Total Pageviews

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Lord Ramakrishna Talks on Sadhana

Lord Ramakrishna Talks on Sadhana

Lord Ramakrishna Talks on Sadhana


(excerpt from Ramakrishna Kothamrito)



Thakur addresses the devotees of Shivapur

Sri Ramakrishna (to the devotees): “You cannot achieve union

with God when the mind dwells on ‘lust and greed.’ The mind of

an ordinary person remains in the centres of awareness located

at the genital, anal, and naval regions.

It takes a lot of effort

in spiritual discipline for the kundalini to awaken. There are

three nerves – ida, pingala, and sushumna. And in the

sushumna are six lotuses, the lowest being the muladhara.

Then there are svadhisthana, manipura, anahata, vishuddha,

and ajna. These are the six spiritual centres.

“When the kundalini awakens, after it has crossed the lotuses of

muladhara, svadhisthana, and manipura, it reaches the

anahata lotus located at the heart. It stays there. The mind is

then withdrawn from the three lower centres of anus, sex organ,

and navel; it attains a spiritual consciousness and sees a light.

The aspirant is speechless with wonder and exclaims, ‘What is

this! What is this!’

“Having pierced six centres, the kundalini reaches the lotus of

sahasrara and unites with it. When the kundalini reaches

there, the aspirant passes into samadhi.

“According to the Vedas, these centres are called bhumis or

planes. There are seven planes. The heart is the fourth, and the

lotus at anahata is twelve-petalled.

“The vishuddha centre is the fifth plane. When the mind

reaches there, the heart yearns only to talk of God and to hear

about Him. This centre is located in the throat. It has a sixteenpetalled

lotus. The person whose mind has reached this centre

feels great pain to hear any worldly talk, such as talk of ‘lust

and greed.’ When he hears such talk, he gets up and leaves the

place.

“After this comes the sixth plane, the ajna centre of two petals.

When the kundalini reaches there, one has the vision of God’s

form. But there is still a thin screen of separation. Like a

lantern, the light can’t be touched because of a glass barrier.

“Then one reaches the seventh plane, the thousand-petalled

lotus. When the kundalini reaches there, samadhi comes about.

The Existence-Knowledge-Bliss Absolute Shiva resides at the

sahasrara. Here He unites with Shakti – it is the union of Shiva

and Shakti.

“When the mind reaches the sahasrara, one becomes absorbed

in samadhi. In this state all awareness of the external

disappears, and the person cannot preserve his body. If milk is

poured into his mouth, it runs out. If one remains in this state,

one dies in twenty-one days. A ship cannot return after it has

entered the ‘black waters.’

“But ishvarakotis,

such as incarnations of God, can come

down from this state of samadhi. Since they like to live with

devotees and enjoy love for God, they can descend from this

state. God keeps the ‘I of knowledge,’ the ‘I of devotion’ in them

to teach mankind. Their state of mind is like the swift

movement of a boat, racing up and down between the sixth and

the seventh planes.

“Some people, of their own will, retain the ‘I of knowledge’ after

attaining samadhi. But this ego is a mere appearance. It is just

like a line drawn on the surface of water.

“Hanuman, having realized God both with form and without,

retained the ‘I of a servant.’ Narada and others – Sanaka,

Sanandana, Sanatana, Sanatkumara – also retained the ‘I of a

servant’ or the ‘I of a devotee’ after attaining the knowledge of

Brahman. They are like big steamships which not only cross the

ocean but also carry others to the opposite shore.”

Is Thakur thus describing his own state?

A paramahamsa – believers in the formless God and God with form –

Thakur’s love for God after attaining knowledge of Brahman – union

of the Absolute and the phenomenal

He says:

“A paramahamsa may believe either in God with form or the

formless God. Trailanga Swami is an example of one who

believed in the formless God. They care for their own good

alone; they’re satisfied with their own realization.

“Those who believe in God with form, even after attaining the

knowledge of Brahman, live with love for God in order to teach

mankind. It is like pouring water from a full pitcher into others.

“All the spiritual practices they have performed to realize God,

they tell others about to help them. People dig wells for water

with great effort, using spades and baskets. Some of them throw

the spades and other tools into the well itself after it is dug,

thinking, What use are they now? But some put the tools on the

edge of the well so they may be of benefit to others.

“There are some who eat mangoes and then secretly wipe their

mouths. There are others who eat and also share the mangoes

with others. They work for the benefit of mankind and to enjoy

the bliss of God. ‘I want to eat sugar.’

“The gopis attained the knowledge of Brahman, but they didn’t

want the knowledge. They preferred to enjoy themselves with

God – as mother and child,

as His beloved,

or as a

handmaid of God.”

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Ocean in a Tea-cup - Biography of Shri Shri Thakur


Ocean in aTeacup is an authentic biography of Shri Shri Thakur Anukulchandra authored by Ray A Houserman.   Ray came in contact with Thakur in 1946 and stayed with him in Satsang till mahaprayan of Thakur. He gave his reminiscence as a disciple in this lucidly written book. The third edition of the book came in 1999. The book is available from Sri Apurba Das  ph 09874676225  Price Rs 150/-

You can also download the book from the link below
Download unzip and read both the pdf  files

Watch this video and see Ray Houserman


Dowload link for this video
http://www.divshare.com/download/16371498-e24  


Saturday, December 10, 2011

Ocean in a Teacup ch 4 pp 411-416

Ocean in a Teacup --- Ray Houserman
Chapter 44 pp 411-416

Inevitably each returnee from Satsang, Deoghar to Satsang, New york had a new story of Bapun. The ambivalent feeling toward him were apparent from the comments; … he’s beautiful and intelligent, but when he’s quarrelling with his sister it’s hard to imagine him being Thakur….” Or “…. I was feeling very lonely and depressed one day and stopped in Rangan Villa. Bapun ran over and grabs my hand as if he understood, and somehow when I picked him up, I didn’t feel alone any more …”

In July, 1976, through the influence of Dr. Richard Green, it was arranged at Long Island Jewish Hospital for the Patent Ductus Arterious operation. Bapun, Kazal, Chotto Ma along with Kapur and myself arrived in New York in mid-July. His stay in the Satsang House before and after the operation was a confusing adventure.

He arrived during the viewing of the Olympics on TV. He had a persistent interest in turning off the TV while 15 or 20 people were viewing.

“Bapun!” I tried to be loving but firm, “don’t touch the TV.” He glanced at me and then slid closer to it. “Click”. The set went dark as our potential divinity’s image began to tarnish. He had reached out and flicked it off before anyone could move.

‘Bauuun!’ The threat and tension in my voice were obvious. The group stirred restlessly. He was losin status rapidly. “Leave it alone!” I spat out the words as I returned to my seat rather surprised how quickly one’s faith could collapse.

“Click.” It was dark again. “Dammit , Baput!” I found myself yelling as I jumped up. “Why the hell don’t you listen! Now, DON’T turn it off!”

“Why?” The question was out before I reached my seat.

“Because it’ll break, that’s why!”

“So what?”

“Because we’re poor and can’t afford a new one!” … a touch of the martyrs entered my voice and I pointed to Thakur’s picture: “That’s why we love Thakur! He had compassion for ordinary people … helped them; sympathized … just look at him. I he happy?”

“He’s sad.” Bapun commented matter-of-factly. …”Do you you know why he’s sad?” I queried.

“Because Bapun’s a naughty boy.” Came his answer.

“Right!” I sat back satisfied. I’d worn the battle between discipline and divinity.

“How to make him happy?” The boy wasn’t finished. But I wasn’t to be out-flanked. “By making everybody here happy and then not disturbing them while they watch the Olympics.”

He immediately got up, climbed in the lap of each person in turn, put his arms around their neck, hugged some and kissed others. One by one each face lit up with a smile. He came and sat down beside me and appeared to be intently watching the finals of the 200 meter freestyle. I felt him put his arm on my leg. “Offering friendship.” I thought comfortably and glanced down at him. His huge dark eyes looked up at me with a twinkle … or was it teasing? Was this boy only toying with me?

When Dr. Green, who was our guardian angel through the whole experience, invited Bapun to his home in Sands Point after his discharge, he asked Bapun if he could swim. To Dick’s amazement the boy immediately gave an exuberant and remarkably accurate demonstration of the free-style he’s witnessed on TV ten days earlier. “His brain is like a dry sponge.” Don Booth, the American Satsang president, observed, “He imitates anything he sees from Superman to Ernie, the marionette with incredible accuracy.

