Mother's Chronicles (Book 2)

"I Am Fond of You"

Life is not linear.

A human frame contains a mind to receive thoughts, a heart to express emotions, a belly full of desires, and a body with its woes and ills. But seated behind, and well hidden from view, is the Driver. He it is who drives us from experience to experience. We, the humans in general, thus get a line or two of life's experiences. But a few come with a surpassing richness of nature. Their Driver sits in front. The scope of their experience is wide as the earth itself and as contradictory. They climb peak after snow-clad peak and cross burning deserts; they till fields to nourish us, their groves give us shade; they dig deep and long to bring the heavenly waters to quench our earth's thirst; they weather storms in the high seas to bring us to a safe harbour. They 'keep a bower quiet for us.'

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Mother was one such.

Her eyes had seen through the forms of the idols and met the forces that hide behind. She could recognize them for what they were, because she was familiar with the real gods. The 'other sorts.'

One day in 1961, Mother was talking to Satprem about the existence of these presences in the images or idols. She remarked that Europeans generally do not have an inner perception. "To them everything is a surface —not even that, a film of surface. There's nothing behind. So they can't perceive. But it's a fact, an absolutely real fact that the Presence is there, I can vouch for it," Mother declared. "People have given me some small things, in metal, in wood or ivory, representing certain gods; I have only to take them in my hand for the god to be there." A fond smile played on Mother's lips, "I have Ganesh —I have been given many Ganesh — I take him in my hand, look at him for a minute, and he is there. I have one by my bedside (where I work, where I eat and meditate) tiny like this, given to me."

For readers unacquainted with Ganesh, we can introduce him as the first son of Parvati, Shiva's

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consort. He presides over material realizations, particularly money, is a remover of obstacles and a giver of knowledge. To dictate the Mahabharata, Veda Vyasa chose him as his scribe. Ganesh is depicted with an elephant's head and trunk, and a pot-belly; in his lower left hand he is seen holding a pot of sweets while his trunk has already lifted one. Ganesh is very fond of sweetmeats.

Mother's acquaintance with Ganesh dated back to some thirty years. "We had a meditation in the room where 'Prosperity' is now distributed." This refers to the first of every month when she gave the disciples their daily necessities for the month, such as soaps, toothpaste and so forth. In pre-war days, we children received French bonbons, chocolates, etc. "We were eight or ten, I think," Mother said. "We used to make sentences with flowers; I would arrange some flowers and each one made out a sentence from [the significances of] the flowers I had put there. One day, when the subject of prosperity or wealth, or what I don't know, came up, I thought —it is always said that Ganesh is the god of money, of fortune, of earthly possessions — I thought, 'All this story about this god

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with an elephant's trunk, isn't that a mere human imagination?' Whereupon we meditated. And whom should I see coming in and parking himself in front of me, but a living being! Absolutely alive and luminous, with a trunk long like this —and smiling! So in my meditation, I said, 'Ah, then it is true that you exist!'

" 'Of course I exist! And you have but to ask me whatever you want, naturally from a monetary viewpoint, and I shall give it to you.' "

Mother became very fond of Ganesh. There is an Indian story to say why. One day both Ganesh and his younger brother, Kartik, were seated with their mother Parvati. She was explaining to them the mystery of the universe saying that the three worlds are but her body. When she had finished, the two brothers fell into an argument, as brothers are apt to do! They finally challenged each other to a race.

"Oh, I will beat you hollow, Brother," said the proud rider of the peacock to Ganesh.

"All right. We will see who wins," retorted the rider of the mouse.

"When you return you will find me seated here, near our Mother, after I have completed the ride

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through the three worlds," Kartik said banteringly and rode off at breakneck speed on his peacock.

Ganesh smiled. He sat on where he was, enjoying his mother's company, while time glided by like a brook. Parvati had listened with amusement to her sons' sparring. Seeing that the elder boy gave no sign of moving, she presently asked, "Aren't you going to start, son?"

"Yes, Mother." Ganesh got up. He prostrated himself before her, then circumambulated his mother three times. And quietly sat down on his seat.

Kartik returned, panting but exultant, sure that he had beaten his brother by a very good margin. His triumphant smile faded on his lips as he saw Ganesh sitting there so very quietly.

"Haven't you left yet, Brother?"

"I finished the race long ago, little Brother."

"Impossible," cried Kartik unbelievingly.

"I did," returned Ganesh.

"How could you?" Kartik was incredulous. "I didn't see you overtaking me. Besides, my peacock has raced so fast, certainly your mouse cannot reach that speed!"

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"You are right, Kumar," Ganesh assented. "But you seem to have forgotten what our Mother had just told us. Didn't she say that her body contains the three worlds? So while you were riding through them, I went round our Mother three times."

Kartik hung his six heads and accepted defeat.

Mother spoke of her fondness for Ganesh. "Once, I myself blended some nail polish, and before applying it on my nails, I applied some on Ganapati's¹ forehead, on his stomach and on his fingertips. We are on very good terms, very friendly."

Mother had other 'small things' like Nandi, Shiva's Bull, and Garuda, Narayana's mount. And a Narayana. "It comes from the Himalayas, from Badrinath," Mother told Satprem. "I use both Ganesh and Narayana as paperweights for my handkerchiefs. On a stool beside my bed, I keep the handkerchiefs, and on top of them I have Ganapati and Narayana. No one touches them but I. I pick them up, insert the fresh handkerchief and put them back on top. Narayana

1. Another name of Ganesh. Indian gods are designated by various names, depending on the aspect invoked.

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came first. I put him there and told him to stay and be happy. After some time, someone brought me a very nice Ganapati. So I asked Narayana —I didn't ask his permission, but said to him —'Look, you are not going to get angry, I am going to give you a companion. I am very fond of you both, there is no preference; the other one is much nicer looking, but you, you are Narayana.' I flattered him! I told him pleasant things. He was perfectly happy."

