Remembering Anu Purani

Anu-ben As I Knew Her

Maggi

On the 6th of October 2008 at 9.20 p.m. Anu-ben breathed her last in the Ashram Nursing Home, where she had been devotedly attended by Aruna, Rupali, Vandana and others. Apparently it was the result of an accident sustained a month earlier when honouring a promise she had made to go and bless the new house and the new baby of one of the teachers at Udavi. But for such as Anu-ben there could be no accident in the manner of leaving the body. Indeed she had, not very long before, had a dream in which Sri Aurobindo was calling her. She found it specially noteworthy since her dialogue and dreams were mostly with Mother. In another dream Ravindra-ji was calling her. “What are you doing there?” he asked and told her that Sri Aurobindo was calling her and that she belonged there. So she was prepared and not at all afraid. She spoke of these dreams when in PIMS where she was being treated for a broken arm and a blow to her head. She had lost a lot of blood. It was found that there was a crack in the knee which was causing pain. She was later moved to the Nursing Home.

These were the outer circumstances which her soul had chosen in order to be released from the body. Anu-ben was so active until the last that this must have been much preferable to a long and drawn-out end.

Calculating from Pujalal’s testimony that Anu was one and a half years old when he accompanied her and her mother Lilavati to the Ashram perhaps in 1925, Anu-ben was 85 when she left. She never spoke about her age and had a healthy disregard for it. Indeed there was something ageless about Anu. Not only was she active until the last, going out to Udavi Gentillesse School to teach but she had all her lessons in the Ashram School and her work as editor of the Hindi quarterlies Purodha and Agnishikha for which she wrote editorials. She still taught dancing and was in the fruit room at 6 a.m. every morning for the fruit distribution. Hers was a long life of dedicated service.

But quite apart from the amount of energy and activity, there was something youthful about Anu-ben. She had a special sort of purity and an innocence in spite of her wisdom which always made me think of a young girl, specially when she laughed and she was always ready to laugh. There was a lightness about her. And there was of course the grace of the dancer when she moved.

In her last years it could still be seen in her measured, harmonious movements when, for example, she distributed gifts to the children or accepted something in her hands.

But now I want to talk about my own relationship with Anu-ben. She was a soul-sister. I admired her very much and learnt so much from her and though I am consoled by the knowledge that she is with Sri Aurobindo and the Mother there is a big space in the physical.

I left home in 1959 to make a pilgrimage to Sri Aurobindo’s Ashram. I had the great good fortune to be here for the unforgettable first anniversary of the Supramental descent and for my soul to make contact with the Mother once again . . . and also with Anu-ben.

There was a radiance in the Ashram in those early weeks of 1960. People had come from all over the world and all over India to celebrate the Golden Day. Everyone was busy with special programmes as Anu-ben must have been, so it was without much hope of success that I approached the ‘dancing teacher’. I was mad about Indian dancing. There was very little to be seen of Indian dancing on television in the 50’s. It was in the late 50’s that Ravi Shankar introduced Indian music to the West. It was only on my way to the Ashram that I saw an exhibition of Indian dancing in Manila.

I was to be in the Ashram for 3 months before going back home to settle my affairs prior to returning to the Ashram forever. So when I asked Anu-ben if I could join her class I expected her to say that she couldn’t teach me much in such a short time and that it would be difficult to fit me in with other students. At best I thought she’d say, “Come and see me when you come back.” But no. She said that as there wasn’t much time she’d have to take me privately and as I remember she gave me two lessons a week! She asked me what kind of Indian dancing interested me and I said the one where they wear those wide skirts. The movements had impressed me as being particularly graceful.

“Oh, the Manipuri dance. All right,” and we went straight into the dance. It was like Sri Aurobindo teaching beginners a language by going straight into reading the classics. Anu-ben taught me enough for me to pacify my family on my last visit home when they asked, “But what did you learn in the Ashram?”

