The Memoirs Of A Zetetic

De Simple Silence.

Contents 1 I Want A Candy 2 The Director Of My Life-Events 3 At The Toll-Bar Of Heaven 4 Short And Bitter 5 Attention And Affection 6 Judge With A Difference

[modifier] I Want A Candy

That evening, our coach Eric Charles had made us do a little more work than usual and when we left the grounds, I felt a dry mouth. Only a sweet thing, perhaps a candy, could best act in such a situation, I mused.

Home was about half a kilometer away, but the desire to have a candy increased as I went ahead. Then suddenly I remembered my mental request to Meher Baba the previous night. I thought, « Why then not test, as YLM says, ‘His all-knowing grace’ by asking for a candy right now ? »

I was in a half-playful mood, as is the case where faith has not yet pitched its tent firmly. I tossed the prayer to Meher Baba, « Please, get me a candy from someone. If it happens, I’ll believe that You have provided it. » Meher Baba was physically over a thousand kilometers away from where I uttered the prayer.

I hurried home, my mouth getting dryer. About 30 paces from home stood an elderly gentleman. He knew me, as we were fellow-members of the Bai-ka-Bagicha club.

He greeted me obviously in a mood for conversation and I was, at least at that moment, desiring to return home immediately for a glass of water. But it would have been impolite to ignore his invitation to stop, and so I went up to him with a « Good evening. »

« Good evening, Hazra Saheb, you seem to be in a great hurry, » he smiled.

« Well, a bit, no doubt, as I am returning from the playgrounds after a two-hour session at the ‘throws.’ »

« Okay, you can go in that case, but before that please have this candy. » He offered me a candy in his hand.

« Candy ? You keep them with you, do you ? » I was so confused that I was at a loss to know what I ought to say.

« Oh no, I’m not a kid. It’s only because the doctor suggested the other day that I should defer smoking for a few days to recover from pharyngitis — and you know what a job it is to overcome the temptation to smoke. So, I bought some candy to eat whenever I get the itch to smoke. Please have one. » He smiled.

As I ate the candy, the thought of Meher Baba unavoidably loomed large in my mind. Was the timely arrival of this candy just a chance incident, or was the event really directed by Meher Baba from afar ?

« Thank you. Why are you standing here alone ? Waiting for someone ? » I asked.

« No, I came out for a stroll, and then came up here and decided I wouldn’t go further. »

« Well, er, thank you very much for the candy. Goodbye, » I said and hurried home.

As I was washing my face in the bathroom, one half of my mind kept telling me, « It was just a coincidence, Amiya, dont give it any undue importance, » while another half of my mind kept saying, « You asked Meher Baba to get you a candy and see within minutes an elderly gentleman standing 30 paces from your home with a candy in hand offers it to you instead of eating it himself ; as if he had no other work to do but just to wait and catch you to give you the candy. Dont doubt Meher Baba’s Grace. It has begun to shower itself on you already ! »

Clearly I was unable to decide which side of my mind was right in its promptings. I sighed and like Joseph Addison’s poor dear Sir Roger mused to myself, « Well, much could be said on both sides ! » and thus shrugged off the problem.

I had already mentioned that I had let my two close friends in my intellectual coterie, RNB and SKG read Meher Baba’s literature. Little did I know that they too were in for some interesting incidents contemporaneously.

Though, because they knew my skeptical attitude too well, they at first thought it better to keep their experiences to themselves. But things that appear extraordinary can’t be kept back from friends who share even the most ordinary experiences. Hence, two or three days after the « candy event » RNB met me and said, « A strange thing has happened. »

« What strange thing ? » I enquired.

« Yesterday after returning from my duty at the Power House, I had an urge to eat mutton. When I divulged my desire to the family members they said that it was no longer possible to get mutton as the mutton shops were already closed. So they told me to wait till the following day to get a dish of mutton.

« I was clearly frustrated because the urge to eat mutton was for that night and not for the following morning ! Indeed, as the hours passed by, and vegetarian dishes were being cooked in the kitchen, I felt my frustration mounting. Then I resolved that if I did not get mutton to eat that night, I would forego taking even meals.

« Well, Amiya Kumar, then I suddenly thought of Meher Baba and what the books said of Him. I will frankly admit this to you, that I prayed to Meher Baba to see that I got mutton to eat in spite of the shops being closed that very night, otherwise I would keep a fast ! »

« You did that ? You prayed to Meher Baba for mutton ? »

« Yes, and I decided that if the prayer wasn’t fulfilled then I would not take a bite at the dinner, that night. »

« What happened then ? »

« Well, what happened was interesting. Quite late in the night, Dr. RKG’s servant came to my home. He held a lump of mutton in his hand. He gave it to my elder brother’s wife and said, ‘Doctor Saheb has just returned from a hunting expedition out of station. He bagged a big barking deer and bade me give a slice of it to you. As the deer was killed many hours back, he suggested that it should not be kept for another day but cooked without delay.’ »

I looked at RNB quizzically. « Then, did they cook it ? »

« Yes, immediately almost. They also teased me because now I declared that I would break my ‘fast’ and eat, since ‘mutton’ had been cooked. Now, Amiya Kumar, what’s your opinion about the thing ? Was it just a chance happening or something else ? »

« I wouldn’t know for sure, dear RNB, but I do tell you to keep watching for similar events if they reoccur. Right ? »

« Right, » he said, and left for his office.

Once again I was left to myself and I consulted both my right and left sides of brain about this event in RNB’s life. Again Sir Roger popped up in my mind with the same reply — « Much could be said on both sides. »

Here I must mention that our coterie of skeptics and intellectually-inclined friends included a dozen or so young men.

One was Gurudas Chatterjee (GDC), the nephew of a reputed doctor of the city, who was always telling us that he loved punctuality above all virtues and that being punctual was being polite.

So, in matters of appointment, we were very particular in regard to him. If we had an appointment with him, and if we were so much as a minute late, he would leave if he could, or refuse to talk, or if compelled by circumstances to talk, would be barely polite.

One day, I had an appointment with him at his home at a certain hour of the evening, and the place was nearly 3 kilometers from my house. I became late for the meeting ! This would present a very bad beginning to our meeting, so far as GDC was concerned.

I wanted his help with my own work, and here he was to be kept waiting beyond the appointed hour. As I hurriedly pedaled my bicycle towards his place, I felt at heart that it was futile. I estimated that I would reach his house at least 600 seconds after the time of politeness would have expired.

At a crossing called Malaviya chowk, I was to turn into the right side path to make for his home. At this point I experienced misgivings, considering his well-known propensity for treating latecomers badly. Who knew — he might even refuse to see me.

Again Meher Baba flashed into my brain. « Well, Meher Baba, here I am in a fix. I must meet GDC this evening. Could you help me in this ? » Just as I repeated this request, in spite of myself I found, that I did something, or was made to do something, quite irrational. The handle of the cycle turned towards one of the four roads that was certainly not going towards his house.

« What an ass I am. Why did I do that ? To be still more late, and lose the last hope of seeing GDC tonight ? » I went on muttering to myself as my cycle and I propelled ourselves down the wrong road, as though we simply refused to obey logic.

And then, to my great surprise, I saw him around the corner in a small shop. He had a scowl on his face, definitely because he wanted to teach me a lesson by leaving home and coming to this area to avoid seeing me, for I had failed to respect « Mr. Time ! »

« Good evening, dear boy. » I beamed a smile to palliate him, « of all places this was the last at which I expected to find you. »

« Good evening, Mr. Late Lateef ! » He arched his brow, « And you were the last person I had expected to meet at this place. I had deliberately shunted off from home so you mayn’t get me. How on earth you came this way ? Did someone guide you ? »

« I don’t know, rather I can’t be sure. I just turned into this path without knowing the why and wherefore of it. » I said.

GDC looked suspiciously at me, « Talking mystically ? Anyway, since you’ve got me, let us better get down to business at once for some minutes as I have another appointment[... ] «

So we got down for business. But much though I expected Sir Roger to pop up in my mind to unsheathe this phenomenon of irrational cycling to find my friend, he did not. Instead I heard Hamlet brandishing his dialogue in my mind’s ear, « There are more things, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. »

I am reminded of a humorous remark to the effect that if a man once falls off the Empire State building, it’s an accident. If he falls off twice, it’s a coincidence, but if he falls off three times, it’s his habit. What would you call a series of extraordinary events happening in quick succession over a number of months and going on for years ?

Soon after the GDC incident, one evening as I sat engrossed in reading, my mother asked me to go to the market to buy a dozen lemons. The juice of the lemons was needed to help my sister solve a gastric problem she was having — dyspepsia.

I felt lazy at that hour, and I refused. Mother got annoyed, and chided me for being so indifferent to my sister’s suffering. The moment she left the room, I thought of Meher Baba and His « Mood of Grace » and again requested Him that I would be so glad and grateful to Him if He somehow arranged for the lemons as he had arranged for the candy. This thought passing, I went back to reading my book.

Only a few minutes elapsed. I could still hear my mother telling my sister how heartless I was becoming, when someone knocked on the door. The servant of one of our neighbors appeared. He had a smile on his lips, and a bag containing more than a dozen lemons in his hand. Depositing the lemons on the table he departed. I took them to my mother. She was astonished.

« How could you get these lemons. You didn’t go out to fetch them, did you ? »

« Oh no, I never stirred from the room, but someone who listens to my prayers has prompted someone to send them to us. They are from our neighbor. Did you send any message to him yourself for lemons ? » This last I asked because a familiar side of my brain was seeking evidence, as a matter of habit.

« No, I told none beside you. And why should I, unless you prove yourself utterly useless to us ! » With this final sting, sweet mother collected the lemons, evidently happy for their receipt, although not that happy with me.

