MATCHING EVOLUTIONARY RESEARCH TO AGENCY MISSIONS
2 National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases
241
The flight was called. We stood up to walk toward the gate.
ìWhere are Dadas J and N?î Baba asked.
I ran here and there to look for them, but couldnít find them anywhere.
Baba was getting worked up over their irresponsibility. He turned to Didi Ananda Karuna and said, ìWhen they appear, you should give them a piece of your mind.î Then He said to one Dada, ìYou must tell them that they are not monks but monkeys.î And to another Dada, ìYou are to make such a hubbub that they never forget this august moment.
î
Though Baba looked angry, we all enjoyed it. I went to the airlines desk, and arranged for an announcement of the two miscreantsí names.
A few minutes later they appeared, running. I rushed to meet them and asked, ìWhat delayed you? Baba is furious.î
They grinned sheepishly. ìWe were looking for white chocolate.î With a flourish and a show of victory, they whipped several bars out of their handbags for me to see.
I accompanied them to the gate, where Baba and the others were already walking toward the shuttle-bus, leaving me behind. As those
last two Dadas boarded, I could see everyone playing their roles, fiendishly attacking the hapless pair. The vehicle started moving. Baba wagged His finger at them, and shouted loud enough to make the bus momentarily swerve.
A few seconds before the bus disappeared from sight, Baba broke His scolding just in time to turn toward me. He smiled, and His eyes twinkled as He gave me a small wave of His hand.
VISALESS TRAVEL
242 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
CHAPTER 14
Become an Ideal Person
Better not trouble Cosmic Mind
Wales, United Kingdom. 1980. Today at the breakfast table, I commented to some Margis, ìPerhaps I have a special blessing from Baba.
In the nine years Iíve been working for Ananda Marga, Iíve never missed a train, bus or plane. Even when I arrive at the station late, the trains and buses in those cases are also late.î
ìWhatís the explanation for this, Dada?î a sister asked.
ìWell, itís surely not my own power. If I werenít working for dharma (righteousness), Iíd miss the bus just like anybody else. Simply speaking, the Cosmic Force protects those who serve It.î
ìHow about some more apple pie, Dadaji?î she said.
ìSure, thanks.î
ìBut, Dada,î my host, Karun said, ìthereís no time for more pie now. Your train for Liverpool leaves in just twenty minutes.î
ìNo problem,î I said. I ate the pie at a leisurely pace.
We left after about ten minutes. Since we were late, Karun drove me by motorcycle as fast as he could. Still, we arrived one minute past the scheduled departure time. We sat down on the platform to wait for the late train.
Five minutes passed in pleasant conversation. Then as one lady walked by, I asked, ìExcuse me, do you know how late the train to Liverpool is?î
ìItís not late,î she said. ìIt came on time and left on time.î ìWhat?î I was shocked. ìHow can that be?î
ìI think itís not unreasonable, sir,î she said, and started to walk away.
243ìDada, thereís always a first time, you know,î said Karun. ìI told you not to eat that pie.î
ìNo!î I said, jumping up. ìThere must be a way. Excuse me again,î I said, running after the same lady, ìbut do you know any other way to Liverpool? Iíve got to be there by 6:00 this evening for a lecture.î ìWell, my husband sometimes takes a morning bus to Liverpool.
But thatís surely left by now.î
ìWe have to try!î I said. ìWhere does it go from?î
ìIt leaves about seven kilometers from here. Straight down that road.
But I tell you, itís already too late.î ìThanks! Letís go, Karun!î
I pulled Karun onto the motorcycle. Even as we rode off, he protested at the futility of it. ìI tell you, that pie did you in, Dada,î he
said. ìApple pie yanked you off the path of Dharma!î
About three kilometers down the road, we spotted a bus on the side of the road. ìStop the bike!î I yelled.
I ran to the bus, and leapt inside.
ìIs this bus going to Liverpool?î I asked.
The driver had his head underneath the steering wheel, and was trying to see something. ìDonít bother me, buddy.î
ìPlease, just tell me, are you going to Liverpool?î ìWe will, damn it, if this bus ever gets going again.î
I laughed and said, ìDonít worry. Iím sure it will start soon.î Just as I said that, he turned the key and the engine roared.
