The letters reveal Nirod's unique relationship with his guru. The exchanges are suffused with a special humour.
Sri Aurobindo : corresp.
Nirodbaran's correspondence with Sri Aurobindo began in February 1933 and continued till November 1938, when Sri Aurobindo injured his leg and Nirod became one of his attendants. The entire correspondence, which was carried on in three separate notebooks according to topics - private, medical, and literary - is presented in chronological order, revealing the unique relationship Nirod enjoyed with his guru, replete with free and frank exchanges and liberal doses of humour. Covering a wide range of topics, both serious and light-hearted, these letters reveal the infinite care Sri Aurobindo devoted to the spiritual development of his disciple.
THEME/S
No, you didn't send me Dilipda's English poem
What the deuce has happened to it then? These dematerialisation are very annoying.
Tripura has a nutlike swelling just on the wrist. Looks like bursitis. I wonder if 7 or 8 hrs. of embroidery daily should not be somewhat curtailed.
[The Mother underlined "7 or 8 hrs."]
It seems to me also that it is too much and I have said so already several times.
November 1, 1938
[I sent Sri Aurobindo the typescript of his comment of 31.10.38, leaving a blank for a word I could not read.] You have forgotten a word in the other poem. You will see a blank remains. Or you can't make out your own writing? That's fine, Sir!
The word looks like "fantasia" but I am not at all sure—it might be anything else. It is altogether irrational to expect me to read my own writing—I write for others to read, not for myself—it is their business to puzzle out the words. I try to read when I am asked, but I have to make a strong use of second sight with a mélange of intuition, reasoned conjectural speculation and random guessing.
Lila's ankle is still swollen. Some pain on deep pressure and on walking. No fracture is likely. Would it be advisable to see it under screen?
[The Mother marked the last sentence with a vertical line.]
Yes.
November 2, 1938
Guru, this poem236 is so simple (and bare at places?) that I fear it approaches flatness.
Well, sir—well, sir—well, sir! I force myself not to break out into strong and abusive language; but really, really, you must mend your defective sense of poetic values. This is another triumph. You must have had, besides the foiled romantic, a metaphysical poet of the 17th century latent in you who is breaking out now from time to time. Donne himself after having got relieved in the other world of his ruggedness, mannerisms and ingenious intellectualities, might have written this poem.
In English does 'journey to God" mean anything?
It means everything.
November 3, 1938
I am afraid it will take me some time to mend my defective sense of poetic values. I am too much imbued with 17th century influence! Perhaps I would have appreciated this poem more, if it had been written by another person.
What influence? Nobody spoke of any influence.
The merits and defects of poetry remain the same whether written by oneself or another.
I had written the first line of this poem before ["With outstretched arms of prayer I cling to thee], but it didn't stir you so much perhaps because, though beautiful, the necklace of which it was one jewel, wasn't harmoniously beautiful?
Naturally—poetry is not a matter of separate lines—a poem is beautiful as a whole—when it is perfect each line has its own beauty but also the beauty of the whole.
But why metaphysical? Romantic, I understand. Where do you find metaphysics? I hate metaphysics! and who are these 17th century poets?
"Metaphysical poets of the 17th century school" is a standing description of the group or line of poets, Donne, Vaughan, Traherne, Herbert, Quarles, Crashaw and a number of others who wrote poetry of a religious and spiritual character—metaphysical here means that (truth beyond the physical) and has nothing to do with the "metaphysics" of Kant or Hegel or Bradley.
November 4, 1938
Please throw a glance over the names of the metaphysical poets—I couldn't make out one name which I have underlined.
You seem to have got the names all right.
Have you really put 4 lines against "Or a delicate tune out of the heart of a lyre Borne by the magic air of eternity"? I had missed them first, then I saw and stared and gulped—Really four?
The fourth line is a duplicate—it is really three.
November 5, 1938
Chandradeep wants an English poem of mine for "Kalpataru" magazine. Should I give it?
If you like, though it does not, I think, usually drop into poetry.
Last night I got stuck at every stanza and had to send you and Mother frequent S.O.S.'s to rescue me. Do you really receive these signals, or do your impersonal Forces intercept them and do the necessary?
