Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  Told him during the conversation that I was looking forward very much to the Bandhara this winter. I felt it will be important to me, in what way I couldn’t say, but it will be important. He nodded. About twelve, I went home. We are without electricity in our bungalow; the thunderstorms disrupted the electricity supply. Very difficult without a fan.

  20th August

  WHEN I WENT TO HIM THIS MORNING, the irritation was still with me, more than ever. Like a storm, it was blowing inside my soul; my very insides seemed to turn.

  We are still without electricity; it is the third day. Some relatives of his arrived from somewhere in the province; the house was full of bustle and noise, the comings and goings; he looked so weak… and I heard him coughing so much….

  In the evening he came out, and they played cards again in the courtyard. Had moments of fleeting happiness—wonderful, light, airy, not of this world, like a golden cloud inside my heart….

  21st August

  YES… THE LONGING… the Great… the Endless…. Let us remember how it was exactly: I was just waking up at the usual hour about six, or perhaps it was earlier. And there it was, between the waking and sleeping state—the Longing…. So great, so endless, and oh, so sharply painful, and so deep…. Longing for what? was the first thought, as soon as the waking consciousness took completely over. I really did not know. I never do. Since I am here with Bhai Sahib, it is just Longing. From the very beginning it was in me—sometimes appearing, suddenly taking me unaware… sometimes like a deep sigh from the bottom of my heart, it seemed to relieve tension… or I had to cry out loudly… it was so sharp, so cruel. From the very beginning I never knew for what I was longing.

  Confused, tortured, the mind not working, I did not, could not analyze it. It was just “longing” from the very depth of the heart, the poignant feeling of some vanished bliss….

  At first, at the very beginning, it seemed just a longing for its own sake, for nothing in particular. At times it was more, at times it was less, but it always remained in the background, throbbing softly. I was never without it, and it could grow so terrible at times that I would lose the will to live ….

  There must be a reason for it; didn’t he say that there is a reason for everything?

  I looked deeper into myself… deeper and deeper still… and it took me quite some time this morning to discover that it was in reality the same yearning I had all my life, since childhood. Only now, it was augmented, increased to the utmost degree… and it must be very deep, in the deepest recesses of consciousness, and it was always with me. Even when I was quite small, every time I saw golden clouds at sunset, or the sky so blue, or heard lovely music, or saw dancing sparks of sunlight on the trembling surface of the water—each time it came, an endless sadness… something was crying to me….

  The blaze of gold before dusk, or the pinks painted on the mother of pearl sky at sunrise—I had this strange, powerful feeling, a non-ending wave of yearning which was tearing my soul apart… the overwhelming desire to fly up there, to disappear, to melt, to vanish, to dissolve in the windows of deep blue between the clouds, or in the blaze of golds and crimsons… to be spent in the last supreme firework of joy….

  Often I wondered what this yearning could be… never understood it… not really. Was it my Slav heredity, the innate sadness of Russian temperament? Or just a fantastic idea? This morning I knew: it was the cry of the imprisoned Soul for the One, the Lover crying for the Beloved, the prisoner yearning for freedom… for the Longing this morning was not different; it was the same I always knew, only stronger, more positive, more definite. For a few seconds it seemed to be breaking my body apart, so strong it was, causing even bodily pain. Then it ebbed away, leaving the understanding of its very nature behind. So simple: all the time it was never anything else but THE CRY FOR THE REAL HOME!

  We bring it with us into physical life. We bring it from the other planes of being; it forms part of the very texture of our Soul; and it is intended to take us home again where we belong. Without this Longing, which is a gift not from this world, we, deluded as we are, would never find the way home….

  If you love, and you were asked: why do you love? .. . and you are able to answer: I love because of his or her beauty, or position in life, or charm, or good character—in other words, if you can give the reason for your love, then it is NOT love. But if this question is put to you, and as if in a sudden wonder, you must admit that you don’t know, that THE WHY never occurred to you—you just love, that’s all, so simple. Then only, and only then, it is a REAL LOVE.

  He looked weak and slept nearly all the morning. I tried to keep the flies away by closing the shutters and the doors and fanning him while he was turned against the wall. Went home early. In the evening he did not come out. I was glad that he was resting. Dark was the night and fragrant. Frogs made an awful noise somewhere nearby. The wind smelled of moisture. Dimly I remembered that he told me once, alluding to Longing: “You will always have it.” I always had it, Bhai Sahib. Only now… it is… terrible!!

  22nd August

  IT IS HERE AGAIN in the morning. Very bad. Last night for about half an hour before I went to bed, it was like a slow torture… so strong that I had to walk up and down pressing my heart with both hands.

  For I felt physical pain. Had to stop walking, for I became tired all of a sudden and had a cup of tea. Then made my bed in the courtyard as usual. As soon as I was in bed, here it came on again. Terrible.

  Calling, calling …. Though it was extremely painful, I could not help thinking what a beautiful feeling it is—so tender, so powerful, and so strong. Really a pull… it had a richness in it, great poetical quality. Magnificent! The most tender feeling of deepest sorrow, an offering of the whole of one’s being, a negation of everything, except the desire to be with IT… no matter what sacrifice, no matter what suffering!

