Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  In the morning he was on the tachat in the garden alone. I expected him to ask about the letter. But he did not. I sat there feeling very weak and giddy. The heat was terrible. Soon he went inside and I saw that his bath was being prepared; it was only after eight.

  Wrote a letter to L. with a sting in it. Will post it this afternoon.

  8th June

  IN THE AFTERNOON HE ASKED ME if the letter was posted. As soon as he began to speak, my mind stopped working abruptly. Had no time to open my mouth to answer as the wife came rushing in, nearly shouting in excitement about a quarrel this horrible spoiled child, Durghesh’s son, had with the other children. All children were howling in chorus in the courtyard. Had to wait for quite a while until some kind of order was restored and she went out. I waited… he was silent. Then seeing that he did not say anything, I tried to remember the exact wording of my second letter to L. When I came to the passage: do what you like, but please write when the operation is completed, he interrupted sternly:

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Oh dear,” I tried to speak, a panic seized me, an inexplicable panic. I tried to compose a sentence, thoughts began to flee in all directions, like frightened mice. Began to stammer trying to explain.

  “She will never do it without my order,” he said angrily. “In two letters you made a mess! First you say to send me money…. “

  “Oh, but I did not!” I exclaimed desperately, “not like this!”

  “Then you say to send it somewhere else and why should she write?”

  Nearly choking I said that if she does not, how will we know?

  “How will we know?” he echoed. “What a mess you are making!”

  He looked furious. I lost all courage completely… began to tremble and to choke, was breathless.

  “Don’t be angry with me. Please, please, no! My heart is breaking day and night as it is!” I had to repeat this sentence twice, so choked I was. He was lying there, his face as hard as stone. Losing control completely I began to sob desperately. Tried so hard to get control over myself before the wife who came in.

  “What, what?” she wanted to know. He said something in Hindi.

  The small table was brought in, Munshiji came in, Satendra, and they began a game of cards. I went to sit near the door. Munshiji took my chair near the table. I was trembling; my body seemed to be breaking with endless despair. Such was the feeling of absolute desperation and hopelessness that all I wanted was to die, nothing else. God, oh, Merciful God, have mercy on me! I just cannot go on!!

  Then it dawned on me that I am making a very bad atmosphere; he must feel it, and so must all others in the room, this boundless sorrow, this endless despair which I was unable to contain or control.

  In fact, after a few minutes he threw the cards down.

  “Ufff,” he said in a muffled voice several times, then added something in Hindi. The table was taken out, Munshiji and Satendra left, the window was closed. The game of cards was over. I wondered if the wife felt resentful—she loves a game of cards. Perhaps she was, but she only put her hand under his pillow, took out a homeopathic medicine which was kept there, gave it to him and silently went out. I suddenly felt that I should go—I was disturbing him, he was not well, so I went too. Hurried to the post office to post the letter which I had forgotten; it was still in my handbag. When it was done I sat in the doorway crying so bitterly, so desperately… it was the end of the world for me. I did not understand myself why I was so desperate, but to know him angry finished the world for me…. The Loo was blowing scorchingly hot. The temperature was over 48°. Munshiji was lying quietly on his cot behind me. I was sitting on the servant’s charpoy at the entrance of the doorway. Babu kept passing to and fro trying not to look too curious. Durghesh pretended to go to the gate; they all came out to see me cry. And I did not care… have no self-respect anymore, have nothing left, must look horrible, face swollen with tears, hair dishevelled, and still I did not care….

  Ravindra came from work with his briefcase tucked under the arm and a shopping bag.

  “Why are you sitting here? What’s the matter?” he inquired anxiously, seeing in what state I was. I told him that his father was angry with me.

  “Why?”

  But I said that I didn’t know why, only my heart was breaking because I could not bear it….

  “Don’t say anything,” I asked him, and he went inside. Then Babu came, and I asked him not to ask me anything; he is also a disciple, and he must know that the Guru gets sometimes angry without reason, and he also went inside. I cried nearly until seven… then I thought it is useless to cry here… I can do it at home, cannot sit here indefinitely. Had nothing to eat. Went to bed immediately.

