Legacy YM

Chapter 44 - With Mahatma Gandhi in Wardha

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"Welcome to Wardha!" Mahadev Desai, secretary to Mahatma Gandhi, greeted Miss Bletch, Mr. Wright, and
myself with these cordial words and the gift of wreaths of khaddar (homespun cotton). Our little group
had just dismounted at the Wardha station on an early morning in August, glad to leave the dust and heat of
the train. Consigning our luggage to a bullock cart, we entered an open motor car with Mr. Desai and his
companions, Babasaheb Deshmukh and Dr. Pingale. A short drive over the muddy country roads brought us to
Maganvadi, the ashram of India's political saint.

Mr. Desai led us at once to the writing room where, cross-legged, sat Mahatma Gandhi. Pen in one hand and
a scrap of paper in the other, on his face a vast, winning, warm-hearted smile!

"Welcome!" he scribbled in Hindi; it was a Monday, his weekly day of silence.

Though this was our first meeting, we beamed on each other affectionately. In 1925 Mahatma Gandhi had
honored the Ranchi school by a visit, and had inscribed in its guest-book a gracious tribute.

The tiny 100-pound saint radiated physical, mental, and spiritual health. His soft brown
eyes shone with intelligence, sincerity, and discrimination; this statesman has matched wits and emerged the
victor in a thousand legal, social, and political battles. No other leader in the world has attained the
secure niche in the hearts of his people that Gandhi occupies for India's unlettered millions. Their
spontaneous tribute is his famous titleMahatma, "great soul."1 For them alone Gandhi confines his attire to
the widely-cartooned loincloth, symbol of his oneness with the downtrodden masses who can afford no more.

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"The ashram residents are wholly at your disposal; please call on them for any service." With
characteristic courtesy, the Mahatma handed me this hastily-written note as Mr. Desai led our party from the
writing room toward the guest house.

Our guide led us through orchards and flowering fields to a tile-roofed building with latticed windows. A
front-yard well, twenty-five feet across, was used, Mr. Desai said, for watering stock; near-by stood a
revolving cement wheel for threshing rice. Each of our small bedrooms proved to contain only the irreducible
minimuma bed, handmade of rope. The whitewashed kitchen boasted a faucet in one corner and a
fire pit for cooking in another. Simple Arcadian sounds reached our earsthe cries of crows and sparrows, the
lowing of cattle, and the rap of chisels being used to chip stones.

Observing Mr. Wright's travel diary, Mr. Desai opened a page and wrote on it a list of
Satyagraha2 vows taken by all the
Mahatma's strict followers (satyagrahis):

"Nonviolence; Truth; Non-Stealing; Celibacy; Non-Possession; Body-Labor; Control of the Palate;
Fearlessness; Equal Respect for all Religions; Swadeshi (use of home manufactures); Freedom from
Untouchability. These eleven should be observed as vows in a spirit of humility."

(Gandhi himself signed this page on the following day, giving the date alsoAugust 27, 1935.)

Two hours after our arrival my companions and I were summoned to lunch. The Mahatma was already seated
under the arcade of the ashram porch, across the courtyard from his study. About twenty-five barefooted
satyagrahis were squatting before brass cups and plates. A community chorus of prayer; then a meal
served from large brass pots containing chapatis (whole-wheat unleavened bread) sprinkled with
ghee; talsari (boiled and diced vegetables), and a lemon jam.

The Mahatma ate chapatis, boiled beets, some raw vegetables, and oranges. On the side of his plate
was a large lump of very bitter neem leaves, a notable blood cleanser. With his spoon he separated a
portion and placed it on my dish. I bolted it down with water, remembering childhood days when Mother had
forced me to swallow the disagreeable dose. Gandhi, however, bit by bit was eating the neem paste with
as much relish as if it had been a delicious sweetmeat.

