“No, Bhai Sahib, if you say something, it is always for a deep purpose; it means that at least I have to try. I will. If I will be defeated, at least I tried.”
“I hinted it to you again and again that it is the only way?”
I nodded in assent. Could not speak, was crying.
“I hinted so often and you failed to understand. If you would have listened, you would have made such a jump forward,” he smiled with great kindness, looking at me sideways.
“I am such a fool; I wasted so much time!” I cried bitterly. Felt absolutely defeated.
He fell silent, then spoke to the servant passing with a shopping bag.
“One day you have said that the Teacher is the best friend.”
“I am not your friend!” He interrupted irritably.
“But in the Sufi terminology he is called the Friend.” I was amazed.
“God is called the Friend, not the Teacher. How can I be your friend? Wrong conception, completely,” he emphatically declared.
“I am your taskmaster! Here lies the effort: to reconcile the Teacher as a person and the relationship with the Teacher which does not belong to this world. This is an effort, but Divine things are effortless. Did you notice how you always accuse me and never yourself?” He laughed ironically but not unkindly.
“So, I alone am to blame?”
“Of course!” he laughed; “why don’t you try to be absorbed in me?
In the Teacher? To surrender means COMPLETE sacrifice. My wife and children, when they think that I am an ordinary man, they come down; when they think that I am something more, they are on a high stage, on the highest stage,” he said, watching my reaction.
“So I have to pray for blind faith and nothing else!”…
“Blind faith, what nonsense is that again!” He nearly shouted impatiently. “Never, never, blind! One has to test the Teacher thoroughly, and when he is tested and one is satisfied, then one has faith, but never blind!”
“Blind faith in Him?” I ventured; because some days ago he DID say that one must have blind faith….
“He is far away,” he said quickly; “why don’t you try to realize yourself first, become one with the Master?”
“From now on I stop speaking,” I cried more and more… what confusion was in my mind! What is true? What is false? Where is he leading me?
“Not speaking is not enough; all the rest matters too. If the mind cannot be stilled, it is better to speak. Continue to do as you did until now… time will come…. ” I wept.
“Now you have said that you are not my friend; but such things happen somewhere… such nearness, how on earth can I reconcile it?”
He looked at me, his eyes were deep with compassion. “Love alone would be quite enough suffering, would it not?”
I cried more …. He watched me silently.
“Reasons, reasons, you cannot progress by reasons, you know…. “
“Oh, I don’t try to find excuses, but it is not easy when the mind is not working, and the suffering is great, and you deliberately try to confuse, to perplex me.” He said nothing, only looked at me severely.
24th January
LAST NIGHT AS USUAL politics were discussed. I sat. Went home early, when he went inside to have his tea.
In the night the mind was restless, but no definite thoughts about anything. He said yesterday: “If the mind is restless, it picks up every current from the atmosphere.”
25th January
THE MIND WAS LIKE A SYLVAN POOL, dark and still. Like a shady pool in the woods. Full of secret thoughts. As if something was eluding me, hiding from me.
26th ] anuary
HE LOOKED AT ME OFTEN and yesterday he turned from time to time to give me a brief look. This he never did before. You are testing me, I thought, but I was quite determined not to speak. The mala of his Rev. Guru Maharaj was sliding slowly through his fingers. He looked very friendly. For a while he was silent.
“What talk was going on with Mr. Chowdrie?”
“Nothing of much importance, about cleanliness and hygiene.”
He sat there smiling all the time. I was silent, answering only the direct questions. Vibrations were not many and I felt full of peace.
In the evening he was talking as usual to Chowdrie and others; Prasad was distributed because of a sort of purification rite of the Hindus: the hair of his daughter’s baby boy was cut ritually.
I took the Prasad home and had it with my tea before going to bed.
27th January
PREPARATIONS FOR THE BANDHARA are going on. The marquee has been put up. While it was being done, we were sitting under the mango tree. From time to time I could see his profile when he was turning his head, for I was sitting against the fence behind him. In the afternoon many people began to arrive; I hid behind the nimbu tree because Babu and the boys played cricket in front of the marquee.
Then I remembered that I had left my dinner in the kitchen. Fearing that the cat may come in and upset the saucepan as it did once, went home for a moment to put it away.
When I returned, a man came out from the room where he sat with many people. He said Guruji wanted to know if there was some trouble with me. Not at all, I explained; I went home because I forgot to put away my food. He went inside to deliver this message. Later a young man brought me some Prasad. He obviously told him to take some out for me sitting alone under the mango tree. It is quite a change, I reflected. Such peace was in me that I cannot describe it, since this morning… tremendous, eternal peace. Later he came out and many of us were sitting on chairs facing him. He was talking in Hindi. Much later, in the dark when nearly all had gone he asked: “Are you all right?”
“I am well, thank you; but why do you think that I may not be well?”
“As a human being I inquired how you were, that’s all.”
“But you are not well; you are coughing again.” I was noticing that he was breathless a little, and he looked tired.
“Yes, but not much; many people came, many ladies; I had to do my duty; they come to see me so I have to speak to them.”
