MOTHER'S CHRONICLES Mother's Chronicles book two MIRRA THE ARTIST by Sujata Nahar INSTITUT DE RECHERCHES ÉVOLUTIVES 32, avenue de I'Observatoire, 75014 Paris Already published in the series: Book One: MIRRA To be published: Book Three: MIRRA THE OCCULTIST Book Four: MIRRA AND SRI AUROBINDO Book Five: MIRRA IN JAPAN Book Six: MIRRA THE MOTHER Mother's Chronicles - Book Two: MIRRA THE ARTIST. © 1986 by Sujata Nahar. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reprod

Prologue The Fish. Manu, the Father of men, opened his eyes and saw the little Fish. It was being chased by a very big fish. A faint sound had stirred Manu's deep meditation. It was the cry for help of the little Fish. Manu took the tiny little Fish in his palms and put it in a small pot. To Manu's astonishment, the next day, the little Fish had grown too big for the little pot. So he put it in a small pond. To Manu's amazement, the Fish grew too large for the small pond. Manu put the Fish in a great big lake. The Fish grew bigger than the big lake. Manu put it in the Ganges. The Fish outgrew the Ganges. So finally, Manu took the Fish to the Ocean.

Table of Illustrations Page Frontispiece Mirra at the turn of the century 45 Rabindranath Tagore; autographed in March, 1930 (courtesy Abhay Nahar) 48 Abanindranath Tagore, detail of a dry-point by Mukul Dey 55 A sketch by Nandalal Bose, from Abhay's autograph book 58 Nandalal Bose (courtesy Mrs Jamuna Sen) 67 Sujata, around four 74 From Abhay's autograph book 75 'Progress' bush (courtesy Patrice Marot) 81 Vasudha, a sketch by Mother 87 Rodin in 1906 (courtesy Musee Rodin, Paris) 124 A Brasier car in 1905 135 A mural in St James church at Pau (courtesy Patrice Marot) 138 Pavitra driving Mothe

To pull her out of that tomb was somehow our ambition. Sujata — Satprem April 30, 1984 A Word With You, Please! Greetings, friends! It is a pleasure to have you join me for another stretch of Mother's road. I imagine we have already met and you know me. But just in case this is our first meeting, let me say that I am now an 'elderberry' lady, as a friend of mine wants me known, with a score of sixty runs. Yet I was only nine when I first saw Sri Aurobindo and Mother. And I was but four years old when my father P.S. Nahar took his family to Santiniketan, the educational establishment of the Poet Tagore. The Nahars' a