By The Way - Part III

'When I first came to the Ashram in 1942,' Dada told us one day, 'I didn't know anything about hathayoga. I used to believe that those who practised hathayoga were capable of performing all kinds of strange, unbelievable acts.

Ambu-bhai used to practice hathayoga at that time in the Ashram.

I would look at him wonder-struck and think:

Goodness, he must be capable of such incredible things!

So one day finding him alone, I asked him:

"Ambu-bhai, can you fly?"'

*

Ishit has come again. Dada was about to get up and retire but seeing him he sat down again.

'So, Ishit, you want to hear a story? Today is his day for story-telling.'

Ishit laughed and nodded:

'Yes, Dada, tell me a story.'

'So listen then to the story of a royal horse. The king had a very beautiful horse, spotlessly white and very energetic. The groom too was equally energetic and young. The horse used to gallop at the speed of a tempest. The king loved his horse very much and he would go riding only on this horse. One day it was noticed that the horse was limping a little. The king was quite worried. A lot of doctors and healers were called. They all examined the horse carefully but could not detect any disease. The horse was quite fine and healthy. They examined his four legs to see if he had any rheumatism but he was found to have nothing of the sort. Why then was the horse limping? Nobody had an answer.

So the king called his old minister. The minister was very wise and elderly. The king told him:

"Will you please go and see what the problem is with the horse? Why is he limping?"

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The minister returned after examining the horse and told him:

"Your Majesty, you have to change the horse's groom. The previous groom was very young and energetic and he has gone home for a holiday for four months. He left an old man to look after the horse and this old man is slightly lame and he limps. You know how horses are attached to their groom. Seeing his groom he too walks like him." So the king removed the old man and appointed a young, healthy groom.

Within a very short time the horse's limp was gone and he began galloping as before.

Now listen to another story of a horse. A sheik had two horses, one white and one red. The white horse was called Dulki and the red horse was called Mulki. Dulki was the faster of the two. No horse could equal him. Dulki used to run at the speed of lightning which left everyone stunned.

The red horse was not all that impressive. He couldn't run as fast as Dulki.

One day a friend of the sheik's turned up and asked him to give him his white horse, Dulki.

"No, I cannot give you Dulki. Dulki is my favourite horse. Why don't you take Mulki instead?"

But his friend would not agree. He insisted on having only Dulki.

The sheik too remained adamant.

One night the sheik was asleep when suddenly he was awakened by some clatter in his stable.

The sheik got up and went to the stable. His fear had come true. His friend had got into the stable to steal his white horse, Dulki.

As soon as he saw the sheik he jumped onto Dulki and galloped away in the dark. So the sheik mounted his red horse, Mulki, and began chasing him.

Both the horses were racing away but Dulki was well ahead with the sheik on Mulki following behind. But gradually the

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distance between them began decreasing. When Mulki was about to overtake Dulki the sheik wondered:

"What? Will my Dulki be overtaken? Impossible." The sheik then called out to his thief-friend:

"You fool, you can't even ride a horse and you've come to steal a horse! My Dulki cannot be overtaken in this way. Follow my instruction, you moron, twist Dulki's ear a little and with your feet tickle his sides. You'll see how fast Dulki will run then!"

The sheik's friend followed his advice.

And before you could blink Dulki had left Mulki and the sheik far behind in a gallop like the tempest.

The sheik then dismounted from the horse, thrilled. It's true he could not catch the thief but at least his horse Dulki had not lost. He had zoomed away leaving everyone behind as he always did. With this feeling of satisfaction the sheik returned home.'

*

Dada recounted today the story of a brave Pathan.

'The Pathans ruled our country at one time. The Pathans are extremely courageous and obstinate.

A Pathan sardar lived in a village. His ancestors had come to settle in this village a few generations earlier. A long time had gone by and now there were only a few Pathan families that lived there. Some were farmers while others were day- labourers. Everyone respected this Pathan sardar and addressed him as "sardar". The "sardar" was a well-built man and his body was the colour of black-stone. He had long, thick hair and an enormous moustache that sharpened at the two upturned ends. With kohl in his eyes and perfume in his moustache he would sit at his door. He helped the people in their problems and difficulties which made him very popular with the villagers.

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One day a Moghul sardar was passing by in front of the Pa than sardar's house. This Moghul sardar had a very strong body and a huge moustache. He wore a fez and a cotton-padded vest.

