Babaji - Gateway to the Light

"Don't I give you enough? Aren't you getting everything you need from me? Why do you attach yourself to material things? When will you ever learn?!"

I don't know how I managed to return to my seat. I only know I hesitated for weeks before deciding to wear the wretched saree.

Of course Babaji continued to test me over and over again. He used to show me pieces of jewellery and ask me if they were genuine. Each time I would look within to examine my feelings and check if greed were present. Eventually I lost all interest in these things. It was then that Babaji gave me the jewellery I had valuated; as a prize, so to say, for passing the tests.

***

A yagua followed aarati. Out on the spacious terraced roof, which could easily fit two hundred people, a square fire pit coated with red clay had recently been constructed. Like a gazelle, Babaji leapt up the stairs to the terrace leaving behind a lot of surprised faces. In an instant he was at his place at the havan. As he shot past me he whispered "Come!" and gave similar short instructions to some others. The hostess took her seat to his left, while some other women, looking a picture in vibrantly coloured sarees with silver and gold borders, squatted behind him. Their way of participating in the ceremony was to place the tips of their fingers on Babaji's back and shoulders. Normally only the men are allowed to sit around the fire pit and toss in the offerings. Sri Muniraj was on the right of Babaji as usual, and Shastriji stood near him reciting mantras from the holy scriptures. >When Babaji ladled the ghee (melted clarified butter) onto the fire, dazzling flames soared up to the heavens. Apart from this swish, a cavernous silence reigned over the gathering; the crackling of burning wood and the murmur of mantras lingered only like far-off echoes. Everyone was deeply concentrated as prayers were said for the benefit of the universe and every being. I wanted to participate in the yagna on an inner level. I asked for purification by the flames of the holy fire and for greater opening of the heart to receive the Divine. Ultimately I wanted to experience unity and to melt totally into it. Babaji represented this all-embracing unity to me. An endless yearning took hold of me.

Thoroughly absorbed in these thoughts I barely noticed Babaji stand up at the conclusion of the ceremony and go and look out over the city. Somebody nudged me which brought me down to earth again. I vaguely thought of clearing a pathway for Babaji as he was likely to pass by here on his way out. There was already a little gap in the crowd so I began to push a bit to widen it when I felt a nudge again, only this time a little harder. What was going on? I looked around and met Babaji's roguish eyes. He was signalling me to come over and when I did, he placed into my arms a saree he had been given earlier and had wrapped around his shoulders during the fire ceremony. I was stunned.

"For me?"

My fingers gently touched his feet. I was sobbing. Babaji pressed his foot on my hand and wouldn't release it. The yearning I had just felt poured out to him like a flood. When at last I got to my feet, Babaji pointed to the tail-end of the saree left trailing on the floor.

"Yours!", he said. I picked this end up.

"Yours!", he repeated and smilingly pointed to the other end, now also touching the floor. I laughed as I cried and picked that up. We stood together in silence. It was as if no-one else existed.

What a precious gift this was! The saree served as a graphic means to convey his promise: "I will give you plenty. So much inner treasure that even with both hands you won't be able to grasp it all at once. Just focus your sights on the eternal, on the Divine only!"

Once again the yagua appeared before my inner eye. Every day for twelve days we performed the havan on the terrace. Was it a coincidence that this ten-storey building also housed a government laboratory for nuclear experimentation? But then surely there are no mere coincidences in spiritual matters. Babaji had often spoken about probable, massive destruction on earth set off by nuclear energy. During his stay he made a visit to the laboratory, and the devotees present with him reported that he picked up a piece of uranium with his bare hands, which is a real no-no, and paced back and forward across the room several times. What was he up to? Did he want to reduce the probability of a major catastrophe?

Once the morning ceremonies were over, Babaji would sometimes visit the homes of various devotees or lead an excursion to places of spiritual significance. Anyone who managed to squeeze into one of the cavalcade of cars could go along as well. With at least eight or nine bodies packed tightly inside a vehicle, the car chase was on again. Apparently the plan for today was to drive to Dakineshwar and Daknath. Dakineshwar is a temple complex situated on the banks of the river Ganges. Ramakrishna had lived there more than a century ago. The saint, renowned worldwide for his religious tolerance, had died in 1886. Like Babaji, he emphasised the need for unity of all religions and all people, irrespective of their colour, creed and nationality.

