Because of Love
De Simple Silence.
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[modifier] The Traveling Ashram
During the summer of 1938 (mid-March through May) Baba moved the ashram from Meherabad to Panchgani, a hill station much cooler and more comfortable for unacclimatized westerners.
While we were in Panchgani Baba had a second story added to the Meherabad water tank to house new arrivals, and on our return to Meherabad, more easterners and westerners joined the ashram.
In the fall Baba decided to go on tour — what was to become known as the Blue Bus tours and to take all the women with him. This meant Mehera, Mani, Naja, Khorshed, Masi, Valu, Mansari, Gulamasi, Gaimai and her daughters, Meheru and Manu, Norina, Elizabeth, Nonny, Kitty, Nadine Tolstoy, Hedi Mertens, Irene Billo, Helen Dahm, who painted the murals on the inside of Baba’s tomb, myself and, from Hyderabad, Katie Irani. There were 22 in all, although the Blue Bus was meant to hold 14.
During the Blue Bus tours, the ceaseless river of Meher Baba’s energy had four main estuaries : mast work ; internal work ; establishment of a spiritual center in India ; and running the ashram. By far the greatest amount of Baba’s time went toward his masts, either working with them in the ashram, wherever that might be, or searching them out on incredible tours which took him the length and breadth of India. Eruch Jessawala, a close disciple who accompanied Baba on these tours, says of them, « If we thought we had a good mast, there was not one instance where Baba spared himself. He did not care for money, food, distance or sleep until he contacted that mast. Compared with mast work, Baba’s other activities were secondary. »[1]
About Meher Baba’s internal work, we could have no idea. Since Baba was spiritually perfect, the fasts and seclusions he underwent were not for his own benefit, but for the spiritual awakening of humanity ; for Baba has said, « I have come not to teach but to awaken. »
The Blue Bus tours coincided with World War II and there can be no doubt that Baba guided that war. However, apart from the very few utterances (by alphabet board) Baba has made concerning his work, we stand myopic on the shore, seeing only the breaking wave, but nothing beneath it.
The third direction for Baba’s energy in that period was the establishment of a spiritual center in India. The center was to have six departments : spiritual academy, house of advanced souls, abode of the saints, mast department, solitary quarters for meditation, resting place for the afflicted. This projected center at Byramangla, 24 miles from Bangalore, never became operational, although several buildings were erected on the property.
The fourth aspect of Baba’s activities, the ashram, was run very closely. Each was given specific duties and Baba expected these duties to be carried out. The smallest chores became time-consuming projects, as only orders from the Master can. It has always amazed me how Baba’s tiniest order, something that appeared quite ordinary, could turn into a major test.
One such incident started just before we were to leave on the first Blue Bus tour.
Valu, one of the household, was out in the field and decided to burn some brush. The wind came up suddenly, the fire turned, came on Valu and burned her legs. She staggered back to the compound in shock. We did not have a doctor then, so someone suggested applying Burn-All ointment to the burns. The ointment was put on and nothing else was done. Within a short while, both legs went septic.
Baba called for Padri to come up the Hill. Padri, who was well-versed in homeopathy, examined the burns and said Valu would not be able to go on the tour as the burns were quite serious.
But Baba said she must come on the trip, that Padri should do what was possible and that the nursing could take place on the journey.
Baba sent for me and said, « You wilI have to bathe and dress Valu’s legs every day. Can you do it ? »
Whenever I saw blood I immediately became sick and faint and turned away because I knew I’d be useless. So after seeing Valu’s legs from a distance and then hearing Baba ask me to nurse the burns, for a moment I didn’t say anything. I just looked at Baba.
I must have turned green because Baba said, « Are you going to be sick ? »
I looked at him steadily, « No, Baba, I am not going to be sick. »
The remarkable thing is that from that moment on, I had no trouble in dressing Valu’s legs. Every day Valu sat in the cramped bus with her legs across someone’s lap. When we reached a dak (traveler’s) bungalow at night, two stoves were lit. Kitty would heat our meal on one and I used the other to boil water for a boric solution for Valu’s injuries. I found, much to my own astonishment, that after caring for Valu and cleaning up the bandages, I could still eat a hearty meal.
Well, I thought, this is all Baba’s doing. If I had said, « No, I can’t do it, Baba ; I’ll be sick, » I’d probably still feel unable to cope with that kind of situation. But because I made the effort, as Baba wanted me to, he helped me to the extent that such situations ceased to phase me.
On December 8, 1938, at Meherabad we all piled into the Blue Bus and the tours began. Elizabeth drove the top-heavy six-wheeler out of Lower Meherabad, past the mandali who stood waving goodbye to their beloved Master.
We accommodated so many people by placing stools in the aisle and smoothing small beddings across them from one seat to another, so five people could sit in each row instead of three. Usually I rode in the back of the bus with Kitty, among the cooking vessels, baskets and pails.
After traveling 140 miles over rough roads that first day, we reached the dak bungalow at Sholapur by 6 :30 p.m. Since the halt was only for the night, no bedding was brought down from the top of the bus, something that thereafter happened frequently. Everyone was left to find their own accommodation. Some chose the floor, others took tables or chairs. By 7 :20 the next morning we were off for Hyderabad where we picked up Katie Irani, bringing our number to 22.
Indian roads are not four-lane highways nor for that matter are most of them even two-lane highways. The country roads are for the most part 1-1/2 lanes wide, with hard-packed dirt shoulders on either side.
A good Indian driver never wants to waste his tires on stones and dirt so naturally when another vehicle approaches, he establishes position by moving to the center of the road. If the other driver is experienced, the matter is not concluded until, by some means not discernable to a casual observer, one driver defers.
Indian roads are also the scene of what the western world confines to the farm, pasture or playground : bullock carts, cyclists, troops of pedestrians and beggars, herds of goats and sheep, stray cows. To maneuver an over-loaded bus around such obstacles requires a skill rare in the West. On later tours, Elizabeth’s Buick joined the Blue Bus. Usually Baba, Mehera, Mani and someone Baba chose led off in the Buick with Elizabeth driving. Eruch, with Nilu or another mandali, drove the Blue Bus.
In one instance on a troublesome return journey from Bangalore, there were 43 of us to be transported, so the caravan included three cars as well as the Blue Bus. That trip back to Meherabad from Bangalore was quite an affair. All the furniture from Meherabad had been sent down to Bangalore because Baba had said this was now to be our permanent headquarters.
