A TRANSCENDENTAL PRESENCE

As a sign of cognizing the Lord when He incarnates Himself on this earth it is said in the Gita (X. 13):

All the saints declare you, as also does the divine saint Narada

Thus also do Asita, Devala, and Vyasa; and you yourself admit this to me.

We saw how the Master worshipped the Mother as a goddess, how he showed reverence towards her in various ways, and how he pointed out her divinity to the devotees. This was also declared times without number by Swami Vivekananda and the disciples of the Master. We shall adduce one more illustration of Swami Vivekananda’s respectful reference to her, and then pass on to a consideration of the admission of this fact by the Mother herself.

When seated for initiating Sri Surendranath Sen, the great Swami refused, saying that he had known from the Master that Surendranath would be initiated by one mightier than himself. A few days later, Surendranath dreamt that he was seated on the Master’s lap and was receiving the mantra from a motherly woman. Long after this in 1911, Surendranath went to Jayrambati during the worship of Durga; and there he was initiated by the Mother. Finding the new mantra and the mantra of the dream identical and the woman of the dream the same as the Holy Mother in front of him, Surendranath almost lost his outer consciousness. Later, he told the Mother everything about his dream.

The Master spoke of the Mother as the goddess Saraswati come down to impart wisdom, of which we had enough proof in the last chapter. But though this may succinctly describe one of her very important aspects, her personality is by no means circumscribed by this. Generally speaking, she was shy and soft by nature; but at times she could be bold and hard too. This aspect cannot be called terrific, but it can be described as ‘ softer than a flower and yet harder than flint’, which phrase was used by an Indian poet to mark the characteristics of the supermen. In this connection the reader may remember the incident of the mad Harish, and a few more are presented here to make the point clear.

On a summer evening, the Mother sat telling her rosary on the upper verandah of the ‘Udbodhan’ overlooking an open space across the road in front, where some people of the labouring class had set up some huts for their families. In one of those huts a man was beating his wife mercilessly. He started with fisticuffs and slaps; then he gave her such a kick that she rolled down into the courtyard with the babe in her arms. There again came down upon her a volley of heavy kicks. The Mother’s japa stopped. And though she was noted for her suavity and soft, low voice, which could hardly be heard from the ground-floor, she now stood up holding the railing and scolding the man at the top of her voice, ‘I say, you wretch, will you kill your wife outright? Alas, what a pity!’ The man had lost his balance out of extreme anger, to be sure; but a look at that motherly figure acted on him like a charm on a hooded snake; he lowered his head and retreated at once. The Mother’s sympathy made the woman now burst into a torrent of tears. Her fault was that she had not cooked rice at the proper time. A little later, the man’s anger subsided, and he came to the woman to console her. At this, all the people who had gathered there on the Mother’s verandah, moved away to their respective duties.

Taking advantage of the absence of the Master’s nephew Sivaram from his village, his wife wanted, in collusion with the village potentates, to marry her little daughter Panchi to a family supposed to be comparatively lower in social position; and lest someone should undo her plan, she kept the child locked up in a room Finding Ramlal, the other nephew of the Master, in an embarrassing position, Sri Prabodh Chatterji of Arambagh and another devotee of Jayrambati skilfully released the child and carried her to Jayrambati before nightfall. They had done this without the Mother’s knowledge; but after arriving there, they related everything to her to free their conscience from the sense of guilt. The first thing that the Mother wanted to know from them was whether this had the support of her elder nephew Ramlal. When they replied in the affirmative, she said that they need not worry any more. In the course of the conversation Prabodh Babu expressed his misgiving that the village dignitaries might take offence and create difficulties in future about the construction of the temple of the Master at Kamarpukur. Of course, that was not a very serious matter in his estimation, for the Master did not care for temples and memorials; besides there was no dearth of either even in those days. This remark hurt the Mother, and she said, ‘How do you speak, my dear boy? The birth-place of the Master is a sacred place, a seat of his constant presence, and a holy resort for pilgrims. Should one speak of it in such a strain?’ Prabodh Babu again apprehended that brother Sivaram’s wife might go off her head and set fire to the

houses. This made the Mother remark in an unusually sharp, drawling tone, ‘It will be fine if it happens; it will be fine if it happens! It will be just as the Master liked. He liked funeral places, and all will be turned into a crematory. ’ And she burst out into a peal of laughter, in which the others present also joined at first; but as it persisted for long and by stages developed into a side-splitting roar, the    others,    filled with a

supernatural awe, stopped and looked on with trepidation. The very next moment she stopped and broached other topics to divert their attention.

Many are the devotees who were struck with wonder by the sudden expression of    the    Mother’s transcendental moods in the midst of ordinary human preoccupations. These emerged so unawares, like flashes of lightning, and the Mother composed herself so quickly that the devotees got hardly any time to fathom them adequately. And yet the impression became irresistible that divinity was the essential component of that extraordinary character over which there was a veneer of womanishness to make her life a going concern. Brahmachari Gagan (Ritananda) noticed more than once that, whenever her divine side had the upper hand, it created all around a supernatural atmosphere which by an irresistible magnetic force transported all within its orbit to a higher plane for the time being. One morning, at about nine o’clock, he sat on the Mother’s verandah at Jayrambati, chewing some fried-rice, while the Mother swept the verandah. Just then somebody was heard calling from outside, ‘Mother dear, may it please you to give me alms!’ At this the Mother said aside, ‘I can’t finish my duties, working though I am with innumerable hands!’ Attracted by an ethereally soft and compassionate voice, no sooner did Gagan look up at her face than she stopped her broom and bending forward with one hand on her knees she said with a beaming face, ‘Look at the fun; I have only two hands; and here I speak of having infinite hands!’

