At last, Natwarlal, Kami and myself arrived in Pondicherry at 6 a.m. on April 1, 1921. Feeling that it was not proper to sit in rickshaws pulled by human beings we did not hire one. We walked the distance from the railway station to the residence of our host Narandas in Mary Street. Though it should have taken only ten minutes, it took us half an hour as we did not know the way. On reaching Narandas’s house, we presented to him the letter of introduction given by Motilal Mehta. After we had our bath, we were blandly informed that there was a measles case in the house and so no meals could be served to us. I cooked my own meal, as I always did, and my companions went to Amanivasam³.

My mind was impatient to see Sri Aurobindo and, though I attended to the daily chores, my attention was fixed there. But when we got ready to set out we were told not to go outdoors between 11.30 a.m. and 3.30 p.m. as it was scorching hot. Even dogs were not allowed to run about in the streets during that time, as it was believed that heatstroke caused rabies. We were told that unless they carried a proper collar, dogs found in the streets at this time were killed by government order.

However, we could not remain confined to the house for long and started out at 1 p.m. and came to the Guest House, where Sri Aurobindo was then staying. There we met Amrita and informed him that we had come from Bharooch in Gujarat. “Babuji is sleeping,” he replied (Sri Aurobindo was addressed as ‘Babuji’ in those days) and told us to come back a little before 5 p.m. We said we would sit there and wait. But he told us that we couldn’t sit there and must go back and come at the specified time. We felt dejected.

Then we went to the seashore and, in spite of our depression, found the place beautiful. We sat under a tree and passed some time thinking about Babuji. But we were forced to get up because of ants and went to the pier. Then with our minds still on Sri Aurobindo we went back and sat under another tree. In the cool breeze and peaceful atmosphere we were overpowered by sleep. We woke up at 3.45 p.m. and with our attention once more focussed on Babuji, came back to his temple. We sat in the verandah inside and asked Amrita for some water to drink. It was given and we eagerly quenched our thirst. I may mention here that though it was true that we were thirsty due to the climate, what made us ask for water was the desire to taste the tirtha in Sri Aurobindo’s house. After Amrita had gone back we sat on. Some time later he came back and said, “Babuji is busy; I will call you.” The call came at ten minutes to five.

Before that, as we were sitting in the verandah, we heard someone coming down the stairs. As soon as his foot touched the floor I spontaneously ran forward. I felt it must be Sri Aurobindo. I touched his lotus feet and prostrated myself in sashtanga dandavat pranam [with feet, trunk, shoulders, palms and head touching the floor like a rod – signifying surrender of the whole being]. Then he proceeded to the courtyard. Later I was to learn from the Mother that it was at a corresponding spot on the first floor that she had first seen Sri Aurobindo; that was at 3.30 p.m. on 29th March 1914. And I had, rather I was granted, the good fortune of meeting him just at that spot.

When we went upstairs Sri Aurobindo was seated in the verandah. I saw nothing except him and when I prostrated before him I lay there for one full hour. I just could not get up. No one disturbed me. At the end of that hour Sri Aurobindo placed his hand on my head, blessed me and said “Tomorrow.” Then I got up.

A number of chairs had been placed near the table in front of Sri Aurobindo’s chair. We were asked to sit there but we squatted on the floor by his side. He asked us our names and enquired about Dikshitbhai and Punamchandbhai; then he asked me: “Do you know English?” I said I did not. He began in Hindi and asked how we all had come.

C: “A group led by Dikshitbhai walked down from Bharooch to Bilimora and thence we three were sent by train.”

Sri Aurobindo: “How long do you wish to stay here?”

C: “As long as you will permit us.”

He looked around and smiled. Then he told us to come the next day and added that he would receive us after 4.30 p.m. He got up and we too stood up. He did namaskar and we did the same. Then he started towards his room and we remained standing till he entered it. When Amrita asked us to leave it was almost 6.10. When we left we were in a trance-like condition, our eyes could hardly remain open. No wonder we lost our way. Somehow we reached home, cooked our meal, ate it and, after some polite conversation with Narandas, still thinking of Babuji we fell asleep.

You ask me what were my reactions on my first darshan of Sri Aurobindo. Well, after getting up from my sashtanga dandavat pranam at his feet upstairs, I felt that I had nothing more to do in my life. This feeling itself was evident proof of our having ‘arrived’.

