A compilation of Anu Purani's interview & other recollections by Maggi, Kanishtha, Jharna. Anu was Ashram dancer, Hindi teacher, Dortoir Didi & founder of Udavi
Anu Purani
(Dancer, Choreographer, Writer and Teacher in Auroshikha’s Udavi Village School)
Anu Purani is the only daughter of the late A.B. Purani, one of Sri Aurobindo’s original disciples, who was the recorder of Evening Talks with Sri Aurobindo, and author of Sri Aurobindo’s Integral Yoga, The Life of Sri Aurobindo and other publications. He was also a Sanskrit scholar.
Anu is small with a petite frame and a dancer’s lithe and supple body. She also moves with the grace and agility of a dancer; her back is straight, her head is held high and she has a turn of her feet reminiscent of ballet dancers in fifth position. She lives in the main Ashram compound near the Samadhi above what used to be the fruit room.
She was born in Surat, Gujarat, on January 5th. She told me that the year is unknown as her parents kept shifting her horoscope, but it is supposed to have been around the mid 1920s. She was brought to the Ashram when she was an infant at which time she and her mother joined her father who was already in residence there.
Anu told me that she had been very close to her father and that to her he was like a demi-god. She said that he was a very good father, teacher and a great human being. As a result of this closeness she spoke quite openly to me about him and in this interview her remembrances are lovingly detailed.
She told me that prior to his coming to the Ashram, while he was still in high school in Gujarat, he saw Sri Aurobindo in Baroda and when Sri Aurobindo gave a lecture he went to hear him. After seeing Sri Aurobindo he later told his friends that he felt Sri Krishna had again taken birth. At that time he was convinced that it was his destiny to follow him. Sri Aurobindo was planning a revolution in India. The British Raj was still in power and at that time, around the turn of the century, nearly all of India was colonized by the British. Sri Aurobindo was looking for strong young men who could prepare the district of Gujarat for the revolution to free India from the British. Anu said Sri Aurobindo selected her father and her uncle (his brother) and they were both quite willing to work in this capacity. While Purani was in college he started physical culture centers all over Gujarat for sports, bodywork, playing sticks, climbing wooden poles and wrestling. At that time there were many young men from Afghanistan who knew wrestling well and her father approached them and asked them to teach him wrestling. They would not do this so he decided to make a hole in the wall of their studio while they were practising and learn from them in this manner! Eventually he brought this sport and art form to his centers and taught it himself. After college he said he would not take a job so long as India was not free. He slept on the sidewalks during this period. His centers did not generate income at that time, but soon his work attracted the Indian Home Minister and other popular politicians of the day began to notice him. They were expecting him to be helpful with the Freedom Movement.
All this while he was communicating with Sri Aurobindo and he finally came to Pondicherry to meet him in 1923. He told Sri Aurobindo, “Now we are ready. What is the next step?” Sri Aurobindo said, “Drop it.” Purani said, “What shall I do?” Sri Aurobindo replied, “Start practising yoga.”
Sri Aurobindo told him, “My experience with this movement has made it clear that India’s freedom will be brought about by some other means.” Purani asked, “But will India be free?” Sri Aurobindo replied, “Yes, it will be free.” Purani was not certain and he asked him again, “What guarantee can you give me?” Sri Aurobindo stood up and looked far off into the distance and said, “India’s freedom is as certain as the rising of the sun tomorrow.” Purani responded, “Now after many years I shall sleep well tonight.”
A.B. Purani then came to live in the Ashram, but he caused a scandal in Gujarat. All the people who had supported him and followed him for the work of the Freedom Movement felt betrayed and letters of complaint were written to him in the Ashram. However, the Divine had other plans for him.
Tell me about your early days in the Ashram.
Well, I was just an infant and there was actually not much of an Ashram community at that time and no school. I remember one story that my father told about me when I was still in the crawling stage. My father’s quarters were just across from Sri Aurobindo’s rooms. The talks with sadhaks would take place in the evenings. The sadhaks meditated, also, with Sri Aurobindo and perhaps I heard them speaking about meditation. Sometimes, as Sri Aurobindo’s room had swinging doors, I would crawl into Sri Aurobindo’s room and settle into a chair. My father would come looking for me and apologize to Sri Aurobindo and ask me, “What are you doing?” I would say “jeu jeu”. At times doors to both quarters were left open. One night I crawled from my father’s flat into Sri Aurobindo’s rooms and I was heard repeating the words “dana”, “dana”. It was surmised that I had heard the sadhaks during these evening talks discussing sadhana so often that I was trying to imitate the sound of the word!
