Conversations with My Ashram Elders by Bob Zwicker

Over the past fifty years, I have benefitted much from the observations, insights and stories of my elders in the Ashram. Sometimes I jotted down notes about what they said. Most are from the 1970s, during my first decade here. What follows is a selection of these notes, revised to make them more clear and readable.

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Yvonne Artaud’s Zen story:

There is an arresting image of meditation used in the schools of Zen: Imagine yourself hanging over an abyss, clinging by your teeth to a small shrub, with your hands tied behind your back. What would you do in this situation?

When the Mother was asked, she replied: “Even in that condition, one can still bless.”

c. June 1973

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Bula-da on the simple way:

About half a year after his visit to the United States in 1972, Udar gave a talk in the Playground in which he summarised the highlights of his trip abroad. After the talk a small group of us walked with him to his house. Udar said that in the U.S. people often asked him about meditation: how to meditate, when to meditate, what to meditate upon. An elder sadhak, Bula-da, laughed affectionately and said: “For us it is simple: Remember and offer.”

25 June 1973

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Nolini-da on group meditations:

I went to Nolini-da for advice and told him: “For two months now I have been attending a group meditation at N’s house. But Norman just told me several incidents which suggest that Mother does not approve of private group meditations conducted by others. Should I continue to attend N’s sessions or stop?”

Nolini-da told me gently: “It is better not to attend. When Mother is there, it is safe. When others lead the meditation, the atmosphere may get mixed. It is not always dangerous, but it is safer not to attend.”

25 June 1973

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Mother to Mona Pinto:

The Mother told Mona, who is in charge of Golconde: “You can make money for my work if you have time, but first look after my Ashram.”

27 June 1973

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Norman Dowsett’s three questions:

I went to see Norman Dowsett at his library near the sea-beach. Seated behind his big desk, he said:

Three questions to ask yourself:

1. Is there peace in my being as I act?

2. Am I doing the will of the Lord?

3. Am I doing the work of the Mother?

These three questions are a good check on oneself and a safeguard to avoid useless action. So often we act to please ourselves or others, but the one thing needful is to please the Divine. First we must remember, then we must offer. Three golden words of the Mother: “Remember and offer.”

30 June 1973

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Mother on thinking:

Once Millie-di wanted to speak to the Mother about a certain difficulty and began, “Mother, I have been thinking about something for a long time.” Mother stopped her and asked, “Why think?”

In the same vein, Udar sometimes began talking with her by asking, “Mother, what do you think about…” The Mother would cut him off, exclaiming, “Udar! How many times have I told you that I no longer think? I stopped thinking forty years ago.” And more than once she emphasised her point by rapping him on the head with her knuckles.

4 November 1973

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Pramod Kumar on my flowers:

At the gate of the Ashram where he sat, I offered Pramod Kumar a bunch of Imagination flowers. Bubbling up like a little boy, he exclaimed, “I have never seen such flowers as these since coming here. Keep these flowers, don’t give them to anyone. Give them only to God. Really, if I had such flowers, I would never part with them.”

7 May 1974

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Huta’s attitude:

Huta told me today that she doesn’t care if her hair falls out or her body fails her — the only thing that matters is what is here inside, and she pointed to her heart. I was happy to hear someone voice such a heroic attitude so boldly.

28 May 1974

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Ravindra-ji’s coconut story:

Someone asked the Mother, “What is the meaning of offering a coconut to the Divine?” She replied, “It is to say to the Divine: ‘My head is like this coconut — please crack it.’”

8 June 1976

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Ravindra-ji’s dream:

This morning Ravindra-ji related to me his dream of the night before: “In my dream there was a long procession. I saw many people from the Ashram moving along in cars and buses. Behind them was the Mother, riding in a horse-drawn carriage. After a while, many of the people in cars and buses started throwing up, but the Mother was untroubled.”

19 June 1976

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Nolini-da’s decision:

Today Jayantilal and I went to see Nolini-da for him to decide whether to standardise the capitalisation in the Mother’s 1929 conversations. Two excellent proofreaders, Amal and Sutapa, strongly felt that this should be done, but it involved making hundreds of small changes to a text carefully revised by Sri Aurobindo. At last Nolini-da cheerfully exclaimed, “Let us keep the text as it is! The readers will be confused—their minds will be baffled!” At this spirited declaration, we all broke out laughing.

24 July 1976

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Indra Sen at the beach:

Today Indra Sen and I went to the beach, as we often do in the late afternoon, and sat at the edge of the sea on the sands outside the Tennis Ground, rubbing wet sand over our limbs, watching the tips of spent waves lap at our legs. “Desire is the harasser,” he said. “We are filled with desires. Those desires are the cause of our sufferings. Others do not harass us. We harass ourselves.”

Then we slowly walked into the sea, had a swim and went up to the Tennis Ground to rinse ourselves off under the tap. After the rinse-off we started home, but suddenly Indra Sen turned back, saying, “Let us sit a little longer by the sea. We must not leave too quickly. Let us complete the ceremony.” After a pause he laughed and added, “Any excuse will serve for a meditation.”

29 August 1976

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Ravindra-ji on work:

I told Ravindra-ji that a certain work was going slowly, though it could have been done by now if the people doing it really wanted to complete it. “No fervour,” he said. “They have no fervour. You have to want it. You must be mad after it.”

14 December 1976

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Ambu’s story of the Sufi:

One summer day a Sufi walked to his place of prayer. Exposed to the blazing sun, he mused: “Lord, I have given my life to you, I have given you everything, yet I am utterly poor. You have given me nothing but tatters to wear. The sun is burning my body, the sand is scorching my feet. Where is your mercy?”

The Sufi’s eyes fell on a rich merchant. “Lord, you know this man doesn’t care for you. Still you have clothed him in costly robes and covered his feet with lambskin slippers. Where is your justice, Lord?”

Then the Sufi saw a man without legs. Falling to his knees, the Sufi cried: “Lord, forgive my folly. I know nothing. Your ways surpass my understanding. Give me the faith to trust in you and never doubt your love.”

8 January 1977

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Ambu’s story of the saint:

A saintly man had a neighbour who was openly hostile to him. The neighbour slandered and insulted him and once even spat in his face. Waves of anger surged up in the saintly man, but he refused to yield to them. After many years the waves no longer arose. Anger and upset had left him for ever. Love filled his heart and flowed out upon all. Then the neighbour no longer felt driven to taunt the man. In fact, sorry for his past conduct, he begged the saint’s forgiveness.

The saint told him: “You have been closer to me than the admirers who flatter me, for you have tested my character, probed my weaknesses, put me on guard against anger and pride. You have made me suffer, yes, but your insults and slanders have strengthened me. Let us be friends now.”

January 1977

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Millie-di on Bula-da:

Yesterday evening Millie-di told me a lovely story that reveals the Mother’s ways.

The Mother was strict with some in the Ashram, expecting them to live austere, disciplined lives; with others she was lenient and seemed to yield to their wishes: to ask was to be given. Among those to whom she gave freely were the children of the school. A time came when the first batch of young ones grew old enough to be interested in reading. Since evening was a good time to read, she received a number of requests from students for table lamps. What could she say but “Yes”?

The burden of providing lamps and bulbs, as well as installing new wiring and outlets, fell upon Bula-da, head of the Electrical Service and one of the Mother’s most faithful, devoted workers.

Bula-da was known for his straightforward speech, frank with all, including the Mother. Providing new lamps to these young­sters did not seem like a good idea to him. When request after request came, it got to be too much, so he decided to speak his mind to the Mother.

“Mother,” he burst out, “you are giving lamps to all these children, one after another. It is not easy to provide them.”

“Oh!” said the Mother innocently. “Is it like that? Is it difficult for you?”

“Mother,” Bula-da continued, “are all these lamps necessary? Do we really need them?”

“Well,” Mother began…

“Mother, you know this reading at night is not good — it spoils the eyes and is not good for the children.”

“Yes, Bula-da,” Mother said sympathetically.

“But Mother,” he exclaimed, “It is you who is sanctioning these lamps!”

There was a moment’s pause. Then Mother spoke, almost plaintively. “But Bula-da, what can I do? They want to read at night. They want to read my books, books like Prayers and Meditations. What can I do?”

In that moment Bula-da was vanquished. “All right, Mother,” he grumbled, “whatever you say. Whatever you want, we will do it. But, Mother, no more electrical outlets! They don’t need more outlets!”

Mother smiled brightly and agreed. “Yes, Bula-da, you are right. No more outlets. Tell them I have given the order: no new electrical outlets.”

19 January 1977

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Ravindra-ji on “Baji Prabhou”:

In Sri Aurobindo’s poem “Baji Prabhou” there is a line towards the end spoken by Tanaji Malsure as he stood beside Baji’s slain body: “Three and thirty the gates by which thou enterest heaven.” To this enigmatic sentence, various occult and symbolic interpretations were given. When Sri Aurobindo himself was asked, he explained the meaning: “He died of thirty-three wounds.”

18 February 1977

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Udar’s story:

Mother once asked each of those gathered around her, “What is the most important moment in your life?” Most replied, “The first time I saw you, Mother.” Mother caught them all flat-footed by her response. “You are all wrong,” she said. “The most important moment of your life is NOW.”

21 February 1977

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Jagannath’s reversal:

For the Mother’s birthday, Jagannath, with whom I work in the Fruit Room, arranged a lovely vase of pink flowers. Proudly showing them to me, he said with solemnity, “Falsehood of Surrender”. I smiled and said, “I think you mean ‘Surrender of Falsehood’.” “Yes, yes,” he agreed, ‘Surrender of Falsehood’.”

21 February 1977

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Millie-di on Ravindra-ji:

When Ravindra-ji came to live in the Ashram, he was a pulsating ball of energy directed wholly towards the Mother. She tried to bring out the expansive side of his nature and never missed a chance to make him laugh. Who can forget his rolling peals of laughter?

As a youth, Ravindra-ji had an orthodox upbringing based on the ancient gurukul system of education which sought to develop bright and upright Brahmacharis. Raised in Gurukul Kangri in Haridwar, he rose early every morning, bathed in the Ganges, chanted, meditated and studied the scriptures. Following a strict code of conduct, he adhered to a regulated diet. No onions, garlic, meat, fish or eggs. These impure items were strictly taboo and not to be touched.