As she went away, I was trying to rid myself of my intellectual dyspepsia. I had read so many books that had fostered so much skepticism. Now I felt the desire to achieve faith in Meher Baba, but now my habit of emulating Doubting Thomas was not easily expunged.

I told myself, « Peace, my dear Amiya Kumar, don’t be in such a hurry to conclude. Let lots of water flow by before you finally form a verdict. »

During that early period I needed some money for a trip. I had done some translation work for someone, but my remuneration was not sent to me. I was not in the habit of asking, even if entitled by circumstances, and so I didn’t.

The result was that the day for the trip arrived, and no money with it. By early evening, the money still had not arrived, and it was two hours until I would have to entrain. I didn’t want to ask my family members for the money, either.

Desperation came to me as I watched the clock ticking down the hours till departure. I did not know what to do. Why not again ask Meher Baba and see if He cares to listen to my request, even this time ?

And this time I was really surprised. The personal assistant of the rich gentleman whose work I had done knocked on the door. Yes, there was no doubt about it ; he had brought the money — not in the form of a cheque that would need to be cashed the next day, but the entire payment in cash.

I said a hurried « thank you » to the gentleman’s personal assistant as I seized the currency. Then I packed my things and went to the railway station.

This time I was not in a mood to critically examine the event. Something was happening and if really Meher Baba was the prime mover of all these episodes, well it would mean a revolutionary change in my life and outlook !

Each incident left a wave of surprise in my mind, and I was also equally or perhaps more surprised at another thing — I was feeling love for Meher Baba : not always, not all the time, but at times for a minute or two. At those moments, I experienced a beautification of my mind and a purification of my heart of a nature that I had never experienced before.

Meher Baba seemed to come close to my consciousness for a brief period, evoke love and then withdraw, leaving me to feel and perhaps to judge the difference.

Frankly, I highly valued these moments. However, I was unable to prolong them by my own efforts. I felt obliged to recheck my feelings to find whether they were generated by me or induced in me by Meher Baba, as an additional gift (over and above the trivial gifts).

Nevertheless, there were many other things that transpired in those days, of which at least a few could be of interest to the reader.

[modifier] The Director Of My Life-Events

Meanwhile, my parents and elders desired that I should join some college as a lecturer in English and pursue my research work in addition to it. Soon I came to know of a vacant post in a newly-opened college in my state of Madhya Pradesh. I applied, and received a letter scheduling an interview.

When I reached the location for the interview, I saw several aspirants for posts in different subjects, including English. As other candidates were interviewed, candidate after candidate was sent out wearing a look of dejection. On enquiry, someone told us that the interviewers were asking odd questions not pertaining to the subject either to stress the candidates psychologically or to gauge the breadth of their knowledge.

Someone said, « You see, I went in for my interview as a lecturer in philosophy, and one gentleman asked me what was the difference between a rifle and a revolver ! Am I supposed to know these things ? »

We sympathized with the scholar of philosophy as we might do with a medic if instead of asking about diseases, the examiners might have asked for a discourse on transcendent reality.

As candidate after candidate filed out after the interview, the dejection was getting almost universal. Surely the merciless interviewers were keeping up their tough tactics.

Then my name was called. Inevitably, I was feeling the same apprehension that the other candidates had experienced, and I remembered Meher Baba and asked Him to help me, in the same way as a soldier heading into battle in the front row of the charge.

Soon I found myself face to face with a group of keen-looking grey-heads, and the first interview of my life began. They asked me about modern English poetry and almost without premeditation I enquired whether they would like to hear some English poetry from countries other than England.

They evidently now showed more interest, and I talked about English poetry written about Meher Baba by His Australian and American poet-devotees. As I had recently read these, it was easy to give a narrative that was both faithful and full of fervour.

Heedless of the consequences, I talked, and they listened and nodded their heads in appreciation. Thereafter they asked only two or three questions about nature, poetry of England, Romanticism and poetry in Chaucer’s age. Then beaming a smile at me, one of them said, « Thank you ! » and that being a signal to depart, I bowed and came out, little divining what my performance might have been worth in their minds.

After lunch at the guest house, where all candidates were lodged by the College Management, I acquired acquaintance with a senior lecturer who had also come for the interview and he was my competitor as his subject too was English.

He had come from another State, and had put in a few years of service. By contrast, I was a fresh chap, so I hardly expected to be preferred to him. But when, in the late afternoon the Manager of the College came to the guest house, he, after formal enquiries regarding our food and lodging and other conveniences, told all in a general way the results of the interview would be intimated to all later at their residential addresses.

Then he turned to me and said, « One result is out, and that is yours, Mr. Hazra. The Committee has selected you for the post of English as you have topped the list with 80% marks. Congratulations ! » and he held my hand and shook it warmly. « Now, Mr. Hazra, we would appreciate your coming to the College office within an hour to receive your appointment letter forthwith. »

As the manager left the hall others rose to congratulate me. I was half-ashamed and half-glad. I was also slightly surprised to see that my senior competitor was not selected. How it all happened, I do not know. But I could clearly discern the signs of frustration on that dear man’ s face, and that took away all the joys of triumph at this outstanding success in an interview where no one else was yet informed about the result.

At heart, I felt like a follower of Christ, who would not relish being happy at the cost of somebody else’s happiness, but a job was a « must » for me, so I went to the College office and received the appointment letter with lots of appreciation by the members of the board for my performance all over again, especially about that poetry that was from the poems about Meher Baba.

In the evening, after I received my letter of appointment and returned to bid farewell to the other candidates, I said to my senior competitor, « Sir I’m not joining this college. »

He looked surprised. I didn’t want to explain. My heart alone knew the reason. Anything that hurt another person could not be relished by me. As I boarded the train for Jabalpur, I had made up my mind. Although they had given me too much appreciation and awarded the appointment, etc., yet I would not join.

Back home, I was a bit at a loss to understand my own behaviour. If I didn’t join that college, what was I to do ? It was difficult to get a job !

I turned to Meher Baba. Now it was a different kind of request : « Thank you for making me successful at the interview and for getting me the job. Now, please see that I don’t have to take that job. Rather, see that I get some other job so that parents do not get angry with me. Sorry for bothering you so much. But see it happens, O Meher Baba. »

At home, the news of my appointment was joyfully received by the members of my family and everyone asked me when I was going to join ! Well, it was an awkward question because I did not want to join at all, and also didn’t want to disclose this fact to them.

« Let me see. I am allowed a week’s time to join, so I can decide at leisure. » That was enough to send them contented to their respective jobs and to allow me more time to worry about the problem and pray to Meher Baba for its solution.

I didn’t know if Meher Baba was really going to help me in the matter. It was perhaps asking Him for too many things. Well, nothing could be said, and I had no means of judging the limits of Meher Baba’s patience !

As things stood, in the normal circumstances I had only one alternative left, i.e., to look into Ad. Columns of newspapers for fresh job opportunities. Sleep came to smooth the lines of worry on my forehead and the morning came with the offer of fresh vigour and vitality.

I had taken my breakfast as usual, when the thing started all over again — I mean the inexplicable phenomenon of coincidences ! My father was seated in his dispensary room, and from there sent a messenger to me to see him immediately.

I went and found a gentleman seated in front of my father. He was not a patient. Father introduced me to him. The gentleman was the principal of a recently-opened college in another town of the State and there was a vacancy in the department of English.

Some professor who had taught me had recommended my name to him the preceding evening, and he had come to offer the post to me in person. Now, would I go ?

Dear reader, you can imagine the delight and relief I felt at this unexpected offer without any ads, applications and interviews, right where I was sitting at home ! As if the job came jogging along to me when it was not that easy at all. Think of the thing ! The Principal comes and takes you away and makes you join.

The Principal, upon hearing that I already had an appointment letter from another college in another town looked up and asked straightaway, « Well, young man, if it comes to choose between the two jobs, which will you give priority — the one for which you had to go all the distance, appear in the interview and undergo all tension, or the one that comes to you without your asking and for which there is no interview to face ? I, the Principal, have myself come to take you with the assurance that I will do everything to make you feel at home there. Well, what do you think of that ? »

Clearly, he had made the case so plain that there was hardly any room for deliberation. My father looked at me, and I felt that he too was deeply impressed by this gentleman’s personal interest in me. And it sounded more human for me to accept his offer.

The college was in Mandla, about 60 miles from Jabalpur (only a three-hour bus ride), which meant that I could visit my parents often during weekends and holidays without appreciable expense or exertion.

I declared my willingness to join this unexpected new job at a new place where I had no rival and my gain would be no person’s loss — at least not obviously, since they hadn’t even put an ad in the newspaper.

Thus, within a few minutes everything was settled and the most wonderful part of it was no one insisted that I join the other college. So my prayer to Meher Baba had been responded to so graciously by Him, and in this strange fashion within 12 hours of the prayer. The problem, the tension and the worry had all simply evaporated as though they had never existed at all.

I felt it was incumbent on me to express my joy and feeling to Meher Baba for all this, through a letter. But again as I wrote the letter, I felt whether it would not be better to know if He had accepted me as His « own » as I had started doing on my part.

But to ask it in words would not be the right thing. If He is the doer of all these things in my life, the director of my life’s events, the omniscient one, why should He not of Himself communicate a reply to my heart’s question, even if I had not worded it ! So, I simply wrote a letter informing Meher Baba about my first and second job offers, and my decision to take the second one, and also asked him to send His blessing to the person who had been my competitor in the competitive interview.

Meher Baba’s letter came, and it said that He had noted all I had to tell. But that was not all — the last lines of the letter did answer and answer very positively, in unequivocal words, the question of my heart whether He accepted me as His own.

It said, « Baba sends His fond love to His Amiyakumar. » His Amiyakumar. His Amiyakumar ! His Amiyakumar ! ! Oh, He knew everything ! He knew the yearning of my heart 700 miles away, and had replied to it.

