Welcoming Dignitaries		Proceeding towards Exhibition
Lighting Lamp by Smarnanandaji		Lighting Lamp by Shri Jagamohanji
Offering of Flowers		Offering of Flowers
Aarti		Visiting the Panels
Gokulanandaji leading dignitaries		Painting competition held in the Exhibition
Painting competition held in the Exhibition		Painting competition held in the Exhibition

At the Entrance		Holy Mother in real form
Panels in Exhibition		Panels in Exhibition
Sarada Darshan from Mysore		Paintings by local Artists

The Exhibition on Holy Mother Sri Sarada Devi in the basement of the New Auditorium remains open
every day from 9:00 a.m. and on Saturday and Sundays from 4:15 p.m. to 8:15 p.m.

Pictorial biography of Holy Mother
Illustrated from the Panels displayed in the Holy Mother's Exhibition
 

Jayrambati is a small village in Bengal. Vast fields of paddy stretch round a few mud-houses with thatched roofs. Ponds and tanks dot the area, some of them blooming with lotus and lily. Amodar, a small, winding stream, flows by on the north.

A poor Brahmin named Ramachandra Mukherjee lived here nearly a century and a half ago. He was virtuous and kind-hearted, and lived a simple life. Smoking his ‘Hookah’, he would be sitting in the verandah of his house ad would invite passers-by to have a smoke.

His wife Shyamasundari was like him simple and kind. Everything she did was done neatly and tidily. She would enjoy looking after and feeding people and would go out of her way to help anyone in distress. They yearned for a child, and they had not long to wait.
 

Life in Jayrambati was quiet and peaceful. The day passed joyously; farmers’ boys worked and whistled in the fields; birds of various kinds flew in and flew out with each season.

Once Ramachandra went on a visit to Calcutta, the big city seventy miles away. There he had a dream. He dreamt that radiant little girl of golden complexion was clasping his neck. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. She replied: ‘Well, you see, I have come into your family.’ Ramachandra returned to Jayrambati musing about his dream.

On his return he told Shyama about it. She was surprised, for she too had had a vision. She described it thus: ‘One day, as I was going to the river, I sat down under that big tree yonder. Suddenly, I was a charming little girl coming down from the tree. I was frightened at first, but she was full of angelic beauty and clasped my neck with her tender arms. I lost consciousness, and people carried me home. I feel she has entered my body.’

The incidents made them feel that they would soon be blessed with a child.

It was the harvest season. The fields were golden with ripened paddy. Labourers were busy reaping and threshing, while women boiled and dried the grain in the mellow winter sun.

The countryside put on a festive look. Men and women forgot their miseries, and looked forward to at least a few months of carefree life. On 22nd December 1853 there was great rejoicing at Ramachandra’a house; for on that day Shyamasundari gave birth to a daughter. The child was first named Thakurmani, but later came to be called Saradamani.

 

Three miles from Jayrambati is Kamarpukur, where Sri Ramakrishna was born. He was a saint filled with such an extraordinary love of God that people said he was mad. As a young man, he lived in a Kali temple at Dakshineswar, a suburb of Calcutta. Day and night his only thought was of the Divine Mother. His mother and brothers at Kamarpukur became worried about him and called him back.

It was at this time that he happened to attend a Jatra (village drama) at Sihore, a village three miles form Jayrambati. In such plays the stage is in the center and there is no backdrop; the actors come in from the green-room through the spectators. Everyone was watching the play intently. The women of Sarada’s family were sitting there too, one of them holding in her lap Sarada, then two years old.

One of the women merrily asked: ‘Child, when you grow up, whom will you marry?’ The child unhesitatingly pointed her tiny fingers at Ramakrishna, sitting in the crowd. The women had a hearty laugh and exclaimed, ‘Oh, you are going to marry that mad boy!’ They little thought it would come true after all!


