Life
SILENT PREPARATION
We have given many illustrations to show how courageously the Mother freed herself from conventions and prejudices when duty or occasion demanded it. Such changes often resulted from the advice of the Master, but quite as often the Mother spontaneously made the necessary adjustments; for the single aim of her life was to please the Master. But these remarks relate only to matters of daily routine. In regard to the higher life, the two souls were so similarly attuned that even independent of each other they produced but the same charming strains; in that field the Mother had no effort to make and the Master had no direction to give. This side of their lives has also been partially depicted. Now we shall relate some incidents not discussed earlier.
A great Vaishnava festival, called the Danda-mahot-sava, is held at Panihati on the eastern bank of the Ganges, a few miles above Calcutta, every year in the month of Jyeshtha (May-June). The festival for the year 1885 was near at hand. The Master had taken part in it several times j before he had any ‘English-educated’ devotees at Dakshineswar, but latterly he had not gone there. In 1885 the Master told a group of his devotees, ‘The festival will be a mart of divine joy and you will find the Lord’s name bandied about freely. You “young Bengal” have never witnessed such a thing. Let us all go along and see this.’ Accordingly twenty-five devotees reached Dakshineswar in two hired boats at about nine o’clock on the morning of the festive day. A third boat lay anchored in the stream for the Master. Some women devotees reached earlier in the morning for preparing food and all got ready to start at ten. After the Master had finished his meal, the Mother inquired through a woman devotee whether she too might join the party. The Master told the devotee, ‘If she wants to, she may.’ Hearing the Master’s words, the Holy Mother said to the devotee, ‘Quite a number of persons are going with him; besides, the place will be filled with people. It will be difficult for me in that great crowd to get down from the boat and see the festival. So I won’t go.’ The women devotees took leave of her and got into the Master’s boat and left for Panihati. When the Master’s boat returned from the festival at 8-30 p.m., the women devotees decided to spend the night with the Mother; and then coming to learn that on the ensuing full moon day there would be elaborate worship and much merriment in commemoration of the consecration of the Kali temple, they decided to stay on till then. When the Master sat down for his supper that night, he said to one of the women, ‘It was so crowded; moreover, all had their eyes riveted on me because of my divine inebriation; she (Mother) did well not to come with us. If people had seen her by my side, they would have said, “A pair of swans1 has come!” She is very intelligent.’ When the women reported this to the Mother, she said, ‘From the way he gave me leave to go in your party in the morning, I knew that it was not a hearty permission. If he had wanted me to go, he would have said, “Yes, surely she can come too.” When without doing so he left the decision to me with the remark, “If she wants to, she also may,” I decided that I had better give up the idea.’
The Master that night told the women of another instance of her intelligence: ‘When the Marwari devotee (Lakshminarayana) proposed to give me ten thousand rupees, I felt as though my head was under a saw. I said to Mother (Kali), “Mother, Mother, dost Thou come to tempt me again after so long a time?” At that time I called her (Holy Mother) to test her mind and said, “Listen, my dear, this man proposes to give me money. As I have refused the offer, he proposes to give it to you. Why don’t you accept this?” At this she replied instantaneously, “How can that be? The money can’t be accepted. If I receive it, it will be as good as your receiving it; for if I take it, I shall spend it on you; and hence it will amount to your own acceptance. People respect you for your renunciation; therefore the money can never be accepted.” At these words of hers I felt intensely relieved.’
