By The Way - Part III

A sadhak came into the office while Dada was talking. He bowed to Dada.

Dada smiled and welcomed him:

'Namaskar. Are you fine?'

He hesitated and did not say anything.

So, Dada told him:

'Whatever it be, you are happy, aren't you? That is enough.'

Dada gave someone a badge and explained to him its meaning:

'The two birds in flight are coming down together onto the earth. The two birds are twin aspects of the Divine: the static and the dynamic, you could call it Purusha and Prakriti. The two birds are golden in colour, that is they are descending carrying the supramental light. There is the Mother's symbol in red on the birds' breast, a symbol of-the Mother's Love. There is water below, water that is creation, multiplicity. They are coming to establish over this creation, over this earth, the Consciousness of the Mother's Love, Peace and Ananda.'

*

Dada was telling us about his youth.

'When we were young, all of us brothers used to go together to our uncle's house in Srirampur. We brothers were all very naughty. There was a huge courtyard in our uncle's house, quite a high raised verandah and large rooms. We would run around the house. Our mischief would unsettle everyone. They were worried that we might slip and fall and break our arms and legs.

I was running on the edge of this raised verandah over the courtyard when someone called out; "Good God ! Don't run like that on the edge. You'll fall!"

As soon as I heard this I said: "Will I fall? See how I jump!" And I jumped onto the courtyard

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My uncle was sitting in a chair in the courtyard and reading a book.

We were all running around. Just then a bit of cement and sand came off and fell near my uncle's chair.

My uncle glared at us and asked us very gravely:

"Tell me, how many more days are you people staying here?"'

In the same context Dada told us:

'You know, my father was extremely short-tempered. He loved us very much but when he got angry, there was no escaping.

In my childhood I used to tell myself "Pranab, see that you do not become short-tempered like your father."'

Hearing those words of Dada's I was quite surprised. He has been so conscious about self-development from such a young age. The motto that Dada has given us for our life, 'Dedicated Service and Self-Culture', this self-purification, this self-control was begun by Dada from that tender young age.

I remembered reading in Dada's book that even after staying so very close to the Mother day and night Dada managed to keep his balance. Some became mad, some others were afflicted physically or mentally. Dada said:

'One thing saved me. I would see that often the Mother gave more importance to someone for a particular work, more attention, and the others who were close to Her felt bad, jealous or angry. Seeing these reactions, I would tell myself: "Beware, Pranab, see that such thoughts do not get into you. Today the Mother has kept you close but if tomorrow She does not give you the same affection, the same attention, you must not change your attitude in any way. Your love for the Mother, your serving the Mother, must remain unaffected".'

This unflinching service without any expectation, this attitude of 'I serve Her because I love Her' is what has saved Dada. All his life, right from his childhood through his adult-

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hood, Dada, even while being the Mother's personal attendant, has always kept this Self-Culture as his life's motto. May we do the same.

Dada has always served the Mother from the very beginning by completely effacing himself. He never paid any heed to his personal problems or needs, comfort or inconvenience. They never even entered his mind.

From the very start Dada had two shirts and two pairs of shorts. They had moreover become old. The shirt sleeves and the shorts were beginning to come unstitched. Threads were coming out but Dada would cut these off with a pair of scissors and continue wearing them.

And so it went on like this. Dada did not pay the slightest attention to it.

One day some old pants and shirts were sent to .the Mother all cleaned and ironed. Chitra-di and Dr Satyavrata of the Ashram had a brother who was a pilot. He had died in war. Chitra-di made a pile of his used clothes that had been cleaned and ironed, and she left them with the Mother to give to anyone who needed them.

The Mother gave these clothes to Dada telling him to give them to anyone who needed them.

Then Dada asked the Mother:

'Mother, can I take a couple of these old clothes for my own use?'

The Mother was surprised to hear this:

'Why should you use these old pants and shirts? Don't you have enough?'

Dada hesitated a little and replied:

'No, Mother, I have two pairs of shorts and shirts and both are torn.'

The Mother was even more taken aback:

'Don't tell me! Why haven't you told me all this time? Just look at that! Quickly, give me a slip of paper.'

