TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE The first edition of Gandhiji’s Autobiography was published in two volumes, Vol. I in 1927 and Vol. II in 1929. The original in Gujarati which was priced at Re. 1/- has run through five editions,. nearly 50,000 copies have been sold. The price of the English translation (only issued in library edition) was prohibitive for the Indian reader, and a cheap edition has long been needed. It is now being issued in one volume. The translation, as it appeared serially in Young India, had, it may be noted, the benefit of, Gandhiji’s revision. It has now undergone careful revision, and from the point of ‘View of language, it has had the benefit of careful revision by a revered friend, who, among many other things, has the reputation of being an eminent English scholar. Before undertaking the task, he made it a condition that his name should on no account be given out. I accept the condition. It is needless to say it heightens my sense of gratitude to him. Chapters XXIX — XLIII of Part V were translated by my friend and colleague Pyarelal during my absence in Bardoli at the time of the Bardoli Agrarian Inquiry by the Broomfield Committee 1940 MAHADEV DESAI iii Chapter CONTENTS TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE (Mahadev Desai) INTRODUCTION PART I BIRTH AND PARENTAGE > > CHILDHOOD...s CHILD MARRIAGE.. k PLAYING THE HUSBAND.. 5 AT THE HIGH SCHOOL A TRAGEDY: A TRAGEDY (Contd.). STEALING AND ATONEMENT MY FATHER’S DEATH AND MY DOUBLE SHAME 5 GLIMPSES OF RELIGION PREPARATION FOR ENGLAND OUTCASTE.. ` IN LONDON AT LAST MY CHOICE PLAYING THE ENGLISH GENTLEMAN CHANGES EXPERIMENTS IN DIETETICS SHYNESS MY SHIELD THE CANKER OF UNTRUTH ACQUAINTANCE WITH RELIGIONS fass qs Ua NARAYAN HEMCHANDRA THE GREAT EXHIBITION ‘CALLED ’— BUT THEN?
MY HELPLESSNESS PART IL RAYCHANDBHAI HOW I BEGAN LIFE. THE FIRST CASE THE FIRST SHOCK i PREPARING FOR SOUTH AFRICA. ARRIVAL IN NATAL.
y Page iii xiii oan 63 65 67 70 72 74 vi SOME EXPERIENCES.
ON THE WAY TO PRETORIA MORE HARDSHIPS FIRST DAY IN PRETORIA CHRISTIAN CONTACTS. SEEKING TOUCH WITH INDIANS. WHAT IT IS TO BE A ‘COOLIE’ PREPARATION FOR THE CASE RELIGIOUS FERMENT MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES SETTLED IN NATAL.
COLOUR BAR.. NATAL INDIAN CONGRESS. BALASUNDARAM THE £ 3 TAX.. COMPARATIVE STUDY OF RELIGIONS AS A HOUSEHOLDER. HOMEWARD IN INDIA TWO PASSIONS THE BOMBAY MEETING POONA AND MADRAS ‘RETURN SOON’ PART M RUMBLINGS OF THE STORM: THE STORM THE TEST THE CALM AFTER THE STORM EDUCATION OF CHILDREN. SPIRIT OF SERVICE. 2 BRAHMACHARYA —I >. BRAHMACHARYA — II.. SIMPLE LIFE THE BOER WAR SANITARY REFORM AND FAMINE RELIEF RETURN TO INDIA IN INDIA AGAIN.
CLERK AND BEARER IN THE CONGRESS XXI XXII XXIII A MONTH WITH GOKHALE—TI IN BENARES...SETTLED IN BOMBAY?