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In this trifling incident I noted the Mahatma's ability to detach his mind from the senses at will. I
recalled the famous appendectomy performed on him some years ago. Refusing anesthetics, the saint had chatted
cheerfully with his disciples throughout the operation, his infectious smile revealing his
unawareness of pain.

The afternoon brought an opportunity for a chat with Gandhi's noted disciple, daughter of an English
admiral, Miss Madeleine Slade, now called Mirabai.3 Her strong, calm face lit with enthusiasm as
she told me, in flawless Hindi, of her daily activities.

"Rural reconstruction work is rewarding! A group of us go every morning at five o'clock to serve the
near-by villagers and teach them simple hygiene. We make it a point to clean their latrines and their
mud-thatched huts. The villagers are illiterate; they cannot be educated except by example!" She laughed
gaily.

I looked in admiration at this highborn Englishwoman whose true Christian humility enables her to do the
scavengering work usually performed only by "untouchables."

"I came to India in 1925," she told me. "In this land I feel that I have 'come back home.' Now I would
never be willing to return to my old life and old interests."

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We discussed America for a while. "I am always pleased and amazed," she said, "to see the deep interest in
spiritual subjects exhibited by the many Americans who visit India."4

Mirabai's hands were soon busy at the charka (spinning wheel), omnipresent in all the ashram rooms
and, indeed, due to the Mahatma, omnipresent throughout rural India.

Gandhi has sound economic and cultural reasons for encouraging the revival of cottage industries, but he
does not counsel a fanatical repudiation of all modern progress. Machinery, trains, automobiles, the
telegraph have played important parts in his own colossal life! Fifty years of public service, in prison and
out, wrestling daily with practical details and harsh realities in the political world, have only increased
his balance, open-mindedness, sanity, and humorous appreciation of the quaint human spectacle.

Our trio enjoyed a six o'clock supper as guests of Babasaheb Deshmukh. The 7:00 P.M. prayer hour found us
back at the Maganvadi ashram, climbing to the roof where thirty satyagrahis were grouped in a
semicircle around Gandhi. He was squatting on a straw mat, an ancient pocket watch propped up before him. The
fading sun cast a last gleam over the palms and banyans; the hum of night and the crickets had started. The
atmosphere was serenity itself; I was enraptured.

A solemn chant led by Mr. Desai, with responses from the group; then a Gita reading. The Mahatma
motioned to me to give the concluding prayer. Such divine unison of thought and aspiration! A memory forever:
the Wardha roof top meditation under the early stars.

Punctually at eight o'clock Gandhi ended his silence. The herculean labors of his life require him to
apportion his time minutely.

"Welcome, Swamiji!" The Mahatma's greeting this time was not via paper. We had just descended from the
roof to his writing room, simply furnished with square mats (no chairs), a low desk with books, papers, and a
few ordinary pens (not fountain pens); a nondescript clock ticked in a corner. An all-pervasive aura of peace
and devotion. Gandhi was bestowing one of his captivating, cavernous, almost toothless smiles.

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"Years ago," he explained, "I started my weekly observance of a day of silence as a means for gaining time
to look after my correspondence. But now those twenty-four hours have become a vital
spiritual need. A periodical decree of silence is not a torture but a blessing."

I agreed wholeheartedly.5 The Mahatma
questioned me about America and Europe; we discussed India and world conditions.

"Mahadev," Gandhi said as Mr. Desai entered the room, "please make arrangements at Town Hall for Swamiji
to speak there on yoga tomorrow night."

As I was bidding the Mahatma good night, he considerately handed me a bottle of citronella
oil.

"The Wardha mosquitoes don't know a thing about ahimsa,6 Swamiji!" he said, laughing.

The following morning our little group breakfasted early on a tasty wheat porridge with molasses and milk.
At ten-thirty we were called to the ashram porch for lunch with Gandhi and the satyagrahis. Today the
menu included brown rice, a new selection of vegetables, and cardamom seeds.

Noon found me strolling about the ashram grounds, on to the grazing land of a few imperturbable cows. The
protection of cows is a passion with Gandhi.

