I told him that his English is very good; it is his obscure way of expressing himself which confuses me; English is not my own language either. It is difficult for me to accept anything unless I understand it. But here I not only don’t understand most of the time, but he misunderstands me and accuses me of deceiving him; it becomes a hopeless situation.
“You ask me a question. I give you a straight answer, and you get annoyed with me!” I concluded.
“I am not a God, only if I concentrate on a thing, I know it, but this is not always possible.”
“But in this case it is completely hopeless for I cannot reach you, neither on the mental nor intuitional level.” I felt dejected. He fell silent.
Then he told us a story of a King and a Saint. When the King had the desire to see the Saint, he had no time to go and see him, so that the Saint one day came to see him. The King was on the rampart inspecting his soldiers and wanted to come down when he saw the Saint approaching, but the Saint climbed up to him on a rope. This story meant to give an illustration of how, if the disciple is ready, the Master comes to meet him. While he was speaking with a soft, gentle voice, such tenderness was in his faraway face, that all the time I had a feeling of a great and mysterious meaning of it all….
“The thing which keeps worrying me, and I absolutely cannot understand, is how to love the spiritual Teacher. One cannot say to a human being just like that: LOVE! or, LOVE NOT! How can one order such a thing! It simply cannot be done! Love just is or is NOT. I respect you immensely—I am fascinated by you—but love? Certainly not, I surely don’t love you at this moment.”
“Love is produced… is produced ALWAYS,” he repeated. “The Shishya cannot love like this by himself. For here is not a question of a human love. It is something entirely different. And the relationship with the Teacher is a very difficult one. So love is produced, and it goes on.”
26th November
WENT WITH PUSHPA to a nursery this morning owned by a rich cloth merchant. We took an eye—full of so much beauty. What a lovely garden, bougainvilleas, crotons, roses, a riot of colors-glorious the thousands of pots of huge chrysanthemums for the exhibition, already prepared, standing in rows, roses of all colors and sizes, and flowering creepers, so many, so colorful, so exotic! A tropical paradise, and the fragrance was overpowering.
In the evening Professor Batnagar came as we arrived. We had a lively conversation on the System, on God and other confusing things. He is good looking, very intelligent, a learned and refined type of Hindu, and he is a brilliant speaker. I told him that I cannot swallow the idea of the Grace of God, and he started to tell me his version—which was all wrong, a limited conception of an even more limited Godhead than even the Orthodox idea of it. I was sitting on the tachat and, when I unintentionally looked in his direction, I suddenly saw Bhai Sahib looking at me with this strange expression of love and tenderness… the eyes which do not see and which each time give me something like an electric shock. He does something to me, I thought, and a few times during the conversation I noticed his unblinking look, and was quite sure that something was done, even if for the moment I did not feel anything. But there was a premonition and deep fear….
27th November
LAST NIGHT at about 10 or 10:30, I suddenly became worried. A kind of fear or anxiety, without any apparent reason came over me, and it was mounting and increasing by leaps and bounds. At last I couldn’t bear it any longer and told L. about it. She became worried too, and asked me if I felt something had happened to the Guru. I could not explain, but I was sure that it had to do with him. This morning a depression persisted, dull and heavy. Later L. went to his place about eight, while I was attending to the chrysanthemums. When back she said that he was not in, but everything seemed to be O.K.
As I was combing my hair in front of the large mirror, all of a sudden my heart began to race like mad, my head began to spin, and much noise was in the ears—as if all the oceans of the world were roaring inside my head. Everything began to look like a faraway dream, and not real at all. Went to breakfast. People speaking, eating, walking… were like empty dolls without substance.
Nothing had a meaning. Had to concentrate, had to try to collect my thoughts, in order to understand and to be able to coordinate my movements. It was as bad as that. Went to the Guru before L. He was sitting outside with his mala, praying silently. Went to sit behind him in the shade.
“When have you decided to go to Benares?” he asked. I said that I did not know, have not decided on the date as yet.
“When is Good Friday this year?” he wanted to know. Could not answer properly, got mixed up, was looking up the date in the year ‘61, instead of ‘62.
“Hoo, hoo, you cannot think clearly,” he said good-humoredly. I said that I could not. Then I asked him what happened to him last night, about ten or later, and told him about the strange depression I felt.
“My physical body is all right,” he said, and said no more, but smiled a faint, as if an inward smile. When told what I had felt this morning, he remarked:
“The Manas has been suspended, and only Buddhi remained.”
So, I knew that some kind of force had been used, probably he was fed-up with my doubting and arguing. And I was sure that something was wrong yesterday, even if his physical body was all right.
“I went for a walk before five this morning, and I have been walking until half an hour ago. I felt an acute pain in my back for about twenty minutes.”
L. looked up.
“I gave Pushpa a sitting, and she told me that she fell and hurt her back.” He and L. compared the time. It was at the same time.
“You see, you meditate with her, and there is a link already!” he exclaimed. Then he told us how one must have trouble in order to be able to progress. “In our System we live in the world, have worries about money, family, and the like. How do you progress without worries? If you are worried, you make an effort, you make a leap.”