At Bangalore we stayed at a huge place called « The Links, » which overlooked a golf course. In the rear, Baba had a separate compound constructed as an ashram for the masts. It was made quite lively by the presence of Chatti Baba, Phulwala, Chinnaswami, Shariat Khan, Chaddar Baba, Ramshish and other masts.
Most of Baba’s time was taken up with caring for these God-intoxicated souls. He bathed, shaved, fed and clothed them and also cleaned their latrines. And the mandali had to see to the masts’ every wish and whim. There was even a mast hotel — a mock tea shop where everything was a little dusty and a little crooked and where the masts could purchase cha (tea), beedies and pan.
After eight months in Bangalore, Baba announced we were returning to Meherabad, and all the luggage and furniture had to be made ready. Besides those in the ashram and the masts, we had also acquired some animals which would have to be transported. Some of the luggage and animals and people were to return by train and some on the Blue Bus.
At this point, Kitty and I went through one of those strange things we did every now and then. We suggested to Baba that we could go back by train if he liked. That would make more room for the others on the bus and we assured him we really would not mind. If the two of us went, it would be all right ; we would keep each other company.
« Oh, » said Baba, « You want to go by train. You do not want to travel with me. You prefer going back by train. »
« No, Baba, that is not what we mean. We mean that everyone else would be more comfortable and we really do not mind going by train. »
« No, » said Baba, « You prefer going by train instead of traveling with me. That is how I understand it. »
This went on and on during a session with everyone present. When the meeting was over and we were dismissed, Kitty and I were still sticking to our point that we really meant it out of the goodness of our hearts to go by train.
Then Baba called Kitty and me to his room. Again we went through the whole thing. Again we stuck to our point. Three days went by and the situation remained unchanged. Again Baba called us. Again an impasse, and Baba dismissed us in disgust.
Of course, we knew Baba had to win in the end and we didn’t have a chance against him. Finally we wept and said, « Yes, Baba, of course we want to go with you ; of course we don’t want to go by train. »
Then Baba was quite happy and he embraced us and the atmosphere was all clear again.
When we did travel by train, we usually reserved an entire third class bogie. In those days, it was possible to switch a bogie from one train to another at a pre-arranged junction. For instance, on the journey from Meherabad to Ceylon, it was possible for Baba and the women to change trains at Dhond and catch the Madras Mail without leaving the compartment.
The train journeys often took two or three straight days, and train travel during the war years was even more hectic than usual, as more British troops moved in and out and other Allied troops came to India for rest and rehabilitation.
On one occasion in 1940, we were in route from Calicut on the southwest coast to Jaipur and when the reserved bogie supposedly waiting for us at Madras was found to be already occupied, there was a mad dash to change trains and compartments within 15 minutes. The weather was cold and cloudy as the train rattled across the grey, flat countryside at dawn, just south of Nagpur. We were all shivering and I was tired and dozing after a sleepless night.
Then Baba came through and in a very sweet way distributed cakes to all. It was Christmas morning.
Another time we were traveling to Kashmir in two cars, both of which kept breaking down, and finally Baba decided to continue by train.
We arrived at a station at night and Baba said, « You women go to a women’s compartment as soon as the train comes, because it will stop for only a few minutes. » We did so and I began knocking on the door to one compartment over and over and saw there was a woman sleeping there. I started banging on the window so hard that it came down. Still the woman didn’t awaken, so I leaned in and started whacking her. She woke with a start and I said, « Let us in, let us in, the train is about to go. »
Half asleep, she opened the door and we piled in. The next morning Mehera, very concerned for what the woman might think, told Mani to talk nicely to her. So Mani introduced me as their American friend who was traveling with them.
It had been arranged that when we arrived at our destination Meheru and Mani, with Mehera between them, would step down from the compartment and go as quickly as possible to the ladies waiting room in the station. I would find a porter, get the luggage off and follow them.
When the train stopped, I helped the three women off, shouted for a porter and started throwing the luggage out the window to him. I counted everything, smiled at the woman and walked away.
Mani had turned back to see if I was coming and that everything was all right and saw the woman hanging out the compartment window with the most fantastic expression on her face. Here were those three women talking about their American friend and then they just walk off and leave her to deal with the luggage.
Traveling by bus with Baba meant frequent stops. In order for everyone to alight, all the stools and bedding had to be removed. We stopped for a variety of reasons. Perhaps Baba wanted to show us an unusual banyan tree stretching itself to cover both sides of the road. Perhaps it was « lunch » — an onion and banana handed to each by Baba. Sometimes it was a beautiful view — a waterfall, a spectacular stretch of the Ghats. Minutes later Baba would signal and we would file back into the bus and re-establish our positions, and the journey resumed.
Of course, there were the countless tire punctures, engine problems and wrong directions. Sometimes the Buick would get well ahead of the bus and then double back to look for us. Sometimes we missed each other and then the bus would turn back in search of the car, reminding one of scenes from old movie comedies.
In the late 1930s and 1940s, the dak bungalows at which we often stayed were sparsely furnished rest houses maintained by the British for travelers and officials.
They varied in size, commonly consisting of two or three small rooms with flagstone flooring, tiled roof and fieldstone walls. There was a verandah in front and separate kitchen and latrines in the rear. Dak bungalows were often located in secluded scenic areas and the rates were reasonable.
When the bus was unloaded at the end of the day, all scattered — every woman for herself — to find sleeping space. One time three tried to share a bed, sleeping three across. I usually carried a thin mat, a sheet and a coat which, when doubled over, made a fine pillow. Often I and a few others slept on the verandah which, if one could stand the cold, afforded more space. Life on the road was a simple affair.
There were varied hazards, mechanical, natural and human ! On August 2, 1939 — the first day of the second Blue Bus tour — we were on our way to Sholapur when the bus became mired in a river bed. What to do ? The bus could not be pushed out and where to find a tow truck ? There were no cities nearby. Finally local farmers hitched up 20 bullocks and managed to free the bus.
A similar situation occurred on the way to Meherabad from Jubblepore. At Toka we all had to alight and wade across the Godavri River while teams of bullocks pulled the bus and car across. Imagine the picture we made, a ragtag line of women of every description — Parsi, Hindu, Irani, English, Italian, Russian, Swiss and American ; some tall and thin ; others short and stout ; each dressed according to her own fashion, all sporting an occasional patch.
