Memorable Contacts with The Mother 190 pages 1991 Edition
English

ABOUT

Nirod reveals intimate aspects of The Mother's grace of which he was the grateful and happy recipient and witness.

Memorable Contacts with The Mother

  The Mother : Contact

Nirodbaran
Nirodbaran

Nirodbaran paid his homage of love to the Mother on her Birth Centenary, the 21st of February 1978 in 'The Mother - Sweetness and Light', of which the present title is an enlarged version. And from his personal contact with her, he revealed one of the most intimate aspects of the Mother, of which he was the grateful and happy recipient and witness. Beginning with their first meeting in 1930, Nirodbaran recounts some of his contacts with the Mother over a period of more than forty years. She guided him on medical matters during his years as the Ashram doctor, encouraged him in his games of tennis, volleyball, and table tennis, and in later years was a willing audience as he read out to her his books concerning his contact with Sri Aurobindo. This book presents many examples of the Mother's ways of working in the daily life of the Ashram community.

Books by Nirodbaran Memorable Contacts with The Mother 190 pages 1991 Edition
English
 The Mother : Contact

IX: THE MOTHER’S WAYS OF ACTION

The Mother gave me some apparently simple and trivial work whether as a test or with a deeper intention, I cannot say. But this we knew that she had almost always an occult or hidden purpose behind her movements. Sometimes she would disclose it. At any rate we were supposed to take it as a matter of discipline. I am afraid, my nature was not so obedient and thus I failed to cooperate with her at times. She asked me, for example, to give instructions in anatomy and physiology to a young girl who had come from outside. I could not understand why a girl who intended probably to stay here, and would never take up a medical career should learn these subjects. However, I started. The girl was quite intelligent but my interest was not equal to her intelligence. Besides, the subjects were quite new to her and could not be properly learnt unless followed by practical demonstrations. I found it therefore a tedious job. After a couple of months, I told her that a new doctor had come to the Ashram whom she would find more competent and I left her. I came to know afterwards that she had gone away and got married. I wondered then if the Mother wanted to use our contact as a means of keeping her here. Many years later, she returned to the Ashram.

Another example was of a young boy whose parents had settled in the Ashram. The Mother told me that the boy had an inner opening. It would do him good if I read with him Sri Aurobindo’s poems. We began. The boy was really nice and had some regard for me. Here too, I could not

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continue for long and broke off.

Once during the Pranam in the ’thirties, I had to face a very embarrassing situation. I was going through a period of acute inner struggle As always, I used to write frankly about it to Sri Aurobindo. Extremely patient and affectionate, he let me fight it out, but I could not do so and groaned. Finally I became impatient and wrote a desperate letter saying that the tussle must end now. Next day was Pranam. The Mother came down as usual. I noticed behind her seat a garland of flowers called ’Courage". The hall was full of disciples. When it was half-empty, my turn came for pranam. As soon as I had knelt down before the Mother with folded hands, she fixed her concentrated gaze on my eyes and kept me immobile like a statue. The people around were witnessing the scene with awe and wonder. I felt all their strange vibrations. After about five minutes, she relaxed her grip and with a soft smile gave me the garland "Courage". It did its work.

Now for a very trivial instance, but typical of the Mother’s subtle action. It belongs to the earliest period of our twelve years with Sri Aurobindo. The Mother brought a big calendar for Sri Aurobindo’s room and said to me that I should tear off each date-sheet day by day and hand it over to her when she would leave the room after her work. I took the gesture as a sign of Grace on her part, though I could not understand why she was so particular about my doing it or about the way it should be done. However, I obeyed cheerfully and daily I used to receive a broad smile to start with. But gradually the response began to vary. On some days she would give a half-smile; on other days her "eyes would grow solemn and laughter fade

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away"; on other days, she would not look at all. A hundred variations on a single theme of apparently no significance and likely to be called pure whimsicality. Yes, but a divine whim that bore often a hidden meaning for me.

