Daughter of Fire

by Irina Tweedie

  Made a warm petticoat out of an old skirt. Prayed. Did Jap.

  This afternoon there was, and still is, a large rainbow. Only its lower part was visible, growing out of the forest on the opposite hill to the left, curving towards the snows, hidden behind a thick, grey curtain of clouds. The part of the rainbow which was against the background of dark clouds was very vivid, exceptionally wide, and the yellow color was predominant. I thought of Guruji’s words to Satendra: “And the yellow color was gone…. “

  The yellow color is back again, Guruji, my dear, but you are no more…. No more in this physical world. But you are in my heart; and in the states of Nothingness, in the night during the deep meditation, you are with me…. But you are so different now that I don’t even dare to call you “Guruji.” You are just a Great Power, a whirlwind which sucks up my very being, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell….

  The day before yesterday it was seven weeks… there is some resentment from time to time. You went, my dear, and left me like this—alone. All I can do is cry to God…. Perhaps this is the purpose of it… I don’t know… am so confused sometimes. And the heart is crying, crying… perhaps this was your intention.

  Perhaps it is exactly what I am supposed to do.

  The rainbow is still there—very vivid in the small patch of sunshine on the side of the hill, as though growing out of the pine trees….

  11th September

  I AM IN COMPLETE DARKNESS. I am in silence. My heart is crying for You. It is said that in silence and in darkness grows the seed. In all the Sufi books it is mentioned that after moments of great Nearness the heart is plunged in loneliness and even great depression sometimes.

  Fell asleep in the afternoon for about two hours. It is not usual.

  And on waking up I heard myself saying to someone: “And these meditations have been carefully translated by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous. They have been worded in such a way as to form gradual steps on the ladder of progress.” And while completely awake, I thought: but those meditations are not for us.

  We trust in God and call His Name; that’s how we progress. Did Guruji not say to us:

  “On our line we trust in God only; we surrender to Hirn, and this is our Sadhana.”

  But the progress is gradual: the states of consciousness change imperceptibly… I can observe it clearly.

  12th September

  IT IS RAINING VERY HEAVILY this morning. I became disgusted when I looked out of the window about half past five. Solid, dense fog sat on all the hills. It just started to pour down as from buckets. And I was thinking that I have been here already more than one month, and I have never seen all the mountains clearly. Only some of them, and even this only sometimes. Bits and pieces of them, disappearing swiftly. And it seemed to me that they are a symbol of my life with Guruji: I always hoped so much, desired and longed for Reality. But all I got was a few bits and pieces sometimes, disappearing swiftly.

  All was and is covered with thick fog. And every day I looked out, every day I hoped and prayed and longed. But elusive and invisible like snow, he gave me nothing to the last, except troubles, tests, heartache to no end… like those mountains. Every day at sunrise I look out, each time I hope… nothing. Grey fog. Thick clouds. For ever and ever, day after day….

  15th September

  LAST NIGHT I WAS UNDRESSING in the semi-darkness; the mosquito net was already put up. Usually I don’t throw my thick wool socks on the floor. Rats can touch them, or something creepy can find its way into them. I wear them over my stockings during the day; the floor is made of concrete, very cold, and it is cold in the shade during the day… especially now when there is hardly any sunshine left. But in the last two days I grew careless and threw them on the floor. There are no rats here; at least I found no evidence of them.

  While taking the socks off, I saw in semi-darkness something large approaching the small carpet where my feet were resting. I quickly put my sandals on, searched for the matches on the table, found them, struggled to light one after another—they are all damp in the rainy season—all the time hoping that the thing should not creep away in the meantime. Finally I managed to light the small kerosene lamp. Took it to my bed. It went out. Lit it again. And then saw the thing. It was a baby scorpion. Still small, about two-and-a-half inches only, and light brown. It must have been of the same variety I saw in Italy; perhaps here in the hills they don’t grow bigger. A fully grown scorpion—I saw one in Adyar—is about five to six inches long, jet black and very poisonous. But the small ones are quite poisonous too, and can cause much pain and a large swelling. It kept creeping away. At first! thought I’d leave it alone. The pretty little thing, when it saw me approaching with the lamp, raised its tail in a warning way.

