An extraordinary girl

More About Dance and My Uncle

Earlier, I described how I came to Pondicherry for a long stay in 1949-1950, and how I took part in the December 1st dance programme. What I forgot to mention was the following significant incident concerning my husband. During my stay, it occurred to me to ask Sri Aurobindo about him. Perhaps Sri Aurobindo could change his nature and turn him towards the right path, I thought. And so I invited my husband to visit Pondicherry. But when my uncle came to know of it, he asked me whether I had taken the Mother's permission. I answered him somewhat proudly, saying that I did not need any permission. Consequently, my uncle himself reported the matter to the Mother.

I never learned what passed between them, but one day Sri Aurobindo asked Nirod-da to get from me a photograph of my husband. I found a very old one of his taken with me, and sent it to Sri Aurobindo, then waited eagerly to hear his reaction; but no word came. Meanwhile I had also hoped to receive an answer from my husband. But it was only long after that he wrote, "Your Guru doesn't want me to come to Pondicherry. The day I bought the ticket some peculiar eruptions appeared all over my body. My elder brother who, as you know, is an eminent physician, examined me thoroughly but could not diagnose the trouble. I had to cancel my ticket, and as soon as I did, the eruptions began to subside. This made it clear to me that I was not welcome there." Upon reading this, I was overwhelmed with gratitude towards Sri Aurobindo. How considerate he had been in saving my self-respect before others by acting in this indirect way.

Now to return to my dancing. From an early age, I had learned dancing from the famous Shambhu Maharaj. This came about because one day my parents and their friends saw me dancing in my childish way before my idol of Sri Krishna. My father quickly decided to engage a good teacher for me.

Later, he made a condition that for any public performance I should dance only in accompaniment to my uncle's singing.

Years later, after I was married, my uncle came to Calcutta with the idea of holding a programme to raise money for the Ashram. The function was to be held at Ranchi where I was staying for a while in a house of mine along with my husband and his parents. Uncle, instead of asking me directly to take part in the performance, began to remark to friends in a taunting and aggrieved tone that while he was working so hard for a noble cause, nobody was coming forward to assist him. When I came to know of this, I felt at once that all these jibes were aimed at me. I took him aside and explained to him that I was not a free person any more. I was married and a mother, and my husband's family were so conservative that surely he knew they would never consent to have me perform in public. Otherwise, I assured him, I would gladly have taken part in his show, particularly as it was meant to help the Ashram. He then asked me if I had even approached them for their permission. I replied that I had not, knowing them as I did. But when the story did reach the ears of my in-laws, they somehow readily gave their consent, much to my amazement. The show turned out to be a great success. Uncle had the power to attract large crowds of cultured people, and my name, added to his, must have had its effect.' The audience cheered my performance lustily, and wanted me to make one curtain call after another. Uncle refused to allow more than one. But there was no doubt that he was delighted with the response to my dancing.

On another occasion, my uncle gave a private performance in which Amala Nandy danced in accompaniment to his singing. Uday Shankar was present, as also my guru Shambhu Maharaj and myself. After her dance was over, Uncle asked me to dance to his singing. Hesitantly I looked at my guru for his permission, but he made a gesture with his head implying his disapproval. I could not disobey him and refused, despite my uncle's repeated entreaties, which naturally irked his vanity. But much later, he did appreciate my position and spoke highly of my obedience to my guru's wishes.

Some days later, at Uncle's suggestion Uday Shankar and Amala came to my house to see me dance. My guru was most flattered to have them. Uday Shankar was very pleased with my dancing and offered me an attractive job as a dance-teacher at his institute in Almora. I needed some diversion at the time as I was feeling quite lonely, and so was inclined to accept. But Uncle intervened and made me change my mind. Similarly, another handsome offer came fron one P. N. Talukdar's Centre in Calcutta, but Uncle had me refuse that too.

After the death of my father, Uncle arranged that, in order to give some solace to my mother, we should go on a trip to Kashmir. When we arrived in Lucknow in the course of our journey, we stayed with Uncle's most intimate friend who was a barrister and a fine singer himself. He was delighted to have us and found it an excellent occasion to arrange a private show where Uncle and I would perform. Hashi, a young and talented girl-disciple of Uncle's, also took part and sang a Hindi bhajan to which I danced in accompaniment. Once again, the audience was a knowledgeable one and included a particularly well-known yogi friend of our host.

Here too the show turned out to be a great success. The yogi claimed to have seen Sri Krishna's presence all the time I was dancing, and it is a fact that whenever I danced, I myself was always conscious of it.

