HER HUMAN PERSONALITY

It was April 1919. Seeing that the Mother wailed like the common people at the death of Maku’s son, Neda, the minds of the devotees present at Koalpara were troubled with doubts. Hence, when saluting her next morning, Sri Narayana Iyengar, a great devotee from Mysore, asked her, ‘Why did you cry like an ordinary mortal at the death of Neda?’ The simple answer of the Mother was, ‘I am in the world, and have to taste the fruit of this tree. That is why I cry. ’

This world, which is a creation of God, has a way of its own that all embodied beings have to follow. The Master declared, ‘When God incarnates Himself as a man, He has to behave just like any other human being. That’s why it is difficult to recognize Him He has all these, — hunger, thirst, disease, sorrow, and oftentimes fear — just as men have.’ He further said, ‘Caught in the trap of the five elements, Brahman moans.’

This dual aspect of divinity and humanity was expressed through many talks of the Mother. At the ‘Udbodhan’ she said one day (September 1918), ‘People call me Goddess, and I too think, “That may be really so. Or else how could there be all the strange things that have happened in my life?” Yogen, Golap, and others know much of this. If I should but think, “Let this happen”, or “I shall eat this”, the Lord somehow fulfils all these.’ On another occasion (August 1919) the Mother was at Jayrambati with Radhu. One day she sat after evening to hear the letters being read out to her by a Brahmachari. In one of these, a woman devotee had praised her variously. Hearing this, the Mother said, ‘Look here, sometimes it Sets me thinking that since I am merely a daughter of Ram Mukherji and there are many other girls of my age at Jayrambati, how do I differ from them? Devotees come to pay their respects from places unknown to anybody here. Besides, on questioning them I learn that some are magistrates and some are lawyers. Why do these come at all?’ She simply drew attention to the problem, but suggested no solution. The Brahmachari, however, had no difficulty in diving deeper and discovering the truth. Hence he pushed the line of thought a step further and inquired, ‘Well, don’t you always remember your real stature?’ The Mother replied, ‘Can that always be so? How then could all these works be done? But even in the midst of work, whenever the desire arises, I can get the inspiration with a little thought and then the play of the Great Maya stands revealed.’

We turn back to an earlier time, February 1, 1907, when the Mother was at Jayrambati and a devotee wanted to know if the Master was the ever-present Brahman in Its fullness. As the Mother confirmed the view, the devotee put in again, ‘As to that, all husbands are to their wives the ever-present Brahman in

Its fullness.– I don’t ask from that point of view.’ The Mother replied, ‘Yes, he is the ever-present Brahman in Its fullness — as a husband as also in that other sense.’ The devotee then fell to thinking that just like the unity of Sita and Rama or of Radha and Krishna, there must be a unity between the Mother and the Master; and yet as a matter of fact he saw before his very eyes the Mother engaged in domestic duties. To remove his doubt he asked, ‘Then why do I see you as though making chapati like any ordinary woman? What are all these? Are these maya?’ The Mother replied, ‘What else but maya? Why should I be in such a state if not because of maya? I should have been sitting by Narayana as His Lakshmi in Vaikuntha. It’s just because the Lord likes to disport as a man.’ The devotee again asked, ‘Doesn’t your true nature flash in your mind?’ The Mother replied, ‘Yes, it does at times and then, I think, “What’s this that I am doing? What’s this I am engaged in?”

Again all these things (pointing in front) —houses, children, etc.,—come to the mind and I forget my essential nature.’ And as she had accepted that sport or maya out of her free will, she said, now and again. ‘It’s only by accepting an illusion that I am so’, or ‘This is nothing but continuing in the midst of an illusion.’

The disports of an incarnation are only apparently human. In the Master’s life it strikes one that though he was ever in divine moods, all his activities on the normal plane had a charm and orderliness of their own. On whatever level of existence his mind might be at a given time, it only revealed moral and intellectual perfection of an ideal order to which others might well aspire to rise. This is a special gift to mankind from Sri Ramakrishna who finished his earthly play only a few years ago. In studying the Mother’s life also, we are forcefully reminded of this fact. Furthermore, just as in the Master’s life there is no lack of ideals for the work-a-day world in spite of his constant state of spiritual ecstasy, so also in the Mother’s life there is piety, renunciation, selflessness, and divine afflatus and serenity. Alongside of these are her affection, service, liberality, modesty, humility, and other soft human qualities which bring into prominence a much desired corrective to the individualistic and self-centred civilization of the modern age. In fact, even a casual pursuit of this life makes it clear that while the life divine is ever dedicated to general goodwill, the life human is busy with personal welfare.

Bearing all these facts in mind, Swami Premananda once told Swami Keshavananda and other devotees, ‘You have seen with your own eyes, how the Mother, who is in reality the Great Goddess ruling over those who wield the destinies of kings and emperors, has yet elected to become a poor woman plastering the house with cow-dung, scouring utensils, winnowing rice and clearing the leavings of the devotees after their meals. She undertakes all these tasks to teach the householders their domestic duties. What infinite endurance, limitless mercy and absolute absence of egotism are there!’ And in a letter he wrote, ‘Who has understood the Mother? There is not the least trace of splendour. The Master had at least the brilliance of wisdom But what about the Mother? For her even that glow is wanting. What a great power is that! Glory to the Mother! Victory to the Mother! Glory to the powerful Mother! The poison that we cannot assimilate, we pass on to the Mother. The Mother takes every one on her lap. Infinite power, limitless pity! Glory to the Mother! Not to speak of us, we have not seen even the Master do so. With how much caution and testing would he accept a man! And here? What do we see here in the Mother? Astonishing, astonishing! She is giving shelter to all, eating everybody’s food, and assimilating all. Mother, Mother, victory unto the Mother! Remember that mercy of the Mother, that infinite compassion of the Mother, in weal and woe, in success and failure, in famine and pestilence, in wars and revolutions. Glory unto the Mother! Victory unto the Mother!’

The Mother, too, spoke one day in this very strain. When a disciple said, ‘What an abundance of spiritual trances and ecstasies had those who went to the Master! But nothing of that is being done by you to us the Mother replied, ‘As to that, to how many indeed did he do such things, and how selectively at that? Even so his body fell down quite early. To me he has pushed on a line of ants. If I do just as he did, how long will my body last? What a number of children I have to tend!’

The fields of application for the spiritual power being different, a certain disparity will be noted in the behaviour of the two personalities. But close scrutiny will reveal their fundamental similarity, nay identity. The renunciation and selflessness which charmed all concerned by their unrestricted expression in and through the life of Sri Ramakrishna, who spent his days in the precincts of a holy temple in the midst of devout souls, did also enlighten the dark labyrinths of domestic duties by being reflected in a thousand ways against the background of family relationships in and through the life of the Holy Mother. Whereas the Master resorted to such petty desires as ‘I shall smoke ‘I shall drink water’, in order to chain down to the common plane his mind that ever tried to be lost in transcendental heights, the Mother accepted Radhu for keeping within limitations a mind that would otherwise expand and merge in the Infinity beyond. This may appear as a bondage, but on closer observation we find it as a proof of the limitless will power of the Mother. The Master gave up gold, whose touch caused him pain; the Mother touched it with her head under the belief that it was nothing but the goddess of wealth and good fortune in another form. Rejection of a thing as non-Brahman, and acceptance of it as Brahman,    are both fundamentally indicative of enlightenment and non-covetousness. In the light of all such spiritual truths we proceed to a study of the Mother’s life in a purely human setting; and in doing so we remind the reader, again, that in any attempt at an analytical    comprehension of this character, we must not totally lose sight of her divinity and accept the purely feminine characteristics as a measure of her greatness.

The facts that we shall consider in this chapter fall under two categories: some of them are interlinked with her life, while of others she is but a witness. Her personal acts, sometimes interpreted by herself, are very valuable indeed but the opinions she expressed from a distance are no less so, since any evaluation made by an extraordinarily gifted, cultured, and saintly lady, steeped in the age-old tradition of her race, has its own special appeal. And when we remember that her whole life was meant as a beacon to future generations, these illustrations, through life or comments by word of mouth, become all the more significant.

