Jai Radhu!

Radhu looked upto her aunt for everything in her life. She had lost her father while she was in her mother’s womb and lost her mother to insanity soon after birth. As a child she was crying, desperately crawling to catch her mother who was herself mentally a child then and was playing about trailing strings of many colors. Her aunt had rushed to take her up at that moment.

She grew on her aunt’s lap. Her aunt too was suffering from the loss of uncle and Radhu was her god-sent prop. But her aunt was soon becoming god-mother to each and every child and grown-up near and far and was doing a great job counseling many people and guiding the destiny of countless people who came to her.

Radhu surely must have felt jealous of all this. Which child would like a hundred sibling brothers and sisters competing?

She grew up a good girl. Her aunt did whatever she could to make Radhu educated though her other relatives, going with the times, tried to prevent the girl from getting smart.

Her marriage, done with glittering ceremony, was not a great success.

She turned to her aunt again. But she had her greatest shock when her aunt, in her last days, refused her.

Did it hurt her love?

Soon when Radhu’s end came, she bravely preferred to die of tuberculosis in the hut in which she had lived with her aunt, with her sacred memories than in a modern hospital with all facilities, in holy Varanasi.

She and her aunt were both beings of light, each acting according to her script.

Jai Radhu!

Swami Sampurnananda, Genre 273, No. 24.

The Great Rope Trick

He was a Vedantin. He believed he lived mostly in his mind. Body was just an appendage he ignored. He would like to ignore his mind too. But he felt he had not yet reached that stage. He kept to himself most of the time. He didn’t despise the world. But he saw that most of his fellow humans in the world lived in a lower plane of existence. They would have to exhaust their Karma to come up higher. What if some of them wear the robes of a committed Vedantin? Let them be. He would better keep to himself and his thoughts of Vedanta.

That was him at his healthiest best when he went to his neatly made bed (which he made himself) in his spick and span room (which also he maintained).

Morning 6.30 a.m. will see him working at maintaining his considerable muscles. The body was all-in-all then. How enjoyable this working out his body! He pitied those who were still in their bed then. He loved to watch in TV, people working out their body in different games.

Now watch him when he is ill. Normally he did justice to his food. But now he has his own discoveries about which food agrees with him. Damn the dieticians. Their science is so imperfect. They’d have no chance with him.

A man mistook a rope for a snake. When light dawned, he saw the rope. But his reflexes did not yet ebb. He pounded away at the rope with a stick.

Perhaps he is right. Maybe, external action catharsizes and kills the snake relentlessly biting away in the mind.

Swami Sampurnananda, 29 October 2003, Genre 273, No. 20

The Old Beggar Woman

Her old bones lie on bed till sun shines down the entrance of her shanty hut. She lazes as the sun warms her barely covered cold skeleton. As the sun packs punch into his rays, she reluctantly gets up. She has to obey the call of her duty. She has to do her bit to fill up her belly to keep hunger away for as long as possible. She has also to care for another soul. She breastfed him when she had the stuff. Now though her son is forty years old, he is but an infant mentally.

She waited for that opportunist rickshaw-wallah who charged her sixty rupees to take her to her spot and to bring her back at night. She crawls into the rickshaw in the morning and crawls out of it, to sit on her bricks at her fixed spot. She can't stand. She barely moves. She stretches her hands and she can talk. Talk indeed she can! She calls out the passers by in endearing terms. Her large, gluttonous, meat-consuming, circus-animal-handler-cum-rope-walker late husband, used to love her for her talk. Now she employs that charm on the passers by, mostly pilgrims. They give her coins, fruits, chocolates, odds and pieces. She gathers them into the folds of her sari.

On most of the days she shows profits. When dark sets in she leaves for the cold comforts of her home. Her son springs like a child that he is mentally, to clamour for any food she might have brought.

She fights, presses hard to get the last drops from her stony fruit of life.

Swami Sampurnananda, 18 Nov. 2003. Genre 273, No. 26

Robinson Crusoe?

He lives in his own island, but he carried portable bridges to contact whom he wanted. He folded them back with him to reinforce the secludedness of his island.

Earlier he used to protect his aloneness by flight. It was an amusing sight, his bulky mass in a quick run. But now his age has caught up with his body. So he uses the stratagem of fight, or rather, mock-fight. He rattles his iron-tipped sticks at the approach of newcomers or people he wants to keep off from.

