A woman of India : being the life of Saroj Nalini (founder of the Women's institute movement in India)

Front matter

Sete Oa?

Ves Sebo

4 Hs Ay f f ear i re

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE INTRODUCTION . : : : : : 7

III. Home Duties. : : ; ei BA.

IV. Inp1an WomANHOOD . , : : 26 V. Some Traits oF CHARACTER : : Woneae VI. IpEAL or MarriacE . ; : ; aa VII. Love or Music . : : ; : ESN te VIII. Patriotism : s ; : : peed.

Introduction

India, especially in the North and East, where the evils of the purdah system have been most keenly felt and its injustice most bitterly realised. It is of no little significance that the Indian National Congress, held at Calcutta on 28th December 1928, has inaugurated a nation-wide campaign against the purdah seclusion of women. It appears that this will be regarded in the future as a national injustice which has to be removed by the will of a united people. There could not be a more hopeful sign for the New Year, 1929, than such a Congress resolution.

The real greatness of Saroj Nalini’s influence consisted in this, that while fully appreciating the necessity of the change which had to be made in woman’s life in Bengal, she understood at the same time the unique value of the old social life of the past, which had a singular beauty of its own. She did not throw aside the simple customs which had endeared it to her own fellow-countrywomen age after age. She never tried to shock people with her modernism.

The understanding of both East and West came naturally to her. She had not to force herself either one way or the other. For in her own nature she possessed the active temperament of the West side by side with the more meditative temperament of the East. Her own life was a harmony; and as she realised that harmony in herself, she longed to impart it to others. For she saw clearly that in this modern age, amid the clash of all the new forces in human history, the old secluded life, however beautiful in certain of its aspects, could not possibly be maintained without modification. She, perhaps, more than any other woman, was able to inaugurate the change.

The main thing that I would wish to draw attention to in this introduction is the fact that such reforms as are now being undertaken in the different Mahila Samitis? of India could not possibly be brought about from the outside. The process of change from the old to the new is far too delicate for that. Those who are external to this inner life could only interfere with harm if ever they tried to dominate or dictate.

It is true that loving service may always be offered from without in all tender humility. But the leadership must come from within. The inspiration must start from within also. For only that change which is self-chosen and self-imposed is lasting. That which is chosen by others, and superimposed, passes away when the outside influence is withdrawn. Saroj Nalini had the unique advantage of being able to work from within with regard to all that she had undertaken. For that reason the work she has done will abide.

Those who know India best have universally felt that India’s womanhood has a fineness and a beauty unequalled in any part of the world. The grace of the Indian woman’s dress, the sari, is a true symbol of her inner character and spirit. Such a wealth of womanly refinement is a treasure, which humanity must carefully preserve. In many countries very precious things such as these have already been destroyed by the vandalism of the modern age in its

1 Women’s Institutes. 10

INTRODUCTION insensate eagerness for change at any cost. But we can never afford to lose this supreme gift that India has to offer to the world.

At the same time, merely to allow things to go on unchanged while modern life advances is to court disaster from another angle. The vital need, as I have stated, is for reform to proceed from within, at the will and choice of Indian women themselves. For this alone is healthy.

Surely we may rejoice that Bengal has produced from among the most devoted of her own children one whose character while she lived was so sweet and motherly and pure as that of Saroj Nalini. Its fragrance has also remained even after she has passed away.

(From THE BENGALI FOREWORD BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE)

Man takes pride tn the costly articles collected among his possessions. Of far greater moment are the treasures of the storehouses of memory. That man alone is truly poor whose memory has stored little that 1s of lasting value.

That is why, as I read this little sketch of the life and work of Saroj Nalini, I realised that her husband, the author of this book, 1s indeed a fortunate man. For such a woman as Saroj Nalini cannot be lost even in death. She lives for ever in the life of the person who has had the benediction of close association with her... .

Ordinarily, when we look for the typical Bengali woman, we think of one whose activities are confined within the four walls of her home. It is by no means rare for a life enclosed within the limits of a home and

II protected by a thousand safeguards to attain a certain narrow ideal of tts own. Its scope 1s small, its demands are few, and its tests are comparatively less hard.

Saroj Nalini lived most of her life in the midst of the crowd outside her home. Her life was not bounded by her kindred. She had often to perform the duties of a hostess towards people not her own. Her life’s work was not confined to the family circle only; her home sphere comprised many and varied elements. There were relatives and friends, fellow-countrymen and foreigners, acquaintances and strangers. Her relations with this large home circle were rendered gracious through her sweetness, and beneficent through her unselfishness. It 1s amidst such surroundings that a woman’s life is put to its real test and finds its true expression. In her own life the home was not sacrificed to society, nor society to the home. Ina perfect balance between the two lies the crowning glory of her career.

