Thursday, August 27, 2026

A VAAKH OF LAL-DED PAINTED BY ARTIST MASOOD HUSSAIN

                                           
( Oil on Pashmina Cloth by Masood Hussain)


The Vaakh in Kashmiri

 “Aami Panna  sodras naavi chhas lamaan

Kaeti bozi daai myon meti diyi taar

Aamein taakein poen zan shramaan

Zuv chum bramaan ghar gassa-ha “…Lal Ded

Translation

(With a rope of loosely spun thread
I drag my fragile boat across the sea.
O that the Divine would hear my plea
And carry me safely to the farther shore.

Like water held in an unbaked clay cup,
My life seeps away, drop by drop.
O that I might reach my true home,
Before I am lost entirely.

Commentary on the Vaakh

Lal Ded’s Vaakh presents human life as a perilous crossing of the Bhavsāgara, the ocean of worldly existence. The soul desires to return to its primordial home, yet asks in anguish: with such inadequate means, how shall I reach the farther shore, O Lord? The boat is the embodied self, vulnerable and unstable, while the loosely spun thread represents the frailty of individual effort. The seeker pulls, strives and longs to advance, yet knows that the means at her disposal are painfully inadequate. The Vaakh therefore becomes a cry of metaphysical helplessness: the soul remembers, however dimly, its origin in the Divine and yearns to return to that true home, but asks how such a fragile being can reach the farther shore without grace.

This spiritual tension finds a close echo in the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna declares, “I become the swift deliverer from the ocean of birth and death” for those whose consciousness is fixed upon Him. The Yogavāsiṣṭha similarly teaches, “Cittam eva hi saṃsāraḥ”, the mind itself is Saṃsāra, suggesting that the ocean to be crossed is also the inward world of desire, attachment and misidentification. In Kashmir Shaivism, liberation is ultimately Pratyabhijñā, recognition of one’s identity with universal consciousness.

A less frequently quoted Śiva Sūtra, “Dānam ātmajñānam”, teaches that the highest giving is knowledge of the Self. Lalla’s farther shore is therefore not merely another realm. It is the recovery of the soul’s own deepest nature.

The image of water leaking from an unbaked clay cup intensifies the urgency. Life is passing irreversibly. The body cannot hold it forever. Lalla’s prayer is thus both intimate and universal: may the soul reach its eternal source before the fragile vessel breaks and the opportunity for recognition is lost.

My Commentary on the Painting

The painting is a remarkably sensitive visual interpretation of Lalleshwari’s celebrated Vaakh, “Aami panna sodras naavi chhas lamaan”. At the upper centre, the tiny boat appears almost helpless within an immeasurably larger pictorial space. The thin red thread attached to it gives material form to Lalla’s “loosely spun thread”, the precarious means by which the embodied soul attempts to cross the Bhavsāgara, the ocean of worldly existence. Its fragility is essential. The soul desires to return to its primordial home, yet asks in anguish: with such inadequate means, how shall I reach the farther shore, O Lord?

The dominant blues transform the surface into both turbulent water and metaphysical infinity. Pale blue suggests movement and uncertainty, while the deeper ultramarine passages evoke unfathomable consciousness. Against them, red and orange appear as concentrated flashes of Śakti, the energy of striving, suffering and spiritual transformation. The dark edges surrounding the torn openings intensify the sense of danger and transition between bondage and liberation.

The rough, layered texture is equally significant. Nothing is smooth or secure. The surface appears worn, ruptured and vulnerable, visually corresponding to Lalla’s image of the unbaked clay vessel from which the water of life steadily escapes. The ochre manuscript frame, filled with script, surrounds this existential drama with the presence of inherited wisdom. Yet the centre breaks through textual order into direct experience.

 The painting therefore does more than illustrate the Vaakh. Through boat, thread, water, colour, fractured texture and manuscript frame, the artist converts Lalla’s spiritual anxiety into a compelling image of the soul struggling towards its forgotten origin.


( Avtar Mota ) 


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ALBERT CAMUS WROTE "RECONCILE HINDU SAGE WITH WESTERN HERO"

  

                                         



 







              ( Swami Siddeshwarananda of France  Ashram  )


“Reconcile the Hindu Sage and the Western Hero”: Who Was the Hero in Camus’s May 1937 Notebook?

 

In May 1937, Albert Camus entered into his notebook one of the most intriguing formulations of his early intellectual life:

 “La conciliation entre le sage hindou et le héros occidental.”

 In English, this may be rendered as:

 “Reconcile the Hindu sage and the Western hero.”

 The sentence is extraordinarily compressed. Camus does not explain who the “Western hero” is, nor does he attach the phrase explicitly to the title of a projected book. Yet the entry deserves serious attention because Camus’s notebooks of this period were not simply private diaries. They were working books in which philosophical ideas, descriptions, projected essays, fragments of dialogue, character sketches and plans for fiction existed beside one another. A sentence entered into the notebook could therefore migrate into a novel, an essay or a later philosophical formulation.

 The question is consequently legitimate. When Camus wrote of reconciling the Hindu sage and the Western hero in May 1937, was he thinking of the hero who would become Meursault in The Stranger, of Sisyphus, of a future character in The Plague, or of another fictional figure? Chronology provides the first and most reliable means of answering the question.

 The decisive importance of May 1937: The date must be kept firmly in view. The notebook entry belongs to May 1937. At that moment Camus was twenty-three years old. The Stranger had not been published. The Myth of Sisyphus did not yet exist in its finished form. The Plague was still years away. Camus was, however, actively developing the novel that became La Mort heureuse, A Happy Death.

