Recollections of Lalita related to her life & experiences at Sri Aurobindo Ashram. Also includes her life in Bombay especially her sadhana with cats.
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SOME RECOLLECTIONS BY LALITA
My love for animals and birds increased tenfold when I returned to Bombay after sixteen years’ stay in the Ashram. What the Mother had instilled into me blossomed there, and I understood them deeply and they too came closer to me.
Fortunately my second husband Mehelli was a true animal-lover, so no sacrifice on our part was big enough for our pets. And there was nothing in our life that was kept secret from the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. I was in constant touch with Them. And even when They did not send me a written reply, Their help never failed to come to me. Many a time as soon as I posted the letter the illness or other trouble disappeared.
Cats were particularly hated and ill-treated in the neighbourhood where I was staying, so I wrote and prayed to the Mother to send somebody to help me rescue them. And within a month or two my prayer was granted. A Parsi family comprising two grown-up girls and their brother, as well as their father, uncle and aunt purchased a bungalow three houses away from us, and came to live there. They were all animal-lovers and not only kept dogs and cats but parrots, pigeons and other birds which needed help. With their co-operation we also made our road inaccessible to all animal-drawn vehicles because it was a hill-road, and the poor bullocks and horses were beaten like anything to make them draw heavily laden vehicles up the hill. These friends are still living there, though they have shifted to another house, and carrying on the good work.
As long as my mother-in-law was alive, we could not give the right kind of protection to the cats we tried to save. But after her death we had wire-netting fixed on all our doors and windows and kept our pets safely inside. They had the whole run of the house and were very happy. They also had a toilet for themselves, sprayed with sawdust and cleaned every day.
Our first cat was Oney, a female, so named because it was the only kitten left at our house by her mother which disappeared after leaving it. As the Mother had taught me how to keep only one kitten at each delivery of the cat and dispose of the others, I kept Oney’s child Browny, again a female, for it. But it was impossible to leave it at the fish-market when it grew up, as advised by the Mother, for I had seen how the fishermen ill-treated the cats there. So we adopted it and except for once it never went out of our house.
Poor Oney died of food-poisoning from some tinned fish given it by my mother-in-law in our absence. We could not even go to see it at the Animal Hospital (where it had been sent for treatment) owing to heavy rains. Thereafter any cat that we saved and adopted we first sent to the hospital to be made sterile, otherwise life would become very difficult for us with their litters every three months. The males were castrated and the females were spayed.
Browny was very open to the Mother’s Force and, strange to say, almost every time that I sat at my desk to write to the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, it would come running from wherever it was, jumping onto the desk, and play with my fountain-pen with its paw and I would write to the Mother, “Browny wants me to send its love to you.”
It lived for sixteen years with us but it would always keep aloof from the other cats.
At one time it suffered from a stone in its bladder and could not pass its urine freely. We wanted to take it to the hospital but at night time, when it always slept with me, I kept praying to the Mother and caressing it. Suddenly it jumped up and, going to its tray which was always kept ready for it, it passed urine. I heard a tiny sound, so I switched on the light and found along with some small specks of blood a stone which had at last been ejected. Browny rapidly recovered after that, and I wrote and thanked my sweet Mother for Her kind intervention.
A tom-cat of ours, which we named Nelson (because somebody had blinded one of its eyes and lamed one of its hind legs), we saved and adopted after it had been castrated. It was very fond of Mehelli, and as soon as he would return home from his work Nelson (Neloo for short) would come running to him, fall at his feet and rub its body against his shoes. Mehelli would pick it up and pat it and then let it go.
Every night Neloo would sleep on Mehelli’s back and, if it were removed, it would protest and jump again to the same place. Regarding these cats our repeated experience was that, after they had been made sterile, within six months they became so quiet, gentle and loving that we wondered if the same changes could not be effected in human beings by the same procedure. They never fought among themselves, but lived a harmonious life together. We had sixteen or more, so we came to know about this very well.
