Dr. Susheela Sanketh
(A
Story)
(Rendered
from Kannada by N. S. Ramachandriah, M.A.)
“You
had better consult Dr. S. about your wife,” remarked Mr. Rao to Mr. Iyengar.
These and other friends had been invited to dinner in honour of my child’s
birthday. They had been chatting about various things. Mr. Rao had met Dr. S.
while he was in Bombay. She had performed a marvellous operation on his
daughter who was childless and enabled her to bear children. Mr. Rao talked
enthusiastically about the Doctor and gave us the whole story of her life.
“You
know that, during my last visit to Bombay, I had taken my daughter and
granddaughter with me. A remarkable incident happened then. We were waiting for
the Doctor in her visitors’ room. I and my daughter were immersed in our talk.
My little grandaughter toddled into the house. I had to enter it in search of
the child. It had gone beyond the Doctor’s drawing-room, into her bedroom. The
child made directly for the inner apartment. She climbed the cot and reached
for the photo placed on a teapoy near-by. I went just in time to snatch it from
her and replace it on the table. I could not help recognising the identity of
the man in the photo. Guess whose it was? Nishkalananda’s!
“The
photo was adorned by S. with a garland of flowers evidently grown at home. Many
more flowers were strewn on the table. You know Nishkalananda, I believe?
“He
is one of those angels of peace now sojourning on earth,” intoned Mr.
Narasimhachar in his impressive manner.
“Only
the other day he threw an Atom Bomb on the Americans, while discussing their
Atom Bomb. You must have all read his lecture?” remarked Mr. Narasimhachar.
“Is
he a member of the Ramakrishna Mission?” I asked. Mr. Rao seemed to know the
story of Nishkalananda’s life too. “The Swamiji does not belong to any Mission,
he is an independent Sanyasi. Had you read his speech at the Benares Hindu
University, you would have known about his life. Having studied at Calcutta to
qualify himself for the degree of M.A. in Mathematics, and being engaged in
research work along with his professor there, he was about to proceed to
Cambridge for the Tripos. His fame had travelled to scholars over there and
they had hoped that he might prove to be yet another Ramanujam. But just then
he was obliged to pay a visit to his native village. Something happened there
which prevented his leaving for Cambridge. He left Calcutta behind and went to
the Himalayas to spend twelve years there. When he returned he had become
Nishkalananda.”
“All
this we have read in The Sunday Times,” added Mr. Varadarajan.
“I
remember to have seen it in Vedanta Kesari or some other magazine.” This
was Mr. N’s remark.
“But
I have a lot to tell you about things that have not appeared in the papers, the
facts of his life before he took up holy orders, for instance. Please listen to
me,” said Mr. Rao.
“The
Swamiji visited his parents soon after he returned from the Himalayas. It was
only then that they learnt the reason for their son’s preferring meditation in
the Himalayas to mathematical studies at Cambridge. Don’t you know his
father–our friend Thirumalachar, coffee-planter of Kanchangiri?”
We
were agreeably surprised to learn this. Mr. Venkoba Rao continued to talk about
the Swamiji.
“Nishkalananda
was Mr. T’s eldest son. Before he became a Sanyasi he was known as
Srinivasachar. We used to call him familiarly as Srinivasa. Many of us have
seen him playing in the streets as a boy. We also knew that he had planned to
go to Cambridge along with his professor, after a brilliant career at the
Calcutta University. There was a relation of T’s who happened to be a
Superintending Engineer in Bombay. He went to Thirumalachar’s village, to offer
his daughter in marriage to Srinivasa. Thirumalachar also felt that his son
ought to marry before going abroad. Hence the telegram summoning the son home.
His son obeyed it and alighted from the train at Hassan. Thirumalachar had sent
his motor to fetch his son home. But the car broke down on the way and the
driver was obliged to halt and try to repair it. The servant proceeded towards
Hassan by bus and met Mr. Srinivasachar. He explained to him the accident that
had delayed the car and made arrangements for him to stay for the night in the
choultry. Only one room was available. The servant saw to the comfort of his
master’s son as best he could, and returned to the spot where the car had been
stranded.
“The
repast being over, Srinivasa sat reading the day’s newspaper in his room. Just
then a cart drawn by two bullocks brought to the choultary a family of
travellers. They had planned to stop there for the night and proceed on their
journey next morning. As there was no living space in the choultry, they had to
leave their things in the cart and camp in the courtyard of the choultry. They
were obliged to sleep in the open. The servant remained in the cart. The family
consisted of an elderly couple, a small boy, and a girl in her teens.
