When I arrived at the Ashram in 1971, Champaklal was a rarely-seen, almost legendary figure. He had come to Pondicherry from Gujarat as a young man, worked closely with the Mother from the beginning, attended Sri Aurobindo personally for twenty-five years and then the Mother for nearly as long. I first saw him on December 12th when I went to meet the Mother in her room. Before turning to her I glanced at him and he welcomed me with a big smile. Then after the Mother’s passing in 1973, I often saw him on Saturday evenings at the Playground. Five minutes before the weekly film began, he would burst through the gate, barrel-chest boldly stuck out, and stride to his place on the sandy ground. I got to know him personally in 1987, when he called me to do some work for him.
One day late in May 1987, Roshan Dumasia, a Bombay University Professor who assisted Champaklal during her vacations, came to my desk at the Archives and said that Champaklal wished to see me. He needed someone to transcribe some manuscripts of Sri Aurobindo, mainly letters and messages. After taking permission from my department head, Jayantilal, I agreed to help. Over the next two years I spent an hour or more with Champaklal on about a dozen occasions. At first I called him ‘Champaklalji’, but soon it became ‘Dadaji’, as he was called by those close to him.
The 1987 Meetings
My first work was to type out Champaklal’s own correspondence with Sri Aurobindo. The full correspondence was being prepared by Roshan for a revised edition of the book Champaklal Speaks. On June 3rd I went to his room with a typed copy of the manuscripts he had given for transcription. Champaklal looked at my work slowly and carefully. Now and then he expressed his appreciation with a smile, a gleam in his eyes, a lively hand movement. Something of a mime artist, he had a mobile face and a gift for conveying his thoughts and emotions through gestures. I was happy that he took so much time to see my work. Later I found that he took time for almost everything he did.
During the final years of his life Champaklal observed a vow of silence (mauna vrat), so, any verbal communication between us had to be done through writing. After checking my work he wrote on a slip of paper, “I admire you”, and handed it to me. I read the words and blushed with embarrassment. Then he took the slip again and added, “You work with love and joy.” Flushed with elation I blurted out, “I admire you too!” and explained, “To me you stand for service, freedom and wideness of mind. You do what you think is right, regardless of what other people say.” I had in mind his recent travels in India and abroad, for which he was sometimes criticised in the Ashram; the prevailing view was that he should have stayed at home. In reply to what I told him, Champaklal wrote, “Because of Her abundant Grace.” As I came to learn, it was typical of him to attribute any merit in himself to the Mother.
Sharing a Laugh
On June 12th I went to his room with a second batch of manuscripts and my transcription of them. While Champaklal looked over my work, I peeked around the room. Pictures everywhere — on all four walls, from floor to ceiling, big black-and-white photographs and a few brightly-coloured paintings. Mother and Sri Aurobindo all around. A soft yellow-gold carpet covered the floor. Seated on it comfortably, clad only in a white loincloth, with his golden-brown skin showing everywhere, Champaklal looked like a happy child. After checking my transcript he wrote, “Mother used to like good work so much. Now even more — must be!” I laughed, pleased with the idea that Mother now appreciates our work more than ever. He also laughed and it was good to hear his chuckles. Then he wrote, “Champaklal respects and admires very much such a person.” Touched by his compliment I said, “Your kind words give me faith in myself.” In response he wrote, “The qwaliti (sic) is Hers.”
The Case of the Missing Photo
The next day Roshan brought a third batch of manuscripts to me for transcription. She also asked me to speak to Jayantilal on a delicate matter. Champaklal had given him, she said, a large hand-coloured photograph of the Mother, but it had not been returned and Champaklal wanted it back. Later in the day I asked Jayantilal about this photo. He said that Champaklal had given him a copy of the photo, not the large original, and Jayantilal had been careful to return the copy, knowing that Champaklal was particular about such things.
