The Cauliflower (12 page)

1860. Sri Ramakrishna earnestly entreats:

“Oh please, Ma Kali,

Find a rich benefactor

To fund all my needs!”

Winter 1858, at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple (six miles north of Calcutta)

Uncle will never tell me what he sees during his many trances. Because I, Hridayram, am insignificant, I suppose. And I ask Uncle all of the wrong questions. I am ignorant in such matters. I irritate Uncle. Uncle insists that mystical experiences and visions cannot be described in words. Language both cheapens and tarnishes them. And these things are very precious to Uncle. They are his great secret.

What I can say for certain, though, is that after Uncle's deep trance following his exploits with the ceremonial sword in the Kali Temple, he found himself unable to perform even the most basic of tasks for many weeks. Because Uncle was drunk on spiritual bliss. He could not walk in a straight line. And what few rules still remained in his mind concerning the
arati
Uncle now completely abandoned.

I tended to Uncle as though he was a baby. I cleaned Uncle and I fed him. I patted Uncle's back when he had indigestion. And Uncle burped. I took over most of Uncle's worship at the Kali Temple. Uncle was a full-time job.

Mathur Baba had been informed about the incident with the sword and he often came to the temple to visit Uncle. He was infatuated by Uncle. He would sit at the back of the shrine room and watch Uncle singing, hour after hour, to the Goddess. Uncle wooed the Goddess with the holy songs of Chaitanya. Uncle would have lengthy conversations with the Goddess. Uncle was flirtatious. Uncle was often full of mischief and girlish sass. He would touch the offerings to his own head and hands and feet and then offer them to the Goddess with a coy giggle. Uncle would dance and jiggle around. Uncle would feed the Goddess bits of food. He would say, “Will you take this lovely bit of
luchi
, Ma? No? Not until I eat some myself? You want me to try it for you, Ma? Like this? Do you see? I am eating it, Ma. It is delicious! Are you happy now, Ma? Will you eat some now, Ma?”

Uncle was the guest of honor at a wonderful party to which only Uncle had been invited. There was only one invitation. Ma Kali was the host. And Hridayram? He was peeping into Uncle's strange new world through a dirty window from the dark street outside. Uncle was within. Hridayram was without.

After the incident with the sword, Uncle had become aware of great waves of divine consciousness which he saw pervading the entire universe. He found them intoxicating. He would dance around in them and sing. He began to see God in all things. And he began to see all things as God.

On one occasion during
arati
I witnessed Uncle feeding the Goddess's food offering to one of the temple cats. The cat had just entered the shrine room, meowing. “Ma, you must eat,” Uncle gushed, following the cat around on his knees, “Ma! Ma! Please, try a little!”

People were astonished! This behavior was nothing short of sacrilegious! Many complaints were made. It was a scandal of inconceivable proportions. Mathur Baba and the Rani were called. But Mathur was not in the slightest bit concerned. “Your Uncle is awakening the Goddess,” he said. “Let him worship her exactly as he chooses. Do you not sense the atmosphere in the Temple now? It is extraordinary! I have never felt anything like it before.”

And Mathur Baba was right. There was an excitement. It is most difficult to describe it. Like an unscratched itch. A nagging anxiety, a restlessness. Akin to the feeling one sometimes gets before the monsoon breaks.

And Uncle was also restless. He would argue with the Goddess. “But Ma, I am not a man of letters. I have not read the scriptures. How am I to do what is being asked of me here?”

Then he would be quiet for a while, as if listening. “Well, please tell me everything I must say, Ma. And tell me everything that I must do. It should all come from you, Ma. Because I have nothing, Ma. I am nothing. Just a humble village boy.”

Uncle had been blessed by many extraordinary spiritual visions, but still he was not satisfied. On some days his confidence would falter and he would turn to me for comfort. “I am afraid, Hriday,” he would say, “Of course, I long to feel the presence of the Goddess at all times, but often when I meditate I hear locks turning and feel manacles fastening, one by one, first around my feet, then around my legs, then my hips.… Eventually I am completely imprisoned inside my own body, and the Goddess alone has the key. But she will not release me until she is ready. She makes me stay there for many hours, Hriday, in terrible bondage. Until my bones feel like they must surely snap! She frightens me, Hriday. But this is just her divine play, and I must submit to it, Hriday, like an obliging child submits to its parent. I must submit to it because I love her more than life itself.”

