Preface
It is in response to the wishes of my friends and disciples that I start this brief account of my life.
As between my friends and me, it is a rare mingling of heart and soul, a bond of love amounting to a marriage of truest minds.
They have asked for a closer view of my background and of my past. What I write, I hope, would meet their wish in full.
As I take up my pen, I ponder for a moment the Divine Power that has made, and has set in motion - all within Itself - worlds and universes innumerable. This eternal and flawless movement of the heavenly bodies staggers the imagination. This lofty Omnipotence is foremost in my thoughts as I start writing the story of my life.
I feel overwhelmed with joy at this opportunity to share my experiences with my friends. I am lost in admiration of that ordered pattern devised by the Divine Will at my birth, unfolding itself with time, filling every need of mine, from that date, right through to the end of my days. Such a pattern of development I share in common with every other living thing.
I owe a deep debt of gratitude to the community of the world that has shaped me, assembling commodities from distant and varied quarters for sweetening and enriching my life. I thank this blessed Organisation from the bottom of my heart as I launch into this little life-sketch of mine.
I fold to my heart, as I start my writing, the feet of everyone of my Teachers who taught me, each in his time, the rudiments of literacy, professional expertise, natural philosophy, the regulations of an ordered life, a consciousness of the Divine, and, above all, the highest of spiritual disciplines.
Last, but not least, as I set down in writing the events of my life, I bless from the fullness of my heart my two faithful companions over the years who have shared with me my all, rain or shine, in close co-operation, waiting on me hand and foot, ministering to my comfort.
Childhood Days
Little can I recollect of the events of my infancy. The few things I mention here are from the reminiscences of my Mother and my Eldest Sister.
Guduvancheri, in Chengalpattu District of Tamil Nadu (in South India), is my native town.
Chinnammal was the name of my Mother; Varadappa Mudaliar, highly esteemed by me, was my Father.
We were Sengunthars, that is Weavers, by tradition. My Father followed that profession.
Of their children, the first six were girls. Three of them are alive today- Karppakam, Chinnammal and Naagammal.
The seventh was a boy; and he passed away when he was seven. I was the eighth. I have a younger brother-Deivasikhamani. He is living at Saidapet, a suburb of Madras.
These facts I once put into verse of sorts:
My Mother did pray for a male child all day
With fervour at temple and shrine
For continuance of family-line.
Chinnammal was her name.
My Father bore the fury of stark penury.
Varadappan was his name.
In the year of the Lord 1911
On Monday, the fourteenth of the Augustan month
Forty-five minutes almost from the rising of the Sun
Was I born in Guduvancheri town.
The Moon was in Fishes. In Lion was Mercury.
Right in my own Life-Sign.
At the sign of the Crab, the Sun stayed fine.
But in Virgo Venus was weak.
In Ram were Saturn, Raahu and Mars,
Jupiter and Kethu in Scales.
The constellation being Uttirattadi,
The years left over were little more than three
Out of Saturn's period at birth.
Seven were the babes who preceded me.
The last of them was a boy.
At the age of seven he did cease to be;
So too did my sisters two.
Eaten up with care,
Deprived of joy,
Were my parents forlorn;
Yet deemed it such rare
Good fortune when I was born.
To feed young mouths
Mother did stint herself.
Father, he toiled and moiled.
He could not perform the feat
Of making both ends meet,
Nor could he think of leaving
The time-honoured trade of weaving.
I leave it to be imagined-the feeling of parents who have a succession of six children-all girls-and then the seventh turns out to be a boy; and this boy dies at the age of seven. Whatever penance, whatever vow, others prescribed, for expiation of sin, and to secure male progeny, my mother carried out. One was to eat off the floor, washed clean, directly taking the food into the mouth, stooping low, without the intervention of hands:
Another was a test of their limitless piety. Celebrating a wedding between a sacred fig tree and a margosa tree was declared to be infallible in producing the desired result. There was no such dais in those days at Guduvancheri, where the two trees jointly flourished. Father went to no end of trouble to secure seedlings, to plant them on the western bank of the village tank, and to care for them, fence them in, water them, and foster their growth with unremitting watchfulness. All this he had to do, while working whole-time for a mere pittance.
Father explained to me one day all the trials he had to put up with, while rearing the pair of trees. Tears came gushing hot from my eyes as 1 listened. The trees took root. They flourished. Now they look tall and grand. When I look at them today, they seem to wish to speak to me, to have a message for me, to be imprinted in my heart ! People know how keen I am myself on reform. I am for doing without all accretions and superfluities in temple-worship and religious ceremonies. I am in favour of clarity and simplicity in everything we do in life.
All the same, addressing me, the two trees seem to say, "Your parents have united you with us. Our two lives are inseparable, you see, from your birth." That was the way my parents felt about me. When a child, so eagerly desired and prayed for, came at last and turned out to be a boy, with Leo too as his Birth-Sign, Father could not contain himself for joy ! He distributed sweets to the whole village to demonstrate his delight. People say I looked quite handsome as a child. My parents could hardly bring themselves to !et me tread on the ground. There is no analogy, or comparison I could think of, to describe their unbounded affection and solicitude.
Mother has told me that, when I was three, she lay on her back one day, and dozed off, with me stretched on her abdomen. It seems I squirmed and moved forward, and hit her in the mouth with my head with the result that one front tooth of hers was knocked off !
She didn't seem to mind the blood that spouted out, but waited and wept (keeping her mouth closed as best she could) at the thought of the pain the impact should have caused to her poor child ! She had put me to sleep on her own belly only for fear I might happen to be bitten by ants if laid on the floor ! What is there on earth to parallel a mother's love? What service or sacrifice is there to compare with what a mother does for her child ?
I have a dim recollection only of such incidents as took place from my fourth year onwards.
My Parents
Both my parents were selfless social workers.
If anyone was ill in any part of our village, my Father invariably went there, and rendered all the help he could. He was well versed in the art of diagnosing diseases by feeling the pulse. He had no stock of medicines with him. But he was an expert in treating- ailments, using herbs. With indigenous materials he prepared highly efficacious potions, powders and collyria. The patients got well; but he never accepted payment for the treatment he gave.
My father was truthful to a fault. Never once did he stretch the truth in all his life. Nor did he ever hurt people's feelings. Using harsh words was foreign to the way he was made. To the very end he remained a model of perfection with regard to the qualities of head and heart, purity of conduct, and geniality. He lived like this right up to sixty-three.
Mother was his exact counterpart. She mothered the village as a whole. There was no wedding or childbirth or other occasion in.any house there, in which she did not play a most beneficent role. She was famed for her deftness as a midwife, and for her success in treating sick children. Her services too were always rendered free.
Both parents were tireless workers. I am proud it was given to me to be born as the son of people inspired by the loftiest ideals of service and sacrifice. If I think of them I cannot keep back the tears of joy that wall up at once of their own accord.
