Life
MOTHER
Finding the Mother engaged in cleaning the orts, sister Nalini, caste-ridden as she was, cried out in horror, ‘Ah me! She’s removing the leavings of a multitude of castes!’ To this the Mother retorted, ‘What if they are from various castes? They are all my children.’ How could differences have any significance in her eyes who looked upon all as her children? That all-comprehending affection embraced all people—high and low, rich and poor, brahmin and nonbrahmin.
The daily removal of orts was a part of the daily routine of the Mother. She would not allow the devotees to do this, assuring them that there was no lack of hands for the purpose; and then behind their backs she herself would undertake it. One day at Jayrambati, Swami Vishweshwarananda was on the point of carrying away his plate after meal when the Mother stopped him and took it away herself. The monk protested, ‘Why should you carry it? I shall do it.’ But the Mother said sweetly and persuasively, ‘What indeed have I done for you? A child even soils its mother’s lap and does so many other things? You are rare jewels to be sought for by gods.’ The other women who lived with the Mother never did such a thing; on the contrary they argued, ‘ You are born in a brahmin family, and are a guru to boost, while these are your disciples. Why do you remove their leavings? That may bring evil on them.’ The Mother answered in her own artless manner: ‘Well, I am their mother. If a mother shouldn’t do it all for her children’s sake, who else should?’
A devotee of the yugi (weaver) caste felt some hesitation in moving about freely in the Mother’s house. The Mother said to him one day, ‘Do you hesitate just because you are a yugi? What of that, my son? You belong to the Master’s fold—you are of his family, and you have come here.’ She further explained that the very fact of her not inquiring about his caste at the time of initiation showed that he just belonged to the Mother’s home; and that, though rural societies were caste-ridden, nobody would raise any question at Jayrambati, nor need he be fussy about it at all.
At one time during the second day of the Durga worship, which is considered specially holy, the devotees were offering flowers at her feet after entering her room. One man, however, stood aloof. The Mother learnt from inquiry that he came from Tajpur; and though he belonged to the lowly Bagdi caste, she asked him to offer flowers just as the others had done. The man complied cheerfully.
When any devotee came to the Mother, she removed his hesitancy in the twinkling of an eye—so powerful was her motherly affection. Brahmachari Rashbihari lost his mother in his childhood, and not being used to call anyone mother, he felt shy in uttering the word. One day, as the Mother wanted to send a message through him to a cousin she wanted to be sure of his having grasped her meaning and so asked him, ‘Will you repeat what you will say?’ Rashbihari replied, ‘ She has directed me to say such and such things.’ ‘You will say, “The Mother has directed,”’ said she and laid sufficient emphasis on the word ‘Mother’ to impress it permanently on his mind.
The Mother was once lying ill at Koalpara and a Brahmachari lived at Jayrambati. As he was very indifferent about his food and other requirements, she called him to Koalpara and asked him to be more attentive to his physical needs. He was quite young then, and yet was reserved in his dealings with the Mother; moreover, his own health was bad and he feared that this might infect the Mother. Hence he stood at a distance while talking with the Mother. The Mother asked him to come closer; but even so he kept himself at a considerable distance The Mother, therefore, chastised him saying, ‘What’s that! Feel my body to see how I am.’ The Brahmachari then sat by her and the Mother talked to him tenderly. At that time they used to send milk for her from Jayrambati. She said, ‘Sufficient milk is available here; don’t send any more milk, but you yourself should drink it plentifully.’
In fact, the relationship between the Mother and her sons seemed divinely regulated, and its expression was truly wonderful. There was the same depth and intimacy as in ordinary relationships without their concomitant bondage or attachment. There were tears and smiles, as also unruffled placidity. Sri Dwarakanath Mazumdar got his mantra at Jayrambati and on his way home fell ill with dysentery at Koalpara, to which he succumbed calling on the Master with folded hands to the last moment. When the news reached the Mother, she wept bitterly like any bereaved mother and said, ‘A jewel of a son of mine is gone. Alas! This was my son’s last birth.’ She would not call her sons by their monastic names, saying by way of explanation, ‘It’s just because I am the mother, it hurts me to call them by their Sannyasa names.’ Sannyasa means separation from all, including parents; and the Mother could not entertain that idea even in thought. Noticing this, Swami Vishweshwarananda once asked her, ‘How do you look upon us?’ ‘As Narayana,’ replied the Mother. ‘We are your sons;’ argued the inquirer, ‘if you consider us as Narayana, you can no longer think of us as your sons.’ ‘I look upon you as Narayana, and as sons also,’ said the Mother. As in this synthesis, the Mother’s conception of sonship consists in a fusion of the human and the divine, so also in another case we get a harmonization of the finite and the infinite in her conception of motherhood. A devotee asked one day, ‘I call you mother; but I want to know if you are my mother as a matter of fact.’ ‘If I am not your real mother,’ answered the Mother, ‘what else am I? I am really the mother.’ ‘You may say so,’ argued the unconvinced devotee, ‘but I don’t fully understand. Why don’t I have the same genuine feeling of motherhood towards you, as I have spontaneously toward my own mother? ’ The Mother first deplored saying, ‘Alas, what a pity!’ And then she added, ‘The same entity is the parent of all, my child, the same has taken shape as fathers and mothers.’ It is perhaps sad that the truth did not dawn on the devotee, but that was no reason why her own universal Motherhood should not be clear as daylight to herself. The Mother that was in her, ‘the divinity that manifests itself as mothers among all beings’ (Chandi), satisfied in the forms of the finite mothers the cravings for love in the hearts of finite beings. This infinite and all-embracing Motherhood of hers spoke so sweetly through every word, every movement and every act, that a mere touch of it melted the hardest heart.
Radhu had a pet cat for which the Mother provided half a pound of milk every day. She lay quietly and fearlessly at the Mother’s feet; and even if for silencing others’ complaints she feigned to drive it away with a stick, the cat took shelter, between her feet nevertheless, so that the Mother had to throw away the stick and smile, and the others too had to follow suit. Cats are given to stealing. But this did not annoy the Mother who said, ‘To steal is their nature, my boy; who will feed them fondly?’ But Brahmachari Jnan declared a war against the cat. One day, when he flung her away, the Mother looked pale with pain. Beating the cat also was a common occurrence. In spite of this dislike, the family of this cat throve through the care bestowed on it by Radhu and the Mother. And then came the time for the Mother’s departure for Calcutta. The Mother called the Brahmachari to her and said, ‘Jnan, you should cook rice for the cats, so that they may not have to go to other houses; for then people will abuse us, my boy.’ This was a common argument, by which, the Mother knew, the lot of the cats might not improve overnight. And hence she added, ‘Look here, Jnan, don’t beat the cats; for even in them am I. ’ That was enough; the Brahmachari could no longer lift his hand against the cats. And he went so far as to arrange for a regular supply of fish for them, although he himself was a strict vegetarian!
In one sense she was the Mother of all the devotees, and in another she herself was all; her infinite motherhood left none outside its all-comprehensive grasp. Brahmachari Rashbihari asked her one day, ‘Are you the Mother of all?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the Mother. ‘Even of these lower creatures?’ pressed the inquirer. ‘Yes,’ answered the Mother.
