Jivan Baba
We take up the tale of Jivan, whose travels with Babaji were of longer
duration than those of Tularam and the longest that we know of. After
his period of travel/companionship, he came to be known as Jivan Baba,
a transformation and elevation that might have seemed unusual to
Jivan's near and dear ones.
This transformation would not have
seemed unusual to those who had seen many such cases before. Those who
saw or knew the murtis only, but not the craftsman, saw each as
distinct and separate from each other. But for those who had met the
craftsman from whose hands the murtis came, and had seen him at work,
they were not distinct. All the murtis were the products of the same
master hand. The unique underlying qualities could not be traced by
judging one or two of them at random, but when you took them as a
whole, you could find the missing link. The predominant thing was that
every one was perfect and complete in itself. This remark does not
refer to all and sundry who came to Baba for darshan, but only to those
whom he had chosen for special treatment. Their number is small as far
as we know.
There was not any major difference in nature between
Tularam and Jivan when they came out of the master craftsman's
workshop. They were first emptied of all unwarranted and spurious
things, and then cleaned and purified. These processes were different
for each, but when complete, each newly filled vessel was filled with
the sacred water. The cases of Jivan or Tularam were not isolated ones.
Taken with those of Bhabania, Brij Mohan, and such others, there was
unity in their separation—the unity of the separate flowers
in the same
garland. The flowers were different, but the florist was the same for
all of them.
Jivan belonged to an educated, middle-class
family from the Nainital region. His education was dictated by the
customs and traditions of his class and family. He had not taken
special training or higher education that would have qualified him for
a particular post, for he had made a decision at an early stage of life
not to take any job. His father had died when he was young and he came
to be entirely in the charge of his mother, which became the
determining factor in the course of his life.
By nature, Jivan
was gentle and soft-spoken, helpful, forgiving, generous and
large-hearted. He gathered many friends and spent most of his time in
their company. He was not possessive or aggressive, so his relations
had no reason to restrain him and he was allowed to live as he wished.
With his soft heart, he would become highly emotional when he started
singing bhajans, often with tears in his eyes and a choked voice.
Everyone enjoyed his golden voice and his friends often got together
for a musical spree with Jivan in the center. To get their enjoyment in
full, they took the aid of food and then crowned it by taking a few
sips.
In the beginning, such gatherings were small, with
restricted doses of drink. But from the modest start, they gathered
momentum and grew very large, with eating and drinking taking the form
of ritual. Soon, they were carried to many places in that region, where
Jivan became popular. He and his friends believed in enjoying life.
With no family responsibility and no need to earn money or support
anyone, he could 'eat, drink, and be merry.' There was no transgression
of public morality or indulgence in any obscenity, so there was no
opposition. They ate their own food in their own homes, drank by
spending their own money, and kept their smoking restricted to their
own chosen places.
This was how Jivan lived in the early stage
of his life. He was innocent and pure of heart and did not harbor any
ill or evil to anyone. He had no sinful ideas in his mind and no
unworthy acts to repent, so he was fearless and moved freely with his
friends.
It was painful to his mother and near relations to
see such a precious life going to waste. He had been born into a decent
family, but instead of becoming the succor and shelter of his
relations, he had actually become a burden for them. They worried about
how to bring him back to the right track. However, they knew Jivan well
and were convinced that this was not in their power; it would have to
come from somewhere else.
Every mother wants well for her son,
but with mothers like Jivan's, there were added responsibilities. The
supreme task before this old, affectionate mother was to bring him into
the pattern of family life that had been followed for generations. She
was convinced that her son was good, honest, and pure, and that there
was nothing wrong in his make-up; he had just taken the wrong path.
Jivan's
mother was accused of being responsible for the course of life her son
was living because all the money came from her. But she could not be
hard or stingy with him. It was a case of the weak hand holding the
string loosely. When the wind blows, the kite soars high and moves this
way or that. The nature and make-up of the kite is to rise and move.
When not checked or controlled, it is the fault of the hand that the
kite is on the wrong side. This was no doubt true for Jivan's mother.
But when her hands were weakened by love, how could she get a strong
grip to control her son?
This was the root of her helplessness.
She felt that the only path open to her was to pray to her Lord, her
Ishtadev (personal god). She was a deeply religious lady who spent most
of her time in prayer and worship, but whereas most ladies of her age
and status prayed to be free of worries in the afterlife, her prayers
were directed for her son's transformation. She was a great devotee of
Babaji and he gave her darshan whenever he came to town. He knew what
her problem was, so she had no need to apprise him of it. If she could
only throw a halter made with her religious and spiritual fibers round
Jivan's neck—the halter she had prepared through her life of
prayer and
pious living—she had full faith that Babaji would take it up.
She had
only to wait for the right time.
Babaji was an eyesore for
Jivan; Babaji's very name was so repugnant to him that anybody who
talked to him about Baba would only be inviting abuse. He quarrelled
with his mother over her devotion to Baba and the fact that she
entertained him in her house. He felt it was a crime for her to meet
Baba but he could not deter her since Babaji always came in his
absence. So his hateful vigilance was begun.
There was an
interesting incident in the life of Ram Thakur. He and his devotees had
come to Benares and were going over a narrow road when they saw persons
running helter-skelter as if to save their lives. They were warned that
a mad bull was rushing towards them and they must all run away. His
devotees ran to different sides, but Ram Thakur did not budge. The bull
was dashing towards him, people in adjoining houses were shouting at
him, but to no effect. The rushing bull came and suddenly stopped
before Ram Thakur, as if some spell had set to work. The bull bent his
head and moved away in a slow and careless way. Gone were the rage and
fury and the mad rush to charge. Everyone witnessing this was stunned.
How could it happen? Who was the person who could tame a turbulent bull?
One
day Jivan learned that Babaji had come to town. Now he only had to
watch his house and wait for Babaji to visit his mother. A little
higher dose of drink was needed to release him from useless debates of
right or wrong and gather full strength and courage for his task. He
must not falter or fail, but must finish his challenge for good.
Babaji
arrived, and was walking down the road followed by many devotees. Jivan
was waiting to march to his adversary, followed by some of his friends.
Everyone saw him rushing madly toward Baba with a shoe in his hand.
They all shouted and some tried to stop him, but Babaji prevented this
by saying, "Let him come. He wants to face me. Allow him to do that for
which he has waited so long." Jivan came face to face with Babaji, but
collapsed at his feet before he could raise the shoe to strike. He
could not look at Babaji and so missed seeing the bewitching smile and
the glowing eyes, free from all traces of fear or fury. It was a smile
celebrating the success of the venture for which the mother had been
praying all her life. The halter had been caught up and the direction
of Jivan's movement could be changed for the benefit of all.
People
came rushing and gathered round while Babaji moved away slowly,
unnoticed by anyone. His work was done. Jivan was
crying—perhaps trying
to empty his eyes by shedding the last drops. He was actually lifted
and carried to his home. It was an occasion for
jubilation—the triumph
of his mother's patience, perseverance and undiluted affection for her
son. Everyone believed that it was going to be very significant for
Jivan—the turning point in his life. The miracle had been
done. Only
time would reveal how it would work itself out.
Jivan
started his new career with an earnestness not seen before by his
relations. He stopped going to the old gatherings, and sought in their
place contact with Babaji's devotees. Babaji was well known in the
Nainital region and almost everyone had experiences and stories to
narrate. Jivan sought their company and spent all his time this way,
intoxicated under the new spell. Another request of Jivan's mother, for
which she pressed Babaji hard, was to get Jivan married. She did not
live to see her wish fulfilled, but he married during Babaji's lifetime
and lives with his wife and sons.
One day, a number of western
devotees were standing before the window of Babaji's room at Kainchi. I
was with them. He put a question to them through me, "Do you take
drugs?"
"Yes, Baba."
"Why do you take drugs?"
"For
intoxication. The miseries of life sometimes become so acute and
intolerable that we run for all kinds of remedies to help us forget
them."
"How long does your intoxication continue after one dose?"
"Just for two or three hours at a time."
"Why don't you repeat your doses for more?"
"It
is very harmful, Baba. The effects on the stomach and the mind have to
be kept under rigid control, therefore we cannot take more."
"So, this intoxication comes to an end quickly and damages the health
and mind. This is not good."
"What can we do, Baba? We do it under compulsion knowing full well that
the effects are going to be bad."
"Why
do you not take God intoxication? It will never end, and you can spend
all your time, your whole life in it. There will be no harm or damage
to anything. Also, you will get back your lost health and vigor and
your mind and heart will be fully restored. This is nectar, amrit. If
you take this intoxication, you will be freed from all your illness and
worries."
Jivan had experienced that in his own life. That
night, when I narrated this dialogue to him, his response came in the
shedding of profuse tears and half-uttered words, "He is all in all and
everything comes from him."
Jivan's rise was rapid. He
became an important figure in Baba's 'Night Brigade'—as it
used to be
called by the people of that area—moving all through the
night, halting
at any place without caring anything for shelter or food. Jivan never
missed a march by sitting and resting and was always ready to help
everyone with whatever they might need. Tularam valued Jivan's company
most highly. While others could join the brigade life at night only,
Jivan had no such problem. He had no job with routine hours or
responsibilities to a family and was able to move anywhere at Babaji's
beck and call. He soon had his chance to be with him when others were
not near. He had a thin supple body, and being mentally free from all
obsessions of high or low, fit or not, he did any work needed by Baba.
It was a training in mobility and self-effacement.