During our first stay in Panchgani, Kitty suddenly decided she should go to church on Easter Sunday, and there was a church a short distance from where we were staying. I had no desire to attend church but I thought it would be nice to get out of the bungalow and have a walk. How we went without telling anyone, I don’t know, but we did.
We walked the distance to the church and, to Kitty’s utter disappointment, it was closed. A side door was open, however, and we went into the empty church. We sat down for a while to rest and suddenly a heavy thunder storm came up. We had to wait some time for it to end and I was wondering what Baba was going to say.
When we finally returned to the bungalow, we saw Elizabeth’s car half in a ditch on the side of the driveway. Baba hadn’t known where we were and had sent Elizabeth to look for us. Her car had skidded on the wet road and slid into the ditch.
Baba called us. « So you wanted to go to church ? All right, » and he looked at me, « you can go to church every Sunday. »
« But, Baba, I don’t want to go to church, » I said. « I was just keeping Kitty company. »
We didn’t go to church again and Kitty never again expressed a desire to go.
The most memorable tour was the journey from Jaipur to Quetta, located near the borders of Iran, Afghanistan and Russia. No one at that time, late 1940, traveled the Baluchistan roads because the native tribes were so fierce. Only the British troops moved unmolested, and then only because the Viceroy paid a handsome royalty to the local chieftains.
The journey was uneventful until we reached the Indus river. Baba had gone ahead in Elizabeth’s car, leaving Eruch in charge of the bus with instructions that the women were not to get down for any reason. Spanning the river was a very shaky pontoon bridge usually only used by the military. As we reached the tollgate after dark, the guard stopped us. The bus weighed five tons and the bridge would hold 2-1/2 tons at most. The guard would not take the responsibility and wouldn’t let us pass. Eruch argued that we must pass, as half our party had already proceeded. The guard grudgingly agreed, but only if the women would get down and walk.
Eruch, under strict orders from Baba, could not yield to this demand. He argued so persistently and persuasively that the guard finally threw up his hands and agreed to lead us across by lantern.
We started across the pontoon bridge. « C-r-r-rack, c-r-r-rack » went the planks as the wheels went over each section. The bridge swayed. It was raining and the Indus was flowing full only inches beneath the bridge. The bridge creaked and groaned and the bus rang with fervent shouts of « Meher Baba, ki jai ! » Slowly we crossed to safety.
Recalling the incident later, Eruch claimed he never heard Meher Baba’s women disciples take his name more vigorously or sincerely than on that day.
After the crossing, the bus and car pulled in for petrol at Dehra Gazi Khan. The place was cold and flooded and we left as quickly as possible for Khar. In British times, Khar was no more than a very small outpost in the mountains, 5,600 feet above sea level. There was no human habitation for 12 miles around and the area was known for its bandits.
As our bus pulled up to the dak bungalow in Khar, we saw the caretaker — a huge, towering Baluchi with his fanlike turban and a big mustache. We all stared as five-foot three-inch Kitty, undaunted and taking the situation as a matter of course, walked up to the giant and, in her best Marathi (of which he could not understand a word), began explaining our requirements.
The mountain air gave all of us huge appetites and we enjoyed the view of the mountains, a lake and a river running through the valley below. We took a lovely walk with Baba, and in the afternoon Kitty built a wood fire and we all sat near Baba. It is impossible for me to put into words the feeling of those quiet, intimate times with Baba.
The next morning precisely at 7 :20, the bus and car moved out again, and an hour later we were in Rokhni where we saw a wild, wonderful horse race by the natives. Baba gave the winner five rupees. We hired an escort of Baluchi guards as no one recommended we go any further without them.
Two of them, armed with rifles, crouched on the Blue Bus front fenders while others sat on top of a following public bus. Cecil B. DeMille could not have staged anything more authentic for these 20th century badlands. The bus moved away from the village onto the open road behind Elizabeth’s car, but the car was soon far ahead of us. In an effort to catch up, Eruch quickly lost the Baluchi rear-guard. Much to the disappointment of the more adventurous passengers on the Blue Bus, there was no holdup and not even a sign of bandits.
It was very cold in Quetta and a very heavy frost occurred while we were there even though technically winter was over. We stayed in Quetta a month. Baba sent Norina to Karachi to lecture. Elizabeth gave Mani driving lessons. And, of course, Baba used the opportunity to contact masts. But one mast, Nadi Ali Shah, whom Baba said was the spiritual chargeman of Quetta, refused to see Baba. Even when cajoled, persuaded and enticed by Eruch and Baidul, Ali Shah continued to refuse, saying, « My boat will be drowned in that ocean. »
So many in the ashram have said that it is either a feast or a famine with Baba. If so, then traveling with Baba was the famine and the halts were the feast. « The Links » bungalow at Bangalore and the large bungalows at Jubblepore, Ajmer, and Dehra Dun attested to the fact that Baba settled in on a large scale.
Seemingly then, we would have all the comforts we missed on the road. But with Baba comforts could become nuisances and hardships, blessings. In the ashram, doing for Baba meant the « I » no longer mattered. Daily life, either on the road or during the halts, was not our own. It was Baba’s. Having come to Baba meant both the happy times and the hardships were his. For those in the ashram, there was only this : obey Baba implicitly, and be cheerful.
One night after a long day’s journey, we pulled into a hotel at Jaipur. I was exceptionally tired and grimy, and especially happy to discover that the hotel had a European style bathtub. I made up my mind to be last, so I could soak leisurely in the hot water without the others becoming impatient. I thought I would relax a bit.
Everyone else finally finished, and I made the hot water ready. No sooner was I settled than there was a loud rapping at the door : « Baba wants you ! »
I let out my breath slowly, stepped out of the tub, pulled the plug, got dressed and hurried downstairs to see what Baba wanted.
Baba smiled and gestured, « Sit outside until Kaka comes ; then you can go. »
When longer halts were made, Baba invariably renewed his mast work with full force. The mandali were called from Meherabad and the mast experts were sent out on preliminary expeditions scouring the countryside for masts. Then Baba would go traveling with the mandali and contact the masts. Only those who actually traveled with Baba have any idea of the hardships of those tours. We would only catch a glimpse of Baba on his return : worn, tired, barely recognizable. At times, a few masts would be brought back and, as likely as not, a mast ashram soon would be in full swing. Washing and bathing these masts, seeing to their food and daily needs, having the mandali see to their slightest fancy, Meher Baba showed in day by day fashion that truly he is the slave of the love of his lovers.