 

Sarada’s parents were not rich, but they were happy and contented. She was a serious and active little girl, helping her mother cook and looking after her little sister and brother. Sometimes she would take them along for a bath in the Amodar river.

Once locusts destroyed the paddy in the fields. At this time of distress little Sarada would go from field to field and collect the grain. She was never tired. When farmers worked in the fields, she would carry puffed rice to them as refreshment.

She was a busy little girl, full of compassion for the poor and ever ready to serve them.

 

Sarada did not spend much time playing. Instead, she would worship her little images with flowers and sacred leaves. She loved particularly the images of Kali and Lakshmi, two Hindu goddesses: Kali, the terrible, destroyer of evil; and Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and beauty.

At her worship, Sarada would quite forget herself. Once she was worshipping an image of Jagaddhatri – the Protectress of the Universe. This image shows the Divine Mother sitting on a lion.

Sarada was so much absorbed in worship that she herself looked like an image. Indeed, so she appeared to a visitior!She occasionally went to school with her brothers, and learnt the Bengali alphabet. But her schooling stopped there, for in those days education was not considered necessary for girls.









 

People at Kamarpukur said Sri Ramakrishna was behaving like a madman at Dakshineswar. His mother and brother were worried, and called him back to Kamarpukur so that they could get him married. For they thought wedlock would cure his madness. But as they were poor, they could not find a bride, and this made them sad.

Ramakrishna noticed this and said jokingly, ‘Well, well, why are you running hither and thither for a bride? You had better go to Ramachandra Mukherjee’s house at Jayrambati. There you will find the girl reserved for me.’ They went, and indeed found Sarada, just five years old! And Ramakrishna was twenty-three!

The marriage did take place, nevertheless. It was 1859, Sarada, the child bride, was adorned with borrowed ornaments; she thought they were her own. But now, after the marriage how to take away the ornaments from her? Chandra Devi, Ramakrishna’s mother, did not know what to do. But he told her not to worry. While Sarada was sleeping, he silently took off the ornaments from her body and handed them over to his mother, who returned them to their owner.

The five-year-old Sarada returned to her parents; it was the custom for the wife to live with her husband only when she grew up. Ramakrishna too went back to Dakshineswar. He plunged again into various spiritual practices, so anxious was he to reach God through as many paths as may be.

Sarada grew up at Jayrambati. She would help her mother with various household chores: looking after her younger brother and sister, cutting grass for the cows, and so on.

Even while she was thus busy, she used to have many wonderful experiences. Often she would see a girl of her age come and help her in everything she did. But if other people happened to come, the girl would vanish. When Sarada entered the pond to cut the tall grass, the other girl too would do the same. By the time she made a bundle and left it on the bank and came back, the other girl would have already cut a bundle.

Such divine visions proved that Sarada was no ordinary girl.


 

It was 1864. Sarada was eleven years old. Bengal then suffered from a terrible famine and Jayrambati did not escape.

People were starving in hundreds and thousands. Many would come to her father’s house for food. Ramachandra, though a poor man himself, opened a free kitchen, and fed whoever came with khichuri, made of rice and dal (lentils). He had a little stock of rice stored away for the future which he now exhausted.

Sarada was moved by this spectacle of suffering. When hungry people sat down to eat the hot khichuri, she would, with both her hands, fan the hot stuff to cool it.

One day a tribal girl with shaggy hair and wild bloodshot eyes came running and began eating the powdered rice soaked in a tub for the cattle. She didn’t even hear Sarada calling her to come inside and share in the khichuri. Recalling this incident, Sarada Devi said many years later: ‘It’s no joke bearing the agony of an empty stomach.’

The years rolled on. Sarada, married at the age of five, had now grown up into a maiden. But her husband, immersed in divine ecstasies, was living in Calcutta, at Dakshineswar, totally forgetful of the outside world.