For the little hamlet of Jayrambati, the Mother had a lifelong fondness. Once when she was on the point of leaving for

Calcutta, her aunt said, ‘Sarada, do come again.’ The Mother said, ‘It goes without saying that I will.’ And to emphasize that promise she touched the floor of the house again and again and laid its dust on her head quoting a line from a Sanskrit verse: ‘Mother and mother-country are superior even to heaven. ’

She had some sort of relationship established with every villager, aged or young, whatever their social standing. Even people of other villages had a share in that love. On the day of the immersion of the image of Durga, when all came to prostrate themselves before her and to receive her blessing, she never forgot to inquire about and show the utmost consideration for her ‘uncle’ Kunja who belonged to a lower caste of a different village and was noted for his skill in making images of deities. In such social contacts she did not let her high caste stand in her way.

The great devotee, Girishchandra Ghosh, once declared that ‘in the present age Sri Ramakrishna conquered all through his weapon of salutation (humility)’. The Mother’s life too was eloquent of this attitude of being lowlier than the lowliest. When as a result of advancing years it became impossible for her to cook for all, an old brahmin woman was engaged in the kitchen. The Mother called her ‘aunt’. When the Mother was about to salute this aunt on the evening of the immersion of the Durga image, the old woman protested saying, ‘That’s unthinkable, Mother! You’re the Mother of the Universe; all salute you. I am an ordinary woman; I can’t possibly pocket such high honour. ’ The Mother, however, could not be dissuaded; she saluted the cook and added, ‘That can never be; you’re my aunt, to be sure.’

There was not the slightest affectation in these dealings. Once Suryanarayana, a cousin of hers, found on reaching Vishnupur from Calcutta with her that he had left back an article without which he could not go home. Accordingly, a telegram was sent to Calcutta advising its dispatch by the next train. Till the thing came, the Mother refused to go away leaving behind her cousin alone, and said, ‘Is Surya a stranger to me?’

We have mentioned earlier a number of facts concerning the Mother’s attitude to caste. The Master once declared, ‘Devotees have no caste.’ The Mother seemed to follow this literally in the field of spirituality, though in social dealings she never advocated revolution, but rather conformed to the established norms. In refusing initiation to a certain candidate who had his own family guru, she said, ‘One should follow one’s family tradition; one has to observe caste so long as one is in society.’ When during her last illness it was proposed to feed her with bread, she declined saying, ‘My boy, don’t you feed me with things touched by Mohammedans during these closing days.’ Accordingly, she was given bread made by brahmins. Later on she agreed to eat milk roll loaves on being told that these had been prepared by machines. At this time she developed a distaste for food, so that she had to be allowed a little quantity of rice for which alone she had some appetite. One day Dr. Kanjilal happened to be present at the meal-time. Noticing that the quantity of rice was in excess of what he could allow, he took Sarala Devi, the attendant, to task and said that from the next day he would arrange for paid nurses as Sarala could not be relied on.

When the doctor left, the Mother said, ‘Forsooth, I shall accept the service of those women in shoes! Does he imagine I shall? I won’t be able to do so. Please go on doing the work just as you have been doing.’ Actually, the professional nurses never came.

If we are to reconcile the apparent contradiction between her conformity with caste restrictions and her loving relationship with Amzad and others, we have to scrutinize a few more incidents. The Mother had no hesitation in showing honour to non-brahmins, who were otherwise cultured, highly placed, and respectable in every way. When Kaviraj Shyamadas Vachaspati came to the ‘Udbodhan’ to examine Radhu (September 1918) the latter saluted the Kaviraj at the Mother’s bidding. After the physician had left, someone present there asked, ‘Is he a brahmin?’ ‘No,’ replied the Mother, ‘he is a Vaidya.’ Again it was asked, ‘Why then did you ask her to salute him?’ The Mother posed the counter question, ‘Why should she not?’ and then explained, ‘How very erudite! They are as good as brahmins. If she’s not to salute him, whom should she?’ A devotee of the Kayastha caste went to Jayrambati with four others. The Mother’s new house was then under construction. She called Radhu and pointing to the Kayastha devotee said, ‘Radhu, your elder brother has come; salute him’ The devotee then thought, ‘What’s this? I am a Kayastha, to be sure.’ At the same time this assurance also came to his mind, ‘The Mother won’t certainly do anything harmful to me.’ At last Radhu and the devotee both saluted each other. A devout woman came to the ‘Udbodhan ‘to tell the Mother that she had been initiated in a dream. The Mother confirmed the mantra that the devotee had received. And then coming to know that she was the wife of a disciple of the Mother, the latter said, ‘Why did you not tell me earlier? O Radhu, O Maku, come to. salute the Manager’s wife.’ Dumbfounded, the devotee objected, ‘Mother, what’s this that you say? I am a Kayastha by birth, and how can they, who are brahmins, salute me?’ The Mother said, ‘One shouldn’t speak thus. You’re a pious soul; devotees have no caste. They stand to gain by saluting you.’ When Radhu and Maku came, the devotee grasped their feet, and the Mother said, ‘No need of that; she won’t allow you to salute. Of a truth, they are devotees, and as such they see the Master in all beings.’ On such a high pedestal she wanted to place all human relationships; but weak humanity could hardly have that divine outlook, and hence adapted its dealings to social requirements even while in the house of God.

During the Christmas holidays of 1912, the Mother was at Banaras, and with her there was Bhanu-pisi of Jayrambati. When Golap-ma heard that two brahmin girls had touched the feet of Bhanu-pisi, she flew into a rage, because honouring a woman of the milkman caste (to which Bhanu-pisi belonged) in that fashion, was, according to Golap-Ma, tantamount to pampering the egotism of all low-caste people, as a result of which they would care little for others. When the Mother came to know of the whole incident she said to the girls, ‘Look at Golap’s thoughtlessness. When all should be happy on a festive occasion, here she is hurting other’s feelings. Don’t you mind this, my good girls. All can be saluted as devotees.’

As a solution for the mania for purity, the Mother took help of this same inward vision. Her niece, Nalini, came one day (July 1913) with a wet cloth and explained that she had to bathe since a crow had urinated on her cloth. To this the Mother said, ‘I have grown old; I never heard of such a thing as urination by a crow! The mind doesn’t become impure unless one has committed many sins, heinous crimes! Mania for purity! The mind baffles all attempt at purification!.. As for this mania for purity, one can go on intensifying it without limit; in fact, all things go on multiplying in proportion, as you allow them to do so.’ On another occasion (July 1912) she said to Nalini Devi. ‘In the village, I oftentimes tread on dry faeces. Then I utter (the Lord’s name) “Govinda” twice, and at once everything becomes pure. All is in the mind— purity, as also impurity, is in the mind.’ There was no end to such problems that she had to face. In a changing society there are always unchanging customs of long standing which make life intolerable at every turn; and only progressive minds that are firmly rooted in spirituality and yet have a sympathetic vision stretched forward can show the way at such crises. The Mother used to say, ‘One should follow local customs.’ But when she said so, she did not connive at brutally suppressing all human aspirations in the name of customs. In certain parts of Bengal, widows observe very stringent rules about food, dress, and other things. Coming to learn of such rigour in the life of a widow, the mother said, ‘You should eat chapati, parata (chapati baked in butter), etc., at night. Take these after dedicating them to the Master.’ In other words, if it was not allowable, according to local customs to eat rice, there should be found some other reasonable method for the sustenance of the body.