Once in Bangalore, I walked into the room where Baba was having his meal to deliver a message, and Baba was very indignant. He said, « When I’m having my meal you’re not to walk in on me like this. I will not attend to anything when I’m having my food. »
I apologized and walked out. A short while later it was announced that a mast had come. Baba immediately left his food to attend to the mast.
But Baba would not buy anything for the masts. Bath towels, blankets, everything needed was taken from us by Baba, so that his masts would be well cared for. At one of our stops, Baba decided very early one morning to go with Kaka in a tonga to contact a certain mast.
I saw Baba sitting in the tonga, wearing a short coat and his thin sadhra. I thought, « Oh, it’s such a chilly morning, I must cover Baba with something. » I got a lovely shawl which Nonny had brought back from Europe for me. I covered Baba with it and I was quite happy because Baba was nice and warm.
Towards noon, Baba returned. Sitting in the tonga with him was the mast, and draped around the mast was my shawl.
When Baba came to me later, he said, « You know you’re not going to get your shawl back. »
« Yes, Baba, I know. »
One of the mast ashrams was established during our stay in Ajmer in 1939. My duty at the time was to wash the masts’ clothes, consisting of long kafnis and lunghas, as well as the towels Baba used to dry the masts after bathing them. I was also responsible for bringing hot water whenever Baba needed it for them.
Baba was then contacting Chacha, a seventh plane majzoob. Each day, Kaka would go out and try to bring Chacha to the house because Baba wanted to bathe and feed him. I had strict instructions that I must have plenty of hot water ready when Chacha came. But no one knew when Chacha was coming. Every day Kaka would go and every day Kaka would come back empty-handed.
At the rear of the compound we had a very large samovar over a small fire of wood and coal to keep the water constantly hot. The samovar was equipped with a spigot. While I was keeping the water hot in case of Chacha’s arrival, other people still wanted to take baths so I was allowing each one the bare minimum of hot water. I was sure that if everyone took all the water they wanted, the ‘bumb’ (as the samovar is called in India) would be emptied and at that moment Chacha would come.
Days went by and Chacha didn’t come and everyone was getting very irked with me because they couldn’t get proper baths. At last I said to Helen Dahm, « All right, Helen, take your pail of water and I’ll quickly fill the bumb again. »
She had just carried the pail of water to her bathroom when a cry went up, « Chacha has come ! Chacha has come ! »
Before Helen could shut the door I rushed in, grabbed the pail and ran with it to Baba, leaving Helen gaping in astonishment.
More than one pail of water was needed as Chacha’s clothes were caked on him, so while I was running back and forth between the bumb and Baba with 10 or 12 buckets, Mehru Jessawala was refilling the bumb and stoking the fire. I kept on running until Kaka finally said, « Now there’s plenty. » I was able to relax and everyone else could have as much hot water as they pleased.
It was a particular delight to have that experience because Baba usually did not allow us to work in any way for the masts.
Even throughout the Blue Bus tours, I continued to have to deal with my stubborn streak, and Baba continued to provoke it. In Ceylon, we had a special treat of cut up pieces of coconut sprinkled with sugar. Just as I was taking my first piece of coconut, Baba, who obviously had nothing to do at the moment, said, « That’s not good for your throat. »
« But Baba, I love coconut. I’ve eaten a lot of coconut and nothing ever happened to my throat. »
It went on and on and I refused to give in. In the end, I had to ; I knew Baba wasn’t going to let up until I did.
I said, « Yes, Baba, you’re quite right, it’s not good for my throat. »
So whenever I eat coconut now, I remember that it’s not good for my throat.
For a number of years after I came to the ashram, I received a small fruitcake, sent by my brother and sister-in-law just before Christmas. When I was young, my father had always asked Nonny to have a special cake for me at Christmas and they thought it would please me if they continued the tradition.
But in those days, India charged duty on foodstuffs and each year the cake was sent, the duty increased. So when another cake arrived just before Christmas of 1946 at Mahabaleshwar, Baba sent for me and asked why I always had this cake sent and did I realize there was duty to pay ?
I tried to explain that it had sentimental value for my family. Baba couldn’t see why my brother didn’t pay the duty on it and that bothered me very much. Someone suggested I tell my family to stop sending the cake and someone else made another remark and I got more and more upset. I never liked anyone interfering in my private affairs and I felt this was between Baba and me.
I left the room and went down into the woods and just let myself be upset. When teatime came, I knew that if I didn’t go, Baba would send for me and there would be another set-to. I pulled myself together and went back to the house to find everyone sitting at the table with a bit of cake in front of them. Baba happened to be with us at teatime that day, sitting at the far end of the table. I went to the other end, helped myself to tea and ignored the cake.
A voice next to me said, « Baba says have some cake. »
I muttered to myself, « I don’t want any cake. Why should I eat that cake ? But I’ll have to do it. » I looked at the cake and found the smallest piece, hardly more than a crumb, slowly picked it up between thumb and forefinger, looked down the table at Baba, and popped the little piece in my mouth.
I know I saw a twinkle in Baba’s eyes, but he said nothing. I had done as he said and I always felt that if you were goaded by Baba, it was all right to retaliate a bit, as long as you didn’t do it aggressively. It tickled Baba ; he liked some spunk.
While we were traveling throughout India in those years, Baba occasionally took us sightseeing. But sightseeing with Baba was an uncommon affair. We moved very rapidly from one sight to the next, staying in one spot only long enough for a quick glimpse. One time he took us, to the Arts of Different Nations Museum in Jaipur and as soon as I entered it I was entranced. The museum was not overwhelming as so many are in the West. Here the artworks were displayed with the utmost attention to allowing the viewer to grasp the beauty of each in a perfect setting. But Baba didn’t allow us time to stop and admire. He made the rounds, surveying each room with hardly more than a glance here and there, and then quickly walked on. I still remember walking backward, trying to catch a last glimpse.
We saw the Taj Mahal in the daylight and the moonlight ; we saw the Red Fort and all the Moghul Empire ruins which surround Delhi ; at Mysore we saw the Dassera procession with the beautifully caparisoned state elephants and bejeweled horses ; and we toured the Brindaban Gardens with its many fountains and colored lights.
In Ceylon, we enjoyed what westerners would think of as « jungle India » : the coconut palm forests, black-faced monkeys, elephants, tropical birds brilliantly attired, spacious tea plantations, lush, verdant valleys filled with wildflowers. Here we enjoyed walks and many lovely outings with Baba.