We drove through wide avenues with elegant shops; overpopulated, busy steets, passing by water sellers, cows chewing on cud, cyclists, craftsmen, rickshaw drivers and noisy overcrowded buses. Then along the Ganges with its foamy waters and deserted beaches. The temple of Dakineshwar was a sanctuary of soothing silence. Babaji, graceful and nimble, leaped up and down the many steps leading to innumerable temples, staying longer in one than another. In Ramakrishna's room he withdrew to a corner and remained silent and still.

Everybody had trouble keeping up with him. Like Babaji, we all had to go barefoot. It was useless having shoes and leaving them outside each temple because as we entered one temple, Babaji had already left through another exit. No time to return and fetch anything. Babaji was gone before we had time to catch our breath.

The journey continued through the countryside, passing small villages and lakes. At times we could just glimpse the black heads of water-buffalo surface and disappear again. We were heading towards a monastery at Daknath. The priests had invited Babaji to visit them and, after receiving him warmly, led him and his entourage in a procession through the narrow streets of the town. They were going to a Shiva temple, where men only could enter, once they had bared the upper part of their bodies as an act of penance. The priests tried in vain to persuade Babaji to take off his shirt like a good pilgrim before proceeding down the narrow lane and entering the temple. The high priest was meeting Babaji for the first time and was unsure of his holiness. He insisted Babaji conform to temple rules. A long dispute followed during which something must have happened to change the high priest's heart and mind because he ended up with no alternative but to acknowledge Babaji as Mahavatar. Some days later he came to Calcutta and surrendered completely to Babaji.

We had all accompanied Babaji during the procession. It was not only his blue silk shirt that stood out in the procession; it was also the grace of his movements, flowing in perfect harmony with the environment. Once they had reached the temple the priests disappeared inside. Babaji lingered for a while before entering and I tried to catch up to him. I didn't know then that it was forbidden for foreigners to enter and was surprised when a priest tried to block my way. He could see I was a foreigner even though my face was covered by my saree.

I can't stand it when man-made rules and dogmas get in the way of the essential religious teachings. Why should a person following one religion or no religion at all, be barred from paying respects in the temple of another religion when the essential matter is sincerity of heart.

I said to the priest, "I am a Hindu, let me in!"

No reaction.

"Let me in, I am a Hindu!", I repeated.

Now Babaji intervened. He had been attentive when I said "I am a Hindu", and this made me examine my conscience. I was a Hindu, a Christian, a Jew and a Buddhist: it was true; I was all of these. Babaji then shouted "She's a Hindu", and waved that I be let through.

I tried again to pass by the priest but he wouldn't budge. Old rules and past conditioning held him captive, despite Babaji's presence. He stood there blocking the passage with his huge belly. I acted on impulse and pinched his huge protrusion hard.

"Ouch!", he cried in surprise. I bet he'd never experienced an attack like that before. Oh my God, his authority had been undermined!

In the meantime Babaji had disappeared inside the temple. This incident sparked several heated discussions about religion among Indian devotees and Hindu priests.

Babaji was constantly stressing the need for unity in all religions; that all faiths should flow into one large ocean and bring equality to all people everywhere. He did not recognise the restrictions imposed on account of creed, caste or race. In his ashram, untouchables sat side by side with Brahmins and worked together, mostly doing manual labour like building the fortifications against the monsoon floods. According to their tradition, Brahmins only eat food that is separately prepared for them, but with Babaji, they have to eat the same food as everyone else. Also everyone joined together for prayer. There were no separations here either.

Babaji was free and no man-made law could bind him. He had sovereign power over all the laws of nature and over the natural and elemental forces.