I am afraid I cannot indicate in words the extent of their affection for me. At that tender age I did not even know that it was affection that made them behave as they did. They never tired of gazing at me. Seeing their faces wreathed in smiles, I too would smile in return. That served as a signal for them to sweep me off my feet, and give me a hug. These little incidents have remained etched in my memory.
Till the age of five, my mother insisted on feeding me herself. She would carry me about, divert my attention, pointing to a cock or crow or lizard, and put food into my mouth with her free hand. Other animals, like an elephant, monkey, bear or tiger, she would conjure up by means of stories.
One of these, the story of Gajendra Moksham, or Deliverance of the Elephant-King, was an undisputed favourite with me. It held a special fascination for me. Listening to it, I was always sure to over-eat.
" There is a lake. A crocodile lies in wait, with mouth agape. A big elephant is on his way there, for a drink. The crocodile grips him by the leg with powerful jaws. The elephant trumpets in pain and despair, calling on God the Highest to save him. Lord Vishnu comes rushing. He is seen there, in the sky, bearing His Conch and His all-conquering Disc. His gesture is eloquent of His deep compassion. " '
Could I forget at that tender age such graphically imagined scenes as these ?
I keep asking questions because I am besieged by doubts. As between these two creatures, all my pity and tenderness are only for the elephant. "Why did the elephant come to this particular lake, mummy?" I ask. "Why did not people hit the crocodile and drive it away? Was there no other watering-place for the poor elephant to go to? Had he no father or mother to care for him at all ?" And so on.
Each tiny morsel of food was well-timed. It accompanied each answer to my questions, which helped to send the food down. Mother always had a specific quantity of food in view. When once I had finished that, the stories and the dramatic scenes would cease. As for me, this particular drama by the side of the lake kept re-enacting itself endlessly ! I was to arrive at my own conclusion regarding this story when I was seven. That I shall relate in due course.
School
Both my parents were illiterate. All that my father ever learnt was to sign his name ; and he took almost five minutes over it ! Each of the letters that comprise the name, G. N. Varadappa Mudaliar cut capers, on its own. Combined, they assumed all poses of Yogasana, except perhaps the Sirasaasana ! If 1 happened to stand by, and watch him at such a time, I could not suppress my laughter. I would either laugh without being noticed by him, or run away to relieve my merriment in a place out of his sight, and then get back. This I did, not because he was likely to take offence, but because of my unbounded regard for him.
When I completed five, sending me to school became a topic of daily discussion with my parents. Theirs was, one might say, even a bit less than marginal existence. Yet they were in the seventh heaven at the mere thought that they had been blessed with a boy, to be educated by them.
My Father looked forward to Vijayadasami Day of the year 1916. There lived in the house opposite to ours a friend who was an astrologer. Father made him select an auspicious hour. He had bought for my use a waist-cloth, a jacket and a cap. How he had managed to procure this new outfit for me is something that passes my understanding. He didn't have the means for it.
But he did manage in a way known only to him and to my Mother. That is an age at which a child is completely unaware of such things as poverty and indebtedness. Is that not the only stage when man is exempt as yet from the phantom toils of debt ? The inferiority complex that comes with poverty-it would follow a bit later. All the affection a child receives from his parents constitutes for him his wealth at the moment. No brush with prosperity could The school I attended was run by a Christian Mission. That touch this particular spring of perennial joy.
At the appointed hour they took me to the temple of Lord Vinayaka, the deity with elephant-face. I used to circumambulate the temple each day along with my father. The memory is still sweet, of his knocking his head with his knuckles on either side, then switching hands, gripping the ears and doing those physical jerks which form Vinayaka's favourite mode of propitiation. I also knocked the sides of my head with my knuckles, and did the jerks in the prescribed mode.
But that day it was a novel experience for me when I went to that temple, wearing brand-new clothes, as a preliminary to my going to school for the very first time. I looked at Vinayaka. In my imagination it seemed He Was actually pleased to see me, and gave me His blessings. My Father's training had made me quite devout.
When, that day, I made my obeisance to Vinayaka before seeking admission at school, my Father said certain special prayers, offering coconuts, fruits and sugar. I do not know what level or quality of education he stipulated for me in his supplications then. I only know he had a few definite things to ask for as a favour on my behalf. He had already taught me a few psalms and songs of praise. I used to recite these often, lisping, as any child does at that age. Listening to this made my parents highly elated.
Yes, when I was a child, they were filled with joy and pride, listening to my recitation. But, even so late in my life, I cannot keep back the tears whenever my parents come into my mind-and that, with valid reason. To the last they suffered, unable to escape from the stranglehold of poverty and need. And, when I finally arrived at an age and a status when I could give them relief, they were no longer alive. I was twenty-two when my Father passed away. 1 was thirty-five when my Mother died. Mother alone was comparatively free from financial worries towards the close of her life, for a space of some ten years, perhaps.
The school I attended was run by a Christian Mission. That building is still there, in the north-eastern corner of the tank at building is still there, in the north-eastern corner of the tank at Guduvancheri. That temple of learning which taught me the R's is now a place of worship, a Church.
My Father used to accompany me to school every day. On some days he would also pick me up there on my way back. I liked learning my lessons. We were asked in those days to form the letters of the Tamil alphabet by arranging tamarind-seeds which they gave us. I took to this exercise with patience and ingenuity, and my teachers were quite pleased with me. My attitude towards them was one of respect, bordering on veneration,
I won my promotion every year. I completed the age of eight. I had passed the third standard by then.
My Father found he could not do his weaving single-handed any more. He needed help. So he kept me with him at home. My schooling therefore ended with Standard Three.
Breadwinner At Eight
I had engaged myself, from my seventh year onwards, in certain sundry jobs connected with weaving, out of school-hours. I assisted my Father in preparing the warp, and my mother in reeling off the yarn. When schooling ended. I started to learn weaving itself in earnest. For weaving lungis (coloured cloth of checkered patterns) only pit-looms serve the purpose. The pit was shoulder-high. If I got down into it, only my head was visible from ground-level ! So I stood on tiptoe, and leapt up each time l had to pull the cord and manipulate the tape. I was at first permitted to learn this only for a limited period each day. Even that was a concession, extended to me because of my eagerness to master this craft. In two years I became quite an expert.
What a revelation!
It was about this time that something happened one day to disclose to me my parents' indigence. That day and that particular incident melted my heart; and the tears came, welling up in my eyes. It would be no exaggeration to say that the iron that entered into my soul that day did much to transform me later into quite a martyr to duty. It furnished the motive power that kept driving me day and night to seek perfection in several branches of knowledge in my later days.
I mentioned this in verses I wrote long after wards :
Quote
All the schooling I ever got
Was from five to eight, as a tiny tot.
My parents bewailed their unhappy lot.
Weaving cotton then to me they taught.
In this trade I did excel.
I earned a modicum for my upkeep.
On God and poverty I pondered well:
And on human life, as I did weep.