“Srinivasa
had been accustomed from childhood to the company of girls. He had mixed and
played with girls of greater beauty and glamour. But now his emotional response
to beauty was quite unique. It made him toss restlessly in bed when he went in
and tried to sleep. He was obliged to go out and stand in the light of the full
moon. Nature had evidently conspired with love that night. The family were
sleeping in a row. She was at the end which was open to the sky. The roof over the
verandah cast its shadow over the three of them, but she was flooded by the
moonlight. The moon had cast warm gules on her face and breast which were
uncovered. She was in deep slumber. The dimple on her cheek was visible in the
bright moonlight. The soft breeze was twirling her ringlet curls. The edge of
the sari was slightly displaced so that it uncovered part of her well
shaped limbs.
“Srinivasa
felt his tongue suddenly go dry. He withdrew himself into his room, put some
peppermints into his mouth, and tried to compose himself to sleep. He could not
however succeed. He got up from his bed and stood at the door gazing at the
sleeping beauty. The mere sight of her face seemed to confer infinite bliss
upon him. While he stood like one entranced, the peppermints dissolved in his
mouth. He went in and put several more in his pocket and, thus armed, returned
to his post of duty.
“He
was aware only of the beauty of her body. Then, with the instinct of a
cricketer, he threw a peppermint at her. He was considered to be an accurate
bowler. It made her turn on her side and pull the shawl over her bosom. Her
left cheek appeared in the moonlight like a hemisphere carved in marble. The
imp in him had already been provoked. He had also been an accomplished player with
marbles. He now thought that her cheek was a suitable target for his
peppermint. This second assault made her hand move, as if to drive away
something, and to cover herself completely with the shawl. But he was not
satisfied with this. He was impelled to send over one more peppermint rolling
through her ringlet curls. Now her sleep was completely disturbed. The young
woman sat up. She tried a few physical jerks, covered herself properly, and
composed herself to sleep.
“The
movements of her body made him completely enamoured of her. He continued to
pelt her with peppermints. She got up again to look about her. She saw the
three members of her family soundly sleeping. The sound of their breathing had
the proper rhythm. The servant was also immersed in sleep. The bullocks were
chewing the cud and enjoying perfect rest. The cause of the disturbance was
nowhere to be seen. She left the verandah and moved towards the yard. Srinivasa
felt a momentary fright and took shelter behind the door. He heaved a sigh of relief
when she continued to move away from him.
“If
he had been overcome by the sight of beauty bathed in moonlight, now the
additional grace of walking completely maddened him. It was no more a passing
fancy that prompted him now. The demon of longing made him follow her to the
yard.
“The
young lady turned and confronted the young man. She was really frightened by
his sudden appearance. She instinctively withdrew a few steps. He said ‘sorry’
to her. She did not know any English then. She retreated still further back. He
stood gazing at her.
“The
yard had a number of fine plants. The jasmine creeper was made to spread itself
overhead by a horizontal support. Its odour seemed to fill the yard and
sanctify it. The moonlight had enveloped everything in a veil of mystery. It
was such as to make even grown-up people act foolishly. To the young its charm
was well-nigh irresistible.
“The
two stood there silently for a time. He broke the silence by asking her to cry
for help and put an end to his madness. She did nothing of the kind. She
stepped forward with the intention of going quickly to her bed. He tried to
make way for her. But somehow the two bodies touched. The contact sent a thrill
of pleasurable feeling through the hearts of both. Both were held spell-bound
by it. He felt impelled to clasp her hand. She was in a helpless state and
allowed him to conduct her towards his room. She followed his footsteps without
being aware of what she was doing.
“He
got up very late that morning. He had been accustomed to get up at dawn and sit
down to his studies. From very early childhood his mother had trained him
accordingly. She used to wake him up, wash his face, and make him learn by
heart not only the simple morning songs but also the devotional songs of the
Alwars. He had never before slept so soundly at dawn. His father’s car had come
and had been waiting for him to get up. He woke up only two hours after
sunrise. He came out to find that the travellers of the previous night had left
the place early in the morning. He felt that the events of the night were like
a dream.
“When
he sat down to remember all that had passed on that fateful night, he felt that
it was a fatal and dark night in his life. Still he could not say whether it
was all a dream or had actually happened. His doubts were soon cleared by the
fact that the ivory idol of Srinivasa, which he had kept on his suit-case, was
missing. It had been a present from his grandfather on the occasion of his Upanayanam.
