The Near and the Dear: Stories of Neem Karoli Baba and His Devotees

THE NEAR AND THE DEAR

STORIES OF NEEM KAROLI BABA AND HIS DEVOTEES

DADA MUKERJEE

Stories copyright © 1996 Sudhir Mukerjee

Photographs copyright © Rameshwar Das

© Love Serve Remember Foundation

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.

Back cover photo: Rameshwar Das

Photographic contributions: Dada Mukerjee, Rameshwar Das, Balaram Das

Editor and Production Manager: Parvati Markus

ISBN: 978-0-9906314-0-8

Table of Contents

Preface

Introduction

Part 1: The Saint At Work

Chapter 1: Saints and Devotees

Chapter 2: Ram Narayan Sinha, Ayodhya Nath, Akbar Ali Khan, Jaidev Singh

Chapter 3: Brij Mohan

Chapter 4: Bhagwan Singh (Bhabania)/Haridas Baba

Part 2: Life with the Saint

Chapter 5: Tularam

Chapter 6: Jivan Baba

Chapter 7: Hubbaji

Chapter 8: K.C. Tewari

Part 3: The Guru Makes a Disciple

Chapter 9: Umadutta Shukla

Chapter 10: Shukla, Part 2

Glossary

PREFACE

How strange is the passage of time. What was once visible becomes invisible and what was once outside the field of vision takes shape before our eyes. Some of the devotees whose stories Dada tells in this book were captured in pictures for us to see; others left no visible trail, but their interactions with Maharajji are vivid in our minds.

Reading these stories of Maharajji and his devotees, one can’t help but sense something from a place and time just outside the reaches of memory. So many beings passed through his gates, so many hearts were nourished and so many lives touched by his grace. Where are they now, all those people who were drawn to him, who came to him and then left on the next bus, back to their homes in some distant corner of the world?

I remember the faces of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of his devotees who passed before my eyes as they walked across the stage, but there were so many more whose faces have been dissolved in the river of time, and many whom I never saw at all. What happened to the young widow with the sick child who came for blessings? Where is the proud priest who was caught stealing and sent away, but not before Maharajji slipped him a few rupees for his family? Where are the old Ma’s from the mountains who would cry and sing out their love and devotion, dressed all in white and bent with age? Where are the children who used to walk twenty miles from their village just to get a meal at his temple, and turn around and walk all the way back?

He knows. He knows where each and every one of us is, because even though we may leave him, he never leaves us. For the great Puppet Master, no one is ever lost. In his hands he holds the strings that are attached to the soul of each and every one of us. No matter where we go, what we do, no matter whether in this body or a new one, we are attached to him by cords of love that can never be broken. He fills all space and time and we find ourselves, again and again, where we always were: here, in him.

Krishna Das

New York, NY

April 21, 1996

INTRODUCTION

The late Mrs. Uma Shungloo was a very religious, simple and pious, polite, self-respecting old Kashmiri Brahmin lady. She was dutiful, scrupulously clean and without any modern-day evils. Once she fell seriously ill, and during her week’s treatment I had to go to her house almost daily to watch the progress. Even after she became completely free from symptoms, my visits to her house increased on account of her motherly love and affection towards me. The demarcations between doctor and patient vanished and a son and mother relationship got fully established.

I had seen Mrs. Shungloo performing puja, putting flowers at the feet of Maharajji Neem Karoli Baba’s picture, doing arti and bestowing prasad. She was a great devotee of Babaji, narrating to me stories about his miracles. At one point, she extracted my gentleman’s word that I would accompany her to 4 Church Lane in Allahabad where Babaji used to pass his winter days.

The house looked deserted. I was slightly dismayed and perturbed at the fast approach of Gora, Dada’s pet dog, but with Ma’s assurance we dared to enter the house. Mr. Sudhir Mukerjee, my mother’s Dada, greeted us and welcomed us with folded hands. Mother touched his feet and took me to an adjoining fragrant room where I saw a plank covered with a nice plain bed sheet and a picture of Baba’s feet surrounded by a very beautiful floral arrangement. I saw Ram written, not by any paint or ink, but by buds of white jasmine creeper.