FAITH ON ITS TRIAL. a m TO SOUTH AFRICA AGAIN. 3. 5 PART IV AUTOCRATS FROM ASIA B POCKETED THE INSULT QUICKENED SPIRIT OF SACRIFICE RESULT OF INTROSPECTION A SACRIFICE TO VEGETARIANISM EXPERIMENTS IN EARTH AND WATER TREAT- MENT A WARNING 5 A TUSSLE WITH POWER A SACRED RECOLLECTION AND PENANCE INTIMATE EUROPEAN CONTACTS...EUROPEAN CONTACTS (Contd.) R > 5 ‘INDIAN OPINION’. 5 COOLIE LOCATIONS OR GHETTOES? 2 THE BLACK PLAGUE —I THE BLACK PLAGUE — II LOCATION IN FLAMES THE MAGIC SPELL or A BOOK THE PHGSNIX SETTLEMENT POLAK TAKES THE PLUNGE WHOM GOD PROTECTS A PEEP INTO THE HOUSEHOLD THE ZULU ‘REBELLION’ HEART SEARCHINGS THE BIRTH OF SATYAGRAHA MORE EXPERIMENTS IN DIETETICS vii ‘PENETRATING THE VILLAGES TOWARDS SELF-RESTRAINT FASTING AS SCHOOLMASTER LITERARY TRAINING TRAINING OF THE SPIRIT. TARES AMONG THE WHEAT FASTING AS PENANCE TO MEET GOKHALE.
MY PART IN THE WAR A SPIRITUAL DILEMMA MINIATURE SATYAGRAHA. GOKHALE’'S CHARITY TREATMENT OF PLEURISY. HOMEWARD SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE BAR SHARP PRACTICE?
CLIENTS TURNED CO- WORKERS HOW A CLIENT WAS SAVED PART V THE FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH GOKHALE IN POONA.
WAS IT A THREAT?. SHANTINIKETAN WOES OF THIRD CLASS PASSENGERS WOOING KUMBHA MELA LAKSHMAN JHULA: FOUNDING OF THE ASHRAM ON THE ANVIL ABOLITION OF INDENTURED EMIGRATION THE STAIN OF INDIGO THE GENTLE BIHARI FACE TO FACE WITH AHIMSA CASE WITHDRAWN METHODS OF WORK.
COMPANIONS WHEN A GOVERNOR IS GOOD IN TOUCH WITH LABOUR XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI XXXVII XXXVIII XXXIX XL XLI XLII XLIII A PEEP INTO THE ASHRAM.. Ş THE FAST.
THE KHEDA SATYAGRAHA.
‘THE ONION THIEF’.
END OF KHEDA SATYAGRAHA PASSION FOR UNITY.
RECRUITING CAMPAIGN NEAR DEATH’S DOOR THE ROWLATT BILLS AND MY DILEMMA THAT WONDERFUL SPECTACLE!. THAT MEMORABLE WEEK!—I THAT MEMORABLE WEEK!— II IN THE PUNJAB THE KHILAFAT AGAINST cow PROTECTION? Pae THE AMRITSAR CONGRESS. CONGRESS INITIATION THE BIRTH OF KHADI FOUND AT LAST! 5 AN INSTRUCTIVE DIALOGUE ITS RISING TIDE AT NAGPUR FAREWELL INDEX INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION Four or five years ago, at the instance of some of my nearest Co-workers, I agreed to write my autobiography. I made the start, but scarcely had I turned over the first sheet when riots broke out in Bombay and the work remained at a standstill. Then followed a Series of events which culminated in my imprisonment at Yeravda. Sjt. J eramdas, who was one of my fellow-prisoners there, asked me to put everything else on one side and finish writing the autobiography. I replied that I had already framed a programme of study for myself, and that I could not think of doing anything else until this course was complete. I should indeed have finished the autobiography had I gone through my full term of imprisonment at Yeravda, for there Was still a year left to complete the task, when I was discharged. Swami Anand has now repeated the proposal, and as I have finished „the history of Satyagraha in South Africa, I am tempted to under- take the autobiography for Navajivan. The Swami wanted me to write it separately for publication as a book. But I have no spare time. I could only write a chapter week by week. Something has to be written for Navajivan every week. Why should it not be the autobiography? The Swami agreed to the proposal, and here am I hard at work.
But a God-fearing friend had his doubts, which he shared with me on my day of silence. «What has set you on this adventure ae he asked. “Writing an autobiography is a practice peculiar to the West. I know of nobody in the East having written one, except amongst those who have come under Western influence. And what Will you write? Supposing you reject tomorrow the things you hold as principles today, or supposing you revise 1n the future your plans of today, is it not likely that the men who shape their conduct on the authority of your word, spoken or written, may be misled? Don’t you think it would be better not to write anything like an autobiography, at any rate just yet?”