In this respect the natural sympathy and discriminating wisdom of the Mother must have been reinforced by what she saw the Master do one day. That was an Ekadasi day, the eleventh day of the moon, when widows of high castes refrain from cooked food in general. Yogin-Ma came with her old aunt to Dakshineswar. The aunt had been fasting that day without taking even water; and on the previous day also she went without food owing to some ceremony in the house. She was very old, and the fasting for two consecutive days made her extremely weak. Arrived at Dakshineswar, as they advanced towards the Nahabat, the Mother noticed the old aunt panting. So she came out to help her, and said, ‘Shall I give you a little syrup?’ The old lady shook her head in disapprobation. When she had recovered a little, Yogin-Ma led her to the Master’s room followed by the

Mother. As the old lady climbed the steps of the Master’s room, he found to his great concern that she almost crawled. He hurried to the place, and taking hold of her, he asked Yogin-Ma, ‘Why is she gasping for breath thus?’ Yogin-Ma told the reason, whereupon the Master looked at the Mother and said, ‘Could you not give her a little syrup to drink?’ The Mother replied, ‘I suggested it, but she declined.’ The Master at once took down some sugar from a sling and mixing it in a tumbler of Ganges water held it before the old lady saying, ‘Drink.’ She stared at him meaningfully for a while, then drank it without further ado. Then touching her bosom she said, ‘My heart is cooled, father!’ In later days, when Kshirodebala Roy, a widow from childhood, went to the Mother for initiation, she asked her, ‘Dear girl, what do you eat on an Ekadasi day?’ Kshirodebala used to eat sago at first; and then being told that it was adulterated with things that are banned for widows, she went without any food on those days. Such austerity told upon her health, and she looked emaciated. The Mother was moved on hearing her account, and she said, ‘No, no, I tell you, you eat sago; this will help to tone up the system.’ Later she added, ‘My girl, you have practiced enough of rigour; now I tell you, don’t do so any more. Your body is now lean like a log of wood. If the body is destroyed with what will you undertake spiritual discipline, my dear?’ Kshirodebala had her hair cropped short according to local custom. Golap-Ma and Yogin-Ma, out of their sympathy for her, argued against such unreasonableness. But the Mother intervened to say, ‘It is good that she has done so. If one has hair, there creeps in a sense of luxury, one has to take care of it. However that may be my daughter, you have crossed over that bridge of hair and reached here. You have reached the goal for which all that austerity was needed. Now, I tell you, don’t you undertake any more austerity.’ What a fine combination we get here of pity with divine outlook, and of avoidance of luxury with eagerness for the protection of the body as an instrument for spiritual endeavour! The succeeding illustrations also are replete with the same spirit.

A devout brahmin widow of Chandrakona, who was a disciple of the Mother, lived with her at one time at Jayrambati. Like the widows of old she wore a white piece of cloth without any border, cropped her hair short, and did not even chew betel, leave alone wearing ornaments; and yet she served the Mother silently and cheerfully. For this service, self-control, and avoidance of luxury the Mother loved her and waxed eloquent in her praise.

Finding the child-widow Shavasana Devi intent on rigorous fasting, the Mother said to her, ‘What will you gain by hurting the body? I tell you, drink water at least.’ When Surabala Devi after her widowhood proposed to eat nothing for the rest of her life but simple boiled rice and butter, the Mother said, ‘If the soul hankers after any food, that should be offered to it. Else you incur a sin. The soul cries out saying, “She has deprived me of food.”’

Although the Mother did not eat rice on Ekadasi days, she took a few luchies. She was heard to say, ‘Call on God when the body is calmed after eating.’ Her companions, Yogin-Ma and Golap-Ma, also did not fast without food and water on those days. We noted earlier that under a belief that the Master could not die, the Mother did not discard fully the signs of her married life even after the passing away of her consort. Still her natural simplicity in food and dress, along with her reverence for tradition brought about an austerity that could not escape notice. Fish and meat she never tasted, bodice or jacket or any such thing she never put on, and instead of a cloth with broad and fabricated borders, she wore one with a very thin red outline.

The Mother’s denunciation of child-marriage was unequivocal. There were two unmarried girls from Madras in the Nivedita School, who were of about twenty or twenty-one years of age. Referring to them the Mother said, ‘Ah! How they have learnt arts and crafts. And as for our girls! The people of these wretched parts go on clamouring when a girl is hardly eight years old, “Send her to a new family! Have her married!” Alas! If Radhu had not been married, she wouldn’t have come to grief so early. ’

Uncle Kali married his sons Bhudev and Radharaman very early. Bhudev was tied in wedlock at the age of thirteen (May 7, 1913) and Radharaman at the age of eleven. The Mother was then in Calcutta. When she got the intimation there, she remarked very caustically, ‘He’s marrying his little sons, and extracting money from me. He doesn’t know that ultimately he will have to suffer. ’

Knowing that in wedded lives there was a pitiable lack of self-control, she deplored that some people seemed to take the multiplication of their families as the be-all and end-all of life. In this connection she added, ‘The Master suggested a controlled life after the birth of one or two children. Sense-control is a necessity. All those austerities enjoined for the widows are meant for sense-control.’

As she warned men against being lured by women, so also she cautioned women against men. To a woman she said, ‘Never have any faith in men, not even if God Himself should come to you in the form of a man.’ This was, of course, an extreme case. The woman concerned was beautiful and had become the owner of vast properties after her widowhood in the prime of life. On another occasion the Mother thus advised a woman devotee not to frequent monasteries or other places where holy men reside: ‘Look here, my daughter! It’s true that you will be going there with pious motives and devotion; but if that should affect their minds, you too will have to bear a part of the burden of the sin.’ This, too, was an unusual case. But the trend of both the instructions is obvious.

The Mother had no literary education. But that did not curb her enthusiasm for making others learned. She educated her nieces Maku and Radhu in a general way, made them read out religious books for her, and had her letters written by them Radhu was at a Christian school. As she was a grownup girl according to contemporary opinion, Golap-Ma said that her attendance at school should be terminated. At this remark Radhu began to weep. But the Mother said, ‘She’s not quite grown up. Let her go to school. She can do immense good to others if she gets education and learns some useful arts from the school. She has been married in a backward village. Through education she will not only improve herself, but will be able to help others.’ With the Nivedita School she had a sweet relation, and she was full of praise for the administrative capacity of Sister Nivedita. Sudhira Devi, who succeeded the Sister and dedicated her life for the bringing up of the girls in accordance with the ideals of her predecessor, earned the sincerest encomium of the Mother. Being told by a certain devotee that she was greatly worried because she had five unmarried daughters at home, the Mother advised her, ‘If you can’t marry them, why should you worry so much? Put them in the Nivedita School where they will learn and live well.’ The woman did not act up to this advice; but the Mother’s advice has its own intrinsic value.

She knew darning, embroidery, etc., and did not generally depend on others for such sundry things. She was full of appreciation when anyone brought her woollen fabrics, with patterns of temples and deities, for being hung up on her walls, or carpets, with creepers, trees, and flowers finely embroidered on them, for her to sit on. In fact, her admiration for the good qualities in others was very remarkable. Whatever appealed to her, she showed to others to heighten the estimation of the artist.

Speaking of the education of women she said one day at Koalpara that she had the greatest desire to see the girls of the village educated; but that the difficulty was about securing the right type of women as teachers. The few that were available were fashionable; and it is a human weakness to imbibe more easily the outward spruceness than the prudence of a teacher. Such a contingency would be more harmful than beneficial to a village.

She hated luxury. A woman whose husband was seriously ill came to seek the Mother’s benediction, dressed in her best trappings. The Mother asked her to bow down at a distance and dismissed her with a few sweet words. When the woman had left, the Mother remarked, ‘There’s such a calamity ahead of her, and she came to the Master. Whereas she should have made vows to him with sobs and tears, you noticed, how she came with perfumes and fripperies instead? Should one come to the shrine of any deity in this manner? Everything in these days looks so odd!’