One night,
Baba had sent the others away after midnight. He and Jivan started
walking. Babaji said he was having some pain in his knees and could not
walk anymore, so Jivan should get a rickshaw for him. He sought for one
but returned saying no rickshaw was available. Baba shouted, "Do you
not have eyes? When so many rickshaws are there, you could not get
one?" Babaji was right. The rickshaw pullers had deposited their
rickshaws and gone home. Jivan had his eyes opened and could see. He
went to the rickshaw stand, took one and pulled it himself. Babaji got
on it and ordered him to move. How long they went on like this, he
could not know, but the comments kept coming: "You know all the roads,
lanes and by-lanes here. Pull the rickshaw very carefully—no
jerks or
sudden changes of direction. You are an expert in this job. Where did
you learn it? It seems you have been a rickshaw puller all your life."
They
were going by the road near a small cottage when Babaji asked him to
stop. He said he was hungry and Jivan should get some food for him.
Jivan knocked at the house and woke the people up, but their regret was
that there was no food they could offer Babaji right then. They said
they would have to prepare some and came to take Babaji to their home.
Babaji said that he was very hungry and could not wait
anymore—they
must bring whatever was available; some chapatis and chutneys must be
in the house. They were reluctant to give only that, but he started
shouting, "You have no mercy for me. When I am so very hungry, you are
not giving me food?"
They were helpless. They rushed back home
and returned with the dry chapatis with some pieces of chutney. He
started eating, fully relishing the food. It took no time at all to put
them in the right state of mind after being forced to serve the food
against all their expostulations. "You actually get the taste of food
when you are hungry. Whatever you eat then becomes so sweet on your
tongue."
They were feeding Baba, sitting before him. Jivan was
given a couple of maize corns as there were not enough chapatis for
him. He was sitting a little away from Baba and eating the corn, his
food for the night. When Baba finished they were sent away and he asked
Jivan what he was eating. He took a small piece of corn from Jivan's
hand and tried working his few teeth on it. He told Jivan it was good
and he relished it, thereby adding taste to Jivan's dry corn. He had
many such experiences. Many 'certificates' were given to him when he
tried his hand at various kinds of jobs. "You understand things so
quickly and do your work efficiently." Jivan's remarks about this were:
"Everyone was praised lavishly for whatever little you did for him."
When
Jivan completed his preliminary training, he was drafted for long and
hazardous journeys. Others only knew about that part of the journey in
which they themselves participated as travel mate or companion and few
were taken on more than a couple of journeys. Jivan was one of the rare
few to our knowledge who served as Babaji's travel mate in many
journeys over a long period of time.
Tularam's long journeys
with Babaji were on the known and open roads, traveling by train or
car. But Jivan's travel were in the interiors of the Kumoan and Garwhal
hill, in places not reached by many and avoided by others. Here the
journeys were through the vales and dales, across many streams and
dense forests. The roads were narrow and steep, with wide detours. It
was not all easy walking, but crawling and bending, climbing over sharp
cliffs and going down hills while gathering momentum. On seeing them
pass by, the cowherd boys would say it was 'the journey of the tall and
the short.' When the road was broad enough, they moved side by side,
one leaning on the shoulder of the other or catching his hand. The
comment about them during this time was that they were 'thick and thin.'
Journeys
through these areas were very slow with many hurdles, but Babaji and
Jivan had no set time for reaching a certain place. Jivan said he never
worried if the climb was steep or the journey risky. The strong hands
would lift him, the firm grip would hold him against any slips, and the
massive body, behind which he moved, was the armor which protected him
from the calamities of life. Food was available in plenty—not
only the
fruits and roots of the forests, but also cooked food coming from the
householders, sadhus and ashramites scattered everywhere.
Jivan
had the same surprise while going with Babaji as did Ram Narayan Sinha
on the streets of Mathura and Tularam on his way to the four sacred
centers of pilgrimage: Babaji was known to everyone. Babaji was equally
well known to householders and sadhus. His journey actually turned out
to be moving from the familiar behind to the familiar ahead, everywhere
being welcomed by all. Babaji was not fixed to any one place or tied to
any person, however great or dear. He was free—no binding to
hold him
back, no attachment for anything—so he moved triumphantly.
Jivan
was the silent spectator, his travel companion; all that was left for
him to do was to move, fully enthralled. Living like this was so
good—no drink or music could give this to you. As Jivan used
to
emphasize tirelessly, there was nothing missing and nothing left to
worry about or deter you from your journey. All that you had to do was
to move as the hands move when the legs are going ahead. If just for
once you could disconnect your mind from your set notions and ideas,
everything would be perfect.
One day they came to a beautiful
valley, solitary and peaceful, with a narrow stream flowing nearby.
They could sit there and relax, which they had not done for days.
Babaji was sitting near the stream in silence. It was much afterwards
when Babaji looked up and saw Jivan taking his bath in the stream,
washing and massaging his body and then spreading out his dhoti in the
sun. Babaji gave him the full chance to do that without any
disturbance. It was only when Jivan was spreading his dhoti that Babaji
said, "You are a very clever chap. You had such a nice bath in the
clean water of the rushing stream. I will also take my bath. A bath in
such pure water cleans your body, soothes your mind, and gives you
fresh vigor and energy. You are very clever."
He threw off his
blanket on the shore, entered the stream with his dhoti on and spent
much time in the water taking dips and dallying. Coming out of the
water, Babaji was sitting on the ground cross-legged with the blanket
around his body. They sat there chatting while their dhotis dried. The
stream had very pure water there, which you could not find in rivers on
the plains, which were filled with all kinds of pollution. "God gives
you everything pure and fresh, but greedy and selfish people turn it
all into poison, and then they blame God for it. Can you understand
it?" The reply Jivan gave was to sit silently and listen.
After
some time Babaji started abusing him, "Do you want to spend the night
here where there is no food or shelter nearby? The dhoti must be dry by
now. I must wear it before I start. You may go in your langoti
(loincloth), but I cannot go without my dhoti. I am not like you. When
I am moving among people, I must be properly dressed." A good sermon to
remember, at least for understanding his behavior when he was with the
householders.
Walking some distance, they reached a small
village with scattered cottages. They were welcomed by many of the
villagers and decided to spend the night there. There were chapatis
with potatoes and plenty of milk. Babaji took his habitual diet of
plain chapatis with salt in such areas and left the vegetables and milk
for Jivan. Early next morning they took to the road.
While
passing through the outskirts of Almora at dark, several persons
accosted Baba, pressing him to take his food that night in their
houses. He refused everyone but ultimately yielded to one who followed
him for a long time repeating his request, along with his complaint
that Babaji had more or less deserted him, for what fault of his, he
did not know. He said that Babaji had visited Almora several times
during the last two years, but he had not been given any darshan.
Babaji came to his house, sat on the verandah and talked to the people.
The fellow started pleading with Baba that they should be given the
privilege of serving him at night. Babaji readily agreed, saying that
he would spend the night at their house.
The family had some
difficulty believing this because they knew Babaji's peculiar knack for
running away. The food was brought and much time was spent in the
company of the householders, relishing their delicious food and
praising them for knowing his taste. He said over and over what a good
meal he had had. Jivan had already taken his food.
Babaji and
Jivan were then taken to their room where the beds were laid. Water was
kept for drinking with a bucket and a lota on the verandah. Babaji
said, "There is nothing more that is needed. You are tired and must
return to your room." When they pressed him to allow them to sit for
some time with him, he sent them away, saying that he himself was
sleepy and, pointing to Jivan, he said it would be a mercy if he was
allowed to sleep now. When they left his room, they bolted the stair
door from their side, thereby blocking the stairs for Babaji. They were
suspicious and came several times to see that the door was not open.
Babaji was sitting on his bed talking to Jivan, but stopped immediately
when the footsteps were heard on the stairs. Finally they stopped
coming for any further inspection, thinking it was already too late at
night for him to run away.
When everyone down below was in deep
sleep, Babaji pushed Jivan, abusing him, "You wretch. You want to spend
your night here in sleep when someone is waiting for me outside. We
must go now." He came out on the verandah, and told Jivan to take off
his dhoti and hold one end tightly in his hand, hanging the other end
down. Babaji caught hold of the hanging dhoti. Jivan had no difficulty
in holding his end firmly because the person climbing down was not
heavy enough to create any trouble for him. When he set his food on the
ground, Babaji told Jivan to come down slowly. For mountain goats there
isn't any difficulty in climbing up or gliding down and Jivan proved
his mettle.
They had made some sound in their move, and the
household people woke up. Coming to the door, they found it bolted, but
reaching the verandah, they saw Babaji and Jivan down below. Feeling
their eyes looking at him, Babaji told Jivan that they must run if they
were not to be caught. The race started with each one trying to best
the other. While running, they could hear shouting behind them, "Baba,
so you ran away. We know that you deceive everyone, and we tried to
stall you from running away, but you always find your ways of escape.
We are helpless before you."
They covered a long distance and
reached the outskirts of the city. It was the middle of the night and
the whole town was asleep. They stopped before a small hut where an old
woman was sitting in a room lit by a small kerosene lamp. Babaji tapped
at the door. Opening it, she said she had been waiting for him with the
chapatis she prepared in the evening and could not go to sleep without
handing them over to him. He said that he had wanted to come earlier.
He had been hungry and needed food, but had been imprisoned in a house
where people were guarding him till late night. He was talking so much
to convince her that it was not his indifference or negligence that
kept him back. She was consoled and they left her to rest.
But
there was no rest for them and they came to the crowded part of town.
There was no one to watch them; all the doors were closed and people
were asleep. Babaji sat down and asked Jivan to give him the food that
was wrapped in his napkin—dry chapatis and potatoes. Taking
them from
his hand, he started eating. Jivan stood there silently watching.
