MISTRESS OF THE HOME

As the reader came to the end of the previous chapter, he must have heaved a deep sigh and said with the Bengali poet, ‘You descended on earth for the good of people, and yet what tribulation had you to undergo!’ We are constrained nevertheless to present in this chapter yet another doleful tale. And while on this task, we have to remember that we shall miss the import of the lives of those who descended for the betterment of this world in this age, if we study them merely against the background of the past. For in these lives there is not only to be seen the highest detachment, but also the most earnest desire to do good. In these lives the moral qualities like forbearance and kindness which are associated with saints were not practiced in caves or secluded places but in the din and bustle of towns. Sri Ramakrishna, who was renunciation incarnate, never shunned his duty towards his mother, shed profuse tears at the death of his nephew Akshay, accepted his wife when she came to him and trained her up to carry on his message after him, and spent his whole life in the service of needy souls. Swami Vivekananda shed the last drop of his blood for the service of his own mother, motherland, and the God in men. The Mother’s mind was never attached to the world in the ordinary sense of the term; and yet the actions and reactions of domestic contacts produced in her life such motherly love, patience, compassion, and endurance as were unparalleled; and because of this rare combination their bearing either on present-day or future society is not easy to assess, though even to us of the modern age there should be no doubt as to their far-reaching influence on ages to come. Hence it is useless to spend our time in discovering any meaning; it is much better to proceed with the life-history as we find it.

Revered Yogin-Ma had once this doubt in her mind: ‘I have seen the Master as a man of extreme renunciation; but I find the Mother so worldly-minded! Day and night she is occupied with her brothers, nephews, and nieces.’ Then, one day, as she sat in japa on the bank of the Ganges, she had a vision in which the Master appeared to her and said, ‘See, see, what is floating down the Ganges.’ Yogin-Ma saw a newly born babe, red with blood and wound round in its navel string, being carried away by the current. The Master commented, ‘Can the Ganges be polluted at any time? Think of her (the Mother) also in that way. Don’t entertain these doubts. Know her and this (pointing to his own body) as identical.’

In studying the domestic life of the Mother, the first thing that strikes us is her non-attachment. She does her duties, to be sure; nay, it appears at times as if she was as much affected by the sorrows of the world as any other person; but the next moment an innate serenity that defies all vicissitudes emerges brilliantly like the moon freed from a passing cloud.

At the end of December 1918, the Mother sat on the porch near the main entrance of her house, while the monks sat on the verandah of the parlour. In front moved the loads of paddy towards the farm-yard of uncles Varada and Kali. The fencing put up by the latter outside his threshing floor had encroached a little on the road, so that the paddy bags coming to uncle Varada’s barn could not pass through easily. This gave rise to an altercation between the two brothers, and a scuffle was about to ensue when the Mother, no longer able to sit indifferently, rushed to the place and, to pacify them, sometimes said to the one, ‘It’s your fault’, and sometimes dragged the other by the hand. She was much older than either of the brothers, who had, in fact, been brought up by her. Hence they could not ignore their sister altogether; her intervention stopped them from coming to blows. Nevertheless, she could not stop them from exchanging hot words. She, however, kept standing between them Just then the monks came to her rescue, and the brothers walked away cursing each other. The Mother was excited, no doubt; and in a flurry she returned and sat down on the verandah of her house. And then in the twinkling of an eye her anger and agitation were nowhere; on the contrary, the eternal peace behind all clashes of worldly interest on this stage of life’s drama revealed itself before her eyes to evoke a hearty laugh; and she said, ‘What a maya (magic) is this of the Mahamaya (Conjuror)! There stretches the infinite earth, and these possessions, too, will be left behind. Can’t man understand this simple fact?’ And she burst into a fit of laughter that lasted pretty long.

At noon on the last day of the month of Paush (about January 15), the Mother made her sons sit for eating cakes on the verandah of uncle Prasanna, while she herself sat by them to see that they were properly served. Nearby the mad aunt and Nalini Devi kept busy arranging things to be sent as gifts on that happy day to the houses of the fathers-in-law of Radhu and Maku respectively. Now and then they came to the Mother to consult her and apprise her of the articles being sent. The gifts were being drawn from her store and at her cost. And yet she did not seem to evince any interest; but in an absent-minded way answered ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to their eager questions. This indifference told on the nerves of both the aunt and Nalini Devi. First they mumbled and then began complaining openly. The Mother, too, then said, ‘ See, I have so many sons; when they come, one can serve them with food on hands or on leaves as one wills; and they eat with joy. But should one of theirs come, what a number of cups and dishes one will have to bring out! And if you don’t, there will be bitter complaints!’ When the devotees finished eating, the Mother got up and gave betels to them, but she did not send any presents to her sons-in-law’s houses, and from her mood it was evident that this decision was deliberate.

The astrologer of Vishnupur had prophesied that some successive issues of Maku would not meet each other. Some seven or eight days before the birth of her second son, her first son Neda died at Jayrambati at five-thirty in the afternoon of April 20, 1919, after suffering from diphtheria for three days. The news was carried by Dr. Vaikuntha Maharaj to the Holy Mother at Koalpara. At this she was beside herself with grief and cried as bitterly as any ordinary woman would. Not much later the time for offering food to the Master approached, and yet the Mother remained disconsolate. As a matter of duty, therefore, a devotee reminded her of the Master’s worship. At once she was a changed person, as though nothing had happened. She offered the food duly. She did not cry for the whole night, though she talked about Neda and that with the greatest sorrow.

