might smile one day or appear aloof the next. In a roguish mood he might paint an extra dot on the ears, or on the lines around the eyes, or teasingly pinch an arm or ear, each gesture having some meaning or other.
After chandan we had the opportunity to meditate or to drink hot chai (tea with pepper, ginger, milk and sugar) out on the terraced roof where we were treated to the splendours of dawn breaking over Calcutta. Here we could witness this city come alive: people beginning to stir in their back gardens; cows wobbling about drowsily along street pavements; palm trees stretching and swaying to the feel of a fresh breeze coming up from the sea.
Most impressive of all was aarati, the ceremony of offering the light, celebrated morning and evening in front of Babaji. Our host and his family gathered before Babaji to do the honours. Religious hymns were chanted by everyone and bells were rung as Babaji's feet were washed and anointed and the smell of rosewater and heena perfume soon permeated the hall. A necklace of wooden beads and flower garlands were put round his neck and round his wrists. Specially prepared delicacies, such as barfis, were offered to him, as were nuts and fruits. Babaji took some of the offerings and distributed the rest to the crowd. He gave necklaces, blessed by his touch, to various people. These and other blessed items were always highly desired and esteemed by devotees. Some visitors were overloaded with gifts from Babaji, while others were given nothing. This difference evoked diverse emotional reactions.
The basis on which he distributed presents varied, depending on the individual. A person who did not expect anything often received gifts abundantly; another who asked for more, thinking he or she was being unjustly treated, received nothing. Babaji might overwhelm some people with presents or attention until they started to get thoughts of being someone special. He would then suddenly stop doing this. Abruptly, from one day to the next, he seemed not to care for them any more until they became aware of and corrected their attitude. Unconscious and primitive emotions and false ideas of self, like low self-esteem, were brought to the surface and transformed by this treatment.
Years ago during my second visit to Babaji, I also went through a painful experience when confronted with underlying jealousy. Never before had I experienced its force so strongly; this was new and strange. I thought I was going to explode. It erupted like a volcano, burnt itself out and hasn't returned since.
My husband, young son and I had travelled to Chilianaula to attend Navaratri. A new temple was to be inaugurated at the ashram, located where one could marvel at the vista of the Himalayas. Many people had arrived to celebrate with our beloved gum Babaji the nine-day festival in honour of the Divine Mother. There was great beauty around us: the ceremony itself held under a large, colourful marquee which shielded the congregation from the hot noonday sun; and the snow-covered Himalayan peaks glistening in a luminous, clear, blue sky. Babaji blessed us all as we came to him in turn. He cuddled our five-year-old son and paid lots of attention to my husband, to whom he had assigned the job of standing close beside him and acting as guard and crowd controller.
After every darshan my husband would show me what Babaji had given him. A small silver box; a long silk cloth, a round smoothly polished onyx stone, a beige silk shirt and so on. At first I was pleased for him and his relaxed way of receiving these gifts. Then I got really upset. Apart from the usual prasad such as sweets, fruit or nuts, which Babaji gave us all, I hadn't been given a thing. It was obvious that Babaji preferred my husband to me. I was terrified realising I was enraged with jealousy.
It didn't make sense. I was devoted to my husband. How could I become jealous of a person with whom I was so intimately connected? I should be sharing in his glory. I didn't understand myself any more. Such intense jealousy was alien to me. Then, when my husband turned up in a long silk garment with a turban on his head looking just like an Indian raja, it was all too much for me. And when he told me how he came to have the turban, I could hardly contain my tears.
Apparently, Babaji had hurried out of the tent calling my husband to follow him and had headed down the garden path straight into his room. Among all the gifts from devotees neatly stacked in the little room was a pile of folded garments and lengths of rich fabrics. Babaji glided his hand over the folds until it came to a long piece of material with a small, delicate pattern.
"Turban from Rajasthan!", he said.
He told my husband to go to Shastriji and have him wind the turban round his head in the proper way. Babaji then returned to the area where the festival was taking place.
The Indian out suited my husband; being tall and slim, he carried it off well and looked quite distinguished. His blonde beard and fine features plus turban lent him an air of majesty. I struggled with my feelings. They had no right to confuse and upset my balance, but they did so and with surprising intensity. I felt ashamed of myself How could I face Babaji with such emotions? I refused to go to darshan and walked away instead, toward a clearing in the midst of a wood of fir trees. There I sat feeling flat and drained. I knew that only Babaji could help me with such a conflict and I implored him inwardly for his support. I asked him to take away from me forever this emotion which had overwhelmed me and which I did not want. An abyss opened up before me. Forgotten was the Babaji of my first visit to Haidakhan when he had put a most precious gift on my wrist, a bracelet. Not precious for its material value but for its spiritual wealth, for a bracelet symbolises connectedness, being tied together. I sat there with a bitter heart for a long while and returned to that place several times until I felt a change in my state.
The time came when I could face Babaji again. When he laid his hands on my head and looked into my eyes he nodded, and I knew the struggle was over. From that second on I was able to share my husband's joy. And this not only applied to him, but also to others. Whenever I became aware that somebody was receiving a present, be it large or small I sensed their delight by way of energy flowing along my spine. Moreover, the issue became increasingly unimportant as the process of inner growth and transformation and the strengthening of my inner connection to Babaji grew more important.
After three years of apprenticeship, however, I was once again overwhelmed by the same craving "I want to have!". I thought I had been healed of such intense urges after the last experience, but it occurred again while on a journey through South India.
We were staying at Baroda in the state of Gujarat. It was a refreshingly cool afternoon and Babaji was sitting on a swing in the garden at a disciple's family home. Gently he moved to and fro while people sat on the lawn beside him. One after the other, a line of people moved forward to bow and offer gifts. I was one of those sitting watching the colourful spectacle. Babaji had nonchalantly thrown an exquisite yellow saree over his shoulders. It had been offered to him during aarati, and I kept staring at this gorgeous thing hoping that he might pass it on to me. Thoughts started to race through my mind. Yellow, the colour of wisdom. Who'll be the lucky one to get it? Will it be me? For the life of me, I had no way of stopping this torrent of thoughts.
Suddenly I heard my name being called. It was Babaji calling me. I stood up and moved towards him; the heat of shame and embarrassment surged through my body. ft didn't take much guessing as to why he had nominated me. When I reached him, he grabbed the saree from his shoulders and flung it violently into my limp arms. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up forever when I realised what his gesture meant.
"Don't I give you enough? Aren't you getting everything you need from me? Why do you attach yourself to material things? When will you ever learn?!"
I don't know how I managed to return to my seat. I only know I hesitated for weeks before deciding to wear the wretched saree.
Of course Babaji continued to test me over and over again. He used to show me pieces of jewellery and ask me if they were genuine. Each time I would look within to examine my feelings and check if greed were present. Eventually I lost all interest in these things. It was then that Babaji gave me the jewellery I had valuated; as a prize, so to say, for passing the tests.
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