Mother's Chronicles (Book 1)

9

The Guardian Angels

Shall we pay a flying visit to the "Guardian Angels" ?

Mother told us a very funny story about one of

them.

"One even tried to do drawings. He asked me to lend him my hand to draw. I lent my hand, then I saw the drawing —he did do a drawing —and I said to him, 'Mine, the ones I do without your help, are far better!' So that was the end of it."

"What did it depict?" Satprem wanted to know.

"Funny drawings: a sea with a rock and a small figure (that one came off the best). A high cliff, a tiny figure and next the sea. It wasn't brilliant!" Mother smiled whimsically. "I would lend my hand, then look elsewhere to be sure not to have any subconscious action.

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I could plainly feel his hand moving mine. Then, by and by I said to myself, 'Well, I'll look.' I looked. 'Oh! Say,' I told him, 'this isn't too brilliant!'

It never occurred to Mirra, who took everything in her stride, that to see Guardian Angels or talk with them was anything out of the ordinary. "It seemed quite natural to me."

Mother specified where it had happened, "It was in Tlemcen."

Poor Guardian Angel! How could he possibly hope to compete with Mirra? She had had such a long practice.

"When did you first start painting, Mother?" I asked her with curiosity one morning in 1951. Mother had just returned from the balcony that adjoined Pavitra's bedroom. The balcony faced north. Being on the first floor it gave a wide view —most of the houses in those times were one-storeyed —and from one end, if you turned to the east, you could glimpse the sea. Mother used to go there every morning to give a few minutes of concentration to the disciples assembled in the street below.

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A few of us had the privilege of meeting her on her way to and from the balcony. We would wait in Pavitra's Laboratory. We were: Pavitra, my two brothers Noren and Abhay, my two sisters Sumitra and Suprabha, and I. After returning from the balcony Mother would give us some flowers and fruits. This was the best time for us to ask questions. We asked all sorts.

So one morning I requested, "When did you start painting, Mother?"

Mother leaned back a little, gripping lightly with both hands the edge of the slate-topped table. "At the age of eight, with three old sisters," she replied. Her large eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at the three young sisters standing right there. The room sent out waves of laughter.

Mother herself never said it in so many words, but for some unknown reason I retained the impression that the "three old sisters" were little Mirra's future sisters-in-law, daughters of Edouard Morisset whom Mira Ismalun knew so well. I might well be mistaken of course.

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After our laughter subsided, Mother continued, "Already at the age of ten I was doing oil-paintings — portraits."

Seeing the light of surprised admiration in my eyes, Mother added smilingly, "I have done all kinds of paintings: miniature, aquarelle, gouache. . . ." Followed a long list, which unfortunately I did not note down.

Many years later, while telling Satprem about the stages of her development, she said, "Very young I began (about eight or ten), I started painting; while going on with my studies I painted. At twelve, I was already doing pictures: portraits. I had an all-absorbing curiosity, an interest for anything to do with art, with beauty —music, painting."

Beauty. Expressions of beauty. Yes, all her life long that love of beauty ran like a silvery stream.

And that silvery stream would flow out of her fingers as she sat at the organ.

How I loved it!

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