Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  In the afternoon we went for a walk. At my remark that I can make a mistake once but not a second time, L. laughed and gave me quite a sermon implying that one never should say such a thing. “One has to attach oneself to something. Rather say and think: with His Will, I’ll be able to do it. Like this, no pride will remain in whatever you do or achieve.”

  2nd February

  WE HAD A LOVELY brisk walk in the park. Again he was saying that only the Will of the Beloved mattered. The lover is a dead thing in the hands of the Beloved. Told him that I was crying yesterday because of my shaky state. I am subjected to an unusual strain, and not only that, but I was thinking that he was displeased with me.

  To please L., we went into the rose garden which was a sea of color and fragrance. She was telling us that next month she would be going to Kashmir to her Sanskrit Guru.

  In the evening many people came, and L. and I sat in silence. An Urdu conversation was going on. After a while he asked me why I was thinking that he was displeased, for he was not. I tried to explain.

  “I am really never displeased; the disciple gets a chance again and again, hundreds of times; a good Teacher is never displeased, never.”

  But I could not quite believe that and was very depressed.

  3rd February

  IN SPITE OF MY WORRIES I slept well. Am not bothered much lately. He took it away, in His Mercy, to give me a breathing space, I presume.

  L. was saying that Bandhara (the opening of the gates of grace) is approaching, and he will be transfigured… he will be full of light.

  I see much light around him anyhow, but I said nothing to her.

  Tonight when walking in the park, he told me that he wanted me to buy some electric bulbs which will be needed for the Bandhara. I felt annoyed. Told him that he has so many young men and boys sitting around and doing nothing, his sons for instance. I am an elderly woman; to be sent on errands like that is not right. Not only that, but he knows well that I am always cheated; I have to pay more everywhere, being European. My Kashmiri friends never allowed me to buy anything by myself, for they knew that I was always swindled.

  He’said curtly that he will do it himself. I understood that I made a blunder once again. Remembered too late that one of the rules of discipleship is that one must never refuse anything to the Teacher.

  And it was such a small, futile thing; it was petty of me… his face was sad. We were walking along; L. was ahead of us. I felt bad. He asked for a thing of little importance; he was clearly testing me to see how I react.

  There was such sweetness in my heart in the night. Every time I woke up, especially about 4 a.m., such a deep sweetness was in the whole of the body, a languor, like a pull on the whole of the nervous system, so unbelievably gentle, like a caress.

  5th February

  WENT BY BUS to the bank this morning. Was painfully aware of the unreality of everything around me. The traffic, the glaring light of the sun, the crowds, the rikshaws, the noise of the bazaars. My head felt empty as if after a long illness, weak and languid. When coming out of the bank after completing the formalities—I had some money transferred from England—the feeling of unreality in the crude glare outside the building was very intense. Decided to walk to the shopping center nearby. Felt sharp pangs of pain in the stomach region—in the pit of the stomach, to be precise—and was very giddy.

  Had the impression there was not much connection between the objects of the outside world and myself. Kept looking at the shopping to do, all necessary things, but did nothing, could not face the crowds and the bustle of the bazaars. All I could think of was a small mirror (I broke mine a few days ago), and this only because I happened to notice some at a stand, while waiting for the bus. The bus took such a long time to arrive. Had a panic all of a sudden, was sure that I wouldn’t be able to face the crowd in the bus, so took a rikshaw. Arrived giddy and completely worn out at Bhai Sahib’s place. Told L. how I felt. He seemed not to listen, a slightly ironic expression was in his eyes. Went home. The feeling of unreality was still with me, very strong. All a crazy dream—nothing is real, I thought. Crazy and senseless. Completely purposeless the whole life.

  In the afternoon he gave us a long and interesting explanation on the relationship between the Teacher and the disciple.