This argument had some effect on me. But it is not my purpose to attempt a real autobiography- I simply want to tell the story of my humerous experiments with truth, and as my life consists of nothing but those experiments, it is true that the story will take the shape of an autobiography. But I shall not mind, if every page of it speaks only of my experiments. I believe, or at any rate flatter myself with the belief, that a connected account of all these experiments will not be without benefit to the reader. My experiments in the political eld are now known, not only to India, but to a certain extent to the ‘civilized’ world. For me, they have not much value; and the xiii xiv MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH title of ‘Mahatma’ that they have won for me has, therefore, even less. Often the title has deeply pained me; and there is not a moment I can recall when it may be said to have tickled me. But I should certainly like to narrate my experiments in the spiritual field which are known only to myself, and from which I have derived such power as I possess for working in the political field. If the experiments are really spiritual, then there can be no room for self- praise. They can only add to my humility. The more I reflect and look back on the past, the more vividly do I feel my limitations.
What I want to achieve, — what I have been striving and pining to achieve these thirty years, —is self-realization, to see God face to face, to attain Moksha 1. I live and move and have my being in pursuit of this goal. All that I do by way of speaking and writing, and all my ventures in the political field, are directed to this same end. But as I have all along believed that what is possible for one is possible for all, my experiments have not been conducted in the closet, but in the open; and I do not think that this fact detracts from their spiritual value. There are some things which are known only to oneself and one’s Maker. These are clearly incommunicable. The experiments I am about to relate are not such. But they are spiritual, or rather moral; for the essence of religion is morality.
Only those matters of religion that can be comprehended as much by children as by older people, will be included in this story. If I can narrate them in a dispassionate and humble spirit, many other experimenters will find in them provision for their onward march. Far be it from me to claim any degree of perfection for these experi- ments. I claim for them nothing more than does a scientist who, though he conducts his experiments with the utmost accuracy, fore- thought and minuteness, never claims any finality about his conclu- sions, but keeps an open mind regarding them. I have gone through deep self-introspection, searched myself through and through, and examined and analysed every psychological situation. Yet I am far from claiming any finality or infallibility about my conclusions. One claim I do indeed make and it is this. For me they appear to be absolutely correct, and seem for the time being to be final. For if they were not, I should base no action on them. But at every step I have carried out the process of acceptance or rejection and acted accordingly. And so long as my acts satisfy my reason and my heart, I must firmly adhere to my original conclusions.
If I had only to discuss academic principles, I should clearly not attempt an autobiography. But my purpose being to give an account of various practical applications of these principles, I have given the chapters I propose to write the title of The Story of My Experi- ments with Truth. These will of course include experiments with non-violence, celibacy and other principles of conduct believed to be 1. Lit. freedom from birth and death. The nearest English equivalent is salvation.
INTRODUCTION xv distinct from truth. But for me, truth is the sovereign principle, which includes numerous other principles. This truth is not only truthfulness in word, but truthfulness in thought also, and not only the relative truth of our conception, but the Absolute Truth, the Eternal Principle, that is God. There are innumerable definitions of God, because His manifestations are innumerable. They overwhelm me with wonder and awe and for a moment stun me. But I worship God as Truth only. I have not yet found Him, but I am seeking after Him. I am prepared to sacrifice the things dearest to me in pursuit of this quest. Even if the sacrifice demanded be my very life, I hope I may be prepared to give it. But as long as I have not realized this Absolute Truth, so long must I hold by the relative truth as I have conceived it, That relative truth must, meanwhile, be my beacon, my shield and buckler. Though this path is strait and narrow and sharp as the razor’s edge, for me it has been the quickest and easiest. Even my Himalayan blunders have seemed trifling to me because I have kept strictly to this path. For the path has saved me from Coming to grief, and I have gone forward according to my light.
the conviction has grown upon me; let them share my experiments and share also my conviction if they can. The further conviction has i i i d quite may appear quite impossible to an arrogant person, an Possible to an innocent -child. The seeker after truth should be dust could crush him. Only then, and not till t: 6 glimpse of truth. The dialogue between Vasishtha and Vine aia makes this abundantly clear. Christianity and Islam also amply bear it out.