Now gossip was rife at Jayrambati that Sarada had been married off to a madman. When she would go to bathe in the pond, the other women would say, ‘Oh, there comes the wife of that lunatic. What a pity she was married to him!’ Sarada was deeply hurt. In her heart of hearts she knew that Ramakrishna was no lunatic. ‘Oh, how loving and kind he was when he came last. He behaved normally. How can he be mad now?’ She was torn between hope and despair.

Only a village woman named Bhanu consoled her. She was a woman of deep insight, and people in the village respectfully called her ‘Anut Bhanu’.

At last, Sarada decided she should go to Dakshineswar and see things for herself.




 

 In March 1872 Sarada set out on foot for Dakshineswar, sixty miles away. Her father and some of the village women accompanied her. She enjoyed her walk through the fields. But as they went along, her legs began to give way, and she was seized with a high fever. She could walk no further, and lay in a wayside inn, tortured by the fear that she might not be able to reach Calcutta and see her husband.

But during the night, as she lay in her bed, she had a vision. A woman of black complexion, but of great beauty, appeared before her and stroked her body gently.

Sarada asked her whence she came.
Visitor: From Dakshineswar.
Sarada: Indeed! I too want to go there. But this illness ……….
Visitor: No, don’t worry, my dear. You will surely go there and see him.
Sarada: Oh, you are so kind! Who are you? Any relation of ours?
Visitor: I am your sister.
With that the visitor disappeared. In the morning Sarada found that the fever had passed. Without losing time, her father arranged for a palanquin for her and they reached Dakshineswar at night.

Ramakrishna welcomed Sarada lovingly. He said, ‘Ah, you have come. Good. I am very happy.’ He asked her to stay in his room that night.

Sarada was greatly relieved. For she found Ramakrishna was not mad after all. He was as kind and loving as before. She said to herself: ‘How false is this gossip of the villagers! It’s good I came here myself. Now let me serve him with my whole heart.’

Her days passed in the service of her husband. Her heart was filled with pure joy. One day he asked her: ‘What do you want? Worldly life or godliness?’ She said firmly: ‘No, certainly I am not interested in a worldly life. I shall help you in your pursuit of God.’

Another day she asked him as he was stroking his feet: ‘How do you look upon me?’ Pat came the reply: ‘The Divine Mother who is worshipped in the temple, and the mother who gave birth to this body and is now living in the Nahabat, is now stroking my feet. Truly do I regard you as the Blissful Mother of the Universe.’

Thus for eight months Sarada lived with Ramakrishna, both living in the heights of God-consciousness, without a trace of worldliness.

Ramakrishna was a born worshipper, and he worshipped God in so many forms; for is not God powerful enough to appear in any forms He likes? But the form Ramakrishna like most was that of the Mother of the Universe – the Divine Mother.

He looked upon Sarada too as the embodiment of the Divine Mother. So on a new moon day he decided to worship her. It was night. Darkness enveloped everything, and it was still all around. The Ganga was flowing silently.

Ramakrishna called Sarada to his room and asked her to sit down on a special seat. Then he began the ceremonial worship. Sarada was completely lost in herself. She was not aware of anything. After the worship was over, Ramakrishna prostrated himself before her, seated firmly like an image, and prayed: ‘O Mother of the Universe, I salue Thee again and again.’

Since that day, Sarada felt that a divine power had entered into her. The simple village girl had become transformed into the Holy Mother, Sarada Devi!

One day the Holy Mother was returning to Dakshineswar from Kamarpukur. The road lay through a meadow notorious for dacoits. She had lagged behind her companions; it was dusk, and suddenly she found herself quite alone. She was terrified to see a dark, hefty man approaching. ‘Who are you? Where are you going?’ he asked in stern voice. ‘I am going east,’ she said. ‘Then you have missed your way. Turn back,’ he ordered. But she was too frightened to move; the man was evidently a dacoit. When he came nearer, she said to him meekly: ‘Father, I am your daughter, Sarada. I am going to your son-in-law at Dakshineswar. I see I have lost my way. Where shall I go in this dark night? Please do take me there. Your son-in-law will reward you.’ Meanwhile, the dacoit’s wife came up, and Sarada clasped her hand and said: ‘Mother, I am your child, Sarada. I don’t know what I would have done if you and father had not come.’

