Online version:

"Man Of Miracles"
by
Howard Murphet 1907/28-9-2004

 

CONTENTS:

Author's Note 
Introduction 
1 The Search 
2 Sathya Sai Baba 
3 Abode of Peace and Many Wonders 
4 O World Invisible 
5 Birth and Childhood 
6 The Two Sais 
7 Echoes from the Early Years 
8 With Baba in the Hills 
9 Return to Brindavanam 
10 A Place Apart 
11 Drift of Pinions 
12 More Wonder Cures 
13 The Question of Saving from Death 
14 Eternal Here and Now 
15 The Same, but Different 
16 A Word from the West 
17 Devotees 
18 Reality and Significance of the Miraculous 
19 Some Sai Teachings 
20 Avatar 

Author's Note
This book is intended for three classes of readers; one, the many for whom the mysterious, marvellous and miraculous of life hold interest and appeal; two, the searchers after spiritual light who have not yet found what they seek. Many in both of these classes, especially the former, will not even have heard of Satya Sai Baba of India, let alone seen his miracles and felt his great influence. They will be more than inclined to doubt. Therefore I have tried to present the facts as objectively as possible, keeping the devotional content to a minimum. Other books, from time to time, have dealt in such a way with the subject of miraculous phenomena. But I know of none describing so many and varied events connected with a miracle-saint, still living, and attested to by such an array of witnesses whose real names are given. These witnesses are, in the main, well-known in their professions and/or communities and can be contacted by any doubters who would like confirmation of the fantastic incredible experiences described. 

Because the devotional element is minimal the third class of readers for whom the book is intended, the Sai devotees, will perhaps feel that the presentation is too cold for them. But I beg them to remember that pure devotional literature is of interest only to devotees, and here I am primarily concerned with a much wider field. 

But I sincerely hope that even the most ardent and experienced Sai devotee, to whom the extraordinary has become the commonplace, will find in these pages something to interest him - perhaps some new evidence, aspect or interpretation of the great Sai power. For it is a fathomless ocean and no man can know more than a fraction of it. In this volume, the fruit of long but highly-rewarding research, investigation and experience, I would like to share with you the inspiring fraction that I came to know. 

And now I want to express some appreciation and gratitude. First and foremost to Sri Satya Sai Baba himself for all that he has so graciously shown and revealed to me personally. Words completely fail, me here. So I will pass on swiftly to express my gratitude to those people who so courteously supplied me with the facts about their precious and marvellous experiences, and who also permitted me to use their names in testimony to a truth that is stranger than fiction. 

Finally, further sincere thanks are due to my good friend, Mr, Alf Tidemand-Johannessen, who provided some very timely secretarial assistance in connection with the book, and to my wife who helped so much in typing and checking the manuscript. H.M. 

Introduction
... and you find it difficult to believe in miracles? I, on the contrary, find it easy. They are to be expected. The starry world in time and space, the pageant of life, the processes of growth and reproduction, the instincts of animals, the inventiveness of nature they are all utterly unbelievable, miracles piled upon miracles ... Professor W. MacNeile Dixon, Gifford Lectures, 1935-37

Most of us meet with the miraculous and magical in the tales of early childhood, and in those plastic years, before the "shades of the prison house" have begun to close around us, miracles are part of the accepted order. There is no incredibility, for example, in the magic power of Aladdin's lamp, or in Jack's beanstalk to the land of the giants, or in Christ walking over the storm-tossed water.

Such stories are not, of course, confined to the folklore and religious scriptures of the western world. The written chronicles of Man in all areas unroll a record of miracles that stretches from Lord Krishna, some 5,000 years ago, down to the present day. The Age of Miracles has always been with us. We read of its rosy morning on the far horizons of ancient Egypt, Chaldea, India and Palestine. And in the old Alexandria of the early Christian Era there were theurgists who at public ceremonies made statues "walk, talk and prophesy".

In Europe during the Middle Ages the church unfortunately claimed a monopoly of the miraculous, and those who worked outside it had to work in secrecy. Such secular theurgical workers, belonging to the Rosicrucian and other brotherhoods of occult practice, did exist. However, and despite ecclesiastical power and jealousy, some great personalities - adepts like Paracelsus and the Comte de St. Germain -caught the attention of the public, stirring its cupidity, its fears and its suspicions.

But what actually do we regard as a miracle? If in those Middle Ages a single individual had appeared who could do any one of the many things we take for granted today - televise, travel through space above the earth, or to the moon, communicate in a few seconds with someone in another continent, convert matter into nuclear energy, or break matter down to its component atoms and use them like bricks to build an entirely different form of matter - what would have happened to such a dangerous heretic? What would they have done to one who thus flouted the laws of God, undermined the status of the theologians, and took unto himself the powers of angels? Would his life have been worth more than a bundle of faggots for burning? But these "miracles" around us today have come about gradually through the laborious efforts of science. We know some of the laws behind them. Or even if we don't know the laws ourselves we believe that our modem priests, the technologists of science, do. And so we accept such phenomena comfortably and admiringly as the products of scientific progress. We don't think of them as miracles.

Yet in a sense they are, just as the whole universe in space and time and the wondrous inventions of the mind are miracles. But provided we can say "It works according to such and such an equation," or "Our scientists have discovered the laws, and our technologists operate according to them," we feel that we are on safe ground. It is scientific; there is nothing magical about it.

So the definition of a miracle seems to be that it is a phenomenon concerning which we neither understand the causative laws ourselves, nor believe them to be understood by that large body of scientific workers in whom we put our trust and faith. Christian miracles such as those at Lourdes are, according to the theologians, "the suspension of the effect of a law of nature by God as its author". But such an idea does not satisfy the occultist. According to him there is no suspension of law; there may appear to be, but actually the miraculous phenomenon is brought about by a deeper law, not yet discovered and enunciated by exoteric science. When the greater law is known our mental concept of the lesser one will be modified.

