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My Beloved Swamiji - by Gunasagaran Pillai
My Beloved Swamiji
By Gunasagaran Pillai
Introduction
Since their arrival of in Fiji, between 1903 and 1916, Indians of South Indian extraction, after serving their indenture, began to constitute themselves into loose conglomerations in the various villages and towns they tended to settle in, with a view to promoting their culture and languages. As their aspirations gathered pace, proactive members of the community banded together and founded the ‘Then India Sanmarga Ikya Sangam’ (Sangam), on 24 May, 1926 at Nadi, Fiji: Sadhu Kuppuswami was elected President; M. N. Naidu, Vice-President; my paternal grand father, T. A. J. Pillai, Secretary; my maternal grand father, Krishna Reddy, Executive Member/Nadi District, etc. These men together with other prominent leaders such as Gopal Mudaliar (destined to become my sister Ratina Valli’s father-in-law), V. M. Pillai, the pre-eminent Indian businessman of Fiji (whose granddaughter was preordained to marry my maternal uncle, K. S. Reddy), etc. came to realise that if Sangam is to play its part to the full in ameliorating the lot of South Indians in Fiji, it has to be underpinned by appropriate legal and managerial framework. As a consequence, they invited the Ramakrishna Mission in India to send an appropriate person to assist Sangam in realising its objectives.
Swami Avinashananda
Accordingly, the Ramakrishna Mission sent Swami Avinashananda to Nadi, Fiji, who upon his arrival moved into the “Library”, which would become the Ashram subsequently. Within days he met A. D. Patel (AD), a gifted Bar-At-Law, whose practice was based in Nadi; AD struck an immediate and enduring friendship with Swamiji. Acting on Swami Avinashananda’s advice, AD incorporated Sangam as a single cohesive entity on 6 January 1938, under Companies Ordinance; subscribers to the deed included, amongst others, Sadhu Kuppuswami, M. N. Naidu and Krishna Reddy.
I was born on 12 December 1934 in the corrugated iron and timber dwelling my father Appasami Pillai had built opposite the Ramakrishna Mission Ashram in Nadi, Fiji. He used the property as a business outlet, i.e. as a stationer’s shop, presumably the first in Nadi, as well as for residing in. Therefore, when Swami Avinashananda arrived in Fiji on 21 May 1937, I was 2+ years old. Not yet going to school, I had ample time on my hand to explore my microcosm which encompassed Raojibhais’s Laundry to our left and Nadi Theatre to the right, both of which were separated from our home by vacant blocks of land and the Ashram across the road. My peregrinations took in the Ashram and the purlieus of our home at first. Later, the Ashram became my only port of call, for I serendipitously discovered that the kitchen was a repository of ample supplies of delectable confection, savouries and fruits, of which, after Swami Avinashananda, I may well have become the chief beneficiary! Hence, I was wont to gravitate towards the kitchen, which was in the hands of Swamiji’s affable cook, Krishna Iyer, who enjoyed the status of a novitiate rather than a servitor. One day, shuffling over to the Ashram, I searched for Iyer and finding him in the bathroom washing clothes, asked him whether I could get something to eat, as I was hungry. He told me that there wasn’t any, but that I could help myself to some bread in the kitchen safe. Upon opening the safe door, I could espy only an intact long loaf. Hesitating momentarily, I picked it up, tucked it under my arm and bolted from the kitchen, my little legs reciprocating like pistons. Rounding the bend in the path leading to the front end of the Ashram, my legs went into overdrive. Notwithstanding this, I found my neck suddenly pinioned by the crook of a walking stick and a stentorian voice exclaim, “Bread Thirudan!” (= Thief, in Tamil) - caught in flagrante delicto! The visage of the speaker, Swami Avinashananda, is a blur, but the words are indelibly etched in my memory. The Swami departed from Fiji, after an 11-month sojourn, on 6 February 1938, having accomplished his mission. I was just over 3 years old then. A less well known accomplishment of the Swami is that upon his counsel, my father abandoned his unprofitable stationery business and joined AD’s legal firm, as a clerk.
