Talks by Nirodbaran

11 September 1969

Yet shall they look up as to peaks of God

And feel God like a circumambient air

And rest on God as on a motionless base.²¹³

[After having written the above quotation on the board] What a feat of memory!

Friends, comrades and fellow-travellers! (I am becoming Shakespearean!) Because I've been suffering from some troubles and since you are my very, very good friends, I will as usual lay down my heart of troubles before you and hope that you will shed some sympathetic tears (which is very common among you) over my problems. Although I say 'my heart of troubles', it is not my 'sweet heart' that troubles me, to quote Amrita-da;²¹⁴ it is my fuzzy head that is the seed of the trouble. A peculiar kind of headache I'm suffering from, for a long time now, which unfortunately cannot be located. It is neither like Sri Aurobindo's headache which remained above the head, nor is it beneath. If you would excuse my use of medical knowledge, neither is it frontal, nor occipital, nor temporal, nor intracranial. Well, it seems to be somewhere in the mind. That means, it is a psychological headache. And the causes are various. But one particular cause that I have found I'll tell you later. When I suffer from it, I feel like Shakespeare (that's why I started my lecture in imitation of Shakespeare) addressing, you know, the famous piece which goes something like: "Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,/ Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ...?"²¹⁵ etc. Or I feel like sending an

213Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, 11:1: 704.

214A well-known joke from Amrita-da,

215William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Macbeth, Act V, Scene III, lines 40-41.

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SOS to my Guru as I had done once in rhyme:

OGuru, O Guru,

My head, my head

and the damned fever -

Iam half-dead

(Laughter)

with pain and pressure!

But blessed liver

functions quite well.

Please send the other

to hell, oh to hell!

And He replied in a similar vein:

Cheer up! Things might have been so much worse. Just think if you had been a Spaniard in Madrid or a German communist in a concentration camp! Imagine that and then you will be quite cheerful with only a cold and headache. So:

Throw off the cold,

damn the fever,

be sprightly and bold

And live for ever.

(Laughter) But since none of these sources is available and you are the nearest (Laughter), I appeal to you. Funnily enough, this malady comes usually on Tuesdays.²¹⁶ (Laughter) It lasts for a long time, unless some remedy is found, but fortunately it is found and that too by my lady-physicians. (Laughter) They doctor upon the doctor! They're some sort of aswini kumaris.²¹⁷ Don't be surprised that I call them kumaris. We are all kumaras and kumaris in spite of marriage.²¹⁸

However, yesterday, just when I was threatened with this headache, one of these aswini kumaris glided in with a fine packet of aspro (aspirin) to cure my headache. This aswini kumari, who goes by a mortal name (Laughter), said with a gracious smile, "Take this and

216These talks were given mostly on Wednesdays and, a few times, on the preceding Tuesdays as well.

217Divine physicians.

218Because whether they are married or not, all the members lead a chaste life in the Ashram.

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you'll feel ever so much better." Well, her smile had already cured it by half, and the rest was done by the packet. It worked like a charm. So I could not do better than present it to you, fearing that you also at one time or another must be suffering from headache or heartache due to some indigestion either of liver or of stomach, and so you too can take this packet conveniently. You will see what a relief you get by it.

Well, I suppose I should get to the subject of my talk today without beating about the bush any more. The thing is that there is an article here: "My Friend and My Master", written by one of our old sadhaks, whose name was Charu Dutt. These ladies, when they were barely bigger than a thumb, used to call him 'Dadu and would be regaled by his fascinating stories. Mother once remarked about him that he was a born storyteller. For the rest, what he was and what he did, etc., has been very well put here, in this somewhat long article. I'm not quite sure that we'll be able to finish it within the limited amount of time we have, unless you allow me to go beyond time and space for a while. (Laughter) So I'll read it without further delay or introductory remarks.