To celebrate a disciple’s birthday, Baba would buy sweets or ice cream, and we would sing the arti and take Baba’s darshan. Sometimes there would be a holiday mood and Baba would plan as a special treat a picnic or a trip to the zoo. In Calcutta, Elizabeth treated everyone to ice cream at Firpo’s and later we all went to see « Typhoon » at the Regal Cinema.
Baba also took us to the sacred places of pilgrimage. On the first Blue Bus tour in January, 1939, we arrived at Benares on the Ganges to see endless streams of Hindus making their way to the sacred river for ablutions. Here Baba told us that the false priests and « saints » numbered 7,000 while his real « soldiers » were 7. He said the spiritual atmosphere of Benares was due to all the great souls who had spent time there and that this atmosphere would not be defiled by the false priests, saints and sadhus.
In Rishikesh, Baba took us to see all the people who spent most of their lives in different attitudes of devotion and meditation in their attempts to reach realization. We were impressed and fascinated with the suffering they seemed to be undergoing, and Katie remarked on it to Baba.
Baba looked at her and said, « You all don’t know what you’ve been through. »
We went on a one-day excursion to Sarnath, where Buddha first initiated his disciples, and then proceeded to Mathura, associated with Krishna.
In Brindaban, we were all walking with Baba when a man with a flute approached us. He gazed at Baba and one could see in his eyes his love and joy at the meeting. He danced and sang sweetly of the lover and the Beloved as we walked along. Sometimes he broke off his song with cries of, « Look ! Look ! Lord Krishna is come. The Flute Player has returned ! » Bystanders took him as a mad fool, but Baba said the man was an advanced soul and one of his real lovers.
One day near Ajmer, Baba decided to go up a hill called Taragadh where there was a shrine. Instead of just taking the men mandali, he said he wanted to take all the women too, entailing quite a lot of trouble. Baba kept emphasizing the fact that there was a great deal to do in preparing for the excursion. He would have to arrange for coolies to carry up our bedding. Food arrangements would have to be made. Lift chairs were needed for Elizabeth and Nonny who could not walk that distance uphill. Over and over, Baba kept telling us what a lot of trouble it was and what expense he was going to.
We thought, « Oh, dear, Baba is doing all this for us. » So Kitty and I put our heads together and decided really it was all right if Baba didn’t take us up. Indeed, why should Baba go to all this expense and trouble for us ?
We went to Baba’s room : « Baba, we appreciate so much all the trouble you’re going through to take us up the hill to the shrine and for us to stay there but Baba, don’t do it on our account. If we don’t go, it’s all right. »
Baba gave us one look and said, « If you think I’m doing this for you, you’re mistaken. My work comes first ; you are only secondary. »
We walked out of the room with our heads down. Baba had made it very clear that his work did come first, and it was something that we had to experience.
We had been on the Blue Bus tours less than a year when Nonny died in Bangalore on October 14, 1939.
Nonny’s relationship with Baba was different from the relationships the rest of us had with him. Baba would needle us, pick holes in us, but never once did he do that with Nonny. Whatever was Baba’s wish was her wish, so Baba never found fault with her. Somehow, Nonny had no need for the tests and trials.
Nonny had been having quite a bout of arthritis in her hands and feet, but she was always very stoical about it. She was taking a slight turn for the better as we began to pack to go down to Mysore with Baba. She was taking an interest in what I should pack for her when suddenly her health took a turn for the worse. One night she was mildly unwell and the next morning she was in an oxygen tent.
She was like that for a day and a half. In the afternoon of the second day Baba went off to inspect the property for the planned spiritual center near Bangalore. It was 7 o’clock that evening when he returned and as he walked in, Dr. Nilu and Dr. Donkin came to say that Nonny had just died.
Baba went to Nonny’s room. Her eyes were still open and he went up to her and gently closed them. As he did so, I heard her give a sigh, and I realized that although clinically dead, she actually was just waiting for Baba, for that one touch. When I saw that, I knew there was only a shell there ; Nonny was with Baba.
The next day she was cremated. After the cremation had been going on for quite a while, I said I wanted to go back, so we left. Later, one of the other western women gave me a lecture : how could I think of leaving when the pyre was still burning and Nonny was still there.
« Nonny’s not there, » I said. « Nonny’s body is there. I see that the pyre is burning well and that’s all now. It will continue until it’s finished. »
Later, Baba told me he had given Nonny mukti (bliss).
Besides covering much of India during those years, I twice went to Kashmir with Baba. A foreigner entering Kashmir at that time had to have a special permit. A small group of us were driving to Kashmir and stopped at the border station to see if my permit had arrived. The officials said no.
Baba said to me, « We’re not going to sit here in a dak bungalow and wait for you. We’re going on to Srinagar and as soon as you get your permit, you can follow. »
Baba had taken me on this trip to look after Mehera, Mani and Meheru because I’d never been to Kashmir and Margaret and Kitty had. Mani and I were sharing a bedding so we took everything apart and divided it up so I’d have some bedding while I was waiting for my permit. As soon as it arrived I would take a bus to Srinagar.
But just before Baba was due to leave, he said, « We’ll go down to the telegraph office. You and Chanji make inquiries and I’ll come with you. » That seemed very strange ; Baba would usually send you off on an errand and then you’d just report to him when you returned.
We walked the short distance to the office and Chanji asked, « Has any telegram come for Rano Gayley giving her permission to enter Kashmir ? »
The man shuffled through his telegrams. « No, no. » But he looked at Baba with an odd expression.
Baba said, « Go on. Look again, look again. »
« Well, » the man finally said, « this is against regulations, but as you seem to know that the permit has come, I’ll acknowledge the fact that it has. But it hasn’t been sent to the border office yet. »
We thanked him and returned to the bungalow. If Baba hadn’t come with us and convinced the man that we felt the permit had come and that he was holding out on us, I would have been delayed a day unnecessarily. But Baba turned he key and I went along with him into Kashmir.
The Blue Bus tours ended in 1942, but this didn’t mean Baba stopped his travels and contact with the masts. This actually continued until the New Life period began on October 16, 1949.