So the Mother wrote a note to Albert-da, who is in charge of the Ashram clothes department, asking him to quickly

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make Pranab some pairs of white and khaki shorts and shirts and whatever else he needed.

The Mother felt very uneasy and embarrassed. Why hadn't She paid any attention to this side of the problem?

'From then on, for my birthday, the Mother would offer me two-three boxes filled with new clothes,' Dada told us. 'She gave me so many that I am still using them. I have not been able to wear them out.'

*

One day, while talking about his father, Dada told us:

'My father's departure was quite wonderful. He had not been feeling very well for some time. He was taken to the Nursing Home. There he chatted and laughed with everyone. He was then given a glass of Horlicks. After drinking his Horlicks, father said he wanted to sleep. And so he fell asleep.

After some time the nurse attending on him came and saw that he was no more. He had passed away. Such a death is indeed rare.

Motakaka's passing too was marvellous. After his evening meal he put on his silk kurta, wore some perfume on his body and went to sleep.

The following morning he was gone. He was holding a packet of the Mother's "Blessings" in his right hand and a pinch of snuff between two fingers in the other.'

*

Someone remarked that the son of so-and-so occasionally had backache. It would disappear in a day or two and then return. Dada said:

'Ask him to get it properly checked. Probably one of his legs is slightly shorter, so little that you do not realise it. But

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Dakshinapada - Pranab's father

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it disturbs the body's balance. And that is why he gets backache. The leg that is shorter should have a shoe that is a little higher so that both the legs are equal and then he will not have any pain.'

'Yes, you're right, Dada. The doctor told him after checking him that he should get one shoe made a little higher.'

'Yes, there is no other way. Our body is not all perfectly built. If you watch carefully you will notice that our limbs are not all perfectly symmetrical. Very few people have a perfect body-construction. It is not possible to easily detect this in those who do not. This is revealed when you start doing sports or if there is any physical stress.'

'Yes, Dada, I've read this in one of your books,' someone remarked. 'The Mother told you once that if you draw a line down the centre of the face between the eyebrows over the nose and the lips, the two sides of the face are not identical. If you watch carefully you will notice many differences. The two sides, the two eyes, the two jaw-bones are very different. Otherwise the human face would look like a statue.'

*

'So, Gautam? How are you? I hear you are working at the Dining Room? Are you enjoying it?' Dada asked.

'Yes, Dada.'

'Good. A little hard work does you good. When I first came to the Ashram I went and told Nolini-da to give me such work where I would need to make a lot of effort. Nolini-da asked me to go and work at the Laundry. In those days all the Laundry-work was done by sadhaks: washing of clothes, wringing, drying, then ironing all these clothes in the evening. It was not like today. Today all strenuous work is done by paid workers and machines. In our time all this had to be done by ourselves. There were large water tanks and clothes had to be washed in them; some clothes needed a gentle wash,

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some needed to be beaten vigorously. Then all these washed clothes were rinsed in water in those tanks, wrung and taken to the terrace to be dried out in the sun. In the evening when all the clothes were dry they had to be folded one by one and ironed. I used to iron shorts.

Besides, the soap used to be prepared at the Laundry as well. Caustic soda was mixed proportionately with water in big pots and put over fire for boiling. From the top through a narrow tap groundnut oil was poured into the mixture. This boiling mixture of caustic soda had to be continually stirred with the help of big iron ladles. The handles of the ladles used to get hot and we had to wrap them with some cloth and continue stirring the mixture regularly. "We had to go on stirring this caustic soda mixture for four-five hours. It was very strenuous work. When the solution was ready it was poured into big wooden moulds. The solution would remain in these moulds for a few hours. Then from the mould bars of soap would be cut out. The little bits and crumbs of soap that were left were used the next day for washing clothes soaked in boiling water.'

*

Fifty students and fifteen-sixteen teachers from a school in Orissa have come to meet Dada. The students meet Dada one by one in a line and he gives to each one a booklet. Some students greet Dada with folded hands, some shake hands with him, some hesitatingly, some with great enthusiasm. Some greet him by saying 'Dada, namaskar', some 'bonjour'. Dada responds accordingly with 'namaskar' or 'bonjour'.

