Ravindra

Ravindra-Ji (Vandi-da)

“Writing always means hiding something in such a way that it then is discovered”.

Italo Calvino

Who was Ravindra-ji? He was born at Etavah (U.P.) on the 26th January of 1917. He was schooled in Gurukul Kangri (H.P.) He seemed to have done quite well in his studies. He came to Pondicherry, to join the Sri Aurobindo Ashram at the age of 21— a strapping young man. He never left this place till his passing away on 24th of August 2001 at the age of 84 not too old. That would make out his sojourn here a mere 63 years — not too long, not too short either. Whatever that length be, the amount of work he put up here is phenomenal in variety, quality and quantity.

We could now move on to have a closer look at him and his works — referring to him as just R.

A Tree

(Poem by Sri Aurobindo)

A tree beside the sandy river beach
Holds up its topmost boughs
Like fingers towards the skies they cannot reach
Earth-bound heaven amorous.

This is the soul of man. Body and brain
Hungry for earth our heavenly flight detain.

Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems: A Tree

Ravindra-ji (R) was a colossus — a tree with spreading branches offering shade to all and sundry. He was a colossus both literally physically and figuratively. I wonder at myself how I would have missed him out for so long! Our young eyes in the 40’s saw him with mixed feelings of fear, dislike, wonder and much later some opposition. These may be the reasons for my missing him out. I gathered too late that his Centenary year has passed us by — none took notice of its passage (?) — so I was not the only one napping (small comfort is it?).

R was a big man of sallow features. His head was big even for him. A good crop of black hair and a luxuriant goatee beard adorned his face. Thick horn-rimmed specs completed the picture. Remarkable was the dress — for its simplicity and constancy. It was the same from the first day I set eyes on him till his last days (till death do us apart). It (the dress) comprised of a very loose “T”-shirt (this for want of a better name) overhanging an equally loose pair of pyjamas. Both were of course white cloth, made in Ashram. The pyjama never reached the ankles! He believed in bare feet and bare head (maybe in much later days he took to a pair of chappals). I never saw him use a cap or umbrella. His residence was on the ground-floor, in a very small room forming the N.W. corner of the Ashram Main Building. He shifted to a first floor room built later over the same room. The old room is turned into a cold room to house (preserve) Manuscripts of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

The most remarkable feature of R’s personality was his laughter. I have not heard a second one approaching it in quality and quantity. It could jolt you the first time but was enjoyable then onwards. Have you heard the kingfisher’s challenging cry? It is a shrill kaan kaan — repeated rapidly 8-10 times (it has a very nasal ending). R’s laughter would do any kingfisher proud. The laughter ended in a tired whimpering. One could hear the laughter a long way off, a furlong or more away!

There was a period that produced great workers. Karmayoga was the In thing it seemed. To mention a few of its practitioners: Manoranjan, Udar, Mona Pinto, Narayanprasad,… and Ravindra-ji. The Mother must have seen in R a great worker, on whom she could lay quite a burden (a joyous one). She did so, starting with a light one, gradually increasing it. He carried it well, I think to Her satisfaction. Let us now look more closely at the works he did.

The work(s)

(1) R had the most pleasurable chore of preparing, daily, some fruit-juice for the Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

(2) He would then have to hurry to D.R. (short for The Dining Room, also known as Aroumé to some old, old timers.) Once a high fever was raging through him, he went to D.R. taking support of the walls to steady himself. In that distant past, most sadhaks saw their work, usually given by the Mother, as essential to their sadhana. To miss it even a single day was tantamount to a retrogradation. I suspect attitudes have changed now. Time marches on or is it like Anatole France commented about the march of civilization, where he says: “On avance à reculons, avec nos regards fixés vers le passé (we advance back-walking with our sight fixed on the past).

(3) R = Vandi-da (Cart Brother or Cartman — R was given in the early 40’s a work that earned him this sobriquet of Vandi-da. Why? There was a large tyred hand-cart in D.R. It was equipped to transport tiffin-carriers, which were taken in this cart that stopped at predetermined street corners. Some aged sadhaks picked up their carrier from the cart. This service was in place for lunch and dinner. I am not sure about breakfast. This title of Vandi-da was not inherited by R’s successors — Janardan and Damodar (Maharashtrian). May be people had lost their sense of humour and/or imagination.

A Related Story

Vandi-da, one day pulled a rickshaw (not a cycle-rickshaw but hand-drawn). He pulled it on the public road, just for the fun of it. Some local rickshaw-pullers who had seen R as Vandi-da became anxious. They thought he (R) might have in mind to run a regular rickshaw-service. This would lose them customers! A delegation of them approached Amrita-da, the Ashram’s manager, to plead with R to desist from starting an Ahram Rickshaw Service (A.R.S).

(4) R was part-time supervisor in Dortoir. He was a terror to the children because of his close inspection during meals — no talking, no running around, no wastage, — nothing but eating silently, finishing all one took. No finish, no school was the rule.

(5) He had for a time to see to the working of the Laundry and Bakery.

(6) One of the thankless, horrendous jobs R had was to maintain the silence and discipline of the place — mainly D.R. We, young and old feel lost too long in ‘silence’ and irked by discipline. The Mother had, into the bargain, instructed him to go about the job “Quietly”! So we would often see R walking past rows of us noisy youngsters, without a word, a smile on his lips, hands closed behind. He looked straight ahead or just stooped to pick up a morsel of food dropped often deliberately to tease him. I must admit he passed our muster — with credits.