While my mother got busy putting flowers and showing incense sticks to Maharajji, I got absorbed in Maharajji’s pictures hanging on the walls of this room. After her puja, she took me inside and introduced me to Dada and Didi (Mrs. Kamala Mukerjee, Dada’s wife). When I encountered Dada, for reasons not known to me, all the pictures which I had witnessed in Baba’s room became visible in Dada’s face. Dada’s face and Baba’s face looked alike to me. There was a spontaneous reflex in my subconscious mind that Baba had appeared before me in Dada’s embodiment. Ma had told me that Baba had left this world, but I was visualizing Shri Maharajji in the body just in front of me.

Many thoughts started hovering in my mind which I wanted to narrate to mother, but she wanted me to take prasad in the near verandah in front of the courtyard, which is almost a fixed place for Dada. After tea and prasad was served, we came back and I dropped Ma at her residence.

It was repeatedly coming in my mind that I had had the darshan of Baba. I went to Dada’s place twice or thrice on different dates. Whenever I visited, I noticed that Dada’s subject of incessant talk is only about Maharajji’s life and nothing else. I noticed his complete surrender and dedication towards his guru.

All the personalities of the world who have acquired fame and greatness can broadly be categorized into two classes: people in the first category look very great from a distance, but if you approach closer, you find they are surrounded by many evils and worldly lures. In my opinion, they are the smallest and worst type of people, having created a false halo around themselves. But the people of the second category look very small and unassuming from the distance. If you study them by coming nearer, you find that they are very humble, polite, and devoid of any worldly evils, but are full of godly qualities. I would call Dada one of the great ones because of his great devotion, dedication and compassion.

Dada has reached the terminal phase of Bhakti yoga. I can say with confidence that he has acquired all the powers by his undaunted devotion and dedication towards his guru, Neem Karoli Maharaj. Dada is always in trance and absorbed into his Babaji. He is fully and completely in his dhyana while performing his routine duties — walking, sitting, eating, sleeping, talking. He has developed these qualities due to his uncompromising and non-shakable faith in his deity.

Shri Neem Karoli Baba is no more with us, but by hearing remembrances of Baba as narrated by Dada, Baba’s life becomes visible before our eyes. Whenever Dada starts telling the stories about Baba’s life in bodily form, it becomes crystal clear; you feel that his whole life is being televised. Another such lively commentary of Baba’s life you cannot get easily. Taking this into consideration, Baba’s devotees in India and abroad have given great emphasis to getting down some things from our Dada in black and white.

When Mr. Ram Dass and Mr. Jai Lakshman visited Baba’s place last, they requested me to get all relevant information regarding their guru and stories of Maharajji recorded in cassettes. My efforts were ongoing, but it seems that Maharajji motivated Dada to pen down some things and to my surprise I found that my work was done. After Baba’s inspiration, Goddess Saraswati also came down. This holy confluence has made it possible for us to learn about Baba’s life and the life of some of his great devotees.

When the great Vyasa was toiling with the idea of writing down the Mahabharata, he required an expert steno, and Shri Ganesh presented himself to render his service for this pious work. Ganesh was so great an expert that he could pen down everything even before the ideas came into Vyasa’s mind.

During the period when Dada was busy in his work of writing the stories of Baba, his pen did not encounter any full stop. He was absorbed to such an extent that he almost forgot his routine obligations. Occasionally Didi would put tea or lunch on his table, but it would not draw Dada’s attention. Lunch and dinner times were disturbed. Didi was quite anxious and used to tell us about it.

My only job left was to continuously supply him with dozens of notebooks and ballpoint pens so that there might not be any hindrance due to the shortage of these materials. After the manuscript was complete, the typist did not dare to undertake the work. I had to take the challenge and personally sat several hours each day and in the night with the typist for this work to be completed.

Although Dada’s manuscript is primarily in English, specially meant for devotees of Maharajji residing outside India, a decision was taken by a very senior and great devotee of Maharajji, Shri Sarvadaman Singh Raghuvansi, to bring out the book in Hindi also. My elder brother, Shri Radheshyam Gupta, who is expert in this work, by his hard labour completed this translation within a very short time.

