Sri Ramakrishna Math : The Vedanta Kesari, July 2002

In the evening when I went to her again, I found her on the verandah of her mud hut cutting vegetables, with her legs stretched out. She said that the medicine of Baikuntha Maharaj of Bankura had been effective in controlling her urticaria to some extent. We chatted for some time and then she wanted to know how famine relief work was carried out. It was evident that she was much distressed by the plight of the famine-stricken. I described how we went from door to door distributing coupons among the poor, how we gathered information about their needs and miserable circumstances, how they collected rice in exchange of coupons, adding that women were also given saris sometimes. In this context I narrated an incident which moved Mother deeply. I described how one morning when out on a tour of the villages where relief operations were being carried out, I discovered that none of those receiving rice from us was at home. Obviously they had gone out to work. Those who worked were not eligible for the dole of rice. So I proceeded to investigate and found most of them sowing paddy in knee-deep slush in a paddy field outside the village. On advancing in that direction I noticed from a distance a woman labourer leaving the field and hiding herself behind a pile of paddy saplings. On enquiring from others I learnt that she had delivered a baby the previous night and it was with that baby that she had come to the field to work. Driven by hunger she was sowing paddy, leaving the infant wrapped in a rag in a corner of the field. If it was known that she was working in the field she would not get rice from us. So having seen me from a distance, she was trying to hide from me. I was much disturbed thinking of the dire distress that could compel a woman, who had given birth to a child just the night before, to come to work in the field with the newborn. It was a terrible shock. I approached the woman, and in a choked voice, just said, 'Do not worry, Mother, I shall not stop your quota of rice.' This helped her to muster enough courage to fold her hands and say, 'Sir, I'm going through unbearable hardship. That's why I've come to work.' For one day's work in the field she would get two seers of paddy.

Mother shuddered with horror on hearing the story. Almost in tears, she exclaimed, 'You don't say so! So fresh from childbirth she had come to work in the field! It is not right to stop the dole of rice in such circumstances. My child, you did the right thing. Thakur will bless you.' Then she prayed to Thakur, as if hurt, 'Thakur! Can't you see all this? Such suffering of people! How can people carry on in such miserable conditions! You have to do something for their deliverance!' Her anguished words still seem to ring in my ears. Mother was compassion personified--a fervent prayer incarnate.

She asked me in detail about the relief operations--about our food, how we lived and the work we had to do. I narrated the following incident: One day I had gone to a distant village to survey the work being done there. On the way I waded across a small, shallow mountain stream, about 30 or 40 feet wide with knee deep water. Then there was a heavy downpour. When returning I found that that shallow stream, now swollen with red water and level with the banks, had turned into a dangerously turbulent river. It was quite late in the day. There being no means of crossing the river, I took off my clothes and wound them round my head. Then, with only a piece of loin-cloth on me and holding my umbrella in one hand, I plunged into the river and partly swimming with one hand and partly drifting with the current, somehow succeeded in reaching the opposite bank. I had been carried a long way downstream. The presence of thorny hedges lining the banks had threatened my life. While listening to this narration Mother's face darkened with agony. She cried emotionally, 'Son, Thakur saved you. Had you been entangled in those thorny bushes you could never have freed yourself. Never do this again.' Listening with deep empathy, she had experienced all my sufferings. Her motherly sentiments had been agitated by her son's ordeal. Even today, in times of adversity or danger, Mother's words of caution are a source of strength to me.

I expressed a desire to visit Kamarpukur the next day. Mother objected. She said, 'No, my child, there's no need to visit Kamarpukur now. Go there some other time. For the present just pass the customary three nights here, for this is the season when malaria is rampant--it leaves no home untouched. At this time I usually don't let anyone come here, but you had been recommended by Tarak.'

I obeyed her. I visited Kamarpukur much later, in 1937. I visited Jairambati also on that occasion, paying homage at all the spots hallowed by her memory. The room in which Mother had lived, the place where she used to sit, the room in which she used to impart initiation--I visited them all and offered my pranams.

