Biography - Mahatma Gandhi - Autobiography.pdf

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M
M. K. Gandhi
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OR
The story of my experiments with truth
TRANSLATED FROM THE GUJARATI
BY MAHADEV DESAI
GANDHI BOOK CENTRE
Bombay Sarvodaya Mandal
299, Tardeo Raod, Nana Chowk
Bombay - 7 INDIA 3872061
email: info @ mkgandhi-sarvodaya.org
www: mkgandhi-sarvodaya.org
NAVAJIVAN PUBLISHING HOUSE
AHMEDABAD-380014
Chapter 1
BIRTH AND PARENTAGE
T he Gandhis belong to the Bania caste and seem to have been originally grocers. But for three
generations, from my grandfather, they have been Prime Ministers in several Kathiawad States.
Uttamchand Gandhi, alias Ota Gandhi, my grandfather, must have been a man of principle. State
intrigues compelled him to leave Porbandar, where he was Diwan, and to seek refuge in
Junagadh. There he saluted the Nawab with the left hand. Someone, noticing the apparent
discourtesy, asked for an explanation, which was given thus: 'The right hand is already pledged
to Porbandar.'
Ota Gandhi married a second time, having lost his first wife. He had four sons by his first wife and
two by his second wife. I do not think that in my childhood I ever felt or knew that these sons of
Ota Gandhi were not all of the same mother. The fifth of these six brothers was Karamchand
Gandhi, alias Kaba Gandhi, and the sixth was Tulsidas Gandhi. Both these brothers were Prime
Ministers in Porbandar, one after the other. Kaba Gandhi was my father. He was a member of the
Rajasthanik Court. It is now extinct, but in those days it was a very influential body for settling
disputes between the chiefs and their fellow clansmen. He was for some time Prime Minister in
Rajkot and then in Vankaner. He was a pensioner of the Rajkot State when he died.
Kaba Gandhi married four times in succession, having lost his wife each time by death. He had
two daughters by his first and second marriages. His last wife, Putlibai, bore him a daughter and
three sons, I being the youngest.
My father was a lover of his clan, truthful, brave and generous, but short-tempered. To a certain
extent he might have been given to carnal pleasures. For he married for the fourth time when he
was over forty. But he was incorruptible and had earned a name for strict impartiality in his family
as well as outside. His loyalty to the state was well known. An Assistant Political Agent spoke
insultingly of the Rajkot Thakore Saheb, his chief, and he stood up to the insult. The Agent was
angry and asked Kaba Gandhi to apologize. This he refused to do and was therefore kept under
detention for a few hours. But when the Agent saw that Kaba Gandhi was adamant, he ordered
him to be released.
My father never had any ambition to accumulate riches and left us very little property.
He had no education, save that of experience. At best, he might be said to have read up to the
fifth Gujarati standard. Of history and geography he was innocent. But his rich experience of
practical affairs stood him in good stead in the solution of the most intricate questions and in
managing hundreds of men. Of religious training he had very little, but he had that kind of
religious culture which frequent visits to temples and listening to religious discourses make
available to many Hindus. In his last days he began reading the Gita at the instance of a learned
Brahman friend of the family, and he used to repeat aloud some verses every day at the time of
worship.
The outstanding impression my mother has left on my memory is that of saintliness. She was
deeply religious. She would not think of taking her meals without her daily prayers. Going to
Haveli -the Vaishnava temple-was one of her daily duties. As far as my memory can go back, I do
not remember her having ever missed the Chaturmas . She would take the hardest vows and
keep them without flinching. Illness was no excuse for relaxing them. I can recall her once falling
ill when she was observing the Chandrayana vow, but the illness was not allowed to interrupt the
observance. To keep two or three consecutive fasts was nothing to her. Living on one meal a day
during Chaturmas was a habit with her. Not content with that she fasted every alternate day
during one Chaturmas . During another Chaturmas she vowed not to have food without seeing
the sun. We children on those days would stand, staring at the sky, waiting to announce the
appearance of the sun to our mother. Everyone knows that at the height of the rainy season the
sun often does not condescend to show his face. And I remember days when, at his sudden
appearance, we would rush and announce it to her, She would run out to se with her own eyes,
but by that time the fugitive sun would be gone, thus depriving her of her meal. "That does not
matter," she would say cheerfully, "God did not want me to eat today." And then she would return
to her round of duties.
