Making the impossible possible

Oslo. Vishvabandhu and Sulocana, a married couple, have worked like mad people to start a public food cooperative. Obliged to quickly pay off the loan they took for the project, speed was compulsory—in planning, renting, construction, ordering, and publicity. Within a mere month they did everything. Today the shop opened in the center of the business district. It looks beautiful.

Vishvabandhu said these words at the ribbon-cutting ceremony: “Tantric spirit made the impossible possible again.”

Considering that they hadn’t a drop of experience in this line, I agreed fully with his statement.

The United Nations gets a taste of Tantric resolve

Stockholm. Yesterday, just as I arrived in Lulea, Karan phoned me from my Stockholm headquarters. “Dada, you won’t believe this!” he said. “Suresh is publicly threatening to commit self-immolation within one week unless the government requests the United Nations to discuss Baba’s case and Gandhi’s banning of Ananda Marga! He’s going to bum himself to death!”

“What are you talking about? Let me speak to him.”

“Gladly, except that he’s in hiding. He made his announcement by telephone to the government and the media. He called me also, but refused to tell from where.”

After asking many questions and receiving few clear replies from Karan, it was obvious that I had to return to Stockholm immediately. Just as I hung up the phone, it rang again: a reporter from the local newspaper.

“Sir, do you think Stan Eklofs threat is real or simply drama?”

“I’m believe it’s real. It fits with his all-or-nothing attitude. That’s why it’s so urgent to take all possible steps to stop him.”

“Do you have any idea why he’s taking such a desperate step? Is he alone in this escapade?”

“Two or three weeks ago Mr Sarkar specifically suggested that Ananda Marga’s case be presented to the United Nations. I suppose that when no one took the initiative, Stan decided to act. Though I understand and of course agree with his sentiment, his strategy is wrong and horrifying.”

After completing the interview, I set out for the station. Lulea is in the far north of Sweden, an overnight train journey to Stockholm. When I reached my office this morning, Karan greeted me, “Dadaji, a big article together with a photo has already appeared on the front page of the Lulea paper. The phone is ringing off the hook with reporters— they’re impatient to meet you.”

“There’s no time for that yet.” Throwing my overcoat on the chair, I sat down at the phone to begin the work of trying to—trying to what? save a life? Yes…but surely life or death was in Baba’s hands, not mine. “Alright, Lord, use me as You see fit,” I thought.

An hour later 1 was at the office of the United Nations.

“This is a totally unprecedented affair,” said the chief representative, Mr Johanson, a typically polite and self-composed Swede. “How can you expect the Swedish nation to agree to present the case of a convicted murderer to the United Nations because of a suicide threat? It will be better that you convince Mr Eklof of the futility of his undertaking.”

“I don’t think he’ll back down, sir. It is his nature. He’s totally sincere and ready to sacrifice everything for what he believes in.”

“I understand. But you are asking for something impossible.”

“I’m not asking for anything, sir. This is Stan’s demand, not mine. I’m simply concerned that you understand his determination. I don’t want him to die a needless death. You have the power to rescue him.”

“Sweden cannot condone an act which boils down to terrorism— albeit in this case the victim and the terrorist are one and the same.”

“I don’t agree with his tactics either, but his purpose is not destruction of the state or any other kind of violence. He only wants justice; that the case of a great and persecuted humanist be rationally presented to a global peace-making organization.”

“But his method…”

“Sir, can’t you at least discuss the matter with your staff?”

“Discussion itself is not impossible… But at the same time you must try to contact Mr Eklof and persuade him not to immolate himself.”

“It goes without question that I’ll do everything I can to stop him. But I know him too well, so I have more hope in your efforts. By the way, you know I don’t have his phone number…”

“I’ll make a formal request to two or three leading radio stations to repeatedly air your request for Mr Eklof to call you,” he said.

We fixed an appointment to meet again the next day.

This evening all three stations frequently announced: “This is an urgent message for Stan Eklof, the man in hiding who has threatened to immolate himself if the case of his convicted Indian guru, PR Sarkar, is not presented by the Swedish nation to the United Nations: Mr Eklof please telephone your headquarters in Stockholm immediately.”

Next day. Suresh called this morning. “Where

are you?” “I can’t say, Dadaji.”

“It’s a wonder that nobody’s recognized you. Your photo was shown on TV.”

“Ha, ha! I guessed no one would notice me.”

I told him about the inflexibility of the United Nations’ representative. Then I requested him to compromise, to give the authorities more time and to return to press his demand in a respectful manner.

“Sorry, Dadaji. I’m committed to this path.”

“But…”

“Let His will be done! I’m more than ready to die if it’s needed. Rather I’m expecting to die.”

I continued trying to convince him to alter his stand, but it was no use.

“Alright, Suresh. I understand your position. I’ll try my best to persuade the UN people.”

“Don’t worry, Dadaji. Everything is Baba. It’s all His drama.” I asked him to call me regularly, and hung up.