Sri Ramakrishna: Love That Knows No Limits

PROLOGUE

There is a story in one of the Upanishads: a small fish was kept in a bowl. In a few days it grew too big to be in the bowl. It was taken out and kept in a bigger vessel. But it outgrew even that—so much that it needed, they felt, a pond. It went on growing immeasurably until nothing else but an ocean could hold it!

This is, of course, a symbolic story. But it reflects the incredible phenomenon which we know as Sri Ramakrishna. Born in a remote village near Calcutta, his stature now is global. His life is as fascinating as the life-skills that flow from it. From Kamarpukur (his village), he has teleologically travelled all over the globe. His biographies are no longer confined to his mother tongue Bengali or even English. Most European languages—within a short interval after his demise—have translations of his teachings. From 1907 to date, he appears in so many forms: as a figure which enormously interests psychologists, sociologists, mythologists, linguists, narrators of various hues, harmonisers of religious paths, and even filmmakers. In essence, he has touched and transformed our perceptions not of spirituality alone but the various aspects of life in which it is situated. And recently, feminist or gender studies, too, find him fascinating.

1

THEY DON’T EVEN BELIEVE I EXIST!

This is the life story, in every sense, of Sri Ramakrishna himself. He remained a child of mother Bhavatarini whom he worshipped and with whom he played, joked, and often sulked. Equally often, he was amazed at her splendour, her majesty, and her shakti. She could even hold Shiva enthralled by her shakti. But, for Sri Ramakrishna, she was his affectionate Mother Kali. There is nothing to worry about, Mother looks after us! is the essence of his teaching. For he taught with such unique charm that none realised that one was being taught! Only later were his teachings collected.

Let me reproduce a story narrated by Paulo Coelho in one of his books.

A widow from a poor village in Bengal did not have enough money to pay for her son’s bus fare, and so, when the boy started going to school, he would have to walk through the forest all on his own. In order to reassure him, she said: Don’t be afraid of the forest, my son. Ask your brother Krishna to go with you. He will hear your prayer. The boy followed his mother’s suggestion; Krishna duly appeared and from then on accompanied him to school everyday.

When it was his teacher’s birthday, the boy asked his mother for some money in order to buy a present. We haven’t any money, son. Ask your brother to give you a present. The following day, the boy explained his problem to Krishna who gave him a jug of milk. The boy proudly handed the milk to the teacher but the the other boys’ presents were superior and the teacher didn’t even notice the gift. Take the jug of milk to the kitchen, said the teacher to an assistant. The assistant did as he was told. However, when he tried to empty the jug, he found that it immediately filled up again of its own accord. He informed the teacher, who was amazed and asked the boy: Where did you get that jug and how does it manage to stay full all the time?

Krishna, the god of the forest, gave it to me.

The teacher, the students and the assistants all burst out laughing. There are no gods in the forest. That is pure superstition, said the teacher. If he exists, let’s all go and see him.

The group set off. The boy started calling for Krishna, but he did not appear. The boy made one last desperate appeal. Brother Krishna, my teacher wants to see you. Please show yourself!

At that moment, a voice emerged and echoed throughout the forest. How can he possibly want to see me, my son? He doesn’t even believe I exist!

The source of this story is the famous story-teller and narrator known as Sri Ramakrishna.

The teacher in the story, a learned guru, never believed the boy. He, of course, did not believe in the existence of God, let alone in the possibility of seeing him. The boy had implicit faith in his mother’s words: Krishna existed. And Ramakrishna implicitly believed it. The bhava led to dhyana with intense kamana (desire) and Mother manifested herself.

But we are going too far ahead. The story of that great mystic, Sri Ramakrishna, begins with Khudiram, Ramakrishna’s father.

2

MORAL VICTORY

Look Khudiram! I want you to do me a favour. You are respected in our village, Dereypore, as a Brahmin of great integrity. One who, they all say, is a real Brahmin who embodies the virtues of that clan. Your words carry weight and I want you to do this favour, said Ramananda Ray, the zamindar of that village. He was respectful to Brahmins but only to the extent they toed his line.

