The Cauliflower (9 page)

He is inspecting us, very closely. He is looking deep into our souls. Do you feel that? Do you? The sheer intensity of his gaze? And there is such—such sadness in those eyes, and then … then there is such resignation, and then there is … there is laughter.
Laughter?
Of course. Do you see his lips moving? “This is her play,” he murmurs, as if to comfort himself, “This is the play of the Divine Mother.” (He speaks in his rural Bengali dialect—but no stammer. Not a
hint
of a stammer!)

Ah. Such extraordinary detachment! Such exquisite fatalism! Yes. This is the
lila
of the Divine Mother. He thinks that this (the circa-1855 swift's violent death—and, who knows?
Us
? The camera?) is her play. This is her divine sport.
We
are her play.

And who's to say that we aren't? Eh?

I'm just … urgh … the words have dried up. I'm rendered inarticulate. I mean if you don't quite appreciate how significant this moment is—how rare, how
precious
—then I can only … Although (in your defense) I suppose you've clambered a little tardily onto this speeding spiritual train, haven't you? You're a fraction green. Feeing slightly travel sick. Somewhat unprepared.

And I'm a—I'm sorry if I'm not proving entirely capable of rising to the … I'm just a little bit—a little bit overwhelmed by it all … flustered.… Just to be—to be held by the hand of … well, of—of
God
. To be held by this hand … but before everything … at the start of that great journey … years, even
decades
, before it would all coalesce into …

Oh my, oh my, oh my.

Hup
! Eh? Hang on! What now? We seem to be—we're suddenly moving toward the … very rapidly … we're … Good Heavens! Is he—? Are we being—? Is he planning to—? Is he tossing us into the—? Throwing us into the holy Ganga? Into the river? Giving us a sacred burial? Before we've even had a chance to retrieve the technology?! Is he—?

Plop!

Aaargh!
Into the water … but we're supposed to be—we're meant to be waterproofed at—at—at—at some level? Aren't we?

Have we become detached from the circa-1855 recently deceased swift? Are we alone? Are we sinking? If you press the yellow button on your remote you'll be able to see how—tell exactly how … how
deep
 …

Oooh
. It's very murky down here.… Did he do that on purpose? Just throw us—? Did he not understand—not recognize…? Did he not
want
us to be a part of—to see his … to bear witness to his … to his phenomenal…?

Is that a … a giant catfish? Swimming toward us? No! No! No! Please don't!
Please
don't! Aaaargh! It swallowed us! We've been swallowed by a giant catfish! And this is—this is its throat … and now this is its upper intestine. I'm not sure if we can … the signal … I'm not sure if it will—if it will carry on for too … for too much … for too … for too … for …

Hmm
. Seventy-six percent of the total budget up in smoke. The Cauliflower ™ is now officially in ruins. Seventy-six percent! And that's from a total budget of … uh …
um
 … of nothing.

So how much does that add up to, exactly? You do the math.

What
?! In pounds sterling?!

Oh! Oh thank goodness! In
rupees
 …

In 1856, Gadadhar Chatterjee, who will one day become Sri Ramakrishna (although we don't know quite how), is perched, stark naked, on the steps of the main ghat at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple holding a fistful of dirt in one hand and a fistful of coins in the other, repeating, under his breath, with an extraordinary level of concentration and intensity, seemingly ad infinitum:

“
Rupee
is dirt, dirt is
rupee
.
Rupee
is dirt, dirt is
rupee
.
Rupee
is dirt, dirt is
rupee
.…”

In the not-too-distant future, such will be Sri Ramakrishna's profound abhorrence for money that even the slightest
touch
of a coin to his sensitive fingertips will leave unsightly singe marks on his delicate skin. So powerful will become his state of divine non-attachment that he will prove incapable of engaging in financial transactions of
any
kind. He will not spend money. He will not save money. He will not use money. He will own nothing.
Nothing
. Other people—devotees, helpers, generous benefactors—will now need to support his every whim.

Of course, this is an immense blessing. Because the privilege of supporting a great saint financially is an honor of almost inconceivable magnitude. Imagine the joy of purchasing a prayer mat for Mohammed, a bathing cloth for Buddha, or a sandal for Jesus. Imagine the simple joy of service
as
worship.

