His invisible hand

Oslo. Talk about no experience. It’s one thing to start a food cooperative; but it’s an entirely different ball game to open a public printing press without the slightest knowledge.

There lies the faith of the devotees. Bhagirath and Arjuna are confident that their enterprise will be successful. Isn’t it wonderful that all of our projects offer on-the-job training? And most of them do so without any trainer! Unless you count the Supreme Trainer.

Copenhagen. Soup kitchen opened for poor people.

Stockholm. Service projects are multiplying like rabbits. Today Akashi opened a health-food cooperative. It has an atmosphere that could be created only by such a refined lady.

I haven’t physically seen Baba yet. Neither have most of the Margis. Still, I know Him intimately and so do most of the Margis. Part of that comes from kiirtan and meditation, but honestly I think that it’s mostly through service that we really get to enjoy His company. I see Baba in my work, in the eyes of the people I meet, in the constant helpful ‘co-incidences’ that occur every day. in the struggles that test me and help me grow. After all what else do I have?

Though He insists on depriving me of His physical presence, I still have the right to demand that He shows Himself to me in my daily life. Of course, I would forego all that in a moment in exchange for letting me just once have His personal contact.

An embassy becomes a guerrilla theater

Copenhagen. Due to the imposition of martial law in India, Baba’s case, which was already a travesty of justice, has turned into an unambiguous farce. Not a single witness from Ananda Marga’s side was permitted to testify. By kangaroo-court. Baba has now been declared guilty of all charges. At first the judge declared the sentence to be the death penalty. Later, fearing Baba might be seen in the same light as Socrates or Christ, he changed his mind, and converted the sentence to life imprisonment. In a way this alteration allows us to feel a certain sort of comfort . 35

My spiritual father is unquestionably suffering while fasting for years in a cell devoid of all conveniences. At the same time, thousands of my Indian brothers and sisters must also be undergoing daily agony in scores of other prisons as they refuse to give up their commitment to Ananda Marga’s cause . 36

In the face of this horror, however, I remain calm, even inspired. Though it may seem heartless, I’m convinced Baba is causing the whole drama to take place according to His plan. Sometimes great suffering is necessary though it is difficult to accept and even more difficult to live through. Despite the horror, despite the difficulties, I have faith that everything will turn out for the best.

Rather than give into despair or anger, it is far better to keep a cool mind, and actively protest the conditions in order to help the public

35 A few years later, both hands of this judge became permanently paralyzed.

36 Two years later a book was published entitled Tales of Torture, which documented scores of cases of Dadas, Didis and Margis who were severely tormented physically and mentally by the jail officers. The twenty-two months of emergency in India were notorious for innumerable human rights violations.

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to become more conscious. For Margis, the norm these days are public demonstrations, letter-writing campaigns, and meetings with influential figures throughout the world. Even though respected and sometimes famous individuals and organizations have investigated our cases, and have objected in detail to the flagrant injustices taking place, the Indian authorities remain unaffected. The Canadian representative of the International Commission of Jurists made a lengthy report spelling out how appalled he is by the bias against Ananda Marga. And a high-ranking Queen’s Counsel from England pointed out over 200 loopholes in the prosecution’s position in Baba’s case. We have unquestionable evidence that the Foreign Office in Delhi sent several anti-Ananda Marga information packets to Indian ambassadors and embassy staffs of the world. The embassies have been instructed to distribute these packets to government officials in their respective countries so that Ananda Marga’s development may be impeded. Accordingly, we continue to protest every way that we can.

Today we had a special meeting.

We informed a reporter of the biggest Danish daily newspaper of our intentions. Seven of us gathered this morning at the Indian embassy. The reporter also came, but he refused to come inside with us. He said he would get the news after we came out.

It was chilly weather, so we were all dressed in full length coats. The first Margi entered alone, and began reading an Indian newspaper in the reception room. After a few minutes, a second Margi went inside and studied the visa application forms. Gradually, one by one, the rest of us entered and engaged ourselves in inconspicuous behavior. The usual staff were there, together with a handful of other people.

Then one of us gave the signal. In a flash, we all jumped up, pulled signs from under our coats and launched into a long series of chants, like “Out with martial law!”, “Arrest Indira Gandhi!”, “Free Baba now!’’, “Release political prisoners!”, “Ananda Marga demands justice!” and so on.

The staff was shocked. The lady employees began screaming at the top of their lungs. Some dove under tables. Clearly they thought they were under some sort of attack — perhaps that our continuous chants were the prelude to a spray of machine gun bullets or something. They screamed non-stop. I was really sorry for them, but I knew they would

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recover within a few minutes. Well, to be honest, while one side of my brain was in pain, feeling compassion for these hapless souls, the other side, excuse me for saying, felt like laughing. I wonder if God often feels something similar when He views our melodramas.

In the midst of this, the Indian ambassador himself appeared at the top of the stairs. I feared for his eyes which looked like they might dislodge themselves from their sockets. Before that could happen, however, he and two or three of his aids galloped down the stairs and with a roar, started raining their fists on our innocent bodies. One of the Margis deftly pulled out a camera, and snapped it again and again. When their attack failed to stop our parade, the ambassador flew into a rage at our camera-man, and tried his level best to expose the film by seizing the camera and throwing it to the floor. Though we were quite civil, I should even say polite (considering his discourtesy) in fulfilling our task, he pushed Kunti toward the door, utilizing every drop of the adrenaline which was pumping through his bloodstream. Perhaps worrying that some harm might be done to the door, a male staff member opened it, and the ambassador succeeded in tossing Kunti out. The reporter was standing there. Catching just the right moment, he snapped a photo.

I am sure that the ambassador must have rejoiced to see the photo on the front page of the newspaper this evening. His face wore a frozen vicious scowl while he was thrusting Kunti onto the sidewalk. Of course, she had on her best expression of childlike astonishment at his uncouth behavior. The article was perfect, nicely detailing the injustice perpetrated by the Indian government on Baba and Ananda Marga.

One day when the unscrupulous Gandhi regime has its downfall, the embassy staff may even feel thankful to us.

Fate twisting

Verona, Italy. All the Dadas and Didis of Berlin Sector are gathered here for several days of meetings. A visitor is also here: my father. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since I left home over four years ago. These past few days we’ve taken every chance we could to get away from the others and talk.

Today I initiated him into meditation. We were sitting on a blanket, under a bright sky, getting ready to begin when he started laughing.

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“What makes you laugh in this serious moment?”

He swallowed his mirth and said. “I’m sorry, sonny boy. But the irony is too much. In all truth, I admit I came here to convince you to give up this life, and return to America. But here I am, perched like a holy Hindu, about to acquire the esoteric knowledge from you. I thought I would convince you, but instead, you’ve convinced me.”

Scandinavian zeal

1977. During this period I have been initiating up to 200 persons monthly. An immense amount of new service projects also started, including three free kitchens, a touring art exhibit, a touring drama group, yoga classes in three prisons, two kindergartens, a herb farm, and regular publication of two magazines.

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CHAPTER 8

Personal Contact

Indira and her emergency both finish

March 1977. Indira Gandhi’s “emergency” in India ended today! She over¬ estimated her popularity. She permitted elections to be held and lost by the biggest landslide in Indian history, receiving only a few percent of the vote. Already reports are coming in that all our workers and Margis are being released from jail because Ananda Marga is legal again. They tried to crush us, but our movement has only been strengthened through facing and overcoming their persecution.

Now it only remains for Baba and a few specially accused workers to be released. With the new Janata Party government in power I am hopeful that their cases will soon come up for appeal.

I remember something very interesting. Over two years ago, Baba issued a warning from prison: “After six months a crisis will occur in India. All Margi families should store sufficient cereals and basic necessities to weather a period of two years.”

At the time we all thought He meant an earthquake or war was coming. Six months later Indira Gandhi announced the emergency, and most of the fathers in Margi households throughout India were thrown in jail. The Margi mothers and children were left to fend for themselves. Thanks to Baba’s warning, however, most of them had stored sufficient food for this period, which turned out to last for nearly two years. 37

37 Another story was later told by Brij Bihari through Dada Pranavatmakananda. It happened in 1971, when Brij was Baba’s attendant during the short time that Baba was in the hospital. Whileentering thebathroom, with thedoor still half open, Baba

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Reykjavik, Iceland. Rainjan and Vimala have opened a health food cooperative. This country hardly knows the expression “health food”, and our shop is the first of its kind. Nevertheless, even on its first day, the shop was already full of customers.

The bones of the immoralists will shake

Patna, India. This is now the third time that I’ve been to India since becoming an acharya. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of Margis have visited Baba in Bankipur Prison. 38 Only five or six Dadas from around the world, including me, are on a special prison black-list which does not permit us to enter His cell. Though I’ve applied many times for visiting privileges, the prison authorities always refuse. Twice I’ve met with the prison superintendent, only to receive the same reply.

For some reason we select few are considered dangerous. It’s surely due to the misinformation that commonly fills secret police files. One of our Norwegian Margis was able to gain access to Interpol’s files through the help of a relative who works in Norway’s undercover agent section. When he checked my name he found numerous false statements, including one declaring that I am sending $5000 every month by bank transfer to a revolutionary fund in America. The fact is that I’ve never sent even one penny to America.

Today I decided to appeal directly to the Governor of the State of Bihar. When I arrived at the State Office, I explained that I was a Margi seeking an interview with the Governor.

“The Governor is now out,” the receptionist said, “but I’ll see if you can meet the Vice-Governor.”

She left and came back after a few minutes.

“I’m sorry. Sir. The Vice-Governor is too busy today.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“It won’t be possible,” she said.

nonchalantly said, " I n 1975 our organization will face a severe crisis. Even if you travel miles and miles, you will not meet anyone who will admit to being a M argi. It will be one of the most testing periods of the M arga.’ 1 Without further comment He closed the door. Brij mentioned the episode to several other workers and M argis then, but no one knew what to make of it. 3a Though Ananda M arga was by now legal and again functioning in India, Baba’s case was still not resolved. The new J anata government ordered the courts to retry all cases decided during Gandhi’s rule of martial law. This process was, of course, taking time.

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“Alright, I can wait a few days. Just set the time.” “I’m sorry, sir. Please don’t mind, but he just doesn’t want to meet you.”

I thanked her and walked out. After waiting outside for fifteen minutes, I walked in again. While the receptionist was diverted by another person, I walked by her unannounced.

Because I moved with seeming confidence through the halls of the building, no one questioned me. Having no idea where his office was, I entered one corridor after another until I finally found the proper door. Several people were sitting on a bench, waiting. I joined them without a word.

A few minutes passed, and then the door opened. Someone came out. Before the door closed, I stood up and walked inside.

It was a big room, decorated in rich aristocratic fashion. The Vice- Governor was sitting alone at his desk.

He was clearly surprised to receive a visitor without prior notification.

“How can I help you, sir?” Perhaps because I was a foreigner his tone was respectful.

“I am sorry to disturb you.” I said softly. “I am a Margi seeking permission to visit my Guru, Shri P.R. Sarkar, who is presently in Bankipur Jail.”

He started shaking slightly.

“You should follow the normal channels with the prison authorities,” he said.

“I have already exhausted those. That’s why I came to you.”

“Only the Governor himself can deal with your case. He’s in Delhi, so you can contact him there, please. Thank you, and good bye.”

“In this situation, sir,” I said, “it is you that should call him. Besides, I have information indicating that you have full power in his absence to take such minor decisions.”

“I cannot tolerate your indiscretions,” he said, trembling a bit more. “I absolutely will not make any such decision on your behalf. So please leave.” He pushed twice or thrice a button on his desk.

“Sir, I remind you of the law of karma,” I said. “For every action there is a resulting reaction. So you should be very careful in your dealings regarding Shri Sarkar.”

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Now he was shaking with abandon. “Get out! Get out!” Though he pushed repeatedly on the button, no one disturbed our pleasant conversation.

“Are you familiar, sir, with Ananda Marga’s philosophy and dynamic social work? I think not, and I believe they demand your attention.”

By now he was unable to think rationally. Rather, he was sweating, shivering and madly swatting the button.

The door opened with a bang. Two men rushed in.

“Grab him! Grab him!” the Vice-Governor yelled.

I was standing still, but they jumped on me like I was wild coyote, each one grasping an arm of my dangerous body.

“Take him out! Take him away!”

In a few minutes the three of us arrived at the nearby police station. I sat down while my two captors talked with the police for a minute and then left.

“You’re under arrest,” a policeman said.

“What’s the charge?”

They talked between themselves. Then the same man, clearly the officer in¬ charge said, “We don’t know.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me, then I’ll just be leaving.” I stood up. “No, please,

sir. Wait. We shortly find out charge.” One man went out the door.

After ten minutes he came back, saying, “You charged with attacking Vice- Governor. "

“That’s unmitigated poppycock.” I know that Indians who are uneducated bow their heads to such language. “I didn’t even touch him. I’m going.” I moved toward the door.

“Wait, please wait, sir!” Again the man ran out.

On returning, he said, “Vice-Governor changed charge to threatening attack.”

“Tommyrot and claptrap,” I said. “I was merely discussing philosophy with him. I can’t waste any more time here.” Again I started to leave.

“Wait, sir! Just a minute, please!” They

talked among themselves.

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The officer in-charge gave me a feeble smile. “Charges dropped, sir. Please no mention anyone.”

Just after returning to our Central Office, I ran into three Margi brothers on their way for a visit with Baba. Without mentioning what had just happened to me, I asked them to please pass my namaskar 39 to Him.

Later, coming out of the jail, they told me their story.

They took the trouble to express my regards to Baba, and on doing so, Baba Himself namaskared with His hands, and then said,

“Hmm. Dharmapala… Just see, just see. Though my boys and my girls are not yet perfectly following 16 Points, the immoralists are afraid of them, and literally shake in fear. 40

“But when my boys and my girls really adhere to 76 Points” He continued, “the bones of the immoralists will shake. You understand?”

He jabbed at His own thigh, smiling broadly, saying, “The very bone will shake.”

Samadhi or not?

Having gone to all possible lengths to gain permission from the authorities to meet Baba, I set upon a new plan, a violent one. This time I was determined that nothing would stop me.

Taking permission from the guards, I entered the office of the prison warden. I was well known to him due to my numerous attempts in the past to gain permission. He politely invited me to be seated. One other man was also sitting there.

“I want to tell you, sir,” I said, “that this week I met the Vice-Gover-nor, and he also refused my request to meet Baba. So I’ve decided that if your response to my last-ditch request is negative, then I shall physically thrust you people aside and enter His cell by brute force.” I knew that Baba’s cell was only a few meters away, and that no locked door stood in-between. Out of respect they never locked the door of His cell.

“Sir, sir, you must not think such things. You know I am deeply sorry that I cannot allow you to enter. I would lose my job. I, too, am a devotee of Baba, so please believe me about my limitations.”

39 Namaskar is a hand gesture which means” I respect the divinity within you with my mind and heart”.

40 16 Points is a summary of the most important practices suggested for all M argis.

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“How can you say you’re devoted to Baba? If it were so, then you wouldn’t be afraid to take such a minor risk. You know my heart is breaking to see Him.”

“We here know all too well about Baba’s power and omniscience. But I am helpless due to my duty.”

“This is just a load of nonsense. I am going to break through now.” I started to get up.

“Wait! You don’t understand our realization of Baba.” He turned to the other man. “Doctor, please tell this gentleman about the experience you had the other day.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Usually, I attend Baba every morning at 11:00. But three days ago I was busy all morning and had to delay my visit until 3:00 in the afternoon. When I approached the cell, I got a shock. Baba was sitting in meditation, but He was not sitting on the cot. He was floating about three feet above it! I couldn’t believe my eyes. All my thoughts disappeared, and I stood there, simply staring at him. How much time passed I don’t know. But I slowly became aware that His face was changing. He had become Lord Shiva! Trembling with fear, I ran back to this office.”

“I can attest that he was shaking like a leaf when he dashed in here that day,” said the warden. “I thought he was having an epileptic fit.”

“Well, I don’t care for your explanations or your experiences,” I said. “If you won’t give me permission to enter Baba’s room, then I shall proceed there in my own way.”

lust as I started to rise again, a third man entered the room. The warden turned to me, saying, “Please! Wait at least a moment while I speak to this officer.”

While the warden was occupied, I closed my eyes. Without the slightest effort I dropped into deep meditation. Losing awareness of surroundings, I saw Baba smiling sweetly. He was holding me in His lap. Stroking my head repeatedly, He said, “My dear Dharmapala. There is a very good reason why I am not allowing you to meet Me … a very good reason.”

I became lost in His smile… His voice… the feeling of His soft hand. The next thing I knew, I heard a voice saying, “He’s in samadhi .” I thought, “Who is that? And who is he talking about?” Gradually I remembered where I was. Ah, it’s the warden speaking … speaking about me, I thought.

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I parted my lips, thinking I would say, “No, I’m not in samadhi” But instead of these words, only incoherent mumbles issued from my mouth. I opened my eyes, and tears fell out.

“Wait until you come into normal mood,” the warden said softly. He looked at me with a new gentleness.

A few moments passed while the warden was speaking to the third man. I stood up, and all three of them clearly became apprehensive— on their guard as to what I would do.

“Please reconsider…” the warden started saying to me.

I cut him off by doing namaskar with my hands, and said in a breaking, feathery voice, “It’s…alright…now.”

Almost simultaneously, all three of them dropped their jaws in surprise. They were speechless as I walked out of the office into the outer courtyard.

There in the sunlight stood Baba’s personal assistant together with another Dada. They knew of my intention to somehow get into Baba’s cell today. On seeing my shining, tearful face, they exclaimed, “You’ve seen Baba!”

I didn’t know whether to say “yes” or “no.”

Transcending drugs

Huskvarna, Sweden. Our first three residents moved into our new rehabilitation project today. They are all drug addicts. The city government has given us a free lease on the building with an understanding that we would establish a halfway-house for drug addicts.

We only accept young men who demonstrate an interest to improve themselves. In that case, it is not overly difficult to cure them. Our staff joins them in practicing meditation to gain inspiration and will-power, vegetarianism and fasting to eliminate body toxins, yoga postures to balance the hormones, and social work to provide a sense of personal value. The system appears sound, but the most important ingredient is loving care. Enforcing external discipline has little worth in itself.

A few years ago one of our workers first demonstrated this process by curing some heroin-addicts in Berlin.

Playing with danger — an unsolved riddle

This is my first visit to Bergen, Norway. Last night I stayed in the flat of a brother named Trond, a friend of a friend. He turned out to be

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a bit ‘different’. It was late when I arrived and he was keen to go to bed, so he showed me a couch where I could sleep. Since I never sleep on a soft bed, I instead arranged my blankets on the floor in the comer of his bedroom.

I was sleeping deeply with a cover pulled over my head when something woke me up.

What is this ? I thought. I felt a pressure on my leg, but could not identify its source. Instantly I regained full alertness. Now I was both curious and anxious.

The pressure was relieved, only to be felt again a moment later on my waist.

The oddest thing! I thought. Is it that fellow up to no good? Then, the pressure still against my waist, a second unstable pressure came directly on top of my body.

There’s no mistaking it—surely it’s a person. At first he was walking around me, and now he’s walking on top of me! Whoever it was must not have been expecting anybody to be lying on the floor.

Though it may be my host simply sleep-walking, I thought, it’s more likely a thief moving in the dark. He took another step, this time on my shoulder. I lay there, unmoving, and thought out a quick plan.

Now! I thought, my heartbeat quickening. Quick as a flash, I sat up. simultaneously thrusting the blanket off.

“Uhh!” he exclaimed, clearly shocked that he had been walking on a person. He bucked off of me. I saw his eyes widen in fright as he ran toward the door. Without losing a second, I grabbed my pocket knife from my nearby shoulder bag and dashed after him into the adjacent room.

Our scuffle created quite a noise. My host sat up in his bed. “Hey! What’s this? What’re you doing?”

Instead of replying, I shouted to the thief in the most threatening tone I could muster, “Come out! I know you’re here!” I couldn’t see anyone in the darkness.

“What?” Trond yelled. “Who is it?”

I turned on the light and looked all around. Nobody. But there were only the two rooms. And there was no way he could have gone out the door of the flat.

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“It’s a thief, or something!” I said to Trond who was still sitting in bed.

Holding the knife tightly in my fist, I threw aside the curtains, the chairs, tables, everything the thief might use for cover. Nothing. Nobody.

I was dumbfounded. By now Trond had come into the room. I told him in detail what had happened.

“Do you have any explanation?” I said.

“No. It’s pretty strange. Maybe you imagined it all.”

“Impossible. After feeling his first step, I was wide awake.”

“Odd…”

“What? Did you ever experience something like this before?” “No, no.

Surely not.”

With nothing further to speak about, we awkwardly went back to our respective sleeping places. A few minutes passed.

“Ah, Dada,” he said softly. “In fact something out of the ordinary did happen to me a few nights ago.”

“Tell me.”

“I was fast asleep when I was awakened by someone pressing my body in different places. I threw my blanket off, and saw someone jump away and run into the other room.”

“But that’s exactly what happened to me!”

“Well…I…I don’t know…”

“What do you think it was?”

“No, no, no…”

“What?”

“No. Nothing to speak about. Let’s go to sleep.” He

refused to talk any more.

This morning, while I was doing meditation, Trond left the house.

After meditation I walked into the second room and looked around. Middle- class conservative furniture…a small orderly collection of books…a few slightly gaudy decorative items…and—wait a moment—I looked at the titles of his books: History of the Occult, Science of Magic, Psychic Power Unleashed, Hitler and the Spear of Destiny, Dictionary of Necromancy, and many more titles referring to the black arts. What kind of a person…?

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Surely the fellow was dabbling in occult power. That might explain last night’s phenomena. The being who walked on me last night was not human, not even physical. That’s why he could disappear when I chased him.

It seems my host may have developed some psychic power, though it’s clear he was not in control of that power. He, too, was affected by it. On one hand he didn’t want to talk about it, but on the other hand he wanted help.

Because he did not confide in me, however, and because I have to leave today, it will have to remain an unsolved riddle—at least for now. I could help him, but only if he asks.

Unfortunately there must be countless other people like him, playing with dangerous powers, hardly knowing what they are doing, learning a few spells and concentration techniques and materializing latent forces from their subconscious minds before they have the morality, purity and mental strength to control themselves. What to do? Nothing, except to continue to develop spiritual and social qualities. At the proper time society will need and demand the expression of such God-centered qualities.

Within or without?

Stockholm. After walking alone this afternoon up a small hill rising above the buildings and highways of the city, I sat in a natural boulder garden. Surrounded by urban chaos, this site offered itself as a Tantric oasis. Inspired, I resolved not to budge a muscle during meditation.

About half an hour later, it began to drizzle.

A test, I thought. / shall not move.

The rain grew stronger, until it became a heavy downpour.

I can change my clothes anytime, I thought, but not my mind.

It lasted five or ten minutes, then stopped completely. Again I became aware of the distant sound of cars creating their usual but eerie cosmic wind tunnel effect in my brain. Otherwise the only other sound was the mournful crowing of nearby birds.

My concentration increased until I was no longer conscious of my wetness.

After some time a new, high pitched sound appeared far away, perhaps a kilometer or so. Was it a dog barking faintly? Then a little

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louder—yes, a dog. Somehow that dog seemed to have something to do with me from the moment I heard it. The barking became still louder. I supposed it was coming toward me.

Even if it attacks me, I won’t stir.

Closer and closer the unfriendly bark came. Why? I could not guess. Then it was on my hill, yelping.

He is going to attack. I don’t care. It’s a test. If I’m hurt or killed, it’s Your problem. Baba.

The dog was now almost on me. His barking was so loud and vicious that it hurt my eardrums. He was so near to my face that I could feel the heat of his breath, and its stink also. I sat bolt upright, unmov-ing. My mind flickered back and forth between the thought of my meditation and that of the dog.

A few seconds later, the noise ceased. A pause. Then I heard his feet, as he turned and walked away from me.

Not allowing myself to wonder how or why it happened, my concentration dived inward. I enjoyed the rest of meditation.

When I opened my eyes I looked at my watch. One hour and twenty minutes. I started to rise to my feet, and, what? How could it be? There wasn’t a drop of rainwater to be seen. Everything was bone dry, including my clothing.

Could it be the rain was a figment of my imagination? And the dog also?

I laughed and walked down the hill.

Orebro, Sweden. Every time I receive a circular, a letter, or, like today, a phone call with news from India, I experience the same feelings. First my heart flutters with hope for a positive verdict, then a sinking feeling comes when I find out that there’s been no real progress. Then the agony of longing for Him increases until it becomes a sharp pain in my heart, my face gets hot and a few sighs escape. Finally, I tell myself that there’s nothing to worry about, that He knows exactly what He’s doing, and that it’s all just a drama with so many ups and downs that it only seems like it will never finish, yet it will in fact one day surely come to a happy ending. Then I mentally prostrate to Him, leave everything to Him, and grimly turn back to His work. After a few minutes I’m back to normal, encouraging others, smiling and working with as much zeal as I can muster.

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Unknown to everyone, my normality also includes a constant dull pressure at the back of my skull and in the core of my heart where I bury my yearning to see Him.

Work while working, meditate while meditating

Stockholm. 1978. A few days ago, Dada Krtashivananda arrived from India, full of news. Subconsciously I prepared myself to go through my usual sequence of hope, disappointment and frustration. This time I never made it past hope. Baba’s case is on a steadily rising list of cases to be heard by the court. Something concrete should happen anytime soon. Even as I write this I still feel that nervous flutter of anticipation in my heart.

He was also full of stories. I’ll mention two of them.

The first happened many years ago during a meeting with the margiis:

BABA: Do you all want to hear the Cosmic Sound?

MARGIIS (about twenty): Yes, yes, Baba!

BABA: Do deep meditation now. (After a few minutes silence Baba asked one Margii) What did you hear?

MARGII: I heard the sound of the A um, Baba.

BABA (pointing to others): And you … and you?

OTHER MARGIIS: Yes, Baba … and I… and I…

(One by one, each Margii says he or she heard the cosmic sound A um.)

BABA (pointing to Krtashivanandaji): And what about you, little boy?

KRTASHIVANANDA: I’m sorry, Baba, I didn’t hear anything special.

BABA: Yes. Now you alone, do dhyana (higher meditation). (After a minute) Well, then?

KRTASHIVANANDA: I’m sorry. Baba. I still could not hear anything.

BABA: I told you to do dhyana. Instead, you are thinking of your missionary work. When doing meditation you should not think of work. Now do meditation again. (After another minute) Hmmm?

KRTASHIVANANDA: Yes, Baba. At last I heard the Aum.

BABA: Just see. Just see.

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The other story began with a meeting in which Baba assured all the workers that He would never allow any of them to starve. He promised they would receive at least one meal daily. So, no need to worry.

Krtashivanandaji wanted to secretly test Baba. During a walking journey which took seven days, he maintained silence. He neither carried any food, nor asked anyone. Once each day, however, a different stranger approached him and asked if he needed food. He accepted without saying anything. This happened every day except once—fasting day.

June. Some real news today: Baba’s case has started. The prosecution is presenting its evidence now. Of course, the defense’s arguments will follow.

I can hardly stop thinking about Baba. My mind rolls uncontrollably between states of expectation, anxiety, awe (of His cosmic strategy), a desperate craving to see Him, and, occasionally, little flashes of fear.

It’s Baba’s problem

I called my higher authority today and told him, “Dada, ten of the eleven full- timers in my region want to go for acharya training.” “Very good.”

“So I am planning to send all of them to acharya training this week.” “All

of them?” “Yes. Why not?”

“Are you crazy? If you empty your region of full-timers, all of the work will collapse. Just send two for now. Then perhaps each month you can send another.”

“Look, if Baba wants to help, there’s an local full-timer training session coming up in July. Besides, I thought our most important work is wholetimer creation.”

