There is a saying, “Sin and mercury cannot be digested.” They come to light either today or tomorrow. When a man does something wrong his conscience begins to prick him and a mist of shame covers his face. At that time it is extremely difficult to stop the momentum of his bad tendencies. He loses discrimination and self-esteem, and even his family members do not trust him. He slowly becomes isolated and leads a lonely life, himself a victim of his own wrong actions. When compunction is aroused, he broods, laments, and cries in solitude. At that point, some become desperate and try to take their lives. Others go to a holy person and surrender themselves to him or her. Surendra Nath Mitra tried both.
Surendra seemed to be a typical young man of his day — open minded, carefree, and indifferent to religion. He was handsome and well built. As a commercial agent of the Dost Company, a large British firm in Calcutta, he had a well-paying job. He was married but had no children. Most of his friends were of the bohemian type, and like them, he often got drunk and was promiscuous. At the same time, however, he was frank, outspoken, large hearted, and extremely generous. Surendra was probably born in 1850 and met Sri Ramakrishna when he was thirty.
Although Surendra was quite affluent, his licentious conduct was ruining his mental peace. He even thought of poisoning himself. One day during this period, a Bhairavi (a Tantric nun) of imposing appearance accosted him in passing, saying, “My son, God alone is true and everything else is false.”1 These words touched Surendra’s heart and gave him strength to rouse himself from his mental hell. Ram Chandra Datta was a neighbour of Surendra’s, and he knew about his anguish. Ram had been visiting the Master at Dakshineswar for some time, and, wanting to help Surendra, he asked him many times to accompany him. But Surendra always refused. He said: “Look, it is very good that you respect him, but why should you take me there? I shall be a misfit there — like a crane among swans. I have seen enough of that.” Ram was hurt by this sarcastic remark about his guru, but he did not give up.
After much persuasion Surendra finally said: “All right, I shall go. But if that holy man of yours is a fake, I shall twist his ears.” Such was the attitude with which Surendra approached Sri Ramakrishna.
It was probably in the middle of 1880 when Surendra first went to Dakshineswar with Ram and Manomohan. That day the Master’s room was full of devotees. Surendra was determined to preserve his critical attitude, so he sat down without showing any sign of respect to Sri Ramakrishna. The Master was saying: “Why does a man behave like a young monkey and not like a kitten? The monkey has to cling to its mother by its own efforts as she moves around. But the kitten just goes on mewing until its mother comes and picks it up by the scruff of its neck. The young monkey sometimes loses its hold on its mother; then it falls and is badly hurt. But the kitten is in no such danger, because the mother herself carries it from place to place. That’s the difference between trying to do things for yourself and giving yourself up to the will of God.”
The Master’s words made a deep impression on Surendra, and this meeting became a turning point in his life. “I behave like the young monkey,” he thought, “and that’s the cause of all my troubles. From now on I’ll be satisfied with any condition the Divine Mother puts me in.” He then felt great relief and inner strength. When he was about to leave, the Master said to him, “Be sure to come again.” Surendra had by this time been humbled, and he willingly bowed down to the Master. On the way home he said to his companions: “Ah, how he turned the tables on me! It was he who twisted my ears! How could I have dreamed that there could be such a man? He read my innermost thoughts. Now at last I feel that my life has some meaning.” (Source: They Lived with God)