What more proof of His compassionate All-knowing Divinity was now required ? I felt so happy ! Indeed, I belonged to Him — I, a skeptic, a man who was testing Him all the time, and He who had only love to return to my unworthy self.

[modifier] At The Toll-Bar Of Heaven

One of the most common utterances in the world is « Excuse me ! » One of the rarest utterances in the world is « Let’s excuse him ! »

In this, I humbly take my seat among the multitude. I find it hard to forgive others for the insult or injury they have caused me. I feel like annihilating them, although I know my lack of power to do so and therefore, I generally arm myself with a smile while I grind my teeth and I say with extreme sweetness « Let us forget the thing, okay ? No more of that, please don’t mention it again. »

The other one, who I feel is the worst person in the world, is led to think that I am a truly noble soul and the thing gets patched up with the cement of hypocrisy. But when I make a mistake, or harm someone to a considerable extent, I quickly go up to the altar of the Divine Being and pray to Him to protect and forgive me.

I salute those rare persons who are not like me. Here, then, is the story of my offence in late 1962 and the interesting events that followed.

Meher Baba had given me certain instructions and wanted me to obey Him with utmost sincerity. One of those instructions was, « Do not strike anyone with anger or hatred, » adding that Baba was Himself present in other persons, which in other words meant that if I beat them it would be indirectly hurting Baba Himself.

Now, when the instruction came, I felt a big intellectual jolt. In this world, people are always trying to be up against you. At some point, a situation may arise that needs one to be either on the offensive or on the defensive. At such a time, the ability to carry out a physical response is a big asset. To be constrained not to strike, in spite of being intensely provoked, would expose oneself to all the assaults of the world.

The question bred another question. Suppose I become nonviolence personified, would Baba protect me in any such situation that threatens to be dangerous to me ? In short, the instruction kept me brooding and uneasy, and frankly I could not, at the age of 31, totally accept its validity in the practical field of life. Was He trying to make a martyr of me, or what ?

Well, from youth, I rather was brought up with an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth sort of attitude. Here, Baba had presented an ordeal for me — for my ego — and it was as difficult to digest the instruction as to digest the flesh of a tiger.

But much though I wished to write to Baba and find out if He literally meant what He said or allowed a latitude for modification in special cases, I could not write to Him, because I had seen enough of His ways of working by that time to know that He wouldn’t want me to demand explanations ! I had to sort the problem out for myself, as and when trouble should arise, only consulting Him if a special case should arise.

Thus some three years passed, and the order was unbroken, because no situation had arisen to challenge it. Then in 1962 the challenge came in right earnest. I was getting thoroughly exasperated with someone for always contradicting me and then a day really came when I could contain myself no longer and broke Baba’s order by dealing out a hearty blow to that person.

After the deed, for a moment, I felt as if the world was standing still. It was not the blow, not the person who withdrew, not the question of justice or action or otherwise, but only one point that gnawed at my heart, « You have broken Baba’s order, who loves you so much and has shown such compassion on you. You have not done a good thing. Go and seek Baba’s forgiveness in person. »

The feeling grew more and more intense as the day passed and I was on the breaking point by the evening. I could not remain in Jabalpur for a moment more. I knew that Baba was in Poona but was not allowing us to see Him. But the desire to tell Him of my disobedience and the desire to obtain His forgiveness made me restless to the point that I took my traveling kit and boarded the train for Poona just in order to be forgiven.

The train sped forward but it was nearly 700 miles to Poona. I tried to comfort myself but misgivings were lodged in my heart and I was not sure if I would be able to gain His forgiveness. Had I not read in several books how much emphasis He had laid on implicit obedience ? He had told His devotees that when they break orders specially given to them, they interfere with His Work — the great good work He is doing for the universe. None would wish to hinder His work instead of helping it. As this work included working for our own spiritual beauty and perfection, it was also self-damaging.

The next day I reached Poona and went to a Dharamshala near the station. The following morning I had planned to go to Guruprasad to meet Baba and seek His forgiveness. I began to get ready. I went to the toilet, which had a huge, massive wooden door with a ridiculously small latch inside to close it. Well, when I had finished, I rose to open the door. The latch opened but not the door.

Due to rains or something it had swollen to a degree that it got almost fixed to the doorframe. I tried and tried to open the door by tugging on the latch, but it did not move. In desperation, I tied the latch to the cord that held up my loose trousers and tugged hard. The cord broke and the impact resulting in a cut on my finger, which started bleeding.

In alarm, I surveyed the toilet. It was small, ill-ventilated, stuffy and suddenly the idea came to me that Baba was punishing me for hitting that person in Jabalpur and perhaps He intends that I be locked in here for hours.

The dharamshala was nearly empty and there were many toilets around. I thought to shout very loudly for assistance, but first I tried to open the door again. It continued to be immovable, like destiny itself — grim and awful.

« Oh Baba, surely you don’t want me to die here in fright by getting choked, » I cried. Then I heard someone at the tap at some distance. The swoosh of water made me jump up. I cried myself hoarse — « Please, whoever you are, come and open this jammed door for me. » To my relief I heard footsteps advancing towards the toilet door.

Bang, bang, bang, and at last the door opened. To my shame, I saw that it was a lady who had performed this « beau geste » for me. I thanked her and went back to my room to dress, but the experience had left me quite shaken and unnerved. From then till now, whenever I have to go to a toilet, I first carefully examine the door, the latch, the hinges and also ascertain whether the toilet would let me out without much toil and would not frighten me as that one did.

That was the inauspicious prelude, and it made me feel my guilt for having broken Baba’s orders very keenly. Whether Baba had a hand in it or not, it was as if some cosmic law had started extracting the penalty for my offence, not a very comfortable feeling !

After about half an hour or so, I set out for Guruprasad bungalow where Baba was staying. Soon I was at the gate of the bungalow. It was closed from within and Baidul, one of Baba’s stalwart devotees, was posted to prevent any infiltration.

The moment I greeted him, his face, which had always responded in a sweet and mild manner, now turned red in anger. He sternly asked me why I had come when Baba was not giving interviews to anyone. The stern and almost heartless manner in which he told me to go back at once made me wince.

Was he the same Baidul or was he only speaking like that because Baba the Omniscient One inside Guruprasad might have prompted him to do so ? Instead of the endearing « Jai Baba, Amiyakumar, how do you do, etc., » he told me that I was disobedient and he would have none of me, and I had better leave the place immediately.

In desperation I exclaimed, « But Baidul, I have come all the way from Jabalpur to see Him ! »

« But why ? Why on earth have you come ? »

« Because I have made a mistake. I broke one of His orders and have come to seek His forgiveness. »

« And now by coming, you have broken another order of Baba that no one should visit Him during His seclusion unless He calls that person. So don’t argue, simply go back. »

« Please open the gate ! »

« No, I can’t do that ! You have broken Baba’s order, you reap the consequences. Go and don’t disturb me. »

So saying, Baidul started moving away when suddenly I felt a strange sensation in the hand with which I had hit the person in Jabalpur. It became limp and dangled by my shoulder as if it was just an artificial limb. In panic I screamed, and Baidul turned back. I told him in a pitiable voice that my arm was limp and perhaps I was getting a paralytic stroke.

He, my friend who had formerly behaved so genially, now had the harshest reply to make, « If it is so, go to a hospital. There is nothing here for you. Go ! »

I saw Baidul going back to the porch of Guruprasad in the most nonchalant manner. And there I was, suddenly realizing that breaking Baba’s order was not child’s play and not inconsequential, and it could mean as much as total estrangement from Him.

I began to weep, tears rolling down my cheeks, chasing one another, as did the cars and buses on the street beside me. Baidul was gone inside the bungalow.

There I was, with one hand limp, heart breaking with sorrow at Baidul’s behaviour, and head unable to bear the idea of having been given up by the ever-compassionate Meher Baba because of one mistake. I do not remember how long I wept, how long the agony lasted, but suddenly I felt a strange conviction surging up in my heart like a wave in a mighty ocean ! It was the conviction of Baba’s inability to give up loving His children, however wrong and wayward they might be at times.

Yes, Baba, the all-merciful, all-forgiving one has to remain Baba for all times to come, and He has to pick up every lost lamb in His loving arms and pat it and drive away its fear. In other words, I felt sure that Baba would not give me up, for that would mean more than death.

« No, no Baba you can not drive me away from your Heart. You simply can’t, whatever Baidul says. You will have to call me, forgive me and love me and give me a fresh lease on life ! »

Just as I was thinking and feeling like that, I saw another Mandali man coming down the porch towards the gate. He opened the gate and simply said, « Come in, Amiya, Baba wants to see you. »

I at once entered the gate, tears still rolling down my cheeks, my feet faltering at every other step. I was not quite myself. I felt like a boat broken by the blast and the impact of hitting a submerged rock. But then I was led by this man into the presence of Baba, who was seated with His Mandali and a few who had been specially summoned by Him.

Baba looked at me. Never had I seen that dazzling silver-like appearance on His face. It used to be soft pink or golden, but this time it shone like the brazen shield of a lancer. The eyes, instead of beaming a smile or love were flashing black and seemed to sparkle with tremendous annoyance only controlled by His own power to do so.

I broke into a fresh flood of tears when I saw such displeasure on Baba’s countenance. Then breaking the awful silence in the hall, His gesture was translated by Sri Eruch in as stern a manner as was His look, « Why did you hit ? Was it not My order to you that you should not hit anyone with hatred or anger ? »

I only wept. No words.

« Now you break another order by coming here without My permission. And you seek forgiveness for all this disobedience. »

« Baba, please forgive me, » I cried and rushed to His feet and placed my head there. A minute or so passed, then I felt two soft, delicate hands pick me up. They were Baba’s. He looked with the same old love in His eyes with which He had greeted me during my first darshan. Then He patted my head, kissed my cheeks and in a moment the whole atmosphere changed.

