A group of his close friends accompanied Krishna to Pergine in Italy. Lady Emily, with her daughters Betty and Mary, was there; so was Helen Knothe, a young American woman and a close friend of Krishnaji’s; Dr. Shivakamu, Rukmini Arundale’s sister; Malti; the wife of Patwardhan; another close friend of K’s, Ruth, John Cordes, the Austrian representative of the Star, who had been in Adyar in 1910 and 1911 and at the time was responsible for Krishna’s physical exercises, training and welfare. Rama Rao and Jadunandan Prasad, close associates of K’s from India, and D. Rajagopal were also in the group. This anonymous account of K in Pergine was found among Shiva Rao’s papers after his death. It is possibly a diary kept by Nitya or Cordes. Though the author’s identity is not known, the document appears authentic.
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August 29, 1924: Our life here is one of intense inner activity and almost
complete outer inertia. Or that is what it should be and what Krishnaji desires. On previous holidays of this kind, when Krishnaji has collected around him those whom he desired to teach and help and has retired to some quiet spot away from civilization, there has been no concerted plan of action. Krishnaji has of course spoken to each of his followers individually, but never before have the Masters been spoken of to us all collectively, as in our present group, so that every grade and those who were still apart might listen and talk openly about them.
We are here for but one purpose, to take definite “steps” and thereby become directly useful to Them. Each one has his opportunity; each one is at a different stage, and therefore capable of serving those above and helping those below. (Terms such as above and below are apt to mislead, I use them not to imply a superiority and inferiority, but only a distinction.)
The regime for the day is, meditation at a quarter past eight, breakfast at eight thirty. A walk down to an open stubble field where we play rounders for an hour or two, and then one hour’s talk under the trees, of the Masters and of how to serve Them. Lunch at 12.30—rest or individual work, if wished, until three; games in the Castle grounds, bath, and dinner at six. After which all separate for the night, some of us going to the Square tower where certain intensive preparation goes on for an hour. Bed at 8.30.
Krishnaji is of course the central figure of each day; of the games, and of the work. Around him everything [is] centred; Krishnaji’s life is one of absolute devotion to the Lord, such passionate worship of the idealistic and the beautiful
—and yet he is so perfectly human and so near to his fellow men. No words can depict his character, but he seems like a human creature who has perfected himself to a great extent, rather than a divine being in an imperfect human form. Surely what the Lord will desire, will be a perfect human instrument, so that he can contact humanity on its own level. The divinity He Himself will show forth through the instrument. Never except at the coming of a World Teacher to His world is there such a union between those things which are Divine and those that are human. For usually humanity reaches up to Divinity and the moment it touches it becomes one with it, but in this case Divinity reaches down to a human instrument, uses it, works through it as separate and apart from it, and retires again leaving the instrument still a human instrument. Certainly the evolution of the human instrument is often so quickened that it becomes almost immediately super-human (through this service) but this is a separate process. Man may reach up and become Divine but he cannot use divine powers while he is still human. Whereas the Divine can descend and use human powers, even though he is no longer human.
Today Krishnaji was very alive at breakfast, and as often our conversation was not printable. The morning after a very serious talk or hard evening’s work, Krishnaji will often be most frivolous, making jokes and laughing at them uproariously, with his sudden thundering outbursts of mirth, or prolonged, infectious giggle. These two things are strange about him—first, his capacity to change from the most serious, real and glorious mood, to one of laughter and joking [,] instantaneously; secondly that no joke he utters however vulgar, makes the usual atmosphere surrounding such talk. It seems as though his beauty, his absolute clarity of being, sweeps everything before it, so that he can touch any person, or object or subject, and impart his cleanness to it, endow it with the fresh air of his presence. Krishnaji tried to remember his own experiences. When he and Nitya first saw C. W. L. he showed them pictures of the Master M. and the Master K. H. and asked them which they preferred. When they chose the one of the Master K. H. he said it was as he expected.
When Krishnaji was young the Masters were very real to him, then it was that he wrote “At the Feet of the Master,” afterwards came a period when for him the reality was not so intense, he only believed because of what C. W. L. and A. B. said. Now again the intense realization has returned. Nitya said that our group should make an atmosphere which should “attract” Their attention. He spoke of the various influences at Ojai, on the different nights. That of the Master M. as a power that made you feel capable of anything. That of the Master K. H. as perfect kindness—it was as if honey were entering into you when he spoke. And that of the Master K. H. as absolute cleanness, perfect clarity. Then of the greatest of all influences, that of the Lord, as we also felt at Ehrwald1—peace
—“the peace that passeth understanding.”
Krishnaji spoke of Adyar as of a mighty power house, where either you became a saint, went mad, or were turned away as useless by an unerring watcher.
I have never seen him so radiantly beautiful as he is at nights, at these times. His eyes laugh with a strange unearthly joy, which is triumphant and yet so gentle. Gentleness and a sweet keen joy robe him, and show in the lines and curves of his face, and an aroma of roses surrounds and envelopes him. At times, he shivers as if cold and at other times he is too worn out, but on these nights, these particular nights of which I speak, the real Krishna, all that makes him what he is in the deepest sense, comes and looks out through his eyes.
