Subhash, Oaten: atlas, Russell THE Subhash-Oaten encounter has attained some notoriety, as a number of people have on several occasions given an account of how Subhash Chandra once gave a thrashing with his shoes to one of his British professors, Oaten. But it seems to have almost been forgotten by the general public that this incident was a mere replica or imitation of an earlier and identical performance. Subhash did not institute anything new; he was simply following in the footsteps of eminent and heroic predecessors. Today I propose to give an account of that original performance. It was in the year 1905. The Swadeshi movement was in full tide, flooding the

My Professors (I) My professors at college were giants, Olympian gods all. They are memorable names in the fields of scholarship, learning and teaching. Of these, J. C. Bose, P. C. Ray, Percival, M.Ghose and our Principal P. K. Roy were mature elderly men; among the younger group were Harinath De, Prafulla Ghose, Khagendranath Mitra, and a few others who will appear in this story later. All these men possessed a special gift for which they deserve admiration. Learning and teaching ability are qualities not so rare, many teachers have them. But the quality for which our ancient teachers were known as preceptors, guru, is something unusual: that is the power of influence,

Rabindranath and Modernism (I) BENGALI literature has reached the stage of modernism and even ultra-modernism. This achievement is, we may say point-blank, the contribution of Rabindranath. Not that the movement was totally absent before the advent of Rabindranath. But it is from him that the current has received the high impetus and overflooded the mind and the vital being of the Bengali race. We can recall here the two great artists who commenced modernism – Madhusudan and Bankim. But in their outlook there was still a trace of the past, in their ideas and expressions there was an imprint of the past. The transition from Ishwar Gupta and Dinabandhu to Bankim

Reason and Yoga NOTHING is proved by reason. Reason is only an instrument or a weapon. Any man can use it with the same skill for his own end. Satan, too, has his advocate. According to the demands and needs of our ideals, experience and inner impulses, and in order to furnish them with proofs, we engage reason and its company. Therefore the authority of the proof lies not in any power of reasoning, but in the reality behind the ideal, the secret feeling, the profound impulse and impetus. What is truth is existent; that is, it is true only because it has existence. It is independent of any proof. It has to be seen directly and perceived immediately. The proof of the tre

REMINISCENCES The Initiation of Swadeshi THE Swadeshi Movement of 1905 in India was a most astonishing event, something in the nature of a marvel; one might almost call it a miracle. It was like those great upheavals of Nature, as sudden and irresistible. Earlier preparations and abortive attempts there had been galore, with results that counted for little. This huge mammoth mass of humanity lay inert, like Kumbhakarna of the epic story, for hundreds of years. Here and there once in a while an attempt had been made to pour into its ears fiery words of awakening, like: Who would live a life bereft of all freedom, Who would care so to live? or

The Iron Chain* How many of you have been here since the beginning, I mean from the Kindergarten classes - any? One, two, three, four... Oh, a good many. Very creditable, very creditable indeed, that so many have continued so long and passed through. This is really something creditable. I will tell you a story in this connection. A young man who was an aspirant, a seeker of spiritual or religious life, once upon a time went to Gandhiji. He wanted to remain there. He said, "I am a seeker of spiritual life. I want to remain with you." Gandhiji saw the person and accepted him. "It is all right, you may try," he said. He remained there sometime, pretty long time, perhaps even mo

In This Crisis THAT the world has now pushed itself into the grip of a tremendous crisis admits of no doubt. And difficult it is to fathom the depth of deformation and depravity in which human nature and human society have sunk. The scriptures speak of the darkest days of Kali when even the last traces of religion would be wiped out; man would become irreligious to the last degree; even in his stature he would shrink to a pigmy. Today's man seems certainly to have diminished to such an extent; his life and consciousness have greatly narrowed down; a drop of water is now his ocean. From what is happening all around one can justifiably say that the realities of Kali have overpass

Modern Poetry ELIOT was perhaps the first to lay down the principle that the style of poetry should be like that of prose. By prose he means the current way of talk. According to him the language should be current, if not colloquial. Common words and sentences and the order of prose will satisfy this principle of poetic diction. Even in earlier times more than one poet acted upon this principle. Wordsworth's method was of this nature: Will no one tell me what she sings? Or 'Tis eight o'clock, – a clear March night The moon is up, – But the moderns demand something still more. Merely current words and expressions won't do; common parlance, even the commonest

The Bride of Brahman (Rig-Veda: X.109) I AM going to tell you a story today, a story both for the old and the young, a very old and ancient story. Indeed it is from the Veda. Once upon a time – of course I am speaking of a time when there was no time nor space, before the existence of time and space, when there existed only One Being, the nameless Being – named Brahman! To us, human beings, it is the Supreme Existence, the Lord, God or whatever one chooses to call him. He is also the Lord Surya, the luminous Truth, the sale Light of Lights. So then it once happened: this luminous Brahman looked at himself and found surprisingly that his luminosity, his brightness

Shyampukur ON coming out of jail, Sri Aurobindo found shelter in the house of his maternal uncle, Krishna Kumar Mitra; the place was known as the Sanjivani Office. Bejoy Nag and myself had got our release along with him, but we could not yet make up our minds as to what we should do next; we were still wandering about like floating weeds or moss. But both of us used to go and see him every afternoon. About this time, he went out on tour for a short while in the Assam area in connection with political work and he took the two of us along. On return from tour he told me one day that he had decided to bring out two weekly papers, one in English and the other in Bengali. The premise