For a long time the diet in the Ashram was vegetarian, including no eggs. Then in the 1940s during World War II, when the Japanese threatened to invade India, many Bengali devotees came south with their families to live in the Ashram. This influx brought dramat­ic changes in the Ashram, including a loosening of the dietary regime. Mother gave eggs to the children, and later to some of the sadhaks as well. Ravindra-ji, daily at the Mother’s side, witnessed these changes.

The Mother never teased him about his dietary preferences, but one day she took him by surprise, “Ravindra,” she asked, “will you hold this egg for me?” Caught completely off-guard, he froze for a moment, nonplussed. Then he recovered and broke out into loud laughter. Holding out his hands, he said, “Yes, Mother, surely.”

22 February 1977

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Millie-di on Pranab at the Playground:

Before the advent of tape-recorded marching music, group members kept in step during the March Past solely to the tune of Pranab’s whistling. The commanding, rhythmic sound of his voice, whistled into the microphone, filled the Playground.

To call the group members together for the March Past, Pranab cried out in a thunderous voice “Rassemblement!” Hearing this, the Mother would stop whatever she was doing and hurriedly exclaim, “Oh! Pranab is calling Rassemblement. Time to get ready.” Leaping up from her chair, she stood at attention, ready to take the salute of the groups.

22 February 1977

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Indra Sen’s irrationality:

Indra Sen came to the Archives this morning about nine o’clock and asked to see Jayantilal. I told him that the boss had already left for work at All India Press. We rang him up. In a matter-of-fact tone Indra Sen began, “Jayantilal, I came to see you at your house, but you weren’t here. I knew you wouldn’t be here, but I came anyway.”

I think that Indra Sen was not joking, but simply relating the situation as it happened to him. Like an unabashed child, he spoke the truth and was probably as delighted as I was by the irrationality of it.

24 February 1977

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Udar’s arthritic knees:

Today at tea at Golconde, Udar told us the story of his knees. When he was in his mid-fifties, he began suffering from arthritic knees. His friend Diana, a Frenchwoman, offered to obtain help from a local man who knew how to cure arthritis using herbal remedies.

Udar was ambivalent, but gave a nod of agreement. Diana contacted the man, who told her that Udar could not be cured by conventional means, but might be cured by taking vibhuti, sacred ashes. The herbal doctor gave Diana some vibhuti and said that Udar must place it on the tip of his tongue and at the same time pray for cure to whatever God he worshipped.

Diana gave the sacred ashes to Udar who went to the Mother and told her the whole story. She asked, “Well, did you take the ashes?” “No, Mother,” he replied, “I don’t believe in anything unless it comes from you.” Mother asked for the ashes, held them in her hand for some time, and told Udar to pray and take the ashes.

“No, no, Mother,” he protested. “I can’t pray. When I try to pray, I feel foolish asking God for favours. I start talking to God, then I start laughing and God starts laughing, and that’s the end of it.”

“Well,” Mother said, “can you meditate?” “Yes, Mother, I can do that,” Udar replied. 

“Good,” Mother said. “You just meditate and your arthritis will be cured.” In Mother’s presence Udar meditated for a time, put the ashes on his tongue and swallowed them. Almost at once the pain in his knee-joints vanished, as if by magic. Udar was not a little surprised.

Some time later, however, the arthritic pains returned and even increased in intensity. Udar asked Mother for an explanation. “Faith can bring ninety-percent success,” she said, “but ten percent depends on Grace.”

“Then what should I do?” Udar asked. Mother told him to run! Udar objected, “But Dr Satyabrata advised me to do just the opposite — to stay off my knees lest they swell up like footballs.”

Mother said, “Run.”

So Udar ran. His knees puffed up dramatically and ached continu­ally. In this condition Udar went to Mother and asked her what to do. “Continue to run.” Mother told him. “In three days you will see the result.”

Udar followed her instructions. In three days the swelling in Udar’s knees subsided, the pain abated, and he has not been bothered in the last dozen years or so. Udar is now almost seventy.

27 February 1977

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Mother to Udar on doing Yoga:

In the traditional Indian scheme of the four orders of life (Ashramas), sixty is the age when a man, having fulfilled his duties as a student and a householder, retires to dwell in a forest, devote himself to contemplation and grow closer to the Divine. On his sixtieth birthday, Udar went to the Mother and said:

“Mother, I have been doing Yoga for thirty years. I consider myself reasonably intelligent. I have read the works of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother and tried to understand them—but I still feel that on my own I may go wrong. I am not sure that I can safely practise this Yoga on my own. I might somehow go amiss.”

Udar expected the Mother to say that everything would be all right as long as he sincerely tried to do the Yoga. Instead, she agreed that he might go wrong on his own. But she added, “Why do you want to do Yoga on your own? Give your life to me. Let me do the Yoga for you. I will see to it.”

This reminds me of Sri Ramakrishna’s final question to Girish Chandra Ghose, a dissolute householder disciple whose life was so chaotic that he could not even promise Ramakrishna he would remember God in the morning and evening. Finally Ramakrishna asked him, “Well then, can you give me the vakalatnama?” — the power of attorney to act on his behalf. Girish could agree to this, and from then on he tried to surrender his life to his Guru.

20 March 1977

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The Mother’s stone:

Tom O’Brien, an American disciple, had a gold necklace made, with a round emblem with the Mother’s symbol in gold and a red stone at its centre. Tom had the work done through Dyuman, who told him that the centre stone was a red garnet. He added that once a deposit of red garnet stones was discovered on an Ashram property. Mother had the deposit excavated and from it garnet stones were cut and polished. Many pieces of jewellery were made at that time with settings of red garnet. Thus the red garnet came to be known as “the Mother’s stone”.

21 March 1977

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Alain Grandcola on Champaklal:

In the last week of March 1977, a group of Ashramites toured South India by bus, visiting scenic spots and temples. Champaklal went along because he had, as someone said, the heart of a child. The Frenchmen Alain Grandcola, one of the group, shared with me his impressions of Champaklal during this four-day excursion.

On the first morning several persons tried to show their respect for Champaklal by bending down to touch at his feet or offering him fruits or flowers. More than one waited for him to get down from the bus first. Champaklal politely declined all these considerations, indicating that he did not want special attention, but wished to be treated like any other member of the group.

Champaklal did not isolate himself from others, but mingled with them freely. His attention was directed to situations as they arose. Alert and vigilant, he would see that all were on the bus before it departed.

Champaklal looked at the temples and passing scenery with great intensity and curiosity. Often the last to decamp from the bus, he would be among the first and most inquisitive spectators.

He looked after own needs quietly and did not seek the help of others. He ate moderately and did not ask for second helpings. As Alain put it, “He is truly full and does not need these things.”

The journey was tedious and arduous at times, but Champaklal remained calm, equal and cheerful throughout. Simple, quiet and unobtrusive, he was always fully alive to the moment. Alain said that it was a privilege to live with him for four days and concluded, “Yes, men like this do exist.”

3 April 1977

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Millie-di on Mother’s way:

The Mother had her own time and way, which those close to her did not always understand or appreciate. Those attending Mother sometimes tried to save her time by hurrying visitors who came to see her, only to find, to their embarrassment, that just when their efforts were about to succeed, Mother would upset everything by talking for an hour to someone who should have stayed only five minutes.

10 April 1977

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Millie-di on the Mother’s multi-tasking:

Millie-di once asked Mother how she was able to do so many different things without mixing them up. Mother said: “I put each thing in its own room, then close the door. When the time comes to do a certain thing, I open the door to that room, walk in and do the work, putting all my attention on that work alone. When it is done, I leave the room, close the door, and take up the next thing. The secret is to keep each thing in its own room, do each thing when the time comes, do that thing alone, and then take up the next thing.

“If I am doing one thing and something important comes up, I shut the door to the first room, open the door to the second and do the urgent thing. But the key is always to do one thing at a time.”

10 April 1977

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Millie-di on Pavitra:

On a visit to Millie-di in the late afternoon, I shared with her a few incidents from Pavitra’s life. I had just read his recollections of his early life as a seeker, spoken in a talk he gave in 1964 to the students of the Ashram school. Also I had recently read Nirodbaran’s poignant tribute to Pavitra after his passing in May 1969. Then Millie-di offered a few impressions of her own.

Love and respected by all, Pavitra was like a big brother, tall, quiet, unassuming, who kept in the background. Not one to put himself forward, he let others do things themselves and offered advice only when asked, unpresumptuous yet ever ready to help. Though he must have had many spiritual experiences, he never spoke of them, but rather talked about simple things and practical matters.

Pavitra died of leukaemia, cancer of the blood, a painful, protracted disease which greatly weakened him. In the months before his demise, he quietly suffered intense pain, yet managed to keep his equanimity and his calm and noble bearing. Having participated in every facet of Ashram life, including its athletics programme, Pavitra watch his joints gradually stiffen and atrophy until he could only walk with a cane. As time went on, his strength and flexibility diminished further.aving participated in every facet of Ashram life, including the athletics programme,

Towards the end, Pavitra’s single great endeavour every day was to climb the staircase to see the Mother in her second-floor room. He lived in a room at the far end of a long corridor on the first floor of the Ashram. To see the Mother he had to walk down the corridor, go through the salon room and up the staircase to the Mother’s top-floor room. To get there, see her and return took him almost an hour. To be able to climb the steps, he practised on the back staircase near his room, working to raise his leg high enough to reach the next step. When he went to the Mother each day, the effort to walk and climb up was too much for many to watch. But whether they watched or not, everyone acknowledged his single-minded determination and devotion, focussed solely on ascending the stairs to reach the Mother.

Once a year Pavitra visited Millie-di with a bowl in his hand to ask for a small portion of food which had been tasted by the Mother. He took this offering to his aged friend Charu on the occasion of Charu’s birthday. In later years the two friends rarely met, but always they maintained an inner bond of unity as children of the Mother. When Pavitra passed away, many came to see him a last time, shed tears, offer flowers, pay homage. Charu came too. Although in his eighties, he stood for hours beside Pavitra. Silent, expressionless, concentrated, steadfast in remembrance, the elder man stood guard over his beloved friend.

