch of humour, no doubt, that he was the Mazzini and I was \r\nhis Garibaldi. But no provision had yet been made to give this &quot;Garibaldi the \r\nnecessary training in military drill or the use of weapons. So, I had to begin \r\nwith the science of warfare rather than its art. Barin was at that time writing \r\nhis series on The Principles of Modern Warfare for the<i> Yugantar</i>. I too \r\nbegan my study of the subject. I started going to the Imperial Library (now the \r\nNational Library) in Calcutta for my studies and research. Where could I begin? \r\nWell, it was a book called <i>The Art of War</i> by the German military expert, \r\nGlausewitz, a book where the very first sentence ran like this, &quot;The object of \r\nwarfare is to destroy the enemy and finish with him.&quot; I am not sure how this \r\nhelped me add to my knowledge of warfare or my skill in the art of fighting.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nDuring my last days in College, I used to study Mazzini in place of <i>King John \r\nor The Faerie Queene.</i> One day I suddenly discovered that they had removed my \r\nMazzini from the shelves of the library, and even the \r\n<i>Life and Death of Socrates</i> \r\nby Plato had disappeared. These books were no doubt supposed to turn the heads \r\nof our Indian students!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAbout this time, I had been several times to my home town Rungpore. There at the \r\nlocal Library, I discovered a fine book on the history of Secret Societies. The \r\nbook gave the story of how subject nations aspiring for freedom began their work \r\nin secret. In it the story of Ireland and Russia had been given a good deal of \r\nspace. The secret societies in Russia had a system which was rather distinctive. \r\nIt should have been taken over by us, so I have heard Sri Aurobindo say. They \r\nwould divide the underground workers into little groups of not more than five. \r\nNo group could know the others, only those belonging to a particular group would \r\nknow its own members. Each group had a leader, who alone would know his \r\nimmediate superior</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page -11</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;placed in charge of only four or five of such little groups. Similarly, the \r\nleader of the higher group would have dealings with the one next higher in rank \r\nwho would be in charge of the bigger groups, and so on, right to the, topmost \r\nman. Such a system was necessary, for in case someone got caught, that could not \r\nimplicate\' the entire organisation but only a handful of his acquaintances. One \r\nof the main instruments in the hands of the police or the government for \r\ndetecting a conspiracy is the confession extracted from the persons caught, \r\nwhether by torture, through temptations, from sheer bravado, or by whatever \r\nother means. Under that system, no one could know anybody except the few \r\nmembers, of his own group with whom he came into immediate contact through his \r\nwork, nor could he know anything about the general plan of work; he had to carry \r\nout only the part assigned to him.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthe Rungpore Library I came across another book, namely, Gibbon\'s famous <i>\r\nDecline and Fall of the Roman Empire.</i> I ran through the lengthy volumes from \r\nend to end with tremendous enthusiasm and added a great deal to my learning and \r\nknowledge. I had a hope that the book might throw some light as to how to bring \r\nabout the &quot;decline and fall&quot; of the British rule in India. I regret much help \r\ndid not come that way.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow, to come back to the Gardens and our organisational system. Nothing could be \r\narranged by way of an armed force, for our work itself took another turn. A \r\nmilitary organisation was now to give place to a terrorist organisation. In the \r\nearlier stages, we did not have much faith in terrorist methods, for, as we had \r\nseen about Russia, this path led only to mutual assassinations, murder and \r\nrevenge seemed to follow in an endless succession, leading to no final issue. \r\nThat is why we had decided on the military solution. To that end, our efforts \r\nhad been directed towards forming a new military force on the one hand and on \r\nthe other towards sowing the seeds of revolt among the British Indian troops. I \r\nremember about a military police force stationed at Rungpore where the \r\ncommandant had </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page - 12</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nbeen won over to a large extent, although I could not say how it would have \r\nturned out at the end.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe event, it was none of these methods that brought us independence. Indian \r\nindependence has come in another way, the inscrutable way of Providence.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nI was saying, we gave up militarism and turned towards the terrorist methods. \r\nThere had awakened in the country a keen demand and aspiration: must we bear in \r\nsilence and give no answer to this tyranny and oppression that seemed to go on \r\nincreasing day by day? So, we started getting ready for a fitting reply. It \r\nbrought in the first place a greater courage to the general public, though it \r\nremained doubtful if it helped relieve the oppression. And secondly, it gave \r\nsome satisfaction to men. Thus we directed our efforts to shooting at the \r\nLieutenant Governor, derailing his train, and assassinating tyrants in the \r\nofficial ranks. Governor Andrew Fraser, the District Magistrates Allen and \r\nKingsford, Mayor Tardivel of Chandernagore, these became the targets of the \r\nterrorists. The members of the Manicktolla Garden group were directly connected \r\nwith these activities. But there is one thing to be noticed about these attempts \r\nthat at least in the earlier stages almost all of them failed, with only one or \r\ntwo exceptions.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOne of the activities of the Gardens, apart from the attempts to manufacture \r\nbombs, had been to procure and distribute guns and rifles and pistols. Purchase, \r\ntheft and loot were the three methods of procurement. In this manner one might \r\ngather materials for terrorist purposes, but it could hardly meet the needs of \r\nan armed force. At the Gardens there was some shooting practice too, with \r\npistols. The trunk of a mango tree had been riddled with bullets— the police \r\ncould very easily find that out later. This reminds me of Prafulla Chaki. He \r\nused to say taking a revolver in his hand, &quot;I for one am not going to live on if \r\nthey get hold of me. I shall neither be tortured by the police nor will I let \r\ntheir baits to confess tempt me. Look, this is the way I am going to finish \r\nmyself.&quot; He would then open wide his mouth, push in the revolver muzzle and \r\npress the trigger with</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">page-13</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;his fingers, adding, &quot;This is the one sure way. In the other methods, one \r\nmerely wounds oneself, very often with no serious danger to life. But it is much \r\nmore risky to live on after getting wounded, isn\'t it?&quot; Prafulla committed \r\nsuicide after the Muzzaffarpur bomb affair in exactly the way he had rehearsed—I \r\nshould not say &quot;suicide&quot;, for it was really an act of martyrdom.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow let me come out with some of my own exploits. I did not, as I have said, \r\nwant to be one of the law-abiding &quot;civilians&quot;; my aim was to be a &quot;military&quot; man \r\nwith his law of the bomb. But first I must prove my mettle in that line. So, \r\nthey set me a test. I was to carry a pistol and deliver it to a gentleman in \r\nJalpaiguri. You seem to laugh at this instance of my &quot;military&quot; ability. But \r\nperhaps you cannot now imagine what it meant in those days to carry a real \r\npistol. The police had its secret agents all over the place always on the \r\nlook-out for victims. If you happened to be a young man, if you dressed in a \r\nmanner even slighdy out of the ordinary, if there was anything the least \r\nsuspicious about your movements that might attract attention, it was enough. If \r\nthe police came and searched you and found a lethal weapon like a revolver in \r\nyour possession, you would get at least seven years—of that you might rest \r\nassured. Nevertheless, I managed to carry the weapon in a perfectly easy and \r\nnatural manner all the way to North Bengal and reached it to the address given. \r\nThis was the way in which they used to distribute weapons for future use to the \r\ndifferent centres at various places.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow that I had passed the first test almost without effort, there came a second \r\nhurdle to cross. Will you be shocked to hear that I was to join a gang of \r\ndacoits and take part in a real dacoity? &quot;Very well,&quot; I said to myself, for \r\neverything is fair in love and war—although I did feel somewhat uncomfortable \r\neven without my knowing it, for there was something about the whole affair that \r\nwas not palatable to me. But this had been decided upon as one of our methods of \r\ncollecting funds, for the moneys that came from gifts were not sufficient, and \r\npeople rather shied of making gifts for the</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">page-14</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;work of such secret societies. So we had to fix on loot. The mail runner was to \r\nbe waylaid and his bags looted, somewhat far away in a place in the Khulna \r\ndistrict. We left in a body and put up with a friend. There we had to spend a \r\ncouple of days arranging to stitch up the bags, for the money had to be carried \r\nback in bags, you see. But for some reason or other, the plan fell through and I \r\nfor one heaved a sigh, of relief. However there was one thing I had gained out \r\nof all this. It was a glimpse I could have of the river Kapotakshi, no longer \r\nlimpid like the &quot;pigeon\'s eye&quot; though, for it was all cluttered up with weeds—on \r\nwhose banks stood the birthplace of Michael Madhusudan and the mango grove where \r\nhe used to play about as a child. I did feel as if the breath of his poetry \r\nstill lingered about the atmosphere.