In all her talks and deeds a godliness based on perfect self-discipline was what caught the eye of the most casual observer. Her life expressed itself through the rites, manners, and customs of her environment; but the touch of spirituality was unmistakable all through. After bathing in the Ganges, for instance, the Mother offered the priest there a mango, a plantain, and a pice and said, ‘I give the fruits to be sure, but the fruit of the gift is yours.’ Naturally, she set her face against social non-conformity. Yet instances are not rare of her overlooking customs when a more basic need demanded it. One day, as she was given a mango and some milk and sweets, she mixed them together, and then tasting a little of it said, ‘I leave it (as prasada) for my son’, and went out for washing her hands and mouth. On her return, she found a woman devotee eating the whole stuff and saying in a tone of wounded love, ‘Her sons will eat everything, while we shall starve!’ The Mother was taken aback at first, but without any protest, she ordered some rice, soup of lentils, and vegetable curry, mixed all these together, tasted a little of it, and said, ‘I leave it (as prasada) for my son.’ Another woman who stood by had then the doubt in her mind, ‘How could she, a brahmin woman as she is, eat twice?’ As the objection was not voiced in words, the Mother’s reply remained unknown.

But in a similar case, another woman devotee could not help saying, ‘Well, Mother, how is it that, though you are a brahmin’s daughter, you have eaten rice twice and you have polluted your lips?’ The Mother replied, ‘I can do everything for the good of my children. No guilt is incurred thereby. And if it is prasada there’s no fault in taking it even five times; for prasada is not to be classed as ordinary food. Don’t you disturb your mind with such petty questions; these things make you forget the Master. In the name of the Master, do whatever you think right, notwithstanding what others may say.’

Still we repeat that, though such events were not infrequent, every act of hers in the social sphere was above criticism. Once, at Kamarpukur, a disciple wanted to take the impression of her feet on a piece of cloth. But as widows are debarred from painting their feet with scarlet dye, the Mother dissuaded him saying, ‘This is not the proper place. All people don’t look upon me in the same way as you do. For instance, many from the Laha family frequent this place; in consequence I shall have to hide myself, for there will be the colour of lac-dye under the feet. ’ During her stay at the ‘Udbodhan’ a woman devotee happened to bring for her a cloth with a broad red border. The Mother accepted it with a smile and wore it, but soon put it away saying, ‘How can I possibly wear it, my dear? People will say, “The wife of the Paramahamsa (Ramakrishna) wears a red-bordered cloth.” Anyway, since you have brought it, I shall wear it when going to the Ganges for bath. ’ During her last illness, a monk came to see her at the ‘Udbodhan’, The Mother was in her bed, and her head had no veil. The monk massaged her feet a little and went away. The Mother then turned to the woman attendant and said, ‘I had no veil on my head; why did you not draw it down? Am I dead that you are behaving so even now?’

When the Mother was going to the Ganges for her bath, Golap-Ma advised her to apply oil to her body; but she said, ‘I won’t rub oil. If I do, others also will; it’s not proper to go for a dip in the Ganges with the oil on. ’ When one day the Mother tied an amulet to Radhu’s body and set apart a piece in the name of a deity, so that Radhu might recover from her sickness, a woman disciple was perplexed to see her behave thus, since the Mother could by her mere will cure Radhu without having recourse to such means or intermediaries. The Mother explained to her, ‘If any one falls ill, one can get cured by vowing things to deities. Besides, each should have his due.’

At that time (August 1911) the Mother bathed at the Raja’s ghat, for Durgacharan Mukherji’s ghat had not then come into existence. When returning from the Ganges, she carried some water in a small pot, a little of which she poured at the roots of the wayside banyan trees and saluted them Once, when a devotee wanted to take her to Ranchi, she declined saying that one should not go anywhere in Chaitra (March-April). When a certain Kaviraj suggested to her, as a remedy for rheumatism, to take a piece of garlic boiled in milk, she said, ‘No, my son, I shall not be able to eat garlic.’ The Kaviraj argued, ‘Mother, the garlic will have no smell when boiled in milk. This is an efficacious remedy for rheumatism.’ The Mother still said, ‘No, my son, I can’t do that. ’ So the proposal had to be dropped.

Then we come to the Mother’s social outlook and patriotism The very topic may seem queer in this context. But people who live in society, who are nurtured by the food and air of a country, imbibe certain ideas consciously or unconsciously about society and country, which continue throughout life; and though they remain generally unnoticed, still they make their presence felt at crucial moments. We have had some acquaintance with this side of the Mother’s character in connection with the Sindhubala incident, the agitation for boycott of foreign goods, and the relief of the poor and the distressed. We shall now briefly refer to a few more incidents.

A disciple of the Mother, who was noted for his quiet life and religious temperament, was unnecessarily harassed by the police. One day, just as he stepped out of his chapel, he was arrested and whisked away; he was not allowed time even to take a little prasada or to drink a glass of water. When the Mother heard of this, she said sorrowfully, ‘Just see, how iniquitous the English are! My honest boy! He has been oppressed for no reason whatsoever, and he has not been allowed to take a little cf the Master’s prasada. Can the rule of the English last?’

During the First World War, when there was a scarcity of cloth in the country, and the Koalpara Ashrama was busy plying its spinning wheels and looms, the Mother said encouragingly, Bring me a spinning wheel; I shall also spin.’ When Swami Jnanananda was under police vigilance and was compelled to live in Dr. Aghorenath Ghosh’s house at Katihar, he came to learn that the Mother was seriously ill at Koalpara and he visited her there. Fearing that his host, the doctor, who was a government servant, might be implicated by the police for this absence of the Swami, all at Koalpara advised Jnanananda to leave soon; but the Mother was unwilling to part from him so soon. At last she was prevailed upon to let him go; but at the same time she prayed for the eradication of that oppressive system. In 1913, when many people lost their all in the Damodar flood, the Mother, told one of her disciples, ‘My boy, do good to the world.’ At the Mother’s behest the disciple girded up his loins for the service of the God in the form of suffering humanity and went to the Mother to take leave of her. On entering the room he was astounded to hear her saying to herself, ‘Only money, money, money!’, for he thought that the Mother had read his thoughts, which then centred round the problem of collecting funds for the service of the afflicted. The Mother perhaps understood the disciple’s perplexity and explained, ‘No, my son, money also is a necessity. Look at Kali, for instance; he only talks of money.’ The Mother encouraged the members of the Ramakrishna Math to engage in social service. One day in 1916, she was resting at the house of Sri Sureshwar Sen at Vishnupur on her way to Calcutta when on that very day Brahmachari Varada arrived there to purchase rice for distribution among the famine-stricken people near about Jayrambati. His plan was to carry the rice in bullock-carts which had brought the Mother and her party to Vishnupur. Now, finding the Brahmachari there, Radhu wanted him to accompany the party to Calcutta; but the Mother silenced her saying, ‘So many people will have food only after he carries the rice from here; so many lives depend on him — have you any idea of that?’ So Radhu was overruled, and Varada returned to Jayrambati.

The Mother was always busy, and liked to see others equally so. One evening Brahmachari Gopesh saw the Mother kneading some wheat flour on the verandah of Nalini Devi’s house. At that time there was no lack of hands to give her relief from such jobs in her old age. And so the Brahmachari found no sense in the Mother’s busying herself in this way. Accordingly, he asked her for the reason, whereupon she said, ‘My son, it’s good to be diligent.’ And then she added solemnly after a little pause, ‘Bless me so that I may work as long as I live.’

She kept herself constantly busy. At Jayrambati she tirelessly went through her daily routine. Looking to the comforts of the devotees, dressing vegetables in the morning for about two hours, taking out stores for the kitchen, arranging for the worship and then worshipping with her own hands, distributing the prasada, making at least a hundred betel rolls, kneading flour and preparing chapati and luchi, boiling milk, cleaning lamps, and such other works followed one another without intermission and without anybody else’s help, as if they were duty alone. She used to say, ‘On the one hand, the body is becoming weaker, and on the other, work is increasing.’ During the rainy season one day the inmates of the ‘Udbodhan’ spread their wet clothes in the sun and then went about their own works or rested in their rooms below, when suddenly it began to rain and the Mother came out to take the clothes away. In spite of her rheumatism, she had to stand pretty long on the wet verandah, taking the clothes one by one, rinsing them and spreading them carefully to dry in a room. When somebody protested and reminded her of her rheumatism, she simply said, ‘Presently I shall stop, my boy; just a little remains to be done.’

