Of
the Japanese armourer it is said that, as he fashions
a sword and sharpens it, he sings a song. And according to the prevailing mood
of the singer, the sword becomes a power for good or evil. If the spirit of a
song can inform a blade of steel, why not an Editor's love his journal? I have
loved Triveni with an impassioned and unalterable love, and every time a
new number is sent out, I breathe a prayer that it may spread peace, joy and
strength, and be the symbol of Beauty and Truth.
But
prolonged and lonely fight against adversity weakens a man. At the end of five
years I find myself a wreck in body and mind. I am thankful, however, that Triveni
is alive; that the ‘Triple Stream’ never ceased to flow, albeit fitfully
and like a thin rill in a sandy waste. I am reminded of Bhagiratha,
Prince of Ayodhya. As the holy
It
is an irony of life that while we strive and suffer to bring solace to one that
is infinitely dear, the solace comes a trifle too
late,–weeks and months after the loved one is beyond the need of solace. Six
months ago, in the midst of poverty and trouble, when not a ray of hope pierced
the encircling gloom, passed away my mother. For seven-and-thirty years she
guarded me “as the eye-lid guards the eye.” She was a great admirer of the Mahabharata,
and her one joy lay in listening to the marvellous Telugu verse of Nannaya and Tikkana. The
conception of Shri Krishna as the Divine Charioteer
appealed powerfully to her. As a devotee of the Lord, she prayed constantly
that He might be the Charioteer of her son, and guide him as He guided Arjuna on the field of battle. In moments of utter
loneliness and depression it looked as if the Charioteer had fallen asleep or
let go His hold of the reins. But He is the Eternal Watcher, and a mother's
prayers are the holiest of offerings at His feet. Those that suffer physical
dissolution do not pass from us. Divested of the encumbrance of the
flesh, they pour forth their love in million-fold intensity. That love is an
abiding possession for me, and an inspiration in my
humble work.
At
the commencement of a new year of life for Triveni, I cannot forget what
I owe to my esteemed chief, Mr. C. Jinarajadasa. In
his loving presence, I have always felt purer and stronger. One morning, last
year, when life seemed too oppressive, I met him in his beautiful room at Adyar and narrated my tale of woe. With unforgettable
serenity he bade me cultivate a spirit of detachment–to work and not to worry
about the result; and ended by reading to me the great passage from Edwin
Arnold's The Song Celestial in which the Lord calls upon His devotees to
“labour right for love of Me,” and admonishes them
that “if in this thy faint heart fails, bring Me thy failure.” That was
a great experience. Since then I have “laboured right
for love of Him,” because I know He will accept even my failure.
Indeed,
in a cause like this there is neither success nor failure. It is a continual
striving after perfection: Success consists in unceasing pursuit of the Path,
and the only failure that the idealist recognises is
the failure to stand by Truth. Along the Path, my feet bled, my spirit was sore
tired. Very often my brain was racked with the thought that the burden was far
too heavy. It was like attempting the impossible. But always came
an answering thought that, if the work is noble and unselfish, an unseen Power
will lighten the burden; when my strength failed, I could draw on a reserve of
energy. I recall what I said when the Journal was first launched: “May this
votive offering prove acceptable to Him who is the source of the Triveni, the
Triple Stream of Love, Wisdom and Power.”
–Reprinted from “Triveni,”
July-August, 1932