What I didn’t know was that I had the great good fortune to be taught by a pupil of Uday Shankar, Ravi Shankar’s brother. It was only later in our friendship that Anu-ben told me of how much she was in love with dancing when she was a little girl and how she would catch hold of any visitor who knew dancing, begging to be taught. Eventually, her dream came true and at twelve she went to the Kalakshetra in Madras and when she was 16 to Uday Shankar for training; but the artistic vital world into which she found herself plunged appalled her and she ran back to the Mother who sent her back again saying that she must finish her training and keep herself centred in her psychic being. Which brings us to Anu-ben’s many dance dramas and stage productions at the Ashram and Udavi. Uday Shankar was an innovator in Indian dancing and introduced many new concepts. Anu-ben too was creative in her approach and while she taught strict classical bharatanatyam she was also innovative. Mother explained to her what she wanted her to express and how to express it so that even when Anu-ben staged or taught episodes from the Ramayana or Mahabharata they had something special and as her pupil I can say that her teaching was always inspiring. She was endlessly patient too and encouraging and never raised her voice.

It was not only me that she accepted so generously to teach. Anybody who felt they wanted to learn was given a chance no matter how little gifted or awkward. Anu-ben managed to impart some degree of Indian feminine grace to anyone. I remember coming upon a class comprising mostly of foreigners one day. There was one very tall, awkward American lady and an equally tall and angular German lady with a flower pinned to her short blonde hair. Anu-ben was teaching them with as much dedication as she would have her most gifted students, and they were responding with big smiles.

So it shouldn’t have surprised me when she agreed to come and teach the Udavi children. At that time Udavi was still an extremely poor, and one could almost say, wretched village. The children came from underprivileged homes. I expected her to enquire about all sorts of things but she merely said, “All right, but I only have Saturday morning free,” and that was the beginning of a great love affair between Anu-ben and Udavi. She used to say that she always felt Sri Aurobindo was waiting for her in Udavi.

Around the Saturday dance class grew a cultural programme morning. Not only were there the dance classes but for a year we had musicians coming to play and explain their instruments. Suzanne came to play the cello, an Indian girl played the violin, I demonstrated the lyre, Gordon Korstange the flute. They knew the difference between a wind instrument and a string instrument. Mohan of the golden voice (as I always call him) sang and played the harmonium. We even had a soprano from the Milan Opera one Saturday which made the children suppress some giggles. Various visitors came to give recitals of their national dances including a girl who did the Egyptian belly dance. And people from all walks of life and from all countries came to give talks. A few years ago Markandeya spoke of what it meant to be a fireman in America. And all this grew around Anu-ben’s Saturday classes. There was always a party atmosphere.

In fact, I, who avoided gatherings of any sort, would go just about anywhere if Anu-ben asked me to go with her: teachers’ weddings and engagements, visits to newborn babies and visits to the village. She had a big heart for the villagers. After all she was Purani-ji’s daughter and he had set the example with his rural upliftment work. This dainty little lady never showed any disdain in the poorest of village houses.

Once a teacher asked her, “But why do you want to go to the village, Anu-ben?” And she answered, “So they know that we love them.” “But they do know,” said the teacher. But it was Anu’s love that they felt and when she walked in the village, right up to the end, the mothers and the old grannies would embrace her and crack their knuckles to their temples. Anu-ben’s involvement didn’t stop at dance classes. She was soon teaching English and organising Christmas parties and programmes. She became the soul of the school and re-organised it. She became the director.

Like in every school, there were sometimes differences among teachers and dissatisfactions. So once it was decided that each teacher would find the good quality or qualities of other teachers and write them down anonymously.

A good percentage of the remarks against Anu’s name said that she was a mother.

When Nata left his body, the school faced a crisis. There was a decision to be made. The school had reached Standard 5. Should it stop there or should it go on to Matriculation level?

There was no money. Nobody seemed to want to finish the school. Did the village really need more than to read, write, do some elementary math? Anu-ben and I knew that they did. If you throw an eleven-year-old child back into the village he will forget his hygiene and tidiness. Besides, the children were bright and eager to go on. So sustained by little more than faith we decided to go on. Mother has said of the children, “Il faut les suivre.” (There must be a follow up.) And Nata on whom the school had rested, took this very seriously; some classes were now being held in keet huts.

And here I have to explain something about our story, Anu-ben’s and mine.

Two years before Nata’s leaving his body, we had returned from Europe, where we had gone for reasons of his health, determined never ever to leave the Ashram again. Being away was just too painful. So when during the last months of Nata’s illness I received an invitation to go to read a paper at a Congress in America, it had nothing to draw my attention other than some blank pages of very beautiful paper between the printed matter which is why I didn’t throw the whole thing into the WPB at once.