My mother had strong commonsense. She was well informed about all matters of state, and
ladies of the court thought highly of her intelligence. Often I would accompany her, exercising the
privilege of childhood, and I still remember many lively discussions she had with the widowed
mother of the Thakore Saheb.
Of these parents I was born at Porbandar, otherwise known as Sudamapuri, on the 2nd October,
1869, I passed my childhood in Porbandar. I recollect having been put to school. It was with some
difficulty that I got through the multiplication tables. The fact that I recollect nothing more of those
days than having learnt, in company with other boys, to call our teacher all kinds of names, would
strongly suggest that my intellect must have been sluggish, and my memory raw.
Chapter 2
CHILDHOOD
I must have been about seven when my father left Porbandar for Rajkot to become a member of
the Rajasthanik Court. There I was put into a primary school, and I can well recollect those days,
including the names and other particulars of the teachers who taught me. As at Porbandar, so
here, there is hardly anything to note about my studies. I could only have been a mediocre
student. From this school I went to the suburban school and thence to the high school, having
already reached my twelfth year. I do not remember having ever told a lie, during this short
period, either to my teachers or to my school-mates, I used to be very shy and avoided all
company. My books and my lessons were my sole companions. To be at school at the stroke of
the hour and to run back home as soon as the school closed-that was my daily habit. I literally ran
back, because I could not bear to talk to anybody. I was even afraid lest anyone should poke fun
at me.
There is an incident which occurred at the examination during my first year at the high school and
which is worth recording. Mr Giles, the educational Inspector, had come on a visit of inspection.
He had set us five words to write as a spelling exercise. One of the words was 'Kettle'. I had mis-
spelt it. The teacher tried to prompt me with the point of his boot, but I would not be prompted. It
was beyond me to see that he wanted me to copy the spelling from my neighbour's slate, for I
had thought that the teacher was there to supervise us against copying. The result was that all
the boys, except myself, were found to have spelt every word correctly. Only I had been stupid.
The teacher tried later to bring this stupidity home to me. but without effect. I never could learn
the art of 'copying'.
Yet the incident did not in the least diminish my respect for my teacher. I was by nature, blind to
the faults of elders. Later I came to know of many other failings of this teacher, but my regard for
him remained the same. For I had learnt to carry out the orders of elders, not to scan their
actions.
Two other incidents belonging to the same period have always clung to my memory. As a rule I
had a distaste for any reading beyond my school books. The daily lessons had to be done,
because I disliked being taken to task by my teacher as much as I disliked deceiving him.
Therefore I would do the lessons, but often without my mind in them. Thus when even the
lessons could not be done properly, there was of course no question of any extra reading. But
somehow my eyes fell on a book purchased by my father. It was Shravana Pitribhakti Nataka (a
play about Sharavana's devotion to his parents). I read it with intense interest. There came to our
place about the same time itinerant showmen. One of the pictures I was shown was of Shravana
carrying, by means of slings fitted for his shoulders, his blind parents on a pilgrimage. The book
and the picture left an indelible impression on my mind. 'Here is an example for you to copy,' I
said to myself. The agonized lament of the parents over Shravana's death is still fresh in my
memory. The melting tune moved me deeply, and I played it on a concertina which my father had
purchased for me.
There was a similar incident connected with another play. Just about this time, I had secured my
father's permission to see a play performed by a certain dramatic company. This play-
Harishchandra - captured my heart. I could never be tired of seeing it. But how often should I be
permitted to go? It haunted me and I must have acted Harishchandra to myself times without
number. 'Why should not all be truthful like Harishchandra?' was the question I asked myself day
and night. To follow truth and to go through all the ordeals Harishchandra went through was the
one ideal it inspired in me. I literally believed in the story of Harishchandra. The thought of it all
often made me weep. My commonsense tells me today that Harishchandra could not have been
a historical character. Still both Harishchandra and Shravana are living realities for me, and I am
sure I should be moved as before if I were to read those plays again today.
Chapter 3
CHILD MARRIAGE
M uch as I wish that I had not to write this chapter, I know that I shall have to swallow many
such bitter draughts in the course of this narrative. And I cannot do otherwise, if I claim to be a
worshipper of Truth. It is my painful duty to have to record here my marriage at the age of
thirteen. As I see the youngsters of the same age about me who are under my care, and think of
my own marriage, I am inclined to pity myself and to congratulate them on having escaped my lot.
