PREFACE

The 'light' that guided the Parsis of Karachi on the path of Prophet Zarathushtra was born in the city of Surat on the Amerdad Sal of 1875 - 27th September 1875. His name was Maneckji son of Nusserwanji Dhalla. In 1878 he came to Karachi. He lived and died here on 25th May 1956.

Maneckji Nusserwanji Dhalla has left behind a rich and precious legacy of wisdom and scholarship through his books on Zoroastrian theology, history, literature and life. We who have had the honour and privilege of knowing him and being guided by him have inherited this invaluable legacy. One of his most outstanding contributions is his own autobiography — Aek Atmakatha — first published in 1942 and revised after the demise of his beloved and esteemed wife, Cooverbai, to whom he dedicated this masterpiece as a gift on the occasion of the Diamond Jubilee of their marriage.

Those who are able to read the original work as written in Gujerati are truly fortunate. One of the aims of the Dastur Dr. Dhalla Memorial Institute, Karachi, is to keep alive the memory of this great, Asho Dastur-an-Dastur, Shams-ul-Ulema Dastur Dr. Maneckji Nusserwanji Dhalla, M.A., Ph.D., Litt.D., hence it has very wisely decided to have the story of this sage-savant translated into English. Not only the members of the community but the peoples of the world will know more about the personal life, ideals, aspirations, struggles, and achievements of a man who lived a life dedicated to the cause of understanding and spreading the message of Spitama Zarathushtra, the Prophet of Iran.

Within six hundred pages Dastur Dhalla relates not only the story of an individual but recounts the history of the Parsis of the 20th century.

(ix) Born in abject poverty, reared in squalid surroundings, tutored by a harsh pedagogue, confronted by an academic failure, faced by the necessity to earn a livelihood, this young Zoroastrian remained true to his ideals, undaunted by difficulties. Inspired and guided by men like his noble and industrious uncle, Hormusji, his patron and sponsor, Camaji, his wise and understanding instructor, Professor Jackson, and, last but not the least, his beloved wife Cooverbai, young Dhalla attained the highest honours and encomiums. Through scholarship, hard work, wise leadership, kindly sympathy, compassion and love for his fellowmen, Dr. Dhalla achieved what few Dasturs have been able to achieve in the 20th century.

We owe a debt of gratitude to many people who helped us in various ways. We are specially grateful to the members of the Dastur Dr. Dhalla Memorial Institute for entrusting this work to us. This has been an effort at a literal translation of the book in its entirety for we feel convinced that the Atmakatha has an eternal message for everyone in any part of the world.

Gool & Behram Sohrab H. J. Rustomji

Karachi, 25th May 1970

FOREWORD

In Persian this world has been called a caravanserai. Caravanserais are rest houses, where cavalcades of men and animals, on their long and tedious journey, relax awhile. Drawing an analogy from it, man's sojourn on earth is known as "a few days' resting place", Man's childhood is regarded as the dawn of his life, his youth as life's morning, his old-age as the evening of life. At present I am seventy-one years old, so I am in the evening of my life. As the length of day changes with the seasons, the evening of man's life lengthens or shortens depending upon his physique and his physical fitness. I cannot say whether the evening of my life will be long or short, but I know that twilight has set in. My life's dawn, morning, and noon have been traversed and I have reached the long night.

When I glance back at the panorama that has spread, I see a vast difference between conditions existing in the past and at present. The world is not as it used to be. Our community has not remained as it was at that time. The community's religious, mental, social, economic, and political ideals have altered.

Two thousand five hundred years ago, the Greek philosopher, Heraclites, said: "Being is nothing. Becoming is everything," Similarly static existence is nothing — it is nowhere. All around there is change and movement. All things are ever moving forward, rushing onward.

We are destined to live in the new age — the Modern Age. I was born in that New Age in India, the jewel of the Orient and have lived my life there. I have been a wayfarer in Iran, Iraq, China, and Japan in the Near and Far East. Thanks to the (xi) kindness, affection, and generosity of my beloved community, on five different occasions, at intervals of seven or eight years, I have spent an aggregate of seven years in the West. The Old World and the New World have taught me many lessons. I have observed them intelligently, weighed them with understanding, experimented on them with care and concern. The saga of these modest searchings of my life have been related, with due respect, in this 'Atmakatha' (autobiography) and I now place it as an offering at the feet of my august community.

Forty-two years ago, while studying at Columbia University, I learned the lesson of tolerance from the world-renowned philosopher, Santayana. He declared that "matters of religion should never be matters of controversy". A very large majority of mankind is still incapable of putting into practice this invaluable advice — our community least of all. True to our restless and impetuous temperament, all the year round, without the least restraint or restriction, we continue to vent our views through the Parsi Press on socio-religious customs. Hence, it is but natural that they occupy a great deal of space in this Atmakatha. In order to give correct and unprejudiced guidance to the community, I have had to deliver lectures and to debate in my books, from time to time, on questions concerning religion, ethics, ceremonies, customs, and conventions. In discoursing upon them I have seized the opportunity to try and end the controversies with an open mind, honestly, and from a scholastic angle. In doing so, this Atmakatha has, in a way, taken the form of a guideline, paving a pathway for the religious conduct of the community. With regard to the ordinary questions that are being debated in the community as well as to inflammable questions like the Jooddin [juddin] problem and crematorium which have, from time to time ignited the peaceful and cooperative life of the community and set it ablaze, (xii) knowing Ahura Mazda to be present always and in the honest interest of the community, I have written whatever has been in my heart, holding back nothing, hiding nothing.

In March 1944, the eminent Chinese author and philosopher, Dr. Lin-yo-Tung said: "India was suffering from an overdose of spirituality... India had too much of religion and could well afford to do with less of it."

These golden words apply not to the inhabitants of India alone but, to a certain degree, to all nations following any religion in the world. After the prophets depart their disciples turn everyone into blind followers of the faith. Religiosity replaces religion. The intoxication of religion makes a man delirious. Socio-religious customs take the place of pure, ethical, and devotional faith and turn it into tradition-ridden religion as a result of which men quibble and quarrel constantly.

This is our community's daily bitter experience. Moreover, ours is an exceptional and extraordinary instance.

Amongst the followers of all religions, questions of major controversy have been ground in the millstone of debate and discussion. As a result sects and sub-sects have been formed. In a way this is beneficial, for the controversy on the hackneyed questions ceases and each group follows its own inclinations and beliefs. The condition of our community is quite the reverse.

The Modern Age dawned in the West and its glow is spreading gradually over India, Turkey, Egypt, Iran, Japan, China, and other countries of the East. The tussle between old and new ideas and ideals is going on everywhere. The masses living in the New age are so accustomed to (xiii) the conventions and customs of the Olden Age that although the seasons have changed, conditions have changed, everything has changed, they are unable to read and understand the message of the new age and to get reconciled to it or to accept it.

God made man a part of society, but He wished and willed that, living in society and serving it, man may develop his individuality — his personality which reveals man in his completeness. That a human being may enjoy freedom of thought and freedom of conscience in this world and build up his character and, after death, as a result of that fine character and his own good deeds, win the liberation of his soul.

Just as despotism imprisoned individuality in its claws for thousands of years all over the world, tyrannical religious dogmas bound it with chains.

From the beginning of the sixteenth century human civilization changed from Medievalism to Modernism. With the dawn of this new age mankind's progress, culture, and refinement took a new turn. England, France, and the United States of America revolted against autocracy and replaced royalty with democratic rule. At the same time they divorced the Church from the State and, for the first time in the history of humanity, made man's religious life independent.

Today we are living in this remarkable and extraordinary world. The young and the old, the poor and the lowly of the community, are all literate. Hence, where literacy is concerned, more than any other community in this country, we are naturally in the whirlwind of the new age.

(xiv) In this era of independence of thought we must remember — nay, we must commit to memory — that in the religious life of the community it is no longer possible to drive everybody with criticisms and threats along the same rut like a herd of cattle. Religious faith is man's most treasured and personal possession. Gone are the days when the opinion of society could dictate religious principles. They have gone forever, never to return. Free choice has taken the place of force and it will remain so.

"Truth never stales with repetition." It will therefore be expedient to reiterate that Herodotus, the father of history, wrote of our two thousand five hundred year old ancestors — the Hakaemenians [Achaemenians] — that they were valiant and courageous in envisaging changing times and circumstances and in conditioning their lives according to the country and the age in which they lived. Then let us, as their rightful heirs, follow in their footsteps and learn from their leadership that there is grace, dignity, and wisdom in fashioning our lives according to the demands of this twentieth century.

(Sd.) Maneckji Nusserwanji Dhalla

Karachi, 15th July 1946

DASTUR DHALLA — AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Chapter I

SURAT — MY BIRTHPLACE

Surat, the garden-city of glorious Gujarat, was the metropolis of the Parsis in the 17th century. Half the total population of the community, approximately twenty thousand Zoroastrians, lived and flourished there. The glory of Surat, however, waned in 1662 from the time the island of Bombay passed into the hands of the British. The rise of Bombay was the decline of Surat; and gradually, Surat lost its grandeur. Nature itself seemed to frown on her and contributed to her downfall.

Zoroastrian literature of later days has apportioned the elements to the good and evil spirits. It has divided the winds of Govad Yazad into two parts — peace and prosperity-laden winds — 'the good winds' — have been assigned to Spenta Mainyu, whereas strong, storm-bearing winds — 'the bad winds' have been termed as the creation of Angra Mainyu. These stormy winds oppress Iran year after year. Usually, before spring sets in, storms approach the southern city of Kerman with terrific rapidity, strength, and suddenness. Huge masses of clouds rush down upon the earth like a horde of wild elephants and whirlwinds of dust and sand are a curse to wayfarers and caravans. The city of Surat has been spared such boundless and unbridled breezes. Instead, constant floods and fires have repeatedly wrought untold disaster and destruction to this one-time Eden of the Orient.

The great famine of 1847 of the Samvat era (1790-91) brought in its wake several minor famines and starving families wended their way towards the promising city of Bombay. Parsis had gained a foothold there since the days of Portuguese supremacy and it grew increasingly firm under British rule. In 1800 the British East India Company wrested the Government of Surat from the hands of the Nawab. By that time quite a major portion of the Parsi population of Surat had already settled in Bombay. Wherever the Union Jack fluttered, enterprising Parsis followed. Besides, with the growing strength of the British in the Far East, Parsis established trade relationships with the ports of Hong Kong, Canton, Shanghai, Macao, and other places. Leaving behind their motherland, Iran, in the 8th century, and settling amongst the dignified Gujaratis of Gujarat, these 'fair-skinned, serene and courageous' Parsis, from the close of the 17th century, spread to the four corners of India and even beyond its boundaries.

