Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  21st December

  SURE ENOUGH, HE CAME OUT and for a long time talked to Chowdrie and to Sannyasi. I did not speak at all… thought he will send me home as soon as they have left. But he began to talk on Jesus Christ and Christmas. Chowdrie, before leaving, asked if Christmas was the birth of Christ, and even what represented Easter. I was talking to Guruji for a while, but he seemed to be in Samadhi. “Shall I stop?

  What I have to say is not of importance; I don’t want to disturb you!”

  “Go ahead,” he murmured, hardly looking at me. So I went on, but it was just for the sake of conversation. I was telling him about the Roman Catholic Church and the Order of the Jesuits. He seemed to want me to talk for some reason. I wondered, maybe if one speaks and the mind is occupied, he can do something to it or to the higher vehicles.

  Yesterday he had the same look when Sannyasi was talking and talking on nothing. “Nothing of importance,” he said this morning.

  Only when I remarked that sex and Sufism are on the opposite ends, like two ends of a stick, he opened his eyes and said with emphasis: “On the very opposite ends!” Later he said: “We want people to marry, but never, never do we want them to do evil!”

  When at home writing down the story of Leila and Majnu, it seemed to me that I understood it completely. I say it seemed, because in the actual state of my mind it is difficult to know for sure if I understood something or not. So fluid, and changing so rapidly is the position. But to judge from the clue the story gives: the ultimate act of surrender has to be a conscious act of giving over, for the sake of love: to cut the flesh out of one’s body, without condition… not because one is given something or expects something in return.

  He will be more terrible now. The last act, the very last act is upon me; it looks like it. More than ever there will be frustrations. I only hope the mind will hold out. I always knew intellectually that it has to be so, but it is a very different thing, as everybody will agree, to know it in theory and to experience it as a living reality in the heart.

  But when one is full of vibrations, the mind not working properly, him acting as my worst enemy, the self playing up—it is difficult to have a clear vision. Merciful One, help me to check the Shaitan of the mind…. Just NOW I don’t want any trouble: NOT NOW, PLEASE!

  22nd December

  SO I TOLD HIM ALL THIS in the morning; my heart was aching so much.

  His face was severe. He was half listening, half in Samadhi. I had the feeling that I was boring him. He lifted his head and looked me straight in the eyes:

  “Why don’t you become a human being? Why don’t you try to become less than the dust at my feet?” I stared at him; it seemed like an unexpected attack.

  “Am I not a human being?” I was amazed and felt forlorn.

  “What you are I don’t know, but a human being you are not,” he drawled, and it sounded like a growl. “Only when you become less than the dust at my feet will you be balanced, and only then can you be called a human being!”

  C. G. Jung! flashed like lightning through my mind. In his writings, Carl Jung emphasized again and again the danger of what he calls “inflation,” and our mental asylums are full of Napoleons, Cleopatras, Julius Caesars, not to mention even more exalted personages. I was always convinced that the process of individuation is a preliminary step, a springboard, so to say, a starting point to something more, which I think would be Yoga or Self Realization.

  The individuation process makes the human being whole, complete, to be able to take his rightful place as a balanced, perfectly normal member of the human family. But Yoga is much more than that. And in Yoga there must be much more danger, consequently, of the so-called “inflation.” At one time during the training the disciple is bound to begin to realize his divine origin, and then to say and to believe: I am God! It is then that one needs a Teacher. And the Teacher will say: no, be careful, with those lips not yet pure, with the heart not yet as limpid as the Waters of Life, it is a blasphemy to say that you are God! But a Great Teacher does not say it so directly—he simply teaches humility: “Become less than the dust at my feet.”

  How can the inflation arise if one is made to be so humble?