To feed and provide amply for the near and dear ones is a normal obligation of every householder; and society makes allowances for it though to cynics and pessimists such behaviour may appear as nothing better than sublimated selfishness. A man established in the knowledge of Brahman is equally cognizant of the illogicality of the situation. But unlike the cynic, he does not utter a single word of condemnation; on the contrary, he sympathizes with the householder in his struggle for the removal of a felt want, and he is ever ready to help him in his effort so far as it lies in his power. Such instances can be found in abundance in the life of the Mother.

Radhu was then ill at Koalpara. Uncle Kali and Brahmachari Varada were returning from their visit to the tantrika of Sushnegede to whom they had gone for getting some occult cure for Radhu. On the way the uncle said, ‘Narayana Iyengar of Bangalore, who is a disciple of my sister, came here the other day and promised to dig a well on our land in front of sister’s house. But now he is quite silent about it. He is a well-to-do man. If he digs the well it will benefit many. And as for the price of the land, is it so much after all? He can easily spare the money if he has a mind to. To be able to provide for sister’s drinking water — it’s no small stroke of good fortune!’ In other words the uncle wanted to exploit Sri Iyengar to get a few thousand rupees for a tiny plot of land. The uncle went on, ‘Mind you, Varada, if sister saved all the money that she got as gifts, it would come to a good amount. But on the contrary she spends everything for her brothers and Radhi, she does not amass anything. Well, can you say to whom she gives most?’ As Varada kept silent, the uncle changed his tone and said, ‘Mind you, Varada, sister is honoured by people just because she has no passion for money. If she showed any interest in money such as ordinary people show, she would not command so much respect at all. It’s just because of this that she is not human but divine — do you understand, Varada? Ah! You are all blessed! You have given up hearth and home at this early age and are running errands for sister day and night.’ In the evening the Mother got a full report of the conversation from Varada and said smilingly, ‘Kali is mad after money. “Food is a problem that makes fool of a wise man.” He seems to consider his sister a money-yielding tree. But he has a little love and regard for me; in stress and strain it is Kali who stands by his sister. As for the others, the more you give, the merrier they are.’

Then came the day for the ceremony when Radhu’s son would eat rice for the first time, and the Mother said to Varada, ‘I have not got much in cash this time. To ask Kali to do the marketing means great expense. You purchase the more costly things after proper inquiry from Anur and Kotulpur. Later I shall get some of the smaller items purchased through Kali; otherwise he will fly into a rage.’ The Mother then lived with her dependents and women devotees in a separate house.

Uncle Kali was a man of grave countenance and as such struck all with awe. Sisters Nalini, Maku, and Radhu and Radhu’s mother were all afraid of him If the mad aunt became too turbulent, one had simply to say ‘Call in Kali for a while,’ and she would immediately take shelter in her room The Mother knew her brother too well to enrage him Therefore, on the present occasion, uncle Kali had the sole responsibility for going to the market for purchases for the birthday celebration of the Mother. For some days earlier he went on inquiring about all kinds of odd things about the Mother’s household. One day he said, ‘Sister, from the number to which the inmates here in your house have swelled, methinks, you can no longer manage with a woman cook; there’s need for a male cook. And your birthday is approaching, the gathering will be big, and marketing will have to be done on a good scale. Varada is young and can’t manage it all.’ The Mother replied, ‘Look here Kali, I live in this house with a bevy of girls, how can I keep a male cook among them here? As for these boys living with me, you may consider them rather as my daughters than sons. As regards the devotees, they will be there to be sure, and so the purchasing has to be done carefully.’ In the evening the Mother said, ‘Look here, the Kotulpur purchases will have to be done through Kali this time. He has been running after that job for some days. If I don’t give him a loose rein now and then, he may fly into a rage and create a situation.’

It should be remarked in passing that at this time the Mother had to depend for some of her cooking on nonbrahmins. The two boys attending on her were not brahmins. Nonetheless, as the old brahmin woman engaged in the kitchen was not strong enough for the whole work at night, the two boys had to do much of it except for boiling rice etc., which they were not permitted to assist in. The Mother was afraid lest the villagers should find a loophole here and in collusion with the people elsewhere create trouble for her. She had to be cautious in dealing with them, though as a matter of fact uncle Kali and Radhu’s husband Manmatha had often their night meal at this house. At last uncle Varada raised the question openly and gave the quietus to it by saying, ‘As to that, sister, these Brahmacharis are your disciples — they are pure and holy. Even rice would be holy if cooked by them. One has a repulsion in eating from any shop in Calcutta; it does not give one any satisfaction.’ Uncles Varada and Prasanna were somewhat liberal in these matters, moreover, they were not cliquey; hence the Mother had not much to fear from them About uncle Kali she had to be circumspect; and the hints he dropped about the kitchen made her wary.

