Sri Ramakrishna Math : The Vedanta Kesari, Swami Subodhananda, the 'Boy Mystic'

Pravrajika Madhavaprana is a senior nun of the Vedanta Society of Northern California. This is an edited and abridged version of her talk delivered on the birth anniversary of Swami Subodhananda last year. This year Swami Subodhananda's birthday will be celebrated on 9 November.

Swami Subodhananda was a direct disciple of Sri Ramakrishna. Admirers of Sri Ramakrishna speak of his direct disciples as extensions of him, parts of his being.

In the 160 years since the Master's death, the disciples of Sri Ramakrishna have spread his blessings far and wide. How have they done this? By living their lives in the spirit of their Master, by initiating and guiding their own disciples in the spiritual life, by expressing his teachings in words, and by building up a world-wide organization for meditation and service which bears their Master's name. They have thus circulated true mysticism among men and women everywhere.

What is mysticism? It is the body of knowledge, the science or art, by which a person can realize his own spiritual ideal, be it God or Self, or Freedom, and thus become a mystic. According to the followers of Ramakrishna-Vedanta, mysticism is the science, the art. Sri Ramakrishna put it very simply. He said, 'The purpose of man's existence is to see God.' Just that. He showed how to be a mystic. He taught that marvellous mystical knowledge to his disciples, and they in turn have passed it on to us. One of these spiritual light bearers is Swami Subodhananda, the 'Boy Mystic'.

We learn spiritual principles best by observing spiritual persons. Probably it is the only way we really learn them. That you have to be as simple and honest as a child in order to see God is a principle clearly demonstrated in the life of Swami Subodhananda, the 'boy mystic'. Other direct disciples of Sri Ramakrishna were childlike, as was the Master himself. But this was so characteristic of Swami Subodhananda that he soon got the nickname Khoka, or 'boy,' which he kept all his life. To his brother disciples he was known as simply Khoka, and by everyone junior to him, he was called Khoka Maharaj, which, loosely speaking, means 'boy-senior swami,' a delightful contradiction in terms.

Even as a senior monk he looked and acted like a boy. He was slight in build, and his face was boyish with a bright smile. He wore a short ochre dhoti, a T-shirt (with no logo), and plain slippers. He sat for meals with the others, washed his own clothes, and did his executive work with no fanfare. Everybody--men, women, children, high or low could approach him. He had a soft spot for the sick and the needy, and he did a great deal of major relief work during his career. He had what one writer calls 'great unostentatiousness,' an elegant term he would surely disclaim. His talk was about Divine subjects put in simple, down-to-earth terms. For example, he used to say you can know God more intensely than a friend walking by your side, and you should talk to Him about your feelings. He spoke from experience.

He was born in 1867 in a very aristocratic Calcutta family, rich and religious. As a child he wanted to be a monk, and he begged his father not to arrange his marriage. Probably hoping the boy would grow out of this notion, his father said they would delay thinking about marriage until after he passed the school final examination. Then only they would go about getting him a bride. Faced with this prospect, Subodh prayed that he should fail in the examination so he would not have to marry. Only a boy would pray to God to flunk an examination, and it would probably happen only in India where two such strong institutions--arranged marriage and monasticism--exist side by side. It was the intelligent thing to appeal to God who would have power over these two institutions. Anyway, it worked. Subodh did poorly in the exam, and his father lost interest in getting him married.

When Subodh was 16, his father gave him a Bengali book of the collected sayings of Sri Ramakrishna, which completely charmed him. He asked his father to take him to meet Sri Ramakrishna, which the father agreed to do on the next convenient Sunday. Subodh, however, could not wait, and persuaded his friend Kshirod to accompany him to Dakshineswar on foot. For the boys it was a long, hot walk in the August sun, made even longer and hotter when they got lost and had to double back. As they finally came to the saint's room, Subodh pushed his friend forward and stood at the back, unsure of what he was getting into. After the Master greeted Kshirod, he asked this other young man, Subodh, hanging back, to come forward. When he did so, Sri Ramakrishna instantly recognized Subodh as a member of the Shankar Ghosh family and, indeed, his own disciple. The Master made Subodh sit beside him and told him, 'You belong to "this place"'. Sri Ramakrishna then closed his eyes in meditation, and, on regaining outer consciousness, assured Subodh that he would realize his spiritual goal--the Divine Mother had told him so. This worked like magic on the boy, and he began speaking to the Master as though they were closely related. Subodh asked the Master, 'If I belong to this place, why didn't you call me earlier?' The Master replied, 'Nothing happens except at the proper time.'