It was as if invisible angels of music were playing at their harps and the drying buds freshened and opened up with beauty and fragrance at the sudden break of rains.

I looked up at my Divine Father.

He keenly gazed into my eyes and said, « Amiya, you are dear to me and I forgive you, but do not repeat the mistake — be obedient. Remember, if you again break my orders, I shall not forgive you. »

A few minutes more were needed to feel relaxed and I knew that I had gotten out of the straits. The following conversation ensued.

Baba : « Are you relaxed, Amiya ? »

Me : « Yes, Baba, I am. »

Baba (to others) : « Amiya is very dear to me. Only he does not obey me ! He is, you know what ? My problem child ! »

Everyone around seemed to laugh at this. I too felt happy that Baba owned His problem child as much as He would His angelic ones, and that was all I needed in the world !

« Amiya, today I have a special programme for you all. Music ! Hira Bai Barodekar^[1] is coming in the evening to sing. You can come to attend the programme and now you may go. » Baba gestured me to rise and go to Him for a second embrace.

When I came out of the hall, I felt good. I went to a hotel to take some milk and snacks. I was happy in the knowledge that Baba had not forsaken me. While I was taking the snacks, I suddenly became conscious that the hand that had become limp was now active and strong, as if nothing had happened to it.

I began to wonder. Was it a psychological development or was it Baba’s way of teaching me a lesson that I should not hit people with hands that are meant to work for Him ? Well, I leave the issue to wiser judges than I and return to my hotel with my readers. It was about 12 noon. I had too much emotional stress and strain in the morning and I felt exhausted.

Suddenly, a thought came in my mind. Baba had said that He had forgiven me this time, but He shall not forgive me if I broke His order again. « What does that boil down to ? » I mused. Does it not mean that I was out only of the immediate crisis, but not of all the possible failures and their consequences in the future ? How could I feel so stupidly happy and complacent when there were years to live and many provoking situations to face ?

What was the guarantee that I, who had broken His order once, would not do so again when driven out of bounds of tolerance ? Yet I did not command infinite patience. Rather I was more impatient than many. The idea of future failures and their consequences now oppressed me. The problem seemed to regain its grimness.

I was feeling more and more worried as time passed by, and by the time I reached Guruprasad at 3 :50 PM for the music programme I was really worried. As I entered the hall, Baba smiled and bade me sit down. There were some forty or fifty persons there.

Suddenly, Baba began to gesture to the people, « Now, you all know Amiya Kumar. He is very intelligent and he loves Me. Amiya, I do hope you are no longer worrying ? »

« Baba, I am more worried now than before ! »

Baba registered a look of surprise. « Why ? Have I not forgiven you ? Why must you worry any more ? »

« Baba, you said that you shan’t forgive me if I again broke your orders and that wrecks all my peace of mind. I am not sure of myself. I may again make a mistake and if you do not forgive me then — then it would be better to die now ! »

Baba looked all around at His devotees. Silence prevailed for a few moments. Then Baba began, « What does Amiya want me to do ? Can someone tell ? »

One person sitting close to me said, « Baba I think that he wants You to go on forgiving him for all the mistakes he may go on making. »

I felt like eating up the man like a raw onion. Was that the way to explain my condition ? But, he had said it and now I had to face Baba.

« Amiya, is it exactly like that ? »

« Yes, Baba, » I said desperately with my throat choking with emotion. « I want to be forgiven — to be owned by You. Whether I am worthy of being loved or not — You simply love me Baba please, for whatever I am — please always love me. »

A wonderful light came upon Baba’s beautiful face — although His eyes still wore the look of being intrigued. « What does Amiya want ? Is it not surprising ? »

« Yes, Baba, » somebody said.

Baba turned His full face towards me, In it was the steady and inextinguishable flame of love. He looked at me and then gestured, with Eruch interpreting « Amiya, Baba says that you don’t have to worry from now onwards. Baba has permanently forgiven you. »

Baba’s hand rose — He emphatically made a gesture. Again Sri Eruch interpreted, « Kaayam key liya maaf ! »^[2] A murmur of surprise rose in the hall. No one perhaps had exactly anticipated the last limits of compassion that Baba could shower.

As for me, I felt I was the happiest and most relaxed man on earth. I went up to Baba and touched His feet. Baba said, « Amiya is so intelligent — so loving — only he worries too much. Now Amiya, do you promise Me not to worry ? » It was as if my worry was something that the God-man, who bore all the suffering of the world, could not bear !

« Yes, Baba, I am without worry now. You are mine and I am Yours. »

« Amiya is my son — but in spite of being a scholar he has one screw loose in his head. » The audience giggled at this.

I sort of pleaded with Baba, « Why don’t You tighten that loose screw, Baba ? »

Baba’s face acquired an expression of comic dejection. « How can I do that ? Keeping your company My own screws are getting loosened ! » People laughed. I tried to join them. Then Baba finally gestured to us to go to the main hall of Guruprasad where Hirabai was to arrive to give a session of devotional music to Baba and the Mandali — a respite from the incessant Universal work that the Silent One was doing in His own unfathomable manner.

We filed out of the room to the hall and took our seats thereon. After some time Hirabai came. Her devotional songs and love for Baba made us spell-bound. Baba blessed her.

It was time for us too to take His leave. One after one we went up to Baba. My turn came — He touched my head reassuringly — and I kissed His feet. Then I boarded the train back for Jabalpur.

Just now, I remembered one sentence that Baba had said that evening, and which was forgotten because of the forgetting nature of a selfish ego. « I have permanently forgiven you, Amiya, but that does not mean that you should willfully go on breaking my instructions. »

And I had said to Him, « I understand, Baba, I will try my best, however weak I am, to obey your instructions. »

In 1985, can I say that I have tried my best to obey Him ? I know that I haven’t.

[modifier] Short And Bitter

Readers who had gone through the previous chapter might well be curious to know what other orders Meher Baba had given me and what was their fate in my incapable hands.

Of all the orders a very important order to me was not to touch any woman with lustful motives ; the only exception to the rule was to be my wife. As I was a bachelor, the order was almost like a double-lock system. It made me so wary that I had to see that I was not coming in physical touch of any woman that might provoke lust in me.

In buses, in trains, in College, at homes of friends and relatives, in cinema halls, everywhere, I had to see to it that I did not let go the hold of the reins of this tremendous discipline Baba had imposed on me.

A very interesting situation arose during one of my train journeys from Bhopal to Jabalpur. I was seated on a nearly empty train bench in the carriage and was going through a novel when the train halted at a station and a bridal party entered the carriage, nearly filling it.

One of the girls, aged about eighteen, well-dressed, wearing a nosegay and silver anklets as some Indian newly-weds wear, came up and sat on the seat just in front of me. But that would hardly have mattered. She raised her feet and placed them on mine, perhaps to relax !

The book nearly fell from my hand at this strange situation. I withdrew my feet immediately and placed them at a different angle to prevent further touching. But the lady, as if possessed by the devil himself, shuffled her feet and again touched mine with them and kept them almost pressed on mine.

I forgot the novel and alarm seized me. What was she doing ? Why was she doing it ? Did she want me to be thrown out of the carriage window by her hefty male relatives ?

But why ? We had never met. We had neither the common love nor the common enmity to justify such an act. I looked around uncomfortably at her relatives. Yes, they had noticed the activities of the lady and clearly frowned at her and at me.

Did they suspect us of any former clandestine friendship ? My God, what would be the outcome of all this ? As always, I racked my brain to consider all possible ways out of this fix, and only then considered asking for Meher Baba’s help. I slowly tried to disengage my feet from hers, and started taking Baba’s name and called out to Him to save me from the awful situation.

Nothing seemed to happen. The moment I removed my feet from under her feet, she rose and deliberately sat by my side as if to challenge and infuriate those accompanying her.

Till today, I don’t know why she was doing all that. Was it possible that they were forcibly taking her away ? Indeed, they looked like a rude bunch — tall, gaunt, and fierce. But how was I concerned, and what could I do to save her against such a band even if my fears were true.

But no — I was not to be concerned about her so much as about Baba’s orders — and the soft, delicate feet adorned with silver anklets was to be dreaded as the hood of a cobra.

But now she was by my side, almost leaning on my shoulders. The eyes of her relatives became visibly angry. But, thanks to Meher Baba, the train reached another station and halted with a jerk. The stentorian voice of the eldest of the male companions of the lady rang out, « Let us get out of this carriage and get into a more spacious one. » He ordered and, one after another, all the members including that lady left the carriage.

The carriage became as nearly empty as before. I breathed a sigh of relief as the train started. I blessed myself for the gentle riddance of the lady and her companions. I thanked Baba for two things, because He had saved me twice in this affair — firstly, from the woman who appeared to be trying to get closer to me, and secondly from the situation itself, which appears as though it might have ended in trouble, misery, humiliation and danger.

But the situation had been averted only because I sincerely wanted it to be averted and sincerely prayed to Baba to help me get out of it.

In later years, I had one occasion when, confident of being able to carry out His order, I almost became proud of my virtue with respect to this order, to the extent of briefly believing that the order had done its job, and now I would be free to ignore it, since I had conquered the battle with lust for women.

As a result, I fell off my guard and was unshielded by Baba’s name. The consequences were dire for me, dear reader. You will only realize the importance of this if you give Baba importance, and through that importance give importance to His order, whatever your feelings about free, unlicensed entertainment.

However, as I do expect you, if not to share my feelings about obeying Baba, at least to bear with me as a friend would do, I briefly relate the incident here.