People often asked me why I had not adopted some dogs also. It was only because our landlord had made a strict rule at that time that no tenant should keep a dog. Besides, dogs need to be taken out for a daily walk, bathed and made free from ticks, whereas our cats had no ticks, did not need either a walk or a bath. Practically half the day they spent in licking themselves clean, and licking their companions also. The doctor at the hospital had told us never to try and bathe them except in some rare cases. They disliked water and even if a few drops fell on their bodies they would run away and lick themselves dry.
My favourite cat was a tom called Willy. He loved me very much. Every evening after our meal I would sit on a long sofa with my legs stretched in front of me, and read some of the Mother’s or Sri Aurobindo’s books before going to bed. As soon as I had settled comfortably, Willy would come running, jump on my lap, then slowly climb up to my chest and placing one paw on my right shoulder and the other on my left it would look deeply into my eyes. I wondered what it saw there, for the expression on its face showed amazement. I would say, “Willy, please sit down quietly and let me read, darling.” It would settle on my lap and start purring.
Willy’s twin sister was called Masky, because it seemed to have a perfect mask on its face. It was very sweet and loving, but very restless. One good thing in its nature was unselfishness. It would prefer to leave a little of its food for others rather than take their fish and milk, and was specially kind to our one-eyed Neloo.
On pages 240-43, Volume 5 of the Mother’s Questions and Answers, somebody has asked Her, “What kind of love do animals have for men?”—and the Mother has answered, “It is almost the same as that of rather unintellectual men for the Divine. It is made up of admiration, trust and a sense of security. Admiration: it seems to you something very beautiful, and it is not reasoned out: and admiration from the heart, so to speak, spontaneous. For instance, dogs have this in a very high degree. And, then, trust—naturally this is mixed up with other things: with the feeling of some need and dependence; for it is that person who will give me to eat when I am hungry, give me shelter when it is rough weather, who will look after me. This is not the most beautiful side. And then unfortunately, it gets mixed up (and I believe—I consider it entirely man’s fault) with a kind of fear; a feeling of dependence and a kind of fear of something which is much stronger, much more conscious, much more... which can harm you, and you have no strength to defend yourself. It is a pity, but I believe it is altogether man’s fault. But if men really deserved the love of animals it would be made a feeling of wonder and of the sense of security, something that’s able to protect you, to give you all that you need, and near which you can always find shelter.
“Animals have an altogether rudimentary mind. They are not tormented by incessant thoughts like human beings. For example, they feel a spontaneous gratitude for an act of kindness towards them whilst men, ninety-eight times out of a hundred, begin to reason and ask themselves what interest one could have in being good. This is one of the great miseries of mental activity. Animals are free from this and when you are kind to them they are grateful to you, and it turns into a very strong attachment, an irresistible need to be near you. There is something else. If the master is really a good one and the animal faithful, there is an exchange of psychic and vital forces, an exchange which becomes for the animal something wonderful, giving it an intense joy. When they like to be quite close to you in that way, when you hold them, it is that they vibrate internally. The force one gives them—the strength, of affection, of tenderness, protection, all that—they feel it, and it creates a deep attachment to them. Even fairly easily, in some of the higher animals like dogs, elephants, and even horses, it creates quite a remarkable need for devotion (which indeed is not thwarted by all the reasonings and arguments of the mind) which is spontaneous and very pure in its essence, something that’s very beautiful....
“The working of the mind in man in its rudimentary form, its first manifestation, has spoilt many things which were much finer before.
“Naturally if man rises to a higher level and makes good use of his intelligence, then things can take on a greater value. But between the two, there is a passage where man makes the most vulgar and low use of his intelligence; he makes it an instrument for calculation, domination, deception, and there it becomes very ugly. I have known in my life animals I considered much higher than a large number of men, for that sordid calculation, that wish to cheat and profit was precisely not there in them. There are others that catch it—through contact with man—they catch it—but there are those who don’t have it.