“That’s right but…”

“And if I delay in sending some of them, they may lose their inspiration.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

“If any problem comes to the region, it’s Baba’s problem. He has to take care. I am sending all these brothers and sisters for Him.”

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“You idiot! I won’t permit you to send them all at once.”

“Dada, excuse me for asking, but is that your suggestion or is that your order?” I asked.

“Well, of course it is not my order. But you’re absolutely not to do it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

I knew that he couldn’t give such an order because creating new wholetimers is our first priority. In this case, I am technically free to make my own decision. Certainly he is right from the standpoint of normal logic. Perhaps I am a fool, but it will be a fine Tantric test for Baba to take care of His own work. I’ll send them all to the Sweden acharya training center as quickly as possible.

July. News from Patna: The defense has started presenting their arguments.

Only You know. Baba, what will happen, what You’ve planned. But I’m sure part of Your plan is to make me mad for You.

Timmern, Germany. The only full-timer left in my region is Dhruvadev, who doesn’t want to become an acharya. As expected, my higher authority was furious. Baba, You have to help.

Today, the new Berlin Sector full-timer training session started here. I am the trainer together with another Dada. It’s a one-month program, and the biggest we’ve ever held. Ninety Margiis are attending. Thirty of them are from Scandinavia. Of course, most of the trainees are only here for the experience. Let’s see how many He inspires to become real full-timers.

Free at last!

Today’s news!!!! What news!!!! It’s the happiest day of my life!!!! Baba is released!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After seven years of imprisonment and over five years of fasting, He is vindicated, absolved of guilt.

The true criminal is Indira Gandhi’s administration. By using deceit, bribery, corruption, intimidation, torture, defamation—what to speak of a total ban against Ananda Marga and imprisonment of all Margiis and workers—Mrs Gandhi and her cohorts have tried their best

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to finish off Baba and Ananda Marga but they have failed miserably. History will document all the steps that the forces of Nature will take against the real sinners. We need do nothing against them, nor can we hate them. Though they are full of negativity, they too are unwitting tools of God’s play.

My beautiful Baba. I still have not physically seen Him. They say He’s withered, emaciated—maintained only by His psycho-spiritual power. Now His fast will finish, and He will surely regain His robust constitution. Clouds cannot long overcast the sun.

And I will see Him at last!!! Like Him, I have also waited these seven years.

(Yes, I’ll go to India. But first I have to finish the local full-timer training session which is going perfectly.)

Guidance from afar

Timmern. 8 August. I’ve been tortured by asthma for many nights. Deep within. I don’t mind. It’s an interesting test. But it’s my duty to try to cure it. so I have experimented with many remedies. Yesterday I even began a cure recommended by our local Margii doctor Sukumar in which I must twice daily cleanse my intestines by drinking my urine. I did it yesterday but found it so repulsive that I discontinued it today. Baba Himself would have to instruct me to undergo this treatment before I would take it up again.

Ten days later. A circular arrived from India, highlighting many new points given by Baba. For me, the most interesting one is that He criticizes Indian Prime Minister Moraji Desai’s daily health-habit of drinking his own urine. Desai often openly declares its curative value. Baba, however, says urine is the most crude substance one can ingest.

The circular is dated 9 August. This means He directly caught my thought, “Baba You have to personally instruct me if You want me to resume this cure.” But instead of telling me to resume it. He forbid it.

Of course there’s no way that news of my experiment could have been conveyed to Calcutta.

[Author’s note: About two years later, I had an experience which paralleled the above one. It also happened in Germany:

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“About two weeks ago the Dadas and Didis came from all over the sector for RDS. To break the tension one evening, a few of us went to a movie. Once there, it was certainly our duty to maximally enjoy ourselves, and eliminate the greatest possible tension. Accordingly, we laughed our heads off.

Little did we know that the local district secretary of Ananda Marga was also present in the same theater. The next day he complained to our higher authority that ‘The Dadas’ behavior was unsuitable for acharyas.’

Today a circular came from India with a few new conduct rules from Baba, including: ‘Acharyas must not go to public movie theaters.’

Without going into details. I’m one hundred percent sure that no one reported our pleasurable evening at the movies to India. Considering that the circular was dated the day afterwards, I believe this is yet another instance of Baba’s sticking His adorably ethereal nose into our personal lives. Having an all-knowing guru has both its advantages and disadvantages.”!

Full-timer training ended today. Congratulations. Baba! You inspired ten of the thirty trainees from Scandinavia to become full-tim-ers-exactly filling the gap created when the previous ones left to becoming acharyas.

Another perfect work by the Mystic Sculptor.

Ten for ten! His blessing is clear: He likes, no. He loves this kind of noble risk.

Before leaving for India, I will place all the new full-timers in the field.

Yes: my flight is booked for India, and this time I will see You. Nothing can stop our meeting now….Unless You play some last minute nasty trick. Don’t You dare do that. Baba! Not this time, please.

Having fun with a bad man

Copenhagen. After we finished kiirtan and began group meditation this evening, I felt something evil in the air. Though I had never stood up during group meditation before, today I made an exception. I quietly walked into the front room which serves as our cooperative restaurant and community center. Mainjula was sitting there.

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“Did anything strange happen just now, Mainjula?” I whispered. “No,

Dada…”

“Have you been completely alone?”

“Well, a man came in. He looked around for a couple of minutes, and left just before you came in.” “Who was he?”

“I don’t know his name. He was Indian and has been here a few times before. He has a mustache, and…”

“I know,” I interrupted. “I’ve seen him several times recently. He’s thin, has a sharp chin, and beady eyes which he shifts around as he speaks. He expresses an exaggerated interest in meditation and yoga though he’s never tried to learn.”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“What was he doing just now?”

“Nothing.”

“He must be a very bad man. His very vibration strongly disturbed my meditation. If you ever see him again, please tell me.”

Two days later. This morning I was so late for my Aeroflot flight to Moscow that the plane had to be delayed a few minutes only for me. Who could believe that I would be late for a flight that was taking me directly to Baba. But there was so much to take care of before I left. I had to be either responsible and late, or irresponsible and on-time. Does He always have to make such last minute dramas?

Once they rushed me aboard, the stewardess escorted me directly to my seat.

With all the hurry, I didn’t notice the passenger sitting next to me until I had already put on my seat belt—it was the same Indian man who had disturbed my meditation two days ago. I was astonished, but immediately understood the connection. Surely he was a member of the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation in India) with instructions to follow me. How could he be foolish enough to reserve a seat next to mine?

D amn, I thought. Is this yet another of Baba’s tricks to keep me from seeing Him?

“Nice to see you again,” he said with a derisive smirk on his face.

“Where are you going?” I asked politely.

“To Dethi, of course.”

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“What takes you to Delhi?”

“To meet my family. And where are you going?” He was still wearing the same arrogant grin. Confident that I was also going to Delhi, he no longer had anything to hide—in contrast to these last days during which he had shadowed me in Copenhagen.

“To Dacca,” I said bluntly, staring at him. The look on his face abruptly turned to bewilderment when he realized that he had miscalculated.

“And though I appreciate your recent concern for my security,” I continued, “I can’t figure out what you hope to find out from me. Nevertheless, you’ll have to excuse me because my curiosity is less than my repulsion for this kind of game.”

I stood up and moved to another seat. Something tells me this man may soon lose his job. But it’s not my duty to look after his security.

Personal contact

Calcutta. Oh, Lord, my heart pounded as I waited for You upstairs in the Jodhpur Park office. Would You be like my dreams? Would You smile as I’d imagined? How would You treat me? What would You say? They said You would come soon-now, what delays You? After waiting seven years, seven minutes was agony.

Thirty workers lined up in the corridor. Some gossiped or hummed a tune. But not a sound could pass my lips; nothing could enter my mind except the thought of You; my heart wept, jumped, ached…

“Parampita Baba ki jai! Victory to Baba!” Suddenly-there You were! Alive. Breathing. Walking towards me. Not a vision or a dream this time. You took over my eyes, my mind. Every muscle, every nerve leaned toward You as You moved down the silent row. Oh, God! That for which I was bom-fulfilled. If, in that moment I had died, and fallen at Your feet I would have been satisfied.

You gave me a passing glance. You saw me. I was stunned. I didn’t need that, but You gave it. Everything which follows in my life will be like toys for an infant already suckling its mother’s breast.

You walked into Your room. The door closed. I remained-a puppet with a head full of sawdust.

Then excitement, voices echoing meajun A essly down the corridor, one sound pierced through the din: ‘Those who have not yet had Per-

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sonal Contact, come here." I drifted toward Dada Ramananda, Baba’s personal assistant. Only Indian workers and full-timers were around him.

“What, you?” he said to me. “You haven’t had Personal Contact yet?”

“No, Dadaji.”

“All these years?” Without another word he turned sharply, opened Baba’s door, and went in.

Within seconds he reappeared, grabbed my shoulders, and shoved me through the door. “Go in!” I stumbled, and caught myself while the door shut behind me.

I looked up. You sat alone on Your bed, smiling. I threw myself at Your feet, extending my arms until I was an arrow piercing the target.

“Sit up, my boy.” You spoke to me! Was I dreaming? Tears began to flow from my eyes. Oh, what would You say now? I had waited seven years—Baba!

“What is your name, my boy?” What—was this a joke? You knew not only my name, but everything, everything about me, more than I knew about myself.

I smiled and said. “Dharmapala, Baba.” How silly.

“And what is your posting?”

Oh, come to the point. Baba, I thought. Talk to me personally, not like someone You never met!

Again I smiled. “Regional Secretary of Stockholm and Oslo Regions, Baba.”

“Acha. You know you made some mistakes in your past.”

I smiled, saying, “Yes, Baba.” Now, surely You would go into detail about my personal history.

But no. It was not to be. A few minutes passed, some more words about correcting myself, about becoming a model for others. Threatened punishment with Your stick, the stick whistling through the air, and stopping just before touching me. An oath. Formalities—all formalities.

Finished. Again I lay at Your feet, and then left.

I had waited seven years for You to ask me my name and my posting? My heart sank. I am nothing special to Baba, I thought. The blood rushed to my head. Did I only imagine His greatness all these years?

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Dumbfounded. I stood again outside Your door, but this time there was doubt. Doubt—ugly and dark.

But I had little time to brood. Ramanandaji went inside Your room, then came out quickly and said, “Personal Contact is finished today. Get ready for darshan.”

Darshan-to see: a time when all were invited to see You, or be seen by You. We all rushed up to the roof.

Already about 200 people were sitting there. Following no one’s example, I moved to the front, and sat immediately in front of Your sofa.

Why had You talked like that to me? I felt cheated. Okay my work has been for humanity. But it was also to please You. And You didn’t care. I’m just another piece from Your toolbox.

You came and sat down. We danced kiirtan in front of You.

Still I’ll try to please You. Baba.

We danced, we sang, we sat down, and You began speaking.

And then, what? You looked deep within me. Your eyes twinkled. Your lips turned in a smile, You put Your hand to my face. You gently pinched my cheek, saying, “Yes, yes. And what do you say, my little boy?” I was speechless, smiling back. You lightly slapped my face lovingly.

Ecstasy!

I am special to Him! He loves me!

If my smile had been any bigger, my face would have broken.

You went on talking. Glancing at me again and again. And again You pinched me and lightly slapped me.

Though hundreds of others were there, we might as well have been alone. This time You were personal to the extreme. Oh, Baba!

You left. Again I was baffled, but this time it was sweet chaos. Why do You play such games? Clearly You love me. But in the Personal Contact itself. You said nothing interesting, and did nothing memorable. Afterward, only afterward. You were so loving, beyond my imagination. Why?

Slowly I began to understand. Personal Contact is spiritual. Purely spiritual. It doesn’t matter what happens experientially. Experience is not spiritual, it is mental. You did what You wanted during the Personal Contact. It will have exactly the proper unique effect on me, unrelated to either understanding or misunderstanding.

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And I know—You want me to tell others that Personal Contact is purely spiritual. Not to expect anything. You will do only what is necessary to deepen our consciousness, which is beyond any objective phenomena. My head spins. My samskaras rise up, dance, and accelerate to the speed of life.

You—Tantra Gum—You care only for that spirituality.

And You pinched me. You slapped me—why?—just to please me. You already did what You wanted—and then You did what I wanted.

You clever One. I… love … You. 41

His magic stick

It seems that all of history’s great Tantrics had to undergo either great suffering or great austerities. Buddha lived as an ascetic and later fasted for forty days. Krishna was born in jail and persecuted throughout much of his life. Jesus embraced poverty, was tormented throughout the years of his missionary work, and underwent the harshest torture on the cross. 7000 years ago, the first known Tantric guru, Shiva, had the habit of thrashing his leading disciples with a burning stick.

Baba is no different. After seven years in prison, a poisoning that would have killed anyone else, and more than five years of fasting. He has picked up the work of building His mission and running the organization as if He had merely gone out for a walk, and like Shiva He is a fierce disciplinarian.

[Author note: Before I explain about today’s reporting session with Baba, I want to write a little introductory material. Two or three years

41 The diary refers to samskara. For every action there is a reaction. Until the reaction occurs, the unexpressed reaction awaits expression. This unexpressed reaction is termed samskara. Sooner or later it must be expressed. Every thought is also an action, and is like a seed sown in the mind, changing the mind from its original equilibrium. A reaction is needed to return to that equilibrium. When the mind’s balance is disturbed, an opposite expression of an equivalent quantity of energy is thus required. If there is a delay in time," equivalent quantity’ 1 takes that into account, and often requires a greater suffering or pleasure in order to balance the original disturbance. It is something like interest accrued in a bank account over time. Due to psychic suppression or repression, a person may have difficulty expressing samskaras. One may have mental blocks or fear. This causes a slowing down of spiritual development. Such blocks are to some extent inevitable in every person because of our human weaknesses. Because the very presence of Baba caused a strong stir in everyone’s mind, M argis and workers always experienced an increase in the speed of expression of their samskaras just after seeing Baba. This was especially true when one had personal contact.

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before I joined Ananda Marga, I began reading spiritual books. One of the first was the biography of Milarepa, the most famous Tantric in the history of Tibet. Milarepa’s guru, Marpa, severely tested him even before giving him initiation. The guru alternated between ignoring him, treating him brutally, and making fun of him. Milarepa was ordered to build a house of stones. This back-breaking work took him many months. When he completed it, the guru ridiculed him, and told him to build it again in a different way and in a different spot. This happened six times. Besides treating Milarepa severely, the gum even pre¬ tended to be dmnk. Finally Milarepa’s despair overcame him. Fie left his gum and went to another teacher. A few days later he realized his mistake, returned to his gum, begged forgiveness, and pleaded for the initiation. The gum replied, “If only you had built one more house, your ego would have shmnk to the proper size. You would have burned most of your karma. After initiation you would have achieved liberation within a short time. Now I am forced to give you initiation, but you will have to practice meditation and austerities for many years to get your self-realization.”

For the next years, Milarepa lived in below-freezing conditions without clothing, ate no food except nettle soup, and practiced long meditation in lonely mountain caves. During this time, his gum died. Milarepa persisted until he achieved his goal. Fie then gradually created a large school of disciples. In his later life, though he underwent painful diseases which were said to be beyond the endurance of normal human beings, he was always in a blissful mood.

From that young age I understood the spiritual path gradually demands greater and greater commitment. The goal is reached only if one is prepared to sacrifice everything for God.

Tantric scriptures specify that a hue gum’s relationship with a disciple must swing according to need from strictness and strong punishment to intimacy and affection.

There are similarities to this concept in many traditions having elements of Tantra. Both Chinese and Japanese Zen owe their origins directly to Tantra. One of the most renown Zen masters. Linji Yixuan (in Japanese: Rinzai), who lived in the 9th century, was famous for using anger to awaken his disciples. He said, “Sometimes a shout is like the precious sword of the Diamond King; sometimes a shout is

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like a golden-haired lion that creeps forward in a crouch; sometimes a shout is like a lure stick with a tuft of grass dangling on the end; sometimes a shout is not used as a shout at all.”

Ekido was a particularly severe teacher. His pupils feared him. One of them on duty, striking the gong to tell the time of day. missed his beats when his eye was attracted by a beautiful girl passing the temple gate. At that moment Ekido, who was directly behind him, hit him with a stick and the shock happened to kill him. Ekido’s attitude remained absolutely unchanged by this incident. After this took place, he was able to produce under his guidance more than ten enlightened successors, a very unusual number.

Of course, I do not condone such a killing, and rather consider that it may have been due to Ekido’s carelessness. I simply mention it to demonstrate that harshness from the side of the teacher is a normal technique, and does not necessarily indicate a loss of control. As far as I know. Baba’s punishments never produced any permanent harm.

Yet another example concerns the master Inzan, who showed no distinction to his disciple Gisho on account of her sex. He scolded her like a thunderstorm. He cuffed her to awaken her inner nature. After her enlightenment, Inzan wrote a poem in her honor:

This nun studied thirteen years under my guidance.

In the evening she considered the deepest koans.

In the morning she was wrapped in other koans.

The Chinese nun Tetsuma surpassed all before her.

And since Mujaku none has been so genuine as this Gisho!

Yet there are many more gates for her to pass through.

She should receive still more blows from my iron fist.

Now I turn back to Baba. There are many stories about His reporting sessions, the countless displays of His spiritual power and love, and the punishment He metes out to His workers. A reporting session with Baba is always something extraordinary. For those who never experienced it, no words can adequately describe it. From the organizational standpoint, it serves as an occasion for Baba to examine our work output, and give guidance for improvements. More significantly, it is a time for us to be close to our guru, and for Him to stir into our hearts

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whatever spiritual ingredients we need. Part of His method for doing this involves stimulating different emotions in us, like shame, fear, love, anger, anxiety and compassion. His techniques for doing this change constantly and continuously. All of our work targets are difficult and often impossible, thus giving Baba plenty of opportunity to isolate the real causes for our failures. And those causes are always psychic weaknesses. In one way or another, by subtle indirect methods, He brings out these weaknesses, and then helps us to overcome them.

I want to add something more still about Baba’s incomparable ability to alternatively love and scold us. For this purpose I take the liberty to quote from an article by Dada Sarveshvarananda, a previous General Secretary. He writes:

Baba was as strong as thunder in dealing with evil or immoral actions on the one hand, and as tender as a flower bud in dealing with righteous or moral actions on the other. Actually, I never felt Baba’s anger was in any sense like that of an ordinary person. Usually if someone loses his temper, his blood pressure rises, his face turns red and he loses all mental equilibrium. But Baba was always in control of Himself. He would show anger and displeasure to make us realize our faults and goad us on towards inner and outer perfection. I always felt that He was playing a role with His anger for us because, in the next moment. He could be light-hearted again — laughing and making us laugh…. Truly, we were not so unnerved by His anger as one might expect. Even though that anger blew through us like a devastating storm, we knew that soothing rainfall was sure to follow. The severity of the prolonged reproofs and condemnation we had to face during our reporting sessions, pierced through our minds like arrows and made us completely heartbroken. We would then be hopelessly rejected. But when the reporting was over, He would change completely. He would call us and shower loving caresses and sweet, calming words on us. This love, this affection, was so sublime and touching that all the humiliation, dejection and agonies we were experiencing a moment before were instantly gone. … Baba once said to me, “No matter how high a position a person attains, he or she will always need a strict guardian to answer to for his or her deeds — good or bad — who will give him or her proper guidance in life’s journey. That guardian will

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also be a perennial source of inspiration. That is why I have a responsibility to be very strict in my discipline and duties. But it is not my real nature. My responsibilty compels me, against my wish, to be harsh with you.” Infinite affection was His real nature. What we saw in the way of anger and fury was nothing but a camouflage to an inner ocean of love and affection for all….

Further, here’s a story of Dada Tapeshvarananda:

In 1984 I was a Central worker. During a few days that the General Secretary was absent, I had the duty to give most of the reports to Baba. In the collective sessions. Baba gave me terrible punishment, as if the whole blame of the organization’s defects was mine.

After one punishment I felt so wounded, both physically and mentally, that I wanted to distance myself from Him. I decided I would-not sing Prabhat Samgiit, and that I would do only organizational work, since that was all He seemed to care about.

So that night when Baba returned from fieldwalk, I intentionally avoided Him. and was not there for singing together with everyone else. I heard that Baba asked, “Where is Tapeshvarananda?”

Someone answered, “Baba, he was just here, but maybe he is busy somewhere.”

After eating His dinner. He called me. I could not avoid, and had to go to His room. I did not look at Baba, and kept my eyes down while I answered His questions.

He asked, “How did you like that song I gave yesterday, Tumi amar dhyaner dhyeyol Did you learn it?” I was silent.

“You cannot remember?”

“No, Baba, I did not learn it.”

“Whatever you remember, even one or two lines, you sing.” Then I could not control my tears, and started crying. I said, “Baba, I did not learn the song, I cannot remember any line.” “Why?” I could not reply.

He said. “You see, I understand, you may feel that I only punish you. I only torture you. But you don’t understand that when I am punishing you. my inner intention is not to torture you. but to purify you. You may feel externally that it is torture, that it is humiliation. But spiritual purification comes after suffering, torture and humiliation.

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“The main enemy on the spiritual path is ego, and ego can be powedered only through these three processes of suffering, torture and humiliation. You may feel bad, but you don’t know how happy I am when I see that you are successfully passing all these sufferings and tortures, because bliss and the supreme Ananda comes only after that. Ultimately in the spiritual world, nothing is suffering. There is only you moving toward the spiritual bliss.

“Do you know why I asked you about that song? The last line says, ‘I am weeping. Is that what You want? If that gives You pleasure, then I will go on weeping only for You.”’

So after this big build-up about Baba’s stricness, let’s turn to what really happened today:J

I had heard stories about reporting sessions before Baba, the punishment He metes out to his workers and the countless displays of His spiritual power and love; today I had my first real taste during a session with the education department.

The drama went as follows:

GENERAL SECRETARY [GS]: How many schools were started last month in your region?

RANCHI REGIONAL SECRETARY. Three, Dada.

BABA: Why only three? How many of your diocese secretaries are present here?

REG. SECY.: Four, Baba.

BABA (frowning and squinting): Then why not four schools? Nonsense, rascal. Who is the worker that didn’t start a school?

DIOCESE SECRETARY (stepping forward uneasily): Myself, Baba.

BABA: Is there any justification for such gross inefficiency?

DIO. SECY, (stammering): I try…tried my my best. Baba.

BABA: Tried! Stupid. One does or does not do. To sincerely try is to do. So no need to keep the word try in your dictionary. Ranchi regional secretary, come forward! (The reg. secy, steps in front of Baba.) Due to your inadequate supervision, this jewel-of-a-boy’s potentiality was not fully utilized. Hands up! (The reg. secy, lifts both arms straight up.) Animal! Only eating and sleeping! (Baba hits His stick against his side. The reg. secy, jumps up involuntarily.) Wasting your time and

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misguiding your workers.(Baba beats a him bit more, as the reg. secy, mutters “Baba Baba” and leaps from side to side.)

DIO. SECY, (moving closer to Baba): No, don’t beat him, Baba! It’s my fault.

BABA (pausing with the stick and speaking in a calm, dignified manner): No. it’s not your fault. It is due to your supervisor. (He turns to the reg. secy, and strikes him again.) Idiot, lazy fellow!

REG. SECY, (speaking to the dio. secy.): Say something concrete!

DIO. SECY.: Baba, I’ll start a school within one month.

BABA (hits the reg. secy, again): One month! One month! Do you think that the suffering humanity can wait for such listlessness and lethargy?

DIO. SECY.: One week. Baba! I’ll start the school within one week! BABA (halting with the stick): Did you hear what the boy said, GS? GENERAL SECY: Yes, Baba. He said he will start a school in one week.

BABA (taking out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from His brow): Yes, take a note. If a school is not started within one week, then further measures will be required.

REG. SECY.: Baba, I will properly supervise him.

BABA: Yesss…

Surely most people would be horrified to see such a display of anger and force. But I was full of inspiration. Here was a man-making guru, capable of molding His disciples for the benefit of society.

After leaving the room, the RS joked and laughed, his face suffused with joy, though the marks of the stick were still visible. It made me even more curious to know the inner effect of His stick.

Later I got a chance to ask one senior worker how everyone tolerated Baba’s abuse. He said. “We know from Tantra’s long tradition that the guru has the responsibility to uplift his disciple from animal-life to warrior-life to divine- life. To achieve this, the guru’s behavior will have to fluctuate between extremely bitter and extremely sweet. And it varies for each disciple.

“More importantly. Baba instructed us how to deal with subordinate workers. He said that for every ten parts of strictness we use, we must give at least eleven parts of love. In His case I feel like all the

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strictness He employs cannot compare with His boundless love. Baba’s existence is only for us. He does nothing for Himself. It doesn’t matter if someone else believes I’m right or wrong about Baba, because that’s my daily experience. That’s why no amount of severe punishment can shake my relationship with Him.”

After the Dada left I remembered a story I had heard about Swami Shivananda. One of his disciples once asked him a question, “Guruji, your teaching is beautiful for all of us who are practicing yoga and meditation. Your mission also benefits thousands of sick people who come to our medical clinics. But what about the rest of the human society, the millions and billions who suffer from poverty, ignorance and injustice? Can you not do something for them? Can you not please guide us to help the entire society?”

Shivanandaji answered, “We must only help the rest of suffering humanity indirectly. To serve them directly would require a vast organization which would crumble under its own weight. My workers would quarrel with each other and destroy whatever was created. No, I am not the man to do that work.”

I believe that Baba’s greatest contribution to history is the creation of a Tantric organization to serve the entire human society, an organization based on renunciate workers. Because renunciates prefer to live outside of normal social disciplines, the subtlest psychology is required in training us. More importantly, we have to overcome our petty differences. We have to move together as one great family. For this purpose. Baba belittles our egos by chastising us, and encourages our souls to unfold by loving us.

Awakening latent qualities

I did not have to wait long for my own personal experience. Today I, too, felt the touch of His stick. BABA: What is your post?

ME: Regional Secretary, Stockholm and Oslo Regions, Baba.

BABA: How many new kindergartens or primary schools did you open in the last one month?

ME (feeling very proud): Two kindergartens. Baba.

BABA: And in that same period how many permanent welfare centers did you start?

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ME: Ah, none. Baba.

BABA: Do you think the number is adequate? ME:

No, Baba.

BABA: Are you proud of your work? ME:

No, Baba.

BABA: Should we all praise you? ME: No,

Baba. You should punish me.

BABA: Yes, you deserve punishment. Hands up! (I raise my hands. Baba strikes me on my right side. I am surprised by the intensity of the pain and jump slightly.) Are you properly utilizing your time as a worker?

ME: No, Baba. (As He goes on hitting, I involuntarily think. Baba loves me. He is doing this only because He cares for me. Both my mind and body settle down as I look into His eyes. Instead of reflecting anger, those eyes are compassionate.) I will do better, Baba, much better.

BABA: What does he say, GS?

GENERAL SECRETARY: He says he will do much better. Baba. BABA (switching over to hitting me on my left side): This reply is not sufficient.

ME (Though the pain is real, I feel my mind diving deeper into Him.): I shall work every second of every minute, Baba. (More blows) I will not think for my own petty self. I will become an ideal man.

BABA (turning the edges of His mouth upward, His cheeks dimpling): GS, he does want to be a good boy. Yes. (Waving His stick toward the side of the room) Go, stand there on the side.

I went and joined the Dadas who had already received treatment. Amazingly, the intense pain was almost completely gone. Rather, I was feeling overwhelmed with the strong desire to serve humanity to my utmost capacity. And my affection for Baba was so strong that it seemed to be physically pressing out against my breast.