When the message came that the zamindar wanted to see him, Khudiram knew that something wrong was going to happen. People like Ramananda Ray did not seek favours from a poor Brahmin like himself unless it was a very crucial matter. Or something that involved compromising his honesty and straightforward nature. But then, he knew that his own steadfast devotion to his family deity would not let him down. Raghuveer would certainly protect him. The Lord is, don’t they say, the refuge of the helpless?

Ramanand Ray knew that his own word carried a lot of weight. He was, of course, every inch the icon of a zamindar of those days. He dispensed favours with as much ease as he troubled people who refused to do what he wanted them to. A typical, though benevolent, autocrat, when he wanted something he knew how to get it by any means irrespective of the status of the people he was dealing with.

Sir! said Khudiram, Kindly tell me what I should do for you. I cannot imagine what help a poor Brahmin like me can offer to a person of your power and stature! You are our benefactor. So please tell me what I should do for you.

"It is a very small thing, Khudiram. You know my social standing makes me the target of many wicked issues which my enemies concoct. One such legal matter is pending in the court. Of course, nothing will affect me. But to make my case strong, a person of integrity should give evidence in my favour. There are some points which are going against me. They are true. But if you give evidence about my honesty, about how innocent I am in this matter, I am sure to win the case. You know how I looked after you. Now this time you have to help me. Otherwise I cannot show my face in the village!"

Khudiram knew what this meant. He guessed what hideous truth lay behind the sweet, discreetly diplomatic words of the zamindar. He was, in fact, threatening him! Not just pleading or appealing to his good sense. The veiled threat didn’t escape Khudiram’s attention. For him, it was a crucial context of ethics, of integrity against expediency, against telling a blatant lie. All through his life he had adhered to the strict ethical and dharmic code of a Brahmin, which he inherited from his ancestors. Of course, the zamindar had helped him. But then, it could hardly mean abandoning all the virtues he swore and lived by. He was also aware what refusal to give evidence would instantly mean. The vindictive nature of the zamindar was quite well known to the villagers. He would do everything to make his life intolerable. The little stability of his family would be gone. However, he replied,

Sir! I understand what you want me to do. You want me to give false evidence. It boils down to that. Yes, my false evidence will certainly help you to win the case. But then, my loss thereby is irrevocable: as a Brahmin, I swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Therefore, it is unthinkable that I should swerve from the righteous path of a true Brahmin. It may be very hurtful to you. Indeed, it may also mean incalculable loss. But then, I cannot tell a lie, come what may!

The conviction that rang through Khudiram’s words must have made the zamindar aghast. Perhaps Ramananda Ray equated the pious nature of a Brahmin like Khudiram with spinelessness. How could this poor—almost destitute—Brahmin command such steel, such nerve?

One can see the crucial significance of this seemingly simple incident. Those were the days when zamindars held tremendous power backed by an alien rule. They were empowered to do whatever they liked. Thus, a still vibrant feudal system played havoc with the lives of those who did not toe its line. The Brahmin community, perhaps, was fast losing its hierarchical preeminence. Or, as Sri Ramakrishna himself put it, the Brahmins then were regarded as rice and plantain-bundling priests who sought the patronage of a few zamindars to lead a life of comfortable priest-craft. Economic factors were embedded in the gradual erosion of their traditional eminence in the hierarchy of the caste system.

One thus notices the economics of those times. He who holds wealth has the privileges—privileges which are hardly won by ethical factors. The ascent of money and wealth to the centre-stage of social systems was unmistakable; a phenomenon aided and abetted by the foreign rulers. It is in tune with the ethos of the British rule with the founding of the East India Company, a pure profit-seeking business. In short, the wealth of character and the power of affluence fought an implicit battle. The consequent tremors reached the family of Khudiram. His refusal to bear false witness is not only a reflection of the still virtuous brahmanical families but also a reflection of the nascent corrupt practices that swayed courts of law even during those days.