There is an old saying that a touchstone can convert iron into gold. Undoubtedly, our saints and sages, with their tender touch of earthen materials like human beings, can bring about marvelous changes. Innumerable people who came in close association with Maharajji got changed and transformed completely. This book is the collection of a few selected flowers from the garland of many devotees who were rejuvenated completely. The book not only throws light on the phenomenon involved in this complete change of life, but also gives glimpses of the inner lives of these saints and sages of India.

I trust and believe that this book, which is in your hand now, will lead all devotees to follow the path shown by our Maharajji and get moksha, becoming torch bearers to the whole of mankind in their search for godliness.

Dr. Gupta

Shaligram

Part I

THE SAINT AT WORK

Chapter 1

SAINTS AND DEVOTEES

Dada’s mother and his aunt, Maushi Ma

My first darshan was sudden and unexpected, and came at a time when mentally I was least prepared for it. I lived a carefree social life with friends, mostly from my college days, whose company and friendship I valued. On holidays we used to get together to enjoy our time.

One Sunday evening in June 1955, we were sitting in the courtyard, joking and laughing. My mother, Maushi Ma (my aunt), and Didi (my wife) said that they were going to an adjoining house to see a baba who had come there. Hearing her, a friend asked, What kind of baba is he? If the baba wants to eat, I could feed him. This friend was referring to the deer and hare he hunted. Mother rebuked him, saying it was a sacrilege to talk that way about sadhus. I mention this to emphasize how ignorant and indifferent we were about the religious and spiritual life.

It was not even half an hour later when they returned. Someone asked about the outcome of their visit. They had seen the baba in a small mud house. He had been lying on a small cot covered with a bed sheet. The room was lit by a flickering candle which gave only a glimpse of him. When they reached the door and said that they were from an adjoining house and had come for his darshan, he sat up on his bed. He greeted them with, "Jao!" (Go), but they did not move even after the repetition of Jao! Then he said to Didi, taking her name, Kamala, go back. Your husband’s Bengali friends have come. Serve them with tea. I shall come tomorrow morning.

This was a great surprise for us. How did he know Didi’s name, and also that we were sitting here looking for tea? So there must be something with that man. The friends dispersed, saying they would return the next morning to see things for themselves. All of us were excited.

The next morning Didi arranged a room with a spacious bed for him, and we both went to bring him. When we arrived, he was lying on a cot. Seeing us, he almost jumped up and, catching hold of my hand, said, Chalo. (Let’s go.) The distance was short, but he was moving fast and Didi had some difficulty in keeping pace with us. Entering the house, the first thing he said was, Henceforth I shall live with you. I was so surprised, I could hardly believe what he said. He was a stranger to us. How easily he imposed his company on us unsolicited! I could not see the grace he was showering on us. Rather, I was intrigued to think that his intentions were not purely benevolent.

This was the reaction of some of my friends who saw Babaji coming and staying with us frequently. They warned me that I must beware of babas whose intentions were anything but altruistic. I could not disbelieve them in the beginning, but as time went on I was caught and could not come out of it. Ultimately, I had to resign myself to the forces working and free myself from all mental conflicts.

Ma, Maushi Ma and Didi greeted him with all joy and excitement. How very blessed we are, they said, and went to prepare some refreshments. I was left alone with him. The first thing he said was, You are a devotee of Shiva?

I am not a devotee.

But you visit Shiva’s temple?

Well, I might have visited sometime.

Then he said, You have been given mantra also, which I admitted. It was very striking indeed that I failed to recollect the encounter I had in May 1935 at the Shiva temple in Dakshineshwar, Calcutta. A hefty looking person with a small beard had made me accept mantra from him. It was only much afterwards that I realized it had been Babaji who had given me the mantra in the temple, although my mother and aunt had been saying it all along. Many years later, Babaji was visiting Jagannath Puri with some of his devotees and travelled to Dakshineshwar; showing them the Shiva temple, he declared that it was in that temple that he had given mantra to me.

