Daughter of Fire Read online

  I pricked up my ears. This was the sign I was waiting for…. I was sure. I knew the meaning of that, I thought, with gladness and relief.

  It means that he belongs to the Hierarchy, the Great Brotherhood who helps the evolution of mankind. Tried to reflect upon it, but they began to talk about the states of Dhyana, and L. kept teasing me, making comments about my fear of it.

  We went for a moment into the Deva Singh Park opposite his house, where a stage was erected for the Ram Lilas Play (a festival in honor of Ram). He had a short talk with one of the young men, then we all sat in the garden in front of the house. A few people came, mostly men from the neighborhood. I asked L. what time it was—it was getting late. It was eight, and L. got up.

  “I am leaving you,” she said with a smile.

  “Can you leave me?” His voice had a hidden laughter in it.

  “It is time to go for our supper,” L. answered.

  “No,” he shook his head; “I mean… can you, could you leave me?”

  “No, never!” She said with emphasis.

  He turned to me: “And you, could you leave me?”

  “Oh, yes, I can!” I realized my reaction came too quickly.

  Suspiciously so.

  “TRY,” he said it very quietly, looking me straight in the eyes, and I nearly said to him: “Switch off the Light!” as I sometimes said laughingly, because when he has this strange, unearthly light in his eyes, I cannot look at him; it seems too much; it is like a physical pain….

  We left. I felt disturbed and asked L. what would she make of this last remark of his.

  “I am not quite sure; but did you not say yesterday that your greatest trouble seems to be that you know that you won’t be able to go away? I think his remark alluded to that.”

  She could be right. I too am inclined to think that it was exactly what he meant.

  “I did not tell him anything about our conversation,” she continued. “I never tell anything.” I said that I believed her.

  So, it means that he KNEW. He knows that I cannot go away anymore. This morning I did not go to his place because I wanted to make entries into my diary and was also waiting for Pushpa’s gardener who did not come. The pots for the seedlings must be prepared. L. went there alone.

  When she came back, she was telling me that he said to her that I did not want Dhyana, so I am not going to have it. “I was annoyed,” she said. “What’s the use of going there? Just for conversation?”

  Listened to her and wondered… did I want Dhyana? Somehow I recoiled from the idea of becoming unconscious; this is perfectly true. Was it because I did not trust him completely? Was this the reason for being uneasy about it? Did he speak to L. like this because he intends to put me on the other road, The Path of Tyaga, complete renunciation?

  Not once, but several times, I told him that I want to become like him, to have Samadhi in full consciousness, which is, of course, the highest Yogic state. Make the highest Ideal your Goal and then try to reach it, I remember, I said. He answered gravely: “In order to become completely conscious on all the levels of being, we have to go through a period of unconsciousness. How will we transcend the physical plane otherwise? Complete abstraction of the senses, complete elimination of the thinking process, represents a temporary loss of consciousness.”

  So, I think that I will come to KNOW Dhyana, but my Path will be a different one. But I said nothing to L. about it.

  1st November

  WHEN L. AND I REACHED his place this morning, he was already in the garden. L. began to walk with him up and down. They were immersed in a deep discussion, I think on the subject of Kundalini (an aspect of Cosmic Energy, which according to Yogic tradition resides at the base of the spine )—the book she intended to publish. I was sitting inside the room on the tachat, in the usual corner, near the door leading into the garden. He came in after a while. L. was in the inner courtyard. I heard her laughing with the children.

  Asked him about the meaning of the last word he said when we were leaving last evening. Told him that a few days ago, in the morning, still between wake and sleep, I realized with a certain shock that I will not be able to go away. Could he have meant the same thing? He laughed gaily and said that it was precisely what he had meant.

  “It is your Higher Self who is preventing you from leaving, who told you to stay.”

