This Monk From India - The Divine Life Society

DEATH UNFOLDS ITS MYSTERIES
futility of all things on earth, even my studies become insipid to me, medicine is so limited. I am
more and more attracted by all eastern philosophies, the real meaning of life is there...Life is short. I
know I am only nineteen, but I feel that I should not waste a minute. Sitting on my chair, studying
for hours as I do, I may develop my memory, I may become a great professor of medicine, I know I
can. I know the medical profession is still one of the best, and to use it enables one to serve and help
others. If I still have some heart in it, it is only because Chidananda’s parting words to me were ‘Be
a good doctor, Christian’ when he gave me the Prayer of Francis of Assisi.
“Also, did you not tell me once when you were at home that even to become a great
professor of medicine was not sufficient, that the real values of life were not there And, mother, the
feeling that I must not waste time increases every day. Somehow I know....But perhaps it is only a
feeling ....”
But I had written in reply, “Do not come now. Finish your studies first.”
Time had passed since Christian had left me, and I was doing my Japa regularly with joy, the
joy of still helping him, when one day I received a letter. A small photo of my son was in it. I
screamed, my mind went blank. All my peace, my control, was thrown to the winds. The photo was
alive. My son was there, his mouth so soft, the mouth of a child, so sorrowful too. His eyes were
calling me and that call had such an intensity! I stood up and walked around my room, the photo
hidden on my breast. All sorts of thoughts came into my mind: “You left him, he was so young, he
needed you, he was in despair. After you left, he went into seclusion for two months, he prayed, he
had remorse, he did not eat. Then he revolted, but he could find no pleasure in the things of the
world.” I remembered the morning I left my home to join Chidananda. I was packing, as if in a
trance, when my son came into my room. He asked, “Why are you packing Are you going away”
I came out of my trance and I was surprised also. Why was I doing that I had no definite purpose in
my mind. So I truly answered, “No, I am not leaving.” But he came back and gave me a very tiny
parcel. I knew straightaway what it was and my heart cried out: “Oh no, Christian, keep it. The saint
who gave it to you told you never to part with it. It is your talisman.” I do not know why, but I
opened the paper which contained the four-leaf clover. It was so old, so brittle, yet I lifted it, and it
broke. I never forgot the pain that went through me then. Was it a premonition
These recollections made my suffering almost unbearable. I felt I could not control myself. I
felt that I would bring my son back to me, back to this earth-plane where he would suffer again, for
the intensity of my pain was such. So I suddenly stopped my work and said, terribly hard and
threatening, “Now, my mind, you will obey me. I never want to see that face, that photo, again.
Never, you understand! You are not going to trick me into this.” My mind obeyed, and even after
Satsangs, when I was blissful and not hardened into watchfulness, if the vision of that photo ever
tried to come, I still managed to keep it away.
I kept that little broken clover-leaf clover always with me until the day I had the courage to
part with all my son’s letters, his last words, his watch, and the little heart made of gold with a pearl
in the centre where were still the marks of his baby-teeth. I gave it all to Swamiji. One year
thereafter, on Mother’s Day, imagine my surprise when he gave it all back to me, tied up in an
orange handkerchief I had embroidered for him years before! I was so moved and I wondered how
he could keep so carefully such things as that poor handkerchief, so badly embroidered.
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