It was not only in worldly affairs that these two hearts beat in unison, in spiritual matters too the Mother kept in step with the Master. During the Shodashi worship we had a visual demonstration of the essential identity of their outlook. In the Nahabat and in the Shyampukur house we were struck with wonder by a glimpse of the Mother’s self-effacement in the service of her husband, exhibiting spiritual discipline of the highest order. Not content with all this, the Mother converted her whole life into a series of austerity in the same way as the Master did. Now, any intense religious pursuit is supernormal, and specially so was it in the case of the Mother. Hence if we study this phase of her life from a mere normal point of view, the reader may well ask: ‘What are you about? At the end of the Shodashi worship, the Mother had received as a free gift from the Master all the fruits of his own long spiritual discipline. Her disposition was naturally so sweet and charming that even if she had had no background of austerity, she could not have failed to impress others; and her physical suffering and strenuous life were in themselves a telling example of great spiritual striving. Is not a life that comprises all these at their best, already established in the highest state that a human being can aspire to? Is it not then unreasonable to say that spiritual progress is dependent on a formal course of discipline as prescribed by the scriptures? What indeed are you aiming at?’ But we reply, ‘Let us not lose our patience. As impartial biographers, we shall state all the facts in the life of this unique character; it is not our function to judge their worth or interpret their purpose; the readers, both of the present and of future generations, may attempt that task. But we feel sure that no effort of a divine woman like the Mother is wholly without meaning. Such an effort flows from a fullness of heart rather than from social need or impulsion. Because of this, each of her acts has a natural splendour and a novelty, which though not obvious to modern minds make them worthy of being recorded. Unfortunately most of the incidents of her silent discipline have fallen into oblivion or are only imperfectly known. For instance, the Mother undertook a vow (perhaps on the 20th May, 1883) called the Savitri-vrata, which is mentioned in the notes of Swami Saradananda and the memoirs of Master Mahashaya, but of which we know nothing apart from these casual references. Yet such hints are invaluable in reconstructing our picture of that unknown side of the Mother’s life.’
A living touch with spirituality comes through association with those who actually tread the path. The Mother lived virtually in the centre of a spiritual concourse at Dakshineswar, and the lessons she imbibed were many. Not to mention the hundreds of ardent and advanced devotees who gathered round the Master, there was a constant stream of adepts and aspirants, both men and women, who stopped at Dakshineswar on their way to Gangasagar and Puri. About most of these we know next to nothing. And about the other well-known personalities who have been dealt with more fully in other books, we may keep silent. We have referred to the Bhairavi Brahmani, one chapter of whose life became closely linked with that of the Mother. There is mention of another
Bhairavi1 too. One day the Master said to the Mother, ‘A Bhairavi will come today. Get a piece of cloth suitably dyed; we shall give it to her.’ That Bhairavi came that day after the worship at the Kali temple was over, and entered into a long conversation with the Master. She then stayed on at Dakshineswar for some days. She was somewhat hot-tempered. She not only took on herself the duty of protecting the Mother, but also warned her, ‘Do thou keep ready for me some rice soaked in water overnight; if thou dost not, I shall leave thee dead here by piercing thee with my trident.’ The Mother was terrified at this; but the Master said, ‘Don’t you be afraid. She is a real Bhairavi and hence her temper is a little high! ’ On some days the Bhairavi obtained so much by begging that it lasted her for a week or more. The chief officer of the temple said to her, ‘Mother, why should you go out for begging? You can get it all here.’ The Bhairavi replied, ‘You are my uncle
Kalanemi1 ! How can one depend on your words?’
When the Mother and Lakshmi Devi lived together at the Nahabat, the Master on his way to the northernjhau grove in the small hours of the night would wake them up saying, ‘Get up, O Lakshmi, get up. Awaken your aunt. How much longer will you sleep? It’s nearly morning now. Wash your face with Ganges water and call on the Mother (Kali); begin your japa and meditation.’ If the Mother and Lakshmi Devi were already awake, they would leave their beds at once. But in winter, even though the Master called, the Holy Mother, with a view perhaps to ensuring a longer period of sleep for Lakshmi Devi, would say in an undertone, ‘Do you keep silent! His eyes are sleepless. It’s not as yet time to get up; the birds aren’t chirping as yet. Don’t you respond!’ If the Master got no response or had reason to think that they did not wake up, he would, out of fun, pour water over the door-sill; and they jumped up for fear of the beds on the floor getting wet; sometimes their beds did thus get actually wet. As a result of this, Lakshmi Devi became an early riser. The Mother, of course, was always an early riser.
One day the Master wanted to test the Mother’s capacity to appreciate his deep spiritual moods. That day he asked Mother to prepare betel rolls, tidy up his bed, and sweep the floor; and then he proceeded to the Kali temple to prostrate himself before the goddess. The Holy Mother had nearly finished her work when the Master entered the room unnoticed, with red eyes, staggering gait, and fuddled speech like those of a man in a state of intoxication. The Mother was so engrossed in her work that she did not notice him even though he came within reach. Then he suddenly pushed her from behind and said, ‘Hullo, my dear, have I drunk wine!’ Though the Mother was taken aback by this unexpected sight, she promptly replied, ‘No, no, why should you be under wine?’ ‘Why do I then wobble?’ argued the Master. ‘Why am I fuddled in speech? Am I tipsy?’ In haste the Mother replied, ‘No, no, why should you have drunk wine? You have drunk of the nectar of Mother Kali’s love.’ Highly delighted, the Master said, ‘You have spoken rightly indeed!’
