6th September, 1962
THIS MORNING THE VIBRATION was strong in all the Chakras. The body was literally on fire. Again as before, I saw light circulating in the body, going here and there, seemingly purposefully. When I told him, he was writing; he did not even look at me. I sat there, such was the power surging from below—the base of the spine—that at one moment I nearly blacked out. The head began to spin—all the objects in the room began to vascillate, to turn aroundthe mind became empty. I experienced a feeling of great fear, of falling…
falling… and clutched to the side supports of my arm chair. Then as quickly as it began, it stopped all of a sudden.
Went home afterwards. No trouble with the vibration anymore, only walking was a bit difficult—was like drunk. But the strong sense of irritation remained. This irritation is something new because it has constantly been increasing slowly for the last few weeks.
8th September
WHAT I AM DOING IN THE NIGHT frightens the mind now—a state of being as if thrown Somewhere or into Something, and what it is the mind knows not. God, it cannot be; one cannot reach God after only nine months of training. I am satisfied to know, or to think, that I very probably tuned into the Sheath of the Soul, for there is love, unimaginable happiness, and time is not there. But the mind is experiencing a feeling of great fear. First, it wants to know and understand what these states are—for they are a nothing, a complete insecurity, from the point of view of the mind. Secondly, I firmly decided that the belief in Karma has to go, and this represents an additional insecurity. Every belief to which we cling gives us a bit of firm ground to stand upon, a security. We give up Religion, and become Vegetarians, or Theosophists, or Agnostics; and each of these new beliefs is a substitute for the old, a new ground to stand on where we feel safe. How little we know that we build our castles on sand….
Spiritual life is the tearing down of all the castles, of all securities.
For only then, and then only, we can reach the Ultimate Security. It seems to me that, if I don’t give up all beliefs absolutely, the little self, the pride, will never go. It is of no consequence if the belief is a correct and valid one or not; it has to go. It has to be an act of faith, the act of faith in the Guru, in his Wisdom, and it is the only weapon I have to defeat the self. But what is rather disconcerting is the fact that the whole of my personality is standing up in front of me, fighting me; everything in me is united against me, so to speak. I have the feeling that the last, the supreme fight has begun. It may last for years, of course—one can never know how long it is going to be.
“And you will drive me into the arms of your God by giving me sorrows and despair much more than I had until now.” Then I told him that my mind was giving me trouble because of an ungenerous remark he made about Mrs. Bogroff, who wrote to him about her troubles. What he had said was expressed in ungentlemanly termsone should not speak about a woman in this way. Nobody is free from faults.
“You have a way of bringing people’s faults to light, to bring out the worst in them; you do it to me constantly, for instance. It is a kind of vibration, something in you which makes people react in this way.”
“But why should I do such a thing?” he asked angrily. “It is the evils in everyone which come out!”
“But if you know that, then you should be even more generous; if by simple contact with you, people’s faults come to light, then to talk as you did, in front of everybody, was most ungenerous! You yourself are not free from faults; no human being can be. A great Master said somewhere that he is infallible only when he is not functioning in his physical body, using his brain. As a human being he is fallible and liable to make errors. Surely that would be valid for you too? There are many things in your environment, your family, and your way of life which I could point out as being far from perfect!”
“I don’t want to listen to you!” He hissed at me. “You don’t know how to respect people like me; you never learned what respect and reverence means! You don’t know how to behave in company of such people! You are nothing but a stupid, dense and ignorant woman, and you try to preach to me?”
“I am nothing of the sort!” my anger was roused. “I have eyes to see. I have been sitting here for months, plenty of time to be able to judge you and your way of life. I have enough of this treatment. You are an arrogant autocrat, that’s what you are. All I was asking this morning was to be helped to cope with this vibration which is getting beyond my physical endurance. For nine months I am pleading with you, but it is of no avail!”
“Did I give it to you?” he hissed furiously. “It is your own sins which are coming back on you! The evils in your blood!”