Another incident also took place at the time we were serving Sri Aurobindo. One evening, sitting on the floor we were raptly listening to Sri Aurobindo’s talk. The Mother came in suddenly and told Sri Aurobindo that X, a well-known local political leader, had been shot by his opponents. She would like to know his condition. The Mother asked me to go and bring back the news from the hospital if possible. I was asked because of my acquaintance with the hospital authorities during my period of training.

When I reached there, I found a big crowd gathered before the gate and no one was allowed to enter without a pass. Many high French officials were pouring in, seemingly very agitated. I found no way through the Police cordon. Ashamed of going back empty-handed, I waited and caught sight of the eye-specialist with whom I had worked in the hospital coming out with a frown on his face. I approached him and asked for the news. He replied that the man was out of danger or something to that effect, but his facial expression belied his words. When I gave the report to the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, Sri Aurobindo said, "But I saw him lying dead on the operation-table." That was what had happened in fact. This man was, by the way, the son or grandson of the leader of Pondicherry’s fishermen, who had agreed to help the British Raj in carrying out a plot to transport Sri Aurobindo to the Madras territory so that he could be put under arrest, but

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as expected the plot miscarried and the leader himself had to flee to Madras on a warrant issued against him by his opponents.

One of the funniest or most queer jobs the Mother gave me was to supply regularly a small quantity of Lithinépowder to a doctor. It turned out to be an unpleasant duty and unworthy of my position as a doctor. I expressed my reluctance to continue it. She heard in silence without any comment. It is not to be thought that she took no notice of these reactions. Any work given by her, light or serious, pleasant or tedious, was recorded in her consciousness and the person gained or lost inwardly according to the attitude with which he had done the work. We know that in the spiritual life, strict obedience to the Guru is enjoined upon the disciple.

I remember an instance of her clear intention in a given case. A boy running away from home had come to the Ashram and wanted to stay on. Outwardly he had nothing to recommend him except that he had relatives living here. The Mother accepted him and wanted certain relatives who were an easy-going people to take charge of him. She said that it would teach them a sense of responsibility. In spite of knowing her intention, the members refused the offer, except for one member of the same family. She took up the responsibility and had to undergo a lot of trouble, from the boy’s waywardness and other bad habits till he himself left the Ashram, but she earned the Mother’s grace.

I have spoken of a young boy in the medical chapter who came as a patient, but whom I was given also to look after as a sort of a guardian and friend. I was supposed to

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help him to a disciplined life as regards food, sleep and other habits. To this end, he used to take his breakfast with me and spend his evening time playing indoor games in the Dispensary. When he left for Calcutta, I asked the Mother if I was "one of those who had harmed him", for that was the story going round in the Ashram in her name. Sri Aurobindo replied, "Mother never said anything of the kind about you. On the contrary she has always approved of his going to you because you give him a physical support, encourage him to eat, etc..."

Another young man came to work in the Dispensary with the Mother’s permission. He too was a problem. The Mother had wrested him from undesirable influences and put him under my care! Brilliant, but almost reckless, having a big idea about himself and making various experiments in yogic practice, he ended up as a nervous wreck. Since he entertained genuine feelings towards me, the Mother thought that I could help him to get some balance. We were good friends, but his spirit was too unruly for my yogic samatā to bear him for long. Finally he had to leave with tears in his eyes to fulfil a "big mission", to quote Sri Aurobindo. I wrote to Sri Aurobindo: "It is really a pity that he is going - with so many parts also!" He answered: "He is going with tears and full of blessings. Perhaps it is the ’pans’ you speak of that call him - his horoscope was found to be brilliant and almost Leninesque. Perhaps one day you will gaze at the figure of pāglā[mad] Jaswant (I think that is Mridu’s description) presiding over the destinies of a Communist India! Why not? Hitler in his ’handsome Adolf days was not less pāglāor prettier, so there is a chance."

