Rajangam

Rajangam

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die, a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted....

Old Testament

Rajangam was already an ancient when I first saw him. We could hardly visualise him otherwise — but whenever it was that he attained it, he didn’t change much after that. Nature had no room to work on him — I would so suspect.

Rajangam was a man of the 19th century — born in a village (Agaramangudi) of Tanjore Dt. on 30th of April 1898. Not much is known about him till he joined the Medical College at Madras in the early part of the 20th century. He was of a small stature — anyway you looked at him. He stood at 5' — give or take an inch or two. A slight stoop only emphasized the lack of height. He was thin as can be — only backbone and ribs wrapped up in a parchment-like wrinkled skin. The limbs matched the rest of him. The head was a bit more reassuring. A good amount of hair collected into a bun in true South Indian Brahmin fashion. The eyes were quite bright but small, carried some fight in them. Cheeks were no cheeks. A Ho-Chi-Minh beard completed his “ascetic-after-austerities” appearance. He was usually clad in a short dhoti and chuddar carelessly thrown over the shoulders. Wooden sandals lent an inch or so to the height. We hardly saw him socialise or talk, except with 2-3 chosen friends. He was one of the “Olds” — many of them were a silent lot, or at least sparing in speech. He lived a long time in the room at the head of the “Prosperity” stairs, at the left (the stairs near our “Reception Room”). Subhash of Electric Dept. is the present occupant.

Rajangam was a medical student in Madras back in the twenties of the old century. He came across some copies of the Arya and a booklet or two of Sri Aurobindo’s speeches, etc. and was at once captivated. He wanted to meet Sri Aurobindo and so made it to Pondicherry in April of 1921. He had the darshan of Sri Aurobindo in the Guest House. A short conversation followed during which Sri Aurobindo asked him what he had been doing. Rajangam replied that he was reading the Ideal of Karmayogin and practising it, taking his body as the chariot and Sri Krishna as the charioteer. Sri Aurobindo replied “Alright, continue.” Rajangam went home in an elated mood, and he had an experience. He felt himself a bird flying to distant places. It was all light and delight. He had lost all body consciousness. He recounted this to Sri Aurobindo, who said “Good, it is symbolic. The bird represents the soul, and promise of light to come.” Rajangam was over-elated — just then Sri Aurobindo quietly remarked “Oh, it is quite a common experience!”

Rajangam went back to Madras, finished his medical studies, and returned in 1923. Sri Aurobindo had told Puraniji, who was then acting as manager of the Ashram: “Yoke him when he comes.” And so he was yoked in that year. When later he told Sri Aurobindo about some light descending (an experience he had), Sri Aurobindo remarked that the mind intervenes and there is a mixture. But Rajangam assured Sri Aurobindo that in his case there was no mixture. The Guru smiled and said: “After 30 years, I find there is a mixture — and you...” He must have shrunk a few inches then and there!

Rajangam had often the chance to meditate, along with some others, with Sri Aurobindo. One of them complained of noise (carpenters were working) downstairs during the meditation. Sri Aurobindo told them that one should be able to meditate on a battlefield.

Rajangam came decided to live in the Ashram. He claimed and brought away all that was due to him from the family, — his share of the money, his personal belongings (including brooms), all in bundles, and placed them at his guru’s feet. I heard it said that it was with that money that the part of the Ashram now called Library House (present Reception and Reading Room) was bought. The Ashram Main building is a combination of 4 houses, plus renovations and additions; these houses were bought one by one through the years.

Rajangam was yoked to — his work which was to make purchases, and running to the French Post Office, the Treasury, etc. He was given this work to bring him under the Mother’s influence.

Once when he needed some extra supplies, he had trouble getting them. Sri Aurobindo wrote to him: I am taking whatever the Mother gives, so you also take whatever the Mother gives.

How long he did this work I cannot say, but in the 40s he already led a semi-retired life. What we saw then was that he boiled and delivered to the Mother some water She needed. He had for this purpose a huge enamelled kettle. That his frail frame had the strength to carry it up was surprising. (The kettle should have been a museum piece even then. It must be lost now — junked off.)

Rajangam, though a medical man (we would expect a smartly dressed, scientific minded man) was simple — to the point of being naïve, and innocent. Going by present standards of thought, living and dressing, there would be no gauging him. Consider first his dress. There was no change from that short dhoti and chuddar (towel actually). He hung on to his Ho-Chi-Minh beard and long hair gathered into a knot (called a kummudi in Tamil and it was ever decreasing). I mention the beard for he was its faithful host as opposed to many old-timers who shed beards and long hair as encumbrances when they joined the newly started Physical Education sometime after 1949 when the Mother put much of Her energies and creative powers into its burgeoning and growing. Then Rajangam had to discard his dhoti (at least for the time of the activities) put on knee-length shorts and white shirt. There was no waist line, the shorts had to be hitched on by a belt. (It was on our grapevine that Rajangam had no intestines. We were simple enough to take the fact in with some belief without a pinch of salt.)

If one does not plant in season, or does not pluck in time — the chances are one gets stalled, and has to retrace one’s footsteps on the path, to plant and pluck.... So it was, I think, with Rajangam (and maybe with others). So he returned, armed with a tennis racket to redeem a part of himself.

