CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER IV.
The next day is a holiday and M. calls again at about three in the afternoon.
The Master is seated in his chamber. The mat is spread on the floor. Narendra, Bhavanath and one or two other disciples are seated before him, all young men nineteen or twenty years old. Smiles as before play about his lips. He sits on the lounge and laughing and talking converses with the boys.
M. enters. Looking at him the Master laughs and laughs. He cries out, Why look! there he is again!
The boys all join in the merriment.
M. falls at his feet. On previous occasions he had saluted the Master with folded hands,—after the manner of those persons who had received an English education. But to-day he has learnt how to fall down at his feet. He takes his seat and the Master tells Narendra and the other disciples what has made him laugh. He says—
'Once upon a time a small quantity of opium was given to a certain peacock at four o'clock in the afternoon. Well, punctually at four the next afternoon, who should come in but the self-same peacock longing for a repetition of the favour—another dose of the opium! (laughter.)'
'Yes,' thinks M. to himself. 'He has indeed said well. I go back home, but I leave my heart behind me with this God-Man, the like of whom I have never seen before. Night and day one thought presses me,—when shall I see him again? It seems as if a hand draws me to this place. It is impossible for me to go anywhere else or give up the idea of coming here.'
Thinking this M. sat watching the Master as he amused himself with the boys. He kept up a running fire of chaff, and it seemed as if these boys were of his own age and he was playing with them. Peals of laughter and brilliant flashes of humour follow one upon another, calling to mind the image of a fair where the Joy of the Lord is to be had for sale.
M. marvels at the sight of a personality so unique. He thinks to himself, 'Is this the man who was in a state of samadhi yesterday and who gave us an example of Divine Love never seen before? Is this the man who took me to task the first time I saw him because I had entered into the married state? It was he again who rebuked me, saying 'Do you indeed look upon yourself as one who has attained Knowledge?' Was it he who declared that God is with form and that likewise God is without form? Was it he again who declared that God is the one Reality, all else is unreal, transitory,—now is, and the next moment has vanished out of our sight? Was it indeed he who taught the other day, saying, 'Do your work in this world unattached—with your mind turned always to your Home—the Abode of the Everlasting, the Abode of our Divine Mother; even as the maid servant does her work—with her mind dwelling always in her country home, where her own people, her dear ones, reside?
In the midst of his merriment the Master from time to time looks on M.—who is seated speechless, motionless, gazing up into his sweet face!
He says to Ram Lall, 'This young man here (M.) is a little older than these boys; that is why he is a little grave. He holds his peace, as you see while they laugh and make merry.' M. is about twenty-seven years old at the time.
Renunciation.
The Master talks of Hanuman, one of the devout characters of the Ramayana. How ready is Hanuman, says he, to give up everything for the sake of the Lord—money, honors, pleasures of the body and the rest!
The Master sings—
What need have I of sweet fruits? I have the Fruit that makes Life fruitful—the fruit of Liberation borne by the Divine Tree1 which is planted in my heart!
I sit down at the foot of this Celestial Tree called the Lord2 of the Universe—whatever fruits I gather I get from that Tree.
Talking of fruits let me assure thee once for all, I am not one to accept fruits that the world can give!
Thus he is singing of Hanuman's renunciation of the world and its pleasures, and as he sings he loses sense-consciousness.
He is now in a state of Samadhi—the superconscious or God-conscious state. The body is again motionless! The eyes are again fixed! He is seated just as we see him in the photograph.
1 Kalpa.
2 Râma.
The boys only a moment ago were laughing and making merry! Now they all look grave. Their eyes are steadfastly fixed on the Master's face. They marvel at the wonderful change that has come over him. M. sees the Master in Samadhi for the second time.
It takes him long to come back to the sense world. His limbs now begin to lose their stiffness. His face beams with smiles, the organs of sense begin to come back each to its own work. Tears of joy stand at the corners of his eyes. He chants the sacred name of Rama (God-Incarnate). M. thinks to himself, 'Was it the self-same God-man who was only a few moments back sporting with the boys like a five-year-old child'?
He has returned to his former state and says to M. and to Narendra, 'I should like to hear you both talk in English and question and reason between yourselves. At these words, both Narendra and M. laugh. They talk, however, but not in English. For M. to take part in any discussion in the presence of the Master is now quite out of the question; the chamber of his mind which formerly furnished materials for such things has been closed now, so to speak, once for all. The Master presses them once more but the talk in English does not come about.
'With some of his members nearest to his heart.'
It is five in the afternoon. The disciples must go back to their homes and all leave the Temple except Narendra and M. Narendra is going to spend the night with the Master.