"The cow to me means the entire sub-human world, extending man's sympathies beyond his own species," the
Mahatma has explained. "Man through the cow is enjoined to realize his identity with all that lives. Why the
ancient rishis selected the cow for apotheosis is obvious to me. The cow in India was the best comparison;
she was the giver of plenty. Not only did she give milk, but she also made agriculture possible. The cow is a
poem of pity; one reads pity in the gentle animal. She is the second mother to millions of mankind.
Protection of the cow means protection of the whole dumb creation of God. The appeal of the lower order of
creation is all the more forceful because it is speechless."

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Three daily rituals are enjoined on the orthodox Hindu. One is Bhuta Yajna, an offering of food to
the animal kingdom. This ceremony symbolizes man's realization of his obligations to less evolved forms of
creation, instinctively tied to bodily identifications which also corrode human life, but lacking in that
quality of liberating reason which is peculiar to humanity. Bhuta Yajna thus reinforces man's
readiness to succor the weak, as he in turn is comforted by countless solicitudes of higher unseen beings.
Man is also under bond for rejuvenating gifts of nature, prodigal in earth, sea, and sky. The evolutionary
barrier of incommunicability among nature, animals, man, and astral angels is thus overcome by offices of
silent love.

The other two daily yajnas are Pitri and Nri. Pitri Yajna is an offering of oblations
to ancestors, as a symbol of man's acknowledgment of his debt to the past, essence of whose wisdom illumines
humanity today. Nri Yajna is an offering of food to strangers or the poor, symbol of the present
responsibilities of man, his duties to contemporaries.

In the early afternoon I fulfilled a neighborly Nri Yajna by a visit to Gandhi's
ashram for little girls. Mr. Wright accompanied me on the ten-minute drive. Tiny young flowerlike faces atop
the long-stemmed colorful saris! At the end of a brief talk in Hindi7 which I was giving outdoors, the skies unloosed a sudden downpour.
Laughing, Mr. Wright and I climbed aboard the car and sped back to Maganvadi amidst sheets of driving
silver. Such tropical intensity and splash!

Reentering the guest house I was struck anew by the stark simplicity and evidences of self-sacrifice which
are everywhere present. The Gandhi vow of non-possession came early in his married life. Renouncing an
extensive legal practice which had been yielding him an annual income of more than $20,000, the Mahatma
dispersed all his wealth to the poor.

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Sri Yukteswar used to poke gentle fun at the commonly inadequate conceptions of renunciation.

"A beggar cannot renounce wealth," Master would say. "If a man laments: 'My business has failed; my wife
has left me; I will renounce all and enter a monastery,' to what worldly sacrifice is he referring? He did
not renounce wealth and love; they renounced him!"

Saints like Gandhi, on the other hand, have made not only tangible material sacrifices, but also the more
difficult renunciation of selfish motive and private goal, merging their inmost being in the stream of
humanity as a whole.

The Mahatma's remarkable wife, Kasturabai, did not object when he failed to set aside any
part of his wealth for the use of herself and their children. Married in early youth, Gandhi and his wife
took the vow of celibacy after the birth of several sons.8 A tranquil heroine in the intense drama that
has been their life together, Kasturabai has followed her husband to prison, shared his three-week fasts, and
fully borne her share of his endless responsibilities. She has paid Gandhi the following tribute:

I thank you for having had the privilege of being your lifelong companion and helpmate. I thank you for
the most perfect marriage in the world, based on brahmacharya (self-control) and not on sex. I thank
you for having considered me your equal in your life work for India. I thank you for not being one of those
husbands who spend their time in gambling, racing, women, wine, and song, tiring of their wives and children
as the little boy quickly tires of his childhood toys. How thankful I am that you were not one of those
husbands who devote their time to growing rich on the exploitation of the labor of others.

