Stopped In Our Tracks
Stories of U.G. In India from the Notebooks of K. ChandrasekharTranslated and Edited by J.S.R.L. Narayana Moorty 2d/3d Series
The Basis of All Relationships Is the Same: What Will I Get?
It was January of 1972. The mere thought of that time sends chills through my heart even now. It was the time when India had scored a victory over Pakistan and was puffed up with the pride of that victory. There were celebrations everywhere. But there was only chaos in my heart. The torment, the torture U.G. deliberately subjected me to, the battles I waged within myself, my God—I felt that I wouldn't want them to happen even to my enemies.
U.G. and Valentine arrived in Bangalore in January. The enthusiasm of anticipating U.G.'s arrival did not last long. As soon as he came, he started making fun of me. I couldn't endure U.G. making it his business to laugh at my beliefs, convictions and the persons whom I revered as deities. But what could I do? I knew my weaknesses. Moreover, however much I tried to brush it aside, the truth in U.G.'s words would sink into my head. I knew clearly that he was only trying to enable me to throw away my crutches and stand on my own legs without faltering.
Despite these insights, when in his presence, my feelings used to be hurt. The more hurt I felt, the angrier I became. One night I boiled over. I didn't want to stay with him, or his teasing, for one more minute. "No, I don't want the friendship of gentlemen like him anymore. I am fed up with what I have already had," I fumed as I headed home. My mind was seething with emotion and anger.
As soon as I got home, I grabbed the framed picture of U.G. and Sowris—the picture of the two persons I adored as deities—and flung it hard on a stone and broke it. With continuing vengeance I took the photo out of the broken frame and tore it up. Surprisingly, I then saw that among all the torn up pieces U.G.'s face was still intact and untorn on one of the fragments. I was dumbfounded for a minute. Collecting myself, I threw away all the pieces. "Finished, I am done with both of these people. I will live my own life. I will never see their faces again," I was talking to myself in anger.
For two days, I didn't go near the house where U.G. was living. I suppressed my longing for U.G. "No, don't fall into that fascination again. What do you lack if you don't see U.G.?" I consoled myself. On the evening of the third day, half an hour after I came home from work, I heard someone knocking at my door. I couldn't believe my eyes when I opened the door. There was U.G., with a smile on his face, and Valentine, standing in front of me.
"Chandrasekhar, what happened? We haven't had the pleasure of your visit for three days. Who can take care of us if not you?" U.G. said walking in. I felt like embracing his legs and crying. At that very moment all my anger disappeared. I became normal. I wondered how I had been able to carry on without seeing U.G. for those three days.
That year, U.G. stayed in Bangalore for five months. He never stayed in Bangalore that long ever again. There was an old abandoned bungalow in the Vani Vilas Street across from the Lal Bagh Gate. We arranged U.G.'s residence in the second floor of that building for that year. That floor of the house had been abandoned because three years previously someone had committed suicide there. After U.G. and company started living there, the house acquired an inhabited look. My friend, Hanumantha Reddy, was unemployed at that time. So, he used to live with U.G. and Valentine to help them out.
"Psychological fears are of two kinds: the fear of not getting what we want, and the fear of losing what we have," says U.G. In those days these two fears used to ride over me like two demons, day in and day out. I would be in turmoil at not being able to find a solution to some personal problem that was tormenting me. I wouldn't listen to anyone's advice. I was choking in a mire that I had voluntarily thrown myself into, and I didn't have the guts to get myself out of it. I groped around hoping that I would get a helping hand from some trusted unknown force. Unable to express my suffering to anyone, I was instead consumed by it.
One night, U.G. and I were sitting on the terrace of the abandoned bungalow in the open air at the dinner table. U.G. knew my problem. I knew the solution that U.G. would suggest to me. He knew that I was not prepared for the solution he was suggesting. For many days this peek-a-boo game had been going on.
"The basis of all personal relations is the same: it is 'What will I get from this relationship?' All relationships are based on exchange. If the exchange does not work out, the relationship will collapse. It [a relationship] is not so easy, and it is not so easily broken. But your welfare lies in its being broken," said U.G. Meanwhile, the power in the electric lines went out. A small lamp which Hanumantha Reddy lighted was fighting the darkness as best as it could.
My heart was moaning in silence: "Is this inevitable? Is there no way to avoid this goblet of poison? Can there be no grace from God?" Suddenly I heard U.G.'s voice, "If there is such a thing as grace anywhere, it will certainly separate you two [myself and my wife]." There was neither harshness nor softness in that voice. Words came out of him as though from a robot. That was it. After that, my heart became very lonely. My sorrow cried out silently. Then U.G.'s clouds of compassion burst down on me. That compassion instantly broke dams, made me breathless, and filled my barren existence with new life.
