Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

“But this you do every morning,” I said, and he smiled. “You turn my mind off, and only for the sake of demonstration you did it rather suddenly this time. In the mornings it is done in a more gentle way; it happens gradually. At any rate, I never know the exact moment when it happens; it is just there; then I know.”

  “When you will tell people about those things, they will be impressed. Write down everything. It is such a subject that you can speak of it for months, for years. For instance… what happened yesterday, and how it happened. Our System is the best. After two or three years you will say: In what a wonderful System have I been trained… how human beings are trained in the simplest, the easiest way… how they are put to work according to their abilities and desires. Then, the desire is taken away and the Shishya must do the Will of the Guru. But the Guru puts him to do exactly what he originally wanted to do, and can do best, of course. But there can be no self, or ego anymore now, because the Shishya does not do his will any longer, but that of the Guru.”

  “How clever! What a wonderful training indeed!”! exclaimed.

  And so I was right when I was thinking that I will never be asked to work in leper colonies or hospitals, for I have not the necessary qualifications, nor am I interested in nursing, nor will I have to deal with children, because I know nothing of education; but having metaphysical inclination and being interested in metaphysical matters, I always felt that I will be asked to help people one step nearer the Truth.

  Speaking of himself he said: “When I am told, or made to understand, or it is hinted, I do my duty to my best knowledge, and there is nothing but duty for me.”

  Here again, our characters are similar, my dear, Revered Guru Maharaj; duty for me, too, is the most important thing….

  10th August

  TOLD HIM ABOUT the dancer-like quality of his movements—so Oriental, so smooth; no one of his family has it, neither his brother nor his children. I saw it in India in the professional dancers…

  such cat-like grace, and only in Hatha Yogis, but only the best ones.

  They walked like gods and moved with the same feline grace. But they were very much body-conscious, very much aware of their movements. But he was not. It was completely unconscious with him. He smiled quietly.

  “It is because at the stage I am, I can leave my body at a second’s notice, a splitsecond’s notice I should say; and the body expresses the state as well as it can.” I understood. Here lies the explanation of his Christ-like or Buddha-like quality: the body mirrors, reflects, the higher states of consciousness. That’s all.

  DREAM: He and I sat side by side in a room, the door of which opened into a large courtyard. In the courtyard, leaning against the wall, sat a man. “Tell him!” he said. I turned towards the man: “Don’t be discouraged—Guru Maharaj is pleased with you!”

  “What sort of person are you?” he interrupted me briskly: “You don’t know how to respect a man like me! How dare you say that I am pleased! It is not your business to say so!”

  “But I thought that you wanted me to tell him!” I said very much puzzled. He quickly got up and went to the man who fainted as soon as he reached him. Other people came running. The man seemed to be dying; there was some kind of big trouble. He knew that the man was going to faint, I thought; he got up BEFORE the man even began to faint and went there. Suddenly I felt awful. I was gasping for breath, suffering greatly. I was dying too. Was it a mistake to die? Or is it his intention that it should be so? I thought—while waking up—so great was the suffering.

  He did not interpret it for me. He just went to sleep. It seems to me there are three important points: 1. I did something according to my own and not his will, and was reprimanded severely; 2. that I was dying under great suffering; dying, NOT dead; 3. the process was going on; it is not finished.

  He looked at me with an undefinable expression when I told him how glad I was just to sit here and look at him, for he is so transformed for me now. As soon as I said it, I wondered if he will take it away from me. I seem to be deprived lately of everything which gives me pleasure or consolation.

  10th August

  THIS MORNING I FELT VERY BAD… vomiting condition, and severe headache. Took some sodium sulfate, Glaubers salt. But it did not help and upset me very much. Took two aspirins. Dragged my body along all morning, trying to do some housework.

  Went there about nine. He was not outside; Babu sat in the room under the fan. I asked him if I could sit in the room too; I felt so hot; the night was stifling hot. Felt miserable. Not a leaf was stirring in the trees, and it was very sticky. Exchanged a few words with Babu.