In the present age our ideal 1s no longer that of the woman who 1s only a housewife and nothing more, but the woman who works for the weal of home and community alike. Lt 1s no longer the woman whose life 1s cast in the time-worn mould of provincial custom and tradition that 1s most needed, but she in whom the streams of intellect and emotion emanating from this vast universe are not hindered from mingling in a deep and beautiful harmony.

It is this ideal which we find realised in Saroj Nalini’s life.

3 RABINDRANATH TAGORE.

November 1925.

Chapter I Childhood

Saroy Natint1, the fourth daughter of Mr Brojendra Nath De, was born on the gth of October 1887 at his country house at Bandel, near Hooghly, in Bengal. She was only thirty-seven years old when she passed away. Her father is well known in Bengal as one of the distinguished members of the Indian Civil Service, which he entered in 1875. After retiring from that service he has been living in Calcutta. The house in which Saroj Nalini was born was occupied by a large number of members of the joint Hindu family in which her mother then lived with her grandmother, several uncles, aunts, and cousins. It was a rambling masonry house of the old type, and around it was a large garden with thick groves of mango, coco-nut, and betel palm, and fragrant with the scent of lemon blossoms and the nightlily. Here and there along the banks of a pond were clumps of banana, while in one corner stood a lofty clump of casuarina trees, the tops of which, towering high above the neighbouring landscape, stood out as a prominent landmark for miles around.

1 Rajani-gandba. h3

The house was within a stone’s-throw of the right bank of the river Hooghly, a branch of the Ganges, which is regarded by the Hindus throughout Bengal as the holiest branch of the sacred Ganga (Ganges), and to which her mother, grandmother, and the other females of the house went on foot every morning and performed their daily ablution, ending up with the usual prayer, while still half-immersed in the water, with their faces turned to the sun, hands folded, and eyes closed—practices in which little Saroj Nalini joined with them in her early childhood. In accordance with Hindu tradition, Saroj Nalini was regarded by her mother and grandmother as the girl who brought luck to the family, inasmuch as the next child to be born after her was a boy, after there had been no less than four girls in succession. From her infancy Saroj Nalini was the favourite child of her parents. Her father, as well as her late mother, Nagendra Nandini, are well known all over Bengal for their high character. Saroj Nalini inherited more than an ordinary share of their many qualities. When she was a little girl a prediction was made about her: ‘‘Whatever this girl touches will turn into gold.” Even in childhood she showed an uncommon sweetness of disposition which drew everybody to her. Her gifted uncle, Sidheswar Mitra, often composed poems about her, and affectionately called her “‘Sasu.”’ Another uncle of hers was the late S. M. Mitra, a well-known author and journalist.t She called him “Uncle Gullu,” and he called her “ Naughty Sajja.”’ In his English novel, 1 Author of Indian Problems, Life of Sir Fohn Hall, Hindu Mind Training, Position of Women in Indian Life, Hindupore, etc.

CHILDHOOD

Hindupore,t he portrays her as the living ideal of Bengal’s womanhood and the personification of Hindu music. |

Saroj Nalini? was not educated at any school, nor did she pass any university examination. She was brought up with her brothers and sisters, and shared with them in an ordinary way an education under a tutor anda governess. ‘This consisted in learning the “three R’s,” conversing and writing with fluency in English and Bengali, and a smattering of elementary history and geography. It was from her parents and from her widowed grandmother, however, that she imbibed in a special measure the qualities that distinguished her in later life. Her- father had married before he went to England to compete for the Indian Civil Service. Even after his return from England, his wife, Nagendra Nandini, continued to live the life of a typical Hindu wife within the purdah under the supervision and care of her mother-in-law until several years after Saroj Nalini’s birth. Although after she had discarded the purdah she used to mix freely in society, she never learnt English and used to converse with her husband’s European friends in Hindustani. She was a devoted wife and mother and a most skilful housewife, and she imparted a wholesome home training to all her children.

Apart from her mother’s influence, however, the quiet but beautiful simplicity, idealism, and discipline of the placid life of her widowed grandmother,

1 Luzac.

2 “Saroj Nalini” means a fresh-water lily, and, in the words of the author of Hindupore, ‘‘ the name suited her well.”

