The Story of an Epoch

By Swami Shraddhananda

The spiritual career of the sixth president of the Ramakrishna Order a monk initiated by the Holy Mother and given the ochre robe by Swami Vivekananda throws a flood of light on the formative period of the Ramakrishna Movement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312666559

Book preview

1980

PROLOGUE

Swami Virajananda, the sixth President of the Ramakrishna Math and Ramakrishna Mission (from December, 1938, until the end of his life in May, 1951), was a close witness to the spiritual power, manifesting as Sri Ramakrishna and Holy Mother Sri Sarada Devi, that gradually unfolded through the lives of Swami Vivekananda (Swamiji) and other disciples of Sri Ramakrishna. He imbibed the spirit of those lives even from the days of the first monastery of the Order at Baranagar, which he joined in 1891, just five years after the demise of the Master.

Virajananda’s first exposure to Sri Ramakrishna was through some of the great householder disciples — Ramchandra Dutta, Manomohan Mitra and Mahendranath Gupta, better known as ‘M’. At the Baranagar Math, and later at the Alambazar Math,, the inspiring company of Sri Ramakrishna’s Sannyasin disciples opened new dimensions in his life. The young novice served them with all his heart and soon fell in line with the varied rigours of the monastic life. He met the Holy Mother for the first time in October, 1891, in Jayrambati and received initiation from her in the summer of 1893, when she was staying in Nilambar Mukherjee’s garden house in Belur. All through his life Virajananda felt her divine grace and protection. The final monastic vows of Sannyasa were conferred on him by Swami Vivekananda upon the latter’s return from the West in 1897.

The lengthy road from initiation as a young Sannyasin at the age of twenty-three (1897) to the leadership (1938) of the great organization founded by his Guru, Swami Vivekananda, was not a smooth and straight one for Virajananda. There were irksome bends, difficult climbs and deceptive footholds. But he faced them all with courage and firm determination in order to pursue his ideal, as he understood it, never despairing, always learning—travelling from truth to truth, from lower truth to higher truth, as Swamiji used to say.

The soul of Vivekananda was impatient for the sacrifice of at least a thousand young men fired with the zeal of holiness, fortified with eternal faith in the Lord, and nerved with lion’s courage, to bring about a new order of things—sympathy for the poor and bread to their hungry mouths, enlightenment to the people at large, and struggle unto death to make men of those who had been brought to the level of beasts by the tyranny of their forefathers. Alas, the response was not up to his expectations. However, Swamiji had no time to wait; he had had to set the ball rolling. As many items as’possible of’the plan of campaign’ must secure a good start in the limited time before his short life of thirty-nine years came to a close. Therefore he began immediately to push his ‘boys’ to the various fronts. Many of them were ill prepared. It was so difficult to give up the old outlook of monastic life and to grasp and put into practice the dynamic ideal now held before them by Swamiji. But they loved their master dearly and tried their utmost to fulfil his commands.

Swami Virajananda’s association with Swamiji was for barely five years. But was not this brief period equivalent to fifty years? What a tumultuous revolution was brought into his life by Swamiji’s example and teachings! As a disciple, follower and soldier to fight for the master’s cause, Virajananda played his part admirably. First, it was his joy and privilege to work for three and a half years at Mayavati under the able leadership of Swami Swarupananda, of whom Vivekananda felt proud to say, He is an acquisition. Titbits ofthe memory of those days will be found in the pages of this book.

Swamiji first visited Mayavati in December of 1900, staying for about two weeks. For Virajananda this was the last contact with his master, leaving him most shining memories. He saw the splendour of the parting sun, its crimson brilliance spreading through all the quarters but not dazzling the eyes—cool, sweet, and enchanting. While at Mayavati, Swamiji was sometimes gay like a boy, playing and frolicking; sometimes he was serious, delivering discourses on his future plans of work; sometimes he soliloquized, pacing up and down near the fireplace in the main drawing room. Here, once again, Virajananda had the satisfaction of rendering personal service to his Guru. Here he also heard his master give his parting warning, My disciples are to emphasize work more than austerities.