He wrote this piece after the passing of the Master. He says that he had already published, in two special numbers of an outside magazine,²¹⁹ some articles on Sri Aurobindo, but there were other things of a more or less intimate nature which, out of delicacy, he'd kept back at the time, and many of his friends are now pressing him to write about them. Still, he's hesitated for several months. [Reading from Sri Aurobindo Circle, 8:1952]

Since the passing away of the Master, strange tales about his earlier life have been sprouting out, like mushrooms, all around us. The phenomenon is natural enough after a long period of reticence and it can do harm, for Sri Aurobindo is above human appraisement. But in this atmosphere, I feel very shy about unpacking my bundle of rags, invaluable though they are to me. If he had but once glanced at them, they would have turned to priceless shawl and brocade. Still he is my all, and, wherever he may be, I am sure he would protect me and guide me. I look for no protection against censure, for censure is

219 A nonAshram publication.

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to me a laurel crown; it is guidance I need, as to what can be said and how. In the matter of very intimate experiences, human language is an inadequate medium of expression. My readers have probably heard of the great mystic of Sindh, Shah Latif. He has told a story, something like this, bearing on the point: "One day I was sitting by the village well meditating on my beloved. (The Sufi loves to call God his beloved, his M'ashuqa). The women of the village were coming and going with their pots. Suddenly I saw three very pretty girls, approaching the well. As they passed by me laughing merrily, I heard them speaking of the delirious joy they had felt in their husbands' company the night before. One of them, the youngest, was shy and spoke very little. The other two chafed her and said, "What, little one, you did not experience any joy?' 'Joy!' was the reply, 'Yes, sister, very great joy. But how can I describe it in words?' They passed along. I closed my eyes and said to my beloved, 'Truly, M'ashuqa, can that bliss be described?'"

Do I not know the ecstasy of union with my Master ? Of course I do, but without his Grace I cannot convey it to others. Well, I lay my difficulty at his feet, let him solve it as he will. I never hesitated to tell him anything. Face to face with him, all sense of awe and fear, of shyness and shame, vanishes into thin air - a soft sweet rosy light of love pervades me. But am I so unfortunate as not to know that my Aurobindo is also the Lord of all - and the Supreme transcending all ? No, I certainly know him to be all this, but my direct perception, my intimate contact is of the Lord of my heart. If he leads me to realise his other aspects, I shall realise them. When on the 5th of December last, at early dawn, I saw him in his last sleep, tears gushed out of my eyes, and I said almost audibly, "I shall never see that sweet face again!" I wept then for my friend, comrade and master of yore who had passed away - not for the Lord of the Universe who is deathless. Thereafter he consoled me and I wept no more. But a void remained in the heart, a hidden grief that something that was is no more. But it is equally true that He is ever present within me, present more intensely than he had been before.

Well, I shall just give a sort of an introduction in one or two words which will also come in the course of the article. Charu Dutt had been an I.C.S. officer, a government servant; and though he was an I.C.S. officer, he took part in Sri Aurobindo's revolutionary activity. So he addresses Sri Aurobindo as the Leader and the Chief. He served under Him and was a very loyal friend. So the intimacy grew from that time,

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but there was a break, then it was renewed again. This much is enough for an introduction, the rest you will find in the article itself:

In the remote past, when I was a school boy, Benoy, the eldest brother of Aurobindo, came to live in our little town. He used to regale us with interesting stories of many lands, and spoke often of his favourite brother, Auro, of his sweet temper and brilliant genius, of the fond love that their father bore him. But along with all this lavish praise he would always refer to his brother's stubborn nature - "But, by Jove! He was as obstinate as a mule!" Now we are all familiar with the old portrait of Sri Aurobindo as a boy of eleven. His brilliant intelligence and sweet temper are apparent enough thetein, but there is nothing to indicate that he was "obstinate as a mule".

I am sure there are many mules here! (Laughter)

In his actual life, however, we have had many instances of an unbending nature, that is to say, of firm determination rather than of stubbornness. His famous letters to his wife amply indicate this firmness, along with a loving and affectionate nature. His failure to appear at the riding test in England was no idle whim. As he explained to me one day, it was the least unpleasant way of letting his father know that he did not want to join the I.C.S.

See how considerate He was. In this connection, I remember a story but I don't know if it is true. When Sri Aurobindo was in Calcutta and taking part in political activities, He knew one of the youngsters who had joined the movement. I don't know whether that youngster was the only son or one of many sons, but he used to remain absent from home for quite a number of days, and naturally his mother used to be upset about it. So he told his tale of sorrow to Sri Aurobindo. Sri Aurobindo said, "No, no, no, don't do that. You should not cut off all connections abruptly. First you should tell your mother, 'Mother, I'm going, I'll come back the day after tomorrow.' Then when you come again, tell your mother, 'This time I'll come after a week.' Then you'll prolong the absence in this way, so that your mother gets used to your separation." So this is His consideration for others' feelings!

