“This is nothing unusual,” grinned Babu who was having his lunch in the next room.
For some reason which I cannot explain, I had the uncanny feeling that the training is taking on a different form; some turning point is ahead….
8th May, Sunday
TESTING TIME. He does not speak to me. Nor does he ask anything.
When I lived at Sharma’s place, he often asked me if I was short of money. Then he knew perfectly well that I wasn’t. Everything which arrived I gave to him, or nearly everything, because I needed so little… had a roof over my head, and food too. At that time I confess that I was surprised why he was asking me. Now I understand why he was asking then. Because he knew that soon the time will come when he will not ask, and the contrast will be greater and more painful. Of course he knows, even if I didn’t tell him that I had to borrow fifty rupees from his eldest son when taking the new room—had to pay the rent in advance. He knows that the registered letter with the money did not arrive. His not asking now and ignoring me must have a special meaning, only I cannot for the moment understand the purpose of it…. I live on potato soup. The little bit of rice I had at home was finished a few days ago, as well as gram flour. Have still some sugar left, and a little tea. The last half -kilogram of potatoes I boiled with the skin on to avoid waste, and I sucked and chewed the skins before spitting them out to get out all the nourishment. But then I decided to eat them when I was finishing the last lot; after all, they cannot do any harm and they will fill the stomach.
On Friday the temperature was 44.5° C, and yesterday it must have been even more. It was quite unbearable last night when they watered the place where the chairs were put out. I kept wandering up and down avoiding the servant throwing buckets of water. Hot steam rose from the sun-baked soil. Bhai Sahib, squatting on the brick elevation, was organizing the watering and gave directions to the gardener. The gardener, by the way, was Mr. Sharma’s—lent to Guruji for a while. I left soon. Had a bath. I ate the last three boiled potatoes with all the skin on, and finished the last small gram-flour pancake. There was wind on the roof. My skin, made soft with constant perspiration, was grateful for it. Prayed to the blinking stars. My heart was full of Him…. Soon the wind became stronger and about nine p.m. became a dust storm. Clouds of dust whirled in the air. I looked at the others; nobody moved. So, I remained where I was, covered my head completely… could not face the idea to go down into the oven-hot room. And there too it will be full of dust.
The whole night the wind blew in strong blasts. In the pale dawn when I was collecting my bedding to go downstairs, the sheets were grey with dust. I managed to shake some of it off. My face and hair were full of sand. I needed a good wash which I had later. Had some tea, and two cold boiled potatoes left from yesterday. The feeling of nothingness seemed to affect the physical body… a slight vomiting condition, like a weakness, when I think of Him or pray. And I think of Him all the time…. And the mind does not work at all….
When he was talking to me a few evenings ago, I asked him why was it that at the Bandhara this time I did not feel the tremendous vibrations as in the years before.
“It is not my business to answer such questions; why don’t you try to know yourself?” To know myself… with the mind in such condition?… the most difficult thing in the world! How can I hope to achieve it? When I told him that the more I try to know the more confused becomes the mind, I realized how little I know and that I will never be able to catch the thread….
“You caught it,” he said in a very low voice, nodding gently.
“Otherwise you would have run away long ago…. “
I came later this morning, about eight. Had to wait for the bathroom. Everybody was full of dust like myself and needed a long bath.
He came out almost immediately. He gave me a sharp look and a faint smile. I knew that he was pleased with the state of my mind; he was watching for trouble. There was none. We exchanged a few words on the dust storm last night, on cold nights in the desert, and he began to organize the gardener, which plants he wanted to be watered, and how many buckets for each.
“It is surprising how many blisses India has in store for us: there is the bliss of cool stream of air from the fan, the bliss of water enveloping one like a cold sheath from head to foot from the shower… the bliss of water running on one’s hair because the skin feels itchy from perspiration… and the bliss to sleep under the starry sky and to be able to pray to Him under the light of the moon, fresh wind in one’s face.”