“But it is YOU who put me into this state!” I nearly shouted, beyond myself with fury. “All I ask: do it gently! I understand why it is done, that it is necessary—but have a heart, I am at the end of my strength!”
“Nonsense!” he shouted back, leaning forward and glaring at me; “You idiot! You… you… so disgusting you are! So revolting! I hate all the evils in you! I hate them! I hate them!”
“But all the people with whom you are coming into contact cannot be evil! If you see all these evils in them, they must be in you! Look how full of hatred you yourself are!” I was blazing with anger. “You are full of evils too! Look into the mirror just now! Is it the face of a good man? It is time you should look at yourself and not seek out evils in others!”
And all the time there were hundreds of interruptions—his children, the wife, the servant—all kept popping in and out for one reason or another, bringing with them loud bits of conversation carried on from one room to another. It made speaking difficult and increased my irritation to a paroxysm. At one moment he pretended not to listen anymore but went into Samadhi. I began to cry. It was too much; I had enough, absolutely….
“Women can only cry; this they can do very well,” he said disdainfully, opening his eyes.
Once more I burst out, telling him all the miseries I had to go through since I am with him—the loneliness, the hopelessness of the whole situation, the lack of money and of the most elementary physical comforts, and the dust, and the flies, hours alone in the dusty garden, treated worse than anybody else. When others do a thing, it is considered all right and legitimate. When I do the same thing, I am wrong and am shouted down in front of everybody. It is time it should stop; enough is enough. You act as my enemy….
Why? What harm did I do to you?” I talked for a while on those lines, pouring out all my bitterness, the accumulated frustration. He listened, apparently, sitting in his big chair.
Then I looked up, for in my fury and anxiety to tell everything quickly, I hardly had time to look at him. I saw that his eyes were full of tears: a large tear was rolling down slowly into his beard. I knew what was happening: his heart was melting—he was full of pity for me. I began to cry and could not stop. “I am going,” I said, trying to control my sobs, and I nearly fell down getting up from my chair…
my knees were shaking. “Drunk again” I murmured, full of embarrassment, trying to smile. “NAMASKAR”… “and may God bless you always!”
I nearly ran out of the room, and when at home tried to eat something, but could not. Fire was circulating in my veins. The body was trembling… a small, nervous trembling impossible to control.
Felt I couldn’t go on anymore. Shouted at, pushed about, subjected to all sorts of pressures and humiliations—if I don’t put my foot down, where will it end? I had nothing left anymore, nowhere to go… a hopeless, distressing situation to the utmost degree. Began to cry again.
When he is talking to me, my mind stops, and very often I miss the meaning of what he is saying; it is like being before the sun—one is blinded. If I try to speak to him, the opportunity is lacking, or again, I am as dumb as a cow. Decided to talk to him tonight—there is such a thing as human dignity: enough is enough.
When I came at six, they were all playing cards in the courtyard, Munshiji included. I advanced towards him
; he looked dark.
“Please,” I said, “I would like to speak to you before somebody arrives; it is important.”
“Not now,” he said shortly, “leave me free.”
“I don’t mean this very moment of course, but later, please, it is important.” So I sat outside full of torture, thinking it out in my mind how and what to tell him. I was very hurt. The sunset was lovely. Gold and streaks of orange, crimson feathery clouds changing gradually to ominous dark reds, as if painted on with a brush on soft, grey clouds.
He came out when it was darkening already and immediately I began, afraid that I wouldn’t have time to say everything I wanted.
“Do not talk to me at all; I don’t want to hear anything!” he said furiously. I never saw him so angry. But I was angry too. So, I told him that he dares to speak to me like this because I have no brother, or any male family member to protect me; he takes advantage of me being alone and helpless; he would not dare to talk in this way to an Indian woman, for her brother would soon give him a good thrashing. Does he realize the enormity of all this insulting treatment?
“Don’t speak anymore—I hate to hear your voice!” He shouted loudly.
“I will ask one of your more intelligent pupils, say Prof. Batnagar, to act as my brother and intervene on my behalf and protect me against you! You ought to apologize! I expect an apology from you for your rudeness!”
