Not too many days back, there lived a little boy. He was a shabby little boy. I did not really notice his shabbiness much, but yes, when I come to think of it, it did seem that he indeed was a bit of an untidy little boy. Well, the boy was in his Secondary school. He was as good a boy as you could get, competent in his studies, more than sufficient in out door duties and got along not too badly with the other children. He was made a monitor for some time. They say he did it well, but then he seems to have got bored. Soon he picked up an injury in the play-field and had to spend some time in the convalescence ward.
I had seen a bit of him earlier but had only a nodding acquaintance. It was in this ward when I stayed opposite his room for about a month, that this nodding association developed into greeting familiarity. I found him a carefree, happy boy, puffing on his sly cigarette and blowing out blunt homilies to confused friends over his second-hand phone.
After some years, when I saw him again, I saw neither the phone nor the puff. It had become all about flowers. The Little boy seems to have wanted to go back to his Mamma. He went about pleasing her and all her friends. He knew she liked flowers. No flower could escape his eyes. I think they were rather happy, especially the wilted ones, to get into his hands, because, the possibility of their reaching their destination, was perhaps more if offered to Mother through his hands rather than through the hands many other dandies abounding in the neighborhoods.
I am happy that when I had the opportunity I let him freely go about his way, because I thought maybe, some good word about me too will reach Mamma along with those flowers.
On the occasion of the Abhaya Kalpataru Day, on January 1, 2012, his flowers were not there on the altar because the little boy, had himself become the flower delivered to the Abode of the Divine, two days in eager advance.
This in my offering in memory of Swami Gopeshananda ji on the 13th day after his passing away