While Babaji was sitting in the room, some devotees came to see him. They had gone to the house where he had previously been staying and had found out that he had shifted to our house. They were enjoying his talks when a person came who had been known to me for a long time. Seeing so many persons there, he wanted to go away, but Babaji challenged him, You take bribes? He got frightened and could not reply. The question was repeated and he started trembling and mumbling.

He uttered, In this service everyone takes....

Babaji cut him short, saying he was guilty. He was trembling and was about to fall down when he was made to take his seat. Everyone was feeling pity for him, but Babaji was unrelenting. This man was an excise inspector who had been suspended from service for taking bribes. He had confessed his guilt in front of Shri Kehar Singh, the Excise Commissioner, who was also sitting in the room. After everyone including the inspector had left, only Kehar Singh remained with Babaji. It is not known what passed between them, but the inspector was reinstated to his post within a few days, a redemption after a full confession.

Many other devotees came and Babaji was sitting in the room talking, when he suddenly got up and asked Kehar Singh, whose car was parked at the door, to come with him. The hunter friend who had talked of feeding meat to Baba was coming in a rickshaw. Seeing Baba about to leave in the car, he was hurrying to meet him, but Baba’s car left when my friend was just a few yards away. It was only after repeated attempts for darshan and Maushi Ma’s begging for mercy for her son, as she called him, that Baba gave him darshan — six years later. His wife and daughters, however, had their darshan from the beginning without any disappointment.

When Babaji returned, he took his meal surrounded by me and Maushi Ma. Didi was in the kitchen preparing his chapatis. Fetching his chapatis and being a silent witness was a peculiar experience for me. Babaji acted like a different person. Gone was the wry face and toughness, yelling and shouting, heedless to all requests. Talking in a very pleasant voice, beaming a smile and eating according to the requests of the mothers to eat a little more of this or that, he finished his food, and after chatting with them for some time, sent them back to feed the others. It was very hot and we were all perspiring, but he remained on his bed as if untouched by the heat.

In the afternoon three of my friends came. Two of them were doctors and one was a government servant. He welcomed the first one cheerfully, asking him to sit near him and telling everyone that he was a saint. He asked the second one, also a doctor, why he had come, and sent him away, saying that he should go and make his money. This was, no doubt, very hard for the doctor, but it was in keeping with his zeal to make money. He took no notice of the third man and the two left, sulking.

Babaji stayed for three days during this visit. It was more or less the same routine he would follow in the years to come: meeting the devotees coming for his darshan; talking to everyone; visiting some devotees in their houses; leaving the house at any time and returning after short or long hours. We had no way of knowing where he had gone or when he would return. When someone inquired about him in his absence, we had to plead ignorance. Sometimes we were accused of concealing his whereabouts. This came to be a regular charge against me, and even now I have to face it.

Many persons had heard that Babaji was a great saint and so were interested and enthusiastic to meet him. There were certain things that were very striking about Babaji and some people were disappointed when they saw him acting like a common householder. He would go on talking with all and sundry about family and work or business — only worldly things — not of God or prayer or worship. They felt that a sadhu who was busy with common man’s talk, without the saint’s hallmark of saffron clothes, matted locks and all that, could not be a real sadhu. Babaji was fully aware of this and told me several times that many persons came to test him, not out of devotion for a saint. He did this deliberately to keep away curious sightseers.

There was something unique about him which was not displayed like the robe worn by a sadhu. One who came with patience and an open mind, without any set ideas about sadhus or saints, might catch a glimpse of it, but that depended on Babaji. A devotee could not claim this as a right; it was a gift from Babaji. I was a newcomer and an outsider among his old and trusted devotees. Whatever little I came to know of him did not come overnight, in spite of all the grace flowing from him.