Swami Rudrananda
Swami Rudrananda was deemed by the Ramakrishna Mission to be the monk best qualified to nurture Sangam. Those aspiring to join the Ramakrishna Mission as monks have to undertake a protracted and rigorous, intellectual, physical and spiritual training programme before they can be accepted as neophytes of the order. Swami Rudrananda was forged in such a crucible. It is therefore not surprising that when he came to Fiji on 24 February 1939, he was the very epitome of the noblest human qualities, idealised in Hinduism. Over and above this, he was charismatic, college-educated, enlightened, a visionary and of remarkably cheerful disposition. His impact on Sangam was galvanic; indeed subsequent events establish that he was the primum mobile of the organization. So, when I was about 4 years old, the new neighbour across the road was approximately 38 years of age. After taking up residence, my notoriety as bread thief had reached his ears. But instead of rebuking me, he chastised my tormentors for treating a case meriting raillery, as one of transgression against the sanctity of the Ashram! This he was able to achieve by drawing a parallel between the episode and Lord Krishna’s somewhat similar escapades during his childhood! Iyer stayed on to serve the new master, but given his propensity for clandestine swigs of ‘tonic’ (Iyer’s parlance for strong alcoholic drinks), he was found, on several occasions, in uncompromising situations: asleep in drunken stupor on the floor, having fallen off his bed sometime during the night; sleeping, not on his, but Sadhu Kuppuswami’s bed. Even so, he ministered to both the Swamis’ personal needs, with loving care.
His Love for Children
Swami Rudrananda was as much at home with the famous as he was with children because love for children was immanent in him. From time to time, he would pick up my elder brother Manoharan, my sister Ratina Valli and me and sometimes Krishnamoorty (elder son of Ramakrishnan, the first graduate Head Master of Nadi Sangam School) and Divakar (eldest son of Ganeshwar Rao, Ramakrishnan’s successor) and take us for a ride in his car; Swamiji’s first car was a German - built ‘Opel’ sedan. His destinations would include either Yako Beach or Wailoaloa Beach or he would simply drive along the Nadi Back Road. Being my earliest car rides they were indeed exhilarating experiences. Upon our return home from Nadi Sangam School in 1941 and 1942, my brother and I would make a beeline for the Ashram. Seeing us, Swamiji, if he were not talking to any adult, would put his paper work aside and ask us enthusiastically, to recite Tamil nursery rhymes we learnt at school. He would chortle in his uninhibited way at our rendition of “Oorillilla eligai elaam oor iddatil kuuri…” etc. Occasionally, Swamiji would come to Sangam School after school hours and join in with the staff and senior boys and play volleyball or participate in tug of war.
His Love for Outdoor Life
Swami Rudrananda loved outdoor life so much so that a spirit of adventure was woven into his persona. Together with my parents and siblings, I had the privilege of joining him on a number of picnics and expeditions. From time to time, AD and his first wife, who was British and later Divakar and his parents, would also take part in them. My most memorable experience is the assault on Mount Victoria, Fiji’s highest peak in 1946. The mountaineers included Swamiji, Krishna Reddy, Mrs Muttamma Goundar, my parents and 4 of my siblings - Manoharan, Ratina Valli, Kaushalya and Harshadan - and me. One fine morning we set out in Swamiji’s “Command Car”,1 an ex-US Army 4 wheel drive Dodge, with a canvass hood, but no doors. How the 10 of us, not to mention 3 days’ provisions (bedding, clothing, food, etc.), contrived to fit into the vehicle with no boot, is best left to the reader’s imagination. After driving past Tavua, Swamiji exited the King’s Road and headed for Nadarivatu. But just before reaching the foothills, he lost control of the car whilst negotiating a bend in the road. Now, driving was not one of Swamiji’s forte.2 But a quick reflex more than compensated for this shortcoming. So, instead of endeavouring to keep the car on the road, the consequences of which would have been catastrophic – for it would have surely rolled over on its side – he drove straight down the 45 degree incline. After a brief bone-shaking ride down the boulder-strewn slope, the car juddered to a halt in a sugar cane field, as though of its own volition. Unperturbed, Swamiji started the car and drove up the bank and continued the journey, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. However, Mrs Muttamma Goundar was rattled by the experience. She commanded us to commence singing Tamil bhajans, presumably to propitiate the gods, which we were only happy to comply with because we ourselves were rather shaken by the incident.