The next day (2nd April), we went through the morning duties, had our afternoon rest and got ready to leave around four o’clock, but throughout our thoughts remained centred on Babuji. We reached his house and sat in the verandah downstairs. It was 4.30 but nobody came down and we became impatient for Babuji’s darshan. Finally, at 4.55 p.m. Amrita came and escorted us upstairs. As soon as we approached Sri Aurobindo we prostrated and our eyes touched his lotus feet. For about fifteen minutes we sat quietly, then the following conversation took place.

Sri Aurobindo: “How many people are there at Kashibhai’s?” He stopped after uttering Kashibhai’s name. The ashram was known as Dikshitbhai’s, not Kashibhai’s.

C: “Twenty and a family associated with the ashram there.”

Sri Aurobindo: “What are Dikshit and Punamchand doing there?”

C: “Why do you ask that? You know everything.”

Sri Aurobindo smiled and almost whispered: “Yes, I know.” Then looking round at all sitting there he laughed heartily.

Sri Aurobindo: “What are you doing in yoga?”

C: “I don’t know what is yoga. I am practising something taught by Dikshitbhai and Punamchandbhai.”

Sri Aurobindo: “What is the practice you are doing?”

C: “Whatever work I do I offer to the Lord and I offer it through you.”

Sri Aurobindo: “How many practise yoga there? Give me their names.”

I gave the names.

Sri Aurobindo: “Do you feel anything during this practice?”

C: “Yes, sometimes peace; I see at times light also.”

Sri Aurobindo smiled very sweetly. Then he asked: “Yes, but has Dikshit explained to you how to dedicate everything?”

C: “No. He has only told us that we must be complete instruments.”

Sri Aurobindo: “How?”

C: “I don’t know.”

Sri Aurobindo: “You see, the peace which you feel shows that God is near you. The Light you see suggests that you will be able to meet him in that peace and light. Gradually you will be able to stay in this state.”

C: “Sometimes I feel that the light is inside me.”

Sri Aurobindo: “It means God is within you. Are you practising this?”

C: “Yes.”

Sri Aurobindo remained silent for some time. Then asked: “What made you come here?”

I answered in some detail.

Sri Aurobindo: “Do they read any papers there?”

C: “I don’t know.”

Sri Aurobindo: “Do you read the Standard Bearer?”

C: “At times. When I find there something that ought to be practised I note it down.”

Sri Aurobindo: “How long did you stay in Bombay?”

C: “Four days.”

Sri Aurobindo: “Where did you stay?”

C: “Near Motilal Mehta’s bungalow.”

Sri Aurobindo: “Now what are you going to do at your place?”

C: “We have not decided yet. We are thinking of doing some farming.”

Sri Aurobindo: “Someone went to Chandernagore with Dikshit. Who was that?”

C: “Dwarkanath Harkare who lived in Gandhi Ashram.”

Sri Aurobindo: “Who is he?”

C: “A Maharashtrian.” (Harkare had once stayed in our study-home in Patan and taken a keen interest in me.)

It was 6.05 p.m. by now and Sri Aurobindo went into his room saying: “Now, tomorrow.”

Now the third day. We got up at 6 a.m. After the day’s routine we sat waiting for 4 o’clock. Our hearts were full of expectations and ardent for Babuji’s darshan. Today, my mind had decided, there must be a long discussion with Sri Aurobindo; specific questions needed to be asked, and if time was too short, at least one particular one was indispensable. Joy seemed to be overflowing. But time refused to move! A thought came that we could pass the time in sleep! But today that too became difficult; finally, since we were determined, the goddess of Sleep enveloped us. After waking up we got ready quickly and set off. We went to the seashore and after a brief walk reached Babuji’s temple at 4.10 p.m. Several times we sent word to Amrita. He would only say: “Babuji will see you at five. You will be called.” Thereafter we tried to spend the time in japa and meditation, but it was very difficult to keep waiting. Finally we were called at 5 p.m.

After pranam when Sri Aurobindo started speaking, I said: “Please indulge us by speaking in Gujarati.”

He laughed and said: “I knew Gujarati when I was in Baroda but now I have forgotten it.”

C: “You know everything.”

He laughed and laughed.

C: “You can speak at least in Hindi.”

Sri Aurobindo: “That too I don’t know.”

C: “You certainly know Hindi.”

And then he spoke in Hindi explaining what is meditation. During our stay of eight days, several other things happened. Sri Aurobindo asked me to try to see the Divine Shakti of the Lord that is at work everywhere, in everything. When I asked him what books I should read, he told me to read Prakriti Rahasya (Secret of Nature) in Gujarati and Shandilya’s Bhakti Sutra. He explained the subject dealt with in Prakriti Rahasya and told me that it was written by a disciple of Motilal Roy of Chandernagore who lived in Navsari⁴. When I read that book I experienced the awakening in me of something that perceived beauty everywhere.

