IN A RURAL SETTING

After the opening of a railway station at Vishnupur, the Mother always travelled home via Vishnupur. At first she knew no one there and so she halted on the banks of either the Poka-bandh or the Lal-bandh, two /of the big tanks there; and the cooking was done in some small wayside hut. Subsequently, when Swami Sadananda stayed there for two months in the second quarter of 1909,

Sri Sureshwar Sen and his family became earnest followers of Sri Ramakrishna through contact with the Swami. From 1911 onward, the Mother usually rested for a while in their house, and sometimes stopped there for more than a day. The Master had once told her, ‘My dear, Vishnupur is a hidden Vrindaban; you must see it. ’ The Mother could not imagine at the time that Vishnupur would in due course become an important point on her way, and so she remonstrated, ‘I am a woman; how can I see?’ But the Master just said, ‘No, my dear, you will see, you will.’ Once, while passing through the town, the Mother visited the temple of the goddess Sarvamangala on the bank of the Lal-bandh, and she said, ‘Verily! The Master’s word has come true today.’ Although Vishnupur has now lost its former importance, it still holds in its bosom the bright memories of its princes and unfolds before sympathetic visitor a bright chapter of Bengal’s history in its old temples, and buildings, some of them in ruins now. The large tanks — Poka-bandh, Lal-bandh, and Krishna-bandh— strike one with wonder even in their present neglected state. The Mother used to enjoy her visits to Vishnupur.

In the middle of February 1913, the inmates of the Ashrama at Koalpara were informed that the Mother would shortly be visiting them. So, on the appointed day, the young inmates prepared to receive the Mother from a little beyond the borders of their place. As soon as the bullock-carts came into sight, one of the boys ran back to the Ashrama to give those behind the happy news. Another boy walked with the Mother’s cart and a little later he jumped up to the seat of the cartman and like an expert driver made the team of bullocks move very fast. The Mother was much amused at this and said smilingly, ‘I see, you can drive the cart well enough, indeed. Well, it’s good to learn all kinds of work.’ The cart stopped at the Ashrama door, and the Mother was helped down by Kedar’s mother; for, the prolonged sitting in the cart had made her rheumatic legs a little stiff. The devotees now saluted her one by one. Then she bathed in the Badujye-pukur and told the above-mentioned boy, ‘You change your cloth for a bath towel and then pluck flowers and make arrangements for the worship.’ The boy picked up the Mother’s wet towel and went about his task. But Kedar’s mother shouted to him, ‘Hello, my boy, why have you worn the Mother’s towel? Change it, change it!’ But the Mother said, ‘What of that? What does it matter if a boy wears my towel? He is a boy: and boys are guileless.’ And to the boy she said, ‘Go and bring the flowers!’ When the flowers were brought, Kedar’s mother selected the best of them for worship and the boy engaged himself in making sandal-paste for the worship, Brahmachari Kishori entered the kitchen, and Kedar carried on a conversation with the Mother. He said, ‘Mother, all your sons are learned excepting a very few like us.’ The Mother said tenderly, ‘Fancy! The Master was not at all a learned man. The real thing is to have love for God. Methinks, many things will be accomplished on this side by you. What a lot these boys are doing for me! Why do you worry? The Master incarnated himself this time to save the rich, the poor, the learned, the ignorant, and all. I love you, you are my own boys.’ After lunch she rested a little and then left that very day for Jayrambati in a palanquin.

As the rainy season of 1913 set in, malaria and dysentery spread widely in Jayrambati. In those days the villagers got their mail twice a week from the post office at Anur, across the river Amodar, which at that time was in high flood, thus cutting off communication for a long time. The consequent absence of any news from the Mother caused deep anxiety in Swami Saradananda’s mind, and he sent a messenger to her. He reported that the Mother was suffering from dysentery. A wire to that effect was sent from Kotulpur. As a result Dr. Kanjilal arrived with Sudhira Devi of the Nivedita School, and in a couple of days followed Yogin-Ma’s sister Kali-dasi and Master Mahashaya’s wife.