At one moment he’d tickle the fith of the believer with an uncanny perception or extraordinary demonstration of love. At the next moment, he’d trample on that faith by teasing the seeing eye dog of Marsha Stark or tipping over the cradle with Erin Gordon asleep in it. Contradictory and controversial, considerate and thoughtless, Bapun was a growing and intriguing enigma.

There were few dry eyes in the large group from American Satsang that came to Kennedy Airport to bid farewell to him, his father and his grandmother. The question remained; “Was he or wasn’t he?” Christine Jacobsen, a kindergarten teacher had her own solution; “Who cares whether he’s Thakur or not? He’s the most affectionate, intelligent and enjoyable boy, I’ve ever seen and I love him! That’s enough for me!”

At the end of 1976, the long planned, oft-postponed trip to Inda so my my brother could visit Thakur finally took place. But, instead of Thakur, Bob visited Bor’da, Kazal, Asoke, Ajay, Kapur Sudhir and the Satsang community about which he had heard so much for so long. His visit was a short and he made side trips to Kashmir, Delhi and Agra. He had only complaint: Such a trip across cultures requires at least a month in order to meaningfully assimilate the experience.

Perhaps his most enjoyable period was the time spent with Asoke, matching wits, comparing problems and perceptions:

“Did you ever observe,” Bob commented one day in the course of their discussions, “that you have here some people who are arrogant, fanatic and isolated and others who are just the opposite?”

“Yes,” Asoke agreed, “and do you know why?”

Bob settled back in his chair near the Philanthropy Office, “Alright, you tell me.”

“Thakur emphasized nurture according to nature.When it is done, the person feels he or she is most important person in the world to the nurturer. Well, Thakur did this so perfectly, we all thought we actually were the most vital person in the world to him. When he left; we suddenly realized we had been basking in that felling and had neglected to make him the most important.

“Now, two types of reactions occurred: some started re-ordering their priorities to give him primacy, while others gegan re-arranging their won and others’ stories to try to keep themselves the most prominent. The first group developed humility, compassion, courage and generated the spirit of Thakur. The second group developed an arrogance, narrowness and their fanaticism spread a sect of Thakur ---“

“… I suppose you realize.” Bob interrupted, “that it’s the first group that creates everything.” Asoke nodded and they lapsed into silence for several moments. Finally, Bob said, “You should come to America : it might be as enjoyable for you as my coming to India has been for me …” he paused and there was a twinkle in his eye, “… and I suppose you know, we can use Thakurs’ spirit a lot more that we need another sect …” Bob got up to live. Asoke smiled and said “You must come back here again, too,” And with that delicate finesse that was so characteristic of this grand son of Thakur said, “We too can always use more of the spirit of Thakur …”

I saw Bob at Dum Dum Airport in Calcutta and returned to Deoghar. After competing the editing of this book, I stopped in to see bapun on my way to Calcutta. As I drank the tea his mother offered me, I told her about this book: that I was re-printing and bringing it up-to-date .. how it was divided into four parts : The Roots about Thakur’s childhood and the thrashings from his mother ; the Branches when he built up the Satsang movement, the Foliage that tells how Satsang spread …. Now a fourth poart call the Fruit was being added telling of Thakur’s departure, the roles of Bor’da, Kazal and Bapun.

“…please don’t say much about Bapun being Thakur,” she interrupted, “wait until he grows up and proves himself. Now, let him live his childhood normally.” There was the appeal of every Mother in her eyes.

“Do you think it is possible?” I asked. It didn’t seem the place for misleading sentiment. “Thakur started all this himself many years ago. If he hadn’t said it so often to so many, it might have been possible. But now .. I’m afraid the die is cast…”

I pointed out the window of Rangan Villa where an elderly disciple of Thakur was standing in the road barefooted with folded hands and bowed head. “Look, they even bow down from out there because they think he’s in here somewhere.”

I finished my tea and stood up. “I can understand how you feel, but it looks like the options are gone. There’s no going back. He either becomes Thakur or very much like him, or ends up with major psychological problems later …”

Bapun’s mother sighed. “Well, he’s certainly very naughty now a days, I have to spank him so often …” then polaintively she added, “… I just hope he studies …”

“I’m sure he will.” I said and turned to leave. As I walked out of the room, Bapun now six years old, growing rapidly with a healthy color since the operation, came running in he house. His pants and shirt were covered in mud.

“Uncle Haju,” he said to me as he ran into his mother, “come back soon…”

I walked out of the house and heard his mothers’ voice grow louder L: Bapun ! You’ve gotten all your clean clothes muddy again….”

SLAP !

Previous posts
Ocean in a Teacup – Ray Houserman IIIrd edition links


Chapters 1-35
http://www.divshare.com/download/16350072-0aa

Chapter 36 pp 348-360
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html

Chapter 37
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html

chapter 38
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html

Chapter 39
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-39.html

Chapter 40
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-40-pp-380-390.html

Chapter 41
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-41-pp-391-394.html 

Chapter 42
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-42-pp-395-404.html 

Chapter 43
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-43-pp-405-410.html



Ocean in a Teacup ch 43 pp 405-410


Ocean in a Teacup - Ray Houserman
Chapter 43 pp 405-410


By 1976, we had moved into a beautiful house in Kew Gardens rented from some very beautiful people, te Mores. Now, quite a few of the Satsang people would make the trip to India. Their reactions were fascinating. So were the stories of Thakur they brought back. Each person seemed to have his favourite man and strory. Kerry Brace, a quite, thoughtful graduate of Johns Hopkins University, fell in love with Bor’da. He, along with David and Gisela Lichtgarn and Jeff Renert developed a small group in Hartford, Connecticut for whom Bord’da and his inspiration were effective in bringing meaning, purpose and faith into their lives and those around them. Their faith was absolute and their conception demanded complete and total commitment.

My sister, Janet and her daughter, Hune, from Tulsa, along with my nephew, Chris Houserman from Wilmington made the pilgrimage. Jone combined a perceptive intuition with a strong scepticism. She enjoyed everyone in Deoghar, but her favourite Satsangee was in Bombay, It was Gopal Bhai Deshai, the younger of two brothers whose home in Bombay was the stopping of place going and coming for many of the American visitors to Satsang. She insisted that Gopal Bhai gave her a new insight into Thakur.

“I think Thakur wanted to make us all Thakur.” Gopal Bhai said one day. “Discipleship is a step … the first step only. Sometimes we forget this. Somewhere Thakur said, ‘My life is my materialised maxim. If you want to follow me, then do as I do … often, in our zealous attempts to prove his divinity through his miracles, this gets lost.”

“Do you really think it’s possible to do as Thakur did, Gopal Bhai ?” Chris got into the act. Gopal Bhai was waiting for this. “Your Christ said somewhere, “You are to become perfect as our Father in heaven …” He didn’t say, ‘Hey, do me a favour will you and try to be a little better …’ He didn’t say, ‘please, oh, please show a little mercy.’ No, no. He said, you are to become like God.”

Chris subsided before this awe-inspiring demand for perfection. Gopal Bhai became more reflective. “Maybe this time we can try to follow him to please him and not just turn him into God and worship him in hopes of getting something we probably don’t deserve … at least we can try….”

“He’s made as good an effort as anyone,” was June’s judgement. “I’ve never seen a man who reacted almost the moment you expressed a desire --- whether for ivory elephants, or Indian sarees or some information on India.” For June as for so many others, the Bombay stop-over in the home of Gopal Bhai, Krisha Bhai and Bhabi enroute to and from the ashram was a high pointing their pilgrimage.

Yet another dimension of Thakur’s inspiration was uncovered by a French friend of Andre. His name was Yves Le Cadre and he was from Paris. His insatiable inquisitiveness and boundless energy took him to Burdwan town. These he met Gurudas Bannerjee and his son, Rhitesh. He accompanied them to the education-through-agriculture experiment in Midnapore. He was impressed with the clear conception and steady, unpretentious conviction of both father and son. He was curious about the experiment that was running under a group leadership.

“Don’t you feel the lack of a member of Thakur’s family tends to weaken your cause?” Yves asked.