At this they both softened. They took her home, fed her, and put her to bed. In the morning they escorted her a long distance, till she was safely on the road to Dakshineswar.

In later years this couple visited Sri Ramakrishna many times with suitable gifts.

When the Holy Mother lived at Dakshineswar, she would stay in a small room in the ground floor of the Nahabat. Though she lived a very austere life there, she was quite happy serving Sri Ramakrishna.

Sarada Devi’s day began between three and four in the morning, before anyone else woke up. She would bathe in the Ganga, in a ghat near the Nahabat, in the darkness of the early morning. Once, going down the steps into the river, she almost stumbled upon a crocodile lying near the bank. When the Master heard about it, he asked her not to go to the river without a light.

The Holy Mother would then spend an hour and a half in silent prayer in her room. Then she would begin cooking for Sri Ramakrishna. After serving his food and waiting on him while he ate, she would take a little refreshment herself. She took her main meal at about one o’clock in the afternoon.

When evening came she would trim the wick lamps and light them and then sit at prayer and meditation. Then she would cook the evening meal for Sri Ramakrishna.

Though she had a busy day, she felt extremely happy in the spiritual company of the Master. She considered her days at Dakshineswar to be the best period of her life.

 

What made the Holy Mother consider here day at Dakshineswar the best period of her life? Serving Sri Ramakrishna heart and soul gave here the greatest joy. But he was always surrounded by men devotees, and she was so shy that she could not even meet him – sometimes for days together. And, imagine, he lived only a few yards away! At such times she would console herself saying, ‘O mind, why should you think yourself so fortunate as to be able to see him every day?’ She wished she were one of the devotees of the Master, who enjoyed his company all the time.

Nevertheless, through a hole in the bamboo curtain of her room, Sarada Devi could see the Master singing and dancing in ecstasy. Sometimes she would be standing for hours watching Sri Ramakrishna dance and sing in a divine mood.

In later years she would say that she got rheumatism standing for long hours at Dakshineswar. But she could never forget the immense spiritual joy and satisfaction she derived from being near Sri Ramakrishna.


 

One day a wealthy merchant named Lakshminarayan came to Sri Ramakrishna. He felt the Master should have some money put by for his expenses, ‘I would like to give you ten thousand rupees,’ he said hesitantly. ‘This money will be used in many ways.’

Sri Ramakrishna cried out as at a blow. ‘O Mother Kali!’ he prayed, ‘why do you tempt me?’ When the devotee persisted, he sent for Sarada Devi. To test her, he said: ‘Lakshminarayan wants me to accept this money. Since I cannot, he wants to leave it with you.’ She replied: ‘What are you saying? That would be the same as your taking it. It can never be.’ He was greatly pleased with her reply.





 

Sarada Devi’s days at Dakshineswar passed happily. But joy, or sorrow, never lasts for ever. The Master developed a soreness of the throat, which the doctors diagnosed as cancer. As he required constant care, his devotees took him to a garden-house in Cossipore, much nearer to the city.

She cooked for him and for the young devotees who lived there by turns to serve him. Narendra, the future Swami Vivekananda, and many other young men like him attended on him round the clock. His condition was growing worse. Sarada devi would wait on him during his midday and evening meals, and one day she noticed that he wore a sad look. ‘You look troubled,’ she said. ‘Do tell me what is on your mind.’ He replied in a complaining tone: ‘Look, won’t you do anything? Must this (pointing to his body) do everything?’ ‘But,’ she protested, ‘what can I do? I am a mere woman.’ ‘No, no,’ he insisted, ‘you will have to do many things.’ He meant that his devotees would be in her care after his passing away.
 