Through their care and treatment the Mother came round in a few days. But, then, it became a problem for her to arrange for the comfort of so many guests from the city to whom a village during rains is most uninviting. The roads are then muddy, and vegetables and other fresh food-stuff difficult to procure. The Mother, therefore, told the Koalpara devotees very frankly that they alone could help her in this difficulty. The devotees responded cheerfully, and they not only supplied her with the necessary things, but also lent a hand in household duties. When the Mother was fully recovered) Dr. Kanjilal and Kali-dasi went back to Calcutta.

But owing to incessant work amid rain and sun, the Koalpara devotees fell ill with malaria. For about ten days the Mother did not hear from Koalpara and she feared that perhaps all the inmates had fallen ill. She knew too well the strict economy practiced by the head of the Ashrama, and it made her all the more anxious. Therefore, she made inquiries through a woman and found that her apprehension was correct, the Ashrama inmates were all ill. Hence she sent a letter to Koalpara through the same woman again, which ran thus: ‘Dear Kedar, I myself installed the Master there in the Ashrama. He liked parboiled rice, and ate nutritious food too. So I tell you, you will offer to the Master parboiled rice; and you shall not offer less than three curries, howsoever you may have to manage that. You cannot otherwise fight successfully with malaria. ’

On the 13th of Ashwina (September 28), 1913, the Mother went to Calcutta, and the next year she wrote back to Kedar, ‘If you can have a house erected for me at Koalpara, I can stay there now and then when I go to the village. The difficulties in my brothers’ families are ever on the increase; and I can’t always endure them. There is no place for me to which I can move in case of illness or in some similar contingency. ’ Stimulated by this proposal, the Ashrama inmates built for her a small house in the compound of Kedar’s old paternal home. The Mother had now at her disposal a self-contained household with three contiguous bedrooms, a separate kitchen shed, and other necessary conveniences. This was later on called the Jagadamba Ashrama or the Ashrama of the Divine Mother.

On the 6th of Vaishakha (April 20), 1915, the Mother started for Jayrambati from Calcutta. She was overjoyed to see the new house, but said, ‘I shan’t be able to stay this time; there are too many (Radhu and Maku and their husbands, etc.) with me. I shall take them all to Jayrambati, leave them there, and then come with Radhu to pass here a few days.’ Then she left for Jayrambati.

Three months later, a date was fixed for her going to Koalpara. It was in the middle of the wet season. On the appointed day, it began pouring from early morning. The first reaction of the Ashramites was that it would not be proper to bring the Mother there in such weather; but ultimately they decided that at least for the sake of keeping their word they should follow the plan, leaving the choice of coming or not coming to the Mother herself. As soon as they fought their way to Jayrambati with a palanquin, uncle Kali brawled out, ‘The monkeys that you are! You pose as sister’s devotees! Kedar has, forsooth, a pig’s brain! How wonderfully did Yogen Maharaj (Swami Yogananda) serve my sister; with what care Sarat Maharaj (Swami Saradananda) does everything!

How wonderful is their devotion! And how could you think of coming to take her in this rain?’ The Mother heard every word and smiled as she looked at the devotees. Encouraged by the Mother’s kindly looks, one of the Koalpara devotees said, ‘Do we, in fact, possess the competence to take the Mother or serve her? It was settled beforehand that we should come with the palanquin today, and that is why we are here.’ ‘You can keep your word,’ joined in the Mother with a broad smile, ‘and can’t I mine? You take me now; Radhu and others will go later on when they may. ’ The Koalpara devotees then admitted defeat and said, ‘How can that be? When none can come out of the house in this shower, should we get you drenched by taking you out and thus make you ill?’ That put uncle Kail also in good humour. And in the darkness of the night the palanquin went back the way it had come.

Next month the Mother went to Koalpara with her nieces Nalini, Maku, and Radhu, and Radhu’s mother. But she could not stay there in the new house for more than fifteen days, as she had left Jayrambati in the month of Bhadra (August-September) which is inauspicious for a long sojourn.