September 1, 1924: Lady Emily compares Rajagopal to St. Peter. He is the
Buffoon amongst the present disciples it seems; and he dearly loves his position as High Court Jester. To know Krishnaji, one has to know his followers. Rajagopal was once St. Bernard of Clairveaux, and at other times he has been a venerable priest; and both the saint and priest peep out through him over and over again. Perhaps especially the latter. He talks perpetually, and when making a speech is lengthy and tedious, in fact he sermonises. He is or rather pretends to be very fond of food, this being his chief topic for jokes etc. When Krishnaji is strained and tired, or the party in general, dull, Rajagopal has always some joke, or amusing phrase to hand, and he laughs at himself so persistently that everyone must join in. It is said that the one quality all the Masters have, and without which it is impossible for the disciple to progress, is a sense of humour. And the more the spiritual life is led the more this becomes apparent. A sense of humour will relieve the tension of feelings and thoughts under the most trying circumstances, and often it is just that that prevents a definite break in the work, or individually in a person. Certainly Rajagopal’s wit is not of the clearest, sharpest type, but then it allows Krishnaji and the others to take part and add their quota. Needless to say, Rajagopal gets a great deal of teasing, but then so does everyone who comes near Krishnaji, that being one way through which he influences people; especially of certain types.
One of Krishnaji’s theories is that people must surely be able to evolve through joy alone, arriving at Godhead as naturally as a flower opens to the sun. At one time it seemed almost to worry him, that everyone he met had evolved so far by the long devious ways of sorrow, and so few had taken the simple way of joy. I think I have heard him even say that he has never met anyone who evolved through joy alone, nevertheless it is a possibility, which would become very common if only our present civilization were not so complex. “Be natural, be happy.” So Rajagopal plays a great role in this mighty drama, in which Krishnaji is the first to laugh, the easiest to be amused. “Be a God, and laugh at yourself.”
Speaking of his two years of training with Leadbeater Krishnaji said he was “bored to tears,” literally. All desires were burnt out; for instance, K and N asked for bicycles, (probably as they were small boys they pestered C. W. L. for them); the bicycles were found and a ten mile ride was not only done once but they had to do it every day for two years. Also they expressed a desire for porridge; they had it—but again every day for a year; if they had dirty feet, or as once Nitya threw a stone at a frog, it was “Pupils of the Master do not do these things.” But it must have seemed hard then for the small dark boy who was to become the Krishnaji of today—the Jesus of tomorrow.
He has had many lives as a woman, and these have left a very strong trace in his character; his exceptional power of intuition makes him unlike most men. At times he can be as cruel as he can be the reverse, but this always for a purpose. One short sharp phrase, which his flashing eyes emphasise to an unbearable degree, that is all. Krishnaji will never offer to talk to anyone, unless an approach is made, and then for the first two or three times that a serious conversation is broached, he is terribly shy.
September 8, 1924: Lady Emily, Cordes and I sat in Krishnaji’s room.
Krishnaji being in the one below. The time was about a quarter to seven, and all was the same as on ordinary nights, except for a magic silence that came down on us. Somewhere in the tower Nitya, Rama Rao and Rajagopal were chanting, and incense wafted in through the cracks on the door. We all felt His Presence, how would even the dullest fail to recognize the ineffable peace that pervaded the building. We sat “silent and rapt” for an hour.
Afterwards when we were all together, and Krishnaji sat in our midst it was as if we had all only just found each other; and as we spoke of what had happened, a low sweet laughter, of greatest inexpressible joy seemed to come to our lips. “If it is like this now, what will it be when the time comes?”
September 14, 1924: This afternoon instead of playing the usual “volley-ball,”
we all lay out on the rocks which surround the Square Tower. Krishnaji squatted on the rocks with Rama Rao, examining a small yellow snail with great interest. Once before some years ago, I remember being with Krishnaji when he discovered a colony of ants and spent the whole morning feeding them with sugar, stirring them up and watching them carry eggs and rebuild their home. Presently, another snail was found and the two were made to crawl over each other and up and down precipitous crags. At Ehrwald last year, he was lying amongst the long grass and flowers, when a butterfly settled on his hand, and soon he had one or two poised on his finger. His delight was unbounded. He has a love of all creatures great and small, indeed anything that is beautiful or natural interests him; he will chase a grasshopper following its movements and noting the colour of its wings; or with his customary “I say!” will stand almost enraptured before a beautiful scene. “Just look at that lake, it’s so smooth, like ice—and dark green. See the reflections in it? Oh-ee you should see Lake Geneva —so blue.”
Krishnaji reads a small passage out of “The Gospel of Buddha” in meditation each morning. He is indeed a devotee, and the very sound of the name of the Lord Buddha, seems almost to make him tremble with a feeling of utmost worship. There was one sentence today, in which the Lord Buddha said, that the disciple who lives in the world must be like a lotus. In India, the lotus, symbolizes purity. Its ability to blossom fully while rooted in a muddy, slushy pond signifies the human ability to flower in purity and rise out of any condition however dark and sullied.
Krishnaji was speaking to me this afternoon. He spoke of the Lord Buddha and that state of existence which is absolutely without self. He is thinking much
of being absolutely impersonal these days, and already he seems to have dived deep into that clear well which is unsullied by the mud of self. As he spoke of the Lord Buddha, a new world lay stretched before one, in which all personal love and ambition died away and became as naught, only an impersonal, tremendous unshakeable love remained. The full realisation of life without self only came to Krishnaji while he was at Ojai, and even he finds it almost impossible to describe. He spoke of how when all the Masters were assembled together, the coming of the Lord Buddha was like the north wind, so free from anything even resembling self. He said: “Whenever I see the picture of the Lord Buddha, I say to myself, I am going to like it.”
The image of the Lord Maitreya has been appearing to him on several occasions. At Pergine on the last appearance He was to give Krishnamurti a message—“The happiness you seek is not far off; it lies in every common stone.” In another message, He conveyed “Do not look for the Great ones when they may be very near you.” For the next three evenings, Krishna was to laugh often, tell comic stories—many members of the party were shocked at his behaviour.