  So I realized that I won’t be able to sleep, imagining that it may creep up the wooden leg of my charpoy. It is true, I had my mosquito net which was a protection, but he could hide in the folds of it or in between the blankets and sting me when I was making the bed in the morning. So I got hold of a soft broom, trying to pick it up without hurting it. He in the meantime tried to hide in the corner between the door and the wall and attacked the broom vigorously. Small as he was, he had no fear—they have such courage, the scorpions. I managed at last to entangle him in the broom and threw him outside.

  He fell on the concrete steps and did not move, looking cramped and twisted. I went out. What a pity. So I killed him after all, unintentionally. I picked him up gently with the broom and threw him into the flower bed beside my door. As soon as he felt moist earth beneath him, he began to scamper away hurriedly. He was completely unhurt. He pretended to be dead in selfdefense. It is not so easy to hurt a scorpion; it has quite a good armor, like a miniature lobster. I was glad. Creep away, little one, God bless you. May you not sting anybody, I hope….

  16th September

  THE SUNRISE WAS ONCE MORE like a painting of Turner this morning, seen through the luminous mist driving up from the valleys, drifting in patches and stripes across the hill. One could just see the mountains, dimly, amongst swiftly billowing clouds, like in a greyblue dream. It was lovely after a night of rain. The sun was warm. I enjoyed my cup of tea seated on my doorstep. And then I saw him: he was large, perhaps three inches long, very hairy, very thick, a caterpillar, of the most beautiful russet brown. He was walking rather purposefully on the ledge of the wall behind me towards the veranda. I was watching him; he was advancing surprisingly swiftly.

  You will be killed there; a crow or some other bird will get you; where are you going? What a large butterfly or moth it must be, to have such a large caterpillar; I wondered, what variety it could be? He was going and going, and from time to time he was lifting the front part of the body, checking if he could climb up. But the whitewashed wall was too smooth; he could find no hold with his little feet.

  Reached the pillar near the veranda steps and tried to climb up, but without success. I understood that there was an urge in him to go up, perhaps to pupate somewhere and be safe for the coming winter. In spring he will be a butterfly. Our garden was full of them, fluttering about in the sunshine. I took a folded newspaper and made him go on it and put him on a stone heap thinking that he will easily find a place there in a crack to settle for the winter, but he went again towards the wall and began to try to climb it unsuccessfully, falling back again and again. To help him I put him on one of the beams supporting the roof; surely he could find a good place there. But when after a while I went out, I found him lying on the ground, slightly dazed. He fell down obviously from this height, and thick and fat as he was, even cushioned by his hairiness, he must have hurt himself. Seeing me approaching he became energetic and tried again to climb up the wall. Such an urge to go upwards…. How can I help you? Where shall I put you? I put him again on the stone heap. But by that time he was clearly exhausted. For a few minutes he sat on a stone, his head hanging on one side, as a tired human being would do… then he began the fruitless attempt to climb the wall. An i
dea struck me: what about the tall cypress pine? It is so old, and has so many crooks and crannies to hide in the bark. There is a chance that a bird may get hold of him if he is foolish enough to expose himself, still, it is worth trying, though his urge made him oblivious of any danger, so it seems. Once more I made him walk on a folded newspaper. Then took him to the tree. The very moment he got the feeling of the bark beneath his feet, as if glad, as if relieved, steadily and rhythmically he began to climb upwards. I could feel the urge, the relief. I felt his hurry; up and up he went; he must be tired. His movements were slower than before. I hoped that he would have the strength not to let the bark go, to cling to it. Ten feet. Twenty-five feet. He was still going. There was, in between the two large branches, a crack, a hollow; that would be a good hiding place. But he ignored it; he was still going up. And suddenly it occurred to me that he was a symbol of spiritual life…. Caterpillars we are. One day we will all be butterflies. But in order to become a butterfly we have to go higher and higher to be able to transform ourselves somewhere in the darkness, in a secret hiding place. We have to go up higher and higher in spite of the dangers lurking around—danger of death, of falling down, of being killed, devoured by our passions and temptations.

