discernment of truth.
XIX THE CANKER OF UNTRUTH w Indian students in England forty th them to affect the bachelor even chool or college students in England are all bachelors, studies being regarded as incompatible with married life. We had that tradition jn the good old days, a student then being s a brahmachari*. But in these days we have ing practically unknown in England. Indian d, therefore, felt ashamed to confess that they were also another reason for dissembling, namely There were comparatively fe years ago. It was a practice wi though they might be married. S that in the event of the t men to go abo;: pee en hey jived. The flirting was more or less innocent. Parents even encouraged it; and that sort of association between young men J. One who observes brahmacharya, ie. complete self-restraint. (See note on page 18)- 46 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH and young women may even be a necessity there, in view of the fact that every young man has to choose his mate. If, however, Indian youths on arrival in England indulge in these relations, quite natural to English youths, the result is likely to be disastrous, as has often been found. I saw that our youths had succumbed to the temptation and chosen a life of untruth for the sake of companion- ships which, however innocent in the case of English youths, were for them undesirable. I too caught the contagion. I did not hesitate to pass myself off as a bachelor though I was married and the father of a son. But I was none the happier for being a dissembler. Only my reserve and my reticence saved me from going into deeper waters. If I did not talk, no girl would think it worth her while to enter into conversation with me or to go out with me.
My cowardice was on a par with my reserve. It was customary in families like the one in which I was staying at Ventnor for the daughter of the landlady to take out guests for a walk. My land- lady’s daughter took me one day to the lovely hills round Ventnor. I was no slow walker, but my companion walked even faster, drag- ging me after her and chattering away all the while. I responded to her chatter sometimes with a whispered ‘yes’ or ‘no ’, or at the most ‘yes, how beautiful!’ She was flying like a bird whilst I was wondering when I should get back home. We thus reached the top of a hill. How to get down again was the question. In spite of her high-heeled boots this sprightly young lady of twenty-five darted down the hill like an arrow. I was shamefacedly struggling to get down. She stood at the foot smiling and cheering me and offering to come and drag me. How could I be so chicken-hearted? With the greatest difficulty, and crawling at intervals, I somehow managed to scramble to the bottom. She loudly laughed ‘bravo’ and shamed me all the more, as well she might.
But I could not escape scatheless everywhere, For God wanted to rid me of the canker of untruth. I once went to Brighton, another watering-place like Ventnor. This was before the Ventnor visit. I met there at a hotel an old widow of moderate means. This was my first year in England. The courses on the menu were all described in French, which I did not understand. I sat at the same table as the old lady. She saw that I was a stranger and puzzled, and immediately came to my aid. ‘You seem to be a stranger,’ she said, ‘and look perplexed. Why have you not ordered anything?’ I was spelling through the menu and preparing to ascertain the ingredients of the courses from the waiter, when the good lady thus intervened. I thanked her, and explaining my difficulty told her that I was at a loss to know which of the courses were vegetarian as I did not understand French.
‘Let me help you,’ she said. show you what you may eat, was the beginning of an acqu: and was kept up all through ‘I shall explain the card to you and I gratefully availed of her help. This aintance that ripened into friendship my stay in England and long after. She THE CANKER OF UNTRUTH 47 gave me her London address and invited me to dine at her house every Sunday. On special occasions also she would invite me, help me to conquer my bashfulness and introduce me to young ladies and draw me into conversation with them. Particularly marked out for these conversations was a young lady who stayed with her, and often we would be left entirely alone together.
I found all this very trying at first. I could not start a conversation nor could I indulge in any jokes. But she put me in the way. I began to learn; and in course of time looked forward to every Sunday and came to like the conversations with the young friend.
The old lady went on spreading her net wider every day. She felt interested in our meetings. Possibly she had her own plans about us. I was in a quandary. ‘How I wished I had told the good lady that I was married!’ I said to myself. ‘She would then have not thought of an engagement between us. It is, however, never too late to mend. If I declare the truth, I might yet be saved more misery.’ With these thoughts in my mind, I wrote a letter to her somewhat to this effect: ‘Ever since we met at Brighton you have been kind to me. You have taken care of me even as a mother of her son. You also think tell you the truth. ‘Tf on receipt of this, you feel that I have been unworthy of your hospitality, I assure you I shall not take it amiss. You have laid me under an everlasting debt of gratitude by your kindness and solici- tude. If, after this, you do not reject me but continue to regard me as worthy of your hospitality, which I will spare no pains to deserve, I shall naturally be happy and count it a further token of your kindness.’
