Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  He said last night translating a couplet:

  “The Divine Thread is so subtle and thin,

  not easy to see Not easy to catch.

  It is not for everybody.

  Only for those who can sacrifice.

  Not the physical possessions are meant here,

  this is not a sacrifice.

  It is relatively easy and is only part of it.

  Sacrifice means merging into the Great Man of the time,

  Who is the Sat Guru.”

  He continued to speak in Hindi, giving more explanations about the couplet. I kept quiet for a while, then taking advantage of a pause in conversation, I asked: “What is the Divine Thread?”

  “I told you, don’t you see it? It is for what you come to the Sat Guru. For what did you come?”

  “Oh, I see; the term ‘Divine Thread’ confused me.”

  “It must be understood; but it cannot be understood completely.

  Only partly. The greater part is beyond understanding. As far as we live in this world and as far as this world is with us, we understand it. Beyond, there is no understanding anymore, but Realization.”

  As far as I can see, for the memory there is no other cure but to accept everything that happens as the Will of God. And in reality, it is so, of course. And as to thoughts which don’t belong to me, it is a question of keeping them away, I suppose….. Heaven knows how it is not easy at all—not always can I recognize which is my own thought and which is not….

  HE CAME OUT LOOKING GREY AND TIRED.

  “How are you?” His voice was friendly and warm.

  “I am all right, but you are not well,” I answered while I was saluting him.

  “I was under fever last night and had a trouble to some extent.”

  And he went to the water pipe to wash his face. Then he returned into the room. A few moments later Satendra called me in. The room felt cool. He was sitting in the big chair and he had a mala in his hand.

  The jade mala. I call it the lady-mala. It must be of feminine gender, those pale, smooth beads, alive as it were, shining in the dark. It is so beautiful… all the other malas of wood, especially the shining black one belonging to his Rev. Guru, which he had yesterday, are male malas. They are solid, masculine, larger affairs. He sat quietly.

  Somehow I felt that I could speak, so I said: “For the last eleven days I have managed to control my mind. And I see that it can be done.” A flicker of a radiant smile passed like a ray of sudden sunshine over his tired face.

  “Gooood,” he said cheerfully, drawing out the “oo’s.”

  “But I find that I encounter two major difficulties. The first is the memory.”

  “How is that?” he inquired.

  “You see, by sitting in your garden, there are many situations which crop up and remind me of the past sufferings. Terrible things have been done, and they come up and stand before me like ghosts. I was afraid that it might happen, and I wrote to you about it from London, I remember. It happened as I feared. Then the resentment comes. Now, to get rid of the resentment, one has to remember that it was, and it is, the Will of God. Then the resentment goes. But the other obstacle is the fact that I live in surroundings of suspicion.

  How to know which doubts are mine and which are somebody else’s reflections?” A shadow of compassion showed in his eyes. He picked up his mala which was lying pale and shining on the armrest of his chair.

  “At last I am beginning to master my mind… am less a slave of it… am not completely helpless. I see that I can master it, even if only just.”

  “Thoughts come and go,” he said softly.

  “Yes, but they should not come at all; you yourself told me that.

  But by being able to control it at least partially, I feel a deep satisfaction within.”

  “A great satisfaction and peace will come when one controls the mind,” he said slowly, beginning to pray. I settled down comfortably to pray too, watching him. Suddenly I had the feeling that he prayed for me. Such was the intensity, such was the concentration, his deep devotion… it was touching to see. And it occurred to me that for a fortnight he had the mala every day, and I remembered that when I was under pressure he also had the mala every day for many months.

  And today I was 100% sure he prayed for me… and so I sat there praying with him. When he finished, he stretched as if in exhaustion; his body felt tired—one could see it. And he fell asleep reclining in the big chair. I changed my place and went to sit not exactly opposite him, but near the wall at the head of his bed. There I could see him better. There was a deep peace… what a peace, I thought. No other feeling but the deepest peace.