Rajangam and some others like Anilbaran, Bansidhar, Madanlal of D.R., etc. took to some physical activities with unexpected zeal. Rajangam specialised in two items — Mass Exercises and Tennis. The Mass Exercises for the 2nd December Demonstration. The Mass Exercises was, and hopefully will remain, an item that all who wanted could join in. Rajangam could never learn even one figure correctly. He was willing but his mind was incapable of memorising, and the body given a chance, would have preferred to rest — but it was driven to participate. The result was a treat to watch, all knobby limbs jerking around, each of its own volition. He turned around, stretched, folded up, took a few steps whenever he saw the others do something similar — but all too late. It was even difficult for him to find his allotted place. Some good neighbour had to actually lead him to his “spot”.

Tennis was a different story. It was with some amusement and a little puzzlement that we saw Rajangam and his peers rouse themselves from a semi-reclusive way of life, and launch themselves into this activity in all earnestness and seriousness (too much in fact) that would put to shame a teenager (the late Anilbaran Roy and Bansid-harji, etc. were of the same ilk). Rajangam, this wisp of a man would don his long shorts, tennis shoes with calf-length socks, tie back his little bun of hair — of course the Ho-Chi-Minh beard tagged along — shoulder his racket and jump on to his well-polished bicycle, pedal off fast (to reach the courts before others). Once there they (R & AB Roy, etc.) got down to the real business. Every point had to be fought for, both in the real sense and vocally — the last recourse was usually necessary — an “out” ball could be shouted back “in”! Rajangam was at a disadvantage because of his size and age. (Not that the others were not old.) Come tournament, he was pitted against younger and fitter members. He got round his weak points as best he could. He first reduced the size of his racquet (the normal leverages were too much for him), by holding it somewhere in the middle of the handle! He could not run much so he made the opponent run — not with forehand and backhand drives — he had not the strength for that. He did instead an amazing chop, nearly sliced the ball in half! This he did with a queer “left-right” — one skip forward and one skip back. He met the impact of the ball with the forward skip and recoiled with the backward skip. The ball dropped into a corner or near the net and just bounced back, away from the opponent. It was very difficult to deal with it. Parul fell victim to him on many an occasion. I think — so does she — that Chandubhai the organiser took some pleasure in setting him against her, and he (Chandubhai) didn’t miss watching the match.

Rajangam did get too old for Tennis and Mass Exercises. He had to give them up. His work too was reduced. He was now left with one duty, that of opening of the Ashram Main Gate at 4.30 a.m. and closing it at 11.00 pm. This he did nearly until his last days. (The regularity, punctuality and an undiminished devotion persisting over decades of some of these old timers would seem unattainable nowadays. Another observable phenomenon is that when one of them passes away or has to retire (old age), two or three are needed to replace him — Rajangam, Bula-da, Khirod-da, some such old timers etc.) A few minutes before 11 p.m. or 4.30 a.m. one could hear him coming down the stairs, his wooden sandals beating a “khat-khat” on the wooden stairs. One night he missed a step and came tumbling down the last few steps. A minor miracle, no bone broke. Actually he was the least excited. He just picked himself up and moved on. It so happened one night that he did not come down. Someone went up and came down a bit alarmed! He called me and said “Battida, come quick, something wrong with Rajangam.” I went up to investigate. There was Rajangam in his night dress — a “Kaupin” (G-string) gloriously snoring away — flat on the floor. There were books and papers strewn all around him and on the cot. Near his ear, a transistor radio was lulling him with some Carnatic classical music. (I think he had learned some Carnatic music in his younger days. He could be heard humming to himself when moving around.) Rajangam acquired this radio but never got to know how to handle it. The radio was tuned to Chennai and he switched it on when there was a classical music programme. When and if, by any chance touch, the tuning knob was shifted off Chennai, and music did not emanate from the gadget, he thought it needed repair. He would send it to our Radio Repairing Section. Mahi or Arun & Co. knew Rajangam well. They put the needle back to Chennai and returned the radio. It was probably easier this way than to teach him the intricacies of Radio Tuning. I shook him gently. He woke up with a start. I assured him everything was OK, and that he could go back to sleep, we would lock the gate. I forget what he did then. But those were the days of “beginning of the end” — which eventually came on the 5th of May 1984. He was 86 — quite a long rally.

The yoke, put on Rajangam way back in 1923, on Sri Aurobindo’s orders, by Puraniji, changed from time to time, but was never taken off, nor shrugged off. He breathed his last, yoked. The Mother had once told him that he was, in a previous life, the French Revolution leader Barat who later opposed Robespierre. I wonder what and how many “inner voyages” brought him from that violent way to this peaceful Haven. He did retain vestiges of that “Barat” fire till his last days.

Epilogue

Maybe we all, each one of us, are made up of many different streams flowing parallelly to merge into One Ocean. But each stream reaches individually, in its own time according to its flow — some stagnate, are muddy or clear, some flow fast within the banks, yet some flood their banks and lose their way to return later. Each Odyssey is over only when all the streams reach The Ocean.