So the boy went to his Teacher and said: “Guru Maharaj, I am serving you faithfully for over nine years, but you did not teach me anything. Now it is time to go back home. Will you teach me at least something now, so that I may be a good King to my people?”
“Yes,” said the Master, “but you must not take any food at all.
Take your begging bowl and go and beg some food for the Ashram.
But everything you get, bring back to me—you must not eat it yourself.” The boy went and did as he was told, but after a fortnight the Teacher called him and said to him:
“What are you doing? You are not very much thinner? You are eating my food—you are stealing from the Ashram!”
“Master,” said the boy, “I did as you had told me. But when the housewife had given me for the Ashram, I asked for one more chappathi, and this I ate.”
“What?” said the Master, “you are taxing the housewife! This is wrong! You have no right to do that! You disobeyed me! As a punishment, go and look after my cows: but mind you, every drop of milk you have to bring to the Ashram is for my own use!”
And the boy went to the pastures and looked after the cows. But hunger is a thing very difficult to bear, and he got very weak. So, after milking the cows, the little milk which remained in the udder, he took that. Again after a while the Master asked him what he was doing and, when told, said again that it was very wrong. He disobeyed him once more. “You are taxing the cow; this milk is intended for the calf!” So the Shishya stopped this practice too. But soon he could not bear the pangs of hunger. Some milky foam remained around the muzzle of the calf after it had drunk, so he took that. But the Master asked him once more, and when told he said: “The cow knows what you are doing, and she gives more milk because of that—you are taxing her even more! You dared to do the wrong thing; as a punishment go into the forest… I don’t want to see you anymore!
And he gave an order to the Shishyas to drive him out into the forest. It was the dry season, and there was hardly any vegetation left.
Only one kind of plant grew which, when broken, gives out a sort of milky juice which is poisonous. One gets blind from it. In his distress he began to eat it and became completely blind. Wandering about, he fell into a half-dry well. There was a bit of water but not enough to drown him. So he sat in the water up to his belly, crying and praying to God to let him die and to deliver him from his suffering. The Master got worried in the meantime and sent out people to search for him. They found him inside the well, half dead, pulled him out and brought him before the Master. And only then, the Master gave him the final initiation and all the teaching which went with it. His blindness was cured.
It was a lovely story… told to me at the right time. And thinking it over, I feel my lot is not quite as bad as the poor blind Shishya.
But one does not know what is in store for me, of course. I am being trained according to the Ancient Tradition. One never knows what flowers will fall to my lot .. . or thorns? Rather!!
34 Serious Illness
WHEN I ARRIVED AT HIS PLACE, he sat in the big chair looking completely pale and rather yellow. A Sannyasi was sitting in front of him talking and talking, and the Guru was delivering what seemed to be a religious lecture in Hindi… his eyes popping out with effort, so difficult was speaking for him; breathlessly, he went on. I nearly cried with frustration.
When I could not keep it any longer, in a pause, when he stopped for a moment, I reminded him that the doctor ordered him not to talk: it is bad for him to make any kind of effort. But he did not like my interference; I could see it and the wife definitely resented it.
But the Sannyasi left shortly afterwards, thank heaven, and he went to bed. I sat alone outside full of most terrible worry. Later, at home, I posted a letter to L. in which I told her that I have the greatest apprehension for his health. To massage the feet of the patient, as his family does in turn all round the clock, does not seem to be quite enough. Does the homeopathic doctor do his duty? I was told that amoebic dysentery cannot be cured homeopathically. Nobody takes the doctor’s order seriously that he must be quiet and left in peace; everybody speaks to him and expects him to react; he is constantly consulted about family affairs. I know L. will be very worried, but I cannot help it; it is better that she should be put in the picture. In the evening he had high fever, and I sat there in sheer despair…. Went home and cried and cried… could not even pray.
14th September, 1962
HE SEEMED WORSE THAN EVER THIS MORNING. Half unconscious, his eyes wide open with effort, he talked incessantly, murmuring feverishly, his hands like restless birds wandering about on the blanket. Toxic phenomena, I thought. Told Babu that perhaps hospital treatment would be advisable, but got the resentful answer.
Only much later I knew why: Indian hospitals are not like oursthey are horrible places. “Most certainly not,” he said, “at home he gets the best treatment,” etc. And when I mentioned that one should tell his wife—maybe she does not know about the doctor’s orders that he should not speak—there Babu was positively rude, and sharply said that his mother must speak to his father. And I am sure he reported this conversation to her, because she came out into the garden, saw me sitting there and stood glaring at me.
Cried at home. Guru Maharaj… such is despair in my heart…
it is eating me alive…. In the evening when I came, I became deeply alarmed. He seemed to be more there than here. Two of his sons were massaging him. “Who are you?” He was asking Satendra.
“I don’t know you.” “I am your son,” he laughed, massaging vigorously. The boy was streaming with perspiration; it was very hot, but he did not want the fan owing to the fever; he felt too much the air current.
“I don’t know the name of my mother, of my father,” he continued. “I don’t know who they were. My father, my uncle, my grandfather, my brother, all died from liver trouble. I will die of it.