Having had only one rupee in my possession I could not make any offering to my Guru, nor did I have any opportunity to serve her in any way. This thought kept tormenting me. So next morning when I heard that Mother's attendant, Barada Maharaj, was going to the market at Kotulpur, I too touched Mother's feet and accompanied him. We had to trudge along a muddy cross-country track of about six miles. Barada Maharaj purchased enough vegetables to fill a basket, along with various other commodities while I bought a plate of sugar candy for Mother. After having our lunch at the Koalpara Ashrama we returned to Jairambati in the late afternoon, I, with the basket of vegetables on my head. To me, carrying the basket containing articles for Mother's use was also one way of serving her. After reaching Jairambati when I offered the plate of sugar candy to Mother she held out her hands to take it and much pleased, said, 'You've done well, my child, I shall have a little candy syrup everyday.' Tears came to my eyes. It was candy worth merely five annas, Mother had accepted it with so much love! I had not been able to render her any service. So a little before dusk when I saw Mother's attendant Hariprem Maharaj digging in the garden with a spade in order to plant saplings of eggplant on the bank of Punyapukur, I took the spade from him and having prepared the soil, helped him plant the saplings. One day those plants would bear brinjals which would be of use to Mother.

In this way the customary 'three nights' passed. On the fourth afternoon I approached Mother to offer pranams to her and take leave. As soon as I had done so she touched my chin and kissed me. Like a child I knelt before her with folded hands and pleaded tearfully, 'Ma, please remember me.' She too replied compassionately, 'Yes, my child, I shall remember you.' I repeated my prayer three times and each time she too answered, 'Yes, my child, I shall remember.' The thought that she would remember me filled my heart with such joy that words failed me. Touching her feet again, I retreated, stepping backward while still facing her, till I reached the main entrance. All this time Mother was gazing at me. With a last look at her I left the house and covered the distance of about three miles to the Koalpara Ashrama absorbed in the contemplation of Mother and her wistful face. I did not pray to Mother for devotion or salvation--it had not even occurred to me.

After all, gaining Mother is tantamount to gaining everything in life--her grace alone suffices for all. Crushed by life's oppressive circumstances, my vision obscured by the sordidness around me, I might chance to forget Mother, but if I have a place in Mother's heart then certainly I can never go astray. If Mother is mindful of me and lifts me on to her lap, if she sustains me there protecting me from the squalor of life, then alone can I be pure. This thought was the source of my sole prayer to Mother--'Mother, please remember me.' Three times I uttered this prayer and each time she had assured me, 'Yes, my child, I shall remember you.' Later I heard from her attendant Barada Maharaj that after my departure Mother had called him and said, 'Just see, how that boy got me to repeat my promise three times!' Whatever Mother spoke was truth, and nothing but the truth. Three times she had said that she would not forget me, it had the potency of a triple vow. This was my supreme achievement in life, the greatest boon received, the greatest assurance, strength, faith and solace.

Passing that night at Koalpara Ashrama, early next morning I left for Bishnupur via Kotulpur in the midst of a light drizzle. I tramped about twenty four miles through mud and slush, without an umbrella, taking shelter under trees from time to time during occasional heavy downpours. When I finally reached Bishnupur a little before dark I was dead tired.

In the letter I wrote to Mother to report my safe arrival at the Sevakendra, I also included an account of the ordeal suffered due to rain and slush during my journey from Koalpara to Bishnupur. Mother had been deeply worried by that letter. Barada Maharaj wrote to me that one should not write to Mother about hardships suffered on the way, that she was very upset, and so on. In reply I wrote that all was well with me. However, I did not regret in the least having written to Mother as I had done, on the contrary I rejoiced at the thought that she had been concerned about me and that her blessings alone had ensured my well-being even in that season when malaria was raging. Who else, but the mother, should be concerned about the son?

The year was 1920. I learned from Maha-purush Maharaj's letter that Mother was critically ill. Immediately a yearning to see Mother possessed me and I wrote to Mahapurush Maharaj praying for permission to return to the Math. In reply he granted me permission, also sending me the trainfare, with the comment that in the interest of my health it would have been prudent to remain at the Sevashram a little longer. 'However, in view of your intense longing to see Mother you may return,' he added.

Soon afterwards I returned to the Math and visited 'Mother's House' the very next day for darshan of Mother. But on account of the grave condition of Mother's health, darshan etc had been suspended. Nevertheless, having come from the Math I was given special permission by Revered Sarat Maharaj to see Mother and offer pranams from a certain distance. I had to return to the Math content with that and a detailed report of her condition. Unable to touch Mother's feet, or exchange even one word with her, I came back with a very heavy heart. Thoughts of the days spent in Mother's company at Jairambati, of informal chats with her, of touching her feet in salutation and so on, flooded my memory.

