There is word that Baba may soon travel outside of India. They say He will come to Europe and nowhere else. I donít know whether or not to believe it. It seems too good to be true.
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CHAPTER 11
Eye of the Hurricane
Embarking on an unreal dream
Stockholm. April 1979. The Mainz office called today. Babaís trip is definitely on! He will be coming together with an entourage of 10 or so Dadas, Didis and Margis. They say Heíll stay for a month, touring Switzerland, Germany, Sweden, Holland, Spain, France, and Italy. As chief secretary of the Volunteers Service Department Iíll be in charge of Babaís security and many other aspects of the program. Dada Karunananda and I will be the main organizers.
From today my main duty is to get ready for the tour. Somehow the whole thing still feels unreal to me. Like a dream.
...
Lyon, France. May. Baba was scheduled to arrive one week from today but so far He and two other Dadas still do not have their passports.
After all our planning we are still not sure if they will come or not.
This is typical of course. Eleventh hour dramas are His invariable style.
Though my mind leaves everything up to Him, my stomach sings a different tune. It often heaves like a volcano about to erupt.
...
Frankfurt, Germany. Today Dada Karunananda phoned with news that Babaís party has left Calcutta for Bombay and were out of touch;
there was still no official word about their program.
ìSo are they coming to Switzerland or not?î I asked.
ìI guess so, but, but...î ìThereís nothing sure.î ìRight.î
ìWhat about the Central Office?î EYE OF THE HURRICANE
182 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
ìThey also donít know whatís going on. But dare we tell that to the Margis? If maximum Margis are to meet Baba in Geneva they need to start traveling now.î
ìYet another cosmic clash. Thanks, Baba.î
For a few seconds neither of us spoke as we weighed the alternatives.
ìWeíve got to announce that Babaís definitely coming,î I said.
ìRight.î
ìItís the only practical thing to do. If weíre wrong, thatís His problem.î ìYah,î said Karunanandaji, ìand maybe about 1000 Margisí problem too...î
ìAnyway, if we guessed right, nobody will ever know.î
ìAnd if we guessed wrong, Iíll say it was your fault,î he said, laughing.
ìThanks.î Though I didnít know whether or not he was really joking, I also laughed. Why not?
ìI always keep my wordî
Geneva, Switzerland. 6 May. Hundreds of Margi brothers and sisters
swarmed throughout the Geneva airport today, seething with anticipation, their paper-thin patience stretched taut, waiting for a man
who was not only the center of their lives, but who most had never yet
even seen. Some sang devotional songs, some danced, while others gossiped but there was no way to disguise the tension. Three brothers scaled
a wall up to a large window sill, and stared through the window looking onto the runway. Even those sitting in meditation contributed to
the electrifying anxiety.
For the umpteenth time I rehearsed the security.
ìVolunteers, attennnntion!î I yelled.
Sixteen uniformed cadetsóeight brothers and eight sisters in two
perfect linesósnapped their backbones straight and thumped their staffs on the floor. Though some could barely speak English, all clearly understood the martial commands.
None of them, however, understood one thing: perhaps Baba was not coming. I caught Karunanandajiís eye, which flickered as he cast a thin grin in my direction. He could still afford to smile.
If Baba was coming today, the plane now arriving was the only possible flight. I stood toward the back of my volunteers, confident that
183
at least these sixteen would play their role properly if He came. But would He?
ìBaba Nam Kevalam!î screamed one of the Margis hanging on the window viewing the runway. ìHeís here!î
Those sitting in meditation jumped up, as everyone (including the general public) pushed toward the door of the customs and immigration area.
ìYou fool!î yelled another Margi on the window. ìThat isnít Baba.î A painful groan issued from scores of lips.
Waiting ... now only silence from those up on the window ... the door from the customs area opened, and two passengers came out ...
then a few more ... still no Baba ...
An Indian dressed in white and wearing glasses came outóa brief hesitation as many thought, ìIs that Him?î, and thenóîBaba, Baba,
Baba!î all were yelling, all were running, all were excited to the breaking pointóit was Him!
