Saturday, January 28, 2012

Vijali Hamilton tells about her blessed father

http://www.worldwheel.org/2011_-_World_Wheel_Center.html

World Wheel Newsletter 2011

Dear World Family,

I have been urged by dreams and disasters on our beautiful planet to focus my World Wheel work in the United States for a period of time. The States have created such havoc in the lives of people in so many countries and disregarded the health of our planet. I feel the greatest way to help the earth and the cultures of our world family is to increase the work here as the center of the World Wheel.

I now have a place in downtown Santa Fe, New Mexico where I have been taking care of my 99 year old father, and have made a commitment to a local World Wheel Project. There, I hold private classes on painting, sculpture, and meditation with an emphasis on earth wisdom and connection as a global family. Retreats on the land in Utah will continue for the Spring and Fall.

Also, a weekly study group will begin in June on “Vivekananda’s Vedanta for the West." Some of you may know that I was a nun at the Vedanta Society in Southern California for ten years from the age of 14, leaving the convent at the age of 25. My father, known as Swami Amohananda, entered the monastery at the same time and lived there as one of the senior Swamis. He passed away in my care this year on April 3rd - just a month before his 100th birthday.

Although I am not officially connected to the Vedanta order now, I have a strong desire, along with other Vedantins, to find a contemporary and integral voice for this universal tradition that we have been so blessed and privileged to integrate into our own lives. Our classes will explore Vivekananda’s work to share with all who may have a desire to learn about this tradition. Periodically we will have World Wheel events in Santa Fe with guests from the global projects and talks by our local Native Pueblo visionaries.

I am happy that I will be working with Vickie Downey from the Tesuque Pueblo - bordering Santa Fe - on a project of Native Healing inspired by Jake Tekaronianeken Swamp, who passed away last year. He was the respected and honored Mohawk Iroquois leader who planted thousands of trees for peace.

"REKINDLING THE FIRES: Tekaroniaken Jake Swamp passed on to the spirit world on October 2010. He left us behind to fulfill the instructions of our ancestors. In honoring his dream we are planning to gather Indigenous leaders from Abya Yala for the year 2012. This gathering will take place on the banks of the Mississippi River so people can receive condolence, strength, and inner peace, and reaffirm their right to walk the same way as their ancestors once did. We now know that these prayers will bring hope, love, and life back to our communities. We will receive words of consolation and direction so we may once again follow the path of our ancestors."

On May 15th, a Sunday at 4 pm, to honor my father's 100th birthday, the World Wheel will be holding an event to support Jake Swamp's vision. I will have on display and for sale my most recent sculptures and paintings, a group of work called "Sacred Earth". Twenty five percent of the sales will go to the late Jake Swamp’s visionary project named "Rekindling the Fires" and the rest will go toward the global projects of the World Wheel. Vickie Downey, from the Pueblo will speak about the project and I will show my 27 minute film, "The World Wheel Journeys". The address is 428 Camino Alire, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87501, the second house from the corner of Agua Fria and Camino Alire. My new telephone number is 202 492 4899, or you can skype me directly at vijali.

The newsletter about the World Wheel pilgrimage to Australia is being sent out again because my hard-drive crashed and I lost all your responses, which I treasure. We are continuing to take donations to support the Aborigines' struggle to stop the Australian government from making their sacred lands a nuclear waste dump. Thank you!

I encourage you from now to the end of May to buy the artwork, books, CDs, DVDs, and prints online at my website: www.worldwheel.org. During this time twenty five percent will be given to the "Rekindling the Fires" project. Of course at anytime your purchases will help with the continuation of the World Wheel Projects and if you wish to specify which project to contribute to, please do so.

I send heartfelt love to each one of you and blessings for this coming year for all of us to walk in peace and clarity,

In Peace and Love,

Vijali Hamilton

Swami Amohananda passes away while at hundred

http://americanvedantist.org/2011/news-reports/swami-amohananda-passes-away-at-age-99/

In Memoriam

Swami Amohananda (Paul Hamilton, May 12,1911–April 3, 2011) passed away in Santa Fe, New Mexico, at 3:00 AM on April 3, 2011. He would have been 100 on May 12.

Vijali, his daughter, wrote, “I had kept the house open from 1:00 PM to midnight for people to come by and meditate, chant, or be in silence with him. It was truly beautiful and affirming to the peace and presence that arises from years of meditation.”

