Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  After a while when all around was watered, his tachat was brought out and Ravindra and Satendra carried him out on a cot. I looked at him. How sorrow grips the heart when I see his face… stony it was, expressionless. How pale he is… I had the feeling that he was listening to my thoughts. He aged since his illness. But also in ‘62 when he was so ill, he looked old, and later he looked young again.

  He gave me a fleeting look while I was standing there and he was being carried past… a blank, hard look. When I sat down, he turned to the other side. My heart was glad.

  Left soon afterwards about half past seven. And in bed I felt very thankful and rather happy. He is being kind to me… he is testing me… something is being prepared. My heart was at peace and I fell asleep.

  Once during the night, I woke up with a delightful sensation of cool air blowing into my face. How lovely, I thought, cool air from the fan…. Then completely waking up, I realized that it was a breeze from the east. I was on the roof and there was no fan. I always put my charpoy in such a way that I face the east, facing Guruji’s bungalow. I cannot see it from here, hidden as it was by other houses.

  But I see the sky at dawn getting rosy behind it, and now the cool air is coming from there. How good, and I fell asleep. From time to time kept waking up feeling the soft cool blow on my face. Perfectly lovely….

  How many blisses has India in store for us. A joy like this coming from heaven… the bliss of cool nimbu drink, the bliss of a chilo {a whole chilo!) of golden mangoes, a chilo of sunshine… and the bliss of the southern sky above-deep, endless, full of stars so near, that it seems that one can touch them. India, I love you!

  I forgot to mention that since his heart attack in February his voice had changed. It became more veiled, more cavernous. And now it seemed even more so, an old, broken voice-it has not the usual metallic ring in it. Yes, my dear Sheikh… if you should die without me being able to reach you, when you have gone (Heaven knows, it seems such an impossibility!!), then I don’t return to the West. I will go to the mountains and there fade away like good soldiers do. But at last I have learned to love the King and it is not a small feat. And for that, my Sheikh, my very deepest gratitude to you. As the nearness increases, my gratitude grows, for I know, what looks like cruelty is the greatest kindness….

  1st June

  HE WAS IN THE ROOM. When after sitting outside for a while I came to the door in the hope that I can come in (it was unbearably hot already at eight a.m.); he was squatting on the tachat and was having his breakfast. He made a movement with his head to indicate that I can come in. I sat down near the door. A table stood in front of him and on it stood a huge glass of almond milk, tasty rice fritters, pokoras, dried grapes… all the wrong things. Not my business, I thought. I tried not to look. My heart was heavy… they are ruining him with this kind of diet….

  “Did you get the living quarter?” he asked in a soft, old voice, munching the crisp rice fritters. I said that I did not.

  “Why?” he wanted to know.

  I told him that I went to Mrs. Ghose on the 27th to know the position, and was told that though the husband of her tenant will be transferred, the wife refuses to leave because the children should finish their education here, which will not be until December.

  “There is a close cooperation between you and the Almighty,” I said, watching his expression. “How much the human being can take, how much tolerate…. The circumstances will be just right; advantage is taken of every situation… as in a wine,press, one is screwed tighter and tighter.”

  He closed his eyes gently and slowly nodded assent.

  And I began to cry terribly and helplessly, all the while I was speaking to him. There is a quality in him of a special tenderness and compassion, and as soon as I feel it I begin to cry and cannot stop; this seems to be my reaction to it. Sometimes I have the feeling that he avoids looking at me because of this tenderness. And he knows that I will burst out crying.

  Told him about the difficult conditions I live in, and the heat and the terrible longing which is burning up my body. He listened, continuing his meal, the wife coming in and out, wanting to know what was the matter.

  “She did not get the flat,” he said. She went out and he stretched himself comfortably on his back and went into Samadhi.

  For a long time I was sitting. He was resting. My heart was full of peace.