The great floods of Gujarat of 1822 wrought havoc in Surat and in receding, a devastating fire devoured the city, as a result of which Rustompara, inhabited by the Parsis, was completely gutted.

According to Zoroastrian precepts, life is a constant struggle — a struggle within and without man's soul. The four elements of nature — fire, water, wind, and earth — at times attack and destroy mankind. But undaunted, man forges onwards. The world-famous volcano, Mount Vesuvius, time and again erupts and emits flaming molten matter all around, destroying lands and lives. Yet, as soon as the Vesuvius subsides, man returns to his abode and starts afresh. Ruined Rustompara too revived and the sacred manthras of Ashem and Yatha resounded once again in Parsi localities. Approximately five hundred families, including priests and laymen, lived there. Professionally they were weavers, brokers, shop-keepers, and employees.

My forefathers were Athornans of Navsari of the Bhagarsath sect. They lived in the area known as Motta Farampara in Rustompara. Their self owned dwelling-place had bamboo walls plastered with cow-dung and mud. My father and his brother [2] lived there with their parents. They earned their livelihood by performing casual ceremonies and walked all the way to Nanpara and the city just to get a gratuity of one or two paisas. At times they had to walk three or four miles to the home of some wealthy layman where they had to perform the pre-dawn Uthamna ceremony. Should they be fortunate enough to receive a tip of four paisas, there was great rejoicing in the family. As the priestly profession did not bring in sufficient sustenance, both men and women wove cloth in order to supplement the family income. In those days when my uncle and father went to some religious festival, they were given a pie each to enjoy at the fair. From that they would buy a little gift for themselves, eat something, and return home happy and delighted.

The Almighty had not bestowed the gift of an offspring on my aunt and uncle and in my parents' home I was the only brother of my three older sisters. I was born on the Amerdadsal day in 1245 Y.E. 1875 A.D. (27-9-1875) in Farampara. My mother's parental home was in Dumas and it was well-endowed with a good income from cattle farming and dairy produce. My mother left this earthly abode when I was three, so the sweet and loving impress of a mother was not imprinted on my memory.

My uncle, Hormusji, was energetic and industrious. His day to day living was selfless, straight-forward, and honest. The people of the neighborhood honored and respected him as a Daver or a Desai. Not content with the mode of life in Surat, he was always anxious to seek fresh fields abroad in order to improve the condition of the family. His aged parents did not approve of his idea and dissuaded him from taking such a step. Unwilling to hurt them in any way, he respected their wishes and lived a life devoid of hope. However, his mind was full of thoughts of far-off lands, hence even while he worked at the [3] spinning-wheel he would be lost in his dreams and the work would lie in his lap. Lovingly his mother would recall him to his labor and in immediate response he would weave a couple of inches of cloth.

Dastur Aspandiarji Rabadi, the first renowned translator of the Yajashne [Yasna] into Gujerati, in 1849, was aware of our poverty. He also knew that my uncle had become a Navar under the patronage of a wealthy gentleman of the Wadia family of Bombay. One day, he told my uncle that he was acquainted with Mr. Wadia. There was need of a mobed who would live in his home at Bombay and cook sanctified food and perform the ceremonies. The salary, too, was quite decent. Should my uncle decide upon going to Bombay, he was willing to recommend him. But his mother persuaded him not to leave her alone in her old age and once again he desisted. Five years went by and hardships increased. The weaving business dwindled. Day by day the income decreased and, despite the strictest economy, it became increasingly difficult to make two ends meet. In sheer desperation and with a very heavy heart his mother granted him permission to go and my uncle went to Bombay. Unfortunately Mr. Wadia's firm faced an unexpected and extensive loss and collapsed suddenly. He informed my uncle of his inability to employ him. The construction of the G.I.P. Railway had just commenced, and many Parsis had found occupation as contractors or laborers. Among them were laymen as well as priests. My uncle did not possess more than Rs. 18/— in cash, so he worked for the railway for a year or so, but failing to find any prospects he accepted service in the printing department of the Jame-Jamshed Press. This gave no promise either. Seth Jeejibhoy Dadabhoy's new Agyari at Colaba was established in 1836. As my uncle had been reared as a weaver he was not in a position to perform the more complex religious rites. He began to earn his daily bread by performing casual ceremonies at people's homes at Colaba.

Chapter II

MY DESTINY IN KARACHI

After the British settled in India, wherever the Union Jack fluttered, our enterprising co-religionists established centres of trade and commerce and sought fresh fields of industry and service. True to their admirable spirit of adventure and enterprise they sailed the seas to far away lands like Colombo, Penang, Singapore, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Canton, and other places. Now that same undaunted enthusiasm took them southwards to Hyderabad and to the Malabar Coast and eastwards to Calcutta. They even sailed westwards to Aden and Hodeida. Wherever they went they were honoured and respected. They made millions through their trade with China and established large charitable trusts and funds. However, the once flourishing business of Bengal, the Deccan and Aden which had yielded untold wealth, waned with the start of the century.

On the other hand, about a hundred and twenty-five years ago, Parsis with their proverbial initiative, turned their steps from the towns of Gujarat and Bombay towards the north-west of India. More than with any other part of the sub-continent, our contacts have been with Sind and the Punjab, dating back to almost 4000 years. Of the sixteen lands created by Ahura Mazda and mentioned in the first verse of the Vendidad, one was Hepta Hindu or Septa Sindhu — the Sindh and the Punjab of today. During the reign of the Achaemenian kings, Sindh and Punjab were a part of the Persian Empire. Ever since that time the relationship between Iran and the sub-continent has been maintained. Stray Zoroastrian centres, too, have continued to exist.

[5] In the last century and a quarter Parsi enterprise has extended from Sindh and Punjab to Baluchistan. It did not end there. At one time the branches of the Jessawalla Company extended from Karachi through Sindh and Punjab and via Peshawar crossed the borders of the sub-continent into Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan. Somehow, since the turn of the century, the days of these Parsi enterprises seem to have been numbered. The city of Karachi is the only happy exception. On Parsi population basis even today Surat stands second only to Bombay. But decade by decade it seems on the decline, whereas the Parsi population of Karachi is increasing. It knows not the ebb-tide. Today it is nearing 4000 which will soon grow to five and even more. Economically, even today the status of the Parsis of Karachi is second only to those of Bombay.

When the Hon'ble Sir Jamshedji Jeejibhoy I extended his generosity to the cities of Gujarat, he wished to help his co-religionists in Karachi also. It is said that the Zoroastrian elders of those days thanked him respectfully for his kind thought but wrote back that they were broad-shouldered and preferred to stand independently on their own feet. Already the communal and non-communal charities of the Parsis of Karachi — charities that have been bestowed without the least consideration of caste, creed, or colour — amount to approximately a crore. Their generosity knows no bounds and God willing, never will.

At some time someone must have said: "Bombay, the Beautiful". This epithet has made that pet city proud and pompous. Until very recently Sindh was a part of the Bombay Presidency. The Governor of Bombay during his five years' tenure of office, hardly ever visited Karachi. Karachi fought for recognition and forced him to come two or three times during the period. The Bombay Government was most reluctant in granting Karachi [6] her rights and privileges. The P & 0 Steamers bringing mail from England went to Bombay and all the mail was despatched from there to Karachi — which meant all the mail bound for the whole of Sindh, Punjab, Baluchistan, and the ports of the Persian Gulf. In fact the distance between England and Karachi is less than the distance between England and Bombay. The mail coming from England reaches Bombay via Karachi. Whenever the Governor of Bombay or the Viceroy visited Karachi, the citizens in their welcome address rightly demanded that the English Mail should touch at Karachi before sailing on to Bombay. After years of struggle it was decided in 1913 that henceforth the mail should touch Karachi and Bombay alternately every week. The very next year World War I broke out and this question was temporarily shelved. Germany, to enhance her glory, had undertaken to build the Berlin-Baghdad Railway. Should the railway extend from Baghdad to India, Karachi would naturally be reached first. This, too, remained a dream. Another scheme to be suggested and even surveyed was the Karachi-Calais Railway. That also did not fructify. Once when H.R.H. the Prince of Wales came to Karachi, a huge arch was constructed with the words "Karachi, the Gateway of India" painted on it. This was hard for Bombay to bear and its newspapers ridiculed Karachi. Eventually the era of the aeroplane dawned and Karachi automatically became the undoubted and unquestioned aerial gateway of the orient. It was positively the foremost harbour for ships coming from Europe and America. Now it had become the welcoming airport on its own merit.

More than half the Parsi population of the sub-continent resides in Bombay, yet even the angels seem to favour the Zoroastrians of Karachi. In the nocturnal Vadi Srosh Yasht it is mentioned that every night Srosh Yazad in his chariot [7] drawn by four fine white horses, travels from the frontiers of Persia to Sindh, i.e. Karachi. He does not cast even a side glance at Bombay. After building Karachi, on the borders of Hepta Hindu — (Septa Sindhu) — Spenta Mainyu moulded the form of Bombay from the remnants of its debris! For this very reason the climate of Karachi is superior to that of Bombay.

In my journey from the spiritual to the physical abode, Karachi, which was forging ahead by leaps and bounds, became my permanent caravanserai. Karachi received me as a Sindhi of Sind. Henceforth I was hers.

In 1849, when it came to my uncle's knowledge that an assistant mobed was needed in Seth Hirjibhai Behrana's Daremeher at Karachi, he began to make inquiries about it. On condition of a salary of Rs. 12/— per month he agreed to come and settle in Karachi. After serving in this capacity for some time, he took up the job of going to the Sagdi every evening to light the lamps. For this he was given a salary of Rs. 15/—. Besides this he would earn a little by performing casual ceremonies in people's homes. My father worked as a weaver at Surat and also went to places to pray which fetched him a gratuity of a few paisas.

The new premises of the Seth Hirjibhai Behrana's Daremeher at Karachi was built and declared open in 1875. My uncle arranged for a job for my father to serve as a supervisor and caretaker night and day in this Daremeher at a salary of Rs. 12/—. As a result, without any other means of support or sustenance, we came and settled in Karachi in 1878. I was then four years old.

Our home was in an area known as Chic Gali in Saddar. Two other families similar to ours, the families of two Irani corpse-bearers and about twenty Hindu, Muslim, and Goanese families resided there.

[8] The professions of these neighbours ranged from hawkers, ragmen, milk-men, tinners, cane setters, carriage drivers, cooks, the Surti mistress of a Parsi, and three unfortunate prostitutes. Living in such a chequered environment we had the opportunity of witnessing the celebration of the festivals of varied communities. At the time of the Nortans, Lalia men and women sang garbas and performed folk dances which we enjoyed watching. Many of those garbas I can hum even today. The excitement at the time of the Moharrum of the Muslims and X'mas of the Christians fascinated us.