A few days later I went to see Champaklal for work and broached the subject of the missing photo. “Jayantilal says he doesn’t have the photo,” I said. “He told me that you gave him a smaller copy of it and he returned it.” Champaklal’s face suddenly darkened and he grimaced; he clearly did not buy this story! The air became heavy with tension as he struggled to contain the rising anger in him. Apparently he thought that Jayantilal still had the photo or had misplaced it and was making an excuse. There was a long, ominous silence. I could hardly breathe. At last the tension lessened, Champaklal’s face relaxed and he gave a weary smile. Picking up a slip of paper, he penned three words and handed the slip to me with a gesture of resignation. “Does not matter,” it said. Maybe not, I thought, but something is not right.
There was another long and heavy silence. Then Champaklal’s whole countenance softened and his face underwent a visible metamorphosis. A growing warmth and joy spread across it, the gravity in the air abated, and I could breathe freely again. He reached for a slip of paper and slowly wrote, “So many things Champaklal has lost — now one more.” Handing me the slip, he smiled with a look of compassion tinged with sorrow. This look of his was most touching. It seemed to me that he probably thought the missing photo might still be somewhere with Jayantilal, but he was not pressing for it. His unspoken message was: “So many things I have lost in my life. Who am I to get angry and point the finger of blame at someone else?” I felt great sympathy and respect for him. He had passed the test — he had faced the dark cloud of anger in himself and dissolved it. In place of the cloud a radiant glow of tenderness shone on his face; his heart was again at peace. How honest one must be to remain bright and happy.
After a week Champaklal sent a letter of apology to Jayantilal for any anxiety he might have caused. He had not yet found the missing photo, he wrote, but he thought that it must be somewhere with him or perhaps he had given it to someone else. The latter surmise turned out to be true: years later I found the original hand-coloured photograph in the room of my downstairs neighbour!
Only One Sadhana
Towards the end of June I returned the third batch of manuscripts to Champaklal. There was very little work that day, so I spoke to him about something that was bothering me. “Dadaji,” I said, “I do japa to control my mind, but I don’t have a mantra. I have tried so many mantras, but I can’t settle on one. Could you suggest a mantra for me?” He slowly inscribed on a chit: “What I think. Any mantra you say with love and joy is good. But it is not necessary. Only if it comes spontaneously.” As I read his reply, Champaklal watched my face and he could tell that I was not satisfied; in fact I was still hoping that he would give me a mantra. He smiled and wrote, “I myself do not have a mantra.” That did satisfy me — it meant we were both in the same boat! Again he took up his pen and wrote: “To me Mother gave only one sadhana.” Then he pulled out a birthday card that contained a message she had written to him in the early 1930s:
Be simple,
Be happy,
Remain quiet,
Do your work as well as you can.
Keep yourself open always towards me.
This is all that is asked from you.
Champaklal wrote, “I asked her: ‘You say, “This is all that is asked from you.” All? Only this?’ Mother said, ‘Only this.’ I said, ‘Mother, just give me one.’” — that is, just one of the five things she had listed. He ended his note, “By her Grace she has given them all to me. This is my condition. I want nothing.” At the end of our session he handed me a packet of incense and a Divine Love flower.
The 1988 Meetings
At the end of the summer of 1987 Roshan left the Ashram to resume her teaching duties in Bombay. When she came back in April 1988, we took up work with Champaklal again. I went to his room on the 28th with a framed photograph he had given me the year before, a little-known photo of the Mother taken on her birthday in 1973. She is wearing a dark red sari embroidered in gold and on her head is a large gold triangular crown with her symbol on it. Her eyes are closed and she is indrawn. When I first saw the photo, I was deeply attracted to it, so he gave it to me! But over the months I had not looked at it much. “I want to return this photo to you,” I said. “I have not been feeling much for it lately.”
Happy to see the photo again, he looked intently at it for about two minutes. As he gazed, his face took on an uncanny resemblance to the face of the Mother in the photo; the extent of his identification was remarkable. Then he began a forty-minute ‘discussion’ of the photograph, with him writing and me commenting every now and then.
“Why don’t people like this photo?” he wrote. I didn’t know what to say. Then he asked me to read out aloud something he had written about the photo, a two-page typescript. The gist of it was that although the photograph is not superficially pleasing, it expresses a deep inner state, and if one looks at it for a few minutes one will be drawn deep inside — this was his own experience. The photograph is merely a symbol of the Mother, just as the stone image of Kali worshipped by Ramakrishnadev at Dakshineshwar is a symbol of Mother Kali. By dwelling on the symbol one can enter into the consciousness behind it. At this point Champaklal showed me a coloured print of Jagannath of Puri, with Balaram and Subhadra on either side of him. “Chaitanyadev had darshan of Krishna by seeing this image,” he wrote. Then he asked me a whole series of questions about the Mother’s photo, sometimes supplying the answers himself.