Babaji went on eating with such great relish as if it was the only
thing he had to do. Jivan was thinking that only a few hours back he
took so much delicious, well-cooked food as if he had not eaten for
days.
When he had eaten most of his food, Babaji offered Jivan
what was left—half a chapati and a few pieces of
potato—telling him to
eat it if he was feeling hungry. He said that he was not sure that
Jivan would enjoy it as he had. One could enjoy one's food only when
one was really hungry. "You have no hunger for such food, but I am
always hungry for it." Jivan had nothing to say nor did Babaji want any
reply from him, but it helped him a great deal to understand the whole
drama that had been enacted that evening: how Babaji had been so very
restless; how he had to run to a mother who was remembering him with
such devotion and waiting with the food prepared by her own hands.
Their journey ended for that time and they returned to Haldwani the
next day.
Everyone who had accompanied Baba on his journeys
enjoyed them in his own way, the differences being due not only to
their tastes and preferences or their nearness and association with
Baba, but also, as these devotees used to say, according to what Babaji
wanted them to enjoy. Each one felt that their own experiences were
true. This was actually Babaji's trick. He revealed to each one what he
wanted them to see or enjoy according to their own interest or
capacity. The old devotees sitting together in their satsangs agreed
that each of their experiences were true and valuable for all.
Jivan's
experiences were unique. Many of them were in striking contrast to
others, and his observations are very illuminating in their own way. He
preferred to move with Babaji in the hills and mountains, but he was
not very enthusiastic while visiting the towns or urban areas. He used
to say that when he was traveling with Babaji by train he had to
restrain his talk so there should not be any indication of Babaji's
identity; he had to behave, more or less, like a stranger to Babaji.
For Jivan it was a strict discipline.
Visiting the urban
devotees and sitting in their drawing rooms while Babaji was meeting
people were not to Jivan's liking. He would stay away or sit in a
corner as a disinterested spectator. It was so very different from what
he experienced when he and Babaji visited the hills and the hamlets of
the simpler, rural devotees. What a striking difference there was in
the way Babaji talked and entertained his devotees in the two distinct
places. Jivan's opinion was that Babaji was freer while he was in the
huts, hearing the people's petty household difficulties. His reactions
were immediate and spontaneous, with words of cheer and courage: their
work must be done, responsibilities discharged, and they must remain
satisfied with what was coming to them, never losing faith in God. It
was very homely advice, but what joy and consolation for the humble
seekers. Jivan used to say that you could get the real taste of Babaji
when you were traveling with him in the mountains, through wayside
villages and meeting stray travelers.
In the city there were
busy people, well off in every way. Their interests were not in the big
problems of society—the political, economic and what not.
Their talks
were often to acquaint Baba with their political and economic
achievements and to seek his approval for their service to society.
Sometimes they sought his advice on tricky problems facing them. He
would hear everyone, ask them questions to show his interest in their
problems, and advise them. He had a way of making them happy by
responding to their requests and satisfying their curiousity in
appropriate ways. No one felt neglected or disappointed.
One
winter, Babaji was at Allahabad and we were enjoying our time with him.
One day he decided to leave for Patna. As usual, nobody knew about his
departure in advance. This was easy for him as no preparations were
made for his journey. We were standing before him as he was leaving
when he looked at Jivan and asked him to accompany him. Jivan was taken
by surprise and only had a couple of minutes to get ready. Having
traveled with Babaji many times before, he knew what was to be taken
with him—only a change of clothes. When he came out with his
small bag,
we were admiring his luck, but Jivan was actually not very
enthusiastic. Some of us noticed this and could not understand what was
working in his mind. We found out only after he returned from Patna
with Babaji and narrated his experience to us.
Four days passed,
and we were all expecting their return at any time. On the fifth
morning, I had a telegram from Patna, "Going by Delhi Express." It was
so cryptic that everybody felt that Babaji was proceeding to Delhi and
not coming here. All we could do was to meet him at the station. We
were getting ready for the station, when Kanti and Ramesh came to
accompany us. Kanti brought her tiffin carrier with food for Babaji's
journey. Didi, on her part, was not lagging behind, already waiting
with her own tiffin carrier. We were all ready to start. Looking at the
ladies with their food for his journey, the idea suddenly came to my
mind that Babaji might use this to foil my attempts of getting him to
break his journey and stay here, so I asked the ladies not to accompany
us. Ramesh and I would go to the station alone. I explained to them
what was workng in my mind and trying to console them, I said,
"Together, uncle and nephew have a lot of strength. If you would stay
at home, we will bring him back." They agreed, and we left for the
station.
When we reached the station, the train was already
there. We rushed to locate his compartment and found him sitting there
alone. Jivan was not there. He began all his usual inquiries, "Did you
get my telegram? What did you do then? What did the people say when
they learned that I was going to Delhi and not getting down here?" When
I did not reply to his queries, he told me that he had some important
work in Delhi and should be allowed to proceed—he would
return after
finishing his work.
Failing to get any response from me, he
asked Ramesh, who narrated how everybody was disheartened that he was
going to Delhi and how Kanti and Didi prepared food for him and were
ready to come. "Then what happened, why did they not come?" Ramesh
replied that I persuaded them not to accompany us, saying that there
was enough strength with nephew and uncle. This came at the moment when
the train whistled and was about to start. He actually jumped up in the
train. "Yes, yes. There is enough strength. Let me get down."
I
caught hold of his hand and Ramesh collected Jivan's bag. When we got
down, Jivan came running. He had been searching for us all over the
platform, but failing to see us, he was convinced that there was no
chance of getting down and that he would have to board the train again.
When he reached us, the train had already started. We four walked
slowly together across the platform. Babaji was talking all the time,
but it was difficult to know if anyone was hearing him. We were just
trying to understand in our own minds how we had gotten him down from
his scheduled journey so quickly when we had more or less lost all hope
of it.
Coming out of the station, we took two
rickshaws—Jivan and Ramesh in one and we two in the other. We
started
talking about the person whom Babaji had gone to see, a great devotee.
He said that the devotee was ill and remembering him much, so he had to
go. Then suddenly he said that I had done a very great thing. I could
not understand what he was referring to. Then as if to help me to
understand he said, "The dog was not yours, nor had she eaten the
chickens, but to save her from them you gave the money to the young
men."
I kept quiet. It had happened at the house two days back
when I was sitting with Mathur on the verandah. The gate suddenly
opened and a roadside dog came running very panicky, followed by some
young men with hockey sticks in their hands. They wanted to kill the
dog, alleging that she had eaten their chickens. However much I argued
that the dog could not have done that, they did not agree and were
talking only of their loss in so many rupees. I handed them the money
and they went away, leaving the dog. Babaji was referring to this. It
had happened when he was in Patna and was unknown to everyone in the
house here.
When we reached the house, it was late in the
afternoon and everybody was very excited by seeing him with us. He said
he had been booked for Delhi but had to get down under pressure from
these persons, pointing to Ramesh and myself. The whole house got busy
with their work. Babaji had his bath, which he had not taken for three
days, and was his usual self, taking his food with Ma, Maushi Ma and
Siddhi Didi sitting around him. He said he was given food for the
journey while leaving Patna but he had not eaten that, as he wanted to
eat at home. This was his unique way of dealing with the mothers, whose
highest joy was in feeding him with food cooked by their own hand.
All
of us were anxious to hear from Jivan about his journey. At night, when
Babaji had retired to his room, we got our chance and he gave all the
details and his own relections.
They had traveled in a first
class compartment where there were a few other passengers. Babaji was
talking all the way of commonplace things so as not to excite interest
or curiosity in anybody sitting there. They reached Patna in the
evening. The devotee was a big landlord, well known in the place, and
there were many family members and several servants. All of them wanted
to serve Baba. Baba said for them first to give him tea and then to
feed him, as he was hungry and hand not taken his food on the train.
They got busy with Baba; Jivan went to the room meant for him. After
his meal, Baba was sitting with the members of the family, who were all
busy with their household affairs. When Jivan came to see him, Babaji
inquired if he had eaten and if his bed was ready. After all the
inquiries, Babaji told him to go to sleep.
While talking about
it, Jivan said, "But how could I sleep? The whole thing, from coming to
the station and boarding the train, to the journey to this place, had
been a very tame affair, as if two unknown persons meeting at the
station were traveling together." He was thinking of his journeys with
Babaji in the mountains and of their thrilling experiences. Sitting in
his lonely room and recalling them, he felt that this was lifeless, as
if it was a punishment for him.
For the next three days, life
was very busy with visiting many devotees in their houses and talking
to the countless persons coming to Babaji. Hearing everyone and giving
suitable replies was more or less a routine affair for him. Jivan was
only a spectator, as there was nothing for him to do. While sitting in
a corner of the drawing room of their host, the idea came to his mind
that although there was nothing in the talks to interest him, there was
a lot to see. The way Babaji was treating his audience with his
retorts, gestures and the movement of his eyes, sometimes interlaced
with remarks about some events or personalitites, threw everybody into
peals of laughter which resounded in the whole area. One had to admire
the acting, which changed with each stage and audience.
Jivan
was excited while narrating this. Recalling some past experience, he
said that no doubt there was laughter in the drawing rooms that he
visited with Baba, but in the houses of devotees in the mountains and
countrysides, he had seen how Baba could bring tears to the eyes by his
remarks and gestures. "You become one with everyone and cannot resist
your own tears. There can be no question of his acting. The idea cannot
come in your mind. You feel in the very core of your heart that this is
the Baba you want to be with. So you can understand why I want to avoid
his drawing room visits."