People have had many occasions to witness this power of his. For example, there was the time when a religious festival lasting several days was to be held outdoors, and just when it was due to begin, the rain cleared up and only started again when it was over. This was quite unusual as the heavy downpours during the monsoon season occurred daily without fail. When the river at Haidakhan swelled with the heavy rains but was yet to become a raging torrent, Babaji could easily cross the river barefoot and nobody who walked with him was ever in danger. And again, when unexpected visitors arrived at the ashram, the amount of food already prepared would increase miraculously to cater for them abundantly. Always it was the people who wanted to impose some rule or system or other onto the one beyond them all. Sometimes Babaji appeared to go along with them when their conditioning and belief system was too strong to let go of and their present consciousness couldn't yet allow a broader understanding to take place.

There was certainly no evidence of the equality of the sexes in India. Even in Haidakhan, a woman menstruating was forbidden to enter the temple precinct, had to eat alone away from the others, and at no time was supposed to go near Babaji. The woman was deemed unclean and might contaminate, so the temple and Babaji, the very one who was above all, needed to be protected from her. What a massive contradiction! Babaji of course broke these rules at his discretion and let a woman approach him.

***

In Calcutta, one day never resembled the next and one morning, shortly after sunrise, we visited a Kali temple with Babaji. This temple is situated in the old town centre and must be one of the most ancient and holy places in Calcutta.

A popular western Kali interpretation associates the black, long-tongued, all-devouring goddess with ghastly horror stories. But there is more to it than that.

The word 'kal' is masculine, and adding the 'i' makes it feminine. It has a two-fold meaning. The first is time or eternity, and the second is the colour black (representing the unmanifest): out of darkness comes forth light, the world of manifestation, and this creation then returns through death and dissolution back to darkness. All that exists is afraid of its ending and therefore Kali, the Black, is pictured as being frightening. Beyond death and annihilation, eternity rules and only that which is eternal can give lasting happiness and joy. The widespread worship of Kali is understood in India as being the worship of one aspect of Divine Oneness. This is also true in regard to other deities in the Indian pantheon.

The Kali temple was so overcrowded it was impossible to enter. There was a tiny door opposite the statue and we were able to peek in. Our eyes turned to Babaji who stood like a rock in the middle of the writhing melee of bodies pushing and shoving towards Kali. He signalled us to climb through the small opening and reach him that way. For some time we gazed in silence at the statue. She appeared to have been there forever, unaffected by the dizzy world around her. A strong vibration radiated between Babaji and the statue which made me feel faint. Babaji then held out his arm to help us climb out again. When we got back to the house, there were hundreds of people waiting for Babaji, all waiting to receive his darshan.

I sat down and looked on as each person approached Babaji and received his blessings. At one point, I noticed a German man, who apparently had just arrived, handing Babaji some kind of folder. Babaji took a cursory look, closed it, and called out my name.

"This is a manuscript, read it and tell me what it contains."

Back in my seat I opened the file and read some short passages. Tears started to stream down my face. Here was a soul opening to God. The pain of loneliness, the long search and finally bliss at reaching his goal; it was overwhelming. All fell silent within me. I was struck by awe and gratitude for a deeper realization of what it means to come into the presence of Babaji. It opened my heart. I looked to Babaji who had apparently been observing me. He smiled at me and nodded. What the manuscript contained was not so important. Important was the author's inner unfolding. When I later had the opportunity to read it through thoroughly, it had the same effect. The author wanted to know what I thought:

"It is the most beautiful thing you could have offered Babaji!"

Babaji did not listen at all when I tried later to tell him more about the contents of the manuscript. That didn't really surprise me because he already knew what was there; he had held it in his hands. The manuscript had fulfilled its purpose.

Back in my room I wondered about other experiences where Babaji's guidance had opened my heart-chakra. I don't know how he had worked on me. I sensed only the effects. Were they the consequences of his teachings put into practise, I wondered...