But the mother in her was not satisfied even with so many children. She was often heard calling in a low tone, ‘Come to me here, my children.’ When Swami Vishweshwarananda reached Jayrambati, the Mother said eagerly, ‘So you have come, how fine! I have been calling you for the last few days—when calling Rajen I have been uttering your name.’ The Mother was careful never to show her emotion; and that is why this anxiety could often find but partial expression. Yet the little that came out revealed a world of hidden feeling.
As Swami Maheshwarananda was returning to the Belur Math from the ‘Udbodhan’, the Mother gave him a rupee to be handed over to Swami Premananda, and said, ‘This is to be spent for the Master’s worship, and for offering tulasi (holy basil) leaves for the welfare of Sarat, by name.’ Swami Saradananda was then down with fever.
The Mother once heard from Sri Prabhakar Mukherji of Arambagh that his son was suffering from measles. When the devotee was returning home from Jayrambati the Mother gave him a rupee, saying, ‘Offer worship to Sitala at Kamarpukur on your way.’ That was meant for invoking the goddess’s grace for the boy.
Noticing Bibhutibhushan Ghosh eating lustily at the Mother’s house at Jayrambati, his mother Rohinibala remarked, ‘Bibhuti seems to eat here heartily; but at my place he eats only this much (indicating a small quantity with the fingers).’ The Mother at once protested, ‘Don’t you be casting an evil eye on my son! I am a beggar; whatever I offer to my sons, they eat with avidity. ’
In fact, in her words and manner there was such a genuineness and cordiality that a new-comer felt at once drawn to her. When a woman devotee came to the Mother at the ‘Udbodhan’ (February 1911) the Mother said, ‘How are you? How is my daughter-in-law? You didn’t come all these days, and I was wondering if you had fallen ill.’ The devotee wondered how a single meeting for a few minutes could ripen into such intimacy. The matter did not, however, end there. With the greatest affection the Mother made her sit near her on the cot and said, ‘It seems, my daughter, as though I have seen you many a time, as though it’s an acquaintance of long standing.’ As the time for the devotee’s returning home approached, the Mother brought her some prasada and holding it to her lips said, ‘Eat.’ The devotee felt rather shy, but the Mother said encouragingly, ‘Why be so shy? Take it.’ So the devotee took the food in her hands. When at last she bade adieu, the Mother inquired, ‘Will you be able to go down? Shall I accompany you?’ And she went to the staircase to see her off. The same devotee came to the Mother in the summer of that year, tired and perspiring. The Mother said eagerly, ‘Take off your blouse and let your body be cooled;’ and as she spoke, she took down a fan and tried to comfort her. The more the devotee protested, ‘Give me the fan, I shall move it myself’ the more the Mother said with affection, ‘Don’t you mind that, don’t; be a little cooled.’ The same devotee came in October 1912, and after partaking of the prasada at noon began fanning the Mother, who, however, said, ‘Fetch a pillow from there and lie down by me. I don’t require any more breeze.’ Thinking it to be sacrilegious to use the Mother’s pillow, no sooner had the devotee fetched one from Radhu’s room than the Mother laughed and said, ‘That’s the mad one’s (Radhu’s mother’s) pillow, my dear; bring the other one; there’s no harm in this.’ And to Radhu she said, ‘Radhu, you too come, and lie down by your sister.’
A woman devotee of the Vaidya caste was permitted to cook and bring from her home some dishes for the Mother. One day in August 1918, as she stepped in with those preparations, the Mother said, ‘Look here, my dear, with how much trouble she has come with all these!’ ‘Why, it is you who want them! That’s why they bring them,’ ejaculated Nalini Devi, rather critically. ‘Well,’ asserted the Mother, ‘why should I not ask what I want from them? They are my daughters.’ The Mother was pleased on tasting those preparations that night; and even Nalini, so notoriously squeamish, was forced to say, ‘What wonder! Though I can’t relish anybody’s cooking, yet I don’t feel any repulsion when eating her preparations!’ At this the Mother said with pride, ‘Why should you? For she is my daughter, to be sure.’
A young man sat in front of the Mother on the northern verandah of her room at the ‘Udbodhan’ and confessed, ‘Mother, I’ve suffered quite a lot in the world. You are my guru, you are my chosen deity, I know nothing else. In truth I’ve committed so many wrongs, that I blush to speak of them even before you. And yet I continue to live by your grace.’ The Mother caressed his head tenderly as she said solacing him, ‘A son to a mother, a son!’ That melted the man’s heart and he said, ‘Yes Mother! But may I never think that your grace is so cheap, just because I have got so much of it from you. ’
Some devotees, after reaching the Koalpara Ashrama at sunset during the Janmashtami holidays (Krishna’s birthday in August), 1913, decided to reach Jayrambati that very night. It was dark and it began to pour heavily on the way. When they reached Jayrambati, the Mother was not informed. Next morning, as they saluted her, she reproached them saying, ‘My sons, the Master has saved you. In that darkness, slush, and downpour, you must have trampled over many a snake. It pains me to see one walk in that way. It is no good walking recklessly.’ The devotees tried to explain that their leave was short and their desire to see her was great, and that these compelled them to be a bit rash. The Mother still persisted, ‘It’s natural to be so on your part; but it pains me.’ She recollected the incident two and a half years later, when the wife of one of these devotees arrived at the ‘Udbodhan’ (December 25, 1915). That day at about nine or ten in the morning, the Mother sat on the floor with some crisp fried-rice and other fried things in the folds of her cloth, from which she took a handful now and then and also offered some to the new-comer saying, ‘Take it, my daughter-in-law, take it.’ That evening when the devotee came to take his wife home the Mother, alluding to the Jayrambati incident, said, ‘It’s not good to walk about recklessly.’ The devotee assured her, ‘No, I shall not do so any more.’ The Mother understood this to mean that he would not go to Jayrambati, and so she quickly interposed, ‘Why should you not go? My son, if a thorn pricks your foot, it hurts me like a spear entering my heart.’ And turning to the devotee’s wife, she said, ‘Daughter-in-law, dear, you should keep a watch on him, so that he doesn’t walk in this way. ’ A baby who slept by the Mother’s side at the ‘Udbodhan’ soiled her blanket. As the baby’s mother proceeded to clean the blanket, the Mother snatched it from her and washed it herself. When the child’s mother objected, ‘Mother, why should you wash it?’ the Mother replied briefly but feelingly, ‘Why should I not? Is she (the baby) a stranger to me?’
The number of devotees is swelling. They come to the ‘Udbodhan’ at all hours of the day; their tastes differ and needs vary. The Mother has no rest, and inconveniences multiply. This enrages the outspoken Golap-Ma, who criticizes her saying, ‘What’s this that has come upon you, Mother? You put forward your feet to anyone who approaches you and calls you Mother!’ The Mother pleads, ‘How can I help it, Golap? I can’t contain myself when one draws near me and calls me Mother.’
This affection of the Mother was not confined to devotees alone; it transcended the limits of all social and family barriers and submerged everybody in its resistless tidal rush. The Mother, while dictating a letter to Sri Bholanath Chatterji, uncle-in-law of Radhu, said without the least hesitation, ‘Write “My dear son”’ ‘How is that, my dear?’ interrupted Radhu’s mother. ‘He is certainly related to you otherwise through Radhu.’ Not the least abashed the Mother said, ‘Let that alone; he loves to call me Mother, and I also am so to him’ Her sisters-in-law, Indumati Devi and Suvasini Devi, also addressed her as Mother.
