(The last few days, Mother saw very few people. She remained absorbed within. The previous meeting, on April 4, was spent in complete silence. Mother gives me flowers, holds my hand in hers and remains silent for a while. She is so white...)
I seem to be gathering all the world’s resistances…. They come to me one after another, and if I weren’t…. If I stop calling the Divine for a single minute, intimately feeling his presence within me, the pain is unbearable, mon petit! To such a point that I now hesitate to speak of “transformation” to people, because if that’s what it is, one really has to be a hero…. You see, there’s something in the body that would almost howl nonstop.
Yet it looks to me that there is something VERY simple to be done to make it all right…. But I don’t know what.
(silence)
Sometimes I wonder, “Does the Lord want me to leave?” I am quite… quite willing, you know, so that’s not the point; but does He want me to stay?… No answer. No answer except “Transformation.” And that is….
I truly, truly sense there is something to be done that would make everything go right—but I don’t know what it is.
(long silence)
What about you?
Well, I was asking myself many questions about you….
Ask, I don’t know if….
No, no, I mean questions concerning You.
Me?
I sense there’s an increasingly faster movement that’s… that’s absorbing you.
Yes, yes, it’s true.
You see, I have a solution for the transformation of the body, but… it’s never been done before, so it’s extremely… hard to believe. I cannot, I cannot believe that that’s it. Yet, it’s the only solution I see…. The body has a wish to go to sleep and awake… (“sleep” in a certain sense, of course: I remain perfectly conscious in consciousness, in the movement) and awake only after it is transformed…
(Satprem, wordlessly:) Sleeping Beauty!
…but people will never have the patience to stand it, to take care of me. The task is colossal, a herculean task; they’re nice (Mother points to the bathroom), but they’re already doing their utmost, and I can’t ask for more.
That’s the problem.
Yet, it’s the only solution to which the consciousness assents: “Yes, that’s it.”
For, you see… there’s a certain state—yes, a state like this (Mother closes a fist), sell-absorbed, in which you are… at peace.
But who? Who? To ask that of the people who take care of me is almost impossible.
I don’t know, but lately I’ve had a sort of feeling that you were going to “withdraw” in some way; that you were more and more absorbed and that, well, you would have to have less and less contact with the outside world for a certain period.
Yes. Yes, but then everyone will think it’s… it’s the end, and they won’t take care of me anymore.
Oh, come on! Of course not!
(Sujata:) Oh, no!…
(Satprem:) That’s not possible! People will understand. At least a few will.
What?
A few people will understand—and especially those who are here with you.
They are the ones who can understand.
Yes…. I’m sure they do.
But I can’t ask them.
Well, we can tell them—I can tell them.
Yes…. Will he1 believe you?
(Perplexed:)… Well, I think so!
(Sujata:) In any case, they’re right here, they’re listening.
(Satprem:) But I feel this strongly. Plainly you wish to have less and less contact with a host of external things which are of no use to your real work.
But we must, we must… (Mother gasps for breath, she moans, silence).
He is going to come. If you stay here long enough, he’ll come, and you can tell him.
Pranab?… All right.
I could—perhaps I could say to him, “I have asked Satprem to explain to you…” And you’ll explain to him in detail.
Yes, yes, Mother, certainly.
I can tell you they’re absolutely wonderful already; they do their utmost, that’s why I don’t dare ask him. You’ll tell him I told you so.
Yes, Mother.
(silence)
I appear to… (smiling), I appear to be “fanciful,” totally whimsical: I say yes, and the next instant I say no. So people get the impression….
No, no, Mother! No, no.
But my head, my consciousness is clear, clear, clear…. But I can’t talk anymore.
(long silence)
Tell me when he comes, because I want to tell him right away.
Yes, Mother.
(Mother is about to plunge in but notices she has flowers for Sujata on her knees. Sujata comes near her and gives her a lotus)
What is it?
A white lotus, Mother.2
Ah!… (Mother gives the lotus to Satprem) Here.
What do you prefer: to have my hand [to meditate] or not?
(Satprem:) On the contrary, I like very much that you hold me, Mother!
You like it?
Yes, hold me TIGHT.
Good.
(Mother plunges in)
What do you feel: am I drawing some force from you or giving you some?
(Satprem, a little flabbergasted:) But you fill me! You… you make me wide, you overwhelm me!
Oh, good.
But, Mother, it’s a real….
Yes, it’s in the consciousness, I know—it depends on the receptivity.
Why, it’s a fantastic Grace!
(Mother plunges in again, then comes back rather abruptly and says in a voice from above)
If I ask you to come more often, would you be able to?
