Dr. Mehta went on Monday to the Victoria Hotel expecting to find me there. He discovered that we had left, got our new address, and met me at our rooms. Through sheer folly I had managed to get ringworm on the boat. For washing and bathing we used to have sea-water, in which soap is not soluble. I, however, used soap, taking its use to be a sign of civilization, with the result that instead of cleaning the skin it made it greasy. This gave me ringworm. I showed it to Dr. Mehta, who told me to apply acetic acid. I remember how the burning acid made me cry. Dr. Mehta inspected my room and its appointments and shook his head in disapproval. 'This place won't do,' he said. 'We come to England not so much for the purpose of studies as for gaining experience of English life and customs. And for this you need to live with a family. But before you do so, I think you had better serve a period of apprenticeship with_____. I will take you there.'
I gratefully accepted the suggestion and removed to the friend's rooms. He was all
kindness and attention. He treated me as his own brother, initiated me
into English ways and manners, and accustomed me to talking the
language. My food, however, became a serious question. I could not
relish boiled vegetables cooked without salt or condiments. The landlady
was at a loss to know what to prepare for me. We had oatmeal porridge
for breakfast, which was fairly filling, but I always starved at lunch
and dinner. The friend continually reasoned with me to eat meat, but I
always pleaded my vow and then remained silent. Both for luncheon and
dinner we had spinach and bread and jam too. I was a good eater and had
a capacious stomach; but I was ashamed to ask for more than two or three
slices of bread, as it did not seem correct to do so. Added to this,
there was no milk either for lunch or dinner. The friend once got
disgusted with this state of things, and said: 'Had you been my own
brother, I would have sent you packing. What is the value of a vow made
before an illiterate mother, and in ignorance of conditions here? It is
no vow at all. It would not be regarded as a vow in law. It is pure
superstition to stick to such a promise. And I tell you this persistence
will not help you to gain anything here. You confess to having eaten and
relished meat. You took it where it was absolutely unnecessary, and will
not where it is quite essential. What a pity!'
But I was adamant.
Day in and day out the friend would argue, but I had an eternal negative to face
him with. The more he argued, the more uncompromising I became. Daily I
would pray for God's protection and get it. Not that I had any idea of
God. It was faith that was at work – faith of
which the seed had been sown by the good nurse Rambha.
One day the friend began to read to me Bentham's Theory of Utility.
I was at my wits' end. The language was too difficult for me to
understand. He began to expound it. I said: 'Pray excuse me. These
abstruse things are beyond me. I admit it is necessary to eat meat. But
I cannot break my vow. I cannot argue about it. I am sure I cannot meet
you in argument. But please give me up as foolish or obstinate. I
appreciate your love for me and I know you to be my well-wisher. I also
know that you are telling me again and again about this because you feel
for me. But I am helpless. A vow is a vow. It cannot be broken.'
The friend looked at me in surprise. He closed the book and said: 'All right. I
will not argue any more.' I was glad. He never discussed the subject
again. But he did not cease to worry about me. He smoked and drank, but
he never asked me to do so. In fact he asked me to remain away from
both. His one anxiety was lest I should become very weak without meat,
and thus be unable to feel at home in England.
That is how I served my apprenticeship for a month. The friend's house was in
Richmond, and it was not possible to go to London more than once or
twice a week. Dr. Mehta and Sjt. Dalpatram Shukla therefore decided that
I should be put with some family. Sjt. Shukla hit upon an Anglo-Indian's
house in West Kensington and placed me there. The landlady was a widow.
I told her about my vow. The old lady promised to look after me
properly, and I took up my residence in the house. Here too I
practically had to starve. I had sent for sweets and other eatables from
home, but nothing had yet come. Everything was insipid. Every day the
old lady asked me whether I liked the food, but what could she do? I was
still as shy as ever and dared not ask for more than was put before me.
She had two daughters. They insisted on serving me with an extra slice
or two of bread. But little did they know that nothing less than a loaf
would have filled me.
But I had found my feet now. I had not yet started upon my regular studies. I had
just begun reading newspapers, thanks to Sjt. Shukla. In India I had
never read a newspaper. But here I succeeded in cultivating a liking for
them by regular reading. I always glanced over The Daily News, The Daily Telegraph, and The Pall Mall
Gazette . This took me hardly an hour. I therefore began to wander about. I launched out in
search of a vegetarian restaurant. The landlady had told me that there
were such places in the city. I would trot ten or twelve miles each day,
go into a cheap restaurant and eat my fill of bread, but would never be
satisfied. During these wanderings I once hit on a vegetarian restaurant
in Farringdon Street.
The sight of it filled me with the same joy that a child feels on getting a thing
after its own heart. Before I entered I noticed books for sale exhibited
under a glass window near the door. I saw among them Salt's
Plea for Vegetarianism.
This I purchased for a shilling and went straight to the dining room.
This was my first hearty meal since my arrival in England. God had come
to my aid.
I read Salt's book from cover to cover and was very much impressed by it. From the
date of reading this book, I may claim to have become a vegetarian by
choice. I blessed the day on which I had taken the vow before my mother.
I had all along abstained from meat in the interests of truth and of the
vow I had taken, but had wished at the same time that every Indian
should be a meat-eater, and had looked forward to being one myself
freely and openly some day, and to enlisting others in the cause. The
choice was now made in favour of vegetarianism, the spread of which
henceforward became my mission.