And nobody ever did it. Pilgrimage to the Kaaba is not a worship of it. Nobody can kill a mosquito; nobody can say a bad word; nobody must even say, this is good and this is bad. This is Pilgrimage. Only this.”
Then the man left and he told me that I can sit in the room where it is cooler and dark and there are no flies, and he in the meantime will have his bath and massage. So I sat in the semi-dark room. Could not help being pleased because I saw the drunkard sitting alone under the mango tree. For one moment I felt inclined to tell him that the Master will not come out. But I refrained from doing it. After all, it is not my business. And it does him good to sit alone for a change.
Sounds of some songs on the radio were pleasant, heard from the distance. He kept coming in and out. I felt deeply at peace, deeply happy inside. Each time he came in, I got up as usual. At one moment I had the impression that it somewhat embarrassed him so I said: “Please, allow me to get up each time you come in; it is a pleasure to me, no bother at all.”
“Hot season is coming,” he remarked for an answer, took a singlet from the hook on the wall and went out. How priestly he looks, his brown torso naked and the longhi reaching down to the sandals….
Some of his sayings: “Luminaries set, but when the sun has set, the moon shines like the sun….”
Speaking of a letter full of doubts which arrived from London: “One should always answer letters of doubts. Always try to disperse doubts in the human being. When the doubts go, then there is progress.”
Speaking of the brother of one of his followers who just died: “If he is faithful, he will be helped; if not, why should I bother?I am not the Lord of the World!
“Tassildar (the drunkard) went on talking last evening about advocate Bhalla. He was saying that the advocate does not pay me the due regard, and this regard is due to me and everybody should know it. And he went on and on… but I don’t listen. Who can listen to every nonsense!”
“Couldn’t you tell him that one should not speak like this about others?”
“What for?” he retorted. “People don’t listen to one, not to speak about acceptance. They don’t listen and they don’t accept. Until the time has arrived, nobody accepts anything. But when the time comes, only a little hint is needed and the human being accepts….”
“Who has renounced, God will provide for his needs.”
Mrs. Vippin was asking about somebody who was considered to be a Saint, but he was such an angry individual, so easily aroused.
“If a Saint is under vibrations, he will be very irritable; his condition may be due to that.”
“GO ON TOLERATING, go on renouncing; and without the slightest doubt,” he said emphatically, “You will be there?
“I am sorry that she is in financial difficulties. I will pray for her.
But if she will follow you, that is, if she remains with you (he corrected himself quickly, and it made me smile, for the disciple should never have the opportunity to become proud!), and you will be strict with her, and she will stick in spite of that, then she will never be in money difficulties, and neither will you, WHEN YOU HAVE SURRENDERED.”
68 Testing Period
17th March, 1966
KEEP PRAYING FOR FAITH… faith in spite of everything, faith endless, faith to move mountains. Faith is the door to Truth… the desire for knowledge must go. One must desire faith only. But how can the desire for knowledge go? The very purpose of our coming on earth, is to KNOW, to EXPERIENCE. Every Soul wants to KNOW above all….
Still, the desire for knowledge can be given up for something greater….
18th March
HE CAME OUT LATE, some people whom I never saw before were present. They were from another town. Soon we all went into the room. He was in the big chair, had the small mala of blond wood. The drunkard was there too, but he is not a drunkard anymore; he gave up drinking, so Bhai Sahib said a few days ago. So I will call him Tasseldar; he is some kind of magistrate, as far as I understood. I sat near the door because it is the coolest place .. . nice draught in the room and it felt pleasant. Was thinking of the last evening—how I cried sitting in the dark while all of them were busily talking… an ocean of despair was in my heart…. He had hurt me by twisting my words, by accusing me of something I had not done… I was perplexed and could not get at the meaning of it all. He was ironical, made sharp, cutting remarks; then he said something which I knew was not true and contrary to facts, twisted his statements, was sarcastic and then denied everything….
Why on earth does he drag himself into the mud before my eyes?
