A MOTHER’S TALE – I
Till very late in the 1940s, our family was staying in a house situated on the main road, called Big Street, in Tiruvannamalai town. From my childhood, I was very attached to my mother. When all the other members at home went to the ashram to be with Bhagavan, I always preferred to be with my mother with only the two of us at home. During such sessions, I have observed my mother go out of the way and feed with great care, love and attention, a few mad sadhus and beggars who were ignored, insulted and even beaten up by others.
Once I asked her why she was so kind and attentive to such people. Though my mother’s reply initially stunned me, later on it took me to a different dimension of joy and contentment.
“One day, when I was helping the elderly lady-cooks in the ashram kitchen, Bhagavan came there. It was forenoon. He stopped, looked pointedly at me and said, ‘Sages and saints come to Arunachala, putting on various disguises. The mask, with which they often shun public attraction and adoration, is that of a mad person or a beggar. So, whoever comes and knocks at the door should forthwith be attended to and fed well. Such loving care bestowed on them, accrues great spiritual merit, the merit which is attained only after prolonged penance’. I knew on that day that Bhagavan had initiated me into a very special, spiritual ritual!”
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The strange spiritual ritual, as it were, into which my mother was initiated by Bhagavan, had another dimension too. It was not merely the unknown, unrecognized, strange-looking sadhus and beggars who were fed by her. Recognized and reputed renunciates also received alms from her hands. Whether they stood outside the house or were seated inside, she fed them sumptuously with her usual attitude of worshipful reverence.
Yogi Ramsuratkumar, quite often used to tell me, “In those days, when people looked down upon this beggar and drove him out with disdain, your mother would invite me home by sending your sister, the little girl Lakshmi, to fetch me from the Dakshinamurti shrine near the ashram and feed this beggar with great joy and delight!”
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I recollect a significant happening that took place in the 1970s. By then, I had come to the ashram on a permanent basis. In the ashram cow shed, the newborn calves, were all mysteriously dying one after the other. The veterinary doctor was not able to diagnose the malady and prevent this calamity. This pained all of us, especially my mother. One day, this chain of mysterious deaths suddenly stopped. All of us were naturally delighted. But no one, including the veterinarian, could figure out how or why.
Later we came to know. The previous day my mother had given a sadhu alms at our house. This sadhu, before leaving the house, gave my mother a very attractive, medium sized, bronze statue of a cow to keep in the pooja room. Consequently, my mother had started doing pooja to it! Today, the life saving statue is still there.
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