At that time there was no telephone or electricity at Belur Math and Mother being very ill, Mahapurush Maharaj used to depute someone daily to visit Udbodhan and bring back news of Mother. When I returned from Mother's House and saluted Mahapurush Maharaj he immediately enquired about Mother's health. Mother's hands and feet were affected by dropsy, both feet being swollen, and there was acute loss of appetite. I had heard from Revered Sarat Maharaj that the Kaviraj had prescribed a diet of Svetapunarnaba greens and chutney of amrul leaves to improve her appetite. At once Maharaj said, 'We have plenty of punarnaba and amrul growing in the Math garden. Take some of both for Mother every morning and also bring back news of her condition.' Accordingly early every morning I used to pick some good punarnaba and amrul leaves and wrapping these up in a banana leaf, take the ferry across the Ganga. Walking down from Kuthighat I used to reach Udbodhan by eight o'clock and hand the leaves over to the attending Maharaj. Then offering pranams to Mother from a distance I would return to the Math with the latest news about Mother and convey it to Mahapurush Maharaj who used to listen to it with great concern, along with the other sadhus. Thus I had the good fortune to have darshan of Mother daily for about six weeks. What was most wonderful during that period was that everyday when I used to offer pranams to Mother from a distance, I saw Mother, emaciated, lying on the floor with her face turned towards the door, regarding me with longing and affection as I saluted her. So much affection those eyes held, so much tenderness, so much compassion! She did not speak, but her eyes poured out her compassion, conveyed the tender touch of her love. As soon as our eyes met we seemed to come together. Her look imbued my heart with love, filling it with indescribable, divine bliss. After offering pranams I used to kneel in silent prayer with folded hands and as I came away, her eyes brimming with tears, seemed to shower compassion on me. Looking back I could see her steadfast gaze following me as long as I was in sight.

One day when I went to offer pranams to Mahapurush Maharaj after returning from Udbodhan he enquired about Mother's health. After giving him an account of her medical treatment, diet and such details, when I told him that she had passed a sleepless night, tossing and turning on her bed due to a burning sensation all over her body, tears welled up in his eyes. In a tremulous voice he said, 'Alas, it is by absorbing the sins of others that she is so ill today. It is that poison which is consuming her body. Drawing into herself the sins of hundreds of her sons, she is absolving them of all evil. The grace of Sri Sri Thakur and that of Mother are one and the same. After giving up his mortal body Thakur continues to dwell within Sri Sri Ma. This is the last birth of all those who have received Mother's grace. Mother, O Mother, what great sufferings you have taken on yourself for the sake of the devotees!

'Thakur had told me one day, "She who lives in Nahabat and Bhavatarini in the temple--are one and the same." At that time I could little grasp the significance of these words. He had spoken and hearing him I was amazed. He who has had darshan of Mother will be liberated. Is obtaining darshan of Mother a matter of ordinary luck?' Overcome with emotion his voice choked into silence.

Weeping, I then bewailed, 'I do have darshan of Mother daily, yet I don't hear a single word from her. How I yearn to hear just one word from her!'

In an emotionally charged voice Mahapurush Maharaj said, 'That steady gaze of Mother upon you is itself her blessing. She regarded you with compassion, you are blessed! You have received Mother's grace; for you that is sufficient for this birth. She is so ill now, how can she speak to you? She is too weak to speak. When she recovers you will hear her speak.' This auspicious prediction came true in a supernatural manner.

On the night she breathed her last Sri Sri Ma bestowed her last blessing on me, assuming a divine, effulgent form. It was July 20, 1920. I had fallen asleep as usual at night. At about half-past one I had a vision of Mother in a strange manner. It was an extraordinary vision. I saw Mother in an effulgent form, looking at me tenderly. She addressed me sweetly, 'My child, I am going.' I could not understand in the least what this strange vision signified. Realization dawned when I heard the heart-rending news of her passing away. Mother had given up her mortal body at Udbodhan at almost the same time when I had had the vision. Concluded.

[Acknowledgement: Shatarupe Sarada, Ramakrishna Mission Institute Of Culture, Calcutta, 1985, Appendix.]