I was never so foolish in my life as at that time. I forgot Baba, I forgot home and relatives, I forgot my own name and honour — and felt greatly drawn to a kind woman, who was very good to me and perhaps didn’t intend anything more than kindness towards me.

But as time advanced, I felt a kind of addiction, as though I could not live without her. And then came the jolt ! She frankly made it clear that she could live without me ! I was shocked in the extreme. The way she showed her indifference to me was not only painful but also a great eye-opener.

I retreated into my ego-shell and began to consider the whole thing all over again. Was it possible that I loved her so sincerely without being able to evoke a like response ? And if this was possible, then why try to love any woman again ? Why not have done with it once and for all ?

I remembered Baba. Yes, I had shelved Him away for all these months for the sake of a wild goose chase. I took up His photographs and memories of His deep love came back to me. I opened the scores of letters that had come from Him to me, all dishing out unadulterated love to me, always wishing me well, and expressing care for me.

He was the only one worthy of being loved, worthy of staking one’s heart upon. He would never break it, but would fill it with His own inimitable love that was the finest and most sublime experience.

From that day I knew the difference between the vain, egoistic infatuations between man and woman and the real, invaluable and everlasting attachment between man and the God-man. I forgot my initial frustration and wholeheartedly thanked Baba for terminating that episode, which might have become more complex, more involving and more hurtful if allowed to go on for a longer period.

The jolt that came early was like the sting of a bee — it could have been the sting of a viper, had the jolt come at a later stage when my emotions might have totally overpowered my mind and my heart.

I might then have had no other recourse left except to commit suicide as so many unfortunate victims of such infatuations do. Now, who saved me ? Well, I have no hesitation in saying that it was definitely Baba’s order given to me a dozen years back that saved me, and I feel grateful to Him for rescuing me from what afterwards could have been the most gruesome disaster.

[modifier] Attention And Affection

In the mid-sixties, to no small degree of delight, I found Beloved Baba fulfill all those innermost desires of mine that I cherished secretly but to which I had never given expression.

Upon self-analysis, I had always felt myself unworthy of such privileges. Let me now make a confession. Over a number of years, at heart, I had felt that Baba must surely have noticed in me glaring shortcomings, and that was why He did not let me in as a member of the Mandali.

The Mandali constituted, even as it does now, men and women extraordinarily gifted with unquestioning obedience, extreme hard work and without any moments of idle curiosity about Baba’s workings, much of which remained mysterious. These members would go many hundreds of miles to fetch a seemingly mad man to be taken care of by Baba or get a number of lepers to be washed and fed by Him, arrange for Baba’s darshan to several thousands of people and control them lovingly so as to avoid stampede, act as night watchman when inside a room atop a hill where He would sit with doors closed all through the night,doing something on the spiritual planes of consciousness for the progressive welfare of all beings.

Intelligent, well-read and sturdy, these Mandali members were supposed to remain always on tiptoes to go on any errand that He might give them, however puzzling those orders might appear to us from ordinary standards of rational thinking. But the more they obeyed, the more they realized that everything He did or said had its own deeper meaning and magnitude and perforce they had to admit that there were domains of working where the ordinary intelligence of man can not be of any real use.

The result was finally a literal surrender to Baba to be of any real use in His work and Mandali members did that.

I knew I lacked these qualities, so I did not wonder why I was not taken up by Baba to serve Him as a member of the Mandali. I would have been able to make many costly mistakes, create many nerve-racking obstacles and cause hundreds of gaping slips in His work by my superficial faculties. To be sure, I hoped that these faculties could be of use elsewhere for Baba.

The Mandali represent to me a set of matchless beings, a band of angels, the true followers of the Cross that crucifies not your body alone but your very mind and ego. I knew I did not have the right qualities for this Mandali work.

And yet, I had my irrational longings to do some of the things that the Mandali might, I guessed, be doing, such as reading out letters to Baba, writing down answers to the letters as dictated by Baba, removing the flowers from His beautiful feet as heaps of them were added during darshan programmes, holding His hand lovingly, etc.

But where were the chances to do all that, as I was outside the Mandali and I had no other reaction except that of heaving a sigh for unfulfilled desires whenever the thoughts came to me.

Then came 1965 and Beloved Baba, the Omniscient One, decided to fulfill those very desires one by one, without taking me up as a member of the Mandali. The way of doing it was typically His own.

During the 1965 darshan programme at Poona, when the devotees from Madhya Pradesh were covering Baba’s feet with flowers after bowing down to Him, suddenly Baba gestured and Sri Eruch called me. I went up to the stage where Baba’s chair was set and Sri Eruch said, « Amiya, go on removing the flowers covering Baba’s feet so that every next devotee can touch His feet when he or she comes up to bow down. »

My heart sang like a lark. I sat near Baba’s feet like a Mandali member, and started assiduously removing every flower or petal or stalk from His feet.

When I started, there were still many hundreds of people in line waiting to bow down to His feet. Every time I moved a flower, I could not help touching His feet myself, feeling the unearthly purity and softness they had. Well, this work was exactly one of my dreams — the thing I had wanted in my heart to do — and now I was doing it !

For nearly an hour, I was removing the flowers, watching the tear-clad eyes of devotees who kept their heads on His feet for His compassion. I was also looking up at Him gratefully, and how Baba beamed back, a twinkle littered with smile, that all-knowing smile that pretended — Baba pardon me for using that word — to know nothing when you just had come to suspect that He knows your mind.

My heart was filled with joy, pride and lots of egoistic fumes, so much so that at one moment I looked up at Sri Eruch and said, « Eruchjee, shall I take Baba away with me ? »

I cannot forget the expression in that noblest of men I have ever seen. Eruchjee looked at me softly and just murmured, « Yes, you may take Him away, Amiya. » But the tone in which he said it made me shudder inwardly.

What have I said ? Was it not the voice of a dying man in which he replied to my question ? The indescribable pain of the very idea of separation rang in that subdued murmur. I chided myself severely and felt like smacking my own cheeks for asking such a question.

There was he whose very existence seemed to depend on Baba’s proximity, and there was I, a superficial lover, who wanted on the spur of a moment’s emotion to take away the Beloved of all Beloveds, the Emperor of all Love.

I said nothing more. The best thing was to let other things happen and let the moment pass by. I think Sri Eruch, busy as he was in interpreting Baba’s words to the devotees who came up to Him, might have forgotten that short dialog after all these years. But I cannot afford to forget it myself if only for the sake of that revelation of the depth of Eruchjee’s incomparable love for Baba, in sharp contrast to the so-called devotion of a person like me.

The next occasion came when I was at Meherazad after 1965. Baba was going to distribute prasad to some men who had come for His darshan. Usually, when He did that, He would not look at the tray carrying the prasad, but at the person who was to receive His gift of grace.

So it was important to see that the prasad (usually toffees) was shoved towards His hand so that He did not have to look away from the devotee, a work that some Mandali member would be doing.

Again, to my surprise, I found Sri Eruch looking at me and saying, « Amiya, come and sit near Baba’s chair and move the prasad towards Baba’s hand when he distributes it. »

Once more, another longing was on its way to fulfillment. As I touched the toffees and moved them towards Baba’s fingers, I also managed to touch Baba’s fingers themselves, an act that was not called for, so far as a real Mandali-member was concerned.

But if the Mandali were discipline personified, I was indiscipline personified and I touched Baba’s soft, delicate fingers every time I moved the toffees, like a stealthy lover does when he sits beside his girl friend.

Once, I felt Baba might be annoyed, but when I looked at His radiant face, there was no trace of annoyance there. Assured of His all-bearing capacity, I went on touching His hands till suddenly I did the most thick-skulled thing that I was capable of.

I caught hold of His very hand, right when it was going to pick up a toffee for a devotee standing before Him and then oblivious of everyone and everything around, I held it up, surveyed the fingers and the nails, and kept the hand caught up in mine for a few moments.

Till today, I fail to understand why Baba did not remove His hand or chide me for interrupting His activity. Instead, He perfectly let go of His command of the situation and allowed me to grab His hand for as long as I wanted.

Suddenly, I myself came back to my senses and, thoroughly ashamed of my stupidity, released His hand and continued moving the toffees as before. But, was it not a pointer that had I been taken up by Baba into the Mandali, I might have proven to be Mr. Hindrance rather than Mr. Help ?

And that indication had come within barely a few hours of Mandali duty.

The third occasion of Baba’s affection and ways to mete out His graceful attention to our secret wishes came when I was at Meherazad on another occasion in the late sixties.

That time many Baba lovers requested me to carry letters to Him that described their problems and in spite of correspondence being prohibited during that period, I could not but take the letters with me as a gesture of sympathy.

When I entered Meherazad Hall and was seated, my pocket was full of letters. After some time, I told Baba about them.

Baba looked at me and said, « So you have brought letters when there is a restriction on correspondence. All right, take down the replies yourself and see that they get the replies. »

Now, that was one of my wishes. Sri Bhau and Sri Eruch had often been doing this work and here was the opportunity given to me. But instead of being elated, I was extremely nervous when I suddenly recollected that I did not know how to read Baba’s gestures.

Was it going to be direct communication as with the Mandali, or through Eruchjee ? In a moment, Eruchjee guessing my predicament came to my rescue saying gently, « Amiya, start reading out the letters and write down what you hear. »

As letter after letter got read out and replied, I was very busy in scribbling down what Baba was communicating through His wonderful interpreter Sri Eruch. It was a speedy affair and I had to be so attentive.

Then came the anti-climax. A letter had come from Behrampur, and as I read it out, its deep note of sorrow and suffering shook me to the core. Right in the middle of the letter, I broke down into sobs as if the sorrow of that abandoned person had been my own. A terrible moment of silence pervaded Meherazad hall.