As the bus drove off, I stuck my head out the window. ìThanks for the pie!î
Karun yelled at me, ìYou lucky stiff!î ...
Ten days later. Oslo, Norway. I was busy until late last evening, reviewing the meditation lessons of a few Margis. Abaniish knocked on
my door.
ìYouíre going to miss your train to Stockholm, Dada,î he said.
ìI never miss. Donít worry.î
By and by, I got ready. Once in the car, Abaniish drove like mad.
When we arrived at the station, Abaniish and the other Margis jumped out and ran. I walked.
ìDada, hurry up!î BECOME AN IDEAL PERSON
244 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
ìBaba will take care,î I replied.
But just as the platform came in sight, the train pulled away.
I stood there flabbergasted.
ìDada, why didnít you run?î Abaniish said.
ìThereís no time for talk now,î I said. ìWhereís the next stop?î ìWell, Lillestrom,î he said. ìBut itís too far away. Itíd be out of the question to try and catch up with the train.î
ìI donít care!î I said. ìWeíve got to make it.î
I ran toward the car. Abaniish laughed, and came after me slowly.
When he finally got to the car, he said, ìThereís no way, Dada. Just admit you missed it.î
But I insisted, so reluctantly he drove. All the way to Lillestrom he kept saying, ìThis is crazy. Itís impossible! Weíre just wasting our time.î But I pushed him to drive faster.
Twenty-five minutes later, as we came near the Lillestrom station, we saw the train also approaching. ìI canít believe it!î Abaniish said.
ìItís like a movie!î
As the car screeched in, I threw the door open, sprinted to the train, and jumped in, out of breath. Then, anti-climactically, the train remained there for a few minutes. The Margis jogged up, clapping their hands.
ìCongratulations, Dada,î Abaniish said. ìAny parting remarks for the fans?î
ìYeah,î I said. ìThough we Dadas may not have to worry about catching our trains, itís still better to arrive early.î
Due to their laughter, perhaps they didnít hear me add, ìI got your message, Baba. Twice in ten days is enough.î
A great force behind your work
Reykjavik. I am staying with a family whose daughter works on the American military base. Yesterday, when I asked her how I could enter the base, she shrugged her shoulders and said, ìItís impossible, Dada.
Unless youíve got special permission.î ìThen how do you get in?î
ìI take the staff bus.î
This morning at 7:00 I donned civilian clothes and walked alone to an unmarked bus-stop. When the bus came, I boarded; no one asked for either identification or fare. I suppose the driver and employees were too sleepy to notice me.
245The bus cleared the check-point at the main gate of the military
complex. Inside the base, it made a number of stops, dropped off passengers, and negotiated two more security posts. At its final stop, deep
within this strange land within a strange land (treeless Iceland itself reminds me of nothing short of the moon), I stepped down.
I looked around, wondering where I might find my destination. Picking the area where the buildings were packed together most densely, I maneuvered between jeeps, top brass and sentries. Perhaps because I walked as if I knew where I was going, no one questioned me.
When I had sufficiently penetrated the maze of match-box wooden
structures and concrete cubes, the moment for my biggest gamble arrived.
I approached a passing officer.
ìExcuse me,î I said.
ìYes, sir. How can I help you?î
ìIím a bit lost. Can you tell me where the anti-insurgency training section is?î I asked, wondering if there was any such place.
ìWho did you want to meet there?î he asked. Beautiful!
ìThe chief training officer,î I said.
ìThe man dealing with that material has an office not far from here.
Let me have a look at your pass to make sure you wonít have any problems accessing the area.î
Without hesitation, simply depending on Baba, I said, ìI donít have any pass.î
ìWhat? Then how did you get onto the base?î ìI just walked here, and no one stopped me.î
ìAstonishing! Iíve never heard of such a thing before! Excuse me, sir, but can I know your purpose?î
ìIím a social worker, and I have an interest in developing a course to discipline my staff. I think thereís much to learn from military discipline.î He looked at me intently. ìExcuse me for saying, sir, but you look
a bit like Jesus Christ.î ìMany people say that...î
ìYou entered without a pass! I canít get over it. Well, perhaps thereís a special force behind your work. Letís go to my office. Iíll issue you a pass myself.î
After completing the formalities, he telephoned the training section and arranged a jeep to take me there. When I got down from the jeep, a soldier met me, saying, ìCome this way, sir.î
BECOME AN IDEAL PERSON
246 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
He led me to the office of a man introduced as a two-star general.