“Each climate has its own bliss; cold countries have their pleasures, so have the hot ones.” But I hardly listened. Like ice before the sun I am melting before you, I was thinking, looking at him seated in his usual pose, knees drawn up… just as I have seen the snow in the crags near the glaciers in the Himalayas melting, when the midday sun reached them… melting, becoming soft, and then running away in small streams making their way to the nearest brook…. Like that am I before you… just like that… and my heart sang. And he looked stern, a little bored organizing the gardener. Somebody came, a Hindi conversation began. Then Sharma came. We all went into the room. At first I sat near the door, but the pandit smelled so badly that I changed my place anel came to sit near his tachat at his pillow. There I could feel the fan a little and could not smell the pandit.
A man came saying that his ten children are all ill of smallpox, asking for a Yantra. He told him to sit down. It was interesting that he kept the man waiting and talked for over an hour with Sharma on worldly matters. Only when Sharma left he took some paper and proceeded to cut it in small quadrangles, giving some to his son Ravindra to do likewise.
“Is there smallpox in your country?” I said there are some cases, but rarely.
“Nobody can die of smallpox, if given this Yantra. It is more than magic. It is magic helped by the Divine Power. Children under twelve must have it tied around the neck; over twelve, under the right armpit for the boys, under the left armpit for the girls.”
He gave half of the bits of paper to Ravindra and he prepared them. Then they were blessed by blowing on them, folded properly and given to the waiting man. Bhai Sahib told him to give for each child three or five paisa (uneven number) to the poor. In the meantime the son of the pandit arrived and fell immediately in Dhyana. Later his wife and the little boy also came. The young wife touched the feet of the Guruji and began to cry.
“Enough, enough,” he said gently. She was made to sit in the big chair. There I saw that she seated herself crosslegged and almost immediately went into Dhyana. I watched her; she knitted her eyebrows from time to time as if wanting to cry, her face perfectly still otherwise. She remained like this for one-and-a-half hours.
Conversation was going on. Not once did Guruji look at her. I said something to him at one moment, I don’t even remember what, and he suddenly had this flickering, radiant look when his consciousness is not on this earth. My heart stood still… so much radiance, such tenderness. My stomach felt empty. But I did not go. He began to recite and to sing poems of Kabir and Persian songs, marking the time with the left hand on his ankle. He was seated in Sat Guru Asana. His voice… and I remembered how a fortnight ago I could not bear to listen to his voice—it was too much for me and I kept running away, going home or to the bazaar, so disturbing was this feeling of non-being before him…. Most of those present were in Dhyana. Only two or three listened. I wanted to see what will happen when the woman will come round. Finally the husband sent the little boy to the mother to wake her up. But she did not. I told Guruji: “He cafinot wake her; look!” But he did not look at her and his expression was tender. The husband got up, came near her, shook her; she began to tremble.
“She is trembling, she cannot wake up,” I said again, and his expression deepened. He called his wife and asked her to take the girl to the room inside. She left, led by the wife, hardly being able to walk, like drunk. I leaned forward:
“With your permission, I would like to go home.” He turned his
head in my direction, and again this tremendous flickering Samadhi look, which pierced my heart like a sword with its power and aweinspiring magnetism.
“Yes, yes,” he smiled, but I knew it was an automatic reaction; he was not here…. I got up, saluted, touched his left foot which was within my reach, and walked to the door.
“My feet are full of dust; you took the dust with you!” I heard his laughing voice. Almost at the door I turned around. He was radiant… I stopped dead looking at this divine countenance….
“To become less than this dust of your feet—this is the right thing, is it not?” I said slowly, like one hypnotized. I heard the murmur of assent and approval from those who were present. I did not know if I answered correctly; I did not know what he meant exactly by his sentence…. I left with the ring of his kind laughter in my ears and the light of his eyes haunting me….