Why not now? My time is up. I am going.” And so he went on for a while.
When later Satendra told me what he was saying, because he was speaking in Hindi, I became terribly worried. I feared that he will go into deep Samadhi and not come back… and that will be all. So I asked if the doctor was coming tonight. Satendra knew nothing.
Went out into the garden; Babu was talking to his mother. He said that the doctor told him that one should not wait for him; it was not sure. So, I suggested that I and Satendra go by rikshaw and fetch him.
“If you like,” said Babu doubtfully, and the wife said nothing. So, we went. I was crying. Oh, God, I thought, if you go, I go with you!
The doctor lived very far beyond the slaughterhouse, in a little street behind a big temple. Crowded with children, the street was narrow—cows, goats, chickens, noise, dust, temple bells. The doctor was sitting on a sofa, half-naked in his consulting room which was opened into the street; he was conversing with a man. I told him how worried we were and that I saw several times Bhai Sahib twitching his face, a toxic phenomena, presumably, which is a bad sign. He came with us. My heart was in complete despair. It was dark when we arrived, and the doctor went inside. I waited, seated outside in the garden. Babu called me in. The doctor said that he was really better; the fever was not too high, and the homeopathic medicines take time to act. He was talking too much, and so it was obvious that the fever would go up in the evening. We sat there; the poor Guru was talking to him; the doctor was restraining him, trying to impress upon him the necessity to rest. His face was strange with the effort of coughing, the eyes dilated; he did not seem to understand half of what was going on. The pain was severe, for the last few days without stoppage.
Later, when I was seated in the garden, it was distressing to hear him vomit every few minutes. A painful, loud vomit, clearly causing much suffering… and the cough tormenting him all the time.
Went home, not at all reassured, and could not fall asleep. How desperately I cried. For hours. If you go, what will become of me?
You MUST take me with
you! I have nothing left! How can I live an empty life as I did before? Without you? My work in the Library in London… the dreariness of existence… and the years will go by… and I will forget this love maybe, and become immersed into the world of Maya once more. Will read. Will fill my brain with book knowledge. Just now, I seem to have forgotten everything. I don’t remember any knowledge at all. Hardly remember anything of my life in the West. The world is falling away from me, and now I will be pushed into it once more… lonely, separated, forever. Take me with you! Unite me with you! Take me into the Loka you are going, to the Glory of your life! I don’t want this world anymore! It is dead for me! So I wept, and prayed to him, but to God I could not pray.
Had a kind of rebellion in me, and I didn’t even attempt to pray. In the night kept waking up with the bleakest despair in my heart. No hope… life was worthless… oh, take me with you, if you should go!!
If You let him survive, I prayed, if You let him live, I swear by the salvation of my soul that I will be a dead body in his hands! Will do my best to accept everything! It is the only thing which is left for me: my desire for Truth… only he can give it to me, help me to it: my life is worthless without him. He is my anchor of salvation… the only thing to live for. I have nowhere to go; only he can take me to the Truth….
15th September
IN THE MORNING WHEN I CAME and asked Satendra how his father was, he answered: “Father is well!”
He was lying in the veranda of the courtyard, quite motionless, on his back. His wife was fanning him. He was unrecognizable, so thin, hollow under his cheekbones. I just sat down outside and wept. I knew that nobody was about; nobody saw me. A great hubbub was going on in the next room to his; a telegram was being composed to Ragunath Prasad, his best disciple, who was living not far away, in the next town, to his son-in-law, and to his eldest son in Allahabad.
His wife was called into the room for consultation. I picked up the fan she had put down and began to fan him gently. How he managed to look so beautiful even when half dead, I could not understand.
Thin, tired, ethereal, the face of a transparent pale yellow. He opened his eyes and saw me.
“You said, yesterday, that you are going and your time is up. If you mean it, if you are serious about it, take me with you!” He closed his eyes for a second. “Please,” I pleaded urgently, weeping, “take me with you! I mean every word of it! You cannot leave me behind!”
He nodded imperceptibly, gave me a quick glance and turned his head away as if in pain. His wife came, talking rapidly about the telegram and the text, and took the fan out of my hands. Crying bitterly, I sat down; he could not see me, so I didn’t try to conceal it.
Later in the room, he was sitting in the big chair; I came in and sat there in silence. From time to time I looked at him; his eyes were closed. So thin. So beautiful. So dear to me….
Told Pushpa, when I went there for lunch, how bad he seemed to me. Came early and sat in his garden under a tree. It was too hot.
Went home, had a bath, came back. Sat in the darkening garden.
People arrived, T asseldar, lots of talk was going on…. Bleak was the world. He is going…. I will go with him. How can I live?
Nothing remained… only the hope to reach the Truth… and without him it won’t be possible….