Coming to know that certain monks were going out for austerity, Swami Parameshwarananda told the Mother, ‘It doesn’t seem good to continue in the midst of these works. Kindly permit me also to go out for austerity.’ The Mother replied, ‘How strangely you speak, my boy! You are doing my work, the Master’s work. Is this anything less than austerity?’

At Banaras, the Mother instructed Swami Shantananda, ‘Do the Master’s work and undergo spiritual discipline. When one does some work, the mind remains free from vain thoughts. When one stays alone one may be subject to various thoughts.’ Of course, she permitted suitable persons to undertake austerity; but here we are dealing with incidents of a different category.

Even trifling matters had a due share of her attention, and she could not tolerate disorderliness. One day at Jayrambati, a woman happened to cast away carelessly a broom after cleaning the courtyard. Noticing this the Mother told her that even such an insignificant thing as a sweeping mop should have the consideration due to it, that the smallest work should be done with proper attention and that nothing should be neglected as of no consequence.

She detested waste and extravagance. One day a servant brought some custard apples from Balaram Babu’s house in a cheap wicker basket and having deposited the fruits in the shrine-room asked the monks below as to what he should do with the basket. Somebody said, ‘What purpose will it serve? Throw it out on the road.’ The Mother heard this from above and going to the verandah overhanging the road, she found it to be serviceable. She, therefore, condemned this wastefulness, and had the basket brought and washed for some future use.

Rammay used to go to Jayrambati from Badanganj every Saturday. Hence if any good food came to the Mother’s house, she kept apart a share of it for him One day somebody prepared some delicious khichudi with plenty of ghee and other costly ingredients. When Rammay came, she gave him a great quantity of it. As he could not do full justice to it, he ate as much as he could and then wanted to throw away the rest. But the Mother said, ‘My boy, don’t throw away such good stuff’, and directed him to call in a girl of the Sadagopa caste from a neighbouring house, who came and carried away the remaining food with great delight. Then the Mother said, ‘Each should have his due. What men can eat shouldn’t be wasted on cattle; what cattle can eat shouldn’t be thrown away to dogs; what cattle and dogs can’t eat can be thrown into ponds for the fish — nothing should be wasted.’ As for. herself, she kept even such useless stuff as waste vegetables and fruit peels for cattle.

Prone to follow tradition as human society is, there crop up strange problems for it which refuse to be fitted into any existing pattern, and hence society reacts either by ignoring or by suppressing them. But on the transparent hearts of supermen is reflected even under such circumstances a new light by which society is able to discover fresh avenues of approach to such baffling situations. In front of the Mother’s house in Calcutta, there lived a man with his paramour. When the woman fell ill, the man tended her with the fullest care, and the Mother once said in praise of this man, ‘How splendidly he attends on her, my dear! I never saw the like of it. This is real service, this is real love.’ The person spoken to kept silent before the

Mother, though she entertained the greatest repugnance for the pair and thought, ‘Fancy, that there can be any such thing as service for a paramour!’ It is naturally difficult for ordinary women to appreciate readily this catholicity of the Mother.

Up till now we have noticed the Mother in the midst of serene and solemn surroundings. But we should not conclude that there was no girlish simplicity or feminine joviality in her. In fact, her homeliness and conviviality screened off her greatness so often that those who came in contact with her, thought of her more as a near and dear one than as one who was superhuman. Where others would resort to blustering for concealing their ignorance or ineptitude, the Mother readily admitted her shortcoming or inability to the extent of making herself the laughing-stock of all and joining heartily in the resulting hilarity.

During an early visit to Calcutta she found on entering a bath-room and opening a tap that a hissing sound issued out of the water pipe. This scared her away and she told others that some snake had entered into the pipe. At this, her hearers burst out laughing, for it it a common experience to the Calcutta people that when the water supply is cut off for some time, air enters into the pipes, and when the supply is resumed, the air pressed out by the water produces a hissing sound. Not abashed by that laugh at her expense, the Mother used to recount the incident to her disciples in later days and make fun of her own rural simplicity.

The hurricane lantern that the Mother had at Jayrambati was of an old pattern with some wire loops around to protect the chimney. As the Mother used the lantern carefully, the chimney had a long life. But to take it out of the encircling wires was difficult for her and she said innocently, ‘There’s too much of complicated mechanism; I can’t take it out.’ In order to praise the intelligence of a Calcutta girl she said, ‘The daughter-in-law of such a family can wind a timepiece!’, as though that was a very dexterous job. Mathematics perplexed the Master, and machinery puzzled the Mother. This peculiar attitude to science and its achievements of these twin souls, who incarnated to lead the modern world out of its psychological chaos, is worth serious notice.

Let us now look at her knowledge of conjugal relationship. One day her niece Radhu complained to her that her husband Manmatha had given her a slap. When the Mother inquired about the cause, Radhu said that she had thrown a towel at Manmatha. At this, the Mother seemed to side with Radhu and find fault with Manmatha’s conduct. But a woman devotee present there argued that if

Radhu had flung the towel at her husband, it was nothing unnatural for him to retaliate with a slap. That changed the Mother’s mood, who said, ‘Is that really so, my daughter-in-law? Do you have such altercations? I had no such problem with the Master, and hence I have no experience.’ And to Radhu she said, ‘Listen! Now then, it is you who are to blame — that’s what the daughter-in-law here says.’

Often enough she deliberately played the little girl with others. Though she had many attendants, she importuned a boy saying, ‘Do pluck some flowers for me, my son — the fine, good boy that you are!’ The boy refused again and again; and yet the Mother would not give in. At last she got the flowers plucked by him She had many women disciples near at hand to attend to her personal needs, but she told an old village woman, ‘My daughter, do massage my feet a little; there’s a gnawing pain there.’ The old woman would not agree under the plea that she had been working the whole day, and that there could be no question of massaging at that late hour in the night when her fatigued body wanted rest. The Mother still persisted, ‘Do rub it with your hand a little; tell me, what else you can do now, my good girl!’ The woman had to yield at last.

Rammay, then a young boy reading at Badanganj, came to the Mother’s house on Saturdays, and went back on Mondays, spending two days there in doing all kinds of petty works for the Mother. The Mother initiated him and loved him very much. One day there were many devotees present at the house. The Mother and Rammay sat near the hearth preparing chapatis on small wood pieces with rolling-pins, while Nalini Devi baked them Rammay could roll three pieces at a time and turn them round with the rolling-pin itself. The work progressed thus when Nalini suddenly remarked, ‘Aunt, Rammay’s chapatis are getting better inflated than yours.’ Like a petulant girl the Mother at once pushed off the rolling pin and the flat wood piece and said, ‘Then I won’t roll any more; let him do it all. I have grown old in the work, and he is just a suckling, from whose throat milk spurts out if one but presses it. Fancy, that he can roll better than I do!’ Rammay also pushed off his rolling pieces and said, ‘Mother, I won’t roll unless you also do so.’ And to Nalini he said, ‘How could you know which is mine and which Mother’s?,’ The Mother then resumed her work.

There was no lack of fun either. One day Nivedita and Christine came to her. The former had mastered a few Bengali words with the help of which she said, ‘Mother divine, you are our Kali.’ Christine also repeated the same idea in English. Hearing them, the Mother said with a simper, ‘No, my dears, I can’t become Kali or any such deity. In that case I shall have to keep my tongue protruded.’ When her words were interpreted to Nivedita and Christine, they said, ‘The Mother need not undergo that trouble at all; we look upon her as our Mother. And Sri Ramakrishna is our Siva.’ That being explained to the Mother, she tittered and said, ‘That much can somehow be seen to.’

