The Near and The Dear - Stories of Neem Karoli Baba and His Devotees

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Babaji

Saints and Devotees  ·  Ram Narayan Sinha, Ayodhya Nath Sinha, Akbar Ali Khan, Thakur Jaidev Singh  ·  Brij Mohan  ·  Bhabania and Haridas  ·  Tularam  ·  Jivan Baba  ·  Hubbaji  ·  K.C. Tewari  ·  Umadutta Shukla  ·  Shukla, Part 2  ·  Glossary

Introduction The late Mrs. Uma Shungloo was a very religious, simple and pious, polite, self-respecting old Kashmiri Brahmin lady. She was dutiful, scrupulously clean and without any modern-day evils. Once she fell seriously ill and during her week's treatment I had to go to her house almost daily to watch the progress. Even after she became completely free from symptoms, my visits to her house increased on account of her motherly love and affection towards me. The demarcations between doctor and patient vanished and a son and mother relationship got fully established. I had seen Mrs. Shungloo performing puja, putting flowers on the feet of Maharaj Neem Karoli Baba's picture, doing arti and bestowing prasad. She was a great devotee of Babaji, narrating to me stories about his miracles. At one point, she extracted my 'gentleman's word' that I would accompany her to 4 Church Lane in Allahabad where Babaji used to pass his winter days.

The house looked deserted. I was slightly dismayed and perturbed at the fast approach of Gora, Dada's pet dog, but with Ma's assurance we dared to enter the house. Mr. Sudhir Mukerjee, my mother's 'Dada,' greeted us and welcomed us with folded hands. Mother touched his feet and took me to an adjoining fragrant room where I saw a plank covered with a nice plain bed sheet and a picture of Baba's feet surrounded by a beautiful floral arrangement. I saw written, not by any paint or ink, but by buds of white jasmine creeper. While my mother got busy putting flowers and showing incense sticks to Maharajji, I got absorbed in Maharajji's pictures hanging on the walls of this room. After her puja, she took me inside and introduced me to Dada and Didi (Mrs. Kamala Mukerjee, Dada's wife). When I encountered Dada, for reasons not known to me, all the pictures which I had witnessed in Baba's room became visible in Dada's face. Dada's face and Baba's face looked alike to me. There was a spontaneous reflex in my subconscious mind that Baba had appeared before me in Dada's embodiment. Ma had told me that Baba had left this work, but I was visualising Shri Maharajji in the body just in front of me. Many thoughts started hovering in my mind which I wanted to narrate to mother, but she wanted me to take prasad in the near verandah in front of the courtyard, which is almost a fixed place for Dada. After tea and prasad was served, we came back and I dropped Ma at her residence. It was repeatedly coming in my mind that I had had the darshan of Baba. I went to Dada's place twice or thrice on different dates. Whenever I visited, I noticed that Dada's subject of incessant talk is only about Maharajji's life and nothing else. I noticed his complete surrender and dedication towards his guru. All the personalities of the world who have acquired fame and greatness can broadly be categorized into two classes: people in the first category look very great from a distance, but if you approach closer, you find they are surrounded by many evils and worldly lures. In my opinion, they are the smallest and worst type of people, having created a false halo around themselves. But the people of the second category look very small and unassuming from the distance. If you study them by coming nearer, you find that they are very humble, polite, and devoid of any worldly evils, but are full of godly qualities. I would call Dada one of the great ones because of his great devotion, dedication and compassion. Dada has reached the terminal phase of Bhakti yoga. I can say with confidence that he has acquired all the powers by his undaunted devotion and dedication towards his guru, Neem Karoli Maharaj. Dada is always in trance and absorbed into his Babaji. He is fully and completely in his dhyana while performing his routine duties—walking, sitting, eating, sleeping, talking. He has developed these qualities due to his uncompromising and non-shakable faith in his deity. Shri Neem Karoli Baba is no more with us, but by hearing remembrances of Baba as narrated by Dada, Baba's life becomes visible before our eyes. Whenever Dada starts telling the stories about Baba's life in bodily form, it becomes crystal clear; you feel that his whole life is being televised. Another such lively commentary of Baba's life you cannot get easily. Taking this into consideration, Baba's devotees in India and abroad have given great emphasis to getting down some things from our Dada in black and white. When Mr. Ram Dass and Mr. Jai Lakshman visited Baba's place last, they requested me to get all relevant information regarding their guru and stories of Maharajji recorded in cassettes. My efforts were ongoing, but it seems that Maharajji motivated Dada to pen down some things and to my surprise I found that my work was done. After Baba's inspiration, Goddess Saraswati also came down. This holy confluence has made it possible for us to learn about Baba's life and the life of some of his great devotees. When the great Vyas was toiling with the idea of writing down the Mahabharata, he required an expert steno, and Shri Ganesh presented himself to render his service for this pious work. Ganesh was so great an expert that he could pen down everything even before the ideas came in Vyasa's mind. During the period when Dada was busy in his work of writing the stories of Baba, his pen did not encounter any full stop. He was absorbed to such an extent that he almost forgot his routing obligations. Occasionally Didi would put tea or lunch on his table, but it would not draw Dada's attention. Lunch and dinner times were disturbed. Didi was quite anxious and used to tell us about it.

My only job left was to continuously supply him with dozens of notebooks and ball point pens so that there might not be any hindrance due to the shortage of these materials. After the manuscript was complete, the typist did not dare to undertake the work. I had to take the challenge and personally sat several hours each day and in the night with the typist for this work to be completed. Although Dada's manuscript is primarily in English, specially meant for devotees of Maharajji residing outside of India, a decision was taken by a very senior and great devotee of Maharajji, Shri Sarvadaman Singh Raghuvansi, to bring out the book in Hindi also. My elder brother, Shri Radheshyam Gupta, who is expert in this work, by his hard labor completed this translation within a very short time. There is an old saying that a touchstone can convert iron into gold. Undoubtedly, our saints and sages, with their tender touch of earthen materials like human beings, can bring about marvelous changes. Innumerable people who came in close association with Maharajji got changed and transformed completely. This book is the collection of a few selected flowers from the garland of many devotees who were rejuvenated completely. The book not only throws light on the phenomenon involved in this complete change of life, but also gives glimpses of the inner lives of these saints and sages of India. I trust and believe that this book, which is in your hand now, will lead all devotees to follow the path shown by our Maharajji and get moksha, becoming torch bearers to the whole of mankind in their search for godliness. Dr. Das Gupta

Babaji

Saints and Devotees My first darshan was sudden and unexpected, and came at a time when mentally I was least prepared for it. I lived a carefree social life with friends, mostly from my college days, whose company and friendship I valued. On holidays we used to get together to enjoy our time. One Sunday evening in June 1955, we were sitting in the courtyard, joking and laughing. My mother, Maushi Ma (my aunt), and Didi (my wife) said that they were going to an adjoining house to see a baba who had come there. Hearing her, a friend asked, "What kind of baba is he? If the baba wants to eat, I could feed him." This friend was referring to the deer and hare he hunted. Mother rebuked him, saying it was a sacrilege to talk that way about sadhus. I mention this to emphasise how ignorant and indifferent we were about the religious and spiritual life. It was not even half an hour later when they returned. Someone asked about the outcome of their visit. They had seen the baba in a small mud house. He had been lying on a small cot covered with a bed sheet. The room was lit by a flickering candle which gave only a glimpse of him. When they reached the door and said that they were from an adjoining house and had come for his darshan, he sat up on his bed. He greeted them with "Jao!" (Go), but they did not move even after repetition of "Jao!" Then he said to Didi, taking her name, "Kamala, go back. Your husband's Bengali friends have come. Serve them with tea. I shall come tomorrow morning." This was a great surprise for us. How did he know Didi's name, and also that we were sitting here looking for tea? So there must be something with that man. The friends dispersed, saying they would return the next morning to see things for themselves. All of us were excited. The next morning Didi arranged a room with a spacious bed for him, and we both went to bring him. When we arrived, he was lying on a cot. Seeing us, he almost jumped up and catching hold of my hand, said, "Chalo." (Let's go.) The distance was short, but he was moving fast and Didi had some difficulty in keeping pace with us. Entering the house, the first thing he said was, "Henceforth I shall live with you." I was surprised, I could hardly believe what he said. He was a stranger to us. How easily he imposed his company on us unsolicited! I could not see the 'grace' he was showering on us. Rather, I was intrigued to think that his intentions were not purely benevolent. This was the reaction of some of my friends who saw Babaji coming and staying with us frequently. They warned me that I must beware of babas whose intentions were anything but altruistic. I could not disbelieve them in the beginning, but as time went on I was caught and could not come out of it. Ultimately, I had to resign myself to the forces working and free myself from all mental conflicts. Ma, Maushi Ma and Didi greeted him with all joy and excitement. "How very blessed we are," they said, and went to prepare some refreshments. I was left alone with him. The first thing he said was, "You are a devotee of Shiva?" "I am not a devotee." "But you visit Shiva's temple?" "Well, I might have visited sometime."

Then he said, "You have been given mantra also," which I admitted. It was very striking indeed that I failed to recollect the encounter I had in May 1935 at the Shiva temple in Dakshineshwar, Calcutta. A hefty looking person with a small beard had made me accept mantra from him. It was only much afterwards that I realized it had been Babaji who had given me the mantra in the temple, although my mother and aunt had been saying it all along. Many years later, Babaji was visiting Jagannath Puri with some of his devotees and traveled to Dakshineshwar, where showing them the Shiva temple, declared that it was in the temple that he had given mantra to me. While Babaji was sitting in the room, some devotees came to see him. They had gone to the house where he had previously been staying and had found out that he had shifted to our house. They were enjoying his talks when a person came who had been known to me for a long time. Seeing so many persons there, he wanted to go away, but Babaji challenged him, "You take bribes?" He got frightened and could not reply. The question was repeated and he started trembling and mumbling. He uttered, "In this service everyone takes..." Babaji cut him short, saying he was guilty. He was trembling and was about to fall down when he was made to take his seat. Everyone was feeling pity for him, but Babaji was unrelenting. This man was an excise inspector who had been suspended from service for taking bribes. He had confessed his guilt in front of Shri Kehar Singh, the Excise Commissioner, who was also sitting in the room. After everyone including the inspector had left, only Kehar Singh remained with Babaji. It is not know what passed between them, but the inspector was reinstated to his post within a few days—a redemption after a full confession. Many other devotees came and Babaji was sitting in the room talking, when he suddenly got up and asked Kehar Singh, whose car was parked at the door, to come with him. The hunter friend who had talked of feeding meat to Baba was coming in a rickshaw. Seeing Baba about to leave in the car, he was hurrying to meet him, but Baba's car left when my friend was just a few yards away. It was only after repeated attempts for darshan and Maushi Ma's begging for mercy for her 'son,' as she called him, that Baba gave him darshan—six years later. His wife and daughters, however, had their darshan from the beginning without any disappointment. When Babaji returned, he took his meal surrounded by me and Maushi Ma. Didi was in the kitchen preparing his chapatis. Fetching his chapatis and being a silent witness was a peculiar experience for me. Babaji acted like a different person. Gone was the wry face and toughness, yelling and shouting, heedless to all requests. Talking in a very pleasant voice, beaming a smile and eating according to the requests of the mothers to eat a little more of this or that, he finished his food, and after chatting with them for some time, sent them back to feed the others. It was very hot and we were all perspiring, but he remained on his bed as if untouched by the heat. In the afternoon three of my friends came. Two of them were doctors, and one was a government servant. He welcomed the first one cheerfully, asking him to sit near him and telling everyone that he was a saint. He asked the second one, also a doctor, why he had come, and sent him away, saying that he should go and make his money. This was, no doubt, very hard for the doctor, but it was in keeping with his zeal to make money. He took no notice of the third man and the two left, sulking. Babaji stayed for three days during this visit. It was more or less the same routine he would follow in the years to come: meeting the devotees coming for his darshan; talking to everyone; visiting some devotees in their houses; leaving the house at any time and returning after short or long hours. We had no way of knowing where he had gone or when he would return. When someone inquired about him in his absence, we had to plead ignorance. Sometimes we were accused of concealing his whereabouts. This came to be a regular charge against me, and even now I have to face it. Many persons had heard that Babaji was a great saint and so were interested and enthusiastic to meet him. There were certain things that were very striking about Babaji and some people were disappointed when they saw him acting like a common householder. He would go on talking with all and sundry about family or work or business—only worldly things—not of God or prayer or worship. They felt that a sadhu who was busy with common man's talk, without the saint's hallmark or saffron clothes, matted locks and all that, could not be a real sadhu. Babaji was fully aware of this and told me several times that many persons came to test him, not out of devotion for a saint. He did this deliberately to keep away curious sightseers. There was something unique about him which was not displayed like the robe worn by the sadhu. One who came with patience and an open mind—without any set ideas about sadhus or saints—might catch a glimpse of it, but that depended on Babaji. A devotee could not claim this as a right; it was a gift from Babaji. I was a newcomer and an outsider among his old and trusted devotees. Whatever little I came to know of him did not come overnight, in spite of all the grace flowing from him. In the beginning his visits were frequent—every two or three months—but he never stayed more than three days. He might come or leave at any time, but would never cause any interruption in daily life or cause any inconvenience to the householders. His wants were few, his food was simple and he could squeeze himself onto a small cot or mat, leaving space for others. He needed very little service from us and was overly cautious to see that he did not become a burden on us, or cause any inconvenience by his untimely visits. Many of his devotees were busy all day and not rich enough to honor such a distinguished guest suitably. His talks were almost always about the household affairs: how to avoid troubles in the family, obeying and serving the elders, and being accommodating to all. The eldest had the special responsibility of attending to the needs of everyone in the family. This he was teaching Ma and Maushi Ma all the time when he was here. They sought his advice for all their household affairs and used to say that Baba was the head of the family. One day, after a couple of visits, he warned us that we would have to leave this house, which belonged to my uncle, in the near future and we must have a house of our own. We had never thought of changing or building a house and were quite confident that we could live in this small one as long as we liked. He said we were mistaken, that we would be made to vacate however much we disliked doing so, and that we must purchase land for a new house. In subsequent visits he talked only of that. At the end of 1956, land was purchased. He was happy and said, "Now build your house." He knew we could not do that, so after giving us some time to get it done ourselves, he got the house built for us. He praised it and called it the Red House. That is how we came to live in this house—one that was spacious enough for his devotees to come and stay without difficulty. Baba began staying here for three or four months in the winter and many of his devotees gathered and stayed with him. Mr. Mehrotra called it his winter camp. There were many thrilling experiences, but what attracted us the most was the feeling that we were a happy family living

under the care and indulgence of an affectionate father. One night Ma and Maushi Ma were sitting with him in his room. He had come two days before, and they were giving him their report of what had gone on in the house during his absence. While talking, Maushi Ma said, "Baba, you are kind to Dada but not so to we old people." He asked why she thought so. She said, "You have built such a beautiful house for Dada." He sat up in his bed and asked, "How did it become Dada's house? The house is mine!" She asked, "What about Dada?" He replied, "Dada is my guest, and he will live here." So it has come to that.

Babaji was known as a great saint—a highly realized soul with all the spiritual powers. Writing about Baba, Swami Vijayananda, a disciple of Anandamayi Ma, called him "a yogi whose name radiates an aura of mystery and miracle." We saw many of his miracles coming one after another; they continue even now. They are exciting, often entertaining, but sometimes disturbing. Once at Kainchi, after what had been for me a very painful experience, I had to tell him that I was not interested in his miracles; he was Baba, and that was enough for me. His acceptance came in the form of one of his ineffable smiles. So far as the mysteries are concerned, not only have I not been able to solve any of them, but they have become more mysterious day-by-day. One morning Babaji was in his small room in Kainchi. A sadhu with a half-dozen of his disciples came for Baba's darshan. I took them to his room. After they had taken their seat, Babaji said, "This is Mahant Digvijaynath, a great saint. Bow at his feet." When another person came, Babaji made him bow as well. Babaji smiled and asked people to bow low to the saint instead of touching his own feet. But when the third one came and Babaji repeated his words, the Mahant stood up and clasping Babaji's feet, with tears in his eyes, said, "Baba, you are the saint of saints sitting before us, and you are making people touch my feet, taking me to be a saint." "A saint can be known only by one who himself is a saint." That is what has been said by the wise. So we cannot have—at least speaking for myself—any pretension of knowing Babaji, the great saint. In the Bhagavat Gita we learn that a saint is a person with a dual personality— the divine and the human. Many of us have seen the human person in Babaji, but that doesn't mean that we can claim to have seen the divine person in him. In a saint, the divine person is encased in the human frame but is not entirely identical. The bottom of the human and the top of the divine stand far apart from each other. There is a co-mingling in the inner space, and in noble human beings, some of the divine qualities merge entirely with their human qualities, destroying all distinction between human and divine. I am saying this about Baba from my own experience of him. I have never seen him wearing his divine crown, but I have always seen his divine qualities of love and compassion. He was always ready and alert to mitigate the sufferings of the helpless by taking their pains upon himself. His body became a honeycomb of diseases. This was the price he had to pay for his compassion and his readiness to help. Every individual suffers from some kind of physical and mental pain. But with many, hunger and disease of body or mind become acute. One of Babaji's visible methods of helping people was by feeding the hungry, arranging medical treatment for the sick, and giving money and materials to the helpless. The brief interlude of his life in the ashrams was spent in caring for the hungry and curing the sick, like the head of a household busy with his large family. Those who visited his ashrams, especially Kainchi, saw how prasad was being served throughout the day to all and sundry without any discrimination. For some it was prasad, an auspicious token of spiritual elevation, but for many more it was a whole meal for the stomach. Seeing that food was being given in such large amounts, some persons complained that the food was being wasted. Babaji was unrelenting and continued to ask us to give in plenty. "Give more, give more, Dada." No doubt Babaji would never allow food to be wasted or abused, but his idea of abuse and waste was different from ours, so the bhandara continued, giving food to the needy. Some persons have suggested that one of the reasons for his choice of Kainchi and Bhumiadhar for ashrams was to be in direct contact with the helpless—particularly the shilpakars, the forsaken ones. They fell easy victim to the allurements of the preachers who approached them with loaves of white bread, biscuits, etc. After several bhandaras at Bhumiadhar, he said one day, "Dada, the preachers do not come anymore because they have seen that their 'double roti' (white bread) and biscuits cannot fight with your puri and halwa." There were also other methods of mitigating the sufferings and hardships of the people coming to him. They were seldom done in the public gaze, but they were going on every day. Some poor farmer would come and say, "Out of my one pair of bullocks, which is my only source of living, one has died and I have no money to purchase another." An old woman would come and say, "My daughter has reached marriageable age, but I have no money to pay for her marriage." Another comes with his tale, "My brother is suffering from tuberculosis and I have no money for his treatment." Such things would go on all the time. Few would leave disappointed. It was never publicized, but help was always coming from him in some form or other. Leaving aside physical suffering and mental torture, there was another kind of deeper and more painful suffering which Babaji could not neglect. Many times it was to rescue the helpless that he had to run away like a vagabond. Sometimes unimaginable calamities come to people—someone has died, someone has been thrown out of another's heart, or a severe shock or disappointment from one's near or dear ones has unhinged them totally. Pain of the body or the mind can often be tolerated, but pain of the heart becomes killing. Faced with such a disappointment, they are stranded; there is no one to whom they can look for support. Very few of us are so devoted to God that we truly believe that the help we need will come from there. We need some tangible response to

our cries. Our cries reached Baba and made him rush to us—seen or unseen by others. He came and talked to us, not quoting from scriptures, but in his own sweet way. He consoled us with pats on the head, whispered words of cheer accompanied by his infectious smile, trying to bring a smile to our face. We do not know how many tears of men, women and children he wiped away with his sweet words, compassionate touches, and soothing smiles. Only Baba knows... His goodness to his devotees also expressed itself in the way he would fulfill their fond expectations, trying to save them from disappointment. This was revealed during the opening ceremony of the temple in Panki, Kanpur. Babaji was at Allahabad for his winter stay. Devotees coming from Kanpur requested him to bless the occasion by his presence, which he did not agree to do. They went back feeling disappointed and sad that all their efforts had failed. On the day of the inauguration, Babaji finished his toilet, and changing his clothes early, went back to his room. It was seven o'clock. He told me that he was not feeling well, covered himself with a blanket and asked me to bolt the doors, not allowing anybody to disturb him or enter his room. Hours passed, and the people waiting outside for darshan started speculating about his trouble. At twelve he opened his eyes, asked me about the time and said, "Oh, it has been five hours that I have been asleep, but such a nice sleep that I feel refreshed." The doors were opened, and people rushed in and had their darshan. Life began again as usual. The next day, Babaji was sitting in the hall surrounded by his devotees when a person came with a basket of ladoos—prasad from the inauguration ceremony of the Panki temple the day before. Being handed a basket, I was told that Babaji had been there in the morning, but at twelve he suddenly disappeared. "We searched for him, but he was not there, so we brought the prasad for him." Mr. Jagati, an old devotee, asked, "What are you talking about? Babaji was here lying on his bed feeling unwell, and we were waiting for him outside. The door was opened at twelve and we all saw him. So how could he be at Panki when he was in his room all the time?" While they were all trying to convince each other, Babaji was sitting silently with his smile. This incident reveals so much about his invisible movements to fulfull the wishes and expectations of his devotees. In September 1961, I had finished my bath and tea early in the morning and came into my room to study. While taking out the book which I had been reading the night before, I was amazed to see written over the whole cover page. I was familiar with Babaji's handwriting so it was clear to me that it had been done by him, but he had not been here for the last three months. I shouted for Didi and others and they all exclaimed that it was Babaji's writing. How had it appeared in the book during the night in the closed room? I told them that the night before I had been reading until twelve and there had been nothing on the book. Didi said that even a half-hour before, when she arranged my table and dusted the books, there was nothing on it; it must have come just within this time. While we were all looking at the cover page, she took the book and, opening it, exclaimed, "Look, how many more are written within!" There were three more pages, all in bold letters, and the ink on the last page showed that the writing had suddenly stopped, as it was not fully dry. We were all left guessing and speculating on how and why this could happen. Many devotees gave their own interpretations, but they were not convincing and we remained agitated. I wrote to Tularam, a great devotee who was very close to us and was then with Babaji at Agra. He narrated the whole thing to Babaji as was written in the letter and told him that I was very anxious to know how it all came about. Babaji's reply, as Tularam wrote, was, "Dada was remembering me, so I had to go." Tularam added that Babaji's purpose was to demonstrate that he had heard my call and responded to it. This was good so far as it went, but the mystery remained unsolved—the invisible movement in response to a call which to my knowledge I had not sent. Many things happened after that, and have continued to happen all these years. One night I was reading in my room after everybody had gone to sleep. Suddenly the gate was forced open and Babaji began abusing me. "You are such a nasty chap that you trouble me so much. You made me come from a distance of four hundred miles. You were remembering me." Everyone in the house woke up and came to his room. The next morning he was like a different person and said, "Whenever you remember me, I come." This same assurance has been echoed from the beginning of time through the mouths of the saints to their devotees and disciples. It is an echo of what Ram said to Hanuman when they parted, "Hanuman, you will not be separate from me, and whenever you remember me, I shall come to you." God may be in heaven or in Vaikuntha, but he is never beyond the reach of his people's call. His grace flows to them in the various forms of divine incarnation. There may be times when he comes in full incarnation, but partial incarnations are always here carrying his message. What Babaji said in 1961 was also said by Guru Maharaj (Yogananda's 'Babaji') to Shyama Charan Lahiri (Lahiri Mahasaya) in January 1869, at Dronagiri. Shyama Charan had his initiation and he wanted to stay with his guru and serve him. But his guru wanted him to return to his family and carry out the mission that awaited him. "Shyama Charan, you will meet me again, and whenever you remember me, I shall come to you." Saints are seldom hard on their devotees, but sometimes they have to reprimand them and deny darshan to them. Shyama Charan prayed for his guru's darshan one evening in Moradabad to show others how great saints can move invisibly. The guruji came but he rebuked Shyama Charan for indiscreetly using the boon he had given to him, saying that it was not given for such displays. He said that he would not come again when Shyama Charan called him, but only when he himself thought darshan was to be given. This indiscreet use of the boon given by the guru was, of course, by the newly initiated disciple and not by the Yogiraj—the saint of saints—of the later years. The saints, or the realized souls, are free spirits and remain as such, but many are reborn of their own choice to fulfill some divine mission. Working for the world, they are the channels through which divine grace flows. A giant electric generating plant caters to the needs of a vast region or country, but the amount and strength of the current passing through different lines varies. Even the most powerful line transmits only a small fraction of what is generated. The distribution to individuals or units is selective—given according to capacity and ability to pay. The grace of the Lord flows not to one country or region but over the entire universe, whose vastness we cannot know. Nor do we know

when or how it is generated. But those who know tell us that it is always in full supply and the transmission is never interrupted. The channels through which it flows may not be known to us, but its work goes on until the needs of everyone are attended to. No one is denied or given less because of an inability to pay. In this way, the distribution of grace is different than the distribution of electricity. One saint has described the working of these divine channels: "Saints in their work squander their love and grace, even on the undeserving and ungrateful ones." A bhakta (devotee) is one who is never separated from his master. Hanuman, as a real bhakta, is always in union with his master. The case of Hanuman is different from other devotees because Hanuman himself is a divine incarnation with all the siddhis at his fingertips, with no need for anything either in this world or in heaven. He chose to remain in the world as the eternal sentinel to sing the glory of Ram Nam, and to give the darshan of Ram to his ardent devotees. He has been working as the divine channel all through the ages. The task of the saints is extremely difficult. The devotees they have to deal with are more or less lost in their lives and in the world. Many of them do not know that there can be anything better than samsara (the world of illusion and suffering)—not to speak of seeking a way out of it. What the majority of them seek from the saints or gurus are things for their daily needs—some relief from pressing pain and suffering so that life can become pleasant and more comfortable again. The cry for darshan is only to get some trinkets, some palliatives, or some material relief against unseen misfortunes. The saints know this fully well, but do not force precious things upon their devotees or deny them their requests. Once Babaji was surrounded by a large number of persons asking for things they desired. As a result, he was detained for a long time from his bath and food. When I finally closed the door and made him get up, he patted me on the head and said, "Dada, do not get angry—this is samsara, this is samsara. You are worried about my food, but they do not bother about it. Nobody comes to me for my own needs. Everyone is busy with himself." Gurus generally do not have any special favorite among their disciples or make any real discrimination among them. To us they may appear to be partial or indifferent, but actually that is not so. It is because, as Ramakrishna used to say, "Mother is giving more attention to the sick child." Many of the children who come before the guru are very sick and get special care. One morning while taking our tea, two cars came and stood at the gate. The old mother of the Maharaj of Vizianagram had come from Benares along with her staff. She inquired about Baba, and when I said that he had left a couple of days back, the lady broke down and cried. She said, "I need him very urgently. I have been awake for the whole night and have been driving since two. I have an appointment with the Finance Minister, Morarji Desai, in Delhi at four o'clock for talks about my estate, and I need Baba's help for that. What shall I do now?" I said, "When your needs are so urgent who knows but that he may not return!" She agreed to wait. A cot was spread for her outside of Baba's room and taking her seat, she said, "So many lilas of Babaji have taken place in this house, tell me something about them." It was about six when we started and she was fully engrossed in that. When Didi appeared with a glass of milk, she indicated with a gesture that this was not the right time for that. More than two hours passed in this way when the gate was pushed open and Babaji walked in, smiling. She fell at his feet, and said, "Oh, you have come. Baba, I need you very much." He said, "All right, come to my room." When he was in the room with her, he asked me to bolt the door and not allow anyone to enter as long as he was talking to her. At ten, the door was opened and Babaji asked Didi to feed her and the men with her. They had already been fed. When she was leaving, Babaji said, "Do not worry. You will reach Benares before two, and your son will easily take you to Delhi in his plane." The striking thing about the whole episode was how her cries for help reached Baba and how he responded to them. He came in a big car, a station wagon, driving the whole night from Nainital to reach her in time. The devotees accompanying him said, "Babaji reached Nainital yesterday at noon. He had come after many months, and we were hoping that he would stay for a few days. We had been sitting around him in the evening and listening to him for some time, when he suddenly got up and said, 'Get me a car. I have to go to Allahabad.'" In this case, darshan was given to a celebrity. Many persons used to speak of his favor toward the rich. He used to enjoy the joke and say, "I am a Baba of the rich. I don't care for the poor." Shri Prabhudutt Brahmachari, a great saint who was close to Baba, once narrated the following incident. He was with Anandamayi Ma in her ashram at Almora once summer. One afternoon he was sitting in the garden with some ashramites when a man came very excitedly and inquired whether Babaji was there. When someone asked, "Which Baba?" he said he wanted Neem Karoli Baba. He was told that Babaji was not there. He felt very helpless and began asking where he could see him—he needed them urgently. Brahmachariji, a saint himself, knew the ways of the saints and said, "If your needs are so urgent, go and shout for him. He will come." The man went a few steps ahead and, in full view of everyone sitting there, began shouting, "Baba, Baba..." Only a few minutes had passed and everyone was busy talking among themselves when somebody came from behind and touched Brahmachariji on the shoulder. "Oh you are here. When did you come?" No reply was needed. The unknown visitor shouting nearby came rushing and fell at Babaji's feet. Babaji took him aside, talked to him and then sent him away. He was a poor householder, not a rich or important person for whom Babaji had to rush. Narrating this incident, Brahmachariji said that Babaji can never ignore the call of his devotees in their utter distress.

Baba used to talk about the saints and how they move about. One day he said, "Ram Thakur was a great saint, a very great saint." I had not heard about him as I also had not heard about many others. Afterwards I read and heard about him from some of his devotees. He took his samadhi in 1949. He was a great saint, and many of his devotees both high and low remember him, not as a saint, but actually Bhagwan— God. There was so much in common between him and Babaji. They had the same methods of working, unseen and unknown by others. I do not know why Babaji talked so much about Ram Thakur. Babaji would not disclose anything about himself to satisfy my curiosity, but I could seek some help, some light, from the lives of other saints. Perhaps Ram Thakur was chosen for me for that purpose. Their ways of working were very similar in many things, and the similarity of their behavior in identical situations was very striking. Professor Chakravarty was a great devotee of Thakur. One day he was sitting with his friends in a room on the ground floor when they saw Thakur suddenly go up the stairs. They went up and saw that the Professor's wife was very agitated. She asked where Thakur had gone. She had been feeling totally helpless in alleviating the suffering of her three children who were sick from smallpox. She had been appealing to Thakur, so Thakur had to come. Seeing him at the door, she went to get a seat for him, but when she returned, he was gone. They had all seen him come, but he was not there anymore. In three days all the children recovered, with no trace or mark of the disease on their bodies. They learned afterwards that when they had seen Thakur in their Calcutta house, he was actually sitting in Hardwar, surrounded by his devotees. Neither Ram Thakur nor Babaji would talk about themselves, or allow others to talk about them. If you had questions, you had to work them out for yourself. There were no ready-made answers to your queries, no capsule to swallow, no open book to glance at. It was only after his samadhi in 1949 that Thakur's devotees were able to write about their guru. Dr. Das Gupta was a well-known doctor in Calcutta and known by Thakur's devotees as 'Doctor Dada.' He never missed an opportunity to be with Thakur when he was nearby. One day, while driving his car, he saw Thakur on the road. He stopped and asked when he had arrived in Calcutta and where he was staying. Thakur did not reply to the questions. Instead he said, "Everyone knows that Duryodhan was a very wicked person. He had one hundred brothers. You may read the whole of the Mahabharata but you will not find anywhere that he had any quarrel with his brothers or that he did not love them." His words had their effect. The Doctor thrust his hand into the car, picked up a file of papers, tore them up and threw them away. When he looked up, Thakur was gone. The Doctor had been on his way to the High Court, where he was fighting a case against his brothers about his share in the family property. Inquiring later, he learned that Thakur had been in Simla for the whole week and had not gone anywhere. There was a very heavy flood, and the water of both the Ganges and Jamuna had risen to a high level in Allahabad. The currents were very strong. Some stones of the adjoining fort were washed away, and water was getting into the fort. All the adjoining areas, including the famous Hanuman temple, were submerged under water, facing the fury of this flood. Dr. Katju, then Defense Minister, accompanied by his staff, came to see the situation for himself. Seeing Dr. Katju, who was a highly religious person, some priests of the Hanuman temple prayed to him to save the temple. They said every year during the rainy season Hanumanji goes down under water and comes out when the water subsides. But this time the threat was very serious; some of the old pipal and banyan trees that had stood firm through the ages had been washed away. The same threat held for Hanumanji also. Dr. Katju sympathized with them but said it was beyond his power, rather beyond all human power, to save the murti of Hanumanji. Only Hanumanji himself could do that. He said they should seek the help of Neem Karoli Baba, who was considered to be an incarnation of Hanumanji. Their need was very great and they would try anything. Since this advice came from such a wise and respected person, many of them actually started shouting for Baba. After some time they stopped, and not having much hope for the success of their venture, many of them left. A jeep came, but few took notice of it, as the vehicles of many sightseers were coming and going. Someone got down from the jeep and started coming their way. Several persons shouted, "Here comes Babaji! He is Neem Karoli Baba!" They all rushed to him and narrated to him their tales of woe. Everyone was pressing him to save Hanumanji. Babaji told them that he could not do that—only Hanumanji himself could do that, and they should pray to him. Babaji just took a little water from the flooded rivers in his palm, sipped a few drops, and went away in his jeep. Most of the others left after the jeep had gone. Those who remained were not sure that much would come out of that august visit, and they were left disheartened. But that very night the water started receding and, within two days, the threat to the temple was over. Many felt afterwards that Babaji had done his miracle, but many more thought it happened of its own and Babaji had nothing to do with it. This made no difference to Baba. People remembered him in their distress and so he came. The work was done; that was enough for Baba. It was not for him to wait to see the success of his work and collect laurels from the seekers who cried for help. These stories can sometimes help us to see the work of his unseen hands in the many critical situations facing his devotees. Some of them had their faith strengthened by him. When they came out safe from their misfortunes, they took it to be all Babaji's doing. He would deny flatly that he had anything to do with it. This is the Babaji we know. There are so many more stories of how restless the saints become at the sufferings of others. Although as highly realized souls they are free from attachments, they cannot stand as mere spectators when the cries from the helpless reach their ears.

From the winter of 1959-60, after we had shifted to the new house and Babaji started spending his winter months in what came to be called 'winter camp,' large numbers of devotees came and the house became like a hive swarming with bees. This was Baba's precious gift for his devotees. There had not been any place where he would stay long enough to enable them to have his darshan and continued satsang. There was not Kainchi nor Vrindavan at that time to provide this opportunity.

The devotees were new to us, but they were well known to each other and close to Baba—devotees who were fully soaked and saturated in their love of Baba. There was no question of their being closed or miserly with me and I took full advantage of their generosity and openheartedness. Their devotion and dedication to their master gave me my first lessons and I gathered my love and devotion for Baba from them. Many such batches of devotees continued coming as long as Babaji spent time here in his body. The visits of his Indian devotees, especially the curio hunters, ceased more or less after his samadhi, but the visits from his western devotees, which started in his lifetime, continued unabated. The first batch of westerners came in the company of Bhai Ram Dass in 1971, and in 1972, when the number rose to 76, the darshan and satsang continued for more than a month. Such congregations ended long back, but the visits in groups or individually have continued. There are second and third generations who also come now. They are different, but I always get something from them that I did not possess before. There are many who have an intense love for Baba, kindled in their hearts by meeting Baba inside or from satsang with his old devotees. They want to know more about him. There are many, very sincere in heart, active and venturesome in their search, visiting his ashrams and meeting with his old devotees. All these visits of devotees, Indian or western, are always helpful to me. Visitors remind us that we are not forgotten or left high and dry. They are valuable as satsang, but they are different from what I had before. Those first visits were the most precious for me. They exposed me to the tested, undiluted devotees, who had collected their knowledge of Babaji over a long time. The present ones are just like stoking the fire, getting back the glow and warmth buried under the accumulated ashes. But the earlier ones actually added the fuel, twigs and ghee to make my fire strong and alive, so that I not only had light and heat, but could also bake myself in it. Saints are one in their work as divine channels. They link us up with the source from which all bliss flows: love. They bake the unbaked pots and make them fit to receive the divine bliss. They illuminate the path by removing all the darkness that holds us back. Their work does not end with the energising or enlightening of some select few here and there. They also serve as the unflickering flame helping to light other candles. What bliss and joy Hanuman brought to his devotee Tulsidas! And what bliss and joy Tulsidas himself has scattered to millions of other devotees, helping to rekindle their lamps, although he himself parted with his body long, long ago. This has been the case with many great saints and their disciples, from Guru Maharaj to Shyama Charan, from Ramakrishna to Vivekananda. Through them and their own disciples they live in the memory of many old people. The work of the saints goes on, whether we know it or not. As I have said before, almost all my education came from those old devotees. They came as if sitting on the bare floor of the tavern or standing in the alleys. In the 'tavern,' everybody behaved as if intoxicated, opening the doors of their minds and hearts, giving everything to everyone. There was nothing to measure or fear. Now the venue has changed from the floor of the tavern to the chairs of a furnished drawing room. While no doubt for the benefit of all, I derive the greatest benefit from these visits. They are Babaji's way of educating and enlightening me. He never forgets to remind me that I am a fool with no understanding. All the visits and satsangs are his attempts to force some sense and understanding into my mind. That is the most valuable legacy left by Babaji for me, which can never be exhausted. Let the celebrations and illuminations continue in his ashrams, bringing his devotees full jubilation, but let the modest fire that he kindled here in Allahabad continue and not die out. This is why visitors are sent with their twigs and wood chips to keep the fire burning. It is said that those who are dear to the one who is dear to you, become dear to you also. This is true, and we realized this in those early days when we gathered together as Babaji's devotees. Babaji was a well-known saint, and he had a very large number of devotees who constituted the members of his large family. When I was inducted as a new incumbent, I was taken as one of them and promised my share of the accumulated treasures. The share was liberally given, and even now it continues to come although I am staying at home. Every devotee enjoyed the treasures—the joy and serenity emanating from Babaji. One need not be in his presence for enjoying it. Getting together with devotees, hearing and sharing each other's experiences and remembering Babaji, was enough to give us joy, although we were away from him and did not meet him often. This goes on even now. When devotees meet, we rekindle the love in each other's hearts for our guru, and take our share. So long as the spokes are linked to the nave, the chariot moves. This is not something exclusive for Babaji's devotees. The same thing happens with the disciples of all great saints. There is much to learn and enjoy when you come in contact with the devotees of Ramana Maharshi or Shri Aurobindo or Ram Thakur. Although the saints took their samadhi many years ago, the devotees keep their gurus alive in their hearts. Whatever I have received from Baba or receive from him now, I am not very conscious of the breeze entering a room through the open window. But I remember well what I received from his great devotees. A large part of the knowledge or experience I have of Babaji has come from them. Some of them may have doubted how far this can be accepted as true, but so far as I am concerned, I accept and believe it. I could not doubt the authenticity of the experiences which came to some chosen devotees while fully awake. They are as true to me as those which I saw with my own eyes or in which I participated. Some extraneous elements might have been mixed up with the main theme, but that does not mean that they are to be rejected outright. There are always the husks coming with the corn, or the skin with the banana, but you do not throw away the corn or the banana. You separate the substance from the cover before using it. So a true devotee of Babaji knows what is genuine and what is spurious accretion when he hears the experiences of other devotees. He takes what passes his test and leaves the rest. This is how I got the benefit of my satsang with his devotees. It has been necessary for me to declare the source and authority of the stories narrated in this book. They are true, genuine experiences coming from the worthy disciples of Baba. I treat these devotees as my preceptors and therefore I value their stories so much. I visited Babaji's ashrams for a couple of years after he took his samadhi. It was during these visits that I realized that I was not fitting in well in the new environment. For some time I could not decide what was to be done. Then I was reminded of what he had said in 1962: "Dada, you stay at home." I did not understand then why he wanted me to do so. The understanding came when my excursions to his

ashrams proved to be a failure. After I had stopped visiting the ashrams, some ardent devotees began saying that I had left Baba. When faced with a statement like this, the only reply I could give was, "When did I catch hold of Baba that I could leave him now? I could never catch him, so the question of leaving him does not come. That is the all of it."

Babaji

Ram Narayan Sinha, Ayodhya Nath, Akbar Ali Khan, Jaidev Singh In spite of my close association with Babaji, I acquired my devotion for Baba and whatever understanding of him I might have from the gifts of the open hearts of his old and selfless devotees. Each devotee experiences Babaji in his own unique way. Tularam Sah said, "Babaji is the greatest sage of the age." Ram Narayan Sinha said, "He is Hanuman." Akbar Ali Khan said, "No pir (saint) or paigambar (prophet), but he is actually Khuda (God)." Thakur Jaidev Singh said, "He is Bhagwan." I could not disbelieve them. They poured out their experiences in full ecstasy. They are as true to me as the experience I myself had on the bank of the Ganges when he whispered in my ear, "Ram nam karne se sab pura ho jata." (Everything is accomplished by taking the name of Ram.) Most of the incidents recorded here were related in Babaji's lifetime either in his presence or when he moved about. They have been told and retold to the devotees, and Babaji did not object to that. Shri Ram Narayan Sinha lived in Allahabad after retiring from service and used to come to Babaji when he stayed here in winter. It was difficult for him to narrate stories about Baba's unusual grace without shedding copious tears. He had to stop talking several times while narrating his experiences and could not sit before Babaji for too long a time. He had started his career as a police sub-inspector at the lowest cadre in the service, but rose very high in the job by his honesty and hard labor. Shri Sinha used to say that his rise was not by his efforts, but by the sheer grace which came to him unsought at a very early stage and continued all through his life. He had been posted at Mathura as a sub-inspector and was staying in a small house with his wife and his young stepbrother. One day while getting ready to go to work, the front door was pushed open. A big person with a blanket on, followed by two others, entered the room. Ram Narayan said, "They were not known to me. Pointing his finger at me, this person said, 'You are Ram Narayan Sinha. You are sad because of the quarrel between your brother and your wife.' I was gazing at him when someone shouted, 'He is Babaji—Neem Karoli Baba! Both my wife and brother were standing before him. Hearing that he was a baba, my wife touched his feet. When my brother, a teenager, bent to his feet, Babaji shouted at him, 'You quarrel with your sister-in-law and make her cry. She is actually your mother and does so much for you. Bow at her feet and never quarrel with her again.'" Ram Narayan said afterwards that this was a great event in his life. "It not only made the opening for the flow of his grace in my life, but also removed the canker that was so greatly disturbing family peace." He continued, "Babaji then left the house, saying, 'You have to go to work and I must also go.' While coming out behind him, I found many persons were waiting for him. It so happened that I had to take the same path to my office as he was going. Along the way, he would come to one house or another and taking the name of the person to whom they belonged, said he knew them all. By the time he reached the Dwarkadish temple, a large crowd had gathered around him. When the temple priest came before him, Babaji shouted, 'You have no son. How will you have one when you do not allow the children to come to the Child?' Pointing his finger to the murti of Dwarkadhish, he said, 'He is also a child and wants to play with the children. You prevent them from coming to Him, so how can you have a son of your own?' "While everyone was left wondering what all this meant, the panicky priest fell at his feet, and with tears flowing from the eyes, begged Baba for mercy and to bless him with a son. The storm was over and the sun came out. Smiling, Baba said, 'All right you will have your son. But you must open the door for the children to come.' When Babaji had gone, the priest said that he knew that Baba came to the temple to bless him. Two years after that, he had his son."

Ram Narayan said that during his long period of service, he had to work in many different places in the state and it was very difficult to have Babaji's darshan when he wanted it. In almost every town where he was posted, there were people who knew Babaji. Sometimes Babaji visited them, but it was difficult for him to contact Baba by searching him out. Baba was an itinerant saint, and nobody knew about his visits or movement except when they were with him. Ram Narayan said he also suffered from an additional handicap: Babaji's devotees, like all others, generally used to stay away from the police and would not easily fraternize with them socially. This made it difficult to keep in contact with the other devotees in order to keep track of Babaji. He was emphatic that there was no such discrimination in Babaji's mind. The police were as near and dear to him as his devotees in other walks of life. Ram Narayan mentioned the names of many high-placed police officials, such as Jamuna Prasad Tripathi, Rai Bahadur Tika Ram, Chaudhary Omkar Singh, and Shri Deep Narain Rai, who were among his very great devotees and received his grace freely. He said his experience was that getting darshan had to be left to Baba's decision; all he could do was remember him in his heart. One day, while officiating as Superintendent of Police at Bijnor, he learned that his claim for confirmation as Superintendent had been rejected and he was to revert to his previous post. This was a very big shock and disappointment for him. He had officiated as Superintendent for several years with full credit, but the claim was rejected on the technical grounds that he did not come through proper selection, but through promotions from the lower ranks. Ram Narayan narrated, "This was a great disgrace for me, and how was I to face it? So I decided to resign. There was a pall of mourning over the entire household. I was in my official quarter within closed doors in the evening and there was no cooking in the house that night, as everyone was in distress. It was about nine when a policeman knocked at the gate. He said, 'Someone is sitting on the road ahead, and he asked me to send you to him.' I actually jumped up. I was convinced that it must be Babaji who had come at this time of night when I was shedding tears and remembering him. "When I reached there, Babaji was sitting in the middle of the road. There was not much traffic because it was within the official quarters. Facing me he said, 'You are going to resign from your job? What kind of a man are you? You have not allowed food to be cooked and have made everybody in the house miserable. Don't worry. You will remain in your present post and be made permanent.' I said there was no such chance; the decision was final. "He said, 'How can that be? There will be the Lahiri Commission going through such cases and you will be confirmed.' Then he said, 'Bring my food; I have to eat.' I took him along with me to the house. The lights were switched on and cooking was started. After some time, he began hurrying us up, 'Bring my food. Bring my food. I have to go.' The food was served and he took a little. It was not that he was hungry himself or needed the food, but it was a way to get the day's cooking started for the people who were hungry. Soon afterwards, I was confirmed in my post." While narrating these incidents, Ram Narayan said again and again, "This is the Baba I know, and take to be Hanumanji in a human body. How could it be anything other than that?" For me there was no question of believing or not believing him. All I wanted was for him to repeat his stories as often as possible and give us some taste of the joy that was with him.

When we come to Shri Ayodhya Nath Sinha, the retired Assistant Excise Commissioner, it is almost the same story of boundless grace rushing to the door of the helpless devotee, rescuing him from limitless grief and bringing cheer to his heart. Ayodhya Nath had been known to us from the very first time that Babaji gave us darshan in 1955. He was a highly religious person and a great devotee of Baba. Babaji, out of his sheer grace, molded not only his service career, but also his whole life. "I have left my service career and may not always remember how his grace affected it, but I cannot forget what he has given me in my life. Faith in the divine, and devotion to God and guru are life's most precious jewels. They do not come from just anywhere. It is only through divine grace that you get them, and Babaji gave that to me." He had worked as an excise inspector and was posted at Kasganj. One evening he was returning home after playing tennis. Across the road by the side of some trees and bushes, he saw several persons sitting silently. He suspected they might be engaged in illicit liquor business. He heard someone from the group saying, "He thinks we are smugglers of illicit liquor." This confirmed his suspicion, and as he could not do anything about it, he moved away. The matter ended there. Sinha narrated, "In 1932, when I visited my friend, Thakur Sultan Singh, in his house, I saw they were all sitting around an old person. The striking thing about him was that he sat wrapped in a blanket although it was not winter. Sultan Singh told me he was Babaji, Neem Karoli Baba. Babaji asked me, 'You don't recognize me? You thought I was engaged in making liquor. If you had had one of your men with you, you would have arrested me.' I recalled what had occurred many months back and thought how easily we form opinions about people without knowing them. The irony of the whole thing was that it was a good augury and he must have played this trick to test me on how I was discharging my duties." There were many such experiences indicating how Babaji kept track of the doings of his devotees. In 1947 at the crown of Ayodhya Nath's glory, as an honest and incorruptible officer who resisted all temptation to make easy money while performing his duties, he was posted in Faizabad as Excise Inspector. He received a telegram from Babaji asking him to meet him in Allahabad. When he reached Allahabad the next morning, he found Babaji sitting with several devotees in a room by the side of a lane. He stood there in the lane looking at Babaji, thinking that he might call him. But Babaji kept him waiting, then went to another room inside the house. Ayodhya Nath felt highly agitated at the treatment meted out to him. Babaji had sent for him; he had come for that only. How could Babaji refuse to give him darshan? He was very upset and was thinking of going away, when someone came and told him that Babaji wanted him in his room. When he reached the room, Babaji was talking to the people there. Then he said, raising his voice high, "You have become atheist? You have become atheist? You have left God? You will most certainly be made Assistant Commissioner. Do you think the law made by God can be overturned?"

Hearing Baba shouting like that, everyone in the house rushed to his room to find out what it was all about. Only Ayodhya Nath understood. He understood much more than what was spoken out loud by Baba. He became dumb and stood gazing at him, avoiding everyone's questions. The state of suspense continued for some time, then he was sent home with a devotee for his bath and food. Baba told the devotee that after taking some rest, Ayodhya Nath should go to the station and return to Faizabad that very afternoon. The parting message was, "Jao. Sab thik ho jayega. (Go. Everything will be okay.) You should never lose faith in God." As Babaji had foretold, Ayodhya Nath indeed returned to Allahabad a few weeks after that to take up his new post as Assistant Excise Commissioner. The post should have come to him long before as his rightful due, but corruption and extraneous pressures barred his right. It was only when Babaji cast his glance on his woes that the path was cleared for him. Years later Ayodhya Nath narrated to us the full story behind his promotion in 1947. At the time Babaji had sent for him in Allahabad, he was very sad that his long overdue promotion had been denied again, although there was nothing in his service career to disqualify him. This he took to be due to the heedlessness of God, and he lost his faith. He was a religious person and a devotee of Krishna. He blamed Krishna for his misfortune and took down the picture of Krishna hanging on the wall, turning it face down. Babaji's telegram came at that time. Little could he imagine that some unseen hand was going to set right the picture he had turned upside down. Heckling him as he did, Babaji was referring to what he had done to the picture in his house in Faizabad. When he returned to Faizabad that day, as Babaji had asked him to do, his mind was divided in two. Even though Babaji had given him assurance, the odds were strong that there was not much hope for him. He was resting in his room one day when someone shouted, "Hazur, I come with very happy news, and I should get some reward for this." It was an orderly from the District Magistrate office with a copy of the message sent by the Government Secretary saying, "Ayodhya Nath should proceed immediately to Allahabad to take charge as Assistant Excise Commissioner. Before proceeding, he should hand over his charge of office to the District Magistrate." "This was good news—the very good news for which I had pined for so long. But it was not an unmixed joy—there was also a feeling of pain, a repentance that brought tears to my eyes. How fragile is our faith in Babaji, who has nothing but love and mercy on us." Continuing his explanation, Ayodhya Nath recounted that Shri Gobind Ballabh Pant, the Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh in 1947, had told the Excise Commissioner that he was tired of hearing complaints of bribery and corruption against his department. "People come and complain that nothing gets done without paying some money to the officers in charge of that work. They talk of bribery and corruption being rampant. This must be stopped without any delay." Mentioning the names of two Assistant Commissioners accused by people, he said, "Take away the work under them and give them some honest officer." When the Commissioner said that there was no other Assistant Commissioner to whom the work could be given, Pantji said, "There may not be someone in that rank, but there must be an honest man in your department." The Excise Commissioner replied, "There is one, but he is junior and not selected for that post." Pantji burst out, "I do not want to hear whether he is junior or senior, selected or not. I want an honest officer for the post. Create a post for him, appoint him to it, and then hand over the charge of the work now being done by the others." This was a secret known only by the Chief Minister and the Commissioner, and Ayodhya Nath came to know of it much afterwards. He used to say that many persons admire him, saying his appointment was a tribute to his honesty, but he takes it as something different and very precious—vindication of God's mercy and the sanctity of his rule. "I had lost my faith in God, and my gracious guru recovered it for me."

I spent much time in the company of these two devotees, hearing them relate whatever was stored in their hearts. I saw their intoxication— God intoxication. Both were old and had been wise and experienced administrators. They learned in their jobs the skillful use of mind and intellect and the proper control of emotions and sentiments. But in talking of Babaji, all that experience was thrown overboard. I cherish their experiences and intoxications, and recalling them always brings a taste of it. I have been with many other devotees of Babaji who were likewise intoxicated. Some of them were so intoxicated that whenever they started to talk they would get highly agitated, and no systematic, coherent narration could come out of them. One had to be cautious and tap them often to get their story. There were others, no less ardent or enthusiastic in their love and devotion for Babaji, who could contol their emotional pitch. Two of them whom I cannot forget are Akbar Ali Khan and Thakur Jaidev Singh. Akbar Ali Khan was posted as Governor of Uttar Pradesh in the last years of Babaji's stay at Kainchi. He visited him three times when I was with him and after Baba's samadhi, he invited me to the Nainital government house. We were with him for some time hearing about Baba. The visit was short because of heavy rains. Akbar Ali Khan used to come to Kainchi to meet with Babaji. His was a busy life, mostly devoted to his official duties. His first visit was short and he talked of his misfortune in not being able to have Baba's darshan for so long. He apologized to Babaji and begged mercy for his lapses. A highly cultured and experienced person asking Baba for forgiveness was very striking, but no less striking was Baba's response to his prayer. With a smile he patted him and said, "It is all right. You have to work first and not run after Baba. The most important thing is to do one's duty. It is all right." His second visit was important to me—not because of the abuses hurled at me or the temper shown, but for a new revelation. In this period, the big politicians were not coming to Babaji, yet rarely had he been so particular about the cleanliness of his room and temple premises and the controlling of the movements of people around his room. He had the door to the Mothers' rooms locked to keep them inside. Then Babaji told us that the Governor would be coming with a big party. "His son has married a Swiss girl. Her parents, with other members of their family, are coming to meet me and visit your ashram. They are very clever people with keen observations, not like you. So there must not be any wrong impressions given to them because of your foolishness and negligence. You people are so thick-headed that in your

curiosity you will rush anywhere and ask all kinds of questions." Cracking a joke, he mentioned the names of two persons, saying, "Dressed in their full glory, they will wait at the gate to present themselves to the visitors." Babaji went on like this and then he asked me what arrangements were going to be made for their prasad. When I told him that there would be no difficulty, he said, "They will not accept your puris and potatoes. They have doctors who examine the food and they avoid food that might be infected. So your puris will be of no use." When I told him that there were dry fruits, raisins, and sugar candies, he said that would do but I might get more of them. These things I mention just to emphasise how very vigilant and careful he was about everything around him, big or small, known or unknown to us, going into the minutest of details about what was going to happen. We two were alone together when these talks were going on. After the instructions were over, I asked him whether tea was also to be provided. He had been reclining on his bed while talking, but now he sat up, and shouting loudly, abused me, "What a fool you are! You do all kinds of foolish things and want me also to do wrong things. How can you understand when you have no brains? I cannot imagine how you could teach students. If you talk like that anymore, I shall turn you away." Some persons had gathered outside the closed doors. I stood silently before him. When Babaji started talking again, gone were the abuses, yelling and shouting. We were blessed with pleasant words, coaxing and cajoling. He sat up and with a modulated voice said, "Dada, you do not understand. You have your brain, you must use it. They are coming to a saint, not to a politician or businessman. When the Governor visits the houses of politicians there are receptions, tea and drink, kalia and kabab and everything. But here they are coming to a saint. They are intelligent people and know what the saints have got and what they can get from them." This was very important for me. He seldom spoke about himself, certainly not about being a saint. On two other occasions he spoke like this, but they were more or less slips in some unguarded moments. This is the only time when he spoke, and spoke repeatedly in full consciousness, of his being a saint. I stood with my ears and eyes open, hearing and seeing him speak of what a saint is and what he does. The next day the party of eight arrived, the Governor with his guests followed by a number of officials and dignitaries. They all sat, squatting in Babaji's room on the carpet that was spread there. They talked for almost two hours, with Akbar Ali himself acting as the interpreter. I had to arrange for the prasad and other things. Dry fruits and sugar candy were brought to his room, and the regular prasad of puri and potatoes in baskets were also sent. When Babaji said they must return, Akbar Ali asked if they might be allowed to stay for some time more, as they were in no hurry to leave. Babaji did not oppose him, only looked outside to the sky and kept silent. The clouds were gathering and were already very thick. The talk continued, but Babaji suddenly said they must leave now. When they left, it began raining, and after a few minutes there came a heavy downpour which continued for some days. In the evening, we heard that a heavy landslide on the road near Bhowali had totally blocked the route. Several days passed. The rains had stopped, the road was cleared of debris, and traffic resumed as usual. It was on one of these days that Akbar Ali arrived for an unscheduled visit. His guests were gone and he was free. He had come to tell Babaji how he had saved his life along with the lives of his guests. Babaji had just gone in for his bath, but I said I would inform him. He tried to stop me so that Baba would not be disturbed in taking his bath and meal. He said, "I shall wait, and when Babaji comes out of his room we will talk." However, I had to inform Baba. Hearing about his visit, Babaji asked where he was at that time. I told him that he was sitting in the room talking to Kabir and a few others. Baba told me to return to him and he would come after his bath. We listened, spellbound, to what he was saying. Akbar Ali narrated, "We were all sitting in Babaji's room, listening and enjoying the peace and serenity which charged the whole room. My guests were enjoying themselves so much that they forgot to ask their questions or hear the replies. Sitting before Babaji, we had no awareness of time or thought of leaving, so when he asked us to go, we prayed that we might be allowed to stay a little longer, which was granted. But after some time, he repeated with some force that we must go, and we knew there would be no more extensions. I could not understand why he was so insistent to send us away. This was not in his nature so far as I had known him. When we left, it was drizzling, but little did we know what was awaiting us. We were caught in a heavy rain on the way, and when we reached the control barrier there was a very heavy landslide. A big stone came rolling down, followed by an avalanche of mud and stones which blocked the whole road totally. When the stone came rolling down, our car had just passed not even one minute before. Had we been late by just a few seconds, we would have been crushed into pulp. He knew all this. Just to save our lives, he had to send us back at the cost of being harsh." He was very excited as he continued, "People say pir and paigambar, but what is pir and paigambar? He is actually Khuda for me. He is Khuda, he is..." His tone calmed down after that. Babaji arrived, having given him some time to have his say and then cool down. Seeing Babaji before him, Akbar Ali expressed his gratitude again and again. He said, "Baba, we did not understand you, and while going, we were not courteous enough to express what we had received by sitting with you. You saved me and my relations. How can I convey what it all means to us?" He talked a little more and then Baba told me that he should go now and should be given prasad in a basket to be taken to his house. He left after all this was done. This was his last visit to Kainchi that I know of. Some days later, Babaji was sitting after his bath with Kishan, Siddhi Didi, and a couple of others. They were talking of Akbar Ali's visit. Someone said that the whole conversation had been caught by Kabir's cassette recorder. Babaji sent for the tape from Kabir and it was played for everyone to hear and enjoy. It had reached the point where Akbar Ali was saying excitedly, "He is actually Khuda for me," when Babaji suddenly said, "Stop. Destroy the tape." Everyone resisted to their utmost, but it had no effect on him. His order was to take the tape out, twist it, and then burn it. So it was burned. That was the end of the tape, and also the end of the words that came from the depth of the devotee's heart, "What is pir and paigambar? He is actually Khuda for me." We have heard one intoxicated devotee shouting, "He is actually Hanuman," and now we hear from another intoxicated one shouting, "He is actually Khuda." How can we doubt them? I go on questioning myself about it. I also hear other devotees say that they have the same

difficulty. For most of us, though, it doesn't make any difference that Babaji is not here any more. How could it? We are not among the precious few who can feel what a loss it truly is. And so it was, that Babaji's most precious gift, coming to us through his accredited spokesmen, was thrown away by us because we could not take it into our hearts.

We come to one more of these accredited ones, Thakur Jaidev Singh, who said, "He is actually Bhagwan—he is actually Bhagwan for me. He saved this body against many perils and sure death. It was his grace, by no stretch of imagination can I claim that I deserved it. The grace from high, from very high, flows without any thought of the deserving or undeserving who are to receive it. It is just the spontaneous kripa (grace) of the great divine." I had heard about Thakur Jaidev Singh. Babaji often spoke of him as a great devotee. He was a soldier—a real soldier—who obeyed his master without any question or hesitation. This reference was not actually to his army career, where he had acquitted himself very creditably, but to his devotion to Babaji. He obeyed his master's orders till the last days of his life. In July, 1972, Babaji was sitting before the row of bathrooms in the back of Kainchi ashram. A large number of devotees staying in the ashram, and those few from the outside who were allowed to come when the gates were closed, were sitting around. This was a regular routine when Babaji was at Kainchi. The evening sitting, as it used to be called, extended generally from five to eight in the evening. This was a very enjoyable meeting for the devotees. They would sit with him a long time, which was seldom possible otherwise. Babaji would be in a very relaxed mood. His talks or comments, reminiscences of days gone by or persons met, sallies or abuses, shouting and show of temper, the way some people behaved who came to talk to him or to collect prasad, often illustrated with acting and gestures, were very entertaining. Those staying in the ashrams would not like to miss these sittings, although they knew there may be some dig at them or laughter at their expense. One day when everybody was enjoying themselves, Babaji pointed to a person, helped by his son and grandsons, entering through the temple gate—a very tall and strong looking man with well-knit limbs and a thick bamboo staff in his hand. Babaji asked me to go help by catching hold of his hand and bringing the man to him. Reaching the man, I stretched out my hand to catch hold of his, but he said, "No more help is needed here." Pointing his hand to Babaji sitting with the devotees, he continued, "I have reached the person from whom all help comes." Moving a few steps ahead, he laid himself flat on the ground, spreading his hands and legs. He was helped to rise and taken to Baba. He stood there silently looking at Baba with all wonder and amazement in his eyes, as if to show that his journey was blessed and he had received what he was searching for. Babaji asked a few questions—how he was keeping his health, how long the journey took, and such things. His son, standing near him, replied. When they were allowed to sit, Babaji asked me to make arrangements for their stay. Two buckets and lotas, and all such things should be put in the big room with the four beds. After some time, when they reached their room and got settled, Jaidev Singh started talking about Baba, and between stopping many times to take a breath and various interruptions he said, "Babaji is actually Bhagwan for me. He picked me up from the crowds by his sheer grace, when he was not known to me at all. He saved me from all my perils—even when my death was certain. Whenever I was in difficulty, whether in the barracks or on the battlefield, I used to have his darshan. I had my last darshan two decades back when I retired from service. Since then I was looking for it again from my home in a small village in Rai-Bareilly district." While we were talking, Babaji shouted for me and I went to him. It was past nine. He was in his room alone and wanted to know about the arrangements that had been made for Jaidev Singh. When he inquired about their food, I told him that they took their food from the kitchen tonight but from the next day they would do their own cooking. He told me that they should be given any and all provisions from the ashram—utensils and anything they might need. When he inquired whether Jaidev Singh said anything about him or his coming here, I reported as I had heard it from him. Babaji listened, sitting silently, as if looking back and recalling in his mind the whole drama enacted over the past decades. Babaji said, "He is an honest and God-fearing person, very sincere and hard working. His devotion to duty and obedience to his superiors used to be spoken of highly by his officers. He is a true soldier and has been waiting for the darshan which I promised when he retired from service. For all these years he has been waiting for the moment, which has come now. He is not like you people. If you have to wait for something, you start talking that this Baba is nothing—no sadhu at all—he does not keep his word and all that. How different he is from all of you." When I was going out, Babaji called me, as if he suddenly remembered something. He told me that the pillow that had been given to the old man was very hard, and I should give him my own pillow, which was soft. I came out of his room brooding over what he said. Nothing escaped his attention, not even this. This may not mean much to most of us, but at that moment it was important to me. It was as if to teach us that in serving we have to keep our eyes open.