Baba looked at me, deeply, intently and gestured « Amiya why are you weeping ? »

« I don’t know, » I said and went on sobbing in spite of myself. I then felt that I was a bad reader of letters. Thousands of letters must be coming to Baba and the Mandali men must be reading out to Him, but what wonderful power of tolerance must have been given to them by Baba to do so without flinching.

By the time I finished reading that pathetic letter, I was exhausted but I knew to my bones what reading out a letter in the presence of the Divine One really meant. Every word of the letter became intensely more meaningful than in ordinary circumstances.

Once, I had been working on word-meaning conditionings and their nerve impact. This incident showed me how the emotive impact of words could be greatly enhanced in the presence of One who was wordless in the ordinary sense of the Word.

Suddenly, Baba turned His gaze upon me and Eruchjee interpreted, « Amiya, tell her NOT to worry but lovingly remember Me. All her problems shall be solved one day. »

A pause as I took down the note. Then Baba again looked at me and said, « See Amiya, I have but one Key to all problems. The moment I turn that Key all problems simply vanish. One day, I shall certainly turn that Key for you all. »

The letter-reading session was over and with that I knew that another wish of mine had been fulfilled. Little did I know that my Beloved was doing it all because He was secretly preparing to leave this world.

A few days later when I went to Him and the meeting was over, He called me and asked me to kiss Him. I kissed Him gently and alternately on one cheek and then the other as He turned His cheeks towards me.

But before I could plant the fourth kiss, He removed His face, caught hold of my hand softly and, as if feeling my temperature, said, « Amiya you have fever. Go to Adi. He knows Bio-chemic treatment. Take some pills from him. »

Thus we parted, but on my way back, I started to get worried. Why did He not let me kiss Him a fourth time ? Was it because my love for Him was not true, not deep enough ?

I felt despondent and in that mood I entered Adijee’s office and told him to give me some Bio-chemic pills as directed by Baba. Sri Adi was evidently pleased as this was a testimony to his medical skill and I sucked the pills. Then I sat brooding in my room, which was adjacent to Adijee’s office.

A few minutes elapsed when one person entered. « I have come from Meherazad, » he said and handed me a letter. « This is from Baba, » he added and left the room.

I was surprised. Meherazad is more than ten miles from the Trust Compound, where I was then staying. It meant that Baba must have rushed the note to me as soon as I left. I read it.

It bade me not to worry about anything and to keep cheerful and happy in the knowledge that Baba loves me dearly — that His Nazar was on me and that He sent His love-blessings to me !

Well, that letter immediately began to act on me and maybe Adijee’s Bio-chemic pills were its catalytic agent. I smiled, « Baba really worries for me. »

Baba tells all the world not to worry and worries about all the world as no one else can. He is continuously sacrificing Himself for the world — taking its worries on His own shoulders.

Well, that is what an Avatar or Christ must be doing whenever He visits this sordid vale of tears.

The next day, I had again an opportunity to meet Baba. As the moment for taking leave came, He drew me close to Him and gestured, « Amiya, kiss Me. »

I began to kiss my Divine Beloved and this time He let me kiss four times, two on each cheek. I was right glad in my heart.

On the way back, the economist in me popped up his head, « This was a better deal than if you had all the four kisses yesterday, for that could have been the end of the matter. Now, see, you had seven kisses instead of four. A lucky dog. »

My brain chuckled inside me, and I felt as if I was sailing upon a rosy cloud.

In spite of long-drawn seclusions after 1965, Baba did never really give us up. On the other hand, wonderful were His ways of getting into touch with people like me when we found ourselves in trouble.

In 1966 my first son was born with a cleft palate and the Calcutta doctors suggested surgery to repair it. The infant was not able to suck breast milk and the prognosis was not favourable.

As there was a strict ban on correspondence with Baba, I was on tenterhooks. After consultation with my friend, I decided to get the infant admitted in the foremost polyclinic at Calcutta, where a famous surgeon was reputed to do plastic surgery very successfully. But when we reached Calcutta, to our utter dismay we found the hospital cabins and even half-cabins^[3] booked for more than eight months in advance.

Much though we pleaded with the surgical registrar to get us a nook for the child who was growing up along with the problem, he shook his head apologetically to say that it wasn’t possible.

In desperation, I left my wife and child in care of relatives to wait for any opportunity to get accommodation in the hospital. But Calcutta, with a huge population, had many patients to get treated and the prospect for my child seemed rather gloomy.

I returned to Jabalpur to be present at the job front, but at heart I was extremely worried. A few days later, I found the postman at the door, and he handed a letter to me. The first side of the postcard is shown in the accompanying illustration : ^[4]

The letter reads :

Dear Amiya,

Meherazad

6^th December 1967

Today, Beloved Baba remembered you, and He wanted to know about you and the family’s welfare. But, I had no information from your side, so I could not tell Him anything.

I only told Him that Amiya has become very obedient nowadays, and because of the ban on correspondence is no longer writing any letters.

Now for the sake of informing Baba, at least you write this much, that how you and your family’s health is and how is the Baba work in Jabalpur going on.

Baba is very happy with your love, and He sends, from His seclusion, His love to you, to Matajee, to Sister Gauri, and also His love-filled kiss to Mehernandini and Meher Kumar.^[5]

Jai Baba

Yours affectionately,

Bhau

« A singular exception to the rule, » I mused, and hurriedly wrote a letter to Baba stating precisely the problem about the operation my son urgently needed. In it I explained that the polyclinic had no room.

Sooner than I expected came Baba’s reply, stating that I was not to worry. Baba directed me to inform my wife at Calcutta also not to worry because His Nazar was on the child.

She was to take Baba’s name and after a few days, go to the polyclinic and try again for the child’s admission. I scribbled a letter to my wife to that effect. After a week or so, I was startled to receive a telegram from her stating that the child had been admitted and was to undergo the operation three days later.

I kept wondering how, in spite of the fact that the beds had been booked for eight months, they had managed to get this opportunity so soon. But at that moment, I had nothing to worry about except the prospects of the operation and I sent a wire to Baba praying to Him to see that the child, barely a year old, returned from the surgical table alive and not dead.

Baba’s reply was again the same. I was not to worry. His Nazar was on the child and He wanted me to remain happy in the knowledge that my family and I were very dear to Him.

Trunk calls and other means of communication helped me to note with satisfaction that the eminent surgeon had performed the operation perfectly and that the child was in very good condition.

After about a month my wife returned with the child with the wound perfectly healed. My joy knew no bounds. It was now time to ask her how she managed to get such a quick admission in such an overcrowded hospital.

My wife laughed, and told me that surely Baba had a hand in the whole affair. One day, after she received my letter in which Baba had told her to go to the hospital, she undertook a casual, half-hearted visit to the hospital. To her utter surprise instead of the hubbub and clamour of patients and their relatives all over the huge hospital compound, a perfect silence reigned.

What was the matter ? No doctors, no nurses, no patients, only a lady receptionist was seen sedately poised on a chair near the entry. Rather apprehensively, my wife enquired if at least a half-cabin could be obtained for her son’s operation.

The receptionist raised her eyes, « Half-cabin ? Madam, the hospital with all its cabins is at your disposal. Get your son’s name registered at once. »

That was the most flabbergasting news. Seeing the puzzled look on my wife’s face, the receptionist smiled, « You see, our doctor and the anesthetists had a difference of opinion about certain privileges, and the hospital was closed with no date for re-opening. All the patients had to leave. Today, just a half hour back, a reconciliation has taken place and now the hospital is open, and it is at your disposal — the whole of it — because you are the first person to arrive at the counter ! »

I heard the story from my wife with a gaping mouth. So that was how my son could get admission in a trice and that was why Baba was telling us through His letters not to worry because His NAZAR was on the whole family.

What a NAZAR ! He had really reduced mountainous problems to nothingness !

At the home front, due to those individual traits that constitute our ego shells, we suddenly found ourselves raising storms in teacups. The problem was, what was to be done with my daughter, who was then just four years old and who, as if to wreck vengeance on our heads, had taken birth in our family.

Her little mind was full of pranks and everything she did was shocking. She viewed her school as less attractive than we would have viewed a prison. She used to jump out of the vehicle that took her to school.

The result was a nice smacking from her mother. However, this caused a dispute between the two schools of thought about child discipline — to hit or not to hit. Lots of bitterness prevailed over this small kid, with my wife and my mother taking opposing sides.

And I began to grow allergic to the whole thing. Personally, I disliked taking sides for my ego had its own side and I thought it was the best, but neither mother nor wife would endorse my side.

In utter disgust, I one day decided to take mother to Ahmednagar to talk it out with Baba. This was the worst indiscipline that one could think of, as Baba was in intense seclusion.

The moment Sri Adi saw me enter his office, he literally jumped out of his chair. « What on earth has brought you here, Amiya ? You haven’t come to see Baba, I hope ? He is seeing none, not even me ! »

I looked sympathetically at that noble-hearted, generous gentleman, whom I had admired from the beginning. Only thing I could not do was to be good and obedient, as they all were. It wasn’t in my grains.

I knew that Baba was in seclusion. I knew that He was that Master of Masters who could raise a flood or demolish a planet by a single wish. I had seen Him in those moments when you would not dare approach Him and I had seen Him in those moments when He could make us weep and laugh at the same time.

I had felt like a plaything in His hands. And yet, so strongly marked was the quality of mercy in Him for me that I was undauntedly taking those steps that an angel would shudder to take.

I sat on the chair opposite Adijee and said, « Dear Adijee, I wouldn’t have come if matters hadn’t come to a head at home. They are quarreling over a small child’s education as if it were more important than starting or not starting a war in the world. I have brought my mother, she being the senior-most member, and I would request you to send word to Beloved Baba to grant us audience for at least an hour to decide the issue as per His instruction. »

« Amiya, » exclaimed Adijee in alarm, « Even if someone commits suicide, we are not to go and inform Baba about it, and you — you want such a thing to be attended to by Him ? »

And he literally covered his head with his hands and became absolutely silent. It was then that I realized what a choice pest I was, not only to Baba but to His dear Mandali as well. Was I not exploiting all their love and affections shamelessly ? Really, I am not behaving like one with the least common sense or decency would !