When I was about a year old I fell ill and was sent to the hospital in Madras. It was during the intense summer heat. I had a high fever, boils and my entire body was swollen. The Mother said, “The atmosphere is too intense, this child cannot live here.” I was sent back to Gujarat to live with my grandparents. It was not easy to send a year-old child away but this was an indication of my parents’ faithfulness to the guru. I stayed with my grandparents until I was seven years old. They were middle class people and had a temple in their home. There were no children around. There was an elder aunt who looked after me. She was a mother to me. All that while I did not see my parents, not once.
My first playmates were little statues of gods and goddesses. I gave them flowers and talked to them and prepared sandal paste for them. It was a very lovely childhood. When I was about age seven my mother came back to my grandparents. She was a new person to me. I did not really know her and furthermore I did not especially like her. Her name was Lila. One day I said, “Why don’t you go back to your home? Why are you staying here?” Then my Auntie said, “But, she is your mother.” My aunt brought me closer to my mother but it took a long time. She said, “You loved only your father and always only wanted to play with him.” I lived with my mother from seven to ten years of age and then we returned to the Ashram when I was age ten.
I loved my father very much and remember once saying to him (probably in a moment of needing his attention), “You know, I am your only child, your only daughter!” He kept quiet for a few minutes, then he said, “Don’t boast. You are not the only daughter I have. I have many daughters all over the world.” I thought now he is boasting! But when he fell ill so many people wrote him letters asking if there was anything they could do for him. People sent money and their good wishes. People would write to him from all over asking for advice and help. He tried to answer all of them himself. Lois Duncan [an American disciple from Sedona, Arizona] worshipped him. She and her husband, Nicholas, brought him to America in 1964 for a series of lectures throughout the United States. My father passed away in the Ashram in 1965 one year after his visit to America.
Anu as a child in the Ashram
Anu in front of her Ashram Quarters, Dec. 2002
He left me with a great gift — a deep love for India. I pray every day for India to come into her own true power after so many years of British rule.
What were your school days like in the Ashram?
When the Mother used to meet with the children of the Ashram in the playground, once she asked us, “What do you think God is?” She told us nothing could really perfectly describe what God is. She said, “One could say perfection, or light, or beauty and yet it really wouldn’t completely describe what God is.” In a series of meetings she spoke about evolution and she told us children about the beginnings of life in the ocean and how some life forms began to evolve into amphibians and then set forth onto the land. Someone asked her about the birds. She said, “That was a special expression, not from the earth, not from the sea but from another plane of existence.” Someone asked about the evolution of man from the monkey. She said the evolution of man was the result of a direct intervention from the Divine. She also said that the fact that all other animals looked down but that Homo sapiens stood erect and looked up is symbolic of the capacity to look at things from above.
For the classes in the school she was not keen on the students learning Sri Aurobindo’s philosophy. Much later it was Tanmaya [a French-Swiss teacher in the Ashram school for many years] who wanted to educate the children in a different way. Instead of having classes following the teacher, the teachers would follow the students. This was the beginning of the Free Progress system. If a child asked a question and it led to some other subject it was okay. The Mother said if a child did not want to study he or she was free to be ignorant. It did not mean that they had no other faculties or capacities. So some learned electricity and became engineers. Some went into physical culture and other areas of study. Not everybody liked the Free Progress method. At present Sri Aurobindo is taught in the Higher Course at “Knowledge” and Free Progress is a choice, it is not imposed. The systems are parallel, not everyone has the kind of mentality to take up Free Progress. One needs to have a willing and keen mind to acquire knowledge. One must be willing to work hard.
When did you take up dance study formally?
