An Autobiography or the Story of My Experiments with Truth

by M K Gandhi

  But to go on with the story. Even this was far from opening my eyes to the viciousness of my friend’s company. I therefore had many more bitter draughts in store for me, until my eyes were actually opened by an ocular demonstration of some of his lapses quite unexpected by me. But of them later, as we are proceeding chronologically.136

  One thing, however, I must mention now, as it pertains to the same period. One of the reasons of my differences with my wife was undoubtedly the company of this friend. I was both a devoted and a jealous husband, and this friend fanned the flame of my suspicions about my wife. I never could doubt his veracity. And I never have forgiven myself the violence of which I have been guilty in often having pained my wife by acting on his information.M17 Perhaps137 only a Hindu wife would tolerate these hardships, and that is why I have regarded woman as an incarnation of tolerance. A servant wrongly suspected may throw up his job, a son in the same case may leave his father’s roof, and a friend may put an end to the friendship. The wife, if she suspects her husband, will keep quiet,138 but if the husband suspects her, she is ruined. Where is she to go? A Hindu wife139 may not seek divorce in a law-court. Law has no remedy for her.140 M18 And I can never forget or forgive myself for having driven my wife to that desperation.M19

  The canker of suspicion was rooted out only when I understood ahimsa141 in all its bearings. I saw then the glory of brahmacharya142 and realized that the wife is not the husband’s bondslave, but his companion and his helpmate, and an equal partner in all his joys and sorrows—as free as the husband to choose her own path.143 Whenever I think of those dark144 days of doubts and suspicions, I am filled with loathing of145 my folly and my lustful cruelty, and I deploreM20 my blind devotion to my friend.

  VIII

  STEALING AND ATONEMENT

  I have still to relate some of my failings during this meat-eating period and also previous to it, which date from before my marriage or soon after.

  A relative and I became fond of smoking.146 Not that we saw any good in smoking, or were enamoured of the smell of a cigarette.147 We simply imagined a sort of pleasure in emitting clouds of smoke from our mouths. My uncle had the habit, and when we saw him smoking, we thought we should copy his example. But we had no money. So we began pilfering stumps of cigarettes thrown away by my uncle.

  The stumps, however, were not always available, and could not emit much smoke either. So we began to steal coppers from the servant’s pocket-money in order to purchase Indian cigarettes. But the question was where to keep them. We could not of course smoke in the presence of elders.148 We managed somehow for a few weeks on these stolen coppers. In the mean time we heard that the stalks of a certain plant149 were porous and could be smoked like cigarettes. We got them and began this kind of smoking.

  But we were far from being satisfied with such things as these. Our want of independence began to smart. It was unbearable that we should be unable to do anything without the elders’ permission. At last, in sheer disgust, we decided to commit suicide!

  But how were we to do it? From where were we to get the poison? We heard that dhatura150 seeds were an effective poison. Off we went to the jungle in search of these seeds, and got them. Evening was thought to be the auspicious hour.M1 We went to Kedarji Mandir, put ghee in the temple-lamp, had the darshan and then looked for a lonely corner. But our courage failed us.M2 Supposing we were not instantly killed? And what was the good of killing ourselves? Why not rather put up with the lack of independence? But we swallowed two or three seeds nevertheless. We dared not take more. Both of us fought shy of death, and decided to go to Ramji Mandir to compose ourselves, and to dismiss the thought of suicide.

  I realized that it was not as easy to commit suicide as to contemplate it. And since then, whenever I have heard of someone threatening to commit suicide, it has had little or no effect on me.

  The thought of suicide ultimately resulted in both of us bidding good-bye to the habit of smoking stumps of cigarettes and of stealing the servant’s coppers for the purpose of smoking.

  Ever since I have been grown up, I have never desired to smoke and have always regarded the habit of smoking as barbarous, dirty and harmful.151 I have never understood why there is such a rage for smoking throughout the world. I cannot bear152 to travel in a compartment full of people smoking. I become choked.

  But much more serious than this theft was the oneM3 I was guilty of a little later. I pilfered the coppers whenM4 I was twelve or thirteen, possibly less. The other theft was committed when I was fifteen. In this case I stole a bit of gold out of my meat-eating brother’s armlet. This brother had run into a153 debt of about twenty-five rupees.154 He had on his arm an armlet of solid gold. It was not difficult to clip a bit155 out of it.

  Well, it was done,M5 and the debt cleared. But this became more than I could bear. I resolved never to steal again. I also made up my mind to confess it to my father. But I did not dare to speak. Not that I was afraid of my father beating me. No. I do not recall his ever having beaten any of us. I was afraid of the pain that I should cause him.M6 But I felt the risk should be taken; that there could not be a cleansing without a clean confession.

  I decided at last to write out the confession, to submit it to my father, and ask his forgiveness. I wrote it on a slip of paper and handed it to him myself. In this note not only did I confess my guilt, but I asked adequate punishment for it, and closed with a request to him not to punish himself for my offence. I also pledged myself never to steal in future.