He had always taken it with him on all his journeys. Now he found that the
idol as well as his photo underneath it had disappeared. She must have taken
both of them. He did not know who she was, and what was the name of her
village. He had not even taken the trouble to know her name. Nor did he know whither
they had gone.
“He
wondered whether all that could be an unfathomable mystery. But the seed of
mystery had been sown in his mind. He felt himself a different man from that
day onwards.
“He
went to his father’s village. He was shown the girl who was willing to be his
bride. But neither motherly affection nor sisterly pride could touch him in the
least. Thirumalachar was quite ignorant of the cause of this complete change
that had come over his son. The next day Srinivasa left for Calcutta.
“Nowhere
could he find any peace of mind. His professor could not help noticing the
peculiar conduct of Srinivasa. But even he could not fathom the mystery behind
it. Srinivasa left Calcutta suddenly one night. His parents searched for him
all over the country. There was not a trace of the missing man. Twelve years
passed in this way. They concluded that he must be dead and performed all the
religious rites relating to the death of a near one.
“The
photo that I saw at the Doctor’s was Srinivasa’s photo. It was a copy of the
same passport photo that had been submitted to me as the District Magistrate of
Hassan.
“I
took the photo from my granddaughter’s hands, put it on the table and brought
the child back. When the Doctor was free to see us, I said to I her, ‘Doctor,
if you don’t mind, I wish to ask you something. May I? She replied, ‘By all
means, you may.’ Then I described to her my granddaughter’s playfulness and
referred to the photo in question. I asked her whose photo it was, and whether
it might be her husband’s. Her forehead was always adorned with the Kumkum mark,
which made me bold to put that question. I did it, not without some hesitation,
as it was a rather delicate query. She replied quietly ‘Yes’. I pursued the
topic and remarked it must have been taken long ago, probably before her
marriage. The answer to this was also ‘Yes’. I further asked her where he was
and what high position he held. The Doctor took some minutes to answer these
questions. Then she replied, ‘I hope you will stay for some time in Bombay. I
shall send for you one day. Please come on that day.’ I had intended to leave
for Bangalore the next day. But I prolonged my Bombay visit merely out of
curiosity. The Doctor sent word next Sunday, inviting me to dinner at her
residence. Of course, I accepted the invitation and went to the Doctor’s.
“After
dinner, we sat in the drawing-room talking of various things. I had already
begun to speak with her in Kannada. She replied in the same language.
‘Mr.
Rao, I consider this a holy day in the year. It is only today that I find some
time for worship and prayer.’ I remarked that it was rather surprising for a
doctor to think of such things. She replied, ‘You should know that I was born
in a priestly family. How can I escape the culture of generations? My father
was a Vedic scholar. He was also good at playing on the Veena. Worship,
prayer, and music all run in my blood.’ I said that I should very much like to
know her father’s name and other particulars. She replied, ‘Perhaps you have
had no occasion to see him. You are probably a perfect stranger even to his
name. He was not much in the habit of leaving his village and going abroad. He
preferred to devote all his time to the cultivation of his garden. I am the
only daughter of my father. When I was quite a child my mother fell seriously
ill. When she was on her deathbed, she insisted on my being married before she
died. I don’t remember much about my marriage and the death of my mother. It is
said that I lost my husband also. The events happened in quick succession and I
was too young to realise the cruel blows of fate. I saw others crying and I too
wept, hardly aware of the cause of all this sorrow. My father abandoned the
village and lived in a hut which he caused to be built in the garden. He cooked
the food for both of us. As for me, I was thoroughly absorbed in my toys. My
father never tired of playing on the Veena too. When we were in
the village, I had been taught to play on the Veena too. My father
taught me a number of Sanskrit slokas also. My education came to a halt
after we moved to the hut in the garden. I wished for nothing better. I liked
the idea of being left alone. My only companions were the cow and calf kept in
the house by my father. My father sent for my maternal uncle one day. He was
asked to bring all his family also. The whole of the next day my father refused
to touch food, and locking himself in his room, went on playing on the Veena.