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How thankful I am that you put God and country before bribes, that you had the courage of your convictions
and a complete and implicit faith in God. How thankful I am for a husband that put God and his country before
me. I am grateful to you for your tolerance of me and my shortcomings of youth, when I grumbled and rebelled
against the change you made in our mode of living, from so much to so little.

As a young child, I lived in your parents' home; your mother was a great and good woman; she trained me,
taught me how to be a brave, courageous wife and how to keep the love and respect of her son, my future
husband. As the years passed and you became India's most beloved leader, I had none of the fears that beset
the wife who may be cast aside when her husband has climbed the ladder of success, as so often happens in
other countries. I knew that death would still find us husband and wife.

For years Kasturabai performed the duties of treasurer of the public funds which the idolized Mahatma is
able to raise by the millions. There are many humorous stories in Indian homes to the effect that husbands
are nervous about their wives' wearing any jewelry to a Gandhi meeting; the Mahatma's magical tongue,
pleading for the downtrodden, charms the gold bracelets and diamond necklaces right off the arms and necks of
the wealthy into the collection basket!

One day the public treasurer, Kasturabai, could not account for a disbursement of four rupees. Gandhi duly
published an auditing in which he inexorably pointed out his wife's four rupee discrepancy.

I had often told this story before classes of my American students. One evening a woman in the hall had
given an outraged gasp.

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"Mahatma or no Mahatma," she had cried, "if he were my husband I would have given him a black eye for such
an unnecessary public insult!"

After some good-humored banter had passed between us on the subject of American wives and Hindu wives, I
had gone on to a fuller explanation.

"Mrs. Gandhi considers the Mahatma not as her husband but as her guru, one who has the
right to discipline her for even insignificant errors," I had pointed out. "Sometime after Kasturabai had
been publicly rebuked, Gandhi was sentenced to prison on a political charge. As he was calmly bidding
farewell to his wife, she fell at his feet. 'Master,' she said humbly, 'if I have ever offended you, please
forgive me.'"9

At three o'clock that afternoon in Wardha, I betook myself, by previous appointment, to the writing room
of the saint who had been able to make an unflinching disciple out of his own wiferare miracle! Gandhi looked
up with his unforgettable smile.

"Mahatmaji," I said as I squatted beside him on the uncushioned mat, "please tell me your definition of
ahimsa."

"The avoidance of harm to any living creature in thought or deed."

"Beautiful ideal! But the world will always ask: May one not kill a cobra to protect a child, or one's
self?"

"I could not kill a cobra without violating two of my vowsfearlessness, and non-killing. I would rather
try inwardly to calm the snake by vibrations of love. I cannot possibly lower my standards to suit my
circumstances." With his amazing candor, Gandhi added, "I must confess that I could not carry on this
conversation were I faced by a cobra!"

I remarked on several very recent Western books on diet which lay on his desk.

"Yes, diet is important in the Satyagraha movementas everywhere else," he said with a chuckle.
"Because I advocate complete continence for satyagrahis, I am always trying to find out the best diet
for the celibate. One must conquer the palate before he can control the procreative instinct. Semi-starvation
or unbalanced diets are not the answer. After overcoming the inward greed for food, a
satyagrahi must continue to follow a rational vegetarian diet with all necessary vitamins, minerals,
calories, and so forth. By inward and outward wisdom in regard to eating, the satyagrahi's sexual
fluid is easily turned into vital energy for the whole body."

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The Mahatma and I compared our knowledge of good meat-substitutes. "The avocado is excellent," I said.
"There are numerous avocado groves near my center in California."

Gandhi's face lit with interest. "I wonder if they would grow in Wardha? The
satyagrahis would appreciate a new food."

"I will be sure to send some avocado plants from Los Angeles to Wardha."10 I added, "Eggs are a high-protein food; are they forbidden to
satyagrahis?"

"Not unfertilized eggs." The Mahatma laughed reminiscently. "For years I would not countenance their use;
even now I personally do not eat them. One of my daughters-in-law was once dying of malnutrition; her doctor
insisted on eggs. I would not agree, and advised him to give her some egg-substitute.

