1902

1901	1902	1903

(Sri Aurobindo letter to his uncle:) “My health has not been very good recently; that is to say, although I have no recognised doctor’s illness, I have developed a new disease of my own, or rather a variation of Madhavrao’s special brand of nervous debility. I shall patent mine as A.G’s private and particular. Its chief symptom is a ghastly inability to do any serious work; two hours’ work induces a feverish exhaustion and a burning sensation all over the body as well as a pain in the back. I am then useless for the rest of the day. So for some time past I have had to break up the little work I have done into half an hour here, half an hour there and half an hour nowhere. The funny thing is that I keep up a very decent appetite and am equal to any amount of physical exercise that may be demanded of me. In fact if I take care to do nothing but kasrat and croquet and walking and rushing about, I keep in a grand state of health, — but an hour’s work turns me again into an invalid. This is an extremely awkward state of things and if you know any homoeopathic drug which will remove it, I will shut my eyes and swallow it.
         Of course under such circumstances I find it difficult to write letters. I do not know how many letters to Sarojini & my wife I have begun, written two lines and left. The other day, however, there was a promising sign. I began to write a letter to you and actually managed to finish one side and a half. This has encouraged me to try again and I do believe I shall finish this letter today — the second day of writing. The improvement, which is part of a general abatement of my symptoms, I attribute to a fortnight’s determined and cynical laziness. During this time I have been to Ahmedabad with our cricket eleven and watched them get a jolly good beating; which happy result we celebrated by a gorgeous dinner at the refreshment room. I believe the waiters must have thought us a party of famine-stricken labourers, dressed up in stolen clothes, perhaps the spoils of massacred famine officers. There were six of us and they brought us a dozen plentiful courses; we ate them all and asked for more. As for the bread we consumed — well, they brought us at first a huge toast-rack with about 20 large pieces of toast. After three minutes there was nothing left except the rack itself; they repeated the allowance with a similar result. Then they gave up the toast as a bad job, and brought in two great plates each with a mountain of bread on it as large as Nandanpahad. After a short while we were howling for more. This time there was a wild-eyed consultation of waiters and after some minutes they reappeared with large trays of bread carried in both hands. This time they conquered. They do charge high prices at the refreshment rooms but I don’t think they got much profit out of us that time. Since then I have been once on a picnic to Ajwa with the District Magistrate and Collector of Baroda, the second Judge of the High Court and a still more important and solemn personage whom you may have met under the name of Mr. Anandrao Jadhav. A second picnic was afterwards organized in which some dozen rowdies, not to say Hooligans, of our club — the worst among them, I regret to say, was the father of a large family and a trusted officer of H.H. the Maharajah Gaekwar, — went down to Ajwa and behaved in such a manner that it is a wonder we were not arrested and locked up. On the way my horse broke down and so four of us had to get down and walk three miles in the heat. At the first village we met a cart coming back from Ajwa and in spite of the carters’ protests seized it, turned the bullocks round and started them back — of course with ourselves in the cart. The bullocks at first thought they were going to do the journey at their usual comfortable two miles an hour, but we convinced them of their error with the ends of our umbrellas and they ran. I don’t believe bullocks have ever run so fast since the world began. The way the cart jolted, was a wonder; I know the internal arrangements of my stomach were turned upside down at least 300 times a minute. When we got to Ajwa we had to wait an hour for dinner; as a result I was again able to eat ten times my usual allowance. As for the behaviour of those trusted pillars of the Baroda Raj at Ajwa, a veil had better be drawn over it; I believe I was the only quiet and decent person in the company.”

(Peter Heehs, The Bomb in Bengal:) “One morning late in 1902, apparently a short time after Nivedita left Baroda, a travel-weary youth knocked at the door of Khaserao Jadhav's house. The servant who answered was not sure whether the caller should be admitted. Dressed in dirty clothes and carrying a torn canvas bag, he insisted he was the brother of Ghose Saheb! Ushering him somewhat dubiously into the parlour, the servant went upstairs to inquire. In a moment a surprised Aurobindo came down. Seeing that it was indeed his younger brother Barin he cried out, “You here? And in such a state! Go immediately to the bathroom and change.” After a shower Barin put on a clean shirt and dhoti borrowed from his brother. He was now ready to meet the master of the house, the witty tormentor Khaserao. Also present at the breakfast table was Khaserao's brother Madhavrao, with whom Barin struck up an immediate friendship. Before long the Jadhav brothers had drawn out the young man's story, and along the way learned more about their reticent house guest Aurobindo.”

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