by M K Gandhi
His description of Sonja Schlesin, one of his closest co-workers in South Africa invited sharp rebuke from her. Gandhi, in his laudatory recollection, described her as ‘head of a girls’ school in the Transvaal’. In a letter dated 2 June 1928, she wrote, ‘Dear Mr. Gandhi, Time for just a line by this mail to ask you on no account to publish the allusions to myself in your wretched autobiography in a book from until I send you a revised copy which I shall do by next mail. You say that I am at the head of a girls’ school. I have never had anything to do with a girls’ school and it would take many more years of experience than I possess to attain the principalship at a high school, even if I desired such a position, which I don’t.’ She wrote further, ‘The whole thing is simply a fabrication of your own fancy. Your brain is so tired that you have just the haziest recollection of things, you jumble up facts and you unconsciously invent. I therefore seriously think you should cease writing until you are in a normal state again . . . In fact so far as your allusions to me are concerned, at any rate, the autobiography should indeed be entitled not “The Story of My Experiments with Truth” but Illustrations of My Experiments with Untruth.’53
Gandhi issued a correction in Young India of 28 June 1928, adding that ‘The error has given her pain for which I am sorry. I may at once say that she is in no way responsible for the error.’54 In the subsequent book edition the line was changed to ‘She is at present a teacher in one of the high schools in the Transvaal.’
Gandhi was not always willing to make changes, albeit he was ever willing to publish challenges to his narrative and his response publicly. In the English translation Mahadev Desai had chosen the adjective ‘volatile’ to translate the Gujarati term ‘tej’ used by Gandhi to describe Sister Nivedita. Gandhi wrote also that he was ‘taken aback by the splendour that surrounded her’.
The Modern Review of July 1927 took exception to the adjective ‘volatile’ and the description of ‘splendour’, pointing out that at the time of Gandhi’s meeting with her, Sister Nivedita was a guest at the American Consulate in Calcutta and not responsible for the splendour. It also said that the term ‘volatile’ wronged her memory. Gandhi ‘gladly’ published this in Young India but stated that ‘such references should be regarded merely as impressions left upon my mind at the time to which they may relate’.55 As to the choice of the adjective ‘volatile’, Gandhi recalled the discussion with Mahadev Desai at the time of translation. ‘We both had doubts about the use of the adjective being correct. The choice lay between volatile, violent and fantastical. The last two were considered to be too strong. Mahadev had chosen volatile and I passed it.’56
Even when suggested by close associates Gandhi was reluctant to carry out changes in the Autobiography. In 1928, clearly wanting to verify incidents and impressions pertaining to Gandhi’s life in South Africa, Mahadev Desai sent proofs of the first editions of the Autobiography to H.S.L. Polak, who along with Hermann Kallenbach was Gandhi’s closest associate, having—like Kallenbach—lived with Gandhi in his house in Johannesburg and at the Phoenix Settlement.
Polak pointed out several inaccuracies. ‘In Chapter 13, he refers to Mansukhlal Nazar’s editorship of the paper. I do not think that he is quite fair to Nazar, whose critical faculty and sense of humour during the time upto the beginning of 1906 when he died, very often saved Gandhiji from indiscretions due to misplaced enthusiasm and inexperience.’57 Polak further wrote, ‘He is slightly inaccurate . . . as to the exact circumstances in which I made his acquaintance. The proprietress of one of those restaurants, who was a mutual friend, had asked me whether I would care to attend one of her “At Home’s”. If so, I should probably meet Mr. Gandhi, whom I ought to know. I jumped at the opportunity and attended the “At Home,” which was just a pleasant private affair. Gandhiji and I at once became intimate by reason of the fact that I was almost the only other person that he had met in Johannesburg who had read a certain book entitled Return to Nature (dealing with earth treatment and other forms of nature cure) by Adolf Just.’58
He also pointed out that Gandhi had been unfair to Millie Polak. ‘He does Mrs. Polak an injustice. She and Mrs. Gandhi never had any difference. Indeed it often fell to her lot to make representations to Gandhiji in respect of various domestic matters about which Mrs. Gandhi hesitated to approach him.’59
Gandhi did not take any of these suggestions and make any corrections in the text, either in the first editions or the subsequent revised edition.