The Mother’s life of motherliness and spiritual ministration may be considered from one point of view as only emanations from the basic fact of her divinity. True it is that the Hindu scriptures enjoin the worship of mothers and spiritual teachers as divinities. But in the life we are pursuing, the devotees came face to face with such superhuman pity, piety, purity, protective power, etc., that irrespective of what the scriptures might enjoin, they instinctively offered their heart-felt devotion and allegiance at the feet of this extraordinary personage who appeared to them as none other than the Universal Mother. Naturally, these expressions of love and adoration had nothing in them of deliberate formalities, but only of a spontaneous hankering for taking shelter under her and opening out their minds for her to read and to guide them as she would.

Some saw the Mother as a goddess in dreams, which however appeared to them nonetheless real on that account. A woman disciple named Sumati dreamt that she was worshipping the Mother as the goddess Chandi by offering her a cloth with a broad, red border. She then came to the Mother with such a piece of cloth, but as she could not express her desire out of shyness, she communicated the anecdote to the Mother through an intermediary. On hearing this the Mother smiled and said, ‘The Universal Mother sent you the dream, don’t you agree, my dear? Well, give me the cloth; it has to be worn anyway. ’ She wore it that very night (third week of October 1918) as it was holy to Lakshmi, the goddess of fortune. In the evening there came an old woman with all the accessories for the worship of the goddess and with these she adored the Mother, and then saluted her after offering an anna at her feet. The Mother said to the others present, ‘Alas! She is in great tribulation, my dears, she is very poor.’ The woman’s only son had become insane after graduation and was nowhere to be traced; and the husband too was as good as mad because of that shock. The Mother blessed her sincerely.

Some may argue that though the Mother practically admits her divinity in

the two foregoing instances, yet this avowal is so inextricably mixed up with her solicitousness for avoiding any disappointment in the minds of the devout or afflicted souls, that such examples should not be cited as indubitable proofs of her admission of divinity. Still we have to remember that we are engaged in this book in depicting the Mother’s character in full; and we ask our devout readers not to leave this interesting pursuit all of a sudden, but to comprehend her personality in all its variety and amplitude. We are in the presence of a life above and beyond the human level, in the comprehension of which reverence is more helpful than rashness, and faith more than a frivolous display of one’s intelligence. That is how our progress will be ensured, and we shall be vouchsafed more eloquent revelations.

The Mother was once coming to Jayrambati from Kamarpukur long after the passing away of the Master. Her nephew Sivaram, who was then very young, followed her with a bundle of clothes. When they reached the field in the vicinity of Jayrambati, some idea crossed Sivaram’s mind and he stood still. The Mother, not knowing his mood, proceeded a little and then, missing the sound of his footsteps, looked back to find him motionless. She said with amazement, ‘What’s the matter, Sivu? Come forward.’ ‘If you tell me one thing,’ said brother Sivaram, ‘then only shall I proceed.’ ‘What’s that?’ inquired the Mother. ‘Will you tell me who you are?’ put in Sivaram. ‘Who should I be? I am your aunt,’ pleaded the Mother. ‘Then go,’ said Sivaram nonchalantly. ‘Here you are near your house. I won’t proceed further.’ The sun was setting; and so in a worried tone the Mother said, ‘Look at that! Who can I indeed be, my dear? I am a woman, your aunt.’ ‘Very good,’ persisted Sivaram. ‘You can as well go.’ Finding Sivaram still standing at his post, the Mother said at last, ‘People say, I am Kali.’ To be doubly sure Sivaram asked, ‘Kali? Truly so?’ The Mother said, ‘Yes.’ That delighted Sivaram, and he said, ‘Now, come, let us go.’ Then he followed her to the village.