As the Moghul went past his house proudly twirling his moustache it hurt his self-respect and he called out:

"Eh, Moghul sardar!"

The Moghul sardar turned back and asked:

"What's the matter? You have something to tell me?"

"You bet! You walk past my house twirling your moustache that way? Where did you get that cheek? Don't you know I am a Pathan? I won't tolerate your walking with such arrogance. Lower your moustache!"

"And if I don't?" asked the Moghul sardar.

"Then you'll have to fight with me: it'll be either you or I who'll live. If you can't accept my offer, then lower your moustache."

So the two men decided to fight it out. The day was fixed. In three months' time the Moghul would come to fight the Pathan at that very spot.

Accordingly the Pathan made all the necessary arrangements.

He had only three months in hand. Who could say what the outcome of the fight would be? He could be killed too. So he quickly married off his daughter. Then he settled all the property matters. Everything that needed to be done before death, he did.

The Pathan sardar loved his wife very deeply. Three months later, on the eve of the fight, he embraced his wife and the couple cried all night. Then at daybreak both of them dug a grave together. He lowered his wife into the grave and with one stroke of the sword he cut off her head and buried her under the earth. He did this to save his wife from any future dishonour were he to be killed.

Then he washed himself, picked up his sword, dabbed his moustache with some perfume, and began waiting for the Moghul sardar.

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The Moghul sardar turned up at the appointed hour.

The Pathan sardar called out:

"So, let's start the fight!"

"No, I won't fight," the Moghul replied.

"Why don't you want to fight?" the Pathan asked.

"My wife told me not to," he answered.

The Pathan sardar was furious:

"Then lower your moustache, you fool, and get out."

So the Moghul sardar said:

"Okay, I accept. I agree to lower my moustache. I'm going."

He lowered his moustache and went away.

The Pathan sardar went on staring at him like one disoriented. His face was pitiable and his dim eyes filled with tears...'

*

Elisabeth has come to see Dada today. Dada called her in and asked her to sit. She finds it very painful to move about. She has become extremely weak and thin.

She looked very happy in Dada's presence. She sat for a while and chatted a little and then left. Gangaram-da held her arm and helped her out.

'This same Elisabeth, how energetic and lively she was,' Dada observed. 'She has been to so many places with me, by car, on motorbike or by cycle. Today one can hardly recognise her.'

'But even with this health,' Gangaram-da noted, 'Elisabeth has brought out a remarkable book called Sri Aurobindo on Indian Art with innumerable photographs, all taken by her. It's a wonderful book and she took great pains to bring it out.'

'One morning,' Dada recounted, 'Elisabeth turned up at six o'clock and told me:

"Dada, let's go for an outing!"

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So we packed some food and water into the car and proceeded to Tiruvannamalai. The Arunachalam hill stands near the town. And at the bottom of the hill is the temple. The Ramana Maharshi Ashram is near the temple.

The deity installed within the temple is the "Teja-lingam" which is worshipped daily. Every year on the full moon of the month of Kartik a huge fire is lit on top of the hill in an enormous recipient full of oil and ghee. Thousands of pilgrims come to worship the "Teja-lingam" at that time.

At about one-third of the way up on the hill is the "Skandashram". There is no proper path from this point to the top of the hill. Through a jungle of weeds and rocks, a narrow zigzagging track fit for cows and goats goes round and round right to the top. If you do not know this track then it is quite difficult to reach the top.

Elisabeth decided she wanted to go to the top of the hill. So we began climbing.

On the way we met a ten-year-old girl from a nearby Tamil settlement. She began guiding us along the track leading to the top. Then after a certain point she announced that she would not go any further. She was scared.

I began wondering what to do without her. Suddenly a man appeared:

"Come, I'll lead you to the top."

He was from Tiruvannamalai at the foot of the hill and knew the place well.

So we began climbing with him.

After climbing some distance Elisabeth felt exhausted.

"I can't climb any more, Dada. Let me rest here a little. You go ahead to the top."

I answered:

"That is not right. I will go to the top with you. Take rest along the way as you go up. You will be able to reach the top."

We reached the top of the hill. The air was pleasantly tranquil and the place deserted: There was nothing but the blue sky overhead. We could hear the breeze blowing and see

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Tiruvannamalai and the temple below us. The atmosphere was peaceful and solemn. We were enjoying it when Elisabeth felt both hungry and thirsty.