“Why don’t people like it?” he wrote.
“Because Mother is not smiling and she looks so serious,” I said.
“But she is not smiling in other photos,” he countered.
“Her eyes are closed,” I said, “so people don’t know what she is thinking. It makes them afraid.”
Champaklal’s eyes lit up with a gleam. “FEAR,” he wrote. “They are afraid to go within.”
Still absorbed in the subject, he penned, “Is the gold crown not beautiful? Mother liked it very much.” Pointing to the photo, he wrote, “Mother liked it very much. She looked at it happily for a long time in my presence.” And then, “She signed a copy of it for someone and gave her blessings. She never signed if she did not like a photo.” About the copy I had returned, he wrote, “It wanted to come back to me.”
After this unusual session, Champaklal sent me off with a packet of incense and a Divine Love flower.
Preservation of Manuscripts
A week later, on May 5th, I went to see Champaklal at 10.30 in the morning. We had a long discussion on the preservation of manuscripts. I told him that it was not safe for him to keep his manuscripts of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother enclosed in plastic sheets, because the plastic would decompose in time and contaminate the manuscripts with acid, turning them yellow and shortening their lifespan. After questioning me closely, even about the effect of the acids contained in the manuscripts themselves, he agreed to remove the plastic sheets. Later I supplied him with thin, non-acidic paper folders for the work.
Dwelling in the Zone
Champaklal was conscientious in his care for material things, deliberate and thorough. Perhaps because he was solidly grounded, I always felt at ease and secure with him. It took a long time to do things, but I didn’t feel we were wasting time. I sensed that even while he did things, he dwelt inwardly in a contented spiritual zone. While his outer nature did the work, his inner being remained concentrated within: he was one-fourth outside and three-fourths inside. In his presence I basked in an atmosphere of serenity, removed from the pressing concerns of life. He had learned, I think, the truth of the Mother’s comment, “As soon as one stops hurrying, one enters a truer vibration.”
Little Jokes
My third visit took place on May 12th. We didn’t work much, but it was a joy just to sit there in his presence. Then, towards the end, I got restless and started making gestures to get up and go. Champaklal either ignored them or smiled without giving me a nod to leave, so I sat on. Then someone came who said he needed to see Champaklal for two minutes and asked to be left alone with him. I went into the next room and waited. Ten minutes later the fellow came out and left. I returned to Champaklal’s room. “Why did you leave?” he wrote. “X asked to be alone with you,” I said. He smiled mischievously and wiggled two fingers back and forth, as if to say, “Yes, but only for two minutes!” I thought this was very funny, so I laughed. He also laughed and his eyes sparkled. I think he was happy to have someone to enjoy his little jokes.
That day Champaklal started to get up to bring a flower for me from Sri Aurobindo’s room, but feeling weak he sank back down again. I motioned for him to stay put — no need to send me off with a flower each time. So he just sat there like a child with a big smile on his face, and I left.
Willing Work, No Obligation
Five days later, on May 17th, I went to see him again. There was not much to do, but the time passed easily. We sank into an enjoyable meditative state. After a while Champaklal wrote that he would like to have new photocopies made of his Bonne Fête notebook in which Sri Aurobindo and the Mother had for many years written birthday messages for him. He showed me the old photocopies, which were small and faded, with shadowy lines at the edges. “Very bad job,” he wrote. I asked, “Do you want the new copies to be the same size as the originals?” “If you can,” he wrote. “Of course we can,” I said. “Yes, you can,” he rejoined, “but can he?” ‘He’ was the person who had not shown much enthusiasm for doing such work in the past. We both laughed. Then he wrote, “Do it if he is willing, but not if he feels obliged.” That was Champaklal’s style: he freely asked people to do things for him, but he wanted them done willingly. At the end of the hour he sent me off with incense and a flower.