I said that if people have no worries, he will create them for his disciples.
“Well, I will not make it so that you should break your arm or leg, but the greatest worry will be when one begins to love the Spiritual Guide. Then really the worry begins. At the beginning there are no worries, the Teacher wants the disciple to remain; but as soon as the disciple loves him, as soon as there are no doubts, the troubles commence for the disciple. He will feel like crying… why, why does the Master not notice me, does not speak to me—is he angry?
Why is he here and I am there, and so on! Before this time comes, one should run away quickly,” he added looking at me. “What do you feel exactly?” he interrupted himself, suddenly looking sharply at me.
“Well, all the oceans and all the seas of the world seem to be concentrated in my head. Walking down the street, when coming to you, I had just enough consciousness left in me to keep to the right side of the road and try not to be overrun by the traffic. Crossing the road I could not see where I was going. I thought it was dangerous. I could see only when I looked right in front of me—right or left I could not see clearly, as it seemed to be obliterated, like in a mist. if I see an object—for instance, this chair in front of me—between the image of the chair as seen by me, and the conscious realization that it is a chair and not something else, there is an interval of a fraction of a second. I have to concentrate on a particular noise, or picture, or any other object or sensation to be able to name it. In connection with it, I remember, that in the works of J. Krishnamurti, it is said somewhere that we should abstain from naming the things around us. If we can manage that—in between the picture of an object, say a rose, and the naming of it, which classifies it as a rose and not as a dog or a chair—if in between this interval of seeing and remembering which will become longer and longer, it may happen that in that moment, one day, the illumination would come.” He nodded.
“You spoke of a miracle a few days ago,” he said very slowly, “have you still the courage to speak of miracles? The roar of all th
e oceans is in your head; or the mind is not there at all; or you don’t sleep without being tired; your thinking process in my place is slowed down so much that you ‘sleep’; there is a peace not of this world in you, which you cannot explain, or a longing so strong that life is not worthwhile living, upheavals, premonitions. Tell me, are those not miracles? Great and important miracles?”
His voice was soft and very gentle as if full of deep compassion. I lowered my eyes and felt small… smaller than a grain of sand.
Then L. asked him a few questions on Kundalini and different Pranas, and their functions, all things of which I understand nothing, even if my brain works properly. In the state it was at this moment I did not even understand what she was talking about….
In the evening I went there and was first as usual. When he asked me how I felt, I told him that my mind was still not working properly, but in the afternoon when I was writing my diary it was not too bad.
He again asked me when I was going to Benares. Checking on the calendar hanging on the wall near the door, I suggested that perhaps I could go on the 4th of December, which is a Monday. He said that he has to go to Allahabad, and he never travels alone; he will come with me, will be met at Allahabad, and I could proceed to Benares.
“I will let you know by tomorrow,” he said.
I asked him if my brain will be still so numb and inefficient, while I had to travel, because if so, it may prove to be very uncomfortable.
“It will be noted down in my diary.”
“Do you mean to say that you will note down in your diary when you have to give me back my wits?” I laughed, and he only nodded.
That made me laugh even more, and we both finished by being amused, laughing at this incredible idea, when seen from the point of view of the ordinary world.
He was grinning into his beard while writing something on a piece of paper which later he gave to his son with some added instructions in Hindi.
I asked some questions: “Why does the memory not work well at all? Does the memory belong to the mind?”
“The memory does not work well because Manas (Mind) has been suspended, and though the memory does not belong to the mind, strictly speaking, for it has a different center, still, it has to work through the mind. This Path of our System is not at all troublesome; it is the easiest Path. It only seems difficult when there is confusion.”
Well, it seems clear, that there has been plenty of confusion in my mind in the last few days, even weeks….
Later, in conversation: “TO ENTER THE ARENA IS TO ACCEPT THE PATH OF THE MASTER.
“The world is for us as we create it: if you say there is a Bhut (spirit) in the tree, then there will be a Bhut for you.
“This is all Manas. But what is Manas? Nothing! Manas is Maya (illusion). You want everything, but are not prepared to make sacrifices, to pay the price. Here they sit and say: ‘I was intelligent, now I cannot even think, where is my memory, what happened to me?’ People are not prepared to give anything up. If you want to go anywhere, you will have to take the plane or the train—you are expected to pay the fare, is it not so?
“Be always a friend of the Almighty, and you WILL NEVER DIE!
Prayer should be done always, even ordinary prayer should be done, but of course, the only REAL prayer is merging, ONENESS with God, only this is a true prayer. Once we have reached this point within us, we do not need anymore factional support.”
According to the Sufi System there are three activities of the brain: Manas (mind); Memory (working through the Manas); Unconscious is independent of Manas.
L. told me last night that there was some trouble after all, but not a physical one for the Guru. Bhai Sahib told her that between 10 and 10:30 p.m. he was on the way back from visiting a woman who had an accident. She came under a car and was badly but not seriously hurt. L. suggested that probably he took upon him her fear, as it easily can be done, and he does it often, so she said.