Right, not wrong

Mahindra used to serve as one of Baba’s bodyguards. When he heard that I had just begun to experience the stick, he told me a story from the time that Baba was in jail:

My old friend, Awadhanath Prasad begged me to arrange a meeting with Baba. He told me he had done something bad with a lady who

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worked in fields under his supervision. He had committed other sins too.

When we entered His cell, Baba immediately yelled at Awadha- nath, “Why did you come? Animal, pig!”

“I came due to Mahindra.”

“Mahindra, why did you bring this nasty boy?”

“Baba, please help him.”

“Bring me my stick.”

I looked around cell but I couldn’t find Baba’s stick, so I borrowed the constable’s and gave it to Baba. Right there in front of prison guards, Baba beat Awadhanath. Then He told him to rub his nose on floor, which he did until it bled.

Afterward, when we went outside, the CID [Central Intelligence Department! wanted Awadhanath to file a case against Baba for beat-ing him but he refused. “He is my guru! What He did was right, not wrong!”

After that he became a completely pure and exemplary man. He now spends all his spare time doing social service.

Power comes from difficulties

Margiis and workers are present from all over the world. Just think! When Baba was arrested in December, 1971, there were Margiis in only five countries. Now, seven years later, Ananda Marga is active in over eighty countries.

The Tantric guru and his disciples always gain power from their difficulties. Every effort made by the Gandhi regime to destroy Ananda Marga eventually resulted in strengthening our mission.

This reminds me of two statements Baba made while still in prison. The first was during the emergency rule, when He was convicted by a kangaroo court and sentenced to life imprisonment. In that seemingly darkest of moments. He turned to His attorney, smiled, and wrote on His message board: “Now the tables will turn.” 42 Soon after, Indira Gandhi lost her power, and our workers and Baba were vindicated.

The other occurred at the end of the emergency, when the ban against Ananda Marga was lifted and our workers were released from

42 For many months during His imprisonment, due to the after-effects of his poisoning, Baba was unable to speak; H e communicated by writing.

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jail. Many of them had undergone great suffering. This was especially true of those who the authorities had physically and psychically punished in an effort to obtain written denunciations of Ananda Marga. Baba’s comment at that time was “The workers have passed through the blazing crucible. Their iron has been forged into steel. Previously they (Gandhi and others) believed Ananda Marga to be a dangerous baby snake. Now, thanks to them, it has become a fully grown snake.”

Stockholm. After working as the Scandinavian regional secretary for nearly three years, I have now been transferred. My posting is to a section which previously did not exist outside of India: Volunteers Service Department or SD. Today I begin my duties as the European Chief Secretary of SD. The programs of SD include physical social services for the needy, survival training, security, relevant higher philosophy, and training in basic service-skills such as first aid. Among the means for providing this training are weekend SD camps, which also encourage collective discipline and unity through group exercises. In addi¬ tion to all of this is a sub-section called Spiritualists’ Sports and Adventures Club.

I think I’m going to enjoy this new job.

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CHAPTER 9

Kapalika Meditation

Avadhuta

Calcutta. Today I was informed that Baba is considering my application to become an avadhuta. 43 What is the meaning of avadhuta! Ancient scriptures give the following differing descriptions:

• Avadhutas and avadhutikas have given up lust for worldly things; their speech is simple and straightforward, and they always live in the present.

• Though their bodies may be smeared with dust, their minds are always pure. Even if they do not care much for meditation or concentration, they are always in the state of Cosmic Thought.

43 Since becoming acharya, I had been working as a brahmacarii, i.e. a monk who teaches the six basic lessons of meditation. I had not yet learned a higher Tantric meditation, called kapalika , which is taught only by Baba directly. This meditation is performed in a graveyard or cremation ground between the hours of midnight and 3:00 AM , at least once monthly during the time of the new moon. The eerie, death-shrouded atmosphere helps to manifest one’s latent fears and baser instincts while the lonely silence encourages deep concentration. By this practice, the aspirant rapidly gains control over the lower self. At this time, Baba also gives the initiation which follows the brahmacarii stage, called avadhuta (or avadhutika for Didis). In Ananda M arga, the brahmacarii wears an orange shirt, orange turban, and a white lungi (sarong) or pants, while the avadhuta wears an orange turban, orange shirt and orange lungi. The uniform is a compromise with the pressing need of modern society for such workers: historically an avadhuta was a naked yogi covered only by ashes, unattached to pleasure and pain, and rarely, if ever, was seen in society.

In India, the word Kapalika is much misunderstood. M any people believe it refers to black- magic left-hand Tantrics who appear totally wild: drinking wine, eating human flesh, engaging in sexual rituals, and so on. It is nothing other than an injustice to the Tantric tradition when people act in thisway and claim to bekapalikas.

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• They have given up thoughts concerned with solid, liquid, luminous, aerial or ethereal factors. They do not fear death, nor are they controlled by the darkness of ego.

• They are free from all worldly fetters. Their lives are pure from beginning, middle, to end. They always remain in the state of bliss.

• They have no attachment, even for such qualities as patience and courage. They worship neither Shiva (Consciousness) nor Shakta (Primal Energy), but remain absorbed in the ideation of Brahma (infinite God), like a second Maheshvara (a name of Shiva, father of Tantra).

During the seven years of Baba’s imprisonment no worker became avadhuta because the initiation required privacy. Furthermore, in the seven thousand years since Shiva founded the Tantric cult no non-Asian has learned the kapalika practice. Thus something special, something new, is in the works.

The test

Four of the candidates being considered by Ftim are non-Indian. He called us individually into His room. We were told that He would test our readiness for the kapalika training.

It was different than any test I’ve undergone. I’ll explain only part of it.

He called me first. As with Personal Contact, I was alone with Him. But whereas before He sat in a comfortable unassuming posture, this time He was erect, permeated by an intense transcendentality (how else to describe that mood?). As He spoke, the images He described became as real as the room itself.

“You are in the cremation ground in the dead of the night…” He said, a fire burning in His eyes, “everything hides behind a blanket of darkness … vultures flap their wings… a muggy breeze shivers your spine… from some unknown comer echoes ‘hooot… hooot… hooot’—will you be afraid?”

“No, Baba.”

“Very good,” He brought His solemn face close to mine. “And if you plunge deep, deep down into silence … only leaves minutely rustling in the breath of shadows … your heart beats slowly … slowly … slowly … when suddenly! what hey? scores of faces, nay, skulls are all upon you! raining like arrows on your head! scowling, grating their teeth, hissing, wailing!—will you be afraid?”

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“No, Baba.”

“Very good. But, then, how will my boy react if I tell him to take off his clothes and move in the streets without inhibition? Will he do it?” “Yes, Baba.”

“Then, go and do it. Now.”

Immediately without a flick of hesitation, I stood up and started for the door. As my hand reached the door handle. He said, “Stop!” I turned and faced Him.

“Very good. Very good. Now tell me … how many blades are in that fan?”

In that moment nothing could have been more strange than such a common question! I looked up at the ceiling-fan—the blades turned lazily, barely merging into each other. I tried to count them.

“I think…there maybe three. Baba.”

“You think, or you know?”

“I…I…think, Baba.”

“The answer is wrong. You should have said. Baba, may I turn the fan off so that I can properly count the blades?’”

I laughed, while He smiled broadly. The “test” was finished.

He placed His hand on my head, then I embraced Him, and reluctantly left, an extraordinary energy vibrating through every vertebrae of my spine.

Next day. We four were given the thick “Senior Acharya Diary” today and told to copy it. After doing so, we must pass the senior acharya exam, another prerequisite before receiving kapalika initiation. For various reasons the time is short, so there’s no time for sleep until the copying is finished. Then we will have to cram for the exam.

Two days later. It was 4:00 a.m., and we were immersed in the endless copying. Dada J dropped his pen, and still mindlessly went on writing with his finger. A little later when he fell off his chair, his shocked expression made us split our sides laughing.

Two days later. I am in the biggest hurry, because I, alone among the four, must attend a workers’ meeting in Delhi on the 11th. Before that I must pass the exam, which covers not only the material in the

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diary (which I finally finished copying today), but also all the material in Baba’s book Yogic Treatment, and advanced spiritual and social philosophy. I started taking the test today, but the examiner failed me right away because I had not memorized any of the Sanskrit shlokas in the diary. There are forty shlokas, each having at least four lines. I wonder how I can manage it.

Next day. So far I have only been able to memorize seven shlokas. So I failed again. My mind seems blocked. Perhaps it’s due to exhaustion.

Next day. This morning my mind inexplicably shifted into cosmic gear. Within forty minutes I had memorized the remaining thirty-three shlokas. I was amazed, having never before experienced this sort of phenomenal mental power.

The examiner, however, didn’t seem surprised. After passing me on the shlokas, he went on to the other subjects, and one by one I passed them.

In the evening. Dada Tadbhavananda (a senior worker) who was scheduled to fly with me to Delhi came to the room and spoke to the examiner.

“You’ve got to pass this boy quickly or we’ll miss our flight.”

“Don’t try to pressure me,” said the examiner nonchalantly. “Now finally let’s turn to C aryacarya. " u

“What!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know we’d be examined on Caryacarya. How about just forgetting it, Dadaji?” I hadn’t studied the book at all.

“I won’t make exceptions for anyone.”

Suddenly the electricity went out.

“Someone find some candles,” the examiner said.

We all searched around, but couldn’t find any.

“Hey, you’ve got to pass him now!” said Tadbhavanandaji to the examiner.

“Nothing doing.”

A few minutes passed, and still no candle appeared. “For God’s sake,” yelled Tadbhavanandaji, “we’ve got to leave this minute for the airport!”

44 Caryacarya isa book on social and spiritual functions

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“Alright…” said the examiner, grudgingly. “Give me your diary.”

I gave him the book and heard him scratch his signature in the dark.

A few seconds later the electricity came on again, just as suddenly as it had gone out. Our eyes blinked in the bright light.

" Victory to Baba!” roared Tadbhavanandaji. “Baba’s grace. The taxi’s waiting!”

Yes, it was a novel sort of grace that made the lights fail instead of me.

A special kind of attention

Delhi. Although it was only two months since I last saw Baba, it seemed like two eons. I had an extreme desire to see Him again. Because there were only about fifteen persons this morning when He walked into the room to give His talk, it seemed almost a private audience.

He sat in the chair which was immediately in front of me. We all sat on the floor looking up at Him expectantly. He gazed at each of us before speaking, with one exception: me.

B aba, look at me, I thought. But He did not.

Instead He started speaking. Usually while speaking He rarely looks at anyone. But this morning He smilingly turned His face right and left, melting each heart with His affectionate and highly personal glances.

But He didn’t look at me.

Why? I thought. Did I do something wrong?

Although He spoke in English, I was so perturbed by His behavior that I couldn’t understand a single word. His tender, doe-like eyes rested momentarily on each and every face, but when He turned His gaze toward the center, He either lowered or raised His eyes just when He was about to look at me.

I Ve done some horrible sin, I thought. The anxiety made my head warm.

Perhaps… perhaps it was those harsh words to my office secretary? No, no—that wasn’t very serious. Perhaps it was because I ate sweets unnecessarily? Ah, but He hardly cares for that…

It went on and on: everyone thrilling to the play of His eyes, His refusing to look at me, and my speculations continuing to bubble, heating my spine, tensing my body. What great offense had I committed in these last two months? My thoughts tripped over each other, trying to find the answer. Though the air wasn’t hot, and everyone was comfortable in the fan’s breeze, I was sweating and shaking, feeling hotter and

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more confused with each passing moment. My thinking galloped at such a pace that it went out of control. My head burned and my heart ached as I stared at this indifferent Baba, tears coming out of my eyes, wondering, wondering.

Suddenly a single thought burst out through the forest of confusion (and these were the exact words): That H e ignores me is in itself a special kind of attention.

Before the meaning of this sentence could even register in my brain, Baba interrupted His speech, sharply swiveled His head around, turned His face directly toward mine, and smiled. I distinctly heard Him say, “Yes,” though His lips didn’t form the word. He kept His eyes glued on mine for a long moment—perhaps five or ten seconds.

Gradually the significance of His message sunk into me, and I smiled back, mentally telling Him. Oh it’s beautiful, Baba. Thank you. By the time He resumed His speech, my soul was swimming in relief and joy.

After Baba left the room, several of the workers and Margis who noticed what had happened came to me, and asked, “Why did Baba treat you like that today?”

I told them what I had experienced, then added, “As to why I was graced with this lesson today, I don’t know. But I hope to remember forever that when I’rn feeling alone and neglected, even then, especially then. He is giving me exactly what I need.”

Dada Shraddhananda’s dry smile

During an official workers’ meeting at which Baba was not present, a serious discussion was held concerning the twenty-eight departments of “Ananda Marga General”. Eventually we came to Tribal & Backward People’s Welfare Section (TBPW).

One Dada from Berlin Sector said, “In my sector there are very few countries having tribal people. Yet we receive general targets from Center applicable for all regions. How are we to respond to TBPW targets in those countries without tribal people?”

There was silence as the workers from Center were thinking what to reply. Then the eldest worker of our mission, Dada Shraddhananda (about 70 years old), said in a dry voice, “In those countries where there are no tribal and backward people, the first work of the TBPW section will be to create tribal and backward people.”

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In that sober atmosphere, it took a few moments for us to catch his point. Then we all roared with laughter. 45

Wise, wiser, wisest

Patna. After completing the Delhi workers’ meeting. Baba traveled to Patna, and we four followed Him. We are still waiting for confirmation on the kapalika training. Meanwhile, we are attending the workers’ meetings with Baba.

During such meetings. Baba commonly singles out one worker for scoldings. Although the targeted worker gains the greatest benefit, we all gain some psychic profit by witnessing these scenes. After all, it is His duty to help us diminish our complexes of fear, shame, inferiority, superiority and so on.

The past few days it was usually Dada T who received His tongue-lashings. (Though T is a senior worker, and recognized as one of our best, he nevertheless becomes as nervous as anyone when bearing the brunt of Baba’s “venom”. This in itself I find amazing, because outside of such sessions, T is a superbly confident man—how skillful Baba is in drawing out our deepest hidden instincts.) In front of about sixty workers, T was instructed to give his work- done report. Fully expecting to be rebuked somehow, he was uneasy even before starting to speak.

He stood on Baba’s left side, reading aloud. “Ah … Baba … today the tri¬ offices were increased by seven… rather… yesterday there were 186 block-level tri-offices … and today there are 194, ah … excuse me 192 … and regarding bi¬ offices …”

45 This entry is included to give a glimpse into a lesser known aspect of Dada Shraddha-nanda, who later became Ananda M arga president in 1990. He once told me that Baba personally taught him many things on the science of humor, and that he was thinking to compose a booklet on the subject. Over the years, I occasionally asked him when he would write that booklet, but he never had time.

Some months ago, 1 again asked him about writing that booklet, but he avoided responding.

I nstead he switched the subject by saying,” I once met a man living in a very cold region north of I ndia. I was curious about his daily lifestyle, so I asked him about his usual time of prayer, what sort of clothes people there commonly wore, what sort of food he ate, what times he rose in the morning and retired in the evening, and so on. When I asked him when he usually took his bath, he replied, ‘I usually take my bath in M ay or J une.” 1

Anyway, if he would ever grab a few hours to make a draft of the booklet, I would offer to edit it.

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Baba squinted His eyes, contorted his upper lip, scratched His head, and, looking to His right at His personal assistant, said in a high nasal tone, “What’s this? What does he have for a head? What say you? Does he have a brick for a head? Doesn’t he know how to speak?”

Dada T was sweating profusely.

Closing His eyes, Baba motioned at him using a limp left index linger, and said, “Go on. Go on. Don’t waste the time of all these fine gentlemen here.”

I was sitting immediately in front of Baba, about two feet from Him. It may sound cruel, but I was thoroughly enjoying the drama. In any case, it was for our development.

“Ah … well… regarding bi-offices,” said T, “in 10,337 blocks there were 178 covered today … ah … rather yesterday … bringing the percentage to 2% … and today…”

Baba yawned politely but conspicuously, then gave a wink and a smile toward the workers on His right.

“… and today… there is an increase of seven, bringing the percentage to 2% … what? … yes, it’s still 2% …”

Baba creased His cheeks into dimples as if He would smile, but frowned simultaneously—incongruous and thus humorous for us—turned toward T and said bitingly, “Arraay, read your report correctly. You are wiser enough.”

Immediately I thought, “Wiser? Baba should have said. ‘You are wise enough’.”

Like a rubber band snapping back. He turned His face to the front and thmst it into mine, saying, “Wiser—not wise. Wiser than you!” He had caught my thought precisely!

I exploded into laughter and could not stop laughing for several seconds. Two Dadas tried to restrain me, but Baba clenched His teeth together, turned the corners of His lips into a tight smile, jutted His chin out and nodded knowingly at me, making the whole scene all the more jocular.

He affects us. He helps us. He loves us with even the slightest moves He makes, and with each word He speaks.

Seeing God

We are staying at the home of an Indian lawyer, Ranjan Dwivedi, and his American wife Parashakti, both of whom are great devotees of

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Baba. Early this morning, Parashakti told us the Baba-dream she had last night.

“I was sitting in an auditorium in the middle of an audience, and just next to me sat Baba. On the stage, different spiritual groups were demonstrating their techniques of meditation.

“The man representing the first group closed his eyes and began meditating. Within moments, his body was vibrating, rotating in circles, and making slight jumping movements. At the same time he made grunting sounds.

“I turned to Baba, and said. Baba, why can’t we experience that with our meditation?’ He didn’t reply, but only smiled at me with a glint in His eyes.

“The next man began meditating, and soon he was levitating high above the table on which he had been sitting.

“I looked at Baba and complained, ‘Baba, that never happens to us in our meditation.’ Again, no response except a glint in His eyes.

“The third man breathed rapidly, shook violently, and fell backward, banging his head on the table. He lay there in a trance. Several persons carefully picked him up and carried him through the aisle of the audience, moving toward the exit. Before they could take more than two or three steps, the man awoke, sat up and exclaimed, “I’ve seen God! I’ve seen God!”

“I said to Baba, ‘This is too much, Baba. Why can’t we have such visions?’

“As the group carrying the man passed by us, he was still saying, T’ve seen God! I’ve seen God!’ Then his eyes suddenly lit up brightly as he said, ‘And there He is!’ He pointed at Baba, again saying, ‘There He is!’

“That’s when I woke up. Well, Dadas, what do you think of that?” she said.

We smiled glintingly.

While Baba was in jail, Parashakti met Him many times. She had also spoken to most of the other visiting Margis and workers. We asked her to tell us about some of the extraordinary incidents that occurred during those visits. One of the stories went like this:

A Margi from Africa was in a visiting group. He had an intense desire to hear Baba speak his native language, Swahili. Baba talked in

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turn with each of the Margis present in His cell. When he came to this brother and asked a question, the brother replied in standard Swahili. Baba said, “Eh? What did you say?” The brother had to change his reply into English. After more conversation with everyone. Baba asked him another question, and he again replied in Swahili. Again Baba feigned not to understand. Finally, when the guards announced that the time was finished and everyone was offering their respects to Baba, the Margi approached Baba with folded hands, begging, “Please, Baba say something in Swahili!” Baba smiled at him and said in that brother’s exact local dialect of Swahili, “I am a stupid person. How can I speak in Swahili?”

Mental yo-yo

Yesterday morning the General Secretary told us, “Wait at the Dwivedi’s house. It is likely Baba will call you for kapalika initiation today.” Today was the last possible day remaining for us to learn the kapalika, because it requires at least three days practice after initiation, and we must leave for Europe in four days.

We did nothing but wait all day. The clock struck 7:00 p.m. Soon Baba’s evening darshan (spiritual talk) would start, and if we went on waiting we would miss that also. We put on our turbans and were preparing to leave just as a motorcycle roared up the driveway.

“Where have you good-for-nothings been?” yelled Dada Ramananda. Baba’s personal assistant. “Baba has been requesting to see you since 5:00! Nonsense! Now it’s too late.” And he was off before we could even comment.

Of all the injustices! We had simply followed the order of the General Secretary, and now were being severely penalized.

“What shall we do now?” asked one Dada. “Go to Baba’s darshan?”

“Baba’s darshan is every night,” said another. “But as long as there’s the slightest chance that Baba might teach us kapalika, I think we should still try.” We all agreed and set out for His house.

Just as we arrived at Baba’s house. He came out of His door, walking toward the car. We ran up to Him, and did prostration at His feet.

“Oh it’s those scoundrels. I waited for them since 5:00. They wasted my valuable time. The buggers.” The car-door slammed, and He drove away.

“At this rate we’ll never receive initiation,” said one Dada.

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“It’s just His game,” I replied. “He’ll play it however He likes. There’s no value in being anxious.” I can’t explain why, but I did not care when or whether we might learn the kapalika. If He wanted to teach me I wanted to learn— otherwise not.

We were still talking in this vein when again we heard the sound of His car.

“Strange!” someone said. “The darshan’s over so quickly.”

The car parked, and Baba stepped out. He spoke in Bengali to those with Him. As He came a little nearer to us. though He pretended not to be speaking to us four. He changed to English and said, “A completely unacceptable arrangement. Due to this carelessness the darshan had to be canceled! A most pitiable condition. A shame and a sham.” The others walked with their heads down, playing the embarrassed role.

When He was close enough, we again did prostration, and He said, “What, these boys are still here?” Our hopes lifted…

“Have they not done enough harm?” …and then shattered. “I waited for them since 5:00, and they didn’t even have the common courtesy to respond to my call. Wasting my time. Nonsense, nonsense.”

We were still laying there when He entered the house.

“We’ve got no chance,” said one Dada.

“On the contrary,” said another, “He may have canceled the darshan and disappointed 700 or 800 people just so He would have time to teach us.”

A minute later we were called into Baba’s room. He lay on His bed, being massaged by a local family-acharya.

After we did our prostrations, Baba began to speak in a serious tone. “I summoned you boys here for the purpose of telling you I won’t be able to teach you the kapalika since you were so undisciplined not to come at the scheduled time.”

Now up, now down—He was playing our minds like yo-yos. There was an awkward silence as we hesitated between leaving and … and what? I struggled hard to think how to get us out of this quandary.

One Dada spoke slowly, “Ah … Baba, excuse me …”

Baba sat up slightly, as if He were waiting for this, saying, “Yes, yes, what do you want to say?”

“Ah … I don’t mean to put anyone else in trouble, but we were instructed to wait in Ranjan Dwivedi’s house until a messenger conveyed your call. No one came until 7:00.”

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Now even Baba looked hopeful, saying, “Yes, it may be, it may be. Perhaps Ramanandaji was so busy that the matter passed him by.” He turned to the acharya massaging His feet, and asked, “What do you think? Shall I believe them and instruct them the kapalika?”

Coming out of a deep concentration on the right foot, the acharya, eyes misted by his mood, said. “My thought. Baba? Oh, I think you should not teach them.”

I was shocked. Though I highly respect this Dada, at that moment I felt like grabbing him by the shirt, shaking him hard and yelling, “What kind of stupidity are you speaking?” But I did nothing. Meanwhile, he calmly scrutinized us.

“Perhaps you are correct,” Baba said. “Perhaps. But we should be sure. Hold the big toe of my right foot.”

The acharya complied.

“Now what do you think?” Baba asked.

“They are telling the truth. Baba.”

“Alright,” He said. “I accept your judgment.” He turned to us. “But you boys here, are you interested to learn?”

We gave the obvious reply. He dismissed the acharya from the room and we got down to business.

As to the initiation itself, there is little to say—it is secret. I can only comment that for the next two hours that room, for me, became transmuted into the infinite macrocosm saturated with mystic potency, outside of which nothing existed.

Baba told us that during the initial three days’ practice we would burn 50% of our reactive momenta concerned with fear, shame and hatred; after which we would have to work on the remaining half—which explains why those who learn kapalika appear undeniably brighter from the very first week

We performed our first kapalika meditation at midnight. When we came back, Dada Ramananda was waiting for us. According to Baba’s instruction, he gave us our new names. I am now called Acharya Dharmavedananda Avadhuta. Veda means “deep knowledge”. So, as Baba later told me, Dharmavedananda means “he who attains the supreme beatitude through deep knowledge of the path of righteousness.”

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Empowered

I become a different man

Ydrefors, Sweden, 1979. Today I took up my temporary duties here as acharya trainer. 46 Dada Dhrtibodhananda has been reposted back to India. His replacement will come “as soon as possible”—but exactly who that will be and when is unclear. In the meantime, I am to keep the ship afloat.

We have two buildings, five minutes walk apart from each other, which separately house the sisters and brothers—about forty trainees total, mostly from Europe, North America and South America. We are deep in a lonely but beautiful forest in southern Sweden, idyllic for meditation and self¬ development.

Just after I arrived, I was sitting with Dada Dhrtibodhananda, and a senior avadhuta, Dada K. There was a knock on the door and a German trainee entered, looking sad and confused.

“Excuse me, Dadas… I want to go home,” he said. “I for my mother worry…”

“Yes, alright…,” began Dhrtibodhanandaji.

“Sorry for interrupting you,” I said softly, “but now I am the trainer, so I’ll have to handle the matter.” I turned to the trainee. “Please wait outside, and I’ll call you. I came only five minutes ago, so I need a bit of time.”

He went out and shut the door.

46 At that time there were four such centers in the world: Benares, Nepal, the Philippines and Sweden. The Sweden program had been started several years before by Dada Dhrtibodhananda. The training center in Nepal has since been closed and new ones opened in Africa and India.

“Don’t imagine that there’s any way that brother can become an acharya,” said Dada K. “Better to release him immediately. This talk of his mother is just an excuse; he knows very well that the organization is ready to look after her needs. He simply feels insecure.”

“Yes, he’s been depressed for days now,” said Dhrtibodhanandaji, “I’m sure he’s finished.”

“I respect you both highly,” I said. “But whether I like it or not, Baba has now entrusted me with this duty. So I shall see for myself when I speak to him.”

“Try if it pleases you,” said Dada K, “but there’s no hope.”

I was feeling different than I had ever felt in my life. The change was both odd and sudden. From the moment I’d arrived, there had been a kind of buzzing in my brain, though my perception was sharp, abnormally sharp. (As I write these words, it is now late night, and the buzzing continues. For the first time in my life I feel in total command of myself, able to follow perfectly all our disciplines, both physical and mental. It is clear that He has directly empowered me with the capacity to properly guide these trainees. I am a different man now.)

We continued speaking for half an hour, then I left the room to deal with the German brother. He was sitting on a bench with his head between his knees. I had met him several times before. I remembered that he was sometimes high-strung and at other times very calm—an independent type, with a character of his own.

I put my hand on his back and said in a low voice, “Brother…”

He raised his head. His eyes were red, and tears were streaming down his face.

“Dadaji, please … let me leave….” His voice choked.

“I won’t stop you from going. But…” My head was empty. Abruptly a thought appeared. “But first consider one simple question: will Baba be happy if you leave?”

He stared at me. After a moment, his crying stopped, and he said, “No, He wouldn’t like it.”

“Then, what do you really want to do? Do you want to please Him. or do you want to do something else?”

“Of course I want to please Him.”

“Then, how about staying another few days? You can leave anytime, but once you’re gone it’s difficult to come back.”

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“Okay,” he said, sitting straight. “I’ll stay. At least for a few days.” 47

The Problem-Maker is also the Solution-Giver

Circumstances compelled the two Dadas to leave rather hastily so I was unable to get a comprehensive picture of the trainees or the training center.

I called in the office secretary and asked him how much money we had in the account.

“I’m sorry, Dada. I don’t have any money.”

“What do you mean? Is there no money here?”

“Well, if you don’t have any, and I don’t have any, then maybe there isn’t any,” he said grinning. A typical response of a devotee—to smile in the face of a giant problem.

“Yeah, well, thanks,” I said. “Please leave me for a while so I can think.”