The villagers, too, had a share of this overflowing love. Once, after the Mother’s recovery from an illness, some people wanted to sacrifice a goat before Simhavahini; but the Mother offered rasagollas (juice-balls) worth some rupees. In the afternoon, no sooner was the bell rung twice from the Mother’s house than the villagers, who had become trained in such matters by that time, flocked to the place and sat in rows on either side of the road. The monks served the rasagollas to them and the Mother looked on with a sweet smile on her lips.
The devotees had evidences of her motherly heart in every little detail of life, so much so, that they found no difference between her and their own mothers. At the very first contact she became acquainted with each one’s taste and attended to him or her accordingly.
Nalin Babu sat at meal at Jayrambati with about fifteen other devotees, and thinking all the while that the Mother was most attentive to his needs, felt a little uncomfortable. But on comparing notes with others after meal, he found to his surprise that they too had felt the same tender concern of the Mother for each of them.
At the time of distributing prasada, it was noticed that she gave each one the particular thing he liked most. The first one that came got the best that he could think of; similarly the second one, and so also the third. Everybody was satisfied that the Mother loved him the most.
And she fulfilled one’s desire before one could open one’s lips. The Mother was at her meal when a certain monk arrived at Jayrambati. It was his cherished idea to have the Mother’s prasada, left from the Mother’s own plate. But such was her habit that she sat for meal after feeding all her sons. So the monk had not got any opportunity so far. This time, as soon as he arrived, the Mother sent him some light refreshment and tobacco, for she knew that he smoked, and when she had finished her meal, she called him in and said, ‘Sit down, my son. I have eaten from those leaves.’ She had used sal leaves and all the eatables were there arranged properly.
The Mother treated all her sons with equal tenderness, for no man is entirely guiltless. Once a direct disciple of the Master was so offended with the conduct of a certain devotee that he requested the Mother not to allow him to get anywhere near her. But she replied, ‘If my son wallows in the dust or mud, it is I who have to wipe all the dirt from off his body and take him to my lap. ’
Hundreds of sufferers came to her with their burdens of sins and woes. Their touch often produced pain in her feet, but she bore this knowingly and willingly. One afternoon, when the visitors had left, Brahmachari Rashbihari saw the Mother washing her feet up to the knees again and again. When asked for the reason she said, ‘Don’t allow anyone any more to salute me by laying his head on my feet; thereby all the sins enter there, and my feet burn, so that I have to wash them. That’s why I fall ill. Ask them to salute me from a distance.’ But she changed her mood immediately saying, ‘Don’t tell these things to Sarat (Saradananda), for he will then stop salutation altogether. ’
It was palpably evident to her that the touch of a sinner was painful; but though evident, how could she, a mother, refuse her own sons to touch her feet? Besides, she could not so much as see anybody’s fault. One evening she said to Brahmachari Varada, ‘When G. and others came to pay their respects to me this morning, they made certain reflections against A. and said that he had quarrelled with the monks at Rishikesh and was trying to give them trouble. And casting some more aspersions against him they added, “How could he have such an evil propensity after having lived with you and served you so long?” I in no longer see or listen to anyone’s defect, my son. It shall be as each has earned in his past lives. If they were destined to have a deep wound, they must have at least the prick of a pin. They talked of A.’s fault to me! Where were they in those days? How serviceable he was to me! In those days I linked paddy and did all kinds of work in my brother’s family. He started working with me from the morning without caring for sun or rain, and with his body covered with soot he took down big vessels of paddy from the oven. Many are there now who come here as devotees; but whom had I then? Should we forget it all? And yet, mind you, people are not really to blame. Formerly, I also took notice of a lot of other people’s drawbacks. Then, by praying for long to the Master with tearful eyes “Master, I can no more bear finding fault” could I at last get rid of the habit of picking holes in other people’s clothes. When I was at Vrindaban, I used to visit Bankubihari (Krishna in a bent pose) and prayed to him, “Your form is bent, but Your mind is straight—kindly straighten the windings of my mind.” Mark you, even though you might have a hundred times benefited a man and then happen to do him one wrong, he will take umbrage. People can easily discover others’ defects but few can recognize merit. One should appreciate merit. ’
An educated young man belonging to a well-to-do family of a neighbouring village had the good fortune of receiving initiation from the Mother. He used to come to her very often. Through his help an Ashrama was started in that village. But as ill luck would have it, he became involved in a love affair with a near relative who was a widow from her early age. Now, scandals have wings; and the Jayrambati devotees came to know of this very soon. In their, anger they appealed to the Mother to stop his coming to her house. The Mother was visibly moved at this lapse of her son; but to their request she replied, ‘How can I, who am his mother, forbid him to come? Such words will never pass out of my lips.’ The young man continued to come as usual. Not only this, he brought the girl also one day. The Mother reproached her for enticing her son and warned her for the future; but she was as unwaveringly affectionate with her as with any of her other daughters.
We allude to another incident which happened much earlier. The Mother then lived at the 10/2 Bosepara Lane house. A servant had been driven out by Swami Vivekananda for stealing. The man was poor and his family depended on him Now he found himself in a most difficult position and ran to the Mother at the ‘Udbodhan’ for shelter. The Mother kept him there and fed him. That very afternoon, when Swami Premananda happened to go there to pay his respects to her, she said, ‘Look here, Baburam, this man is very poor. He was impelled by his poverty to do as he did. Should Naren on that score scold him and drive him out? The world is full of misery. You are monks who realize very little of it. Take him back.’ Swami Premananda tried to impress on her that this would displease Swami Vivekananda. The Mother then said with some emphasis, ‘I say, take him’ As Swami Premananda entered the Math compound at dusk, Swami Vivekananda burst out, ‘Look at Baburam’s thoughtlessness; he has brought that fellow again!’ Swami Premananda then explained everything, which silenced the great Swami.
As it became known that even rebellious minds bowed down before the might of her motherly love, the weaker parties defeated in life’s struggles used to seek her intervention, and it was found that the stronger ones accepted with alacrity whatever decision she arrived at. One day as she was seated on a cot under a tamarind tree at Koalpara, there came a woman of the sweeper caste who complained that her paramour had suddenly deserted her.
She had been living with him after having cut off all her moorings, and now she was stranded. The woman wept bitterly as she related her tale of woe. The Mother was moved very much and sent for the sweeper and rebuked him gently and persuasively, saying, ‘She came to you leaving everything behind; and you have accepted her services so long. If you desert her now, you will incur great sin, you won’t find a place even in hell.’ The man’s heart was touched at these words, and he took the woman home.
The Mother’s infinite love transcended all limitations of caste or colour, merit or demerit, in fact, of all conditions of life. Any one that took refuge in her, was treated kindly, helped with medicines and other necessities, and filled with sympathy. She consciously ignored people’s frailties and foibles, and asked others also to do the same. The result was that even criminals behaved decently and sometimes changed their habits.
Mulberry was once widely cultivated and silk-worms reared in many villages of West Bengal. But foreign competition tolled the death-knell of this industry at the beginning of the present century, as a consequence of which many Mohammedan families at Shiromanipur were reduced to penury. No honest means of livelihood being open to them, the hapless Mohammedans took to stealing and robbery, which earned for them the appellation of ‘mulberry-robbers’ (tunte-dakat). They were a terror to the neighbouring villages, including Jayrambati. Naturally, they were studiously shunned by the Hindus. And to add to the misery of these wretched families, a famine raged in those parts. Just then, the new house of the Mother was being built, and the monks who supervised the work engaged some of these famine-stricken people. The villagers did not take this kindly and often grumbled that the monks were courting trouble for themselves and the villagers. Nonetheless they had to change their opinion soon and declare, ‘Ah! By the Mother’s grace, the robbers too are becoming devotees!’ How this happened can be realized from the following few anecdotes.