After the death of Swamiji in July, 1902, a series of kaleidoscopic events threw Virajananda from one set of circumstances to another. First, an austere meditative life in Mayavati shattered his health. Doctors in Calcutta could not help him, yet unexpected recovery came to him by the grace of the Holy Mother. Then arose the opportunity of rendering personal service to the President of the Order, Swami Brahm-ananda, at Belur Math. It was a blessed time for him, but of short duration. Soon he was required to make hurried preparations for sailing to America to serve as assistant to Swami Trigunatita. This, however, did not work out, and he returned to the life of an ascetic at Hardwar with a grim determination for Self-realization. After six months of practice of this resolution, he was called to shoulder the onerous responsibility of the presidency of the Mayavati Advaita Ashrama¹ following the sudden demise of Swami Swarupananda in 1906. As Head of the Advaita Ashrama, his services, in only seven years, were immense: He placed the Ashrama on a secure financial basis, increased the circulation of the monthly journal Prabuddha Bharata,² put fresh life into the publication department, and had a separate building erected for the press. His most important contributions, however, were the compilation, editing (in collaboration with others) and publication of The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda and the huge four-volume biography of Swami Vivekananda.

The next eleven years Virajananda lived in the quiet seclusion of Shyamala Tal, a retreat in the interior of the Himalayas thirty miles from Mayavati. There, apparently oblivious of the warning which Swamiji had given to monastics concerning an exclusively meditative life, he endeavoured to devote himself solely to spiritual practices. But he had conflicts, too. True, there were fervent prayers and meditation, scriptural studies and allied undertakings; yet there were worries also, namely, lack of funds for the upkeep of the houses and gardens, a dearth of workers to look after the growing establishment, and the management of the property of the Ashrama. Sometimes he found it necessary to perform hard physical labour. In later years he occasionally used to say that his experiment with a life which excluded everything except meditation was probably a mistake.

From 1926 onward, Swami Virajananda had once more to plunge into the active life of the Order, and for some years he was closely associated with the administrative duties of the Math and the Mission. He served as its Secretary for five years (1934 to 1938). His patient, efficient tackling of problems, unabated perseverance and his cooljudgment were tremendous assets to the smooth and coordinated operation of the various departments. After the death of Swami Vijnanananda in April, 1938, the Presidency of the Order fell upon the hoary-headed veteran, Swami Suddhananda, one of the foremost disciples of Swamiji and first among the ‘second generation’ to be elected to that honoured position. At this time Virajananda became Vice-President. Having less responsibility in that position, he hoped to spend a few years in the quiet of the Himalayas, but at Shyamala Tal the sad news reached him that on October 23, 1938, after serving only six months as President, Swami Suddhananda had given up this life.

At that time the supreme responsibility of spiritual leadership devolved upon Swami Virajananda. He was sixty-five years old. For twelve and a half years Virajananda carried on this task with patience, courage and fortitude. Silently he prayed: May He make me an instrument in His hands and guide and work through me. May the years bring me ever new revelation and spiritual enlightenment, so that through me many may find peace and bliss!

Swami Vivekananda once allotted a certain work to Virajananda with the complimentary remark, He has a very calm temperament and never makes a fuss. Indeed, Virajananda had manifested this remarkably calm disposition even from his boyhood. That he talked very little, it was true, but his measured words had a quality of thoughtfulness and living warmth. Although he was forced to face many conflicts, sufferings and difficulties in this life, no one ever found him perturbed. His whole nature stood, as it were, against a background of an unruffled poise. When others impatiently sought a hasty solution to some problem, Virajananda would tackle it with quiet composure, never minding the time necessary for a thorough examination.

Not long after he became President of the Order his health began to fail and it continued to deteriorate throughout the twelve-year period of his office. Nevertheless, he performed all his duties without complaint, catering to the spiritual need of thousands, and sometimes going on extensive, tiring tours in different parts of the country. From his external appearance, one could never suspect the ailing condition of his body. Even during the last year of his life, when his illness rendered him completely bedridden, and when extremely painful medical and surgical treatments were administered to him one after another, he was observed to maintain his naturally calm disposition.