Jaidev Singh was in the ashram for several days. He would be with Babaji mostly in the afternoon when he was near the bathrooms, sitting with others. For the first few days he was given a seat in the corner, near Babaji's cot, but then he was moved for several days near the stairs of his room from where he could see Baba clearly but not hear him. After several days when Jaidev Singh was about to sit there as usual, Babaji stopped him and asked him to take a seat near him, which happened, as Jaidev Singh later said repeatedly, "because Babaji wanted to save my life." It was dusk. We were with Babaji before his cot when he told me that I should go to the dharmashala building and ask Ravidas for something. I had to go the stairs where Jaidev Singh had been previously seated. When I reached the stairs, I suddenly stopped. Others might not have been watching, but Babaji's eyes were pinpointed there. As soon as I stopped Babaji asked me, "Dada, what are you looking at? What is there?" Soniji was sent to see what it was all about. Seeing a moving object, he shouted, "It's a very poisonous snake!" He shouted again saying that it was a snake and that it had to be killed. "So be it," said Baba. Jaidev Singh felt certain that all this was enacted to save his life. When someone said that I myself was also saved from danger, I could not agree. Even though I did not know that there was danger before me, Babaji knew, and he would never expose me to danger. Jaidev Singh's story was not long or very crowded, but it was spread over a long period of time and over several places, and was very precious and meaningful to him. "I rose from a nondescript soldier to the rank of Subedar Major in my service. That meant a lot to my family and relations. They were all happy about it, but they could not know what was most precious to me—a seat at the feet of one who is actually Bhagwan." He talked like an intoxicated person while saying these things, but there were no tears. He had been a disciplined soldier and was disciplined in his devotion for his Bhagwan. But the unshed tears could not prevent those sitting with him from being moved. While he had been posted as a soldier in the early years of service at Fatehgarh, he had his first darshan of Babaji. Babaji used to come to his barracks sometimes, but Jaidev did not know him. Once many soldiers came to see him. Jaidev said, "I was also in the crowd. Looking at me, he took my name and asked me to come closer. He said, 'He is an honest person, a good man, and devoted to God.' Then, taking the name of Ram Singh, who was a Corporal, he said, 'Ram Singh, you give your post to him.' Ram Singh replied, 'How is that possible, Baba? He is a very junior one.' Babaji replied, 'That does not matter. He will get it.' I was surprised to hear that. An unknown person and more or less a non-entity in the service, being boosted before his colleagues and officers. But I was more surprised when it actually came about. I was promoted to the post of Corporal within a month. When Babaji visited, he would sometimes come to my room. Our chief, Colonel McKenna, was a very tough person and would not allow any sadhu or fakir to visit the barracks. There was a time when he would not even allow any soldier to visit the Hanuman temple outside the army compound, but a softening of his harsh attitude came about due to an encounter he had with an itinerant sadhu who came and stayed by the side of a well near the Hanuman temple. The municipal road passed by the temple, separating the military area from the civil area of town, and the soldiers openly or stealthily visited him. The best way to stop that was to drive the sadhu away from that area. Facing the sadhu one day, the Colonel ordered him to leave the place. The sadhu refused to do that. Others who were standing there said it was municipal land, not army land. Colonel McKenna's reply was to take up his whip and strike the sadhu for his audacity and disobedience to his order, which was a most disagreeable thing to an army chief. Seeing him beaten, many persons protested, but the sadhu was indifferent. After taking a few lashes, the sadhu just laughed and said, 'Your lashes are directed to my back, but they are actually falling on the back of your son, who is lying dead in your house in England.' The Colonel might not have fully believed a crazy mendicant, but in his heart as a father he was frightened, and he returned to his office." Jaidev Singh said this had happened long before his posting there, but the story was still ripe in the mouths of the soldiers. No one knew who that baba was, but some of Babaji's devotees believed that he was that sadhu because Col. McKenna toned down his harshness toward sadhus and had Babaji's darshan many times. Babaji one day told him that he would retire as a General. McKenna said that was unthinkable and he would never be a general. Babaji's reply was the usual one: "It is certain that you will be a General." On his promotion to

General, he became an ardent devotee. But to return to our story, when Babaji was coming to Jaidev Singh's room, a complaint was made to Colonel McKenna. The Colonel rebuked the person complaining against a sadhu and sent for Jaidev Singh, asking about the sadhu who visited him in his room. When Jaidev Singh took the name of Babaji, the Colonel sat silently for a minute and then said, "Henceforth when he comes, give him milk on my behalf." Babaji also visited the Colonel afterwards, and once he was seen sitting on the bed with the Colonel sitting below. The Colonel had become a different person in regard to his treatment of sadhus and religious persons. Babaji rewarded him for that. Jaidev Singh was posted at the front in several countries during his army career. While fighting in the Middle East there was always danger facing him. In these situations, he would often see Babaji moving around, giving him the strength and courage to discharge his duties as the true soldier he was. "He came at the times when I needed him most. Once the situation was very critical, bombs were coming from the enemy planes in every direction; most of the soldiers in our battalion were dead or left wounded. I had lost all hope of life and was counting myself with the dead. But a miracle happened! I saw Babaji assuring me of my safety, and I returned alive. People may believe or disbelieve it, but that does not make any difference to me. The more I faced the threats in my life and came out of them safely, the more I took them as due to his grace, and my faith in him as my Bhagwan went on growing. What Bhagwan does for his devotee is known to him only. Why should I bother to make others believe me?" At his retirement, Babaji told Jaidev Singh that he would have darshan again. He had been waiting for that moment with patience and expectation. The moment had now come and he was before his God. There was nothing more to ask for. He had everything. This came at a time when Babaji was sending for some of his old devotees, giving them the last darshan in his body. After Babaji left Kainchi, there was nothing to keep him and Jaidev Singh returned to his village. He had stayed at home patiently waiting for the promised darshan, which he now had to his full satisfaction. When he left, he took with him Babaji's promise of darshan again. We may speculate about how and when it was to come about, but Jaidev Singh left with full confidence and is certainly waiting patiently for his darshan. Strange are the ways of devotees. Their exuberant love, devotion to their masters, their unusual behavior in expressing their master's gifts to them, and the raising of their gracious master to the status of a divine being or God, are all no doubt repugnant to our common sense or mind. But true devotees are not interested in what we think of them and are not affected by our comments. They enjoy the ecstasy of their devotion to the one they call Khuda or Bhagwan and the bliss that flows from there.

Babaji

Brij Mohan Some old devotees of Babaji, who had known him in the early days, used to tell of his love of movement, the way he changed his residence from one part of the country to another, staying in one place for a while and then moving again. They would mention the names of several places where he is said to have spent parts of his early life, and also the names by which he had been known. Their regret was that they did not know all the places where he stayed and all the names given to him. They were emphatic that no one except Babaji himself knew them, and he would not reveal anything. There is nothing unusual or unnatural in such movement by saints. Saints, or realised souls, have no attachment for any place or person. For them, all are the same. Saints who are not living the lives of householders do not have the problem of moving family members, transporting household effects, being tied to assets or property, or setting up a new household. There were no such problems holding Babaji; he was free to move. But what was the purpose or the motive behind his movements? We can only speculate about it. There is a class of people in society who run from place to place using assumed names to escape the clutches of the law. They are lawbreakers—outlaws. But no one who had ever had any glimpse of him could imagine that Babaji was moving and changing names to escape the dragnet of the law! The saints are guardians of the Creator's law and live as faithful law-abiding citizens, binding themselves with all the laws meant for people living in society. This is necessary for peace and harmony, for the paths of our sadhana here and for the ultimate goal of life—union with the divine. The saints, working for our upliftment, teach us obedience to the laws of the family and take care to separate the spurious from the real, the substance from the shell, so that the full benefit of obedience to the rules of the household and society can be achieved. We have to seek for clues elsewhere. It was not for evading that Babaji moved about, but for obeying in full spirit the self-imposed law which was working on him, with no allowance for any lapse in its fulfillment. One of the reasons that Babaji was a fugitive was to escape from the people gathering around him. If he stayed at one place for a long time, he would attract people with all their cares and offerings, and they would try to bind him by creating a new family around him. All that was left was to stealthily run away without leaving any trace of the route he had taken. He hinted at something like this at Kainchi in May 1972. We had just arrived from Allahabad. He was sitting before the bathrooms surrounded by devotees. After the preliminaries about our journey and the distribution of prasad, he looked me in the face and said, "Dada, next winter I shall not come to Allahabad anymore." My reply was, "So do not come. What is the difficulty in that?" Some people were not happy with my reply, and when Babaji did not come the next winter, they started saying that I had prevented his visit. On hearing my reply, Babaji kept silent for a while and then said, "Dada, take leave for six months, so that we can move about visiting places. I love movement and do not like to sit at one place." After some time, while talking to others, he got up and caught hold of my hand. Before moving, he said in the presence of all, "Do not be sad. I have been coming there regularly for the last fifteen years and this is not

good for a saint. Meeting too often creates an attachment, and attachment is not good for saints." The way the whole thing was done was unique, and gives an insight into his way of dealing with us which we seldom noticed. That he would not come next winter was not given as an announcement from the 'higher' one, but was extracted from me as if with my full consent, with his patting and cajoling me. In our hurry, or in our desire to talk to or hear him, we missed this delicate and human aspect, a part of him which was all but unknown to us. His reference to attachment was our attachment for him—not his attachment for any one of us. He had no attachment for anyone or anything, so there was no need of saving himself. It was only to save us from our attachment to him that he stopped coming to Allahabad. Who knows but that this was not a hint of the coming event, when he snapped the root from which all our attachment sprang. He wanted us to cut our attachment to his body, and the belief that his body was there for us. The container, however precious or attractive, is not the substance we aim to acquire. We are told to set aside the container by taking hold of the contents. When we could not separate them, or failed to let go of the shell, he snatched it away himself and threw it off. The real Babaji is always with us and cannot be lost. Only the imitation one which stood before us creating illusions is gone. Children play with sugar dolls, choosing them by form and size—the outward look. But wise ones smile at the ignorance of innocent children who are taken by the look without knowing what lies within. The dolls are merely the outer form of the real thing—the concentrated and congealed sweetness. When the doll the child is playing with breaks, he cries. All is lost. A dear one comes, picks up a chip of the broken doll and puts it in the mouth of the crying child. He gets the taste—the sweetness—that is the real thing the doll has. He forgets the unbroken doll he had played with and begins to collect the sweetness. We think ourselves to be wise, not realising that we are also behaving like the ignorant children, tied to the form and look of the things we value. When someone out of sheer mercy puts a chip of the broken thing in our mouth, we get the taste of the real thing. Enjoying the taste, we forget all that we have lost or left behind. The real wisdom dawns only then. The saint, coming as benefactor or guru, teaches us what is real and what is superficial in his bid to keep us from shedding tears over broken dolls. This is the grace of the near and dear one in our lives. In September 1973, when Babaji announced his decision to leave Kainchi for Agra, no one could believe it. It was so sudden. They did their utmost to persuade him to postpone the departure by a day or two, but he was adamant. He had a date which he himself had fixed; he had to be present at Agra the next day. He allowed only one young devotee to accompany him. This was unusual for the older devotees, who considered themselves so very near to him that they couldn't believe he could leave without one of them with him. Little did we know that there was no attachment for him, no near and dear one holding him back. He played his game so skillfully that most of us felt we were his near and dear ones, and he could not do without us. Babaji's excessive zeal to keep to his date and brush aside all resistance may help us to understand what made him a 'fugitive' or a 'tramp' in the first place. His way of helping others in distress was by adhering to his own law; it was his most sacred duty to be obedient to it. He had dates with many persons in many places which he had to honor. This might appear as a make-believe explanation, but there does not seem to be a more satisfactory one. Sometimes the date was at some solitary place, alone with someone. Others may have been in places among unknown persons, and yet others before witnesses. I shall offer some stories to illustrate his way of helping others in distress by adhering to his own law of keeping his dates. Once when we were in Bhumiadhar, Sharma, a taxi driver and devotee of Baba, came one morning for darshan. Babaji came out and sat in his car, asking me also to get in. While driving, Sharma stopped the car at several places, thinking Babaji would get down for his morning toilet, as he had been doing for the past few days. However, on this day, Sharma was asked to proceed, and until the last moment did not know Babaji's destination. After some driving, he was asked to stop at the side of the road under a tree. Pointing at a building covered by trees, Babaji told me I must inform the person there of his arrival. It was the quarters of the doctor in charge of the nearby Gethia Sanatorium. He was busy brushing his teeth, but hearing of Babaji's visit, he came running. Babaji accompanied him to his quarters, which was some distance from the road, and told him he wanted to stay there to rest and would not meet with anyone, so the doctor should not inform anyone of the visit or allow anybody to come. I was asked to send the driver back after telling him not to talk to anyone of Babaji's visit here. When I returned after sending Sharma away, Babaji told me that people would now know and start coming here. When I told him that Sharma promised me that he would not talk to anyone, Babaji shouted at me, "What do you know of his promise? He will go to a tea shop and while taking tea he will lose no time in telling them that Babaji is in the doctor's house, and how he had brought him there driving in his car. He will say this is a secret which he is telling only them, and they must not talk to anyone. Then reaching Bhumiadhar he will tell others of his secret and he would do this because of their kindness to him. I stopped them from coming with us, but now they will come." When I reminded him of Sharma's promise, he retorted, "It means nothing to him. He'll forget it at the first opportunity to talk." All this was being enacted with full gestures and mimicking the tones of Sharma. The young doctor present there with his wife and sister-in-law enjoyed it in full. When this was over, they came out of the room and asked me what prasad they should prepare for Baba. They had milk and some fruits in the house, and the market being far off, they could not get any sweets at this time. When assured that milk and fruits were enough, they felt relieved. Babaji was new to them—a very distinguished guest honoring them by visiting unsought—and they were at a loss to know how to entertain him. A glass of milk for Babaji was given to me, and they brought some fruits on a plate. Babaji took the whole glass of milk, gave them each a fruit with his own hand, and asked them to leave the plate with him. The way he talked and gave his attention and prasad to everyone, it did not take much time to release them from worries and tensions the unexpected visit had created in their minds. Now that they knew his needs, they were able to return to their work with all enthusiasm. After they left, Babaji told me that they were very good people, but did not know what they should do for his meal and other things for him, and that I should advise them about it.

Then the doctor said that a couple of nurses of the Sanatorium had seen Babaji come in and were waiting for his darshan. Babaji told him to bring them and he gave them prasad of the fruits and sent them away. This was just the beginning. Soon other nurses and staff members started coming. They were given a couple of puris and some potatoes as prasad. Babaji told me that soon people all around would know of his stay and come crowding and it would be impossible for the doctor to give prasad to all. "He has got a jeep in the hospital—ask him to send it to Kainchi." He told me to advise the driver that he should tell them that prasad—puri and potatoes—should be sent in plenty, along with some persons in his jeep. They should not delay. People were coming in small numbers and getting their prasad. I also had my share at breakfast. Then it started raining, perhaps to save the family from embarrassment by checking the flow of visitors. After a few hours the rain stopped and the sun began to shine and people resumed their visiting. By the middle of the day many had gathered and more were coming, but the timing was perfect: the jeep with baskets of puris and buckets of potatoes arrived. There was no difficulty in giving prasad to everyone. In a short while, with so many persons returning with their prasad, it looked like a bhandara going on. Someone came and reported to me that two mothers had come from Kainchi and were waiting under the trees, drenched by the rain. I brought them to the doctor's sister-in-law, gave them clothes to change into, and made them sit there with them. They had heard a little late that Babaji was here, and were caught in the rain when they started to come. There were no shelters or conveyances available to them, so they got drenched. When I told Baba about it, which of course he had already known, he shouted at me, saying, "It was a mistake for you to bring them here. When I told them they should not come, they have come on their own. They should go back like that." People were left wondering why he was annoyed when the right thing was done in giving shelter. The bhandara continued until afternoon. I was busy meeting people, seeing to everyone getting prasad, talking to some, and moving from one place to another. I noticed a very tall, healthy-looking person moving behind me, as if trying to talk to me but not getting his chance. When I stopped, he greeted me and asked wherefrom I had come. Hearing that I was from Allahabad, he said, "You are Dada! I have heard of you," and he touched my feet! As he was talking, Babaji shouted for me, so I ran away. We did not get a chance to talk again. It was getting late and we were to return. The ashram jeep which had come with the additional supplies of prasad was standing by the road. The tall man sought Baba's permission to come with him, but was told to go to Kainchi and stay the night there. We returned to Bhumiadhar, and Babaji sat before the temple giving darshan to all. The tall man I had met at Getia, Brij Mohan, as I came to know his name afterwards, was coming on foot. When I reached the temple, Babaji told him to go straight to Kainchi and spend the night there, so he continued on his way. Late that evening, we returned to Kainchi. Brij Mohan had already arrived and was sitting before the temple waiting for Babaji's darshan. Babaji told a boy standing there to give a room to Brij Mohan and when food was ready, to feed him. After his food, Brij Mohan tried to acquaint me with how Babaji had helped him in the most critical period of his life. He had been a poor village boy, more or less an orphan in one of the worst situations of his life when, "An unknown person came as a messiah and rescued me from my utter distress and then vanished. That was more than three decades ago, and I never knew who the person was. I am a rich man now with a prosperous business and with large property in land and buildings, giving me plenty of rent. I live with my family. They are all the gifts of that unknown person, whom I recognized only a half-dozen years ago as our Baba, the great saint known to us as Neem Karoli Baba." While he was narrating how he had his first darshan at Dehradun station, Babaji shouted for me and I had to run. Brij Mohan waited for me for a long time, but could not wait for any longer, as he told me afterwards. The next morning, after taking prasad, he had to leave. I expressed regret that I could not hear the whole story. I smelled something uncanny about this affair, something like my encounter with the unknown visitor at Dakshineshwar who forced me to take mantra from him. Both of us had been in our earlier years of life, in some critical situation, or critical period of life. In both cases, the course of life was laid down on sound foundations. Brij Mohan displays his assets in the form of land, property, money and assets in the bank. I cannot boast of having such things, but I am not stranded. Babaji has admitted me as a member of his large family. We share and enjoy with each other the assets and properties of the family of which we are members. Everything we need, with all the security and anything more one could want. These were the idle thoughts and speculations that rushed to my mind at the time Brij Mohan left with his story untold. When I came to Babaji's room, he asked me what Brij Mohan had talked about, and what I thought of him. I told him the little he had told me and said, "He was keen to talk and I was equally keen to hear him, but you cut it short." He said, "What had I to do with it? People tell all kinds of stories, making much use of their imaginations. You become interested in them, as if there is nothing else for you to do." I was sorry for missing Brij Mohan's story. Babaji gave me his warning but would not deprive me of listening to his devotees when I was keen to hear them. I can never forget that my knowledge, whatever that may be, had come from just such contact and the stories I heard from his old devotees. I returned to Allahabad in August when the university reopened. A few days after my return, when I came back from the university, my mother had told me, "Brij Mohan has come from Shri Nagar to meet you. He has gone out after his meal and will return soon." He returned when we were taking our tea and stayed for a couple of days. This way his first visit, but he came again several times afterwards. Brij Mohan had received help from an unknown person under unusual circumstances when he was desperate and utterly helpless. He narrated, "This could only have been some divine dispensation. This realisation came much afterwards. I was young and much too obsessed with my own distress when this person came to my help. There was no thought of knowing or inquiring who the person was and why the help had been given to me. All my thoughts were focused on my good luck, the fortune that I had acquired, and in measuring and testing it. When an unknown hand rescues a drowning person from a flooded river, the only thought that comes to mind is that he is saved—he is alive." By the time he thought about it, the man with the helping hand was gone. Brij Mohan did his utmost to make me realise the enormity of the help he had received, and how he got lost in his own thoughts, taking no notice of the man who helped him. He was left guessing until he found his savior in 1960.

Brij Mohan was born in a village in Gharwal in a family of modest means. As a young boy he came to Mussorie for his education and was living with a relative. One day he went to Dehradun with his school team for a match with the boys of a local school. They came on bicycles, but before reaching the field his cycle broke. He felt very helpless, and as he had borrowed the cycle from a friend, he told the teacher that someone else should play in his place because he had to get the cycle repaired. "At a cycle repair shop the man said that a part was broken and had to be replaced, and the charges would come to one rupee eight annas. It came as a thunderbolt to me. I had only a four anna bit in my pocket and the friends with me were in no better position. The place was new to me, and I knew no one nearby whose help I could solicit. The cycle had to be repaired, and I must earn the money. But how was I to do that? I remembered what our teacher used to tell us about students in the western countries. Many students worked, earned pocket money, and even paid part of their education expenses. They were not as dependent on their relations as we were. The various kinds of jobs mentioned by the teacher that the boys used to do there were not open to me—newspaper vendor, hotel boy, or polishing shoes—but something had to be done quickly. "Ultimately I decided to go to the railway station and work as a porter. For a Brahmin boy, this was very repugnant. I told the man at the cycle shop to repair the cycle and accept my woolen pullover, which was much more costly than the money I was to pay him, as earnest money. He was a kind man; seeing my helplessness, he agreed to do that. "While going to the station, which was not very far away, thoughts started cropping up in my mind. When would the trains arrive? What kinds of passengers would be on it. Who would engage porters? How heavy would their luggage be? These thoughts filled my mind and I took no notice of the places I passed through or the persons living nearby. Reaching the station, I entered the crowded platform. The main train was coming, so people were getting busy. I stood on the platform in front of the gate waiting for the train to arrive so I could run to my task. "In a few minutes, the train stopped and the first class bogey stood before me, as I learned from the porters who were rushing toward it. I became nervous, fearing that I would not get a chance with so many persons who were clever in their job. I stood silent, more or less giving up all hope of finding anyone to engage my service. Several minutes passed, the crowd in the front of the bogey had thinned down, and seeing no more passengers alight from it, the porters moved away. I was standing there, not able to decide what to do, when someone shouted at me, as if to wake me up, "Are you a porter? Come into the train." With great surprise and renewed hope, I looked for the person who had called me. He was tall and bulky, and spotlessly dressed in a black suit tailored by expert hands. A colorful tie, black shining shoes, a felt hat, and the way he talked to me, assured me that he must be very noble and generous and would help me out." We two were sitting in the study when he was narrating his story. He was getting emotionally worked up while describing the appearance of his benefactor. Seeing me sitting silently, he felt discouraged, fearing I was indifferent to his talk. I assured him that I wanted him to narrate faithfully the details of his meeting with the person. My silence was due to the scenes that were passing through my mind's screen of the events of 1935 at the Dakshineshwar temple, but I became all attention to his story. "When I got to where the man was standing, he pointed to a small bedding roll and an attache, and asked me to carry them for him. Both were light. I had carried heavier loads on my back in the hills. At the gate he gave his ticket and was allowed to go out, but I was stopped there. The ticket collector hurled a question at me, 'You are not a coolie. With whose luggage are you running away?' I had no reply and felt very nervous. The gentleman standing outside only looked at the man asking the question, and I was immediately allowed to go. While walking behind him, I looked neither right nor left. My whole mind was occupied in figuring out how much I was going to get, and whether that would be enough for me to pay for the repair of the cycle. I had no idea how much a porter earned for a trip. "After some time, we came before a small bungalow among tall pine trees and stopped. He told me to put down my load on the porch and go, saying that I should meet him the next morning for my fare. This was a big shock. I was almost in tears in my disappointment, as I had thought that my troubles were over. All my agonies returned. I felt that he was treating me like this because I was such a small boy, but there was no way of quarreling with such a big man. I was standing there unable to decide what to do when suddenly he turned to me and said that he had forgotten to pay me. With this, he took a new five-rupee note and handed it over to me. I could not believe that the whole of it was for me. Seeing me hesitating, he said the fiver was for me, and I was not to return anything from it. I was expecting a nickel when the gold coin came. Now I had so much—a windfall! I returned without looking to my right or my left, as before, but now I was only thinking how much was I to spend, and on what, and how much to save. "These were the questions turning over in my mind. I forgot to look back—to look at my benefactor and the house and the locality I left behind. I rushed to the repair shop and took my cycle and the pullover after paying the charges. There was time enough for returning home so I went to a sweet shop and ate sweets to my full satisfaction, as if it was a celebration of my liberation. I spent a little more purchasing something for the children at home. After all my expenditures, I had two rupees three annas left in my pocket. "While traveling back home, my friends were busy narrating all the details of how they had scored a victory over their rivals on the field. There was jubilation all around, but for me it was of a different type. My mind was occupied recalling my experience, and I was eager to tell my story, which was so fresh in my mind. When that opportunity did not come, there was no jubilation for me. At home, I was asked to take my food, but I felt both my stomach and mind were full and I needed nothing." "Life returned to normal—the routine of study and going to school, attending to household duties, games and recreations; these were enough to keep me engaged. I had tried in the beginning to share my adventure with others, but very few persons took it in the light as I had seen it—as the working of some divine spirit. All persons, young and old, emphasised that the help I had received might have been unusual for me, but it was not extraordinary. There were always some generous and large-hearted people around and sometimes help came unsought from them; charity and mercy were not extinct from life. There were many examples of such charities which they could quote. "All my efforts to convince them were futile, and I was advised to be sensible. They said that the man must have been a very rich and highplaced person and the five rupees that I received were just like a copper which he could easily part with. They assured me that it was foolish on my part to associate the hands of a sadhu or an unknown spirit with my luck.

"The matter ended there for me, but I could not brush it away fully from my mind, or bury it deep in some obscure corner of my heart. Whenever I was free to be in a relaxed or happy mood, the old picture came before me of the outstretched hand passing a new five rupee note to me. The poignancy of the experience was increased because at that time in my part of the country there was a story in the mouths of all about a drowning man being saved by an unknown divine hand. My distress was in not being allowed to connect the hand giving me protection to any divine hand. Had I been able to do that, my problems about the mystery of the hand would have been solved, and in my mind I would have enjoyed the good luck that had come to me as divine grace. "However much we may denounce the common people's beliefs—benevolent and hostile—as superstition and ignorance, they have an advantage over us. We, the educated ones, boast of our disbelief, and do not take anything for granted without testing and scanning things fully. Where is the place for superstition and false beliefs in our searching minds? I do not envy their minds, but I do sometimes envy the uneducated who face the problems in life not with hair-splitting logic, but with simple faith in the divine hand and trust in God. They face all the challenges of life, and struggle to rise above them, believing fully that the results of their actions are not in their hands. If they come out victorious, they thank the divine for his grace; when something goes amiss and sufferings come to them, they take it to be punishment for some lapses on their part or sins committed in some unknown time. The sufferings are also to be taken as grace, and God is to be thanked for helping them bring about retribution and purification. I envy these people, and regret that I cannot be fully like them—trusting in some divine power to take care of me even in moments of utter depression." Brij Mohan narrated the story of how the divine power worked to save the drowning man. A roving sadhu came to Badrinath from his parikrama (circumambulation) of the sacred places and temples in the mountains. He stayed for a few days by a stream not far from the Badrinath temple. Seeing him often sitting in the open before his dhuni (sacred fire), some devotees began coming to him. One afternoon, a village woman came with some fruits. The sadhu asked about her teenage boy, who had not come with her that day. She said he had gone to town to purchase provisions for his tiny shop near the temple. People were talking to the sadhu and asking him various questions. While replying to them, he suddenly stopped and sat stiff. Sitting there he spread out his hand and started murmuring something, which they could not hear. A long time passed. Slowly he relaxed his limbs and withdrew the hand that was outstretched. As if much relieved, he told the woman, addressing her as mother, how her son had caused him serious trouble. While returning with his purchases loaded on the back of a donkey, he suddenly fell into the river Alakananda flowing nearby. He was caught in the current and cried for help. "I heard his cry and could not sit idle." The mother was crying bitterly about the passing away of her only son. She was sure that one caught in that current would die either by drowning or by his head being smashed on the rocks under that water. The Swamiji could not convince her that her son was alive and safe, and was being taken care of by a villager on the river bank. He urged her to stop crying and go to the village near Joshi Math. When she reached the river bank, some persons took her to the house where her son was resting and warming up drinking hot milk. The villagers narrated how her son had been snatched from the jaws of death. The boy exclaimed how he had been saved. "Just when I had given up all hope of being alive, I heard a voice shouting at me, 'My boy, do not get frightened. Do not get disheartened. You will reach the shore safely.' I looked toward the place wherefrom the voice was coming, and saw Swamiji standing in the water, his outstretched hand trying to catch hold of me. Afterwards I lost consciousness. "When I was conscious again, I was lying on the river bank surrounded by people. I searched with my eyes for the owner of the outstretched hand, but there was no trace of him. Hearing my query, the people said that when they saw me being washed away, they stood there helpless. Suddenly, someone pushed through the crowd and jumped into the river. Stretching out his hand, he began assuring me that I was going to be saved. They said that when I was brought onto the shore, they were all busy looking at me. But when they looked around for the other person, he was nowhere to be seen. They easily accepted the great miracle wrought before their eyes as divine grace coming to a deserving and virtuous person." Brij Mohan's rambling and wailing narration suddenly stopped as if he remembered something. "My doubts and questions came to an end when I met the owner of the hand which had helped me at Dehradun railway station. Before you can understand how it came about, I must tell you what happened in my life between the period when I was studying at Mussorie and when I met him in 1960. My life was full of hard work and struggle, but many persons who knew me called it a successful life. "I had completed my education and started my career as a doctor at Shri Nagar in Tehri. I was not a doctor with a degree from a medical college, but only with a certificate from a medical school. Along with my practice of medicine, I also started a business. The business was doing well, earning me money and helping me to build up property. I worked hard, but it was all selfish work, earning and accumulating without any thought of doing service for the benefit of others. I used to hear people speak of nishkam karma (selfless action), but that was not for me. My motto was work and earn. The idea of helping others in distress did not appeal to me. "The memory of myself as the porter getting five rupees at Dehradun had faded from my mind. I was lost in work and the feeling that I had only to look ahead and move. Along with that, there was the religious life that was part of every Hindu household—pujas, rituals and celebrations of festivals which we observed regularly. Uttarakhand, a land of temples and sacred places, has many sadhus living over the whole area. After many years, when the family members began helping in my business, I started visiting the temples in Kedarnath, Badrinath, and other places. I became acquainted with many of the sadhus, sometimes helping them with money, or giving them blankets, utensils, and such things. "Without any conscious effort on my part, I became more interested in such things and was drawn toward the sadhus. Shri Nagar is an important place on the route to Badrinath and Kedarnath. Many sadhus passed through every year. I had met many of them, heard their advice and discourses, and had sometimes helped them with provisions. It was certainly not with the aim of earning merit that I visited the sadhus, or made the gifts of charity. I did not attach any special importance to it. But now, looking back, I see that there was a purpose working behind it all which was unknown to me: to prepare me for the darshan that was to be granted to me.

"I am saying these things with much hesitation, and you may consider them foolish, but I cannot help telling them to you. I went to Kainchi for the purpose of seeing Babaji, whom I had come to know unexpectedly, and also to meet some of his disciples who might help me to get over the conflicts and confusion disturbing my mind. I started for Kainchi, but stopped at Gethia. Seeing the crowd and hearing that Babaji was there, I joined them. I tried to talk to you several times, at Gethis, Bhumiadhar, and Kainchi. Failing that, I had to come here. I had heard of you from several of his devotees, and when I sought their help in my difficulties, they advised me to go to Babaji and talk to him, and that you could help me to do that." Hearing him talk like that I said, "It was good of you to come, but as I see it, Babaji sent you in fulfillment of my request. The party you met at Shri Nagar with Babaji came here after that and talked much about you, so I was actually keen myself to see and talk to you. I tried to talk to you at Gethia and Kainchi, but was not allowed to do so. Perhaps the time and the place were not suitable either for helping you to get over the confusion in your mind, or for helping me to know more about his methods and fields of operation. I need not tell you that the mutual help that we are talking about has been possible only because he has brought us together." He said that he had been helpless, as everyone is some time or other, and had been seeking help from others. "But help came only when I was at the nadir of my helplessness, and there was no chance of any help coming from anywhere else. I was found worthy and it came. He came in the garb of a meticulously dressed and generous socialite because I was thinking in my mind that the help could come only from such a one. The thought of a sadhu or saint was nowhere in my mind. I wanted charity and it came in that form. "In Shri Nagar in 1960, many sadhus came one after another, returning back from their darshan. This happened as in other years, but this year was a very important year for me as it was in this year I had Babaji's darshan. One day some friend told me that a baba had come with a party on their return from Badrinath. I asked him about the baba, but he could not say anything about him except that he had heard that he was a great saint. Previously I might not have been interested in visiting an unknown baba, but this time I was. When I reached the house, I found a party of four or five sitting before a man in a blanket on the outer verandah. They were all busy talking. Someone, including the one in a blanket, cast a passing glance at me, but no one talked to me or inquired about the purpose of my visit, nor did they ask me to sit down. I waited for some time and then left without finding out anything about the baba. "In other times, I would not have thought of visiting him again, but the next day I felt an urge to try. When I reached there he was surrounded by more people than the day before. The man in the blanket took no notice of me, although he had seen me enter the room and take my seat. I sat there waiting for a chance to talk with him, but was sent away after a few minutes. It was again a disappointment for me. "The next day I went again with some hope for luck. I stood near the door of the room, where he was sitting with others. Someone asked me to take my seat. I thought that was good—at least somebody had taken notice of me. I was not interested in his talk with the others—all I wanted was for him to notice and talk to me. Finally he looked at me and asked, as if casually, 'When were you at Dehradun?' I was taken by surprise at the question. I could not recall what he was referring to. I replied that I was never in Dehradun. He looked straight in my eyes and said, 'What, you were not there? How can you say so? You were waiting at the station platform as a porter to be engaged by some passenger to carry his luggage.' "I recalled the whole scene passing before my eyes in quick succession. I sat silently without a word in my mouth. He did not wait for my reply but went on talking, 'You had become totally disheartened when nobody engaged you.' Everyone started looking at me, anxious to hear what I had to say, but no reply came from me. As if to satisfy their curiosity, and also to convince me that he knew all the details of the incident, he went on with his narrative: 'When you had given up all hope, someone asked you to pick up his bag and bedding. Seeing the man, the perfect aristocrat, you thought that he was very rich and would pay well—you would get one rupee eight annas to pay to the cycle shop. But after reaching his house, when he asked you to come the next morning for the money, you began abusing him in your mind; he was not a generous man, but wicked, and he was not paying his due because you were a young boy.' "I do not know the reaction of the others sitting there, as I was sitting fully mesmerised. Everything he said was true in all its details, but how did he know? As if to give me some time to understand that nothing was hidden from him, he waited for a little while and then resumed. 'When he said he would pay you right at that time and gave a five rupee note, what did you think about it? You were thinking the whole of it could not be for you, and you would have to return something. When he told you that you should take it in full, you could not believe it. You thought he was very kind—a very great man. Am I wrong? Getting that money, you were happy. How many rasgollas did you eat? Ten? You saved some money also. How much? Two rupees?' "He stopped suddenly. Enough had been said to show me that what I thought was a closely guarded secret known only to me was fully known to him. Then he said it was late and I must go. While I was getting up to go, he asked somebody to give me prasad and also a glass of water, which I needed. I returned like a drunk man, not talking to anyone or taking interest in anything. My mind had ceased functioning. That I could reach my house at all was simply because I had walked the road for many years. Reaching home I could not talk for some time or reply to questions put to me. The question uppermost in my mind was who was this baba, and how could he know all those things about me which were true in every minor detail? I was left guessing." Brij Mohan was narrating, and I did not discourage him. It was necessary for him to talk—a release from his tension—but it was also very valuable to me. I had seen Babaji for several years at close quarters and shared many secrets with his close devotees. We had built up our ideas about his methods of working and helping people in distress. But what Brij Mohan was saying did not fit in with the pattern we had made of his work. It was for this reason—to find the method unknown to us—that I sat silently, listening to him. "I was agitated and wanted to know more about that person who had all this secret information about me. How did he get it? Who was he? Was he the same person who met me at the station? But that was not possible, because they were poles apart. Sitting in my room, I started comparing the two pictures in my mind. The man at the station was like a perfect Englishman of class and culture, covered from head to toe. The other picture formed after three days of visits, and sitting before the person for hours, was no more helpful for my study. This man was squatting on the ground with a blue blanket covering the whole of his body, including the feet. His head was not covered, and he would sometimes draw his hands out from his blanket to indicate something or make some gestures. You could see his face with a small beard and a few teeth and his head with a few tufts of hair. The body was covered with the blanket in such a way that you could not peep through it or

see the contours of his body nor what his hands were busy with under the blanket. My pictures were useless in my search to know what was hidden behind the blanket. I had the shells, but not the pearls I was searching for. "When all my efforts failed, I decided to seek help from him first, and then from the persons with him. The next morning when I reached the place, he was not there. Some of those whom I had met the day before were sitting outside, and they told me he had gone out a few minutes back, and it was not known when he would return. When I said that I would like to wait for him, no one objected. It was an opportunity for all of us. They wanted to hear my story and I wanted all the details about the baba whom they were accompanying. "They heard my story in silence. When it came their turn to talk, they helped me a great deal in satisfying my curiosity. Their baba was known by several names in several places, but to them he was known as Neem Karoli Baba, a great saint associated with many miracles. That they were with him was all due to his kripa (grace), which was always coming to his devotees. When I asked them about the person at the railway station in his English dress, they all said they were sure that he was Babaji himself. They said, 'Babaji did not say anything about it, nor would he talk to you, but know that it was all his doing. You must not worry about it anymore. You are fortunate. You had his grace long back, and now he has given you darshan.' They felt happy at my good luck, and told me about some of their own association with Babaji. "While we were talking, he returned, and taking notice of me, inquired why I had come again. He said that he was leaving after a short time, and he asked me to return home. When I told him that I was worried and he should allow me to go with him, he said, 'What is there to be worried about? Where would you go with me? Do I have a home? Where could I take you? Go now and meet some other time. Sab thik ho jayega.' "There was no more reason for me to stay there. When I got up to go, he asked somebody to give me some prasad. I bowed at his feet and touched them with my hands, putting the dust on my head. I can see the feet now. I left after taking the prasad in my hands. "Several years passed, during which time I met some of his devotees, I enjoyed talking to them and hearing their stories. They advised me to go to Kainchi where an ashram had been built by Babaji, and where his devotees go for darshan. They also told me your name, saying that you might be able to help me in my queries. I met you at Gethia and Kainchi and tried several times to talk to you. Failing that, I have come here. I wanted to talk with you so I could pacify my disturbed mind. "I believe in everything that his devotees told me at Shri Nagar, and what I have heard about Babaji from many others whom I met afterwards. I have no doubt in my mind that the man at the railway station was Babaji himself, appearing in a different garb because I was praying for a high-class rich person to help me, and not for any mahatma. The Shastra says, 'You see Him in the same way in which you offer your prayers.' My question is: what did I do to deserve his grace? I was ignorant, and from sheer mercy he delivered me, simply because I was helpless. But it was different when he gave me darshan at Shri Nagar—I was not crying desperately for help. That whole period of my life was spent expanding my business with little time or thought of God. The little charity or the few pilgrimages that I had could not have counted for much in getting his darshan and grace. These are my questions, and I request you to enlighten me on them." I told him that it was not possible for me to enlighten him on his questions. Only Babaji could do that. He sat in silence. All I could do was to emphasise more and more that the baba whom he met in 1960 was the same one he met in the early '30s. The dress was different, but the person within was the same. I said, "You are a medical man. There are various kinds of medicines which are packaged differently, but you know that their substance is the same. I do not ask any questions or seek for any solutions, believing they are not important. Babaji himself will give me any answers I need to know." He was reconciled at that time after my advice. After spending four days in intensive talks, he left for home. He visited us twice after that but there were no fresh questions and nothing new to report

Babaji

Bhagwan Singh and Haridas Baba Bhagwan Singh, known as Bhabania, was born in an obscure village of the Kumoan. Now middle-aged, he was well known to those who visited Babaji's temples at Lucknow, Vrindaban and other places. The visitors who came to the Hanuman temple in Lucknow knew him as the most important person there—the priest who did his puja, presented offerings to Hanumanji, and distributed prasad to everyone coming to the temple. The rise of this illiterate boy—a 'non-entity' as he called himself—to the highest post in a celebrated temple happened before our eyes. Many persons were jealous of this boy who, they felt, had no claim to the post, either by his merit, by family relationship, or by any service done to Babaji. This caused a lot of heart-burning among some persons associated with Babaji's ashrams or temples. They tried to hurt the boy and prevent his rise by all possible means, fair or foul. Babaji was unrelenting; he foiled all their attempts and secured for Bhabania the coveted place which he occupies now. We have seen how Babaji worked for the good of all, known or unknown, worthy or unworthy, virtuous or sinners. However, we judge others according to our own knowledge and self-interest, and then test them according to our own code of conduct which we take to be good for all. Babaji had his own code of conduct which some persons did not approve of. They tried, in every way possible, to prevent him from showing favor to Bhabania. Failing that, they became hostile to the boy, taking him to be the problem. This was not new to Babaji's old devotees, who had seen him at work. The grace must flow and reach the chosen one, and all resistance must be overcome. Many of the chosen recipients are repugnant to our "good" sense as they do not conform to our own code of conduct. The only aim for the great saints is to bestow grace: to help, protect, and deliver those who are in need. Babaji's devotees will tell you, again and again, that you may try to understand his choice of recipient and his methods, but you will not know. Only the recipient knows, and he will not disclose that. Bhabania was born in a poor farmer's family. When he was a small boy his father died, leaving him in the charge of his elder brother. His mother had also died long ago. His brother was married and had children, but both the brother and sister-in-law were not well disposed toward him. The absence of choice food and pleasant things, comforts and conveniences, did not pain him as much as the absence of attention and the consideration of his position as an orphan boy. He used to work for the family both in the house and field, like other boys in the villages. He had no complaint against the work that he had to do. His complaint came from something else: the feeling of partiality and discrimination displayed by his sister-in-law, favoring her son over him. This was painful to him, and he could find no redress at their hands. He had been nursing these grievances for a long time and sought an escape. He had been attending the village school regularly, but was rebuked by the teacher for not paying his fees in time. The humiliation reached its peak when his brother said that he had no money for it, and if Bhabania wanted to study, he must earn his own fees. This was unbearable, and he took a desperate step. He left the house one day, unknown to anybody, and ran away from home. Bhabania wanted to escape from the humiliation and torture and to find sympathy and affection; the only thing to do was to go for that unknown place, that

unknown person, who had all the treasures he was seeking. Did he have any inkling in his heart that there was such a person available to him, and that he only had to reach out to him? Bhabania says that he doesn't remember. He was only sure that he must move as far away as possible or his relations would catch him. They were probably already hunting for him. After some days he got work as a laborer in a road-building gang. The pay was meager and the work was hard, carrying loads over his head. But he could not refuse that work; it gave him something to eat, some place to keep his head and the company of many co-workers. Bhabania said, "Later, I shifted to other places, working under many masters. I tried my hand at different odd jobs—working for families doing washing, dusting, and many other things meant for the menial boy servants. I did not earn much money, nor did I save anything for better food or clothes. But the labor that I did and the risks I had taken helped me grow strong in body and mind. I was able to take care of myself under difficult conditions and not be dependent on others for minor things. What is more, I was able to face the new places and new situations I was being pushed into. With the qualifications I had acquired, I moved to a town and found an opening as a hotel boy in a small eating house." The only thing he kept emphasising was that he had to risk leaving his only security for unknown places in order to search for what he valued and missed most. He continued, "The affection and sympathy, the care and caress that I lost at a very early age, left a vacuum in my life and, as I see now, that worked as a hidden force, moving me from one place and master to another place and master. "I do not know what prompted me to move, but something was a work behind the scenes. I had learned much from working at several hotels and households of the rich. While working in a hotel, someone told me there was a job available in the house of a rich well-known doctor in Bareilly, who was a very kind man who would pay me more than I was getting in the hotel. After some preliminary inquiries, I was engaged in his house. My employer and his whole family treated me well. Not only had I my full meals, which I had missed for so long, but also some rest and comfort to relax my body and mind. "One day in summer, a big man in a blanket alighted from a car and all the people of the house rushed to him shouting, 'Babaji has come.' I was standing behind, but when everyone bowed at his feet, I did the same, even though I knew nothing about him. He was Baba, a sadhu, that is all I learned. He entered the drawing room and sat on the cot while others squatted on the floor; nobody would sit on the chairs or the sofas in the room. "It was a big house with a large compound. Many persons started coming; the hall was full of people and many cars were parked near the lawn. The baba was doing most of the talking and nobody wanted to miss what he was saying. There was much laughter when he imitated the shrill voice of a person who had been coming to him often, 'Baba, I am in great difficulty, very great difficulty. Tell me what I should do. Please save me.' When the laughter was over, someone asked Babaji what he did with him. Babaji said that he sent him away telling him, 'Sab thik ho jayega. You should make all your efforts without any loss of courage.' "Part of my job was to offer tea and eatables to visitors. Seeing me standing near the door, Babaji suddenly asked me to bring him a glass of water. I washed the glass clean, rubbed it in a towel, and took it to him on a small steel plate. I had learned this while working as a hotel boy. He took the glass from the plate, and after drinking, put it back. He had taken only a few sips and there was much left in the glass. When I was going inside, a lady took the glass from my hand, saying it was a precious thing and must not be thrown away. Some persons shared it among themselves, drinking and sprinkling the water over their heads. I was also given a few drops and told that it was sacred and I must honor it fully. I did as I was advised, but can recall now my wonder—no one had ever before given me any auspicious or sacred thing to share. "After a short while Babaji sent people away, saying it was getting late. There were not many persons left sitting in the room. The talks were mostly of a personal nature, and I was not attentive. I was standing by the door, waiting for others to leave, when Babaji suddenly got down from his cot. Others stood up and wanted to follow him to the door. He stopped them, saying he was going to urinate and would return. He came to the door, caught hold of my hand and asked me to move. I moved but not actually on my own—I was dragged. I was under a spell. How was it possible? The most adorable one, the one to whom everybody rushed, himself had come and taken me by the hand! "While I was lost in thought and moving slowly, he asked me questions, such as when I took my food at night and where I slept. This being summer, I slept outside near the building. He asked if I was not afraid to sleep outside. I told him some male members of the household also slept outside—not near me, but on the lawn. I remember these questions. Although he asked me casually, they meant much to me when I realised afterwards why they were asked. "Returning to the room, he sat for a short while. His food was brought and he gave prasad to all. Eating a little himself, he finished his meal. Chatting for a few minutes more, he came out to tell the people that they must go and take their food as it was getting late. We finished our food, and after the necessary work was done, everyone wanted to go to sleep. When everyone in the house had taken to their beds, I also took out my rope cot, spread it outside, and went to sleep without much delay. "Soon I was in deep sleep. When I woke up, it was almost the end of the night. Looking around with my sleepy eyes, I saw that I was sitting in a car, someone was sitting near me in the back and Babaji was sitting in front by the driver. After a long drive we reached a wayside house and stopped there for our bath and food. I had no opportunity to find out how I came to be in the car or where we were going. "When I asked the driver about it, he could only say that Babaji had told him that late at night they would go to Dr. Bhandari's house where I was serving, and that he should not tell anyone about it; he should come along in his car to where Babaji was staying and wait. Babaji said that he himself would come and call him when he was to go. It was past twelve, and the driver was sitting in his car dozing when Babaji came, tapped his shoulder to wake him up, and then asked him to start. When they reached the gate of Dr. Bhandari's house, Babaji asked him to stop the car outside the gate, but to keep the engine running. Babaji entered the gate, and the driver sat in the car watching him. Babaji went near the hedge where I was sleeping on my cot. He lifted me up by putting both his hands below my back and carried me to the car. He put me on the back seat and then took his seat beside me. Then Babaji asked him to start. They drove until they reached a petrol tank where a certain person who was waiting paid for the petrol. It was then that Babaji took his seat in front beside him. He could only tell me this much.

"We drove for several hours and by evening we reached a house where we spent the night. Everyone was unknown to me. I did not know whom I could approach to ask where we were going and what I was to do there. These were crucial problems before me, and there was no one who could help me in tackling them. Those whom I asked about it replied that they knew nothing about it—only Babaji knew. But who could ask him? All that was left for me to do was to be patient and wait for what was to come. Curiosity was of no use. "While in my bed for the night I consoled myself with the assurance that I was not to worry. The person who took me out of my shelter would not leave me stranded. Baba was very kind—that was in everybody's mouth. When he was at Dr. Bhandari's house, he was kind to all, so he must be kind to me also. I must not bother anymore, everything should be left to him. For all these years I had been pining to find someone who would give me a break in my unhappy life. I came to believe, little by little, that everything I sought would come forth from Baba and I should depend on him, only on him, and not ask any questions. This was not easy to do. After so many years of trial and error, I could not immediately earn that faith and surrender at his feet. My faith has always been partial and contingent, and there have been occasions when it was like a shuttlecock going and coming." This confession was made when I met him at Lucknow, where he was already installed in his glory. "For the rest of the drive to Babaji's unknown destination, I was no longer troubled; I left it all to Babaji. After driving for some time in the day, we reached Vrindaban. All that was there were Hanumanji's temple with the murti and a few make-shift rooms. There was much activity as construction for the ashram complex was in full swing. We reached there in the middle of the day and all the persons working there or connected with the ashram rushed to Babaji. They acquainted Babaji with the work they were doing, the difficulties they had to face, and what they wanted him to do for them. But when he began asking questions, many of them coiled back; he said their work was not satisfactory. They had forgotten that they were working before Hanumanji's eyes and that they had to be very careful and vigorous. He told them what they should learn from Hanumanji for their own work. "While talking to them, he sent someone to get food for us—puri, sabji, dahi, mithai. Babaji did not eat anything himself and when we finished eating, I was put in charge of some senior person who looked after the ashram work. Babaji told him that I was to live in the ashram and work there, and that although I could give my hands for various kinds of work, I should be associated in some way with work on Hanmuman ji's temple. After giving the necessary advice to everyone, Babaji left, saying that he would be in Vrindavan and would come again. If Babaji stayed there, people would start gathering around him. There were no facilities available at that stage, and he would not allow people to gather in their absence. He was very particular about such things, whether in his ashrams, or in the houses of his devotees when he visited them. So he decided to stay away, but would visit the temple every now and then. These visits were more or less in the nature of inspections and giving instruction about how the work was to proceed. The supervision and control were strictly in his hands. "Such control and inspections were not confined merely to the buildings and construction. Every activity connected with his ashrams or temples—the daily prasad, bhandaras or special celebrations, pujas and worship in the temple, permission and arrangements for visitors' stays in the ashram—were all open to his sharp and vigilant eyes. Nothing was left to chance on the wishes or whims of others, however important they might be in the ashram administration. Scanning and scrutinising were always taking place and there was no escape from it. "One day, while Babaji was standing in the sun instructing the persons about their work, some devotee came from Delhi. He asked Babaji to leave the supervision in the hands of others. He said that Babaji had many devotees who could look after these works. The reply was very significant. Babaji said that the devotees were in full charge, and that he came to see how the work was being done and help in procuring materials. This was necessary to keep everyone happy and allow the work to go on undisturbed. "At other times he had different explanations for this, saying that it was a serious mistake to leave the charge fully in the hands of others, however big they might be. He had learned this at his own cost during the construction of the temples at Kainchi. The finances for the three temples—Shankar, Lakshmi Narayan and Hanuman—had come from the Birlas. Jugal Kishore Birla was a great devotee of Baba's and had wanted him to build them. When the whole construction was completed and murtis installed, Jugal Kishore saw them in photos. He told Babaji that he could see clearly from the photos that not more than half the money given had been spent. The balance must have been shared between the person sent by him with the money and the persons in charge of construction. Babaji said that Jugal Kishore's estimate was correct, but what a shame it was for everyone. Moreover, if things are left in the hands of others, the risk will always be there and nobody will give more money for the ashram. 'Now I do not give full charge to anyone. I have learned much. Give all the liberty to your horses to run, but keep the reins in your own hand.'" Bhabania's life in Vrindaban was not happy from the very beginning and eventually became intolerable. He was placed in the charge of persons who were not well disposed to him and who tried every means to drive him away. He was forced to do all kinds of menial jobs and was not allowed to go near the Hanuman temple, which was to have been his main occupation. Babaji knew all about this, and watching from behind, he allowed it to happen. Intervention came on several occasions when it was necessary, and each time it came, it was a landmark in Bhabania's career. The people who had become hostile to him had many reasons to justify their behavior. One reason was that they all came from Braj Bhumi area and felt that they were close to Babaji, who, according to them, also hailed from there, whereas Bhabania was a pahari (man from the hills) who had nothing in common with them. So how could he be dear to them? The second reason put forward was that he was not a Brahmin with the sacred thread. How could he dare to be a pujari when he was not even entitled to enter the temple? Moreover, he was ignorant, had not studied the Shastras and knew no mantras, so how could he be the pujari? To allow him to do that would be to commit a great sin, and all of them would suffer for it. He should be checked at all costs. But there was a third reason and their treatment of Bhabania was mostly motivated by this: jealousy. They had been jealous from the very beginning when Babaji brought Bhabania along with him and expressed his love for the boy, feeding him well and asking people to take care of him. Jealousy is a nasty and dangerous parasite. It threatens one's own peace and serenity and becomes a menace to others. This is the main thing that set their hearts burning. Nobody cared about Bhabania's food, rest, or comfort, but insults and abuses were coming in plenty. When the humiliation became

intolerable, he actually started thinking of running away, but it was not as easy this time. This was not the hills where people, although strangers, were helpful; it was a foreign land, unknown to him. So he would cry in his helplesness and pray to Babaji for help. Babaji visited the ashram many times during the several years of Bhabania's stay and, although he saw everything with his own eyes and helped Bhabania when necessary, Babaji never interfered in the running of the ashram in order to favor him. There must have been something hidden behind all this. When Bhabania narrated to the devotees his precarious condition, they would tell him that he must tolerate it and stand firm; all of this was being done or permitted by Babaji only for Bhabania's own benefit. When Babaji had drawn Bhabania to himself, it was out of his kripa for him, and he would not leave him stranded. He should pray to Babaji only, and seek help from nowhere else. Once some mothers, devotees of Babaji and known to Babania, were staying in an ashram in Vrindavan. Bhabania used to visit them often and talk of his problems. They were very sympathetic to him, but they knew Babaji's way of working. In consoling Bhabania, they used to urge him to have complete faith in Babaji. They said he was lucky to have a place in Babaji's ashram and that he was being taken care of by him; whatever complaints he had against anyone, he should tell them only to Babaji. All remedy would come from him. One day he rushed to the mothers excitedly and narrated the dream he had had the night before. In the dream, he was working in the ashram near the Hanuman temple when he saw Babaji coming toward the temple and rushed to him. Seeing him coming toward him, Babaji stopped, and Bhabania stood up after touching his feet. Babaji took out a Janeu (sacred thread) from within his blanket and put it around Bhabania's neck. Relishing the full joy from the dream, Bhabania worked in peace near the temple. While busy in his work, he saw Babaji entering through the gate. Everything after that happened as he had seen it in his dream: he rushed to the gate and fell at Babaji's feet. Babaji lifted him up and put the Janeu on his neck. Babaji told him that he used to say he was not a Brahmin because he did not have the sacred thread, so now he had it, and now he was a Brahmin. Babaji stayed for a few hours in the ashram, meeting everyone and seeing how the work was going, then left in the evening. Bhabania was happy at the change in his luck. He thought now his rise to priest would be smooth. He had already memorized the forty verses of the Hanuman Chalisa and the mantras recited in the temple to worship Hanumanji. The hurdle holding him back had been removed by Babaji when he invested him with the sacred thread. What he had seen in his dream had actually come true. He would rely more and more on Babaji. He called it his oath—seeking help from Babaji alone. Babaji had announced to all that Bhabania was the pujari designate. He had not been fully qualified before, but those objections could not stand now. Yet Bhabania was still prevented from realising his highest hope and now he was being forcibly deprived of what rightfully belonged to him. He had become bold, fully armed with Babaji's authority, and began to argue with those who opposed his rise. How could he take their challenge lying down? He was sure that Babaji would see him through in his fight. The confrontation continued for some time, but Bhabania had to retreat. He could not stand against the combined strength of his detractors. They were vindictive and would not allow him near the temple. Bhabania broke down and stayed away from the temple, crying and fasting. He also started doubting Babaji. He had built a dream castle, but now it was dashed to the ground. Once again he felt that he had lost everything. His faith in Babaji began to wane, and his oath of relying on him only was held in abeyance. One day, he saw Babaji and moved toward him, crying even more bitterly. Babaji allowed some time for him to cool down, then he started talking. "You have not taken your food for two days, but who suffers from it? Are you such a fool as not to know that you cannot win them over by your tears and starvation?" While the boy was shedding tears at his feet, Babaji took a package of hot puris, sabji, and pera from within his blanket and gave it to him. Bhabania's fasting had been fully recompensed—delicious food served with so much affection by Babaji. His hunger was satisfied and his faith in Babaji, which had become shaken by his misfortunes, became steady again. He stood before him, ready to hear and obey him in full. Babaji said, "You must not break down so easily. You are no more a little boy to be carried in arms. You have grown up and there is so much work you have to do. Your people and friends are looking toward you. You should do your work, be friendly to everyone, and never quarrel with anyone. People who are jealous of you will oppose you in various ways but do not take it to heart. Do your work like a great hero and all will be well for you. I want to see you as a strong person doing all your work with a smile on your face and a friend to everyone around you." This was the first time in his life that he had gotten this type of advice. After Babaji left, Bhabania returned to his work with much courage and enthusiasm, but this lasted only for a short period. His detractors, who had been harassing him in every possible way, knew that they were losing their struggle. Babaji stood firmly behind the man whom they were fighting. They had to seek help for setting things right somewhere else. They felt that their grievances were genuine and the sanctity of the ashram was being sacrificed by allowing Bhabania to offer prasad and arti to Hanumanji. But they had to change their strategy. Although Bhabania was unaware of the conspiracy, he became apprehensive. He felt a calamity was awaiting him. Not knowing what it was going to be, he became very nervous and panicky. His work suffered, and he was rebuked for his neglect of duty. There were rumors going around the ashram that Bhabania's opponents were seeking the intervention of Seth Jaipuria, an eminent industrialist and devotee of Babaji who had financed the construction of the Hanuman temple. He was interested in the proper running of the temple by a competent pujari and used to acquaint himself with the running of the temple by occasional visits and reports from others. Bhabania's opponents went to him with their reports. When Bhabania came to know that Shri Jaipuria would come any day to see things for himself, he lost the strength and courage inspired in him by Babaji. He could not face the new challenge coming or struggle against it. The old days had returned with a plethora of troubles. It was when he was in such desperation that he learned that Shri Jaipuria was coming that day. He could not think of anything to do except to hide some place. There was much activity and jubilation in the ashram throughout the day. Everybody was preparing a fitting reception

for the distinguished visitor. Shri Jaipuria came in the evening with a large party. When they were seated, the proverbial sacrificial animal was to be brought and the search for Bhabania started. Just when he had been found, and was being led to the 'sacrifice', someone shouted that Babaji had arrived. Babaji was ushered to the place where everyone was sitting. Everyone bowed at his feet. He looked around and asked Shri Jaipuria when he had come, and said it was good he was here so he could see for himself how his favorite temple was being run. Had he known that Shri Jaipuria was coming, he would have come much earlier. Babaji said that he had no idea of coming, but somehow or other he felt that as he had not been here for a long time, he should come for a visit. It was good that they could meet here. The acting was perfect. None could imagine that he had any smell of what was happening here. Talking to everyone, he kept the show going on, but some were getting worried—the way Babaji was managing things, all of their work might come to naught. Suddenly Babaji started to talk of the new pujari. "Have you met your new pujari? He asked them to call Bhabania there who was standing behind the door, hearing everything and shivering all through. When he entered the room, Babaji asked him to sit near him, facing the audience. Babaji himself was sitting on the cot with everyone else on the floor before him. Everyone was facing him, and he could see through everyone's eyes and know what was going on in everybody's mind. Resuming his talks and addressing Shri Jaipuria specifically, he said, "The pujari looks young in age but actually he is a great pandit who knows the Gita and all the Shastras. One could not believe it by looking at him, but it is true. You yourself are a great lover of the Bhagavad Gita, and you should hear him reciting it." Nobody sitting there could believe what Babaji was saying and Shri Jaipuria was in a fix. He himself could not agree with what Babaji was saying, but what could he say? When Babaji pressed him, saying that he should hear Bhabania recite, and asked him which was his favorite chapter in the Gita, he was at his wits' end. He mentioned that the eleventh chapter was his favorite. Bhabania was sitting there like a statue without being able to apprehend what all this talk was about. Babaji started rubbing his foot on Bhabania's back and then striking his head with it as if to awaken him from his sleep and goad him to talk. Then Bhabania started the recitation. The Celestial Song was recited in Sanskrit, perfect in rhythm and intonation. Everyone was sitting hypnotized by some unseen charm. When it was over, Babaji asked Shri Jaipuria what he thought about the recitation. He said he could hardly believe his ears; he had never heard anything like that before in his life. The sitting ended soon and prasad was distributed to all. Shri Jaipuria and the members of his family made liberal gifts of money to Bhabania. Once, when he narrated the incident to some of us at Kainchi, Bhabania said that he could not understand why so much money had come to him, more than he had ever had in his life. Shri Jaipuria went to the dharmashala to stay for the night. The sponsors of the show were completely thwarted; they knew now that they had lost for good. Bhabania was firmly installed and none would be able to shake him anymore. It was all over for them, but it was just the beginning for Bhabania. Babaji gave him a few words regarding courage and devotion to his duty—he was serving Hanuman and should always remember the way Hanuman served his own master. He would learn everything from dedicating his work to Hanumanji. Babaji left the next morning for Allahabad, where he was staying for the winter. The previous morning he had gotten up as usual, finished his toilet, and then started to hurry everyone in the house. He had to leave for Vrindaban immediately. It was as if he had gotten a message just at that moment. Someone must go and get petrol and return without any delay. When the car returned, he got in it and left. Several persons had wanted to accompany him, but he allowed only the one who had come from Agra. He was busy, and there was no time to talk or argue. Everyone must stay back—that was the reply to those who wanted to go with him. As mentioned before, they had reached Vrindaban in the evening after driving for the whole day, and returned four days later. Brij Lal, the driver who took him there, gave us the graphic description of what had taken place in Vrindaban. We also heard from many other persons who were present there at that time. Everyone knew that the whole show was Babaji's miracle, and Bhabania was the medium chosen by the magician for his show. When the show was over, Bhabania returned to his previous state. This kind of miracle has been done by many saints before, mostly to help their devotees and disciples. These so-called miracles are not miracles to the saint; they are within easy reach when their devotees are to be protected, defended against hostile forces, or rewarded for devotion and service. Gyaneshwar used it for teaching the pandits who boasted about their knowledge of the Vedas. Knowing what was in their minds, Gyaneshwar said this could be done by the buffalo nearby. When they mentioned the name of the Veda and the mantras of their interest, the buffalo recited them a Gyaneshwar's command. Shankaracharya made his disciple, Giri, compose and recite verses in praise of the master. Giri loved to spend his time in his master's service; he was not versed in Shastras, nor interested in them. One day, when Padmapada and other disciples wanted to humiliate Giri for his lack of knowledge, Shankara inspired Giri to recite his immortal verse. Because the verse was in totak meter, Giri got the new name of Totakacharya. It was all glory for Giri, and humiliation for the proud disciples. The case of Bhabania is different in that Babaji seldom took any personal service from his devotees in order to bring about their transformation. For Babaji's devotees there was no smooth, laid out path to tread. The work of the saints sometimes takes the form of making, unmaking, and remaking their devotees anew. Bhabania lived in Vrindaban for some time without any new trouble to face, but he was destined to move again. He had traversed many places, tried his hand at many jobs, served under many masters and had learned much about life and living. But there were other desires and hopes lying hidden in him, just waiting for suitable conditions in which to raise their heads. The time was now ripe. These hidden and unfulfilled desires—all his samskaras —became active and Bhabania became restless and was not able to enjoy what had been earned from his struggles and sufferings. While living in Vrindaban and discharging his new duties of service at the temple, he was planning his next move. He had heard so much about Kainchi, and believed that all his fond hopes and cherished desires could be satisfied if he reached there. Kainchi was not far from the home he had left behind and he was known to the people of that area. He had been talking about his desire to visit Kainchi to many persons