Let the reader know that I could not have written such a letter in a moment. I must have drafted and redrafted it many times over. But it lifted a burden that was weighing me down. Almost by return post came her reply somewhat as follows: ‘I have your frank letter. We were both very glad and had a hearty laugh over it. The untruth you say you have been guilty of 48 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH is pardonable. But it is well that you have acquainted us with the real state of things. My invitation still stands and we shall certainly expect you next Sunday and look forward to hearing all about your child-marriage and to the pleasure of laughing at your expense. Need I assure you that our friendship is not in the least affected by this incident?’
I thus purged myself of the canker of untruth, and I never thence- forward hesitated to talk of my married state wherever necessary.
XX ACQUAINTANCE WITH RELIGIONS Towards the end of my second year in England I came across two Theosophists, brothers, and both unmarried. They talked to me about the Gita. They were reading Sir Edwin Arnold’s translation — The Song Celestial — and they invited me to read the original with them. I felt ashamed, as I had read the divine poem neither in Samskrit nor in Gujarati. I was constrained to tell them that I had not read the Gita, but that I would gladly read it with them, and that though my knowledge of Samskrit was meagre, still I hoped to be able to understand the original to the extent of telling where the translation failed to bring out the meaning. I began reading the Gita with them, ‘The verses in the second chapter If one Ponders on objects of the sense, there springs Attraction; from attraction grows desire, Desire flames to fierce passion, passion breeds Recklessness; then the memory — all betrayed — Lets noble purpose go, and saps the mind, Till purpose, mind, and man are all undone.
made a deep impression on my mind, and they still ring in my ears. The book struck me as one of priceless worth. The impression has ever since been growing on me with the result that I regard it today as the book par excellence for the knowledge of Truth. It has afforded me invaluable help in my moments of gloom. I have read almost all the English translations of it, and I regard Sir Edwin Arnold’s as the best. He has been faithful to the text, and yet it does not read like a translation. Though I read the Gita with these friends, I cannot pretend to have studied it then. It was only after some years that it became a book of daily reading.
The brothers also recommended The Light of Asia by Sir Edwin Arnold, whom I knew till then as the author only of The Song Celestial, and I read it with even greater interest than I did the Bhagavadgita. Once I had begun it I could not leave off. They also took me on one occasion to the Blavatsky Lodge and introduced me ‘to Madame Blavatsky and Mrs. Besant. The latter had just then ACQUAINTANCE WITH RELIGIONS 49 joined the Theosophical Society, and I was following with great inte- rest the controversy about her conversion. The friends advised me to join the Society, but I politely declined saying, ‘ With my meagre knowledge of my own religion I do not want to belong to any reli- gious body.’ I recall having read, at the brothers’ instance, Madame Blavatsky’s Key to Theosophy. This book stimulated in me the desire to read books on Hinduism, and disabused me of the notion fostered by the missionaries that Hinduism was rife with superstition.
About the same time I met a good Christian from Manchester in a vegetarian boarding house. He talked to me about Christianity. I narrated to him my Rajkot recollections. He was pained to hear them. He said, ‘I am a vegetarian. I do not drink. Many Christians are meat-eaters and drink, no doubt; but neither meat-eating nor drinking is enjoined by Scripture. Do please read the Bible.’ I accep- ted his advice, and he got me a copy. I have a faint recollection that he himself used to sell copies of the Bible, and I purchased from him an edition containing maps, concordance, and other aids. I began reading it, but I could not possibly read through the Old Testament. - I read the book of Genesis, and the chapters that followed invariably sent me to sleep. But just for the sake of being able to say that I had read it, I plodded through the other books with much difficulty and without the least interest or understanding. I disliked reading the book of Numbers.
book of Numbers.
