My Mother’s Death and the Mystical Amulet

My mother’s greatest desire was the marriage of my elder brother. “Ah, when I behold the face of Ananta’s wife, I shall find heaven on this earth!” I frequently heard Mother express in these words her strong Indian sentiment for family continuity.

My mother’s greatest wish was for my older brother to marry. “Ah, when I see the face of Ananta’s wife, I will find heaven on earth!” I often heard Mother say these words. They expressed her strong Indian feeling about the importance of continuing the family line.

I was about eleven years old at the time of Ananta’s betrothal. Mother was in Calcutta, joyously supervising the wedding preparations. Father and I alone remained at our home in Bareilly in northern India, whence Father had been transferred after two years at Lahore.

I was about eleven years old when Ananta became engaged. Mother was in Calcutta, happily overseeing the wedding preparations. Only Father and I remained at our home in Bareilly in northern India. Father had been transferred there after two years in Lahore.

I had previously witnessed the splendor of nuptial rites for my two elder sisters, Roma and Uma; but for Ananta, as the eldest son, plans were truly elaborate. Mother was welcoming numerous relatives, daily arriving in Calcutta from distant homes. She lodged them comfortably in a large, newly acquired house at 50 Amherst Street. Everything was in readiness-the banquet delicacies, the gay throne on which Brother was to be carried to the home of the bride-to-be, the rows of colorful lights, the mammoth cardboard elephants and camels, the English, Scottish and Indian orchestras, the professional entertainers, the priests for the ancient rituals.

I had already seen the splendid wedding ceremonies for my two older sisters, Roma and Uma. But Ananta was the eldest son, so the plans for his wedding were truly elaborate. Mother welcomed many relatives who arrived daily in Calcutta from distant homes. She housed them comfortably in a large, newly acquired house at 50 Amherst Street. Everything was ready: the banquet delicacies and the brightly decorated throne for carrying Brother to his future bride’s home. There were rows of colorful lights, giant cardboard elephants and camels, and English, Scottish and Indian orchestras. The professional entertainers and the priests for the ancient rituals were also ready.

Father and I, in gala spirits, were planning to join the family in time for the ceremony. Shortly before the great day, however, I had an ominous vision.

Father and I were in high spirits, planning to join the family in time for the ceremony. But shortly before the big day, I had an ominous vision.

It was in Bareilly on a midnight. As I slept beside Father on the piazza of our bungalow, I was awakened by a peculiar flutter of the mosquito netting over the bed. The flimsy curtains parted and I saw the beloved form of my mother.

It was midnight in Bareilly. I was sleeping beside Father on the porch of our bungalow. A strange flutter of the mosquito netting over the bed woke me. The thin curtains parted, and I saw the beloved figure of my mother.

“Awaken your father!” Her voice was only a whisper. “Take the first available train, at four o’clock this morning. Rush to Calcutta if you would see me!” The wraithlike figure vanished.

“Wake your father!” Her voice was only a whisper. “Take the first available train, at four o’clock this morning. Hurry to Calcutta if you want to see me!” The ghostly figure vanished.

“Father, Father! Mother is dying!” The terror in my tone aroused him instantly. I sobbed out the fatal tidings.

“Father, Father! Mother is dying!” The terror in my voice woke him instantly. Through my sobs, I told him the terrible news.

“Never mind that hallucination of yours.” Father gave his characteristic negation to a new situation. “Your mother is in excellent health. If we get any bad news, we shall leave tomorrow.”

“Never mind that hallucination of yours.” Father responded to the new situation with his usual denial. “Your mother is in excellent health. If we get any bad news, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

“You shall never forgive yourself for not starting now!” Anguish caused me to add bitterly, “Nor shall I ever forgive you!”

“You’ll never forgive yourself for not starting now!” In my anguish, I added bitterly, “And I’ll never forgive you!”

The melancholy morning came with explicit words: “Mother dangerously ill; marriage postponed; come at once.”

That sad morning brought a clear message: “Mother is dangerously ill. The wedding is postponed. Come at once.”