After a while he began to sing softly. His face was partly lit by a street lamp; his voice was a little hoarse (he has a cold, I thought), yet was sweet to listen to… it was lovely to hear him sing… concentrating on his voice, so peaceful, gave me a strange happiness.
It was a song of Mira, and he translated:
“I will mold myself as my Spiritual Guide wants me to be. I want to become less than the dust at his feet. The physical body is nothing, so let it remain as a dust at his feet.”
The word “impossible” does not exist in the vocabulary of lovers, he said once. And I see how help is given, and one is driven in the right direction all the time.
28th January
WHEN HE CAME OUT his face was ashen; it was clear to me that either he was not well or very tired.
“I had a vomiting condition in the night,” he said as soon as he sat down.
“Oh it is because of the Bandhara; such forces are here that we are all like drunk.”
“Perhaps,” he smiled. In fact I was sitting there in the morning blown through with Shakti. My head was spinning….
Later, commenting on a boy who was there and had a sign on his forehead, he said: “Those signs, moles… if they are on the right side of a man and on the left side of a woman, are good. I had this dark sign on my forehead, so had my Rev. Guru Maharaj. That’s why I remark on them. On the thorax they are good, but below they are not considered to be good.”
I said that I had one over my right eye; it was removed.
“Yes, I can see the sign left on the lid below the eyebrow. It means that from the worldly point of view, you have not many friends; you lose them. At the beginning they are friends, then… nothing!”
“Yes, I had only very few friends in my life.”
“And if the sign would have been over the left eye, people would have followed you! But this is from the worldly point of view; we don’t be
lieve in such things!”
I told him that I had a sign on my left arm.
“Is it above or below the elbow?” I showed it to him; it was below the elbow, on the forearm. He nodded looking at it.
“Yes. It means if you have wealth, you will not keep it. Mind you, you will have money when you need it, and how much you need it, but it will not remain with you….”
“Bhai Sahib, it means that I would live like you; what a bliss!” He nodded with a serious expression.
“And if you had the same sign above the elbow, it means you would be wealthy; it would not be a good sign for you.”
47 Bandhara
29th January, 1963
LAST NIGHT I HOPED that he would let me stay until midnight. People were arriving all the time; I could have easily sat somewhere. He was seated on the dharri under the canopy and many people were with him. But he sent me away at quarter to eight. I felt so frustrated that I cried. Hated to go when he was standing at the gate greeting new arrivals, and I had to go home alone. Felt so lonely and unhappy, and I cried and cried and prayed.
Decided to remain awake till midnight to see if one feels the difference when the gates of the Bandhara are opened. Took some coffee to be sure not to fall asleep. Prayed much for complete surrender. And cried and prayed, and the stars were near and happiness was just around the corner, unreachable for me…. My heartbeat was very rapid, too rapid as if in high fever. I was thinking that it was the effect of the vibrations which were really something.
Was waiting, lost the sense of time, and all at once the heart went really mad with beating…. Good heavens, I thought, I feel funny; so I got up and switched on the light to see what time it was. It was five minutes to midnight. So, it was very true. The vibrations increased immensely; my whole body was affected. Those were the doors of the Bandhara which were opened at midnight. Fell asleep soon afterwards.
This morning arrived before eight. The vibrations seemed normal, or nearly. Found a place near the carpet where he would be sitting… right in front I sat, to be able to see him well. He came out looking well and dressed smartly, sat down and the meditation began. He went into a deep state almost immediately. The light around him… could not stop looking. The vibrations increased and I prayed for complete surrender. Prasad arrived in a huge container; he prayed over it, and then it was distributed. Then he just sat there without talking; he obviously did not feel well. About two he asked me if I would like to take my food with everybody, and I answered that I would like very much. He smiled and sent Ramji to arrange for it.
“I felt not at all well last night; high fever again. Vomiting condition too. Annoying.” Now I know why the rapid heartbeat last night… got his feverish condition …. Had my food seated on the floor of the veranda with all the others; the food was served in little earthenware containers placed on the mats in front of us. It was good, simple food cooked by the servants and his wife and the female members of his family. While I was finishing it, he was just coming out. He asked if I liked it, and I said that I enjoyed it very much.
“Have it here tomorrow too,” he said kindly, passing by and followed by a crowd.
“Go home and have a rest and be here about three,” he said looking back, and disappeared in the doorway.
So I went home, had a rest and was there about quarter past three.
Waited sitting there on the dharri. About five he came out. I was sitting in front again. He was flushed, feverish obviously, and intoxicated with God. For the first time I saw a Saint when he is full of spiritual intoxication. Wonderful spectacle it is. He sparkled, laughed, talked, sang. My heart stood still for a moment: he looked at me suddenly, and I saw two rays of light coming from his eyes, and this look was like a dagger right into my heart. Disciples massaged his feet while he was talking away. He was singing as I never heard him before. My heart kept beating and beating. I was fascinated. Flushed, lovely, tenderly smiling, he was full of inner fire… a Saint intoxicated with God… drunk with the Shakti (Power) of God.