The Art of Living
My final meeting with Champaklal that year took place the next day, May 18th. That evening he was leaving Pondicherry for a two-month tour of Europe and the United States. I expected him to be very busy, maybe packing, and was prepared to leave early to spare his time. When I arrived at 10.30 he was working as usual with Roshan. I sat on the floor and waited fifteen minutes until they finished their work together. By then I had calmed down. Suddenly old Dikshitbhai, well into his nineties, appeared at the door to wish Champaklal Bon voyage for his journey abroad. When Dikshitbhai showed deferential respect to his younger gurubhai, Champaklal put his head down like an embarrassed little boy and said nothing. Dikshitbhai sat down on the carpet and we spent several minutes sitting in silence; then he got up to go. Champaklal came out of his ingathered condition, held Dikshitbhai’s hand warmly and gave him some flowers.
I felt it was time for me to go too and started to get up. Champaklal smiled and motioned to me with his eyes to remain seated. Quickly he sank down again into an indrawn state. Roshan and I also became indrawn. Five minutes, ten minutes, I kept going deeper and deeper. Then I understood! He was leaving for Europe that evening and had things to do, but no, he was not all tensed up and in a hurry; he was doing the only thing really worth doing, plunging inside, living in the Presence. Indeed, he seemed to have forgotten the time! The minutes passed slowly, but I was so tranquillised that I lost the impulse to go. A great wave of affection arose in me and flowed towards this kindly man who was teaching me by his own example the art of living: Remember the important thing, the inner presence. Don’t be running around all the time. Learn to appreciate and enjoy the Grace.
At last, emerging from the little meditation he had induced in us, Champaklal got up, went into Sri Aurobindo’s room and returned with two kinds of incense and a Divine Love flower. Handing them to me, he smiled sweetly. I stepped out the door as he watched me go.
My Mother Meets Champaklal
That was my last long meeting with Champaklal. In the years that followed, I saw him a number of times, but only briefly. Still, he remembered me and made me feel special. Once, towards the end, I brought my mother to see him. He was weak as a kitten, having suffered a stroke, and leaned back on the pillows that propped him up. But the kind and gentle eyes were still there. My mother stood before him a while and then, on impulse, held out her hand to him. Champaklal held it a few seconds. When she began to withdraw her hand, he held on and resisted her pull; then he let her hand slowly go back towards her and, at the last moment, he tugged it towards himself. My mother broke down crying. Later she told me, “Oh, Rob, that man is very special.” Yes, Mom, he is indeed very special.
___________
(Courtesy: Mother India, May 2017; published on the occasion of Champaklal’s 123rd birth anniversary)
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.
Maybe not exactly a Darshan, but a subtle spiritual gift and teaching came through these words. Thanks to Champaklal and to Mr. Zwicker!
Really delightful to read. Special, very special moments. Help us to learn a lot.
In memory of Champaklal marvelous disciple.
Three phases are now emerging.
The first unfolded during the last century, with the monumental work of the Avatars and Pioneers.
Three phases are now emerging.
The first unfolded during the last century, with the monumental work of the Avatars and Pioneers.
This phase revealed global upheavals, with accompanying resistance, followed by a new equilibrium leading to undeniable progress.
Underlying this, some of the issues of the second phase to come were visible and tangible for those who were awake, in light of a Consciousness-Force at work (called supramental for convenience) and manifested during this first phase, in a twentieth century where dark forces seemed to invade human consciousness.
In 1956, a Foundation was established; Thus, certain Adversarial Forces were quelled, if not more, so that a supramental Manifestation could broaden and amplify its scope, until its eventual, albeit distant, but assured, arrival: a complete Victory during a third phase!
A second phase, currently underway, is leading us to certain dead ends: climatic (an increasingly pervasive greenhouse effect), political (the ruin of all kinds of “isms,” with the end of lyrical illusions), religious (areas of awareness fueled by excessive violence and mindless fanaticism), utilitarian (unbridled consumption, to the point of self-destruction of certain balances), digital (humanity transformed into machines, subject to grotesque machinations to the point of losing free will), etc., etc. Thus, we are witnessing Chaos on every scale, with the resurgence of predators on the scale of reborn empires.