 This is the crucial fact.

 A Happy Death was written substantially between 1936 and 1938. Its central character is Patrice Mersault. The book remained unpublished during Camus’s lifetime and appeared only posthumously, in 1971. It nevertheless represents Camus’s first sustained attempt at a novel and belongs exactly to the period in which the notebook statement about the Hindu sage and Western hero was written.

The notebooks themselves confirm that La Mort heureuse was occupying Camus’s imagination during these years. They contain plans and fragments explicitly identified with the novel. Later, in September and December 1937, Camus continued recording material for La Mort heureuse. One December entry is specifically marked as a “Fragment for La Mort Heureuse”. This makes Patrice Mersault the strongest candidate if the phrase “Western hero” is understood as referring to a fictional protagonist then under construction. That conclusion, however, must be expressed carefully. Camus never wrote beside the phrase: “By the Western hero I mean Mersault.” There is therefore no documentary warrant for presenting the identification as an established fact. What can be said securely is that Mersault was the principal fictional hero Camus was developing at precisely this time.

 Patrice Mersault before Meursault

 The distinction between Mersault and Meursault is important. Patrice Mersault is the protagonist of A Happy Death. Meursault, with the additional “u”, is the protagonist of The Stranger. The relationship between the two characters is obvious, but they are not identical. The earlier novel already contains several elements that Camus would later reshape. Both protagonists are clerks living in French Algeria. Both are strongly associated with physical sensation, sunlight, the sea, solitude and death. Both commit killings. Both confront existence without conventional religious consolation. Yet their philosophical and psychological structures differ.

Patrice Mersault is much more consciously preoccupied with happiness.

 He wants to possess his life. He seeks freedom from economic dependence and attempts to create the conditions in which he can experience existence fully. His journey is active and purposive. He is searching for happiness through conscious mastery of circumstances. That quality makes him particularly interesting in relation to the phrase “Western hero”. The Western hero traditionally acts. He wills, chooses, struggles, travels, conquers circumstances and attempts to shape his destiny. The sage, by contrast, seeks inward mastery. Camus’s formula proposes not a rejection of one by the other, but a conciliation. That word is central. The emerging Camusian figure would have to combine action with detachment, intensity with lucidity, participation with inward freedom. Patrice Mersault is much closer to such a problem than the later Meursault of The Stranger.

 Why the Hindu sage matters?

The phrase should also be read from the other direction. Camus did not merely write “Western hero”. He deliberately placed this figure beside the “sage hindou”, the Hindu sage. By the mid-1930s, Camus was already showing interest in Indian ideas. His notebooks contain references to India, Indian wisdom and later the Vedas, Upanishadic thought and other Indian materials. The Hindu sage therefore cannot simply be dismissed as a decorative Oriental metaphor. For Camus, the figure seems to suggest a consciousness capable of detachment from ordinary ambition and illusion.The sage possesses himself. The hero acts upon the world. Camus wanted a human being capable of both. The difficulty is immediately recognisable as Camusian. Pure withdrawal would abandon the world. Pure heroic action might become conquest without wisdom. The reconciliation would require someone capable of entering life completely while remaining inwardly free from the illusion that worldly achievement can provide ultimate meaning.This becomes one of the permanent problems of Camus’s work.The May 1937 formula is therefore potentially much more important than a passing notebook remark.

Was the “Western hero” Meursault of The Stranger?

 The answer should be: not directly, although the connection is important. The Stranger was published in 1942. More importantly, the distinct fictional world of The Stranger emerged after the period in which Camus was developing A Happy Death. The published notebooks themselves contain editorial indications tracing the gradual emergence of themes and scenes that would later belong to The Stranger. They also identify plans explicitly connected with La Mort heureuse. This means that in May 1937 one should not simply take the famous Meursault of 1942 and project him backwards into the notebook. The more historically responsible approach is developmental. Patrice Mersault comes first. Meursault emerges later. There is both continuity and transformation. The alteration of the name itself is suggestive. Mersault becomes Meursault. More substantially, the purposeful search for happiness that characterises Patrice is stripped away. Meursault does not organise his life around a philosophical project of happiness. He experiences the world immediately and sensuously. His eventual lucidity comes through confrontation with death. This transformation may reveal Camus revising what a modern Western hero could be. Patrice still possesses something of the traditional heroic will.Meursault is far less heroic in the conventional sense. He does not conquer society. Society condemns him.He does not master events. Events accumulate around him.His final achievement is inward rather than outward. At the conclusion of The Stranger, what remains is lucidity. In that respect, one might argue that Meursault eventually moves closer to the “sage” side of Camus’s 1937 formulation.But this is a retrospective interpretation. It should not be used to claim that Camus had the finished Meursault specifically in mind in May 1937.

 Could the hero have been Sisyphus?

Sisyphus is philosophically an even more compelling possibility, but chronologically he is not the immediate answer. The Myth of Sisyphus was published in 1942. It is an essay, not a novel, and Sisyphus is a figure inherited from Greek mythology rather than a fictional character invented by Camus. Yet Sisyphus eventually becomes perhaps the purest expression of the “Western hero” as Camus would understand him. He acts. He struggles. He does not withdraw. Most importantly, he acts without illusion. He knows that the stone will fall again. His awareness does not stop his action. This is precisely where the hypothetical reconciliation with the Hindu sage becomes philosophically fascinating. The sage possesses knowledge without attachment. Sisyphus possesses action without hope of ultimate victory. Both have surrendered illusion. Yet Sisyphus continues to labour.

