Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  In the afternoon it was raining heavily, so did not go either. Will try to keep away from him until L. ‘s arrival. So much hope shattered…. Did I expect too much, perhaps? It seems all so commonplace, so banal, so ordinary. And he hardly bothers to answer my questions:

  “You will know one day.”

  Why and how? What prevents him from explaining? What an attitude!

  Went to a classical concert with Pushpa’s husband and daughter.

  To a Gita class on Sunday morning. Nothing special; the Gita class was held by a Ramakrishna Swami of Ramakrishna Mission Order.

  But the concert was lovely, and the tape recordings of wonderful Indian classical music which Pushpa’s husband played to us in the afternoon were exquisitely beautiful. Otherwise boring days. Plenty of worldly chit-chat. Endless waiting for meals never served punctually, and a feeling of great loneliness… dark endless longing, and I do not know for what. Much disappointment and much bitterness.

  Who are you? Are you what L. told me: a Great Teacher, a man of great spiritual power, or just one of so many pseudo-gurus one meets here in India at every step?

  Are you a Teacher at all? You seem to have many disciples—I saw plenty of them already in the short time I have been here. From what I heard from L., you must be a great man. But are you??

  10th October

  IT WAS RAINING in the morning. Went about 5 p.m. Nobody was there. Then the professor of mathematics arrived and sat with us.

  Later Bhai Sahib suggested to us that we might like to go to a discussion which was held in the park. A platform was erected for this purpose. Plenty of learned Hindus were attending. I refused.

  Told him that I wanted to be punctual at the Kirtan (singing of devotional hymns) which was held at Pushpa’s place at 7 p.m.

  Left with the professor of mathematics who was also coming to the Kirtan. Walking along he asked me what this discussion was supposed to be about. I said, about the Avatar (Divine Incarnation) of Ram; there is a theory that he was the only real incarnation of Vishnu (the second person of the Hindu Trinity; the Preserver) and nobody else. Then I began to tell him about my doubts. Is there any purpose to go to Bhai Sahib at all? Is it not a waste of time? He listened with great seriousness.

  “If you are convinced that your Guru is always right, that he is the only great man, then you will progress. Your Guru may not be great at all, but you think that he is, and it is your faith which will make you progress. It is the same with Ram: what does it matter if he is the only incarnation of God or not; for the man who believes it, he is. So why discuss? I refuse to participate in intellectual acrobatics.”

  I agreed with him. “What disturbs me most with Bhai Sahib,” I went on, “is the fact that he does not answer questions. Every time I want to know something, he will say: ‘You will know it one day yourself.’ Now, who can tell me if I really will know? Maybe I never will; so why not simply answer it? I want to know NOW, not sometime in a hypothetic future! I begin to wonder if I am wasting my time!”

  “You know,” he said, “just to give an example, for instance, a son of a rich man inherits the wealth of his father, and then he will have more than you and me. Now, here it is the same in this place. This man has a certain power which will reveal in time something very wonderful within yourself. It happened to others; it happened to me.

  I have been here for the last twelve years, I speak from experience. I don’t know how it happens; I have no explanation for it. I even don’t know how one can inherit such a thing, but it is a fact. Stay here for a month, and you will be in a state L. is, and we all are, and then you will think differently. L., when she came years ago, spoke as you do now.”

  I said that I was sure that it would take longer than one month.

  “Of course it takes years,” he agreed, “but after one month you will be able to form a judgment.”

  I told him that I decided at any rate to stay here until March, and he answered that it would be wise to do so. “I have seen strange and wonderful things happen to human beings. It is as I tell you; and Dhyana is definitely NOT a mediumistic trance; it is a yogic state, and has nothing to do with mesmerism either.”

  We were entering Pushpa’s gate. The veranda was brightly lit; many people were already there. “Dhyana is complete abstraction of the senses, Indrias, in Sanskrit; it is a Yogic state, as I have just told you.”

