Great Artists

In Viet Nam, I was with the head of the Friendship Organisation. A great artist sat down on the floor beside me. How seriously he was drawing my face, and then some disciples’ faces he drew. After half an hour or forty minutes, very happily and very proudly he gave his drawing to me. Alas, alas! I have many disciples who can do far, far better. His drawing looked nothing like me, although I was sitting right beside him. Again, there was once a monk who drew my picture so well, without being in my presence.

Tagore’s nephew was a supreme artist – great, greater, greatest. He wrote a few story books also. His name was Abanindranath Tagore. Now we take thousands of pictures, but in those days people did not pay any attention to having pictures taken. His mother was an old-fashioned lady. She did not care for photographs. She did not allow her picture to be taken. Her son became Bengal’s, if not India’s, greatest artist. When his mother passed away, he was not yet famous. He was so miserable that he had not drawn his mother’s picture while she was alive.

This artist invoked his mother in his prayers at night: “Mother, do come and appear, come and appear!” By then he had become such a great artist. His mother did appear. He saw his mother exactly as she had looked when she was alive. She stood in front of him, full of affection and love, and he drew his mother’s picture. His friends and everybody else saw that the picture looked exactly like his mother. He prayed to his mother to come, and his mother listened to his prayer. She came to him in his dream. This story is absolutely true.

My mother comes to me every day, but I will not be able to draw her – never! I will not be able to draw anybody’s face. So many of my disciples can draw my picture so nicely. They are infinitely, infinitely better than the artist in Viet Nam.

4 February 2002 Sabah, Malaysia