ite i hould strike the reader If anything that I write in these pages Saou e as eee bocca with pride, then he must take it that there is some- thing wrong with my quest, and that my glimpses are no more than mirage. Let hundreds like me perish, but let truth prevail. Let us Not reduce the standard of truth even by a hair’s breadth for judging erring mortals like myself.
t no one will regard the advice interspersed in is eae as authoritative. The experiments narrated should be regarded as illustrations, in the light of which every one may carry on his own experiments according to his own inclinations and capacity. 1 trust that to this limited extent the illustrations will be really helpful; because I am not going either to conceal or under= State any ugly things that must be told. I hope to acquaint ‘the xvi MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH reader fully with all my faults and errors. My purpose is to describe experiments in the science of Satyagraha, not to say how good I am. In judging myself I shall try to be as harsh as truth, as I want others also to be. Measuring myself by that standard I must exclaim with Surdas: Where is there a wretch So wicked and loathsome as I?
I have forsaken my Maker, So faithless have I been.
For it is an unbroken torture to me that I am still so far from Him, Who as I fully know, governs every breath of my life, and Whose offspring I am. I know that it is the evil passions within that keep me so far from Him, and yet I cannot get away from them.
But I must close. I can only take up the actual story in the next chapter.
The Ashram, Sabarmati, M. K. GANDHI 26th November, 1925 THE STORY OF MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH PART I I BIRTH AND PARENTAGE The Gandhis belong to the Bania caste and seem to have been originally grocers. But for three generations, from my grandfather, they have been Prime Ministers in several Kathiawad States. Uttamchand Gandhi, alias Ota Gandhi, my grandfather, must have been a man of principle. State intrigues compelled him to leave Porbandar, where he was Diwan, and to seek refuge in Junagadh. There he saluted the Nawab with the left hand. Someone, noticing the apparent discourtesy, asked for an explanation, which was given thus: ‘The right hand is already pledged to Porbandar.’
Ota Gandhi married a second time, having lost his first wife. He had four sons by his first wife and two by his second wife. I do not think that in my childhood I ever felt or knew that these sons of Ota Gandhi were not all of the same mother. The fifth of these six bro- thers was Karamchand Gandhi, alias Kaba Gandhi, and the sixth Was Tulsidas Gandhi. Both these brothers were Prime Ministers in Porbandar, one after the other. Kaba Gandhi was my father. He was a member of the Rajasthani Court. It is now extinct, but in those days it was a very influential body for settling disputes bet- Ween the chiefs and their fellow clansmen. He was for some time Prime Minister in Rajkot and then in Vankaner. He was a pensioner of the Rajkot State when he died.
Kaba Gandhi married four times in succession, having lost his wife each time by death. He had two daughters by his first and Second marriages. His last wife, Putlibai, bore him a daughter and three sons, I being the youngest.
My father was a lover of his clan, truthful, brave and generous, but short-tempered. To a certain extent he might have been given to carnal pleasures. For he married for the fourth time when he was incorruptible and had earned a name for as well as outside. His loyalty to the State was well known. An ‘Assistant Political Agent spoke insultingly of the Rajkot Thakore Saheb, his chief, and he stood up to the insult.
he Agent was angry and asked Kaba Gandhi to apologize. This he refused to do and was therefore kept under detention for a few hours.
ut when the Agent saw that Kaba Gandhi was adamant, he ordered him to d.; My H had any ambition to accumulate riches and left Us very little property- He had no education, be said to have read up save that of experience. At best, he might to the fifth Gujarati standard. Of history 3 4 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH and geography he was innocent. But his rich experience of practical affairs stood him in good stead in the solution of the most intricate questions and in managing hundreds of men. Of religious training he had very little, but he had that kind of religious culture which frequent visits to temples and listening to religious discourses make available to many Hindus. In his last days he began reading the Gita at the instance of a learned Brahman friend of the family, and he used to repeat aloud some verses every day at the time of worship.