Bannerjee, short, grey-haired and with those soft, sparkly eyes that are a trademark of many of thakur’s older disciples, nodded : “we lose in some ways and gain in others. Thakur said on occasion that the problem with his family at times is that they desire the regard he got, but do’t want to do in the way he did … well, it may be true that some of our people, obsessed by this remark, are unbalanced, but it will change in time …”

Bannerjee stopped and looked at Yves’ for several moments silently. Yves’ transparent sincerity seemed to elicit a candor from this old disciple. “Ideally, the disciples should maintain unswervingly their devotion to Thakur’s family normally, even their dog or cat. On the other side, thakur’s family should be dedicated to emulating Thakur. Then everything would be automatic. Unfortunately, we expect Thakur’s family to be exactly like Thakur and they expect us to be perfect disciples. “Of course,” a smile wrinkled up his face and made him look like a child. “… go anywhere you like in the vast and varied Satsang world, that Takur has created and look deply. You will find that all of us – whether sons by birth or by culture know, deep down in our hearts, that the only real goal, the only valid achievement, is to learn to love him without expectation … and …” his voice became softer as if talking to himself, “… perhaps, in the midst of all the pushing and pulling, the giving and taking, all of us are gently at times and roughly at other times, being nudged toward that dream of the future he often described: the day when man could walk across the face of the earth and never feel he has left his won home.” The glow in his eyes as he spoke has remained a vivid memory of Yves visit to Satsang in India.

There was one other favourite hang-out for the American disciples of Thakur when they visited the ashram. It was the little room nest to the antique world war two field generators which served as emergency power for the ashram. It was Ajoy Nath Ganguly’s headquarters and was usually filled with tools, books and drawings. Ajoy was very Western, possessed of a heightened sense of service and was perhaps the most comfortable for Americans to talk to, Hay Gordon gave this description to the group in New York of a typical discussion with this engineer-saint.

“Ajoy-da, why at this moment when India needed technological skills more that religious sentiment, ded you leave the English Electric Company and come here?”

Ajoy shifted the stack of blue prints on his drawing table so he could see Jay’sface. “How many have asked me that question since I’ve come here to Thakur’s laboratory ----“

“----Laboratori” Jay laughed. “I’ve heard Satsang called a lot of things but this is the first I’ve heard this description. Then I guess all of us disciples are just laboratrory specimens ?”

Ganguly ignored Jays’s with and went on. “What is man? What is his quest ? Where Lies his ultimate fulfilment ? You can find a politician, a philanthropist on a treet corner or in an air-conditioned office who pretends or may even believe sincerely that he is out to do good to mankind. To them these questions are not only unanswered, they are even asked !”

Where is man’s good ! Have you tasted the peace and happiness in your life – the conditions you want to create in society ? The few I’ve found who aren’t scandalized by my candidness inevitably say, you have to get rid of this enemy or that evil before you can even think straight to face the problem – so the world of confusion and malice goes rolling on.”

“What’s the alternative, Ajay ?”

“The only alternative is to find out what is good for man in an experimental way, on a laboratory scale – before you can put up something for people to follow. That’s why I call this a laboratory. To how many people I have said Thakur was a man who had not restlessness for spectacular achievement, yet could say, “I know the answer.” Always remember, Jay, the immutable order, applicable to man in all pursuits in every age is real religion. The untiring exponent of that kind of order is always the prime mover of civilization.”

Jay never failed to conclude with the statement that his won understanding of Thakur had become more practical because of his contact with this big and loving engineer.

Previous posts
Chapters 1-35

http://www.divshare.com/download/16350072-0aa

Chapter 36 pp 348-360
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html

Chapter 37
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html

chapter 38
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html

Chapter 39
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-39.html

Chapter 40
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-40-pp-380-390.html

Chapter 41
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-41-pp-391-394.html

Chapter 42
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-42-pp-395-404.html



Friday, December 9, 2011

Ocean in a Teacup ch 42 pp 395-404

Ocean in a Teacup ch 42 pp 395-404
Back in New York, our American Satsang in Queens was developing its own personality. Therewere regular morning and evening prayers and meetings on Friday nights grew in numbers and enthusiasm. The Satsang House provided a shelter for those who needed it, a taste of community living for those who wanted it, a home for married couples and a refuge for lonely foreign students. The structure was minimal, if non-existent, but there was an honest sould-searching and uphill striving for what has been called our existential interest.


The only rules which were insisted upon were very simple : only vegetarian food in the house ; no alcohol or drugs and no sex permitted in the house for married couples. This latter injunction often brought question … invariably from someone preoccupied with the subject ; “What does Thakur say about sex?”

The following is a transcript of Janardan Mookherjee’s reply to that question on May 28th, 1973 in Satsang House, Queens, New York.

“Thakur felt that existence -- the urge to live – is basic common to all beings. That urge is the normal master. Along with it, man was given tools to nurture and expand that existential urge. These tools were at servants to the master urge. Amonst them is the sex urge, the urge for food, for activity and so on. Sometimes the servants take over. They become the masters. We see it all around us. Sex, which can nurture life, feed on it instead and dwindless it. Food which is to nourish existence, becomes a master and existence is crippled by diabetes, obesity, indigestion. It is almost like a home with many servants running around wild, and the master of the house is cowering in a corner. Periodically a servant comes by and kicks hi. So, the game is to find a way to regain a mastery over these former servants. The capacity for mastery is latent in everyone. Thakur insists that capacity is given by the Creator. But, we need to exercise it. For that, he has given tools with which we can enhance the urge for life. The rest spontaneous. Wherever the maste is strong, the sevants adjust automatically---“

“--- sounds weird to me. After all is said and done sex is fun !”

“Not necessaritly. In 1954, Thakur was explaining some people that the judicious use of sex would tone and tune the marital relationship. One follower remarked as have ‘Aw, Thakur, forget this ‘judicious’ business. Sex is fun !’

Thakur’s response was immediate ; “Yes, and eating rashghollas (a Bengali sweet mean) is fun, too, But, if you put your head into a bucket of them, the juice run down your neck, in your nose and ears … and if you stay long enough you’ll drowned !”

There was mastery and sensitivity in the way Thakur handled sex problem. It can be glimpsed from the following account of one teacher who was brilliant, homely, almost ugly, with an intense sexual urge. He was an extraordinary teacher, married, with three sons but very very unhappy. He had gone to Thakur in the autumn of 1940 with his problem. Thakur put him to work teaching English to teen age girls in the school with instructions to come to Thakur immediately after the classes to report on the progress of his students.

His school girl made unbelievable progress and he was careful with his urges for a long time. One day, one of the girls brought him a glass of water and she seemed to respond when his finger touched hers. The sleeping tiger inside him awakened. During the following weeks his requests fro water increased. So did those finger responses. Better still, he found that each afternoon, Thakur seemed enen more sympathetic and loving : ‘Either Thakur has a blind spot in his omniscience or he doesn’t disapprove’, the teacher thought. ‘In either case, it looks like I’m going to enjoy the best of both worlds.’

His explanation of punctuation and subtle rules of syntax received a new impulse from this stimulating environment. Now and then their eyes would meet. There was not mistaking the message. He helped her with some sentence construction after the class. His arm rubbed against hers. As he walked to Thakur that afternoon, his mind was fidgety. It didn’t need to be. Thakur was overjoyed to see him. …. Even more than usual. Now, the teacher was certain : ‘Thakur understand and approves because I’m only going to help her make a healthy adjustment to sex.’

The pressure now reached a climax. The date was set: “In the nort corner of Durganath Sanyal’s mango orchard tonight! At twelve!” Though whispered quickly, there was not misunderstanding. Only a matter of a few hours. All thoughts, energy, activity were concentrated, absorbed in this one, all-consuming, carefully nurtured and cleverly hidden longing. There was not hit of disapproval from Thakur that evening. In fact, just the opposite : To the teacher’s description of the students’ response to his teaching, thakur burst out, ‘You’re really a genius!’ He left Thakur, told his unsuspecting wife he would be very late because of a conference with the headmaster and slowly made his way toward the garden. He loitered a few minutes near the Headmaster’s house and discussed some administrative problems with one of the teacher’s. His alibi was air-tight.

