Tulsi Ram with his horrible urinating family had left last year. In his place he has a tenant who has a shop of fodder. But when I came this year, behind the nimbu tree I have found a simple hut with tiled roof. It was occupied during the Bandhara by his disciples. Now for the past two days a family lives there who was turned out by the landlord.
This is his life. The life of a Sufi. Never to refuse hospitality.
Yesterday he said as if casually: “I am thinking of taking some walks again in the park; the season is suitable.”
“As you wish Bhai Sahib,” I said. It is not good for him to walk passed through my mind; after a heart attack it would be better if he rested. He was watching me. Probably he was thinking that I am so keen to walk with him as L. used to be. But I was indifferent. I am not too keen on walking. And with him one is bound to meet a man or two who will walk with him shouting their heads off deep in conversation, and I would be trotting behind like a dog trying to keep pace with them. Not a pleasant prospect at any rate. Then he said: “I am thinking that you should give Poonam English lessons from tomorrow. She is at home now since December; I don’t let her go to school. She is a strong, healthy girl. She could improve her English.”
I agreed.
I suggested that it should be between four and five. ”But please, do realize that I am not a teacher and I don’t know how to teach… I never did it. I will do my best though. Only your children are not very keen on study. I am sure you know that, still, I will do my best.”
He did not comment, listened quietly. “There is much to learn by heart, if one studies a language. If she does not study, I can do nothing.” I was thinking of Babu three years ago….
He sat still, thinking something. I knew he was watching me if I was disturbed. I was not. I accepted anything. I know by now that he will not make life easy for me. But I don’t care anymore. The mind is very still. No vibrations at all, anywhere.
When I asked him the other day what was this experience, he answered: “The same thing I gave to Bogroff and he gave out a loud cry. What he experienced only he knows. Two years later he died.
He had to die,” he added thoughtfully. I had to laugh.
“That does not sound very reassuring, but I will not die, at least not of that. But all I wanted to know: was it a sitting? A Tawadje?
Never mind,” I said, seeing that he remained silent.
The next day he said: “Secrets cannot be communicated.” So, one day I will know by myself….
23rd February
HE CAME OUT LAST NIGHT looking tired. But then he talked much and sang. And when I left he was still talking, and it was cold. About six people were sitting. I wish the mind were not so restless. Thousands of thoughts… milling in my head. I sleep little; at two or three a.m.
I am awake, and the mind begins like a wheel turning madly. Kept worrying about him. Perhaps he is not well. It was so cold last night, and he was dressed so lightly. Kept worrying about H. Ideas, ideas… tiring…. When I do the La-il-llillah it is all right for a while, then it starts all over again. About four a soft vibration in the heart began. Stopped soon. And when I came at nine and sat alone, a strong vibration started.
He came out looking very tired. I remembered a couplet which somebody translated yesterday:
“The diamond does not say himself how much is its value, Its worth is judged by the people.”
Then I remembered he said the other day answering Mrs. Sharma: “Perhaps this Saint was under vibrations; then one is irritable.” So, when one is under vibrations, one is irritable. So, that’s the reason for my constant irritation and perhaps even anger…. He never admitted it to me, but don’t I know it! Only I didn’t know that it was due to vibrations….
A strong wind was blowing this morning. Clouds of dust were sweeping in the garden. Soon my face, my hair, and my black skirt were covered with dust. A dense wall of evil-smelling dust came from the other side of the road, from Deva Singh Park. It is called a park; a large notice at the entrance proclaims it. But it looks like a wasteground, not a blade of grass; boys play football there all day long, and a herd of buffalos is driven there every morning to stand in the sun the whole day. When there is a wedding or a festivity, a marquee is erected there and ear-splitting music will come from there through the microphones. Whoever invented these devilish things, I hope he will never have peace in the grave… and children and adults of the whole neighborhood use it as a latrine.