  But, oh, how painful it is!! It lasted again for about half an hour.

  Then I tried to pray, but could not… and fell asleep at last….

  The vibration is going strong again. Told him about it. A quick glance with half-closed eyes, then went into Samadhi. I knew what will happen: he will raise the Energy from the Muladhara Chakra into the heart. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the heart began to play havoc; the pressure and the sensation of heat at the base of the spine at first diminished, and then after a few minutes went completely. I had to laugh aloud; it seemed so funny, and at the same time it was like a miracle.

  “What is vibration?” he said some time ago. “It is the impact of Power; the resistance to it causes vibration.”

  So it means that if there is no resistance to the power, no vibration would be felt. If one is purer and finer, one would not feel the vibration? But when I asked, he did not answer, but began a long conversation in Hindi with Sida Prasad who was sitting next to me.

  Then he fell asleep. Flies bothered him, so I got up and fanned him with a towel… managed to chase out all the flies. Acharya came and talked much. Guruji looks tired, I thought, and he became thinner lately, and his face is drawn. But the light in him and around him is startling. Then he went to have his bath, but told me not to leave.

  “You sit here,” he said, so I knew that he wanted to speak to me.

  He came back clad in white longhi and made himself comfortable in the big chair.

  Told him about the vibration which disappeared so quickly, and he smiled. “Now is the time,” he began, and suddenly I felt that he is about to tell me something VERY IMPORTANT, and I listened carefully to what he had to say.

  “Now is the time that you should note down all the experiences.”

  “I do; everything I write down, what you tell me, and my own experiences, and all my doubts and comments—everything.”

  “Doubts should be noted down,” he nodded; “otherwise how will the solution be understood? It will serve for the book you will write.

  The experiences you have, and will have in the future, you can find only in the Per
sian language, mostly in the form of poetry, and very little of it has been translated until now.”

  I listened, partly with astonishment, partly greatly interested. The importance of this statement was evident.

  “I abandoned the idea of writing a book long ago, because you had said that those who write books are idiots, and so are those who read them. But nevertheless I kept a diary; I remember you told me once that the diary will help me.” He nodded.

  “Those who write from reading other books and not from proper experiences are idiots, and idiots are those who read them. But you will write from your own proper experiences, living experiences your own. We live in the age of knowledge; some knowledge has to be given out to the world. I want you to do it. You will have to take my message to the world. All the doubts, the trouble the mind gives you, do not really interfere with love. Not really. The mind tries, but the love is not really affected. Had it not been so, I would never have diverted my attention towards you.” And he smiled kindly.

  His wife brought a letter from a French woman which he wanted to be translated. Then he sang a Persian couplet: “The lane of love is not a thoroughfare; once entered, you cannot pass through…

  Now what can I do? I am helpless…. “

  Yes, the chief feature is complete helplessness; one is completely helpless! I remember how I wanted to run away; it was in April, I think, but always I knew that I will never be able to do it. The same couplet he told L. and me in December, if I remember rightly, and I am sure now, was a hint and a warning for me. The Master warns, but the Shishya is made to forget, so he said once. Even then, I knew intuitively what to expect, and still I stayed….

  A man came with a worldly request, some help in a court case, or the like. When he had gone, I asked: “How many people come for the sake of spiritual instruction?”

  “Very few,” he screwed up his eyes looking at me, “very, very few.

  And those who come here are not very keen. If you write the book, do not forget to emphasize how love is created. We are the only Yoga System where love is created in this way. My Rev. Guru Maharaj was always saying: If you can find a better, a quicker way, do go away, by all means… so broad-minded he was. But where will you find a better one? My disciples, if they live as I expect them to live, and they follow me in everything, they realize God IN THIS LIFE. Absolutely.

  And if they are too old, or the progress is too slow, I make them realize on the deathbed. God MUST be realized in one life, in this life—this is the only System which does it. After a few years you will say: to what a wonderful system you have been attracted.”

  “Yes, it is a simple and a clever way to get the human being exactly where one wants.”

  “True; and I am scolding you because I know that love is greater than everything. My Rev. Guru Maharaj kept scolding me, and I just sat there with my head bent. I kept thinking that he is right, and I am a fool to rebel all the time. He never scolded anybody else as much as he did me.”

  31 Dhyana is the First Step

  23rd August, 1962

  WHEN I ARRIVED, his wife was massaging him; he was turned against the wall; I sat down. When the wife went out, he seemed asleep; flies were bothering him; I began to chase them with a towel. He does not want the fan because coughing and perspiring… currents of air are disagreeable in this condition. The fan as a rule keeps the flies away, and there are plenty of them because of the buffaloes at the back of the building.

  Sida Prasad came and Happy Babu. He talked to them for a while.

  “When this book is going to be written, and it will be written, there is no question about it because I see that it is your wish; it will be for your glory.”

  “The books are mostly written when the person in question is deceased…. ” He spoke slowly with closed eyes.