Subodh's year-long training by his great guru was a study in boyish intelligence meeting sophisticated mysticism. Subodh, at 16, was one of the youngest of Sri Ramakrishna's disciples, and one of the last, coming as he did in August of 1885 when the Master's throat cancer began to manifest. The guru knew that his time was short and resorted to some unusual methods of training Subodh. Of course unusual spiritual instruction was nothing new with Sri Ramakrishna, past master of mysticism. His style in training Subodh and the boy's reaction to it was unique to the circumstances then, though, it is enlightening for us to observe today.

The Master told Subodh and his friend to come on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Subodh said those days might not be convenient for him and further, his parents might object. The Master said, 'What can I do? These words have come out of my mouth, and I cannot take them back. I must stick to truth. Please come on Tuesdays and Saturdays.' The next Saturday the boys rushed from school to Dakshineswar. Throughout his life Swami Subodhananda was a stickler for truth, and he did what he said he would do whether or not it was comfortable for himself or others.

Once when Sri Ramakrishna asked Subodh to go and see 'M,' the boy bluntly said, 'He's a householder, he hasn't been able to give up attachments. What can he teach me?' 'No, no,' said the Master, 'he will talk only about God.' When Subodh went to see 'M,' the boy repeated to 'M' what he had said to the Master, and 'M' humbly replied, 'I am nobody, but I live by an ocean of knowledge and bliss, and I keep a few pitchers of it with me to give to people.' Subodh became a frequent visitor to 'M's house and found the conversations with 'M' to be invariably spiritual and uplifting. In later years when Subodh himself became a guru he would teach that in order to keep your mind on God you always can go to a neighbour, read a holy book, and talk about what you have read.

Working rapidly, as he had to, with these new disciples, Sri Ramakrishna gave them spiritual initiaton on their second visit. When the boys arrived, the Master was talking to a roomful of devotees, and he signalled to the boys to wait outside. He came to them, asked them to sit down, and then and there gave them one of his far-out initiations. He wrote the mantra on each of their tongues and stroked their chests from the navel to the throat saying, 'Awake, Mother, awake.' Subodh plunged into a trance and saw a divine light in which gods and goddesses appeared. That light stayed with him for some time, and he told his mother about it. She warned Subodh not to tell anybody lest he lose it. The boy replied, 'I don't want this light, but That from which it came.'

Once the Master asked Subodh, 'What do you think of me?' Subodh answered, 'Many people say many things about you. Some call you an Incarnation of God, but I won't believe anything until I see for myself.' Another time the Master asked him if he meditated, and Subodh said, 'No, I have come to you. I don't have to. I would have gone to a lesser guru to practise meditation'--true to the name Khoka!

After the passing of Sri Ramakrishna, Subodh walked all the way to Banaras, 500 miles away, to restore his peace of mind. Finally he returned and joined the Baranagore Math. Taking the final vows of sannyasa, he became Swami Subodhananda.

When he joined the monastery, Khoka regained his blissful, peaceful state of mind and kept it up to his last day in the Belur Monastery, where he died at the age of 66. His early days in the monastery were an extension of his discipleship under Sri Ramakrishna. He was still learning to be a mystic and a leader of the great organization which bears his Master's name. Living as he did with the other monks led by Swamiji, sometimes on pilgrimage with them, sometimes wandering alone with the Master as his inner guide, Khoka acquired a broad knowledge of spiritual life and service, as well as a deep communion and identity with the Divine.

He used to say that he wasn't doing much of anything, it was the others who were serious. About Baranagore he related, 'Swamiji and others were engaged in deep meditation and japa. I used to wash the dishes, sweep the floor, and do all sorts of household work.' But he added the light touch of a boy to the serious sadhana. He once played a trick on Brother Latu. Latu used to meditate lying down at night while the others were sleeping. Knowing that Latu was wary of ghosts, Khoka put a wet towel above the mosquito net so it could drip, drip, drip and frighten Latu. Latu soon jumped up and called out, 'Sarat, look! That rascal Khoka is trying to scare me!'

The others always used Khoka whenever they needed to call their leader, Swamiji, especially when he was in one of his awesome moods. Khoka used to tell about the time he was sent to bring Swamiji to dinner. Swamiji was lying on his stomach absorbed in a book. Khoka looked over his shoulder, noted the page and closed the book. Swamiji called out, 'Khoka, you rogue, you've lost my place!' 'No, Swamiji,' Khoka said, 'Here it is. But dinner is getting cold, and we are all waiting for you. Please come.' Khoka adored Swamiji, but he was never awed by him.

The Master had put Swamiji in charge, and all the disciples obeyed him. Khoka was one who took to Swamiji's revolutionary plans with great gusto. Perhaps this was because Khoka was like Swamiji in his large-hearted desire to help people. His only doubts were about his own ability to do what Swamiji wanted. Swamiji never doubted Khoka and after his training entrusted him with responsible jobs such as Calcutta plague relief, trustee of the new organization, and manager of Belur Monastery.

