38 Joachim Peters and Uli Steckenreuter Prasanthi Nilayam 5th February 1981 |
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Sir’s Interview surely will make any guru’s secretary triply proud to read. Sir is doing fine. But he still refuses to allow his name to appear, and as for the photograph I have just taken: No, no, absolutely no! However, he does have a young Italian lined up for the next round. But with all its lyrical sweetness and sincerity the Interview is flat, muddled and one of those misfires. As an alternative, Sir has two Germans lined-up — but not until tomorrow. I ask: Can’t we have one Interview from a woman? A woman? No, certainly not, we would have to get special permission for that. How special? Very!
Dr. Bhagavanantum still hasn’t returned. Sir is beginning to have second thoughts about his boldness. Why should it get him into any disfavour? I say: Look, I am prepared to sign a paper saying I have taken these Interviews on the condition that before publication I will submit them to you for approval. Sir is happy with this and says the transcripts will be returned within a few days. I have had plenty of experience with Ashram paper-checking, so I suggest that if they are returned within two or three weeks that will be fine with me. So yet another deal is struck.
I must say, some aspects of The Guru Protection Syndrome one sometimes meets in Ashrams can be tiresome. I had, however, to come all the way here to Puttaparthi though to hear about a scandalous book recently published about Sathya Sai Baba, so I do see that poor Sir is right to be cautious. (And little did I imagine that this was but the start of much controvertial speculation as to Baba’s sexual activities). In spite of this, couldn’t someone in an official position take responsibility in Dr. Bhagavantum’s absence and come up with a decision and deal with my Interview requests?I need only to be told Yes or No. In the afternoon darshan, Baba floats past me again — he is very loving with old people in wheel chairs. Occasionally, he stops and allows someone to say a few words to him. At the end of Baba’s perambulation, I see coming towards me Lynn, the intrepid Australian interior designer I first met at the Aurobindo Ashram several days ago, or was it at the Theosophical Society? – she has finally made it to see her guru at his own Ashram, but not by the shortest route having called at many other Ashrams on the way here. She waves when she catches sight of me, but here in these Ashram grounds we cannot speak to each other let alone go to each other’s rooms. I need to talk to someone, to get another perspective on what might be going on – but Lynn is a woman! She whispers as we pass: Meet me in the X Café in half an hour. What? – I think to myself – go out of the Ashram precincts? Such temptations! Of course I do understand the whole idea of such restrictions...if you go to any Ashram to see your guru why even think about going outside? But in this case nothing else can be done. We meet. We see others unlawfully talking, smoking, tea-drinking — I can’t see any other vices; they too have sneaked out. Lynn’s first question: Aren’t you by this time sick of all these Holy Ashrams? She doesn’t wait for a reply — I can’t bear them -- I love Baba -- but this Ashram! She says no more. We have tea. She tells me that she is taking a taxi in two days back to Bangalore. That fits my plans as I have a berth booked on the night train so I must also get back to Bangalore. So yet another deal is struck…we will share the taxi no matter what happens, permissions or no permissions! Like conspirators a bit too pleased with ourselves, we sneak back into the Ashram, carefully staggering our arrival. Dr. Bhagavantum has still not returned... But it’s now time for the German Interview.
Interview 38 As you both wish to give the Interview together,
let’s start with Joachim as you are older, right? Can you say what it was? A week later I had my first Interview with Sai Baba — it was with a group. He materialized things and was all love; he asked if I had any questions, so I said: Yes, one. He said: You want to talk? Come. And he took me behind a curtain, and there he turned completely into the Divine Mother full of sweetness. I didn’t have to narrate my dream, he knew — he said: No birth again! I couldn’t grasp it still. He repeated: No birth again — moksha, liberation. I was so happy I started weeping. I felt Baba had taken loads of karma off my shoulders. I was a changed being. Did you have to go back
to Germany? When you said your character
changed what did you mean? Can you now give an account
of Sai
Baba’s teachings? He pays your karmic debts? How do you spend your
time? Do you do any seva? Now should we hear what
Uli has to tell us? He said: What’s your name? I said: Uli. He said: Cooli? Ah, work! That was the only conversation I had with him. But he was working on me on subtle levels. He understood what was in my mind, what I wanted — there was some communication there. But at that time I didn’t know who he was. Through my cultural background I was very narrowed in. He just opened me up. I then spent time in America, sort of free life, but I met some Sai Baba devotees whom I liked. When I came back to Germany I met more Baba devotees, and as Neem Karoli Baba had died, I decided I should come to India again. But first I saw other saints, then came to see Baba. At the first meeting he just looked into my eyes and I knew he was the highest being I had met. (I had been with about ten saints.) But he never talked to me, like Neem Karoli Baba. He manifested lockets for others but ignored me. Eventually, he asked my name, and when I told him, he said: Cooli? Ah, work! I stayed with him four months and that was the only conversation I had with him. No, I remember I did have one other — the summer course was going on and everybody had to have a badge to get in. There were a few without badges — I was one — so we couldn’t get in; we were sitting outside waiting for Baba to arrive and help us. He came, looked at us, told someone: Give him a badge, him, him, and so on— but again he ignored me. He was so godlike, I was so shy, I could never approach him, but he lingered as if to let me know that if I wanted to speak, speak! All I could say was: Summer course! He said: Achha? As if to say — oh, you can talk, but also at the same time it was like an embrace. You mean he never gave