The time for the Jagad-dhatri worship (November) now drew near. The man who was to be in charge of the store for the celebrations fell ill; and hence the Mother asked a Koalpara boy to take up the work. But as he was not a brahmin, she cautioned him thus: ‘It will be all right if you are only a little careful so as not to touch prohibited articles.’ Social restrictions were very stringent then; even today they are harder than in towns. Sister Nivedita once said to Shyamasundari Devi, ‘Granny, shall I go to your village, enter your kitchen, and cook there?’ But Grandmother replied, ‘Don’t my good grand-daughter; they will excommunicate us if you enter our kitchen.’ Once when the prasada of Jagad-dhatri was being distributed among the brahmins by uncle Kali, a monk unwittingly approached him and put a ceremonial mark on his forehead after the performance of the homa (sacrifice). This enraged the brahmin landlords who left the place at once for fear of losing caste. They turned a deaf ear to the Mother’s entreaty; on the contrary, they extracted a fine of twenty-five rupees. Subsequently, Sri Lalitmohan Chatterji came to the village with a gramophone to entertain the villagers. This was a new thing in rural parts and attracted a good gathering including the people who had earlier extracted the fine. Lalitmohan thought that to be a good opportunity for taking vengeance on those who had been so disrespectful to the Mother; and he threatened to shoot them unless the fine was paid back. Needless to say, the money was immediately repaid. For this and similar other exploits, Lalitmohan earned for himself the title of Kaiser among the devotees.

That was an ingenious little plan contrived personally by Lalitmohan. As for the Mother, she accepted all such restrictions in the field of social dealings; but amidst the devotees she tried to forget as much of them as possible. It was the family custom to worship Jagad-dhatri for three days instead of one; and on all days she went to the place of worship with her sisters-in-law to offer flowers at the feet of the goddess. On the night of the last day (Ekadasi), the monks sang in chorus the glory of the goddess. One of the songs pleased them very much and they repeated it more than once. It ran in part thus:

None need worry any more as to how one will see the Mother; For, surely, She is not the mother of you or me, but of all in the Universe.

The Mother heard it all. Then she said to the boy devotee of Koalpara, ‘Ah! The song created a deep fervour. Of a truth, how can the devotees really have caste? Children are all equal. I wish I could have them all seated round the same plate for food. But there is this little difficulty; this benighted land brags of caste. Anyway, no prohibition attaches to fried-rice. You will do one thing tomorrow — you will go to Kamarpukur, and bring four pounds of

jilapi1 from the shop of Satya, the sweetmeat seller.’ The jilapi came next morning at about nine. The Mother offered the sweets to the Master; and then putting some fried-rice on a big plate, arranged the jilapis round the heap of fried-rice. This was sent to the devotees who sat round the plate and merrily partook of the food, while the Mother tenderly watched from an adjoining room

By and by the villagers came to recognize the devotees as a class by themselves. One day, she sat on the porch in front of the main door of the house. Some boys were playing in the open space in front. When some unknown devotees passed by the boys, one of them asked his companion, ‘Who are they?’ The other boy answered with a pose of wisdom, ‘Why, they are devotees, don’t you know?’ And when the first boy wanted to know their caste, the wise boy repeated, ‘Why, don’t you know? — they are disciples.’ The Mother overheard them and said, ‘Mark you! What comes out of children’s mouths is often enough quite true. They have taken it for granted that the devotees form a caste!’