I sat alone looking at the walls of my room. But I didn’t feel alone. My head was still buzzing pleasantly, and I had the uncanny feeling that I was inside Baba’s breast. I felt pure, unafraid, and sure that He would solve any and every problem.

This room’s messy, I thought. Before thinking of anything, I should clean it up.

After working for an hour, I opened a cupboard. It was full of the trainees’ legal documents and other personal effects. While putting these in order I came upon a wallet stuffed with 700 Swedish kroner. There was no identification.

Could this be Baba’s little help1 1 thought.

I questioned the trainees but no one knew its owner.

Thanks. But of course that’s only a start.

Two days later. This morning a Norwegian brother approached me. “Dadaji, I need your advice. A few weeks ago the postman delivered 4000 kroner to me. But when he wrote up the account, instead of subtracting the amount, he added it. So, I now hold a credit for 8000 kroner. What should I do?”

47 The proof of this pudding lies not only in the fact that he later became acharya, but that presently, i.e., more than ten years later, as an avadhuta, he is a top-class worker named Dada Vijaksarananda.

I started laughing and he joined me, guffawing with gusto.

“Usually I would inform the post office of their mistake,” I said. “But in this case we better not make it too hard for Baba to help us tide over our little crisis. If they want to give the money. I’m willing to temporarily accept it — and pay it back to the post office later. If such an act causes me to undergo some negative reaction for the benefit of the training center — so be it.”

And so our piggy-bank became full.

Three days later. “Dadaji,” said an American trainee, “I never expected a tax rebate from last year, but today 9000 kroner arrived for me. Please take it for the training center.”

A bit excessive grace. Baba, but… what’s that You say? … no, it’s no problem, no problem. We’ll be glad to accept it… (After all, you never know if tomorrow He’ll enjoy Himself thoroughly by smashing our car or something like that.)

Tantric cows

Every time I walk between the brothers’ and sisters’ training centers, I get a supra-aesthetic thrill from the landscape. On one side of the street is a dense forest, packed with eerie vibes. On the other side, adjacent to the brothers’ house, is a large cow pasture, which is dotted with giant boulders of interesting shapes that I can only label Tantric. I feel so happy here.

The cows, too, are special. Whenever the brothers sing kiirtan, all twenty cows mosey over toward our house and crowd themselves in the tiny corner of the pasture which is closest to the meditation room. There they remain chewing their cuds for the duration of each kiirtan, even daily akhanda kiirtan. 48

,s Akhanda means long. Akhanda kiirtan is always performed in multiples of three hours, for example 3, 6, 9, 12, or 24 hours. There is no limit to how long it continues. The dancers participate according to their interest, or in some cases certain groups are assigned certain times. Generally, everyone who participates becomes greatly inspired by the end of akhanda kiirtan. It is common that new meditators who have never been able to concentrate effectively will come to know for the first time what a tranquil mind feels like during long kiirtan. Even physical problems and difficult mental problems are often mysteriously overcome through the immense positive energy generated by akhanda kiirtan.

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Thought becomes matter

Today while eating lunch in my room, I opened my closet to get some com chips but unfortunately they were finished. I wish I had some more chips, I thought. Immediately there was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

“Dadaji, I just came back from collection (of donations from the food shops in nearby towns), and I thought you might like these.” He held out ten bags of com chips.

Next day. While resting in my room today, I was thinking. The scene here is perfect. Not only am I content in being able to foliow yogic discipline and morality in detail—also my meditation is first-class, I get more than enough spiritual company, time for studying and discussing philosophy, excitement and drama (at least one or two of the trainees face some sort of personal crisis daily), maximum kiirtan, a beautiful environment, and excellent food. There must be something I’m missing here… for example, there must be some food I’m not getting… well, it’s true there’s no dried fruits.

Then I left for the sisters’ house to give a class. As I walked in their door, a visitor, Didi Ananda Prajina greeted me.

“Dada, I expected to go to India, but my plans have changed. I was going to bring this with me to give to some Didis, but now I’d like to give it to you.”

She handed me a three kilogram bag of raisins.

Next day. Tonight, before going out to do my kapalika meditation, I thought that it would be nice to eat something a little special to prepare for tomorrow’s fasting. Of course there was nothing but the usual stuff. Then I went to the graveyard together with trainee Dhyanesh.

When we came back, it was 1:30 a.m. Everyone was sleeping except Dhyanesh and I. Again I had the same thought. It would be nice to have something a little special, but….

Immediately Dhyanesh said. “Dadaji, would you like to have something a little special?”

I laughed. But instead of telling him the cause of my reaction, I said, “Sure. But I suppose there’s nothing but the usual stuff.”

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He raised his eyebrows, saying, “Well, I was on collection today. Perhaps you’d like to see what I saved in a cupboard in the kitchen.”

He ran off, only to come back a minute later with a honey-dew melon and two packages of vanilla eclairs covered in whipped cream.

“Only at this time of the year do the Swedes make these special cream cakes,” he said.

Two days later. Between breakfast and lunch on the day after fasting I usually drink a lot of water. Just before leaving my room to go to the sister’s house for class this morning, I thought, They never offer me more than one glass of lemon-water. Rather than ask for more, I thought it would be better to drink some extra water before I left. When I arrived at their house, I took my seat. In front of me, where they had always placed one cup of lemon-water, there were two cups. I was shocked.

I pointed at the cups, mumbling, “Two … there’s two….”

It wasn’t just a matter of two cups—rather, it was my sudden realization that any slightest whim I’d had over the last few days had been immediately fulfilled.

“What’s the matter. Dadaji?” said one sister. “I thought perhaps one glass of lemon-water was not enough for you, so there’s also a glass of fresh apple juice.”

“No, no. It’s good,” I said. “Thank you very much.”

That’s what I said. But what I thought was: Occult power. The power to Immediately get whatever I desire. I must not use it. From this moment on, as long as I am trainer, I shall not permit myself to wish for anything. Occult powers are a dangerous temptation on the spiritual path. While the Avidya Tantrics (black magicians) aim for such powers, we Vidya Tantrics steer clear of them. Our goal is only to serve God. 49

49 Avidya istheextroversial or centrifugal force causing attraction for external objects: it leads to ignorance or illusion. Avidya Tantra consists of practices designed for the attainment of occult powers. Vidya is the introversial or centripetal force which causes attraction to the Supreme Nucleus: it leads to knowledge, understanding or correct perception. Vidya Tantra consists of practices which help the aspirant surrender to God, and ultimately become one with God. Vidya Tantra says: M orality is the base, intuition the means, and life divine the goal.

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Grace in the form of pain

Over the last few days I have kept my mind free from the slightest unnecessary wish. But today another problem arose. Shortly before a 24-hour kiirtan was to finish, I was standing in my room. From nowhere, and without any apparent cause, a sharp pain stabbed within my stomach.

I sat down, but the pain continued. I laid down, but it grew worse.

Since I had to end the 24 hour kiirtan. I reluctantly left my room to join the trainees. When we sat for collective meditation I pulled myself into the corner where no one would see me sitting in agony with my knees doubled against my chest. My suffering only increased.

Worst of all, at the end of the meditation I would have to give an inspirational talk. How could I manage?

The moment came to speak, and as soon as I began, the pain instantly disappeared. I told spiritual and humorous stories for forty-five minutes. Everyone, including me. thoroughly enjoyed it.

The very moment I finished speaking, however, the pain returned with increased intensity. It was so bad I couldn’t eat.

Now it is night as I write. The pain is still present, though slightly decreased. I hope it will be gone by tomorrow.

Two weeks later. The pain in my stomach did not finish the next day, nor the next nor the next. Today, it left as unexpectedly as it came. I did not tell anyone, except the trainee who assists me, and I instructed him not to mention it to others. It was not the sort of trouble which could be cured by medicine or treatment. Rather it was a test I had to undergo as a result of successfully controlling myself in this ideal spiritual environment.

The clearest indication of this was the fact that every time I had a class to give, or an important meeting to attend, the pain ceased.

No height is too high

Dada Dhruvananda, the new trainer, arrived today. Together with a charge hand-over, I gave him an account with more than 10,000 kroner. Though the mental condition of most of the trainees had been uneasy when I first arrived, it now seemed that everyone was happy.

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“How could you manage so well?” he asked.

“Baba did everything. I did nothing.” As 1 said this, I felt something sneak back inside me from my previous normal flawed self. I checked for the buzzing in my head, but could not find it.

Now, having resumed my previous duty, I am again an ordinary monk.

No Tantric aspirant should think that high spiritual states are beyond his or her reach. Whatever is needed, He gives us. Though it comes only by His grace, and not by our own efforts, we must constantly strive for perfection— otherwise we would be unsuitable to serve as His channels.

There is word that Baba may soon travel outside of India. They say He will come to Europe and nowhere else. I don’t know whether or not to believe it. It seems too good to be true.

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chapter 11

Eye oftheHurricane

Embarking on an unreal dream

Stockholm. April 1979. The Mainz office called today. Baba’s trip is definitely on! He will be coming together with an entourage of 10 or so Dadas, Didis and Margis. They say He’ll stay for a month, touring Switzerland, Germany, Sweden, Holland, Spain, France, and Italy. As chief secretary of the Volunteers Service Department I’ll be in charge of Baba’s security and many other aspects of the program. Dada Karunananda and I will be the main organizers.

From today my main duty is to get ready for the tour. Somehow the whole thing still feels unreal to me. Like a dream.

Lyon, France. May. Baba was scheduled to arrive one week from today but so far He and two other Dadas still do not have their passports. After all our planning we are still not sure if they will come or not. This is typical of course. Eleventh hour dramas are Fhs invariable style.

Though my mind leaves everything up to Him, my stomach sings a different tune. It often heaves like a volcano about to erupt.

Frankfurt, Germany. Today Dada Kamnananda phoned with news that Baba’s party has left Calcutta for Bombay and were out of touch; there was still no official word about their program.

“So are they coming to Switzerland or not?” I asked.

“I guess so, but, but…”

“There’s nothing sure.”

“Right.”

“What about the Central Office?”

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“They also don’t know what’s going on. But dare we tell that to the Margis? If maximum Margis are to meet Baba in Geneva they need to start traveling now.”

“Yet another cosmic clash. Thanks, Baba.”

For a few seconds neither of us spoke as we weighed the alternatives.

“We’ve got to announce that Baba’s definitely coming,” I said. “Right.”

“It’s the only practical thing to do. If we’re wrong, that’s His problem.” “Yah,” said Karunanandaji, “and maybe about 1000 Margis’ problem too…”

“Anyway, if we guessed right, nobody will ever know.” “And if we guessed wrong, I’ll say it was your fault,” he said, laughing. “Thanks.” Though I didn’t know whether or not he was really joking, I also laughed. Why not?

" I always keep my word”

Geneva, Switzerland. 6 May. Hundreds of Margi brothers and sisters swarmed throughout the Geneva airport today, seething with anticipation, their paper-thin patience stretched taut, waiting for a man who was not only the center of their lives, but who most had never yet even seen. Some sang devotional songs, some danced, while others gossiped but there was no way to disguise the tension. Three brothers scaled a wall up to a large window sill, and stared through the window looking onto the runway. Even those sitting in meditation contributed to the electrifying anxiety.

For the umpteenth time I rehearsed the security.

“Volunteers, attennnntion!” I yelled.

Sixteen uniformed cadets-eight brothers and eight sisters in two perfect lines—snapped their backbones straight and thumped their staffs on the floor. Though some could barely speak English, all clearly understood the martial commands.

None of them, however, understood one thing: perhaps Baba was not coming. I caught Karunanandaji’s eye, which flickered as he cast a thin grin in my direction. He could still afford to smile.

If Baba was coming today, the plane now arriving was the only possible flight. I stood toward the back of my volunteers, confident that

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at least these sixteen would play their role properly if He came. But would He?

“Baba Nam Kevalam!” screamed one of the Margis hanging on the window viewing the runway. “He’s here!”

Those sitting in meditation jumped up. as everyone (including the general public) pushed toward the door of the customs and immigration area.

“You fool!” yelled another Margi on the window. “That isn’t Baba.”

A painful groan issued from scores of lips.

Waiting … now only silence from those up on the window … the door from the customs area opened, and two passengers came out… then a few more … still no Baba…

An Indian dressed in white and wearing glasses came out—a brief hesitation as many thought, “Is that Him?”, and then—“Baba, Baba, Baba!” all were yelling, all were running, all were excited to the breaking point—it was Him!

At the top of my voice I shouted, “Volunteers, attennnntion”! but it was no use. I was wrong—the cadre did not obey, and instead added to the melee, wildly mshing toward their gum. And there I was, standing near the back of the hall, while the hundreds of Margis zeroed in on the man I was supposed to protect. What an idiot I was! I tried to push my way forward, but others were equally desperate. Madness, pure madness.

For a split second I could see Baba smiling through the crowd, standing next to several Dadas and Margis who had come with Him from India. Then the stampede hit. Oh God, what were they doing to Him? Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I elbowed my way between two Margis, then more, pushing myself forward.

In the front, near Baba, I saw a strange windmill of hands and feet rapidly breaking the air, deterring the Margis. Baba Nam! It was Dada Ramananda, Baba’s personal assistant, jumping left and right, forcefully rebuffing the Margis, thrusting them away from Baba.

Then somehow I was there next to Him. I couldn’t believe He was still smiling, as calm as the eye of a hurricane. I joined Ramanandaji, driving the Margis away, clearing a path for Baba to walk to a chair, next to Karunanandaji.

He walked slowly, majestically. In any case, He couldn’t have walked rapidly, because His legs were still not fully recovered from the years of suffering in the prison. Karunanandaji had a smile like a cherub.

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Baba sat. At last the sixteen volunteers recovered their senses and took their pre-planned places.

Baba then spoke His first words, “You see, I have kept my word. Two years ago I promised to visit Switzerland at the first opportunity I would get. Now I have come. I always keep my word.”

Several brothers and sisters came forward wearing colorful uniforms specifically for performing yogic dances.

Baba leaned toward Karunanandaji and said, “The color of the uniforms is not proper. You must take care. Even if an ant dies a premature death, the entire balance of the Cosmos is affected.”

“Next time it will be perfect, Baba,” Karunanandaji said.

I smiled. It was Baba in true form.

Paradise and the invisible wall

Fiesch, Switzerland. About 700 Margis are present in this scenic mini¬ village of chateaus and meeting halls, surrounded by mountains, pine trees, and green grass, graced by a shining sun, and bathed in pure air. It seems idyllic, especially when I think that Baba is also here. The program will last one week, then we travel to other cities.

In the light of this paradisical atmosphere, one aspect of the Margis’ behavior certainly appears odd—at least by normal social standards. Their mad desire to touch Him has continued unabated since the time He arrived in the airport. This tense situation has at least one good result—it compels the security team to be on their toes. While accompanying Baba in and out of the hall, the volunteers, both brothers and sisters, hold their sticks horizontally, creating a sort of mobile protective fence around Him. Baba Himself seems to enjoy this frantic game. He sometimes pauses in His walk to smile at certain Margis or offer a few encouraging words. In those times the enthusiasm of the Margis grows higher, and the volunteers hold onto each others’ sticks, further reinforcing the fence. In some cases the onslaught is so severe that I also have to join in the defense squad, straining against the shoving and pulling. Though I am particularly vigilant to see that Baba’s movement is undisturbed, I wonder whether our efforts at security are so necessary. I observe repeatedly whenever we are not swift enough to stop some movement of hands or feet or a rebounding stick in Baba’s direction, there is an invisible wall that protects Him. allowing Him to be totally unconcerned with the chaos only inches away from Him.

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Daily dramas

By now I’ve settled into a regular daily schedule: an early morning meeting with the security volunteers, checking meal arrangements for Baba and the Margis, organizing the Personal Contacts of different Margis with Baba, checking the program in the main hall, seeing to the security at the houses of Margis/workers/Baba, etc. The greatest meticulousness is demanded in the security for Baba’s twice daily field walks and darshans. My own meditation time is abnormally short, but I don’t care because I see Guru directly many hours a day. As for eating, there’s even less time, but the Didis in Baba’s kitchen usually save two or three big spoonfuls of prasad 50 for me which more than suf¬ fices. Having almost nothing else to eat, I have near-perfect conditions for gauging the phenomenal power of prasad.

Today while driving to the field walk I listened to the following conversation between Baba and Bodhishvar, who is a leading Swiss Margi:

BABA (pointing to a vineyard): Bodhishvar, what kind of grapes are those? BODHISHVAR: I’m sorry, Baba, I don’t know. BABA: Well, are they red grapes or white grapes? BODHISHVAR: They are white grapes, Baba. BABA: Are they good for making wine? BODHISHVAR (smiling): I don’t know. Baba. BABA (speaking gently): Why don’t you know? You should know everything. Yes, they are excellent for making wine. Their name is (a Ger

50 Food touched by a spiritually elevated person is called prasad , In the physical contact of any two entities some energy is always exchanged. This is especially so between human beings because their consciousness is easily altered by environmental circumstances. The effect ismore noticeable when one of the parties is the guru, whose only purpose it to uplift the minds of others. If the guru touches an object which is afterward touched by his disciples, they derive benefit. Food is the most powerful prasad because the disciple ingests it and metabolizes much of its energy. Prasad can also be created by keeping it for a certain length of time in the middle of a kiirtan/meditation program. Though prasad is well-known and accepted among yogis, it is only recently that scientific experiments began to verify its effects. These experiments, however, now come under the category of microvita medicine rather than prasad. Generally microvita research is performed with simple water. Later in this book the idea of microvita is elaborated. By the way, the opposite of prasad is easily recognized. The reader may also have felt it—when a cook is angry or depressed, the diners may become uneasy or sick after eating that food.

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man name I don’t remember). They are grown primarily in (about four or five areas with German and French names that I don’t remember). They have a specially sweet taste, as opposed to (about three or four types of other grapes that I also didn’t know). Is it not a fact, Bodhishvar?

BODHISHVAR: Well, I’m not an expert like you, Baba.

BABA: No, no. Your Baba knows nothing. (Looking at me also) You boys are the ones who must know everything. What do you say?

(In reply, we simply smiled as charmingly as we could.)

Every day I choose three or four brothers to enjoy the field walk with Baba. The sisters often protest but I am under instructions from Ramanandaji and other Dadas to only permit brothers according to the Indian system. The sisters have requested that their desire be expressed to Baba many times, but the Dadas refuse, considering such a change impossible. It’s my opinion Baba prefers that new initiatives come from our side, rather than by His direct suggestion, so He has had to manage this problem in His own unique way…

Today, halfway through the field walk. He was resting in a chair with a few brothers by His feet (the security and myself remained standing). I thought everyone was entranced by the talk, but then Baba turned to Bodhishvar, saying, “Bodhishvar, you are feeling sad about something.”

“Yes, Baba.”

“What is it? Say, say.”

“Baba…”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“It’s my wife, Anchala….”

“Yes, don’t hesitate,” Baba said. “Say what’s on your mind.”

“Well, Baba … every day I go with You for field walk, and she cries and cries. Baba, because she also wants to go … Can’t she also come?”

Without the slightest hesitation, Baba said, “Why not? 1 ‘, and beamed as if He were just waiting for this question.

Ramanandaji and I immediately looked at each other with a mixed expression of surprise and delight.

“Thank you, Baba!” said Bodhishvar.

Later we met with the Didis and set up a new system where the number of sisters would equal the number of brothers on field walk. We also made plans to add sister volunteers to the security arrangements.

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Hiding His knowledge

This morning, on the way to the field walk, I asked Abaniish of Norway, who until five days ago had never before seen Baba, “Brother, what do you think of Baba now?”

“It’s funny,” he said. “I don’t know why… He hasn’t done anything at all special… He looks and acts just like a sweet old man… I don’t know why, but I love Him.” He gave a big smile like a child. “I feel… I feel love for Him—just like a father. No, even more than for my father.”

“It’s a normal reaction,” I said. “Absolutely normal.”

We drove high into the snow covered Alps. While walking. Baba said, “Life on our planet started in these Alps. At that time the surroundings were very hot. Life began only up in the mountains at zero degrees centrigrade—the necessary temperature for the process to start.”

After walking in silence for a few moments, Dada Abhidevananda asked, “Baba, is it possible that life came to the earth from another planet?”

“Why not? Why not? According to my opinion, life came from the planet Mars. Today Mars is a dying planet.”

Later He commented that the first human civilization was also in the Alps.

We returned to the cars and started back. Just after turning a corner, we saw several uniformed persons putting away a big parabolic-shaped machine. One of the Margis in my car, an engineer, said. “That’s a sound-detection device used over long distances by the secret police to pick up conversations.”

Another Margi added, “Do you think it’s possible that Baba specifically intended that interplanetary talk to be overheard by them?”

During evening darshan, after a devotional song, one brother suddenly stood up in the middle of the crowd. In the otherwise silent room, his words in Italian had a shocking effect. Before he could complete even one sentence, Dada Japananda rose, pointed his finger at the man, and told him forcefully to sit down. Obediently the man collapsed to the floor. I recognized him. It was Parimal from Parma. He was previously a brilliant physicist, tragically struck by a disease which had neces

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sitated an operation on his brain. Since then he had turned abnormal, to say the least.

In the momentary excitement. Baba looked at Dada Ramananda and me. (Ramanandaji was sitting next to Baba, while I was standing. After the security fiasco at the airport, I had decided to remain close to Baba whenever He was out of His room, directly rather than indirectly supervising the volunteers - though admittedly I took this decision not solely out of consideration for security.) He looked at us and asked, “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Nothing, Baba,” Ramanandaji said. “The man is crazy.”

“What do you mean ‘crazy’?” Baba said. “Let him come to the front. Come on, my boy,” He said, waving Parimal forward.

As he hobbled forward, everyone could see his balding, deformed skull. He launched excitedly into an Italian soliloquy.

Now this will be interesting, I thought. Since Baba knows all the world’s languages, we should be able to see first hand how H e replies to a tongue that He hadn’t been exposed to before. All the Margis leaned forward similarly watching for Baba’s IMtiOfl,

But it was not to be as we hoped. Instead, Baba spoke to the Dada posted in Italy: “Japasiddhananda, give me the translation in English.”

Though everyone was silent, many looked disappointed. They may have been thinking. Was it only fiction, this story that Baba knows all languages?

Japasiddhanandaji started the translation, “Baba, he says the title of his story is titled Baba with the Baby on the Farm.”

Parimal appeared inspired as he spoke, enthusiastically dramatizing his discourse. I observed that some of the Germans and Dutch looked disillusioned, seeing Baba’s apparent dependence on the translation.

But the Italians and those who understood Italian (including me) could not help but notice that each time Parimal spoke a humorous line. Baba smiled before the translation was delivered.

[Author’s note: Some months later when I visited Parma, Italy, I found a changed Parimal. Previous to this experience with Baba, he had been in a near¬ constant state of confusion. While I was in Parma, however, I saw that he was still excited about Baba—that he was always talking about Baba. Instead of being in a state of confusion, I felt he was in a spiritual state. A few months after that he died.]

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DMC night

This morning, during the daily meeting of our thirty-five security cadres, I had the uncomfortable task of asking for a volunteer to stay and guard Baba’s house during the DMC speech and varabhaya mudra . 51

“Whoever sacrifices himself for the welfare of others is guaranteed Baba’s special grace,” I said. “I know you’ve all come here looking forward to the DMC speech. Nevertheless, I’m sure at least one of you will selflessly relinquish his rights for the sake of the others.”

My words met only silence. No one moved. A few seconds passed, and then one brother stepped forward. It was a young Margi from Ireland.

“Thank you, Sundara,” I said. Honestly, I felt sorry for the lad.

Usually on DMC day Baba holds a special meeting of avadhutas to discuss some interesting matters and to bless us. This evening the answer to one question was, for me, especially imbued with mystical significance.

By then twenty minutes of the meeting had passed and the air was electric.

“Each avadhuta has a singularly extraordinary role to play,” He said. He paused and then asked, “What is the purpose of the avadhuta?”

We could not answer. We could not even speak.

He gave His own reply, slowly: “The purpose of an avadhuta… is … to exist.”

As all the nuances of this statement gradually sunk into my heart, my spine shivered, then shook strongly.

51 DMC\s an abbreviation for Dharma Mahachakra. Mafia means “great,” and “dharma-chakra” means group meditation, so DM C literally means “the great group meditation.” It consisted of a series of formal darshans by Baba over a few days. On the last evening of the gathering, Baba would end His discourse with a special mudra, His varabhaya mudra. " Vara” means boon, and “abhaya” means fearlessness due to feeling completely protected. So “Varabhaya” can be said to mean " blessing of fearlessness, or blessing with protection and without fear,” and mudra means “meaningful hand gesture.” This was the greatest attraction to Dharma Mahachakras. Almost everyone felt their consciousness expand dramatically as an immediate result of this mudra, and M argis often became absorbed in the supreme state, losing awareness of the external world or experiencing ecstatic bliss.

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Immediately before Baba gives the daily darshan speech, kaoshiki is demonstrated by a few sisters, and then both kaoshiki and tandava by a few brothers. 52

Because it was DMC night I felt something special in the air. Nevertheless, the announcement in the dark surpassed my expectation: “Tonight’s tandava will be performed by one hundred brothers!” Within a single shocking moment one hundred torches burst in flames—the dancers leapt high in the eerie light, chanting BABA NAM KEVALAM at ear-splitting volume.

Guru’s lips curled slightly in pleasure. His eyes burned, and His body shifted into a powerful pose. Soon after, in that mood, He gave the DMC speech.

Late at night, standing outside Baba’s house, I heard fragments of several Margis’ discussions about the DMC.

“Never before was my mind so concentrated”… “I thought my head would break, it throbbed so strongly”… “Well, I felt nothing, but somehow was still inspired” … “He was beautiful” … “These things are too subtle to be analyzed” … and so on.

Just before I went inside, Amita, a middle-aged lady from Norway, said, “And none of you saw it?”

“What?” they said in chorus.

“I was sure everyone saw it…” she said.

“Saw what?”

“The smoke coming out of His hands during the mudra. It completely filled the hall.”

52 Kaoshikii is a yogic dance which helps cure over thirty diseases, while generally exercising and energizing the body, it is especially beneficial to women, but also valuable for men. Tandava, a powerful jumping dance, stimulates the male hormones—it should not be done by women. It was invented by Shiva 7000 years ago. Statues and paintings of Shiva often depict him in this dancing pose. Tandava is the only yogic exercise which stimulates all the body’s glands. It even invigorates the brain. Shiva encouraged his warriors to perform tandava because it also helped in rousing their courage. A skull or a snake is held in the left hand while dancing to symbolize death. In the right hand a dagger or burning torch is held to symbolize life. The dance is a struggle between life and death, between dynamicity and staticity. Of course, life is the victor. Baba once said, " You should learn it in a disciplined way. Tandava represents life and vitality. Tantra is a cult of life, it is not a cult of death. Y ou should be strong—physically, mentally and spiritually. Lord Shiva says that all your expressions, all your manifestations must be based on present tense. So Tandava is the starting phase of Tantra.”

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Sacrifice paid back 100 times

Today is our last day in Switzerland. Baba consented to hold a special meeting with the brothers and sisters who had worked as security volunteers throughout the week.

All stood at attention, forming a perfect line, facing Baba. I stood in the front together with the Didi in charge of the sister volunteers. One brother came forward and garlanded Baba with a wreath made of green pine needles.

“I regret to have troubled you all,” Baba said. “You sacrificed your comforts. You nobly sacrificed your time for the sake of assisting me and serving your Margi brothers and sisters. For this I humbly thank you.”

He spoke a bit more, then slowly walked over to the line. As he passed each cadet, He looked into their faces. At the end of the line He came to Sundara. Baba removed the wreath from His own neck, placed it on Sundara, and then patted the top of his head. At that moment the blood rushed to Sundara’s face, and he looked so high that I would not have been surprised if he had collapsed in spiritual ecstasy. I think he remained standing only out of a sense of duty.