One day, one of these ‘mulberry-robbers’ brought some plantains to the Mother and said, ‘Mother, here are some plantains for the Master; will you accept them?’ The Holy Mother stretched out her hands for acceptance and said, ‘Certainly I will, my dear; hand them over. Why should I not, since you have brought them for the Master?’ A woman devotee who hailed from a neighbouring village and happened to be there, was taken aback by this strange behaviour of the Mother, and she said warningly, ‘These are thieves, you know. Why should his things be offered to the Master?’ The Mother, apparently unperturbed by this rude interference, deposited the fruits in the store and ordered some fried-rice and sweets for the man. When he had gone, she turned to the woman and administered a stern rebuke, ‘I know who is good and who is not.’ Her mission was to uplift the spiritually fallen, and she used to say, ‘To err is human; but how few know how to lead an erring man?’
Amzad was one of those ‘mulberry-robbers’ who had a hand in erecting the mud walls of the Mother’s house. One day the Mother seated him on her verandah for his meal. Nalini Devi served him, but owing to caste prejudices she stood at a distance on the courtyard and tossed the food on to the man’s leaf-plate. This displeased the Mother, who said, ‘Can one have any relish for food if it is served in such a fashion? If you can’t serve him properly, I shall do it. ’ When Amzad had finished his meal, the Mother cleansed the place herself. At this, Nalini Devi loudly denounced the act saying, ‘O dear aunt, you lose your caste thereby!’ But the Mother cut her short, ‘Amzad is as truly my son as my Sarat (Saradananda) himself is.’
The next incident followed soon after. The Mother was down with fever, and many visited her in her sick-bed. One morning, at about nine or ten o’clock, the Brahmachari on attendance saw a Mohammedan of dark appearance, emaciated body, ragged clothes, and sad looks, tottering into Mother’s compound with the help of a staff. From his unhesitating movements it was apparent that the man, though unknown to the Brahmachari, was quite a familiar figure there. But curiosity urged him to follow the man. The Mother was inside, lying on a cot in her room, and the verandah in front was covered by a thin screen of plaited bamboo slips, so that the cot was not easily visible. The man tiptoed to look over the screen. Suddenly the Mother’s eyes turned in that direction, and she accosted him in a low endearing voice, ‘Is that you, dear Amzad? Come in.’ With beaming eyes and a happy countenance Amzad stepped on to the verandah and standing on one side of the door thrust in his head to enter into an intimate conversation on matters of everyday life. Finding the Mother and her son thus engaged, the Brahmachari went about his own duties.
Not long after, the Brahmachari was called in to offer food to the Master. The Mother herself used to do this when she was well; but now she could not move about, and so the Brahmachari had to undertake this ceremony, which, however, was a very simple one. In the Mother’s room, under the Master’s seat, was kept some Ganges water which had to be poured into a small ceremonial vessel, technically called panchapatra and with this water the food in the kitchen had to be sanctified for being offered to the Master. The Brahmachari came to take the panchapatra but was in a dilemma finding the Mohammedan standing in the only doorway. He could not be told to move away, lest this should offend the Mother. At the same time, to pass closely by a Mohammedan, with the holy water in hand militated against caste prejudices and conventions ingrained from childhood in this Brahmachari who was a brahmin by birth. He hesitated for a moment and then decided to carry out his duty without minding the man’s presence, depending on the Mother to dissuade him if there was anything wrong in his move. He took the panchapatra and stepped out. After the offering he returned with it and placed it where it was. Amzad was all the while at his post. The Mother noticed everything but said nothing. As Amzad was leaving, in the evening, the Brahmachari noticed that the man’s face was lit up with a happy smile, and he was altogether a changed person. He had bathed and rubbed oil all over his rough skin; then he had a full meal; and now he chewed betel and areca-nut as he walked home. In his hand was a phial of indigenous medicine, and in his bag were many titbits. The Mother told the Brahmachari, ‘Amzad’s brain has become heated as a result of taking stimulants. He has no sleep at night. I had with me for a long time a phial of Narayana oil, which I have given him By using it his brain will be cooled; it is a very efficacious oil Amzad soon recovered from his illness and was always at the Mother’s service. If anything had to be done, the moment word was sent to him, he would faithfully carry it out. For instance, when the Mother lost her appetite as a result of protracted fever, her physician recommended pineapples, which were by no means easily available in those parts and in that season. So Amzad’s services were requisitioned, and he soon brought the pineapples, as if by magic.
But in spite of this divine affection of the Mother, Amzad could not free himself wholly from the habit of thieving and robbing; and so the people of Jayrambati were afraid of him, though, as a matter of fact, that village remained free from the attention of those ‘mulberry-robbers’, evidently through Amzad’s good offices. Often enough he was in jail, when his wife would run for help to the Mother who would give her whatever lay at hand. This love was heartily reciprocated by Amzad. Once after his release from jail, he found on returning home a number of gourds hanging down from his thatch. He plucked some of them and proceeded to Jayrambati. The Mother, delighted to see him, said, ‘I have been anxious because of your long absence. Where were you?’
Amzad explained that he had been arrested on a charge of cattle-lifting, and so he could not visit her. Unmindful of the explanation, the Mother said with a sigh. ‘Ah me! I have been really worried.’
When the Holy Mother was in Calcutta during her last illness, the news reached her that Amzad had been apprehended on a charge of robbery after having absconded for some time. At this information she said, ‘Ah me! Look here, my dear, I knew that he was an adept in robbery.’ It is said that after the passing away of the Mother, Amzad received a cut from a sword in an act of plundering. This wound developed into a sore and ultimately caused his death.
The Mother knew this man’s character well enough, and she also knew it to be her duty to protect her household and her village from people of his trade. But the method she adopted consciously through the promptings of her motherly heart was not only unique but also effective. It won the robber’s heart and brought for her a result that even mightier people with ampler resources would have failed to achieve. She did not rely on arms or man-power, but on the power of love which softened the hardest criminal and which brooked no interference from caste, prejudice, or fear.
If we illustrate the Mother’s life merely with citations from her relationship with cultured, intelligent, and affluent devotees, some may think, ‘This is not very extraordinary.’ Hence it is that we have dealt with Amzad a little elaborately. In support of our view, we shall continue to draw some more examples from common life.
Shortly after the construction of the Mother’s house at Jayrambati, a devotee purchased a milch cow for her and arranged for its maintenance as well. At his cost, again, was engaged for tending the cow, a boy named Govinda (or Gobe), aged about eleven or twelve years. He was well-behaved and ever cheerful. But in a few days itches spread over his whole body, defying treatment and causing pain. One night the pain became so excruciating that he had not a wink of sleep and wept all the while. Next morning the Mother sat on her verandah with a grinding stone on which she prepared a paste with green neem (margosa) leaves and turmeric, and making the boy stand before her asked him to apply it to the different parts of his body according to her direction. Govinda obeyed cheerfully and unhesitatingly as he would have done before his own mother; and this treatment cured him ultimately.
