Lakshman Jhula

It was a positive relief to reach the Gurukul and meet Mahatma Munshiramji with his giant frame. I at once felt the wonderful contrast between the peace of the Gurukul and the din and noise of Hardvar.

It was a real relief to reach the Gurukul and meet the giant Mahatma Munshiramji. I immediately felt the wonderful contrast between the peace of the Gurukul and the noise of Hardvar.

The Mahatma overwhelmed me with affection. The Brahmacharis were all attention. It was here that I was first introduced to Acharya Ramadevji, and I could immediately see what a force and a power he must be. We had different viewpoints in several matters, nevertheless our acquaintance soon ripened into friendship.

The Mahatma showered me with affection. The Brahmacharis were all attentive. It was here that I first met Acharya Ramadevji. I could immediately see what a powerful force he must be. We had different views on several matters, but we soon became friends.

I had long discussions with Acharya Ramadevji and other professors about the necessity of introducing industrial training into the Gurukul. When the time came for going away it was a wrench to leave the place.

I had long discussions with Acharya Ramadevji and other professors about the need to introduce industrial training at the Gurukul. When it was time to go, it was hard to leave.

I had heard much in praise of the Lakshman Jhula (a hanging bridge over the Ganges) some distance from Hrishikesh, and many friends pressed me not to leave Hardvar without having gone as far as the bridge. I wanted to do this pilgrimage on foot and so I did it in two stages.

I had heard much praise for the Lakshman Jhula, a hanging bridge over the Ganges some distance from Hrishikesh. Many friends urged me not to leave Hardvar without visiting the bridge. I wanted to make the pilgrimage on foot, so I did it in two stages.

Many sannyasis called on me at Hrishikesh. One of them was particularly attracted towards me. The Phœnix party was there and their presence drew from the Swami many questions.

Many sannyasis visited me at Hrishikesh. One of them was especially drawn to me. The Phœnix party was there, and their presence led the Swami to ask many questions.

We had discussions about religion and he realised that I felt deeply about matters of religion. He saw me bare-headed and shirtless as I had returned from my bath in the Ganges. He was pained to miss the shikha (tuft of hair) on my head and the sacred thread about my neck and said:

We discussed religion, and he realized that I cared deeply about it. After I returned from bathing in the Ganges, he saw me without a shirt or head covering. He was pained to see that I had no shikha (tuft of hair) on my head or sacred thread around my neck. He said:

‘It pains me to see you, a believing Hindu, going without the sacred thread and the shikha. These are the two external symbols of Hinduism and every Hindu ought to wear them.’

‘It hurts me to see you, a believing Hindu, without the sacred thread and the shikha. These are the two outward symbols of Hinduism, and every Hindu should wear them.’

Now there is a history as to how I came to dispense with both. When I was an urchin of ten, I envied the Brahman lads sporting bunches of keys tied to their sacred threads and I wished I could do likewise. The practice of wearing the sacred thread was not then common among the vaishya families in Kathiawad. But a movement had just been started for making it obligatory for the first three varnas. As a result several members of the Gandhi clan adopted the sacred thread. The Brahman who was teaching two or three of us boys Ramaraksha invested us with the thread, and although I had no occasion to possess a bunch of keys, I got one and began to sport it. Later, when the thread gave way, I do not remember whether I missed it very much. But I know that I did not go in for a fresh one.

There is a story behind how I came to give up both. When I was a boy of ten, I envied the Brahman boys who wore bunches of keys tied to their sacred threads. I wished I could do the same. At the time, wearing the sacred thread was not common among vaishya families in Kathiawad. But a movement had just begun to make it obligatory for the first three varnas. As a result, several members of the Gandhi clan adopted the sacred thread. A Brahman was teaching two or three of us boys Ramaraksha, and he gave us the sacred thread. Although I had no need for a bunch of keys, I got one and began to show it off. Later, when the thread broke, I do not remember whether I missed it very much. But I know that I did not get a new one.

As I grew up several well-meaning attempts were made both in India and South Africa to re-invest me with the sacred thread, but with little success. If the shudras may not wear it, I argued, what right have the other varnas to do so? And I saw no adequate reason for adopting what was to me an unnecessary custom. I had no objection to the thread as such, but the reasons for wearing it were lacking.

As I grew up, several well-meaning people tried to persuade me to wear the sacred thread again. They made these attempts in both India and South Africa, but with little success. I argued that if the shudras may not wear it, the other varnas had no right to wear it either. I saw no good reason to take up what seemed to me an unnecessary custom. I had no objection to the thread itself, but I had no reason to wear it.

As a vaishnava I had naturally worn round my neck the kanthi, and the shikha was considered obligatory by elders. On the eve of my going to England however, I got rid of the shikha, lest when I was bare-headed it should expose me to ridicule and make me look, as I then thought, a barbarian in the eyes of the Englishmen. In fact this cowardly feeling carried me so far that in South Africa I got my cousin Chhaganlal Gandhi, who was religiously wearing the shikha, to do away with it. I feared that it might come in the way of his public work, and so, even at the risk of paining him, I made him get rid of it.

As a vaishnava, I naturally wore the kanthi around my neck, and my elders considered the shikha obligatory. But just before I left for England, I got rid of the shikha. I feared that, when my head was bare, the English would ridicule me and think me a barbarian. This cowardly feeling went so far that, in South Africa, I persuaded my cousin Chhaganlal Gandhi to get rid of his shikha, which he wore for religious reasons. I feared it might interfere with his public work. So, even at the risk of hurting him, I made him get rid of it.