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Let me be permitted to make a pleasant digression here, though not strictly appropriate in the context, but a striking example of patience, good humour and an ideal yogic samatā. It is about Amal (K. D. Sethna) giving lessons in Sri Aurobindo’s Vyasa and Valmiki, Ilion, The Life Divine and what not, to a sadhak who was extremely keen to learn, but alas, God gave him not much of grey matter! Amal used to come every day for Pranam upstairs and, while waiting for the Mother who sometimes was an hour late, he would stretch himself on the mat and his zealous pupil sitting by his side would start reading. How Amal used to correct his pronunciation, tell the meaning of words which the pupil could with difficulty articulate, explain the passages, was a sight repeated from day to day. The teacher’s temper was always unruffled, kind and indulgent. I wondered why he was wasting his precious time. Did he take it as an exercise in yogic samatā or did he think that whatever was done in the yogic way would count in the economy of the universe? At any rate, I could not but admire his perfect composure and sweetness of temper, which seem, by the way, to be the innate qualities of his soul, and an object-lesson to many of us. It was reminiscent of the Guru’s patience with us in his letters. The state of the pupil’s mind can be gauged by a couple of humorous examples of malapropism I am giving below:

He turned the poetic phrase, "Starry eyes that falter not, set in an exalted visage" into the champion distortion: "Staring eyes that flatter not, set in an exhausted village." Once he asked Amal: "Isn’t the hero of Homer’s epic Odious?" Amal said: "Yes, many people have thought

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that, but nobody before you has uttered such an apt thing about Odysseus."

I have cited all these trivial instances in order to show how, apart from her yogic force, the Mother used also minor psycho-physical aids to prepare the sadhak in the inner discipline. Of course all these ways of her action were commonplace to us, but not always to those who were not familiar with them at least at the beginning. Here are some more personal examples: I was passing through a hard time; the Guru’s long sweet letters had only a momentary effect. At this period an intimate friend wanted to come for his second visit. As no suitable room was available, I offered to share with him my small room in the Dispensary. The Mother consented at once, though it was a dispensary. When people raised an objection, Sri Aurobindo wrote to me: "Mother has put him there, because his influence would be helpful to you." I was surprised! Yet, in the case of another friend, the answer was, "You are not to share your room with him."

A more subtle way: During the Pranam downstairs in the ’fifties, quite a number of people would sit in her Presence throughout the function. I used to work in my office-room upstairs, go down for Pranam and come back at once. The work was just an excuse for my reluctance to sit "unnecessarily", for such a long duration. It would be a waste of time, I thought. One day the Mother, coming up after the Pranam, told me, "I looked for you. A sadhika was ill. I wanted you to go and see her, but you were not there." I replied, "I was here all the time, Mother." As if she did not know it, she simply heard me without a word more and I understood what she had meant. She wanted

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that instead of my so-called reading, I should have been sitting like the others in her Presence. If this is a too fanciful interpretation by a bhakta, I shall give a clearer example. At one stage, she was seeing some people, especially the departmental heads, in her boudoir, in the afternoon. Others would sit outside watching her and enjoying her Presence, and later expecting to catch her soul-stirring glance and sweet smile when she would pass by them to her room upstairs.

This would last about an hour. I used to do my work at my desk instead of being bathed in her atmosphere. One day light dawned on me and, putting aside the books, I went to sit with the others outside. As soon as she came out, her eyes fell on me and she exclaimed with a gracious smile, "Ah, you are there!" Then she moved on, radiating joy, beauty and love on all around. I was reminded of Wordsworth’s lines:

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads.

I understood her exclamation and from then onwards I came every day, but strangely enough, rather I should say naturally enough, she neither repeated that smile nor looked at me, but I was sure she noted my presence.- Nothing could elude her eyes nor her knowledge. As to her not looking, she had done her work by dropping a hint and I had caught it. That was enough.

Vivekananda, if I remember rightly, and Nivedita too perhaps have said what a fine life it would have been to pass one’s days sitting at the feet of Sharada Devi, the

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Mother of the Ramakrishna Ashram, instead of spending all one’s energy in useless hectic activities! A moment’s mood, it may be, but the truth of the feeling is unmistakable.

I was trying to learn French, but was still playing with the idea, going about from one teacher to another. Then I heard that our engineer Chandulal was taking with the Mother’s permission a French class for a few sadhaks. The number was restricted and approved by her. It was hardly a class: we used to read one sentence each from the Mother’s Prayers and Meditations - that’s all. I was not very regular. One day the Mother herself came to the class and read a whole prayer and that very day I was absent! I learnt that her visit had been pre-arranged, but it had been kept a secret. She had also the door bolted from within. Imagine my sense of shame and regret at missing this rare opportunity. But that was her way.

