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World Mother, Village Mother

 

Mother is a marvelous blend of the planned and the unpredictable. How could

She travel the globe giving programs that need their times and places

publicized if She lived only spontaneously? But how could all the surprises

that so enrich our experience of Her occur if She lived only by schedules?

 

Like in Gujarat last month: the inauguration of the 3 villages Mother had

rebuilt for earthquake victims was planned for the morning of the tenth of

March.

 

State and national dignitaries were an integral part of the celebration, so

of course there had to be a precise schedule: "Home Minister Advanii will

arrive at so-and-so o'clock," and "The Chief Minister of Gujarat will speak

from so-and-so to such-and-such a time." And "Keys to the homes will be

distributed at this time," and "Mother's satsang will occur at that time." A

carefully planned program, so that devotes would know when to come, the press

could be on hand, security for the VIPs would be in place, and all would go

smoothly.

And it did. But that was only one part of the program.

 

Here's what Mother's incurbable spontaneity allowed to happen:

Dusk was gathering, the last darshans were happening, and the train to take

Mother and Her group from Bhuj back to Mumbai was due to leave in about an

hour and a half. She stood, swept the huge tent area with Her gaze, gave a

few last embraces, called out some final endearments to these new children of

Hers, and left the stage. Her car was waiting, the police helped clear a path

for Her, and She was inside-ready for the drive to the train station in

Bhachau. But really, there was time for more than a drive to the

station-there was about half an hour spare. She would not waste the time. No:

The program had been held in one of the three villages She is reconstructing;

now She wanted to make a whirlwind visit to the other two villages. The

residents had hoped, no doubt prayed, that She would do this-but until the

very last moment no one knew whether She would-whether time would permit,

whether She would make that choice.

 

The cars sped off into the near-night. At the first village those who had

managed to reach home ahead of Her had gathered to welcome Her. They were

chanting what people all over the globe chant when Amma is approaching: "Om

Amriteshwaryai Namaha". The villagers had spread a white cloth for Her to

walk upon, and set a chair on a small platform so that all might See Her. The

men were gathered on either side of the walkway, the women behind Mother's

chair; all was orderly and smooth.

 

The villagers garlanded Mother, gazed respectfully as She walked to Her seat,

and joined in when She led them in chanting the prayer Lokah Samastah Sukhino

Bhavantu: "May all beings everywhere be happy." It came forth loud and strong

in the voices of people who a year ago were subsisting in piles of rubble,

all that remained of their homes; people who today had met the Mother of

their new homes.

 

Can it be that in less than ten minutes Mother had returned to Her car and

was speeding towards the next village? Can it be that in these few minutes

the prayers of these people had been answered? For it was a year ago that one

of them had said, "If Mataji steps one foot into our village, we will be

blessed." They were blessed. (read related story)

 

The second village: dark had truly fallen. In the local tradition, women

balancing large brass pots on their heads danced where Mother arrived. She

emerged from the car, and wove Her way among Her eager new children as they

crowded close, hoping to touch this One whom they had only heard about until

today. She reached the porch of one of the newly constructed houses, stepped

onto it so that She could look out towards the mass of Her children-and

suddenly above Her small five-foot form there towered a strikingly lean man

in flowing garb, crowned with a pure white turban. He leaned forward and

placed in Mother's welcoming hands not an armload of flowers, not a

ceremonial stole, not a commemorative plaque…none of these things that come

as part of a program.

Into the hands of the Mother he placed his tiny baby.

 

Amma cradled close the small bundle of hope and life; She gazed softly down

into the tiny face and pressed the child to Her heart. Smiling up at the

father, She returned his baby. Mother sat down, then, cross-legged on the

carpet spread there on the porch and immediately there stepped forth another

man, offering Her his child. And another, then another. A mother came with

her infant and placed him in the lap of the Mother of All.

 

What does it mean when a community loses all its homes — truly, all: nothing

survived that quake and when every family suffers deaths and crippling

injuries, and still children are conceived and new life happens? Last year,

immediately after the quake, before repairs were even started, the strong and

faith-filled people were telling us this: "God gave us prosperity for a long

time; now He has taken it away. When he chooses, he will give it again."

Consider the will and faith of people who lose all and don't despair, who

suffer immensely and do not grow bitter.

 

Mother led them, too, in chanting — first Bhakti do Jagadambe" (Mother of the

Universe, give me pure Love; bless me with devotion….) and then Lokah

Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu. Her hoarse voice — hoarse from all day long

murmuring the Gujarati equivalents of "My son," or "My darling daughter," or

"Mother is with you," into thousands of ears-chanted: "Om," and the villagers

responded, "Om". And then Her voice: "Lokah," and theirs: "Lokah". Hers:

"Samastaha" and theirs: "Samastaha"- a father held his young son in his

strong arms, and his big hands moved the boy's tiny ones till the four hands

were clasped together in prayer —"Sukhino" and the echo "Sukhino" — the

little fellow's hands stayed palm to palm and the father's left hand

supported the child while his right rested on his own heart — "Bhavantu"

intoned the Mother, and "Bhavantu" repeated Her children. "May all beings

everywhere be happy."

 

This happened in Gujarat, rocked and ravaged a year ago by earthquake and

this year, exactly at the time of Mother's visit, by violent communal

conflicts. On this dark night, on a simple porch in a newly rebuilt village,

the people placed their smallest and newest babies in the lap of the Mother,

entrusted their hopes and dreams to God, and joined the final chant for peace:

 

Om Shanti. Shanti. Shanti.

 

Mother rose, gesturing as if reluctant to leave, "Train," She explained.

Her car sped off into the night, leaving behind three new villages, all

blessed; Mataji had done even more than "step one foot" into each village.

_

Amritapuri.org Page updated on Thursday, May 23, 2002 .

© Mata Amritanandamayi Math.

MAM