How the powerful can frame charges is evident in the way Ramananda, stung by Khudiram’s refusal, brought a case against Khudiram himself! And by engaging witnesses who are always available, he made the virtuous Brahmin lose the small holdings he had. Something so devastating that Khudiram had to leave Dereypore permanently and seek a home for himself in the nearby village, Kamarpukur.

Khudiram never lost faith in his family deity, Sri Ramachandra. Yes, he was, in a sense, dislodged from his moorings. Subjected to injustice and cruelty—the powers of vicious human nature. But he also knew that his Lord would not let him down. He never swerved from the path of virtue, the sharp razor’s edge of a devout Brahmin life. If there are setbacks, they are also blessings of the Lord. One silver lining in this crisis was that his two brothers and their families were no longer a burden to him. Once they realised that Khudiram was helpless, they did a wise thing. They looked after themselves well by settling with their fathers-in-law. Perhaps, Ramananda Ray’s persecution led ironically to Khudiram being relieved of the burden of a joint family!

A relief which he needed very much since he had to support Chandramani Devi, his wife, and his first son Ramkumar, then nine years old. (The year was 1814.) He had to leave Dereypore and seek shelter somewhere else. But the ancestral heritage of his own family—in terms of both property and spiritual values—was so rooted that nothing could shake him. He stood anchored in the perennial values of a kindness, sense of fair play and justice, and above all, a religious fervour that withstood both the gales of grief and the radiance of joy in equal measure.

3

BLESSED WOMB

Every crisis is a challenge; every setback has potential for resilience in facing life with all its unpredictable elements. Adversity has more scope for a person to grow ethically and spiritually than a humdrum life of relentless routine. In fact, the ethical evolution of a person is tested when Nature gives him or her a violent shake, a glimpse into the hideous depths of human nature. A Kamsa is a foil to a Krishna, a Ravana to Rama. The web of our life is of mingled yarn, good and ill together, declared Shakespeare.

Khudiram’s life is no exception. He had to face the wrath of a zamindar which obviously is a context for an ordinary person to lose faith in God. But Khudiram’s life was conspicuous by the absence of any hint of complaint. All that the Lord gives is for my good! was the simple faith that sustained him. In short, the harsh breath of the modern sceptic never visited his nostrils.

Khudiram’s life also embodies the strong roots of a family anchored in values, in character and acceptance of the will of God. The potential of the erosion of enduring familial virtues had not yet manifested itself. His sahadharmini, his wife, Chandramani Devi, was a truly supportive companion. She shared his travails as also his moments of joy, which mark a cohesive family.

Sri Ramakrishna himself in later life spoke about his mother thus: My mother was the very embodiment of rectitude and sincerity. She did not know much about the ways of the world, and being innocent of the art of concealment, would say what was in her mind. People loved her greatly for her openheartedness (Life of Sri Ramakrishna, Compiled from various authentic sources, [Calcutta: Advaita Ashrama, ninth impression, 1971], p.6).

When we see such warm evocation of a mother by her child, it appears to us in our cynical times as if the son is romanticising the parents. Indeed, the rift between children and parents is, by and large, so severe today that the generation gap is too mild a description of the reality. Perhaps, families are still stable in India. But the ties are often so fragile that they snap easily. The media evokes, through serials spread over years, disintegrating families where each one is locked up in his/her own cell of selfishness. It is harsh to say this but it is certainly a truth that one has to face. And a truth which—extended carefully—would mean that the significance of Sri Ramakrishna’s life contains an exemplary restoration of the core values of a stable family. Spirituality and ethics grow only in the congenial atmosphere of love and affection which suffuses the family—still the inevitably initial institution which shapes the tone and temper of an entire society.

Rectitude, sincerity, open-heartedness, total exemption from the corrupt ways of the world and, above all, an incorrigible innocence—look at the qualities. Aren’t they the rarest ones? Yes, such persons are always subject to exploitation, to clever use by scheming persons. Do they mind? Do they give up their values? They are anchored to them irrevocably. They may feel hurt by those who take them for a ride. Or, clever psychoanalysts these days can claim that they lack a sense of individuation, of identity. They may even go to the extent of declaring that they are retarded—not capable of psychological adjustment to the crooked ways of the world.

