Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  The night was a nightmare of sultry stillness. The flame of a candle would not have moved, when lit, all night… I was lying in a pool of perspiration. All I could do to make it bearable was to pray and to pray to Him, offering my discomfort to Him and thinking of Bhai Sahib, how difficult it must be for him… there was no question of sleep.

  In the morning I thought that he will test me again and I prayed much. But he did not.

  H. ‘s letter which she sent about the middle of May arrived—by sea mail!! She must have forgotten to put airmail stamps on it—how careless! And she caused me so many weeks of trouble because of that!!

  12th July

  IN THE AFTERNOON YESTERDAY TWO WOMEN and two youngsters were sitting there. They seemed to be glued there forever, and he talked to them kindly. I thought that they were his disciples; but no, he told me today that they came for the first time, are cotton-mill owners, and full of the most terrible trouble.

  “Why do they come to me?” he added thoughtfully.

  The electric current failed and I fanned him for more than fifteen minutes with my hand-fan. He was glistening with perspiration; his breathing was uneasy. He told me that he had a vomiting condition due to the heat.

  “Heat is unbearable for me lately,” he said. At six p.m. I stood up, and saluted him. Such heat in the small room full of people all talking! I could not bear it anymore….

  “Where are you going?” he wanted to know. I said that I was going home to have a bath (the sixth since this morning). I did not feel well due to the heat.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “No, no, I don’t mind at all,” he said in a friendly manner, and I left. Had my bath and slept in the room under the fan hoping that it would be better than on the roof heated all day by the sun. It was not, and I hardly slept at all, twisting and turning, the body itchy and wet all the time.

  This morning he came out to have his bath at the pipe just when I was arriving. He looked magnificent—his torso naked to the waist standing there glistening like a bronze statue, pouring water over his body. Slender, majestic, bearded face, stern, serene….

  When he sat down I told him about H. ‘s mistake.

  “Don’t be hard to her; she cannot bear it just now,” he said. “All human beings are not alike; just point out the mistake to her…. “

  Later he said: ”My Rev. Father and Mother were of the Chishtia Dynasty. They only followed my Rev Guru Maharaj. But the Dynasty remains in the blood always. Chishtias are like a magnet.

  Many things are done through the physical body so it becomes magnetic. They are for the public.

  “Body attracts body, but with us soul attracts soul. For us the physical body is of secondary importance. We don’t care much about it; it does what it can. The ways of working are different. We rarely come down to the level of the public. But sometimes we do; it is service; otherwise why should we come down? When people came to me I told them: go to my father! My Rev. Guru Maharaj, he remained inside, he did not come out and people were sitting.

  Ninety-nine percent went away. Those who want to remain will remain.”

  When I told him that I pray practically all day long he said: “This is the way how to do it. Pray, pray, much. And another thing; when you are alone in the room and nobody sees you, bow down. If one bows down before the superiors, what happens? The heart of the Superiors melts. If the human being bows down before the Almighty, Grace and bliss stream down. Only in the Muslim Religion they bow down five times a day…. “

  Was telling him what H. wrote to me: that Andree met the son of lnayat Khan in America and learned from him that he, Bhai Sahib, is a well-known Sufi Saint. He listened, not particularly interested. At my remark that people who knew lnayat Khan say that his successor is not at the same stage as lnayat, he said: “He will be, he will be, before he dies. It is not so easy… it takes time!”

  Mrs. Sharma was here in the afternoon and he was talking to her in Hindi. At one moment he said in English, repeating it twice with emphasis:

  “There is nothing but Nothingness!”—then continued to speak to Mrs. Sharma. I knew it was for me. Mrs. Sharma told me afterwards that she knew it too; it had nothing to do with her, nor with the question she was asking and he was answering.

  To be free… because born of the spirit like he… as free as the wind… to achieve the indifference of complete freedom… to be united with Him is the only freedom, the only thing which matters… the ONLY thing….