Amo, as he came to be called, was born and raised in Los Angeles. “I remember an experience that changed my life. One evening when I was about eighteen years old, I was coming home from visiting a friend. I’d been depressed about my home life. I actually hated my father. I was walking absentmindedly, kicking a stone— and all of a sudden, my mood totally changed. I experienced an overwhelming joy, for no reason. Everything became positive—I felt love for everyone and everything.

That feeling lasted for years afterward…Because of that shift I decided to go into the ministry. I went to Texas and entered SMU for theological studies. I became totally disillusioned. I wanted to know what had caused the shift in my viewpoint and they didn’t have the answers.

I looked into other religious groups, but only found the answers when I was introduced to Vedanta. One day I was browsing a bookstore and ran across a book by Gerald Heard. It sparked my interest and I found the address of the Hollywood center and immediately went. There was a lecture going on by Aldous Huxley. Afterwards, I met Swami Prabhavananda and felt that I had met my real teacher. This was in 1947.

In 1948, I brought my parents and my daughter, Vijali, who had been living with them, out to Los Angeles. I immediately took Vijali, who was nine years old then, to the temple to meet Swami P. She started going to Amiya’s Sunday school for children and sometimes we would go to Swami’s room after the lecture.”

“One Christmas I gave Vijali The Eternal Companion, and that changed her life. By the time she was 14 years old, Swami and the nuns in Santa Barbara had agreed that she could enter the convent. That also freed me to enter the monastery in Hollywood at the same time, in 1953.”

Amo spent most of his monastic years in Hollywood where he became a truly valuable member of the community.

Amo spent most of his monastic years in Hollywood where he became a truly valuable member of the community. He had experience running a company that made precision optics, but his talents were many, with a knack for building and maintenance work. Among his many projects were overseeing the construction of the ministers’ quarters at Trabuco Monastery and providing Society oversight of the Hollywood monastery construction.

He could also bring his skills to the office as treasurer and office manager. His energy and health seemed boundless. He moved to Trabuco Monastery in 1984.

After being away from the monastery for some years, Amo returned to stay in the Hollywood Monastery in June of 2009. In January of 2011, he moved to Santa Fe to be with Vijali, who is his only survivor. As she recounts, after reading to Amo from Ramakrishna: The Great Master, his favorite book, “My father’s expression on his face was one I had never seen before. His eyes were fixed on something over my shoulder. A smile came on his lips. It was as if Ramakrishna himself was superimposed. We sat, not exchanging a word; the atmosphere thickened and I felt the presence of Ramakrishna.

“The next morning at the breakfast table he volunteered to speak, something that didn’t happen very often, ‘Yesterday I saw Ramakrishna walking in the garden, then he came inside and told me many things. But now I don’t remember what he said.’ I asked, ‘What did it feel like to see Ramakrishna?’ He answered, ‘It is a feeling that has no words to describe,’ his eyes lit up in animation and his face glowed.

“Sometime later he started to refuse food and drink. One day I saw the same expression on his face as when he saw Ramakrishna. His eyes opened wide staring at something that I could not see; a blissful expression was on his lips. I could almost think his face was Ramakrishna’s. He said, ‘Holy Mother is here.’ I could feel her presence but not see her. This happened another day about a week later: the same expression on his face. He said, ‘It is Holy Mother.’ ”

Amo had many friends who loved and admired him. He will be missed. A memorial was held at the Vedanta Society’s Hollywood Temple on May 7, 2011.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Our own Kunjunny Mash

Swami Sampurnananda said...

We had three Malayalam Literary figures in our Calicut Ramakrishna Mission Ashrama Campus. Kunjunny Mash was the most known of the three (The other two being late Revered Swami Siddhinathananda ji and A.K.M. Irrukkoor (Mohana Chandran, who is still around and going and writing strong).
I was a Brahmachari then, in 1982-85, known as Murali Ettan. I have not still read Kunjunny Master (I cannot read Malayalam yet) but heard him very often and lived, talked and walked with him.
A simple Gandhian figure, short statured, clad in a short mundu which was just a wee bit longer than a towel and a man clean in apearance, dealings as well as obviously in heart and habbits. He was rooted in India’s deep spiritual culture. He would be eagerly ready for the prayers, and after his regular short meditation in the temple, would go to take food, which too was a very simple fare.
One or two of his poems are still in my memory. He would give me some money to buy candies or other gifts, when he saw me giving gifts to children when they came up with any literary effort.
The Swamis of the Ramakrishna Mission, Calicut played a role in shaping him and he gave back to the Ashrama in abundant measures.