Then they all start happily taking photos with Dada. When it is all over Dada looks at them and smiles and says:

'When Prince Philip came to Delhi, he liked the Indian custom of doing "namaskar" very much. He said this Indian

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custom of humbly greeting with folded hands was more beautiful, more hygienic than the English hand-shake.'

The principal of the school asked Dada for a badge in front of the students.

Dada answered:

'Unfortunately, I do not have so many badges.'

So the gentleman said:

'I'm asking only one for myself, not for the students or teachers.'

'How can I give one only to you and not to the others? It does not look right or good.'

The gentleman felt embarrassed.

Then the students sang together a song written and composed by Dada: Pledge Renewed (Standing at Thy altar 0 our Lord Supreme...)

Dada went on looking at them with warm, loving eyes. He listened to their singing. Then he called one of their teachers and told her:

'At two or three places their pronunciation is not quite right. Let them correct that by listening to the cassette.'

*

Someone asked:

'Dada, where were you when Calcutta was being bombed in the Second World War?'

'I was in Berhampore then,' Dada replied. 'People were leaving Calcutta in droves under the menace of bombs. The bombs fell in Hatibagan, in Dalhousie Square, also in Kidderpur dock. The Japanese dropped the bombs into the spouts of the ships harboured in the dry docks. When the bombs fell in Dalhousie Square one of the boys from our Berhampore Club was killed. He had gone to Calcutta to buy books for his new class. There was hardly anyone in Calcutta at that time. They had all gone away; depending

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on what was possible or available each one had sought shelter with their family or relatives far away.

My eldest aunt's house was in Sealdah in Baithakkhana Road. It was a big double-storied house. Whenever anyone from Berhampore went to Calcutta in those times when hotels were few, they would go and put up at my eldest aunt's house in Baithakkhana Road. And they too used to welcome them with open-armed hospitality by making impressive arrangements for their stay and food. Going to Calcutta meant putting up at the Baithakkhana Road house.

I remember when the bombs were falling over Calcutta, this eldest aunt had come to Berhampore to stay in our house. Every week on Saturday she would bring huge cauliflowers, big prawns, loads of sweets and so many other things. While the older people remained in Calcutta, she left the women and the children in our house in Berhampore.

My eldest uncle had three brothers. He himself was very good academically, a very responsible man with an impressive personality. His second and youngest brothers were extremely devoted and grateful to him. The third brother had polio. He used to sit in a front room of the house with a cash-box and loan money on interest to small and big traders, milkmen, labourers and small shopkeepers. This was his work.

The second and the youngest brothers were very fond of good food. I remember one day the second brother wanted to eat meat.

"Today I would like to eat some flesh," he announced. He never said he wanted to eat meat, but eat flesh.

The eldest brother would leave for work very early in the morning and return late in the evening. At home the brothers were as much fond of each other as they would fight and get into trouble. But they were all scared of the eldest brother and respected him. And so very often in the evening as he would be getting into the house the three brothers were engaged in a fight. Without asking anybody any questions or anything he

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would take a stick and give all three of them a good drubbing. He was not interested in knowing what had happened, whose fault it was, etc. He would just enter the house and freely wield his stick.

After some time another scene.

The four brothers would hug one another and cry and wail "Oh, dear, oh, dear brother!" The eldest, the second, the third and the youngest brothers would hold each other tight and go on crying unbelievably.

Then they would all quieten down and start chatting and laughing together as if nothing had happened.

This was quite a common thing.'

*

Dada observed one day:

'Many people try and fool the poor, simple, uneducated people of the villages in many ways. In one such incident a group of Westerners came to a village in their car. Their objective was to propagate Christianity among the poor simpletons of the villages.

They wanted to prove that Jesus Christ was greater than the gods and goddesses, Allah or the saints and fakirs of the village.

The Westerners had deliberately disconnected the start- switch of the car.

