HPB-SB-14-74: Difference between revisions

It was, I think, between eight and nine A. M. and I was following the road to the town of Sikkhim, whence, I was assured by the people I met on the road, I could cross over to Thibet easily in my pilgrim’s garb, when I suddenly saw a solitary horseman galloping towards me from the opposite direction. From his tall stature and the expert way he managed the animal, I thought he was some military officer of the Sikkhim Rajah. Now, I thought, am I caught! He will ask me for my pass, and what business I have on the independent territory of Sikkhim, and perhaps, have me arrested and—sent back, if not worse. But—as he approached me, he reined the steed. I looked at and recognised him instantly . . . I was in the awful presence of him, of the same Mahatma, my own revered ''Guru'' whom I had seen before in his astral body, on the balcony of the Theosophical head-quarters?* It was he, the “Himalayan Brother” of the ever memorable night of December last, who had so kindly dropped a letter in answer to one I had given in a sealed envelope to Madame Blavatsky—whom I had never for one moment during the interval lost sight of—but an hour or so before! The very same instant saw me prostrated on the ground at his feet. I arose at his command, and, leisurely looking into his face, I forgot myself entirely in the contemplation of the image I knew so well, having seen his portrait (the one in Colonel Olcott’s possession) a number of times. I knew not what to say: joy and reverence tied my tongue. The majesty of his countenance, which seemed to me to be the ''impersonation'' of power and thought, held me rapt in awe. I was at last face to face with “the Mahatma of the Himavat,” and he was no myth, no “creation of the imagination of a ''medium'',” as some sceptics suggested. It was no night dream; it is between nine and ten o’clock of the forenoon. There is the sun shining and silently witnessing the scene from above. I see Him before me in flesh and blood; and he speaks to me in accents of kindness and gentleness. What more do I want? My excess of happiness made me dumb. Nor was it until a few moments later that I was drawn to utter a few words, encouraged by the gentle tone and speech. His complexion is not as fair as that of Mahatma Koot Humi; but never have I seen a countenance so handsome, a stature so tall and so majestic. As in his portrait, he wears a short black beard, and long black hair hanging down to his breast; only his dress was different. Instead of a white, loose robe, he wore a yellow mantle lined with fur, and, on his head, instead of a ''pagri'', a yellow Thibetan felt cap, as I have seen some Bhutanese wear in this country. When the first moments of rapture and surprise were over, and I calmly comprehended the situation, I had a long talk with him. He told me to go no further, for I would come to grief. He said I should wait patiently if I wanted to become an accepted ''Chela''; that many were those who offered themselves as candidates, but that only a very few were found worthy; none were rejected—but all of them tried, and most found to fail signally, especially ——and ——. Some instead of being accepted and pledged this year were now thrown off for a year . . . . . The Mahatma, I found, speaks very little English—or at least it so seemed to me—and ''spoke to me in my mother-tongue—Tamil''. He told me that if the ''Chohan'' permitted Mdme. B. to go to Pari-jong next year, then I could come with her . . . . The Bengali Theosophists who followed the “Upasika” (Madame Blavatsky) would see that she was right in trying to dissuade them from following her now. I asked the blessed Mahatma whether I could tell what I saw and heard to others. He replied in the affirmative, and that moreover I would do well to write to you and describe all . . . . .

 

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<div>{{Style P-Align center|1=The Indian Mirror.<br>CALCUTTA, TUESDAY, DEC. 12, 1882.}}</div>