Sometimes the Master imparted to her high spiritual truths. Once after relating the life of Sri Krishna to the Mother and Lakshmi Devi, he said to the latter, ‘You both should discuss between yourselves what you have heard from me. What the cattle eat in the day, they chew over again at night. If you and your aunt discuss these incidents in Krishna’s life, you will not forget them. You will remember them well.’ Another day he drew for the Holy Mother on paper a diagram of the six plexuses1 to illustrate the lessons he was giving her on yoga.
The Master knew that the Mother loved his kirtana; and accordingly, before the music began he asked his nephew Ramlal to keep open the northern door of his room, saying, ‘Should they not witness the divine afflatus and spiritual moods that will find expression here? Should they not hear (the kirtana)? How will they learn else?’ They watched through a hole in the screen of plaited bamboo strips. As this hole gradually became bigger, the Master noticed it and remarked humorously, ‘Hullo Ramlal, your aunt’s screen there has got a split, it seems.’ Unable to appreciate the Master’s joke, Ramlal replied that the Master alone was to blame for that unwelcome development; for while Ramlal wanted to keep the northern door closed, the Master directed otherwise.
The Mother once learnt an occult formula for curing certain diseases. The Master coming to know of this, asked her to surrender it at the feet of her chosen deity, so that her spiritual life might be absolutely pure. She related the incident to Yogin-Ma when the latter got into an imbroglio, in the Master’s presence, on that very score. It was like this. One day, when the Master had rinsed his mouth with the water poured by Yogin-Ma on his palm, he suddenly turned to her and said, ‘Hullo, my dear, I have a pain in my throat. Please utter the mantra that you know for its cure and pass your hand over the affected part.’ Yogin-Ma did as the Master directed. Then she came to the Mother and said, ‘How did he know that I had this formula?’ At this the Mother replied with a smile, ‘Well, dear, he knows everything, and yet he does not hate any one for what one does with sincerity of purpose. You need not have any fear. I too learnt that mantra before I came to him When I told him of it after coming here, he said, “There’s no harm in it. Now you lay it down at the feet of your chosen deity.”’
He looked after the Mother with very great care. About this the Mother herself said, ‘When I was at the Nahabat, the Master forbade even Ramlal to meet me though he was my nephew.’ One morning at nine o’clock, Hriday went to the Nahabat to give the Mother and Lakshmi Devi the fruits and sweets offered in the temples, and spent some time in talking and laughing aloud with them After his return, the Master reproached him saying ‘You shall return soon after handing over such things. I warn you not to tarry any longer in future.’1
In addition to this kind of direct training, instruction, and preservation of a suitable atmosphere for her inner unfolding he also encouraged her in all her voluntary endeavours. The Mother could sing well. One night she and Lakshmi Devi, while singing in a low tone a religious song of a high spiritual order, became absorbed in its soul-enthralling appeal. The Master heard them and told the Mother the next day, ‘You were much enraptured by that song yesterday. Well, that was very fine!’ Another afternoon the Mother collected some jasmine and red rangan (ixora coccinea or purviflora) buds with which she strung a fine stout garland and then put it in a bowl of water for the petals to open out. Then she sent it for being put round Kali’s neck, which was done soon after the Master arrived at the temple, and he was so charmed by the beauty that he kept on repeating: ‘Ah! How fine it looks against the black colour (of Kali)!’ When on inquiry he learnt that it was strung by the Holy Mother, he said,. ‘Ah! Have her brought here once. Let her see how beautiful the Mother (Kali) looks with this garland on.’ Coming there with the maid-servant Brinde, she found Balaram Babu, Surendra Babu and others going to the temple. So through her shyness she hid herself behind the hem of the maid-servant’s garment and proceeded to climb to the high basement of the temple by the steps at the rear. At this the Master called out, ‘Don’t you climb up that side, my dear. The other day a fisherwoman slipped down when going up that side and died. Why don’t you come up by the front steps?’ Hearing this, Balaram Babu and others moved away, and the Mother had a hearty look at Kali from the front door.