At Haidakhan one time during karma yoga, my job was to carry stones. The riverbed is covered with thousands of rocks and stones, of which Babaji said "they are souls". At that time I had no idea that such dense matter as rock could have consciousness. I was picking up stones and carrying them over to another spot where they were needed as building material. Nearby the low stream gurgled onward. It was a hot sunny day. They were everywhere, these sun-warned round stones, as far as the eye could see. I became aware they had some special vibration, some kind of intense, powerful love. It came from the stone in my hand and from all those lying around me. It was a strong lovingness that I hadn't found among human beings. I stopped for a moment to concentrate on this new feeling inside, this marvellous discovery. The entire creation, myself included trembled with love, love that is inherent in everything that exists, love that is buried under most of the time in humans.

How powerful must Babaji's love for humanity be, and now I was experiencing an aspect of this all-embracing love. Soon I became aware of someone standing next to me; it was a woman who had just arrived from Germany. I began to wonder what Babaji feels on seeing his disciple again after a long absence? As I looked at her a powerful wave of love came flooding from my heart and then it was as though my body and everything surrounding were in the midst of luminous fire. What a perfect answer to my question! I had never understood an answer so clearly before.

It was amazing how this feeling arose in me. I could not influence its arising or even steer its course, let alone reach a sense of freedom that comes from love and joy. This was an automatic process. Babaji's voice could evoke many different reactions: joy, compassion, sadness, a rebalancing of the yin yang energies.

Shortly after lunch that same day I sat alone with Babaji near the gate to the temples built just beyond the cave, where he was first discovered in 1970.

He asked, "Are you happy?"

"Yes, ... that much!", I answered, and showed him half an inch with my thumb and finger. Inwardly I thought "I will only be really happy when I'm able to hear your voice within, when I have become one with you."

"What, you're not happy?", he asked.

"Oh yes!", I repeated and showed again with the words "that much" the measure of half an inch. The answer wasn't easy for me.

"Go!", he shouted, with a wild, dismissive fling of the arm and sent me back to the ashram. A flood of sadness threatened to envelop me but this changed in an instant to a feeling of unrestricted joy as I jumped in the air shouting: "I am free, I am free!" I was happy, overjoyed, jubilant.

Like pearls on a string, one heart-opening experience followed another. They became greater and stronger until they unexpectedly culminated in a sat-chit-ananda (being-consciousness-bliss) state. Unconditional love filled a great emptiness in me, giving my life a new direction. It taught me to love God and his creation, not merely the eye-catching and wonderful parts, but also the hardly noticeable bits, judged insignificant or ordinary, that pure love also permeates.

***

After the episode with the manuscript, I had gone to my room. Nobody was in there. I lay down and rested, and was enjoying the privacy and short break from everything when an elderly man put his head round the door. I had noticed him in the crowds before. His old-age and humble bearing had somehow impressed me. I asked him in. He sat on the floor opposite me. We exchanged a few words in English and then fell silent. I began to ask myself why I had invited this stranger into the room. I guessed he might be lonely, feeling lost in this large house teeming with people. At that thought, my heart opened and a great love flowed out to him and to all humankind. Was it love, was it empathy, or understanding that we all share the same ultimate destiny that unites us all, ... even though each of us is unique and therefore ever alone, no matter what life situation we are in? The man then softly said goodbye and left and these feelings faded away.

A few hours later Babaji told everybody about an OM-sign that had appeared on this same, eighty-two-year-old man's head and said we should all take a look and bow down to him (he was seated on the floor next to Babaji). So, after receiving Babaji's blessing, each person then passed in front of the old man and could not fail to see the large blueish OM-sign clearly marked on his lightly tanned, bald scalp. It was as obvious as a tattoo. It was still visible on the day when we finally left Calcutta. Some of the Indians who had shared my room told me they were present when the miracle happened: at first something like smoke rose up from his crown, and then the OM sign manifested.

OM NAMAH SHIVAY

Chapter 2
Looking Back - Puri

Babaji was invited to Assam. He was going for one day. During darshan I inwardly asked him if I could accompany him to the airport. He leaned forward and gestured permission. I was always taken aback when Babaji acted so spontaneously upon my simplest thoughts and soundless pleas. Upon his consent, the external circumstances arranged themselves bit by bit like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place.

