The Orange Fire

Since I’ve been here, the sky has been overcast. It drizzles continuously, adding to the gloomy feeling.

I am told that the weather was fine until the moment Baba left on the 21st. This morning, the weather was still dismal.

About ten thousand Margis were gathered on the front lawn in front of the Central Office. All of us either sat or stood around the great cement funeral pyre which has been constructed in the shape of a six-pointed star (as in our symbol). It will remain as a permanent reminder of this day.

The crowd was abnormally restrained in their behavior. They sang non-stop PrabhatSangiit and kiirtan.

At noon, the pall bearers appeared, carrying an open coffin in which Baba lay. Almost in one voice, thousands of persons let out a gasp, then a sigh. Though many wept quietly, the overall atmosphere was calm.

According to Ananda Marga system, a short ceremony to console the bereaved was performed in which all participated. A final Guru Puja was sung, sung with a feeling never before known.

Purified butter was poured on His body, the fire lit, and thick, dark smoke rose. Exactly at that moment, two things happened. After six days of continuous clouds, the sky suddenly cleared sufficiently for the sun to shine down brightly, the rays illuminating only the cremation area.

At the same time, a flock of birds dropped down from the clouds in a V-formation, executed a tight circle directly over His body, and flew off in steep ascent.

He Sends Out a Clarion Call

For 3 hours, the orange fire burned. The crowd continued to sit and sing.

During all that time, the sun shined brightly. At last, the fire was gone, and only the slight remains went on smoking. The sun again disappeared, the sky grew cloudy and somber, and gradually the Margis dispersed.

Later in the evening, I was sitting alone on the roof, thinking of nothing in particular. I felt freer than ever and full of love for Baba. For a moment, my mind looked at itself and wondered why it was feeling so peaceful. Immediately I knew: a previously unrecognized impediment in my relation with Baba had been burned.

I found that I had always harbored a fear, deep in my subconscious mind, that something in my guru was not perfect, that some sort of personal ambition or purpose may have affected Him.

Though I had not been aware of this fear, it had nevertheless subtly affected me. Now it was abundantly clear that He was a man who had not been guided by even the minutest ego. His death was the final proof. Though He had obviously planned His final moment in detail, He made no drama of it.

The manner of His departure was in perfect silent harmony with the message of His life.

If my story were divided dramatically, it would be in 3 Acts:

Act 3 is the most critical one, for it is in His absence that we will see the test of His teachings, His love and the Tantric power that He exudes without the burden of a physical body.

A few years ago, He mentioned in a workers’ meeting: “After my physical passing, Margis and workers will be blessed with greater psychic and spiritual attention than I am presently able to provide. They will be very fortunate.” At that time we gave little importance to His words, thinking He would remain with us for a long time.

Though it is still too early to know how Act III will unfold, we can take a look at some of the earliest scenes.

Continuation of His system

Calcutta. 28 October.

Several newspapers reported: “In the aftermath of P.R. Sarkar’s passing, a great power struggle flares among Ananda Marga’s Central workers, as they fight over establishing new systems and new leadership.”

As usual, the newspapers write with an authority they don’t deserve.

Here everyone is aware of Baba’s warning to His brother and other family members that “After Maha Guru Ni Pat, the departure of the great guru, for one year you must be very careful.”

No one contemplates making major changes during this period. As the Central Committee already exists, it is only necessary to chose a new president.

Today, without fanfare, Dada Shraddhananda was unanimously elected for the post.

From all corners of our organization, he is regarded as a saintly man, simple, straightforward, and uninvolved in political psychology or favoritism. Over seventy years old, he spent the last years working in a small room as Central Finance Secretary and editor of the Central newsletter.

Though it has no relation to the above, now, while writing, I suddenly remember my dream of January 1987 104.

Baba gave me a glimpse of a symbolic future when I should be careful not to forget Him due to the presence of other personalities, no matter how outstanding they might be.

“Whatever happens I planned long ago”

New Delhi. November.

I don’t know how many Margis and workers told me stories of their dreams or thoughts which clearly foreshadowed Baba’s departure. I heard so many that it seems like nearly everyone had some form of premonition.

I recall my own experience last June in Ananda Nagar: for the first and last time in my life I was wild to see Baba at the close of His concluding discourse.

Then I became inconsolably depressed after my last look at Him when His car sped away from my sprinting feet. Though I was consciously unaware that it was my final moment with Baba, my heart obviously felt it.

Dada Vicitrananda told me about an old Filipina woman. In the evening of the 21 st October, she telephoned him at our Manila office.

“Is there any news about Baba?” she asked.

“I’m sure He’s fine, mother,” Dada replied.

“But I know there’s some problem. Can you please call Calcutta? I cannot telephone from my little village.”

“Alright, don’t worry, mother.”

She called an hour later, saying, “Did you get through, Dadaji?”

“I couldn’t get the line yet, mother.” “Please. Please keep trying.”

He had not tried. Now he knew she would go on troubling him until he confirmed Baba’s health. So he called Calcutta. He was shocked to hear that Baba was lying in trance.

Vacitranandaji then called the old lady, and said, “Mother, you were right. Baba is not well. He is in some sort of trance.” “No. No. It’s worse than that,” she said.

One hour later, Dada called Calcutta again, and heard that Baba was no more. After going through his own agony, he called the old lady.

“Mother … you … were right. Baba is … gone.”

There was a moment of silence, then she hung up the phone without a word.

Today I was on a train with Dada Bodhprajinananda who told me the following story:

“On lith August in Minali, India, I had a dream. I was in Tiljala (Calcutta). I saw Baba’s body on the main stage. It was covered with a sheet, lying on a cot. A huge number of Margis and workers sat in front of Him, and everyone was weeping.

“I went near His body, though I also was crying. I lifted the cloth from His face, and said to Him, ‘Baba, You left us without proper guidance and direction. How will we remain in this world?

How will we establish our organizational system, Prout, and a moralist society?’

“Then Baba woke up, sat up smiling, and said, ‘Whatever I had to give, I have given. You do more and more kiirtan and meditation. Do as much noble work for the cause of society as you can. I am always with you. Go ahead.’

“Then again He laid down, and the dream finished.

“I told the Margi in whose house I was staying (he is a bank manager). Also Dada Harimayananda was with me, and I told him too. They encouraged me to call Calcutta to see if Baba was alright. I called, and found out Baba had just entered hospital, and was very sick.

“After two months, when He really died, the thought of this dream helped me very much to overcome my sorrow.”

There are many such stories. But let’s leave it at that for today.