But the New Testament produced a different impression, espe- cially the Sermon on the Mount which went straight to my heart. I compared it with the Gita. The verses, ‘But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man take away thy coat let him have thy cloak too,’ delighted me beyond measure and put me in mind of Shamal Bhatt’s ‘ For a bowl of water, give a goodly meal’ ete. My young mind tried to unify the teaching of the Gita, The Light of ‘Asia and the Sermon on the Mount. That renunciation was the highest form of religion appealed to me greatly.
is reading whetted my appetite for studying the lives of other retina estes, A friend recommended Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero- Worship. I read the chapter on the Hero as a prophet and learnt of the Prophet’s greatness and bravery and austere living. this acquaintance with religion I could not go at the see reading for the examination left me scarcely any time for outside subjects. But I took mental note of the fact that I should read more religious books and acquaint myself with all the principal religions. l “i TEE ould I help knowing something of atheism too? Every indian a Bradlaugh’s name and his so-called atheism. I read some book about it, the name of which I forget. It had no effect on for I had already crossed the Sahara of atheism. Mrs. Besant Se h in the limelight, had turned to theism from who was then very muc 4 50 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH atheism, and that fact also strengthened my aversion to atheism. i had read her book How I became a Theosophist.
It was about this time that Bradlaugh died. He was buried in the Woking Cemetery. I attended the funeral, as I believe every Indian residing in London did. A few clergymen also were present to do him the last honours. On our way back from the funeral we had to wait at the station for our train. A champion atheist from the crowd heckled one of these clergymen.‘ Well, sir, you believe in the existence of God?’
‘I do,’ said the good man in a low tone.
You also agree that the circumference of the Earth is 28,000 miles, don’t you?’ said the atheist with a smile of self-assurance.
‘ Indeed.’ 3 ‘ Pray tell me then the size of your God and where he may be?’
‘Well, if we but knew, He resides in the hearts of us both.’
‘Now, now, don’t take me to be a child,’ said the champion with a triumphant look at us.
The clergyman assumed a humble silence.
This talk still further increased my prejudice against atheism.
XXI fiis È as wa Though I had acquired a nodding acquaintance with Hinduism and other religions of the world, I should have known that it would not be enough to save me in my trials. Of the thing that sustains him through trials man has no inkling, much less knowledge, at the time. If an unbeliever, he will attribute his safety to chance. If a believer, he will say God saved him. He will conclude as well he may, that his religious study or spiritual discipline was at the back of the state of grace within him. But in the hour of his deliverance he does not know whether his spiritual discipline or something else saves him. Who that has prided himself on his spiritual strength has not seen it humbled to the dust? A knowledge of religion, as distinguished from experience, seems but chaff in such moments of trial.
It was in England that I first discovered the futility of mere reli- gious knowledge. How I was saved on previous occasions is more than I can say, for I was very young then; but now I was twenty and had gained some experience as husband and father.
During the last year, as far as I can remember, of my stay in England, that is in 1890, there was a Vegetarian Conference at Ports- mouth to which an Indian friend and I were invited. Portsmouth is a sea-port with a large naval population. It has many houses with 1. ‘Nirbal ke bala Rama’—Refrain of Surdas’ famous hymn, ‘He is the help of the helpless, the strength of the weak.’
Ras } as wa 5] women of ill fame, women not actually prostitutes time, not very scrupulous about their R We einen B of these houses. Needless to say, the Reception Committee did not know anything about it. It would have been difficult in a town like Portsmouth to find out which were good lodgings and which were bad for occasional travellers like us.
We returned from the Conference in the evening. After dinner we sat down to play a rubber of bridge, in which our landlady joined. as is customary in England even in respectable households. Every player indulges in innocent jokes as a matter of course, but here my companion and our hostess began to make indecent ones as well. I did not know that my friend was an adept in the art. It captured me and I also joined in. Just when I was about to go beyond the limit, leaving the cards and the game to themselves, God through the good companion uttered the blessed warning: ‘ Whence this devil in you, my boy? Be off, quick!’
I was ashamed. I took the warning and expressed within myself gratefulness to my friend. Remembering the vow I had taken before my mother, I fled from the scene. To my room I went quaking, trembling, and with beating heart, like a quarry escaped from its pursuer.
