CHAPTER FIVE PART 2

least I hope he does not. But I had in some respects a touch of the abnormal in my mental make—up. Not only was I too much of an introvert, but I was in some respects preco- cious. The result was that at an age when I should have been tiring myself out on the football field, I was brooding over problems which should rather have been left to a more ma- ture age. The mental conflict, as I view it from this distance, was a two-fold one. Firstly, there was the natural attraction of a worldly life and of worldly pursuits in general, against which my higher self was beginning to revolt. Secondly, there was the growth of sex-consciousness, quite natural at that age, but which I considered unnatural and immoral and which I was struggling to suppress or transcend. Nature-worship, as described above, was elevating and therefore helpful to a certain point, but it was not enough. What I required——and what I was unconsciously groping after--was a central principle, which I could use as a peg to hang my whole life on, and a firm resolve to have no other distractions in life. It was no easy job to discover this princi- ple or idea and then consecratc my life to it. My agony could have been terminated, or at least considerably mitigated, if I had either given in at the outset as so many have done, or had with one bold effort of the will fixed on an idea and hcroically brushed aside all other allurcments. But I would not give in—-there was something within which would not let me do so. I had therefore to fight on. And a stiff fight it was, because I was weak. For me the diflieulty was not about the determination of life`s goal so much as about concentrating my entire will to that single goal. Even after I had decided what was the most desirable object in life, it took me a long time to establish peace and harmony within myself by bring- ing under control contrary or rebellious tendencies, for though the spirit was willing the flesh was weak. A stronger will than mine would undoubtedly have managed things more easily. One day by sheer accident I stumbled upon what turned out to be my greatest help in this crisis. A relative of mine9 , who was a new-comer to the town, was living next door and I had to visit him. Glancing over his books, I came across the works of Swami Vivekananda. I had hardly turned over a few pages when I realised that here was some- thing which I had been longing for. I borrowed the books from him, brought them home, and devoured them. I was thrilled to the marrow of my bones. My headmaster had roused my aesthetic and moral sense---had given a new im- petus to my life--but he had not given me an ideal to which I could give my whole being. That Vivekananda gave me. For days, weeks, months I pored over his works. His letters as well as his speeches from Colombo to Almora, re- plete as they were with practical advice to his countrymen, inspired me most. From this study I emerged with a vivid idea of the essence of his teachings. “Atmano Mokshartham Jagaddhitaya”—for your own salvation and for the service of humanity-—that was to be life’s goal. Neither the selfish monasticism of the middle ages, nor the modern utilitari- anism of Bentham and Mill, could be a perfect ideal. And the service of Humanity included, of course, the service of one’s country-—for, as his biographer and his chief disciple, Sister Nivedita, pointed out,10 “The queen of his adoration was his motherland . . There was not a cry within her shores that did not find in him a responsive echo.” The Swami himself in one of his passionate utterances had said, “Say brothers at the top of your voice—the naked Indian, the illiterate Indian, the Brahman Indian, the Pariah Indian is my brother.” Talking of the future, he had remarked that the Brahman (religious caste), the Kshatriya (warrior caste) and the Vaisya (trader caste) each had had their day and now came the turn of the Sudras, the down-trodden masses. To the ancient scriptures he had given a modern interpreta- tion. Strength, strength, is what the Upanishads‘11 say, he had often declared; have faith (shraddha) in yourselves as Nachiketa’12 of old had. To some idle monks he had turned round and said, “Salvation will come through football and not through the Gita.’’’13 I was barely fifteen when Vivekananda entered my life. Then there followed a revolution within and everything was turned upside down. It was, of course, a long time be- fore I could appreciate the full significance of his teachings or the greatness of his personality, but certain impressions were stamped indelibly on my mind from the outset. Both from his portraits as well as from his teachings, Vivekanan- da appeared before me as a fullblown personality. Many of the questions which vaguely stirred my mind, and of which I was to become conscious later on, found in him a satisfac- tory solution. My headmaster’s personality ceased to be big enough to serve