One peculiar action of hers still remains to me a mystery. A young fellow came to her with a red eye - a clear case of simple conjunctivitis. She asked my opinion and I told her the diagnosis. Then she said, "You can treat him here." I could not understand why, when there was a fully equipped dispensary opposite the Ashram, while I had nothing at the spot. But mine was not to question, only to obey. I had to get all the necessary implements, attend to him, and show her the patient’s daily progress. Of course both the doctor and the patient got "a chance", to use our Ashram lingo.

Since I have touched upon the subject of medicine, let me give one more instance along this line.

One day the Mother told me that an old army doctor

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had come to the Ashram and was teaching physiology in the school. She would like me to go and tell the doctor that he should give the students some elementary lessons on the reproductive organs, their functions, purpose, etc.; in other words, what we call sex-education. I wondered what lay behind this move. We knew very well that the Mother was "modern", even "ultra-modern" in many ways, just as Sri Aurobindo was "a modern Avatar"; still this seemed to be too modern for the Ashram. There must be an inner call for it, I conjectured. The doctor accepted the suggestion and said that he would get some slides on the subject. A few years later when the doctor had left I was asked, with the Mother’s permission, to give a number of talks to a group of young men on the same subject with a special emphasis on brahmachārya and its vital connection with the seminal fluid. When, however, years afterwards, another request was made for a talk, she said, "Why raise the issue again? Its necessity is over." A significant remark which implied that she was always guided by inner laws and inner movements.

Once the Lieutenant-Governor of Pondicherry wanted to meet the teachers of our Centre of Education in order to have an idea of our method of teaching. I was at that time teaching French. I was one of the teachers selected by the Mother for the occasion. Her choice of my name had an occult touch, for I had just a passing whim to go to the Lieutenant-Governor and the Mother caught its vibration! I was so surprised when Pavitra, our Director, spoke to me of her choice. I had several other instances and I am sure many others know too how such small passing wishes or prayers were caught by her.

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From the year 1953 when the Mother had begun to sleep in her new room, or perhaps a few years later till she had stopped going to the Playground, every night on her way to her room she gave her benedictions to Kamala, Champaklal and myself as we used to wait to wish her "Bonne nuit". One night Champaklal was not present. The Mother enquired, "Where is Champaklal?" I replied, "I don’t know, Mother; perhaps he has gone down." She was not satisfied with the answer and was visibly concerned. She said, "Has he run away?" I was surprised to hear such a strange surmise from the Mother, but answered firmly, "Mother, how can he run away? It is impossible!" "I should think so," she answered dubiously. I cannot say how far she was assured by my reply, but leaving us in a perplexed mood, she went slowly up to her room. I do not remember now what made Champaklal absent himself that night or if there was any ground for her remark.

The construction of our lovely swimming pool in the Sportsground had been complete and was thrown open to all the Groups of Physical Education. At last, I thought, some pleasant innocent exercise when I had given up all other games. But alas, soon I began to feel uneasy after the dip, even a bit out of sorts. One night I had the vision of Sri Aurobindo’s right arm stretched out across the en- trance to the Sportsground. The indication was quite clear that I should stop my innocent pastime. I asked the Mother if swimming was harmful for me. She answered, "No, you can go for swimming." But when I told her about my dream, she said, "Then you should not go." This is how the Guru guides us in every little detail!

It was 21st February, 1971, the laying of the foundation-

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stone of the Matrimandir at Auroville. Twelve sadhaks headed by Nolini were selected by the Mother to represent the Ashram. I happened to be one of them. I was not in physical contact with her at this time. Some of us like Sahana and Sisir were the least expected persons to be named. The time fixed for the ceremony was early morning. Hundreds of people gathered in the vast open space; all kinds of vehicles were used to cover a distance of about ten miles; children, boys, girls, men, women old and young, Indians, Westerners - all had assembled for the solemn occasion. A sacrificial fire was lit-"A fire that seemed the body of a god" -with the chanting of Vedic hymns, and the Mother’s music, in an atmosphere of hieratic stillness. The foundation-stone was laid by Nolini. Soon after, the Sun-God appeared in the eastern sky in his silent majesty and beauty. His beneficent smile kindled in our hearts a hymn of adoration to the supreme Deity - the Divine Mother.