I therefore made a clean breast of the whole matter to the Swami and said:

So I told the Swami the whole truth about the matter and said:

‘I will not wear the sacred thread, for I see no necessity for it, when countless Hindus can go without it and yet remain Hindus. Moreover, the sacred thread should be a symbol of spiritual regeneration, presupposing a deliberate attempt on the part of the wearer at a higher and purer life. I doubt whether in the present state of Hinduism and of India, Hindus can vindicate the right to wear a symbol charged with such a meaning. That right can come only after Hinduism has purged itself of untouchability, has removed all distinctions of superiority and inferiority, and shed a host of other evils and shams that have become rampant in it. My mind therefore rebels against the idea of wearing the sacred thread. But I am sure, your suggestion about the shikha is worth considering. I once used to have it, and I discarded it from a false sense of shame. And so I feel that I should start growing it again. I shall discuss the matter with my comrades.’

‘I will not wear the sacred thread because I see no need for it. Countless Hindus go without it and still remain Hindus. Moreover, the sacred thread should be a symbol of spiritual rebirth. It should mean that the wearer has made a deliberate effort to live a higher and purer life. Given the present state of Hinduism and India, I doubt whether Hindus can justify wearing a symbol with such meaning. They can earn that right only after Hinduism has rid itself of untouchability and removed all distinctions of superiority and inferiority. It must also rid itself of many other evils and false practices that have become widespread in it. My mind therefore rebels against the idea of wearing the sacred thread. But I am sure your suggestion about the shikha is worth considering. I once had one, but I gave it up out of a false sense of shame. So I feel that I should start growing it again. I will discuss the matter with my comrades.’

The Swami did not appreciate my position with regard to the sacred thread. The very reasons that seemed to me to point to not wearing it appeared to him to favour its wearing. Even today my position remains about the same as it was at Hrishikesh. So long as there are different religions, every one of them may need some outward distinctive symbol. But when the symbol is made into a fetish and an instrument of proving the superiority of one’s religion over others’, it is fit only to be discarded. The sacred thread does not appear to me today to be a means of uplifting Hinduism. I am therefore indifferent to it.

The Swami did not understand my position on the sacred thread. The very reasons that led me not to wear the thread seemed to him to favor wearing it. Even today, my position remains much the same as it was at Hrishikesh. As long as different religions exist, each may need an outward symbol to distinguish it. But when a symbol becomes an object of excessive reverence and a way to claim superiority over other religions, it should be discarded. The sacred thread does not seem to me today to be a way to uplift Hinduism. I am therefore indifferent to the sacred thread.

As for the shikha, cowardice having been the reason for discarding it, after consultation with friends I decided to re-grow it.

As for the shikha, I had given it up out of cowardice. So, after talking with friends, I decided to grow it back.

But to return to Lakshman Jhula. I was charmed with the natural scenery about Hrishikesh and the Lakshman Jhula, and bowed my head in reverence to our ancestors for their sense of the beautiful in Nature, and for their foresight in investing beautiful manifestations of nature with a religious significance.

But to return to Lakshman Jhula. I was charmed by the natural scenery around Hrishikesh and Lakshman Jhula. I bowed my head in reverence to our ancestors for their appreciation of nature’s beauty. I also admired their foresight in giving beautiful features of nature religious significance.

But the way in which men were using these beauty spots was far from giving me peace. As at Hardvar so at Hrishikesh, people dirtied the roads and the fair banks of the Ganges. They did not even hesitate to desecrate the sacred water of the Ganges. It filled me with agony to see people performing natural functions on the thoroughfares and river banks, when they could easily have gone a little farther away from public haunts.

But the way people used these beautiful places gave me no peace. In Hrishikesh, as in Hardvar, people dirtied the roads and the beautiful banks of the Ganges. They did not even hesitate to defile the sacred water of the Ganges. It pained me to see people relieving themselves on public roads and riverbanks. They could easily have gone a little farther away from places where people gathered.

Lakshman Jhula was, I saw, nothing but an iron suspension bridge over the Ganges. I was told that originally there had been a fine rope-bridge. But a philanthropic Marwadi got it into his head to destroy the rope-bridge and erect an iron one at a heavy cost and then entrusted the keys to the Government! I am at a loss to say anything about the rope-bridge as I have never seen it, but the iron bridge is entirely out of place in such surroundings and mars their beauty. The making over the keys of this pilgrims’ bridge to Government was too much even for my loyalty of those days.

I saw that Lakshman Jhula was nothing but an iron suspension bridge over the Ganges. I was told that a fine rope bridge had originally stood there. But a charitable Marwadi took it into his head to destroy the rope bridge and build an iron one at great expense. He then handed the keys over to the Government! I cannot say anything about the rope bridge, as I never saw it. But the iron bridge is entirely out of place in those surroundings and spoils their beauty. Handing the keys to this pilgrims’ bridge over to the Government was too much even for my loyalty in those days.

The Svargashram which one reaches after crossing the bridge was a wretched place, being nothing but a number of shabby-looking sheds of galvanised iron sheets. These, I was told, were made for sadhakas (aspirants). There were hardly any living there at the moment. Those who were in the main building gave one an unfavourable impression.

The Svargashram, which one reaches after crossing the bridge, was a miserable place. It consisted only of a number of shabby sheds made from sheets of galvanized iron. I was told the sheds were built for sadhakas (aspirants). Hardly any were living there at the time. Those in the main building made an unfavorable impression.

But the Hardvar experiences proved for me to be of inestimable value. They helped me in no small way to decide where I was to live and what I was to do.

But my experiences in Hardvar proved invaluable. They helped me a great deal in deciding where to live and what to do.