As we receive some hundreds of such signals daily, we are obliged to be impersonal about it, otherwise we would have no time for anything else.
November 6, 1938
Guru, ah, now I see! That's why my poems are not always uniformly super-successful or even successful, some being crippled, some mentally defective, some consumptive and so on. Only when your personal Force intervenes, they turn out miracles. I thought so, Sir, I thought so!
Man! Your explanation is too neat to be quite the thing.
S has broken 2 eye-cups in 9 months! She wants another now.
[Mother:] You can give her one more.
November 7, 1938
"Beyond the flickering lamps of thought our mind Soars like an eagle from height to greater height..."
An eagle flying beyond lamps! No, sir!
Guru, ah, what a difficulty I had in writing this poem!237 And yet it is not satisfactory!
I am afraid not. As it stands it is a struggling failure. Now just look at my alterations and see how finely easy it was all the time! Wa Allah! It seems to me at the moment one of the finest poems we have yet written. Praise be!
Guru, you seem to be in a mood of swallowing all the Bengali poems—Dilip's and NK's. Mine too the same fate? Please don't swallow it, je vous prie.
Actually I had Dilip ready last night, but was too lazy to fish out your thing and put him inside you. Here he is now.
Have you any honey or shall we get it from the bazaar?
[Mother:] I have some. Shall send after a day or two.
November 8, 1938
This time, Sir, the poem238 looks to me damn fine. I know you will say, "Well, well!"—but we have very rarely agreed on any point! But does it really leave your plexus cold?
Very fine, yes, and perfect in expression; but I don't know about damn fine, for that is a tremendous superlative. Such a solemn phrase should only be used when you write something equalling Shakespeare at his best.
Yes, Sir, your alterations appear extremely easy, but the fact that they didn't come to me even after struggling breaths, proves them otherwise. Of course if I had been the Lord of all Inspiration, I would have told you the same thing. Anyway I am glad that "we" have achieved something. But do you still stick to your yesterday's remark?
Well, my enthusiasm has abated a little except for the first 2 stanzas and line 3 of the third. The rest is not quite equal to the first two stanzas not having quite the same stamp of original authenticity. There is more in it of fine writing, which makes it less perfect. All the same it is very successful. Still some changes suggest themselves to me as necessary. Like that my first glow of appreciation begins to return, as the last 2 lines are so lifted up more naturally on the wave of what comes before. The "distances of air" and the "tune" brought in a wrong note and the "Are" of the 12th line is weak and does not convey the full significance.
Trtpura's finger is getting worse. We can't stop the pus-formation. Shall we take her to the hospital?
[Mother:] I have no confidence in the people who are now in charge of the hospital. It would be better to consult Duraiswami's friend Srinivas Rao who is at Cuddalore.
November 9, 1938
[Mother:] By mistake yesterday I wrote Bangalore239 when I meant Cuddalore. Srinivas Rao comes often here, that is why I mentioned his name.
Guru, "Shakespeare at his best"? The very name of Shakespeare makes my breath shake with fear, and to talk of equalling him at his best, oh, people will call me mad, Sir. If someone else had told me that, I would have called him mad! But I don't know what to say to you! You stagger me so much!
Well, but look at logic. G.B.S. declares himself the equal, if not superior, of Shakespeare. You write better poetry than Shaw ever did (which is easy because he never wrote any). So you are the equal (if not the superior) of Shakespeare.
But, if I remember aright, some of my lines you have called "damn fine"! So?
Did I indeed? Then, logically, it must have been equal to the best of Shakespeare, otherwise it couldn't have been so damned. This also is logic.
Now about this poem, I fear to ask you about the merit, as it is so simple, and written so easily.
Simplicity is not the test. There can be a supreme beauty of simplicity and there can be the opposite.
November 10, 1938
Honey? [8.11.38]
[Mother:] Ask from Pavitra—He must have forgotten—I have told him the very same day to send a bottle to you.
Guru, not at all satisfied! nothing flashing!
Well, well, you are difficult to satisfy—It may not flash but it gleams all right.
Besides, you broke my power of judgment on yesterday's poem which I thought was a triumph!