Once I asked Sri Aurobindo: “When will I have realisation?”

In reply he told me the following story of Narada:

Two devotees were doing their sadhana in a forest for many years. Once when Narada passed by, one of them asked him, “Bhagavan [a form of addressing holy and venerable souls], you are regularly visiting the Lord. Would you kindly ask Him on my behalf when I shall be able to get His darshan?” A little further Narada met the second devotee. He too entreated him to ask the Lord the same question. On his return Narada told the first devotee, “You will see the Lord after as many births as there are leaves on the tree under which you are doing your tapasya.” The devotee was utterly disappointed and gave up his sadhana. When Narada met the second devotee and told him the same thing, he felt unbounded joy and began to dance in delight: “Oh, after all I am certain to see the Lord!” The promise filled him with such an intense joy that he lost all sense of self and realised the Lord that very instant.

Thus Sri Aurobindo described to us how the time when we will realise the Divine depends on the one-pointedness and intensity of our aspiration.

When I asked Sri Aurobindo if we could see his room, he smiled, said “Yes”, and pointed towards his room. The three of us went inside unescorted. There, on his table, I saw an old pocket-watch. A thought crossed my mind that if I had the means I would get a better watch for his use and request this one for myself. The thought arose and disappeared like a sudden wave. (It had an interesting sequel. One day, after I had settled here and started working with the Mother, she brought that watch and asked me if I would like to keep it. I was amazed but did not answer because I had firmly decided never to take anything from Sri Aurobindo and the Mother, but to offer whatever I could⁵. All the same she gave it to me.)

We had not decided on which day we would leave Pondicherry. On the eighth day we all felt it to be the last day; for every evening, when we took leave of Sri Aurobindo after being near him for an hour, he used to say, “Now, tomorrow.” But this time he said, “Whenever you meet with a difficulty, remember me”, and after a pause, “Write to me.” So we understood it was the last day. The wonder was that all that we wanted to ask Sri Aurobindo, all that we had to tell him, was over in the first two or three days, and yet every day, when we were leaving he used to say, “Now, tomorrow.” This shows how he showered his infinite grace to keep us in his presence for some more days.

Sri Aurobindo’s Pacing

Sri Aurobindo used to pace for hours together. This he did in each of the houses he lived in. I remember clearly, when we first came to Guest House in 1921, we saw a long narrow passage in the middle of his rooms – it was at least a quarter of an inch deep and ran from one end of one room to the other end of the other room through the connecting door. The floor, of course, was not made of cement but of chunam. We could guess that the depression must have been made by his walking and that was later confirmed⁶.

Champaklal’s Letter to Sri Aurobindo

OM

Kansia, P.O. Ankleshwar, 28.4.21, 3.00 p.m.

My Ishwara,

I have a persistent desire since many days to write to you; but I cannot decide which things to write. I feel like writing down everything but am unable to put all in front of you in words. Kindly shower your grace on this son of yours who has taken refuge in you and yourself see all I have to tell you, all that I need at present and all my difficulties, and kindly grant what my being aspires for and all that it needs.

Still, as I cannot control my impatience, I am writing a few things to you. As directed by you I sit in meditation but do not get any joy in it. Although I do wish to meditate, I cannot do it with joy. And as told by you, during the meditation I pray to the Divine Shakti but cannot surrender myself to you. While trying to surrender, my eyes burn and my head feels heavier and heavier. Once during meditation something happened, but only for a second. What happened I do not know, but I felt that if it happened always I could meditate for longer periods. It would be good if one can sit peacefully and happily without being disturbed by thoughts. I pray for your Grace that I may be able to meditate in peace and joy and also do the practice you have given in the same way.

Next, I talk too much. I want to stop that. Talking too much is a great hindrance in my sadhana, yet I cannot stop it. I wish to remain quiet all the time, so please do whatever needs to be done. Also, please do what you need to do with my mind.

Sheltered at Your Lotus Feet,

Your servitor and obedient son Champak’s

sashtanga dandavatpranam in Your holy service.

P.S.: I had finished writing this letter. But this morning, when I was half awake, I received a question coming from you: “You want a practice which you can do peacefully and happily, don’t you?” I tried to listen to the instructions you gave for doing it but failed to hear anything. Kindly let me know if the question really came from you or it was just my imagination.