I managed to squeeze into one of the cars going to the airport. In the departure hall, Babaji sat on a chair handing out toffees to curious spectators who came up to him. Sometimes he waved to some passer­by to come over to him and softly spoke a few words, which made the person suddenly pay close attention, for it became startlingly clear Babaji knew the past, present and future of everyone.

"Flight to Assam, flight to Assam!", the loudspeaker crackled. Babaji started to make his way to the gate lounge. I moved with him as he slowly crossed the hall. Then, for no apparent reason, he stopped at a pillar before going through the last check point. Soon another passer-by came up to him and it seemed Babaji wanted to transmit something to this person as well as to me because he kept eyeing us both. It was another awesome moment when the heart is deeply touched, knowing it is in the presence of divinity and witnessing its workings. Babaji slowly removed the mala from around his neck, and from his gestures it seemed as though he were about to put it around mine. But in that moment the stranger leaned forward and bowed his head to receive it and with no hesitation Babaji slipped the beads over his head. I sank to my knees in profound gratitude and Babaji blessed me and the man went away radiant with joy.

I took a taxi back to my lodgings. All my thoughts were on Babaji. I felt so grateful to have met him. His presence fulfilled me entirely.

***

How did I ever come to be with Babaji?

My mother-in-law had first introduced me to some esoteric literature and I devoured everything I read. Afterwards I started to read selected books on yoga and spiritual masters, taking particular interest in the writings of Alexandra David-Neel and Paul Brunton. During my professional life as a stewardess I'd often flown to India and even spent holidays there, but I had never come across any outstanding spiritual being. I was inspired by Ramakrishna and Ramana Maharshi and had even placed Ramana Maharshi's photograph above my bed. I longed for such a master.

In a university library where I was supposedly preparing for my M.A., I discovered Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi" and spent hours reading that instead of studying my course material. When I came to the paragraph saying that Babaji hears everyone who calls his name with reverence, I cried out with all my heart for him, not once, but day after day. My yearning to meet him was so intense that the tears welled.

At the time my husband son and I were living in Tanzania. We planned to travel to India in the spring as we wanted to adopt an Indian orphan. Eight weeks before our departure my mother-in-law sent me the book, "Babaji, Message from the Himalayas", by M-G. Wosien. Immediately after I read it, I had a dream about Babaji. He was sitting on a sort of podium at the top of three small steps and was speaking through a microphone to a large audience of Americans sitting on the floor in front of him, and all of them were using microphones as well. I watched this scene and thought finally: "If you really are who you are supposed to be and if you want to speak to me, then you must try another way of communicating!"

There was an immediate response. Babaji sent a white ray of light into my forehead The sensation of indescribable bliss lasted throughout the next day. Shaken by this experience I wrote to Haidakhan, asking if my husband and I could come. In the reply Babaji sent his blessing and we were advised to each bring along a sleeping-bag and a torch.

We flew from Dar-es-Salaam to Bombay in April. It was holiday time for us so we visited various tourist spots as we made our way north. We intended to spend three days at Haidakhan and return to Africa via Hardwar, Rishikesh and West Germany.

But it all turned out differently. Three days with Babaji became three weeks. Even so, we could still keep to schedule if we left out Germany on the way home. After Babaji, that was no great loss.

From Delhi we arrived in the middle of the night at a hotel in Haldwani, the last stop before Haidakhan. We had just fallen asleep when we were rudely awoken by a loud screech; a very old jeep was ready to take us to Dam Site, where the road ends and the journey through the valley to the ashram begins. Should we take horses, we wondered? No, we decided to walk The scenery was marvellous and we wanted to tune into what lay ahead of us.

High mountains rose steeply above the valley. We walked on stony ground and many times had to ford the clear, exhilarating Gautama Ganga river. The air was warm and scented and a unique vibration seemed to reign over the valley. We were light and joyful as we trekked towards our goal. It was a journey to the Unknown and the beginning of a fairy tale.

Two hours later our porters pointed to a white building on top of a hill with many steps leading to it, that was brilliant in the sunlight. This must be the place. This must be Haidakhan. And how inviting it was!