On hearing that the Mother would be starting for Calcutta in the middle of February 1920, Sivaram came to her one day at about eleven o’clock and told her after saluting her that he would not return that day to Kamarpukur, as he had finished all work for the day at the shrine of Raghuvira including worship and laying Him to sleep. This displeased the Mother, and she asked him to return that very day to do those things over again according to traditional form and in proper time. And she told Brahmachari Varada to pack up for him some fruits and vegetables. At three in the afternoon she called Varada again to instruct him to accompany Sivaram with the bundle up to the river Amodar. This he did. But a little later, Sivaram was seen crying with his head on the Mother’s feet ‘Mother, tell me what will be my lot? Do tell me.’ The Mother said, ‘Sivu, get up; why should you worry? You have served the Master so much, and how greatly he loved you! What anxiety need you have? You are already free even in this life.’ But Sivaram persisted, ‘No, you take over my burden, and tell me if you are really what you earlier told me you were.’ The more the Mother consoled him and patted him touching his head and chin, the more he cried and said, ‘Assure me whether you have accepted all my burden, and whether you are Mother Kali Herself.’ The Mother had been moved by Sivaram’s tears and tenacity; now his yearning produced so great a change in her that it struck Varada standing by her, that she was at that moment no human being. In that elevated state she laid her hand on Sivaram’s head and said solemnly, ‘Yes, that’s so.’ Sivaram at once lifted his head and kneeling before her chanted with folded hands the mantra of salutation from the Chandi, ‘ Sarva-mangala-mangalye, etc. The Mother kissed him by touching his chin with her hand; and he wiped away his tears and started for Kamarpukur, his eyes beaming with delight, and the bundle of fruits and vegetables under his arm. At the Mother’s bidding, Varada went for the second time to help him with the bundle up to the river. Outside the village Sivaram turned happily towards Varada and said, ‘Brother, Mother is Kali Herself. She’s the wielder of people’s destiny; through her grace comes freedom Do you understand?’

At this stage, the Mother declares her divinity not only indirectly through action, but also by word of mouth. If it be contended that even here the avowal is not voluntary inasmuch as it was occasioned by Sivaram’s obstinacy, then we may point out that the third person who happened to be there did not understand the Mother’s declaration as mere empty words for mollifying Sivaram. Rather he accepted it as a solemn and sincere avowal. Moreover, on the second occasion the Mother was not helpless; she could afford to deny; and such denials were not quite unknown. Whenever a devotee’s assertion seemed to be nothing more than idle fancy or baser sycophancy, the Mother never stooped to encourage such morbid sentimentalism, but rather denounced it severely, though there too a discriminating mind could discern the underlying truth that her depreciation was not tantamount to a denial of divinity, but emphasized her preference for playing the human role more thoroughly for some reasons best known to herself.

In her everyday dealings, the unassuming Mother claimed no higher position for herself than that of an ordinary mortal consecrated to the service of the Master; and that fact she impressed indelibly on all who came into contact with her. After initiation she pointed to the Master and said, ‘He it is that is the guru.’ In the course of conversation her divine mood might steal upon her surreptitiously; yet in the work-a-day world she never consciously allowed it any sway. When one day during her last illness, an old woman devotee began eulogizing her by saying, ‘You are the Mother of the Universe, you are all’, there descended on the devotee this burst of harsh rebuff, ‘Tut, tut, “Mother of the Universe!” I am what I am just because he granted me refuge at his feet through his mercy. “You are the Mother of the Universe, you are such-and-such!” Get out of this place.’ In fact, though she was too soft to touch anyone in matters of belief, she could never tolerate flattery.

One day at Jayrambati, the portion dealing with the Master’s marriage was being read from the Bengali poetical work Sri Sri Ramakrishna Punthi before the Mother and some others, on the verandah of her house. As that portion depicted her as the Mother of the Universe and was eloquent with her praise, she left the place.

Before starting for the South, the Mother was, one noon, sitting absent-mindedly at Kothar and thinking alone about the miseries of the world and the Master’s repeated incarnations for its redemption. When an attendant came there, she said to him, ‘So the Master comes again and again — the same moon every night. There’s no escape, he is caught in it. As they say,

Coming many a time and oft, you get sorrows upon sorrows;

And how long still would you endure this pain?

Is that the lot only of men? It is that of the Master as well. So I have been thinking. I see no end to this. What suffering for the Master! Who will understand?’ The attendant suggested, ‘Why of the Master alone, Mother? It’s yours, too. The Master and you are really one.’ ‘Fie!’ admonished the Mother. ‘Should one utter such a thing, my foolish boy! I am only his servant. Did you not read, “You are the mechanic, and I the machine; you the housewife, and I the house; I work as you make me do”? The Master is all; there’s none but he.’

Some readers may be thinking, ‘This much is enough for us to draw our own inference: “The Mother did not think of herself as an avatar nor did she preach this. The Master alone is the avatar. But the Mother deserves a very high position in the religious history of the world by her being the consort of the Master, the spiritual guide of many, and a dynamic centre of inspiration for the life divine.”’ We would plead with such readers for a little more patience and indulgence; for the logic of events forces us further ahead. In illustrations of this we may cite the case of Sailabala Chaudhury who asked the Mother, ‘Mother, you instructed me as to how I should do the japa of the Master’s name; how shall I do yours?’ The Mother replied, ‘You may do so (thinking of me) as Radha or any other (goddess) — in fact, under any guise you find convenient. If you can’t conceive of me as anybody else, it will do to think (of me) as simply the Mother.’ On another occasion she said to a disciple, ‘Now that you have come here, you must have done so with some special attitude; you might have come thinking (of me) as the Universal Mother. ’

There are many instances of such tacit disclosures in the course of events or of conversations. In 1919, when Varada was bringing Doctor Prabhakar Mukherji from Arambagh for the treatment of the mother of the widow of Navasan, then on her death-bed at Koalpara, Sri Manindra Bose of the same town accompanied them in a bullock-cart. The scorching midday sun made them all thirsty and so Manindra requested Varada to obtain from the adjoining village some cucumbers and watery roots. Varada searched from door to door, but failed to get these fruits or roots; and then he plucked some green mangoes from a wayside tree, which were so sour that none but village-folk could touch them ‘Where are the roots?’ inquired Manindra. Varada replied in fun, ‘When no cucumber or root could be had even after ransacking the village, then suddenly the memory of the Treta-yuga bounced upon my mind, and I threw

stones to pluck the mangoes.¹ Now you can quench your thirst at will.’ Needless to say, that without salt nobody could utilize those fruits. When they reached Koalpara and related the whole incident to the Mother, she smiled broadly and said, ‘Yes, my boys, “Each belongs to his own (fold) and incarnates as such in every age.” How can I have all these works of mine done unless they are there? Depending on them I have been living here in this forest, amidst dangers, with Radhu in her present condition.’

