THE ASHRAM CHILDREN AND

SRI AUROBINDO'S LIFE

A DREAM-DIALOGUE

One day after Sri Aurobindo's passing, I had a dream. I saw that quite a number of children of our Ashram from various age-groups had crowded into Sri Aurobindo's room and were looking around with curious eyes. I wondered how they had trespassed on Sri Aurobindo's privacy. Who could have given them permission? But the children took no notice of my presence and felt quite at ease. This spectacle of innocence and light-heartedness gave me the inspiration to write the following book.

At the very doorway of Sri Aurobindo's room, I stood dumbfounded. He was reclining on his bed with so many little children seated all around him! What were they doing here? He lay there, gently smiling like a golden god, his upper body bare and beautiful like Shiva's, chatting intimately just as he used to do with us. But how on earth did they enter this forbidden place? Who let them in? Puzzled,! turned to Champaklal who was quietly standing behind Sri Aurobindo. A naughty smile was playing on his lips, and with every nod of his head his white beard bobbed up and down as if to say - "Do you think Sri Aurobindo is your personal property?"

Baffled, I turned my head to look again at the children. They were not all of the same age, and a few faces were quite familiar. Dressed, some in green shorts and some in red, they all wore a look of shining calm. Their eyes, specially, were bright with an eager and close expectancy. Sri Aurobindo looked straight in front and his voice was low and soft and quiet. Finally I too joined the children. One of them was saying: "It seems you have said many beautiful

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things to grown-ups. Please tell us something too."

"I have spoken all about big things. You won't understand them." "Then tell us some stories. You have read lots of books, we're told. Do tell us something from them. The Mother has narrated to us so many things. Now it's your turn."

"No, no, no stories," interrupted another young one. "Tell us about your childhood, of when you were like us."

"Oh! that was a long time ago. And how can one remember all about one's childhood? You'll see, when you grow as old as I am, that you too will have forgotten much about today."

"But we'll never forget this moment with you.... By the way, how are we to address you? The Mother we call 'Douce Mère'. Shall we then call you 'Doux Père'?"

Sri Aurobindo burst out laughing. "I don't think it would suit me," he said.

"We have heard that you went to England at the age of 7. How could you live there, so far away from your parents? What did you eat? Rice and curry? Do the foreigners eat only beef? Did you have to speak English all the time? Did your teachers beat or scold you?"

"Good Lord! so many questions, all at once! I think I had better start from the very beginning. You know, I had a father who was rather special. He had westernised himself completely in his clothes and behaviour.... But probably his taste in food was Bengali. He always wore a hat and coat and spoke in a clipped accent. Only with the servants did he speak in Hindi and, very seldom, in Bengali. And yet he was a Bengali gentleman. Strange, isn't it? Actually, he was a doctor with a British medical degree, somewhat like your Dr. Sanyal. But Dr. Sanyal is always dressed like a Bengali and speaks like one. My father was completely different. After having lived with the English in England, he had come to believe that they were rather wonderful. And so he decided that he would give his children a thorough western education. Therefore he enforced a strict rule - no Bengali

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in his house, and if one needed to communicate with the servants, it was to be in Hindi. Since my father was a government Civil Surgeon, we had plenty of servants. This reminds me of the poem by Nishikanto - have you read it? 'The King has made you King and given you servants and maids a-plenty....' By the way, you know him, don't you?"

"Of course! We all call him Kobida rather than Nishikanto, since he wanders about with a dreamy look in his eyes, like a typical poet, and even mutters to himself, sometimes. But tell us about your mother. Did she too speak English?"

"Certainly not. She didn't care at all for these foreign ways. That reminds me of a funny thing that happened once. One day, my elder brother, Manomohan, who loved aping western manners, dressed up like a pucca sahib-boy and went to our mother calling her: 'Mummy, mummy!' She was very annoyed, and snapped at him: 'Go to your father and call him Daddy. I don't like these ways.' Manomohan's face fell and he went away, downcast.

"But, you know, my father, even though he was every inch a sahib, loved his motherland very deeply. He wanted her to be great and strong, like the nations of Europe. Also, he never charged the poor when he treated them, and even went out of his way to help them get over their difficulties. They loved him whole-heartedly and called him 'the Lord of Rangpur'. To them, he was greater than any sahib. You have heard of Rangpur, haven't you? That's where Nolini comes from. From there, the family moved to Khulna, where Sudhir Sarkar comes from.

"Do you know, your Monada's father?"

"Yes, Sudhirda, Sameer's grandfather, who was with you in prison," said Vinit. ,.

"You in prison?" exclaimed a horrified little girl. "But aren't prisons places where bad people are put, where thieves, and wrong-doers are punished?"

"Well, you may say that I was a wrong-doer since I was charged with treason, that is to say, I rose against the King.

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"As I was saying, my father wanted his sons to become great scholars in English and hoped that someday they would become magistrates and judges."

"Must one speak English from childhood in order to do that?"

"Not really, but perhaps he intended to send his sons to England later and hence the English education. Anyway, he always believed that the westerners were a superior race in every way, which was why they were ruling the world. And if anyone wanted to become great, the only way was by imitating them. Especially since, in those days, the English were our rulers. In fact, you know, many great people in our country thought the same way then, and imitated the foreigners in speech, clothing and manners. People were in awe of them; even the European soldiers and policemen would make them quake. Things have changed now. India is free, maybe it's even the other way round and we strike fear in the hearts of the white race! But do you know who was the root cause of this change? Bankim. Ever heard of Bankim?"

"We have, we have. He wrote 'Bande Mataram', didn't he? Our band plays that song on Darshan days when the Mother takes the salute."

"The very same Bankim. A great man. You ought to read his Anandamath. The Swadeshi Movement in which we all took part came much after him."

"What's that?"