Trailokya Mohini, was perhaps the most potent factor in moulding Saroj Nalini’s character and outlook on life; for the greater part of her early childhood she spent under the direct care of this highsouled widow lady, whom she used to join joyfully in the daily religious act of ablution in the river and the many other picturesque rites and ceremonies which characterise a Hindu widow’s life. In later years Saroj Nalini often fondly recalled the joy which she used to derive as a girl from her participation in the ceremonial observances of her grandmother.

Constant intercourse from childhood onwards with the families of Indian and European friends of her father, as well as a six months’ visit to England at the age of six, became of special assistance to her in her early education. Along with her lessons she also learnt riding, tennis, and other outdoor games, and acquired considerable skill in music, both vocal and instrumental. She possessed a sweet voice and was extremely fond of learning new songs. From her father she imbibed an early taste for gardening, and when she was not helping her mother in household work or doing her lessons, little Saroj Nalini loved to be busy tending the small patch of vegetable and flower garden specially assigned to her exclusive care.

Before her marriage she could play the esrdj,* the piano, and the violin. After her marriage she practised the sitar * also; but she was particularly fond

1 A stringed instrument resembling a mandoline, played with a bow.

2 A stringed instrument resembling the esraj, but played with a wire plectrum attached to the finger.

CHILDHOOD of the violin, and latterly used to learn a new tune each week from her old music teacher. She herself often regretted that she had never been to a school, but perhaps it was because of the fact that she never received a school education that her mind and character remained filled with a girlish simplicity, grace, purity, and sweetness like a newly-opened flower; and she was able to retain these qualities through all the changes, struggles, and activities of her life.

The duty that most appealed to her in childhood was to attend to the comfort of her parents. Every night before her father went to bed she would take up his milk to him, and after he went to bed she would look into his shoes to see that no small snakes or scorpions had got into them. These were to her a daily duty which she never omitted to perform.

Chapter II Married Life

It was in January 1906, shortly after I had joined the Indian Civil Service, that I first met her. She was then a sturdy young girl, full of vivacity and life, of a fair complexion, thin and tall, and, in the words of the author of Hindupore, “pretty... prettier than her mother and her sisters.” In the July following I asked her father for her hand, and we became betrothed to each other. We were married on the 23rd September 1906, when she was nineteen. From that day onward she was the inseparable companion of my life. T'wo years after our marriage, when our son was born, she paid a three months’ visit to her parents; and once again, under medical advice, she was obliged to take our son for a three weeks’ stay in the hills. Except when compelled to do so on a few such occasions, it might almost be said that she never left me for a single day during the eighteen years of our married life.

When I was the Sub-divisional Officer of Kishengunge, in the Purnea district, I had often to ride thirty to forty miles in order to change my camp while on tour. The only wheeled conveyance that could negotiate those bad roads was the bullock-cart. My son was then a baby, and rather than remain away from me at home when I went out on © tour, Saroj Nalini used to follow me with our child

MARRIED LIFE in a bullock-cart all those thirty to forty miles’ distance from one camp to another.

She was an eager partner in all my labours; and in order to be able to accompany me wherever I went, she improved her riding after our marriage. She loved riding and became such a good horsewoman that her mount, a big animal which threw me more than once, could never unseat her. She rode a side-saddle and considered it more becoming for a woman than riding astride. When we had no motor car, she drove her trap with perfect ease in the crowded streets of Calcutta; and when we had our motor, she sat by my side and learnt to drive it well. During my four years of Sub-divisional life we often rode cross-country for thirty miles together.

In every outdoor game she was my companion. Of tennis she was particularly fond, and played it with unusual skill. Few English or Indian women of our acquaintance could play it as well as she. When I went tiger-shooting, whether on an elephant’s back in the Nepal Terai or on foot in the Sundarbans,! she accompanied me on every occasion. When I shot a large tiger in the jungles of Purnea, she fearlessly sat by my side on the elephant, holding my cartridge-bag and my second gun, handing me the cartridges. The sight of the tiger on that occasion—a big brute measuring ten feet—terrified the police attendant who was with us, but Saroj Nalini showed not the slightest trace of fear. It was she who first sighted the tiger and drew my attention to it by quietly pointing her finger in its direction.

1 Virgin forests of mangrove trees in the delta of the Ganges.

ug

During that shoot, after wounding the tiger in the leg with my first shot, I had to continue on the track of the wounded animal for two successive days on the back of an elephant. She was with me throughout. Twice a day she would change to another elephant, go to camp two miles away, feed the baby, and fetch some food for us, which we ate seated on the elephant while we tracked the tiger.