Our house belonged to Seth Hormusji Kothari and its rent was Rs. 4/— but we did not have to pay this amount. According to an understanding between the landlord and the tenant, in lieu of rent, at the dawn of each day my uncle prayed to the Almighty to bestow upon Seth Kothari and his progeny. prosperity, health, and longevity.

We were four in the home — my uncle and aunt, my older sister, and myself. My father came home for lunch and dinner only — apart from that he lived night and day at the Agyari. My aunt and sister did all the cooking and cleaning. Every morning my uncle would rise at 3.30 while my aunt and sister's day began at 4. Like her husband my aunt, too, was most diligent and industrious. Besides the house-hold chores, her evenings, extending almost till 10 at night. were spent in spinning the yarn of the Kusti, weaving, cleaning, pressing, and folding it. From dawn to dusk she would thus earn approximately 5 to 6 annas per day. Should her work be delayed by some unexpected event, she would be very unhappy. Our total monthly income amounted to Rs. 50/— which included my uncle's salary of Rs 15/—, I my father's salary of Rs 12/— and other incidental tips. We lived comfortably. Our living was simple. Our breakfast comprised of the night's [9] leftovers, if any — otherwise we had chappatis with tea. Our lunch comprised of khichdi with ghee and pickles or khichdi with toddy, or dhandal or dhanshak. Patia or sauce or mince was hardly ever served with khichdi. Curry-rice had not yet found its way into our home. At night we lived on dal and chappati or molasses with milk and chappati or some vegetable course or a bowlful of gravy with two pieces of meat and one potato and chappati. Two courses were unknown and we were well-nourished on this simple fare. On an average there would be four death-anniversaries and religious festivals per month. On such days I would have the share of the papdi-malido prepared by my aunt and sister and of the sherbat made of sweetened and consecrated country wine, lemon, and water which were put in the Afrinagan ceremony. Our happiness was complete, for we were contented. I was the only pet at home so everyone lavished affection upon me.

We were poor but a Zoroastrian family having many children in the neighbourhood was poorer. My uncle would give those children a share of the pens, pencils, papers, and books which he brought for me. This act of grace and generosity was a joy to me.

Of the Zoroastrian families that dwelt in our lane, there was one better-placed in life than ours. The head of that family had studied English and the children were also being educated. Whenever they went for an outing in a carriage they took me along with them. Once I got the opportunity of going to Clifton with that family. As soon as we reached we went to the sea-shore where the oldest lady of the family offered cocoanut, candy, and floral tributes to Avan Ardivisur, the spirit of the seas. From there we proceeded to the Mahadev Temple in the cave nearby. Similar offerings plus some coins were made there also, with due obeisance. As we sat upon the floor the [10] Brahmin recited some prayers. Leaving that temple we climbed up the hillock which was a five minutes walk from there, at the top of which was situated a Muslim pir's dargah. The keeper of the tomb also received offerings and we went down on our knees and bowed before the shrine. I had no idea or understanding of what was going on. This was my first visit and first experience of mandirs, and darghas. On my return home, with great glee I related the whole incident to my uncle and found that the narrative caused him pain. All he said was that as we were Zoroastrians it was not quite proper for us to visit the temples and mosques of Hindus and Muslims.

In olden days, the superstition about the evil-eye was wide-spread, and everyone was most wary about saving children from its ill-effects. To ward off evil, children's eyes were blackened! On both the temples, too, large spots of soot were imprinted. The more cautious even put such spots on the child's cheeks. In the beginning I too was thus protected.

Later this practice was stopped. But for fear that some blighting glance may be cast upon the one and only child of the home, my aunt took other precautions. Whenever we had meat at home, the membrane that was removed while cleaning it was dipped in turmeric, encircled seven times over my precious head and then thrown out. Thus any spells that might have been cast over me were nullified. The poor crows would pick them up, and without a care of appeasing the evil spirits, would gleefully put the morsels in their mouths. All this was most distasteful to my uncle, but such matters concerned the womenfolk of the home so he resisted from interfering.

Sixty years have gone by since my aunt protected my innocent childhood from such imaginary evil portents. At that time the light of modern [11] science had barely touched our community. Six decades have passed since then; yet even today, when the girls of the community have been educated side by side with the boys, thus lending lustre and refinement to it, ridiculous superstitions exist. Quite a few sacrifice their sanity and go to temples and tabernacles in search of sanyasis and sayids, pirs, and priests. Alas! That such a state of affairs should exist even in this age of advancement and enlightenment!

Chapter III

WEDDING BELLS RING FOR ME

My scholastic career commenced at the age of six at the Parsi Virbaiji School. Two years went by and the Gujarati lesson about the sparrow bringing a grain of rice and his mate a grain of pulse was in progress. Just then a grand and glorious event took place in my life, the greatness and importance of which I was incapable of understanding. Many a morning had I heard my sister sing a welcome to the rising sun and at night her songs were chosen from those of Narsi Mehta, Balchand Veragi, and others. Amongst the latter was one which expressed the pride and joy of a bridegroom on winning a wealthy wife. I listened to this song as to all others. But midst my great surprise and perplexity I learnt that these auspicious words happily applied to me. My uncle took me in his lap and explained that he was getting me married very soon, and that very day he was to go to the school and ask for a month's leave of absence. Word went round at school that I was to be married; my companions began to tease and taunt me. This was annoying, but on my way back home my uncle comforted me that my companions were envious because I was getting married while they had remained single. This explanation seemed sound, so I was no longer ashamed of marriage. My greatest joy was that this had served as an excuse to get leave from school and I would enjoy a voyage to Bombay and thence to Surat, Navsari, and other places. Without waiting to hear what happened to the alert sparrow who had stolen the khichdi that his mate had set upon the stove, I left school and set sail.

Two of my uncle's nephews Jamaspji and Faramji Arjani, lived at Arjaniwada in Navsari. Jamaspji was a white-turbaned, orthodox [13] mobed, broad-shouldered, tall, commanding, and dignified. He had a shop in Bombay where sandalwood, German silver utensils, and chinaware were sold and, as his influence was vast, his monthly earnings easily exceeded Rs. 600/— to Rs. 700/—. His younger brother Faramji was fair-complexioned and handsome with light green eyes. When he was young his father wished him to follow the priestly profession, but my uncle was not of the same opinion. He explained that priesthood had lost both honour and status, hence he should be taught English. The senior Mr. Arjani did not agree with him at first; but eventually, he surrendered his stand of making a mobed of his younger son. To the end of my uncle's life, his nephew was grateful to him for rendering him this great service in furthering his future prospects. Besides learning English, when the Sir Jamshedji Jeejibhoy Madressah was inaugurated, he studied Avesta and Pahlavi. Later he spent his life as the Manager of an old Parsi firm of Bombay, conducting its business between Calcutta and Hong Kong. At both these places he was respected as an honoured member of the community and he was the Hon. Secretary and Treasurer of the Anjumans of both the centres. His headgear was the stiff red-spotted Chinese turban and like the Sethias of olden days, he wore full and curly whiskers. With his fair features and gold-rimmed spectacles he resembled the Chinese nobility.

Since the middle of the 18th century when Parsi firms began to establish trade relationships with China, Parsi Sethias sent their agents to serve in their branches there, on condition that they did not take their families with them. They were sent on a seven-year's contract and their boarding and other incidental expenses were on the firm's account. At the termination of the contract they came home on a few months' leave and brought along with them quite a fair sum of money.

This senior member of our family possessed a good income. Whenever he returned from China he would keep in mind all his relatives and would generously distribute Chinese tea, preserves, candy, and silken cloth amongst them. He had an only daughter. She had been betrothed to his older brother's son. This gentleman had served his uncle for seven years at Calcutta and another seven years at Hong Kong. When he returned he was 30. My uncle had chosen his sister's older son's five year old daughter to be my bride and his proposal was willingly accepted. Besides these two couples my future child-bride's sister's marriage had also been arranged with an elderly mobed in the family. Of the three couples, two were aged 25 and 30 while both of us were almost the same age. I was 8 while my beautiful bride-to-be, Cooverbai, was 5 years old.

The senior-most member of our family who had amassed a good fortune through his flourishing trade with Bengal and China had arranged with his elder brother to celebrate the marriages of these three couples in grand style. There exists a superstition in our community even today that should the marriage of three couples be fixed for the same day, two would have the ceremony performed in one room while the third couple would be married in another room. This had happened in Karachi, also, more than once. My wife's uncle was a reformist in most ways, but as my conservative father-in-law himself did not object, the superstitious members of the family could not have their way. Besides, all the senior members had unanimously agreed to have us engaged without having our horoscopes scrutinized to find out whether they corresponded or not. Again bypassing current custom, the wedding day had been fixed without consulting a Brahmin. All the bungalows and homes of Navsari had been occupied eight days in advance by the wealthy families [15] who had been invited from Bombay. Even cooks had been called from Bombay and money had been spent lavishly to make our marriage day a memorable one. Later accounting revealed that Rs. 10,000/— had been spent on our nuptials. All the Zoroastrians of Navsari and its suburbs had been invited to the wedding. About 5000 guests were to assemble there. As my bride's Navjote had not yet been performed, that ceremony took place on the wedding morning. Navjote and marriage are very auspicious and happy events in an individual's life. Children look forward months ahead to the Navjote day in eager anticipation of new clothes and varied gifts. Nor is this anticipation in any way abated with age, for it is as keen at the time of marriage. But in our home both these auspicious events were fixed for a single day.

We were given the sacred bath in the evening and my sister was dressing me. Of the three bride-grooms one was to wear the white turban, another the Chinese khokha and the black turban was decided upon as my headgear. I was not aware that it was essential for a bridegroom to have some sort of a crown to adorn his head. I did not approve of the black turban and so I refused to wear it. When persuasion could not prevail my sister pinched me hard. I could not bear it and cried aloud. My dear uncle and father came to my rescue. They tempted me with all kinds of prizes and succeeded in persuading me to put it on. My kind-hearted uncle had promised me precious prizes; but nowhere in God's wonderful wide, world could anyone have found a more priceless gift than the two-and-a-half feet tall, living, talking, walking, laughing, dancing, delightful doll that he had given me. Accompanied by the din of drums and the inharmonious tones of pipes, trumpets, flutes, and a medley of instruments our wedding procession moved forward. I was walking between the two bridegrooms. They were 5'9" whereas I was 4', [16] but my 6" tall turban graciously added to my height. It is said that when the procession passed through the Karkaria Wada, a winsome old woman with a good sense of humour was standing in the portals of her home. Seeing the grown-up grooms in that age of child-marriages, she remarked: "Behold! These two men, fit to be fathers, posing as bridegrooms!" Hearing this the older bridegrooms were most embarrassed.