Camus’s mature philosophy of the absurd consequently creates a figure who combines something resembling contemplative detachment with relentless activity. The 1937 notebook passage can therefore be regarded as anticipating the philosophical structure of The Myth of Sisyphus. But anticipation is different from identification. There is no basis for saying that Camus wrote “Western hero” in May 1937 while specifically thinking of the finished Sisyphus of the 1942 essay.The more defensible claim is that the philosophical intuition contained in the 1937 entry later reaches one of its clearest forms in Sisyphus.

 The Plague is too late.

The Plague can be excluded much more confidently as the immediate source of the notebook phrase. The novel was published in 1947. Its substantial development belongs to the early 1940s. Camus was gathering plague material by 1941 and in March 1942 told André Malraux that he was working on a novel about the plague. This places the serious conception of the novel several years after May 1937. Doctor Bernard Rieux therefore cannot reasonably be identified as the particular Western hero Camus had in mind when he made the earlier notebook entry. Yet, as with Sisyphus, Rieux later embodies the principle remarkably well. Rieux knows that plague cannot be defeated permanently.He does not act because he expects final victory. He acts because suffering exists before him. This distinction is fundamental. Rieux possesses lucidity without resignation. He recognises limits without using those limits as an excuse for inactivity. He refuses metaphysical consolation while remaining absolutely committed to human solidarity. Thus the hero who acts and the sage who knows the limits of action finally seem to inhabit the same person. If Sisyphus represents the existential development of the 1937 formula, Rieux represents its ethical development.

 A Happy Death remains the closest contemporary context.When all the evidence is arranged chronologically, A Happy Death assumes central importance.Camus was working on this novel between 1936 and 1938. His notebooks from the same period contain plans and passages for the work. They explicitly identify M. with Mersault in plans for La Mort heureuse and include material later incorporated into the novel. The May 1937 entry therefore sits inside the creative period of Patrice Mersault. This is stronger evidence than resemblance alone. Had the sentence been written in 1942, Sisyphus would have been an obvious contender. Had it been written in 1945, Rieux might have been considered. But it was written in May 1937. Chronology directs us towards La Mort heureuse.

 What kind of hero was Camus seeking?

The deeper question is not simply “Who was the hero?” but “What did Camus mean by a hero?” His early notebooks repeatedly reveal dissatisfaction with passive existence. He was concerned with strength, experience, self-possession, happiness, death and lucidity. Patrice Mersault embodies many of these concerns. He wants not merely to exist but to possess his existence consciously. Yet Camus was already suspicious of conquest in any naive sense. Death destroys every worldly victory. Happiness cannot become immortality. Achievement cannot solve the metaphysical problem of human existence. Hence the need for the sage. The sage modifies the hero. The hero prevents the sage from becoming pure withdrawal.The reconciliation produces something distinctly Camusian: action without metaphysical illusion. This theme eventually becomes fundamental to Camus’s philosophy. One acts while knowing that no final victory is possible. One loves while knowing that death exists. One struggles while recognising limits. One refuses resignation without inventing eternal consolation. That structure can already be sensed in the mysterious notebook sentence of May 1937.

 From Mersault to Meursault to Sisyphus to Rieux

 Seen across Camus’s development, the formula acquires extraordinary resonance. Patrice Mersault seeks happiness through conscious possession of life. Meursault eventually possesses lucidity before death. Sisyphus converts lucidity into ceaseless action. Rieux converts lucid action into solidarity.These figures should not be collapsed into one another. Each belongs to a distinct literary and philosophical moment. Yet a line can legitimately be traced through them.Patrice Mersault belongs closest chronologically to the 1937 entry. Meursault transforms the problem. Sisyphus provides its philosophical formulation. Rieux gives it an ethical and social form. What begins as “the Hindu sage and the Western hero” thus becomes one of the hidden structures of Camus’s mature thought.

 

In May 1937, when Camus recorded the phrase “Conciliation du sage hindou et du héros occidental”, the principal fictional hero he was developing was Patrice Mersault of La Mort heureuse. Since the notebooks of this period contain plans and material for that novel, Mersault is the strongest identifiable fictional candidate for the “Western hero”. The phrase, however, is formulated as a general philosophical proposition rather than as an explicit character note, and its meaning subsequently expands beyond Mersault into the figures of Meursault, Sisyphus and Rieux.

Conclusion

The chronology points decisively away from 'The Plague' and makes a direct identification with the mature Meursault of The Stranger equally problematic. The immediate literary environment of the May 1937 entry is 'La Mort heureuse' . Camus was then working on the novel whose protagonist was Patrice Mersault. The book was composed during 1936 to 1938, exactly encompassing the date of the notebook entry. The Stranger would be published in 1942 even though Camus's Notebooks suggest it's planning and conceiving much earlier .The Myth of Sisyphus would also appear in 1942. The Plague would emerge substantially during the early 1940s and be published in 1947.

Therefore, if the “Western hero” refers to a particular fictional figure Camus was then imagining, Patrice Mersault is by far the strongest candidate. But the notebook sentence is greater than Mersault alone. It announces a problem that Camus would spend much of his career resolving: how can the human being retain the hero’s commitment to action while acquiring the sage’s freedom from illusion? Patrice Mersault offers the first experiment. Meursault deepens the experience of lucidity. Sisyphus gives it philosophical shape. Rieux carries it into the moral world of suffering and solidarity.