He will wash his face, hands and feet; he takes his brass pitcher and goes towards the jhau trees and the Goose-tank,—in the northern part of the Temple garden. M. paces up and down the garden path thinking of the extraordinary Man whom it has been his good fortune to meet. Walking round the Kuthi and coming up to the Goose-tank, he is surprised to find Sri Râmakrishna talking with Narendra, alone, by the tank-side. They stand at the head of the steps leading to the water. Narendra has washed and stands talking, pitcher in hand.
You see, says the Master smiling, you are a new comer; let not your visits be few and far between. During the first love the meetings between lovers come oftener than other times. Is that not so? (Narendra and M. both laugh).
The Master smiles and goes on, Well then, you should come here oftener. What do you say?
Narendra smiles and says, Yes Sir, I shall try to come.
The Master turns back and goes in a southern direction towards his chamber.
Narendra and M. walk with him on either side. Coming near the Kuthi he says to M., Do you know how peasants buy their bullocks for the plough? O they are very expert in these matters and know very well how to choose good bullocks from bad. They know quite well whether the beasts have mettle or not. They touch the tail, and the effect is miraculous. Those that have no spirit, will offer no resistance, but lie down on the ground, as if they were perfectly satisfied. Those that have mettle, on the other hand, will jump about as if to protest against the liberty taken with them. The peasant will choose these. Now Narendra is a bullock of this latter class; he has true mettle within.
The Master smiles and goes on saying, But there are many who have no grit at all in them—who are like popped rice put in milk; soft and loose! no strength within! no capacity for sustained effort! no power of will!
It is evening. The Master is meditating on God, in his own chamber.
Looking up he says to M., Will you go and find Narendra who is walking about in the Temple garden, and have a talk with him? You shall tell me what sort of boy he is.
It is evening and the temple priests are worshipping, waving lights and flowers and other sacred offerings before the Holy Images. M. meets Narendra once more on the river-ghat west of the Chandni. They were, as they both said, very glad to meet each other. Narendra said, 'I belong to the Sadharan Brahmo Samaj; I am a college student; and so on.
'What do you think of me'?
It is getting late and M. has to take his leave. Something, however, seems to hold him back. Leaving Narendra he looks about for Sri Râmakrishna. The charm of his songs has gone to his heart and he is longing to hear more from his lips. Not finding him in his chamber he directs his steps towards the choir1 in front of the Sanctuary of the Divine Mother.
The Master is pacing up and down the hall alone, in the dim light. Within the Temple stands the Image of the Mother of the Universe with a brilliant light burning on either side. But the dim light burning in the choir gives just that soft blending of light and darkness which is so very good for religious contemplation.
M. was beside himself with joy when he heard Sri Râmakrishna chanting the name of the Divine Mother. He was spell-bound!—like one helpless under the spell of the exorcist!
He draws near the Master and says with great diffidence and humility. Are any more hymns going to be sung to-night Sir?
The Master thinks for a moment and then says, No, there will be no more songs to-night. But look, I am coming to Balaram's house in Calcutta one of these days. Come there and you shall hear me sing.
M. As the Master pleases.
Master: Don't you know the house? Do you know Balaram Bose?
M.: No, Sir; I do not.
Master: Balaram Bose! At Bosepara?
M.: Very well, Sir; I shall make enquiries.
Sri Râmakrishna walks up and down the choir with M.
1 Nâta-Mandir, the music hall or choir placed in Hindu Temples in front of the sanctuary.
Master: Well now, let me ask you a question. What do you think of me?
M. holds his peace;—deep in thought!
Master: What do you think of me? I mean, how much, how many annas, of True Knowledge have I got?
M.: The meaning of annas of Knowledge is not clear to me. All I can say is, Never till now has it been given to me to see such marvellous Wisdom, and Love of the Lord, and Faith, and Renunciation, and Communion with God, and Catholicity all in one and the same person. Never—and nowhere else!
The Master laughs.
M. takes his leave and bows down before the Master bending his head and falling at his feet. He comes as far as the northern gate, but turns back as if put in mind of something.
He comes back to the Master, who is still pacing the hall alone.
Yes; walking up and down the hall in that dim light, half-light, half-darkness. Alone. By himself. Companionless! So walks alone in the depths of the forest the King of animals—the Lion—with his Self, the only Companion of his Solitude. And rejoices in that Companionship1! So does the King of Men rejoice to go about companionless in the wilderness of the world!
Awe-struck, speechless, does M. look on the Master! He thinks to himself, 'Here is Man's Ideal realised indeed! Man scorning the ground and communing with the Infinite!'
1 Âtmârama.
Master (to M.): Oh! Why have you come back?
M.: Sir, I am afraid it is some rich man's house to which you ask me to go. There may be porters and other people standing in the way. I think I had better not go. It is here that I should always like to meet with you.
Master: Why, my dear Sir, you have only to mention my name! Say that you desire to see me; and do not doubt but someone will lead you to me.
M.: As the Master pleases.
Saying this, M. bows down and departs.