16th September
LAST NIGHT RAMJI, the son of Ragunath Prasad, arrived, and this morning Durghesh and her husband, and in the afternoon his eldest son, who works in a bank in Allahabad. The relief I felt cannot be described. The fever was 103.5° in the afternoon. Every time someone of the family arrived, he cried and got very emotional. He very easily has tears in his eyes; his father was the same and, I was told, even more so. The doctor said he must not talk at all; otherwise he will have high fever. But how can it be avoided with the houseful of people milling about? He seems to be in the same condition… only somewhat clearer in his mind. He does not speak to me which is good. God give him health… it’s all I want.
17th September
DAYS OF NIGHTMARE THEY ARE… coming and going, from and to his place, like a restless soul. Such is the longing that the body seems to break under it….
This morning when I arrived, he was in the big chair; one of his disciples who arrived last night was fanning him. He looked even thinner, yellow; his cheeks were hollow. He just nodded ever so little, in acknowledgement of my greeting, and the disciple told me that he was feeling a bit better. Went into the big room where his family was having breakfast. It was packed with family members…
children yelled, his wife came and went, Durghesh was serving fritters. His eldest son told me that nobody slept all night, but the father slept a little.
And this morning he was definitley better; so he said, and I hope that it is true. So often I heard this tale, but the contrary seemed to be the reality. The son told me that the medicine had been changed yesterday, and he responded to it well. This story I also know well.
The medicine is changed constantly… he seems to respond, then he relapses worse than ever. I can only hope and pray that this time it should be permanent. I just looked at him through the door; he was in Samadhi, and I went away; too many people were sitting and standing around already.
Yesterday waiting for Pushpa I was reading an article in the monthly magazine, and there was a quotation from the Sind poet, Darya Khan: “When I perceive the Beloved in my heart, there is no form; it is only the fullness of love…. “
I remembered that I had it written somewhere—I made a copy of it in Adyar; but have completely forgotten it. I was filled with wonder and amazement; it made me think: what I perceive in my heart when I have these wonderful states which puzzled me so much was exactly that: the fullness of love…. So simple, the fullness of love….
So it was… perhaps God after all?… To call it God for lack of a better definition? A Union with Something? Sometimes there is such a happiness, sometimes only a Longing, but love is always there, but no shape… and the same love I feel for his Guru Maharaj—it is the same quality, the same tenderness. Could it be those wonderful states? Could it be that I merge in the Presence of God, or whatever it may be called. · .. only after nine months of training? How can it be possible? Or it is quite simple: God is in the heart of everyone, men and women, and we have only to learn how to recognize Him. My mind is more puzzled than ever.
In the meantime, last night it was simply wonderful… the love I felt, so deep, ringing, eternal. All the tenderness, all the poetry, all the power was there, still, infinite, endless. I prayed without words and I believed in His Greatness… My Revered Teacher is His Instrument, His servant. What do I care who He is? If He is good or evil, limited or not? He is my Love, and my Rev. Teacher is His ambassador… I surrender to You, oh Lord of Infinite Love. If I surrender to my Teacher, I will be a dead body from now on in his hands, if You let him live. And if it is not Your Will, then take me to You, because this world has lost all attraction for me long ago.
This morning there is such sweetness inside my heart. For He, Lord of the Universe, is in my heart… and I am loved by Him. He loves all His Creation, so He must love me too. Deep was the tenderness. Gratitude. The wonder of it… all the time it was He and nobody else, and I did not know….
18th September
HE HAS HIGH FEVER ALL THE TIME. And I keep coming and going. But now at least the whole family is here, responsible people, like Durghesh and his eldest son, and Durghesh looks after him well. I hope he will live. Am full of such nameless misery. I gave up all I had for the sake of Thee. Will you let him die now? No, that CANNOT BE!
God DOES NOT CHEAT! I kept my bargain, oh Lord! You will keep yours!
19th September
HARDLY SAW HIM. Avoided to go inside, so many people were in the room and such a din. And the doctor said that he must have quiet. In the afternoon he was sitting in the big chair. He is ever so slightly better. I sat there for a few minutes. His wife and Durghesh were exchanging remarks and laughing
about me. I don’t care. It is healthy for my ego. He does not look at me at all, and I get used to it gradually. The main thing is that he should get better….
20th September
HIS ELDEST SON RAVINDRA told me that he asked him about me when he was massaging him and they were alone.
“How is Mem Sahib? What is she doing? Is she well?” He answered, “Yes, she is well,” and he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
He had a better night, slept peacefully, at least for a few hours. I was afraid to disturb, so I stayed only for a few minutes and just looked and looked at him. Everybody when ill looks it, but he was unearthly beautiful: thin, transparent is the skin and very fair because so pale. The wife came in and sat in front of him so that I should not see his face. She is resentful because I mentioned hospital treatment a while ago.
2nd September
KEEP WORRYING: MY FUTURE IS VERY DARK. If something happens to him, what will I do? No money at all; how will I live? How will I find a job at my age? Will have to borrow money to go back to England.
Heaven knows, it is all very worrying. I arranged all my affairs to stay with him in India for many years, so I hoped, till the end of my training. I think he does not want to live. His son told me this morning that he said to him: “There is no fixed time how long one must remain in this world; some remain for twenty, some for thirty, some for sixty or more. You should not worry.”
Daughter of Fire Page 36