"Haven't you heard of the non-violent rebellion of Gandhi? Ours, the Swadeshi revolt, came much earlier. You'll learn about these things when you grow up. That was the reason I was sent to prison. See how fate seems to laugh at us. My father had wanted us to grow into Englishmen and there we were, the very ones who in the end began throwing the English out of the country!... If only you could see how things were in those days! Even boys of your age were all fired with the dream of Freedom...."

"Only boys? Weren't there any girls?" asked Kriti.

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"No, not really. If there had been some, things would have been much better and freedom come to us much faster. But anyway our mothers and sisters did help us, though in another manner. They did not try to hold back their sons and brothers who never ceased to chant 'Bande. Mataram' even while the blows from the English canes and batons rained on them. What fiery little fellows they were!"

"We've seen them here."

"Where?"

"In the film - 'Bagha Jatin', the one who was our Tejenda's father. You too were there in that film, you know. But in it you didn't look half as beautiful - as you really are."

"Is that so? Oh! then you know something of the Swadeshi Movement already. Yes, Bagha Jatin was one of the bravest of the brave. But look, we have again strayed from our story."

"That doesn't matter. We know so little of our country too."

"But why? I'm told that Nolini tells you about all this."

"He reads his articles late at night and, because we're too sleepy then, our parents don't always let us attend those classes. And his language is often too difficult for us to follow. Anyway, we're hearing all about it from you. Usually we don't get to see you. By the way, we'd like to ask you something. We've heard that you have been living in this room for years, that you never go out: Why is that? Don't you feel bored and lonely?"

"No, not at all. For actually I am not lonely. I have someone, whom if you ever find, you will never want anyone else in the world."

"Who is that? The Mother?"

"Yes, the Mother."

"But she goes out. She plays with us and talks to us. Then why do you stay so aloof? What do you do all day?"

"That's a long story which you will understand when you grow up. In simple words, I am doing this to help you to help the world."

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"So you will live like this all your life?"

"No, only till the day what I have called the Supermind descends upon the earth. After that day I will come out among you. To hasten it you too must make earnest efforts of Tapasya."

"Goodness! That's almost impossible. What do we know of Tapasya?"

"Tapasya is nothing else but calling the Lord with absolute single-mindedness. Call Him and tell Him that you want to see Him, to know Him. You are children, simple and beautiful within. The Divine will surely answer your heart- felt call. Haven't you heard of Dhruva and Prahlada? Jesus Christ also says that little children come easily to the Lord. Have you heard of him, of Christ?"

"Yes. Wasn't he crucified?"

"Yes. He suffered pain for the sake of the world."

"Did you call the Divine when you were little?"

"No, nobody taught us to do so. Father wished us to become sahibs and so we did. The day I understood that I must love my motherland and make her great and free, I gave up being a sahib. Then, again, the moment I realised that Godhead should be our aim, I began trying to obtain it. Sri Ramakrishna used to tell children of even your age - 'Call the Mother, make demands on her. Can she deny or disregard her own children?' In the same way, you all too should pray to the Mother, ask her to make you beautiful and pure, that you may love her and serve her. My father never thought of those things. He had only one bee in his bonnet: by what means should he make his sons thoroughly westernised so that they might become great. No thought of God in all that. In fact, he didn't believe in God. And his son had to grow up into a Yogi!"

"A Yogi? What's a Yogi?" asked Sachet. . "One who realises the Divine or who endeavours single- mindedly to do so."

"What is the Divine like?"

"Like? That's hard to describe, but if one finds Him, all

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man's sufferings will disappear. Men will love one another, since God is Love."

"Then why did you tell us to love the Mother? Is she the Divine?"

"Yes, she is. That's just why you call her the Divine Mother."

"Why was she born in France? And how did she come here?"

"Ah! that's a very long story. I think I ought to finish my earlier story first - the one which explains how I went to England. I've told you how much my father wanted my brothers and me to grow up into sahibs. When he found that in spite of everything his efforts were not quite successful, that there were many difficulties in the way, he first packed us off to far-off Darjeeling. I was then 5 years old, just like some of you here, who live away from your parents. But then you have found the Mother here and live in bliss. Isn't that so?"

"It is!" said the children in a chorus.

"We had all British teachers and tutors. There were a few other Indian boys but we hardly knew them. I remember something funny about Manomohan. In Darjeeling there was a long dormitory where the students used to sleep. Manomohan usually slept near the door. One night someone was late and knocked at the door, requesting him to open it. Manomohan replied, 'I can't, I am sleeping!' (Laughter)

"Darjeeling town was, of course, very pretty. You have seen it, haven't you, at least in pictures?"

"Yes, we have, often. And the great snow-piled Himalayas in the background. But the people there are quite strange-looking, in their appearance and clothing."

"They are Tibetan, that's why. Nowadays Darjeeling has grown into a big town bustling with people; in those days it was smaller and sat singly on the hillside, wonderful in its natural beauty. Its fruits and flowers, its waterfalls and its bird-song and even the friendly simplicity of its people made

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a deep impression on our unlettered minds. During my walks in the mornings and evenings, the play of snow and sky on those peaks used to hold me spellbound. I used to feel one with mountain and hill, with earth and trees. The fact that both of us, brothers, grew up later to become poets was helped, I believe, by the Himalayas which etched their grandeur on our child-minds."

"But didn't you go home for the holidays?"

"Of course, we did. Sometimes we also went to Deoghar, to my grandfather's."

"Did you have to speak English even there?"

"Oh no! Grandfather was very patriotic and proud to be an Indian. Not at all like Father. He was called Rishi Rajnarayan Bose and, indeed, he did look like a Rishi, a sage, with his flowing white hair and beard and his eversmiling face. And he was so learned and wise. He told us stories from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Sometimes he used to take us out for long walks. One evening, on our way home, it had grown quite dark when suddenly we found that Grandfather had disappeared. 'Grandfather, Grandfather,' we called out terrified. We turned to look in all directions, then ran back part of the way where we found him standing, fast asleep, like a horse! It was our loud laughter that woke him up.