"'Gandhiji,' the doctor said, 'unfertilized eggs contain no life sperm; no killing is involved.'

"I then gladly gave permission for my daughter-in-law to eat eggs; she was soon restored to health."

On the previous night Gandhi had expressed a wish to receive the Kriya Yoga of Lahiri Mahasaya. I
was touched by the Mahatma's open-mindedness and spirit of inquiry. He is childlike in his divine quest,
revealing that pure receptivity which Jesus praised in children, ". . . of such is the kingdom of
heaven."

The hour for my promised instruction had arrived; several satyagrahis now entered the roomMr.
Desai, Dr. Pingale, and a few others who desired the Kriya technique.

I first taught the little class the physical Yogoda exercises. The body is visualized as divided
into twenty parts; the will directs energy in turn to each section. Soon everyone was vibrating before me
like a human motor. It was easy to observe the rippling effect on Gandhi's twenty body parts, at all times
completely exposed to view! Though very thin, he is not unpleasingly so; the skin of his body is smooth and
unwrinkled.

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Later I initiated the group into the liberating technique of Kriya Yoga.

The Mahatma has reverently studied all world religions. The Jain scriptures, the Biblical New Testament,
and the sociological writings of Tolstoy11 are the three main sources of Gandhi's
nonviolent convictions. He has stated his credo thus:

I believe the Bible, the Koran, and the Zend-Avesta12 to be as divinely inspired as the
Vedas. I believe in the institution of Gurus, but in this age millions must go without a Guru, because
it is a rare thing to find a combination of perfect purity and perfect learning. But one need not despair of
ever knowing the truth of one's religion, because the fundamentals of Hinduism as of every great religion are
unchangeable, and easily understood.

I believe like every Hindu in God and His oneness, in rebirth and salvation. . . . I can no more describe
my feeling for Hinduism than for my own wife. She moves me as no other woman in the world can. Not that she
has no faults; I daresay she has many more than I see myself. But the feeling of an indissoluble bond is
there. Even so I feel for and about Hinduism with all its faults and limitations. Nothing delights me so much
as the music of the Gita, or the Ramayana by Tulsidas. When I fancied I was taking my last
breath, the Gita was my solace.

Hinduism is not an exclusive religion. In it there is room for the worship of all the
prophets of the world.13 It is not a
missionary religion in the ordinary sense of the term. It has no doubt absorbed many tribes in its fold, but
this absorption has been of an evolutionary, imperceptible character. Hinduism tells each man to worship God
according to his own faith or dharma,14 and so lives at peace with all religions.

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Of Christ, Gandhi has written: "I am sure that if He were living here now among men, He would bless the
lives of many who perhaps have never even heard His name . . . just as it is written: 'Not every one that
saith unto me, Lord, Lord . . . but he that doeth the will of my Father.'15 In the lesson of His own life, Jesus gave humanity the magnificent
purpose and the single objective toward which we all ought to aspire. I believe that He belongs not solely to
Christianity, but to the entire world, to all lands and races."

On my last evening in Wardha I addressed the meeting which had been called by Mr. Desai in Town Hall. The
room was thronged to the window sills with about 400 people assembled to hear the talk on yoga. I spoke first
in Hindi, then in English. Our little group returned to the ashram in time for a good-night glimpse of
Gandhi, enfolded in peace and correspondence.

Night was still lingering when I rose at 5:00 A.M. Village life was already stirring; first a bullock cart
by the ashram gates, then a peasant with his huge burden balanced precariously on his head. After breakfast
our trio sought out Gandhi for farewell pronams. The saint rises at four o'clock for his morning
prayer.

"Mahatmaji, good-by!" I knelt to touch his feet. "India is safe in your keeping!"