as my ideal. I had previously thought of studying philosophy as he had done and of emulating him. Now I thought of the path which Vivekananda had indi- cated. From Vivekananda I turned gradually to his master, Ramakrishna Paramahansa. Vivekananda had made speeches, written letters, and published books which were available to the layman. But Ramakrishna, who was almost an illiterate man, had done nothing of the kind. He had lived his life and had left it to others to explain it. Neverthe- less, there were books or diaries published by his disciples which gave the essence of his teachings as learnt from conversations with him. The most valuable element in these books was his practical direction regarding character-build- ing in general and spiritual uplift in particular. He would repeat unceasingly that only through renun ciation was realisation possible—that without complete self—abnega- tion spiritual development was impossible to acquire. There was nothing new in his teaching, which is as old as Indian civilisation itself, the Upanishads having taught thousands of years ago that through abandonment of worldly desires alone can immortal life be attained. The effectiveness of Ramakrishna’s appeal lay, however, in the fact that he had practised what he preached and that, according to his disci- ples, he had reached the acme of spiritual progress. The burden of Ramakrishna’s precepts was-- renounce lust and gold. This two-fold renunciation was for him the test of a man’s fitness for spiritual life. The complete con- quest of lust involved the sublimation of the sex-instinct, whereby to a man every woman would appear as mother. I was soon able to get together a group of friends (besides my relative S.C.M.) who became interested in Ramakrishna and Vivekananda. At school and outside, whenever we had a chance, we would talk of nothing else but this topic. Gradually we took to long walks and excur- sions which would give us greater opportunities for meeting and discussion. Our numbers began to swell and we had a welcome acquisition in a young student14 with a spiritual bent of mind who could sing devotional songs with deep fervour. At home and abroad we began to attract attention. That was inevitable because of our eccentricities. Stu- dents did not, however, venture to ridicule us, because our prestige was high, as some of us occupied the top places at school. But such was not the case at home. My parents noticed before long that I was going out frequently in the company of other boys. I was questioned, warned in a friendly manner, and ultimately rebuked. But all to no pur- pose. I was rapidly changing and was no longer the goody- goody boy afraid of displeasing his parents. I had a new ideal before me now which had inflamed my soul—to effect my own salvation and to serve humanity by abandoning all worldly desires and breaking away from all undue restraints. I no longer recited Sanskrit verses inculcating obedience to one’s parents; on the contrary, I took to verses which preached defiance15 I doubt if I have passed through a more trying period in my life than now. Ramakrishna’s example of renunciation and purity entailed a battle royal with all the forces of the lower self. And Vivekananda’s ideal brought me into conflict with the existing family and social order. I was weak, the fight was a longdrawn one in which success was not easy to obtain, hence tension and unhappiness with oc- casional fits of depression. It is difficult to say which aspect of the conflict was more painful——the external or the internal. A stronger or less sensitive mind than mine would have come out successful more quickly or suffered much less acutely than I did. But there was no help, I had to go through what was in store for me. The more my parents endeavoucd to restrain me, the more rebellious I became. When all other attempts failed, my mother took to tears. But even that had no ef- fect on me. I was becoming callous, perhaps eccentric, and more determined to go my own way, though all the time I was feeling inwardly unhappy. To defy my parents in this way was contrary to my nature and to cause them pain was disagreeable, but I was swept onwards as by an irresistible current. There was very little appreciation or understanding at home of what I was dreaming at the time, and that added to my misery. The only solace was to be found in the com- pany of friends and I began to feel more at home when away from home. Studies began to lose their importance for me and, but for the fact that for years I had studied hard, I would have gone under. The only thing that now mattered to me was mental or spiritual exercise. I had no proper guide at the time and turned to books for such help as they could afford me. Only later did I realise that not all of these were written by reliable or experienced men. There were books on Brah- macharya or sex-control, which were readily made use of. Then there