Prithwindra Mukherjee August 12, 2009 at 5:29 am M O N I
I was going to complete twelve when the Mother blessed me on my first birthday in October 1948. The Ashram was full of beaming faces, revolving around the Mother, as Nishikanta rightly described: “mâ’r mukh jhalamal chând’ér mato, târ pâshé târâdal shishurâ jato”.
An enigmatic face – though radiant like an ambulant flame, with a child’s eyes, wide open, full of wonder – remained aloof from that astral procession. He was always alone, except on occasions when he went to take tea with Râni Nâg, wife of his close friend Bijoy.
In those days there was a special cart that delivered “tiffin carriers” to inmates who did not have their meals at the Dining Room : Ravindra-ji (not Professor Ravindra Khanna), in charge of the Mother’s cold store – famous for his boisterous laughter – used to manage it. Every evening Moni was seen standing on the corner of the footpath of his house, perpendicular to the Bakery, apparently waiting for his supper brought by Ravindra-ji. But it seemed to be an obvious pretext for him to stop and stare at the sun setting : seen from the Ashram main gate, it was a glowing profile plunged in deep meditation.
Whereas I was ignorant about his loving attachment to the memory of my grandfather (who was intimately known to Moni’s father, as I will learn later from Nolini-dâ and other sources), knowing who I was, he had an affectionate expression of familiarity whenever we met… in silence.
In the Ashram people were told that his consciousness was constantly identified with Sri Aurobindo’s.