One incident at the beginning of 1916 is not only very funny, but is also illustrative of the Mother’s fortitude in circumstances of danger. At that time, Gauri-Ma once went by way Koalpara to see the Mother at Jayrambati. From Koalpara she picked up Brahmachari Varada as a companion. As she rested by the Amodar an idea flashed into her mind. When she approached the Mother’s door at nightfall, she tied a turban round her head like a man and advancing a little inside the compound of the house cried out like a beggar, ‘Mother, may it please you to give me alms, mother!’ The mad aunt came out of the verandah and demanded, ‘Who is that?’ Gauri-Ma again begged in a pitiable tone, ‘May it please you to give me alms, mother!’ Finding a man standing there at such an unusual hour1, the mad aunt shrieked out, ‘O dear sister-in-law’, and she rushed to the Mother who walked out steadily and asked ‘Who is that?’. Gauri-Ma kept standing where she was and repeated, ‘May it please you to give me some alms, mother! I am a nocturnal beggar.’ Gauri-Ma’s voice revealed her identity to the Mother at once, and she said, ‘O, it’s you Gaur-dasi, come, come. When did you arrive?’ All of them then joined in a hearty laugh, whereas the mad aunt hid herself in shame in a room and did not stir out.

Whenever the Mother came to Jayrambati, she took up her abode in the house of uncle Prasanna. But now her retinue was big, the number of devotees was ever increasing, and her uncle’s family, too, was expanding. So the Mother’s further residence there became inconvenient from many points of view. So, another home was built for her on the western bank of Punya-pukur, at a total expenditure of about two thousand rupees. At the north-west corner of this homestead was a south-facing mud cottage for the Mother; south of this and facing west was a similar cottage to serve as a drawing-room or for the annual worship of Jagad-dhatri; opposite the Mother’s cottage was that of her niece Nalini and the women devotees; at the north-east corner was the kitchen; north of the last cottage, again, there was another cooking shed. The home was ceremonially opened on May 15, 1916. Along with the land purchased for this new home was bought the Punya-pukur, which after necessary excavation formed a part of the homestead. The Mother lived here for about four years.

The opening day of the house was marred by an unhappy incident. The devotees of Koalpara helped in every possible way in the building of the home and arranging for its opening. But they took so much to heart the insolence of a few rich and honoured gentlemen who arrogated to themselves the leadership in connection with the opening celebrations that they decided not to be present on that day. The Mother did not fail to notice their absence and felt ill at ease.

She inquired about them, but got no explanation from any quarter. When a couple of days later they turned up carrying some necessities for the Mother’s household, she asked them about their absence from the opening ceremony. Nalini Devi told her why they did not attend. The Mother knew now the cause of their keeping aloof, and she was also told that when she would go to Calcutta this time, those influential devotees would take her by way of Garbeta and not by way of Koalpara. At all this the Mother remarked, ‘What impostors these are! The Koalpara boys there have built a post and have been keeping watch on the way for me and my devoted children. What trouble do they not face for our sake? Those others lack the capacity, and yet how they offend by their heedless words! And shall I have to go with all my companions by way of Garbeta, crossing all sorts of rivers and canals, just because such a one prefers it so? The Koalpara boys are my mainstay. Whatever anyone may say, I shall have to pass ever and anon through Koalpara.’ This warm and affectionate talk of the Mother melted the hearts of the devotees; they knew that the Mother was a real mother.

Swami Saradananda was at Vrindaban at the time of the opening of the new home. He returned to Calcutta after a month and a half and then proceeded to Jayrambati to bring the

Mother with him The Mother had decided that the new house and some paddy fields purchased by her for Jagad-dhatri would be formed into a trust in the name of the goddess and the deed would be registered at Koalpara through the sub-registrar of Kotulpur. By that deed she would make the Belur Math responsible for the maintenance of the property and the continuance of the worship of the deity. After a brief stay at Jayrambati, Swami Saradananda went with the Mother to Koalpara on July 6, 1916, and the deed was registered the next day according to plan. The courtesy shown to the sub-registrar by the Swami on this occasion underlined his attitude of stewardship of the Mother. The sub-registrar was a young Mohammedan, well below thirty years of age; yet the old Swami offered him cigarettes and fanned him, as though he (the Swami) was a common man. At last when the registration was over and the gentleman was sent off in a palanquin, he felt relieved.

That very night the party left for Vishnupur by bullock-carts. They arrived there in the morning and spent the whole day at Sureshwar Babu’s house, from where they left for Calcutta by the night train. The Mother stayed at the ‘Udbodhan’ for about seven months and then started for Jayrambati on January 31, 1917. On the way she spent a couple of days at Koalpara.