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe household arrangements at our Gardens were of the most simple, natural and \r\nunpretentious sort, the aim being to avoid all unnecessary complications and \r\nsave our time and labour. The cooking was done perhaps only once a day and \r\nalmost every day it was <i>khichri.</i> For the second meal, something readymade \r\nbought from the market was found enough. We did the cooking ourselves and washed \r\nthe dishes. The dishes and utensils were not of brass, they were all earthenware \r\nvessels, I believe. And the washing was done in the waters of the pond. What \r\nkind of pond it was could only be described by a Kalidasa, but perhaps some \r\nidea, could be had from Bankimchandra\'s description of the Bhima tank: &quot;the dark \r\nshades of the palms dancing to the rhythms of the dark waters&quot; and so on... . \r\nThat is to say, it had more of weeds and mud than water, not to speak of the \r\nfish and the frogs and other animal species, including a fair complement of \r\nserpents and things. But to us it seemed good enough and we used to take our \r\ndips there with great glee. In fact I had my first lessons in swimming in that \r\nvery pool. There were actually two pools and not one. and it would be difficult \r\nto decide which was the more &quot;untouchable&quot; of the two. The gardens around were \r\nin an equally poor condition. They were no gardens at all, for all was primitive \r\njungle, a tangle of shrubs and trees and creepers, with all </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">page-15</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nsorts of insects and reptile roaming within. And the house where we were \r\nsupposed to live was in ruins.<sup>1</sup></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut in spite of all, the place was absolutely quiet and silent, a reason being \r\nthat it was practically outside th^ city limits. The life we lived in such \r\nsurroundings could be compared with that of nomads. The strange thing is that \r\ndespite such irregular habits, or rather the habitual irregularities of our life \r\nthere, we never fell ill. The abundance of vitality and the enthusiasm and joy \r\nkept at bay all attacks of disease. It was very similar to the kind of life we \r\nlived here in Pondicherry during the first few years. Motilal when he saw us \r\nthen exclaimed in utter surprise, &quot;What! Is this the way you live? And you keep \r\nhim (Sri Aurobindo) too like this?&quot; Perhaps some day I may give you a picture of \r\nthat life of ours, that life of utter freedom which looked so rustic in the eyes \r\nof &quot;civilised&quot; people.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me end this story today with something nice and sweet. It was during my stay \r\nat the Gardens that I had my first meeting and interview with Sri Aurobindo. \r\nBarin had asked me to go and see him, saying that Sri Aurobindo would be coming \r\nto see the Gardens and that I should fetch him. Manicktolla was in those days at \r\nthe far end of North Calcutta and Sri Aurobindo lived with Raja Subodh Mullick \r\nnear Wellington Square in the South Calcutta area. I went by tram and it was \r\nabout four in the afternoon when I reached there. I asked the doorman at the \r\ngate to send word to Mr. Ghose—this was how he used to be called in those days \r\nat the place—saying that I had come from Barin of the Manicktolla Gardens. As I \r\nsat waiting in one of the rooms downstairs, Sri Aurobindo came down, stood near \r\nme and gave me an inquiring look. I said, in Bengali, &quot;Barin has sent me. Would \r\nit be possible for you to come to the Gardens</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\"><sup>\r\n<font size=\"2\">1</font></sup><font size=\"2\"> I have been there once later. It \r\nwas no longer the old Gardens but a ploughed field. There was no trace of the \r\njungle left, it had all been dug up. The pools too had been drained and filled \r\nand the house razed to the ground. The British authorities had dug up every inch \r\nof the area to see if any weapons might have been kept hidden anywhere. I have \r\nfound in the case of the Yugantar office also which stood next to the Medical \r\nCollege that it too had been pulled down and there was only a little plot of \r\nopen ground left in its place</font>.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">page-16</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nwith me now?&quot; He answered very slowly, pausing on each syllable separately—it \r\nseemed he had not yet got used to speaking Bengali—and said, &quot;Go and tell Barin, \r\nI have not yet had my lunch. It will not be possible to go today.&quot; So, that was \r\nthat. I did not say a word, did my namask<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>ra \r\nand came away. This was my first happy meeting with him, my first <i>dar<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>han</i> \r\nand interview.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">page-17</font></p><hr>\r\n<p align=\"right\" style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; line-height:150%\"><font size=\"2\">\r\n<a href=\"-00_Contents\"><span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></p>\r\n\r\n			</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-04_Muraripukur-1','','publish','closed','open','','04_muraripukur-1','','','2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/04_muraripukur-1/',0,'post','',0),(1411,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>DEOGHAR</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>DEOGHAR</b></p>\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe scene was Deoghar, though not exactly the town itself. About five miles \r\nbefore you reach the town, there is the Jesidih Junction on the main railway \r\nline. Nearly a mile from there, close to the railway line there was a house with \r\nonly a ground floor and quite neat and clean on the whole. All around were open \r\nfields—not the green meadows of Bengal but the barren red moorlands of Bihar. \r\nNot entirely unpleasant scenery though, for it breathed an atmosphere of purity \r\nand peace and silence. A little farther away there stood a larger two-storied \r\nmansion, perhaps the comfortable holiday retreat of some rich man.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe time was towards the end of 1907 and the beginning of 1908. I was about \r\nseventeen or eighteen and had just finished with my college life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe <i>dramatis personae</i> were (1) Barindra Kumar Ghose, (2) Ullaskar Dutt, (3) \r\nPrafulla Kumar Chakravarti, (4) Bibhuti Bhushan Sarkar, and (5) Nolini Kanta \r\nGupta.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe plot was to manufacture bombs. Hitherto, there had been only preliminary \r\ninvestigations and initial experiments and efforts. Now Ullaskar came out with \r\nhis Eureka. &quot;All is ready,&quot; he said, &quot;now there is going to be a real test. We \r\nhave to demonstrate with a live bomb in action.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut here I must add that although we had made the preparation of bombs our first \r\nobject when we chose this lonely and out of the way place, we were not entirely \r\nheartless men, that is, atheistic and given wholly to a materialistic \r\nphilosophy. It had been part of our plan to devote some time to the cultivation \r\nof an inner life too in that solitude. I remember how we would get up an hour \r\nbefore sunrise and sitting down in that calm atmosphere in a meditative pose we \r\nwould recite aloud with deep fervour and joy the <i>mantra</i> of the Upanishad:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-27</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<i>tilesu tailam dadhaniva sarpir</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<i><font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>pah srotahsu aranisu c<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>gnih</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<i>evam <font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>tma<font face=\"Times New Roman\"> &#257;</font>tmani grhyate<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#768;</font> sau</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<i>satyena enam tapas<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font> yo nupasyati.&nbsp;,</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;As one gets oil out of oilseeds, as one gets butter out of curds, as one gets \r\nwater out of the stream, as one gets fire out of wood, even so one seizes the \r\nself out of the self, one who pursues it in truth and <i>tapasya.&quot;</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWho could say at that hour that this was a place of the manufacture of bombs? It \r\nwould not have been far out to call it an Ashram, &quot;the abode of quiet joy&quot;, in \r\nthe Kalidasian phrase, <i>s<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>nta-rasspadam-<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font>sramam-idam.</i></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnd it was precisely because of this that Barin got Lele Maharaj down here for \r\nour initiation and training in sadhana, the discipline of yoga, the same Lele \r\nwho had been of particular help to Sri Aurobindo at a certain stage of his own \r\nsadhana. But it was our bad luck that the whole thing misfired.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen Lele Maharaj came to know that we had accepted the cult of the bomb, he \r\nraised an objection. Sadhana and the bomb, he said, did not go well together and \r\nthe kind of violent rajasic action we had in view was not at all conducive to \r\nthe purification of the heart. Besides, he added, although the freedom of India \r\nwas a desirable thing, was indeed desirable and necessary for all, it would come \r\nabout by another method, it would come inevitably and in a peaceful way, there \r\nwould be no need for bloodshed. We got disgusted and smiled at him with \r\nincredulity and even perhaps in derision. Englishmen would pack up their \r\nbelongings and leave of their own accord without as much as a grumble, like \r\nthorough gentlemen,—this looked rather like a fairy tale if not &quot;a tale told by \r\nan idiot&quot;. We were no Vaishnava devotees. We were Tantriks, worshippers of Kali. \r\nOur chosen deity was the Goddess of Death incarnate, with her garland of skulls. \r\nOurs was the heroes&#39; worship of strength. We had long been singing the proud \r\nrefrain:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-28</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHave the hero-sons,\r\n&nbsp;O men, </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAdorned the Mother&#39;s forehead </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWith the blood-red \r\nmark?