Childhood

I must have been about seven when my father left Porbandar for Rajkot to become a member of the Rajasthanik Court. There I was put to a primary school, and I can well recollect those days, including the names and other particulars of the teachers who taught me. As at Porbandar, so here, there is hardly anything to note about my studies. I could only have been a mediocre student. From this school I went to the suburban school and thence to the High School, having already reached my twelfth year. I do not remember having ever told a lie, during this short period, either to my teachers or to my school-mates. I used to be very shy and avoided all company. My books and my lessons were my sole companions. To be at school at the stroke of the hour and to run back home as soon as the school closed,—that was my daily habit. I literally ran back, because I could not bear to talk to anybody. I was even afraid lest anyone should poke fun at me.

I must have been about seven when my father left Porbandar for Rajkot to become a member of the Rajasthanik Court. In Rajkot, I was sent to primary school. I remember those days well, including the names of my teachers and other details about them. As at Porbandar, there is hardly anything to say about my studies. I must have been a mediocre student. From this school, I went to the suburban school and then to the High School, by which time I was twelve. I do not remember ever telling a lie to my teachers or schoolmates during this short period. I was very shy and avoided all company. My books and lessons were my only companions. Every day, I arrived at school on the hour and ran home as soon as school ended. I literally ran home because I could not bear to talk to anyone. I was even afraid that someone might make fun of me.

There is an incident which occurred at the examination during my first year at the High School, which is worth recording. Mr. Giles, the Educational Inspector, had come on a visit of inspection. He had set us five words to write as a spelling exercise. One of the words was ‘kettle’. I had mis-spelt it. The teacher tried to prompt me with the point of his boot, but I would not be prompted. It was beyond me to see that he wanted me to copy the spelling from my neighbour’s slate, for I had thought that the teacher was there to supervise us against copying. The result was that all the boys, except myself, were found to have spelt each word correctly. Only I had been stupid. The teacher tried later to bring this stupidity home to me, but without effect. I never could learn the art of ‘copying.’

An incident during an examination in my first year at high school is worth recording. Mr. Giles, the Educational Inspector, had come to inspect the school. He gave us five words to write as a spelling exercise. One of the words was ‘kettle’. I had spelled it incorrectly. The teacher tried to prompt me with the tip of his boot, but I did not respond. I could not see that he wanted me to copy the spelling from my neighbour’s slate. I had thought the teacher was there to stop us from copying. As a result, all the boys except me had spelled every word correctly. I alone had been stupid. Later, the teacher tried to make me see how stupid I had been, but without success. I could never learn the art of ‘copying.’

Yet the incident did not in the least diminish my respect for my teacher. I was by nature blind to the faults of elders. Later I came to know of many other failings of this teacher, but my regard for him remained the same. For I had learnt to carry out the orders of elders, not to scan their actions.

Yet the incident did not lessen my respect for my teacher at all. By nature, I was blind to the faults of my elders. Later, I learned of many other faults of this teacher, but my respect for him remained the same. For I had learned to obey my elders, not to examine their actions.

Two other incidents belonging to the same period have always clung to my memory. As a rule I had a distaste for any reading, beyond my school books. The daily lessons had to be done, because I disliked being taken to task by my teacher as much as I disliked deceiving him. Therefore I would do the lessons, but often without my mind in them. Thus when even the lessons could not be done properly, there was of course no question of any extra reading. But somehow my eyes fell on a book purchased by my father. It was Shravana Pitribhakti Nataka (a play about Shravana’s devotion to his parents). I read it with intense interest. There came to our place about the same time itinerant show-men. One of the pictures I was shown was of Shravana carrying, by means of slings fitted for his shoulders, his blind parents on a pilgrimage. The book and the picture left an indelible impression on my mind. ‘Here is an example for you to copy’, I said to myself. The agonised lament of the parents over Shravana’s death is still fresh in my memory. The melting tune moved me deeply and I played it on a concertina which my father had purchased for me.

Two other incidents from the same period have always stayed in my memory. As a rule, I disliked reading anything beyond my schoolbooks. I had to do my daily lessons because I disliked being scolded by my teacher as much as I disliked deceiving him. So I did my lessons, but often without giving them my full attention. Since I could not even do my lessons properly, extra reading was out of the question. But somehow my eyes fell on a book my father had bought. It was Shravana Pitribhakti Nataka (a play about Shravana’s devotion to his parents). I read it with intense interest. Around the same time, traveling showmen came to our town. One picture they showed me was of Shravana carrying his blind parents on a pilgrimage in slings fitted over his shoulders. The book and the picture left a lasting impression on me. ‘Here is an example for you to follow’, I told myself. I still remember the parents’ anguished lament over Shravana’s death. The moving tune touched me deeply, and I played it on a concertina my father had bought for me.

There was a similar incident connected with another play. Just about this time, I had secured my father’s permission to see a play performed by a certain dramatic company. This play—Harishchandra—captured my heart. I could never be tired of seeing it. But how often should I be permitted to go? It haunted me and I must have acted Harishchandra to myself times without number. ‘Why should not all be truthful like Harishchandra?’ was the question I asked myself day and night. To follow truth and to go through all the ordeals Harishchandra went through was the one ideal it inspired in me. I literally believed in the story of Harishchandra. The thought of it all often made me weep. My commonsense tells me today that Harishchandra could not have been a historical character. But for me, both Harishchandra and Shravana are living realities and I am sure I should be touched as before if I were to read again those plays today.

There was a similar incident involving another play. Around this time, my father had given me permission to see a play performed by a drama company. The play, Harishchandra, captured my heart. I never grew tired of seeing it. But how often would I be allowed to go? The play haunted me, and I must have acted out Harishchandra to myself countless times. ‘Why shouldn’t everyone be truthful like Harishchandra?’ I asked myself this question day and night. The play inspired me to follow truth and endure all the ordeals Harishchandra endured. That was the one ideal it gave me. I literally believed the story of Harishchandra. Thinking about it often made me weep. Today, my common sense tells me that Harishchandra could not have been a historical figure. But to me, both Harishchandra and Shravana are living realities. I am sure I would be just as moved if I read those plays again today.