  Up and up we have to go… and he, my caterpillar, what will he do when he reaches the very top of the tree, where there is nowhere to go except the void? Will he throw himself into the void full of sunshine, or will he creep into a nook somewhere in between the bark and old branches and hybernate there? My neck was aching, watching him, so high he was now, still walking upwards. By now he got hold of a small, thin branch hanging near the trunk, and he marched steadily on it. Probably, it was easier, his little feet could clasp it firmly. I went inside, washed up a few cups. When I came out, I looked on the ground around the tree, if by any chance he had fallen down. No, he was still walking so high that I could hardly see him amongst the shifting light and shade of the branches. He was still walking up. I confess I was full of admiration. Such an urge, such a perseverance…. Then he turned a corner and disappeared behind a thick branch. He was lost from my view. Good luck. May you be successful in your tremendous urge…. What is this powerful instinct beyond your control which drives you on? Like me… this urge… beyond my control. We are brothers, little caterpillar, you and I….

  18th September

  YESTERDAY I FELT SO MUCH IRRITATION. In the evening some children were shouting in unison, not far from here, somewhere in the hills. It was darkening. I was in bed already, and the endless shouting of what seemed to be the same sentence began to drive me mad. I started to pray. After a while it became completely dark and the shouting ceased. Probably they all went home. Here is no electricity, so when it becomes dark, walking can be a bit of a problem on moonless nights, so much more because torch batteries are not easily available.

  Actually the whole day I was on edge, and when it happens, as usual, everything irritates me and disagreeable things happen more often than usual. Or does it only seem so, BECAUSE one is on edge? Is it He who is in everything who wants to test one’s patience, just as Guruji did when I was mad with irritation caused by vibrations? I remember, dogs howled and barked near and far, children were unbearable, smells, heat… no end of irritation. Here too, last night dogs howled and barked in chorus. And in the hills sound travels far, echoing amongst the valleys in the pure and clear air. A child in the next farm only about two hundred yards away kept shouting for over an hour in the most irritating way: Mammy! The mother was working in the fields. A girl about eighteen was passing to and fro on the path opposite my door looking at me. I became suspicious, watched her and discovered that she went to steal a cucumber from the caretaker’s farm, broke it with a stone, and hid half of it in a tree trunk down below near the steps which lead to the Ashram garden.

  She was eating the other half when I asked her: “What are you doing?” She did not expect it, said “Ji?,” and went.

  A thunderstorm was in the air. It was rumbling all around the heights. Clouds heavy laden with water came slowly, slowly, creeping from behind the hills in the southeast. Those were still monsoon clouds coming from this direction.

  Told Patel about the girl. He did not understand my indignation and said that he can do nothing; it is the duty of the parents of the girl to do something. I tried to explain what I had meant, not for him to do something about it, but that it is wrong—it is stealing other’s property. He shook his head.

  “It is not the question of stealing; it is the desire, Kama; every kind of desire is so strong in the human being. It is a question of age in us to resist desire. At our age it is easy.”

  And I was thinking: is it? And wondered… but how right he was. How can I blame her? Who am I to judge? Am I so free from temptations? Didn’t I too sometimes take something which I desired?

  And I put it out of my head.

  About three p.m. tremendous vibrations in the heart began. I had the feeling of suffocation; heart was racing. So many vibrations I have lately, so many and so strong, but this time it was really bad. I was praying; there was nothing else to do. Was lying on the bed the rest of the afternoon listening to the heart and thinking of Guruji and doing Jap. Slept not too well. Patel gave the next room to soldiers to sleep for one night. There was a platoon doing some exercises in the hills. They kept talking with loud voices till late. There was a kind of rebellion in me, did not feel like doing my Jap. This morning I am alone. He is far away. jap very difficult. And I became disgusted with myself. Told Patel, when he came out to do his spinning in the veranda.

  “Well,” he said, “why are you disgusted? It is good to be disgusted with oneself; it helps humility. But really there is nothing to be disgusted about. If you cannot do your Sadhana, leave it. It is the Will of God. It is God testing you…. All is His Will. What happens inside and outside us is His Will. So why the disgust?”

  He was right, of course. And I put it out of my head.

  88 The Snows and the Sound

  19th September, 1966

  ALL IS WELL. He is near. Jap is easy. I do it all day long, practically.

  And if my mind wanders or I forget to do it because busy with something else, I lead my mind back to it.