Finally, we reached our base camp viz. Government quarters at Nadarivatu. Staying overnight there, the entire company, including my younger siblings, set out to conquer Mount Victoria the next morning. Our local guide set about in earnest hacking his way through the dense undergrowth and overhanging branches and the rest followed in his wake. We had a short lunch break at about 11 am and pressed on with our ascent, which was becoming more and more precarious with each step. By 2 pm the intrepid mountaineers reached a summit, only to discover that a kilometre or two away stood a yet higher peak, Mount Victoria indeed! Whereupon our guide, morphing into a Solomon, declared that we were lost! The decision to abandon the expedition and retreat forthwith was given by Swamiji, for the sun was getting portentously low in the western sky. Swamiji did not lose his equanimity, but we children came down hill helter skelter; the weary and bruised conquerors manqué, reached the comforts of our beds long after dusk and fallen that evening.
Swamiji also set out to traverse Viti Levu together with K.S.Reddy, Ramakrishnan, my father, etc. in the early forties. Though the expedition was not successful, in that it had to be aborted half way, it goes to underscore Swamiji’s indomitable spirit of adventure. Swamiji successfully climbed the highest peak of the Kauvadra Mountain Range in Raki Raki and members of the team included T. A. J. Pillai, Chengodan Goundar, my father, etc.
The conquerors of the highest peak of Kauvadra mountain range (circa 1945)
[Back row: 3rd from left, Swamiji; 4th from left Chengodan Goundar; extreme right, T.A.J. Pillai (author’s grandfather). Front Row: 3rd from left, Appasami Pillai (author’s father)]
Contingency Preparations for Japanese Invasion of Fiji During WWII
When the Japanese Imperial Forces had gained a foothold in the Solomon Islands in early 1942, Swami Rudrananda, AD, Ganeswara Rao and my father surmised that invasion of Fiji was imminent. In consequence, my father rented out his Nadi Town property and moved house the same year to the safety of Vuniyasi, a village about 5 Km South West of Nadi Town. About this time, Swamiji, AD, Ganeshwar Rao and my father etc., made arrangements to take sanctuary in Marasa, located some 10 Km south west of Nadi, in the event the Japanese overran the US Army base in Nadi and occupied Fiji. To this end, several bures were built there. The site was located in an idyllic valley set amongst low hills, flanked by a stream with crystal clear water on one side and a cave on the other. No human habitation could be seen in any direction. I can recall several happy acclimatization trips to Marasa, with Swamiji and AD leading on horsebacks and the rest of us following them on shanks’s mare; both Swamiji and AD were consummate riders. We camped at Marasa on a number of weekends. They were indeed happy days, replete with drama and adventure, indeed the stuff of children’s dreams. Perhaps my friendship with Divakar was forged in that locale. After the Japanese were driven out of the Solomon Islands, my father relocated to Qeleloa, two years later, i.e. 1944. Swamiji was a frequent visitor to our new home. In between discussing weighty Sangam and/or Ramakrishna Mission matters with my father, Swamiji would seldom decline home-grown mangoes my mother used to ply him with. We would look forward to his visits because in his presence my father, whose belief in the dictum spare the rod and spoil the child, was sacrosanct, dare not fly off the handle and give us a hiding for failing to maintain a proper sense of decorum. During this period, Iyer franchised out to me the procurement of berries of a shrub growing wild on the banks of Qeleloa River, below Dratabu Koro, Nadi: when dissolved in water, the ripe berries would turn the water saffron, which was used to impart fresh colour to Swamiji’s fading orange robes.
The Polyglot
Swami Rudrananda was endowed with panoply of talents, one manifestation of which is that he was a polyglot, at home in Tamil, Telugu, Hindi and English; he could speak Malayalam and Bengali as well.
The Musician
To his acolyte Iyer’s tabla accompaniment, Swamji could play the harmonium competently. Equally, he could sing, which was in essence a singular bass, i.e. the lowest male singing voice. He could also compose Tamil lyrics and set them to music. Indeed, he wrote the elegant lyric, ‘Taayil chirandhathodu kovilum ellai yendru vaayinaal cholvadhupol Thamizhaa…’, set it to music and got my siblings Manoharan and Ratina Valli and me to practice singing it; the three of us rendered it at the Sangam Annual General Meeting held in Tagi Tagi, Tavua in 1943. Swamiji was a familiar fixture at the evening prayers at Nadi Temple; together with ‘boarding boys’ living on the temple precinct, my brother and I had the privilege of learning our ‘Namavalli’ and ‘Bhajna Valli’ hymns from him.