The outstanding impression my mother has left on my memory is that of saintliness. She was deeply religious. She would not think of taking her meals without her daily prayers. Going to Haveli — the Vaishnava temple — was one of her daily duties. As far as my memory can go back, I do not remember her having ever missed the Chaturmas 1. She would take the hardest vows and keep them with- out flinching. Illness was no excuse for relaxing them. I can recall her once falling ill when she was observing the Chandrayana 2 vow, but the illness was not allowed to interrupt the observance. To keep two or three consecutive fasts was nothing to her. Living on one meal a day during Chaturmas was a habit with her. Not content with that she fasted every alternate day during one Chaturmas, During another Chaturmas she vowed not to have food without seeing the sun. We children on those days would stand, staring at the sky, waiting to announce the appearance of the sun to our mother. Every- one knows that at the height of the rainy season the sun often does not condescend to show his face. And I remember days when, at his sudden appearance, we would rush and announce it to her. She would run out to see with her own eyes, but by that time the fugitive sun would be gone, thus depriving her of her meal. “That does not matter,” she would say cheerfully, “God did not want me to eat today.” And then she would return to her round of duties, My mother had strong commonsense. She was well informed about all matters of State, and ladies of the court thought highly of her intelligence. Often I would accompany her, exercising the privi- lege of childhood, and I still remember many lively discussions she had with the widowed mother of the Thakore Saheb.
Of these parents I was born at Porbandar, otherwise known as Sudamapuri, on the 2nd October, 1869. I passed my childhood in Porbandar. I recollect having been put to school. It was with some difficulty that I got through the multiplication tables. The fact that I recollect nothing more of those days than having learnt, in company with other boys, to call our teacher all kinds of names, would strongly suggest that my intellect must have been sluggish, and my memory raw.
H CHILDHOOD I must have been about seven when my father left Porbandar for Rajkot to become a member of the Rajasthanik Court. There I was put into a primary school, and I can well recollect those days, including the names and other particulars of the teachers who taught me. As at Porbandar, so here, there is hardly anything to note about my studies. I could only have been a mediocre student. From this school I went to the suburban school and thence to the high school, having already reached my twelfth year. I do not remember having ever told a lie, during this short period, either to my teachers or to my school-mates. I used to be very shy and avoided all company.
y books and my lessons were my sole companions. To be at school at the stroke of the hour and to run back home as soon as the school closed, — that was my daily habit. I literally ran back, because I could not bear to talk to anybody. I was even afraid lest anyone Should poke fun at me.
There is an incident which occurred at the examination during my first year at the high school and which is worth recording. Mr. Giles, the Educational Inspector, had come on a visit of inspec- tion. He had set us five words to write as a spelling exercise. One of the words was ‘kettle’. I had mis-spelt it. The teacher tried to Prompt me with the point of his boot, but I would not be prompted. It was beyond me to see that he wanted me to copy the spelling from my neighbour's slate, for I had thought that the teacher was there to supervise us against copying. The result was that all the Oys, except myself, were found to have spelt every word correctly. Only I had been stupid. The teacher tried later to bring this stupidity ome to me, but without effect. I never could learn the art of re h t fi Ye inci id not in the least diminish my respect for my sey I aie Ce blind to the faults of elders. Later I came to know of many other failings of this teacher, but my regard for him remained the same. For I had learnt to carry out the orders of elders, not to scan their actions. Ao b inci belonging to the same perlo ave always ae Le ee Asa mals I had a distaste for any reading beyond my school books. The daily lessons had to be done, because I disliked being taken to task by my teacher as much as I disliked deceiving him. Therefore I would do the lessons, but often without my mind in them: Thus when even the lessons could not be done Properly, there was of course no question of any extra reading. But Somehow my eyes fell on a book purchased by my father. It was Shravana Pitribhakti Nataka (a play about Shravana’s devotion to 5 6 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH his parents). I read it with intense interest. There came to our place about the same time itinerant showmen. One of the pictures I was shown was of Shravana carrying, by means of slings fitted for his shoulders, his blind parents on a pilgrimage. The book and the pic- ture left an indelible impression on my mind. ‘ Here is an example for you to copy,’ I said to myself. The agonized lament of the parents over Shravana’s death is still fresh in my memory. The melting tune moved me deeply, and I played it on a concertina which my father had purchased for me.