“The unselfish movement, uncalculating, is one of the most beautiful forms of psychic consciousness in the world....
“But this kind of wish to gain by what one has or does is truly one of the ugliest things in the world. And it is one of the most widespread, so that it is almost spontaneous in man. Nothing can turn its back on the divine love more totally than that wish to calculate and profit.”
I had neither heard nor read anything of what the Mother says above. But my experience during the thirty years I spent in close contact with different animals was the same. That is why I love them more than human beings. We speak of the great love that human mothers have for their children. But what would you have said if you had seen Mamlujan, the cat which had brought Oney to us and left it in our care? This cat could never live without having a kitten with it, and as it could not have kittens of its own all the time, it would hunt till it found a cat somewhere which had delivered and then take away one of its kittens and bring it up with an astonishing love and care.
As it had no milk to give all the time, it would take the kitten to my friends or bring it to me to be fed with milk through a dropper. And how she loved to play with it, hugging and kissing it! We were so charmed to see this maternal instinct, and I wrote to the Mother about it.
One of the most stupid things I have read about is an old lady’s beating her dog furiously because she believed there was no harm in doing it as the dog had no soul! Poor woman! If she only knew the truth she would never do such a thing; for not only animals but all living creatures have an evolving soul, what is called the psychic being, in them. But it will take a long time for humanity to become conscious of this fact.
My friends used to tease me saying, “It is a pity you are confined to this small place. You and your husband ought to have been placed in charge of a large animal sanctuary where even tigers and lions roam freely.”
When people in Bombay asked us if we did not feel lonely and miserable without children, we said, “Not at all—we have the sweet and loving company of our cats.”
“Cats!” they would exclaim in a horrified tone. “Oh my God, we pity you both. Those dirty, wretched and evil creatures!”
“If there was an iota of truth in what you say, surely the Divine Mother and Sri Aurobindo would never allow cats to be in Their Ashram,” I would reply. “Besides, what is it to you?—it is entirely our business.”
After that these people stopped saying anything. But one of my friends, who called sometimes to tell me something, one morning when Mehelli was there.
She knocked, and he opened the door and asked her to come in and take a seat.
“Sorry, but I will never step into this house as long as cats are there,” she said.
“Then never come again, for we shall always have them,” Mehelli told her angrily and shut the door.
There was hardly anything in our life in Bombay, which naturally included our cats, about which I did not write to the Mother. She rarely sent a written answer, but never failed to help us inwardly. Many a time the illness was gone or the problem was solved much before my letter reached Her.
One day, all of a sudden Neloo developed urine-trouble. He was moaning and miserable, so we rushed him to the Animal Hospital. A kind friend had given me a special cage for transporting sick animals in our car or a taxi, so it was not too difficult. The surgeon examined Nelson and said that a stone was obstructing the passage of the urine, and he would try to remove it after giving an injection, but if he was not successful, he would have to perform a major operation. We told him to do whatever he thought best, for after years of experience we knew very well how kind and competent was the whole staff including the doctors, nurses and servants. Thanks to them, hundreds of animals have been saved. I sent an urgent letter to the Mother, and by Her help and grace the operation was successful, though Neloo took a long time to come home. Its companions at home (specially Masky) missed it, and were very happy when it returned.
Another tomcat which we called Daffoo, because he was somewhat of a duffer, had to be adopted by us, because his master suddenly died of a heart-attack and so the poor animal got thrown out. It was big and very handsome, but after some time it developed a swelling over its right eye, which we could not cure. We took it to the hospital, where the doctors were much puzzled. I wrote to the Mother about Daffoo, but at that time the Mother was not well and nothing could be communicated to Her.