The Teacher
Few are privy to the fact that Swamiji did a stint of teaching. When I was in Form III (year 9) at Shri Vivekananda High School in 1949, the year of its inception, he used to help the mathematics teacher, G. S. Naidu once a week. I can vividly recall a problem in arithmetic, which had everyone in the class, including the teacher, stumped. The latter even went so far as to pronounce magisterially that the answer in the textbook was erroneous. When we drew Swamiji’s attention to the problem in question, he pondered over it for a few seconds and worked it out on the board with aplomb. And, lo and behold, the answer on the board matched the answer in our textbook, to which our collectives were glued! Despite this contretemps, in all fairness to G. S. Naidu and K. S. Reddy (who were related to each other through their wives, who were sisters), the foundation principal, it must be said that both were competent teachers. Therefore, unsurprisingly the whole class would eagerly anticipate Swamiji’s lessons. Furthermore, given his gravitas, Swamiji was able to tap persons with appropriate skills in the community to teach gratis, at SVHS: H. M. Lodhia, a prominent businessman, assisted with Book Keeping and Pundit Kamla Prasad, the editor of “Jagriti”, with Hindi lessons.
The Aesthete
Swamiji was an aesthetic person. He loved flowers not only as offerings to God but flowers per se. He was a keen gardener, for in the early forties, besides the Ashram, AD’s and Mrs Muthamma Goundar’s were the only other Indian homes, to the best of my knowledge, with well-manicured lawns and flower gardens.
The Educationalist
Soon after setting foot in Fiji, Swamiji showed great prescience in that he recognised that given the entrenched land rights of indigenous Fijians, the future of the descendents of the indentured Indian labourers lay in education. As an educationalist, he was nonpareil. The foundation of Shri Vivekananda High School (SVHS) in 1949 engendered a flurry of activity on the part of other Indian cultural bodies in Fiji, as a result of which, the number of secondary schools proliferated. With his standing in the community, not surprisingly, Swamiji was able to persuade CSR, to donate a large parcel of land for relocating SVHS at Malolo, Nadi.
Considering Swamiji’s stature, it is no wonder that he was extraordinarily successful in cajoling a number of educational organizations/institutions in India to award scholarship or waive tuition/boarding fee of qualified SVHS students seeking admission to them, including myself, whose benefactor was the Birla Education Trust, Pilani, Rajasthan, India, though I frittered away the opportunity. Swami Rudrananada was the driving force behind the establishment of the University Tutorial College in Tailevu in the early sixties, foundation staff of which included, amongst others, Muralidhar and my sister Ratina Valli. Although the university college never got off the ground, it may well have had a salutary effect in mobilising public opinion, which culminated in the establishment of the University of the South Pacific (USP) in 1968.
The academically less talented were also close to Swamiji’s heart. He founded the Vocational Centre at Nawaicoba, Nadi to help them acquire appropriate artisanal skills.
Farewell to four SVHS students leaving for India to pursue higher education, on scholarships arranged under the auspices of Swamiji; May 1955.
[Sitting L-R; P.N.D. Moosad (Principal SVHS), Swamiji, Sadhu Kuppuswami.
Standing L-R; Narayana Swamy, Muthuswamy, the author and Rati Lal Lodhia]
The Innovator
Swamiji operated on a grand scale. In his scheme of things, the quality of life of children, women and youths were also amenable to edification: he mustered them up into appropriate bands under the wing of Sangam. Thus, he established the Balakula (Children) Sangam at Qeleloa, Nadi, the foundation Treasurer of which was my brother Manhoran when he was about 13 years old; ‘Mathar Sangam’ was a forum for raising women’s awareness as well as providing a focus for sewing and arts/handicraft competition annually; and under the aegis of Valilavar Sangam, young men were encouraged to take part in sports such as soccer, weight lifting and body building. Swami Rudrananda incorporated singing, elocution (in Tamil and Telagu) and sporting events as annual fixtures at Sangam general meetings, excelling in each was rewarded with an appropriate trophy.