  But this is not all. From my own experience I know that the nearer one moves towards the Reality, the more one realizes the absolute oneness of all and everything. And if I am part of something so Great that my mind cannot even conceive it, of something which fills me with awe, where is the pride? And those two processes—the inner realization of absolute oneness and, on the other hand, the Teacher pushing one’s nose into the dust, to put it figuratively—they protect the disciple from the greatest danger: of himself being inflated like a balloon bursting with pride. I think it is here where Yoga and modern psychology meet; the training of the disciples, devised thousands of years ago, and the psychiatrist’s dealing with human problems use the same tactics; Yoga and science speak the same language.

  He coughed, then got up, went further away a few paces, and spat out. After a few moments a crow which until now sat on a branch of the tree watching us, flew down, came hopping along, and swallowed the spit. An idea came into my mind and I asked him: if the crow eats the spit of a Saint, will it be beneficial for its evolution? He shook his head.

  “Saintliness is only for human beings; how can it help the crow?

  And in what way? What do you mean by evolution? It is the function of the crow to eat all the filth it can find. Some people believe crows can be human beings; it is written in the Scriptures.

  Those who believe in evolution think humans were animals once, but it is nonsense. Animal is animal, man is man. Animal can never become man. They have no Atma. Realized people never believe in such a thing.” He was dry, hard, and did not smile even once.

  I said how should one understand the famous, very much quoted poem of Jalaluddin Rumi:

  “I died as mineral and became a plant,

  I died as plant and rose to animal,

  I died as animal and I was Man,

  Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?

  Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar

  With angels blest;

  but even from angelhood I must pass on:

  all except God doth perish.

  When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,

  I shall become what no mind e’er conceived.

  O let me not exist! For Non-existence

  Proclaims in organ tones

  ‘To Him we shall return.’ “

  “This is something quite different; the meaning of it is not what you think.” He fell silent.

  His attitude is quite unmistakably clear; it all will go on as it was; I have no hope at all; it all will go on until… nothing will remain. I really must try not to protest and just try to manage to surrender somehow, in spite of everything. In the evenings he does not come out now; it is beginning to be too cold, and tomorrow Chowdrie goes to Calcutta, so probably he won’t come out even in the mornings….

  23rd December

  WHEN I WOKE UP ABOUT THREE in the morning, He was not with me, and Bhai Sahib also was not. I was quite alone. Well, I expected it, really… deep was the loneliness. Yesterday when I was cooking my food, such was the nearness with Him that it was simply wonderful, and when my eyes were closed, I saw green flashes of light… such a wonderful green, and so much of it. I was so happy and now…

  nothing at all…. Was reflecting that everything is going, everything is leaving me; I am alone. Pondering about the theory of evolution, I thought God knows if it is true at all. What is true?

  Nobody knows….

  He came out looking very weak. The cough is worse; last night he was coughing so much, so I was told. Each time I hear it, it is like a knife thrust in my heart; it hurts me when he coughs.

  Told him in what mess I seem to be—how disgusted I am with myself; how I begin to understand that what happens now is very wonderful; because all the beliefs have been uprooted, there is nothing which can be c
alled permanent. But the human being must believe in something—even atheists have some kind of belief, if they believe in nothing else but themselves, or evolution; man can create a creed of almost anything. I believe now in Him, I KNOW He is a reality, a tremendous, deep Reality, and THE ONLY REALITY to seek after. If one tries to give up a belief by letting it go, by dropping it with an act of will, the belief doesn’t really go. I experienced it.

  Beliefs hide; they don’t go. But if the mind realized that it is not worthwhile holding them, then they go. Mind, at least my mind, wants the Truth; old beliefs obviously were not the Absolute Truth.

  They were worthless. But the mind is helpless; it cannot reach out to Him who is like the rising sun on the horizon of my Soul…. He, the only Reality to believe in, to strive after, He who left me alone and went away. And I remain confused, have nothing to stand upon.

  If you knew how I feel, you would be sorry for me, but no, you would not, because you don’t really care….

  And if I am still in this state when I am not here? Here at least, I can tell you, hoping that you listen, though I am not at all sure of that.