The deceptively brief sentence entered in May 1937 may therefore be read as an early key to the entire development of the Camusian hero. The Western hero must not simply conquer. He must know the limits of conquest. The sage must not merely withdraw. He must remain capable of action.Between these two figures, Camus gradually created his own distinctive human type: lucid without resignation, active without illusion, solitary without abandoning solidarity, and capable of confronting an indifferent world without ceasing to live fully within it.


( Avtar Mota )


Wednesday, August 26, 2026

SWAMI SIDDESHWARANANDA , ALBERT CAMUS AND JEAN GRENIER

                                        
                    ( Camus And Grenier )
                  ( Siddeshwarananda )





The Sage of Montpellier: Why Any Serious Study of Camus Must Include Siddheswarananda and Jean Grenier


Any purposeful research on Camus' thought is incomplete unless one knows about Swami Siddheswarananda and Jean Grenier.


Who they were ? 


Swami Siddheswarananda, 1897 to 1957, was born Gopal Marar of the princely House of Cochin in Kerala. Initiated by Swami Brahmananda, a direct disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, he served the Ramakrishna Order at Madras, Mysore and Bangalore, where he guided the young poet who would become Kuvempu, one of Kannada literature's greatest figures. Sent to France in 1937 at the invitation of French friends of Indian thought centred on the Sorbonne, he arrived with almost no French. Fluent in French with remarkable speed, hec mastered it as a working philosophical language, lectured at the Sorbonne, Montpellier and Toulouse, and founded the Centre Vedantique Ramakrishna at Gretz-Armainvilliers . He lived, taught, wrote and died in France. He was a monk who made Vedanta speak in French. He taught at a time when Europe itself was collapsing.


Jean Grenier, 1898 to 1971, was a French philosopher, professor and essayist, a man of islands, solitude, melancholy and Mediterranean light. He taught philosophy at the Lycee in Algiers from 1930 to 1938. There a young Albert Camus, son of a poor family, became his pupil and then his lifelong friend. Grenier wrote a chapter called L'Inde in the Nouvelle Revue Francaise in 1930, later included in his book Les Iles, a book Camus said had touched the very core of his sensibility and given him both a terrain for reflection and a form. In February 1940 Grenier published a sustained essay, Reflexions sur la pensee indienne, in issue 317 of the Nouvelle Revue Francaise, an essay serious enough that even Rene Guenon felt obliged to attack it. He continued to move between Greece, Taoism and India for the rest of his life. For Camus, Grenier remained the master, the confidant, the measure of intellectual honesty, the man who taught him to look at the sea and at death without lying.


France itself provides the necessary context, because French interest in Vedanta was not marginal in the nineteen thirties. Romain Rolland, fresh from his work on Gandhi, had brought Sri Ramakrishna and Swami Vivekananda into French letters with two influential biographies in 1929 and 1930 that were read by the entire French intelligentsia. In 1936 the Musee Guimet and the Sorbonne honoured both figures with commemorations. By 1941, Gallimard published the substantial collective volume Message actuel de l'Inde with contributions from Rene Daumal, Jean Herbert, Jacques Masui and others, signalling that Indian thought was being taken seriously as contemporary philosophy, not as exotic decoration. Les Cahiers du Sud, based in Marseille and one of the most important literary reviews in the south of France, became a natural meeting point for writers interested in comparative spirituality and literature. It is in this constellation that Grenier and Siddheswarananda moved, met and recognised each other. Their meeting at Montpellier, where Grenier taught and the Swami was invited to lecture, was therefore not an accident of curiosity. It was the meeting of two men who both believed that philosophy must become a form of life and not merely an opinion.

                                      
               


Les Îles" by Jean Grenier : foreword by Albert Camus.

French original as printed on the book

"Les grandes révélations qu'un homme reçoit dans sa vie sont rares, une ou deux le plus souvent. Mais elles transfigurent, comme une chance. À l'être passionné de vivre et de connaître, ce livre offre, je le sais, au tournant de ses pages, une révélation semblable. Il est temps que de nouveaux lecteurs viennent à lui. Je voudrais être encore parmi eux, je voudrais revenir à ce soir où, après avoir ouvert ce petit volume dans la rue, je le refermai aux premières lignes que j'en lus, le serrai contre moi et courus jusqu'à ma chambre pour le dévorer enfin sans témoins. Et j'envie, sans amertume, j'envie, si j'ose dire, avec chaleur, le jeune homme inconnu qui, aujourd'hui, aborde ces Îles pour la première fois..."Albert Camus

Translation 

(The great revelations a man receives in his life are rare, one or two at most. But they transfigure him, like a stroke of luck. To the being who is passionate to live and to know, this book offers, I know, at the turn of its pages, a similar revelation. It is time for new readers to come to it. I would like to be still among them, I would like to return to that evening when, after opening this small volume in the street, I closed it after the first lines I read, clutched it to me and ran to my room to devour it at last without witnesses. And I envy, without bitterness, I envy, if I dare say so, warmly, the unknown young man who, today, approaches these Islands for the first time..)...Albert Camus

This book is central to the subject under scrutiny.Inside 'Les Îles' in the chapter L'Inde and the surrounding essays, Grenier writes directly on Indian thought. The book contains and discusses:
Om
Brahmana 
Ramakrishna
Vedas
Bhagavad Gita
Detached attachment / acting without thirst for results : the Gita's nishkama karma.
These are the exact concepts Grenier was reflecting on when he later wrote to Camus on 18 October 1942.


