Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  “Hm,” he murmured when I came. Could not look at him. Feeling of nothingness is increasing. How perfectly lovely he looks for the last few days. Healthy and alert. Soon he went inside. When I was walking up and down in the garden, I saw him in the courtyard squatting on the tachat having a huge breakfast. All fried stuff, as usual, I suppose, and probably almond milk in the bargain… the fattening-up continues—with a heart patient, it is unbelievable!

  Soon the trouble will begin again—the heart will break down, the liver will rebel to the heavy, oily food, will refuse to tolerate the medicines, the vomiting will start, and so it will go on… God help him and me….

  I asked the wife a little later if I could go into the room, but she made a sign to wait. I waited. Went in about 8:30 when he was already seated in the big chair. He looked so young. It is quite incredible how young his face can look in spite of the grey color of his beard.

  Soon he fell asleep seated there, his feet resting on the arm supports of the chair… and his young look was not there anymore all of a sudden. He looked haggard and pale. The drunkard came. He kept shifting restlessly, seeing Guruji asleep.

  Then I got up and went, hoping by doing so to encourage him to do the same. In fact he left too.

  19th June

  HE WAS RESTING. I was sitting behind his pillows. When the wife came in, he asked her who was in the room.

  “Only Memsahib,” she answered.

  I winced…. He needed to ask if I was there… so far am I from him that he does not know that I am here. Or?—could it be?—that such is the nearness that he is unaware of my presence? I hope the latter is the case….

  In the afternoon the son-in-law was reading from the Ramayana, but his child, who was sitting on the divan pulling garlands of flowers to pieces, disturbed so much. He came to my chair with a tube of penicillin ointment which he kept squeezing. This was too much for me; I went to sit in the big chair. And as he kept being noisy, making remarks about me, I went out. Sat outside. Luckily I soon saw the child running to play with others in the garden. Then I went in. The wife gave me a searching, curious look. I sat down and later the cousin came in. He brought with him the atmosphere of unrest. He is the son of the elder brother who died many years ago, and he says that he is a Mahatma because his father was one. A self blown-up balloon he seemed to me, an insignificant fat Hindu, pleased with himself and vain. Now they will have to divide the property. Guruji will have a difficult time in the next few months. God give him health to bear it all….

  Later Guruji came out and sat on the chair. He asked me if I have got a reply from the postmaster. I said, no.

  “You should have taken the signature, otherwise there will be no reply.”

  I got up from my chair and came nearer trying to understand.

  “Take the signature from whom, and what for?—I don’t understand,”

  I said helplessly standing before him. Strange how the mind behaves in his presence—it can be bewildering. Could not make out what he meant, thought he said something; could only make out that he was speaking but could not get the sense. Somebody came, he interrupted himself, began to talk to the newcomer.

  Only when I left half an hour later, I suddenly understood the meaning. Coming out from his garden it flashed clearly into my mind. He meant that I should have registered the letter and got the receipt, otherwise they would not reply.

  Passed the night full of longing and a strange, peculiar restlessness.

  About twelve had to go down into my room as it began to rain.

  20th June

  PRAYED SO MUCH. Prayed for help to bear it all…. Children, all six of them, made such a noise, squealing like rats and howling. I tried to tell myself that it did not disturb, that it did not matter and it didn’t make me suffer, but not with much success. Luckily they soon went inside. When I came, I saw the swing hanging from the neem tree.

  Thank God, it will mean that all the noise will be confined to the furthest part of the garden.

  He came out and sat in the chair. After a while he said gently: “It is much cooler now.”

  “Thank God,” I said, and felt deep relief realizing that the temperature is really pleasant. In the papers it is recorded daily as 36-37°c.

  “I meant to say yesterday… ” he began.

  “Oh,” I interrupted him, “I am sorry not to have understood! But it came to me as I left your place: you simply meant that I should have registered the letter and got a receipt. You see it is a question of language barrier… with the mind not working, it becomes a hopeless undertaking!” He nodded.

  “They don’t reply if the letter is not registered.” He smiled faintly.

  Then he began to speak to others. The cousin came with some men; they talked and later he went into the room. I sat in stillness until the drunkard came. Bhai Sahib turned his face to the wall. I left.

  In the afternoon the wife was reading the Ramayana. He had tears in his eyes. Later he sat outside. All was still. Children were out with their parents. I asked how long Durghesh will remain. He said three or four days. Thank God, I thought, but I said: “Only?” He gave me a sideways look. I said that I thought that she will remain till the end of July. He shook his head. The horrible pandit croaked non-stop and I prayed to God to give me the strength to bear endlessly. Dolly and Rani came. Dolly said that I looked better, perhaps because it is cooler. I doubted that she meant it.

  Left about 7 :30. He was talking to a few men. I nearly fell saluting him, and one of them said that I am getting weak.

  “No, only a little giddiness; it happens sometimes,” I answered.

  Felt guilty. It won’t do to fall; it would look so silly…

  21st June

  IT WAS A COOL, LOVELY NIGHT. Slept well. And the longing was great and endless in the morning. God is so far… non-existent.

  Vibrations are lately more frequent and begin to be more intense.