  21st September

  EVERYDAY IN THE AFTERNOONS there are thunderstorms and rainbows towards the evenings. Yesterday evening there was one, above the opposite hill, right in front. From a grey low cloud it seemed to drop, like a column of vivid colors right to the pine trees. And it stood there for nearly an hour in the fading evening light. Those rainbows are rarely complete; only a part of the complete arc is visible. They are seen everywhere, on the heights, across the valleys, or thrown towards the dimly seen snows, and they last an unusually long time, looking lovely, ethereal, out of this world….

  Vibrations are strong… and the Sound in the night very loud.

  This morning I came out on my doorstep and just sat down. The snows…. Could not believe my eyes…. They were for the first time all clear…. Missed the early glow, because I did not wakeup early enough, though waking up at one moment I saw the red glow in the sky but never thought that the whole range was in full view. Misra told me a few days ago that at sunset the snows show all the seven colors of the rainbow; it is a rare phenomenon and it can be seen only in this part of the Himalayas. I would like to see it, but I suspect that it might be an exaggeration. Until now the range was never clear in the evening. Let’s hope it will be soon.

  23rd September

  I CAME TO YOU FOR TRUTH…. So much hope was in me, so much longing…. But you filled me with restlessness, threw me back into Maya, put all the appearances against you, shook me, emptied me, and then you left this world, leaving me with nothing to hold on to.

  Did you? And what about this terrible longing, the great heart vibrations all day long? Practically all the time doingjap, and I train my mind to do it better and better, and sweeter and sweeter becomes His Name…. And what about the moments of Nothingness, of Oneness, when
all my being is merged in Something un-nameable?

  The body is cold and trembling, and the mind is not. Is it nothing to hold on to?

  1st October

  WHEN LARGE FLIES FIND THEIR WAY into the room and fly about with a loud hum, trying to find an exit, it is a sign of late summer…. This sound reminds me of days long ago far back in the shadows of memory. Half-forgotten memories of sunny days, freshly mown hay, the rattling sound of lawn cutters—summer… declining gently towards autumn. From the middle of August the flies kept coming into my room through the broken window-pane, sometimes in two’s or three’s humming about, and I listened to them gladly. Eventually they found their way out, and it was over.

  Rain was falling all night. The day before yesterday we had a hailstorm towards the evening. As I stood on my doorstep before going to bed, the wind was blowing icy cold from the snows. But the night was windstill, very, very still. Even the crickets were silent.

  Yesterday again we had a thunderstorm, and it was raining all night. At four a.m. when I opened my door, the air smelled strongly of pines. I looked up to the sky. High up above the deodars, a satellite sailed serenely looking like a large star. It went towards the northeast towards the snows. Orion, half hidden by the feathery clouds, was to the south dimly visible. Orion is now seen in the morning; when I was coming from the plains, he was rising in the evening.

  A large, livid full moon was about to set in the west behind the hill.

  I began my breathing exercises. Patel was singing his bajans (hymns of praise) to the rising dawn as usual. It was cold, and the air was balsam, so fresh.

  Made myself two mugs of tea. The sun was risen by now, but it was hidden’ behind a large bank of uniformly grey clouds. The snows were half hidden and somber. Suddenly I noticed a rainbow. It was like a straight column of vivid colors rising from the bank of grey clouds, right up like a flame, and the top of it was losing itself in the paleness of the blue sky. Here it stood, quite straight with all its colors, not far from the sun, still hidden behind the clouds. A rare phenomenon. It is a law of nature that the rainbow is always opposite the sun, never near or beside it. But here it was so vivid, so incredibly lovely and unexpected, standing firm, emerging from the grey of the clouds into the pale blue of the morning sky, losing itself there, fading away, becoming so tenderly faint. Rainbow, I thought, oh, thy beauty, how evident it is here. Rainbows have such a deep meaning for me, and here I see so many. And the yellow color is always the most luminous one. Now, when you are no more, my dear, the yellow color is never missing. I look out for it…. It stood there for more than ten minutes, then it began to fade only when the sun began to rise above the bank of clouds. But even then it did not go quickly but slowly, hesitantly becoming more and more aerial, incredibly lovely, hardly visible. And the yellow and the red still remained when all the other colors had gone.