* * *
That year [1972] U.G. had to carry dual burdens of the persons of Brahmachariji and myself. We both clung to U.G. like mindless leeches: we had been playing with life foolishly, had been hurt terribly and had lost all interest in life. We felt only U.G. could hold us each by his hand on either side and save us from danger.
U.G. and Valentine arrived in Bangalore in January. The enthusiasm of anticipating U.G.'s arrival did not last long. As soon as he came, he started making fun of me. I couldn't endure U.G. making it his business to laugh at my beliefs, convictions and the persons whom I revered as deities. But what could I do? I knew my weaknesses. Moreover, however much I tried to brush it aside, the truth in U.G.'s words would sink into my head. I knew clearly that he was only trying to enable me to throw away my crutches and stand on my own legs without faltering.
Despite these insights, when in his presence, my feelings used to be hurt. The more hurt I felt, the angrier I became. One night I boiled over. I didn't want to stay with him, or his teasing, for one more minute. "No, I don't want the friendship of gentlemen like him anymore. I am fed up with what I have already had," I fumed as I headed home. My mind was seething with emotion and anger.
As soon as I got home, I grabbed the framed picture of U.G. and Sowris—the picture of the two persons I adored as deities—and flung it hard on a stone and broke it. With continuing vengeance I took the photo out of the broken frame and tore it up. Surprisingly, I then saw that among all the torn up pieces U.G.'s face was still intact and untorn on one of the fragments. I was dumbfounded for a minute. Collecting myself, I threw away all the pieces. "Finished, I am done with both of these people. I will live my own life. I will never see their faces again," I was talking to myself in anger.
For two days, I didn't go near the house where U.G. was living. I suppressed my longing for U.G. "No, don't fall into that fascination again. What do you lack if you don't see U.G.?" I consoled myself. On the evening of the third day, half an hour after I came home from work, I heard someone knocking at my door. I couldn't believe my eyes when I opened the door. There was U.G., with a smile on his face, and Valentine, standing in front of me.
"Chandrasekhar, what happened? We haven't had the pleasure of your visit for three days. Who can take care of us if not you?" U.G. said walking in. I felt like embracing his legs and crying. At that very moment all my anger disappeared. I became normal. I wondered how I had been able to carry on without seeing U.G. for those three days.
That year, U.G. stayed in Bangalore for five months. He never stayed in Bangalore that long ever again. There was an old abandoned bungalow in the Vani Vilas Street across from the Lal Bagh Gate. We arranged U.G.'s residence in the second floor of that building for that year. That floor of the house had been abandoned because three years previously someone had committed suicide there. After U.G. and company started living there, the house acquired an inhabited look. My friend, Hanumantha Reddy, was unemployed at that time. So, he used to live with U.G. and Valentine to help them out.
"Psychological fears are of two kinds: the fear of not getting what we want, and the fear of losing what we have," says U.G. In those days these two fears used to ride over me like two demons, day in and day out. I would be in turmoil at not being able to find a solution to some personal problem that was tormenting me. I wouldn't listen to anyone's advice. I was choking in a mire that I had voluntarily thrown myself into, and I didn't have the guts to get myself out of it. I groped around hoping that I would get a helping hand from some trusted unknown force. Unable to express my suffering to anyone, I was instead consumed by it.
One night, U.G. and I were sitting on the terrace of the abandoned bungalow in the open air at the dinner table. U.G. knew my problem. I knew the solution that U.G. would suggest to me. He knew that I was not prepared for the solution he was suggesting. For many days this peek-a-boo game had been going on.
"The basis of all personal relations is the same: it is 'What will I get from this relationship?' All relationships are based on exchange. If the exchange does not work out, the relationship will collapse. It [a relationship] is not so easy, and it is not so easily broken. But your welfare lies in its being broken," said U.G. Meanwhile, the power in the electric lines went out. A small lamp which Hanumantha Reddy lighted was fighting the darkness as best as it could.
My heart was moaning in silence: "Is this inevitable? Is there no way to avoid this goblet of poison? Can there be no grace from God?" Suddenly I heard U.G.'s voice, "If there is such a thing as grace anywhere, it will certainly separate you two [myself and my wife]." There was neither harshness nor softness in that voice. Words came out of him as though from a robot. That was it. After that, my heart became very lonely. My sorrow cried out silently. Then U.G.'s clouds of compassion burst down on me. That compassion instantly broke dams, made me breathless, and filled my barren existence with new life.
That year [1972] U.G. had to carry dual burdens of the persons of Brahmachariji and myself. We both clung to U.G. like mindless leeches: we had been playing with life foolishly, had been hurt terribly and had lost all interest in life. We felt only U.G. could hold us each by his hand on either side and save us from danger.
