How could my husband die?

One day, near the end of office work, the accountant started to have a little pain. Later, he and another friend from the Consulate were waiting for the bus to go home. By then he was in such pain. So the friend took him to the hospital. Then the friend informed the accountant’s wife. This happened around 6:30 in the evening. In eight or ten hours’ time, he died. He had had a severe stroke.

The following morning, when we came to work, we heard the news. I was so shocked. The accountant was a Bengali and I had been to his place to eat. He used to live on Fifth Avenue, near Dulal’s place. He had two beautiful sons. And the day that he had the stroke, at two o’clock in the afternoon, I had taken the accounts book from our section to him.

I was at his cremation. Everybody from the Consulate came, even the Consul General. They were all consoling his wife. Everybody was crying and his wife was insane with grief. The Consul General was a man of tremendous dignity but he, too, was heartbroken.

I came back home with his wife in the bus. She was crying so bitterly. She said, “Do you think I have to believe in God now? You are a spiritual man. You talk about God. Tell me, how could my husband die?”

I was shedding tears. All her anger and frustration she was pouring into me. She was so mad at God.

The following day, the Consulate workers collected money to help her go back to India. I used to get $230 per month. But that month I kept only $30 for myself. I was very generous in those days!

From:Sri Chinmoy,My Consulate years, Agni Press, 1996
Sourced from https://srichinmoylibrary.com/mcy