At the top of my voice I shouted, ìVolunteers, attennnntionî! but it was no use. I was wrongóthe cadre did not obey, and instead added to
the melee, wildly rushing toward their guru. And there I was, standing near the back of the hall, while the hundreds of Margis zeroed in on the man I was supposed to protect. What an idiot I was! I tried to push my way forward, but others were equally desperate. Madness, pure madness.
For a split second I could see Baba smiling through the crowd, standing next to several Dadas and Margis who had come with Him from
India. Then the stampede hit. Oh God, what were they doing to Him?
Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I elbowed my way between two Margis, then more, pushing myself forward.
In the front, near Baba, I saw a strange windmill of hands and feet rapidly breaking the air, deterring the Margis. Baba Nam! It was Dada Ramananda, Babaís personal assistant, jumping left and right, forcefully rebuffing the Margis, thrusting them away from Baba.
Then somehow I was there next to Him. I couldnít believe He was still smiling, as calm as the eye of a hurricane. I joined Ramanandaji, driving the Margis away, clearing a path for Baba to walk to a chair, next to Karunanandaji.
He walked slowly, majestically. In any case, He couldnít have walked rapidly, because His legs were still not fully recovered from the years of suffering in the prison. Karunanandaji had a smile like a cherub.
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184 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
Baba sat. At last the sixteen volunteers recovered their senses and took their pre-planned places.
Baba then spoke His first words, ìYou see, I have kept my word.
Two years ago I promised to visit Switzerland at the first opportunity I would get. Now I have come. I always keep my word.î
Several brothers and sisters came forward wearing colorful uniforms specifically for performing yogic dances.
Baba leaned toward Karunanandaji and said, ìThe color of the uniforms is not proper. You must take care. Even if an ant dies a premature death, the entire balance of the Cosmos is affected.î
ìNext time it will be perfect, Baba,î Karunanandaji said.
I smiled. It was Baba in true form.
Paradise and the invisible wall
Fiesch, Switzerland. About 700 Margis are present in this scenic mini-village of chateaus and meeting halls, surrounded by mountains, pine trees, and green grass, graced by a shining sun, and bathed in pure air. It seems idyllic, especially when I think that Baba is also here. The program will last one week, then we travel to other cities.
In the light of this paradisical atmosphere, one aspect of the Margisí behavior certainly appears oddóat least by normal social standards.
Their mad desire to touch Him has continued unabated since the time He arrived in the airport. This tense situation has at least one good
resultóit compels the security team to be on their toes. While accompanying Baba in and out of the hall, the volunteers, both brothers and
sisters, hold their sticks horizontally, creating a sort of mobile protective fence around Him. Baba Himself seems to enjoy this frantic game.
He sometimes pauses in His walk to smile at certain Margis or offer a few encouraging words. In those times the enthusiasm of the Margis grows higher, and the volunteers hold onto each othersí sticks, further reinforcing the fence. In some cases the onslaught is so severe that I also have to join in the defense squad, straining against the shoving
and pulling. Though I am particularly vigilant to see that Babaís movement is undisturbed, I wonder whether our efforts at security are so
necessary. I observe repeatedly whenever we are not swift enough to stop some movement of hands or feet or a rebounding stick in Babaís direction, there is an invisible wall that protects Him, allowing Him to be totally unconcerned with the chaos only inches away from Him.
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Daily dramas
By now Iíve settled into a regular daily schedule: an early morning meeting with the security volunteers, checking meal arrangements for Baba and the Margis, organizing the Personal Contacts of different Margis with Baba, checking the program in the main hall, seeing to the security at the houses of Margis/workers/Baba, etc. The greatest meticulousness is demanded in the security for Babaís twice daily field walks and darshans. My own meditation time is abnormally short, but I donít care because I see Guru directly many hours a day. As for eating, thereís even less time, but the Didis in Babaís kitchen usually save two or three big spoonfuls of prasad50 for me which more than suffices.
Having almost nothing else to eat, I have near-perfect conditions for gauging the phenomenal power of prasad.
Today while driving to the field walk I listened to the following conversation between Baba and Bodhishvar, who is a leading Swiss Margi:
BABA (pointing to a vineyard): Bodhishvar, what kind of grapes are those?