13 April 1977

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Dyuman on Gloria and his life in the Ashram :

Gloria Land, one of the largest Ashram farms, was started by Dyuman sometime in the 1960s. This farm was the love of his life. He financed it and poured his energy into its development. His collaborator in building up the farm is Manindra Pal, the general manager. Together they dream about the farm, pool their knowledge and work for its welfare. Gloria is more than a productive agricultural enterprise that supplies milk, bananas, dal and vegetables to the Ashram Dining Hall; it is an attempt to run a farm on a spiritual basis, and it works. It is uplifting to watch a dozen local workers gather up the paddy on the threshing floor and form a big heap of it, working with energy and pride, taking care that the work is done well. It is not a laissez-faire effort. The men and women can return home to their families proud of a good day’s work.

Dyuman visits the farm almost every afternoon. For several years I have been going to Gloria with him two or three times a year. Manindra and I walk around the farm together while he regales me with incredible stories of farm life. Dyuman invited me to see Gloria on a most auspicious day, his Golden Jubilee Day, fifty years after he met the Mother for the first time on 12 May 1927. On the way out to Gloria, ten kilometres from the Ashram, Dyuman spoke about his life in the Ashram.

Dyman said that the fiftieth anniversary of his first darshan of the Mother also marks his entrance into the final quarter of his life. He was referring to the four Ashramas or stages of life. The first stage of the student is one of preparation, the second stage of the householder is one of enjoyment and the fulfilment of one’s duties to society, the third stage of the forest-dweller is one of partial retirement from society in order to reflect on the purpose of life and the nature of God. The fourth stage of life is that of the Sannyasin — the stage of renunciation in which one renounces family, community, society, even humanity, in order to one-pointedly try to find God and experience him. A free, super-social man, the sannyasin is beyond the claims of society.

On that day Dyuman was dividing his life into four actual quarters. During the first quarter he was out of the Ashram, for the next fifty years he was in it, and now — he said nothing but simply made a gesture to indicate that the future is unknown.

I asked Dyuman whether the Mother’s way of dealing with the sadhaks and practical affairs had changed over the years—specifically, whether she was strict at the beginning and later became lenient? He seemed to accept this position.

“The Mother was necessarily strict at the beginning,” he said, “because she was laying the foundations of her work. At first one must be severe, rejectthe unwanted, cut out what needs to be cut. When the rejection is done, things can grow more freely and there is no longer need for severity. When a child learns to write, his mother takes his hand and corrects his letters, over and over, until he can write. Then she leaves him on his own.”

“But”, he went on, “Mother was strict only with a few. Most people she left to themselves and did not push them. When you wound your knee, you cover it with a bandage; if you pull that bandage off too soon, the wound opens up again. For most people, Mother gave time for the wounds in their nature to heal, then gently removed the bandage. But for some, she pulled the bandage off, even though the wound reopened and hurt. But then she would heal it!” Ripping off the bandage referred to her strictness and severity. She was especially hard on those closest to her, because she depended on them to help run her Ashram.

After a long pause in our conversation, Dyuman said, “This Yoga is the easiest of all Yogas and it is the hardest. It is easy because all you have to do is give yourself; it is hard because giving yourself is very difficult. I try to go step by step, but always a step forward, and I have all the reward I could want.”

Dyuman’s future turned out to be one of involvement, not renunciation. In time he became the Ashram’s managing trustee. His days were not always easy. Once I asked him what he did when he had a bad day and the problems of life overwhelmed him. He thought for a moment and said, “Well, I find that if I go to sleep, things are usually better when I wake up.” Typical Dyuman. 

As a rule Dyuman was cheerful and seemed to be on top of things, not weighed down by them. He had a childlike sense of wonder. Even when he was head of the community with heavy responsibilities, he moved about with a sense of lightness and joy. He would suddenly break out in enthusiasm, just like a little child. Once he exclaimed to me, “If Sri Aurobindo comes back, will he write Savitri? Of course not! He will write something else or maybe nothing at all!” This idea seemed to delight him.

Dyuman was also generous. He loved to celebrate Darshan days and other occasions. Twice a year there was napkin distribution. Standing outside his room, Dyuman handed out little hand-woven napkins with a happy smile on his face. He radiated a sense of abundance. With him, all were family and he was happy to take care of them.

Dyuman had a comforting benevolence in him, He was gentle, patient, forbearing and kind. He gave a lot of freedom to those who worked under him and at the same time support. When someone misused the liberty he accorded them, he was not vindictive. “Freedom has to be given,” he once told me; “nothing else works.”

12 May 1977

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Two stories of Udar:

The Mother once told Udar: “Udar, others say, ‘Look before you leap’, but I tell you, ‘Leap before you look!’” Udar then offered to jump off the second-floor terrace of her room, but she told him not to do that.

An astrologer asked Sri Aurobindo whether it is true that the stars rule our lives.” The Master replied, “By Yoga one can rule the stars.”

25 April 1977

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Udar on Shankar Narayan:

Shankar Narayan, a banker from Madras, suffered a massive heart attack at the age of eighty-two. The specialists who attended him agreed that he had no more than three months to live. He was confined to bed and ordered not to move about.

Shankar Narayan was devoted to the Mother. Learning that he was soon to die, he aspired to do so at her feet in Pondicherry. Disregarding the warning of his doctors and the protests of his family, he insisted of being driven down to Pondicherry. At the Ashram he was carried to the Mother’s room. Explaining his situation to her, he expressed his wish to remain with her until the end of his life. The Mother granted his request.

Then Shankar asked her what he should do in light of his physical condition. The Mother advised him to run! Not a little shocked, he repeated the verdict of his doctors: complete rest, no unnecessary movement. Still the Mother insisted that he should run when he was ready to do so. Obedient to her counsel, he began a programme of slow running and lived for six more years before passing away.

26 April 1977

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Ravindra-ji on over-ripe papayas:

From about 1973 I started working with Ravindra-ji in the Fruit Room. My job was to set up the trays of fruit, then tie up the fruit bags packed by him and put them on the trays. This morning, after packing, several trays of papayas still remained. Ravindra-ji told me to take them downstairs to the distribution room so that Ashramites could take them. I commented that the papayas on three trays were overripe. He said, “It doesn’t matter; people will take them.” After a pause he added, “They are the sweetest! Mother used to cut up papayas like this and put the good pieces in the refrigerator; later she would give them out to us.”

My co-worker Jagannath Panda suggested that the trays be given to the Dining Room workers. Ravindra-ji agreed and said, “Mother used to give extra papayas especially to the Dining Room, the Bakery, the Blanchisserie [Laundry] and the gardens.

“At one time she gave extra papayas to the paid servants, but when the supply diminished there were none to be given. Some of the servants complained to the Mother. She decided to stop giving them to the servants, saying, “Otherwise we may get into legal trouble.”

15 May 1977

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Laljibhai on his life with Mother:

This evening I sat with Laljibhai on the long bench at the entrance to the Ashram courtyard. He sits there regularly for an hour every evening. Laljibhai related to me a few incidents involving the Mother, some of his own experiences, and offered me good advice.

Physically Laljibhai is quite smart in appearance, with a sense of freshness and purity about him. His skin is smooth and golden in colour and he wears well-tailored, comfortable white cotton suits. Mentally and emotionally, he has balance and restraint. He speaks calmly and clearly, but with firmness and force.

Laljibhai is the head of New Horizon Sugar Mills. They call him the sugar daddy. He told me about building the mill, a large undertaking involving the construction of a factory, offices, residential quarters and gardens. The project cost one-and-a-half crores of rupees and was completed in ten months. The work went smoothly, he said, because it was a “one-man project”, and that “one man” was not himself but the Mother.

Laljibhai visited the Mother once a week to inform her of the progress of the mill and brought photographs for her to see. Usually she just commented, “Very good”, but occasionally she would point out a weakness in the work or solve a problem. Laljibhai was repeatedly surprised by her detailed knowledge of matters of engineering.

Whatever the Mother advised, he carried it out. Though he sometimes had reservations about her decisions, he did whatever she said. Afterwards he found that she was always right. In these matters he surrendered to her will, had faith in her judgment and always abided by the spirit of the message she gave him for the mill: “Faithfulness is the sure basis of success.” Laljibhai emphasised the value of faith. “Trust in the Mother,” he told me. “Don’t worry about the result. Forget about the past and the future. When something needs to be done, the right intuition will come. Simply have faith.”

He also stressed the value of truthfulness. “Always be truthful,” he ordered those who worked for him. “Never lie to the Government officials who come for auditing. If you feel that saying something might be harmful to the mill, keep mum, but never lie. Whatever you do, do it legally. Make your purchases and sales according to the law and keep the accounts accurate.” As a result, he said, the Government officials who came to respect the mill considered it an honest concern. He had no trouble from them.

Laljibhai also told me, “People must be treated with courtesy and respect. Only respect and tolerance of others can bring about harmony. Criticism never helps. Nothing is gained by annoyance or anger. Always strive for an atmosphere of peace and harmony.”

He added, “Mother rarely replaced people to whom she had given positions of authority, even when they tried to cheat her. Perhaps she saw that forbearance of the limitations of others brings greater progress and deeper harmony than a critical evaluation of them would.”

By any standards Laljibhai is a successful businessman, but his success has not come through strenuous effort or dishonest policies. The basis of his success is faith in the Mother, along with truthfulness and respect for others. The Mother told Laljibhai that the New Horizon Sugar Mills was his Yoga on the physical plane. By establishing the mill on sound spiritual principles, Laljibhai not only deepened his own life, but set an example for others as well.

When Laljibhai first came to the Ashram from East Africa, the Mother asked his advice about starting a sugar mill. He gave his opinion as a businessman that it was a poor risk: the cost of a new mill would be high, there would be substantial technical difficulties, and the prospect of a profitable financial return was not especially bright. He added that he was planning to return to East Africa. The Mother asked him not to go just yet, but to wait until she called him again.