Jivan had to stop there. He was choked
with tears and could not talk. It was much afterwards that he could
resume his narration, adding a few words about the return. "Many
persons had come to the station to see Babaji off. Our seats had been
reserved and we had comfortable berths. They brought some food for us
for the journey. Pointing to the food, Babaji asked me to eat. There
were chapatis, vegetables, and squash especially prepared for Baba.
When I tried to serve him the food, he asked me to eat, saying he would
take food only after reaching home. I was not very hungry, and the food
was not to my taste. There was no salt in the squash and I did not eat
it. Babaji asked me why I was not eating. When I told him there was no
salt in the vegetable, he laughed and then said rather slowly, 'It is
not easy to cook food. You have to give your full attention to it, only
then will it turn out well.'
"There was no one else in the
compartment so Babaji could talk. It was all about the people and how
they loved him. He said that he was not like myself who could not mix
with people and enjoy their company. Living in society and moving from
one place to another, one must learn to mix with
others—adjust to
changing conditions and persons, not being too much involved in
anything. Babaji said that he knew how to behave with everyone and be
happy everywhere—not like me, sitting sulky, complaining and
grumbling."
Once
when we were talking about our experiences, Jivan said that it was
futile to claim that you knew Babaji or could pass any judgment about
him. He was always different from one person to another, one place to
another, and different even at the same place but in different times.
He said that everyone saw Baba in different ways, but that did not mean
that anyone was wrong in his judgment. He himself had seen only a facet
of him and not the whole, so how could he challenge anyone else because
they had seen another facet? All of them were right. Moreover, we do
not decide what we should see. The decision is always Babaji's; we see
only what he wants us to see.
His other observation was also
very striking. It was that Babaji was always acting when he was with
you. He said that Babaji very seldom revealed himself, so that no one
truly knew him. In support of this opinion, Jivan would muster up all
of his experiences over the years, of sitting or journeying with him,
in the plains and mountains, in the company of many others, or with him
alone. He said in the same way we change our clothes when we go on a
journey, visit a temple, or meet some celebrities, Babaji also changes.
But whereas we only change our outward covering and make no change
within, Babaji changes within as well as outside.
Traveling with
Babaji in the hills, one noticed the way he moved, talked, shouted, and
laughed. It was as if he had discovered himself anew. Gone were the
acting and constraints that were expected of him. Rather, he could be
himself as he really is. It was like the release of a block that was
restraining the passage of water in a spring. Suddenly the water rushes
out. So also were Babaji's movements, going anywhere and everywhere,
talking and fraternising with everyone passing by, and showering his
love and affection to those who recognized him from his previous
visits. It was life—happy and cheerful for everyone to
participate in
and share. This was the reward that Jivan could never expect from
anyone else, or even from Babaji in any other place. It could come only
in the open, rough, rugged ground of the steep hills and forests.
Jivan
was trying to explain why he was so keen to go with Babaji to the
mountains while trying to avoid visiting the houses of his rich
devotees in the towns. Jivan was firm in this judgment and could
rightly be so, because of his extensive journeys with Babaji and also
because of the deep devotion and intense faith he had earned through
the ordeal of his apprenticeship. Talking about Babaji, Jivan would cry
sometimes, but would always end by saying, "He is all in all."
Jivan
said if we suffer for anything while going with Babaji, it is only due
to our lack of faith in him. If we could rely on him and put ourselves
entirely in his charge, things would be so easy for us. We feel
ourselves to be so important, so we accuse him of failing us when we
suffer. He said we all did it—even the so-called old devotees
who
claimed nearness to Babaji, as well as the new ones. Talking about
this, Jivan would often get much excited and the story would break. I
had to try to keep it going on while listening patiently.
Jivan
had many more journeys with Babaji to his credit, and he would talk
about them whenever we were sitting together. This practice which had
started three decades back continues, giving us even more joy and
relish now that we miss Babaji's physical presence.
Jivan
was in Haldwani remembering Baba, whom he had not known for more than
three months at that time. He felt he should go in search of him and
that he might meet him at Bareilly, where Babaji often visited.
Entertaining these ideas, he had just stepped out of the door of his
house when he heard a friend calling to him, "Jivan, are you coming to
Bareilly with me? You have nothing to do here now, so come with me."
Jivan thought this must be a call from Babaji, bringing him out of the
house and providing him with transport. The person taking him to
Bareilly was his old friend, Yogesh, son of Shri Hriday Narain, a great
devotee of Baba's from Bareilly.
When he reached the house of
Dr. Bhandari, where Baba always visited when he was in Bareilly, he was
told, "Jivan, you've come so late. Babaji was waiting for you here for
so long, inquiring about you. Seeing that you were not coming, he left
only a few minutes back." Jivan was convinced that he was not mistaken
in coming to Bareilly. Babaji was actually calling him. When he said
that he would go in search of Baba, the doctor said, "Where will you
find him? He has so many places to go, and who could know where he
would be at this particular moment?" But Jivan was not deterred. After
visiting one house on the way, he came to the house of his friend, Hema
Pandey and found Babaji there, surrounded by some devotees and members
of the family.
Jivan took a seat in a corner, not presenting
himself before Babaji. Looking at him, Babaji said, "Jivan, you are so
late—I was waiting for you at Dr. Bhandari's house. Did he
tell you I
was waiting for you? How did you come to know that I was here?" Jivan
gave no reply. These were not really questions, but Babaji's way of
greeting his devotees.
It was noon and everyone had their meal
after Babaji had taken his food. He went to his room, and spent a few
hours meeting and talking to the people who came to visit him. Someone
in the house wanted to close the door so that he could rest, but Babaji
wanted to keep the door open, allowing those who wanted to, to see him.
This was not a new thing for him. Whenever Babaji visited his devotees
and spent time in their houses, he would see that nobody was refused
his darshan. He would say that when people came to him, leaving their
work or their rest, how could he not meet them? Those of his devotees
who had been with him in his ashrams or in the houses of other devotees
when Babaji was there, knew this well.
One day while staying at
Allahabad, many visitors had come throughout the day keen to have his
darshan. Babaji had returned after several days visit to Puri and
Calcutta. At night, the mothers were waiting in his room with his food.
He was reminded several times that the food was ready, but he never
responded. When he finally came, he sat for some time, telling them
that he was so very tired. He said, "One gets tired when meeting many
persons, and also loses peace of mind." Ma said that that was his own
doing, since he would not obey when someone wanted him to stay in his
room instead of going out to meet people. Talking like a person who
felt guilty of some disobedience, he said, "Ma, what can I do? I feel
very unhappy if I fail to see people coming to meet me."
In this
same connection one is reminded of the experience of Siddhi Didi and
others when they were traveling with him in early 1973. At Bombay, they
were taken to an ashram in Ganeshpuri. Babaji stayed back in his car
while the others were sent for darshan. They returned after some lapse
of time. When Babaji asked them about their talks with the Swamiji,
they said they could not meet him—he had his own time for
giving
darshan and it was not yet that time, so they went away. After a few
days, they came to Bangalore. Babaji sent them to visit a well-known
saint in that area. They were not interested in the visit and resisted
as much as possible, but he insisted and sent them to the ashram. He
accompanied them in their car for some distance and then got down on
the way and made them continue, saying he would wait for them there.
After they returned he asked about their experience. The reply was that
the saint had fixed hours when persons came to see him. So again they
came away without having darshan.
Babaji exclaimed, "Did you
see, did you see? Every saint has his fixed time for meeting people and
sticks to that, but for me there cannot be any rule. However much I may
fix my time, you and your Dada would not allow me to keep it. You will
always force me out to give darshan although it is not my time." But
how well we knew that there was no one—neither Siddhi Didi,
nor myself,
nor anyone else—who could make him do anything which he
himself did not
want to do.
The major part of Babaji's life was spent as a
tramp, a baharupiya (someone who is capable of changing his form), as a
sadhu who had known him for long had said. Even the closed doors of the
ashrams or houses of his devotees were no barrier to his escape. The
tramp in him would always beckon, making him run away.
In June
1971, in Kainchi, about three in the afternoon, he was in his room
resting after his food. He suddenly came out the room without his
blanket, wearing only a t-shirt. Everyone was taken by surprised by his
presence at that unscheduled time and in such an unusual way. Although
there was no fixed routine or time schedule for him, during the last
few years of his stay in the ashram he used to retire for his bath and
food at eleven in the morning and come out again at four, when he would
meet everyone who had come. This was the practice to which people had
become accustomed. Of course, he would sometimes come out to meet
someone, but seldom without the blanket on him.
I was standing
outside with many others. He caught hold of my hand and said, "Let's
go." People were left gazing at him. We crossed the bridge and came out
on the road. Seeing him coming, many persons gathered and wanted to
touch his feet, but by a gesture of his hand, he sent them away. He was
silent and when we had gone some distance, he asked me, as if only for
my hearing, "Dada, have you been to Badrinath?" Hearing me reply that I
had not been there, he said, "We shall hire a taxi for 600 rupees and
visit there. You will return after that, but I will remain there. I
love those places—the land of the gods! All the gods and the
rishis
live there. I shall also live with them." He stopped talking and was
quiet as if reflecting on how life was to be there. Then as if
awakened, he looked at me and said repeatedly, "You must not talk about
it to anyone. No one, no one, must know of it."
This gives us
some idea of the inner working of his mind and his real
nature—a free
spirit, ever free, allowing himself to be enclosed in the ashrams or
houses of his devotees only out of his sheer grace for us. After Babaji
had taken his samadhi, Deoria Baba talked about him to his devotees on
several occasions. He said, "He is free, a realized soul. How could he
remain bound?" Then he said that Babaji's devotees had raised an
enclosure around him, thinking he could be held in that way. "How could
this be possible? He might have stayed here for some time more had
there been no such enclosure."
