Chapter 56 From Birch and Pine Whisper His Name - A Tribute to Sri Sathya Sai Baba
On 23 December 1980, as I left the canteen, Parvati (Suzie) Reeves came up to me and announced, all thrilled, “There may be an interview for Canadians, so get ready! Stay with me at darshan this afternoon.”
And so I joined Parvati’s group of ladies from all across Canada, many of them of Indian origin. In those days we did not wear distinctive scarves to show what country we lived in. Volunteers could not always tell who came from a few miles away, and who had been travelling thousands of miles from far overseas. For many Canadians their resemblance to local people often worked to their disadvantage, as it was assumed that they too lived close by Baba’s ashram.
Swami stopped to wish us a Merry Christmas. His reply to a request for an interview was, “I will see”. We felt that perhaps he would call us even that afternoon. It began to rain. We put up umbrellas and stretched out raincoats over our collective heads, huddled in the rain together for another hour, but no interview ensued. That way at least we got to know each other a little. As the rain fell, we said cheerfully, “He is showering blessings on us!”
At the following morning darshan, 24 December, there was a change in the arrangement of the lines inside the court of the temple. No longer could ladies be seated along the south wall. For that reason the crowd was many rows deeper. I was rather upset to find myself far to the back on the west side, and in the full morning sun.
When Baba came out I was still quietly fuming in disappointment at seeing my favourite place in the shade no longer available. I even wondered if this change did not arise because ladies selected by Baba for interview on the south side of the temple could not easily be seen by their husbands, on the men’s side.
Then I saw something that plucked me out of my reverie. Some of the Canadian ladies, who had been in the front row, were standing up, and looking back at the rest of the crowd. Baba had called an interview. We trooped up behind them.
To my delight, Paul come up to the verandah as well. One of the men looked at us as if to ask what we were doing there. Prasanthi Nilayam brings together followers of Sai Baba from all across Canada, who might not otherwise meet. We two had no problem in being admitted when we crowded into the interview room, while Parvati and another Canadian lady, also an ashram resident, were not allowed in by Baba.
When I first visited Baba in 1977 to 1978, Canadians could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Now there were too many of us to fit comfortably into the tiny interview room. I tried to sit at the back, but Baba beckoned me forward to sit at his feet.
Then he commanded “that man back there” to come forward. We all turned around, and saw several men sitting against the wall, Paul among them. A young man beside him looked eager to get up. “No, that man!” said Baba. “The old man!”
Acutely embarrassed at being singled out, Paul worked his way forward to sit beside me at the front. Afterward he told me he was sure he stepped on several people, so packed were we. He couldn’t understand why Baba made such a fuss about him.
When Baba called me for a private interview a few days earlier Paul had been sound asleep in our apartment. Now, this “good man”, as Baba had described my husband on that occasion, would able to see what was going on, even if he could not hear much, close to the feet of Baba, with me at his side. And there were wonders to see.
Baba spoke to one fair-haired gentleman, asking several times without response: “You are a Christian?”.
“He doesn’t speak English, Baba,” said a deep voice. “He’s from Montreal.”
“What is your name?” At last the Montrealer said he was Dino Fracassi. Baba moved His hand and made Dino a magnificent gold ring with an enameled portrait of Jesus. Franz patted the weeping Dino on the shoulder, but Baba said, “Those are tears of happiness. Let them flow.” It was a moment of intense beauty and love. The ring appeared quite naturally out of that love.
Then Baba asked for Dr. Singh’s ring and showed it to me. “What metal?”
“Panchalloy?” I hesitated. I wouldn’t know that alloy if I fell over it, but that was the big word that came out of my mouth.
Baba shook His head and muttered derisively, “Panchalloy... panchalloy!”
He showed the ring to some other ladies, who correctly guessed it was made of silver.
Then he showed it to me again. “Whose picture is it?”
“Yours, Swami ... Sai Baba.”