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Years have rolled by since the Wardha idyl; the earth, oceans, and skies have darkened with a world at
war. Alone among great leaders, Gandhi has offered a practical nonviolent alternative to armed might. To
redress grievances and remove injustices, the Mahatma has employed nonviolent means which again and again
have proved their effectiveness. He states his doctrine in these words:

"I have found that life persists in the midst of destruction. Therefore there must be a higher law than
that of destruction. Only under that law would well-ordered society be intelligible and life worth
living.

"If that is the law of life we must work it out in daily existence. Wherever there are wars, wherever we
are confronted with an opponent, conquer by love. I have found that the certain law of love has answered in
my own life as the law of destruction has never done.

"In India we have had an ocular demonstration of the operation of this law on the widest scale possible. I
don't claim that nonviolence has penetrated the 360,000,000 people in India, but I do claim it has penetrated
deeper than any other doctrine in an incredibly short time.

"It takes a fairly strenuous course of training to attain a mental state of nonviolence. It is a
disciplined life, like the life of a soldier. The perfect state is reached only when the mind, body, and
speech are in proper coordination. Every problem would lend itself to solution if we determined to make the
law of truth and nonviolence the law of life.

Just as a scientist will work wonders out of various applications of the laws of nature, a man who applies
the laws of love with scientific precision can work greater wonders. Nonviolence is infinitely more wonderful
and subtle than forces of nature like, for instance, electricity. The law of love is a far greater science
than any modern science.

Consulting history, one may reasonably state that the problems of mankind have not been solved by the use
of brute force. World War I produced a world-chilling snowball of war karma that swelled into World War II.
Only the warmth of brotherhood can melt the present colossal snowball of war karma which may otherwise grow
into World War III. This unholy trinity will banish forever the possibility of World War IV by a finality of
atomic bombs. Use of jungle logic instead of human reason in settling disputes will restore the earth to a
jungle. If brothers not in life, then brothers in violent death.

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War and crime never pay. The billions of dollars that went up in the smoke of explosive nothingness would
have been sufficient to have made a new world, one almost free from disease and completely free from poverty.
Not an earth of fear, chaos, famine, pestilence, the danse macabre, but one broad land of peace, of
prosperity, and of widening knowledge.

The nonviolent voice of Gandhi appeals to man's highest conscience. Let nations ally themselves no longer
with death, but with life; not with destruction, but with construction; not with the Annihilator, but with
the Creator.

"One should forgive, under any injury," says the Mahabharata. "It hath been said that the
continuation of species is due to man's being forgiving. Forgiveness is holiness; by forgiveness the universe
is held together. Forgiveness is the might of the mighty; forgiveness is sacrifice; forgiveness is quiet of
mind. Forgiveness and gentleness are the qualities of the self-possessed. They represent eternal virtue."

Nonviolence is the natural outgrowth of the law of forgiveness and love. "If loss of life becomes
necessary in a righteous battle," Gandhi proclaims, "one should be prepared, like Jesus, to shed his own, not
others', blood. Eventually there will be less blood spilt in the world."

Epics shall someday be written on the Indian satyagrahis who withstood hate with love, violence
with nonviolence, who allowed themselves to be mercilessly slaughtered rather than retaliate. The result on
certain historic occasions was that the armed opponents threw down their guns and fled, shamed, shaken to
their depths by the sight of men who valued the life of another above their own.

"I would wait, if need be for ages," Gandhi says, "rather than seek the freedom of my
country through bloody means." Never does the Mahatma forget the majestic warning: "All they that take the
sword shall perish with the sword."16
Gandhi has written:

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"I call myself a nationalist, but my nationalism is as broad as the universe. It includes in its sweep all
the nations of the earth.17 My
nationalism includes the well-being of the whole world. I do not want my India to rise on the ashes of other
nations. I do not want India to exploit a single human being. I want India to be strong in order that she can
infect the other nations also with her strength. Not so with a single nation in Europe today; they do not
give strength to the others.