coming to the Vrindaban ashram, but not much help could come from them. It came from Babaji himself. He asked someone who was going to Vrindaban from Kainchi to bring Bhabania back with him. In the ancient wisdom there is a saying, "Do not pour soma juice in an unbaked pot." It will break, spilling everything. The pot has to be baked before pouring the juice. The vessel may have been dried in the sun, but then it has to be baked in the fire and cleaned before pouring the sacred juice in it. The refrain often rings in my ears: "Dada, if you do not make it empty, how are you going to fill it up again?" That is the technique, the secret strategy, working in all his moves. Bhabania was a young man by now, not an ignorant fugitive sneaking around in search of some crumbs. He was trained and qualified for the cherished post of priest in a celebrated temple, well-versed in the mantras and rituals, appreciated by all, and nourished with all the delicacies he could enjoy. He had the company of respectable persons, encouragement from all around him, and no more troubles or hurdles in the path. This made him bold. Now he wanted many things that were unknown or unavailable to him before. His friends and relations encouraged him in this. When he had first left his home in desperation, he had no family, relations or friends. He had to steer his journey alone. Now the news had spread of his securing an honorable and lucrative post and suddenly he had many friends, relations and well-wishers on every side. Why should his relations not claim him as their very dear one? They began to goad Bhabania to cry for all kinds of things. They said that he could get anything from Babaji. The inspiration to come to Kainchi came from his new friends. All of these moves were arranged by Babaji for his cleaning. When he came to Kainchi, Bhabania found himself in great demand among his many friends who had heard of his high attainments through Baba's grace. When he had run away from his house, he had moved stealthily so as not to get caught, but now he returned by the same road in a triumphant march. His days were spent in jubilation, narrating his stories again and again in every detail to anyone ready to give him a hearing. Several times he was taken by some of his admirers and friends to their houses nearby. He had no specific work to do in the ashram, and he avoided facing Babaji ass much as he could. He preferred to stay in the back of the ashram and spend time with several elderly and well-known people he found there. Some of his relations and persons from his village had been visiting him in the ashram. Many of them were interested in getting him married, and some were interested in securing, through him, Babaji's favor. Babaji knew what was going on—particularly all the efforts to take Bhabania home and get him married. He was very eligible as a bridegroom and there was actually a girl selected for his marriage. Besides the visits, letters were calling him home for even just a few days to get the marriage celebrated. Babaji would sometimes ask him about their contents. It was always about the marriage. One day Babaji raised his voice, saying he wanted Bhabania to ride on the elephant, but what could he do when Bhabania was determined to ride on the donkey? Bhabania should be ashamed. On another occasion after such a letter came to him, Babaji said that after the marriage, Bhabania would start begetting children as animals got their pups. Everyone enjoyed his caviling at the cost of Bhabania, but Bhabania was quiet and made no reply. He was facing another crisis point in his life with forces pulling him in many directions. He was a young man and the idea of getting married and having a family was already working in his mind; it was the normal thing for him to do. When the pulls started coming to draw him home and get married, he started thinking well of his relations. They were only doing for him what close relations would do. It was all for his good, so why should he resist? He had reached this stage in his mind and was thinking how best to respond to their call. Things began moving fast for him. The summer was over and many of those coming or staying at Kainchi had left for their respective places. I returned to Allahabad as my university was to re-open after summer. I had seen for myself the developments that took place during the summer, but not what happened afterwards. After we had gone, Babaji was living in the ashram. One day he left, saying he would return after a few days. With Babaji gone, everyone was free to do whatever he liked with no vigilant eye to escape or abuses and punishments to avoid. For those who were living like true ashramites, with all the decencies and decorum of a disciplined life, Babaji's presence or absence did not make any difference. But the smoldering fire looks for the blowing of the wind to flare up, and there were some ashramites who were waiting for Babaji's absence to indulge in their vulgar play. It was to be another turning point in Bhabania's life. After Babaji had left, the drama was enacted in the early night on the roof of the ashram building, in full view of the ashramites and the people of the neighborhood. It was sponsored by an elderly and respected person in the ashram and Bhabania and Khemua were the main participants. Drinking and dancing were common practices while celebrating some festival or happy occasion—entertainment and release from the tensions of life. On such occasions, the rules of conduct become lax and all kinds of obscenities and indecencies are tolerated. Even in these, however, there are limits, which when crossed turn into crude and vulgar excesses. When Khemua and some others discarded their clothes during the dance, they crossed all limits in a sacred institution. Those in the ashram regretted the orgy enacted before their eyes, but they had no way of preventing it. They all awaited anxiously for the return of Babaji. Babaji returned shortly thereafter. Everyone surrounded him, acquainting him with their own story, making it as graphic as possible. All kinds of exaggerations were freely indulged. The climax came when some women from the neighborhood gave their complaints in strong language. Hearing them, Babaji flared up. With shouts and abuses, he created terror in the hearts of all. But for those who had been connected with the show, the axe fell on their necks. They were all banished from the premises—Khemua went to the farm, the sponsor of the show was barred from the ashram for good, and Bhabania was sent to Lucknow. He had to leave Kainchi for good; there was no return to his village, no spending his life with his relations, getting married or starting a new family. The road to them was blocked and he was packed far away from his home and relations. It was actual banishment for him. The terror created by Babaji continued for some time, but with the dispatch of the accused from the ashram, calm returned and life continued as before. Afterwards, when someone started talking about it, Babaji's reply was, "I knew everything. I went away simply to give

the opportunity for their dance drama, so I could remove them outright after that." It was true that he knew everything that was to come and had manipulated the whole thing. Something decisive had to be done to prepare these devotees for future duties. No one understood at the time, including those for whose benefit everything was done. If it had been possible, they would have tried their utmost to prevent Babaji from 'playing with their lives.' For Babaji, once he had decided to do something for the protection or benefit of his devotee—to fully bake the pot or clean the vessel— nothing could deter him. The strategy was the same—no one must know, whatever the cost and whatever others might think, the work must be done. Everything was determined by him alone, and he alone was responsible for its completion. Similarly, if anyone opposed or resisted, he would not tolerate it. This was a very striking part, if not the most striking part of Babaji. When he was at work, very few of us would be able to guess anything about it. We were always misled by the reactions of the affected parties and caught in outer dramas. The story of Bhabania being sent away from Kainchi to Lucknow was on the same line as that of Haridas being sent away from Nainatal to Delhi. There were cogent and powerful reasons justifying these drastic actions. The charge was of his relations and friends indulging in violence and creating terror on the ashram premises. Neither Bhabania nor Haridas was the sponsor of the events for which they were sent away, but they were the center around which everything was done. For Haridas, the drama consisted of a group of rowdies from Nainital, who entered the ashram from the back, tried to force open the doors and drive away the ladies who were occupying the rooms. Finding some rooms locked, they demanded the keys from the mothers. When they were told that they keys were with me, they all rushed to me. Demanding the keys, they abused me, taking me to be the main culprit. Their accusation was significant. "You sycophants hailing from the plains and sitting around Baba think the ashram belongs to you. We built the ashram, not you or your Baba. The ashram belongs to us; go away from here." The situation became serious; they began pushing me out. Someone standing there intervened at the mothers' request. He knew the culprits and they obeyed him. All of this happened on the 15th of June—the main Bhandara day. Babaji had left the ashram in the afternoon, after his meal, but he returned a few minutes after the boys had left. He entered the gate, walking fast and highly agitated, as if he had been waiting for this. He knew what had happened as it had been his hand working behind everything. He had seen those boys leaving in a truck, and hearing from persons at the gate who had seen what happened; he came before the temples all fire and fury. Such a heinous crime committed—breaking into the ashram doors, abusing everyone and insulting Dada! They should have shot at him (Babaji) instead, sparing Dada from insult. "I know everyone who inspired and sent the boys and what they want, but I shall frustrate all their moves and throw them out. They do not know me." Shouting loudly, he moved very fast to the road and got into the jeep and ordered the driver to start. He was talking loudly all about the persons, what they were after and what their strategy was, saying he was going to foil all their plans and drive them away. When the jeep reached Bhumiadhar, he asked Brahmachari, who lived there, to switch off all the lights in the temple and in the rooms. Babaji sat silently in the darkness on the verandah by the road and would not allow anybody to come near him. This continued for some minutes, full of suspense and high tension. Suddenly, there was a noise nearby. It was what he had been waiting for. A truck had stopped a few yards away and some young men jumped out onto the road. With burning torches in their hands, they moved toward the temple, little knowing that they were actually heading for the lion's jaws. When they reached the road in front of the temple where Babaji was sitting in the dark; he jumped up, shouting abuses loudly, and rushed toward them. They threw away their torches and, chased by Babaji, ran to save their lives. When they could not be seen anymore, Babaji returned to the temple laughing and chuckling at the fate meted out to the misguided wretches. "They came to fight with me. They wanted to burn the temple building. I knew what they were after and took up their challenge. If you had seen their condition you would have laughed. They ran for their lives and many of them soiled their trousers. Fools—they do not know me. Bigger battles I have fought and won. How could they know my strength? They are fools." There was terror among the parents and relations of the boys. Their whole plan was lost and they dreaded to think of what was to come in return. Haridas himself was not part of it, but it was done by his own relations and associates and with his full knowledge. After this, no one could accuse Babaji of having done anything wrong when he sent Haridas away from the Hanumanghar temple of which he had been in charge. Even before this, Babaji had arranged for Haridas's stay in Delhi. Haridas had been sick for a long time and needed very intensive treatment in a modern hospital with much rest and freedom from all worries. His worries had been more from others than from himself. Some time back, Govind Narayan, a devotee of Baba's who was the secretary to the Ministry of Health, had come from Delhi. Babaji asked him if he could arrange for the admission and treatment of a person in the medical institute. Govind Narayan said that there would be no difficulty in that. Babaji told him that he would send the person to him but he must remember that no visitors should be allowed to see the patient when he was in the institute, nor should anyone talk to him on the phone. Then Babaji told him about all the tests and treatments that would be needed. Everything was settled in advance. The difficulty remained in how to take him to Delhi. Haridas did not want to go and all his friends and relations were opposed to his leaving Nainital. They were suspicious about Haridas being sent away and advised him to be cautious. Jivan, a very generous and affable person and an old time friend and well-wisher of Haridas, was chosen for this task. It was necessary for Haridas, who was to convince everyone that it was all for the good of Haridas and in the best interests of his relations. With much effort and persuasion, he succeeded and took Haridas to Delhi, where Haridas was admitted to the institute under the full care of Govind Narayan. Haridas was in the hospital under close vigilance. The rules were rigidly enforced. The same was true for Bhabania at the Lucknow temple. It was hard work and strict discipline; he had no place or opportunity to indulge in any kind of frivolity or cheap entertainment. Moreover, he had to realise how dangerous these things were for him. However strict the rules and strenuous the work, they were all for his benefit. He grew up in that atmosphere and came to realise how Babaji had saved him from the crisis that had faced him at Kainchi. Yielding to those temptations would have been the end of the life that Babaji was preparing for his good. This realisation—regaining his faith in the benefactor and in his work—became his most precious possession. All work became pleasant and all duty a tribute to Babaji for his unceasing grace.

By his hard work, honesty, and disciplined life, Bhabania pleased everyone around him and came to be vested with greater responsibility and nobler duty. From the lowest duty of sweeping and cleaning the premises to the highest one of worshipping Hanumanji, distributing his prasad to all, and the supervision of work connected with the temple—all became possible for him. With the confidence he earned through his honesty and integrity, he came to enjoy his coveted post without any worry—so unlike what it had been in the Vrindavan temple. This is what Babaji had wanted him to attain and value. He is a very important person in the temple now, in charge of the day-to-day work and life in the ashram. He got married and lives with his family in the ashram. His wishes of getting married and raising his family, which were sternly resisted at Kainchi, were all fulfilled at Lucknow. Bhabania's relations and friends are all proud of him for his attainments. So also are the innumerable friends and relations of Haridas. Had he been clogged in the mire of jealousy and pettiness of Nainital life, Haridas could not have risen to the coveted position of a swami with disciples of his own. But Babaji knew, and all his moves, though misunderstood by all, were prompted out of his grace for Haridas, to clear a path for his rise. Those whom Babaji took under his charge were not left high and dry and helpless. They stand on firm ground, worthy of the kripa their master showered on them. Babaji did not seek laurels from anyone for his work. There was no question of postponing or leaving the job unfinished. His advice was, "Work has to be done. What is to be done tomorrow must be done today, and what is to be done today must be done right now." This advice was actually practiced by him in his every action. The stories of Bhabania and Haridas happened before our eyes. These cases have caused much misunderstanding and heart-burning among some, and have remained as enigmas for others. But when we see Haridas in his glory, as an eminent sadhu and celebrity admired by many, we can understand the reason for the hard treatment. Bhabania is also a celebrity in his own place and among his people. He acknowledges fully that he is the handiwork of Babaji. Babaji just smiled when someone talked like this with full enthusiasm. His work was done, and that was enough for him.

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Babaji

Tularam Many persons have felt that Babaji's methods of making and remaking the lives of his devotees were often very hard and sometimes appeared to lack mercy. This, of course, was not true. The whole basis of his work was nothing but mercy—kripa for the helpless and forsaken one. He knows where, when, and how much mercy is to be used in the job. A murti may be made from clay, wood or stone. The work of the clay modeler is done with soft and delicate touches of his hand. When it comes to the sculptor working with stone, he has to take up the chisel and hammer. They are both merciful in their jobs, but the mercy has to work in different ways. Babaji knew this very well; we can see it in his work at different places and with different materials. Emptying and cleaning are considered essential in the making of a vessel suitable for holding sacred water. The processes differ from one another according to the state of the vessel. One might be comparatively clean and soft and simple methods will be enough. Hard treatment is necessary when the vessel has been used for well or pond water and sediments had been deposited; impurities had turned into crusts and clots. The impurities have to be taken out to make the vessel worthy of the sacred water. The task is not simple. Babaji knew it and did it with full consciousness. The cost for the unavoidable surgical operation had to be paid in pain. In Babaji's method of dealing with us, there is no partiality or favoritism for anyone. The beads in the rosary differ from one another in their size, shape, and color, but the same unseen string passes through them all. Can we accuse the string of partiality because one bead has come first, another in the middle, and a third one in the end? We have mentioned before that whatever claim we might make of having known Baba through our personal experience does not come to much. In spite of my close association with Babaji, my personal experience counts for little. I have acquired my devotion for Baba and whatever understanding of him I might have from the gifts of the open hearts of his old and selfless devotees. After shifting to the new house in 1958, many of these devotees started visiting him here during what became known as Baba's "winter camp." Large numbers of devotees began spending their time with him. The house became a hive with bees swarming around him. This was actually Baba's precious gift to his devotees. There had not been any place where he would stay long enough to enable them to have his darshan. There was not Kaichi or Vrindavan at that time to provide that opportunity. The devotees were new to us, but they were well known to each other and close to Baba. They constituted the first batch of the accredited ones, well known for their devotion and dedication to their master, soaked and saturated in their love of Baba—from whom I had my first lessons and from whom I gathered my love and devotion for Baba. There was no question of their being closed or miserly with you, and I took the full advantage of their generosity and open-heartedness.

Bhai (Brother) Tularam and Jivan both came from Nainital and were originally opposed to any association with Babaji, who had been visiting Nainital for many years and was very popular with most of the residents there. Many of their relations did their utmost to take them to Baba and failed. They stayed away from him until the final moment when their conversions came. They were both fortunate to be chosen as Babaji's travel companions, although separately, for journeys to different places. Babaji had been a traveler all through his life and even the ashrams built in the later days could not hold him. He accepted what had been said about the life of a saint. It is all a journey—a journey of the alone to the alone. Tularam's conversion came in the last few years of his life, but the whole of that time was spent traveling with Babaji. This was a rare privilege not given to anyone else. Actually, Babaji had no travel companion as such. Sometimes he would pick up someone from the roadside inn, as it were, travel with him for some distance and drop him at the next inn. This was his practice, and anyone who was chosen just once felt happy; others envied his luck. So we can imagine the fortunes of Tularam when he served for so many years as Babaji's travel companion across the whole length and breadth of the country. He visited all the centers of pilgrimage, the temples and monasteries, and met the sadhus residing there. A task which a pilgrim cannot accomplish during his whole life was done by Tularam in a short time at the end of his life. When we talked—and we talked in plenty, undeterred by anything—he would not talk about the temples or the places, but only about his life with Baba. He had gathered much and had filled up his heart to the full. Rather it was over-full. Taking me to be a near one, he was ready to give me the taste of what he was carrying, emphasising all the time that these are the real things and I must taste them fully. I did this whenever we were together. When we parted for good, he left my luggage full, assuring me that when alone or lonely I could take something out of my bag and relish it. This I do even now. It is all fresh for me. When Tularam joined the ranks of Babaji's disciples, he had already lived through the first two stages of life, student and householder, and technically he was qualified for the third stage, life in the forest, which nobody follows now. One day when someone asked about his family, Tularam said that he had left them behind—the time for that was over when Babaji had come to take him on his travels. After finishing his education, Tularam began his career as a lawyer. Living the family life with a handsome income, he augmented it by starting a business. When the business was established and the income stabilized, he stopped his legal practice and began enjoying life and living more liberally. He belonged to a well-known family with many friends and relations over the entire region. His son attended to the business, leaving him free; with an assured income, he had not much to worry about. That was the story of his life as he learned it from him, but according to his friends, his coming to Babaji was overdue and was delayed only because he was short-sighted and unreasonable. However, Tularam believed that he did not come to Babaji early in life or through pressure from others because the time was not ripe for him, and I think he was right. Siddhi Didi, his wife, had been with Babaji for a long time and was recognized as one of the topmost of Baba's devotees, so there was no difficulty in him taking his place among the devotees. The delay was because the choice of time was not in his hands. Tularam and I had come to know about each other after Babaji started coming to our first house, but we met only in the winter of 1959, after we had settled fully in Babaji's new house. Tularam, with Siddhi and others, came in the last month of '59. It was the time of the Ardha (six year) Kumbha mela. Tularam's family was living in a separate house, but both he and Siddhi and the others would say to Baba that he (Baba) could send Siddhi and the others away but he would stay. However, both he and Siddhi continued staying with him. Many other devotees had come to stay, each one happy to be with Baba in the company of his long-time devotees. The whole period of his stay came to be one of continuous celebration, the likes of which we had never seen or participated in before. This was the first winter camp that continued annually, uninterrupted, until 1972. Besides the time spent with Babaji, we had also enough time to be with each other. Our most enjoyable meeting was at night, and it came to be like a ritual for us. After everybody had finished with work and Babaji was resting in his room, we had our best time in satsang, sharing the most blissful events in our lives with each other, freely telling and retelling our day's experiences. What we had collected individually had already been tested and sifted in small groups, so it could be served with confidence. Everyone was keen to see that nothing spurious or counterfeit was allowed to pass in the name of Baba. The light of experience that others earned enriched our own experience. These nightly meetings came to be very significant for us. They were workshops for learning how to enjoy life in the company of others drawn from far and near, knit all together into a happy family. These were the proudest moments in our lives. We were all included in Babaji's family and were entitled to have our share in everything. Everyone became each other's own dear ones, together only to help each other enjoy their share. It had previously been the lot of all to experience the suffering of typical petty family life, full of fear and jealousy; now it was amazing and unbelievable that the family life could be so very happy and blissful. The great lesson we learned was that happiness would come only if we learned not to shut anyone out as a stranger, or deny anyone his share and place in the family. Happiness comes through the path of oneness—oneness with whomever you are brought in contact. From whom can there be fear, for whom can there be jealousy and hatred when there is only the One with you and none else? All are in the One. This was, no doubt, a precious lesson—the crest jewel of a happy family life, but few of us could learn it completely. It was all right for the time we were with him, remembered and practiced in his presence, but when he went away from us we left it behind. When he was not there, why should one bind oneself? This precious lesson Babaji forgot to give us. We were wise enough to learn it later. Sometimes during our nightly satsang, Babaji used to visit us in our room, where we were busy with our talk. One night, more than an hour had passed and we were still talking when Babaji entered the hall, sat down on Shukla's bed and began counting the layers of bedding. Babaji said, "You are enjoying much luxury here." Everyone laughed at the joke, but Shukla was much moved and said with tears in his eyes, "This is my Didi's house, so I have got them."

Babaji said, "Your Didi is good, but she is generous to you and gives you five layers for your bed, but only three layers for mine." Our satsang was punctuated with many such visits and inimitable comments. Everybody would say after such an experience that this really was our Babaji, the one whom we all seek. Days passed in quiet succession. All we wanted was that the ecstasy and excitement in which we were spending our days should not halt. But one night, after Babaji had gone to bed, the devotees finished their meals and assembled in the hall as usual. After some time, we noticed that there was no light in Babaji's room. Taking him to be asleep and thinking we would have no visit from him that night, we all took to our beds. Before twelve, everyone was asleep and all the lights were switched off. We were all in deep sleep when we heard Tularam shouting, "Dada, Babaji has gone away. He is not here in the house." Tularam caught me by the hand and started running for the gate. Siddhi was already there waiting for us. We had not even taken our slippers when we started running on the road. We came across a rickshaw by the roadside, but the rickshaw-puller was asleep on it. Tularam actually pulled him down. We took our seats and Siddhi jumped on the footboard and asked the rickshaw-puller to drive fast. He was not fully awake, and that there was no accident was only because there was no traffic on the road. When we arrived at the railroad station, we saw Babaji sitting alone on a bench. The two devotees who had come with him had been sent for their tea, so Babaji was alone when we came before him. We were agitated and could not talk, so he started the talk in a very casual way. It was as if he was sitting on his bed, where we had left him earlier. He inquired how we came to be there. Tularam replied as Siddhi and I could not talk or even open our mouths, "We came in search of you. How was it possible for us to stay at home when we learned that you had gone away?" Babaji behaved as if it was a very common and everyday affair and we had unnecessarily given so much importance to it. Then the usual questions began, as if cursorily directed to Tularam: how did he know, what did others think when they heard of it, and all such questions. Tularam could tell him only the little which he had heard from Siddhi when she came rushing down to wake us up. Everybody had been sleeping in the house, but Siddhi and two other ladies who slept on the roof above, were sitting looking toward the road in front of the house. It was a full moon night, and they were sitting silently, as if in meditation, when they saw some movement going on there. Two rickshaws had come and were standing at the gate when someone came out carrying something in his arms. The gate was opened, and there were some others waiting there. They all sat on the rickshaws and started off. The ladies saw but did not understand what it was all about. The eyes had given all the snapshots to the mind, but it could not develop them immediately. What all the pantomime was about, they could not know. Babaji said that the thing was so simple that it was a surprise for him that we could not understand it. He said that he had some important work at Mathura and his presence was necessary there. Moreover, Ram Prakash, who had come from Agra, was wasting his time here and his work was suffering, so he had to be taken home. He continued, "This was decided at night when I was going to bed. You were busy with your food. Kanhai Lal came to see me before leaving for home. I asked him to come with two rickshaws after two in the morning. I could not ask you because you were all busy with your food. When the rickshaws came, I was ready to start but you were all asleep. So I came out of my room alone and when I saw Ram Prakash sleeping on the verandah along with others, I lifted him and took him out of the gate. My problem was that he should not know it. If he woke up, he was sure to draw everyone from the house by his shouting. So the wise thing was not to wake him. For such a simple thing there was no sense in making a fuss like you people would have done. One must use one's brain before anything. You people do not do that. That is the cause of all your trouble." The sermon was over. Then as consolation for our troubles, he said that his work was very urgent. It had not been in his plan to go now, so he did not talk to us about it. However, he would return soon. Ram Prakash and Kanhai Lal had returned and were standing nearby. It was almost time for the train to come, so Babaji said we should return home. It was then that Tularam asked him the question which had been itching at his mind for so long. He said his only request to Baba was that henceforth he should not leave the home without telling Dada about it; it was painful for Dada when he learned that Babaji had gone while he was sleeping. Babaji smiled, and granted his prayer outright, "All right, from now on I will let Dada know before leaving the house." A promise, very precious, extracted by Tularam for the benefit of us all. Babaji honored his promise till the last day before taking his samadhi. Whenever Babaji informed me that he was leaving the house, I was reminded of Tularam and his love for me. Babaji returned after five or six days. Many devotees had left for their homes, so Tularam and I had plenty of time to talk. He had much to say about Baba. He had spent many sleepless nights sitting or moving with Babaji in Nainital, Almora, Bhowali and Bhimtal. It was a life spent on the streets, sometimes inside a culvert on the roadside. for those who spend their lives in furnished houses and soft beds, it was a tough life and often painful. But no one would think of giving it up. They were caught like bees in honey, but not in the hive anymore. Meals were uncertain, but no starvation loomed for anyone. There would be some roadside shops with open doors. When the doors were bolted and the people within were sleeping, you could wake them up and make your purchase. When they were near some village or house, some would go to collect food, whatever it might be. There was no question of the food being good, fresh, stale, sweet, or bitter. It was food to satisfy your hunger, and when you are so very hungry, any food tastes very sweet. Seeing Babaji, who was well known in these areas, many householders would bring food and delicacies for him. Sometimes devotees provided a full-scale picnic on the open road in the middle of the night, the joy of which could never come from eating alone in one's own house. Sometimes tea would be brought or someone would prepare it by kindling fire near the road and collecting the ingredients from the houses or shops in the area. If there was a problem getting betal or cigarettes for Tularam, someone like Jivan would collect them from wherever they were available. Sometimes, when food was late in coming, Babaji would send Jivan to purchase all the betals in the shop, so that Tularam could chew them. Was it not a miracle that a person accustomed to a life of eating rich and delicious food, accompanied with sauces and sips, could now satisfy his hunger by chewing a bunch of betal nuts? Tularam used to say it was a miracle that he—a lawyer and the owner of the India Hotel at Nainital—was now moving over thorns and stone chips and satisfying his hunger with whatever was given to him before the eyes of his master.

From the time we came to know and love each other and open our hearts, Tularam named me 'Udhav,' the servant of Krishna. He said one day very excitedly, "Udhav, now I can see it. It is all sheer grace to train and equip me for my vanprastha—my life in the forest." There was no question of arguing with him. Agreeing in full was all that was left for me. Sitting with him, hearing him undisturbed, was a rare treat seldom available in the crowded house. Moreover, these sittings were always associated with gulping tea and smoking. When Babaji was in the house there was no opportunity for undisturbed sittings. Tularam was a pukka convert by now. Out of his love for me, he tried to draw me out, to float in the mainstream with him. "You come to be dear to you," was his motto regarding me. He was a shrewd lawyer and knew how to plead a case. I was not gullible enough to make his job easy, but I was pliable, and that helped him in his task. Relying on his own experience, with untiring efforts and infinite patience, he aimed to raise me to the rank of Babaji's devotee. Whatever little I have attained and for which I am admired is mostly due to his unceasing labor of love. Others might not know this, but it is always in my mind. After Babaji returned, our nightly sittings resumed as before. One morning Babaji left for Benares by car along with Tularam, Siddhi, and a couple of others. In spite of all efforts of Tularam to take me in the party, I was left behind. Babaji's reply to Tularam was, "There is so much work for him in the house. How could he accompany you?" After a couple of years this came as a clear and distinct order that I was to stay at home, as my work was there. After they all had left that day, a colleague from the university came and told me that his guru, Shri Deoria Baba, was coming in the evening to bless him in his newly-built house. He asked my help with the arrangements in the house and with the reception of his guru. I could not agree to it, telling him Babaji would be returning by evening, and with him in the house, I could not move about. Moreover, there was not any interest in my mind to meet his guru. He insisted, saying his function would end before Babaji returned, so there would not be any difficulty. I went under pressure, not as a choice of my own. After restlessly waiting a long time for his arrival, Deoria Baba came in a big open car in the company of many sadhus, his disciples. There was a big crowd waiting for the darshan of the great Mahatma. After he was seated, I escaped stealthily without informing my friend or anyone else. Later that evening, Babaji returned and spent some time with the visitors waiting for him in the hall. He said that he had to return knowing they would all be thinking of him. After a brief talk about his visit to Benares, he asked for prasad to be given to them and then sent the visitors away. When everyone was gone, he asked my mother to give him food, as he was hungry. After he had taken his food in his room with me, Maushi Ma, and Siddhi, he sent them away, asking them to feed everyone staying in the house. We had no sitting at night, as Babaji said everyone was tired and must all retire now. The next morning we gathered round Babaji, as had come to be our practice. He was on his big cot with Tularam, Siddhi, and Maushi Ma sitting before him. I was standing by his cot. He was talking to those sitting before him, and then turned to me and asked abruptly, "Did you meet Deoria Baba?" I was taken by surprise, as this all happened in his absence and no one had talked to him about it. He began talking about Deoria Baba—a great saint, having many disciples. "The sadhus and many other devotees must have come with him to your friend's house." What reply was I to give? Then he resumed talking, "When they were late in coming you were thinking of running away." Everyone was all attention. Then he asked, "Did you talk to Deoria Baba? Did you talk, or not?" After his repeated question, I said I did not do that. "Why not, why not?" What could I say? Something came out of my mouth, which I had not thought consciously. "There was a big crowd, so I could not get my chance," was the reply I gave. Immediately he retorted, as if jumping on me, "You should have taken my name. You should have mentioned my name. Why did you not do that?" When no reply was forthcoming to his continued questioning, he caught me by the hair, and pulling softly went on, "Tell me, tell." My reply came, as if pulled out by some force, "For me, one Baba is enough." I did not understand what I had said, but Tularam shouted, "Oh! Oh!" seeing me standing dumb, nervous before everyone, Babaji took mercy on me and started patting me on the head, not longer pulling my hair, as if to help me get back my lost confidence. He was repeating, "Thik hai. Thik hai." (It's all right. It's all right.) The silence continued for some time with only Baba talking and everyone's ears keyed to hear him. Many more persons started coming in, and he changed his topic and talked about things of interest to all. When we met that day in our free moments, Tularam congratulated me, saying, "You've been given the most precious thing of life, not given to anyone else." When I said I was not aware of what he was talking about, his reply was that I need not be, that I had it, and it would work of its own. It was long years afterwards that I understood what Tularam had meant and for what he had congratulated me. realisation comes at its own time, and not of our choice. Another day, when I entered the hall in the morning, Tularam and Siddhi were already there sitting before his cot. Tularam had a thick book, Ramacharitmanas, in his hand, which he had been asked to read. Seeing me, he handed over the book asking me, "Udhav, tell me, wherefrom should I read?" I said I had not read the book or any other version of Ramayana. Tularam might not have believed, but Babaji spoke out, "Where is the need for you to study it?" But Tularam was relentless, and handing over the book again, asked me to open to any of its pages. I did it and the open page came to be in Sundar Kand. Tularam said, "What now? This is what to be read." I looked at Babaji in amazement. Unknown to anyone else there, there was another incident like this, in this very hall, of which Tularam talked much. But that came much afterwards. It was in March that Tularam left with Babaji. The satsang continued for some time more, but it was just a routine affair. It lacked the zest and thrill of sitting with Tularam either in a large company or with him alone. This was a very memorable stage in my journey—actually the

first stage in what was awaiting me. I was to travel on a path unknown to me, and all alone. But Tularam had himself covered a good part of his journey through uncharted lands, and had collected valuable knowledge which would help and guide me. His talks were a travelogue for my own journey. That might be the main reason for my interest in his talks, entertainment aside, they were much enlightening for me. As Tularam used to say, this was actually Babaji's way of preparing and equipping me for my journey, so after they had left, there was much to work out and enjoy. There were crumbs that you could just pick up and put in your mouth. But it was the first lesson, the untying of knots which helped me much afterwards, when tightly bound packages had to be handled. Tularam was writing regularly, giving an account of what was going on in his life with Babaji. They had gone to Badrinath with Babaji and a few other devotees. The places and the temples visited were minor compared to the meetings with the sadhus and the way Babaji was received and treated by them. Tularam was fully convinced by the sadhus' talk that Babaji was the 'greatest sage of the age,' as he started calling him. This was further confirmed by the sadhus at Dwarka, Rameshwaram, and Jagannath Puri when he visited them with Babaji in 1962. They visited many places during this pilgrimage, but the accounts were given after they came for the winter stay in November. It was known that Tularam would complete his pilgrimage to the west, south, and east early next year and would start from here. It was somewhere in the back of his mind that he would persuade Baba to include me in his party. When he mentioned it to me, I said there was no such hope as I was pinned down here in the house. I did not know how I had a premonition of it, but it subsequently proved to be correct. This time when Babaji arrived for his winter stay, the devotees started assembling in large numbers. They were old devotees, but some of them were new to me. Tularam had talked to many in the hills about his experiences the winter before, and that had attracted many new ones. In a short time the satsang was in full swing, everyone participating, with Babaji or without him. Soon there ceased to be any distinction between new or old, rich or poor, educated or uneducated. All differences ceased to exist within the real fusion of hearts—the miracle of the 'Great Fusion'—of which I was a witness. While many of us were fearful that the satsang might end soon due to the impending departure of Babaji for the west, Tularam informed us that this journey had been shifted to winter 1962. Instead, short visits to neighboring towns or pilgrim centers were started, the most important of which was Chitrakut. At Chitrakut for the first time in 1961, Tularam was going around Kamadgiri with Babaji when he saw that 'Ram Ram' was written on the leaves of the trees. When he pointed this out to Babaji and asked how it could happen, Babaji's reply was that there was nothing unusual about it; this was the land of Ram, and not of any human being. You have your name board in front of your house, and if Ram's name appeared on the leaves, it was all quite ordinary. Tularam told me when we were sitting together in Allahabad that Babaji's logic and argument were so perfect that he felt like pitying himself for his ignorance in asking the question. With this there was only laughter left for us. How simple things would be if only we could believe in them. The satsang spent almost all its time staying home and talking to each other. They had plenty to enjoy, and nothing to seek from anyone else so long as they were in the shadow of Baba. Tularam left in March along with Baba, and others left separately for their respective places. Tularam continued writing at least once a week. He would give a picture of his excursions, and the new faces and places visited, although the guide and guardian with him on his journey was always the same. After they had all gone, the sensations of festivity and celebration came to a sudden halt, but there was no vacuum in my life or any problem of idle time. During the time with the devotees during the winter months I had cut down my routine duties here and there. The duty in the lecture rooms was fixed only for a few specified hours, but responsibility for the students could not be confined to the classroom. It was a time-consuming affair and did not leave time to think of other things. Many things would take hold of me, helping me forget the loss of my friend. It was like the special fund built up for celebrations and festivals, collected by cutting down the routine expenditures of the household. However, like all celebrations, when they came they were celebrated to the full at whatever cost, and when they ended, they left behind a trail of joy and happiness through association with his devotees, whether they were present or far away. When Babaji has drawn you to him, everything is given to you in his own shadow. One must learn this and drive away worries from the mind. A striking thing occurred, the first of its kind for us, in September of 1961. One morning I discovered "Ram" written on the book in Babaji's own hand, when he had not been here for the past several months. This was unique, and I wrote to Tularam who was with Babaji at that time in Agra. Babaji said that Dada was remembering him, so he had written "Ram" on the book as proof of his visit. It was winter again when they all returned, and soon life returned to a high pitch. Whether it was a chorus or a symphony there was a role for everyone, and rewards in plenty were available to all. Living like this one could learn that life was not only misery and drudgery, which we had known for so long, but it was also full of peace and joy. This secret is disclosed to us only when we are drawn to the saints. This is the task with which the saints are busy—giving us a taste of the real beatitude of life and throwing light on the path leading to it. Tularam had taken a taste of it and wanted it for me also, but I had not yet become an accredited or qualified recipient, so his efforts went into preparing me for it. Babaji and Tularam left for their pilgrimage in early '62 and spent several weeks going from one place to another. Tularam always sent reports of the tour, but it was only after their return that we had details. When they had reached Dwarka, the head priest of the temple welcomed Babaji and introduced him to everyone. He said that Baba always lived in the temple and narrated a lot of things about him. There was also an old Hanuman temple there associated with Babaji's name. Babaji admitted that a part of his earlier life had been spent in that area. The most striking thing for Tularam during the whole tour was the way the whole journey was one of homecoming, meeting old and intimate associates who were jubilant at Babaji's arrival. He repeated again and again that Babaji was known to all the sadhus and heads of the ashrams and temples they visited. Babaji followed no rules or rituals in these sacred places, but he made them go through each one as the custom of the place demanded. Babaji seldom entered any temple for darshan, but gave his appropriate respects by folding his hands and allowing the sprinkling of sacred water on his head. The others—the darshanarthis (pilgrims seeking to be in God's presence)—were directed to go into every temple. With Babaji as your guide, there were no problems with entry into the temples or sacred places which were not easily available to all.

Tularam remarked that the real pilgrimage was to be with Baba; visiting places and temples was of lesser importance. It had been the wish from an earlier stage of his transformation to visit the four sacred places of the HIndus. He had not yet been close enough to Baba to know that all pilgrimages were in him. After their return from the pilgrimage, there was not much time until the end of winter camp. Having collected much through his long and memorable journey, Tularam was anxious to share it with me. Every minute that we could steal from the hectic life would be utilized in retelling his experiences to me. The enthusiasm and excitement with which they were related was not expected from a man of his age or upbringing, but everything was possible when you were under the spell of intoxication. It was mostly at night that we used to have our time together. One day, while everyone was busy with the day's work, Babaji went out with some of the devotees, including Tularam, to the bank of the Ganges. After spending the whole day there, they returned in the evening when the hall was full of people waiting for his darshan. While entering through the gate, he started shouting and upbraiding me: "You are such a badmash (rascal) that you have kept everyone hungry in the house. I am also very hungry so bring my food." Everyone was stunned by this outburst of temper, but I would not obey. He wanted to have his food in the hall in front of everyone, which was not his usual practice. He used to take his food in his own room with the mothers around. He would always remind everyone, food and prayers were to be done by sitting in a corner. So I did not bring his food into the hall at first, but was forced to do so after repeated haggling. When a few chapatis with vegetables were brought on a plate, he took them and started throwing them to the people sitting in the hall. I brought one bunch after another from the kitchen. The pan in which Didi had kept her chapatis could hardly accommodate thirty pieces, but more than one hundred pieces were distributed from it and still it remained full! After some time when everyone was busy hearing his talks, he stood up and catching hold of my hand, came out to go to the urinal. Moving slowly and speaking to me in an entirely different tone, he said that it was not right for me to keep everyone hungry in the house. He had been on the bank of the Ganges and was enjoying his time sitting there. He could not take his food because we were not taking our food in the house. If I had taken my food, then Ma, Maushi Ma, and Kamala also could have taken their food with me. I had kept everyone hungry, including him. In the afternoon, the guests staying in the house were fed as usual, but we could not eat, as Babaji himself had not eaten. The next morning he left again, appealing to me that if he were late in his return, I should not keep anyone hungry in the house. This was the day that the drama enacted on the bank of the Ganges culminated in his recitation of the immortal mantra, "Everything is accomplished by taking the name of Ram." The major part of the drama was played out in the presence of all with him—Tularam, Siddhi, Shukla, Girish, and Didi—but the climax and culmination were only for me. This was the most memorable day in the lives of the devotees, in the opinion of everyone. And so it was. One morning, Babaji began talking about pujas and prayers and going on pilgrimages. "Prayer and worship should be done by everyone, every day, as the highest obligatory duty to God; visiting temples and pilgrimages should be undertaken only under favorable conditions and suitable times. They are not essential for your worship and religious duties, whereas prayers and pujas are, and must be done in some form or other." When everyone was hearing him with full attention, he looked at me and said curiously, "Dada, you stay at home." I did not understand what he meant by that, so I could only reply simply, "Thik hai, Baba." (All right, Baba.) While we were sitting that night and talking, Tularam said that what Babaji said was not random, but had something to do with my sadhana, my spiritual endeavor. Staying at home meant avoiding pilgrimages to temples and religious centers. He said that they were not necessary for us, since we had secured shelter at Babaji's feet; there was nothing rare or extraordinary we could get from pilgrimages that we could not get by staying with him. However, most of the time in pilgrimage was spent in Babaji's company, and that would not be possible for me if I were staying at home. Tularam had become so intoxicated in his love and devotion to Baba that there was no sense in trying to place before him my own differences and disagreements with his judgment. My silence was taken by him to be full concurrence with his opinion. Two days later, our morning sitting with Babaji was interrupted by the visit of an old devotee. He wanted to say something in the presence of all of us, but Babaji prevented this, and took him alone to his room. After some time, Babaji asked me to give him prasad and arrange for a rickshaw. While I was going with him to the rickshaw, the man said he was from Madhya Pradesh. When he was young and working under a forest contractor, he had known Baba. Many miracles happened there at that time. He had been cut off from Babaji for all these years until some people said Babaji visited this place in winter, so he had come in search of him. He had wanted to talk before us all, but Babaji took him to his room and told him that he should not talk about those things. Babaji said that when people who had known him for so many years did not believe these legendary miracles, how could these people believe? It would be better if he did not talk at all. We had been standing before the rickshaw talking for some time when Babaji shouted for me. He had shifted to the study room and was lying silently on the mat laid on the floor. There were several others with him—Tularam, Siddhi, Girish, And a few more of the house. Babaji asked Tularam to hand over his packet of cigarettes to a young man standing nearby. When that had been done, he said smoking was kharabhar (bad); Tularam must not smoke anymore. He asked the boy to destroy the cigarettes and throw them in the nearby basket. Then he pointed to Ram Prakash to bring his packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his silk kurta and to throw it in the basket. Then the boy came with my packet of cigarettes. Holding it in his hand, he said that this was Dada's packet and he should destroy that also. Babaji stopped him saying, "Give Dada his cigarettes back. Let Dada smoke." No one could understand what he meant by allowing me to continue smoking. It was a mystery. Was it because smoking was not harmful for me? We were all left guessing. But when I was sitting with Tularam he said, "Did you understand what he meant? Smoking is not bad for you—at least not now. Babaji knows this, and there must be something deeper behind it." He went on, saying that he knew that smoking was not good for him; everyone in his family also knew it, but they had not been able to stop him. Babaji knew how much we enjoyed our smoke when we were sitting together—it was actually the lubrication in our unceasing talks, and he would not stop that. But now because he (Tularam) was to go away, his smoking could be stopped. It was grace coming all the time, but in different forms. I did not understand

him fully then, but after going over it for all these years, now I do. After a few days Tularam left with Baba and his family returned to Nainital. As with the parting of all the other family members going on, this parting was not striking in any special way. Little did we know that this was going to be the last of the winter camps for Tularam in this house. His next winter camp was to be celebrated somewhere else, unknown to us all. This was also going to be an end of our talks for all time. The parting was painful and the poignancy of it was great because we were to lose our talks that had been made delicious with tea and smoke. His parting request was, "I won't forget to write to you regularly, and you must always reply to my letters promptly." I agreed and replied to his letters as promptly as I could, but my last reply did not reach him. He had to go without it. Siddhi told me that even on the last day he was asking everyone if Dada's letter had come. After leaving Allahabad, Tularam and Babaji spent time in places near Agra and Mathura meeting old friends. Tularam became ill and was moved to Nainital. All kinds of treatments were started but the condition did not improve. Ultimately, he was shifted to the hospital there. He had so many friends, all of whom visited to console him in the suffering. Babaji visited him also in the hospital and full consolation came from him. He started for his new winter camp with full confidence after Babaji had placed his hand on him in the hospital. Tularam had done so much for me and left much for me to relish and benefit from. He used to say that his meeting with me came when his own conversion was more or less complete, but I was at my grass-roots stage. I had much growing to do, but he was satisfied that the progress was very rapid. When I tried to compliment him for his achievement, he would return it, saying that he could not claim any credit for it. Everything was done by Baba.

After Tularam had left, my tea and cigarettes continued as more or less a tame affair without any zest or punch in them. Once, Barman, who was an old devotee and close to me, came from Delhi when Baba was here in the winter. He relished his tea and smoke as much as I did, so we took the first opportunity after Babaji had taken to his room. While we were busy in the hall, we heard some laughter coming from Baba's room. When the mothers came out afterwards, they told us how Babaji had described to them our 'tea and smoke ceremony.' He had said, "Dada is with his Bhagwan (God) today." Then he made the gesture of lifting the cup to the mouth with the left hand to show our way of drinking, and with the palm of the right hand open with two fingers close together, he showed our way of smoking. To give a very realistic touch to our smoking, he drew his fingers near his mouth and made the appropriate movements with his lips. This was the cause of the peals of laughter coming out of his room. While we were busy in the hall with our pleasures, they were not denied their share. After Barman's visit, there was no one left either here or in Kainchi or Vrindavan with whom I could enjoy my smoke. In Kainchi I was busy all the time and could never go out to collect any cigarettes, but friends were advised to bring cigarettes for Dada. Whether I could smoke or not, they were lit for me when I had moved a little away from him. Of course the cigarettes would be thrown away when Babaji called for me. In Vrindavan, everything was in the open and before Babaji's eyes, so there was no question of making any effort to try and snatch a puff or two. But he never forgot that I enjoyed my smoke. One day, I was with him for the whole day with no chance of smoking, so he created the situation for me. He was sitting on the verandah with a large number of persons all around. He asked me to take my two minutes off, and with his two closed fingers and the movements of his lips, he indicated my standing and smoking nearby. He pressed me to enjoy my smoke. Everyone burst into laughter, taking this to be a good joke at the cost of Dada. I could not join with them in their laughter. It was too deep and meaningful for me. I had all the joy that no cigarette alone could give, so I did not go for one. I stood before Baba as before, and he understood why I had not moved. In Kainchi, there was one shop nearby from which my cigarettes came. In 1972 when I reached there, I saw a new shop on wooden legs near the gate on the road. Siddhi narrated how two days back, Babaji had told the shopkeeper that Dada was coming, and he should get a big carton of Scissors cigarettes. This is the Baba I know—providing everything you need after it has been considered whether it's harmful to you in any way. This consideration of Baba for us reminds me of Ram Thakur, who had the same kind of consideration for his devotees. Once Ram Thakur was traveling by train from Howrah with two of his close devotees, both of whom were great smokers. However, they would not smoke

before their guru, so whenever the train stopped at a station, they got down and lit their cigarettes. But before they could take a puff, the train would start moving and they would have to throw away their lighted cigarettes. When they returned to the train, Thakur said in all earnestness that these botherations of going to the platform, lighting the cigarettes, and then throwing them away unsmoked were not necessary at all. His advise was that being in the train comfortably, they should turn their backs to him, light their cigarettes and enjoy them to the last puff. They were obedient in everything the guru ever wanted them to do, but for the first time in their lives they could not obey. They sat silently bending down their heads. There was no more thought of cigarettes in their mind. All their thoughts were captivated by their guru, the ever vigilant and gracious one. When we think of these great gurus, unmatched in their wisdom, dedicated to the good of all, untiring in their zeal to enforce the laws of noble living, we wonder how they can sometimes encourage us to do things considered unworthy for disciples. We were taught from childhood the value of sadachar (right conduct) and the rules that were to be strictly obeyed. They include many prohibitions, such as no indecency like smoking and drinking before elders, particularly teachers and preceptors. That being so, how could these gurus tempt their disciples to smoke before them, and thereby throw away the rules of sadachar? Were such rules obligatory or could they be broken at the behest of the master? I can never forget Tularam's company in enjoying tea and smoke, and I missed that most in parting with him. I had been separated from the friends of my social life with whom I used to enjoy myself in full abandon. But with the coming of Tularam to Babaji's house, this returned in a more appropriate form. Many devotees came, but with so few of them could I smoke and sip tea freely. When one wanted to enjoy the pleasures of the 'tavern' life, one must flock with the habitual tavern visitors. I had that with Tularam and no others. As Tularam used to say, an extension to his smoking was granted simply because our enjoyment could not be cut short. Babaji would be mostly in his room surrounded by the mothers, entertaining them with his pleasant talks and caricature, when Tularam and I would be sitting in the hall with our tea and smoke. Baba would seldom deny the mothers their laughter at our cost. "They are lost in their talks. Both of them are experts in drinking tea and smoking cigarettes. When they talk with a cup in one hand and cigarette in the other, they forget that there is anything else in the world."

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Jivan Baba We take up the tale of Jivan, whose travels with Babaji were of longer duration than those of Tularam and the longest that we know of. After his period of travel/companionship, he came to be known as Jivan Baba, a transformation and elevation that might have seemed unusual to Jivan's near and dear ones. This transformation would not have seemed unusual to those who had seen many such cases before. Those who saw or knew the murtis only, but not the craftsman, saw each as distinct and separate from each other. But for those who had met the craftsman from whose hands the murtis came, and had seen him at work, they were not distinct. All the murtis were the products of the same master hand. The unique underlying qualities could not be traced by judging one or two of them at random, but when you took them as a whole, you could find the missing link. The predominant thing was that every one was perfect and complete in itself. This remark does not refer to all and sundry who came to Baba for darshan, but only to those whom he had chosen for special treatment. Their number is small as far as we know. There was not any major difference in nature between Tularam and Jivan when they came out of the master craftsman's workshop. They were first emptied of all unwarranted and spurious things, and then cleaned and purified. These processes were different for each, but when complete, each newly filled vessel was filled with the sacred water. The cases of Jivan or Tularam were not isolated ones. Taken with those of Bhabania, Brij Mohan, and such others, there was unity in their separation—the unity of the separate flowers in the same garland. The flowers were different, but the florist was the same for all of them. Jivan belonged to an educated, middle-class family from the Nainital region. His education was dictated by the customs and traditions of his class and family. He had not taken special training or higher education that would have qualified him for a particular post, for he had made a decision at an early stage of life not to take any job. His father had died when he was young and he came to be entirely in the charge of his mother, which became the determining factor in the course of his life. By nature, Jivan was gentle and soft-spoken, helpful, forgiving, generous and large-hearted. He gathered many friends and spent most of his time in their company. He was not possessive or aggressive, so his relations had no reason to restrain him and he was allowed to live as he wished. With his soft heart, he would become highly emotional when he started singing bhajans, often with tears in his eyes and a choked voice. Everyone enjoyed his golden voice and his friends often got together for a musical spree with Jivan in the center. To get their enjoyment in full, they took the aid of food and then crowned it by taking a few sips. In the beginning, such gatherings were small, with restricted doses of drink. But from the modest start, they gathered momentum and grew very large, with eating and drinking taking the form of ritual. Soon, they were carried to many places in that region, where Jivan became popular. He and his friends believed in enjoying life. With no family responsibility and no need to earn money or support anyone, he could

'eat, drink, and be merry.' There was no transgression of public morality or indulgence in any obscenity, so there was no opposition. They ate their own food in their own homes, drank by spending their own money, and kept their smoking restricted to their own chosen places. This was how Jivan lived in the early stage of his life. He was innocent and pure of heart and did not harbor any ill or evil to anyone. He had no sinful ideas in his mind and no unworthy acts to repent, so he was fearless and moved freely with his friends. It was painful to his mother and near relations to see such a precious life going to waste. He had been born into a decent family, but instead of becoming the succor and shelter of his relations, he had actually become a burden for them. They worried about how to bring him back to the right track. However, they knew Jivan well and were convinced that this was not in their power; it would have to come from somewhere else. Every mother wants well for her son, but with mothers like Jivan's, there were added responsibilities. The supreme task before this old, affectionate mother was to bring him into the pattern of family life that had been followed for generations. She was convinced that her son was good, honest, and pure, and that there was nothing wrong in his make-up; he had just taken the wrong path. Jivan's mother was accused of being responsible for the course of life her son was living because all the money came from her. But she could not be hard or stingy with him. It was a case of the weak hand holding the string loosely. When the wind blows, the kite soars high and moves this way or that. The nature and make-up of the kite is to rise and move. When not checked or controlled, it is the fault of the hand that the kite is on the wrong side. This was no doubt true for Jivan's mother. But when her hands were weakened by love, how could she get a strong grip to control her son? This was the root of her helplessness. She felt that the only path open to her was to pray to her Lord, her Ishtadev (personal god). She was a deeply religious lady who spent most of her time in prayer and worship, but whereas most ladies of her age and status prayed to be free of worries in the afterlife, her prayers were directed for her son's transformation. She was a great devotee of Babaji and he gave her darshan whenever he came to town. He knew what her problem was, so she had no need to apprise him of it. If she could only throw a halter made with her religious and spiritual fibers round Jivan's neck—the halter she had prepared through her life of prayer and pious living—she had full faith that Babaji would take it up. She had only to wait for the right time. Babaji was an eyesore for Jivan; Babaji's very name was so repugnant to him that anybody who talked to him about Baba would only be inviting abuse. He quarrelled with his mother over her devotion to Baba and the fact that she entertained him in her house. He felt it was a crime for her to meet Baba but he could not deter her since Babaji always came in his absence. So his hateful vigilance was begun. There was an interesting incident in the life of Ram Thakur. He and his devotees had come to Benares and were going over a narrow road when they saw persons running helter-skelter as if to save their lives. They were warned that a mad bull was rushing towards them and they must all run away. His devotees ran to different sides, but Ram Thakur did not budge. The bull was dashing towards him, people in adjoining houses were shouting at him, but to no effect. The rushing bull came and suddenly stopped before Ram Thakur, as if some spell had set to work. The bull bent his head and moved away in a slow and careless way. Gone were the rage and fury and the mad rush to charge. Everyone witnessing this was stunned. How could it happen? Who was the person who could tame a turbulent bull? One day Jivan learned that Babaji had come to town. Now he only had to watch his house and wait for Babaji to visit his mother. A little higher dose of drink was needed to release him from useless debates of right or wrong and gather full strength and courage for his task. He must not falter or fail, but must finish his challenge for good. Babaji arrived, and was walking down the road followed by many devotees. Jivan was waiting to march to his adversary, followed by some of his friends. Everyone saw him rushing madly toward Baba with a shoe in his hand. They all shouted and some tried to stop him, but Babaji prevented this by saying, "Let him come. He wants to face me. Allow him to do that for which he has waited so long." Jivan came face to face with Babaji, but collapsed at his feet before he could raise the shoe to strike. He could not look at Babaji and so missed seeing the bewitching smile and the glowing eyes, free from all traces of fear or fury. It was a smile celebrating the success of the venture for which the mother had been praying all her life. The halter had been caught up and the direction of Jivan's movement could be changed for the benefit of all. People came rushing and gathered round while Babaji moved away slowly, unnoticed by anyone. His work was done. Jivan was crying— perhaps trying to empty his eyes by shedding the last drops. He was actually lifted and carried to his home. It was an occasion for jubilation —the triumph of his mother's patience, perseverance and undiluted affection for her son. Everyone believed that it was going to be very significant for Jivan—the turning point in his life. The miracle had been done. Only time would reveal how it would work itself out. Jivan started his new career with an earnestness not seen before by his relations. He stopped going to the old gatherings, and sought in their place contact with Babaji's devotees. Babaji was well known in the Nainital region and almost everyone had experiences and stories to narrate. Jivan sought their company and spent all his time this way, intoxicated under the new spell. Another request of Jivan's mother, for which she pressed Babaji hard, was to get Jivan married. She did not live to see her wish fulfilled, but he married during Babaji's lifetime and lives with his wife and sons. One day, a number of western devotees were standing before the window of Babaji's room at Kainchi. I was with them. He put a question to them through me, "Do you take drugs?" "Yes, Baba." "Why do you take drugs?" "For intoxication. The miseries of life sometimes become so acute and intolerable that we run for all kinds of remedies to help us forget

them." "How long does your intoxication continue after one dose?" "Just for two or three hours at a time." "Why don't you repeat your doses for more?" "It is very harmful, Baba. The effects on the stomach and the mind have to be kept under rigid control, therefore we cannot take more." "So, this intoxication comes to an end quickly and damages the health and mind. This is not good." "What can we do, Baba? We do it under compulsion knowing full well that the effects are going to be bad." "Why do you not take God intoxication? It will never end, and you can spend all your time, your whole life in it. There will be no harm or damage to anything. Also, you will get back your lost health and vigor and your mind and heart will be fully restored. This is nectar, amrit. If you take this intoxication, you will be freed from all your illness and worries." Jivan had experienced that in his own life. That night, when I narrated this dialogue to him, his response came in the shedding of profuse tears and half-uttered words, "He is all in all and everything comes from him." Jivan's rise was rapid. He became an important figure in Baba's 'Night Brigade'—as it used to be called by the people of that area—moving all through the night, halting at any place without caring anything for shelter or food. Jivan never missed a march by sitting and resting and was always ready to help everyone with whatever they might need. Tularam valued Jivan's company most highly. While others could join the brigade life at night only, Jivan had no such problem. He had no job with routine hours or responsibilities to a family and was able to move anywhere at Babaji's beck and call. He soon had his chance to be with him when others were not near. He had a thin supple body, and being mentally free from all obsessions of high or low, fit or not, he did any work needed by Baba. It was a training in mobility and selfeffacement. One night, Baba had sent the others away after midnight. He and Jivan started walking. Babaji said he was having some pain in his knees and could not walk anymore, so Jivan should get a rickshaw for him. He sought for one but returned saying no rickshaw was available. Baba shouted, "Do you not have eyes? When so many rickshaws are there, you could not get one?" Babaji was right. The rickshaw pullers had deposited their rickshaws and gone home. Jivan had his eyes opened and could see. He went to the rickshaw stand, took one and pulled it himself. Babaji got on it and ordered him to move. How long they went on like this, he could not know, but the comments kept coming: "You know all the roads, lanes and by-lanes here. Pull the rickshaw very carefully—no jerks or sudden changes of direction. You are an expert in this job. Where did you learn it? It seems you have been a rickshaw puller all your life." They were going by the road near a small cottage when Babaji asked him to stop. He said he was hungry and Jivan should get some food for him. Jivan knocked at the house and woke the people up, but their regret was that there was no food they could offer Babaji right then. They said they would have to prepare some and came to take Babaji to their home. Babaji said that he was very hungry and could not wait anymore—they must bring whatever was available; some chapatis and chutneys must be in the house. They were reluctant to give only that, but he started shouting, "You have no mercy for me. When I am so very hungry, you are not giving me food?" They were helpless. They rushed back home and returned with the dry chapatis with some pieces of chutney. He started eating, fully relishing the food. It took no time at all to put them in the right state of mind after being forced to serve the food against all their expostulations. "You actually get the taste of food when you are hungry. Whatever you eat then becomes so sweet on your tongue." They were feeding Baba, sitting before him. Jivan was given a couple of maize corns as there were not enough chapatis for him. He was sitting a little away from Baba and eating the corn, his food for the night. When Baba finished they were sent away and he asked Jivan what he was eating. He took a small piece of corn from Jivan's hand and tried working his few teeth on it. He told Jivan it was good and he relished it, thereby adding taste to Jivan's dry corn. He had many such experiences. Many 'certificates' were given to him when he tried his hand at various kinds of jobs. "You understand things so quickly and do your work efficiently." Jivan's remarks about this were: "Everyone was praised lavishly for whatever little you did for him." When Jivan completed his preliminary training, he was drafted for long and hazardous journeys. Others only knew about that part of the journey in which they themselves participated as travel mate or companion and few were taken on more than a couple of journeys. Jivan was one of the rare few to our knowledge who served as Babaji's travel mate in many journeys over a long period of time. Tularam's long journeys with Babaji were on the known and open roads, traveling by train or car. But Jivan's travel were in the interiors of the Kumoan and Garwhal hill, in places not reached by many and avoided by others. Here the journeys were through the vales and dales, across many streams and dense forests. The roads were narrow and steep, with wide detours. It was not all easy walking, but crawling and bending, climbing over sharp cliffs and going down hills while gathering momentum. On seeing them pass by, the cowherd boys would say it was 'the journey of the tall and the short.' When the road was broad enough, they moved side by side, one leaning on the shoulder of the other or catching his hand. The comment about them during this time was that they were 'thick and thin.' Journeys through these areas were very slow with many hurdles, but Babaji and Jivan had no set time for reaching a certain place. Jivan said he never worried if the climb was steep or the journey risky. The strong hands would lift him, the firm grip would hold him against any slips, and the massive body, behind which he moved, was the armor which protected him from the calamities of life. Food was available in plenty—not only the fruits and roots of the forests, but also cooked food coming from the householders, sadhus and ashramites scattered everywhere.