This year the Jagad-dhatri worship was celebrated in the Mother’s new home, and in her presence. Soon after the Durga festival, she kept on counting the days for the commencement of the other festival and saying, ‘ So many days are left. My mother used to make such and such preparation at this time; with what care did she do it all! Can you guess how things will be managed?’ Ten days before the celebration, on the afternoon of the Kali worship, she said, ‘My mother used to begin twirling off the wicks from today,’ and she started making the wicks for the lights. On the day of worship, she went to the goddess again and again with the end of her cloth placed round her neck in token of extreme humility, and there she prayed with folded hands for the safe accomplishment of the ceremony. The priest was a Bhattacharya from Haldi-pukur, and the tantradharaka was the

family guru1 of her brothers. At the end of the worship the Mother saluted the guru and placed the dust of his feet on her head. When she approached the priest with a similar purpose, he drew back and expostulated, ‘Mother, how is it that you make obeisance to us? Do, please bless us.’ The family guru seemed to have come to his senses now; but instead of showing any modesty he supported his pose of superiority by quoting a Sanskrit verse which means, ‘I salute that blessed guru through whom has been revealed the Reality by which is pervaded this whole spherical universe of sentient and insentient things.’ The Mother lent support by saying, ‘That’s true to be sure,’ and left the place.

Next morning, Lalu, the fisherman of Satbere, came and said, ‘Dear aunt, I shall sing some baul songs.’ The Mother did not agree and pointed out various inconveniences; but Lalu assured her that he himself would get together the canopy, the lantern, and such other paraphernalia, for which none else need take any trouble. The Mother still pleaded, ‘Lalu, why should you invite the ridicule of people? Much better will it be if you simply sit before the goddess and sing to her a few songs.’ But Lalu stuck to his plan. In the evening he spread out the canopy, hung up the lantern, wore the long robe of the bauls, and faced the audience with a small drum dangling from his shoulder. And then he sang some humorous songs, made all roar with laughter, and left the place triumphantly.

The Mother’s health deteriorated soon after; and in January 1918, her temperature rose very high. As soon as Swami Saradananda knew of this, he started with his brother Dr. Satishchandra Chakravarty, Dr. Kanjilal,

Yogin-Ma, Golap-Ma, Sarala Devi-, and others and reached Jayrambati on January 21. The Mother said that she would take Kanjilal’s medicine. That done, she recovered soon. But, perhaps, the greater result came from the presence of her beloved ones — the Swami and his companions. By getting them down to stay near herself and by being constantly engaged in thoughts of their comfort, she shook off the disease.

Some little trouble cropped up at Jayrambati at this time. To suppress all political activity in the country, the Government had arranged for a strict and elaborate police vigilance. They watched the movements of all people, and came to the Mother’s house to note down the names and whereabouts of all new-comers. Among the Mother’s disciples could be counted some internees; moreover, the frequent visits of East Bengal people raised the suspicion of the police all the more. In the police records the Mother’s house was noted down as ‘Mataji’s (Mother’s) Ashrama’, which required close attention. The Koalpara Ashrama, too, shared a similar fate. This caused great anxiety to the Mother, and to remedy this Sri Bibhutibhushan Ghosh, a disciple of the Mother; brought to her house a superior police officer from the district headquarters to have personal acquaintance with the actual state of things. The officer was highly impressed by the courtesy and affection of the Mother, and when taking leave inquired whether she was afraid of the police.

Bibhutibhushan tried to evade the question just to save the Mother from giving an unpleasant direct answer. But she said frankly, ‘There is fear, to be sure, my son.’ The police officer promised to ease the situation; and as a matter of fact, the police relaxed their surveillance after this visit. They now remained satisfied with noting down names and collecting general information, and the local sub-inspector of police held the Mother in great honour. When Swami Saradananda arrived at Jayrambati, the village watchman (chaukidar) came to note down the names of the whole party. And lest any negligence on their part should embarrass the Mother later on, Swami

Saradananda saw to it that all information was scrupulously supplied.