He spent a long part of his life and a major part of his productive years in our campus.
He took from the environs of the Ashrama and then contributed multifold by his just being what he was, the dearly and aptly named, simple Kunjunny Mash

I would request his ex-students to write their memories and send to me, we can create a blog for him (sampurnanandaswami@gmail.com)

Swami Sampurnananda (Murali Ettan)

Written within a few days of the passing away of Kunjunny Mash.

http://indulekha.com/magazine/2006/03/tribute-to-kunjunni-maash.html

http://indulekha.com/magazine/2006/03/tribute-to-kunjunni-maash.html#114528669250972126

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kunhunni_Mash

Friday, January 13, 2012

The Little Prince of Serindip - Part 1

THE LITTLE PRINCE OF SERENDIP

Let me tell you

Of the Little Salt Prince

Who went to meet

The Goddess of the Sea

Have you been to sea-shore?

Seen Her flashing pearly white

As She rides the high

Like a thousand queens

On a rocky ramp ?

Have you heard Her joyous laughter,

Her sweet lingering music ?

The rhythm of Her dancing steps

On the sprawling stretch of sands ?

Ever wondered how She got it all ?

I guess 'Twas My Little Prince

Who gave it all to Her.

I'll try to tell you how.

He was my serendipity.

No wonder he was from Serendip, too.

His laughter rings in me.

His beauty shines 'fore me.

His purity, his freshness

Pervades me, fills me now.

Oh, How shall I ever tell you of him ?

Heard the words, God, Atman,

Avatar - Incarnations,

Partial, full, half, quarter,

Bits, pieces and fractions?

He is an incarnation, no less.

But get me right,

He is not one of

The General Theory.

He is a persons friendly type

That comes in Special Theory.

To those who knew him not,

He was one among many dead,

But to the lucky

He is what I said.

He was called Ramakrishna.

Not the Chief, The Old Long Beard,

This one went before it could grow.

But the name-sakes were fast friends.

In truth He was

The boy's fervent first love.

He gave himself with all his,

To Him, his beloved Chief

His arms stretched in front, toes pulled back,

Fullest form ever

That touched the temple floor,

Said it all, as he lay

In purest love and trust

His all at His feet.

He bowed to His demands.

He bent to His wilful ways.

The poor, patient boy prince

Made his dawn to dawn

By His and His gang's

Every word and whisper.

Shame to the Old Beard

Had He not come to the boy

As he clung on to the Waters

Stretching his ends to the utmost

Sure, with His thoughts !

Ah ! What were his thoughts, then ?

A seeker of Beauty he was.

In Sounds, in Motion

In shapes and colours too perhaps,

In Works, in Thoughts, in All.

He was a Prince Charming.

It seems fit that he had

A pretty Persian lass

Swimming in his sight.

With her Malabar man.

A befitting picture, I think

For his swan song.

But he left her to their

Clumsy childish plays

And floated far away.

A noble prince, musing, self-content.

My girl, My sweet Princess,

Did you come for him that day ?

You are a sure stunner,

After you stunned him,

Did you pick him up ?

Or, did he come straight to you,

After that wave

To the ones on this side ?

I know what you did,

You entered his heart, picked his song,

His light and his smile.

And since then have been dancing

In all the World's shores

On stolen silks and golds.

So that was how

My dear folks

The Sea is what She is.

But won't blame you though,

If you believe not my tale.

Ah, you were not the lucky one,

But you may stand by the shores

He must show up some day.

* * * * *

Was it like this too ?

He was all along

A baby of the Blue Sea.

He was called after the Blue One, too.

You can see him at dawn

By the road besides the Blue,

A charming tot, trotting along

The little jolly monk

And gazing in wonder

At the twig in his mouth !

Ah, the way too, bears his name !

Do you hear his sing-song voice

Quivering with a baby pitch ?

He pounces on me

In matey mock fury.

To stop my mimicry.

Oh, What Joy !

We sang, we swam,

We laughed, we teased, we sparred,

We sure had fun, folks !