However, after 1943, Baba did not take all the women with him — only Mehera, Mani and Meheru, accompanied by Margaret or Kitty or me. In early 1946 Baba decided to close the ashram. The westerners were to go back to the West and some easterners were to return to their homes. Mansari elected to stay at Meherabad and the families of Baidul and Kaikobad were also to stay there. Kitty, Margaret and I were supposed to return home, but instead Baba called us to join him in North India. From there, we used to take side trips with Baba and he also continued his mast work.
On one of these trips, I had developed hepatitis. I had been given a warning, although I didn’t understand that at the time. Margaret, Kitty and I were traveling by bus with Donkin to join Baba in the north. We stopped at a wayside station and they all decided they wanted sugar cane juice. A man sitting in front of me on the bus overheard us and turned around. He looked directly at me and said, I wouldn’t drink that if I were you. »
I thought that was a bit silly. Why pick on me when the others were also drinking it ? So I drank it. I thought no more about it but about a month later, as we were to leave on another journey, I developed a fever. I thought it was just a cold and took a number of the horrible specifics we had in those days. Nothing worked.
We started on the trip and I was feeling miserable, only able to drink a bit of milk and eat an egg. Baba was getting quite disgusted. Here he was taking me on a trip and I could hardly lift the bags or do anything else.
We arrived at a charming little bungalow in the foothills of the Himalayas, and Baba said, « I’m sick and tired of this milk and egg you’re eating all the time. » He put a heaping plate of rice and curry in front of me and said, « You have to eat every bite that’s on that plate. »
I was feeling too miserable to do anything but look at it, but Baba pointed to the plate : « Eat it all. »
Somehow I did, and of course it made me sick, but the important thing was that I did what Baba told me to do. We continued on our way and when we reached our destination, Katrayan, Donkin said I had infectious hepatitis.
« What ? » said Baba. « You can’t stay here in the house with us ; you’ll infect everyone. You’ll have to go back. »
I thought of the long, hot journey back to Dehra Dun and knew I’d never make it.
Then Baba said, « If Kaka doesn’t mind, you can stay. »
Kaka, who was in charge of the food, didn’t mind at all, even though he would have to do special cooking for me. The problem of where I should stay was solved beautifully. There was a cowshed where Donkin had a room at the top, and there was another empty room up there and that’s where I stayed. We were in the mountains and the room had a beautiful view of the Kulu Valley and the snow-capped mountains. Baba couldn’t have chosen a nicer place for my recuperation.
Donkin said he had never seen such a light case of hepatitis. Then Baba told me, « If you hadn’t eaten that meal when I told you that day, you would have been very sick. » Because I obeyed him, he mitigated the illness ; and by the time he was ready to leave the valley, I was quite well again.
The real substance of those years traveling with Baba cannot be put into words, pictures or stories. Baba’s traveling ashram was unique because of his love and because of the obedience that love inspired.
Many of the details presented here are from every angle ordinary and probably quite similar to what any other party of travelers might encounter. Yet ashram life was different. Although the external activity might appear exactly the same, doing for the master is an entirely separate affair than doing the same thing on one’s own. In love there is obedience, and often just the duty or particular assignment given by Baba would be the one the disciple felt least qualified to cope with. The master, for love’s sake, knows just how to prune the ego. It is in this process that the relationship between the lover and the beloved has all its paradoxes, trials, impossibilities and glimpses of union.
Although Dr. William Donkin was speaking specifically of the Jubblepore mast ashram, his words apply equally to all the Blue Bus tours :
« It is unfortunate that scant justice has been done to the general atmosphere of this ashram, and to that subtle quintessence of love which pervades everything Baba does. His physical presence and the brilliance of his leadership have that impossible quality of the philospher’s stone, that, by their magic touch, they transmute the base metal of the most commonplace routine into a treasure of loving service. This is perhaps an ornate way of describing something that is at once so real that one might think it easy to describe quite simply, and so transcendental that the spirit of it eludes the grasp of words. But this magic, this imponderable something, weaves itself like a golden thread into the fabric of everything that Baba does, and when the factual details of a phase of Baba’s life are buried so deep in the ashes of one’s mind to be almost forgotten, the memory of this splendid thing is still there. »[2]
[modifier] I Had Such A Fiery Temper
After we went to live at Meherabad, the atmosphere around Baba changed completely. We had had so much freedom with Baba and now we had to realize that the time of freedom and of just loving Baba and expressing that love outwardly was over, giving way to a period of obedience and of feeling Baba inwardly.
We knew Baba loved us just as much as ever, even though he didn’t express that love. And he used all the clashes and misunderstandings that arose to work out our moods. Sometimes differences were compounded by language difficulties. Other times there would be clashes among the westerners because of wanting to do certain things in certain ways.
And if Baba found things going too smoothly among the westerners and easterners, he created a situation to see how we’d stand up to it. I call that the « boiling jam » period : when jam is boiling, there’s a certain point at which the froth comes to the surface and it has to be removed before the jam is pure and edible. Baba would point out this « froth » to us, but we were the ones who had to remove it. When we had altercations, Baba would make us see and hear ourselves. In time, and with his infinite patience, we learned that our shortcomings must be faced and removed, no matter how painful the process.
But it took a long, long time to boil that « jam. » I’ve now reached the stage where I don’t fly into a temper. I can get annoyed about something, but I’m always sorry afterwards. In those days I was never sorry ; I’d just be annoyed. Everyone in the ashram was aware that I had a temper. Baba had to get that out of my system, and the only way was for me to work it out on others, and then hear myself and learn to control that temper. That’s what Baba did with all of us. It was difficult for me at first, because I hadn’t realized I had such a fiery temper. But Baba brought it all out.
[modifier] His Work Was Finished 100 Per Cent
When we were at Meherazad, Baba would work in Mandali Hall, seated in his chair by the window. As soon as word was passed that Baba was going to work, all activity in Meherazad ceased. The garden boys put down their watering cans and turned off the taps. The household workers stopped washing clothes and kitchen utensils. The men mandali remained quiet in their quarters and we women in ours.
Only the birds went on warbling their sweet songs. They were indeed privileged, as Baba said their singing did not disturb him. So in the midst of this manmade silence there were only the song of the birds and in the distance the muted barking of a dog. However, should anyone inadvertently sneeze or cough, or one of the workers carelessly drop a lid, then there would be a loud clap from Baba and one of the mandali would go to him. « What was that disturbance ? » The culprit would be tracked down and scolded, then again silence. This continued until Baba finished his work and clapped, and word went out that we could resume our daily activities.
