At a group meeting on the day after he had produced amrita I asked Swami about its inner meaning. He related the Hindu myth about its creation, which is briefly as follows.

Once in days of old a great rishi cursed Indra, the king of the lower gods (some rishis apparently had such tremendous power). As a result the gods and the three worlds began to lose their vigour. Vishnu the Preserver, one of the trinity forming the Hindu Supreme Godhead and therefore higher than Indra, offered the gods a solution. He told them that to save themselves they must churn the ocean of milk until from it they produced the invigorating elixir called amrita. This nectar would overcome the rishi's debilitating curse and renew the strength of the gods, and hence that of the three worlds over which they hold dominion.

For the churning operation, Vishnu told them, they could employ Mount Mandara as a stick and the great snake Vasuki as a rope for turning the stick. Also, he said, the gods must make an alliance with the demons and persuade them to pull one end of the rope (the snake) while the gods pulled the other. In this way Mount Mandara could be turned, just like the stick in an old-fashioned Hindu churn.

Many difficulties arose in the great churning operation. For one thing, the poor snake was badly battered and venom poured from his mouth in a great river which threatened to destroy all creatures. To save the situation Siva, another member of the high trinity, appeared and drank the poison. The only harm he suffered was a slightly burned throat, causing a blue patch there; and this is why Siva is also known as "Nilakanta", meaning "blue throat".

Eventually, however, the stirring-up brought good results and many wonderful things came out from the ocean of milk as by-products of the churning. Finally the main product appeared: Dhanvantari, the doctor of the gods, and incidentally the inventor of the Ayurvedic system of medicine which is still practised in India, stepped forth from the ocean. In his hand he carried the gleaning cup of amrita, the elixir of eternal youth and vigour.

Immediately the quick-thinking demons grabbed the cup from him and fled. But to help the gods Vishnu appeared among the demons as a seductive woman. Then, forgetting the precious liquor of immortality, they began to fight amongst themselves for possession of the woman. During the conflict Vishnu snatched the cup of amrita and bore it to the disconsolate gods. They eagerly drank, each having a share before the cup was empty. Thus they regained their immortal strength, and released new power and vigour into the worlds of gods and men.

Baba then spoke of the symbolic meaning in the story. The cream of truth, wisdom and immortality, symbolised by amrita, must be churned from the great cosmic ocean, the phenomenal universe in which we live and move. Because this universe is based on and must always operate on the principle of opposites, the evil forces (the demons) are as necessary as the good forces (the gods) for the churning - that is, for the continuous struggle in the lives of men. But, unfortunately, most men are like the demons: they forget the priceless product, immortality, in their chase after transient sense pleasures, symbolised by the illusion of a seductive woman.

"Once anrita, that is, 'falsehood', enters into the character", Sai Baba said, "men lose contact with amrita. He dies many deaths who is false, afraid of truth, blind to his own glorious heritage of immortality". So, he explained, when people fall a prey to pride, to attachment, to unreality, their thoughts and feelings have to be churned to bring out the dream of spiritual truth. The groups on either end of the churning rope are always the "forward-leading influences and the backward-pulling influences" - the gods and the demons, or, looked at in another way, the divine and animal forces within ourselves.

After about twelve days on the "Olympian heights" of Horsley we returned to Whitefield. On this journey Iris and I had the honour and joy of sitting with Swami in the leading car. For miles along the road Baba led the car-load in songs of praise to God, most of which were composed by himself. These were some of the songs used daily in the bhajan sessions at the ashram, or anywhere else that Sai Baba happens to be.

As we were entering a village along the route two bus-loads of people passed us and recognised Baba. In the village street just ahead they stopped, piled out and formed a human road block. My own instinct would have been to sound the horn loudly and force a way through what looked like a rough crowd. But Swami seems never to feel any alarm or annoyance with the milling mobs that often surround him. The only reactions I have ever seen from him are love and understanding, though sometimes people lose all restraint in their desire to get near him and touch him.

On this occasion he told the driver to stop, then opening his side window he leaned out and gave his blessings. As the crowd, now smiling happily, parted for us we drove slowly through, while Baba waved and spoke to the people on either side. It was like riding with a royal personage, only much more than that. On the faces of these country folk there was a radiance that nearly moved one to tears.

At Brindavanam Swami decided that the two of us should stay with him in the big house, but not dormitory-style, as the crowd was now smaller than before. He gave us a room and a bathroom to ourselves. Here we saw some new facets of his character.

Before we moved in, he called some of the young men who are ever happy to serve him, and set them to work cleaning the room thoroughly and rearranging the furniture. I have never seen Indians move so fast or work so efficiently as they did under Swami's supervision. He would let neither my wife nor me move a finger to help, yet he himself gave a hand in the work. From somewhere he brought attractive carpets, curtains and drapes. Finally he installed us, apologising that the room was not more comfortable. But we loved it. And we could not help admiring Swami in this new ro1e of works supervisor and interior decorator. Whatever is done by him, at whatever level, is done supremely well.