  Something is being prepared….

  When I arrived, one of his disciples who stays at his place as his guest, for he does not live in this town, told me with a grin to go into the room.

  “But it is early,” I said, “he will still have his bath or his breakfast.”

  “Oh, no,” he answered, “he is all right; he has already performed all these things.”

  I approached his room, looking first inside before entering. The grandson of his Guru was seated in the big chair. I went in and saluted. He hardly noticed me. Soon his wife came and brought some sweets. After that he asked for water and she brought the glass. He made a movement with his hand. I knew what he wanted, so I bent down and put the basin in front of him, taking it from under the bed opposite my chair. He washed his mouth, the wife went out, I took the basin, emptied it and washed it at the pipe in the garden, brought it in and put it back under the bed. He kept talking to the Mohammedan. I wondered if it was done deliberately before the Mohammedan to show him that I serve? Or to test me if I would do so before others?

  Later I asked him if I should put the big chair back; it was not standing in its place, but opposite the tachat.

  “No,” he shook his head. But a few moments later the disciple came in and put the chair in its proper place.

  I expected him to tell him to leave it alone, but he let it be, only looked at the chairs; they were not standing quite in a row, as he likes it. So I got up and corrected it. When the Mohammedan was here, he squatted on the tachat talking to him with the wonderfully soft expression he assumes when he is doing some spiritual work. I could not help thinking that he will give him much today. Who knows if he was not ordered to come on purpose. Keep quiet, my heart….

  Others get…. You get nothing. Don’t desire, my heart… His Will shall be done….

  People came. Pandit made a remark that the fan was not on. He ignored it and turned to the wall. They soon left. The homeopathic doctor came. They all streamed into the room including the noisy child. I was left alone in the front room. I sat there in peace… the vibration was
going on softly.

  In the afternoon he hardly noticed me when I came. The wife was with him all the time talking. He took an exceptional interest in every word she was saying, encouraging her to speak with his attitude.

  Later he lowered his voice, so that the others in the next room could not hear and began to discuss something with her almost in a whisper. I detected the word “Memsahib,” so they were discussing something concerning me. Listened with all my attention but could not understand a word to my regret. Could only hear that he mentioned the word “shishya”, —perhaps he was telling her that he would make me his shishya? But, no, I don’t think so. He is just testing me, all right. His face bears this look I know so well by now, a bit cruel and slightly ironical, when he intends trouble for me. From time to time he will look at me, a long, deep, serious look, then he will quickly avert his eyes. He also looks friendlier as if to encourage me to speak. But I had no desire to do so.

  Had an afternoon of partly unconscious state. When he came out about 6:30, his son-in-law came too with the volume of Ramayana under his arm. He began to recite. Guruji listened and from time to time made a remark-it seemed to me in an ironical way. I asked the disciple who was seated next to me, what was the joke everybody was laughing at. He said that many people came to see Ram in the forest; Guruji wanted to know where they lived. Of course under the trees, the disciple said with conviction, and I thought that it would be quite easy, knowing the Indian conditions, to live under the trees, except in the rainy season; but this cannot last long and, provided the wild animals were kept at large, it could be done. Ram being an Avatar could do this easily with his powers. Later Bhai Sahib interrupted again: this time because it was said that there were 720 women and Sita had to touch the feet of all of them.

  “Nonsense!” he said and laughed.

  So, he did not accept the Ramayana after all, as I have been thinking…. And very probably his remarks were intended for the disciple who was a Brahmin and a bit fanatic. Great man as Bhai Sahib is, he will accept only parts of it; every religion is correct in some ways and incorrect in others. None of the religions and philosophies reveals the whole Truth. This must be realized.

  Consequently none should be understood and accepted literally.

  More people came later. An endless discussion began. I went outside. Satendra was sitting alone in the garden looking dark.

  “What’s the matter?” I wanted to know. He said that he went to his father and told him that he did not like the Brahmin disciple who stays with them.

  “He is not a good man!” he added, “he is too proud! But father said: ‘Don’t speak like this, Satendra! He came here to be changed; this is the place of change!’ ”

  What an answer! I thought, and told Satendra that all Brahmins are proud. Never mind. If Babuji says that he will be changed, it will be all right—is it not so?

  But he just sat there looking darkly in front of him. I understood.

  For the boy the present situation mattered; something in the present arrangement clearly disturbed him. We talked for a while, then I went home for it was eight already.

  A lot of lightning was around the horizon in the night. It began to drizzle lightly, but we all stayed on the roof and it was all right. A lovely fresh breeze was blowing all night and the dawn was all orange and gold with greeny-blue patches of sky in between, of most delicate ethereal beauty. The display in the sky lasted for a long time. It was the loveliest sunrise I saw for many years in India. The most magnificent was in Bombay when for the first time I saw the soil of India….

  While looking at this loveliness, feeling good in the coolness of the morning I was reflecting: the realization of God is only the beginning.

  In other Yoga Systems it is the ultimate Goal; in this System it is the first step. And I wondered how the Initiation will be? Will he make me like himself immediately, or are there stages to go through, or what? How will it feel? How will it manifest itself on the level of the mind? And will it feel like Initiation, like something ADDED to me? Or will I be less?

