Mother's Chronicles (Book 2)

11

Of Priests

"I have talked in torrents!" Mother had exclaimed.

That was one of those conversations with Satprem in which Mother had spoken at length about her experiences: of gods and idols, of temples and churches, of priests and 'sinners.' Our reader already knows about Mother's experience in a Jewish temple, when the second best organ of Paris was playing a music by Saint-Saens, and a Being from the past entered Mirra's own being, because of the aspiration inherent in the music. But this proved to be more an exception than the rule. Most of Mother's experiences in churches or temples were painful.

In India, for instance, she had quite a few disagreeable encounters.

Once, Mother went to Ariankuppam, near Pondicherry. In those days —late 1920s and early 1930s —

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she went out pretty regularly in the evenings for a long drive. The car, a 1925, six-cylinder Lorraine, was given to Mother by a French couple, the Potels. Pavitra was her chauffeur.

"Something happened to me in a fishing village on the seashore, near Ariankuppam. There is a temple dedicated to Kāli —a terrible Kāli."

In the Indian popular belief, there are many Kālis, each with a particular function. All of them are a portion of Māhākali. Actually speaking, Mahakali along with Maheshwari, Mahālakshmi and Mahā-saraswati (mahā = Great) are the Divine Mother's four

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great leading Powers: Strength, Wisdom, Harmony and Perfection. However, in spite of their different functions, all the Kalis have certain similar characteristics. The Kali idols and images depict a dark-hued woman (although Mahakali herself is golden-hued), completely naked, with long luxuriant hair covering a part of the body; her three arms hold different weapons and her fourth gives assurance; a garland of human heads hangs from her neck; she is red-eyed, and her red tongue sticks out to soak up all blood. Only the stout of heart is reassured and dare worship Shakti, the Mighty One, as she is often called. Mahakali is the Warrior of the Worlds. The lesser Kalis also never shrink from giving battle to the hostile powers, the Asuras, who strive to limit and obstruct man's high and mounting movement. Cutting off the Asura's head, Kali laps up the flowing blood so that no drop may fall on the earth and multiply the breed. Kali is a blood-thirsty goddess.

Mother described her encounter with this particular Kali of the fishing village. "I don't know what befell her, but she got buried, just her head was sticking above-ground. A fantastic yarn. I didn't know the

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story, I knew nothing. I was going in a car from Ariankuppam to the temple when, midway, appeared a black figure which, greatly agitated, rushed towards me, asking for my help: 'I offer you all, all I have, all my power, all the worship of the people, but come and help me become almighty.' Of course I answered her as she deserved! Later on, when I asked who was this person, I was told that some sort of misfortune had befallen her and she got buried, except the head which remained above-ground. And every year in that fishing village they hold a festival and slaughter thousands of chickens—she loves chicks! Thousands of chickens. They pluck them on the spot —the place is covered with feathers. And then after offering the blood and performing the sacrifice, people, naturally, eat them all up. I had happened along when this had taken place that very morning —a litter of feathers! It was disgusting. And she was asking for my help!" Mother shook her head. Anyhow, as a result of this sight, for years together Mother could not take even chicken soup, let alone eat those birds.

Mother said reflectively: "But what's strange is that they are beings — beings of the vital world —but

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aware of what is happening in the physical world. I knew nothing, neither the person nor the story, nor about her head sticking out she wanted me to pull her out of there." These beings sense the atmosphere; but what they understand best is vital power. We can take the case of the Asura in a math (a monastery with attached temple) in Mailam, a village not far from Pondicherry, who trembled on his pedestal when Mother entered the temple's sanctum.

Mother once visited this math. She was introduced as a great saint by a very esteemed person. She was therefore given an exceptional welcome and taken to the sanctum sanctorum by the Head Priest himself. This is an extremely rare honour in India. Let us hear from Mother herself what happened. "I was taken right up to the main altar where, generally, people are not allowed to enter. And what do I see there? An Asura¹- oh, not very high-ranking, a Rakshasa² rather- but such a monster! Hideous. So then I went wham! (Mother gives a slap) I expected something to

1.Asura: Titan.