One thing we liked about living in this room was that Baba would often pop in casually, unannounced: he would sit for a while and talk, answering any questions in our minds, or enquiring about how our stomachs coped with the hot Indian dishes served in the dining room. The food was admittedly well-laced with chillies, so that we found it advisable to skip some of the meals and just eat fruit in our room.

On one occasion we asked for a few slices of bread, an item unknown to the dining room. Baba sent a car to Bangalore for bread and other foodstuffs suitable to the western palate. It came back with a fine parcel of things - bread, butter, pots of jam, cake, cheese, and tins of special drinks such as Ovaltine and Bournvita. But some of the devotees must have heard that we had asked for bread, because messengers kept arriving at the door laden with loaves. We soon had enough to start a baker's shop. But this is typical of the brotherliness and generosity among the Baba devotees.

Baba decided to give my wife and myself the Hindu ceremony known as Shastipoorti. This is a kind of remarriage performed when the husband has reached his sixtieth birthday. For the ceremony Swami presented Iris with a beautiful new silk sari and myself with a white silk dhoti and angavastram, saying that it was correct for us to wear new attire on the occasion.

A young couple belonging to a family of Baba devotees was married first, and we were able to sit and watch this with the large crowd that had gathered in the central hall. After about an hour came our turn. We sat cross-legged on the low stage while two priests from Prasanti Nilayam performed the colourful ritual. Before us was a large coconut, some bananas; bowls of rice, sandalwood paste, saffron, kum-kum (red powder), incense and other things. These were essential items of the ritual. The priests chanted Sanskrit mantrams, and at specified times they (or we, under their instruction) sprinkled something from one of the bowls onto the coconut, or smeared it with a paste.

Baba was sitting to one side watching and sometimes directing the proceedings. At the right moment he stepped forward, waved his magic hand in the accustomed way, and materialised two gold rings, each set with a large precious stone. One was for me to put on my wife's finger, and the other for her to put on mine. After that Baba handed us long garlands of flowers with which to adorn each other, and one was given for both of us to place together over Swami's head. The ceremony finished with a chant by the two pundits in unison, invoking - we were told - the blessings of a long life under the protection and guidance of Sri Satya Sai Baba.

The whole ritual was radiant with the warm love that flows from Swami. One could not help feeling that for some forty minutes unseen beneficent powers had been focussed on us and on our marriage union. Thus it was renewed and supremely blessed.

Next day came the ceremony which, Baba said, must follow Shastipoorti; feeding and clothing the poor. Word had gone out to the villages in the neighbourhood and about a thousand paupers - men, women and children - were shepherded into the grounds of Brindavanam. They sat in rows to receive a substantial rice meal, cooked and served by a number of Baba devotees.

Then sixty of the most destitute men and the same number of women were brought to sit on either side of the drive within the inner garden. Each woman was to receive a sari and each man a dhoti. As it was our ceremony, Iris and I were to have the job of handing out these goods but it was Sai Baba who had provided them.

Swami, the giver, kept out of sight while Raja Reddy, who has witnessed many such occasions, supervised the handing out. He organised several young devotees to carry the big piles of clothes, while on one side my wife gave out the saris, and on the other I distributed the dhotis. Some of the poor souls tried to touch my feet in gratitude and feeling embarrassed by this I told each that the gift was from Sai Baba. Whether they understood English or not, they knew the blessed name.

For multitudes of the destitute Sai Baba has been an incarnation of Providence. On occasions such as the great Dasara Festival in October he feeds thousands of the poor people who gather for his blessings at Prasanti Nilayam. Sometimes he personally serves the dessert, placing a goodly portion onto the leaf plate of every one of those thousands. Then, too, the old and decrepit, the cripples and the blind, are given new festival clothes.



Apart from the important ceremonial occasion of Shivaratri, Sai Baba does not usually do spectacular materialisations before large audiences, but I saw him do it once to honour Dr. Modi - and there could hardly have been a more deserving recipient.

Dr. Shree Murugappa Chennaveerappa Modi is known throughout India and in medical circles abroad as an eye surgeon and ophthalmologist. But to the six million blind of India he is much more than that. He is a hope for light in their darkness. They call him "our brother who gives sight". Son of a Bombay merchant, he became a medical practitioner in that City in 1940, specialising in eye surgery.

"Many of my patients had to sell a precious cow, or even their mud-and-straw house in order to travel and have the treatment," he recalls, "so I decided to go to them."

