“And what had happened?” He asked severely, when I told him that I kept wondering if he always knew exactly what does happen, or if he just gives the vibration and the Shishya gets what he is capable of getting.
“I always give,” he said one day; “everyone takes what he can.”
I told him in detail what had happened, but he did not look at me and seemed in deep Samadhi. His face was very hard.
“And why so wonderful?” he asked harshly, when I was telling him how I discovered that He was right inside my heart….
“Precisely; that’s why my mind could not understand, for it seemed the most natural thing in the world… to have Him part of myself… just a small step inside and here He was. I think the mind cannot quite reach there so it just accepts it; it feels so simple-it is just that.” I was not quite sure whether he was listening or not. We were alone for a change… he was half in Samadhi. I knew he remained sitting not for my sake; somebody was bound to come; he always knew that, that’s why he remained. He always knows. He won’t sit for me alone. Quite out of the blue, suddenly he said: “It is for the very few. How many reach it? Very few take up the thread, and of those, few only follow it up… it is for very few.” He fell in a deep prolonged silence. I waited for him to continue, but of course people came and general conversation began.
44 Suicide?
4th January, 1963
PLENTY OF PEOPLE were sitting this morning, and he paced up and down for a while. Then he sat down and the usual conversation began… he, nearly all the time, speaking and explaining. Then everybody left. Hardly looking at me with an impatient expression he said:
“Talk was going on that if the Guru gives all in a moment and makes one a Saint, it is for everybody. But it is not for everybody, it is for the few. One has to give time to it and effort, and time means effort. It is for the very few….“I wondered why he had repeated it in the last few days. Something was brewing….
He got up abruptly and went inside without a word. Then he came out with a stick and declared with a smile that he was going for a walk. I went home. In the evening he came out for a short while; people were there and he was telling that Saints when buried are not touched by worms. He himself saw with his own eyes that not even the shroud in which the corpse is enveloped was touched by worms.
5th January
TODAY IT IS ONE YEAR since he began the training. I was so full of vibrations this morning. Only the one-eyed man was sitting, and he left soon. He was pacing up and down on the brick elevation, and when he sat down for a moment I said: (I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to speak to him, so I spoke quickly) “Bhai Sahib, Guru Maharaj, it is exactly one year when I challenged you here, before this door, to produce love. You may not remember, you may not remember, why should you, with so many Shishyas you have, but I do remember, for it was a memorable day for me. And I said to you then: You who are the maker of Saints and know how to write on the back of hearts, write on the back of my heart one letter and one letter only: that of Alif, and let it burn itself out at your feet…. But what you did was to write your initials on the back of my heart, the initials of your name which I never could pronounce, and for some secret mysterious reason your initials and His were one and the same thing.
And you threw my heart into the sea of fire, to be consumed by flames…. “
He listened with half a smile, a ghost of a smile; his face was looking away from me in the opposite direction; he never glanced even once at me.
“A wonderful thing you did during this year, a terrible and a wonderful thing; you skinned me as one skins an apple, and my heart felt so full, so full, that I have no words …. Please do allow me to touch your feet, and I knelt and pressed my forehead against his feet.
“You spoiled your dress,” he laughed; I saw that he was moved. I got up and began to brush my skirt; it was full of the dust of the soil.
“Never mind,” I said, “I had to do it; it was a big thing for me!”
He began to pace up and down.
“I never believed that you really could produce love just like that!” I said, when he reached the level of the chair on which I was sitting.
“Nobody believes!” he laughed.
“And you gave the greatest love to me, the very greatest!”
“It may be great for you, but for me it is nothing!”
“Oh, I know, it is nothing for you; but for me .. .,“I fell silent, had a lump in my throat…. “For me it is the world.” I said it half audibly, could not speak ….
He went inside and did not come out. It was very early when I went home, and in the evening he was sitting with his wife in the sun, his back was turned, and he went in and did not come out. But my mind was serene. All the vibrations which I had this morning and which made me feel as if my head would blow away at any moment, stopped. I was completely alone, could not pray, but the mind was still and peaceful. And I slept well.
6th January
SERENE I REMAINED also this morning. But He was not with me, and neither was Guru Maharaj. Could not pray last night; somehow there was dryness. Sitting in his garden I was thinking, why is there no trouble? I discovered it: it is the feeling of belonging which helps. I belong to Him, so intimately, so utterly, whatever he does to me, what can I do? I am a thing of his—he can hurt me, he can fill me with bliss—who am I to say anything? And I realized something else too; that there is no trouble whether he comes out or not, whether I see him or not; I remain calm and serene. Will it last? Who knows… it is His Will, so why worry? What will be, will be. Since that Friday, nine days ago, when he began to do something new and the heartbeat changed, since then there is practically no trouble. So I began to pray… Help me You Merciful… if this attitude persists, if I can keep this sense of belonging to Him, then, it means that the greatest trouble will be overcome…. Please, oh, You Merciful… please, please….
He came out early; many people were there because it was Sunday.
Gave me a letter from Gritty, telling me to go through it and reply. I did, and asked him what does he want me to answer to her complaints that she has many faults, and she would like to better herself and put all her energies into it.
