Song of India - IV - Sevagram, Gandhi Ashram

I got off at Wardha, a small station in the middle of nowhere in the endless flat land. Nothing distinguished it from all the other stations along the way where we had stopped. Could it have been from here, in this isolated spot Gandhi had influenced all of India…it was certainly not like our big man who migrate to the cities. It looked like nothing and nothing gave me a feeling of the great man. But surely there would be a great celebration to honor the beloved father of India who had so recently brought her her freedom. Yet there was no bustle at the station and I was the only traveler.

Except for a bus or so daily the only way to get to Sevagram two miles away was by horse-drawn tonga. I would have walked but for my suitcase. The station master called a boy to show me the way. He shook by hand warmly and there was a catch in his voice as he bid me a good journey. “You have come so far,” he said. I was moved by his warmth but wondered if it were such a rarity for someone to come. But this was Gandhi’s place; surely there were lots of pilgrims. I wondered as we rolled along.

As the tonga rolled over the rather barren countryside it was hard to believe Gandhi had influenced the course of history from this isolated spot. But it was thrilling to be so close to the great man. Yes, the tonga man had seen Gandhi I finally gathered from the few words we had in common. It was strange to be with a man who had seen Gandhi. But what influence had he made? The tonga was gaily colored but as usual had a tattered driver and sagging horse. It was heartbreaking. Nothing is so saddening as gaudily painted misery. The horse was [probably starved, and who knows how hard it worked for the bit of straw it got, or if it stood idle and hopeless by the tracks with the other carts. And the man too – the same dark, holey cloth of servants and drivers everywhere. Probably he fared no better. I would have felt sorry for him but he beat the horse to make it keep up a constant trot on the pavement. I tried to make him understand that I would be happy to have the horse walk, so I could see the scenery, etc. but he didn’t understand very well….Still, why did he have to beat the horse? This was Gandhi land, ahimsa, non-violence. But evidently it had not influenced this man.

After a while we came to along wooden fence and an unpretentious group of grey mud houses. It was Sevagram. A man came out to greet us. He was in charge and took my suitcase. They had received my card and expected me. I was the only visitor and tomorrow was Gandhi’s birthday!

He took me to the guest house. It had a long cement porch running along the front with some wooden benches and an Indian stool along the wall. The entire house and floor were made of mud, and the ceiling was twelve or fourteen feet high with vents at the top. Inside was a bed made of slats laid across a wooden frame about two feet off the ground. It was covered with a grey woven rug-like mat. Later they brought blankets and mosquito netting. There was also a wall cupboard with two shelves for storing clothes.

Inside the room were also several tall locked cabinets used for storage. I was shocked at seeing the locks on the cabinets. This was my first impression of Sevagram, that something seemed wrong and strange. Surely at Gandhi’s place they wouldn’t lock things up. I kept looking at them and they seemed out of place. Surely Gandhi with his sandals and bowl would not lock things up, he who cared so little for possessions or even personal safety.

There was another room connecting to the first. A door in back opened to a small stone covered floor for bathing. A water tap came thru the wall in back. The floor was smooth and cool. There was large unglazed orange pot in the corner, sitting in a pile of pottery chips to keep it upright.

Soon a tea tray came, with a fat pot of tea, and cream and sugar besides. Evidently there were servants too. I sat on the porch in front of my room drinking tea and mused at what kind of place this was. Just across the way over the grass was Gandhi’s house, a mud house inside a rail fence. Later you can see it, he had said.

Gradually it became dusk. Kamla came to take me to the evening prayers. We walked over to Gandhi’s house. Next to it was a large, open rectangular area covered with white gravel and enclosed by a rail fence. It was the worship area. We slipped off our sandals and entered. Two long mats were unrolled on the gravel. On one side sat a long row of women silently spinning, each with a small wooden wheel. Then gradually the men began coming, each carrying a spinning case and slipping one by one onto the long mat on the other side. I sat down by one of the woman and watched her. Spinning is difficult for a beginner for the thread is coarse and uneven and often breaks. But they were good spinners and there was a steady squeaking hum, the rhythmic, raspy voice of the wheels breathing in and out. The sound of the wheels and the rhythmic movement of her arm in and out gradually wove a kind of hypnotic spell.