The Mother had fever at Jayrambati and, therefore, while drinking sago she told the disciples, ‘How is it, my dears, you seem to have no attraction for the prasadatoday!’ On another day, as she sat inside uncle Prasanna’s house with her legs hanging down, Prakash Maharaj went in and after prostrating himself said, ‘Mother, don’t make me ramble about any more.’ The Mother replied, ‘You could forget me and wander about so long, and should I not now make you wander a little more?’

The Mother might make fun; but when others ridiculed anybody for his foolishness, she did not unnecessarily add to his embarrassment by joining in the giggle; but rather she would show sympathy. During her last stay at Jayrambati, some devotees from Ranchi came with many fruits for her. There sat by her a widow named Bhavini Devi who was distantly related to her as a cousin, and as such she was known to the devotees as aunt Bhavini. The aunt’s old mother was then ill and hence the

Mother had given the aunt earlier two pomegranates for her mother. Later came the fruits from Ranchi, out of which the aunt expected a good share. And so she said with a deep sigh, ‘Alas! At first it was I who was proposed to be married to Paramahamsa Deva (Ramakrishna). My father did not wed me then to him thinking that he was mad. If the wedding had taken place, all these things would have entered my house.’ This made all laugh. There was a smile on the Mother’s lips but it did not denote ridicule but rather friendship. She said to the aunt, ‘Why, then, take whatever you want.’ And to her attendant she said, ‘O Hari, put aside something for the Master and then give some more papaws, pomegranates and other fruits to Bhavini.’ To the aunt she said, ‘Don’t you give the papaws to your mother to eat; they are rather bad for her. ’

Her ideas of money and ornaments differed somewhat from the Master’s. As soon as these came to her hands she touched them to her head. If anybody happened to remind her of the Master’s very different treatment of them she used to reply without any subterfuge or prevarication, and yet in words full of meaning, ‘To compare me to the Master! My son, I am after all a woman! The Master himself went so far as to make me wear golden ornaments.’ She had some regard for precious metals as symbols of the goddess of good luck. But she had no attachment for them Once, before starting for Jayrambati from Calcutta, the Mother gave her attendant a ten rupee note for purchasing a wrapper for a poor woman in the village. The cloth cost two and a half rupees, so that the attendant wanted to return to the Mother the balance of seven and a half rupees. But she refused saying that she had given only a five-rupee note. The attendant then wanted to ascertain how many five-rupee and how many ten-rupee notes she had in her box. The Mother did not remember. Then he asked, ‘Do you at least remember how much money you had in all?’ ‘No,’ replied the Mother. At last the attendant said, ‘Now you can well realize the truth. Why should I be returning more? And where can I get the extra amount?’ Only when the matter was thus pushed home to her did she agree to accept the money.

This non-attachment was an inborn virtue. The Master then lived at Dakshineswar. Desiring that some provision for the maintenance of the Mother should be made, he arranged for a sum of two hundred rupees to be paid to the Mother. She tied it up in a piece of cloth and put it by in an earthen vessel meant for storing spices. The Master, coming to know of this, asked her, ‘Is it wise to keep money thus?’ Referring to this incident the Mother said smilingly to a disciple, ‘And now, by his will, what a lot of money is flowing in and out!’ In fact, the Mother was wholly a disinterested witness of the inflow and outflow of money. In the beginning she did not even touch the money offered by the devotees at her feet; Golap-Ma and others who happened to be near at hand looked after all that. Subsequently when, for the good of this world, her mind was tied by divine ordinance to this plane through Radhu, and her household became larger, she was forced to take more active interest in the day-to-day management. Even during the first years of this new situation her brothers received all the money that came by postal money orders and she only fixed her thumb impression on the receipts when the occasion demanded it. Still later, one of her attendants wrote the Mother’s name, while she put the thumb impression. She then picked up the amount as a whole without counting or examining the genuineness of the coins and deposited the sum in a box. She did not like giving too much of attention to money, saying as she did, ‘The jingling of coins lures the minds of poor people’ The money was kept in an ordinary box and drawn out of it without any account for receipt or disbursement. She used to hand over the key to her attendant and ask him to take out the necessary sum; or she herself opened it and said, ‘Here it is, take it.’ When any balance was returned after shopping, she kept it in the box without counting. Sometimes she herself purchased some vegetables from the mother of Satish Samui who came to her door with them. After the purchase, she took out a handful of coins and held them before the woman, so that she might count out her due. Sometimes there was an over-payment which the woman discovered after reaching home, and came back to return.

But this should not be construed to mean that the Mother was either a spendthrift or that she; lacked worldly wisdom. Perfect indifference to mundane affairs might be ingrained in her; but she who had accepted the responsible duty of leading others in all walks of life could not afford to be wholly oblivious of worldly trends. Besides, after the construction of a separate home for herself at Jayrambati, she, as the sole mistress, had to pay more attention to everything concerning it.

The village committee fixed a tax of four rupees per annum on the new house. The tax for the first year was paid without her knowledge when she was in Calcutta. When the village watchman came to collect the tax for the second year, she instructed the attendant not to pay, but to try to get an exemption by applying to the village council. The attendant was a little surprised at this earnestness in the Mother for saving such a paltry sum, though he dared not speak out his mind. But in due course she herself explained, ‘I am here now and I may be able to afford to pay the tax; but in the future there may be some monk or Brahmachari residing here, who may have to maintain himself by begging. Where will he get the money for paying the tax?’ Howsoever that may be, the President of the council directed the tax to be paid for the second year, as it was too late to grant exemption, assuring them at the same time that he would stop the levy from the third year. The gentleman kept his promise.

When Swami Jnanananda was at Jayrambati, he tried to procure pure milk even at a high cost. To the milkman he used to say, ‘ You can charge as high as a rupee for thirty-two pounds. But I want pure milk.’ Hearing this the Mother said, ‘What is this you are saying, Jnan? Here milk is available at a pice for a pound so that poor people also can drink it; and you are raising the rate thus! As for a milkman, it’s his habit to mix water with the milk. If you raise the rate he will be tempted to mix more water for earning more money. ’ When the Swami lived at the Ashrama at Navasan, he procured one day some of his ‘pure milk’ at an exorbitant rate, for the Mother’s house at Jayrambati. Brahmachari Gopesh went with the milk; but on the way, he found to his horror that there was a little fish in it. He then thought that as the milk could not be offered to the Master, he might as well throw it away. But on second thought he preferred to carry it to the Mother and abide by her decision. The Mother was told everything, but at the suggestion of throwing it away she said, ‘Why should you waste it? If it can’t be offered to the Master, there are the children who can drink it. ’

One day a woman came to sell blankets at the ‘Udbodhan’, and Nalini Devi fell to chaffering with her. The woman demanded a rupee and four annas, whereas Nalini would not agree to more than a rupee. This went on for a pretty long time, when the Mother said to Nalini, ‘You have been haggling for such a long time for a petty sum of four annas! Fie! She moves from door to door with the load on her head in the hope of earning a little money; and here you detain her so long for a trifling sum! Besides, what need have you of a blanket? You have everything and still you are out to buy one! It would have been better if one were given to my daughter-in-law (meaning her disciple Kshirodebala, who was there). She does not use anything but blankets; of these, too, she has but one. Though she has to manage with that single blanket even in these cold days, still she doesn’t beg from anyone.’ Kshirodebala was moved to tears to think that the Mother kept herself so well-informed.

As vegetables were not easily available at Jayrambati, Satish Samui’s mother procured them from other places and sold them to the Mother at prohibitive rates. When the Mother’s attention was drawn to this she said simply, ‘She is mindful of my needs; in times of difficulty we can get our requirements from her just for the asking. She is my store-keeper.’