After finishing my education in the Ashram school I began formal dance study. My father saw that I was restless and fidgety. One day he said, “Uday Shankar [brother of the famed Sitarist, Ravi Shankar] is dancing in Madras.” He sent me to see the company perform. I was just sixteen years old and it was the first time I had ever experienced a professional dance company. It was so thrilling that I could not sleep that night. I wanted to go away and study dance and there was a big tussle between father and daughter. My father said he could not let me leave the Ashram. I said, “I don’t care, I am going.” This went on between us and he also told me he had no money. How could he help me? Finally the Mother said, “Purani, let her go.” With some help from wealthy friends of his in Gujarat he finally sent me to Kalakshetra School of Dance in Madras. He said, “I cannot let you go far away.” The lady managing the school was Rukmini Devi. She was closely connected with the Theosophical Society in Madras. I stayed in a hostel with other dancers. It was a big dormitory room. There I learned Bharatanatyam dance [the classical dance of India] and was well liked by Rukmini Devi. I was there for two years and came back to the Ashram for holidays. Then I received a pamphlet from Uday Shankar in Almora, in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains. It was a beautiful, hilly paradise. He had a dance school there for the summer months. I joined up. After I arrived and started the program, he told us that Bharata Natyam had no real meaning. He told us we must find our own way of dancing. The first thing he did was to make us walk. Then he would say, “Why are you looking down?” He wanted us all to walk around with our heads up and look at him. Then he would count and count and count and then demonstrate. He would say, “Think and then do.” Then he would say, “When I say start dancing you start.” He wanted immediate rhythmic precision. He wanted us to start in the exact moment of the count. We used to dance for eight hours straight, then exercise one hour, then rest one hour in the afternoon. At night we would start at 7 p.m. He would take the entire school in a circle and play music for us. He would ask us what the music meant. He would ask us what it was telling us. He wanted us to feel the emotion of the music for ourselves, to experience it on our own. I stayed with him for two years. He took us on tours all over India. We danced in so many places, then World War II broke out. As a result of the war the money he was receiving to help the company stay alive ceased.
Sri A.B. Purani (Anu’s father) with Tulsi offering for Sri Aurobindo
Shankar wanted to act in a film about his life that he was to direct. He wanted us all to be in it, but we did not agree with it. There was a big fight between Shankar and the dance troupe because we refused. We had an engagement in the capitol of Gujarat. Everything was already booked. We were all young and hard-headed and we did him a great injustice for we all cancelled out and left him in the lurch one day in advance of the performance date. He had to organize some other program for the audiences. Of course he wrote an angry letter to my father, but I had just gone along with the group decision. After this experience I returned to the Ashram. I was twenty years old.
Sri A.B. Purani in New York 1964 with Eric Hughes, Anie, Kailas, Matilda Scott, Sam Spanier, Dr. Karelitz-Karry, Mrs. Polly Holmes, Mrs. Eleanor Montgomery
What did you do after you returned to Pondicherry?
The Mother had asked me to join the embroidery group with Mona, Pushpa, Kusum and others. We embroidered bedspreads and other linen for Golconde Guest House. After six months there she asked me to iron some clothes in the school dormitory for twenty children who were boarding there. She then told me that I could be in charge of the dormitory and look after the children. I had never thought of marriage and family life, but like my father I loved children. I was very happy working there. Kusum and I worked together, then she became ill and had to go home. I was left all alone with this work. One day I was going upstairs and the Mother opened her door. I was thinking how lucky I was to have so many children. At that moment Mother said, “How good it is that you have so many children.” I wondered how she could know exactly what I was thinking.
Then she asked me to start dance classes. I did both these things simultaneously. She selected the music for me. I composed my own type of dances and she was so generous with her praise. That continued for twenty years. Then in 1976-77 Maggi Lidchi-Grassi [one of Mother’s secretaries and the author of many books] approached me about teaching in the newly formed Udavi village school outside Pondicherry. The Udavi school was established by Maggi Lidchi-Grassi and her late husband, Nata Grassi, who had also founded Auroshikha incense factory. Udavi, in Tamil language, means “Help” and the name was given by the Mother. The Auroshikha factory was, at that time, on the grounds of the school but has since moved to Pondicherry.
By 1978 I was fully involved as a teacher at Udavi. In 1983-84 Maggi went to America for a long stay and I was asked to take over as chief superintendent of the school. I had full reign at that time. I had a very loving relationship with Maggi and the students. A new plot of land was purchased and another building put up. We had a wall built around the buildings so that goats and cows could not come in.