Laljibhai waited two weeks. At last the Mother sent word for him to come to her room at the Playground. During their interview she did not say a word about the sugar mill or his future. Rather she spoke for a full hour about the future of the world as she had seen it in her vision. She spoke about the Ashram, Auroville, India and other nations. In the end there would be progress and forward movement, but before that there would be many catastrophes and much chaos, confusion and disorder. Many people would despair and lose their faith in the Divine. This would not be an isolated phenomenon but a worldwide state of affairs.

Laljibhai listened to this incredible vision of the future with a sense of wonder. At the end he told her, “Mother, if I must suffer wherever I will be, I would rather suffer here with you.” Of his own accord he chose to remain in the Ashram, and when the Mother decided to build a sugar mill in spite of his dim estimate of its chances of success, he executed her wishes.

The Mother went by car to the site to lay the mill’s foundation stone and she mortared the stone in place. After the ceremony she turned to him and asked, “How long before we have sugar?” A cautious man, he replied, “Eighteen months, Mother.” But the mill took only ten months to complete. Laljibhai had the first hundred kilos of sugar wrapped in a silk cloth and offered it to the Mother.

15 May 1977

*

Ambu on the Mother:

From time to time Ambu informs me about the human side of the Mother’s life. He knows because he worked with her “upstairs” for forty-five years, from 1928 to 1973. His stories touch me greatly because they reveal how much she laboured and suffered for us.

Ambu said that later in her life Mother had problems with her bladder. He attributed the difficulty to the fact that she stood for hours on the staircase receiving sadhaks. When her bladder filled with urine, she simply held it. When the time for interviews and pranam was over, she would sometimes run to the bathroom like a little child to relieve herself.

Ambu thinks that most of the Mother’s tribulations were due to others. She took upon herself their sickness and disease. People came to her with every type of malady. She did not push them away but took them into herself. She breathed their air, so to say. Towards the end of her life, Ambu says, she had a cold that was almost chronic. And though she rarely coughed at the time of receiving people, afterwards he would hear her cough in her room “as if her heart would come out”.

What impressed Ambu so poignantly was the Mother’s acceptance of the human condition and her submission to the physical conditions in which she was placed. She possessed a will to carry on, no matter what the circumstance, however troublesome. When she was sick, she still saw people. When her legs were painfully swollen – a recurring condition for months and years – she still trudged from room to room and floor to floor, refusing to sit down and rest. Ambu’s caricatures of the Mother yawning, mouth wide open, arms outstretched, were quite amusing; but after yawning she would return to doing whatever work she had to do.

The Mother had a large nose and a cultivated sense of smell. No one could smell a rose with her sense of appreciation, said Ambu, so keen was her response to the fragrances of life. Yet how often she was subjected to the presence of people who came to her unwashed and smelling. They expected everything from her, but before coming to see her, they could not find time to clean themselves. Ambu watched all this silently.   

The human picture that emerges from these incidents gives a sombre perspective. Her life for ninety-five years was one of ceaseless toil and great suffering. She bore it all out of love and showed us the meaning of sacrifice.

30 July 1977

*

Matriprasad on Nolini-da:

A devotee from north India visited Nolini-da and requested him to give relics of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother for installation in the Sri Aurobindo Centre in his hometown. Nolini-da said, “There are no relics of the Mother; she is still living.”

28 August 1977

*

Ravindra-ji’s way:

In the small courtyard of the Ashram, there is a hand-cranked lift used to convey boxes of fruit from the ground floor to the first floor. Bula-da once suggested to the Mother that the labour of cranking the lift by hand could be saved by attaching a small motor to do the work. The Mother said nothing, but later commented to Ravindra-ji, “I spend so much money to keep all of you strong and healthy, yet now for a little work you require a little motor.” The motor idea was subsequently dropped. In the same way, every morning Ravindra-ji cranks the machine for making cottage cheese from milk. In that case too, Bula-da offered to provide a small motor, but Ravindra-ji refused.

13 November 1977

*

Millie-di on Mother’s sari colours:

According to Millie-di, the colours of the Mother’s saries on  Puja days were:

Durga Puja: gold and crimson red.

Lakshmi Puja: light green, blue or pink.

Kali Puja: dark red or dark green, with gold borders; once black with red and gold embroidery.

Saraswati Puja: pure white.

January 1978

*

Robi Ganguli’s formula for wise eating:

A little less than fully satisfied leaves one fully satisfied.

January 1978

*

Ravindra-ji’s teaching qualifications:

In 1965 the Centre of Education officials had to fill out a report on its teachers for the Education Commission of the Government of India. The minimum information was name and qualifications. The school asked Ravindra-ji for his full name and his qualifications as a teacher. He refused to give either, saying, “When Mother asked me to become a teacher, she did not ask me for my qualifications, and for twenty years she has simply called me Ravindra.  What is good enough for the Mother ought to be good enough for the Government of India.”

Uncertain what to do, the school officials informed the Mother of Ravindra-ji’s position. She said in response, “I think that what he says is quite reasonable.” And that was that.

11 April 1978

*

Jayantilal on progress:

One day I had a brilliant idea: to set up a new photographic section in the Ashram that would make top-quality photographs of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother from negatives or first-generation prints. There would be a selection of these photos available for sale in different sizes.

When Jayantilal came home in the afternoon, I placed my proposal before him. He simply said, “I suggest you forget this idea entirely, and I think you know why.” I did know why. It was because the sales of photographs was the domain of the Department of Physical Education.

“Jayantilal,” I exclaimed, “why is it that whenever somebody gets a good idea around here, he is told to forget about it for the sake of peace? It is as if each time one wants to make progress, one has to choose between peace and progress.”

Jayantilal paused and said tenderly, “For us peace is the progress.”

11 April 1978

*

Jayantilal on peace and joy:

Late one afternoon last year around five o’clock, I entered Jayantilal’s room to put before him a complicated problem that needed urgent solution. At a glance I could see that he had had a gruelling day; he looked like a wilted flower. At that moment he was lifting a cup of tea to his lips—a sip of refreshment after a long hard day.

Holding up my right hand in a gesture of peace, I said to him, “Peace, Jayantilal, peace.” He smiled and said, “No, Bob, there is no peace any more.” Pausing, he added, “There is only joy — waves and waves of joy.” Together we laughed heartily and then quickly solved the pressing problem.

11 April 1978

*

Ravindra-ji’s scolding story:

Once the Mother told Ravindra-ji to speak sternly with someone who had done something wrong and inform the person that she was not pleased. Ravindra-ji went to the man and strongly upbraided him.

The next morning was Prosperity Day. The Mother was in a hurry because she had much to do, preparing to distribute items to the sadhaks. When Ravindra-ji came to her side to help her, he found her occupied with the person he had soundly scolded the day before, speaking to him with tenderness and solicitude, showering him with comforting words and smiles of reassurance. She spent twenty minutes with the fellow.

During this time Ravindra-ji felt great remorse for having chastised someone upon whom the Mother was bestowing her love. At the end of twenty minutes, he was feeling very sorry indeed. He wanted to explain himself and apologise, but the Mother was in such a hurry that he didn’t get a chance. Later in the day he developed a fever, so strong was his emotional response to the incident.

The next morning Ravindra-ji got time to speak with the Mother. Laying his thoughts and feelings before her, he asked her forgiveness. She told him, “But you did exactly what I asked, just the right thing. It was my force behind you. The man needed a shock, but I could not give it myself because he could not have taken it; he would have been crushed. When he came to me this morning, I could only comfort and strengthen him, lest he suffer greatly and fall into a depression. But how is it that you did not understand this? You have been with me for so long! Anyway, you did the right thing and everything will be all right.”

Ravindra-ji thanked the Mother for explaining.

29 April 1978

*

Ravindra-ji on a poor worker:

Once a sadhak wrote to the Mother detailing his difficulties at work and his poor physical condition. She asked Ravindra-ji to go to the man and say, ”Mother thinks you should work more, and work in the open air.” Ravindra-ji conveyed this message, but the sadhak got flustered. He was not someone who liked to work!

Later the sadhak went to Nolini-da and asked him to speak to the Mother on his behalf, to tell her that there must have been some misunderstanding on Ravindra-ji’s part in conveying the Mother’s advice to him. His health was precarious, so how could she have advised him to do more work?

Nolini-da related the conversation to the Mother, who smiled and told him to tell the sadhak, “Take complete rest.” That, of course, was exactly what he wanted to hear! Gleefully he went to Ravindra-ji and proudly informed him that this was the Mother’s instruction to him, delivered through Nolini-da.

The sadhak is still in the Ashram and has never done much work.

29 April 1978 

*

Millie-di on the Mother’s translation class:

This evening Millie-di recalled the time she attended one of the Mother’s translation classes in the 1950s. During that period the Mother translated several of Sri Aurobindo’s works into French. What Millie-di remembers vividly is the reverence the Mother had for whatever Sri Aurobindo had written. Each word had meaning, so with concentration and patience she tried to find the best equivalent in French. Sometimes she concluded, “It is impossible. There is no word in French to express what Sri Aurobindo means.” Often she asked the members of the class for suggestions. The way they responded provided insight into their personalities.

Each person had had his or her way of offering suggestions. Some were eager to make suggestions, while others had to be drawn out. Pavitra, who always sat at the Mother’s side and transcribed the translation work, was her main collaborator in this translation effort. Conscientious and thoughtful but never assertive, he would softly suggest a possible French word. The Mother often accepted his suggestion, but sometimes said “No.” Satprem likewise made his share of suggestions. Mother accepted some, but rejected others.

Nolini-da’s relationship with the Mother was unique. He never offered suggestions unless she specifically asked him. Sometimes she would wait ten or fifteen minutes before asking, having rejected the suggestions of several others. By then, most of the sadhaks would be impatient to move on, but Mother steadfastly pursued the matter, saying, “Nolini, what do you think is the best word?” Surprisingly often, he came up with the right one. Quietly he would say, “Well, Mother, perhaps the best word is ——.” And Mother, reaching out her arms as if to embrace him, would exclaim, “Yes, Nolini, yes. That’s the word!”