Then the forty boys from the Basic Education School came and spread long mats in the middle. Each had their wheel. Even the smallest, only six or so, did his daily half hour of spinning. In front was an empty backboard leaning against a post. It was for Ghandi. Gradually it became dark and all that could be heard was the sound of the wheels.

Then they began chanting the ancient prayers. They were led by an older man in front with a young boy on either side. They had the tiny prayer cymbals that kept time with the rhythm. Prayers and songs were sung from every faith. It was enchanting and I was carried far, far back in time. From what dim past, centuries ago came this stream of voices in unbroken prayer? As it ceased I regretfully came back to the present and we returned home.

It was Kamla who told me about the changes in the ashram. She spoke sadly. No, there had not used to be any locks or servants. Until three years ago the ashram followed the old ways – everyone lived, worked, cooked and at together, even the untouchables. The members did all the work, even cleaning the outhouses. All this was according to Gandhi’s plan.

But two years ago they had chosen a new director with new ways, and there had been many changes. Electricity had been installed. There were lights in some of the buildings and electric pumps for the wells. He had changed many things.

Before there were 500 in the ashram but now only 200 remained. They had not liked the new ways and had moved in protest. Now there were locks and servants and the families cooked and ate separately. We peered into the deserted kitchen and dining room, and the deserted looms gathering dust. It seemed sad. Now there was little group spirit. It was not in accordance with Gandhi’s ideals, she said.

Kamla had a little kitchen and a bamboo-enclosed verandah. She did all her own cooking and work. Before, she had had a big house in Calcutta and many servants. She said she liked the simple life. Before she had stayed in the house all day long, and if she went anywhere had taken a car. Now instead of staying in the house she got out in the sunshine, and if she wanted to go somewhere she walked. She said it was healthful and that she felt much better now. So here was a woman who had chosen the simple life instead of luxury. It seemed t fit her nature. She spoke softly and was very gentle.

After dinner I sat on the porch again in the dark, watching the rain. The guest house had electricity but the other houses used kerosene lanterns. As I was sitting there a flashlight appeared, and then a man in raincoat and rubbers. He greeted me and then sat down on the bench. “I heard you had come,” he said. He was about sixty with a tall, good build, but still there were hollows around the bones here and there.

He told me he had lived here for some time in retirement, that formerly he had served ten years as a high government official. He said that many of the people living here were retired, and that they wanted to get away from government life. I asked him what kind of place the ashram was. “You will see what kind of people we are,” he replied. He also was disappointed that the ashram was not as it was formerly. It was mostly a collection of people in retirement, he told me. He seemed rather dispirited by the state of affairs.

Then I asked him about Gandhi. I couldn’t have been more surprised by his answer. He said that Gandhi was not the greatest man in India, that there were many men far greater than he. What a surprise, and from one of the people here, too! For Westerners consider Gandhi one of the greatest men in the world. Who were these other people? For example Aurobindo was greater than Gandhi, he said. Aurobindo? I had never heard of him. A great saint, he said, and intellectual too. He was now dead. He would give me something to read by him. “He was ten times greater than Gandhi,” he said. This was indeed a shock, that there were unknown men even far greater than Gandhi. India had many saints, he said, that were far greater. India indeed must be a land of great men.

We talked for some time and he told me something of the different saints. He invited me to come to dinner and then said goodbye. He left me to ponder the many strange things I had heard that day. What kind of a place was this ashram, and who were these other great saints?

The next day was Gandhi’s birthday. The school boys were to carry out the Indian tradition of rising early and singing on the way to his home to pay homage.

Early in the morning a tiny bell rang, and life began stirring in that early cool darkness. I looked out the window and saw that lamps lit in the boys’ school. I got ready to join them. At five the bell rang again and a shadowy line began to form outside. I hurried outside. The boys stood in twos in a long line. I stood at the end.

A tiny lantern in front swayed gently and procession began. It was hard to believe I was really witnessing a medieval procession of fantastic beauty in that early darkness. We walked barefoot through the pastures and villages, singing, and the villagers fell in the procession too. The clear young voices sang over and over as we walked.

