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The rest of the ashes, Madhu and Vipul wanted to pour into the sea; they asked
that I alone should come, but that I could bring a friend along.
Manikandan came. They had hired a boat out at the old harbour; we went over and
around the old bay and sailed northwards, not too far from the shore, till we could
see, directly facing us, the shape of the main Ashram building. There and then the
4 of us poured the rest of her ashes.
They went back to Ahmedabad, and would return after a few weeks.
And, during those few weeks, in that distance, somehow, it began to go very
wrong.
There was the matter of her house, which, at my insistence, everyone concerned
tentatively agreed to keep undisturbed for months, perhaps for a year; there was
the matter of her journals and diaries and personal papers; the matter of her other
belongings, few as they were; the matter of the stewardship of the temple.
Mistakenly I continued to act as if Kusum and I had remained together in the same
way: to look after all her things the way she had always wanted me to, to sort and
order her papers the way she had asked me to, to tend the temple as she wished
me to.
She had clearly written in her diaries, and in a specific letter addressed to all, what
she wished regarding the temple and that I must be the one to continue with its
service.
Every day I would first go to the temple and do the work there; then I would go to
her house – every inch of which I had remodelled for her – and clean and air and
light incense and sort out a few things and be quiet so as to accompany her in the
best possible ways.
Little by little I cleared out all the accumulated bits and pieces that no one would
use in any way; ordered the things that I was sure her sons would wish to have and
those that ought to remain in Auroville, such as her accounts of her sadhana here,
her letters to the Mother in her diaries, her papers regarding Matrimandir, and all
the things she had treasured for Sri Ganesh and for the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. I
had told the sons that I thought her personal diaries ought to be kept at the
Auroville Archives, preserved there and accessible; they had agreed.
However, the sons’ attitudes took a turn; I felt it gradually; we had e-mail
communication, many times, and over the weeks crept in a sense of suspicion, of
resentment, of grudging and questioning on their part; from an open pouring of
one’s distress and sense of inadequacy and guilt at not having done more for their
mother, it shifted to veiled accusations of neglect and carelessness on my part, and
it came to a point when I was held responsible for her sufferings.
From the status of first brother which they had seemingly accorded me, each
confiding in me and seeking some understanding if not guidance from me, they
each took me, or the image they each had of me, to the status of a kind of monster
who had abused their mother, taken advantage of her, mistreated her, and was
now bent on profiting from her passing.
It was as if they were loosing all sense and all appreciation and were now about to
vent on me all the jealousies and frustrations they may have experienced in their
past.
In the months that followed, it became plain ugly.
They began with police complaints, accusing me first of having stolen her personal
documents; when the Working Committee got involved, and I handed to them all