Reminiscences of my Childhood

My Father

Of all my recollections about the elders of my family, the ones about my father are perfectly clear. His life was most sattwic due to which those who knew him well addressed him as ‘Purani Maharaj’. Though externally he appeared to lead the life of a sanatani [practitioner of Vedic rituals], compared to others of his time he was quite liberal in his views.

“It is said that children inherit their parents’ assets, then why did I not inherit anything from my father?” I sometimes wondered, in the early years of my life in Pondicherry. But now I realise that my sanskaras, my inner orientation, is the wealth he has bestowed on me; a treasure no amount of spending can diminish.

The sweet voice of my father is still ringing in my mind. When he read Okhaharan [a religious epic] in his melodious voice, not only would the room be filled up but, what is surprising, more than half of the audience would be children. And they came early to occupy their seats, such was their interest. So captivating was my father’s discourse that no instructions were needed to keep the children quiet; even those of them who could not understand sat quietly. It is only now that I understand fully how deep an impact the vibrations of his voice must have left on their inner beings.

I recall an example of his liberal thoughts. Once I went on a pilgrimage with him to Nashik and Tryambakeshwar. I was to perform my uncle’s shraddha [a ceremony for the dead]. As is customary, the priest asked me to shave my head but my father told me, “If you do not want to do it, it does not matter.” In spite of his apparently orthodox ways, he never insisted on our observing every custom.

But in all matters of daily life he insisted on discipline. He himself observed it strictly even in the smallest detail and taught us to do the same. Thus some of our clothes belonged to us only to the extent that we wore them but we could not emphatically say that they belonged to us alone; for instance, there was a coat which was used by two or three of us. However, each of us had a separate peg on which to hang our clothes. There were two roads from our house to our school, but we were told to use only a particular one so that in case one of us was wanted at any time it would be easy to find him.

My father did not interfere much in our lives once we reached a certain age. Thus, he never rebuked my brother Kantilal⁷. My mother would complain, “You see everything but you never scold him; that is why he does not listen to me.” At such times, to pacify her, he would recite this Sanskrit couplet:

लालयेत् पञ्च वर्षाणि दश वर्षाणि ताडयेत् ।

प्राप्ते तु षोडषे वर्षे, पुत्र मित्रवदाचेत् ॥

[Cāṇakya-sāra-saṃgraha]

The first five years pamper the child; the next ten years, if necessary beat him. But from the time he attains the age of sixteen, behave with him as with a friend.

I recall another apparently trivial maxim. When I was young my parents often said, “You must wash your hands and feet before eating.” I never followed this advice. Some years back, I noticed that every time I sat down to eat there was a sort of tremor in my feet, but when I washed them and sat down, there was an immediate relief. Thereafter, interestingly, if for some reason I forgot to wash my feet, I had to get up in the middle of my meal to wash them. Once, long after I began doing it regularly, I read in a magazine that someone had researched this subject and showed why it is necessary to wash our feet before meals – in brief it helps digestion. It is from various big and small experiences of rishis and munis that such social customs have come up.

My father often said, “Ask and even the muktaphala [fruit of liberation] can be yours.” But he himself never asked for anything from anybody.

I remember another thing. Usually my father did not allow us children to be present when elders were talking. He would send us away saying, “Go, do your homework or read your lessons; if you don’t have anything to study go out and play. You must not listen to our conversations here.” But sometimes it was the contrary; “You may sit here if you wish to,” he would say and ask us to pay attention to their conversation. Whenever he had thus permitted us to attend these talks we always learned many things. I fully understand now what was the purpose behind this apparently contradictory ways of my father. In this connection I remember another incident.

Once my father and my maternal uncle were talking. I was sitting there, listening attentively. When my father said, “God’s Grace is always there; whatever I desire is fulfilled on that very day or the next day”, my uncle exclaimed, “Purani Maharaj, what a strange man you are! If this had happened to me, the first thing I would ask for would be a mansion!” My father quietly replied, “By God’s Grace, I have no such desire.” My uncle said, “I would not be able to live like you, Purani Maharaj. You amaze me.” My father said, “But I am fully satisfied. When God’s Grace is with us, what more is required?” When I heard this conversation I was five or six years old. What my father said has left a permanent impression because of something in his voice and the way he expressed himself. But I did not follow some of the other things he said and wondered what he meant. But the Gracious Mother is explaining all that to me now, through personal experiences.