“Apologize?” he shouted. “All what you people from the West know how to do is to defame!” He was roaring now. “Defame, yes!
You are not better than the least street woman—they are known to be expert in this business of defamation!”
“Master,” I began, and then stopped—I went very quiet and very cold. I was really too astounded at this incredible accusation….
“You are lying shamelessly!” He suddenly came quite near, his voice sounded like a roar in my ears.
“Professor Batnagar!” I shouted. “lam calling him now; he lives next door; he will hear me! Let him come and see for himself, and you will see what will happen!”
“If you dare to come once more to my premises, you will be turned out—you will not set foot into my premises; I can guarantee that!”
“But why do you go on offending me like this?” I was really astonished; he looked terrible in his anger, and my heart was stopping, kept stopping more; it was quite alarming….
I think I must have lost consciousness for a while, for when I looked around, I saw several people sitting, somewhere in Dhyana, and he was talking in his usual way explaining something. I looked at him. Nothing gave away his fury only a short while ago… only his pallor, the greenish tint of his skin. His voice was even and melodious as usual.
I cried… I cried… and I cried. It must have been for hours; people came and went until 10:30. I was still crying… could not stop.
“You can go home now,” he said coldly, after the last old man was hobbling away.
“I will stay here all night, sitting… as a protest against the bad treatment I constantly get from you! I will not go!” I sobbed. He went inside.
After a while he came out. I saw his wife and his sons standing in the doorway. He stood tall in front of me, slender, all in white, full of light—a great Master, every inch of him.
“It will be better for you to go,” he said quietly. The authority of a Teach er was in his voice and… a threat? Something in his voice sounded like a warning… but I had no time to reflect: “No!” I exploded, beside myself with despair—“No! I am NOT GOING! The whole town should know—everybody should see what you are doing, how you are treating me! Kill me! Drag me away! I disobey! I am desperate! Kill me! Death is better than this life of misery!” He turned abruptly and went inside followed by his family.
A little later his wife came out with his sons, asking me to leave. I refused point blank. If this is the way to treat a guest from another country, if this is the famous hospitality of his culture, let the whole town see it….
“Father will not come out,” said Satendra with a wicked grin.
“He’d better not; I don’t expect him,” I said darkly, adjusting myself in the most comfortable chair. Just as well… I can be as comfortable as possible…. So, all doors and the large gate in the passage leading to the courtyard were locked. I remained alone in the garden. The hours were passing quickly. After a while I stopped crying. Was thinking it all over. Mind did not work much. I hoped it will serve as a lesson to him.
True, I was very rude, but my patience was exhausted—I could not go on like that anymore. Inside, somewhere, very deep in me, was a small trembling, like a swift throb of an engine. The sky was full of stars. It was a warm, still, September night. A light breeze rustled high up in the trees from time to time. Listened to my heart pounding like a gong. The yapping and the howling of dogs roaming the streets came from the direction of the bazaar. Otherwise the streets were empty. About 4 a.m. Gandiji came—he does it apparently every day before his meditation and his bath in the Ganga—saw me sitting there, gave me a surprised glance, then stood facing the door of his room praying with folded palms; then as silent as he came, he left. I listened to the sound of his soft sandals growing more and more distant till I could not hear it anymore.
Went home at 5:30. Had a bath and strong, black coffee. Had a rest and at nine, as usual, was at his place. If one can swallow all that had happened, and still wants to come back, then one can swallow anything, I thought. But I knew that I had no alternative; there was nothing else left for me. Only this forlorn hope, to reach the Truth, somehow, at any cost. But the heart was aching too much; why, I didn’t know… it was a strange pain. Surprising, how he can hurt me; the least thing he says carries such weight with me. And now this flaming row… if I stood that without dying of pain, nothing will be able to hurt me anymore in life—this hurt was the worst….
“When neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, if all men count with you but none too much…. “Perhaps it will be like this one day ….