7 May 1978

*

Millie-di on persons close to the Mother:

Millie-di told me, “I have been fortunate to know three persons who were close to the Mother: Amrita, Pavitra and Nolini. Each was a unique personality and each had a unique relationship with the Mother, yet all three were totally dedicated to her.

“Amrita appeared to deal with the Mother on the physical plane. He was the Asham manager, after all, so he approached her with day-to-day practical problems. Now there are five trustees trying to do the work that once rested mainly on his shoulders. But one would hardly know that he held the most responsible position in the Ashram. When he came before the Mother, he appeared to be like a toddler, a helpless child unsure of his steps, his hand held out to her for assurance and support. She would usually give that support, but sometimes she scolded him! ‘Amrita,’ she would say with a raised voice, ‘do you realise what you have done?’, and then point out some mistake he had made. Amrita’s response was always the same; he would clasp her feet and say, ‘Oui, Mère, oui, of course you are right.’ Mother’s ire would lessen a little and she would stroke him on the chin. But Amrita never contradicted her or offered an excuse. Always it was, ‘Oui, Mère, oui, of course you are right.’

“Pavitra was an intellectual and he related to the Mother more on the mental plane. Ever ready for discussion, he would inform her about the affairs of the school and ask her advice on what to do, somehow always managing to draw her out. At the beginning especially, he was extremely intellectual. Mother would tease him, “And what does the savant think?” Though he never lost his mental approach, he softened over time and became more a bhakta than a critical mental man. As his love for the Mother grew, he lost his sharp edge and became meek in his approach to her.”

Millie-di continued: “During the final year of his life, Pavitra suffered tremendous weakness and debility due to leukaemia, cancer of the blood. Because he needed help, I did little things for him. At first he told me about his malady and complained in a good-natured way, but over time he stopped complaining even though his suffering had increased. I would ask him how he felt. He would look at me honestly and tenderly and say with a smile, ‘It’s all right.’ I believe that inwardly he grew a great deal during that last year of his life, accepting all the pain and suffering that came to him.

“Once a day Pavitra slowly and painfully trudged his way up the steps to the Mother’s room and then back down again. It took him almost an hour. Towards the end it was a tremendous labour, but he continued to make the climb because he was that kind of man.

“Nolini’s relation with the Mother was the most delightful to observe, but the most difficult to understand. Amrita dealt with her on the physical plane, Pavitra on the mental plane, but Nolini was somewhere else, though it is difficult to say where. He was always as brief as possible with the Mother and rarely took more than a few minutes of her time. If he could say something in three words, he said it in three. But his rapport with the Mother was so strong that very few words were necessary. Their relationship seemed to be based on silent communication. Nolini would place his pile of papers before the Mother, ask her a few brief questions and get her replies, usually just as brief. Then he would look at her, pack up his papers and depart. How often Mother would have one of us call him back. ‘Call Nolini back. I have something to ask him.’

“In the translation class, the Mother assigned places to certain people; the rest could sit anywhere. Most of us crowded around her, trying to get as close to her as possible. But not Nolini. He normally sat somewhere towards the back. He seemed to sit alone in a way, but he didn’t have to be physically near the Mother; his inner contact with her was such a close one.

“As I have said, each of these three men were different in their approach to the Mother. Nolini rarely spoke long with her: a look of understanding between them and then, ‘Oui, Mère.’ Pavitra was a man of discussion, ever full of ‘“buts’. When Mother replied to a question, his response was often, ‘Yes, Mother, but…’ Then he would ask for clarification or raise a new question. Amrita would kneel at the Mother’s feet, listen to her advice, and say, ‘Oui, Mère, of course, Mère.’ On occasion she would ask him, ‘You say, “Oui, Mère, of course”, but what do you mean by “of course”?’

“Others too come to mind. Ravindra-ji, like Nolini, never wasted the Mother’s time. With his energy and enthusiasm, he would come before her, speak about his concerns, and depart. Dyuman was like Amrita, who simply said, ‘Yes, Mother,’ whatever the situation. Mother often needed things, and she counted on Dyuman to provide them. When she asked him to do something, his response was always, ‘Yes, Mother.’ Nothing more. Then he would figure out how to get the thing done. Whatever she wanted, he got it for her.

“There were exceptions, of course, to this rule of not wasting Mother’s time; some people took up a lot of her time. They would pour out their problems to her, and she would advise them what to do, covering the same ground several times. Often these people left with their problems unsolved, and often they came with their own solutions, thinking they knew best. Mother sometimes told us, ‘Much of my time is spent breaking down the formations people have made, piercing a hole in these formations in order to enter inside and throw new light on the thing.’“

Millie-di concluded her long narrative, saying, “Well, each one must follow his own course, but it was not easy on the Mother.”

7 May 1978

*

Dyuman on money and more:

Today Patrick and I accompanied Dyuman to Gloria farm for a visit. In the car on the way there, I asked him about his attitude towards money. I asked because Millie-di had recently called him “the Mother’s supplier”. When the Mother needed something, she turned to Dyuman. Naturally this meant that he had to ask things from others on her behalf. So I said, “Dyuman, when you ask people to give money, what is your attitude?” He answered, “I am not a beggar. I don’t beg for money. I give people an opportunity to offer their money for the divine work.”

“And when people are reluctant to give?” I queried.

“Then I don’t ask,” he replied. “They must understand for themselves. They must feel the need.” He added, “I am the biggest asker. I am the oldest. I have always asked. But they must understand, they must feel the need for themselves. If I sense that they don’t feel it, I don’t ask.”

Dyuman’s approach to everything is simple and direct. On the desk in his office are aerogrammes and inland letters. When he comes across a potential source of help, he writes a letter to the person in his own hand. No secretary, no typewriter, no carbon copy. Some people reply, some don’t. But in this way, he gets the help he needs. For example, he has collected a good deal of information about farming by writing to people he reads about in the newspaper. Gloria farm has been built up in this straightforward, almost naïve way: faith, goodwill, a childlike energy put forth every day.

Dyuman is not your customary rational manager. His approach is more intuitive. The result is not always immediate, and there is an element of waste in this way of working, but it works!  I have seen that Gloria is a happy family of farmer-sadhaks, stable and contented. Dyuman gives them both support and freedom.  “This is my family,” he says. Next month he will be seventy-six years old. He told me he has lived and worked in the Ashram for fifty-one years and four days now.

15 May 1978

*

Millie-di on the Mother’s food:

Millie-di spoke for a long time about the Mother’s eating habits. Our discussion began with the recurring theme of the excellence of Bengali sweets. Millie-di hazarded the speculation that if fifteen pantua (small gulabjamuns) were placed before Sri Aurobindo, he would eat them all — but she added that his intake of sweets was discretely regulated by the Mother. She herself ate very few sweets. When sweets, or any other dish for that matter, were offered to her, she would carefully appraise the item, noting its colour, aroma, beauty of arrangement. If she was pleased, she expressed unreserved appreciation. But when it came time to eating an item she had highly praised, she normally ate little of it, often just a spoonful.

Mother had a fondness for mushrooms, not the small, white, bland ones, but the large, dark ones with a pronounced scent and taste. These mushrooms were grown by sadhaks like Ardendhu so that she could enjoy them daily. Mushrooms do not grow well in this hot South Indian climate, but somehow a few mushrooms were produced for her every day. And once she herself made a mushroom omelette.

Mother was also fond of brinjals. Millie-di, who cooked for her, knew how to make brinjals in fifteen or twenty ways, so there was always variety. The Mother once explained to Millie-di how her grandmother prepared brinjals.

I asked Millie-di whether the Mother liked her vegetable dishes heavily spiced or preferred them bland. Millie-di said that the Mother always liked to be able to taste the flavour of the vegetable itself, but she did not simply eat plain boiled vegetables. She liked strong, rich food— for example, mushroom and cheese dishes made with butter. I commented that in this respect she was quite French. Millie-di said that from her experience Mother liked Mohammedan-style food, which is rich and oily. But though she liked such food, she ate very little of it.

I asked her what the Mother used to eat for breakfast. Early in the morning, she took a small amount of some warm broth. Then at seven—afterwards the time grew later and later—she took fruit juices and a few small squares of bread prepared by Pavitra. Millie-di did not specify if the bread was buttered or spread with anything. At first the fruit juices­ were prepared by Pavitra. Later Ravindra-ji took up this work. Mother was especially fond of tomato juice.

22 May 1978

*

Millie-di on Kashi and Pondy:

Benares or Kashi, the city of Shiva, is said in the ancient tradition to reside above the earth, perched atop Shiva’s trident. Those who die in Kashi go directly to Shivaloka, the abode of Shiva; this is his boon to those who abide in Kashi. However fallen their state, they may attain liberation by dying in Kashi. Attracted by this, many come to die there, not only seekers and saints but rogues, thieves, scoundrels and lovers. The young run away to live in Kashi, the old retire to die there. All and sundry seek refuge in the city of Shiva. There is a joke that one can do anything, however dastardly, provided he has a ticket to Kashi.

Pondicherry, said Millie-di, is the modern Kashi. The Mother said that those who die here have Sri Aurobindo’s symbol stamped on their forehead— the seal of his assurance and protection—and she too is here. Thus it is natural for all types of people to come to Pondicherry, drawn by conscious knowledge or a secret light of the soul—not only seekers and saints but less respectable people. As Shiva is the Lord of outlaws and outcastes, the poor and fallen, so the Mother is the mother of all, for all are her children. As Shiva accepted to drink the poison of the world, so the Mother has accepted all kinds of people in her love and compassion.

If this be Mother’s way, Millie-di said, let it be our way too, those of us who live here. The noise and congestion, the dirt and pollution, the pushy, puffed-up visitors are all part of the divine mystery.

Whatever happens, Kashi will remain the city of Shiva, and Pondicherry the city of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother.

28 May 1978

*

Millie-di on the Mother:

In the past few weeks, Millie-di has told me hours of stories about the Mother, but it is beyond me to write them all down. Where to begin and end? How to capture the true sense of all that falls in the middle? Two stories remain in my mind.