  Cried much before falling asleep, looking at the stars. There was some amazement in me about this terrible, boundless, despair. Why?

  Nothing had really happened. Why does his anger send me in such a fit of absolute hopelessness?

  Slept badly.

  9th June

  IN THE MORNING AT FIRST did not want to go there. I cannot face him.

  Let him send somebody to see why I am not coming. But then I suddenly decided to go. When I arrived, he gave me a beautiful, kindly smile. Prof. Batnagar was talking animatedly with him; he offered me his chair, and another was brought for him. Nobody ever even dreamt to bring one for me; I always had to fetch it myself. I began to cry immediately as soon as I sat down. He was lying on his back, one leg resting on the knee of the other. Clearly he felt cooler this way. His face was expressionless.

  Prof. Batnagar asked me how do I bear the heat. “Even we feel scorched,” he said. I had only the strength to give him a smile, tears were streaming down my cheeks. He became silent after having given me a surprised look. For a while there was silence. Nobody of his family members, who were seated around, spoke. I cried silently.

  Prof. Batnagar got up, saluted and went to the other end of the garden followed by Babu, Ravindra and the brother. There they stood talking. I know, Batnagar was bound to have asked why I was crying.

  I don’t know what Guruji told them, what they told him. Soon he was carried into the room on a cot and I left. Had a splitting headache and nausea. The heat was terrible. Took aspirin and was lying under the boiling blow of the fan all the afternoon unable to do anything at all.

  When I came into the darkened front room where he was lying, the wife went out and he asked me in a friendly way about the letter. I explained that I did my best and if it is not to his satisfaction he should forgive me, my mind was not working. He was lying there still perfectly relaxed asking friendly questions from time to time and commenting on nothing as he seemed to be satisfied. Then he turned to the wall. I sat there merged in nothingness, my heart full of peace… only my head was aching so much from the heat and yesterday’s crying. It is surprising what a few kind words can do, I mused, and did my jap in greatest peace.

  In bed, in the night, I reflected that not once, not even for a moment did the mind give me trouble. I did not think that he was illogical, did not think that it was unreasonable to get angry when I only followed his instructions. I only knew that he was angry, and to see him angry was worse than death to me, and I even did not query as to why and to how of it. This is something, I thought. There must be much understanding, much acceptance already….

  10th June

  DEEPEST PEACE. I nearly fall down, when I salute him, lately. The feeling of nothingness before him represents such deepest happiness, such deepest peace. He will be resting, his eyes open or closed, mostly not even in Samadhi. I sit bent in two (this is the most comfortable position for me when I am in his presence since I am back), under the blow of the two fans, he and I alone somewhere, where nothing is but peace… wife comes and goes. The spoiled child disturbs sometimes, storming in, howling because he wants this or that or for some other reason. And I keep wondering why there are such disturbances around him, always—children with violent desires, people full of quarrels or anim
osity to cause intense suffering to me. But he seems to be unaffected by it all, an oasis of peace….

  Oh, I know it will pass, and never again in life will I suffer from such things to such an extent. The very physical child… how brutal and violent he can be, getting hold of a stick at the slightest provocation and boxing his mother even. They just laugh. They think it is funny. And he, how he loves this child…. The tender expression on his face, when he looks at him, the inflection of his voice when he speaks to him, and the child responds always… I think he must adore his grandfather.

  11th June

  YES, THIS FEELING OF HELPLESS DESPAIR when the Beloved frowns is described by the greatest Sufi poets… I remember it now… the relationship with the Teacher is a preparation for the Relationship with God….

  Now I know how it feels like….