  But there, what will it be? Dark night all around, nothing to hold on to, and I am so alone…. I have been thinking that in three days time I have to ask you for money again, and I wondered why I am not worried. Not at all, because I have bigger issues to worry about; money is nothing when compared to these. After all, if He wants me to suffer, to starve or to die, it is His Will, and I belong to Him. This represents a new thought to me: I am not important at all. Until now I thought that I was very important. Somehow, since I experienced the nearness with Him, I know that I am less than a speck of dust.

  Here is one more contradiction: one can speak only in oppositesthe whole world is contained in this speck of dust—deepest intimacy and nothingness, this is it…. But I had to stop, for my heart was burning….

  He listened with a tender expression. I looked at him in silence.

  How can he manage to look like this, wondering at the beauty of the light around him… full of light… green and yellow light, hurting the eyes.

  “But I am the only one who sees you like this.” He nodded slowly and began to speak to Sannyasi.

  25th December

  YES, I AM IN A STATE of confusion, chaos… but out of chaos the Universe was created… on the level of the personality, not a very comfortable state. Three things seem to have remained only: the Love, reaching as high as the sky; the hatred, the shadow side of love; and He who is not with me anymore, who only remains as a memory to haunt me. He, like a rising sun on the horizon, beckoning, calling… the only reality, but gone seemingly forever. The hatred is dreadful, most disturbing, and it seems worse as the days go by instead of better. I hate his family, darkly, deadly; I hate all people who come and sit there; if I had powers I would have misused them, I am sure.

  But the love… how can I put it? Something divine burning and burning, but what courage has he to say that it is all joy. He never lacked courage, not he. I only hope this state will not last a whole Night of Brahma, many cores of Kalpas, I told him, and he laughed.

  “You know today is the 25th December?” I asked.

  “I did not know; I thought it was the 24th,” he smiled. He was especially kind today, smiling gently, and he answered even a few questions which is not always the case. He was full of light and was sitting in this fascinating posture on his chair with the legs so twisted that one had to study which way they were tucked in.

  “You are full of white light; is it because of Christmas?” He did not answer. I knew it was a stupid question.

  “What are you going to cook today?” he asked. I said rice and tomatoes; I don’t celebrate; Christmas passes unnoticed in India. In the West they go crazy about it for commercial reasons; it becomes a sort of mass-hysteria. He smiled.

  Later: “My father and my Rev. Guru Maharaj never answered questions on the System; it is infused. You know only how it feels when love is created, but how it is done… there is the real philosophy behind it. One day you will know…. “

  “You had said that I am not trained according to the System, and you said love is not created with everybody.”

  “One cannot go against the System,” he said. “You are trained according to the System, but you are on the other Path. Love is created with everybody, but not everybody’s heart is capable of holding it. So sometimes love IS created. There are different kinds of hearts. Everyone loves according to one’s capacity. Things will be done through you. At first you will be the postbox; only later you will do things knowingly—you will know what you are doing. For some only One remains…. “

  He was silent for a while. I knew he meant me; there was this faraway look and the feeling of MEANING ….

  “The followers spoil the faith always,” he mused, and softly he added: “I fear after I am gone it also will be spoiled…. “

  “Not everybody will do it,” I said quickly, “not everyone!”

  He did not answer but seemed in Samadhi. “Nakshmandia Dynasty descends from the Prophet. The first Deputy was the father-in-law of the Prophet. He was the first. But Sufis were before the Prophet. Sufism always was; it is the ancient Wisdom. Only before the Prophet they were not called Sufis. Only a few centuries after his death they were called Sufis. Long before they were a sect called “Kamal Posh” (blanket wearers), and they went to every prophet. A tradition goes that they went also to Jesus. No one could satisfy them. Every Prophet told them, do this or that, and they were not satisfied. One day Mohammed said: ‘There .are many Kamal Posh men coming, and they will reach here in so many days and now at that moment they are there and there.’ They came when he said and on the day he said. And when they were with him, he only looked at them without speaking. They were completely satisfied.” He fell silent, and I laughed and said that I bet I know what he did to satisfy them!

