An extraordinary girl

My Son—1

I will never forget the day my son Devrup and I were to go to my husband's place for a social function. Devrup had promised to pick me up from my house at seven-thirty in the evening. I waited on the road outside for about half an hour, but there was no sign of him; considerably annoyed, I returned to my apartment.

At about nine o'clock, I phoned a friend of his to ask if he knew what had happened to him, but he could not help me. When another hour passed with no news of Devrup, my alarm grew. My mother too became anxious. I went down to the apartment below and knocked on the door of my tenant, Mr Rao, waking him from his sleep. When I told him that Devrup had not returned, he asked me into his flat and suggested that I phone "Elder Uncle". (I shall describe his miraculous advent in my life as soon as I finish the present story.)

Elder Uncle arrived at about eleven and surmised that Devrup might have gone to a cinema. He suggested we should wait a little longer, but I was already sure Devrup could not have gone to see a film. When another hour and a half had passed, Elder Uncle and the Raos began to whisper among themselves that it was time to enquire about Devrup at the various city hospitals. A violent Naxalite movement was raging in Calcutta at the time, and no one's life was safe. I ran to my mother in desperation. "Ma, my son must be dead!" I cried.

With admirable self-control, she replied, "Weren't you telling me the other day that Sri Ramakrishna had assured you that nothing disastrous would happen to you? If that is true I am sure Devrup will come back tonight."

I was comforted. I felt a force descend from the top of my head and spread down to my feet, and faith returned to me that everything would be all right. I remained unruffled even when enquiries at the city hospitals yielded no result.

Now my friends thought of searching for Devrup by car and invited me to join them but I declined.

Just at that moment, about one a.m., Devrup returned driving his own car. Part of his face was covered with a bloodstained handkerchief. He explained that when he had been on the way home after getting his examination results, he had been attacked by four or five people. They overpowered him and robbed him of everything he had. Then they left him for dead in the gutter. After four or five hours, a lady found him and took him to her house, where she attended to his wounds. "I drove home when I felt better," he concluded. You can imagine our relief.

At one time Sri Aurobindo had told me that I would have to give up my attachment for my son. "If you imagine that you will have the money to live with your son and enjoy life with him indefinitely, you are mistaken," he said. "Nor can I protect' him always; I am only doing it for your sake while you are still with him. No disaster will befall either of you during this period. But you must finally come to terms with the fact that you cannot plant your feet in two boats. You must be prepared to leave worldly happiness behind you, and your worldly attachments as well."

"But people will laugh at me," I exclaimed.

"They will do nothing of the sort," he replied firmly. "They will learn to recognize a higher side of your being. But you must be ready to give up everything you call your own."

So it was that I asked God to free me from my attachment to my son. How unnatural an aspiration it seemed! It would be difficult for anyone to imagine how strong an attachment it was, and how much I had already suffered for it. It was a torture for me to have Devrup out of my sight. My mother, seeing my state of mind, finally advised, "God alone can relieve you of the torment of this attachment. Call Him with all your heart."

Acting upon her suggestion, I shut myself in my room. There, all alone, I prayed repeatedly to the Lord to deliver me from this mad obsession. My food was left at my door and I allowed no one to see me. My friend M witnessed this solitary confinement of mine and told her friends in London about it.

They were amazed, all the more so after it had continued for seven long years.

For me, those seven years were amazing in their own extraordinary way. As I would weep and pray to the Lord to deliver me, he would listen and reply, giving me solace in an unimaginably sweet voice. I could not see him clearly except that at times I would discern a golden light flooding the room. But what is most indescribable and marvellous is the state of joy and rapture I experienced during that time. Because of that experience I am now able to live in the Ashram at peace with myself, without my son.

Of course when I return to Calcutta for a visit, the old movements reassert themselves to some extent. If my son returns home late, I begin to fret. Seeing this, one of my relatives asked me how I could live in Pondicherry without him, yet got so easily upset when he did not appear on time in Calcutta. The only answer I could give was that it was a matter of psychology. When I was with my son, his absence caused the old nervous tension; but when a great distance separated me from him, I could maintain my detachment.

It was during those seven years of solitary confinement that I came to know the person I call জ্যাঠামশাই, ("Elder Uncle"), one who since that time up to the present has been a source of unfailing support and assistance to me. I will write more about him later. Here it will suffice to say that Elder Uncle came to our house at the bidding of my own uncle, Dilip Kumar Roy, from Pune. He knocked on our door one day while I was in seclusion, and I slammed the door in his face. Naturally he was offended, but my mother made it up to him by inviting him in, then overwhelmed him with kindness and hospitality.