My breakfast consisted of a pancake that cost a pie (1/192 of a rupee !), a little curd and a bit of jaggery. A broth of millet-meal followed at nine. It proved sweet and satisfying to both flesh and spirit, at that hour. It was broth again or cooked-rice according to chance, at midday. At night of course, cooked-rice was a certainty.
I was ten. It was then just past noon, say, 12.45. I was working at my loom. 12.30 was the hour when my Mother usually summoned me to lunch. That day she had not done so till that minute. It was a thatched hut that we lived in at that time. Our two looms stood on the western side. There was a parapet, by way of partition, four feet high, in the middle. On the other side, hidden from view, was where food was cooked and served to us. My Father and my Mother were engaged in talk. That much ! could gather from where I was. As I turned round, I caught sight of my Mother mopping her tears with the loose end of her sari in front.
It proved too much for me ! I could not bear the sight ! Till that moment I had never seen my Mother in distress like that ! I climbed out of the pit of the loom, put on my clothes, went straight to where the two were standing and addressed my Mother, tears surging in my own eyes. "Why do you weep, Mother? Tell me, Mother, tell me !," I asked, clasping her legs with my arms.
Folding me in a tight embrace, my Mother said. "We moved earth and heaven with our penance, O my Darling, for securing you as our child. What a heinous sinner indeed I should be, unable to find a cup of broth to appease your hunger today !" With that, she burst out crying. I too wept. My Father, on his part, raised my right hand to his lips and kissed it, weeping all the time. I could see that the two had been starving long - their shrunk and shriveled abdomens bore witness to that. Just a few minutes sped by in silence like this.
Then my Mother set me down. "Look after the child, please for a while," she said to my Father, and went out with a small pewter jug in her hand. Her return was quick. The jug was now full to the brim with broth of millet-meal. It would have been brought from the third house to our hut where some distant relatives lived. "Look here, honey," she said. "You take this now. This evening I shall start my cooking early, and give you boiled rice to eat. I couldn't bring myself to taste it in the mood I was in. "I won't unless you two eat first. How can I, Mother, when both of you are fasting?" I was obstinate.
To pacify me, each took a tiny mouthful. Then I put away what was destined to be an indelible memory for me all my life - the content of that small jug of millet-broth. I sat next to them now, and plied them with questions. "Why is it we don't have and food?" I asked. How could they explain their poverty in words? Their answers were more or less evasive, meant to satisfy me for the time being. Thus it was that I had an inkling that day of what it meant to be poor. "What could I do to relieve my parents of want?" That was the trend of my thinking. I fixed my mind on that.
I made a discovery. If I work more, I shall be paid more. That will help me to wipe out poverty, I decided. At that time I know only one art, that of weaving cloth by hand-loom. I sat at my loom by day and by night. Soon, what others took two days to produce I could do in just one day and do it as well. Work. More work. That seemed to hold the key to my success.
Overtime
A simple child, who looks upon the world as a playground and a source of joy, what could he know of the hard facts of life and of poverty? That was the way I had grown up till the age of ten.
When at last an incident opened my eyes, my outlook underwent a change. Life in the world, I learnt, was compounded of happiness and grief.
I worked hard, to rise above want. If I got down into the handloom-pit at six in the morning, I kept on working, right up to nine at night. Breakfast was brought to me there. I could take my millet-broth in a couple of minutes. For lunch I came out. Food and rest accounted for no more than twenty minutes. My work then claimed me back at once.
"Darling !," my Father and Mother would say in tones of entreaty and melting tenderness, "Don't overwork yourself. You will grow thin with all this strain. We alone know how precious you have been to us, how much we desired to have you, and have cherished you since your birth.
I reasoned with them with feeling and submission : "It is such work as affords me real pleasure, you know, and that pleasure is a source of profit also to us. Why then ?....." Such a reply often brought tears of joy to my mother's eyes.
While working at the loom, I had constant day-dreams about my future.
My First Teacher
It was at this age that I found a guru. He helped to steep me in the path of devotion suited to my level. I could not of course follow the pure Monism which he spoke about at times. He was then aged seventy-five. His name was Mr. A. Balakrishnan Naicker.
His teachings effectively set me thinking. I conducted myself with propriety and modesty, in keeping with his wishes. I found real pleasure in bhajan recitation and song in praise of the lord.
All the same, my mind was busy. I wanted to get at the truth behind the doctrines which he expounded. There were certain questions that kept echoing in my heart at all times :
1. What is joy ? What is grief? How are these feelings evoked ? Where do they finally lead ?
2. Who am I ? What is life ? How does life activate the body ? how and why are illness and old age brought about ?
3. Who is God ? Why did He engage Himself in creation?
4. What causes poverty ? How is one to be rid of it altogether ?
I was wholly pre-occupied with these questions at that stage.
The guru who had come my way taught me hymns and sets of prayers, of one hundred stanzas each. But he could not furnish an answer to even one of these questions of mine. All the same. I was able to obtain some elucidation that had a bearing on them as follows :
1. To remove our imperfections, we should worship God. Then He would reveal Himself of His own accord, and make His nature clear to us.
2. The choice of the right type of occupation one that proves profitable would lead to prosperity. Handloom weaving would only perpetuate poverty, never eradicate it.
3. A spiritual guide should be found. Through him enlightenment could be got regarding life and the power of the intellect.
Such was the decision I arrived at, guided by an inner light of mine own. I began to put it into practice. I was now fourteen.
A change for the better
Of these three problems, the need to be delivered from poverty took priority. For success in that, some other profession should be followed-not this blessed handloom weaving. knowledge of English would be essential for that.
I approached a schoolmaster of Guduvancheri with my mind made up this way, and asked him if he would teach me English. He agreed, on condition I paid him half-a-rupee a month for the
coaching. There were other pupils there who were being similarly tutored by him for a fee.
Who would find me half-a-rupee a month?
That problem I solved. The thing was for me to have my lessons. and at the same time without being a burden to my Father.
I was being paid quarter-anna (1/64 of a rupee) daily in the Morning for the purchase of pancakes.' If I did without breakfast, It would amount to seven-and-half annas in thirty days. The
balance of half-an-anna could be obtained from my Father. The fee would thus be easy to accumulate, and to hand over.
I decided on this course, and then set to win my parents' consent. It did not prove so easy, for they were afraid I would be spoiled by bad company.
On my part, I discontinued my pancake and curd at once.
More than ten days passed. I had with me now a sum of three annas.
In those days a good-sized 'pancake' could be had for two pies; and it would prove adequate breakfast for a boy of my age. Smaller children could subsist on one of a smaller size, which cost
one pie. Curd of the right consistency-as much as would fill a coconut-shell-its price was one pie. This pancake-curd combination was much to my liking.
But far more to my liking was the drive to pick up some English and secure a job. Pancake and curd had to give way to that.
I finished my breakfast of millet-meal broth at seven.
I had asked to be allowed to pursue my studies. That permission was not forthcoming. But I had begun my hoarding of the required fee even on the first day. The amount had grown to three annas ! I pleaded with my mother again. She did approve of my desire to learn.
