The only way to make life perfect is to look at it from high enough to see it as a whole, not only in its present totality, but in the whole of the past, present and future: what it has been, what it is and what it will be—one must be able to see everything at once. Because that is the only way to put everything in its place. Nothing can be eliminated, nothing should be eliminated, but each thing must be in its place in total harmony with all the rest. And then all these things that seem so “bad”, so “reprehensible”, so “unacceptable” to the puritan mind, would become movements of delight and freedom in a totally divine life. And then nothing would prevent us from knowing, understanding, feeling and living this wonderful laughter of the Supreme who takes infinite delight in watching Himself live infinitely.
It is Death who has revealed wonderful eyes of Satyavan, how indeed luminous he is, the true Satyavan who had remained concealed in life. And, therefore, what else more wonderful can there be to Death than such a Satyavan! this ageless prized possession! He has to enter into the enigmatic sleep of Inconscience, that thus alone can Savitri step into it and do her work of revealing the true nature of Death also who, when transformed into his original self, shall prove to be the boon-giver to the soul of the earth. The poetry presenting the meaning of dark continent is charged with another force of light moving in the rhythm of the truth that is the substratum of all that is, including the creative Nothingness of the Void. The muzzle of the dim enormous world opens the grandeur of its design that through it one looks at the Supreme himself. Savitri had cut a door of entrance through the Void to step into the Transcendent and meet him who had functionally assumed a stern shape of the dark Death.
If Savitri steps from Timeless into Time, from the transcendental into the phenomenal, from the ageless into the great eras of work, from the termless into terms, of varying seasons and changing moods of the year, from the immortal realms into the conditions of transient mortality, then it appears that here is a wonderful land that has also come down to harbour her birth in this world of ours. We seem to be seeing a place which is not some familiar geographical location in the northern parts of ancient India; nor is it the poet’s imagination to glorify a rare occurrence. It is the vision from above, from the distinct gold and bright benign gracious spaces of the upper sky most appropriate for the divine Incarnate’s arrival. It is some luminous Aryavarta in the realm of the spirit projecting itself in the reality of the earth that is soul-deep and authentic. Here are flaming mountains rising in the will and determination of the birthless deathless Agni the divine Fire, and the rivers carrying tranquil waters of peace in their rush to the sea of joy, and the grasslands, and the bird and the beast in the harmony of Nature, and man looking up into possibilities of the cosmic vastnesses, and the yearning present waiting for the promised future. A place is here nestled in the wideness that is a rich bosom of infinity, it marching and expanding in the movement of the Eternal’s real-ideas.
A happiness it brings of whispered truth;
There runs in its flow honeying the bosom of Space
A laughter from the immortal heart of Bliss,
And the unfathomed Joy of timelessness,
The sound of Wisdom’s murmur in the Unknown
And the breath of an unseen Infinity.
We could imagine a Lord who is a totality of all the possible and impossible possibilities, in quest of a Purity and Perfection that can never be reached and are ever progressive…and the Lord would get rid of all in the Manifestation that weighs down His unfolding—He would begin with the nastiest. You see it?… Total Night, total Unconsciousness, total Hatred (no, hatred still implies that Love exists), the incapacity to feel. Nothingness. We’re on the way. I still have a little bit of it [that total Unconsciousness] left.
Sri Aurobinod’s epic Savitri running into about twenty-four thousand lines is not only a literary masterpiece; it is the supreme revelation of his vision, and a record of his yogic and spiritual attainments. It proclaims the future of man and prepares the necessary ground for the powers of the spirit to enter into his life. As an example, it speaks of the essential sound becoming the material sound, and it is that which can give rise to new expression. These are the possibilities, and these have been most forcefully and luminously brought out by the Mother. It is that gift of hers which we value most.
Precisely it is the preciousness of it that we have attempted to put together in the present compilation. Every effort has been made to collect all the ‘writings’ of the Mother on Savitri, her avowals and pronouncements made on different occasions in different contexts. It is believed that this will form a constant source of inspiration to all the lovers of Savitri, that it will be a means for them to march on the spiritual path of progress, lead them to attainments which only Savitri can offer. If Savitri herself ascends to the vast realms of delight, brihat saubhagam, then surely it does open out a way for us all, those who wish to follow her path.
It was the beginning of summer. I was boarding Udyan Express at Gulbarga railway station. My destination was Bangalore. As I boarded the train, I saw that the second-class reserved compartment was jam-packed with people. I sat down and was pushed to the corner of the berth. Though it was meant for three people, there were already six of us sitting on it…
The ticket collector came in and started checking people’s tickets and reservations.. Suddenly, he looked in my direction and asked, ‘What about your ticket?’ ‘I have already shown my ticket to you,’ I said.
‘Not you, madam, the girl hiding below your berth. Hey, come out, where is your ticket?’ I realized that someone was sitting below my berth. When the collector yelled at her, the girl came out of hiding.
She was thin, dark, scared and looked like she had been crying profusely. She must have been about thirteen or fourteen years old. She had uncombed hair and was dressed in a torn skirt and blouse. She was trembling and folded both her hands… The collector started forcibly pulling her out from the compartment. Suddenly, I had a strange feeling. I stood up and called out to the collector. ‘Sir, I will pay for her ticket,’ I said.
Then he looked at me and said, ‘Madam, if you give her ten rupees, she will be much happier with that than with the ticket.’
I did not listen to him. I told the collector to give me a ticket to the last destination, Bangalore, so that the girl could get down wherever she wanted.
To the graduates in particular, I have to tell you, you’re way ahead of me already. I never made it to my commencement, either from college or graduate school. I went to college south of here, in a small town called New Haven, Connecticut. And, well, I celebrated a bit the night before the ceremony. The honest truth is, I slept through much of my commencement. Then, after I had finally made it to Harvard for graduate school, I took a job before I had finished my Ph.D., and wrote the final chapters while working in New York. I couldn’t get away from work for Commencement, and I got my degree in the mail. So, 19 years later, it is a great honor to receive, in person, a Harvard degree.
Harvard was, for me, a revelation. Contrary to the conventional wisdom on this campus, it is possible to receive a fine education at Yale, and I did. But Harvard’s great graduate programs have an ambition, energy, and range that, for me, made it a dazzling, electric experience. Getting a Ph.D. involves many hours of grueling work, but, if you do it right, also many hours of goofing off with friends, acquiring new hobbies and interests, and working your way through the great resources here—from the libraries to cafes. I fully availed myself of these opportunities, and the time spent not working (in a formal sense) was as valuable as the hours in seminar rooms. I learned from students, faculty, and visitors. Harvard is really where I learned to think, and I owe this University a deep debt of gratitude, as most of you do as well—something the University will remind you of from time to time.
One sees it circling faithful to its task,
Tireless in an assigned tradition’s round;
In decayed and crumbling offices of Time
It keeps close guard in front of custom’s wall,
Or in an ancient Night’s dim environs
It dozes on a little courtyard’s stones
And barks at every unfamiliar light
As at a foe who would break up its home,
A watch-dog of the spirit’s sense-railed house
Against intruders from the Invisible,
Nourished on scraps of life and Matter’s bones
In its kennel of objective certitude.
Mirror of Tomorrow 