They probably won't give him a private room, so, he picked up his own place, a tiny cubicle at the dead-end of a stair-case. That is his primeval cave when the elements trouble him; otherwise, the open terrace of the sky is his roof. His only mortal fear is that people who matter might put him up in a smaller place. So he takes his bridge with him and keeps contact with whom it is necessary. He works for his freedom, both physical and mental, by doing his bit of work every morning and evening at the kitchen store.

Generally he is happy hopping around with his sticks, rattling, singing under the sky, sitting quiet when he feels like it, and talking in short stretches with the select few.

But once wanderlust seized him. He collected holy waters from Ganga from Benares in the north and went in a most circuitous route, to pour it on the head of Rameshwar Shiva in deep south. Then he was quenched and returned to his far pavilion.

The big child is again happy in his vast mother's womb.

Swami Sampurnananda, 19 November 2003, Genre 273, No. 27.

How the cry ‘Jai Radhe’ started in Vrindavan

Govinda and his gang set out on their housebreaking expedition. Govinda was their ideas-man as well as an expert commando. Their daily round of duties began. Safes were duly cracked. I mean, what the house-maidens thought to be safely concealed pots, were soon broken, butter and curd taken, some eaten and some smeared on each others’ faces. Not long after, a motley crowd of milk-maidens was behind the culprits and the laughing boys ran away into the meadow with the calves scampering before them.

Radha had come from Barsana on an errand.

‘This Govinda is the villain. If only somebody could tame him’ a milk-maiden complained to Radha.

‘Why don’t you inform his mother?’ said Radha.

‘That’ll make it worse. Yasoda spoils him. Govinda then wrecks a double vengeance on the informer’ the maiden said.

Radha’s face hardened. She determinedly started to stalk Govinda’s gang.

Let’s play something new today’ a boy said. All looked up at their ideas-man.

‘We’ll play water-ball’ Govinda declared. They started to discuss rules.

‘What if somebody ties the ball to his clothes, swims underwater and goes to the goal’ asked a boy.

‘All right, nobody should wear clothes’.

Soon Radha came upon this brazen lot.

When they tired of the game, the boys were astonished to find their clothes gone.

‘Come in a single file. All your hands up’ commanded Radha’s stern voice.

‘Let’s negotiate’ Govinda pleaded.

They had to unconditionally agree to her terms. The first condition was that they should say ‘Jai Radhe’ 108 times everyday.

That night Govinda stealthily went to the Mother’s temple and offered 108 holy leaves. The leaves said, ‘Radhe Govinda’.

Swami Sampurnananda; Genre 273, No. 39, Lalgarh Kuthia Veranda, morning 22 Jan 2004

In and Out

Let’s call them Deva and Devi.

‘I bet he’ll look out’ Deva said.

‘It’s not he. It’s she. She may look out first but will look in soon’ Devi said.

They had stopped by Earth. Some quirk in the earth caught Devi’s attention, so they had stopped. He then wanted to play a game. He wanted to clone a baby from his earwax. She sportingly joined and added a drop of her blood and the baby, the would-be-human, lay on the earth. Then they programmed into the baby the knowledge they wanted it to have. Devi believed that all power is within and Deva that it’s all without. So they were hedging their bets very much like that baby’s later descendants called mother and father try to predict their would-be-baby’s looks.

‘All right, leave her, we have a long travel ahead’ Deva said.

Devi had a wistful look at her and followed Deva,

As they were traveling she looked back a few times. First time she looked disappointed but later she looked pleased.

Deva asked something to her. She was looking at the earth, so she didn’t reply. Deva caught her at it.

‘So you can’t forget your doll. Girls are always like that’ he said. Then he looked hard at the earth.

‘See, they are looking out. They have sent a vehicle to the next ball. They call it Enterprise. How cute! One day they may find us’ Deva said.

Devi smiled and quietly pointed a finger ahead.

There was a small procession far ahead of Deva and Devi and completely ignoring them.

‘They are our children who looked in’ Devi said.

Swami Sampurnananda, Genre 273, No. 42; 28 Jan 2004 Lalgarh Kuthia No. 1, 8.35 p.m.

Makar Sankranti on the sand dunes of Kasai Ganga

A large number of people of all ages were gathered there on the sprawling sands. All able-bodied men and women were there. There was a medley of music in the air. Processions with women carrying images of Tusu were converging. Many people were making merry in the shallow waters. There was a boy jumping into knee-deep water. There was a girl swimming and bathing in the river without in any way compromising with her modesty. There were some older boys having a swimming race in these shallow waters. At one place, there were two friendly rival groups, singing with reference to Tusu but also contriving to taunt their opponents. There were two boys playing with their dog.