I had also to see to it that my work at the loom did not suffer now. I got down into the loom-pit at 5 a.m. and worked, with a lamp at my side. The output tallied.
My Father's manipulation of the loom was rather old-fashioned. I myself learnt to do it through an improved method which enabled me to produce three times as much as he did.
My parents could not forgive themselves for my exertions, which they considered undue. On one side was the pinch of poverty and, on the other, my diligence, which did much to modify it. We had almost enough to eat !
By nature, my parents were against accepting anything from others at any time. They prided themselves on their self-reliance.
Now they were able to manage just like that.
Vinayaka Worship
I had started the study of English, as part of my plan to be rid of poverty. Well and good, What about the ambition to have a vision of God?
Worship, as a means to that end, occupied my thoughts next.
I had heard that worship of Vinayaka is the royal road to victory in every field. There was no Image of Vinayaka in our house. One reason was, there was no suitable space available there. A more compelling reason was that an Image, with its pedestal, cost two-and-a half rupees.
This problem I solved in my own way. I shall, I said, worship Vinayaka where He was, in His own temple! The temple at Guduvancheri is small in size. I asked for and got the keys. From 4-30 a. m. to 5-00 a. m. I poured water over the sacred Image and rubbed it clean. The two towels that were there, were used by me alternately. While the Image was wearing one, the other was washed and dried by me.
While bathing the image one day, I noticed flakes of dirt on it. Would not this cause discomfort to Vinayaka? So I closed the door, picked up a piece of coconut shell, and scrubbed it hard. Some one who happened to stand outside heard the noise of scrubbing, knocked on the door, and made me open it.
" What are you doing ?," he asked. I admitted the truth.
" What an idiot you are, " he snarled, " to use coconut shell for scrubbing Vinayaka !"
His anger did not upset me. My immature heart grieved only at the sacrilege of which I had been guilty.
In the month of Margazhi (mid-December to mid-January) I offered worship at four o' clock. I couldn't bear the cold myself when I bathed in the tank. I was moved to pity at the thought that Vinayaka also would be similarly affected by the cold.
So I went to my Father that day and asked. " Father! Why not bathe Vinayaka in warm water during Margazhi ?"
He smiled as he explained, " We should not do like that, child, Vinayaka won't feel the cold in the way you seem to think He would."
I used to ask a number of questions on which I would reflect long. It did not somehow occur to me that a stone, as such, is immune to cold !
Food-Habits
People living in the villages used to go once a year to some pilgrim-centre nearby, stop there for two or three days, finding pleasure in, preparing their food themselves, and watching the festivals celebrated there. My parents used to go both Porur and Mahabalipuram like this.
When that year they started for Porur they took me and my brother with them. After stopping two days there, we proceeded to Mahabalipuram.
We in our family, used to take meat. From early days I had felt a little aversion to it, but did not give it up outright.
There was a bookstall at Mahabalipuram in view of the festival. My attention was specially drawn to a booklet displayed there The title was. " The Evil Effects of Meat-taking." I bought it for an anna-and-a-quarter, and started reading it at once. There were certain verses in it which 1 found most moving. One of these was as follows :
"The animal slaughtered yells in terror and in pain.
The men who eat it feel happy, proud and vain.
If the wise who hear the cry, but heed not, go to hell.
About the lot of those who eat it, who can tell?"
The sense it conveys is that, however holy a man might be, if the cry of pain uttered by an animal at the moment it is butchered falls on his ears, and he does nothing about it, and leaves the creature to its fate, the direst of punishments await him in hell. If that is so, what torments would overtake those who actually eat the meat?
I was perturbed on reading this. I thought of God, and in contrition begged to be forgiven for having thoughtlessly taken meat. I shed bitter tears. I vowed I would be a strict vegetarian from that day. This change of heart had the full support of my parents too.
Offerings to God
From the age of sixteen I was bent on discovering the root cause of every activity of mine.
Why do we make food-offerings at festivals?
My parents were unable to furnish a proper answer. "It is God who has given us this gift of life. Therefore we offer food to Him in worship." This is all that they could say. I was in no way satisfied with this explanation.
Only those who have a body can feel the sensation of hunger. They need food. But God has no body. As He is pure Spirit, He has no need of food. We take the food, with our thoughts at the time fixed wholly on Him. That is the principle on which our
food offerings to God seem to be based. When I gave this explanation to my parents, they said I was right, and felt immensely happy. I felt I had scored a big point that day.
On Saturdays certain people formed a choir, and went round the streets, singing hymns. They set to music a particular poem of Saint Thayumanavar (who lived in the 18th century), and sang it every now and then. The words were to this effect :
"What Power is This to which we bow
With steadfast faith just now ?
It is a Radiance that fills all Space.
It is packed through and through with Grace.
It is filled with endless Bliss.
Within this Space roll a myriad worlds.
Whose life of life it is.
It transcends thought. It transcends speech.
A million creeds compete;
"This is our God ! This is our Lord !" they claim.
Astounding miracles Its might proclaim.
Eternal, eternal, It doth stay.
Paramount is Its Power.
It is a Flood of Joy most bright.
It knows no bounds of day or night.
To each It seems just right.
It is a Vision which complete silence fills.
Oh, with peace our souls It thrills!
This, This, is the Power to Which we pray
With love and hope all day!
This song won my heart completely. It is this teaching that confirmed in me the conviction that God is without form or shape.
In mid-January, on the day Pongal, we cooked pastries without salt, and offered them to the sun. I asked why we did not add salt. All the answer I got was that it would be wrong to add salt in dishes dedicated to the Sun, and that it is something that is simply not done.
I pointed out that we were wrong. On some occasion in the past, an autocratic mother-in-la might have forgotten to add salt before baking the pastry. After worship was over, the daughter-in-law would have drawn her attention to the deficiency. To cover her own lapse, the mother-in-law with her glib tongue, would have declared at once that, it was the way to prepare an offering meant for the Sun-god! The gullible daughter-in-law had continued the practice, and so it became a tradition with us, generation after generation !
My Father and my Mother split their sides with laughter. Ever after, they were careful to add salt in that dish which they offered on Pongal days.
Warts and All
While writing a biography, the author keeps in view the good name of the person whose life he is writing. Most of the incidents he describes would have on the reader an edifying effect. The author will carefully avoid mentioning the mistakes made by his hero, all his acts of meanness and cruelty, and whatever else tends to present him to the public in an unfavourable light. Thus the writer draws a veil over the defects in a biography.
An autobiography is different. The man who sets out to narrate the events of his own life should not suppress the truth. There could be no question here of credit or discredit.
Such an autobiography becomes real literature that ennobles the mind of the individual who reads it. It acts as an intellectual tonic and also enriches his life.
It would faithfully record all varieties of experiences, the ups and downs, the joys and the sorrows which is the stuff of life. A record of such a life would fill with hope even those who are depressed.
No human being is exempt from conflicts so long as he lives in a community governed by both temporal end spiritual laws. Such is the nature of life.