  Today too, I sat there in the morning for hours with him. When I came, he slightly nodded. Later when I approached the door when he was already in the room, he pointed to my usual place at his pillow on the divan. He was sitting in the big chair. Wife kept coming and going. The child rushed in several times howling fiercely because he did not get what he wanted, or wanted something else and could not get it, or God knows what…. Later Ravindra brought his radio and there was a good program of classical music. I left about ten.

  Could not go to the post office, the wind was whipping up too much dust in the air, my eyes were smarting. Will go tomorrow to see about this registered letter. In the afternoon as soon as I came, he asked if I was at the post office. Told him why I didn’t go. A few days ago I told him that I intended to go and he remembered. He never forgets, and if he does he is MADE to forget. Later I just sat there bent in two… once more alone with him somewhere where nothing is all and everything….

  Later he wanted to rest and I went out into the garden. There Durghesh and others forced a grey-looking drink upon me. I tried to refuse saying that I am not thirsty, seeing that the kid was practically washing his hands in it by mixing sugar and ice with both hands. But in vain I had to drink it. It tasted sweetly of caraway seed. I went home and took immediately two entero vioform and prayed to God… ice is so dangerous, and combined with dirty hands it can be fatal…. Will take two others tonight… and another two in the morning. That probably will do the trick.

  This feeling of nothingness… at first it was just nothing. Neither pleasant, nor unpleasant; just nothing, and nothing is nothing. It was very perplexing and I kept running away, I remember. A human being is never “nothing.” One is alive, one is an entity, a being. But lately it becomes increasing lovely. Deep happiness welling from within, from the deepest depth…. Also at home when I think of Him it comes over me… soft… gentle. A bliss of non-being, not existing at all. It is difficult to believe, unless one has experienced it, that it is so glorious “not to be.”

  On the fourth of June, for the first time since April, I heard in Guruji’s garden the voice of my friend the pachta, the Indian woodpecker, the sugarmill bird.

  78 Born of the Spirit

  12th June, 1966

  IT WAS A NIGHT OF HOT WIND… not much sleep and a lot of perspiration. But when I was sitting in his room near the door (the fan was not on), the wind was blowing my hair about. It was warm, not yet too hot; it was still early, only after eight. I let it blow in my face. How I love the wind…. The sentence: “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof but canst not tell whence it cometh nor where it goeth, and so is everyone who is born of the Spirit,” kept recurring again and again in my mind.

  Mechanically my mind kept repeating it while I kept my face in the warm blow. Then I looked at him. He was sitting in the big chair.

  Still, pale, old looking. Born of the Spirit… the mystery about you… who can know you? Who can say from where you came, what you are doing, where you are going? Like this wind you are… born of the Spirit….

  In this moment the horrible Pandit came.

  “Aia, Aia,” said Bhai Sahib encouragingly, and he came in, took off his shoes and put his unbelievably filthy feet on the chair cushion covered with white linen, and began to talk non-stop. Guruji also talked a lot and I began to pray exasperated…. Why, oh, why, does he encourage them, though they cannot mean anything to him nor can he be interested in the nonsense they talk. Luckily the wife came in and I saw her murmuring something in disagreement. She sent in Ravindra and Babu and they told that the father now must have his bath. But the Pandit did not listen; he was talking nineteen to the dozen. I got up.

  “Guruji must have his bath,” I said very firmly to him and went out. He soon followed me and sat outside where Ravindra told him that the father must have complete rest, etc.

  Went to Nabab Ganj sorting office. The registered letter was there, but not the one I had expected. The July money arrived (I wrote on the 2nd and it arrived on the 11th, very quickly this time), so the June money which she was supposed to have sent on the 18th of May is lost—it looks like it. Went to Allahabad bank with the postal order, because the International Monetary Fund has not yet fixed the rate of exchange after the devaluation of the pound. Well… I really am intended to be in trouble…. Even if the money is here, it cannot be paid out. Truly there must be a close cooperation between Guruji and the Almighty… every possible kind of trouble I am supposed to have….

  He vomited this afternoon. Got some oranges for him; his wife peeled one for him, giving it to him in small pieces—and he vomited it all after a few minutes… poor Guruji….