When we were seated to get married, the larger cocoanut had been put into my hands. My wife-to-be snatched it away. My aunt did not favour this; and again, when milady was quicker than myself in throwing grains of rice over the dividing veil and everyone applauded happily: "The girl has won", her displeasure was doubled. She already had cause to be annoyed, hence it was hard for her to endure the fact that the future daughter-in-law was gaining an upper hand over her husband. Professional singers of the city had been engaged days in advance to come to the house morning, noon, and night to regale the guests. One of them, a more garrulous one joked with her companions: "Goodness gracious, they are taking away to Karachi the daughter of a family whose dog it would be difficult for them to maintain!"

My aunt's feelings were deeply injured to think that our poverty was the cause of such a remark from a perfect stranger. Later, when I heard this topic of the dog and the daughter being discussed by the members of my family, a very deep and lasting image of my own poverty and my wife's aristocratic lineage was imprinted upon my impressionable mind. The guests were so many that dinner lasted until two the next morning and the third bridegroom was delayed for quite some time before he reached the place where the marriage ceremony was being performed the second time before sunrise. However, all the ceremonies were over at least and the guests departed.

[17] The decisive words: "I do" had been pronounced and our romance commenced. During the wedding we were seated side by side, our hands bound together, the sacred knot tied. As soon as the priests had showered their blessings, each had to feed the other with a mouthful of curd and candy, so I felt certain that there existed some mysterious and abiding bond between us. We stayed on in Navsari for fifteen days after the wedding. Our friendship grew during that period. All her toys she freely placed in my hands. Our dear ones enjoyed teasing us. If anyone should beat me in jest, my partner protected me and attacked the miscreant. My dear ones had always been mine, but for some inexplicable and unfathomable reason I had won this little girl whom I had not set eyes on a fortnight ago. Now she was mine and I was hers. As had been sung in Karachi, a wealthy wife had I secured but alas! I had to leave her behind and return to Karachi with my elders.

Chapter IV

MY MATCHLESS MASTER

My education at the Parsi Virbaiji School did not last long. My uncle was anxious to give me the best and highest education possible. All his hopes were harboured in me. Cost was no consideration if expended on educating me and from childhood it was dinned into me that education alone would pave the way to success and independence. His sister's son had gone to China and after making a name for himself there, had called his brother's son too who was also well established. Such a promising future lay ahead of me also. It came to pass that a certain layman from another town had been appointed the Head Master of a local vernacular Municipal school. He wrote to my uncle to arrange boarding and lodging for him at Karachi. In response he was invited as a permanent guest in our home, at no cost whatsoever. Whatever food was bestowed on us by the Almighty would be shared with him. In return he was to supervise my studies personally. My uncle believed that by the constant and continuous care and concern of a teacher in the home, my knowledge would grow by leaps and bounds and his cherished hope of seeing me as a business magnate of China would be fulfilled.

The teacher arrived. He received a warm and respectful welcome and was installed in a comfortable room which had been prepared for him. The teacher was somewhat stocky and of medium height. He had tulf, curly whiskers and his moustaches and brows were thick and heavy. His innocent eyes and high forehead added a shade of seriousness to his grave features. It did not seem as if he had a sense of humour or was capable of enjoying a bit of innocent fun. The master's head was large and on it was a headgear larger than the head [19] required. Within this "paghdi" was a deep cap which covered a clean-shaven scalp. He wore a long-sleeved, loose, white coat, and tawny trousers. Slippers with pointed curled-up toes covered his feet.

The master was unduly cool, calm, and exceptionally slow in his mannerisms and movements. His speech was laboured his gait measured and his eating habits leisurely. Physical or mental speed and hurry were unknown to him. Should a word fall from his lips, quite some time would elapse before another followed. When he walked the ground would wait in suspense to receive one step after another. It would take him a quarter of an hour to go from Chic Galli to the tram terminus in the Sadar area. A morsel of food would take minutes to be chewed and swallowed to make way for the next. The cane that was placed in his hands to control the students would take quite a while to reach the pupil's back. So painfully slow was that schoolmaster of mine.

His life was simple, systematic, and righteous. The saying that "a small appetite harbours happiness" aptly applied to my tutor. Breakfast he had never heard of. At nine, before leaving for school he ate two chappatis with black tea. That was his breakfast and his lunch. At night he dined on whatever single course was cooked at home together with two more chappatis. In summer he drank a tumblerful of water in the afternoon and one after dinner. In winter he had only one a1 night. Illness avoided him — health always sought his friendship.

The master was fairly well-educated. He excelled in arithmetic, tables, mental sums, and grammar. He composed the welcome song that the students sang at the Annual Prize Distribution. He did not know English, but he would pick up a sentence here or a phrase there and use it in his [20] own unique way. Once in my presence, a gentleman said to him pompously, "I don't care". Prompt came Masterji's reply: "You don't care, and I don't care". Amongst newspapers he read only the "Surat Akhbar". Never did he participate in any communal or non-communal controversies.

Temperamentally he was most reserved. The home and the school were the only centres he ever visited. He never attended any marriage or Navjote ceremony, nor did he enjoy any outings or go anywhere for a change of climate. Not a single play or concert or circus had he seen. Twenty-one years of his life were spent in Karachi, yet he never saw Clifton or Malir or Manora or Mangopir. It was impossible to find another like him, for God had created only one such a matchless Masterji.

In my vernacular school the majority of students were Hindus, a few were Muslims, and there were two Parsi pupils. My tutor took me to school with him and brought me home again. As a teacher he was very vigilant and conscientious. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was his maxim, hence he used the cane freely. Believing that knowledge could be made to reach more efficaciously with the sting of the birch, he used it more lavishly than was necessary. One of the common practices of punishment is to stand the erring student either on the floor or upon a bench for some length of time. Abandoning this practice, he had invented a novel method. This penance was called "To sit upon the chair", which meant that the pupil was made to lean against the wall or the cupboard and sit as if on a chair. Not having any support for a seat, the legs would be unable to bear the burden and collapse within seconds. Where learning was concerned he seemed to believe that twice of what can be conned in an hour can be learnt in two hours, three times as much in three, and four times more in four hours. It did not occur to him that the mind could be fatigued and needed [21] relaxation. Except for a few moments of rest snatched on the sly, he exacted hard labour from me from dawn to ten at night. Sundays and holidays were as strenuous as week days. On such holidays, after prayers he would announce that if I studied attentively the whole day he would allow me to sit on the doorstep for an hour in the evening. The method of enjoying that free period would be that he would take his seat upon a chair in the entrance and I would sit at his feet on the steps. Just to while away the hour he would go on testing my aptitude in mental sums. Every Sunday afternoon he would have a shave and a hair-cut. To preserve the sanctity of the home he would go to the grocer's porch across the street to have his hair trimmed. Even from afar he was obliged to keep an eye on me, hence he seated me within sight. Under the pretext of serious study, I would sit upon a mat and sway my whole body vigorously. The master's weekly hair-cut was a very fortunate occasion for me. An hour would surely pass away in gossiping with the barber and the surrounding grocers and other merchants while massaging the clean shaven head and the polished scalp. The bath that followed occupied another hour. So I would get some respite during those two hours. On such days my greatest joy would be to go to post some letters or to be sent on some other, errand. My aunt had pity on me and invented excuses to send me out for something or the other, to the great annoyance of my tutor. But these were very welcome opportunities to snatch moments of outdoor joys.

At dusk my teacher would listen to the recital of my prayers. Should I make a mistake, or should my tired and errant mind-and that too with lessons on a holiday-tempt me to skip a few lines, the punishment of a few cuts of the cane would be meted out or I would be made "to sit on the chair" for quarter of an hour. After having bothered my Maker most unwillingly and under duress, with no [22] feeling or sentiment whatsoever, I would stand and repeat by rote tables of halves and quarters. As soon as those were completed, some multiplication tables were shot at me which I had to answer in a flash. By then sleep would be demanding its toll and my eyelids would droop with drowsiness. In that state should there be some slight slip in replying to what would 37 x 11 make, all my sleep would vanish under the stroke of lightning that would emerge from the master's cane, which would tear open the skin sore with daily beatings. Thus the holiday would come to an end and leave to retire would be granted. Sleep did assuage the day's aches and pains, but it would be disturbed with nightmares of the awful day to dawn again.

Never did my master allow me to go out in the evenings or to play cricket. Some friends who came to visit us would venture to advise that I be allowed to go to the Frere Hall on Saturdays to listen to the band. In reply my honoured tutor would warn my uncle that it would not be his responsibility if such frivolities should turn me into a vagabond. My aunt and sister shed many a tear and at times in desperation the former would dare to say: "A cow is being led to the slaughter house". My uncle himself was very unhappy and at times his eyes too would fill with tears. But as it was a question of educating me and preparing me for the important role of a business magnate of Indo-China, he was not willing to incur the displeasure of the tutor and bore everything with a bleeding heart.

I was then nine years old. Two years passed by in such distress. All my love for learning vanished. I detested reading and writing. Books were poison to me and my body became feeble and emaciated. My right eye was weak since birth. Now it lost its vision completely. Life became intolerable.

[23] My uncle loved to keep dogs in his home. He would bathe the dog himself and everyday he would personally remove the fleas and keep him clean. Our dog was named Tipu and he was my great favourite. One night, as a result of naughtiness, the master picked him up and threw him out of the house before my very eyes. My feelings were deeply hurt and I cried aloud and created a great commotion. Tipu was severely injured so he barked and whined. The entire household was in a state of turmoil and everyone came panting in panic. In the excitement everyone sided with me. Masterji felt humiliated and walked away quietly to his room. The next morning he gave notice to my uncle that he would tutor me no longer and that he wished to be relieved of his responsibility. Without the slightest hesitation my uncle accepted his resignation, and I regained my freedom.

My Tipu had been my saviour.

Chapter V

MY SCHOOLING

Storm-clouds were dispersed and calm was restored in the home. My master sought permission to leave the home. When my uncle appealed to him not to do so, he offered to pay for his board and lodging. My uncle refused to accede to that request also and succeeded in persuading him to stay on as he had done hitherto. On demand from my uncle I bent down and touched my tutor's feet and begged his forgiveness with folded hands for all the misdemeanour of the past two years. My teacher placed his hand upon my head and blessed me.

My uncle then took upon himself to educate me. Seth Jamshedji Master, the retired Head Master of the Parsi Virbaiji School had opened a private school where I registered. As it closed down within a short time, at twelve I was admitted to Class II of the Government High School. By that time I was unable to read or write with my right eye so the doctors had forbidden me to work at night.

