MY MOTHER
Mateshwari Savitri Devi
(1916-1967)
Today is a sad day for me. On The 5th of August 1967, my Dear Mother left her physical frame and went to the heavenly realm from where she had come.
The days of my childhood which I spent with my parents bring back the recollection that I was the darling of my mother, even though my mother loved my elder brother equally. I was brought up and reared in an atmosphere of love. My father was an Ocean of Love who never even once said a harsh word to his two sons, and in fact spoke respectfully to us!! Which was why we found the outside world so harsh in contrast.
But we as children took the liberty of quarrelling with our mother out of love. I recall the time when she would sings sad songs on the harmonium and tears would come into her eyes, then I would, as a toddler, rush into her room and force the harmonium shut!!
There was always a latent fear in my mind since childhood, it was an intuition that I would lose my mother one day. It was a feeling that was very real and very strong.
I never forgot a film I saw in which a girl who had grown up into a woman, sang before the portrait of her mother:
"Maa, pyaari maa
Bhoole na jhoole ke din"
"O Mother, Dearest Mother,
How Can I forget the days
When thou rocked my cradle"
I would cry silently every time I recalled that song, and was convinced I was going to lose my mother one day.
We lived in a large house in the hills, and I would follow my mother around from room to room, afraid that I was going to lose her in the maze of rooms.
When we were first put into convent schools, I was so scared of the nuns and their hoods that I would take my mother into the classroom and make her sit with me for a few days, with the permission of the teacher. Separation from my parents and especially my mother made the hours seem like years in school.
My mother had also once requested our class teacher Mother Peter Simon to give the children less homework as they were so loaded with books that it was becoming hard on their eyes studying late in the nights.
Mother Peter Simon, far from being sympathetic, would always mock me and taunt me with those words in front of the class: ''Now, Priya's mother will say I am giving too much homework!"
I grew up hating studying and examinations, and yet I was doing well in them out of the scare generated by the nuns who taught us, who would not hesitate to put dunce caps on the heads of students who performed badly.
Time came when I went to study Nuclear Physics at Harvard. When the airplane took off in the skies and I saw my parents standing at the airport I felt as if I was leaving everything and going to nothing.
My parents were staying in London with my brother for about four years while I was studying at Harvard and I would visit them every summer during the holidays. My parents were so good that they would never narrate anything worrisome to me lest it disturb my studies.
One day I received an ominous phone call from a London Hospital. It was a nurse on the phone. " Mr. Mehta, your mother is critically ill! Her days are numbered, you better come!"
I felt as if the ground had moved from underneath my feet.
I left everything that I had gathered at Harvard, my studies, my books, tape recorders, my car, my rented flat -- everything seemed meaningless. It appeared to me as if I would never be returning.
My professor Dr. Albert V Baez, the father of Joan Baez, was very good. He said to me: " Leave immediately, Priya, dont worry about the unfinished answer books. I will correct them myself. I know how you must be feeling. I felt the same way when my mother was ill."
When I reached New York Airport for the flight to London there was a very long queue of people ahead of me. I would never make it. I spoke to the man ahead of me that my mother was ill. And very soon the words "his mother is ill! his mother is ill" were going down the queue of people. They all moved aside and let me get the first ticket. I shall never forget this act of goodness of the American people for the rest of my life.
I reached London. My mother had been brought home as they could not do anything more at the hospital. I was shocked to see her so ill. She had applied powder and a little lipstick on a face as she knew that I loved to see it on her since childhood.
She could barely speak and said in a weak voice:
"Priya, you have come! This happiness will remain with me forever!"
And then she closed her eyes. It was as if she was waiting for me.
The funeral was a grand but sad one. A Rolls Royce car took my mother's body to the cremation hall.
I recalled on the spur of the moment how my mother would jokingly say to my father: " Nathji! When are you going to give me a ride in a Rolls Royce!"
At the cremation hall a miracle occurred. The skies were overcast and it appeared the sky was full of thick dark clouds which would never lift.
My mother's face was still uncovered in the coffin.
Suddenly the skylight on the roof was flooded with light and rays of the sun came downwards and fell on the face of my mother. Her countenance was lit up for a while and it appeared as if she was alive.
Mr. Leverton the funeral director, said to my father:
"This was not ordinary light. It was Heavenly Light!"
Yes, it was a signal from her spiritual realm that she was being welcomed there.
But I shall always miss her. After all she was my mother.
I close this article with tears in my eyes as my offerings to the Divine Mother.