He was the Son of the Sea.

He was a lad now.

He was all song and dance.

I hear a beauty note, I tell him.

I see a magic movement, I rush to him.

He is the Gypsy Camper

Who vanishes into the Blue

`Fore I could tell him of

The silver screen soap.

The Great Black Mother

Gathered Her child back

Into Her Great Primeval Womb.

Ah, I too am inside Her folds,

The outer ones, though,

So I hear his song,

The living, ~ever, song of

My Sweet Little Salt Prince.

* * * *

~ preferred to eternal, meaning the same.

Forever Friends

Sage Sandipani was the teacher of Sri Krishna. Though Krishna was God Himself born on earth and as God he knew everything, still as Krishna he wanted to go through the motions of attending school, learning from a teacher and so on. In those days education was mostly paid by the taxpayers. But the students had to pay or do something for the teacher at the end without which the knowledge would remain incomplete. Though the teacher was a sage, (he was God’s own teacher, mind you), his wife was not. She was a mother first and spouse of a sage next. Their son had gone missing for some time and she feared for the worst. Krishna then decided to do a thing for this lady, which could then be counted as his payment.

Krishna went about searching for the teacher’s son, whom he finally found under the ocean playing with a beautiful conch shell. Krishna persuaded him to go back to his parents. The boy grew up into an ever cheerful, pleasant lad. He forgot the conch but he could not forget charming Krishna who took the conch from him.

So after a long, long time, when he suddenly saw him with the conch in his mouth rising out of the river, would you be surprised that he dived in to catch him, unthinking of his lack of swimming ability? Well, he is fine and having a whale of a time with his long lost friend, leaving friends on the surface in tears.

Dive deep, O mind, deep in the Ocean of God's Beauty;

There you will find the gem of Love.

Offered on the thirteenth day of the passing away of our own dear brother Br. Pratik, who was the very first fruit of Ramakrishna Mission Centre at Vadodhara ( Baroda ), Gujarat.

Belur Math, 12 January 2012, Youth Day, Vivekananda Birthday.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Altar Flower

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

WAIT A MINUTE: My teacher Sourin Maharaj: A great life that lived and left silently

WAIT A MINUTE: My teacher Sourin Maharaj: A great life that lived and left silently

Swami Samarpanananda writes in his blog linked above

Thursday 5 January 2012

My teacher Sourin Maharaj: A great life that lived and left silently

Srimat Swami Gopeshananda ji Maharj, popularly known as Sourin Maharaj, left for Ramakrishna Loka, the heavenly abode of the devotees of Sri Ramakrishna, on Dec 30, 2011. It was a sad day for me. My long association of forty years with him ended that day.

Not many people know him or have heard of him. Even regular devotees of Belur Math hardly knew him or cared to know him. If he was ever pointed out to be a brother of the Revered President Maharaj, there would invariably be disbelief, for they hardly resembled in matters of dress, habits etc. And yet, there were strong similarities between them. Well... that was Sourin Maharaj... a perfect case study in profundity couched in simplicity.

To give an example, some time ago Rev President Maharaj called him and said with concern, 'Look, it is winter time. If you need warm garments or socks, do ask for it from my attendants. There is no dearth of basic amenities now.' Sourin Maharaj laughed, 'I have enough, and I can even supply to you if you want.' That was indeed funny because Sourin Maharaj was moving about in worn out socks and torn shirt, which was his usual dress --indifferent to what he had put on, or what people thought of him!

Many such hilarious encounters of him floated around, that endeared Sourin Mj to everyone who knew him, including myself.

I first crossed his path in 1972 when I was a student at Ramakrishna Mission Vidyapith (popularly known as Vidyapith), Deoghar (also known as Baidynath Dham), Jharkhand. This higher secondary school, sprawled in more than thirty-five acres of land, happens to be the most famous residential school of Bihar and Jharkhand states taken together. The school was started in 1922 by a devoted group of monks who wanted to convert the grand educational ideals of Swami Vivekananda into practice. Incidentally, Vidyapith is the oldest residential school of the Ramakrishna mission, which shows how difficult it may be even for profound ideas to become practical!

Since its inception, the institution has been shaped by a galaxy of great monks, including Srimat Swami Gambhirananda ji Maharaj. However, the cradle years of seventies, when Sourin Mj went there, were turbulent for Vidyapith. Ripple effects of social indiscipline, Naxal movement and Bangladesh war had bruised it greatly. At times we wondered if Vidyapith too would head the way of general schools.