I always looked upon Aurobindo as a resolute man, - a man who

knew his mind. As my revolutionary chief, he was never whimsical or

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capricious. But his outstanding quality was an infinite compassion; his justice was ever tempered by mercy. I am speaking, just now, of the period before his final departure from Calcutta, when he acted principally under the guidance of his rational intelligence. Once in 1907, a report came to him that a certain young revolutionary worker had been guilty of grave misconduct. I was then in Calcutta. Ordinarily, in such cases, we took the necessary action and informed him of it. But he took up this particular case himself and ordered a very severe punishment. When he told me of it, I assured him that his order would be carried out without delay. My difficulty was that I was not myself convinced of the young fellow's guilt. But it was not for me to reason why, when I received an order. So I issued the necessary directions. Next morning, I found him sitting listlessly with a sad look on his face and asked, "You quite well, Chief ?" He replied, "I don't feel comfortable about that matter of yesterday. Have I been hasty ? You never said anything, Charu!" "Do I ever say anything when you issue an order?" I got up promptly and walked out saying, "Let me see how far things have gone. If at all possible, I shall stay execution of your order." Luckily, it was not too late, and the previous order was countermanded. His mercy stepped in to temper the severity of his justice. Those who have had the good fortune of attending on the Master personally, here in the Ashram, have had daily experience of his sweet temper and his beautiful smile. But we others, we have seen instances, too, where a sadhak, gone astray, was recklessly proceeding to dig his own grave, while the Master was trying persistently to save him. The Lord of the sinful, the Lord of the destitute, the Lord of the weak, has ever been like this!

When in 1890 I came to Calcutta for my studies, I used to hear a great deal about Aurobindo Ghose. Whatever we heard astonished us greatly. The son of a rabidly Europeanized man like Dr. K. D. Ghose, a boy brought up in England from early boyhood, has so thoroughly Indianised himself in his dress and food and habits that people can never cease talking of it. And when he married, he chose a very young Bengali bride and went through the whole of the old-fashioned Hindu rites! People told us that he was a man vastly learned in Western lore and was now engaged diligently in learning Sanskrit and various modern Indian languages. Young as we were, we could not quite tally things. But we said often to ourselves that Bhupal Babu's little girl, Minu, was indeed a lucky wife. Her clever

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husband was bound to be the Diwan²²⁰ of Baroda one day. I had always been very anxious to have a glimpse of this prodigy, but had no luck. In 1896,I went away to Europe for a few years, and it was not till my return home that I met him casually on the Baroda station platform, as I have already stated elsewhere.

In the seventies of the last century, when the famous Keshub Chandra Sen²²¹ had gone to England, he had created a sensation, and the Punch²²² wrote of him:

Who is this Keshub Chandra Sen?

Bigger than a bull, smaller than a wren,

Is this Keshub Chandra Sen?

Twenty years later, much the same question passed and repassed in the Indian mind with regard to Aurobindo Ghose. Who and what is this wonderful young man ? Is he going to be somebody truly great or is he going to droop and wither like so many others ?

And what did his English fellow-students think of him? A couple of very short stories would give my readers some indication of this. In the second year of my service, (I had not met Aurobindo as yet), I had a boss of the name of Percy Mead. He was a very nice fellow, only a little older than I. Once, while we were camping not far from each other, he asked me to go over to his camp the next day, saying, "There are some important matters pending, which we can fix up when we meet. Then we shall have a short walk, a simple meal and a long chat. In the morning I shall ride with you a part of the way to your camp." I rode up, accordingly, to Mead's camp the next day, arriving at about 4 p.m. The work took us about an hour to finish. After that we rambled in the fields till dusk. After a quiet dinner, we chatted for a couple of hours on a variety of things, big and small, and got into bed about midnight. In a little while, Mead called out, "Dutt, are you a Bengali?" I said, "I am, but why do you ask?" He replied, "There was an Indian student in my days at the varsity, a great classical scholar, who had well-nigh beaten all record in Latin and Greek. His name was Aurobindo Akroyd Ghose. I knew him well. In fact, he helped me materially in my studies. Do you know him? I have an idea that he was a Bengali, though some fellows, because of his English middle name, said he was a Christian." I laughed, "No, he is not a Christian, he is a Hindu Bengali. I know his people, but I have not actually met him as yet.