BODHISHVAR: Iím sorry, Baba, I donít know.
BABA: Well, are they red grapes or white grapes?
BODHISHVAR: They are white grapes, Baba.
BABA: Are they good for making wine?
BODHISHVAR (smiling): I donít know, Baba.
BABA (speaking gently): Why donít you know? You should know
everything. Yes, they are excellent for making wine. Their name is (a
Ger-50 Food touched by a spiritually elevated person is called prasad. In the physical contact of any two entities some energy is always exchanged. This is especially so between
human beings because their consciousness is easily altered by environmental circumstances.
The effect is more noticeable when one of the parties is the guru, whose only
purpose it to uplift the minds of others. If the guru touches an object which is afterward touched by his disciples, they derive benefit. Food is the most powerful prasad because the disciple ingests it and metabolizes much of its energy. Prasad can also be created by keeping it for a certain length of time in the middle of a kiirtan/meditation program.
Though prasad is well-known and accepted among yogis, it is only recently that scientific experiments began to verify its effects. These experiments, however, now come
under the category of microvita medicine rather than prasad. Generally microvita research is performed with simple water. Later in this book the idea of microvita is elaborated.
By the way, the opposite of prasad is easily recognized. The reader may also have felt itówhen a cook is angry or depressed, the diners may become uneasy or sick after eating that food.
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186 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
man name I donít remember). They are grown primarily in (about four or five areas with German and French names that I donít remember).
They have a specially sweet taste, as opposed to (about three or four types of other grapes that I also didnít know). Is it not a fact, Bodhishvar?
BODHISHVAR: Well, Iím not an expert like you, Baba.
BABA: No, no. Your Baba knows nothing. (Looking at me also)
You boys are the ones who must know everything. What do you say?
(In reply, we simply smiled as charmingly as we could.)
...
Every day I choose three or four brothers to enjoy the field walk with Baba. The sisters often protest but I am under instructions from Ramanandaji and other Dadas to only permit brothers according to
the Indian system. The sisters have requested that their desire be expressed to Baba many times, but the Dadas refuse, considering such a
change impossible. Itís my opinion Baba prefers that new initiatives come from our side, rather than by His direct suggestion, so He has had to manage this problem in His own unique way...
Today, halfway through the field walk, He was resting in a chair with a few brothers by His feet (the security and myself remained standing).
I thought everyone was entranced by the talk, but then Baba turned to Bodhishvar, saying, ìBodhishvar, you are feeling sad about something.î ìYes, Baba.î
ìWhat is it? Say, say.î ìBaba...î
ìYes, go ahead.î
ìItís my wife, Anchala....î
ìYes, donít hesitate,î Baba said. ìSay whatís on your mind.î
ìWell, Baba ... every day I go with You for field walk, and she cries and cries, Baba, because she also wants to go ... Canít she also come?î Without the slightest hesitation, Baba said, ìWhy not?î, and beamed as if He were just waiting for this question.
Ramanandaji and I immediately looked at each other with a mixed expression of surprise and delight.
ìThank you, Baba!î said Bodhishvar.
Later we met with the Didis and set up a new system where the number of sisters would equal the number of brothers on field walk. We
also made plans to add sister volunteers to the security arrangements.
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Hiding His knowledge
This morning, on the way to the field walk, I asked Abaniish of
Norway, who until five days ago had never before seen Baba, ìBrother, what do you think of Baba now?î
ìItís funny,î he said. ìI donít know why ... He hasnít done anything at all special ... He looks and acts just like a sweet old man ... I donít know why, but I love Him.î He gave a big smile like a child. ìI feel ... I feel love for Himójust like a father. No, even more than for my father.î ìItís a normal reaction,î I said. ìAbsolutely normal.î
...
We drove high into the snow covered Alps. While walking, Baba
said, ìLife on our planet started in these Alps. At that time the surroundings were very hot. Life began only up in the mountains at zero
degrees centrigrade ó the necessary temperature for the process to start.î After walking in silence for a few moments, Dada Abhidevananda
asked, ìBaba, is it possible that life came to the earth from another planet?î ìWhy not? Why not? According to my opinion, life came from the
planet Mars. Today Mars is a dying planet.î
Later He commented that the first human civilization was also in the Alps.