“Tell her everyone has faults, nobody is perfect. It is a good thing to try to better oneself. She is a lady who is a chain-smoker, and for a lady it is not very nice. Ladies who smoke so much have other vices too.”
“Shall I tell her to give up smoking?” I ventured.
“No,” he shook his head, “one must never injure people’s feelings.”
“But if she is your disciple, you have every right to say anything!”
He shook his head again. “No, I am not her Guru; she does not follow me.”
“She follows L. and L. follows you, so what is the difference?”
“No, I am the Guru only for those who follow me step by step. It is just a way of speaking to say ‘he is my Guru, I am his Shishya’; it has no value. Guru is only for the very few. Only those who have faith have a Guru. If the Shishya is good in the morning because morning is a good time and bad in the evening, how can I be the Guru of those?”
“And some are even your accepted disciples and still they don’t follow you step by step.”
“Quite,” he nodded. “Guru and Shishya is a unique relationship.
It is not for all. How can it be?”
Once more he seemed to say what was in my mind this morning. If I only can keep up this faith… My God if I ONLY CAN!!
7th January
THIS MORNING SUCH WAS THE LONELINESS that I began to weep because the situation looked so difficult beyond belief. How can I go on? The thought and the mind began to whirl and to turn. He came out in a dark mood. His face was hard. My heart grew heavier and heavier. I did not want to tell him, not really, but somehow I got the desire to tell him, so I did say that I am discouraged because I am so lonely. He was very hard to me. Made me weep bitterly. Needless to say that there were endless interruptions—the Sannyasi suddenly
got the desire to talk for hours, the wife came, the children, all had very much to say and to discuss· and so it went on. Takur did not stop talking and in between I had to try to say something to which he either did not listen or gave me rude and harsh answers.
“You don’t know how to love; this is not love. Did you try to serve me when I was ill? Did you sit up all night?”. I was horrified because of the accusation; how could I dare to sit up? “What would your family have said if I did? Once I tried to fan you, but the fan was taken from my hands; once I tried to massage your feet when you were unconscious, and was stopped immediately.
What an unjust accusation!”
“I am never unjust!” He snapped. I was weeping and weeping.
“You are impertinent; go to another man to get instructions, one who is less rude to you!”
“But I don’t want, I cannot, and you know that I am helpless!” I sobbed.
Then he spoke of the importance of the Satsang.
“If the Satsang is so important, why do you send me away after only a few months with you? L. was more fortunate; you told me that she stayed here for three years!”
“You must make an effort there, and if one can work, one must work; and L. was clever; she stayed here only in the winter season; in the summer she went to Kashmir!” I wept because I thought that it was a horrible thing to say; he knew I had no money left to go….
When I said to him that he never subjects his wife or his daughters to such a treatment and such cruelties, he said angrily: “You are impertinent! How can you compare yourself to my wife and my daughter? They are good ladies!”
“They are women like me; what’s the difference?” And so it went for a long time, and I ended by being so desperate that I said to him that death would be better than this life of such a misery, and for a brief, intense moment I seriously thought to finish it; I will never make it anyhow, it is too difficult. I was a failure, and I felt a boundless desperation….
“You have no pity for me,” I cried bitterly, looking at him in despair. He was hard, did not even look at me, but kept telling me terrible and bitter things.
“I am going inside!” He threw this sentence like a stone at me and disappeared behind the door which he closed with a bang.
I went home, and when I looked back when going out of the gate, I saw him in the room through the open door sitting slightly bent forward as if in deep thought. The light around him… so beautiful.
At home washed my face, red from crying, and went to Pushpa.
While there I was thinking all the time how really angry he seemed to be with me, how hopeless it all was. Never-ending torture. Neverlasting peace, never-lasting happiness. These ups and downs… I could not bear it anymore. Was too depressed for words….
“What effort are you making here?” he asked. “All the difficulties are solved for you!”
I said that I thought that I was making a superhuman effort! Such was the loneliness, and the physical conditions so unbelievably difficult.
“It is nothing!” he said angrily. “Nothing! What are you doing? A bit of hot weather you had to bear, that’s all!” I was weeping so loudly, could not control myself….
Yes, it is the most difficult thing in the world!
“Ocean of fire, the greatest love! Phue!” He blew disdainfully and later: “Why do you compare yourself with my Shishyas? You are not my Shishya! And you never will be at this rate! Never.” He shouted, “Never!”
Was thinking and thinking at home. Did not go in the evening. It is of no use. The depression was terrible… I had better finish with it all. It is of no use. I am useless, I am a failure, I will never make it. I cannot go on like this anymore…. There is a railway bridge over the Ganges. Though it is not the rainy season and the river will not be too full, still, there will be enough at this time of the year…. It won’t hurt too much… I cannot, cannot, cannot go on… it is of no use….
Went to bed too tired to think. Was exhausted with pain and desperation… went into a sort of oblivion, though I was sure that I didn’t sleep. But I must have done so, for when I opened my eyes it was morning. Immediately the misery flooded me with absolute despair. Decided not to go.
8th January
BUT I WENT. Could not stay away. Such was the pull, and I was too tired to resist.