Gandhi’s reluctance to make changes even while admitting to inaccuracies is perplexing; more so in case of H.S.L. Polak who was invited by Mahadev Desai to provide critical feedback. He had shown similar reluctance to make any changes in Hind Swaraj. He admitted that his characterization of the English parliament as a ‘prostitute’ and ‘a sterile woman’ had hurt sensibilities, and had promised to remove the offending term in future editions. The change was never made. The reluctance to change the impressions or even correct factual errors may have its roots in Gandhi’s belief that he was not writing an autobiographical narrative, a jivan vrutant. A jivan vrutant would be required to show greater fidelity to facts. He was probably governed by a belief that facts were not of material significance to him.
Not all responses were about factual inaccuracies or impressions. An acquaintance from Pretoria, Jane Howard, wrote in response to the chapter ‘A Sacred Recollection and Penance’: ‘When I read my Young India of July 21st I wished you had not given us that picture of yourself. The Mr. Gandhi I have known is much nicer. I wonder that Mrs. Gandhi did not smack you in the face when you talked about “Your House”.’60
A member of the Psychological Society of Calcutta asked him to dwell deeper into the psychological factors for the benefit of the discipline: ‘Here you have touched a psychological factor of great importance and will it be asking too much to an introspective great mind like you, to elucidate the matter further for the benefit of Psychological Science.’61 Gandhi in his response hoped that the correspondent did not ‘want me to develop further the theme of the chanting of Ramanama and the so-called autobiographical chapters I am writing’.62
~
Gandhi wrote and published the Autobiography from week to week. Many responded to him with criticisms, suggestions, requests and corrections, while Gandhi admitted to his errors and responded both publicly and privately through letters. And yet, he did not allow those exchanges to shape his narrative. This unwillingness to allow the narrative to be shaped by his readers and interlocutions has its roots in his conviction that the story of the strivings of his soul was being written at the urging of his ‘antaryami’, the ‘dweller within’ or the ‘spirit’. It was not given to Gandhi to modify what came to him from the antaryami.
Gandhi’s desire at the time of writing the Atmakatha is expressed by his location within the Ashram, his lectures on and translation of the Gita, the choice of the Gujarati language, his attempt to reflect on the life of Christ. But, in the final instance, Gandhi’s notion of in-dwelling is the antaryami who spoke to him in a ‘small, still voice’ and whose exhortations Gandhi submitted to. It is in this that Gandhi’s conviction that he was writing an ‘atmakatha’ inheres. The atmakatha is not only the story of the soul in search of Truth; it is a story that is shaped by the antaryami.
Let us consider this possibility. If the Atmakatha is being written at the prompting of the ‘dweller within’, is it possible for Gandhi to communicate all his strivings?
In his ‘Introduction’ to the Autobiography Gandhi writes, ‘What I want to achieve—what I have been striving and pining to achieve these thirty years—is self-realization, to see God face to face, to attain moksha. I live and move and have my being in pursuit of this goal.’63
The Atmakatha is the story of Gandhi’s attempts to achieve his objective. It also promises to tell the reader how such a seeker lives and moves, very much like the question posed by Arjuna to Sri Krishna in the Gita.64 Given Gandhi’s admission that it was his ‘antaryami’ which was
urging the narration of his quest, nothing of this quest should have been beyond his capacity to communicate. Were there aspects of his quest that were known only to him and his antaryami?
Gandhi answered this question. ‘There are some things which are known only to oneself and one’s Maker. They are clearly incommunicable. The experiments I am about to relate are not such.’65
The Gujarati original is more opaque. The term ‘oneself’ translates ‘atma’ (soul, self) and enigmatically the term ‘one’s maker’ also translates ‘atma’. A literal translation of the Gujarati sentence would be: ‘There are certainly some things that arise and find repose in the soul, it is beyond my capacity to write about them.’ If this is true, is it given to us as readers of Gandhi’s quest to get a glimpse of them or will they remain hidden by the golden orb?