Next morning he came out and went through the morning ablutions. Then he
took his seat on the little platform in the verandah. Whenever he wanted to
meditate he used to sit there. I thought it was only his usual day of
meditation. But my uncle summoned all the relatives to our hut. They assembled
one by one. It was the time of sunset. My father had spent the whole day in
meditation. Now he opened his eyes and beckoned me to go to him. He took my
face in both his hands, had his last look at me, and sent me away with his
blessings. Then he sent for the Veena. He tuned it properly and began
reciting Vedic mantras. My relatives also accompanied him in the proper
melodious manner. Thus they spent about an hour. My father felt tired and
leaned back. My uncle shouted for the water of the Ganges kept in a small,
sealed vessel. I was asked to pour a little of it into his mouth. As he was
drinking the holy water, his soul departed from this world and found its
at-one-ment with God.’
“The
Doctor sat silently for a time after this narration. I prompted her to continue
the story of her life.
‘My
uncle became my guardian according to the wishes of my father. He settled down
in our village, to look after me and the garden. My uncle and aunt were very
good souls. They treated me as though they were my own parents. They never
spoke one harsh word to me, nor ever set any task to me. I did whatever part of
the household work I liked. They had a child. It was greatly attached to me. I
liked to have it always with me to play. Whenever my fancy turned that way, I
took up the Veena and played on it, and became absorbed in its melody.
In this way some five years rolled by. One day my uncle received a letter from
a lawyer giving notice of a certain law-suit in which he was made the
defendant. Thenceforward he was obliged to go to and from Hassan with the
necessary records. Some relation of my father who had fled to foreign lands,
now returned to claim my father’s property as his by right. The suit dragged on
for four years. There was an appeal to the High Court also. It was finally
decided that our opponent’s claim was legally justified. I might claim
maintenance from my husband’s people. My uncle had no property of his own. He
had resigned his job as a schoolmaster to look after my father’s property. He
was helpless now. He claimed maintenance on my behalf from my father-in-law, who
replied that he had no objection to my going and staying with them, provided I
was prepared to observe the rules regarding a Brahmin widow. They thought I
would be a useful drudge and it seemed they wanted some help very badly. So the
moment they received my uncle’s consent, my father-in-law came in person to
take me home. The question of maintenance did not arise so long as he was
prepared to have me in his house as a member of his family. It was proposed to
prepare me for the role of a widow at some holy place on the way. My uncle was
not allowed to have any say in the matter. The consensus of opinion in the
village was in favour of surrendering me to the care of my father-in-law. I had
become a piece of their property by marriage. I had known the lot of the
widows, of whom there were many in my village. Many of them knew what it was to
have a husband and family of their own. I had not had even the remotest
impression of what my husband was like. But who was there to consult my wishes
in the matter? Others had somehow acquired a right to mould my life. I was no
better than my father’s cow. My duty was to go where I was led. It was on the
way to my father-in-law’s that we had to spend a night at the choultry in
Hassan. It was then I met the man in the photo. He is my husband, nay, my God.
‘From
the day I met him, the image of his person is ineradicably traced in my heart.
I am profoundly ignorant of everything concerning him. I met him only once on
that moonlit night. I was completely captivated by his personality. Our bodies
touched, just by accident. I lost all my self-control as well as power of
reasoning. I felt like offering my whole self at his feet. He was alone in the
room to which he led me. He closed the door and went to open the windows. I was
standing by the bed. The moment the windows were opened, a beam of moonlight
streamed into the room. It illuminated the ivory idol of God Srinivasa that was
kept on his suitcase. This was the only object visible to him as he turned
towards me from the window. Everything else was plunged in utter darkness. He
walked rather slowly back to where I stood. He was gazing fixedly on the idol.
He came quite close to me. With an effort he transferred his gaze from the idol
to me. Some mysterious change came over him. He fell suddenly prostrate at my
feet. He began sobbing. I sat down on his bed immediately, and putting his head
in my lap tried to comfort him. He continued to weep spasmodically like a
child. I allowed his head to rest in my lap and tried to console him by
stroking his cropped head. I may as well confess that I was prepared to yield
anything to him if he so desired. You may call me wicked or shameless or
anything you please. I think people have no means of knowing what I went
through that night. They naturally think in terms of sin. But it pleased God to
save me as well as him that blessed night.
‘While
his head rested in my lap, I was oppressed by a variety of thoughts and
sensations. But it is idle to speculate on them here. Soon he was overpowered
by sleep. I took care to put him to bed and secure him against the cold. It was
then I noticed the idol and his photo at its foot. I took them both and left
the room. In a few hours the bullock cart started on the next stage of my
journey. Thus ended the events of the night.