I watched thick clouds of dust rise high in the air from there, being swept with the gusts of wind across the road into Guruji’s garden.
Nobody asked me inside. I was sitting. My heart was so heavy with longing. I will drink to the bitter end the cupful of sorrow. He will see to it that my life is as difficult as possible. When he came out, he looked tired; he had a towel round his head to protect himself from the dust, and it made him look like an Arab. It suits him. His face acquired a remote nobility, and the curve of the lips hardly seen through the beard seems more gentle. Soon we went inside the room; it was too dusty for him. In the room it was cool and dark. He was talking to Vippin and to the Sikh. Then Vippin went and he told me that he was last night under fever. My heart sank… he looked at me several times and went into Samadhi. The heart activity began.
The longing became deeper and deeper. Great, powerful longing.
The Sikh was talking with mournful voice for one full hour without stopping for one moment. He pretended to listen. From time to time he answered something but he was in Samadhi. Then he went out.
The Sikh tried to talk to me. This time I thought that it was fortunate that I don’t speak Hindi. He came back and sat in the big grandfather chair. The Sikh was still talking and began to massage his feet.
“May I go now?”
“Yes, yes,” he answered gruffly. I left. And at home was full of such misery and depression, full of foreboding…. Something is approaching… something frightening… but what??
24th February
A FEW DAYS AGO there was a new crescent moon. The new moon in India at certain times of the year is different; it is not upright as in our sky; it is floating like a silver boat, and it stood against the fading dull orange and mauve of the evening sky.
“Two days old moon; the moon of Shiva, very auspicious,” I said to the man sitting next to me. Guruji, who was talking to his brother, turned suddenly in my direction:
“Nonsense! There is nothing auspicious or non-auspicious. Those are man-made superstitions! They are made by us and we entangle ourselves in ignorant beliefs! Sufis are free from them…. “
He was not well last night. I was sitting outside and talking to Meva Ram. Then we were called inside. Fancy, I thought, I am called in…. He was lying on the tachat, emaciated and tired. Meva Ram began to talk about me, telling him what I had told him—I understood so much of Hindi to gather that. I saw that he was pleased. Heart activity began. I had such longing and so much sorrow…. May God give him health. And when at home prayed so much and prayed well…. The nearness… how sweet it is….
Did not sleep since two a.m. Kept thinking about the infinite Truth. Kept up the practice. When I say: La, it is like a Void—the mind vanishes. It is a lovely feeling of Nothingness.
I don’t want Yantras. Not really. I am not after Samadhi, or Dhyana, or even states of bliss. I don’t want powers. I want only Truth. Truth alone…. And my heart was at peace, and the hours passed swiftly.
He came out about ten a.m., but before that I sat alone; clouds of dust were whirling around me. Was thinking that it mattered little.
The mind did not seem to work much. There was such peace.
The Sikh was there sitting in the doorway with his two sons.
Lovely boys. They were barefoot, no shoes, so poor they were. Bhai Sahib gave him some money. He asked me to count it; it was sixty one rupees. The man nearly cried. They all left soon after touching his feet. He got up. “I will walk for a while,” he remarked and began to walk on the brick elevation.
“Meva Ram was telling me last night how much he was impressed with what you have told him. I said that she comes here for the Truth, not for talking, like so many.”
“Oh, I don’t know why he should have been so impressed; I told him the difference between joy and bliss.”
“Is it not the same thing?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” I answered; “joy is a positive, dynamic feeling; bliss is a passive state. I prefer joy. To lift the world upon my shoulders… I concluded.”
“Very good, very good,” he laughed. Then he sat down.
“I said that the human being, being the crown of Creation, should aspire only to the highest, the best, the greatest Ideal. To put one’s ambition high, so high that one can hardly reach it. Then try to reach it. To want the Glory without limit and the singingJoy.” He laughed again, his young laughter.
