Ajatasatru
– that is what some usually
critic-type friends of mine said of Swami Srikarananda ji – meaning that he was
a person to whom an enemy is yet to be born. These days, when hate and ill-will
is rampant and could hide itself behind the barest fig-leaf of reason and very
often could shamelessly strut about even without it, this indeed is high
praise.
I knew him well, and our familiarity goes back
by almost thirty years. But come to think of it, did I know him that well? I am
not sure if we had talked with each other for more than thirty minutes in all
during these thirty years. I had heard of him through reputation and common
gossip and he being an office-bearer must have heard of me similarly and also
through official gossip. It was a pleasing sight, his sitting in his office oftentimes
with nothing on his table, (I presume, having
promptly dealt with matters that come to him, which he contrived to keep at the
minimum possible), sometimes with some general reading material, chair a bit
sideways facing the entrance to his room, and his face bearing, here we are
coming to the heart of the whole scenario, such a welcome and friendly
expression, that I sometimes felt sort-of guilty for not entering his room oftener for a tete-a-tete.
But enter I dare not always, because
though he patiently heard, oh, in such a friendly way, and talked less, much too
less, when he did talk, it was straight and so right that it did not always
suit my basket-ball player mind, constitutionally always in need of loop-holes.
He used to like my writings and
wanted to see some good books from my pen. My sense of sadness at his not
having seen the Tamil poetry book in the name of yours truly is muted by the gratification
I feel because I was able to speak a few words from Raipur recently over phone
conveying my thanks for his role in the birth of our Narainpur and Raipur
centres. He was happy to hear that the Kerala youths liked Narainpur.
His close companion and he, had gone
to Purulia on duty. He felt a bit uneasy at chest. Due medical attention given,
he felt fine, ate, conversed and slept well. Next dawn he was found seated on
his bed with a pillow-prop and slightly slumped. It was clear he was up and was
in a tete-at-tete with his Ishta, when the later must‘ve said, ‘come, time’s
up, let’s go’.
Once, when, as of my wont, I was advising him
to take due care of his health, he patiently explained, yes, he was doing
whatever needed but what is the point in being so very anxious and trying to
extend his life a few more years, he being, as he put it, not that important
and useful an instrument for the general good. I demurred but he smiled me off.
I can now see who
kept him so content, who put that gentle trace in his un-effusive but no less
sweet, lisping utterances and manner, and who playing in his heart was making
this mother-bird inwardly engaged, imparting a far-away look, and who when
emerging, carried the mother away into the horizon.
Reports of Passing Away :
Hear one of his speeches here :