Humph. Not always. Gods, like humans, love to be flattered. But when they were unduly criticized, they came to chide Mother.

At the time Satprem was reading to Mother his manuscript of The Adventure of Consciousness. And he asked questions. She always gave him a full explanation of those mystifying matters. Thus one day, when she was telling him that the zones of artistic creation being in the highest reaches of the human consciousness, Art could be a wonderful instrument for spiritual progress, she happened to make an observation, "This world of creation is also the world of the gods; but the gods, I regret to say, don't at all have a taste for artistic creation." The gods protested.

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"As soon as you had gone, they came," Mother reported to Satprem the next time they met. "In fact, it's not that I remembered, but they reminded me! There was Saraswati who told me, 'What about my sitar?' Then there was Krishna who said, 'And my flute?' Another one came also, I don't now recall who. They were not happy! They told me at once, 'What are you talking about! We LOVE music' Good. I said, 'That is well.' " Mother laughed. "It's true. Krishna is a great musician, while Saraswati is the perfection of expression." With a twinkle in her eyes she looked at Satprem, "Now that we have acknowledged their qualities," she bowed, "continue with your reading."

From 1959 Mother appointed me her organ-keeper. Whenever I could, I recorded her music. Mind you, she never played the same tune twice. But how enchanting it all was! Once she played a very lively tune for the birthday of a lovely child of ten. We listened raptly to the cascade of lightness and joy, like a dance of fairies; Mounou and I didn't want it to end. But alas! Mother had other things to do beside playing for her two children!

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Anyway, Satprem and I noticed that whenever she sat at the organ, Mother closed her eyes and let her fingers run over the keys to the strain of the music her ears heard. Some musically minded gods even vied with each other to take a leading role. "There was a conflict between Krishna on the one side —he came and played, I saw him —and some kind of spirit coming out of Shiva. The two of them were constantly quarrelling! One wanted it like this: it was roseate-hued; the other wanted it like that: it was all in blues and silvers. Then while I was playing —I had started off with Krishna and it was going on very well — abrubtly came a blow on my arm, like a fist striking, you know, vrrm!" That startled Mother so much that she was almost knocked off balance. She showed us a mark on her arm.

Shiva in India is known as the supreme dancer, Nataraja; he is also the greatest singer in the universe, Bhairava.

Now Narada, who always strutted about with his veena on the earth and in the heavens, fancied himself a great singer, if not the greatest! One day, as he came out of his heavenly abode, he saw some

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beautiful young people lying on the roadside. But. . . . But what was the matter with them? Narada caught his breath. All were lame or crippled or mutilated. What had happened? Their groans wrenched at Narada's heart.

"Why are you all like this? Who did this to you?''

"Revered sir," moaned one youth, "our woes are due to one named Narada."

Narada was flabbergasted. "What did he do to

"You see, sir, he fancies himself a great singer. But he always sings the notes wrong," murmured a weak voice.

"But what has his singing to do with your condition?" Narada asked in a strangled voice.

"Well, sir, you may not know us, but we are the thirty-six Ragas and Raginis. It is the constant wrong singing of notes by Narada that has maimed us."

"All these beautiful young people maimed by me!" thought Narada with distress. With tears in his eyes, he said, "You do not know me. I am that Narada. Please, please, pardon me. And do tell me if there

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is a way to make all of you whole again."

Thirty-six pairs of beautiful, sad eyes looked at him. "We can regain our lost limbs only if someone sings the pure notes."

Narada vowed to redeem himself. He went to Brahma the Creator. Narrating his tale, he asked him if he would sing the pure notes and restore to those unfortunate youths their limbs. The Creator shook his four heads. "I am not a singer. Go to Vishnu."

To Vaikuntha went Narada. The Preserver listened attentively. He said, "I too am not the right person. Go to Mahadeva."

To Mount Kailash sped Narada. Shiva was seated on a tiger skin. His face was grand and still. A mountain of matted hair was coiled on that deathless head. A sickle moon, blue and pale, stretched afar its finger of still light. Narada tremulously asked him, "Will you, Lord, sing?"

"I can, but only ..." Shiva paused. "Only if there is someone who can appreciate true music."

Narada winced, more and more humiliated. Back he went to Brahma and Vishnu and brought them to Kailash. As soon as the two great gods were

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seated, Mahadeva¹ began his great song. Over the still face came a quiver and a colour of crimson flame.

Listening with his whole being to the song of Rudra¹ the Destroyer, Vishnu entered the diamond heart wherein the undraped fires burn. In that brazier of gold he melted.

Brahma had sat there watching the proceedings, unable to fathom the Destroyer's song. But when the Creator saw that the Preserver was melting, he gathered up the waters in his water-pot, the kamandalu.

As Shankara,¹ the Curer, sang the notes in their purity, the disfigured Ragas and Raginis became whole and beautiful again.

And Ganga was born.

Mahadeva sang. Narayana melted. Brahma gathered the waters. And Ganga was born.

There, in heaven, the Pure Song lingered through eons, rapt in a white desire. Until Bhagirath came and called down on our earth, Ganga, the Purifier.

That is another story.

1. Other names for Shiva.

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