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThere was also a time when we had been proclaiming loudly </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nat meetings and \r\nshouting to the four quarters:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nCounting the beads and doing austerities,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll your yoga and prayers and worship,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOblations and sacrifice and honouring the image of gods,—</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNothing of this will now avail in the least.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nMake of the arrow&#39;s sheath and the sword thy cult,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFor the olden days are no more.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nIndia will not be saved, it cannot,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThrough the worship of the gods.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nUnsheath now the sword,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nFor these demons are not as of yore.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLele Maharaj threatened us with another warning, &quot;If you do not give up this, \r\nyou will not only not succeed but are bound to meet with danger, if not \r\ncatastrophe.&quot; How true his prophecy was we all know from the concrete evidence \r\nof what came to pass.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nHowever, we did not confine our studies to religious books alone, we had with us \r\nsome secular literature as well. It was precisely at this period that a \r\ncollection of Matthew Arnold&#39;s poems came to my hands. The book belonged to Sri \r\nAurobindo and must have been brought along by Barin. That Sri Aurobindo had \r\nstudied it minutely was evident from the book itself, for he had marked in red \r\nthe passages or lines which he had particularly liked. I still remember a couple \r\nof lines that had the good luck to get a red mark:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nStrew on her roses, roses,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:50px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAnd never a spray of yew!</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe simplicity of feeling, the deep pathos, the fine felicity of rhythm in these \r\nlines had stirred my young heart too a great</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-29</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\ndeal. That was my first \r\nintroduction to Matthew Arnold. The greatness of the poet-laureate Tennyson had \r\nalready reached the ears of even the ordinary student at college, but Matthew \r\nArnold and Browning were still unknown. ,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll this is however quite beside the point. Let me come </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nback to the story.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe bomb was ready, I said, a real live bomb. It was mainly Ullaskar&#39;s \r\nhandiwork, we others had acted as assistants. It was now decided that the \r\ntesting would be done on top of a hill known as Dighiriya—it was not much of a \r\nhill but only a low range of hillocks—across the railway line, beyond the level \r\ncrossing. (There was an amusing incident in the Sessions Court in connection \r\nwith the man at this level crossing about which I may say something another \r\nday.) Of an afternoon, the five of us made for the hill. It fell to my lot to \r\ncarry the bomb. I carried it along with due care no doubt, but I had no idea of \r\nthe risks I carried. We were quite ignorant and inexperienced at the time. It \r\nwas nothing short of a miracle that we had no accident, the way I carried the \r\nthing; I realised that only a little later.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nbroke through the thickets and chose a spot right on top of the hill. There we \r\ncame across a huge boulder rising steep and straight on one side about \r\nbreast-high and on the other sloping gradually to a distance of some ten or \r\ntwelve yards. The plan was that Prafulla would take his shelter behind the steep \r\nand abrupt side as he threw the bomb at the sloping rock and sit down behind the \r\nslab as soon as he made the throw, so that no splinters might hit him after the \r\nexplosion, as the bomb was to explode only on the slope by friction of the \r\nimpact. Ullas was to stand by Prafulla to see that everything got on well and \r\nboth were to duck behind the slab right after the throw. I climbed up a tree a \r\nlittle farther away so as to have a clear view of the whole scene. Barin and \r\nBibhuti took their positions around. As we lay in wait, —my eyes were glued to \r\nthe boulder,—suddenly I saw a spark of fire flash out over there with a puff of \r\nsmoke and such a terrific noise! The whole sky seemed to be getting broken up \r\ninto bits, and waves of sound went echoing forth</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-30</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;from one end to the other as if \r\nin a hundred simultaneous claps of thunder. Never again have I heard a noise \r\nlike that. I was of course beside myself with excitement and joy. With great \r\nglee I climbed down the tree and ran towards the boulder, shouting at the top of \r\nmy voice, &quot;Successful, successful!&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut how is this? What is this? What a gruesome spectacle! Prafulla lay limp on \r\nUllas&#39;s chest, Ullas held him in his arms. Slowly the body was laid down. One \r\nside of the forehead was broken through and a portion of the brain coming out. \r\nIt was an unbearable sight. We sat around and no one spoke a word. At last Barin \r\nsaid, &quot;It&#39;s all over, there is not a hope.&quot; The body lay motionless, showed no \r\nsigns of life. The eyes were closed, the face looked serene.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis is how it happened. We had thought that the explosive would catch fire only \r\nafter the bomb touched the ground and rubbed against a hard surface. But instead \r\nof that, the explosive had been so powerful, that is, so easily inflammable that \r\nit caught fire as soon as it came into contact with air on being thrown up. I \r\nsaid I had been carrying it in my hands: it might have caught fire and exploded \r\neven by that slight swing. That it did not was my sheer good luck.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow the problem was what to do next. What was to be done with the body? Burn it? \r\nor give it a burial? To bury it was out of the question, for to dig a hole in \r\nthat hard stone was impossible. Give it a cremation by lighting a fire in the \r\nbush? But that might attract people and the news might spread in the \r\nneighboring villages. Barin said, &quot;We need not do anything, let us go away \r\nleaving it as it is. This is a field of battle. Our first soldier has given up \r\nhis body in the battlefield, this is our first casualty.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">So \r\nfar, our eyes had all been riveted on the corpse. And now, suddenly, someone \r\ncried, &quot;Ullas too has been wounded.&quot; His clothing was riddled with holes and \r\ncovered with marks of blood all over. We removed the clothing and examined him \r\nas far as we could. Barin said, &quot;Our first task now is to look after him. Who is \r\ngone is gone. Now he must be saved. We must therefore hurry back. There is no</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-31</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">&nbsp;time now to discuss what is to be done with the dead body. We have to return to \r\nCalcutta this very evening and consult the doctor.&quot; There was a special doctor, \r\nthe renowned Indu Mallick, so far as I remember, who looked after us terrorists.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nstarted down the hill, with not a word on our lips, our throats all choked with \r\nemotion, our minds stunned. The picture of the English poet came to mind: &quot;Not a \r\ndrum was heard, not a funeral note...&quot; I once blurted out with a suppressed \r\nfeeling, &quot;We were five when we came, only four are now returning.&quot; Barin gave me \r\na rebuke, &quot;No sentimentality, please.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nwe walked down, I wondered if the frightful noise had not reached the people \r\naround. There was of course nothing like a human habitation anywhere in the \r\nneighbourhood. But people did come from the surrounding country to gather fuel \r\nin the thickets. However, nothing untoward happened and we returned safely. \r\nBarin and Ullas left for Calcutta that very night.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEarly next morning I looked towards Dighiriya and seemed to see some kites and \r\nvultures flying over the hill. That evening, or it was perhaps the next morning, \r\nUpen arrived with Barin. Ullas was all right, they said, there was nothing to \r\nfear about his wounds. Upen wanted to have a look at the place. We started again \r\nfor that holy spot, and arrived on the scene. Even from a distance we could see \r\nthe body lying exactly as we had left it, dressed exactly in the same way, there \r\nwas no change whatever. Nor was there a sign of decomposition, on this the third \r\nday. We came back just as we had gone, leaving the body as it was.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas decided to end this particular chapter here. Lest the police should get \r\nscent, it would be wiser to break up camp and get away. Whatever materials we \r\nhad in our possession for the manufacture of bombs were packed up in a couple of \r\ntrunks and dispatched to the shop of a friend in Deoghar. The trunks were left \r\nhidden among other things in the godown at the back of the shop. What happened \r\nto them afterwards I do not know.