The curious villagers gathered round the car as the Westerners told them:

"Listen, our car has stopped. Why don't you call your gods and divinities and try and push the car. Let's see if the car can restart."

The villagers came up one by one.

Tightening the gamcha (an Indian towel) around his waist, one of them tried pushing the car by hailing "Jai Ramji ki!"

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But the car neither moved nor started.

Then another person came up.

"Let me have a try once."

And hailing "Jai Shankarji ki" he tried to push the car,

But the car stayed put.

This time it was a Muslim who came up saying:

"This isn't for you. Let me have a try."

And he began reciting "La Ilaha Rasool Allah" as he tried to push the car.

But the car did not budge an inch. Everyone began thinking that verily the names of gods and goddesses had not helped them to move the car.

One of the Westerners quietly switched on the start-key. Then he called one of the villagers and told him:

"Now utter the name of Jesus and push."

"Victory to Jesus Christ", he hailed as he pushed the car.

Hardly had he done this that the car started moving!

"So you can see with your own eyes the greatness of Jesus," the Westerners proclaimed.

"Now, look again. That tulsi plant is supposed to be God for you, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, we worship Tulsi-mata (Mother Tulsi) in the morning and in the evening. We light oil-lamps to it. Tulsi-mata is our goddess."

"All right, now see what your goddess does. I'm plucking these tulsi leaves and rubbing them onto my feet, onto my body and onto my face. See, nothing is happening to me." - And he began rubbing the leaves on his feet, body and face.

"You see? Your goddess has no glory.”

A clever boy of the village had been watching the whole thing all this time. He said:

"Sir, there is a divinity even more living than the tulsi."

"What's its name?"

"Sir, we call it Ram-tulsi."

"Fine., Go and get me your Ram-tulsi," the Westerner said scornfully.

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The clever boy went and got a branch of nettle from the forest.

"This is our Ram-tulsi. Bow at His feet. Sir."

Contemptuously the Westerner taunted him:

"Oh, I've seen your Ram-tulsi. Just look, I'm rubbing your Ram-tulsi on my feet, on my body, on my face. Your Ram- tulsi won't be able to do anything."

A little later because of all that rubbing of the nettle leaves the poor saheb's body began to burn. He began fidgeting and jumping desperately, uncontrollably. His whole body was aflame and swollen and came out in a rash. The saheb was restless and he was jumping and gasping for life!

The boy then said:

"What, saheb. What do you say now? Does our god have some 'punch'?"

The saheb was speechless but continued to fidget and exclaim "Oh God! Oh God'"'

*

Dada often composes all kinds of rhymes and verses, sometimes by himself, sometimes on other people's request. We are giving here a selection. We hope the readers enjoy them.

Physical Health - For the young

Eat less but work much more

Firm and strong be body your.

Physical Health-For the old

Food, sleep, and work, my dear,

Must measured be, from year to year.

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Cure for Rheumatic Pain

If rheumatic pain flattens you out

Do not fret, do not shout.

Give your body a light workout

Each day of the year, all throughout.

Eat what your tummy thinks is light

A weekly flushing's tummy's delight.

Drink tea and coffee, just a cup not two

But daily fruit is best for you.

Do not let your body go cold,

No getting wet! You have been told!

Keep your tummy clear and light,

Your oiled body in sun delight.

Do your work, don't overstrain.

Due rest and sleep are body's gain.

Put discipline into your life,

Your pain will vanish with fear and strife.

1.1.64

On Agomoni's birthday

(Tuntuni's Rhyme)

Into dear Tuntuni's little hands

Two books I place with picture bands.

Poor Tuntuni without feathery wings

She longs to fly on cloudy swings.

On wings of stories, light and airy

She can now fly like a real fairy.

She may not have real wings to fly

But now none can hold her from flying high!

As dear Tuntuni laughs and plays

My eyes look on, on her happy ways.

She tells me stories, she tells me rhymes,

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My ears amazed, my eyes but gaze.

This little bird with wonder fills

With her energy that awe instils.

Her magic spell charms one and all,

To see her once she does enthral.