He slipped into the garden unnoticed, made his way the north corner and waited. He heard the bell strike twelve. He shifted his weight from one foot the other restlessly. “Would she come ?”, he kept asked himself. His lips were dry and his breathing had become rapid. The he heard a rustle and the unmistakeable tinkling of the bracelets she wore. The clouds broke for a moment and he caught a glimpse of her just as she saw him. She rushed toward him. He reached out and their hands clasped together with all the intensity of months of pent-up passion. His arm went out to embrace her. Before it touched her another hand suddenly gripped both of theirs firmly and a familiar voice said softly “So, you want to know about love. Alright, come with me. We’ll walk beside the river and I’ll tell you about love.”

Both student and teacher were in a state of shock. Their nerves were paralysed. He put his arms around their shoulders and gently, but steadily guided them out of the garden to a path that lead to the river. The numbness gradually dissolved. He did not rebuke them. In his voice there was neither criticism or censure, only compassion.

“…. Love always seeks the good of the beloved… love never hides not bluffs … love exalts …” gently, with no trace of reproach he continued. The pair began slowly relax, unfurl … to feel fresh and clean, like new laundered shirts hanging in the breeze. They reached a pathway back to the ashram. He stopped and faced both of them. “Now, do you understand about love?” They nodded. He took the girl’s hand and put it in the hand of her teacher. “Here, take your mother home to her father’s house?”

The teacher’s face had become radiant as he spoke. That incident was never know to anyone but those three people. He never had another problem with sex. That girl is long since married and has five grandchildren, and Thakur never mentioned it, never gave any indication that anything had ever happened. He handles passions and obsessions the way boils should be handled ; let them come to a head and then with delicate but firm pressure, the core comes out and it’s gone forever …”

Do you know why Thakur was able to do this --- why he had the courage and patience to wait for the right moment? Because he was a master of that sex urge. He used that to serve existence, not be little it, nor did he allow others to be abused by it.

Mookherjee inevitably concluded with the observation “Thakur never piouly insisted that we leave anything. All he did was tactfully nurture our desire to live – then the things that weren’t consistent with that existential urge ultimately left us.

Inevitably as the number of young people grew in the Amirican Satsang, marriages took place amongst them. The influence of Thakur’s concern for permanent commitment rather than temporary contracts was evident in the tendency of manyo these couples to solemnize the marriage twice. Each service was performed in the traditional ceremony of the particular couple involved --- Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox or Conservative --- then a day or so later, a service to complement that ceremony was often held in the Satsang House. Stig, the Danish boy, married Lynn, a new York girl; Andre the French devotee married Susan Bassuk, another New York girl. Mark was married to Elife, an Austrian girl and then Jay and Esther were married.

The vows that Thakur had given were repeated by these couples as they stood in front of Thakur’s picture. Though there was no civil sanction and it only complemented the particular Jewish of Christian ceremony already performed, this practice began to develop its own tradition. The words had a universality that often inspired other couples who had previously been married only in a civil ceremony to repeat these vows.

“We shall love one another,


We believe the essence of love


Is the inclination to give,


We understand that love reveals itself


Through admiration, service and offer of gratitude


We shall appease one another


We believe this means to forebear, sympathise and


Understand in happiness, sorrows and sufferings.


We shall cling to one another


And it shall be unbreakable and immortal through


Our devotion to the Lord


We shall be example of nurture, hope and charity to


Each other, to our families, to our society


We shall not be shaken not detached, never divorced.


We shall forbear and suffer fro the welfare of each


Other with a link of love for the Supreme Father,


We shall bestow on them a compassionate intelligence


And a wistful understanding of the profound in their


Tradition


We believe this far sighted fulfilment of existence


Will give our children a glimpse of heaven and gain


For us their gratitude.


We believe that herein lies


Te inner meaning of our marriage and the secredness


Of this ceremony.”

Jay and Esther’s marriage ceremony was another example of what has euphemistically been described as “Thakur taking over …. “ Two days before the complementary ceremony was take place in the Satsang House it was realized that far more people would be coming than could possible be accommodated in the entire downstairs. Then it happened. It was almost a physical thing. Harry Miller immediately offered to borrow equipment from his employer and set up closed circuit TV so the crowds could watch the ceremony from all the rooms downstairs and upstairs. The night before, Kari Gordon volunteered to make the garlands; Jack Mohoney to handle the parking problems; Bob O’ neill and Lewis Spencer, the coats; Lee, Jill, Vivian, Elfie, Karen and Merry, the food. The Rabbi who had married them in the Orthodox service the night before attended and at the end of the service offered a prayer in Hebrew.

After the meal, I was inundated with compliments, “How beautifully you organized this.”

“I’ll gladly take the credit,” I responded, “it might give me some importance. Actually, whether you believe it or not.” I would point to the large picture of Thakur over the mantel which has travelled around the American Satsang. “….. that old man up there has done it all. I know you probably can’t relate to this, but every time we’re in over our heads and surrender helplessly, some impulse inside or outside triggers a mechanism which gets things organized spontaneously. Interestingly enough, the arrangements are inevitably far more effective than anything we could possibly have done ourselves,”A further interesting contribution to our growing legends came late that night when we were all viewing the video tape of the day’s activities. After the vows and Jay and Esther had been seated, Joel Krantz came forward to sit beneath Thakur’s picture ad sing one song he’d composed especially for the occasion. As he began to sing, a bright light began to shine forth from the forehead in Thakur’s picture. It was uncanny. Harry ran it through again, and again, but it didn’t go away. For fifteen to twenty seconds that light remained. Explanations about flash bulbs and electronic interference didn’t wholly satisfy. Jay was willing to accept this miracle at this marriage or music that tape in an old leather box in the Gordon’s bed-room which serves as the archives of Satsang in America, remains an irritant to the sceptic and a future relic to the credulous.

The scene of several hundred relatives and friends sharing in this simple ceremony in which only garlands are exchanged often provided a vision of a future when each of us could positively stand on our own faith and feel neither threatened nor oppressed by the faith of our neighbour. However fleetingly, these occasions often seemed to touch that elusive common element inherent in every faith.

Twice a year family days were celebrated in the Satsang House. It provided an opportunity for parents to frankly comment how well or ill their offspring were fulfilling Thakur’s insistent command that to love him, one must first love and serve one’s own parents. Jewish, protestant or Catholic parent might find difficulty in relating at to Hindu called Thakur whose influence had become so prominent a part of their son’s or daughter’s lives. But they could easily understand that Thakur’s influence and inspiration, instead of isolating or alienating, practically restored and healed ruptures and misunderstandings.

“I don’t worry about my old age anymore,” the mother of one youthful follower of Thakur told her friends who were worrying about their twilight years. “My son can’t ignore or neglect me because that’s Thakur’s order. Now, don’t believe in him or follow him, that’s impossible. I don’t know how he does it, or what he’s got, but I’ll tell you one thing : he’s sure putting the generations together again!”

Even for those who were a part of this drama, it was often difficult understand how Thakur worked. There were some who attempted to imitate his techniques, but they never seemed to quite make it real. Gary Dichtenberg put it very succinctly about this type. “They try for the technique without the technician.”

It was confusing for some to find that Jay and Esther Gordon, prominent and active members of Satsang could combine their allegiance to Thakur with a very strict observance of the orthodox Jewish Sabbath. It was also disconcerting to explain about the Satsang House. Was it a therapeutic community as some claimed? It certainly was. Was it a religious community as others insisted? It was that too. Was it a home for families with children ? That was true also. Was it for Jews ? Obviously. Was it for Catholics? Certainly, it was for every shade of religious opinion. Then what was it? ? Perhaps Thakur’s definition of Satsang so popular in America remains the most apt; The Community of the Lovers of Existence.

Previous Chapters' links

Chapter 36 pp 348-360

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html

Chapter 37
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html

chapter 38
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html

Chapter 39
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-39.html

Chapter 40
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-40-pp-380-390.html

Chapter 41
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-41-pp-391-394.html



Ocean in a Teacup ch 41 pp 391-394


Chapter 41 pp 391-394


About a year before we moved to Queens, I received a letter from one of the Kazal’s assistants in Deoghar, Hari Narayan Das. It stated that Kazal’s wife, Lakshmi Moni, had given birth to a son on Jan 15, 1971. The letter awakened old memories so long buried under the sorrow and loneliness and hectic life of the American Satsang. “A son ! Could it be ? Would he really come back ? Is it possible ?” The thoughts flashed in my mind one after the other. I put the letter away, told nobody and quickly arranged to fly to India.