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-32</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBefore leaving for good, we felt a desire to have a last look at Dighiriya hill. \r\nIt was the fourth day after the event. We climbed to the spot. But how strange! \r\nWhere was the body? There was not a trace of it anywhere. We searched about here \r\nand there but did not find even a shred of clothing. Could it have been carried \r\naway by beasts? But without leaving the slightest trace? The whole thing \r\nremained a mystery.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAfterwards, many kinds of rumours got afloat. Some, they said, had seen him in \r\nthe streets of Calcutta, a Sannyasin was supposed to have come across the dead \r\nbody and revived it, and so on. To set my doubts at rest, I once asked Sri \r\nAurobindo if there could be any truth in these stories, and what exactly had \r\nhappened to Prafulla. Sri Aurobindo said, &quot;All that is sheer myth. Prafulla is \r\nreally dead&quot;.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nLet me end this Deoghar episode with a little picture that still sticks in my \r\nmemory. Within about a mile from our camp there was a village called Rohini. \r\nThere in a garden-house—it was almost covered with jungle when we saw the \r\nplace—still lived Sri Aurobindo&#39;s mother, Swarnalata Devi. The garden was full \r\nof various kinds of trees and shrubs. The house was a large-sized cottage, \r\nthough the walls and flooring were of masonry work; it had an old dilapidated \r\nlook for want of repairs. The local people called it the Memsahib&#39;s Kothi, the \r\nLady&#39;s House. Everybody called Sri Aurobindo&#39;s mother a Memsahib, the \r\nFashionable Lady. At that time, she was out of her mind and always remained shut \r\nup in her rooms. We passed several times through the gardens by the house, but \r\nshe could not be seen.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe holy legend of sacred Deoghar would not be complete if I were not to mention \r\nin this context the name of Sri Aurobindo&#39;s maternal grandfather, Rishi \r\nRajnarayan, who is called the Grandfather of Indian Nationalism. We saw the \r\nhouse where he once lived, where Sri Aurobindo used to come often. It stood in \r\nan open compound—it may have been a bed of flowers once—now a white mansion \r\nwhere no one lived, left lonely as a dream.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-33</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n			<p align=\"right\" style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-06_Deoghar','','publish','closed','open','','06_deoghar','','','2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/06_deoghar/',0,'post','',0),(1412,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>I</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>I</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>THE WORLD WAR (1939-1945)<font face=\"Times New Roman\">*</font></b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>ITS INNER BEARINGS</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis is a war to which even spiritual seekers can hardly remain indifferent with \r\nimpunity. There are spiritual paths, however, that ask to render unto God what \r\nis God&#39;s and unto Satan what belongs to Satan; in other words, spirituality is \r\nkept apart from what is called worldliness, clean and untouched by the dust and \r\nmurk of Ignorance—Maya. The injunction accordingly is that they who are worldly \r\nmust remain worldly, they have no business, no right to meddle with \r\nspirituality, and they who are spiritual should, on the other hand, remain \r\nstrictly spiritual, should have nothing to do with worldliness. Because of this \r\ncomplete divorce between the spiritual and the worldly, the world remains \r\nworldly even today, continues to be the empire of un spirituality and obscurity, \r\nof suffering and grief, it is unable to become a dynamic and living expression \r\nand embodiment of the Spirit.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNot that spiritual men have not served and worked for the welfare of the world; \r\nbut their work could not be wholly effective, it was mixed, maimed, temporary in \r\neffect. This could not be otherwise, for their activity proceeded from inferior \r\nand feebler sources of inspiration and consciousness other than those that are \r\npurely spiritual. Firstly, little more was possible for them than to exercise an \r\nindirect influence; their spiritual realisation could bring into the life of the \r\nworld only a reminiscence, an echo, just a touch and a ray from another world. \r\nOr, secondly, when they did take part in worldly affairs, their activity could \r\nnot rise much beyond the worldly standard; it remained enclosed within the \r\nsphere of the moral and the conventional, took such forms as, for </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<font size=\"2\" face=\"Times New Roman\">*</font><font size=\"2\"> An abridgement of this essay was broadcast \r\nfrom the All India Radio<br>\r\nDelhi Station on 4th December, 1942.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; \r\nPage-116</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; \" align=\"justify\">\r\nexample, \r\ncharity and service and philanthropy. Nothing higher than ideas and ideals \r\nconfined to the moral, that is to say, the mental plane, could be brought into \r\nplay in the world and its practical life—even, the moral and mental idea itself \r\nhas often been mistaken for true spirituality. Thus the very ideal of governing \r\nor moulding our worldly preoccupations according to a truly spiritual—a \r\nsupramental or transcendental consciousness was a rare phenomenon and even where \r\nthe ideal was found, it is doubtful whether the right means and methods were \r\ndiscovered. Yet the sole secret of changing man&#39;s destiny and transmuting the \r\nworld lies in the discovery and application of a supreme spiritual \r\nConscious-Power.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n<font size=\"2\" face=\"Times New Roman\">Humanists</font> once affirmed that \r\nnothing that concerned man was alien to them, all came within their domain. The \r\nspiritual man too can make the affirmation with the same or even a greater \r\nemphasis. Indeed the spiritual consciousness in the highest degree and greatest \r\ncompass must heeds govern and fashion man in his entire being, in all his \r\nmembers and functions. The ideal, as we have said, has seldom been accepted; \r\ngenerally it has been considered as a chimera and an impossibility. That is why, \r\nwe repeat, even to this day the world has its cup of misery full to the brim-<i>anityam asukham</i>.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nAll<font size=\"2\" face=\"Times New Roman\"> </font>this has to be said by way of explanation and apology. For if we are \r\nspiritual seekers even then, or rather because of that, we too, we declare, have \r\nour say in a matter which looks so mundane as this war. We refuse to own the \r\nnature and character so often ascribed to us by the West, which finds a graphic \r\ndescription in the well-known lines of Matthew Arnold:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe East bow&#39;d low before the blast,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;In patient deep disdain.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;She let the \r\nlegions thunder past,</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;And plunged in thought again.</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left:50px; line-height:150%\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nfact, however, there is no insurmountable disparity between spirituality and \r\n&quot;worldliness&quot;, between meditation </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-117</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">and the most &quot;terrible work&quot;—<i>ghore karmani:</i> \r\nthe Gita has definitively proved the truth of the fact millenniums ago. War has \r\nnot been the monopoly of warriors alone: it will not be much -of an exaggeration \r\nto say that Avatars, the incarnations of the Divine, have done little else \r\nbesides that. And what of, the Divine Mother herself? The main work of an Avatar \r\nis often to subdue the evil-doers, those that follow and pull others to follow \r\nthe Wrong Path. And the Divine Mother, she who harbours in her bosom the supreme \r\nTruth and Consciousness and Bliss, is in one of her essential aspects, the \r\nslayer of the Demon, of the Asura.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nNow, it is precisely with the Asura that we have to deal in the present war. \r\nThis is not like other wars—it is not a war of one country with another, of one \r\ngroup of Imperialists with another, nor is it merely the fierce endeavour of a \r\nparticular race or nation for world-domination: it is something more than all \r\nthat. This war has a deeper, a more solemn, almost a grim significance. Some \r\nthinkers in Europe, not the mere political leaders, but those who lead in \r\nthought and ideas and ideals, to whom something of the inner world is revealed, \r\nhave realised the true nature of the present struggle and have expressed it in \r\nno uncertain terms. Here is what Jules Romains, one of the foremost thinkers and \r\nlitterateurs of contemporary France, says:</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;Since the end of the Middle Ages, conquerors did harm perhaps to civilization, \r\nbut they never claimed to bring it into question. They ascribed their excesses \r\nand crimes to motives of necessity, but never dreamed for a moment to hold them \r\nup as exemplary actions on which subject nations were called upon to fashion \r\ntheir morality, their code, their gospel.... Since the dawn of modern times the \r\naccidents of military history in Europe have never meant for her the end of her \r\nmost precious spiritual and moral values and a sudden annulment of all the work \r\ndone by the past generations in the direction of mutual respect, equity, \r\ngoodwill—or, to put all into a single word, in the direction of humanity.