People used to bring gifts to the Mother, gifts of all shapes and sizes. Once a wealthy man brought her a large tray of fruits which the Mother received with her own hands. When she turned to carry the tray to an inside room, Millie-di stepped forward and offered, with a slight gesture, to take the heavy tray from her. Mother gave her a concentrated look and continued to the inner room. Embarrassed, Millie-di felt that she had made the wrong move. Afterwards Mother said to her, “Did you think the tray was too heavy for me?” Millie-di immediately felt heartened. She could only say, “Sorry, Mother.”

Millie-di now understands that the Mother was not just accepting a heavy tray of fruit, but accepting the weight of that man’s life, which only she could bear, and she could not and would not place the burden of her responsibility elsewhere.

The second story. Millie-di said that the Mother had big, mighty hands. When she gripped your hand tightly, it was as if she could crush its bones easily. The stories of her capacity and dynamism are legion. But Millie-di spoke of a waning of Mother’s dynamism at some point. When Millie-di first met her and for long afterwards, it was the warrior Mother she met, the Mother who could do anything and actually did amazingly much without asking for anyone’s help. This was the mighty Mother, builder of the Ashram and protector of her children from outside onslaught. Then at some point there was a change. The Mother’s vitality ebbed, her energy declined, and at times she became childlike, helpless and dependent.

When Millie-di first knew the Mother, she was full of warmth, physical warmth; her hands, for example, were always warm. Once Millie-di was helping the Mother to sort out and dispose of certain woolen garments that had been given to her. Mother indicated that this scarf could be given to this person, that sweater to that person, and so on. Finally she said, “But Millie-di, what shall I give you?” Millie-di replied, “Nothing, Mother. I will never wear any of those things. I am always warm. Even in the winter I sleep without a bedsheet covering me.” Mother told her, “I am the same. I don’t understand how people get so cold.”

Millie-di continued: “But at the end of her life, how cold Mother became and how she shivered. Even with a sweater on, she would be cold. Her hands and feet would be cold. I never understood why this came about; it is a mystery to me.”

I asked Millie-di when the turning point came. “1962,” she said. I reminded her that in the spring of 1962 the Mother became seriously ill and had a series of heart attacks that nearly carried her away. The period of crisis lasted more than a month, until the first week of May. There was a real danger of her dying. As a result of the attacks, her heart was permanently weakened and her vitality lessened. She never again came down from her second-floor rooms to the first floor and the daily darshans on the back balcony stopped. For the next decade she lived in her rooms upstairs.

But there is a cautionary proviso. The Mother always insisted that her life should not be assessed by the ordinary measuring rods of physical life. There is a danger in drawing from outer circumstances conclusions that are too general and far-reaching. The Mother’s physical life was the tip of the spiritual iceberg she was.

20 July 1978

*

Millie-di’s spoon story:

Last week Millie-di told me her spoon story, illustrating the Mother’s love of order and harmony. One day Mother asked Millie-di to take charge of her spoon collection and keep it in order. Up till then she had done the work herself. There was a variety of spoons of different shapes and sizes; each type of spoon had its own purpose and was kept in its own place. The Mother explained:

“I keep each spoon in its own place. This makes me happy and it makes the spoons happy too. If one of the spoons is out of place, the spoons are not happy, nor am I. Even at night I have no need to turn on the light to find the spoon I want. I know exactly where it will be. I have an understanding with these spoons, a relationship, and it is a harmonious one. Now I would like to you take over this work and keep the spoons as carefully as I have kept them.”

Millie-di said that she continues this work even today.

21 July 1978

*

Jack Morris on remaining in life:

Jack Morris, a colourful Texan in his eighties, gave me some advice today:

Now Lightnin’ (that’s what I call him) likes to take his tea by himself, off to the side, because then he can leave when he wants—one minute, two minutes, five minutes. I asked him and he told me so. He’s afraid to sit with the rest of us because he’d get mixed up in the middle of the muddle. He doesn’t want to put up with it all.

Bobby, all my life I’ve been right in the middle of the muddle, right in the middle of the gumball machine, just one of the gumballs; it’s the place to be. Somewhere Sri Aurobindo said, “If there is a Hell, put me there; it’s sure to be the quickest way to Heaven.” Be there, Bobby, be there.

Just looking at you I can tell that you’re the introverted type—you have a long skinny chest. Now take me. I’m the extroverted type. See my barrel chest. I’m a legionnaire, the type of guy that likes to go to conventions, get together with the boys, play with squirt guns. My problem is to become more like you, introverted, detached from life. Your problem is to become more like me, more extroverted. I want you to develop a barrel chest like mine. Work on it, take it as a symbol of your expansion outward. Stick that chest out, puff it up and keep it there. Make yourself a barrel-chested man.

3 February 1979

*

Jack’s story about Sri Ramakrishna:

Ramakrishna used to tell his boys: There are two kinds of cow. When feeding time comes, one kind of cow ambles out to the pasture, browses around, sniffs the air, looks at the sky, and nibbles a bit of grass from time to time. The other kind of cow charges into the pasture as soon as the gate is opened, puts his nose to the ground and munches up all the grass he can get, eating everything in sight. Which kind of cow do you think produces the most milk? The cow who eats everything in sight, of course. That’s the kind of boys I want.

3 February 1979

*

Rutledge on leadership:

I spoke today with Rutledge Tompkins, retired rear-admiral in the U.S. Navy. He has had a lot of experience in commanding men. He told me:

The secret of dealing with subordinates is to put the monkey on their backs. Tell an offender: “Today it is the ten percent treatment, tomorrow it will be the twenty-five percent treatment. It is up to you to shape up, not me. You are the one who is digging his grave. It is all on your shoulders.” No lecture about loyalty and duty, no involvement, no severity. Just matter of fact, almost nonchalant. Take yourself out of the picture. Put them at the centre. This is the way to deal with those of a lower consciousness.

11 February 1979

*

Swami Sharadananda on Arjuna:

Krishna and Arjuna were riding through the countryside one day. “Look!” cried Krishna, “how beautiful those doves are as they fly.” “Indeed, they are splendid,” replied Arjuna. Then looking at the birds more closely, Krishna observed, “No, Arjuna, I believe they are pigeons, not doves.” “Quite so,” said Arjuna, “without doubt they are pigeons.”

Commenting on this story told by his Master, Sri Ramakrishna, Swami Sharadananda remarked that Arjuna was too truthful a man to ever try to deceive Krishna. Rather, he really did see doves at first, and then he saw that they were pigeons. He was so identified with Krishna that he saw as Krishna saw! One who would know, love and serve the Divine must strive to see as the Divine sees.

20 February 1979

*

Three thoughts of Ambu:

“Mother’s work should not suffer”: this should be our principle.

Instead of seeing the faults of others, we ought to look at our own—then we will be more kind. Mother always saw the good part in people.

Ramakrishna once attended a meeting of Keshab Sen’s group, the Brahmo Samaj. Important people gave big talks using high-sounding words. Afterwards, a disciple asked Ramakrishna what he thought of the gathering. Ramakrishna replied: “Rasogulla without the juice.”

3 March 1979

*

Tarun on Sunil:

Tarun, the tabla teacher in the Ashram school, told me that he once watched Sunil playing his organ at Art House. As he played, Sunil would feel his way towards the right note or chord. If he struck a note that was not right, his hand would quickly withdraw from the keyboard. Groping with his hands, he was really groping with his consciousness for the right note, feeling for it, waiting to hear it.  “What is your method of composition?” Tarun asked Sunil, who replied, “When I play, the one question I ask is, Would the Mother like it?”

Sunil also told Tarun that he doubted that his compositions would stand the test of time because they were not organised well enough, but he felt that their substance would endure.

9 May 1979

*

Bula-da on Ashram life:

Last night I met an elder friend, Bula-da, on the street and walked with him for a couple of blocks. “Quite hot”, he said with a chuckle. In every way a gentleman, he did not mind talking about the weather, although he was long past bothering about it. Once he confided to me that he does not even have a fan in his room; from time to time he brings in a portable fan “because my friends enjoy it”. No fan, yet he was the head of the Electrical Department.          

“Hot, yes,” I said, “but not so bad as Calcutta. They often have no electricity there and everything is in chaos. Really we are lucky here, well cared for.”

“Mother’s Grace,” he said, “Mother’s Grace. She is looking after us in every way.”

“We must be thankful,” I put in. “We must remember to be thankful.”

“How she cares for us,” Bula-da mused. “She is taking care of everything. We have nothing to do. Her Grace is seeing to everything.”

Yet Bula-da is a doer, a hard worker, ever on his feet, shuffling around the Ashram to put on a water pump, padding through the streets to the dining room to fetch milk for his stepmother. Almost eighty now, Bula-da, who lives in the Ashram compound, has been on twenty-four-hour call at the Mother’s service for decades.

“Her Grace is the main thing,” I said. “All we can do is to try to be worthy of her Grace.”

“No, not even that,” he rejoined. “She will take care of it. She is the one who makes us worthy. What can we do?” And again he chuckled, like the sweet bubbling of a mountain stream.

“You are right, Bula-da,” I said. “What can we do? We must leave everything to her; then we will have no more worries. These things are not really ours, are they?” I wondered aloud. “We think we have responsibilities and duties, but really it is her work and we should not take it personally. We create our own worries as the result of a false outlook.”

“Yes, a false outlook,” he confirmed.

“We always want to do something!” I exclaimed. “We always want to see results and progress.”

Here Bula-da added a few words that will long remain with me because of the way they were spoken, as if they came out of a deep knowledge so sweet that it had to break out in laughter. “We want to be good,” he said, and chuckled.

Yes, we want to be good, I thought to myself. And even that is a desire which is at the root of our passionate efforts to improve.

“You are fortunate, Bula-da,” I said to him. “You have the experience of many years. A young man like me is often impatient to move forward.”

“She does everything if we leave it to her,” he said. “She does everything, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I answered meekly. “She does everything. All we can to do is leave it to her.”

Referring to the Mother’s passing in 1973, Bula-da confided, ”It is the same now as before. Her Grace is still at work. The only difference is that now we must ask for it. Before we didn’t have to ask. She saw everything, she knew everything, she took care of everything. We didn’t have to ask for anything. Twice a day we went to her for pranam. One look and she knew everything. Sometimes we wanted to hide the bad things, but she saw them. All we could do was offer these things to her and put ourselves before her as an offering, our difficulties too. The more we show to her, the better it is, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Yes, that is the best,” I agreed.