We returned to the cars and started back. Just after turning a corner, we saw several uniformed persons putting away a big parabolicshaped machine. One of the Margis in my car, an engineer, said, ìThatís
a sound-detection device used over long distances by the secret police to pick up conversations.î
Another Margi added, ìDo you think itís possible that Baba specifically intended that interplanetary talk to be overheard by them?î
...
During evening darshan, after a devotional song, one brother suddenly stood up in the middle of the crowd. In the otherwise silent room, his words in Italian had a shocking effect. Before he could complete even one sentence, Dada Japananda rose, pointed his finger at the man, and told him forcefully to sit down. Obediently the man collapsed to the floor. I recognized him. It was Parimal from Parma. He was previously a brilliant physicist, tragically struck by a disease which had neces-EYE OF THE HURRICANE
188 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
sitated an operation on his brain. Since then he had turned abnormal, to say the least.
In the momentary excitement, Baba looked at Dada Ramananda and me. (Ramanandaji was sitting next to Baba, while I was standing.
After the security fiasco at the airport, I had decided to remain close to Baba whenever He was out of His room, directly rather than indirectly supervising the volunteers ñ†though admittedly I took this decision not solely out of consideration for security.) He looked at us and asked, ìWhat is it? Whatís happening?î
ìNothing, Baba,î Ramanandaji said. ìThe man is crazy.î
ìWhat do you mean ëcrazyí?î Baba said. ìLet him come to the front.
Come on, my boy,î He said, waving Parimal forward.
As he hobbled forward, everyone could see his balding, deformed skull. He launched excitedly into an Italian soliloquy.
Now this will be interesting, I thought. Since Baba knows all the worldís languages, we should be able to see first hand how He replies to a tongue that He hadnít been exposed to before. All the Margis leaned forward similarly watching for Babaís reaction.
But it was not to be as we hoped. Instead, Baba spoke to the Dada posted in Italy: ìJapasiddhananda, give me the translation in English.î Though everyone was silent, many looked disappointed. They may have been thinking, Was it only fiction, this story that Baba knows all languages?
Japasiddhanandaji started the translation, ìBaba, he says the title of his story is titled Baba with the Baby on the Farm.î
Parimal appeared inspired as he spoke, enthusiastically dramatizing his discourse. I observed that some of the Germans and Dutch looked disillusioned, seeing Babaís apparent dependence on the translation.
But the Italians and those who understood Italian (including me) could not help but notice that each time Parimal spoke a humorous line, Baba smiled before the translation was delivered.
[Authorís note: Some months later when I visited Parma, Italy, I found a changed Parimal. Previous to this experience with Baba, he had been in a near-constant state of confusion. While I was in Parma, however, I saw that he was still excited about Babaóthat he was always talking about Baba. Instead of being in a state of confusion, I felt he was in a spiritual state. A few months after that he died.]
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DMC night
This morning, during the daily meeting of our thirty-five security cadres, I had the uncomfortable task of asking for a volunteer to stay and guard Babaís house during the DMC speech and varabhaya mudra.51 ìWhoever sacrifices himself for the welfare of others is guaranteed Babaís special grace,î I said. ìI know youíve all come here looking forward to the DMC speech. Nevertheless, Iím sure at least one of you will selflessly relinquish his rights for the sake of the others.î
My words met only silence. No one moved. A few seconds passed,
and then one brother stepped forward. It was a young Margi from Ireland.
ìThank you, Sundara,î I said. Honestly, I felt sorry for the lad.
...
Usually on DMC day Baba holds a special meeting of avadhutas to discuss some interesting matters and to bless us. This evening the answer to one question was, for me, especially imbued with mystical significance.
By then twenty minutes of the meeting had passed and the air was electric.
ìEach avadhuta has a singularly extraordinary role to play,î He
said. He paused and then asked, ìWhat is the purpose of the avadhuta?î
said. He paused and then asked, ìWhat is the purpose of the avadhuta?î