And walking home I was thinking that this feeling of non-being must be the physical surrender. And suddenly I was glad. So that is it…. It comes swiftly from somewhere where the mind is not and neither can reach there ever… and I was glad and grateful that it was so….
9th May
IT WAS FAIRLY COOL IN THE NIGHT. Between one and two a.m. a strong wind began to blow for about one hour. I was lying awake much of the night—one does not sleep much with an empty stomach. Last night I asked him if this young woman was put in Dhyana for the first time.
“Which woman?” I told him. He shrugged.
“I really don’t care. The atmosphere was there so it happened.”
I told him that it seems to me that he has much more Power than a few years ago. Before, people had to sit in front of him and sometimes there had to be silence. Now the talk is going on; he seemingly takes no notice, even of a particular person, and things happen. He did not answer. His face was stern and stony. Felt a slight bitterness thinking it over in the night. Nothing is explained. He does not give me the slightest satisfaction…. I had money just to buy half a kilo of potatoes. Again potatoes? I felt nausea only to think of them. I had better buy some nimbus (limes) and have them with water. Potatoes in this heat must be poison… so I bought nimbus… and had mugs of water with half a nimbu in each, eight in all, and I thought that would be good enough. Noticed that the kidneys worked well—as long as I have enough water, I can hold out…. I have only headaches, but not unbearable ones. Guruji does not look at me and does not speak to me. I hope he will not ask anything…
the Test of Hunger. The whole situation and his attitude seemed to point clearly that this was it…. It is quite according to the ancient Tradition of Yoga training. The Test of Hunger, and then the next one of the Acceptance of Death. What does it mean? Complete surrender, of course. The Test of Hunger is not the very last one, but it is one of the last. I have to hold out, at any cost. Help me! Help me not to be resentful! Help me to pass it! I am determined to persevere…. Today is holiday so the post is not being distributed.
At the earliest the letter will come tomorrow. So I cannot get the money before Thursday. It would mean four days of complete fast, only water. Okay. And sitting alone in his room this morning I suddenly remembered his words before I left for England: “The Master will put the ‘Disciple very subtly against himself; then he will subject him to a severe test. And if the disciple thinks he cannot do more than die, then he has passed the test and is ready for the high state.” Well he did it once, before he threw me out of India. I had better look out. I wonder if history is repeating itself??
One cannot be careful enough….
10th May
LAST NIGHT IT WAS UNBEARABLE. I left soon. On the steaming soil, on boiling hot chairs….
“May I go?” He was sitting on the tachat, his brown torso nude.
“Go!” he laughed, “and have a bath; I just had one!”
I left. Had water and half a nimbu juice. It was a hot, hot night. Did not sleep much. There is no feeling of hunger, only the head feels light. Went there this morning about 7 :30. He was not in the garden.
But while I was walking towards the chairs where they were left standing last night, I saw him coming through the door passage. His face, stern and serene, was like the face of a prophet. My heart flew to him and I bowed low. He gave me a searching look.
“Yes, yes,” he said, turned and went inside.
Ravindra came. Said it was unbearable; it will be certainly 50° C today, in the shade. I agreed. The air did not stir; it was like a boiling hot oven. He came out about eight. And soon I asked his permission to go into the room to sit under the fan. I was wet and itchy. A little later they all came in. He dictated letters to Satendra. About eleven I asked him what time it was.
“You can go, it is eleven.” And then he added: “You cook your food?” I looked at him.
“When cooking your food, don’t do it in late hours.” I stood up and saluted without answering, ready to go.
“How long does it take you to prepare your food?” He looked up at me gently.
“Very little time,” I answered.
“Good, go now!” I left slightly puzzled. He gave me an opening, in case I could not bear it. He tested me, or was it pity? But no, it was a test. If I would have said that I have nothing to eat, then it would have meant that I did not accept the situation. He would have offered immediately some food. But no, my dear… I offer it to you, the Test of Hunger, one of the most important Tests of the great Tradition of Training. And I will go through it, whatever happens. I will not die. And if I do, in this condition, it would mean Salvation at once. I will have won in any case. No headache. Feel very light.