March 1885, early afternoon. The cynical brother of a disciple inquires:

Cynical Brother (
in the hope of provoking the saint into a show of ego
):
“Sir, what do I call you, please? What is your name?”

Sri Ramakrishna (
smiling, while gently massaging the cynical brother's back
):
“Names? Do we have names? [
waving his hand genially
] ‘
Hey! Hey you! Hello!
' If you call me like this, then I will know that I am being called.”

Autumn 1881

Whilst engaged in conversation with a new devotee, Sri Ramakrishna falls momentarily silent (apparently lost in deep spiritual contemplation) and then suddenly, perking up, he exclaims:

“It's both sweet and sour,

Made with lemons, and it fizzes.

Bring some next time, please.”

Ah. Lemonade. The
Paramahamsa
wants lemonade.

Spring 1857, at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple (six miles north of Calcutta)

Uncle says it is almost impossible to eliminate the
ego
completely. He is very fond of using the example of a bowl which has been used for the purpose of storing chopped onions. Even when all of the onions have been removed, Uncle says, no matter how carefully you clean out that bowl, some trace of the smell will always remain. The
ego
is like that. You think it is gone but something always stays behind. A slight smell or a taint. And it will pop up and startle you when you least expect it to.

Of course, extremely holy men, after years of intense austerity and renunciation, can sometimes reach a state which we Hindus call
nirvikalpa
samadhi
. If, during a divine vision, you finally get to see
Brahman
—or God—face-to-face, then your body will not manage to survive the experience. After only a short while you will be dead. It is as though the
ego
is burned away by the light of God and then the body shrivels up like an empty seed pod. Spiritual pursuits are very good for your soul, but they can certainly be harmful to your health.

Look at Uncle. Who can deny that Uncle is blessed? That he is special? Uncle can bring such joy to people. He is full of love. There is an intensity and an honesty and a childlike innocence. There is an intoxicating attraction. I have heard people call it a charisma. Uncle could live a charmed life. And all the Chatterjees and the Mukherjees could live this life right alongside Uncle. But there is a perversity in Uncle. And this is his longing for God, which is almost like a sickness. It is very nearly a madness.

Just one year after the inauguration of the Kali Temple Uncle's beloved brother, Ramkumar, tragically passed away. Thank God I was here with Uncle to offer him support through this difficult time. How would he have managed otherwise? Ramkumar was Uncle's rock. He was one of the few people to whom Uncle showed any deference. So then, when Ramkumar died, Uncle lost all hope. Uncle's world turned black. He felt such bleakness—such a disaffection with all worldly interests and pursuits, as if there was nothing of any value left for him on this whole, broad earth. Poor Uncle suffered most dreadfully.

Before his early death, Ramkumar had been involved in many conversations with the Rani's son-in-law, Mathur Baba, on the subject of Uncle. Mathur Baba had noticed Uncle around the place and had been charmed and captivated by his obviously spiritual nature. It is hard not to be struck by Uncle's natural intelligence and his simplicity and his deep sincerity. Uncle has a kind of perfection. How might one possibly hope to explain it? It is simply his very essence.

Ramkumar had slowly persuaded Uncle over many months (inch by gradual inch) to help him with the Kali worship. But the rituals of Kali worship are very onerous and complicated. So Ramkumar made Uncle receive some formal training from an experienced
guru
. Uncle raised no particular objection to this process. And things went ahead swimmingly, or so it seemed, until during the initiation ritual the
guru
leaned forward and whispered Kali's holy
mantram
into Uncle's ear and Uncle unleashed a most dreadful cry—a cry so loud and so terrible as to strike pity and fear into the very hardest of human hearts—and then fell into an impenetrable trance. We were all greatly perplexed. What new mischief was this? But after a short while Ramkumar just slowly shook his head and laughed. Because when did dear Uncle ever do anything by halves?