Well, perhaps I shall consider it a triumph if I read it again after six months. I won't insist on Horace's rule that in order to judge poetry rightly that has been newly written, you must keep it in your desk unseen for ten years and then read it again and see what you then think of it!
I give you the lines which you have called "damn fine" Sir!
"While the whole universe seems to be a cry To the apocalypt-vision of thy Name."
Mm, yes, I can't deny the fineness—but perhaps I ought not to have damned it without proper regard to Shakespeare.
I know your enthusiasm will abate now, and perhaps you will only say, "Yes, they are very satisfying!"
Why do you object to a poem being called satisfying? It is high praise.
Or you will say that yesterday's "damn fine" can't be equal to today's, what? I find your remarks exceedingly mysterious, which justifies your being a "Mystery-Man"!
Which remarks? On Shakespeare? They were logical, not mystic.
What about the poem I requested you to write? No head or tail?
Which poem?
November 11, 1938
"Which poem?" indeed! My poem I requested you to rewrite, Sir!
Oh that! It is still in cold storage. No flame as yet for cooking it.
"I gain the summit of thy loneliness In whose vast spaces like an eagle I dwell And drink from thy Spirit-cup a measureless Delight, O Mystery inscrutable!"
—I hope you won't say, "Drink like an eagle?"
I am afraid I have to—an eagle drinking in vast spaces from a cup is too extraordinary a phenomenon.
By the way, I am surprised to see that in spite of 3 marginal lines over the whole poem, you call it only "very fine". Not a mysterious remark?
How is it mysterious? What do you expect three lines to come to then? Damn fine? That would be Shakespeare.
You seem to have told Doraiswamy that nobody has told you anything about Tripura. How is that? In yesterday's report there was her condition stated!
[Mother:] I never said such a thing to Duraiswami. I simply asked him how Tripura was to-day.
Venkatram and Nagin continue the soup. Is it necessary?
[Mother:] They might be asked if they still want it.
November 12, 1938
Guru, three poems in one day! What do you think of it?
Stupendous!
I am thinking of giving a little pāyas to a few friends on the occasion of my birthday [17th November]. It will be done on Thursday and not Saturday at Anilkumar's place. But if you don't approve of the idea, I will gladly give it up.
[Mother:] It is all right.
November 14, 1938
Guru, this is the 3rd poem I spoke of I hope you will find it satisfying.
Quite.
But I fear "Beauty" is coming too much in my poems.
Perhaps it had better be suspended for a time.
Do you find something new in most of my recent poems?
Or are they repetitions? The expressions and words are yet the same perhaps.
Well, many words and ideas appear frequently, but it does not give the impression of mere repetition.
If we prepare the Ayurvedic drug Sitopaladi here, one pound will come to Rs. 2/8; whereas the patent rate is Rs. 1/8. So shall we buy?
[Mother:] Yes.
I had a talk with Ravindra about preparing Ayurvedic drugs here. He asked me what were the drugs we required. I replied that we didn't require any particular ones, but we now and then tried preparing some, following the directions on the labels. Moreover we find that whatever Ayurvedic drugs we indent, are contributed by somebody from Alembic. It is only when our stock gets exhausted in the middle of the year, that we have to buy.
He says it is not worth while to prepare any drug less than 10 pounds at a time, which is a huge quantity and runs a risk of getting spoiled. So, I think, under the circumstances we have to give up the project.
November 15, 1938
Guru, I wrote this poem today. It gave me such a damn thrill that I thought I must share it with you tonight. Don't you think the thrill is justified?
The thrill but not the damn.
It seems tomorrow's affair is going to be a regular feast. But this is the last one.
November 16, 1938
Guru, Chand writes to me to ask your opinion on the "tampering with figures". Can there be any opinion? Really, I don't know what to do with this fellow. But I suppose in worldly life such things are necessary?
Not in the worldly life, but perhaps in the Corporation life. All this promises a bad look out when India gets purna Swaraj. Mahatma Gandhi is having bad qualms about Congress corruption already. What will it be when purna Satyagraha reigns all over India?
November 17, 1938
[A note from the Mother:]
18-11-38.
Nirod
Have no fear, it is not because of your feast that the pranam was stopped and I shall give you your interview tomorrow.
with love and blessings.