There was a similar incident connected with another play. Just about this time, I had secured my father’s permission to see a play performed by a certain dramatic company. This play — Harish- chandra — captured my heart. I could never be tired of seeing it. But how often should I be permitted to go? It haunted me and I must have acted Harishchandra to myself times without number. ‘Why should not all be truthful like Harishchandra?’ was the ques- tion I asked myself day and night. To follow truth and to go through all the ordeals Harishchandra went through was the one ideal it inspired in me. I literally believed in the story of Harish- chandra. The thought of it all often made me weep. My commonsense tells me today that Harishchandra could not have been a historical character. Still both Harishchandra and Shravana are living realities for me, and I am sure I should be moved as before if I were to read those plays again today.
II CHILD MARRIAGE II CHILD MARRIAGE Much as I wish that I had not to write this chapter, I know that I shall have to swallow many such bitter draughts in the course of this narrative. And I cannot do otherwise, if I claim to be a worship- per of Truth. It is my painful duty to have to record here my marriage at the age of thirteen. As I see the youngsters of the same age about me who are under my care, and think of my own marriage, I am inclined to pity myself and to congratulate them on having escaped my lot. I can see no moral argument in support of such a preposterously early marriage. _ Let the reader make no mistake. I was married, not betrothed. For in Kathiawad there are two distinct rites, — betrothal and marriage. Betrothal is a preliminary promise on the part of the parents of the boy and the girl to Join them in marriage, and it is not inviolable. The death of the boy entails no widowhood on the girl. It is an agreement purely between the parents, and the chil T with it. Often they are not even heii ee ee e informed of it. It appears that I was betrothed thrice, though without my knowiedge. I oes told that CHILD MARRIAGE 7 two girls chosen for me had died in turn, and therefore I infer that I was betrothed three times. I have a faint recollection, however, that the third betrothal took place in my seventh year. But I do not recollect having been informed about it. In the present chapter I am talking about my marriage, of which I have the clearest recollection.
It will be remembered that we were three brothers. The first was already married. The elders decided to marry my second brother, who was two or three years my senior, a cousin, possibly a year older, and me, all at the same time. In doing so there was no thought of our welfare, much less our wishes. It was purely a question of their own convenience and economy.
Marriage among Hindus is no simple matter. The parents of the bride and the bridegroom often bring themselves to ruin over it. They waste their substance, they waste their time. Months are taken up over the preparations — in making clothes and ornaments and in preparing budgets for dinners. Each tries to outdo the other in the number and variety of courses to be prepared. Women, whether they have a voice or no, sing themselves hoarse, even get ill, and disturb the peace of their neighbours. These in their turn quietly put up with all the turmoil and bustle, all the dirt and filth, representing the remains of the feasts, because they know that a time will come when they also will be behaving in the same manner.
It would be better, thought my elders, to have all this bother over at one and the same time. Less expense and greater eclat. For money could be freely spent if it had only to be spent once instead of thrice.
y hildren My father and m: uncle were both old, and we were the last c they had to eee it is likely that they wanted to have the last best i ir li i i tions, a triple time of their lives. In view of all these considerations, wedding was decided upon, and as I have said before, months were taken up in preparation for it. It was only through these preparations that we got warning of the coming event. I do not think it meant to me anything more than the prospect of good clothes to wear, drum beating, marriage processions, rich dinners and a strange girl to play with. The carnal desire came later. I propose to draw the curtain over my shame, except for a few detai th recording. To these I s stag gre do with the central idea I have kept before me in writing this story- So ae prother and I were both taken to Porbandar from Rajkot. There are some amusing details of the preliminaries to the final drama — eig.. smearing our bodies all over with turmeric paste — but I must omit them. i i My father was a Diwan, but nevertheless a servant, and all the ae a because he was in favour with the Thakore Saheb. The latter would not let him go until the last moment. And when he did so, he ordered for my father special stage coaches, reducing the journey by two days. But the fates had willed otherwise. Porbandar 8 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH is 120 miles from Rajkot, —a cart journey of five days. My father did the distance in three, but the coach toppled over in the third stage, and he sustained severe injuries. He arrived bandaged all over. Both his and our interest in the coming event was half destroyed, but the ceremony had to be gone through. For how could the marriage dates be changed? However, I forgot my grief over my father’s injuries in the childish amusement of the wedding.
