The Story of a Soul

June 1955

During the month of June my mother and my brother Maganbhai came to see me, for my mother had been extremely perturbed and could not rest until she had seen me face to face. They stayed for a few days in the New Guest House. She asked me many questions, to which I tried to give suitable answers. She looked at me with tearful eyes, and said in a touching voice, "When I heard that you had left your house and come to stay in the Ashram, I almost became mad with worry and agony. I could not eat, I could not sleep, I fell ill." She showed me a gold pendant of the Mother's symbol and continued, "Look, the Mother sent this to me through Laljibhai, while I was still in Africa—then I gradually started feeling better.

I could not bear the sight of sweet corn, maize, since you love it so and I was not sure whether you could get it here. I had the whole crop removed from our kitchen gardens. And I gave away all the things you like most.

Look, I have removed all the gold and diamond ornaments I used to wear—what interest do I have in them, now that you have abandoned everything?

Are you really happy here? Do you get everything you need—every facility?"

As I listened to her pathetic words, large teardrops slid down my cheeks. But I wiped them away immediately and answered her with a smile, "I cannot tell you how fortunate I am to be near the Divine Mother. Please believe me, I am the happiest person."

The Mother was very sympathetic when my mother expressed her wish to have a photograph taken of the Mother and myself together, so that she could keep it always with her. Later one copy was sent to her, and another was given to me by the Mother. It was taken by Pranab Kumar Bhattacharya—Director of Physical Education.

When the time came for her to leave, my mother hugged me and kissed my cheeks. She wanted me to go with her. I was torn between my emotion and my aim. Weak tears rolled from my eyes. I felt as miserable and terrifed as a child who has suddenly found itself alone in the dark. At last I bade my mother and brother adieu.

That night in my room I put my face into my hands and wept for a long time. Then I was past crying—my pang was too deep for tears now. I tried to compose myself. But in a moment a shuddering fear clutched my heart. Added to this, I knew that it is very hard to practise spiritual truths, and that sentimental attachment is a stumbling block.

The next morning I steeled my mind and immersed myself once more in my work. I was making a veil for the Mother, and though it was small it took much time because it was so intricate.

At that time I began to experience a strange feeling in my heart—I began to have glimpses of the Peace and the Presence. They were sweetly soothing—caressingly comfortable.