I can see no moral argument in support of such a preposterously early marriage.
Let the reader make no mistake. I was married, not betrothed. For in Kathiawad there are two
distinct rites, betrothal and marriage. Betrothal is a preliminary promise on the part of the parents
of the boy and the girl to join them in marriage, and it is not inviolable. The death of the boy
entails no widowhood on the girl. It is an agreement purely between the parents, and the children
have no concern with it. Often they are not even informed of it. It appears that I was betrothed
thrice, though without my knowledge. I was told that two girls chosen for me had died in turn, and
therefore I infer that I was betrothed three times. I have a faint recollection, however, that the third
betrothal took place in my seventh year. But I do not recollect having been informed about it. In
the present chapter I am talking about my marriage, of which I have the clearest recollection.
It will be remembered that we were three brothers. The first was already married. The elders
decided to marry my second brother, who was two or three years my senior,a cousin, possibly a
year older, and me, all at the same time. In doing so there was no thought of our welfare, much
less our wishes. It was purely a question of their own convenience and economy.
Marriage among Hindus is no simple matter. The parents of the bride and the bridegroom often
bring themselves to ruin over it. They waste their substance, they waste their time. Months are
taken up over the preparations in making clothes and ornaments and in preparing budgets for
dinners. Each tries to outdo the other in the number and variety of courses to be prepared.
Women, whether they have a voice or no, sing themselves hoarse, even get ill, and disturb the
peace of their neighbours. these in their turn quietly put up with all the turmoil and bustle all the
dirt and filth, representing the remains of the feasts, because they know that a time will come
when they also will be behaving in the same manner.
It would be better, thought my elders, to have all this bother over at one and the same time. Less
expense and greater eclat . For money could be freely spent if it had only to be spent once instead
of thrice. My father and my uncle were both old, and we were the last children they had to marry.
it is likely that they wanted to have the last best time of their lives. In view of all these
considerations, a triple wedding was decided upon, and as I have said before, months were taken
up in preparation for it.
It was only through these preparations that we got warning of the coming event. I do not think it
meant to me anything more than the prospect of good clothes to wear, drum beating, marriage
processions, rich dinners and a strange girl to play with. The carnal desire came later. I propose
to draw the curtain over my shame, except for a few details worth recording. To these I shall
come later. But even they have little to do with the central idea I have kept before me in writing
this story.
So my brother and I were both taken to Porbandar from Rajkot. There are some amusing details
of the preliminaries to the final drama e.g. smearing our bodies all over with turmeric paste but I
must omit them.
My father was a Diwan, but nevertheless a servant, and all the more so because he was in favour
with the Thakore Saheb. The latter would not let him go until the last moment. And when he did
so, he ordered for my father special stage coaches, reducing the journey by two days. But the
fates had willed otherwise. Porbandar is 120 miles from Rajkot, a cart journey of five days. My
father did the distance in three, but the coach toppled over in the third stage, and he sustained
severe injuries. He arrived bandaged all over. Both his and our interest in the coming event was
half destroyed, but the ceremony had to be gone through. For how could the marriage dates be
changed? However, I forgot my grief over my father's injuries in the childish amusement of the
wedding.
I was devoted to my parents. but no less was I devoted to the passions that flesh is heir to. I had
yet to learn that all happiness and pleasure should be sacrificed in devoted service to my parents.
And yet, as though by way of punishment for my desire for pleasures, an incident happened,
which has ever since rankled in my mind and which I will relate later. Nishkulanand sings:
'Renunciation of objects, without the renunciation of desires, is short-lived, however hard you may
try.' Whenever I sing this song or hear it sung, this bitter untoward incident, rushes to my memory
and fills me with shame.
My father put on a brave face in spite of his injuries, and took full part in the wedding. As I think of
it, I can even today call before my mind's eye the places where he sat as he went through the
different details of the ceremony. Little did I dream then that one day I should severely criticize my
father for having married me as a child. Everything on that day seemed to me own right and
proper and pleasing. There was also my own eagerness to get married. And as everything that
my father did then struck me as beyond reproach, the recollection of those things is fresh in my

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