  The branches of the guava bush outside the window moved in the breeze. Sparrows were chirping, a myna sang in a tree nearby. The melodious call of the Indian woodpecker was heard; I call it the sugarmill bird; it sounds like the sound of the press of the sugar mill, a kind of rapid “too, too, too,” endlessly going on. Bluish light on his face. Green light on his magnificent forehead. Some silly little sparrows were trying to stuff some straw in the upper part of the ceiling fan. They want to make a nest there… poor silly things.

  When the fan will be used in a few weeks time, they won’t be able to approach it, and the eggs will be lost.

  I reflected on the feeling of oneness. Here we are, two different physical bodies. Not even sitting near each other. There was a bodily difference, of course. But already on the mental level there was some intimate feeling of belonging. And somewhere, deep, deep down, there was absolute oneness…. I don’t disturb him at all, I was thinking. His wife came in, wanted to talk, gave him a look, saw he was sleeping, and went out. A few seconds later he opened his eyes.

  “What time, please?” he said in a friendly way.

  “Half past eleven; do you want me to go?” He shook his head and closed his eyes again. I don’t disturb him… how can I? We are one somewhere.

  At half past twelve I went reluctantly. Could have stayed forever in this place, but it was time to go home for lunch.

  12th March

  IN THE AFTERNOON HE DID NOT COME OUT. A procession of people went into the room. I was not asked in, so I sat outside alone. It did not matter much. I was with him alone in the morning, and there was a sense of deep oneness.

  Woke up in the morning about six… very late for me. Hurried to open the bathroom door for the servant to bring the hot water. I was just in time.

  Had two dreams last night. One was: two chairs were standing near each other separate from other chairs further away, presumably for other people. The one chair was his usual one, and the other, the exact replica only smaller, had an orange fringed cover, and was for me. I woke up and was thinking that it really does not need an interpretation. Fell asleep again and dreamt that he and I were sitting on the chairs close together in the middle of an empty street.

  Beautiful houses and trees were on both sides of the street, but the shutters and all the doors were closed, and no people in the street except one European man who passed by and kept looking back curiously at us sitting on chairs in the middle of the street. I could not make out what it could mean.

  The feeling of belonging and great peace is still with me. This morning after breakfast, sitting at the table and reading an article on Razia, the queen of India in the thirteenth century, I suddenly felt like a stab and then a gentle vibration in the heart. The feeling of love and belonging increased, and I was reflecting that for the last twelve days, while I was engaged in the task of controlling the mind, there were not many vibrations. Only very few and for a short time. I was left seemingly alone to cope with my mind. Seemingly. Help is given, of course. The human being cannot do such a formidable task alone.

  But I probably will never know to what extent it is given.

  This morning I was thinking: the greatest proof for me that the Spiritual Life is a TREMENDOUS REALITY must be AND is, that a man, a COMPLETE STRANGER, takes such trouble with me. For what? To train a human being is a
hard, difficult work; it requires time and effort.

  Why should he do it if not because of some received order? Orders from Whom? Orders for what reason? Here lies the answer of the reality of it….

  When I analyze my feeling, for the first time I notice now that the nearness to the Master is of the same quality as the nearness to God.

  When I pray, the feeling is the same. Only the Master is much nearer than God, or shall I say Truth? This is the only difference. The difference is in the distance of feeling. God is more distant.

  He came out and I did not notice it until he passed me by going to his chair. I got up and saluted him hurriedly.

  “Strange, that for a few times I did not notice you lately.” He had a ghost of a smile for an answer. I remembered, ten days ago, as I was coming through the gate I was aware faintly, as if on the edge of my consciousness, of somebody at the other end of the garden, but I realized that it was he when I heard his voice and saw him standing near me.

  “How are you?” he asked, and I was startled, so unexpected it was.

