Easwaramma—A Homage
The Lord said in the Gita:
‘In every age when this Earth
Is dominated by sin
And evil prevails.
I descend on Earth
To redeem humanity.
However, while descending
Even the Lord has to follow
His own laws.
Even He has to decide
Who should act as His parents.
Imagine!
How fortunate the couple.
How lucky the home
Where the Lord takes His birth.
True, a mother is a mother,
Holy beyond words for all time
Even if the son goes astray.
But among them all
The one who begets Hari, the Lord,
Is the holiest of all.
Who has earned this honor
As the guerdon
For her relentless penance.
Who can reckon the amount of Punya
Kaushalya could garner
In her previous births
Before Rama chose her
As His mother?
And who can gauge
The depth of suffering
Which Devaki must have undergone
To receive Krishna?
But O Easwaramma!
Unparalleled is the sacrifice
You made
To set an example
For women in every age
Of what motherhood is.
Let’s open our hearts
For you to tread gently.
O Mother Divine!
It’s not everyone
Who can fathom your love,
Your agony and your philosophy.
Imagine the moment when Sathya,
The darling of your heart,
Stood confronting you and said,
Maya Maya, it’s all Maya,’
And you the mother stood confounded!
The lips quivered.
The tearful eyes betokened
An ocean of surging love,
But you restrained their flow
Not allowing a drop to fall.
Tell us O world tell us
If there’s a mother to compare with?
—A mother, whose lotus feet
Make you bow down
A thousand times.
“Kaushalya?” You say.
You are surely mistaken.
Kaushalya’s ordeal was limited
To barely fourteen summers:
And time flies—
Years turn into months,
Months into days
And days into minutes and seconds,
And hope persists.
‘What? Devaki?’
Devaki’s was no agony at all
For who’s that mother
That wouldn’t prefer
To live away from her son
And see him happy
Than to keep him with her
And lose him?
And did she not know
That He whom she delivered
Was the Lord Himself
The World’s deliverer?
Easwaramma’s agony was unique.
It’s the agony of a fish
Living in water and yet thirsty!
The Lord said,
“I belong to the Bhaktas.
They need me,
How can l leave them
And belong to you?
If you need Me,
Come and join the congregation
And forget the worldly bonds
Of mother and son.”
The mother listened and listened
To these heart‑rending words,
But she neither shrieked nor cried,
Rather looked straight
At her dear little Sathya
Shedding affection from her moistened eyes.
Mother!
The holiest of the holies,
The Lord demanded your devotion;
But what is devotion;
If not the acme of Love—
Pure and selfless Love—
Which never gets dim
Ev’n in the darkest hour?
Who could claim better devotion
Than you?
O Gentleness incarnate!
You dived deep
Into the agony of Love
And had it in full measure.
Your decision was clear,
“Let Bhakti go to the Bhaktas
I need my son.
Let those who aspire for
Deliverance, get it;
But the thirst of a mother
Shouldn’t go unquenched.”
“If God is Love and Love is God,
And all else on earth
Transient,
Then let Love prevail.”
And it did prevail.
The words of the Lord
Were rendered true
By none else than the Lord’s Mother.
In Brindavan
When the elements wanted to
Disintegrate,
And you knew your time was come,
You called, “Swami! Swami.”
“Coming!” said the
Lord and rushed;
But you outpaced Him.
When He reached
The nest was empty,
The winged‑one had gone
As if to tell Him,
“Here lies the Maya dead,”
And the Mother merged with the Son;
For Love is eternal,
Steadfast and immortal,
Whereas Maya assumes
New forms every day
And the wheel of life and death moves on.
Thus O Mother,
Your message of Love
Is the message of the mother
In every woman.
It’s a boon
To strayed humanity
And on this auspicious day
Of 6th May
We all adore you
Paying our homage
At the Lotus feet of Bhagavan.
Om Shantih! Shantih! Shantih!
~Bhagwat Prasad Misra, Prasanthi Nilayam
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, April 1986
Punya – holy; Maya – illusion; Bhaktas – devotees; Bhakti – devotion; Shantih – Peace.