We went into the room. He took the book of Guru Nanak from the shelf and began to read sitting in the big chair. The door was closed. A strong wind made the curtains fly, and opened and closed the wooden shutters with a bang from time to time. Children of the family to whom he gave hospitality shouted in play, and the little one cried. It did not disturb at all. There he was sitting, and here was I at the other end of the room, and there was oneness and great peace.
His wife came in. She took no notice of me. Strange, how lovely it is not to be. To be absolutely nothing is the greatest, the loveliest thing on earth…. On earth only? No, everywhere. There is such a power in being nothing… a latent Power like a tightly wound-up spring. About quarter past twelve I went home. The mind was peaceful all day. Got a letter from H. and I was glad.
When I went to him in the afternoon, he gave me a letter from H. and I was a little worried because I thought that she had troubles.
25th February
SPENT A PEACEFUL NIGHT. Was awake as usual about three a.m. Was thinking quiet thoughts and doing the practice.
When I arrived he was already in the garden. Read to him H. ‘s letter which I received. He was walking up and down on the brick elevation; talking to him I had to keep pace with him.
In the afternoon two microphones installed in Deva Singh Park blared two different kinds of music at the same time, so loudly that if one had to speak, one had to shout to be heard. Some kind of children’s fair was going on. Could not write, not even these notes, not to mention a letter. Just sat there thinking bitterly what a difficult country India is for us coming from the West. Dirt, horrible dogs, diseases one sees in the streets, dreadful beggars, and the climate. He came out late (who could blame him!) and went after half an hour to a wedding nearby.
“Will be back soon,” he said. But I knew he wouldn’t. So, I went home. And even at home, I heard the blare, though not so loud for it was quite a distance away.
65 Time Runs Short
26th February, 1966
HE CAME OUT LOOKING TIRED. Talked for a while to his eldest son. He looked at me with a hard distant look. I knew he was observing the state of my mind. When his son said that it was ten a.m., he murmured: “Time… Hm… some old people, but very few, begin to understand the value of time. The young ones do not. Time… how precious it is…. If it is gone, it is gone forever.”
It was for me. And he could not have said anything more appropriate. I am obsessed with the idea that time runs short, that he will go, and the training will not be completed….
“That’s why Sufis don’t encourage irrelevant talk, it being a waste of time.” He was in Samadhi. He probably did not even hear….
27th February
TODAY IS SUNDAY. Many people will come as usual on Sunday and much talk will go on. I arrived half an hour late. When I saluted him (each time I salute him it is like burying my face into fragrant flowers, my heart begins to sing), he laughed.
“Yes, yes; sit down!” I explained that I was late because the night before there was a party at Sharma’s place, and so I came down for breakfast late, thinking that nobody will be up yet. Then I was talking to Mrs. Sharma.
“You are never late!” He laughed. “Never! One is late only when the heart is late! Do you understand?” I said that I did. But secretly I wondered if he meant that my heart is never late? Was it??
Plenty of people were sitting already. I ventured a question: “At the party Mr. Vippin told me about a new man who came to you yesterday and he told you that one corner of his house seems to be haunted; it has a very bad influence. This bad corner affects the whole house. All the time somebody is falling ill; his daughter died recently, and all sorts of misfortunes happen to everyone who lives there. Mr. Vippin said that your answer was as follows: “If you think as you seem to do, that there is a grave underneath this corner, dig it out, take whatever you find there to the river and throw it into the water. Take some earth from the river bank and fill it in. You will see all will be well. But if it is a grave of a Venerable person I can do nothing.”
“Now, my questions are: Firstly: why can you do nothing? You can do everything! All of us seated here, we know it! And secondly: A venerable person can never do evils, how can that be?” He smiled.
“There is evil and evil. How do we know what evil is? Those people say that there is evil. But we also know that some persons have to suffer evils. They call it evils. But who knows…. And as for you saying that I can do everything; it is you who says so. It is your faith. I will never say so. I always say that I know nothing, and I can do nothing. If one is nowhere, one has to speak like that.