There is one instance when Gandhi tried to communicate the incommunicable. If we read along with Gandhi his attempt to describe something that arose and found repose in his soul, we understand his struggle to listen to and submit to the promptings of the antaryami.
On 30 April 1933 Gandhi decided to undertake a twenty-one-day fast for self-purification as a prisoner in the Yeravada jail. Just seven months ago he had fasted against some specific provisions of the Communal Award. This fast had lasted merely six days from 20 to 26 September 1932.
He could not reveal the reason for his resolve to undertake a fiery ordeal for self-purification. He said to Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, his fellow prisoner, ‘After all, does one express, can one express, all one’s thoughts to others?’66 He described to Sardar his sudden resolve to fast. He said he had been feeling restless for the past three days. He could not sleep but did not feel tired as a result of lack of sleep. This unease of spirit had gone unnoticed by his fellow prisoner Sardar and even Mahadev Desai, a man who could anticipate many of Gandhi’s spiritual crises. Gandhi said, ‘As if for the last three days I were preparing myself for the great deluge!’67 He did not know what agitated his mind and when the ‘excitement’ started. However, the thought of the fast came to him repeatedly, a thought he tried to drive away and shut out. He described the moment when he heard the voice: ‘In the night when I retired I had no idea that something was coming up today. But after eleven I woke up, I watched the stars, repeated Ramanama but the same thought would persistently come to my mind: “If you have grown so restless, why don’t you undertake the fast? Do it?” The inner dialogue went on for quite some time. At half past twelve came the clear, unmistakable voice. “You must undertake the fast.” That was all.’68
In a public statement issued on the same day, he spoke of the unease and his struggle against the persistent voice that told him to fast. The struggle was in vain and he had resolved to go on an unconditional and irrevocable fast for twenty-one days.
Gandhi gave some vital clues to the working of his soul before he heard the voice. Gandhi would often describe the state before the communion with his inner voice as a state of darkness, of groping.
In 1918, between 15 and 18 March, Gandhi undertook his first public fast since his return to India from South Africa in 1915. In the Autobiography he has described his groping and the sudden light that came to him. ‘One morning—it was at the mill-hands’ meeting—while I was still groping and unable to see my way clearly, the light came to me. Unbidden and all by themselves the words came to my lips: “Unless the strikers rally,” I declared to the meeting, “and continue the strike till a settlement is reached or till they leave the mills altogether, I will not touch any food.”’69
Similarly, on 12 January 1948 Gandhi in his prayer speech that was read out by Sushila Nayar—it was Monday, his day of silence—he announced a fast in almost similar terms. He spoke of his agony, his brooding, and the persistent thought of a fast that he tried to shut out and the final moment of clarity, a moment when he saw light.70
Gandhi was often asked as to what enabled him to heat the voice of conscience, his antaryami? He described a conscientious man as a man who hesitated to assert himself, was humble, never boisterous, always ready to listen, ever willing and anxious to admit his mistakes.71 Gandhi described conscience as something acquired after the strictest training. He said, ‘Wilfulness is not conscience; conscience is the ripe fruit of strictest discipline.’72 Gandhi says that it is not possible to hear the inner voice without the necessary effort and training. This training and effort was in self-restraint, in other words, in brahmacharya. He described the training in the following words: ‘a conscious practice of self-restraint and ever-increasing effort implicitly to obey the will of God speaking within and then known as the inner voice.’73 Gandhi claimed that it was his observances in Truth, non-violence and brahmacharya, along with non-possession and non-stealing, that allowed him to know his conscience and hear the unmistakable inner voice. The capacity to hear the antaryami came to Gandhi through the Ashram observances and for this reason too his in-dwelling at the Ashram at the time of writing the Autobiography was an imperative.