But what was I to do, now that we had come 700 miles from Jabalpur ? Shall we return without seeing Baba ? My head reeled. I did not know what to decide or do now that Adijee had made me keenly aware of my stupidity.

Just when the stage of helplessness reached its climax, Adijee raised his head and said in a husky voice, « Amiya, Amiya, what am I to do ? Baba loves you so much, but why don’t you learn to obey His wishes ? Well, forget it. Let’s come to the problem. Amiya, it is better that you write a letter to Baba detailing out all your problems and I will try, though I can not promise, to see that Baba condescends to hear it, in spite of His ban on letter reading. If He does so, then you should be prepared to obey Him. He might see you and mother, or He may tell both to return to Jabalpur. I hope you shall not make excuses over His wish then. »

« I won’t, » I said, trying to be a better man.

« Then here is a paper and pen — write quickly, but in details and when you have finished it read it out to me. »

After half an hour, Adijee bade me to go to the railway station and wait for any message that would come there to me the following morning. I profusely thanked Adijee for his gallant gesture and went to the railway station.

Needless to say, it was difficult to sleep. So near Baba physically and yet so far ! Would He permit us to see Him or order us to go back ? Should I pray to Him ? Surely, when He could hear my prayers from 700 miles, He could hear them now that I was only nine miles away from Him. All I wanted was to see Him and dump the whole nerve-racking problem at His feet and regain my composure.

The morning sun woke me up. Then I went to the railway station caterer to ask if he could make a quick lunch for us.

« Not now, sir, only when there is some train about to come that we start cooking. »

I stared helplessly at the main and asked for a concession in his terms but he again shook his head. « No train, no food service, Sir, » he said and before I could ask again, went inside his restaurant.

I was hungry and so was mother, but I could not afford to leave the station as at any time Adijee might send a message to me. So, putting up with hunger in the stomach and fuming with rage at the merciless caterer, I paced up and down the station campus, when suddenly a jeep drove in and stopped right in front of me.

« Are you Amiyakumar from Jabalpur ? » a gentleman came out and asked.

« Yes I am. »

« Here is a note from Adi Saheb for you. »

I read the note. My heart danced with joy. It said, « Beloved Baba has condescended to give you and mother darshan today in the forenoon, so please go to Meherazad without any delay. »

I called mother loudly to come along. Both of us scampered into the jeep and in a minute we were heading towards the Abode of Boundless Mercy !

The moment we alighted, Sri Eruch came up to my mother and me. His smile was so heartwarming. « Amiya, Amiya and mother, Jai Baba to you both. Please step in. Baba is waiting to meet you. »

We hurried into the room and found Beloved Baba seated on His chair in Mandali Hall looking incomparably radiant. He gestured to us to sit near Him, almost near His feet. Then the conversation began. It was a short one.

Baba wanted peace and loving understanding at His home (meaning where I lived !). For the time being mother was to go to Calcutta for some special work. My wife and mother must make it up for Baba’s sake. They should exchange letters and my wife should always inform about my daughter’s pranks.

Baba also told me not to worry although He expressed sympathy for my mental suffering. In a few minutes, the mess was cleared up. Always at Jabalpur we could be mean and egotistical and everything that stinks ; but here was an automatic elevation of nature, a sublimation of self from its base instincts of jealousy, revenge and complexes to that of a purer existence where the higher self awakened to chide the lower. Soon we felt that the clouds were dispersing and we began to smile.

Then Baba looked at me, as He had in 1957 when I had seen Him for the first time. That time He had asked, « Have you had your tea ? » This time He asked, « Have you both had your lunch ? »

I told Baba how the station caterer had refused to oblige. Baba looked up at Eruchjee and asked him to go to the kitchen and see if there was some food for us. Sri Eruch came back and said, « Yes, Baba. »

He was perhaps about to motion us to come out and go to the dining room, when my heart, which was notorious for desires, in a flash longed to eat in the presence of Beloved Baba, right inside the Meherazad Mandali meeting hall.

A pause[... ] Baba looked at me and then at Sri Eruch and gestured to bring the food there in front of Him ! The plates arrived — humble fare — but how delicious !

Baba sitting before us, smiling and supervising like the Ancient Father, asked us to eat at leisure. So again a gift — the manna from Heaven, the Bread from Christ’s hand. The One who feeds the whole world indirectly, invisibly, was now feeding us in His direct presence.

Baba had overfilled my heart with gratitude, He had made it almost burst with His grace of love, He had made my head bow down to His feet in indescribable adoration. All this He had done and I have no words to thank Him. All His acts give me thoughts that are « too deep for tears ! »

Alas, I did not then know that soon Baba would go into a seclusion from which He would come out perfectly still, His eyes half-closed, His beautiful head slightly raised, ice-slabs embracing His cold sides, His lips still wearing a tender smile for all His millions of lovers — nay for all the countless beings in Creation — and that I could not possibly disturb Him any more, nor receive that loving glance, that warm embrace, that fatherly advice !

Yes, just when we were expecting to see Baba again that summer, news came that He had dropped His body on the 31^st of January 1969 and that we could go to Meherabad tomb shrine to have His final physical darshan. When I heard the news I did not immediately register any reaction. I hurried to the place where other Baba-lovers had gathered. We were to discuss the mode of conveying the news to lovers in our town and surrounding areas. We also had to arrange for our trip to Meherabad. Just when we were discussing what to do Matadin Bari burst out weeping, « You all had never allowed me to see Baba. Every year you all said, ‘Matadin, you attend your school duties. Next time we shall let you go.’ And now… » and again he burst out weeping. And then it was difficult for us to hold back our tears. Really we had wronged this man who so much longed to see Baba, but what could we do now ? Even an apology would be too crude.

Soon, I was at the station. Hundreds of Baba lovers were rushing to Ahmednagar. People from all over the world had heard the news and were hurrying to have the last glimpse of Baba’s physical form. How long would they keep the tomb open ? We were uncertain. Dr. Jaya Prakash Vaidya (Dr. JPV) suddenly reached the station. He straightaway told me that he too was going. « But you don’t have any luggage, not even a bag, » I exclaimed.

« Yes, I have just heard and have come from the medical college. Well, I don’t need anything. I only want to see Baba. »

« But what about your scooter ? And your family ? »

« Please get the scooter sent home by someone you know at the station. Please also send the news home. »

I looked troubled. But so intense was his determination to go for Baba’s last darshan that I had to rush to see if a ticket could be had for him, his scooter sent home and his message conveyed. All was done just in time for us to board the train and I was perforce reminded of Baba’s ways, which seemed to remain the same now, even though He had shed His body three days back. The same hurry and worry and then that feeling of relief when « all’s well that ends wel1. » Dr. JPV was the last man to get in the train, and he had not a single spare shirt or sheet with him. But he, in spite of never having come in Baba’s physical contact, revealed a love that puzzled us. It must be Baba drawing the doctor, I said to myself, and tried to forget the issue.

I will not detail out the last darshan of Beloved Baba for the simple reason that it causes so much pain to me that I lose sight of His loving smile and the words that you might often find quoted below His photographs, « Don’t Worry. Be Happy ! » Suffice it to say that thousands and thousands of lovers, all in tears, were slowly going up to the Tomb where He lay, still so radiant that it was difficult to believe that He was physically dead ! The body was kept for darshan for seven days because Baba had expressed the wish that He would give a seven-day darshan to His lovers.

My readers might be curious to know about my reaction when I saw my Divine Father’s body lying in state for the final darshan. Well, I hardly felt any pain at that time, to be frank. I only felt that Baba, the Baba I have come to know, can not die, never dies and is not dead. It was only later when I missed His guidance through letters that I felt very keenly His physical absence. But to my surprise, my first reaction was correct about his physical death, as I shall describe…

Meher Baba’s story is seemingly endless, because even after He has dropped His body people come and tell me how He is guiding them, appearing in their dreams and visions and leaving in their hearts an indelible impression of His loving presence. One such story is mine, too. In 1970, a year after Baba had physically bid us goodbye, there was a gathering of Baba lovers in Hamirpur. I did not want to go anywhere and only constant appeals to me by His devotees compelled me to go. Although I had managed to say « no » to several devotees, the request of an elderly woman seemed to be the last straw on the camel’s back. She said, « you ought to be at the gathering because Baba wants you there. » Now, I was a bit irritated to hear such a downright statement and only with difficulty did I avoid saying, « How do you know ? »

Nevertheless, it was she who made me, most unwillingly, undertake the journey. I generally do not like to do anything in which I do not find my heart responding, and this trip was one of that kind. At Hamirpur, I found a large number of devotees, many of whom knew me and came forward to embrace me warmly. The touch of their love made me feel better. The initial internal apathy over, I started taking interest in the proceedings. The following day there was a symposium that I was to initiate. For a while I spoke, and then sat down to listen to the distinguished lovers and scholars who were participating in it. As Dr. C.D. Deshmukh was speaking, I suddenly saw in the second row in front of the dais, Baba sitting with his cheek resting on one of His hands, attentively listening to what Dr. Deshmukh was saying about Him. He was in His pink coat and white sadra. My head reeled. I cleared my vision to see if it was some mistake. But no, there He was just as He used to be in front of us during darshan programmes. He was so clearly visible that if it was hallucination, then all the darshans I had had of Him right since 1957 could also be called hallucinations. But what intrigued me was why others were not noticing Him. I turned aside to one of the devotees on the dais to talk to him. But that was a costly mistake. Instead of helping him to see Baba, I lost sight of Baba myself, for the moment I turned to where Baba was sitting, I found Him gone ! The gathering went on and the deep currents of love for Baba that flowed from His lovers blended into an ocean threatening to drown me in it. The same atmosphere that we had experienced during Baba’s physical sojourn was evident. On my way back, as I lay on my berth in the railway carriage, I saw the cheerful face of Baba looking at me with a twinkle of approval. He was pleased with me and my heart at last accepted the remark of that lady that Baba wanted me at Hamirpur. I did not rue the trip any more.