My uncle woke me up at 4 in the morning. The moment my feet touched the floor I had to stand there and perform the Kusti ceremony, commencing with the Hormuzd Khudai prayer, leaving out the opening Kemna Mazda. After that I took some 'taro' and prayed that the devil be destroyed, then washed my face with cold water and did the Kusti all over again, this time including the Kemna Mazda prayer. My uncle then took me for a quarter of an hour's outing in my night dress with neither coat nor shoes, so as to shake off my drowsiness. It would be 4:30 by the time we returned. I would then sit at my studies. At sunrise I bathed and prayed for about half an hour before breakfast. [25] After that I studied until it was time to go to school. On returning from school I went out to play cricket. At sundown I prayed again for half an hour or so. Then my aunt, sister, and I sat upon a mat to dine. My uncle dined at table. My father placed his meal on a low stool and sat upon another.

According to doctor's instructions I was not allowed to study at night. Instead, every night my uncle took me to his room and gave religious and moral instruction by rote and advised me through stories and parables. He found my working method slip-shod and he constantly admonished me. Procrastination was my weakness. I could myself feel its ill-effects. I was harried and perplexed with the knowledge that things that ought to have been accomplished remained undone. Yet I lacked the diligence to overcome the habit. The ill-habits of childhood follow into adulthood, so he wished that they be abolished. Whenever he assigned some work to me, as if to mock me he would at once repeat, "I'll do it afterwards — tomorrow". This habit of mine seemed so harmful to him that he would support his advice with religious evidence in order to bring it home more forcefully. Formerly in Zoroastrian families the Bundahishn, Sad Dar, Jamaspi, and Arda Viraf Nameh were considered as the main sources of authority. My uncle had lithographic copies of all these books. From the Sad Dar he indicated one chapter. In it is written that, in order to retard man's noble and industrious progress, Angra Mainyu has created two demons called 'afterwards' and 'tomorrow'. [Sd81.13] Man must be ever alert to avoid entanglement in the web of these twin evils. He never wearied of repeatedly and frequently reminding me of these two superb commandments of the Sad Dar. On his death-bed King Ardeshir Babegan advised his son and heir, Shahpur, in Poet Firdausi's words: "Do not leave for tomorrow what you can do today for one never knows whether a morrow will dawn for you."

[26] My uncle's mind was teeming with good thoughts and from his pen flowed flowery language. Besides delivering sermons to me daily, he addressed a couple of letters every month to me. He had ordered me to read these letters three times attentively. He took care to test whether I had bothered to read them or not by asking questions regarding them. Should I have erred in some way, a long letter was sure to arrive. If, perchance, I gave vent to anger, I would have to study a lesson on the evils of becoming a slave to anger. When I showed some sort of discontent it would be my lot to study a discourse on the sweet fruits of contentment. Should I happen to be unwilling to awake at 4 in the early hours of dawn, I had to be prepared to read a five to seven paged essay on the malady of succumbing to the demon of indolence. Every night after everyone had retired, he would sit up penning these messages and would be out of bed again at 3:30 the following morning. Over and above all these sermons, he would write out in a beautiful hand ten or twelve points conducive to a pure and noble life, frame them and hang them up in front of my desk and gently advise me to read them carefully every day before starting my studies.

His correspondence with anyone was never short or pithy. His nephew always humourously remarked that it was a joy to receive his letters in China. The opening page or two would inevitably be in praise of Ahura Mazda. Only after that would commence the main purport of the letter.

Zoroastrian priesthood is hereditary. In olden days every priestly family would initiate its sons into the ranks of priesthood. If not a Maratab, they would at least be made Navars. Later, even those parents who taught their sons English and hoped that in future they would become doctors or lawyers or engineers or even serve in English [27] firms, instead of following the profession, believed it was wrong to let their sons remain mere 'Austas' instead of becoming Navars. Whether they pursued the priestly profession or not, it was considered a virtuous act to initiate their sons into Navarhood. It was believed to be a religious injunction. My uncle was determined not to let me join the profession. He was anxious to send me to China. From China his nephew sent word that as soon as I passed my matriculation examination, he was ready to welcome me as a Manager in his master's flourishing firm. I had now reached the age of initiation into Navarhood, so my uncle started giving me the necessary education. A great part of the day passed learning by rote the compulsory Niyayeshes and Yashts and also Haas of the Yajashnes [Yasna], Afrinagans, etc. In addition to the customary vacation, a month's leave was requested and we went to Navsari. At fifteen I became a Navar. Because of the prayers I was obliged to learn, plus a month's absence from school, I lost an academic year.

After becoming a Navar I had to stay on in Bombay for a few days. An incident that occurred during that period gives evidence of my religious leanings in those days. Temperamentally I was timid. I feared visible and invisible, real and imaginary foes. According to my beliefs, man's life was beset with a thousand demons and evil spirits and precautions had to be taken to escape from their clutches. I firmly believed that the 'taro' (sacred bull's urine) had the miraculous effect of conquering and subduing these forces of evil. A Zarthosti applies 'taro' to his face and limbs as soon as he awakes and wages war against them. As I had great faith in the efficacy of 'taro', I used it lavishly. In April 1891 two young Parsi ladies had thrown themselves off the Rajabai Tower and sacrificed their precious lives in order to preserve their chastity. That night I was very [28] frightened at bed-time. As a fort is built around a city to protect it from the attack of an on-rushing enemy, I poured half a bottleful of 'taro' around my little bed-stead. The obnoxious odour filled the whole room. My wife's uncle had come to Bombay from China to spend a few days. He was a reformist. He jeered at me and chided me. With two tumblerfuls of water I was made to wash away my fluid embankment. It was sheer good fortune that in spite of the destruction of my fortress the devil's disciples did not attack me that night.

My uncle always took me to all the Jashans, Navjotes, and Uthamna ceremonies that were performed at the Daremeher where all the Mobeds were invited. On birthdays or anniversaries of the wealthy, when members of the family came to the Daremeher to pray, they would distribute silver coins amongst the mobeds On such occasions, I too would be present and earn some small gratuity. I was now obliged to wear the white turban of the priest. On the whole the community paid scant respect to priests. Should there be some farcical portion in a drama, mobeds were assigned that role and they were made the target of ridicule. The white turban was greatly disparaged in those days, so I was quite ashamed to stir out in that head-gear. Should someone happen to cross my path on the streets, I would cover my face with a handkerchief under pretext of wiping perspiration, be it summer or winter. My uncle dissuaded me from doing so. He would tell me that in bygone days mobeds of the highest degree sat to the right of kings, the greatest of Dasturs were prime ministers and high-ranking Ervads were the tutors and counsellors of princes. Such were the honour and respect they enjoyed. I listened to all this attentively with great joy. Yet my daily experiences were very different. I told my uncle that these were tales that would fill any heart with pride, but today laymen addressed [29] mobeds with contempt and ridiculed them as bad shahs and religious mendicants. When women went on rounds to invite people to some wedding they sat in state in carriages while the accompanying mobed was perched on the coach-box beside the driver. Expressing his sorrow at this state of affairs my uncle would explain that the reason for this was that the Athornans of ancient times were learned men, while their present-day descendants were illiterate and therefore disdained. However this would not continue for long. Sons of mobeds would emerge as educated men and the laymen would realize their error and give due respect.

Despite all my uncle's care and concern I did not pay sufficient attention to my studies. My homework was rarely done. I always walked to and from school. While on my way there across the Artillery Maidan, I would prepare the day's lesson. God had gifted me with a quick memory so my progress at school was fairly good. Mathematics was my weakest subject. I disliked geometry and avoided turning over the pages of Euclid. When my cousin came to know of this through my uncle, he wrote from China that without mathematics all else was of no avail. He who is not up to the mark in counting can never succeed in any business. This bit of good counsel had no effect on me. As I always secured good marks in other subjects I managed to retain my seat on the first bench, but my failure in sums was responsible for my missing the prize in the annuals.

Parsi boys were generally less attentive to their studies and more mischievous and playful than boys of other communities. Moreover, should a teacher be timid or tolerant, the education of Parsi students of that grade was sure to suffer.

Our Valabhram Master was a resident of Ahmedabad. He was very kind and sociable. Being extremely humble, boys got the better of him. They [30] would put tiny fishes in his ink-pot or in the drawer of his desk. Or they would tie the hind legs of his chair to the easle of the black-board, so that it would slip from its stand the moment the teacher tried to take his seat. In a thousand ways they teased that teacher and his condition became truly pathetic. There were two types of students. The first group comprised of the mischief-makers and the other of spectators who enjoyed the fun. I belonged to the first group. Two years later, when wisdom dawned, I repeatedly craved forgiveness of that noble preceptor. He very generously granted pardon and told me to let bygones be bygones.

At sixteen when I entered the 6th grade I was made the monitor of the class. In maths I was as weak as ever, due to my own fault. My English was good and often my essays were read aloud in class. At the time of the Annual Prize Distribution I would be awarded the 1st prize in elocution.

The senior members of my family were anxiously awaiting my graduation from the matriculation class, whereas I was already eager to join some service rather than study. There was a reason for that. We were poor. My father's salary which was Rs. 12/— at first had now increased to Rs. 15/— per month. My noble father's health was always poor. On her death-bed, his mother had enjoined on my uncle to care for his younger brother's children as his own, and to make them very happy. My uncle was fulfilling his obligation most faithfully. Every morning I would take tea and chapattis to my father at the Agyari. Just to be of some service to him and to lighten his burden I would dust and clean all the benches there. In those days the fire-temple was lit by small glasses filled with cocoanut oil. On auspicious occasions people would order for the lighting of those little lamps to last half the night or throughout the night [31] according to their means. On such occasions it was necessary to kindle all the little lights in the lamps and chandeliers at sundown and at dawn bring them down and according to Zoroastrian custom, fuse their flame unextinguished with the home-fire that was kept ever burning. I helped my father to do this. He would come home to lunch and to dine. The distance was short and could be walked within a couple of minutes, yet he was obliged to rest for a moment or two on the interlinking bridge, so feeble was he. To relieve the fatigue caused by the day's drudgery, he was accustomed to take a very small glass of locally produced liquor with his evening meal. He tried his utmost to keep his limbs active and strained himself beyond capacity to contribute his mite to the household expenditure at any cost. I yearned to assuage his troubles and thought it advisable to start earning as early as possible. This idea did not appeal to my elders. They felt that this was no time for me to think of household expenses. My only duty was to study diligently. They strongly opposed my point of view.

My studies progressed in such a half-hearted manner. Suddenly an intense love of reading was born in me. The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe fired my imagination and my mind took wing on flights of fantasy. The first novel to fall into my hands was East Lynn and I devoured it avidly. My mind wandered even further away from studies. I was obsessed with the idea of becoming an author. Suddenly I was possessed with a passion to write fiction. My reading was meagre, my experience limited, and my command over language, negligible. However, my mind was made up. Every moment of my waking hours I mused upon becoming a writer and at night I dreamt of my publications.

