MEMORIES, THEY KEEP ON COMING ... 1

MEMORIES, THEY KEEP ON COMING ... 1

Memories fond and sad. Maharaj's absence has never been filled. Such a delightful renunciate with such a plethora of interests---our conversations ranged from Swamiji to Netaji to Gandhiji and Tulsi Maharaj. Swami Sampurnananda Puri ji was so original in his views, taking a radically different stance from the ordinary and surprising me again and again. His ceaseless travels reminded me of Swamiji's wanderjahre across the length and breadth of India. And travel indeed he did till he ended up contracting Covid in Ujjain at the Kumbha Mela (end-March, 2021) where typically he refused to wear the protective mask because he did not sight anyone wearing it. He wrote on Facebook, his last post, "When in Rome, be as the Romans are." And indeed he did so as he ended his earthly romance in Roman style thus. The last few days, twelve, I guess, he suffered in hospital before he cast off his mortal coil to take his final flight, this time to Ramakrishnalok. This time, I say, because one can never predict this maverick monk's intentions. He may quite as well surprise us by paying yet another earthly visit to finish his pending business, if any. 

Sampurnanandaji was one of a kind, completely apart from the common run of humanity, not because he belonged to that exclusive community of contemplatives, which he did, but because he was so fabulously full of life despite renunciation. I still feel that Ramakrishna Mission simply could not utilise his considerable talents and just sold him short. There lies our national tragedy that mediocre men and monks determine the fate of extraordinary souls like Sampurnananda Swami. Were Swami Vivekananda himself around today, he would surely have made the fullest use of Sampurnanandaji's gifts of original thinking and action thereof. Men like him are rare, monks rarer still. 

My loving remembrance can go on indefinitely for I readily recall so much about him. But more of that later. Right now, Maharaj, take my heartfelt prostration at your feet and bear my eternal friendship, one that we had forged so naturally. I wonder when it was that a monk was so informal, so utterly devoid of ego, forgetful of his monastic rank and so childlike in demeanour as this genial soul was?

I promise more episodes, dear friends, in future essays on this remarkable man and monk. Adieu!

Written by Sugata Bose