The same procedure took place at Guruprasad. There, however, Baba would do his seclusion work in his room. A yellow sofachair was brought in to make Baba more comfortable and Baba gave us all strict instructions regarding this chair. Under no circumstances should anyone touch the chair and no part of their garments should even brush against it. Only Mehera was allowed to touch it.
Whenever we were called to be with Baba in his room, our focus was constantly on the yellow chair. In spite of so much care, one day someone’s skirt just missed touching the chair and Baba noticed. He again instilled in us the importance of the yellow chair, saying if anyone touched it, all his work would be undone. From that day on, a cord was put around the chair to protect it.
Each day Baba would shut himself up in his room and, as at Meherazad, all activity ceased for the time being. When the session was completed, Baba would clap and Eruch and one of the other mandali would go to him immediately. Eruch told us how Baba would be drenched with perspiration and his thighs stiff and bruised from the pounding he gave them to keep the physical link while doing his universal work. Before leaving Guruprasad in 1968, Baba told us that his work was finished 100 per cent to his satisfaction.
[modifier] Rano On Sauce
On July 31 (1937) we boarded the Strathnaver for Marseilles. My idea of being on ship is to be up on deck, enjoying the fresh air and the view.
But Chanji had been told to provide seclusion for the women, and his idea of that was to choose cabins in the bottom of the boat, at the stern — right above the propellers. As we departed, the monsoon was raging in the Arabian Sea and the high, choppy waves tossed the stern of the boat up out of the water, the propellers made that terrible grinding noise, and then the boat sank back again. To make matters worse, the portholes had to be kept closed because of the weather.
I went up on deck that first day and was looking out over the water thinking, « Will I ever see India again ? » when Baba came along.
« What are you doing here ? »
« Enjoying the fresh air, Baba. »
« Well, you go down to the cabin. »
« But, Baba there are so many people down there. »
« Never mind, you go down. »
So of course I went down again. My job was to sit in the passage and guard Mehera’s door. Norina took over sometimes, but I always had that duty in the evenings. Even though I was a fairly good sailor, I feared that without some fresh air I’d start getting sick and then what kind of a job would I be able to do ? I called the stewardess and asked, « What do you do when you’re feeling queasy and you still have to take care of all these people ? »
She said, « I always take a big tablespoon full of Worcestershire sauce. »
« All right, bring me a bottle of Worcestershire sauce and a tablespoon. »
There was no place in the passageway to sit except the floor, so I sat with my legs out and my back against the bulkhead facing Mehera’s door. I thought I’d better have some sauce before I got sick, and was just pouring out a big spoonful when I felt someone watching me.
I looked up and there was Baba. « What are you doing ? »
« Trying not to be sick, Baba. »
« All right, drink it down. »
I managed not to be sick the entire trip, and Baba started allowing Norina and me a couple of hours on deck each day to get some fresh air. Although I didn’t yet realize that I would later on be with Baba, that trip was the beginning of my training.
[modifier] A Toss-Up
In 1959, Naja and I were staying at Bindra House in Poona with Eruch's family. I was taken very ill after eating a mango. A doctor came and went and the next morning Dr. Goher came. I was too sick to care about anything, but after a few days I was aware of a certain amount of activity in the house. Whenever Naja came into my room, I'd ask, "Naja, who are all those people milling around outside?"
Naja said, "Oh, it's nothing."
The next day I was feeling slightly better and Baba came to see me. "You know, last night was a toss-up between you and Papa (Eruch's father)."
Not realizing what Baba meant, I laughed.
Baba said, "Didn't you know that Papa died last night?"
"No, no one told me." Naja had been afraid she'd upset me and no one had told me in the morning either. Papa had not been seriously ill, but he hadn't been well either. He had told many of his friends how worried he was about the western lady who was ill at his house. When his friends heard there was a death at Bindra House, they thought it was me, and very few came to Papa's funeral.
[modifier] Paper On The Wall
I was again at Bindra House in early 1960 when Baba did one of those things he sometimes did just to take you by surprise.
He came to the house one day and greeted everyone, but when he came to me he walked right by as if I were paper on the wall. I thought, "This is very strange; I'm standing here and Baba hasn't even given me a look. He's embracing everyone and even greeting the servants and it's as if I'm not even in the room."
This happened several times and I thought it was a terrible situation but realized I'd have to work it out because obviously I was going to have to live with it. I knew there must be a reason, but I couldn't ask Baba about it because I was nonexistent. So I worked out a very happy solution: the very fact that Baba was making an effort to ignore me meant Baba was conscious of my presence. As soon as I solved the problem Baba once again started taking notice of me.
It was just one of the tests Baba gave to see how I would carry through. He had told us repeatedly that one must be aloof from pleasure and praise as well as from disapproval.
[modifier] Master Of The Tools
Among our visitors in the 1950s was Irene Conybeare, author of « Civilization and Chaos ».
She was called to Mandali Hall at Meherazad every day to see Baba, and would question him about many things, some occult things and many intellectual subjects.
I sometimes walked with her in the evenings and one particular evening she said, "Rano, I can't understand why, with all the brilliant people in the world, Baba has surrounded himself with..." And she paused.
"You mean us," I said.
Being a very forthright person, she said, "Yes."
"Well," I said, "when you look back through the centuries and you think of Jesus, there must have been many wonderful and brilliant people then, too. And look who Jesus surrounded himself with. It's the same with Baba. He doesn't want intellectual or brilliant people telling him how to do things.
"Baba told us that the intellect has to go before the heart can really be filled. We aren't inclined to ask Baba anything because we know we're here to serve Baba and to love Baba and that we are actually Baba's tools. Tools don't decide what they have to do. It's the master of the tools who has the whole say."
[modifier] Art Is An Act Of Love: The Ten Circles Chart
My painting efforts during the years with Meher Baba were sporadic — ranging from total concentration for a specific period to doing only one watercolor a year for Baba's birthday.
I had actually thought my painting days were over when I left New York for Nasik in December, 1936. After all, I thought, what did painting have to do with living a spiritual life? But because I'd been traveling, I had paints and brushes with me and a few days after my arrival in Nasik, Baba asked me to do a special painting under his direction. He wanted, he said, a huge chart of the 10 circles of 120 persons who surround the Avatar in each advent. Baba wanted the chart to measure 5 feet by 8 feet, to be done in oils, and he would outline to me exactly how he wished it to be done, a bit at a time.