When I went to Navsari to become a Navar, two elderly mobeds were in retreat. At night they [32] would tell tales of kings and courtiers. I would listen to them with rapt attention. I had neither the knowledge nor the skill necessary to write a story. Yet after frequent alterations and amendments, a great deal of wastage of paper, ink, and energy, I conjured up a plot and started to scribble, all unknown to my revered uncle. Seeing me spend many more hours in concentration at my desk, everyone believed that good sense had ultimately prevailed and I was at long last paying greater attention to my studies. I was in the matriculation class then. In seven months the story was completed. On enquiring at a press the printer quoted an estimate of Rs. 400/— for its printing and publication. I did not possess even Rs. 4/—. Many days passed in trying to solve the dilemma. At last, I summoned courage one day and revealed all the details to my uncle. He was taken completely unawares and my strange story caused him a great deal of surprise and sadness. Now he was able to fathom the enigma of my recent engrossment in studies. Examinations were fast approaching and, at such a time instead of studying my mind was absorbed in writing stories. This knowledge pained him deeply. The following morning, I received a long letter from him. It was an admixture of advice, inducement and admonition. Respecting his counsel to store away story-books for a while and to concentrate on studies, I began to pay greater attention to my lessons. I knew it was impossible for me to pass, as my mathematics would surely go against me. Even China had no attraction for me now. Rather than be a businessman in China, I was now bent upon being an author. Yet, in deference to the wishes of my elders, it was imperative that I appear for the examination. In all other papers I fared well but I avoided even to appear for the maths paper. I failed, yet I was declared successful in the results column of the Jame-Jamshed. A friend came, beaming with joy, a copy of the newspaper in hand, to congratulate me. I acquainted him with the facts. He referred to the University Registrar who confirmed my failure.

My failure was a severe disappointment to my family. All their hopes in me were shattered. My uncle persuaded me not to lose heart and to continue my studies, but I refused to abide by his advice. From China word arrived that, notwithstanding what had happened, I should prepare to go to China now. Even this I did not obey. Everyone was most dejected. My beloved wife's father feared that the future of his dearly loved and favourite youngest daughter had been placed in the hands of a vagabond and that naught but gloom was in store for her.

Chapter VI

AT THE THRESHOLD OF MY BELOVED

The son of a relative was to be initiated into Navarhood in Navsari. He was quite well-placed in life and had a wide circle of friends. His family was to stay in a house at Kangavad at Navsari while he was to live with a few friends from Bombay in a bungalow in the compound. I was also invited to spend a fortnight there. I was most eager to go to Navsari — not to enjoy the 'toddy' of the vast grounds of Lunsi-Kui but because that would afford an opportunity to see and meet my beloved. That, of course, in the presence of elders — never alone!

Time effects strange and singular changes. Today in our community we have love marriages. The young people meet, get acquainted, friendship is fostered, love grows, they willingly choose each other as partners and carry the glad tidings to their parents. The elders get them engaged. Should the wedding be delayed due to some reason, they meet freely and move about together without restriction. Then they get married.

It was not so in my case. Since years we had been engaged and were even married. I had come to Navsari, the native place of my consort. My heart ached to meet her, greet her, and talk to her. Every morning I climbed the steps of the home of my in-laws. I craved to meet my sweetheart alone. But our meeting was always supervised and chaperoned. So my life's companion would sit in coy and maidenly modesty with a veil of silence and seriousness shading her smile. The senior members of the family would enquire about the welfare of my folks and lengthen the conversation with meaningless gossip. Of what value was that to me? My mind and heart would cling only to the [35] fascinating form in front of me. I was thirsty for the sound of her silvery voice. I longed to gather the flowers that may fall from her sweet lips. My heart danced with joy and my thoughts mingled with those of my beloved. In such a state of absorption if a question was shot at me unawares, I stuttered and stammered. The joy that leaped within my heart was reflected through the windows of my soul. My messages sped through my glances, and they were not lost. By-passing the scrutiny of the surrounding guards they reached their intended target. The receiving heart immediately responded with delight and a slight blush suffused the cheeks and a soft smile played around the lips. Our love-lit eyes met in love's language and our silent glances were more vocal than speech. Our hearts poured out the sweet melody of love. We drank deep at that joyous fount and quenched the thirst of our longing souls.

Near the compound was a sweet-water well where our women-folk went in the evenings to fill their pitchers. Before pipes carried water into homes this was the only mode of conduction. Thus our women reaped the benefit of an hour or two of fresh air. Even the well-to-do availed of this opportunity. The village-well of those days served the purpose of modern ladies' gymkhanas or clubs. Miserable daughters-in-law, tortured by the tyranny of a harsh mother-in-law or troubled by the taunts and tantrums of a sister-in-law, found relief in pouring out their tale of woe into the responsive ear of an equally wretched friend. Both found solace in each other's narratives. Others laughed and sang and were merry as they filled their pots and went their way. The 'stop press' items of newspapers carried the latest news a few homes, hence the main-spring of gossip and rumour was that village-well. At least forty to fifty companions gathered thus every evening. I stood daily under the shade of a nearby [36] tamarind tree and watched the cavalcade of companions pass by with pots and pitchers balanced on their heads or hung at their waists. One amongst the hundred was distinctly outstanding. My gaze was fixed upon this captivating beauty in the full bloom of her youth, with pitcher balanced on her head, gliding gracefully along, her cheeks flushed with a crimson glow of consciousness, her features radiant with a sweet smile, stealing sly glances at me. This bewitching water-bearer was my wedded wife. My artistic soul painted the image of my beloved's beauty upon my heart wherein she found her anchor and her abode.

The time for departure was drawing near. The train was to leave Navsari early the next morning. By pushing a single button from a power-station the electric lights of an entire city can be switched off immediately; even so did the divine sentinal of the sky extinguish in a flicker the myriad lamps that had lent light to the darkness of night. Diligent womenfolk had already swept and cleaned their homes and imprinted upon their doorsteps the impress of happy augury and were chanting auspicious songs. The melodious chirping of birds mingled with their music urging the sun to rise. The creaking of the wheels of bullock-carts in the distance as they wended their way from the fields to the towns blended with the soft squeak of the water-wheel of the well in the vicinity. From the branches of mango and tamarind trees was heard the welcome song of cuckoos heralding the spring. The tranquility of dawn lent serenity to the mind and roses and double-jasmine wafted their refreshing fragrance.

There was still a little time for the train to arrive so we settled on a bench awaiting its arrival. By chance — or rather by contrivance — we sat side by side and that too at the furthest end of the bench. Respecting the presence of the elders, with [37] whispers and glances, through slight touches and imperceptible flirtations, we rapidly exchanged sentiments of love and affection. The bell tolled, the train arrived. There was a hustle and bustle; the guard blew his whistle and even while I looked, my heart's delight, wrapped in white Chinese satin, receded from sight. To me she seemed like an angel in the sky, this lovely creature of unparalleled beauty or form and features. But her image was absorbed in my being. My heart held its beloved within its deepest recesses. Upon my mind was sculptured the beauty of her form. Spiritually I was a born iconoclast — mentally I became an idolator.

Innumerable events colour a man's life from dawn to dusk and he goes through varied experiences from the commencement of a year to its end. He does not remember them all. Each event and each experience enacted in its own time exercises its own unique influence and is forgotten. But there are moments in every man's life that remain forever. They are engraved in his memory and become a part of his joys and sorrows for a long time to come. Such moments are rare, but when they do come they leave an indelible impression and are abiding. In this existence of sunshine and shadows, the memory of such joyous moments brings strength and succour, hope and courage to man and make his life sweet and serene.

With such beautiful and unforgettable memories I left Navsari to return to Bombay.

Chapter VII

KINDLING THE FLAME OF SELF CONFIDENCE

Between December 1893 and January 1894 Bombay was in a state of agitation and excitement. The great patriot, Dadabhoy Navroji, had come to Bombay to preside over the 9th session of the Lahore National Congress. In the Bible it is stated: 'Knock and it shall be opened to you'. Lal Mohan Ghosh had knocked twice on the doors of the British parliament but they were not opened to him; so, disheartened, he retreated. With the persistence of a Navsari-ite, Dadabhoy also knocked. He knocked again and again, repeatedly and ever louder, and only when they were opened, did this 'black man' of Lord Salisbury rest. Elaborate arrangements were made to welcome Dadabhoy. Large arches had been erected at intervals on the road-side. On these and on flags were printed slogans inspiring patriotic ardour, vigour, courage, and enthusiasm. I read them attentively, copied them down on a piece of paper and pondered upon them. In processions I would joust and jostle to remain close to Dadabhoy's carriage. At night I would read the account of the addresses and lectures delivered. In clubs and friendly circles this was the main topic of conversation. Whilst conversing, a challenge was thrown out as to who was competent enough to write an article in the newspaper about the welcome accorded to Dadabhoy. A penance of ten ('') (sit ups) was decided upon and I took up the challenge. Addresses and messages of congratulations had arrived from twenty-five different cities of the country and from various associations of Bombay. Nothing had come either from the citizens of Karachi or from the Parsi community there. I selected that subject and wrote a stinging article condemning the indolence and apathy of the capital city of Sindh and sent it to the 'Rast Goftar'. [39] To our surprise it was published in the Sunday issue of that paper. This was my first and final correspondence in a newspaper. In the fifty-three years that have elapsed since that day, I have not penned a single correspondence either signed or anonymous, or under a nom-de-plume.

My uncle was interested in books relating to religious matters and I had seen his small collection. In Bombay I bought approximately twenty-five books.

In our neighbourhood lived an old Marathi physician. He was habituated to opium. He was a good person with substantial fund of stories. Within a few days I had heard him relate twenty-five to thirty yarns. My interest in stories was stimulated. At the same time, I was attracted to more sound and serious reading.

Dadabhoy Navroji was born in a poor family. My heart always ached for the wretchedness and misery of the poor. My uncle frequently explained that a man may be born poor but he is not destined to live his whole life in poverty. Should he so desire, endeavour, and resolve to alter his condition, he could conquer this demon of misery.

A beautiful lotus springs from muddy waters and lifts its head above the surrounding filth; the brilliant diamond is embedded in the soil; the glamour of a pearl is hidden within the oyster-shell; even so have men, born in poverty, become great and brought glory and honour to their tribe. Poverty is hard to bear and painful, but it is not invincible.

Born and bred in poverty, Dadabhoy Navroji by the strength of his character and the wealth of his knowledge conquered poverty. He had succeeded, then why shouldn't I? He had become renowned, then why not I? All day long such thoughts filled my mind and did not let me rest that night.