220Chief Minister, principal advisor to the Maharajah.

221A great Bengali preacher.

222Magazine.

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He is the vice-principal of the Baroda college." Mead said, "It is a pity that the man is an Indian and has had to come to this country. He would have been a famous professor in Cambridge. Well, Dutt, remember me to him when you meet him and tell him Percy Mead of Cambridge was inquiring after him. Good night!" A couple of years later, I recounted the tale to Aurobindo. He replied promptly, "Yes, I remember young Mead. He was a nice fellow, not stuck-up like the average public school man."

Another English civilian, once a fellow-student of Aurobindo, made a funny remark to me, some years later: "Fancy, Ghose a ragged revolutionary! He can with far greater ease write a big lexicon or compose a noble epic." I have forgotten the mans name, but he had a great regard for his fellow-student of the old days. I wonder if he is still alive and read Savitri. Truth to tell, no one understood my chief, not even his clever Maharaja. In 1907, when I met His Highness in Baroda, he said to me quite solemnly, "Try and persuade your friend not to resign his job here. Let him go on extending his leave. Otherwise they are sure to lock him up." When I told Aurobindo this, he laughed out, "The old man will never understand my politics. Still, he is fond of me, I suppose. Of course, you would say it is the fondness of the Moslem housewife for the fowl that she is fattening up for the festive meal."

That is typical Aurobindonian stuff; the remark carries the pakka Aurobindonian seal.

But I was always sure that I understood his politics. I had a fear all along that he would suddenly leave us, one day, to go up to a higher plane. Well, has he not done so more than once? From Baroda to Calcutta, from Calcutta to Pondicherry, from Pondicherry to another world, as soon as he received the call from within, or from above! As long as I did not realise that he was the embodied Divine, I tried to appraise his actions by my intellect. That he was always a Yogi, a seeker, I never doubted. Towards the end of his Baroda days, he initiated Deshapande and Madhavrao²²³ in the Onkar Mantra,²²⁴ and they practised it assiduously. What he did, or tried to do, all

223Both were close friends of Sri Aurobindo in Baroda, their friendship dating back to when they were students together in the UK.

224A mantra is a set of mystic words given by a guru to an adept of yoga, which, when chanted repeatedly, produces subtle changes in the nature and inner being of the adept. 'Om' is the seed sound that originates the universe. It is used at the beginning and the end of most mantras. It is an extremely powerful sound when recited correctly and with full faith.

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along, for an absolute duffer like me, I am going to relate presently. When the time truly came for me to enter the spiritual path, he took a decisive step. His compassion towards me was boundless. He had gone on preparing me by a series of very subtle steps, before he finally threw wide open the portals of my heart. All this I shall recount, as I go on.

In 1910, at the end of my compulsory furlough, I rejoined my job in Sindh. The chief left Calcutta the same year and took up a new line of work here in Pondicherry. All this I have related already. In 1925,I retired from service and took up residence in Bengal. For some time I had to encounter very stormy and inclement weather, and my wife used to tell me constantly, "Go and see Ghose Saheb; he will give you peace." But I could not get over my huff as yet; I could not forget how he had deserted us, at a critical time. I worked for Rabindranath [Tagore] for about seven years. I took up literary work. I dabbled in art. But nothing brought me peace. Probably, association with the great poet somewhat broadened my narrow and blood-thirsty patriotism. It was, however, nothing to speak of. Occasionally some letters of Sri Aurobindo came to my hand; I read them eagerly, but without much understanding. About this time, a young sadhak of the Pondicherry Ashram wrote a very kind letter to me, somewhat in this strain, "There are many of us here who are very keen on meeting you. Won't you pay us a short visit ?" However much of a rationalist I might have been, I believed that these people were in quest of something sublime and, what is more, they had, in their Master, the greatest spiritual personality of the age. Still, I did not respond to the cordial invitation of this young Yogi. I wrote to him, "I shall not go to your Ashram to satisfy my curiosity. When I go, it will be to offer myself." Idle words! For, today, I know whose loving hand was invisibly pulling the strings the whole time, unfit though I was for a spiritual life.