  “Yes?” He looked at me inquiringly.

  “He created love in their hearts; that’s why they have been satisfied.”

  “Yes, it was so; it is correct. Every Prophet told them this or that.

  Naturally they were not satisfied. But when love is created, what dissatisfaction can there be? So away they went, fully satisfied.”

  I thought that it was a lovely story.

  26th December

  HE DID NOT COME OUT in the morning. I was waiting because I asked him for money, and he said yesterday he will give it this morning.

  When he did not come out, I decided to go home. I will cook what was at home; there was not much but it will have to do. He obviously wanted me to be in trouble. 0.K. But when I was going out of the gate, one of his disciples who was with him in the room called me back to stay, not to go. So I stayed. When everybody left, he called me in. He gave me the money and said that he had vomiting condition. He looked very pale and ill. I became very worried.

  “Pray for me,” he said. Poor Bhai Sahib, my heart was so heavy.

  43 Sitting Outside: A Self-discipline

  30th December, 1962

  THIS MORNING ABOUT SEVEN in the kitchen when making my morning coffee, I was thinking: my Revered Guru Maharaj, you have forgotten me; no vibration at all, all was stillness. But half an hour later the heart began such a wild beat, and it went on for hours. So I knew something new is being done; it was different from what it was before. Love was perfect… if only I can keep this state… I am praying for help. So near He seems to be sometimes that I feel there is only a thin wall left between Him and me. Perhaps I am mistaken after all. For after and behind this wall there will be another… perhaps forever. Never mind, at least I can have a good try….

  The physical conditions in his garden are very difficult. Sitting alone in the dust before a closed door would be difficult even for an Indian. And it is not only for one day or two, but over one year already… nearly overrun by incredibly dirty children noisily playing ball, or just throwing dust in the air… children coming in from the street and playing with the kid
s of Tulsi Ram. Dogs seem to come from everywhere. Sitting on dirty chairs covered with dog hair sometimes—I try to clean them when I come in the mornings. The servant forgets to take the chairs in, so they are left outside during the night, and the dogs will sleep on them. I sit facing the slum conditions of Tulsi Ram’s shed… all this for many hours every day, with this longing in my heart; he will be inside with others, but I cannot go in without being invited. It can be cold, and I am sitting. It is windy, clouds of dust are blown in the air, and I am sitting. It is hot, and I am sitting… always, or nearly always, before a closed door. Often it happened that young men passing in groups in the street would stop at the gate and laugh at me. Probably they think it funny to see an elderly European woman sitting before the closed door of an Indian man… I don’t care.

  I wrote the above sitting in the garden this morning. However well intentioned I am, I am a human being after all, and the conditions sometimes become so difficult that I get discouraged. But he came out today, even if very late… it was nearly eleven. All went still outside me… I looked at him… nothing more existed for me; I saw nothing and nobody else. He was all wrapped in a white blanket, the head covered with a towel. He looked tired, hollow cheeks, burning eyes, like strange lights… like an exotic, old woodcarving with high cheek bones, so Tibetan, so Eastern. Such was the nearness, I thought the heart had stopped beating. I wonder how it is done, this nearness. On the physical plane he does not look at me; he is severe. But from time to time he will close his eyes in that infinitely tender manner of his, and though he does not look at me but speaks to others, I know it is for me. And what I feel is too sweet to describe.

  I am compelled to close my eyes too at the same moment. A tenderness, a sweetness, a complete sense of Oneness with Him. Not with the Guru, strangely enough. But with Him, absolutely final, complete… such a feeling of fulfillment… while the Guru does not even speak to me. He sat in the sun, but not for long. I noticed that under the blanket he has only his flimsy cotton dhotie; even Tasseldar objected, and said that he will catch a cold just before the Bandhara.