After a few days a servant from the hospital came running to us, saying that poor Daffoo was dying; so we rushed there as fast as we could. The doctors told us that it was cancer, and nothing could be done to save the animal. I insisted on taking Daffoo home, for it looked at me with such appealing eyes as if to say that it preferred to die at my place rather than there. All the way home I held it close to my heart and did my best to comfort it because it was feeling very neglected and lost. But within a few hours it passed away with its eyes fixed on me. I was constantly calling the Mother to take it away peacefully to the cat-world. My only regret was that owing to pressure of work I was not able to visit it often at the hospital.
One day it was raining very hard and I was at the Chaupati bus-stop when I heard a very sad cry of a tiny kitten. It was half drowned in the rushing water. Suddenly my bus came, so I closed my umbrella and, lifting the kitten and placing it inside, I boarded the vehicle. All the way I fervently prayed to the Mother that it might remain inside quietly; otherwise the conductor would stop the bus and tell me to get down. To add to my fear, my neighbour’s servant who was sitting a few seats ahead started asking me how my cats were faring. All eyes were turned upon me, but I tried to calm myself and called for the Mother’s help which never failed me.
Finally I got off, and as soon as I entered my flat I pulled the kitten out of my umbrella and explained to Mehelli what had happened. We decided to send it to the hospital the next morning to be put to sleep quietly, as we already had too many cats. But, strange to say, this little kitten as soon as it was placed on the ground made its way to our kitchen at the back of the house, as if it knew the place. All the other cats followed it and, instead of growling or spitting, they smelt it all over and then licked it dry.
I gave it some milk, and named it Pichoo because it was just like my cat Pichun at the Ashram. We sent it to the hospital later to be spayed and then kept it. This little one became so attached to me that as soon as I returned home from my work and sat on a chair, it would jump on my lap and tell me all sorts of things in its cat-language which was very amusing. But when I came to the Ashram on a visit it would refuse to take its food from anybody and would search for me all over the place. Once for three days and nights it took nothing and poor Mehelli had a hard time of it.
One day the daughter of an English lady living in the next house came to me suddenly, bringing the most beautiful black cat I had ever seen. “Please, aunty, I beg of you to keep this she-cat of mine as you have been kind enough to keep the others because we are shifting to the suburbs and cannot take it. It will run away at the first opportunity, and get beaten and even killed on the way. You know how people here hate cats, and specially black ones.”
I consulted Mehelli and he agreed to keep this cat, and from the beginning it got attached to him. It had a coat of shining black fur, a fine black bushy tail and glowing amber eyes. I named it Black Rose, but it would not always remain inside the house and insisted on going out from time to time.
We first sent it to the hospital to be spayed, and when it returned it was more quiet, and gradually it adjusted itself to its new home and its fellow-creatures.
However, Black Rose did not live long with us. We had no idea how old it was when it came to us.
One evening, as it was sitting on Mehelli’s lap, it suddenly jumped down moaning, and went to a door and repeatedly banged its head against it. We could not understand what was the matter, so Mehelli dressed up and fetched the local vet who came and examined her and told us that he could do nothing as it was a hospital case. So we placed Black Rose in our cage and, accompanied by the vet, took it to the hospital.
The surgeon there told us that nothing could be done to save the cat and that it would be much more kind to put it to sleep, as it was in agony. We agreed, and poor Black Rose was given an injection in the heart. Looking at both of us, it passed away quietly. The manager of the hospital, a sincere animal-lover and a great friend of ours, insisted on having an autopsy performed in order to learn what had so suddenly taken place. They found that not one of her organs was in a normal condition and a tumour had burst inside and given her that terrible pain. It was a miracle that she had lived with us for even a few months—all due, I am sure, to the Mother’s inner help. The Mother was apprised of this sudden death and must have taken care of Black Rose in the other world.
After Pichoo and Black Rose, we had only one more cat called Sweety, brought to us by a friend who had helped us a lot for many years and who was leaving for Switzerland and France. It had already been spayed, and was a beautiful gold-white cat. After it, I put my foot down and refused to accept any more. I had had enough. Besides, Mehelli had a serious motor-cycle accident in which he broke his leg and was in the Bombay Hospital for a long time. I had sent a telegram to the Mother about this, and kept Her informed all the time of all that was taking place. Thanks to Her Grace and constant help he eventually recovered and was able to come and see Her once on his birthday.