The Letter 

The decisive document is a letter, modest in appearance, immense in implication. On 18 October 1942, Grenier sat in Sisteron in the Basses Alpes, in what was then the unoccupied zone, and wrote Letter 66 to his former student. The letter is published in Correspondance Albert Camus Jean Grenier, Gallimard, 1981, pages 81 to 82. At that moment Camus was twenty nine, living between Lyon, Le Chambon-sur-Lignon and Paris in occupied France, having just finished L'Etranger and Le Mythe de Sisyphe, two books that would make his name after the war. Europe around him was nihilism made political, occupation, collaboration, resistance, murder justified by absolute ideas. In the letter Grenier reflects on Lao Tzu and the Tao and on the Chinese idea of non action, wu wei, which he finds admirable as an attitude before a world that wants to turn everything into ideology and frantic action. Then, in the middle of that philosophical reflection, without any social preamble, without gossip, he adds a sentence that any historian of Camus and Indian thought must underline. He writes in French: Je corresponds aussi avec un Hindou, un Sage bien entendu, que j'ai connu a Montpellier, le Swami Siddheswarânanda. "I also correspond with a Hindu, a Sage of course, whom I knew at Montpellier, Swami Siddheswarananda."


The placement of that sentence is everything. Grenier does not mention the Swami among travel anecdotes or mutual friends. He mentions him while asking what attitude can answer what he calls the profound and tragic nihilism of Europe. He places Vedanta and Taoism together as living alternatives, as attitudes to existence, at the exact moment when Camus is moving from the solitary lucidity of the absurd towards the problem of solidarity, limits, revolt and community. The date matters for another reason of archival discipline. Camus destroyed much of his correspondence received before 1940. The full published exchange between master and pupil therefore begins in 1940. From that point onwards Grenier remains the one person to whom Camus can write without self censorship about his deepest uncertainties. To tell Camus in October 1942 that he corresponds with a living Hindu sage in France is not casual gossip. It is to open a door and to say that there exists, here, now, in France, in French, a living tradition concerned with consciousness, detachment, liberation, measure and freedom without consolation that stands remarkably close to their shared questions.


Swami Siddeshwarananda


Swami Siddheswarananda arrived in 1937 with little French. Within a few years he was lecturing, debating, answering questions and publishing in French. His lectures at the University of Toulouse in 1942 were published as "Quelques aspects de la philosophie vedantique", a book that still reads with clarity. His later French works include Le Yoga et Saint Jean de la Croix, pensee indienne et mystique carmelitaine, Meditation selon le Yoga Vedanta, Rambles in Religion, Metaphysique et Realisation, Dieu existe-t-il, and the periodical Vedanta conducted in French from Gretz. Contemporary notices and library records describe him precisely as well known in France as an author and lecturer because he spread the message of Vedanta in the French language. His major French works were only later translated into English by disciples such as William Buchanan and Andre van den Brink, which explains why English speaking readers often encounter him in translation and forget that the originals were French. For Camus, who lived, thought, taught and wrote in French, this fact meant that Vedanta was not a distant Sanskrit text requiring mediation through English Orientalism. It was present in his own linguistic world, in the universities where his teacher taught, in the review culture he read, spoken by a man in ochre cloth who could discuss Shankara and Saint John of the Cross in French.


At this point Camus' Carnets, his notebooks, become crucial evidence and they must be handled with care. Camus kept notebooks from 1935 until his death in 1960 as a laboratory for his work, a place for reading notes, landscapes, aphorisms, moral calculations and ideas for fiction. Among those jottings there is a striking entry where he imagines creating a character who would be both Hindu sage and western hero, a man who would possess eastern detachment and western action in the same life. He poses it not as exotic decoration but as a moral and dramatic problem. How would such a man live in a city struck by plague. How would he act without thirst for results. How would he preserve compassion without illusion. How would he avoid both cynicism and fanaticism. That entry belongs to the gestation period of La Peste and L'Homme revolte, precisely the period of Grenier's letter about the Swami. It shows that the synthesis of sage and hero was actively present in his imagination at the very moment when he learned that his teacher corresponded with a living sage who spoke his language.


That imagined figure later takes flesh as Jean Tarrou in La Peste, published in 1947. Tarrou is a man with notebooks of his own, a visitor who watches Oran with the attention of an anthropologist and a saint. He wants to be a saint without God, a phrase Camus uses first in his own notebooks and then gives to his character, a phrase that has puzzled readers for decades. Tarrou seeks a secular saintliness through absolute self discipline, vigilance and service. He combines the western hero who organises sanitary squads, who says no to plague, who acts in solidarity, with the eastern sage who understands that the essential work is upon the self, upon learning how not to be a plague carrier, upon dissolving ego and refusing to add to the world's evil. He dies, as a sage might, having learned his lesson. In L'Homme revolte, published in 1951, Camus argues for revolt that preserves limits, for revolt that refuses to become murderous revolution, for measure, for moderation, for mesura, a Mediterranean concept with deep affinities to the Gita's teaching of action without attachment to fruit, nishkama karma, and to the Vedantic critique of egoic inflation. The resonance is not proof of borrowing, but once we know that Vedanta was present in his immediate environment through a teacher who corresponded with a living monk of the Ramakrishna Vivekananda lineage, who spoke and wrote in French and lectured at Toulouse in 1942 in the very period when La Peste was being conceived, the resonance ceases to be coincidence and becomes history.


