Daughter of Fire Page 11

  ‘Even after thou hast attained, continue to fear, oh Madan!’”

  -from the Spirit of Sufi Culture, Akbat Ashram, Tract No.12, September 31, by A.H. Jaisinghani

  Therefore, never tell me again, that it is an effortless Path. Never.

  But give me sorrow, pain and longing.

  Let me become like yourself. And do not tell me as you did once: “Why like me? Why not higher? There is no limit, you know!”

  “Well, I think this never will be possible, Bhai Sahib. Because if one day, by your Grace, I will be where you are now—you, yourself, will be much, so much further ahead. Sufis do not believe in standing still. You said it yourself. Says the great Ibn’ Arabi:

  “No recoiling movement or devolution can in any sense be applied to the Will. It knows no standstill, no stepping back. This process is eternal, and as we are part of His Creation, part of His Will, it is easy to see that as individuals we cannot ever realize Him completely.”

  So how can I be more, or even like you? You will always be ahead of me. But I will be always grateful if you will grant me inspiration from your Light, if you stretch out your hand to help me to go on to complete the journey the human Soul can undertake “The night journey across the sea to get the pearl of Great Price,” to quote Carl Jung.

  19th December

  IT IS WINDY TODAY. All night the sea roared. Yesterday the river was like a mirror; clouds stood motionless in the sky. As soon as I am alone, the feeling of unreality becomes so strong. I wonder why, as if everything around me were only a dream—a crazy, empty dream.

  Cannot explain the reason for it… there is of course this longing….

  Walking alone in the moonlight last night, thinking about Adyar and how different my reaction to it is now since I last saw it, a thought did strike me: what would happen, if, for one reason or another, I couldn’t go back and had to stay here for ever? My heart was seized with terror and bleak despair, so much so that I was astonished at myself. As bad as that, is it? I thought. It became so clear to me that I could not go back to my previous life anymore.

  There is nothing to go back to. Emptiness, a no-man’s land. The only thing that matters now is you, and my future tied up with you—it seems to me forever now. Perhaps it always was. Blind and deluded, I did not know it.

  12 Flight Into The Unknown

  THERE IS A QUALITY IN ME growing slowly, which I try to pin down without success. It is more noticeable and acute when I am alone, wandering about in the grounds, FEELING things around me, and trying to analyze this feeling. There are, for instance, those water lilies, here in the Garden of Remembrance, a lovely place near the river from where one can see a bit of the sea and the shore.

  In a few small ponds around the six-pointed star they grow, the lotuses, beautiful, huge, pink or white with yellow centers. Beds of colorful zinnias, flowering shrubs and trees around, insects, grass everything NEAR me, has an immediate rapport with me, is part of me, intimately, absolutely, quite naturally in a mysterious way. It is a sense of complete being, with no effort. They are near and dear to me, but in a detached way, if one could put it so, and there is hardly a thought in my mind, very little of it, just feeling. It seems to be an automatic process—it just happens, I don’t produce it deliberately.

  All things further away are non-existent. Things like trees are more in the distance, the sky, the river, the sea. To become aware of them I have to make a kind of effort, to shift my consciousness when looking at them and concentrating on them. This takes a slight effort.

  But as soon as I do it, they form part of me too, are included in this feeling of “belonging” to each other and me. And so I wander about, wondering, looking at a world which is changing, and knowing, of course, that nothing has changed, only me. Adyar is just as it always was. It is I who am discovering a new quality, new values; they surge up, are uncovered from the depths somewhere in me, but they were always there; they must have been….

  Strange destiny that I didn’t meet you before, Bhai Sahib… lived for so many years an empty, useless life. For it is you, and you alone, who can help me now to learn how to love a King. The Great King of our hearts.

  That’s why I would die of heartbreak if I couldn’t go back to you, Bhai Sahib, to your drab surroundings, to the smoky town, the noisy street, the dusty garden, for in some inexplicable way, you and the King in my heart merge in one endless longing.

  The voice of the wind in the casuarina trees. The voice of the birds.