It was during those choppy days (towards the end of 1971) that Srimat Swami Chandranada ji took over as the head of the institution. To steady it, he brought in a team of great monastic workers, and ultimately succeeded in making Vidyapith what it is today. It was in this scheme of things that Sourin Maharaj was posted at Deoghar. He was still a Brahmachari (novice in white dress) then, but was hand picked to assist the administration in imparting to monkeys "the man making education" of Swami Vivekananda. Those were the early years of reforms, and the students were still kind of monk-baiters!!! Naturally, people laughed at the very preposterousness of the idea of a Brahmachari Maharaj disciplining the leaky ones.

The cat was out of the bag for him soon after he joined. It was his habit to attract a crowd of students around him to chat with them in a friendly manner. During one of those sessions with famed monk-baiters, one senior student (actually he was a very nice person) who had a sing-song voice and an affected style, told him, 'Oh, your name is so long – "Sourindra Maharaj!!" We will rather cut and prune it to "Souri". Ok?'

Pat came the reply from Maharaj in the perfect imitation of that student, 'We also have too many students here, and we will cut and prune it. Ok?' He topped his reply with a mischievous smile.

A wave of shock travelled through the crowd! The boy commented, 'My, my!! He knows how to talk. We better stayed careful.'

Later, students used to say about Maharaj, 'God! He can outtalk anyone!'

It is difficult to say how it happened, but I became an ardent admirer of him soon after I met him. I was in seventh standard, and hardly knew any Bengali. This made my language sound funny to him, who had not yet been exposed to Hindi. Later he used to reminisce how he loved listening to my prattle in Hindised Bengali (or was it Begalised Hindi ?). Quite often he would put posers to me regarding this and that problem of Vidyapith, and I would give him sincere replies, which were in fact outlandish. For example he once asked me why his own dormitory always came last in the Inter dormitory competition. I replied in all innocence (stupidity has been my bane) that one must not expect great things from a mere Brahmachari! He nearly fell down laughing, and never forgot the incident. To be fair with me, my conclusion had seemed logical to me: he ran his dormitory alone, while other dormitories had two wardens, or at least a monk. However, the incident gelled us permanently.

Maharaj never carried any rancour against any student, nor did he ever get angry during arguments with them. His ultimate weapon was laughter. He would laugh and laugh (in a dramatic style) to outshout the crowd that gathered round him for a loquacious exchange. He carried this habit throughout his active life, which annoyed and hurt many egos. But in those days, I used to marvel at his prowess to beat a group single handed.

We heard in those days that he was an electrical engineer by training, had taught at an engineering college, and had successfully handled disciplinary issues in Naxal infested college at Belur. That was awesome for us. Also, that he and four of his brothers and sisters were monks was too awe-inspiring in our young minds. Those of us who were star struck by him, would watch how he walked at a furious pace (he was forty five) in kharam (wooden slippers), worked at every kind of machine, went to sleep after midnight and got up before five, supervised the dormitory of the most mischievous kids, looked after the office correspondence, worked as the chief warden (supervisor of the supervisors), handled discipline in the dining hall (a true place of notoriety), could drive well.. and well.. he had his finger in every broth that cooked at Vidyapith.

In those early days of my acquaintance, I started liking him so much that I tried getting near him whenever possible. This annoyed many, and I was openly taunted as chamacha, and, telbaaj (door mat/toady). Fortunately I never cared. I was then stepping into adolescence, and was at an impressionable age. Everything Maharaj did or said, impressed me beyond measure, and shaped my personality. It was from him that I learnt to have an integrated life in straightforwardness. If today my straight nature is to the point of being haughty or arrogant, it is mostly due to the influence of Sourin Maharaj on me – he walked and talked so straight till his last.

It was due to this straight nature of his that he was hopelessly misunderstood by nearly everyone with whom he interacted, for, he was invariably taken for an insensitive person. But no, he was not at all insensitive. Once a classmate of mine had mistakenly inhaled a little of Chlorine gas during laboratory work. Fortunately, medical assistance was at hand and nothing serious happened. Sourin Mj was our warden and also the chief warden. He did not express his joy that the crisis was over, but purchased a big packet of toffee and distributed it among the students. Similarly, once a boy broke his head during games. Sourin Mj rushed to the in-house hospital and stood by the side of the boy till the doctor arrived. Finally when the stitching began, Maharaj fainted. Later we came to know that he could not bear the sight of blood.