Here, a Tsar, nostalgic for a past that was nonetheless so painful and full of lies, subjects his nation to a malicious and insidious grip.
A diehard, waging a war confined to a single territory, death and lies sow chaos.
Over there, a cold and calculating Yellow Cat, driven to excess, seeks to expand its reach in order to reclaim its lost Middle Kingdom, following the weakening of its vital and intellectual strength.
Reinvigorated, this region of the world is armed with citizens who obey his every command, equipped with cutting-edge technologies, for a global domination.
On the other side of a supposedly Pacific Ocean, stands a human community that embraced diversity, progress, and a somewhat enlightened individualism in order to liberate humanity from certain constraints. And there it is, saturating our screens, printing countless extravagances every day, an apprentice dictator at work with evangelized crowds, clinging to a desire to whitewash everything.
Lost, almost a vassal of burgeoning empires, an assemblage of nations brought together by a technocracy without upstream or downstream, now here and now, we are witnessing, defenseless, the end of a culture and a way of life.
There they are, consigned to the dustbin of history. There it is, beautiful Europe in peril, humiliated, defeated, soon to be a corpse! It’s hard to write these words, but reason prevails.
Similarly, during this second phase, with the supramental foundation preserved, it is now only a question of an evolutionary push for the purpose of transformation, an ongoing apocalypse in the Greek sense of the term. Thus, all this chaos observed on a national scale, following events leading to ruptures, notorious imbalances, and even resurgences of a catastrophic past from the last century, is now merely froth on the surface of things.
Certainly, this precarious balance is dangerous, deadly, and deceptive, oh so much so, but it is under the sway of this supramental Force-Consciousness, manifested in the past, working stealthily to this day, and more openly in the near future, as and in accordance with the receptivities that will undoubtedly blossom here and there!
At the threshold of individuality, at the very end of certain journeys, initially of groups and entities alike, without necessarily embracing certain nations, since there again everything seems confused…
And yet, one of them is predestined for this type of conversion, this transformation, with the Himalayas as foothills, oceans at its edge, and a past rich in so-called spiritual riches.
There, the Veda was revealed to Rishis, masters of Consciousness-Force, by the Body of the Earth. It was a Golden Age, which has passed away.
Here we are at the end of an Iron Age, with dawns blazing with the Noons of the Future.
A new Golden Age is in sight, whatever the contexts, difficulties faced and overcome during this second phase, which will undoubtedly offer us furrows, paths, and roads.
Then will come the Time of sunlit roads, bathed in the light of a Sun buried in the abyss, hidden from our dark Ignorance, forbidden to the Ego, with its shadows and its light.
There, Beauty will overcome the world’s resistance.
Power will reveal itself without ambiguity.
Truth will be stripped of countless lies, rendered useless.
The supreme Adversary will renounce, abdicate, thus completing its salvific mission.
Christian Couyssat
16:21 (il y a 9 minutes)
À cathy
This phase revealed global upheavals, with accompanying resistance, followed by a new equilibrium leading to undeniable progress.
Underlying this, some of the issues of the second phase to come were visible and tangible for those who were awake, in light of a Consciousness-Force at work (called supramental for convenience) and manifested during this first phase, in a twentieth century where dark forces seemed to invade human consciousness.
In 1956, a Foundation was established; Thus, certain Adversarial Forces were quelled, if not more, so that a supramental Manifestation could broaden and amplify its scope, until its eventual, albeit distant, but assured, arrival: a complete Victory during a third phase!
A second phase, currently underway, is leading us to certain dead ends: climatic (an increasingly pervasive greenhouse effect), political (the ruin of all kinds of “isms,” with the end of lyrical illusions), religious (areas of awareness fueled by excessive violence and mindless fanaticism), utilitarian (unbridled consumption, to the point of self-destruction of certain balances), digital (humanity transformed into machines, subject to grotesque machinations to the point of losing free will), etc., etc. Thus, we are witnessing Chaos on every scale, with the resurgence of predators on the scale of reborn empires.
Here, a Tsar, nostalgic for a past that was nonetheless so painful and full of lies, subjects his nation to a malicious and insidious grip.
A diehard, waging a war confined to a single territory, death and lies sow chaos.