The fact, however, remains that Chandramani Devi, Sri Ramakrishna’s mother, was a historical person. Not a legendary character stepping out of the pages of Purana. She is not a product of heightened imagination of a doting child idealising his mother. Sri Ramakrishna declared that not a single fib, even in fun, escaped his lips. In fact, he often declared that he would surrender everything to his Divine Mother, Bhavatarini, but not his total commitment to Truth, in thought, word and deed, or as our languages put it, manasa, vacha, karmana.

Obviously, Sri Ramakrishna’s mother was the congenial maternal kshetra, divya garbha, the divine womb to receive him as her child. You may wonder at this description. Let me cite what Gandhiji, in his deeply suggestive Foreword to the Master’s life says: His saying are not those of a mere learned man but they are pages from the Book of Life. They are revelations of his own experiences. They therefore leave on the reader an impression which he cannot resist (Life, ibid.,). If Sri Ramakrishna’s sayings are invariably reflections of his authentic experiences, he can never exaggerate or idealise other matters.

The other proof is: Sri Ramakrishna himself inherited the guilelessness, the transparency of his parents. We have, in Indian philosophy, the concept of samskaras. These are predispositions of a personal nature which mark the character of that person. The parents not only shape the body but craft the consciousness of a child in a cognisable way. They are what modern psychologists call the basic cardinal qualities which form the character of a person.

But then, in the case of Sri Ramakrishna, the ordinary hypothesis of psychologists (whether Freud, Erickson or Jung to cite only a few) may not illumine many aspects. Indeed, they may function as distorted lenses of what is assumed as the dark psychic hinterland of the unconscious. Viewed thus, spirituality means the reductive absurdity of mother fixation or parental loss which are then declared the roots of spiritual fervour. However sophisticated the theories are these days and whatever prestigious academic body publishes them, such studies are mostly nothing but fodder to minds which in their own experience never came across such authentic phenomena.

Sri Ramakrishna, in his own pastorally blunt, rustic way called such scholars vultures preying on the psychic carrion which is generated by their own hallucinations. Therefore, when we look at the Master’s love and regard for his parents, there is every temptation to read into them our own psychic projections. But the formidable objection to it is the presence of tremendous love which is totally exempt from any compensatory neurotic fixations.

The simple truth is: Sri Ramakrishna was a radiantly happy cheerful child, surrounded by the overwhelming love of all those who saw him growing from Gadadhar (Sri Ramakrishna’s childhood name before he moved to Dakshineswar in Calcutta) to Sri Ramakrishna of Dakshineswar.

4

TRADITION OF TRUTHFULNESS

Pending that, we should look at Sri Ramakrishna’s father. The most reliable source is his son himself. In one context, Sri Ramakrishna described his father thus: "My father never accepted gifts from shudras. He spent much of his time in worship, meditation and the telling of beads. Everyday, while engaged in prayer as he invoked the goddess Gayatri, his chest swelled and became radiant with a divine glow and tears rolled down his cheeks. Again in hours of leisure, when he was not engaged in worship, he would make garlands for Raghuveer. He lost his ancestral home to avoid giving false evidence. The villagers respected him as a sage" (Life, 6).

This is, indeed, a transparent picture of a pious, deeply devoted Brahmin who lived a life of righteousness and simplicity. The first quality is refusal to accept gifts from shudras. One would consider this as some kind of quirk of the caste system of those days. Perhaps, caste divisions were rigid. But the deeper meaning behind not accepting gifts is the principle of aparigraha in the yoga system of Patanjali. Aparigraha is non-acceptance of gifts on the basis of psychological faith that accepting a gift from somebody would make one indebted to that person, the giver of the gift. This is a bond which transfers some of the tendencies of the giver of gifts to the receiver. It leads to rina, a debt, which one should relieve himself of. In short, aparigraha is an aspect of the strict yogic practices which Khudiram practiced as a matter of course. It has no associations with shudras as outside the pale of regular categories of caste.