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nModern thinkers do not speak of the Asura—the Demon or the Titan—although the \r\nreligiously minded sometimes refer</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-118</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nto the Anti-Christ; but the real, the inner \r\nsignificance of the terms is lost to a mind nurtured in science and empiricism: \r\nthey are considered as more or less imaginative symbols for certain undesirable \r\nqualities of nature and character. Yet some have perceived and expressed the \r\nexternal manifestation and activities of the Asura in a way sufficient to open \r\nmen&#39;s eyes to the realities involved. Thus they have declared that the present \r\nwar is a conflict between two ideals, to be sure, but also that the two ideals, \r\nare so different that they do not belong to the same plane or order; they belong \r\nto different planes and different orders. On one side the whole endeavour is to \r\nbring man down from the level to which he has arisen in the course of evolution \r\nto something like his previous level and to keep him imprisoned there. That this \r\nis really their aim, the protagonists and partisans themselves have declared \r\nfrankly and freely and loudly enough, without any hesitation or reservation. \r\nHitler&#39;s Mein Kampf has become the Scripture of the New Order; it has come with \r\na more categorical imperative, a more supernal authority than the Veda, the \r\nBible or the Koran.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nWhen man was a dweller of the forest,—a jungle man —akin to his forbear the ape, \r\nhis character was wild and savage, his motives and impulsions crude, violent, \r\negoistic, almost wholly imbedded in, what we call, the lower vital level; the \r\nlight of the higher intellect and intelligence had not entered into them. Today \r\nthere is an up rush of similar forces to possess and throw man back to a similar \r\ncondition. This new order asks only one thing of man, namely, to be strong and \r\npowerful, that is to say, fierce, ruthless, cruel and regimented. Regimentation \r\ncan be said to be the very characteristic of the order, the regimentation of a \r\npack of wild dogs or wolves. A particular country, nation or race—it is Germany \r\nin Europe and, in her wake, Japan in Asia—is to be the sovereign nation or \r\nmaster race (<i>herrenvolk);</i> the rest of mankind—other countries and peoples—should \r\nbe pushed back to the status of servants and slaves, mere hewers of wood and \r\ndrawers of water. What the helots were in ancient times, what the serfs were in the mediaeval ages, and what the </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-119</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;subject peoples were \r\nunder the worst forms of modern imperialism, even so will be the entire mankind \r\nunder the new over-lordship, or something still worse. For whatever might have \r\nbeen the external conditions in those ages and system^ the upward aspirations of \r\nman were never doubted or questioned—they were fully respected and honoured. The \r\nNew Order has pulled all that down and cast them to the winds. Furthermore, in \r\nthe new regime, it is not merely the slaves that suffer in a degraded condition, \r\nthe masters also, as individuals, fare no better. The individual here has no \r\nrespect, no freedom or personal value. This society or community of the masters \r\neven will be like a bee-hive or an ant-hill; the individuals are merely \r\nfunctional units, they are but screws and bolts and nuts and wheels in a huge \r\nrelentless machinery. The higher and inner realities, the spontaneous \r\ninspirations and self-creations of a free soul—art, poetry, literature—sweetness \r\nand light—the good and the beautiful— are to be banished for ever; they are to \r\nbe regarded as things of luxury which enervate the heart, diminish the \r\nlife-force, distort Nature&#39;s own virility. Man perhaps would be the worshipper \r\nof Science, but of that Science which brings a tyrannical mastery over material \r\nNature, which serves to pile up tools and instruments, arms and armaments, in \r\norder to ensure a dire efficiency and a grim order in practical life.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThose that have stood against this Dark Force and its overshadowing menace—even \r\nthough perhaps not wholly by choice or free-will, but mostly compelled by \r\ncircumstances —yet, because of the stand they have taken, now bear the fate of \r\nthe world on their shoulders, carry the whole future of humanity in their march. \r\nIt is of course agreed that to have stood against the Asura does not mean that \r\none has become <i>sura,</i> divine or godlike; but to be able to remain human, human \r\ninstruments of the Divine, however frail, is sufficient for the purpose, that \r\nensures safety from the great calamity. The rule of life of the Asura implies \r\nthe end of progress, the arrest of all evolution; it means even a reversal for \r\nman. The Asura is a fixed type of being. He does not</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-120</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nchange, his is a hardened \r\nmould, a settled immutable form of a particular consciousness, a definite \r\npattern of qualities and activities—<i>gunakarma.</i> Asura-nature means a fundamental \r\nego-centricism, violent and concentrated self-will. Change is possible for the \r\nhuman being; he can go downward, but he can move upward too, if he chooses. In \r\nthe Puranas a distinction has been made between the domain of enjoyment and the \r\ndomain of action. Man is the domain of action <i>par excellence;</i> by him and through \r\nhim evolve new and fresh lines of activity and impulsion. The domain of \r\nenjoyment, on the other hand, is where we reap the fruits of our past Karma; it \r\nis the result of an accumulated drive of all that we have done, of all the \r\nmovements we have initiated and carried out. It is a status of being where there \r\nis only enjoyment, not of becoming where there can be development and new \r\ncreation. It is a condition of gestation, as it were; there is no new Karma, no \r\ninitiative or change in the stuff of the consciousness. The Asuras are <i>bhogamaya \r\npurus<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#61477;</font>a,</i> beings of enjoyment; their domain is a cumulus of enjoyings. They cannot \r\nstrike out a fresh line of activity, put forth a new mode of energy that can \r\nwork out a growth or transformation of nature. Their consciousness is an \r\nimmutable entity. The Asuras do not mend, they can only end. Man can certainly \r\nacquire or imbibe Asuric force or Asura-like qualities and impulsions; \r\nexternally he can often act very much like the Asura; and yet there is a \r\ndifference. Along with the dross that soils and obscures human nature, there is \r\nsomething more, a clarity that opens to a higher light, an inner core of noble \r\nmetal which does not submit to any inferior influence. There is this something \r\nMore in man which always inspires and enables him to break away from the Asuric \r\nnature. Moreover, though there may be an outer resemblance between the Asuric \r\nqualities of man and the Asuric qualities of the Asura, there is an intrinsic \r\ndifference, a difference in tone and temper, in rhythm and vibration, proceeding \r\nas they do from different sources. However cruel, hard, selfish, egocentric man \r\nmay be, he knows, he admits—at times, if not always, at heart, if not openly, \r\nsubconsciously,</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-121</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nif not wholly consciously—that such is not the ideal way, that \r\nthese qualities are not qualifications, they are unworthy elements and have to \r\nbe discarded. But the Asura is ruthless, because he regards ruthlessness as the \r\nright thing, as the perfect thing, it is an integral part of his swabhava and \r\nswadharma, his law of being and his highest good. Violence is the ornament of \r\nhis character.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe outrages committed by Spain in America, the oppression of the Christians by \r\nImperial Rome, the brutal treatment of Christians by Christians themselves (the \r\nInquisition, that is to say) or the misdeeds of Imperialists generally were \r\nwrong and, in many cases, even inhuman and unpardonable. But when we compare \r\nwith what Nazi Germany has done in Poland or wants to do throughout the world, \r\nwe find that there is a difference between the two not only in degree, but in \r\nkind. One is an instance of the weakness of man, of his flesh being frail; the \r\nother illustrates the might of the Asura, his very spirit is unwilling. One is \r\nun-divine; the other antidivine, positively hostile. They who cannot discern \r\nthis difference are colour-blind: there are eyes to which all deeper shades of \r\ncolour are black and all lighter shades white.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe Asura triumphs everywhere for a while because his power is well-built, \r\nperfectly organised. Human power is constituted differently and acts \r\ndifferentiy; it is full of faults and flaws to start with and for a long time. \r\nThere is no gap anywhere in the power of the Asura, no tear or stitch —it is \r\nstreamlined, solid, of one piece; it is perfection itself in its own kind once \r\nfor all. Man&#39;s being is made up of conflicts and contradictions; he moves step \r\nby step, slowly and laboriously, through gradual purification; he grows through \r\nendeavour and struggle. Man triumphs over the Asura only in so far as he moulds \r\nhimself in the ways of the divine power. But in the world, the Divine and his \r\npowers remain behind, because the field of actuality in front is still the \r\ndomain of the Asura. The outer field, the gross vehicle —body and life and \r\nmind—all this is constituted by Ignorance and Falsehood; so the Asura can always \r\nestablish</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-122</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthere his influence and hold sway and has actually done so. Man \r\nbecomes easily an instrument of the Asura, though often unwittingly; the earth \r\nis naturally in the firm grasp of the Asura. For the gods to conquer the earth, \r\nto establish their rule in the earth consciousness requires labour and endeavour \r\nand time.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">No \r\ndoubt, the violence&#39;s indulged by men in older times, especially when they acted \r\nin groups and packs, were often inflamed and inspired by an Asuric influence. \r\nBut today it must be clearly seen and recognised that it is the Asura himself \r\nwith the whole band of his army that has descended upon the earth; they have \r\npossessed a powerfully organised human collectivity, shaped it in their mould, \r\nusing it to complete their conquest of mankind and consolidate their definitive \r\nreign upon earth.