Afterward Sundara said, “When Baba touched me, it was the highlight of my life. He paid me back a hundred times over for missing DMC.”

Revealing His knowledge

Geneva airport. Once we entered the doorway of the immigration hall, we were at last free from the emotional mass of Margis. There were fourteen of us, eleven from India, plus economist and best-selling author Ravi Batra, Karunanandaji and myself. While waiting, Baba sat in a chair. I stood next to Him.

From nowhere, several Italian Margis appeared. Without formality, they abruptly sat on the floor at Baba’s feet, smiling with full gusto.

One of them named Vikranta stood up, saying, “Baba, can we sing You a song?”

“You are most welcome,” He said.

Though the melody was sweet, I could hardly follow the meaning— which I thought strange in light of my grasp of Italian. I understood only that it was a love song.

Vikranta stood up again, “Baba, I want to explain the meaning in English. The dialect is from Venice; it’s different from normal Italian.”

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Ah, so that’s why I couldn’t understand it, I thought. As Vikranta gave the translation, he visibly savored every moment with Baba.

Baba’s eyes turned misty. He said, “Your song was ambrosial. The translation was likewise excellent. E XCellent. But would you mind if I were to add a little something to your interpretation?”

“Oh, please. Baba, yes, yes!” They were excited.

Then Baba translated the song again, completely, line by line, giving detailed and charming explanations for the difference between His version and that of Vikranta.

The plane was called. As we walked away, leaving behind the tearful-eyed Venetian devotees, I thought of the difference between this experience and the one a few days ago with Parimal.

Berlin wall and the swastika

West Berlin. Our field walk today took us to the infamous Berlin wall which divides Western democracy from Eastern communism.

Baba stopped, looked at it, and said, “This wall symbolizes the brutal suppression by Communism of human liberties. It is a kind of artificial madness. In the near future you will all see this wall crumble piece by piece, stone by stone. East and West Germany will be united as one.”

Then He added, “In 1941, Germany came under the influence of a star called Magha, a bad star. Magna causes disruption and breaks into pieces the object on which its projection falls. Now its effect is finishing, and soon a good time is coming.”

After that He explained the swastika. He said the literal meaning of swastika is “a condition of goodness which will continue to exist.” Thus it means victory. He drew our swastika, which He said is positive. Then He drew the reverse swastika, and said it is negative. He warned us never to use the negative swastika because it brings complete annihilation. The Nazis mixed these two swastikas, often using the negative one.

Conscious sleep

Timmern, West Germany. About 200 Margis are collected for Baba’s three- day program in Timmern. 5 ’ The vibration has always been high here but Baba’s presence has raised it another level altogether.

53 Timmern is a small village near Braunschweig where we have our local full-timer training center.

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Several Dadas and Margis were enjoying the talk with Baba in His room— until a high pitched sound from the hallway disturbed us.

What in G od’s name is that ? I wondered.

It grew louder and clearer. “Baba! Baba! Baba!”

Bodhishvar from Switzerland stood up. “Baba, that’s my wife!”

Shaking His head in the Indian style of agreeing, Baba said, “Yes, she has a small problem. But there’s no need to worry. Go out,” he told him, “and softly uttering your guru mantra, hold the thumb of your right hand against her ajina chakra (on the forehead), rotating it slightly back and forth for a few seconds.”

After Bodhishvar left the room. Baba said to us, “The explanation for her behavior is simple. In her past life she committed an action which terribly disturbed her mind. Now she is desperate for any kind of contact she can have with me. Though Bodhishvar will succeed in assuaging her this time, her intense yearning will express itself again when given the opportunity.”

In that moment the screaming ceased.

Afterward, I heard that Anchala not only became immediately quiet when Bodhishvar placed his thumb on her forehead, she also closed her eyes and entered a meditative state.

In the night, after all were sleeping, Ramanandaji called me and another Dada to Baba’s room. Just as He was falling asleep we started to massage Him. We were silent, deeply enjoying an experience which transcends description. After about two hours the other Dada left me alone with Baba.

At one point, when Baba had been snoring continuously (it was more of a soft purr than a snore). He suddenly broke His snore, turned toward me and said, “What time is it?”

“3:30, Baba.”

“Accha,” He said 54 , and immediately started snoring again.

It seems, I thought, that only Baba’s body is sleeping, while His mind is fully conscious.

I continued the massage, thinking about this. About twenty minutes later, just as I was thinking. Is His mind really a wake? I wish H e

54 Accha means “ okay’ 1 and is common to many of the Indian languages.

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would give me some confirmation…, He again suddenly broke His snore, turned toward me, and said. “Who’s there?”

I smiled, saying, “Dharmavedananda, Baba.” “Accha,” He said. His eyes twinkled at me as He chuckled softly. Within a moment He returned to His snoring. A ccha, I thought.

[Author’s note: Years later. Baba’s adopted son, Kinshukji, commented to me: “Though Baba lies down and closes His eyes, He, of course, never really sleeps. Rather, whenever He appears to sleep for an extended period of time, we all become cautious. We know that He’s actually making plans. Usually, immediately after that supposed sleep. He introduces new, complex working schemes for us.“J

Devotees get their way

Everyone was talking about it: “We’ve got to convince Baba to hold DMC.” “If our devotion is strong enough. He’ll have to give DMC.” “Timmern is the best place for DMC, so why not?”

Perhaps Baba had started it all when He commented this morning, “Our Timmern program is like a mini-Fiesch.”

Whatever the cause, the excitement was so contagious that no one could avoid it.

As we came out for His evening field walk, the Margis crowded both sides of the sidewalk, leaning as close to Him as the security volunteers permitted. Like a faithful shield. I was close on His heels.

Baba was shining, immaculate in His white dress. In a clear voice that everyone could hear. He said, “It seems a fine night for DMC…” As the Margis yelled " Victory to Baba!” and other exclamations of pleasure in reaction to Baba’s words. He continued speaking in an undertone that only I could hear: “…they say.”

I turned toward the Margis, thinking to clear up the misunderstanding, but they were so excited they would not have heard me. In the same moment, I saw it was Baba’s play.

During the field walk. Baba’s mood was different than I’d ever seen. He was normally very loquacious during his walks. Tonight, for the first time. He walked in silence.

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Our footsteps echoed in the air, the wind providing the only audible background to our thoughts. Without the distraction of speech, we sank deep into a spiritual mood.

Halfway through the walk, Baba pointed at some distant tall trees, colorless in the faint night light, waving like feather-fans in the wind. “See the Cosmic Wave,” He said slowly. It was His one and only sentence.

It was a unique field walk, which in a way I enjoyed more than any other.

When we returned, we entered the darshan hall. I was shocked. It was fully decorated in DMC style, with flowers, leaves, colored papers, a new colorful cover for Baba’s couch, and a special ornamental arrangement behind the couch. The Margis were singing devotional songs in full-throated fervor.

Even before the speech began, it was clear that Baba was in a special state of mind. His demeanor was unusually dignified and transcendental.

When He spoke His first words, “The subject of tonight’s discourse will be…”, I saw some of the more senior workers cast glances at each other, recognizing His common opening for a DMC speech.

The Margis shivered with excitement throughout the talk, as if an electric current was running among them. I waited for Him to give the varabhaya mudra (gesture of blessing).

He never gave it. Personally I didn’t care, but I wondered how the Margis would react. Had they not all day nurtured an expectation which He had not fulfilled?

Someone asked Him for permission to perform G uru Puja . 55 He agreed— surprisingly, as this was usually performed only after DMC.

I alone accompanied Baba downstairs to His room. When He entered the room, He said to me, “Go back up and tell everyone that tonight’s speech was not DMC, but DMS-Dharma Maha Sammelan. DMS has the same psycho¬ spiritual effect as DMC, but the varabhaya mudra is not shown.” Just see. Guru has to follow His own system; while at the same time the devotees have their way to compel Him to follow their own desires. Of course they can only force Him up to a certain point. 56

55 Guru Puja is a mantra sung together with gestures in which the devotee offers his/her ego attachments to the guru.

56 Afterward I came to know that the last, and perhaps only time that Baba had person¬ ally held a DM S was in 1962 in Begusarai, Bihar, India. So it is clear that Baba consid-

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Travels with the Mystic Maste

When I went upstairs, I found all the Margis in an exuberant state, singing songs and dancing kiirtan. I climbed on the stage, took the microphone, and told everyone that I had a message from Baba. After a minute or two they calmed down and I repeated Baba’s words.

They didn’t care—no one seemed to be affected by my announcement. As soon as I finished speaking they immediately resumed their celebration— singing and dancing in spiritual ecstasy.

The sixth point

Baba’s darshan topic tonight was Shiva’s Seven Secrets of Success.

At its conclusion, I took Baba downstairs, saw Him into His room, and then entered Ramanandaji’s room, just next to Baba’s. In a few moments I was joined by three or four other Dadas. One sister brought in a huge bowl of round milk-sweets, a small fraction of what had been prepared in honor of Baba’s last darshan in Timmem. I sat alone, thinking of Baba, and eating slowly.

After eating two of these extremely tasty balls, I was lying on my side, looking at the bowl, contemplating whether or not to eat a third one. In that very moment, I saw the handle of the door turn and in walked Baba! He was dressed in the simple white undershirt and green lungi that He wears only in the privacy of His own room. He walked over to me. I sat up, smiling. With a sly grin on His face, He said to me, “And remember … the sixth point is a very difficult point to follow.” Without giving me a chance to reply, He turned and left the room as suddenly as He had entered.

I lay on the floor, laughing—Shiva’s sixth secret of success was control over food.

Freedom’s limit

This morning, just before our departure from Timmem, Baba called a meeting of Dadas and Didis. After beautifully reciting a few poems of India’s greatest poet, Rabindranath Tagore, He asked each of us to express something of how we were feeling at the moment. One Dada mentioned how sad everyone felt having to leave Timmem. Baba replied by telling a story:

ered this Timmern program something special. While Baba was in jail, a few avadhutashad the duty to conduct DM S. Si nee Baba’s passing, DM Ss have been conducted only by the President.

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“A great sage Kanva lived alone in a forest. He loved to help people. So he often took it upon himself to go to the town, find sick and helpless people, and bring them back to his hermitage to care for them until they recovered. He was well known for this generosity. One day a mother came to Kanva and left her baby girl. Shakuntala, under the saint’s benevolent care. Kanva raised Shakuntala until she was old enough to be married. At this time King Dushyanta arrived, and claimed Shakuntala as his queen. As she was preparing to leave, Kanva found himself gripped with feelings of despair. He thought, ‘I am a renunciate and a yogi. I should be free from the emotions of affection.’”

Baba asked, “Why was he having these feelings? Although he was a sage, he was living in the world, and thus bound by the relative factor. Now all of you boys and girls are doing meditation to be free of bondages. Being here in the world, however, it is impossible to deny bondage.”

Baba’s way of speaking was so gentle that everyone wept. A deer devotee

Hannover, West Germany. While driving today, an odd event occurred. I was in the car just behind Baba’s. As the road passed through a field of chest- high grass, I saw a deer suddenly emerge next to Baba’s car. For about 200 meters it ran alongside of the car. To do this it had to run at a great speed, while at the same time jumping high in the air with each step in order to get through the tall grass. At the end of that 200 meters, the car turned and the deer followed, continuing to run with Baba for another 150 or 200 meters. Then the car accelerated greatly, and the deer fell back, unable to keep up.

Baba’s nephew, Paltu, was in that car. Afterward I said to him,

“Did you notice that deer?”

“Of course.”

“And did Baba comment anything about it?”

“Not directly. But He was surely thinking about it. For several minutes He had been discussing German architecture, when, without warning, He began to talk about animals. I could not understand why He had changed the topic. And then He was talking specifically of deers. The speech on deers must have been going on for half-a-minute when that deer appeared. All of us in the car stared at it, except Baba, who

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went on speaking without turning His face in the animal’s direction. I wanted to ask Him about it, but He gave me no scope to speak.”

Will we ever know the cause of this unquestionably mystical event?

In the light of today’s experience and also Baba’s story about Kanva and Shakuntala I am reminded of an old mythological tale. A saint was alone in the forest performing austere spiritual practices. He had detached himself from all worldly affairs, and was approaching his entry through the gates of liberation when he discovered an orphaned baby doe. Compassion compelled him to rescue and then care for the creature. As months turned into years, the doe grew into a deer, and without recognizing the change in his mind, the saint gradually developed a deep attachment for the animal. One day the deer accidentally jumped off a cliff, falling to its death. The saint’s heart was tom. A few days later his final moment also came and his last thought was of his beloved deer. Accordingly, he could not gain liberation, and instead was reborn as a deer, which passed most of its life in the company of yogis.

Perhaps the story is not so fictional after all.

Revolutionary change

Yesterday, after leaving the cars, we approached a road having no sidewalk.

I said to Baba, “In Germany, Baba, since the cars drive on the right side of the road, it is better we walk on the left, into the traffic, so we can see any danger before it comes.”

Like a child. Baba complied.

This morning a similar situation arose. Again I started to explain where we should walk.

Baba interrupted me, saying, “I am an excellent student. If I hear anything, even once. I remember it forever. I clearly remember each and every perception since the moment of my birth. So, thank you—no need to repeat yesterday’s lesson.”

This afternoon Baba was speaking about society. “As long as there is animality in man. there will be war. War is the blackest spot on human character. Fight is the essence of life, but war is something brutal…. You may expect some change in collective psychology from after the year 1980, and a revolutionary change by the year 2000.”

Travels with the Mystic Master Heaven in hell

Rotterdam, Netherlands. A light rain was falling this evening as our entourage approached the apartment building which houses our three-story Rotterdam yoga center. While still standing on the street, momentarily waiting for the local Margi to come forward to unlock the door. Baba muttered something which undoubtedly was meant only for my ears.

He said softly, almost unnoticeably, “What hell is this?” It was not the sort of question to which one tries to reply, so I was left wondering about His meaning.

Next day. I believe I now know a little of the meaning of Baba’s rhetorical question yesterday. To begin with, the stairways in this house are winding, narrow, and insufficiently lit. As the two snake-like streams of Margis continuously ascend and descend, they unavoidably press against each other. Though about one hundred of us squeeze and adjust in inappropriately small rooms and hallways, no one minds. There is too much excitement in Baba’s presence for anyone to care about such matters.

Nevertheless I am constantly reminded of the spiraling passageways entering and departing from the different levels of Dante’s hell.

Then there was the water. It stopped in Baba’s bathroom. Since He did not complain, it was only discovered when a Margi cleaned His room. For a man who bathes three or four times daily, this was a great inconvenience. Yet He politely tolerated it.

After the water was repaired, He commented, “This is the first time in my life that I had to use a bathroom without water.”

His silent patience with the clumsiness of our arrangements deeply affected

me.

Today Baba mentioned that tandava (Shiva’s dance) should be done with proper paraphernalia. In the left hand there should be either be a skull or a snake to represent the force of destruction or death. The right hand holds a dagger or burning torch to represent the power of discrimination or life. He specifically added that the snake should be a living, poisonous snake. We took this as a cue. Two hours later Melvin was purchased—a beautiful, healthy, poisonous snake.

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The next darshan proceeded smoothly until it was time for the brothers to perform tandava. Viirabhadra (whose name means “the bravest face of God”) jumped fiercely up and down and side to side. In his left hand, Melvin violently twisted and spit. Some Margis were thrilled while others were horrified as they watched the snake bite Viirabhadra’s hand again and again. Rather than holding the snake just below the head as he should have, he was holding Melvin in the middle. Blood began to drip from his hand. Still the dance continued, the room reverberated to the chant of 6 aba Nam Kevalam and the rhythmic thump- ing of the dancers’ feet. Meanwhile Baba entered one of His powerful Tantric moods. He looked on with a calm intensity. The snake must have bit Viirabhadra thirty or forty times; blood flowed like water dripping from a tap.

At last the chanting stopped and the dancers halted. Though Baba’s words, “Very good. Very good,” were normal, His voice was deep and penetrating. Afterward He said nothing about the snake, but we were sure He was pleased. I was concerned for Viirabhadra, but he was inspired to the depths of his being. Fortunately the snake’s poison sacks had been removed.

I shall carry the snake with us everywhere from now on. The blood was a wonderful touch, but as Tantra has nothing to do with masochism, I will instruct the dancers to hold our undulating friend by the neck during the dance in order to avoid its fangs.

On field walk one sister asked Baba, “We have so many complexes like fear, shame and so on. How can we get rid of them?” Baba said, “Shall I tell you the secret? Kiirtan.”

Next day. Since most of the volunteers here are totally inexperienced, I personally had to stand guard-duty just outside the door to Baba’s room while He was giving Personal Contact. Anchala (the wife of Bodhishvara) was hovering around the door, clearly agonized over the impossibility of her entering Baba’s

57

room/

At one point I had to use the upstairs bathroom so I requested another Dada to cover for me. A few minutes later I heard a loud yell, followed by continuous shrieking. The sound came from downstairs. Alarmed, I sprinted forward. The screech became louder. Someone ap

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peared at the top of the stairs, running toward me. It was Anchala! And the scream “Baba! Baba!” was coming from her. She dashed past me.

Confused, I went down to Baba’s room. Immediately several workers jumped on me saying, “You fool! You idiot! How could you be so incompetent?” and so on.

“Stop, stop!” I said. “I don’t know what this is all about. What happened?”

“Playing innocent, huh? As if you don’t know that Anchala forced her way into Baba’s room!”

“What?” I was shocked. I turned toward the Dada to whom I had passed my duty.

“I’m sorry. She was too fast…or, rather, I never expected…”

“Just tell me what happened.”

“The brother who was receiving Personal Contact finished, and came out. I… I wasn’t paying proper attention.” “Obviously.”

“Suddenly I heard Baba yelling—so loud that I think my hair stood on end. He shouted, ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ I turned to look through the open door and saw Anchala still lying there fully prostrate with her head and outstretched arms under Baba’s bed. She jumped up like a rabbit hearing a shotgun, and ran out.”

“I saw the rest,” I said.

Could this be the last episode in the “Escapades Of Anchala”? Lingua franca

Amsterdam airport. The corridors in this airport seemed exceptionally long. Yet Baba avoided using the moving sidewalks and escalators.

I asked Dada Ramananda if there was any special reason that Baba walked up the stairs rather than using the escalator? .

“He said that escalators make people lazy,” Ramanandaji replied.

While waiting for our plane. Baba told me to sit next to Him. We discussed several subjects. One of these concerned some hearsay about which I had wondered.

“Baba, is it true that You will make a world language in the future?”

57 Until this date, Baba had never given Personal Contact to a woman. It was only some months later that He started Personal Contact for women in small groups.

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“A language suitable for all citizens of this globe will be constituted, yes,” He said.

“Then is it any use for us to learn Esperanto ?” 58

“There is no need to study Esperanto, because the global language we make will be superior. It will be convenient for all peoples. You see, the founders of Esperanto, though well-intentioned, committed two major errors. First, it is based primarily on European language roots. Asians and others thus feel it burdensome to learn. Second, it was propagated mostly among the intellectual community.

“Our lingua franca, on the other hand, will have its roots both in both Occidental and Oriental languages, including Sanskrit. No one will feel difficulty to assimilate it. It will first be popularized among famous leading personalities, so its spread around the world will prove relatively easy.”

The key to our hearts

Stockholm, Sweden. Since that first chaotic experience of Baba’s arrival in Geneva when the security went haywire, our other airport arrivals have been relatively calm and orderly—that is, until Sweden. A few hours drive south of Stockholm lies the only wholetimer training center outside of India and Nepal. Considering that these young men and women trainees pass all their time in the depths of a serene forest ashram, who could imagine that they would go so berserk when they saw Baba? My security forces were completely unprepared for the wild and rapid advance they made toward Him, shouting, “Baba! Baba! Baba!” Again Dada Ramananda went into action, his whirling arms creating a mean defense. But this time it was far from enough. It looked like Baba would be swamped in the mad rush of His devotees. Suddenly, as if on cue, though indeed it was totally spontaneous, all the workers in the entourage encircled Baba, joining hands. Only by a fierce muscular effort were we able to keep Him from being swamped. His smile was particularly maddening for these trainees, most of whom had never physically seen Baba even though they had already fully dedicated their lives for His mission.

58 Esperanto is a language made by philologists, who hoped it would serve as the language for international communication.

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Two days later. To a normal mind. Baba’s actions often seem illogical. But there is a purpose behind every word He speaks, every flicker in His eyes, every tilt of His head. What is the explanation behind His odd conduct here in Sweden? Due to the presence of the trainees, the devotional wave has been high—yet Baba has refused to give darshan for three days. Every morning and every evening their hearts pound with anticipation, only to fall into frustration and despair each time Baba fails to appear.

Finally this evening, at the time of His last scheduled darshan. He directed His car to drive to the big hall where all the Margis sat. Their happiness when they saw Him enter was so strong that many of them wept uncontrollably.

He keeps the key for releasing our devotional longing by constantly varying His behavior in unexpected manners, and by secretly and silently touching our hearts, even when we are totally away from His physical presence.

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CHAPTER 12

As Per System

“It’s a miracle”

Valencia, Spain. Because Ananda Marga began here only two years back, our local organization is not yet strong. There is no large yoga house. Our living quarters and program facilities had to be arranged in a Catholic church on the outskirts of the city.

We arrived in the late evening. Without any experienced local group to help, the arrangements were particularly taxing for me. Baba demands maximum speed. He instructed me that all workers were to meet in His room in one hour. Besides passing along this order, I also had to see to the general security, the kitchen, the program plans, the darshan room, and the workers’ rooms—not to mention dealing with the stream of workers and volunteers who bombarded me with questions about their respective responsibilities.

In the absence of properly experienced security volunteers, I was forced to post a guard at Baba’s door who was, well shall we say, more occupied with spiritual than practical concerns.

It was almost time for the workers’ meeting when a ruckus occurred. Running to Baba’s room, I saw one of the priests stalking out, swearing to God in Spanish, and saying that he would call the police; he wouldn’t be restricted within his own quarters. He was at least a bit drunk. The guard looked on helplessly. I glanced into Baba’s room. He was sitting calmly, unperturbed by the intrusion. When He saw me He instructed me to call the workers to His room immediately.

Within a few minutes everyone arrived. He said to us, “It is the duty of the guest to ensure the host’s comfort in every possible way. Our presence causes some inconvenience to our host. As gentlemen

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we are to fulfill our duty in the proper way. We should therefore leave this place immediately. We should not stay here another moment.” He turned to me and said, “Please thank the priests for allowing us to be here for this hour.”

I was dumbfounded. It would be difficult enough to find facilities on short notice for such a large group—but add to that Baba’s special needs: a room with an attached bath, a nearby room for His personal assistant, a call-bell, space for darshan, a kitchen for Him plus a kitchen for the workers, etc. The challenge was mind-boggling. And it was evening.

Another priest appeared. The drunkard had been only a subordinate; this was the head-priest. I told him we were leaving, and conveyed Baba’s thanks as directed. He pressed his palms together and said in Spanish, “Please, please excuse this great disturbance! Father Carlos was out of his senses. I request you to stay on!”

Hopefully, I passed his words back to Baba. He replied, “Again you must thank him, but we have to leave.”

0, Baba… how could You? Ithought. How in the world will we immediately find another place?

Baba was already packed. He started walking with Ramanandaji toward His car. It was late night. My mind turned blank in bewilderment.

Just at that moment the Dada appeared who had made the original arrangements to stay at the church. “Perhaps I know a house which will be adequate. Your car and Baba’s should follow mine.”

I was astounded. “But how is it possible?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

After a half hour’s drive we arrived at a suburban duplex. Dada led the way upstairs. We entered the room which would serve as His bedroom … then the attached bathroom … looked at the call-bell… the adjacent room for Ramanandaji… the darshan hall, which was adequate, albeit small…

Baba turned to us. saying with a smile, “It’s a miracle that you could get it ready so quickly.”

Afterward I asked that Dada, “What’s the secret?”

“Only a mistake,” he replied. “I first booked the duplex for our program, and even prepared the call-bell. Then the church became available, so I left this place. In my haste, I simply forgot about it and neglected to cancel it.

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“No, no, that’s not the secret,” he added. “The secret is that both problems and solutions have the same source .” 59

Typical intricacies

Notes of all Baba’s talks during field walks have been taken by Dr. Patak, but this morning the doctor could not come so I was requested to do the note¬ taking. Though Baba always speaks informally while walking, I tried my best to transcribe word for word. So these notes are special because of their relative completeness. They cover three days. These three days’ talks were more or less typical of His “usual” style, that is if it can be said that He has a usual style . 60 Notes from the first field walk follow:

“Why do oranges grow here?” He asked. No one answered. “It is because of the Mediterranean climate. The flora and fauna are Mediterranean here. The sweet scents here are also due to Mediterranean climate. Roses and sweet peas are only scenting in the north. It may be that there are some medicinal herbs growing here because the climate is so hot. All of them belong to the Calendula family, having yellow flowers….

“The name of a small stone or pebble in old Latin is rockin. Similarly a small man is mankin in English.”

He requested us to search for a particular herb. It was difficult for Him to look for it because His vision was impaired by the poisoning in prison. One Dada picked up a leafy plant. “Is this it, Baba?”

59 The next day Baba mentioned that something similar had happened to Him twice before in India. On one of those occasions, He was brought to the home of an ex¬ tremely wealthy man. As He entered the house, the owner himself was cooking food for Baba. Baba refused to stay, however, saying the man had earned all of his money by immoral means.

60 J ust near the time of publication, I saw a manuscript for another soon-to-be printed book called " Shri PR Sarkar on History—a Guidebook for Future Historians”. It is based on notes compiled by Acharya Ragunath during the field walks of Baba’s two-month tour of northeast India in 1984. Those informal talks were even more complex and academic than the ones He gave in Europe. By the word “informal” I do not mean talks which were given without prior research or systematic preparation—because Baba gave all of His talks without the slightest preparation. The only characteristic of His so-called formal speeches was in His method of giving a series of speeches on related subjects over a period of days, weeks or months. On the other hand, His informal talks followed no rule.

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“No. this is not the herb which I requested. Nevertheless, this also is a valuable herb. It cures liver problems, dysentery, and other digestive ailments.”

He told the herb’s name in old Latin, Sanskrit, Russian, modern Latin, old Hebrew, and several other languages. One Spanish sister then asked, “And in Spanish, Baba?” He looked at her, laughed, and told its name in—Arabic! I knew that the motivation of this sister was only to test Baba.

Baba’s bedroom and the darshan room are on the second floor. The weather is hot, so the windows are left open.

Throughout the entire darshan we could hear the singing of Baba Nam Kevalam coming from the street outside. After Baba finished darshan and was returning to His room, He asked us, “Who was that singing?”

Bodhishvar stepped forward. “It was my wife Anchala and four other sisters.”

“Huh, what do you say?”

“It is their way of protesting, Baba. Only brothers can receive Personal Contact from You. They feel that sisters also should be able to receive Personal Contact.”

Baba’s face suddenly lost its softness. “No one has the right to make demands on me regarding Personal Contact. It is my personal matter. Neither can the organization dictate to me, nor can any individual or individuals force me to give Personal Contact except as I so please.” He raised His voice slightly. “Do they have any idea of the inner meaning of Personal Contact? I assure you, they cannot understand it. There is good reason why I give Personal Contact to some and not to others. Do you know that Shri Aurobindo gave such Personal Contact only one time in his life? And that too was while he was standing on a balcony, and the individual was down below. No, they do not and cannot understand the significance of Personal Contact.”

Without waiting for any reply from our side, He turned and walked into His room. Just as we were wondering what to say to each other, the door opened and Baba reappeared.

“Tell those five ladies that they are henceforth permanently expelled from the organization. This is my strict order. No one should make any representation on their behalf. If any Dada or Didi appeals for

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them, then that very Dada or that very Didi will likewise be expelled.” Again He disappeared.