Anyway, uncle Kali made all the purchases for the birthday celebration, the entire management of which rested with him As a result he looked happy, and the Mother was free from anxiety. But in the afternoon she was sitting sadly on the verandah. They all had finished taking their food and were taking rest; but the Mother had no respite even then. On inquiry, Brahmachari Gopesh (Swami Saradeshananda) got the answer from her: ‘My son, this wretch Kali is a constant source of trouble; he worries me without rime and reason. See, for instance, all have eaten, but I am waiting here with his food. He is delaying on one excuse or another; and I, too, can’t take rest.’ Uncle Kali wanted an absolutely free hand in the day’s affair; but somewhere he must have been baffled, and he was now about to teach his sister a lesson. Gopesh understood the situation and hurried to uncle, whom he found busy heaping up hay on his farm-yard. Finding his face flushed and eyes red with anger, Gopesh dare not utter a word, but instead tried to help in the work. In a little while uncle’s anger was cooled, and he said, ‘Dear boy, why have you come here to take this trouble?’ Gopesh got the opportunity he was seeking, and he explained, ‘Mother is waiting for you with your food.’ ‘I never imagined,’ pleaded uncle, ‘that sister was waiting with the food. Let’s go.’ The Mother was very glad to get him, and sat by him to serve and feed him calmly as though nothing had happened.

Another remarkable incident of the day may be recorded here. When all the monks were busy with the day’s work and merriment — worshipping, cooking, or singing — Gopesh found the Mother busy in her kitchen, arranging for some light diet for uncle Varada’s wife who was then expecting a child and was in bad health, but had no other woman in the house to look after her. And, therefore, the Mother had to take care of her, though she lived in a separate house at some distance. The Mother was today the centre of the day’s festivity; yet oblivious of the honour, shown to her by others, she thought it her first duty to look after the comfort of her ailing sister-in-law. Accordingly, she quietly dressed the articles for the food, washed them in the pond, cooked them and carried to the patient’s house, without any fluster or any sign of dislike in her face.

A few weeks later, and a little while before the birthday of the Master, uncle Kali said, ‘Sister, as you are here this time, we shall have to celebrate Paramahamsa Mahashaya’s (Master’s) birthday on a befitting scale. Since you are here many relatives and other people will come to meet you.’ The Mother was to start for Calcutta soon after the birthday; and uncle, therefore, talked of many visitors coming to bid her farewell. The Mother replied, ‘Brother, where have I the kind of devotion that you have, and where’s that capacity to celebrate the Master’s birthday on a grand scale after my heart? Manage it somehow with potatoes, pumpkins, and such things as are available in this village. You can well see the state of my health; I am getting weaker day by day. ’ That was enough, uncle girded up his loins, and on the celebration day he was full of energy and enthusiasm, feeding people to his heart’s content till dusk.

Not long after the quarrel between the two brothers we referred to in the beginning of the chapter, uncle Kali strengthened the fence round his farmyard, made it tidy with a coating of cow-dung, and sat happily on the porch near his sister. In front of the Mother’s house were being carried some bags of paddy to uncle Prasanna’s barn. When they were a little way off, uncle Kali said in a low voice, ‘For how long have not those two stones (in front) been lying there! They have not been fixed on sister’s birth-place. How joyous it will be if with Sarat Maharaj’s (Swami Saradananda’s) consent that plot of land is purchased in sister’s name and a temple is put on it during our lifetime!’ Those stones had been brought some time ago by the devotees of Ranchi for marking the birth-place of the Mother; but they had not been placed in position as the uncle could not be made to agree. Turning to the Mother, uncle Kali went on, ‘As for my share, sister, I can transfer it now and here, and the rest you take care of. Sarat Maharaj will pay me as he thinks best. It’s my heart’s desire that something is done about it right away. ’ We have to explain here that the portion of the plot of land that belonged to uncle Kali could not be utilized by him in any way, while the two other brothers put their land to use jointly. The Mother listened to him without much comment. In the evening she said to Brahmachari Varada, ‘Listen Varada, in your today’s letter to Sarat you write everything that Kali says now. When good sense has dawned on Kali, it strikes me, there should be no more delay. Prasanna is in Calcutta; Varada too will not refuse. It was Kali who raised objections at every step. As he mentions the matter of his own accord, it can be taken for granted that it will now be done. Didn’t you see, how hard Narayana Iyengar begged to be allowed to dig a well (there) and yet he would not agree on any condition?’ In those days Brahmachari Varada, under Saradananda’s instruction, wrote daily to the latter informing him of the Mother’s condition. Now he appraised the Swami of the new development. Next day the Mother told uncle, ‘Varada wrote to Sarat reporting everything you told me yesterday.’ ‘But, sister,’ uncle corrected her then and there, ‘I shall have to be paid something over and above the price that may be agreed upon. My family is large, and my income is small.’ ‘As for that,’ interceded the Mother, ‘won’t they also demand more if they get any inkling of it?’ Needless to say that as a matter of fact all the uncles demanded and received something in addition to their individual share of the money. Swami Saradananda, who did not want to let the opportunity slip, finalized the deal and had the document registered without caring for the cost. Sri Narayana Iyengar had proposed to sink a well in a corner of this land. This was begun in summer after the Mother left for Calcutta.