Haridas Vairagi of Desra used to sing, in accompaniment of his violin, religious songs which enkindled devotion in the hearts of his hearers, among whom he could count Girishchandra Ghosh, Swami Saradananda and others. But as he grew old, it became increasingly difficult for him to maintain himself. One day he came to the Mother’s house a little before noon. The Mother gave him oil for rubbing over his rough skin before bath. When he returned after a dip in the tank, she gave him some fried rice molasses and prasada. As he ate these, the Mother sat by him, talking on familiar things and preparing betel rolls. The First World War (1914-18) was raging at that time causing great scarcity of cloth. The old man said that he had no clothes. The Mother had spread in the sun after her morning ablution a new piece of cloth which she had worn but a couple of days. She got up at once and handed it over to the Vairagi. Haridas was overpowered with that evidence of the Mother’s affection, and touching the cloth reverently to his head he bade her farewell with wet eyes.
We may mention in passing that this love of the Mother extended to dumb creatures as well. One day a calf was restlessly bleating, which made all infer that it had some pain in the stomach. The Mother, satisfied as she was with the little she had, was against multiplying the vexations of a household by purchasing cattle; and hence when the question was put to her, she gave her unwilling consent with a view not to wound the feelings of the proposer, and then said to Brahmachari Gagan (Swami Ritananda), ‘Mark you, what desire!’— as though she was witnessing from a distance, without any personal concern, the intricate workings of people’s minds engrossed in worldly dealings. And when the cow came, she remarked, ‘He has only left us in greater trouble by purchasing the cow.’ Nonetheless, she meticulously supervised everything concerning it and its calf. The calf went on making an uneasy noise which set everybody at thinking and they tried various remedies without success. The bleating brought the Mother also there; she sat by the calf holding it in both arms and softly pressing its navel and patting it, as though it were her own child. A little later it calmed down and all returned to their respective places.
In the Mother’s house there was a maina (a talking parrot) named Gangaram. The Mother herself daily washed the bird, gave it water and food, cleaned its cage, moved it from place to place and talked with it tenderly. Every morning and evening she went to him and said, ‘Dear Gangaram, do talk!’ The bird articulated, ‘Hare Krishna, Hare Rama, Krishna, Krishna, Rama, Rama.’ Hearing the names of the Brahmacharis from the Mother’s lips, Gangaram learnt them well enough. And now and then it shrieked out, ‘Mother, O Mother.’ The Mother immediately responded with, ‘Here I am, my son, here I am,’ and she went to it with gram and water, for the bird’s call meant that it was hungry. As far the Mother’s love for cats, we have mentioned the tact before.
Now, we return to the devotees. In every word and movement, her motherliness was so strikingly evident that any one who happened to come within its orbit had some of his life’s wants removed at once without any effort. Brahmachari Rashbihari, having lost his mother as a child, felt an inexpressible void in the deep recesses of his heart. Other children called on their mothers affectionately and had their feelings reciprocated; but he had none to turn to. When as a young man he came to the Mother, he felt as though she had been waiting there all the time with a heart full to the brim with affection for him A little touch of it changed his whole life.
Cases were not rare when young boys, coming to her, found her features exactly like those of their own mothers. True it is that this was not a matter of daily occurrence with them; but the first, and might be, the single vision spread a lasting influence over the whole of a man’s life. When Swami Mahadevananda saw the Mother at Jayrambati he thought that his own mother was seated in front of him Sri Panchanan Ghosh once went to see the Mother in his boyhood. As he was entering the Mother’s room for saluting her, he chanced to look at her feet, which, to his utter amazement, were exactly like those of his mother; and the two hands on her lap with the golden bracelets resembled those of his mother who had then just been widowed. Past memories and present identity crowded over his mind to make him half-conscious. He drew slowly towards the Mother, step by step, urged by an unknown impulse. Once in front of the Mother, he looked again at her full figure, from the feet upwards to the face —all was exactly the same. The Mother noticed his emotional transformation and said affectionately, ‘Why are you looking so, my son? What has happened to you, my dear? Come here, my boy, come.’ Panchanan sat quite close by her and the Mother passed her affectionate hand over his back. That blissful touch made the boy’s hair stand on end, and he felt as though he had met his own mother after a long interval.
A certain young devotee came, and finding the Mother none other than his own mother in every way, took it into his head like a child to sit for meal by her, and not stopping at that he said capriciously that he would not eat un. less she fed him with her own hand. The Mother yielded to his importunity. Then he demanded that her veil must be removed before he could eat. Again she complied and also talked with him about his family in the most endearing way. Such an occurrence was not rare. We have related earlier how Nag Mahashaya was fed.
When Swami Prashantananda saw the Mother’s picture after the death of his own mother, he came to believe that there was an identity between the two. And hence he behaved towards the Mother accordingly when he first met her at Jayrambati. At that time he was a mere boy, and a doctor used to come on horseback to the Mother’s place every day. Prashantananda began clamouring for a ride on that horse which was a naughty one, and therefore the Mother demurred. But Prashantananda’s importunity compelled her to take the doctor’s permission, which being readily given, Prashantananda sat astride the horse. But to control a naughty animal was no job for a stripling. No sooner was he in the saddle than the horse bolted homeward. At long last when he returned with the animal to the Mother his cloth was found torn and his body bleeding from scratches received while dashing past thorny trees and bamboo groves. The Mother was looking out all the while in great consternation; and when this wilful child returned she chid him and brought out for him a new piece of cloth.
Though the relationship between the Mother and her devotees was regulated by affection, yet the indiscretion of some devotees made it very often taxing, nay, even painful, to the Mother, who however bore it all in silence without changing her mood towards the person concerned. A Brahmachari saw one day that two devotees who had come to Jayrambati were going to the Mother to worship her with water, flowers, bel leaves, etc. The Brahmachari forbade them to pour water or offer bel leaves on her feet since her legs were rheumatic and she had just recovered from an illness; besides, she did not like bel or tulasi leaves being offered at her feet as these were sacred to Siva and Vishnu respectively. The devotees treated his warning lightly and proceeded to do as they had planned. At this the Brahmachari was forced to stop them rudely; but then he was afraid that the
Mother had taken it amiss. She, however, told him afterwards, ‘You should be near me and keep an eye on everything. At the “Udbodhan” they save me carefully from trouble in so many ways.’
We shall relate an incident in 1909, when Swami Saradananda was at Jayrambati. A young man turned up one day to see the Mother. The Brahmachari who had accompanied the Swami conducted the young man to the Mother. The stranger saluted her and then began pulling her legs under the foolish impulse of holding her feet on to his chest. Fortunately she then stood holding a post of the cottage and so did not fall down. The Brahmachari quickly took hold of the crazy man and led him out. When Swami Saradananda heard the whole affair he remarked. ‘Yogin Maharaj (Swami Yogananda) never bowed down to the Mother while she was in a standing position; when she left, he took the dust from the place and put it on his head. ’
Such queer behaviour was not confined to that remote past. Subsequently, too, some devotee might come to Jayrambati and demand immediate interview defying all persuasion to wait for the Mother’s convenience. She had therefore to come out and stand on a low wooden stool like an image to accept the devotee’s floral offering after which she had to hurry back to the kitchen to cook some food for that inconsiderate man himself.