  We entered the room; the music started. I was in deep thought. So, that was it. Somehow, I felt that this conversation represented a turning point. An intelligent man, an intellectual, with a balanced mind, normal, reasonable, gave me his opinion. I liked and trusted him from the first moment I saw him, a few days ago. In my heart I felt I should give it a try, accept the situation as it presents itself, and see what will happen…. Why not? Lights were burning in front of the pictures of Rama, Shiva and Parvati (Hindu deities). The room was crowded, everyone seated on the floor. Kept looking at the faces full of devotion while my heart kept rhythm with the ancient melody—“Hari Rama, Hari, Hari… ” and I was thinking and thinking… and was still thinking deeply when back in my room, hardly aware of howling dogs roaming the streets and the evening noises of a busy Indian street.

  “Is Dhyana just sleep?” I asked.

  “If you think that it may be sleep, then it is sleep; if you think it is not, then it is not.” His face was stern. But there was like a faint suspicion of a wicked little twinkle in his eye, a hidden laughter.

  Not much of an answer, I must say. Quite in keeping with his general attitude.

  12 October

  THOUGH EVERYBODY keeps telling me that the climate here is not a good one, I find it healthy and invigorating. It seems to agree with me. I am always well where the sun sees me. My body needs the sun.

  The food at Pushpa’s place is excellent. I am eating too much, sleep well, am hungry, my health is good. The foot healed completely in the last few days.

  Arrived about 5 p.m. Nobody was in the room. Sat down in my usual place in the chair opposite his tachat. His wife came in, searching something in the recess amongst the books. Then he came in. I don’t remember how we came to talk about Dhyana, but probably I began, because it kept worrying me. As soon as I came into his room, the thinking process slowed down and I felt sleepy. I told him so and he translated it to his wife. She said that I was not the only one—it happens to her too; as soon as she lies down, she falls asleep.

  “I never sleep during the day,” he remarked.

  “How can you keep awake in this place?” I wondered, “I feel sleepy as soon as I sit down!”

  He laughed. Then he began to tell me that in 1956 he was very ill, desperately ill, and many people came who could be of some help, in one way or another. But they all sat there fast asleep, and his wife used to say: “What did they all come for? Just to sleep here?”

  “So Dhyana does mean to be asleep after all? Is Dhyana and sleep the same thing?”

  “No. It is not. It could be similar at the beginning. But if you remain too long unconscious without being conscious somewhere else, then you are not normal, then something is wrong with you.”

  ”Do you mean to say that one becomes conscious somewhere else when unconscious on the physical plane? You may remember that I asked you several times about it, but you never answered!”

  “Of course!” He laughed merrily. “It comes gradually, little by little. It takes time. But before you can do it, you must forget everything. Leave everything behind.”

  I said that it seemed to be a frightening thought. He laughed again softly and gave me a look of kindly amusement. Could not see why he found my answer so funny….

  “How do you swim?” he began again after a silence. “You throw water behind and behind you, that’s how you propel yourself.

  Spiritual life is the same; you keep throwing everything behind, as you go on. This is the only way; there is no other.”

  “Is there not a danger to become stupid by forgetting everything?”

  I wond
ered.

  “Why?” he retorted, “If you have ten rupees in your bag, and you get 10,000, you will forget the ten rupees, will you not? The ten rupees are still there, but you don’t think of them anymore, isn’t it?”

  I could see what he meant and also that he was right. Later I was telling him about a discussion we had with L. about spiritual life, and that she was of the opinion that I could not go on further alone by myself, or progress more than I had already, for she said that a Guru was absolutely necessary.

  “A Guru is a short-cut—a short-cut and a sharp-cut. But not a Guru; a friend, a Spiritual Guide. I have nothing to teach.”

  “What do you mean by a System?” He used this expression often in conversation; it seemed an unusual one to me, was not quite sure if I understood its meaning.