Sometime at the end of September 1918, uncle Prasanna had to leave for Calcutta in connection with his priestly duties there, and to the Mother he said, ‘Sister, you have come here now and I have to go to Calcutta. The family is here left behind; do look after them a little. What more can I add? Kali will have the best of it now. He is having a happy time of it, living on his own farm in the midst of his family at home, and you too are here; whereas I have to wander about even in this old age.’ As some of these words reached uncle Kali’s ears he turned up and began criticizing his brother saying, ‘He is whining before sister for extorting money.’ Uncle Prasanna, retorted, ‘Look here, Kali, whether you have any respect for me or not, know this for certain, that I come just after sister, and you after me. Where’s your devotion for sister? You know far less than I do of sister; you care only for her money.’ The Mother laughed as she heard it all, and she remarked, ‘My brothers are jewels indeed! It’s because they had in their previous lives made penances to the extent of beheading themselves that I have been staying in their family.’ The Mother did not, of course, depend on them at that time. She had her own house and establishment, and it was the brothers who looked to her for help.

Uncle Prasanna lived mostly in Calcutta; and his income from priesthood was not negligible. Yet he was miserly and calculating perhaps as a result of the poverty of his boyhood days. When his daughter Kamala was two years old, the Mother was at Jayrambati; he himself was in Calcutta.

The girl had fever with some complications. There was need for better treatment, but uncle Prasanna could neither come nor send money. He might have thought that since his sister was there, she would take proper care of the girl. But the Mother could not tolerate this undue dependence, and when she got the news, she said in disgust, ‘He will have children every year, and yet why forsooth should he be spending money if any falls sick?’ And she became so grave that nobody dared raise the topic again. Fortunately, Kamala recovered through the medicines she had been taking.

The Mother had then dealings with her relatives on three levels—the first the brothers, the second the sisters-in-law and the nieces, and the third the nephews and the sons of her nieces. The difference of age among them was great. The brothers had personal incomes, and yet expected their sister’s assistance. Three of her nieces Nalini, Maku, and Radhu and Radhu’s mother Surabala had become members of her family for various reasons. And on the third level were the little guideless children. The Mother’s dealings on all these levels were adjusted according to the age of her relatives. We have studied her relationship with her brothers. Now we shall learn something of her love and affection towards the other two groups. We shall come to see that though she fulfilled her self-chosen duty towards the grown up people without flinching even under provocation, her mother’s heart had its softest, warmest, and most charming expression for these unsophisticated little children.

Uncle Prasanna married Suvasini Devi a year after the death of his first wife Rampriya. Suvasini was then a mere girl and very young as compared with her sisters-in-law. Uncle Kali’s wife Subodhabala Devi, Varadaprasad’s wife Indumati Devi, and Abhaycharan’s wife Surabala Devi, too, were much younger than the Mother. We are acquainted with Surabala well enough, though more of her remains yet to be told. We need not refer to her daughter

Radhu in this chapter. We have come across Nalini and Maku, both daughters of Rampriya Devi, but we have not known them thoroughly enough. About Kamala and Vimala, daughters of Suvasini Devi, we have not much to say. But we shall have to add some words about Subodhbala’s son Bhudev, Indumati’s son Kshudiram, Maku’s son Neda, and Radhu’s son Banu. Nalini and Maku were married before Radhu. Nalini Devi could not live with her husband owing to his poverty and the bad treatment she received in the family; and so she lived with the Holy Mother from the time of her mother’s death. Maku, though married in a landholders’ family at Tajpur, lived with the Holy

Mother for various reasons—she seldom went to her father-in-law’s house; and her husband Pramatha was often found in the Mother’s entourage, as also was Radhu’s husband Manmatha.

The Mother had a natural softness for Nalini Devi, deprived as she was of the love of her husband’s house; and, therefore, she kept this niece with herself, putting up with all her shortcomings. One night, when all were asleep, Nalini’s husband Pramatha arrived from his home at Goghat with a bullock-cart to take his wife home. But she was so afraid of going there that she bolted her door and threatened to commit suicide. The Mother entreated her to come out, but to no effect; and then only when the Mother assured her that she would not be sent, did she come out of her room. The Mother had been all along sitting at Nalini’s door with a lighted lantern by her side. When Nalini came out, it was dawn. So the Mother put off the light and repeated the holy names, as was her wont in the morning; ‘Ganga, Gita, Gayatri; Bhagavata, Devotee, Deity; Master, Master.’ Later she said in course of a talk, ‘She (Nalini) has got a trace of her aunt’s quality, my boy, and that’s why she doesn’t want to go. ’

Nalini suffered from a craze for purity, which was something like a mania and irritated many. She used to say, ‘If aunt (Mother) happens to tread on leaves on which people had eaten their food, she simply washes her feet and walks into the room; she doesn’t even wash her clothes. If on any day she says, “Nalini, give me a little Ganges water”, I shall think that she has touched faces.’ Such was her suspicious mind. One winter evening she told the Mother with tears in her eyes that she had touched something impure. Now, she could not bathe in the cold night; and she could neither enter her room nor eat anything without bathing; and consequently she would have to stand out in the cold with bare body for the whole night. ‘Why did such a thing happen?’ she complained, and she burst into tears. The Mother consoled her, argued with her, but to no avail. ‘There’s none in this world,’ wailed Nalini, ‘whom I can call my own; my father has married a second time, and he does not so much as look at me; in my husband’s house, too, there are enemies,’ and so on. When the meal-time came she was whining in the same strain. In disgust the inmates planned to teach her a lesson that night — let her stay out the whole night. All went to bed, but before doing so they requested the Mother not to be soft. Yet, at midnight there was the sound of opening of the Mother’s door. She came out and called tenderly, ‘Nalini, dear daughter Nalini, get up my dear, go to your room Why do you suffer in the cold outside?’ But Nalini made no response. The Mother went on in a mood of soliloquy, ‘Ah! Nalini is a child, a little lacking in wisdom, she can’t understand and so she flies into a temper and suffers, and others become disgusted with her. ’ At last the Mother won; Nalini Devi went to her own room to sleep.

Nalini Devi’s mind was full of the prejudices common to villagers. At one time some Domes (untouchables) brought some straw loops used as seats for round-bottomed vessels. The Mother said, ‘Keep them there.’ With great care they deposited the things at the place indicated. Yet Nalini shrieked out, ‘There they have touched everything; throw these away.’ And she went on reviling them saying, ‘Though you are

Domes, how dare you keep things in such a fashion?’ The Domes feared they had committed a grievous sin. But the Mother consoled them saying, ‘You need not fear, nothing will happen to you.’ And she gave them some fried-rice to eat.

There was no love lost between the mad aunt and Nalini; they were always at daggers drawn. Still they belonged to the same family; and the Mother had assumed the task of making them live together. She used to say, ‘Whatever you may do, you have, as a matter of fact, to give everybody due attention and consult his opinion. You have to grant a little freedom and watch from a distance so that nothing may go very wrong. Thus, for instance, while I am sending these presents to Radhu’s house (at Taj pur) I take counsel from Nalini also. The relation between her and my youngest sister-in-law is that of the snake and the mongoose — the one does not see anything good in the other; and the other does not so much as tread on her shadow. But when I make Nalini my guide and say, “See, Nalini, what things you like; select from these and tell me”, then she says with regard to the list I make, “How can these things suffice, aunt? Howsoever they may deal with you — and as for Radhi, she is as good as mad, having no sense at all — you have surely some dignity; why should you be so illiberal? You do just as it befits you.” She speaks thus and makes the list longer. I, too, laugh inwardly. If I should send the present there without letting her know the two will at once begin to fight a battle of Kurukshetra over that matter. Mind you, one has to give some freedom to each and lower oneself a little. When dealing with these conceited persons, I have to study their moods and move very cautiously; and yet they fall out now and then — as though it’s their nature! How can I help that? I think to myself, “It’s His world, He is taking care of it.”‘

The Mother assumed responsibility for Maku also; for her sake she had to keep in good humour the people at her husband’s house; and she used to say, ‘If they are not very properly taken care of, they get offended at the slightest thing.’ Maku was only slightly older than Radhu. When the Mother lived with Radhu at Koalpara in 1919, Nalini, in her envy, thought that the Mother was spending money un-necessarily on Radhu, while she was neglecting Maku who was in a very advanced state of pregnancy. Nalini at first said, ‘Aunt,’ why are you so worried? Nothing is the matter with Radhu.’ Then she wrangled with the mad aunt in season and out of season. And she advised Maku that it would be much better for her to go away to Jayrambati than to court neglect at Koalpara. Not only that, she had a palanquin brought and she left for

Jayrambati with Maku and her son, without so much as consulting the Mother about this move. The Mother was then taking rest after her midday meal; from her bed she heard Nalini shouting to her younger sister, ‘Maku, so you keep standing still! Come away quick.’ Mortified by this unseemly conduct, the Mother said to Brahmachari Varada, ‘ She (Maku) did not so much as bring her son (Neda) to salute me when departing. It shall be as they have in store; what else can I do, my dear? But, for you there’s this additional task of shuttling between the two places; unless you go every day to inquire about them, the anger will be heightened all the more.’

The Mother wanted and got news every day. When Neda fell ill, she arranged for his treatment. But the boy died after an illness of three days. These facts have already been stated. The Mother was getting ready to go to Jayrambati; but she had not had sufficient time to do so. She cried bitterly at the boy’s death, so dear was he to her. That night she could not relish food; but when she knew that others could not take anything unless she did so, she drank a little milk and ate a few luchis. Her sorrow was in evidence the next day also; nay, even long after this, her eyes became wet and her voice choked as she talked of this boy. After his death she said, ‘The boy must have been some spiritual aspirant who died in an earlier life before attainment of salvation, or he might have been some holy man. He had a little (of worldliness) left; that much is over — this is his last birth. One cannot find so many good tendencies in a boy of his age. From somewhere he brought gulancha flowers every day to worship my feet. He called Sarat (Swami Saradananda) “red” uncle He could not read or write, being barely two and a half or three years of age. Yet in imitation of Sarat, he sat with a broken wooden box in front and every day wrote (on it) letters to Sarat; and he said by word of mouth whatever news of this place he was sending.’ When on the evening of the day following Neda’s death, Manindra Babu and Prabhakar Babu of Arambagh came to take leave of the Mother, she said with tearful eyes, ‘He (Neda) asked, “Who made the flowers red?” I replied, “The Master has done so.” “Why?” “Because he will put them on.”’ Noticing her eyes wet even eight or ten days after the boy’s death, one devotee asked, ‘I think, you too now realize the sorrow that worldly people have when they lose their children?’ the Mother replied, ‘Does it require to be told? I can’t free myself from the grief that I suffer because of having nurtured Maku’s son.’

We turn to a much earlier incident. Neda was then a child of one year. In the morning the Mother was arranging some fruits and other articles to be offered to the Master, when Neda crawled forward to snatch away one of the peeled plantains. The Mother said tenderly, ‘Tarry a little, my child, you will get it after it has been offered to the Master. ’ As the boy did not stop, the Mother pushed him back a little with her hand; but he still pushed forward in the direction of the fruit. The Mother’s attendant now volunteered to carry him away. But she prevented him, put a plantain in Neda’s mouth, and said, ‘Eat, my Gopala, eat. ’ There was then a divine softness in her voice and a transcendental light in her eyes and

face.1

The Mother recollected that Neda called her Sita. She had then lost her teeth, and Neda sat on the steps of a house, dangling his legs and saying ‘ Take two of my teeth. ’

Radhu’s son was born in the jungle (vana) of Koalpara. Therefore the Mother named him Vanabihari or in short Banu. In the morning, while waking up Banu, she sang just as mother Kausalya would have done when rousing her son Ramachandra:

It’s morning; get up my child, thou that art merciful to gods, men, and saints.

Do thou bathe and offer as gifts, cattle, elephants, gold, and betel-nuts.

Indumati Devi’s eldest son was Kshudiram or Kshudi in short; but as that was also the name of the Master’s father; and according to custom, a daughter-in-law may not utter such a name out of respect for him, she pronounced the name as Fudi. As Kshudi loved fruits, the Mother sent these for him in parcels from Calcutta. While at home, she would mix together milk and rice after her meal and wait for the boy who knew of this and turned up in time. Finding him, the Mother would say tenderly, ‘Come, my child, I have been calling you.’ Kshudi’s mother complained, ‘It’s not good to feed him with so many good things; being a poor man’s son, where can he find such things for ever?’ The Mother silenced her saying, ‘ You know nothing, my dear, “He that lives high is helped to do so by the Most High.”’ The Mother was to start for Calcutta and Kshudi clamoured to accompany her. To pacify the child, she presented him a gold ring she had from Shambhu Roy’s wife, and a lump of candy, telling him to take a bite at it whenever he missed her. When Kshudi went to Calcutta with his mother, the Mother asked the boy affectionately what kind of anklets he would like to have. And Kshudi told her that he liked to have tinkling ones. The Mother said, ‘That’s good, my child. Gopala has tinkling anklets; you too shall have the same.’ She got them made for him One day she asked the boy, ‘What curry had you, my child, with your rice?’ He stretched both his hands to show the size of a huge cat fish (magur) which his mother had bought. The Mother again asked him, ‘Did she give it to you?’ The boy complained, ‘ She gave me only one piece, aunt—she gave away to all others.’ The Mother said with a smile, ‘Let Indu come, I shall straighten it out with her.’ As soon as Indumati Devi turned up in the afternoon, the Mother said, ‘Can you imagine? You bought such a big magur fish and cooked it; but you gave only one piece to Fudi, and nothing more!’ Indumati explained that they had not purchased any fish whatsoever. The Mother laughed and said, ‘Hello, dear; my brother Umesh used to talk like that.

And Fudi does it so today.’ Noticing the devotees worshipping the lotus feet of the Mother, Kshudi placed one tiny hand on her feet, and went on offering handfuls of flowers with the other. The Mother drew him to her lap and said, ‘My child, you are all born free. There’s no need of flowers any more.’

Indumati Devi fell seriously ill after the birth of her second son Vijay. The Mother called in doctors from various places, and she herself worked so strenuously that she fell ill. After recovery she said to Indumati, ‘When a son is born to you, I suffer more than you do, under the apprehension that if anything happens to you, then it’s I that shall have to take care (of the child). I can’t certainly neglect it.’ And she pronounced a queer benediction: ‘I bless you so that you may not have any more male issue.’ As Indumati Devi began to suffer from the time of Vijay’s birth, the Mother named him Dukhiram (sorrowful Rama). But Yogin-Ma and Golap-Ma protested, ‘His lot will be cast in accordance with the name you give. Even as it is, how he is suffering!’ Then she changed the name to Vijay.

On the eve of the Jagad-dhatri worship, Vimala, younger daughter of Suvasini Devi, had fever with swelling of feet which rendered her unconscious. Dr. Vaikuntha Maharaj after administering medicine told the Mother, ‘I gave a dose of medicine just because you asked me to do so. It flowed out, for she has no pulse.’ The Mother went to that house on hearing this, and Suvasini grasped her feet, wailed piteously, and taking the dust of those blessed feet mixed it with water to put into Vimala’s lips. The Mother passed her hand over the girl’s body and then coming to the image of the goddess prayed with folded hands, ‘Mother, there will be Your worship tomorrow. Is it Thy will that my eldest sister-in-law shall be mourning then?’ Vimala recovered consciousness the same night.

At the time of marriage, Bhudev was thirteen years old; and his wife a little girl. Noticing Subodhbala Devi, mother-in-law of the girl, chiding her, the Mother said jokingly, ‘I say, my younger sister-in-law, be quiet, be quiet! “Has the new girl just dropped from nowhere? How much of tomtoming had there been at her marriage how many drums beaten and pipes blown!”’ Then with a solemn voice she added ‘Why do you scold her? How dear is this daughter-in-law of ours!’

The Mother had reason to laugh at the severe attitude of Subodhbala Devi. When these sisters-in-law came to their husbands, they were inexperienced little girls, and the Mother, as the de facto guardian of the whole family, took in hand their training and brought them up lovingly and patiently in spite of their shortcomings. With them she maintained for ever this relation of affection.

Indumati Devi and sister Nalini were then young and did not know how to cook; hence the Mother used to tell them, ‘Come to me and learn to cook. Shall I be cooking at your house for ever?’ In later years, when Indumati became a perfect mistress of her household, the Mother had her own separate establishment. She then used to ask Indumati to cook some simple curries which the Master liked most, with figs and greens like Gima (mollugo cerviana), Amrul (oxalis corniculala), etc., and said encouragingly, ‘You cook the fig curry very nicely.’ Once, when Indumati had some digestive trouble, the Mother advised her, ‘Look here! Do some japa and meditation and then the physical ailment will disappear.’ And on another occasion she warned her, ‘Look here! You are all very inexperienced; you should do your duties carefully. My Master is very vigilant; if you are careless, you will incur sin.’

On the occasion of the worship of the goddess Manasa, the mother of Balaram Banerji of Jayrambati fed the devotees sumptuously; and hence on returning home no one felt inclined to cook. Nalini, the cook, said, ‘We all can manage with a tin of fried-rice, instead of setting out to cook now.’ Nevertheless, Suvasini Devi cooked four pounds of rice; and all had their full meals. Next day, the Mother, when engaged in dressing vegetables with others, remarked, ‘Nalini forbade cooking; but sister-in-law did it; that saved a tin of fried-rice. Otherwise we would have to call in Mrigendra’s mother again today, though she had made the fried-rice for us yesterday. “Blessed is she that understands, no matter whether she’s senior or junior.”’ Once when the Mother was staying at Kamarpukur for a fortnight, Suvasini Devi happened to send some lotuses and some sweets for her, on receiving which the Mother remarked, ‘No one sends me any present in this family—only this one does.’ Suvasini was an initiated disciple of the Mother. One day, when old papers were being cleared, a bundle of currency notes, worth fifty or sixty rupees, was thrown out by mistake. When Suvasini found it and brought it to the Mother, the latter said kissing her by touching her chin, ‘Gaur-dasi (Gauri-Ma) made this one mine, for Gaur-dasi is very clever.’ The Mother at first was against initiating a sister-in-law, saying ‘I shan’t impart any mantra to persons within the family.’ But Gauri-Ma argued, ‘How is that so, Mother? Let there be at least one whom you can call your own. ’ So Suvasini got her initiation. Subsequently, Maku, Bhudev and his wife, and Radhu and her husband had initiation.

The Mother was full of praise for anything presented to her by her dear ones. Suvasini Devi once prepared a certain kind of tooth-powder which she knew the Mother liked. She then sent it through her husband to the Mother in Calcutta. The Mother remembered this till her return to Jayrambati when she said to Suvasini, ‘The tooth-powder that you sent was highly appreciated by all.’ Suvasini regretted before the Mother that though she had taken the mantra, she was not having adequate practice. At this the Mother said, ‘This work that you are doing is itself a practice—what other practice should there be? Pray to the Master that he may grant you devotion. ’

The world has its happiness and sorrow, its ups and downs. In spite of them all the Mother tried to make life joyous for all and to live with all in an atmosphere of cordiality. But there were opposing forces which set at nought all her good intentions. The selfishness of the brothers, the mutual jealousy of the nieces, Nalini’s mania for purity, the perversity of Radhu, and the insanity of Radhu’s mother—all these combined to produce an intolerable atmosphere in which it was possible for Mother to carry on her self-chosen duty without demur only because of her matchless, patient and forgiving nature. The Mother’s domestic life is made up of all this. We have almost come to the end of this sad chapter but for a few words to be added about the mad aunt.

In the beginning of February 1907, Surabala Devi went to her father’s house with her box of ornaments. The greedy father annexed the box from his daughter, and this made the aunt all the more unbalanced. One day she went to the shrine of the goddess Simhavahini and bemoaned in this strain: ‘Mother, give me my ornaments, give me my ornaments.’ The Mother was then sitting in her own house and talking with another devotee who heard nothing of the cry of Surabala. Indeed, there was no reason why he should from that distance. But the Mother heard her cries and said, ‘I am going, I am going. My boy, she has none other than myself. The mad one is crying before Simhavahini for her ornaments.’ And she left for the temple.

The mad aunt came away with her; but then she changed the burden of her complaint and charged the Mother saying, ‘Sister-in-law, it is you who are holding back my ornaments, and it is you who are not returning them ’ The Mother replied, ‘If I had them I should throw away the trash.’ And turning to the devotee she said, ‘Girish used to say that she is the mad companion that has come with me.’ Some days after this, the Mother sent a devotee with an old servant of the house either to bring Surabala’s father or the ornaments. The brahmin came, but not with the ornaments. The Mother implored the old man by taking hold of his feet, ‘Kindly save me from this difficulty.’ But the covetous old man was obdurate. As a last resort the Mother communicated the whole matter to Calcutta, in response to which Master Mahashaya and Lalit Chatterji, nicknamed Kaiser, came in a few days. Lalit Babu was armed with a letter from a high police officer of Calcutta, with the help of which he got a few constables from Badanganj police station. With this posse of policemen following him, and himself sitting in a palanquin in a full European suit, as though he were a police officer, he proceeded to the old brahmin’s house on the day succeeding the Sivaratri festival. But the move raised misgivings in the Mother’s mind, lest Lalit Chatterji through his youthful indiscretion should dishonour the brahmin. And so she sent Master Mahashaya also after him. They returned with the brahmin and the ornaments before dusk, and the brahmin handed over the box. The incident ended there; but at 2 a.m. at night the news came to the outer apartment that the Mother was passing a wholly sleepless night, and that her head was reeling. On being questioned about the cause of this discomfort, she explained, ‘On the one hand they all went out in quest of the ornaments, and on the other I kept on thinking the whole day, lest the brahmin should be insulted in any way. This made me nervous; and hence this condition. ’

In February 1913, when the Mother was at the ‘Udbodhan’ in Calcutta, Surabala concluded that the Mother kept Radhu under her control through the power of drugs, and yet she was spending all she had without making provision for the girl. Surabala’s mind was, therefore, very much exercised about Radhu’s future; and she abused the Mother. One night the Mother became disgusted at such foul language and said sternly, ‘Don’t you consider me an ordinary mortal. I don’t take any offence, though you revile me so much, casting slur on my father and mother, just because I think that these are mere words. Do you think you can have any escape if I am really offended? It’s all to your advantage so long as I live. Your daughter will be yours only. I shall be there so long only as she is not properly brought up. Otherwise what attachment have I? I can rend all ties asunder this very moment. You won’t so much as have an inkling of my disappearing some day like camphor.’ The mad aunt now became a changed person, and explained, ‘When did I abuse you, casting slur on your father? I never did such a thing, I made just a simple statement. The trouble is, when you give, you give away without reserve.’

During the Mother’s last stay at Jayrambati, her health became very bad and her body weak and emaciated. She hardly had any domestic peace. There was trouble from Radhu who continued to crawl about for six months after childbirth. And over and above all these there was the mad, cross-grained Surabala who was rather quarrelsome. One day she imagined that her son-in-law Manmatha had been drowned. She explored every corner for him, but could find him nowhere. At last she got into a tank and searched for him there also. Suddenly it flashed in her mind, ‘All this is the work of sister-in-law.’ She hurried to the Mother at once with wet cloth and cried saying, ‘O dear sister-in-law, my son-in-law has been drowned in the Badujye tank. What’s to be done now?’ In great consternation the Mother called in everybody. One of them said on hearing the whole story, ‘I saw

Manmatha playing cards in the grocer’s shop.’ ‘Run,’ said the Mother, ‘and bring him here.’ Manmatha came immediately, and the mad aunt retired abusing the Mother nevertheless.

What followed is extremely sad to contemplate. Mother quite lost her patience. She was perhaps preparing for the final departure, and before her earthly play was over she wanted to take back with her the mad companion also.

On the evening of the above-mentioned incident the Mother was dressing vegetables for the night, when the cranky and cantankerous Surabala burst in upon her with the charge: ‘It’s you who have been administering opium to Radhu with a view to crippling her and keeping her under your thumb.’ Whether the devotees believed it or not, the Mother was then really eager to free herself from all bonds, however self-chosen they might have been. And hence with the greatest unconcern she said, ‘Why don’t you take away your daughter? There she lies. Have I kept her concealed?’ The mad aunt did not want facts or reason; she was on the war path. This apathetic and calm response of the Mother stirred her mettle. She started abusing violently and her pugnacity blazed up by stages, until at last she was grill red with anger. Then taking in hand a piece of fuel, she tried to strike the Mother on the head. Frightened by that terrible sight, the Mother shrieked out helplessly, ‘Hello, who is there, the mad woman is killing me.’ Brahmachari Varada ran in to find the log about to fall on the head. He snatched it away in the twinkling of an eye, drove the crazy woman out of the main gate, and shaking with anger forbade her to enter those precincts again. When he returned to the Mother, he found her still in a ruffled mood in the midst of which these words shot out of her lips: ‘Mad woman, what were you about to do? That hand of yours will fall off from your body. ’ And just as she had uttered these in a state of fury, she regained her own innate composure and biting her tongue as a sign of remorse for an unintentional lapse, she looked at the Master’s picture with folded hands and said penitently, ‘Master, what’s this that I have done? What’s the remedy now? Hitherto no curse against anybody had ever escaped my lips; and yet that, too, comes to pass at last! Why tarry longer then?’ She was weeping then. That compassion and self-reproach kept Varada spell-bound and his own anger melted away.

The mad aunt was attacked with leprosy not long after the passing away of the Mother, as a result of which she lost her fingers. However, she had not to suffer much. She passed away not long after to repair to her own place at the lotus feet of the Holy Mother.

1. It is sacrilegious to make a present of things meant for God before the worship. The Mother never did so with regard to the articles brought for the Master. If any emergency arose, she would cook separately, or to pacify importunate children she would give them after a mental offering to the Master-Gopala here means the Lord in His form as a child.