"President Wilson mentioned his beautiful fourteen points, but said: "After all, if this endeavor of ours
to arrive at peace fails, we have our armaments to fall back upon." I want to reverse that position, and I
say: "Our armaments have failed already. Let us now be in search of something new; let us try the force of
love and God which is truth." When we have got that, we shall want nothing else.

By the Mahatma's training of thousands of true satyagrahis (those who have taken the eleven
rigorous vows mentioned in the first part of this chapter), who in turn spread the message; by patiently
educating the Indian masses to understand the spiritual and eventually material benefits of nonviolence; by
arming his people with nonviolent weaponsnon-cooperation with injustice, the willingness to endure
indignities, prison, death itself rather than resort to arms; by enlisting world sympathy through countless
examples of heroic martyrdom among satyagrahis, Gandhi has dramatically portrayed the practical nature
of nonviolence, its solemn power to settle disputes without war.

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Gandhi has already won through nonviolent means a greater number of political concessions for his land
than have ever been won by any leader of any country except through bullets. Nonviolent methods for
eradication of all wrongs and evils have been strikingly applied not only in the political arena but in the
delicate and complicated field of Indian social reform. Gandhi and his followers have removed many
longstanding feuds between Hindus and Mohammedans; hundreds of thousands of Moslems look to the Mahatma as
their leader. The untouchables have found in him their fearless and triumphant champion. "If there be a
rebirth in store for me," Gandhi wrote, "I wish to be born a pariah in the midst of pariahs, because thereby
I would be able to render them more effective service."

The Mahatma is indeed a "great soul," but it was illiterate millions who had the
discernment to bestow the title. This gentle prophet is honored in his own land. The lowly peasant has been
able to rise to Gandhi's high challenge. The Mahatma wholeheartedly believes in the inherent nobility of man.
The inevitable failures have never disillusioned him. "Even if the opponent plays him false twenty times," he
writes, "the satyagrahi is ready to trust him the twenty-first time, for an implicit trust in human
nature is the very essence of the creed."18

"Mahatmaji, you are an exceptional man. You must not expect the world to act as you do." A critic once
made this observation.

"It is curious how we delude ourselves, fancying that the body can be improved, but that it is impossible
to evoke the hidden powers of the soul," Gandhi replied. "I am engaged in trying to show that if I have any
of those powers, I am as frail a mortal as any of us and that I never had anything extraordinary about me nor
have I now. I am a simple individual liable to err like any other fellow mortal. I own, however, that I have
enough humility to confess my errors and to retrace my steps. I own that I have an immovable faith in God and
His goodness, and an unconsumable passion for truth and love. But is that not what every person has latent in
him? If we are to make progress, we must not repeat history but make new history. We must
add to the inheritance left by our ancestors. If we may make new discoveries and inventions in the phenomenal
world, must we declare our bankruptcy in the spiritual domain? Is it impossible to multiply the exceptions so
as to make them the rule? Must man always be brute first and man after, if at all?"19

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Americans may well remember with pride the successful nonviolent experiment of William Penn in founding
his 17th century colony in Pennsylvania. There were "no forts, no soldiers, no militia, even no arms." Amidst
the savage frontier wars and the butcheries that went on between the new settlers and the Red Indians, the
Quakers of Pennsylvania alone remained unmolested. "Others were slain; others were massacred; but they were
safe. Not a Quaker woman suffered assault; not a Quaker child was slain, not a Quaker man was tortured." When
the Quakers were finally forced to give up the government of the state, "war broke out, and some
Pennsylvanians were killed. But only three Quakers were killed, three who had so far fallen from their faith
as to carry weapons of defence."

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"Resort to force in the Great War (I) failed to bring tranquillity," Franklin D. Roosevelt has pointed
out. "Victory and defeat were alike sterile. That lesson the world should have learned."

"The more weapons of violence, the more misery to mankind," Lao-tzu taught. "The triumph of violence ends
in a festival of mourning."

