This question can equally be asked of all the great ones such as Lord Rama, Krishna, Buddha and Sri Aurobindo. But as you rightly say it becomes even more striking when it comes to the Divine Mother’s life. It can be answered along two lines, one human, the other Divine.
The human answer is that Her son (through Henri Morriset) never really lived with the parents. He was brought up by his paternal aunt and grandparents from the father’s side as was not an uncommon practice in many parts of the world, including India at that point of time before the idea of nuclear family became strong, which is relatively more recently. After the parents got separated he continued to stay with grandparents while the Mother stayed in a house quite nearby. The son always felt that the Mother was near him whenever he needed and She would always cure him by inner means whenever he fell ill. By the time the Mother came permanently to Pondicherry in 1920, little Andre was 22 years old, an honoured officer in the French army, quite settled and happy with his life and his would be wife whom he had met at age 11 itself. So this is the human side of the story which is obviously self explanatory and does not seem something dramatic and drastic but natural given the antecedents and the context.
However spiritually, we can understand it through a simple analogy. If a mother has one or two children her attention and time is obviously given to the one or two children. If she has a few or lets say many children as we see Gurumatas in ancient gurukula, the attention is less on one’s own child and more on children who are either in need of special assistance. But when She is identified with the World Mother as we read from Her experiences of September 1914 (noted in Her spiritual diary now known as Prayers and Meditations), then it is no more just one child or few children since all souls are Her children and among these, those who aspire come directly under Her care.
The story does not end with her coming away to Pondicherry. The two stories, human and divine joined in course of Time, transformed inwardly and became one. It is not that She ever abandoned Her child, rather kept a watch upon his being too even though from afar. Then after the soul of her physical son was sufficiently developed he too came along with his wife and joined the Ashram life, lived physically near Her, helping Her in the Work She had undertaken. His children and grandchildren continue to live here pursuing a sadhak’s life like any other without special privileges, though their beautiful nature commands spontaneous respect from many. It is indeed one of those rare stories demonstrating by example how everything, including all human relationships can be taken up, uplifted and transformed by the Yoga. Of course provided the soul of the individual is willing. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo kept track of everyone who came into their life for however brief a period and in whatever way. Even after the death of their respective spouses, they oversaw them even in their next life. But that is a long story to tell. The crux of this latter part is that a Yogi does not need to be physically close to take care, help, protect. He watches over the destiny of those who have been linked to his or her life beyond the limits of a single life. When the Mother was asked,
How is that we have met?
She replied,
‘We have all met in previous lives. Otherwise we would not have come together in this life. We are of one family and have worked through ages for the victory of the Divine and its manifestation upon earth.’
That is why to understand the ways of a divine being one has to have the dimensions of the whole of earthly life and expand oneself into the cosmic consciousness. We can have a brief glimpse of it in Sri Aurobindo poem, The Cosmic Spirit.
‘The Cosmic Spirit
I am a single Self all Nature fills.
    Immeasurable, unmoved the Witness sits:
He is the silence brooding on her hills,
    The circling motion of her cosmic mights.
I have broken the limits of embodied mind
    And am no more the figure of a soul.
The burning galaxies are in me outlined;
    The universe is my stupendous whole.
My life is the life of village and continent,
    I am earth’s agony and her throbs of bliss;
I share all creatures’ sorrow and content
    And feel the passage of every stab and kiss.
Impassive, I bear each act and thought and mood:
Time traverses my hushed infinitude.’
Affectionately,
Alok Da