We were shocked. Bodhishvar said, “Oh, no!” Others said. “It is too extreme!” “How could He do this?” Yet there was nothing to do but accept it. He left no room for any sort of initiative from our side.

The girls were still singing kiirtan. Someone approached them, and they stopped singing, keen and hopeful to hear Baba’s comment. When they heard His order, they swooned and wept pitifully.

How could Baba be so cruel?

For the rest of the day and much of the night the five of them sat silently on the steps outside.

“The old Atlantis is now underwater except for parts of Spain, Portugal, Ireland and Iceland.”

Baba suddenly stopped walking, and asked, “What was that?”

I directed my torch light at our feet. Due to the dark I had not seen it, but a small animal had run in front of Baba and now sat in front of Him.

I said, “A small mouse. Baba. No. A shrew.”

Baba laughed. I felt that Baba knew exactly who that shrew had been in a past life, and that the shrew had wanted Baba to touch it, or even kill it by stepping on it. Though He refused to do so, I felt He still blessed it. We side¬ stepped the shrew and walked on.

“Dharmavedananda, what is the name of this sea?”

“Mediterranean, Baba.”

“Why is it called that?”

“It means middle-earth, Baba.”

“And is it the middle of the earth?”

“It depends how you look,” I said, “since the earth is pear-shaped.”

“Can there be a middle?” “No, I don’t think so, Baba.”

“Yes. There can be no middle. But the ancient people thought this was the middle of the earth because for them the earth was only Semitic and Alpine. There are big waves. Why is that? The Arabian Sea does not have big waves.”

“Because the Mediterranean is deep. Baba?” “No. Because it is shallow.”

Next day. Notes from this morning’s walk: “This hillock is not an ordinary place. What is the direction of the sea? Is it not east?”

“Yes, Baba,” replied a Spanish Margi.

“I remember one old story,” Baba said. “In the Medieval stage when the Romans—this means over 2000 years ago—when the Roman empire was on its pinnacle of glory, they came here crossing the Mediterranean on the east to conquer Iberia. A fierce battle was fought.”

He pointed to a concrete slab about 150 meters away. “Perhaps this is the place, and that monument commemorates the battle.”

“Strengthen yourselves in north Africa. We will attack from Spain with love. But we shall say to them we are not your born enemies. They will say, ‘We hate you.’ We will say, ‘We love you.’

“From Gibraltar move southward. Gibraltar is actually Spain, but it was given to England as part of a dowry. Historically, ethnologically, culturally and economically Gibraltar is a part of Spain. Now, know a little history. Here also the Romans attacked Iberia in the B.C. period. But at that time there was little difference between Italy and Iberia. The Iberian language is also a part of the Latin language, which died out 500 years ago. (I am not sure He said ‘500’ years ago.) Regarding Oriental-demi Latin and Occidental-demi Latin: 1300 to 1400 years ago Oriental-demi Latin became French and Italian; Occidental- demi Latin became Portuguese and Spanish. Portuguese is just like a dialect. Spanish and Portuguese people each may think. The other is speaking a dialect of my language.’

In the future, Spanish and Portuguese will come closer together and both will be benefited for proper development. Forget the last 700 years of history—they come from the same stock. The old land of Basque, i.e. Spain and Portugal, were a single people….

“Roman pirates came from that part. What is the meaning of pirates? Sea robbers.”

Fie started talking about agriculture. “What are the main vegetables here?”

I missed writing a few vegetables that Fie said. Then Fie continued “…potatoes, beans, brinjals, and onion of white color or gray color? Garlic has no seed. But in the case of onion, the seed or root will work. This land is of what sort?”

No one knew.

“You are cultivators and you do not know? The land is green, and thus fit for cultivation of vegetables and fruits of Mediterranean culture.”

One Margi said, “Baba, do you know that here they use more organic and natural fertilizers than artificial?”

“I know the entire agricultural history of Spain.

“Sweet lemons can grow on the rocky soil here, not oranges. What is the difference between the two? The skin and grain of the orange are loose. But you cannot easily remove the skin of the lemon. Amongst lemons are sweet lemons as big as oranges, which can be conveniently grown on rocky soil. The lower portion (He pointed downhill) is suitable for oranges. Up here is good for sweet lemon.

“Is the ground black or a bit red? It is latterite, a bit red—looking like brick. There is much calcium in it. It is suitable for sweet lemons and grapes. Vineyards are good in the hill area because of the latterite soil. Is this area more engaged in agriculture or horticulture? Horticulture. You may get proper saplings from Israel of sweet lemons. Are there any pineapples grown here?”

“No, Baba,” someone said.

“Pineapples may also be successfully grown here in the summer season. The winter variety may not grow well here because pineapples can not stand chilly climate. There is a ready market for these fruits in north Europe. Now they are imported from far away. In the winter also you can grow them in glass houses. This is particularly applicable in southern and eastern Spain, and southern Portugal—taking advantage of the fine weather during the summer.”

Later in the morning, Baba announced that the expulsion of 3 of the sisters was withdrawn, and that they should be accepted back unconditionally.

Anchala and one other sister were, however, “to remain indefinitely outside of Ananda Marga.” Hearing this, Anchala fell into deep despair. She and the other sister cried loudly, and tears fell profusely from their eyes.

Just before evening darshan. Baba asked Ramanandaji, “Have those girls properly learned their lesson?”

“Yes, Baba. They will never again repeat such a mistake. And everyone else clearly understands that Personal Contact is your personal affair.”

“Yesss. Then the sentence against the last two is also to be lifted. They may again rejoin the organization, if they so wish.”

This evening the five protesters were all on their best behavior: sweet and polite to their utmost. Their eyes shone like those of small girls.

[Author’s note: Many years later I heard of an incident witnessed by Dada Yatishvarananda. It occurred in India preceding the time when Baba started to give Personal Contact to women in small groups. All the members of one family were devoted Margis. The daughter was adamant that she must get Personal Contact from Baba. She sat outside Baba’s room performing long meditation. Dada said he never saw any Indian sister with such determination and fighting spirit. Several brothers were called for Personal Contact. Of course she was not called. She continued doing meditation. The Personal Contacts finished, and it was announced that all should proceed for Baba’s darshan in the adjacent hall. Though everyone else left, she refused to go for darshan, and instead continued meditation. In the darshan Baba said, “For Parama Purusha [Cosmic Consciousness] boys and girls are exactly the same. In the case of Personal Contact, however, I give it to the boys directly. For the girls I use a different style.”

At that moment, everyone heard the sister scream “Baba!” Her parents jumped up and ran out of the hall, anxious for their daughter. They found her lying on the floor, with a blissful expression on her face. Not knowing what to do, they again entered the hall.

Baba said, “Social conditions compel me to use this style when dealing with the girls. When she regains normal awareness, you should massage the joints of her body, and then give her hot milk to drink.”

A few hours later, Dada Yatishvarananda asked her what she had experienced. She said, “I was very angry with Baba. Due to anger I became fully concentrated in thinking about Him. Suddenly my mind soared out of this world, and through the Cosmos. I saw all the stars and galaxies, and finally entered into ecstasy beyond description. I became one with Baba. So I don’t want Personal Contact anymore.”]

Next day. Valencia airport. My note-taking continued even without request:

While waiting for the flight, Baba said, “The Bay of Basque was originally a part of Atlantis —that’s why it is so shallow. Wherever the sea is shallow, there are big waves. The Pacific Ocean is very deep—in some places more than six miles deep—and the waves are small in size. The man who knows little talks tall.

“There should be cultural, geological, zoological and other surveys around the coast of Iberia, because some new clues may be found about Atlantis. But that is only feasible if Iberia gets economic help for the survey from such an organization as the UNO, because it requires huge expenditure, and Spain is too poor. Physically I come here for the first time, but mentally I have been here before.

“Just after taking a hot drink, you must not take a cold drink. But the reverse can be done. The former disturbs the nervous system—the nerve fibers cannot tolerate the change. So, rules should be followed in each and every sphere of life. Since the time I left the military department in (1940-something), I am not wearing socks. It is my system. If I use socks then my head will be heated. If I take onion I will feel feverish. Garlic likewise makes me sick.

Everything must be done as per system. I did not feel any difficulty while I was barefoot in the snow in Switzerland—rather my feet were hot. Create a system. I did not take any food for 5 years, 4 months and 2 days—and I did not feel any difficulty. When the special medical team came from Delhi, the doctor said, ‘Baba’s heart is stronger than ours.’ There was no shortage of memory, nor problem with the brain. My memory is perfect since I was a one-day-old baby. I remember everything. All of this is by your grace, by your mercy.

“For philological surveys, you will have to go to remote villages to study the vocabulary used by them. Tape-record their intonation. If you go northward from London, you will hear different intonations.”

He spoke the words lake and gold in about ten different British intonations proceeding upward from London.

“You will have to go to villages, undergoing the pain of such travel-books will not help much. You will have to study the rocks, the underground and above-ground water. Study the language of the bulls—the bovine language. A farmer of south India uses a particular commanding tone to bulls. The tone used by farmers in England and Scotland is different. The bulls understand only the language of their own comer.”

Baba demonstrated the difference between the tones used in north and south India.

“There are twenty-two pronunciations of the letter ‘a’ in English, five in Spanish, and two in French. You will have to go deep into the source of intonation. So philology is not an easy subject.

“There are many special customs in Spain. For example, bull fighting. In Latin bull is torus. Only in Spanish exists the word tor ear, which means bull¬ fighting. One constellation of the zodiac is Taurus or bull. The first is Aries, which means sheep. The second is Taurus.

“If I get sufficient time, I may do something to help the cultural life of Iberia through Renaissance Artists’ and Writers’ Association. Due to the Ananda Marga organization I hardly get any time. You may form Renaissance Universal clubs—it has immense possibilities. And we should try to do something regarding the capacity of the vocal chords, through which we express our feelings. The scope of talking is less than that of feeling. If you are stuck with one pin, you say ‘Oh!’ If you are stuck with two pins, you also say ‘Oh!’ Language fails to express the difference. And if one finger is cut, then too you say ‘Oh!’ Feeling is far deeper than expression. Similarly, one tear drop may come in the case of both one or two pins. So tears do not exactly express the feelings either. Tears are physical, ‘Oh!’ is verbal—such points also come within the range of philology.”

Baba explained the names of some Margis present.

“Liilananda means the bliss that Parama Purusha [Cosmic Consciousness] feels when He creates this universe. When He does not create anything He enjoys bliss within Himself and is called Nityananda. Liilavatii means the energy which dances along the movement of creation. The vital energy used in pleasing the Lord is called A rjuna….

“In 1969, when I first went to Manila, they sang Spanish songs. There, all educated people know Spanish. Before World War I, Spanish was the official language. After that the Philippines came under America and the official language became English. Most of the Margis know some Spanish. Our Filipino acharyas have been posted in South America because they know Spanish.

“Something has to be done now about Esperanto . Before Esperanto is established, our people should learn at least broken English as a universal link language. It is a necessity. Esperanto had immense pos¬ sibilities, but there were no big supporters….

“Are there any special arrangements to study Indology or Egyptology or Sinology in Spanish universities?”

One Margi answered. “Maybe in Madrid. Baba. But these things are better to study in Germany.”

“In Munich there are several branches of humanities. The first link was studied by Max Mueller. He studied Vedic and modern Sanskrit. In his time he was an authority.”

On the plane. Even here my notes continued, trying to catch Baba word-for- word.

“The same style of octave is followed in Spain as in the Far East and China. Here the music contains a blending of oriental and occidental tunes. Music is not of standard European style….

“For Iberia, the past was bright, the present is cloudy, and the future is full of sunshine. I love the people here very much.”

In relation to the priest who lost his temper while we were in the monastery. He said, “A man in missionary service should try to keep his brain cool.”

215 Travels with the Mystic Master

Doctor Pathak commented that the Spanish word salida is close to the Bengali word chalo.

Baba joked, “In an English class (in India), the teacher said, ‘If you wish to pronounce cholera with a hard “ch” sound, then Ch-olera chale!” [meaning Go away cholera!]

“The name of the old mixture of Spanish and Portuguese was called the Iberian language. Even today, some of the Spanish dialects vary more from standard Spanish than from Portuguese. If the European Common Market system were extended to all countries of Europe, then Spain and Portugal would both be benefited.”

As Baba spoke this sentence I wrote benefitted in my notebook.

Though He could not see what I had written, He said, “Dharmaved-ananda, what is the spelling of benefited!”

“B-E-N-E-F-I-T-T-E-D,” I said.

“No. Though the rule is that a short sound gets a double consonant, this is an exception, and there is only one ’t’. There was a man named Rainjan Chateijee who had an MA in English, and was very proud of himself. Shailapati was not proud. Rainjan spelled benefited with two ’t’s, and Shailapati questioned him. But Rainjan was sure of himself.

“Shailapati said, ‘Okay. You can spell benefited with two ’t’s because lately in Bankipur there has been a number of incidents of dacoity. So two ’t’s is good for security.”

(Afterwards I looked through my notebook and found this to be my only careless spelling mistake in twenty pages of notes. Just see how nicely Baba caught me.)

He continued, “English replaced French to lead the world because: A) It has the flexibility to accept words of other languages like raja and jungle. B) Its grammar is more simple than that of French. The verbs do not change according to the number and gender of the nominative case. And the nominative does not change according to the gender. C) Book-French and people’s-French vary with each other. So what should be taken as the standard?

“See how English ate up Scottish, Welsh and Irish. By the same reasoning, Hindi is not popular throughout India due to its grammatical complication.”

(This ends my detailed notes from three days of His informal talks.)

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Nothing beyond infinity

Lyon, France. Though we have a yoga house here, the Margis deemed it unfit for Baba’s stay. Instead, they arranged a hotel suite for Him.

Baba hammered His words into Dada Ramananda. “Have I come here to stay in a hotel? Am I a bag of luggage to be stored away between darshans? Nonsense!” He steamed. “You are the culprit here. You approved the schedule and all the facilities. See to our shifting to the jagriti (yoga house) immediately. I shall not unpack my bag here.”

I felt bad because it was not really Ramanandaji’s fault.

“But, Baba, there is no attached bath for you there. It will be highly inconvenient.”

“It will be highly inconvenient, highly inconvenient,” He mimicked in a high falsetto. “I am not here for a vacation! I am here to work and be with the Margis. If we are not out of here in five minutes…” and His voice trailed off into a mumble.

It was a fact that there was no attached bathroom for Him in the yoga house. Setting up a portable toilet next to His room solved part of the problem. For bathing, however, He had to walk through almost all the other rooms to reach the bathroom near the front door. Margis and workers were of course sitting everywhere. Considering that He takes a full bath at least three times a day, this was indeed an inconvenience. Yet Baba’s mood could not have been sweeter.

Two days later. The Didi in charge of His kitchen handed me a basket this morning containing three thermos jugs—water, juice and milk. Because I was extremely busy preparing for the field walk, I passed the basket to one of the security volunteers, and requested him to bring it to the car.

During the field walk. Baba drank nothing. After returning. He requested milk. Moments later, a distraught Ramanandaji came to me. “What did you do to the milk?” “Nothing. What’s the matter?”

“When I offered a cup of it to Baba, He smelled it and said. ‘It’s gone sour.’ I’ve seen this sort of thing before. It happens only when the food or drink for Baba is handled carelessly—disrespectfully.”

“But I think Didi, myself and the guard were all meticulous.”

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“It was a great problem. When Baba refused the milk, I suggested that another cup would be prepared. But He said. It will violate our time schedule. So leave it.’ This is very, very bad. That’s why I want to find the cause. You have to check it and report to me within thirty minutes.”

Unable to imagine the cause, I spoke to Didi and the guard, but both claimed their behavior had been proper. I sat down to think. A minute later, the guard came back, saying,

“Dada, do you think that anything might have happened because of where I put the basket?”

“What? Didn’t you carry it directly out to the car after I gave it to you?”

“Yes, but no, well in fact, as I was bringing it out the door, I remembered my hat. I put the basket down near the door, and ran back to fetch my hat. But it was only a minute, Dadaji.”

“Show me exactly where you put it.”

He pointed to the dusty area packed with everyone’s shoes.

I understood, and went to Ramanandaji.

“This is surely the explanation,” He said.

“Will you tell Baba?”

“What for? He knows everything. Rather He caused this incident to happen just to teach you.”

During the darshan, Baba said, “Suppose that a gentleman is undergoing fasting and secretly in a closed room he takes chocolate. The man says to himself, ‘No one will know! Nobody will know!”’

At this moment one brother abruptly exclaimed, “Oh Baba!”

Baba continued, “Not so—his unit cognition will know that I’ve taken chocolate, and similarly the Cosmic Father will also know that in a particular room that unit body takes chocolate secretly. That unit body is still thinking, ‘The fact that I took chocolate on fasting day is not known to anybody.’ It’s known to everybody, nothing is secret.

“Now suppose Anchala is thinking like this: ‘This night I will not join general darshan and I will sing Baba Nam Kevalam just on the footpath.’ But Anchala’s thought waves will be known to the Supreme Father also. The Supreme Father says, ‘Ohh! Anchala is thinking like this. Issue a banning order saying Anchala won’t be allowed to attend general darshan.’ Nothing is secret.”

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Afterward I asked the brother why he had reacted so suddenly to Baba’s words about chocolate.

“Because He described what happened to me and the exact words I was thinking on the last fasting day.”

Following the darshan, Baba said, “Everything in this universe is the mental creation of the Supreme progenitor. As long as His mind is there, you are within His mind. He cannot say, ‘Get out, get out of here! I don’t want to see your face!’ He cannot say this. Because in that case you can ask Him, ‘Oh Lord, You say, “Get out!”, then where am I to go? It would be within Your mind.” 1

Now Anchala said, “Oh!”

Baba looked at her, continuing, ‘“And, Lord, if You say, “Get out! Go beyond the periphery of My mind”, then certainly. Oh Lord, You are not infinite. Because there is something beyond Your mind. So just to maintain the prestige and dignity of Your name. You are to tolerate what I do and what I think. And that’s why it is Your duty to guide me. Iam Your son, I am Your daughter. I am to do according to Your dictates.’”

Just before evening darshan, several Indian avadhutas and I were together in Baba’s room when He said, “I am now going to tell a story. But I prefer to speak in Bengali. If I were to tell it in English, it would lose some of its charm and much of its humor. Do you mind, Dharmavedananda?”

“No, no. Baba, of course I don’t mind.”

“Good. Afterward, Vijayananda will translate the story for you.”

I did get the translation, and will explain below. But during the talk I had my own experience.

Baba was in a chair, while we sat on the floor at His feet. He was served a large glass of lemon-water. A cloth napkin was tucked under His chin, which made Him look a bit child-like. Since I did not understand much of what He said, I paid attention only to His physical actions. As He spoke. He gradually brought the glass closer and closer to His mouth. Just as He was about to drink. He said something which made the Dadas laugh. He also laughed and brought the glass back down without drinking. Continuing. He again moved the lemon- water

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toward His mouth and just as He was about to drink, He came to another funny line and, laughing with everyone. He again brought the drink down. He did this repeatedly, which made me laugh every time. At the end of the story, the Dadas were laughing so hard that some of them were rolling on the floor holding their sides. At last He brought the glass to His lips and, giving me a wink, drank the entire contents.

As to the story (keep in mind that this translated version is missing many of the subtle Bengali nuances and all of His body-language), it concerned His army days before India’s independence from Great Britain. Since Baba was a corporal, the privates in His platoon frequently complained to Him about their selfish sergeant. The food the privates got was very poor, while the sergeant a e well and never shared a crumb with them.

One day. Baba said to the sergeant, “Sir, I know this jungle area well. I passed part of my youth nearby. I want to advise you about a most important point.”

“Yes, go ahead,” the sergeant said. “I’m all ears.”

“There are dangerous jackals roaming here. They are capable of killing a man and taking him for supper.”

Opening his eyes wide, the sergeant said, “Then what shall we do? Are there any precautions we can take?”

“Generally these jackals attack in the middle of the night. Before attacking, however, they make a slight coughing sound. If we hear that sound, we must not alert the animal to our presence by moving. Do you understand?”

“Corporal Sarkar, I depend on you to get us through this region alive.”

“Don’t worry. Sir. For maximum security, it will be best that I sleep in your tent.”

“By all means, please do so.”

That night Baba slept next to the sergeant. About 3:00 in the morning, Baba woke him up, and whispered, “Listen.” “What is it?” exclaimed the anxious sergeant. “Shhhh, quiet,” He said. A soft cough could be heard. “Is it…?”

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“Yes, it’s surely a jackal,He whispered.

“Oh God! In the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit…”

“Quiet,” hissed Baba.

Another sound was heard.

“I say! What’s that?” said the sergeant. “It seems he’s entered my supply tent!”

“Shhh, quiet, Sir, please.”

Then a clicking sound.

“By God, I think he’s getting right into my tiffin box!” “Sir. you’ll give us away,” whispered Baba. “What ho! I can hear the rustle of my bag of channa chura (spicy snack)!”

“Do keep quiet. Sir.”

“I say! It sounds like he’s taking my satchel of dried fruits and nuts!” “Sir, please.”

“Oh Lord, I’m sure that’s the sandesh (milk sweets)!”

“You’ll get us killed, Sir.”

“Oh heaven save me, the cakes!”

Baba grabbed his shoulders, whispering, “Get a hold of yourself, Sir! You’ve absolutely got to hush up. Don’t even move.”

The sergeant lay there, unmoving. But his eyes were filled with horror hearing the sounds from the supply tent. At last, there was silence. Ten seconds, twenty seconds…

The sergeant jumped up, saying, “He must be gone! I’ll just see…” He ran

out.

“Oh, Mother Mary!” he yelled from the supply tent. “That jackal’s taken every last drop of my eatables! God damn him!”

Baba walked in, saying, “Sir, really. How can you care for such a small matter, when here we stand alive?”

“Oh damn, damn, damn. You’re right, but…” and mumbling beneath his breath he went back to his tent.

Baba looked in, saying, “Sir, better I survey around, to ensure the creature’s really gone.”

“Very well,” sighed the sergeant.

Then Baba went to the privates’ tent to join them in their well-deserved feast.

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During the darshan Baba said. “In the prehistoric world, on this globe of ours, the first language that was spoken was about six million years ago. The language came, but the intellectual standard was very poor. At that time even the forefathers of present human society, those apes and proto-apes, were not here. Modern humans came about one million years ago. They had language but at that time their intellectual standard was also very poor. As the intellectual standard was low, the vocabulary was also very poor. Even amongst the developed species of apes, the vocabulary is about 600 words. And in the most undeveloped species of humans, the vocabulary is a little more than 900. Whereas in the modern French language, the vocabulary is more than 4 lakhs, i.e. 400.000.”

Next day. It was 9:00 a.m. I was in the workers’ room, resting on my back with my eyes closed. Nearly a month had passed, and now only three days remained of His program in Berlin Sector. I was exhausted. Thoroughly and totally. Having had minimal sleep, minimal meditation, minimal food, and maximum stress during this period, I thought, H 0 W can I continue for another three days? I love Baba and even love this work, but it’s too much. Would that this were the last day. I’m sooo tired. I’m too tired to even move my hand. I can’t even move a muscle. Nothing can possibly make me move now.

Just in that moment someone said, “Baba!”

The room rippled with excitement and surprise. Suddenly realizing that Baba had entered, I jumped straight to my feet within a fraction of a second.

Baba walked up to me. He gave me that mischievous smile which shows His dimples but not His teeth. Though He said nothing, I distinctly caught His thought: Nothing can possibly make you move, huh?

The great good of deportation

Milano airport, Italy. June 4. There were thirteen of us in Baba’s entourage. We passed through immigration procedures normally; all the passports were stamped for entry into Italy.

Just as we were beginning the customs check, an official ran up to us. “Please! I’m sorry, please let me have your passports again!”

Without the slightest idea of the cause of this abnormal treatment, we collected our passports and gave them to him. We walked back with

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him to the immigration area, and watched, horrified, as he stamped all the passports again. Over the entry permits he stamped ‘CANCELED.’ He gave no explanation and requested us to sit down.

All of us were running in different directions, talking to any and every officer that we could find, trying to get an explanation, and reverse this shocking mistreatment. I felt especially responsible because I was the only one of the group who could speak Italian.

After a few minutes of this pandemonium, I suddenly became aware that Baba was acting in a way I had never seen before. He was sitting alone, looking at nobody, and turning both forefingers and one foot in small circles—surely mudras to manipulate the circumstances. The action was similar to that I’ve seen done by other Tantrics who were tapping some occult power (Afterward I tried to imitate the movements, but could not). I understood that He was in full control of what was happening, and wanted it to proceed exactly as it was. Knowing that nothing I could do would affect His plan, I straightway sat down next to Him. Under the influence of His energy, I became calm and meditative.

After another hour, we were led to a shuttle bus. Everyone was talking excitedly, except for me. I stood next to Baba who appeared completely serene. We got on a plane and flew back to France. At no point did any official offer an explanation for our deportation.

When we arrived back at the Lyon airport, I telephoned the yoga house. Only one Dada and three full-timers were there. All the other Margis had either gone home or were traveling to Italy for Baba’s program. Of course that Dada was shocked, but he arranged three cars to fetch us.

While waiting for the cars, I stood next to Baba, offering what little security I could provide.

Ignoring my intention. He said, “Sit down, Dharmavedananda.”

Like a small boy, I happily put my stick down and sat next to Him. As He turned to speak to me. He accidentally brushed His hand against my shoulder and said. “Oh, pardon me.”

I laughed and said. “You’re welcome to do it again. Baba.”

He smiled. I was happy, together with my Baba, oblivious of whatever complications we were undergoing.

“Tell me, Dharmavedananda, what is the great good which will come out of this deportation.”

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I was surprised at his question. I thought for a moment and then replied, “I don’t really know. Baba. But I suppose the hundreds of devotees who were waiting for You in the Milano airport are now frustrated and disappointed. They’ll surely feel very bitter toward their own government, and they will better understand how corrupt their system is. As a result, they’ll be much more encouraged to work hard for the establishment of a society guided by spiritual morality.”

He said, “Yes, you understand a little something.”

The cars arrived. Baba entered one car and I entered another. For the first time in several hours I was separated from Him. For the first time, I started to think in a normal way.

As we drove down the highway toward the yoga house, I turned gloomy. My mind sank deep within itself, and in that moment I remembered the thought I’d had in the morning while lying on the floor: H OW can I continue another three days? Would that this were the last day. Oh. why did I think such a stupid thing? Now here it was happening according to my idiotic wish. His flight to Bombay was already fixed for the evening.

I was so sad that I started to weep softly. I thought. Baba, I miss you already. Then I thought. Please, You have to give me one last chance to be alone with You again. Please, when You call someone to massage You, let it be me. This thought ran on uncontrollably until we arrived at the yoga house.

As we entered, the place seemed deserted compared with how it had been when we left that morning. Already most of the decorations had been taken down, and in every corner lay the remains of a yet uncompleted cleaning effort.

Baba entered His room. I sat on the floor alone, alone with my sorrow. After a few minutes He came out and went for His bath.

When He returned to His room, I continued to sit alone, sure that He would soon summon me.

Ramanandaji came out, saying, “Karunanandaji, Baba is calling you for massage.”

What was this? I was so much into my own world that I never considered He might call another worker. I became distraught and dismayed.

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A moment later though, Karunanandaji opened the door and rushed out saying, “Dharmavedanandaji, Baba is calling for you to come also. The electric fan is not working for some strange reason, so you should fan Him with, with…“He didn’t know what to use as a fan.

I grabbed a newspaper, ran into His room, and started fanning Him with it. Meanwhile, Kamnanandaji also came back to do the massage. Baba was in a blissful state. I was now as high as I had been down a few moments before.