9th September
HE WAS LYING ON THE TACHAT… and his entire family was in the room: wife, children, grandchild, all of them laughing, talking, the child screaming; nobody took the slightest notice of me. I understood that it was done deliberately. He did not want to be alone with me in the room. He laughed and joked with them, played with the child—they all made such a noise. I was sitting near the door, apart from it all, was very tired, with a sort of indifference, a kind of dull peace, which one experiences after a psychological shock, or a great sorrow.Went home at eleven. Had something to eat. Was there again at six. He did not come out. Nobody came. The garden was silent. Went home soon and fell asleep immediately.
11th September
HE IS VERY ILL I learned that as soon as I came in. Terrible heart—pain across the chest. Fever. When I came and saw the chairs outside, but the door closed, I knew that he must be unwell. Babu told me that he was very ill.
Did not want to disturb; so I went home and came back at noon to inquire how he was. Was allowed to enter the room. Babu was massaging his feet. He was lying motionless and very pale. I left soon.
Went to Pushpa. Came back at 4 p.m. The situation was the same, but I was told that the doctor was there in the morning, and he is getting the homeopathic treatment.
13th September
I AM WEARING MYSELF OUT with worry for him. He seems to be very ill.
I think it could be a liver attack .. . it looks like it. His face is yellow and drawn, which is one of the symptoms, so I was told. The pain in the region of the liver and the stomach is acute—he lies there, moaning with pain. I don’t stay long; it could be embarrassing for him, for he is not free. Cannot bear to see him suffer like this. It is so miserable to sit there and not be able to do anything. His family takes turns to massage his body day and night, all twenty—four hours. His wife is with him all the time; I feel so useless sitting there not being able to help in any way. And when at home, I worry and worry.
When I go
back, he is always the same. Go home. Worry. And so the hours, the days pass, full of misery.
Had plenty of time to think in those days. From the way he treated me, and to judge from the acute pain in my heart, as well as from the state of complete separation, I am sure that the last act has begun.
The last act of the drama… the final breaking down. How long it will go on, I don’t know. He will know it, of course, but for me it is impossible to know. Perhaps after many years I will understand. He mentioned one day, it was in the courtyard when I was crying because of the Karmas, and Babu said: “You will be all right by this Bandhara.” “No, no,” he said, “not this Bandhara, but the next one… yes.”
So, let’s hope that it will last only for sixteen months. But it may be much, much longer .. .. Resolved not to speak to him anymore unless spoken to. I will need all my energy to be able to bear it.
Cannot afford emotional outbursts.
“Suffering? Under pressure?” he yelled at me on Saturday. “It is nothing! It is only the beginning! Soon much more will come!”
Remembered, when writing to Maritje some months ago, I said: he is taking me along my Calvary. I used it only as an illustration. But thinking it over now, I realize that it is literally so. Because what is done is in reality a crucifixion—the burning away of the self, the supreme final sacrifice, mentioned in all the Myths, in all the Sagas…. It is the story of the final giving up of the personality, the great drama of all the ages. In the Sufi System the final surrender is done to the Master.
“The most difficult thing in the world while you are doing it, and the easiest one when it is done,” he said once, I remember…. So, I have to brace myself. Pull the belt tighter, old girl, as the wrestler does, before the fight. Keep still my heart, and face it….
Was very depressed when at Pushpa’s place. I suppose because my heart was so full of anxiety I spoke about my worries and my daily travail, and I think I even cried. Mrs. Ahuja, Pushpa’s friend who was there too, told me a story from the Upanishads: Once upon a time sons of Kings and even of Devatas, who come to earth for this purpose, were sent to stay with a great Master, to serve him and get teachings from him. One of them, a son of a King, was serving a great Rishi who had his A shram in the forest on the bank of the river Ganga. He served him for nine-and-a-half years, but the yogi did not teach him anything. One day the boy received a letter from his father telling him that it would be time to go home, for he, the King, was ill and soon he will depart from this life. He should come back to take his rightful place as a crown prince and serve his people wisely, for he must have learned Wisdom from his Teacher.
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