None of this makes Camus a Vedantin, and it would be historically irresponsible to claim that he became a disciple or that he borrowed directly from a specific Upanishad or verse of the Gita. The  possibility cannot be excluded until the archives at Montpellier, Toulouse, the Centre at Gretz and the Grenier papers are fully explored. What the record does show is proximity, access and documented transmission, which in intellectual history is often more important than speculation about influence. Grenier knew Siddheswarananda. Grenier corresponded with him. Grenier called him a Sage, a rare category in his vocabulary, not a polite adjective but a judgement about a form of life. Grenier told Camus. Grenier told him in French, about a monk who spoke and wrote in French, at the moment when Camus was asking whether any wisdom could survive nihilism. And Camus, in his notebooks, began to imagine a character who would be both Hindu sage and western hero. That chain is modest and therefore strong.


The story therefore ends not with conversion but with a more subtle and more truthful conclusion that replaces speculation with evidence and that widens our understanding of Camus' Europe. Swami Siddheswarananda lived in France from 1937 until his death in 1957, teaching, writing, translating, answering letters, building a small but serious centre at Gretz that would become a permanent home for Vedanta in Europe and a place where French seekers could encounter Indian thought without leaving France. Jean Grenier continued to move between Greece and India and Taoism, between the Mediterranean and the inner island, and remained for Camus the measure of intellectual honesty, the man who had taught him to look at the sea and at death without lying. Camus continued to walk his own path between absurdity and revolt, between sun and plague, between Sisyphus and Nemesis, until his accidental death in 1960. What connects the three men is not a secret lineage but a documented chain of transmission. That chain does not make Camus a Vedantin. It proves that Vedanta stood considerably nearer to his philosophical world than conventional accounts of his exclusively European formation have acknowledged. For any serious study of Tarrou, of the ethics of revolt, of Camus and Indian thought, for any purposeful research on how a French Algerian moralist imagined saintliness without God, that proximity must now be part of the record. It also reminds us that the history of Indian thought in Europe was not only about books arriving from afar. It was also about a prince from Cochin who learned French and taught in French in occupied France, and about a philosophy teacher from Algiers who had the discernment to call him a sage and the generosity to tell his most famous pupil.


Prof Steven F Walker writes this :-


"Centre Védantique Ramakrichna) from 1947 until his death in 1957. The center is an hour’s train ride from Paris, and has long attracted spiritual seekers from all over Europe, not to mention a number of American devotees. The origins of the center may be traced back to the 1936 centenary celebration in France of the birth of Ramakrishna, which resulted in an accrued curiosity about Vedanta and thus in Belur Math’s decision to send Swami Siddheshwarananda to France. The interest generated by his discourses, including some at eminent French universities, eventually led to the foundation of the Gretz center in 1947.

Siddheshwarananda’s essay entitled “From anxiety to union, or, Ramakrishna’s spiritual experience” (“De l’angoisse à l’union, ou l’experience spirituelle de Rama-krishna1”) contains a number of interesting insights and observations, some of which seem to me to be startlingly original."



( Avtar Mota )




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Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

Tuesday, August 25, 2026

A VISIT TO LAKE TILSON

                                            
                                         


















A Visit to Tillson Lake near New Paltz


Tillson Lake was never a natural lake. It was made by a man who saw promise in swamp. In nineteen twenty two a farm dealer and cattle trader from Walden named Hassie Tillson began to buy acre after acre of marshy ground below the Shawangunk Ridge. The land was wet and difficult, cut through by the Palmaghatt Kill. In nineteen twenty nine Hassie decided to dam the Kill and create a lake where there had been only bog. Then he built a resort around it. There was a golf course where men played on summer evenings, a roller skating rink that rang with music, a large pavilion for dances, rowboats for hire, excellent fishing, timber docks, diving platforms, gazebos for shade, badminton courts, food counters selling sandwiches and cold drinks, wide grassy banks for picnics and ample parking for families who came from near and far to watch swimming races and regattas. For many years this was the most popular place in the area.


People who grew up in Gardiner still speak of those glory days with real affection. After Hassie the lake passed to Dominick Porco who respected its spirit and kept it open as a treasured public destination. In the late nineteen seventies Porco sold it to a member of the Unanue family who own Goya Foods. The new owner proposed a development of trailers that would have ringed the lake and closed public access. The Town of Gardiner refused permission in nineteen eighty two. In retaliation the owner pulled the plug and drained the lake. What had been sparkling water became a field of invasive weeds with a thin sad stream running through it. It remained like that for twelve years and locals thought it was lost.


Then came the next chapter. John Bradley who owned the twenty five hundred acre Awosting Reserve purchased the land and proposed a gated community of two hundred and forty nine luxury houses described as starter castles with the lake as a private amenity. A grassroots organisation called Save the Ridge fought the plan with extraordinary determination. The case went to court and eventually a judge ordered the property to be sold to the Trust for Public Land and the Open Space Institute. In two thousand and six Tillson Lake was finally given to the Minnewaska State Park Preserve and to its managing agency the Palisades Interstate Park Commission. For a while it seemed saved and people celebrated.