  Dancing shadows on the glittering water of the pool covered with round, waxy leaves of lotuses. Sitting on the water like stars. Pink ones. White ones. And the exquisite pale yellow ones, the petals half-transparent.

  The wind from the sea smelling of oxygen and salt. Free are you, wind, but I am not free any more, bound by the chains of Longing for ever. Never will I be free again. The yearning inside me, deep, dark, restless. How full of pain is your “effortless Path,” Bhai Sahib!

  “The world is full of beautiful things until an old man with a beard came into my life and set my heart aflame with longing and made it pregnant with Love. How can I look at the loveliness around me, how can I see it, if it hides the Face of my Lover?” This you sang on the eve of my departure and were laughing while translating it to us.

  Long breakers, rhythmical, unceasing sound of the surf….

  21st December, 1961

  THE BAY OF BENGAL is to the East. How the wind from the sea smells of salt. The lotuses seem more numerous this morning and lovelier than ever. Fascinating to see how they flower: you see buds deep down in the water, leaves half-folded, standing upright, tense, as if longing, waiting to reach the surface of the water, to come out into the air, to the light. Green, round and crisp they are. Flowers reclining gently, opening just under the surface, the first few petals already above the surface, the chalice itself still submerged, filled with water. Verily, the lotus is the noblest of all flowers! Every other flower, if left in water for a few days, will decay, but not so the lotus.

  Here they stand, stars from heaven, of the glossiest pink the purest white, the palest yellow or deepest blue. All this loveliness rising from the mire of the river bed or the pond, the perfect symbol of the Soul, tense with eagerness to reach the Light.

  Since I opened my eyes this morning, I was lying awake full of still joy, because I had booked my train reservation yesterday, for Friday, 29th December. At the back of my mind there was this joy while I was walking away from the station office, the ticket tucked safely away in my bag. Now it is sure that I am going back to you soon. To the drab Kanpur. The whole Universe full of beautiful things cannot keep me away now, for I have the ticket. I will not stay till the end of the Convention.

  22nd December

  DREAM: Got into a train, then noticed that it was only an engine with a driver who nearly drove it into a wall, but then managed to turn it round without damaging the wall. When arrived, I remembered that I had left my jacket behind—it was a yellow one like a short coat. "I have put it on a tree,” said a little boy, “I’ll get it for you!” I saw my jacket hanging on a branch of a tree, and the boy ran up the branch to get it, but instead of giving it to me—for I was standing nearby on the top floor of a building, the tree was practically touching it—he threw it down and jumped from the tree, flying like a bird. I was astonished how gracefully he swooped down, but most annoyed because I knew that there was a purse full of small change in the pocket which surely will be lost now! When I got the jacket, sure enough, the purse was missing, and I was most upset. Asked where the police station was to report the loss, but was told it is far away, across the fields—I had no time to get there, the train was to depart. Met a man in the meantime who was from the police and, while complaining to him about the loss, woke up.

  23rd December

  YESTERDAY KEPT DOUBTING all the time if you are the “Master of the three worlds,” as L. once told me, quoting from the Scriptures, and if you can take me to the highest Goal. The mind kept mocking
me, telling me that you are not, and that I will be wasting my time.

  Could not sleep because of the mosquitoes and the roar of the sea.

  Finally got up in the middle of the night, fastened the mosquito net more securely, but the blighters kept coming inside because the wind kept moving it. The jungle around was full of unfamiliar noises, and there was all the time the sound of the surf and of the wind in the trees. Missed the sunrise this morning, was even too tired to think.

  Sitting alone amongst the pines, I was sick with yearning. Doubt, my mind, doubt… go on doubting. What’s the use of it…? If he can take me to the supreme Goal or not… if he is the right Teacher or not… it was he who has set my heart on fire. And it longs endlessly. And I have no peace anymore. Counting the days to go back. The powerful pull makes me sick in my heart; even the food tastes dreadful. And always this dream-quality, a kind of giddiness accompanied by a slight pain in the region of the heart which seems to make the surroundings so unreal.