So I gave that man some money and asked him if he could go down and get our food and water from our driver.

"But, sir, why would the driver give me what I ask?" the man enquired.

So I brought out a picture of the Mother and a packet of "Blessings" and handing them to him said:

"Show these to the driver and he will know you are our man and he will give you the food and the water."

So the man went down the zigzagging track.

Elisabeth remarked:

"You gave that man some money. What if he disappears with the money and the food ?"

"No, no. Can't you see just when we needed him he turned up to help us to the top? He is not a human being. He is Shiva Himself. When a bhakta or devotee is in trouble Shiva always comes to his rescue."

And surprise of surprises! Hardly had we mentioned him that the man, within that short time, had gone down and come up again carrying our food and water and was standing before us. All this in less than thirty-forty minutes!

Elisabeth could not believe it.

"What did I tell you? So you see now?" I told her.

The man sat and ate with us. Bread, butter, bananas and sweets. After eating he said:

"This type of food doesn't satisfy us. We eat a plate of rice and then drink a glass of water. Only then do we feel we've eaten - rombu santosham (truly contented)."

After eating we came down the hill. We wandered around a little and went to the man's house. He had a sister who sculpted small figures in stone of gods and goddesses like Kartik, Ganesh, Shiva, etc. They earned their living through the sale of these stone figures.

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The man said that when there was a festival at the temple he lifted the palanquin of the deity. He showed us his right shoulder. Because of continuously lifting the palanquin his right shoulder had become hard and swollen like a buffalo's. His sister studied in the seventh form in school and during her free time she sculpted these figures.

He said:

"Sir, I can't lift the palanquin like this any longer. It is very painful. Why don't you buy me a rickshaw. I'll ply a rickshaw and return your money. I'd keep whatever profit I make."

I told him:

"No, my dear fellow, I will not be able to do all that."

Then after a long time when I went back to Tiruvannamalai this man recognised me and calling out "Sir, Sir" came running to me. He was delighted to see me. He told me that he had bought a rickshaw and stopped carrying the palanquin and now plied his rickshaw. His sister had passed her higher secondary examination and now had a good job some- where.

I was very happy to hear this.

I wandered around on the Arunachalam hill and then I met the priest of the temple. He told me:

"Sir, Kailash is the abode of Shiva but Arunachalam is Shiva Himself."

Even after this I have been three more times to the top of the Arunachalam hill,' Dada added.

*

One day in the course of a conversation Dada said:

'The Mother once told me:

"My room and all that is in it is all yours. You can use all of it as you wish. You can even stay here. This room is yours."

I told' the Mother:

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"Mother, I do not need your room. You be with me. That is all I want. I do not need anything else."'

*

Dada remarked:

'Last night I could not sleep at all. Between one and four in the morning I had a very light sort of sleep. Then I did my exercises. After having my bath and breakfast I felt sleepy. So I fell into deep sleep. When I woke up at nine o'clock, I could not understand at first whether it was morning or evening. Then after a long time I understood that it was morning. This happens after deep sleep. Many times after waking up one does not quite know the direction of one's head and feet. It takes a while before one realises one's orientation. I asked the Mother once about this. She told me:

"During sleep, the soul often goes out and wanders in the subtle world. When it reenters the body it is indeed true that one does not know where one's head or one's feet are."'

*

Today is a Darshan day. Someone asked:

'Dada, what is the significance of a birthday?'

'The Mother has said that the soul is much more receptive on a birthday,' Dada explained. 'If on this day you are in a state of proper aspiration then you can progress a lot on the path of yoga which at other times might take a much longer time. A birthday or a Darshan day is a moment of great opportunity. The Mother used to say it was very much like a spring-board. One can move forward considerably on this day.'

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Ira-di has brought two girls from her boarding to Dada.

'These two girls, Dada, are extremely mischievous. They are always fighting and arguing.'

The two girls came and stood in front of Dada but neither of them looked at him. One of them fixed her eyes on the ceiling-fan while the other kept looking at the motifs on her frock. From time to time they glanced on either side from the corner of their eyes.

One could see that both the girls were spirited and mischievous.

'Even after all the fighting and arguing all the time, these two girls are still quite fond of each other!' Dada remarked with a laugh.

'Yes, their fighting and their liking for each other is in equal proportion,' Ira-di confirmed.