On the Prosperity day, the Mother used to distribute our monthly material necessities to each of us. During the long distribution, some of us used to sit by her with her permission. To be so close to the Divine’s physical Presence and watch at the same time the significantly changing expressions on her face was a delight to be envied even by the gods. Dante says of Beatrice:

What she appears when she smiles a little,

Cannot be spoken of, neither can the mind lay hold on it,

It is so sweet and strange and sublime a miracle.7

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This is true of the Mother much more.

One day a visitor managed to slip in and sit close to us. We noticed him, but none could tell him that it was not allowed, for we could not be impolite nor were we sure if the Mother would approve of our action. Suddenly she looked at me and with her eyes made a sign. It was a quick. glance which others had hardly perceived, but I under- stood and told the person that he had to go. How her single moment’s glance could take note of so many things, small and big, at a time, was to us a perpetual wonder.

Sometime in 1961, we went to Puttur, a village in the South, famous for setting bone-fractures by an indigenous method. It was the first time that I went out of Pondicherry after about thirty years. I shall tell the story very briefly. Kalyan, a friend of mine, had broken his elbow- bone in a football match with our youngsters. Our Ashram doctor had set the fracture and put the elbow in plaster. But the pain would not subside. For three months, the poor fellow could not have good sleep. The suffering was too much to bear. So he decided to try Puttur. He took permission from the Mother and her blessings. She warned us to be very careful about food and water. We started in a car along with two friends who knew the place and the healers. Our arrival stirred the locality into wondering, whispers and stares. Well-dressed people from the Ashram straying into a dingy, dirty place tucked away in a lonely countryside! The vaidya was informed and we were at once ushered in. He heard the story, removed the plaster and examined the place of injury. "The bones have not been properly set," he said. We had come too late. He could certainly set the bones right but he could not

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guarantee a perfect union; there might remain a gap between the bones. "But I am more concerned about the pain," Kalyan said. "Oh, the pain, it will go at once!" he replied with an assuring smile. He took Kalyan’s hand and gave it a sudden twist; Kalyan had just time to emit a sharp "ah" and the thing was done. Then he applied a paste prepared with leaves and eggs, and tied a bandage. As soon as the paste was applied, the pain vanished as if by magic. A broad smile lighted Kalyan’s face and a few jibes by him at our medical profession darkened mine. I pocketed them - happy, however, at his happiness. The only fee for the treatment was the cost of a few eggs. We were very happy, for we would be able to greet the Mother with our success. Thanking the vaidya profusely, we departed and set out for Tirupati to see its celebrated temple. Kalyan was so jubilant that he started driving the car himself.

At Tirupati we had a wonderful time, thanks to the influence of a young Andhra sadhak, whom Sri Aurobindo had named Dayakar and who had been a favourite of the Mother. After two days we returned and narrated the whole Puttur story to her. She remarked: "There is a power in the family that acts through them." She was surprised to hear that Dayakar had met us at Tirupati and that we had had a good time. Somehow I did not tell her that we had planned to meet there. When, however, he visited the Ashram, she came to know from him about the plan. "And Nirod did not tell me all that! Farceur! (Jester)" she added.

Later on, I wrote an article on Puttur and the Tirupati temple, which was published in the Illustrated Weekly of

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India and earned me Rs.100/-, my first income from Writing. When I offered the amount to the Mother, she asked, "Don’t you need some of it?" "No, Mother," I replied.