Over there, a cold and calculating Yellow Cat, driven to excess, seeks to expand its reach in order to reclaim its lost Middle Kingdom, following the weakening of its vital and intellectual strength.
Reinvigorated, this region of the world is armed with citizens who obey his every command, equipped with cutting-edge technologies, for a global domination.
On the other side of a supposedly Pacific Ocean, stands a human community that embraced diversity, progress, and a somewhat enlightened individualism in order to liberate humanity from certain constraints. And there it is, saturating our screens, printing countless extravagances every day, an apprentice dictator at work with evangelized crowds, clinging to a desire to whitewash everything.
Lost, almost a vassal of burgeoning empires, an assemblage of nations brought together by a technocracy without upstream or downstream, now here and now, we are witnessing, defenseless, the end of a culture and a way of life.
There they are, consigned to the dustbin of history. There it is, beautiful Europe in peril, humiliated, defeated, soon to be a corpse! It’s hard to write these words, but reason prevails.
Similarly, during this second phase, with the supramental foundation preserved, it is now only a question of an evolutionary push for the purpose of transformation, an ongoing apocalypse in the Greek sense of the term. Thus, all this chaos observed on a national scale, following events leading to ruptures, notorious imbalances, and even resurgences of a catastrophic past from the last century, is now merely froth on the surface of things.
Certainly, this precarious balance is dangerous, deadly, and deceptive, oh so much so, but it is under the sway of this supramental Force-Consciousness, manifested in the past, working stealthily to this day, and more openly in the near future, as and in accordance with the receptivities that will undoubtedly blossom here and there!
At the threshold of individuality, at the very end of certain journeys, initially of groups and entities alike, without necessarily embracing certain nations, since there again everything seems confused…
And yet, one of them is predestined for this type of conversion, this transformation, with the Himalayas as foothills, oceans at its edge, and a past rich in so-called spiritual riches.
There, the Veda was revealed to Rishis, masters of Consciousness-Force, by the Body of the Earth. It was a Golden Age, which has passed away.
Here we are at the end of an Iron Age, with dawns blazing with the Noons of the Future.
A new Golden Age is in sight, whatever the contexts, difficulties faced and overcome during this second phase, which will undoubtedly offer us furrows, paths, and roads.
Then will come the Time of sunlit roads, bathed in the light of a Sun buried in the abyss, hidden from our dark Ignorance, forbidden to the Ego, with its shadows and its light.
There, Beauty will overcome the world’s resistance.
Power will reveal itself without ambiguity.
Truth will be stripped of countless lies, rendered useless.
The supreme Adversary will renounce, abdicate, thus completing its salvific mission.
Companion of our Adventure of Consciousness through the Body of the Earth, Joy, which surfaces and nourishes our diverse and multiple attempts day by day, yet united in This, by the Strength and Love of the Mother of Worlds.
The Mother of Worlds, incarnated during the last century, with a Rishi returned from a buried past, for a glorious Future that will be, since it has been decreed since the dawn of time. A disciple of Sri Aurobindo.
In memory of this wonderful disciple, who came from his village to bow at the feet of Sri Aurobindo, to serve the Mother of Worlds—and what a service!—these words came to me spontaneously. They imposed themselves upon me, and I can only pass them on. Yes, Victory is certain; may we offer ourselves as Champaklal gave himself to the best of his ability.
In 1983 I took pictures of Nolini Kanta Gupta and Champaklal Purani in the private space where they received people. I displayed them at an exhibition in Auroville, and in November were posted in the Overman Foundation site.
Nolini was my inner teacher, through silence. Intimidated by his towering presence, after four pictures I felt unable to continue: who was I? But with Champaklal I had a playful relationship: on his knees sat small Mounnou playing with his beard, this was the image I had of him from the beginning, despite his Michelangelo-like majestic countenance evoking a demi-god. One day I took over thirty pictures of Champaklal showing the lovely being he was, grinning at a Bengali mother, Biba, and her two youngest offspring: the granddaughters of Rishabchand and the sisters of Mounnou, my very first friend at the Ashram. But when I introduced to Champaklalji my two-year-old child, on her birthday, and both went on exchanging a rose, “Love for the Divine”, the moment was too precious to record it on camera. Can the inexpressible be expressed?