At this time, I was fully occupied in writing on a variety of subjects - physical sciences for the young, a biography of Shivaji for the University, a history of the national movement for the Congress, novels and short stories for the general reader, and a number of reviews for periodicals. Strangely enough, it was a writing of this last class that changed the whole tenor of my life.

Mark how one's tenor of life can be changed by simple incidents. Perhaps you remember the line in Savitri:²²⁵

225 Book IV, Canto III, 373.

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A casual passing phrase can change our life.

To continue with the article:

It was like this. I wrote a very long review of Jawaharlal's Autobiography in the Viswa-Bharati quarterly,²²⁶ which attracted some notice, at least of people who knew me. A sadhak of the Pondicherry Ashram sent this review up to Sri Aurobindo with certain words of hyperbolic praise about myself and asked this question, "Did you, Guru, have any contact with this gentleman of yore? Political?" The reply of the Master came down promptly, "Charu Dutt? Yes, saw very little of him, for physically our ways lay far apart, but that little was very intimate, one of the band of men I used most to appreciate and felt as if they had been my friends, comrades and fellow-warriors in the battle of the ages and would be so for ages more. But curiously enough, my physical contact with men of this type, there were two or three others, was always brief. Because I had something else to do this time, I suppose."

The young sadhak sent this reply to me in Calcutta. On seeing it I was overwhelmed by a sense of shame and sorrow. I sat stupefied for a while. Then my good wife said, "I have told you so often before. Go to him for a while, he will give you peace."

I wrote immediately to my Pondicherry friend, "The time has come for my pilgrimage to your Ashram. Please take Sri Aurobindo's permission and make necessary arrangements." What wonderful Grace! Here I am, an insignificant person; for thirty whole years I have, through a stupid huff, kept away from Him and spoken irreverently of Him, at least in my thoughts, and He, the great Soul, has been, unknown to me, drawing me, gently but persistently, to His feet once again. The reply from Pondicherry came promptly. Sri Aurobindo has permitted me to be present at the next Februarv Darshan. Not only has he accorded his gracious permission, but has cracked a homely joke at my expense - "Does he still smoke that old pipe of his? If so, how can he live in the Ashram?" I was then in a very happy mood. I replied, "Tell Sri Aurobindo that my pipe is my servant; I am its master."

He was a very witty man, you can see. Sri Aurobindo's friends were all witty men! (Laughter) If not witty, they were made witty.

Thus far it was easy enough; but I was a stranger to the Mother of

226 The quarterly magazine brought out by the Visva Bharati University founded by Rabindranath Tagore at Shantiniketan.

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the Ashram! So much had I heard about her, both from her devotees and her detractors! I had paid no heed to things that people said of her. It was easy enough to see that she was a remarkable and powerful personality. I had in the past come into contact with great European women like Mrs. Besant and Sister Nivedita, but there never was any question there of my prostrating myself before them, they were not Divine personalities! However, these things had not passed through my mind before I was actually face to face with the Mother in Pondicherry. When the difficulty arose, the Master himself, in his infinite Mercy, solved it for me. Otherwise my Yoga would have ended even at its commencement. It is best that I should own up to what happened. In these days, there used to be a general blessing by the Mother, on the eve of the Darshan. Along with others, I filed into the meditation hall escorted by a kind friend. At the very last moment, the thought passed through my mind, "If I do not feel inclined to touch the feet of this European lady what then ?" I decided immediately that I would not play the hypocrite.

Such was the man - straightforward. No hypocrisy, no diplomacy; what he felt he would say and he would do. He was known in his service as the 'Revolutionary Judge'. He used to speak openly of revolution. So you see, here is the man: "I would not play the hypocrite" - that is sincerity!