[40] My trip to Bombay was not in vain. I had gained something rare and precious. I returned a new man. None could see the strange change that had come over me, for that was wrought within the recesses of my innermost being. Only my God and I recognised it. Suddenly I began to think great thoughts, cherish high ideals, dream noble dreams. My being longed to do something new, to become new, to achieve something new. I was neither educated nor learned. Experience had not yet moulded me. But an inner voice prompted that I was capable of doing something, being someone. An undreamed-of self-confidence was born in me. A new force ran in my veins. A new enthusiasm filled my being. I was full of hope. Timid by temperament I was suddenly emboldened. Not to sail the seas in search of adventures in China, but to stay at home and achieve something yet unknown, to make a name in the world. I felt that I was not quite a good-for-nothing; I was somebody. Pleasant day-dreaming can bring in its wake many pleasurable emotions. But these take wing no sooner than they are born. Who can stem the tide of fantasy? Within the twinkling of an eye it turns a wilderness into a bed of roses. The pauper becomes a prince in a flash of fancy. Many a castle built in the air comes crashing down to reality. In my saner moments I would wonder if all my feelings were genuine. Were the thoughts that had brightened my mind mere flights of imagination? Were they just airy nothings? My conscience refused to accept such negative thinking.

Chapter VIII

COMMENCEMENT OF SELF-EDUCATION

On returning to Karachi I started seeking some employment. A job was not easily available and when one did come my way, it was to be an honorary apprenticeship. I was a IC' Class member of the Municipal Library at the Frere Hall. I realized that nothing could be achieved in this world without higher education. I had attained no such education nor was I willing to do so, because that would entail the compulsory study of my detested subject — mathematics. If only I could find a school where I could study the subjects of my choice! I wanted to advance my knowledge of English, history, Persian, science, and other allied subjects, but such a school did not exist. So I resolved to educate myself.

I surmised that if I continued my reading — scholarly reading — my aim would be achieved. I started reading. I read a great deal and with great concentration. I read regularly, systematically, and with real interest and understanding. I fed my mind with fare that it could digest. With utmost care I chose my reading material and selected my books. No one's advice was sought, but the contents of each library book were conned carefully, the preface read, and the pages scanned through. The chosen book was taken home. Not only did I read the book but deliberated on the matter also. Eagerly did I devour history, biography, and stories of travel. Within a span of five years I was attracted to books of deep philosophy. Strangely, though the library was replete with novels, I never read them. It was particularly surprising as I had become the editor and-proprietor of a magazine that contained mostly fiction.

[42] In the beginning of 1894, a monthly magazine called "Gnan Sagar" ('The Ocean of Knowledge') commenced publication in Karachi under the proprietorship of a Hindu gentleman, Framroze Kabraji, the nephew of the famous writer and reformist of Bombay. Kaikhushru Kabraji was its editor. On the Zoroastrian New Year's Day of the same year, the "Gulshan-e-Danesh" ('The Garden of Wisdom') was published under Parsi patronage and my editorship. I was twenty then. My salary as an editor was Rs. 5/—. At the office I was working in an honorary capacity, so this was my life's first salary. As it faced a deficit in the very first year, the proprietor refused to continue its publication, so I took its liabilities upon myself. During that period it was the fortunate destiny of Karachi-ites to sip 'the nectar of knowledge' on the one hand and to refresh their minds with 'the fragrance of flowers' from 'the garden of wisdom' on the other. I, too, encountered a loss; and, what was more important, within a very short time I lost all interest in writing the love-stories of Mehera and Silla. My mind was drawn to subjects relating to God, the soul, and the spirit.

At the end of the third year, I discontinued the publication of that magazine. After all the accounts of the press had been settled, a deficit of a hundred rupees was due. Through the very special favour of a Hindu friend, I was loaned that amount at an interest of an anna per rupee per month. This was my life's first debt. Every month Rs. 6/4 would be debited by way of Interest. Within a year I paid an interest of Rs. 75/—, yet the amount borrowed remained intact.

At last I decided to set aside my sense of shame and reveal the tale of my troubles to my uncle. Everyone in the family had been against this enterprise from the start. With great enthusiasm I had sent a copy of its first issue to my father-in-law [43] at Bombay. I received strict instructions from there never to send such trash to him again. From China came the admonition that I should abandon such vain endeavours and even at that stage consider going to China. My uncle was not angry. With a slight reproach he immediately gave me the money. However, the following day I received a lengthy letter from him on the malady of incurring debts and the disgrace and dishonour that accompany a debtor.

Chapter IX

HERE COMES THE BRIDE

Child-marriage was not a Parsi custom. In ancient Iran child-marriages were unknown. After coming to this country, among the many Hindu practices adopted by the Parsis, this custom of getting children married at an early age was adopted. Thus very young children were wedded; but, until they reached puberty, the boy and girl lived with their parents. Only after the girl came of age did she leave her parental home to go into the home of her in-laws.

According to Parsi marriage laws, with the pronouncement of the words, "Een kanik osti Cooverbai namver" and "Eeyum coomari osti Cooverbai namvar", in Pazand and in Sanskrit, which mean: "Take this maiden named Cooverbai of priestly lineage," before the invitees witnessing the wedding ceremony, my in-laws presented to me their precious daughter in the holy rites of matrimony. I had won this five-year-old delicate beauty — she was mine. Yet, even though full fourteen years had gone by, we lived seven hundred miles apart.

"Here comes the bride" — 'Welcome to the bride' — were songs I had listened to since childhood. Forty-five years after my uncle had settled in Karachi the auspicious occasion had arrived to welcome a daughter-in-law into our home. In the spring-time of youth, on the dawn of my twentieth birthday, my bride stepped into our home, there to remain forever. Her advent brought light and sunshine into our home. Happy and light-hearted, she would turn the most sullen face into smiles and put speech into the mouth of the quietest creature — hence our home resounded with joy and laughter. Who would not like such a daughter-in-law? Everyone liked her and I liked her too. Being the only daughter-in-law in the home she soon became [45] the favourite of all. Great changes were wrought in the mode and manner of our living by her entrance. My uncle announced that a pet of her parents, she had come from a happy home, had been reared on the best fare and brought up with love and joy, hence she should lack nothing in our home either. The menu was no longer to contain plain khichdi but some sort of sauce or curry or mince should be served with it. Rice too should be served with some gravy. We used to be content with plain milk and chapatti as an evening repast once a week, but henceforth that practice should cease and it was decided to send for the 'bazaar' every day of the month. One dish should be prepared from any available vegetable. Besides these changes another major alteration was also introduced. Until that time all the cooking, cleaning, sweeping, and other chores had been performed by my aunt and sister. Cooking remained with the women of the household, but it was decided to employ a young servant in the home so that the menial burden of sweeping and cleaning may not fall upon the daughter-in-law.

Our love for each other was deep and abiding. Our life was full of sweetness and joy. We could not bear to lose sight of one another. Our conversation never ended. Every morning when I left for work, the women would naturally be in the kitchen. I would bid farewell to my aunt and sister and my wife would accompany me to the doorstep. The leave-taking was long and loving. There never was an end to what we had to say to each other. When eventually I did tear myself away, she would wait at the doorway affectionately waving back to me as long as we could see one another. Meanwhile all sorts of things would happen in the kitchen. Something would over-boil or over-flow; something would simmer and scorch. This became a daily affair. It was beyond my aunt's comprehension to fathom the contents of our unending [46] conversation. Her childhood's experience was completely different. Such a young couple dared not converse in the company of others. In Iranian homes there are two compartments — an outer portion called the birun and an inner portion, the andrun. The veiled women live in the inner room. Parsi women were not veiled, but their conversation and contacts were strictly supervised and restricted.

At eventide while returning from work many a passerby would come into view, but in my mind was the vision of one person only, and my eyes strained in eagerness for the sight of a single familiar face. Laying aside some sewing or embroidery that was in hand, my one-and-only sweetheart would be at the window, anxiously awaiting my return. At the first glimpse of her my heart would leap with joy, my mind would find its happiness and the shadow of a smile would steal around my lips. Less than eight hours had elapsed since we had last seen each other, but it seemed to us that we were meeting again after eight days or more. We could not bear to be separated or to be out of each other's sight. Our lives were entwined in love and oneness and we could not live without each other. Our hearts had become one. As an ivy clings to a bough, my beloved clung to me, and I in return loved her with equal warmth. She was the living embodiment of the loveliest poetry of my life. She had turned my life into a beautiful song.

Asho Zarathushtra counsels a couple on the threshold of marriage to let their love be pure and abiding and vie with each other in devotion. With my whole mind and heart and soul, I loved my beloved. She returned my affection with a deep and sacred devotion. Neither could conquer in this contest of love. It seemed impossible to find another couple in the whole, wide world so deeply devoted and so passionately in love. But... ...

Chapter X

UNITED IN SPIRIT - DIVIDED IN THOUGHT

The more we lived together, the more did we know each other, understand each other. It was not long before we realized that our thinking was not in harmony. Our thoughts were more divided than could be tolerated, more discordant than could be endured. Our principles of life were completely different. The gulf between us was wide indeed. Our hearts were united in love and affection but our minds were drifting apart. In America couples are divorced on the slightest pretext. The husband and wife whose thinking differs, can easily obtain a divorce in courts of law on grounds of incompatibility of temperament. Our state was somewhat similar to that.

My day began at dawn, at 4 a. m. Lulled by the demon of laziness, my partner stayed in bed till 6. This pained me deeply. How can dame fortune favour the family whose home-maker did not invite her with songs and sweet speeches and who was not industrious enough to rise early and adorn the home with auguries of good omen? In order to vanquish the devil and to crush his evil intentions I would apply the 'waters of the Golden River' — 'taro' — three times religiously to my face, hands, and feet early in the morning. This bull's urine was as holy in my estimation as the waters of the sacred Ganges to the Hindu. To derive the maximum benefit of its miraculous effect, I would apply a cupful of it three times over my whole body from the scalp of my head to the soles of my feet before bathing. Not only did my good lady refuse to use 'taro' but she even dared to dissuade me from doing so, with entreaties that I was harming my skin unnecessarily by the application of so unclean a substance. Her words sounded false and even sacrilegious. I craved for an opportunity [48] to wreck my vengeance. At last, one day while she was bathing, I stealthily and suddenly poured a tumblerful of taro from above all over her. She raised a mighty hullabaloo and everyone came running, anticipating some calamity. When I placed my case before them, they declared my deed as correct from the religious standpoint, yet my uncle did not approve of my behaviour.