  In the afternoon they played cards. I went to get a Coca Cola and, waiting to be served, saw myself in the mirror which hung at the back of the stall. My God, how old I looked… an old woman, grey and haggard…. I went home. He was resting. All the family was inside the room with him—sons, grandsons, the wife, daughters,in,law, the lot… discussing, laughing… there was no room for a fly, not to speak of me. Complete rest is a sad myth in India.

  2nd June

  HE VOMITED THREE TIMES in the night and once in the morning.

  Satendra asked me if I would come with him to Dr. Ram Singh because he does not know the way; I went of course. The doctor was not at home, and Satendra said that he knew that he was at a wedding in Lucknow. When we came back, I realized that Babu did not want to go and therefore sent Satendra and me. I found him lying on the tachat in a languid, artistic pose talking to his sister. I told Babu that the obvious thing would have been to phone first, to find out if the doctor was back to save time to go so far . He mumbled something to the effect that the phone is often not answered. This lazy fellow never wants to do his duty; he is always sending others…. I did not stay… my heart was heavy, his room was closed. In the garden was the usual noisy, discussing crowd, and all the howling children….

  In the afternoon they played cards. He looked so weak. Vomiting continues. I think all the drugs he was given did upset the enlarged liver. It will pass…. And in the night which was fresh and slightly windy, how I prayed… there was no end of loneliness….

  3rd June

  SEATED IN THE BIG CHAIR the wife was reading Ramayana. A disciple from Agra was massaging his feet. A truly traditional Indian scene, the pale light coming from the doors and the windows wide open, for the sky was covered with thin clouds. The voice of the woman, the ringing rhythm of the chant, the deep devotion of the young man, the buzzing of the large flies, the chatter of the chipmunks… and the smell of India-dust, some distant exotic fragrance of incense and flowers…. India-dust, some distant exotic fragrance of incense and flowers…. India, how, oh, how I love you!

  He did not seem to notice me when I saluted him. And he did not see me at all when I left about half past seven. The heat was intense.

  This morning he was still lying in the garden when I came. He was resting. A faint smile appeared on his face when I saluted. The vomiting was no more. Hakkim was there last evening and he prescribed a medicine. Later, about eleven, he was taken into the room. A woman was led in by Satendra; she did not stop talking; she was a fat, old Indian woman, full of worries she was . . Guruji also talked a lot. At last I could not bear it, went into the room where Babu and others were merry-making with the radio, and told them that this is not the complete rest according to the doctor’s orders.

  The wife laughed; Durghesh said something in Hindi. I went back, sat there listening to the voice of the woman coming from his room. She soon left. He asked for another fan which was brought in; it was very hot. He was restless. All the doors and windows were closed, and I sat alone with him under the cool bliss of the ceiling and the table fan.

  His back was turned to the fan in the obvious pleasure of coolness. It was dark. Voices of children came from the courtyard, voices from the next room. And I was in deepest peace with him, resting….

  This sense of oneness—there was an activity of the heart, soft and rhythmic. (I forgot to mention that in the last two days there was a strong activity of the heart, and I feel no pain, only indifference at the thought that I am resigned to go if he goes.) And I was thinking that the relationship with the Master is the most difficult in the world, because it is a fantastic s
uperhuman relationship, encased, screwed into, so to say, the most banal surroundings, amongst most ordinary people, involved in their petty, daily affairs, greeds, quarrels, worldly desires. And one has to reconcile it all with the transcendent feeling of oneness. With this terrible nonhuman longing. With this love which is not of this world…. The difficulty lies in the contrast: he, the Great Being, and his surroundings….

  “To know the pain of too much tenderness, to wake at dawn and give thanks for another day of loving.” says Kahlil Gibran.

  And around you would be the yapping of the quarreling voices, the noises of the children, and he, apparently interested only in his family.

  The money did not arrive. Did H. send it? God knows, I am worn out with those financial troubles… what is she doing? Or is it the fault of the post? Destiny wants me to be in every kind of trouble…. Could not pay the whole rent. Feel bad about it….

