namely the coming together of the physical and the spiritual in one energy form.
Hindu philosophy postulates that humans may experience some or all of the four stages (ashrams) in their lives on earth: Brahmacharya, Grihastha, Vanaprastha and Sanyas. The first ashram is about learning, avoiding material wealth and ostentation, building physical and mental discipline to prepare for the second ashram. In Grihastha, you seek the pleasures of life. You become a father or mother and are active in family life. You are an active and giving member of society. In the third stage, you seek detachment from physical possessions and greater bonding with a broader community than your immediate family and friends. You have experienced prosperity and family life, and can rightfully claim material possessions, but you do not seek them. Physical detachment from a social and material life is your objective. This process is long and tortuous, and leads to search and introspection. This road leads you eventually to Sanyas, and in this fourth ashram, you finally give up physical possessions and ordinary life. What remains with you is the search for spiritual unity, namely advaita.
While there is a sequence to these stages, it is recognized that they do not necessarily appear for everyone in this logical sequence. Nor is it expected that everyone will experience all the stages. Ma spent a long time in Grihastha as a result of her pampered childhood and married life. Over the past twenty-five years, she has been in Vanaprastha, and has enjoyed being part of a large global family of friends. Most recently – and perhaps this is the reason for her comment that she has no motivation in life, she has entered the detached phase of Vanaprastha. This is a difficult phase. It requires deep introspection and a conscious separation from possessions and social relationships acquired and nourished in Grihastha and early Vanaprastha. While the path ahead is difficult, Ma’s objective is pure, and there is nothing to be sad about that.
Enjoy the book.
| October 2012 | Vinayak Bhattacharjee |
| London |
My first conscious memory is of what is known as Kingsway Camp in north Delhi. Almost seventy-five years ago, situated at one end of Delhi, in the sprawling village centre was an ashram called Harijan Colony. In that ashram we had a lovely, small house. The first few years of my life are strongly imprinted on my consciousness for their simplicity.
Those were extraordinary days marked by a nation’s fight for independence, and my father had to deal with the challenges that journalism offered in such exciting times. Precisely for that reason we left the ashram at Harijan Colony and shifted to the Hindustan Times Apartments in Connaught Circus. I clearly remember our luggage being packed in our small house. It was probably morning. I can still recall the clean smell of freshly laundered clothes – mine and those of my siblings. Our hearts too were filled with freshness. Outside, the sun shone brightly. In just a while we were to leave for our new home. We children were eager to go to our new home, though there was a certain sadness at leaving the familiar surroundings. Despite the eager anticipation of change, my young heart felt apprehensive about losing the simple life of Harijan Colony. Would my childhood be left behind here forever? These thoughts ran through my mind like wildfire.
My childhood and the village environs were left behind, but my earliest recollections are still about the simple village life we had then.
Though we children were excited about the new beginning in the huge flat in Connaught Place, in some corner of our hearts we yearned for the open skies and earthy smell of Harijan Colony.
I ran into the new flat with my brothers, holding a doll in my arms. ‘Ma, where shall I put my doll to sleep?’ I asked mother.
‘Not here. This is the drawing room.’ Ma explained in Hindi but using the English term ‘drawing room’.
I ran to my brothers and told them, ‘You know, there is a big room for drawing here.’
Mother explained to me that a drawing room was indeed the sitting room.
Connaught Place in those days was very different from the Connaught Place of today. In 1940–41, the clear night sky was filled with shining stars. Standing on the terrace of our Hindustan Times Apartments we brothers and sisters would peer down at the road. Before dusk fell, men would climb up the poles on the roadside and light up the street lamps. The lamps probably ran on gas. Seeing those men climb up and down those poles every evening was a big source of entertainment for us. In the summers, men with huge skin bags would sprinkle water on the road. There were very few people. There was a lot less chaos as well. There were no three-wheelers and very few scooters, if at all. Also, there were few buses on the road. Today’s traffic is beyond the farthest margins of our imagination. Tongas and horse carriages were the general mode of conveyance then. The horse carriage today is a reminder of the hassle-free times of a bygone era.
But my childlike mind was also witness to the cruel reality of this mode of conveyance. The sound of the whip being used on horses tied to the carriages carried over to us on the second floor and would disturb and sadden me greatly. I felt a silent pain surge within me. Man’s cruelty to animal and society’s acceptance of this cruelty was my introduction to the harsh reality of life.
The beauty of truth also strongly influences a child’s consciousness. The smell of wet earth, the sight of those lamps lighting up one by one – even after all these years, these memories are vivid in my mind.
I have an unforgettable incident to narrate from that time. Like all little girls, I was also very fond of dolls. Below our flat were the newspaper office and the press. A carpenter used to work there. Father used to praise the carpenter, Nanhe Mian, a lot. One day I went to him with my doll. I almost ordered, ‘Nanhe Mian, please make a swing for my doll.’
‘Sure. I will.’ Saying this, he collected some pieces of wood, and before you knew it, he had put together a beautiful swing. His sincerity and dedication are forever etched on my mind. Today, I see Nanhe Mian as a sculptor carving a statue. For the wish of a young girl, the sculptor put in all his ability, creativity and dedication. It is also possible that through his art Nanhe Mian also tried to express his gratitude towards my father. Children capture all nuances. In the hammering of those pieces of wood, my little heart could hear the carpenter’s inner thoughts. It was like a dream come true when that little swing was ready and I picked it up with both my hands.
‘You won’t get it today, little girl. I will varnish it and give it to you tomorrow,’ Nanhe Mian said, smiling. In his voice, there was the excitement of seeing to completion a job well done. And in those words of the dedicated craftsman was also an advice to be patient.
My love of dolls outlasted my adolescence and youth, and persists even today in old age. My lifelong association with dolls and its stories always begin with the memory of Nanhe Mian. You may wonder how I remember the incidents of my childhood and youth with such clarity. Even my mother used to be amazed at my memory. But this natural power that I have is not extraordinary. Some people talk of their lives at the age of one and two! Some memories of the long gone past, of people, and the ambience of times gone by are still intact in my memory.
A few decades later, I was invited to a programme to felicitate Shri Viyogi Hari-ji in the ashram at Harijan Colony. I stood in front of our old home. Delhi had changed. Even that extension of Delhi was no longer rural. But that old house was just the same as it had been aeons ago when we had lived there. It was as if I had been transported back in time. I was the protagonist as well as the viewer.
I did not go inside. It was somebody else’s house now. I had no desire to find out how many families had made their home there. Those moments of the past, difficult to describe, frozen in time, are clear as crystal. The rural, pollution-free air of that era, the smells of cows, buffaloes, cow dung, wood stoves and raw earth had me in their spell. Then suddenly I remembered that there used to be a jungle in front of the house. I turned