  I was trembling as I handed the confession to my father. He was then suffering from a156 fistula and was confined to bed. His bed was a plain wooden plank. I handed him the note and sat opposite the plank.157

  He read it through, and pearl-drops trickled down his cheeks, wetting the paper. For a moment he closed his eyes in thought and then tore up the note. He had sat up to read it. He again lay down. I also cried. I could see my father’s agony. If I were a painter I could draw a picture of the whole scene today. It is still so vivid in my mind.

  Those pearl-drops of love cleansed my heart, and washed my sin away.M7 Only he who has experienced such love can know what it is. As the hymn says:

  ‘Only he

  Who is smitten with the arrows of love,M8

  Knows its power.’

  This was, for me, an object-lesson in ahimsa. Then I could read in it nothing more than a father’s love, but today I know that it was pure ahimsa. When such ahimsa becomes all-embracing, it transforms everything it touches. There is no limit to its power.M9

  This sort of sublime forgiveness was not natural to my father. I had thought that he would be angry, say hard things, and strike his forehead. But he was so wonderfully peaceful, and I believe this was due to my clean confession. A clean confession, combined with a promise never to commit the sin again, when offered before one who has the right to receive it, is the purest type of repentance. I know that my confession made my father feel absolutely safe about me, and increased his158 affection for me beyond measure.159

  IX

  MY FATHER’S DEATH AND MY DOUBLE160 SHAME

  The time of which I am now speaking is my sixteenth year. My father, as we have seen, was bed-ridden, suffering from a161 fistula. My mother, an old servant of the house, and I were his principal attendants. I had the duties of a nurse,162 which mainly consisted in dressing the wound, giving my father his medicine, and compounding drugs whenever they had to be made up at home. Every night I massaged his legs and retired only when he asked me to do so or after he had fallen asleep. I loved to do this service.163 I do not remember ever having neglected it.164 All the time at my disposal, after the performance of the daily duties, was divided between school and attending onM1 my father. I would only go out for an evening walk either when he permitted me or when he was feeling well.

  This was also the time when my wife was expecting a baby,—a circumstance which, as I can see today, meant a double shame for me. For one thing I did not restrain myself, as I should have don
e, whilst I was yet a student. And secondly, this carnal lust got the better of what I regarded as my duty to study, and of what was even a greater duty, my devotion to my parents, Shravana having been my ideal since childhood. Every night whilst my hands were busy massaging my father’s legs, my mind was hovering about the bed-room—and that too at a time when religion, medical science and common sense alike forbade sexual intercourse. I was always glad to be relieved from my duty, and went straight to the bed-room after doing obeisance to my father.

  At the same time my father was getting worse every day. Ayurvedic physicians165 had tried all their ointments, hakims their plasters, and local quacksM2 their nostrums. An English surgeonM3 had also used his skill. As the last and only resort he had re-commended a surgical operation.M4 But the family physician came in the way. He disapproved of an operation being performed166 at such an advanced age. The physician was competent and well known, and his advice prevailed. The operation was abandoned, and various medicinesM5 purchased for the purpose were of167 no account. I have an impression that, if the physician had allowed the operation, the wound would have been easily healed. The operation also was to have been performed by a surgeon who was then well known in Bombay. But God had willed otherwise.168 When death is imminent, who can think of the right remedy? My father returned from Bombay with all the paraphernalia of the operation, which were now useless.169 He despaired of living any longer. He was getting weaker and weaker, until at last he had to be asked to perform the necessary functions in bed. But up to the last he refused to do anything of the kind, always insisting on going through the strain of leaving his bed. The Vaishnavite rules about external cleanliness170 are so inexorable.

  Such171 cleanliness is quite essential no doubt, but Western medical science has taught us that all the functions, including172 a bath, can be done in bed with the strictest regard to cleanliness, and without the slightest discomfort to the patient, the bed always remaining spotlessly clean. I should regard such cleanliness as quite consistent with Vaishnavism. But my father’s insistence on leaving the bed only struck me with wonder then, and I had nothing but admiration for it.

  The dreadful night173 came. My uncle was then in Rajkot. I have a faint recollection that he came to Rajkot having had news that my father was getting worse. The brothers were deeply attached to each other. My uncle would sit near my father’s bed the whole day, and would insist on sleeping by his bedside after sending us all to sleep. No one had dreamtM6 that this was to be the fateful night. The danger of course was there.

  It was 10.30 or 11 p.m. I was giving the massage.174 My uncle offered to relieve me.M7 I was glad and went straight to the bed-room. My wife, poor thing, was fast asleep. But how could she sleep when I was there? I woke her up. In five or six minutes, however, the servant175 knocked at the door. I started with alarm. ‘Get up,’ he said, ‘Father is very ill.’ I knew of course that he was very ill, and so I guessed what ‘very ill’ meant at that moment. I sprang out of bed.

  ‘What is the matter? Do tell me!’