11th May
LAST NIGHT THERE WAS A GREAT DUST STORM. As soon as I went on the roof at 7:30 and began to arrange my bedding, it started. I quickly dived under the sheet, covered up my head completely and remained like this. The storm was shaking the bed, tried to tear off the sheet; I had to tuck it firmly under me. It went on like this for at least two hours. So much dust was in the air that the opposite houses were hardly visible. The strong wind lasted until about one a.m. Then it subsided and I fell asleep. About four a.m. it began again. While I was lying covered up completely with the sheet, I kept listening to the noise of the storm and the falling of grit on my sheet.
“Undisturbed peace there must be,” you said to me, my Sheikh, when you spoke to me last Friday evening…. Undisturbed peace there is… absolutely…. The fasting goes on well. No headache, no feeling of hunger.
“You are happy, yes, I know; enjoy it. The tests are here to cause some suffering because nothing should remain in the mind of mind.
If something remains, what sort of training is it? But undisturbed peace must remain always…. How much you have got, what a Grace you had; you will know only when I am not alive anymore. I also did not know, could not know, while my Superiors were alive.”
All this he told me. Little by little I do remember what he had said.
And now, listening to the voice of the storm, I became aware of something else within myself:
There was a deep happiness. Serene. Very, very still and even…. Happiness in this world we always associate with something; I am happy because I love, or people are good to me, or I am in nice surroundings, or have security, or simply because the sun is shining and it is a lovely day… but here was a noticeable difference—it came welling up from within like a fountain, on and on… serene, still, continuous, so light, so ethereal. It had nothing to do with my surroundings, nor with me as a physical being. It came from somewhere, remained for a while, and went as it came: gently. I had no control over it; I could not provoke it or keep it. It comes and goes independently from me as the Grace of God… and it is not the first time I have it—many a time since I have been with Guruji.
Only this time it is much, much deeper.…
“Happiness is within only,” he smiled at me the other evening.
“We who live in this world, because our senses are directed outwardly, we think that the happiness is without. We forget that it
cannot be so. Only on the Path of Return we discover it.”
So light. So serene. And it is like the wind which bloweth where it listeth….
Decided to go to Mrs. Sharma to inquire about the registered letter. Went this morning. The letter wasn’t there. Verily there must be close cooperation between Paramatma and Guruji; the outer circumstances are adjusted in such a way that a Test is possible….
If H. had posted the letter as I asked her to do on the 30th of April, it should have been here last week….
74 Another Heart Attack
12th May, 1966
WHEN SITTING ALONE IN THE DARKENED ROOM under the fan in the afternoon—he was playing cards with the members of his family in the next room—I thought I had better ask Babu who works in the municipality and deals with the post, if by any chance the registered letter was received but was sent back because somebody wanted to be too clever, knowing that I was not at Sharma’s address anymore.
So, about six, when the garden was being watered, I got hold of Babu who was organizing it and inquired from him. No, he said, the letter was not received, definitely. While we were talking, I saw him coming out rapidly through the middle passage.
“What, what? What talk is going on?”
“I asked Babu if it was very unusual that a letter from England takes such a long time.”
“Yes, it is. I think something has happened to it on the way. As a rule, a letter from England takes six days, no more than a week.”
And then he suddenly said: “You are not in trouble I hope?” I answered that I was not; I can go on….
“Not in a financial difficulty?” he repeated. It made me smile.
“Ask not; let it be as it is, I can go on…. “
“No, you should not be in trouble; you should have told me.”
“As you ask me directly, I must answer.” And I told him that on Monday the 2nd, after having paid the rikshaw and deducting one bad rupee, I had four rupees left… pulled on as long as they lasted, and then began to fast—water and some nimbu juice, and from then water only.
Daughter of Fire Page 79