The autobiographies of thinkers, of savants and of saints show us the way of deliverance out of this tangled pattern. There are bound to have been stages in the lives of such people when they were children-and childish, young, misled, caught between imagination and reality, between fallacy and the steady light of reason.
The conclusions they arrived at during the different stages of their development may not all be perfect.
The opinions they came to hold finally, after mature judgement, would often be found to be at variance with their own former utterances. There is nothing unusual in this. That is life. That is evolution. That is the way of progress. That is the way one attains perfection, enlightenment.
I too have had my due share of perplexities. ups and downs, good and evil, honour and such like; and I propose to set them all down faithfully while narrating the story of my life. I wish my friends to read it through with unflagging spirit, and derive whatever benefit they can from them all.
Fallacies and Perfect Faith
I stayed with my parents til I was eighteen.
it was indeed a daily ordeal to which I subjected them with my questions and the explanations I myself furnished for them !
When I got an answer to a straight question. I accepted it if it sounded reasonable. Otherwise I would not rest till I found arguments to prove it wrong.
It all ended with exultation on the part of my Father and my Mother, as they listened to me. They would confess that my words helped to wipe out the searing memory of what they had passed through - grinding poverty and sorrows of several kinds.
Adverting to 'that story that had captured my imagination, the story of Gajendra Moksham, that had so often helped me to down my daily quota of infant food, I remember I was seized with a doubt when I reached the age of seven.
There had been a funeral at Guduvancheri, and the people were observing the tenth day's rites, which they called Moksha Deepam, " lighting the lamp to Heaven."
Immediately I asked my Mother what it meant. She answered that "going to Heaven" was just one way of saying that one was dead.
The story of Gajendra Moksham flashed in my mind. "Did the elephant then die that attained to Heaven?," I asked. She could not reply.
-What is Heaven, and what is salvation, please?," I persisted.
" Both mean the same," she answered.
"Then it could only mean that both the creatures died – the crocodile that went to Heaven and the elephant that found salvation. Isn't that so ?"
My Mother had a keen intelligence. She gauged correctly the state of development I had reached. " I told you in my turn the story exactly as elders had told it to me," she said, " I don't know anything else about it."
When my Father came, I would not leave him either. I asked him the same question ; and the answer he gave was the same as my Mother's.
Then I gave them my own explanation.
My Father was thrilled with joy. He turned to my Mother. " Just see him !" he said, " He is a veritable Muruga, born as our child. Muruga asked His Father Lord Siva, while an infant, to explain the meaning of Pranava (OM). He Himself then came out with the explanation and His Father was stunned. What our boy says is exactly like that."
Others can hardly imagine the ecstatic delight they were in. Even after a lapse of fifty-two years, the memory is green and sweet.
I thus refused to swallow whatever I decided was fictitious and imaginary in religious observances and beliefs. My Father chose an alternative course that might suit my then-turn of mind. He taught me whole anthologies of verse. It is a wonder how, himself illiterate, he had still managed to get by heart classics such as Arappaleeswara Satakam, Tandalaiyaar Satakam and Kumaresa Satakam. At first he taught these orally. When I could spell and wade through printed matter, he got those books for me and made me read them.
I continued asking questions about each festival that came. They would tell me what all they knew about it. Sometimes I was satisfied, sometimes not.
But when it came to actual prayer and worship, I joined them at their devotions, and felt myself visibly moved in both mind and spirit.
Thus my days passed in close, searching reflection, in plodding at my job, and in taking courses of lessons at night.
Shift to Madras
The teachers at the night-school changed year by year. The fee they charged rose to a rupee-and-a half. I picked up English, Tamil and Arithmetic. My teacher declared that the standard I had reached in my studies was the equivalent of Form Four (Standard IX). I was now eighteen.
I felt the urge to quit handloom weaving, and secure some other kind of job. I spoke about this to Karpakam, my eldest sister. Her husband Shanmuga Mudaliar, was a medical practitioner of the Siddha School of Medicine. They lived in Madras City.
They took me with them to Madras, and asked the people they knew to get me any kind of employment they could. In the collection of verses entitled "The story of My Life," I have referred to these happenings in the following lines :
Any man who pauses to reflect
On joy and grief in life, and their effect,
And notes two states of Being, one, as Man.
The other as God, will feel impelled to scan
Illness and death and crying human need;
From ignorance of these I too attempted to be freed.
These questions once did, day and night,
Bewilder One. He, then, pursuing light
Went straight to learned men. But what they said
He found no help. When thus great Buddha shed
His royal crown, and trod the path of misery,
How could such problems be solved by one like me ?
A hovel was my dwelling; scanty too, my food.
The thirst was there for progress and for making good.
English I therefore chose to study. It might lead
To trade, or government service, and fill my need.
By day I worked for wages. But at night
I learned two languages by oilwick-light.
I did without my breakfast, whose cost was coins three,
I hoarded that small amount. It became my tutor's fee!
By the time I reached eighteen, I found I could read
And write both English and my mother tongue. To lead
A weaver's life was hateful. So I went
To Madras. In searching for a job we spent
A goodly time. And then I secured a place
I postal service. Then beamed with joy my face,
My tears were dried. However hard such work
As promised betterment, that I never did shirk.
I stayed in my sister's house. My brother-in-law tried hard to find a job for me.
In those days there were clubs in all cities where they arranged to take bets on horse-races. Hundreds of these were to be found in Madras alone. The job I got, after about a month, was at one of these, the Royal Racing Club, on Mount Road, I was paid fifty rupees a month.
There were races twice a week-on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I had to be at the Club between three and seven in the evening of the day previous to the race. On the day of the race. the hours were from eight in the morning to two in the afternoon. On the day following, I had work from 8 a.m. to 1p.m.
On working days I was paid a refreshment allowance of one rupee for every half-day of work, and a rupee-and-half for a whole day. I thus cleared not less than Rs. 75 a month, For the level of education I had, this was a piece of good luck. I gave ten rupees to my parents; subscribed ten rupees to a chit fund, and handed over the balance to my brother-in-law.
Guide
It was at this stage that I got a highly distinguished man as my guide. I could only attribute my luck to the grace of God.
I refer to Vaidya Bhoopati S. Krishna Rao, an expert in all three schools of Indian medicine Ayurveda, Siddha and Unani. When it came to philosophy, he was a genius. As regards extent of knowledge and a well-regulated life he was a model.
He lived first in Nadu Street, Mylapore, and then in Taachimuthu Arunachalam Street, also known as Baker's Street. In the evenings one could find him in his dispensary on Brodies Road, Mandaiveli.
I happened to pass that way one day. I found him discussing spiritual truths with someone there. I listened, with close attention, to that talk, standing at the edge of the shop premises. He called me near and asked. "Who are you, please? Why are you, Please? Why are you standing here?"
" I belong, sir, to Guduvancheri. I am on a visit to Doctor Shanmuga Mudaliar. He is my brother-in-law. I am working at a race-club," I said.
