Kitish Das, whom I first met in Pabna, where he was introduced to me
as the “director” of the “land reclamation” department. He had a staff
of 15 to 20 people who pored over blue and white maps from the
government land survey office. Kitish presided officiously, with the
help of his long handlebar moustache, huge eyeballs behind thick
horn-rimmed spectacles and squat figure. He’d snarl out commands with a
repulsively dictatorial authority, and his conversations with Thakur always ended with a demand for more money for his “important work.”
Everyone avoided him and nobody seemed to take any interest in his projects, except Thakur. At each semi-annual conference of disciples, his “land reclamation “cause was always present on the docket. My few attempts to befriend him were met with self-important rebuffs about his “classified” work.
I’d forgotten about him and his activities until one day, when Kitish came up to Thakur, pronamed, then announced sadly and humbly, “We lost the case, Thakur!”
Thakur’s response was enthusiastic, “No matter, Kitish ! Forget it. Go to Calcutta and do my work there. Take care of the people.” Kitish bowed and left.
Kesto-da shook his head in disgust. “Five years ago, everyone told him that it wasn’t possible to get that land, and he wouldn’t listen. Despite the objections of so many disciples, some of whom were lawyers, you ignored us and listened to him. He ignored our advice and wrapped himself in his illusions that he could acquire enough land for rice paddies to feed the whole ashram.”
Thakur nodded agreeably as Kesto-da continued, with a touch of disappointment in his voice, “Then you would go and collect more money for him so he could get more maps from the Land Survey Office and hire more surveyors to find the disputed areas. You listened to him and even seemed to admire his devious and doubtful plans. You admired his ‘convictions’ and kept supporting him.
“Now after spending 50,000 rupees over six years, he finally admitted he was wrong! What a waste of money!”
“What do you say, Kesto –da ? Just see. For only 50,000 rupees, I now have a man!”
Thakur’s perception of Kitish as a wise investment might not meet the standards of modern economics. But then nobody could have predicted that the arrogant and selfish Kitish would spend the last 15 years of his life actively and selflessly in the service of those in need, nursing and nurturing thousands of helpless and destitute Satsangees in and around Calcutta. To those thousands of men, women and children who got medicine when there was nobody else to get it, food when there was nothing to it, and gently encouragement from this once gruff and rough but now loving old man the 50,000-rupee investment was a cheap price to pay.
Everyone avoided him and nobody seemed to take any interest in his projects, except Thakur. At each semi-annual conference of disciples, his “land reclamation “cause was always present on the docket. My few attempts to befriend him were met with self-important rebuffs about his “classified” work.
I’d forgotten about him and his activities until one day, when Kitish came up to Thakur, pronamed, then announced sadly and humbly, “We lost the case, Thakur!”
Thakur’s response was enthusiastic, “No matter, Kitish ! Forget it. Go to Calcutta and do my work there. Take care of the people.” Kitish bowed and left.
Kesto-da shook his head in disgust. “Five years ago, everyone told him that it wasn’t possible to get that land, and he wouldn’t listen. Despite the objections of so many disciples, some of whom were lawyers, you ignored us and listened to him. He ignored our advice and wrapped himself in his illusions that he could acquire enough land for rice paddies to feed the whole ashram.”
Thakur nodded agreeably as Kesto-da continued, with a touch of disappointment in his voice, “Then you would go and collect more money for him so he could get more maps from the Land Survey Office and hire more surveyors to find the disputed areas. You listened to him and even seemed to admire his devious and doubtful plans. You admired his ‘convictions’ and kept supporting him.
“Now after spending 50,000 rupees over six years, he finally admitted he was wrong! What a waste of money!”
“What do you say, Kesto –da ? Just see. For only 50,000 rupees, I now have a man!”
Thakur’s perception of Kitish as a wise investment might not meet the standards of modern economics. But then nobody could have predicted that the arrogant and selfish Kitish would spend the last 15 years of his life actively and selflessly in the service of those in need, nursing and nurturing thousands of helpless and destitute Satsangees in and around Calcutta. To those thousands of men, women and children who got medicine when there was nobody else to get it, food when there was nothing to it, and gently encouragement from this once gruff and rough but now loving old man the 50,000-rupee investment was a cheap price to pay.
Excerpts from “Being and Becoming” [Pg 113-114] by Ray Archer Hauserman
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