Among the Not So Great

What’s in a name?

Poornananda was a colourful character — literally and otherwise. He left us very recently. Many present now must have seen him, even if just a shadow of his former self. Some would have heard of him.

He was given the name Poornananda by his guru, meaning Poorna=Full and Ananda=Joy. The ananda, if any, was well disguised or hidden deep within — not to speak of the “fullness” (poorna) of it. He was irascible, critical and seemed ever dissatisfied. A name or sobriquet nearer the mark, relished by the boys (the authors), unrelished by the gentleman himself was “ORANGE”. A kindlier appellation was ‘Swamiji’. Why all this ado about a name? Let us proceed, and maybe find him a name he can fit into. (Rare is the head that is big enough for the crown it wears — so it is with names we tag onto people for a life-time.)

Poornananda was not an inspiring figure. Small, dark and scrawny, with a small head, with longish sparse hair ending in an apology for curls. A pair of small close-set eyes that flanked a nose of sorts. Hardly any cheeks—only bones covered by skin. A mouth filled with large, irregular, well-spaced teeth. Not an ounce of fat to spare anywhere. Not a beauty by any stretch of kindly imagination. He could be a man not worth a second glance, met anywhere in our country — but for the dress. This dress claimed that second glance and earned him the name ‘orange’. He was clad (with never a change) in an orange dhoti (South Indian style) and an orange kurta. His handkerchief was orange, even his gamcha (towel) was often orange. This orange is more meaningfully termed ‘Ochre robes’ — fashionable in ‘Sadhu’ circles. Poornananda was indeed a sadhu — so was he called “swamiji”. All his life he wore khadams (wooden sandals) except for the last one or two years of his life. He too, like Bholada and many of the old lot, carried an umbrella. He too used it as a multipurpose tool, i.e. support, sun-rain shade, weapon and extended appendage. What next struck one was his walk — the frequency, the speed and the style. He always walked. Never took a vehicle, no car, no cycle, no rickshaw. He always moved at a fast unrelenting clip. The lower gears did not exist. One could hear the ‘clack-clack’ of his khadams as he sped by— 3 or 4 to a second. He was fuelled and propelled by an impatience. He covered his area of work — from near about the Press to the Sports Ground — an unmistakable dark figure, orange robes flying, curls dancing to the ‘kadam’ (rhythm) of his khadams. Yet, what really set him apart was a raspish tongue with two cutting edges, honed by regular and impartial use. This spiced the man — he was one of those last angry men — sincere, intolerant and outspoken.

Poornananda was born sometime in 1902 — so say some records. Others claim 1893 as the year! The dates are very uncertain. He himself would not clarify, saying, “Sadhur abar jonmodin kiré?” (“What is or what for a birthday to a sadhu?”) All that we know is that he was pretty old when he departed.

Poornananda left home at 16 and joined the Vedanta Ashram, a creation of Swami Abhedananda who was a direct disciple of Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa and a co-disciple of Swami Vivekananda. He was initiated along with four other youngsters. It was a cold winter night. They had to start on the right note — strip and dip in the cold Ganga, and not much to wear. Then followed the daily life of the Ashram. No ready-made meals with servers and dishwashers. The five boys went out in the morning in five different directions. They carried a ‘jhola’, a vessel slung on the shoulder by a hammock like piece of cloth. They had to beg at three different houses each day, and only three, accept whatever the housewife offered into the one jhola. You may well guess what a pot-pourri of meat, fish, rasogolla, etc., made up the day’s takings. When the five young initiates returned, all five jholas were emptied into a large vessel to make a super-potpourri. This was doled out to each as the fare for the day. “Mondo chhilo na!” (“It was not bad”) commented Poornananda.

After some years, Poornananda set out from the Vedanta Ashram to traverse the length and breadth of the Motherland. Many sadhus had strict discipline or codes to follow when undertaking such perambulations. They carried no money, nor made any effort to earn or beg some on the way. They did not take recourse to free rides on vehicles either, offered or stolen (ticketless travel). They neither cared where or what they ate, or whether they ate at all. They put up where they could — under a tree, a verandah or a shed. Thus did Poornananda travel, from the Himalayas of Kashmir to Kanyakumari, and from the eastern border with Burma to Kabul in Afghanistan. It’s a pity that none of us were thoughtful or curious enough to know more about his travels — Grand Padayatras. They must have been very eventful, beyond our modern conception — no roads, jungles with animals abounding, uninhabited areas free of noise and pollution and unspoiled simple villagers. Once he reached a Shiva temple somewhere and as he approached the deity to offer some flowers, he was rather stunned to see the figure of Sri Aurobindo sitting in place of Shiva. (It is not certain whether this happened before his first visit here or when he went back from here after a short stay.)