Amidst all these sights and sounds something caught my eyes. There was a light playing about on the surface of the waters. I saw the same light on the faces of the people gathered, including the drunkard who was dancing between the rival groups. Then I caught the source of that light. It was a little girl flitting about amidst all these people with lightning speed. She smiled at me as I caught her eye.

‘I’m Kasai, a daughter of Bharati’ she said.

‘You’re wonderful’ I exclaimed.

‘You’ll see more wonders. You’ll meet my sisters too’ she said.

Soon there were shouts of sisters calling each other’s names. The names Ganga, Kaveri, Bihu, Narmada, etc. could be heard. But I could discern a note of sadness. There was excitement as Bharati appeared, ‘Your children will soon come to senses, those callous money worshipers too. You’ll all be reinvigorated’ she said.

Let’s not pollute our life springs.

Swami Sampurnananda

Genre 273, No. 36, Kuthia veranda, 
15 Jan 2004, 3.47 p.m.

Two Seven Three Not Out - A Tribute to V.V.S. Laxman

One.. two.. three.. the score-board changed steadily. V.V.S. Laxman was batting.

India was one down in the series and the second test was in progress. The mighty Australia had enforced the follow-on. India was again in a bad shape in their second innings when Laxman came in and Dravid joined him.

Apu had had to be carried to the stadium. He knew this will be the last time he will be out of his home. Cricket was his greatest love. He had himself scored 273 not out once and had won an important tournament for his school.

But his world turned topsy-turvy, one, what looked like, a fine morning. It was all a rush of events. Food poisoning – sudden hospitalization – rapid blood transfusion – and an unkind, under the belt strike, - AIDS infected blood. His mind broke down before his body.

His friends, to cheer him up brought him to the Eden Garden. India’s hopeless position convinced him that he will soon yield to the HIV.

But as he looked at Laxman and Dravid something in them perked him up.

Will the impossible happen ? Will India win? If so he will also win. That was sure. His mind said that if Laxman reaches 273 for him, then he also could hope. Hours passed steadily. There was a grim battle in the middle. A parallel battle over HIV in his body. Suddenly Apu jumped into the ground, all his strength regained. Neither Laxman nor the crowd could understand this passionate hug. If there had been a Pope of cricket, Laxman would have qualified to be ‘Blessed’

The giant score-board read, not out 273.

Swami Sampurnananda, 22 October 2003.

Karl Marx’s Ghost

Karl Marx’s ghost wailed at the feet of Kashi Vishwanatha Mahadev,

‘Has the time not yet come to take birth in Kashi and study the Vedas?

I’ve been thirstily wandering for years now’ it pleaded.

Shiva just said, ‘You’ll have to rattle more’.

‘Why take on me alone? You’ve graciously liberated other ghosts’ asked Marx.

‘You are a notorious ghost. There are others of your kind. Do you want names?’ asked Shiva.

‘No, I’ve had enough of my own affairs. See, how hard I rattled as skeletons piled up in Russia. Then Gorbochev woke up and prevented a messy end. He even prepared a comfortable tomb for himself. He was surely wiser than poor Czar.

I tried the same in China. Then Deng came and changed the name of yellow to red and buried red. Cuba doesn’t bother me. Cubans are just humouring their beloved Fidel in his old age. Vietnamese too have their own little Dengs. The Koreans will take care of themselves. But these Bengalees, oh!…. Marx’s ghost paused as it gathered breath for strength, ‘these Bengalis have neither the fierceness of the Russians, all their snapping are at the deliberate red herrings placed in their path by the bloodiest shark into whose mouth they are entering, nor do they have the wisdom of the Chinese, their intellects busy with slicing up the entrails of these mutilated herrings. I’m up against it. Thy limitless grace is my only shelter’ prayed Marx’s ghost.

Shiva of terrible deeds but of deep compassion, just smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, keep rattling’.

He closed his eyes as Marx’s ghost prepared itself for another mighty rattle.

Swami Sampurnananda, Genre 273, No. 45, Lalgarh Kuthia, 21 Feb. 2004, 9. 15 p.m.