There came to be some truth
in what Babaji had said about his being pushed out to give darshan to
the devotees. This came to be prophetic for what was to happen in the
last few weeks of his stay at Kainchi.
When he returned to
Kainchi in 1973 after the Holi celebrations, the old routine of his
coming out of his room at 8 o'clock in the morning, retiring at 11
o'clock and then coming out for meeting everyone at 4 o'clock began
again. However, in a few days it was seen that Babaji had become so
aloof from the ashram life and its routine that he could not follow it
anymore. The changes that were taking place in him were not known to
those staying at the ashram nor to the devotees coming for his darshan.
They would assemble in the morning and afternoon as before, but would
have to wait. It was so unusual for the old devotees that many would
remark that he must not be well. "Did he not know we were waiting for
him? How could this happen?"
Baba had lost interest in
everything; it was only with great effort that he was making the body
and the senses work. It would be long past eight o'clock in the morning
or late in the afternoon and the visitors who had assembled would be
waiting anxiously outside for him. Inside his room, Baba had no
interest in the persons around and no knowledge of time or the work
that was awaiting him. He just wanted to remain wherever he was, on the
bed, on the chair inside, or on the toilet. He had to be reminded many
times before he would come out. Siddhi Didi and myself, who were there
with him, would have to make great efforts to bring him outside.
Because of this experience over several months, we could testify to the
truth of his statement that he was 'pushed out by us.' But when it came
to the climax, then all the pushes and pulls failed to work. Nothing
could make him come out of his room to give darshan.
June
15th was the foundation day of that ashram and the biggest celebration
of the year. Preparations had gone on for days, with devotees from
faraway places visiting for the auspicious occasion. The bhandara had
been going on from early in the morning, with the malpua—the
special
prasad for that occasion—being given to everyone to eat and
also to
take home as a token of their visit to Hanumanji's temple.
As
usual, Babaji had taken every care to see that enough had been prepared
with all attention to its quality and purity. But unlike other years,
he was not vigilant about the feeding and distribution of prasad.
Formerly, he had stayed out of his room for the whole day, taking a few
rounds across the ashram premises to see for himself how things were
being done and to keep the workers alert. There was none of that this
time. With great effort and persuasion, he was brought out in the
morning, but he returned to his room without waiting for long.
By
the middle of the day, thousands of devotees had assembled before the
temple for darshan and streams of people were coming unabated. The
greatest event of the day was to be the Ramdhun—Shri Ram Jai
Ram Jai
Jai Ram—played by Ram Singh with his police band, but they
could not
begin because Babaji was not there to grace the occasion. He asked me,
as many others did, to bring Babaji out of his room. Little did they
know that all efforts, all persuasions and even tears had already been
ineffective.
After waiting for a long time, the band started
playing, but everybody was looking toward the door to Babaji's room,
hoping he would come out. I entered the room for my last attempt, but
had to remain within until the music was over. I had found Babaji
clapping his hands, singing Ram Ram, and moving around the room
dancing. His dhoti was falling off and he was not conscious of anything
around him. I forgot to do that for which I had come. Instead, I caught
hold of his dhoti. I don't know for how long this continued, but it
ended when the band stopped playing. Some mothers had come into the
room and were standing as silent spectators to this unusual experience.
Babaji might not be in the ashram for days at a time, but he would
always return on this day to fulfill the expectations of his devotees
and bless them by sitting with them. After some time passed, he came
out for a short while. Many had already left, but many more were still
there, not having given up hope of having his darshan. Nobody could
imagine that it was going to be the last darshan of Baba, in his
physical presence, on the annual festival day.
To return to
Jivan's story, Babaji left Hema Pande's house with Jivan and visited a
couple of other houses before reaching the station. He asked Jivan to
purchase two first class tickets for Kotdwara. They would be going to
the mountains to visit Kedarnath and Badrinath. Standing before the
booking office, he was looking towards the road as if there was no
hurry for him to get the tickets. Jivan was thinking that the money in
his pocket was just enough for the tickets, but then nothing would be
left for the rest of the journey. He also wondered if a blanket could
be procured from somewhere, as the mountains would be cold at that time.
A
few minutes passed, and thinking it was useless to wait anymore, he
moved toward the counter. When he was taking out his money, he heard
someone shouting, "Jivan, don't purchase the ticket. I am coming."
Looking back, he saw it was his friend, Yogesh, with whom he traveled
that morning. After Yogesh purchased the tickets they returned to the
platform where Babaji was sitting. Jivan noticed that Yogesh had a new
blanket on his shoulder. Was it an accident, sheer coincidence or the
working of an unseen hand? These questions were in his mind, when he
heard Babaji yelling at him, "You wretched, stingy fellow. You had gone
to purchase the tickets, but without purchasing them you were looking
toward the road to see if somebody would come and purchase them for you
and save your money. Not only that, but you also wanted someone to
bring a blanket for you. Greedy rogue, always looking to others to give
you things. Now you should be satisfied with your tickets, the blanket
and your money still intact in your pocket."
When the train
came, they boarded it for the long journey to the hills and the
forests, with no bags of clothes or food or anything else to carry.
Just two pilgrims going empty-handed, each with only a blanket. For
one, the blanket was for hiding, and for the other it was for
protection from the mountain cold.
There were several others in
the compartment, so there was not much opportunity to talk except for a
few routine questions or answers. Jivan said that at least this once,
so far as he could remember, he welcomed the silence. His mind was
full, recalling and reflecting on the whole episode—coming
out of the
house in the morning in Haldwani, getting into the car with Yogesh for
one journey, and now boarding a train in the evening, not with Yogesh
but with Babaji. He saw it just like moving slides on a fixed screen.
The screen (referring to his own mind) had to keep itself free for the
slides to play. That was why he said he preferred to remain silent: so
the slides could run.
While narrating the story he got excited
and asked me several times how this could happen, although he believed
that it was all Babaji's doing. "He is the one who does everything."
His voice got choked, and he had to stop.
While waiting for
him to resume his talks, I started recalling my own predicament when
faced with a situation like Jivan's. Without waiting for him to begin
again, I began to narrate my own experience, which often haunted me
with all kinds of doubts, so he could clarify them for me.
In
the beginning of May, Didi and I used to go to Kainchi for our
uninterrupted stay of three months. Babaji had left Allahabad after
Holi, and we were looking forward to our visit to Kainchi. During this
time, Didi's mother had arrived, and Didi could not leave the house for
too long as there was no certainty about the duration of her mother's
stay here. The university was closed, and although I was free, I was
persuaded not to leave for Kainchi without Didi. I had to wait, which
of course, was not much to my liking. I spent three or four days trying
to argue with them.
While this was going on, I felt very
strongly one day that Babaji was remembering me and was waiting for my
arrival. The feeling became so strong that I decided to leave by myself
for Kainchi that evening. When I told them of my decision, they again
asked me to postpone the journey for a couple of days more. Mashima
said that if I went away, Didi would not be able to go alone. Then my
mother produced her last card and said, "Babaji has asked you to stay
at home. Since then, whenever you have gone out it was either with
Babaji himself or when he sent his intimation. This time there is
neither Babaji to take you along with him, nor any intimation from him.
It would not be proper for you to go now."
Their arguments were
strong, but stronger was my decision to start for Kainchi that very
evening. All I could tell them was that I had my intimation. It was a
case of transmission and reception, and I had received it.
Leaving
the house was not easy. There was a tussle in my mind whether to yield
to the pressure and stay at home, or to follow the call that had come
without any further delay. These thoughts haunted me all through the
night in the train, taking the sleep away from my eyes. Was I mistaken?
Was Babaji actually remembering me? How could I believe it was so when
there was no tangible proof to support it? The sense of guilt was also
uppermost in my mind. Had I not disobeyed Babaji in leaving the house
without his permission? Was it not a make-believe sort of thing to
support my own desire to enjoy the life in the ashram? This was the
state of my mind until I got into the taxi in Haldwani at noon. At that
point, I could only look ahead to when I would meet him. Would he be
annoyed that I had come, not obeying the mothers, forgetting what he
had asked me to do only a half-dozen years back? I was trying to seek
courage by thinking that nothing was unknown to him—he would
know what
had made me leave the house. There was no doubt that I had disobeyed
the mothers, but I had not disobeyed him.
I was lost in this
mental duel when the driver stopped in front of the temple at
Bhumiadhar. He was booked for Kainchi, but he had seen Babaji sitting
with a few others in front of the temple and he felt that we had
reached the end of my journey. Seeing me approach, Babaji said that he
had been remembering me for the last few days, as it was time for my
visit. He asked, "Why was I late? Was the university closed? Why had
Kamala not come with me? How were Ma and Mashima?" and other such
questions which needed no reply. They were just his way of drawing me
in. Then he asked rather excitedly, "Did you get my telegram? Did you
get my telegram? When did you get it? I had been asking the people here
to send you a telegram, but no one would obey me."
Unconsciously,
without any thinking on my part, the reply came out, "Yes, I had the
telegram." This was not a lie, nor a slip on my part, because in fact
the telegram had been delivered to the house in Allahabad after I had
left for the station. Babaji sent me inside the house to take my tea
and eat something, after which we would go to Kainchi in the taxi that
was waiting there. While waiting for the tea, Siddhi Didi said that
Babaji had been remembering me, saying that it was time for me to come.
"Because of the delay, he sent the telegram. He was sitting inside
talking to us when he suddenly went out, just five minutes before your
arrival, saying, "Dada is coming."