On the train trip from Bombay to Deoghar, some of the practical problems in the concept of reincarnation became apparent: I had last seen an eighty-one year man more than two years earlier. I was going now to see a five month old baby boy who couldn’t enen talk ! How was one to know? After mulling over different kinds of tests, I finally settled for something simple: He’d have to recognize me and he’d have to hold the stick he’d given me up to his head … and then I hedged: even this wouldn’t really prove anything ….

It is something to relate now, but the was, I felt nervous and my heart was beating rapidly as I approached the crib in which the boy was sleeping. I tip-toed over and looked down at him. He immediately turned on his back, opened his huge dark eyes and laughed. Then, as I brought my stick over the crib and he reached up with his little hands and tried to pull it down to his head, something in my stomach began to melt. For that particular moment, I felt sure: “If you can come back into this mess,” I thought to myself, “I guess I can keep on fighting …. And maybe do a little better this time around….”

That clear conviction doesn’t always last. For myself and many others like me the question remained: “Is he or isn’t he?” Stories grew that supported bod: “… he has ears shaped exactly like Thakur’s – unique shape in Thakur’s entire family … he came out of his mother’s womb with eyes open …” From the scepotics: “… Thakur himself said he doesn’t need to come back for 10,000 years … no Prophet comes back so soon nor in his own family …..” Perhaps Borda’s observation with which Kazal enthusiastically concurred was the most reasonable: “If Thakur comes, no power can spress him, and if he doesn’t come, no artificial publicity can make anyone into him….”

When it discovered that the boy, named Ananya Chandra and nicknamed, Bapun, had a Patent Ductus Arteriosus and would require heart surgery at five, the controversy received new lif: “…. See, I knew he wasn’t. Thakur could not come with a bad heart….” But faith has its own reasons; ‘…. He’s come with the same physical abilities and disabilites as other people …. Didn’t Thakur suffer from disease all his life …” Whether he was or he wasn’t, the boy awakened curiosity and the American disciple who had never seen Thakur found themselves involved: “There’s something strange about that boym” Dede Dennis whispered one day, “I was sitting looking at him playing in his grandmother’s lap and thinking to myself: ‘Is it possible that this little boy is Thakur ?’ Immediately the boy turned and looked at me and smiled! And I swear he knew what I was thinking!” He’s damn intelligent, no doubt,” said Gary Dichtenberg authoritatively, “but he’s got a long way to go before he can be Thakur.”

Shortly before the trip to India to observe and test Bapun, I learned that Boro Ma had left her body. Though completely incapacitated thelast few years of her life, yet merely her physical presence had given a strength to Bor’da, her eldest son, in his unswerving efforts to hold the movement on course after Thakur’s departure. Her cremation took place in the same compound where Thakur’s had been performed a little more than two years earlier. Now, that blooms with flowers around the two marble covered memorials, and more than that, an ineffable peace seems to pervade the area.

I often went there in the evening to just sit and think. I was there just before leaving for America that year as the sun was setting behind Digheria Hill. Old memories poured into my mind of the day two years earlier when I sat in this same place in numb, lonely agony. Gradually, they gave way to a vision of the observatory on the hill and river valley flowing with Ganges water …. Slowly hope replaced despair.

On the plane flying back to America I realized one of the reasons I hoped Bapun would prove to be Thakur was that it would fill a huge gap in my emotional life. But more that that, I also felt it would give me a second chance … I could try to replace some of those painful memories with more exalted ones as I travelled along this road of learning to love without expectation.


More posts
Chapter 36 pp 348-360

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html

Chapter 37
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html

chapter 38
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html

Chapter 39
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-39.html

Chapter 40
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-40-pp-380-390.html

Ocean in a Teacup ch 40 pp 380-390


Chapter 40 pp 380-390

Within few years before and after Thakur had left his body so many others joined him --- Bholanath Sarker, Sushil Bose, Kesto-da, the scientist, Goshai-da, --- the last of the big three –Ashu Joerdar. Radharaman Joerdar, Anil Ganguli, Robi Roy, Chakrapani das, Jnan Goswami, Chuni Lal Roy Choudhury and so many others. It seemed as if Thakur had taken his team away with him. It was a whole new ball game, and a game with more regulations at that. My unstructured nature made me reluctant to do more that support from the sidelines. Often I thought of that message which Thakur had given beore I had gone to America a decade earlier :

“Standing in the whirlpool of necessity


That seeks to serve the life of man today.


My prayer, my appeal to the Supreme Father is


May you be blessed and make all blessed


Ever stretching your steps toward eternal becoming.


This beggar’s naked plea is not for your alone


But for every single being in the world.


O, Father the Supreme!


May none in the world of man be deprived


Nor be the cause for others’ deprivation.


I have answered to your quest


‘What I see, what I think, what I know


Is beneficial to our life and growth


With every blazing, outspoken reply


As far as I conceive.


Do what you think good


For yourself, your family, your country.


May you be anointed with bliss.


And always do remember ;


Wherever good in all respects


Is invoked and imbibed


There, bliss blazed with God resides


With a soothing shower of smile.

To find out what might be good for myself, my family and my country, I, along with Andre Louise, a resident of the Pyrenees near Lourdes, my old friend, Spence, who agreed to transfer his constant travelling from India to the U.S.A., started out by road for Europe and then by air to New York. Arriving in New York in March, 1970, we quickly discovered that Thakur’s ideas were more contemporary in the seventies than they had been in the sixties.

The apartment on Manhattan’s upper West Side which belonged to a devotee and former Peace Corps volunteer, Bob Cumming, was the first address of Satsang in the U.S.A. Neil Selden, a teacher and writer, who had been initiated in 1960, quickly started the ball rolling. Thakur’s profound yet simple concepts devotion were useful to Neil in his activities with a drug rehabilitation program in which he was a founding member. He inspired his wife and then a number of co-workers involved in the program to take initiation. Soon there was a group of about thirty people from various religious persuasions and economic backgrounds who helped establish Thakur’s Community of the Lovers of Existance in New York. I quickly discovered that the experience of unexpected and unplanned assistance spontaneously arriving at times of need could happen in American as well as India.

One month after our arrival, a gathering of about twenty of the new disciples was arranged at the home of a long-time Quaker friend, John Kaltenbach on his 35 acre, 28 room house in Lydnell, Pensylvania about halfway between New York City and Philadelphia. He with his wife, Ruth, and yongest daughter, Patience, lived there where he ran a small flower nursery and lectured at different Garden Clubs along the Main Line. Like so may Quakers, they were gentle, kind and hospitable. They didn’t realize what such hospitality would involve that week-end before Easter in 1970. On Wednesday, Neil mentioned that a rew more than twenty wanted to come. Could they? Thinking of John’s unlimited space and ignoring his and limited financial resources, I said, “Certainly. Invite anyone who wants to come.”

I went to John’s place Friday evening. “How many are coming?” John inquired. “I don’t know.” My voice was a little uneasy. John looked at me silently for a moment and reached in his pocket and brought out a 20 dollar bill. “Ray, it’s all we have.” With great assurance, I brought out a hundred doller bill I’d borrowed befor I left from David Carpenter, whose steady, never-failing encouragement and practical help have been truly a blessing for many many Indian and American disciples of Thakur.

“Don’t worry, John. It’ll all work out.” I was surprised how conficent my voice sounded.

The first cars began arriving about 9-00 N.M. by twelve there were more than thirty-five people. By 2-30, the cars were blocking the road and all the bedrooms, hallways and even the attic rooms were full. John’s taciturnity was being tested. He looked at me quizzically. “I didn’t realise so many would come.” My voice sounded flat.

Then, without direction or any command, an ever-present but often unmanifested elemnt in nature took over. Spontaneously, songs and discussions started. Hikes were organized. Some people went fro food; others to work in the kitchen. The evening meal of spaghetti and salad plus two cakes for birthday of a couple of guests managed to feed over one hundred people. Sunday there was a movie of Thakur, talks about him and the future of Satsang, another big meal and at 11-30 Sunday night when the last car left for New York, John put his arm around my shoulder. We walked back to the house where Ruth was sitting by the big open fireplace in the kitchen. I began pulling bills out of my pocket which various people had stuffed there as they left. So did John. When we counted them, we found 435 dollars. “afew hundred meals, around a hundred guests, people saying good-by with tears in their eyes and we end up with 315 dollars more then we started with!” Tears glistened in John’s eyes. I smiled lamely. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “his system work here too.”