The fact is that Maharaj was like a railway train that can run only on fixed tracks, and can crush anyone that crosses its path when it is in motion. If Maharaj had to do something, he never budged from the original plan even a bit. But, that is not how we people are made. We expect flexibility from others, which he lacked. So, even those who loved him were wary of crossing his path when he was in action.

It did not help the matters with him that he was non expressive of his loving nature. To give an example: When I was asked to deliver talk at Belur Math in 2009, he came to listen to it. After the talk nearly everyone at Math congratulated me, excepting Maharaj. The next day when we met in the dining hall, he began with a twinkle in his eyes, 'You had rehearsed perfectly well how you would smile, adjust the microphone, and would look around!' Everyone in the dining hall laughed uproariously at his comment. They knew that that was his way of telling that everything in my talk was perfect.

In Vidyapith we were mesmerised by his phenomenal intelligence. Just one look was enough for him to know what was happening where in that huge campus. One day he went to supervise the dining hall where he instantly noted the absence of a particular senior student. Without telling anyone anything, he came out, took the jeep, went to a cinema hall (Deoghar town had two halls in those days), talked to the Manager in his Bengalised Hindi, went inside, collared the errant kid, brought him back and sent him home to Kolkata with an escort! The entire episode took less than an hour. Gosh! What a sensation it was for us in those days. Like the Superman, he seemed to be present everywhere in the campus at the same time, keeping an eye on everyone and sorting out all kinds of issues in a whiff.

Vidyapith has a magnificent temple with a grand frontage, unparalleled in the Ramakrishna Mission. Interestingly when the temple was constructed, it had no front staircase, which goes on to show that architects too have sense of humour! Visitors could never make out how to enter the temple. Sourin Maharaj literally forced Rev Chandranandaji to construct the staircase in the front. He himself designed the whole thing with the help of a guardian who was an engineer. Later, he got the temple and all the buildings of the campus painted white. That gave a unique glow to Vidyapith. He was also instrumental in many other small but highly important constructions which made us feel that he was sincerely and truly committed to the welfare of the students.

It was during those days with him that I told myself, 'Man, if you have to become someone, be like him.' I had hardly entered teenage then but the first stirrings to be a monk began in my mind not because of any idealism, but only because of aping a great person. In recent times when I was posted at our University, I continued staying at the main Belur Math campus. It was thus that I got to sit by the side of Maharaj in the dining hall for years together. Reliving my old days at Vidyapith, I used to poke fun at him, 'Maharaj, I had to forgo all the fun and merriment of the world only because of you. And see what I have to undergo now!' He would nod his head with a meaningful smile.

While at Deoghar, we never saw him lock his door -- probably because he had nothing to hide, or had nothing that we could loot or destroy. This habit of his impressed me so much that excepting on rare occasions, I have never used lock in my life, not even when I was in college residence, nor while travelling by trains. My brother monks have scolded me many times for this, but it has become a permanent habit with me. Interestingly, I have never lost a thing from my room or from the train.

In 1977, Maharaj became the Principal of Vidyapith, and in that capacity he was appointed a member of some committee of the prestigious Central Board of Secondary Education, New Delhi. In those days Delhi was considered to be as far off as the moon, and travelling by Rajdhani or Deluxe Express (now Poorva) was like travelling executive class by an expensive air carrier today. Maharaj came for the meeting to Delhi by Deluxe Express (ticket was paid by the Board). In those days I was in college, and so came to the station to receive him. Well, there he was! In ordinary hawai slippers with a khaki bag slung over his shoulder. I laughed, and asked, 'Didn't you feel embarrassed travelling like this by such a prestigious train?' He was surprised, 'Why? What is wrong with me?'

That was an expression that I would here any number of times from him in later days, 'Why? What is wrong with me?' Even when he was literally forced into an ambulance in his last days to be taken to the hospital for severe breathing problems, he kept repeating, 'Why? What is wrong with me?'