Nata left his body at the end of March 1985. I think it was in August ’85 that we wrote to the Foundation for World Education asking for help to finish the school. Somebody said that their annual meeting would be held in New York at the end of October and that if I went to explain what we were doing they would probably give us the money — but I had no intention of leaving the Ashram again specially on the off chance of help which might mean spending a fortune on air tickets besides which my whole being said “NO!”

One day when I was sorting papers I came upon this mysterious invitation for the Congress. Mysterious because it came in my passport name, Marguerite, which I had not used for more than a quarter of a century. I didn’t know the people involved. Then I saw that the date of the Congress was two days after the annual Foundation meeting, in New Jersey just two hours away from New York by special Congress bus, all expenses paid from the moment one left Pondicherry plus luxury accommodation for ten days for anybody accompanying me as well as myself. Vishwajit had told me I would have to travel again at which I had scoffed. (!)

Even though it all looked like the hand of the Mother it was a huge wrench and I’m sure I would not have gone if I hadn’t known that it was a first step to enable Anu-ben and me to go on with the project together. Yes, I’m quite sure it was only the knowledge of Anu-ben by my side that gave me the courage to pack my bags once again and to take off for New York. New York! not even Nata’s Tuscan hills. So with my daughter Ishita holding my hand we took off.

This is no place to talk of the kindness of the Foundation and of its secretary Anie Nunnally who hosted us. (New York can be a frightening place.) My great joy apart from now feeling that Mother was behind us was to be able to give the good news to Anu-ben and to know that Nata’s work would continue and to look forward to finishing the project.

It was only a first step. We still had to buy more land. The FWE grant wasn’t enough but more money came in and we finally had enough. And in line with the string of miracles the land adjacent to the school was for sale. Here again at this stage without Anu-ben I would have tried to hand the whole project over to somebody else because we had to go to the registry office in Cuddalore eight times to sign papers. But actually riding along in the car with Anu-ben was rather stimulating because she was so optimistic and so full of a certain positive quality of gaiety that it communicated itself to me.

Still it had to be faced. There was no money for the buildings.

Well about this time Anu-ben had organised an exhibition of Udavi’s arts and crafts at the Ashram. The children under the guidance of Ashoka-di, a Shantiniketan graduate, who works now at Bibha-di’s batik department did beautiful work. But Anu-ben had been given the big, long room of the Exhibition Hall and had not enough material to fill it with, so together with the teachers and some of our friends we cut out designs and pictures out of cloth which the children worked at to finish stitching in time. Ashoka’s students were wonderful little needlewomen. When the various motifs were finished and framed and hung up the hall looked impressive, sparkling with silk and sequins and people wanted to buy these wall hangings as they came to be called. Anu-ben was as ever hopeful and optimistic and riding on these two qualities a wall hanging project developed, successful beyond our wildest expectations.

And so our collaboration went on in a hundred ways. Whenever I had a problem of any kind to solve, I would think of her first. Once a Western acquaintance asked me to find a wife for her son who was a devotee(!) I was about to withdraw from the honour she showed me when I thought of my collaborator who, in a relatively short time, found a girl. The couple are now living happily in Auroville. On other occasions she helped teachers who wanted to get married. Yes, she was a mother.

On two occasions Anu-ben asked me to write children’s plays for her. We sat together as I typed and she was a wonderfully playful inspiration. One of the plays she wanted to be about a little boy who flies off on a peacock’s back into a land of fantasy. I can hardly remember the play. What I do remember is the joy of creating together and as I write I realise how blended in Anu-ben were the worlds of creativity and art and that of disciplined work. The fruit room, the magazines, the lessons were not neglected in favour of dance and drama. Her yoga was truly integral.

It was at this time that I began calling Anu-ben my Farishta, (angel); she was also my Hindi teacher, and she, now believing what Mother said of my fairy capacity to perform small miracles, began to call me Pari, fairy.

But when I speak of our collaboration, let me say at once that Anu-ben was always a person who gave more than she took.

Sometimes, when we were sitting on the bench just outside Ravindra-ji’s room, planning and discussing school problems she would talk of the time before I knew her, when Mother had given her together with Kusum-ben (of Senteurs) the responsibility for a children’s boarding. At first her work was ironing the clothes. She spoke of how Mother had guided them at every step down to small details, how when she told Mother that the children wouldn’t eat their tomatoes Mother had told her to make them appetising by frying them in butter and then the children did eat them and so in a hundred small ways and many bigger ways she was guided. Mother also told her what it was she wanted her to express through her dancing.