  He came in after his bath; I asked if I should go out because he may want to dress, but he said that I can stay. He was talking and laughing with his wife. When the wife had left, I told him how I suffered last night. I must confess, I was sorry for myself, could not sleep, so much was the perspiration and headache.

  “You should not sit here for hours,” he interrupted me sharply.

  “It won’t help you. The mind is not working; you are apt to criticize; unnecessary questions arise in your mind which you may think helpful, but they are not; they are of the worst kind! You come here from nine to ten, for one hour in the morning, and then in the evening for a short time.”

  I began to weep. “You are sending me away into the heat! How cruel! You know that my flat is as hot as a baker’s oven—the coolest place is this room of yours under the fan!”

  “You just come here for one hour in the morning,” he repeated; “what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing?” I said blankly, the mind not working. “I suppose I am here to be with you… you insisted that Satsang is essential—ten hours per day I spend sitting here… I understood that is how it should be.”

  “To be with me,” he repeated scornfully… “others are with me too. My wife, my children are with me too; my wife massages my body for several hours daily; my children serve me! But you, what are you doing?”

  By now I was weeping bitterly. No use asking me what I was doing, because the mind refuses to function, and I cannot think at all. All I knew was that I was being deprived of his presence. He seemed angry.

  So, I went about ten, still weeping all the way home. It is going to be very hard to stay in the boiling hot flat nearly all day long.

  “Go for a walk at eight in the morning,” he said.

  But if it is already so hot at five, how will I be able to? And the housework? When shall I do that? I do it early, for later in the day I am unable to do it. How difficult my life is with him! If there is not the one thing, then there is something else; I never know where I am.

  Bitterly I was crying at home for hours….

  To drive me out of the only cool place, a little ventilation in his room… one would not do it even to one’s enemy; I cannot stay with Pushpa in her bedroom with the cooler every day. It is a shameful thing to do—to refuse hospitality to somebody who is already suffering so much. No, it is not him; it is not in his character; it is done for a purpose; it must be a test. The mind went still when I thought it over, and did not give me trouble. It seems so clearly to be a matter of training… the mind will not give me trouble, because it will understand the reason for this incident. But will it? Can I trust it?

  Was sewing the new dress I was making. I cut it the other day and passed it on Pushpa’s sewing machine. Bought cheap cotton material in the bazaar with the money saved from my food. Must have another cotton dress; nylon is not at all suitable—encourages prickly heat rash. Have only one cotton dress .. . felt guilty to spend some money on myself. Went there in the evening as usual. He was sitting outside and asked me how I was. Now I am sure that he is testing me, for he expected an act of rebellion and complaint. But I only said that I was all right. He looked very weak and told me that he did not feel well at all. Told him that if I have to spend so many hours at home from now on, I had better look for another flat for the next hot season in May.

  “Who will think of the
next year? Who knows what is going to be?… never think of tomorrow…. “

  12th August

  WHEN I ARRIVED, he was playing chess with a friend whom I never saw here before; I think he lives somewhere in the South.

  “You are very late,” he remarked.

  “I do what you have told me—you ordered me to come from nine to ten.” He nodded, continuing to play. His torso was bare; he was clad only in his longhi, and looking at him I was reflecting how much light a human skin can contain. In his case it did not look like skin at all, just a radiation, a golden glow. His opponent was a thin man with a serious face. Both were engrossed in what they were doing. I watched fascinated. Last night I was crying silently, thinking to what lonely long hours he is condemning me, but there was like a secret communication with him, like a subtle thread. And I knew that he was aware of lying there crying.

  Listened to the clock ticking away, thinking that soon I will have to go. But when I got up at ten, he asked without looking up: “You want to go?”

  “It is ten already—you wanted me to stay only for one hour.”

  “No, you can stay here,” and I sat down again.