In 1943 he gave up his private practice and began his now-famous free-treatment Eye Camps. With his headquarters in the Mysore town of Davangere he ranges over an area of some 300,000 square miles with a population almost as large as that of the United States of America. He usually sets up his mobile hospital in a school, loaned by the grateful town authorities. Anybody in the district, rich or poor, may come and have their eye troubles examined and treated without any charge. Free hospitalisation is provided in the school building. The Eye Camp generally lasts for about two weeks, and in that time Dr. Modi treats thousands of cases. While he corrects squints and other optical troubles, the bulk of his operations are for cataracts. He has reached a high degree of dexterity in this and has been known to perform - with the help of trained assistants - over seven hundred cataract operations in one day. This production-line pace enables him to handle large numbers, and apparently efficiency does not suffer. His cataract operations are more than 99 per cent successful. Since he began his crusade against blindness nearly twenty-five years ago, Dr. Modi's surgery has given back sight to well over 100,000 people. State and local health departments, philanthropic organisations and some wealthy individuals pay the expenses of the camps. But Dr. Modi accepts no fees for himself. I met Modi when he was brought to Whitefield. He was there with Mr. Niak, the Collector, to take Sai Baba to Kolar. Baba had agreed to be present at the closing function of an Eye Camp just completed in this town, about thirty miles from Whitefield.

I was lucky enough to be invited to go with them. Also in the car were Raja Reddy and Seshgiri Rao, who lives at Whitefield and is a cousin of my Madras friend, G. Venkateswara Rao. As we drove along in the hot sun of the early afternoon, Dr. Modi answered our questions about his work. He is a man in his late forties, solidly-built, with a shining bald head and large gentle eyes. I noticed that there was a western flavour about his manner and speech, and understood why when he told me that during the three-month monsoon season when travel would be difficult for his patients he goes abroad to America, England and other countries. This is to keep himself abreast of new techniques in eye surgery.

Outside the large school building where the eye hospital had been conducted a crowd of about five thousand was waiting. We were conducted to the decorated platform. First the Collector made a short address, then Dr. Modi, who had been sitting near me at the side of the stage, went to the microphone. As he spoke in the local dialect, I could not understand much of what he said, but I picked up one point; he said that although he worked to cure physical blindness, we were all of us spiritually blind until our inner eyes were opened by a great teacher such as Sai Baba.

When he had finished, but before he could return to his seat, Baba stood up beside him and waved his theurgic hand in several swift circles. There was a flash of gold as between Baba's thumb and fore-finger appeared a solid gold ring, set with a large ruby. This he slipped neatly and firmly onto the doctor's third finger. A deep hush passed over the crowd of watchers before they broke into delighted applause. The doctor seemed quite overcome with emotion when he sat down again, and gave me and others a close look at the beautiful ring. It fitted his finger as if measured for it.

Sai Baba usually begins his address with a bhajan song, sung solo in his divinely sweet voice; then he speaks for an hour or more and finishes by leading the crowd in more sacred songs and chants. His discourses or sermons, delivered without notes but with superb fluency and powerful oratory, always hold his audiences in pin-drop silence. And so it was this day.

After a time Seshgiri Rao, who was our driver, slipped away. This was part of the escape strategy, for there always has to be a strategy to fit the place and the occasion. Otherwise Baba would be mobbed by the thousands who want to get close to him and touch him. It was predicted that this would be a particularly difficult exit. So towards the end of Baba's address, on Raja's advice, I left too.

Right behind the stage was the school. I went through that, expecting to find Seshgiri Rao waiting in the car on the other side. But he was not there. I went around the corner to where we had left the car, and found him sitting at the driving wheel, with a small crowd waiting around him.

He explained that he would not move to the school doorway through which Baba would exit until the last moment. Baba's white car was easily identified, he said, and a big crowd would quickly form around the vehicle as soon as they spotted it. So we sat together waiting and talking about the wonders of Sai Baba.

Seshgiri was wearing a ring identical with one his cousin G. Venkateswara always wears. It is set with a big emerald surrounded by small diamonds, and through the emerald one can plainly see a silhouette of Satya Sai Baba's head and shoulders. I asked him to tell me its origin, knowing there would be an interesting story behind it.

Baba, he said, produced the ring in his usual way with a hand-wave. But at first it did not have the Baba image in the emerald. So he said that, since he could buy such a piece for himself, what he really wanted was a ring showing Sai Baba's image. Hearing this, Swami took the ring back, held it in his hand for a moment, and then returned it. The unmistakable silhouette had appeared in the stone while Baba held it in his hand. Then with another hand-wave Baba produced its twin, bearing the same Sai image, for G. Venkateswara Rao.

We heard the sound of bhajan beginning, and took this as the start of our count-down for making a move. At the end of the second song we drove off in the wrong direction, to mislead the crowd, before doubling back and stopping outside the door of the school on the far side from the meeting. The singing ended; there was silence while the minutes passed, but Baba did not appear through the door as expected.

Then we were seen. Crowds began to race along the street towards us. Soon we were an island in a great sea of people pressing heavily against all sides of the car. Every window was a canvas of human faces and eyes, and inside the car it became hot, stifling and airless. As far as we could see in all directions there was a tight mass of people. When one is in the centre of such a mob one feels that it is not a number of separate individuals but one large unreasoning animal which could be led to do almost anything. It would not be safe to move off in case we hurt someone. We were trapped.