I have greatly expanded inwardly from my experience at Udavi. As a child I received loving affection from family but something was lacking. I tried to be friendly but had no discrimination. My father used to say, “Don’t be like the mythical bird that looks at every passing cloud and follows it, one who can only drink rain water and no other water. Be more practical and not so idealistic.” So there at Udavi, with the children, I had my first experience of unselfish, impersonal love. I felt they were all my children. I was so proud of them. I knew some would go to college and one boy even entered the army. It was total, unconditional love on my part towards them.
Sanjeev Agarwal of SAUER (Sri Aurobindo International Institute of Educational Research) in Auroville came to see what the children were doing. He saw them acting, dancing, reciting and he was impressed. Soon the school was placed under the management of SAUER (though the Ashram is still financially responsible) and Sanjeev asked me to be the director of the school.
What can you say about Auroville, its growth and development, its future and relationship with the Ashram?
When Auroville was being built there was great enthusiasm in the Ashram and many people went out to help. Then, due to some problems and ensuing court cases and for other unknown reasons, something happened. The Aurovilians suddenly did not want ashramites going there anymore. This was in the early 1980s. I was teaching dance at the Last School in Auroville. The ashramites became blocked from being in Auroville and I also stopped my classes. I do not know if it was some idea of competition, a political matter of positions or what the cause was, but things escalated and there are still some problems existing today. Some Aurovilians have not learned to use absolute freedom in the highest way. Hopefully the existence of the Savitri Bhavan and Matrimandir will change that situation, then Auroville will come around to more yogic ways.
How has your sadhana changed since Mother and Sri Aurobindo are no longer in their physical bodies?
Now I must rely on myself. I have to go more deeply within myself to find the answers and solutions to situations.
Would you describe your darshans with Mother and Sri Aurobindo and any remembrances that you have of the Mother?
Once Mother asked me to dance and in the story I had to conquer the asura [evil power]. The asura was attracted to me and he wanted to conquer me. I found this to be so difficult. Nothing seemed right in the way of dance movements. Usually I hear a sound within my head indicating the correct choreographic movement. It is like a bell inside me. But that bell never rang. I went to the Mother and I started to cry. She then showed me the correct movements herself. So, I repeated them in front of her and she said, “Yes, that is it!” She would come to see the dress rehearsals and she saw me on the stage. She asked me to dance again and I thought that was the greatest compliment anyone could receive so I happily danced for her again.
Upon returning to the Ashram from the Himalayas I had many significant meetings with the Mother. It is very difficult to describe them. I remember trembling all over when I saw Mother and Sri Aurobindo on darshan days. Once the Mother asked me, after one of the darshans (Sri Aurobindo was still here at that time), “How was the darshan? For what do you ask?” I said, “Mother, I do not ask anything.” She said, “Every step you take you may always ask for something.” So, one day I asked her if Sri Aurobindo was pleased with me. She said, “Yes.” I asked, “Why doesn’t he smile at me?” Mother said, “He doesn’t smile, but he is pleased.” This would be the last darshan that I would have of Mother and Sri Aurobindo together.
I could see that Sri Aurobindo was uneasy and uncomfortable. I felt like going quickly. Then he looked straight at me and smiled. His look completely stopped me and I began to cry and cry. Something told me that I would not see him again. This was November 24, 1950 and of course he withdrew from his body on December 5, 1950.
What has life here in the Ashram meant to you? How has your life in this surcharged atmosphere and in the presence of Mother and Sri Aurobindo changed you?
I can only say that I was a rather selfish person with a somewhat small personality.
The Mother has made me unselfish and removed certain limitations and widened my vision. She has helped me to feel one with India, one with the people with whom I work and to feel a great sense of love. I am no longer the person that I once was.
I still have many dreams and creative visions. One dream is to choreograph the dance-drama “Jonathan Livingston Seagull”. I want to find a boy dancer who can leap all the way across the stage like a great bird. I am looking for this dancer.
Sanskritists use very few words to express large ideas. They say “Charaiveti, charaiveti”, which means “Keep on moving, keep on moving!”
Source: The Golden Path
Working in Dortoir
SOME people tell me that I was brought to Pondicherry when I was 6 months old, with my mother. After about two years, when I started walking, I fell very ill and the Mother told my parents that I was not able to bear the pressure of Sadhana besides the terrible heat of summer. She told them that I should be sent back and my parents decided to send me to my grandparents. Pujalal-bhai took me to Surat and left me with my grandparents. My mother came after some years to Surat. It seems I had come to Pondicherry twice or thrice but I was not allowed to enter the building as I was still very young, but I did see the Mother passing by.