  He played with concentration; his opponent seemed to be a good player. I tried to tune in to his thought, as he wants me to do. But I saw soon that it wasn’t the right way to proceed. The mind creates a barrier, and one does not get anywhere. Those flashes must come from beyond the mind; I cannot force them; they must come by themselves. Finally I decided that he wanted me to go at half past eleven, and so I did.

  In the afternoon I was lying on my bed; I just finished my midday meal of some rice and vegetables; it was quarter past one. Was thinking how maddening it is that I can never capture his thought, even if I have such a keen desire to be able to do it. There was a time when I was quite good at getting other people’s thoughts, but with him it does not work. Probably he was just occupied with the chess game, not thinking about me at all, when I should go home. This is also possible. Then of course, I would capture nothing.

  Suddenly I became aware of a strange behavior of my heart: it was beating strongly and very rapidly, as in a high fever, on and on regularly. I remembered that I had such an experience before, so I just relaxed and decided to rest for one hour. But I fell asleep until 4 p.m. When I woke up, the heartbeat was normal again. Only there is this strange feeling that it was not sleep; there was a kind of awareness, but who can say? What was it?

  In the night slept fairly well, but every time I woke up, and I did it often, I felt the unusual heartbeat which subsided each time the waking consciousness took completely over.

  30 We have Two Hearts

  13th August, 1962

  “You WANTED TO TELL ME SOMETHING?” he asked, because I mentioned last night that I had an unusual experience which I will tell him tomorrow. He hardly ever asks me if I want to speak to him. On the contrary, when I have to tell him something, he usually avoids me, and interruptions would begin. Told him about the heartbeat and the sleep which did not seem to be a sleep. His smile was tender and strange.

  “Do you remember, in spring, I had two hearts beating in my breast… such a strange Maya it was.”

  “You are right,” he interrupted, “WE HAVE TWO HEARTS.”

  “One beating rapidly and strongly, and the other my own?” I asked, and he nodded. Did not ask further… had the feeling he will not say more. The one must be the Heart of Hearts, which he mentioned sometimes. Is it etheric? Or even more subtle? Heaven knows. I dimly remember. I think it was L. who told me that the Heart of Hearts is the Atmic Heart. I will know one day, of course. At least he always says so… must not be impatient… must train myself to wait in stillness.

  I was there at nine because I went to buy some bread for him, and stayed until half past eleven… then went to the bazaar. In the afternoon went to Pushpa. He did not come out in the evening. I gave Babu his lesson and saw him playing cards in the courtyard, sitting on the tachat with his wife and Durgashankar. He is not well, very weak, coughing—he has bronchitis—it is evident to everyone. It was drizzling. Went home and slept inside the room. It was hot and sticky, and I woke up with a headache.

  14th August

  HE DID NOT SPEAK TO ME all day . . stayed for two and a half hours in the morning. In the evening he did not come out, so I went home at seven.

  15th August

  HINDU HOLIDAY. Babu asked to be free, so we had no lesson.

  16th August

  HE DID NOT COME OUT last evening. After sitting alone in the damp garden, went home early. Since this morning I am suffering from irritation. This irritation seems to be something new. It is so unreasonable, against everything and everybody .. . though he seems to be excluded from it. Sometimes, however, the irritation is directed against him.

  He, too, seemed to be in a bad mood; he ordered me to plant some vegetable seedlings which one of his disciples brought; but I argued, what’s the use of planting such tender things if they haven’t got the least chance of survival. First get rid of the goat, I said, which those dirty people living in the shed let loose all the time to roam freely in the garden. And what about so many children and stray dogs coming in from the street?… and the cows wandering in… Munshiji running after them, chasing them out?

  But it was no use. He became annoyed. I planted the seeds. Later he gave me a letter to type. Was very irritated, and the mind gave me trouble. We had an unpleasant discussion, and he told me that I have no brain and no understanding and am stupid, and he kept abusing me, and I fought back. Then he said: “Come inside, why should you sit here alone.”