And sometimes she spoke of her father. Purani-ji’s story is so well known that it need not be spoken of here but she was immensely proud of him and had inherited from him a pride in India and a passionate interest in her destiny; also his courage and determination. I remember her dignity when she stood calm and silent beside him when he left his body. She said that when he had had his first heart attack she had not been so accepting but that by the time he left, Mother had made her ready. He left her with a huge inheritance of wisdom and culture.

And so little by little, in between speaking of practical matters, sitting there above the enclosure outside the fruit room, some of her life came together for me in bits and pieces. From above the courtyard, the champak tree and the pond had a magical quality. Sometimes we would spread a mat to see it from the side from which one got a better view. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Krishna had suddenly materialised beside the tree to pay his flute for Anu-ben to dance.

Anu-ben told me so many things about herself, about her relation with Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. One noteworthy thing she didn’t tell me and it is noteworthy that she didn’t. I learnt it from Sunanda; once when the Mother saw a photo of Anu-ben in a dance pose she said that the spirit of Beauty had been wanting to come down into the Ashram and that it had found its vehicle in Anu-ben.

Ravindra-ji was as patient as he could be with us but sometimes when Anu-ben came home to discuss things and we forgot the time, the phone would ring and she would jump up. I could hear him complaining that she was exhibiting symptoms of Maggi-itis again. And she would hurry away, agitating her head in mock panic with her usual grace.

There are so many incidents to illustrate her qualities throughout the building of the school, but this is an article and not a book. There were many ups and downs before the buildings were fully ready. We started building with an Auroville architect before all the funds were in. We knew that faith was what would bring the funds in if we had the courage to start. That was how Dr. Nripendra started the Nursing Home and how Ganapatram started Cottage Guest House.

And when friends saw that it was happening they helped. Elio left a sum of money in his will for the library. People from all over the world were buying the wall hangings which were becoming more and more intricate and beautiful. An Italian family who a visionary had seen had been friends and helpers in Roman times gave their enthusiastic financial backing.

So the school was built and it was to onlookers a miracle. Many had thought these two old ladies were crazy dreamers and that it could never happen.

But inside all of us more important miracles were happening and since this is Anu-ben’s story, I will speak of hers. For this I have to go back to her childhood. When her mother came to settle in the Ashram where Purani-ji was living, Anu-ben came too as a tiny child. She was the first child in the Ashram, but after a while she was sent to her grandparents on account of her health where an aunt took the place of her mother. She came back to her mother and the Ashram by the age of five but by then her aunt was the only mother she would recognise. She was unable to open to her own mother. Something in her had closed up. At the age of twelve she went to Chennai, so there was a little gap in her emotional life and according to her, it made her a closed person. Though she was always gracious it was difficult for her to open up.

Well, it was in Udavi that this changed. Something was there that made the unexplored place blossom. She fell in love with the children, with the place, with the whole atmosphere. She was to say that she could now express emotions in a way she had not been able to before, that an unexpected change had taken place in her. She poured her love on the children and gave them her best. She brought them to the Ashram for exhibitions and for the 2nd December programme. She arranged excursions and Christmas parties, plays and puppet shows and arranged with Tara Jauhar — who had been one of her charges in the boarding — for a fortnight’s excursion to Delhi, Agra and the foothills of the Himalayas for the Std. 9 students each year. The teachers were drawn into her ambience. They became caring and conscientious. The students who came out of Udavi had something special about them which everyone recognised, a special stamp. It was simply that Anu-ben had stamped her love on them.

On the 10th day after her passing, a meditation was held at Udavi under a huge photo of a smiling Anu-ben that one of her Udavi ex-students had enlarged. After the meditation there was a charming dance offering by the pupils and then the children of a junior class each said something about Anu-ben in French. Several said she loved Sri Aurobindo and the Mother very much or that she had taught them many things, or that she was very loved. Then one little boy said, “Elle adorait les enfants.” She adored children. Oui, c’est vrai.

The children had seen true. She was a disciple, a worker for the Divine, a dancer, a teacher and also a mother, but above all, she was the child of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother.

Maggi