  He took some writing paper from the recess and began to write letters. I sat still for a while. L. came in. A conversation began in the course of which L. was saying that the disciples of Socrates bitterly complained that they were at a disadvantage: that it is not fair to them that in his presence their mind does not work and they cannot discuss properly, as it is expected from them. Just like me, I thought.

  Well, that settles it… I stay. Felt a kind of relief; a decision had been taken.

  “Some force has been used on you, something had to be forced, and it will go on, not only now, but for years, for always, while this physical body lasts.”

  I asked how was it that I did not notice it, and when was it?

  “It was one day when we were left alone for a while, quite at the beginning.” His eyes seemed to pierce through me.

  “And why should you feel or notice it?” L. asked. “What does the mind know beyond its range of cognition?”

  “This force which has been used on you,” he continued, “will make you doubt, will cause disturbances of many kinds, but it was necessary.”

  I sat there wondering… and the heart kept hammering wildly in its cage of ribs.

  Perhaps the Road will be free now? The Road to Freedom will open?

  IN THE EVENING L. was asking questions on how the Guru gives to the disciple, according to the Sufi System; and is it the same in all the Yoga schools? Apparently, yes. It is done through Prana (life force; etheric energy) and mainly through the Heart Chakra. In all great schools it is the same.

  Early in the afternoon, after lunch, seated in the veranda, I was reading La Vie de Mme. Gayon, a French mystic, a book which I borrowed from L. Shortly before we had to go to Bhai Sahib, Jagan Nathji came. He sat down and began to speak about Bhai Sahib and my doubts which I had mentioned to him a week ago. I asked again what is on the “other” side of Dhyana, and he confirmed that it is NOT sleep. Only at the beginning it may be so, or it may seem so, but not later. He spoke with great admiration of Bhai Sahib; clearly he tried to do his best to help me.

  I suspected that he dropped in this afternoon for this very purpose. I was moved. He was such a kind person!

  In the fading evening light in his room L. sat in deep Dhyana. I was watching for more than one hour; she did not stir. He was lying on the tachat and his disciple Panditji, a village Brahmin (he was one of the three who came to meet me when I first arrived; the other, the tallest, was Munshiji—it was he who gave me the impression of a prophet from a Nativity play), was massaging his feet. A few days ago he told me that Panditji has been with him for the last two years, serving him, and only now he got the Initiation according to the Sufi Tradition.

  “He is in a good state,” he added. One could easily see that. He had the eyes of bliss. Now, slowly, methodically, he was massaging Guru’s feet for over one hour. By now the room was in near darkness. The light of the street lamp partly shaded by the trees in the garden, dimly illumined the room through the open door. Sat there full of deep peace. It was such an Oriental scene: the Shishya massaging Guru’s feet. L. in deep Dhyana, kitchen noises and voices coming from the inner courtyard. Someone with a lovely tenor voice passed in the street…. Life was good….

  2nd November

  WAS ALONE with him this morning. L. had to stay at home to correct the proofs of her latest book which arrived from France. Sitting on the tachat he was—I opposite him on a chair—with half-closed eyes fingering his mala. He fired question after question at me concerning my life and myself. Ideas kept rushing clearly and sharply into my mind, could not help being flattered that he seemed to show interest in me. Then L. came. D
iscussion turned to her book and the states of Kundalini.

  “It is of no importance if you believe in the existence of Kundalini or not: Kundalini IS. Kundalini is not sex impulse alone; but sex-power forms part of Kundalini. As a rule, this Energy at the base of the spine is more or less dormant. By our System it is awakened gently; it will not give you much trouble.”

  “Not much,” he added thoughtfully, looking at me. “With L. it was different. Her Kundalini was awakened by Hatha Yoga practices. That’s why she has much trouble. I do what I can to help her, but,” he shrugged, “it is in the Hands of God.”

  “When awakened by Hatha Yoga, it becomes a great problem. It is a difficult way. One has to know how to take it up and take it down again through all the Chakras, and it is troublesome. But with us, we begin to notice it only when it reaches the heart Chakra; it means peace, bliss, states of expanded consciousness. We awaken the King, the Heart Chakra, and leave it to the King to activate all the other Chakras.”