" Come in, please, and take a seat," he said. The tenderness in that tone reminded me of my parents.
When their talk was finished, he turned to me. "You can come here whenever you are free he said.
I said that I would, and got back home. Soon, It became a habit with me to meet him at least on four days in the week. All my leisure hours I spent either at his house or in his dispensary. I stayed with him several nights.
He was then sixty-five. He taught me the Science of Ayurveda systematically. The Siddha system also came in, from time to time. He took up standard treatises on Ayurveda like Charaka Samhita. Susruta Samhita, Maadhava Nidhanam, Ashtaanga Hridayam and Rasa Ratna Samuchchayam, and taught me these, translating them for my benefit. He taught me philosophy too with exceptional clarity.
The science of medicine I mastered in the space of two years. I had an equal mastery of philosophy also.
There was nothing that I could give him in return. Yet my master accepted me, as he would his son, and made a man of me. I love and adore him.
All that he taught me on Ayurveda was clearly imprinted in my mind.
As my brother-in-law too was a physician who practised both the Ayurveda and the Siddha systems, I acquired the skill to prepare medicines of various kinds-powders, conserves, medicated oils, potent residues obtained by combustion and so on.
My master, Vaidya Bhoopati S. Krishna Rao, who was happy at the way I had shaped, wanted me to be a physician with a diploma. At that time there was in Madras a branch of the organisation known as the All-India Ayurvedic Maha Mandal and Vidya Peet. The finest brains in this field were then members of the management at its headquarters. They ran Ayurvedic colleges, conducted examinations and issued certificates to the successful candidates. Such certificates had won recognition and respect in the land.
Those who wrote the examination in Sanskrit and passed, got the degree, Vaidya Visaarada. Vaidya Bhishak was the title awarded to those who wrote the same examination in any other language.
Captain Srinivasamurthi and Doctor Muthulakshmi Reddi he Id responsible positions in this All-India Ayurvedic Maha Mandal in those days.
My master urged me to take the examination. I did so. There were in all nine parts. In the first year I passed the first six parts with credit. The next year I could not attend the examination. In the third year I took the three papers left over and passed in them too. It is not possible for anyone else to sense the amount of happiness my success gave to my beloved master. I was able to note it in every smile of his; in every word he spoke, and in every glance he directed at me. His heart was full. Had he not provided a quite honourable means of livelihood to a young man on the lookout for it, and set him on the road to prosperity ?
Only such candidates as had studied in the specified Ayurvedic Colleges for full four years could manage to secure a pass in that examination. There were practical tests in all those papers too !
Government Service
By about this time the legislature had passed an Act, forbidding the taking of bets on horse-races anywhere else. except on the race-course itself. At first the Act was enforced within City-limits. So several race-clubs started functioning at Saidapet, beyond the toll-gate. I continued to work there. But in a few months, the operation of the Act was extended to all places, throughout the Presidency (State). I lost my job.
My brother-in-law had therefore to take to job-hunting again, on my behalf. One of his patients was called Mr. Natesa Iyer. He was taking treatment for stomach-ulcers. He was employed in a Government Office. My brother-in-law explained my plight to him. Looking intently at me, he felt a strong urge to be of some service to me. He said so, in so many words. He offered to take me to a friend of his on the following Sunday and arrange to get me employed.
He came accordingly next Sunday morning and I accompanied him to the house of a friend of his, named Mr. Rajagopal Naidu. Mr. Natesa lyer requested him most earnestly to provide a job for me. Mr. Rajagopal Naidu asked him to bring me to his Office the next day.
At 10-30 the next morning, Mr. Natesa Iyer, taking me with h!m entered the Postal Audit Office located near the Mount Road.
That was a pleasant surprise.
For two whole years before this, I had passed that way several times, on my way from Mount Road to Mylapore. I had noted hundreds of employees going in and coming out of that building.
"What a good thing it would be", I had often thought, "if l could find a job for myself in an office like this !"
Great was my surprise therefore when I found I was taken to the very premises where l should land on a job for myself!
Mr. Natesa Iyer wrote out an application for me, and I signed it. Mr. Rajagopal Naidu, who was the Head of a Section, had a talk with the Head Clerk for a while, endorsed my application suitably, and sent it on to the Head Office. In ten minutes, the paper, with the pad to which it had been attached, came back. There was now the Officer's signature on it, approving of my appointment.
What exactly was to be my work? What was my pay? I knew none of these details.
After 1-00 in the afternoon, they gave me work. It was to open letters, received by Registered Post and to record their particulars in a register (kept for the purpose), noting the registration number, the address of the sender, as well as the date, and the number assigned to the communication inside.
I commenced the work and continued doing it till 5-00 in the evening, when Mr. Natesa Iyer stepped into my Section, and took me home to Mylapore.
He told my brother-in-law, "My young friend did not get the particular job I had in view for him. He has been given a lower job. They have promised to give him the higher one as and when a vacancy arises."
Of course I was disappointed. The pay was just fifteen rupees a month. If I declined it, I knew both of them would be sorry. So I said I would take the job.
With the utmost sincerity I carried on with my work from that day. As promised, they transferred me to a higher post when the occasion came, and were quite decent to me.
But my salary was just twenty-three rupees.
It was quite inadequate.
For days on end I was very much worried about the shortage and considered ways and means to meet it.
The thought struck me one day, "Why not do some weaving too ? That would bring in ten more rupees per month. "
I suited my action to the thought.
There was a weavers' colony about half-a-mile from my sister's house. The locality was called Tulukkachchi Thottam in those days. The name has been changed since then. I went there and
hired a loom. Even in this there was a snag.
The owner said, "We charge you, see, one rupee per loom per month. To lease a loom for only three hours a day ? That we can't afford."
I agreed to pay that one rupee myself in full.
The master-weaver, who obliged, was Mr. Thangavelu Mudaliar, who was an active rationalist. I never opened my mouth in his presence to speak of any other matter-social or political-except just work and wages. Thus I managed to get on smoothly with him for two whole years although I was steeped in religion, and he was an atheist !
My routine was like this: weaving, from six to nine in the morning. Then bath and food, and the office at eleven. Weaving, again, by lamplight from six-thirty to eight. Thus I eked out my livelihood, earning an additional ten rupees.
Later, I got a teacher's job in an improvised school. The work was confined to the morning; and the pay was seven rupees. Thus manual labour was reduced-to a certain extent.
Tragedy & Bereavement
Something unforgettable happened when I was twenty-two.
I had a friend who was very close to me. His name was Narayanasami. He lived in the house opposite to mine. He was a student of P. S. High school, studying in the tenth standard
We used to go to the sea-shore, with a few student-friends, in the evenings. From Mandaiveli, where we lived, the distance was only half a mile. In summer we were in the habit of bathing in the sea every day, and returning home before seven o'clock.
On the day I refer to, the other friends were sitting on the sand, while we two, Narayanasami and I, stepped into the waters of the Bay of Bengal.
Fifteen minutes went by.
-That will do. Come along, Narayana !," I called to him.