In the beginning his visits were frequent, every two or three months, but he never stayed more than three days. He might come or leave at any time, but would never cause any interruption in daily life or cause any inconvenience to the householders. His wants were few, his food was simple, and he could squeeze himself onto a small cot or mat, leaving space for others. He needed very little service from us and was overly cautious to see that he did not become a burden on us, or cause any inconvenience by his untimely visits. Many of his devotees were busy all day and not rich enough to honor such a distinguished guest suitably. His talks were almost always about the household affairs: how to avoid troubles in the family, obeying and serving the elders, and being accommodating to all. The eldest had the special responsibility of attending to the needs of everyone in the family. This he was teaching Ma and Maushi Ma all the time when he was here. They sought his advice for all their household affairs and used to say that Baba was the head of the family.

One day, after a couple of visits, he warned us that we would have to leave this house, which belonged to my uncle, in the near future and we must have a house of our own. We had never thought of changing or building a house and were quite confident that we could live in this small one as long as we liked. He said we were mistaken, that we would be made to vacate however much we disliked doing so, and that we must purchase land for a new house. In subsequent visits he talked only of that. At the end of 1956, land was purchased. He was happy and said, Now build your house. He knew we could not do that, so after giving us some time get it done ourselves, he got the house built for us. He praised it and called it the Red House. That is how we came to live in this house — one that was spacious enough for his devotees to come and stay without difficulty.

Baba began staying here for three or four months in the winter and many of his devotees gathered and stayed with him. Mr. Mehrotra called it his winter camp. There were many thrilling experiences, but what attracted us the most was the feeling that we were a happy family living under the care and indulgence of an affectionate father.

One night Ma and Maushi Ma were sitting with him in his room. He had come two days before, and they were giving him their report of what had gone on in the house during his absence. While talking, Maushi Ma said, Baba, you are kind to Dada but not so to we old people. He asked why she thought so. She said, You have built such a beautiful house for Dada.

He sat up in his bed and asked, How did it become Dada’s house? The house is mine!

She asked, What about Dada?

He replied, Dada is my guest, and he will live here. So it has come to that.

Babaji was known as a great saint — a highly realized soul with all the spiritual powers. Writing about Baba, Swami Vijayananda, a disciple of Anandamayi Ma, called him a yogi whose name radiates an aura of mystery and miracle. We saw many of his miracles coming one after another; they continue even now. They are exciting, often entertaining, but sometimes disturbing. Once at Kainchi, after what had been for me a very painful experience, I had to tell him that I was not interested in his miracles; he was Baba, and that was enough for me. His acceptance came in the form of one of his ineffable smiles. So far as the mysteries are concerned, not only have I not been able to solve any of them, but they have become more mysterious day-by-day.

One morning Babaji was in his small room in Kainchi. A sadhu with a half-dozen of his disciples came for Baba’s darshan. I took them to his room. After they had taken their seat, Babaji said, This is Mahant Digvijaynath, a great saint. Bow at his feet. When another person came, Babaji made him bow as well. Babaji smiled and asked people to bow low to the saint instead of touching his own feet. But when the third one came and Babaji repeated his words, the Mahant stood up and clasping Babaji’s feet, with tears in his eyes, said, Baba, you are the saint of saints sitting before us, and you are making people touch my feet, taking me to be a saint.

A saint can be known only by one who himself is a saint. That is what has been said by the wise. So we cannot have, at least speaking for myself, any pretension of knowing Babaji, the great saint. In the Bhagavat Gita we learn that a saint is a person with a dual personality — the divine and the human. Many of us have seen the human person in Babaji, but that doesn’t mean that we can claim to have seen the divine person in him.

In a saint, the divine person is encased in the human frame but is not entirely identical. The bottom of the human and the top of the divine stand far apart from each other. There is a co-mingling in the inner space, and in noble human beings, some of the divine qualities merge entirely with their human qualities, destroying all distinction between human and divine. I am saying this about Baba from my own experience of him. I have never seen him wearing his divine crown, but I have always seen his divine qualities of love and compassion. He was always ready and alert to mitigate the sufferings of the helpless by taking their pains upon himself. His body became a honeycomb of diseases. This was the price he had to pay for his compassion and his readiness to help.