When I began going to school my mother asked me if I wanted to visit my father and see Babuji (Sri Aurobindo). I jumped at the idea at once. When I came I could recognise my father as I had already seen his photograph.
After some time the Mother made me an Ashramite, when I was about twelve years old. I was quite a restless child. Once my father sent me to Madras with Udar. There I saw a dance performance by Uday Shankar’s troupe. It is only then I came to know about this activity known as dance. I came back and told my father that I wanted to learn dancing. Can you imagine his reaction? He flatly refused to send me for dance lessons. Finally the Mother had to step in. She told my father, “Purani, let her go.” So off I went. After two years of training in Kalakshetra with Uday Shankar I came back and then the Mother gave me some work.
I was told to work with Mona for Golconde, which was then almost ready. We were taught to embroider on bedspreads to be used later in Golconde. I worked for about two years with Mona in Golconde. She had asked me to keep Kusum as my helper in my work.
During that period, Dortoir was supervised by two elderly ladies, Gul-ben and Shirin-ben. Once the Mother told me to go to Dortoir and iron the clothes of the children there. I became very friendly with them. Sometimes the Mother would ask me about the Dortoir children and I would report to her my observations. This work I did perhaps for two years. One day, Amrita-da came and told Kusum and me that the Mother had called us at 4.15 p.m. We were excited and surprised at this rare opportunity. When we met her and she told us that we were to work in Dortoir and look after the children there, our happiness knew no bounds. Perhaps the next day itself I told Kusum, “We should treat the children with such care that they should not miss their mother.”
The Mother gave us a bell and said that the bell should be rung at 5.30 a.m. to wake the children. The Mother had told us that we should not touch the children while trying to wake them up. She had said that they are often in some other plane and it disturbs them if they are abruptly awakened by loud sound or by someone touching them. It was necessary to supervise their brushing of teeth and bathing. Breakfast time was at 7.30 a.m. Ravindra-ji came regularly at that time and checked that the children ate well. Sometimes he would tell them stories while they had their breakfast.
At about 9.00 a.m. I would go to the Mother and she would enquire if I had slept well, eaten well and if everything went well in the Dortoir. One day, as I was going up the stairs to meet the Mother I thought, “How lucky I am! Mother has given me so many children!” When I stood in front of the Mother she smiled and said, “How lucky to have so many children!” I stood stunned. I was convinced that she knows everything we think and do.
The children’s clothes were collected by some washermen and washed by them. Sometimes they did not wash them properly. So, I would myself sit down and wash the clothes with them. In the evening Kusum and I took turns ironing the clothes.
When the children came back from the Playground, we saw to it that they took their bath properly. After dinner we would sit with the children to get their homework done. About an hour after that Ravindra-ji would come and talk with them, tell them stories. At 9.00 p.m. we rang the bell and the lights were put out.
One day the Mother said that she had heard a complaint against me. I was truly shocked. Then she smiled and said “Tara says you are not telling them stories.” You cannot imagine my relief and joy. So a story session started. It proved to be very popular. At times both the children and I forgot our time limit.
One day, the children said they wanted some special food. In short, they wanted us to cook for them. I was a greenhorn as far as cooking was concerned but Kusum had some experience in it! We got hold of a book on cooking and we had a lot of fun. I would mix masala in a vegetable and taste it. The only thing I understood was that it was not the right taste. Then Kusum would try and taste it. Both of us continued this way till it turned out well. One day we had many tomatoes. So I thought to make juice of these and boil it. I told the Mother about it and she said, “Never boil juice. It is best as it is.” Sometimes when bread slices were not used for many days and they became dry, I asked the Mother what should I do with these. She told me to put the slices in a frying pan and to pour milk on it and just turn the slices twice over. This became a special treat.
Once, when I was ironing the clothes someone called me and I went down without putting the iron up. When I came back up Lata’s dress was burning. I informed the Mother about it. “What would you like to do?” she asked. I said, “I have a new saree. Shall I make a dress for Lata from my saree? It is new and I have not used it.” It was a pleasure to see her magnificent smile.
The Mother visited the Dortoir one day. She found it clean but the toilets were not clean enough. She said we should use phenyl in the toilets.
The Mother gave us a prayer to repeat every morning before going down for breakfast.