This little bird called Tuntuni

In Mother's Love, grown strong and sunny.

In Mother's shade she loves to grow,

Fear and doubt she does not know.

May Mother's Grace be always hers,

The Grace protect sweetest of birds.

Our Tuntuni, this girl so strong

Links all her strength to this Contact long.

17.11.69

It's hot! It's hot!

So very hot!

A glass of sherbet bring!

My body feels

All over moist,

The punkah needs a stronger swing!

When Dada was very young he loved one song very much. Everybody used to sing a line from this song, 'Rajar Kumar Pakshirajey'. One day Rajkumar, a captain of the Playground, came to see Dada. So Dada recited this line to him.

'What comes after that, Dada?' Rajkumar asked.

'I remember just that. I have forgotten the rest of the song.' 'If you've forgotten it then you can create the song yourself. Make a song on me, Dada,' Rajkumar added. So Dada then wrote this rhyme himself:

Rajkumar

Rajar Kumar Pakshirajey

Ever busy, night and day.

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To help rebuild,

Gather what's spilt,

He has no peer

Afar or near.

In the middle of night

At sundown or morning light,

Call him but once,

At your door he plumps!

Ever full of cheer,

A joy to see and hear,

Such a boy's very hard to find:

In a million one of his kind.

All I pray for

At the Mother's dool;

May good come his way In Her Grace's sway.

22.4.92

Ashwini-bhai

Who can beat us?

None defeat us!

Ashwini-bhai is on my side!

Who can beat us?

None defeat us!

If on the way a tyre burst,

Ashwini-bhai I fully trust

Within a flash he can replace

A punctured tube or outer case!

Who can beat us?

None defeat us!

(When Dada was very young in Berhampore, a 'kabuliwala' used to come to hawk walnuts, almonds, bedana (a prized

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variety of pomegranate), asafoetida, kohl, etc. Recalling this childhood memory, Dada made up this rhyme on that gentle 'kabuliwala'.)

Kabuli Rhyme

Whole walnuts crisp and dry

Groundnuts roasted you must try

Sour pomegranate I supply.

And my prices are not high!

Mew, mew, baha

Baha, baha

Bedana,bedana, babu,

Bedana, bedana!

To Shreya-didi

Shreya-didi has made it clear,

I want a rhyme from Dada dear.

In the morning when I appear

It should be ready, do you hear?

Her youthful mind is ever-green,

Her eyes aglow with hope's sheen,

Her heart is fresh and vigorous

Her bosom full of love for us.

A small diminutive body is hers

Her face with happy laughter stirs.

Her thirst to know and understand

All knowledge in its finest strand.

What shall I write to her, then tell me,

What shall I tell our Shreya-didi?

She who wants to live this life

Like a boat that floats on without strife.

The Mother's words, the Mother's counsel

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Is what to her I can rightly tell

The One who pours Her endless Love

Her divine Nectar from high above.

O hark! O hark! my Shreya-didi,

Hold on to Her till eternity,

In your waking, in your sleep,

Her always in your heart you keep.

On life's journey Her Name repeat

In joy and pain or sad defeat.

Lay all you have, ugly or meet

At the Divine Mother's glorious Feet.

15.9.94

A Youthful Body

If sweets and oily fries are out Your body will be young and stout.

6.7.95

To Sumit-bhai

Sunando and Sumit

Not bad boys, I admit.

From morn to night

They dwell in delight.

In and out like lightning come,

Their heads with ideas many hum.

Their greatest joy, I must reveal,

Is licking chocolate for every meal!

8.7.94

(Dada wrote once a rhyme for Agomoni's birthday. Then Agomoni grew up, got married. Her daughter, Aditi, also grew up. One day Aditi came to Dada and told him:

'Dada, you've written a rhyme for my mother's birthday. Now you must write one for me as well.'

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Almost twenty-nine years later Dada wrote a rhyme for Aditi to make her happy.)

Aditi

One morning Aditi expressed a wish

A rhyme for her from me she'd like to fish. .

The rhyme must be ready in three-four days,

For Calcutta she won't leave without it, she says.