Those who had met Swami Virajananda but once were bound to remember throughout their lives his gentle, kindly behaviour. He was polite, but never weak. Having had an adamantine will-power even from his youthful days, he was never afraid to do whatever he thought reasonable and just, in spite of opposition and frowns of protest. His actions proceeded from the full sanction of his conscience. The pivot of his strength was in his immense self-reliance. In both secular and spiritual matters he always advocated the use of one’s own self-effort. Often he was heard to say: If you want to progress in your religious life, you must be up and doing; self-effort is necessary. Nobody can give you that. It has to be cultivated by yourself. ‘Go on tilling your land like the professional farmer,’ as Sri Ramakrishna used to say. Never give way to despair.

Austerity and inwardness were two salient elements of his nature. While a young monk, he had spent on many days as much as fifteen to sixteen hours in contemplation, and his Japa number rose to one hundred and twenty-five thousand on many occasions. In later years, when the onerous responsibilities of his arduous and active life kept him heavily occupied, his heart would sometimes long for the silence of intense meditation. He would then retire to the Himalayas for a brief period and come back spiritually invigorated. Swami Virajananda had indeed established in his life a wonderful harmony of work and meditation.

For thousands of men and women all over India he opened the doors to deeper spiritual life. His unostentatious, serene personality strongly attracted earnest spiritual seekers. Owing to his ill health, it was not possible for him-to give lengthy spiritual discourses, yet his quiet and gracious presence invariably touched the hearts of people, bringing them deep satisfaction and peace. There is no doubt that Sri Ramakrishna, the Holy Mother, and Swamiji have spread their holy influence in a significant way through this instrument of theirs—Swami Virajananda.

*           *           *

Swami Virajananda

____________

¹ A centre established by Swami Vivekananda in the Almora district of the Himalayas for the practice and propagation of the philosophy and disciplines of the non-dualistic system of Vedanta.

²Enlightened India.

CHAPTER I

Blossoming Youth

In the middle of the nineteenth century, the widower Ram Ratan Basu moved with his children to Calcutta from his ancestral village of Kodalia in the district of 24 Parganas, West Bengal. There he established a thriving business and built a home for his daughter and live sons in the Simla district of the city. The motherless family he reared with great affection. In this he was assisted somewhat by the kind-hearted widow of a distant cousin. Aware of his sagacity and generous disposition, people sought his counsel in times of need. Though Ram Ratan was a devotee of the Divine Mother Kali and chanted Her name when he found it possible, he had little time for a serious religious life. As years rolled by, he arranged for his eldest son Trailokyanath, a medical student, to be married to a young girl named Nishadkali.

Nishadkali was the second daughter of Vinode Bihari Mitra, of an aristocratic family in Ahiritola, North Calcutta. In that neighbourhood this gentleman was highly respected for his irreproachable character. Steady and serious, he was nevertheless full of kindness towards everyone. On the terrace of his three-storeyed house he grew a number of flowering plants to which he gave much love and attention. Well into his old age Vinode Bihari continued to perform athletic exercises and to walk four or five miles each day. In religious matters his inclination was towards Vaishnavism, and he practised repetition of the Lord’s name, morning and evening, several thousand times without deviation. Because of his fine disposition, his large family lived at all times in harmony and peace.

The young bride Nishadkali quickly accepted full responsibility for the household of Ram Ratan, which she managed most efficiently. As the time approached for her to give birth to her first child, there was ecstatic joy in both families. Now the holy Full Moon day of Snan Yatra¹ of Lord Jagannath² of Puri fell on Tuesday, June 10, 1873.³ On that day, about eight o’clock in the morning her son was born in her father’s home—the child who would later become Swami Virajananda.

The two grandfathers were overwhelmed with delight. Ram Ratan prayed aloud, Oh Mother Kali, spare the newborn forever. May this child glorify the Basu’s lineage.

Vinode Bihari also entreated, Oh, Lord Hari, let my grandson become an ideal man—and be Your votary.

In due time the infant was christened Kalikrishna, as if to remind both grandfathers of their respective Ishtas (Chosen Deities).

There were problems at first with the new baby. He slept well in the day time, but at night he would cry if anyone attempted to put him to bed. It was necessary for someone to carry him to the terrace and to walk about showing him ‘Uncle Moon’, or to place him in the cradle and to prepare him for sleep by gently patting his legs. In addition, he seemed reluctant to be nursed. Therefore, Ram Ratan purchased a fine cow and strictly enjoined that no one should partake of its milk but the tiny Kalikrishna. And he himself cared for the cow. Soon the infant thrived on the cow’s milk and became robust, plump and pretty. He was the apple of his grandfather’s eye.