Taking a nap in the afternoon was never the practice in our family. On the contrary, one should walk at least a hundred steps after lunch. That most people take a nap, sometimes sleeping till late in the afternoon, was something I saw only after I was about eighteen and began visiting other places. Nowadays, when I go out for some work or I am working at home, I am repeatedly asked to take rest. At such times I remember something my father used to say: “Who needs rest in the afternoon? Only people who are tilling their lands in the scorching sun or doing heavy physical labour need to rest.”

Having mentioned farming, I am reminded of another anecdote. In those days, houses did not have a separate room for taking bath. In the severe cold of winter, my father would be taking his bath early in the morning, sitting on a small stone bench alongside the outer wall of our house. At that time our farmer neighbour would be going to his fields with his plough. Seeing my father he would remark, “O Lord, may I never be born a baraman (Brahmin) so that I do not have to take a bath early in the morning in severe cold.” Referring to this, my father told us, “Saying such things as ‘I cannot do something’ or ‘I cannot do it in that way’ are only mental ideas. That farmer goes to the fields on that same early winter morning wearing only thick khadi (hand-spun cotton) instead of woollen clothes or wrapping a shawl around himself, but bathing seems difficult to him!” By such anecdotes, my father used to illustrate the peculiarities of human nature. These stories have proved most useful in my life.

On occasions he taught us through couplets, verses, poems, or fables. At that time these things interested me but were not fully understood. Now I understand their deeper meanings only by the Mother’s Grace.

A lesson that my father taught me through a doha of the saint-poet Tulsidas has had a lasting effect on my life. In a very melodious voice he would sing:

Kahan kahoon chhabi apaki, bhale bane ho Nath;

Tulasi mastak tab name, dhanushaban jab hath.

Explaining this he said, “God appeared in front of Tulsidas as Sri Krishna and Tulsidas told Him, ‘Lord, I have no words to describe Your Beauty; but my head will bow to You only when you come with bow and arrows in the form of Sri Rama.’ And the Lord was forced to appear to him in that form.” Then, explaining the deeper meaning behind the lines my father said, “You see, we may bow to all gods and goddesses, but our total surrender ought to be only to the form of the Divine that we have chosen to worship. Devotion and surrender have to be absolute.” This too I liked but did not fully understand.

After coming here, when the Mother explained the same thing I found it perfectly natural. Nowadays I can understand such things easily, without making any effort. One day I saw Mother asking a sadhak not to read books on Sri Ramakrishna. It reminded me of my father’s words which I had not properly understood; on the contrary they had surprised me. But this time I understood because Mother explained it through experience. To avoid misunderstanding I may add that Mother had specially asked the same sadhak, whom she was now telling not to read Rama-krishna-dev’s writings, to read other works besides Sri Aurobindo’s. How Mother guided is now becoming clearer to me. Then I had only faith in her words and her workings. Now, the Gracious Mother has added to that faith an understanding even of the deeper mysteries.

In the early days I felt no desire to meet great personalities or read their books, though I did look upon them with respect. But now I can read books by any of them; not only that, I go to meet them on my own; yet my head bows only to the one to whom I have surrendered my all. Of course, when I admire someone I do namaskar to them, but never pranam. But that does not mean I believe I have progressed more than them. I write all this now only because nowadays Mother reveals everything to me. Sometimes some people wonder: “Why does Champaklal need to meet these people after staying so long with Sri Aurobindo?” Let me clarify that I do not go to them for guidance. I have an absolute faith in the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. They are doing and will continue to do everything that needs to be done for me.

What have you given to the Lord?

My father once narrated the story of Krishna and Sudama. I write this only for the moral of the story as he told it to us.When Sudama goes to meet him, Sri Krishna is overjoyed and rushes out to meet Sudama. He embraces his friend lovingly and receives him with great honour. Later he himself gives Sudama a royal bath. Now Sudama’s wife had given him some paunva [flattened rice or rice flakes] in a tiny cloth bundle to offer to Lord Krishna, but seeing the opulence there, Sudama is unable to do it. He tries to hide the bundle under his armpit but Sri Krishna snatches it away. Opening it he takes a handful of paunva and eats it; then he eats a second. But as he is about to put a third handful in his mouth Queen Satyabhama holds his hand and stops him. She says, “Lord, with the first handful You turned his hut into a palace, with the second You gave him riddhi-siddhi [prosperity and attainments]; if You take this one You Yourself will have to go to him.”