  24th December, Christmas Eve

  I DON’T SLEEP WELL. The roar of the sea is obsessive. I know that from now on the sound of the waves will be synonymous with Longing in my memory. Like the Longing, this sound goes on, an obsession.

  Never ending, on and on, all night, all day.

  Was surprised to find the atmosphere at the E.S. meetings so charged. Had forgotten it rather. Later, walking alone, was thinking of my discovery that in the whole of the Universe there is nothing else but the Lover and the Beloved. This is the Truth; they are the only two, the only reality is this. God and His Creation—and the Creation loves God, and God loves His Creation. Nothing else has a meaning but that alone, and the more I think of it and turn it over in my mind, the more I discover how true it is, and how everything absolutely is this duality which ultimately will be resolved in Unity.

  When this day will come to me, then I will be born again.

  In Norma’s flat on the first floor, gramophone records of a symphony concert were played. I sat under a tree, listening. Just in front of me was a flaming crimson bougainvillea, and a shrub full of large, yellow, bell-like flowers. In between the branches of casuarina pines, one could see a large, white cloud, bulging like a balloon. The sky was of a milky blue, and there was such peace… the rich tone of a full orchestra—Sir Thomas Beecham was conducting the sound of the sea. There was the feeling of being free. Alive. Deep, deep in my heart, a dark premonition of some doom approaching. A somber future, the Great Unknown….

  25th December

  IT IS CHRISTMAS DAY. Sitting in the casuarina grove for hours on the soft sand, reading The Reality of Religion, which Norma lent me. This morning got up tired, in spite of having slept well. Sat on the shore to see the sunrise. It rose from the water amongst the mist and low clouds, and I felt so restless and sad. Nothing pleases me. There is only one desire—to go back soon. Nothing has meaning—“and all the beautiful things in the world…. ” Oh, let’s leave it at that….

  Last night went to Norma about 8 p.m. to hear some music, Beethoven’s fourth piano concerto. We were sitting in the veranda facing the beach and the sea, watching the moon just risen, low on the horizon, yellow and large. The sea was dark. Then Wagner’s introduction to Parsival was played, then the Good Friday music, and the Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde, and Siegfried’s journey on the Rhine from Gotterdammerung. It all seemed so unbelievably lovely. The sea, the moon, the beach, patches of moonlight on the white sand, fresh fragrance of the sea and of flowers, and I was experiencing in myself a curious phenomenon: I WAS LISTENING WITH THE HEART. Yes, it was just so; the music was reaching me through the heart. The mind was still. The heart was wide open to receive the sound, and the sound went into it. The sound was, but the mind was not there… never experienced anything like that! Of course it was a magnificent recording directed by Toscanini, but even so, I could not explain how I could listen with the heart. Of course, I could switch over and listen with the mind too, but then it was as it used to be before—enjoying the music, appreciating it—and this gives much enjoyment too. But if I just listened, through the heart, just listened, and no thinking was involved in it, then the heart sang with the violins, it WAS the trumpet call, it WAS the woodwinds, and I WAS THE MUSIC.

  Nobody like the great Arthuro Toscanini could make the sound of the strings appear so tender, the woodwinds so full of longing, and the brass instruments were a cry from the innermost depth of the heart. Amazed, I watched myself. It was a new experience, quite an outstanding one, and it occurred to me that perhaps this was the true way of experiencing music. No appreciation, no thinking, but BEING it, being the sound itself, the longing and the love of it, following every shade, every nuance, every inflection, every mood. It remains to be seen if it is possible with every kind of music, with less perfect performances, if I, myself, could keep up this state.

  Was emotionally so worn out I thought I would not be able to sleep, so I sat on the beach alone in the moonlight, a cold wind in my face. Thinking and longing, and longing and thinking, and being restless and sad-counting the days to go to my future with hope, premonitions, and fear.

  On the 29th, at 4:45 p.m., left northwards to commence: “The night journey over the sea to get the Pearl of Great Price” (C. Jung).

  On the last evening of my stay in Adyar, Joyce came and we sat under a tree and listened to a concerto of Vivaldi played upstairs in Norma’s flat. The night was very dark, no moon. We spoke of so many things, sitting on the beach afterwards—of the future, and what it may bring, of Adyar, of her and me—and I was happy, because I was leaving.