Anytime, Mother, at any moment!
Every day.
Yes, Mother.
Around eleven o’clock, like now.
Yes, Mother, certainly.3
Naturally, she comes with you if she wants to.
(Mother plunges in again)
(Enter Pranab. The attendant briefly explains to him that “Satprem has something to tell him on Mother’s behalf.” She had in fact listened to the whole conversation. Instant outburst of anger from Pranab. He shouts from the other end of the room.)
(Pranab, in Bengali:) Nonsense! Nobody can fool me. I know everything.
(Then in English, quoting a Bengali saying:) Our bed is sea, what do we care for this dew?
(Mother comes out of her concentration, she speaks to Satprem:)
I have asked Satprem to explain to you what is happening—why I must make a change….
(Pranab:) Mother, I am not interested, Mother.
No?
I am not interested—whatever happens, happens. I am there to stand up to the last—whatever happens, happens.
(Mother tries to speak, Pranab cuts her short)
…I am neither reasoning nor doing anything. And I don’t want to listen also, Mother. [The attendant laughs.] I understand fully. And let me go on with my own light—own conviction, own faith, own strength, own will. [Pranab raises his head as if he were talking to a crowd] And I don’t want to listen, Mother, anything from anybody.
But you don’t want to know?…
No, Mother, I don’t want.
(silence. Mother is perfectly still, her hands folded on her knees)
(Pranab:) It’s perfectly all right. I have come with something, I stand by something, and if it does not come, I don’t mind—I am a sportsman, Mother. And I don’t want to listen to any explanation. Because whatever explanation is given, if the object for which I came does not materialize, it is the same thing to me.
No, it’s because there is an attempt to transform the body ….
That will happen—when it happens, we shall see, Mother …. Why to predict?
(Satprem:) No, no, meanwhile, for this work, she may have to go as if in an inner sleep….
(Pranab:) Let her go! What is there!
(Satprem:) So then we have to….
(Pranab:) That she has told me. Long before Mother has told me. It is not a new thing, Mother! You had told me, explained to me.
Then, it’s all right.
Pranab:) I don’t want to listen to anything, Mother. Let it happen—what will happen will happen, and we shall do the best. That’s all.
(Satprem:) No, the thing is that people should not disturb her too much.
(Now Pranab explodes. Half standing, half kneeling, his fist on one knee, he pours out a torrent on Mother)
WHO is disturbing her? If anybody is disturbing you, Mother, amongst us, he can be off! [The attendant laughs] Nobody disturbs.
(Satprem, appalled5:) No, no!…
(Mother tries to say something, Pranab cuts her off)
Mother, don’t, don’t tell anything. You go on: eat, sleep and work, and don’t try to make anybody explain me. I know what it is, what everything is.
Better everybody keeps quiet!
All right. All right, then.
I don’t want to hear anything from anybody.
All right, then.
(Pranab goes to the other end of the room. He shouts for the benefit of Dr. Sanyal, Champaklal, Mother’s attendant and Vasudha, who are all present.)
(Pranab:) I have my faith, I have my conviction, I have my purpose, and even if I am in the dark….
(Satprem to Mother:) Shall I come tomorrow at eleven, Mother?
(Pranab:) All that humbug, I don’t like.
Yes, mon petit, you’ll leave a little before [Pranab’s arrival]… that’s all.
(Satprem:) Shall I come at eleven or a little before?
(Pranab:) All those who like fuss, let them continue with the fuss.
(Satprem stands up to leave, Mother takes his hands. Her voice is like a child’s)
So. Thank you.
(Pranab:) There are many people to do fuss—I think most of them.
(Sujata lays her forehead on Mother’s lap)
Mon petit….
(Satprem, in a choked voice:) Good-bye, Mother.
(Pranab:) In thirty years I’ve seen enough—enough of humbug!
***
(Satprem leaves the room. He holds the white lotus tightly in his hands. Something terrible has just happened, he does not know what. It was not a man who was standing in that room…. On his way out, he meets Sujata’s brother and spontaneously, as if he suddenly saw it all, tells him, “One day they are going to close Mother’s door on us.”)
Satprem had heard, "Will THEY believe you?" But Mother did say "he" = Pranab. ↩
The white lotus of the divine Mother (the pink lotus is Sri Aurobindo's flower). ↩
The next time, after the intervention of Mother's attendant ("There are still too many people"), and perhaps other persons from Mother's entourage, the "every day" was reduced to three times a week, then two, then none. ↩
The rest of this conversation took place in English. The entire conversation, including the beginning in French, is available on cassette. ↩
Appalled at what is being thrown on Mother. ↩
***
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