If I did not feel disposed to touch the Mother's feet, I would just do an ordinary namaskar by raising my joined hands to the forehead, and then, immediately on returning to my quarters, I would write a letter to her - "Revered Mother, unable to fall in with the Ashram discipline, I am leaving Pondicherry forthwith." The Master saved me from this dire disaster. As soon as I glimpsed the Mother's radiant feet, I cried to myself, "Fool, fool! You thought these were human feet!" and rushed forward to seize them. A powerful current passed through my frame, and the problem of the Mother's personality was solved for ever. On the morrow of the Darshan, Nirodbaran, the Master's constant attendant, asked me, "What happened, Sir? Why did the Master say, - 'So, Charu Dutt did bow down before the Mother!'" I explained, in all pride, to the friends present, how the Master had saved me.

Yes, Sri Aurobindo had asked us, "Did Charu Dutt bow down to the Mother?"

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Let me, now, describe in short my first Darshan of Sri Aurobindo. My readers can easily imagine how, with trembling feet and a heart all a-flutter, I crossed the threshold of the hall. I had my eyes closed. At the time when I faced the throne, I opened my eyes and had just one glimpse of a face, sky-blue in tint, a shadowy peacock feather on the head. A beautiful benign face, but I could not bear to look at it again. I averted my face and walked away.

This I remember very well because all of us were curious to see him pranam! (Laughter)

My one thought, if I had any thought at all at the time, was that I must not break down. A couple of days later, Puraniji, an old sadhak, came to see me and said, "Charu Babu, I asked Sri Aurobindo -'How did you find your old friend, Sir?' - He laughed and replied - 'Charu would not let me have a look at him.'" It was perfectly true. How could I look him in the face! Thus began my sadhana. Who knows, probably I am still going round and round the starting point. But one thing is quite clear to me. It is that I have received His Grace and that the end is certain.

The very first time that I had the chance I submitted to the Mother that I was absolutely ignorant of things divine and that my sole spiritual observance was the nightly recital of a very short prayer that my own mother had taught me in my infancy. The Divine Mother solemnly looked into my eyes and assured me that my prayers would be guided in future. And guided they have been, steadily and effectively. That earnest look of the Mother was my initiation.

There are one or two tales to relate in this connection. For several years, I had the habit of reading the whole Gita daily - the kind of reading known as Parayana, where the words and their significance flow side by side spontaneously. But this was a habit cultivated within the last 25 years. During the first decade of this century, when I [first] came within Sri Aurobindo's orbit, I was a casual Gita student, reading that scripture with the help of the commentaries and thinking out the meaning in the usual way. I never, however, studied it with Sri Aurobindo. He discussed history and politics with me, read poetry and drama to me in many languages, but never attempted to teach me religion or philosophy. As I have mentioned already, he had given some spiritual instruction to a couple of friends in Baroda; but when, one day, I put him one or two questions about sadhana, he put me off summarily by saying, "Not yet." But, really

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speaking, he had never been indifferent to my spiritual welfare. He gave me only as much as I was capable of receiving at the time. I understood the mantra 'Bande Mataram'. So he tacked me on to the realisation thereof, in Karma. Still, my being was not satisfied, subconsciously it craved for subtler gifts.

In 1906, one day I said to him, "You give so many nice things to others. I have a request to make today for myself. Let me have an old copy of the Gita, one that you have handled for some time." He said nothing at the time but when he came to me again he brought me a very well-thumbed copy of the Gita. He gave it to me very lightly and I took it from him very lightly too. But the real meaning of this giving and taking appeared to me forty years later. When, in 1908,I burnt all his letters and destroyed all books bearing his name ...

Because of his huff!

... I managed to preserve this Gita, though it has in it some writing in Devanagari. The book is very old and the pages brittle. So we have never touched it except just to do a pranam occasionally. In 1946, one morning, I don't know why, I said to the Mother, "Ma mere, Sri Aurobindo gave me a copy of the Gita forty years ago. I want you to keep it." Next morning I handed the book over to her. Soon after this, there came a Darshan day. After the ceremony was over, at 5 P.M., Nirod came to our house carrying something inside his scarf. He called out from the gate: "What will you give me, Sir?" I replied, "Anything you desire." He came forward and put the old Gita in my hand, saying solemnly, "I am repeating Sri Aurobindo's words, 'Sir -I gave you the Gita in 1906 and asked you to keep it. I give it to you again today and ask you to keep it.'" Thus he gave me this priceless book twice - once as my friend, the second time as my Lord and Master, showing clearly that both were the same.