The moral is that even if the Lord wants, until Sudama himself offers Him something, He cannot bestow anything. That is why in order to grant Sudama what He wanted to give him, the Lord has to snatch away his tiny bundle. Only when we surrender all to Him, does He abide eternally with us.

When our maternal cousins visited us on certain occasions, our parents gave us special instructions such as, “Do not say anything that might hurt their feelings. Behave nicely with them even if they do any mischief or are rude to you, and not only when they behave well. Then alone can we say, ‘How generous are our children!’ It will be a matter of pride for us.”

Once my father rendered great help to a relative, financial and otherwise. Still that person’s behaviour towards our family was disagreeable and this greatly angered my mother. My father then told her, “There is nothing unusual in treating someone well who behaves decently. To do so even when he mistreats you, would show the generosity and nobility of your nature.” I remember very well how these words calmed my mother.

Whenever we were to visit somebody our mother would instruct: “Remember, work is appreciated by everyone, so wherever you go do some useful work and do not keep playing or sit idle.” In this regard our mother was very particular. She inculcated in us four brothers the habit of working and being useful to others. In those days, certain chores such as sweeping, fetching water and washing vessels were done only by girls. But it was not so in our house. We boys were made to do all these things. I recall my mother once asked my sister who had just swept the room, “Have you finished sweeping?” When she said yes, my mother pointed out the corners behind the doors: “Have you cleaned here?” My father told us that whatever the work, if one does it methodically and with an attitude to do better, we learn more and more things.

In my work with the Mother all that my parents taught me about work proved very useful. Mother was always happy with my work, and often expressed her happiness in words.

Nowadays, when I read letters sent to me, I recall my father’s remarks regarding handwriting. He often told to me, “Your writing resembles brambles. You should form the habit of writing in fine curved letters. In the beginning the letters may not be well formed but if you write slowly, patiently and attentively, they are bound to improve.” Then pointing to certain letters in my writing he said, “See these? How nicely they are shaped. There are others like them. So, if you decide to write beautifully, and remember your decision, you will be able to do it.”

Along with such encouragement he would also give specific hints. One must always re-read what one has written so as to correct mistakes and make certain that the reader will not mistake one word for another. Sometimes letters are illegible and the reader is put to much trouble. This should not happen. He would stress the point about legibility and ask me never to forget it. My father’s handwriting was remarkably beautiful; while our letters largely depended on the kind of pen or nib we used, his came out the same, whatever he wrote with.

“When you write a letter,” he would say, “pay great attention to the words as well as the numbers in the address on the envelope. Practice makes one a good scribe, so form the good habit from now and your handwriting will become beautiful.”

Recently, a man came to me with a family problem. “My wife is simple, kind-hearted and innocent, but the behaviour of other family members towards her is not good. They constantly insult her and are often unjust to her, treating her as if she were insane. I am unable to say anything to my elders. As yet I am neutral, but what should I do?” Then by Mother’s grace I was reminded of an incident my father told me in my childhood. I recount it here because it may help some in their own progress and in their behaviour with others.

My father had a lawyer friend whose wife was mad but he took extremely good care of her. Sometimes for this he had to disregard others in the family, yet he always favoured her. His family complained about this to my father who also saw for himself that his friend did take excessive care of his mad wife.

One day my father asked him, “Don’t you think you are doing too much for your wife?” (My father had many admirers and devotees but only one friend, this lawyer.) He replied, “I understand all this. Don’t I know that my wife is mad? But do you know what her plight would be if I were not partial to her – how my relatives would treat her in my absence? Now, in order not to displease me, they behave nicely with her. If she had not been mad, if she had even a little understanding of things, I would certainly not act like this. But since she is not sane, unless I behave as I am doing, my wife would be totally neglected by all, I know that too. It is only sometimes that they have to suffer some inconveniences. But I do consider their needs and am careful not to neglect or disregard them; I am always conscious of that. Now do you have anything to say? The others have someone or the other to support and console them, but who is for her? Because I take care of this mad woman others behave properly with her. That is human nature. In a family, we have to sacrifice something for every individual. I am not as blind to my wife’s shortcomings as they think, I can see very well who is at fault and who is not. Tell me, do you want me to prove it? If I change my behaviour towards her, in just two days the behaviour of the rest towards her will change and then you will see the pitiable fate that will befall her.”