  In the evening L. came for a little while and left soon. I remained seated in my corner of the tachat. He was in the big chair. Slowly, one by one, the beads of his mala slid through his fingers. Even outside all was still. The garden seemed to sleep, hardly any sound of the traffic; the street was silent. He stood up and went out of the room for a short while, returned, and this time came to sit on the tachat and went into a deep state of Samadhi. I noticed that he was in a different posture than usual, not crosslegged, but seated on his heels, and was facing me who was in the corner near the door. As a rule from this place I can see only his profile when he speaks to people seated on the chairs opposite his tachat.

  He stared at me with unseeing eyes, a strange smile playing on his lips. My heart made one big leap to the throat in sudden fear…. I never saw him like that before. His face seemed to be composed of sheer energy, difficult to describe. Devic perhaps? Certainly a human face can never have this expression…. The feeling of dynamism, of tremendous power, increased more and more. I just sat there, the mind was not working much. Thoughts came and went in a kind of slow motion, all sorts of insignificant thoughts. The idea occurred to me that perhaps he may be doing something to my higher vehicles, but as I did not feel anything, so, I thought, perhaps I am mistaken.

  Time was passing, maybe one hour or even more—my head was swimming. Began to think that I could go home and write some letters. He seemed in a very deep state; will slip out without disturbing him. A calendar hung on the opposite wall. Could not remember which day was today. On the 2nd of October, I came here, seven years after I had learned about Theosophy for the first time.

  Exactly seven years… strange….

  An ant was crossing the floor, it was black, very large, about one inch long. Many insects grow to an outsize here in India. Was watching it for a while till it disappeared under a chair.

  “What thoughts are in your mind?” His voice startled me.

  “Nothing in particular, just a few silly thoughts.”

  “Go home and lie down,” he ordered. “Speak to nobody, try to rest; give your mind a rest.”

  Did not feel that my mind needed a rest, but got up ready to go.

  “For how long shall I rest?”

  “Oh, half an hour or so, or even more if you can.” His voice was full of indifference, quite casual. I understood that something very special had happened, but what? There was no way of finding out.

  Mind was peaceful, very few thoughts of a fuzzy, indistinct kind.

  Body was peaceful too….

  In our room L. was working on her proofs, all the lights were on.

  She looked up in surprise for she did not expect me home so soon. I told her that he had sent me home with the order to lie down.

  “Oho,” she said and continued to work. I expected some kind of comment, but she ignored me.

  After supper went to our room immediately and was trying to sleep. Soon realized that I was keyed-up… it was like a humming, a constant vibration in the whole of the body, like a nervous tension without actually being nervous. Told L. that I won’t sleep tonight.

  And I didn’t. The whole night I turned restlessly about. But there was no tiredness, strangely enough. Felt elated, excited, but otherwise fine. Not sleepy at all, full of energy in the morning.

  3rd November

  WHEN DRESSING and having my bath I was turning over in my mind what to say, for I decided to have an earnest talk with him.

  Gave cowdung to all the chrysanthemums. Watered them. Did all sorts of jobs. And felt on top of the world.

  6 One of the Hierarchy

  “AND HOW DO YOU FEEL THIS MORNING?” he asked as soon as I sat down.

  “May I ask something?”

  “You may ask,” he smiled.

  “What happened last night?”

  “What do you mean by that?” he smiled faintly.

  “You must know what I mean.”

  “Oh, you mean what had happened on the inner planes? I was out of my body and know nothing.”

  Told him that I did not sleep. He said that he also did not sleep, and added that he usually sleeps only for twenty minutes, not more than half an hour. I knew from L. that the rest of the night he is in deep Samadhi. Told him how fine I felt this morning and explained the meaning of the English expression: “keyed-up,” like strings of a musical instrument which were given a few turnings of the keys to be able to respond to a higher pitch of a sound or note. He nodded. “It is like that,” he said simply. I suspected that something unusual had happened, but as I did not feel anything at the time, so I thought I was mistaken.