Before the baby was a year old, his father Trailokyanath passed his L.M.S. examination and secured a well paid medical position in the small princely state of Mahishadal in Mid-napore, West Bengal. Ram Ratan’s affection for his grandchild had by then increased considerably, and the thought that the birth of this child had brought in its wake additional income to the family also exhilarated him.

But Providence had not allotted much peace to Ram Ratan. Not even his love for his grandson was sufficient to bridge the gap of misunderstanding which steadily widened between him and his daughter-in-law. Though she was forbearing, hard-working and devoted in all her household duties, try as she would, Nishadkali could not bring cheer to this aged man. Gradually, for negligible reasons, Ram Ratan found fault with her daily and carried adverse reports to his son. Confusion and unrest grew in the family, and devout, peace-loving Trailokyanath tried in vain to settle matters. Eventually, finding no other solution, he moved his wife and two-year-old son to a separate house. Relinquishing his position in Mahishadal, Trailokyanath worked briefly in Jaynagar (24 Parganas) and then opened his own clinic, the Eastern Medical Hall, at 81 Amherst Street in the city of Calcutta. The small family then established living quarters within the building which housed his clinic.

The day the young father moved his family from the residence of Ram Ratan, there ensued a violent quarrel. When they had gone and the old man realized he had been deprived of his beloved grandson, he sadly turned Kalikrishna’s milk cow loose into the street! Years later Kalikrishna, then Swami Virajananda, commented with feeling about this parting: That last quarrel between father and grandfather, and my boisterous crying on that occasion, are still fresh in my memory.

Life was more peaceful after this transition. Trailokyanath’s medical practice rapidly prospered and with the well-earned money he built a house at Narkeldanga in northeast Calcutta. More children in time were born. Proud to be the eldest, Kalikrishna was glad to have the privilege of guiding his younger brothers and sisters.

At school Kalikrishna was attentive to his studies but somewhat aloof with other children and rather shy with his teachers. For the most part he seemed closed off in a world wholly of his own. At home, however, he was a different boy, fairly bursting with energy. He would assist his mother in keeping the house neat and clean, do shopping and look after the garden in the courtvard. The fact was, he liked such work and rarely went out to play with the others. This was all very well with his father, who actually did not want him to mingle with all sorts of children who resided in the locality. Consequently, his only friends were his own brothers and sisters.

Sometimes he would stay for brief periods in his maternal uncle’s home, where the self-reliance and methodical habits of his grandfather, Vinode Bihari Mitra, made a tremendous impression on his youthful mind. Serious-natured Apurva-krishna Mitra, his uncle, the only son of Vinode Bihari, talked very little to anyone, engaging himself chiefly in studies, and during Kalikrishna’s visits, he would help him with his school work. Attending the Training Academy ran by his father’s good friend Hem Babu,¹ Kalikrishna progressed in time to the level of class six.² Later, he was admitted to Ripon School where he spent the rest of his school years.

By nature neat and tidy, he maintained his bushy hair with great care. Like his father, he ate his meals very slowly.³ The courtyard garden, which he tended daily, flourished with varieties of seasonal flowers. During this time in his life his mother would often say of him, Kali is like an eldest daughter to me. He looks after all the details of the household.

The position of trust which he held in his family is revealed by the following incident: His mother once desired to accept an opportunity to go by steamer to Puri to see Lord Jagannath. Her two-year-old daughter had to be left behind. At first her husband resisted the thought of her leaving the baby, but she confidently replied, Why, Kalikrishna is here to look after her! Entrusting the child to the boy, she then embarked on her journey, and the small girl received such affection from her elder brother that she scarcely missed her mother!

How difficult it is to discover even a trace of the latent Samskaras—those indelible impressions lying deep in a person’s subconscious—until they begin to manifest! Perhaps young Kalikrishna had no thought he would eventually choose a path of life quite different from that of many thousands of people who exist in the world. But a day came when he began to wonder, and as the plan of his life Unfolded, the perplexity of his family seemed to know no bounds.