At around this time an upsetting incident took place at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple. One afternoon, after worship, the head priest in the Radhakanta Temple slipped while carrying the image of Krishna, and Krishna's foot was broken in the fall. The priest was promptly dismissed. Damage to an image is considered highly inauspicious. It might attract very bad luck. And this image was one to which the Rani was especially attached. There was much debate about what to do next. Many pandits suggested that the Rani retire the image and replace it with another. But the Rani was very fond of the image and this thought distressed her. One day Mathur Baba approached Uncle and asked him his opinion on the matter. Of course, Uncle—young and insignificant as he then was—took this question in his stride. Nothing intimidates Uncle! He merely thought hard for a second and then he said, “If the Rani's son-in-law fell down and broke his foot, would the Rani then abandon him? Of course not. She would carefully tend to him until he was recovered. The Rani should treat the image of Krishna with the same level of compassion. She should fix the image and then return it to the temple.”

You may remember that Uncle had a great talent from his childhood with clay and sculpture. He volunteered to fix the image himself, using clay from the banks of the holy Ganga, and he did so with considerable skill.

The Rani was delighted. Uncle had effortlessly solved all of her problems. One cannot deny that Uncle had much spiritual authority for one still so young. Nobody could ignore it. And so both Mathur Baba and the Rani felt that Uncle should be persuaded to take a more active role in the life of the temple thereafter. Mathur Baba asked Ramkumar if Uncle might now be willing to act as priest in the Radhakanta Temple. Uncle accepted the offer (after much huffing and puffing) only because the burden of worship was not too heavy there. Alas, Ramkumar's health soon began to decline, until it became increasingly difficult for him to continue in the demanding worship of Ma Kali. Mathur Baba and Ramkumar decided that the best thing would naturally be for Uncle to now move to the main temple and for Ramkumar to take on Uncle's lighter duties.

Well you might think that Uncle would be delighted by this unexpected promotion. But quite the opposite! Uncle was horrified. He had no desire to spend his time tied to the routines of the Kali worship. Uncle was a free spirit. He could not be expected to conform to certain traditional ways of doing things. And he did not want the responsibility of looking after the Goddess's expensive jewelry, either. Uncle had a terror of such things.

Even though Mathur Baba (a powerful and influential man) showed Uncle (a poor village boy of no formal education) so much favor and deference in offering him this promotion, Uncle responded to these great kindnesses by claiming that he lacked the knowledge of the scriptures needed for such an exalted role, and when Mathur Baba insisted that this was of no importance (Uncle's spiritual qualities were of far more significance than mere book learning, he said), Uncle commenced avoiding Mathur Baba like the plague! If Uncle caught so much as a whiff of Mathur Baba in the vicinity he would instantly scurry off. You can only imagine how much consternation this caused both myself and Ramkumar! Uncle is extremely perverse! It was only when I myself promised to assist Uncle in all of his duties and to take full responsibility for the jewelry and precious items in the Kali Temple that Uncle was finally persuaded to relent.

Uncle is perfectly unmanageable! Who might compel him into anything? A wild stallion may be tamed, but who may tame Uncle?

Ah. Even as I ask this question I am quietly prompted with a response: Ma Kali, that is who. It is Ma Kali who will tame Uncle. And yet Uncle's gradually developing devotion to the Goddess would express itself in yet still more displays of shocking perversity! Oh the trials Uncle would put us all through! The shame and the confusion and the heartbreak! Who can understand Uncle? Not I. Uncle is truly beyond my comprehension. But I love Uncle more than the very breath that fills my lungs. Even though I doubt him and I doubt him and I doubt him. Even so. I love him.

Twelve attempted answers to the twelve slightly impertinent questions about Ma Kali

1. The main monotheistic faiths cleave to the idea that there is one God, who is good. All evil comes from another place, a different place. In the Christian tradition, this place is the Devil. Muslims call him
Shaitan
. But the Hindus yearn to transcend what they call the “pair of opposites,” e.g., good/bad, love/hate, attraction/repulsion. They believe that it is necessary to do this if you are to journey beyond the limited world of the
ego
and its attachments, beyond the cage of relativism. To the Hindu, God is beyond “opposites,” beyond good and evil. Often the example of fire is used to illustrate this idea. We use fire to warm ourselves and to cook, but fire may also hurt us and destroy our homes. So fire transcends good and bad. The human mind, the
ego
, will
call
fire good or bad according to the context. But fire is neither good nor bad. It is simply fire. And it
burns
.