He was already outside. Many people were sitting with him. He was laughing and telling jokes in Hindi. Everybody was full of merriment. I greeted him without looking at him and sat down, a little to his right. You laugh, I thought. Go on laughing. You don’t care. You never did…. The bridge . ·. . it won’t hurt… was too tired, so tired… it is all in vain….
Mind did not work well. Noticed at one moment that he threw at me a quick sideways glance. How far is it to the bridge? How tired I am…. Useless, useless, useless, sang something in my brain….
What is life?
Was like numb. Then I began to notice that one after another everybody saluted and began to leave. Is it so late? I thought, so I had better go… what’s the use? What’s the use… like an obsession repeated my brain….
“Mrs. Tweedie!” I suddenly heard his voice. I did not look up.
Was too disgusted with him. It’s no use… “Mrs. Tweedie, look at me!” The tone was of command. I slowly raised my head and turned it in his direction… and… froze. He was full of blinding light, white shimmering light… I simply gasped… looked. Looked… so much light, by God… so much….
“Mrs. Tweedie, when I see a human being for the first time and when the hint is given, I know not only the past but also the future of this human being. Mrs. Tweedie, I will never waste my powers!”
He got up. Stood there tall, slender, shimmering (or was the trembling shimmer a fault in my eyes?), and throwing the towel over his shoulder, “You can go home, I am going to have my bath!” and swiftly he walked away with elastic step; the chik fell with a swoosh behind him.
I stared. Well… and like an immense joy it flooded into my mind: You old cow! If you were really hopeless, he would NOT take so much trouble with you! He knows the state of evolution; he acts accordingly. He would never waste so much time with someone who is absolutely useless. So hold on! Hold on, for heaven’s sake! And I went home.
Evening I SAT ALONE TILL DUSK. Was tired. All was numb, all was still in me.
Then somebody came; Guruji came out and talked to the man in the doorway passage. The person left soon and to my surprise he approached me where I was sitting.
“How are you?” He asked in a friendly way.
“Well,” I answered, getting up; I did not know what to answer; he is not angry, I thought with relief. He sat down.
“This is done for the sake of training; I am never really harsh, but harsh attitude is maintained with lovers. Otherwise how can I give a stroke if the mind gives trouble? It is done like this… this is the System. A stroke must be given when the mind rebels.”
“Oh, I was thinking this afternoon that you are quite right: I am still full of the self!”
“Why don’t you say that I am ALWAYS right?” He laughed his boyish laughter, young and gay, as if nothing had happened….
“Yes,” I nodded meekly. I would have said anything at this moment to please him, so glad I was that he is not angry with me.
“Wait, I will open the door; we will not sit outside; it is cold,” and he went inside, opening the door of the room from inside.
Sitting in his father’s big chair he told me many things.
“I am glad you are in a good mood again,” he said, adjusting his legs in a comfortable posture. “The trouble really started because you took objection about my statement that women cannot reach the highest stage in the same way as men. Men have a substance in them and women have not. It makes men absorb the very essence of the Master. But men have to learn to control prakriti in themselves, and for this purpose practices are given to them. Women, because they are nearer to prakriti, are fertilized by the Divine Energy which they retain in th
eir Chakras and because of this, very few practices are needed. Women are taken up through the path of love, for love is a feminine mystery. Woman is the cup waiting to be filled, offering herself up in her longing, which is her very being. Souls go the way of the souls where they are destined to, for they have different qualities, and according to those qualities they are directed.” I said that I did not understand, and he said it is not easy.
“How can the Shishya reach the stage when the Master is still alive? There are exceptions; some do and go even higher than the Master; to those he gives something when he dies. I am sending you away because you must make an effort; you must write to me never stop writing.” I said that I will surely do so and very often, for probably I will be full of trouble.
“And sometimes you will be so full of vibrations and the mind will not work, then you must not work. I happen not to work at times for months. You work again when your inner voice tells you to do so. One does not speak much to lovers. It is not necessary. If you want to change, I can give you Dhyana and Samadhi, but those are gymnastics, I say, and you can play with them for the rest of your life. But it is not for you; I told you, hearts are different and the Teacher decides which Path is suitable for each particular heart.”
“I don’t want any change; I am glad I have to suffer; love is the greatest thing for me; I wanted it from the beginning.”
“One should not want any change,” he said screwing his eyes to a slit. Then he looked outside for a moment. The greeny shadows of the moving foliage in the breeze were reflected on his skin and in his eyes.
“My Rev. Father, myself, we have been trained like this; you challenged me; why? Because it is your character; human beings cannot help acting according to their character; and the training is given according to the character. I can give Dhyana to you in a moment; it is not at all difficult for me, but I myself don’t attach any importance to that …. To produce love is difficult in other Schools of Yoga, not in ours; in ours it is easy. Love is a great suffering in the beginning and in the middle; later it is all joy; or nearly all…. In Dhyana or Samadhi, love is also created, but much later. Prof. Batnagar is wrong to say that you must write only when you have realized. Many people write books, and they know nothing; you have the experiences of love, many of them; your diary will help you.”
Daughter of Fire Page 48