Just as I felt near to passing out for lack of air, a few policemen suddenly appeared and made a lane, through which walked Swami, cool, serene and smiling. Raja was right behind him. As soon as they had entered, a line was cleared by the police in front of the car. Seshgiri Rao gunned the engine like one escaping from danger. But Baba from the rear seat, called, "Slow! Slow!" He made us wind the car windows down while we snailed through the crowd, and he gave his blessings by hand and voice to the people on both sides.

Now the mob was no longer an animal; it was a collection of human beings warmed by a great vision. Some prostrated themselves on the ground, others ran beside the car, gleefully shouting: "Sai Baba, Sai Baba!", eyes and faces shining with the light of love and joy.

Mr. Niak had gone ahead in another car, and now we drove to his large house set in spacious grounds surrounded by a high wall. When we passed through, the gate was shut behind us and locked. But it was not long before we heard a crowd shouting outside.

"They have put the children in front of the crowd; they think that will induce us to open the gate," the Collector commented.

Baba smiled gently. After a while, to our alarm, he gave orders for the gate to be opened. From a window I watched the mob pouring in like water through a burst dam. Swami went out to meet the flood. The Collector and others followed him, and soon in the gathering twilight I saw the crowd sitting in a quiet circle. Baba moved around so that all could see him closely, many could touch his robe or feet, some were able to have a word with him and a few received the sacred vibhuti from his hands.

From that day Dr. Modi became a part of the great Sai family. Early the following year Baba invited him to run one of his humanitarian Eye Camps at Prasanti Nilayam itself. People from miles around came for free treatment and many of the ashramites acted as hospital assistants. Later the same year I observed the good doctor taking an active part in the Satya Sai World Conference at Bombay.



As June drew to a close at Brindavanam we began to feel that our days at that tranquil spot, where Baba somehow reminds one more than ever of Lord Krishna, were nearing their end. He had promised to take Iris and me with him to Prasanti Nilayam, but he did not say when that would be.

The gossip grape-vine grew hot with rumours that he was about to leave. Knowing by now his manner of moving without warning, we planned the things we would take, and packed them ready for a swift departure. We were determined not to be caught on the hop a second time.

One evening when Baba was out dining with a family of devotees in Bangalore, the story went around Brindavanam that he was leaving next morning for Puttaparti. Everyone seemed quite certain on the point, so we gave the final touches to our packing.

Next morning before breakfast Baba walked into our room, looked with surprise at the waiting suitcases, and said: "What, are you leaving?"

"We heard that you were going to Puttaparti this morning, Swami, so we . .. "

"No, no," he interrupted, "but I'm going to Madras this morning, just for one night. Would you like to come?" He directed the question at me, alone. It was evidently to be a male party.

After breakfast we drove off - Raja at the wheel, two other males, Baba, and myself. A few miles from Whitefield we stopped at a service station for petrol, and before the tank could be filled a crowd had gathered around the car. Among them was a beggar woman to whom Swami gave money. I have never seen him pass a beggar without giving alms. Even if one of them is beside the road in the country when the car is speeding along, Baba stops and passes out some practical expression of his sympathy and love to the unfortunate person.

Sitting on the rear seat during this trip to Madras were a youth of about sixteen and myself, with Baba between us. One never knows what will happen when driving along with Swami. Sometimes he sits silently for long periods as if in abstraction, or perhaps relaxation: fellow travellers respect these periods, whatever they signify, and remain quiet. Sometimes he sings and asks all to join in. And mostly some interesting incident takes place.

Once, for instance, as we passed slowly through the narrow street of a village a man dashed out in front of the car with a coconut in his hand. Our driver stopped while the man broke the coconut on the road in front of us - this is a Hindu worship ritual. Then he came to the side window to receive Swami's blessing before we continued on our way. On another occasion we were driving through farmlands many miles from the ashram. The only people in sight were three workmen about a hundred yards away from the road. They were bent over their shovels with their backs towards us. Just as we were passing them one stood up, faced us, placed his palms together in the Hindu gesture of greeting and reverently bowed. The other two simply carried on with their work. How, I wondered, did this one particular labourer know? Did he see the car out of the corner of his eye and recognise it or did he somehow feel the nearness of a great saint?

Today Baba was evidently in the mood to entertain the youth with some magic. Taking a green betel leaf, he cut from it with his thumbnail a small round disc which he marked with a symbol. Passing me the circle of leaf, he asked what the symbol was. It might have been a Sanskrit mantram, but I really had no idea. Without enlightening me he took it back and placed it on the youth's palm still holding it by his own finger-tips. When he took his fingers away the disc of green leaf had vanished and in the boy's palm lay another disc of about the same size, but this one had an enamel front which bore a picture of the head of Vishnu. When I was given it to examine closely, I observed with interest that it was a green portrait on a white background, and the green was of exactly the same shade as the leaf had been. It was actually a pendant with a loop for attachment. Turning it over, I noted that there was a slight flaw in the metal backing.