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nwe see it we believe that the whole future of mankind, the entire value of \r\nearthly life depends upon the issue of the present deadly combat. The path that \r\nman has followed so long tended steadily towards progress and evolution—however \r\nslow his steps, however burdened with doubt and faint-ness his mind and heart in \r\nthe ascent. But now the crucial parting of the ways looms before him. The \r\nquestion is, will the path of progress be closed to him for ever, will he be \r\ncompelled to revert to a former unregenerate state or even something worse than \r\nthat? Or will he remain free to follow that path, rise gradually and infallibly \r\ntowards perfection, towards a purer, fuller, higher and vaster luminous life? \r\nWill man come down to live the life of a blind helpless slave under the clutches \r\nof the Asura or even altogether lose his soul and become the legendary demon who \r\ncarries no head but only a decapitated trunk?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nbelieve that the war of today is a war between the Asura and men, human \r\ninstruments of the gods. Man certainly is a weaker vessel in comparison with the \r\nAsura—on this material plane of ours; but in man dwells the Divine— and against \r\nthe divine force and might, no asuric power can ultimately prevail. The human \r\nbeing who has stood against the Asura has by that very act sided with the gods \r\nand</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-123</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">received the support and benediction of the Divine. The more we become \r\nconscious about the nature of this war and consciously take the side of the \r\nprogressive force, of the divine force supporting it, the more will the Asura be \r\ndriven to retire, his power diminished, his hold relaxed. But if through \r\nignorance and blind passion, through narrow vision and obscurant prejudice we \r\nfail to distinguish the right from the wrong side, the dexter from the sinister, \r\nsurely we shall invite upon mankind utter misery and desolation. It will be \r\nnothing less than a betrayal of the Divine Cause.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe fate of India too is being decided in this world-crisis —on the plains of \r\nFlanders, on the steppes of Ukraine, on the farthest expanses of the Pacific. \r\nThe freedom of India will become inevitable and even imminent in proportion as \r\nshe becomes cognizant of the underlying character and significance of the \r\npresent struggle, deliberately takes the side of the evolutionary force, works \r\nfor the gods, in proportion as she grows to be an instrument of the Divine \r\nPower. The instrument that the Divine chooses is often, to all appearances, \r\nfaulty and defective, but since it has this higher and mightier support, it will \r\nsurely outgrow all its drawbacks and lapses, it will surmount all dangers and \r\nobstacles and become unconquerable. This is what the spiritual seeker means by \r\nsaying that the Divine Grace can make the lame leap across the mountain. India&#39;s \r\ndestiny today hangs in the balance; it lies in the choice of her path.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\ngreat opportunity is offered to India&#39;s soul, a mighty auspicious moment is \r\ncome, if she can choose. If she chooses rightly, then can she arrive at the \r\nperfect fulfilment of her age long endeavour, her life mission. India has \r\npreserved and fostered through the immemorial spiritual living of her saints and \r\nseers and sages the invaluable treasure, the vitalising, the immortalising power \r\nof spirituality, so that it can be placed at the service of terrestrial life for \r\nthe deliverance of mankind, for the transfiguration of the human type. It is \r\nthis for which India lives; by losing this India loses all her reason of \r\nexistence—<i>raison d<font face=\"Times New Roman\">`</font>etre</i>—the earth and humanity too lose all significance. Today \r\nwe are in the midst of an incomparable</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-124</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">ordeal. If we know how to take the final \r\nand crucial step, we come out of it triumphant, a new soul and a new body and we \r\nmake the path straight for the Lord. We have to recognise clearly and \r\nunequivocally that victory on one side will mean that the path of the Divine—of \r\nprogress and evolution and fulfilment—will remain open, become wider and \r\nsmoother and safer; but if the victory is on the other side, the path will be \r\nclosed perhaps for ever, at least for many ages and even then the travail will \r\nhave to be undergone again under the most difficult conditions and \r\ncircumstances. Not with a political shortsightedness, not out of the \r\nconsiderations of convenience or diplomacy, of narrow parochial interests, but \r\nwith the steady vision of the soul that encompasses the supreme welfare of \r\nhumanity, we have to make our choice, we have to go over to the right side and \r\noppose the wrong one with all the integrity of our life and being. The Allies, \r\nas they have been justly called, are really our allies, our friends and \r\ncomrades, in spite of their thousand faults and defects; they have stood on the \r\nside of the Truth whose manifestation and triumph is our goal. Even though they \r\ndid not know perhaps in the beginning what they stood for, even though perhaps \r\nas yet they do not comprehend the full sense and solemnity of the issues, still \r\nthey have chosen a side which is ours, and we have to stand by them \r\nwhole-heartedly in an all-round comradeship if we want to be saved from a great \r\nperdition.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThis war is a great menace; it is also a great opportunity. It can land humanity \r\ninto a catastrophe; it can also raise it to levels which would not have been \r\nwithin its reach but for the occasion. The Forces of Darkness have precipitated \r\nthemselves with all their might upon the world, but by their very down rush have \r\ncalled upon the higher Forces of Light also to descend. The true use of the \r\nopportunity offered to man would be to bring about a change, better still, a \r\nreversal, in his consciousness, that is to say, it will be of highest utility if \r\nit forces upon him by the pressure of inexorable circumstances—since normally he \r\nis so unwilling and incapable to do it through a spontaneous inner awakening—</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-125</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthe inescapable decision that he must change and shall change; and the change is \r\nto be for or towards the birth of a spiritual consciousness in earthly life. \r\nIndeed the war might be viewed as the birth-pangs of such a spiritual \r\nconsciousness. Whether the labour would be sublimely fruitful here and now or \r\nend in barrenness is the question the Fates and the gods are asking of man—the \r\nmortal being—today.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px; line-height:150%\" align=\"left\">\r\nSeptember, 1942</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-126</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; text-indent: 25px; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-17_The World War-1939-1945','','publish','closed','open','','17_the-world-war-1939-1945','','','2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/17_the-world-war-1939-1945/',0,'post','',0),(1413,1,'2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','<html>\r\n\r\n<head>\r\n<meta http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=windows-1252\">\r\n<title>XII</title>\r\n</head>\r\n\r\n<body>\r\n\r\n<div align=\"center\">\r\n	<table border=\"0\" cellpadding=\"6\" style=\"border-collapse: collapse\" width=\"100%\">\r\n		<tr>\r\n			<td>\r\n\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>XII</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>SOVIET GYMNASTS</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(1)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">As \r\nyou know, sometime back—quite a few years now—we had a group of Soviet Gymnasts \r\nin our midst. And what a pleasant, perfect performance they gave! Their \r\nhammer-and-sickle floating against the wind, the first time they stepped in \r\nunison on our sports ground, marching to the tune of the Russian national \r\nanthem, surely you must be still remembering that beautiful spectacle. Some of \r\ntheir tricks and techniques we have bodily taken over. A good many of you \r\nreceived training at the hands of these experts. They have been heavily filmed \r\nand photographed in action and these pictures you must have seen more than once.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\ndraw your attention to the date on which the group went to the Mother and \r\nreceived Her blessings. Numerically, it is significant—three-four-five-six, that \r\nis April 3, 1956 (a day before Sri Aurobindo came to Pondicherry in 1910). We \r\nhave heard a lot about these numbers—one-two-three-four (February 1, 1934), \r\ntwo-three-four-five (March 2, 1945) and now this three-four-five-six, while \r\nahead of us lies four-five-six-seven (May 4, 1967). Last in this series we have \r\nfive-six-seven-eight, the Mother&#39;s centenary, to go no further. These dates in \r\ntheir sequence are significant in that they indicate or represent some occult \r\nphenomena, some happenings in the inner world, each marking a step forward in \r\nthe manifestation of the New World of the Supramental.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">To \r\ncome back. Among the characteristics of the Soviet Gymnasts, also the major \r\nlessons that one can learn from them, are: first, difficult and complicated body \r\nmovements. Such control of the body is indeed hard to acquire. It calls for \r\nphysical strength and stamina, also a considerable capacity and plasticity of \r\nthe limbs—the nerves and muscles. Secondly, difficult exercises are done in an \r\nextremely easy and simple manner. In fact, these are performed so effortlessly</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-97</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">that it might seem there is nothing much in these and that any one could do the \r\nsame—till one tries. Then one knows what stiff and rigorous discipline lies \r\nbehind this apparent effortlessness. Thirdly, these difficult exercises,, are \r\ndone not only effortlessly but gracefully—the movements are rhythmic and \r\nharmonious, pleasing to the eye. Teamwork, group-efficiency, is yet another of \r\ntheir characteristics. Not only solo performances, but combined movements of \r\nmany persons in perfect balance, a unified cadence and orchestral pattern. \r\nFifthly, and the point deserves particular mention, in the sphere of physical \r\nculture (as in other spheres too) the Russians make no difference between men \r\nand women. They believe that men and women can and ought to do the same \r\nexercises together, that it is pure superstition, nothing but outmoded \r\nconvention to think otherwise—that women are unfit for and unworthy of such \r\nactivity. Well, we have seen how expert and capable these Soviet girls can be. \r\nToday the whole world has heard with wonder and admiration about not only \r\nastronaut Gagarin but about Valen-tina too.