were books on meditation which were greedily devoured. Books on Yoga and especially Hatha-Yoga16 were eagerly hunted after and utilised. And, over and above this, all kinds of experiments were made. A faithful narration of all that I went through would sufice to make a first-class entertainment. Small wonder that some thought that I was on the verge of lunacy. The first time I resolved to sit down in the Yogic fash- ion, the problem was how to do it without being seen and how to face ridicule should I be discovered during the act. The best thing was to attempt it in the dark after sunset, and so I did. But I was ultimately seen one day and there was a titter. One night while I was meditating in secret, the maid happened to come in to make the bed and bumped against me in the dark. Imagine her surprise when she found that she had knocked against a lump of flesh. Concentration was practised in many ways. A black circle was made in the centre of a white background and the eyes were brought to stare fixedly at it till the mind became a perfect blank. Gazing at the blue sky was occa- sionally practised, and what beat everything was staring at the scorching mid-day sun with eyes wide open. Self—mor- tification of various kinds was also resorted to———for instance, eating simple vegetarian food, getting up in the early hours of the morning, hardening the body to heat and cold, etc. Much of this had to be done with as little publicity as possible, whether at home or outside. One of Ramakrishna’s favourite maxims was: practise contemplation in a forest or in a quiet corner, in your house or in your• own mind, so that none may observe you. The only people who may know of it are fellow-devotees or fellow-Yogis. After we had practised for some time what we considered to be Yoga, we began to compare notes. Ramakrishna had often referred to the inner psychic experiences, including extraordinary powers, which would come one’s way as he progressed along the spiritual path and had warned his disciples against feeling elated over them or indulging in self-advertisement or self-enjoyment of any sort. These psychic experiences and powers had to be transcended if one wanted to reach the higher regions of spiritual consciousness. Even after some months’ effort I found that I could not lay claim to any such experience. I had a feeling of confidence, and more peace of mind and self-control than before, but that was about all. Perhaps this is due to the want of a Guru (precep- tor), hought I, since people say that Yoga cannot be prac- tised without a Guru. So began my search for a Guru. In India those who have given up the world and consecrated their whole life to spiritual effort sometimes adopt the life of a traveller (Paribrajak) or undertake an all-India pilgrimage. It is therefore not difficult to find them in the vicinity of holy places like Hardwar, Benares, Puri (or J agannath) or Rameswaram. Owing to its proximity to Puri, Cuttack also attracted a large number of them. These monks 17are of two classes-- those who belong to sonic organisation, ‘Ashrama’ or ‘Muth’, and those who are entirely free, have no organisation behind them, and hate to get entangled in any way. Our group———for by now we had a definite group——became interested in all the Sadhus who happened to visit the town, and if any member got informa- tion about any such visitor, he would pass it on to the rest. Various were the types whom we visited, but I must say that those of the hermit type were more likable. They would not care to have any disciples and would spurn money in any form. If they wanted to instruct anybody in Yoga, they would prefer those who like themselves had no worldly attachment at all. The Sadhus who belonged to an organi- sation or were themselves married men did not appeal to me. They would generally search for disciples among men of wealth and position who, when recruited, would be an acquisition to their organisation. Once there came an old Sannyasi, more than ninety years old, the head of a well-known Ashrama of all-India repute, one of whose disciples was a leading medical practi- tioner of the town. It soon became the rage to visit him and we too joined the crowd. After doing obeisance to him we took our seats. He was very kind to us——in fact, affection- ate—and we were drawn towards him. Some hymns were recited by his disciples to which we respectfully listened. At the end we were given printed copies of his teachings and were advised to follow them. We inwardly resolved to do so—at least I did. The first item was—eat neither fish nor flesh nor eggs. Our family diet was non-vegetarian, and it was not possible to adhere to vegetarian food without com- ing in for criticism and perhaps opposition. Nevertheless, I obeyed the mandate despite all obstruction. The second item was daily recitation of certain hymns. That was easy. But the next item was formidable—the practice of submis- siveness