Jivan had the same surprise while going with Babaji as did Ram Narayan Sinha on the streets of Mathura and Tularam on his way to the four sacred centers of pilgrimage: Babaji was known to everyone. Babaji was equally well known to householders and sadhus. His journey actually turned out to be moving from the familiar behind to the familiar ahead, everywhere being welcomed by all. Babaji was not fixed to any one place or tied to any person, however great or dear. He was free—no binding to hold him back, no attachment for anything—so he moved triumphantly. Jivan was the silent spectator, his travel companion; all that was left for him to do was to move, fully enthralled. Living like this was so good —no drink or music could give this to you. As Jivan used to emphasise tirelessly, there was nothing missing and nothing left to worry about or deter you from your journey. All that you had to do was to move as the hands move when the legs are going ahead. If just for once you could disconnect your mind from your set notions and ideas, everything would be perfect. One day they came to a beautiful valley, solitary and peaceful, with a narrow stream flowing nearby. They could sit there and relax, which they had not done for days. Babaji was sitting near the stream in silence. It was much afterwards when Babaji looked up and saw Jivan taking his bath in the stream, washing and massaging his body and then spreading out his dhoti in the sun. Babaji gave him the full chance to do that without any disturbance. It was only when Jivan was spreading his dhoti that Babaji said, "You are a very clever chap. You had such a nice bath in the clean water of the rushing stream. I will also take my bath. A bath in such pure water cleans your body, soothes your mind, and gives you fresh vigor and energy. You are very clever." He threw off his blanket on the shore, entered the stream with his dhoti on and spent much time in the water taking dips and dallying. Coming out of the water, Babaji was sitting on the ground cross-legged with the blanket around his body. They sat there chatting while their dhotis dried. The stream had very pure water there, which you could not find in rivers on the plains, which were filled with all kinds of pollution. "God gives you everything pure and fresh, but greedy and selfish people turn it all into poison, and then they blame God for it. Can you understand it?" The reply Jivan gave was to sit silently and listen. After some time Babaji started abusing him, "Do you want to spend the night here where there is no food or shelter nearby? The dhoti must be dry by now. I must wear it before I start. You may go in your langoti (loincloth), but I cannot go without my dhoti. I am not like you. When I am moving among people, I must be properly dressed." A good sermon to remember, at least for understanding his behavior when he was with the householders. Walking some distance, they reached a small village with scattered cottages. They were welcomed by many of the villagers and decided to spend the night there. There were chapatis with potatoes and plenty of milk. Babaji took his habitual diet of plain chapatis with salt in such areas and left the vegetables and milk for Jivan. Early next morning they took to the road. While passing through the outskirts of Almora at dark, several persons accosted Baba, pressing him to take his food that night in their houses. He refused everyone but ultimately yielded to one who followed him for a long time repeating his request, along with his complaint that Babaji had more or less deserted him, for what fault of his, he did not know. He said that Babaji had visited Almora several times during the last two years, but he had not been given any darshan. Babaji came to his house, sat on the verandah and talked to the people. The fellow started pleading with Baba that they should be given the privilege of serving him at night. Babaji readily agreed, saying that he would spend the night at their house. The family had some difficulty believing this because they knew Babaji's peculiar knack for running away. The food was brought and much time was spent in the company of the householders, relishing their delicious food and praising them for knowing his taste. He said over and over what a good meal he had had. Jivan had already taken his food. Babaji and Jivan were then taken to their room where the beds were laid. Water was kept for drinking with a bucket and a lota on the verandah. Babaji said, "There is nothing more that is needed. You are tired and must return to your room." When they pressed him to allow them to sit for some time with him, he sent them away, saying that he himself was sleepy and, pointing to Jivan, he said it would be a mercy if he was allowed to sleep now. When they left his room, they bolted the stair door from their side, thereby blocking the stairs for Babaji. They were suspicious and came several times to see that the door was not open. Babaji was sitting on his bed talking to Jivan, but stopped immediately when the footsteps were heard on the stairs. Finally they stopped coming for any further inspection, thinking it was already too late at night for him to run away. When everyone down below was in deep sleep, Babaji pushed Jivan, abusing him, "You wretch. You want to spend your night here in sleep when someone is waiting for me outside. We must go now." He came out on the verandah, and told Jivan to take off his dhoti and hold one end tightly in his hand, hanging the other end down. Babaji caught hold of the hanging dhoti. Jivan had no difficulty in holding his end firmly because the person climbing down was not heavy enough to create any trouble for him. When he set his food on the ground, Babaji told Jivan to come down slowly. For mountain goats there isn't any difficulty in climbing up or gliding down and Jivan proved his mettle. They had made some sound in their move, and the household people woke up. Coming to the door, they found it bolted, but reaching the verandah, they saw Babaji and Jivan down below. Feeling their eyes looking at him, Babaji told Jivan that they must run if they were not to be caught. The race started with each one trying to best the other. While running, they could hear shouting behind them, "Baba, so you ran away. We know that you deceive everyone, and we tried to stall you from running away, but you always find your ways of escape. We are helpless before you." They covered a long distance and reached the outskirts of the city. It was the middle of the night and the whole town was asleep. They stopped before a small hut where an old woman was sitting in a room lit by a small kerosene lamp. Babaji tapped at the door. Opening it, she said she had been waiting for him with the chapatis she prepared in the evening and could not go to sleep without handing them over to him. He said that he had wanted to come earlier. He had been hungry and needed food, but had been imprisoned in a house where people were guarding him till late night. He was talking so much to convince her that it was not his indifference or negligence that kept him back. She was consoled and they left her to rest.

But there was no rest for them and they came to the crowded part of town. There was no one to watch them; all the doors were closed and people were asleep. Babaji sat down and asked Jivan to give him the food that was wrapped in his napkin—dry chapatis and potatoes. Taking them from his hand, he started eating. Jivan stood there silently watching. Babaji went on eating with such great relish as if it was the only thing he had to do. Jivan was thinking that only a few hours back he took so much delicious, well-cooked food as if he had not eaten for days. When he had eaten most of his food, Babaji offered Jivan what was left—half a chapati and a few pieces of potato—telling him to eat it if he was feeling hungry. He said that he was not sure that Jivan would enjoy it as he had. One could enjoy one's food only when one was really hungry. "You have no hunger for such food, but I am always hungry for it." Jivan had nothing to say nor did Babaji want any reply from him, but it helped him a great deal to understand the whole drama that had been enacted that evening: how Babaji had been so very restless; how he had to run to a mother who was remembering him with such devotion and waiting with the food prepared by her own hands. Their journey ended for that time and they returned to Haldwani the next day. Everyone who had accompanied Baba on his journeys enjoyed them in his own way, the differences being due not only to their tastes and preferences or their nearness and association with Baba, but also, as these devotees used to say, according to what Babaji wanted them to enjoy. Each one felt that their own experiences were true. This was actually Babaji's trick. He revealed to each one what he wanted them to see or enjoy according to their own interest or capacity. The old devotees sitting together in their satsangs agreed that each of their experiences were true and valuable for all. Jivan's experiences were unique. Many of them were in striking contrast to others, and his observations are very illuminating in their own way. He preferred to move with Babaji in the hills and mountains, but he was not very enthusiastic while visiting the towns or urban areas. He used to say that when he was traveling with Babaji by train he had to restrain his talk so there should not be any indication of Babaji's identity; he had to behave, more or less, like a stranger to Babaji. For Jivan it was a strict discipline. Visiting the urban devotees and sitting in their drawing rooms while Babaji was meeting people were not to Jivan's liking. He would stay away or sit in a corner as a disinterested spectator. It was so very different from what he experienced when he and Babaji visited the hills and the hamlets of the simpler, rural devotees. What a striking difference there was in the way Babaji talked and entertained his devotees in the two distinct places. Jivan's opinion was that Babaji was freer while he was in the huts, hearing the people's petty household difficulties. His reactions were immediate and spontaneous, with words of cheer and courage: their work must be done, responsibilities discharged, and they must remain satisfied with what was coming to them, never losing faith in God. It was very homely advice, but what joy and consolation for the humble seekers. Jivan used to say that you could get the real taste of Babaji when you were traveling with him in the mountains, through wayside villages and meeting stray travelers. In the city there were busy people, well off in every way. Their interests were not in the big problems of society—the political, economic and what not. Their talks were often to acquaint Baba with their political and economic achievements and to seek his approval for their service to society. Sometimes they sought his advice on tricky problems facing them. He would hear everyone, ask them questions to show his interest in their problems, and advise them. He had a way of making them happy by responding to their requests and satisfying their curiosity in appropriate ways. No one felt neglected or disappointed. One winter, Babaji was at Allahabad and we were enjoying our time with him. One day he decided to leave for Patna. As usual, nobody knew about his departure in advance. This was easy for him as no preparations were made for his journey. We were standing before him as he was leaving when he looked at Jivan and asked him to accompany him. Jivan was taken by surprise and only had a couple of minutes to get ready. Having traveled with Babaji many times before, he knew what was to be taken with him—only a change of clothes. When he came out with his small bag, we were admiring his luck, but Jivan was actually not very enthusiastic. Some of us noticed this and could not understand what was working in his mind. We found out only after he returned from Patna with Babaji and narrated his experience to us. Four days passed, and we were all expecting their return at any time. On the fifth morning, I had a telegram from Patna, "Going by Delhi Express." It was so cryptic that everybody felt that Babaji was proceeding to Delhi and not coming here. All we could do was to meet him at the station. We were getting ready for the station, when Kanti and Ramesh came to accompany us. Kanti brought her tiffin carrier with food for Babaji's journey. Didi, on her part, was not lagging behind, already waiting with her own tiffin carrier. We were all ready to start. Looking at the ladies with their food for his journey, the idea suddenly came to my mind that Babaji might use this to foil my attempts of getting him to break his journey and stay here, so I asked the ladies not to accompany us. Ramesh and I would go to the station alone. I explained to them what was working in my mind and trying to console them, I said, "Together, uncle and nephew have a lot of strength. If you would stay at home, we will bring him back." They agreed, and we left for the station. When we reached the station, the train was already there. We rushed to locate his compartment and found him sitting there alone. Jivan was not there. He began all his usual inquiries, "Did you get my telegram? What did you do then? What did the people say when they learned that I was going to Delhi and not getting down here?" When I did not reply to his queries, he told me that he had some important work in Delhi and should be allowed to proceed—he would return after finishing his work. Failing to get any response from me, he asked Ramesh, who narrated how everybody was disheartened that he was going to Delhi and how Kanti and Didi prepared food for him and were ready to come. "Then what happened, why did they not come?" Ramesh replied that I persuaded them not to accompany us, saying that there was enough strength with nephew and uncle. This came at the moment when the train whistled and was about to start. He actually jumped up in the train. "Yes, yes. There is enough strength. Let me get down." I caught hold of his hand and Ramesh collected Jivan's bag. When we got down, Jivan came running. He had been searching for us all over the platform, but failing to see us, he was convinced that there was no chance of getting down and that he would have to board the train again. When he reached us, the train had already started. We four walked slowly together across the platform. Babaji was talking all the time, but it was difficult to know if anyone was hearing him. We were just trying to understand in our own minds how we had gotten him down from his scheduled journey so quickly when we had more or less lost all hope of it.

Coming out of the station, we took two rickshaws—Jivan and Ramesh in one and we two in the other. We started talking about the person whom Babaji had gone to see, a great devotee. He said that the devotee was ill and remembering him much, so he had to go. Then suddenly he said that I had done a very great thing. I could not understand what he was referring to. Then as if to help me to understand he said, "The dog was not yours, nor had she eaten the chickens, but to save her from them you gave the money to the young men." I kept quiet. It had happened at the house two days back when I was sitting with Mathur on the verandah. The gate suddenly opened and a roadside dog came running very panicky, followed by some young men with hockey sticks in their hands. They wanted to kill the dog, alleging that she had eaten their chickens. However much I argued that the dog could not have done that, they did not agree and were talking only of their loss in so many rupees. I handed them the money and they went away, leaving the dog. Babaji was referring to this. It had happened when he was in Patna and was unknown to everyone in the house here. When we reached the house, it was late in the afternoon and everybody was very excited by seeing him with us. He said he had been booked for Delhi but had to get down under pressure from these persons, pointing to Ramesh and myself. The whole house got busy with their work. Babaji had his bath, which he had not taken for three days, and was his usual self, taking his food with Ma, Maushi Ma and Siddhi Didi sitting around him. He said he was given food for the journey while leaving Patna but he had not eaten that, as he wanted to eat at home. This was his unique way of dealing with the mothers, whose highest joy was in feeding him with food cooked by their own hand. All of us were anxious to hear from Jivan about his journey. At night, when Babaji had retired to his room, we got our chance and he gave all the details and his own reflections. They had traveled in a first class compartment where there were a few other passengers. Babaji was talking all the way of commonplace things so as not to excite interest or curiosity in anybody sitting there. They reached Patna in the evening. The devotee was a big landlord, well known in the place, and there were many family members and several servants. All of them wanted to serve Baba. Baba said for them first to give him tea and then to feed him, as he was hungry and hand not taken his food on the train. They got busy with Baba; Jivan went to the room meant for him. After his meal, Baba was sitting with the members of the family, who were all busy with their household affairs. When Jivan came to see him, Babaji inquired if he had eaten and if his bed was ready. After all the inquiries, Babaji told him to go to sleep. While talking about it, Jivan said, "But how could I sleep? The whole thing, from coming to the station and boarding the train, to the journey to this place, had been a very tame affair, as if two unknown persons meeting at the station were traveling together." He was thinking of his journeys with Babaji in the mountains and of their thrilling experiences. Sitting in his lonely room and recalling them, he felt that this was lifeless, as if it was a punishment for him. For the next three days, life was very busy with visiting many devotees in their houses and talking to the countless persons coming to Babaji. Hearing everyone and giving suitable replies was more or less a routine affair for him. Jivan was only a spectator, as there was nothing for him to do. While sitting in a corner of the drawing room of their host, the idea came to his mind that although there was nothing in the talks to interest him, there was a lot to see. The way Babaji was treating his audience with his retorts, gestures and the movement of his eyes, sometimes interlaced with remarks about some events or personalities, threw everybody into peals of laughter which resounded in the whole area. One had to admire the acting, which changed with each stage and audience. Jivan was excited while narrating this. Recalling some past experience, he said that no doubt there was laughter in the drawing rooms that he visited with Baba, but in the houses of devotees in the mountains and countrysides, he had seen how Baba could bring tears to the eyes by his remarks and gestures. "You become one with everyone and cannot resist your own tears. There can be no question of his acting. The idea cannot come in your mind. You feel in the very core of your heart that this is the Baba you want to be with. So you can understand why I want to avoid his drawing room visits." Jivan had to stop there. He was choked with tears and could not talk. It was much afterwards that he could resume his narration, adding a few words about the return. "Many persons had come to the station to see Babaji off. Our seats had been reserved and we had comfortable berths. They brought some food for us for the journey. Pointing to the food, Babaji asked me to eat. There were chapatis, vegetables, and squash especially prepared for Baba. When I tried to serve him the food, he asked me to eat, saying he would take food only after reaching home. I was not very hungry, and the food was not to my taste. There was no salt in the squash and I did not eat it. Babaji asked me why I was not eating. When I told him there was no salt in the vegetable, he laughed and then said rather slowly, 'It is not easy to cook food. You have to give your full attention to it, only then will it turn out well.' "There was no one else in the compartment so Babaji could talk. It was all about the people and how they loved him. He said that he was not like myself who could not mix with people and enjoy their company. Living in society and moving from one place to another, one must learn to mix with others—adjust to changing conditions and persons, not being too much involved in anything. Babaji said that he knew how to behave with everyone and be happy everywhere—not like me, sitting sulky, complaining and grumbling." Once when we were talking about our experiences, Jivan said that it was futile to claim that you knew Babaji or could pass any judgment about him. He was always different from one person to another, one place to another, and different even at the same place but in different times. He said that everyone saw Baba in different ways, but that did not mean that anyone was wrong in his judgment. He himself had seen only a facet of him and not the whole, so how could he challenge anyone else because they had seen another facet? All of them were right. Moreover, we do not decide what we should see. The decision is always Babaji's; we see only what he wants us to see. His other observation was also very striking. It was that Babaji was always acting when he was with you. He said that Babaji very seldom revealed himself, so that no one truly knew him. In support of this opinion, Jivan would muster up all of his experiences over the years, of sitting or journeying with him, in the plains and mountains, in the company of many others, or with him alone. He said in the same way we change our clothes when we go on a journey, visit a temple, or meet some celebrities, Babaji also changes. But whereas we only change our outward covering and make no change within, Babaji changes within as well as outside.

Traveling with Babaji in the hills, one noticed the way he moved, talked, shouted, and laughed. It was as if he had discovered himself anew. Gone were the acting and constraints that were expected of him. Rather, he could be himself as he really is. It was like the release of a block that was restraining the passage of water in a spring. Suddenly the water rushes out. So also were Babaji's movements, going anywhere and everywhere, talking and fraternising with everyone passing by, and showering his love and affection to those who recognized him from his previous visits. It was life—happy and cheerful for everyone to participate in and share. This was the reward that Jivan could never expect from anyone else, or even from Babaji in any other place. It could come only in the open, rough, rugged ground of the steep hills and forests. Jivan was trying to explain why he was so keen to go with Babaji to the mountains while trying to avoid visiting the houses of his rich devotees in the towns. Jivan was firm in this judgment and could rightly be so, because of his extensive journeys with Babaji and also because of the deep devotion and intense faith he had earned through the ordeal of his apprenticeship. Talking about Babaji, Jivan would cry sometimes, but would always end by saying, "He is all in all." Jivan said if we suffer for anything while going with Babaji, it is only due to our lack of faith in him. If we could rely on him and put ourselves entirely in his charge, things would be so easy for us. We feel ourselves to be so important, so we accuse him of failing us when we suffer. He said we all did it—even the so-called old devotees who claimed nearness to Babaji, as well as the new ones. Talking about this, Jivan would often get much excited and the story would break. I had to try to keep it going on while listening patiently. Jivan had many more journeys with Babaji to his credit, and he would talk about them whenever we were sitting together. This practice which had started three decades back continues, giving us even more joy and relish now that we miss Babaji's physical presence. Jivan was in Haldwani remembering Baba, whom he had not known for more than three months at that time. He felt he should go in search of him and that he might meet him at Bareilly, where Babaji often visited. Entertaining these ideas, he had just stepped out of the door of his house when he heard a friend calling to him, "Jivan, are you coming to Bareilly with me? You have nothing to do here now, so come with me." Jivan thought this must be a call from Babaji, bringing him out of the house and providing him with transport. The person taking him to Bareilly was his old friend, Yogesh, son of Shri Hriday Narain, a great devotee of Baba's from Bareilly. When he reached the house of Dr. Bhandari, where Baba always visited when he was in Bareilly, he was told, "Jivan, you've come so late. Babaji was waiting for you here for so long, inquiring about you. Seeing that you were not coming, he left only a few minutes back." Jivan was convinced that he was not mistaken in coming to Bareilly. Babaji was actually calling him. When he said that he would go in search of Baba, the doctor said, "Where will you find him? He has so many places to go, and who could know where he would be at this particular moment?" But Jivan was not deterred. After visiting one house on the way, he came to the house of his friend, Hema Pandey and found Babaji there, surrounded by some devotees and members of the family. Jivan took a seat in a corner, not presenting himself before Babaji. Looking at him, Babaji said, "Jivan, you are so late—I was waiting for you at Dr. Bhandari's house. Did he tell you I was waiting for you? How did you come to know that I was here?" Jivan gave no reply. These were not really questions, but Babaji's way of greeting his devotees. It was noon and everyone had their meal after Babaji had taken his food. He went to his room, and spent a few hours meeting and talking to the people who came to visit him. Someone in the house wanted to close the door so that he could rest, but Babaji wanted to keep the door open, allowing those who wanted to, to see him. This was not a new thing for him. Whenever Babaji visited his devotees and spent time in their houses, he would see that nobody was refused his darshan. He would say that when people came to him, leaving their work or their rest, how could he not meet them? Those of his devotees who had been with him in his ashrams or in the houses of other devotees when Babaji was there, knew this well. One day while staying at Allahabad, many visitors had come throughout the day keen to have his darshan. Babaji had returned after several days visit to Puri and Calcutta. At night, the mothers were waiting in his room with his food. He was reminded several times that the food was ready, but he never responded. When he finally came, he sat for some time, telling them that he was so very tired. He said, "One gets tired when meeting many persons, and also loses peace of mind." Ma said that that was his own doing, since he would not obey when someone wanted him to stay in his room instead of going out to meet people. Talking like a person who felt guilty of some disobedience, he said, "Ma, what can I do? I feel very unhappy if I fail to see people coming to meet me." In this same connection one is reminded of the experience of Siddhi Didi and others when they were traveling with him in early 1973. At Bombay, they were taken to an ashram in Ganeshpuri. Babaji stayed back in his car while the others were sent for darshan. They returned after some lapse of time. When Babaji asked them about their talks with the Swamiji, they said they could not meet him—he had his own time for giving darshan and it was not yet that time, so they went away. After a few days, they came to Bangalore. Babaji sent them to visit a well-known saint in that area. They were not interested in the visit and resisted as much as possible, but he insisted and sent them to the ashram. He accompanied them in their car for some distance and then got down on the way and made them continue, saying he would wait for them there. After they returned he asked about their experience. The reply was that the saint had fixed hours when persons came to see him. So again they came away without having darshan. Babaji exclaimed, "Did you see, did you see? Every saint has his fixed time for meeting people and sticks to that, but for me there cannot be any rule. However much I may fix my time, you and your Dada would not allow me to keep it. You will always force me out to give darshan although it is not my time." But how well we knew that there was no one—neither Siddhi Didi, nor myself, nor anyone else—who could make him do anything which he himself did not want to do. The major part of Babaji's life was spent as a tramp, a baharupiya (someone who is capable of changing his form), as a sadhu who had known him for long had said. Even the closed doors of the ashrams or houses of his devotees were no barrier to his escape. The tramp in him would always beckon, making him run away. In June 1971, in Kainchi, about three in the afternoon, he was in his room resting after his food. He suddenly came out the room without his

blanket, wearing only a t-shirt. Everyone was taken by surprised by his presence at that unscheduled time and in such an unusual way. Although there was no fixed routine or time schedule for him, during the last few years of his stay in the ashram he used to retire for his bath and food at eleven in the morning and come out again at four, when he would meet everyone who had come. This was the practice to which people had become accustomed. Of course, he would sometimes come out to meet someone, but seldom without the blanket on him. I was standing outside with many others. He caught hold of my hand and said, "Let's go." People were left gazing at him. We crossed the bridge and came out on the road. Seeing him coming, many persons gathered and wanted to touch his feet, but by a gesture of his hand, he sent them away. He was silent and when we had gone some distance, he asked me, as if only for my hearing, "Dada, have you been to Badrinath?" Hearing me reply that I had not been there, he said, "We shall hire a taxi for 600 rupees and visit there. You will return after that, but I will remain there. I love those places—the land of the gods! All the gods and the rishis live there. I shall also live with them." He stopped talking and was quiet as if reflecting on how life was to be there. Then as if awakened, he looked at me and said repeatedly, "You must not talk about it to anyone. No one, no one, must know of it." This gives us some idea of the inner working of his mind and his real nature—a free spirit, ever free, allowing himself to be enclosed in the ashrams or houses of his devotees only out of his sheer grace for us. After Babaji had taken his samadhi, Deoria Baba talked about him to his devotees on several occasions. He said, "He is free, a realised soul. How could he remain bound?" Then he said that Babaji's devotees had raised an enclosure around him, thinking he could be held in that way. "How could this be possible? He might have stayed here for some time more had there been no such enclosure." There came to be some truth in what Babaji had said about his being pushed out to give darshan to the devotees. This came to be prophetic for what was to happen in the last few weeks of his stay at Kainchi. When he returned to Kainchi in 1973 after the Holi celebrations, the old routine of his coming out of his room at 8 o'clock in the morning, retiring at 11 o'clock and then coming out for meeting everyone at 4 o'clock began again. However, in a few days it was seen that Babaji had become so aloof from the ashram life and its routine that he could not follow it anymore. The changes that were taking place in him were not known to those staying at the ashram nor to the devotees coming for his darshan. They would assemble in the morning and afternoon as before, but would have to wait. It was so unusual for the old devotees that many would remark that he must not be well. "Did he not know we were waiting for him? How could this happen?" Baba had lost interest in everything; it was only with great effort that he was making the body and the senses work. It would be long past eight o'clock in the morning or late in the afternoon and the visitors who had assembled would be waiting anxiously outside for him. Inside his room, Baba had no interest in the persons around and no knowledge of time or the work that was awaiting him. He just wanted to remain wherever he was, on the bed, on the chair inside, or on the toilet. He had to be reminded many times before he would come out. Siddhi Didi and myself, who were there with him, would have to make great efforts to bring him outside. Because of this experience over several months, we could testify to the truth of his statement that he was 'pushed out by us.' But when it came to the climax, then all the pushes and pulls failed to work. Nothing could make him come out of his room to give darshan. June 15th was the foundation day of that ashram and the biggest celebration of the year. Preparations had gone on for days, with devotees from faraway places visiting for the auspicious occasion. The bhandara had been going on from early in the morning, with the malpua—the special prasad for that occasion—being given to everyone to eat and also to take home as a token of their visit to Hanumanji's temple. As usual, Babaji had taken every care to see that enough had been prepared with all attention to its quality and purity. But unlike other years, he was not vigilant about the feeding and distribution of prasad. Formerly, he had stayed out of his room for the whole day, taking a few rounds across the ashram premises to see for himself how things were being done and to keep the workers alert. There was none of that this time. With great effort and persuasion, he was brought out in the morning, but he returned to his room without waiting for long. By the middle of the day, thousands of devotees had assembled before the temple for darshan and streams of people were coming unabated. The greatest event of the day was to be the Ramdhun—Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram—played by Ram Singh with his police band, but they could not begin because Babaji was not there to grace the occasion. He asked me, as many others did, to bring Babaji out of his room. Little did they know that all efforts, all persuasions and even tears had already been ineffective. After waiting for a long time, the band started playing, but everybody was looking toward the door to Babaji's room, hoping he would come out. I entered the room for my last attempt, but had to remain within until the music was over. I had found Babaji clapping his hands, singing Ram Ram, and moving around the room dancing. His dhoti was falling off and he was not conscious of anything around him. I forgot to do that for which I had come. Instead, I caught hold of his dhoti. I don't know for how long this continued, but it ended when the band stopped playing. Some mothers had come into the room and were standing as silent spectators to this unusual experience. Babaji might not be in the ashram for days at a time, but he would always return on this day to fulfill the expectations of his devotees and bless them by sitting with them. After some time passed, he came out for a short while. Many had already left, but many more were still there, not having given up hope of having his darshan. Nobody could imagine that it was going to be the last darshan of Baba, in his physical presence, on the annual festival day. To return to Jivan's story, Babaji left Hema Pande's house with Jivan and visited a couple of other houses before reaching the station. He asked Jivan to purchase two first class tickets for Kotdwara. They would be going to the mountains to visit Kedarnath and Badrinath. Standing before the booking office, he was looking towards the road as if there was no hurry for him to get the tickets. Jivan was thinking that the money in his pocket was just enough for the tickets, but then nothing would be left for the rest of the journey. He also wondered if a blanket could be procured from somewhere, as the mountains would be cold at that time. A few minutes passed, and thinking it was useless to wait anymore, he moved toward the counter. When he was taking out his money, he heard someone shouting, "Jivan, don't purchase the ticket. I am coming." Looking back, he saw it was his friend, Yogesh, with whom he traveled that morning. After Yogesh purchased the tickets they returned to the platform where Babaji was sitting. Jivan noticed that Yogesh

had a new blanket on his shoulder. Was it an accident, sheer coincidence or the working of an unseen hand? These questions were in his mind, when he heard Babaji yelling at him, "You wretched, stingy fellow. You had gone to purchase the tickets, but without purchasing them you were looking toward the road to see if somebody would come and purchase them for you and save your money. Not only that, but you also wanted someone to bring a blanket for you. Greedy rogue, always looking to others to give you things. Now you should be satisfied with your tickets, the blanket and your money still intact in your pocket." When the train came, they boarded it for the long journey to the hills and the forests, with no bags of clothes or food or anything else to carry. Just two pilgrims going empty-handed, each with only a blanket. For one, the blanket was for hiding, and for the other it was for protection from the mountain cold. There were several others in the compartment, so there was not much opportunity to talk except for a few routine questions or answers. Jivan said that at least this once, so far as he could remember, he welcomed the silence. His mind was full, recalling and reflecting on the whole episode—coming out of the house in the morning in Haldwani, getting into the car with Yogesh for one journey, and now boarding a train in the evening, not with Yogesh but with Babaji. He saw it just like moving slides on a fixed screen. The screen (referring to his own mind) had to keep itself free for the slides to play. That was why he said he preferred to remain silent: so the slides could run. While narrating the story he got excited and asked me several times how this could happen, although he believed that it was all Babaji's doing. "He is the one who does everything." His voice got choked, and he had to stop. While waiting for him to resume his talks, I started recalling my own predicament when faced with a situation like Jivan's. Without waiting for him to begin again, I began to narrate my own experience, which often haunted me with all kinds of doubts, so he could clarify them for me. In the beginning of May, Didi and I used to go to Kainchi for our uninterrupted stay of three months. Babaji had left Allahabad after Holi, and we were looking forward to our visit to Kainchi. During this time, Didi's mother had arrived, and Didi could not leave the house for too long as there was no certainty about the duration of her mother's stay here. The university was closed, and although I was free, I was persuaded not to leave for Kainchi without Didi. I had to wait, which of course, was not much to my liking. I spent three or four days trying to argue with them. While this was going on, I felt very strongly one day that Babaji was remembering me and was waiting for my arrival. The feeling became so strong that I decided to leave by myself for Kainchi that evening. When I told them of my decision, they again asked me to postpone the journey for a couple of days more. Mashima said that if I went away, Didi would not be able to go alone. Then my mother produced her last card and said, "Babaji has asked you to stay at home. Since then, whenever you have gone out it was either with Babaji himself or when he sent his intimation. This time there is neither Babaji to take you along with him, nor any intimation from him. It would not be proper for you to go now." Their arguments were strong, but stronger was my decision to start for Kainchi that very evening. All I could tell them was that I had my intimation. It was a case of transmission and reception, and I had received it. Leaving the house was not easy. There was a tussle in my mind whether to yield to the pressure and stay at home, or to follow the call that had come without any further delay. These thoughts haunted me all through the night in the train, taking the sleep away from my eyes. Was I mistaken? Was Babaji actually remembering me? How could I believe it was so when there was no tangible proof to support it? The sense of guilt was also uppermost in my mind. Had I not disobeyed Babaji in leaving the house without his permission? Was it not a make-believe sort of thing to support my own desire to enjoy the life in the ashram? This was the state of my mind until I got into the taxi in Haldwani at noon. At that point, I could only look ahead to when I would meet him. Would he be annoyed that I had come, not obeying the mothers, forgetting what he had asked me to do only a half-dozen years back? I was trying to seek courage by thinking that nothing was unknown to him—he would know what had made me leave the house. There was no doubt that I had disobeyed the mothers, but I had not disobeyed him. I was lost in this mental duel when the driver stopped in front of the temple at Bhumiadhar. He was booked for Kainchi, but he had seen Babaji sitting with a few others in front of the temple and he felt that we had reached the end of my journey. Seeing me approach, Babaji said that he had been remembering me for the last few days, as it was time for my visit. He asked, "Why was I late? Was the university closed? Why had Kamala not come with me? How were Ma and Mashima?" and other such questions which needed no reply. They were just his way of drawing me in. Then he asked rather excitedly, "Did you get my telegram? Did you get my telegram? When did you get it? I had been asking the people here to send you a telegram, but no one would obey me." Unconsciously, without any thinking on my part, the reply came out, "Yes, I had the telegram." This was not a lie, nor a slip on my part, because in fact the telegram had been delivered to the house in Allahabad after I had left for the station. Babaji sent me inside the house to take my tea and eat something, after which we would go to Kainchi in the taxi that was waiting there. While waiting for the tea, Siddhi Didi said that Babaji had been remembering me, saying that it was time for me to come. "Because of the delay, he sent the telegram. He was sitting inside talking to us when he suddenly went out, just five minutes before your arrival, saying, "Dada is coming." One gets thoroughly baffled when one tries to unravel the mystery. While I was narrating my story, Jivan was all attention, so addressing him I said "Jivanda, here are the replies to your queries, so far as I could understand them. The telegram proved that Babaji was actually remembering me and wanted me to come, which was my intimation when I was feeling agitated and wanted to go to him. Secondly, and more important, it demonstrated to my mother, Didi, and everyone else in the house that I was correct when I said that I had his intimation. Also, this was proof that I had not disobeyed Baba by leaving the house without permission." It had its effects, not only in allaying Jivan's doubts and curiosity, but also in strengthening my own belief that you could not mistake his message when he remembered you. We agreed that when you receive his message, you should do as he wants you to do, without using your mind or brain, or seeking advice from others. The messages come even now, although Babaji is not in his body, but we fail to benefit by

them. Our faith has lost its glory and flickers like a small candle before the wind. These talks disturbed Jivan again. Tears came to his eyes, and his voice was choked. I was only to wait in patience, giving him time to recover. But it was not useless waiting. I was thinking how precious were these sittings of the devotees in what is called 'satsang.' It helps to remove the gnawing doubts in your mind, thereby increasing and strengthening devotion. Jivan was able to resume his story. The journey took a long time to complete, and was spread over a wide area in Uttarkhand, including Kedarnath and Badrinath. From Bareilly to Pauri, and again while returning from Kedarnath, everyone else in the party was left behind and Jivan traveled alone with Baba. He was not so much interested in the beauty of the places they were going through, or visiting the temples or ashrams; he only wanted to hear and observe Babaji, and hear his talks with the village folk. Babaji had spent much time visiting all the areas of the region and would sometimes recall the persons who had met him there in earlier times. He said he had spent much time there visiting all the areas of the region. Many of those who used to feed him were not there. It was a long time back but there must be someone still alive. "The people used to love me and feed me well." "One day while going by the side of an unnamed stream, Babaji said that the water was very pure and refreshing there. 'You can see for yourself that there are springs or streams all over the area and there are all kinds of fruits and roots in the forests. The sadhus who live in these areas, the mahatmas, do not have to worry about their food and drink. They can eat or drink when they need to. Moreover, those sadhus who do not stay in any ashram or temple and do not cook their own food sometimes get it from the people of nearby areas bringing it for them. You can see for yourself what I am saying. It is you people, the ever-greedy ones, who are always dying for your food—I must have it now, this variety or that, more or something for the next day. Most of your time and activities are occupied with cooking and eating. When do you have time for other things, for God? Food has become your god and goddess and all you want is food, more food—sweet, pungent and delicious. "I have never bothered for food, but I have never been starving or hungry. It is the people who have bothered me with their food. Sometimes it has been a problem of how to keep them away with their food or how to keep them from bringing any more in the future. A sadhu should never worry about his needs or gather things for tomorrow. If one attempts to stockpile whatever is offered to him, that becomes his undoing. While staying somewhere, when people started bringing food for me everyday, I used to run away. I am not like you people, always looking for someone to give something to you—to entertain you with this or that. "You choose your friends from among those from whom you can extract something. When you get your food, you forget everyone else. You do not look at others because of the fear that you might have to give a part of it. This is not my concoction. I have seen for myself, I have taken the test of many persons. I have visited many people in their houses when they were busy preparing their food. Some of them would leave their food and get busy for feeding me, but not everyone that I visited would be like that. There would be others who would be stricken with terror. 'What will happen, how has he come at this time? My food will be gone.' I can read this on their faces. Sometimes someone would ask me to eat when I was visiting them in their houses at mealtime, and I would eat. But never did I eat at the houses of those for whom it was painful to part with food or feed others. You may think I am exaggerating or unnecessarily accusing somebody, but what do you know of this? If somebody offers you food, you jump for it. I am not like you. I know that the food served by a miser or given grudgingly can never be digested. I would never touch it." Jivan continued, "He was talking as if for his own hearing, not for advising me, but he knew that traveling in an unknown place with little money in my pocket, without any friends and relations from whom to seek help, there must be some fear lurking in my mind. He spoke like that to force my attention to that state of mind and to teach me that one should not fear for hunger or starvation when Baba was with him. Did it also mean that we must learn to rely only on him and not make any vain attempt to seek help from others?" I had no reply to give to Jivan's question. I was thinking in my own mind that I saw many such things for myself, but learned little from them. If we are honest with ourselves, we have to admit that we have failed to benefit from his advice. Babaji is always busy teaching us, improving the 'pattern of our lives,' and making our lives more fruitful and free from worries. Can we accuse him of being indifferent to us and doing precious little for our well-being? Whenever a few of us have gathered together, we have often asked each other whether there have been any visible effects on any of his devotees from his long period of teaching. How far had Babaji succeeded in illuminating the minds of his devotees and molding their modes of life? Did he know what was to be the outcome of his long and strenuous effort? These questions agitate the mind. There cannot be any ready and uniform answers applicable to all the devotees who have been with him. We know that only he has got the answers, and we must not hazard any of our own. Jivan said that there was no problem with food and shelter during their journey, nor was there much use for the money that was in his pocket. Badrinath had changed; with all its amenities and affluence, it had become a tourist center. The devotees who wanted nothing but to concentrate on Badrivishal (the deity of the place) could not help being affected by the environment and the presence of all kinds of visitors. Jivan said that at Badrinath a large number of devotees had joined them. So along with the darshan of the deity, they also had a social gathering of the old and well-known devotees in his shelter. The journey to Kedarnath was somewhat different, at least for Jivan. The journey was not smooth and easy—one had to strive and strain in order to reach there. So it was not haunted by all kinds of seekers and non-seekers. Moreover, there was something like an atmosphere of austerity and serenity as compared to Badrinath. One could feel in one's heart, as Jivan remarked, that you were in the territory of the Yogi lost in meditation. I have never been to Kedarnath and Badrinath, so there was no question of agreeing or disagreeing with his observations. Jivan further said that this time their party was small, as many had stayed behind or returned home, and for most of the journey he was alone with Baba. Babaji was on his dandi, Jivan was moving with him, and others were trailing behind. Babaji was talking, but at many places the path would not allow them to move side by side, and therefore much of his talk remained indistinct and inaudible. While passing by some wayside houses, he heard someone shout from a nearby area, "Lakshman, Lakshman, you are running away. Could you not recognize me?" Babaji bent over in the dandi and covered his face with the blanket. Looking around, Jivan noticed a very old

woman shouting at him—not following anymore, as she could not keep pace. After they had moved some distance, Babaji removed the blanket from his head and said that the woman had recognized him, as he had feared. It was painful for him to move away without talking to her, but that could not be helped. He might have been trapped had he stayed to hear her, and many others would have swarmed seeing her talking to him. Recalling the days when he had lived in that area, Babaji said that she used to bring food to him regularly. Seeing her doing this, a few others followed. There came to be more food than he needed. Even if he had asked her not to do so, she would have argued that it was her good luck to feed a sadhu. This kind of care might be the undoing for those engaged in their sadhana. So what could he do? He had to run away to where he was unknown, and avoid renewing contact. After completing the journeys of Kedarnath and a few other places, Jivan returned to Haldwani, leaving Babaji with the others in the party. Jivan was convinced that Babaji's love for Kedarnath was not only for the sanctity of the place, but also because it was associated with his sadhana. Babaji, like many saints, would not disclose anything about the preparatory period for his sainthood. Another of these great saints was Jesus. More than half his life on earth was spent in tapas, the so-called 'lost years' in the life of Jesus. The same unknowing is also there in the days of the great saint, Ram Thakur, about whose sadhana Babaji used to speak so eloquently. Ram Thakur's devotees succeeded only in collecting stray bits of information from talks with him. Babaji's devotees were not very successful in this regard either. So when Jivan said that part of Babaji's sadhana was in Kedarnath, it confirmed what was merely a guess until that time. Tularam had learned from the head priest of Dwarka when he was there in 1962 that Babaji had spent part of his life in that area. Pointing to Baba, the priest told Tularam that the Baba with the blanket had been here all through the time of his knowledge. It is said that there was a Hanuman temple nearby installed by Babaji. In 1973, when Babaji was going through the western mountains along with his devotees, he pointed out a particular place in that forest, saying that the picture of him with the matted locks was taken there during his sadhana. Another clue came from Sri S. N. Sang, the principal of Birla College at Nainital and a great devotee of Babaji. He was very dear to us, and we sought his company whenever he was in Kainchi or Allahabad. Once he came to Allahabad and spent four days with us. He narrated his first experience as a little school boy reading in a public school in the Punjab. "The students used to have a camp for few weeks in the mountains every year. We were in our camp in the Simla hills, collecting some flowers or running after butterflies, when we saw a man in a blanket passing by. We took no notice of him as there were so many persons coming and going. After a few minutes, a cowherd from a village in that area came running down shouting, 'Such a great saint has passed by and you did not run after him!' "The question that we hurled at him was why he himself had not followed the saint. He said he had gone to call Santia (his wife) and other people in the village. When the people started going up the hill, we joined them. After quite some distance, we all came back as there was no sign of the man in the blanket. "The cowherd began to talk of his boyhood days, when he had known that man in the blanket as Talaya Baba (the baba who lives in a lake). The cowherd said that he and the other village boys used to bring their cows and goats for grazing. The used to carry their food with them for the noon, as they would not return before the evening. After reaching a nearby lake, they would tie their food in a cloth and hang it on the branches of a tree. "A baba used to live in that lake (talao) and was known by the name of Talaya Baba. Whenever they came there, they would see him in the water. He was very kind, and everyone used to talk highly of him as a sadhu but he used to tease them a great deal. When they came for their meal at noon, they would see that he had taken away their bag from the tree and had distributed the whole of it to the people coming to him, or to the animals. Then he would feed them in plenty with all kinds of delicious food—pure halwa, laddoo, khir—they would never have imagined tasting so many sweets together. He would get the food by putting his hand on his head or from the lake in which he was sitting. He loved them much and used to talk to them when they were near him. "This was long ago. They were just small boys then, but he remembered everything about Talaya Baba. One day when they came with their cattle, he was not there in the lake. They searched for him on every side but could not find him anymore. A very long time had passed since they had seen him, but he recognized him as he was going by this road." Sang continued, "I was caught in a dilemma. The villager was emphatic that they had actually seen him living in the lake, but we did not believe him then. How could one live in the water? But I confess, at this late age, after seeing him with my own eyes and spending a part of my life in his presence, with no doubt to distract me from my faith, I believe he is the Talaya Baba who lived in the lake." These are just a few chunks picked up of the broken vase. Strictly speaking, they are not useful or necessary at all for the devotees who had seen him or heard of him. We may collect all the chunks of the broken vase, but that would not make it a new one or be of any use to anyone. Jivan had so many more adventures with Babaji to narrate. "One morning Babaji came to Haldwani. It did not take much time for us to gather round him. When we were sitting with him, he suddenly stood up and said that he had to go. This was a shock for many persons who had thought he would stay there at least for a couple of days. All their pleadings were to no avail. He had to go, as the task was very important and very urgent. He shouted at me to get a taxi immediately. People who had known him for so long knew that this was not unusual for him—leaving at any moment without bothering about anyone's approval—but this time the hurry and obduracy was something different. "When I brought the taxi, he got into it and ordered the driver to start. Quite a few wanted to accompany him, but he allowed only me and one other to take our seats in the back. When the driver turned the taxi towards Almora, Babaji said, 'Not that way, turn to the right.' Nobody was asking any questions, nor was Babaji talking to anyone. "When we reached Bhimtal, we went to the house of a devotee there. Babaji started inquiring about certain persons, the places where they

lived and such routine questions. More than an hour had passed; gone was the feeling of foreboding and the excitement of being made to move so suddenly. When the host brought a glass of milk for Babaji, he did not drink it, but asked him to get tea for us, as we had had to leave Haldwani without it. After our tea, we moved to the house of another devotee, a school teacher. The house was near a park in which there was a Siva temple. While talking to the people there about the Siva-Ling under the banyan tree, Babaji said, 'It is easier for devotees to offer their pujas and prayers without the closed doors of the temples and the harsh rules of the priests. The temples and priests must have their rules, but they should not be used to keep the people away and cause them to lose faith in God. This is all the more important for those temples where the common people—the poor and uneducated ones—come for their worship. They do not have any fixed time of day when they are free from their work to do their worship. God is very kind, very generous. He loves His devotees. He has His own rules also. He would not spare Himself from His own rules, but it is not so with His devotees. They will come to the temple when they feel it is their own. Their God is there waiting for them, and they will not stay away from Him.' "It was difficult to understand, then, why Babaji was talking like that about a temple that was more or less deserted, where very few persons cared to visit or offer their prayers and worship, but the talks had their own effect. The whole environment was surcharged with a charm, with a scent, with a vibration emanating from the temple within the park, as if to intimate to us that there was something more to come. Seldom did Babaji talk in such a high pitch about the glory and grace of God. This was my first experience of something like this, and I was lost in reverie." "Babaji pointed to the teacher sitting there with us and asked him to go to the dharmasala in the park and bring back the South Indian gentleman living there. Everyone was surprised, saying it was a deserted mud building with broken tiles that served as a shelter to the pigeons and snakes. No human being could live there. But when Babaji insisted that he must go and bring the old man before him, the teacher had to go. After a short while, the teacher returned alone. He said he had been surprised when he saw that the doors, which always remained open, were bolted from the inside. He knocked, and at last an old man opened the window and asked him why he had come there and what he wanted. After he relayed Babaji's request, the old man said that he did not know any Babaji, nor was he interested to know him. He closed the window and moved away inside the room, so the teacher had to return. Babaji said, 'It's all right, you sit down,' and started to talk of other things, as if the matter had ended for him. "More than an hour had passed when the mother of our host told Baba that food was ready and that he should eat now. Babaji told her it was not yet time, and looking at us, said we should go and bring the man and his wife; they would come now. We reached there and started knocking at his door loudly. He came, almost infuriated, and inquired why we were disturbing them and what we wanted from them. We reminded him of what was said before, that we were sent by Babaji to take them to him. He thought for a minute and then came out, saying that they would accompany us to meet Babaji. He was a South Indian gentleman, over seventy, looking very sober and distressed while moving with us. He spoke English and asked no questions. "When they came and stood before Babaji, he shouted at them, 'You are maligning God. What is this? Do you think that God abandons his devotees so easily?' Babaji did not stop. He was talking as if to let out the stream that was agitating him. Everyone was struck dumb, unable to move and stood staring at Babaji. The old couple started trembling, with tears rolling over their cheeks. The old man attempted to speak, but had to stop, the tongue was not helping him. Seats were offered to them. They sat there silently, more to catch their lost breath than to find the words to speak. "Food was brought for them as Babaji had already sent the teacher to bring it. When the mother brought food in two separate plates and offered it to them, the old man burst into tears and went on crying out that he could not eat, he could not. Babaji made them eat, saying 'When God sends food for you and wants you to live, how can you die by not eating? You are a devotee. You spend so much of your time in prayer and worship. How can you not understand Him? Eat now, and fight with God later. Reconcile with him later. One should not malign God without fully understanding Him.' "They had their food and sat there for some time. The old man said to Babaji, 'How foolish it was to accuse God, who is always so gracious and solicitous of the well-being of the devoted. We had forgotten Him and were thinking that everything was done by us. Now He has taught us how mistaken we were and has brought us back to our senses. He did this by sending you to save our lives and teach us the lesson that he never leaves his devotees, however foolish they might be.' "Talking like this, and with tears in his eyes, he fell at the feet of Baba and would not leave him. Babaji consoled him, 'He always takes care of his devotees. We forget. We can forget. We might not remember him, but He never forgets us. Always remember this.' "Babaji was speaking in Hindi, which they could not understand. A rough summary was given in English by the teacher sitting there. Babaji's talk was so deep and moving—the way he was talking of the kind and ever-forgiving Master whose grace was always flowing for the devotees—that we heard it with rapt attention, forgetting everything else. "The gentleman sat with us for a while, as if trying to think how best he could explain his predicament and express his gratitude to Babaji for saving him from disaster—not only for saving his life, but what was more, for saving his faith. He began to talk about the calamity that had thrown him down, forcing him to lose his faith in God. He had run a prosperous business in Madras. He was a religious man and performed his prayers and pujas regularly, but he had not been able to go on pilgrimages as he couldn't leave his business and family. When his children grew up and learned the business, he put them in charge and started on a pilgrimage with his wife. They had taken with them the things that might be needed in the journey and enough money for their expenses. He had felt that since he was going on a pilgrimage to visit the places where his God resided, he would not take any favors from anybody in any form, whether it was food, service or anything else, and he would not think of accepting money from anyone. "They had gone to important temples and ashrams and had come to Almora to visit the temples there. When they reached Almora by bus, they learned that their bags, containing their money also, were gone. They were totally stranded in an unknown place where they knew no one. He also remembered the vow he had made not to seek help from anyone in the course of their pilgrimage. They went to a nearby dharmasala with only the clothes they were wearing and a few rupees in their pockets for petty expenses. It was not possible to stay there longer than one night and they had to move. There was not money enough, after paying the bus fare to Bhimtal, to purchase any food, so

they had to starve. They had reached here yesterday afternoon, and as there were no bags or luggage to carry, nobody took any notice of them. They had found this deserted house with its doors open and decided to stay there. Another night passed without food. They concluded that all that was left for them was to stay in the closed room and seek death through starvation. "Another night passed, but in spite of all their determination, they were realising that it was not so easy to die through starvation. All they could do was accuse God. 'We are your devotees. We spend so much of our time and money in remembering you in our prayers. We left our house and came far away only for your darshan. But now, not only can we not have your darshan anymore, but we actually have to pay with our lives for seeking your darshan.' "The feeling that was uppermost in their minds was that they had been cheated. God had betrayed their trust in Him. While nursing grievances like that, they heard the knock at the door. They took Babaji's request to be an insult, and closed the window. When God himself had failed them, what help, what mercy, were they to expect from an unknown Baba? Then the second knock had come, more persistent and determined, and they felt forced to open the door. The persons standing there told them that Babaji was waiting for them and they must come this time. This time the request came as an ultimatum and so they had to follow. "He continued, 'Now I can see how foolish I have been. You have not taken any notice of our rude behavior in not coming to you with your man. God has sent you—you are God to us. You have saved our lives.' "Babaji allowed him to talk, and we were sitting silent. Then Babaji told us to give him some money and asked him where he wanted to go. He said he had decided to go to Benares from there—that Benares was a part of their pilgrimage, and they would be able to go home to Madras with the help of some persons in Benares that were known to him. When the money was handed over to him, he started crying again, saying that he could not take it, he could not... he had promised not to accept any gift or charity. Babaji said they could treat it as an advance for their journey and could send it back to the people here if so desired. He accepted the money after that. Then Babaji told him they would be taken to Haldwani and boarded onto the train. "It was difficult for him to get up. He was still in tears and his heart was full of remorse. How could he disbelieve God? How could he doubt His mercy? His whole lifetime of prayer and puja had been a self-deception and had not strengthened his faith in God, who had always been kind to him. He was also thinking of Babaji and the grace that came so easily for an unknown and undeserving person. How did he know of him and the crisis in his life? He must be a great saint—a highly realised soul. He got up to go to his place, and Babaji asked me to accompany him and bring him back. While going, he was actually dragging himself, and often looking behind as he disclosed to me what was actually working in his mind. What the man confessed before leaving the dharmasala was that he had actually taken a journey around the world in only so few hours: from the God-forsaken land of Almora to Vaikuntha (Heaven). "We returned to Babaji who was waiting for us. We had our tea and left for Haldwani with them. All through the journey, Babaji was as silent as everyone else, and only the South Indian gentleman was allowed to talk. He talked like a madman, not against the merciless God who was indifferent and negligent to His devotees, but of the ever-gracious God, all merciful and always active in helping His devotees and coming to their rescue. It was the mutterings of a man who, at the point of being drowned, was brought back to the shore by some unseen hand. He was still talking when we reached the house of a devotee at Haldwani. "There was an hour left before their train was to leave, so they rested in the house. Food was brought for them but they were not hungry— the hunger for food had been satisfied. They only wanted to sit with Baba and quench their thirst for that. Babaji asked us to give them some fruits and sweets in a basket for their journey and said that they should also be given two bed sheets, as the night would be cold and they would not be able to sleep without some cover over their bodies. They accepted everything with tears in their eyes, as if no more strength was left to refuse anything coming from Baba. Babaji asked me to purchase their first class tickets to Lucknow. The old man said he had never traveled by first class before. They were told that Babaji wanted them to do so because they had not slept for two nights, and must sleep tonight. All he could say with his choking voice was, 'He is God; he knows everything. I cannot challenge him any more.' The train started, and we came out of the station wiping the tears from our eyes. "When we returned, we told Babaji of their painful parting from us. He said, 'He is a devotee of God and has served Him throughout his life. Everyone gets bewildered when misfortunes come. There is nothing surprising about it.' "After these words, he resumed his talks with us, took his food, and retired to his room. Early the next morning, Babaji allowed me to accompany him only up to Bareilly. There was no question of asking him to rescind his order and allow me to accompany him. No one, however close one might think himself, was indispensable to him. His real journey was alone. So I returned to Haldwani and got back to the routine of my daily life. Meeting with the devotees and talking with them of my own experiences was my way of keeping Babaji fresh in my mind and learning more of him from others." Jivan's stories were not finished in one day or in one sitting. They were resumed many times when we were together. Every time there were new assessments of the whole. Talking about Babaji, Jivan would cry sometimes, but would always end by saying, "He is all in all." Certain reflections come to mind in thinking about Jivan. We were brought together in the early days of our association with Baba, and even though Babaji left his body, depriving us of the nave in which the spokes could be fixed, there was not any interruption or break in our satsang. It still continues, more or less, as it was before. After Tularam there has been no one with whom I could talk so freely and enjoy the intoxication of the 'tavern' life. After Babaji had taken his samadhi—a very big jolt for those who had aligned their lives so closely with him—changes came in the life of every devotee. There were those for whom everything came their way, but nothing was there to sustain their interest in Baba. The warmth of their devotion became feebler and remained buried in the heart, like a charcoal fire covered in ashes from an absence of stoking. They miss him, but do not find any easy way to keep the fire alive. But there are many others, and Jivan is one of them, who kept Babaji alive in their hearts. By keeping contact with the ashrams and participating in the activities, Jivan kept not only his own love alive, but also helped others to strengthen their love for Baba. And Jivan did

something more. He started a school, with a temple on the premises, which serves as a valuable channel for the propagation of the stories and teachings of Baba. The school was started under Babaji's inspiration and instruction while he was in the body. In the morning prayer, everyone is reminded of Babaji and what he had done for us who claim to be his children. With bhajan and kirtan, prasad and bhandaras, the temple at the school helps many people to keep in contact with each other, and brings them together in their love for Baba. Temples and activities which bring religious and spiritual practices to others in an organized way can create serious problems for the people involved. Involvement may come at a cost to the sadhana of the managers—a conflict between going out to help others or drawing within to help oneself in contemplation of the master and strengthening one's own sadhana. I admire Jivan; he is everywhere in the ashrams and participates in all their celebrations, but does not get himself involved in running for any office or post of power. This is also his practice with his school and the temple. He is there, but actually the management rests with others. The work does not suffer when he runs away. Maybe it was in order to save me from the whirlpool of struggling for fame and power that Babaji warned me in advance to 'stay at home' and then segregated me from the activities of the ashrams and congregations of the visitors there. I am fully convinced that I would have failed miserably if I had gone for that, and I would have been cut off from him also. The channel had to be kept open for the grace to flow. That is why he made me withdraw. I know Jivan to be open-handed as well as open-hearted. But it was in Kainchi that I saw how far he was ready to go to serve a cause dear to Babaji. In Kainchi and in other places, Babaji would give money to all and sundry coming for help to him. When the money was spent, I would fill up the pocket by running to my room. One day while with Babaji in his room at Kainchi, the pocket became empty. I came out to get money from my bag. Jivan was waiting outside behind the closed window. Seeing me going to my room, he thrust a bunch of rupee notes in my pocket. When I asked him what that meant, his reply was, "He wants you to spend money on his behalf and he himself provides it. It may be in your pocket or in mine, but is it not all his money?" What reply could I give to him? When I entered the room again, Babaji just greeted me with a smile. "You have got your money so easily." When we were in Kainchi one day, someone gave me a small basket of mangoes. While trying to distribute them, the problem came to be, who were to be given and who were those that were to be denied, as so many, young and old, rushed to me. Jivan was there watching me. Both of us had noted how fond the people were of mangoes. We said that if we had, at least once, plenty and plenty of mangoes to distribute to everyone coming for them, like the bhandara of puri and potatoes, that would make us happy. Jivan said it must be done, and in a few days time, baskets of mangoes came from Haldwani for me to distribute. It actually came to be a bhandara of mangoes and came to be known as such. Inder saw me distributing them and after that, whenever he returned to Bareilly he sent me so many baskets of mangoes. Because of them, Jivan and Inder, the bhandara with mangoes came to be a regular affair until it was stopped when mangoes became unavailable due to a failure of that crop. Babaji used to take a mango or two when someone offered them to him. But when the bhandara of mangoes stopped, he also stopped eating mangoes. I cannot hazard any opinion as to whether it was accidental or intentional on his part. One day, Inder brought a bag full of the choicest mangoes for Babaji, and wanted me to feed them to him. When I said that he was not eating mangoes, Inder did not press me any more. They were kept with Didi in her room. After waiting for a few days, she told me that either I should take them to Baba or give them away to others. They all wanted me to try with Babaji first. At night when he was in his room taking his food with Siddhi standing nearby, I entered with my bag of mangoes and placed one before him. He looked at me and then said with all diffidence, as if not to hurt me, "Dada, I am not eating mangoes anymore." My reply was, "Do not eat them; I would not press you." Then as if to assuage my feelings he said, "Formerly I used to eat two hundred mangoes at a time. When I used to go to a garden, the gardeners there would feed me." I said that when he could not eat two mangoes how could I believe that he used to eat two hundred of them? Hearing me talking like that he said, as if in sheer helplessness, "If you do not believe my word, what can I do?" One summer when I was in Kainchi, Babaji had gone out two days earlier and was to return within a day or two. H.K. Tandon, a high government official and an old friend of mine, came to visit Babaji. He was not there and was not to return that day, so H.K. left in the afternoon after spending the whole day with me. Before leaving, he gave me 300 rupees, saying, "Sudhir, you get the wire screening for all the doors and windows of Babaji's room. If you need more, I shall send it to you." Babaji returned the next day and asked me about Tandon's visit. When I told him that he had given money for the wire screen for his room, he exclaimed, "See, those who are with me do not bother about me, but here comes one from Faizabad to give me some comfort." In such cases he sometimes spoke without making any accusation against anybody for their lapses. Because we miss Babaji in his body, we rely on our memories, recreating his talks in our minds to get the taste which the ears can no longer have. This unflagging interest and enthusiasm for Babaji can be found in a few like Jivan. For me, when Jivan and I get lost in these talks, I feel as if Babaji is somewhere nearby listening to us recollect old incidents and recreating afresh the joy we shared.

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Babaji

Hubbaji Sri Hira Lal Shah—popularly known as Hubbaji—was the oldest among Babaji's devotees and had the longest association with Baba. He accompanied Baba in his journeys over the longest period of time and in the largest number of places. As a result of this, he became for us a repository of knowledge about Babaji and we sought to benefit from this, whenever we got a chance, by making him talk. He would not volunteer information on his own, mostly talking when Baba asked him something. Sometimes he favored us when he was at Allahabad by narrating some of his experiences with Babaji. He belonged to a well-known family in Almora. As a landlord, he had an assured income from the property and did not go for any job or business. Even during the first stage of his life, he was able to keep his wants within limits and not run after money and a life of pleasure, a valuable asset for the spiritual growth which was to come afterwards. His sadhana did not follow any routine path or strict rules of discipline but rather took the unconventional form of running away from his house in search of great saints and mahatmas in their caves and ashrams, all over the far-flung mountains. He was married and lived with his family, but he had time enough to search for the sadhus and satisfy his spiritual aspirations. He did not turn away from family life with its responsibilities, but neither was he tied down within its walls. By the time he met Babaji, he had already spent much time with the celebrated sadhus of those days: Hariakhan Baba, Sombar Giri Baba, Khaki Baba, Gudari Baba and others. He was well aware of the noble and superhuman qualities of great saints, so it was not difficult for him to realize that he was in the presence of a great saint when he first met Babaji. Surrendering himself at Babaji's feet and accepting him as a guide and savior did not take much time to materialize. The result was that much of the time that he used to spend with his family came to be devoted to Babaji—staying with him and accompanying him in his journeys. By then his wife was dead; while the link with his family was maintained, it was mostly as a visitor. In those very early days when Babaji started spending his winter here, Hubbaji would be with him and would accompany him when he went out for a few days. He would not sit with us in our gatherings because his age, and the respect with which he was looked upon by all made it uncomfortable for him to join our congregations. Sometimes we were actually embarrassed when he took his seat with us. But he was generous with us and when he and I used to sit alone, he would narrate his stories. Babaji would often make him narrate his experiences with the sadhus he had visited. It was mostly through him that we learned about the two great saints, Hariakhan Baba and Sombar Giri Baba, of whom Babaji used to speak so highly. He would not say anything about Babaji when he was before him, and Babaji would not like him to talk about the many miracles he saw happen around Babaji and the high esteem with which Babaji was held by the sadhus all around. Hubbaji would talk about the eminent saints he had met, and some of us would know that the narrations were equally applicable to Babaji. While sitting with us one day, Hubbaji said he had seen for himself how Hariakhan Baba used to perform havan (offerings into the sacred fire) with water, not ghee. Sombar Giri Baba did the same miracle. While food was being cooked for his bhandara, the ghee had been exhausted, but so many more puris were to be made for the many persons waiting for food. The cooks and the devotees could not imagine how the calamity of sending away people without feeding them was going to be averted. They rushed to Sombar Giri Baba and told him their problem. He sent a person to go to the market, but everyone knew that the market was far away and it would take a whole day for the man to return with ghee.

Seeing their helpless condition, Sombar Giri asked them to take water in tins from the stream nearby, promising to return the water to her when the man brought the ghee. The way the men took the tins for filling was a clear indication that they were not convinced that it was going to work. But they did it because of the Baba. When the water was about to be poured into the big pans over the fire, they noticed that it had actually turned to ghee. When the man returned from the market in the afternoon with his purchase, the Baba asked them to return to the stream what they had borrowed from her. Hubbaji said that this miracle was done by those babas, but that our own Baba had also done this on a number of occasions, the most important of which, in his knowledge, was at Hanumanghar. He said it was easy for the other Babas—sannyasis living in caves and hermitages, cut off from social life and meeting only a few people—but how difficult it was for our Babaji, who was always surrounded by hundreds of people. Any display of such miracles would attract a crush of people to him, so he had to avoid it in every possible way. Whenever word of any of his miracles leaked out, whether they were done to save someone or to avoid a calamity, he would leave that place for good, and cease meeting those people. Because Babaji was on guard and would not allow anyone to talk of his miracles, Hubbaji had learned not to talk of them. The risk of being thrown away was very great, however much he might consider himself to be dear to Babaji. In such cases there was no one near or dear to him. Babaji was kind to all and helpful to everyone, but so far as obedience is concerned, he was very strict. Hubbaji used to say that going with Babaji often turned into a journey of discovery. So many persons in different places and different walks of life were known to him. "Most of these places Babaji had visited, or had spent a part of his sadhana in the early days, of which very little is known. All great saints spend a part of their sadhana as paribhramna (itinerant wanderers), but when they settled down at the completion of their sadhana, they would not easily leave that place or go far away for long. But for Babaji it was otherwise. He has been to many places, but he never found a place to settle down in human society. Kaichi was not the place, nor any of his other ashrams. Sometimes there would be clear indications of this when he talked to sadhus that he would meet in his journey. With us, he was a householder, managing his large family with full care. This was his way of doing things." Hubbaji continued, "Whatever he took up, or whatever caught his interest, could not be done halfheartedly. But in spite of his involvement in the family life of his devotees, he was not caught in the quagmire of family life. He has been an outsider from the beginning, and continues to be in spite of so many temples and ashrams and visits to householders. His root was not where he was living. It was our delusion to believe that he was with us, that he was one of our own. He was actually moving without roots anywhere and everywhere." Hubbaji was very fond of talking with the mothers about the saints, the various places of pilgrimages visited by him, and how Babaji cared for us. He was affectionate in his nature and had made himself one of the family, very dear to the mothers. He would help them in their work in the kitchen. They got so attached to him that after he would leave with Babaji, they would look forward to his return the next winter. It was strange that one who was trying to stand aloof and was away from his own family would so easily yield to the wishes of the mothers and spend as much time with them as he could spare. Didi would remember this all the time, especially when we were at Kainchi. Babaji would ask Didi to prepare some prasad every day and sometimes to feed people in her room. And at the temple farm, when people came to visit him there, Babaji would want Didi to prepare prasad and snacks for the people. There might not be anyone else to help her, but Hubbaji would never miss this. Hubbaji came forward to help in every possible way, including the kindling of the fire, fanning it and maintaining it. When she wanted to stop him, he would say it was difficult for her to cook with wood fuel to which she was not accustomed, but it was easy for him. So what was wrong if he tended the fire? It was his inimitable way of overcoming all opposition and doing the work as desired.