A devotee expressed a desire that since he would be leaving for home in three or four days, he would like to have some rice from the Mother’s plate, dry it and carry it home as her prasada. In due time the Mother showed him the rice prasada and said, ‘That’s yours, my dear. ’ The food was in a brass plate, and the devotee put it in the sun for drying. The Mother warned him, ‘Mind you that the crows don’t peck at it.’ The devotees assured her that he would be returning immediately to watch it, and he went to the outer apartment for a smoke, in the course of which he forgot everything and then fell asleep. When he woke up at three in the afternoon, he remembered the plate and hurried inside to find, to his utter confusion, the Mother still sitting by it. ‘Didn’t you have any rest today, Mother?’ faltered the devotee. ‘No, my son’ replied she. ‘I kept watching, lest that thing of yours should be pecked by crows.’
A woman, when taking leave of the Mother, bit her big toe. The Mother shrieked out in pain, ‘Hello, my dear, what kind of a devotion is that! If she wants to bow down, let her do so; but instead, she holds my toe in her teeth!’ ‘It’s just to make you remember’, explained the woman. ‘I never saw’, said the Mother, ‘such a device for making one remember,’
Some devotee might hold fast the Mother’s feet and plead, ‘Mother, do promise me that you will show yourself to me at least at the time of my death.’ The Mother replied, ‘Very well, I shall pray to the Master that he may vouchsafe his presence.’ But the devotee still kept his firm grasp on her feet till at last the Mother found no means of escape but to say, ‘Yes, my son, it shall be so.’
Brahmachari Varada had gone to a distant village to procure fuel. When he returned to Jayrambati at nightfall, he found the Mother lying on a mat in the verandah. As the Brahmachari approached her she said ruefully, ‘You all are here; and yet you have to go out on business. To day there came a man, somewhat advanced in age. Seeing him from a distance, I entered the room and sat on my cot. He saluted me from outside and then became eager to take the dust of my feet. The more I said, “No, no,” with modesty, the more he pressed. At last he took the dust almost by force. From that time I am suffering from a burning sensation in the feet and a pain in the stomach. I washed the feet three or four times, but still the pain and the burning sensation persist. If you had been nearby, you could have ascertained my wish and forbidden him. The strictness that they enforce in Calcutta with regard to the devotees cannot wholly be dispensed with. You: are too young to understand what diverse kinds of people come.’
The Mother was not entirely free from this kind of unwelcome visitors even in Calcutta. One day, as the Mother rose from her seat after finishing her worship, a devotee came with some flowers to offer them at her feet. As the man was a stranger, she covered herself fully with a wrapper and sat on a cot with her feet hanging down. The devotee got his opportunity and began worshipping her to his heart’s content with all the elaborate processes and mantras that the scriptures enjoin, unmindful of the fact that the Mother was perspiring all over, though she could not utter a word. It was nothing unusual to see a devotee offer flowers at her feet, and hence the ever watchful Golap-Ma was a little off her guard when she saw the man enter the room Without due notice, she went away to attend to her own duties. But when returning after a long time, she found him still there, she became irritated at the man’s silliness and said with her naturally loud voice, ‘Are you here before a wooden image that you should invoke her with all your ceremonies (with their meditation on letters1 and control of breath)? Don’t you see that the Mother is sweating uncomfortably?’ And she sent the man out.
It was at the ‘Udbodhan’, again, that a devotee, while bowing down to the Mother, struck his head so hard against her big toe that she had to utter a cry of pain. The others present there asked the man, ‘What’s this that you have done?’ The man replied, ‘By thus saluting the Mother I leave her with some pain in the feet, and she will remember me as long as the pain is there.’ The Mother used to regale her attendants with such funny stories when they massaged her rheumatic legs with oil.
At times, the Mother was so unbearably uncomfortable that, notwithstanding her forbearance, she could not but give vent occasionally to her irksomeness to the Master or the faithful attendants. One morning some well-dressed gentlemen came from Calcutta with some fruits, which through negligence had become rotten and so created a problem for the Mother as to how and where they were to be placed. They had forgotten to bring their towels with them; and as the ordinary ones which the Mother’s household could boast of could not be offered to these genteel people, she had to search a long time for some presentable ones. And, then, it transpired that they had brought no strings for their mosquito nets, and so Brahmachari Hari had to run about for procuring some. Hard put to it, the Mother was heard soliloquizing. ‘How pestered I am by all these people! I am fed up with it all. Some of the boys come and my household seems to be filled with peace; I have nothing to worry about. They eat without murmur whatever comes to hand and then get up taking along with them the leaves on which they eat. And look at these others! I am all agog from the morning. And now the problem is, what curry should be cooked for the night? Master, do you mind your own family. I am no longer able to cope with this. Radhu is trouble enough and here are these others in the bargain. ’
Are such reactions indicative either of a disgust mixed with affection or of demonstration before the attendants of the difference between two types of devotion, the one which delights in show and reveals its ineptitude at every turn and the other which, though quiet and undemonstrative, yet consists in pure love mixed with faith? Before we arrive at any conclusion let us deal with some more incidents of a similar type. Apropos of this, we may say that under similar circumstances, the Master’s attitude also differed in accordance with the mental states of the devotees. Moreover, those who are not fully acquainted with the Jayrambati life of the Mother, will not realize how the Mother, who was adored on the one hand as the Universal Mother by many and who directed the destinies of innumerable others, had yet to court untold physical labour and undergo mental worries, even in her old age, all for the sake of making others contented.
And in particular, we have to remember that the incident cited last happened at a time when the passing away of the Mother was not far away, and when she dropped hints off and on about that sad day. It is not difficult for any intelligent reader to see that, though the above soliloquy apparently expresses her vexation, yet below the surface is the covert forewarning of her impending departure. In the chapters ‘Radhu’ and ‘In A Domestic Setting’, we have seen how she had been praying to the Master for release from her earthly mission. The concluding sentences of the above soliloquy only underline that sentiment.
Almost contemporaneously with the above incident, one day, in early winter, a devotee came to Jayrambati with his wife and four daughters. They had started from Garbeta the previous afternoon, by bullock-carts, and after having reached Jibta in the morning, had walked to the Mother’s home, a distance of a mile and a half, with the help of a guide. All the children were very young and one was a suckling baby suffering from malaria. The devotee became perplexed in the new place under such circumstances, and extremely worried that he might be causing difficulties to the Mother. She, however, welcomed them with such love and care that they got over their hesitation in a trice, the wife of the devotee began to behave as freely as if she were in her father’s house. With deft hands the Mother made all possible arrangements for them in her little home, and even the baby had its milk and a place to lie down in. At the time of bathing, the devotee’s wife went to the tank with other women of the household and returned with a pitcher of water at her waist. The couple were initiated by the Mother after the morning worship. The party had to go to Talit in the Burdwan district, a long way from Garbeta which it takes three nights to cover. So they started on their journey after their midday meal and a nominal rest at Jayrambati. At the time of departure they, as also the Mother, shed tears, and the Mother called on goddess Durga for their safety on the way; and then stood at the place looking out after them till they went out of sight. Then she went inside and sat on Nalini Devi’s verandah, saying regretfully that, though her children had come from a distance facing all the troubles of the journey, they had to leave quickly without rest, or even a little hearty talk, or any good food. Just then somebody saw a bath towel left there by mistake. The Mother said with sorrow, ‘It’s so natural to forget! They couldn’t stay even for a night, and didn’t have a chat—does the mind want to go away like this? And so mistakes are inevitable.’ Seeing the Mother sad, Brahmachari Gopesh suggested that as the devotees could not have gone far, he could catch them tip and give them the towel by walking fast after them He did so with the Mother’s consent. But on returning he found a second problem had cropped up. A woman of the household had found a cloth-piece of the devotee’s wife-drying in the sun on the tank behind. She brought it in and then went on cutting jokes at the expense of the forgetful wife. A childless woman joined in the joke saying, ‘which one should she take care of—so many are her brood!’ The Mother saw the cloth piece and heard the pungent remark; but she said with a heavy sigh, ‘Dear me! My child will be missing her cloth tomorrow after bath; when she will be searching for it she will recollect, “I left it at the Mother’s house.’” Gopesh voluntered to go with the cloth once again, but Nalini Devi disapproved of the idea. The Mother, however, seemed pleased at the idea. So he walked up to Jibta, and caught up with the party just as the carts were starting.