One day at the end of 1909, a monastic disciple was regretting to the Mother that even after so much of experience and experiment, he had not been able to believe her to be his own mother. The Mother assured him, ‘If not your own (mother), why should you be coming so often? “Each belongs to his own (fold) and incarnates as such in every age.” (I am) your own mother, as you will recognize in time.’

In domestic dealings or conversations with common people there were sudden disclosures of this real nature of the Mother. During her last stay at Jayrambati, the woman who served as cook came to her one night at nine o’clock to say that she had touched a dog. As touching the dog is polluting according to the Hindus, she would have to bathe in that winter night. The Mother said, ‘Don’t bathe so late in the night. Wash your hands and feet and change the cloth.’ But she protested, ‘How can that suffice?’ The Mother suggested, ‘Then take Ganges water,’ But as this too was not adequately purifying according to the cook, the Holy Mother, who was holiness itself, said at last, ‘Then touch

me.’ This opened the eyes of the cook, and for the time being she was saved from her mania for purity, as also from an uncomfortable cold bath.

When the Mother was engaged in her worship at the ‘Udbodhan’, the mad aunt went on abusing her. After the worship, the Mother looked at her and said, ‘What a lot of persons there are who meditate and perform austerity and yet can’t get me; and you miss me even though you have got me!’ At Banaras the mad aunt had cursed the Mother the whole night, saying, ‘Let my sister-in-law depart, let my sister-in-law die.’ With reference to this the Mother said in the morning, ‘My youngest sister-in-law does not know that I am deathless.’

Self-revelation and self-concealment alternate in the unfolding of the Mother’s life. From distant parts people pour in to worship her as a goddess and yet the villagers understand nothing of this — to them she is ever their aunt, their sister, or niece, and nothing more. Once a villager put the question to her, ‘ So many people come to see you from such distant lands; and yet why can’t we understand you?’ The Mother replied, ‘What does it matter, if you can’t? You are my friends, and so I am yours.’ The village watchman Ambika said, ‘People call you goddess, deity, and what not; as for us, we understand nothing of that.’ The Mother said, ‘Why need you understand? You are my brother Ambika and I am your sister Sarada.’ She kept herself informed of the weal and woe of the villagers and identified herself with these. Once a monk, who had just returned from famine relief activities in the Bankura district, was giving to the Mother an account of the work done by the Ramakrishna Mission. After hearing him through, she moved her hand in a circle around and said, ‘Mind you, my son, by the grace of Mother Simhavahini, there’s nothing of all this (distress) within this area (Jayrambati).’ The monk said, ‘I know nothing of Simhavahini. It’s because of your presence that there is nothing of that here.’ The Mother kept silent.

Harassed by the tyranny of her relatives, she said one day at Jayrambati, ‘I warn you, don’t you molest me too much. If the being that is within this body should once raise its hood, then not even Brahma, Vishnu, or Maheshwara will have any power to save you. ’ At another time she said to a devotee with reference to Radhu’s behaviour at Koalpara, ‘I tell you, my daughter, know this body (pointing to her own) to be divine. How much mere of mortification can this put up with? Can anyone but the Deity endure so much? I tell you, my dear, none of them will understand me so long as I am here; they will understand everything hereafter. ’ How can mere mortals recognize the Goddess who descended as a woman, unless She Herself made it known? The Great Mother descends on earth to teach people love and devotion; but in consideration of the limited faculty of man, She has to cover up Her divinity sufficiently to make it appealing and comprehensible to the human heart and intellect. And as a result of the interplay of these opposing factors; She continues to be unrevealed to the generality of men; and only a fortunate few can understand Her. One day (September 1918) Nalini Devi asked the Mother before two women disciples, ‘Well, aunt, people call you the Indwelling Entity; are you really so?’ The Mother only smiled a little. But when Nalini pressed her question again, she said, ‘They say so out of devotion. Who indeed can I be, my dear? The Master is all. You pray to the Master so that I may not fall a victim to egotism’ This humility and attempt at self-concealment made one of the women devotees burst out laughing, and in the course of the conversation she remarked, ‘There are many who call the Mother, the Universal Mother; but the Master alone knows how deep anyone’s faith is. In the mouths of unbelieving people this sounds like parrot-like repetition.’ The Mother joined in the laugh and said, ‘That’s true enough, my dear.’ The woman further said that none could understand the Mother unless she made herself known out of her mercy. And then she added, ‘And yet the Mother’s divinity consists in this that in her there’s no trace of egoism. All mortals are full of self-conceit. See, for instance, how thousands of people prostrate themselves at her feet calling her, “You are Lakshmi, you are the Mother of the Universe.” If the Mother were a mortal, this would puff her up with pride. Can a mere mortal digest so much of honour?’ The Mother only cast a smiling glance at the devotee.