Then we reached the Ashram gate. “Bye bye,” I said.

“Bye bye,” he echoed.

6 May 1979

*

Jaleshwar on control of mind:

The disciple complained, “O Guru. I cannot control my mind; always it turns to worldly worries and desires for pleasure. How can I bring it to God?” The Guru replied, “Control of mind is difficult indeed. Easier is control of the tongue. Control the tongue then, repeat the Lord’s name. Slowly the mind will be led to God.”

15 October 1979

*

Ravindra-ji on Balnarayan:

Once a sadhak who looked after an Ashram garden wrote to the Mother, complaining about his co-worker Balnarayan. With his limited English he wrote: “Looking, looking I. Balnarayan no looking. Who you?” Poor Mother! Probably he meant: “Day and night I am looking after the garden. That good-for-nothing Balnarayan isn’t doing a thing to help! What are you going to do about it?”

Early 1980

*

Jayantilal on his life:

On his birthday yesterday, 21 June, Jayantilal gave us a brief sketch of his early life. There were eight children in his family, six brothers and two sisters. Half of them had passed away when he told us this in 1980. He got on well with his siblings and was devoted to his mother and father.

Jayantilal left his home in Bombay at the age of seventeen. He went to Shantiniketan to study at the School of Architecture. His true interest was Art, but his father doubted he could make a living at it, so Jayantilal devised the architecture plan. He kept on painting and sold a couple of his paintings. Finally his father relented and allowed him to take up Art in earnest. He studied art at Shantiniketan for the next three and a half years under the renowned artist Nandalal Bose.

Around this time, at age twenty or twenty-one, Jayantilal grew interested in spiritual life and read some of Sri Aurobindo’s writings. Then he and some fellow students went on a tour of South India with Rabindranath Tagore, visiting Kerala, Ceylon and Madras. From Madras Jayantilal came down to Pondicherry for a day to see his friend Krishnalal who had studied with him at Shantiniketan. A few months later he had a chance to return and stayed for several days. He met the Mother, of course, and his spiritual urge was awakened. Tagore never became interested in Sri Aurobindo, according to Jayantilal, but Nandalal Bose did.

After finishing his schooling at Shantiniketan, Jayantilal travelled again in Ceylon and Kerala. He visited Pondicherry more than once, but his father discouraged him from living in the Ashram. In the end, however, his father agreed to let him join. This was in 1938. Even then, he returned home to Bombay from time to time to be with his family at their request and because he was attached to them.

In the Ashram Jayantilal had many jobs, including Dining Room work. In August 1947 when Mulshankar was stabbed to death, Jayantilal took up his duty and was in charge of the Ashram gate for several years. He was the first person to regularly go “outside” to Madras to purchase materials for the Ashram. In 1949 he started the Bulletin at the Mother’s request. His regular work was at the Ashram Press, supervising the production of books, and this work he did for decades.

During the 1940s he also continued to paint, encouraged by Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. At one point, his interest in painting flagged. The Mother advised him to stop painting until his interest returned. Some time later he sent her a sketch he had drawn; she wrote that she was glad he had taken up painting again. Jayantilal like drawing landscapes, he told us, and had a fascination for trees. During one period, he, Krishnalal and one or two others regularly walked three or four miles to the outskirts of Pondicherry, carrying brushes, paints, paper, bread and tea, to sketch the surrounding countryside. In his collection Jayantilal has hundreds of postcard-size paintings done in this way. Every day he sent one of these little paintings to the Mother.

Jayantilal first lived in a house where Golconde stands now. Later he lived downstairs in Dupleix House, then in two different rooms in the Guest House, and next in a room near the Ayurvedic Bhavan, which at that time was considered far from the Ashram. Jayantilal would joke with friends that he lived in Villupuram. Finally, he lived on the first floor of Dupleix House, where the Mother stayed for nine months when she first came to Pondicherry in 1914.

In answer to a question about his past lives, he said he had no knowledge of his past lives or interest in them. He does not know about the future and has no plans. Born in 1919, Jayantilal is now sixty-seven.

22 June 1980

*

Sunil’s advice to me:

Today is Sunil’s birthday. At 9.15, I stopped by his downstairs’ room at Art House. Steve and Tomas were there. We basked in the room’s charged atmosphere and ate some delicious sweets. Sunil came about ten o’clock. I stood up to go. “Well, I suppose you have to work,” he said with a smile, for he knew my temper: I find it hard to sit down and enjoy during office hours. Laughing, he continued, “My motto is: Always take it easy. Always take it easy.” Just the right advice for me. Earlier, Steve, Tomas and I were taking about Sunil’s process of composition; I remarked that inspiration comes only when the mind has stopped labouring long enough to let the inspiration through; the creative process requires calm and relaxation. Sunil’s remark was a confirmation of this. He once advised me, “Every day, do something you don’t want to do.” A man of epigrams. The Mother called him “Mon petit savant”—My little wise man. At sixty, he has the disposition of a child.

3 November 1980

*

Debranjan on Nolini-da:

Debranjan told me that Nolini-da once gave him two “nevers”: Never get upset about anything and never ask for anything. As an illustration of Nolini-da’s adherence to the second “never”, Debranjan gave this example:

At one time there was only a single window in Nolini-da’s back room where he had slept for decades. Someone noticed how ill-ventilated the room was and hatched a project to punch a second window into the wall. Everyone was eager to see this done and Nolini-da bowed to their enthusiasm.

The head of the House Maintenance Service brought the matter to the Mother’s attention for her approval. “What!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Nolini is asking for a second window?” “No, no,” he replied and explained that others had initiated the scheme. She approved the window. But her question shows that she knew the nature of this man who ordinarily never asked for anything.

16 March 1981

*

Debranjan again on Nolini-da:

Debranjan used to have tea with a Bengali friend, a hot-headed fellow who regularly quarrelled with another sadhak. One day in the heat of an argument, the hothead hit the other man on the head with a stout wooden stick. Blood poured out of his head and down his left temple. Immediately he raced to the Ashram to Amrita’s office with blood still streaming down his face onto his clothes. Infected by the man’s outrage, Amrita marched up to the Mother’s room and quickly came back with her reply: the sadhak who gave the blow should leave the Ashram by the next morning!

After hitting the man, the hothead felt not regret but jubilation; he had set the other man in line with a good blow. But when he heard the Mother’s verdict, he was totally crushed and stricken with remorse. Sobbing with tears, he begged Debranjan to intercede on his behalf by putting forth his plea for pardon and to be given another chance. Sorry for his friend, Debranjan went to Amrita with his plea. Amrita, still in an angry mood, would have none of it. “You want to give this man another chance?” Amrita exclaimed. “He is a savage!”

With no hope for help from that quarter, Debranjan went next door and put the matter before Nolini-da. Nolini-da sat unruffled, a rock of peace, and calmly heard the whole story. At last he said, “The Mother has insisted that this man should leave the Ashram immediately. Does she not know what is best for him? Do you think she is punishing him? She never punishes anyone. Her only concern is the welfare of your friend’s soul. Tell him this. Advise him to depart at once.” Nolini-da added, “I think he will come back soon.”

The hot-headed man left for Bengal by the evening train. A year later, he wrote to the Mother, asking if he might return. She consented and the man came back. He is still in the Ashram, many years later.

16 March 1981

*

Dyuman on his way of working:

This afternoon, I visited Gloria with Dyuman, who talked to me about his early days in the Ashram. In 1927, when Dyuman first came here, the Mother told him, “You do my work and I’ll do your work.” He has kept these words as his motto for more than fifty years. When he was introduced to Nolini and Amrita, he said to himself, “The only way I can catch up to themis through service.”

Dyuman began working with the Mother upstairs in this way: One evening he finished his work with her just before midnight. The next morning he woke up just before four. Rather than sleep longer, he went to her staircase to wait for her to open her door for the day’s work. About four she came and sent him to fetch Nolini, Amrita and Pavitra. When Pavitra came, Mother told Dyuman, “You come in too.” Thus began his work with her upstairs, the result of his zeal to serve.

His method of working was different from that of Pavitra, who asked the Mother for her advice about every detail of executing a work. Dyuman simply accepted the general charge she gave him, saying, “Yes, Mother”, and then figured out the best way to do it. He found the people, the money, the way to get things done. He had confidence and a certain boldness. Here are two examples: In 1957 he told Udar to purchase the Ashram Theatre for Rs 50,000 without even asking the Mother! He was sure it was right. In the same way, he purchased Gloria farm for Rs 105,000 rupees without consulting her. When he informed her of the purchase of the farm, her only question was, “Why do you want to call it Gloria?” He replied, “Because one day the land will be glorious, Mother.”

Dyuman’s enormous self-confidence is based on his faith in the Mother. He sees himself as an instrument whose value lies in his faith in her, and not in his own energy or acumen. He gives great freedom to those who work under him, the kind of freedom he himself has in working under the Mother.  

17 March 1982

*

Parasnath on Nolini-da:

Nolini is a warrior sadhak, not an effusive, carefree, old-time bhakta. He knows and he is conscious. His “yes” and his “no” have power. He has no personal issues, no moments of exasperation, no sense of disgust about the happenings of life. These frustrated reactions are beneath his dignity. The lower forces are not given free play in him. He has taken his stand. Alert and vigilant, he is a warrior.

1 February 1983

*

Ambu on his work:

Ambu told me that at one point of his life he was working from dawn till dusk, doing many things for many people because he loved to help people. But it often tired him. One day the Mother called him and asked him to describe his daily routine. He dutifully related to her his various tasks of the day. The Mother heard him out and interrupted only twice: when he mentioned cleaning her cooking vessels at noon and again at night. Each time she exclaimed, “Ah, that is your work!”

After he finished elaborating all his little jobs, Ambu asked the Mother why she wanted him to tell her all these things since she already knew most of his daily routine. She said that she wanted to clarify that, of all these works, only the vessel-cleaning work had been given by her; the other jobs he had taken upon himself. She wanted him to understand this because “I want you to be free.”