(7) I used to move around on a bicycle. I once rode into D.R. through the Main Gate. R. saw me and said: “You should not ride in. You may walk the cycle in.” I countered with: “What is wrong with cycling in? The gate is wide enough for a lorry”. Luckily he gave in, saying: “I cannot argue with you. I don’t even know cycling — so”! I have never ridden in through the Gate after that day.

(8) R crossed swords (words) with me again at a different venue, with a referee to boot (actually a “refereesse”). It all started in our Sports Ground in its “getting-ready”-days. Many of us ashramites worked there on Sundays. We were given lunch there, brought by R. I was having lunch using my hands to bring the food to my mouth — i.e. no spoon (what most Indians do). There was a notice in D.R. advising diners not to eat with hands. Now R found himself duty-bound to advise me to change over to “spoon-feeding”. I would not give in, and replied “Why not? This is not D.R!” He gave in or seemed to — for when I entered the Play Ground the same evening, he was there and told me: “Oh! Batti, we had an argument this noon at the Sports Ground — I spoke to the Mother about it. You may speak to Her”! When the Mother came round to our group, I broached the subject of R vs. Batti. She asked me to show my hands. I did — palms up and palms down. Her remark was: “Oh! They are quite clean for a boy!” and She moved on. (I must have had clipped my nails recently and washed my hands for the groundnuts.)

(9) R had, it would seem, trained himself to be alert for trouble. There was a young fiery boy named Niranjan. He had an altercation with a boy named Shakti. It came to blows. Shakti was a cool type. They were separated by some older people. This was near the Play Ground after the Mother’s “Distribution”. We all proceeded to the D.R. Niranjan went to his room. We just reached the front verandah of D.R. when Niranjan ran up to Shakti saying (in Bengali) “come on, I will deal with you now”. He had an open penknife in his hand. We were all younger than either Niranjan or Shakti. We were too surprised to make any move. Fortunately R happened to be present. He caught Niranjan’s hand and led him off back to Play Ground to the Mother.

(10) Next in horrendousness in R’s duties must have been being responsible for supplying personnel for the many Departments (Chitra-di & Co. now are at that) and keeping the appointees disciplined (regular, punctual and useful). It appears to me that as a general rule of Nature, a man does not like the duty fixed up for him by another, or if he does like it the duty does not fit him or he is not befitting that work! It takes all sorts to make up our thus small world!

(11) But by far the most horrendous duty that befell R was another. There were even in those “good old days”, unwanted individuals amongst us. The Mother, once in a rare while, required that person to leave the Ashram! R was the man chosen to see that the person is gone, or taken away. Interestingly he failed once — because of the Mother countermanding Herself! There was a tomboyish girl whose general behaviour warranted her being asked to leave. R was to make the arrangements. He was about to finalise the procedure. Just then Nolini-da came and said that the girl may be allowed to stay — the Mother had said so. Soon after the Mother queried to find out if the girl had been sent! This happened thrice in a few days’ time. R was peeved and puzzled. He went up to the Mother asking Her to enlighten him. She said that each time she had thought of sending her away her soul came to the Mother saying: “This is one chance I have to advance. If it is lost — when again?” So the Mother relented.

There was another somewhat similar case. It may not have been connected with R, but it is very instructive. There was a boy who was adjudged “Not Good Enough” for our institution. It so happened that the boy had just written to the Mother (it was just after one of the Darshans) asking Her: “Mother, who was that old man standing behind you during the general blessings?” The Mother said, “Sri Aurobindo was standing behind me. The boy “saw” what none of you saw, and you judge him “not good enough?” [Each reader to unclutter her/his own thoughts.]

(12) It may be remembered that R.S. Pantulu (R.S.P.) alias Durvasa Muni, alias my uncle, was in-charge of the Binding Dept. of our Printing Press. All — all feared and respected him in equal measure. R went to the Dept., may be to check on the labour force there. At some point he managed unwittingly to cross the limits of his duty and step into R.S.P.’s territory. He caught the full blast of R.S.P.’s firepower. He literally ran out of the premises but reported the matter (as was his wont) to the Mother. She advised him to go and apologise to R.S.P. He did so early next morning. They melted into each other’s arms.

Age (Kaala) as he usually and inevitably does, slowed R and also mellowed him. Yet he took on new and lighter responsibilities. He edited the Hindi version of Purodha and Agnishikha. He was a lover of languages with a greater penchant for Hindi. He had a working knowledge of Bengali, Gujarati, Tamil, Telugu, maybe a smattering of French and Oriya. He took Hindi classes in our school.

A not so-long (26.1.1917 to 24.8.2001 = 84 years) but varied and fruitful (pun not intended) life was R’s. He was bed-ridden for some time and shed his mortal coils on the 24th of August of 2001.

I would believe Ravindra-ji went up in a golden Vandi to the Mother who took him into Her embrace of love. He had passed Her muster with credits.

Life only is, or death is life disguised,
Life a short death until by life we are surprised

(“Life and death” by Sri Aurobindo)

Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems: Life and Death