The Financial Planner
Swami Rudrananda was a polymath. Although financial management was not his metier, Swami was cognizant of the importance of wealth creation for Sangam. Asset acquisitions such as Madhuvani freehold (Raki Raki) and the freehold in Savusavu (Nadi) were his brainchild. With my father as his technical adviser and I as his (my father’s) right-hand man, Swamiji persuaded Sangam to venture into poultry business at Madhuvani property in 1948. I made several trips to Madhuvani in this regard. The Manager, my maternal uncle, Ram Reddy, though of impeccable probity, was long on social graces but short on business acumen. When the enterprise foundered inevitably a few months later, Swamiji had the land subdivided and rented out the lots to tenant farmers. Swamiji had the foresight to purchase three, ex- US Army vehicles (a Jeep, the Command car’ (Dodge) and a 6-wheel GMC truck, all 4 wheel drives), for Sangam. When the ageing Opel had to be mothballed, the ‘Command Car’ was set aside largely for his personal use. He also purchased ex – US Army building material with which were constructed the Sangam Press and the ‘Girls’ Boarding’.
The Disseminator of Information
Swamiji ardently believed that in the virtual absence of newspapers and radio, printed matter would have to play a pivotal role in the dissemination of information. With the erection and commissioning of the new Sangam press in 1948, the manually duplicated Tamil newsletter, ‘Sangam’, gave way to printing by composition, which also included the Hindi newspaper, ‘Jagriti’. A Linotype was purchased which ushered in the English Language newspaper, ‘The Pacific Review’ and its Fijian counterpart, ‘Vakalelewa Ni Pasifika’, as well as commercial printing. During 1953-4 I assisted with proof-reading of ‘The Pacific Review’, with a view to helping out the beleaguered Librarian, Krishnamoorty, who was press-ganged by Swamiji into assuming editorship of the paper, over and above his normal librarian responsibilities. The appointment brought me into close contact with Swamiji because it was my duty to collect telexed news items arriving at the Ashram from news agencies and deliver them to the Press. The Linotype operator, Permal Goundar, Goindamma’s brother-in-law, would prepare galley proofs and hand them over to me for emendation. I was not the printer’s devil, de facto claim to which rested on my ‘neotonous’ (if I may indulge myself in a bit of poetic licence and use the zoological term, which means ‘retention of juvenile characteristics in the adult’) cousin, Venkat Reddy.
The Builder of Libraries
The Ramakrishna Library established at Nadi in the early fifties was Swamiji’s own initiative. But given Nadi’s existing public transport system, readership was of necessity restricted. The irrepressible Swami countervailed the disadvantage with a mobile library: he retrofitted the ageing ‘command car’ into a library of sorts, got it painted bright red, to attract children, I suspect and had the name ‘Jnana Ratham’ (chariot of knowledge), emblazoned across its sides. In order to compensate for the loss of his ‘command car’, he bought himself a bright orange, second hand Rolls Royce, indubitably the first if not the last, non-European to own one in Fiji! The car costing some 700 pounds was beset with mechanical problems since its ownership passed on to Swamiji. But given my reverence for the man, how could I cavil about such a foible?
The Social Worker
Swami Rudrananda had brought with him a wealth of experience in flood-relief work from Tamil Nadu. This stood him in good stead in flood relief operations mounted by the Ramakrishna Mission in the aftermath of the disastrous hurricane of 1952, the brunt of which was borne by Raki Raki.
Under Swami Rudrananda’s stewardship, Sangam added yet another dimension to its multiplicity of activities: an orphanage (the germ of which was sown by Swami Avinashananda). When Jankiram and his sister, Ishwari were orphaned and the brothers Rama and Lakshman lost their mother, all in their infancy, Swamiji persuaded Sangam to become adoptive parents of the four of them. These children came to be known as ‘Sangam Children’ and were farmed out to Swamiji’s devotees. My parents volunteered to bring up all four of them, during 1942-3. As a quid pro quo, I suspect, we- my brother Manoharan and I- were entitled to free lunch at the ‘Boys Boarding’ on school days. After the war, the three boys were cared for at the ‘Boys Boarding’; and my future wife, Goindamma’s maternal grand parents, Mr and Mrs Munsami Naidu, took over the responsibility of raising Ishwari at their home in Namure, Nadi, from where they got her married, interestingly enough, to Rama (aka Peter Raman).