Swamiji wanted the monks to learn public speaking in order to spread the Master's message. He desired that each one of them practice speaking and then give a talk before himself and the others. Khoka kept putting off his turn, but Swamiji was firm. Khoka got up to speak on Saturday, June 12, 1897. He opened his mouth and the building rocked violently. It was a big earthquake! Swamiji joked afterward, 'Khoka has given an earth-shaking speech.' Actually, Khoka gave some inspiring talks in his long career. That very year he gave one at Madras entitled, 'Brahmacharya and Sannyasa,' and, although it may not have been so earth-shattering, it was good enough to be published in the Prabuddha Bharata the next year.

Once Swamiji spoke quietly to his younger brother, 'Khoka, I notice you avoid women devotees when they visit here. They only want to hear something about the Master. If you won't talk to them, who will? The Master saw all women as the Divine Mother. Talk to them as you would your own mother and sister.' From then on Khoka would do that. In later years he initiated many women disciples, taking the responsibility for their spiritual welfare.

Swamiji played a trick on his gullible brother when he asked Khoka to associate with his English-speaking women devotees. Khoka protested that he did not know much English, but Swamiji told him he did not need to, and he gave Khoka a simple formula: 'Khoka, when you do something for the ladies they will say, "Thank you." Then you say, "I don't care."' Khoka dutifully did this and, of course, the ladies were puzzled until they found out Swamiji was behind the joke.

Khoka got spiritual lessons also from his other brother disciples, notably Rakhal, Swami Brahmananda. Once they were in Vrindavan together practising sadhana. In the mornings Rakhal meditated a long time while Khoka went out with a coconut shell to beg tea, his favorite beverage, from a nearby devotee. After some days Rakhal asked him, 'Khoka, where do you go in the mornings when you should be meditating?' Khoka told where he went and explained that he thought the Master had done all the spiritual practice for them, and gave them everything. Rakhal replied, `It is true the Master was so great that he could give us these high states, but we have to make them our own through practice.' Later on Khoka used to set the example of absorbed meditation, and he would tell his students that it does not matter who your guru is, you yourself have to practise hard to realize God and make Him your own.

Once Swamiji asked Khoka to prepare a smoke for him. Khoka immediately prepared a hubble bubble for Swamiji, which he enjoyed so much, he said, 'Khoka, ask for a boon from me.' So Khoka said, 'No, Swamiji, what can I ask for? The Master has given me everything.' Rakhal, observing all this, urged Khoka to take him up on his offer. Khoka thought for a minute and asked Swamiji, 'May I always have my daily cup of tea.' Swamiji laughed heartily and said, 'Granted, Khoka!' When Khoka Maharaj was asked years afterward if he ever missed a day he said no, it always came, though sometimes not until bedtime. Incidentally, in our centres Khoka Maharaj is offered a cup of tea during the special worship on his birthday.

The amount of service Khoka Maharaj did during his more than thirty years as a member of the governing body, as treasurer, relief worker, guru, and leader in the monastery was enormous. His attitude towards the work was always practical, optimistic, generous, and, above all, loving. He was tireless in his service to people in distress. In the 1908 Orissa famine he worked so hard day and night distributing food, clothing and comfort to the victims that the Master himself appeared to him, instructing that 'he would not have to do this work anymore.' He finished the job in spite of his vision.

Anyone, monk or devotee, young or old, could approach Khoka Maharaj and talk over a problem, and his advice was always non-judgmental, strong, and uplifting, as well as sympathetic. He was considerate and respectful to all of the monks whether they were newest or oldest. If a new monk had trouble doing a job, he would lovingly show him how to do it. When he lived on the top floor of the monastery with the President, Swami Shivananda, he would borrow one of the President's attendants to take dictation, and dictate in a low voice so as not to disturb anyone. If Swami Shivananda called his attendant, Khoka Maharaj would immediately release him. He did not have any secretary, attendant, or office, or even a desk of his own. Only in his last two years, when he was bedridden, did he consent to have attendants.

Khoka Maharaj was a skilful manager of ceremonies involving large groups of people at the Belur Monastery. Two of these connected with the Holy Mother are noteworthy. In 1911, after the Mother's pilgrimage to South India, she and her entourage were invited to visit the monastery. Naturally it was a huge affair, and to save Mother from the individual salutations of a long line of devotees, the monks decided that the big crowd would stand on either side of the road, saluting her from a distance. When the Mother came, suddenly a boy broke ranks, dashed out, took the dust of her feet, and ran back in line. Swami Brahmananda saw the culprit and called out, 'Who's that? Catch him, catch him!' The 'boy' was Khoka Maharaj, the manager himself, representing, as it were, all the loving devotees who longed to touch her feet. Everyone was delighted.