The Holy Mother and Lakshmi Devi received the sacred mantra1 of Sakti2 from an up-country sannyasin named
Purnananda, who was stout, fine in appearance, and quiet in temperament, and who happened to be then at Kamarpukur. Later on, when the Mother was at Dakshineswar, the Master wrote something on her tongue, which process is a well-known form of higher initiation. Next day the Mother said to Lakshmi Devi, ‘He wrote on my tongue yesterday. Why don’t you also approach him?’ Some time thereafter the Master wrote on Lakshmi Devi’s tongue the secret letter (Bija, lit., seed) of Radha and Krishna, and even though he was told that Lakshmi had previously got the Sakti mantra, he said, ‘Let that be so; I have given her the true mantra. ’
The Mother left her bed every morning at three o’clock and sat in meditation facing south on the western verandah of the Nahabat. This was almost a rule with her. But one night she felt a little out of sorts and was late in getting up; and this lethargy continued for some days, nay, the time of leaving the bed began to be further put off, till the Mother realized that if one means to do a thing properly, one must have intense earnestness and must apply oneself heart and soul to it. And so she never faltered again. The number of times she made japa of her mantra was very great. One day she told her niece Nalini in the course of a talk, ‘What a lot of a work I did when I was of your age! And yet, in spite of all that work, I repeated my mantra a hundred thousand times.’ Along with such meditation and japa, there went on in her mind a constant prayer. When the moon appeared in the sky at night and was reflected on the placid waters of the Ganges, she prayed to God with wet eyes, ‘Even the moon has its spots—may my mind have no spot at all.’
Through the practice of meditation, her mind, which was naturally turned inward, became fully concentrated even in those early days. She herself said, ‘One has to be up and doing; can anything be achieved without diligence? One should find some time even in the midst of domestic duties. What to speak of myself, my child! I used to begin my japa in those days at Dakshineswar after leaving the bed at three in the morning, and lose all consciousness. One night, when all was absolutely calm around, I sat for japa near the steps of the Nahabat. I did not know at all when the Master went to the tamarisk grove (as he used to do every night at that time). On other nights I used to hear the sound of his slippers. I was deep in meditation.
My appearance was not like this then1— I had ornaments and a cloth with a red border. The end of the cloth covering the upper part of my body was being blown down; still I was not conscious of it. Boy Yogen (Swami Yogananda), who came with a waterpot for the Master, found me in that state. My daughter, what fine days those were! On moonlit nights I looked up at the moon and prayed with folded hands “Make my heart as white as your rays!” Ah! What a mind I had then! The maid-servant, Brinde, one day (pushed and) set rolling a plate of bell-metal before me, the sound of which seemed to pierce my heart.’ The Mother’s mind was then so deeply concentrated that the jarring sound shocked her like a thunder peal.
As her own mind began to be more concentrated through meditation and japa and as she noticed the deepening of the spiritual emotions in others, the desire grew in her to have something of their inebriation. Particularly was she impressed by the devotional fervour and emotional outbursts in the life of Gauri-Ma. So she conveyed her request for this to the Master through Lakshmi Devi. But the Master dismissed the idea saying, ‘She (Gauri-Ma) is a girl of Kalighat; she can withstand all that.1 Women, who are naturally mild and weak, prosper and succeed through softness. Women should be meek and sober; modesty is their forte; otherwise there will be public calumny.’