  To be taken into the arena… but discipleship does not necessarily mean that. People can approach the arena by themselves, by renouncing everything, so he said once. To be taken into the arena is to accept the Path of the Master. No initiation is needed.

  God knows how long it will take for me….

  The Mohammedan was there; he obviously slept there. Bhai Sahib’s cousin, many others came. Property matters were discussed.

  It was very hot already and I was seated very uncomfortably on a tachat, one leg of which was missing. So I went into the room and switched on the fan. He was in the garden on his tachat on which he slept during the night. Sat under the fan, the heart heavy with longing. A very restless atmosphere was in the air. In the next room they were all talking together; it was a dreadful din. How can they converse like that? It is impossible to understand each other at this rate. The spoiled boy was howling periodically and all children howled after him, all in chorus or one after another. It was a difficult morning….

  Decided to sit it out. The heart was aching, aching physically in longing and pain. I sat bent in two, resting my face on my knees.

  About 9:30 he came in. I got up but was so giddy that I nearly fell. He lay down on the tachat face to the wall. Great peace descended. For some reason I could not even hear the sounds coming from outside.

  The wife was coming and going, clearly giving him some detailed information of what was going on in the courtyard. As far as I understood, the property was being divided amongst Guruji’s family, the brothers and the young cousin, the son of his elder brother; he had one room for himself. He also wanted to bring his wife and children, so I have heard.

  It seemed strange to me, why Guruji was not present at this important occasion, important to his children and his family as a whole. But he was lying there, apparently completely indifferent and detached, half listening to his wife. Strange….

  The drunkard came. But the servant brought buckets of water in. I went out with the remark that he will have his bath now. The drunkard also went. Lately he has his bath in the room. I think the din in the courtyard is getting too much for him.

  Somehow I have the feeling that he is winding up his earthly affairs. Have no proof… it is just a feeling. I try to chase it away.

  Cannot believe it… not really… but the thought comes back persistently… strange.

  22nd June

  WHEN I ARRIVED, he gave me a letter which was from L. She has sent £20 to K. in Cambridge. L. wants to come here in August or in winter. While I was reading the letter, he was lying on his side looking at me in stony silence. Then the son-in-law came in with the Ramayana. I hardly listened. Turned in my mind the possibility that he will send me away again…. She was here for two winters while I was away; why does she want to come again? And I began to cry bitterly, hopelessly… this longing… will it ever stop? This torment? Longing for what? Truth, I suppose, or is it just a terrible feeling of hurt within the heart, which burns up my body. I cried for a long time… ran short of hankies though I had three with me in my bag. The chanting was going on. The rhythm of the verses, the flow of the beautiful language…. He was lying on his back smiling faintly.

  I don’t know if he did it because of the passage of the Ramayana which was just recited, or because I was crying so bitterly. The son-in-law kept casting startled glances in my direction. Later Sharma came. Then we went outside where I sat till 7:30. I shall fall, I thought. I will fall; I won’t be able to stand up… and sure enough when I got up and saluted him, I fell down at his feet hurting my wrist a little. Was very embarrassed. Sharma looked very startled and I nearly ran out from the garden…. Next day I wore a light bandage around my wrist. Did not sleep well. Fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, looked at the moonless sky, the Milky Way, so clear and bright. Fancy! To think that we are on the very edge of it, our little earth… seems incredible. Was thinking of the hatred in me which represents a great obsta
cle. How every dark patch in my character, one by one, came on the surface like foam on the water… and gradually was removed…. But still there is a lot of it.

  This morning when I came, he was taking his bath at the pipe in the garden. He will catch a cold, I thought. A cold can be his death….

  I went in when two men came, but they soon left. I remained till nine, till I went to Sharma. This hard, cold, stony face… this is always for me, or most of the time it is. Smiles and kindness are for others… this face only, is for me. And he was dressed all in white…

  perhaps he was thinking that I would want to speak to him. But lately I have no such desire. He is all right as he is. Have no questions to ask, no comments to make. Looked at his face so forbidding, and my longing grew and grew. Managed not to cry… I had to go. Sharma gave me the check. Went to the bank to cash it and then to Guruji to give him the 420 rupees. Was so glad to be able to give it to him. He counted the notes with deliberate slowness, one by one. And I saluted and went to my lunch of mangos and boiled rice.

  80 Hard Times Are Passing Away

  23rd June, 1966

  A KIND OF IRRITATION… cannot put my finger on it… have an urge to speak to him… I watched his face. He looked stern but not unfriendly. Perhaps… I will try….

  When we were in the room, we were alone. I leaned forward. He was sitting in the big chair and I near the head of his tachat.

  “May I speak to you?”

  Hmmm?” He turned his head in my direction with the vacant expression as if pretending not to understand, his usual way when he wants to make it difficult for me. I repeated the question softly and clearly. He nodded with the stoniest expression. Instantly my mind left me and went somewhere… I managed to get hold of it somehow and began to speak. When I have this urge, I HAVE TO SPEAK—it is like a compulsion. I was aware that my voice sounded strained, not natural.

  “It is this pain… this terrible pain which is drying up my body.