While studying in the ninth class, Kalikrishna became acquainted with an unusually high-spirited youth, named Khagendranath Chattopadhyaya, who was destined in time to become Swami Vimalananda, one of the foremost disciples of Swami Vivekananda. A slim, attractive lad, with keen intelligence in his eyes—soft-spoken, tranquil and sociable— he gathered other boys to him as a magnet gathers iron filings. Yet, in spite of his popularity, Khagen was not a worldly fellow. He was sincere, selfless, lovable, fired by a burning idealism and a longing for religious life. Should he but hear of a Sadhu¹ or Sannyasin² in the district, he was off at once in search of him, eager to be near him and to have his company. So inspiring was Khagen’s personality that a group of youths formed around him and he would sometimes take them with him to visit holy men.

Quiet, thoughtful Kalikrishna was irresistibly drawn to Khagen, attracted by his moral purity and by his religious fervour. Absorbed in conversation, they spent much time together. Kalikrishna’s parents came to love Khagen as if he were their own son, and Kalikrishna in turn was treated with the same affection by the family of Khagen. Almost every evening Khagen went to Kalikrishna’s home at Narkeldanga, and the two friends would walk to Khagen’s house at Patal-danga in central Calcutta. Then, deep in conversation they would return to Narkeldanga, reluctant as they were to separate, their conversation gaining pitch all the way.

At the same time their group of boys flourished, and in the beginning they met at Khagen’s home. There, religious readings, devotional music and discussions of spiritual subjects went on in full swing. Among the young men in this circle were Khagen’s cousin Haripada Chattopadhyaya (later Swami Bodhananda), Sudhir Chandra Chakravarty (later Swami Suddhananda), Sushil Chandra Chakravarty (younger brother of Sudhir, later Swami Prakashananda), Govinda Shukul (later Swami Atmananda), Jadupati Chattopadhyaya, Sashi- bhushan Das, Kunja Bihari Basu and Bepin Bihari De.¹ Upon finishing high school, all of them entered Ripon College, with the exceptions of Sudhir, who enrolled in the City College, and of Sushil, who was two years their junior.

In those days in Calcutta a religious cult headed by Mahima Chakravarty² of Cossipore was attracting much attention. This group had a number of unusual spiritual practices, including blowing of a conch shell and chanting of ‘OM’ while playing on a single-stringed harp. Members wore their hair long and flowing, and dressed it with a comb made of a material current at that time which resembled aluminum. They believed that the comb would generate electric and magnetic power in the head, which would augment spirituality. One or two such quaintly equipped members of this cult could always be found walking in the streets of Calcutta. Khagen had come into contact with this cult and was drawn to some of its practices. Morning and evening, therefore, he would dress himself in ochre clothing, lavishly burn incense in his small study, vigorously blow the conch shell and rhythmically chant the sacred syllable ‘OM’ (to awaken the Kula-kundalini).³ Following his lead, Kalikrishna also resorted to long hair, a comb and a single-stringed harp.

Sudhir became interested in yogic practice and used to go to Panchanan Bhattacharya, a disciple of Shyamacharan Lahiri, a well-known Yoga teacher. He was also inclined to philosophical studies and read many religious books. Since he was of an austere temperament, he never wore shoes or shirts and would attend college wearing only a Chadar (a long piece of cloth) as his upper garment.

Meanwhile, certain books in his father’s library caught the attention of Kalikrishna, and he began assiduously to read them. Among them were Teachings of Sri Ramakrishna compiled by Suresh Chandra Dutta, Life of Sri Ramakrishna and Tattwa-prakashika¹ by Ramchandra Dutta. These books increased his dispassion towards worldly things to such a degree that he and Khagen, after discussion, decided to abscond to Darjeeling² and to practise spiritual austerities in some remote mountain cave. But they felt they should make themselves healthier before undertaking this journey. While working on this project, they visited a relative of Khagen at Diamond Harbour, a town on the River Ganga about forty miles south of Calcutta. There they stayed for a fortnight, during which time they bought blankets and other necessities. Returning home, they attended the play Chaitanya Lila enacted at the Star Theatre, for this, they believed, would help them increase their spirit of renunciation. And they planned to leave within two days.