  82 Nothing but Nothingness

  13th July, 1966

  “THERE IS NOTHING BUT NOTHINGNESS,” he said yesterday. And the way he said it, repeating it with emphasis, and the echo it awakened in my heart, made me think that it was meant for me. It struck me as the most wonderful sentence and it made me glad….

  “When you said it, I suddenly knew it was a special message for me.”

  “It was… you are right, quite right!” He laughed; it was evident that he was pleased.

  In spite of the heat, this morning he wore the white kurta again. I suspected a test. But he was talking to me instead in a friendly way. I had the opportunity during the conversation to tell him what I wrote down a few days ago. Speaking of this astonishing state of nothingness, I said that at the beginning it was just Nothing; later there was like a kind of sorrowful happiness with much longing in it, but now it was just wonderful. Why it was so wonderful I could not say; this feeling is too new and difficult to analyze. All I know is THAT IT IS WONDERFUL When at home, I realized that the answer is contained in his statement of yesterday: there is nothing but Nothingness, and it represents a perfect state—that’s why it is so wonderful….

  “I sometimes suspect that this feeling of not being can put the body to death.”

  “The body can die; you will never die,” he replied.

  He said important things about the Nakshmandia Dynasty. To my question if in Chishtia Dynasty they also have Param Para, he replied:

  “Yes, of course, they have. And in all the Sufi Systems the surrender to the Teacher is demanded. Chishtias are very magnetic, because many things they do through the physical body. So the body becomes very magnetic. It is the body which attracts the body, and through it the Soul. In our System it is the Soul which attracts the Soul, and the Soul speaks to the Soul. They need music, for instance.

  Without music they can do nothing. They use ceremonies, sometimes, breathing practices, and other things. We need nothing. We are not limited. Music is bondage. Ceremonials, worship, when done collectively, can also be bondage. But we are free. We go to the Absolute Truth in Silence, for it can be found only in silence and it is Silence. That’s why we are called the Silent Yogis. If some practices are given, they are performed always in silence.”

  Then I asked if in Chishtia Yoga System love is also created like in our System.

  “No. This is done only in our School of Yoga. Nobody else has this method.”

  Later I told him that, he not being well, this powerful stream of love is perhaps difficult to bear; he must feel it in his disciples. “And if this is the case with me, please do tell me to go.” He looked at me.

  “Where to go?” he said severely, frowning at me. Again I felt that this was a message. Of course I had nowhere to go, but in this case I only meant to go home. But all I said was: “What an answer,” and left it at that.

  “Sufis never attract the attention of the disciple to the physical body.”

  I told him that he said once that he never deceived me; but does he remember that he stated that a woman can never reach a high state?

  “If she does not get rid of her limitations as a woman, she is more limited by Prakriti than a man.”

  “But I think this is the case of every human being, man or woman.

  If they don’t get rid of their limitations, they cannot reach Reality,” I retorted.

  “This is correct, this is so. My Rev. Father was woodland and rustic…. “

  This expression made me smile… very descriptive
and original.

  “What did you say? Please repeat it,” I asked.

  “Woodland and rustic,” he replied. “It means like an animal. It has to be controlled. If it is controlled, it is all right. He had to suffer very much for many years. For men there are many restrictions, for women only one: to get rid of her limitations as a woman.”

  “Are those limitations acquired, or are they from birth?”

  “With a woman it is always from birth.”

  14th July

  HE HAS SENT ME HEADLONG into deep apprehension last night. We were already outside and it was dusk. Fresh wind was blowing after a hot and sultry day. It was very pleasant. The new old man asked about me, and offered me his chair.

  “No,” he said, “she is used to sitting on this wooden chair; she wants to lose herself in every way.” Then he proceeded to tell him that the first time I stayed with him for nearly two years.

  “Then she was sent hack and did much work then….” He smiled his strange, enigmatic smile. “There was something in her and she had to come hack. Now she will stay with me, till….” He stopped.