Whether it was because of the flaw or for some other reason I do not know, but Baba held the pendant again in the boy's palm, leaving there this time a similar-sized one bearing the triple heads of the Hindu Trinity - Siva, Vishnu, Brahma. The colour of the second pendant was different, and there was no flaw in the metal backing. The youth was allowed to keep this one, while the first simply disappeared from Baba's fingers.

Looking back on my brief but marvellous time in Madras with Sai Baba on this visit, two things project from the wealth of impressions. One is the mysterious way in which his presence became known to the public. We arrived for a late lunch, had a short siesta, and then I took a look from an upstairs window of the Venkatamuni house where we were staying. The front garden was already nearly filled with people, hundreds sitting cross-legged on the ground waiting, for a sight of the great man. No public announcement had been made, no publicity whatever had been given. In fact, our hosts themselves knew only a couple of hours before we arrived that we were coming, and they had merely phoned a few close devotees to whom Swami wanted to talk for one reason or another.

This handful would probably tell a few friends who were also close disciples. But devotees are always careful not to publicise the news that Sai Baba is coming. The crowds swarm swiftly enough without such encouragement, and Swami seems to like a quiet beginning for his visits so that he can talk to the families who have loved him long and faithfully. Yet some telepathic whisper had gone through the city, and by evening the front and side gardens were packed with people patiently awaiting the appearance of the beloved figure.

The other thing that I was able to appreciate more than ever before was Baba's superhuman energy. From mid-afternoon until late into the night he was interviewing people, singly or in groups, moving among the large crowds, or going out to visit the homes of devotees who were either sick or needed him to come to them for some other reason. The same constant activity went on the whole of the next day until about seven in the evening when we left for Whitefield. A few miles out of Madras, waiting by the roadside, was a car-load of some of his most devoted followers who wanted one more sight of him, one more word, one more blessing from his hand. This he granted, and their eyes moistened with tears of love. Then we set off on our five-hour journey through the darkness, through the villages, through the straying buffaloes and nonchalant cows that infest the roads of India. We reached Brindavanam after midnight to find a group of visitors there waiting to see Baba, even at that hour.

On subsequent tours I saw this same pattern of daily programmes, with the addition of bhajan sessions, public addresses and other big functions. We, his companions on the tour, would be permitted to drop out from time to time to take a few hours rest while Swami carried on, or we would merely sit quietly in the car while he went into the homes of devotees, spending some time with them, bringing them joy, hope and spiritual food.

From morning till night, and usually to midnight or later, Baba is on the go, devoting himself to the needs and welfare of those who come to him or beg him to come to them - verbally or by the telepathy of prayer. He does the work of many ordinary human beings, yet I have never seen him really exhausted. Sometimes he may look a trifle tired, but he rapidly recovers full vigour. It is as if he drinks at the fountainhead of all energy.

Once when I asked Swami if he would do something for me he answered, "Yes, of course. I'm your property; I have no rights." His life is a continual sacrifice and service to them, and through them to all men. For, when the divine pebble of love is thrown into the pond of human ignorance and sorrow, the waves circle outward until they reach the very edge.



A few days after our return from Madras came the hundred-mile drive from Whitefield to Puttaparti. Only my wife, Raja (driving) and myself were with Swami on this occasion. It was Iris's first visit to the ashram and along the route Baba pointed out various landmarks to her. He also gave her practice in a Hindi sacred song he was teaching her. But most of the time he was wrapped in serene silence.

As we entered Prasanti Nilayam my heart leapt to see all the residents, hundreds of them lined up along the way, so that we drove through an avenue of smiling, joyous faces. At the big prayer hall we stopped, and lost Baba: he was sucked away into a maelstrom of people. But we were given a beaming welcome by friends like Mr. N. Kasturi, and soon found ourselves ensconced in my old room at the guesthouse.

I found that life in its externals had not changed much since my previous visit to the ashram. There was still the early bell, clanging one from dreams into the morning darkness to prepare for meditation in the prayer hall. Not all ashramites go there; some meditate in their rooms, some choose other places such as under the sacred banyan tree which Baba planted many years ago on the hill above the hospital. I preferred to go onto the high rocks where I could do some morning yogic exercises and watch the rising sun spread its magic light over the wild hills, filling the valleys with gold.

Later the crowd gathers around the circular garden in front of the main building for their first visual contact with Baba as he comes onto the balcony to raise his hand in benediction. This is the day's first darshan (blessing by appearance). Soon after this, interviews begin; taking groups of anything from a dozen to twenty, he spends perhaps half an hour, sometimes an hour or more, with each group. In this way he manages to make close contact with on average about 150 people a day - more in busy periods.

Later in the morning there is an hour's bhajan. Baba often comes and sits on his high chair in the hall for part of this. During part of it he might walk among the people seated outside under the trees. Sometimes he spends most of the bhajan period at his group interviews in the rooms. The only thing one can be sure of is that he will never follow the same routine of action twice in succession.