The night before their intended departure, Kalikrishna slept at the home of Khagen. In the darkness, well after midnight, a hand stole quietly through Khagen’s window and awakened him ever so gently. This hand belonged to Nanda Babu, a neighbour and trusted friend, who spoke to him very softly: It appears you and Kalikrishna have decided to run away and to renounce this world. In a vision I have perceived that danger and dire misfortune inevitably would befall you. . . Nanda Babu, a disciple of Vijaykrishna Goswami, was most zealous in religious practices and discussion of spiritual matters. Khagen greatly revered him and felt that the words of Nanda Babu indeed could never be doubted. Therefore, much disappointed, the youths abandoned their plan to renounce home for the high Himalayas. Somewhat dejected, Kalikrishna returned to his house in Narkeldanga.

Thus their time passed in quest of God. . .

One day in the streets of Calcutta appeared posters announcing the birthday of the Master Sri Ramakrishna to be celebrated at Kankurgachhi.¹ A grand religious procession was to begin at 11 Madhu Roy Lane, the house of Ramchandra Dutta. Khagen and Kalikrishna were enthusiastic, as were some of their youthful friends. On the day of the celebration they presented themselves very early at the home of Ramchandra Dutta and eagerly joined the procession, which moved reverently toward Kankurgachhi. The music division of the procession included Ram Babu, Manomohan Babu, Kalipada Babu and Deven Babu, who, together with other devotees, were singing and slowly walking. At the Yogodyana, Ram Babu and Manomohan Babu, while dancing, became ecstatic, and Kalikrishna beheld for the first time a state of spiritual exaltation. Round and round danced Ram Babu, loudly chanting Jaya Ramakrishna!, while Manomohan Babu seemed to witness something exceedingly wonderful and began to run about frantically, uttering strange peels of laughter. The two boys observed this intently—and nothing escaped their notice. On coming down from his ecstasy, Ram Babu treated them with warm affection and urged them to come again.

The Young boys discovered Sri Ramakrishna

Therefore, each Saturday or Sunday these eager seekers returned to Kankurgachhi where, in the Yogodyana, seated near Ram Babu, they listened for hours to his stories of the life of Sri Ramakrishna. This was for them a time of great joy. When the rains came, the paid Brahmin,¹ in charge of the daily worship and the cooking of food to be offered, departed from his post. Until a new priest could be found, Kalikrishna, Khagen and others of their group assumed responsibility for all the temple duties. Kalikrishna vividly recalled the events of those days:

By twos we wouid go there in turns. At that ume that place was a jungle. The road was rather low, and very bad. During the rains we had to wade through waistdeep water to get there. Malaria was rampant. Hence those on duty would not stay after the evening service to sleep. We carried on like this, I think, for some six weeks.

Once during this period we resolved at the insistence of Upen² that we would go begging like mendicants and whatever we got we would offer to the Lord. Some of us went, and after a fair collection, we made a food offering. Upen was a great devotee of offered things, and also a glutton. On festive occasions he ate so much that his stomach swelled. Then he would tie a wet towel around him and lie flat in a corner. Even knowing the Prasada³ was exhausted, he would beg, Won’t you please give me those particles that lie at the bottom?

Few people visited the Yogodyana in those days. Even on Sundays only eight or ten old devotees would appear. Subsequently Apurva Babu began to stay there, and in the course of one or two years, Kali (later Swami Yogavinod), Suresh, Kunja Bihari Das and others, as they became disciples of Ram Babu, also began to live there. Ram Babu, too, lived in the Yogodyana and would take them to their places of secular work in his hackney coach. A few he accepted as assistants in the Medical College or employed in other ways. In the beginning Kali and Suresh lived in the Yogodyana and studied in the College. They also performed Puja (ritual worship) and other duties. Later they received ochre robes from Ram Babu.¹

At Ripon College Kalikrishna and Khagen continued their studies. There the venerable professor Mahendranath Gupta inspired in each of his students mingled feelings of awe and reverence. This calm, dignified teacher of English spoke no unnecessary word. In his white trousers, black coat of alpaca and long flowing beard, he was a most distinguished figure. Walking along the road, his right forefinger pressed firmly against his lips; he appeared to remind himself every moment to keep silent. At lunch time he avoided the chit-chat of other professors in their common room, and going up the stairs, would disappear somewhere.

Observing this, it