Sri Aurobindo Ashram — Poornananda wished to come and settle here. He sought the permission and blessings of his Guru Abhedananda. The Guru readily gave him both, saying, “Go, my son. My blessings will be with you wherever you go. You must be as devoted to Sri Aurobindo as you were to me, else no need to go.” He arrived here on 15.1.1935. He tried to adapt himself to this Ashram’s way of life. It was difficult. His old sense of morals was rubbed the wrong way. In the Dining Room men and women ate together. Everyone used spoons to eat with. Such shahebi (Western) mores roused his ire. He left Pondicherry — just walked away, all the way to Calcutta! He reached Chandernagore in 30 days!! There he had a forced breakjourney. He was arrested, suspected of being a spy of the Freedom Fighters (Terrorists, to the British). He was put in jail. For him probably it was just another wayside shelter. He settled in for the night. An Indian inspector who came on his rounds peered in and called out: “Swamiji, what are you doing in here? Why have they put you in?” It so happened (why it happened — who can say?) that the inspector was an old acquaintance of Poornananda. He had him “freed”, took him home, fed him and wished him well to continue his journey. Poornananda used to say, even in the 80s, that in India people still respected sadhus and would always give them food. He had a strong faith in his Motherland — so he could walk away from anywhere to anywhere — untrammelled by luggage and apprehensions, undelayed by planning sessions. He may have roamed and revisited his old haunts, but his mind would not rest. It was haunted by the Presence of Pondicherry. Poornananda’s feet retraced the outward journey and he reached here on 9th February 1938 — end of one search, start of another.

Poornananda was always a man on the move. He had to be always doing some work. At that time the greatest and biggest work (in Ashram) was going on — the construction of Golconde. Times were different. Attitudes were different. Means were less but meanings were more. The sadhaks, therefore, achieved much with very little. Their assets were faith, devotion and persistence or perseverance.

Yogananda was Poornananda’s friend. Both were very good workers, working in B.S. — Building Service. Yogananda was to allot work to Poornananda. The latter pestered the former for work, for a great deal of energy was being dammed up inside that frail frame. It had to be spent! Yogananda took his friend to a godown full of old iron items — rods, hinges, nettings, etc. They were mostly used items salvaged to be reused. Those days, and for a few years after, nothing was thrown away, even nails were extracted, straightened out and put in barrels according to size for “re-use”. The “throw-away” mode of life was not yet the craze. Yogananda put a wire brush into Poornananda’s hands and asked him to clean all the rust off the old steel items. He hoped the work would take a month or a month and a half, and he would have peace. He was hopelessly off the mark — in half the estimated time Poornananda was again after Yogananda for work. Yogananda, a little surprised, a little more suspicious, went to inspect. He was in for another kind of surprise. All the old iron was shining like stainless steel (this was before the advent of stainless steel). Yogananda, himself a hard worker, was often moved to say (in later years), “O to daityar moton kaj koré” (“He works like a Titan”).

Many were they who worked at building Golconde. Tulsibhai, Lallubhai, Khirod-da etc., and of course our Poornananda. They were the stalwarts of those days. Work for them was not something to be got over with and forgotten. Work was for them life and life was to do the Mother’s will — their sadhana. The Mother took keen interest in every detail and stage of the work. They, whether engineer or plain worker, poured not only their sweat but also their heart-felt love into the job. They took great pride and derived greater joy working. They could, after long years, say with the same pride and joy: “I was there.” Purnananda was given the job of keeping stock and taking care of all the steel rods used for the building. It seems the rods were always neatly stacked according to size and there was not a spot of rust on them! He needed no assistant (anyway none could have satisfied him) and kept no stock-book. He had it all in his head. Any item moved or removed at once caught his eye — or was it some other sense that was teased? It was common knowledge then that his godowns were so well kept that even rats — familiar co-habitants in many a household — could not find accommodation there. He often claimed, referring to the construction of Golconde, that no other work had been done with the same spirit since then in the Ashram. Nothing that we do now can match that period’s fervour, meticulousness and sincerity. He used to say that often when a day was fixed for a concreting job and the weather seemed to threaten (with rain) either to force a postponement or the ruining of the newly poured concrete, the engineer or whoever was in charge would approach the Mother and pray for her intervention. She would look up at the sky and say: “Go on, proceed with the work.” The workers forgot their worries and set to work — and lo — no rain!

Another interesting fact recounted by Poornananda with a mixture of nostalgia and indignation was what the Mother expected then and what or how work is done now: The steel for the Golconde construction was brought by ship and unloaded on the shore. The old faithful bullock cart—now losing ground to more noisy, polluting but speedier modes, was the only transport available. The carts brought the steel to the site. The Mother had stipulated that there should be no noise when unloading the steel! So it was done! Tons of steel bars, not just a dozen or so, — brought down from the carts without noise! How they did it I cannot envisage. I can only lose myself in admiration. Then Poornananda continued: “Aar ekhon dèkh — Dining Roomé bashon majé, jèno biér bajna bajé!” (“Now — just go to the D.R. and see them wash the vessels; sounds like a wedding party’s band is on.”)