The other occasion, by contrast, was a solemn one. On July 21, 1920, Holy Mother entered Mahasamadhi, and her body was brought to Belur for cremation. After consultation with Swami Shivananda, Khoka Maharaj made all arrangements for the ceremony. A swami who was there remembered, 'We were all astonished that day by the efficiency and wisdom of Khoka Maharaj. His devotion to the Holy Mother, and his great expertness and willingness to do the work made the ceremony pass in a very beautiful way.'

Khoka Maharaj had tremendous love and respect for the other direct disciples of the Master, and he would express it in many affectionate ways. Particularly charming were the exchanges between him and Swami Shivananda. Once a devotee gave Khoka Maharaj a padded jacket which Swami Shivananda admired. So, Khoka Maharaj quietly persuaded one of Swami Shivananda's disciples to get his guru one as well. When he received it and put it on, the great swami, then President of the Order, was delighted as a child.

Initiation means giving the disciple a holy mantra and a method of meditation by which he or she can realize God. It is the heart of mysticism, it is the greatest gift a human being can receive. At first Khoka Maharaj was reluctant to give initiation. He would say, 'I am a Khoka, what do I know of initiation? Please go to Holy Mother or Swami Brahmananda.' But he had been commanded by the Master. Holy Mother also encouraged him when she said, 'Why does Khoka not initiate people? As long as the Master's disciples are alive, let people receive their grace.' So, in 1915, Khoka Maharaj gave 'his grace,' to his first disciple, and in the next 15 years, to hundreds of fortunate people. He made no distinction as to age, sex, caste, or position. Once when he returned to Belur Monastery from East Bengal, where he had initiated many men, women, and children, Swami Shivananda asked him how the children would be able to practise meditation and japa. To this Khoka Maharaj sweetly replied, 'Brother, you told me to initiate everybody, so I did,'--typical of a Khoka. Since true initiation must be done by the guru in person, not by letter, telephone or email, Khoka Maharaj travelled long distances and kept a gruelling schedule in order to initiate disciples. He gave this service without fanfare or fuss.

One of his women disciples asked him to teach her the Gayatri Mantra and other rituals. Khoka Maharaj simply replied, 'Mother, I don't know any of those things either. You see, I am a Khoka. I have given you what I have received from the Master, what I have known from my own experience, and what has kept me in a blissful state. Please just control your mind and practise japa and meditation.'

There is much of the miraculous connected with initiation by these direct disciples of Sri Ramakrishna. Once Swami Shivananda went to Deoghar to initiate some of the students at a Ramakrishna school there. When one boy entered the worship hall, Swami Shivananda, after meditating a little, told the boy, 'I am not your guru.' The boy started to weep, and the swami tried to console him. Meantime, Khoka Maharaj was sleeping at a disciple's house miles away. The Master appeared to him and told him to wake up, go to Deoghar, and initiate this boy. Khoka Maharaj woke up, hurriedly packed some necessities, and rushed off calling to his disciple, 'I will explain later.' The train to Deoghar was waiting. When Khoka Maharaj arrived, Swami Shivananda had already left for Belur Monastery. All were surprised, but delighted. But when Khoka Maharaj asked for this particular boy to come for initiation, they were even more amazed.

The other story is even more miraculous. Kusum, a child widow, was a very devoted disciple of Khoka Maharaj. She died while he was still alive. A short time after her death, Khoka Maharaj was visiting the place where Kusum used to live, and he was ill. Suddenly he felt the cool breeze of someone fanning him. He said, 'Is that you, Kusum? I thought you died.' 'I did, Maharaj, but you are sick, so I came back to serve you.' 'Oh, thank you,' said Khoka Maharaj. 'By the way, Kusum, what happened when you died?' 'Well, Maharaj,' answered Kusum, 'you came to get me, and I followed you. You had a chaddar over your face, and, after a while, you took it off, and I saw it was not you at all. It was Sri Ramakrishna.' 'Then what?' 'Well,' said Kusum, 'I said to him, "Where is my guru? What have you done with him?"'

Some believe that these show two important spiritual ideas. One, that the Guru is identified with God. And two, that the individual guru does not have to wait for liberation, as the traditional view claims, until all his disciples are liberated, because God takes charge of them.

There is a photograph of Khoka Maharaj, Swami Shivananda and Swami Saradananda, taken probably around 1925. They are seated informally on a big bench. The feet of Khoka Maharaj dangle about five inches up and he is smiling a little. I mentally salute them and focusing especially on Khoka Maharaj, I earnestly pray: 'O, Lord, may we all be mystics like this!'