'Who is older among you?' Dada enquired.

'I,' replied one of them innocently.

'So you are the younger one?' Dada asked the other girl. 'And she is your elder sister, isn't she?'

'Yes.'

'And she, then, is your younger sister?'

'Yes.'

'So you are the elder sister and you should love your little sister. You should look after her needs, see what her problems and difficulties are. Because you're the elder sister. Am I right?'

'Yes.' .

'And you are her little sister, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'So, you too should love your elder sister. Does one fight with one's elder sister? Tell me?'

'No, I won't fight with her.'

'So, you're the best of friends now?'

'Yes,' the two girls replied.

'I am happy. You are both very good girls,' Dada told them.

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'If you ever fight again or beat each other then I'll bring you

back to Dada. Just remember this,' Ira-di cautioned them.

The two girls slowly ambled out with Ira-di.

There was no note of chastising in whatever Dada said but a deep vibration of love in his voice. And as the girls left his office holding hands Dada went on looking at them with a deep, loving tenderness.

*

During one of the conversations Dada recounted:

'A girl from outside the Ashram once wrote to the Mother that she was in love with a boy and wanted to marry him.

In the beginning the Mother did not either say yes or no.

Letters started pouring in one after another. The girl went on pressing the Mother. She told her that if she did not marry this boy she would rather not live and she wanted the Mother to grant Her consent.'

Dada continued:

'The Mother then asked me:

"Why do people write to me, why do they seek my opinion if they do not want to listen to me?"

Then on seeing the girl so insistent with her letters requesting Her consent, the Mother had no alternative but to agree.

The wedding took place. Some time went by. She even had a baby. And then the quarrels started and the disquiet, finally leading to divorce. Now they live separately and the boy stays with his mother.'

*

Dr Shyama, Gadadhar's wife, has come from Orissa to meet Dada. Gadadhar runs a big Centre of Sri Aurobindo and

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the Mother in Orissa and does a lot of work for the Ashram. He greatly reveres Dada. His wife, Dr Shyama, is a well-known doctor and holds a very responsible post in the government.

Dada told her affectionately:

'You now look like a very serious housewife.'

And he added at once:

'Let me tell all of you something very interesting.

Quite some time back we received news of Gadadhar's wedding. Very soon after the wedding Dr Shyama came to see me. I did not know her then so well. I asked her:

"So did you attend Gadadhar's wedding?"

Very meekly, like a well-mannered girl, Shyama nodded to say "yes".'

On hearing this someone remarked:

How's that, Dada? Isn't she Gadadhar's wife?'

Everyone had a good laugh listening to this incident of long ago. Dr Shyama too joined in the laughter.

*

Dr Shyama told Dada:

'Today as I was coming to you, someone told me "Why do you people disturb Dada so much by continually visiting him? It puts Dada under great strain. He has to listen to all your problems and difficulties which only damages his Physical health. It should suffice us that he is there. His presence itself is a blessing for us." Tell me, Dada, the fact that we come to see you like this and tell you all about our joys and sorrows, our problems and difficulties, does this truly harm you in any way?'

Dada answered:

'Not at all. If I do not listen to what you have to say, if I do not think about you but just stand silently like a tree, that is being like vegetation and not worth anything. I will try and

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work for you as long as I can with this body. Of what use is the body, then?'

'Now all these problems and difficulties of ours we bring to you, doesn't all this disturb you?'

'I've just told you. I am absolutely not disturbed. It has no effect on me at all. And besides, where there is life there are bound to be problems. The very purpose of life is to overcome problems. However, most of our life's problems are of our own making. We invite problems. Very often the consequences of an action take time to work themselves out. Sometimes the fruit of a past action may appear after ten, fifteen years. At that time we forget that the seed of this difficulty was sown by us. We forget this and blame the Divine for it. Why did the Divine do this to my life?'

'But, Dada, I've heard that by listening to our various difficulties and problems, the Mother would fall ill.'

'No,' Dada replied, 'the Mother did not fall ill by listening to our problems. She fell ill because of our pettiness, our littleness, our insincerity and hatred and smallnesses.

'Dada, you see, you hear all this too. Doesn't your body fall ill?'

Dada laughed and replied:

'No, that has not happened yet. Not yet.'

*

Dada told us one day:

'Once while talking to me about the English and the French temperament the Mother told me that the English temperament was plain and prosaic but the English could write very beautiful poetry. Their poetry was marvellous.