We now turn to an incident of the old Dakshineswar days. Yogin-Ma had then become very intimate with the Mother. One day the Mother asked her, ‘Yogin, do you worship with dry bel leaves?’ Yogin-Ma used to pluck green bel leaves from the trees at Dakshineswar and offer them in her worship even after they became dry; and hence she replied, ‘Yes, Mother. But how could you know this?’ Cheerfully the Mother said, ‘This morning during meditation I saw you offering dry bel leaves to m …’, and without completing the word she quickly concluded, ‘during your worship.’ The intelligent Yogin-Ma looked astonished at the Mother, who blushed and held her in a warm embrace. That created in the latter’s mind the impression of her own daughter Ganu holding her in her arms; and not knowing what she did, she held the Mother fast to her bosom and kissed her. When she returned to her senses she saluted the Mother and took the dust of her feet. The Mother also left the place and stood out on the verandah of the Nahabat.

When the inquirer belonged to a high level of spirituality, the Mother admitted her divinity without reservation. Once Swami Tanmayananda worshipped the Mother’s feet at Jayrambati and placed them over his head. But the Mother forbade him to do so, explaining that the Master stays in the head, God Himself sits on the thousand-petalled lotus there. The Swami at once asked her, ‘If the Master is God Himself, who are you then?’ Without the least hesitation the Mother replied, ‘Who else should I be? I, too, am the Divine Mother. ’

In this connection we recollect her placing her own photograph by the side of the Master’s at Koalpara and worshipping both, of which we have written earlier.

During the Christmas holidays of 1910, a candidate for initiation offered flowers at the Mother’s feet at Kothar and then presented her a piece of cloth and a rupee. The Mother declined the gift saying, ‘You are in straitened circumstances and have your own wants. Why then, this offering?’ The devotee explained that the money belonged to the Mother; and if a little portion of a son’s earning could be utilized for the service of his mother, he should feel thankful.’ At this the Mother said, ‘Ah! What love, my dear, what love!’ The devotee had heard from others, ‘The Mother is Kali Herself, the Primal Energy, the Deity.’ He wanted a confirmation of this from the Mother herself; for the Gita speaks of such a self-avowal. Hence he said to the Mother, ‘I believe what I have heard of you. Yet if you yourself tell me so, I can be free from any lingering doubt. I want to learn from your own words, whether that is true.’ The Mother said, ‘Yes, it is so.’

In 1913, at Jayrambati, Radhu fell ill after Bhudev’s marriage, and the Mother was by her side, feeding her with milk, when the mad aunt came and sat near by. Radhu did not want her ‘Bald mummy’ to be there and so she pushed her a little, when, as chance would have it, the aunt’s feet touched the Mother’s hand slightly. This disrespect shown to the Mother, unintentional though it was, made the aunt uneasy, and instead of laying the blame on herself she shifted it to the Mother and said, ‘Why did you touch my feet with your hand? Dear me! What will now be my lot!’ The Mother laughed heartily at this queer expostulation. Brahmachari Rashbihari, who was there, said, ‘Though the mad one abuses and dishonours the Mother, she is yet afraid of touching the Mother’s hand with her feet!’ The Mother explained, ‘My son, didn’t Ravana know that Rama was none other than Brahman in Its fullness — Narayana Himself; and that Sita was the Primal Energy — Mother of the Universe?¹ Yet he came to play that part! Does she not know me? She knows everything, and yet she comes to play this role.’

Out of consideration for certain devotees she seemed to be unconsciously revealing her true stature. When Vaikuntha went to see the Mother at Kamarpukur, Ramlal and Lakshmi Devi were also there. At the time of bidding good-bye to the devotee the Mother suddenly said, ‘Vaikuntha, call on me!’ and the next moment she checked herself and said, ‘Call on the Master; calling on him means calling on all.’

Lakshmi Devi, who heard it all, protested, ‘No, Mother, should you speak thus? This is very wrong on your part. If you wheedle the boys thus, what will they do?’ The Mother pleaded, ‘Why, what have I done?’ Lakshmi Devi replied, ‘This very moment you told Vaikuntha, “Call on me,” and again you say, “Call on the Master.”’ The Mother argued, ‘Calling on the Master is certainly as good as calling on all.’ Not silenced by the Mother’s logic, Lakshmi Devi impressed it on Vaikuntha that what he had heard that day from the Mother was very valuable; it was a declaration as well as a direction by the Mother herself, so that Vaikuntha should call on the Mother. The Mother listened without further objection.