I began by making a small pencil sketch of the 10 circles to scale. In the margin, Baba put a variety of symbols which at first made no sense to me but I later found that they corresponded to the locations he wanted for the various animals, birds, plants and modes of transport which were to surround the central focus of the 10 circles. When I made this connection, I realized that Baba was letting me know, in silence, that the chart was already totally planned by him, and he was now simply having me put it all on canvas.
The 10 circles themselves, comprised of 120 persons, were to have 12 men in the first circle (the appendage of two women to that circle would not be depicted); eight men and four women in the second circle; four men and eight women in the third; eight men and four women in the fourth; four men and eight women in the fifth; eight men and four women in the sixth; six men and six women in the seventh; eight men and four women in the eighth; eight men and four women in the ninth; ten men and two women in the 10th circle. Above the 10 circles was to be a figure of Baba seated on a platform.
At first Baba wanted me to do watercolors of everything before putting paint on canvas. But he never minded one making suggestions so I said watercolors couldn't be changed if he didn't happen to like them, but I could do pencil sketches and when he approved those, I could transfer them to the canvas. Then with oils, I could easily change colors or make other corrections. Baba agreed to that.
He gave me no detailed instructions for the 120 persons, so I simply made the distinction between men and women by giving the women hair in buns and making the men's hair loose, either short or long. I put all the figures in different colored robes, because I didn't know what nationality they were or what time period was indicated.
I remember one woman who thought the chart was very interesting but she couldn't understand why Baba hadn't put a black person in one of the circles. I thought about it afterwards and realized if Baba had done that, he might as well have put other ethnic groups in the circles. But then everyone would be speculating about who those people actually were and what spiritual plane they were on and there would be no end to it. So Baba just left it indefinite.
The background of the circles varies. Starting from the bottom, Baba wanted the first two to have sand; the next two, ocean; the next pair, desert with desert vegetation; the next two, forest and flaming sky; and the last two, only vegetation.
I began doing pencil sketches of the other figures and submitted them one by one to Baba for his approval. If he liked a sketch very much, he signed it with his full signature; others he signed with his initials; some he passed without signing and these have my check mark on them.
Once he approved a sketch, I transferred it to its alloted space on the canvas. The figures are not in proportion to each other, as they had to be in proportion to the size of the space and the position Baba wanted them to occupy.
From beginning to end, the sole concept was Baba's; I just blindly followed whatever he wanted. Sometimes it was very difficult to find pictures of the various animals Baba wanted on the chart. But Nonny found a book of birds, animals and insects, and I just happened later to find a magazine with pictures of the bombers and warships Baba designated. Baba gave me photographs of three temples, small Hindu Mandirs built for him in different parts of India by some of his devotees, and I reduced or enlarged or changed the three shapes so all the temples on the chart look different.
The coloring was left primarily to me, although Baba did give me the colors for the seven roses, and he mixed the paint himself for the platform on which he is seated, as he didn't like the shade I had selected.
I carried on this part of the work without question, as it was a matter of putting on the canvas each thing as given by Baba. But the imaginative fantasies in the upper part of the canvas were another matter. I asked Baba to give me an explanation so that I could perhaps do a better job in carrying out his wishes, Baba looked at me and then dictated on the alphabet board, "Do as I say and don't ask questions." Twice more at intervals I asked for explanations and received the same reply. So I assumed that was the way he wanted it and I asked no more questions. I did my best and Baba's pleased smile, especially when he saw how I carried out his directions for the large rectangular panel, was reward enough for me. It made me realize that I had managed to convey what Baba wished.
These various panels at the top, done in gray and white tones at Baba's direction, are incorporated into each other. For instance, the rectangle on the left is reduced to an elliptical shape in the four-leaf panel on the right, with every bit of detail retained in the reduction.
The four-leaf panel has four scenes: vegetation and forest; animals; birds; and fish. The panels contain many fine circular lines and in the center of each space is Baba's face. Between the four circular panels are four ladders showing steps in evolution: rock, gold, eggplant, centipede, porpoise, hawk, horse; pebble, silver, tulip, amoeba, shark, blue jay, elephant; crystal, copper, pear, tape-worm, whale, peacock, monkey; stone, iron, grass, mud-worm, minnow, sparrow, dog.
In the upper left hand corner of the chart is an oval with a running motif: a cow's head with a tiger's head coming from the cow's mouth and a mouse coming from the tiger's mouth. At intervals are miniatures of all the birds, animals and other figures taken from either side of the 10 circles. In the center panel is a gradual emergence of Baba from head, to head and shoulders, to full figure, surrounded by the reduced four-leaf panels.
I worked on the chart off and on from 1937 to 1943 at Nasik, Cannes and Meherabad, at Baba's order taking the canvas with me wherever we went. While at Nasik, Baba gave me certain hours every day to work. No one was allowed to see what I was doing, and I curtained off a corner of the verandah when I was working and covered the canvas at night.
Then for a while, it seemed Baba had forgotten about the chart as he gave me no more work to do on it during the one period we spent in Bangalore. But when we returned to Meherabad in 1943, I sent Baba a note asking if I should continue. He sent word back that I should make a rough draft of the whole thing and indicate where there were spaces still to be filled. Dr. Nilu wrote in all the detail under Baba's direction, and I was able to finish during the time Baba was coming up the Hill in those days to see Mehera and Mani. At that time, none of the rest of us were allowed to see Baba.
I lived downstairs in the converted water tank at Meherabad, in the far left-hand corner of the west room. The only light was from the door and the ventilators, and I still had to keep a sheet around my bed so anyone coming in would not see what I was doing.
One member of the ashram had a five-year-old boy and the curtain made him very curious, but he knew he wasn't supposed to see behind it. One day while I was working on the chart, I had the feeling that someone was there. I found the boy peeping out from under the bed, fully confident that he was invisible.
The first person to see the completed chart was Mehera, in 1945. It wasn't shown again until 1954, when Baba invited some of his men followers from around the world to gather at Meherabad. Baba said to me, "You go to Meherabad and take out the chart and show it to them."
The first photos of the chart were taken then, but fortunately no one asked for an explanation, because I had no explanation to give them. Perhaps Baba felt we were not ready to understand the chart, as he did say it was for posterity. In the meantime, pleasure may be derived from looking at it simply because it is totally Meher Baba's.
After 1954, the chart was hung in the museum on Meherabad Hill, where it is available for all visitors to see.
Rano Gayley. © 1983 AMBPPCT