"My mother's eldest brother was very fun-loving and mischievous. He loved to tease me. One day when he was shaving, he called me - I was dressed in western clothes - and said pointing at my reflection in the mirror, 'Look, there is a small monkey!' I did not forget the joke. When on another day my uncle was shaving, I went to him and said pointing at his image in the mirror, 'Look, big uncle, big monkey!' " {Loud laughter)

"In western clothes you look exactly like a European boy."

"You think so? How do you know?"

"Why? We've got your picture."

"Oh! that picture!"

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"Do tell us some stories of your life in England," requested Sachet.

"Not today, another time. It's time for the Mother to come now...."

And there she was standing at the door. All the children stood up.

"What's going on? How did you all gather here?" she asked smiling. "Listening to stories, are you? But now it is getting late, you should all be going home."

"Yes, Sweet Mother, but we would like to come again to hear about Sri Aurobindo's life in England."

So saying, they all turned towards Sri Aurobindo and slowly filed out of the room. Silently he watched them go, a blessing in his eyes.

I turned to look at the Mother. This was not the ten- armed goddess of Rishi Bankim nor the Mother of Sri Ramakrishna garlanded with human heads. No, she was our delightful Mother in flesh and blood.

She said, frowning at me - "Why not?" I understood. Yes, thou art indeed that Mother. The ten directions are thy arms, O many-weaponed destroyer of Evil who ridest on the mighty Lion. On thy right hast thou Lakshmi, the fair and fortunate, on thy left Saraswati, mother of Art and Science, the mighty victor Kartik is with thee and so is Ganesh, the master of all realisations. And now, wearing a mortal frame, thou hast descended upon earth, the "Mother" given us by Sri Aurobindo.

She entered Sri Aurobindo's room, smiling radiantly, holding a glass of ice-cold water on a plate. A pale pink sari was softly wrapped around her fair delicate frame and her hair was drawn back in a bun. Fresh from her bath, she wafted grace and beauty. Her red-tinted feet glistening with gold anklets wore a pair of white sandals with golden straps. She came into the room and instantly it was filled with light and sweetness and perfume.

Champaklal and I turned eagerly towards Sri Aurobindo. Leaning against the back-rest, he was watching the Mother.

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His hair fell over his broad shoulders, his silky white beard stirred in the breeze of the fan. The right leg was stretched out before him, while the left one was bent and the left elbow rested on the hard bolster beside him.

He sat up straight as the Mother neared him and with a broad smile took the glass that she gave him. She sat down on the edge of the bed while he sipped the water slowly, ever so slowly. Not water, surely it was nectar. Then the Mother turned to glance at us and we moved away. They talked for a while. Before she left the room she looked again towards us and said in a clear ringing voice - "This evening the children will come again."

Evening. Sri Aurobindo seemed to be waiting for his young guests. His eyes were closed.

The little -children assembled very silently in the outer hall, since Champaklal was signalling to them with his finger on his lips to keep quiet. Then he led them in one by one and placed them around three sides of the bed, like a garland. They all stood, with folded hands, silent, unblinkingly gazing on the Lord's face. In their green and red uniforms, they no longer reminded me of Shiva's companions but of Durga's soldiers.

Sri Aurobindo opened his eyes and with a smile said, "So you have come? Good. Sit down." One little girl suddenly touched his feet and made obeisance, and then they all followed suit.

"Didn't you know we were coming?"

"Of course, I did. The Mother had told me. In any case, I already knew."

"You knew? How?"

"Well, you see, whoever calls to us, thinks of us, loves us and is devoted to us, comes close to us, and their thoughts, feelings and experiences reach us faster than radio-waves."

"So you can find out all about us, even though you never leave your room?"

"This sounds exactly like one of Dr. Manilal's questions. Have you heard of Dr. Manual? He was the Chief Physician

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of the Maharaja of Baroda. Baroda is where Champaklal comes from, where I used to live, long ago. Well, he too used to ask me childlike questions. He believed we knew everything about everything. But does that mean we have got to know what your mothers have cooked for lunch?"

"But then, when... we... are... naughty? Even that?" asked Aloka.

Sri Aurobindo laughed at these last words that were fearfully stammered out. "Children are usually naughty. What is so surprising about that?" he smiled. The girl felt very relieved. "But we know all we need to for our work," he continued. "You understand?"

"Not quite, but...." Just then a girl rushed in, panting and tearful. "The others left me behind," she cried out, weeping.

"Oh! is that so?" Sri Aurobindo turned his head towards Champaklal who took the child to the bathroom nearby. She washed her face, drank some water and, much calmed, came out and joined the others.

"Where was I? Oh! whether I knew all about you? You see, it's not easy to explain."

"We saw in the film 'Sri Ramakrishna' that he could see and hear at a distance," said Sudeep.

"Something like that. All Yogis have such powers. But why only Yogis, even your mothers can sense if danger or ill- fortune approaches you."

"Oh yes. I remember our Bengali teacher telling us about something like that happening to Bijoy Krishna Goswami."

"Bijoy Goswami? What was his story?"

"Well, when he was a small boy, he had gone to Puri on a pilgrimage, but his mother had stayed back home. When a big stone hurt his foot, the boy began to weep, 'Ma! Ma!' Well, after he came back his mother asked him if he had been crying out for her because he had hurt his foot on a stone. 'Yes, Ma,' answered the child. 'The other afternoon', continued the mother, 'I was resting in my room when I felt a stone strike my foot and I heard you cry out. I looked

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everywhere, but didn't find anyone or anything. Then I understood for sure that it was your foot that had been hurt.' 'How did you hear my voice?' asked her son. But his mother answered that mothers could do things like that."