One gets thoroughly
baffled when one tries to unravel the mystery. While I was narrating my
story, Jivan was all attention, so addressing him I said "Jivanda, here
are the replies to your queries, so far as I could understand them. The
telegram proved that Babaji was actually remembering me and wanted me
to come, which was my intimation when I was feeling agitated and wanted
to go to him. Secondly, and more important, it demonstrated to my
mother, Didi, and everyone else in the house that I was correct when I
said that I had his intimation. Also, this was proof that I had not
disobeyed Baba by leaving the house without permission."
It had
its effects, not only in allaying Jivan's doubts and curiosity, but
also in strengthening my own belief that you could not mistake his
message when he remembered you. We agreed that when you receive his
message, you should do as he wants you to do, without using your mind
or brain, or seeking advice from others. The messages come even now,
although Babaji is not in his body, but we fail to benefit by them. Our
faith has lost its glory and flickers like a small candle before the
wind.
These talks disturbed Jivan again. Tears came to his eyes,
and his voice was choked. I was only to wait in patience, giving him
time to recover. But it was not useless waiting. I was thinking how
precious were these sittings of the devotees in what is called
'satsang.' It helps to remove the gnawing doubts in your mind, thereby
increasing and strengthening devotion.
Jivan was able to
resume his story. The journey took a long time to complete, and was
spread over a wide area in Uttarkhand, including Kedarnath and
Badrinath. From Bareilly to Pauri, and again while returning from
Kedarnath, everyone else in the party was left behind and Jivan
traveled alone with Baba. He was not so much interested in the beauty
of the places they were going through, or visiting the temples or
ashrams; he only wanted to hear and observe Babaji, and hear his talks
with the village folk. Babaji had spent much time visiting all the
areas of the region and would sometimes recall the persons who had met
him there in earlier times. He said he had spent much time there
visiting all the areas of the region. Many of those who used to feed
him were not there. It was a long time back but there must be someone
still alive. "The people used to love me and feed me well."
"One
day while going by the side of an unnamed stream, Babaji said that the
water was very pure and refreshing there. 'You can see for yourself
that there are springs or streams all over the area and there are all
kinds of fruits and roots in the forests. The sadhus who live in these
areas, the mahatmas, do not have to worry about their food and drink.
They can eat or drink when they need to. Moreover, those sadhus who do
not stay in any ashram or temple and do not cook their own food
sometimes get it from the people of nearby areas bringing it for them.
You can see for yourself what I am saying. It is you people, the
ever-greedy ones, who are always dying for your food—I must
have it
now, this variety or that, more or something for the next day. Most of
your time and activities are occupied with cooking and eating. When do
you have time for other things, for God? Food has become your god and
goddess and all you want is food, more food—sweet, pungent
and
delicious.
"I have never bothered for food, but I have never
been starving or hungry. It is the people who have bothered me with
their food. Sometimes it has been a problem of how to keep them away
with their food or how to keep them from bringing any more in the
future. A sadhu should never worry about his needs or gather things for
tomorrow. If one attempts to stockpile whatever is offered to him, that
becomes his undoing. While staying somewhere, when people started
bringing food for me everyday, I used to run away. I am not like you
people, always looking for someone to give something to
you—to
entertain you with this or that.
"You choose your friends from
among those from whom you can extract something. When you get your
food, you forget everyone else. You do not look at others because of
the fear that you might have to give a part of it. This is not my
concoction. I have seen for myself, I have taken the test of many
persons. I have visited many people in their houses when they were busy
preparing their food. Some of them would leave their food and get busy
for feeding me, but not everyone that I visited would be like that.
There would be others who would be stricken with terror. 'What will
happen, how has he come at this time? My food will be gone.' I can read
this on their faces. Sometimes someone would ask me to eat when I was
visiting them in their houses at mealtime, and I would eat. But never
did I eat at the houses of those for whom it was painful to part with
food or feed others. You may think I am exaggerating or unnecessarily
accusing somebody, but what do you know of this? If somebody offers you
food, you jump for it. I am not like you. I know that the food served
by a miser or given grudgingly can never be digested. I would never
touch it."
Jivan continued, "He was talking as if for his own
hearing, not for advising me, but he knew that traveling in an unknown
place with little money in my pocket, without any friends and relations
from whom to seek help, there must be some fear lurking in my mind. He
spoke like that to force my attention to that state of mind and to
teach me that one should not fear for hunger or starvation when Baba
was with him. Did it also mean that we must learn to rely only on him
and not make any vain attempt to seek help from others?"
I had
no reply to give to Jivan's question. I was thinking in my own mind
that I saw many such things for myself, but learned little from them.
If we are honest with ourselves, we have to admit that we have failed
to benefit from his advice. Babaji is always busy teaching us,
improving the 'pattern of our lives,' and making our lives more
fruitful and free from worries. Can we accuse him of being indifferent
to us and doing precious little for our well-being? Whenever a few of
us have gathered together, we have often asked each other whether there
have been any visible effects on any of his devotees from his long
period of teaching. How far had Babaji succeeded in illuminating the
minds of his devotees and molding their modes of life? Did he know what
was to be the outcome of his long and strenuous effort? These questions
agitate the mind. There cannot be any ready and uniform answers
applicable to all the devotees who have been with him. We know that
only he has got the answers, and we must not hazard any of our own.
Jivan
said that there was no problem with food and shelter during their
journey, nor was there much use for the money that was in his pocket.
Badrinath had changed; with all its amenities and affluence, it had
become a tourist center. The devotees who wanted nothing but to
concentrate on Badrivishal (the deity of the place) could not help
being affected by the environment and the presence of all kinds of
visitors. Jivan said that at Badrinath a large number of devotees had
joined them. So along with the darshan of the deity, they also had a
social gathering of the old and well-known devotees in his shelter.
The
journey to Kedarnath was somewhat different, at least for Jivan. The
journey was not smooth and easy—one had to strive and strain
in order
to reach there. So it was not haunted by all kinds of seekers and
non-seekers. Moreover, there was something like an atmosphere of
austerity and serenity as compared to Badrinath. One could feel in
one's heart, as Jivan remarked, that you were in the territory of the
Yogi lost in meditation.
I have never been to Kedarnath and
Badrinath, so there was no question of agreeing or disagreeing with his
observations. Jivan further said that this time their party was small,
as many had stayed behind or returned home, and for most of the journey
he was alone with Baba. Babaji was on his dandi, Jivan was moving with
him, and others were trailing behind. Babaji was talking, but at many
places the path would not allow them to move side by side, and
therefore much of his talk remained indistinct and inaudible.
While
passing by some wayside houses, he heard someone shout from a nearby
area, "Lakshman, Lakshman, you are running away. Could you not
recognize me?" Babaji bent over in the dandi and covered his face with
the blanket. Looking around, Jivan noticed a very old woman shouting at
him—not following anymore, as she could not keep pace. After
they had
moved some distance, Babaji removed the blanket from his head and said
that the woman had recognized him, as he had feared. It was painful for
him to move away without talking to her, but that could not be helped.
He might have been trapped had he stayed to hear her, and many others
would have swarmed seeing her talking to him. Recalling the days when
he had lived in that area, Babaji said that she used to bring food to
him regularly. Seeing her doing this, a few others followed. There came
to be more food than he needed. Even if he had asked her not to do so,
she would have argued that it was her good luck to feed a sadhu. This
kind of care might be the undoing for those engaged in their sadhana.
So what could he do? He had to run away to where he was unknown, and
avoid renewing contact.
After completing the journeys of
Kedarnath and a few other places, Jivan returned to Haldwani, leaving
Babaji with the others in the party. Jivan was convinced that Babaji's
love for Kedarnath was not only for the sanctity of the place, but also
because it was associated with his sadhana. Babaji, like many saints,
would not disclose anything about the preparatory period for his
sainthood. Another of these great saints was Jesus. More than half his
life on earth was spent in tapas, the so-called 'lost years' in the
life of Jesus. The same unknowing is also there in the days of the
great saint, Ram Thakur, about whose sadhana Babaji used to speak so
eloquently. Ram Thakur's devotees succeeded only in collecting stray
bits of information from talks with him.
Babaji's devotees were
not very successful in this regard either. So when Jivan said that part
of Babaji's sadhana was in Kedarnath, it confirmed what was merely a
guess until that time. Tularam had learned from the head priest of
Dwarka when he was there in 1962 that Babaji had spent part of his life
in that area. Pointing to Baba, the priest told Tularam that the Baba
with the blanket had been here all through the time of his knowledge.
It is said that there was a Hanuman temple nearby installed by Babaji.
In 1973, when Babaji was going through the western mountains along with
his devotees, he pointed out a particular place in that forest, saying
that the picture of him with the matted locks was taken there during
his sadhana.
Another clue came from Sri S. N. Sang, the
principal of Birla College at Nainital and a great devotee of Babaji.
He was very dear to us, and we sought his company whenever he was in
Kainchi or Allahabad. Once he came to Allahabad and spent four days
with us. He narrated his first experience as a little school boy
reading in a public school in the Punjab.
"The students used to
have a camp for few weeks in the mountains every year. We were in our
camp in the Simla hills, collecting some flowers or running after
butterflies, when we saw a man in a blanket passing by. We took no
notice of him as there were so many persons coming and going. After a
few minutes, a cowherd from a village in that area came running down
shouting, 'Such a great saint has passed by and you did not run after
him!'
"The question that we hurled at him was why he himself had
not followed the saint. He said he had gone to call Santia (his wife)
and other people in the village. When the people started going up the
hill, we joined them. After quite some distance, we all came back as
there was no sign of the man in the blanket.
"The cowherd began
to talk of his boyhood days, when he had known that man in the blanket
as Talaya Baba (the baba who lives in a lake). The cowherd said that he
and the other village boys used to bring their cows and goats for
grazing. The used to carry their food with them for the noon, as they
would not return before the evening. After reaching a nearby lake, they
would tie their food in a cloth and hang it on the branches of a tree.