  4th June

  YESTERDAY AFTERNOON SAT ALONE for a long time in the darkened room. He was in the next room. The wife was reading the Ramayana; the disciple from Agra who looks like a bearded prophet was massaging his feet; Munshiji was sitting on a chair at his feet, the knees drawn up to his chin, listening.

  I looked at Bhai Sahib’s face in the dim light. Surprisingly young, ethereal, a strange, not even a human face. As a rule one cannot call his face ethereal; he has rather powerful features. But in the yellowish light coming through the veranda door he looked so different from the usual… incredibly delicate, almost boyish—a being from another plane of existence, which perhaps he was after all….

  Then a man came and talked for over an hour in a loud, aggressive voice. Guruji also talked a lot. I was in agony. What suffering it is to know that every Dick, Tom and Harry are just being led in to talk and to talk and to tire him. He will die, I thought, and I will die with him. I am not going to say anything this time or in the future…. Oh, Merciful God, give me the strength to bear, to tolerate this torture!

  I left after the man had left; it was nearly dark. He was lying, his face turned to the wall, and I stole quietly past him and left for home.

  And went to bed. The night was hot but not too bad, a light breeze was on the roof. We saw three satellites pass between eight and quarter to nine. They were like bright stars, traveling rather quickly.

  And I woke before three. Could not sleep worrying why the money did not arrive.

  But this afternoon a letter arrived from H. telling me that she had sent it on the 27th. So it will be here next week. What a relief.

  In the morning when I went there my heart was so heavy with some sort of feeling of impending disaster, a kind of fear which made my heart tremble and shrink. My body felt so weak; I had strong nausea.

  He was still on the tachat in the garden. Many people, his sons, his brother-in-law, some disciples were sitting around with funeral faces. I saluted. My heart shrank even more seeing how pale and ill he looked. Learned later that the vomiting condition began again. The medicines they were giving him for his heart condition upset his enlarged liver, I am sure. He gave me a long, long, look when I sat down on a tachat nearby. Felt like crying. Please, please, I repeated mentally, but did not know why I was saying, “please,” and for what…. Something in me kept trembling and I began to pray.

  Often he looked at me. Long, searching, serious look which made me feel like nothing at all before him….

  Later he was taken into the room on a cot. We all sat in the room.

  But I soon left with others as he was to take his bath before nine.

  Did not go to his place in the afternoon. Felt such weakness, could hardly stand on my feet. The body, the limbs were full of pain as if I was beaten up. Nausea and headache and some giddiness. So I decided to stay at home. The stream of boiling hot air from the fan was almost pleasant on my aching limbs. Went to bed after seven. It was still hot on the roof and orange-yellow was the darkening sky after sunset. Many kites of all possible colors were fluttering and buzzing like oversize insects in the evening air. I saw four satellites, two of them especially large, like stars, all passing from the west to the east. But of course, I was watching the sky looking out for them.

  5th June

  IN THE MORNING went there at a quarter to seven. The weakness persisted. I was giddy and already tired before the day even began. He was lying on the tachat in the middle of the garden. He acknowledged my greeting and murmured hardly audibly:

  “How are you?” I sat down quietly.

  “Father wants to know how you are,” said Babu. They were all sitting around him looking at me.

  “I am all right, thank you,” I answered. His wife said something in Hindi in a low voice.

  “What was wrong yesterday?” asked Babu again. I said that the physical body felt weak; I couldn’t walk. Later they all left and I came to sit nearer to him on another tachat nearby. He gave me a long, deep look, right into my soul. I could not bear it and began to cry.

  When I feel his compassion and pity, I cannot bear it and begin to cry, and to cry. He was reclining on the pillows looking very tired and very pale. My heart is trembling when I see him like that…. Later I was called into the room, and not only that but the wife pulled the chair nearer and adjusted the cushions. I gave her a tired smile. Left about nine when his bath was being prepared. In the afternoon he was in the front room, Ravindra massaging his feet. Wife told me to go in. He told me to write to L. not to come. She wants to come here with some friends in June. And the £20 have to be sent to Cambridge to Sharma’s son. I promised to write immediately, secretly glad of the opportunity to tell her that I will stay here in winter. Passed a restless night. Sleep badly lately.