Saro} Nalini did not mind my going out alone to shoot other animals, but never for a day would she bear my going out tiger-shooting without herself as my companion, for she feared that if I went alone I might run into unnecessary danger. IfI proposed to go tiger-shooting without her, she would hide my guns and cartridges and effectively prevent it. On one such occasion I found out where she had hidden them. Accompanied by Mr Kirkpatrick, the Assistant Conservator of Forests, I got out of our steam launch and set out on foot. I was then the District Officer of Khulna, and the Government steam launch in which I was touring was anchored off the southern limits of the Sundarbans on the edge of the Bay of Bengal. Saroj Nalini, however, found out where we had gone, and although the path lay through forests infested by tigers, she came all the way on foot, escorted only by some servants, and joined us in the jungle. One day, while we were tracking a tiger in the deep forests of the Sundarbans of Khulna, we could hear it roar very close to us. Saroj Nalini walked beside us as we crept forward, gun in hand, under cover of trees, tracking the tiger by the sound of its voice.

Another day it got dark while we were still in the

MARRIED LIFE forests of the Sundarbans. A tiger got scent of us and was on our track. We could hear its footsteps behind us. It was not possible to shoot it in the dark, and all that we could do was to fire incessantly to frighten it away. With rare courage Saroj Nalini kept walking on by my side through those terrible moments.

In 1921, while we were on a visit to England, I had an attack of appendicitis and was very ill. With a fine courage she took me to one specialist after another, arranged for a nursing home, and for three weeks, during my operation and after, nursed me day after day, without giving a thought to herself.

Once, when I was District Officer of Birbhum, fire broke out in a village two miles from our bungalow. I was setting out at the time in my car. She insisted on coming with me. We had to get out of the car and go half a mile on foot across rice fields in the dark before we got to the village. She helped to put out the fire. When a portion of the burning thatch was about to fall on me, with great presence of mind she drew me aside into safety.

She always kept herself informed of my work in the office and out of it, and felt aggrieved if I kept anything back from her. She even took pains to learn typewriting in order to be able to help me as my private secretary. It is impossible to relate here all the help I received from her in my work. From her I sought all my inspiration, and obtained it. Her loving and eager collaboration turned every piece of work I did into joy. Whenever I had anything worrying my mind she could read it in my face, and after finding out all about it from me she helped me with her counsel, and her advice never proved wrong.

It was her good counsel that proved to be of the greatest help in the principal problems of my life. When the partition of Bengal was annulled I was posted in Behar. When Behar became a distinct province from Bengal my own inclinations were to stay on in Behar. I was very fond of shooting and Behar had plenty of game.

“You cannot pass your whole life shooting,” she said tome; “‘you know the people of your province best, and ’ Bengali is your mother-tongue. You should choose Bengal. You will be able to do more good to your country in that service.” Her argument prevailed with me.

After I had worked as a District and Sessions Judge for three or four years she said to me: “The work of a Judge brings more pay but it ruins one’s health. We should not care merely for money. You should go back to a Collector’s work. You will be able to do more good to your country in that capacity.” In those days the salary of a Collector was much less than that of a Judge. Her advice cost me Rs. 500 to 600 per month, but I took it.

I have never repented having taken her advice in these two matters. The longer I live, the more I appreciate its value. And not merely in these two matters but in countless other things her counsel has changed the whole course of my life in more directions than I can tell.

When I wrote anything in poetry or prose she would neatly copy it in a book and encourage me to write more. ‘There was a book of nursery rhymes,

MARRIED LIFE called Bhajar Bansi, adapted from the English, which I wrote for little children. This book was the result of her enthusiasm. She herself set some of the pieces in it to music. Later on, at the request of some friends and of myself, she had herself begun to contribute to different periodicals articles on the education of women and on schemes for advancing it. Out in the district, whenever I attended meetings of co-operative or agricultural societies, she would eagerly come with me. ‘‘Your discussions,’’ she would say, ‘‘furnish me with valuable hints regarding my schemes for the good of my own sex and our methods of work.” In 1923, shortly before I left Bankura, I went out with the Divisional Commissioner to visit the famous irrigation dam constructed by the Amjore Co-operative Society. She insisted upon coming too. “If I do not see what people are achieving by co-operation, how can I understand the country’s problems and their solutions?”’ she said. It had rained heavily for some days. The roads had almost become impassable. ‘The river Darakeswar had risen high and was a menacing torrent. But she did not heed such things at all. We crossed, car and all, on a raft. At many points on the road our car got stuck in the mud. She laughed, and walked through the mud. The last mile and a half we had to wade through rice fields all under water. She did not rest till at length, with her dress thoroughly bespattered with mud, she reached the dam and saw the irrigation works.