The Call of the River

Time Zone One:

He had been told that he had attained all knowledge that day. He saw a thick volume on his father’s table. ‘I can now read like you’ he said to his father and demanded that the book be handed over to him. When he had the book in his hand, he opened a well worn-out page and started to read, ‘Tee O Bee Yee O Arr Enn O Tee Tee O Bee Yee’. His father left him standing on the top of the table reading away at the top of his voice. The kid was pleased as he glowed with omniscience with the Complete Works of William Shakespeare in hand.

Time Zone Two :

The Mission Control was in a state of excitement. All eyes were on the huge television monitor. ‘This one small step is the mightiest leap for the humankind and we’ve done it. We’ve broken the last frontier’ said a woman, as she appeared to be just strolling in casual clothes. She was the first human to reach another galaxy and she was wearing transparent, latest model cosmowear.

Time Zone Three:

They were just eating what it takes, for the body. They took their bath in the river and walked by its banks. They sat long hours closing their eyes. As years went on, their facial creases disappeared. Then their faces began to flower. Soon petals dropped and fruit began to appear. They could just say ‘Ha Ooo Ha’ before the fruits burst and fell into the river.

All times:

The eternal charged river keeps beckoning the bored, tired or soon to be so, scholars and astronauts.

Swami Sampurnananda, Genre 273, No. 44, Lalgarh Kuthia, 21 Feb 2004, 7.16 p.m.

God Makers

Six-year-old Bhagya said pointing to five-year-old Animesh, ‘he can make a clay-god’.

Animesh immediately looked at me, his eyes shining with joyful eagerness, ‘I will make a god’. I was intrigued. I acceded to his request.

He ran to the pond, collected some wet clay and set to work. In about  fifteen minutes, the head of thee god was ready. It had stones set strategically forming eyes, nose and ears. Then he declared, ‘my god is ready’. I asked, ‘where are the neck and the body?’.  ‘My god doesn’t have a neck. She is all head’ he said. I understood that his clay-modeling skill stopped at heads. ‘What will you do with your god?’ I asked. ‘We will worship’ he said. Soon he and a few younger girls were busy collecting flowers. Within a few minutes, the flowers were arranged in a pattern around the god. Then all the kids burst into songs. They knew only a few lines but sang them repeatedly and boisterously. ‘What now?’ I asked. ‘We will immerse the god’ Animesh said. He took the god on his head and the kids followed in a procession. ‘Victory to our mother!’ they shouted, ‘come again next year’, ‘kemon kore? jam jamiye!’, ‘how will you come? With overflowing joy’. The shouts filled the village air. The god was back in the pond. The kids’ faces were all shining. The other kids, who were big bullies and had degenerated into playing with coloured papers, looked scornfully at them. They called their own papers as currencies and the other kids’ currencies as idols. But they wore long faces.

The sun shone down serenely

Swami Sampurnananda
13 Jan 2004; 9.20 p.m.
Ramakrishna Math Swargashrama, Lalgarh
(An Ashrama under Belur Math since 1940s, where many great monks of the Ramakrishna Mission had stayed and served the people in their own humble way)

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Sri Ramakrishna chats

‘Hello Sampurnananda’ the chat box said. The sender’s name read Thakur Ramakrishna Paramahamsa.
‘ASL please’ I typed.
‘What??? Alright, 170 M Ramakrishna Loka’
I sat up with a start.
‘Who are you really, a machine or a joker?’ I asked
‘Hello, look up my name. It is the one courtesy of which you are wearing your unworthy gerua’ the chat box said.
`Do you really like putting your prefix and suffix along with your name?’ I asked.
`Here I am showing up and chatting with you, and you have nothing else to ask?’ Thakur said.
‘I just asked off the cuff. I hope to ask better questions in future’ I typed.
‘You are very tricky. You want me to commit to chatting with you again’ Thakur said.
‘What? Are you cutting away from me after just one chat? I would like to write a lot of 273s out of you.’
‘What???? Here I am in communion with you and all you want is a silly story?’
`I thought this will please you better than asking for a dispensary where doctors gets to meet patients frequently or a hostel or school in Ramakrishna Loka lines instead of your earlier Goloka types’ I typed.
`I am fond of my earlier version. I sometimes miss my Pals. I thought I found one in you’ Thakur typed with a special smiley (expressing complaint) next to the text, which didn’t show up offline.
‘I am indeed your Pal. I do have some type of dung in my head. Is that why you chose to chat with me tonight?’ I queried.
‘Tell you later’ the box flashed and faded.


Swami Sampurnananda
8 April 2006