  77 His Anger

  6th June, 1966

  WROTE TO L. AND POSTED IT. He did not look at me nor see me this morning. When I left, he did not respond to my salute. In the afternoon he vomited most painfully and I saw that it was yellow dahl. Cannot understand why he is given this heavy food; he cannot digest it. He was squatting there vomiting, and I was thinking sadly that perhaps it is a blessing… he will be getting thinner… he is being overfed—they try to fatten him up and then he gets a heart attack….

  Later the wife, Babu, and Munshiji came into the front room and they began to play cards. The little boy of Durghesh was also there but kept quiet for a change. Watching his family, I wondered why they seem so huge and noisy—I don’t mean physical bodies, of course, though those are also loud and noisy. He is not at all like that, though he is also from a physically dense family—one needs only look at his sister: a kindly face, a fat, coarse middle-aged woman like millions of others with dark lips, thick and flabby, and heavy eyelids.

  He is so different…. Suddenly I understood the why of it… they all carry their big selves with them, wear it like a garment. He has no self, and I try to get rid of mine. Because I am in the process of discarding mine, being so conscious of it, that’s why they seem so huge to me, so noisy.’… All at once many things became clear; this is the focal point to keep in mind when the conflict arises, and probably in the near future many conflicts will arise, so I had better keep in mind that the reason for disturbance and suffering lies in the fact of being too conscious of something I am already discarding.

  Yesterday afternoon he was in the front room and Ravindra was massaging his feet. He asked me if I have posted the letter to L., and he wanted to know what I have written. When it came to the passage about Cambridge, how the money has to be transmitted, he said I should not have told her so directly.

  “Write immediately another letter telling her that you did it on your own account; I did not order you to do so.”

  I was bewildered. Told him that three weeks ago when the question of Kiki’s request was discussed he said: “It is beyond your power, I will arrange it,” and I wrote accordingly. “Yes, yes, this is another matter, but you should not have committed the mistake to write like this; I never ask money from anyone,” he said. Wife came in hearing us talk.

  �
�� What, what?” she asked rapidly; she did not want to miss a word.

  I said that I wrote to L. the account of his illness. Ravindra in the meantime brought the record player, and the sound of lovely classical music filled the room. Wife sat there watchful in case something should be said which she might miss. I was partly listening to music, partly hoping for the wife to go, so that I can ask him what and how he wants me to write. He was resting with closed eyes obviously enjoying the music. At last the wife went, because the children were fighting and howling in the courtyard. While Ravindra was changing a just finished record and I saw that he had his eyes open, I said softly:

  “Bhai Sahib?”

  “Yes?”

  Told him that I don’t know how to word it now; it must be done cleverly, otherwise she won’t do anything, and Mrs. Sharma asked for it, and on the other hand the money is needed here. He smiled and I came nearer, kneeling on the floor to hear what he was saying because the gramophone began to play again.

  “Tell her I am in a really great trouble owing to my illness, but she should do what she likes. And… ” he paused, “that is all,” he added with a kindly smile.

  Later Ram Singh, the servant, was sent with me with the heavy kerosene tin to my room, and Satendra was cracking rude jokes in the courtyard about my false teeth and the toothless mouth of his mother. I did not care. It is of no importance. It was stifling hot.

  Lying in bed in the night which was so sultry, not a breath of air, I was reflecting that there must be a mystery in his System which I don’t understand. L. is supposed to be his disciple. Why can’t she be asked directly for a small amount like £20? For her it is nothing. She earns a lot of money, has properties, was never asked to ·renounce anything…. I know when there is need a Sufi can ask, so why should it be wrong in this case? Mystery… my heart was heavy… but one day I will know…. The last will be the first one day…. But in the meantime the body was under great strain due to the heat, and I felt sick.