I walked at the end by an old man who told me that they were appealing for a classless society, for rich and poor to unite, and all kinds of poverty vanish in a new India. The passionate plea of that barefoot song rose from the mud and dung to heaven with its divine cry. Like dry ice, fire, to burn into each soul and march over the centuries till man at last is free. I found later that old man I had been walking with was Gandhi’s son.

Finally we returned to Gandhi’s house in the ashram. It had been decorated with yellow and white flower blossoms in designs on the porch floor. We stood in front of the house during a short service. The radio said many people came during the day but less than a hundred made the journey.

The next day Kamla introduced me to some of the families living at the ashram. She also showed me the grounds, the well with the pump and the extensive gardens cultivated by the young boys in the school. We walked thru the garden path to the first home. Here lived an artist, who was also director of the art museum there, and his wife and family. The wife and children were home and greeted us. We sat on the porch with refreshments and talked. It turned out that they were also familiar with many people at Tagore’s school, Santiniketan, where I would be going later.

We also met a young family, a young man and his wife. He had been to Japan to study agriculture and bring the methods back to this country. Their home had color and decoration, which was unusual. I remember the wife told me how the barber came to cut the fingernails with a razor. She said she would be afraid of scissors or a file. While we were there one of the leaders called. He was visiting the ashram for a few days. They stopped and touched his feet. He had been Tagore’s secretary for many years and had also worked closely with Gandhi. We sat on the porch and talked. All the people who we met were highly cultured yet lived very simply.

I found out that the vegetables I had been eating came from the gardens of these people. Vegetables were scarce and each day they had taken turns contributing to my diet. I was rather ashamed that I had been eating the choice greens, all unawares. As frequently happens in India, the vegetarians had no vegetables either. They ate cereal, rice, dahl, and some fruits from the garden.

We also visited the basic education school. It was one of the few institutions that was still operating. It was for young boys about six to twelve. They came from the neighboring villages and lived here. Their living quarters were extremely simple with only a stand and bed for each boy in a big wooden dorm. They rose early each day, attended prayer, ate, and then had classes. They sat on the floor in the school house with low bench-like tables in front of them. They learned Hindi, Sandkri and English as well as their native language. In the afternoon they spun and wove and worked in the garden. Agriculture was an important subject and they grew rice and cotton and mangoes and bananas in the garden nearby.

One night one of the boys in the basic education school broke his arm, and his friends took him down the road to the Kasurbai hospital. Kasturbai was Gandhi’s wife. Kamla and I went too, lighting our lantern and making our way along the road in the darkness.

The hospital was a one-story concrete building with several small wings. Everything was quite casual – we merely walked in and looked for him. The rooms were large, with fifteen or twenty beds amply spaced around the wall – metal beds without mosquito netting, which seemed surprising for a hospital. They had a special medical plan here where for 1.75 rupees a year a man could have hospital care, doctor, bed and food. I was amazed at the low cost which couldn’t begin to cover it, but “these are poor men” she said.

Finally we found him in the men’s ward on a little cot by the door as all the other beds had been taken. He was surrounded by solicitous friends stroking his head. Love must have conquered his pain for his face was quite beautiful. Such a scene was just the opposite of the cold, antiseptic, inhuman institutions that our hospitals have become at home. Here you could walk in and see your friend, wife, or son, and the droning voices spoke warmth and life, not lonely sickness and death. It made you feel better, sickness and love hand in hand. It was human and warm. We think medicine is all pills in America. We forget the healing of water and sun and hope and smiles and loving care, in the intangibles that mean so much.

He didn’t want to sleep alone so one of his friends ran back to the dorm for a blanket and slept of the floor beside him that night. I liked the informal warmth of that little hospital so much after the prison-like institutions in America where a visitor is regarded as a menace to the antiseptic atmosphere.

And Kamla – as soft and tender with him in his pain as in the garden paths. Her face registered no tension. It was as if she had been completely purged by pain – as if it had finished its work and could no longer touch here – as if it left only softness, as softness and complete calm that pain could not move. And this is the way with Indian women. Pain and suffering only make them the more beautiful, and they become soft instead of tense. The pain soaks thru them meeting no resistance, and instead of leaving a scar leaves an aura of sublimity about them. It seems to make her spiritual. After India it seemed to me that pain cannot hurt a woman but indeed makes her all the more beautiful, but the secret is non-resistance.