The Holy Mother was the mother of all; her acts and advice were for all. Hence, though she was full of the spirit of renunciation in personal life, she asked her householder disciples to earn money and accumulate it. We have already referred to Surendranath Gupta. There is also the instance of Prabodhchandra Chatterji, the headmaster of the Badanganj High School, who once came to the Mother with a good supply of fruits, sweets, and vegetables at a considerable cost. At this the Mother scolded him saying, ‘Why did you spend so much money? You have your wife and children. You should lay by something for them. I am not in any want, thanks to the Master’s grace.’ This made Prabodhchandra sad, since he thought, ‘Have I no right to serve her just because I am poor?’ The Mother read his mind and said, ‘What you have to consider, my boy, is that if you put by something, there will be some provision for your family and the future. Besides, you will be able to serve the holy men too. If you have nothing, what will you give to the holy men, my dear?’ When he once proposed to buy a horse, the Holy

Mother said, ‘No, my son, don’t! Buy a treadle-car (bicycle) instead.’

Now we turn to the Mother’s social dealings. Sri Sajani Roy, a nephew of Sambhu Roy, a landholder of Jibta, was appointed in the charitable homoeopathic dispensary attached to the Mother’s house, as a salaried physician. At the time of his initiation he offered two rupees at the Mother’s feet, who, however, refused this, though she used to gladly accept the greens and vegetables that he brought from his garden. The Mother realized that this behaviour appeared to her attendant as an enigma; and hence she explained the matter thus on that very evening, ‘Mark you, I didn’t keep Sajani’s money. That he brings from his own garden certain things is altogether a different matter. If the people at his home come to know of our acceptance of money, they will be scared, lest I should ultimately lay my hands on their property. They are very worldly-minded people! They will naturally be suspicious.’

Brahmachari Gopesh, while at Jayrambati, came to know that the devotees of Dacca had published an appeal for collecting one thousand and five hundred rupees to defray the expenses of the Mother’s visit to East Bengal. Without mentioning the appeal for subscription, Gopesh casually asked her whether she was planning to go to East Bengal. The Mother replied, ‘How can I say, my son? The Master knows where I shall go. ’ Then Gopesh informed her in a general way that the devotees of Dacca were making efforts to take her there. At this the Mother said, ‘They will raise some money, to be sure!’ After a pause she continued, ‘They always have maggots in their brains. Look here, for instance, there’s a new craze for the Master. ’

When two Brahmacharis from Garbeta came to Jayrambati, the Mother gathered from them that they were going round collecting money from the big villages in the country-side. She at once cautioned them saying, ‘Mind you, my boys, don’t collect any money from this side in the Master’s name, be it for a home of service or any other purpose. You can do as you like in a town or in far-off places.’

Sri Lalit Chatterji was present at Jayrambati during the ceremonial opening of the Mother’s new house. Being enthusiastic about opening a charitable dispensary and a free school there, he explained to the Mother, ‘Mother, if an appeal is issued in your name to the devotees, the poor people will be immensely benefited.’ Though the Mother disliked such a method of raising funds, she could not reject the proposal forthwith out of consideration for the gentleman’s susceptibility. Just then Brahmachari Rupachaitanya (Hemendra) came there and condemned the idea with all the vehemence he could command. The Mother heaved a sigh of relief and told Brahmachari Rashbehari afterwards, ‘Methinks he saved me like my Yogin (Swami Yogananda). Fie! For shame! To beg for money!’ Subsequently Lalit Chatterji himself met the expenses for the dispensary.

Next we come to the Mother’s courtesy. A young man of the Roy family of Jibta came to Jayrambati on some business at about two o’clock in the afternoon, and finding Rammay and others, who were of the same age and his old acquaintances, he sat in the Mother’s outer house to have a chat. The Mother somehow coming to know of his presence, lighted the hearth and sat down to prepare a little halva with semolina. When Rammay protested ‘Mother, he has not come to you; he is of our age and has come to confabulate. Why need you take so much trouble for him?’ The Mother replied, ‘How can that be so, my boy? They are our landlords, our rulers. We have to do something for them.’

The language used by the Mother and the method of her instruction had their own distinctiveness. When talking to the people of Calcutta, she adopted their vocabulary; but with her relative she talked in her native dialect. But the two forms of words got mixed up at times, and the rural accents were often easily discernible. Every word she

spoke was soft and sweet. Instead of ordering a disciple to do this or that she would say, for instance, ‘My boy, won’t it be better to have it so?’ But for the good of very young disciples she might often use such expressions as, ‘I say, you do this.’ At times she lingered on some words in order to emphasize them One day, as Bibhuti Babu was returning from Jayrambati it rained heavily and this made the Mother anxious for the whole day. When Bibhuti Babu next visited Jayrambati she said, ‘ So you went away. But it began to rain; and I thought my Bibhuti must be—crossing the river by —now.’    She interjected charming proverbs into her talks, thus making them all the more impressive. Sri Akshay Kumar Sen, the composer of the Sri Sri Ramakrishna Punthi— in epic style, came to her one day and called her, ‘Mother’, to which the Mother replied, ‘Yes, my son.’ The poet then said, ‘Mother, I called you “Mother”, and you responded saying, “Yes.” What more fear need I have?’ The Mother corrected him saying, ‘No, my boy, don’t you speak thus. “He that is diffident wins in the end.”’ One day the Mother was explaining to a woman devotee, that since human gifts do not last long, one should not beg from men, nay, not even from one’s father or one’s husband. Then she added, ‘When the Master gives, it overflows all limits. The Master’s gifts know no limitation. “He that begs gets nothing, and he that begs not, gets everything.”’ In connection with Nivedita’s death she said one day. He that is a great soul, for him cries the inmost soul.

In addition to the command of such pregnant proverbs she chose and used her words with such skill that, though they were simple, they always revealed a cultured and thoughtful mind. After the conclusion of the First World War, Jatindranath Ghosh one day tried to explain to her the fourteen clauses of peace as adumbrated by President Wilson of the U.S.A. After hearing some of these the Mother commented, ‘Their protestation is only lip-deep (,mukhastha, meaning memorized or resting on lips). ’ As he did not seem to have grasped the meaning, she elaborated her point thus: ‘If it issued from their hearts antahstha), it would mean a world of difference. ’

And there were the apt analogies. In order to explain the idea that God-realization can come through His grace alone, though spiritual discipline has its own worth inasmuch as it purifies the mind, she said, ‘His grace alone avails. Yet one must practise meditation and japa. The impurities of the mind are removed thereby. As the fragrance of the flower comes out when it is moved about, or that of the sandal issues forth when it is rubbed, so also enlightenment dawns when one goes on thinking on God. By transcending desires, one can get it at once.’ Coming to learn once of the misunderstanding between two persons, she said, ‘There are times when everything has to be endured. At times (i.e., before sacrificing to gods) you have to offer flowers even at the hoofs of goats.’ There were many devotees who regretted that though they had a rare guru like her, they had no enlightenment. She consoled such people thus, ‘Whatever I had to give, I gave once for all at that very time (of initiation). But if you want immediate peace, you must take recourse to spiritual discipline; otherwise you will get it after death. ’ To explain the difference between this acquisition of grace and becoming conscious about the acquisition, she said to a devotee, ‘Suppose, my son, that you are asleep on a cot, and somebody has carried you along with your cot. Will you be conscious of this fact just after awaking? Or will you realize that you have reached a new place only after fully shaking off your drowsiness?’

Extremely gentle by nature as the Mother was, she would not hurt anybody’s feelings, and such was her nature that where people magnified others’ faults, she took notice of the little bits of merit that there might be and waxed eloquent in recommending these to others. The devotees therefore got nothing but blessing from her. A devotee brought some mangoes to the Mother’s house in Calcutta depending on the recommendation of the dealer and without tasting them, since he thought it improper to eat from anything meant for the deities before they were actually offered to them. When they sat for meal at noon, and prasada including the mangoes was served, none could eat the fruits as they were extremely sour. None the less, the Mother tasted one of them and said, ‘No, it is a good enough fruit with a mixture of sweet and sour tastes.’ The Mother indeed had a bias for sour things; but that was not the only cause for her praising in this instance; the real motive was to save the devotee from embarrassment. Indeed, whenever the sweetmeats brought by the devotees proved to be bad, she tasted one or two by way of encouragement.

