Divine Anarchy

By Rajendar Menen

April 2006

Auroville is packed to the brim with stories. Every person here has an interesting tale to tell. it is a working human experiment, constantly evolving and, miraculously, still moving in the direction it was meant to.

Auroville wants to be a universal town where men and women of all countries are able to live in peace and progressive harmony above all creeds, all politics and all nationalities. The purpose of Auroville is to realize human unity.'

The Charter:
o Auroville belongs to nobody in particular. Auroville belongs to humanity as a whole. But to live in Auroville, one must be the willing servitor of the Divine Consciousness.
o Auroville will be the place of an unending education, of constant progress, and a youth that never ages.
o Auroville wants to be the bridge between the past and the future. Taking advantage of all discoveries from without and from within, Auroville will boldly spring towards future realizations.
o Auroville will be a site of material and spiritual researches for a living embodiment of an actual Human Unity.

I was in my late teens when I read this. I read it over and over again. It was quite different from acne and girlfriends and hockey matches. I was doing my post-graduation at Madras University. The large Gothic library where I did most of my reading faced the Bay of Bengal. It lay calm, unruffled, a lazy blue then; a long way from the turmoil it would unleash from its breast in the form of a tsunami several decades later. Old ceiling fans tried to wipe away the humidity dripping from my face and clenched my shirtsleeves in a stranglehold. The sun swarmed all over, seeping into every crevice of this large, ancient building built by the British, leaving it threadbare of secrets.

I continued reading.
Then came the Mother's words: 'Let your highest aspiration organize your life.'

The call had come. I had to go.
That evening I took the four-hour bus journey to Pondicherry, a slim bag clutching my shoulders. Buses left every half hour from the terminus next to the Madras central station. The picturesque East Coast Road, which makes the commute quicker and far more exciting these days, wasn't ready then, but the ride, packed with an assortment of seekers, had its own distractions.

I booked into an ashram guesthouse without trouble and spent the next few weeks exploring Pondicherry and Auroville, 14 kms into the heart of wilderness.

It was tough, the sun glared angrily and long cycle rides over burnt road were both strenuous and dangerous. Large buses and lorries hurtled past, as dust got into the eyes, and primordial India swept past on bullock carts and colorful saris with pots of water on black, heavily oiled heads.

Long kilometers away, Auroville had taken birth. Red dry earth,
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