Father and I left distractedly. One of my uncles met us en route at a transfer point. A train thundered toward us, looming with telescopic increase. From my inner tumult, an abrupt determination arose to hurl myself on the railroad tracks. Already bereft, I felt, of my mother, I could not endure a world suddenly barren to the bone. I loved Mother as my dearest friend on earth. Her solacing black eyes had been my surest refuge in the trifling tragedies of childhood.

Father and I left in a daze. One of my uncles met us along the way, where we had to change trains. A train thundered toward us, seeming to grow rapidly larger as it approached. Out of my inner turmoil came a sudden determination to throw myself onto the railroad tracks. I felt I had already lost my mother. I could not bear a world suddenly empty to its core. I loved Mother as my dearest friend on earth. Her comforting black eyes had been my safest refuge from the small tragedies of childhood.

“Does she yet live?” I stopped for one last question to my uncle.

“Is she still alive?” I stopped to ask my uncle one last question.

“Of course she is alive!” He was not slow to interpret the desperation in my face. But I scarcely believed him.

“Of course she is alive!” He quickly recognized the desperation on my face. But I could hardly believe him.

When we reached our Calcutta home, it was only to confront the stunning mystery of death. I collapsed into an almost lifeless state. Years passed before any reconciliation entered my heart. Storming the very gates of heaven, my cries at last summoned the Divine Mother. Her words brought final healing to my suppurating wounds:

When we reached our Calcutta home, we faced only the devastating mystery of death. I collapsed into an almost lifeless state. Years passed before my heart began to accept what had happened. My cries stormed the very gates of heaven and at last summoned the Divine Mother. Her words finally healed my festering wounds:

“It is I who have watched over thee, life after life, in the tenderness of many mothers! See in My gaze the two black eyes, the lost beautiful eyes, thou seekest!”

“I have watched over you, life after life, with the tenderness of many mothers! Look into my eyes and see the two black eyes, the beautiful eyes you lost and are searching for!”

Father and I returned to Bareilly soon after the crematory rites for the well-beloved. Early every morning I made a pathetic memorial- pilgrimage to a large sheoli tree which shaded the smooth, green-gold lawn before our bungalow. In poetical moments, I thought that the white sheoli flowers were strewing themselves with a willing devotion over the grassy altar. Mingling tears with the dew, I often observed a strange other-worldly light emerging from the dawn. Intense pangs of longing for God assailed me. I felt powerfully drawn to the Himalayas.

Father and I returned to Bareilly soon after the cremation rites for our dearly loved one. Early every morning, I made a sorrowful pilgrimage in remembrance to a large sheoli tree. The tree shaded the smooth, green-gold lawn in front of our bungalow. In poetic moments, I imagined the white sheoli flowers willingly scattering themselves over the grassy altar in devotion. As my tears mingled with the dew, I often saw a strange, otherworldly light emerging from the dawn. Intense pangs of longing for God overwhelmed me. I felt powerfully drawn to the Himalayas.

One of my cousins, fresh from a period of travel in the holy hills, visited us in Bareilly. I listened eagerly to his tales about the high mountain abode of yogis and swamis. [^2]

One of my cousins visited us in Bareilly, having just returned from traveling in the holy hills. I eagerly listened to his stories about the high mountain home of yogis and swamis. [^2]

“Let us run away to the Himalayas.” My suggestion one day to Dwarka Prasad, the young son of our landlord in Bareilly, fell on unsympathetic ears. He revealed my plan to my elder brother, who had just arrived to see Father. Instead of laughing lightly over this impractical scheme of a small boy, Ananta made it a definite point to ridicule me.

“Let us run away to the Himalayas.” One day I suggested this to Dwarka Prasad, the young son of our landlord in Bareilly. He was not sympathetic. He told my elder brother about my plan. My brother had just arrived to see Father. Instead of simply laughing at a small boy’s impractical plan, Ananta made a point of ridiculing me.

“Where is your orange robe? You can’t be a swami without that!”

“Where is your orange robe? You can’t be a swami without one!”