"Yes, that is a beautiful example. Did you know that Bijoy Goswami became a famous Yogi? Anyway, from this story you learn that if human mothers can have such experiences, then how much more may the Divine Mother have."

"Yes, the Mother too has told us that she is always with us, sees and knows all that we are doing arid is helping us all the time."

"Exactly! Well, perhaps now we could return to our main story. Does anyone remember where we stopped last time?"

"Of course! It was that your father sent you and your brothers to England."

"He didn't send us, he took us there with him. We all went, our mother, we three brothers and our little sister Sarojini. Nowadays travelling to England is a commonplace affair. Even here, sitting in the small town of Pondicherry, you get to know about the whole world, you can see Europe, America, China and Japan and all the rest in pictures and films. In the Ashram itself you can meet and make friends with people from all over the world."

"That's true. But I wonder why certain people sometimes scare me."

"Scare you? Why? Fear is born of ignorance. But if we enter into these discussions, I'm afraid we may lose our- selves in a dense jungle. So I think I had better leave the subject for your teachers to tell you about. You know, some races have sharp features, while others have snub ones. Similarly, mankind speaks various languages. Even in our country there is so much diversity. You see, manifold are the Lord's ways. Sitting right here, in the Ashram, which may be described in Tagore's words as 'the beaches of the vast ocean of humanity', you can discover so many mysteries of the visible and in visible worlds. In the Puranas it is said

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that Ganesh covered the whole universe by running around his mother Parvati."

"How is that?" asked Vinit.

"Don't you know the legend? It says that Shiva and Parvati had two sons, Kartik and Ganesh. You all know what Ganesh looks like, don't you?"

"Yes! He has a fat round belly and a long trunk," replied Anshu.

"Well then, it was decided that one of them would get married. But which one? Finally they were told that he who would go round the world first would be the winner. Kartik was overjoyed, he was swift and strong and, moreover, the Peacock was his mount. So he set out right away, confident and cheerful. Not so Ganesh who was aware that apart from being rather overweight, he had only a Rat for his mount, and so he could certainly be no match for Kartik. But being very intelligent and wise, he decided to go round his parents. He did so and when Kartik returned, tired and panting, he found Ganesh calmly sitting on his mother's lap and claiming to be the victor. When Kartik demanded how this could be, he answered very calmly - 'Why? Isn't it written in the Scriptures that one's parents are the whole universe!' And so poor Kartik lost.... Well, in our days, there was neither any Ganesh nor the World-Mother Parvati, and so we had to cross the seven seas and the thirteen rivers. Crossing the 'black waters' was a daring feat."

"The 'black waters'?"

"Yes, black stood for something unknown and fearful, and waters meant the ocean. That is why all my father's relatives and friends tried their best to stop us from going to England. Actually my father was one of the first Indians to have gone to study in England. And now he intended to return there with his wife and children. My father was an extremely strong-willed person and would always do whatever he thought best in spite of anything anyone else might say or think, including the Lord God! Actually he didn't even believe in God. In those days many people had all sorts

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of strange notions about England and it is because of them that Dwijendralal Roy wrote his ironical poem. Here it is -"

Sri Aurobindo began to recite slowly the translation:

"England's soil is made of mud, 'tis not silver nor

gold,

Into England's sky rises the sun, England's clouds

bring down the rain;

Its mountains are made of rocks, and on its trees

blossom flowers,

You may not believe this, friend, but 'tis so, 'tis

so.

And if you do go there, O friend, you too will say

'tis so.

There in England, men are men and all its women

just women.

And young and old and fat or strong, they all must

eat to live.

All their heads are on the top, their feet are down

below.

Smile not, my friend, nor doubt me for I do know

'tis so,

And if you do go there, dear friend, you too will

say 'tis so. {Laughter)

"But all this is far back in the past. Nowadays the black waters have become white." (Laughter)

"Have you seen the white waters?" asked Rohit.

"Of course, I have. The blue sky above, the blue-green waters below where the fresh white foam runs and plays like little rabbits! And there we were, brown sahibs on a white ship, with Mother and Father and a sister, young and sweet like you. On the ship my brother Manomohan was very happy, almost bursting with joy. In fact, now and then, his thrill and pleasure would seem so excessive that Father had even to rebuke him."

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"And you too?"

"No, I wasn't like that. I was a rather timid boy who often loved to be by myself and read books. That was why, perhaps, Father loved me so dearly. I remember the shock my first impression of London gave me. The crowds and the noise and the traffic made it difficult almost to breathe. After the peace of Khulna, Deoghar with its hills and Darjeeling surrounded by its mountains and snows, this place with its tall houses from the top of which long spires of smoke rose into the sky was a new and not a very pleasant experience. Do you know Tagore's vivid simile about London — as if the city were lying flat on its back and smoking a huge Burma-cheroot, (loud laughter) while its smoke blackened with annoyance the face of its sky, just as your faces darken with anger when your teachers scold you!"

"No, no, no one scolds us. The Mother does not approve of scolding or caning, and, anyway, our teachers are our elder brothers and sisters, like Pavitrada, Sisirda, Nirodda, Sanatda, Manojda, Aratidi, Amitadi and Parudi and so many more. Don't you know them?"

"Yes, I do....

"Another thing that amazed me in England at first was the fact that even the servants and porters were all white! I hadn't read D. L. Roy's song then, you see. The porters called us 'Sir', and carried our luggage. They were so different from the sahibs in India where even the smallest white man behaved like a lord! So that even at that tender age, my heart cried out - 'Who would live a bondslave knowing no freedom!' Now you are free."

"Did you then take a vow to free your motherland even though you were just a schoolboy?"

"Yes, I did, but my father is partly responsible for that."

"How? He had wanted to turn you into westernised gentlemen."