I recall this as the first occasion on which a woman, other than my wife, moved me to lust. I passed that night sleeplessly, all kinds of thoughts assailing me. Should I leave this house? Should I run away from the place? Where was I? What would happen to me if I had not my wits about me? I decided to act thenceforth with great caution; not to leave the house, but somehow leave Portsmouth, The Conference was not to go on for more than two days, and I remem- ber I left Portsmouth the next evening, my companion staying there some time longer. I did not then know thi He works in us. Only vague that occasion. On all occasions e essence of religion or of God, and how Jy I understood that God had saved me on of trial He has saved me. I know that the phrase ‘God saved me? has a deeper meaning for me today, and still I feel that I have not yet grasped its entire meaning. Only richer experience can help me to a fuller understanding. But in all my trials — of a spiritual nature, as a lawyer, in conducting institutions, and in politics — I can say that God saved me. When every hope is gone, ‘ when helpers fail and comforts flee,’ I find that help arrives somehow, from I know not where. Supplication, worship, prayer are no superstition; they are acts more real than the acts of eating, drinking, sitting or walking. It is no exaggeration to say that they alone are real, all else is unreal. p ship or prayer is no flight of eloquence; it is no lip- SHEN, E from the heart. If, therefore, we achieve that purity of the heart when it is ‘emptied of all but love yii we keep all the chords in proper tune, they trembling pass in music out of 52 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH sight’. Prayer needs no speech. It is in itself independent of any sensuous efiort. I have not the slightest doubt that prayer is an unfailing means of cleansing the heart of passions. But it must be combined with the utmost humility.
XXII NARAYAN HEMCHANDRA Just about this time Narayan Hemchandra came to England. I had heard of him as a writer. We met at the house of Miss Manning of the National Indian Association. Miss Manning knew that I could not make myself sociable. When I went to her place I used to sit tongue- tied, never speaking except when spoken to. She introduced me to Narayan Hemchandra. He did not know English. His dress was queer —a clumsy pair of trousers, a wrinkled, dirty, brown coat after the Parsi fashion, no necktie or collar, and a tasselled woolen cap. He grew a long beard.
He was lightly built and short of stature. His round face was scarred with small-pox, and had a nose which was neither pointed nor blunt. With his hand he was constantly turning over his beard.
Such a queer-looking and queerly dressed person was bound to be singled out in fashionable society.
‘I have heard a good deal about you,’ I said to him. ‘I have also read some of your writings. I should be very pleased if you were kind enough to come to my place.’
Narayan Hemchandra had a rather hoarse voice. With a smile on his face he replied: ‘Yes, where do you stay?’
‘In Store Street.’
‘Then we are neighbours. I want to learn English. Will you teach me?’
‘I shall be happy to teach you anything I can, and will try my best. If you like, I will go to your place.’
‘ Oh, no. I shall come to you. I shall also bring with me a Trans- lation Exercise Book.’ So we made an appointment. Soon we were close friends.
Narayan Hemchandra was innocent of grammar. ‘Horse’ was a verb with him and ‘run’ a noun. I remember many such funny instances. But he was not to be baffled by his ignorance. My little knowledge of grammar could make no impression on him. Certainly he never regarded his ignorance of grammar as a matter for shame.
With perfect nonchalance he said: ‘I have never been to school like you. I have never felt the need of grammar in expressing my thoughts. Well, do you know Bengali? I know it. I have travelled in Bengal. It is I who have given Maharshi Devendranath Tagore’s NARAYAN HEMCHANDRA 53 works to the Gujarati-speaking world. And I wish to translate into Gujarati the treasures of many other languages. And you know I am never literal in my translations. I always content myself with bring- ing out the spirit. Others, with their better knowledge, may be able to do more in future. But I am quite satisfied with what I have achieved without the help of grammar. I know Marathi, Hindi Bengali, and now I have begun to know English. What I want is a copious vocabulary. And do you think my ambition ends here? No fear. I want to go to France and learn French. I am told that language has an extensive literature. I shall go to Germany also, if possible, and there learn German.’ And thus he would talk on unceasingly. He had a boundless ambition for learning languages and for foreign travel.