At first Baba was in a quiet mood. He began speaking about the suffering He and His mission had undergone from the very time of His childhood. But His voice carried no resentment. It had all been necessary and ultimately good.

Then He returned to the present. “What is the cause of this deportation?”

“I believe the Indian government fed bad information about Ananda Marga to the Italian government,” Karunanandaji said.

“Well, it may be, it may be,” Baba said with eyes half-closed. Then He opened His eyes and said, “But it may be a religious institution.” He told the exact name of that institution.

We were both surprised. Though He said “it may be a religious institution,” we understood Him to mean that it definitely was that institution.

“You see those priests,” He said, “they teach the people to think, ‘I am a sinner, I am a sinner. Lord, save me, I am a sinner.’ Thus they infuse inferiority complex. Even if one is not a sinner, praying like this, identifying with sin, he or she will become a sinner. Today’s young people don’t like this approach.

“Whereas Ananda Marga gives a revolutionary call to the youth. We say that everyone should think, “I am the son or I am the daught er of the Supreme Father. Lord, no matter what I’ve done. You have to take me on Your lap.’”

He was silent for a few moments. Then He sat up, looking serious and said. “Why do they fear us?”

By His word they, we understood He was no longer talking of any single religious institution, but rather of all the people and groups that fear Ananda Marga. The question was rhetorical, so we didn’t try to answer.

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“They fear us because we are better than the Hindus in philosophy…

better than the Christians in social service …

better than the Jews in orthodoxy …

better than the Buddhists in morality …

better than the Moslems in social equality …

better than the Jains in asceticism …

and better than the Communists in mobility. That’s why they fear us.”

In the evening some of the local Margis came. As usual, a large procession formed, accompanying Baba to the airport. But this time He was not traveling on another leg of the journey. He was leaving us.

I was so involved in the arrangements that it again slipped my mind that the final moment was approaching. I remained busy until Baba began the passport check. Though I was not flying, I somehow managed to enter the passengers- only area.

I walked next to Baba in silence. As each moment passed, I became more heavy-hearted. Finally, He and the others entered the gate to board the plane. I forced myself to smile at Him. He smiled back and gave a slight wave of His hand. Then He turned the comer and was out of sight.

I walked some distance to where I could be alone and cried.

Next day. In the mid-morning, completely exhausted from the tour, I sprawled out on the floor and fell asleep. Dada Vedaprajinananda told me afterward,

“When I walked by what I thought was a near-mindless Dharmaved- ananda. I was surprised to hear you talking in your sleep. You called out. ‘Where can we take Baba tonight for fieldwalk?’

“Just for fun I decided to answer you and said. We can take Him along the Rhone River,’ thinking that would be the end of it.

“But, still sleeping, you replied, ‘No, we can’t take Him there. He was there yesterday!’”

Today Dada Kamnananda told me, “When we were still in the Milano airport, but it was clear that all our efforts would go nowhere and that we would surely be deported, I asked Baba: ‘Baba, they don’t

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allow us. What we should do?’ Baba said, What can we do? We will go back.’ Then He put His hand on His nephew Paltu’s shoulder. He weS a bit tired and said, “There’s nothing wrong with the people of Italy. There is something wrong with the government.’ I said, ‘Baba, I’m so sorry. We could have organized better for You.’ But Baba said to me. What did you say? Sorry? Why sorry? You should never be sorry. When I was leaving Bombay I decided that I would give thirty-five discourses during this tour. The thirty-fifth discourse was completed last night in Lyon. So I knew that I would not be able to speak further in Verona. Still I came here up to Milano airport. And I am going back from here. There is some reason why I came and why I am going back.”’

Confirmation of Baba’s ‘guess’

Two weeks later. Mainz, West Germany. The news from Italy: Today brother Markendeya and a few other Italian Margis completed their efforts to find out the cause of the deportation of Baba’s tour group. At an early stage of their investigation they were able to confirm that the original request for the deportation had indeed come from somewhere inside the religious institution named by Baba.

The official in that institution who conveyed the request to the Italian government told them he had only performed his duty, and did not know the reason. He was ordered to do so by a higher religious official. The Margis then met that higher official. He directed them to an even higher officer from whom he had received his order. This upward relay continued until they were led to an inner circle around the supreme authority. At this point they were told by the very highest official they met. “I am sorry. I am not permitted to give you any more information regarding the source or the reasoning behind this process

Travels with the Mystic Master

CHAPTER 13

Vi sal ess Travel

Increasing bliss, increasing struggle

Verona, Italy. August. New news! What a wonderful surprise. Baba will be coming to Europe again! And after such a short gap. Maybe He will come often. Wouldn’t that be a delightful dream!

Of course, knowing Baba, the struggle I experienced during His first visit will only be greater this time. So goes the path of bliss.

He is scheduled to come first to Greece with a complete entourage on September 19th. This time it will be a ten day program. Tonight I already started calling all over the continent to begin preparations. I even had to call Iceland.

Hannover. 16 September. Another of His sudden games: at 3:00 in the morning I received a call that the timetable for Baba’s European tour had been pushed forward, and that He is to arrive in Athens the day after tomorrow. Three hours later I was on a southbound train together with two other Dadas.

I almost feel like saying, “This is too much.” But I won’t because He knows what He’s doing.

Next day. Athens, Greece. When we arrived at the station this morning, we were met by a new Greek Margi. “Namaskar, Dadas!”

“Namaskar. What’s your name, brother?” “I Giriish!

Trip good?”

“It was okay. Traveling is a big part of our life, you know.” “Yah hah!”

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“Giriish, you must be excited that Baba is coming.”

‘Baba! Oh Baba! Was beautiful!”

“Yes, it’ll be beautiful. I guess you’ve never seen Baba before, Giriish?”

“Oh Baba! Was so beautiful!”

“Yes. Is His coming still fixed as planned?”

“Yes! Coming! Yesterday! Beautiful!”

“Not yesterday, Giriish. The word is tomorrow.”

“Coming yesterday! Coming yesterday!”

We ran to the station telephone, and called the yoga house. It was true: Baba came and left yesterday! How could this be?

We walked to the yoga house, still hoping there was a misunderstanding. There we met Dada Shaktinath.

“Yesterday the phone rang,” said Shaktinath. “The party said, ‘I am Dada Ramananda, and we are here with Baba in the airport.’ I said, ‘Yeah, sure. Who is this really?’ He said, ‘Believe me, I’m Ramananda. We came a little early.’ I was shocked, but I ran to the airport with two Greek Margis. I was the only Dada here. I was excited, but also worried: nothing was prepared yet. Not even their visas.

“By the time we got there, Baba and all the Dadas and the Didi and Margis in His group were outside the airport waiting for us.

“After we paid our respects to Baba, I asked, ‘No trouble with the visas?’

“‘No, no trouble,’ Dada Ramananda said. We didn’t get any visas.’

“‘What? How did you get out of the airport?’

“I still wonder that myself,’ Dada Ramananda said. ‘I had hoped you brothers could arrange something for us. But Baba took the initiative. We were waiting inside the immigration building when He walked out one door and waved for us to join Him. I guess we never would have been able to get the visas. Without Baba’s lead we couldn’t have entered Greece.’

“Then we took Baba to the yoga house. Though nothing had been properly arranged yet, He didn’t seem to mind. He was very affectionate. After a few milutes, Dada Ramananda told me that Baba would like to bathe and rest. The yoga house was not suitable so then we went to Jayanta’s house. Though everything was hodge-podge. Baba’s mood was perfect, and so was the darshan in the evening. Early this morning they all left for Egypt.”

Travels with the Mystic Master

We three Dadas were completely frustrated. We went to the beach for a swim. It was my first leisure-break in months.

When I arrived back at the yoga house, I received a phone call from Dada Karunananda.

“Baba will be arriving in Iceland tomorrow evening from Cairo. You should immediately fly there.”

“What? It’s not possible! Are you sure?”

“What can I say? Ramanandaji called me just now with that information. I’ve booked my flight to arrive in Reykjavik this evening. Don’t be late.”

“But I’ve only got about $200, and the flight will surely cost more than $ 1000 .”

“That’s your problem.”

When I told the other Dadas, they had a good laugh.

“There’s no money among the Margis here,” said Shaktinath. “This is one of the poorest units in Europe.”

“There’s no time and there’s no way you’ll make it,” another Dada said.

“We’ll see,” I said.

After about twenty phone calls, and the usual incredible coincidences, I jumped in a taxi. It was thirty minutes before the departure of the only appropriate flight. Brother Sandiip met me at the airport. As he handed me the money, he said, smiling, “For me is too much, Dada. But I love Baba.”

“Yeah. So do I,” I said, thanking him with a hug.

Reykjavik, Iceland. We were rushing like mad to get everything ready in time for Baba’s arrival when the phone rang. It was Dada Ramananda.

There would be a change, he said. They would arrive the day after tomorrow.

The phone almost slipped from my hand as I thought about the part of my fare that was “wasted”—I could have gone by train at least as far as Copenhagen, and saved about $500. Well, I suppose this was a good exercise for developing surrender in Sandiip. And in me.

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Two days later. Even though we had two days to prepare, we were still anxiously making last minute arrangements when the phone rang. It was Ramanandaji.

“There’s been another change,” he said. “We will come tomorrow.”

[Author’s note: I later heard the story behind Baba’s delay. That morning, Baba and His entourage were in transit at the Copenhagen airport. Without visas, they could not come out to meet the Margis. By the goodwill of the immigration authorities, however, a special exception was granted, and the Margis were able to enter the transit area to enjoy His darshan for two hours.

The plane took off for Reykjavik. But after thirty minutes in the air, the captain announced that difficult weather conditions had suddenly developed. The flight was diverted to Oslo.

In my opinion the highest kiirtans of Europe are found in Oslo. I had wondered why Baba chose not to visit there.

Of course, the group had no visas to enter Norway. All the Dadas expected to either stay in the transit hall, or otherwise follow the instructions of the airlines. Baba, however, was of a different mind. Without consulting any of them. He headed for immigration. One of the workers said, “Baba, excuse me, we have no visas for Norway, so it will be of no use to go through immigration. We might try to speak to the highest authority here.” But Baba paid no attention. He simply stood in the passport line. Their protests unheard, the others also fell into line. When they saw the officer stamping an entry permit in Baba’s passport everyone was astonished. They could hardly suppress their laughter as one by one they were all similarly admitted into Norway.

Just after the last Dada’s passport was stamped, however, the officer seemed to wake up.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “Let me see your passport again. … What’s this? There’s no Norwegian visa! No no, this is very bad. All of you Indians, give me your passports back.”

“Ah, but we have friends here in Oslo,” said Dada Ramananda. “Before you cancel the visas, allow us first to call our friends. Perhaps this can be straightened out.”

“This is highly irregular,” said the officer. “Wait here.”

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A higher official was approached, telephone calls were made, and several unbelieving, shocked Margis came to the airport. As the negotiations proceeded. Baba sat with the Margis and gave a mini-darshan. Eventually it was decided that Baba, Ramanandaji, and Didi Ananda Prajina would be permitted to enter Norway. The others would have to stay in a hotel arranged by the airlines.

The exuberant Margis and their three guests drove to the house of two Margi couples: Manohar and Jyotsna, and Abaniish and Hansa. When Baba entered the bedroom where He was to stay, the bed was still unmade from the previous night. It seemed He could not have cared less and was in good humor.

That evening scores of Margis packed into the little house. Though the facilities were unsuitable for Baba to give darshan, the air was full of excitement and devotion.

The next morning Baba returned to the airport. In the airport itself He gave darshan for one hour, thus fully satisfying everyone. (Even the Dadas who had stayed in the hotel were satisfied, having convinced the airline officials to grant them free of charge “a few short” international phone calls.]

Spiritual motivation only

Baba fixed Iceland as the site for the only DMC program in Europe during His tour. Iceland is perhaps the most difficult point for European Margis to reach. And it is certainly not considered a resort island. Moreover, there are fewer Margis in Iceland than in most other European countries. Though He hasn’t explained the reason, we guess that there must be a spiritual cause. Certainly there is something distinctive about this island of the midnight sun. Some mystics have written that Iceland is one of the earth’s highest energy centers. Though I feel they may be right, I don’t really know. But at least Baba did say this island is one of the few portions of the ancient land of Atlantis which is still above water.

This reminded me of a story about Baba from some years back. A rich Margi had a personal problem and desired Baba’s help. When he was admitted for personal contact, he secretly carried with him a substantial quantity of gold, thinking to offer it to Baba. When he entered Guru’s room, he was shocked. Rather than sitting on His bed as usual,

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Baba was sitting on a huge pile of gold coins. Baba said. “Do you think your riches mean anything to me?” The values of the common person and a Tantric guru are quite different.

Upon returning from field walk Ramanandaji noticed some blood on Baba’s foot when he was taking off Baba’s shoes.

“Baba, what is this? When did You get injured?”

“It has been troubling me for several days.”

“But Baba, You didn’t mention it before.”

Baba did not reply. Ramanandaji picked up the shoe and looked inside. He found a nail protruding from the sole.

“Baba, look at this nail! Why didn’t You tell me? We could have fixed it or gotten new shoes.”

He smiled. “I did not want to disturb you.”

“So You destroyed Your foot! Oh, look at it! There must have been so much pain. Now You disturb me anyway! You should have told me the moment the problem came!”

Still smiling. He said. “Recently I absorbed a large quantity of samskaras while giving personal contacts. 61 It was necessary that Prakriti 62 express at least a little something in the balance. If I had informed you of the nail in my shoe, you surely would have eliminated my discomfiture. But then Prakriti would have had to devise another form of compensation.”

Secret connection

A dozen workers were in Baba’s bedroom today, laughing our heads off at His jokes.

At one point. He looked at Dada Rudreshvarananda, who is French by birth, and started speaking in his mother tongue. Though the rest of us understood next to nothing, Rudreshvaranandaji was so tickled by Baba’s French mirth, that he literally rolled on the floor in laughter. Later I came to know that Baba was making absurd comparisons be

61 Here Baba refers to the fact that during personal contact He relieves disciples of certain samskaras, (reactive momenta or unexpressed reactions) which most impede the individual’s spiritual development.

62 Prakriti is commonly defined as “Nature.” More precisely it is the operational prin¬ ciple causing Cosmic Consciousness to express itself.

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tween the objects and the people in the room. This French session went on for perhaps ten minutes.

Afterward I asked Rudreshvaranandaji, “How was Baba’s French pronunciation?”

“Better than my own. Baba spoke with a perfect Paris accent, whereas I was raised far outside of Paris. I think even His vocabulary exceeds mine.”

“But how could He know so much French?”

“He surely has a secret direct connection with the Cosmic Funny Bone,” Rudreshvaranandaji replied.

Lost in His shoes

Today was DMC day, and brother Jyotishvar from America had an interesting experience to recount afterwards.

“I arrived in Iceland three weeks before DMC. Together with a few others, I worked everyday to prepare for the great event. We worked hard painting, cleaning, organizing, and furnishing Baba’s quarters. Although it was fun to do, few people seemed interested in the project, and I wondered if there would be much of a turnout for the DMC. However, as the day of Baba’s arrival drew near, Margis began to appear.

When the Dadas arrived, they began asking for a volunteer to guard Baba’s house during the DMC (which of course meant missing the DMC), but strangely enough no one was the least bit interested. Even after Baba’s arrival, no one could be persuaded to take the duty. Dada Dharmavedananda. the security in-charge for Europe, asked me to do it. I adamantly refused. I had been working on Baba’s house for weeks with little support of the local Margis, and was frustrated that everyone was coming at the last minute to see Baba and was not willing to do any service. Ultimately the Central Dada said I would have to take the duty since I had already attended several DMCs. I was very upset, and even tried to hire some black-belts from the nearby karate school to guard instead of me. But all to no avail.

By DMC time, I was crazy with anger. I was fighting with everyone. When the last person left for the program, the silence became unbearable. I was consumed with anger and loneliness, and paced back and forth outside Baba’s room like a caged tiger. Finally the pain became intolerable, and I burst into Baba’s room.

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Even though I had helped put the room together, I was stunned by what I saw there. The room and all the furnishings were pure white— with the exception of the orange lines of a very large pratik (Ananda Marga symbol) that hung from the wall, several orange objects that Baba likes to have on his night table, and one orange rose in a clear vase. The room smelled strongly like perfume, though I doubt any actual perfume was used. The vibration was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I approached the bed and smelled Baba’s pillow; it had a powerful perfume-like smell. Then I noticed one item in the room which was not white or orange: Baba’s shoes!

I sat on the floor in front of His shoes in meditation position and stared at them. They were black Indian slippers with pointed toes and were very well worn on the inside. I wondered, “How did Baba leave the house with no shoes on?”

Then temptation struck, and I put my hands in those shoes and closed my eyes. Needless to say, I began to have a very strange experir ence. It was disturbed after a few moments, however, by a commotion outside. I hurried to see what was going on, which was the least I could do considering I was supposed to be guarding the house. I was shocked to find all the Margis returning after what could not have been more than ten minutes! What had happened? Then Baba’s car pulled up as the Margis crowded into the house shouting slogans. Had Baba refused to give DMC; why was he back so soon?

Baba got out of the car and walked toward His room where I was now standing dazed and confused, trying to look official without much success. lust as he got to His door, he stopped and turned around. The crowd became very quiet, and Baba said only this: “I think everyone enjoyed the program?”

“So he did give the DMC!” I thought. “I must have been lost a long time in His shoes.”

Then with the Margis still in a hush, all eyes glued on Baba, He turned His head to the left and, face to face, he looked into my eyes and smiled a melting smile that said: “You thought you could do something without Baba knowing?”

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The game called money

Late yesterday afternoon Baba asked us, “By what route are we traveling to Frankfurt tomorrow?”

Dada Karunananda replied, “We will fly via London, Baba.”

“What? Nonsense! Change the flight! The United Kingdom refused my visa application, so I shall not visit there.”

“But. Baba,” Karunanandaji pleaded, “we will only pass in transit.”

“It doesn’t matter! I won’t even touch my toe on that land. It is my fixed policy not to visit any country which rejects my visa application unless and until that country’s government formally invites me.’’ 63

When we left the room, several of us held a quick meeting.

“The tickets will have to be rebooked via Copenhagen,” Karunanandaji said. “By that route the additional cost for eleven tickets will be about $5000. Where are we going to get that kind of money by tomorrow morning? Our account is already finished.”

There were plenty of intelligent ideas between us:

“Anybody know any millionaires?”

“We could ask the government.”

“Are the banks still open for negotiating a loan?”

“We could ask Baba what to do.”

“Look,” one of us said, “Baba never tolerates any talk of money-problems. Besides, if Fie creates a problem, Fie also has a solution waiting to be found.”

Though not a single good option had arisen, we remained optimistic. A few minutes later while I was talking with an older Margi sister, a brother named Alexander, whom I had initiated just three days before, interrupted us.

63 Even at this time some countries were still confused by the Indian government’s negative propaganda about Ananda M arga. Such countries refused visa applications of any known member of Ananda M arga. Three years later I personally met a British immigration officer. He told me, “It’s quite true that our government’s policy was previously to refuse entry of any foreign national who was known to be a member of Ananda M arga. Due to recent revisions in our information, however, the policy has been revised. Restriction on entry by Ananda M arga members no longer applies.” The British government eventually became so positive that our London kindergarten received appreciation letters from government-affiliated bodies and received government grants.

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“It sounds like you have a big financial problem, Dadaji.”

“Well, yes, but you shouldn’t be worried about it. I’m sure we’ll solve it somehow.” I didn’t want this new Margi to be bothered by our problem. But he was persistent.

“How much do you need?” he asked.

“It’s okay. You needn’t be concerned.”

“Just tell me, Dada.”

“Ah, about $5000.”

“Well… that’s a coincidence. I just sold my house for $15,000. I made the budget for spending $ 10,000, and was wondering what I would do with the other $5,000. Now I know.”

I objected, but he insisted.

As we were leaving this morning, Alexander flashed a big smile and said, “I feel like Baba created this problem just so I wouldn’t use my extra money in selfish pleasures.”

I wasn’t sleeping!

According to what others later told me, on the flight to Frankfurt two Didis were sitting in front of Baba. Looking back, one of them laughed. She elbowed the other, who also turned around and burst out laughing. Baba’s curiosity aroused. He also glanced back over His shoulder. And there I sat. Due to exhaustion I had fallen asleep during meditation. My head was tilted back and my mouth was wide open. That mouth has an immense capacity to stretch itself. (When I was a child, some of my friends called me Snake-jaw). Baba also grinned.

One Dada said. “How about pouring some water in?”

A Margi next to me, Mr Rathi, said. “I can deposit a cardamom seed.”

Baba said. “Let’s put a rasogula in his mouth.” 64

Rathiji dropped a cardamom seed in my mouth. Rudely awakened, I sat up sharply and said, “I wasn’t sleeping! I was meditating.”

Everyone exploded with laughter, including Baba.

Ever grateful

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

M Rasogula isa popular Indian milk-sweet.

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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.

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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 forty 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.

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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

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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.

If you want to eat more

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.”

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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.

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CHAPTER 14

Become an Ideal Person

Better not trouble Cosmic Mind

Wales, United Kingdom. 1980. Today at the breakfast table, I commented to some Margis, “Perhaps I have a special blessing from Baba. In the nine years I’ve been working for Ananda Marga, I’ve never missed a train, bus or plane. Even when I arrive at the station late, the trains and buses in those cases are also late.”

“What’s the explanation for this, Dada?” a sister asked.

“Well, it’s surely not my own power. If I weren’t working for dharma (righteousness). I’d miss the bus just like anybody else. Simply speaking, the Cosmic Force protects those who serve It.”

“How about some more apple pie, Dadaji?” she said.

“Sure, thanks.”

“But, Dada,” my host, Karun said, “there’s no time for more pie now. Your train for Liverpool leaves in just twenty minutes.”

“No problem,” I said. I ate the pie at a leisurely pace.

We left after about ten minutes. Since we were late, Karun drove me by motorcycle as fast as he could. Still, we arrived one minute past the scheduled departure time. We sat down on the platform to wait for the late train.

Five minutes passed in pleasant conversation. Then as one lady walked by, I asked, “Excuse me, do you know how late the train to Liverpool is?”

“It’s not late,” she said. “It came on time and left on time.” “What?” I was shocked. “How can that be?” “I think it’s not unreasonable, sir.” she said, and started to walk away.

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“Dada, there’s always a first time, you know,” said Karan. “I told you not to eat that pie.”

“No!” I said, jumping up. “There must be a way. Excuse me again,” I said, running after the same lady, “but do you know any other way to Liverpool? I’ve got to be there by 6:00 this evening for a lecture.”

“Well, my husband sometimes takes a morning bus to Liverpool. But that’s surely left by now.”

“We have to try!” I said. “Where does it go from?”

“It leaves about seven kilometers from here. Straight down that road. But I tell you, it’s already too late.”

“Thanks! Let’s go, Karan!”

I pulled Karan onto the motorcycle. Even as we rode off, he protested at the futility of it. “I tell you, that pie did you in, Dada,” he said. “Apple pie yanked you off the path of D harma!”

About three kilometers down the road, we spotted a bus on the side of the road. “Stop the bike!” I yelled.

I ran to the bus. and leapt inside.

“Is this bus going to Liverpool?” I asked.

The driver had his head underneath the steering wheel, and was trying to see something. “Don’t bother me, buddy.”

“Please, just tell me, are you going to Liverpool?”

“We will, damn it, if this bus ever gets going again.”

I laughed and said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it will start soon.”

lust as I said that, he turned the key and the engine roared.

As the bus drove off, I stuck my head out the window. “Thanks for the pie!”

Karun yelled at me, “You lucky stiff!”

Ten days later. Oslo, Norway. I was busy until late last evening, reviewing the meditation lessons of a few Margis. Abaniish knocked on my door.

“You’re going to miss your train to Stockholm, Dada,” he said. “I never

miss. Don’t worry.”

By and by, I got ready. Once in the car, Abaniish drove like mad. When we arrived at the station, Abaniish and the other Margis jumped out and ran. I walked. “Dada, hurry up!”

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“Baba will take care,” I replied.

But just as the platform came in sight, the train pulled away.

I stood there flabbergasted.

“Dada, why didn’t you run?” Abaniish said.

“There’s no time for talk now,” I said. “Where’s the next stop?”

“Well, Lillestrom,” he said. “But it’s too far away. It’d be out of the question to try and catch up with the train.”

“I don’t care!” I said. “We’ve got to make it.”

I ran toward the car. Abaniish laughed, and came after me slowly. When he finally got to the car, he said. “There’s no way, Dada. Just admit you missed it.”

But I insisted, so reluctantly he drove. All the way to Lillestrom he kept saying, “This is crazy. It’s impossible! We’re just wasting our time.” But I pushed him to drive faster.

Twenty-five minutes later, as we came near the Lillestrom station, we saw the train also approaching. “I can’t believe it!” Abaniish said. “It’s like a movie!”

As the car screeched in, I threw the door open, sprinted to the train, and jumped in, out of breath. Then, anti-climactically, the train remained there for a few minutes. The Margis jogged up, clapping their hands.

“Congratulations, Dada,” Abaniish said. “Any parting remarks for the fans?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Though we Dadas may not have to worry about catching our trains, it’s still better to arrive early.”

Due to their laughter, perhaps they didn’t hear me add. “I got your message. Baba. Twice in ten days is enough.”

A great force behind your work

Reykjavik. I am staying with a family whose daughter works on the American military base. Yesterday, when I asked her how I could enter the base, she shrugged her shoulders and said. “It’s impossible, Dada. Unless you’ve got special permission.”

“Then how do you get in?”

“I take the staff bus.”

This morning at 7:00 I donned civilian clothes and walked alone to an unmarked bus-stop. When the bus came, I boarded; no one asked for either identification or fare. I suppose the driver and employees were too sleepy to notice me.

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The bus cleared the check-point at the main gate of the military complex. Inside the base, it made a number of stops, dropped off passengers, and negotiated two more security posts. At its final stop, deep within this strange land within a strange land (treeless Iceland itself reminds me of nothing short of the moon), I stepped down.

I looked around, wondering where I might find my destination. Picking the area where the buildings were packed together most densely, I maneuvered between jeeps, top brass and sentries. Perhaps because I walked as if I knew where I was going, no one questioned me.

When I had sufficiently penetrated the maze of match-box wooden structures and concrete cubes, the moment for my biggest gamble arrived. I approached a passing officer.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“I’m a bit lost. Can you tell me where the anti-insurgency training section is?” I asked, wondering if there was any such place. “Who did you want to meet there?” he asked. Beautiful! “The chief training officer,” I said.

“The man dealing with that material has an office not far from here. Let me have a look at your pass to make sure you won’t have any problems accessing the area.”

Without hesitation, simply depending on Baba, I said, “I don’t have any pass.”

“What? Then how did you get onto the base?”

“I just walked here, and no one stopped me.”

“Astonishing! I’ve never heard of such a thing before! Excuse me, sir, but can I know your purpose?”

“I’m a social worker, and I have an interest in developing a course to discipline my staff. I think there’s much to learn from military discipline.”

He looked at me intently. “Excuse me for saying, sir, but you look a bit like Jesus Christ.”

“Many people say that…”

“You entered without a pass! I can’t get over it. Well, perhaps there’s a special force behind your work. Let’s go to my office. I’ll issue you a pass myself.”

After completing the formalities, he telephoned the training section and arranged a jeep to take me there. When I got down from the jeep, a soldier met me, saying, “Come this way, sir.”

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He led me to the office of a man introduced as a two-star general.