A woman devotee asked, ‘Why can we not realize that you are the Goddess?’ The Mother replied, ‘Can all and sundry do so, my dear? There lay a piece of diamond on a flight of steps (of a tank). Every one took it for an ordinary stone, rubbed his feet against it after bath and went away. One day a jeweller came to those steps and discovered that it was an exceptionally large and priceless diamond.’ How few discovered the real stature of the Mother! To whom, therefore, was she to disclose her identity; and even if she did so, who would believe her? Hence her references to this fact seemed, often enough, halting or ambiguous. And yet at times, there was no hesitation, she avowed her divinity then frankly enough. Kedar said once, ‘Mother, nobody will care for the goddesses Shashthi, Sitala, etc., after you.’ The Mother replied, ‘Why should they not? They are only my own parts.’ Another day, Kedar was talking with the Mother at the Jagadamba-Ashrama at Koalpara, when some people came to offer worship to Shasthi under a nearby banyan tree to the accompaniment of beating of drums. As this interfered with the conversation, Kedar said in disgust, ‘Ah! Why don’t you stop, my fellows!’ The Mother at once interceded, ‘How you behave, Kedar! I indeed am all! Why do you get irritated?’

Now we proceed to record some incidents from the Mother’s life which were not only authentic evidences of her divine power according to the devotees who personally witnessed them but were calculated to intensify other people’s faith and devotion and thus help their spiritual development. These may not appear as so very presentable or noteworthy to people who are swayed by modern rationality and so-called scientific outlook; they may be considered devitalizing and interdictable by the shrewd politicians who aim at basing society on mere ethics and utility. We are also aware that in the lives and teachings of the Master, the Mother, and their blessed children, spirituality in its purest form had the pride of place while super normal powers were considered as unwelcome intruders. Yet, as impartial biographers, we cannot ignore these facts. While presenting these, we leave the readers free to evaluate them and ascertain their meaning according to their personal likes and dislikes. Such anecdotes are to be met with in superhuman characters all over the world and in all ages. People round whose lives spread such ideas and beliefs must have something unique in them We frankly admit without any hesitation that we cannot prove to others’ satisfaction the genuineness of these facts. But if some people cannot be convinced of the truth, there is no reason why we should reject the testimony of others. This is the only excuse under which we take shelter here.

Professor Gokuladas De, then studying for the B. A. degree, once fell ill and as a consequence stopped going to the college for some time. Master Mahashaya took this opportunity to teach him to read the Chandi in a sweet musical tone; and Gokuladassoon learnt it. One day, when out on the morning walk by the Ganges, he found the Mother sitting rapt in japa and meditation on the lowest of the steps leading down to the water. Gokuladas began chanting the verses of the Chandi in his newly acquired tune in such a low voice that there was no possibility of his being heard by the Mother from so far below. When he intoned the verse, ‘Saumya –saumya – tarasesha – saumye – bhyas – tvatisundari’¹, the Mother turned back to find the devotee there, raised both her hands in token of blessing, and then got merged in her japa again.

The professor records another experience thus: ‘During the few years that I had acquaintance with her (Mother), she never asked me such questions as where my house was, how I was engaged, how many brothers we were, or who my father was. But one day when I went to salute her, it was astonishing to hear her mention by names my two brothers and ask how they were. As she referred to one of them as Nalin instead of Lalit, I thought that it was a slip of tongue and I smiled. But when I told this fact to my mother on returning home, she said, “The Mother of the Universe has spoken correctly. His name as a boy was Nalin which was afterwards changed to Lalit”.’ (Udbodhan, Paush, December-January, 1937-38).

R. one day prayed, as he massaged the Mother’s rheumatic feet with an oil, that the disease might be transferred to his body and the Mother be cured. The Mother smiled indulgently and said, ‘What are you thinking, my boy? May you live long. I have grown old; how much longer should I live? Should one think like that? May the Master grant you a long life.’ And she blessed him by touching his head.

At one time in 1918, Sri Lalitmohan Saha became so depressed in mind that, becoming angry with the Master and the Mother, he resolved not to visit the Mother any more. But pressed by friends, he had to go to the ‘Udbodhan’. That day many devotees saluted the Mother, with none of whom she talked. Last of all she saw her petulant devotee and asked him, ‘Are you well?’ Ironically he replied, ‘Yes, Mother, very well, indeed!’ In answer the Mother smiled benignly on him and said endearingly, ‘How’s that, my boy! That is the nature of the mind. Should one behave like this just because of that?’

In 1915, when Sri Mahendranath Gupta reached Jayrambati, he had it in his mind to worship the Mother’s feet with flowers and sandal-paste, though he could not imagine how he could procure these in an unknown place. Just then the Mother sent him some flowers and sandal-paste through a little niece of hers, through whom also she told him, ‘If that boy wants to offer flowers, he can come now to do so. ’

Swami Tanmayananda, while on his way from Koalpara to Jayrambati, thought within himself that if he could do some little service to the Mother he would be fortunate. Reaching there he found her sitting with her legs stretched and a pot of oil nearby. Tanmayananda began massaging her feet with the oil, and the Mother instructed him as to how each part of the legs was to be rubbed. When the devotee had served her in this manner to his heart’s content for about twenty-five minutes, the Mother said, ‘I hope you are now satisfied. Let me now go in for bath; I have to worship the Master. ’

One afternoon, Prafullamukhi Bose found on reaching the ‘Udbodhan’ that the widow of Navasan was bringing in the Mother’s quilt, mattress, etc., from the terrace, inserting them into their covers and then spreading the bed. She thought within herself, ‘If I could but get this work to do!’ As soon as the widow of Navasan left, the Mother entered the room and glancing at the bed said, ‘Do you notice, my daughter, how she has muddled everything! She has used one cover for another. You, my good girl, change the covers and do the bed over again.’ Prafullamukhi had her wish fulfilled.