The waves were particularly rough that day. They lifted us to a height of about six feet, and then set us down again. The sensation was pleasant, as in a swing devised for us by Nature !
When I called to my friend, there came a wave as big as any. He saw it. "This is the last wave. We shall enjoy it-, he said, "and then go home."
That giant wave lifted us to a very great height indeed. When it withdrew, we found ourselves a few yards further within the sea. We couldn't find our feet.
We tried floating and swimming.
No good.
Somehow ! managed to draw nearer to the shore by about ten feet. Then I just touched bottom.
I found the current still strong, acting odd, like a whirlpool of sorts.
I strained every nerve, and quickly reached the sands.
I noticed Narayanasami struggling still in the waters. I told my friends to fetch someone to help my friend, pointing out that he was in danger.
I made a sort of long rope, tying together our clothes that were left on the shore, and stepped into the sea again.
I waded in as far as I could manage with steadiness, and flung the cloth-rope to him. He stretched his hands in an effort to catch it. The rope was short by some ten feet.
I went a few feet further into the waters.
Hard luck !
The same whirlpool was now after me !
To extricate myself, I swam and swam. One precious minute, and then I touched bottom again.
I turned round to see Narayanan. Only the five fingers of his one hand were visible for a few moments, above the surface. Then these too disappeared.
My grief was inconsolable. The closest among my friends, dear to me as life itself, with whom I spent all my free time, that friend was no more. The sea has swallowed him.
Why should I alone live ? Why not I too share the watery grave with him ? "Alas I Narayana ! You have forsaken me," I cried.
The urge was irresistible- to plunge forever into the depths of the sea.
Then my Mother seemed to stand before me.
And my Father. I could only wait and weep.
I turned round. here were two fishermen. running up with my friends. I pointed out to them the spot where my friend was seen last. The fishermen dived and swam and searched, surfaced, and dived and searched again. My friend could nowhere be found. One whole hour we spent like that. It was half-past-seven when we started back home.
On the way we reported the matter to the police. We then returned Narayanan's clothes at his house and sobbed out what had happened to him.
His sister's screams of terror on grasping the tragedy still resound in my ears. Her lamentations and her grief were such that the scene haunts me even today when I think of the tragedy. Her brother went for a walk at the beach at five. At half- past – seven she heard that he was dead. What indeed could be a sister's shock and reaction to such and end ?
The body was recovered the next day near the Harbour.
I can never get over this pain of parting to the last. The loss of my friend seared my heart. Whenever the thought recurs, I try to console myself as best as I can, under a heavy load of grief.
He is there, safe and secure, beyond the trials and tribulations of life.
Caught in their grip, should I really mourn his passing ? I too shall get such deliverance one day.
I started thinking like this and returned slowly to my daily round of tasks and labours.
The period after I had completed twenty – two, was a turning point in my life in more ways than one.
There was a bolt from the blue one day.
I got a message from home, saying that my Father was ill with fever and that his condition was critical.
I planned to apply for leave the next day and go to Guduvancheri and do my duty, attending on my Father in all the ways I could.
But early the next morning news reached me that he had passed away.
I could not bear the shock. I burst out crying at the very spot where I stood at the time I heard the news. There was an elderly gentleman living in the house opposite. He felt the utmost sympathy for me and took me to his house. Both he and his wife did their best to console me. Looking at him, I wept again, saying, "O ! I have lost my Father. I have lost my Father !"
"My dear Vethathiri !," he said. "Don't take this to heart so much. I shall myself be your father and do all that should be done. We have two sons, you know. You will be our third son."
I was comforted a little by their kind assurances. I went to my native village and performed the obsequies.
That was my first big bereavement.
I returned to Mylapore, and settled in my former routine again.
Marriage
On one side, I was impelled to better my prospects, financially. On the other was the pull of philosophy. I was impatient to discover for myself the nature of life and of God. I was therefore steeped in thought at all hours.
I was firm in my conviction that perseverance alone would lead to prosperity. With equal faith I believed that constancy in the pursuit of Truth would secure for me a vision of God some day.
I never felt the least liking for the job in which I was working. But what was the alternative if I give it up ? I continued at that post, planning to resign it the moment I obtained employment elsewhere.
I first got as pay fifteen rupees there. My weaving brought in about ten rupees. That total of twenty-five rupees was just enough in those days for my own maintenance and for making a small remittance to my parents. But what about the future?
Moreover, walking six furlongs, morning and evening, slogging away at my loom and then getting back to the other work, was a severe strain on me. I wanted to finish with this business of weaving. For that, I should first secure another part-time job.
When this wish possessed me, I did get a part-time job as teacher in a school run by one Mr. Ratnam Pillai. He treated me with affection and deference.
I taught English at this place for two hours in the morning and one hour in the evening. The pay was ten rupees a month. The work was lighter, it is true, compared to weaving. But again, was there any future in it ?
While one day I was thus sunk in deep thought, I had a brain-wave. " I am a qualified Ayurvedic physician and pharmacist. Why not I take to the profession ?" This line seemed to have a future in it.
But, what was there I could do for a beginning? My mind was soon made up. I should manufacture and set! tooth-powder, and pills to take along with pan (betel leaf).
I prepared pan-pills, using the most expensive ingredients like musk and saffron, as taught by my master, Vaidya Bhoopati S. Krishna Rao. A phial containing a hundred pills I priced a quarter-rupee. I started selling in the office in which I was working. It caught on slowly, but steadily. For an outlay of ten rupees, the profit was forty rupees, on a monthly turnover.
The tooth-powder bore the trade-name, Sikhaamani. Both preparations together yielded a profit of fifty rupees a month.
I breathed freely. I glimpsed the light of prosperity ahead, with hope, new-born and strong.
My parents had tried to arrange my marriage in my twenty third year. My Father had asked my brother-in-law to give his daughter in marriage to me, but he preferred an alliance with someone who was in more affluent circumstances.
I myself felt inclined to marry only my sister's daughter Logambal by name. My parents regretted my brother-in-law's decision. They asked me if they could be on the look-out for a suitable bride elsewhere.
My sister's daughter and I had grown up together as children and had known and understood each other well. She had secured a permanent place in my affections. Hence I could not think of another girl replacing her in my heart. I said no. All talk of marriage ceased.
Six months after this, I had the misfortune to lose my Father. After this bereavement, when I came back to Madras I gave up my part-time job as a teacher, as I found I derived an adequate income from my medicinal preparations.
Mr. Chokkalinga Gramani was our next-door neighbour. He asked me one day to coach his two sons at home, and offered to pay seven rupees a month for that. I hesitated at first and then agreed.
After about two months, he spoke to me. He asked, "Why are you postponing your marriage ?"
I answered, "I haven't got the funds for that," The chit fund I was subscribing to would yield just one hundred rupees. My own budget requirement for a wedding was two hundred rupees. I explained this to him in full.
He offered to give me the balance of one hundred rupees, as a loan without interest and encouraged me to arrange for the wedding, as early as possible.