  “Till she is perfect,” the old man said. He shook his head softly.

  “Who am I to make anybody perfect? Only God can do that. No, till the fruit is ripe, it does not give out a sweet juice.”

  Aha, I thought. He means I will stay till the end of the training this time. Good.

  “Who is perfect can make others perfect,” I quickly got up, knelt before him and touched his foot with my forehead.

  “Why that?” He smiled.

  “You said that you are not perfect and it hurts me, for I know that you are!”

  “It is your faith which makes you say so,” he said with great softness. Then he began to talk to me and I was all ears, but the old man kept interrupting. His brother came and began to talk to the old man. I was glad.

  “You talk to me and I don’t come down,” he continued.

  “Sometimes I can answer and I do not. Go on talking; something will remain.”

  I said that I have the feeling that there are times that I have to talk to him, it helps me to clear my mind. But he does not need to listen, because he knows it at any rate already. He laughed kindly.

  “But I don’t want your mind to he clear; I want confusion. If you are in the mud, you try to get out.”

  “In other words, speaking figuratively, if I sit in a comfortable chair, I will do nothing.” He laughed gaily. “Sometimes I am in such a despair that I feel like committing suicide, and I felt like this several times.”

  “Go on, show me how you commit suicide! One cannot!”

  “Cannot?” I repeated. I was astonished, not being sure what he meant.

  “Cannot,” he repeated. “If He does not want, how can one commit suicide? I was in this state many times with My Rev. Guru Maharaj. He never spoke to me in a kindly way.”

  “Many times?” I echoed.

  “Many, many times,” he laughed. “Now lean laugh, but then it was not a laughing matter.”

  I told him that this time it is not an ordinary trouble of the mind. I understood what was happening, and if one understands, one tries to cooperate intelligently.

  “No, no, you understood nothing; one cannot understand!” (I can still see his face when he said it… seated under the mango tree we were, a feeling of great Meaning seemed to be in the air…. ) “One is made to forget. It is done like this. When the moment comes, you will say, what is this? And if you don’t hate the Guide, you hate yourself…. “

  “Trouble is ahead,” I said turning to the brother. “Did you hear the hints?” He nodded with a smile.

  “As I said yesterday, where does one go? I was not angry last time; the mood was made so. You can ask me anything, always, if the mood is right.” He lifted a finger warningly. “If not, it will come again and again to the same point …. “

  “Does it happen to everybody?”

  “No, not to everybody.” He made a grimace of disgust and began to drink the medicine brought by Munshiji.

  “But it happened to you, and this fact is enough for me; it gives me courage and consolation,” I said, closing the conversation. But I remained disturbed. He talked Hindi with others, I left soon. And did not sleep practically all night, so worried I was…. It was a cool fresh night. A crescent waning moon stood in the eastern sky spreading ghostly light at three a.m. Some shrubs were flowering; sweet fragrance reached me with gentle whiffs of fresh wind.

  Merciful God! Didn’t I have already enough? It seems I had more than my share of suffering…. I prayed to Him the Great Beloved, to his Rev. Guru Maharaj, to his Father who suffered so much, probably more than myself….

  And in the morning when seated in his garden (he was walking up and down), I suddenly knew what it would be: very probably the Dark Night of the Soul. Each Soul has to pass through it again and again on the Path before one is given anything….

  “Go on abusing; such people do not care,” he said yesterday.

  The hints: “Where will one go?” And “You will hate yourself even if you don’t hate the Guide.” Many a time it happened to him—the desire for suicide; it is all described in the works of the Mystics; it all sounds very ominous….

  17th July

  THERE WAS NOTHING TO WRITE in those last two days. I go there, sit immersed in Nothingness. And this evening he was in a very deep state. How the Divinity shines through the human frame when he is in Samadhi…. It began when Mrs. Sharma was there, when she left and the old man came. At first he was resting and then sat outside.

  It was hot. I could not take my eyes from him. It was magnificent.