2.Rakshasa: Giant, ogre, or the devourer of the world.

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happen. . . . But this entity came, he moved towards me and tried to intimidate me —but, you understand, he saw it was useless. He then offered to strike a pact with me: 'Say nothing, do nothing, and I'll share with you everything I receive.' I sent him packing." This Rakshasa too wanted to make Mother his ally! But, of course, her POWER was felt by all and quite often attracted entities of all shades and colours. Life for Mother was not easy.

But an interesting point emerged from this story: the entities in the idols are in the image of the priests that worship them. The head of the math in question was a most cruel man, absolutely merciless. "And what a creature!" Mother frowned. "As asuric as the god he worshipped!" Evidently, she kept quiet, "I said nothing, I didn't let on who their god was. I didn't betray my thoughts."

But perhaps the above-cited Indian Head Priest was beaten hollow by the other priest Mirra saw in Venice. It was one of her most terrible experiences and each time Mother spoke about it you could feel her indignation coming alive. "Yet again, when younger, I was in Italy, at Venice, painting in a corner of the

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Saint Mark cathedral; it's a marvellous place, of great beauty."

Saint Mark's is a magnificent church built by the Doge Domenico Contarini (who was Doge from 1043 to 1070), for Venice's patron saint. It dominates the main piazza bearing the same name. Its immensity is staggering. A combination of Byzantine and Gothic in its architectural style, Saint-Mark's has a richly decorated facade which, however, perpetuates in part the Roman tradition. Its coloured mosaics and marble are no less splendid than the arrangement of domes and arches. The marble columns number over five hundred. The famous Pala d'Oro — a magnificent block of fine, hammered gold, enamelled and inlaid with precious stones —is above the main altar. In a word, as said Mother, "a marvellous place, of great beauty." The cathedrals in Venice are "so beautiful, oh, so magnificent!"

But let us return to Mother's story. "It so happened that I was seated very near a confessional. They had let me settle there to paint. One day, there I was painting away, when I saw the priest come and get inside the confessional — that man...." Mother

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spoke grimly of 'that man.' "Completely black, oh! A tall man, young, couldn't be more than thirty, very thin, with razor-sharp features, the very face of vicious-ness, hardness — pitilessly vicious. He shut himself in there. A little later a woman of mature age came, around thirty, gentle, sweet —not intelligent but very sweet —and dressed all in black. She went into the box. He was already shut inside, and could not be seen. They spoke with a wire-netting between them." Mother interposed to comment: "I must say that everything is far more mediaeval there than in France; it was really ... it was almost theatrical." Then went on: "She kneeled down there, I could see the long gown trailing outside. She was talking; I couldn't hear her as she was whispering. Anyway, they were both speaking in Italian —although I understand Italian. The voices were barely audible, there was no sound. Well then, suddenly I heard the woman, sobbing—she had convulsions and was sobbing. . . . The poor woman there was so very miserable. Oh, with such a dreadful sense of sin, so piteous! She was weeping bitterly, and the other one's voice —harsh, curt. . . . And this went on, when all of a sudden, a collapse —she

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had crumpled in a heap on the floor. Then that man, that monster of hardness, opened the door, shoving aside her body with the door, and strode away without a backward glance." Mother could not speak for a moment. "You know," she told Satprem, "I was young, but if I could I would have killed him. He had just committed an atrocious act . . . and he was going away —it was a piece of steel going out."

After a silence, Mother said pensively, "I don't know why, but so often I have had the same experience, so often: either a hostile force lurks behind sucking up everything, or else man —man, ruthlessly abusing the Power."

Mother's eyes shadowed, filled with the pain of the whole world.

Then they flashed. "In fact, I have seen the same thing all over the world. I have never been on very good terms with religions —neither in Europe, nor in Africa, nor in Japan, nor even here."

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