When the second bhajan of the day begins in the evening, Baba is usually still conducting interviews. Then after some time he comes out and walks down a path to feed his young elephant, Sai Gita. As soon as the elephant sees him she approaches majestically, holding high in her trunk a garland of flowers made by some ladies of the ashram. When the two meet, Sai Gita places the garland over Baba's head and bows, bending her right foreleg. Baba pats her and feeds her with fruit from a basket which her young mahout has brought. After a while he leaves her with the basket and walks around to have a word with people sitting by the side of the path. But all the while Sai Gita keeps her eye on him and turns so that her head is always facing towards her beloved lord.

When her supper of fruit is finished she carries the empty basket back towards her stable. But if Baba calls to her to stop, or to come to him, she obeys immediately. This pet elephant was presented to him when she was quite a baby by some devotees of the south. She has become a much loved feature of the ashram, trumpeting a loud salute when she spots Baba's red robe in the distance, or somehow senses his presence without seeing him. On occasions, richly caparisoned, she takes part in outdoor processions and important ceremonies at Prasanti Nilayam.

After the evening bhajan and its beautiful closing ritual of arati, with camphor light and a hymn of worship, the crowd pours from the hall and from under the trees to the front of the building. Here all stand and wait for the evening darshan. Soon the little red figure with the great dome of black hair is seen on the lighted balcony. There is a deep hush; his lips move silently, his hand moves in a gesture of upliftment. Something more subtle than the air around seems also to move upward gripping the heart and lifting it until the eyes are moist.

Then we go to our suppers. But Baba spends most of the evening seeing more people: ashram officials with administration problems and visitors with urgent personal problems.

Nor had the life at Prasanti Nilayam changed in its inner aspect since my last visit. When you pass through the gate you seem to enter a shining aura of peace and joy. Not that you entirely forget the world in some lotus-eating dream. But your sense of value changes; the world's problems and conflicts are seen as if through the wrong end of a telescope, tiny and very far away. Even the immediate problems of living at the ashram - the adjustment to certain discomforts, the struggle to secure some western delicacies, such as bread, butter and cheese - seem very small. Always the important over-riding factor is the enveloping love radiated from the centre. What the famous "iron-lung" millionaire of America, Fred Snite, said about Lourdes applies also to Prasanti Nilayam: "Here life is a prayer We are in a place apart from the world - a place half-way to heaven."

One of the most interesting features of life at the ashram is the people there, residents and visitors. A whole volume could be written on this subject alone. They come for such a variety of reasons. Some travel hundreds of miles, as people went to the Delphic Oracle of old to peep into the future. Others come for business reasons; to ask if they should sell a shop, start a factory, tender for a contract, look for a new job. Many come with serious health problems; some arrive as representatives of Sai Baba groups in other areas to invite Swami to grace some function with his presence; a few are there to ask him to their homes, perhaps to perform a marriage, or name a child, or bless a new house or simply for the indescribable joy of his company. Baba would need to be multi-bodied to satisfy all such requests.

An important point to note about Sai Baba, in both this body and the former one, is that he does not in the least resent being treated as a fortune-teller, a soothsayer, a psychic investigator, a business adviser, or a universal physician. He regards all who come as his children; some are wanting a broken toy mended, some have an ear-ache, some are just wanting a word of encouragement from the eternal parent. He tries to satisfy all at their own level, and by his powerful spiritual force to raise that level towards the superhuman race that Man must eventually become.

Lord Krishna classified those who came to him into four main divisions. (1) those in distress, (2) those desirous of worldly gain, (3) those seeking spiritual knowledge and understanding, and (4) those who have already attained a high degree of spiritual wisdom (i.e., the jnanis). His task, Krishna said, was to give each what he asked for. His blessings were poured out on all men equally, but each could only receive according to his readiness, according to his position on the ladder of spiritual attainment. Sai Baba put the matter thus: the rays of the sun fall equally on all who are directly in their way. If someone is behind an obstacle, or in a room, he will receive only a part of the illumination. Cultivating the higher spiritual yearnings is like coming out from the confinement of a room into the sun's full rays.

Now, five thousand years after Lord Krishna, those who approach Sai Baba fall into the same general classes. And in like manner he considers them all worthy of his help. He sheds his blessings on all, but of course their own limitations condition what they receive. If their present needs are for bodily health or material prosperity, that's what they get. Those in the higher grades, the jnanis, who are open to the sun's full illumination are, as of old, much fewer in numbers than the others - but they do exist. With great joy, with a rare feeling of upliftment, I have met some of those - not only living a life of renunciation at the ashram, but also as householders.

When it became known that I was writing this book one of the brightest lights of the ashram, a woman completely dedicated to the great Sai Baba mission, lent me the diary she had been keeping since her first visit to Puttaparti in about 1950. It is an interesting document, giving a picture of life with Baba at Puttaparti in the years before Prasanti Nilayam ashram was built. From the diary I have learned a number of important things not generally known about Sai Baba.

