The river of life

Early in the winter of 2008 I accompanied my husband to Benaras, where he was going to attend a conference in B.H.U.(Benaras Hindu University). This old city has its own charm, with famous temples, ghats,silk sarees, perfume, and many other things. The conference programme was tightly scheduled and kept all participants very busy for the whole day, so we few ladies decided to explore Benaras on our own. One afternoon we decided to have a boat ride on river Ganga, which covered all important ghats of Benaras. We started walking through crowded lanes to reach our destination, known as Dashaswamedh ghat. Going through the crowded lanes and stepping down through numerous sets of stairs, we finally reached the river bank. Dashaswamedh ghat was glowing in the warm light of the setting sun and shimmering with garlands of light along the waters edge. The whole atmosphere was vibrant and joyous and sound of spiritual music. Trained young boys were standing on high platforms, with thousands of flickering earthen lamps in their hands doing Arati (evening Puja) of the holy river Ganga. We stepped down through another set of stairs and got into a boat that already had many tourists on it. The boatman was accustomed to ferrying crowded boats full of passengers everyday and while passing through many ghats, he was narrating the story of each. And as the light dimmed with the setting sun it was as if it was the gradual shift in the phases of human life, which passes through childhood to youth and old age. When we reached our last destination, Harish Chandra Ghat in total darkness and draped in stillness. Only a dim flicker remained of a burning pyre. All the relatives and friends left after the last rites and only a thirsty dog remained, licking water from the edge of the river Ganges. The whole journey was like a magical spell. I could see the journey of human life is also the same as this river's and the ghats is where it slows down for a final rest before merging into the ocean. The sparkling glamour of a spring that emerges from the mountain comes to to embrace the silence of darkness forever. Like a river, life also passes through all the twists and turns, the ups and downs, finally to be dissolved in eternity and to lose it's individual identity forever. Nobody comes or goes with one. That is the truth of each soul. This magic spell held my mind all through my return journey. I was very much present with everybody, but still my mind remained aloof, as if floating in the air. The same crowded lanes could not disturb it any more. I was in the crowd, but the crowd was not in me.

Gandhiji's smile

It was late December in 1946, when Gandhiji came to Santiniketan, a small town near Calcutta where I spent my early years. His visit coincided with annual fair (paus mela) and there was a lot of excitement in the air. I was a young girl of seven, and did not know much about Gandhiji. But I did know quite well that there were these thumb sized national flags being sold everywhere - flags that were attached to what really did catch my attention - the flagpole, which was a thin long colorful plastic straw filled with different flavors of sugary honey. As a young child, this captured my imagination and I was very much wanted to have one. I got few paisas (cents) from my mother, and holding them tightly clasped in my hand, ran to to purchase one. When I reached the mela ground, I found many people were streaming towards some other direction. I was curious and changed my direction and followed them. The crowd moved towards the central ground,"Gour Prangan"c(which was named after Gour Gopal Ghosh, who was my late father). That ground was used for all the big events that came to town and upon reaching there, I found the grounds flooded with people. And on a high platform stood a frail looking man on in the middle, wrapped up in a white cotton cloth, standing there and was saying something. He was also holding what I understood to be a donation box in his hand, where people were giving whatever money they could afford. With my immature mind I could understand that he was collecting money for the freedom movement.The whole atmosphere inspired me a lot. Though I neither had much understanding of the greatness of Gandhiji, nor did I know about freedom movement, I was attracted to the personality of this frail man making a speech and realized that some good work was being done. So like a small mouse in a maze, I squeezed through the crowd and managed to come near the central platform, where Gandhiji was standing with his donation box. All through I was holding those few coins tight in my hand and as if through an unseen force pushing me forward, I came right upto Gandhiji and put my precious few coins in his donation box. He was surprised at my gesture, and looked at me, to give me a kind, loving and bewildered smile, which stayed imprinted in my mind forever. Whenever I talk or think of him, I can see that smile vividly in my mind even now. I have now come to a ripe old age and like a river, I have passed through many ups and downs. But my childhood memory of Gandhiji remains clear and fragrant like the morning dew. Whenever I talk about him, his divine smile flashes in my mind and makes me feel blessed. I bow down to God, who inspired me to give my life's first donation to Gandhiji, for a good cause. I feel fortunate to have been brought up in Tagore's Santiniketan, where I got many opportunities to come close to many great souls.

Courage and Circumstance

It was the year 1989. My life revolved happily around family members, specially with my sons and our pet dog Sherry.I was involved with their activities, and my time was spend joyfully. When my elder son left for higher studies to U.S.A, a sudden vacuum came in my life. To fill up my emotional emptiness, I started looking for a job. And soon with God's grace, I got a part time job in a school run under C.I.E, {central Institute of Education}. I remember one cold December morning, when I came out from the school, I was shivering in the biting cold winds which pierced through three layers of my woollen clothes and chilled my bones. Luckily I saw a young rickshaw puller standing nearby, waiting for a customer. I got into it, and was surprised to see the courage (and poverty) of that young boy, who was just wrapped up in a thin cotton cloth. Immediately I decided that upon reaching home I must give him my son's school blazer to him, which was hanging unused in the closet. As soon as I reached home, I asked him to wait and went in to bring the blazer. As he was just expecting his fare and nothing more, when I gave him some extra money and also the blazer, he gave a faint smile, neatly folded the coat, and put it in his basket. I was surprised to see his illogical behavior of not putting the coat on immediately in the biting cold and asked him why he wouldn't wear it. put it on. He was adamant, and insisted that he would try it on later. I was persistent and asked him again to put it on and this time he could'nt refuse. He pulled off his cotton shawl, and to my surprise I saw he had only one arm. He realized if he hadn't kept that well hidden, he wouldn't get a single customer since people wouldn't risk riding with a one armed rickshaw puller. I bowed to his courage to make a living against all odds, and to God for the opportunity to help someone in such need. He did put on the coat, and with a big smile left our house. If we are little sensitive to the lives of others, we can find such courage in the face of adversity and brave hearts everywhere. Be it a rose seller, a shoe shine boy, or another one of the hundreds of people who make a hard living in the streets. Their acts of daily courage are scattered like gems. I fill up my memory with such experiences, and when I feel low, they bring the light of hope into my mind and courage into my heart.