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">A \r\ncommonplace argument often put up against women doing physical exercises is that \r\nas a result they are likely to lose their grace and their femininity. Is that \r\nreally so? To me it has always seemed that, thanks to these exercises, our body \r\n—women&#39;s body included—acquires a new poise and proportion. Or do tenderness and \r\ncharm disappear, as some fear? Of course, those who admire the beauty of a \r\nwillowy, weeping kind, the faery frailty of the sickly maid, well, they are a \r\nclass apart. You have seen Valentina&#39;s photograph. To me she did not seem to \r\nlack charm and grace. Far from it. The fact is, we very often try, in vain, to \r\nhide our bodily defects and debilities under an elaborate toilet and stylish \r\nwear. But it is only a strict physical regiment or regular exercise that can \r\ncure these defects and bring out the true grace and light of the body beautiful. \r\nIn reality, charm, grace or delightfulness, name how you will, these do not \r\ndepend so much on physical factors and formation. The source is elsewhere, it is \r\nreally a reflection or shadow that is derived </p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-98</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">from the ease and clarity of the \r\nvital Force in us and if, somehow, we can add to that the soul&#39;s ease and \r\nclarity, then only do we have genuine beauty, beauty from within.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nis as if the Russians have discovered a new dimension of the body. Psychologists \r\ntoday speak of &#39;depth&#39; psychology. According to them, at the back of our mind, \r\nthere lies another hidden and profounder mental world—the unconscious or \r\nsubconscious. Spiritualists and yogis speak of still another unknown and \r\ninvisible world, above and beyond the mind. Somewhat in the same way the Soviet \r\ngymnasts are telling us and, more than that, showing us, that there is no limit, \r\nor almost none, to the capacities of our body. At any rate, we can go a good \r\ndeal further than the limits usually set for it. We think that just as plant \r\nlife is conditioned by the earth, by its surface and atmosphere, it is the same \r\nwith the life of men and animals too. We live and move within the temperature \r\nand the pressure of the air around us; when we go beyond these (either above or \r\nbelow), our ability to bear the altered conditions are extremely limited—or so \r\nwe think.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut in one sense, even in the ordinary way of living, men can and do put up with \r\na lot of inconvenience and suffering. Of course, it might be said that this is \r\nentirely due to compulsion, that there is nothing else one could do, except \r\nendure. Even in the midst of intense pain and torture people have been known to \r\nlive. On battlefields men have survived the worst calamities, even the loss of \r\nlimbs. According to popular wisdom life is uncertain and quickly over, \r\n<i>nalin<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>dalagata jalavat taralam, j<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#299;</font>banam atisayacapalam,</i> but this is not a \r\nliteral truth. Just as life can end all of a sudden so also it can stay on and \r\nwithstand apparently impossible conditions. But this, it may be said again, is \r\ndue to compulsion, it is not a healthy or a natural condition of our being. It \r\nis indeed painful, and what men really wish for is to come out of it —into a \r\nworld of natural freedom. The new physical culture that the Russians are now \r\nfollowing is meant to open up the hidden resources of the body. This they are \r\ndoing with the help of knowledge, practice and endless, eager experiment. Rooted \r\nin the earth, one with the physical universe, the</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-99</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\ncapacities of our body are \r\ndaily and fast increasing. Even leaving the earth surface for the wide open \r\nspaces one day men may (in a light, weightless condition) find a new normalcy. \r\nWhere shall we draw the limit of achievement?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(2)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nThe round of sports and athletics over, the Soviet gymnasts expressed a desire \r\nto know more about us. That is, about the aims and ideals of the Ashram, the \r\nspiritual disciplines we follow and their rationale. You know, officially and in \r\nthe world&#39;s eye the Soviet Union is atheistic and follows a materialist \r\nphilosophy of life. God, soul, the beyond or the higher worlds, in these things \r\nthe new Russians of today have no faith, none. Their entire stress or <i>\r\n<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#347;</font>raddh<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font></i> is \r\non this world, this life, on the physical-vital-mental being whom they call Man.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">It \r\nwas arranged that I should talk to the gymnasts. Following civilised traditions, \r\nthis was to be a post-prandial session; that is, the conversation was to follow \r\na rather sumptuous dinner. Food before philosophy, as they say. But, no. The \r\nSoviet gymnasts were strict dietitians, extremely cautious and restrained in \r\ntheir food habit. When finally we met there were ten or twelve of them, three or \r\nfour girls and the rest young men. Only the leader seemed slightly elderly. \r\nTheir knowledge of English was almost nil. Russian was all they knew. When they \r\nused to train the Ashram children funny situations would arise—for they had to \r\nexpress themselves mainly, sometimes vainly, through wordless hints and \r\ngestures. Anyway, one of the girls knew English fairly well and she acted as \r\ninterpreter. Of her more later.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">We \r\nmet at a conference as it were in the Golconde. I started by reading out a brief \r\npassage from the <i>Words of the Mother.</i> It contained a statement of our ideal or \r\nobjective —the goal of transformation, the coming race, a new consciousness and \r\nrealisation. But the Soviet leader was a bit of a blunt atheist, or at least \r\nthat was the role he had chosen to play. And in due course he raised the usual \r\nobjection.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-100</font></p>\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;In times like ours,&quot; he said, &quot;what we need is health and wealth. All our \r\nactivities and education must be conducive to these normal aims. After all, men \r\nhave to live. First, therefore, the care of the body, time enough for the soul \r\nafterwards. First this world, then the rest.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;Why not a little division of labour?&quot; I told the group. &quot;You keep to your \r\nsocial reform or revolution, if you please. Your physical culture and your \r\nsecular pursuits. Spare us from these. Why not leave us to go ahead with another \r\nkind of aim and work? After all, we do not mind your doing what you like to do. \r\nIt is only fair that you should allow us to go our own way. Isn&#39;t this the ideal \r\nof co-existence?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut then, the ideal of co-existence finds little favour with the radical \r\ncommunists. Their one aim is to destroy or convert—that is, brainwash—the \r\nopposition. Somewhat in that spirit the Soviet leader continued his criticism. \r\n&quot;But if you tempt people away from their normal social duties,&quot; he said, &quot;and if \r\nby degrees people are drawn towards the soul and the beyond and all that, \r\nwouldn&#39;t that prove to be ruinous for the race and did not something like this \r\nactually take place in the history of the Indian people?&quot; <i>&quot;Ma bhaih, fear not,&quot;</i> \r\nI assured him. &quot;Only a few turn to this Path. After all, out of millions and \r\nmillions how many—or how few—come this way?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut they counteracted my remark by saying that though we might be few in number \r\nour influence might spread, quite out of proportion to our number—which, by the \r\nway, is true. They now raised another doubt or objection—that the kind of \r\neducation given to the children in the Ashram, forcing a doctrine on their \r\nyoung, unsuspecting minds, what was it but a kind of indoctrination?