We next stopped at Lahore. There again Uncle was the guest of a high-ranking friend. Curiously enough, my guru Shambhu Maharaj happened to be there at the same time. My uncle and his friends decided that a public performance by Shambhu Maharaj would be an excellent idea. Maharaj agreed but stipulated that he be paid a big sum in advance. The money was handed over to him, but before the performance could take place he sent word that he was not well and would not be able to appear. The resentment of the public can be imagined.

The truth was that on receiving the money, Shambhu Maharaj had spent most of it on drink and other bad habits, and was in no condition to perform. Nevertheless, some people went to him and begged him to save the situation. He grudgingly consented to do only one very short dance, and was literally dragged to the stage.

Once there, however, he became a transfigured man. He portrayed a single incident depicting Krishna's visit to Radha, in which Krishna merely appeared, gave Radha his darshan, and then departed. As Krishna approached, marvellously transformed from Shambhu Maharaj into a god, Radha, palpitating with expectation, was weeping with one eye while the other beamed with ecstasy. He was beyond description. Then after that one miraculous moment he withdrew, leaving the audience spellbound. Such was the magic of Shambhu Maharaj. Poor man, his end was miserable as is so often the case with artistes. Impoverished and suffering from cancer, his last days in the hospital were however taken care of by Indira Gandhi.

A number of years later, Uncle undertook once again to raise funds for the Ashram and came to Calcutta from Pondicherry. This time he took the help of a lady belonging to the Tagore family. Their project was to depict Bharat Mata in a dance tableau — Bharat Mata as she was now and as she had been in her pristine glory and splendour. But where to find a suitable dancer to represent her? Uncle suggested that he had a niece who could fill the role admirably. He asked the lady to see me and form her own opinion without letting me know the reason for her visit. Sure enough, she came on a brief courtesy call, and returned fully satisfied with me, as it turned out.

Soon after, Uncle spoke to me about the performance and the role he wanted me to play, and I agreed to do it. In fact, my part consisted only of standing perfectly still like the statue of a goddess, while another performer danced. There were a number of rehearsals in one of which my eyelids fluttered slightly, and I was told that would not do. After this I took great care not to make even such a minor mistake.

On the day of the performance, the lady dressed and adorned me as a goddess, and none could have done better, for she was a connoisseur in the art of beautiful costuming, belonging as she did to the Tagore family. Then I took my stand to one side of the stage in the posture of a goddess with my right hand raised in a gesture of benediction and protection, and kept the pose for about half an hour until the dance was over. Enthralled, the entire audience watched the show in utter silence. Judging by later comments, it seems that I really had looked like a goddess.

After this, the years slipped by, and the day came when Uncle arrived in Calcutta on his last visit. He had become old and lost most of his sight, hearing and even voice, yet he was scheduled to give a public performance. I heard that he had already sung at the Sri Aurobindo Bhavan, Calcutta, but that the programme had not gone well. Though a distance had come between us in our relations, I felt sorry to hear this and evinced a desire to attend his next show. So I asked a common friend of ours if he would accompany me to it. He was only too pleased, and said he would go and inform Dada straight away. "He will be so glad!" he enthused. But I told him he must not say anything to Uncle, and that we would simply go together, occupy front seats, and quietly slip away after the performance was over. "As you wish," he concurred with some surprise.

When we reached the auditorium, we found it full to overflowing. Nevertheless there was complete silence as Uncle appeared. He had become flabby and infirm, a shadow of his former magnificent self, and had to be supported by friends as he walked onto the stage. Worse, when he began to sing I realised that what I had heard was true — his voice had lost its magic and his singing was often off pitch. In the end, he abandoned himself to uncontrolled emotion and began to chant দেখা দাও প্রভু, দেখা দাও (Show Thyself, Lord, show Thyself) like a god-intoxicated Ramkrishna or a Ramprasad. Tears flowed down his cheeks, and his cry was heart-rending. He seemed on the verge of losing his senses when someone shouted, "Drop the curtain! Drop the curtain!"

The audience was thrilled as well as overawed, then slowly began to melt away. The atmosphere was surcharged with a Presence, and I myself was entirely overcome and determined to go to Uncle. My companion led me onto the stage and exclaimed, "Dada, Dada, look who has come to see you. Your niece Esha!"

"Esha, Esha! 'Where? 'Where?" Uncle stammered, unable to see me.

I did pranam at his feet and he embraced me at last with a love that held back nothing.