I was devoted to my parents. But no less was I devoted to the passions that flesh is heir to. I had yet to learn that all happiness and pleasure should be sacrificed in devoted service to my parents. And yet, as though by way of punishment for my desire for plea- sures, an incident happened, which has ever since rankled in my mind and which I will relate later. Nishkulanand sings: ‘ Renuncia- tion of objects, without the renunciation of desires, is short-lived, however hard you may try.’ Whenever I sing this song or hear it sung, this bitter untoward incident rushes to my memory and fills me with shame.
My father put on a brave face in spite of his injuries, and took full part in the wedding. As I think of it, I can even today call before my mind’s eye the places where he sat as he went through the diffe- rent details of the ceremony. Little did I dream then that one day I should severely criticize my father for having married me as a child. Everything on that day seemed to me right and proper and pleasing. There was also my own eagerness to get married. And as everything that my father did then struck me as beyond reproach, the recollection of those things is fresh in my memory. I can picture to myself, even today, how we sat on our wedding dais, how we performed the Saptapadi1, how we, the newly wedded husband and wife, put the sweet Kansar2 into each other’s mouth, and how we began to live together, and oh! that first night. Two innocent chil- dren all unwittingly hurled themselves into the ocean of life. My brother’s wife had thoroughly coached me about my behaviour on the first night. I do not know who had coached my wife. I have never asked her about it, nor am I inclined to do so now. The reader may be sure that we were too nervous to face each other. We were cer- tainly too shy. How was I to talk to her, and what was I to say? The coaching could not carry me far. But no coaching is really neces- sary in such matters. The impressions of the former birth are potent enough to make all coaching superfluous. We gradually began to know each other, and to speak freely together. We were the same age. But I took no time in assuming the authority of a husband.
1. Saptapadi are seven steps a Hindu bride and bridegroom walk to- gether, making at the same time promises of mutual fidelity and devotion, after which the marriage becomes irrevocable.
2. Kansar isa preparation of wheat which the pair partake of together after the completion of the ceremony.
IV PLAYING THE HUSBAND About the time of my marriage, little pamphlets costing a pice, or a pie (I now forget how much), used to be issued, in which conjugal love, thrift, child marriages, and other such subjects were discussed. Whenever I came across any of these, I used to go through them cover to cover, and it was a habit with me to forget what I did not like, and to carry out in practice whatever I liked. Lifelong faithfulness to the wife, inculcated in these booklets as the duty of the husband, remained permanently imprinted on my heart. Further- more, the passion for truth was innate in me, and to be false to her was therefore out of the question. And then there was very little chance of my being faithless at that tender age.
But the lesson of faithfulness had also an untoward effect. ‘If I Should be pledged to be faithful to my wife, she also should be pledged to be faithful to me,’ I said to myself. The thought made Me a jealous husband. Her duty was easily converted into my right to exact faithfulness from her, and if it had to be exacted, I should be watchfully tenacious of the right. I had absolutely no reason to suspect my wife’s fidelity, but jealousy does not wait for reasons. I must needs be for ever on the look-out regarding her movements, and therefore she could not go anywhere without my permission. This sowed the seeds of a bitter quarrel between us. The restraint was virtually a sort of imprisonment. And Kasturbai was not the girl to brook any such thing. She made it a point to go out whenever and wherever she liked. More restraint on my part resulted in More liberty being taken by her, and in my getting more and more Cross, Refusal to speak to one another thus „became the order of the day with us, married children. I think it was quite innocent of Kasturbai to have taken those liberties with my restrictions. How Could a guileless girl brook any restraint on going to the temple or on going on visits to friends? If I had the geni to impose restrictions on her, had not she also a similar right? All this is clear to me today. But at that time I had to make good my authority as a husband!
as a husband!
Let not the reader think, relieved bitterness. For my wanted to make my wife an her liye a pure life, learn W. thought with mine.
I do not know whether K however, that ours was a life of un- severities were all based on love. I ideal wife. My ambition was to make hat I learnt, and identify her life and asturbai had any such ambition. She illi i independent persevering was il. By nature she was simple, in n; and, nt ae z least, reticent. She was not impatient of her ignorance and I do not recollect my studies having ever spurred her to go in for a similar adventure. I fancy, therefore, that my ambition was all one-sided. My passion was entirely centred on one 9 10 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH woman, and I wanted it to be reciprocated. But even if there were no reciprocity, it could not be all unrelieved misery because there was active love on one side at least.