  “But can I write it before I have achieved at least something? I will have to wait though. And it is not going to be easy. Many things cannot be expressed. I hope it will prove of interest. It probably will be long. You had said to me that I am the first woman to get the Training according to the Ancient Tradition.”

  “I told you already that the experiences are not recorded anywhere except in Persian writings. I did the easiest thing: I am giving you experiences, and you do with it what you like.”

  It will be dedicated to you, my Rev. Teacher, I thought with gratitude….

  He looked very tired today. Tired and old. So ethereal, so thin.

  “I ask you to pray for me; you will not refuse now?”

  “For what purpose?” he asked slowly. Told him about the forces sweeping through my body—I only hope this old horse of a body will be able to stand it. He kept nodding slowly. My fingers kept twitching, and I had twitchings in my inside too. He talked to others for a while; I went home.

  When arrived home, I noticed that all vibrations were gone. All was quiet in the body.

  “It is not given to children or to sons; it is not automatically inherited like worldly possessions; it is given to whomsoever can take it: it is a Gift,” he said a few days ago.

  “There is a prophecy that I will be the last man of my Line.”

  Later he was saying to Tasseldar: “She does not know Persian, so what I did, I ordered her to write all the experiences down; she will have a full account of our System, not from the books, but from her own experiences.”

  “A few questions you may ask sometimes to complete and enlarge the knowledge,” he said, turning to me.

  What’s the use, I thought, if every time I ask, either you don’t answer, or tell me off, because I asked a “vague” or an “irrelevant” question.

  Even in his tiredness he looks like a God.

  “When at the end of June you told me that only the physical surrender has been achieved, I wondered how long it will take to complete the great, the real surrender.”

  “At the rate it is going, it will not take you long… not long at all…. Many surrenders have to be achieved; one surrenders gradually, then a relapse is possible, and one has to begin all over again. Look where the mind is! Nowhere!”

  “It still gives me trouble,” I said. He shrugged distractedly, but clearly he did not listen to what I had said. A strange, gentle smile was on his lips; he seems to listen to something within, to something secret and wonderful, when this strange, tender smile plays on his lips.

  This morning when I arrived, the young man was already there listening intently, for again, as he did last evening, he was exceptionally kind, explaining so many things that it made me think: here is Peter the Fisherman fishing a Soul….

  Then he sent Satendra out of the room and ordered the door to be closed. The young man arranged his legs in Siddhasana (one of the yogic postures), and it was clear that he was giving a “sitting,” as they call it here. I got very interested and watched carefully. Bhai Sahib seated himself in Guru Asana (a traditional teaching posture), his hands clasping his toes. I wondered if it was done to close the circuit of the auric forces. The young man sat still, his eyes closed. The guru did the same; his countenance expressed infinite love; his lips had a tender smile. He looked so wonderfully young and full of love. I did not notice the precise moment when the young man went into Dhyana. As I happened to glance at him, he was unconscious. The guru sat motionless for about fifteen minutes, the same tender smile on his lips. Then he opened his eyes and looked at the young man. I saw clearly that he did not look at the physical body. I knew this expression by now, when he is observing something non-physical.

  The young man did not stir; his eyes were closed; he did not even seem to breathe. The Guru closed his eyes again for a while. Then he opened them again, looked at the young man in the same way as before, and relaxed. He crossed his arms and looked outside the door through the chik. A fly was crawling on the young man’s cheek; he did not feel it; only when it came too near his mouth, he twitched his lips, but did not wake up. For another ten minutes or so, the Guru sat thinking, looking sometimes through the door or the window. Once
he glanced at me, a passing, indifferent glance.

  Then: “BASS BETA” (enough, my child), he said softly in Hindi, and the young man came to his senses immediately. The Guru began to talk to him in such a kind way that I could see that the young man’s heart was melting. After a while he sent him away, because the servant came to tell him that the tea was ready. He went out, and I remained alone for a while. I began to cry silently. Felt so hurt, so lonely. No interruptions at all. And when I have to say something, how many interruptions there would be…. And my questions are dismissed as “vague” or “irrelevant,” and as for a sitting, I never had one. Stopped crying after a while; what could I do?… When he came in, his face was stern, hard, without expression, as though carved of stone. He sat down in the big chair.

  “How are you feeling today?” I asked.

  “Better than yesterday,” he answered in a harsh way.

  “May I ask a few questions?”

  “Yes,” he said briefly, his face was stony.

  “Was this a ‘sitting’?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “You met him for the first time yesterday; Gandhiji brought him to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You put him in Dhyana; I saw that his face was twitching, so I knew that something was done, and he listened so attentively to what you had to say. You sat in cross-legged position, and with the fingers of both hands you were clasping your toes. From the books I have read in the past, I learned that this is done to close the circuit of the auric forces—is it so?”

  “Why should I tell you what I was doing?” he replied. “If I would, you will misunderstand and misinterpret it. It is beyond your understanding just now. What I do with others is not your concern.”

  “I thought it would make an interesting entry in my diary,” I said.