Chachaji

Some of the greatest and the most important discoveries have been made through sheer accident, for example Columbus’s discovery of America and Newton’s discovery of the law of gravitation. The supreme discovery of my life has also been the result of a mere chance.

It so happened that in December 1939, my esteemed and valued friend Dr. Indra Sen and myself decided to undertake Bharat Yatra, not so much to see the different provinces and places but mainly to make a study of the diverse cultures of our peoples. Our combination was rather curious — Dr. Indra Sen, a man of great learning and erudition (he was then the Professor of Philosophy and Psychology at the Hindu College, Delhi) and I, a businessman with a flair for politics.

When my wife came to know of our conspiracy, she insisted that we take our son Anil, who was then only 9, and also a servant to look after Anil.

So we made all the necessary arrangements and purchased zonal tickets which, with the route map printed in colour looked more like a passport describing in detail and with great beauty the whole route Delhi, Mathura, Agra, Aligarh, Kanpur, Lukhnow, Allahabad, Varanasi, Patna, Calcutta, Puri, Bhubaneshwar, Vizagapatnam, Bezwada, Madras, Bangalore, Mysore, Hyderabad, Sholapur, Poona, Bombay, Surat, Baroda, Ahmedabad, Ajmer, Jaipur and back to Delhi. Believe it or not, that ticket cost only Rs. 36 and 8 annas.

The journey was naturally eventful. Though our train was not a ‘Pilgrims’ Special’ we did not have to spend a penny on our lodging anywhere. We had so planned our schedule that we spent the days in seeing and visiting the places and the nights in the trains. Out of the train, we always lodged under some thick and big tree near the railway station. The servant looked after the luggage and cooked food, and after taking our meals, we would go to the town, city, village, temple or historical place, as the case might be, returning to our ‘lodge’ late in the evening with sufficient time to have our dinner and board the train for our next destination. Sometimes we managed to cook even in the compartment. That was possible in those days when people were not so crazy for travelling and there used to be enough space in trains even to use them as playgrounds.

Needless to say that economy was an overriding factor with us. Apart from the above mentioned measures, we avoided the use of any transport as far as possible, as in those days legs used to be certainly stronger, more mobile and quicker than they are today. Again, we never spent anything on coolies because the heavier load was carried by the servant and the rest by Dr. Indra Sen and me. Anil was responsible for carrying the basket. And can you imagine the result of all that? We did not even have any exact idea of it at that time. But after the conclusion of this over-a-month-long tour of almost the whole sub-continent, when we made the final account, the total expense, including the cost of the zonal railway ticket, worked out to be a ‘fantastic’ figure — Rupees seventy-five & annas twelve per head all told.

About 10 days after the commencement of our journey, we reached Madras. The surging waves of the sea seemed to be welcoming us. Seeing the sea, I thought we had reached the last post of our Indian tour. But to my great surprise, we were told that the South extended far beyond and further south of Madras. I had thought we had paid for the tour of the whole of India and therefore this information came as a ‘shock’. I further learnt that throughout the South ran a ‘baby railway’ operated by a private company — South Indian Railway. And when I went to see the ‘baby railway’, I found that its track, bogies and engine etc. were really very small. What is more, even its guards, ticket collectors and other officials were short in height though they appeared quite impressive, almost like members of a marriage party, in their attractive dresses which with green turbans lined with gold thread were so different from the Western style dresses worn by the officials of the railways in our part of the country.

The officials of the ‘baby railway’ turned out to be a very generous lot. They offered us the ‘Travel As You Please’ tickets which were indeed more artistic and beautiful than those we already possessed. With those tickets we could have a merry-go-round covering the whole of the South for 15 days. And for all that one ticket cost was Rs.15 which meant just one rupee a day.

The journey down and across the South was both pleasing and revealing. We greatly enjoyed the breathtaking but calm and lingering beauty of the East and the West coast. We visited Travancore, Cochin and Alleppy, and viewed with wonder and admiration, the craftsmanship and ancient art embodied in the colossal and intricately built temples of Madras, Trichinopolly, Mahabalipuram, Srirangam and Rameshwaram etc. We touched the southern-most point of the Indian sub-continent — Cape Comorin, where we had a full and panoramic view of the two seas, the Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean, joining each other. We also paid our homage at the library built there in memory of Swami Vivekananda.