you a badge? Then I was very sick, stomach trouble and depressed, and about to leave and look for another saint. I was sitting at darshan really down physically and mentally: Baba came out but I thought: Well, you are God — I can’t go to a doctor because you can cure me if you want to in an instant. He looked at me — in the area of my stomach — and said: Go in! and he gave me an Interview. From then on for a year he gave me so much attention, talked to me, made me feel I was close to him. He made me this locket I wear — even the chain, at that first Interview, and said: You have pain — I’ll take it away — you want to talk to me this evening? I was so happy, but all day long I was also confused by this sudden love. In the evening he said: How are you now? I said: A little confused. Confused? He said, if you are confused I won’t talk to you. He started to walk away. I yelled out: It’s much better now, so he came back saying: Don’t be confused, be happy! From then on he has given me many Interviews and made me this special ring. JOACHIM: You should tell how he wanted to get you married. ULI: Baba was marrying an American couple, blessed them, made them rings and showered them with rice — brown rice — coming out of his fingers. After he had given them a talk on what marriage means, he turned to me saying: Now you are going to get married. I cried: Baba, no, no! I don’t want to get married — I really don’t want to. He said: I am going to marry you to God! You must have many other illustrations of Baba’s sense of humour. JOACHIM: There was a thread ceremony; on the platform three or four pandits were reciting mantras, but Baba was walking up and down spraying from his finger tips flower petals and such things. The pandits became excited and called out: Shiva, Shiva! And Baba turned round and asked: Yes? Baba has been wearing his special curly hair-style, and some people get a shock when they see it for the first time. Two Westerners were talking about it saying you have to be careful with such a style not to get lice. Some days later they had an Interview with Baba, who said as he bent his head: You have to be careful with such hair — it’s so easy to get lice. And there they could see innumerable small snakes. ULI: Oh, do you remember when two brothers were talking about Baba actually wearing a wig? That evening at darshan, as he passed them he tugged at his hair and then went on. And when on another occasion he took out a white handkerchief as he passed someone, rubbed it very hard against his lips and showed it to the person without any mark on it. That man told me later that he had actually been telling his friend that Baba uses lipstick. He does these funny things but they always have significance. JOACHIM: Once Baba said that Krishna wore his hair like he does, but with a cloth round it. He put a towel on his head like a turban to show us, then he waved his hand and produced a huge emerald — about the size of a small egg — saying: This stone belonged to Krishna’s grandmother. He placed it on the turban and then handed it around so that we could all see it. Then taking it back he said: I have to send it back, it is part of the crown Jewels and the guard will get in trouble if someone notices that it is missing. It disappeared from his hand, just like that. Have any of these objects
been verified? I suppose
Baba manifests objects to teach you something. He said: It is gold with an emerald. This was confirmed by other people there. Then Baba took it back, blew on it — phuur! Showed it to everyone, and they all said: Oh, it’s now silver with a diamond! He did this several times — blowing and showing — and the ring had changed every time. Then Baba said: See, Baba can change any material in the universe into another, but to change one of you Westerners is very hard. *** Before I go to my barren room for the night, Sir takes me to meet the English woman who was a music teacher in London but who now lives at the Ashram teaching bhajans to the many Westerners who come here. She agrees to an Interview but, again, not until there has been official permission. Dr. Bhagavantum is still not back. I go to sleep. This is now my last day. Nothing more to do but wait. There are hundreds of Westerners staying here, some have been here for years, some own apartments, but what is the use even trying to talk to them without permission? Sir is still sure all will work out, and even if the respected doctor does not arrive this evening something will make me stay on. I keep telling him I have to take tomorrow night’s train for the Ashram of Swami Ramdas in Kerala. Baba has been away all day, so no morning darshan. When he comes back in the late afternoon, I decide it’s my turn to be bold: I walk right into Baba’s private house. Of course, I don’t get far: an elderly pandit-doctor stops me. I explain I have been here three days, must leave tomorrow and all I want to know is Yes or No about the Interviews — and if I can take one from a woman disciple? He says Dr. Bhagavantum is the only person who can go in and ask such a question. Yes, yes, I do know that, but can no one else help me? When you pour out your heart to an Indian he always responds. He says: Dr. Bhagavantum will surely come back tonight! I reply: It will be too late. The learned pandit then says: There is only one thing left — you go across the road, over there, to the post office, and send Baba a personal telegramme stating the case: he must open that himself! With a wave of his hand he points the direction. This at least is better than just sitting about waiting; Baba said he would see me later — it is getting very late. I find the tiny P.O. hardly a minute’s walk away, take a telegramme form from the postmaster, and ask: Is it possible to have it delivered to Baba before the evening darshan? Lovely smile from the postmaster: It will be delivered by me -- me personally! I write, pay, bow, and leave, now totally enchanted with the situation.
Baba will surely say something to me when he comes out for his evening darshan walk. It’s time to get in line. We all sit waiting in neat, long lines. The discipline is extraordinary, as is the silence and patience of this huge congregation. There is an air of restless anticipation. Baba is one hour late — he must have received the telegramme! But I am now in such a euphoric state I can’t understand if it’s because of the comic-opera situation with the possibility of the baritone rushing up to the tenor-hero in the last act with a telegramme proving that the much abused rival who is about to be banished is his long-lost brother… Or could it be some supernatural resignation and bliss that has descended?
Baba glides past. All is as it should be. The note is still in my hand. The comic-opera won’t have a hammy ending: the rejected one, of his own accord, will retreat without causing more trouble, resigned to his wandering fate, but happy to find the faithful Australian soprano waiting ready to mount the taxi with him. And so Lynn and I bid farewell to this colourful Wonderland of bitter-sweet conundrums. We drive away into the morning sunrise.
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© Malcolm Tillis 2006 |