Nicola Barker - The Cauliflower

Lest they do you harm.”

“I don’t accept gifts—

We take no collection here;

That’s why people come!”

Winter 1864, at the Dakshineswar Kali Temple (six miles North of Calcutta)

The very instant Uncle set his foot back inside the Kali Temple compound, the spiritual madness overwhelmed him once again. But this time, if possible, it was magnified by a thousand. The terrible burning sensation in his chest returned, the sleeplessness, the restlessness, the delirium, the sudden explosions of uncontrollable grief. And these were now joined by constant visions, and sweats, and violent shaking.

That serene, ocher-robed sannyasi —the monk — which came from within Uncle and killed his sin with a trident suddenly returned, but now its great ire was directed toward Uncle himself. It threatened Uncle. I would hear him talking with it and pleading with it not to harm him. This sannyasi would give Uncle no peace. It taunted and reprimanded him. It felt that Uncle wasn’t trying hard enough to find God. But who, who might try harder than poor Uncle did?

I would sit on the verandah at night, not able to sleep, listening to Uncle’s side of their countless arguments. I wanted to protect Uncle, to defend him against this trident-bearing creature who so cruelly cajoled and humiliated him, yet how might I possibly go about it? It lived inside Uncle’s head! It was Uncle!

“But I am concentrating!” Uncle would wheedle. “Please, I am trying. Why won’t you believe me? I love God, I promise, I promise , with the whole of my being.…”

Sometimes the ocher-robed sannyasi would travel to distant places. He would walk on a golden path and Uncle would call after him, anxiously: “Where are you going? Hello? Hello? What do you see down there?” Often the sannyasi would return and tell Uncle what he had found. But Uncle would not share the finer details of these conversations with me, because, he said, I would not be able to understand.

Uncle spent all of his time in meditation. His hair was very long and matted. He would sit still for such lengthy durations that birds would perch on him and peck at his head. Mice would clamber around in his long locks hunting for food. I once saw a snake slither across his lap. But Uncle did not move. Uncle was a lifeless stone — a rock. He was oblivious to everything.

When Uncle wasn’t meditating and sparring with the ocher-clad sannyasi , he was engaging in austerities. Uncle wanted to destroy any final residue of his Brahmin ’s pride. At night he would creep out of his room and head for the temple latrines. He would use his long hair to clean them. There was no dank corner or stinking hole that Uncle would not investigate and scour. To defeat his natural sense of aversion still further, Uncle would even go so far as to touch the feces of strangers with the tip of his tongue. There was no degradation that Uncle would not submit himself to.

I was in despair. Because while Uncle was suffering, I was suffering for Uncle. Who can understand the pain — the nagging torment — of bearing witness to the one you love above all others punishing himself daily (and not even for vice or worldly advancement, but for otherworldly love)?

I had begun to lose all hope for Uncle. Once again, as before, I was exhausted and full of a terrible foreboding, but then suddenly, without any warning, two things happened to transform our fortunes, one hard upon the next. The first was the sad death of the Rani in 1861, and the passing of her estate into Mathur Baba’s hands. In the past when I had complained to Uncle about our lack of money he would always pooh-pooh me. He said I was not to worry and that we would never go hungry because the Mother had told him in a vision that he would have four “suppliers of stores” throughout his life. Uncle was very confident of this fact. He had complete faith in the Mother. And (as much as I had doubted him at first) Uncle’s faith was rewarded, because it transpired that Mathur Baba was to be the first of these four.

After the Rani’s death, Mathur Baba’s devotion to Uncle — which was always strong — increased still further. Uncle had only to mention an idle whim or a passing need and Mathur Baba would instantly satisfy it. Thank God for Mathur Baba! I thank our lucky stars for his patience and his forbearance! Of course, Mathur Baba is not an especially spiritual man — he is rich and he lives high and he enjoys his luxuries — but he loves Uncle dearly. One could almost go so far as to say that Uncle is Mathur Baba’s greatest indulgence! How fortunate Uncle is that Mathur Baba is so firmly on his side now! Uncle has utterly beguiled him, and without any particular effort. Uncle is simply himself — a clever but guileless child of the universe.

All the temple officials and administrators — even Mathur Baba’s own private priest — have nothing good to say about Uncle. Not a word! They are deeply jealous of the attraction he holds for Mathur Baba. They whisper and accuse him of devilry, of casting spells to bewitch Mathur Baba. Of course, Uncle doesn’t care a jot about such things. Uncle’s mind is fixed on a higher plane. But I must sit and listen, clenching my teeth, to their constant gossip and their endless jibes.

On one occasion when Uncle was visiting Mathur Baba’s residence he was left temporarily alone and fell into a sudden trance — something Uncle has become increasingly prone to — and as he lay on the floor, lost in ecstasy, Mathur Baba’s private priest, Haldar, happened across Uncle, and finding him alone and defenseless, this scoundrel set about kicking Uncle and beating Uncle with all of his might. Uncle’s mind was falling in and out of consciousness. He could tell what was happening but he could not move to defend himself. When I found Uncle a short while later he was balled up in pain and panting like a wounded animal. His ribs were cracked. He was horribly bruised. But he made me swear on my mother’s life not to tell a soul. “If Mathur Babu finds out what Haldar has done he will sack him!” Uncle said. “And what will become of his wife and his family then?” Uncle forced me to hold my tongue. And angry as I am, I must quietly endure it. Uncle insists that he wants no fuss or retribution. Uncle is surely a great soul. He is possessed by the spirit of true resignation. “Dear Hriday, this is simply the lila of the Divine Mother,” Uncle laughs (then he winces, then he clutches at his chest, then he laughs once again).

I have always been very protective of Uncle, but from that time forward I was even more determined never to leave Uncle unsupervised for so much as a moment. Uncle is far too precious. And who would look after Uncle if I did not? Uncle could not be expected to take care of himself — especially now that he has so many jealous enemies and rivals. Although, in truth, I have often thought that Uncle’s greatest and most dangerous adversary will always and forever be Uncle himself.

At around this time — just after the Rani’s death, and during Mathur Baba’s increasing devotion to Uncle — another very important person entered Uncle’s life who — thank God — was to quietly take the place of Uncle’s mean and sharp-tongued sannyasi as his spiritual guide. Uncle was standing in the flower garden one morning, gazing over toward the main bathing ghat , when he saw a beautiful orange-robed Brahmini alight from a boat. It is already well established that Uncle has no interest in either women or gold, but just as soon as Uncle set his two eyes upon her he became very excitable. He called me over and demanded that I go and introduce myself to her and then tell her all about him. Well, I was naturally perplexed and uncomfortable about approaching a strange Brahmini in such a forthright manner, but this is just life with Uncle, I fear. Normal rules and conventions do not apply here.