Our numbers grew rapidly. Neil and lee Selden, penny Thompson, Don Booth, Jay Gordon, Dolores Dennis, Frank and Louis Vaforn, David and Gesela Lichtgarn ….. one by one they came – psychiatrists, students, singers, professors and taxi drivers. Satsang moved from the upper west side to the lower east side of Manhattan. The commonsense Gallic conviction of Andre Louis, the practical palmistry and Brahminical faith of Hari Narayan Chakraborty and the saint-like appearance of Spencer combined to make the small 7th Street apartment in the East Village, the second chapter of Satsang, U.S.A.

Bruce Beaver was having a ‘bad-trip’ from LSD. He know he was going to jump out of the window of his third story apartment. He said to himself : “Before I jump, God, you can help me if yo want to … “ Then he didn’t jump but used the stairway instead. In the lobby he met Hari Narayan, had his palm read and heard about Thakur. Then he learned how the Name neutralizes drugs from Andre and took initiation from Spencer. One of many who started the second wave of devotees of Thakur in America.

A trickle of new disciples began making the pilgrimage to India to visit the Ashram – now without Thakur’s physical presence. Reassuringly, the ashram and the people who remained there still seemed to hold much of the old magic.

Stig Hjelmsgaard, a Danish youth who had joined Andre, Spencer and myself on our way back to New York in 1970, took initiation and shortly after, visited the ashram. His four month visit wakened a sense of purpose, and new inner discipline. He was deeply imporessed with Bor’da’s commanding yet loving presence, Kazal’s intense sense of mission and of all the stories of Thakur he recounted to those in New York who had never been to India, the story be heard from Chandreswar Sharma, now a prominent advocate in the Deoghar Court, he felt was the most enlightening and inspiring.

Stig had been questioning the reason for the daily morning offering which followers give to Thakur. It is called ‘Istovrity’. The following is Chandreswars’s account of Thakur’s explanation:

An old disciple approached Thakur in 1957. He knelt and between sobs he said, “Thakur, your mercy saved my life …” Thakur waited until the regarded some control and then inquired what had happened.

“I was walking down Bowbazar Street in Calcutta and the rain came. I rushed under an overhanging balcony. And then… “ I heard a voice .. your voice in my ear : ‘Get out !’ and I went back in the rain. I’d only gone twenty yards …” sob “when the building …” sob “… crumbled down and buried twelve people under it…” he broke down again, Finally, “all Merciful…”

“…. Not my mercy, “Thakur interrupted, “your mercy. Doing that morning offering every day has been giving a daily nudge to your urge for existence. After all these years, your urge for existence is stronger than your urge for comfort. The urge for comfort took you under the balcony ; your urge for existence, feeling threatened, pushed you back in the rain. Any overpowering urge develops its own intuition --- a drunkard or drug addict intuitively recognizes another. So I say : it was your mercy. I love your existence sincerely. Because you love me, you’ve grown to love your existence too.”

Stig’s recounting of Chandreswar’s story resulted in many of the American disciple calling this offering an ‘exercise for existence’.

It was fascinating to observe how the contrasting yet complimentary temperaments of Bor’da and Kazal served to fulfil the respective needs and varying temperaments of these new Americaan disciple : David and Gisela Lichtgarn returned from their visit to the ashram with a zealous, exclusive devotion to Bor’da. It impressed some, frightened a few and gave a stability to their marriage and an integration to their lives.

Dr. Penelope Barnes-Thompson on the other hand. Who had planned to all her problems to Kazal, ended up having to listen to all of hiss …. And then feeling her own problems had been solved. “… a real psychologist” … Ded Dennis received a ‘stick’ from Bor’da, inspiration from Kazal to become a Registered Nurse and fell in love with Bapun and his mother.

Lee Selden returned with an intense emotional and intellectual commitment Kazal. His nonchalant assimilation of Lee into his surgical operation team to assist in a kidney operation seemed very similar to the easy Imbrie way of doing big things. Her husband, one of the spark plugs of the American Satsang movement, found his gregarious and dynamic nature responded to one and all. He particularly enjoyed a discussion with Prafulla Das, one of that shrinking band of old devotees.

He had asked Prafull hwo he justified his many years of recording Thakur’s conversations since this was not usually the function of a business man. (Prafulla was by birth from the ‘Vaisya’ ro business community)

Prafulla explained : “I also asked Thakur about this. My family has been in business fro hundreds of generations; yet I alone from childhood searched for God. Thakur explained that since I was the only one amongst his disciples who had continually and sincerely recorded and preserved all his conversations. That Vaishya instinct toacquire materially had changed in my case from money into notebooks of his conversations. Why? Thakur said that perhaps my mother was in an exalted state at the time my conception, so my acquisitive instinct became attracted to religious material things. Rather than worldly material things.” Selden with is adaptability had no difficulty in explaining that the therapeutic community concept : ‘different stroke for different fold’ perhaps originated in the womb, if not before.

By the end of 1970, Satgsang USA was located in a large loft on Sixth Avenue in mid-Manhattan. Besides being a source of strength and inspiration to many, it was a shelter to some of the helpless students from India who were assisted to get gradualte degrees and return to work for Thakur in India.

It was here on New Year’s Eve, 1970, that another of those ‘happenings’ took place. Andre Louis had often proudly recounted the number of times he had crawled along the Stations of the Cross in Lourdes on bleeding knees. With that faith, he was confident that ‘Thakur would arrange’. And so posted notices in various places inviting everyone to Satsang for a party. He had, however, neglected to inform the people living there. At nine o’clock, people began drifting in. We weren’t prepared. We didn’t need to be. Andre was right. By midnight the large loft was packed with people singing, talking about Thakur and another wave of young people learned about the tools that could nurture them in their own faith and develop a responsiveness to the needs of their parents. By four A.M. when the last guests were leaving, I had grown accustomed to hearing : “Thank you very much. This is the first New Year’s Eve Party I’ve been to where there was not liquor, no drugs and very little food. But … but … it’s really been fantastic!”

What is the chemistry that suddenly sweeps over a group of people with not artificial stimulation from drugs or alcohol ? Suddenly an atmosphere of exaltation and freedom spreads fro heart to heart. Was this called love ? Or faith ?

Or God ? Wo knows ?

It didn’t happen every time, but it was happening often enough to make some of us hopeful that it might someday be a permanent acquisition.

By 1972, Satsang had moved to Queens, had been incorporated under the religious corporation laws of the State of New York, was income tax deductible. But more important, it has remained one of the few religious importation from India that has nurtured non-practicing Jews back into Judaism ; cynical Catholics back to their Church and rebelling sons and daughters to regain a fulfilling relationship with their parents. And this besides the usual recoveries from drugs, alcohol, mental depression --- a common effect in all religious groups …

“But, Ray, I don’t like to think about him ! He’s ruined my life !” “I know that.” I interrupted, “but I was wondering if you want to make an experiment so you can get rid of the bad feeling that seems to be eating your heart out. After all, the bitterness isn’t affecting your father, it’s hurting.”

“What experiment ?” Her voice was wary. “First say you’ll try, then I’ll tell you … but you have to agree to continue it for one month.” The girl bit her lip thoughtfully and finally blurted out “ “Alright ! I’ll do it … just to see … a experiment … “ “You’re sure ?” I insisted. She nodded.

“Alright, then beginning tomorrow morning, after you get up and wash, but before you eat anything, just take nickel or a dime in your hand, close your eyes and say to yourself : “Dad, I’m giving you this because I love you __”

“--- I kdon’t love him ! I hate him !” Her face was flushed. “I know, I know,” I gently insisted, you’re doing this as an experiment- not for him, but to get ride of your own bad feeling, remember” She nodded hesitantly. “So, after you say this, then put that nickel or dime into a little box. Do this every day for a month. At the end of the month take the accumulated money, go to the store, buy something for him that he likes and then, just like a mechanical doll walk up to him, hand it over and repeat like a tape recorder : ‘Here, Dad, I’m giving you this because I love you;” “ – Oh, I just couldn’t ! In the first place. I couldn’t put any feeling into it ; and in the second, it would be dishonest !”