The Swami had planned to take the Mother with him to Calcutta; but the Mother declined; and so he left Jayrambati leaving behind Sarala Devi for the Mother’s service and another devotee to accompany the Mother to Calcutta in case she should change her mind. But when even after a fortnight there was no indication of such a change this devotee also took leave of her.

On the eve of the Sivaratri day (some time in late February) 1918, the village watchman Ambika came with the information that on the morrow the sub-inspector of the Shiromanipur police station would visit the Mother’s house.

Some time earlier Swami Jnanananda, who had been suffering from malaria, had gone to Katihar to Dr. Aghornath Ghosh’s house to be treated by him While staying there he got information of the Mother’s illness at Jayrambati and visited her there. On his return to Katihar, the police falsely concluded that Swami Jnanananda was none other than a brother of Dr. Aghornath who had been absconding for political reasons and was now living incognito in the doctor’s house under a monk’s garb. And thus a silly but vigorous investigation was set in motion for ascertaining the antecedents of Jnanananda. Ambika said that the talks at the police station indicated that the sub-inspector’s visit was only a part of that inquiry. That in itself was a simple affair; but nobody could be too sure of the whims of the all-powerful police of those dark days, particularly in the face of the Sindhubala incident which had happened in a nearby village some time back. But though the Mother’s household was thus perturbed over the prospect of a visitation from the police, in the Mother’s face could be seen absolute peace and assurance; and others, too, kept fairly calm for the being. At night also the Mother sat by her sons at meal-time, as usual, and she seemed totally unexcited.

Fortunately, Sri Manindranath Bose, a lawyer of Arambagh and a disciple of the Mother, came to see her the next day.

The Mother was pleased to see him; and her attendant told him everything concerning the forthcoming police inquiry. The sub-inspector came at sunset with his constables, and Manindranath entered into a conversation with him. In the meantime the Mother sent word from the inner apartment that she had arranged for a little refreshment for them. So Manindranath and the sub-inspector went in, saluted the Mother, and ate heartily what she placed before them. The police officer was overjoyed at the Mother’s tender consideration for him and ended the investigation in a most friendly manner.

The Mother had not gone to Calcutta, but had stayed on at Jayrambati; and the Koalpara people pleaded that it would please them immensely and would do her health some good if she lived with them for some days. The Mother readily consented and went to stay there for about two months, returning to Jayrambati on the 15th of Vaishakha (April 30), 1918. According to the Mother’s direction, Brahmachari Varada lived at Jayrambati during her absence. One noon, at about eleven, on reaching the Jagadamba-Ashrama (Mother’s quarters at Koalpara) he found the place rather agitated. On inquiry he learnt that the Mother was in a state of spiritual ecstasy — she had lost consciousness while uttering ‘Master’. When they sprinkled water on her face and eyes and she came to the normal plane, Nalini Devi asked her, ‘Dear aunt, why was it so?’ The Mother replied, ‘Why, what did you see? That’s nothing. My head reeled all of a sudden as I was passing the thread through the eye of the needle.’ Long after, during her last illness at the ‘Udbodhan’, the Mother said to Varada with reference to this incident, ‘I had come with a weak body from Jayrambati and was one day sitting on the verandah. A little away, Nalini and others were busy in some sort of sewing. The sun was high up — quite glaring. I saw, as though the Master entered by the main entrance, seated himself on the cool verandah, and at once lay down. At this sight I hurried to spread for him the end of my cloth when I felt a strange sensation. Kedar’s mother and others raised a hue and cry; and so I told them, then, that it was nothing.’ The Mother had visions of the Master at Koalpara even after the incident narrated here; for during the same conversation with Varada, she added, ‘I had such high temperature at Koalpara that I lay on my bed unconscious and unmindful of decorum But whenever I came to my senses and called on him (the Master) for the sake of this body, I had his vision.’

