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vol. title: vol. period: 1882 pages in vol.: 174 |
< How a Chela Found His Guru. (continued from page 14-73) >
of two hours, and even paced the room softly and slowly, without making any noise, to see if I could make my escape, in case of need, back to the forest, by the same way I had effected my entrance into the hut—no fear, I repeat, or any such feeling ever entered my heart. I recomposed myself to rest. After a sound sleep, undisturbed by any dream, I woke and found it was just dawning. Then I hastily put on my boots, and cautiously got out of the hut through the same window. I could hear the snoring of the owners of the hut in the other room. But I lost no time and gained the path to Sikkhim (the city), and held on my way with unflagged zeal. From the inmost recesses of my heart I thanked my revered Guru for the protection he had vouchsafed me during the night. What prevented the owners of the hut from penetrating to the second room? What kept me in the same serene and calm spirit, as if I were in a room of my own house? What could possibly make me sleep so soundly under such circumstances,—enormous, dark forests on all sides abounding in wild beasts, and a party of cut-throats—as most of the Sikkhimese are said to be—in the next room with an easy and rude door between them and me?
When it became quite light, I wended my way on through hills and dales. Riding or walking the paths I followed are not a pleasant journey for any man, unless he be, I suppose, as deeply engrossed in thought as I was then myself, and quite oblivious to anything affecting the body. I have cultivated the power of mental concentration to such a degree of late that, on many an occasion I have been able to make myself quite oblivious of anything around me when my mind was wholly bent upon the one object of my life, as several of my friends will testify; but never to such an extent as in this instance.
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 . . . . .
I must impress upon your mind the whole situation, and ask you to keep well in view what I saw was not the mere “appearance” only, the astral body of the Mahatma, as we saw him at Bombay, but the living man, in his own physical body. He was pleased to say when I offered my farewell namaskarams (prostration) that he approached the British Territory to see the Upasika . . . Before he left me, two more men came on horseback, his attendants I suppose, probably Chelas, for they were dressed like lama-gylongs, and both, like himself, with long hair streaming down their back. They followed the Mahatma, as he left, at a gentle trot. For over an our I stood gazing at the place that he had just quitted, and then I slowly retraced my steps. Now it was that I found for the first time that my long boots had pinched me in my leg in several places, that I had eaten nothing since the day before, and that I was too weak to walk further. My whole body was aching in every limb. At a little distance I saw petty traders with country ponies, taking burden. I hired one of these animals. In the afternoon I came to the Rungit River, and crossed it. A bath in its cool waters renovated me. I purchased some fruits in the only bazar there, and ate them heartily. I took another horse immediately, and reached Darjiling late in the evening. I could neither eat, nor sit, nor stand. Every part of my body was aching. My absence had seemingly alarmed Madame Blavatsky. She scolded me for my rash and mad attempt to try to go to Tibet after this fashion. When I entered the house I found with Madame Blavatsky Babu Parnati Churn Roy, Deputy Collector of Settlements and Superintendent of Dearah Survey, and his Assistant, Babu Kanty Bhushan Sen, both members of our Society. At their prayer and Madame Blavatsky’s command, I recounted all that had happened to me, reserving of course my private conversation with the Mahatma. . . . They were all, to say the least, astounded! . . . . . . . After all, she will not go this year to Thibet; for which I am sure she does not care, since she saw our Masters, thus effecting her only object. But we, unfortunate people! We lose our only chance of going and offering our worship to the “Himalayan Brothers,” who—I know—will not soon cross over to British territory if ever again.
I write to you this letter, my dearest Brother, in order to show how right we were in protesting against “H. X’s” letter in the Theosophist. The ways of the Mahatmas may appear, to our limited vision, strange and unjust, even cruel—as in the case of our Brothers here, the Bengali Babus, some of whom are now laid up with cold and fever, and perhaps murmuring against the Brothers, forgetting that they never asked or personally permitted them to come, but what they had themselves acted very rashly . . . . . . .
And now that I have seen the Mahatma in the flesh, and heard his living voice, let no one dare say to me that the Brothers do not exist. Come now whatever will, death has no fear for me, nor the vengeance of enemies; for what I know, I know!
You will please show this to Colonel Olcott who first opened my eyes to the Gnana Marga, and who will be happy to hear of the success (more than I deserve) that has attended me. I shall give him details in person.
Darjiling, 7th October 1882.
* I refer the reader to Mr. Ramaswamier’s letter in Hints on Esoteric Theosophy, pp. 72 and 73, for a clearer comprehension of the highly important circumstance he refers to.—D. K. M.
The Indian Mirror.
CALCUTTA, TUESDAY, DEC. 12, 1882.
The seventh annual meeting of the Theosophical Society was held at the Framji Cowasji Institute, Bombay, on Thursday last. Mr. Sinnett, Editor of the Pioneer, presided, and made a long speech. Several delegates from Lahore, Bengal, Allahabad, &c., addressed the meeting in the English, Hindi, and Sanskrit languages. Colonel Olcott gave an account of the doings of the Society during the past year.
Editor's notes
- ↑ The seventh annual meeting of the Theosophical Society… by unknown author, Indian Mirror, The, Calcutta, Tuesday, December12,1882. A blue diagonal stroke lies above the opening, and a blue curved stroke below the last line. Their writer has not been identified.