Maharaj left Deoghar in 1979 after giving his best for nearly seven years. Once he left, he never went there. Not even when I became the Principal there and fervently requested him to visit Vidyapith once. He would only laugh at my pleadings. Not only Deoghar, he never visited any of the centres after he left them.

I joined the Ramakrishna Sangha in 1980, without the faintest idea of what it meant to be a monk. I only knew that I was a thorough misfit in the world (my only quality), and felt that Sourin Mj was the person for me to be with. I ran away from home (a long and different story altogether), and went again to Deoghar to find out where Sourin Mj was. Seeing my wretched plight, the senior monks there persuaded me to stay at Deoghar and wait. Well, what a wait it was! I could meet Maharaj in 1983 only, when I had well settled in the groove of Vidyapith life.

After that, of course, we kept meeting off and on. As the luck would have it, both of us were in centres of Kolkata for a long time. That is when I could see the monk side of his personality more closely. And, what a monk with imitable traits he was -- adorable in his simplicity, admirable in renunciation, commendable in monastic values, and exemplary in God consciousness. He had all the qualities that any monk would wish for himself.

When I was initiated formally as a Brahmachari in 1987, I wrote to him to gift me something memorable. When he came next to Math, he handed over a packet to me with the words, 'Ramakrishna for Ramakrishna (my pre-monastic name).' Inside it there was a most uncommon photograph of Sri Ramakrishna's statue at Belur Math. It is so beautiful that many brother monks have pleaded unsuccessfully with me to gift it to them. However, it is still on my table and continues to inspire me and lead me through my high and low.

My interactions with Maharaj grew 1985 onwards, when I came to Belur Math and was later posted to Advaita Ashrama, Kolkata. During one of those meetings I overheard him say laughingly to a monk-friend of his, 'Look, I have no sadhana in me, but I have followed the two instructions of Thakur rigorously and have stayed away from kamini (lust) and kanchan (lusting) throughout my life.'

I wondered what was so big about the statement. Wasn't that something obvious for monks? It would be years before I realised that it was not so obvious, after all. Indeed, it is rare for monks to say boldly that they have never felt the charm of maya. Even those who say so, say this very humbly, knowing very well that the unfathomable web of maya can net them any minute.

He never liked monks hobnobbing with devotees, and was scathing in his comments on such issues. And yet when someone had landed in this kind of trouble, he commented sternly, 'Others had these issues in the previous births and you had it in the present one. So what are you cribbing at? Get out of the ghetto mentality and move ahead.' To be sure, his words had authority.

He never kept money with him, and for the last six years he asked me to get whatever he needed. Once he asked me for a dignified amount, which I managed to get and give him. After a few days he asked for a bigger amount, I again managed to raise it, and wondered what he was doing with it. I made enquiries and found that he had wrongly concluded that I had good amount of money with me, so he had decided to gift five hundred rupees everyday to a particular centre, which he had wrongly concluded to be in need of money! I needed all my persuasive skills to desist him from such a grandiose idea.

No one ever saw him pontificate, nor did we ever see him indulge in any kind of worldly talk. Tulasidasa says 'kou nrip hohin, hamen ka haani,' -- 'how does it matter with me whoever becomes the king?' We literally saw Sourin Mj practice this. He would never talk about anything which did not concern him directly. There was a time when he used to come religiously for coffee in the morning at a particular place. Many of us would join him. Once there, he would ask us for clarifications on some scriptural statement that he might have come across. We, however, had juicy things to discuss. So we would say, 'Maharaj, is it tea table, or the parliament of religions?' But he always parried our comments and continued with his discussions. It was thus that the conversation there was never allowed to drift to mundane level.

During those talks if we answered something, quoting great philosophers, he would listen to us with childlike wonder and say, 'When did you people read all that? You are still so young.'

Once he said, 'We become monks at a tender age, without knowing what it really means to be spiritual. But once you reach forty, you must make a conscious choice of leading a rigorous spiritual life.' Probably due to this reason he did not miss the Mangal Arati even for a day. Not only that, if he noted the absence of someone at that time, he would ask me if that monk had gone out somewhere.

It was during light hearted gatherings at the tea table that we saw more of his inner personality. He had a complete disdain for any kind of hypocrisy or duplicity, and would ridicule such persons in his own inimitable style. He would never name anyone, but we knew at whom the jibe was directed. About a monk who made his audience shed tears during his talks through his own tears, he would say, 'Great orators make others cry, while greater orators cry themselves!' We would laugh, knowing very well that he was kind of cautioning us from playing to the gallery. There were other orators who talked about application of Vedanta in management, science and other such areas. About them he would say, 'Ordinary orators convince others, while great orators convince themselves.' Needless to say, many monks preferred staying away from him.