“Remember … experiment … remember ?” Her head shook. She kept rubbing her chain with the back of her hand and staring at a crack in the follr. Finally she looked up grimly. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Two weeks later I received a phone call. “Do you know something ?” She said, ‘I’, going to increase the amount from a dime to a quarter … then I can get him a carton of cigarettes … Kents…”

Another two weeks went by and the phone rang. “Are you Ray Houserman ?” a deep male voice asked. “Yes.” There was a long silence. “Well I just wanted to thank you. I’m Elinor’s father. She gave me a carton of cigarettes yesterday …” Another silence. “Well, I got your number from her and just wanted to tell you it’s the first gift she ever gave me and it was … well, it was very nice … she told me she got the idea from you .. now don’t misunderstand me. I don’t go for all this Indian yogi stuff and Mantras … I just wanted to call and thank you for getting me back my baby girl.”

other posts on Ocean in a Teacup - Ray Houserman  IIIrd edition


Chapter 36

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html 
http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html

Chapter 37

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html 

chapter 38

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html



Thursday, December 8, 2011

Ocean in a Tea-cup Chapter 39


Chapter 39 The Fruit pp 372-379


From Thakur’s departure onward, it was always both painful and awkward to answer the query, “Is Thakur alive ?” It was hard to say he died, because the feeling of his presence never left, nor did his influence wane : in fact, in many ways it increased. Hence, the description of ‘left his body’ seems in Thakur’s case more apt.

I was sitting on the back verandah of our house one afternoon and talking with an old friend, Sudhir Choudhury. He’d been a teacher, a devotee of Thakur for a quarter century, and during the later years, we had become very close. I respected his wise compassion, his courage and his special kind of perception. He also was blessed with a kind of self-confidence that remained undisturbed whether he was right or wrong.

“Why some have found it so easy to adjust since Thakur left” I commented. I felt excruciatingly lonely during these months following Thakur’s departure.

Sudhir was sitting on a chair tipped back against the wall. “I think out of several million discikples, only a small percentage had personal contact with Thakur over any prolonged period. And out of those, even a smaller number had continually close contact over years. Even amongst those who lived here, many would see him once a day and then usually to bow and exchange greetings. So, they had internalized their relationship with him ling before he personally left. That’s why they learned to feel his presence within themselves as you and others like you have to learn now.”

“This may satisfy them and you, but it’s not working for me.” I looked out at Cigheria Hill, “I can’t internalize the memory of his reckless begging, his unexpected assistance to some one, or his calling to me the way he did ! Those memories only increase the sense of desolation and depression that I can’t shake off.”

Sudhir nodded. “The dream has faded into the light of day.” His brown eyes measured me carefully as if judging how much I could take. “Tears can’t go on forever, you know. What’s important is to remember the dream. It’s the dream that will bring forth the fruit !”

I got out of my chari abruptly. “What do you think that dream is, Sudhir ?” He took the challenge so easily. “Oh, the moments, many or few, when we caught a glimpse inside ourselves that we are able and are destined to love nakedly and shamelessly – the way he did.” His dignity lost some of its distance, may be because his eyes were shining. “But if we, the Satsang family, lose the courage to try to love the way Thakur did – then we won’t insist upon it or even recognize it in those who come afterwards. It’s so easy to remember his miracles for ourselves and so easy to forget his insistence we also love others that way. “But,” he started pacing on the varandah, “if we forget, soon we won’t care. When we don’t care, we won’t try. Then, the very purpose for which he came will be lost again … lost in some organization of rigid ideological unity, blunt orthodoxy and limited patterns of thought … and the dynamic universal Satsang family organism will become a narrow, sectarian organisations !” He stopped and from his six foot height, looked down at me. “Do you want that ?”

“Of course not, nobody does. But do you think it can be avoided.”

“Well, I don’t ;know,” Choudhury became thoughtful,. It will take a lot of courage … courage to remember his compassion and his mercy in every trying situation. And that courage can only come out of love – not by money or tricks or strength … “ he seemed taller as he went on “ “that love can maintain a maximum freedom for everone, an apparent anarchy of dessent, a disorganized organization thatlooks so inefficient but proves so effective. We have to remember that in Thakur’s Satsang family there was always a place for the criminal and contemplative, the agreeable and disagreeable, the wise and foolish. This open loving tolerance is the feeling that can bring forth the fruit. Now, it’s time for the friot.” Choudhury lit a cigarette and sat down.

“It sounds good, but who’s going to keep that feeling alive ?”

“That’s why he left Bor’da, Kazal, Ashoke … people like yourself, Ajoy-da, Profulla-da, Netai, Chandreshwar, Gopal Bhai ….”

“ … and don’t you include yourself, too ?” I suggested. Characteristically, he nodded and smiled, as if appreciating my perception. “ … yes, probably me too …”

Sudhir seemed more exalted, “I think that sometimes one and sometimes another, or perhaps somebody we don’t even know, will have the spirit of Thakur alive in them and so keep re-activating the feeling in the Satsang family that recognises the necessity for honest differences, accepts dissenters as brother, not enemies … that inspires the courage to love as he did … refuses to be suppressed out of fear for security or discarded out of a sense of inadequacy …. “ Chowdhury flicked his cigarette into the garden. “ … maybe our hesitant and erratic efforts to emulate his love may earn great praise at times and at other times, abuse … still, each step that any of us take along that road declares that we --- all of us both in and out of Satsang --- are truly the sons of the Supreme father and a heaven on earth is still our destiny …”

Life slowly returned to normal. As time passed various adjustments were made in the stories and memories ofdifferent disciples in regard to their relations and experiences with Thakur. Why ? One such follower explained with refreshing candor : “I have to adjust my image. Now, I’m not just an ordinary disciple anymore, but an important apostle .. perhaps a future guru !”

Thakur’s precise instructions that Bor’da take over the community helped this eldest son to stabilize and guide the organization in the face of almost insurmountable problems. The effect of his failure to follow Thakur’s request to sit on his bedstead some months earlier, now became apparent.

One Westerner suggested to him that since Thakur’s ideology revolved around a living ideal and Thakur was physically gone : Therefore, Bor’da should be the ideal. He quickly squelched that ; “My function in relation to Thakur is,” he explained, “like the Pope to Christ.” There were some, however who didn’t even want Popes. They accused Bor’da of attempting to unsurp Thakur’s sacred seat. Through these incredibly frustrating situations, Bor’da managed to maintain a patience and balance that kept the movement on course and the momentum from slowing.”

He could not, and did not even attempt, to run the community and movement with no structure as Thakur had. Regulations became more numerous. Irregular pathways through the yard were replaced by neat, cement walks. Haphazard patches of vegetables and followers became orderly kept, fenced in gardens. Trimly painted signs appeared; many with Thakur’s dicta, some with appeals to stay off the grass and not pick the flowers. Thakur’s rooms were maintained meticulously. One large room became a center for all the relics that Bor’da could collect. Prayers began promptly and worship services were precisely organized with an efficient public address system and neon lighting. In short, the community became more systematized and methodical.

Within a few years, none could deny the fact that Bor’da’s unceasing effort to be an emotional center for growing thousands who had never seen Thakur was effective. To some he was, in the tradition of the original Satsang in Agra, the new ‘Satguru’ to whom Thakur had delegated his power. To others, he was the one in whom Thakur had promised in writing that men would get a glimpse of Thakur. To still others, he was the head of this dynamic, growing organization. Whether it was a glimpse of Thakur, or a Satguru or a Pope, all admitted that his expansive sense of responsibility for the helpless and the neglected, his insight and inspiration for those seeking for purpose and his steady strength in the face of numerous cross-currents and conflicts gave to many a sense of stability, regularity, organisation and a touch ofThakur’s love.

Though the Ganga-Darwa Project and the vast Sandilya University scheme lost much of their momentum after Thakur’s departure, yet, the vision of the Medical College and the five hundred bed Hospital remained very much alive under Kazal’s dynamic leadership. Within three years, it became apparent that the small hospital squeezed between the auditorium and the community kitchen had no area for expansion. Also because it was so completely intertwined administratively and financially with the Satsang community, any independent development was impossible.