And the French temperament was intense and poetic but the French excelled in prose. French prose is absolutely limpid, clear and precise but their nature is just the opposite extremely poetical.

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The Mother had mentioned two French writers whose names I cannot now recollect. One of them used to write spontaneously without any effort. He would just go on writing in an uninterrupted way. The words would come like in a flow. He did not have to think or make any effort at selecting words. His pen just went on writing. While reading him one felt that the appropriate word for the appropriate emotion just flowed out like a cascade.

The Mother told me about another French writer. His name too I cannot recollect. He used to write with a lot of thought and effort. Every word was meticulously thought out and weighed before being written down. But while reading his writing one feels that the emotion just flows effortlessly and spontaneously. There is not the slightest trace of all the thinking and analysing, all the sifting and polishing, all the pain and effort, while reading his work. As if the words have flowed onto paper by themselves like water.'

In the same context Dada spoke about Napoleon.

'Once Napoleon is said to have remarked to his wife Josephine:

"The mirror reflects without talking, you talk without reflecting!" (Le miroir réfléchit sans paroles, vous parlez sans réfléchir.)

On hearing these words from Napoleon Josephine retorted at once:

"This proves that I am polished like the mirror while the emperor has no polish." (Le miroir est poll mats l'empereur

n'est pas poli.)'

*

Dada was telling us about Batti-da's childhood:

'Batti and his elder brother Narayan came to study here very young. After some time, though, their father decided that his sons would go to study abroad and came to take

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them away from here. He wanted them to take up jobs after- wards.

Bata's elder brother, Narayan, complied but Batti did not want to go away. This is where he wanted to be.

Just as they were leaving with their father the Mother called Batti and giving him some money told him:

"If they do not let you return then use this money to buy a ticket to come back."

Finally it is with that money given by the Mother that Batti bought a ticket to run away from his place to come here.'

*

Ishit came to see Dada as was his daily habit. Dada asked:

'So, Is hit, are you eating bamboo-leaves? You're shooting up like a giraffe!'

The boy sat on a stool before Dada.

'No, do not sit like that, all stooped and slumped. Straighten your back and sit. This is the age for growing. If you sit stooped like that your body will become crooked.'

So he sat up with his spine straight.

'Yes, sit like that. When you sit the spine must be straight right from the waist up to the neck while the soles of the feet must be close together and flat on the floor. The knee and the thigh must be at right angle, the spine erect, the neck and the head upright but without being stiff. Yes, now you are sitting correctly.'

Then turning to us he said:

'During the child's growth one must be especially attentive to the way he walks, sits, moves, otherwise his posture will be spoilt. A child's study-table must be according to his or her built. While studying the child must lean very slightly but without bending his spine. The left arm should be on the desk and the light from the table-lamp should fall on the books and notebook from the left too.'

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This truly is Dada, I marvelled. How sharp and attentive is his concern for little children, the way they walk and move. Their parents surely do not give the same care or worry about them as much.

*

Dada was recounting:

'The roof over the attached gymnasium I have in my house is transparent. One part of the courtyard is open to sky.

One day I found that the fledgling of a bulbul had fallen to the floor. It could not fly yet and went on chirping ceaselessly. The fledgling's mother kept flitting madly from one side to the other calling out desperately for help. She could not lift the fledgling nor could the fledgling fly.

So then we started feeding that little bird with bread crumbs, rice, water, etc.

The next day the fledgling started making some efforts to fly. With a lot of effort it managed to rise a foot or two and fell back. The mother-bulbul went on flitting desperately from one end to the other and calling out. She was totally disoriented.

The day had hardly broken that the mother-bulbul would appear. The father would also appear and they would stay the whole day and watch their baby. They would try to communicate with their chirping sounds. As evening came and it became dark they would go away.

The fledgling kept trying to fly for two-three days and then finally one day it flew away.'

Dada was recounting this story when Jyoti-di arrived.

A few days back her son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren had come. She was quite drained out by them. They went back to Calcutta the day before.

'So have they all gone back?' Dada enquired.

'Yes, Dada, they all left yesterday.'

Then Dada observed jokingly:

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'That mad desperate look I saw on the mother-bulbul the other day is what I have been seeing on Jyoti-di's face too for the last few days!'