Traditional learning and Champaklal

As you know, every Brahmin must learn certain rituals after his upanayana [sacred-thread ceremony]. My father taught me sandhya [worship at dawn, noon and dusk] but I was never interested in this ritual. My elder brother, Sunderlal, who was brought up under the same sanskaras was just the opposite. My father sent us both to a well-known pundit for coaching. This pundit was very particular in the matter of pronunciation. Now, when it came to pronouncing the alphabets स (s), श (ś), and ष (ṣ), Sunderlal learnt it in one day, but I could not do so even after a week. So Punditji was very displeased. I too felt very uneasy. He was taking a lot of trouble but, I don’t know why, I simply could not pronounce them correctly, especially the last one ष (ṣ). I did not know what to do.

Our town Patan is an ancient place with many poles [localities]. Generally, at the entrance of each of them there is a large gate, often with a watchman or two. The watchman at the gate of the pole in which our punditji lived, used to keep a pack of donkeys. Now hear what happened.

I had told Sunderlal that I was tired of our punditji. All the same we would start off from home with pothi [text-book] in hand. I would sit at the gate and wait there for about four hours till my brother came back after his studies, then we returned home together. A month passed this way. One day something unexpected happened. Usually punditji did not go out of his pole. But that day he came to the gate and saw me. I did not know it. On going back he asked my brother: “What? Champaklal is grazing donkeys there?” My brother kept quiet. Later, punditji reported the matter to my father, but he, unique in many ways, did not say anything.

My father provided all facilities for our education but never imposed anything. Thus from childhood he fostered my love for drawing and painting. In 1914, he sent me to Ahmedabad to take the first-grade examinations in drawing, and in 1915 the examinations for the next grade called the intermediate examination. I passed in both. My maternal uncle Shankarlal Bhanabhai Vyas also took the same examinations with me⁸.

Champaklal does not understand

Once my maternal uncle complained to my mother, “When Champak comes to our house he refuses to eat, even if we insist!” So she told me not to refuse in future.

Unexpectedly, the very next morning an occasion arose and I was sent on an errand to Uncle’s house. He asked me to have my lunch there. Now, that very day both our families had been invited for dinner to some other place, and, as is usual in such circumstances, my aunt had not cooked a regular lunch. But not knowing any of that, I promptly accepted and my aunt was forced to serve whatever was available.

Back home, when I related this to my mother she exclaimed, “But this evening we are all going out for dinner!” I replied, “Well, Uncle asked me to eat, so I ate.” Everyone laughed.

The next day when Uncle came to our house, he told my mother, “Champak does not understand anything! Yesterday nothing was cooked because we were all going out for dinner, but the moment I asked him merely out of courtesy, he promptly sat down to eat! He does not understand anything!”

Meeting an avadhut

In 1921, after returning from my first meeting with Sri Aurobindo, I accompanied my father and my aunt Motiben on their pilgrimage to Nashik, Tryambakeshwar, etc. On our way back we visited Chanod and Karnali9 where we bathed in the holy Narmada. The stone stairs of the ghat along the river start unusually higher than the level of the water. I was sitting on the topmost stair, enjoying Nature’s beauty all around, when suddenly I heard someone singing in a grand but melodious and soothing voice. Two lines of this song specially drew my attention:

The Soul is all, the Soul is all is the refrain;

But who gives up this bodily attachment?

These words were sung again and again, and were infused with such feeling that they could penetrate the listener’s heart and awaken his inner consciousness.

The voice came from the window of a house on the riverside. I was attracted to it and felt like going there. While I was wondering which way to go, a student passed by on his way to the ghat. I asked him, “Which way should I go if I wish to meet the singer of this melody?” He said, “It is not possible to go there now. You are extremely fortunate to have heard him sing at this time. He sings only at the evening collective devotional singing; and he never meets anyone, whosoever it may be. But all are allowed to attend the evening singing; that is the only time you will be able to meet him.”

C: “What is his name?”

Student: “He calls himself Paagal [Madman], Ghanchakkar [Idiot] etc. His real name is Janardan.”

C: “I want to go there; will you show me the way?”

Student: “There is no point in going there now. It will be in vain. Even if you go, he will definitely not open the door.”

But I made him show me the way and managed to reach the place on my own. I knocked on the door and at once it was flung open as though he had been waiting just behind it for me. I was astonished to see him; it was the same saint I had met at Jhadeshwar¹⁰ – his father was once Kashibhai’s secretary! There was a lady beside him and he told her, “Now you see? Hasn’t he come?” Turning to me he said, “I saw you sitting there. At this time I rarely open my window and look out, but today I spontaneously opened it and looked to where you were sitting and felt impelled to call you here. I told this lady that the man who is sitting there will soon come, for I am going to call him. Then I sat down with the tanpura. I sang just to bring you here. And see, you have arrived! Otherwise, I never sing at this time.”