And what was the other side of the story of the ashram? I went to Patankar’s house, the new director. IT was one of the few homes I saw that had any sort of decoration. People said that they had taste and had done something with what was there. There were flowers and a colorful throw rug on the porch. Inside were two simple sofas, just long boards with a colorful cloth over them. There were also a couple of stools and a table. There was a long low window in the center of the wall and curtains hanging there. There was also a lamp hand-made from colored paper, and various decorations on the wall. The use of the color itself was unusual. Tho a little money was involved it was mainly a change of attitude and imagination.

The innovator of these changes was a willowy, charming young lady with an infectious, clear laugh. There was none of the ordinary Indian sadness about her, and her laugh, fresh and clear, itself seemed like something new in India. She was charming and graceful and herself a decoration to the home, as the woman usually are. She had been to Japan a few years before. Perhaps she had picked up her ideas of color and decoration there. It was significant that the only two homes in the ashram that had decoration and color both had contact with Japan.

A house need not have furniture to be lovely, but there is a difference between planned emptiness and nothing at all. In Japan the house is full of spare and uncluttered, with only a low table and cushions, but the details of wood and style are everywhere. The walls have design and the floors are covered with woven mats. There is also an alcove with picture and flowers. In India on the contrary, there is just barrenness, and no kind of planning or design.

The people would say it is because they are poor, and it is difficult to imagine how there is nothing, really nothing – not a board or waste rag in the house or the next house or in the surrounding desert. It is difficult to believe that there is really nothing. And so one is torn between sympathy and disbelief. When I arrived at the end of my sympathy I would often say, but in America there was nothing either, only plains and forest when we began. With great effort and work we turned the land into what it is today. It is true we had fertile land and forests tho. Yet I know if I lived in a village in India I too would have nothing, nor would I know how to make anything. I would be the same as they. We have inherited what we have, with each one doing only a small share to keep it so. Japan too is not a rich country, yet with the simplest twig of flower or piece of bamboo they make something lovely. Thus while one sympathizes, it is partly too a difference in attitude and outlook. Patankar told me his side of the story. He said that Sevagram must not be a museum, remaining in the past; it must be dynamic and leading. It must not cling to dead habits but carry on Gandhi’s spirit in to social problems which had not yet been solved, into the future. He said Sevagram was dead, that it was filled with malcontents, with people who were disgusted with society and wanted to be isolated from it, rather than lead and set the example. They were old people who wanted only to live out their lives in peace, having served well in the cause of freedom. It was not longer a community at all, but separate individuals or families. They were very interesting people but not a group. An ideal community would lead and set the example for the nation just as Gandhi had intended in the first place.

He said that India’s first burning need had been freedom. Now that freedom had been won her problem was economics, i.e. to have. Asia in general had two great needs, he said. The first was to have; the second equality of opportunity. Some people would follow communism, Nazism, anything, only to have. How poor were the people in the villages? Very poor. They had almost nothing. Often they earned only about eight annas or ten cents a day. What do they get? Rice, water, chilies. If there is no rice they eat grass and roots. They work outdoors and almost live on air and sun. It’s a living death.

Second, Asia needed equality of opportunity…even more, a balance in favor of the last man. This meant that the man lowest down would have the highest salary. Money was not the goal. I don’t care if they have more than I, he said. The aim is to help the man on the bottom.

Regarding India and communism he said the villages liked freedom, which was good for democracy. They are very independent too. For example you can’t get them to do just any kind of work, even for food. If they didn’t want to do that kind of work they just didn’t do it. He was doing research at the present time on what kind of work they would accept. He also said that India was not afraid of communism plus ahimsa, or non-violence. Communism plus freedom was alright.

About Gandhi he said that Gandhi’s main interest had been in influencing society. He had linked social experiments with the burning urge of everyone for freedom. Now that freedom was won it was in the past. The need now was for economic development, and the social experiments must continue into this realm.