4 June 1983

*

Pujalal on harmony:

Pujalal told me, “When we are in harmony with the Divine, then happiness automatically rises from within or descends from above.”

14 September 1983

*

Three sadhaks on the Ashram:

For three days I hosted a twenty-one-year-old American from the state of Michigan, Nathan Munson, who was studying hospital administration at the Aravind Eye Hospital in Madurai. I introduced him to various people. Whomever he met, he asked the same question, “What is the purpose of the Ashram.”

Muralidhar said: “The purpose of the Ashram is to help a person discover the Truth and find his soul.” “How does one find his soul?” Nathan asked. “Through constant aspiration to know the soul, through the self-giving of one’s whole being, through the self-surrender of the vital. But,” Muralidhar added, “very few people here, if any, have achieved this difficult aim. Most have been content to settle into the Ashram life, which is far too externalised. The present conditions make it hard for one to find one’s soul.”

Anurakta said: “I would say that the Ashram is a laboratory for human development. It is a diverse laboratory, with many specimens and many different experiments are going on.”

Pujalal said, “The purpose of the Ashram is to come into contact with God and to make oneself a temple and house of God. By freeing us from ordinary material obligations such as the need to earn a living, we are given a chance to one-pointedly pursue this end. In ordinary life a man is attached to many things and has many loves. Here our main attachment is to the Divine and our main love is the Divine. By thinking constantly of the Divine with love and devotion, we gradually grow closer to him. If we have even a little love for the Divine, it is enough to start. What is needed is to make this little love grow by nourishing it.”

5 October 1983

*

Muralidhar on the Divine Will:

Always unique in his angle of vision, Muralidhar told me:

“A few years ago I went to the States to visit my sister. An Indian woman asked me: How can I follow the Divine Will? I told her: Forget the Divine Will; don’t even think about it. Just try to serve the Lord with love and devotion. How can you know the Divine Will? What you take as the Divine Will may be your own will.

“Are you ready to follow the Divine Will? What if He asks you to stand on your head? Are you ready for that? No, you want to walk with your feet on the ground. It is like that. Forget all these notions about the Divine Will. Try to keep yourself simple and free.”

Muralidhar continued: “We talk about the Supermind and the supramental transformation as if we knew about them. What do we know? How can we know? The Truth is very high up, far away from us. We know nothing. The best thing we can do is to make ourselves empty, hollow, and throw away all our own notions.

“The Divine has a plan and He is working it out. He doesn’t care for us. He uses us for his plan and doesn’t care for our pain and suffering. He just works out his plan.”

Muralidhar added: “Most people don’t talk to me. They run away. They know I am not a bluffer. I say what I think. That is all I have.”

15 November 1983

*

Simanta-da on Nolinida:

My friend and mentor Simanta Narayan Chatterji once wrote to Nolini-da, asking him for the key to the Yoga. “Love,” Nolini-da replied, using a colloquial term in Bengali for the word. He added, “Put a picture of the Mother in front of you and repeat over and over, ‘I love you, I love you.’”

5 February 1984

*

Three elders on Nolini-da:

Millie-di remembers Nolini-da for his economy of word and gesture. If one word would do, he would not use two. No flowery ornamentation. Ashit Gupta remembers him for his quiet detachment, lack of imposition, supreme dispassion, a man of silence. Kittu Reddy remembers him for his extreme sensitivity.

Kittu served Nolini-da at night for more than a year and spent hundreds of hours with him. He says that Nolini-da was sensitive to the inner vibrations of others and responded to them accordingly. This was true of Kittu himself. If Kittu was in an ordinary state of consciousness, Nolini-da paid little attention to him, but if Kittu was in a concentrated state of aspiration or simply a state of good cheer, Nolini-da would sense it immediately, open up and talk with him. Nolini-da would get in the middle of the night just to chat with him, seemingly about nothing. But as he looks back, Kittu says that it was due to his state of consciousness. If it was a high state, Nolini-da felt it and supported it. If it was ordinary, he couldn’t be bothered.

If someone approached Nolini-da in a demanding, egoistic mood, Nolini-da could be abrupt, dismissive and unsparing. Kittu has seen him cut people off at once, explode at their request, rebuke them for flattering him, dismiss people curtly even if they left feeling hurt. But Kittu thinks that although Nolini-da could be sharp, he did not get upset or angry; his intention in scolding the person was to correct his wrong movement. Nolini-da could be hard as glass with someone one day, and the next day, if the person’s attitude had improved, soft and affectionate.

11 February 1984

*

Thoughts of Muralidhar, always original:

Everyone here is putting an aura around himself. Big danger.

Loss of vitality is not the cause of old age. Aging is due to the increasing rigidity of the body. Because of rigidity the vitality gets obstructed and cannot flow freely.

21 February 1984

*

Udar on the summer:

I asked Udar how to prepare for the coming summer season. Previously he had advised me, “Make friends with the elements by accepting them as they are.” This time he suggested something more. The Mother once told him, “Try to think of the sun as your lover”, then added, “Of course, sometimes he may embrace you too warmly.”

18 March 1984

*

Muralidhar said:

“If someone comes to you and asks the meaning of his experience, tell him to find it out by himself. If you yourself have an experience, don’t ask anyone to interpret it for you. If you ask someone, he may give you the right answer, but you will be depriving yourself of the opportunity of enlarging your knowledge by aspiring for the answer. Ask the Lord to give you the knowledge of its meaning.”

6 May 1984

*

A Calcutta visitor told me:

“When you pour water on the plants in the morning, they smile at you. Divine love is like that smile.

“You see a woman walking down the street. She does not greet you, does not look at you. But you see her and feel that she is radiating tenderness and love. You feel blessed for having seen her, although she has not looked at you or spoken. Divine love is like the radiance of that woman.”

12 August 1984

*

Mona Sarkar’s fagged-out theory:

One must get fagged out to feel the Force. The more one gets fagged out, the more one receives the Force. It is not enough to know it! One must practise by getting fagged out often.

15 December 1984

*

Vishweshwar’s story:

Years ago, Bikesh, a boy raised in the Ashram, helped out the Atelier by driving to the Madras airport to bring visitors back to the Ashram. On one such trip a European lady peppered him with questions all the way back to Pondicherry, asking about Sri Aurobindo and the Mother and the Ashram. Finally she asked him about the Supermind. “Lady,” Bikesh exclaimed, “I am only a driver! I don’t know anything about the Supermind!”

19 February 1985

*

Mother’s advice to Soni:

In 1960 Soni, a devotee living in Delhi, decided to resign from the Indian Air Force. When he came to Pondicherry he informed the Mother of his decision. She asked him, “Why do you want to leave?” Soni told her, “I am tired of the military regimentation, Mother.” She commented, “Yes, but to do anything in life it is necessary to follow some rule and discipline.” “You are right,” Soni said, “but military rule is not like here in Pondicherry where one is under the divine guidance.”

Mother smiled. “Oh, so you want to be free?” “Yes,” Soni replied, “I don’t want to live in prison.” “But even in a prison one can be free,” the Mother told him. “Freedom is not a matter of physical conditions. Freedom is an attitude of mind.”

At the time Soni thought that the Mother simply wanted to discourage him from resigning, but later he came to see the deeper truth in her remarks.

28 March 1985

*

Manindra’s way of working:

I rode out to Gloria Land with Dyuman and spent an afternoon with Manindra Pal who regaled me with stories about Gloria, its organisation and finance. The development of the farm emerged out of Dyuman’s solid support for him and his own simple faith in the Mother. When faced with a problem, his habit was to call her inwardly and place the problem before her, asking her to work it out. Manidratold me that he follows the circumstances, paying attention to clues for how to proceed, always talking to the Mother, explaining to her how things look to him, and asking her for help.

Manindra follows his intuitions and instincts, doing whatever he does by himself but based on his faith in the Mother. Before scolding a worker, he asks himself if he would have done better if he were in the worker’s position. He gives freedom to the workers. He helps them financially when he feels their case is genuine.

Manindra is working from inside out, based on reliance on the Mother. There is a deep charm in his way of life because he does not calculate things intellectually, but works from intuition and faith. The Mother is helping him because he has turned to her for help.

21 April 1988

*

Jaleshwar on Gopi bhava:

Jaleshwar explained to me the attitude of the Gopis: Tat sukhasukhi: Happy in the happiness of That. I am happy because Krishna is happy.

6 August 1989

*

Simanta-da on the sky:

Simanta-da advises cultivating this attitude: I am unbound, free as the wind and wide as the sky. Imprint the senses with the impression of the vast sky.

6 August 1989

*

The Bengal laundry man:

The loveable Bengali laundry man told me, “Dada, you are really charming. Out of nothing you can extract enjoyment. This is your special qualification.” What a lovely compliment!

11 July 2000

*

Manoj-da’s attitude:

Manoj-da, pointing to the Samadhi after having made his morning pranam: “I always pray: Let thy Will be done.”

14 January 2009

*

Ulrich on the mind:

During an evening walk by the seaside, Ulrich and I were discussing the various ways in which thinking can go wrong. This led Ulrich to remark, “You know, actually all thinking is wrong.” This comment broke us up in laughter.

About a year ago we were talking about the fundamentalist attitude of the mind, how it grabs hold of one aspect of the Truth and promotes it above all others. This led Ulrich to observe, “Well, the mind itself is basically fundamentalist. It has to be, for it is based on division.” Again, the touch of the speculative physicist.

10 March 2012

__________________

About the Author: Bob Zwicker visited and eventually joined the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, Pondicherry, in 1971 at the age of twenty-five. In 1973 he joined the Ashram Archives where he has been working ever since. His first big project was to prepare the seventeen volumes of the Mother’s Collected Works around Her Birth Centenary in 1978. He has also played a significant role in preparing the thirty-six volumes of Sri Aurobindo’s writings for the Complete Works of Sri Aurobindo. In recognition of his invaluable contribution in the field of Aurobindonian studies, he was honored with the Sri Aurobindo Puraskar by Sri Aurobindo Samiti, Sri Aurobindo Bhavan, Kolkata, in August 2025.