  When leaving I knelt down and touched his feet with my forehead.

  But had to come back. He gave me an astonished look as if to say, what is the matter?

  “Another five minutes,” I said. “I cannot go away.” He nodded. I stayed for a short while, then left with regret. The old man kept talking stupidly, disturbing him all the time. The fool—he understood nothing… he did not even notice in what state Bhai Sahib was ….

  18th July

  AS EVERY DAY IN THE SUMMER SEASON, this afternoon too they played cards. Later he came into the room and had to settle a quarrel between Poonam and Babu. He was in an angry and irritable mood.

  Something is brewing for me, I thought. When the two had left, he was squatting on his tachat and his lips were moving in a silent prayer. Then I was sure something was coming and my apprehension increased. He was praying either for me or that all should go well….

  Ravindra brought the 250 rupees. And I asked him to give it to his stepmother. This triggered it off. He began to attack me. It was useless to tell him that I asked him beforehand a few days ago if I can do it; he twisted everything and came down on me when I tried to explain.

  “What is there to explain when the action is wrong?” he said and kept talking and thundering. At last I could not take it anymore and burst out crying. Not enough that I give every penny to him, and am myself in difficulties, but he is rude to me in the bargain. Then I stopped crying. He was talking to his wife now about Ravindra. She was talking rapidly, excitedly, clearly complaining about something.

  Then we went outside because some people came. Munshiji brought water, basin and all the paraphernalia needed to take his medicines.

  Then he said kindly:

  “Do you understand that you have committed a mistake?” and he began to explain how I don’t understand such trifling things. I apologized and said that he was right, that it was an error of judgment on my part, but my reasoning and my judgment are distorted, and when he says sometimes that I am an idiot, he is right…. But here he interrupted me by turning to speak to someone who just arrived… it was the old man.

  And it was wonderful to watch how his mood changed in a moment as soon as I accepted everything. He had his sparkle and his usual laughter; his conversation was lively. I watched his facial expressions; he was unearthly beautiful…. He becomes more and mo
re beautiful, I was thinking… is it he who is changing, or is it me? The night was cool. I was restless though… and I prayed much, looking at the stars….

  19th July

  IN THE MORNING WE WERE SlTilNG opposite each other in perfect silence. He wore his devic face and I just looked and looked, speechless with much reverence and awe in my heart. Later in the room he spoke a few words to me, and this gave me the opportunity to say:

  “You know, Sheikh, this feeling of Nothingness deepens and deepens. It must be a rare, unusual experience, which one can have only with a Great Master. And it is so deep that I need only to keep myself in it consciously; I mean, to keep my mind consciously in it, and you can cut me to pieces and I will say nothing. I may cry though, if it hurts too much, but this will be all…. I try and struggle to express it somehow, but with little result… it is beyond description.” I glanced at him and saw that his eyes were closed; his face was carved of stone. A sign for me to stop talking… I did. Reclined my head on my knees and remained like this bent in two….

  In the afternoon the Sharmas came before six and stayed, and when I left they were still there. And Mr. Sharma kept arguing, I thought, so foolishly, making bad atmosphere; arguments are so useless. I went outside into the garden for a while, could not bear it….

  Later we sat on the chairs and I just looked at him all the time. He seemed to be full of the Grace of God, sparkling… and in the pause of the conversation he suddenly looked at me with a smile, such a smile, like never, never before, so kind, so radiant, and so much love was in it. My heart stood still for a second, then gave a thump of deepest joy. I faintly smiled back and had to close my eyes. Such unspeakable happiness pervaded me…. And the Great Painter painted a splendid evening sky, of tender turquoise on the horizon and transparent blue overhead. and feathery streaky clouds of orange and soft pink, and great big fat ones, greeny-grey with fluffy pink edges…. I looked at it and my happiness was perfect….

  Something big is BEING PREPARED for me: the Nearness is too much…. After such Nearness the Separation would be dreadful.