Every individual suffers from some kind of physical and mental pain. But with many, hunger or disease of body or mind become acute. One of Babaji’s visible methods of helping people was by feeding the hungry, arranging medical treatment for the sick, and giving money and materials to the helpless. The brief interlude of his life in the ashrams was spent in caring for the hungry and curing the sick, like the head of a household busy with his large family. Those who visited his ashrams, especially Kainchi, saw how prasad was being served throughout the day to all and sundry without any discrimination. For some it was prasad, an auspicious token of spiritual elevation, but for many more it was a whole meal for the stomach.

Seeing that food was being given in such large amounts, some persons complained that the food was being wasted. Babaji was unrelenting and continued to ask us to give in plenty. Give more, give more, Dada. No doubt Babaji would never allow food to be wasted or abused, but his idea of abuse and waste was different from ours, so the bhandara continued, giving food to the needy.

Some persons have suggested that one of the reasons for his choice of Kainchi and Bhumiadhar for ashrams was to be in direct contact with the helpless — particularly the shilpakars, the forsaken ones. They fell easy victim to the allurements of the preachers who approached them with loaves of white bread, biscuits, etc. After several bhandaras at Bhumiadhar, Babaji said one day, "Dada, the preachers do not come anymore because they have seen that their double roti (white bread) and biscuits cannot fight with your puri and halwa."

There were also other methods of mitigating the sufferings and hardships of the people coming to him. They were seldom done in the public gaze, but they were going on every day. Some poor farmer would come and say, Out of my one pair of bullocks, which is my only source of living, one has died, and I have no money to purchase another. An old woman would come and say, My daughter has reached marriageable age, but I have no money to pay for her marriage. Another comes with his tale, My brother is suffering from tuberculosis, and I have no money for his treatment. Such things would go on all the time. Few would leave disappointed. It was never publicized, but help was always coming from him in some form or other.

Leaving aside physical suffering and mental torture, there was another kind of deeper and more painful suffering which Babaji could not neglect. Many times it was to rescue the helpless that he had to run away like a vagabond. Sometimes unimaginable calamities come to people: someone has died, someone has been thrown out of another’s heart, or a severe shock or disappointment from one’s near or dear ones has unhinged them totally. Pain of the body or the mind can often be tolerated, but pain of the heart becomes killing. Faced with such a disaster or disappointment, they are stranded; there is no one to whom they can look for support.

Very few of us are so devoted to God that we truly believe that the help we need will come from there. We need some tangible response to our cries. Our cries reached Baba and made him rush to us — seen or unseen by others. He came and talked to us, not quoting from scriptures, but in his own sweet way. He consoled us with pats on the head, whispered words of cheer accompanied by his infectious smile, trying to bring a smile to our faces. We do not know how many tears of men, women and children he wiped away with his sweet words, compassionate touches, and soothing smiles. Only Babaji knows.

His goodness to his devotees also expressed itself in the way he would fulfill their fond expectations, trying to save them from disappointment. This was revealed during the opening ceremony of the temple in Panki, Kanpur. Babaji was at Allahabad for his winter stay. Devotees coming from Kanpur requested him to bless the occasion by his presence, which he did not agree to do. They went back feeling disappointed and sad that all their efforts had failed. On the day of the inauguration, Babaji finished his toilet, and changing his clothes early, went back to his room. It was seven o’clock. He told me that he was not feeling well, covered himself with a blanket and asked me to bolt the doors, not allowing anybody to disturb him or enter his room. Hours passed, and the people waiting outside for darshan started speculating about his trouble. At twelve he opened his eyes, asked me about the time and said, Oh, it has been five hours that I have been asleep, but such a nice sleep that I feel refreshed. The doors were opened, and people rushed in and had their darshan. Life began again as usual.

The next day, Babaji was sitting in the hall surrounded by his devotees when a person came with a basket of ladoos — prasad from the inauguration ceremony of the Panki temple the day before. Being handed a basket, I was told that Babaji had been there in the morning, but at twelve he suddenly disappeared. We searched for him, but he was not there, so we brought the prasad for him.