Therefore, in 1973, through and adjustment between Kazl’s and Bor’da, The Sree Sree Thakur Anukul Chandra Charitable Hospital Trust was registered as an independent institution dedicated to the materialization of Thakur’s dream of a Medical College and Hsopital. This new hospital opened its door that spring in an eight room, residential house situated on three acres of land purchased by Kazal’s Mother and located only a stone’s throw north of the Thakur’s House.

It did not take ling to become known. In summer that year a yound Mohammedan boy, Abdul Suleiman, from a nearby village whose cleft pallet was so severe he had never uttered an audible sound was admitted into this haphazard hospital. Kazal with his small but highly skilled staff led by Damodar, Anil and Soamir, operated on a makeshift table in the living room now converted into an operating theatre. The opallet was repaired by the flat hans position in a two hour operation. Two weeks later the boy uttered his first sound. Two months later, the reputation had been established in and around Deoghar that Kazal could make the dumb speak. The number of patients increased rapidly, and when a few months later, he operated on a seven year old boy with an inversion of the foot and hyperflexion of the heel so that the boy able to walk for the first time in his life, another dimension was added to his surgical skill; he made the lame walk.

Besides This success as a surgeon, a number of individuals found Thakur’s concepts expressed with such deft rationality by Kazal that they looked to him for guidance and inspiration. This necessitated the establishment of a further ashram. Hence, by 1975, some people were finding that beneath his apparently innocent helplessness, Kazal possessed an irresistible faith in Thakur, a willingness to endure, and a capacity to inspire others to endure, the sacrifice necessary to make Thakur’s dreams a reality. Though not in great number, yet they grew unconsciously into an effiecient faith that made them feel Kazal was coming to fulfilling Thakur’s prediction about him; “He would perhaps be the great, fulfilling man of the future.” To more and more, Kazal represented a forceful sense of mission, challenging innovation and fulfilment through practical service.
other posts

Chapter 36


http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html 

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html 

Chapter 37

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html 

chapter 38

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-chapter-38.html 

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Ocean in a Tea-cup chapter 38

Chapter 38 pp 361-371


For the twelve day following the cremation, many of the sons by culture and the sons by birth observed the traditional Hindu mourning rites. The remained unshaven, slept on straw mats and ate one meagre meal of boiled irce each day… Nothing seemed to remove the bitter sense of loneliness; neither repeated visit to his room where the sad picture looked back silently, nor daily visit to the Samadhi where he had been cremated. The knot in the stomach remained.

Following the period of mourning, the Sradh or formal funeral-cum-memorial ceremony took place. Where was this sacred, complex yet intimate ceremony to be performed? Where was there an area large enough to accommodate the sacred fires, the priestly chanting and yet close to Thakur’s place? Now it became obvious why Thakur had torn down that building so abruptly a few weeks before. He was arranging for this ceremony. Every day brought new revelations of how, while sitting in our midst, he so carefully arranged every detail.

As the last fire died out on the 8th of February, each of the Pundits departed with their appropriate offerings, the heads and faces of all the mourners were shaven and life came back to some semblance of normality. Would it ? Could it ? I returned to our house that evening and leaving many old friends talking quietly on the varandah, I sorted through some old notebooks. Suddenly I came upon this record of a conversation I had with Thakur in November, 1958 :

Thakur : You know what your biggest defect is ?

Housmn : What ?

Th. : You love my work more than you love me,

Housmn : You and your work are the same so what’s the difference ?

Th. : That’s right, but if ego is mixed with it than mistakes come.

I wept a few more tears, closed the notebook and wrote the following letter to my brother and other disciples in America :

“…. This is only to inform you that Thakur left in the early morning of January 27th. The past two weeks have been ones of shock. Hindu formalities and efforts at some kind of emotional adjustment. What will happen now ? It’s still too early to say, but one thing is sure : it will never be the same. No more requests for 100 cars, nor proposals for 30,000 acres of land. Some might say things will become more reasonable … regulated…. practical … and from the standpoint of the world they’re probably right.

Bor’da is thaking over the leadership as Thakur had made clear he should. The hospital grows under Kazal’s guidance and he displays some sense of mission.

As you might imagine, the shock through this huge family was intense. Streams of men, women and children are still arriving from distant places. Some weep. Some stare dumbly. One was murmuring. ‘Thakur, oh, Thakur, no matter the sufferings, still you were here and we weren’t afraid… now … what ?’ And another today was moaning. “So long., because you were here, I felt on top of everything. Now I feel everything is on top of me….. ‘

What was it he had ? I guess it was simple … almost too simple and yet so rare. In fact now that he’s not sitting there with that child-like smile, I’m realizing how much I was taking for granted to an extent that now seems unreal – a completely unadulterated love,. A love that just loved … no complaints, no demands. Hell, it’s no wonder that we feel so empty and alone. You don’t run into that very often.

What’s the benefit ? Each of us was free to make of it whatever we wanted. Some built up considerable material securityh and say sincerely ; ‘Thakur has given me.’ Others have had career dreams fulfilled, personal problems solved and are soothed and happy. Others have accumulated shoes, handkerchiefs or some other items used personally by Thakur and hope they or their future generations may benefit from them. Others have their pictures with Thakur or some of his handwritings and so on and on….

What about me ? I never really saved anything. I guess I never even tried for a damn thing … no money, no shoes, no power, o peace, no pictures … not even for goodness or God – nothing.

Why ? Because I was – and still am – selfish and ambitious --- out for everything or nothing. I want him alive in me … in my words and deeds and thoughts. I prayed, and I still pray ; “Use me, Thakur, to fulfil, protect and nurture you. Bless me whether I go to heaven or hell, for I must fulfil, protect and nurture you …”

That prayer, as I understood it, made me write desperate and foolish letters to various and sundry friend and family, asking for money, or planes, or launches or cars … only because he may have wanted them for someone. As he loved shamelessly, he asked shamelessly … and I wrote shamelessly … at times thoughtlessly. Often aware that I was losing most of my prestige and even my self-respect. Yet his coaxing appeal, his contagious enthusiasm pushed me up and out of the limited world of practicality into one where impossible dreams became possible and ordinary men could do extraordinary things. In efforts to make his wishes a reality I failed perhaps as often as I succeeded. Sometimes for something reasonable like a hospital, often for something improbable like 30,000 acres land or making a river flow uphill or, at the end, a hundred cars. Often I tried to evade or compromise but that prayer goaded me on.

Was it worthwhile ? Each measures from his own standard. From mine. I wouldn’t have changed much … except for the last days … I’d have been more conscious of him personally and less absorbed in his work and others’ need and my personal comfort. The fact that I missed the opportunity to be with him at the end is valid evidence of my negligence. I realize now my harsh judgment on the slackness of the disciples of Christ has rebounded upon me. I guess I wasn’t much better … in fact, considering I’d spent a quarter century with him. I was much worse. I’m realizing now how intensely, wishfully he wanted my heart … his only desire for me was that I become completely, totally, his … in all respects … and this too so could truly communicate his love to others. Well, I didn’t make it. But the effort to do so was the best thing I’ve ever done … or could do in this life.

Now what ? I don’t know yet. He’s left me with so many things to do and people to look after … plus his insistent request made the last time we talked that I fix everything up. The university, the hospital, the Ganges and then to get some of his ideas across over there …

How ? When ? where to begin ? Frankly at this moment I don’t’ know. I feel very much empty and alone … let me see if he fills up the void and uses me and answers my prayer. He has in the past, I believe he will now. I’m ready for almost anything – whether on a throne or in the gutter, it really matters little. I’ve tested of Heaven and drunk more deeply than most. Who can be richer that I ?

Write when you can. It’ll be good to talk. I keep seeing his beckoning eyes in my mind and they seem to constantly be saying ; ‘Won’t you be mine ?’ And then I keep remembering that song we used to sing in Sunday School in the Rocky River Methodist Church when we were boys ; ‘I love to tell the story of Jesus and his glory, I love to tell story because I know it’s true …’

Though they say the road is narrow and steep and few are those who find it, perhaps I may yet to make. Then, of all men in the world, who is more blessed than me ?

Love … Ray
previous chapters
Chapter 36


http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup.html 

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-tea-cup-pp-356-360.html 

Chapter 37

http://thakuranukulchandra.blogspot.com/2011/12/ocean-in-teacup-ch-37-pp-361-367.html