But I was inexplicably thrilled by his words. They brought a clear picture of myself roaming about India as a monk. Perhaps they awakened memories of a past life; in any case, I began to see with what natural ease I would wear the garb of that anciently-founded monastic order.

But his words thrilled me for reasons I couldn’t explain. His words gave me a clear picture of myself roaming around India as a monk. Perhaps his words awakened memories of a past life. In any case, I began to see how naturally I would wear the robes of that ancient monastic order.

Chatting one morning with Dwarka, I felt a love for God descending with avalanchic force. My companion was only partly attentive to the ensuing eloquence, but I was wholeheartedly listening to myself.

One morning, while chatting with Dwarka, I felt a love for God descend on me with the force of an avalanche. My companion paid only partial attention to the eloquent words that followed, but I listened to myself wholeheartedly.

I fled that afternoon toward Naini Tal in the Himalayan foothills. Ananta gave determined chase; I was forced to return sadly to Bareilly. The only pilgrimage permitted me was the customary one at dawn to the sheoli tree. My heart wept for the lost Mothers, human and divine.

That afternoon, I fled toward Naini Tal in the Himalayan foothills. Ananta chased me relentlessly, and I was forced to return sadly to Bareilly. The only pilgrimage I was allowed was my usual visit to the sheoli tree at dawn. My heart wept for the Mothers I had lost, human and divine.

My Mother

My Mother

A Disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya

A Student of Lahiri Mahasaya

The rent left in the family fabric by Mother’s death was irreparable. Father never remarried during his nearly forty remaining years. Assuming the difficult role of Father-Mother to his little flock, he grew noticeably more tender, more approachable. With calmness and insight, he solved the various family problems. After office hours he retired like a hermit to the cell of his room, practicing Kriya Yoga in a sweet serenity. Long after Mother’s death, I attempted to engage an English nurse to attend to details that would make my parent’s life more comfortable. But Father shook his head.

Mother’s death tore a hole in our family that could never be repaired. Father never remarried during the nearly forty years he lived after her death. Taking on the difficult role of both father and mother to his young children, he became noticeably gentler and more approachable. He solved the family’s various problems with calmness and insight. After work, he withdrew like a hermit to his small room, practicing Kriya Yoga in sweet peace. Long after Mother’s death, I tried to hire an English nurse to handle details that would make Father’s life more comfortable. But Father shook his head.

“Service to me ended with your mother.” His eyes were remote with a lifelong devotion. “I will not accept ministrations from any other woman.”

“Your mother was the last woman to care for me.” His eyes looked distant, filled with lifelong devotion. “I will not accept care from any other woman.”

Fourteen months after Mother’s passing, I learned that she had left me a momentous message. Ananta was present at her deathbed and had recorded her words. Although she had asked that the disclosure be made to me in one year, my brother delayed. He was soon to leave Bareilly for Calcutta, to marry the girl Mother had chosen for him. [^2] One evening he summoned me to his side.

Fourteen months after Mother’s death, I learned she had left me a message of great importance. Ananta had been at her deathbed and had written down her words. Although she had asked him to give me the message after one year, my brother had waited longer. He would soon leave Bareilly for Calcutta to marry the girl Mother had chosen for him. [^2] One evening he called me to his side.

“Mukunda, I have been reluctant to give you strange tidings.” Ananta’s tone held a note of resignation. “My fear was to inflame your desire to leave home. But in any case you are bristling with divine ardor. When I captured you recently on your way to the Himalayas, I came to a definite resolve. I must not further postpone the fulfillment of my solemn promise.” My brother handed me a small box, and delivered Mother’s message.

“Mukunda, I have hesitated to give you some strange news.” Ananta sounded resigned. “I was afraid of increasing your desire to leave home. But you are already full of spiritual passion. When I caught you recently on your way to the Himalayas, I made a firm decision. I must not delay keeping my solemn promise any longer.” My brother handed me a small box and gave me Mother’s message.