Mr. Jagati, an old devotee, asked, What are you talking about? Babaji was here lying on his bed feeling unwell, and we were waiting for him outside. The door was opened at twelve and we all saw him. So how could he be at Panki when he was in his room all the time? While they were all trying to convince each other, Babaji was sitting silently with his smile. This incident reveals so much about his invisible movements to fulfill the wishes and expectations of his devotees.

In September 1961, I had finished my bath and tea early in the morning and came into my room to study. While taking out the book which I had been reading the night before, I was amazed to see Ram Ram written over the whole cover page. I was familiar with Babaji’s handwriting, so it was clear to me that it had been done by him, but he had not been here for the last three months.

I shouted for Didi and others, and they all exclaimed that it was Babaji’s writing. How had it appeared in the book during the night in the closed room? I told them that the night before I had been reading until twelve and there had been nothing on the book. Didi said that even a half hour before, when she arranged my table and dusted the books, there was nothing on it; it must have come just within this time.

While we were all looking at the cover page, she took the book and, opening it, exclaimed, Look how many more are written within! There were three more pages, all in bold letters, and the ink on the last page showed that the writing had suddenly stopped, as it was not fully dry.

We were all left guessing and speculating on how and why this could happen. Many devotees gave their own interpretations, but they were not convincing and we remained agitated. I wrote to Tularam, a great devotee who was very close to us and was then with Babaji at Agra. He narrated the whole thing to Babaji as was written in the letter and told him that I was very anxious to know how it all came about. Babaji’s reply, as Tularam wrote, was, Dada was remembering me, so I had to go. Tularam added that Babaji’s purpose was to demonstrate that he had heard my call and responded to it. This was good so far as it went, but the mystery remained unsolved — the invisible movement in response to a call which to my knowledge I had not sent.

Many things happened after that, and have continued to happen all these years. One night I was reading in my room after everybody had gone to sleep. Suddenly the gate was forced open and Babaji began abusing me. You are such a nasty chap that you trouble me so much. You made me come from a distance of four hundred miles. You were remembering me.

Everyone in the house woke up and came to his room. The next morning he was like a different person and said, Whenever you remember me, I come.

This same assurance has been echoed from the beginning of time through the mouths of the saints to their devotees and disciples. It is an echo of what Ram said to Hanuman when they parted, Hanuman, you will not be separate from me, and whenever you remember me, I shall come to you. God may be in heaven or in Vaikuntha, but he is never beyond the reach of his people’s call. His grace flows to them in the various forms of divine incarnation. There may be times when he comes in full incarnation, but partial incarnations are always here carrying his message.

What Babaji said in 1961 was also said by Guru Maharaj (Yogananda’s Babaji) to Shyama Charan Lahiri (Lahiri Mahasaya) in January 1869, at Dronagiri. Shyama Charan had his initiation, and he wanted to stay with his guru and serve him. But his guru wanted him to return to his family and carry out the mission that awaited him. Shyama Charan, you will meet me again, and whenever you remember me, I shall come to you.

Saints are seldom hard on their devotees, but sometimes they have to reprimand them and deny darshan to them. Shyama Charan prayed for his guru’s darshan one evening in Moradabad to show others how great saints can move invisibly. The guruji came, but he rebuked Shyama Charan for indiscreetly using the boon he had given to him, saying that it was not given for such displays. He said that he would not come again when Shyama Charan called him, but only when he himself thought darshan was to be given. This indiscreet use of the boon given by the guru was, of course, by the newly initiated disciple and not by the Yogiraj — the saint of saints — of the later years.

The saints, or the realized souls, are free spirits and remain as such, but many are reborn of their own choice to fulfill some divine mission. Working for the world, they are the channels through which divine grace flows. A giant electric generating plant caters to the needs of a vast region or country, but the amount and strength of the current passing through different lines varies. Even the most powerful line transmits only a small fraction of what is generated. The distribution to individuals or units is selective, given according to capacity and ability to pay.

The grace of the Lord flows not to one country or region but over the entire universe, whose vastness we cannot know. Nor do we know when or how it is generated. But those who know tell us that it is always in full supply and the