The days at Cossipore were days of agony for her; the thought that Sri Ramakrishna might not live for long oppressed her all the time. Nevertheless, she was tirelessly engaged in serving him and the many disciples who had gathered there.

She had many indications of the Master’s approaching end. One day he told her: ‘I have taken upon myself the sufferings of the world.’ Suddenly the purpose of his illness was revealed to her, and she felt a great compassion for humanity.

It was 15 August 1886. Looking at her, Sri Ramakrishna said: ‘I feel I am going to a far-away country – very far away.’ She burst into tears. He consoled her: ‘Why should you be troubled? You will live as you are doing now. Narendra and the others will look after you.

Just after midnight (in the early hours of 16 August) Sri Ramakrishna entered into a deep trance from which he never recovered. Next day the Holy Mother was taking off her ornaments, as a Hindu widow was expected to do. When she was about to remove her bracelets, Sri Ramakrishna appeared before her. He looked bright and healthy. Pressing her hand, he said: ‘Am I dead that you are acting like a widow? I have just moved from one room to another.’ So she wore her bracelets as long as she lived.

 

Sri Ramakrishna’s passing away left a deep wound in the Holy Mother’s heart. As her grief persisted, some devotees suggested: ‘Mother, why don’t you go on a pilgrimage to the holy places in the north?’ So she set out in August 1886, accompanied by Swami Yogananda, her women companions Golap-Ma and Lakshmi-Didi, and others. She visited many places: Deoghar, Varanasi, Prayag, and Vrindaban, and felt immensely happy. While at Varanasi, a holy woman advised her to practise the austerity of the ‘Five Fires’, saying that that would take away her grief.

Some time later, while she was living in a garden-house on the Ganga close to the Belur Math, she was again urged to perform the austerity of the ‘Five Fires’ in a vision. So four fires were lighted on the terrace of the house, six feet apart. The fierce sun that shone brightly overhead was the fifth fire. The Holy Mother and Yogin-Ma (one of her women companions) bathed in the Ganga at sunrise and, sitting amidst the fires, meditated. They did so till sunset. For seven consecutive days they went through this ordeal from dawn to dusk. After this the Holy Mother felt great inner peace. All this – the pilgrimages and austerities – made her ready for the spiritual leadership which she was to assume later.

 

In 1888 the Holy Mother set out again on a pilgrimage to Gaya, an ancient city sacred because of Vishnu pada (Lord Vishnu's feet) there. She also visited Bodh Gaya, where Lord Buddha received enlightenment. Here she visited a big Hindu monastery and was pleased to see the monks living happily. They didn’t suffer for want of necessities. The mother’s heart in Sarada Devi was pained at the thought of her own children (the monastic disciples of Sri Ramakrishna) who were roaming as mendicants. She said after her visit: ‘I went to see the monastery at Bodh Gaya. It was filled with various articles, and the monks did not suffer for want of funds. After seeing this I often wept before the Master’s picture and prayed: “O Lord, my children have no place to lay their heads. They have very little to eat. They trudge from door to door for a morsel of food. May they have a place like this.” The Belur Math was subsequently established by the grace of the Master.’

 

Narendranath, the chief disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, became Swami Vivekananda. After his Master’s passing away he traveled throughout India, mostly on foot, and mingled with the rich and the poor. Finally, when he reached Kanyakumari at the southernmost tip of India, he meditated deeply on what he had seen, and came to the conclusion that he would have to go to the West. India had to be awakened, and that could be done only by making India’s message appreciated in the West.

At the beginning of 1893 he had almost decided to sail for America. But a doubt lingered in his mind: was it really the will of the Lord? After seeing Sri Ramakrishna in a vision, he mused: ‘Yes, Ramakrishna does want me to go. But yet ….. how can I be sure? ….. Well, the Holy Mother is there at Calcutta. Why do I not write to her?’ Thus, seeking her blessing, he wrote to her.