  “A System is a School of Yoga, or a Path to Self-Realization—the meaning is the same. We are called Saints, but it is the same as Yogis—in Wisdom there is no difference. The color of our Line is golden yellow, and we are called the Golden Sufis or the Silent Sufis, because we practice silent meditation. We do not use music or dancing or any definite practice. We do not belong to any country or any civilization, but we work always according to the need of the people of the time. We belong to Raja Yoga, but not in the sense as it is practiced by the Vedantins. Raja means simply: Kingly, or Royal, the Direct Road to Absolute Truth.”

  “And why is it that one cannot go on by oneself any further and would need a Guru?”

  “Because by yourself alone you can never go beyond the level of the Mind. How can you vacate?”

  “You mean to empty the mind, to clear it from any thought?” I asked, not being sure what he meant by “vacate.”

  “Yes, how can you vacate, clear out your mind, if you are constantly working through the mind? How can the mind empty itself of itself? You must be able to leave it, to forget everything. And this, one cannot do alone. For the mind cannot transcend itself.”

  “Will I ever be able to do it, for I am afraid of this idea,” I said doubtfully. He laughed again, looking at me sideways.

  “If you are ill, who does the work? Others, of course! If you are unconscious, be sure, there will be many people to look after you!”

  I said that it may be true in theory if, for instance, I can easily be robbed in deep Samadhi (a superconscious state, a merging into the Universal Consciousness).

  “No,” he retorted, “then you are not in Samadhi. If you are in Samadhi, you go to your Creator, and the Creator will look after you. And even if you are robbed, it is not because you were in Samadhi, but because it was your destiny to be robbed, and it is of no importance to you once you have reached this state of consciousness.

  When we travel together, you will see that I take nothing with me—I am not afraid.”

  “But if you travel and have no money, somebody has to travel with you and keep the money and be careful that it is not lost, otherwise you both will be in trouble,” I insisted.

  “Yes, that could be true, but not necessarily so. Perhaps I could travel free, or the money will be forthcoming. God works through many channels. At any rate, I affirm, that he who is in Samadhi, nothing happens to him, and if it does, he does not care.” He fell silent. “You have your knowledge,” he said thoughtfully after a while. “You will forget it all. You MUST forget it, before you can take any further step.”

  I wondered if this is what the scriptures mean—one should forget all books, leave all acquired knowledge behind; only then one can make the big leap into the Unknown beyond the mind. He agreed.

  “There are only very few people in the world nowadays who can teach you the Sufi method. The Sufi method represents complete freedom. You are never forced. To put somebody in Dhyana—it can be done—but it would only show that my will is stronger than yours. In this case it would be mesmerism, there is nothing spiritual about that, and it would be wrong. When the human being is attracted to the Spiritual Guide and wants to become a Shishya (disciple), there are two ways open to him: the Path of Dhyana, the slow, but the easier way; or the Path of Tyaga (complete renunciation), the Road of Fire, the burning away of all the dross, and it is the Guide who has to decide which way is the best suited in each individual case. The Path of Dhyana is for the many, the Path of Tyaga is for the few. How many would want to sacrifice everything for the sake of Truth? The Shishya has every right to test the Guide; but once he is satisfied and accepts the Guide”—here he laughed his young and merry laughter—“then the Guide can take over, and the disciple has no free will for a while.”

  He contradicts himself, I thought, but said nothing. Then he began to speak about his Guru, the Great Sufi. “He is always with me,” he said.

  “Do you mean that you see him?” I asked.

  He had a tender, faraway look: “If I say that I see him with these physical eyes, I would by lying; if I say that I don’t see him, I also would be lying,” he said after a brief silence. I knew what he meant: he could reach him in his higher states of consciousness.

  Well, perhaps, it is a good thing after all, that !came here… and I was thankful for the opportunity of this long conversation.

