My wrestling experiences11

This first story took place at the end of 1944. Most of my disciples were not yet born!

At the Ashram we had many sports: volleyball, football — you call it soccer — athletics, and a kind of stick dance which Gujaratis call a garba dance. Everything was compulsory! On Saturdays we had wrestling and boxing, the two things that I disliked most. Boxing, I thought, was not in the human world. About wrestling I thought the same.

I was ready to watch, but not to practise. At the end of 1944, in 1945, 1946 and even 1947, boys were compelled to participate in wrestling and boxing on alternate Saturdays: one Saturday there would be boxing, and the next Saturday there would be wrestling.

On these Saturdays, nobody could defeat me in fabricating excuses. On a Saturday at five o’clock in the morning, immediate inspiration from Heaven used to descend: I had a serious stomachache, a headache or a fever. There was no ailment left for me to claim. But the teacher was very, very strict. His name was Biren Chandra. He has since passed away. On Saturdays we always had to practise. He never believed me; nobody believed me. But two times I did have to do wrestling.

One of my very dear friends was named Nikhil. He was of my age. A few years ago when I used to visit my sister in the hospital, his mother was also there. His mother was at least twenty or twenty-five years older than me — perhaps even more. His mother used to grab my hands and put them on her head for blessings, in front of her son! My qualification was that I had disciples. Since I had disciples, that meant for her that I was a spiritual Master.

There was a time limit for the wrestling match. After three minutes it was over. But for Nikhil and me, three seconds was longer than the longest; three minutes was endless. The first time we wrestled together, God knows what we did; we did not fall down. The second time, both of us decided that as soon as we started we would fall down. In two seconds, perhaps, both of us fell down. That was absolutely a mock fight. Then Biren Chandra scolded us. He said, “I shall never again allow you to fight!” What a blessing, what a blessing! He knew that we had done it intentionally.

On boxing days, sometimes I used to go two or three miles away. I was meditating and singing and doing all kinds of things. Biren Chandra forgave me, because he knew that it was too much for me.

Wrestling I did two times. But this is my greatest wrestling story.

I was, I think, seventeen years old. A boy named Krishna came to the Ashram from Bihar. He was by far the Ashram’s best wrestler. His physique was very powerful, and he was very, very strong. He could throw me into the air. Again, he was simplicity incarnate. In my case also, simplicity was not a difficult task. In simplicity I could get very high marks, but sometimes my mischievous nature came to the fore!

One evening I wanted to go and meditate in a park in front of the Governor’s palace. Krishna wanted to accompany me. He had respect for me, tremendous love and respect, and I also loved him so much. We sat in the park on a bench, side by side. I meditated and he meditated. Then we entered into conversation. He said to me, “Chinmoy-da, all sadhus are fake! They pretend to have occult powers. I tell you, they are fakes! All these religious people do not have occult power. There is not even one sadhu who has occult power.”

I said to him, “Do not say that, please. Yes, there may be some liars, but there are many who have occult powers.”

He said, “No, no! Nobody has occult power! Nobody — they are all liars, liars, liars!”

Then I said to him, “Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, come to the international library.” I used to work in the Ashram library. I was the assistant of the librarian who was in charge of the Bengali sections. There were three small rooms with thousands and thousands of Bengali books and thousands of magazines, and I used to work with them, specially the Bengali magazines.

The next day he came punctually at the appointed time. I told him to stand against the wall, and he listened to me. I faced him. Deliberately I wanted him to stand against the wall, because I knew what was going to happen. I looked at him. I do not think it took more than five seconds. Then what happened? He fell down, right on top of me, and made me fall. Both of us fell down. Then he fainted — whether he really fainted, God knows. For about two or three minutes he was lying on the ground. I stood up and he was still lying there. Then he said to me, “Rascal!” and he ran away.

Where did he go? He went to the Director of Physical Education, about three blocks away, or even farther. He ran and ran. There were a few people gathered together. Before, Krishna always used to call me Chinmoy-da, but on that day it became Chinmoy. He said to the Director, Pranab-da, “Chinmoy wanted to kill me, kill me!”

Now, Pranab and the friends who were around him all laughed at Krishna. They said, “How could Chinmoy kill you? You are much stronger than he is!”

“No, no, he wanted to kill me!”

They said, “How? Did he have a gun?”


“Did he have a sword?”


“Did he have a knife?”

“No, nothing, nothing.”

“Then how could he kill you? Physically you are much stronger than he is. How could Chinmoy ever be able to kill you?”

He said, “No, no, no — with his eyes! His eyes, his eyes!” Everybody laughed and laughed at him. What could eyes do? They did not know that I had the capacity to open up my third eye. Who was going to believe that in the Ashram?

Alas, he became a laughingstock, and in my case, I lost my dearest friend. Since that day he would never come near me. If he saw me on one end of the street, he would just run away.

I used to call him fondly “Krishna Bhagaban.” And how affectionately he used to call me Chinmoy-da! This is what happens: show occult power and lose friendship.

This was my wrestling career. Twice I wrestled, and boxing I never did — never! But now I have watched some great sumo wrestlers. The world champion came to see us.

This is the story. In the future, whenever I invite you to narrate this story, you have to tell it right from the beginning. It is not a difficult task — not at all! — if you pay attention to what I say. If you are going to tell the stories that I have told over the years many, many, many times, please try to tell them right from the beginning. If you tell a story right from the beginning, then it gives me tremendous joy. Otherwise I miss the sweetness of the story, or some juicy parts right from the beginning.

10. 24 July 2005, Boat trip from World's Fair Marina in Queens to Long Island Sound.

From:Sri Chinmoy,My golden children, Agni Press, 2013
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