Here are no more contradictions; he is untruthful… and he did it repeatedly till I was reduced to absolute despair… and I cried in hopeless frustration. Then I began to think: who is hurt? The self, of course. Let it go! I did… and was at peace.
When saluting him when leaving, “Everything all right?” he drawled ironically. I mumbled something in assent in profound disgust. Of course he knew that I was crying, and how hurt I was, and he was laughing at me….
But I had peace that night. I should know him better by now and not fall into the trap, for I know why it is done… go on lying, I thought. My heart does not believe that you mean it. I know why you do it. All this I was thinking sitting in the cool near the door. He finished his prayers. Lifting his head, he gave me a hard look right into my eyes. I looked back at him: I don’t believe that you are such a twister, I thought, and repeated this thought clearly three times to be sure that he gets it. I don’t care. Go on twisting, denying—go on hurting me. I wonder if the feeling of despair is caused, “done” deliberately, to increase the suffering, or if I myself cause it. I wonder… I was subjected to so many things, to so many pressures, that nothing would surprise me anymore.
While talking to Tasseldar, he got up and came to sit on the sofa, next to my chair. I had a slight surprise and then a sense of alarm. I remembered that he did that once in the past—he came to sit near me—and then I had terrible trouble with my mind. I watched him with suspicion.
He told us two stories of Ajaz, the first of the Slave Dynasty: “The King had a slave, Ajaz by name, and he loved him much and he trusted him. The courtiers were jealous of him. They tried to accuse him before the king but with no success.
“One day the king learned that a troop had crossed the frontier of his kingdom, so he sent Sardars, the pillars of the kingdom, to investigate from where they came and what they wanted. And he also sent Ajaz to do the same. The Sardars came back the same evening reporting to the king that those people crossed the frontier by mistake and they had left already. Ajaz remained away for three days. The courtiers and the Sardars began to whisper to the king, ‘What is he doing so long? He is wasting his time. We investigated and came back in one day?’ After three days Ajaz came back and the king was angry with him: ‘Give me the report of what you have done, you unfaithful slave,’ he shouted at him. ‘Those people,’ said Ajaz, ‘were sent by the enemy to spy and to prepare for the invasion.
They crossed the frontier at this spot. They spent the night near this village. They put some obstacles at the strategic places.’ ‘Why didn’t you arrest them?’ asked the king. ‘This was done,’ answered Ajaz.
‘They have been arrested and are in prison awaiting your orders.
“The king came back from a war expedition which was very successful, and he was happy and pleased. He wanted to make his people happy, so he put part of the booty in an enclosure and issued a proclamation that whoever comes can take whatever they like.
Crowds of people came and took young slaves, and treasures, and carpets, and silks. Ajaz was sitting in the middle and did nothing and said nothing. ‘Well, Ajaz,’ said the king, ‘you don’t want anything?’
‘I did not quite understand your orders; please, repeat them to me,’
Ajaz replied. ‘Everyone who lays hand on anything in this enclosure, anybody who touches it, it belongs to him; these are the orders,’ said the king. Ajaz stood up, bowed deeply before the k
ing and put his hand on his shoulder. Ajaz was the successor to the throne after the king’s death.” Guruji laughed at this point. “He was the only one to want that! He wanted the king! Nobody thought of it but he alone!” This story is for me; he is going to test me more, I thought. I had better be careful….
Some of his sayings: ‘I should not have the desire to buy this perfume,” I said, when he told me that he wrote to Lucknow to have it bought by one of his disciples.
“A minor desire,” he said, with a brief movement of his head. “We cannot help to have some desires. If it can be fulfilled, why not? Man or woman, makes no difference; a human being is a human being, soul is soul; only here on this plane is differentiation.”
19th March
HE WAS SITTING OUTSIDE when I came at nine a.m. He was dictating letters to one of his disciples. Then Tasseldar came hobbling in, sat down and began to talk. And he talked… and he talked… and he grated away with his horrible voice. At one moment I could bear it no longer. Bhai Sahib seemed to be interested, encouraged this verbal diarrhea. How kindly he can listen, and with what interest!