He said that Sevagram would be following Gandhi’s ideals if it supported itself by its own labor and if it created a balance in favor of the last man. Sevagram was supposed to be an ideal village, setting the example for the country. But in the past during the search for freedom it had not supported itself, but had also been supported by contributions. He said the new electric pump was an effort in that direction. About spinning he said that now khadi or hand-spun was more expensive than machine made cloth the villagers couldn’t afford it. Now you must pay to wear it. Further it had become a virtue to wear it, representing ideals, etc., whereas before the mills everyone had worn it. He said that we must follow the spirit of social progress and not dead formality.

What was Gandhi’s plan for India? He believed that the same method that brought freedom could complete the social revolution and create a new India. He called his plan Sarvodaya.

Sarvodaya is Gandhi’s plan for an enlightened society, and the means by which anyone anywhere can begin it now; for it applies equally to the individual and any size social group from the family to all mankind. It is his own kind of socialism.

Its aim is the unity of man in a deep and lasting way. Gandhi notes that social unity is conspicuous by its absence. Instead there is division everywhere of nations, race, sex, religion – some people high and some low. If they are working together it is satisfactory, but if not it is fatal.

This division cannot be overcome by hatred or violence which only cause further division, and probably are responsible for the divisions in the first place. Rather it is a renunciation of hatred and force as a method of solving social problems. For example it is impossible that class struggle should ever bring about unity of the classes.

It is individual and social revolution united not with force but with no-violence. The means an end becomes identical and each step is a goal itself. Thus each partial result and the final result will be stable and lasting.

How shall this unity between us be achieved? It begins with revolution of the heart, purging it of hatred and acquiring a positive motivation or feeling of spiritual unity with all people. This kind of socialism which is true unity does not yet exist anywhere in the world today, he said.

Likewise there are few true socialists. By striving to reduce himself to the level of the poorest of the poor, Gandhi claimed to be one of the first communists. What do we have to fear from this kind of communist? Indeed Gandhi had no quarrel with communism plus non-violence, for it is the hatred and violence that are destructive. In fact if everyone were Gandhi-like no external laws or government would be necessary and the state would wither away naturally because it was not needed.

Since socialism begins with the first convert, everyone can begin with himself in the way that Gandhi did – first with revolution of the heart and then its practice in social situations in real life.

In fact this interest in real life is the real social revolution n India today. Three of the great modern leaders of India – Gandhi, Tag ore, Aurobindo – led the people away from being spiritual recluses, into action in the life around them.
Gandhi’s unique contribution is to practice these attitudes on a large-scale social basis, as in the successful freedom movement in India. He wished the Congress to continue working for the good of the country after freedom by withdrawing from politics and turning itself into a Lok Sevak Sangh of people’s volunteer service party. According to this plan Nehru would be a leader outside the government as Gandhi was, and with greater integrity win the trust of the people.

The next large-scale experiment will be economic reform. This can be accomplished by landlords voluntarily yielding land to the landless as is being done by Vincha in the Rhoodan or land grant movement in India today. It is a change of heart in this class of people so that they use their wealth and talent for acquiring it for and not against society. For in a Sarvodaya society everyone would consider that his property and talents, in whatever field, were given to him not to rise above others but for the good of all. IF this is not done voluntarily, non-violent techniques will be used.

These changes are difficult to imagine, but when people work together in groups it is easier for ordinary people to rise to higher levels, just as in war they may sacrifice their lives. So also they will rise to the cause of justice and freedom won by love. Gandhi points out that if the positive forces in the world were not stronger than the negative, we would not exist by now. Thus he staked his life on his faith in these forces.

Gandhi’s picture of the ideal society is not a “Pyramid with the apex sustained by the bottom,” but is oceanic, composed of “ever-widening, never-ascending circles”, with the individual at the center of a world society. Since he believed that industrialization necessarily meant that the few would rule lover the many (pyramid-like), he believed in the decentralization of both government and industry to insure the greatest possible freedom of the individual.

This plan could work among nations as well as individuals. For example Russia could consider herself a trustee of land areas too extensive for her own use, and by giving land for China could take the pressure off both China and India where there are border disputes, but India has no land to give. In such ways could mankind be turned from hatred to love, and true friendship and unity achieved.

On to V - South India