For whatever reason, he had a strong dislike for English. This gave rise to many humorous situations. Once he was in a conference in which speeches were to be made in English, although most listeners understood only Bengali. When he got up to speak, the chairperson reminded him not to speak in Bengali. He agreed and began, 'Brothers, a few days ago one gentleman came to me and had a talk on the issue. I quote him....' And then onwards Maharaj went on quoting the gentleman and his own replies in original Bengali which took more than his stipulated hour of speech. The participants laughed and laughed. When the chairperson tried to intervene once, Maharaj politely reminded him that the quotations must be in the original!

It is my firm conviction that every spiritual person has to be intelligent, and hence has to have a phenomenal sense of humour. There simply can be no exception to this rule. Sourin Maharaj's humour was directly mostly towards himself, and at times towards others. His humour finally found perfect expression in his articles which were collected and published as the book named Baithaki Vedanta. The authorities, however, did not find it funny that he was publishing books without permission, so he was asked to stop doing that. Thus ended a budding literary talent, who was then sixty.

He had worked extensively on the various projects of the organisation till he was around seventy. When he requested to be released from active work, he was allowed to do so. He now made Belur Math his permanent residence, from where he rarely stirred out. For us, that seemed quite unusual. Most monks thought of him as a workaholic, and wondered how he would live without any engagement. But there he was – engaged with Thakur the whole day. Reading, thinking, visiting temples, talking to monks....

His life continued like this till one day he felt that he should not be taking the Lord's prasad without doing any service to Him. From that day onwards he started plucking flowers and offering them at the various temples at Math. Soon it turned into frenzy. He would get up before three in the morning and go out to pluck flowers from every garden, indifferent to weather conditions. Soon monks responsible for different gardens started complaining to me about his behavior, with a request that I stop him from doing so. But like a running train that he was, no amount of persuasion would stop him. We worried for him, but he was too focused to pay attention to our words of caution regarding weather, snakes, insects or anything else.

Soon he made it a habit of offering incense sticks along with the flowers at the temples. He would now be found the whole day and most part of nights either plucking flowers, or busy offering them! It was a sight watching him totter around in torn slippers and a hopeless dress, with a polythene bag full of flowers and his pockets bulging with incense sticks!

He continued doing this till his last moment of stay at Belur Math when he was picked up from the Holy Mother's temple by concerned monks. He had been gasping for some days, but that day his his breath sounded like a fog horn. When he was being forced into the ambulance, he kept gasping, 'Why? What is wrong with me? I am fit and fine.' Unfortunately, everything was wrong.

During the phase of his flower offering, a monk of international fame asked me about his condition. I narrated to him humorously all that he had been doing. The monk became grave and said, 'What a great life it would be for me if I can pluck flowers and offer them whole day to Thakur in my old age!' I agreed.

As his last days approached, he became completely withdrawn from everything around him. A year ago he had given away his phone to me with the words, 'If anyone calls, tell him to write to me on a reply-paid postcard.' And if someone chanced to come to Math to meet him, it would be impossible to meet him: he would be busy plucking flowers, or offering them at the temples.

The last day that he came to the dining hall, he was gasping badly. I asked him jokingly what the matter was with him, knowing very well that he would not accept any medical help. He replied with a laugh, 'It is all over. You make sure to give a good bhandara (funeral feast given to monks).' We all laughed, because no one suspected that that was his last meal.

When his body was brought for cremation, I lit his pyre and looked around to see if any devotee had come to pay his last respects. After all, he had been connected with thousands of students, guardians and devotees at Deoghar, Barisha, Baranagore and Malda. No, there was no one. Not a single devotee was present. Only monks and monks were there. He had lived silently, and had now left silently.

I gave a satisfied smile and told myself, 'That is how a monk should be cremated. Make sure to have that kind of passing away.'

That was his last lesson to me.

***

Author : Swami Samarpanananda (From his blog linked above)

Lives Well Lived

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Swami Ajaratmananda

Swami Satprabhananda (Krishnamurthy Maharaj)