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;No, sir,&quot; I replied. &quot;For one thing, we never ask, much less force anyone to \r\ncome here, we offer no rewards or temptations. On the contrary, we make it quite \r\nclear that the Path chosen here, the training and the education are indeed hard. \r\nSharp as the razor&#39;s edge, our sages have called it. So, one should choose \r\ncarefully. And out of those who still insist on joining us, only a few are \r\npermitted. Of course</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-101</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nthe children know little or nothing, but the parents who \r\nbring them here do. At least they have been told. It is, however, true that \r\nthere are some children who are conscious and know fairly well what they are \r\ndoing and, why they are here. After staying here and seeing things for \r\nthemselves many of them make up their minds to stay on, they refuse to go \r\nelsewhere. Also, ours is not a medieval monastery, a life-long entombment, so \r\nthat once you get in you can never get out. Here anyone can leave any time. One \r\nhas full freedom in the matter. In other words, the very first principle of \r\nfoundation of our life and teaching in the Ashram is freedom and individuality. \r\nNo one is cajoled or persuaded to follow the spiritual aim or spiritual path. If \r\none wants to know anything, one knows it freely, of oneself; if one wants to \r\nunderstand anything, one does it in freedom. Every moment you are free, you can \r\nstep in any direction you like, provided you are prepared for the consequence. \r\nIn fact, we have few or no compulsory codes or taboos here, except such as are \r\nabsolutely necessary to keep group-life together for any length of time. \r\n&#39;Discover your own rule or law of being for yourself,&#39; that is our primary \r\ninstruction. Where is compulsion in all this? As for the atmosphere, the \r\n&#39;climate of opinion&#39;, wherever men live, in whatever age, society or \r\ncountry—even in your Soviet State—one has to &#39;belong&#39;. The common man, or \r\ncitizen, cannot help breathing in the atmosphere of his age or milieu. But here, \r\nand only here, we warn everyone, we tell them, well ahead, to be conscious of \r\nall that&#39;s happening around and within, we tell them to watch, understand and \r\nscrutinize what it is that they are taking in. This is not indoctrination but \r\nits exact opposite.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;In all this where does spiritual discipline come in? What is at all its \r\nnecessity? First and foremost comes the care of the body, then only other \r\nconsiderations. That is what one may naturally think. But it is wrong to think \r\nthat for spirituality outward comfort and affluence are a <i>sine qua non.</i> Those \r\nwho want bodily comfort are apt to remain content with that, all their efforts \r\nare confined to finding the means of such enjoyment or euphoria. But the \r\nspiritual seeker even</p>\r\n<p style=\"margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; line-height:150%\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-102</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;in the midst of suffering and discomfort will move towards \r\nthe spirit. In fact, he uses his very adversity for spiritual ends. The true \r\nseeker longs for the spirit in the midst of comfort and discomfort alike, while \r\nthose who do not want the higher life, do not want that, quite apart from being \r\ncomfortable or otherwise. In spite of what many think, material factors do not \r\ndetermine these things. The Mother once said something to this effect. In order \r\nto relieve the disciples from all thoughts of earning their livelihood she had \r\nplanned an external order of untroubled living, so that the aspirants might find \r\nthe time and the opportunity to dedicate themselves completely to spiritual \r\nliving and realisation. In practice she, however, found that this does not \r\nalways work.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;All right,&quot; said the Soviet guests. &quot;But supposing while you are engaged in \r\nyour own spiritual growth and culture, for want of the good life, the rest of \r\nthe human race goes to the dogs—what then?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">To \r\nthis the answer is, and was: &quot;The majority of men are obviously busy with the \r\npursuit of worldly ends and creature comforts. This has been so always and the \r\nindifference or withdrawal of a few aspirants will not matter much. As to the \r\nhuman race ending up in smoke, we would say that the race is not going to be \r\nsnuffed out so easily. It has never been like that. What wars and devastations \r\ndown the ages, upheavals and revolutions! Millions dead and dying and yet the \r\nrace is still going strong. Not only that, it is evolving, progressing. In spite \r\nof everything the standards of civilization are going up. Even you admit \r\nprogress—of some kind. Perhaps you will say, but all this is a gift of the \r\nreason or the intellect. We will say it is a gift of the soul, or the soul and \r\nits bearer, the intellect, together. If this soul were not, man could not, would \r\nnot survive. It is because of this active, immortal spark within him that he \r\nlives and shall continue to live, and progress towards perfection. Don&#39;t worry. \r\nNo amount of outward loss or danger can wipe him out. Man will disappear only \r\nwhen the soul in him withdraws or is extinguished.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOf course, to present-day Russians ideas like these are\r\nillusions or delusions, which they treat with a sceptic smile.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-103</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">In \r\nthe end they raised a rather funny question. &quot;Here we find a very pleasing \r\nsight,&quot; they began. &quot;We mean the groups of little children and your love and \r\naffection, and solicitude for them. It&#39;s very rare and very touching. You like \r\nchildren so much and yet we are told you do not like to be parents of children. \r\nWe don&#39;t understand this.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;Do you understand self-restraint?&quot; I asked them. &quot;We are told that you don&#39;t \r\ndrink, don&#39;t even smoke. Why?&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;Because the effect of drinking and smoking on the body, especially the body of \r\nan athlete, is harmful. That&#39;s why,&quot; they replied.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&quot;Exactly so,&quot; said I. &quot;When you&#39;ve progressed a little further, you too will \r\narrive at our conclusion.&quot;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">At \r\nthis they all laughed, perhaps somewhat incredulously.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nBut it is indeed so: all those who wish to acquire a special power, benefit or \r\nperfection, who set out to acquire a new capacity—in our case nothing short of a \r\ntransformation of the body, life and mind—for them such self-imposed restraint \r\nis a &quot;must&quot;. And so I say again:<i> m<font face=\"Times New Roman\">&#257;</font></i>\r\n<i>bhaih</i>, fear not. The world will not come \r\nthis way all at once or immediately, and the world will not collapse because of \r\nour unwillingness to add to its population. As for the future who can tell? Who \r\ncan say that the time-worn biological process shall remain, for all time, the \r\nonly means of birth and manifestation? Today, ignoring the weight and other \r\nlimitations of the body, ignoring the laws of Newtonian physics, we travel, with \r\nwhat ease, across distances and the silence of infinite spaces. As in the \r\nphysical field so in the field of life who can say that new rules will not \r\nemerge? Sri Aurobindo has openly hinted at such a possibility.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nOur society is based on blood or parental relations. But the Russians themselves \r\nhave tried to set up another set of relationship—social instead of parental. \r\nTaking the children away from their parents they are rearing them in socialized \r\ncreches, schools or kindergartens. To them the parents are but secondary \r\ninstruments. The child belongs to the State, to the service of the almighty \r\nState. The average parents</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-104</font></p><hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nhave neither the ability nor the resources such as \r\nthe State possesses. Now, if instead of the secular State we think of a \r\nspiritual group, or use the word &#39;God&#39;, a new and altogether different \r\npossibility opens up. Not the link of biology but the closeness of the spirit \r\nwithin is all, the same in all, a relationship in terms of Reality or the \r\nDivine. How deep and intimately satisfying such a relationship, based on Truth, \r\ncan be—I think our Soviet gymnasts had a glimpse of that truth here in the \r\nAshram. And they naturally wondered.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<b>(3)</b></p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\n&nbsp;</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEarlier I spoke of the lady interpreter in the Soviet group. Impersonal and \r\nneutral, she would translate, as clearly as possible, their words or the \r\nofficial view. In all this she never expressed any personal opinion. Yet I had a \r\nfeeling that she did not fully share the official views or conclusions. Now and \r\nthen she seemed to hesitate. Somewhere, she seemed to feel, life held other \r\nvalues, another dimension. In her conduct and conversation we found her \r\nextremely amiable. As she was leaving she told us that this time she had come as \r\npart of an official delegation, but one day she hoped to come on her own and \r\nalone. I have a feeling that she did come again, with another member of the \r\ngroup.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">I \r\nbelieve that those who come to the Ashram and receive the direct touch of the \r\nMother, they do not come suddenly or by accident. It is not just a has-been, a \r\nfact that might as well not have been. Some deep inner necessity brings them \r\nhere, to the Mother. It is, you might say, the push of the deity within, though \r\nthey might not know anything about it and it does not matter if outwardly they \r\nare sceptical or atheistic. Unknown to themselves, they surely have some opening \r\nsomewhere—it is that which brings them here.</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent:25px\" align=\"justify\">\r\nEither individually or as representatives of the Russian people it was such a \r\nGall, some future fulfilment that had prompted the group to come here—such an \r\nidea may be more than idle imagination. Or is it the coming truth, the coming \r\nevent that has cast its shadow before?</p>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"center\">\r\n<font size=\"2\">Page-105</font></p>\r\n\r\n<hr>\r\n<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\" align=\"right\"><b><font size=\"2\"><a href=\"-00_Contents\">\r\n			<span style=\"text-decoration: none\">HOME</span></a></font></b></p>\r\n\r\n			<p style=\"line-height: 150%; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0\">&nbsp;</td>\r\n		</tr>\r\n	</table>\r\n</div>\r\n\r\n</body>\r\n\r\n</html>\r\n','-14_Soviet Gymnasts','','publish','closed','open','','14_soviet-gymnasts','','','2021-11-23 17:21:26','2021-11-23 17:21:26','',0,'http://collectedworksofnolinikantagupta.com/index.php/2021/11/23/14_soviet-gymnasts/',0,'post','',0);