Those were wonderful days. It was a wonderful experience and I can never forget it. She taught us so many things! The best experience she gave us was the capacity to love children.
Exactly seven years ago, my Hindi teacher Ravindra-ji had passed away. In his memory I had written an article, a homage, on behalf of all his ex-students. Even then I had found it hard to pen my thoughts on paper, and I am finding it hard to do so now too, when I want to write a few lines on Anu-ben, to pay my homage to her too. The reason for this difficulty is the film of tears which mists my eyes when I realise that these two wonderful persons who had dedicated themselves completely to the Ashram are no more with us . . .
I knew them as teachers when I was in school, but my special bond with them continued even afterwards . . . It would be vain to say that I was one of their favourite students; I rather think that they gave me more attention because being the only non-Hindi-speaking person in the class, I was unsure of the language. The others had uttered their very first words in Hindi; so the genders came naturally to them. But for me it was a challenge as I had to think twice before deciding whether the word I was using was of masculine gender or feminine! Anyway, whatever the reason, I am grateful that those two special souls have touched my life. . .
On October 6, 2008, at about 9.30 p.m. Anu-ben breathed her last. When I went to her room the next day to pay my respects, I was struck by the radiant calmness of her face. She had had a fall in Udavi on the 25th August, and after that she was in tremendous pain for a month and a half. There were several broken bones and other medical complications. But there was not a sign of suffering on that serene face. In fact one would say that she had faced death with a smile.
Many people knew Anu-ben in many different ways. Hers was a multifaceted personality. Those children who had come here in the early days of the Ashram, knew her as the first Didi of Dortoir. They called her “Awwi” with affection. It is not known exactly why she was called by that name, but there is one story which does explain it. It seems that one of those children in Dortoir, who is of a respectable grandmother’s age today, had just arrived from Karnataka. Anu-ben was washing her hair, and by mistake the water she poured was too hot for the child. So in protest she screamed, “Awwi, what are you doing?” I suppose what she wanted to say was “Awwa” meaning mother in Kannada. But the name “Awwi” stuck, and all the children started calling her “Awwi” with affection. She had maintained a warm relationship with all the Dortoir children till the very end. She would take part in all their activities specially in the “Dortoir group”. This dedicated group cleans systematically one Ashram department every month. Although there is no spring in Pondicherry every month the ‘spring’ cleaning takes place with great gusto and dedication! I am sure Anu-ben’s absence will be deeply felt by all the members of Dortoir.
Anu-ben was a dancer, professionally trained by Sri Uday Shankar, the brother of the renowned sitarist Pandit Ravi Shankar. She was a dance teacher of the Ashram and the head of that department. As a child I remember having taken part in so many of her dance dramas. I understood much later how much tolerance and patience she must have had to teach so many mischievous children!
When I grew up a little more, Anu-ben became my Hindi teacher. She and Ravindra-ji used to take classes together. She would tell us mythological stories. Her story-telling was not only with words but with expressive eyes and ‘abhinaya’ too. We would be spellbound. The classes became not only interesting but educative too, for this way we would learn about our culture and civilisation.
Anu-ben used to write stories and articles for the Hindi magazines Purodha, and Agnishikha. Apart from being a storyteller and a writer she was the editor of both these magazines. She bore so many responsibilities lightly on her delicate shoulders.
After I finished my studies at S.A.I.C.E., I had the opportunity to work with her for a couple of years in the translations of the Mother’s works into Hindi. She would translate a paragraph and then tell me to correct it. I would say, “But Anu-ben, you are the teacher and I am the student, how can I correct your work?” To which she would reply, “Here our relation is not that of a teacher and student. We are both children of the Mother. We have to work with sincerity and complete dedication.”
Anu-ben played a big role in “Udavi” where the Auroshikha factory was located. She would go there regularly and teach the children of the employees there, take dance classes for them and help with the administration of the school. She did full justice to the word, “Udavi” which means “help” in Tamil.
Sri A. B. Purani, Anu-ben’s father was a well known personality. He was a freedom fighter and a man of action. Even today the akhadas that he started several decades ago are actively functioning in Gujarat. He came to the Ashram in the early days during Sri Aurobindo’s time. How he came here has been narrated beautifully in the September 2008 issue of Mother India.
When Purani-ji came away, his wife Smt. Lilavati-ji followed suit with their baby girl.