For example, many people think that before the period when he began giving public discourses - that is, before he was about thirty-two years of age - Baba gave no spiritual instruction. It is true that in the three decades of his life he was concerned mainly with leelas and mahimas, with phenomena such as the showing of visions, with astral travel, miraculous healing and other miracles. But the diary shows that he also gave spiritual teachings.

No doubt most of those who came out of curiosity to see the young Puttaparti miracle-man were in the kindergarten of the spiritual school. They needed the visual props of incredible wonders to sustain their faith. Or else they simply desired superhuman help in curing diseases or solving material problems. When their curiosity was satisfied, or they got all the material benefits they could (or were, perhaps, disappointed in this), those incapable of receiving the deeper guidance drifted away.



But there were others who belonged to the higher grades in the school of life, those who were in search of the knowledge, understanding and happiness that the world cannot give. To these Sai Baba, right from the very beginning, gave personal instruction on right thinking, right feeling, right action. To these he gave individual spiritual disciplines.

Much of his teaching was done, as it is now, through stories, parables and homely analogies. All his teaching emphasised, as it does now, the need to actually live the life; emphasised that the mere spinning of fine phrases and fascinating webs of metaphysical speculation will get you nowhere. The pathway on which Baba has, from the start, led his disciples is chiefly the bhakti marga, or the yoga of divine love.

This yoga, like all others, requires that we overcome our attachments to personal ambition, fame, pride, self-importance, and that we "flush out" the last hidden pockets of egotism lurking in the mind's dark corners. For this we must be prepared to suffer many austerities and a good deal of what may at first seem like personal injustice.

Another important point I learned from the diary was that when Baba appears to be hard on some of his followers, it is really a great compliment to them, and indeed a blessing in disguise. It does not mean, as some may think, that these disciples have lost his love and been cast into the outer darkness. On the contrary it means that Baba has high regard for those he is putting through the grinding mill; he is training them for greater progress in the school of the spirit.

Sometimes in this way, and apparently for this purpose, he seems to test people to the highest level of their endurance. Even after their mettle has been tested and proved, he will if necessary put them through what he calls a "polishing process". This may bring a great deal of mental anguish until deeper understanding dawns on the initiate. Thus we found that many of Baba's long-term disciples helped us to perceive the hidden dimensions of the master's mission and purpose. They made clearer to us the beneath-the-surface meaning of many of his actions and words.

As the days passed at the ashram many new, inspiring devotees came into the circle of our acquaintances. A number of them had deeply moving stories to tell about their miraculous and spiritual experiences with Sai Baba. I made notes of these, and gained permission from many of the narrators to use their names and other identifying particulars. These worthy people, many well-known, stand as living witnesses to the truth of the strange facts I write. This may help some readers to accept what is indeed so far outside common everyday experience as to be well-nigh incredible.

Meanwhile I must try to describe the special quality of our last interview with Swami before we left the ashram towards the end of August. Of course at Prasanti Nilayam there had not been the same close personal contact that we had enjoyed at Brindavanam, and particularly at Horsley Hills. Life is on a different scale at the ashram. Crowds of visitors are constantly moving through, or gathering for some big religious festival or other special event.

During our stay there had been two such occasions: Gurupoornima Day in July - a festival to honour the great gurus - and the official inauguration of Prasanti Nilayam as a township. For the latter event, which took place on August 5th, many important officials attended from nearby towns such as Penukonda and Anantapur, and from the State capital, Hyderabad. Some of these visitors were Baba devotees, and some were not.

After the township inauguration ceremony Sai Baba provided a huge banquet for everyone. More than a thousand people sat down to a fine Indian dinner, while Swami moved tirelessly among the guests, making sure that every individual was well-fed and happy.

Yet despite his busy life we were really very fortunate in seeing quite a lot of the great master. I went with him on an official three-day tour to Anantapur, where I met and talked with a number of devotees who had known him since his early youth. And he always called both Iris and myself to the interview room when he was seeing a group of visitors from abroad. So we sat at his feet among people from France, Italy, South America, Germany, Denmark and Persia. We saw him amaze and delight them with materialisations: the production of vibhuti, or sweets for us all to eat, or a jewel for one of the visitors. And on all occasions we witnessed the most important miracle - every heart deeply stirred by the magic wand of selfless love.

We had many memorable sessions with Swami this way, and then, when there were only a few days of our sojourn left, he called us to him every day. These farewell gatherings, lasting sometimes up to a couple of hours, were enjoyed in the company of special ashram friends. Some like us were departing, and others remaining. Always Baba talked first on spiritual subjects, then on more general topics or personal problems that could be discussed in a group.

