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
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