And with me he will pretend not to understand, will ask people to repeat what I have said, misinterpret my words…. I got up.
“I am going to the bazaar.”
“Yes, yes,” he said distractedly, listening to the machine-gun talk.
After half an hour I came back. Nobody was outside; the room was open. Already from the bottom of the garden I could hear the monotonous croaking of Tasseldar. Oh, no! I thought, oh, no!
Guruji listened, encouraging him with provocative remarks of approval.
“Yes, yes,” he mumbled with bored expression when he saw me. I sat down near the door. The croaking went on and on… I cannot bear it! A terrible feeling of hopeless despair seized me… he does it on purpose! It is a refined way of torture! Chinese torture, I thought.
I will go in a few minutes. Anything is better than to have to endure this. I looked at him. He looked straight at me; an ironical expression I knew so well was in his eyes. I think my eyes must have conveyed to him my feeling of despair. I cannot bear it! My mind cried out to him.
Help me!! He slowly took up his mala and began to pray. His expression became distant. Tasseldar went on. Guruji kept nodding distractedly, clearly making him understand by his attitude that he wanted to pray. Gradually Tasseldar understood… became quiet .. . went into a state of torpor… could not imagine that it was Dhyana. But he clearly got something, and it was not for the first time. The room became very still. The Saint, with a stern, stony expression I also know so well from the past, went on praying.
Quarter past twelve I left. Going home I was reflecting that I am passing a period of tests. Possibly very severe. I had better look out.
He knows that from the 1st of March I am controlling the mind. Now he begins to test how far I have gotten. When I make a move, he makes a counter move… he does not waste time, I must say….
20th March
MUNSHIJI BOUGHT ME A CHARPOY (a rope bed), so when I get four bamboo sticks, I will be able to sleep outside on the terrace. He is hard; he does not even notice me. Sitting there for hours, unseeing and unnoticed, can be very depressing. When I salute him, he keeps talking to others, and even if he does not, he ignores me completely.
Irritation, naturally, begins to mount gradually in me. I just pray, that’s all… pray for help….
I snowed him the charpoy before taking it with me in the rikshaw and asked him if I can take four sticks. At the bottom of his garden were lying some bamboo sticks which did not seem to belong to anybody. “Take, take,” he shrugged. So I took the sticks and with the rikshaw took the charpoy to Sharma’s place.
21st March
“ABSOLUTE FAITH, SURRENDER IS THE GREATEST THING; it is for the greatest people only. It is not for everybody; it is only for the few.
Because it is the easiest thing, it is the most difficult to do. Constant tranquillity, constant peace, bliss and grace, those are states of being one with Brahma. Like Mansur who had said:
‘Ana l’Haqq, I am the Truth. Aham Brahma asmi.’…”
“Is it the highest state?”
“No,” he replied, “according to our System it is NOT the highest state.”
Later: “If you say there is nothing but One, you insult Him and you insult yourself.”
And in the afternoon I cried, lying in the hot room under the fan… cried desperately in utter loneliness. Cried loudly and prayed to Him that the Teacher should be kind to me…. Oh, Bhai Sahib, be kind to me! Oh Lord, please, tell him to be kind to me! I talked to him about H.‘s letter, about people who need help in London. He seemed hardly to listen. Tasseldar was there sitting, hating that he could not get a word in. Then about quarter past eleven he got up and I hoped that he would go, but Bhai Sahib engaged him in conversation, and each time Bhai Sahib spoke to me he interrupted and made loud comments. I lost most of what he had said because of the loud comments of Tasseldar.
And last night I prayed and prayed, and now my heart is broken with pain. Good Merciful God! You who know everything, tell him to be kind to me! He is so cruel! When he wants, Tasseldar is quiet.
When his wife talks to him for hours on household affairs, there are never interruptions; when people talk irrelevant things, nobody interrupts. Tasseldar is never interrupted. So, it is clear that he wants me to bear Tasseldar and his horrible voice for hours, and he will be listening with· interest. So I will have to bear it. Will I be able? I don’t know…. As it looks to me now, it seems quite unbearable.
