Nicola Barker - The Cauliflower

Is this book a farce, a comedy, a tragedy, or a melodrama?

What is this?

Who was he?

Who the heck was Sri Ramakrishna?

Eh?

Eh?

?

!

Twenty or so years later, during a festival being attended by the immensely famous and popular philosophers and social reformers Keshab Chandra Sen and Pratap Majumdar, a craven admirer approaches them and starts to gush.…

Craven Admirer: “I see seated here before me Gauranga and Nityananda [ two legendary fifteenth-century incarnations of Krishna and Balarama ]!”

As it transpires, Sri Ramakrishna also happens to be sitting nearby. Keshab turns to him and (possibly a little embarrassed, perhaps a tad vainglorious) murmurs …

Keshab: “Gauranga and Nityananda, indeed?! What, then, are you?!”

Without so much as a moment’s pause, a beaming Ramakrishna responds …

Sri Ramakrishna: “I am the dust off your feet!”

Ah …

“Sri Ramakrishna—

He’ll never be caught napping!”

Keshab Sen chuckles.

1858, at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple (six miles north of Calcutta)

Uncle very often talks about how the image of Ma Kali was left inside a box while the temple was being completed and how the closely confined Goddess started to sweat. This idea seems to preoccupy Uncle a great deal. I think this is because when he looks at the world — when he gazes all around him — Uncle often sees God being packed away in a box and ignored. Uncle thinks that the modern world and the big city of Calcutta want to wrap God up in soft muslin cloths and just place him aside. Uncle thinks that God is simply another distraction in this busy life of ours. Of course, we can bring the box down from the attic during religious festivals. We can gently unwrap God then. But once the flower garlands have wilted, the candles are blown out, and the incense has burned down, God is shoved back away again until the next time that he is required. Perhaps for a wedding. Perhaps for a birth. Perhaps for a death.

And Uncle also sees many different kinds of God being worshipped today. There is the God of words (or the God of the many scriptures), there is the God of strict rules (of caste and of our different and conflicting worship traditions), there is God with form and God without form, of course. But none of these Gods does Uncle worship exclusively. And we must never forget that there are also the Gods of lust and the Gods of money — the Gods that Uncle most truly fears and despises.

Uncle thinks of nothing but God, and so he is constantly searching for other people — fellow travelers on the path of faith — who may worship the same kind of God that he does. This God who dwells like a flickering flame within his own wildly beating heart. Uncle longs for intelligent talk about God. He thirsts for it. He feels starved of it. He longs to meet people who might teach him something he doesn’t yet know. If he hears of such a person through the temple grapevine he will track them down and present himself before them. He will take the dust off their feet. “I have heard that you have seen God,” he will say, and his yellow moon face will be alive with joy and hope.

But Uncle is often disappointed. And he is often humiliated. Indeed, we are both often humiliated, because I am always with Uncle, accompanying him to these different addresses and offering an introduction for Uncle. Such lofty individuals can be very cruel. They don’t understand Uncle. They can’t see that Uncle is unlike other people — that Uncle is special. And Uncle will not put on any airs and graces. Uncle is incapable of such things. Uncle is uncalculating. Uncle has an open heart. But these individuals expect more than this. They look at Uncle and see a poor and uneducated village boy who stammers when he talks and smiles and smiles and can barely keep his wearing cloth on.

Sometimes I wish Uncle would try and be just a little bit less like — well, like himself. But Uncle never listens to me.

And Uncle takes his disappointments very hard. Although the humiliations do not bother him. Not one bit. Uncle has no ego . When people laugh at Uncle he just laughs along with them. Uncle shares in the joke. He laughs at himself the loudest of all. But I know that Uncle hates to feel alone. He wants others to love God as much as he does and to share in this love with him. But then who may love God as much as Uncle? How, I wonder, might that be humanly possible?

Uncle will not see that his approach to religion is slightly unbalanced. But who would dare tell Uncle this? Not I. Uncle understands God. Uncle knows God. But I understand everything that surrounds God — an understanding which in Uncle’s mind is insignificant and amounts to nothing. Uncle has no interest in balance. Uncle cannot see past God. Beyond God is maya —simply lies and illusion — Uncle says.

But how would the world be if everyone in it was like Uncle? How might we all manage? I tell Uncle that as good Brahmin s we are taught that there are four main goals in our human life, and that for our ultimate happiness we require a small portion of them all. The first of these is dharma. Dharma refers to the maintenance of our moral codes and rules. We want to live a good and virtuous existence in a world where these values are understood and cherished. Then there is artha , which is something I myself am very concerned with (but Uncle not one bit). Artha is our material prosperity and security. Next is kama , which refers to our emotional happiness and fulfillment; the pleasure of good friends and family, for example. Finally there is moksha , which is liberation, the realization of the self and spiritual freedom. And this goal— moksha —is Uncle’s main preoccupation. This is all that Uncle thinks of. So I, foolish Hridayam, must quietly fret over everything else.

There is plenty to worry about. Especially since Uncle has begun to increase his devotions to the God Rama by taking on the attributes of his most perfect and loyal servant and companion, Hanuman. Hanuman is a God in monkey form, so Uncle has lately transformed himself into a gibbering ape. This ape-Uncle is very difficult to engage with on any level. This ape-Uncle travels everywhere on all fours, at incredible speed, his hands often curled into fists as he moves.

Not long ago Uncle and I planted a panchavati —a circle of five holy trees — and this is Uncle’s favorite spot now. The ape-Uncle feels at ease here. And also in the big old banyan , where the ape-Uncle likes to perch and scratch himself and squeal at the crows and at passersby. The ape-Uncle makes no eye contact. In fact, the ape-Uncle’s eyes are small and dark red. They move restlessly about.

Uncle’s hair has grown long and become very dirty and matted. The ape-Uncle picks at his scalp and then nibbles at the old skin and saltwhich he removes from it. This ape-Uncle cannot often be persuaded to wash himself or to dress. His wearing cloth is tied around his waist and hangs down at the back like a tail.

This ape-Uncle will only eat fruits and roots. His nails and his teeth are a sickly yellow. People are afraid of and also amused by this ape-Uncle. I am exasperated with him. But I am afraid also. Because it is difficult to find Uncle inside this creature. Sometimes I worry that I will never see Uncle again.

Recently it has been observed (by one of the temple guards) that the ape-Uncle is starting to grow a tail of his own. There is a small white bony lump at the base of the ape-Uncle’s spine. If one stares at it closely one can sometimes see it move around of its own accord. Like a tiny thumb.