  “You mean inside the courtyard?” I asked in astonishment, and he said, yes. Well, I thought, full of amazement, he was never concerned if I was sitting alone… I do it for months on end, in the cold, in the dust, unnoticed, forgotten, neglected, resented even, by some people.

  So, I went inside .. . they all played cards for hours. I just sat there and watched. I always thought, and still think, that the card game is a waste of time. But for him it is not. For him, no matter what he does on the physical plane, it is all the same. His consciousness is partly somewhere else anyhow. This state is called Sahaj Samadhi, effortless Samadhi, and to this state .his Superiors brought their Shishyas effortlessly—so he said once when I commented on this capacity of his to be in two different states at one and the same time.

  When he was playing cards, it was very evident that, though he did pay attention to the game, he was somewhere else too. One could see it by the expression of his eyes.

  Went home early, about eight.

  17th August

  IN THE MORNING there was a new young man whom I never saw before, and Bhai Sahib spoke to him in Hindi explaining the System.

  He used several times the word “Self Realization,” in English, in course of conversation. An idea arose in my mind: “Please Master, could you tell us, because it is something which very much puzzles me… how does one know that one has realized God? How does one know that it is not an illusion, a Maya of some sort? I met so many Sadhus and Sannyasis in Rishikesh and elsewhere… they all called themselves ‘Realized Souls.’”

  “If one says that one is a realized Soul, one never is. It is NEVER said. A Wali (saint) is a balanced person; he knows that this world is not a bad one, and he has to live in both worlds, the spiritual and the physical, the life on this earth. There is nothing good or bad for him; good or bad are relative concepts.”

  “But I have so often heard you condemn worldly things!”

  “Because to the ordinary people one has to speak like this,” he laughed. “How will they know that gambling or chasing after worldly possessions is wrong? But why bother to understand? To realize it is important. Only the things we understand through Realization are really ours.”

  Later: “I gathered that before one comes to the Master or a Saint, the Karmas are valid, but as soon as the Saint takes you in his hand, no Karmas remain.”

  “Not immediately; but little by l
ittle, as the desire goes, no Karmas remain, and another set of Karmas takes over. One makes other Karmas which bind you to the Master and which take you to Realization.”

  In the evening was the same story: they were playing cards, and I was watching them for a while. Went home early. It was raining heavily.

  18th August

  HE WAS SWEEPING HIS ROOM when I arrived. I was full of laughter and joy because of the heavy, tropical rain. Have never seen such a downpour—it was like sheets of water… there was no question of “drops.” It made the air so gay, so pure and fragrant afterwards.

  Then we both sat down, and I told him about the depression I had last night; it really lasted for the last three days, but yesterday it was very bad. I was at home early, sat on the tachat, and was knitting such was the depression because of the miserable life I was leading… life without joy or peace.

  I have had periods of misery in my life—who has not? But I don’t think I have ever been so miserable in all my life…. Does he know about it? He nodded.

  “There was some depression, and something was done that it should not last long.”

  Then I proceeded to tell him that I was irritated because of the shed in which Tulsi Ram’s family lives. It is painful to see that he uses some of my money to repair the shed of dirty people who give him trouble and annoyance in every way. After all, it was the money from selling my house, and the money my husband had left me; it would have served me for my old age. I gladly give it to him for a worthwhile cause, but it is hard to understand why he does certain things. After all, they ruin his garden, quarrel, and make a mess; he, Tulsi Ram, does not want to work, and a shed like this one, they can erect anywhere in the Indian plains—why should it be in his garden?

  He listened silently. Then he told me how L. gave a blanket to his Rev. Guru, and he was so pleased with it… but a few days later he gave it to somebody else.

  “I must admit, I hoped he would give it to me, but he gave it to someone who did not matter to him at all… it is done like that. We give things away; our family, our property, matters little. I never came with empty hands to him, but the things which I was bringing, he distributed immediately amongst the people present, and they did not mean anything, either to him or to us. It is done like that.”