‘ Then you will go to America also?’
“Certainly. How can I return to India without having seen the New World?’
“But where will you find the money?’
‘What do I need money for? I am not a fashionable fellow like you. The minimum amount of food and the minimum amount of clothing suffice for me. And for this what little I get out of my books and from my friends is enough. I always travel third class. While going to America also I shall travel on deck.’
Narayan Hemchandra’s simplicity was all his own, and his frank- ness was on a par with it. Of pride he had not the slightest trace, excepting, of course, a rather undue regard for his own capacity as a writer.
We met daily. There was a considerable amount of similarity bet- ween our thoughts and actions. Both of us were vegetarians. We would often have our lunch together. This was the time when I lived on 17s. a week and cooked for myself. Sometimes I would go to his room, and sometimes he would come to mine. I cooked in the English style. Nothing but Indian style would satisfy him. He could not do without dal. I would make soup of carrots etc., and he would pity me for my taste. Once he somehow hunted out mung 1, cooked it and brought it to my place. I ate it with delight. This led on to a regular system of exchange between us. I would take my delicacies to him and he would bring his to me.
Cardinal Manning’s name was then on every lip. The dock labourers’ strike had come to an early termination owing to the efforts of John Burns and Cardinal Manning. I told Narayan Hem- chandra of Disraeli’s tribute to the Cardinal’s simplicity. ‘Then I must see the sage,’ said he.
‘He is a big man. How do you expect to meet him?’
“Why? I know how. I must get you to write to him in my name. Tell him I am an author and that I want to congratulate him 1. An Indian pulse.
wn 4 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH personally on his humanitarian work, and also say that I shall have to take you as interpreter as I do not know English.’
I wrote a letter to that effect. In two or three days came Cardinal Manning’s card in reply giving us an appointment. So we both called on the Cardinal. I put on the usual visiting suit. Narayan Hem- chandra was the same as ever, in the same coat and the same trousers. I tried to make fun of this, but he laughed me out and said: “You civilized fellows are all cowards. Great men never look at a person’s exterior. They think of his heart.’
We entered the Cardinal’s mansion. As soon as we were seated, a thin, tall, old gentleman made his appearance, and shook hands with us. Narayan Hemchandra thus gave his greetings: ‘I do not want to take up your time. I had heard a lot about you and I felt I should come and thank you for the good work you have done for the strikers. It has been my custom to visit the sages of the world and that is why I have put you to this trouble.’
This was of course my translation of what he spoke in Gujarati.
‘I am glad you have come. I hope your stay in London will agree with you and that you will get in touch with people here. God bless you.’
With these words the Cardinal stood up and said good-bye.
Once Narayan Hemchandra came to my place in a shirt and dhoti. The good landlady opened the door, came running to me in a fright — this was a new landlady who did not know Narayan Hemchandra —and said: ‘A sort of a madcap wants to sce you.’ I went to the door and to my surprise found Narayan Hemchandra. I was shocked. His face, however, showed nothing but his usual smile.
‘But did not the children in the street rag you?’
‘Well, they ran after me, but I did not mind them and they were quiet.’
Narayan Hemchandra went to Paris after a few months’ stay in London. He began studying French and also translating French books. I knew enough French to revise his translation, so he gave it to me to read. It was not a translation, it was the substance.
Finally he carried out his determination to visit America. It was with great difficulty that he succeeded in securing a deck ticket. While in the United States he was prosecuted for ‘ being indecently dressed’, as he once went out in a shirt and dhoti. I have a recollection that he was discharged.
XXIII THE GREAT EXHIBITION There was a great Exhibition at Paris in 1890. I had read about its elaborate preparations, and I also had a keen desire to see Paris. So I thought I had better combine two things in one and go there at this juncture. A particular attraction of the Exhibition was the Eiffel Tower, constructed entirely of iron, and nearly 1,000 feet high. There were of course many other things of interest, but the Tower was the chief one, inasmuch as it had been supposed till then that a structure of that height could not safely stand.
I had heard of a vegetarian restaurant in Paris. I engaged a room there and stayed seven days. I managed everything very economi- cally, both the journey to Paris and the sight-seeing there. This I did mostly on foot and with the help of a map of Paris, as also a map of and guide to the Exhibition. These were enough to direct one to the main streets and chief places of interest.