I confided the whole matter to my "adoptive" father at the opposite house. He came with his wife at once and asked my brother-in-law for his consent.
My brother-in-law gave no answer at first. But those two people would no t let the matter rest. They persisted. Somehow they managed, at the end, to settle the alliance. I was to marry the girl on whom I had set my heart.
I collected the amount needed and kept it ready. I was very happy at the thought of having as a helpmate one whose mind was in tune with mine, one who was intelligent and highly cultured.
I wanted to lead and ideal married life and I had sought the most fitting partner I could find to realise that ideal in practice. I succeeded.
The wedding was solemnised without extravagance of any kind. My mother's heart was now content.
I had arranged for my brother's marriage also. Both weddings took place on the same day.
I persuaded my Mother to come and live with us. My brother also resided with me. We rented a separate house and commenced our married life.
I had found a wife whose good looks matched her goodness. I had an income adequate to my needs. It was certainly a life full of happiness. But not quite fully !
Deep down, the cup of joy was not full.
"What is the nature of life ?
Where is God to be found ?
How is poverty in the world to be wiped out ?"
These questions demanded an answer. They became more insistent with each passing day.
Experiments
Some time earlier, I was waiting to catch the bus one day, on my way to work, at the bus-stop opposite to Mandaiveli post office.
A cobbler used to be there, who occasionally mended my chappals if they needed mending. That day I had entrusted such a piece of work to him and he was busy, stitching.
I noticed his stomach. It was completely shrunk. "Why, friend," I asked, "have you not had any breakfast?"
"No !," he said, and then added, "I didn't have any food, Sir, last night either."
I was stunned by his words.
"Why?"
"I had no earnings, Sir. That is why."
This piteous admission pierced my heart. He charged half-an-anna for that service. I made it an anna that day and proceeded to my office.
"I didn't have any food, Sir, last night." Those words were still ringing in my ears.
I have known from experience how cruel, pangs of hunger could be. There are a lot of poor people who starve – for lack of means. When will such a state of affairs change?
This thought became an obsession. I returned home in the evening. I didn't even go to my master's house that day. The theme of hunger haunted me. I came to a decision while so many among the poor can afford only one meal a day, and some time go without even that, why should I eat twice a day? Would not one meal be enough?" That was the way I argued. That was the resolution I made.
I gave up supper that night. The next night I told my sister that I didn't want my supper, that I was observing a vow like this for some days.
When I rose in the morning, I had the sensation that I was light, as if I were flying in the wind.'
I would wait a short while, clean my teeth and take my breakfast. Then only would I find strength slowly returning to my limbs.
I decided to set this right. !n the evening I started munching a quarter-anna worth of groundnut. In about ten days I was restored to normal !
I got over the urge for supper when evening came. But the thought kept recurring, "What should I do to get the world rid of poverty for good? What is there I could do ?"
Thus I dispensed with my supper, form my twentythird year onwards. That training has held firm, to this day. When friends insist, sometimes to please them, I accept some light refreshment. That is all.
My supper continues to be what it has always been-a glass of milk.
About eight months after our marriage, my brother developed hernia trouble. He could not work at the loom any more.
I kept a large establishment. It is true that the deficit was not unmanageable. But the setback was there, all the same. My brother's ailment and the growing number of my dependants were both burdens. The only possible course for me was to work harder than ever.
Three years passed.
Deep within me I was happy whenever I thought of the special blessing that has been conferred upon me - I mean, of course, my wife. She was a tower of strength to me, removing obstacles from my path, solving our problems and softening the impact of life's struggles.
But I felt sad that ! was not in a position to give her all the comforts to which she was accustomed to in her home.
Her father was addicted to gambling. Betting on horses was his weakness. Deaf to all advice, he lost everything and became quite poor. His income dwindled, since he could not devote as much attention as before to his profession. It was at this stage that his daughter was married to me.
Those who are born poor develop fortitude. But, for those who have seen better days, poverty is really painful.
I had hoped that by marrying me she could get back some of the comforts she enjoyed in her younger days ; but unfortunately my financial condition was not good enough to put an end to her trials.
She, on the other hand, was never a victim of self-pity. I never once found her bitter, or in a complaining mood. She did not spare herself. She gave her full co-operation in improving our lot. Ours was plain living. To each of us, the other was really an asset. In this frame of mind we carried on, doing our duty, in perfect contentment.
I was now twenty-seven.
I hit upon a plan. "We could settle down at Guduvancheri. Village-life is cheaper. A railway season-ticket costs only nine rupees a month. If I brought two measures of milk with me, any hotel in Madras would take it and there would be a profit of fifteen rupees a month. That would take care of the railway fare too." Such was the trend of my thoughts.
The Postal Audit Office in which I was employed had a canteen. I met the Secretary of the canteen, told him of my scheme and asked him to take two measures of milk from me each day. He agreed to my offer with pleasure.
They found the quality of the milk to be good and the coffee prepared with it quite tasty. They ordered four measures more.
The very next month I took my family to Guduvancheri. I fixed up a house. The rent was only a rupee-and-a-half. Although the roof was leaky we found it a bargain at that time. I now made a profit of fifty rupees a month on my milk-sales.
In my Office they were buying guard-files for pasting and preserving vouchers, from dealers in the City. Now there was a proposal to manufacture them with waste paper available in the office itself. An Office Superintendent, personally interested in me, told me this was a profitable source and that I could bid for the contract.
There was however one condition. I should furnish a certificate to the effect that I was a qualified binder. I was prepared to meet this condition; I caught hold of a book-binder, and learnt his craft in just one week, sitting at it day and night. I demonstrated my newly-acquired skill at a printing press and obtained the required certificate. Thus I secured the contract from my Office.
When I returned home to Guduvancheri every evening, I took a stock of boards and waste-paper sheets.
My wife arranged them carefully in the right order and stitched them. On getting back at night, I glued the sheets together, pasted marble-paper on the boards-and the files were ready.
We manufactured about two thousand files a year like this and earned three hundred to five hundred rupees in a lump.
Within two years, we purchased a house at Guduvancheri for six hundred rupees. This was the first proof that we had arrivedspeaking financially.
The profit from the preparation of files was on the increase. The milk-business too was quite brisk. We had a sizeable sum of money on hand.
This milk-supply however involved risk. Hot weather soured the milk in summer and we had to replace a few potfuls. I had deputed a man specially for that, but he was not able to manage.
I decided to close that business. The net profit was twenty five rupees per day then. I had a friend called Gaffur Sahib. who was in the same line. I made over my whole business to him.
With what ready cash I had, I proposed to start production and sale of lungis (cloth).
In Angappa Naicken Street, Madras, there was a prominent firm of the name of Maulana Lungi Company. I went there and entered into an agreement with them for the supply, under the stipulation that goods were to be inspected only on Sundays, so that there will be no difficulty in my attending office on other days. They proved amenable.
I placed my brother in charge of production and sales of textiles and attended to that business out of office-hours.