However, I am here concerned more with telling the readers about the unusual generosity of the Southern Railway than describing the beauty or topography of the places we saw. The facilities and concessions allowed in those days are simply unthinkable in the context of present day travelling conditions. Take for instance the way we spent our nights.

We naturally did not like to be stranded at platforms or reach the next town during the night hours. The various towns and cities which we wanted to visit were quite near to each other and the ‘Travel As You Please’ ticket permitted us to undertake any number of journeys to and fro on any of the routes covered by the Southeren Railway. Thus, instead of spending nights on platforms, we would board the train at night which returned the following morning from the terminus to the station which we wanted to see.

But the large-heartedness and helpful attitude of the Southern Railway people went far beyond. Once while in the train, we ran short of fuel and we wanted to cook our food. So when the train halted at a wayside station, we picked up some soft coke from the cinder, i.e. refuse of the railway engine. It so happened that in spite of our best efforts, that coal would not burn in the angeethi and the train was running. The angeethi started emitting smoke in profusion which invaded all the rear compartments forcing the guard to pull the alarm chain and bring the train to an immediate halt. Within a few seconds a crowd of railway officials and others swarmed into our compartment thinking the train had caught fire.

As the alarmed crowd rushed into our compartment the guard fired at us, “What are you doing?” “Just trying to make fire in order to cook our food” was my simple and straightforward reply which made him frown and fret with resentment. “Cooking your food in the train! Don’t you know that you can’t do such a thing and can be prosecuted for it?” said the guard in a threatening tone. “But we hold the ticket for it.” “Ticket for cooking food! Man, what are you talking!” the guard said in irritation. “But you can see it for yourself.” “See what? Anyway let me see,” demanded the guard brusquely. “Here you are,” I said thrusting the ticket before the guard’s eyes. “Doesn’t it say `Travel As You Please’? And that being so, we can certainly do whatever we like,” I explained confidently. And that worked wonderfully because after a brief surprised pause, the pulled up faces suddenly relaxed and the guard had a hearty laugh. Good humouredly he gave back the ticket to me and smilingly blew the whistle.

When we reached Rameshwaram on the Eastern Coast, we came to know that only a few miles down was the station from where people embarked for Ceylon. Ceylon was 40 miles beyond the sea. It was obviously a big temptation to resist. Hence we sailed for our Lanka Yatra through the same route by which Sri Rama had crossed the sea with Hanuman Sena to attack Lanka and vanquish Ravana. We were even shown the remnants of the bridge which was built by Nal Neel and Banar Sena. We were happy at our decision — because our visit to Ceylon, besides being very rewarding and revealing, was full of many pleasant incidents and experiences.

On our way back from Ceylon, somebody told us that on the off-side railway line lay Pondicherry, a French pocket, where there was an Ashram of an Indian Yogi. The lure of visiting yet another foreign territory and an Ashram in that far-fetched corner of our subcontinent proved to be too strong. Moreover, I thought that by visiting Pondicherry I could tell my friends that I was ‘foreign returned’, having been to two foreign lands including a part of a fascinating country called France. Thus we took the train for Pondicherry where we hoped to spend just an evening and the night.

My first surprise after passing through the streets of Pondicherry was that it was anything but a foreign or French territory. Almost every way and every inch, it was like any other town of Madras State — same people, of same stature and complexion wearing the same dress and speaking the same Tamil language.

Surprise was again my immediate reaction on first seeing the Ashram building. It appeared as one of the many buildings that dotted the area. We saw no such distinctive feature in the design and architecture of the building which could even faintly suggest that it was an Ashram. When we got into the building, we saw a number of people, all in simple and neat dresses, and some even in pants, coats and neck-ties but no saints or sannyasis, no monks or mahants, no shaven heads or jatadharis, no bare-bodied bhaktas or saffron-robed sadhus, no tilak dharis or kan-phatas. Neither did we spot any temple, moortis or ‘granths’(scriptures).