"I am fighting for nothing less than world peace," Gandhi has declared. "If the Indian movement is carried
to success on a nonviolent Satyagraha basis, it will give a new meaning to patriotism and, if I may
say so in all humility, to life itself."

Before the West dismisses Gandhi's program as one of an impractical dreamer, let it first
reflect on a definition of Satyagraha by the Master of Galilee:

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you,
That ye resist not evil:20 but
whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also."

Gandhi's epoch has extended, with the beautiful precision of cosmic timing, into a century already
desolated and devastated by two World Wars. A divine handwriting appears on the granite wall of his life: a
warning against the further shedding of blood among brothers.

MAHATMA GANDHI'S HANDWRITING IN HINDI

gandhi3

Mahatma Gandhi visited my high school with yoga training at Ranchi. He graciously wrote the above lines in
the Ranchi guest-book. The translation is:
"This institution has deeply impressed my mind. I cherish high hopes that this school will encourage the
further practical use of the spinning wheel."

(Signed) MOHANDAS GANDHI
September 17, 1925

gandhiflag

A national flag for India was designed in 1921 by Gandhi. The stripes are saffron, white and green; the
charka (spinning wheel) in the center is dark blue.
"The charka symbolizes energy," he wrote, "and reminds us that during the past eras of prosperity in
India's history, hand spinning and other domestic crafts were prominent."


Chapter1 - My Parents and Early Life
Chapter2 - My Mother's Death and the Mystic Amulet
Chapter3 - The Saint With Two Bodies
Chapter4 - My Interrupted Flight Toward the Himalayas
Chapter5 - A "Perfume Saint" Displays His Wonders
Chapter6 - The Tiger Swami
Chapter7 - The Levitating Saint
Chapter8 - India's Great Scientist, J.C. Bose
Chapter9 - The Blissful Devotee and His Cosmic Romance
Chapter10 - I Meet My Master, Sri Yukteswar
Chapter11 - Two Penniless Boys in Brindaban
Chapter12 - Years in My Master's Hermitage
Chapter13 - The Sleepless Saint
Chapter14 - An Experience in Cosmic Consciousness
Chapter15 - The Cauliflower Robbery
Chapter16 - Outwitting the Stars
Chapter17 - Sasi and the Three Sapphires
Chapter18 - A Mohammedan Wonder-Worker
Chapter19 - My Master, in Calcutta, Appears in Serampore
Chapter20 - We Do Not Visit Kashmir
Chapter21 - We Visit Kashmir
Chapter22 - The Heart of a Stone Image
Chapter23 - I Receive My University Degree
Chapter24 - I Become a Monk of the Swami Order
Chapter25 - Brother Ananta and Sister Nalini
Chapter26 - The Science of Kriya Yoga
Chapter27 - Founding a Yoga School in Ranchi
Chapter28 - Kashi, Reborn and Rediscovered
Chapter29 - Rabindranath Tagore and I Compare Schools
Chapter30 - The Law of Miracles
Chapter31 - An Interview with the Sacred Mother
Chapter32 - Rama is Raised From the Dead
Chapter33 - Babaji, the Yogi-Christ of Modern India
Chapter34 - Materializing a Palace in the Himalaya
Chapter35 - The Christlike Life of Lahiri Mahasaya
Chapter36 - Babaji's Interest in the West
Chapter37 - I Go to America
Chapter38 - Luther Burbank -- A Saint Amidst the Roses
Chapter39 - Therese Neumann, the Catholic Stigmatist
Chapter40 - I Return to India
Chapter41 - An Idyll in South India
Chapter42 - Last Days With My Guru
Chapter43 - The Resurrection of Sri Yukteswar
Chapter44 - With Mahatma Gandhi in Wardha
Chapter45 - The Bengali "Joy-Permeated" Mother
Chapter46 - The Woman Yogi Who Never Eats
Chapter47 - I Return to the West
Chapter48 - At Encinitas in California
Chapter49 - The Years - 1940 - 1951

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