An Italian woman who lived there came to greet us and took us to Babaji. How did she know we were coming? Already it was baffling. He was seated on a mat on the floor inside the then only guest house. Several other people from Germany were presenting him with various gifts and, amid all these things and the wrapping papers, he played with a little girl, cuddling her in his arms, swinging her behind his back and easing her down on to his lap again. He looked up at us when we entered My first impression was of his eyes radiating power, love and kindness to us.

"When do you come from? How do you know about me?", the translator said. She added on her own account: "And now go ahead and greet him!"

Because everybody in the room was on the floor, we knelt down about a meter in front of him. So soon, I thought. Never before had we knelt before another person. All this was going through my mind as I tried to reply to Babaji's questions.

"You can ask whatever you want!", I heard him say.

"Later, not now!", I replied. "We are too tired from the journey to think clearly."

After a while, watching him unwrap yet more gifts, my mind became more focused, so I ventured to ask "How shall I meditate?"

"Repeat constantly OM NAMAH SHIVAY and concentrate on the third eye!", was his reply.

He then told us to make our beds on the floor. The ashram was cram-full. Every room was overcrowded and people were even sleeping on the roofs and in the kirtan hall. They had all come for the celebration of spring Navaratri and the inauguration of a new temple.

I wasn't at all interested in religion. I thought it was only for weak characters. I hadn't entered a church since my marriage. So I watched the Indian religious rituals out of an interest in the quaint, thinking them strange but at the same time attractive.

It wasn't long before Babaji's presence began to affect me. During the morning and evening services, which he always attended, I couldn't stop crying. On the second day of our stay, as we all sat peacefully in the garden by twilight, Babaji said to my husband,

"Tomorrow you must go!"

"Oh, why is that?", he replied in surprise.

"Come into the light so I can see you better!", Babaji rejoined. After scrutinizing him thoroughly he said he could stay. He hadn't looked at him properly before?!

That evening a Swiss woman took me by the hand and we went up to Babaji together. Since experiencing his divinity I had become too shy to approach him during darshan. This feeling had blocked me for two days but now it had passed.

New arrivals offered small gifts to Babaji. I hadn't brought him anything because I wasn't familiar with this custom. I could purchase sweets and fruit in the ashram, but it didn't seem enough to me. Babaji had touched my inner being and I wanted to reflect this back to him. I wanted to give him something that I cherished. I thought of my diamond and emerald ring. I had bought it in Egypt when we were living there and it had taken quite some time and effort to save the money to buy it. One of the emeralds had fallen out during the journey to India so I had had it replaced and polished at the same time. Yes, this was the perfect thing to offer. I felt the urge to do this.

In the garden I knelt down before Babaji and offered him the ring. Cautiously he took it in his fingers and turned it this way and that. "What's this about?"

"It's for you!"

"For me?" He searched my face.

"Very good. That is very good!"

How proud I was when he placed the ring on his little finger. Diamond and emeralds sparkled in the glow of a kerosene lamp.

To my delight Babaji wore the ring for two days. On the third day, he was with some devotees in the room of an elegant and wealthy Indian woman. The day we arrived he had been playing with her daughter. She had also assisted as interpreter. I joined them and was horrified to see my ring on her finger! Had Babaji really given it to someone else? I was incredulous. I was so hurt that I wanted to rush out of the room. To contain myself, I took refuge in the mantra Om Namah Shivay (0 Lord, Thy Will be done), which Babaji recommended as a constant prayer of the heart. He, on the other hand, was sitting there absolutely peaceful. A few times he cut me the briefest glance. Then someone took a polaroid picture and he gave it to me. In it his index finger was raised in warning.

This whole incident upset me so much that I had to talk to the woman who now wore my ring. I told her about the sacrifices I had made to get it. She listened, then said with great self-assurance, "Well, who else but me should he have given it to?" Her reply helped clarify the meaning for me: my lesson was that I should not be attached to transient, material things, even if others were.

Later I had a dream in which Babaji threw all my jewellery into a ditch. By such an action he had released me from this kind of attachment. I still like to wear jewellery from time to time, but after that event, it just feels different.