May God help me….
22nd March
As SOON AS I ARRIVED Tasseldar came. I saw him wobbling through the gate. Oh, no! I thought in sheer despair—not at nine in the morning! How will I bear it for so many hours? Bhai Sahib came out soon, looking grey and not at all well, and after a few minutes went inside. I went to see the cementing of the courtyard, how it is progressing, and when I came back, Tasseldar was not there anymore. I was glad. Bhai Sahib came out a few moments later.
“He has left?” he asked. I could not help feeling a certain bitterness—he came out for him… he turned to go inside. “You can come into the room,” he said with the most bored expression he puts on lately, when he talks to me. I went in and he went out through the other door into the courtyard. After one hour Mahabir Nigam arrived and the Sikh. He came and sat in the big chair. I was so thankful that Tasseldar was not there. He was talking to the Sikh all the time about Guru Nanak. The grey tired look was gone; he was full of radiance; he seemed to sparkle. About quarter to twelve I told him that I was going to the dry cleaners to get his suit which I took last week to be dry-cleaned. To my horror the beautiful pale beige suit was completely ruined! They must have dyed it by mistake, or heaven knows what had happened; it was greenish and patchy and stained with machine oil. I became terribly upset…. I went back to him; he was still talking to the Sikh.
“Your garment has been completely ruined,” I began.
“What? What? What government?” he commenced his usual, bored, nonchalant inquiry.
“Listen,” I said infuriated, “don’t you see that I am so upset that I am hardly able to speak! For God’s sake, at least try to listen!”
“Why do you confuse yourself? And if it is ruined? We are not ruined are we?” I told him what had happened. Took Satendra with me, went to the cleaners, got the suit, brought it to him and asked if he can wear a thing like that…. He admitted that he could not.
Munshiji was sent back with the garment.
I did not care. It was out of my hands now, out of my responsibility. I was furious with him… listens to every nonsense for hours, tires himself with people who talk rubbish. And when he sees me upset about something which is not even mine, but his, he does not even care to listen….
When I came in the afternoon it was terribly hot. I went into the courtyard and sat on a tachat fanning myself. My room, surrounded by the boiling flat-roof terrace, was hell. He
passed through the courtyard to the bathroom.
“You can come into the room,” he said very quietly, very bored.
Sat alone in the half-dark room. At least it was peaceful there. Then people began to arrive and he came too. I noticed a great weakness, like a torpor coming over me. It was the stillness of nothingness, of non-being. It was like being dead in deepest peace.
Slept outside. It is much better than in the room. Towards the morning there is always freshness and ventilation, a cool breeze, lovely….
23rd March
WAS PRAYING, BUT NOT TOO MUCH. Had a great peace. In the morning decided to ask him about the letter I have to write to Babu Ram Prasad. He came out early looking not too well. Bandhari was there too. I asked about the letter. He began to twist my words and to turn them as he always did when he wanted to irritate me. But I put my foot down. I told him that I have nobody here to ask. He listens to everybody’s nonsense. But when I ask something, some work I have to do for him, there is boredom, misunderstandings, or he tells me off. The least he can do is to answer politely when I ask politely. It was lovely to watch his technique—how at first he attacked hard, and twisting ironically like a clever lawyer he confused me completely… then doing his mala with a face carved of stone as if he would not even listen, but I knew very well that he jolly well did. I was partly speaking to Bandhari. Then I sat for a while. He was speaking Hindi to him, and I was thinking that I will go to Pushpa or home, but then I said:
“Can I go into the room? It is too hot and dusty.” And I went in.
And he and Bandhari followed immediately. He began to speak in English relating the story of a saint in Delhi.
“A rumor reached the king that the Saint is preaching to huge crowds, and the emperor sent a message that he is coming. The Saint replied: ‘Delhi is far away; you will not reach it.’ At eight miles from Delhi, the elephant on which the king was riding went mad and ran into the palace in which the reception for the king was prepared; the palace came down and the king was dead, buried under it.”
Daughter of Fire Page 74