"Just westernised! My goodness! When he left the three of us at the house of Mr. Drewett in Manchester, he

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requested the latter, specifically, not to let us meet any Indians or read any Indian books and newspapers so that we might become full-Hedged sahibs. Though afterwards he did change his way of thinking. But we'll talk about that later."

"You seem to put off many things! You're sure you won't forget them by then?"

Sri Aurobindo laughed. "You'll remind me, if I do so, won't you? Now back to our story. Father left us at Manchester and our mother in London and then returned home. That was the last time I saw him."

"Last time? Why?"

"Because he died just before I came back, and this is partly due to me."

"How is that?"

"You see, he was ill and then he received, mistakenly, an unfortunate piece of news, that the ship on which I was to travel had sunk in mid-sea, so that he believed I had been drowned. The grief and the shock were too much for him to bear and he is said to have died crying out my name 'Auro, Auro!' to his last breath." All the children heaved a deep sigh.

"Your father loved you dearly as you told us the other day."

"He loved everyone because he was very large-hearted. But perhaps he had a special fondness for me and he hoped that someday I would become an important man - for example,'a judge or a magistrate. In those days, to become a judge or a magistrate was to reach the crown of one's career.

"By the way, do you know why he gave the name 'Aurobindo'?"

"No."

"Father decided that his son would have a name that was as new as it was unique; nobody had ever been called 'Aurobindo' before. And he hoped that his son would be as unique and unequalled in his life and character as he was in his name. Nowadays, of course, this name is given quite

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commonly, I find. And then there are Aurobala, Aurosharan, Aurovrata; even Arvind Mills, Arvind Restaurant! Is any of you here named Aurobindo?"

All the children shouted excitedly, pointing at a very sweet timid boy, "He is Aurobindoprasad!"

"But then all these names are given after you, Sir," said Aurobindoprasad.

Sri Aurobindo smiled and looked at a child who was ready to speak -

"Sir, how could your father leave your mother alone in London and come back home?"

"Well, Father was like that. And my mother wasn't quite alone, really. Father had left her in the care of a friend of his, an English doctor. My mother was expecting a child, She wasn't a typically timid Bengali girl, either. Firstly she was a Brahmo. In those days, the Brahmo Samaj allowed its women both education and freedom. My grandfather had seen to it that his daughter studied literature and several other subjects. Secondly, after marriage, she was encouraged by Father to be very modern and she met and ate with her many Indian and English friends very freely. She could even ride a horse. Did you know that?"

"Did she dress like an Englishwoman when she was in England?"

"Not at all! Only nowadays, after Independence, Indian women are up to date and wear western clothes. My mother always wore a sari and when she walked down the street dressed in it people really stopped to stare because she was, as Barin used to say, 'terribly beautiful'! It was as though Mother Lakshmi herself had come down on earth. In Rangpur, she was known as 'the Rose of Rangpur'. The sari is so very graceful, though Nirod might not agree."

The children turned to smile at me, as if saying, "There he is, trying hard not to smile!"

"Someone told me that nowadays our girls wear skirts or punjabi instead of saris?"

"So we do!" admitted Udita.

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"You all are still very little; you are not old enough to understand the aesthetics of the sari. Anyway, let's talk of other things. Where was I? Oh yes! So Father came back home, leaving our mother in London and us brothers in Manchester. Barin was born in a few months' time. You must have heard about his later career. He might have been hanged from the gallows."

"How's that?"

"Well, in all the films about Swadeshi and Independence that you have seen, haven't you noticed how many youngsters were hanged?"

"Oh! so that's what you meant when you said 'gallows'. We were wondering what sort of structure it was. By the way, why would your brother Barin have been hanged?"

Sri Aurobindo said laughing, "Good Lord! Your question sounds very much like Nirod's! He asked me once - 'Sir, were you the real leader of the Swadeshi Movement?' Barin was a great leader. In fact, in those days we had both become so well-known that our elder brother Manomohan used to say - 'There are only two and a half really great men in India today' - namely the two of us, Barin and I counted for two, and Tilak stood for half."

"Who is Tilak?"

"A very great man - certainly not half but a whole man, in fact more than a whole. Few sons of India have been as great. I'll tell you about him by and by.... Well.... My mother came back to India with Sarojini and Barin."

"Weren't you sad?"

"I'm not very sure. Are boys' hearts as sensitive as those of girls? Also, right from our earliest childhood we were being brought up to be English gentlemen away from home and we weren't really very close to our parents. And so now we set about becoming perfect sahibs by studying as hard as we could. My brothers went to school, but since I was only seven years old, I studied at home."

"Goodness! You were only seven, and you stayed there away from your parents?" said Rohit in surprise.

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"But I had my two brothers with me. And, for that matter, most of you also stay away from your parents. Mr. Drewett, the master of the house, taught me English and Latin, and his wife Mrs. Drewett taught me French, history, geography, and drawing. Do your mothers know all these subjects?"

"Yes, because most of them have been educated in this school. Moreover the Mother herself has taught them so much," said Kriti.

"Well, Mr. Drewett was deeply religious as well as learned, and always a perfect gentleman in his manners and his conduct. Of course, his old mother was a little bit different. She was old-fashioned and therefore pretty narrow-minded. The family consisted of these three. Perhaps because the Drewetts were childless, they grew easily fond of us. And I think the gentleman was more fond of me than of the others not only because I was the youngest but also because I enjoyed my studies. He took great pains to teach me well. This is one of the remarkable qualities that westerners have - whatever they do, they do it as thoroughly and earnestly as they can. And I had a few western traits in my character, for example, I was rather reserved and quiet."

"Are the English like that?"