Champaklal took a vow of silence he observed until the end of his life but also started traveling, rejoicing people. Once I went to greet him at the railway station; he was leaving for his yearly trip to Amarnath in the Himalayas, and playfully asked me: “Why don’t you join?” Champaklal was both: the Master’s selfless servant at whose feet he slept, and whom parting Sri Aurobindo kissed – and the eternal divine child.
In Auroville very popular, Champaklal worked with other ashramites at the Matrimandir construction, and assisted on a wheelchair at the installation of the Matrimandir’s crystal.
In 1983 I took pictures of Nolini Kanta Gupta and Champaklal Purani in the private space where they received people. I displayed them at an exhibition in Auroville, and in November 2013 were posted in the Overman Foundation site.
Nolini was my inner teacher, through silence. Intimidated by his towering presence, after four pictures I felt unable to continue: who was I? But with Champaklal I had a playful relationship: on his knees sat small Mounnou playing with his beard, this was the image I had of him from the beginning, despite his Michelangelo-like majestic countenance evoking a demi-god. One day I took over thirty pictures of Champaklal showing the lovely being he was, grinning at a Bengali mother, Biba, and her two youngest offspring: the granddaughters of Rishabchand and the sisters of Mounnou, my very first friend at the Ashram. But when I introduced to Champaklalji my two-year-old child, on her birthday, and both went on exchanging a rose, “Love for the Divine”, the moment was too precious to record it on camera. Can the inexpressible be expressed?
Champaklal took a vow of silence he observed until the end of his life but also started traveling, rejoicing people. Once I went to greet him at the railway station; he was leaving for his yearly trip to Amarnath in the Himalayas, and playfully asked me: “Why don’t you join?” Champaklal was both: the Master’s selfless servant at whose feet he slept, and whom parting Sri Aurobindo kissed – and the eternal divine child.
In Auroville very popular, Champaklal worked with other ashramites at the Matrimandir construction, and assisted on a wheelchair at the installation of the Matrimandir’s crystal.
In memory of Champaklal, this disciple who grew up under the tutelage of Mother Sri Aurobindo and who will surely return to complete one cycle before another, where he can serve the essential Cause.
It is more than evident that both a top-level skier descending the slopes with strength and talent, thanks to arduous discipline, and an athlete surpassing certain standards must be recognized and applauded. Let us admire their achievements, which allow for numerous advancements in the physical realm.
Likewise, the pianist, and other instrumentalists, playing with dexterity and soulful passion numerous concertos and other scores, written by composers attuned to and in tune with a beauty emanating through vibrations, ultimately translated into masterful musical notes, all orchestrated by Artists dedicated to their Art, must be recognized for their true worth, without idolizing them or engaging in any other extravagance!
The same applies to the demanding researcher, relying on methods acquired through facts, rigorous and verifiable observations, within a studied but somewhat limited scope, due to the exclusion of numerous domains that construct and influence the various worlds of Life, below, beyond, and down to the very bone! Let us salute them, since they allow for a multitude of possibilities for evolutionary purposes.
All in all, the worker bent over their daily work with courage, tenacity, and selflessness; the heroic soldier, in order to defend Nation and Honor, even accepting death; Women and men, who fight against evil, as they say, with dignity and nobility of spirit, and others again and again, who, confined by a genetic, environmental, and other, adversarial or conciliatory order, fight in order to grow, to evolve, since necessity and chance, it seems, compel them. In the face of a fortunately transient ignorance, at the very end of all sorts of peregrinations, they are terribly human, certainly, but strengthened by willpower, nobility of spirit, and that most unknown aspect of themselves, they are able to overcome so many obstacles. Let us bow before courage and selflessness.
From the humblest and often most unfortunate, those who know how to fold napkins as best they can (among other things) and who seem to be nothing more than pawns moved on the chessboard, unaware of the rules of the game, to those nourished by successes and talents, distributed sparingly or lavishly, according to a genetic order woven in one way or another, the result of learned or haphazard engineering, they all belong to the world and deserve, if not kindness, then at least love. All deserve recognition without hesitation.