Nowhere, meaning everywhere, of course…. “
I understood; in substance it was the same answer as he gave me about healing years ago: “We can heal everything, but we cannot heal everybody.” The Saint, being one with God, knows if it is the destiny of this particular person to suffer and be afflicted and if it is allowed to be taken away….
Then he began to speak of faith: “There are few people who can be faithful; those who smoke, those who drink can never be faithful.
Why? Because they are not faithful to themselves! What happens when it is smoked in the room? The room gets black. The same happens inside the human being. It becomes black. Bad smell comes from the mouth, from the skin, from all the orifices.”
“If somebody sends evil to a Saint, it cannot affect him. Does the evil return to the doer harming him?”
“Only if the Saint orders so. Otherwise it is absorbed. If a disease is to be cured, it is absorbed. As for you in London, you had to ask for help because you were affected by some evils belonging to another person. It was because you were not yet capable of absorbing. Not yet…. One absorbs effortlessly. If one asks for help, it is absorbed somewhere else. Yes, you are right; there is a direct connecting link with the Master. I will not always know your thoughts unless you are completely absorbed in me. When one is absorbed, it is on all the levels.” I said that I always believed that help is given, and now in the case of a certain woman after so many years he still does not know if it is a woman or a man….
“Help is given from the Universal Reservoir of help. You asked for help and it is given either direct from the Master, or as in this case through you, because those people do not know me, never have seen me. One does not need to know if one who asks is a man or a woman.
I asked just now, only because in the case of a man the reason why the accident happened is a different one as in the case of a woman.
That’s all.”
Other talk went on in Hindi. Then he got up to go.
“Did you understand the meaning of all I have said?”
“Yes, but still many puzzling things remain …. “
“Which one?” he asked becoming suddenly earnest, and sat down again.
I told him that one of the Sufi tenets is to avoid irrelevant talk.
Ninety percent of the talk done here is irrelevant. And if people come here only for such a talk, then it is all right. But what about the Sharmas? They complain that they want spiritual talk and they get worldly talk from you. They come for bread
and they get stones. “If your child asks you for bread, would you give him a stone?”
His expression was difficult to describe. He smiled… his lips were tight as if in tense expectation.
“And if the child asks for poison will I give it to my child? The Giver knows what he is doing. Who comes for absolute Truth? Very, very few… hardly any. The Giver knows what to do…. ”
In the evening he did not speak English at all. The Giver knows…. Until now I accepted it because my reason accepted it; the understanding came that it was done for this or that purpose. But the stage has come to accept it because I have faith in his superior Wisdom. And it seemed to me at that moment that it will be not too difficult; so many proofs I had of his greatness…. I must take a firm decision…. Please, help!
28th February
DREAM: I was dressed in black as for a lecture. I looked in the mirror and I saw that I had a beard… a white beard around my face, as Muslims have. No other hair was on my cheeks, only the beard about three inches long, like a white, soft halo around the lower part of my face. Strange, I thought. I touched it; it felt like my own all right…. Strange, that I go on lecturing to large audiences all over the world and nobody laughed at me, nobody called me a woman with a beard. Nobody seems to notice it….
When I came down, Mrs. Sharma said to me, “I play for you a new tune, I have composed this morning. The words are from Bahadur Shah, the grandson of Aurangzeb. He composed it while he was in prison where the English put him. It is the song of a bride, apparently, when she leaves her parents’ home.
“I have to leave soon. Soon four men, four bearers will come, they will call for a palanquin and they will carry me my feet forward. And all which belongs to me and which belongs to others I leave behind.”
I told Bhai Sahib that he is after regard because he said about Mr. Vippin: “He pays me regard in every possible way.” He preached to me harshly for over an hour. Either he made confusing statements, or my mind was confused; I don’t remember a thing .. .. In the evening he came out smiling and he asked me how I was.
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