With Swamiji’s blessing and public donation, my father built an Old Peoples’ Home, referred to as ‘Ashram’ by us, on his property in Qeleloa, Nadi in the late fifties. But recurrent expenses and the nitty gritty of physically caring for the old, devolved on each member of his family, including myself (in my personal case, off and on, from 1961-67).
Although Swamiji eschewed active participation in Fiji politics, he was the eminence grise of the National Federation Party, predominant support of which was drawn from the Indian community. His espousal of the striking sugarcane farmers in 1943, led to braving the behemoth, CSR and the colonial government and culminated virtually in his house arrest. Swamiji’s sterling contributions to the Fiji sugar industry are well documented.
As banks were non-existent in Nadi until the fifties, the strong box that Swamiji had installed in the Ashram, served as a safe-deposit box for important documents as well as a bank. Institutions affiliated to Sangam and even individual members could draw on loans from it. Several members even kept their personal belongings such as jewellery in it. In view of the overly friendly modus operandi of the Sangam Office, I will not be surprised if not all borrowers repaid their loans. The genial Swamiji and his equally benign and avuncular clerk, Doraisami, would have been the last persons to have exacted repayment of loans from hard-pressed farmers.
Throughout his life in Fiji, Swamiji worked selflessly towards the betterment of not only the South Indian community, but also the North Indian community and the Fijian community was no exception. From the very outset, origin, race and religion were no barrier to admission to Sangam Schools.
Establishment of the Ramakrishna Mission in Fiji
26th September 1952 was a momentous day, for on that day a branch of Ramakrishna Mission was formally established in Nadi. The trustees were Swamiji, AD, my father et al. Unfortunately, Swamiji’s endeavours to amalgamate the Sangam and Ramakrishna Mission into a single entity were frustrated.
Swamiji’s sang-froid was legendary. The only occasion I saw him lose his composure was at the Annual Sangam General Meeting held at SVHS, which was located at the Boarding/Temple premises, on 8 January 1953; I attended the meeting. When the question of transferring Sangam assets to the Ramakrishna Mission was mooted, a good many members were vociferous in raising objections. Ironically, foremost amongst them were sons of prominent founders of Sangam, viz M. N. Naidu, T. A. J. Pillai, Krishna Reddy, etc. When the proceedings of the meeting were on the verge of degenerating in to a free-for-all, I can recall Swamiji ordering his loyal supporters, ‘In logonko ghero!’ (Round up these people). Swamiji’s dream of supplanting Sangam with Ramakrishna Mission was finally dealt the coup de grace when K. S. Reddy, in his capacity as a nominated member of the Colonial Legislative Council, successfully steered the first private bill blocking it. Notwithstanding this, Sangam AGM acceded to the transfer of SVHS, the Library and the Ashram to the Ramakrishna Mission. For Swamiji it must have been a bitter pill to swallow. But it did not take long for Swami Rudrananda’s innate ebullience to reassert itself, for he was made of sterner stuff. The indefatigable Swami set about in earnest vis-à-vis establishing the educational institutions at Tailevu and Nawaicoba, referred to elsewhere in this article.
The Man of God
Amongst the men of God in Fiji, Swami Rudrananda was primus inter pares. He was religious, but not religiose. He repudiated casteism and did not indulge in religious ostentations and excessive ritualism, characteristic of much of Hinduism, which Gautama Buddha and scores of lesser mortals vainly endeavoured to extirpate.