"Not exactly, but their actions speak louder than their words. I'll tell you a funny story. Tennyson, the English poet, was a great friend of Carlyle's. Surely you know Garlyle? His French Revolution is truly an admirable book. I believe Nolini, even in his early teens, had already read the entire book. Anyhow, when these two writers met, they often sat by the fireside smoking for hours without exchanging a single word. And when Tennyson got up to leave, they both agreed that they had spent a wonderful evening. Do you think this kind of silent conversation would be possible here? Just look at me, see how I am talking continuously!"

"Oh! that's just to bring yourself close to us. Otherwise you are ever so serious. For example, during the Darshan, it

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seems your look was so stern that some people really got frightened. If the Mother hadn't been sitting beside you there, no one would have dared go for your Darshan!"

"Good Lord! Is that the reputation I have? I was never like that! Of course I've always been a man of few words, that I do not deny. My brother Manomohan had a radically different temperament."

"By the way, did you three brothers ever quarrel?" asked Bittu.

"Well, which brothers don't ever quarrel? This is how the family patterns are drawn, aren't they? - that brothers will quarrel, the weeping sister be rebuked by her mother and the father come in, bringing back a smile to every face. Do you think that we were all ideal human beings right from birth, each one a Yudhishthir? Of course neither were we as wicked as Duryodhan or Duhshasan, and so the fights were never bloody! The people here believe that I never had to undergo the burden of pain, error or ignorance. Not at all so. I was like any one of you, someone with defects as well as qualities, only I diminished my imperfections through personal effort and Sadhana. But about that I'll tell you another day. My eldest brother Benoy did indeed possess something of Yudhishthir's character, he was quiet and deep, diligent and affectionate and I was close to him. Moreover, both Mr. and Mrs. Drewett were wise and kind, the quiet strength of their natures left a fine impression on our child-consciousness. It is by their encouragement that my love for knowledge increased and I could make so much progress so early. It was at that age that I started reading Shelley, Wordsworth, Shakespeare and other great poets."

"Did you understand them?" asked Rahul.

"Not everything, perhaps, and not very clearly. But then poetry is not always something one understands with the mind. Children understand better with the heart, it is the heart that opens the doors of the intelligence. After finishing my studies, I used to sit at home absorbed in all these books."

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"And what about games? Did, you play cricket or foot- ball?" asked Rohit.

"No, you are all so fortunate here. You have been given so many facilities for games and exercises, gymnastics and athletics, combatives and swimming. These activities are preparing you for life, helping you to grow up healthy and beautiful. We were not so lucky in our childhood. It was only study and more study. Our motto was: 'Students should live for their studies - chātrānām adhyayanam tapah.’ Do you follow? You study Sanskrit, don't you? Sanskrit is the language of the gods, and if you do not study the language of the gods how can you grow up to become gods?"

"You know Sanskrit too?" An older child signed to the young questioner to keep quiet.

"How can I ask you to do what I never did?"

"Pujalalji is teaching us how to recite in Sanskrit. But how many languages are we to learn - there's already English, French and our mother-tongue."

"What is your mother-tongue?"

"Bengali -"

"Gujarati -"

"Hindi -"

"Oriya -"

"Tamil-"

"Oh! is that so? I always thought it was French!"

"Why? O-oh! Yes. And our father-tongue then is English! (Laughter) So we have got to learn English and French on top of our native language and Sanskrit. How is it possible?" complained Anshu.

"Why not? Didn't I learn English, French, Latin and Greek? In childhood learning is easy."

"You learned so many languages, read so many books! You must have been at your studies all day! Goodness, we'd never have been able to do so, we'd have been bored to death. Did you ever mix with the English boys?"

"There weren't very many occasions for it, really. I was made to stay at home, mostly, you see. And you know,

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don't you, that the English are not very outgoing or friendly."

"But Normanda is so friendly with us! His son can even speak Hindi and Bengali!"

"Bengali? Isn't it a difficult language?"

All the children said together, "No, no, of course it is not! We all speak Bengali. Nowdays, though, there's Hindi too."

"So, then, you see how easy it is to learn languages! The English people, however, find it very difficult to pronounce other languages correctly. Their own hard language tends to make their tongues rather stiff. Indians have much more supple tongues. That is why, perhaps, they talk so much more too! Whenever the Drewetts received friends and relatives at home, the latter were always terribly impressed by our accent. 'Oh! How well they speak English!' was always what they exclaimed, so much so that we got really fed up with the compliment."

"Do relatives visit one another in the west?"

"Surely they do! But not as they do in our country where you may suddenly find uncles and aunts with their entire households on your doorstep, without any warning. You see, there people have a strong sense of privacy. If they want to see one another, they have their clubs where they do it. There is a saying that an Englishman's home is his castle where one cannot easily barge in."

"Er... Sir, does one have to eat beef in England? Did you too-"

"Why do you hesitate to ask? We ate whatever was served, without any fuss. Besides, we had no voice, and don't forget that I left my homeland at a very tender age, so that I had hardly any occasion to relish Bengali dishes like spicy spinach and 'chochchori'. The food I ate at the Drewetts' was very plain, very different from the infinite variety of our Indian cooking. In fact, one should not be very interested in food; so long as one gets healthy nourishing food, it is enough. To dwell too much on the pleasures of

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the palate is harmful. Our ancient forefathers always advocated fresh, clean nourishing food for a straightforward and simple life. In our Ashram too, the Mother has not left much scope for epicures. So was it at the Drewetts', for not only was it an English house, it was also a pastor's home where simplicity and cleanliness were the law."

"They must have been very religious. Weren't they so?"

"That they were - always singing hymns and going to church. Especially old Mrs. Drewett, our tutor's mother. She was an almost fanatical churchgoer. She even took us along."

"You went to church?" asked Chaitanya.

"Of course, since she took us. And anyway, at that age, there is hardly any difference between a church and a temple."

"How did you find it?"

