A search for solace

“But Mr Sharma,” I responded, “you have on the last occasion been given leave from your next year’s quota.” He paused for a moment and then said: “Sir, I am an old man. I don’t know how long I am going to live. To me, sir, whenever I listen to the talks of Krishnaji, I feel a tremendous sense of solace and spiritual well-being.” He looked at me and then added: “Do help me, sir, I shall never forget your gesture of kindness.”

I sanctioned the leave on extreme compassionate grounds. There was a provision in the rules for this. On his return from Paris, Sharma came to thank me. I shall never forget the look on his face. It radiated a sense of serenity bordering on the divine.

Some months thereafter, I was posted back to India and in the round of farewell parties, there was one from my staff at 76, South Audley Street. After cocktails and dinner, Govind Sharma got up to speak. In the past, this was always the prerogative of the younger staff. I was later to learn that Govind Sharma had decisively asserted his right as the senior-most to speak at my farewell. His speech and choice of words were excellent and just as he finished, he closed his eyes and momentarily held on to a chair — and then slowly crumpled to the ground. An ambulance rushed him to the hospital. He had apparently sustained a massive cardiac arrest. All efforts to resuscitate him failed. He had crossed over into the “ever beyond”.

A few days later, rather accidentally, I found this quote from J. Krishnamurthy under the glass top of his table: “When the mind is unconditioned and utterly still, the world within and the world without become in a miraculous way, brighter and livelier to perception. Suddenly, one is awake.” These words were clearly the sheetanchor of Sharma’s life.