  5th October

  WENT TO GITA CLASS this morning. Of no interest. When I arrived at Bhai Sahib’s place, he was asleep. His lean figure in white dhotie (a loose garment the men wear which is tied on the waist) looked strange and contorted. I sat down quietly, in the corner near the door on the tachat which stands along the wall behind his own. Later a young man came and, noticing that the Guru was asleep, sat down and closed his eyes. He was from Delhi and was here for the first time, Bhai Sahib told me afterwards. I was sitting crosslegged. All was still. Some noises from the street—a child was crying somewhere in the courtyard. Then I became aware of a great power in the room.

  A tremendous power. For the first time, I felt like this; it was like being in a power-house. I scarcely could breathe; the force was terrific. I had a great disturbance in the throat; the heart was beating, beating and aching… and the beat was irregular. Seem to have lost the sense of time.

  After a while, perhaps one hour or so, Bhai Sahib sat up, looked around with glazed eyes, and then sat motionless in deep meditation.

  Crosslegged, looking ahead with unseeing eyes… the force in the room seemed greater and deeper, increasing all the time—the room was vibrating, humming with it. One literally could HEAR it like a great sound, high and low at the same time. I remembered how L. looked when she was in deep Samadhi, but this was a different thing altogether….

  I sat with closed eyes, trying to endure it… it was difficult to bear, this tremendous force. The mind?—it was hardly present at all.

  Lost somewhere, swallowed up, dissolved, or rather absorbed by the charged atmosphere of the room. Opened my eyes after a while and saw that he was looking directly at me. It gave me kind of a jerk, like an electric shock. The expression of his eyes… it did frighten me, but I immediately realized that he was not really looking at me at all.

  His eyes were wide open, unseeing, empty eyes—he was not in this world at all… this was quite evident. I began to feel so sleepy that I had to fight with all my might against falling asleep.

  After a while his wife came in and told him that tea was ready. He took the small towel which he always carried with him and went out.

  Not a word was spoken. The young man, who until then was sitting there silently, now said something to me. I could not reply, could not utter one word. Too great was the peace, the seemingly eternal stillness.

  Went home, fell on my bed, and plunged in a deep sleep.

  16th October

  WENT TO HIM in the morning. I did not speak, neither did he. He kept walking up and down on the brick elevation in front of the house, repeating his prayers, mala in his hand.

  17th October

  ARRIVED IN THE EVENING about six. Durga Pooja (devotional service in honor of the goddess Durga) was going on in Deva Singh Park opposite the house, across the street. From
a large marquee, brightly illumined by colored lights, loud music was pouring out a rhythmic sing-song of devotional prayers. He was not in the garden but somewhere in the street, so I was told. Something had happened, a fight, or a disturbance of some sort, and he was talking to a police officer.

  His wife and the women of Bhai Sahib’s household stood in a group discussing the event. A bright lamp was fixed on a branch of one of the trees in the garden. Thousands of moths and insects were dancing madly around it. What was attracting them so much to the brightness of the light to be in such an ecstasy? And I was thinking what a glorious thing it must be to be a tiny moth in the Hands of God, and to die like this in utter ecstasy in the blaze of His light….

  What force was driving them? It must be a very powerful force or instinct, because though half-burned, they seemed not to be deterred from returning again and again in a mad ecstatic dance until they fell to the ground in the last convulsions of death.

  To die burned by Thy Light… what a wonderful death!

  Jagan Nathji, the professor of mathematics, came walking through the gate, and all the women suddenly disappeared into the passage which leads into the inner courtyard.

  Bhai Sahib came stalking in with big steps followed by gesticulating men in dhoties. The atmosphere became more and more charged with excitement and everyone seemed to be shouting except him.

  Some more men came in. Could not bear the noise; it was jarring on my nerves. Stood up and went into the room. Sat alone in the dark in his big chair. Had much disturbance in the throat. Something must be wrong with the throat Chakra (a psychic center). I had better ask him about it, when an opportunity arises.

  Soon the chairs were brought in; all men filed into the room, and I left. It was too much for me. It was raining softly. The air was so fragrant, as only the air of India can be. All the year round shrubs are flowering in the gardens around. I walked swiftly, lifting my face to the moist air, breathing deeply.