to one’s parents. We had to begin the day by doing obeisance (pranam) to our parents. The difficulty about doing this was a two-fold one. Firstly, there was never any practice to do daily obeisance to our parents. Secondly, I had passed the stage when I believed that obedience to one’s parents was in itself a virtue. I was rather in a mood to defy every obstacle to my goal, no matter from what source it came. However, with a supreme effort of the will, I mastered myself and marching straight to my father in the morning, I made obeisance as instructed by my preceptor18 I can still recall the scene—how my father was taken aback at this unexpected sight. He asked me what was the matter, but without uttering a word I marched back after doing my duty. Up till now I have not the faintest notion of what he or my mother (who also had to undergo the same experience) thought of me at the time. It was nothing less than a torture every morning to muster sufficient strength of mind to go up to my parents and do obeisace to them. Members of the family or even servants must have wondered what had made the rebellious boy suddenly so submissive. Little did they know perhaps that behind this phenomenon was the hand of a Sadhu. After some weeks, perhaps months, I began to ques- tion myself as to what I had gained from the above practice and, not being satisfied with the reply, I gave it up. I went back to the teachings of Ramakrishna and Vivekananda. No realisation without renunciation ——I told myself again. It would be a mistake to conclude that my conception of a religious life was restricted to the practice of individu- alistic Yoga. Though for some time I went crazy over Yogie exercise, it slowly dawned on me that for spiritual develop- ment social service was necessary. The idea came probably from Vivekananda for, as I have indicated above, he had preached the ideal of the service of humanity which includ- ed the service of one’s country. But he had further enjoined on everyone to serve the poor, for according to him God often comes to us in the form of the poor and to serve the poor is to worship God. I remember that I became very lib- eral with beggars, fakirs, and Sadhus, and whenever any of them appeared before our house, I helped them with what- ever came within my reach. I derived a peculiar satisfaction from the act of giving. Before I was sixteen I had my first experience of what may be glorified with the appelation of village reconstruc- tion work. we went to a village in the outskirts of the town with the object of attempting some service. We entered the village primary school and did some teaching. By the teach- ers and the villagers in general we were warmly welcomed and we felt greatly encouraged. We then proceeded to another village but met with a sad experience there. When we entered the village, the villagers who had seen us from a distance collected in a body and as we advanced, they began to retreat. It was diflicult to get at them or to talk to them as friends. We were shocked to find that we were regarded not only as strangers but as suspicious characters or enemies, and it did not take us long to understand that whenever well-dressed men had come into the village they must have done so as tax-collectors or in some similar capacity, and had behaved in such manner as to create this gulf between the villagers and ourselves. A few years later, I was to have a similar experience in some other villages in Orissa. It would be correct to say that, as long as I was at school, I did not mature politically, though in other mat- ters I was inclined to be precocious. This was due partly to my innate proclivity which pointed in a different direction, partly to the fact that Orissa was a political backwater, and partly to lack of inspiration within the family circle. Oc- casionally I did hear about the affairs of the Congress from my elder brothers, but that did not make any impression on me. The first bomb thrown in 1908 created a stir every- where and we too were momentarily interested. At the P. E. School where I then was, our headmistress condemned the throwing of bombs. The matter was soon forgotten how- ever. About the same time processions used to be brought out in the town to condemn the partition of Bengal and to propagate the cause of Swadeshi (Home industry). They occasioned a mild interest, but politics was tabooed in our house—so we could not take part in any political activ- ity. Our interest sometimes found expression in peculiar ways such as cutting out pictures of revolutionaries from the papers and hanging them up in our study. One day we had a visitor, a relative of ours and a police officer, who saw these pictures and complained to my father, with the result that before we returned from school tl1e pictures were all removed, much to our chagrin. Up till December 1911 I was politically so undeveloped that I sat for an essay com- petition