Uncle's first phase of perpetual bliss lasted for many weeks, but eventually it faded. And Uncle began to miss the feeling and to hunger for it once again. Uncle was addicted to the Goddess. He could not sleep. He thought about her constantly. He called for her. But there was fear in his voice now as well as longing. Uncle was so brave. He could not eat. His chest was always burning, always red. He could not digest his food. Uncle thought he was going mad.

Sometimes as we sat together talking in the evenings he would suddenly raise a hand and hush me. “Do you hear that?” he would whisper. But I could hear nothing. “Do you hear that?” he would repeat. “Do you hear the jangle of the bells on the Goddess's anklets? Do you hear her, Hriday? Walking up and down the verandah? Climbing the stairs? Going up onto the roof? Ah …
Silence! Listen!
Ma is standing up there under the stars and gazing out at the holy Ganga!”

Through my contacts at the Temple I managed to employ the services of a doctor. He came to see Uncle and he was greatly perturbed by what he found. He felt that Uncle needed a rest. He was concerned for Uncle's physical and mental well-being.

But who may tell Uncle anything? I spoke many times to Mathur Baba, saying that I felt Uncle needed to get away from the temple for a time (the atmosphere in the temple was not healthy for Uncle). Yet Mathur Baba was so intoxicated by Uncle that he would not listen.

Often Uncle would spend hours in the Rani's flower gardens collecting flowers to make garlands for the Goddess. And as he carefully cut and arranged the flowers he would be laughing and talking all the while. But there was nobody there. Uncle was talking to himself. At other times he would fall to the ground without warning and wail in agony. He would rub his cheeks against stones and thorns without so much as a second thought. His face was constantly bloody and bruised. His cheeks would stream with endless tears. Such was Uncle's confusion and yearning.

Of course, things eventually came to a head, as I knew that they must. The Rani had come to visit the temple. She was eager to witness Uncle performing the
arati
. But Uncle was very tired and sluggish that day. I was concerned that the worship might be too much for Uncle. But the Rani wanted to see Uncle, and Uncle is so obliging and he would not disappoint her. He went to the temple and he began the worship. But Uncle was jumpy and fractious, like a child. So he appealed to the Goddess. He danced for her, and he sang.

It would be impossible for anybody who has not heard the delightful voice of Uncle to understand how sweet and charming it truly is. He tugs on one's very heartstrings. Uncle sings with such love and longing and intensity. It can make the hair on one's arms stand erect. Uncle's voice is so unforgettable.

And Uncle was singing to the Goddess. He was singing his heart out to the Goddess. And the Rani was seated just a few steps behind him, in the temple sanctum, on a mat, her eyes closed in prayer, when suddenly Uncle interrupted his song, and he turned, and his face was contorted with rage. And the source of this rage was none other than the Rani herself, the founder of the temple, one of the richest and most pious women in Calcutta—who was praying quietly there. But Uncle seemed oblivious of these facts. In four short steps he made his way over to where the Rani sat, and quickly, without warning, Uncle drew back his hand and he slapped the Rani, violently, across her cheek.

All hell then broke loose! In seconds Uncle was grabbed by the guards and by members of the Rani's entourage.

“How dare you!” Uncle screamed at the Rani. “How dare you think such things in the presence of the Mother!”

The Rani was startled. Her eyes had flown open. She had raised a hand to her smarting cheek. She gazed at Uncle, perfectly astonished. And then she nodded her head, curtly. “Release him!” she said. “Let the worship continue.” At first people were hesitant to release Uncle. The temple administrator (who already despised Uncle) was burning with fury on the Rani's behalf and he started to protest. “What the boy said is true,” the Rani calmly interrupted him. “I should have been immersed in prayer, but my mind was preoccupied with a legal case I am fighting. This was an insult to the Goddess, and I have been duly reprimanded. Let the
arati
continue.”

So Uncle was unhanded and he finished the worship.