Sometimes he would entertain us with some incidents or talks that had taken place when he was on a journey. After returning from Jagannath Puri, Hubbaji said that one day, when they were on the temple premises, they saw people receiving their prasad. Many of them carried it away, but there were others who ate then and there and threw away their leaf plates. Babaji was talking about the sanctity of the prasad, saying, "It is the way the gods show their grace to you; they can do miracles through their prasad. But how can they do it when you do not have any faith in its sanctity? For you, it is just like any other eatable which you are always pouring in your mouth. When you do not accept it as prasad, how can you take the taste of it? You must not refuse when anyone offers prasad to you. You may not eat it, but you can give it away to others. But never refuse—that is an insult to the deity who has sent his prasad to you through someone's hand." While

talking like this, Hubbaji noticed that there were some particles of the Jagannathji prasad which had fallen from someone's plate onto the ground. Babaji picked it up, gave him one part of it and put the other in his mouth. Hubbaji had many such experiences to narrate. They had reached Calcutta one morning and were staying there just for a day. In the noon Babaji took them to the temple at Dakshineshwar. Going through the ashram, they came before the row of Siva temples. Pointing to one of these Siva temples, Babaji said that he had given mantra to me in that very temple. He said, "Your Dada refused to hear me. However much I tried to coax him, he would not accede to it. So I had to force him. Does he talk about it with you now?" Another incident in which Hubbaji got much interested took place in the winter of 1965. Babaji had been in Allahabad for a long time, but left for a few days after asking Didi to make arrangements for the stay of Larry and Susan, an English couple. They arrived and stayed in the house for several days, but after having some problems there, they were shifted to another devotee's house nearby. Babaji returned while they were staying in that house, and sent for them. They had no money for returning home to England. Babaji got them the money, and they were to be sent away the next day. Larry regretted that they had been harsh and caused pain to Didi, who had treated them so well when they were with her in our house. They were to leave by train the next afternoon for Delhi on their way back home. The next morning, Babaji left for Chitrakut with Hubbaji and a few others. I was to stay at home. He said that I should see Larry and Susan off and get them boarded on the train. In the evening, a short while after our return from the station, Babaji returned from Chitrakut. His return was timed so that the new host of Larry and Susan had just left our house. He had been complaining about his guests in a way that reflected on Baba. Seeing me not taking any more interest in his talk, he had left. Babaji arrived just after the gentleman had left after lodging his protest against Baba with me. Babaji took care that I should be allowed full opportunity to reflect on his talks, but then he also made sure that there was not too much time given to me to get agitated or talk to anyone. When Baba arrived, I was sitting in a corner of the outside verandah. Entering the gate, he sent everyone inside the house and came alone to extract from me what had passed between the man and me. He heard everything, and did not fail to notice how annoyed I was about the man's complaint against him. I was allowed to say why I thought his complaint was wrong. Babaji goaded me, persuading me in every possible way to come out with my complaint, which I was resisting. But I had to ultimately yield. Hearing me with all attention as if it mattered so much for him, he came out with a big laugh. With his laughter he just wanted me to realize that the whole matter was not to be taken seriously. He patted me on the head saying, "Do you think that everyone is a fool like you?" With this remark he got up and went inside. It was late at night. Everyone had taken to their beds. I was sitting with Hubba and two others, hearing him talk of their visit to Chitrakut. Hubba said, "About two o'clock in the day, while Babaji had been sitting on his cot at Chitrakut, he got up and said that we were to return to Allahabad. This was a surprise, as it was expected that we were to stay there for the day. Getting into the car he said, 'Let us go and see what is happening there. They are to go now.' We all understood that he was referring to Larry and Susan. Someone commented that they might be leaving annoyed with everyone in Allahabad. After some time Babaji said, 'Dada has explained to Larry why Didi could not give them the food or the comfort that they expected. The food Susan wanted was forbidden for the house. Hearing Dada talking like that—trying to soften their feelings and remove all misunderstandings—Dada actually broke Larry down. Larry started crying bitterly and embraced Dada to the surprise of everyone on the platform.' "Waiting for a while as if to give them time to realize what actually happened at the station, he stated, 'Dada is a teacher. He teaches thousands of students, explains things to them and makes everyone happy. He has also made Larry satisfied. It was not difficult for him.' Coming nearer to home, Babaji again returned to the subject, saying that they should return early to see that nothing more has happened." Hubbaji said that those who were sitting with us confirmed everything about Larry that Babaji had told them in the car. They told Hubbaji, "When Dada was coming away, Larry embraced him crying and begged him to forgive them for their rudeness. Dada was so kind and considerate to them." When Hubbaji asked me what Babaji meant when he said that something was to happen, I told him something did happen but could not take any unpleasant turn because of Babaji's arrival. After the reporting was finished, Hubbaji said, "The whole thing demonstrated clearly that when he asks you to do something, he knows what is to happen and what is to be done to guard against unexpected developments that might rise in the wake of it. Our tasks become easy if we can rely on him and do as he advises us to do. He'll never leave you stranded." At Kainchi in the summer, Hubbaji would be the first to greet you. His life was simple, his needs were few and he had learned not to run for things or expect anything from anyone. He would take his food along with the others, relishing whatever came to him. His clothes were few, just enough to protect his body and to observe the decency and decorum as enjoined by the social custom. Because of his habit of not changing his clothes, whenever there was any change it would attract the attention of Babaji. One day Babaji exclaimed, "Hubba, you have a new sweater on today. It is a very good one. When did you get it? Who has given this to you?" Hubbaji would never think of displaying anything about himself, and certainly not his clothes, so when Babaji asked him those question he had to reply, "It was received the day before and was sent by my daughter-in-law. She knitted it herself and wants me to wear it. The one that I was wearing had become old and could not be used anymore. Moreover, this sweater is thick and can protect me from the cold." Babaji was listening with all his attention, and Hubba had just finished talking when he said, "How much she loves you. You do not visit or ask them for anything, but they remember and care so much for you. This is a very valuable lesson. When you do not want a thing, it comes to you. But when you ask for it, it runs away." This gives us some idea of the spiritual life of Hubbaji. However much he might try to conceal it from those who had known him for long or had come in close contact with him, the detachment and dispassion that guarded him all the time could not be missed. He would avoid the crowd either by staying in his room or by going round the ashram trying to help someone in their work, the way he helped Didi in the kitchen.

One day Babaji referred to this habit of Hubbaji. A governor was coming to the ashram, accompanied by high officials. Several persons had gotten ready in advance, and went as far as the road outside to wait for them. After the governor left, Hubbaji came to Babaji's room. Babaji asked him where he had been—so many people had been waiting fo the distinguished visitor, but Hubbaji was not there. When Hubbaji said that he had stayed in his room, Babaji drew the attention of others and said, "Do you hear him? So many persons get busy to meet the celebrities coming here, but he stays behind." When no one made any reply, Babaji said that many persons came there with the aim of meeting people and expanding their contacts, but Hubba had nothing to do with that. For him there were no more contacts to be made. He had actually withdrawn himself from his old relationships and there was no need for any new ones. When Babaji pressed him to say if he was wrong, Hubbaji replied that he had not left all his relationships—one cannot live without some contact. "There must be some contact for everyone. People leave one and take another. There is no question of leaving all." But Baba said it was not so for Hubba. He had left his family when he began to meet the saints, but now he had left that also. Then Hubba said, in an agitated way, that this was not true—rather, he has got more. By coming to Babaji and being at his feet, he had got back everything, even all of them whom he had known before and had lost contact with. We were wondering and wanted to hear more of this, but Babaji kept quiet. Hubba was satisfied; his task was accomplished. Babaji agreed with him. Babaji's silence was, for Hubba, actually his approval, and there was nothing more to say. When Babaji went to the farm or for a stroll outside, Hubba would be the first one to join him. He had no preparations to make, and being thin and light in his body, he could move very quickly. Sometimes I would be taken with them. The whole journey would be in the nature of a dialogue between Babaji and Hubba. One day, while going toward the farm, Babaji asked him, "Hubba, you often left your home and went away with the sadhus, spending money of them. Were the members of your family happy with you for this? Did they approve of your actions?" The questions were pointed in such a way as to provoke him to talk—to extract something from him which was not easily forthcoming. This was a technique which Babaji had perfected and used often. Hubba knew this, but still he was not willing to talk because it was not of interest or useful to anyone else. Talking about it would create unnecessary agitation in the mind without helping anyone. This was actually in line with Babaji's teaching: "One should not talk of things which were not of any benefit to anyone and, if it is difficult to believe, it should not be said at all." This was always remembered by Hubba, who had become very reticent and non-communicative. We often felt that we had to pay dearly because of his reticence in talking about Baba and what he had heard from the mouths of saints when they had talked about Baba. This time, Babaji was serious in getting out some of the secrets of Hubbaji's search for the saints and his time with them. This was not out of any curiosity that Babaji posed those questions, but for the benefit and edification of those who came to him for advice in such matters. This was his method of teaching—his own teachings relayed through the mouths of others. We had already moved some distance when Babaji took his seat on the roadside parapets; we stood around him. Hubba said that family members did not approve when the one who should work and support the family went away without attending to his responsibilities. His family members tried to dissuade him from running away, but the temptation was too great. In the beginning, it was more out of curiosity than real interest in spiritual matters. There were many sadhus passing through the town, and not very far from there some sadhus used to live in caves or ashrams. Talking with some of them and seeing how they lived and managed with so very few things, made him curious to see and know more. Hubbaji continued, "In the beginning I had no intention of staying away for long or living in an ashram. There was no question of leaving my family and becoming a mendicant. Mostly in those days I took long journeys, visiting the distant areas in the mountains and the caves or ashrams that came along the way. This did not continue for long as I felt that there were not many places to visit or new things to know about sadhus. Thinking like this was not very useful for me, and rather it worked to my disadvantage, as it brought some sort of spiritual pride. I started boasting in my mind that I knew the sadhus—what they were, how they lived, and all such things about them. "Soon I realized how very mistaken I had been to think that I knew how to measure the stature of a sadhu. The reason was that I had found nothing attractive or captivating enough about them to keep me tied down to any one of them. Here also my judgment was wrong. I had not really had actual contact with them; I had only seen their outward life, which was, in many cases, offensive to my senses. This had to be so because I was always in a hurry to see as many as I could find. I learned that sheer curiosity was not enough; I needed patience—infinite patience—before anything could come to me. But it was only much afterwards that I learned that patience was valuable, but it was not enough in itself. "I stopped running everywhere in search of sadhus. I started spending more time at home meeting the old people who had met many great sadhus and whose memories were fresh and alive. These old ones began talking of some sadhus who were no longer there, but they also spoke of others equally great who were still with us. The names of Khaki Baba, Gudari Baba, Hariakhan Baba and Sombari Baba were on the tongues of every one of them. They were very excited when they took the names of the last two, emphasising that they were the greatest ones among all the saints whom they had met or heard of. Nobody knew their ages—people had always seen them—and there were thick curtains of legends around them, which were all true. These great saints were actually avatars—gods themselves—so what could they not do? "Hearing the reminiscences of the many old people I knew and respected came to be my new nasha (intoxication), and I spent much of my time in their company. But when I learned that the great sadhus were still in their bodies and were in this area, I searched out every bit of information about them that I could find. Fortunately, my searches were rewarded with their darshan, and I started visiting these sadhus and spending as much time with them as I could. In the beginning, I would return home after small intervals, but then I started staying away from home for longer periods of time. They used to say tauntingly that I had left my family, and that when I returned home, I came as a visitor and not a family member. This was not all true—I did return sometimes, but I didn't take any interest in family affairs anymore." Babaji asked him, "Your people must have been sad to see you living your life in the shadow and shelter of those saints." He would not reply, but then he was made to do so after Babaji asked him repeatedly, "Tell me, tell me."

Then Hubbaji said, "Does any relation actually feel happy in such cases? They tried to hold me back, but when their efforts failed they took me to be lost, saying that I had lost my mind." Babaji wanted him to continue his talk: "So when your people thought you were not in your senses and should not leave the house, why did you not obey them? They were your well wishers, and knew better than you whether or not you were in your right mind." Hubbaji was provoked and said, "Baba, you know very well why I left the house, but simply because you want me to talk you are asking these questions. One has to leave something before one can go for something else. It is a question of leaving something which we have held as valuable, and this becomes a painful process. Often we fail to remember that in order to get something useful, we have to make a sacrifice —pay the price for getting the desired thing—and it becomes very difficult, almost impossible, to decide between what you want to get and that which you have to surrender. Sometimes it becomes more complicated when we are not simply facing a choice of giving away one and taking another. It comes to this: I want to have the other one, but I'm not ready to part with anything for it. But I ignored this. That which was to be left was precious—the family—and it was to be left for something about which not much was known. It was foolish to stake something so valuable for something doubtful, both in its value and also in the chances of getting it. I was faced with this choice. I had to leave the household life in order to be in the shadow of those saints." Babaji was ready with his comment: "They were right. The saints make others crazy, and when you ran after such great saints, then you had to get crazy and leave your family and household." Hubba said, "You are right, the saints make people crazy. Those who come to them and stay near them cannot remain what they had been before. This is proof of their grace to the people. The same is happening to those who come to you or stay near you, but they return home as they were doing before. You are also a great saint and you are showering your grace to your devotees." Hubbaji had just finished when Babaji stood up, and catching hold of my hand said, "You all get interested in hearing talk and do not bother about the time at all. You do not care to know how very late you are. Now, let us go." Hubbaji's life, in spite of his old age, kept him active. He could walk very fast, run easily and climb the high hills that others traveling with Babaji would not attempt. One day we were with Babaji near the farm. Babaji was sitting on the parapet and, as usual, others stood before him and a few sat down on the road. Seeing Babaji there, several persons came before him and started talking. Babaji was hearing everyone and replying to them. When some reference came to places in the hills, Babaji asked Hubba if he knew of those places. Hariakhan Baba as well as Sombar Giri Baba used to stay in those areas, and Hubba used to visit them there. A few of those standing before us belonged to those areas, and after hearing the babas' names, someone started saying that Hariakhan Baba was a great saint of a very high rank and spent most of his time in puja and havan. He said that he used to eat very little—many said that he did not eat any food at all—and sometimes he used to drink the milk of the old mothers while sitting on their laps. At those times he would become an infant on the lap of the mother and not the old man whom everyone knew. He used to visit the houses of his devotees and do havan there. He would arrange everything himself and not trouble anyone. Those who had seen him in his havan say that he used water in place of ghee. There would be all kinds of chamatkar (miracles) coming from the Baba. He used to help the people in many ways by curing their diseases and saving those who were going to die. Babaji interrupted him and asked Hubba if what they were saying was true. Hubba said that he had seen the things that they were talking about; these were the miracles that sometimes come with every great saint. Then Babaji asked Hubba in a very naive way why and how these miracles were done; he could not understand. Hubbaji was ready with his retort: "Babaji, you are asking me this question, but what do I know of it? I have seen a few of them and I have been amazed, but I could not understand how they happened and have not cared to know. I believe that everything is possible for the great saints—that these were very trifling things for them to do, and that they do this for the good of the people and not for any name or popularity for themselves. You are asking these questions when you yourself are known as Chamatkari Baba, the Baba of Miracles." Babaji intervened to say that he had never done the miracles that they were talking about. Hubbaji was unrelenting and said, "You might not have done your miracles just like that, but you cannot say that you do not do any miracles at all. It was just half a dozen years back when you escaped from the closed room. The doors were locked from outside, the windows were all bolted, and people were surrounding the room waiting for you to come out and give them darshan. I do not know why you did it, but you cannot deny that you did it." Pointing to me he said, "I have Dada as my witness. You ask him about it." But Babaji would not venture any more questions or comments, as if he could not continue to argue with Hubbaji when he had already mustered his witness. The talks ended there and we returned to the ashram. Afterwards, I was alone with Hubbaji and we discussed the problems that were raised by Babaji regarding the miracles of Hariakhan Baba. Hubbaji said that people did not understand why Babaji encouraged such kinds of questions. He said very few people knew it was one of Babaji's favorite methods of imparting his teachings. People were often disappointed when they found that Babaji gave no sermons or lengthy discourses on religious and spiritual topics that would inspire awe and admiration. Coming with such expectations, they returned disappointed. They felt that Babaji was not teaching anyone. I replied that every day people used to ask me when he would be giving his teachings, and whether they would be allowed to attend. In the absence of impressive rituals, many of them lost interest in his talks. Little did they know how very mistaken they were in thinking that he did not teach at all, as actually, the teaching was going on all the time you were with him. His method of teaching was his unconventional and informal way of guiding and directing the discussions among the people sitting with him, setting it on the right track, and finishing it in his own way. When we forgot this and focused all our attention on the speakers around us, thinking Babaji was not in it, it cost us heavily. Hubba agreed with this verdict, saying this was actually the case with all the great saints he had met. They never indulged in useless talks or discussions. For them, teaching was something like raising a plant. The wise farmers sow their seeds in season according to the nature and capacity of the soil. There are others who scatter their seeds without bothering about the soil or the season. The great saints are great

farmers with regard to their devotees. They sow in human soil after considering their capability for blossoming and fructifying. These were Hubbaji's words of wisdom, gathered over long periods of time while being with the great masters. It was also in the course of our journey down the road that another discourse started. Babaji said that Hubba had traveled in these areas over the years. Facilities for journeys were not available, and moreover, he used to visit places where there were no roads to guide you. It was very difficult to go round these areas. Babaji said that he had also visited those areas, but not like Hubba. Hubba had visited the interiors of these areas, whereas Babaji traveled by the main roads. Moreover, Babaji had several persons with him on many occasions, and they would look after everything that he might need, but Hubbaji traveled alone; it would be interesting to know how he managed. Hubbaji was being warmed up before Babaji took his seat on the roadside parapet. After he had posed a few more problems regarding journey across the mountains and how he had tackled them, Babaji asked Hubba to narrate, saying that everyone would benefit from his experiences. Hubbaji was drawn in. He had to break his silence, finding a topic so very dear to his heart. He said that in the beginning, his journey was difficult because he used to have no definite idea of what places he would visit, the things that might be needed and how to procure them. The problems of what he was to carry, what might be needed in the journey, and how to get them occupied his attention. He forgot to think about the persons he was going to visit and of the things he was to seek from them. Hubbaji said, "I ran away from my house in search of sadhus, but the first problem with me was not only of running away from the house, but also of running away being obsessed with the multifarious needs of the journey. Through long periods of trial and error, I learned a precious lesson: if you are going to an unknown place in search of the unknown, the journey will be full of risks and hazards so you have to prepare yourself for the eventualities. The most important thing is your inner preparation. You must be convinced in your mind that the search is for a very valuable thing and that you are ready to pay the full price for it in personal risks and hardships, or what we call tapas, or penance. "A strong mind filled with determination is the first requirement of such journeys, and then come the outward preparations. You have to cut down your wants mercilessly. You are going to the all-merciful, so why should you worry about carrying a few chips of this or that with you? This is what we call austerity. Nobody wants it, but this is the price that you have to pay to reach the goal of our journey. One must take only as much as is essential and not any excess. But how difficult it is to practice—to cut down your needs and manage with a few things. You tend to carry so much with you—the richer ones on the backs of the hired donkeys, but eventually you become your own donkey and carry your own load. These are the very hard lessons to learn." While Hubbaji was talking excitedly, in a high pitch, recalling his rich and varied experiences, he forgot that there was anyone nearby. At that point Babaji intervened. He said, "Hubba, those who do not carry anything on their journey are like the poor and the saints. In this they are one. There is no difference between them." Hubba caught the hint and came out with a remarkable judgment. He said that this was true to a certain extent, but not entirely. The poor and the saints were alike because of the few things they carried with them, but there was a very vital difference: the poor traveled light because they had only a few things, however much they might hanker for more; with the sadhus, the great saints, it was their own choice, not forced on them due to poverty. It was like a blind man and the man with eyesight not going to see pictures. At this point Hubbaji stopped, having made his point clear. We waited with high expectation thinking that Babaji would intervene and allow the talk to continue, but that did not happen and silence continued. We were on the road with Babaji sitting on the parapet. The hill opposite was very steep, and pointing to it, he asked Hubbaji if he could climb it now in the same way that he must have climbed many such hills, like the mountain goat. Hubbaji admitted that he had climbed many such hills in his journeys, but then confessed his inability to do it now, saying that he had become old, with no energy or enthusiasm left for such tasks. He became silent, brooding over his old age and what it meant for him. Babaji, who was looking at him said, "Hubba, you have left everything—your money a property, the family with all its comforts and your own relations also." Then pointing to the watch that Hubbaji had on his wrist, Babaji asked how it was that he was attached to this trifling thing? What had he to do with time? Hubbaji said his grandson had been to Germany and had bought it for him. Babaji said, "You should not keep any attachment with such external things anymore. These are all external things. They are not your own. They all go away. You should keep only that which is within you. You know this. Now throw away this watch on your wrist." Hearing Babaji talk like that, he took off the watch from his hand. Babaji said, "Put an end to it. Destroy it so that you don't remember it anymore. Strike it against the hill before you." Hubbaji did not lose any time in obeying Babaji. He struck it against the hill as instructed. It was smashed and lay scattered by the roadside. Everyone was gazing and wondering in the minds how easily all this seemed to happen. Then it was time for us to return. We were late, but unlike other days, Babaji did not reprimand me for keeping him there so long—his popular abuse for Dada. That night we had a short sitting with Hubba before he went to bed. I referred to how easily he had sacrificed the watch that had been given with so much love by his grandson. I said that however devoted and obedient I might consider myself to be, I could not have done that—at least not without resistance. Hubbaji said that this was all possible because of the grace of the guru. The grace is always there for the devotees, but sometimes we do not see it and so we complain of not having it. But when the moment comes that it is necessary to do something difficult, the grace comes out in the open. He said that his moha (attachment) to the watch had already been gnawing at his conscience, but he alone had not been bold enough to cut it off. It is just like the surgeon, who, in order to save the patient's life, cuts off a tumor. In a very reflective mood he said, "Everything, like every person, has its own journey to complete, its own life to live, then the end comes, for which the time and place is fixed. Collecting things and sticking to them is like accompanying someone in his journey: you know for certain that this togetherness will be over when you reach the end. But we become attached and very fond of our travel companion, forgetting that it must end. If we could remember that, there would be no pain in parting. When we forget this, the gracious guru comes forward to save us

from our so-called calamity. The watch had come all the way from Germany to me. I received it lovingly and attended to it with care and safety, but then its time came—the time for it to part company with me. I was not aware of it, nor would I have parted with it willingly had I known in advance. So Babaji intervened, snapping my link with the watch. Sticking to it was not in my best interests." I left Hubba then to make it easier for him to take sleep. One day Babaji was sitting on the cot of an old devotee, Kali Babu, in his room in Kainchi. Among many others, a young man in his early thirties was taking his food. He was well known and was important among the people of Nainital who came to Babaji. Hubbaji entered the room and took his stand by the cot near the door. Seeing Hubbaji enter, the young man greeted him by uttering namaskar. Babaji was talking but did not miss the way that Hubbaji had been greeted by the young man. He asked Hubba if he knew him, Hubba said that he was the son of his niece. Then Babaji said, "Hubba, if you had enough money, he would have greeted you by touching your feet as is the custom. See what money can do? Because you are not with money, therefore you have lost status with your relations." The young man denied in every way that he had meant any insult to Hubba. He was not from a rich family himself, but with his marriage to the only daughter of a rich family, he had suddenly become very rich. The marriage had brought him money and a rise in status, but also pride. Hubbaji came to the help of the young man who was feeling uneasy and assured him that he was quite satisfied. The young man said that he did not forget to greet Hubba, even when he was taking his food. Then Hubba said to Babaji, to try and spare the young man from any calumny, that he could not have bowed at his grandfather's feet because he was having his food. Perhaps the main aim of Babaji was to show the people there how much Hubba was immune to all praise and abuse. One summer when we reached Kainchi, Hubbaji was not there. We learned that he was not well and was living with his son at Almora. One day I had to go to Almora for some work, and I visited him in the noon hour. He was lying on his bed. Knowing that he was not well, I prevented him from sitting up pushed my chair near the bed. As he spoke, he saw the whole picture of his life before his eyes. He had been born and brought up in Almora, but after many years he had become a stranger to it. Even when he was here, his mind used to roam. His life had been hard—no comforts or caring from the near ones in his family. He had gone after the things which the blessings of family life could not reach. He had learned, step by step on his journey, that he could manage with fewer things than he possessed. Discipline and detachment allowed him to deal with the vasanas (the desire for possessions), and as time went on he was able to cut and trim the excess from his life. He had been blessed by so many saints that his task had not proven impossible. Then he inquired about Didi at Kainchi and Ma and Maushi Ma at Allahabad, saying that they were so very affectionate to everyone who came with Babaji. When I asked him if he would like to visit them, as they remembered him so much, with a twinkle in his eye he said, "Can anyone make any promise or commitment at this stage of life?" This was not very reassuring about his state of health and the working of his mind. He emphasised that his life had been very blissful since he had come to know Baba, who had taken charge of everything. He was very cheerful and there was no trace of pain or suffering on his face. He had no complaint about anything or anyone. He was allowed to rest by fixing his attention on Babaji's feet. Not much afterwards we learned that he had left his body. I can recall what tapas and penance meant for him. The only thing that he preserved with all care was his energy, so that he could be ready for all kinds of work and able to run all kinds of races. He had not missed any of them. Thinking of him, I am reminded of a story: A disciple once narrated a dream to her master, a dream in which she had seen a mirror before her. Looking at it, she noticed that she was growing thin. The master said it was a very good dream—thinner and thinner, until nothing remains.

Babaji

K.C. Tewari Shri K.C. Tewari, also known as Kishan or simply as Tewari, was from Nainital. Born in a middle-class Brahmin family, his education was different from most of the other devotees of the educated class who had assembled before Babaji. Like them, he had attended schools and colleges to qualify himself for his livelihood, but he also had a second type of education—one that takes place in the family. This consists of religious and spiritual lessons and is considered essential for the children of orthodox Brahmin families. The first type qualified him to be a teacher, which was his livelihood, but the other—scriptures and religious literature, with their rituals and practices—was for living a purposeful life, the blissful life. I have emphasised this aspect of his education because it came to be used in his life with Babaji. Even now many devotees approach him to derive benefit from it. Recitations from the scriptures, demonstration of worship, rituals, and meditation were encouraged by Babaji for the edification of the devotees. The return from Kishan's formal education came in the form of money, but the return from the other is intangible and can only be expressed as self-elevation and in assisting others in their spiritual quests. There are many seekers who are drawn to him for his expertise in puja and rituals, but for me it was actually like armor, keeping me away. But I have still derived many benefits from my association with him, the foremost of which has been his help in my attempts to understand some of the deep mysteries that were enacted by Babaji. I have always looked toward Kishan to derive such benefits without worrying about what I had missed by not utilising his knowledge of meditation and rituals. However, I have used my resistance to his teaching of meditation as a suitable device for accusing him of miserliness toward me, to the enjoyment of everyone sitting around Babaji. In addition to Kishan's practice of meditation and rituals, which kept us at some distance from each other, there was one more thing that stood in the way of our getting close. It was the differences in our age and status, so in spite of the common interest and enthusiasm for hearing more about Babaji, some distance came to exist. We have already seen the case of Hubba as an illustration. His high age and austere living was an important factor in maintaining some distance between us. Hubba could not fraternise as freely as Tularam or Jivan had done. The same considerations stood between Kishan and myself: I was older and both of us were teachers, but in status he considered me to be his senior and he would not forget it. In spite of all these factors, I was given my share of the benefits derived by him in his life with Baba. It was from him that we heard all the details about the Hanumanghar temple. He had been a resident of Nainital, very close to Baba, and one of those, who along with Haridas and others, had been associated from the beginning with the construction of the temple. The area where the temple sprang up was far away from the heart of the town and had been avoided by the local people, not only because of its distance, but also because it had formerly been notorious as a graveyard for children. The fear of evil spirits and inauspicious creatures kept people away. Babaji rid the people's minds of all fear, banishing the ghosts and evil spirits from the whole area, by installing Hanumanji as the guardian for the protection and well-being of all. The importance of this temple was heightened because it provided the first suitable place for the devotees to assemble. They were rewarded by getting to spend some time with Baba as well as having a place for religious congregations, prayers, worship, and bhandara. Baba's visits were few and far between, but for some of his devotees, the temple became a hive for them to swarm around. This may have inspired Baba to create other such hives in different parts of the mountains to provide people with facilities to congregate for religious practices—creating a network of such institutions with their powerful inspiration and opportunity for the good life—the life with God.

Kishan said that the work at Hanumanghar brought many people together to participate in that noble venture. Everyone had a role to play and enjoy, and the participation gave them so much thrill and excitement and a feeling of dedication to a noble mission that they forgot the petty things that kept them apart. They felt in their hearts that Hanumanji played there, and came to believe that he was coming to assist them and guide them in all possible ways to build the bridges in their lives. Hanuman became their chosen deity not so much from their knowledge of the scriptures as from their participation in the construction of his temple. This also helped them in another installation—the installation of Hanuman in their hearts. Babaji was involved in everything. No work could be done without him. Just as in the Ramayana, when the monkeys built the bridge across the ocean to Lanka, Ram watched from the shore; the monkeys did all the construction, with Babaji sitting there as a spectator. There was a powerful lesson concealed therein for every devotee of Baba to learn: Babaji was seldom present in his form, but he was always there as the ubiquitous spectator. By remembering him all the time, seeking inspiration and guidance from him in our work and working with full energy and trust, our success is assured by him. When the crisis comes and the work baffles us, if we can pass it on to him to tackle, expressing our helplessness, he will deal with it. The devotees had to learn this, Kishan said, at the very moment they were feeling that they were in their highest glory. The inauguration of the temple was to be celebrated in the most fitting manner, with pujas, havans, and prasad for everyone. The news spread over a very large part of that area and people started coming. Everyone worked with a missionary zeal, and was convinced that their preparations for the bhandara, which was soon to begin, were faultless. There was a sense of jubilation in having managed a difficult task, and a few of them started speculating about the laurels that were awaiting them. When Babaji arrived that evening, everyone joined in giving him an account of the work that had been completed. Every detail was given. The prasad that had been prepared was enough to feed any unknown number of visitors. They then took Babaji around to see for himself all that had been described. Babaji was pleased, and sat and listened with great satisfaction as they talked about their arrangements for feeding people. Then, as if to get a minor clarification, he wanted to know on what they were going to serve the food. It was as if people who had been going along, merrymaking on the road, suddenly got pushed into a ditch. Not one of them had remembered to get leaf plates! What could be done at this short notice? People had started gathering, and feeding was to start within a few hours. There was no market nearby. Haldwani and Bareilly were far away and the markets there would be closed for the night. It was hard to accept that a big engine could not start if even a small part of strategic importance was missing. Gone was the cheer and jubilation—everyone was motionless. One could imagine, on a much larger scale, how the monkeys had sat on the shore of the sea after losing all hope of success in their search for Sita. Babaji sat silently with them. Seeing him like that, many became disturbed and started making all kinds of speculations about his silence. It was his bhandara. They had been pushed into it by him. They were there only because of him, but now that they were faced with such a crisis, he was sitting indifferently. They might be responsible, but why should they be punished when he could remove their crisis? Minutes passed, and the sun set in the horizon throwing everything and everyone into a gloom. No glimpse of light was forthcoming from any direction, so they sat silently giving up all hope. In the meantime, the moon was rising as if trying to make a dent in the gloom, but no one took any notice of it. Such was their despair. The darkness was disappearing fast with the rising of the moon in its glory. Babaji was looking at something far away, which soon became noticeable to the people sitting with him. Pointing into the distance, he asked them what they saw. Scrutinising carefully, someone said it was a caravan. The owners were carrying their loads to the market on the backs of donkeys. When they came nearer and the loads could be seen, someone shouted that they were leaf plates! Babaji directed a devotee to go purchase all their packages, thereby ending the crisis over the leaf plates. He told them not to haggle or bargain with the merchants, as they had been rescued from their deepest gloom. The light came and removed the darkness. Everyone rushed about full of cheer; the problem had been solved. The packages of leaves were carried by the enthusiastic workers onto the ashram premises. Few took notice of the miracle that had been wrought before the eyes of everyone. Where did the leaf vendors come from? The timing and the route were so precise that one could not help but think that some unseen hand had manipulated everything to deliver the leaves to the temple at the critical hour. At midnight the work was going on at a high tempo. Babaji was sitting surrounded by a few devotees. Haridas, who was in charge of the celebration, approached Baba. He wanted to say something to him, but couldn't get the courage to speak out. Babaji asked him how the work was going. In reply, he said that the ghee was exhausted but many more puris still had to be made. At the rate the people were coming, their stock of puris would soon be exhausted. Here was a new crisis, not of leaves, but of ghee. It was the same problem again—the middle of the night, markets far away, and the ghee was needed immediately. Babaji's response was immediate. He started shouting and yelling at everyone that they were all useless, and it had been a mistake for him to get involved in their drama. Had he known before, he would not have come to the temple at all. As all of this was going on, poor Haridas stood speechless as did everyone else. He sent Haridas away since nothing could be done at that time of night. They would have to wait for morning. This served as a damper and came at a time when the devotees had been feeling secure that everything was running smoothly. In the absence of ghee, they would not be able to prepare any more puris, so they all went to rest. Babaji was sitting in a corner of the temple grounds along with Kishan. When everyone had gone, he asked Kishan to fill up two empty tins with water from the tap and leave them on the path leading to the temple. He was asked to do the preparation in secret; he would be sent away for good if he talked about it to anybody. Kishan did as he was told. The next morning there was a flutter. Haridas was the first to notice that there were two tins lying outside on the road. Seeing that they were full of ghee, he was happy; now they could resume the preparation of puris. He rushed toward Babaji to tell him of the miracle, but when Babaji saw Haridas coming, he started shouting that everyone was negligent and careless, leaving things here and there, allowing them to go to waste. They had been crying for ghee, but no one cared to keep the tins in a safe place. Such were the persons who were doing bhandara of Hanumanji! We had also heard about this miracle of Babaji's from many others who were present there, but the most important role was played by Kishan, who served as the instrument and

also as a witness of the miracle. Hariakhan Baba and Sombar Giri Baba also did havan and bhandara with water which automatically turned into ghee in the process. The great saint Sai Baba had arrived at Shirdi as a teenage boy and had settled at a mosque there. He used to go to the small market nearby begging oil for his lamp. There were certain peculiar things about his behavior that attracted the attention of the people there. He would come to the market and spend as little time as was needed to get oil for the lamps. He would not talk or fraternise with anybody, only ask the shopkeepers for oil, and nothing else. His visits became a daily affair. One day the shopkeepers decided not to give him any oil because of the way he behaved with people. He returned to the mosque without pleading with anyone. Some of the shopkeepers who were curious to see what he would do without oil for his lamp, went to the mosque. They saw that he took a bowl of water, dipped the wicks in it and lighted them, then placed them in the lamp. He poured water in it to serve the purpose of oil, which it did because it was already oil and no longer water! Here water served the purpose of oil in the hands of Sai Baba, whereas it had served as ghee with Hariakhan Baba, Sombar Giri Baba, and Neem Karoli Baba. There is an identical case with Jesus who turned water into wine to serve the guests in a marriage feast. Jesus came to Canaan in Galilee to attend a marriage celebration. His mother was already there. While serving the guests, the wine was exhausted and his mother asked him to help. He called the servants, and showing them six big stone jars, asked them to fill them with water. When they were filled with water, Jesus asked the servant to draw some water from the jar and take it to the steward for his approval. It had become wine and was served to the guests to the satisfaction of all. The quality of the wine was verified when someone said to the host, "This is remarkable! Most people serve their best wine first, and poorest wine when that runs out; but you have saved your very best wine for last!" Although Kishan would visit Allahabad with Babaji every year, his stays were short. He had his duties at college and his duties to his family. He considered himself a junior in rank among the devotees, to his advantage. While others were busy with their stories, Kishan would step into Babaji's room and sit with him. Babaji did not discourage him. Sometimes Babaji would get him to talk by asking him about certain events or incidents, then intervene with questions and comments. Whenever Babaji wanted the story to be relished by the people sitting there, not only useful, but palatable, he would add some sauce by contradicting certain things said by Kishan or rebuking him to be an old badmash (wicked one). The devotees came to know that these abuses were not seriously meant; they were to serve as sauce and pickles for the relish of all. The result of this was that many sought to be with Baba when Kishan was with him. Kishan's knowledge of scriptures was useful for everyone. If any reference was needed about religious matters, Babaji would ask Kishan to explain. Similarly, whenever any talk centered around sadhana and yogic practices, he would ask Kishan to demonstrate by entering into meditation. In Allahabad this display was used sparingly, but it became otherwise in Kainchi and Vrindavan with the coming of the western devotees. They were very keen to practice meditation and samadhi. If a doctor visitor happened to be there when Babaji put Kishan in samadhi, Babaji would ask him to examine Kishan and see if it was genuine or not. In spite of all efforts, no one could break the samadhi. Ultimately, Babaji would have to bring him out of it. These demonstrations of what the western devotees came to call the "yoga of meditation" would be full and perfect. Those who were interested to learn and practice it were directed to various centers where courses on meditation were conducted. Rather than by learned and lengthy discourse, Babaji's method of teaching was to provide actual demonstrations before their eyes, inspiring them to learn and practice. There were certain important lessons that could be learned from a careful observation of the whole process and the choice of Kishan for imparting this teaching. Babaji would never permit those who sought his help to venture into samadhi without the necessary preparation. If they did, the risks would be very great with little chance of success. They had to be taught what preparation was needed and why it came only to a few. Kishan served the purpose because samadhi was an outcome of the life he was living. He had undergone a rigid religious and spiritual education, having done many practices. This kind of education is the first and essential ingredient in building a purposeful life. We all want to drink clean and pure water. That is a good intention, but several conditions need to be met—one must know what is pure water, where it is available, and the method of collecting and serving it. The conditions necessary to living a purposeful life are the knowledge of what is a good life, where and how to get that knowledge, and how to make the necessary preparations. Babaji emphasised the value of religious education and practice, the age when it is to begin, and the role of the family, especially the parents, in the scheme of education. Sometimes children would be sitting before Babaji with their mothers. When he asked the children to recite the Hanuman Chalisa, some of the children sat silently, as they did not know it. Babaji brought this to the attention of everyone there, saying that previously these things had been taught in the home. He charged that parents no longer had interest in such education, nor time for the children. The old people used to know the stories of Ramayana, Bhagavat, and Purana and would teach everyone. But rarely do you meet such persons now. Parents send their children to school, pay for their education, and think that is all they have to do. From this point of view, Kishan's family education served as an important preparation for things that were to come. When Kishan came into contact with Babaji in his youth, he had been suffering for a long time from trouble with his lungs. This stood in the way of his settling down to a traditional family life, getting married, and earning a living. Babaji took up his case in full earnest. He was cured from his illness, which had already become chronic and had defied all remedy. After that, his marriage was arranged. But there was something more that was needed for him: he needed help in strengthening the religious and spiritual practices which he had started in early life. The essential requisite for such practices was making tapas—discipline or penance, a part of the routine of life. This brings rigid control over various habits—food, sleep, and the company of people one seeks. The first victim in this process was his food, which became strictly regulated. He had to part with grains in his diet. This was difficult, as they were the main contents of his daily food. But Kishan took it up and has stuck to it all these years, which is a suitable tribute to Babaji. Kishan's habit of not taking regular meals caused some distress with Ma and Maushi Ma. When he was at Allahabad, they became very close to him, admiring his religious practices, and did not want him to starve (as they considered his eating habits). They questioned how

could one live with so little food. But this helped him admirably in keeping his body fit and trim and freed his mind from the unnecessary bothers about the variety and quantity of his daily food. Ram Thakur would not eat for days together, and if persuaded by his devotees, he would oblige them by accepting a spoonful of sugar or honey. His body was healthy, like a normal human being of his age, but with energy that was not available to any one of them. When Ram Thakur was pressed for an explanation he said, "This body has been given to you on loan by the money lender. You have to pay him interest. But he is easily satisfied if you regularly pay him very small amounts." This is actually the case with all great saints. Babaji's food habit was almost solely in connection to his dealings with his devotees. He would eat for many reasons, such as not to cause any pain to an affectionate mother who had cooked for him, or to make some people learn to cook and feed others. The main purpose of collecting and preparing food, he would often emphasise, should not be as much for eating as for feeding. This was demonstrated all the time in his ashrams as well as in the houses of his devotees. Some people who had seen Kishan in his earlier days, when he was sickly, would talk of Babaji's kindness for him, and sometimes suggest obliquely that Babaji was partial to Kishan. It was true that Babaji's kindness helped him, but it is also true that Kishan obeyed Baba and practiced what had been prescribed for him, which was rather rare among the devotees. It is not true that Babaji was partial to Kishan or that Kishan is the solitary example of Babaji's care and kindness. Everyone who approached him got the appropriate treatment. Kishan did not have much time to spend with Babaji or to go on long journeys with him, but the time that he did spend with him and the places that he visited in his company provided him with rich experiences. We take a few of these as he narrated them to us. While traveling with Babaji, they came to the house of a well-known devotee to stay for a couple of days. Many visitors started coming, and Babaji was tied to the house for most of the time. One morning, Shri Swami Karpatriji arrived—a renowned mahatama, a renunciate, and a staunch believer in the scriptures and religious practices and rituals. He was respected not only for his knowledgeable teachings of the scriptures, but also for his authorship of many worthy books. But he was also feared because of his temper and his insistence on the faithful observance of the rituals and worship in the temples. He had come to be known as a crusader because of his excessive zeal in preserving the sanctity of temples and places of worship. At the time he came to meet Babaji, he was actually crusading against the temple doors being thrown open to all, particularly those who were barred entrance by birth (caste). Karpatriji greeted Babaji with full respect, saying Baba was one of the wisest and seniormost among those who had dedicated their lives to the preservation and propagation of the sanctity and purity of Hinduism's unique character. He said that Babaji was actually a pillar of their religion and he was seeking his help in foiling the attempts by those enemies of Hinduism who wanted to defile the temples by allowing the harijans, the untouchables, to enter. He put all his arguments before Babaji, and then with full confidence and persuasion he tried to draw Babaji into the fray. He urged Babaji to raise his voice in protest and opposition. Babaji gave him the full chance to plead his case. And when he stopped, Babaji came out with his volleys of accusations and abuses against the sadhus, the so-called "guardians of Hinduism," fighting against throwing the temples open to all castes. He went on and on, heckling these short-sighted ones whom he declared to be the enemies, and not the protectors, of Hinduism: "The temples are dedicated to God; they belong to everyone and not to any individual caste or sect. The temples are places for prayer and worship. Maintaining the cleanliness and providing the facilities for pujas and worship and inspiring people to perform their bhajans and kirtans are the main duties of those who claim to be the friends and protectors of Hinduism." "What you actually find there is that the doors are often closed and the temples are never cleaned fully, as no one bothers about them. The murtis are not washed or bathed regularly and are not properly anointed, as enjoined by the rules. There is no bhajan, kirtan, and discourses done as regular practices to attract people, nor are people given any prasad, coming as the grace of God. This is how you want to run your temples? It is a sad spectacle to go around these temples, almost deserted without any care being taken. For some interested ones it has become a money-making institution which is taking advantage of the faith and religiosity of the worshippers!" Babaji said he himself had seen the fate of such deserted temples where, in one of them, a dog entered in search of eatables and urinated on the murti. Then holding Karpatriji on the dock, he fired his questions: "You are a saint, well versed in the scriptures and fully aware of the rules and rituals. How much time do you spend in the temples, in pujas, bhajan and kirtan? You have no time for that as all your resources are diverted to fight a political battle—preventing the entry of those who want to come and worship and sing their bhajan and kirtan. Do you want the temples to remain closed and deserted? You do not do what you should for the temple, but you want to stop others from doing. Do you think I have lost all my senses? You want me to do much damage by yielding to your requests. These conflicts are actually snares for sadhus who have the true interests of religion in their hearts. You will not find me joining the fray." He stopped as if the job was done and no more missiles needed to be shot. There was silence all around—no whispering or movement anywhere. Everyone was trying to understand what they had seen and heard. Karpatriji just sat silently. Perhaps he was wondering how all this came about. He was all love and adoration and greeted Babaji with his choicest bouquets, but in return he had received only brickbats. Time passed and everyone woke up, as if after a long spell of bad dreams. Then Babaji resumed his work. Addressing everyone in the room he said, "You must all know him. There are few persons in these areas who have not heard his valuable discourses. There is no branch of your religion in which he is not a master. People actually get intoxicated when they hear him speak on Ramayana or Puranas. He has written innumerable books which are read by thousands of people. He is a great saint, who has dedicated his whole life to the benefit of the people. His speeches and books are all meant to make people religious-minded and devoted to God. A great saint he is." Some prasad was brought and Babaji offered Karpatriji first and then distributed to others. Here was the happy ending of the drama, which was very turbulent in the middle and had threatened to end like that. The main framework of the story came from Kishan, who has repeated it many times because of my interest in it. But the very heart of it,

not only the gist, came from Baba himself. We used to visit the Ganges daily in the afternoon. Ojhaji would drive us there. He would stay behind with his car, and we two would move to the bank, sitting there till it was dusk. That was the time when Babaji would explain whatever was needed for me to know about anything that was disturbing me. The story of Kapatriji came in several sittings along with the role of sadhus resorting to political agitation. Babaji's stand on these issues was very clear: the temple is a place of God, and should be open to every heart. The utmost care is needed to maintain its sanctity. The cleanliness of the murti and the decoration with colorful clothes were essential for maintaining the purity and the sanctity of the temple and attracting worshippers and devotees. If the people whose duty it was to look after these arrangements did not bother about them, the result was that the temples ceased to be places for purification, and people actually came to be repelled by them. Inner purity cannot come in an unclean and hostile environment. About the role of sadhus, Babaji was emphatic. "Their tasks are distinct from those of householders and social workers. It is not for them to enter into your kitchen to prepare food for you and your God, nor to open the cowsheds to attend to sick cows. These works can be easily done by others; sadhus are not needed for them. Their withdrawal from the day-to-day lives of the people is of utmost importance to society. The real help from sadhus comes when they are all engaged in their own task without getting involved in the quagmire of social life. Then and only then can society derive the greatest benefit from sadhus. It is for this reason you have to honor their roles, and allow them to do their work without any interference, not dragging them down to drive your chariot. Their work is for the good of the whole creation. The incense stick can give its odor by standing aloof; you need not take it before everyone to inhale its smell." Babaji never kept us ignorant or hid from us the way to fulfill the aims of our life. But we were not interested in learning or in being enlightened on the basic problem of life. Whenever we were with him, our ears and eyes were busy with other things. Certainly, we were not concentrating on his talks. We were more interested in his gestures and spicy and pungent remarks without caring to discover what precious teaching was hidden in them. He had to talk and harangue all the time when he was sitting with us. If he sat silently, giving us the chance to calm the agitation of our minds and take his teachings to heart, it would have been misunderstood by those who would think that Babaji was indifferent to us. One who was really interested in deriving the most benefit from their time with Babaji had to be patient to hear and see him at work. His whispers and every gesture of his eyes and fingers all carried his teachings and helped the diligent and faithful observer. The result of this was that those who concentrated their attention on Babaji only, derived much, like the wise and active farmer raising a rich harvest. By no stretch of the imagination can we believe that we were denied the benefits from his precious possessions. Such ideas or statements were due to our sheer ignorance and perversion of mind. Gracious had he been, and gracious he is—gracious to everyone. His grace floods in every direction for the benefit of his devotees. In 1961, Babaji was here for his winter camp, and there were many devotees who had come to stay with him. One night it was past eleven and Babaji was in his room with doors closed from inside. All those staying in the house had finished their meals and taken to their beds. Didi and I were busy finishing some work of the household before we could retire. Then I heard the sound of the door to Babaji's room opening. Kishan was busy opening the door to go outside, and Babaji was standing beside him. Hearing my footsteps, he turned toward me and seeing me staring at him with full attention, asked Kya? Kya? (What? What?) But without replying, I went to bring Didi to see this for herself. Babaji was standing there, but we had the experience of seeing Hanumanji, who was showing himself through Baba. Babaji had no blanket. His dhoti was drawn tight to the waist, serving as a langoti and the tail end of the dhoti had been twisted and was hanging like a long tail. Taller than he actually was, he had to bend his head to go through the door. His arms were excessively long, reaching below the knees, and there was no bulging belly or white mustache or beard. The belly had sunk to a normal size, and the beard and mustache had turned black. He waited until we reached there, perhaps to give darshan to Didi also, and then he went out with Kishan holding his hand. We stood at our place watching. It was not even two minutes later that they returned. The way in which the whole thing happened left no doubt in my mind that the aim was to demonstrate that Hanumanji was with him and that Hanumanji and he were not different. Many of his devotees believed that he was an incarnation of Hanumanji; actually, Hanuman itself. I had heard them talking thus with all attention, but it was too much for me to believe them at that stage. Babaji returned to his room, as his work, whatever that might have been, was done. But for us it was otherwise. This was just the beginning. The culmination came in Kainchi on June 15, 1968, before the Hanuman temple. It was a long journey, but that night I was made to set my foot on the road. For a long time we could not sleep and went on talking, trying to understand the implication of all that was shown to us, but it was not easily coming. Instead, all kinds of questions arose. The next morning when we met, Kishan could not say what brought Babaji out of the room. Babaji had been lying on his bed, with Kishan sitting on the floor before him. "He was not talking. Suddenly he said, 'Let us see what is outside.' Coming out to the porch, he cast his glance on several sides and then said 'Chalo.' Kishan had no idea of what had happened so far as Didi and myself were concerned and I did not give him any inkling of what was agitating my mind. There was also no hint from Babaji about what had happened the night before. I got busy with my daily routine. It was a holiday, and Didi and I stayed home. Babaji was in his room. It was late in the day when I finally entered Babaji's room. He was lying on his bed talking to Kishan, who was sitting on the mat. I stood there listening, and Didi came and stood listening as well. He asked Didi, "Kamala, please scratch my back. I do not know why it has been itching for so long." She came forward, and bending down over him, reached her hand out. She thought that it was going to be so easy, but she was given a lesson. However she might bend or stretch, her hand would not reach the middle of Babaji's back. She could not understand what was happening, and actually started perspiring wondering what she should do. Babaji came to her rescue saying that her work was done, and she should stop. It was a relief for her, as she could then come out of his room to regain her breath. I stayed in the room participating in the talks that were going on. In the evening she told me of her experience of the giant body that had been before her on the bed. She could not imagine that it could be so big that her hand could not reach around. Recalling the experience of the night before, she said that she was now convinced that he was Hanumanji, not by what just happened, but because it was a continuation of what was wrought before. She had had doubts, and for the whole day she had been obsessed with them. It was just to help her remove all doubts from her mind that today's episode came. She could rest with her belief. But it was not so easy for me. I had to wait for my time.

Didi's experience came to be known by other devotees, and came up for discussion when we sat together in our satsang. No one had any difficulty in believing it to be true, and emphasised again and again that Babaji was actually Hanumanji. We became the recipients of many congratulations from the devotees for our good luck. They said that Babaji had been exceedingly gracious by revealing himself before our eyes. The matter ended for the time being, but it remained in the background. Whenever there was a reference to Babaji being an incarnation of Hanumanji, the whole episode would be raked up, adding grist to the mill. It was a few years later that another incident, equally important, was enacted in the same room, in the same posture on his bed; again with Kishan sitting before him on the mat having no idea what was happening. The incident was a mystery in the beginning, but worked to convince me that he is actually Hanuman, and all my questions came to an end with this acceptance. We had returned from Kainchi in early August. It had been my practice to study late at night sitting before my table. I had to enter my room through Babaji's bedroom. There was a door in between which was always kept open. The outer doors were closed but never this one. Sitting in my chair, I could see the bed in his room. In some unguarded moments, I felt that he was on his bed, although bodily he was not there. Such experiences had become common, so I did not pay much attention to them. It was past midnight when I would go to sleep, and everyone in the house was in deep sleep. It had been my regular practice that after my study I would bow on Babaji's cot as if touching his feet. I would always complete this ritual however late it might be or however busy I was with anything else. One night while rubbing the leg of the cot, my hand came on some scratches and a dent. I had never noticed anything like that during the whole decade that I had been doing this. The idea cropped up that this was like an oozing abscess. I took this leg of the cot to be Babaji's leg, therefore I was suddenly made aware that this must mean there was an abscess on Babaji's leg. The problem was that only a couple of weeks back I had been with him, and there had been no indication of any abscess on his leg, nor could it have developed so quickly into such a putrid state. That was the start of my conflict, and I was faced with a challenge about my faith and belief. My belief was the leg of the cot was actually Babaji's. There was the scratch and the dent on the cot leg, but there had been no boil on Babaji's leg. I was fully convinced of that. So all this led to the unavoidable conclusion that the leg of the cot was not Babaji's, that these two were different. This also meant that all these years I had been mistaken, sadly mistaken, in thinking the two to be the same, and all my rituals were futile and useless—a clear indication of my misplaced faith born of sheer ignorance. I could not mention this crisis of faith to anyone, nor could I end my questioning. The mind was agitated and there was no break from it. Always the questions I was faced with were, "Was I mistaken? How did I come to think that they were not different from each other? Did Babaji have anything to do with it or was it all due to my own foolishness?" Noticing it one day, mother asked me what was bothering me. However much I tried to deny that there was anything worrying me, she was not convinced. Maybe the easy way of ending the conflict would have been to acknowledge the blunder I had committed and banish the whole idea from my mind. But it was not easy to do that. It would mean parting with all the faith and belief that had been built up over the years, faith which actually had taken me closer to Babaji and opened my heart to him. To continue believing as I had was difficult, if not impossible, but to part with it for good, to throw it away, was unthinkable. This came to be the crisis in my faith. I began to feel as if all was lost. While I was struggling with this state of agitated mind, Babaji came one evening accompanied by Kishan. I was happy about his visit as always, but there was an element of surprise because it was 'unscheduled,' as we had come to call such visits. What was more, it would be something like a break from the torture which I had been suffering for twelve days. It wasn't until late in the noon of the next day that I was free to be with Babaji. I had returned from the university, and after changing my clothes, I entered his room where he was alone with Kishan. He glanced at me, permitting me to stand near his bed, and resumed his talk with Kishan. He had thrown a feeler to Kishan, making him talk with all seriousness. I was not paying much attention to Kishan's talk, but scanning Babaji with my eyes. He was reclining on his bed in one of his favorite poses—resting his head on the palm of his raised left hand, the left leg spread full, and the right leg bent at the knee. The dhoti was drawn close, keeping the thighs of both legs exposed. There was no blanket or bed sheet over his body, and I could see the bulging belly, all very smooth as if carefully massaged with oil. I had been looking at him the whole time since I had entered the room. I had no idea that unconsciously my eyes were searching for something; suddenly they became fixed at some place on his exposed right thigh. My attention was caught and I was just seeing it without taking it into the mind. I did not know that his eyes were fixed on me, but seeing me look at the abscess, he asked, "Kya, Kya?" When I turned my attention from what I was seeing, it all vanished in a thrice, leaving no trace, neither on the thigh nor in my mind. It was something like the photographer who has taken the photo and then left it aside, covering it fully. So I was drawn into the conversation with Kishan. This continued for some time. Didi returned from her college, bringing with her a few colleagues who were keen to meet Babaji. Everyone got busy with their work, including myself. In the evening some devotees came and the time passed with everyone enjoying Babaji's visit. At night, while taking his food in his room and sitting with Ma and Maushi Ma, Babaji said that this was not a good time for him to come here—he had some work at other places—but he had to come because I was remembering him. "I felt that my work could wait, but a visit to you could not be delayed." Then Ma said, "We remember you all the time; can we do without it? When you come the whole house becomes full of persons, full of things, and full of shanti and ananda (peace and joy). So we pray to you, Baba, visit us more often. You come in the winter, and then you forget me and Maushi Ma." Baba came out with his defense: "I also remember you all the time. Ma, who can forget the ones who give you food? But what can I do? I do not get any time at all." The talks continued for some time more, for the enjoyment of all sitting with him. Kishan was enjoying himself and adding a few rejoinders here and there. This used to be the highest bliss for Ma and Maushi Ma, and they would often say out loud, "Baba, the joy that we get by

sitting with you cannot come from anywhere else. We sit in our puja room every day but cannot fix all our attention to that; the mind goes everywhere, to everything else. We feel unhappy that we cannot sit with our Ishtadev (the form of the Lord to which one is devoted) with full attention. But when you are here it is different. All our attention goes to you. We forget everything else." Just as Ma had finished, Maushi Ma said, "Baba, we do not know God. We know only you. You do not leave us." He was listening patiently and giving them the chance to open their hearts to him. They were sent back to feed the persons staying in the house. When they left the room Babaji said, addressing Kishan, how deep their love was for him; they were busy for the whole day with work for the household, prayers, and pujas, but they never forgot him, so he had to come to them when they were keen for his darshan. After our meal, I sat with Kishan for some time and talked about everything that had happened that day, but with no reference to what passed after I had entered the room late in the noon. Kishan had no idea of what was hidden in my mind or what tricks Babaji was playing to cover up the things that were worrying me. And on my part, everything had been erased from my mind by the time we retired late at night. The next morning when I met Babaji, he told me that he would be leaving in a short while, and everyone came to know of it. Ma and Maushi Ma pressed him to stay for the day, but he had to go; it was very urgent for him. But he made the concession to them that he would eat first, so they should go and cook for him. Everything was carried out as desired by him, and he left at ten with Kishan. No one knew what had brought him here and what he had accomplished. Even I had no idea until two weeks after he had gone away. We were living our lives as usual. I continued to spend the hours at night in my study, and late at night when retiring for sleep, I would bow at his cot and rub my hand on its leg as was my regular habit. There were no dents or scratches now; it was all smooth, nor was there any trace in my mind of the experience I had undergone only two weeks back. Then one night after bowing at the cot, I rubbed my hand on its leg and touched the dent and passed over the scratches. The idea of the abscess came back with a shiver as before. I took it to be the abscess on his leg. While thinking like this, suddenly the whole picture of what had been seen two weeks back came in a flash! So it was an abscess on his leg, and I was not mistaken in thinking that! The leg of the cot actually represented the leg of Babaji, so when I offered my worship to the leg of the cot, he acknowledged that it was given to him. The foot of flesh and blood might not be present before me, but so long as the other was with me to receive my worship, I had nothing to worry about. What could be said of the miracle of turning the leg of a cot of dead wood into a human leg of flesh and blood? It was not a dream or an hallucination or fantasy, but actually the leg of a living person sitting in the full view of others in broad daylight. How and why was it done were the questions bothering me now. I became restless and could not go to bed. I was reminded several times that it was very late, and that I must sleep, but who could sleep? I started loitering on the verandah, disturbing the sleep of others. The night passed like that, without any sleep or rest for me. The next day I was pressed to explain what had made me restless. I gave a brief resume of the whole incident. They heard me with patience and interest, and then they smiled as if to emphasise that for such a simple thing, why did I have to strain my brain so much. They said, "After all, what is not possible for Baba? What could he not do? He is so kind and gracious that he did it all out of his love for you. You were suffering, and he had to remove your suffering. He had to save you when you were going to lose your faith in him. You were thinking him to be just like another human being when he is actually God—for all of us, and not for you alone. Why can you not believe it?" So simple was their argument that there was nothing for me to disbelieve or disagree with, so the agitation passed. But something was left behind for me to work out. I never had an interest in speculating about his real nature or my relationship with him, and what keeps him busy all the time. But these new thoughts took hold, engaging me all through these years, and have helped to make my relations with Baba rather deep and purposeful, as for all who came to him and remember him. It was an insight, though a feeble one, of what he was and what it was that kept him tied down to us. The queries continue to be pleasant to my mind. I engaged in thoughts that were unknown to others, but were not unknown to him. A good part of my time with Babaji was directed in assisting me to seek answers for myself. His help came through raising various topics for discussion in his gatherings with the devotees and sometimes through talking with me alone. The lessons I have learned and the conclusions I have drawn are all tentative; I cannot produce any conclusive proof to justify them, but I offer them anyway. The first one is that Babaji knew everything about us and what we were doing or thinking. There was no barrier of time or space for him. We might not know what was awaiting us, or what was working inside our minds, but he knew it all. It has been called the omniscience of God. The great saints know everything that is going on in the universe. And Babaji's omniscience was there for us to see. My second speculation is that he was also omnipotent—all powerful and all potent. He could accomplish any task without hindrance or handicap. When anything that is done by these saints passes beyond our knowledge and expectations, we call it a mystery, a miracle. But for them, these miracles and mysteries are as simple and common as breathing. Babaji knew everything that was happening with me here. He was present at the appropriate time and transformed a piece of dead wood into a living leg of flesh and blood. Does this not testify to the potency of his power to transform and transmute as necessity arose? And then proceeding further with my search, I discovered that it was sheer grace which came to my rescue—unmotivated and spontaneous— solely to assist an ailing soul that was remembering him. I came to these tentative conclusions in my own way, but something in the nature of a confirmation came after a few months. When the next winter came, Babaji arrived, followed by many devotees. Within a few days, large numbers of visitors started to assemble in the evening, and regular sittings and discussions started as before. These gatherings and discussions were valued for their education and were never dull or barren. One night a discussion started about God, what He does for us and how we should approach Him. While the discussion was in full swing, Babaji threw a query: "Should we ask God for anything? What do you think about it?" Everyone

enthusiastically gave their opinions. The consensus was that we should ask God for whatever we might need. Then he said, "Accha, accha, this is your judgment." Then he turned to Ojhaji, who was sitting there listening with interest, and asked him what his opinion was. Ojhaji came out with this categorical statement, "Nothing should be asked from God. This is certainly not for true devotees to do." This was strange, and the protests came from all directions. If we were not to ask Bhagwan for our needs and acquaint Him with our problems, then to whom were we to go for help? Babaji looked at Ojhaji to take the field and help everyone correct their ideas about God and His grace. Ojhaji replied, "Whenever we want anything from someone or want someone to do something for us, as we do all the time in our everyday lives, we have to first acquaint them with our problems and the reasons we are seeking help. After this we have to plead for the help which is not easily forthcoming. When there is no response, we start begging and shedding tears, and fall at their feet hoping to bring mercy to their hearts. But are we to do the same with God? To think of God in this way is the greatest mistake of our lives. This is not a life with God, but a life without God. With that kind of belief in God, all our prayers and worship are directed to the wrong place. "This does not mean that God does not know about us or is not doing anything for us. He is in His place and doing His work. But we still have to do our sadhana—our spiritual practice. We have to purify and ennoble our lives and install God in our hearts. This is the main aim of life. Because we often fail in this, we start accusing God of failing us. Our main task is to acquaint ourselves with what God is doing for us, and to mold our lives by installing God in our hearts—not by acquainting Him with our problems and crying for His mercy. "When we want to take a journey, we have to make all kinds of preparations. But first, we must know the place we want to reach and the person we want to meet. The same thing happens when we pray to God to come to our help. We take Him to be ignorant, with no knowledge about our problems, so we start acquainting Him about us. Secondly, we plead, beg and shed tears not knowing that He is love and mercy incarnate. He knows everything by Himself. When the ignorance is removed and faith is created in our hearts, no asking or pleading is needed anymore. We can live with God and enjoy His mercy without worrying about what we have to acquaint Him with, what we have to ask from Him, and how we have to plead with Him. We may need to do this in our dealings with society, but not in our religious and spiritual lives with God." Ojhaji finished the talk. Everyone was listening, and some persons were preparing some questions or arguments to refute what he had said. Babaji was observing everything and was well aware of what was to come. When the discussions were completed, Babaji commented, "How nicely Ojhaji has explained everything to you. He is right when he says that nothing should be asked from God, nor is there anything with which God needs to be acquainted. When one knows everything, what new thing can you bring to His notice? It is useless to try to do this. Moreover, God is gracious and always shows His mercy on everyone. When you get what you want without asking Him for it, what is the use of asking? You always ask for useless things, wrong things, and sometimes for harmful things, that is why you do not get them. You ask for things out of ignorance. He knows what is useful for you and what should be given, and what is useless and harmful and should be denied. And you people accuse God, without caring to know why your desire was not fulfilled. This is your habit, your practice. You must have full faith in God; He attends to everything when you have faith and depend on Him. "The main purpose for your religious practices of pujas, prayers, bhajans and kirtan is not for asking or begging from Him, but to be with Him. There are people who never think of God or sit silently and meditate on Him. But when they do their rituals, like singing bhajan and kirtan and visiting temples, they take this to be their worship and time with God. "This is helpful for them, as they keep aside time and money and other things for God and for His puja and prasad. When they are not doing these pujas and prayers, they spend their time and money in other ways, not directly for God or for spending time with Him. So this helps them to round out their whole lives. It brings discipline to do all of one's duties and then save something in time and resources with regular observance, it becomes very dear to them. They feel it is their time with God, and they spend more and more time in their pujas and prayers. "This feeling of being with God and working for Him brings devotion to their hearts. He becomes dear to them. They become interested in pleasing and serving Him out of their love for Him, not for asking anything for themselves. They spend more and more time in pujas and rituals, and many others begin to derive benefit from them. They draw more persons toward God, help to teach them discipline in their lives, and to devote their lives to the service of God and His children. "This is the best form of religious education for the people. They learn from demonstration and practice, not from books and lectures. How many persons can read? How many persons can purchase books? Those who are to teach you must know what they are to teach you and what you need and can understand. And they must teach you out of their love of God and love for you, not for making money by taking the name of God. It is difficult for most people to find such persons and be taught by them. The best way is to go on with one's pujas and prayers. Meditation and yoga are not for everyone, but bhajan and kirtan are for everyone without any distinction." It was late already and it was time to disperse. Babaji sent everyone away and then returned to his room. For him the subject was discussed before everyone and nothing more was to be added. When everyone finished their food, we sat in our satsang as usual. Many persons wondered why Babaji had talked in such a simple way, with so much interest, about the things that were uppermost in their minds. Ojhaji only commented that this was his method, and he was always doing it in some form or other. When we failed to derive benefit from it, it was not Babaji's fault but because we were not attentive. Everyone had his own experience to express and comments to make. It continued till two o'clock, when Babaji came out of his room to go to the bathroom. When I came to take him to the bathroom he told me, "When you get a chance to talk, you forget everything. I do not know what this is all about. You talk to the students during the whole day, but even then your talks are not finished. You even keep busy at night. Now let them go." Everyone enjoyed the reprimand, as if they had been waiting for it. We all took to our beds. Our talks were not completed, only postponed for future sittings. As I have said before, these satsangs were of immense benefit for me and much of my knowledge and understanding came from them.