This clear voice that he heard did not go unchallenged. When he announced his fast in April 1933, even his closest associates like C. Rajagopalachari and his youngest son, Devadas, did not believe that he had been prompted by God to fast. Their doubt was fundamental. They doubted the very basis of the fast. Gandhi dealt with this publicly: ‘They believe me under self-delusion—a prey to my own heated imagination made hotter by the suffocation produced by the cramping walls of a prison.’74 The voice of conscience that he had heard was so direct and powerful that he was not swayed in the least by the doubts of a scholar of Rajagopalachari’s calibre. Gandhi argued that his claim to hear the voice of God was not new. The voice had been increasingly audible to him. He could give no proof; as a human it was not given to him to prove the existence of God. The only way he knew of proving his claim—not of the existence of God—was the outcome of his fast. If he survived the ordeal, he would be right in claiming that he had been prompted by his inner voice. He said, ‘God will not be God if he allowed himself to be an object of proof by his creatures. But he does give his willing slave the power to pass through the fiercest of ordeals.’75 Gandhi spoke of his submission to God: ‘He had left me not a vestige of independence.’76 Gandhi described the nature of his experience. ‘I saw no form. I have never tried, for I have always believed God to be without form.’77 He further explained the nature of the divine inspiration. ‘The night I got the inspiration, I had a terrible inner struggle. My mind was restless. I could see no way. The burden of my responsibility was crushing me. But what I did hear was like a voice from afar and yet quite near. It was as unmistakable as some human voice definitely speaking to me, and irresistible. I was not dreaming at the time when I heard the voice. The hearing of the voice was preceded by a terrific struggle within me. Suddenly the voice came upon me. I listened, made certain that it was the voice, and the struggle ceased. I was calm.’78
He felt that his submission to God as Truth was so complete, at least in that particular act of fasting, that he had no autonomy left. He wrote in a letter, ‘Of course, for me personally it transcends reason, because I feel it to be a clear will from God. My position is that there is nothing just now that I am doing on my own accord. He guides me from moment to moment.’79
Gandhi’s claim to hear the inner voice was neither unique nor exclusive. The validity and legitimacy of such a claim is recognized in the spiritual realm. The idea of perfect surrender is integral to and consistent with religious life. Although Gandhi never claimed to have attained self-realization, of having seen God face-to-face, he said, ‘The inner voice is the voice of the Lord.’80
This is the closest that Gandhi came to declaring his communion with God. In this we have an understanding of what he called, variously, antaryami, spirit, the dweller within, the inner voice or the ‘small, still voice’. This voice came to him not from a force outside of him. Gandhi made a distinction between ‘an outer force’ and ‘a power beyond us’. A power beyond us has its locus within us. It is supe
rior to us, not subject to our command or wilful action but it is still located within us. He explained it thus: ‘“Beyond us” means “the power which is beyond our ego”.’81 According to Gandhi one acquires this capacity when the ‘ego is reduced to zero’.82 Reducing the ego to zero meant for him total surrender to God as Truth. A person who has cultivated such ever wakefulness that reminds them at all moments of the subjugation of the will to God acquires the capacity to distinguish between the voice of the ego and the call of the antaryami. This capacity for discernment is vital to any act of hearing and submission as ‘One cannot always recognize whether it is the voice of Rama or Ravana’.83 For Gandhi, Rama is the antaryami, the spirit from which Shri Ramchandra gets his name. Ravana embodies ego, falsehood and, for that reason, the denial of God as Truth.
The ever wakefulness was acquired through prayer and Ashram observances, which he likened to an attempt to empty the sea with a drainer small as a blade of grass and yet natural as life itself. A person, who lives constantly in the sight of God, when he or she regards each thought with God as witness and its master, could feel Rama, Truth, dwelling in the heart. Gandhi meditated upon and strove towards the ideal of sthitaprajna as described in the Gita. As he sought to cultivate this equipoise, his capacity to hear the antaryami and to surrender to that voice increased. He said, ‘I have been a willing slave to this most exacting master for more than half a century. His voice has been increasingly audible as years have rolled by. He has never forsaken me even in my darkest hour. He has saved me often against myself . . . The greater the surrender to him, the greater has been my joy.’84