One day, in July, Swami Mahadevananda went to Haldi-pukur at the Mother’s bidding to purchase some kerosene oil, flour, etc., weighing altogether more than eighty pounds. As the Mother had not asked him to engage any bearer, he carried the load on his head. The road was slushy and slippery and the load seemed to become heavier at every step, till at last he could bear it no longer. Nevertheless, he resolved not to yield to any weakness; and astonishingly enough, as he stepped forward with this determination and cleared a hurdle immediately in front, the burden became lighter, so that he covered the remaining distance without any trouble. But this sudden change set him thinking about the cause; and as he entered the Mother’s house in a pensive mood, he found her pacing up and down her verandah with a flushed face and scared eyes, and saying to herself, ‘Why did I not ask him to engage a porter?’ When Mahadevananda took down the burden, she said, ‘You should have taken a porter. What did it matter if I had not said so? Should one walk that way?’ Some incidents prove her foresight and premonition. When Vaikuntha was going away from Jayrambati after paying his respects to the Mother, she said, ‘You go home straight from here; you needn’t now go to the (Belur) Math or anywhere else. Go home and serve your parents; this is the time for serving your father.’ At the time of leaving home Vaikuntha had seen his father in normal health; but on returning there, he found him on his deathbed. The old man passed away in a week’s time.

Swami Mahadevananda went to Jayrambati from Koalpara with a basket of vegetables. When he was about to return, the Mother forbade him saying, ‘Don’t go; it will rain soon.’ The Swami paid no heed and started after some light refreshment. The Mother followed him outside to show him the clouds in the sky; but there was not a single patch, Mahadevananda saluted her and laughed heartily as he walked on. But as he crossed the Amodar and was in the open field of Desra he was caught in such a heavy shower that he was completely drenched and had to run for shelter into the house of a low-caste poor man.

The Mother was busy packing her things on the day preceding the Durga worship of 1912; for she was to start for Banaras just after the festival. At noon the sister of the poet-dramatist Girishchandra Ghosh came to make her obeisance. When taking leave she said, ‘Good-bye, Mother.’ Absent-mindedly the Mother replied, ‘Yes, you can go.’ As soon as she had descended the steps, the Mother thought, ‘What an evil thing I have uttered, I said “go¹”! I never speak to anybody thus.’ As ill luck would have it, that lady passed away that very night. The news made the Mother extremely sorry and she said, ‘What a pity that such a thing slipped out of my lips!’

The Mother initiated Sri Hemchandra Dasgupta at Jayrambati and taught him how to keep count of the number of japa with the fingers. But as he could not master the process, she said, ‘You will learn it from Suren.’ Suren Babu then lived at Ranchi and Hem Babu would be going to his own post at Chittagong, the two places being diametrically opposite. Hence he said, ‘How can that be?’ The Mother simply said, ‘Well, it will somehow come to pass.’ And most astonishingly, they met each other in the steamer at Goalunda— Suren Babu was going from Ranchi to Dacca.

Before the passing away of the Master’s disciple Purnachandra Ghosh, the Mother remarked at seeing his mother coming to her at the ‘Udbodhan’, ‘There she comes. What does she mean by coming to vex me everyday saying, “Mother bestow your blessing, cure Puma”? I know it as a certainty that Purna won’t recover; yet to console them I have to say that he will.’ That day, too, Purnachandra’s mother saluted the

Mother, repeated her prayer and had in return a few words of solace. When she left, the Mother remarked, ‘The Master had warned, “He won’t live long if he is married.” She didn’t mind it then; she hurriedly married him, lest he should become a monk.’ Some days later, the Mother, Yogin-Ma, and others lay down for rest after the evening service, and the Mother fell asleep. Suddenly she started up and said, ‘Is Purna dead, Yogin?’ Much astonished, Yogin-Ma asked ‘Who told you, Mother?’ The Mother replied, ‘I was asleep and I suddenly heard somebody saying that Purna had died.’ Yogin-Ma then confirmed that the mishap had really occurred in the afternoon (November 1913) though she had not been informed. That night the Mother kept on sorrowing for this beloved disciple of the Master.

The Mother’s blessing for her disciples was infallible. Sri Pumachandra Bhaumik was once in some great difficulty in his service, which might lead to his being gaoled. He related the whole affair to the Mother, who, however, held out the hope, ‘There’s no cause for fear; you need have no anxiety. ’ He soon overcame the difficulty.

Sri Surendranath Roy of Bari sal was once attacked with a deadly disease which was diagnosed as tuberculosis and his life was despaired of. But he had a strong desire to see the Mother before he left this world. Accordingly, he invited her through a letter. In response the Mother sent him a photograph of hers with a bound volume of the Bengali magazine Udbodhan; and she wrote that though it was not possible for her to be personally present, he should look at her photograph and read the volume; furthermore that he would recover from the disease. Surendranath found the real Mother there in the photograph, which he kept at his head. He soon came round.