Today the lake is again at risk though for a different reason. The Department of Environmental Conservation has changed its safety rules for dams. Earlier a dam had to withstand a one hundred year flood. Because of climate change the standard has been raised to a five hundred year flood. The Tillson Lake dam now needs major upgrades and its spillway is considered damaged. It will cost about three point five million dollars to take the dam apart and about three point seven million dollars to repair it. The difference is small. Friends of Tillson Lake led by President Morey Gottesman believe that if enough people use the lake and make their voices heard to legislators in Albany the state will choose repair over removal. Tillson Lake is now the easiest lake to reach in Minnewaska. It is the only lake in the Preserve where fishing is allowed and one of only two where free boating and kayaking with a permit are allowed. It is a place worth fighting for.


The lake itself sits near Wallkill and Gardiner within Minnewaska State Park Preserve surrounded by woodland and low hills with the long blue line of the Shawangunks behind. The water is calm and often reflects the sky like a mirror. Deer come to drink at dawn and herons stand still at the edge. It is quiet and simple and that is its charm.


New Paltz which is our base for this story deserves a full description because it is far more than a stop on the way to a lake. It is one of the most loved small towns in the Hudson Valley in Ulster County with a history that goes back to sixteen seventy eight when twelve French Huguenot families settled here to escape religious persecution. Their stone houses still stand on Huguenot Street which is said to be the oldest street in America with its original houses. These houses are low and solid built of fieldstone with thick walls small windows and wide fireplaces that have seen more than three centuries of winter. The town has kept that historic soul while also becoming artistic liberal and youthful. This is partly because of the State University of New York at New Paltz which brings music art theatre bookshops cafes and a constant stream of students on bicycles.


Main Street is a delight to walk. There are independent bookshops where you can spend an hour without anyone hurrying you, coffee shops that roast their own beans, bakeries selling apple cider doughnuts and fresh bread, farm stands piled high with sweet corn berries peaches and local honey, and restaurants offering wood fired pizza vegan bowls and classic American diners. On weekends there is a farmers market where local farmers sell cheese and flowers. The Shawangunk Mountains called the Gunks by locals rise behind town as a long white cliff that is famous across the world for rock climbing. In autumn the foliage turns to a blaze of orange red and gold that draws visitors from across the state. In summer the air smells of cut grass earth and pine and people greet each other on the street. It is the kind of town where you can breathe deeply and feel at ease.


Our own trip to Tillson Lake near New Paltz will always remain like a warm blanket in memory quiet simple and full of family. My son wanted us to get away from the noise of the city for a weekend and spend proper time together. Life in Jersey City is busy and full but it is noisy and time as a complete family is rare. He booked a cosy Airbnb only a few minutes drive from Tillson Lake. The house had everything we needed a well equipped kitchen a comfortable living room three bedrooms with soft beds and a backyard where children could run barefoot without fear. The best part was that it felt like a home not a hotel. We could cook together eat together talk late into the evening and not worry about time. The host had left a clear note and a jar of fresh coffee and that small kindness made us feel welcome at once.


We reached New Paltz on a Friday afternoon. The drive from Jersey City takes about two hours and it is a journey that lifts the spirit. As we left the highway behind buildings thinned traffic eased and trees thickened. By the time we entered town we had moved into a different world.


Our two granddaughters aged eight and four were the heart of the weekend. They brought energy that made everything brighter. Their laughter filled the house their questions never ended and they kept everyone smiling from morning till night.


Saturday morning was for Tillson Lake about fifteen minutes from our cottage. The road is lined with tall trees that meet overhead and every turn opens to a glimpse of hills or a small stream. The lake was calm that day like glass surrounded by forest and hills with a few kayaks moving slowly and a couple of anglers casting from the bank. We went in for a swim. The water was brisk at first enough to make you gasp but once the girls went in there was no stopping them. The eight year old was brave kicking strongly and trying to swim further each time full of pride when we cheered. The four year old stayed close holding our hands splashing and laughing. We stayed in for nearly an hour till our lips turned blue then wrapped ourselves in large towels and sat on the bank to eat.


For lunch we did not return to the cottage. We ate at a good Mexican restaurant in New Paltz town chosen by my son and his wife. The place was lively with warm lights cheerful music and walls painted in bright colours. The girls loved soft tortillas and mild quesadillas made just for them. We ordered fajitas tacos guacamole and fresh lime soda and it felt lovely to be waited on after a morning outdoors.


After lunch we joined the July Fourth celebrations in town. In New Paltz Independence Day is always held outdoors with great affection. There is music on a temporary stage a small parade with school bands and veterans the singing of the national anthem with hands on hearts rows of food stalls and in the evening the grand fireworks that everyone awaits. Families spread blankets on the grass children wave small flags and the whole town gathers as one. The afternoon started bright and lively. Singers were performing on stage the band was playing participants in colourful costumes were marching and viewers were clapping and cheering.


Then without warning the sky darkened. A tornado warning was issued on phones and a ferocious rainstorm swept through the town. I have seen heavy rain before but I have never seen a storm that swept everything away in minutes as that one did. The rainstorm swept everything. It swept stalls singers participants and viewers. The wind came like a wall. It uprooted stalls sent tents flying like paper knocked over tables scattered plates cups flags and food across the field and turned the neat celebration into chaos. Food stalls collapsed their awnings torn. Singers on stage clutched microphones as speakers swayed and lights swung wildly. Participants in the parade held onto each other as costumes blew about. Viewers ran with children in arms pushing prams carrying cool boxes trying to save what they could. Within moments everyone was drenched. The ground became mud the stage floor became a pool instruments sat in puddles and the sound system crackled and went silent. Water was everywhere pouring from the sky running down the street collecting in sheets over the park and flooding paths.