The Mother often had her moods of rapt absorption, but we do not know whether along with that self-forgetfulness there was any external expression known to herself or others. It would seem, however, that even if there was such a manifestation, she was not aware of it or it was not as overflowing as Gauri-Ma’s. Perhaps such exuberance of spiritual ecstasy was kept in check because of the Master’s condemnation of it. But for one who would in future become the consoler, guide, and inspirer of many in her aspects of mother, teacher and divinity, there was need for manifestation, though in a secret recess, of that higher type of emotion through which alone common men can measure spiritual heights. So that the desire was not suppressed for ever in the Mother’s heart, but it cropped up again; and God, too, it seems, realized that the time was opportune for revealing her spiritual power for the fulfilment of her life’s mission; and therefore it is that we find the Mother commissioning Yogin-Ma again with these words: ‘Pray to him, so that I have a little of spiritual ecstasy. I don’t get the opportunity of telling him, because he is always surrounded by people.’ Yogin-Ma, in her innocence, took these words at their face value; she could not imagine that no mediator was really necessary for giving concrete shape on the physical plane to the strong, though unseen, spiritual line of communication that subsisted between these two souls; nor could she realize that even from her childhood the Mother’s mind was so high-strung that, though others might be unaware, she was ever in the presence of the Lord. Yogin-Ma simply thought, ‘It may be so, since the Mother wants this, I shall tell the Master.’ Next morning she found the Master sitting alone on his cot and broached the subject. The Master heard her but kept silent. As no one dared talk to him when he was in such a mood, Yogin-Ma prostrated herself before him again and left the room silently.
When she returned, the Mother was engaged in her daily worship, and the door was ajar. Through the opening she noticed the Mother laughing—laughing and then again weeping by turns—while tears flowed down profusely. After passing a while in this way she became quite silent, merged in samadhi. Yogin-Ma, then shut the door and walked away. When she returned there after some time, the Mother asked her, ‘Are you just come (from the Master)?’ Yogin-Ma now got an opportunity for twitting the Mother for sending her on a useless errand and said, ‘How so, Mother? Didn’t you say you didn’t have spiritual ecstasies?’ The Mother smiled bashfully to cover up the exposure.
At times Yogin-Ma spent a night with the Mother. She preferred to have a separate bed; but the Mother drew her to herself, so that they both shared the same bed. One night somebody was playing on a flute. The Mother was in the grip of a spiritual mood produced by that music, and she sat up and began laughing by fits and starts. Yogin-Ma, too, sat up and withdrew herself to one corner of the bed thinking, ‘I am a householder; I should not touch her now.’ The Mother came round after a long time.
1. Hamsa-Hamsi in Bengali. Hamsa means both swan and soul. The word Parama-hamsa means a great soul, and is applied to the world-renouncing monks like Paramahamsa Ramakrishna. Hence hamsa-hamsi means, by a pun, Ramakrishna and his wife.
1. Bhairava is an aspect of Siva. In dress and outer appearance he is terrible; but he is also a protector of the supplicant. Bhairavas and Bhairavis are mendicants who follow his cult.
1. Maternal uncle of Ravana.
1. Much later, when the Mother was asked about it, she replied quite innocently, ‘Ah, my. dear, could I imagine that events would take such a big turn! That thing was mislaid and I couldn’t trace it.’ We must remember that during the Master’s illness and after, the Mother was in such great trouble that she could not take care of her personal belongings.
1. Bengali society, in those days, did not allow high-born women to leave the inner apartments or talk and sing loudly. That was a matter of propriety and family honour. The Master was here showing his respect for the local custom. Similarly, when at Kamarpukur a big hole wide as a window was made in the bedroom wall, he ordered it be closed at once, since it opened on the public road behind. But the same Master asked the Holy Mother to walk from Dakshineswar to Calcutta to see the ailing wife of Balaram Babu; and at another time sent two ladies to the market place to buy some vegetables. Besides, he arranged for the Mother’s literary education. He came to fulfil and not to destroy.
1. A mantra for japa consists of two parts, the seed (Bija) or the special secret letter of the particular deity and a very small prayer or salutation in Sanskirt to the deity concerned. The initiated disciple goes on repeating this mantra at stated hours of the day. The number of repetitions varies according to circumstances, but a thousand or two thousand repetitions are quite common.
2. Literally means power, God conceived as an expression of energy, in all planes of existence—physical, vital, mental, moral and spiritual. Kali and others are particular manifestations of this Sakti.
1. She said on another occasion, ‘Do you think my complexion was like this before? I was very beautiful at one time. At first I was not very stout; then (after the Master’s passing away) I became so.’
1. Kalighat is the quarter where the well-known Kali temple in south Calcutta stands. Pilgrims visit the place in large numbers, and many girls of the priestly families become extrovert by frequent contacts with such strangers and by being worshipped by them as emblems of Sakti.
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