According to the Vendidad shorn hair is considered as desecrated as pared nails. I also believed that it was sinful to move about bareheaded or to sleep with the head uncovered. In order to ward off sin I used to put on a deep, white night-cap like the one mobeds wear. My good lady did not approve of this. She told me I looked like a corpse-bearer in that cap. Such words sorely annoyed me. We quibbled and quarrelled, reviled and reproved, but eventually were united. This became a daily affair; so, after six or seven months, I thought it advisable to suppress the source of evil. Instead of the white cap I donned a cap made of checked cloth. Not pacified, my dear wife said I looked like a cook in that headgear. This was the limit. My aunt had not approved of the idea of my changing the white cap for a spotted one. She taunted me that I had been beguiled by a woman and related the following saying that she had heard in the regime of the East India Company: "Keep the under-dog in control lest he gain an upperhand." I had not done so and had placed my partner on a pedestal, hence she was getting the better of me now and I was made to reap the fruits of my own weakness. She added that under similar circumstances a young man was made to dance to the tune of his mistress. On seeing him thus subdued, his mother had asked, "Son, who has turned you into such a cock?" to which he replied, "My partner". Thus my beloved had bestowed on me the titles of corpse-bearer, care-taker, and cook, and my aunt had dubbed me a cock. How could such misery be endured?

[49] My wife persuaded me to go my way and to let her lead her own life. But how could that be? I was her rightful husband and as such was responsible for her joys and sorrows. If she did not use taro, disregarded the rules of piety and purity, flouted customs and conventions, it would result in heinous sin and after death her soul would lose its way and be unable to cross the Bridge of Doom [Chinwad bridge]. At that time the Lord of Justice would surely hold me accountable for her failings being her husband and the custodian of her behaviour! Just as I was responsible for her happiness here, I was equally responsible for her soul's immortality hereafter! My wife would feign to be wise and advise me that both of us should follow the axiom of 'live and let live'. But that was impossible. Were I to do so, I would be failing in my duty and how could I reply to the spiritual judges who would stand at the door-way on the day of retribution? I searched for religious references in defence of my conduct and after much labour I found a few. This relieved me considerably. I was confident that I would be able to defeat my wife in her arguments now. Quite pleased with my discovery, I approached her, all smiles, the Arda Viraf Nameh in hand. In it was written "Once there was a husband and there was a wife. The husband was noble, the wife ignoble. Both died and approached the courtroom of the Almighty. Justice was meted out. Heaven was the husband's due, the wife was sent to hell. When the demon started to drag the wife hellwards, she turned back to her husband and jeered: 'You were my husband and today you are selfishly strutting to heaven. Why did you not save me from the pathway of ruin?' Hearing this, the husband lowered his head in shame and wept." I was convinced that on hearing this infallible evidence of a saint like Viraf who was credited with having visited heaven and hell during his sojourn on earth, my wife would abandon her babbling and hold her peace. But, no. On the contrary this emancipated [50] woman discredited the validity of Viraf's writings and qualified them as crazy crowings, thus tantalizing me with her taunts. What an evil destiny was mine!! Within the recesses of my mind lingered the thought that I had harboured in my home not a wife but a woe. Whence, why, and wherefore had come this disgrace into our sweet, simple, and serene existence?

Religion teaches man lessons of truth and devotion. It holds before mankind the ideal of universal resurrection on the Day of Redemption. Yet that same religion raises jihads throughout the world, pitches man against man, divides communities into sects and castes and creates bitterness and misunderstanding between loved and loving ones. Religion alone was sowing the seeds of separation in the soil of our love-tilled lives. True, it was according to my concept of religion at that time. Fearing defilement I kept myself at a distance. She had no delusions or apprehensions about it. Our personal lives were in disharmony. Conventions and consecrations like the utilization of taro were religion to me. My co-mate was no worshipper of conventions, whereas I was. I was in the ranks of the faithful — my partner was an infidel. Why were we so different? Why was there such a diversity in the moulding of our minds? Who had brought such disparity in our thoughts? Was it our hereditary mental make-up or was it our social environment? Was God responsible? Who was?

Both of us had been born and bred in conservative and orthodox families. My father-in-law was even more orthodox than my uncle and my father. My wife's uncle lived mostly in China. My father-in-law was a tyrant at home. My life's companion had had to live a dual existence in her childhood. She had to wrap her 'mathabanoo' (scarf) in two styles. As long as father was at home it had to be tied just [51] two fingers above the eye-brows. The moment father left for the shop the mathabanoo travelled upwards and loose, high-set, un-parted hair adding beauty to the features, came into view. That was not the age of 'V'-shaped necklines in blouses. In fact the blouse itself was unknown. Women wore long-sleeved vests like men. These loose vests were decorated with laces, ribbons, and frills. Should my lady dare to follow such fashion and her father chance to spy it, that apparel immediately found a burial. Between the 'sapat' of olden days and the shoes of modern times, the slipper had established a place of prestige. My lady harboured a great desire for wearing shoes. But it was not possible to go anywhere near them. She had to be satisfied with slippers and that too on the sly. Had she to go out in the presence of her father, she would leave the house in 'sapat' and then adorn her feet later with slippers hidden in some secret nook or corner. Such were the strict and stern codes of behaviour in which she had been reared. And yet, how had she turned out to be so wicked in her womanhood?

The answer was simple. Though she was born into the conventional religion of her parents and reared in such an environment, Spenta Mainyo, nature's craftsman, had moulded her mental structure and her innate characteristics in another fashion. On reaching adulthood, when her thoughts and emotions functioned freely and independently, all obligatory rules and restrictions of childhood were immediately disregarded and discarded.

Chapter XI

SCHOLARLY PURSUITS DURING YEARS OF SERVICE

It was necessary to seek service in order to live. But it was never my ambition to climb ever upwards and to earn a rich and handsome salary. Service was a necessity; but, side by side with service, my heart's yearning was to widen my education and to live a life of scholarship. The eight years between 1894 and 1901 were years of employment; but they were years of enlightenment also. My uncle had taught me to rise at break of day. Formerly I would leave my bed at four reluctantly, compulsorily, grudgingly. Now it was a voluntary gesture, prompted by eagerness and enthusiasm. The rituals of bathing and praying were quickly completed, and I was soon wrapped in reading, writing, and study. Prior to leaving for the office, I put in at least three hours of hard work at home. Sensing something ridiculous in my mode of work, my wife often teased me. At times I felt that my thoughts refused to flow as fluently as I wished. So I closed every door and window and inhaled the fragrance of sandalwood. I was blamed for ruining my eyesight by doing so. Another remedy to make my mind more alert was to drink cupfuls of weak tea. The moment I called for tea, peals of laughter emerged from the kitchen. But to me it seemed that such homely remedies whetted my capacity to think. Thoughts were wafted on wings and they flowed through my pen with greater speed and strength. I always walked to and from the office. In summer Parsis generally wore a sola hat as a protection from the hot sun. My wife often pleaded with me to do so, but I would not comply with her affectionate persuations, nor would I carry an umbrella. To me such a gesture seemed an exhibition of frailty and feebleness. Moreover, I had an innate dislike for a hat. [53] I was strongly opposed to natives donning the European garb. It seemed an apish imitation. Those who were dressed in such fashion I termed as 'Goans'. My argument was that when westerners come to our country they never abandon their own dress; then why should we become aliens in our attire?

On my way to work I stepped into the library where I read all the local English newspapers, the 'Times of India' and all the Gujarati papers of Bombay to get world news. Then, on the dot of time I reached my office. Other clerks were already in their appointed places. During office hours I snatched every spare moment to write something relating to my studies. In the evening I would put away my accounts files and await my boss' departure impatiently. The moment he left from one exit, I would slip away from another and return to the library. Some time elapsed in relevant reading before I went home. After a little relaxation with the dear ones and worship and meals, I returned to my study till ten at night. Thus from dawn to dusk besides working at a job, I read, wrote, and studied a great deal.

Day by day my inclination for religious study grew, and I read increasingly on the subject. Every month I sent for books worth ten to fifteen rupees from Bombay. To receive a packet of books was my greatest happiness. When young men went to distant places like Bengal or China to seek their fortune, their dear ones eagerly awaited news of them. They looked forward to the arrival of the postman and welcomed him with real joy. Everyone respected and revered the postman and made much of him. Each one would ask: "Have you brought good tidings for me, kind gentleman?" If perchance he placed a letter in the mother's hands she blessed him and thanked him profusely. Should my postman bring any letters for me, I [54] would first open those from the book-sellers. Books would reach later as they were sent by registered post parcel, but I would not have the patience to wait. The postman would bring the parcel home in the afternoon, so I could handle it only in the evening after office hours. So on my way to work I went to the General Post Office early in the morning and took possession of my precious packet. On reaching the office the parcel was opened and each book was fondled with care and affection and its rich fragrance inhaled. Should no one be watching, a particularly favourite book would even receive the fond imprint of a stolen kiss. At times when the parcel was large the Post Master would have pity on me and tell me not to take the trouble of carrying it, for the postman would deliver the packet. But the weight was no problem to me. I would insist upon carrying it myself to the office and, in the evening, when work was done, it was a labour of love to carry the load home in my arms.

My opinions upon religious matters were being formulated gradually and I became eager to write books on religion and to deliver speeches and lectures on the subject. From an orchard full of fruits each man plucks and enjoys the fruit of his choice. Even so, from the garden of religious literature, each scholar inhales the fragrance of the flowers of his heart's desire. As each man's taste in food differs, his appetite for religious nourishment too corresponds to his own temperament. People are drawn towards the various aspects of religious thought according to their own inclination. Some lean towards the devotional aspect, others are attracted by ceremonials; while philosophy calls to some, orthodoxy has an appeal for others; to some the outward expression of religion is precious, others delve deep into its mysteries; some there are to whom conventional religion is the meaning and purpose of life — and so each [55] chooses according to his own inner urge. In the initial stages birth, breeding, education, and companionship mould a person's religious concepts. An exceptionally large majority of people clings throughout life to the ideologies that have been nurtured in the environment into which they are born and in which they are reared. But he who can think for himself cannot blindly accept for long any established religion or religious teachings, once his mind has been developed. As understanding dawns on him, much that has been learnt, or heard or read, many of the beliefs of childhood are abandoned and new ideals take their place. His mind moulds his destiny. If his mental outlook prompts him to put behind him the conservative concepts of bygone days and to welcome new ideals, he does so. He who has been brought up believing in multiple gods, learns to place his faith in one supreme creator. He who has believed in man's single journey on earth, turns to the philosophy of re-incarnation. The devout turns into an atheist. Society strives to win him back to his old ideals and to the religion of his birth, but despite a clash of ideologies, a display of religiosity and a great deal of ill-feeling, society loses the battle and he continues to follow the dictates of his conscience. As man grows he comes into contact with people of varied Ideologies, and consciously or unconsciously is influenced by conflicting concepts according to his personal level of thinking.

During my youth our community was divided into three main streams of religious thinking, and the leaders of each group exerted all their influence to