  “Very wonderful things did happen yesterday and this morning.”

  He said it slowly, looking out of the window. “But the physical vehicles cannot have any cognition of it.”

  In the afternoon I was alone with him. L. was still busy with her proofs. He was seated crosslegged on the tachat writing letters.

  When I came in, he gave me one of his faint smiles and continued to write. I waited for an opening, and when he sealed up two envelopes and looked up, I offered to post them on my way home. He nodded.

  “They must go today, someone is in need of help.”

  Then I told him what a relief it was for me to know that he belongs to the Great White Hierarchy: his sentence when we were returning from the Ganga, “We who are appointed to the Service of mankind,” gave me the clue.

  “Hierarchy?” He lifted his eyebrows.

  Clearly, he did not know what I meant. Though his English was very good, slightly biblical, perhaps because he had hardly any opportunity to practice it, he did not know every English expression.

  Besides, it was a Greek word, at any rate. I explained what I knew from books about the Great Brotherhood and its function in the world to help with the evolution of mankind. He sat motionless, looking at me. His face was expressionless. I took a deep breath; how my heart was pounding—one cannot think clearly when this happens! I could see that he was listening with the utmost attention.

  “And who are they?” He glanced at me sideways with a stern expression. A swift feeling of terror came and went… but the abruptness of the question made me laugh.

  “Why are you laughing?” He looked hard at me.

  I leaned forward: “Because I do not need to answer this one! Here is one of its members right in front of me!”

  He smiled. Then quite unexpectedly, he threw his head back and laughed his boyish laughter. How young he can look, I thought, how amazingly young and gay.

  “Yes,” he said still smiling, “but we usually do not mention these things, it is not done.” (Later, each time I happened to mention to his disciples the subject of the Hierarchy, they changed the subject.) He poised carefully and deliberately the point of the pen on the sheet of paper before him and continued to write. Great stillness was in the room: only the scraping of the pen, the swoosh of the ceiling fan, and the wild pounding of my heart.

  At last he finished, put the writing material into the recess
and reclined, stretching himself comfortably on his back and crossing his hands on the pillow supporting his head.

  “Hmm.”

  I knew I could speak. Told him that I was doubting so much who he was, and if I can, if I should, trust him. Now I know that I can, and I am glad. I brought a book with me, “The Mahatma Letters”

  (Mahatma Letters to Mr. Sinnet, London: Fisher Un win, 1924) and wanted to show it to him. Explained that it contained letters of the two great Beings who inspired Mme. Blavatsky, the founder of the Theosophical Society. They were in their physical bodies eighty years ago. Mme. Blavatsky was trained by one of them, Master M., in Tibet for twelve years.

  One day, after a lecture on the subject of those letters, myself and two friends decided to see the originals which are preserved in the British Museum. On the 2nd of November, 1956, we went to see them. Seated there in the hush of the reading room, reading the yellow pages of the original letters, I suddenly had a vision of high mountains covered with snow, deep valleys and great solitude. I KNEW that once, long ago, I worked for those Masters, and I pledged myself to work for them again. And placing the two forefingers of my right hand on Master K.H.‘s signature—as one does when swearing an oath—I offered myself for ever, for always, and though I knew that one is not allowed to make any conditions, I said to him that because I pledge myself completely, without any reserve of any kind, I feel that I have the right to ask for one thing: DON’T LET ME FORGET IT EVER ANYMORE! For in this life I forgot, and lead a useless, empty life of the world, wasting my time!

  “And now, Bhai Sahib, I will never be able to forget it, for I met you. Deep down I feel that there is no other way for me at all to go, as it is said in the Upanishad. I trust you now. I will not resist anymore—will try not to resist you consciously, at any rate.