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. 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 things here and there I kept on picking up from my surroundings. The term ‘Religion’ I am using in its broadest sense, meaning thereby self-realisation or knowledge of self.

From about age six or seven until I was sixteen, I went to school. I was taught all sorts of things except religion. I may say that I did not get from my teachers what they could have given me without any effort. And yet, here and there, I picked up things from my surroundings. I use the term ‘Religion’ in its broadest sense, meaning 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. 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.

Born into the Vaishnava faith, I often had to visit the Haveli. But it never appealed to me. I did not like its glitter and pomp. I also heard rumors of immoral behavior there and lost all interest in it. So I gained 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 sown by that good woman Rambha that to-day Ramanama is an infallible remedy for me.

But what I failed to find there, I found in my nurse, an old family servant. I still remember her affection for me. As I have said, I was afraid of ghosts and spirits. My nurse, whose name was Rambha, suggested repeating Ramanama as a cure for this fear. I had more faith in her than in her remedy. So, when I was very young, I began repeating Ramanama to overcome my fear of ghosts and spirits. This practice was short-lived, of course, but the good seed planted in childhood was not planted in vain. I think it is because of the seed planted by that good woman Rambha that Ramanama is an infallible remedy for me today.

Just about this time, a cousin of mine who was a devotee of Ramayana arranged for my second brother and me to learn Rama 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 Rama Raksha with correct pronunciation.

Around this time, a cousin of mine who was devoted to the Ramayana arranged for my second brother and me to learn Rama Raksha. We memorized it and made a rule of reciting it every morning after our bath. We kept up the practice as long as we were in Porbandar. As soon as we reached Rajkot, we forgot it. I did not have much faith in it. I recited Rama Raksha partly because I was proud of being able to pronounce it correctly.

What, however, left a deep impression on me was the reading of Ramayana before my father. During part of his illness my father was in Porbandar. There every evening he used to listen to 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 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 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 Ramayana. Today I regard the Ramayana of Tulasidas as the greatest book in all devotional literature.

What left a deep impression on me, however, was hearing the Ramayana read to my father. During part of his illness, my father was in Porbandar. There, he listened to the Ramayana every evening. The reader was Ladha Maharaj of Bileshvar, a great devotee of Rama. It was said that he had cured himself of leprosy without medicine. Instead, he applied bilva leaves to the affected parts of his body and regularly repeated Ramanama. The leaves had been discarded after being offered to the image of Mahadeva in Bileshvar temple. His faith, people said, had made him whole. This story may or may not be true. In any case, we believed it. And it is a fact that when Ladha Maharaj began reading the Ramayana, his body was entirely free of leprosy. He had a melodious voice. He would sing the Dohas (couplets) and Chopais (quatrains) and explain them. He lost himself in his discourse and carried his listeners along with him. I must have been thirteen at the time, but I clearly remember being captivated by his reading. That experience laid the foundation for 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. Bhagavat, however, used to be read on every Ekadashi⁶ day. Sometimes I attended the reading, but the reciter was uninspiring. Today I see that 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 twenty-one days’ fast, 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. 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.

A few months later, we came to Rajkot. There were no readings of the Ramayana there. But the Bhagavat was read on every Ekadashi⁶ day. I sometimes attended, but the reader was uninspiring. Today I see that the Bhagavat can inspire religious fervor. I have read it in Gujarati with intense interest. During my twenty-one-day fast, I heard Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya read portions from the original. I wished I had heard the Bhagavat in childhood from a devotee like him. Then I might have developed a liking for it at an early age. Impressions formed at that age take deep root in one’s nature. I always regret that I was not fortunate enough to hear more good books of this kind read during my childhood.

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.

In Rajkot, however, I learned early to respect all branches of Hinduism and its sister religions. My father and mother visited the Haveli and Shiva’s and Rama’s temples. They would take us children with them or send us there. Jain monks also visited my father often. They would even go out of their way to accept food from us, though we were not Jains. They talked with my father about religious and everyday matters.

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.

He also had Muslim and Parsi friends who talked to him about their faiths. He always listened respectfully and often with interest. Because I was caring for him, I often had a chance to be present during these conversations. All these experiences together taught me to be tolerant of 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 stomach 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.

Only Christianity was an exception at the time. I developed a kind of dislike for it, and for a reason. In those days, Christian missionaries used to preach on a corner near the High School, insulting Hindus and their gods. I could not stand this. I must have stopped to listen to them only once, but that was enough to keep me from doing it again. Around the same time, I heard that a well known Hindu had converted to Christianity. The whole town was talking about it. People said that when he was baptized, he had to eat beef and drink liquor. They also said he had to change his clothes. From then on, he began wearing European clothes, including a hat. These things bothered me. Surely, I thought, a religion that forced someone to eat beef, drink liquor, and change their clothes did not deserve the name. I also heard that the new convert had already begun insulting his ancestors’ religion, their customs, and their country. All these things made me dislike 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 to come across, about this time, Manusmriti⁷ which was amongst my father’s collection. The story of the creation and similar things in it did not impress me very much, and on the contrary made me incline somewhat towards atheism.

But learning to tolerate other religions did not mean that I had a living faith in God. Around this time, I came across Manusmriti⁷ in my father’s collection. Its story of creation and similar accounts did not impress me much. Instead, they made me lean somewhat toward 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.

I had a cousin, still alive, whose intellect I greatly respected. I went to him 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 resolve these doubts yourself. You should not raise such questions at your age.’ I fell silent, but I was not comforted. Chapters about diet and similar subjects in Manusmriti seemed to me to contradict everyday practice. When I raised these doubts, I got the same answer. ‘When my intellect is more developed and I have read more, I will 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.

In any case, Manusmriti did not teach me Ahimsa at that time. I have told the story of my meat-eating. Manusmriti seemed to support eating meat. I also felt that it was perfectly moral to kill snakes, bugs, and similar creatures. I remember killing bugs and other such insects at that age, believing it was my 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.

But one conviction became deeply rooted in me: morality is the foundation of everything, and truth is the essence of all morality. Truth became my only goal. It grew more important to me every day, and my understanding of it kept expanding.

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:

A Gujarati verse meant to teach a lesson also captured my mind and heart. Its lesson, to return good for evil, became my guiding principle. I became so passionate about it that I began to put it into practice in many ways. Here are the lines that I found so wonderful: