RADHU

Radhu’s health and behaviour were quite good in her early years. Her childlike simplicity pleased everybody. She had no worry for the future and no attraction for money. To her the Mother was ‘Mummy’, and her own mother, ‘Bald mummy’, for the mad aunt had her hair cropped short. As the Holy Mother distributed her things rather liberally, Radhu’s mother became jealous, and sometimes cantankerously rapped out, ‘She is giving away everything; what will happen to Radhi in future?’ And sometimes she harangued to her daughter, ‘The sister-in-law is giving away everything to others; she is not laying by anything for you. Why do you stay on there? Come away to my room. ’ Radhu showed her annoyance at such advice gratis and scolded and motioned her ‘Bald mummy’ away. She needed little; for the Mother gave her plentifully. She loved those gifts, to be sure. But if others had a share of the Mother’s bounty and clung to their presents, Radhu had no reason to be envious.

She was very good-natured indeed. But as ill luck would have it, she fell ill; and after her marriage, her temper degenerated in proportion as her health deteriorated. Noticing this the Mother once said to Kedar, ‘What shall I tell you, my son? Formerly she was quite good. But nowadays she has become physically weak; and on top of everything she is married! Now I am afraid that she might ultimately turn mad as she is born of an insane mother. Have I after all brought up a lunatic?’ In reality the Mother had to put up with not a little worry and suffering because of Radhu, although she had accepted her wholeheartedly at the bidding of the Master who indicated in a vision that Radhu was none other than Yoga-maya come down to provide a downward pull for the Mother’s mind which would otherwise be lost in lofty spiritual flight. Indeed, Radhu was fast tending to be a problem-girl and a source of worry and anxiety to the Mother. She became increasingly irascible and incoherent in talk. This becomes clear from some of the casual remarks of the Mother. When a woman devotee proposed to bring up a boy, the Mother drew her attention to her own condition owing to Radhu and said, ‘Don’t take up such a burden. Do your duty by every one; but love none but God. One has to suffer much if one loves.’ On another occasion she said, ‘Don’t you see, how I suffer because of Radhu?’ And with deeper regret the Mother said at the ‘Udbodhan’ one day, ‘Do you notice, my daughter, how strange is this play of the Master? What a fine lot he has made of my mother’s family. See what kind of company I have to keep. As for this one (Radhu’s mother) she is rank mad; another (Nalini) is verging on insanity. And see there’s another still (Radhu)! My daughter, what a strange being I brought up! She has not an iota of intelligence. She is standing there holding the railing—watching for her husband’s return. She is afraid in her mind, lest he should get in where that music is going on. She is vigilant day and night. What an attachment, my daughter! I never knew that she would have so much attachment. ’

Radhu really served two purposes in the Mother’s life—on the one hand she acted like a bond binding her heart to this world, and on the other she supplied a background for the expression of her motherly qualities. The greatness that manifested itself in the midst of the currents and cross-currents of this world could not otherwise have been easily comprehended. Greatness that is heightened by exceptionally favourable circumstances may evoke the comment from the householders, ‘We have nothing to learn from it; for we cannot hope to command such ideal conditions.’ And, again, when the monks praise absolute detachment from worldly preoccupations, some wiseacres may laugh in their sleeves and say, ‘These people know nothing of the pleasures of this world, and yet conjure up a doleful picture of the world before their mind’s eye to condemn it for no fault of its own.’ The Holy Mother’s life is full of meaning for either kind of critics. For she accepted the world in toto and played her game in it faultlessly. Her words are all soaked in life’s experience; and yet every move she makes, sends forth bright rays of a light beyond.

In the second week of June 1918, Radhu had a boil on her finger; and she wanted to go to the Mother at Calcutta. The Mother, therefore, wrote to Kedar of Koalpara that Radhu would be proceeding to Calcutta with her mother and husband, and that if Radhu should so desire, Brahmachari Varada should be permitted to accompany the party. Radhu did, of course, want Varada; and he, too, travelled with them. When Radhu recovered, Varada escorted her mother back to Jayrambati. He had to proceed to Calcutta again in the beginning of winter when Radhu’s mother wanted to see her daughter who was ailing there.

On December 31, 1918, Swami Shivananda announced at the Belur Math that Swami Saradananda had sent word about the Holy Mother’s coming to the Math with Radhu that very afternoon, and that she would live in the adjoining northern garden house, which should accordingly be tidied up. Radhu was in the family way, and her nerves had become so sensitive that she could not bear any sound. The Mother had chosen that quiet house with the idea that it would soothe Radhu’s nerves. But that very day further news came that Radhu would not be coming; for she had calculated that the Belur Math would really be a noisy place for several reasons: just on the border of the garden house was located the Math chapel where during worship they would ring bells. In the evening they would sing hymns to the accompaniment of musical instruments; in front there was the Ganges over which plied a number of steamers which have their screaming sirens; and near at hand was the birthday celebration of Swami Vivekananda, which was bound to attract a large number of devotees. The Mother had, therefore, to go to a comparatively quieter place in the city—the boarding house of the Nivedita Girls’ School! The very next morning Swami Shivananda sent Brahmachari Varada to inquire about the Mother’s comforts. Finding him, the Mother said dismally, ‘Here I am at last in this sea of trouble. I don’t know, Varada, what is in store. And yet wait and see how long after all she continues here. Radhu is in bed all the time; her heart can bear no sound. I don’t know, my boy, what disease it is! The Master alone knows how she will be saved.’

After a few days the Mother said, ‘Can you imagine? Radhu doesn’t like even this place any longer. She says, “Let’s go to the country.” But you know her condition well enough. Is there any good doctor or Kaviraj to be had in the country? What a lot of advantages we have here. But she will always have her own way. Let us wait and see how things shape themselves.’ On the birthday of Swami Vivekananda it was rumoured at the Belur Math that the Mother would be going to her village home the next day. Varada was duly sent for; he would have to accompany the Mother. When the Brahmachari reached the ‘Udbodhan’, he found the Mother busy packing up. At the sight of Varada, she said gloomily, ‘I am going to the country to drift in this unfathomable sea (meaning Radhu). You all will be my mainstay there. Sort out these articles properly, pack and bind them up securely. Nothing has been arranged so far. I was waiting for you till now. ’ When Varada got down late at night after finishing the packing, Swami Saradananda told him, ‘It’s my wish that you should stay with the Mother as long as she needs you.’ Varada readily agreed, and continued to be at her service till the last day of her life.

Next morning the Mother started by train for Vishnupur with Radhu and Radhu’s mother, Nalini Devi and Maku, the widow (Mandakini Roy) of

Navasan1, and others. Two monks escorted them up to Vishnupur, where they lodged at the house of Sri Sureshwar Sen. Next morning at teatime, Sureshwar brought a young man of about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age and introduced him saying, ‘This is a good astrologer who has his home here. In Calcutta he studies under and lives with a teacher who is a noted astrologer.’ This aroused everybody’s interest, and each wanted the marks on his or her palm to be interpreted. Reading Radhu’s palm the astrologer predicted, ‘She won’t have an easy delivery.’ And studying Maku’s palm he foretold, ‘Several successive children of hers will not meet each other.’ At this Maku hustled to the Mother and began to cry. The Mother consoled her in many ways and then calling the astrologer to herself told him, ‘My boy, you are still young. If you had noticed such a portent, it would have been much better to have told us of it apart. Be that as it may, you now tell me of some remedy that you may have in your astrology. If I don’t do any such thing how can I pacify Maku? And then let the Lord’s will be done.’ The astrologer said, ‘According to us, she should now either read the Chandi or hear it read for three consecutive Tuesdays; and then there should be a homa and other auspicious rites.’ Maku’s son Neda was then two and a half years old, and he was very healthy, intelligent, and lovable. And Maku expected another child in a couple of months. So the prophecy of the astrologer had a very depressing effect on everybody.

Early in the morning on January 29, 1919, the party left in six bullock-carts and after reaching Jaypur at a distance of eight miles halted for cooking for the noon. The rice was being boiled in an earthen pot. When it was ready and the cook wanted to take it down for removing the gruel, the vessel burst and fell down. This created a real problem, for such food could not be offered to the Master, and cooking again would mean great delay. But the Mother remained undisturbed. She carefully removed the rice from the top of the scattered heap to some leaves and adroitly separated the gruel from it Then she washed her hands and brought out the picture of the Master from her box. Along with the rice she served some curry and lentil soup for the Master and said with folded hands, ‘This is how you have ordained it today. Now take some warm food without delay.’ The Mother’s talk and movements set all laughing; but nothing perturbed, she said calmly, ‘I have to adjust according to time and circumstances. Come now, do you all sit down for food. ’ The carts restarted as soon as all had finished taking their food. But they could not reach Koalpara before eleven o’clock in the night.

According to a previous plan, the Mother was to remain at Koalpara for a

day or two; but the solitude of the village brought sound sleep to Radhu, and she insisted on continuing there. And in consultation with uncle Kali and others, the Mother also concluded that all things taken together, Koalpara was preferable to Jayrambati. Accordingly, from that time till the 7th of Shravana (July 22), 1919, the Mother stayed on at the Jagadamba-Ashrama at Koalpara. For the reader’s help we should add here a few words about the locality.

The Ashrama at Koalpara stands on the main road from Kotulpur to Desra on way to Jayrambati. The Jagadamba-Ashrama, where the Mother lived, was at the farthest end of the village, and about a furlong east of the monastery.

This homestead was in a solitary place and was surrounded by high walls. The cottage meant for the Mother was spacious and had a cemented floor. Near it was the kitchen. A big cottage at the south-east corner could accommodate seven or eight women devotees. And another cottage at the south-west corner served as a waiting room for the men devotees who came to see the Mother in the day-time. On the inner verandah of this cottage was a husking machine. South of this group of cottages, at a distance of about fifty yards, was Kedar’s dwelling house. Before the Jagadamba-Ashrama was built, the Mother used to reside here when passing through Koalpara. These latter precincts had a big cottage facing east; east of that was the small family chapel of Kedar. On the north was a cowshed; and the whole place was surrounded by a wall, outside which, on the east and south, were thick bushes of thorny plants; on the west was a small pond, and on the north some quince and tamarind trees. It was a somewhat isolated homestead. Even so, Radhu selected this dreary place for her residence.

Many monks and devotees came to Koalpara as they found the Mother more easily accessible here than in Calcutta. All the men had their food at the main Ashrama, while the women had theirs at the Jagadamba-Ashrama. The total number of inmates at both the places often rose to as high as forty.

After spending there just a few days, the Mother said to Brahmachari Varada, ‘ Something has happened to me lately—whatever thought arises in my mind comes true, be it good or bad. Radhu has taken a fancy to this wild jungle, for it is quiet. But it strikes me that though you may have to go out on business throughout the day-time, you should remain here with me from evening and have your food here. I am rather nervous here, my boy! I have told (Brahmachari) Rajen, too; he will be able to come at about ten or eleven after finishing his work at the Ashrama.’ From that day on, Varada returned every evening and sat on a cot under the quince in front of Radhu’s cottage. The Mother, too, came and talked in a low tone; for Radhu then lay in her bed and could not bear to hear any sound whatever. The slightest noise set her heart beating fast. And hence all metallic things—the handles of buckets, door chains, etc.,— had cotton wrappings round them. One day the Mother said, ‘Look here, how thick this jungle is! I shouldn’t wonder if someday a bear should make its appearance here.’ Varada assured her that that part of the country was free from bears. Yet the Mother added, ‘Who knows, my boy? How dark it is here! I am afraid.’ In a day or two, it was actually reported that in the field of Desra, only a mile away, a huge bear had appeared and mauled to death an old woman as she was picking up cow dung, and that the beast, too, had been shot dead. In the evening the Mother said, ‘ So you see what a horrible thing the bear has done today! They say that it has killed the mother-in-law of Ambika (the village watchman). Yet did you not assert that there were no bears in these parts?’

As suggested by the astrologer of Vishnupur, many auspicious rites were gone through for a whole week for warding off the evil portent from Maku. And then in the evening the Mother sat under the quince and said, ‘What a lot of difficulties I had to live in at the Nahabat for the service of the Master; and yet there was no consciousness of any inconvenience, the day passed off merrily without any notice. And here I am now in all sorts of trouble because of these people. The rites for Maku’s solace are over today. I am sitting here with you in the jungle to the detriment of all my religious practices, japa, and penances. And now I should thank my lot if, through God’s grace, nothing untoward happens to Radhu. ’ As the talk went on, the widow of Navasan came up and said, ‘O brother, did you hear? At noon today, I was sitting here on the verandah with the Mother; all was quiet. The Mother said, “Those two crows used to come here till a few days ago to perch on yonder tree and caw. This irritated Radhu. But, well, for some days now they haven’t been seen.” Hardly had the Mother finished than the crows came and cawed from the tree.’ The Mother smiled and corroborated the story saying ‘Yes, my boy.’

In the middle of June 1919, it had rained heavily for some days, when one night, at about ten o’clock, they sat under the tree. The Mother said all of a sudden, ‘Look here, that lunatic of Shihar has not been coming here for a long time. He is stark mad. But he is good at singing, for instance. But I am afraid, my boy, lest he should begin shouting.’ The widow of Navasan protested, ‘Why, again, do you mention him, Mother? Suppose he pops out at this dead of night!’ The Mother replied, ‘Who knows, my daughter! And what an apprehension you have! How can he come crossing the river in this rainy season?’ Before silence had dropped over her words, the lunatic made his appearance with a bundle of vegetables under his arm and a large hat of palm leaves on his head. He said to the Mother, ‘Here I am with some vegetables for you.’ The widow of Navasan ran to a room and bolted the door. The Mother said softly, ‘Go away, don’t you make any noise at this late hour of the night.’ He replied, ‘How can I go now? The river is in flood!’ ‘Then how did you come?’ queried Varada. ‘I crossed by swimming,’ replied the man.

The Mother again said in a very persuasive and sweet voice, ‘My good man, don’t you create any disturbance.’ The man at once left the place calmly and slowly. After this event the Holy Mother had a fairly quiet time there.

Radhu’s disease, however, showed no sign of improvement, rather it worsened day by day. Sympathetic people were not wanting, each of whom had a remedy to prescribe. The Mother politely listened to them all, and in all possible cases acted up to those suggestions, for she did not want to offend anybody if that could be helped. In the beginning of March 1919, Nalini Devi said, ‘Mind you, aunt, when Radhu’s mother became mad, it was you who made her wear the bangle of the “Mad Kali” of Tirol; and only then did she come round. I think, Radhu also will fully recover if she wears the bangle. She also has got a touch of insanity; otherwise how could she be sleeping all the time like that, though she is quite normal so far as food and such things are concerned. ’ Accordingly, the Mother sent some one to Tirol, seventeen miles away, to bring the bangle after offering due worship to Kali there. As the bangle arrived at night, it was kept hanging on a tree, for it was not to touch the ground. Next morning Radhu wore it; but there was no result, except that Radhu’s mother became all the more quarrelsome and went on abusing Nalini Devi without rime or reason. After a few days, the mad aunt told the Mother, ‘Why did you bring Radhu here from Calcutta? It would have been far better in Calcutta. Here it is hot; and Radhu would recover if ice could be applied.’ To pacify the aunt, the Mother had ice brought from Vishnupur. As this was being applied to Radhu’s head, uncle Kali turned up and said, ‘Sister, what a pity that you consented to apply ice on the advice of that mad woman to an enceinte’s head! God be thanked, if the cold does not produce something worse. Sister, you don’t understand; it’s no disease at all, for otherwise the big doctors of Calcutta would not have failed. She is perhaps possessed by some god or ghost. At

Sushnegede there is a Chandal1 who is an adept in the tantrika2 cult. Why should we not get him to try his skill on her?’ The ice pack was then given up, and uncle Kali was asked to bring the tantrika adept. As the uncle and Varada reached the man’s place, he scattered some mustard seeds over their bodies and declared solemnly, ‘Yes, I have understood it all; I have got the command, I shall have to go there in a day or two. ’

As the tantrika arrived the following afternoon, the Mother saluted him with the greatest humility and described Radhu’s condition with tearful eyes in a way as though the tantrika alone could save her from the insurmountable difficulty in which she was placed. The man was satisfied on examination of the patient that it was a genuine case of supernatural influence. But the remedy that he prescribed was altogether beyond the competence of anyone to procure. The oil and liver of a rohita fish (cyprinus rohita, carp) weighing more than forty pounds were to be boiled in the oil extracted from black gingili seeds by grinding them in a village oil-press; and with these were to be cooked iron, various scented articles, the dung of a bull, and such other ingredients to be picked up from various inaccessible places. The resulting ointment had to be rubbed on Radhu’s body, and she had to wear an amulet.

The Mother evinced the greatest interest at first; but when it became clear that it was a wholly absurd prescription, she became despondent and said, ‘There’s no gainsaying that I am reverential to all the deities and am craving their favour; but none is kindly disposed. It’ll be as the Lord wills, as it is written on Radhu’s forehead (by the fingers of Destiny)! Master, you are the only saviour!’ This mood of absolute dependence on Providence renders the Mother extraordinarily attractive.

On the advice of some well-wishers, the Mother also agreed to invoke the help of a Chanda (a fierce spirit) through adequate rites. In an abandoned shed outside the Ashrama, the Chanda was duly summoned by charms, worship, and sacrifice. In the consequent seance the spirit prescribed many queer medicines and gave directions for procuring an oil from the demonologist’s house. Everything was done. But Radhu’s ailment defied all these attempts at treatment.

Out of a sense of duty and for the solace of all the Mother had many such things done. And yet her faith in Providence never wavered, and her detachment never flickered. One day, when somebody proposed that for Radhu’s safe delivery a certain doctor should be called in, she revealed her real mind by saying, ‘Aren’t the bitches and vixens of the forests delivered of their litter?’

In the middle of May 1919, news reached Koalpara that the mother of the widow of Navasan lay ill at home without any hope of recovery and without anybody to nurse her. The Mother had her brought to Koalpara and sent for doctor Prabhakar Mukherji of Arambagh, a disciple of hers. The doctor came; but the old woman did not live for long. She breathed her last a few days later.

In the meantime two events had happened: the first was the death of Maku’s son Neda on April 20, 1919. This boy of extraordinary qualities was a pet of the Mother, and the blow caused extreme grief. The second event was

Radhu’s giving birth to a child without any accident. Her protracted neurasthenia had led doctors to opine that an operation might be necessary at the time of delivery; and hence at the bidding of Swami Saradananda, Dr. Vaikuntha (afterwards Swami Maheshwarananda) and Sarala Devi proceeded to Koalpara. But everyone was surprised to see Radhu give birth to a son on the 24th of Vaishakha (May 9), without much trouble. Radhu, however, continued ailing even after this, and her nervous trouble was somewhat aggravated. Neda’s death followed by this set-back in Radhu’s condition completely overwhelmed the Mother; she wept as she talked of these things.

After the death of the mother of the widow of Navasan, Dr. Mukherji came to take leave of the Mother and said with folded hands, ‘Mother, the world is full of sorrows. There’s no escape since I am already in it! Mother, how can we get peace? The world is quite galling to me!’ The Mother said very sympathetically and with tears in her eyes, ‘True enough, my son, there’s no joy in the world. The Master is our only refuge. But, my son, it is a great sin to lead a worldly life or to live with one’s relatives. I committed a blunder by getting Radhu married and now I am suffering. ’

The Mother had at first fixed the 4th of Shravana (July 19), 1919, as the date

for going to Jayrambati. But as it rained heavily, she went there only on the seventh of Shravana. For some seven or eight months following child-birth, Radhu remained so weak that she could not stand up or walk. She simply crawled along; and she did not wear any clothes, so that her dwelling place had to be screened off with cloth. At times she became so intractable that she had to be forcibly carried to her bed. Some thought that it was all sheer madness; while others believed it to be real weakness. And to crown it all, she had become addicted to opium and pestered the Mother for increasing the dose. The Mother tried all the while to cure her of this by stages; but Radhu would not agree. Recently the Mother had been in poor health, and to add to her suffering there were all these additional troubles. One day the Mother was dressing vegetables, when Radhu approached her. The Mother knew her motive and, therefore, argued with her, ‘Radhi, why do you continue thus? Stand up straight now; I am fed up with you. I am going to lose my religious practices, duties, money, and all for your sake. Can you tell me from where to meet all these expenses?’ Radhu became furious at this and taking up a big egg-fruit from the basket in front, struck at the Mother’s back with all her might. As it fell with a thud, the Mother bent her back in pain and the place became red and swollen.

But unmindful of this, she turned to the Master and prayed with folded hands, ‘Master, don’t be offended at her; she is ignorant.’ Then taking the dust of her own feet in hand, she rubbed it over Radhu’s head and said, ‘Radhi, the Master never uttered a harsh word against this body, and you inflict such pain on it! How can you evaluate my worth? How lightly do you mean to deal with me just because I have chosen to live amidst you all?’ Radhu then began to weep. And the Mother continued, ‘Radhi, if I become offended, then you can find no shelter anywhere in the three worlds. Master, don’t be offended with her.’

Sometime before Radhu’s son was born, a strange transformation had been creeping over her demeanour; and just then the Mother was getting ready for her final departure — there were only two and a half years left for the concluding of that divine drama. The devotees had heard that the day when the Mother’s heart would be detached from Radhu, there would remain no means to arrest its natural gravitation towards the state beyond all worldly encumbrances. Then the curtain would drop on her playing her part as a human being. Now through the wishes of Sri Ramakrishna, those affectionate cords which tied her to this world seemed to be snapping one by one.

The Mother’s mind had been getting detached from Radhu for the last few years. Even in her early age Radhu had contracted diseases, and there was no end to her malady. In addition, her temper worsened day by day. At this the Holy Mother remarked, as early as the middle of May 1913, ‘I have no attachment to this Radhi. Coming in constant touch with diseases my mind has developed a dislike, but I keep it there by force, and say, “Master, let my mind be a little attached to Radhi, otherwise who will take care of her?” I never have seen such morbidity. She must have died of some disease in a previous birth before she could undertake any expiatory rites!’ Although the Mother tried to keep her mind in this world, the mind refused to be pinned down. As an ostensible reason for this the devotees came to know, only of Radhu’s diseased mind and body. The Mother had given her a good training, but Radhu’s mental make-up was not high enough to be benefited thereby. The Mother’s affection did not soften her, but made her all the more petulant and impudent. And her mother’s insanity, too, penetrated somewhat into her character, thereby making her conduct towards the Mother repugnant to others. At last she came to disrespect, abuse, and beat the Holy Mother. Staggered at this development in her behaviour, the Holy Mother once said, ‘Radhi, though you have been fed with the milk of a lioness, you continue to be the vixen that you are. What pains have I not taken to make you a worthy person, but you have imbibed nothing of my goodness; you have taken wholly after your mother.’ Radhu became enraged at this and drew the veil over her face. Amused at this the Mother remarked, ‘You can’t do without me, and yet you draw the veil at the sight of my face!’

The matter did not stop here. Once the Mother was going by bullock-cart from Vishnupur to Jayrambati. When the cart was approaching Kotulpur, Radhu, who was also in it, went on pushing the Mother with her feet and saying, ‘Off with you, get away; get you down from this cart.’ The Mother moved away from her to the farthest limit as she kept on saying, ‘If I go, then who will do all these penances for you?’ Another day, as Radhu kicked her, she took the dust of her feet and placed it on Radhu’s head saying, ‘What have you done Radhi, what have you done?’

Radhu’s oppression of the Mother increased apace, and the Holy Mother by degrees, withdrew her thoughts from her. Now who can say which of these was the earlier? It rather strikes us that by divine dispensation the basic fact of disentanglement antecedent to final dissociation from life was taking shape simultaneously at both ends. At the time of leaving for Calcutta at the beginning of May 1918, the Mother wanted to see

Radhu and had her brought from her father-in-law’s house. As soon as she got down from the palanquin, the Mother greeted her warmly saying, ‘Come, my daughter, Radhu’, and pressed her to her bosom But she was now aware that Radhu’s individuality was fully developed; she had wilfully gone to her husband at Tajpur leaving behind the Holy Mother in her sick-bed at Koalpara, and later when the Mother had inquired if she would go to Calcutta, she had declined. The Mother took due account of Radhu’s wishes and arranged for sending her back to her husband. At the time of parting Radhu wept bitterly and saluted the Mother by falling down at her feet; but the Mother remained totally unmoved, though she blessed her cheerfully, and bade farewell to her quietly as she would have done to anyone else. A by-stander, not knowing them personally, could not believe that they were really Radhu and the Mother!

We now come to the beginning of April 1920. Radhu was then at Calcutta with the Mother, and her son was also there. Regretfully the Mother said, ‘I have lost all for Radhu, my health, my spiritual exercises, money, indeed everything. And she is almost on the point of killing her son. He has somehow been saved on being handed over to Sarala after his coming here. And Kanjilal is treating him. As for Kanjilal he has declared already, “I shan’t be able to treat the boy if he is in Radhu’s keeping.” I don’t know what’s there in the Master’s mind; what’s the meaning of giving her a son when she doesn’t know so much as how to take care of her own person? And furthermore, she has developed a disease again. What’s all this come to, my daughter? Whatever that may be, I am fed up with them. How outrageous was their conduct at home! Did they care for me at all?’

It is the Bengali New Year’s day, in the middle of April 1920. The evening service at the ‘Udbodhan’ is over. It is not yet time to feed Radhu’s son; some one has gone to call Sarala Devi for the purpose. But the child is crying; hence Radhu insists on feeding him forthwith.

As the Mother forbids her, she flares up and curses the Mother, ‘May you die, may your mouth be on (funeral) fire,’ and so on. The Mother has been fighting for a long time with disease and truculence; and now she is a bed-ridden patient when her life is ebbing away and patience has reached its last limit. She can bear it no longer; and with the greatest pain mixed with the highest affection she says, ‘Yes, you will know what straits you will be reduced to once

I am gone.1 Today, on this New Year’s day, I wish it so truly that you may die first and then I pass away in comfort.’ Radhu could, however, hardly recognize the hidden touch of love, she could only see the indifference on the surface. With mortification the Mother said at last to a devotee, ‘Fan me, my daughter, oppression from her burns me to the very bone.’

The Mother continued on this earth only for three months after this.

1. She was married in a Kayastha family of Navasan, a village within the Goghat police station of the Hooghly district and only a few miles away from Kamarpukur and Jayrambati. She had no issue and her husband died early. She became a disciple and then an attendant of the Mother. In the Mother’s household she was known as the daughter-in-law of Navasan. For convenience we refer to her as ‘the widow.’

1. A man of a very low caste.

2. Tantras are scriptures associated in popular belief with occult practices which are supposed to bestow super normal powers to their followers, the tantrikas.

1. Nine months after the Mother’s departure, Radhu’s husband Manmatha married a second time and, deprived of the love of her husband, Radhu took her abode at Jayrambati. Manmatha’s economic condition deteriorated at this time, so that he often visited Radhu to get from her a slice of the monthly allowance that Swami Saradananda had arranged for her maintenance. Radhu could not refuse it to her husband.