Then he asked me to attend the collective singing in the evening. My father, aunt and I went there. Some of his melodies were so touching and so simple that they just stuck in my memory:

Abandoning your hankering after earthly tastes,

Echo, O tongue, His nectarous Name.

Who is Chhagan and who is Magan, who Chandu or Bandu,

Mere illusions are these names and forms!

When vairagya has not stung you,

what can your guru do?

When there is no child in the womb,

what can the midwife do?

Thus we saw that he was an impromptu composer. These couplets seem quite ordinary but when he sang them the effect was so powerful that one would forget everything and just sit there. At Jhadeshwar, I had seen Kamala’s father spend the whole day in his company. He used to keep a dhuni [a sacred fire tended with pungent herbs etc.] constantly lit in front of him. His massive physique reminded one of Bhimasen of the Mahabharata but his loving and carefree personality captivated everyone. As we were already concentrated on Sri Aurobindo’s yoga, his personality did not touch us to that extent, but had I not already come in contact with Sri Aurobindo, I might have joined him.

To resume the tale of Chandod-Karnali. After he finished singing in the evening he told me, “Come tomorrow to my house at midnight. I will take you to an avadhut [ascetic]. Even if he abuses you or loses his temper and asks you to get out, do not leave.” The next night we went to the avadhut. His fair complexion and white beard added to his luminous personality. He was sitting peacefully in front of his dhuni. Smilingly softly at me, he gestured to me to sit near him and asked: “Is it going on constantly this way?” At that time I was following the sadhana given by Sri Aurobindo. I replied, “I am trying.” Then he said, “Jumna-maiya¹¹will fulfil your sankalpa. I can see your Guru behind your head. jumna maiya will help you attain your goal. I may get a chance to meet you again.” He thus welcomed me very nicely and instead of abusing, blessed me.

On our way back, I was shown another sadhu, but from a distance: “That man too is a saint.” His dress was in tatters and his actions seemed those of a madman; but he was only pretending to be mad, so that people stayed away from him. He filled a vessel with water from the river and, standing on the last step of the ghat, splashed it all around. I had met this ‘mad’ sadhu before in a small hut in Jhadeshwar and had been very impressed by his carefree nature. He had spoken a lot about Swami Ramatirth but as we had already met Sri Aurobindo, we enjoyed his company without being overwhelmed. When we first met, he wanted to make me his disciple. But nowadays, when we meet, he introduces me to his disciples as his close friend.

Paul Richard and Champaklal

When Paul Richard¹² visited Gujarat [in 1921], he made our ashram in Patan his headquarters. He visited other places from there. He became like one of our family.

The first thing he would ask us when we met him in the morning was, “Did you have a good sleep? Did you have good dreams?” He asked us to keep a notebook and pencil at hand when going to bed so that whatever happened in sleep could be noted down. Today I find this suggestion quite appropriate. Interesting experiences occur in the night which one thinks of writing down in the morning, but much is lost in the process.

He loved us very much. He would sit crosslegged and make me and Kanti lie on either side with our heads in his lap and caress our heads simultaneously.

He was a lover of beauty. He took us out to enjoy the sunset and meditate. Since then, sunset has become my favourite sight and I never miss any opportunity to watch it.

He also put great emphasis on cleanliness. He carried a small but powerful magnifying glass. Holding it over our palms he would say, “You see how difficult it is to keep the hands clean?” He insisted that food should not be touched by the hands.

Once he was very angry on seeing the black marks made by a washerman on his clothes. After some time he laughed and said, “This has happened because there must be a black mark in me.” He did not know that washermen make such marks in order to distinguish clothes belonging to different customers.

He took me and Kanti along when he visited Palanpur and from there we went to Balarama Mahadev. We were also with him when he went to the Sahitya Parishad in Ahmedabad.

Later he went away to the Himalayas. When he learnt that our ashram in Patan was closed, he wrote two letters to me calling me to join him. I was to wire to him if I wished to go. Though I wanted to live in the Himalayas, it never materialised because I was destined to come to Pondicherry. Just as Paul Richard invited me to the Himalayas, Sri Aurobindo asked me to come to him. Pondicherry is not Himalayas, but for me it is the best place in the world. By Sri Aurobindo’s infinite Grace I was fortunate to come here.