Mateshwari Savitri Devi
(1916-1967)
Today is a sad day for me. On The 5th of August 1967, my Dear Mother left her physical frame and went to the heavenly realm from where she had come.
The days of my childhood which I spent with my parents bring back the recollection that I was the darling of my mother, even though my mother loved my elder brother equally. I was brought up and reared in an atmosphere of love. My father was an Ocean of Love who never even once said a harsh word to his two sons, and in fact spoke respectfully to us!! Which was why we found the outside world so harsh in contrast.
But we as children took the liberty of quarrelling with our mother out of love. I recall the time when she would sings sad songs on the harmonium and tears would come into her eyes, then I would, as a toddler, rush into her room and force the harmonium shut!!
There was always a latent fear in my mind since childhood, it was an intuition that I would lose my mother one day. It was a feeling that was very real and very strong.
I never forgot a film I saw in which a girl who had grown up into a woman, sang before the portrait of her mother:
"Maa, pyaari maa
Bhoole na jhoole ke din"
"O Mother, Dearest Mother,
How Can I forget the days
When thou rocked my cradle"
I would cry silently every time I recalled that song, and was convinced I was going to lose my mother one day.
We lived in a large house in the hills, and I would follow my mother around from room to room, afraid that I was going to lose her in the maze of rooms.
When we were first put into convent schools, I was so scared of the nuns and their hoods that I would take my mother into the classroom and make her sit with me for a few days, with the permission of the teacher. Separation from my parents and especially my mother made the hours seem like years in school.
My mother had also once requested our class teacher Mother Peter Simon to give the children less homework as they were so loaded with books that it was becoming hard on their eyes studying late in the nights.
Mother Peter Simon, far from being sympathetic, would always mock me and taunt me with those words in front of the class: ''Now, Priya's mother will say I am giving too much homework!"
I grew up hating studying and examinations, and yet I was doing well in them out of the scare generated by the nuns who taught us, who would not hesitate to put dunce caps on the heads of students who performed badly.
Time came when I went to study Nuclear Physics at Harvard. When the airplane took off in the skies and I saw my parents standing at the airport I felt as if I was leaving everything and going to nothing.
My parents were staying in London with my brother for about four years while I was studying at Harvard and I would visit them every summer during the holidays. My parents were so good that they would never narrate anything worrisome to me lest it disturb my studies.
One day I received an ominous phone call from a London Hospital. It was a nurse on the phone. " Mr. Mehta, your mother is critically ill! Her days are numbered, you better come!"
I felt as if the ground had moved from underneath my feet.
I left everything that I had gathered at Harvard, my studies, my books, tape recorders, my car, my rented flat -- everything seemed meaningless. It appeared to me as if I would never be returning.
My professor Dr. Albert V Baez, the father of Joan Baez, was very good. He said to me: " Leave immediately, Priya, dont worry about the unfinished answer books. I will correct them myself. I know how you must be feeling. I felt the same way when my mother was ill."
When I reached New York Airport for the flight to London there was a very long queue of people ahead of me. I would never make it. I spoke to the man ahead of me that my mother was ill. And very soon the words "his mother is ill! his mother is ill" were going down the queue of people. They all moved aside and let me get the first ticket. I shall never forget this act of goodness of the American people for the rest of my life.
I reached London. My mother had been brought home as they could not do anything more at the hospital. I was shocked to see her so ill. She had applied powder and a little lipstick on a face as she knew that I loved to see it on her since childhood.
She could barely speak and said in a weak voice:
"Priya, you have come! This happiness will remain with me forever!"
And then she closed her eyes. It was as if she was waiting for me.
The funeral was a grand but sad one. A Rolls Royce car took my mother's body to the cremation hall.
I recalled on the spur of the moment how my mother would jokingly say to my father: " Nathji! When are you going to give me a ride in a Rolls Royce!"
At the cremation hall a miracle occurred. The skies were overcast and it appeared the sky was full of thick dark clouds which would never lift.
My mother's face was still uncovered in the coffin.
Suddenly the skylight on the roof was flooded with light and rays of the sun came downwards and fell on the face of my mother. Her countenance was lit up for a while and it appeared as if she was alive.
Mr. Leverton the funeral director, said to my father:
"This was not ordinary light. It was Heavenly Light!"
Yes, it was a signal from her spiritual realm that she was being welcomed there.
But I shall always miss her. After all she was my mother.
I close this article with tears in my eyes as my offerings to the Divine Mother.
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