"A
baba used to live in that lake (talao) and was known by the name of
Talaya Baba. Whenever they came there, they would see him in the water.
He was very kind, and everyone used to talk highly of him as a sadhu
but he used to tease them a great deal. When they came for their meal
at noon, they would see that he had taken away their bag from the tree
and had distributed the whole of it to the people coming to him, or to
the animals. Then he would feed them in plenty with all kinds of
delicious food—pure halwa, laddoo, khir—they would
never have imagined
tasting so many sweets together. He would get the food by putting his
hand on his head or from the lake in which he was sitting. He loved
them much and used to talk to them when they were near him.
"This
was long ago. They were just small boys then, but he remembered
everything about Talaya Baba. One day when they came with their cattle,
he was not there in the lake. They searched for him on every side but
could not find him anymore. A very long time had passed since they had
seen him, but he recognized him as he was going by this road."
Sang
continued, "I was caught in a dilemma. The villager was emphatic that
they had actually seen him living in the lake, but we did not believe
him then. How could one live in the water? But I confess, at this late
age, after seeing him with my own eyes and spending a part of my life
in his presence, with no doubt to distract me from my faith, I believe
he is the Talaya Baba who lived in the lake."
These are just a
few chunks picked up of the broken vase. Strictly speaking, they are
not useful or necessary at all for the devotees who had seen him or
heard of him. We may collect all the chunks of the broken vase, but
that would not make it a new one or be of any use to anyone.
Jivan
had so many more adventures with Babaji to narrate. "One morning Babaji
came to Haldwani. It did not take much time for us to gather round him.
When we were sitting with him, he suddenly stood up and said that he
had to go. This was a shock for many persons who had thought he would
stay there at least for a couple of days. All their pleadings were to
no avail. He had to go, as the task was very important and very urgent.
He shouted at me to get a taxi immediately. People who had known him
for so long knew that this was not unusual for him—leaving at
any
moment without bothering about anyone's approval—but this
time the
hurry and obduracy was something different.
"When I brought the
taxi, he got into it and ordered the driver to start. Quite a few
wanted to accompany him, but he allowed only me and one other to take
our seats in the back. When the driver turned the taxi towards Almora,
Babaji said, 'Not that way, turn to the right.' Nobody was asking any
questions, nor was Babaji talking to anyone.
"When we reached
Bhimtal, we went to the house of a devotee there. Babaji started
inquiring about certain persons, the places where they lived and such
routine questions. More than an hour had passed; gone was the feeling
of foreboding and the excitement of being made to move so suddenly.
When the host brought a glass of milk for Babaji, he did not drink it,
but asked him to get tea for us, as we had had to leave Haldwani
without it.
After our tea, we moved to the house of another
devotee, a school teacher. The house was near a park in which there was
a Siva temple. While talking to the people there about the Siva-Ling
under the banyan tree, Babaji said, 'It is easier for devotees to offer
their pujas and prayers without the closed doors of the temples and the
harsh rules of the priests. The temples and priests must have their
rules, but they should not be used to keep the people away and cause
them to lose faith in God. This is all the more important for those
temples where the common people—the poor and uneducated
ones—come for
their worship. They do not have any fixed time of day when they are
free from their work to do their worship. God is very kind, very
generous. He loves His devotees. He has His own rules also. He would
not spare Himself from His own rules, but it is not so with His
devotees. They will come to the temple when they feel it is their own.
Their God is there waiting for them, and they will not stay away from
Him.'
"It was difficult to understand, then, why Babaji was
talking like that about a temple that was more or less deserted, where
very few persons cared to visit or offer their prayers and worship, but
the talks had their own effect. The whole environment was surcharged
with a charm, with a scent, with a vibration emanating from the temple
within the park, as if to intimate to us that there was something more
to come. Seldom did Babaji talk in such a high pitch about the glory
and grace of God. This was my first experience of something like this,
and I was lost in reverie."
"Babaji pointed to the teacher
sitting there with us and asked him to go to the dharmasala in the park
and bring back the South Indian gentleman living there. Everyone was
surprised, saying it was a deserted mud building with broken tiles that
served as a shelter to the pigeons and snakes. No human being could
live there. But when Babaji insisted that he must go and bring the old
man before him, the teacher had to go. After a short while, the teacher
returned alone. He said he had been surprised when he saw that the
doors, which always remained open, were bolted from the inside. He
knocked, and at last an old man opened the window and asked him why he
had come there and what he wanted. After he relayed Babaji's request,
the old man said that he did not know any Babaji, nor was he interested
to know him. He closed the window and moved away inside the room, so
the teacher had to return. Babaji said, 'It's all right, you sit down,'
and started to talk of other things, as if the matter had ended for him.
"More
than an hour had passed when the mother of our host told Baba that food
was ready and that he should eat now. Babaji told her it was not yet
time, and looking at us, said we should go and bring the man and his
wife; they would come now. We reached there and started knocking at his
door loudly. He came, almost infuriated, and inquired why we were
disturbing them and what we wanted from them. We reminded him of what
was said before, that we were sent by Babaji to take them to him. He
thought for a minute and then came out, saying that they would
accompany us to meet Babaji. He was a South Indian gentleman, over
seventy, looking very sober and distressed while moving with us. He
spoke English and asked no questions.
"When they came and stood
before Babaji, he shouted at them, 'You are maligning God. What is
this? Do you think that God abandons his devotees so easily?' Babaji
did not stop. He was talking as if to let out the stream that was
agitating him. Everyone was struck dumb, unable to move and stood
staring at Babaji. The old couple started trembling, with tears rolling
over their cheeks. The old man attempted to speak, but had to stop, the
tongue was not helping him. Seats were offered to them. They sat there
silently, more to catch their lost breath than to find the words to
speak.
"Food was brought for them as Babaji had already sent the
teacher to bring it. When the mother brought food in two separate
plates and offered it to them, the old man burst into tears and went on
crying out that he could not eat, he could not. Babaji made them eat,
saying 'When God sends food for you and wants you to live, how can you
die by not eating? You are a devotee. You spend so much of your time in
prayer and worship. How can you not understand Him? Eat now, and fight
with God later. Reconcile with him later. One should not malign God
without fully understanding Him.'
"They had their food and sat
there for some time. The old man said to Babaji, 'How foolish it was to
accuse God, who is always so gracious and solicitous of the well-being
of the devoted. We had forgotten Him and were thinking that everything
was done by us. Now He has taught us how mistaken we were and has
brought us back to our senses. He did this by sending you to save our
lives and teach us the lesson that he never leaves his devotees,
however foolish they might be.'
"Talking like this, and with
tears in his eyes, he fell at the feet of Baba and would not leave him.
Babaji consoled him, 'He always takes care of his devotees. We forget.
We can forget. We might not remember him, but He never forgets us.
Always remember this.'
"Babaji was speaking in Hindi, which they
could not understand. A rough summary was given in English by the
teacher sitting there. Babaji's talk was so deep and
moving—the way he
was talking of the kind and ever-forgiving Master whose grace was
always flowing for the devotees—that we heard it with rapt
attention,
forgetting everything else.
"The gentleman sat with us for a
while, as if trying to think how best he could explain his predicament
and express his gratitude to Babaji for saving him from
disaster—not
only for saving his life, but what was more, for saving his faith. He
began to talk about the calamity that had thrown him down, forcing him
to lose his faith in God. He had run a prosperous business in Madras.
He was a religious man and performed his prayers and pujas regualarly,
but he had not been able to go on pilgrimages as he couldn't leave his
business and family. When his children grew up and learned the
business, he put them in charge and started on a pilgrimage with his
wife. They had taken with them the things that might be needed in the
journey and enough money for their expenses. He had felt that since he
was going on a pilgrimage to visit the places where his God resided, he
would not take any favors from anybody in any form, whether it was
food, service or anything else, and he would not think of accepting
money from anyone.
"They had gone to important temples and
ashrams and had come to Almora to visit the temples there. When they
reached Almora by bus, they learned that their bags, containing their
money also, were gone. They were totally stranded in an unknown place
where they knew no one. He also remembered the vow he had made not to
seek help from anyone in the course of their pilgrimage. They went to a
nearby dharmasala with only the clothes they were wearing and a few
rupees in their pockets for petty expenses. It was not possible to stay
there longer than one night and they had to move. There was not money
enough, after paying the bus fare to Bhimtal, to purchase any food, so
they had to starve. They had reached here yesterday afternoon, and as
there were no bags or luggage to carry, nobody took any notice of them.
They had found this deserted house with its doors open and decided to
stay there. Another night passed without food. They concluded that all
that was left for them was to stay in the closed room and seek death
through starvation.
"Another night passed, but in spite of all
their determination, they were realizing that it was not so easy to die
through starvaton. All they could do was accuse God. 'We are your
devotees. We spend so much of our time and money in remembering you in
our prayers. We left our house and came far away only for your darshan.
But now, not only can we not have your darshan anymore, but we actually
have to pay with our lives for seeking your darshan.'
"The
feeling that was uppermost in their minds was that they had been
cheated. God had betrayed their trust in Him. While nursing grievances
like that, they heard the knock at the door. They took Babaji's request
to be an insult, and closed the window. When God himself had failed
them, what help, what mercy, were they to expect from an unknown Baba?
Then the second knock had come, more persistent and determined, and
they felt forced to open the door. The persons standing there told them
that Babaji was waiting for them and they must come this time. This
time the request came as an ultimatum and so they had to follow.
