In Germany

Frankfurt airport. Because Germany was not in the original tour plan, no visas had been arranged. This time Baba did not try to slip through Immigration. Instead. He suggested we approach the authorities to grant an exception.

Though an application seemed unlikely to succeed, the guru suggested it, so we proceeded. The authorities in the airport immediately transferred our request to a higher government body. While waiting for the reply, they kindly arranged a VIP lounge for Baba’s rest.

We wanted to provide a snack for Baba. Unfortunately there were no cooking facilities so we were forced to order from the catering service. I was anxious about how He would react to a commercial food item. I offered Him some blueberry yogurt and Baba commenced to eat it directly from the plastic container.

“It’s excellent,” He commented after the first spoonful.

“Mighty tasty,” He added while eating more.

“I’ve never dined on such a succulent yogurt,” He said, polishing it off completely. He smiled at me.

This was one of the few times I ever saw Baba eat more than a few mouthfuls of a food item. I had never seen Him finish anything before. He always left most of His meal for the Margis to enjoy as prasad.

I felt that He ate all the yogurt just to please me.

At the end of the meal we received the news that the visa applications were granted.

The customs officer who stamped our passports said. “You are very lucky people. Exceptional treatment.”

Baba replied something to the effect that it was not luck. Rather it was an indication of the good nature and open-mindedness of the German people. At last He said. “I shall be ever grateful to the German nation.”

Double-blessing

Frankfurt. During the morning field walk. Baba said to me, “Perhaps my next trip in Europe will cover four places. Because I want you to remember these places, I am giving you a code, Dharmaveda-nanda: DDNN.

• Finland ends in D
• Greenland ends in D
• Lisbon ends in N
• Dublin ends in N

Will you remember?”

“Yes, Baba,” I said. “But why did You select these places?”

“These four will later prove to be hot-points of Prout.” 65

65 Though Baba never again came to Europe, this experience had two values., Besides indicating the places where Prout may want to concentrate in the future, Baba also showed me that codification is one of the easiest systems to use for memorization. I used this system innumerable times since then.

At the end of Baba’s informal morning darshan. He permitted collective guru puja to be sung (offering of the ego through singing mantra with gestures). He usually allows it only at the most important programs like DMC, so we were happily surprised.

During His afternoon field walk in a huge park. Baba suddenly requested that we change direction. This was the first time in my experience He had ever altered our route.

I became upset because about 150 Margis were waiting for Baba in a pre-planned spot. Dada Ramananda and some other senior Dadas were with them. Hoping to avert a major disappointment, I requested a guard to run ahead and inform them of the change.

Alas, it was too late. By the time we arrived at our new destination, only about 40 Margis had been quick enough or clever enough to find us. The senior Dadas also had not arrived. Surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers, and in the absence of the usual officialdom. Baba gave a beautiful darshan. At the end one brother requested that we be allowed to do guru puja.

“It was already performed this morning,” Baba replied smiling.

“Yes, Baba, but may we please do it again?”

Baba became a little serious, and said, “Once is enough.”

“Please, Baba.”

Baba looked around. If Ramanandaji had been there, he would surely have stopped the Margis from pressing Baba. I understood that Baba did not want the puja to be done, but I would be endlessly condemned by these Margis if I interfered now.

Perhaps Baba’s position was similar to mine, in that He did not want to be remembered afterward as being stingy.

Or perhaps He foresaw the inevitability of this scene, and for that reason had changed our course to avoid the larger cast of characters. Or had He all along planned a double-blessing? In any case, He finally gave a silent nod, and we began singing.

During the puja, Baba’s usual practice is to return our offerings with certain hand-gestures.

This time, however, the gestures were different than any I had ever seen. Unfortunately most of the Margis had their eyes closed, and did not see this special display. But it is my habit never to close my eyes in Baba’s presence.

Baker’s dough

September 27. This morning before the start of reporting, four of us slipped into Baba’s room.

“May we?” someone asked Baba.

He gave a wave of His hand, and we all started to massage Him; one on His right arm, one on His left arm, the third on His right leg, and the last on His left leg. As the other workers filed in for the meeting, we four continued ploughing into His flesh.

I remember in particular Dada Sarvabodhananda smiling broadly, showing his charming teeth the entire time, his fingers almost dancing on Baba’s right arm.