The following incident also took place in 1961. The gymnastic Groups in the Playground were reorganised. A propos of it a point was raised about the need of a certain degree of compulsion for those who joined them. This was especially in the case of those above the age of forty, I believe. It was decided by the captains that one day in a week, preferably Monday, there should be compulsory marching for the "Blue Group", i.e., the seniormost male members. On other days the members were left free to do exercises as they liked. The word "compulsory" raised a small storm of indignation among us. Why should we, responsible sadhaks, be treated like school-children? This was the burden of the controversy. Some of us left the Group on this account. I was one of those who had a dislike for any sort of compulsion. All the same, I thought I would take the Mother’s views on the matter, though I suspected that she had already been consulted before the step was taken.

It was the usual morning Pranam time and people had gathered, among whom were Nolini, Amrita, Pavitra, Champaklal, Madhav and others. The Pranam being over, the Mother was on her way to her room on the top floor, when I asked her, "Mother, what should I do? Shall I join the Group?" The question led to a discussion lasting nearly half an hour, the entire assembly listening with rapt attention and the Mother standing all the while. She replied, "That was what A was telling me about. He said

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that he had been doing regular exercise; so he need not join the Group. Besides, he said, all his friends were keeping out. Of course, he can’t carry the flag8. P says March Past will be done without the flag. Well, what I want is that everyone should do regular exercise, not doing it one day to drop it the next. It must be done regularly to keep the body fit. There is also a provision made for those who don’t want to join the Group. All the facilities will be given to them except the March Past on special days. That also does not matter very much since it is held only four or five times a year.

Myself: People are making two objections to the scheme, one about the "Mass Drill". It is neither interesting nor useful.

Nolini: (suddenly raising his voice) Why, I find it very interesting.

Myself: It seems more like some amusement; that was the impression given by our captain.

Mother: I don’t know why he gave that impression. The drill is meant as a preparation for the December show. If one starts learning it very early, then there is a chance of its being perfect. The previous ones had many defects. Though I am not an expert judge of these things, I have seen the photographs taken of them and there the defects can be seen. So they want to give training very early.

Myself: Next is the point of compulsion.

Mother: Compulsion is necessary. If you want to remain in the Group, you have to obey the Group discipline. That is quite reasonable. I will tell you one thing: without

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discipline, strict discipline, no progress can be made in life. No yoga is possible without it. You can’t take one step forward without strict discipline. You may utter a mantrafor a hundred years, but without discipline you won’t be able to see beyond the tip of your nose.

Another point is about the uniform. You know it costs quite an amount of money. Those who won’t join shall not have uniforms. They don’t need them, besides. Not that a few uniforms cost much, but when it comes to a big number, the expenses become quite heavy.

No, I have read the whole programme; it is quite reasonable. You have a choice: you can go to the Non- Group. But once you have made your choice, you have to stick to it till the end of the year. If you can’t follow any discipline yourself, well, then submit to the discipline of those who have some experience of life. So make your choice. Au revoir!

With these words, the Mother went up, leaving us stunned in an atmosphere charged with force and silence. As soon as I had touched upon the last question, that of discipline, the tempo of her voice had begun to rise in a crescendo till it reached its peak at the end of her advice. All the while, her gaze had been fixed on my eyes and the words hit like bullets my vital nature’s self-will in the name of freedom. The entire assembly had listened, standing still like statues. Many years have passed since then, but I am continuing my compulsory Monday attendance, so much force had been generated in that dynamic utterance. Only we have named it "Black Monday", à la Charles Lamb. Nolini who was one of the listeners was also in our Group; he did not, of course, need any such compulsion from

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outside, neither was Monday black for him; it was golden. But Nolini is Nolini. He joined also the Mass Drill which, as he said, he found interesting, and attended both the items regularly till he retired due to age. There were others too who had left for other reasons, but somehow, however reluctant and antipathetic I am to this Black Monday, when the day arrives some force drags me on to the Playground.

There was another occasion when we witnessed the Mother in a similar mood, but far more intense, more trenchant. We shall speak of it later.

One word about discipline. We hear very often that the Mother has given us freedom. Freedom and discipline are therefore contradictions and people justified their free ways by quoting the Mother’s authority. When it was referred to her, she vehemently protested and said, "Where and when have I supported indiscipline?" Well, this strong admonition should now dispel all such wrong ideas still going about in the Ashram.

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