I said in the last chapter that the sea was rough in Bombay harbour, not an unusual thing in the Arabian Sea in June and July. It had been choppy all the way from Aden. Almost every passenger was sick; I alone was in perfect form, staying on deck to see the stormy surge, and enjoying the splash of the waves. At breakfast there would be just one or two people besides myself, eating their oatmeal porridge from plates carefully held in their laps, lest the porridge itself find its place there.
storm was to me a symbol of the inner. But even as the former left
me unperturbed, I think I can say the same thing about the latter.
There was the trouble with the caste that was to confront me. I have
already adverted to my helplessness in starting on my profession.
And then, as I was a reformer, I was taxing myself as to how best to
begin certain reforms. But there was even more in store for me than
brother had come to meet me at the dock. He had already made the
acquaintance of Dr. Mehta and his elder brother, and as Dr. Mehta
insisted on putting me up at his house, we went there. Thus the
acquaintance begun in England continued in India and ripened into a
permanent friendship between the two families.
pining to see my mother. I did not know that she was no more in the
flesh to receive me back into her bosom. The sad news was now given
me, and I underwent the usual ablution. My brother had kept me
ignorant of her death, which took place whilst I was still in
England. He wanted to spare me the blow in a foreign land. The news,
however, was none the less a severe shock to me. But I must not
dwell upon it. My grief was even greater than over my father's
death. Most of my cherished hopes were shattered. But I remember
that I did not give myself up to any wild expression of grief. I
could even check the tears, and took to life just as though nothing
introduced me to several friends, one of them being his brother Shri
Revashankar Jagjivan, with whom there grew up a lifelong friendship.
But the introduction that I need particularly take note of was the
one to the poet Raychand or Rajchandra, the son-in-law of an elder
brother of Dr. Mehta, and partner of the firm of jewellers conducted
in the name of Revashankar Jagjivan. He was not above twenty-five
then, but my first meeting with him convinced me that he was a man
of great character and learning. He was also known as
Shatavadhani (one having the faculty of remembering or attending to a hundred things
simultaneously), and Dr. Mehta recommended me to see some of his
memory feats. I exhausted my vocabulary of all the European tongues
I knew, and asked the poet to repeat the words. He did so in the
precise order in which I had given them. I envied his gift without,
however, coming under its spell. The thing that did cast its spell
over me I came to know afterwards. This was his wide knowledge of
the scriptures, his spotless character, and his burning passion for
self-realization. I saw later that this last was the only thing for
which he lived. The following lines of Muktanand were always on his
lips and engraved on the tablets of his heart:
'I shall think myself blessed only when I see Him in every one of my daily acts;
Verily He is the thread, Which supports Muktanand's life.'
Raychandbhai's commercial transactions covered hundreds of
thousands. He was a connoisseur of pearls and diamonds. No knotty
business problem was too difficult for him. But all these things
were not the centre round which his life revolved. That centre was
the passion to see God face to face. Amongst the things on his
business table there were invariably to be found some religious book
and his diary. The moment he finished his business he opened the
religious book or the diary. Much of his published writings is a
reproduction from this diary. The man who, immediately on finishing
his talk about weighty business transaction, began to write about
the hidden things of the spirit could evidently not be a businessman
at all, but a real seeker after Truth. And I saw him thus absorbed
in godly pursuits in the midst of business, not once or twice, but
very often. I never saw him lose his state of equipoise. There was
no business or other selfish tie that bound him to me, and yet I
enjoyed the closest association with him. I was but a briefless
barrister then, and yet whenever I saw him he would engage me in
conversation of a seriously religious nature. Though I was then
groping and could not be said to have any serious interest in
religious discussion, still I found his talk of absorbing interest.
I have since met many a religious leader or teacher. I have tried to
meet the heads of various faiths, and I must say that no one else
has ever made on me the impression that Raychandbhai did. His words
went straight home to me. His intellect compelled as great a regard
from me as his moral earnestness, and deep down in me was the
conviction that he would never willingly lead me astray and would
always confide to me his innermost thoughts. In my moments of
spiritual crisis, therefore, he was my refuge.
And yet, in spite of this regard for him I could not enthrone him in my heart
as my Guru. The throne has remained vacant and my search still
I believe in the Hindu theory of Guru and his importance in spiritual
realization. I think there is a great deal of truth in the doctrine
that true knowledge is impossible without a Guru. An imperfect
teacher may be tolerable in mundane matters, but not in spiritual
matters. Only a perfect gnani1 deserves
to be enthroned as Guru. There must, therefore, be ceaseless
striving after perfection. For one gets the Guru that one deserves.
Infinite striving after perfection is one's right. It is its own
reward. The rest is in the hands of God.
Thus, though I could not place Raychandbhai on the throne of my heart as
Guru, we shall see he was, on many occasions, my guide and helper.
Three moderns have left a deep impress on my life, and captivated
me: Raychandbhai by his living contact; Tolstoy by his book, The
Kingdom of God is Within You; and Ruskin by his Unto this Last.
But of these more in their proper place.