At one point. Baba said, “I feel just like baker’s dough.”

Everyone laughed. But we carried on with our kneading.

Is His apparent pleasure sometimes not real pleasure, but rather just a means to allow us to increase our relationship with Him?

Failure becomes success

Other than laughing at His joke, I hardly smiled during that massage.

I was feeling melancholy; this was the last day of Baba’s tour. Most of the time in Iceland, and here in Germany, I had been busy arranging security, darshans, field walks, transportation etc etc. Though I was often with Baba, it was usually together with other Margis and workers. I wanted to be alone with Him.

That’s why today I decided to stay near His room as much as possible, to catch whatever chance might come—even if it meant neglecting my duty.

Most of the morning and afternoon I was present just outside His door, which was almost always open, permitting me to see Him. As the hours went by, however, I was slowly consumed with an awkward feeling. On one hand I wanted to be alone with Him, but couldn’t manage it. On the other hand I was disregarding my duties and had no idea what problems might be arising.

Finally it was time for the last field walk. I hoped it had been organized properly without my supervision. But when I accompanied Baba outside I found a complete mess. Not only were minor details out of order—even a car and several guards were missing. I moved into high gear to make emergency arrangements, hoping that Baba would not notice the chaos. Of course He had to notice—it was obvious to everyone. Today’s lack of arrangement was a singular fiasco.

Yet He criticized nothing. In this worst of circumstances. He pretended everything was normal. He was even kind to me.

Was He generous because I was already despondent over His imminent departure? Perhaps. But one thing surely contributed to His magnanimity: He understood that I was deeply affected by the failure; and that I was determined never again to neglect my duty for the sake of a personal desire—no matter how sublime that desire might be.

On the outside, failure. On the inside, success. Every mistake can be so— should be so. But when it’s your mistake, it’s not too wise to tell anybody about your inner success.

Frankfurt airport. After we checked in we found out that our flight was delayed. I sat with Baba, undisturbed by anyone else. In the wake of both my incompetence and my realization, He fulfilled my wish to be alone with Him. At one point in the conversation, He began speaking in a light-hearted manner.

“Regarding Dr Pathak,” He said, referring to the Margi who sat out of earshot, “though he is retired, back in India he owned an important clinic. Now he believes he is my doctor.” Baba used such a tone that it sounded ludicrous. We laughed together, like two happy peas in a pod.

“In fact, I am his doctor, though he does not know it. I told him a few days ago, ‘You see, doctor, we shall soon be leaving Europe, and going to South America. Here in Europe we may find the best cheeses in the world. There, however, cheese is in scarcity. So during our sojourn here, you should consume maximum cheese.’ He followed my prescription to the letter. Now he is suffering from belly-ache, due to an overdose of cheese.

“Can you see all the food protruding from his bulging shopping bag? He said he is collecting souvenirs to present his family in India. But we know better.”

He paused and stopped smiling. As my chuckling died away. He said, “Remember: if you want to eat more, eat less.”

The flight was called. We stood up to walk toward the gate. “Where are Dadas J and N?” Baba asked. I ran here and there to look for them, but couldn’t find them anywhere.

Baba was getting worked up over their irresponsibility. He turned to Didi Ananda Karuna and said, “When they appear, you should give them a piece of your mind.” Then He said to one Dada, “You must tell them that they are not monks but monkeys.” And to another Dada, “You are to make such a hubbub that they never forget this august moment.”

Though Baba looked angry, we all enjoyed it. I went to the airlines desk, and arranged for an announcement of the two miscreants’ names. A few minutes later they appeared, running. I rushed to meet them and asked, “What delayed you? Baba is furious.”

They grinned sheepishly. “We were looking for white chocolate.” With a flourish and a show of victory, they whipped several bars out of their handbags for me to see.

I accompanied them to the gate, where Baba and the others were already walking toward the shuttle-bus, leaving me behind. As those last two Dadas boarded, I could see everyone playing their roles, fiendishly attacking the hapless pair. The vehicle started moving. Baba wagged His finger at them, and shouted loud enough to make the bus momentarily swerve.

A few seconds before the bus disappeared from sight. Baba broke His scolding just in time to turn toward me. He smiled, and His eyes twinkled as He gave me a small wave of His hand.