Despite
all my issues with parts of Gandhi’s politics . . . despite being
aware that it is not in vogue today to admire something related to
him, today when invariably I notice that bookstands have put My
Experiments with Truth on
the back shelves to make way for Godse's Why
I Killed Gandhi,
I
am sharing my memories of Sevagram that have stayed with me over the
years, whose temporary peace I have sought in many places since. I
believe trouble occurs when we make heroes out of people whose work
we admire. We start worshipping them, and the minute they make a
mistake they fall from our grace. It is so much simpler to put our
faith in the word done and in the ideals followed, for their
significance goes much beyond the people who espoused them. If a
leader, for example, fights against corruption, and is then caught in
a corrupt act himself, it is not as if the idea of fighting against
corruption is to be let go of (unless we are looking for an excuse to
be corrupt ourselves).
A
visit to Sevagram (Wardha, Maharashtra), where Gandhi moved in 1936,
is like coming back to the very best of what the people’s leader
had come to represent. Being in Sevagram was a complete antidote to
how I felt living in Delhi: the capital city that triggered feelings
of stress, anxiety and inadequacy. Sevagram, on the contrary, calmly
signifies that less is more and reminds one of the power of
determined marches over frantic runs. Originally a village brought to
prominence due to Gandhi’s stay there, Sevagram is still making up
its mind about whether to behave as a town or a village. Luckily for
tourists, this perplexity offers them the best of both worlds. It has
the quiet of a village and yet manages to provide the amenities of a
town, from varying modes
of conveyance
to cyber cafes. As I disembarked at the Sevagram railway station and
stopped at a bookshop to buy some (now rarely found) books in Hindi,
the bookseller shared his guilt about not having visited Gandhi’s
ashram and made me promise that I would not follow him in his
sin.
It
is true that the most rewarding treat of staying at Sevagram is a
visit to Bapu Kuti. One does not have to be a Gandhi devotee to be
able to appreciate the austere beauty of the ashram’s premises.
Gandhi is said to have shared these thoughts about who should
consider residing in the ashram: “He
alone deserves to be called an inmate of the Ashram who has ceased to
have any worldly relation - a relation involving monetary interests--
with his parents or other relatives, who has no other needs save
those of food and clothing and who is ever watchful in the observance
of the eleven cardinal vows. Therefore he who needs to make savings,
should never be regarded as an Ashram inmate.”
The
hut which welcomed Gandhi and his many visitors is nothing short of a
museum. A quaint bath, an elderly, dignified telephone box and neat
little alcoves shyly peeping from the walls, all serve to create an
inexplicable nostalgia for a past that we were not even a part of.
The kitchen contains the flour grinder Gandhi put to use
occasionally. His cot and massage table have also been retained. The
sacredness of the place is defended by the several sombre trees that
have themselves withstood the many ravages of time. The practice of
daily prayers in the open continues till date. The campus has all the
humility carried in the name of the village ('a village for
service').
In
fact, the last bit is true of all the places I have visited
associated with Gandhi (including Gandhi Smriti in Delhi) where he
lived or worked. There is no splendour or grandeur usually expected
of heritage sites. There is a bare, undecorated beauty in these
places, one that accepts itself and all its visitors unconditionally.
It is this all-embracing calmness that humbles and overwhelms me each
time, leaving me moved and inspired.
In
1982, a yatri nivas (where I had the good fortune of staying) was
built across the road by the government so visitors could stay or
organisations engaged in socially productive work could use the venue
for their meetings and retreats.
But
for all its austerity, Sevagram does not suggest that we slip into
primeval times. It boasts of housing the first rural medical college,
along with an engineering institute. The road down Bapu Kuti leads to
many small cooperative societies named after the legend and doing
good business. All of this makes one reconsider whether the only way
to meet development is to cartwheel into it headlong. And it makes
visitors have second thoughts about slotting people as heroes and
villains, instead of finding the good that we can in them, learning
from it, and moving on.
First published in thREAD, The Hindu, 2 May 2018.
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