Whatever she had, she distributed with a free hand among the devotees. The prasada that was set apart for her breakfast, she used to give away to the devotees. And if she herself began distributing the prasada, then even the little syrup of sugar-candy that she had for her morning drink would be exhausted, or a very little of it would be left over for her use.

Though she had no education in the modern sense of the term, yet her manners, and conversation were so dignified, liberal, instructive, and charming that a cultured foreign woman like Sister Nivedita once wrote about her: ‘To me it has always appeared that she is Sri Ramakrishna’s final word as to the ideal of Indian womanhood. But is she the last of an old order, or the beginning of a new? In her one sees realized that wisdom and sweetness to which the simplest of woman may attain. And yet, to myself the stateliness of her courtesy and her great open mind are almost as wonderful as her sainthood. I have never known her hesitate to give utterance to large and generous judgement, however new or complex might be the question put before her. Her life is one long stillness of prayer. Her whole experience is of theocratic civilization. Yet she rises to the height of every situation. Is she tortured by the perversity of any about her? The only sign is a strange quiet and intensity that comes upon her. Does one carry to her some perplexity or mortification born of social developments beyond her ken? With unerring intuition she goes straight to the heart of the matter, and sets the questioner in the true attitude to the difficulty\(7he Master as I saw Him, p. 147)

We shall now give a brief account of the daily routine of her life. Her habit of leaving the bed in the small hours of the night persisted throughout her life. At 3 a.m. she woke up with the names of the deities on her lips and the first thing for her to do was to have a look at the Master’s picture. After attending to her personal cleanliness, she woke up the Master and then sat for japa. This routine she followed even in ill health, though at times when the body appeared too weak, she lay down again after washing her mouth About early rising she said, ‘Wherever I might happen to be, when it struck three at night, I felt as though somebody blew a flute near my ears.’ After arranging flowers, bel leaves, and fruits for the Master with her own hands, she sat down for worship at about nine o’clock. This would be over in an hour. Then she distributed the prasada for all on sal leaves. During the closing years of her life, the women devotees at the ‘Udbodhan’ helped her, and the monks performed the worship. If any one took too much time for worship and chanting of hymns, she expressed her disapproval saying, ‘After finishing, the offering of food, let him chant the hymns as long as he can What’s this? People don’t get their breakfast, it becomes late.’ She did all her duties quickly, diligently, efficiently, and in due time, and she expected others also to do likewise.

It struck two before her lunch was finished. Then she rested awhile. But that was also the time when the women devotees freed from household duties found opportunity to visit the Mother. The Mother talked with them as she lay on her bed. She got up at about 3-30 p.m, changed her clothes and offered light refreshment to the Master. Then she sat for japa, and talked with the women devotees at intervals. The men came at about 5-30 p.m, when the women devotees moved away to another room The Mother, with a wrapper all over her body and her feet dangling from the cot on which she sat, accepted the obeisance of her sons. If any one asked her, ‘How are you, Mother?’ she would indicate by a motion of her head that she was well, or say so gently in a low tone which was communicated more loudly, if it were necessary, by another who stood by her. If any devotee had any special problem, he waited till the last. If he happened to be intimately known, the Mother would answer him directly, but if a new-comer, she would take another’s help. Before dusk, she would again sit for japawhich would continue till after nightfall. Then she would be down on the floor till the Master was served with his night-offerings. As she lay there, some woman disciple would step in to massage her feet with oil. She usually retired to bed at about 11 p.m after food.

She had some specialty about her food. Among greens she liked gram leaves and radish leaves. When she lost appetite after any attack of malaria, she was given radish leaves. She liked brinjals and other vegetables fried in oil with a thin coating of pasted lentils, or boiled potatoes. On winter mornings, the Master was often offered these things along with fried-rice and fried pulses.

She also had a taste for sweet balls made out of mug or lentils. As she suffered from dysentery, Kaviraj Durgaprasad Sen prescribed for her amrul leaves, which she often ate in her closing days, and which Swami Premananda sent her from the Belur Math whenever he found an opportunity. Among the different varieties of sandesh (dry sweetmeats from cheese) she liked ratabi and among cakes rasapulis. In the morning she drank a little of the syrup of sugar-candy. Among mangoes she preferred those which had a bit of sourness rather than those that were all sweet, as for instance, Pearafuli, Langra, and Alfonso. Because she was rheumatic she did not take much of curds. On medical advice she drank milk twice daily. Each time she was given a pound of milk, half of which she drank, and left the other half with rice mixed with it as prasada for her children who came to see her. In the afternoon she took nothing but betels and water. Her night meal consisted of two or three luchis, a little vegetable, and milk. She cleaned her teeth four times a day with a powder made of tobacco and cocoanut leaves burnt together.

So long as the Mother lived with her brothers’ families at Jayrambati, she used to dress vegetables, sitting on the verandah, from seven in the morning till nine. The devotees sat by her then and talked while helping her with cleaning and sorting the greens and vegetables. After bath, she sat for worship at about nine o’clock and then distributed prasada among the devotees. They generally got fried-rice, halva, and sweets, to which were often added fruits and roots brought by themselves. This over, she entered the kitchen to relieve the cook for her breakfast. In curries she used salt, chilli, and spices very sparingly, as that accorded with the Master’s taste.

Whenever a devotee went inside to bow down before her, she gave him a sweetmeat with a glass of water and at least two rolls of betel. Whatever the devotees brought from Calcutta or other places for her, she accepted with readiness and subsequently distributed these among the devotees as though they were meant for themselves only. The village people too came to pay their respects to their ‘grandmother’, and in return got handfuls of the good things brought from afar. Whenever Swami Saradananda and Krishnabhavini Devi, wife of the Master’s devotee Balaram Babu, sent any good thing, she set apart the first shares for Simhavahini, Dharma, and other village deities. Her relatives and disciples also got their shares. Again, if any devotee happened to be absent, she kept his share reserved for him During a festival some cakes were prepared in the Mother’s house, some of which she kept away for Bibhuti Ghosh who used to come there regularly. But for some reason, he could not turn up at the expected time; nevertheless, the Mother went on placing the cakes over the fire every day to keep them fresh, and every time she did so, she said, ‘May be, he’ll come tomorrow; if he does, then I shall be sorry to think, “Alas, he could not get it to eat!”’ Thus when after four days Bibhuti went to the Mother’s house he found his own share still intact.

In the new house at Jayrambati, the tenor of her life was almost the same; any difference that was noticeable was owing to her old age and weakness. At that time she had to cut down her activity and spend more time in bed. But even so, her habit helped her to carry on her japa as usual. When the sun went up in the morning she came out, drank a little medicated water and then sat for dressing vegetables, talking the while with her disciples. At about nine o’clock, she sponged her body with tepid water and worshipped the Master and the child Krishna. Then she initiated any candidate that might be there. After that she distributed the prasada and supervised the kitchen. Then she prepared two hundred betel rolls in the manner which the Master had taught her. On some days the mail was read out at this time, and the Mother gave orally the answer to each letter, which the attendant then put down in writing. When the cooking was over, she invited the Master to his meal in the kitchen After that she sat down for food with the attendants. As she suffered from biliousness which produced a burning sensation all over the body, she had a liking for a soup of black lentils. Here also she mixed some rice with milk, just as at the ‘Udbodhan’ for the devotees to eat as prasada. At about three in the afternoon she washed her hands and feet and sat down for dressing vegetables, during which time the village women gathered round her and poured forth the tales of their weal and woe. There was a brahmin woman cook; still the Mother cooked a few dishes with her own hands for her children, which she herself served. If on any day the daily mail could not be dealt with in the morning, it was taken up in the evening. At 9 p.m food was offered to the Master by the Mother herself; or if she could not, through indisposition or illness, by somebody else. She could retire only at eleven o’clock after providing for the comforts of all.