‘I
followed my parents-in-law like an animal going to the sacrificial altar. That
holy place was on the banks of the Cauvery. We reached our destination just
after sunset. We lodged within the spacious compound of the temple. It was said
that some officer occupying a high position had likewise sought the same
refuge. They had come there to offer the hair of their first born as a
sacrifice to the gods. The same fate was awaiting me in the morning. God alone
knows how much I suffered that night. Times out of number, I must have taken
out the photo to look at it under cover of the night. Early in the morning I
came to know who exactly camped there opposite to us. My girl friend Lakshmi
greeted me cordially and took me to the room where her family stayed. The big
officer was her husband who had taken her as a second wife, after the death of
his first. We knew all about it. But she did not know anything concerning my
fate. I found her to be a sympathetic listener when I narrated to her all the joys
and sorrows of my life. I confessed to her what had happened the previous night
when I met the young gentleman. I told her also the purpose for which I had
been taken to that temple. We wept together for what I had been through. It was
the first time in my life when I deliberately sought the comfort of tears for
all the woes of life. But it was also perhaps the last time when I felt so
helpless. My friend consoled me by saying that it was useless to cry over what
had passed. I should take courage in both hands and try to think of shaping my
future. It was lucky for me that all my people had left the temple temporarily
on various errands. Lakshmi informed her husband of all the circumstances of my
unhappy life. He was glad to meet the daughter of his old Guru who had taught
him the scriptures soon after his Upanayanam. As Lakshmi also happened
to have learnt the Veena from my father, the couple felt very kindly
towards me. Lakshmi’s husband asked me not to cry and assured me that he would
do his best to help me out of the impending trouble. As soon as my
father-in-law returned to the place, the gentleman began remonstrating with
him. Eventually a panchayat was held to decide my fate. Lakshmi’s
husband persisted in advocating my cause. At last Lakshmi came to me and said,
“My husband is willing to take you with us to Poona. There we can arrange for
your education. You had better say good-bye to your parents-in-law and come
with us.” I had never exchanged a word with my relations during the two days
that I had spent with them. They too did not show any desire to converse with
me. I made my salutation and left the place, taking my things with me. I never
thought of their feelings. I was only too glad to be rid of them. I was
admitted to the Sevasadan as soon as we reached Poona. There came about a
complete revolution in my way of life, in about two days’ time. No longer was
there any need to cast stolen glances at the photo. I placed it along with the
idol of Srinivasa on the table and worshipped both. People imagined it must be
my husband’s photo.’
“Her
story came to an end. I asked her whether she had ever seen Swami
Nishkalananda. She replied, ‘Why do you ask me that?’ I said that the question
was prompted by idle curiosity. She then informed me that she had read about
him in the papers. She had never had the pleasure of meeting him in person.
For, she could not pretend to know all the subtleties of the Hindu philosophy.
She had neither the ability nor the leisure to understand such a profound
subject as the Vedanta. Her philosophy was very simple: ‘The greatest bliss and
the highest happiness of a woman is found in the exercise of the instinct of
motherhood. This was brought home to me when he laid his head in my lap and
allowed me to arrange the curls of his cropped head. That prompted me to study
Medicine and acquire proficiency in the subjects of maternity and
child-welfare. I have helped several women. After a successful operation, they
are enabled to enjoy the pleasures of motherhood. I always invite them to my
nursing-home for their first delivery–not without a selfish desire to share
their joy. I do my best, God willing, to see that the above pleasure is shared
by as many women as come to me for help.’ I told her that she was doing great
good to the people. She asked me not to praise her for her work. She merely did
what she considered to be her duty. Then she got up, brought the tea tray,
placed it on the teapoy and moved it near me. I took the tea and remarked, ‘I
have always felt that there was a mystery attaching to your name. Now it has
come true.’ She thought I was referring to her surname Sanketh, which
means mystery, and replied, ‘I am called Sanketh because I belong to the
Brahmin sect called Sankethis. I come from Mysore and I am a Kannadiga.’
“This
was all that was to be known about her strange life,” ended Mr. Rao.
Mr.
Narasimhachar asked Mr. Rao, “Did you not tell her about the identity of
Nishkalananda?” Mr. Rao replied, “I was tempted to reveal the whole secret. But
even I felt that it might be spoiling the idealised picture of him which she
nourished in her heart. I am still wondering whether I ought to write to her
about this. Mr. Thirumalachar also does not know the existence of a person who
was the immediate cause of such a tremendous change in his son’s way of life.”
We dropped the subject, after remarking that the Doctor had better be informed
of the spiritual evolution of Nishkalananda.