There was another lesson hidden in the episode of the abscess on the leg—a mystery, an enigma, defying all my attempts to understand or unravel it. However, I did not give up hope. Hints were forthcoming that showed me the direction to search. These were hidden teachings for me, and he wanted me to continue with my inquiry. Even now it goes on; there is no question of being finished with it. Mantras, dikshas (initiations), and the teachings in enigmas not only give us wisdom, but also give us the bliss of his company in our secret hearts. Such instruction and initiations come from the guru and are the means of contact, a token through which to communicate with him. Looking at it from a sober point of view, the whole idea of the cot leg being Babaji's must be due to some mental aberration and not the working of a balanced mind. The matter would end there if I could rest with that explanation. But the result of this 'mental aberration' was that it served as a means of contact and communication with Babaji, and drew him to me. The success achieved by that process raised the question: was it all an accidental and meaningless concurrence, or was it intentional and manipulated by him? The way the whole episode worked left no doubt in my mind that it was his way of dealing with me. By accepting that to be so, I went a step further. So long as I have trust in him, I can use such tokens or instruments to contact him and transmit my wishes and expectations to him. If this is granted, then the conclusion cannot be avoided: such symbols prove useless for the devotee's purpose in the same way that murtis or idols are useful if the devotee has absolute faith and devotion, however absurd and meaningless they may be to others. There was also another question: From where did the idea come into my mind? Was it due to ignorance, or was there some inspiration or prompting from somewhere else, say Babaji, in this case? This question was picked up by him, and he made me realise that it was all his doing. We need not enter into the question of how and why he did it. Simply knowing that he did it is enough to remind us that in times of any conflict or crisis, we can look to him for intervention. That is all there is to learn in our life with him. We may look at the use of these tokens as a means of communication between the transmitter and the receiver, which is taking place all the time. Everyone chooses his own method of communication according to the nature and urgency of the message and the facilities or options available to him. The use of a network of telephone lines or telegraph is a must for the politician and stock market operator, but delivering a message in person is the most convenient way a schoolboy might contact his friend next door. There are innumerable methods of communication. Simple or complicated instruments might be used by different persons. When the giver and receiver of the message are in close proximity, the verbal method is considered appropriate. But that cannot be so when the message is to travel across the country, or when it is to be transmitted high up in the horizon where no telephone or messengers can reach. When the stock market operator sits in his office with telephone receivers all around him, it might look as if telephones are all that count in his life. He cannot be careless or indifferent if he expects to be aware of what is going on in the market. For his purpose, the instruments chosen are justified. This same man might use his hand for shaking another's when he wants to give a message of friendship. He might send his message of love and affection for his son when he returns home by embracing him. What is wrong if he uses different instruments for different purposes? There cannot be a universal yardstick that applies to each different situation. This may be the secret of the relationship between the guru and his devotee, and between the worshipper and his deity. The simple conclusion is that these things—symbols and murtis—serve the purpose of helping the devotee, even though such faith in objects has been condemned all through the ages as the outcome of sheer ignorance and crass superstition—the product of primitive minds. The disciples who forward their prayers to their masters and the worshippers sending their prayers to their chosen deities have their individual techniques, and use the appropriate instruments for their contacts. The wood that served as the leg of Babaji's cot appeared to me as his leg. I chose that, or the choice was made for me, and I put my full faith in it. It served my purpose. I knew that it was not actually Babaji in person, but it worked for me on his behalf and took my prayers, appeals and offerings to him. That was the only way open to me during his physical absence. I would never imagine that the two were identical, standing for each other in every respect. Had that been so, there would not have been any interest in meeting Babaji in person, awaiting his visits or running after him. But it helps me to be with him, which would not be possible otherwise in his absence. Sometimes the idea came to my mind that the leg I had chosen as the messenger did not really carry the message to the master, wherever he might be, in the same way as a postman delivers the message at the residence of the addressee. Perhaps instead it served the function of collecting the message and keeping it secure, like the use of a post box in the post office for collecting letters. All I know is that it works now as it worked during those crucial days and I can rely on it to carry my prayers and messages. Focusing the agitated mind on a certain point or token and holding it there is certainly a step, even if it is a preliminary one. Then using that concentration for contemplation and meditation on the preceptor or chosen deity takes one much ahead in his religious practices and education. It is like seeking the help of Hanuman for approaching Ram. A traveler reaches the bank of a stream which he has to cross to complete his journey. He needs a boat to carry him. He does not make one for himself, but uses the one that is available there. He may take much care to test its soundness, but the journey cannot be undertaken without that knowledge and trust. If upon boarding the boat one is haunted by the fear of the boat going down and being lost in the stream, he might become so obsessed by his fears that he cannot concentrate any longer on the person on the other shore. He might even cross the stream and not meet the one to whom the journey was undertaken because he was not able to hold the picture of that person in his mind. Swami Sivananda gave a graphic description of the miracle that pure faith can bring about. A great saint had a number of young disciples,

all dear to their master. But there was one who was especially close to his heart because he had enough faith to carry out the master's instructions without any hesitation. The guru used to talk of visions of God. One day this disciple prayed to the master that he should also be given a vision. The guru was amused and gave him a mantra for japa and an idol of Shiva to worship. He said that if he performed his worship and japa with concentration and devotion to the idol before him, he would have Shiva's darshan. He did as was directed by the master. One month passed with no darshan. He was disturbed and went to the master, saying that he must have Shiva's darshan and that the guru must help him. The guru knew what was going on, smiled, and gave him an idol of Krishna, saying that in place of the Shiva idol, he should worship this one for another full month with japa and devotion. The month passed, but again, no darshan came. He did not give up hope. With greater determination he went to the master and asked again for his aid, which he felt could do everything for him. His faith in the idols of Krishna and Shiva was gone, but his faith in the master remained undiminished. The guru smiled again. He knew the disciple was ready and that the time for darshan had come. He gave him an idol of Mother Kali with instructions to install it on his puja table in place of the Krishna murti and to begin another month of puja and japa. With fresh energy and enthusiasm, he started this new stage of his sadhana. He removed the Krishna murti to the shelf with the Shiva murti, and installed the Kali murti on the table. He lit the incense sticks, and while waving them before the Devi, he noticed that the fumes were rising to the shelf where the Shiva murti was consigned. He tried to stop this by changing the position of the incense sticks, but without effect. Getting enraged, he threw the sticks of incense away and stood before the Shiva murti which, he felt, had already received the incense for one full month but had refused to give him darshan. What business had Shiva to share it now, when he was offering it to the Mother? Collecting some cotton from the shelf, he inserted cotton into the nostrils of Shiva, trying to plug them up. Suddenly the murti disappeared and Shiva himself stood there, smiling with full mercy and compassion! The astonished disciple asked Shiva what he meant by this behavior. For one whole month when he had worshipped him with the incense, he had taken no notice, but now when he wanted to stop him from inhaling the incense given to the Mother, he came before him. The reply was prompt, "You did not worship me as Shiva, but only as an image, and you threw me away just as a common metal object when your expectations were not fulfilled. But now your behavior was different. I was no longer just a statue to you, but a living murti whose nostrils you were trying to plug so the odor meant for the Mother would not be stolen." This is the miracle of faith. The sum and substance of this whole narration of Swami Sivananda was to display the glory of faith in the guru and faith in the murti as the Lord himself. It also demonstrated the role of the murti in sadhana and religious practices. The Lord is to be approached through something concrete and tangible which your prayers and pujas can reach. The token or the idol might be made from any of the elements—clay or stone, wood or metals, whatever might appeal. But the idol does not change from symbol to murti (the real presence of the living God or guru) when it is made. This is actually the role of sadhana: to bring about the transformation of the wooden leg into the leg of a living human being. Many things might go into one's sadhana, but the essential ingredients, as Babaji used to say, are "devotion, faith, and patience." In the market life, the token of money—in the form of currency or bank notes, checks and drafts—is universally used. As a token, money is a title to something not already in our possession, until it is changed into the things we desire. I'm reminded of the night Babaji was sitting with some devotees at a place in the hills near Nainital. A devotee came with money to offer Babaji. He put it before him and said it was for him. Babaji was thinking of the uses to which it could be put, but it was not suitable for those so Babaji asked the man to take it away. Babaji's plea was that he could not use it for his dhuni as he did not keep any sacred fire. He also couldn't use it as a comfortable cushion for sitting. It was totally useless to him. The man tried to correct him, saying that money was used for getting the things that you might like to have. Babaji then asked him to get some apples by using the money. The man said that was not possible because it was late at night and the market was far away. Then Babaji asked him to take the money away since it could not bring some apples to him. The tokens used in different countries for money differ from each other, but that does not entitle one to consider his own money to be real and others false. Something like this has been at the root of the denunciation of murtis and symbols used by people of different religious faiths in their practices. The practitioners of the religious life who use tokens do not deserve to be derided as ignorant. Tokens in the form of symbols or idols have been in the religious practices of every people. Portraits, pictures, crosses and candlesticks have served the purpose as a medium for many to reach their goal. Other kinds of tokens, such as buildings with minarets, arches, and graves kept alive with flowers and incense sticks serve the purpose of some practitioners. This is just like the shape, size, or texture of the tokens used as money in human life. The money given to Babaji was of no value to him at the time, but to the donor and the others sitting there, it was not only valuable, but almost like a deity. The criterion that determines the value of things in our spiritual and religious life is the individual's judgment regarding its suitability for his purpose. The token may come from anywhere or anybody, but its use and value is entirely determined by the one who is to use it. Even in a case of full trust and faith in the master, the disciple is asked by the master to test, judge and verify in every possible way the suitability of the token given to him. The gracious guru takes all care to help the disciple and not to force anything on him that he is not ready for. However, in some rare cases, that might be necessary to save the overall sadhana of the disciple, just as the surgeon might have to amputate some limb to save the whole body from decay. The great gurus do not forget to emphasise to their disciples that sravan (hearing) the teachings must be followed by manan (inquiry) before the nidhidhyanan (application) can begin. Very great emphasis is laid on the middle part—inquiry—before acceptance and application. This was the method of Babaji in his teaching; whatever came was put to a rigid test before acceptance. For a disciple, whatever comes to him in aid—tokens, symbols, murtis, or mantras for his sadhana—is valuable if he considers it to be sacred for him after it passes through all his tests. No one using a murti, or allowing and encouraging its use in prayers and worship, considers it to be one with the ultimate reality. But the

murti has its use in helping to develop knowledge and bringing us into the presence of that reality. The one stands in relationship to the other as sadhya and sadhan—the end to be attained and the means to be used, the path and its end. If we aim to reach a summit, we take the help of steps to climb. The summit and the steps are not identical. For those who are already there and also for those who do not want to be there, the stairs have no use, but those who are at the bottom and want to reach the summit can solicit the help of the stairs. The ultimate reality, the Supreme One, is not congnised by the senses nor expressed in words. Those who talk about it say it is infinite, formless, all consciousness and bliss and other such things. The reality is known only to the realised soul or the great mystics, who are very few in number. The sadhak (spiritual practitioner) may have the full vision of God as his goal—a vision of God as He is, the Infinite. When he has his vision, he is face to face with his God. There is no aid or murti there. But this comes only at the culmination of his journey. So long as he is on the path, some aid in the form of a murti or symbol is helpful. When he reaches his goal, he can dispense with the aid in the form of murti or symbol. Once there was a great saint, a realised soul, living on the banks of the Ganges in Uttar Kashi, high up in the mountains. When he was in his hut, the sadhus from adjoining places would come to him for spiritual instruction. His discourses on the Vedas, Upanishads, and other scriptures were highly appreciated and benefitted innumerable seekers after truth. One day while sitting with the sadhus for his discourse early in the morning, he told a disciple that he wanted water to drink. The disciple, who was a faithful follower of his master and of very sharp intelligence, was surprised at this order. It was very cold and drinking water might be painful; moreover, the master had never asked for drinking water in the morning before this. But obeying his master, he went to the Ganges nearby and filled his lota with water for him. His master was already engaged in his discourses with the sadhus when the disciple drew his attention and offered the lota to him. The master shouted, "I wanted water from you, not from your lota." Everyone was surprised at the outburst, but it actually came as a great revelation to the disciple and answered a puzzle in his mind. The master was a realised soul. He knew everything about reality, the ultimate and absolute, the supreme Brahman. His discourses were perfect and complete in every respect, the disciple felt, except for one thing: why did the master talk about deities and rituals which were not relevant for the understanding of the ultimate? Now the disciple realised the value of the lota in serving water. For one who has reached the stream, the lota is not needed, but when you are away from the stream and want to drink, the lota comes into use. So too those who do not have realisation of Brahman must have some aid. The vast majority of the people are not on the bank of the river. All the murtis and idols of their Gods and Goddesses serve the same purpose as the lota in bringing spiritual water.

There are two other incidents which happened at Kainchi and have given entertainment to many in which Kishan's role was important. Although he did not participate in the play, he helped by putting the ball on the field. The first one that I relate here took place in Kainchi in late summer. One night I was sitting in my room with some devotees enjoying our satsang. The whole atmosphere in the ashram was quiet. With the closing of the main gate, only a select few visitors came. The ashramites had retired to their rooms after finishing their food, and there was little movement in the ashram campus, giving the impression that it had become one with its surroundings. While sitting in our room, we heard loud laughter and heated arguments and shouting coming from the mothers' room which was adjoining ours. Babaji was sitting there along with Kishan. We knew this because most of the shouting came from these two and the mothers joined in with their laughter. We could not know what the subject was that had created so much enthusiasm, with both the participants trying to win over the other. This often happened with Kishan, who had the special privilege of challenging Babaji every now and then. Kishan had earned the much coveted tribute of badmash (wicked fellow), Babaji's word of endearment for him. Such mock fights were very entertaining for those sitting with them. They were valuable because they brought out many events or incidents which would not be known otherwise. The story I narrate now is the outcome of the sittings in the mother's room that night. While we were busy in our satsang, Kishan had entered our room, shouting with great excitement. He said they had been with Babaji and while talking of certain incidents, questions and arguments were raised in order to draw Babaji into a broil for the enjoyment of all. While everyone was busy hearing him and keeping eyes on him, someone looked at his feet. This was not unusual; one often looked at his feet. This time, it was noticed that the soles of his feet were pink in color. When he was asked about it, Babaji tried to cover up with his blanket and then tried to silence everyone by accusing them of being interested in trifling things instead of what he had been talking about. What was the use of wasting his time in talking when they themselves were not interested in his talk? There followed a lengthy sermon on good manners, especially for the ladies. Babaji said, "When someone comes to meet you, or when you are sitting with someone, you do not know how to behave. Sit silently before him, hearing him patiently, and then reply to his question if he asks you something. Then if you have something to tell him or to ask any question, do that. This is what is called good manners. But you do not know this at all. If anyone comes to meet you, you rush toward him and do not allow him to sit but take your seat first. You are not interested in hearing him, and begin to examine him, looking all over his body. What you people do I have seen before. This is very bad manners. "I was talking to you. What was my mistake in it? Not only were you not hearing what I had to say but on the other hand, you started staring at me. Is it good and decent to peep and peer all over the body? What is on your minds? How should I know what was on my leg? I am not like you. I don't care for and clean my body all through the day. I have so many things to do." Kishan continued, "We listened with attention, but our eyes were still fixed on the soles of his feet, and we repeated our question after he stopped talking. He replied most ungrudgingly and in a calm and placid tone, as if in return for our excessive curiosity. He said that while going by the car in the morning, he had got down to urinate. He had to walk over the sands that had been deposited on the road by the over-flooded river. Then he had to walk a little distance to find a clean place to sit. Then he got into the car, spent the day with the Soni's in their house in Bhowali, and returned in the evening. And now sitting with them talking, he learned from them that there was a pink color on

the soles of his feet. He had no knowledge of it, nor did he have time to look at it. What would be his interest in examining his soles? Now because of their curiosity he had taken notice of it. "Babaji said that at first he could not understand how it had gotten there, but now he knew. He said he had walked some distance on the sand which was a yellowish-pink color, not like the color of the sand that we know. Now he understood that it was the color of the sand that had come onto his foot. It was so simple a thing, and we were making so much fuss about it. This was our very nature, getting interested in all kinds of things and then, when we do not understand them ourselves, we trouble others. That is why we were troubling him all this time. "When someone challenged his explanation, Babaji said that he had spoken the truth. 'If you do not believe in my statement, then go and inquire from Dada whether I walked over the colored sand on the road. Dada was with me. Then you will believe me. You do not believe me, but you believe everything Dada says to you. You can go to him." So Kishan came rushing. He told us what had happened in their sitting with Baba and asked me to verify whether the red marks on his soles were the result of walking on the colored sand. When I verified his statement, Kishan was disappointed to a certain extent. The high enthusiasm was gone, and he stood still, vacillating about what was to be done now. But when I continued, he listened very carefully, his mood changed, and he rushed back to Babaji. I had said that Babaji was correct about his walking on the sand, but then I added that I had also walked on the sand with him. There had been red marks on his soles but nothing on mine. This is what Kishan wanted, and he rushed back with it. We also moved in behind him when he asked the question, "Why was there no mark on Dada's soles when both of you had done the same thing?" The laughter broke out, spreading over the whole place and drawing more people there. Babaji was laughing. He behaved as if he had lost his case and there was nothing more to do about it, so he was retiring from the fray. But after repeated questions he said, "Dada is in league with you. He looks at you, and he does as you want him to do. He does not care for me." But when they pressed him to tell them the whole thing, he said, "Do I care to remember what happened in such a minor affair? I remember nothing about it. Moreover, what have you to do anymore with me? You go to your Dada. He will fashion a story for the enjoyment of all, without bothering about what is correct or not. This is what you people enjoy. You ask him and he will agree. I have nothing more to do with it nor is there any use sitting with you. I shall go to my room and sleep in peace, away from your shouting and jubilation." The sitting ended. Some went away with Babaji, and I also got up to go. But Kishan was still there, and he joined with others in their interest to hear the whole story from me.

The story began one morning during the summer at Kainchi. Barman had come from Delhi in his car and was staying in the rest house nearby. He would come to the ashram in the morning and stay there for the whole day. One morning when he was sitting with Babaji along with others, Babaji stood up, caught hold of my hand and moved. He asked Barman to come with him. Others also wanted to join, but he stopped them all. Only Barman and myself were with him. Coming to the gate, he got into Barman's car, which was waiting there, and asked the driver, Habib, to start. We were going ahead, but did not know what was to be our journey's end. It might be Ranikhet or Almora or any other place. Then Babaji asked Habib to turn to the right, and Barman inquired whether we were going to Karkarighat. Had he known, he would have brought his camera. Without giving any reply to him, Babaji focused our attention on the river nearby, which was in high flood and striking the rocks below. The water which was rising as high as springs attempting to reach the sky was not clear nor muddy, but of yellowish color and full of sand. We had traveled several miles by its banks but had taken no notice of it. We noticed it only when Babaji brought our attention to it.

After that, we became very interested in that and in nothing else about our journey. Babaji was talking about the flood, wherefrom it comes, where it merges with other rivers, and all about it. Then he said there was such a flood in 1921. He had seen it while he was moving in these areas. And after that, this one had come after five decades. Our car stopped. Many vehicles were standing nearby, stranded. Seeing Babaji, many persons came to him and said that they were on the way to the Almora side, but had to stop because the road had become unsafe due to the flood. They urged Baba not to go any further ahead on that road. He heard them and then said that we would return. So we moved on and covered several miles driving in the sand deposited on the road until the car got stuck. After Babaji had come out of his seat, we also got out of the car. He caught hold of my hand and said, "Chalo." Barman was very much perturbed. The car would not move in spite of all efforts. He appealed to Baba to do something to rescue the car. There was no one coming that way from whom help could be sought. Babaji did not stop, but moved ahead, saying that they need not worry, a gang of road repairers would come and help him to extricate his car. It was difficult for Barman to believe this and he said that no such gang had been seen over the whole way they had covered. While this was going on, Babaji and I kept moving ahead. We moved quite a long distance, and looking far behind us, I noticed that Barman and Habib were struggling to get the car out. We moved further along and could not see them anymore however much we might strain our eyes. Babaji stepped aside to urinate and then stood there silently, looking at the mountain ahead. I also stood there with my eyes blank. I cannot remember what I was thinking. After some time, he said, "Let us return. It is already late. We have to go far and do not know how long it will take to return." While we were returning, Babaji was not talking, and seemed to be brooding over something in his mind. After some time we joined Barman and Habib, who had freed the car and were waiting for our return. They were happy to see us and narrated the hard time they had with their car. They had given up all hope of getting the car out of the deep sand when half a dozen road repairers who were returning this way came to their rescue. With their help they were able to get the car out. Habib drove slowly and then suddenly stopped. Just in front of the car, a big slab of the road had cracked and was about to fall down. We were looking at the flood, marveling, when we heard Babaji advising us, "Take the name of Hanumanji. Remember Hanumanji." He asked Habib to move slowly, saying that there would be no danger for us. So Habib moved his car; just as he passed the slab of road, it fell down into the river. Babaji was silent but he knew how dangerous our move had been and how miraculously we had been saved. After we had gone some distance, Barman pointed my attention to Babaji's palms, which had turned pink. I had noticed that before and also the soles of his feet, but I stopped Barman from talking about it. When we reached the gate there were many persons assembled on the road awaiting Babaji's return. The ashram was also full of visitors who had come to see him. There was a car waiting at the gate and Soni's son, Bikram was standing there. Babaji got out of the car and began shouting and abusing me: "You do no care for the time of my engagement. We were to go to the Soni's in the morning. You knew that. It is noon now, and they have been waiting for me. Bikram came on time, but there was no trace of you." The shouting had its effect in keeping the people away. We got into Bikram's car, but Babaji would not allow Barman to join us. When we reached the forest rest house at Bhowali, the whole family of Mr. Soni was waiting for Babji. They had some relations who had specially come for Babaji's darshan. Babaji said that he was late because I did not remind him that we were to be with them for the day. It was already late and there was not much time that could be spent in the drawing room sitting with him.

After a few minutes, Babaji asked Mrs. Soni to bring his food. The food was brought, and while eating it, he was all praise. He said how much he enjoyed, and moreover, everyone who had taken his food here talks about it. The time spent on food, and talking in such high terms about its quality, served several other purposes than just feeding him. Whatever they had missed waiting for him, was fully compensated. The pensive mood was gone, and everyone was cheerful. Moreover, by the time he had finished his food, it had gotten so late that the others whom he had kept waiting were sent to eat, and Babaji took rest. The bed was laid for him. He sent me away, asking me to finish my food and return to him, and not to sit with the others opening my bag of gossip. He said that they were all tired and waiting so long for him and making arrangements for his visit, and my gossip could wait for some other time as they must have their rest. I finished my food and came back to him. He was on his bed, covered with a bed sheet and lying with eyes closed. When I entered, he did not open his eyes but only indicated the place where I was to sit. Mrs. Soni came, saw Babaji was asleep and looking at his soles noticed the pink color, faded but still distinct. She asked me by her gestures, since Babaji was sleeping, how they came to be like that. My reply through

the gesture of my hand and mouth was that she should not talk about it. Then she whispered in my ear that her sister and others were waiting for me in another room, and I should go with her and sit with them. When I tried to get up to accompany her as she requested, Babaji said, "Where are you going? You must stay here near me. " So I had to keep sitting there. The time passed like this until Mrs. Soni said it was time for tea. Babaji got up and said he had had a good sleep which he needed much. We assembled outside for tea; everyone in the house was waiting for Baba to come out and sit with them. He had several anecdotes to narrate for the enjoyment of everyone. He was talking all the time, without giving any chance to anyone to talk or ask any question. It was getting late, and looking outside, he suddenly said that it was time to return, as he had been out for the whole day and had kept so many persons waiting. So there was no question of staying any longer. Everything was managed so neatly. There had been no chance for anyone to ask any embarrassing questions regarding Mrs. Soni's experience of the pink soles. We got into the car, and Bikram drove us back to the ashram. It had been while sitting with him that they had all noticed his soles being pink even though by that time they had much faded and the marks on the palms had vanished. The marks had been very deep when I first noticed them, sitting with him in the car. By the time Barman noticed, only the palms were actually red, and they were not so red as in the beginning. The same was the case of Mrs. Soni when she saw the color of his feet in her house late in the day. The story was told. I had to repeat it several times while I was in Kainchi. It was being retold through many mouths with numerous additions and alterations, according to the interests of the narrator and his audience. Babaji knew everything that was going on. The next day I was alone with Babaji in his room when he said, "You have narrated your story to everyone. You are busy for the whole day in making everyone happy. Whenever anything comes before you, you cannot rest until you have narrated it to others. You should not talk to everyone of everything that happens before you. Particularly those things that cannot be easily believed should not be talked about at all. You start relating your story to everyone without any thought of whether it can be understood or believed by them." I was standing by his cot looking at him. After some time I just ventured to say, after feeling bold enough, "Hanumanji saved us when we had no chance of coming back alive. Hanumanji actually took us out of the jaws of death." Looking at me he said, "Hanumanji is always busy doing his work. What need does he have to tell anyone? He is only interested in doing his work." There was also another occasion when Hanumanji saved our lives. In 1972, during Holi, we were going to Chitrakut by taxi. Babaji was sitting beside the driver, and Siddhi, Jivanti and myself were in the back. We were nearing Chitrakut when a fully-loaded truck collided with our taxi, smashing the engine completely. We all escaped with only a jerk. People came rushing to us. Babaji was saying, "How Hanumanji has saved all! What would have happened? Ma would have asked me, 'Baba you took my son and daughters with you and where have you left them behind?' Kamala would have said, 'What have you done to me?' What reply could I have given? But Hanumanji has saved everyone." While sitting with him many questions would run through my mind, and even though there was no interest in seeking a reply to any of them, there was some interest in playing with them. When one picks up sugarcane from the roadside stall and extracts the juice by crushing it with his teeth, he gets the joy of the juice and also the joy of chewing and noticing how the teeth work. So I did not come to any conclusion about whether he was actually Hanumanji, or what it was that prompted him to take us for a ride on the Almora road and the Chitrakut road knowing fully well of the danger waiting ahead. I do know that he was not unaware. Why did he do it? Even though it is better to leave these questions alone when they arise in the mind, one always returns to them. But they remain a mystery. When it is no longer a mystery, then one no longer need return to it. People who visited Babaji in his ashram might have noticed how very busy he was in looking after every aspect of their lives when they were with him. Not merely food and shelter and the physical needs of comfort and rest, but also the needs of mind and spirit. Some people may not miss his talks, filled with their sober undertones about our duties and responsibilities, but everyone misses the sallies and shouts, abuses and sarcasm, that he used freely on his chosen few. This was entertainment, recreation for all around, and a sure cure for a dull and overtaxed mind. Babaji used these devices to teach something valuable, adding sauce and spices to make the talks palatable, just as food is made appealing for those who would not otherwise go for it. Sallies, sarcasm, jokes and humor in expert and benevolent hands are the best nutrition to take. Babaji never forgot that. The teachings given by these methods are remembered and much benefit is derived from them. Those who do not feel shy to admit that Babaji's teachings have been valuable and are still with them, confess how sometimes Babaji forced the teachings on them, even when they were not interested. These people bear testimony that life with Baba was not merely of cheer and free from worries, but was also a life of moral and spiritual enrichment. Sometimes the teachings served some specific purpose for an individual. Food for the body was given through others, but food for the mind and the soul all came through him alone. Jokes and humor are enjoyed more when some individual, well known and nearby, is used as a target for the abuses and sallies. Babaji had many such targets handy and I happened to be one of them. In the beginning there might have been some trace of embarrassment on being put on the dock, but it disappeared in no time. It was an innocent humor, and was known as such by everyone near to him. It was different with the others, the newcomers and outsiders, but with the devotees, it was a favorite treat from Baba and they would collect as much as they could. The attacks or abuses came in different ways under different conditions, but it mostly centered around the foolishness and lack of intelligence of Dada. "You do not have any brain, what would you understand?" "Your Dada is a fool, he cannot understand anything." "He has been teaching students all through his life. In the process he has spent however much intelligence he had. I do not know how he can teach without any intelligence." "If you want, you can put some brains in him, but it is beyond my power. When I try to tell him something he not only does not hear me, but gives his sermon to me."

These were the major part of the abuses and were always handy for use. Sometimes abuses or criticisms were used to express what was hidden in the minds of others. There were some people who, while collecting their prasad, felt that they had not been given enough. No indication of this was given to anyone. When I came out with the packets, Babaji took one from my hand, opened it, and scrutinized the contents in the packet. How many puris? How many pieces of potatoes? Then he raised his face fully displeased and hurled the abuses, "Dada has become a confirmed miser. Can anyone give so little prasad to people? I do not know wherefrom he learned it. I could never think of doing such things. He is bringing disgrace to all." The abuses served their purpose. The people with the complaint in their minds were satisfied. Babaji knew their problems, and this was consolation given to those who had some axe to grind with me. It was also a warning for those engaged in various work in the ashram that nothing could escape his notice. There were many persons coming and going, all taking away their prasad packets. People repeating their visit were not refused another packet. Some persons who were sitting with Babaji felt in their hearts that this was a waste of money in the name of prasad. So much was being given! So many times! Then Babaji came out with another outburst: "Dada will squander away everything. He is completely undependable. How can one who cannot take care of his own things, protect yours? It is a mistake to expect such things from him. It is so much prasad. Full packets given to anyone, when the whole of it is not eaten, but thrown away? But what can I do when he will not obey me at all?" There were many other incidents, mostly relating to the preparation and distribution of prasad in the ashrams, for which I was used to justify Babaji's actions. Preparing and serving prasad was a very elaborate affair and under his strict vigilance. The quantity, variety, quality, purity and time and methods of distribution of the prasad were all decided by Babaji. Puri and potatoes, sometimes supplemented with halwa and sweets, were commonly used. One day, however, Babaji told me that there were many bags of gram (chickpea flour) and they should be used in preparing prasad. The gram was soaked in water for the night, and after being washed and cleaned, was fried with spices. But before it could be given to anyone, Babaji checked it himself, emphasising the importance of prasad. In the afternoon, when the prasad—the chana packet—was being distributed, he took one for himself, which was very unusual, and put some in his mouth. He was all praise for it and finished half of the packet. He said in Rameshwaram and many other famous temples such prasad was distributed all year round. Whenever he visited those temples, he would take it. Not only was it very pure and sacred as prasad, but it was easy to carry and eat. It was not so with puris and potatoes. It became something of special pleading in favor of its use, but he knew no doubt it served its main purpose as prasad, but it did not serve the other purpose: a whole meal for the stomach. The result was that he told me that we would not have any more chana the next day, and that puri and potatoes were to be given. This was done accordingly. He continued, "We have so many bags of gram and spices. But we cannot do it as Dada wants me to stop that and give puris. Dada does not take chana as prasad. There is no way of arguing with him. He will do what he likes to do. So what can I do? I told him to do what he liked." Then he asked someone sitting behind him whether he had had the chana before and what he thought of it as prasad. When he said that it was good, Babaji raised his finger and said that now we see that there was nothing wrong, but still he had to discontinue it. This continued for some time more, and everyone sitting there enjoyed it. We all knew that puri and potato prasad was used by many as a whole meal. The talk of puri was more enjoyable and tasteful coming out of Babaji's mouth than the taste of the puri in your own mouth. I was standing beside him but was looking at the old devotees sitting there. They were all looking at me, giving me all felicitations for sparking off this dialogue unexpectedly. These are a few of the examples of how I was used as the target for Babaji's choicest missiles or reprimanded for unpardonable foolishness. During the last year of his stay in Kainchi, they became almost a whole day affair. One day he was doing this while he was alone in his room with Siddhi Didi. She asked in mild protest why he abused me when I had done nothing to deserve his abuses nor was I present to hear or reply to them. He rebuked her by saying that she had nothing to do with this. He was abusing Dada. He wanted to test if Dada got angry anymore. It was entirely between Dada and himself, so how did she come into that. Many times when things were going on like this, Kishan would be present in his room along with a few others. While talking to mothers and Didi one day, Babaji said to Didi as if in confirmation, "Dada does not get angry anymore." Didi agreed, but added a small rejoinder that sometimes it returns. But he was emphatic: no, it was not so. I knew from the very beginning that these sallies were not only harmless, pure, and innocent humor for the enjoyment of so many persons, but also an important teaching for me, however hidden it might be from others. It was to save me from my growing estimation of myself and my pride at the rising crescendo of praise that was coming from many quarters. If he had not put me on my guard from the very beginning, I would have fallen an easy victim to my high and inflated self-esteem, and my pride and anger would have been the end of everything valuable in my life. This idea of saving me had taken root in the early days and became more firm day by day. What a grace it was! Let it be far from my mind that I was the solitary recipient of it—just the opposite. His grace goes to everyone coming to him. We only have to collect it. It took me much time to realise that the ever gracious one, who is gracious to all, has given us shelter. An incident which took place in May 1972, in Kainchi, also comes before my mind in full vision, as if on the television. Babaji had spent the whole morning giving darshan to visitors. Then he entered his small room, as was his practice, before taking his bath and food. Finding Babaji in the room and the door open, several persons entered, including some elderly ladies who had been waiting for him. The room became full. An old lady sitting there moved toward me and wanted to touch my feet. I would not have it. She was old, like my mother, and I could not think of it coming to me from her. I tried my utmost to avoid it, but she was persistent. Seeing this conflict, Babaji shouted why was I not allowing her to bow? What was the wrong in it when she was so keen? When I said I did not like it, again he asked me why. I made my case by saying that she was my mother's age and was worthy of my respect, and that the thing which I fear most was that this will make me proud. "I will become vain and arrogant." His reply was quick. "No, you will not become a victim of pride." I cannot say that I have been able to succeed in my venture, but I just want to emphasise that Babaji was cognisant of it and gave me protection through his

unfailing grace. Along with their use as enjoyment for all, in the latter days there was also another purpose hidden behind Babaji's abuses and sallies. People were accustomed to them and relished them as the very sauce of life, but could not understand why this sudden spurt. He started using them in the latter days of his life at Kainchi, more or less indiscriminately. They were used extensively with anyone and everyone as the target. In the sittings with the mothers no one was spared. Babaji was using them solely for the purpose of diverting everyone's attention away from him. Others might not be curious or interested in him and his doings anymore. No one must realise where he had reached and what was to come. Everyone must be kept in darkness about him and his moves. How could this be done? The lesson was taken from the wise mother's way of dealing with her ever solicitous, active children while she goes about doing her own work at the same time: give the toys to play with, new toys, more toys, so that they are tied down with them with no time to look at her. Baba had withdrawn within. Life was more or less a shadow play for him. He had no interest in anything or in any person. The body was there and its activities continued, but everything was being done under pressure, under some compulsion, and people must not suspect what was going on. Their minds must be turned away from him and kept engaged in other things. One day he was sitting on the porch in the morning surrounded by devotees. A western lady who was staying in the ashram came and took her seat in a corner. She was old and well-known among the western devotees who had come to Babaji. Talks were going on in Hindi, and although she could not follow, she focused all her attention on him. Perhaps Babaji wanted to discourage this. He began asking me all kinds of questions about her. Then he asked me to inquire about her age. I told him that this must not be done because it was not proper etiquette and moreover, what had he to do with her age? The next afternoon he was sitting before the showers in the back of the ashram. The main gate was closed so there would be no more visitors to meet. At these times Babaji was in no hurry for anything, and there was no need for any vigilance about the entry or visitors, distribution of prasad, or tending to the special needs of devotees who had come from outside. Sitting there in the afternoon along with Babaji, everyone was enjoying their time with him. The old lady came and took her seat toward his feet where I was standing. She got settled and tried to guess what was going on there. Babaji looked at me and told me again to ask her the same question about her age. He was reclining on the cot, resting his head on his upraised hand. When I said such questions were considered to be bad manners, he sat up and started looking around. "Well, well, they do not disclose their age. But what is wrong with it?" Then, turning to Kali Babu who was sitting before him, he asked the others why Kali Babu did not disclose his age. Everyone started laughing and enjoying the joke. Kali Babu also joined with them without being the least nervous or embarrassed. He had already become conditioned after going through many such experiences. Babaji continued, "Old people who want to get married again hide their age, but that is not the case with Kali Babu." This was already too much for Kali Babu and so to end it I said, "You also do not tell anyone your age, so what is wrong with Kali Babu?" This brought fresh laughter from everyone, and Babaji agreed that he also did not disclose his age. That was enough for that day. There were other such episodes which were enacted when he was in his room or sitting with the mothers. As he started spending more time within his room, setting aside his habitual program of staying out and giving darshan, they became more inquisitive about it. He had to be protected from their gazes and queries. Our time at Kainchi was coming to an end. Didi's college vacation would be over within a few days, and we were to return. Didi's sister had also come. She had decided not to return to her office, but to spend her life in Kainchi and Vrindavan under the shelter of Babaji. Didi and her relations were worried about her decision. They felt that this was not the stage of her life when she should take to religious life, giving up her duty toward her family and relations. They did their best to persuade her, but with no effect. One day while Babaji was sitting inside his room with many around him, Didi spoke of this problem. Didi was upset and felt that Babaji should persuade her sister to return. Babaji heard what everyone had to say about it and then pointing to Didi said, "Didi is very smart. She will not leave her sister here. She will handcuff her and drag her away. Don't you people worry about it." A chorus of laughter was the response that came. People were looking at Didi with great admiration for how Babaji had appreciated her ability. The sitting continued for some time, and within a few minutes after they had left Babaji's room, the incident reached everybody's ears in the ashram. Babaji had scored something that would keep him safe for a day or two. Babaji's prophesy was correct. Didi's sister returned to her job at the expiration of her leave. Every year, provisions for the ashram would be collected during the months that Babaji was in Kainchi. But in 1973 it started much earlier and was more or less completed by June. The most striking thing was that the year's provisions were ordered in a large quantity, out of proportion with what used to be done every year. One indicator of this was that seventeen truckloads of firewood were purchased—unusual for the normal needs of the ashram. The wood was in big logs, which were to be cut in pieces. The woodcutters came but some of them did not have axes. Babaji told me to give money to Bhairav so he could bring axes from Haldwani. They were brought at night and I kept them on the shelf in the prasad room. Handles had to be provided for them before they could be used. When I went to Babaji's room the next morning, the mothers were all there. He asked me what I had done to get the axes needed in the ashram. I told him that I had them but before they could be used, the carpenter would have to come and fix the handles in them. He asked me to bring them to him as he wanted to see them. He looked at one axe and turned it on every side, saying it was good, but instead of handing it back to me, he pointed it at the head of the mother sitting near his cot. Waving it, he said, "You useless one, I will kill you." I asked him not to do so. He shouted, "Why not, why not?" I said, "Who would feed you if you kill her?"

He came out with his outburst, "Oh, she feeds me? She eats so much that by her ceaseless eating she has become a round wooden rolling board for bread. What do you know?" The immediate return was giggles and laughter all around. This was enough to keep the mothers engaged for the whole day so he could be free from their gaze. Such episodes and events became a regular affair as he started spending more time inside his rooms. In the morning before Babaji came out, the mothers would assemble to perform their arti and prayers, their most enjoyable experience of the day. Seeing them getting busy with their arti, I stood aside watching. All the rituals were gone through and Babaji was on his cot receiving the arti and giving the impression of being a sitting idol, lost in meditation, when he was actually a very active and playful one. Sometimes he would snatch the incense burner from someone's hand and wave the incense before them all. These practices had gone on for a long time, and were enjoyed by the mothers as a rare privilege. Babaji would not permit any others such a display of arti and puja with him in the center as the deity for worship. But this was a concession to the mothers in response to their deep love. While staying at Allahabad in winter months, he would sit on the verandah for a long time after finishing his toilet, allowing the mothers to perform whatever pujas or rituals their religion stipulated for them. Ma and Maushi Ma and other ladies who were staying in the house would gather around. His behavior with them was unique. He readily yielded to all their demands in performing their and sat patiently without resisting any of them. His behavior reminded the mothers of the docile child permitting its mother to do all her washing and anointing of her child. They would begin by making him sit on a small bench and helping him clean his teeth. He would use a small neem twig for the toothbrush. Maushi Ma would place a towel around his chest and stand behind him, holding it with her hands. Seeing his interest in the brush and cleaning his teeth, Maushi Ma said one day, "You do not have any teeth, but you go on cleaning so vigorously." Everyone started laughing. "No, no, Maushi Ma, I have my teeth." And then he opened his mouth for her to see. While she was looking into his mouth he inquired of her, "Are they there or not? How many are there? Was I wrong when I said I had my teeth? Now you have seen for yourself." While he was showing his teeth to Maushi Ma for her to count them, many others scrambled round to help. Maushi Ma said there were three teeth, and he accepted this as a validation of his statement. There was so much joy for everyone that the mothers forgot what they had to do next. The reminder came from him, "Maushi Ma, please apply the sandal paste. Ma, where are your tulsi leaves? If I don't let you do it now, you will accuse me later. Now finish it quick." When they got busy with their work of anointing his forehead with sandal paste and fixing the tulsi leaves on his toes, he got busy in looking toward the gate and inquiring if the jaleebi treats had been brought or not. Hearing that they had not come, he started his work by shouting at me, "All your work is done like this. Nothing is done in its proper time. When you know what work is to be done and when it is to be done, why do you not do it in advance? The work that you have to do tomorrow, do it today, and the work that is to be done today, do it now. I always follow this rule and I never face any difficulty with my work. But who will teach you all this? I cannot teach you." After all the sobriety and solemnity of pujas, a new round of entertainment was needed, and I was very handy for that. The man finally came with the jaleebis and Babaji's attention was immediately shifted toward that. "Take them from him and bring them to me. People are waiting for them. They have their work to do and cannot waste their time waiting for your jaleebis. Do it quick. I will distribute them." The jaleebis were brought in a bucket. I stood before him with the bucket in one hand and, in the other, a pan of warm water to rinse his hand from the sticky juice. It was a thrill to see him distributing prasad by his own hand and putting some in the mouth of one person standing nearby. Prasad is to be given in handfuls, not by counting the pieces. This goes on and everybody got his or her share. He looked around to see if anyone had missed his share and his eyes fell on a small boy in tatters standing at the corner of the courtyard staring at him. He beckoned him to come, but the boy was too timid to move. The boy was brought and placed before him. Then Babaji took up a whole bunch of jaleebis from his bucket, and holding them on one hand, with the other he put them in the boy's mouth, one by one. All eyes were focused on the boy's mouth, eating slowly, and the outstretched hand that was putting the food in his mouth. This went on for some time. When the boy was fully satisfied and could not eat anymore, Babaji's hand was withdrawn from his mouth. Among the silent spectators was the mother of the boy, standing apart. She was not only surprised but had actually become dumb and lifeless, and could not spread her hands to accept her share of the prasad from Babaji's hand. When the spell was broken and people began moving around and getting busy, the story of the boy came out: he was six or seven, the son of the maid servant working in the house. The boy was not normal in his behavior and was below normal in his common sense, so he could not be of any use to his parents in the household work. Poor as they were, they could spend little on his food and clothes, and being busy themselves, they had little time to spare for the care and comfort of the little one. He would accompany his mother when she came to do her daily work. Uncared for and unwanted by anyone, the boy had learned to stand aloof and not expect anything from anyone. But however much others might neglect and push him away, there was one to honor him and draw him near. This was Babaji's way with everyone, but only those who come to him with an open mind and keep their eyes open can see it. There were those who thought that he should be only for them alone and should not look at others. Failing to get that, they often raised the slogan that he was partial to the rich and important. Babaji used to enjoy this reprimand and sometimes sitting with devotees of all kinds, rich and poor, big and small, he would speak out, "I am a baba of the rich people. I do not care about the poor." He cared for all, whoever came to him or remembered him. At the end of July 1973, changes were taking place so rapidly regarding Babaji's program and activities that his usual routine of getting up from the bed, finishing toilets, sipping his cup of milk tea, and coming out to sit with people, had ceased to exist. It was taking all our efforts to get him to do the little that he was doing. While inside the room, everyone would be kept busy by massaging his body with oil while narrating some old events and anecdotes, one after another. Before they could finish their narration, he would enthuse them with his queries and comments, displaying his deep interest in their stories. It was on one of those days that I entered his room in the morning for my daily attendance. The mothers were already there. Their number was greater than it had been, as their entry and movements before him were not restricted as before. Babaji had become more considerate

and pliable to their requests. The arti was given more time than usual and the talks were going on. Everyone was in a jovial mood. Babaji was encouraging them in every way to draw as much as they could out of this pool. While this was going on someone mentioned something about how Draupadi spent money on prasad. Babaji joined them and began talking of how she had given money for Hanumanji's temple and how she would cry when he refused to take her money. Then he talked about her proposal of chartering a plane to take Babaji to America. He said that however much he might decline to go, there were many others who praised her and pressed her not to give up her plan. He added that many of them who would like to accompany him on his plane journey gave their names to her, and would you believe that even the mothers were eager to join the trip? I contradicted him, saying that this could not be true, and that his statements were based on some heresay—jokes made at their cost. How could he talk like that about them? Hearing me talk like that he actually sprang up on his bed, sitting erect, and began making gestures with his hands. "You do not know anything about it, therefore you are talking like this. You, the ignorant one. But I know all about it and the preparations they have already done for their journey. You are challenging me? I know of the beautiful long frocks they have made for themselves." Then he indicated by the movements of his hands that these frocks were long enough to cover their whole body from the shoulder to the feet. The description and demonstration was over for him, but it was impossible for many of the mothers to stand while laughing so loudly. Even breathing became difficult for some, and they could not speak out. The mothers, who were both thick and slim, started looking at each other. Some could not look at him anymore and came out of the room. Babaji was sitting silently, not looking at anything or anyone, so I also left the room. Seeing me, one of the mothers began pleading about how fantastic were his charges against them. She could not imagine how these things came to his mind. But she could not finish, as she was caught in her laughter while trying to visualise how she would have looked with her frock on. "How astounding, how absurd," was all that she could muster. There is one more story with Kishan that happened at Kainchi in 1973, almost at the very end of our stay. It was the month of June, about ten in the morning. Babaji was being persuaded to follow the daily routine he had observed during the last several years at Kainchi, when he would come out exactly at eight in the morning to give darshan. He was expected to stay outside giving darshan until eleven, and then he would retire for his bath, food, and rest. These days he was late coming out in the morning and was returning inside much before eleven. On this day his whole time schedule was set aside. Only after much persuasion could he be made to come out much after eight, and it was much before ten when he returned to his room. He was busy inside, not resting, but entertaining the devotees close to him and driving their inquisitive minds away from concentrating on him. As this was going on, Kishan came rushing out, shouting, "Dada, Babaji is sitting inside the room talking with us. His talk is about the persons who have been attending to him. Deriding and abusing you all the time, he took your name as one of them, and was talking about your ways of working. How very foolish you are, he said, without any brains. It is very difficult to tolerate such persons. And then Babaji came out with the exclamation, 'Had I been Didi, I would have turned him out of the house. How she tolerates him, I cannot understand.' Everyone enjoyed this, including myself." As Kishan reported this to the audience outside, it was like rainfall coming to the stream. Through the dry or the barren lands, and more so in the dry month, these streams shrink and become very feeble, to the distress of those who come to benefit from them. The streams get renewed vigor and energy with the onset of the rains. The purposes of everyone coming to the stream are not the same, but all who come are served. Every religious and spiritual institution, big or small, has its own stream to cater to the needs of its visitors or members. People talk of Kainchi or Vrindavan and other places as Baba's institutions, but it would be more appropriate to say that Babaji himself is the institution, the stream. The ashrams are the channels flowing out of it. They do not exist by themselves, but only by drawing from the source. These ashrams and temples with all their activities—pujas and prayers, bhajans and kirtan, feeding and serving people, assisting the helpless and curing the sick—were the visible streams flowing to all who desired to derive their benefits by visiting them. But there were other, hidden streams which could be used and enjoyed only by those who were not in a hurry to fill their pitchers and buckets and run away. You could see how the life of the stream glides on, beyond all the bustle and commotion of the unending community of people who rush to draw from it, as if lost in its own using, unmindful of everything else. This stream caters to the needs of the select ones who reside nearby and sit by the stream, just to be with it. Kishan sat by one of these slowly moving streams on its journey. The wind started blowing, raising waves and ripples and disturbing the smooth journey. The joy Kishan was having in the room with Babaji was not generally available for others anymore. He came out with his full bucket to give a taste to those who could not reach the stream. Kishan came to us in the early days of Babaji's visits, and that is why we include him among the old devotees. Moreover, the way he enjoyed Babaji's grace, his closeness to him, and his popularity with the devotees from the hills drew us close to him, but our meeting each other more or less ceased after Babaji took his samadhi. Kishan's visits to the ashrams were never frequent, but now he came even more rarely. Moreover, I myself would not be present when he did visit the ashram. When I was in Kainchi in early 1976 for the meeting of the Trust, Kishan came one day to see me. I was sitting together with Inder and Siddhi when Kishan arrived. Remembering Babaji's love for him, I asked him to take an interest in Baba's ashram and to be active with it. He should visit and spend some time in serving Babaji. Little did I know that there was a veil of suspicion around him, making it difficult for him to accede to my request. He apologized to me for not being able to obey me and blurted out that he was accused of leaving Babaji and visiting other babas. He felt that since he was so much of a suspect he would not venture to have anything to do with the ashram work. I had to stop after that. Kishan's experiences helped me to unlock many teachings and experiences that had not come easily before. They linked up many stray events and incidents, making them easier to understand. His role for me was something like the fuse wire—the fuse wire gives no light of its own but brings light by connecting together the elements that can give it. That is how Kishan helped me see several things clearly which were otherwise dim or invisible. I remember with joy what I have gotten from Kishan, given out of his love for me and devotion to Baba. I treasure it as Babaji's gift to me, with Kishan as his medium for that.

Babaji

Umadutta Shukla Umadutta Shukla belonged to the first batch of devotees who visited us. These devotees differed from each other in the nature of their association with Babaji and in their understanding of him, but they were all helpful with regard to my understanding and devotion to Babaji at a time when I lacked both. It is a clear indication that his grace was coming to me from the very beginning that, through them, Babaji linked me to the mainstream of joy and solace from which they were constantly drawing. The nature and variety of the experiences Shukla derived form his long association with Babaji were different than those of many of the other devotees. Because of his pliable and accomodating nature, Shukla was able to easily adjust himself to any place or person and he met the whole variety of Babaji's visitors and devotees, both the celebrities and the nondescript ones, from the countryside and from the towns. His deep devotion to Baba inspired in him an interest in all who came and allowed him to learn more from them than the others. In many ways, his understanding of Babaji was richer than most other devotees. Out of all Babaji's devotees, I spent the most time with him. We could sit close to each other, on the same ground, and enjoy the intoxication of tavern life to the fullest. Shukla was generous in sharing what he had collected, and he had enough patience to give me the taste of what he had enjoyed. The variety and intensity of his experiences and the depth of his feelings gave me so much, so easily, that I could not miss the experience. He was very dear to everyone in the house, and Ma, Maushi Ma and Didi were as keen to hear him as I was. Shukla, with Tularam and Jivan, form the trio that helped me to join the ranks of Babaji's devotees. Moreover, we would sit together at any time or place in my house or in the ashram. Shukla excelled among all Babaji's devotees because of his own preparations and his ability to draw on and benefit from his association with Babaji. The stream is always full and ever flowing, keeping every drop of its water clean and fresh. Many persons come to the stream with their pots and pans to collect water. They have full liberty to draw as much as they like, whenever they like, but people draw different amounts based on the capacity of their pitchers, the intensity of their needs, and their ability to collect and carry. Shukla's thirst, his readiness to fill his vessel, and the fact that the receptacle he carried was very well-suited to the task, qualified him as a disciple worthy of filling his vessel and carrying it to others. I took many draughts from his ever-full vessel. Shukla was born in a middle-class Brahmin family that had great proficiency in the Shastras and performed their rituals in the orthodox way. The family atmosphere was charged with religious feeling and Shukla was nursed in this environment. His religious education and observances began at the age of five. With all the other family members, he used to get up early in the morning to participate in the worship of Ram and Sita. In the evenings there were also suitable observances. His grandfather was in the habit of starting his japa at four in the morning after his bath and ablutions. The recitation and reading of the Ramayana and discourses on Gita, Yoga Vashista, and other scriptures, were a regular affair in his house during his boyhood. Living in that atmosphere he not only picked up the abstruse rudiments of high scriptures, but also learned to relish the refreshing and appetising taste of the popular scriptures. After he had completed his fifteenth year, he would massage his father's feet at night, while abstract subjects, such as truth, morality, and faith in spiritual life were communicated to him. After he married, he and his wife began observing the rituals and religious practices of the family. When his father died soon after his marriage, he had not yet met Babaji. After hearing about Babaji from his maternal uncle in 1945, he had Babaji's darshan several times in his dreams, and five years later he met Babaji face-to-face. Babaji referred to Shukla's dreams when they met for the first time. It was in

1950 that Shukla came to know Babaji and understand that Babaji had known him from much earlier days. One day while he was sitting with Kehar Singh, Tewari, and many others, Babaji pointed toward Shukla and said, "He was my enemy from an earlier life." Shukla said that his first darshan was so unexpected and unconventional that he could not understand what had prompted Babaji to give that kripa to such an undeserving person like himself. Shukla had a photography business and, one day while he was in his shop, a tonga came and stopped there. Ram Prakash, a devotee of Babaji who was known to Shukla, entered the shop and told him that Babaji was sitting in the tonga and Shukla should invite him to his shop. The request was so unexpected that Shukla rushed out to meet him. Babaji had already gotten down from the tonga, and Shukla requested him to enter the shop. Taking a glance around, Babaji asked Shukla if he would like to take him to his house. Surprise after surprise! All he could do was take him to his home! While narrating this incident he would be stirred so deeply that, like Jivan, his eyes would fill with tears and he would have to stop in the middle of his narration. Whereas Jivan would end by saying, "He is all in all," Shukla would end with, "Everything is grace, only grace." Shukla brought Babaji and Ram Prakash to his home. His wife and children, uncle and aunt, all stood before Babaji after their pranams and obeisance. Maharajji had not only accepted their request to take food in their house but had actually asked them to prepare the food before sitting with him as he was so very hungry. Puris, halwa and vegetables were prepared and sweets were purchased from the market. Visitors started coming, and they were all busy talking when Babaji's food was served. All the items were served to him and he did not refuse anything. The devotees who had seen him take food before told Shukla that this was rather unusual for him. As Babaji was taking his food, he told Shukla that all the guests and relations who were visiting him should also be fed. And so it was done. Before the others finished their food, Babaji left with Ram Prakash in the jeep. It was a great surprise for everyone when the aunt said that she had only enough wheat flour to prepare puris for Babaji and Ram Prakash, but twenty persons had been fed out of that and there were still enough puris left for the householders. Shukla said, "This was the first miracle. Afterwards there were miracles one after another." Another incident occurred on the very first day on the way to Shukla's house in the tonga. They were crossing the bridge over the Gomati River and Babaji pointed his finger to a place down below and asked Shukla if he recognized it. When Shukla did not reply, he shouted, "Have you forgotten? Have you? It was night. It was dark all around and no traffic was on the road. You were standing by the railing looking at the water down below, trying to guess how deep it was. You were preparing to jump." Shukla was silent. He could not open his mouth. But Babaji continued, "You wanted to give your life away. It is so very easy to die? Because of some quarrel in your house, you rushed to the river to jump into it. You do things without knowing or understanding or even caring to understand. What a fool you are. Tell me, tell me if I am wrong. Why don't you tell me? Am I saying anything wrong?" Shukla was crying. How could Babaji know? The memory of the whole scene that took place was revealed before Shukla's eyes. With difficulty he replied that he had never talked to anyone about it. Babaji interjected, "Tell me if I am mistaken." Shukla admitted everything and remained silent until they reached his house. While talking about his incident, Shukla said, "It is worth noticing how things were done, one after another in such quick succession that I had no chance to understand or ask him anything about it. I was just to see them, note them and file them in my mind until some future time when I could recollect and reflect on them, and only then to understand and enjoy. I have learned this from all these years of living with him. I got so much—not only for my immediate use, but also for use afterwards when I could get the full taste of it." Much later he related the whole story to me. "It was years back. Over the passing years I had crossed the bridge almost every day but the memory of the attempt did not come back to me. I remembered it only when Babaji was pointing out to me the place where I had prepared to jump." Shukla continued, "I was seventeen years old, married, and in a big family. Father had a cloth shop but it did not do well. There was not enough for the family, to say nothing of the shop's expenses. Accusations and recriminations of one against the other were going on all the time. Because of my age and sensitive nature I was finding this very difficult to tolerate. I could not do anything to help the family meet its financial needs. I was not qualified for any job, nor could the shop be helpful. It was actually closed down unceremoniously. There were no friends or relations to whom I could confide my desperate situation and seek help or advice, so I had not talked to anyone about it. When Babaji talked about it I was left wondering how could he know when I had not disclosed it to anyone." "In that state of mind, the only escape I could see was to jump into the Gomati. It had to be at night when it was dark all about, with no traffic on the bridge, so no one could see or prevent me. I reached the bridge at eight at night and was trying to find a suitable place to jump where the water would be deep enough, making it impossible for me to get drowned outright. My fear was that since I knew how to swim, I might try to reach the shore if I did not drown. This was how I speculated and calculated while standing by the railing looking into the river below. Suddenly there was a huge flash of light! There was light on every side, above and below, as if it was dawn and the sun was rising. I had to stop. I raised my head and started trebling, frightened, when I heard some movement on the bridge and feared it might be the policeman on duty. I was afraid that I would be caught and everyone would come to know of my attempted suicide. Coming off the bridge, I walked without knowing what I was to do or where I was to go. It was late at night, and somehow or other I managed to reach home, where I received a hot welcome for being so late." While talking like this, Shukla narrated his experience with his grandmother in his childhood days. "Mangoes would be purchased and brought home and we would rush for them. She would not give us any and instead, put them safely away. If we insisted, she would give us a piece to taste so we could see that they were not sweet, but she assured us that we would have them later. And when it was time, we were given all of them. How sweet they were! While we were eating them with satisfaction written on our faces, she inquired with all indulgence how we liked them. She was satisfied. Her work was done and she left us with the advice, 'Everything gets ready at its own time. You must always have patience. You cannot accomplish all your work to full satisfaction when you are in a hurry.' Wise advice it was. I did not understand then, but now I see what she meant. And also now I understand why she was hard in the beginning: she wanted to give us the taste of mango, which comes only when it is ripe and given time to mature."