Owing to continuous drought the crops in the fields of Jayrambati and the neighbouring villages began to be scorched away. The helpless and scared farmers told the Mother, ‘This year, Mother, there’s no hope of keeping our children alive—all will have to die of hunger.’ Their distress moved her, and she went with them to look at the fields. There she could not control her feeling of dismay, and supplicated with extreme humility, ‘Alas, Master! What’s this that you have done! Should every one die of starvation after all?’ That very night rain poured down in torrents and the crop was so successful that year that the peasants had no such happy memory for many years past.

In November 1918, a Brahmachari from Koalpara came down to the groundfloor of ‘Udbodhan’ at about 10 p.m at the call of Swami Saradananda to find Sri Nafarchandra Kole of his village waiting to make obeisance to the

Mother. According to the Swami’s direction the Brahmachari informed the Mother and led the old gentleman to her. There Napharchandra held the feet of the Mother with both hands and with his eyes full of tears said, ‘Mother, I have come to you as I am in imminent danger. Some of my grand-daughters and a grandson have died of influenza. And now some more granddaughters and the only surviving grandson are in precarious condition. Mother, you will have to so ordain it that my line is not broken.’ The Mother said, ‘Dear me! Why should you be so apprehensive? You are a blessed and fortunate man.’ But he still pleaded, ‘No, Mother, I don’t want to hear such platitudes. May I not have to suffer the pangs of separation from my grandson.’ Thus he spoke and wept holding on to her feet all the time. The Mother said, ‘Don’t you be overwhelmed; please get up. Very well, I shall pray to the Master.’ Napharchandra still implored till at last the Mother uttered in a solemn voice, ‘No, you need have no fear.’ That comforted the gentleman; he wiped his tears and went down. The Mother sent two sweet dishes for him, which he accepted, and departed happily. He had his wish fulfilled.

Kshirodebala Roy was a widow from an early age. About a year before she became widowed, she was one day dressing some green papaw for the kitchen, when the juice of the fruits affected her fingers which had been injured a little earlier while getting the nails pared by a barber; so that the fingers became swollen and later developed sores which lasted for some twelve years. Though at times the sores seemed to subside a little, they flared up virulently when in contact with water. After she became acquainted intimately with the Mother she had one of those attacks. She decided, on coming to the Mother one day, that she would not touch her feet with the hands while bowing down to her. But as she noticed another lady wrapping up her hands with the hem of her cloth and touching the Mother’s feet reverentially with those covered hands, she too decided to follow that method, though with herself this was a novelty. This unusual    procedure,

however, did not escape the careful eyes of the Mother, who questioned

Kshirodebala and found out the truth. But instead of taking offence, she said tenderly, ‘My daughter, such is the condition with me nowadays, that I am ever engaged with myself and do not look much to your needs. You worship the Master with this hand, and that’s why the sore persists. Anyway, come with me. Be quick, for they will soon carry away for throwing into the Ganges the flowers etc., that were offered to the Master and the water in which his feet were washed.’ Going to another room she said, ‘There you see, there are all those things in that Kamandalu (ascetic’s water-pot). Insert the whole palm into it.’ That being done she said, ‘The hand will have no more ailment. But try to avoid touching fish, meat, garlic, and onion as far as you can; for you can’t avoid touching these altogether.¹ If you handle these things, there may be a little recurrence of sores. You will be worshipping the Master daily, as a matter of course. When there are those sores, apply the water with which you wash the Master’s feet.’ Kshirodebala got cured by following this treatment. Whenever there was a recrudescence later on, the touch of the holy water cured her immediately.

When Brajeshwari Devi went to Jayrambati for initiation, she had on her arm a silver amulet as a preventive against hysteria. She had fits whenever anybody reminded her of the disease, which lasted for a week or so, the fits starting at evening and continuing long into the night. The sight of the amulet roused the inquisitiveness of the mad aunt. But, intervening, the Mother said that the devotee might have worn it because of some disease, and she should not be embarrassed by useless questions. Then she said to Brajeshwari, ‘My daughter, you need not wear the amulet any longer. This disease will leave you even without your wearing it.’ In fact, she had no attack after this, not even when attending cases of hysteria.

1. According to Hindu mythology there are four ages—Satya (golden), Treta, Dvapara, and Kali (iron). Ramachandra and his wife were born in the Treta-yuga and had the monkeys as their followers and soldiers. Varada here likens himself to one of those tricky monkeys.

1. Ravana, the demon king of Sri Lanka abducted Sita, and Rama killed him. In his previous birth Ravana was a door-keeper of Narayana in heaven, but owing to the curse of an offended brahmin he fell and was born as Ravana. Narayana incarnated as Rama and killed him.

1. ‘Charming, more charming than all charming things; yea surpassingly beautiful.’ Chandi (I. 81).

1. Indians, when taking leave, say, ‘May I come now?’ and the answer given is, ‘Yes, you may come.’ They do not use ‘go’ in this context under the belief that to permit ‘to go’ is as good as asking one to depart from this life.

1. She had to cook for her relatives, though she herself was a strict vegetarian like all orthodox widows.