"He
continued, 'Now I can see how foolish I have been. You have not taken
any notice of our rude behavior in not coming to you with your man. God
has sent you—you are God to us. You have saved our lives.'
"Babaji
allowed him to talk, and we were sitting silent. Then Babaji told us to
give him some money and asked him where he wanted to go. He said he had
decided to go to Benares from there—that Benares was a part
of their
pilgrimage, and they would be able to go home to Madras with the help
of some persons in Benares that were known to him. When the money was
handed over to him, he started crying again, saying that he could not
take it, he could not... he had promised not to accept any gift or
charity. Babaji said they could treat it as an advance for their
journey and could send it back to the people here if so desired. He
accepted the money after that. Then Babaji told him they would be taken
to Haldwani and boarded onto the train.
"It was difficult for
him to get up. He was still in tears and his heart was full of remorse.
How could he disbelieve God? How could he doubt His mercy? His whole
lifetime of prayer and puja had been a self-deception and had not
strengthened his faith in God, who had always been kind to him. He was
also thinking of Babaji and the grace that came so easily for an
unknown and undeserving person. How did he know of him and the crisis
in his life? He must be a great saint—a highly realized soul.
He got up
to go to his place, and Babaji asked me to accompany him and bring him
back. While going, he was actually dragging himself, and often looking
behind as he disclosed to me what was actually working in his mind.
What the man confessed before leaving the dharmasala was that he had
actually taken a journey around the world in only so few hours: from
the God-forsaken land of Almora to Vaikuntha (Heaven).
"We
returned to Babaji who was waiting for us. We had our tea and left for
Haldwani with them. All through the journey, Babaji was as silent as
everyone else, and only the South Indian gentleman was allowed to talk.
He talked like a madman, not against the merciless God who was
indifferent and negligent to His devotees, but of the ever-gracious
God, all merciful and always active in helping His devotees and coming
to their rescue. It was the mutterings of a man who, at the point of
being drowned, was brought back to the shore by some unseen hand. He
was still talking when we reached the house of a devotee at Haldwani.
"There
was an hour left before their train was to leave, so they rested in the
house. Food was brought for them but they were not hungry—the
hunger
for food had been satisfied. They only wanted to sit with Baba and
quench their thirst for that. Babaji asked us to give them some fruits
and sweets in a basket for their journey and said that they should also
be given two bed sheets, as the night would be cold and they would not
be able to sleep without some cover over their bodies. They accepted
everything with tears in their eyes, as if no more strength was left to
refuse anything coming from Baba. Babaji asked me to purchase their
first class tickets to Lucknow. The old man said he had never traveled
by first class before. They were told that Babaji wanted them to do so
because they had not slept for two nights, and must sleep tonight. All
he could say with his choking voice was, 'He is God; he knows
everything. I cannot challenge him any more.' The train started, and we
came out of the station wiping the tears from our eyes.
"When we
returned, we told Babaji of their painful parting from us. He said, 'He
is a devotee of God and has served Him throughout his life. Everyone
gets bewildered when misfortunes come. There is nothing surprising
about it.'
"After these words, he resumed his talks with us,
took his food, and retired to his room. Early the next morning, Babaji
allowed me to accompany him only up to Bareilly. There was no question
of asking him to rescind his order and allow me to accompany him. No
one, however close one might think himself, was indispensable to him.
His real journey was alone. So I returned to Haldwani and got back to
the routine of my daily life. Meeting with the devotees and talking
with them of my own experiences was my way of keeping Babaji fresh in
my mind and learning more of him from others."
Jivan's
stories were not finished in one day or in one sitting. They were
resumed many times when we were together. Every time there were new
assessments of the whole. Talking about Babaji, Jivan would cry
sometimes, but would always end by saying, "He is all in all."
Certain
reflections come to mind in thinking about Jivan. We were brought
together in the early days of our association with Baba, and even
though Babaji left his body, depriving us of the nave in which the
spokes could be fixed, there was not any interruption or break in our
satsang. It still continues, more or less, as it was before. After
Tularam there has been no one with whom I could talk so freely and
enjoy the intoxication of the 'tavern' life.
After Babaji had
taken his samadhi—a very big jolt for those who had aligned
their lives
so closely with him—changes came in the life of every
devotee. There
were those for whom everything came their way, but nothing was there to
sustain their interest in Baba. The warmth of their devotion became
feebler and remained buried in the heart, like a charcoal fire covered
in ashes from an absence of stoking. They miss him, but do not find any
easy way to keep the fire alive.
But there are many others, and
Jivan is one of them, who kept Babaji alive in their hearts. By keeping
contact with the ashrams and participating in the activities, Jivan
kept not only his own love alive, but also helped others to strengthen
their love for Baba. And Jivan did something more. He started a school,
with a temple on the premises, which serves as a valuable channel for
the propagation of the stories and teachings of Baba. The school was
started under Babaji's inspiration and instruction while he was in the
body. In the morning prayer, everyone is reminded of Babaji and what he
had done for us who claim to be his children. With bhajan and kirtan,
prasad and bhandaras, the temple at the school helps many people to
keep in contact with each other, and brings them together in their love
for Baba.
Temples and activities which bring religious and
spiritual practices to others in an organized way can create serious
problems for the people involved. Involvement may come at a cost to the
sadhana of the managers—a conflict between going out to help
others or
drawing within to help oneself in contemplation of the master and
strengthening one's own sadhana. I admire Jivan; he is everywhere in
the ashrams and participates in all their celebrations, but does not
get himself involved in running for any office or post of power. This
is also his practice with his school and the temple. He is there, but
actually the management rests with others. The work does not suffer
when he runs away.
Maybe it was in order to save me from the
whirlpool of struggling for fame and power that Babaji warned me in
advance to 'stay at home' and then segregated me from the activities of
the ashrams and congregations of the visitors there. I am fully
convinced that I would have failed miserably if I had gone for that,
and I would have been cut off from him also. The channel had to be kept
open for the grace to flow. That is why he made me withdraw.
I
know Jivan to be open-handed as well as open-hearted. But it was in
Kainchi that I saw how far he was ready to go to serve a cause dear to
Babaji.
In Kainchi and in other places, Babaji would give money
to all and sundry coming for help to him. When the money was spent, I
would fill up the pocket by running to my room. One day while with
Babaji in his room at Kainchi, the pocket became empty. I came out to
get money from my bag. Jivan was waiting outside behind the closed
window. Seeing me going to my room, he thrust a bunch of rupee notes in
my pocket. When I asked him what that meant, his reply was, "He wants
you to spend money on his behalf and he himself provides it. It may be
in your pocket or in mine, but is it not all his money?"
What
reply could I give to him? When I entered the room again, Babaji just
greeted me with a smile. "You have got your money so easily."
When
we were in Kainchi one day, someone gave me a small basket of mangoes.
While trying to distribute them, the problem came to be, who were to be
given and who were those that were to be denied, as so many, young and
old, rushed to me. Jivan was there watching me. Both of us had noted
how fond the people were of mangoes. We said that if we had, at least
once, plenty and plenty of mangoes to distribute to everyone coming for
them, like the bhandara of puri and potatoes, that would make us happy.
Jivan said it must be done, and in a few days time, baskets of mangoes
came from Haldwani for me to distribute. It actually came to be a
bhandara of mangoes and came to be known as such.
Inder saw me
distributing them and after that, whenever he returned to Bareilly he
sent me so many baskets of mangoes. Because of them, Jivan and Inder,
the bhandara with mangoes came to be a regular affair until it was
stopped when mangoes became unavailable due to a failure of that crop.
Babaji
used to take a mango or two when someone offered them to him. But when
the bhandara of mangoes stopped, he also stopped eating mangoes. I
cannot hazard any opinion as to whether it was accidental or
intentional on his part. One day, Inder brought a bag full of the
choicest mangoes for Babaji, and wanted me to feed them to him. When I
said that he was not eating mangoes, Inder did not press me any more.
They were kept with Didi in her room. After waiting for a few days, she
told me that either I should take them to Baba or give them away to
others. They all wanted me to try with Babaji first. At night when he
was in his room taking his food with Siddhi standing nearby, I entered
with my bag of mangoes and placed one before him. He looked at me and
then said with all diffidence, as if not to hurt me, "Dada, I am not
eating mangoes anymore." My reply was, "Do not eat them; I would not
press you." Then as if to assuage my feelings he said, "Formerly I used
to eat two hundred mangoes at a time. When I used to go to a garden,
the gardeners there would feed me." I said that when he could not eat
two mangoes how could I believe that he used to eat two hundred of
them? Hearing me talking like that he said, as if in sheer
helplessness, "If you do not believe my word, what can I do?"
One
summer when I was in Kainchi, Babaji had gone out two days earlier and
was to return within a day or two. H. K. Tandon, a high government
official and an old friend of mine, came to visit Babaji. He was not
there and was not to return that day, so H. K. left in the afternoon
after spending the whole day with me. Before leaving, he gave me 300
rupees, saying, "Sudhir, you get the wire screening for all the doors
and windows of Babaji's room. If you need more, I shall send it to you."
Babaji
returned the next day and asked me about Tandon's visit. When I told
him that he had given money for the wire screen for his room, he
exclaimed, "See, those who are with me do not bother about me, but here
comes one from Faizabad to give me some comfort." In such cases he
sometimes spoke without making any accusation against anybody for their
lapses.
Because we miss Babaji in his body, we rely on our
memories, recreating his talks in our minds to get the taste which the
ears can no longer have. This unflagging interest and enthusiasm for
Babaji can be found in a few like Jivan. For me, when Jivan and I get
lost in these talks, I feel as if Babaji is somewhere nearby listening
to us recollect old incidents and recreating afresh the joy we shared.
|