“Let these words be my final blessing, my beloved son Mukunda!” Mother had said. “The hour is here when I must relate a number of phenomenal events following your birth. I first knew your destined path when you were but a babe in my arms. I carried you then to the home of my guru in Benares. Almost hidden behind a throng of disciples, I could barely see Lahiri Mahasaya as he sat in deep meditation.

“Let these words be my final blessing, my beloved son Mukunda!” Mother had said. “The time has come to tell you about several extraordinary events that followed your birth. I first knew the path destined for you when you were still a baby in my arms. I carried you to my guru’s home in Benares. A crowd of disciples almost hid Lahiri Mahasaya from view. I could barely see him as he sat in deep meditation.

“While I patted you, I was praying that the great guru take notice and bestow a blessing. As my silent devotional demand grew in intensity, he opened his eyes and beckoned me to approach. The others made a way for me; I bowed at the sacred feet. My master seated you on his lap, placing his hand on your forehead by way of spiritually baptizing you.

“While I patted you, I prayed that the great guru would notice and give you a blessing. As my silent, devoted plea grew stronger, he opened his eyes and motioned for me to come closer. The others made room for me, and I bowed at his sacred feet. My master seated you on his lap and placed his hand on your forehead to baptize you spiritually.

“‘Little mother, thy son will be a yogi. As a spiritual engine, he will carry many souls to God’s kingdom.’

“‘Little mother, your son will be a yogi. Like a spiritual engine, he will carry many souls to God’s kingdom.’

“My heart leaped with joy to find my secret prayer granted by the omniscient guru. Shortly before your birth, he had told me you would follow his path.

“My heart filled with joy when I learned that the all-knowing guru had granted my secret prayer. Shortly before your birth, he had told me you would follow his path.

“Later, my son, your vision of the Great Light was known to me and your sister Roma, as from the next room we observed you motionless on the bed. Your little face was illuminated; your voice rang with iron resolve as you spoke of going to the Himalayas in quest of the Divine.

“Later, my son, your sister Roma and I learned of your vision of the Great Light. From the next room, we watched you lying motionless on the bed. Your little face glowed. Your voice rang with firm determination as you spoke of going to the Himalayas to seek the Divine.

“In these ways, dear son, I came to know that your road lies far from worldly ambitions. The most singular event in my life brought further confirmation-an event which now impels my deathbed message.

“In these ways, dear son, I came to understand that your path lies far from worldly ambitions. The most remarkable event of my life confirmed this understanding. That event now moves me to give you this message from my deathbed.

“It was an interview with a sage in the Punjab. While our family was living in Lahore, one morning the servant came precipitantly into my room.

“It was a meeting with a sage in the Punjab. One morning, while our family was living in Lahore, the servant rushed into my room.

“‘Mistress, a strange sadhu [^2] is here. He insists that he ”see the mother of Mukunda.“’

“‘Madam, a strange sadhu [^2] is here. He insists on ”seeing Mukunda’s mother.“’

“These simple words struck a profound chord within me; I went at once to greet the visitor. Bowing at his feet, I sensed that before me was a true man of God.

“These simple words moved me deeply. I went at once to greet the visitor. As I bowed at his feet, I sensed I was in the presence of a true man of God.

“‘Mother,’ he said, ‘the great masters wish you to know that your stay on earth will not be long. Your next illness shall prove to be your last.’ [^2] There was a silence, during which I felt no alarm but only a vibration of great peace. Finally he addressed me again:

“‘Mother,’ he said, ‘the great masters want you to know that you will not live much longer. Your next illness will be your last.’ [^2] A silence followed. I felt no fear, only a vibration of deep peace. Finally, he spoke to me again:

“‘You are to be the custodian of a certain silver amulet. I will not give it to you today; to demonstrate the truth in my words, the talisman shall materialize in your hands tomorrow as you meditate. On your deathbed, you must instruct your eldest son Ananta to keep the amulet for one year and then to hand it over to your second son. Mukunda will understand the meaning of the talisman from the great ones. He should receive it about the time he is ready to renounce all worldly hopes and start his vital search for God. When he has retained the amulet for some years, and when it has served its purpose, it shall vanish. Even if kept in the most secret spot, it shall return whence it came.’