Ultimately, at the very end, it is no longer time to judge, to divide and subdivide, to impose this or that standard, to reject with disdain, to value to excess, but rather, to include, to find the alpha and omega of all Life, of all Existence, in order to recover the Unity that finalizes the Adventure of Consciousness through the body of the Earth.
We are stripped bare, orphaned as a result of various extravagances, all in an effort to assert an ego nourished and drawn to the Adversary, who now awaits only its predicted end.
Having found its mission and purpose in the immeasurable, yet equally ordained its ultimate goal in the Divine Order, it has tormented us since the dawn of time, fueling the burning obligation to triumph over countless evils!
Who has allowed perdition and oblivion, if not the initiator of all Life, the supreme orchestrator who has arranged, distributed, multiplied, and super-multiplied himself within himself, by himself, for the Joy of being and the Beauty of the act?
The moment has arrived, following the Earth’s deepest and most damaged state and Humanity’s turmoil. We are at this point in history where our relationship with our origins and destinies must be shaken, overturned, in order to transform this seemingly chaotic appearance into an Order that can only be Divine.
For it can only be so, having exhausted all possibilities for humankind, harnessed to the mind and subjugated to the vital, imprisoned in our own domestic prison!
We are between two Ages, between the waning Twilight and the Dawn ablaze with the Noons of the Future, at the very end of so many peregrinations since Homo sapiens squared, following the disappearance of Neanderthal.
Will we dare to take an evolutionary leap, opening up the field of accessible possibilities, through a sincerity that is worth all the powers in the world and surrender to the wonder of wonders that awaits the sublime offering? A former orphan.
A small addition following my last message.
…and what to do or think about predators who strike wherever they please, liars who dare anything, traffickers of unveiled wonders, smugglers without scruples, and a whole host of other “vicious” and slanderous types—and I will refrain from using certain adjectives to preserve the power of these words—regarding the many evils laid bare, and what a laying bare they are!
Whether they are members of elites, who form alliances to adjust the world and their affairs, whatever their nature, to their clocks that “delay” (though perhaps not entirely) the advent of a future beauty.
Whether they are among those who profit from the leftovers with indifference or short-sighted calculations, somewhat protected or little affected by the upheaval of an old world, for a time that is, moreover, limited.
Whether they are the people or the peoples, who revolt, take offense, and are subject to petty passions, they pave the way for an authoritarianism that will inevitably veer towards all sorts of “fascism,” fueled by low-grade religions, incomprehensible ideologies, or a utilitarianism gone mad—all this nonsense, supposedly sufficient for their comfort…
Well then, let us fight with magnanimity, abandoning the ordinary and rampant hatreds of the distant and recent past, striving to align ourselves with the present, during this so-called chaotic phase.
Equally, let us be able to cease dividing ourselves, thus avoiding giving strength to this cruelty and other vices that are nevertheless openly expressed.
To include, to recover Unity through sheer willpower, without resorting to violence and base, pointless behavior, since it only feeds the world’s stupidity, if not its horrific cruelty.
Let us cultivate this willpower, which will swallow all the misery displayed here and there, and more so there than here, the result of a barbarity cultivated with talent, perverse ingenuity, and without restraint.
Whether the grumpy skeptics or virtuous optimists like it or not, a final Act is expected, for such is the scenario, read through the lens of magnanimity.
Let us be egalitarian and patient, without excessive expectations, except for the Victory of Beauty, Truth, and the Unspeakable to come.
We are at the end of many stories overturned by History.
A thousand, ten thousand, or a million souls, and ever more, as the irradiation already underway progresses; invisible in potential, having returned to their home ports, they will unravel many of the webs woven by the Adversary. The moment of his abdication will come, in this space open to the Force of Spirit, born of the Mother of Worlds, who will synchronize events and formations within the ever more active Wonder of wonders… A final message in a bottle, may it not drift too long, and may what is trying to be written be read between the lines.
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Thanks for presenting of Great History. He was among the 12 persons selected by The Mother to remain present at the special Ceremoney for Handing over the Great Relics of Sri Aurobido to Gobindolal Goswami. By The Mother on the 12th February, 1959 and Champaklal had acted as purahit on the Great Occasion.