  Another time I was also startled when I was taking back the bucket into the courtyard after having watered the plants. I did not see him sitting with his wife who was talking to him in a low voice. I am so deeply aware of him always and he is surely not a person to be overlooked so easily at any time. It is a strange phenomenon. A fault of the mind? Of the eyes? Or is my consciousness being abstracted somewhere else? At any rate it seems to me to be strange.

  He had the little ivory mala. After a while I asked him if it had a special meaning that he held it sometimes in the right hand and sometimes in the left.

  “Just for the sake of convenience; it has no other meaning.”

  The whole morning he was sitting there, at first praying, but not for long, and then in Samadhi. This feeling of perfect peace… one is quite simply resting in his heart. Or is he resting in mine? There is an utter stillness within, which for the mind is a vacuum, for it understands it not. The merging into the Master is obviously accomplished by degrees… and in utter silence…. He looked at my forehead twice or three times when opening his eyes. All was peace. Even the garden was still. Even the traffic… as if from very far away came the usual noises of a busy household.

  13th March

  HE CAME OUT LOOKING BETTER, and for a long time he was talking Hindi. From time to time he gave a friendly nod in my direction. He must have noticed that I was somewhat depressed. It was hot already, and I was thinking of the heat in the months ahead. After glancing at me in a kindly way he asked:

  “How are you?” I said that I was well and was glad that he was better. “Better, yes; hard times are ahead.”

  “Hard times?” I echoed alarmed, thinking he was alluding to his state of health.

  “Please, don’t sit always outside, come inside at any time. You can sit in the room. Go inside, don’t even ask; nobody is here to check you. I myself sometimes don’t come into this room for hours.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and then with a smile I added: “This is a great change… you know what I mean.” His smiling eyes said: Yes, I know, and he nodded. I was alluding to the past when I could never go inside, heat or no heat. Then he talked about the coolness of his room, the cross-ventilation, due to the three doors and two windows. The windows in all the rooms in his bungalow have no window panes, only wooden shutters.

  “Last night when you left, the advocate Bhalla and the others were speaking so highly of ·you. They were saying: she is coming every day sitting here for many hours, or she will do something in the garden. And she does not know why and for what she is coming, but she sits…. But we know about Brahmavidya and we come here to have a talk only. We don’t want to sacrifice, we don’t make any efforts…. “In this they are mistaken, I thought. I know much more than they imagine… why I am here….

  “And when people speak like this, I feel ashamed,” he continued.

  “But why should you feel ashamed?” I interrupted, profoundly puzzled at his conclusion.

  “Had I been a greater man, I would have taken you—and he made a gesture as to indicate infinite horizons—God knows where I could have taken you, but I cannot do it.”

  “Good heavens, you cannot do it because of my limitations! What can you do if I am still full of the self!?” While he was speaking, all the time he was looking me straight in the eyes. He wants to see if I am resentful that he is not taking me higher, I thought; this talk is a test ….

  I was talking to Durga Shankar and to a pandit who is here from Tundla. Then I noticed that they did not listen because they were in Samadhi. He is testing me all right—if there is resentment in me because I should have been given more—flashed through my mind.

  He was not with us; he went to have his bath.

  This morning he has a small, new mala, made from Tulsi wood.

  When he came back, he began to pray, the mala slowly revolving in his hand. Leaning forward when he looked up I said softly: “Bhai Sahib?” He turned his head in my direction with a smile.

  “When will the self go?”

  “When the smaller merges into the Greater,” he answered, “will the self go.”

  I shook my head. “People speak highly of me and I don’t speak highly of anybody. I sit here and dislike people, am full of criticisms, have resentment, am irritated, dislike this and that the self is still very much in evidence.”

  “Something will always remain; I told you this before. Even in Great People something always remains; so that people will say: ‘Look here, how many faults are there!’ While we are in the physical bodies, something must remain.”

  When walking home I was thinking much of what he said to me. I am sure it is myself which is to blame if there is a lack of anything.