  ‘Father is no more.’176

  So all was over! I had but to wring my hands.M8 I felt deeply ashamed and miserable. I ran to my father’s room. I saw that, if animal passion had not blinded me, I should have been spared the torture of separation from my father during his last moments. I should have been massaging him and he would have died in my arms. But now it was my uncle who had had this privilege.177 M9 He was so deeply devoted to his elder brother that he had earned the honour of doing him the last services! My father had forebodings of the coming event. He had made a sign for pen and paper, and written: ‘Prepare for the last rites.’M10 He had then snapped the amulet off his arm and also his gold necklace of tulasi beads178 and flung them aside. A moment after this he was no more.

  The shame, to which I have referred in a foregoing chapter, was this shame of my carnal desire even at the critical hour of my father’s death, which demanded wakeful service.M11 It is a blot I have never been able to efface or forget, and I have always thought that, although my devotion to my parents knew no bounds and I would have given up anything for it, yet it was weighed and found unpardonably wanting because my mind was at the same moment in the grip of lust. I have therefore always regarded myself as a lustful, though a faithful, husband. It took me long to get free from the shackles of lust,179 and I had to pass through many ordeals before I could overcome it.

  Before I close this chapter of my double shame, I may mention that the poor miteM12 that was born180 to my wife scarcely breathed for more than three or four days. Nothing else could be expected.M13 Let all those who are marriedM14 be warned by my example.

  X

  GLIMPSES OF RELIGION

  From my sixth or seventh year up to my sixteenth I was at school, being taught all sorts of things except religion.M1 I may say that I failed to get from the teachers what they could have given me without any effort on their part. And yet I kept on picking up things here and there181 from my surroundings. The term ‘religion’ I am using in its broadestM2 sense, meaning thereby self-realization or knowledge of self.

  Being born in the Vaishnava faith, I had often to go to the Haveli. But it never appealed to me.M3 I did not like its glitter and pomp. Also I heard rumours of immorality being practised there, and lost all interest in it. Hence I could gain nothing from the Haveli.

  But what I failed to get there I obtained from my nurse, an old servant of the family, whose affection for me I still recall. I have said before that there was in me a fear of ghosts and spirits. Rambha, for that was her name,182 suggested, as a remedy for this fear, the repetition of Ramanama. I had more faith in her than in her remedy,M4 and so at a tender age I began repeating Ramanama to cure my fear of ghosts and spirits. This was of course short-lived, but the good seed sown in childhood was not sown in vain. I think it is due to the seed sown by that good woman Rambha that today Ramanama is an infallible remedyM5 for me.

  Just about this time, a cousin of mine183 who was a devotee of the Ramayana arranged for my second brother and me to learn Rama Raksha.184 We got it by heart, and made it a rule to recite it every morning after the bath. The practice was kept up as long as we were in Porbandar. As soon as we reachedM6 Rajkot, it was forgotten. For I had not much belief in it. I recited it partly because185 of my pride in being able to recite Rama Raksha with correct pronunciation.

  What, however, left a deep impression on me was the reading of the Ramayana before my father. During part of his illness my father was in Porbandar. There every evening he used to listen to the Ramayana.186 The reader was a great devotee of Rama-Ladha Maharaj of Bileshwar. It was said of him that he cured himself of his leprosyM7 not by any medicine, but by applying to the affected parts bilva leaves which had been cast away after being offered to the image of Mahadeva in Bileshwar temple, and by the regular repetition of Ramanama. His faith, it was said, had made him whole.M8 This may or may not be true. We at any rate believed the story. And it is a fact that when Ladha Maharaj began his reading of the Ramayana his body was entirely free from leprosy.M9 He had a melodious voice. He would sing the dohas (couplets) and chopais (quatrains), and explain them, losing himself in the discourse and carrying his listeners along with him. I must have been thirteen at that time, but I quite remember being enraptured by his reading. That laid the foundation of my deep devotion to the Ramayana. Today I regard the Ramayana of Tulasidas as the greatest book in all devotional literature.

  A few months after this we came to Rajkot. There was no Ramayana reading there. The Bhagavata, however, used to be read on every Ekadashi187 day. Sometimes I attended the reading, but the reciter was uninspiring. Today I see that the Bhagavata is a book which can188 evoke religious fervour. I have read it in Gujarati with intense interest. But when I heard portions of the original read by Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya189 during my twenty-one days’ fast,190 I wished I had heard it in my childhood from such a devotee as he is, so that I could have formed a liking for it at an early age. Impressions191 formed
at that age strike roots deep down into one’s nature, and it is my perpetual regret that I was not fortunate enough to hear more good books of this kind read during that period.

  In Rajkot, however, I got an early grounding in toleration for all branches of Hinduism and sister religions.M10 For my father and mother would visit the Haveli as also Shiva’s and Rama’s temples, and would take or send us youngsters there. Jain monks also would pay frequent visits to my father, and would even go out of their way to accept food from us—non-Jains.M11 They would have talks with my father on subjects religious and mundane.

  He had, besides, Mussalman and Parsi friends, who would talk to him about their own faiths, and he would listen to them always with respect, and often with interest. Being his nurse,192 I often had a chance to be present at these talks. These many things combined to inculcate in me a tolerationM12 for all faiths.