Contact with The Mother

"MYSTERIOUS GRACE"

A friend of mine, a naval doctor, lived in Barrackpore. For some reason he had to leave his daughter at Calcutta for her studies.

He approached me and asked whether his wife and daughter could stay with me for a time. I had no objection, if I could be of any help to him. I told him that they were fully welcome, if they did not mind the inconvenience they might have to suffer for all my defects of temper etc. They brought their luggage and put up with me.

His son, a young boy of twenty-five, had enlisted in the Air Force. He was then in Bangalore. We got a letter from him that he wanted a watch and some fifty rupees for his personal expenditure. These were sent to him.

After the lapse of a few days, the parcel and the money-order came back unacknowledged. We were surprised. We wrote to the Air Force authorities to let us know the whereabouts of the boy. No answer was received. We wrote again, but to no effect.

The boy’s mother wept and moaned. But what could be done? Those were the days of war, the year 1942. He must have been sent on active service to the front.

I used to console her that the Divine Mother in Pondicherry would protect her son if she kept up her own spirits. “You should keep faith in the Mother and pray to her. She will surely listen to your call.”

But the woman was far from the ways of prayer and would not believe in such “meaningless airy” things, so much so that she would grumble when her daughter sat with us in collective meditation.

One day I returned home at midnight leaving them at one of their relatives’ houses to attend a marriage party where she had gone, on my persuasion, with great reluctance, for she was all the time sorrowful, lamenting her misfortune.

As I got into my room, I turned the radio-knob. Some European music was going on. My hand was still on the knob when suddenly I saw the Mother standing opposite me as if physically, with graceful slimness, gorgeous dress, crowned forehead, white bright face, glittering eyes and piercing look. I could also see some light radiating from the middle of her forehead. “The boy is coming tomorrow”, she spoke, smiled and faded away.

In the morning, before going to my office, I handed over my house-key to another lady who was staying in the upper flat. That day I returned home early, eleven o’clock instead of twelve, to see whether the boy had come back. I met only the bewailings of my friend’s wife. With seeming sternness, I almost shouted: “Why all these lamentations all the time? Your son is coming today. No more bewailings. Why cry about your misfortune and make a fuss for nothing?”

At midday as we sat around the table for lunch, the door-bell rang. I told the girl to see who was calling. As soon as she reached the main door and opened it, we heard a loud scream. We got frightened. I rushed to the door only to see the brother and sister standing face to face, the boy outside the door bewildered, and the girl inside gasping in dread with wide-open eyes, the door half-closed.

“Why? Can’t you recognise me?” the puzzled boy was asking his puzzled sister. She could not believe that it was her own brother who had come back.

The incident turned this family to draw spiritual solace and inspiration from Sri Aurobindo and the Mother.