  It was a night of hot, hot wind. Woke up in the middle of the night in a pool of water, my own perspiration. Shifted away from it and tried to go to sleep again.

  13th June

  IT is SUNDAY. When I was going to his place turning the corner of the street, I thought: Please God, give me the strength to bear all the suffering, the horrible child, the horrible people…. The suffering cannot last forever… one day it will cease. Let this day come soon that nobody should remain to suffer when the self is gone….

  But I was in stillness with him all the time. He did not acknowledge my greeting either when coming or when going.

  The night was full of whispering hot wind. Felt very tired in the morning. Wrote some letters in the afternoon. I was aware of some kind of irritation. When I came into the dark room where he was lying under the blow of the fan—coming from the sun-lit garden one cannot see a thing—I slowly and carefully groped my way to the usual seat near his pillow. Some kind of irritation persisted. He was lying quietly. Of course he listened to my thoughts—he always knew what I was thinking especially when he was preparing some trouble for me. An interesting fact was that though I came there at 4:30, it seemed to me such a short time when he asked for a chair and went to sit outside. It was seven. I wondered where the two and a half hours had gone… passed in a flash, and I was not asleep, I knew it for sure.

  Soon he asked for a basin and vomited. Dahl again…. They give him dahl though he cannot digest it… seems quite incredible.

  Somebody told me once that dahl is nourishing, and they try to fatten him up, obviously. Seems tragic…. All his family members grouped themselves around him. A wind, not too hot, was blowing strongly from the west. Felt low, dejected, so lonely that no words could describe it. High above, in the sky, was dancing a peacock-blue kite with a long, graceful tail. I watched it for a while—swaying, turning swiftly, like in a dance, in a kind of jerking rhythm, in the sharp breeze. It was so lovely, so alive, so happy it looked, the tail fluttering in a long, trembling stream. Somewhere there is happiness… somewhere there is laughter, like in this dancing kite… easy, carefree laughter, and golden happiness. But for me there will be unbelievable suffering, much of it, and goodness knows for how long. I did not see the light since I have been with him, and it is years now. I seem to have forgotten what laughter was…. They all have something—bliss, Dhyana, Samadhi, wonderful states. They all look at him with the eyes of unearthly longing. I don’t think that I ever looked at him
like this. His son-in-law too, seated here this afternoon—his eyes sad, deep, just looking and looking. They all have this look—one can see it during the Bandhara—the look of supreme wonder…. And I? Have nothing. Not one good thing… and I am not even his disciple, and he is not my Guru, so he said…. To what am I surrendering? Is it all an illusion? No, I was sure it was not. And I am sure than I am being unjust, for I too got much, only it is always obliterated by so much suffering and longing.

  Something in me KNOWS. But proofs I have none….

  I saluted thin air when I went. Unnoticed by anybody. In the night was intermittent slight rain. Had a splitting headache, wanted to sleep, but rain kept waking me up. Got fed up. Went to my room.

  Took some aspirin. Without any result. Kept turning and twisting, unable to find a comfortable position, thinking how fresh and cool it must be on the roof.

  14th June

  IN THE MORNING IT JUST STARTED TO RAIN when I was leaving the house at 6:30, and I arrived quite wet at Guruji’s place. Washed my feet at the pipe in the garden, for they were splashed with mud. Then I went into the doorway where I saw he was lying. Saluted. He hardly nodded, with an angry, stony expression. I sat down on Munshiji’s cot. From time to time he briefly looked at me, then turned away. A little later the wife came telling him to go into the room. He never goes immediately; also, when they bring him water, he keeps them waiting for a long time. With the wife it does not work—she will impatiently tell him to take it or to hurry up. But with all the others, if he has to go, he refuses to be hurried. If he has to go on the cot to be carried inside, it is a long affair. He would be lying there impassible, thinking something with vacant eyes. And they will wait in silence.

  To a Guru one cannot say anything.