With paper and pen I sit down to write.

But what shall I write, no ideas in sight?

My little sister I cannot disappoint,

In seeing her happy our happiness is joint.

The One we call Aditi in Heaven dwells,

Is the Mother of gods twelve, everyone tells.

As the Divine Mother adored by all,

If Her you please, you'll never fall.

When on this earth the Divine Mother came,

Much loved and worshipped, Mira she became.

She is the guardian of our life's responsibility,

We serve Her always, each to his ability.

In doing Her work such joy we get,

It makes us all other joys forget.

Ever forward She leads us our Mother Divine,

She clears our path of any negative design.

Our little sister busy in knowledge's pursuit

Her mind and body blossom on Her Grace's route,

Her being is ever prostrate at Mother's Feet,

Her words of light she does always repeat.

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I ask you now, O my little sister sweet,

Speak to me freely, in confidence complete,

Our life is a nursery for qualities ever fine,

Will you give your life to the Mother's work Divine?

2.8.98

Once Dada took up Bishwanath Banerjee's challenge to write verse in the Tamil way, with the rhymes at the beginning of the lines:

A Tamil Rhyme

I won't eat today

Why if there's work,

Don't tell mother,

Won't I be in trouble,

When work is over,

Then will I eat,

Well if you'd like to come

Tell me clearly right now.

Work comes first

Shirk it not, my friend;

What comes in mind,

Aught hide not from people.

Pen a Tamil poem

Then with great delight.

Will you take the challenge

Till this bet is won?

28.3.98

On Rupa-didi's Request

A girl named Rupa-didi who in Calcutta lives

She writes me letters which the postman gives.

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Once or twice I met her here when she came

She takes me for her brother, 'Buda Dada' is my name.

I do not know how is, but maybe 'twas her temperament

She became my little sister in the flash of a moment.

With this family of 'dadas' and 'didis' life's a joy,

To serve the Mother always all my energies I employ.

The clarion-call of the New World the Mother announced,

Her great Work is underway, the obstacles are trounced.

Becoming divine is the first need of our life,

Then the world purified be and rid of every strife.

May in this task arduous Her direction we get,

On the path of victory let us ourselves set.

20.5.2000

*

Dada told us a very amusing incident:

'One day I was coming down the stairs to go to the Mother. I saw a lady hurry to my mother and ask her: "Prafulla-didi, will you please lend me your fish knife?"

"What for? Why do you need a fish knife?" my mother enquired.

"My son's coming. So I need the knife."

I was a little nonplussed. What on earth does that mean? If the son is coming why does she require a knife?

Later I understood that she needed the fish knife as she wanted to cook fish for him.'

*

'Once I felt like knowing all about physical culture in France,' Dada told us one day.

'Pondicherry was under French rate then. Captain Bohart was the commandant in Pondicherry. I fixed an appointment

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with him so that I could discuss this. I informed the Mother about it and taking an interpreter with me went to meet him. Bohart was himself an athlete and was deeply interested in physical culture.

I was informed that he was in hospital.

In those times the French would go into hospital to rest for the slightest problem. They would come back home after five-six days. So Bohart told me to come and see him at the hospital.

At the hospital I saw that Captain Bohart was in perfect condition as he sat on his bed. He welcomed us and asked us to sit.

Bohart was an expert in shot-put, what in French is called "lancement du poids".

So whatever question I asked, he would somehow bring the subject around to "lancement du poids" and get all excited. At one point he got so excited while talking that he stood up on his hospital bed in order to show me how to throw the shot-put. What a scene that was!

Later Bohart met the Mother and told Her:

"I had a wonderful discussion with Pranab the other day about physical culture. I told him that the French were not as advanced in physical culture as they were in literature or sculpture and that we needed to do something about it."'

Dada told us this story the other day:

'There was a gentleman who was strikingly bald. He was fond of touring Darjeeling and often went there.

One day his daughter and son-in-law were transferred to Darjeeling for their work. His daughter wrote to him that since he loved Darjeeling so much he should come and spend some time with them in Darjeeling.

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