Often Poornananda took a short cut to one godown through the Sports Ground (Back Gate to Front Gate). The godown is situated in front of the Sports Ground across the M.G. Road (now under Jagadishbhai’s care). His ever critical and sharp eyes would swoop down on any bit of rust (or other defect) on an iron handle, pipe or door. He would stop dead in his tracks, look around for me and — “Eï shala (a preamble of endearment) — é loha noshto hochché kèno? Ma dékhlé, érokom kortish ki?” (“What sort of work are you doing here? This iron is rusting. Would you let this happen if the Mother were looking on?”) I usually kept silent. I knew the answer. Fortunately he knew that I knew. So, he did not wait for a reply, but hurried on. I, on my part, tried to remove that offending patch of rust before the next inspection. He was a good man and it did one only good to pay heed — a lick or two with that raspy tongue was good medicine. Moreover he liked me and our work in the Sports Ground. Sometimes, being an old hand, he would call me aside and say: “O godowné lohar netting podé aché. Swimming Poolér jonné kéna hoyéchhilo — niyé né.” (“There is an iron netting in that godown. It was bought for the Swimming Pool, go — take it.”)

A friend of mine was once teasing me in his presence. He said, “Batti is now in charge of the Pool. Soon he will be moving around well dressed — trousers and...” Poornananda cut him short saying: “Hobé na, or ar Pranaber kokhuno full-pant hobé na.” (“It won’t happen. He and Pranab (Dada) will never wear trousers.”)

Poornananda was a terror to the local rickshawallas, coolies, beggars, etc. They in their country-side innocent ways would squat down on any roadside to answer nature’s call. If Poornananda happened to be anywhere within striking distance — woe to the squatter! For, all on a sudden, he would find his neck hooked to an umbrella handle and he was pulled up like a hapless fish. At the other end of the umbrella would be Poornananda spitting, like a cobra, choice Bengali and Tamil vocabulary. He would drag the squirming victim to the nearest Ashram house, get him to fill a bucket with water and drag him out again to flush the polluted patch of earth, and then only let him go. This could happen in those old days, until Democracy took over and razed all, the good, the bad, the mediocre, to the same level. None now can be better than the other without being tripped up or bowled over. So, Poornananda’s umbrella was laid to rest. It only served the usual, mundane, less violent purposes.

Much of what has been said about Poornananda shows only one aspect of him — the angry critical side of him. But one should not conclude that he was devoid of joy and that his face never succumbed to a smile. It is just that a great deal of what met his eye could not pass muster. Yet it was not very difficult to please him. One had only to work hard and he would stretch a smile and a helpful hand towards the worker. Some of us were privileged to witness and feel this other mood of his, when he would visit us (Mona, Kittu, Vishweshwar and some others), when and if we were working after 11 p.m. We were working at building Parikshit’s House. (Mona, Kittu and Vishweshwar were the appointed workers, and the “some others” were willing or shanghaied volunteers. This House has since been demolished to make place for its three-storied successor.) It was then that he would get into a great mood, settle down and talk sense into us or tell some old stories. His laughter rang true, childlike. But this privilege was granted only to a few and that too seldom.

Time passed, and the Ashram grew. More and more departments came into being. The old Building Service was split, so were the stores. Poornananda was moved around a bit. For a while he was, I think, in charge of all the brass in Harpagon. He slept in the Harpagon Office Room as a night watchman. It was no hardship for him. This place was a palace compared to his “Room” — if room it could be called. The Room where he lived for 50 or more years is worth a mention. It was a small hole of a place 2m x 2.5m (maybe). The ceiling was within one’s reach. The entrance was the only opening. A cot, a table and chair were filled in and then the man too fitted in. A table fan was a much later addition. The Room itself is situated in an enclosed backyard of the old Building Service building — now our Drawing Office. Not much could a gale do to steal in a whiff of itself into that room. In the present day to suggest that cubby hole as living quarters would raise a storm such as never entered that place. It may do good to most of us to go and see the place. One may gauge better the man who lived there and also oneself and maybe also to sift our needs from wants. It now serves as lavatory cum bathroom for the new tenants of the building — the Patil Brothers.

Days passed. Days into months, months into years. Poornananda for a long time seemed not to be weighed down by the passing years. Then one day we heard that he had been taken to JIPMER. There, he was well looked after. The doctors knew him and respected what they knew of him. They took it on themselves to serve him. He came out of that bout a winner. But something had left. Probably some of the heat was turned inwards. He resumed his work, but the work did not seem to befit him.

Time flowed on and by and by Poornananda too was caught up in the flow. He was nearing 100 years! His scrawny figure grew emaciated. His mind too wandered. He lost all sense of time. He moved around, but aimlessly. The feet could not hold on to his famous khadams (he had to take to chappals). Only now did he shift to a slow sedate speed of locomotion — yet walking — no vehicle. For a long time one family (late Raghunandan’s) took care of him. He was their family friend. Later he had to be shifted to the Senior Service Home (under Dr. Dutta’s care). He tarried not too long there. He passed away peacefully on 3.9.96 — reputed to be 100 years old — without that hurried step he had practised a lifetime. It was a quiet departure noticed by only a few. Those few had a feeling of emptiness in their hearts and minds.

His “ananda” seemed always “Ardha” — half, for, he always gave away half to make ours “Poorna”.

Hail Swami Ardhananda Orange.