For the first time I witnessed it, and for the first time I really understood…. Such was the love, that I kept having tears in my eyes all the time… this smiling expression which is a powerful call… a memory from somewhere… it makes one shiver for some reason…. When I looked up, I saw him still looking at me and I could not bear it, had to close my eyes. The next moment I looked he was laughing and talking to somebody who just came in. Could not help wondering if he did unite my soul with his in the moment he looked at me…. For the physical body knows nothing of this happening, so it might well have been….
Stayed until ten in the evening. Then he went inside, his disciples helping him to get up and carrying his blanket. At home I simply dropped into bed and fell asleep immediately. Was very tired somehow. It was probably his tiredness I was getting.
30th January
I WAS THERE ABOUT HALF PAST SEVEN. It was the day of Samadhi. Great confusion was reigning. Nobody knew if the truck would be available; rikshaws were standing before the gate; people were milling about. He was invisible yet. I was thinking how great love was, how strong the vibrations. If I could keep this feeling, there could be no trouble with the mind… but I knew that it was impossible to keep it up all the time. I never could… it will go. But now at this moment it was like a rich, full song… difficult to bear the vibrations. The world unreal, but so beautiful….
The truck, a huge one, arrived at last. Everybody filed in. He was standing directing everybody; I did not notice when he came out; saw him only when he was already standing in the street looking like a patriarch, every inch of him full of authority. There seemed to be no room in the truck anymore. The engineer came to me and said that I will travel with Guruji in his car. But somebody called me and I was accommodated in front of the truck near Mr. Chowdrie and a few others, the grandson of his Rev. Guru Maharaj and two old disciples.
So I travelled in style, looking at the sunlit road while the truck, full to the brim with people, rattled along the road past the crowded streets, bazaars, factories. Seven miles of it. Then it was gathering speed on the road outside the city; right and left were sugar plantations, maize fields and the usual groups of mango trees in between. Lovely Indian plains so fragrant and so full of bad smells in places, with the sky of this indefinite blue above—how I will miss you when back in England…. Many people were already at the Samadhi, and it was full of the most dirty children who had left long before us, travelling in a tractor with a trailer. It was fun to see them leave, all gay and happy in holiday mood, trailer overflowing with children, puff-puffing along with a terrible noise of thunder which made the houses around tremble. The fragrance of spring was in the air. How sunlit the white mausoleum was.
He also just arrived in the engineer’s car with the members of his family. Slowly he went inside; I was right behind him walking beside his brother. Took my seat nearly opposite him so that I should be able to see him well. Looked at him at his father’s grave and prayed fervently, prayed hotly…. You who are generous, You who are merciful, help me to mold myself into the shape my Rev. Guru Maharaj wants me to be…. My heart was so full; cold showers were running up and down my spine. He was transfigured with inner light, was talking to people, greeting everyone; many of the old disciples of his father were there; the graves of his father and mother were covered with flowers… yellow marigolds, mostly, and red roses, and no end of garlands. Prasad was put before him. Then he prayed. Children were running about as usual, but today they did not matter somehow; I was not quite here, my consciousness was somewhere else…. Could not help looking at him so infinitely lovely, the face so still, so deep with devotion. Behind him, all the old disciples, his sons, his brother, and in the background stretching away in the distance the sunlit plains, the groups of mango trees in the azure haze. I will not see that anymore for years, but for some reason it did not matter too much… things of external value; there were other problems haunting me now, more deep and more pressing problems. What was
going inside me was new life… something of lasting value, and things of this world had little to do with it; the mind could only look on helplessly, not understanding much. By reflection new values of things came into the mind, but like a distorted reflection in a defective looking-glass….
When Prasad was being distributed, I took two red roses from the grave of his father. Put them into the pocket of my coat. Red fragrant roses from the grave of a Great Sufi… they had a tired fragrance of dying roses, a smell so sweet and full of melancholy. And the plains were so full of sunshine, so radiant that day that it seemed absurd that something could die and decay.
When everybody was occupied with Prasad and he with blessing children who were brought to him for this purpose, I knelt down before the grave of his father, pressing my forehead against the cool smooth marble. At your feet I am, oh Father of my Rev. Guru Maharaj, I thought, help me, oh help me to be molded as he wants me to be. I cried and had difficulty to get up. Nobody noticed me except Babu who was standing to my left, and I noticed a long, thoughtful look, then he turned away. He was still blessing children and talking to people. Nobody saw me praying—incense was blowing into my face, the incense holder was just beside me. Still felt the cool of the marble stone on my forehead. He was writing something on a slate which somebody placed before him, then more children were brought to him. I had tears in my eyes all the time. Dear, dear, Bhai Sahib… so much love was there, so much longing…. Our truck left soon; he was still talking to some of the disciples. I was half-suspended in between two seats, squeezed in between men and children, most uncomfortable, bumping about, thrown about, but I did not mind a bit. I was as in another world… the whole body vibrating to some kind of inner rhythm, heart full to the brim with this burning Love…. The greatest, the most terrible Love, will I survive it? In London? And I was sure I would….
At his place I sat and waited near his door. Children were fighting on the carpet as usual making a lot of dust. But it did not matter, and I did not dislike them as I usually did. He came out and sat down reclining on his carpet. I was sitting slightly sideways looking at him.
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