There came a group of devotees from Mymensing, of whom the leader was an initiated disciple of the Mother. As he was in indifferent health and knew that the party’s long stay at Jayrambati would inconvenience the Mother, he decided to leave for home soon after visiting the Master’s house at Kamarpukur. But as ill luck would have it, he fell ill at Jayrambati just after the Kamarpukur visit. The Mother’s attendants concluded that they should send him by a palanquin to Koalpara to ensure better medical care and to free the Mother’s house from an avoidable encumbrance. The Mother was informed after the plan had taken shape. She heard all this without a word, creating thereby the unmistakable impression that though she disliked the idea she would not stand in their way. She had recently recovered from an illness, and was under strict regimen. She was given the juice of one pomegranate every day; but as the aftereffects of the First World War had made these fruits difficult to procure, they were brought from Calcutta and kept in the custody of the attendants; for it was the habit of the Mother to give away anything that lay at hand. Today she had the desire to give one of the fruits to the ailing disciple. The attendants’ protests went in vain; the disciple had the pomegranate and along with it all the good wishes of the Mother.
The plan was to carry away the patient after the midday meal. But Swami Vidyananda came with a palanquin a little before evening. There appeared at this time a small patch of black cloud in the sky; still the party for Koalpara started with the patient. Not long after, a thunder squall broke out. The Mother had been taking rest after the day’s occupations. But the storm raging outside and the rain pouring in torrents startled her. She rushed out to the verandah helter-skelter and said, ‘Ah me! What will happen to my child!’ The attendant persuaded her to re-enter the room There, again, she went on praying piteously, ‘Master, do save my son.’ As the storm abated, her ferment, too, was somewhat assuaged. But as the squall shrieked again with redoubled fury, the Mother, too, made for the verandah and prayed with a choked voice and tearful eyes, ‘Prithee, Master, do be a little gracious, save my child.’ The whole night passed in anxiety. Next day, when Vidyananda came to inform her that they had taken shelter in somebody’s drawing room at Desra during the storm, so that they had no trouble whatsoever, then only was the Mother’s heart composed.
Devotees came with diverse demands, and the Mother, with her resourceful ministration and never-failing love, satisfied all these capricious children. Their childish whims were mostly in evidence at Jayrambati, where the Mother freed herself from all the unnatural restrictions of a cultured urban society, and the devotees found her more readily accessible than at the ‘Udbodhan’ where a strict vigilance was enforced. Many devotees, therefore, kept themselves informed of the Mother’s movements and flocked to her village home when she happened to be there.
From the point of view of the Mother, there was a difference between Calcutta and Jayrambati. In Calcutta the monks and Golap-Ma and others had charge of household duties and of looking after the comforts of the devotees. Thus the Mother was not directly occupied with these duties. At Jayrambati, on the contrary, everything rested on her. The devotees came to take mantra or see the Mother; but she had to keep a constant eye on all kinds of provision for their food, accommodation, conveniences, and necessities. This service of the devotees became something of a second nature with her. It might not have appeared as anything extraordinary; but we wonder how unassuming and diligent is the life of that unique personage who was none other than the Universal Mother, who was adored as such by thousands of devout people, and through whose mind and body was enkindled in the beginning of the twentieth century a mighty force which has addressed itself to the task of human regeneration and is calculated to be so occupied for ages. And how charming does that life become through a unique mixture of rural simplicity with unquestioning love! In the field of spirituality this is altogether a rare phenomenon. Facts are indeed stranger than fiction.
The devotees came at odd hours, and that also without notice. Often enough they were strangers, though their dress and bearing revealed their culture and high social status. The villagers would look on them with amazement or hang on them with curiosity. But the Mother who was the centre of that mighty force that attracted all these high personages was oblivious of the commotion around her; and like the village girl that she was, she was ever engaged in various duties for them in and about her little cottage. Some of the new-comers were accustomed to taking tea soon after leaving bed, and so she would limp about with her rheumatic feet to get some milk from somebody’s house whose cow may have been milked by then. Vegetables were not easy to procure in that hamlet. The little that she had collected from distant villages would sometimes run short because of the sudden influx of devotees. The Mother would go on searching from house to house for some more for immediate use. In the remote place nothing more could be had for refreshment than mere fried rice and molasses. The Mother, therefore, would carefully stock semolina (soojee) with which she prepared halva. And after offering this preparation in the morning to the Master together with some fruits, she would deal out the prasada in small cups for the breakfast of her children. Whenever her stock was exhausted she would hand over to them cupfuls of fried rice, cucumber, and molasses. The cultured devotee would protest, ‘What’s this stuff that you give me to eat, Mother; I am not used to it. ’ The Mother would persuade him saying, ‘Nothing else is available here, my son, this is all that can be had. Do eat this, it won’t do you any harm. I shall feed you nicely when I go to Calcutta. ’ The devotees from East Bengal were used to eating fish which, however, was difficult to obtain at Jayrambati. Still there would be no end to the Mother’s effort. If she could not procure it, she would feel sad and say, ‘I could not feed my child well.’ And though she was ever busy in this way, there was no disgust, rather she would say to her sisters-in-law with pride, ‘Hullo, my dear, I have no trouble on account of my children. Even though a hundred of my children should come, I can tackle them all single-handed. ’
Her motherliness defied all limitations of caste, country and community. Even during the days of the boycott of foreign goods (1905-11) when people’s prejudices against the Britishers ran high, the Mother was heard to say, ‘They too are my children, to be sure.’ The authorities of the Kankurgachhi Yogodyana once invited her to visit the place during the Janmashtami celebration and she gladly agreed. But someone who had taken some Umbrage against the people there, did not like the idea and told the Mother so. At this she said, ‘It’s your quarrel, my dear; but am I not their mother also?’
A doctor’s wife prayed after saluting the Mother, ‘Mother, kindly bless me so that your son (my husband) may have a good practice.’ The Mother gave her a straight look and said sternly, ‘My dear daughter-in-law, to think that I should pronounce such a benediction,—that people should fall sick, that they should suffer! Well, dear, I can never do that. Let all be well, let the world prosper.’ When saluting the Mother of the Universe after bathing, the Mother could be heard to pray, ‘Dear Mother of the Universe, do grant happiness to the world.’ The mad aunt was full of abuse for the Mother who, however, totally ignored her vagaries. But one day the aunt happened to say, ‘Thou ruiner of all!’ The Mother at once warned her, ‘Whatever else you may call me, don’t you call me ruiner of all. My children are spread all over the world; such a curse will be harmful to them’ We have come across many an incident illustrative of this allcomprehensiveness of her Motherliness so far as people of this country are concerned. Let us now turn to a few foreign devotees.