  “Love cannot be more or less for the Teacher. For him the very beginning and the end are the same; it is a closed circle. His love for the disciple does not go on increasing; for the disciple, of course, it is very different; he has to complete the whole circle.” He designed with the mala an imaginary circle on his blanket. “As the disciple progresses, he feels the Master nearer and nearer, as the time goes on. But the Master is not nearer; he was always near, only the disciple did not know it.”

  L. said that her love remained the same from the beginning, but I said that love must grow, become deeper.

  “Yes, it is according to the temperament and the character of the people concerned. The Master must be strict, he has to be hard, because he wants the disciple to reach the high state. Absolute faith and obedience are essential; without that progress is impossible.”

  He demonstrated to L. the exercise which he had to do when he was young, in which one remains for one hour and twenty minutes without breathing.

  “But you cannot do it now,” he said to us. “I would have had to have you here with me before you were eighteen and before being married. This exercise is a quick way to take up all the sex power to Brahmarandhra (Crown Chakra), by singing certain sentences in a certain way. My revered Guru Maharaj knew so many things which I don’t know. But on the other hand, I know so many things nobody knows nowadays.

  “There are people who come to me for the last sixty years, and they know nothing. This man who was here a few days ago and whom you thought to be so nice,” he said turning to me, “he has been corning here for the last thirty-five years. Once he asked me, why don’t I teach him anything, or accept him as a disciple. Why should I? I select my disciples. Absolute faith and obedience are required before one is taken into the Arena. If you have no faith and absolute obedience, you will not progress, that’s all. Law is Law. One cannot cheat God.

  “When we have reached a certain degree of progress, we acquire certain capacities and powers. Some come to us naturally, as we progress, and some are offered to us. My revered Guru Maharaj offered to teach me a Mantra (a word of power) to heal the bite of all the poisonous snakes: I refused.”

  I looked at him in amazement: “But why, Bhai Sahib? It is such a service to humanity!”

  “Yes, and because it is Service, when I have this Power, I have no right to refuse. Never. So I will have here a procession of people day and night and will have neither peace nor time to do my own work.

  This is not very high ‘Siddhi’ (spiritual power); many Fakirs can do it. We are trained to do more important work, which they cannot do. I would be wasting my time. We are free; if I particularly would have wished it, I would have done it, but we do not wish anything.

  We are not after powers. We have no desires. Our Will becomes One with the Will of God. We are Instruments in His Hands. We are called: Slaves of the One and Servants of People. God has also a title, a Name; it is His favorite Name which He likes very much: ‘The Servant of Servants.’

  “The Goal of every Path of Yoga is to lead a Guided Life—guided by that in us which is Eternal. To be able to listen to this guidance is the whole purpose of the Spiritual Training. That’s why we insist on surrender, and on absolute obedience; and this is the meaning of the sentence of Christ: ‘I and my Father are one,’ and: ‘Thy Will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.’”

  He fell silent. A cool breeze sprang up, and brought with it a whiff of a delicate fragrance; the lime tree behind the corner of the house was flowering. I took a deep breath… it was heaven. He suddenly threw his head back and laughed his young slightly metallic laughter: “If I smell the fragrance of a rose,” he translated from the Persian, “I say, how sweetly fragrant art T
hou my Lord. If I taste a sweet thing, I say, how sweet art Thou my Lord!” And turning to me: “Thank, thank, go on thanking Him always, for everything, for good things, for difficulties, for everything! That’s how you will progress!

  “Now I will tell you a story,” he continued. “I was very young at that time when it happened, but already for several years under the guidance of my Rev. Guru Maharaj. Somebody in our family was not well, so my father decided to take us to Musoorie, over the hot season. Perhaps some of you know Musoorie, how it is situated: on a high plateau over 7000 feet. Where the buses arrive from the plain of Dehra Dun on a winding serpentine road flanking the steep hill, they stop on a large parking space at the beginning of a street with shops and bazaars. All around are more or less high hills. Now, I was walking in the street one day, when I noticed a Yogi seated in meditation on top of one of the hills. The next moment I saw the same man entering a shop. I looked up; the hill was empty. I was amazed. And while I was still thinking about it, I looked again, and here was the Yogi seated in meditation on the top of the hill as before. I told you, I was young, and curious to know more.