ìSir, in what way can I be of service to you?î the general asked.
ìIím responsible for training social workers,î I said. ìIn my experience Iíve found two qualities missing in many of our cadre. One youíll surely appreciate, and the other, well I donít know. First, I want my men to be systematic and to move together as a disciplined work force.
I want to help them kill whatever tendencies they have toward disorder.
Each of them should develop the ability to both lead and follow.
Secondly, though Iím not sure youíll like this, Iíd like them to acquire some of the qualities of the American armyís enemy: the guerrilla warriors.î He stared at me, giving me no inkling of his feelings. ìAs you know better than I, the revolutionary armyís make-up is different from that of regular troops suited for conventional warfare. Regular troops are usually drafted or primarily interested in the economic and social benefits of working in the army. Guerrilla soldiers, on the other hand, receive minimal pay. They mix with the general population, breathing in and out the problems of the common people. They face constant temptation to give up their fight and return to the security of normal life. So they must be fully aware, ideological, self-willed, creative and, above all, inspired.î
ìIím impressed, Mr ... uh, sorry, what was your name again?î ìJackson.î
ì... Mr Jackson. Really impressed, both with your straight-forwardness and with your sincere intentions. And I do understand. Yes, indeed I do. Youíve put your finger on one of the labyrinthine problems of the military forcesóhow to encourage fighting zeal and individual initiative, while at the same time maintaining strict lines of order and discipline. Yes, Iím sympathetic and will try my best to help you. Yours
is a truly novel approach to social work. Can you wait here a few minutes?î
ìSure.î
When he came back, he had a two-foot pile of books in his hands.
We spoke a bit more, he praised me again, and ordered a jeep to return me to the main gate. From there I took a taxi. Once inside the
cab I started looking through the titles of the books he had given me.
Great! I thought. Books on discipline, morale, understanding guerrilla warfare, physical training, collective psychologyóperfect. But whatís 247
this? He must have become over-enthusiastic when I said I wanted to help our cadres kill their undisciplined habitsóhe included a book titled Rifle Training.
What spoils ecstasy
Fredrikstad, Norway. I am guiding an adventure-camp here. Last night I had a dream:
I was sitting on the floor in the front of a large auditorium. A few thousand Margis were present for Babaís darshan. In the midst of His speech, He turned His face directly into mine and spoke to me.
His sweet words acted like an exotic aphrodisiac, making me lose my head. I found myself throwing my arms around His neck. Baba was a magnet of love, and I an iron doll. I was so strongly attracted to Him that I unintentionally pulled Him off the stage, and we began to roll on the floor in a tighter and tighter embrace. My face was buried in His and I could see nothing. A burning-bright white spiritual fire coursed through me. I was consumed by a feeling beyond all the joy and sorrow I had ever known.
In the midst of this ecstasy, a whispering thought entered my mind:
What will all the people think?
Embarrassed, I slightly withdrew my face from His. But I still saw
nothing, because He had caused the lights to turn off. We were in complete darkness, and no one could see us anyway.
Still feeling Him in my arms, I thought, What a fool I was to worry about the thoughts of others!
In that intense bitter-sweetness I awoke. For a long while I lay thereóawed.
Every problem is no problem
Birmingham, England. It was the Sunday night of a weekend seminar.
Dada Sudiipta approached me around midnight, just as I was about to go to sleep.
ìSorry, Dharmavedananda. I forgot to give you this letter from Dada Japananda.î
Dada Japananda, one of my higher authorities, was in dire financial need for his work in Africa, and was begging me to bring to India
some assistance for him. It was a great clash for me, since I didnít have BECOME AN IDEAL PERSON
248 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
any extra funds and was scheduled to leave for India the following Wednesday. If I had received the letter in proper time, I might have requested donations from some of the Margis at the retreat.
Now everybody must be asleep, I thought, and early tomorrow morning most of them will leave. I wonít have any chance. What am I to do?