We rushed with the crowd to a makeshift shelter under a large community tent that was itself shaking in the wind. Even there water found us dripping through canvas and flowing under feet. Our two granddaughters cried in panic and shivered completely soaked to the bone their little dresses clinging to them. We held them close wrapped them as best we could in our own wet shirts and tried to keep them calm. Around us strangers shared umbrellas offered towels and helped elderly people to benches. It was frightening yet moving to see how quickly people looked after one another. As soon as the wind eased we made our way to the car park stepping over fallen branches dodging small trees that had come down and wading through paths turned to streams. The car park was full of puddles and abandoned buggies. We bundled the girls into the car turned the heater on full and drove slowly back to our Airbnb past stalls lying sideways and lights swinging. The fireworks were surely postponed. It was not the Independence Day we had planned but it was one we will never forget.


Sunday was slower and gentle as if nature wished to apologise. We made a big breakfast with eggs toast and berries from a farm stand and sat long over coffee. Then we packed and drove back to Jersey City as a soccer match in the New Jersey stadium was a big temptation for my son. The car was full of wet towels that smelled of lake water snack wrappers and happy chatter about favourite Mexican dishes. No one looked at phones.


What made the trip special was not just Tillson Lake itself though it was stunning. It was being together with no rush.


(Avtar Mota)


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Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.

FOR ALOK AGARWAL : MY UNKNOWN AND UNSEEN INDIAN FRIEND

                                    
                                     
                                         





For Alok Agarwal  : The First Name on the Stone, Hudson River Front

A face never seen, but a name known by heart :  Alok Agarwal.

I go for a walk every morning on the Hudson River front. The city is still waking up, the water is quiet, and there at the top of the black stone is that name, facing the new One World Trade Centre across the river , where the Towers once stood, where he once worked.

I must stop there. Every single morning, I must stop.

Thirty-six. Senior programmer at Cantor Fitzgerald. A brilliant career ahead, a promotion waiting. He had come from Delhi in 1997 carrying dreams, not knowing that four years later an ordinary Tuesday would take it all.

A cruel and barbaric act that  took 2977 innocent lives. All of them had harmed no one. Alok simply went to work, like people still do every morning : coffee in one hand, mobile in the other, laptop in the rucksack. He left his Jersey City apartment and never came back.

The Hudson keeps flowing. The river does not know, does not remember. The ferries still cross, the coffee is still hot, the phones still ring. On the promenade, joggers and runners weave skillfully through the crowd. The world does not pause. It cannot pause. It goes on, weaving around memory, as if nothing happened. And yet, everything happened.

In that crowd, one feels as if, he is still there , rushing for the 8:30 ferry, lost in thought, perhaps a little homesick.

When his wife left for India that August, he said, "When you go, I feel lonely in the house." A loneliness of weeks for him became a loneliness of twenty-five years for her. A little son waited in Delhi. November was Diwali , it was to be their family reunion. Alas, November never came.

Now his name is first on the stone. First to be touched by the morning sun. First to be read by anyone who passes. The city, without knowing, kept him closest.

I thank the citizens of Jersey City who raised this memorial so that memory never dies. Because of them, he is not a number. Against a river that forgets and a sky that does not answer, this stone insists , a small, stubborn human revolt that says: he was here, he mattered.

It is not only me, but every passing person who pauses here, moved, eyes moist, tracing names on cold granite. Some leave flowers, some whisper prayers. The salvaged steel feels warm with grief. Strangers become kin, united in quiet reverence before the river that carried survivors homeward that September day.And the mind aches for all the innocents who kissed their families goodbye that morning and never returned home after that day.

Be happy wherever you are, Alok. The world moves on because it must. But love refuses to move on. Those who knew you and loved you will carry you till their last breath. I am certain about this  May your friends, well-wishers and family always cherish your sweet memories. May you attain Sadgati and Moksha . Rest in peace, my unknown friend.

"Chhup gaye woh saaz-e-hasti chhed kar,
Ab toh bas awaaz hi awaaz hai..."

(He disappeared after striking the chords of existence,
Now there is nothing but the echo of his sound.)

( Avtar Mota)


PS

The Jersey City 9/11 Memorial stands on the Hudson River Waterfront Walkway at the foot of Grand Street in the Paulus Hook neighborhood near Exchange Place in Jersey City, New Jersey, directly opposite the World Trade Center site across the Hudson River. The location itself is historically significant, having served as a triage site during the 9/11 boatlift that brought survivors to safety and later as a staging area for rescue operations. The memorial comprises three distinct components: a powerful sculpture made from six steel girders salvaged from the original World Trade Center joined together to form the letter A symbolizing America, an inscribed black granite stele bearing names, and a Makeshift Memorial that often holds personal tributes. The site is at sea level, wheelchair accessible, open year-round, and offers panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline. It honours thirty-eight individuals from Jersey City who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. Surrounded by urban buildings, ferries, and PATH connections, it provides a solemn, contemplative space for remembrance along a popular walking and cycling route. Dark stone plaque detail and urban backdrop make it a poignant highlight for visitors seeking historical reflection and waterfront serenity. Nearby routes connect it to other landmarks, encouraging quiet strolls at any daylight hour daily.



Creative Commons License
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.