  “So, I went up the hill, and it took me more than half an hour of hard climbing. Having arrived there, I saluted respectfully: ‘Maharaj,’

  I said, ‘I saw you in deep meditation on this spot, and the next moment you were entering a shop down below in the bazaar, and a few brief moments later you were up this hill again.’ He laughed.

  ‘You noticed that, did you? All right, my boy, because you noticed it, I will teach you how it is done! Do you want to learn?’ I wanted very much. And so he taught me how to do it. He gave me a thing—it was not at all large—made of leather, and I had to keep it in my mouth.

  And wherever I wanted to be, in a moment I was there! I was delighted. But I did not tell anybody, for this was the promise I made to the Teacher.

  “Soon we all returned home, back to the plains. Now, it happened that my father had to go with his disciples, to a gathering in a locality, about 100 miles away. He asked me if I wanted to come.

  Usually I did, but this time I found an excuse not to go. I was looking forward to surprise them all by being there before them. And when the train with my father and his followers pulled into the station, I was sitting on the platform drinking tea.

  “My father did not say anything. After the gathering was over, he said: ‘Come with me!’ And we walked down to the river. My father turned to me and said: ‘Give it to me!’ I pretended not to understand and said: ‘To give what?’ He stretched out his hand: ‘Give it to me!’

  he ordered. I meekly took it out of my mouth and gave it to him, and he threw it into the river. ‘Are you not ashamed of yourself?’ he said to me. ‘Are you after Truth or after childish play? I never should see such things again!’ And he never did, for I was much ashamed. I understood… and never again was I tempted.”

  6th February

  I NOTICED THAT MY MIND is only working insofar as my spiritual duties are concerned. For instance: I can write my diary. I remember fairly well all that he tells us, but I cannot do more than that; the brain is not good anymore for anything else. What he said or did, every word, every gesture, I can remember, and even days afterwards I can write it down, but for everything else the memory is hopeless. And what’s more, nothing seems to matter any longer. Neither reading nor letter writing, nothing at all. All I want is to sit at his place, and even the silly, irritating chit-chat of the crowd around him seems to matter less and less. Everything seems to fall away from me, as in a crazy dream when all the objects are crooked, vacillating and empty of content.

  This morning there was such a charged atmosphere at his place. It was like being in a power-house. It was wonderful, exhilarating! He was walking up and down. Then the barber came to cut his hair. A large marquee was being erected in the middle of the garden; servants were carrying carpets, long poles, cushions, dharries. He was directing it all like a stage manager. Light bulbs were hung around on the branches of the trees and on the sides of the marquee. I soon left for Kirtan. Such a waste of time this Kirtan. Better to be at his place.

  Slept well. Could not reach him. He must be in a high state now.

  “The doors of the Bandhara are opened since last night,” he said to L. this afternoon. I did not sleep at all the night before. But all was peace. Only could not reach him, for he was in a very deep Samadhi.

  7th February

  THIS MORNING THE WORKMEN came to change the marquee and erected a much larger one. There was a lot of dust activity. The Guru was going to and fro; I was sitting alone outside. Saw him speaking to the half-blind man. Suddenly he came to me and, pushing a medical certificate into my hand, told me to copy it with one carbon copy. I objected because I could not read the diagnosis and told him that it is not of much use to copy it if the most important part cannot be even read correctly; besides, it is a confidential document for the doctor, and not for the patient to have it copied.

  “This man wants a copy,” Bhai Sahib said sharply. “If the man wants it, he has the right to it!”

  I felt irritated. And what about my rights? Every peasant has the precedence, everybody has “rights.” I seem to have only duties and am asked such obviously useless things to do, wasting my time. The fellow wants two copies just for the satisfaction of having them!