Baba, any ideas?
Suddenly I saw the face of an Irish brother who was attending the retreat: Sundara.
Must be my own imagination, I thought. Heís just a poor student.
But the image persisted so I walked down the hall. I found all the rooms dark; everyone was asleep. Except ... in the last room a light was on. I looked in. Someone was reading with his back to the door.
As I walked up to him, he turned to face me.
ìGood evening, Dadaji.î It was Sundara. I felt like I was dreaming.
ìSorry to disturb you, brother.î ìNo, no problem, Dada. What is it?î
ìWell, I doubt you can help, but, you see, a Dada needs financial help for his work.î
ìHow much does he need, Dada?î ìAbout four hundred pounds.î
ìWell, I just received the check from my summer job, but itís back in Corkó in Ireland.î
Within a few minutes everything was fixed. He agreed to wire the money to me in London on Tuesday.
No higher purpose
Back in Calcutta. When I arrived at the workersí meeting today, the General Secretary approached me.
ìWhatís this, Dharmavedananda? Youíre here again?î he asked.
ìWho gave you permission to attend the workersí meeting? You know only Sectorial Secretaries are to come.î
I had wondered when he would notice that I had come to every workersí meeting over the last few months. I pulled a paper from my shoulder bag. ìPlease, read this Dada.î
ìWhat is it?î he asked.
ìItís a photocopy of a circular you sent out eight months ago. See point #17, please.î
249
He read aloud: ìAll chief secretaries of every trade from all sectors are to attend senior workersí meeting every two months. Hmmm ...
But not a single other chief secretary of any other sector paid attention to this item. It was a technical point dictated by Baba.î
ìAnd?î
ìWell ... but ... everyone understands such a directive is not to be taken seriously unless it is repeated. And ... well ... Dharmavedananda, isnít it expensive for you to come to India every two months?î
ìSure itís expensive. But what do I care if it gives me the chance to see Baba? Somehow He always arranges the money for me. Are you saying I shouldnít come? Are you going to approach Baba to change the order?î
ìNo no.î He smiled. Then patting me on the cheek, he said, ìVery clever,î and walked away.
As long as Iím the Service Department chief secretary I shall attend every workersí meeting unless and until Iím specifically ordered to stop. As long as duty does not conflict, what purpose is higher than to be with the guru?
Useless fellow, useless stick
ìYour work is far below the mark!î Baba yelled at one of the senior workers of Delhi Sector. ìGive some justification, stupid!î
Usually this Dada was sharp and active. But today he was silent in
front of Baba, grinning like a five year old boy just complimented by his father. His turban was lop-sided, he stood off balance, and in general lookedówhat can I say?óhe looked drunk.
ìIdiot fellow!î Baba continued. ìOnly two schools opened under your supervision over the last two months! Donít you deserve punishment?î Baba readied His stick.
ìSay, say! Have you become a mute animal? Nonsense, do-nothing donkey!î
Normally, anyone undergoing such treatment from Baba becomes
fearful, or at least sober. But this Dadaís eyes only glittered as he innocently stared at Baba. At first we were all a bit uneasy, waiting for Babaís
stick to come down with a whirring slap. Now the scene took on a comic note. This Dada was clearly in another world, enjoying Baba immensely.
ìFoolish fellow. Useless fellow. Leave him to his dream.î We all smiled.
BECOME AN IDEAL PERSON
250 TRAVELS WITH THE MYSTIC MASTER
In the next moment, Baba was castigating another worker who trembled under His onslaught.
Innovation approval
Today I approached Dada P, an old worker, with a difficult question regarding my meditation. I had discovered a new innovation in
my technique, and wondered if it was right. Dada gave no clear reply, but essentially discouraged me.
Somehow I wasnít satisfied.
A few hours later we were having darshan with Baba on the roofó about two hundred Margis were there. During part of the kiirtan, Baba was sitting with His face down. Without intending it, I suddenly and spontaneously thought, Baba, if I should use this new method in my meditation please look up now.
In that exact instant, He broke His downward stare, looked up at me, and gazed into my eyes for about twenty seconds. Then, without
In that exact instant, He broke His downward stare, looked up at me, and gazed into my eyes for about twenty seconds. Then, without