on the King’s (George V) Coronation. Though I generally stood first in English composition, I did not get the prize on this occasion. During the Christmas Vacation I went to Calcutta with the rest of the family when King George V visited that city, and I returned in an enthusiastic frame of mind. The first political impetus I received was in 1912 from a student19about the same age as myself. He came to CuttaCk and Puri on a tour and was introduce to us by Headmaster Beni Madhav Das. Before he came, he was connected with a certain group20 in Calcutta which had as its ideal—spiritual uplift and national service along con- structive lines. His visit to CuttaCk came off at a time when my mind was beginning to turn towards social and national problems. In our group there was a friend who was more interested in national service than in Yoga. Another friend was always dreaming of the Bengali soldier, Suresh Biswas, who had migrated to South America (I think it was Brazil) and had made a name for himself there. And as a stepping stone to such a career, this friend was practising wrestling while some of us were busy with Yoga. At a psychologically opportune moment, the visitor talked to us passionately about our duty to our country and about his group in Cal- cutta, and I was greatly impressed. It was good to be linked up with an organisation in the metropolis and we heartily welcomed his visit. On his return to Cal - cutta he made a report about us and not long after we received a communi- cation from the head of the group. Thus began a connection which was to last several years. As I approached the end of my school career, my re- ligious impulse began to grow in intensity. Studies were no longer of primary importance. The members of our group would meet as frequently as possible and go out on excur- sions. We could thereby keep away from home and enjoy one another’s company longer. As a rule, the teachers failed to inspire us—with the exception of one or two who were followers of Ramakrishna and Vivekananda. My parents’ Guru21 visited CuttaCk about this time and, while he was there, was able to rouse my religious interest still further. But his inspiration did not go very far because he was not a ‘Sannyasi’. Among the teachers there was only one who was politically minded and, when we were about to leave school, he congratulated me on deciding to go to Calcutta where I would meet people who could inspire me politically. I believe that impressions received in early life linger long and, for good or for ill, have a potent influence on the mind of the growing child. I remember that in infancy I often used to hear stories of ghosts, either from servants or from older members of the family. One particular tree was pointed out as being the favourite abode of ghosts. These stories when narrated at night had a most chilling effect. On a moonlit night after hearing such a story it was easy to conjure up a ghost on a tree out of the play of light and shade. One of our servants——a Mohammedan cook—— must have done as much, for one night he declared that he was possessed by some spirit. A sorcerer had to be called and the spirit exercised. Such experiences were reinforced from other quarters. For instance, we had a Mohammedan coachman who would tell us how skilled he was in the art of exorcising spirits and how often his services were requi- sitioned for that purpose. According to him, he had to slit his forearm near the wrist and offer the spirit some blood as a parting drink. One could question his veracity, but the fact remains that we did see sometimes fresh incisions on his wrist as well as marks of old ones. He was also a bit of a Hakim22 and would prepare quack remedies for various ail- ments like indigestion, diarrhoea, etc. I must say that such experience in infancy did not have a particular wholesome effect on my mind and it required an effort to overthrow such influences when I grew into boyhood. In this task of freeing my mind of superstitions, Vivekananda was of great help to me. The religion that he preaehed——including his conception of Yogawas based on a rational philosophy, on the Vedanta23, and his conception of Vedanta was not antagonistic to, but was based on, sci- entific prineiples24. One of his missions in life was to bring about a reconciliation between science and religion, and this, he held, was possible through the Vedanta. Those who tackle the problem of child education in India will have to consider the uncongenial influences which mould the child’s mind at the present day. Of allied interest is the question of the lullaby songs which are sung by the mother, the aunt, or the nurse to rock the child to sleep or of the means adopted to induce an unwilling child to take its food. Too often the child is frightened into do- ing both. In Bengal one of the most popular lullaby songs describes the “Bargis’ (or the Pindari hordes) raiding the countryside