  What for: Such a waste of time! Lately he made me copy a certificate with six copies! My small typewriter can take only two copies, so I had to type it three times. I am not a good typist at any time, but now with the mind not working properly, I constantly make mistakes and have to re-write again and again.

  Bhai Sahib turned to the man, and I heard the man say he wants the copy for himself because he has to give the original to the doctor.

  Well… I was really angry. This is a test again. I have to be very careful. He will keep asking me to do silly, irrational things just to see how I react.

  I was annoyed with myself and resolved to be more careful than usual, just now, during the Bandhara. He was sure to test me, as he warned L. and myself some days ago. There could be false accusations, or something of the sort, and it will be done publicly.

  God help me with my character! I must not be resentful. One cannot cheat God, so he said. Obedience is so difficult. All day long I was sitting there alone, nobody taking the slightest notice of me. L. did not come; it was too much dust for her, so she said.

  8th February

  IN THE NIGHT something did happen. I am sure. But what? It is so subtle, impossible to describe, because it is impossible to be grasped by the mind. It is as if I was resting somewhere, body and all, in such happiness, such bliss, such intimate nearness, but to what?

  Impossible to know and to describe….

  A while ago I noticed something, but did not write it down because I wanted to be quite sure that I was not mistaken: every morning, about half an hour before coming to his place, something happens to my mind. It feels like a tight iron-circle closing tighter and tighter around the head; I get giddy and a bit unsteady on my feet, the brain slows down considerably, and for a few moments I see his face clearly before me. My only desire is to go to his place as quickly as possible.

  Everything else is forgotten. More than ever the world around becomes an empty dream, a Maya—unreal, silly, devoid of meaning, and the heart feels wounded. I can actually HEAR the Heart Chakra spin round and round at a terrific speed; the physical heart responds by beating madly, missing out beats, and behaving as if trying to jump out of the thorax.

  A thunderstorm came in the night. I woke up about midnight. It interrupted a dream of a luminous quality, but I remember nothing, except an unusually wonderful light.

  Woke up so happy and arrived there at 7:30. Everybody was waiting for the Guru. Under the marquee were pools of water; one corner was torn off, so we had to sit in the courtyard, but it was a good thing, because the children were not allowed in, and we were only disturbed by an occasional crying of babies. Very many people were p
resent. The large courtyard and the verandas around it were full of people seated all on the ground. I found a place and a small mat nearly opposite him, next to a wall which I could lean against. I wanted to see his face, wanted to miss nothing. The feeling of great Power was such that it took my breath away. This kind of force, or energy, was gradually increasing for the last two days. It was difficult to bear. But today it was even worse. I was breathing with difficulty and had the feeling as though at any moment my head would fly off.

  Was glad to sit down; could hardly walk or even stand as soon as I entered his premises.

  He came out and sat crosslegged in the middle of the courtyard on a carpet prepared for him. He was dressed with care and looked very elegant in white, woolen garments. Already when he came in, he was in deep Samadhi, looking like a statue of Buddha. I mean the expression, for Buddha is always represented without a beard.

  Nobody got up when he entered; nearly everybody was in deep Dhyana. No one stirred. The stillness was such that even the noises from the street and the nearby bazaar were non-existent. The peace was difficult to bear… felt light in my head and as if my neck was getting like the neck of a giraffe, longer and longer, my head somewhere in heaven.

  9th February

  I DON’T REMEMBER MUCH of the Bandhara. Very many people were there. Everybody was fed in the courtyard and in the verandas, seated on the floor. Somebody said that there were hundreds of people. L. told me that 3000 meals were distributed in three days.

  Calculating three meals per day, that would make more than 300 persons.

  When people speak to me I answer, but do not remember what I say. We all went with rikshaws to the Samadhi of his father and mother. It was crowded, noisy, with too many children all running about and being restless and disturbing everybody. But nobody checked them; they were ignored. He was transfigured in those days.