“Now watch me turn it into gold,” said Baba. He held the ring in his nearly closed fist and blew three times inside his hand, through the small opening near his thumb. Then he opened his hand, to show us a large gold filigree setting with an enamel image of Vishnu. Dotted around the central figure were minuscule heads of Shirdi Sai Baba (his previous incarnation), Sathya Sai Baba, as we see him now, and Prema Baba - his incarnation to come.
Next, He created a sparkling crystal rosary for Franz’s wife, and showed her how to use it.
Then He leaned forward with a challenging look at us all: “What are you doing in Canada - bhajan or bhojan? (devotional singing or eating)?”
He teased a young couple about fighting, and they argued with each other and with him that they did not fight. “Well, only about you, Swami.”
Swami twisted a curly lock of the young man’s hair in the opposite direction from its natural curl, and looked over at the girl, saying, “He doesn’t understand.”
“No, Swami,” she smiled.
Then he turned to the young man and said softly, “She doesn’t understand.”
“No, Swami.”
To the accompaniment of slightly embarassed chuckles, the young man opened a vacuum-packed can of cashew nuts with resounding “pop”. Baba blessed them, and they were passed around our group.
About office-holders in the Sai organization, he said, “No selection without elections.”
He asked a young man about a head of Baba that he was painting or sculpting and called it an imitation. “Creation, not imitation!” He added, “Be heartificial, not artificial!”
He asked about a beautiful young girl, just behind me with her mother. This was a teen-ager who could say only one word that sounded like “Baby”, in a strange voice. After a strained silence, Baba said, “Brain not developed. Come!” He ushered the family into the private room behind the curtain. When they came out, he created, right above my head, a small gold medallion on a slender chain for the girl, and handed it to the mother. Then he called in others for private interviews.
While we were waiting, I turned around to the girl, and saw her pulling on a heart-shaped locket around her neck. She beamed and held it out to me, saying, “Beautiful!”
Her voice was clear and the enunciation perfect.
At the beginning of the interview Baba had made holy ash for many of us near him. At the end, he managed to get around to all of us, distributing packages of ash. I held up a picture of my daughter, and he tapped it in blessing. Since Paul had been expressing doubts about moving back to Canada, I tried to consult Baba about it, but he refused to discuss the matter further, saying, “You go to Canada!” When I tried to ask if Paul was to go too (this after Baba deliberately seated us together!), he added, rather severely, “I spoke to you before. You go to Canada!”
I left the temple feeling exulted, and a little bruised in the ego at Swami’s slightly severe manner to me. It seems that the closer you get to him, the tougher he gets with you. In afternoon darshan, he sent me a beautiful beaming smile, as if he knew how I was feeling.
Several days later I met the mother with the daughter for whom Baba had created a golden locket, but the girl was not wearing it. She had her old heart-shaped locket on, and I asked why.
“We’re afraid she’ll pull Baba’s off its chain ... she’s always pulling on this one.” I mentioned the immediate improvement in the girl right after the interview, and her clear enunciation and understanding of the word “beautiful”. To my amazement, the mother had not heard this. After I assured her that I had, they went off, radiant with new happiness. The next time I saw them, the daughter was wearing Baba’s locket.
As for me, it seemed significant that Baba had made that piece of jewellery above my head, almost as if teasing me. It, and the heart-shaped locket, reminded me of one that my mother had given me long ago. It was hers as a little girl, and it bore the indentation of her baby teeth. I had not seen it for a long time, and began to wonder where it was.
Less than a year later, back in Canada, on a dusty basement shelf among a motley collection of trinkets, I found the little wooden box that used to contain my locket. Nearby, in a bowl of inexpensive baubles was the gold locket, complete with my mother’s initials and teeth marks. When it reappeared, I did not need to wonder whether Baba knew about it, and breathed him a silent message of thanks.
One morning darshan we ladies could see someone get up on the men’s side and begin to caper about. The men around him clapped. Then, after dancing around a little more, the “clown” headed for the temple, and an interview. After darshan, I met Paul, who was shaking his head at that “show-off Swede”. Frivolous behaviour at darshan, like suddenly breaking into a lively step-dance did not meet his approval.