"Terrible! I was so bored listening to those long dry sermons the priests gave that I would be ready to doze off. But the old lady always kept a strict eye on us. I think she wanted to convert us into devout Christians. This reminds me of an amusing incident. There was once a meeting of nonconformist ministers in Cumberland. The old lady took me there. After the prayers were over nearly all dispersed, but devout people remained a little longer and it was at that time that conversions were made. I was feeling completely bored. Then a minister approached me and asked me some questions. I did not give any reply. Then they all shouted, 'He is saved, he is saved,' and began to pray for me and offer thanks to God. I did not know what it was all about. Then the minister came to me and asked me to pray. I was not in the habit of praying. But somehow I did it in the manner in which children recite their prayers before going to sleep in order to keep up an appearance. I was about ten at that time. I felt infinitely relieved when I got back to Manchester!" (Laughter)

"So you became a Christian?" asked Jones.

"What did I know of Christianity at that age? I remember,

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my brothers also scolded me, and called me stupid. But I don't think Mr. Drewett approved of forced conversions. I lived so many years with him, but I don't remember him ever talking to me about religion. Anyway, I've already told you that most of my memories of childhood are rather hazy. But one is still very vivid. I was eleven then, in the last year of my stay in Manchester. I was sitting alone. Everything around me was very quiet and still, even my thoughts seemed to have gone to rest. And then came a powerful feeling, a conviction that a time was fast approaching when the earth was going to undergo a great change, an unimaginable transformation. And that I would be at the centre of that revolution. Do you follow me?"

The children looked at one another.

"Have you seen a tropical storm in April? Or a cyclone? You have? Then you must have seen how the whole sky gets gradually covered with big black clouds. There is no wind, not a leaf rustles. The birds fly back to their nests. It seems as if the whole earth is waiting, with bated breath. Then the storm bursts, all Nature is shaken by the battering of rain and wind. But when it's over it feels like a fresh clean world. A new creation.

"I understood that my path would be very different from those that others trod. I would have to live for a great ideal. But what that ideal was, was not at all clear at the time."

"Did you call the Mother to help you in such moments?"

"The Mother? Didn't I tell you that for years and years I was not at all drawn to God? Well, that's another mystery. But after that experience I began to feel the stress of a new change within me. Perhaps my brothers noticed it, though since I had always been rather aloof and uncommunicative, they did not ask me anything. Even I myself did not bother my head about it.

"It is not my nature to dwell too much on anything or to worry unduly. But when I am convinced as to what my line of action should be, I follow it in a single-minded and unshaken manner.

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"Well, then, to return to our story. It was the last year of our stay in Manchester. My elder brothers were to end their schooling, and all three of us were to go on to London. And since it was the final year, Mr. Drewett seemed to intensify my study-courses."

"Were you very pleased with the prospect of going to London?" enquired Sudeep.

"Of course, I was happy to think that I was going to a new place, new things, and would see with my own eyes the famous London Town of which I had heard and read so much. But what brought me a special thrill was the knowledge that I would finally be free to go out of the house, to a school where I would meet other students and teachers. Actually it was my brother, Manomohan, who was terribly excited. Either he would lecture at length to me about where we were going, or he would sing with a Shelleyan effusion the praises of London and the Houses of Parliament, of the river Thames spanned by the famed London Bridge. And then, it is always a matter of pride to think one is going to study at St. Paul's School."

"Why?"

"Because it is the finest school in London. It has the finest students from all over England. But I did not know then that happy days would soon be over to be replaced by misery and gloom. Mr. Drewett gave us no inkling of this. On his part, right up to the end he looked after us with all affection and care."

"Then did you not feel a wrench when the time came to leave him?"

"A little bit, naturally. Though, we were not of the age to be soft-hearted. And it may be said that even our characters were shaped in the English mould!"

"You were talking of misery and gloom...?"

"Oh yes, though that was a different kind of misery. I will come to that when I tell you about my life in London."

"We'd really love to see you as a boy of eight or nine, the

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clothes you wore, the way you walked, the toys you played with...."

"The toys I played with...!"

"No-o-o. But all the same, it would have been wonderful if we had even a few photographs. Do you know that now we have got photographs of the Mother as a little girl? Oh, what a lovely child she was!"

There was a sweet smile on Sri Aurobindo's lips.

A new scene, a new setting. Sri Aurobindo sat in his green arm-chair exactly as in the photographs. He wore a fine handloom dhoti. It was white and crisp, with a narrow gold border. The pleats in front were carefully spread around the feet. Every day a freshly washed and starched dhoti was ready waiting for him. In fact, to prepare it was the daily duty of a particular sadhika. Yet there had been times long ago when Sri Aurobindo had to manage with two dhotis a year, at best, and only one handloom towel or gamchha that he shared with five or six of his disciples. Even earlier, as a student, there were years and years of poverty and near- starvation. And always, in all circumstances, the same calm, the same equanimity.

The soft sacred feet were resting on a footstool. On his right was a tall nut-brown table, on its round top a small clock was ticking away, indicating time to the Eternal.

The children filed in quietly, almost soundlessly. After bowing down at Sri Aurobindo's feet, each of them sat on the carpeted floor, facing him. The room was more crowded than before, there were some new faces. All of them were looking up at Sri Aurobindo, their wide eyes filled with reverential expectation. I was reminded of the forest hermitages of ancient India, where the Gurus, the Rishis, sat surrounded by their young students, eager seekers of wisdom. Of course now the times had changed, and so had the methods of imparting knowledge.

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Sri Aurobindo looked round the room and said —

"Many new faces, I see!"

"Yes," I answered, "they are all my students. I told them, in the class, all about our evening sessions with you and that made them very eager to come here with the younger children. They asked the Mother if they could come, and she graciously gave them permission. So here they are."

"Oh!" A long silence followed. Who would break it? And how? Then Aloka piped up, "While we were returning home after our last visit, we all found Gita terribly serious and silent. We asked her so many times what the matter was. She simply wouldn't say."