“Sir, in what way can I be of service to you?” the general asked

“I’m responsible for training social workers,” I said. “In my experience I’ve found two qualities missing in many of our cadre. One you’ll surely appreciate, and the other, well I don’t know. First, I want my men to be systematic and to move together as a disciplined work force. I want to help them kill whatever tendencies they have toward disorder. Each of them should develop the ability to both lead and follow. Secondly, though I’m not sure you’ll like this. I’d like them to acquire some of the qualities of the American army’s enemy: the guerrilla warriors.” He stared at me, giving me no inkling of his feelings. “As you know better than I, the revolutionary army’s make-up is different from that of regular troops suited for conventional warfare. Regular troops are usually drafted or primarily interested in the economic and social benefits of working in the army. Guerrilla soldiers, on the other hand, receive minimal pay. They mix with the general population, breathing in and out the problems of the common people. They face constant temptation to give up their fight and return to the security of normal life. So they must be fully aware, ideological, self- willed, creative and, above all, inspired.”

“I’m impressed, Mr … uh, sorry, what was your name again?”

“Jackson.”

“… Mr Jackson. Really impressed, both with your straight-forwardness and with your sincere intentions. And I do understand. Yes, indeed I do. You’ve put your finger on one of the labyrinthine problems of the military forces—how to encourage fighting zeal and individual initiative, while at the same time maintaining strict lines of order and discipline. Yes, I’m sympathetic and will try my best to help you. Yours is a truly novel approach to social work. Can you wait here a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

When he came back, he had a two-foot pile of books in his hands. We spoke a bit more, he praised me again, and ordered a jeep to return me to the main gate. From there I took a taxi. Once inside the cab I started looking through the titles of the books he had given me.

Great! I thought. Books on discipline, morale, understanding guerrilla warfare, physical training, collective psychology—perfect. But what’s

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this? He must have become over-enthusiastic when I said I wanted to help our cadres kill their undisciplined habits—he included a book titled Rifle Training.

What spoils ecstasy

Fredrikstad, Norway. I am guiding an adventure-camp here. Last night I had a dream:

I was sitting on the floor in the front of a large auditorium. A few thousand Margis were present for Baba’s darshan. In the midst of His speech. He turned His face directly into mine and spoke to me.

His sweet words acted like an exotic aphrodisiac, making me lose my head. I found myself throwing my arms around His neck. Baba was a magnet of love, and I an iron doll. I was so strongly attracted to Him that I unintentionally pulled Flim off the stage, and we began to roll on the floor in a tighter and tighter embrace. My face was buried in His and I could see nothing. A burning- bright white spiritual fire coursed through me. I was consumed by a feeling beyond all the joy and sorrow I had ever known.

In the midst of this ecstasy, a whispering thought entered my mind: What will all the people think?

Embarrassed, I slightly withdrew my face from His. But I still saw nothing, because He had caused the lights to turn off. We were in complete darkness, and no one could see us anyway.

Still feeling Him in my arms, I thought. What a fool I was to worry about the thoughts of others!

In that intense bitter-sweetness I awoke. For a long while I lay there— awed.

Every problem is no problem

Birmingham, England. It was the Sunday night of a weekend seminar. Dada Sudiipta approached me around midnight, just as I was about to go to sleep.

“Sorry, Dharmavedananda. I forgot to give you this letter from Dada Japananda.”

Dada Japananda, one of my higher authorities, was in dire financial need for his work in Africa, and was begging me to bring to India some assistance for him. It was a great clash for me, since I didn’t have

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any extra funds and was scheduled to leave for India the following Wednesday. If I had received the letter in proper time, I might have requested donations from some of the Margis at the retreat.

Now everybody must be asleep, I thought, and early tomorrow morning most of them will leave. I won’t have any chance. What am I to do? Baba, any ideas?

Suddenly I saw the face of an Irish brother who was attending the retreat: Sundara.

M ust be my own imagination, I thought. H e’s just a poor student.

But the image persisted so I walked down the hall. I found all the rooms dark; everyone was asleep. Except… in the last room a light was on. I looked in. Someone was reading with his back to the door. As I walked up to him, he turned to face me.

“Good evening, Dadaji.” It was Sundara. I felt like I was dreaming.

“Sorry to disturb you, brother.”

“No, no problem, Dada. What is it?”

“Well, I doubt you can help, but, you see, a Dada needs financial help for his work.”

“How much does he need, Dada?”

“About four hundred pounds.”

“Well, I just received the check from my summer job, but it’s back in Cork— in Ireland.”

Within a few minutes everything was fixed. He agreed to wire the money to me in London on Tuesday.

No higher purpose

Back in Calcutta. When I arrived at the workers’ meeting today, the General Secretary approached me.

“What’s this, Dharmavedananda? You’re here again?” he asked. “Who gave you permission to attend the workers’ meeting? You know only Sectorial Secretaries are to come.”

I had wondered when he would notice that I had come to every workers’ meeting over the last few months. I pulled a paper from my shoulder bag. “Please, read this Dada.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a photocopy of a circular you sent out eight months ago. See point #17, please.”

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He read aloud: “All chief secretaries of every trade from all sectors are to attend senior workers’ meeting every two months. Hmmm … But not a single other chief secretary of any other sector paid attention to this item. It was a technical point dictated by Baba.”

“And?”

“Well… but… everyone understands such a directive is not to be taken seriously unless it is repeated. And… well… Dharmavedananda, isn’t it expensive for you to come to India every two months?”

“Sure it’s expensive. But what do I care if it gives me the chance to see Baba? Somehow He always arranges the money for me. Are you saying I shouldn’t come? Are you going to approach Baba to change the order?”

“No no.” He smiled. Then patting me on the cheek, he said, “Very clever,” and walked away.

As long as I’m the Service Department chief secretary I shall attend every workers’ meeting unless and until I’m specifically ordered to stop. As long as duty does not conflict, what purpose is higher than to be with the guru?

Useless fellow, useless stick

“Your work is far below the mark!” Baba yelled at one of the senior workers of Delhi Sector. “Give some justification, stupid!”

Usually this Dada was sharp and active. But today he was silent in front of Baba, grinning like a five year old boy just complimented by his father. His turban was lop-sided, he stood off balance, and in general looked—what can I say?—he looked drunk.

“Idiot fellow!” Baba continued. “Only two schools opened under your supervision over the last two months! Don’t you deserve punishment?”

Baba readied His stick.

“Say, say! Have you become a mute animal? Nonsense, do-nothing donkey!”

Normally, anyone undergoing such treatment from Baba becomes fearful, or at least sober. But this Dada’s eyes only glittered as he innocently stared at Baba. At first we were all a bit uneasy, waiting for Baba’s stick to come down with a whirring slap. Now the scene took on a comic note. This Dada was clearly in another world, enjoying Baba immensely.

“Foolish fellow. Useless fellow. Leave him to his dream.” We all smiled.

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In the next moment. Baba was castigating another worker who trembled under His onslaught.

Innovation approval

Today I approached Dada P, an old worker, with a difficult question regarding my meditation. I had discovered a new innovation in my technique, and wondered if it was right. Dada gave no clear reply, but essentially discouraged me. Somehow I wasn’t satisfied.

A few hours later we were having darshan with Baba on the roof-about two hundred Margis were there. During part of the kiirtan, Baba was sitting with His face down. Without intending it, I suddenly and spontaneously thought, Baba, if I should use this new method in my meditation please look up now.

In that exact instant. He broke His downward stare, looked up at me, and gazed into my eyes for about twenty seconds. Then, without looking in any other direction, He again cast His eyes down.

Could anything be clearer? Without telling anyone, I continued using the technique with full inspiration.

Greatest hindrance to universalism

Five of us were sitting together with Baba in His room late last night when the electricity failed. Someone lit a candle. Baba spoke of mystical matters, and then of the future. At one point He asked us a question, “When the spiritual- moralists gain power, when they are in a position to directly influence the society, what is the first major initiative they should implement ?”

We speculated for a few minutes but our guesses were all unsatisfactory. Baba answered His own question. “The first and foremost change they should execute is the elimination of the passport and visa system. This system is the greatest hindrance to the establishment of universal kinship.”

Making ideal humans

In today’s reporting session all the district in-charges of the north area of the Indian Sector were present.

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A district in-charge who was about thirty-five years old stood in the front. Baba asked him, “Do you know you are suffering from tuberculosis?”

“Yes, Baba.”

“Did you seek diagnosis and treatment by a medical doctor?” “Yes, Baba.”

“And did it help?” “No, Baba.”

“Why didn’t you take the help of any Dada?” The

Margi looked down and was silent.

“And why do you still secretly continue your nasty habit with that lady?”

Baba’s words sent a shock through the room. The Margi quickly shuffled his feet and simultaneously sighed. He was so embarrassed that he looked ready to die.

“Do you think Baba cannot see?”

“No, Baba … Baba knows everything.”

“Do you deserve punishment.”

“Yes, Baba.”

“Take off your shirt. Yes. Now come closer.”

Baba raised His stick in the air and brought it down with a snapping sound below the ribs on the right side of the man. Once, twice, three times. The Margi winced slightly.

“Turn in the other direction.”

He beat him now thrice on the left side.

“If you correct yourself, and reinvest that misutilized energy in social work, you will become a new man. An ideal man. What do you say?”

He stood up a little straighter and said, “Baba, I will be an ideal man.”

“Eh, what did you say?”

In a forceful voice he said, “Baba, I will be an ideal man!” “Have you all

heard his words?” We all said, “Yes, Baba.”

“GS Dada, take my stick. Now, touch it to his chest. Yes, and twist it back and forth.”

As the General Secretary turned the stick, the man suddenly took a deep and long breath.

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“Now do the same at the opposite point of his back.”

Again the Margi took a strong breath.

“How do you feel now, my boy?”

“I feel very good, Baba!”

“Have you had any x-rays taken?”

“Yes, Baba.”

“Tomorrow go to the hospital and have another x-ray made. You will see that your disease is now 80% cured. It will soon become completely cured if you strictly follow the Sixteen Points (of physical, mental and spiritual health). What do you say?”

“I will be the ideal son of Baba!”

“Yesss.” Baba gave a slight wave of His hand.

After paying his respect, the Margi stepped back into his place.

Without further ado, as if nothing had happened, Baba continued the reporting session.

Tonight as I sit here writing, I think back that after reporting we all left for lunch and hardly a further word was spoken about the incident. This sort of experience with Baba is so common that it no longer draws our wonder. For us it is no miracle—it is simply one of Baba’s ways to increase our commitment to Sixteen Points and guru. And for that Margi, well, who can say why he attracted Baba’s grace?

The world is the mind

Goteborg, Sweden. This morning, while taking the ferry from Alborg, Denmark, I read one of the Don Juan books by Carlos Castaneda. Though I have some doubt about how completely factual his books are. they at least partially reflect the mystic teachings of the native Mexicans. Those teachings have something in common with Tantra, and I suppose they are derived from the ancient Tantra. I became absorbed in his idea that each person’s perception of the world is simply a projection of that person’s own mind—so absorbed that I did not notice the clock as the ship approached land. Only when I looked up from the book and saw the passengers jammed near the exit did I recall the short time I had to reach the train station after the ship’s docking. If I waited for all the passengers to leave before me, I would surely miss my connection.

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With my mind still engrossed in the book’s idea, that everything I see is the projection of my own thought — I stood up and walked toward the back of the crowd of waiting passengers. At least one thousand people were there. Though I neither spoke nor made the slightest gesture, the impatient packed crowd divided for me. They did so keeping their backs to me. It was unnatural—like the Red Sea parting for Moses. I was able to move forward without hindrance. Just as I arrived at the gate of the ship, it opened, and, without breaking my stride, I was the first to walk off. It was like a movie or a dream. I made the train just in the nick of time.

The experience was a minor one. But it’s philosophical implications have been following me and rippling my thought-waves ever since that sunny day in California. 1

“This refers to the experience in 1969 in Chapter 2. in the entry entitled " No Outside”.

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CHAPTER 15

Lord Shiva Never Did It

The one and only answer

Verona. 1981. According to Tantra, there are no accidents. Life is a series of incidents, each with its own cause and meaning.

When I first attempted to analyze the causes behind my mistakes, my injuries and the injustices inflicted upon me, I accepted the usual explanation: “Wrong thoughts and wrong actions beget painful reactions.” And for those who practice meditation, the interval between cause and effect is usually short.

As a spiritualist. I’ve learned to see every problem as an opportunity for growth. I’ve learned to stop what I’m doing when I make any mistake and focus on the source of the error within me.

Over the last few months my analysis deepened. Behind every personal difficulty, I found not only some previous mistake, but more importantly I found the absence of Cosmic ideation. Whenever I forgot Guru or God for more than a few moments, I hurt someone or hurt myself.

During these last months, every time I made even the slightest mistake, I noticed 1 had forgotten my mantra. 67 Each mistake helped alert me to my uncontrolled ego-centered thoughts.

So, what happened today? While busy in the yoga center, running from one activity to another, I was joyously singing Baba Nam Kevalam. At one point, I dashed into the bathroom to wash a few clothes. After

7 The constant internal repetition of one’s personal mantra is one of the essenti al Tantric practices, it helps to calm the mind of the aspirant and eventually helps to ensconce him or her in continuous Cosmic ideation.

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wetting and soaping my clothes, while still singing, I started pounding my soaped shirt in the sink. I didn’t know that the sink had not yet been fully installed. Suddenly, it tipped over and fell on the floor. As the basin broke, a big piece dove into my bare foot.

The noise alarmed two or three of the Margis, who thrust the door open. They found me lying on the floor, stunned. Blood gushed out of my foot.

The cause of my shock was not, however, what it appeared. While they fussed over my injury, I hardly paid attention to it. Rather, I muttered, “I can’t understand…” I couldn’t grasp how I could make such a blunder even though I was singing Baba Nam Kevalam. Suffering may happen while one is in Cosmic ideation, but careless mistakes cannot.

It doesn’t figure… I thought.

Then a flash. I jumped up, almost slipping in the pool of blood. “I’ve got it!” I blurted out. The Margis’ eyes bulged as they stared at me, thinking I’d gone nuts. Crazy or not, I had the answer: Though I’d chanted spiritual words, 1 hadn’t been aware of their meaning. It had only been a jolly tune for me, without any feeling. My thoughts had simply raced, immersed in me—only me.

A psychic implosion! Feeling alone is the key to harmony. Actions and words may be sublime, but if the feeling behind them moves in another direction, there’s no value. Though many times I heard or read such philosophy, this simple careless accident was the clear proof.

No need to engage in complex psychological interpersonal mind-games. No need to fret over conflicts between a thousand do’s and don’ts. Only remember: Him. The one and only Answer.

Even at the hospital, as the doctor completed sewing the stitches, I contemplated His grace. When the moment of truth arrived, i.e. the time for paying the bill, I said, “Considering that I’m a monk, any discount?”

The doctor paused, then said, “I hope you learned a lesson from this accident. Will you be more careful next time ?”

“Definitely, Baba,” I said. I felt like Baba was speaking through the doctor.

“Okay,” he said, smiling. “It’s free, sir.”

I looked at what shall surely remain a nasty scar, and thought, “My little beauty, may you serve as a constant reminder, like a string permanently tied on my finger.”

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The thing of church

Warsaw, Poland. I am the first worker to visit this country. Though I’ve been here only a few days, I received the following surprising comment from a newly interested person: “I like Ananda Marga very much, Dada. And I’m sure many Poles will have the same feeling as me. I predict that within a few years, thousands of people will be practicing meditation in this country.” Indeed, their interest in parapsychology is far beyond what I imagined before coming here.

Nevertheless, the common person’s knowledge of spiritual terminology appears shockingly limited. A typical communication-hitch occurred last evening when I spoke with a few young people. The concept of G od arose in my talk.

“What G od is?” one of them asked.

“Well, how do you define it?” I replied.

“I have idea not. I know this word not.”

I was surprised. His English was not perfect, but at least he should have known the word.

“Does anyone here understand the word G od?”

They all shook their heads.

“Gocf is the endless energy, the beginning, the end, the purpose, the mind of our minds. All the religions talk about God….”

“Oh!” One of them interrupted me. “The thing of church, you mean?”

“Well, that’s one way of defining it.” I said, laughing. It was

both very funny and very unfunny.

Budapest, Hungary. Last night I wanted to go to a graveyard to do my kapalika meditation. The young artist who was my host guided me to the nearest cemetery, and left me there unceremoniously a little after midnight.

When I entered, I was astonished to see tombstone upon tombstone. There were so many thousands of them that they leaned against each other. They careened in every conceivable direction, bordered by waist-high grass. Even in the daytime I would have found it difficult to make my way to the center of the tangle. Many stones were cracked or covered by moss. Even for an experienced graveyarder like me, it was spooky on this cloud-covered night.

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Since I was keen to withdraw my mind from these surroundings, my concentration peaked more quickly than usual.

In the morning, during a Spartan breakfast, I asked, “Are all the graveyards in Hungary so small and crowded like the one I went to last night?”

“Oh, that one is special,” the artist said. “It was for Jews.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Was?”

“When Jews couldn’t move their homes.”

He meant the ghetto.

“They couldn’t go outside their area, but they still had babies. They still died. More and more and more. And no place to go.” “And now where are they?” “A lot went to Israel. And a lot died. A lot.”

Cosmic confidence

Belgrade, Yugoslavia. After a successful three-week tour in Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia, I arrived last night in a communist country where I can wear my uniform. I breathe a relative freedom here in Yugoslavia which was absent in those other regimes which suffer under the heavy hand of their Overlord. There, I find the people believe in socialist theory, but despise the dictatorial presence of the Soviet army, and the strangle-hold maintained by the Soviets over their education, international trade, spirituality, culture and mass media.

My decision to risk wearing my uniform in Yugoslavia was influenced by a comment Baba made some time ago, that Tito’s government would not obstruct Ananda Marga.

I stepped out of the train in Belgrade without an address or phone number. As usual in this situation, I went to a crowded section of the city, arriving around 11:00 p.m.

No doubt I was an eye-catcher. Many people stopped to inquire if I needed anything, but no one had any extra space in which I could stay. Several people offered to pay for a hotel room, but I politely refused.

One of the couples spoke to me in fluent English. “We wish we could help you. It’s so late, and soon no one will be here. But we have no room.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “At the right moment someone will come along. I’m dead sure. Really don’t worry. It’s just a tiny test for me.” As they walked away, they looked back anxiously.

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Five minutes later, they returned. The young lady said, “Your extraordinary confidence inspired us. So we came back.”

“We decided to stand here until you find a lodging,” the man said. “We’ll also help you in asking people passing by.”

“Thanks,” I said.

As we stood there waiting for the right person, they asked about meditation and yoga. Eventually one of their friends came. Fie had a spare room, and we all went there. By the end of the evening we already had the base for our new meditation unit.

And so it goes. Everywhere.

The great analysis

Calcutta. August 2. Since June, for the first time in Ananda Marga’s history. Baba has been calling all workers and Margis from all sectors to Calcutta. I arrived today. In total, several thousand people have come or will come.

The program is called dharma samiksha. Samiksha means “analysis”, so dharma samiksha means “analysis of one’s adherence to the right path.” During dharma samiksha, Margis and workers stand one-by-one in front of Baba, and He comments on their good and bad behavior. The Sixteen Points for physical, mental and spiritual development is especially relevant to this analysis. I was allowed to stay in the room continuously, so I had the opportunity to witness many cases.

Brother J from the Netherlands, who I’ve known for two years, stepped forward. Baba sat on His couch, looking over His shoulder at the wall. 68

GENERAL SECRETARY (GS): What is his name and posting? DADA

FROM EUROPE: He is J, district in-charge from Holland. GS: Who is

your acharya? J: Dada Maetreya.

GS: What work did you do over the last six months? J (nervously): I arranged nine initiations, opened one People’s Night School, and started one Spiritualists’ Sports and Adventurers’ Club.

“Baba rarely looks directly at anyone. When He does, we feel a special energy or shakti. Indeed a single glance from Him is often enough to satisfy any M argi who may have traveled thousands of miles to meet Him.

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GS: Acha. Are you following 16 Points strictly? J: Yes.

GS: How about your meditation?

J: Yes, Dada.

GS: How about fasting?

J: Yes, Dada.

BABA: GS, ask him about food.

GS: Are you taking only sentient food? 69 J: Yes, Dada.

BABA: Eh? What did he say?

GS: He said “yes’’. Baba. You are not taking any static food? 70 J: No, Dada.

BABA (turning to look just over J’s head): Eh? What nonsense are you speaking?

J: No, no. Baba. Only sentient food.

BABA (slightly angry): Tell the truth!

J: No, Baba, I… ah … oh. Baba…

BABA: Do you deserve punishment?

J: Yes…

BABA: Stretch out your palm. (J holds his right hand palm-up in front of Baba.) How many shall I give you?

J: Ah… ah …

BABA: 10, 20, 30…?

J: 20, Baba. (Using His stick. Baba strikes J’s open palm ten times.)

BABA: Stretch out your left palm. (J does so, and Baba strikes it ten times also.) You must never again intentionally harm your body. Do you understand? J: Yes, Baba.

[Baba then explained a number of points to J about improving his meditation and service activities.)

BABA: Now stand straight. (He sweeps His eyes from J’s feet to head, and down again.) Vijayananda, make a note.

DADA VUAYANANDA: Hah, Baba. 71

69

Sentient food isfood which isgood for both bodyand mind.

70 Static food isfood which is harmful for either body or mind. Hah means” yes”.

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BABA: Karmasana, Gomukhasana….[and some other yoga postures I forget.] (Speaking to J:) Afterward learn them from Vijayananda. Now come close, my boy. (J approaches Baba, who opens His arms, and then embraces J, taking him on His lap.)

J: Oh, Baba! (He starts weeping.)

ANOTHER DAD A (after a lapse of a few moments, speaking softly): Come, come…

(J leaves Baba’s lap. He lies on the floor in front of Baba, hands stretched out toward Him in the traditional position of respect to the guru. After a few seconds, he gets up, and moves toward the door.)

GS: Next.

After a few more dharma samikshas, we all left Baba’s room. Brother J

approached me. “Dadaji, may I speak to you?” “Of course.”

“I have to tell someone, or I’ll burst.” “My ears

are open.”

“When Baba pressed me, I denied eating any bad food. I was just too embarrassed to tell the truth in front of all the Dadas and Margis there. As for Baba, I knew that He knew, and also that He understood why I was lying, and even I’m sure He did not mind, because He knows our inner motivation. But, well. I’ve got to tell someone.”

“Go ahead,” I said, “I’m your brother.”

“Well, three weeks ago, I was feeling so much clash. I was fed up with everything that was happening to me. Out of an impulse, I went to a take-out restaurant and purchased a box of fried shellfish. I ate them alone in the yoga house. Afterward I felt so bad I vomited.”

I laughed loudly.

His eyes opened wide, and he said, “Dada, how can you laugh? What I did is very bad.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not the end of the world. We’ve seen mistakes a hundred times worse.”

“Really?”

“Of course. And anybody who’s spent much time around Baba gets used to it. This is Tantra. Up a lot and down a little, up a lot and down a little…”

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Compelled to help

Yesterday Dada Parameshvarananda arrived from the Philippines for dharma samiksha. He had been suffering from leukemia for a number of months. The doctors had declared it incurable, though they did not say how much longer he would live.

Three days ago, on the day of his planned departure for India, he fainted and did not recover for several hours. By that time, his office secretary had canceled the flight reservation. When he regained consciousness, Dada became angry at his secretary. “Why did you cancel my flight? You should have forced me to wake up, and put me on the plane. I’d rather die in India than here.”

He flew the next day to Calcutta, suffering all the way. Though he had never asked Baba for anything before, this time he could not help but think. “Please, Baba, help this body.”

From the Calcutta airport, he took a taxi alone. When he arrived at the Central Office, he found Baba’s Personal Assistant. Dada Ramananda, standing at the gate.

“Baba told me to wait for you here and bring you to His room.”

“But how did He know I was coming just now?”

“In the same way He knows everything,” replied Ramanandaji, helping him upstairs.

Dada entered Baba’s room and prostrated.

“How are you?” Baba asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Baba. I’m fine.” Thinking that Baba knows all, he saw no reason to express his problems.

“Yes. Yes. Very good,” said Baba. “Now I’m busy, so I will see you again later.”

Today it was Manila Sector’s turn for general reporting. Paramesh- varanandaji came forward.

“Yesterday,” Baba said. “I asked this boy how he felt. He told me fine, even though this fool will die within 24 hours. He has a disease which is so advanced that it cannot be cured, and will kill him by tomorrow. (Turning His face toward Parameshvaranandaji. He continued) Stupid, idiot, why didn’t you tell me long ago about your prob

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lem? If you had told me even six months ago, I could have simply prescribed certain yogic postures and diet to cure the problem. Now, scoundrel, you are going to die.”

“Baba, please save him,” “Give him another chance,” said a few workers.

For a moment. Baba sat in silence. “It is true that he has given his everything for my mission. He never cared for himself, only thinking for me. So … Iam compelled to help him. In this case, medical science is incapable, impotent. The only means of assistance is spiritual power. Alright. I will save him from the jaws of death.”

Baba began lightly touching Dada with His stick. He gradually tapped it on every part of his body. At the same time, He narrated Dada’s long medical history; how he had suffered from typhoid fever, another time from mild tuberculosis, and so on. Afterward, Paramesh-varanandaji told me that some of the diseases Baba mentioned he had forgotten, but all were 100% correct.

“I always took care of him, though he didn’t know it,” Baba said. “In natural ways, I saved his life repeatedly. But this time, his irresponsibility is excessive and extreme.”

Baba held His stick against Dada’s chest. For forty minutes, Baba pressed the stick, not moving it from that spot. Dada later said that at that time such power entered him that he felt he could easily cross mountains.

“Now I have purified his body. I withdrew all the cancer cells. He was scheduled to die within 24 hours. But his time has been extended. Within ten days he will recover all of his previous strength.” 72

Even Lord Shiva Never Did It

Today Baba mentioned that dharma samiksha is a one-time affair. D harma samiksha on such a grand scale was never done before by any spiritual master, and Baba will not do it again. He is showing a little bit of His meticulous guardianship and a little bit of His intimate knowledge of each and every Margi, personally and specifically, one by one. He said, “7000 years ago. Lord Shiva thought to conduct such a program, but never did it.”

72 From that moment, Parameshvaranandaji started feeling much better. Ten days later, doctors declared him fully cured.

I wonder: why never before? And, even more curiously, why never again? Is it because Baba did not come to prove Himself to the world, but rather only to get His work done?

Yes, even Lord Shiva never did it. This sentence expressing Baba’s uniqueness could be applied to much more than dharma samiksha. I think of 5000 songs…an organization of both renunciates and family people in almost every country of the world…the Prout movement…the systematization of Tantrathe mixture of intense spiritual practice with social action…His detailed guidance in many diverse fields…. Unfathomable.

Treat him very well

One of the Margis receiving dharma samiksha today was Rajpal, an Indian. At one stage of the analysis. Baba said. “You have a question for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Baba,” he said. “About my son…”

Though in that moment, Baba did not give him time to continue, he afterward explained to us that he intended to ask about the cause and cure of his son’s attitude toward him. Almost since the boy’s birth, the son had scorned and mistreated his father. It was Rajpal’s greatest worry, because he dearly loved his son.

Even though the boy began practicing meditation at the age of 14, he still expressed disgust toward his father.

The problem was not a public one, and therefore Baba could not have heard of it. Nevertheless He said. “I know. I know everything. The world is mysterious. That which happens today may be the result of events occurring long ago. In your present life itself you will find the cause of your present trouble.

Many years ago you took a 500 rupee loan from an old man who was not wealthy. But you did not repay that loan, even when the old man was sick. Do you remember?”

“Ah … yes … Baba.”

“That old man was very angry at you. and he finally died still feeling angry at you. He was reborn as your son. So your son hates you. Otherwise his behavior is gentle toward everyone else. Now what shall you do?”

“I don’t know. Baba.”