'Oh, yes, Dada, I can't tell you how busy and drained out I was with them these last few days!' Jyoti-di agreed.

'So now you feel reassured? But it was good that they came down to see you. They could also see the Ashram. Now they will not make any demands on you like before. You kept going to Calcutta all the time under their pull only to return all topsy-turvy.'

'Dada, both my knees pain a lot. I walk with great difficulty. The doctors have x-rayed and say that the knee-bones are growing. Can too much walking do that, Dada?'

'No, walking cannot make your bones grow. It is difficult to always explain what or why something happens to the body. In any case, do not fear. Do not get upset. Keep yourself mentally strong. Tell yourself "if there is pain in my knee why should it bother me?" as I do.'

*

Chandranath remarked:

'Dada, our Indian cricket team plays very well in the beginning but towards the end, god knows what happens, they have such a spiritless attitude. A little more of effort and they would win, another 25-30 runs to make but even those few runs they're unable to get. They lose even as victory stares them in the face.'

'Why only in cricket,' Dada observed, 'we have the genius and we have the capability in all the fields but the vital is very weak. This weakness of the vital has gone into the very marrow of this race. And the root-cause of this weakness could be said to derive from the influence of Buddha and Shankara. This indifference towards the physical and the intense attraction for the spiritual life has made India very

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one-sided. But then thanks to Buddha and Shankara the soul :, pf the country has been saved. Spiritual thought, spiritual feeling and philosophy have survived but the vital of this race has weakened terribly.

Of course, the soul is now reawakening with the vital. It has woken up considerably already but a full reawakening will take time.

The Mother wanted our vital too to become as dynamic and strong as the psychic so that the life of India would once again become all-victorious as it was once in the past. It will become greater than' that. Along with a strong vital what we need is collective effort and collective perfection.

From an individual point of view we have much more of heroism, courage and bravery than the others but that collective, communal force and organisation is lacking in us. Otherwise, just imagine, how immensely developed the Vijayanagar empire was. It was more powerful than even the Roman empire in valour and wealth. It was unequalled in its wealth and prosperity. The Vijayanagar kingdom had so much wealth that along the roads as they sell mounds of peanuts today they used to sell mounds of precious gems' and gold in the streets of the capital Hampi.

Such a powerful kingdom lost everything after losing just one war. There is no instance in history where a whole kingdom has gone to ruin just because of losing one war.

We do not have such a developed collective spirit and there are plenty of proofs of this. So much heroism, so much valour, so much self-sacrifice and yet we cannot save the situation when it matters.

When Mohammed Ghori began mounting continuous attacks on Prithviraj, the other Hindu kings thought:

"This is Prithviraj's problem, not ours." If all of them had repelled him together as they had done the first time, then the Muslims could not have come in. Prithviraj tried to stave them off all alone, one hundred and four times in succession. Finally treachery combined with disunity and division. Raja

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Jaichandra who was Prithviraj's maternal cousin went and sided with Mohammed Ghori. As a result all of Prithviraj's valour came to naught.

But treachery also was paid back in its own coin. The following year itself Mohammed Ghori attacked Kanyakubja and dethroned Jaichandra. Defeated, Jaichandra sought to flee and drowned in the Ganga and died.

In Bengal it was Maharaj Nandakumar who fell a victim to conspiracy. The English understood that as long as Nanda- kumar was present they would not be able to hold sway. That's why through deceit and intrigue they managed to get him hanged.

It was the same during Mir Qasim's time. The Fort at Mungher was impregnable. The English were not capable of defeating Mir Qasim. However, the hidden enemies showed the English the secret path into the fort at Mungher and helped the English to penetrate it.'

Listening to Dada, one person asked:

'Mir Qasim was defeated in war but what happened to him after that is not known.'

'What happened to Mir Qasim at the end came to be known,' Dada revealed. 'Long after the war, his corpse was found lying in a tattered tent by the side of the road leading to Delhi. Shorn of all glory, ruined, powerless Mir Qasim! He was wearing a rich but tattered robe. His lifeless body was covered with an opulent shawl.'

'Dada, he may have wished to get help from the Badshah of Delhi and then gather his forces to fight the English once again. Maybe that's why he had come to Delhi.'

'Yes, that is possible.

That is why the Mother would always repeat to us that in Sri Aurobindo's yoga collective integration was needed along with the individual's progress. Sri Aurobindo called this "spiritual solidarity".'

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