Towards the end of her stay at Koalpara she had an attack of malaria with high temperature which rose to 103 at noon. This was too much for her weak and frail body to bear. When the fever rose, she felt a burning sensation on her palms and groped for something cool to lay them on. But as ice was not available, her hands were often placed on some one’s cool bare body. During the height of the fever she inquired about Swami Saradananda who was then in Calcutta. As the fever did not abate, he was informed by wire to which he responded by sending Dr. Kanjilal with attendants for the Mother, and he himself followed them to Koalpara on April 17, with Dr. Satish Chakravarty and Yogin-Ma. The Swami went from the carriage straight to the Mother’s bed-side and sat quietly near her head. The temperature was then going up, and the Mother seemed to be feeling for something. The Swami learnt on inquiry that she wanted something cool to lay her hands on. He removed his shirt at once and placed her hands on his cool bare body. The Mother getting relief thereby, said, ‘Ah!’ and looked up at the Swami, but contrary to her habit, she did not draw her veil, so that the people present concluded that she did not fully recognize the Swami owing to her semi-conscious state, for she was known for her shyness before him The fever left the next day and she took rolid food on April 21, when Dr. Kanjilal left.

The Mother gradually gathered strength; and, then, Swami Saradananda said one morning, ‘Mother, we are not going to leave you behind this time—we shall take you to Calcutta with us.’ The Mother did not object, but said, ‘But my son, I shall have to go to Jayrambati once to re-start on an auspicious day. ’ So she went with others to Jayrambati on April 29. As the news of her return spread, the village women flocked there and said, ‘Mother, we had almost despaired of seeing you again. It gives us great joy to find you back here with all others.’ The Mother said, ‘Yes, mother. I suffered very much because of the disease. But then Sarat, Kanjilal, and others came up, and through the grace of Simhavahini, I am spared this time. Sarat asks me to go to Calcutta. If you all agree, I can go and come back after recouping a little.’ All heartily welcomed the proposal.

During the Mother’s illness at Koalpara, Radhu had, of her own accord, left all of a sudden for her husband’s home at Tajpur. The Mother now sent a messenger to ascertain whether she would go to Calcutta. Radhu declined the offer.

The Mother was to stay at Jayrambati for about a week. On the day before leaving the village, it began to rain heavily when the monks and Brahmacharis sat for their food, the Mother serving them. As the rain splashed on the verandah where they sat,

Swami Saradananda drew together all the leaves to a safer place on the west and arranged for a joint lunch from a common heap. The junior Brahmacharis naturally felt somewhat ill at ease in eating jointly with such an august person as the Swami; but his insistence and the happy smile on the Mother’s face encouraged them.

On May 5, 1918, the Mother went to Koalpara and had a day’s rest there. On the morrow she left for Vishnupur in a carriage and reached Calcutta on the morning of May 7.

One of the saddest events in the Mother’s life during her stay at this time at the ‘Udbodhan’ was the passing away of Swami Premananda on July 30. Her eyes were wet from the morning of that sorrowful day; and when in the afternoon came the stunning news of his departure, she wept bitterly and said, ‘Baburam (Premananda) was so very near to my heart! All the energy, devotion, and wisdom of the Belur Math were impersonated in the form of my Baburam and walked there on the bank of the Ganges.’ Recovering a little from the first shock, she laid her head at the feet of the Master’s large picture in the middle room and cried out with a heartrending wail, ‘Master, so you have snatched him away!’ At this scene none present could check his or her tears.

1. Flour is mixed with water to make a thin paste, which is pushed through a small round hole in boiling oil or butter to form into crisp, spiral coils, which are then soaked in syrup.

1. Begging is done in the day-time, begging at night is almost non-existent.

1. Spiritual teachership was hereditary, and still continues to be so in many cases, though the custom seems to be dying out.

1. As a little girl, she came to be known to Sister Nivedita and Sudhira Devi of the Nivedita School. At the age of nine or ten years, she met the Mother for the first time in her rented house on the Baghbazar Street; and from 1913 up to the passing away of the Mother she accompanied and served her at various periods and in diverse places as opportunity arose.