Sarada Devi knew nothing of America. Vivekananda was just a penniless young monk of thirty. But she saw the unmistaking finger of God directing him in his mission. She was sure of his success, and so sent her heartiest blessings.

All the Swami’s doubts vanished. He exclaimed: ‘Well, no more hesitation now. Let me go!’ And by September 1893 the world wondered at his success at the Chicago Parliament of Religions.
 

Swami Vivekananda returned to India in early 1897 after his triumphal visit to the West. He now turned his attention to the starting of the new monastery of the Ramakrishna Order. Land was purchased in the village of Belur, across the Ganga, not far away from Calcutta. The Belur Math (as the monastery came to be known) was formally dedicated by Swamiji on 9 December 1898.

During 1899 the Holy Mother visited the Belur Math, accompanied by Sister Nivedita and some other Western disciples of Swamiji. When she first placed her feet on the Math grounds, Swami Vivekananda received her with great humility. The Mother herself swept and cleaned a spot on the ground and worshipped a portrait of Sri Ramakrishna there. It was an event of great joy. Swamiji said to her: ‘Mother, this is your own place. Please be at home here and walk freely over these grounds.’

Regarding the site, the Holy Mother remarked: ‘I always noticed, even before the purchase of this land, that Sri Ramakrishna dwelt here, as it were.’ In a happy mood, she added: ‘Now my children have a place to lay their heads. At last, the Master has bestowed his grace upon them.’

 

Sister Nivedita, an Irish disciple of Swamiji, was known as Miss Margaret Noble. She came to India in 1898 at Swamiji’s call to serve the Indian people, particularly the Indian women. She therefore wanted to start a girls’ school at Bagbazar in north Calcutta. In those days Indian girls rarely went to school. But Swamiji wanted Indian women to be as educated as men; so he had asked Nivedita to open a school.

Sister Nivedita had rented a house at Bosepara Lane in north Calcutta for the proposed girls’ school, and had requested the Holy Mother to inaugurate it. On the afternoon of 12 November the Mother went there, accompanied by Swamis Vivekananda, Brahmananda, and Saradananda. There she performed the worship of Sri Ramakrishna and declared the school open.

A memorable event in the history of women’s education in India!





 

Sarada Devi was like a mother to all the devotees. Just as the mother in the family cares for her children, worries about their welfare, loves them intensely, even so was the Holy Mother to the devotees. Nay, more. So many of them met her at Jayarambati and got spiritual solace. She was their guru (spiritual teacher) and mother in one, and she attended to their personal needs as well.

Once Girish Chandra Ghosh, the famous dramatist and disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, went to Jayarambati. There he was surprised to find clean linen on his bed every night. On enquiry he found that the Mother herself washed his sheets and pillow-slips in the village tank.

After her disciples had eaten, she would not allow them to remove the leaf plates. No protest would help. She would say: ‘Well, I am your mother. Who will look after the children, if not their mother?’

When a devotee left Jayarambati, the Mother would stand on the doorsteps of the house watching the cart carrying him move away. She would continue standing with tears in her eyes till the cart was out of sight. The devotee would feel that he was leaving his own mother behind!

 

In a village near Jayarambati there were many Muslim silk-weavers. But they were being put out of business by competition from imported silk, and many of them turned thieves and dacoits. Working on the building of the Mother’s new house in Jayarambati were some of these Muslims, among them a much-feared bandit named Amjad. One day the Mother invited him to a meal in the house. In those days orthodox Hindus shunned Muslims; so Nalini, her niece, served by throwing the food on Amjad’s leaf plate from a distance. Seeing this, the Holy Mother said: ‘How can one enjoy one’s food if it is served with scorn? You needn’t do it, Nalini. I will serve Amjad myself.’