Chapter III Home Duties

In housekeeping Saroj Nalini was a great adept. Her mother had taught her to prepare different dishes, and not a day passed on which she did not herself make at least one dish and also some sweets. ‘There never was any departure from this rule. It was her daily work to see that the servants kept the house clean, particularly the kitchen, the pantry, and the dining-room; and whenever they would not do it properly she would set about, broom or duster in hand, to do it herself. She knew the art of furnishing a home at a small cost, and her taste in the matter of furnishing excited the admiration of all visitors, English as well as Indian. She acquired, after her marriage, great skill in embroidery and needlework, though nobody had taught her these arts.

She was never idle. When resting or travelling in a train her hands would be knitting. Every curtain in our house and every tablecover was her handiwork, painted or embroidered with her own hands. Such things I never bought. All our friends, European and Indian, were full of admiration for the beauty and variety of her craftmanship; in fact, whatever she put her hand to she adorned. The ineffable charm and joy of her heart found spontaneous expression in everything that she touched and in every work that she undertook. During our

HOME DUTIES seventeen years in the districts we had to entertain English friends twice or thrice a week. On these occasions Saroj Nalini would do everything herself, from marketing and supervision of the cooking to the laying of the table and its floral and other decorations. Indeed this was by no means all, for she entertained and kept everybody amused with her conversation—an art in which she excelled. On all topics, ranging from housekeeping to politics, she could talk with perfect ease and charm.

Although we were both teetotalers we had to keep the usual kinds of liquor in the house in order to offer to our European guests. Saroj Nalini carefully studied the taste of her European friends and kept a stock of the brands they liked to drink. Very few of our Indian friends drank liquor. ‘To these, however, she would never offer liquor when they came to our house, as she did not approve of liquor-drinking on the part of Indians and made no secret of her views in the matter to them.

She knew her own: tongue well and loved it, but she could talk perfect English. Yet she preferred, among her own people, to speak and write in her own Bengali language. She took great pains to make up, with my help, the deficiencies in her education which the want of a school education had left. In history, economics, literature (both Bengali and English), and various other subjects she took regular lessons from me. She would write out her lessons with great care in her notebook. How she contrived to make time to do this among her many domestic and social duties was always a wonder to me.

Of her household expenses Saroj Nalini kept a = daily account. Every item of expenditure would go into it, and if the book was not at hand she would keep notes lest she should forget a single item. Every day at dusk she would balance her account, and if by any chance it failed to balance by so much as a penny she knew no rest. She would not go anywhere without her account book. I used to make fun of it. She would insist upon my keeping an account when I went out camping alone, and felt sorry if I] didnot. During the whole of these eighteen years she did not allow a single farthing to be wasted. This habit of writing accounts she kept up to the day on which she had to take to bed with her last illness. Her daily account for an unbroken period of eighteen years and two months remains recorded in these notebooks in her clear and beautiful handwriting.

Every year she used to prepare various kinds of condiments with her own hands. She was an adept at making the sandesh (a well known sweetmeat made in Bengal out of curdled milk) and the singara and the nimki (both made with flour, ghee, and salt). ‘These were greatly looked forward to by her guests generally, and by her European guests in particular.

She was not content with merely doing her own housekeeping; she arranged my books, kept notes of my bank account, and even went and paid my salary into the bank at the beginning of each month. In short, except my own office work, nothing else required my personal attention. She did everything, and did it well.

Such are the amenities of official routine in India,

HOME DUTIES that during our eighteen years of married life I had to change my station and set up new homes at least twenty-one times. The Government often provide residential bungalows, but an officer has to get his own furniture. Every time Saroj Nalini would, with her own hands, pack and unpack every bit of furniture, pictures, plate, and crockery. Not a thing was ever damaged. Even my own books she would pack and unpack herself. She had a capacity for taking infinite pains, and seemed to enjoy it.

Despite the thousand inconveniences of the constant travels that official life entailed, there was not a day when she neglected any of her tasks. Her baby looked so healthy that our friends used to call him a “‘prize baby,” and were full of praise for her mothercraft.

She loved to keep her own cow for the milk, and herself looked to its feed as well as to the cleanliness of the stables, and also to the milking of the cow.