  When I was resting after lunch, the wind already smelled of the hot breath of the Indian plains. It is the forerunner of Loo. Hot, unbearably hot, is the breath of the plains, for they stretch for thousands of miles. When flying to Madras in ‘63, I saw them: ochrecolored and endless, tiny villages with a few trees lost amongst this arid vastness…. How can they live?, I was thinking; what life of privations it must be…. The bougainvillea on the terrace on the right, seen from my wide open window, is a glory. I looked at it for a long time, feeling the hot scorching breath of the wind on my face.

  The crimson and scarlet of it! I know that if I will see one like this in the future, it will always mean India to me, and all the longing and the heat of the plains, all the smells, all the memories will come crowding back with unbearable yearning. The wind sweeping through all the open windows (the room has windows all around and a large double door, all glass, opening on the flat-roof terrace), the dome of the temple in the distance, the trees of the park… and the longing, the longing… Oooh….

  14th March

  LAST NIGHT HE EXCHANGED a few friendly words with me. And then I sat in the darkening garden, listening to the Hindi conversation and looking at sudden flashes of his eyes when they caught the light of the street lamp. The feeling of nearness was perfect. I was thinking that before, when I dreamt of him most of the time, many people were present. Lately, when I dream of him, we are alone either sitting near each other, or he is telling me something, or sometimes I do. I wonder, could it mean that the merging began? Last night I was very lonely. There is a kind… a kind .. . a foreboding? I am not sure….

  The water was running from the pipe for irrigation. The sound of running water is a blessed sound in India. The air was sweet and heavy with the scent of the Queen of the Night (in Hindi, Rat ki Rani)— it is a shrub, and it flowers at this time of the year. There is one, a small one, in Guruji’s garden.

  16th March

  YESTERDAY HE TALKED TO ME in a friendly way in the morning. He was squatting near the water pipe and the Sikh was cleaning a sickle. I just stood there quietly. We both were together in deepest peace.

  When the Sikh departed, taking the sickle with him, he got up and said: “I gave the sickle to him. When
the human being is in trouble, who will help? Even animals help each other. Shall we be less than animals?” He began to walk up and down. I sat down near the wall where the chairs were standing. He beckoned me to him. I approached. He talked about plants, irrigation, simple everyday things .. . just as in my later dreams, was the feeling. Just being together, together in the deepest peace. There was oneness, and I never experienced it to such an extent as today. Infinitely lovely…. The garden was sprinkled. People came and went. He was sometimes inside talking to his family, sometimes outside directing the sweeping. The Sikh came back and began to sprinkle. A lovely smell of moist earth was in the air. Then the chairs were put out. The usual crowd arrived and the usual talk in Hindi began. I sat there in perfect peace. And when I left I touched his feet, as I have been doing lately for the past few days. “Good night,’ ‘ says my heart. “Sleep well.”

  Had a restless night. It was so hot and stuffy. This morning when I came out on the terrace at dawn, the sky was perfect in pale yellows and tender mauves in the zenith. A waning crescent moon was to the right, and a large star was in the east. I stood there in the coolness of the morning… how my skin enjoyed it! Tried to analyze this peace.

  The deepest peace can be had only in the most peaceless state which is love…. Yes, but the love beyond conflict is not of this world… where did I read it? Kama Sutra? Welling from within, a feeling so rich, so full and of no end .. . stretching into the Always. So still, so deep, that I cannot express it in words, not even in clear thinking… cannot say and, what is more, don’t care even to try to say it… nobody will ever understand. And he knows about it, for he gave it to me, so no need to say anything to him either.

  Is this merging?? That’s why he told me sometime ago: “Write it all down; every day there will be new things.” At any rate HE KNOWS.

  When I came, he was already sitting outside talking to a man in English: “Prophet Mohammed ordered that nobody should bow down at his tomb, that nobody should be inclined to worship it.