My relationship with Meher Baba was and is that of a Loving and Compassionate Father (who differs from fathers in general in that He is all-powerful) and His unworthy son. Back in 1983, Baba proved it again that the relationship was intact. A few days before 31^st January, I had my railway reservations done to go to Ahmednagar to attend the Amartithi function at Meherabad. Then, to my consternation, I found gum trouble, an occasional complaint of mine, flaring up again.

Inflammation and pain and slight pyrexia followed. Those who know what toothache is will surely chuckle and sigh for me at this juncture. I immediately rushed to the dentist. I feared pus pockets and I told him so. He smiled, gave me tablets, and did not lacerate my gum, much though I wished it. I came back home. By the evening of the 28^th, the pain was simply unbearable. The pain succeeded in killing the pain-killing tablets. I felt bitter and angry at Baba, whom I blamed for giving me such a hell of a time just when I was ready to go for the Amartithi the following evening. Was Baba really dead, or was He just being cruel to derive a malicious pleasure out of my pain ? I wondered. After swallowing a couple of tablets, I went to bed and tossed on it in spite of a sleeping pill. Tears came to my eyes and you can imagine the state of a man of 52 years having to shed tears just when he was hoping to have all joy for a few days. I do not know when sleep came and my mind closed to the outside world.

Suddenly, I saw a dream. There was Baba, followed by Sri Eruch walking down a corridor. As He came near where I stood, I saw Him turn towards me, our eyes met, He smiled and then came forward. Holding my shoulders by His hands, He put His lips onto my lips and then deeply sucked something out. The next moment, He turned away and walked on with Sri Eruch. An intense fragrance of millions of roses greeted my nose.

I woke up and sniffed around. Yes, the fragrance was there all right. It was coming from my body, my clothes, from my pillow, from the blankets and from the entire room. I inhaled that wonderful fragrance to my heart’s content. It was the same fragrance that had greeted us when we used to go to Baba, the same that sometimes filled the room when Sardar Pritam Singh « Meher » wept and told his stories. So, Baba had really come and met me in my subconscious state, that He had kissed me and gladdened my sad heart. Again, I fell asleep.

Soon the family members woke me up with the bed tea that they had brought for me. I sipped it. Then to my great surprise I found that the pain in my gums had absolutely gone, as though I had never had it ! My heart was brimming with gratitude. Beloved Baba, how often I misjudge, how often I reproach, how often I throw You away from my heart ! Yet every time, You — the Christ, the Rasool, the Avatar, the God-man — put up with me lovingly, forgive me, and humour me as if You were at fault all the time, and not me !

Well, that was 1983 and since then hardly a month passes before He comes to me in my dreams and gladdens my heart as nothing can do. So the darshan of Meher Baba for me still goes on. While many new lovers come with their stories in ever-increasing number, I do not wonder for the Meher Baba story shall never end, as Baba is really eternal and His periodic physical manifestation is only underlying His constant presence on all the planes and spheres of cosmos and beyond.

To conclude… I refer to an American young man who had come to the Amartithi function in the early eighties. When I asked him why he came when he had never seen Baba, he said, « You talk of seeing Meher Baba. Well, you saw only the bottle containing the fragrance. In 1969 that bottle was shattered and now the fragrance is everywhere. It is because of that fragrance that I am here ! »

I had no possible reply to what he said.

[modifier] Judge With A Difference

Scandal mongering and back-biting, with a great many of us, is the greatest malicious pleasure that perverted ego can derive. We not only ascribe the most devilish acts to persons we know, but do the same with people about whom we have no direct knowledge. We are prone to judge everyone else except ourselves and practice mental cruelty in the name of being judicious critics. To defile or destroy someone's image is perhaps as bad or unkind an act as destroying someone by shooting him down physically, but the subtle shade of this offence conceals the damage we do to others as compared with physical assault. Very few are there who have the courage to own their faults and allow others to know of these.

A staunch Baba lover who passed away in 1984 was one such courageous man, and when I approached him in the sixties to know about his experiences with Baba, he told me of a few episodes of which I mention the first one, not only because it revealed his fearlessness in laying bare his own rather murky side of life. VY was a contractor. He was moving much with so-called spiritual people and he got addicted, as they were, to marijuana, the common intoxicating smoke of many self-deceiving seekers of God in India. His addiction, in the course of time, had become almost irremediable and in spite of strict excise laws and penalties, he had grown into the habit of carrying a lump of this stuff concealed in the folds of his clothes, in a box wherever he traveled.

It was during this phase that VY was traveling from one state to another by bus. Needless to say, he had concealed a lump of marijuana in a steel box which was, along with the boxes and other luggage of all passengers, atop the bus, tied with ropes as is common in India. Only a few weeks back had he heard from someone about Meher Baba and had seen some literature and one photograph of Baba. He had liked the books of Baba and His sayings, but as yet he had not forged any deep or tangible spiritual relationship with Baba. In a small handbag he was carrying these pamphlets and photographs of Baba and enjoying the bus ride.

Suddenly at an octroi (1) post, some Excise Officials signaled the bus to stop. Soon, the atmosphere changed. These hardened men entered the bus and sternly demanded of the passengers if they were carrying anything not permitted (marijuana is on such a list) and if they were, it would be better that it should be revealed to them before the Officers found it themselves. They added that it would be both a penalty and a jail term for anyone found committing such an offense, according to the magnitude of the offense. VY turned pale and felt a lump rising in his throat. He was a respectable contractor and now his reputation was at stake if he was found carrying marijuana with him.

When no passenger said anything to the officers, they became angry. The lead officer told his companions that he would conduct a box-to-box search of all the goods on the roof of the bus, and would teach a hard lesson if he found anyone had lied to him. VY's heart sank as the officer and his companions took the conductor out and also ordered all the passengers to come out of the bus. No doubt, he meant business. No empty threats — there he was climbing the stairs to the roof of the bus. His followers called out the passengers one after another, seized the keys to their trunks from them one by one, and proceeded to search all boxes and bags for contraband.

As the boxes were being opened, searched and closed, and passenger after passenger was being called upon to surrender his or her key, VY was almost on the verge of a nervous collapse! Certainly, his turn would come and then the shame, the humiliation and the insult. His head swam. He would be arrested, fined, maybe even jailed! His picture and name would be in the newspapers and his friends and acquaintances would read about him and the scandalmongers would delightfully add many more shady activities to him thereafter. VY trembled.

Suddenly, he thought of Baba. His friend had told him that Baba was God in human form and God, VY thought, can forgive if a man sincerely repents and prays for forgiveness. "Well, Baba, if you rescue me this time, I shall never again carry marijuana or do anything illegal in my life. Pray, save my prestige for once."

As he was praying, the officer was calling out passenger after passenger, while relentlessly searching for a trophy that might get him credits from his department. No, not yet, but persist he must, and he did persist like duty personified. Almost all passengers' boxes had been examined, and only a few were left. VY was surprised that he had not been summoned as yet. But then, surely he was going to be in a short while. He prayed with trembling voice to Baba. The last but one passenger had handed over his keys to the officer, and now the last passenger to be summoned was VY himself. What would happen? "Oh God, oh Baba, why have I done such a thing? What would the punishment be? Can't you save me for once? They say you are God, all knowing, all compassionate, and though you judge, yet you forgive us when we realize our mistake and try not to repeat it. Pray help! Pray help!"

And to the utter amazement of VY, suddenly the Excise Officer's face so long stern and inflexible, relaxed. He got up and said, "Well, nothing worth the labours! Let's get down. Maybe we shall be more lucky with the next bus." As he and his companions climbed down off the roof of the bus, VY saw with a shudder that the Officer had all the while been sitting on his box, and had failed to open it because he had thought of it as a seat, not a box.

As the bus continued on to its destination, VY wondered why the officer forgot to open his box, and further still, of all boxes why did he choose to sit on his box! Was it just a coincidence, just a chance, or was it because he had prayed to the God-man Meher Baba? Like an honest man, VY told me, "Well, I could not say with total conviction what it was — a chance or a situation created by Meher Baba to save me after hearing my prayers. I was not acquainted to any appreciable degree with Him at that time."

"Yes, you are right, VY. But now that you have been acquainted with Him for the last twenty years or more, what is your opinion about Him?"

VY laughed. "I have found it out during all these years that Meher Baba knows everything. I have also found out that if I went wrong anywhere, after I had begun to love Him, He had soon enough brought me to my shortcomings, but how great is He, do you know? The moment you repent and promise to try never to repeat the offence, He showers His forgiveness on you. Indeed, He is the Judge with a difference!"

(1) The octroi agents collect taxes on goods in transit

1. ↑ ^{Famous ghazal, bhajan and classical singer — an All-India great body of music. Her voice was incredibly beautiful and all lovers of classical music and devotional songs in India know her name.}
2. ↑ ^{« Permanently forgiven »}
3. ↑ ^{Semi-private rooms}
4. ↑ ^{Bhau is the scribe of the letter, which is in the form of a postcard, as were most letters from Baba to me. [The letter is included in the book, but cannot be duplicated here.]}
5. ↑ ^{In order named, my mother, wife, daughter and new son. At the time we were living with my mother.}

Amiya Kumar Hazra. © 1987/2001 Avatar Meher Baba Navsari Centre