“But Paul,” I protested. “He was permanently lame. Baba called him to an interview and told him to leave his crutches behind. He got up and found he could walk. He couldn’t resist trying to see if he could jump too, and dance.”
My fifthieth birthday, 28 December 1980, was a blissful day, with good views of Swami when least expected. I wasn’t quite sure how much of a fuss to make of reaching the “dread half-century mark”. When Baba gave me a wide berth at morning darshan, I took his message to be something like: So you’re fifty years old today. So what? Just another birthday, and what are birthdays anyway? Every day we are alive we are born to a new life.
Later, as we were lining up for afternoon darshan I got talking with a lady from London who reminded me vaguely of someone. “Oh, I was in London for Mahasivathri in 1977,” I said. “I visited the home of a Mrs. Ganish, where amrith was flowing from pictures in her shrine.”
“I’m Mrs. Ganish,” said the lady, quietly amused. “And, yes, the amrith is still flowing.”
Meanwhile Paul befriended a gentleman of Indian origin who wheeled his little son around in a stroller. The boy had leukemia, in quite an advanced stage. They had come from England in hope of a cure. The father’s devotion to his son, and to Swami, was most touching. The boy was not too ill to smile at us every time we met them. He was a dear little soul.
Near the end of our stay in India, Paul met the boy’s father, in Brindavan, alone, but serene. His little son had died, with a smile and Baba’s name on his lips.
Soon after New Year’s Day, 1981, I met Anne Marie, who was born in Germany, and now lives in New Delhi with her Indian husband. She was among the first translators of Baba’s works into German, and is the author of that heart-warming book And the Greatest is Love. I had a preview of her book when she told me about her encounter with a “strange saddhu”, who could have been none other than Shirdi Sai Baba.
Then, hearing that I was Canadian, Anne Marie launched eagerly into the extraordinary tale of “a man in Canada” to whom Swami came in the flesh while he was giving a discourse in India.
Same Story in Toronto
Sure enough, in Toronto several months later, I heard the gentleman’s story from his own lips. It happened three years earlier, while I myself was in Prasanthi Nilayam.
As a child Mr. K. had always been sickly, and as an adult he was plagued by many illnesses both known and unknown to his doctor. All the same he had succeeded in immigrating to Canada and was employed by the government of Ontario as a finance director.
K.’s health took a turn for the worse in August of 1977, and by October he had wasted away to 100 pounds, unable to eat or retain water. He was admitted to a hospital intensive care unit. As he lay awake that night, worrying what would become of his family if this illness were to carry him off, the door opened, and in walked none other than Sathya Sai Baba.
Although this was the first time that K. saw him in person, there was no mistaking the strong, gentle features and the afro hair style. These could be seen on the walls of K’s home, for his wife and children believe Baba is divine, and they often prayed to him, especially during K’s illness. Not an open devotee, Mr. K. too had been praying, and also taking holy ash sent by his brother, a permanent resident at Prasanthi Nilayam.
Instead of the usual orange or gold robe, Baba was wearing a white surgical gown when he walked into K’s room at the hospital in Toronto. K. tried to speak, but no sound came out. Baba came over to his bedside in a businesslike way, and said, “You see, I am also a surgeon.”
Turning K. over, Baba rubbed his back thoroughly. After blessing the patient, saying he would be all right, he walked out the way he had come in.
Recovering his power of speech, K. thought of calling the nurses, but decided not to. He waited until his family came to see him the next day to announce, “Baba came!”
K. recovered rapidly from his illness, and also from his many chronic complaints. He wrote to his brother and sister-in-law at Prasanthi Nilayam to tell them about Baba’s visit to his hospital room in Toronto.
In reply, they expressed their joy at his recovery, and also informed him that Baba had been delivering a speech to a vast audience at Prasanthi Nilayam at the exact moment of his appearance in Toronto. Incidentally, one witness of that discourse in the fall of 1977 was Toronto-born Helen Heubi, diligently scribbling every blessed word.
The following August, 1978, K took his family to India to see Baba, who called them in for an interview. This gave the chance for the burning question: “Baba, did you come to see me in hospital in Toronto?”
“Yes,” said Baba.