I remember nothing of the Exhibition excepting its magnitude and variety. I have fair recollection of the Eiffel Tower as I ascended it twice or thrice. There was a restaurant on the first platform, and just for the satisfaction of being able to say that I had had my lunch at a great height, I threw away seven shillings on it.
The ancient churches of Paris are still in my memory. Their grandeur and their peacefulness are unforgettable. The wonderful construction of Notre Dame and the elaborate decoration of the inte- rior with its beautiful sculptures cannot be forgotten. I felt then that those who expended millions on such divine cathedrals could not but have the love of God in their hearts.
I had read a lot about the fashions and frivolity of Paris. These were in evidence in every street, but the churches stood noticeably apart from these scenes. ‘A man would forget the outside noise and bustle as soon as he entered one of these churches. His manner would change, he would behave with dignity and reverence as he passed someone kneeling before the image of the Virgin. The feeling I had then has since been growing on me, that all this kneeling and prayer could not be mere superstition; the devout souls kneeling before the Virgin could not be worshipping mere marble. They were fired with genuine devotion and they worshipped not stone, put the divinity of which it was symbolic. I have an impression that I felt then that by this worship they were not detracting from, but increasing, the glory of God.
I must say a word about the Eiffel Tower. I do not know what purpose it serves today. But I then heard it greatly disparaged as well as praised. I remember that Tolstoy was the chief among those who disparaged it. He said that the Eiffel Tower was a monument 55 55 MY EXPERIMENTS WITH TRUTH of man’s folly, not of his wisdom. Tobacco, he argued, was the worst of all intoxicants, inasmuch as a man addicted to it was tempted to commit crimes which a drunkard never dared to do; liquor made a man mad, but tobacco clouded his intellect and made him build castles in the air. The Eiffel Tower was one of the creations of a man under such influence. There is no art about the Eiffel Tower. In no way can it be said to have contributed to the real beauty of the Exhibition. Men flocked to see it and ascended it as it was a novelty and of unique dimensions. It was the toy of the Exhibition. So long as we are children we are attracted by toys, and the Tower was a good demonstration of the fact that we are all children attracted by trinkets. That may be claimed to be the purpose served by the Eiffel Tower.
XXIV ‘ CALLED ’— BUT THEN?
I have deferred saying anything up to now about the purpose for which I went to England, viz., being called to the bar. It is time to advert to it briefly.
There were two conditions which had to be fulfilled before a student was formally called to the bar: ‘keeping terms ’, twelve terms equivalent to about three years; and passing examinations. ‘Keeping terms’ meant eating one’s terms, i.e. attending at least six out of about twenty-four dinners in a term, Eating did not mean actually partaking of the dinner, it meant reporting oneself at the fixed hours and remaining present throughout the dinner, Usually of course every one ate and drank the good commons and choice wines provided. A dinner cost from two and six to three and six, that is from two to three rupees. This was considered moderate, inasmuch as one had to pay that same amount for wines alone if one dined at a hotel. To us in India it is a matter for surprise, if we are not ‘civilized’, that the cost of drink should exceed the cost of food. The first revelation gave me a great shock, and I wondered how people had the heart to throw away so much money on drink. Later I came to understand. I often ate nothing at these dinners, for the things that I might eat were only bread, boiled potato. and cabbage. In the beginning I did not eat these, as I did not like them; and later, when I began to relish them, I also gained the courage to ask for other dishes.
The dinner provided for the benchers used to be better than that for the students. A Parsi student, who was also a vegetarian, and I applied, in the interests of vegetarianism, for the vegetarian courses which were served to the benchers. The application was granted, an we began to get fruits and other vegetables from the benchers’ able.
‘CALLED’ — BUT THEN? Sit Two bottles of wine were allowed to each group of four, and as I did not touch them, I was ever in demand to form a quarter, so that three might empty two bottles. And there was a ‘ grand night’ in each term when extra wines, like champagne, in addition to port and sherry, were served. I was therefore specially requested to attend and was in great demand on that ‘ grand night’.