When after the meal the Mother cleaned the place with her own hands, Nalini shrieked: ‘Aunt, you have lost your caste!’ ‘Keep quiet,’ she said. ‘As Sarat is my son, exactly so is Amjad.’ Sarat, or Swami Saradananda, the saint-disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, and Amjad, the bandit are diametrically opposite to each other. But in the Mother’s eyes they were equally her sons.



 

As people learnt about the Holy Mother, they came from far and near to be blessed by her. Even ordinary, uneducated persons recognized her holiness. One such was the porter at Bishnupur.

Once the Mother was waiting for a train at the Bishnupur railway station during a journey to Caclutta. Suddenly a porter walked up to her. He was a man from outside Bengal, and was accustomed to worship Rama and Sita. The man fell at the Holy Mother’s feet, exclaiming: ‘O, you are Mother Janaki. How long have I been searching for you. Today it is my good fortune that I have found you.’ He started weeping.

The Holy Mother recognized the genuine devotion of the porter and said: ‘Well, don’t cry. Bring a flower. I shall initiate you. Your mind will become calm.’

The porter brought a flower, and then Mother initiated him with a ‘mantra’ on the station platform itself. The man went away in peace.


 

The Mother was at ease with different kinds of people, as she felt they were all her children. Nobody was a stranger. After Swami Vivekananda’s return from the West, some Western devotees began coming to India. Many made it a point to meet her. Some of them have recalled these meetings with intense feeling.

Miss Josephine MacLeod, an American devotee of Swami Vivekananda, visited her many times. One day, after a visit to the Mother in Calcutta, she returned to the Belur Math in the evening. Escorted by a novice, she was returning to her room, absorbed in thought. She was saying to herself: ‘I have seen her. I have seen her.’ Then, turning to the novice, she said: ‘The Holy Mother! I have seen her.’ These words left a deep impression on him.

Sister Nivedita, who came in close contact with the Mother, wrote: ‘She is the very soul of sweetness – so gentle and loving – and merry as a girl.’ Her all-embracing love knew no bound of country or language. So all Western women devotees who met her felt she was their own, like a little child at her feet.
 

The years rolled by. It was 1920. The Holy Mother was now 67 years old. The number of her devotees had gradually grown to so many that she had no respite. Day and night, at Jayarambati and Calcutta, people crowded to have her ‘darshan’.

The strain was telling upon her health. Nevertheless, her compassion and love for the devotees was all the greater. She was seeing the Lord in all things – even in bird and animals.
In the beginning on 1920, at Jayarambati, she began running a slight temperature every day. Her feet were swollen. Swami Saradananda and the devotees decided that she should go to Calcutta for treatment. She bade farewell to Jayarambati on 24 February 1920. No one could have thought that it was her final departure.

She was lodged in the Udbodhan House in Calcutta. But her condition was worsening. She began detaching her mind from her surrounding and fixing it on Sri Ramakrishna. One day a woman devotee came and saluted her. Weeping, she said: ‘Mother, what will happen to us?’ In a feeble voice the Holy Mother replied: ‘Why should you be afraid? You have seen the Master.’ Then she added slowly: ‘Let me tell you one thing. If you want peace of mind, do not find fault with others.. Rather see your own faults. Learn to make the whole world your own. No one is a stranger, my child; the whole world is your own.’ This was the Holy Mother’s last message to humanity.

The Mother left the world on 21 July 1920. A serene slumber settled over her emaciated body, which now gave out a celestial light. The body was carried across the Ganga to the Belur Math. A funeral pyre of sandalwood was lit in the afternoon.

Today on this very spot on the bank of the Ganga stand a beautiful little temple in white, attracting thousands of devotees. The Mother dwells there in spirit blessing them all, and reminding them: ‘The whole world is your own. No one is a stranger.’

Enlargements shown in this Exhibition are taken from the book "The Story of Sarada Devi" Retold by "Swami Smaranananda" and Illustrated by "Biswaranjan Chakravarty". The book is published by "Advaita Ashrama, 5 Dehi Entally Road, Kolkata – 700014.
 

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