One can also contextualise a related incident which shows how Sri Ramakrishna himself was unbending in his liberal attitude to caste. This involves Dhani, Gadadhar’s godmother. It was she who assisted Chandramani Devi at the time of Gadadhar’s birth. Gadadhar had so much affection for her that quite often he relished eating the fancy homemade sweets Dhani prepared and offered him. That this was not enough is shown by the event recorded by Swami Saradananda, the most authentic biographer of Sri Ramakrishna:

When Gadadhar was about to complete his ninth year Ramkumar [Gadadhar’s eldest brother] began to arrange his Upanayanam (sacred thread ceremony). Long before this time, Dhani had implored Gadadhar to accept his first alms from her and to address her as mother during his sacred thread ceremony. Overwhelmed by her genuine affection, Gadadhar promised to fulfil her wish.

And it was fulfilled thus:

Counting on his word, the poor woman saved a little money according to her means and eagerly awaited the auspicious event. Just before the ceremony, Gadadhar mentioned his promise to his eldest brother. Ramkumar objected because this went against their family tradition. [A Brahmin does not accept first alms from a non-Brahmin]. Remembering his promise, Gadadhar was adamant on this matter. He told his brother that if he did not keep his word, he would be guilty of breaking his promise—and that an untruthful person is unworthy of wearing the sacred thread. (Swami Saradananda, Sri Ramakrishna and His Divine Play; tr. Swami Chetanananda, [Vedanta Society of St. Louis, St. Louis, MO, 2003], 127; emphasis added)

Several issues are involved here in this seemingly simple incident. To begin with, personal loyalties were so sacred to Ramakrishna that he stood by them, come what may. It was not just loyalty: it was, in fact, an extension of his innate love and affection. Dhani was the woman who assisted his mother to have a safe deliverywhen Ramakrishna was born. She was the only other woman who had darshan of the Divine Child at his very birth. How fortunate she was! Moreover, how come she expressed such a desire? Was she intuitively aware that the child, whose birth she assisted, was an extraordinary child who would eventually become the Radiant Prophet of religious harmony and peace in our times? Finally, it also shows Sri Ramakrishna’s unflinching loyalty to truth: a promise made is a promise kept and nothing like caste barriers or the Hindu hierarchical social network would deter him in keeping his word.

Above all, this crisis was resolved in such a way that, in retrospect, it remains a glowing testimony to the liberal trends in some Hindu Brahmin families of those days. Saradananda writes:

As the time for the sacred thread ceremony drew close, all the arrangements were made, but the ceremony was in danger of being cancelled because of Gadadhar’s unyielding stand. When the news reached Dharmadas Laha [friend of Khudiram’s family], he came forward to solve the dispute. He told Ramkumar that although there was no such precedent in their family, such things had happened in other good Brahmin families. Thus, he reasoned, it would not bring any criticism upon them. Moreover, it would give Gadadhar peace and satisfaction.

No further objection was raised and the sacred thread ceremony went off without a hitch. Dhani considered her life blessed because she had become Gadadhar’s godmother. (Saradananda, Divine Play, 127–28)

The culmination of this attitude to caste came later when Ramakrishna declared that all devotees of God are of one caste!

If we extend the sociological implications, contemporary analysts of caste make it out to be a death trap of oppression; that Hindu society is flawed by stratification and rigidities which strangle all social systems. This is deliberate distortion of the fact that if caste was rigid, there were also subversions of its rigidity not by social reformers but by the spiritual traditions of liberalism. These traditions produced the Bhakti renaissance of the eighteenth century, the chief architects of which were not the Brahmins. They belonged to all other castes. This points to the underlying dialectical pattern: in Indic systems every version has a built-in sub-version to prevent the version from becoming a perversion.

The Dhani