Attached to the Animal Hospital was a college for students who wished to become vets. I used to dislike going there because I had heard that vivisection was done in it to teach the students. I had seen pictures in some foreign magazines which had made me very unhappy. If only men were more conscious, undoubtedly they would not indulge in this sort of hideous cruelty towards poor, dumb and helpless animals. It is surely our state of unconsciousness and ignorance which makes us resort to such acts in the name of science, and hurt and kill animals for their furs or skins and other things. We have a long way to go before a higher consciousness can be realized. I remember very well reading about a convict who had been sentenced to death and who offered himself for any kind of medical experiment that the doctors wished to try, even the most painful one. The authorities agreed and not one but a few experiments were tried on him which proved helpful to the medical profession (because a man, unlike an animal, can always report with accuracy all that he feels as the result of an experiment). This spontaneous act of self-sacrifice by the convict was so much appreciated that his death-sentence was changed to life-imprisonment. And as long as he lived he helped not only the doctors but also the other convicts in the best way he could.
Nowadays, I am told, those firms which produce toilet articles are also trying all kinds of experiments on animals to find out how the new preparation affects their skins, eyes, nails, etc.
On page 491 of Sri Aurobindo’s Letters on Yoga, Vol. 22 of the Centenary Edition, the Master says regarding vivisection:
“I feel inclined to back out of the arena, or take refuge in the usual saving formula, ‘There is much to be said on both sides’. Your view is no doubt correct from the common sense of what might be called the human point of view. Krishnaprem takes the standpoint that we must not only consider the temporary good of humanity, but certain inner laws. He thinks the harm, violence or cruelty to other beings is not compensated and cannot be justified by some physical good to a section of humanity as a whole; such methods awake, in his opinion, a sort of Karmic reaction apart from the moral harm to the men who do these things. He is also of the opinion that the cause of disease is psychic, that is to say subjective, and the direction should be towards curing the inner causes much more than patching up by physical means. These are ideas that have their truth also. I fully recognise the psychic law and methods and their preferability, but the ordinary run of humanity is not ready for that rule and, while it is so, doctors and their physical methods will be there. I have also supported justifiable violence on justifiable occasions, e.g. Kurukshetra and the war against Hitler and all he means. The question then, from this middle point of view, about the immediate question is whether this violence is justifiable and the occasion justifiable. I back out.”
About the animals Sri Aurobindo says on page 499 of Letters on Yoga:
“Even the animal is more in touch with a certain harmony in the things than man. Man’s only superiority is a more complex consciousness and capacity terribly perverted and twisted by misuse of mind and the ability (not much used yet) of reaching towards higher things.”
On page 500 of the same book Sri Aurobindo says:
“Yes, it is a more simple and honest consciousness—that of the animal. Of course it expects something, but even if it does not get, the affection remains. Many animals, even if ill treated, do not lose their love—which means remarkable psychic development in the vital.”
“The emotional being of animals is often much more psychic than that of men who can be very insensitive. There were recently pictures of the tame tigress kept by a family and afterwards given by them to a zoo. The look of sorrow on the face of the tigress in her cage, at once gentle and tragically poignant, is so intense as to be heart-breaking.”
“Most animals do not usually attack unless they are menaced or frightened or somehow made angry—and they can feel the atmosphere of people.”
“Cats have very sure vital perception.”
“Yes—to watch the animals with the right perception of their consciousness helps to get out of the human mental limitations and see the cosmic consciousness on earth individualising itself in all forms—plant, animal, man, and growing towards what is beyond man.”