However, our enquiries elicited for us the information that the yogi, the master of Sri Aurobindo Ashram, had his abode on the first floor of the building. To be precise, I heard to my great amazement that Sri Aurobindo had never stirred out of his room for the past many years. However, I was disappointed to know that not only we but in fact virtually nobody could see Sri Aurobindo for more than four times in a year, called darshan days. And seeing meant just having a fleeting glimpse from a distance; no pranams, no talks, discussions or conversations.

All this sounded so intriguing to me! But that was not the end of it. I was further told that there was also the Mother in the Ashram, a French lady. A French lady and the Mother of the Ashram founded by an Indian Yogi! It only further accentuated the atmosphere of surprise and suspense — though these peculiar revelations had naturally heightened my curiosity and keenness to unravel this mystery, which was deepening and becoming more and more fascinating with every new bit of information.

What then was to be done! What for had we gone there? We could not see the sage, we could not interview the Mother, there was no kirtan or katha, no preaching or prayers, no shiksha or sermons, no bhajans or aartis, no discourse or discussion, no havans or yajnas, no asanas or pranayams, no mantras, no meetings! Then what sort of an Ashram was this? It was so bewildering! At last someone told us that meditation was held in the evening which we could join.

As directed, we reached the Meditation Hall at about 7 p.m. A few scores of men and women were already seated there with their eyes closed, lips virtually sealed and heads bowed. All the lights had been put out and in that near total darkness there was just a glimmering of light. It was so quiet and calm! The atmosphere of meditation was infectious and I felt a strong prompting to join it and close my eyes. But I wanted to see what was to happen, hence I kept watching intently.

Now there was complete hush. But lo! My eyes suddenly beheld something which looked so utterly superb but dream-like. A slender lady, draped in light and wearing a gold mukut on her forehead, was coming down, stepping lightly on the heavily carpeted curved staircase. In her gait there was a majesty, on her face glowing grace and her eyes flashed gleams that pierced the darkness below and around. My gaze was fixed on that fairy-like figure whose calm and beautiful face was radiating light and making the whole atmosphere so supernatural that she looked every inch an angel descending from Heaven.

She now stopped and stood on the landing of the staircase, her wide eyes surveying the scene from one end of the hall to the other. In a few moments, she went into trance which made her look even more rapturous. While she stood there statue-like, I felt as if she was suddenly soaring above. Though her eyelids were now locked in embrace, yet I almost saw them passing sweet messages and exchanging glances with something or somebody that was not perceptible. All her limbs seemed blended in harmony and her entire figure was wrapped in ecstasy. The halo of serenity and divinity around her was like a circular rainbow in the multi-colours of which my eyes perceived visionary images and indications.

And now suddenly a smile dawned on her lips and with the speed of lightning it stole across her cheeks, eyes, the whole face. The smile blossomed into a flower and then the petals of blessings and grace showered down on the entranced devotees, who, in deep gratitude, uplifted their eyes, only to behold that she suddenly turned to return to her abode. Her departure was as blissful and mysterious as her advent and my racing gaze in a few moments lost the heavenly track on which trod that divine figure. As the congregation dispersed, we learnt that she was the Mother — that French lady.

That night, in Pondicherry as I lay asleep, I underwent strange but sweet experiences. A train of dreams ran on the rails of mind. That majestic personification of grace and beauty, of love and life, appeared on the screen of my mind like a continuously running film. I woke up so light in body as if I had lost some part of it and yet the loss seemed so sweet and exhilarating. There were some peculiar sensations brewing within my heart which I could not fathom. Something had happened though I knew not what it was.

When we left the town, the morning after that fateful and momentous evening, I could clearly see that my destiny had been decided and that the die had been cast. I knew that I was leaving only to return and return again and again. As the train steamed out homewards, I felt as if I had found my real home. I was sad to leave but also happy — happy over my luck because the fleeting glance of a few moments had brought to me a light which the toil of a whole life often fails to achieve.

This was, then, the supreme discovery of my life, the miracle of Sri Aurobindo Ashram, Pondicherry, where I lost my heart and won the soul and the real life.