Shukla said that from his experience on the first day, he realized that Baba knew everything about us, whether we told him or not, and therefore it was futile to attempt to hide anything from him. The second lesson of that day was that Babaji is always kind and gracious. You do not have to ask for anything; it will come to you when it is really needed. And the last lesson, taught to him by the first miracle, was that nothing was beyond Babaji's power, however impossible or unthinkable it might appear to us. To feed twenty and have enough left for many more out of provisions for two was a full demonstration! I told him that we had had that same experience: Didi handed Babaji bunch after bunch of chapatis from her small pan which only held twenty-five or forty pieces. Hundreds of people got their quota from his hand, and the pan was still full. Shukla referred to the experience of the disciples of Jesus and how the master fed four thousand people out of seven loaves on the coast of the sea of Galilee. The second time that Babaji visited Shukla's house, he was taken to sit on a newly constructed verandah with Kehar Singh, Tweari and two other devotees. The verandah was narrow, and taking his seat he said that he would be trapped there and unable to move. Shukla's eldest daughter came and bowed at his feet. She was preparing for her high school examination. Babaji asked her to bring her English textbook. Taking it from her hand he opened a page and asked her to read it to him. This was repeated three times with three different pages. Nobody understood this at the time, but when she took her exam, the questions were on the topics which she had been made to read before Babaji. Her knowledge of English was poor, and she feared she would fail because of that. How did Babaji know, was the question she asked her father. Shukla said that this demonstrated that nothing escaped his notice—even such a minor thing as the fear of a girl for her examination. From the beginning, Shukla visited the houses of Babaji's devotees in Lucknow with him, and then in Kanpur, Barabanki, Sitapur and other nearby towns. While at Lucknow he would spend hours with Babaji, attending to his personal service—bath and toilet and such other things. He also came to learn day-by-day that if he wanted to move with Babaji, he should always be ready to do so. There was not much to prepare —food, bed, transport and ticket would all be ready. These lessons he learned early. There were many differences between him and Jivan, but there was one thing in common: both of them were ready to move whenever the order came. Shukla accompanied Babaji in his journeys to distant places, both in the mountains and the plains. He was already known to some of the devotees around Lucknow, but his circle went on expanding until he came to know all the eminent devotees. There was so much to learn and enjoy. This was an opportunity for the newcomer to benefit from the association with old devotees. There were certain lessons that had to be taught and certain habits that had to be changed before Shukla could accompany Babaji to distant places among unknown people. The first thing was that the japa and prayers to which he had been accustomed must not be neglected or given up at any cost. However busy he might be, he must set himself free for his japa and puja at the appropriate times. Even in unknown houses full of strangers, he had to find a suitable place to do his puja in peace. He was taught never to give up this routine. Another lesson was given one night when he was sitting with Babaji before the Hanuman temple at Aliganj. All the other devotees had been sent away and the priest of the temple brought Babaji a big glass of milk with cream and a roti. He took the roti and the milk, but after taking a couple of sips from the glass he passed it to Shukla to drink. This created a dilemma. Shukla took it in his hand, but could not put it to his mouth to drink. He had never taken food that had been eaten by anyone else nor had he ever drunk from a glass from which someone had sipped. To a Brahmin, this was jhuta (impure), and he could not think of drinking it. Babaji was not an exception, and the milk given to Shukla had become impure. Babaji knew what was going on in his mind, and he repeated, "Drink it." So Shukla had to drink it, thereby crossing the stream that had been keeping him from accepting that Babaji was more than just a human being to him. In this connection I am reminded of my own dilemma with the glass of milk in Bhumiadhar in 1966. The milk came to Shukla from Babaji, and was fresh and warm. It had come to me from a shilpakar, an outcast, and was stale and cold. For Shukla, it came straight from Babaji's hand as prasad for him to drink, while for me it came first from the hand of the shilpakar, and was not prasad when it first came to my hand. It was clean and shining for Shukla, but for me the very unclean glass was covered with a piece of cloth that had not touched any water for its whole life. For Shukla, what was given was already prasad, but for me it only became prasad after Babaji took it from my hand before I could touch it with my mouth. He himself took two sips, saying, "Dada, drink it, drink it. This is nectar, nectar, not milk." It was given to Shukla in the darkness of the night with no one else to see, whereas for me it came in broad daylight with many eyes gazing. The only comment I can make, and repeat times without number, is that such graces were not earmarked for Shukla or myself alone, but were for all who came to him. Many have drunk without knowing what was coming or without hesitation after knowing and, of course, there have been many who have missed because they refused to drink or eat what they considered to be jhuta. Shukla relished his rich glass of milk, which satisfied his stomach. Moreover, it removed the erroneous boundaries in his life about Baba's rightful place in all his prayers and pujas. I drank it, but my relish did not come from the milk, of which I was not fond. Nor was I hungry. I got the full relish from the nectar. After the time spent with the devotees of Lucknow, Kanpur, and other towns on the plains, and completing the necessary training for further journeys, Shukla went on his first major journey to the hills with Babaji, to Hanumanghar at Nainital. With the completion of the Hanumanghar temple, Nainital had become the first important center for the devotees. Before Hanumanghar, there was no place where the devotees could benefit from visiting Babaji and spending some time with him. He had always been on the move, living the life of a perpetual itinerant, not staying at any one place and without any certainty of when he would visit. Bees need a hive. They may collect the honey from flowers in many different gardens, but without a hive in which to deposit the honey, there would not be any for others to use. In the same way that traders had a market center in order to operate in the hills, Hanumanghar came to be a center for the satsang of devotees who would come from distant places to exchange their experiences and impressions. Shukla had already been initiated into such sittings, and his very soft and gentle nature made him a favorite with every one of Babaji's devotees. Because of his deep devotion to Babaji, his being open to everyone, and his high adaptability, he was able to earn a rich and varied experience not available to others. We drew heavily from this and derived so much benefit that would not have been available otherwise.

Shukla said that Babaji was well known in those areas not only among the devotees who visited him, but also among the sadhus who resided in those mountains. It was from Shukla that we learned more about Hariakhan Baba and Sombar Giri Baba and Babaji's relationship with them. Shukla was deeply interested in such matters and collected from many persons who had memories or experiences of those saints. Shukla said that some of them believed that Babaji himself was the old Hariakhan Baba. When the objection was made that there were so many differences between them, they said, "It is so very easy for them to change from one baba to another by changing their dress. Nobody can say for how long he has been here or how many times he has changed his dress." Shukla said there was no question of arguing. Hubbaji, as well as several others, had told us that Hariakhan Baba and Babaji were one and the same. Hubbaji's advice in such matters was very practical: "We cannot verify this from anyone nor can we refute this with full confidence, so if you cannot forget it, then believe in it. How much do we know about the great saints that we could come forward with a decisive judgment? Babaji himself has not opposed these talks. He has kept silent, only saying, 'They (the saints) can do anything and everything.' This has also been my experience while sitting with him or hearing him talk about the saints over the years." Haridas, with his band of enthusiastic and active associates, was managing the affairs of the temples and ashram at Hanumanghar. He was well-versed in pujas and rituals, as well as in pranayam and meditation, and an experienced practitioner of hatha yoga. Along with the puja and decorations of the murtis, and arranging for the day-to-day management of the ashram, he also looked after the devotees who came there. When some of them began staying there, his work increased. Those staying there were sometimes taught the preliminaries of yoga, especially hatha yoga. Ram Dass stayed there in 1967 and Lawrie in 1964, among others. Haridas was also very active in building the Kainchi temples and purchasing materials for them. His associates, mostly from Nainital, were his friends and companions, so it was not difficult for him to mobilize them for the work in the temples. Some of them were so attached to him that they parted from Babaji when Haridas left in 1968. The work in the ashrams ran smoothly under Haridas's leadership, with the full cooperation of his associates. However, his personal ambitions and the aspirations of his associates led to the decline of his power and appeal and disarray in the working of the ashrams. From his very first visit to Hanumanghar, Shukla became a friend of Haridas and his associates and learned much from their experiences. Shukla talked with great enthusiasm of his experiences there in the early days with Haridas and the ashram, but he was not interested in the later developments and kept aloof from them. He was too devoted to Babaji to misunderstand any of his actions or purposes. Such faith has been rare among the devotees so far as I know. During his first visit to Hanumanghar, Shukla spent about three weeks participating in the working of the ashram along with Haridas. When Babaji reached there the streams of visitors kept rising. Prasad was given to one and all, not merely as a token of sanctity, but as food. People have to be fed while sitting down and not driven away while putting a small packet of prasad in their hands. The bhandara started and feeding was going on all the day long. This was Shukla's first experience of bhandara. Shukla had a great knowledge of scriptures, especially of the Ramcharitmanas, the Ramayana of Tulsi Das, and in poetical language gave us a vivid description of the first bhandara, comparing it to the hordes of monkeys and bears who rushed and ran in all directions collecting the materials to build the bridge over the ocean. While the construction across the sea was going on, Ram was sitting on the shore as a spectator. It was the same thing at the bhandara. The large number of visitors waiting to be fed was like the turbulent sea which had to be crossed over. The energetic workers under Haridas' leadership kept the bhandara going on without interruption. There was movement all around, no one was sitting or standing idle, but Babaji sat in one remote corner as if unconcerned with everything that was going on around him. Shukla was a highly religious person, and his very sensitive mind and observant eyes made him conscious of his duty toward the temple and ashrams. He would participate in all the activities, rather than sitting with Babaji or talking to the devotees. He would carry Babaji's bucket of water and lota for his toilet, procure a dhoti for his bath, open the temple doors, and sometimes help Haridas in his work, just as he was accustomed to doing in his own home in Lucknow. And when the bhandara started he was busy the whole time. For days together he would not get any time to sleep. Babaji used to observe this and sometimes late at night he would ask him to sleep in a corner of his own room. Babaji himself did not sleep, but he was conscious of Shukla's need. Undergoing hardships while serving the master with love and devotion do not pass unnoticed, and bring their own reward. This was Shukla's experience again and again in many trying times. He might tolerate some discomfort smilingly, but it would not escape Babaji's vigilant eyes. Shukla liked to say while narrating these episodes to me, "Dada, he is so very kind and so conscious about us that there is no need for anyone to acquaint him of anything or ask anything from him." He often would find it difficult to speak. The high emotional pitch to which he was raised when talking of these incidents would choke his voice and bring tears to his eyes, like his counterpart Jivan. As they traveled together, Babaji took care to encourage Shukla's high religious temperament. Most important for Shukla was to be with Babaji; the second was to visit the temples, ashrams, sacred places and have the darshan of holy men. Shukla said, "While visiting the temples in Benares, Vindhyachal or other places, Babaji himself might not enter the temple, but he would visit them because it was necessary for me to go there. This was also the case with taking baths in the sacred places. He himself would not take his bath, but he would make me take mine. This was necessary for my purification, but not so for him, who is himself all purity." Many people who did not understand Babaji accused him of not behaving in the way that was ordained for the life of a sadhu. Once someone spoke to him like this, thinking that Babaji would refute it, but he was disappointed. Babaji said, "He has spoken correctly. I am not a sadhu, nor do I know what a saint is. But what is wrong with that?" Shukla had very deep feelings about the responsibility for the care of the murtis in the temples. Haridas used to do this work every day before he would start for his office. One morning Haridas came to Shukla's room and told him that when he had tried to open the door of Ram's temple, it would not open. He tried three times before it opened, and when it did, his own force threw him on the ground and he hurt himself. He came to ask Shukla to help him with his work.

While Haridas was worrying about his painful experience, he asked Shukla what it could mean. Shukla asked if he had left the murtis of Ram and Sita standing or if he put them in their beds before closing the temple door. Haridas said that every night the murtis were laid on their bed. Now Shukla had his clue. He said, "In the night you put Ram and Sita on their beds. So in the morning you have to wake them up by knocking at their door; when they are ready, the door is opened. You did not do this, therefore the door did not open and your attempts to force it open were returned with your fall. Today's lesson was given with a bang, so you won't forget it." Shukla said that it was the rule for every pujari who attended the temples, that before opening the door one has to take permission from the murtis inside. He said it was his grandfather's standing instruction that it was necessary to treat temple murtis as living beings. While the bhandara was going on, Babaji would encourage everyone to go on with their work even if they could not find time to sit with him. One day, Babaji asked Shukla to go to the wife of Dan Singh Bisht and ask for her car. Shukla said, "In order that she will realize that I need the car for you and not for me, I shall have to talk to her about you and say you are here." Babaji then laughingly replied, "You are very intelligent, I did not think of this problem, how did you think of it? But what is to be done now? I have to go." While standing there enjoying his talk, another car arrived. There was no one else in the car and Babaji got into it and drove away. Shukla said no one had known what his problem was nor how it was solved, but he could come and go as was necessary. This was how his work went on. When Babaji returned, they went to Bhumiadhar. At that time there was only a Hanumanji temple on the roadside with one room attached to it, and no one was there. The room was very dirty and not suitable for living. Babaji asked Shukla if he had ten rupees in his pocket. When he took it out, Babaji pointed to the man standing nearby and asked Shukla to give the money to him to clean the room for their use. It was done accordingly. Many persons stayed for the night, squeezing themselves in that one room. While sitting there, many visitors came who had known Babaji for many years. Among them there were members of the Shah family who were well-known in that area. The old lady from the house brought food. The bhandara was started there in a couple of days and many persons were fed, but Babaji's food continued to come from the old lady—the mother, as he called her. While at Bhumiadhar they would go around to different places. It was in the course of these wanderings that one day they came to a place by the river and Babaji sat on a stone slab under a tree. The place later developed into a big ashram with many temples, the well-known Kainchi ashram of today. The bhandara was going on, and Shukla had little time for his routine—japa and prayer. One day while doing his japa with Gayatri mantra, Babaji shouted for him. He was late by a few minutes as he had to complete his quote of japa. Babaji asked him where he had been. If he had come without delay, he could have met a great American saint known as Baba Ram Dass. "You love to be busy with your rosary. How can you have darshan of a saint?" Shukla said, "At Lucknow I had hesitated to drink the milk after he had sipped it. From this I learned that nothing could be profane for me when it comes from Babaji. The lesson I learned at Bhumiadhar was that one must obey implicitly, without wasting any time or caring for your other work, even your prayer and japa. Once I learned to obey at the cost of everything else, all was made easy for me. There would always be time for my japa without going through any more tests of my obedience to him." Throughout the years Shukla spent with Babaji and his devotees, he benefited much from his sadhana of puja and japa, and service to the temples and deities. Shukla was sincere and did not betray the trust of his grandfather who had been his first teacher. Babaji was a strict guardian of the rituals and religious practices followed by any family, and took care that Shukla continued to go through his sadhana, with the necessary changes that might be needed under new and different conditions. There was much to do and more to learn before his sadhana could be brought to fruition. Babaji steered him through it and made it easier for him to face any difficulties in his way. They spent several days in Bhumiadhar. The temple of Bhumiadhar became a nucleus for maintaining contact and granting assistance to the people of that area. Babaji knew these people and their problems very well. He had spent many nights out on the road and in the culverts there. Some persons have suggested that one of the reasons for his choice of Kainchi and Bhumiadhar for ashrams was to be in direct contact with the helpless—particularly the shilpakars, the forsaken ones, the lowest caste people of the area. They lived the life of poor, God-forsaken people. The number of visitors went on increasing every day, but there was no drawing room or hall in which Babaji could give darshan to the people. When he was giving darshan, there were many shilpakars who would not enter his room where the so-called high class people were. How could they meet such a 'Great' Baba to whom big, important people were always coming? Fearing to enter, they would be waiting on the road with high expectations. Babaji himself would go out and sit on the open road, where there was no one to prevent the shilpakars from approaching him. They were not wise enough to know that Babas are to be approached for religious and spiritual instructions on enlightenment; their lives were not lived on that height. They would ask for relief from the sufferings of hunger and starvation, and Babaji did not fail them. The bhandara that was started was specially for helping these people. The help took various forms: grants of money, clothes, medicine, and such other things. But the highest benefit for them was the confidence that they could acquaint Babaji with their woes and seek help and redress from him. They had been disowned by everyone around, and here they found someone whom they could approach. The work at Kainchi was begun around this time. The jungle was cleared, boulders removed and the ground levelled. A wooden bridge was laid over the stream. This was the beginning of bringing together people from different countries, Indians and westerners, high and low, rich and poor, ignorant and enlightened. As long as people stayed with him, all the differences that keep them apart would disappear. But even after his samadhi, love for Babaji has kept alive that feeling of goodwill among his devotees. The environment that was created at Kainchi was a suitable demonstration of the work that was uppermost in his mind. His aim was to bring people together, to live in a happy family, based on mutual understanding and good will for one another, in an atmosphere free from fear and worry. For him this was the very basis of one's sadhana, a sadhana of higher moral and spiritual life for the householder. The

family was to be a miniature unit of what he was aiming for at Kainchi. Shukla said that while everyone was busy with the clearing and construction work, Babaji would sit somewhere in the open or on the wooden bridge and meet everyone who came to him. The temples, ashrams and all the structures were there for the people to visit, participate in and share in the functions and celebrations. There cannot be any real celebration in the name of God if anyone is kept away. In order to benefit the people, real religion must not be one confined to the temple and its buildings, but must reach the life of the people. While everyone was busy with the building of the temple and laying the rules of its management, Babaji was engaged in carrying the spirit of religion to the life of the people: the love of God, devotion to duty, service to elders, care of the young, purity of body and mind and helping everyone in distress. No visits to temples, pouring of sermons into the ear, or the framing of flawless rules of discipline for a noble life could bring the transformation that the contact and care of the master can bring. This is what Babaji was doing for the devotees, whether in ashrams, houses or on the streets. He allowed the people to be with him, helped to open their hearts and replaced their tears of pain with tears of joy. Shukla visited all kinds of places with Babaji and met all kinds of people. Here is where the experiences of Jivan and Shukla differ. Both of the were with Babaji for long periods and observed him from close quarters, but both had their own ways of looking at things and had opinions based on their observations. The most important thing that struck Shukla was that Babaji was open to all. He would help whoever came to him without any hesitation or discrimination. His help may have appeared different to many persons, who accused him of partiality or indifference, but they forgot that the same diet is not served to the healthy and the sick, nor are clothes made in one size to fit all. Here Jivan would not agree. He would try to avoid sitting in the drawing rooms of the elite and the celebrated with Babaji. He believed that in those congregations Babaji was not actually himself and did not make himself fully open; it was as if he were wearing a mask. Shukla did not suffer from any such allergy. He would be as eager to sit with Babaji in the drawing rooms of the rich as in the huts of the poor. It might be anywhere or meeting with any person, but it made no difference because his aim was primarily to be with Babaji. Shukla said that when the environment, the persons and their problems are so very different, how could Babaji's behavior be the same with everyone all the time? That would be unresponsive, and he would then need a mask to maintain the same uniform face or behavior. Water turns into vapor when in contact with heat, but the same water is frozen into ice in the presence of cold. It is absurd to expect that water should be the same under the most extreme conditions. However, much of our interest in satsang was to hear the same thing over and over from different mouths, with their accompanying comments and conclusions. The aim was not to arrive at any common conclusion acceptable to all, but to enjoy the narrations and their repetitions. Shukla was the head and sole support of a large family—his wife, seven children and some old relations—but he had no secure source of income. The family cloth business was gone; he had opened a photographic shop, but the income from it was barely enough to support a modest lifestyle. There was no way to earn more by expanding his business because his nature and temperament were far removed from that kind of thinking. From his early boyhood his training had been for the religious life of meditation and spiritual aspiration, rather than that of a successful businessman. The family created many difficulties for him and he was always trying to steer clear of open discord with them. Shukla's family members knew that plenty and prosperity were not for them with Shukla as the head and the sole earner. His family actually lived on each day's income, which was never secure or adequate. He was a misfit in business life, but there was no alternative open to him. He had to bear with all the difficulties and continue working to earn even that very modest income. On the other hand, his spiritual life could not be ignored. Any attempt to restrict or redirect it would be like allowing a growing plant to wither away before your eyes. So Babaji had to guard it. Babaji's help was always forthcoming when a crisis point was reached. Arranging his eldest daughter's marriage was a very big problem for Shukla. He had no money of his own, nor was it to come from any of his relations. It all came from Babaji, through his devotees. The second daughter, who was also of age, had to be married. Here, the boy had to be selected from the appropriate family, settlement had to be made and expenses financed, none of which Shukla could do by himself. Babaji again helped him at every stage, bringing about the completion of the marriage. Evern with responsibility for the family on his shoulders. Shukla thought more of monastic life than business, and Babaji did not disappoint him. He gave him the full taste of the mendicant's life. He went on pilgrimage, visited temples and sacred places, performed rituals, and made the necessary offerings and observances as enjoined by the age-old practices. He received the highest blessings of religious life that were available to few of his status and rank. In 1960 Shukla went on his first real pilgrimage with Babaji to Kedarnath, Badrinath, Gangotri, Gomukha, Hardwar, and Rishikesh. All the expenses and arrangements for the journey were for Babaji to arrange and bother with. But the problem remained of managing the household that was to be left behind. From where was the money to come to meet the family's expenses while he was gone? This was the most difficult problem for the new pilgrim to tackle. The upward push that had built up with much planning and preparation over the years, might be negated by the downward pull of the interest of the family. Because of this pull, a large majority of persons can never go on such journeys, in spite of any planning or preparation. There was no such problem for Tularam or Jivan, who accompanied Baba on many such journeys, but Shukla's case was different. Babaji's help was needed so that Shukla could accompany him as easily as Jivan. The arrangement that Shukla made was that the shop would be opened regularly in his absence, the work would be done by the man working there as before, and the daily income from the shop would be given to Shukla's wife. No other arrangement or changes were needed, and Shukla was able to move with confidence. Shukla took with him just a few rupees that he had borrowed from someone. They already had gone to various places when they reached Badrinath. Shukla had been holding on tightly to the few rupees in his pocket in case of an emergency, but Babaji came in his way. He asked Shukla to perform the Shraddha ceremony for his ancestors on the Brahmakapal site at Badrinath. It is believed that if the Shraddha ceremony for the parents is performed at Gaya it will bring tripta (satisfaction), but if performed at Badrinath it will bring moksha, deliverance. Shukla was not anxious to perform the ceremony because he

would be spent if he performed it. However much Shukla resisted, Babaji forced him to do it. Shukla returned after the ceremony with all his money spent. He was feeling hungry, but he no longer had any money to purchase his food. When he reached Babaji, who was far away from the place Shukla had gone, he found that Babaji was just beginning to take his food. Babaji took a little out of it and passed on the whole of it to him, saying, "Eat up. You are dying for it. You are always thinking of your own food, but never of others. All the people in your house are starving, but you don't care. You want only your food. Eat this, you wretch." Babaji's food had been brought by Usha Didi, who felt very fortunate to have the opportunity to cook for and feed Babaji, especially since Babaji himself had asked her to do it. The day before, Babaji had sent someone to tell Usha that he was remembering her. When she came before Baba he asked her, "Would you feed me roti tonight? If you agree to do so, then bring it for me here in the evening." The rest of the story we got from Usha. She said she prepared the food herself and in the evening she left to bring it to Babaji. When she reached the place where she had met Babaji earlier, he was not there. She searched at several places and then was told that he was sitting by the bank of the river, some distance through the forest. It was already dusk and not safe. "But I did not look at it from that point of view. I was only thinking that he had asked me to bring his food, so he must be waiting. Whatever happened, I had to reach him with the food in my hand." The journey was difficult. It was dark in the forest and several dogs pursued her. She felt it was a trial that she must go through. When she reached Babaji, the greeting that she got made her forget what she had been thinking only a few minutes back about her trial and test. Now she was before him, and he said to her, "Have you brought my food? I was watching the road for your coming. I have come away to such a distant place, it must have been difficult for you to reach here." The food was placed before him. He examined it. What were the things prepared? How many chapatis? Then he distributed some prasad out of it and took his own food. "The food is cooked so well. I have eaten plenty. Will you feed me tomorrow also?" Shukla took the food; he was hungry and it came from Babaji. But much of the zest was gone because of Babaji's remark. He could not put the food in his mouth, but sat motionless, lost in thought. He saw before him what had been hidden in his mind: the fear that his family would starve. He had left the house without any stock of food or money with which to purchase it. His family had to rely on the money coming from the shop's daily earnings. Sometimes it was just a trickle and not enough to feed the family for the day. This must have been what Babaji was hinting at. Babaji himself was also silent, as if patiently waiting for something. Shukla said he could not remember how much time had gone by when Babaji said, "Now eat your food. What do you need to do for others? You only look out for yourself. The Mother has made all the necessary arrangements." Shukla said, "When I heard him, I actually woke up and was more or less convinced that my fear had been true; there had been no food at home, but now relief had come for them. I was sure that I was not mistaken. My tears had not found a way to come out for so long, but they could not be checked anymore. He only glanced at me and kept silent. I was given time to recover, but I was not looking at my food anymore. I was only looking at him." It was at a sitting late at night in Allahabad, while narrating this story at a high emotional pitch, that Shukla said, "He is gracious, but that is not all. It is not necessary for me to know, but he is always busy working for his devotees." I had learned not to interrupt or contradict Shukla when he talked about Baba and his devotees. All the devotees who came to Baba were good, but everyone was not treated alike by everyone else. The special care that Shukla received from others was much due to his own treatment of them. Everyone could see how deep was his love for Baba. His submission to him and to his wishes was more or less complete, and was unequalled in many other devotees. After returning home from his visit to Badrinath, Shukla asked his wife about their problems when he had been away and how they had managed them. Her reply was, "For two days we had no money from the shop and there was no food in the house for the children to eat." When Shukla inquired as to how she managed to feed the children, her reply was, "Everything was done by Babaji. Babaji was with you far away, but he knew what was going on with us here. So he arranged for us when we had nothing at home." The shop manager would come at night with the key of the shop and the money earned from the day's sales. This went on for some days. One night the shop manager came with the key but with no money, as there had been no income that day. It was Saturday. The next day was Sunday and the shop was closed, so they had no money for two consecutive days. They were able to manage on Saturday, but nothing was left for the next day. There was nothing that Shukla's wife could do, so after she had finished her bath, she sat in the puja room and looked at the picture of Babaji's feet on the puja table. While offering her flowers, she said to him, "You know everything. I have nothing to say. So whatever is to be done, you do it. I shall sit here with you." Shukla said his wife was actually greater in her devotion and faith than he was himself. The picture on her puja table had been placed there a few days after Babaji's first visit to the house. While doing her regular japa and puja she would put flowers at his feet. Babaji had been in her puja room several times and had seen the picture. Once he commented to her, "You worship it every day and offer flowers to it." Now, since there was no food, she was sitting in her puja room and staring at the picture when she should have been in the kitchen cooking. It was already very late. The children were feeling restless, and she came out to find that all the provisions needed for cooking were already there; rice, atta, and dal. While she had been busy in her puja room, Babaji had been busy making arrangements. She found out how the food had come. They had a Kashmiri family as their neighbor. The old lady of the house used to visit every day and loved them very much. She had come for her visit that day but Shukla's wife was not in the kitchen, nor had the fire been lit in the oven. It took her no time to understand the predicament: with nothing to do in the kitchen, she was sitting with Baba. The Kashmiri lady brought the provisions and then returned home. When Shukla's wife saw the food, one of the children said, "This had been brought by the grandmother. You were in your puja room so she did not meet you." Shukla asked his wife if she remembered the date and time when all this had happened. She said how could she not remember it? "It was the day that Babaji revealed himself here. He was present in person. This is the Babaji whom I worship." It was exactly the same time as noted by Shukla at Badrinath.

Shukla said, "Now we can see for ourselves how deep and unique is her faith in Baba. She was satisfied with his picture, taking him to be all in all. Whereas we cannot see him unless we are with his body, and therefore we are always running for it. She has actually got the real devotion; ours is nothing compared to hers." Shukla had finished his narration and become silent. While we were talking, a few others had come and taken their seats, as if trying to extract for themselves what had been served by Shukla. The discussion continued for a long time, and centered around Baba's immediate response and the showering of his grace, even though the prayer was made to his picture while he was many miles away. For someone doing the same thing halfheartedly or to test his powers, as Babaji used to say, the prayer would not enter into the ears of Baba through his picture. But the prayer of Shukla's wife was the prayer of someone very rare, a sharanagath, one who has truly taken refuge in him. When a match stick is dry it will produce light when struck on the match box, but a moist match stick produces no light. If one could develop the feeling of sharanagata (dedication), then there would be no need to run after Babaji. One could rest with him in full confidence and not miss him. While we were talking in this way, I related a case which was along the same line about a dedicated disciple, Deben De, a railway pointsman from an obscure place, and his ever gracious and alert master, Ram Thakur. It happened in the 1940s, two decades before the experience of Shukla's wife. Ram Thakur had come to a small town in Feni in East Bengal (now Bangladesh) and inquired about an old devotee who was working in the railway, but no one there knew him. A certain person helped identify the devotee as Deben De. Thakurji asked his host to send for Deben De, who was posted at that time in a small station about twenty miles away. When Deben was told that Thakur wanted to meet him, Deben replied that he had no work with Thakur so it was not necessary for him to go, but if Thakur had any work of his own with him, Thakur could come to him. Everyone was so amazed that they could not speak. They were thinking, "What a darshan! What a faith!" Outwardly, Deben De was unknown and appeared insignificant, but within himself he owned that precious jewel which was beyond the reach of the most high who came to Thakur. Hearing the message, Thakur asked his host to inform Deben that he himself would visit Deben. The next day Thakur started by train with some devotees for Deben's house. When they reached there after two hours journey, a large number had already assembled before the house. Thakur was inside. On one side of the room, the east side, there was the cot for Thakur on which he sat, and on the opposite side of the room was the puja table with a big picture of Thakur. Deben's wife was sitting and offering to the picture the prasad that the devotees were bringing. Deben, who had been busy moving about, sat down before the picture to report something that was causing him trouble. He was not going to Thakur, who was sitting on the cot in his body, but to the picture before him. The crowd had already swelled to a thousand, and more were coming. Everyone was carrying something in their hands, rice or dal, vegetables, gur and milk, all for Thakur's bhandara. Food had to be cooked and many had to be fed, but how this was to be done was Deben's problem. So he sat before the picture. When he had given mantra to Deben and his wife, Thakur himself had given them the picture and asked that it be installed in their home. Whatever puja or prayers Deben offered to the picture, Thakur said would reach him directly. Moreover, if Deben had to ask for anything or communicate with Thakur at any time, he could do that through the picture. It was as good as personal contact. Since then, Deben and his wife had been doing that. More than a decade had passed, but their faith and reliance on the picture had not changed. Thakur used to visit the town and adjoining areas in the company of many of his devotees. Deben would be informed of the visits by his fellow devotees, but seldom would he participate in celebrations. His plea was that it was not necessary, a mere duplication. When Thakur himself had said that he was always in the picture in his house, how could he do otherwise? It would mean that he disbelieved his guru, the greatest crime a devotee can commit. Everything was so very simple and clear for him that he had no problem with his sadhana. Thakur was always with him to give him guidance. While Deben's wife was sitting before the picture offering the prasad to it and Deben was appealing to the picture to tell him what was to be done about the cooking, someone told Deben that there were two persons waiting outside who had been sent to prepare prasad for the bhandara. Nobody thought to ask them wherefrom they had come, or who had sent them. All those questions vanished from their minds, and everyone came forward to help in the work. It saved Deben from the restlessness that was disturbing him. "Thakur has taken charge. There is nothing I need to do for the bhandara." So Deben got busy talking, meeting, hearing everyone, and spent very little time with Thakur or with the picture in the room. People started taking their prasad and came forward to serve as soon as they had finished, keeping everyone busy. But there were two who had not moved; Thakur could not leave his bed, and Deben's wife could not leave Thakur's picture. Since Thakur had not yet taken any food, some devotees thought he should be fed. They went out and returned with some bananas and a glass of milk. Thakur started belching and yawning. He said that he had no space for it in his body, as he had been eating all the time. He belched again to testify to his statement. The bhandara was over and everyone had been fed. They all returned home talking of Thakur's bhandara. While everyone was leaving, Deben remembered the two persons who had done the cooking, but they were not to be found. Deben was told that after the cooking was finished, they had gone away, nor had they eaten. Someone reported this to Thakur, but all he said was that they had nothing to worry about; the person who had sent them would look after them. When everything was over and only a few people remained, Thakur got up from his bed, ready to leave for the station. Deben was standing behind those who were waiting on the platform. Calling one devotee, Thakur said, "Deben has not yet eaten anything. You should feed Deben and his wife." The one thing that the old devotees who attended to Thakur year-round had learned from Deban and his wife was that true devotion and

selfless dedication can accomplish anything. It can turn a picture of the master into the living guru and can make the master do whatever the devotee asks of him. Deben and his wife proved the most powerful examples of what shraddha (faith) and bhakti (devotion) can make the master do. It was actually Babaji who first made me hear the name and greatness of Ram Thakur. "Ram Thakur was a great saint, a great saint. You have not heard his name. He took his samadhi very recently, in 1949. But it is very difficult to know anything about him. His devotees often tried to write about him, but he did not allow that. Now his devotees write their own experiences about him. But how much will they be able to write? No saint talks about himself." These words apply to Babaji equally well. In this matter they were of the same mold and their lives and methods of work have also been similar. The writings that have come to us about Ram Thakur from his nearest and most trusted devotees help us a great deal to understand the meanings of some of the mysteries that are associated with our Babaji and have eluded us all these years. Shukla accompanied Babaji to most of the major places of pilgrimage in the mountains, visiting some of them several times. While he was at Badrinath, Babaji asked him to visit Allahabad in the winter. "Mukerjee Dada is there. He is actually Udhav, and his wife, Kamala, is a great devotee who serves everyone visiting them." That winter, Tularam came earlier than Shukla and narrated his own experiences with Babaji in Badrinath. He started addressing me as Udhav. When I asked him not to nickname me, he said that it had actually been done by Babaji himself. Shukla confirmed this when he came to Allahabad that winter. When Shukla came to Allahabad for the first time in December 1960, Babaji was already there with Tularam, Siddhi and many others. They were all known to Shukla and he was taken as one of them. We had already heard about him and it took no time to make him one of our own. The pattern of our daily routine had settled. Babaji would be in the house most of the time. Sometimes he would visit someone in the city and return home. In the afternoon, Didi would go to her college and I would go to the University, returning by three. Shukla, Jivan, Tularam and many others would be in the house and would attend to everything in our absence. No one was an outsider. It was actually a real joint family in the making, and it became big and vast with the arrival of the western devotees who had been inspired by Ram Dass. The 'joints' in one's own family might be getting loose, but in Babaji's family the 'joints' were becoming stronger, at least while he was there to preside over it. After Babaji had retired to his room and bolted the door, we would have our food and would be free to sit together in our satsang, usually at about eleven at night. The beds were laid in the hall for the male devotees staying in the house, and we would sit on them, spending at least two hours talking. Sometimes Babaji would come out, peep into our room and then sit with us. This was our center where all could enjoy the sharing with each other. It started humbly, with only a few persons, but developed into the nucleus of our gatherings. Everyone had so much to relate. As a new entrant I was treated with much consideration and everyone generously shared with me what they possessed. In Kainchi, there were so many new ones who were keen to hear as well as to relate their own experiences that we used to sit until pretty late at night, up to two or three. Babaji was in the front part of the ashram and we were far from him in the back, but he knew everything about our sittings. In the morning, sometimes he would say to Shiva Singh, "You were sitting up until twelve at night. What was Dada saying? Why did you not go to sleep? He does not have any mercy for you. People who have worked for the whole day should be allowed to sleep. But it is not so with him. He will catch hold of people and make them hear him whether they like it or not. But I am not like you. I tell him straight. Whenever he starts talking before me I tell him, 'When you do not have your brain, what could you say?' So I stop him outright." Shiva Singh used to enjoy all this. He was a very jolly person, simple and unassuming with great respect for Babaji and his elder devotees. While narrating these talks with Baba, he used to say, "Dada, we enjoy it from both sides, from you at night and from Babaji with his commentary complete with full gestures the next morning." These sittings continued as long as Babaji was in his body, but became a rare affair after his samadhi. While the sittings with Indian devotees came to be few and far between, those with his western devotees grew into a regular affair. I benefitted in no small measure from my association with them. Tularam had died in 1962, leaving a vacuum in our satsang sittings, but Jivan and Shukla tried their utmost to keep it going. Shukla was very regular in his visits to Allahabad, not only in the winter months during Babaji's stay here, but also sometimes in between. We became very close to each other and agreed on many things in our interpretation of Babaji's lilas, as Shukla used to call them. "Dada, there is nothing to understand. One has only to see, to hear and to enjoy. There is so much grace; everything comes to us of its own. We do not have to go anywhere or ask anyone, nor make any effort. Such is our Baba for us all." It used to be a difficult problem to sit with Shukla when he started talking like this. He would forget everything and not look at anyone. His mouth was busy keeping the passage open for the flow that surged through his heart. His eyes would be full of tears as if giving his feelings an outlet. I would only keep silent, enjoying the glory and bliss of his talks, because he was actually quoting Babaji in his own words. Like a very busy bee he collected so much honey, and along with others, I enjoyed much of it. Shukla would sometimes send pictures of Babaji to me, and pictures of Hanumanji and various gods and goddesses to Ma and Maushi Ma. One morning in 1961, I was going to take my bath when a friend came from Lucknow bringing two small prints of Baba's photo from Shukla. Shukla had directed the friend to tell me to always keep one with me. The other one was for Didi and she was also to do the same with her copy. I stopped him, saying that I never carried a purse with me, nor did I always wear a shirt with a pocket. So where could I keep the picture, as Shukla, out of his love for me, wanted me to do? I asked him to keep it for himself, but he said that Shukla would be sad to learn that I had returned his picture. Before I could say anything more, Didi told me that I should take it from him, and that if I did not want to keep it myself, I could give it away. So I took it from him and gave it to Didi. Two months after this, Shukla came to Allahabad for a short visit. He said that a few days after he had sent the photos, Babaji came to Lucknow. He asked Shukla, "You sent photos for Dada. What need does he have for them? Where would he keep them?" Shukla had not talked to anyone about sending the pictures, so he was surprised by what Babaji said. Then Shukla looked at me and said, "He used almost the same words as you did when Lachchi was giving you the photo. Lachchi told me all about it after his return from you. But what is more

is that Babaji takes an interest in even such minor matters of his devotees. Nothing escapes his attention. Dada, if you consider that even such a trifling thing does not escape his attention, then what can be said about the bigger things? He knows everything. Now think about it. When he himself keeps an eye on everything about us, then what have we to worry about? We can leave all our worries with him, and we can live free from them." Shukla talked in this vein for a long time. I should have been listening to him, but I heard very little more. I was trying to understand what he had said. He had flung such precious things for all the devotees while aiming at me. Yes, things could become easy, or at least less troublesome, if we could learn and practice even a little of what Shukla was saying. While thinking like this, I felt that out of all the devotees I had met, Shukla was the only one who took these things to heart. Moreover, he had actually begun to shift some of his worries to Babaji and get respite from them. He was a worthy vessel and Babaji would fill him accordingly. During the day, Shukla would spend more time with Babaji than any of the other devotees. He had many experiences to tell about the places that Babaji had visited and the celebrities he had met. So whenever there was any reference to these people and places while sitting with Babaji, Shukla would sometimes be asked to talk about them. Similarly, in our house, many persons would be interested to hear about the religious and spiritual masters, saints and sages, places of pilgrimage and various kinds of rituals. Shukla had a large stock of such information, both from the scriptures and also from his own visits to places of pilgrimage and meetings with sadhus. Thus Shukla was kept busy all the time. Moreover, my mother and aunt would sit with him whenever he was free in the noon to talk to them about Babaji and his experiences with other saints. Shukla was a great favorite with everyone. Shukla visited Chitrakut with Babaji. While going round Kamadhgiri, Tularam had seen Ram Ram written on the leaves of the trees. Shukla saw them, not on the leaves, but on the bodies of the trees. The same reply was given to Shukla's question as it was to Tularam's and mine: "How could the trees forget Ram, when he is always there with them?" Shukla had another experience at Anasuya ashram. He heard the blowing of the conches and the sound of ringing bells. He drew Babaji's attention to it and asked how this could be when there were no temples or persons nearby in that forest. Babaji said that there were many siddhas (realized souls) living in those areas, and it was from them that all the sounds were coming. I also had a similar experience with the blowing of conches, the sound of bells, and fire rising to heaven. In May 1966 at Kainchi, it was the full moon night and the hilltops were filled with light. Pointing to the high mountain opposite, Babaji said that it was Gargachala, the mountain where the sage Garga lived. He said that Garga was immortal and such immortals do not ever leave their places permanently. Then I asked him if anybody could have his darshan. He said, "Yes, sometimes people get the darshan." The matter ended there, and we go busy with other things. The next summer in Kainchi we had the first of several darshans. One night, Babaji was sitting on my bed and we were standing on the verandah from where we could see the mountain, Gargachala. Suddenly in the dark night we noticed some light on the mountain. The light shone for a while, then disappeared, and then appeared again. We could also hear the sound of bells. While we were engrossed in all this, Babaji came out to see. There were many persons watching the sacred fire while standing on the verandah, including Didi, Siddhi, Asoka and myself. Standing beside us, Babaji said that there was nothing unusual in it. "These things go on wherever the siddhas and mahatmas (great souls) live. Those who have no faith or interest in them cannot even aspire to see them. It is not the Great Ones' fault but your own if you do not see them." On many occasions during our visits to Kainchi we were shown them, but many persons could not take them to heart. They did not have the faith that such things were possible and were going on all the time. Nor did they have the faith in Babaji when he said to accept them as real and genuine spectacle coming from Garga Rishi's havankund (pit for the sacred fire). This was fully demonstrated one night at Kainchi. It was past nine at night. A few of us were sitting around Babaji in his room. While we were talking, he stood up and caught hold of my hand saying, "Let's go out for a while." The three others who had been sitting with us also joined. We got into a car, took our seats in the back, and started toward Bhowali. There was no movement on the road or nearby areas Babaji was talking. Then he pointed his finger toward the narrow path used by people to walk on the mountain. It was far away on the other side of the stream and running parallel to it. We could all see that there was some light, like the light of a lantern, moving on the path. But no lantern, nor any person carrying a lantern, could be seen. Babaji asked repeatedly, "What is it? What is it?" Someone said that it must be some pedestrian going that way with his lantern. The matter ended there. After some time, during which we must have moved more than two miles, he again directed our attention to the moving light and asked the same question as before. The reply was ready: it was the pedestrian we had already seen going that way. "Well, well, it's the same person. That man has come quite a long distance." He stopped speaking about it. We turned our gaze from the mountain path and were looking ahead. Several miles passed, then Babaji said, just cursorily, "What was that?" pointing to the moving light on the mountain track on the right. Some ventured to say that it was from the traveling men whom we had already noticed. Then Babaji gently exclaimed, "Well, well, it is that man's light. He is walking very fast. He is actually competing with your car." He said no more. It must have made some of us ponder over the whole thing, but there was no reply from anyone. We drove silently for some distance more and when we reached the Bhowali market, he said, "Let us return. It is already late at night." While returning, some of us looked out toward the mountain road, but there was no light nor any pedestrian moving with a lantern in hand. Only darkness. Babaji had been showing us some mysterious or celestial lights—the whole journey was arranged for that—but for us the light disappeared after giving our eyes just a few glances. We could not enter within, and it left us in the darkness as before. Shukla said that now we could see that it was not lack of interest in us on his part, nor any slackness in his efforts to enlighten us, but simply that we would not open up and see what was in front of us despite the fact that he had pointed us toward that light. Shukla then made a statement with philosophic import. He was in a very high mood and there was no question of arguing with him or

interrupting him. Moreover, I always felt myself to be unequal to it. He talked not from book knowledge but from his own experience, gained through his deep desire to derive the utmost benefit from his close association with Babaji. With his voice full of admiration he said, "Dada, you need your eyes to see before you can do anything. That is why people consider their eyes to be the most precious things they have. But there are two kinds of eyes: one kind to see outward things and another kind to see things within. The majority of people are only interested in external things, so they are happy when their outward-seeing eyes are intact. These people do not know that there is anything inside that is worth seeing, so they don't feel that they are missing anything. They consider any talk about a separate pair of eyes to be nonsense. What Babaji was trying to show us with that light was useless for those people; they are not aware that they are missing anything, even though you and I may feel that way. "With the exception of those who are born blind, we are born with eyes that are ready to see the outer world and we learn to use them with no help from others. But with the exception of the saints and sages, we are born with the inner eyes closed. Moreover, we do not know where these eyes are, for what uses they are needed, or how they can be found and opened. Some select ones, however, become curious and make an effort to bring these eyes into use. Such persons are helped by a class of people who are always in search of the genuinely interested ones; they help them to open their inner eyes, giving them the light to see the real thing. "This is the task of all gurus. Our param (supreme) gurus are always busy trying to remove our inner blindness and give us celestial light. But sometimes we are not prepared for this and we resist. We are satisfied with our outer pair of eyes. When we are in darkness and these eyes cannot see, we are satisfied if we are given the lantern light." Shukla said, "Dada, when our mind and intellect are set like this, what can he do to help us? All his efforts prove fruitless. On the other hand, we are busy maligning him, saying that he has not done anything for us. This is the way it is with us."

Babaji

Shukla, Part 2 At the Kumbha Mela of 1966, a big camp was set up in the mela grounds for the devotees who were coming to spend the entire period of the mela there and also for feeding the sadhus and pilgrims visiting the mela. At the bhandara, thousands of people were fed without any distinction or discrimination all day, every day of the mela. There had never been anything like that before, nor was there afterwards. This was all done through the dedicated and inspired services of devotees, not through hired cooks and servants, as it is mostly done in the ashrams. Babaji used to visit the camp every day, but would not stay there. He would leave for the mela after taking his food at home, returning in the evening, sometimes late. I used to accompany him. Shukla was posted at the mela and had to stay there all the time. His duty was to visit the sadhus to notify them of the bhandara, receive them and arrange for their feeding. This was work very much to his choice, and he did it indefatigably. When Shukla was free from this duty, Babaji would send him to the camps of some well-known sadhus who were staying in the mela area. Shukla was sent alone to see for himself and to satisfy his interest or curiosity about visiting sadhus. One day he was sent to the camp of Mahesh Yogi, who was much publicized in the mela area. Babaji told Shukla to see for himself how this Transcendental Meditation was taught to the people. Shukla visited that camp, where many high-ups in society had gathered. He saw several persons in meditation and many others moving about and talking, but he could only observe from a distance, as he was taken to be a non-entity and not deserving of any attention. There was more activity than meditation. He was disappointed because he was judging from his own standpoint and knowledge of japa and puja, dhyan and samadhi. Babaji had sent him to learn how the new meditation taught there was different from what he had learned previously, but he could not because Mahesh Yogi was sitting too high to teach the secrets of yoga to persons like him. Babaji realised that Shukla was much disheartened. He had gone with the high expectation of learning something that would help him in his own sadhana. Babaji then said, "I sent you to see and to observe, not to learn anything. One cannot learn these things so easily. You need time for that. You have to make effort and stick to it. What you wanted was something ready-made to be put in the palm of your hand. It was your mistake to go with that expectation. However, it was useful. At least you have seen how a business is run. Anyone who opens a shop and fixes it up can earn his income. If you learned only this much, that would be very valuable for you. But how can you learn? You could never learn how to run a shop. You have closed down the shop of your father and your own shop is in a bad state. Well, you must learn that a business is not run like this. You cannot leave your business in the charge of others and only enjoy its earning. I know only this much." Shukla said that everything that Babaji did was for our learning. Everything had meaning for us. We have to see, to learn, to disabuse our minds of many wrong ideas and notions. Whatever work you may be engaged in, full effort is needed for its success. In the absence of such effort, when failure comes, we accuse others of our lapses. We say we have been cheated and deceived, or that no one has helped us. We accuse others for our own faults and that is how we lose all our friends and well-wishers. Shukla emphasized that Babaji knew his nature very well. "He was always trying to teach me to be more active and vigilant, and not as emotional and soft-hearted as I was by nature. Babaji knew that I could never be turned into a successful businessman. I did not have the makings for it. For Babaji there was nothing wrong with my choice to lead life as a religious idealist rather than as a shrewd and calculating businessman. But it could not be denied that I was not fully reconciled to being satisfied with things as they came, so Babaji wanted to teach me that what I was getting and what I was missing were both the result of my own doing. No one else was responsible for it.

"This is what I had to learn: I make and unmake everything for myself. If I wanted the successful worldly life, then I should go all the way for it and change the old pattern of my life and work to the utmost for the new pattern. And if I do not go for that or am unable to do that, I should accept it and be fully satisfied that success along that line was not for me. So, the false charm in the mind for those things should be banished. Do not shed tears for things that are not for you or that you cannot bring yourself to do. It is of utmost importance to be satisfied and reconciled with what you have received as your reward for your efforts. "Brother, I only know this much: decide exactly what you want and what you will have to do to achieve it. What is the work that has been given to you? Look at it from all sides and then devote yourself to it with full strength and energy. We look to all sides expecting that somebody will come to help and finish the work for us. This never happens. "After all, what is sadhana? Sadhana does not mean that while you sit in meditation with your eyes closed, cooked food will drop into your mouth on its own. Meditation and deep concentration are part of us. One has to learn when and how they are to be used. Doing your work with full attention until it is done, putting your whole mind on it with no diversions, is actually meditation. When your work is done there should be full satisfaction and total peace in your mind. This is actually samadhi that comes from the work in which one is engaged. "This does not mean that for everyone dhyan and samadhi will come from the same thing or in the same way. You have not taken sannyas (renunciation). Why do you think that sitting like a yogi for the whole day with eyes closed will give you your samadhi? Your life is different, so how can you do the dhyan which is meant for the sadhus? I understand only this much: whatever work has come to you, take that to be your deity. Do your work accordingly and be satisfied that whatever comes out of it is your reward. Well, am I mistaken?" Shukla narrated this with all solemnity. I was fully attentive, afraid that I might miss something unintentionally. As often happens with him in such cases, his eyes were full of tears and his voice choked. In order to console him I said, "What precious teachings we miss because we are not interested. We are careless and fail to realise what is being given to us. There are few who are drawn so close and had such devotion and such a receptive mind as you. So what we miss from him, we try to make up by hearing from others like you." My participation in the mela camp was limited because I had not been 'baked'; I was not a full-fledged devotee, able to understand the hidden meanings of many of his activities. Moreover, his long history of active participation in the bhandaras at Hanumanghar and Bhumiadhar qualified him, more than anyone else there, to learn from them. However, he helped me in all possible ways to benefit from his experiences. He would always be with me when I visited camp with Babaji. Shukla would be busy with his work, and I would be sent to assist him. Babaji would be sitting in a cottage giving darshan and talking to the people while others were busy with work for the bhandara. The prasad was prepared early in the morning. Brahmachari from Bhumiadhar, with a couple of helpers, would manage all the cooking. He did it admirably well, day after day, without any lapse in his work or trace of depression on his face. People used to say that he had some special shakti power from Babaji. There were also a large number of 'mothers,' both from the plains and the hills, who were staying in huts especially prepared for them. They would rise early, take their dips in the Ganges, and then peel and cut vegetables and roll puris throughout the day. As with Brahmachari, this went on for the whole duration of the mela. When there was not much of a crowd and they could get a break, they would sit around Baba. While sitting nearby observing the mothers at work, I would often say that they were setting an example for everyone, young and old, of what really dedicated and selfless service meant. You could engage any number of persons, pay them as much as they demanded, but you would not get such perfect and accomplished work. On one occasion, Babaji agreed with what I said and added, "Dada is right, seva (service) should be like this. Everyone must learn by seeing them at work. These mothers have come to the mela, leaving their households behind, and coming here they have been trapped in household work again. Where is their freedom from household work?" Everyone heard him with full attention. Many of the mothers felt that they were receiving so much for the little work they were doing for Babaji's bhandara. One of the old mothers was much moved and with difficulty she said, "Baba, we are not so fortunate. We do not have any money, nor are we free from our own household work. There is so much desire to visit the places of pilgrimage, but we cannot go anywhere. Now God is so very gracious to us that he has drawn us here to Prayag, the crown of the pilgrimage centers, on this sacred occasion of the Kumbha, and has made all necessary arrangements for our stay. People go for baths in the Ganges in the morning. They purify themselves washing and cleaning in the river and after puja they leave Ganga Ma there. But Ganga Ma is exceedingly kind to us. After taking our bath and performing our ablutions and purifying ourselves early in the morning, we do not have to go away from Gangaji. We sit on her lap and do our worship for the whole day and offer water for her. Baba, we cannot see anyone as fortunate as we are. All we know is that you are our God, who has fulfilled all our desires and expectations. These were not her feelings alone, but it was actually the expression of everyone sitting there. Babaji looked at me and then said, "How very pure and supreme is their love of God. How deep is their faith. They see the grace of God in everything. These are the people who actually get the darshan of the sacred pilgrimage centers. Anyone may go to any place of pilgrimage, but only those rare ones who have real faith and devotion to God get the real darshan." Looking at Shukla, Babaji said that he had developed great admiration for these mothers since he started helping them in their work. Babaji then looked at me and said, "Shukla himself is a great bhakta. It is good to be a lover of God, but one must not neglect one's duty to others. These mothers work for the whole day, but do not forget their God. They see God in their work and that is why they do the work so well." Babaji was talking in this tone of high admiration for them. Then Shukla told Babaji that he had talked about it to me also, and that he also had great admiration for these mothers and for everyone working in the camp. Then Babaji said, "What will your Dada understand of all these talks? He neither does any worship or prayers, nor reads any scriptures or takes his bath in the Ganges. All he knows is to teach his students, and he wants to keep them happy. What has he to do with this?" Everyone was enjoying Babaji's sally. Things had been going on at a very high pitch and there was the need to bring it down to everyone's level. Then he asked me if he was wrong in his remarks about me. I replied that he was right because he knew everything that was unknown

to others. There was laughter from everyone, and all were enjoying their time with him. They had worked for the whole day without bothering about anything else, and now they were getting their return. Their hearts were full. I was reminded of what Ma and Maushi Ma used to say whenever they could sit with Baba after their whole day's work. Sitting with Babaji in his room and feeding him, they would say, "Baba, for the whole day we are engaged in your work. Being busy with this for the whole day, we forget our puja as well as everything else. People want to take us for a dip in the Ganges, but we take our bath in the house and spend the whole day in your work; that is our bath in the Ganges. When we sit with you, we are fully relieved from all the exhaustion and weariness of the day's work. You have so much kindness for us old women." We were sitting in the mela ground surrounding Babaji. Everyone was silent. There was nothing more to say, only to enjoy the taste of what you already had in your mouth. Shukla was looking at me; he wanted me to break the silence and make Babaji say something more. So I took up his hint and said, "I heard from the elders in my boyhood that when Gangaji was being persuaded to come down to earth, she was not very responsive. She had many fears, and said, 'While on earth I will be on my journey across the land, carrying the refreshing and rejuvenating water on my bosom. All kinds of people will come for their bath, washing and cleaning. My water will be polluted and my bed will be dumped with their sins and impurities All my sanctity will be lost and my glory gone. People will stay away from me. That is my fear and it holds me back.' "Then she was assured that she had nothing to fear on that account. People might pollute her water and deposit all their sins in her, but she would remain ever pure, her sanctity would not be lost. People would run to her to offer their pujas and prayers. She would be kept clean by the great saints visiting her in the course of their journeys. They would dip into her water, drink from it and return to her whatever they had taken in their palms after their bath. This would keep her from all impurities and pollution and guard her sanctity from attack from any quarter. She was convinced and agreed to descend on earth. We can see how true was the assurance given to her. Sin and pollution are being thrown into her in ever-increasing amounts, but still she maintains her purity and her children rush to make themselves sinless and pure. This is what I heard in my boyhood days from the people there. "But here is something which I have seen with my own eyes. Prayag, like many other great centers, is an important place of believers and the atheists. All people come to it—the virtuous, the sinners, the believers and the atheists. Some come with their hearts full of love and faith and others with lack of faith and sarcasm. All kinds of crimes are performed here. There is cheating, robbing, murdering and whatnot. There is more filth and disharmony, greed and contempt, than love and affection. The whole atmosphere is polluted and has kept many from visiting. But still the sanctity is maintained and draws pilgrims. The saints dipping in the Ganges keep her pure, and performing their rites and rituals as ordained in the scriptures, preserve the purity in spite of the mounting crimes around. We see the full demonstration of this with our own eyes." Everyone was silent while I was talking, but when I stopped no one took it up. Then Babaji said that it was late now. "Shukla, give tea to everyone, and after that go and visit the tents of the sadhus. Kirtan and bhajan and discourses are going on. Go and spend some time hearing them. Take the mothers who want to go with you. I will return home." Tea was served, but nobody would move so long as Babaji was there. So he stood up and caught hold of my hand and said, "We must return now. It is already late and people are waiting for our return." The bhandara went on every day without much difficulty, but there were some problems for those who were feeding the visitors. Sometimes a large number of people would come at once. There was room for them all to be seated and prasad served, but the crowd was made of people of all ranks and castes. Complications arose because they did not want to sit with each other. Shukla, as well as others working with him, would get upset, and a few of the younger ones started quarreling. Babaji would send me there to help settle things. His instructions were to be obeyed in full and then everything would be simple: "Whoever comes is your guest. Receive them, honor them, and talk with them. Do not argue or quarrel with them, then feed them well." This is what I tried to do and it helped me. This was in January, 1966, and when we reached Kainchi in the beginning of May, the same instructions were repeated again and again, "Whoever comes here is your guest. Receive them well; honor them." The people would be satisfied and their mood would change when we regarded them properly, put the difficulties before them, and sought their help. This was the secret of Babaji's methods of work. Sometimes Shukla had another kind of difficulty to face which disturbed him greatly. There would be some visitors who would not take their food, nor would they help you in your work, but were only there to give you some 'wise' advice which, in their minds, you lacked. "You are squandering your money by throwing it all away through your food and indiscriminate feeding. This is foolish. Money should not be thrown away like this. It must be saved for valuable, well chosen and permanent things." Shukla would be easily drawn into it and start arguing. "It is not wastage. It is the highest virtue. The Gita, the scriptures and the whole of our religion say so. But what have these gentlemen to learn from the Gita and scriptures? They think they know better." So a quarrel would become inevitable and I would have to remove Shukla from there. Then I would ask the gentlemen to take their seats and have their food, at which time they would say that they did not come to seek food. But I would insist that they sit and then I would offer them tea and sweets. I would talk to them. "What can be done? When someone hungry comes to your door, how could you drive him away? You could not eat your own food if the face of the hungry man whom you have driven away came before you. It is just for this." The gentlemen finished their tea, ate their sweets and then went away, making it easy for Shukla to do his work again. I had many such experiences at Babaji's bhandara at Kainchi and Bhumiadhar. By hearing these people patiently, not by arguing or quarreling, I could deal with them better. When I listened to them in silence, they felt that they had made me understand, that they had helped me, and then they all went away and we could go on with our work. People who have all the food they want, who can eat and never feel the pinch of hunger, cannot understand the value of food. Moreover, they consider that all these acts of feeding were due to our ignorance and false belief in scriptures. We needed to be taught and enlightened about the right nature of things. We wanted to do good to others by feeding them to overcome their pain of hunger. They wanted to do good by teaching us to remove the 'darkness and ignorance' with the teachings of the light they carried with them. Food costs so much money, and when money becomes one's deity, one cannot tolerate any insult to it.

I had some other experiences in this matter, after we reached Kainchi in 1966. The Gayatri Maha Yagna had already started. There was the big havankund around which a dozen priests were engaged in their Yagna. The number of assistants helping them made it a very big affair. The recitation of mantras was going on with the offering of grain; all the priests were pouring ghee from big wooden spoons onto the sacrificial fire, raising the flames high and attracting the attention of everyone coming to the ashram. Most of the people came out of their reverence, but a few came out of sheer curiosity. One such batch of inquisitive people stood in front of the puja area and started arguing and asking all kinds of questions. Not being satisfied with the answers, they wanted to see the man who was in charge. They were given my name. I was sitting in Babaji's room with him and the doors were closed. Someone called me and the door was opened. The person calling me said that there were three elderly persons who wanted to meet me and ask about the havan and the waste of so much food and ghee. Babaji was enjoying this. With a smile on his face, he told me that I should allow them to have their say; there would not be any use in arguing with them as they had come prepared to teach me about wasting food. When I went to meet them they actually challenged me, saying, "You are the person in charge of this show. You are wasting so much food when there is famine in the country and no food for the people to eat. So many tins of pure ghee are being poured on the ashes. You say that you are doing it according to your Shastras, but what kind of Shastra is it that teaches you to not look at the hungry mouths, to not give them food, and to throw all your food on the fire in the name of Yagna sacrifice? All this must stop." There was no response from me. Then they asked me some personal questions. Where did I come from? What was my profession and source of income? I did not reply, but someone said that I was a professor in the university. They were surprised to hear than an educated man could believe in such havans and rituals, when there were one thousand and one ways of doing one's puja and prayers without any loss to oneself or loss to others. Finally, they must have taken me to be a lost one and decided that there was no need of arguing with me. While they were leaving, I asked one of the boys to fill up a small basket with prasad and add a few fruits that had been offered in the puja. I accompanied them out. When they came before the temples, the boy brought the basket. They said that they already had their prasad. I said that they should take it along with them in their journey and could give it away to others. They did not object, and the basket was taken. They were well-fed and well-cared for persons. With their spotless white dress and white caps, they wanted to show us that they were set in their noble task of saving food by preventing its misuse and wastage. I left them free to enjoy the full satisfaction of their accomplished task —teaching us about the value of food and how it should not be wasted at all. According to them, feeding others is also a form of waste. Babaji was in his room. I gave him a brief summary, and Shukla added something of his own. Babaji said they want to save food because of famine conditions, but they did not say anything about why there was famine. Then Babaji said, "This question should have been asked of them. 'Why do you want to save food? You want to save food to feed the hungry, but without feeding the hungry before you, you go in search of the hungry in far off places. This shows a lack of intelligence.' Their second issue was that there was famine within the country. This famine is not a new thing; it has been going on for a long time. But the question is, 'Why is food not being produced?' It is because there is no rain. Do they have any reply as to why the rains do not come? No, they do not. If you do not do any charity, perform virtuous acts, and do not celebrate havan sacrifices or have any faith or belief in God, then you begin to think that you are the Lord and everything depends on you. If you have become the Lord, then why don't you make the rain by yourself?' They do not have a reply for this, but I have got the reply." Babaji came out of his room and made a round of the ashram to see things for himself, but the most important purpose was to make everyone alert and active—especially those who were busy with the Yagna. Then he went for his bath and food. He was already late for it. He kept sitting in his room just to avoid any confrontation with the visitors and their attempts to interfere with the Yagna, so his vigil was there from behind the doors. This was his method: to hand over the work for us to manage and accomplish it. We were given much autonomy in our work, but that does not mean Babaji did not observe from behind. In case anyone got annoyed or created difficulty with the work, he would come to our aid and give us protections. On the other hand, any dereliction of duty or misuse or abuse of our position was never tolerated and was severely dealt with. Babaji always comes to the aid of those doing his work. Once Babaji was in his room, taking his midday rest. Two boys, Pappu and Kishor, were doing their work, giving prasad to the visitors and other works allotted to them. Then a young sadhu arrived with the full garb and wanted to meet Babaji, who was watching from inside the room. Seeing that Babaji was not there, he asked Pappu to inform Babaji that a sadhu had come to meet him. The boy asked the sadhu to sit in the room, take his prasad and wait for Babaji to come out. He took this to be rudeness on the boy's part and an insult to his position. He used strong words. The boy refused to go to Babaji's room to give him his message, saying that they did not do that, but that he could ask Dada if he wanted to. The sadhu was not interested in that and went on abusing the boy. I reached there and tried to argue with him, but without any success. While we were busy with that, Babaji came out of his room and asked me to open the door of his sitting room. As soon as he sat down, the sadhu entered and sat on the floor. Babaji greeted him, "So you have become a sadhu now; that is why I could not recognize you. When did you return from Germany? How many years did you stay? What did you learn there?" Everyone, the sadhu included, was taken by surprise. The sadhu did not reply. Then Babaji started his treatment: "Have you forgotten that having been unsuccessful in your examination you left home, breaking open your mother's box and stealing all her ornaments? You have forgotten but I have not. Your parents were worried, running everywhere in search of you. Then in Germany you did not learn anything. You only wanted to cheat everyone but you had to return when no more money was coming from cheating. When did you take this ochre robe? Who gave it to you? You are not a sadhu so long as you do not change yourself. Neither your clothes nor any person will be able to make you a sadhu. You got so angry that you were ready to fight with that boy who was engaged in his own work. You have become a sadhu, but does one become a sadhu like this?" People had gathered round the room with surprise on their faces. He asked them to go to their work, and then he told me that I should take the sadhu with me and feed him, that he had come in the noon and had not taken his food. "Feed him well. You must have some sweets with you, feed him that. Tell your boys that they should not quarrel with their guests. When he has come to you in the afternoon then it is

necessary for you to feed him and hear him. Go and feed him and tell the boy about it. I will remain inside." The sadhu was in a sad state. He was hungry when he came, but there was little hunger left for food. He had been thoroughly exposed and had lost all his courage and confidence. It appeared that he felt that he was being taunted by his own robe, along with the people standing there. All he wanted was to find a way of escape, but with so many people around he could not try that. We tried to console him and asked someone to arrange for his food. We then told the boys to go to him and express their regrets, ask for forgiveness, and then feed him. I handed them some sweets for him and left the feeding to the boys. Once he started eating, his mental agitation calmed down and he could look at others. I went to Babaji's room from where he was watching everything. Then he said, "Everything is all right now. It was very necessary to rebuke him. He goes on moving about in the hills of this region. Had his true self not been exposed he would have created trouble for everyone. Now he will not come this side anymore. You should talk to your boys. They have to do their work peacefully and not fight with anyone. It is true that he was not a real sadhu, but he was wearing the robes of a sadhu. Who can recognize a saint? You have to honor his dress. This must never be forgotten. Go and see him. He is taking his food. You stay there." I narrated this incident one day in our satsang at Kainchi. Shukla said that we may not understand, but nothing Babaji does is meaningless. Whatever he does is for someone's good and for our teaching. We cannot derive full benefit from it while we still have some doubts in our minds. Without full faith in the guru, we cannot understand his teaching. Saints are always busy teaching you or someone else when you are with them, and there cannot be anything meaningless or superfluous in their behavior, however much we might misunderstand it. We may not know for whom the teaching is meant, but there is always someone to whom it is directed and they understand it. The saints are actually the teachings and scriptures personified. They do not teach by quoting or reciting the scriptures, but by living and practicing them, and sometimes through a little acting. In the early twenties, perhaps 1924, there was the Ardha Kumba (six-yearly) Mela at Prayag. There was a big congregation of sadhus, pilgrims, visitors and tourists. There were many great sadhus who, with their disciples, were running bhandaras to feed all and sundry. One of these great ones was Paramhansa Dayaldas Baba. He had no ashram or permanent residence. Wherever he moved on his journey, thousands of sadhus and disciples used to accompany him. In the course of one of his journeys, he came to Prayag and set up camp in the mela area. He had a large number of sadhus and disciples who were running the bhandara for the whole day. The bhandara was for whomever came; sadhus and householders, rich and poor, men and women, virtuous and sinners, high and low castes, all had their food and equal care and treatment. One day the bhandara had been going on and the rush of people had been unabated. Dayaldas Baba was sitting on his little upraised seat to make it easy for him to see what was going on in the camp. He would greet everyone with his ineffable smile, hear everyone and satisfy all. His hands were busy accepting the offerings and then passing them over to be given away. The only thing that remained near his seat was his kamandal (waterbowl). It was such an ordinary seat with no decoration or display to call attention to his greatness, that people were liable to mistake him. However, this was his way. He just wanted to give you joy by the satisfaction of the hunger of your stomach and the satisfaction of meeting a saint who loves you and allows you to draw near. Everyone, except a few onlookers, were full of admiration for him. He was a real sadhu at work. Standing aside and scanning everything carefully, a gentleman asked a disciple of Dayaldas Baba why his master was wasting his money so recklessly by feeding persons. "Lakhs of rupees are going down every day, leaving no trace of whatever good or benefit they have produced. Could you not get better use from your money by spending it for education or medical care? You should understand this and change your ways." The disciple was silent. There was no question of entering into any argument or trying to convince him. All he replied was, "How can I understand why my master does this? You can see that all he possesses is his own waterbowl near him, and nothing more. Where all the money comes from and why he uses it in this way only he can tell you. All we know is that he knows what he is doing and it must be for the good of all. In our minds we do not have any doubt about this." While the disciple was talking like this to his inquisitive visitor, a drama was taking place near the feet of the master. A certain gentleman had brought a bag full of money and presented it before his feet. He was a Seth, a rich man, and highly religious, so he brought this as his service. Dayaldas declined it, saying that he did not need the money any more as the day's bhandara was more or less over and there was already material for the next day's bhandara. He told him to give it to some other camps where it might be needed. To console the gentleman, and also to convince him that it was not that he did not appreciate his generosity and love, the master said that it was for the good of everyone that he would not accept the money. "A sadhu must not accept anything more than what he needs at the moment. He must not pile things up or accumulate them for some other time. Why should I think of the future? Look at this bhandara for which you want to give me your money. This is not my bhandara. I am sitting in place with my empty kamandal. Feeding is Mother Annapurna's work. The Goddess of Abundance herself is arranging for this and so things come of their own. I do not have to look for or accumulate them. I am only here to pass them on to her claimants." Everyone was watching the whole drama with its strong spiritual flavor being enacted with utmost care and precision. Nobody could miss the lesson or fail to benefit from it. The inquisitive spectator had become one with the silent audience when it was over. The swami did not agree to accept the money, and the spectator told the disciple, "What a teaching, what a teaching! Only a great saint could teach this lesson of true dispassion, the vairagya (falling away of worldly attachment) with which a saint lives and teaches. Here is an actual incarnation of it." After narrating this story I told Shukla that this only proves how right he was in his belief that there was nothing meaningless in what Babaji did and how his teachings were for the benefit of all.