What Sri Aurobindo has written about animals feeling the atmosphere of people was proved very true once in Bombay. A dog which had rabies was being beaten terribly. I intervened and took the animal and caressed it, and it became quiet and stood beside me till the hospital van came and took it away. Everybody was shocked when they saw me actually holding this poor dog by the collar. After it had been removed they advised me to take several things as a prevention against getting the same disease myself.
“I will do nothing of the sort,” I said. “And if I get the rabies I will first go and bite all the people who have beaten this poor helpless animal.” This made them laugh. Of course the Mother’s help and protection were always with me. So I was not afraid.
Here in Pondicherry too there are some animals, which know me and come to me to be caressed, specially a cat at the place of the Consul-General of France. I lift it up and it nestles in my arms and purrs. But alas! ever since I am obliged to walk with a stick for support, they are afraid to come close to me, lest I should beat them—the last thing I would ever do. The stick counteracts my sympathetic atmosphere.
Before Mehelli had the motor-cycle accident a very unfortunate incident occurred in our life.
A building contractor was erecting a very tall house behind ours on the Malabar Hill.
For this purpose he had to use some dynamite to break the huge rocks and boulders on the hill. The work had been going on for some months when suddenly terribly big boulders and other rocks came tumbling down and damaged some houses on our road. An alarm was sounded and, clanging their bells loudly, all the fire engines came to rescue everybody. The landslide was not actually behind our house, still the firemen insisted on our vacating our flat immediately. But where to go? And what about our cats? If there had been two or three only, the hospital would have kept them, but there were many more, I phoned my sister-in-law and she said that we could come to her flat at Gowala Tank but not our cats, and the firemen were in such a desperate hurry to get us out that they would not even allow us to take our dinner or to feed our cats. However, I left some fish and milk for them; and both of us, taking only one set of clothes, stepped out of the house.
The firemen closed every door, window and ventilator, and did not care at all what would happen to our cats.
We spent a restless night at my sister-in-law’s place and the first thing I did the next morning was to send a reply-paid telegram to the Mother, informing Her about our trouble. I also wrote an air-letter to Her. Then we went to our flat to do something for our cats, but the firemen refused to let us enter. We pleaded and did our best, but all in vain. Then I prayed fervently to the Mother for her kind help and intervention. A few hours later a Parsi friend, who was an officer in the Government, came to see what had happened and when he came to our house we told him everything. He at once ordered the fireman outside our door to let us enter our flat. I took this friend right in and showed him all my cats and the condition of our house. He told the fireman firmly to let us enter our flat at least three times a day to feed the animals, and see to our other needs. After this the Mother’s answer too came of only one word—“Blessings”—by telegram so we were assured of Her help and protection. Who else could have sent this friend all of a sudden to inspect the site of the landslide? But the most wonderful part was this that although our cats had been left starving and with no fresh air, they did not seem to have minded at all. One by one they got up and came to us to be petted and fed, then returned to their resting-places. This was nothing but the Mother’s Grace, and I kept informing Her of all that took place.
While we were in the house I used to open some windows and doors, then once again feed them and leave some fish and milk near the kitchen. But we were told to hurry up and get out after closing everything. When the fish in the refrigerator was finished, I had to go to the market, bring some more, clean and cook it, and keep it ready in the refrigerator for the cats. Our Gujarati neighbours across the street were specially kind and understanding and would phone and let us know all that was taking place. And as for my sister-in-law and her daughter and son-in-law, they were extremely good and helpful throughout.
We passed through a terribly trying period and, had it not been for the Divine Mother’s constant help and Grace, I cannot imagine what would have happened. Not only did she save us and our cats but all the inhabitants of the ten houses that were vacated.
At last we were allowed to go back to our house and you can imagine the joy of our pets when they found that we had come to stay.
All those days that we were away, not a cry was reported to us by the fireman who was on duty outside our door.
“Who would believe that there are so many cats inside?” he said. “The flat is always so quiet.”
This was proof positive of our animals having been open to the Divine Mother’s Force all the time, and of Her constant help and Grace, for which we had no words to thank Her.
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