Swami Rudrananda was the quintessence of the modern and educated Hindu mystic. Like his Master, Ramakrishna and his illustrious disciple, Swami Vivekananda, perhaps the greatest exponent of universal brotherhood of religions, Swami Rudrananda also subscribed to theocrasy (mingling of deities into one personality). Swami Vivekananda’s greatest contribution to Hinduism lies in his extraordinary success in simplifying and ‘purifying’ it; shorn much of its myth, legend and trammels of caste system, he went straight to the heart of the religion. Thus, the Advaita (ultimate oneness of reality) Vedanta (Hindu philosophy based on Upanishads in its monistic form) philosophy, delineated by Swami Vivekananda, readily appeals not only to the western intellect but also to an increasing number of Indian intelligentsia: the goal being to free oneself from samsara (the endless cycle of death and rebirth), through good karma, or bhakti (loving devotion),or jnana (knowledge); only then can the Atman (soul) identify itself with, or be absorbed into Brahman(the ultimate Reality), upon death.
This was the leitmotif of the sermon Swami Rudrananda used to deliver weekly at Gita Classes held at the Ashrama on Sundays. AD was a frequent speaker on such occasions; and in the early fifties my parents were the purveyors of ‘prasadam’ and the mechanics of catering devolved upon me.
Reading, prayer, meditation and yogic exercise formed an integral part of Swami Rudrananda’s daily life. Swamiji’s spartan bedroom, which was separated from the ‘Office’ only by means of a flyscreen, also served as his sanctum. One day sauntering though his bedroom when I was about 12 years old, I saw Swamiji in a preternatural pose – he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his eyes partially closed with a seemingly vacant look. Filled with apprehension, I looked for Iyer and confronted him with it; the response I ferreted out of him was, “Avaru nirvikalpasamadhile irukkiraar” (he is in a state of nirvikalpasamadhi - the state of superconscious absorption in which all duality ceases to exist).
My Last Interaction with Swamiji
From mid forties until mid fifties I saw Swamiji on numerous occasions at our home in Qeloloa as my father was President of SVHS Parent/Teacher Association for several years and later became lifelong Secretary of the Ramakrishna Mission. From then onwards, I used to meet Swamiji from time to time, but less often. However, I was privileged when Swamiji accepted my invitation to be my guest at my home (not my father’s, I would like to add) in Suva in 1981. Whilst the two of us were conversing that evening, I asked him whether he would mind if I were to consume some kava. His spontaneous response was, “Paravaillai, nee kudi, appa.”(Not at all, in Tamil). He was much of a spiritual titan to be vexed by such mundane human frailties. The benisons of his one-day stay with us bordered on the ineffable. The last time I saw my beloved Swamiji was his remains before his cremation at Nadi in June 1985.
Conclusion
The nidus in which the character of monks of the Ramakrishna Mission is moulded is such that it is not surprising Swami Rudrananda was an extraordinary man. He believed in self-abnegation, not self-aggrandisement; his only purpose on earth seemed to be service to humankind, the discharge of which was supererogatory. He was warm, kind, compassionate and a person of exemplary moral rectitude; he had a good sense of humour, ipso facto a zest for life. Multitudes venerated him and those who revered him are legion. His contribution towards cultural, educational, spiritual, economic and political empowerment of the Indian community in Fiji is immeasurable. He was larger than life. That such a person really walked on earth is a wonder. It is an honour and a privilege for my wife Goindamma and me to have known him intimately. We are indeed blessed.
Footnotes
1. Our betters and elders called it “Command Car”, and their reason was that as the front passenger side of the vehicle was furnished with a retractable table on the dashboard, it was meant for commanders to write and /or spread their maps on.
2. On another occasion, Swamiji lost control of his Opel car near Nabila, Nadi, but disaster was averted by Joeli’s (AD’s ethnic Fijian driver, who could speak Tamil, and had made a name for himself in the West by being the first Fijian to have married a South Indian woman) quick-thinking; when the car began to roll slowly over on its right side, he sprang out of the rear right door and using his Herculean strength, somewhat flamboyantly, held on to the hood; this prevented the car from rolling into a ravine and thus saved us from what could have ended in calamity. The passengers in the car included Swamiji at the wheel, and AD beside him, and I in the middle of the back seat, flanked by my father to my left, and Joeli on the right.
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Gunasagaran Pillai is a former Senior Lecturer in Biology with the University of the South Pacific (USP), Suva, Fiji; he served USP as Head of the School of Pure & Applied Sciences (Suva Campus) and subsequently as Director, Institute of Marine Resources (the Solomon Islands); he has published several refereed journal articles, books, etc. on mangroves and the mud lobster; he lives in retirement with his wife, in Sydney.
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