X. Glimpses of Religion
rom my sixth or seventh year up to my
sixteenth I was at school, being taught all sorts of things except
religion. 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 there from my surroundings. The term
'religion' I am using in its broadest sense, meaning thereby
self-realization or knowledge of self.
Being born in the
Vaishnava faith, I has often to go to the Haveli. But it
never appealed to me. 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, suggested, as a remedy for this fear, the repetition of
Ramanama. I had more faith in her than in her remedy, 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 by that good woman Rambha that today Ramanama
is an infallible remedy for me.
Just about this
time, a cousin of mine who was a devotee of the Ramayana
arranged for my second brother and me to learn Ram Raksha.
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 reached Rajkot, it was forgotten. For I had
not much belief in it. I recited it partly because of my pride in
being able to recite Ram 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. The reader was a great devotee of Rama,-
Ladha Maharaj of Bileshvar. It was said of him that he cured himself
of his leprosy 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 Bileshvar temple, and by the
regular repetition of Ramanama. His faith it, it was said,
had made him whole. 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. 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 Bhagavat, however, used to be read on every
Ekadashi day. Sometimes I attended the reading, but the
reciter was uninspiring. Today I see that the Bhagavat is a
book which can 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 Malaviya during my twentyone day's fast,
I wished I had heard it in my childhood from such a devote as he is,
so that I could have formed a liking for it at an early age.
Impressions 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. 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. They would have talks with my father on
subjects religious and mundane.
He had, besides,
Musalman 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, I often had a chance to be present
at these talks. These many things combined to inculcate in me a
toleration for all faiths.
Only Christianity
was at the time an exception. I developed a sort of dislike for it.
And for a reason. In those days Christian missionaries used to stand
in a corner near the high school and hold forth, pouring abuse on
Hindus and their gods. I could not endure this. I must have stood
there to hear them once only, but that was enough to dissuade me
from repeating the experiment. About the same time, I heard of a
well known Hindu having been converted to Christianity. It was the
talk of the town that, when he was baptized, he had to eat beef and
drink liquor, that he also had to change his clothes, and that
thenceforth he began to go about in European costume including a
hat. These things got on my nerves. Surely, thought I, a religion
that compelled one to eat beef, drink liquor, and change one's own
clothes did not deserve the name. I also heard that the new convert
had already begun abusing the religion of his ancestors, their
customs and their country. All these things created in me a dislike
for Christianity.
But the fact that
I had learnt to be tolerant to other religions did not mean that I
had any living faith in God. I happened, about this time, to come
across Manusmriti which was amongst my father's collection.
The story of the creation and similar things in it did not impress
me very much, but on the contrary made me incline somewhat towards
atheism.
There was a cousin
of mine, still alive, for whose intellect I had great regard. To him
I turned with my doubts. But he could not resolve them. He sent me
away with this answer: 'When you grow up, you will be able to solve
these doubts yourself. These questions ought not to be raised at
your age.' I was silenced, but was not comforted. Chapters about
diet and the like in Manusmriti seemed to me to run
contrary to daily practice. To my doubts as to this also, I got the
same answer.'With intellect more developed and with more reading I
shall understand it better,' I said to myself.
Manusmriti at any rate did not then teach me
ahimsa. I have told the story of my meat-eating.
Manusmriti seemed to support it. I also felt that it was
quite moral to kill serpents, bugs and the like. I remember to have
killed at that age bugs and such other insects, regarding it as a
duty.
But one thing took
deep root in me the conviction that morality is the basis of things,
and that truth is the substance of all morality. Truth became my
sole objective. It began to grow in magnitude every day, and my
definition of it also has been ever widening. A Gujarati didactic
stanza likewise gripped my mind and heart. Its Precept-return good
for evil-became my guiding principle. It became such a passion with
me that I began numerous experiments in it. Here are those (for me)
wonderful lines: For a bowl of water give a goodly meal: For a
kindly greeting bow thou down with zeal: For a simple penny pay thou
back with gold: If thy life be rescued, life do not withhold. Thus
the words and actions of the wise regard; Every little service
tenfold they reward. But the truly noble know all men as one, And
return with gladness good for evil done.
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