Lack or excess of love- Mahatma Gandhi

[Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav]

Prof. Dr. Yogendra Yadav

Senior Gandhian Scholar, Professor, Editor and Linguist

Gandhi International Study and Research Institute, Jalgaon, Maharashtra, India

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Lack or excess of love- Mahatma Gandhi

 

A Vaishnava gentleman has lovingly chided me for having used the singular number while referring to Rama, Shankar, Bharat and other incarnations of God. He has been grieved that I have not referred to Rama as “Shri Ramachandra Prabhu” and to Bharat as “Shri Bharatsuri”, and has mildly suggested my treating these sacred names with due respect. I could have replied to that friend in a private letter but, in case some other Vaishnavas have been similarly pained, I discuss the matter here for all readers. Perhaps, the friend who has written to me does not know that I myself am a Vaishnava and that Shri Ramachandra Prabhu is the ishtadevata worshipped in my family. Still, to me the name Rama is dearer, though I have written “Shri Ramachandra Prabhu” for once here to satisfy this friend. “Shri Ramachandra Prabhu” gives me the feeling that He is far away from me, whereas Rama is enthroned in my heart. Wherever I have made use of the sacred names, Rama, Bharat and so on, it seems to me that they express my overflowing love. If this Vaishnava friend claims that his love for Rama is greater than mine, I would contest his claim in Rama’s court and I am sure to win. I would be pleased to have my love tested in the same way as Hanuman had wanted his to be.

The dearest is ever closest to one’s heart. Such a one must needs be addressed as “thou”. The use of “you” implies distance. I never addressed my mother as “you”; if I had, by chance, spoken to her any time as “you” she would have broken into tears, for she would have felt that her child was no longer close to her. There was a time in my life when I knew Rama as Shri Ramachandra. But that time has now passed. Rama has now come into my home. I know that He would frown on me if I spoke to Him as “you”. To me, an orphan without mother-, father, brother, Rama is all in all. My mother, my father, my brother He is everything to me. My life is His. In Him I live. I see Him in all women, and so regard every one of them as mother or sister. I see Him in all men and, therefore, look on everyone as father, brother or son according to his age. In the Bhangi and the Brahmin I see the same Rama and to them both I bow. Even now, although Rama is near, He is not near enough to me; hence the need to address Him at all. When He is with me all the twenty-four hours, there will be no need to address Him even in the singular. No one else addressed my mother as “thou”. Others spoke to her in the most respectful terms of address. So, too, if Rama were not my own, I would have maintained a respectful distance from Him. But, then, He is mine now and I His slave. Hence, I beg Vaishnavas not to force me to stay at some distance from Him. The love that must be supported by formal courtesy, does it deserve the name of love? In al] languages, in all religions, man speaks to God as “Thou”. In Tamil land, there lived a woman saint named Mother Avvai, filled, like Mirabai, with intense love of God. All day long she sat in the temple of Vishnu. Sometimes her back was turned towards the image, at other times she sat facing it, her legs stretched out.

Once a pious but youthful worshipper happened to go there, for darshan. He did not know of Mother Avvai’s closeness to God and, with blood-shot eyes, he rebuked her in words none too polite. Mother Avvai laughed out loud, filling the temple with her ringing laughter. Ignoring his rudeness, she spoke to him and said: “Come, my son, sit here. Where do you come from, my dear boy? You spoke harshly to me. But tell me one thing. In all my long life, I have not found a single spot whence God is absent. Wherever I stretch out my legs, there is He in front of me. If, now, you show me a place where He is not, I shall stretch out my legs in that direction.” The young worshipper was modest. It was because of his ignorance that he had not recognized Mother Avvai. He was scared and his eyes brimmed with tears as large as pearls and they fell on Mother Avvai’s toes. She tried to draw back her feet, but he held them in his hands and said: “Mother, I have done you wrong; forgive me, save me!” Avvai freed her legs and clasped him in her arms. She kissed him, laughed aloud, and said: “Tuttut, what is there to forgive? You are a son to me, and do you know, I have many more sons like you. You are a good son, for you spoke out your doubt as soon as you felt it. Go, Lord Shrirang will protect you. But, my son, think sometimes of this mother of yours.”  

 

Reference:

 

Navajivan, 5-6-1924