Gertraud Reichel - Babaji - Gateway to the Light

Meanwhile Babaji had arrived at the airport. A large crowd gathered round him as he took a seat in the departure lounge like a normal tourist. More and more people had converged yet somehow I managed to get through and reach him, the ticket clenched in my hand. I caught his brief glance and saw him quickly instruct one of the Indians to go book a seat on the plane. After a while the man came back without success. Twice again this same order was carried out — again to no avail. Still, it failed to shake my confidence.

Finally the flight was called. Babaji moved to the departure gate. With a smile he took my ticket and gave it to another Indian and signalled that I follow this man. Lugging my bag we approached the Indian Airlines desk which had already shut down. Behind the counter was a mass of bodies shouting and gesticulating in utter confusion. My companion merged swiftly into the melee and reemerged with not one boarding card but five!

Back at the departure gate Babaji was waiting with Sri Muniraj, his closest disciple, and the venerable Sri Shastriji, a Sanskrit scholar and priest who had served Babaji for years. Wearing a red turban and yellow silk robes with a brocade vest, dazzling in all colours, Babaji looked like a prince from the Thousand and One Nights. He wore anything offered to him with a pure heart. Here, standing in front of us, was a true ruler, free from all limitations and as unencumbered as a child. A mighty, unmistakable force radiated from him. Great, majestic, all-powerful was he, the centre of the world. Some travellers in the hall, aware of his presence, asked who he was.

"A Mahavatari", was the answer.

Many came and kneeled before him and touched his feet, according to Indian custom, and Babaji softly held his hand in the gesture of blessing.

He told me to buy toffees at the kiosk and have them distributed among the crowd. I was to give an offering in thanks for what I had just received. The divine law of reciprocal maintenance was to be fulfilled. As there is no inhaling without exhaling so there can be no taking without giving.

Now I was sitting behind Babaji on the plane. How peculiar that the seats we had been assigned at the last minute were grouped together around Babaji. Only the American flying with us had to swap his seat with another passenger's.

Calcutta was now sweeping in beneath us - this magic flight was about to end. After landing Babaji would not have time for my questions. Therefore I had to take the chance now. A friend had requested me to give him a letter. I also had some personal questions. Experience from previous visits had taught me to ask such questions of the worldly mind at the beginning of my time with Babaji before the influence of his presence changed that mind and made such ideas appear trivial and groundless. On returning to the real world however I would find that they became important questions again.

My friend had been a governor in Maharishi's Transcendental Meditation movement. She later came to Babaji and felt painfully split between him and Christianity. Now she was following her heart's path as Babaji had advised and was using what seemed to her the essential parts from each of these three influences.

Handing him the letter, I asked Babaji, "Is the way she is taking now the right one for her?"

Babaji held the envelope in one hand, looked at it, and without moving, stared quietly for some moments into the distance. Then he turned round and repeated several times, "Is right, ... is right!"

In the short silence it seemed as though Babaji was visiting my friend on a causal or spiritual level, reading her like an open book.

I had noticed this behaviour before in Haidakhan, Babaji's ashram in the foothills of the Himalayas. My mother had given me a small gift to take to him. He accepted it, thanked me and said nothing more. He never spoke much anyhow, only what was necessary. I asked him, "Please, have you anything to say to my mother?" He seemed to withdraw his consciousness from the immediate world and remained still and concentrated. Then he his eyes beamed at me and he replied "Send her my blessings!"

I felt sure Babaji had just been with my mother's soul.

***

Calcutta. I did not see any sign of my luggage until I arrived at my host's place. This large residence, enormous by European standards, was on the tenth floor of a skyscraper. It comprised two levels, an open terraced roof, a complex of rooms and a sort of reception hall and gallery where more than 500 people could assemble. The suitcases and bags of those accompanying Babaji had been left in a room whose floor was now an expanse of covered mattresses. This is where we were to stay. As I unrolled my sleeping bag, seven room-mates arrived, one after another, all male. Sri Muniraj, of whom Babaji has said is no longer subject to the law of death and rebirth, and Sri Shastriji were among them. No sign of the two wives of the flight group. Anticipating a likely snoring concert, I rummaged for my earplugs. The prospect of another sleepless night was unbearable. I was utterly exhausted. No wonder, after a day with Babaji without rest, following a sleepless night on the plane from Germany and only a four-hour break at my friend's house, not to mention the time difference and jet lag!

The ride to this place had been rather peculiar, somewhat like a car chase. I didn't have a clue about Babaji's arrangements in Calcutta; where he was going to stay and where I might find accommodation. Somebody at the airport had hastily whispered to me that I needn't bother about my luggage and then vanished into the teeming crowd before I could say a word Babaji himself had been welcomed reverently with garlands and then whisked away in a car by his hosts. Next I caught a glimpse of the rest of the flight party careering off in another vehicle. The crowds and confusion were unbelievable! I jumped into the car of another devotee and asked him to follow Babaji; my chances of being reunited with my luggage and finding accommodation were best wherever Babaji might be.

Babaji didn't go straight to his lodgings; he paid visits to several families en route. Despite the impenetrable traffic, we managed to keep up with his car all the way and at long last we arrived at the tall building – our final destination. This time the usual fuss and incessant activity involved with huge crowds was missing instead a leaden silence prevailed as Babaji and his companions entered the house. I waited in the entrance hall, hesitating to go inside. I looked at some photographs of a woman and a yogi I didn't recognise, who were worshipped by the people of the house. Later I learned that the yogi, Sita Ram Dass, was very famous in these parts and had millions of devotees here in Calcutta and all over the world. He felt his time of death was near and had prayed for weeks to Babaji to grant him a last darshan (audience). He was actually here in the house now. Babaji, knowing the exact moment of the man's death, went to him to give him solace. He sat at the edge of the yogi's bed and gave him water from the Gautama Ganga, the holy river in Haidakhan, and three tulsi leaves.

Shortly after receiving Babaji's visit, Sita Ram Dass died. A few days later during a public darshan, Babaji announced that the great yogi's spirit had merged with the soul of Sri Muniraj. Everybody was asked to bow before Sri Muniraj and to shout "Sita Ram Dass Omkar".

***

That first night in Calcutta all my fears were relentlessly realised. The idea of getting some sleep was utterly absurd. There was all this talking until midnight; the naked lightbulb bombarded its restless glare through the room; at one o'clock, just as a wholesome stillness was developing, the snoring concert started up and had me fleeing the room it was so unbearable. Out on the terrace any new hope of sleep was demolished by the high-pitched descent of a million starved mosquitoes. Even thunderous snoring was better than that!