I have written about every aspect that I knew of Anu-ben — as the Didi of Dortoir, dancer and head of the dance section, as a Hindi teacher, writer and editor of Purodha and Agnishikha, a well-wisher of Udavi and my colleague in the Hindi section. If we look at page 673 in the August 2008 issue of Mother India we will know that she had set out on the path of Sadhana even before she learnt to walk! She would crawl into Sri Aurobindo’s room, climb into a comfortable chair and settle down. When her father came looking for her, he would apologise to Sri Aurobindo and ask her, “What are you doing here?” and she would reply, “jeu . . . jeu . . .” trying to say, “meditation”!
One night she got into Sri Aurobindo’s room and was heard repeating “dh . . . dh . . .”, trying to repeat the word, “Sadhana”!
On the 6th of October that long journey on the path of Sadhana, as shown by the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, came to an end. Maybe ‘end’ is not the right word. In fact we can say that on 6th October 2008 Anu-ben set out on another journey, her soul’s journey on another plane towards the Light!
[Source: Mother India, Jan 2009]
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.
A student of the great dance maestro Uday Shankar, a sadhika, a teacher of Hindi, the head of the dancing section of the Center of Education. The principal of Udavi School: that was Anuben.
After joining the school I somehow gravitated towards dance, though I danced very rarely when much younger.
Every Sunday there used to be music class with Sahana-di and dance class with Anuben though I began to attend the music classes, I discontinued them for some reason or other and gave myself fully to dance.
Anuben was fortunate to have such a great dancer like UDAY Sankar as her teacher and later The Mother to guide her in her creativity. Uday Sankar as we know developed a unique style of his own. It was based on no single school of Indian classical school of dance but a beautiful synthesis. Movement after movement were executed and nothing was ever created in the field of dance so beautiful and harmonious! Naturally Anuben must have participated in all those novel creations. She imbibed a great deal from all those creations.
When she began to teach in The Ashram, she had instruction from The Mother to evolve something new. The Mother wanted a new type of dance in which the body as a whole will express different emotions and not only the face with traditional codified gestures.
We have heard that for the 1st December programme she, Millie-di and Norman-da would go together to The Mother to discuss and get Her approval. In early fifties the programmes used to be very long as there used to be some dance drama, songs, ballet if Monique and her husband were visiting The Ashram, a play written by The Mother. And to conclude the programme of the evening a section from “Savitri” was enacted in which Amita-di was always chosen by The Mother to act as Savitri. We have heard that whenever Anuben danced on 1st December’ The Mother opened her wardrobe and chose a sari for Anuben to wear for her item.
Anuben did her best to infuse in us the ideas she received from The Mother, and always encouraged us to create something new. She wanted us to evolve a new style of dance, something that could be an effort trying to express what The Mother wanted. But with time everything has changed. Now the students learn some classical form and that’s that. We were exposed to very many forms of dancing, anyone with a knowledge of dance was invited by Anuben to teach us something new. Thus once for a fortnight we had a crash course of Kandy style of dance from Sri Lanka.
Regarding her work at “Udavi” we need to say a little about how she was entrusted with teaching there. I have already spoken about how “Udavi” school came into being. It was solely founded by Nata-da. When the school began to function he asked Anuben to help him. She I believe began with the creative aspects of education- i.e. dance, music, drawing etc. But after Nata-da’s demise Anuben became the director of The School. By then the govt. of India had recognized the school and the students were allowed to sit for class ten examinations.
One year at the instigation of a certain union leader employees of “Udavi” went to strike demanding more pay and many other perks. The saddest part of the whole movement was that the workers forced the management to close down the school as well. Naturally those students who were to sit for their class ten exams were going to lose one year. But that was not acceptable to Anuben. She couldn’t let the students lose a year. So she decided to help them; and with The Ashram authorities she made arrangements. The students were to come to Pondicherry every morning. They were to have their lessons as per schedule and were to return home in the late afternoon. The “Dancing Hall” of the Center of Education became temporarily a classroom, desks, chairs and tables were supplied by different departments of The Ashram. Udavi school teachers commuted every morning from Pondicherry. They willingly agreed to help the students and thus the students of Udavi school got ready to sit in their class ten examination.
Anuben continued to work at Udavi school even after it was handed over to Auroville.
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