All heads turned towards Gita, and at this unexpected attention she blushed, embarrassed. She saw Sri Aurobindo smiling down at her, and the smile gave her the courage to say, "I was completely fascinated by that experience you told us of, when you were eleven years old. I also sometimes feel like that, that I don't belong to the world, that I have no one, neither friends nor family, except the Mother who alone is my real mother. Someone seems to beckon to me in my dreams. At other times I see an exquisitely beautiful figure, like our Mother, waiting for me by the wayside. Then, again, there are times when the trees come alive. The palm tree in the garden downstairs seems peopled with spirits. I see so many things that it becomes very difficult to concentrate on my studies or on my activities in the Playground. And if I tell my friends about them, they simply laugh at me."

"They laugh, do they? Haven't you heard of Joan of Arc, the little peasant girl? When she used to take her flock of sheep out to graze in the fields, angels from Heaven would come down to her and speak to her and even play with her. When you grow up a little, you will understand all this better. For the present, whenever you experience that special mood, remain as calm as possible and continue doing your work as quietly as you can."

Encouraged by these words from Sri Aurobindo, Sachet

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spoke up, "Whenever I go home after seeing you, I dream of you all night. You seem to come so close to me, and sometimes even caress me. How soft your hands are, just like the Mother's. She also visits me now and then in my dreams. And the next day I am filled with an intense joy, but then, gradually, it begins to diminish. Other thoughts get into the mind and the usual restlessness and stupidities of everyday life start all over again. Why does this happen?"

"Why? In order to explain why I would have to tell you all about Yoga and spirituality. But, to put it briefly, a human being is not one person. We may appear to be someone on the outside, but within us there dwell many different personalities, small and big. Each of them has a different temperament, and they are all the time disagreeing and even quarrelling among themselves. We call them mind, life and body. Have you read of the quarrel between the eye and the ear, between mind and life that the Upanishads relate? No? Well, then, haven't you ever noticed a struggle within yourself, your mind on one side, your life-forces on the other? Your mind, which may admonish you one moment, reminding you that you ought to study and not waste your time in pleasures and, the next moment, make excuses to yourself and tell you there is always tomorrow when it will be time enough to study."

"Oh! that happens all the time!" admitted Sachet.

"So there you are! You find that you are two people, one is called mind, the other life. The third person inside you, may intervene in the quarrel and say that it will obey neither; instead it may prefer to fall asleep. Such is human nature. It's as if it were China, Russia, America, all in one. {Laughter}

"If you can bring together all these bickering beings within you, harmonising them in the light of your soul, then your life grows truly beautiful and happy. You say you cannot retain the feeling of joy that you experience. That is because these lower personalities within you demand their quota of excitement, their stimulants consisting of cheap

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noise, trashy books and vulgar films! The higher delight and beauty and peace, the food of the gods, is too hard for them to stomach. You follow?"

"Then what is to be done?"

"There's no need to worry. But since it is a difficult task, one should proceed slowly and carefully. That is what we are striving for, ceaselessly, that man should attain his godhead. But, in the meantime, you are expected to move forward quietly, doing your work without impatience, rejecting all that is wrong, accepting instead whatever you feel is true and good in life and thought, in the books that you read or in the friends you surround yourselves with, or even in the simple nourishing food that you eat. Most important of all, put yourselves totally into the hands of the Mother, as completely as the little kitten surrenders itself to its mother."

"That is to say...?"

"Why, have you never observed little kittens whom their mother picks up by the neck and carries wherever she wants? The little ones look perfectly content, they have nothing to worry about. The baby monkey instead looks so terrified as it clings to its mother's back when she moves from one place to another. You all should rather imitate the kitten."

"Could you tell us something about dreams? Do they tell the truth?" suddenly interrupted one of the older boys.

"Not all of them."

"But Sachet just said he saw you and the Mother in his dreams...."

"Oh! those, of course, are true. How else could he feel waves of joy washing over him all of next day? You see, though science may believe that man is merely a being of flesh and blood, it really is not so. For example, if you read the Prayers and Meditations of the Mother you will come across her description of an experience she had when she was your age. For nearly a year every night as soon as she had gone to bed it seemed to her that she went out of her

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body and rose straight up above the house, then above the city, very high above. Then she used to see herself clad in a magnificent golden robe, much longer than herself; and as she rose higher, the robe would stretch, spreading out in a circle around her to form a kind of immense roof over the city. And towards it rushed all the miserable, the poor, the unhappy and the sick. They stretched their hands out to the dress. The moment they touched it their pain vanished and a tranquil joy filled their being. We all have another body besides the physical one, we may call it the subtle body. When you sleep at night, the Mother visits you in her subtle body to bring you peace and light, health and wisdom - according to your need. If you are conscious, you may realise this, sometimes even you may yourselves go to her. You will understand all these complex truths better when you grow up. In the meantime, shall we resume our story,

then?"

"Oh yes! You had told us that you went to London, to join St. Paul's School," said Gita.

"Now began a new chapter in our lives. In me, the child was giving place to the boy and, though I had not yet quite learned how to fly freely, my wings had begun to show. I no longer needed the safety of the nest that old Mrs. Drewett had made for me, though I believe it was for our sake that Mr. Drewett suggested to his mother to come and live in London. Indeed, this did help us to some extent, otherwise that vast unknown city would have swallowed up the three boys from a far-away land. So we found a shelter. And now about the school. My brothers had no difficulty in being admitted, but I was asked to pass a stiff examination set by the headmaster. Dr. Walker. He questioned me on various subjects and my answers must have satisfied him, in fact he seemed very pleased, especially with my knowledge of Latin, so that he began to coach me personally, along with some other boys. He always enjoyed helping and teaching enthusiastic students. I think he was largely responsible for the good name acquired by St. Paul's School. His coaching

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