Continued from previous page The Ayurvedic system comes down from the very ancient times, while the Unani system came into vogue at the time of the Moghul Emperors. Though there are many quacks practising these systems, there is no doubt that Ka- virajes and Hakims sometimes effect wonderful cures where Western doctors fail. after nightfall. Certainly not a congen- ial song for a sleepy child. One will also have to consider the dreams which sometimes disturb the child’s sleep and leave an effect on its waking life as well. A knowledge of the psychology and mechanism of dreams will enable the guardian or the tu- tor to understand the child’s mind and thereby help it to overcome unwholesome influences preying on its mind. I say this because I myself was troubled greatly by frightful dreams about snakes, tigers, monkeys, and the like in my early years. Only when I began experimenting with Yoga in an empirical fashion later on, did I hit upon a mental exer- cise which relieved me of such unpleasant dreams25 once for all. It is possible in a country like India and especially in families where conservative, parochial, sectarian, or caste influences reign supreme, to grow into maturity and even obtain high University degrees without being really eman- cipated. It often happens, therefore, that at some stage or other one has to revolt against social or family conventions. I was lucky, however, that the environment in which I grew up was on the whole conducive to the broadening of my mind. In n1y infancy I was brought into touch with English people, English education, and English culture. After that I went back to our culture—both classical and modern——— and even while I was at school had inter—provincial con- tacts and friendship which I would have been deprived of, if I had been lix ing in Bengal. Lastly, my mental attitude towards• Muslims in general was largely, though uncon- sciously, influenced by Illy early contacts. The quarterwhich disturbedme from time to time, e.g., sex-dreams, dreams of university examination, dreams of arrest and imprisonment, etc. in which we lived was a predominantly Muslim one and our neighbours were mostly Muslims. They all looked up to father as ordinary villagers do to a patriarch. We took part in their festivals, like the Moharrum, for instance, and enjoyed their akhara26. Among our servants were Muslims who were as devoted to us as the others. At school I had Muslim teachers and Muslim classmates with whom my relations——as also the relations of other students——were perfectly cordial. In fact, I cannot remember ever to have looked upon Muslims as different from ourselves in any way, except that they go to pray in a mosque. And friction or conflict between Hindus and Muslims was unknown in my early days. Though the atmosphere in which I grew up was on tl1e whole liberalizing, there were occasions when I was forced into a clash with social or family conventions. I re member one incident when I was about fourteen or fifteen. A class friend27 of mine who was also a neighbour of ours invited some of us to dinner. My mother came to know of it and gave instructions that no one was to go. It might have been because his social status was lower than ours, or because he belonged to a lower caste, or simply because on medical grounds it was considered inadvisable to dine out. And it is true that very rarely did we go anywhere for din- ner. However, I regarded my mother’s orders as unjustified and felt a peculiar pleasure in defying them. When I took to religion and Yoga seriously and wanted freedom to go where I liked and meet whomsoever I wished, I frequently came up against parental instructions. But I had no hesita- tion in disobeying them because by that time I believed, un- der the inspiration of Vivekananda, that revolt is necessary for self-fulfilment—that when a child is born, its very cry is a revolt against the bondage in which it finds itself. Looking back on my school days I have no doubt that I must have appeared to others as wayward, eccentric, and obstinate. I was expected to do well at the Matrieulation Examination and raise the prestige of the school and great must have been the disappointment of my teachers when they found me neglecting my studies and running after ash- laden Sadhus. What my parents must have thought and felt over a promising boy going off his head can best be imag- ined. But nothing mattered to me except my inner dreams, and the more resistance I met, the more obstinate I became. My parents then thought that a change of environment would perhaps do me good and that in the realistic atmos- phere of Calcutta I would shed my eccentricities and take to a normal life like the rest of my tribe. I sat for the Matriculation Examination in March, 1913 and came out second in the whole University. My par- ents were delighted and I was packed off to Calcutta.

  

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