AT THE VESPER HOUR
As evening sets in, my mind reverts to the lotus feet of the preceptor and his distant pupil, the sage and the saviour of the motherland from the calamitous endpoint of her hoary civilisation. As the conch-shells sound, as the bells toll in the temples, as the monks and the mothers sit in front of their beloved deities to offer their vesper service, my mind reverts to those tumultuous days of the Second World War with Japan having been nuked into unconditional surrender, the INA disbanded and their leader in that lonesome hour alone in meditation before the mental image of his beloved God, Ramakrishna-Vivekananda who he viewed as an integrated personality, and seeking directions from them as to the path ahead. There in the twilight hour, in the darkness fast enveloping, a light gleamed unto him to seek refuge in Russia to carry on the war of liberation.
It was the vesper hour as of now, seventy five years ago, in distant Singapore when he embarked on a new journey into the unknown whence his destiny becomes unclear and each one of us subscribes to his own convictions. But it was such a twilit hour of twilit consciousness when the path had to be chosen, when the avenues had all closed and the world offered not an inch to stand on for the defeated leader who, yet defiant, plotted to carry on the crusade for freedom, and Russia was the sole refuge.
But did he reach? Could he meet the dictator who was so inimical to the Allied Powers despite his alliance with them against a common enemy? What happened thereafter? These questions rock our consciousness but no credible answer seems to be coming through despite claims and counterclaims galore confusing the scenario like anything.
In seeking these answers I hereby prostrate before the divine forms of the preceptor and the protege in physical separation but in spiritual proximity, and offer my services unto them.
Written by Sugata Bose
As evening sets in, my mind reverts to the lotus feet of the preceptor and his distant pupil, the sage and the saviour of the motherland from the calamitous endpoint of her hoary civilisation. As the conch-shells sound, as the bells toll in the temples, as the monks and the mothers sit in front of their beloved deities to offer their vesper service, my mind reverts to those tumultuous days of the Second World War with Japan having been nuked into unconditional surrender, the INA disbanded and their leader in that lonesome hour alone in meditation before the mental image of his beloved God, Ramakrishna-Vivekananda who he viewed as an integrated personality, and seeking directions from them as to the path ahead. There in the twilight hour, in the darkness fast enveloping, a light gleamed unto him to seek refuge in Russia to carry on the war of liberation.
It was the vesper hour as of now, seventy five years ago, in distant Singapore when he embarked on a new journey into the unknown whence his destiny becomes unclear and each one of us subscribes to his own convictions. But it was such a twilit hour of twilit consciousness when the path had to be chosen, when the avenues had all closed and the world offered not an inch to stand on for the defeated leader who, yet defiant, plotted to carry on the crusade for freedom, and Russia was the sole refuge.
But did he reach? Could he meet the dictator who was so inimical to the Allied Powers despite his alliance with them against a common enemy? What happened thereafter? These questions rock our consciousness but no credible answer seems to be coming through despite claims and counterclaims galore confusing the scenario like anything.
In seeking these answers I hereby prostrate before the divine forms of the preceptor and the protege in physical separation but in spiritual proximity, and offer my services unto them.
Written by Sugata Bose
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