Once upon a Mahatma
HE’S been called the Mahatma, or the great soul.
He’s the man who taught the world to fight winning battles with non-violence, a
weapon that proved stronger than all the arms that had clashed in wars down the
centuries. He inspired Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and others who fought
for people’s rights.
Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi,
whom the world came to regard as a special person, was born on October 2 in the
old sea port of Porbandar
on the coast of Gujarat. His admirers showered
him with praise because he changed our world in many basic ways.
But even the Mahatma was a
little boy once, a lad whom his family nicknamed Moniya.
Around their small,
white-washed house, he wasn’t much trouble to his parents ~ Karamchand Gandhi
and Putlibai ~ because he rarely stayed at home. Except for mealtimes, Moniya
spent all his free hours playing outdoors. Does that sound like you?
But what he was he like, this
boy named Moniya? Was he as naughty as you are? Let’s find out.
Moniya was the youngest of
six children, and everyone’s pet. He was extremely fond of his mother. She was
a warm-hearted and wise woman, who visited the temple daily.
Moniya was close to his
father, referred to as Kaba Gandhi by many, but was terrified of his bad
temper. Kaba’s father, Uttamchand Gandhi, rose from a humble merchant family to
eventually become the Dewan of Porbandar.
The Gandhi family had lived
in Porbandar for generations, where people admired both Kaba and Uttamchand for
their strong character.
In appearance, Moniya was
small, dark and a trifle shy, like millions of children all over India. But even
during his growing years, he had ideas of his own.
Perhaps Moniya inherited some
traits from his family. But while he played with his siblings and friends, he
hated it when others teased him or pulled his big ears, even in jest. He’d run
home at once and complain to Putlibai.
When she asked why he
couldn’t defend himself, he replied, “Mother, do you want to teach me to hit
others? Why should I hit my brother or anyone else?”
His father left Porbandar to
become the Dewan of Rajkot when Moniya was just seven. He didn’t take to his
new home easily. He missed the smells, the sights and sounds of the sea, and
the harbour filled with ships.
Besides, Moniya was sent to a
primary school at Rajkot.
Born shy, he took a while to get used to a class filled with new faces. On most days, he’d get to school in time, sit
through the lessons, and run back home as soon as classes were over.
At school, where boys were
crammed into windowless classrooms and made to learn lessons they hardly
understood by rote, the threat of the rod always hung over their heads. And
Moniya hated nothing so much as the rod lashing out at him.
He hated to be scolded,
especially when he felt he’d done nothing to deserve it. As an adult, he wrote,
“I did not so much mind the punishment as the fact that it was considered my
desert.”
Moniya believed in justice
for all even then, and often told the truth, no matter how high the price he
paid for it. Though he respected his teachers, he didn’t always listen to them.
Is that the way you feel, too?
Once, during the visit of a
school inspector, he turned a deaf ear when his teacher whispered that he
should copy the correct spelling of an English word from a student by his side.
Of course, Moniya was scolded for this later, but he recalls, “I never could
learn the art of copying.”
Moniya didn’t enjoy learning
by rote, and did badly at Sanskrit as a result. Guess what his favourite
subject was? Geometry. Because it allowed him to use his powers of reasoning.
He considered himself an
average student and was surprised to find he was being awarded both prizes and
scholarships.
Didn’t he have a close
friend, just like you do?
He made friends with Uka, a
sweeper-boy of the ‘untouchable’ caste, whom he often played with. Given plenty
of sweets one day, Moniya ran to Uka to share their delights.
But Uka shied away, saying,
“Stay away from me, little master.”
“But why?” asked Moniya,
puzzled. “Why can’t I come near you?”
“Because I’m an untouchable,”
Uka explained.
In response, Moniya filled
Uka’s hands with sweets.
Watching the scene from a
window, Moniya’s angry mother summoned him home at once. She tried to explain
to him that a high-caste Hindu was forbidden to mingle with an ‘untouchable.’
But he disagreed with her and argued that he saw nothing wrong in their
friendship, until she sent him away to have a bath and say his prayers.
Two stories from Indian lore
left an impression on young Moniya. He resolved to be like Shravana, who was so
devoted to his parents that he carried them ~ both old and blind ~ on baskets
slung on a yoke. And the tale of Raja Harishchandra, renowned for his love of
truth, made Moniya vow to be like him.
When Moniya was just 13 ~ at
an age when all of you are busy playing cricket, Scrabble or Monopoly ~ he
was told that a marriage had been arranged for him. The pretty, lively Kasturbai lived in
Porbandar, and was about as old as Moniya.
After week-long wedding
festivities, Kasturbai and Moniya returned to Rajkot. Often, they played together. He tried
to teach her all he had learned, but didn’t quite succeed. She didn’t like
books, but preferred housework instead.
But Moniya loved books. He
spent every free moment deep in the world of words.
One day, when Karamchand
Gandhi was ill in bed, Moniya stole a piece of gold because his brother was in
debt. But his nagging conscience told him he’d done wrong. He scribbed a
confession on a sheet of paper, which he placed in his father’s hand. To his
relief, Karamchand tore up the paper and lay back in bed. That made Moniya cry.
He loved his father even more
from that day on. He’d rush home from school each day to sit by his father’s
bedside. Yet Karamchand grew weaker by the day, and died when Moniya was just
16.
Moniya, or the boy who grew
up to be Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, was very much like you, wasn’t he?
Perhaps you’ll grow up to
chase a dream, or shape our world anew, or bring hope and joy to millions, as
he did. That shouldn’t seem impossible because, to begin with, Bapu was just a
child like you.
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