The Rani bore this great public insult without flinching! She truly is a most remarkable woman. But afterward several conversations were had about Uncle. Mathur Baba and the Rani were most concerned that an excess of abstinence might have turned Uncle's mind. Uncle was exhausted. And after
arati
one evening Uncle stood before Mathur Baba and he firmly announced: “Tonight the Goddess has finally agreed to accept Hriday's service in the temple in exchange for my own.”

Of course, Mathur Baba understood that it would be difficult for me to continue looking after Uncle while also conducting the time-consuming Kali worship, so he gave permission for me to send for our cousin Haladhari. Haladhari is a devotee of Vishnu and well versed in the scriptures but is not in favor of animal sacrifice. Even so, he felt happy to take on the
Shakti
worship. But on his arrival, just like Uncle before him, he firmly refused to accept the
prasad
prepared in the temple kitchens. Mathur Baba remonstrated with him, saying, “Gadai and Hriday both now accept the temple food, will you not accept it?” But Haladhari insisted on preparing his own food, and Mathur Baba finally consented to it. Everything proceeded smoothly for a few weeks under these new arrangements, but after about a month, during the
Shyama Puja
, where live animals were to be sacrificed, the Goddess suddenly appeared to Haladhari in her terrible form and told him that his conduct of the service was lukewarm. She was angered by it. And to punish him, she said that his son would die. Shortly after, he received news of his beloved son's death.

Haladhari told Uncle what had happened, and I was then obliged to take on the Kali worship in his place.

I am in awe of the Goddess. I am quite afraid of her. But Uncle said with his own mouth—did he not?—that the Goddess would accept my service in exchange for his own. So I therefore imagine that the Goddess must appreciate my service in some small way. I have no desire to offend her. But I am not like Uncle nor even Haladhari. I am not overburdened with devotion. And I have never seen a holy vision. The Goddess has never granted me any special boon. Uncle emphatically disagrees. Uncle says that he himself is the Goddess's special boon to me. Uncle is my gift—when I serve Uncle I serve the Goddess. And I do love to serve Uncle. Even through all our many hardships.

Mathur Baba has been so good to us. He has employed an eminent
Ayurvedic
physician, Gangaprasad Sen, to look after Uncle. We have been provided with endless powdery concoctions and potions and creams. Mathur Baba regularly sends Uncle expensive bottles of syrup of candy to try and dispel his dreadful flatulence. In time, when Mathur Baba inherits the Rani's estate, I hope that he may become Uncle's most generous benefactor. And mine, too. If we keep in his good graces. Because where would we be without Mathur Baba's good graces? Truly.
Truly
. I hate to imagine where. I only know in my heart of hearts that wherever it might be, however poor and lonely and dreadful, Uncle and I must needs be there together. Because the Goddess wishes it so.

1865. A terrified Sri Ramakrishna, at a critical juncture in his grueling, twelve-year-long sadhana (or spiritual journey), is initiated—at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple (six miles north of Calcutta)—by a mysterious, orange-robed woman into the sixty-four bizarre and often dangerous disciplines of Tantra.

1.

March 1865: On the careful instruction of this mysterious orange-robed woman, an anxious Sri Ramakrishna helps to construct a meditation platform in the
panchavati
which rests upon the five skulls of five different species, one of which is human.

2.

June 1865 (or sometime thereabouts): The mysterious orange-robed woman presents Sri Ramakrishna with a beautiful young girl and asks him to worship her as the Devi (or Goddess). Sri Ramakrishna does exactly as she requests.

Mysterious Woman:
“Good. And now that the worship is completed, will you please sit on this girl's lap and chant with your prayer beads?”

Sri Ramakrishna (
weeping
):
“But I have pledged myself completely to the Divine Mother! Would you honestly tempt me thus?!”

Mysterious Woman (
pointing
,
unmoved
):
“Go. Sit.”

A still-sniveling Sri Ramakrishna inhales deeply, turns his thoughts to Ma Kali, then sits on the girl's lap, starts chanting, and instantly becomes lost in a trance.

Some considerable time after he becomes aware of being shaken into consciousness …

Sri Ramakrishna:
“Eh?!”

Mysterious Woman:
“My child! Enough! Have pity! The discipline is now completed! This poor, long-suffering girl has terrible cramps!”