The Senior Sadhak

(A short story)

It was his obsession with flowers that resulted in a fall and made him land in the Ashram Nursing Home nearly two years back. The old bones took time to set, then other complications followed. At last he came back home to the familiar surroundings.

This afternoon after three days of adjustments in the room, he came out for the first time. Wearing a white Pajama and a white shirt with a stick in his hand for the first time for support, he stepped out of his house to go to the Ashram. He took a deep long breath, looked at the yellow delicate 'Imagination' flowers and reminded himself: no more plucking flowers from the roadside trees - the cause of his fall. He turned the corner and stepped on the François Martin Street, and the first glimpse of the Ashram building - two blocks away, overwhelmed him. It was for Her that he had come in the early thirties, it was She who looked after him from his youth to this day - an old man now - that's what the doctors said after his fall: he should not jump to catch the branches, he was no more young, his blood pressure was high and he was old. "Maybe, but not in spirit, not even now," he mumbled to himself and walked slowly towards the Ashram his heart's every beat vibrating with joy for Her, his every breath aspiring with gratefulness for Her.

Oh! The François Martin Street was always close to his heart as the final abode of the Lord was in the building on François Martin. Blessed is the road with His presence and His abounding grace. How the trees have grown! They were much shorter and thinner when he had last seen them! In two years they had grown to such a stature, with green foliage and flowers of different colours, their ardent aspiration, their mute way of conveying their participation in this unique Yoga of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. Oh! If only humans could grow so beautifully! He looked up at the tree full of flowers and just as he was remembering his fall here, a flower dropped in front of him. His face glowed with happiness. He picked up the flower and walked slowly towards the Ashram. He met X who greeted him happily at his recovery and with a penetrating look inquired about the flower-"Again?"

"Oh, no, it fell on the footpath and I picked it up to place it on the Samadhi."

"No more, Dada; the rules have changed."

He looked surprised but then nodded - surely things have to change. The word change kept on repeating in his mind. The roads had changed, they were cobbled and cleaner, the two-wheelers were much more numerous. People had money now...oh, in those bygone days, one could not even think of having a cycle. "Yes, change," he repeated again, "the houses now had a brighter look, they were repaired and painted more frequently….." A two-wheeler passed by, another, then another... he stopped counting. Everybody was busy except he. He had nothing to do. But was it really so?

There was still so much to be done in the inner self, the inner change that is the Yoga, and that has no end. He tried to cross to the Ashram pavement, hesitated. The traffic from both the sides made him jittery. Years ago, even to possess a cycle was a "Don't you recognise me, Dadu?" the boy asked. "I am Y's son," the boy said smiling.

"Oh my God! but you were in 'green group' - how come?" the sadhak recollected, "I have been away for two years, it seemed just yesterday!"

But the well-built body of the young boy reminded him that the time gap was enough to transform a boy into an adolescent, yes, time was relative. Maybe it is the mind which creates the relativity. He walked totteringly to the footpath, the strength had not returned fully. He had not planned to sit in the Ashram, just place the flower on the Samadhi and go back home. That boy who was only a casual acquaintance told him that he would take him back home. Can any one say who arranges these chance meetings. He himself did not know that he would require help to cross the road. But She knew and arranged the chance meeting with the boy. But why was the boy not in 'group' at this hour? He had fallen down and hurt himself while playing, so had been sent to the dispensary for treatment and the Doctor had told him to go home - that's how he had met Dadu. So everything gets arranged for us by an all-caring Hand, isn't it, so that even a fall has a hidden meaning!

He was greeted enthusiastically at the Ashram gate. Oh, how wonderful to see the usual familiar faces. Near the Samadhi, he was told not to place any flower on the Samadhi. The old temper rushed up: how dare this new fellow instruct him not to place flowers, he who had been here since the thirties? The ego speaking. But he checked himself in time and nodded his head in assent and immersed his changed self in the peaceful atmosphere. He touched the flower to the Samadhi and holding the hand of the new man walked up to the Ashram gate. What was the new man saying?

"Dada, I feel hesitant to stop senior sadhaks like you from offering flowers at the Samadhi at odd hours. Only up to eight in the morning is one allowed - that is the rule now. I am only doing my duty."

The sadhak replied with a beatific smile on his face, his voice calm, "Why, it is a good rule. The Samadhi looks so ethereal with the flower arrangement undisturbed: neat and artistic decorations done by sadhikas with love and devotion for Them. Why disturb it? I am taking back my flower after touching it to the Samadhi. I have the feeling of the olden times when we used to receive flowers from Her."

"You senior sadhaks are really blessed to have Her celestial touch."

This time the expression 'senior sadhaks' struck him. "In those days we had only sadhaks, no seniors or juniors. That is another change!"

The 'red group' boy was waiting for him at the gate and accompanied him up to his house; he did not speak at all. Immersed in his inner happiness he tried to find its cause. Yes, at last for once he had checked his rising temper and shut his ego up. That was a victory indeed. He would be on his guard now, had to change his nature.

The next day, he was found in eternal sleep on his bed - with a flower held with two hands on his chest, his face shining with the inner happiness of a Victor, the peace in his heart reflecting on his face.

Source: Mother India, July 2007