At Jayrambati, in 1906, she said to the young Brahmachari Girija, ‘Mark you! The Master entered into spiritual trance very often. One day, as he came down from a long samadhi, he said, “Listen, my dear, I went to a land where the people are all white. Ah! How sincere is their devotion!” Could I imagine then that these—Ole Bull– and others—would become devotees? I was at a loss to think who these white persons could be.’ It might have been incomprehensible to a girl brought up in an inaccessible village amidst rural simplicity and ignorance; but her all-comprehending motherliness, liberal outlook, and stately courtesy soon elevated her to a level where distances and colours were obliterated, yielding place to only an unquenchable affection.
Though a brahmin widow, she could mix freely with the foreigners, even to the extent of eating with them Swami Vivekananda writes in his letter of March 1898, ‘Sri Mother is here, and the
European and American ladies went the other day to see her, and what do you think, Mother ate with them even there! Is not that grand?’
When Sister Nivedita returned from her Kashmir tour, she ‘insisted on being the guest of women’ so that she might become a part and parcel of Indian society, thereby becoming a fit instrument for the uplift of the country. This was no easy problem for Swami Vivekananda to solve. But the Holy Mother promptly came to his rescue. Nivedita was accepted as a daughter and accommodated in the Holy Mother’s
House in Calcutta.2 Whenever Nivedita came to the Holy Mother, the Mother seated her by her side and there was no bar to the exchange of genuine feelings which create their own vehicles of communication. One day, when Nivedita came and sat by the Mother, the latter presented to her a woolen fan and said, ‘I made this for you.’ The gift delighted Nivedita so much that she sometimes touched it with her head, sometimes held it to her bosom, and said, ‘How fine, how charming!’ Her happiness made the Mother say, ‘Do you see how glad she is at getting that insignificant thing? Ah! How simple is her faith, as though a veritable goddess! How devoted she is to Naren (Vivekananda)! She has come here after giving up everything and is working here just because Naren was born here. What a devotion for the guru and what a fondness for this land!’ Sister Nivedita presented to the Mother a nickel case, in which she kept the Master’s hair, and she used to say, ‘Nivedita said, “Mother, we were Hindus in our previous birth. We are born over there, so that the Master’s message may spread.”’
The Mother carefully preserved the gifts she got from her children and said, ‘After all, what’s a thing worth by itself; it’s the memory that counts.’ We refer to a much later incident. When Rammay (Gaurishwarananda) was taking out the clothes from the Mother’s box for sunning them, he came across a fold— rotten wrapper of endi (Assam silk), and said, ‘Mother, what’s the need of keeping this one? It’s all gone; let me throw it away. But the Mother said, ‘No, my son; it was given me by Nivedita with great love; let it be there.’ With these words she took the wrapper in hand, inserted black cumin seeds in its folds as a preservative, laid it by carefully and said, ‘The very sight of the cloth reminds me of Nivedita. What a wonderful girl she was, my dear! At first she could not talk with me, and the boys acted as interpreters. Later on she picked up the Bengali language. She loved my mother very much. ’
When Sister Christine visited the Mother with Sudhira Devi of the Nivedita School, a few days after Nivedita’s demise, the Mother remembered the intimate friendship that Christine had with Nivedita and said to Sudhira Devi ‘Alas! They two lived together. Now it will be so sad for her to live alone!’ And to Christine she said, ‘Considering how even our hearts feel so intensely for her, yours will do so all the more, my dear. What a personality she was! And how many are now weeping for her!’ And the Mother began shedding tears. Then she made Christine tell her many things about the School.
From the conduct of Miss MacLeod1 one evening we can get a glimpse of the kind of absorption the Mother’s love could bring about. That day Swami Nirbhayananda had escorted her in a boat from the Belur Math to the ‘Udbodhan.’ When they returned, the evening service at the chapel was in progress. Miss MacLeod made her obeisance at the shrine, meditated for a while, and then started for her own quarters at the guest house of the Math. As it had become dark, Swami Dhirananda asked a Brahmachari to accompany her with a lantern. Miss MacLeod had already advanced a few steps ahead. When the Brahmachari drew near her, she was heard repeating to herself, ‘I’ve seen her, I’ve seen her.’ Suddenly she was aware of the Brahmachari’s presence, and bringing her face to his ears she, whispered with great emotion, ‘The Holy Mother! I’ve seen her.’ She covered a furlong in this mood of elation, hardly noticing where her footsteps fell or if her feet touched the ground at all; and every now and then she kept on uttering the word ‘Mother’ and making some soliloquy. In this connection we are put in mind of the high regard that Sister Nivedita had for the Mother. In a letter dated the 11th of December, 1910, written from Cambridge Mass., Nivedita acknowledges that when thinking of Mary, the Mother of Jesus, the Holy Mother’s face flashes in her mind.
The Mother did not stop merely by showering her love on these foreign devotees; she sometimes picked up their customs wonderfully well. One summer afternoon in April 1920, when a
European woman came to her, the Mother said, ‘Come,’ and stretched forth her hand in the European manner, caught hold of the woman’s hand, and then kissed her in the Bengali fashion by touching her chin with the hand. The woman’s daughter was ill, and so she came to seek the Mother’s benediction. The Mother blessed her wholeheartedly, and then giving her some bel leaves and a lotus flower that had been offered to the Master she said, ‘Touch your daughter’s head with these.’ The woman departed thanking her gratefully. The girl recovered; but the woman kept up her acquaintance with the Mother and took initiation from her in due course. The Mother loved her very much.
From Sister Nivedita we quote the following to illustrate the Mother’s power to penetrate a new religious feeling or idea:
‘I first realized this gift in the Holy Mother, on the occasion of a visit that she paid us in recent years, on the afternoon of a certain Easter-Day. Before that, probably, I had always been too much absorbed, when with her, in striving to learn what she represented, to think of observing her in the contrary position On this particular occasion, however, after going over our whole house, the Mother and her party expressed a desire to rest in the chapel, and hear something of the meaning of the Christian festival. This was followed by
Easter music, and singing, with our small French organ And in the swiftness of her comprehension and the depth of her sympathy with these resurrection hymns, unimpeded by any foreignness or unfamiliarity in them, we saw revealed for the first time, one of the most impressive aspects of the great religious culture of Sarada Devi. The same trait came out again one evening, when in the midst of her little circle the Holy Mother asked guru-bhagini and myself, to describe to her a European wedding. With much fun and laughter, personating now the “Christian brahmin”, and again the bride and bridegroom, we complied. But we were neither of us prepared for the effect of the marriage vow, “For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health—till death do us part,” were words that drew exclamations of delight from all about us. But none appreciated them as did the Mother. Again and again she had them repeated to her. “Oh the Dharmiwords! the righteous words!” she said. (The Master as I saw Him, pp. 149-50).
1. An image has to be awakened by establishing mentally its identity with the worshiper through certain processes, one of which is Nyasa consisting partly in thinking that the different limbs of the Deity are composed of various letters of the alphabet; She being thus none other than an embodiment of knowledge as expressible in thought and words, or in other words identical with consciousness as embodied in human beings.
1. She was a disciple of Swami Vivekananda and helped him in his work in various ways. She was very much attached to the Mother.
2. The Master as I Saw Him, VII Edn., p. 143.
1. A disciple of Swami Vivekananda who remained unmarried throughout her life and preached the Swami’s message in and outside India through her saintly life and impressive talks. She and her sister Mrs. Leggett were called Jay a and Vijaya respectively by the great Swami.
Leave a reply