November 18, 1938
Guru, I am afraid nothing great is here; all old stuff and expressions rather poor.
I have changed the order of the last stanza's lines, making the first, part of the passion affair and not of the tranquillities. Also I have made slight changes everywhere. I rather fancy the resulting "stuff"—not poor, I think. I am inclined to give it three cheers, I mean three lines.
Dilipda asks me to inform you that K is a little sad to hear that he has to stay out. He is coming here for good.
Is he? Has he got permission for that? I thought it was only for darshan.
Is it not possible to give him a room? If not, would it be advisable to share mine with him till Mother can give him a room?
Mother has no separate room for him, but if Hiren Bandhu wants to share his room with K, that can be done. You have not to share your room with K.
November 19, 1938
"Creation born from his motionless delight ..." Motionless delight? Have you experienced it, Sir?
Of course. Why on earth shouldn't delight be motionless? What kind of delight should the immutable Brahman have, for instance, if not an immobile delight?
[Dilip's telegram:] "Nirod Asram pondicherry arriving tomorrow evening train Heldil".
Guru, this is from Dilipda—Heidi! is not he, of course. But who is it then? Can your Supramental Intuition solve it? But mine has: it is H of Hashi, e of Esha, I of Lila,—Di of course, you know. What do you think, Sir, of my Intuition? He perhaps thought he would beat us!
I don't see how he could with the Dil there to illume the Hel.
Sanjiban has pain in the throat: tonsillitis and pharyngitis. I don't know if I should give him any gargle, as I understand you like to leave things more to Nature.
[Mother:] In some cases gargles can be quite useful.
November 20, 1938
So Dilipda is coming tomorrow morning... I shall be obliged to minimise my contact with him as X will be there most of the time. Dilipda doesn't know perhaps that we have no connection at all; but of course he will know from others.
Well, if he finds out from others, he ought to understand and if he doesn't you can explain to him the situation.
November 21, 1938
Guru, I couldn't give much time today, as I was all the time thinking of finishing the poem, to catch your train! I hope it is not altogether a bad business, what? Most of it looks like repetition.240
It may be repetition but is an exceedingly fine repetition. I was going to say "damned" but Shakespeare only withdrew the expletive. Lines 4-6, also to a less degree lines 11-12 have an overhead accent in their substance and turn of expression. If you go on like that, some day you may find yourself writing overhead poetry without knowing it.
About yesterday's poem,241 I dreamt that it was exceedingly fine—only a dream!
But who said it wasn't?
I am sorry I don't understand where you get "lower and supreme consciousness" in yesterday's poem, nor how you make "magic bars separate" them...
I don't get these things anywhere "in" the poem—naturally, because the poem is not a treatise on metaphysics or spiritual philosophy, but only a series of mystic images, but I get it "from" the poem. You asked what was the meaning and I gave you what I gathered from it or, if you like, what it would have meant if I had written it. But anyone can put another intellectual version to it, if he likes.
Bars usually divide something and as they can't very well be dividing the Spirit or supreme Being itself, it must be dividing the supreme from the lower, especially as you have shadow-spaces of sky immediately afterwards filling with transparent peace which can only come from the removal of the "lid" well-known to shut mind from what is beyond mind. Especially as there is an infinity of "thought", the sky must be the sky of mind and mind is part of the lower (non-supreme) consciousness. If that is not the meaning, I am damned if I know what the meaning can be—at any rate, if there is any other, it surpasses my capacity and range of spiritual or occult knowledge. As for the superconscient, the Supreme is the superconscient, so that there can be no doubt of that—the tranquil spirit's deep and the beatitude of sleep are not part of the ordinary consciousness but can only come in the superconscient or by the meeting of the superconscient and subconscient. You speak of Nature being a song of eternity which it can't be (its roots being in the subconscient) unless there is the meeting of the superconscient and subconscient—the latter being a part of the fathomless deep of the spirit. That meeting is effected through the subtle or inner planes and the inarticulate prayer can only be the aspiration that rises from inconscient and half-conscious Nature calling for the union. That's all.
November 22, 1938
Home
Disciples
Nirodbaran
Books
Share your feedback. Help us improve. Or ask a question.