“I am strong,” he would say with a smile, “I can take it.”
I wondered if what she was telling me was correct. If it was, that could be a serious thing for me, for I will get it all secondhand, so to say. As the time goes on, one is more and more identified with the Guru, and I see trouble looming ahead. So much more, because I get all sorts of worries and troubles lately from the people who come to him. I seem to pick it all up. That surely is bound to become more uncomfortable in the future.
And I keep wondering what will be done, what will happen about this question of love…. Love will be produced. So he said.
Produced… but how? I wonder….
29th November
HE WAS TALKING to L. about someone in France. “And now,” he continued, turning to me, “let’s leave L’s case aside. Why are you here? You stayed here for the last two months, you did not receive anything, I gave you nothing, and still you are here. Why?”
“Because I think that it is the right thing to do,” I answered.
“No!” he retorted. “You stay because your heart wants you to do so. There is something in the heart, a substance, which makes you do so.”
“You are right; that’s why from the very beginning I could not go away and was so disturbed by discovering this fact. I value freedom so much and hate to be forced to do anything. There is a mystery hidden somewhere, and my mind was much frightened. I suspect that the mind was afraid, for it knows that it will be the loser, but the mind is strong and it will give trouble. Only it looks to me that you are knocking it out altogether.” I smiled doubtfully. But he only laughed his kind-hearted laughter.
Later he said to L. speaking of somebody: “Your attitude has to force the Master, your life has to be lived in such a way that he sees that you are in earnest and is FORCED to accept you.”
1st December
“DO CHRISTIANS BELIEVE IN EVOLUTION?” he asked.
“Some do,” answered L.
“Does science believe in evolution?”
“Yes,” said L., “science does, but for plants, animals, etc., even many scientists believe that man has been created.”
“How does one prove to an atheist the existence of God? By letting him experience it?”
“Yes, I suppose, this will be the only way to make him believe in God.” This is for me, I thought. He speaks to L., but it is meant for me. He knows that I believe in evolution, and that I don’t really believe in God.
2nd December
IN THE AFTERNOON did not remember what happened in the first half of the day, who was there for lunch, what kind of food we had. A complete blank. L. told me that nothing of importance happened. I was feeding the squirrels (chipmunks), who for the first time took the nuts from my hands, and Veena, Pushpa’s daughter, went to the test match with her father.
Wrote to Benares for accommodation, and to Adyar; will be going to the T.S. Convention. Leaving for Benares on Tuesday with the Guru. He goes to Allahabad which is on the way, so we will travel together.
Sitting in the darkness after sunset in my usual place, I prayed.
How easy the prayer is now! Never could I pray like this before! My mind is still, transparent, as though paralyzed, and my heart flies away like a trembling bird… flies away into the peace of…
God?—or just peace??
3rd December
I DREAMED that the storm was approaching from the sea. Huge black clouds rolling on and on, nearer and nearer. I began to close the windows on the side of the approaching storm, but left open those on the opposite side of the house, thinking that they are safe because facing the sun; the sky was still blue and clear on this side of the horizon.
“The dream is incomplete. Not much use telling you what it could mean, because it will only mislead you. I have told you that the past will come up in dreams now, as the time goes on. 99½% of the Karmas will be dealt with in dreams; the remaining half percent, of course”… he fell silent looking into the far distance.
Into my past? Or into my future? I thought, observing his calm,
the serene brow, the perfect stillness.
The sky was so blue, so beautiful this morning, so fragrant was the air. Winter is lovely in the Indian plains. Deep is my love for you, beautiful India, so manifold, so incomprehensible, darkly mysterious for us from the West.
“Bhai Sahib, what is being done to my heart? It goes completely mad. Stops beating, races, stops again, goes slow, and is fluttering like a bird caught in a cage.”
We were sitting outside; he had his mala sliding slowly through his fingers; his lips were hardly moving in silent prayer.
“Please do remember that I will have to travel. I would not like anything to happen while I am away. If it does, I leave everything the Convention, the tax-office, the bank—and take the first train to you!” He smiled.
“Of course when you go away, things can happen when you are far from me. To a Sufi Saint came a disciple and said to him: ‘I wish this night will never end, and there shall be no morning for me tomorrow!’ The Saint, touched by so much love, did not pray for it, but there was for days no morning for the disciple, no sun rose for him.”
“But I do not understand what it has to do with me being afraid of something happening when I am away; though it certainly is a lovely story,” I said. “The mind seems not at its best just now.” He smiled again.
“All I wanted to say is that many things could happen if one loves.
When L. had left here for the first time years ago, such currents of love were coming that even the people here used to ask me about her and how she is.”
But do I love? It does not seem so. So, I just wondered….
11 Benares and Adyar
LATER ON, REFERRING TO PRAYER and the answer he gave me some time ago that prayer with words is of no use at all, and I said I was so discouraged, that for the time being I stopped all praying. Only now I came back to it. He said that he does not explain well enough sometimes, perhaps it has to do with the language. Prayer with words is all right, if it is accompanied by the prayer of the heart.
Daughter of Fire Page 9