  The journey was tedious. The train was hours late, so I missed the connection and had to wait ten hours in Jahnsi to catch the Lucknow express at 1 p.m. Arrived at Pushpa’s place at 7 p.m. Nobody was home. Had a bath and hair-wash —Indian trains are so full of smoke.

  On my bed was lying a letter. It was from my sister Mila. As soon as I picked it up, I felt trouble was inside. And a big trouble. Mila had been very ill for the last two years, suffering from progressive paralysis. She will have to sell her house, and she is asking me to help towards father’s lodgings because she will have to take a flat for him and herself. Was sitting on the bed worrying when L. came in and told me that Bhai Sahib was worried all the time about a letter which was to arrive for me. Told L. about the situation and that I will help, of course. My father had been staying with my sister for the last sixteen years. She always bore the burden herself without asking us to contribute. Now it is my duty to help. I am sure my younger sister will also do the same.

  1st January, 1962

  WENT WITH L. in the morning. He smiled and I was glad to see him.

  “Bhai Sahib,” I said, “I came back to be at your orders.”

  “Yes, yes; sit there!” he said, with an impatient movement of his head in the direction where I had to sit. I sat down.

  My new flat could be comfortable, so it seems. Only the toilet is a bit far, and all these children in the courtyard; it remains to be seen how it will work. But it is clean and has quite a good atmosphere. It is nice to be able to cook one’s own meal.

  2nd January

  FELT A BIT DISAPPOINTED yesterday, for he did not speak to me, actually ignored me completely. He went out with his wife and L. for a walk and returned with a rikshaw. I sat alone in the garden; they all went inside. After a while I approached the door of his room asking if I could come inside; it begins to be rather cold in the evenings; the air felt damp. He did not answer.

  He was lying on his tachat, his hands crossed under his head looking at the ceiling. I sat down. Then all his family came in and began a never-ending chatter, children making such a noise; it was very trying. This baraonda (pandemonium) went on and on; the wife began to massage his feet, then the young police officer took over.

  Poor L. was trying very hard to be in Dhyana. I got more and more restless. To make things even worse, the boys put the radio on. A female voice, harsh and vulgar, began to howl a song from a film.
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  Then Bhai Sahib began to sing. It was too much for both of us. I saw L. crying, but she said nothing. The voice of a Saint and of a prostitute competing with each other! I got up, wanting to leave, but he said in general, not really talking to me directly, that Prasad will be distributed, so I understood that I had to stay. Sat down again. But the noise of the radio grew louder and louder, everybody talking their heads off, especially the wife and the police officer; they seemed to be discussing some local event which amused everybody. I got up and left abruptly—could not bear it a moment longer!

  L. told me when she came, I was already in bed, that he was annoyed; I had behaved discourteously, so he said.

  3rd January

  HE IGNORES ME COMPLETELY. When I come in and salute him, there is no response, as if I did not exist. Well… here I am, I was prepared to be accepted as his disciple, hoped to get teaching, and he does not even notice me!

  4th January

  I MUST DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT… must speak to him. He must know that I returned to become his disciple. And he behaves in such an irritating way.

  13 The Challenge

  AND HE IS NOT WELL. Coughing much, and he is weak; one can see it very plainly. I had better tell him my intentions, as I should have done as soon as I returned. Better to tell him exactly what I want; that is: to get some tuition and to be accepted by him. I arrive here with a notebook, prepared to take notes, but he speaks mostly Hindi, so it is not much use.

  About midday, L. left with his grandchild to buy him a toy. He got up at once in order to go inside. Just managed to catch him: “Bhai Sahib, I would like to speak to you!”

  He reluctantly sat down again. It was clear that he was irritated, though he tried to look polite. But I too was annoyed. I simply HAD to speak to him, so I really did not care. We were in the garden, he seated near the wall beside the door of the large room, I was opposite him on a chair. “Bhai Sahib,” I began, “I came back to be at your orders and your command.”