“‘You are to care for a certain silver amulet. I will not give it to you today. To prove my words are true, the talisman will materialize in your hands tomorrow as you meditate. On your deathbed, you must tell your eldest son Ananta to keep the amulet for one year. Then he must give the amulet to your second son. Mukunda will learn the talisman’s meaning from the great ones. He should receive the talisman around the time he is ready to give up all worldly hopes. At that time, he will be ready to begin his essential search for God. After he has kept the amulet for some years, and once the amulet has served its purpose, it will vanish. Even if kept in the most secret place, the amulet will return to where it came from.’

“I proffered alms [^2] to the saint, and bowed before him in great reverence. Not taking the offering, he departed with a blessing. The next evening, as I sat with folded hands in meditation, a silver amulet materialized between my palms, even as the sadhu had promised. It made itself known by a cold, smooth touch. I have jealously guarded it for more than two years, and now leave it in Ananta’s keeping. Do not grieve for me, as I shall have been ushered by my great guru into the arms of the Infinite. Farewell, my child; the Cosmic Mother will protect you.”

“I offered alms [^2] to the saint and bowed before him with deep reverence. He left without accepting the offering, but gave me a blessing. The next evening, as I sat meditating with my hands folded, a silver amulet materialized between my palms. This happened just as the sadhu had promised. I felt the amulet’s cold, smooth touch. I have carefully guarded the amulet for more than two years, and now leave it in Ananta’s care. Do not grieve for me, for my great guru will have guided me into the arms of the Infinite. Farewell, my child. The Cosmic Mother will protect you.”

A blaze of illumination came over me with possession of the amulet; many dormant memories awakened. The talisman, round and anciently quaint, was covered with Sanskrit characters. I understood that it came from teachers of past lives, who were invisibly guiding my steps. A further significance there was, indeed; but one does not reveal fully the heart of an amulet.

When I received the amulet, a blaze of insight swept over me, and many long-dormant memories awakened. The talisman was round, with a quaint, ancient look, and covered with Sanskrit characters. I understood that the amulet came from teachers of my past lives, who were invisibly guiding my steps. The amulet did indeed have a deeper meaning. But one does not fully reveal the heart of an amulet.

How the talisman finally vanished amidst deeply unhappy circumstances of my life; and how its loss was a herald of my gain of a guru, cannot be told in this chapter.

The talisman finally vanished during a deeply unhappy time in my life. Its loss signaled that I would find a guru. But I cannot tell the story of these events in this chapter.

But the small boy, thwarted in his attempts to reach the Himalayas, daily traveled far on the wings of his amulet.

But the little boy's attempts to reach the Himalayas had failed. Still, he traveled far every day on the wings of his amulet.

2-1: Sanskrit root meaning of swami is “he who is one with his Self (Swa).” Applied to a member of the Indian order of monks, the title has the formal respect of “the reverend.”

2-1: The Sanskrit root meaning of swami is “he who is one with his Self (Swa).” When used for a member of the Indian order of monks, the title conveys the same respect as “the reverend.”

2-2: The Indian custom, whereby parents choose the life-partner for their child, has resisted the blunt assaults of time. The percentage is high of happy Indian marriages.

2-2: The Indian custom of parents choosing their child's life partner has withstood the tests of time. A high percentage of Indian marriages are happy.

2-3: An anchorite; one who pursues a sadhana or path of spiritual discipline.

2-3: A religious hermit who follows a sadhana, or path of spiritual discipline.

2-4: When I discovered by these words that Mother had possessed secret knowledge of a short life, I understood for the first time why she had been insistent on hastening the plans for Ananta’s marriage. Though she died before the wedding, her natural maternal wish had been to witness the rites.

2-4: From these words, I learned that Mother had secretly known her life would be short. For the first time, I understood why she had insisted on speeding up the plans for Ananta’s marriage. Though she died before the wedding, she had naturally wished, as a mother, to witness the ceremony.

2-5: A customary gesture of respect to sadhus .

2-5: A traditional gesture of respect toward sadhus.