An extraordinary girl

Childhood and Father’s Teaching

During my childhood, I used to model dolls, particularly of gods and goddesses, out of mud and clay. One day I distinctly heard a voice telling me, "Don't play so much with water; you may catch cold and fall ill."

I was taken aback and wondered whose voice it could be. I asked my mother but she couldn't answer my question. She merely said, "Whoever has said it, it is true; so often you catch cold because of your playing with water and wet clay."

I understood later that it was an inner voice; I was hearing it for the first time, and it was after my first visit to Pondicherry.

At about the same time, when I was four years old or so, a severe earthquake shook Calcutta. Our entire building began to shake. I was sitting on a stool when it happened, and fell down on the floor. All the residents of the house ran out and assembled in the courtyard. My mother took me in her arms and joined them.

"What is an earthquake, Mummy?" I asked her. "And what happens?"

She replied, "Houses fall down, trees crash, people and animals die."

Hearing this, I knelt on the ground, put my hands together and began to pray, "Oh God, I don't want to die, I want to live!"

People all around were looking at me and, hearing my earnest prayer, began to laugh and enjoy the spectacle.

As I have previously mentioned, I had a lonely childhood. But I was my father's pet. One day, Father's spectacles were found broken. He asked all the servants whether they knew anything about it, but they replied that they knew nothing. Then he asked me, and I answered that I didn't know either. But I wasn't a clever liar, and he quickly caught me out.

Afterwards he asked me, "Why did you tell a lie, my love? You know I never scold you or punish you. I love you so much, and still you told me a lie. Why? What were you afraid of?"

Later, however, on another occasion, he was not so gentle. It happened like this: My father was constantly in search of a companion for me. He wanted a girl of my age who would live with us; she would grow up with me and my father would bear all her expenses. But for a long time no family could be found who was willing to part with a suitable child. Finally, a girl, Manu, was found whose parents happened to be our distant relatives and who were dependent upon my father. Both Manu and I were about five years old. She, however, had good health whereas I did not. We became good friends right from the start.

Then one day, a curious thought caught hold of me. I began to think that Manu was eager to please me in order to gain something from me. This baseless suspicion made me very ill-tempered, and for about a. month I would often make her stand in a corner and beat her with a stick. She bore this treatment quietly, certain that there was no point in complaining, as I was the darling of my parents.

At the end of a month, she must have had enough; she went to my father. He was sitting in the verandah reading a newspaper and, looking up, asked her, "What's the matter? Do you want to tell me something?"

Very hesitantly, she replied, "Y-y-e-s."

"Say it, then!" Father encouraged.

Still hesitantly, she said, "Your daughter beats me." "Beats you?" he asked, surprised. "You're such a big girl and so much stronger than she is. How is it that she beats you?" "Because I don't resist. I just bear it."

"How long has this been going on?"

"About a month."

"And you kept quiet for such a long time?"

"Yes, I was scared. I want to go back home."

"No, no, wait. Do one thing. Tomorrow, when she beats you, hit her back as hard as you can. Don't spare her, do you understand?"

Manu looked at him incredulously. "I mean it," he insisted. "Don't be afraid. I won't punish you."

The next day, when I started beating her as usual, she turned around and gave me such a slap on my face that I fell down and blood started to come out of my mouth. I began to howl, and my parents ran to me. My mother was furious when she saw what had happened, but my father calmly told her, "She's got what she deserves. Take her away and don't give her any food all day."

Mother tried to argue, but Father was adamant, and I starved the whole day.

When I grew older, I realised that in everybody there lurks a seed of inhumanity. It may come from our animal origins, or from inherited tendencies, but it can surface and cause harm even when we are children. My father's method of teaching may have been harsh but it was effective.

Now observe the other side of his nature. He always wanted me to be brave, and especially, not to be afraid of ghosts.

One day he told me, "My little ma, you see that pond over there where you go to play during the daytime? Can you go there alone at night?"

"Yes, I can," I replied.

"Very well; to-night, go there and come back," he said.

I was ten years old and all the more alone because Mother was in the hospital. Trying not to mind, I set out towards the pond. It was quite far and in the dark I was nervous in spite of myself. Suddenly I felt that someone was following me. I could hear footsteps in the bushes. As I stopped, so did the footfalls. I got even more nervous. Then suddenly Father's voice called out, "Are you scared, my child?"

He really did take good care of me, whatever may be the lesson he wanted to teach me.

One day, sitting in a rocking chair, I was singing to myself. It was a bright moonlit night and I was singing my grandfather D.L. Roy's beautiful song: "In the blue sky of the Infinite, how wonderfully the moonlight spreads...."

I stopped abruptly, and heard a voice, "Why did you stop? Go on!" Greatly frightened, I ran to my father and told him what had happened. Father asked, "Did you really hear a voice?"

"Yes, Father," I answered. "I heard it very clearly asking me to continue."

The next day, Father enquired about it from the neighbours and came to know that nearby there was a lady living all alone. They said she had lost her young daughter and, since then, had taken to sitting sad and forlorn by her window. It must have been she who had spoken.

Telling me about it, Father said, "See? We become afraid for nothing, and take to imagining ghosts. There are no such things. Do remember that from now on."

I had learned dancing from the famous dancing master Shambhu Maharaj, and at the age of ten I could dance quite well. Once, it was decided that my uncle who was a brilliant singer would sing, and I would dance in accompaniment.

My father, being ill, could not attend the performance. It was, however, a great success, and at the end there was tremendous applause. People rushed to my uncle, asking, "Who is this girl?"

In a proud and elated voice he replied, "Why, she's my daughter!"

Immediately I burst out, "I am nothing of the kind, I am my father's daughter!"

Of course, Uncle felt very small, and I shouldn't have put him to shame like that. But I did it because I knew that he did not get on well with my father. When we reached home, my mother went to my father and said, "Do you know what your daughter did tonight?" Then she told him, and Father was so moved he hugged me.

But on another occasion I did not spare my father, either. When my mother and I were coming to Pondicherry for the second time, Father came to the station to see us off. I was standing by the window of our compartment when he asked me, "My love, won't you miss me?" I shook my head because I knew I wouldn't.

Talking about dancing, two other incidents come to my mind. My mother used to visit Santiniketan where she would meet Tagore. Once she took me with her. In the course of their

conversation, he told her, "I hear your daughter dances well. I would like to see her dance."

"I would prefer not," Mother replied. As he insisted, she explained politely, "I am afraid to let her dance before you for two reasons. If you don't like her performance, her career may be marred for good and, if you do, she will get a swollen head."

Then Tagore said to me that on a certain day he would pass by our riverside garden in his boat. "Stand there on the bank of the Ganga and, when you see my boat glide by flying a flag, start dancing. That way, I will be able to see you dance."

I was ready on the appointed day. But, although I waited long, his boat never came.

The next incident occurred before Mahatma Gandhi. My uncle had gone to sing for him and taken me along. I was duly introduced to the Mahatma and, after my uncle's singing, Mahatmaji asked me to dance before him. But for some reason I refused, in spite of my uncle's pleading.

Later, I took part in a dance performance in the Ashram, at the Mother's bidding, during one of the annual functions.