After that day's bhandara was over, Babaji said that we should all go out for some time. There would not be many persons coming now to be fed, and those in the camp would be able to manage. I took a blanket in case Babaji wanted to sit somewhere, and Shukla took a lota. We were five in all, with Omkar Baba from Drona Giri and an old lady from Patna who was staying in the camp. We came to the bank of the Ganges. There was a big open barge tied to the shore, vacant except for the boatman's wife who was preparing her roti on a bucket oven. Babaji got up on it and we followed. I spread my blanket for him and then we all sat around him. He asked Shukla to fill up the lota with the clean water from the Ganges that was flowing there. Shukla put the lota filled with water in between the two of us. Babaji was talking about the glory of these centers of pilgrimage and how those who come on pilgrimage with devotion and pure faith in God are never disappointed. "Mother Ganga never deceives anyone. She actually does not know how to deceive anyone. You complain that you are cheated because you do not get the thing you expected when you came to her. But when you are not worthy of it, how could Ganga Ma give it? There is not anything wrong with Mother Ganga. It is all due to something that is lacking in you. When you were a young boy and asked your mother for food, what did she do? Did she just give it without looking closely at you? Never. No mother ever did that for her child. She will look at you, observe whether you have taken your bath, whether you have clean clothes or not, and whether or not your hands are washed. You people approach Ganga Ma with your dirty bodies and clothes full of filth. This is how you come to her and expect that everything should be given to you. And when you do not get your cherished things, you malign her. This is not the right thing to do." While he was talking, we were just sitting looking at him, fully withdrawn from the crowded environment. We did not notice the passing time, but Babaji himself said that it was evening, we were already late and must return to the camp. He stood up. I collected my blanket and Shukla took his lota. Babaji caught hold of my hand and got down from the boat. But before we could move on, he looked at Shukla standing there with the lota of Ganga water in his hand, and asked him why he was taking it back to the camp. It should be distributed to us to drink. Shukla looked at the lota and shrieked out, "Baba, this is milk and not water!" We joined our palms together to collect the milk poured from the lota. It was still warm and sweet. It felt like the first time in our lives that we ever drank milk. I suddenly saw with a flash the soft ripples on the moonlit Ganges flowing by, drawing our attention. Babaji had said in 1960 that the Ganges was not water but actually amrit—nectar. I did not believe at that time that it was nectar. Now, after drinking it, I could no longer believe that it was water, nor could I believe that it was actually nectar. I was in a dilemma: to believe or not to believe. But there was no such dilemma for Shukla. What he had drunk was actually amrit. He had no doubt about it. We had finished drinking and started moving when Babaji began yelling at Shukla. Why had he saved some in his lota and why was he taking it back without giving us all of it? Then he started a volley of abuses for Shukla with full gestures and mimicking, "You want to give it to your Didi and tell her how Babaji gave you milk to drink today in place of water, and how it was not milk but actually real nectar, amrit, and how with great difficulty you have saved this much for her to drink! Then all the mothers would have stood and surrounded you. You could have heard your praises being sung: 'Shukla is such a nice fellow, he cares for us so much.' But I have spoiled all your glory. Now if you tell them about the milk, no one will believe you. They will say you are speaking lies. On the other hand, if they do believe you, they will start abusing you by asking you why you did not bring it for them. Now you can see that you will be a loser on both these counts. Now let us return, but first wash your lota." We returned to the camp where people were waiting for Babaji. He started shouting at me, "You forgot that we have to return home. People are already there and are waiting for you. How can you not remember this thing? Once you start talking you forget everything. You think everyone is waiting to hear you. Everyone has their work but they cannot say that to you. Now we must go." He looked at Shukla, who was to stay there as usual, but then Babaji asked him, "Are you not coming with us? You have not been able to talk to your Dada. You have not been able to relate to him your whole day's experience. Sitting together you will start your story and he will be hearing you with full attention. Then examining it with all his mind and intellect, he will give to you his own experiences. All this is left for you to do. Now let us go." We three started for home. Shukla was silent and Babaji did not disturb him. I was thinking in my mind, not of the miracle of water turning into milk, but of how gracious he is. Nothing escapes his notice so far as his devotees are concerned. Shukla was given a very high dose. It was given to all of us but it did not create the problem for me that was created for Shukla. I could swallow it and be free from it or store it somewhere in my mind for future scrutiny. But none of this worked for Shukla. He could not swallow it, nor could he be free from it by storing it in his mind. Shukla's feelings had risen very high and his emotions were surging to seek an outlet. There was no one in the camp to whom he could open his mind and relay his experience with a choked voice and eyes full of tears. It was not in his nature to ask Babaji to be taken with him, but what he failed to do for himself, Babaji did for him. This was grace. That night Shukla told us that he was overwhelmed by this move of Baba's. "Dada, we cannot see things before our eyes, but he sees everything inside and outside of us. He dives deep and sees it in full detail. I had become very sad when you started moving. I could not join you however much I wanted to, so long as the order did not come from him. When you started moving, I was thinking myself helpless, like an orphan. Then the order came to accompany you. The Lord was there." When we reached home, it was late in the evening. Many persons had gone away, but still there were many more. Babaji went to the hall, talked to the people there for a while and then asked them to return home after taking their prasad. While prasad was being given, he came to his room, sat on his bed and asked for the door to be bolted. The room was already full. Many ladies had been waiting for him in his room, not in the hall in front of everyone. Loud talking and laughter could be heard from within the room. I was busy with some work when one lady came and almost dragged me to his room, saying that there was so much fun to be had. He was on his cot in his favorite posture— head resting on the upraised palm of his right hand and the left hand dangling and making gestures. There was an old lady, past seventy, arguing and refuting Baba's words. Baba was talking loudly: "Mother, I was dead, I was dead, but afterwards I was reborn in the mountains. I am not that Baba whom you had seen before. I am not that Baba." But she could not be silenced. Everyone was looking toward her and asking her to talk. She said, "I belonged to a village in the Farukhabad district. My father had some landed property and we were well off. My parents were great devotees of Baba and he used to visit our house. I got married and went away from my village, which was the last time that I met him before today. He was already an old man, older than my father, and my father said that he had been visiting our house for twenty-nine years continuously. My father used to say that twenty years back he looked as old as he did when I saw him in my childhood. I saw him last when I was about nine and now I am seventy-three—more than sixty years ago. That was why I said that a man who was that old back then could not live for so many years more."

Then he flung his question to her. "Ma, you are telling me that you saw me in the same state of health and age as your father had seen me twenty years before we first met. And then you say that you see me now as you had seen me sixty years back. How could this happen? Has my age not increased? Tell me, tell me, how could this be so?" After the repeated questions she came out with her firm and emphatic reply: "No, you have not increased in your age." He pressed her how could she say so, how could she? Then she said, "The age of people like us increases, people who are getting nearer to their death, but not those who are not to die. You are not to die like us, so how could your age increase?" Everyone sat silently. Someone came to remind Babaji that he was late for his food, and my Maushi Ma added that no one would eat so long as he had not taken his food. Hearing this, he sent everyone away. Everything was nicely timed. The sitting ended because it had served its purpose, so the talk of his food came. We came out of his room. The lady was ready to leave but we persuaded her to stay a little longer, as we wanted to hear more. I narrated to her and to Shukla and a few others there how I came to know of her. I had heard about her from our friend, Dr. Singh, a devotee of Baba. He used to visit us, and in 1962 he came to meet Babaji thinking that he was here. He could not see him because Babaji had left that morning, so he sat with us and started talking. He had wanted to come much earlier but had been delayed. A neighbor had come to visit him and his wife with one of their guests. Dr. Singh told them that he was late, but his wife could visit with them as he had to leave to meet Babaji. They asked him which Baba, and when he took Babaji's name the lady who had come as their neighbor's guest blurted out, "What are you talking about? Baba Neeb Karori must have died long back. This must be an impostor taking his name. I last saw him more than sixty years back and then he was already old. How can an old man live for so many years more? He is not the real Baba Neeb Karori." That lady belonged to Farukhabad district. Hearing the story, we wanted to know more about Babaji from her, so we asked Dr. Singh to try to bring the lady here. In case she did not agree, we would go to her. Two days later the doctor came to report that the lady had left the very next morning after his visit to us. I remembered that incident, and when I saw her today, I wanted to hear all she knew about Babaji. We talked with her for some time and then she went away. A nice sitting was going on in Babaji's room. He had just finished his food. The mothers were sitting with him and talking. Then Maushi Ma spoke out. "It was good that you had your lesson. Whenever we say something which you do not want us to talk about, you stop our mouths. We cannot argue with you or speak out what we have in our minds. Today you did your best to stop her from talking, but you could not do that. You want to hide everything from us, but she leaked out some of your secrets. How correct she was when she said that we people get old and are carried nearer to our deaths, but age cannot mean anything to men like you. If Baba becomes old then to whom can people like us go? Baba is actually Bhagwan, God. God never gets old. We know this, and today she has said this to your face." Then Babaji came out with his rejoinder. "Maushi Ma, you could not understand fully what she was saying. What was its real significance? No mother looks at the age of her son. Her son may be advanced in age, but she treats him as a young one, and this has been the case with her also. Every mother blesses her son with the same prayer, 'May you remain young.' You also do the same for your children. She has not told you anything new. You have not understood her correctly." When he stopped, Maushi Ma said, "You might say anything, but we know she was right. When we ask you something not to your liking, you concoct all kinds of stories to gag us, but today you had your lesson. Why did you not tell her what you are telling us now?" She stopped after scoring her point. Then Babaji made his remark, as if in sheer helplessness, "You are all in the same group, acting together as one. How can I make anyone understand me?" Later that night we sat for some time after taking our food. Shukla was in a better state, not so agitated, a victim of unmanageable emotions. He could now sit silently, and make his point in argument. "Dada, I was not wondering about the miracle, that is nothing for him, but I was thinking of how much care we get from him. In such moments you forget everything else, you can only think of him." I had to check him, otherwise there would have been the return of that restless state which he had overcome with so much time and effort. I just said that the miracle was not important for me either, and that I had forgotten the taste of the milk by now. But I was recalling what that lady said tonight. It was a great revelation for us. We might say that we are not interested in his age and do not want to know how old he was, at least I could, but her statement did not end with the mention of age calculation. It had a very deep significance that the saints never grow old. However much the years might pile up one upon another, the years cannot carry them to their death beds. The storm might gather all its strength, charge with fury and scatter the whole area with uprooted trees and broken houses, but it cannot carry off a tree that is firmly rooted in its place. We hear about this from the wise ones and read from books of wisdom, but can our faith stand firm like her faith? The root of her faith is very strong, and a powerful storm cannot uproot it. This is the lesson I learned that day. Shukla was drawn into it and talk became easy. After much joy and laughter we returned to our beds. When Shukla was ready to go to the camp early next morning, he went to see Babaji. I suggested that Shukla stay and accompany him when he went to the camp after his meal. Babaji shouted at me, "Why are you detaining him? Has he not work to do there? What would he do here with you? Have you not been able to complete your gossip? You want everyone to sit with you, so that you can talk, but people have their work to do, not like you. Let him go." So Shukla left. Everyone enjoyed his outburst. There were some people who did not like him to sit silently with them. So the shouting at me gave them what they enjoyed in his company. When we reached the bhandara in the afternoon it was in full swing and Shukla was busy with his work. We would usually return home again in the evening. People would have assembled there for Babaji's darshan, and he would not like to deny them that. But one day there was an exception to it. Although it was not to his liking, Babaji returned home after midnight and all the people had left after waiting for hours.

It was the night before one of the important bathing days. Pilgrims were coming by the thousands, mostly from the nearby areas, to stay for the night. After taking their bath in the morning, they would leave for their homes. They had carried with them neither any bed or cover for the night, nor any extra clothes except one change for after the bath. They had come believing that nothing more would be needed, but they did not take the weather into account. The night became very cool. A cold wind had started blowing before evening and there had been some drizzle in nearby places. Most of the new arrivals were lying on the sand without any shelter above or thick cover for their bodies. There were no separate tents for them, nor would the camps that were run by sadhus and social workers welcome them, so they were left at the mercy of their Ganga Ma, to whom they had come. There was no question of running away or seeking help from unknown quarters. Suffering was their only alternative. Babaji was observing those things, and could not come home in the evening as he did on other days. He sent devotees to arrange for at least two truckloads of firewood to be brought to the mela grounds where the pilgrims were staying. The trucks came after nine and were unloaded at places where the congregation was large. Babaji had come out of the camp after the evening and was sitting on the open sand bank. Not only did he not allow me to spread a blanket for his seat, he actually handed the blanket he was wearing to me. He had nothing on his body except a dhoti as the lower garment. He was not talking except to give a few instructions. He said that if it was available, some more firewood should be purchased and kept for the morning when people would need it after their bath. It was past ten, and he asked some devotees to kindle fires at the places where wood had been collected. He also said that someone must stay to tend the fire so that it did not get extinguished and also to see that the wood was not taken to any other camp for their own fire. When someone suggested that we might kindle the fire later so that it would burn until the morning, he said, "When the need is so urgent, how can it be postponed? See how the people are sitting helplessly and suffering. There will be others who will follow and start fires. The government will do the same, but it will be late. Nothing has arrived in advance here, but it will come." This actually came to be. By eleven at night there were several places where fires had been started, and Babaji sat there until midnight. Many devotees had assembled around him. He sent some of them to tend the fires, in turn, throughout the night. Shukla was with us, and he would often go to take a round of the fires and report back to Babaji. It was after midnight that Babaji got up and started for home. He had been sitting for almost five hours in one place, in the cold, without even his customary blanket. I asked Shukla, who was standing near me, what this might mean. Was it to absorb some of the cold blast and save some of the helpless ones? Or was it to bring cheer and courage to the noble souls, that they should not be daunted. They must stand firm in their faith in Mother Ganges, who herself was undergoing the cold with them? Or was it a hint that he was with them in their suffering and took his suffering along with theirs? It was about one in the morning when we returned. Everyone in the house was awake, awaiting Babaji's return. The mothers did not ask him to take his food, seeing that the smile was missing from his face. They took him to be in deep thought or worried about something. Then Babaji said that he would not take his food that night, as he was tired and just wanted to rest and was not feeling hungry. Everyone came away, leaving him alone. No one else in the house could take their food either. All retired to their beds. The next day he stayed in the house until late in the afternoon. Many persons came for darshan after taking their baths in the Ganges in the early morning. They said that there was no doubt that it was cold, but people had started taking baths before dawn anyway, and many of them left after that. Babaji took his food and we left for the camp. The road was filled with people returning after their baths. When we reached the camp, the bhandara was going on. It had started early and it was difficult to manage the great rush, but after a whole month of experience, the people had become accustomed to facing such situations. I met Shukla, who was very busy despite being awake for the whole night tending the fire. Someone who saw him at work said, "Shukla is a real yogi, a karma yogi. We got tired, but he went on with his work." This was said in Babaji's hearing. His response was just a smile of approval. As the days passed, the number of people who came for food got smaller and could be managed without difficulty. When we returned home in the evening, Shukla joined us. Babaji had asked him to take rest, as he had no sleep the night before. People were already assembled there waiting for Babaji's return. The sitting was dispersed early, and he went to his room and had his food. Then Babaji asked Ma if she would feed Shukla and send him to sleep. "Tell Dada not to start his stories, keeping everyone awake until late at night. Shukla needs rest, not Dada's stories." Everyone enjoyed his sallies. As some person used to remark, under such situations he always had something for you and the time was never dull. During the days of the mela, Haridas came for a couple of days to meet Babaji. He stayed in the house, not in the camp. He was busy keeping silence at that time, and wanted to continue it here also, but Babaji told him that as long as he was in the house he must talk if anyone wanted to talk to him. So his silence was broken, although he did not have to speak much. Almost all his time was spent in sitting with Baba and replying to his queries. One day he was sitting with Baba and several others. Maushi Ma brought a glass of milk for him, but he declined it, saying that he took milk only once in the daytime. He said that he had his rules for eating. He drank only milk for his food and did not eat cereals, and he drank the milk only once during the day and once at night. As he had already done so in the morning, he would not drink anymore now. When Haridas had finished, Babaji burst out, "What is this rule? For what purpose is it made? You can follow your rule of drinking milk only once in the day when you are in your own house, but what rules can there be with the mother? Whenever mother gives you anything to eat, then all your rules come to an end there. Take the milk and drink it. So long as one stays here, it is the rule of the mother that should be honored regarding the taking of our food, not our own." So Haridas had no option. He took the glass of milk from Maushi Ma and drank it. Everyone was thinking of how rules are made and how they are set aside. It reminded me of the two cases where Babaji set aside his own rules regarding food. The parents of Sambhu Saran of Bhopal were great devotees of Babaji, and he used to visit them in their house. One day while his mother was preparing khir, she was remembering Baba, thinking how nice it would be if Babaji came and took it. She was imagining Babaji sharing her offering. When it was ready, she filled a very big pan and kept it aside for Babaji. It was two in the afternoon. Slowly, she began preparing food for the household. The door was suddenly opened from outside and Babaji entered, perspiring. Seeing the seats spread there for the food, he said he had come during the mealtimes

and asked whether they had anything for him. She could not reply, because of her great excitement. She spread a seat for Baba and went to bring the khir that she had kept for him. He started eating as soon as it was placed before him, as if he had come all the way for it on this hot summer day. He ate all of it. But as he was drinking from his glass he suddenly said, "Oh, today is ekadasi (a day of fasting). How could I forget it? I do not eat rice on the ekadasi day, but I took it today. Well, there is nothing wrong in it. When the mother offers you food, you must eat it. There is no rule against it. No rule can come before the food given by the mother." (Almost an identical thing happened in Allahabad when Ma served him khir on ekadasi day.) The mother was overjoyed and was thanking her master in her mind. How gracious he was! Every message of his devotees reaches him and brings him before them. Then Babaji said he would take some rest, as he had to come from a distant place and was tired. He asked mother to feed everyone in the house. One summer in Kainchi, only a few years before Babaji's samadhi, we went to Mr. Soni's house in Nainital. There were already a number of persons waiting there for Babaji; among them was Mrs. Chisti, a very great devotee of Baba. He used to address her as Ma. Mrs. Soni was preparing halwa in the kitchen and brought in a big bowl of it. Mrs. Soni wanted to start by giving Baba a plate, but he said that he did not eat any sweets now, so she should spare him. She agreed and gave others their share. We all ate without looking at anyone. Then Baba spoke out, "Oh what have I done! I have eaten the halwa when I had stopped taking all sweets! Now Ma Chisti has done it. I was busy hearing and talking and she was putting the spoon in my mouth from her plate. But what can I do when mothers do that?" Mrs. Chisti had not eaten anything herself. Her share was put in Babaji's mouth. She was happy that her venture was a success. While we were sitting in our satsang that night, Shukla referred to the incident with Haridas, saying that he himself had the same difficulty when he was with Babaji in the beginning. Being born in an orthodox Brahmin family, he had so many restrictions and rules guiding every act of his life—japa, puja, food and many others. He wanted to stick to his rules no matter what situation faced him, even when he was with Babaji. There would be occasions when Babaji would ask him to do something which was opposed to his rules, and a conflict would come in his mind. He would have to disobey one in order to obey another. When he failed to choose or hesitated, Babaji made the choice made for him. Then he had to break his rules. The interesting thing was that Babaji was always in favor of obeying the rules that you had set for yourself. He said that it was necessary for a disciplined and successful life, and he would emphasize this all the time. For himself, he obeyed his rules with strict adherence. But his rules were never meaningless and mechanical. All his rules were for the highest good and one must respect them. It is like going on a journey. Before we start, we know the goal we have to reach and also have ideas about the path. But we do not have full knowledge about the road we must travel; it must be learned while we are actually on our journey. The path is not straight or laid out before us and there are turns and twists, zigzagging up and gliding down, that have to be faced. New choices have to be made, and rules have to be changed for that moment. Shukla felt that this was what Babaji was teaching us. Babaji left Allahabad in the end of March. He went to Delhi but did not take Shukla along. When Shukla asked permission to go with him he was told to return home and look after his family and shop, both of which were neglected. Babaji said, "If you want to stay away from hour house then why did you marry and start your shop? You do not want to stay at home to attend to your work and family. You want someone else to do it for you, so that you can move, running away from your family. How can I let this happen? You can come to Kainchi in summer, but you must return home now." That ended the matter. When we reached Kainchi on the second of May, 1966, the great Gayatri Maha Yagna sacrifice was going on. Shukla had already reached there and was posted to look after the arrangements for it. So long as the yagna was going on, he was busy all day. We could sit together only at night. After the Yagna was over he was not given any special work for the bhandaras so he was free to sit with Babaji, which he had rarely been able to do, and would report everything to us. Some would be allowed to sit with him. Sometimes Babaji would ask Shukla to narrate about certain incidents at which he was present. This was his way of stalling people from asking unnecessary favors or help. Shukla said that most of these private visits regarded matters of personal interest of the visitors. High government officials would seek intervention for their posting, promotion, seniority and other such things. Political leaders from the highest to the lowest would want him to recommend them for seats in elections for the Assembly or Parliament, a place in the ministry, or a change of portfolio. When talking about ministers and such matters, Shukla would sometimes make very sarcastic comments to us. "Dada, these people do not know of anything higher or superior to this world. Tell me, what kind of prompting from their mind, or under what inspiration, do they rush to the great saints for such trifling things of life?" While Shukla was talking about these politicians coming for such aid, someone sitting nearby, who was sporting for a fight, objected that it was not so, and that the politicians were devotees who came for Babaji's darshan. I said that Shukla never said that they were not devotees. It was because they were devotees that they came to Babaji for his help and blessings in their work. But it was also true that they came to him for aid. All kinds of people came with different reasons to secure his help. Not only common people looking for a job or the marriage of their daughters visited him, but politicians, business and industrial magnates also visited, who did not fail to acquaint him with their problems and seek his help or intervention. This was a common practice with the whole stream of visitors coming to him day after day. But with some rare exceptions, these visitors did not come with any abstruse problem of their sadhana or for untying any knots in their hearts. Everyone who had been with Baba on such occasions had seen the same thing. There was nothing wrong with these visitors asking Babaji for success in their worldly life and not for spiritual progress. Had there been anything wrong with it, he would not have encouraged them. Shukla looked at the whole thing from this point of view: we are aware that in our daily life there is so much wastage of food, money, time, energy and whatnot, but we are not aware of the wastage of opportunity when we visit the great saints and do not seek their cherished gifts. For Shukla, these visits for personal interests were very distressing. He tried to emphasize that Babaji had such precious things for us, why were we asking for merely trinkets without caring for the higher things?

We are all mistaken when we try to understand and pass easy judgment on the acts and behavior of these visitors. The saints know full well that there is not one set of ready-made remedies to help the problems of household and religious life. There are remedies for persons in different states and stages of their lives as well as different needs, capacities and temperaments. It is the quacks and cheats who have readymade remedies for all persons and ailments. The saint always gives what is useful and necessary to the persons seeking aid. He knows what is to be given to whom and at what time, and we should leave these decisions with the saints. The only decision that might be open to us is whether or not to approach the saint, or to sit silently if we had nothing to ask. In case we were carrying a desire to ask for something, we should ask it without any hesitation and have no fear of the saint that we have approached. Sometimes we might be surprised to see what is in our minds, however much we might try to conceal it from our master, but it is futile to try to hide anything from him. There is a story about a great saint who would hear everyone and give them what they asked for. No one returned disappointed. Some old devotee asked him one day, "Maharaj, you give to everyone that comes to you, but only those things that they ask for. You never choose for them before giving. They often ask for wrong things. Is that good?" He laughed and then said, "Yes, I give them only those things that they want, and they return satisfied with that. But the time will come for them to ask me to give out of my choice, and only then will I use my choice in giving to them. The time has not yet come for them, so I have to wait and keep them coming to me." A saint has patience and he always waits for the appropriate time to give you things of his own choosing. It is said of the great saint, Vishuddhananda Paramhansa, that sometimes while sitting with visitors, miracles might happen around him or he might show someone miracles on request. Once Ananda Mayi Ma was visiting him with some of her disciples. The disciples had heard of his miracles and were keen to see, so they pressed him. Ananda Mayi Ma was enjoying the fun enacted by the Swamiji at the request of her disciples. But then she spoke out in a rather complaining tone, saying, "Baba, for a sadhu of your height and realisation, you are giving them very commonplace and ordinary things. You are holding back the most precious and rarest things." He smiled and said he was ready to give them, but since there was no one who would ask, or agree to accept them if they were given to him, there was no use in taking them out. They were allowed to remain hidden. The same kind of reply was given by another great saint, Swami Gyananand Giri. The saint had become like a wish-fulfilling tree for his devotees, especially for the poor and helpless ones. The richer, educated persons also came in large numbers and returned with their wishes fulfilled. Some old devotees used to complain that he gave cheap things for household life. He said that he kept a shop with precious materials but no one came to purchase them. In the story of the Mahabharata, when war became inevitable, both Duryodhana and Arjuna rushed to Dwarka to seek Lord Krishna's help in the war. When they reached there, Krishna was sleeping. They entered his bedroom as would household members. Duryodhana, entering first, took his seat on the decorated chair at the head of the bed, while Anjuna stood at the foot of the bed with folded hands. When Krishna woke up, he saw Arjuna first and then turned his head and saw Duryodhana. Duryodhana said that both of them had come for his support and both of them were his relations, but he was the first to arrive, and according to accepted rules, he must get the support and not Arjuna. The Lord said that was true, but that his eyes had seen Arjuna first, so therefore he had the claim. He would let Arjuna choose either himself (Krishna), unarmed, as his chariot driver who would not fight or his entire army of mighty and well-armed warriors. He agreed to allow Duryodhana to have whichever of the two Arjuna did not choose. Duryodhana had also been drawn to the Lord, even though his arrogance caused him to go to the head of the bed instead of to Krishna's feet. Because of his faith, Arjuna did not even hesitate for a moment to choose Krishna, whereby Duryodhana received the mighty army, which was what he had wanted anyway. Both received exactly what they had come for. Champak Lal came all the way from Gujarat to Pondicherry to be with Aurobindo—the one whom he had installed in his heart as his most gracious master. He became so near to him that he would know what his master needed and keep it at hand. Like Hanuman, satisfied with Ram's embrace, Champak Lal was fully satisfied being in his master's presence. That is the way of all great devotees: they do not ask for anything and the masters have the problem of choosing what they should give to their self-effacing devotees, as Ram had to do with Hanuman when he returned from Lanka with Sita's message. The saints might meet their devotees in crowds or in big gatherings, but the real contact and communication with the seeker is always personal; there is nothing to prevent the hearts from meeting in private. The glory of the saints is that even in a crowd, when the two bodies are separated from each other through space and time, they can meet in the heart of the devotee. One day Babaji returned to his room after giving darshan to everyone. The doors were bolted and we two sat for some time in the closed room. He asked me, "Anything more?" "Nothing, Baba." "Tell me. Tell me." I repeated, "There is nothing." Then he said with vehemence, "You do not have to tell me, but I know what is in your mind." I retorted, "Then why are you asking me about it?" The reply came with his smile, "I was just asking. That's all."

Being very close to Babaji, with his deep sense of devotion and surrender to the master, Shukla became a powerful medium, transmitting to us what he had received from Babaji. Shukla would tell us what he saw or heard without leaving any loophole for doubt or disbelief in our minds. He would always emphasize that Babaji had love for everyone, big and small, and gave to everyone whatever was due. "Those who deserve to be praised, he would praise fully, but never to their faces. The other day when you went away, Dada, he was talking about you for a long time, saying service should be done like that." This referred to an incident in Kainchi on the day of a big bhandara. Many persons had to be received, fed, and then seen off. Babaji felt that when people were coming from distant places, in spite of all discomforts and difficulties, you had to pay full attention to them and treat them with care. Nobody should leave with the feeling that their warmth of love and devotion had been returned with cold indifference. He used to caution us, "No shame or disgrace should come to the ashram through your behavior. This is Hanumanji's ashram, so any reflection on this ashram will be a reflection on Hanumanji. One must learn from Hanumanji how one is to serve." I was doing much running from one part of the ashram to another and had to pass before Babaji several times while he was sitting in his room. One time he called me in. The room was full with people: the Rani of Hillary and her daughter, a minister and others were sitting there. Then Babaji said, "These people are saying that Dada has been busy for the whole day, and did not have time for his food." I cut him short, saying that I had no time to hear those things. While coming out I heard him saying to those who were sitting with him, "Dada is so very busy with his own work that he has no time even to hear me." Shukla said that he had not been a neglected child at home. He had care and affection from his parents and other relations, but it was only from living with Babaji that he could see what real care and affection meant. Moreover, our parents could only take care of us, not the neighbor's children, but you cannot imagine how Babaji was taking care of so many children in so many far away places. It was difficult to stop Shukla when he started talking in this vein. Many persons enjoyed it when Babaji mimicked his voice or copied his gestures. Shukla would always be handy when some break was needed in the talks or some humor or laughter was needed to entertain his audience. It was about eleven one night. Babaji was in his room, the work in the ashram over, and everyone had retired to bed, with only a few of us sitting together in a back room talking. Babaji came out of his room and shouted for us. When we reached him he was standing before his room. He told me to get everyone together. "They must arm themselves with sticks. Some wicked rogues are prowling nearby to make some mischief. I was trying to sleep, but could not do so, as I was hearing some noise. We must go and finish with them." In a short while there were more than fifteen persons ready with sticks and fuel wood rods collected from the kitchen store. Kumardas was leading the brigade. Because of the commotion, everyone came out of their rooms to see for themselves. Babaji was standing ready to march. He had his dhoti tight, having lifted it up to his knees. His blanket was folded and twined as a girdle and tied round his waist. His hands were not covered under the blanket anymore but were free to handle the big flashlight. The flashlight was an unusually long one and he held it in his right hand, but sometimes both hands were used to focus on certain places or things. He led the march with the flashlight in his hand; everyone followed in line. The younger ones joined also, keeping the rear guard. The going was slow in the beginning, as he would stop after every step, and turn to every side focusing the torch to scrutinize everything. We reached the main road after coming off the bridge. He stopped there and started looking all around. Suddenly there came a volley of abuses in the choicest of words from his 'underground' vocabulary, and he rushed ahead at a high speed. Everyone tried to keep pace with him but few succeeded. Then we noticed that a few open army trucks were standing on the bend of the road above, and army men were running desperately and jumping on the open trucks. By the time Babaji reached the bend of the road, the trucks had already started moving. He stopped and we all surrounded him. The people from adjoining houses had already gathered there. Babaji said that for the last hour he had been trying to sleep, but he had been hearing some strange noise, and he wanted to finish with the scoundrels. Everyone listened to his graphic description of the whole incident, which most of the people had not seen with their own eyes. He was emphasising again and again that as we moved we had been looking to this side or that side, but not in front of us. How could we do that since we were all so very terrified? But he was not like us, he was not afraid, and always looked ahead of him. That is how he was able to see them and rush after them. "Those wretches were tipsy after drinking. They were dancing and singing and clapping their hands. When I shouted at them they ran for their lives. They were all army men and had been trained to fight. They acted like such cowards, I cannot understand how they will ever be able to fight." The old and the weather-burned people there were accustomed to seeing such hilarity due to drink and dance. While standing there hearing Babaji talk with such enthusiasm about such a minor affair, which they would have ignored, they felt pity for those of us who had to come out of our beds. Little could they know how much we enjoyed coming with him. Food and sleep are the routine affairs of daily life. For devotees, such incidents were actually festivities for them all to enjoy. The next day Babaji was sitting in his room talking about the previous night's encounter with the hoodlums, how he had been able to see in advance what it was about, and how the actual attack was made. "But no confrontation came. How could it come? You cannot fight with the wind. They ran away for their lives after hearing my shouts." Everyone was enjoying again what they had tasted the night before. Shukla said he was sorry for his absence in the group last night, but he had a pain in his stomach. Hearing him, Babaji laughed at him tauntingly and said, "What are you talking about, you coward? At the very sight of it you would have shat in your pants. Now you are saying you could not come because of pain in the stomach. See how he makes up stories?" Everyone enjoyed at poor Shukla's cost, although it had not effect on him. He was all at ease, fully reconciled as he had already learned to accept everything that came from Babaji as his grace toward him, whether it was bouquets or bricks. Looking at everyone's face, as if with a new inspiration, there came another round of the story with some new additions and new interpretations. The time passed quickly and it was the time for bath and food now, so he retired.

Shukla now started his comments: "Dada, we must not forget how very lucky we are that we could have joy like this. Moreover, I am the happiest of all when he uses me for his play to teach and entertain others. I never think there is anything for me to be shy or nervous about when I hear such remarks." There were occasions, however, when Babaji's remarks, especially those about Shukla, would make it difficult for him to sit there and swallow them. One day someone who was serving in the ashram kitchen came to Babaji to seek his permission to go home. This gave Babaji a chance to come out with an attack, with all sarcasm and laughter, about persons like him running for home. He said that this person had nothing to do at home because he was afraid of his wife. "This time when he came from home he had his wife's permission, but he is afraid that his wife will be angry if he does not return now. He has no work except to obey his wife. He has to wash her clothes, cook food for everyone and fill up the buckets from the tap so that his wife can have her rest. These people are so much afraid of their wives that they spend all their time pleasing them. I have seen it all with my own eyes." He was looking at everyone's face to see how they took his remarks. Then, as if satisfied with the response written on the face of his audience, he resumed, "Shukla is so much better off than him. Who knows how long ago Shukla left home? He had no interest in returning there, and has no fear of his wife. She does every job herself. Moreover, his daughters also help their mother all the time. There is no work left for him in his house. What could she make him do? How can one who cannot wash or clean vegetables be expected to cook food? While he is in his house he creates difficulties in the work of others, so his wife does not object to his staying away from his home. Whenever I advise him that he should visit his home occasionally, he argues with me that there is no work for him at home. Well, when he has no interest of his own to go, why should I send him back forcibly? So I also sit silently. Is it all right? I am not doing anything wrong, I hope." Shukla took this sitting silently. No reply or comments were necessary, nor could he make any. He had learned to listen and sit silently. When one is asked something, then only does one have to talk. Sometimes Shukla would be asked to say something about his own experiences, especially of the temples or ashrams of eminent saints that he had visited. This also was done with Hubbaji when he sat with Babaji. Hubbaji had spent more than half of his life in the company of the sadhus and had very rich and first-hand experiences of some of them. Babaji would often draw from them for the benefit of his devotees. The same was done in a smaller way with Shukla. Babaji might raise some topic himself or it might come through someone's question, and without replying directly, he would ask Hubbaji or Shukla to speak, himself sitting or lying but hearing everything and commenting and correcting where necessary. Thus the talk would be by others, but would have his seal of approval. In Kainchi and also in Allahabad this used to be a regular feature of his stay there. We were in Kainchi one summer. Babaji had left for Delhi and was not expected to return for the next two or three days. Those who had their allotted work to do continued to be busy. But there was no such routine for Hubbaji, Shukla, Jivan, and a few others who were staying there. They used to spend most of their time sitting with Babaji or accompanying him when he went to nearby places. Two days after Babaji had left, they felt that they had nothing to do. In this state of mind, they were sitting in Babaji's room before his cot, which represented his presence. I took my seat with them. Hubbaji was talking about Babaji's visits to the Himalayas and the ashrams and homes and meeting with sadhus there. He had visited them many times in Babaji's company and many times alone. The last time he visited Kedarnath with Babaji, Shukla was also with them. Hubbaji said that Babaji seldom entered a temple, but would force everyone with him to offer prayers and pujas and perform the rituals ordained by the Shastras. He was very strict about this. The same would be the case with Babaji's visits to the sadhus. He would visit many, and sometimes he would ask us to make offerings to them, but seldom would he talk much with them. But there were many sadhus who came to meet him, having heard that he was somewhere near about. He would meet them with full hospitality, listen to them, and advise them. What these talks were about, Hubbaji and Shukla did not understand. Often they were not allowed to be there when such talks were going on. Hubbaji made the very striking observation that no doubt Babaji had spent some days of his sadhana in places in the Himalayas, Vindhyachal and Nilgiri hills. He felt that every part of the Himalayas was very well known to Babaji and very dear to his heart. Babaji had visited these areas long before Hanumanghar or Kainchi and other temples in the hills were built. We do not know for certain what made him choose these temple sites, but Hubbaji felt that one of the reasons had been his love for those areas. The talks continued, and Shukla took it up from Hubbaji. He told of his visit to Gangotri and Gomukha in the hills and then of other places in the plains. They were talking like this and I was listening with all attention, as I had not been with Babaji in any temple in the hills or in Vrindavan. Only at three places, Benares, Vindhyachal and Chitrakut, was I taken to the temples for darshan. But Babaji did not ask me to sing any prayer or perform any puja, as he knew very well I was totally ignorant of them. So to Shukla I said, "I could not collect even a fraction of the virtues earned by you with your offerings of pujas and rituals during your visit to the many temples. This only shows that Babaji had not been so very generous to me as he was with you all." Shukla came out with an outburst, saying that that was not all true. "If there were to be a charge of partiality against him it was in dealing with you. He is more partial to you than anyone else." There was laughter, and more of it when I pleaded my inability to reply as a minority of one. This was our way of engaging ourselves in his absence. After three days, Babaji retuned and everyone got busy with him, and the satsang was shifted to night sitting as before. Shukla was sitting with me one night when Babaji came and took his seat on my bed, telling Shukla that he should return home and look after his household which he had been avoiding all of these years. Now the situation was different. Four of his daughters had been married and the son was to be married in the near future. Babaji said, "There are so many new relations with whom proper understanding and good will have to be maintained. Only under such conditions can the children be really happy in their new houses after marriage. Your children will receive the same kind of treatment as the way you treat, receive, and honor your new relations. You must not forget this. You love your children and you want them to be happy, so you must return home, stay there, and attend to all these problems of new relationships. Your wife has been looking after the house in your absence, but she cannot deal with these new problems. "Moreover, your son is a professor in the university. He will be married into a richer family with a higher status. You have to maintain your own position as the father of the boy with dignity and honor, and not allow him to be treated with indifference. This cannot be done by your

wife. It is for you to do that. Moreover, the work in your house has increased, but she has fewer helpers now after the marriage of your daughters. You have never thought of these things before, but how could you, since you have never looked at others or thought of them? You forget your duties and responsibilities when you sit with Dada and start hearing all his tall tales. What can he teach you about your duty toward your family? He does not know anything himself, so what can he teach you? It is Maushi Ma and Kamala who run his household. He cannot do anything himself, but will quarrel with them if they do anything not to his liking. You should never take counsel from such a person. But I am telling you the right thing." So after a couple of days Shukla returned home and started looking after the family and his photography shop, which had been neglected for so long. His visits to Allahabad in winter were continued, but the duration of his stay was reduced. Babaji would ask him all the details of how he was managing his family and his relationship with the daughter's father-in-law and advise him accordingly. Sometimes these talks would take place in his room where Ma and Maushi Ma would be sitting. Sometimes to break the tone of his talk, he would ask Maushi Ma's opinion. She would reply, "Who can teach anything to anyone in your presence? For such a small family, I have to seek your advice so many times a day. But you have such a big family that you manage single-handedly. What can Maushi Ma teach you?" The sittings would end with satisfaction for all. Two years passed like this. The marriage of Shukla's son, which had been a big weight on his shoulders for a long time, was accomplished in a very satisfactory way. He came to Allahabad for a short while and then returned home, since Babaji was not here at that time. He came to Kainchi after that. He was sitting alone with Babaji in his room. I was standing nearby and closed the door to others. Shukla was in deep emotions: "I have accomplished what you wanted me to do. Through your grace the marriage of my son was well celebrated, so what should I do now? There is no other important work waiting for me." Babaji listened attentively and spoke very softly and slowly, as if measuring his every word. It was very striking for both of us, but how could we know that this was to be Shukla's last darshan and the last advice he would receive direct from Babaji's mouth? Babaji talked in a very affectionate tone, consoling him in every way, as Shukla was very agitated. "Your household responsibilities are not yet over. Two daughters are yet to get married. Your son has been newly married and you have to explain to him how to manage the household work. You have visited all the temples and sacred places, and have learned all about pujas and prayers. All going and moving about, hearing and talking, are over now. Now you have to complete them by sitting in your house." Many such things were said that day for Shukla to treasure in his mind, to seek guidance from when not in Babaji's presence. Long afterwards, while sitting together and talking, every event of that scene came to his mind. I was reminded of Krishna parting from his dear and faithful servant whom he was sending away to Badrinath. All masters are the same in parting with their devotees. The devotees break down for having to part with the master for good, and the masters, however disciplined or free from attachment they might be, cannot fail to react amiably and affectionately to their tears. Shukla said repeatedly, "Babaji has given us everything. We enjoyed it while we were in his presence, and he left us prasad to utilize all through our lives. We cannot exhaust it. But our difficulty has been that we were so close with him, so near his body all the time, that we mistook this to be all there was about him. We never took his teachings to heart or tried to understand them. That is why we are suffering now that the body is not there. But everything else about him is with us. "This is what he was teaching us all the time, but we did not understand. Now when he is not before us in his body we have to live with him through his teachings and the tales with which we have filled our hearts. I realise this now sitting in this room looking at him, but not hearing him. While talking with you I can see afresh, before my eyes, the whole of it. "Dada, whenever we can spare the time, we must get together. There is no more Kainchi or Vrindavan for us. We were interested in them because we had him there. But here in Allahabad, although it was also the same in many ways, it is different because we actually felt it to be his home and not his ashram. Here we felt as one feels in one's own house. We were not outsiders to him in this house—we were of this household—so his memory becomes very strong when we come here." Our meetings became very rare after May, 1976. I did not visit any of Babaji's ashrams or the houses of his devotees. It looked as though Babaji was very serious with his old command, "Dada, you stay at home." But Shukla did not leave us altogether. Sometimes he would get very much upset, remembering Babaji all the time, but there was no one else to whom he could open his mind and secure help to tide him over his mental afflictions, and when we met it was actually a meeting of hearts, alive with Babaji. Shukla was a very sad one in the last days of his life. The house, the family, the children—nothing could give him satisfaction. He was not financially well off, but mentally he was a renunciate. His sufferings from lack of money were never acute, nor did they have any effect on his outward behavior and life. Many persons would come to Baba for power and money and position. High officials and ministers would come to Babaji to seek his favor. Shukla was a stranger in their company. He used to say, "For us, favor comes from Babaji without asking on our part. We can see very well that sometimes Babaji wants us to accept something which comes without our asking, and when we would not do that he would abuse us, saying that we did not care for our family and household. I said to him once that we have been spoiled by getting everything from him unasked by us, so why should be take from anyone else? His reply was, 'Well then, suffer. I wanted to do something good for you, but you would not obey me, so you suffer. What more can I do?'" Once a minister and his secretary from Lucknow were with Babaji in his room. Babaji asked him if he could get such-and-such things done. The secretary said that there would be no difficulty in that, and wanted to know what was to be done. Babaji's reply was that he had just asked out of curiosity. When they went away, Babaji told Shukla that if he would accept a contract from that man he would get so much money by sitting at home and not doing much. Shukla not only declined to do so, but he actually asked Babaji why he wanted to make him greedy—was he wanting to drop him, to drive him away from his feet? He said, "Baba, when I have not been able to fulfill the contract that

you have given me, how could I take then another from someone else?" Baba added only this much in reply: "I wanted to do some good for you and your family, but you do not understand me, so what can I do? Wealth and power are not for you. You suffer as you like." Continuing his talk, Shukla recalled what Babaji had said while they were returning from their visit to Badrinath. "He sent me away after the completion of the journey, and said that I should return home and look after my household and shop. Referring to the plight of my children who had faced starvation, and the Kashmiri mother who fed them, he said, 'If you wanted to be a sadhu, then why did you get married? Could you not think about it before marriage? Moreover, does anyone become a sadhu simply by running away? And how dare you think of becoming a sadhu? You are not bold or courageous. I have seen thousands of runaways from home—those who run away and leave their household duties. After getting a hard lesson, they returned home, shaving their head, closing their mouths, and begging for mercy, Forgive me, forgive me. I have committed a big blunder! You coward, you think you will become a sadhu by running away from home and leaving all your duties and responsibilities behind. Give up all these ideas and return home and look after your responsibilities. What I am saying is good for you. You should obey me.'" While recalling this, Shukla said, "Dada, I did not hear him carefully or take his words seriously at that time. We all treated it as one of his favorite systems of entertaining everyone around him by making fun of someone. Tularam told me that because of me we could get this entertainment. But now we can see what it really meant for us and how he was always thinking of us and our children. "He would test everyone, knowing what was in everyone's mind, however much we might try to hide it from him, and then he would decide what to do for us. After seeing that I could not be a success in business or in any venture for the householder's life, he permitted me to continue my own pattern of life, relieving me from my duty to the household. He knew I was timid, vacillating, and unworthy of making any serious effort for success in life. He also knew that even if he gave me everything for a happy household life, I would not really be happy there. From my early life I did not have attraction for the household life. My parents knew it. The cloth shop was closed only because they knew that I would not be able to run it. And my grandfather took all the care to teach me all the prayers, pujas and rites to make my life happy. Babaji knew everything, and then arranged my life accordingly. He thought of us all the time, and has helped us in every possible way by providing what was really beneficial for us. We can never think of accusing him of neglecting us. Whenever I think of what he has done for my children I cannot check my tears or relish my food. Since the day that he saved me from drowning myself in the river, it has been the same story. Even now he saves us from our calamities of life." There were many devotees who suffered at the sudden departure of Baba from before our eyes, but then they calmed down and only occasionally remembered him or felt his absence. These people had busy lives and were able to forget everything else. They were not disturbed by missing the life with Babaji. It was, at most, an important phase of their lives, but not the whole of it, so they did not feel that all was lost when he was not before them. But it was different with Shukla. He could not settle into this new turn in his life. He had never been interested in any business, nor did he take an interest in looking after the children when they were already grown up and settled. The pilgrimages were over long back, and the puja and rites could not engage the whole of his time and attention. So the vacuum was there. Shukla had no trouble with his food nor about his clothes and other necessities of life. He had no desire to acquire and accumulate more and better things. When one of us remarked about these habits of his, he said that he was not taught to display his prosperity by getting costly food, or projecting his personality by being fashionably dressed. He could not be drawn into arguments about his choice or lack of interest in these things, which the vast majority of people consider to be the highest blessings of life. Sometimes we used to say that Shukla was a rare exhibit in Babaji's collection of specimens. Shukla was a rare specimen of contentment who remained satisfied with whatever came to him without unnecessary wastage of time and money. His santosh (contentment) was not resignation, due to being satisfied with having what was needed and not wanting anything more. Babaji would sometimes wax eloquent while talking about contentment in life: "The real contentment comes only when there is no desire, no hankering in your mind for anything. How can you say that you have got everything and do not want anything more when you are holding an empty vessel in your hand? You might be saying this with your mouth, but there would always be the worry in your mind about how the pot could be filled, always looking from side to side with the expectation that somebody will come and fill it up. Well, how can you call this contentment? When one sees that when the pot before him is full to the brim, it is emptied, and when it is empty, it is refilled of its own—that is contentment. If anyone wanted to give him anything, he would show that the pot was full already. What would he do with anything more? Even if he wanted to share it with others, where would he put it? This is the real contentment and it comes only through the grace of God. When you have full faith in Him, full reliance on Him, when you can surrender everything to Him, then that grace comes to you by itself—you do not have to ask for it or make any effort. Such is the value of faith in God." By his very nature, Shukla was unostentatious and unobtrusive. You could see this when he was sitting with Babaji and Babaji asked him certain things. He would often have some point to emphasize, but you would not get it by the rise of his voice or repetition, but only through the tremor in his voice. This sometimes created difficult problems for him and his audience, when Babaji made him talk of something deeply touching him. Babaji would never ask him to tell stories heard secondhand from others, but only from his own experience. Although Shukla was known to all who came to visit Babaji at Kainchi, Vrindavan and many other places, he was not popular with many. Those who have some glamour around them and can talk glibly became popular in these gatherings, and Shukla failed there. But he was very popular and was treated like a member of the family by the old devotees of Baba who had known him. In Allahabad, Ma and Maushi Ma would always make some time to sit alone with him. Didi would often emphasize his very helpful and affectionate nature. Like Hubbaji, he would come forward to help Didi in her kitchen while preparing prasad at Kainchi or Allahabad. During our last meeting at Allahabad, Shukla spent several days with us, but he was very restless. The peace and serenity that were his hallmark were not there. Not only was Babaji not in his body, but there was nothing that Shukla felt that Babaji had left for him. He visited Kainchi, Vrindavan and Allahabad only rarely because he no longer found the things he used to get there. Even though Babaji was no longer in the body, he thought that he must have been kept alive in the hearts of his old devotees. He felt as though he had been struck with frost

and cold, and rushed there to warm himself up in the fire of the love. He was mistaken. For him the glow and the warmth were gone with Babaji's passing away. He said that he had learned a very hard lesson. All the fire was kindled by Babaji, tended by Babaji, and Babaji had taken it away when he left those places. He said, "So long as Babaji was there, everything was there for me. There was nothing missing and nothing to ask for. Actually, that had become my habit—to look at him only and remain satisfied with what came to me from him. I did not attempt to do this nor made any effort. It came by itself, and I do not know how and why it came. I was actually accustomed to that, and it was the same whatever place I visited with him. But it is so different now. But no matter which place I might visit in his name, the sense of loss is so severe and the wrenching in the heart is so acute that I cannot reconcile myself anymore to this restlessness." I tried to console him, mostly by sitting and talking about Babaji. Both of us were totally free and could sit for any length of time. We talked of the old things over and over again, and all of those years would reappear, giving a new taste through their maturity. We often said that there was no more interruption in our sitting, no Babaji shouting for us or stepping on our bed unexpectedly. While talking with him one day, I suggested that he was worrying himself by trying to hear things from others, and that he should live on what he himself had accumulated with Babaji. It was enough to occupy him for the rest of his lifetime. He said he knew that, but that he could not get the benefit from his experiences by himself. He had so many records of life-giving musings, but he could not play them. "I have the records but not the needles, and I do not know how to use them." So while we were here together, I played the records for him. Our last satsang continued for a long time, but after he left we did not hear from him. Time passed, and then one day we learned that Shukla was not there anymore.

Shukla was a great favorite with everyone of the satsang. His rich experiences, earned through the special care and indulgence of Babaji, were enjoyed by everyone. I have said that we were interested in dishing out Babaji's teachings for the benefit of others without practicing any of them in our own lives, but Shukla is a memorable exception, who practiced the teachings with utmost care and honesty. In his outward life he was a householder, an affectionate father and benevolent relation, but he was not a success in the business of life, working and earning, grabbing and amassing whatever came his way. He was an utter failure there, and Babaji had to take great care that Shukla's household worked in his absence. In his heart of hearts, Shukla was a mendicant and not a householder. He was something of the tramp, as was Jivan, so that they could be good companions with the 'Great Tramp' in their journeys. Shukla is an unforgettable memory of love and affection, faith and dedication, and complete surrender to the master, not found in anyone else. We learned so much from him, and even now enjoy what we learned in his absence. I have said that I was a newcomer, a non-believer with divided interest. My interest was in other things of life, and as if to be tolerant, I went along with the new situation. But because of the efforts of such persons as Tularam, Jivan and Shukla I came to be a convert, a new recruit to their ranks, as Tularam used to say. Tularam would not like to miss being with Babaji at all after he had been drawn to him. He used to say, "Udhav, the joy that you get from him could not come from anywhere else. It is not fiction that I am talking. I have tasted all the joys of social and family life—the joys that the householder aspires for. If I had not been drawn to him in the end of my life, I would have concluded that there was no greater joy than the householder's life of 'eat, drink and be merry.' I believed that these were the only means open to you to enjoy your life, and that you must take to it fully and work vigorously to fulfill your aims, setting aside any unnecessary qualms of conscience of what is right or noble. What could be wrong with sticking to that only? This is how I used to think of my way of living. "Babaji had been coming to the Nainital area for long, and all my friends and relations were well known to him. Siddhi was a great devotee and close to him from her early days. She had pleaded with me innumerable times to meet him, see him and then form my opinion about him, but all this was of no use to me. I resisted all of her efforts and often rebuked her. But when it finally came, there was no more resistance forthcoming from me and my surrender was complete. I then came to enjoy my life more and value it more, but in the new pattern set by him. I would not like to stay away from him even for a day, as if I could make up for the losses I suffered over the years through my indifference and resistance. "I had been a hard-headed realist who tasted life in both its bright and dark aspects. There was no sorcery or occult power that took me toward him. I was on the wrong path and I was helped to turn from it and put on the right one. This was out of his compassion not out of any expectation of gain from me, so how could it be wrong? Moreover, I was not taken by anyone else's words. My judgment came after the full experience of my new way of life and the joy of it. There was no joy in my householder's life as compared to the one I am enjoying now. I have experienced both fully now." He would speak in this vein all the time we would be together. My actual initiation came from Tularam, and it was the seed-state of the impressive plant which grew into the satsang in the later days. He came in the very first batch to the new home in 1959, and prepared the ground for the regular congregation of devotees under Babaji's shelter. After 1959, others started coming and the satsang came to be a precious institution for our enjoyment and enlightenment. It came to actually be the clearing house for putting forward our ideas and experiences and getting them properly tested and verified for the benefit of us all. Tularam was actually the one who started it and he participated in it until the last days of his life. There were also others in the satsang of the old group who made their contributions too, but I learned most from the 'tavern life' satsang— sitting on the same ground and opening our hearts and mouths to each other. This is how they passed on to me their most precious and cherished assets, their experiences of life with Babaji.

We came to value this as Babaji's greatest gift to us—our solace in times of distress, our joy during the peaceful and healthy times. I cannot say what the value was as teachings. That value could only be known and appreciated if we had applied it in our own lives and practiced it. But far from it, we used the experiences to tell others, and earn praise for ourselves as great devotees. Shukla is a memorable exception, who practiced the teachings with utmost care and honesty. So many persons came to Babaji with their different aims and purposes, and he helped everyone as they expected. Most of them came as visitors, and they were finished with him when their purpose was accomplished. Babaji used to say that they came for their own purpose and not for him. But there were many who developed an abiding interest in him, and would return to him as often as they could manage. They learned many valuable lessons, and their experiences and anecdotes have been valuable as Babaji's teaching. There was something very different in the experiences of the old devotees of whom we have been talking. The interest of the other ones was mostly in his teachings and not in his personal traits. For the old devotees, it was Babaji's person that was their greater interest. Their experiences were very human, alive and full, and not mere dry teachings. All through their association with him, their entire attention was focused on the full-fledged saint, without an interest or curiosity about the other stages of his life. Without knowing it, we were actually following the precious teaching given by the great saint, Swami Gyanananda Giri: "You can measure the height of the tree, but not of the roots beneath." We were only interested in the height of the tree, under whose shelter we used to gather, without any idea of its roots or how deep down they reached. Our satsang talks would always be centered around Babaji but were not confined to him only. There were many saints who were the same as Babaji in their love and compassion, rescuing the fallen, standing by the deserted, and bringing cheer and joy to the distressed. The string in the garland passes through various kinds of flowers and links them together in one strand like the current of the stream and compassion which passes through the hearts of the saints. The devotees who sat together in our satsang had been with Babaji in different times and places and met different saints. The flowers were collected from various gardens, but by passing a string through them we could make a beautiful garland of our own. This is why we sought the benefit of each other's company. The satsang was very precious to us, and Babaji encouraged us in every possible way to benefit from it by bringing us together, giving us full opportunity to hear the reports and stories, and making corrections or changes that might be needed. Actually these narrations came to be his gospel. For us they have that place of honor in our lives.

Babaji

Glossary achcha - good ahetu ki kripa - the unmerited love of God for man amrit - nectar of God ananda - bliss annas - cents ardha kumba mela - Kumbha melas are held every 12 years. The ardha, or half-Kumbha, is 6 years after the Kumbha mela. arti - offering of lights in worship ashrams - place of spiritual community avatar - incarnation of God baba - a holy man badmash - wicked Badrivishal - the presiding deity of Badri baharupiya - someone who can disguise himself in many ways, or take any form betel - a nut that is chewed with spices bhai - brother Bhagwan - God bhajan - holy songs of remembrance of God bhakta - devotee bhakti - devotion bhandara - a feast given in honor of a saint or God Brahmakapal - a pilgrimage site where Brahma's skull rests chalo - let's go channa - chickpeas chapati - Indian flat bread dahi - yogurt dal - lentils dandi - palanquin darshan - audience or meeting with a saint darshanarthis - those who do pilgrimage to have the darshan of God at various temples or holy shrines Devbhumi - land of the gods dharmsala - Hostel for pilgrims dhoti - long cloth worn as man's garment dhuni - sacred fire diksha - initiation ekadasi - day of fasting fakir - Muslim holy man Gayatri Maha Yagna - large fire ceremony to worship the Goddess Gayatri ghee - clarified butter gram - chickpea flour gur - brown sugar

halwa - porridge-like sweet harijans - untouchables, the lowest class of the caste system hatha yoga - system of physical postures havan - sacred fire havankund - place where fire ceremonies are performed Hazur - lord Ishtadev - chosen deity of worship jalebi - a deep-fried sweet janeu - sacred thread worn by Brahmins jao - go away japa - repetition of the names of God jhuta - something that has been polluted or contaminated kabob/kalia - meat delicacies kamandal - water bowl or begging bowl of a sadhu kharabhar - bad for one khir - rice pudding Khuda - God kirtan - chanting the name of God kripa - Grace kurta - Shirt kya? - What? laddoos - a sweet made from chick pea flour langoti - loincloth lila - play, as in Divine play lota - metal pot for carrying liquid mahatmas - great-souled ones malpua - a deep-fried sweet dumpling manan - to think and reflect mantra - sacred syllable or names of God for repetition mithai - sweets, candy moksha - liberation murti - image of God, in stone, marble, clay, etc. namaskar - greeting nasha - intoxication neem - a tree with medicinal properties nidhidhyanan - to make something a part of your own nature nishkam karma - desireless, selfless action pahari - someone or something from the mountains paigambar - prophet pandit - learned scholar param - supreme paribhramana - itinerant wandering monk parikrama - circumambulate pera - sweet made from milk pir - saint pranam - bow in front of pranayam - breathing exercise puja - ritual worship pujari - one who leads the worship pukka - ripe, ready, matured puris - deep fried puffy breads Ram - a name of God Ramdhun - Tune composed praising Shri Ram Ram Nam - the name of Ram, or God rasgullas - Bengali sweet Rashravan - hearing the scriptures or the holy men rishis - The highest of Sages or Seers roti - bread sabji - vegetable Sab thik ho jaega - Maharajji's favorite saying, "Everything will be all right" sadachar - good conduct sadhak - the worshipper or spiritual practitioner sadhan - means of worship sadhana - spiritual endeavor sadhu - holy man sadhya - object or goal of worship samadhi - The mind becomes immersed in God; also used to denote leaving the body samsara - physical world, world of illusion samskaras - past karma and conditioned tendencies sannyas - renunciation sannyasins - renunciates santosh - contentment satsang - gathering of devotees

seva - service shakti - power shanti - peace sharanagata - bestowing of refuge sharanagath - one who has taken refuge shilpakar - outcast Shiva-ling - stone representation of the male principal of creation, or the unity of the soul shraddhaa - faith shraddha - ritual of offering to the ancestors shravan - hearing the scriptures of the holy men Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram - the great mantra of Ram siddhis - powers siddhas - perfect masters, often with miraculous powers soma - nectar of the gods tapas - austerities thik hai - okay or correct tiffin - metal food container tonga - horse carriage totaka - poetic meter tripta - satisfied tulsi - sacred leaf Vaikuntha - abode of Lord Vishnu, heaven vairagya - falling away of worldly attachment vanaprastha - the third stage of life when a householder retires to the forest vasanas - desire for an object, or for personal enjoyment yogiraj - A title meaning 'King of Yogis' The Near and the Dear Dada Mukerjee