Present at the final interview were Mr. and Mrs. K.R.K. Bhat, in whose car we were being given a lift to Bangalore. Mr. Bhat is a retired divisional manager of the Life Insurance Corporation of India. He suffered a serious heart attack just before his retirement and is now living most of the time at Prasanti Nilayam, being kept alive, as he says himself, "by the grace of Sai Baba". He and his wife were returning to Bangalore for a while to arrange some personal matters. But for a few days Mr. Bhat had been suffering pain on his left side in the heart region, and as doctors had previously forbidden him to drive the car, I volunteered to drive it for him.

After general conversation with the group of eight people, Baba took the various individuals who were departing into another room to speak privately with each. First there were the Maharani of Kutch and her daughter, Nanda. The Maharani was leaving for her home in Bombay, and Nanda was going part of the way with her, then returning to the ashram which has become her home.

Next Iris and I were called. Immediately Swami was alone with us, he dropped all joking and teasing, and spoke very seriously in a voice of deep affection. He was like a mother seeing her children off to boarding school, except that he seemed to be the essence of all the mothers the earth has ever known. The stream of affection that flowed from him was a river carrying one off into an ocean of love. In that ocean one's physical body seemed to vanish, and all the hard lumps of separate self, of anxiety and worry and deep-lying fear, were melted away. For those exalted moments one touched the edge of the infinite and felt the ineffable joy of it.

Many of the Baba devotees have told me about their own personal experience of this deepest of the mysteries and miracles, where a man touches, and momentarily becomes one with, the divine in Man. But, like me, none has been able to describe it adequately, for it is far beyond the reach of words.

After giving us personal advice regarding our work and health and lives, and assuring us that there is never any need for fear or worry because he is always with us in our hearts, he waved his hand; this time in large vertical circles like a turning wheel. When his hand stopped it held a little silver container, an inch in height and over an inch in diameter. As he opened the lid a fragrant perfume pervaded the room. The container was full of light-grey vibhuti which proved to be as fragrant to the tongue as it was to the nose. Giving it to us, he said to take a little every day, it would bring great benefits and blessings to both body and soul.

The last persons to whom he spoke privately were Mr. and Mrs Bhat. As it was an auspicious day for the devotees of Lord Subramaniam, their chief household god, Mrs. Bhat had brought a small bouquet of flowers and tulsi leaves. These she placed at the feet of Sai Baba who has become to her the embodiment of Lord Subramaniam, the reason for this will be fully understood from her miraculous experience related in the next chapter.

Baba put a few of the flowers in her hair. Then telling us all to wait for some prasad (gifts of packets of vibhuti, we thought) he went upstairs to his dining room, which is directly above the interview room. He took, we presume, the remainder of the bouquet with him, and we all stood waiting. Iris and I were standing by Mr. Bhat on his left. Mrs. Bhat was to his right, while the rest of the group was on the other side of the room.

As we exchanged a word or two with Mr. Bhat, a very tall man, Iris saw what she took to be flakes of dried paint falling from the ceiling. I did not notice these "flakes" until they were perhaps a foot and a half above Mr. Bhat's left shoulder, on which they came to rest. Then I observed that the "flakes" were actually tuisi leaves and a few flower petals.

I could see from Mr. Bhat's face that he immediately felt something miraculous in this event, but I looked for a natural explanation. It seemed, however, impossible to find one. The leaves and petals could not possibly have fallen off anything in the room, which was unfurnished except for one chair and a cupboard in a corner some distance from where we stood, and the walls of the room were bare.

Moreover, the leaves and petals could not have fallen from Mrs. Bhat's head because she is a very short woman, and was anyway on the right side of her husband, whereas they fell from a high level on his left side. Furthermore, there had been no leaves in her hair, only flowers, and these were still in place after the incident. Nor could the bits of foliage have blown in through the window; first, because there was no breeze, the air being quite still; second, because there are no tulsi bushes anywhere near the window; and third, because if they had come in the window they would not have been at the height where first seen by my wife, or even by me. 1 could think of absolutely no place from which they could have arrived by the normal forces of nature.

The Bhats had no doubt whatever that this was another of Swami's inscrutable works; that he had dropped some of the bouquet of leaves and petals from the room above, through the solid ceiling onto Mr. Bhat's shoulder - on his left side, where the pain had been nagging for days. Since the time of Lord Krishna tulsi leaves have been associated with healing, and it is interesting that Mr. Bhat's pain almost immediately vanished.

Presently a messenger from Swami arrived with some packages of what the devotees call "emergency vibhuti" for those departing. This is wonderful stuff of a dark-grey colour, and has been known to work great miracles in times of serious sickness or bad accidents.

But after the touch of the leaves from above, Mr. Bhat needed nothing of this kind. He felt so well that he drove the car most of the way to Bangalore himself, letting me take the wheel for only a few miles - and then mainly to please me, I think. We stayed at his Bangalore house for about a week and every day he drove us somewhere, on one occasion to Whitefield where we collected the remnant of our luggage and saw Mr. and Mrs. M. S. Dixit. There was no return of Bhat's heart pain; it seemed to have been borne away by the healing beam which, as its signature, brought the miraculous fall of leaves and petals.