Madame H.P. Blavatsky stated the occult viewpoint thus, "A miracle is not a violation of the laws of nature, as is believed by ignorant people. Magic is but a science, a profound knowledge of the occult forces in nature and of the laws governing the visible or the invisible worlds." Such occult laws are known to esoteric science, but those who possess such knowledge have always been few in number and not generally known to the public. So public opinion usually discounts their existence, and the existence of any esoteric body of knowledge.

Miracles, as found in the records, fall into a number of classes. Bhagavan Das[1], classifies the miracles of Lord Krishna as follows: (1) giving illuminating visions; (2) seeing at a great distance; (3) multiplying small amounts of food, or other material things, to create large quantities; (4) projecting his subtle body or bodies to appear simultaneously in several places at once; (5) healing the sick and deformed by a touch (6) on rare occasions bringing the "dead" to life; (7) laying dooms on particularly grievous sinners such as the one who murdered infants and sleepers.

Jesus Christ performed a similar wide range of miracles. But perhaps the emphasis was different. The Nazarene seems to have concentrated more on healing the sick, the maimed, and the insane. But he also performed much of what we now call "phenomena"; he levitated over the water, he made himself invisible; he multiplied food; he turned water to wine, he raised the "dead". And, if the records are straight, his greatest phenomenal magic came at the end of the story. After death he dematerialised his body to bring it out of the tomb, rematerialised it into a plastic malleable form so that at times it was not recognisable by his disciples, and finally on the Mount of Olives he raised that etherialised body of earth to another plane of existence.

Krishna and Christ are the two outstanding miracle-workers of the world's scriptures. But there have been many others of lesser stature, or sometimes perhaps merely of lesser fame. Some have been able to perform one or two classes of miracles; others have had power over many. The early Christian apostles could heal the sick and perform other wonders. Apollonius of Tyana, in the first century A.D., could do likewise, and more. Once his mere arrival in a town was sufficient to stop an epidemic of plague there. Many saints and mystics have shown miraculous powers such as levitation, bilocation or astral travel. Throughout the centuries there have been ample signs of a hidden brotherhood of occultists who were adepts in various branches of the High Magic.

In the latter half of the last century Madame H.P. Blavatsky startled an incredulous western world with a stream of inexplicable phenomena[2]. Apparently -from nowhere she produced a variety of articles when needed - fruit, crockery, cutlery, jewellery, embroidered handkerchiefs, books, letters and other things. She is said to have converted one type of matter into another, to have travelled in her subtle body, and sometimes to have made her physical body invisible. She was able to see things from the past or from a great distance in what she called the astral "light".

To anyone who studies the evidence thoroughly and without prejudice, there is no doubt that Madame Blavatsky was a genuine worker of what the world calls magic. Or perhaps it might he closer to the truth to say that in many cases the magic was done through her by certain highly-advanced yogis or adepts whose chela (disciple) she was.

It has been stated that she was a medium, but in its association with spiritualistic practice this word connotes loss of consciousness, and Madame Blavatsky never lost consciousness when phenomena were being performed through her. She preferred to use the word Mediator, rather than medium, in describing the part she played. The adepts who worked through her were living far away, but they were not limited by space; they were able to know what was happening at a distance and to take action - either through travel in subtle bodies or by some other means.

Towards so-called miracles, past and present, current public opinion may be said to fall into three categories. There are those (perhaps the majority in the western world) who say that miracle is all moonshine, that it has no basis in fact. There are, on the other hand, those who through personal experience or for some other reason accept the miraculous as quite factual. And finally there are some (a growing number) who keep an open mind on the question. They feel that events which are beyond the bounds of rational explanation are not necessarily beyond the bounds of possibility. They feel, indeed, rationality in the very idea that not all the laws and forces of the universe are yet stated in the textbooks of modern science.

But, while theoretically accepting the possibility of the miraculous, people of this third class are not convinced that miracles do in fact take place. Before accepting any event as miraculous, they need strong evidence, preferably the evidence of their own five senses, and even something more than that - an inner intuitive conviction that accompanies the seeing, the touching, the hearing, the testing. I belonged to this third category before I met Satya Sai Baba.

An interest in psychic research, or parapsychology, and a study of its work over the last century had convinced me that many of the miracles were indeed steadily moving across the border into the territory of respectable scientific facts. Telepathy, clairvoyance and precognition are now established phenomena of the laboratories, though as yet there is no satisfactory explanation or scientific hypothesis for them. Furthermore, there is strong evidence for the reality of psycho-kinesis, the power of a man's mind and will to move objects at a distance.

When such phenomena as the power to read minds, see through walls, foretell future events, or to mentally cause or change the motion of physical objects are becoming established beyond reasonable doubt through laboratory experiment and statistical analysis, we begin to have a scientific rationale behind what used to be called "magic".

And that is what the majority need today, not a theological explanation as of old, but a rationale acceptable to the new "scientific" outlook even though many orthodox scientists turn their eyes away from the facts. In all ages there have been die-hard dogmatists who preferred the comfort of their own creeds or theories to new facts, new evidence, new thought. In all classes we find this inertia, this tamasic quality that clings to the safety of the status quo, eschewing the effort and hazards of the unending search for truth.

But if the "miraculous" really does take place, how does it operate? Can we know or discover something of the means and processes by which a so-called miracle is performed? Could a nuclear physicist explain to a primary schoolboy how a rocket is sent to the moon? He may give a few hints and an over-simplified explanation, but before the boy can really understand the laws and operations of nuclear physics he needs to develop his mental capacities and go, step by step, through a long, disciplined course of training.

The development and training required for a schoolboy to become a nuclear physicist is mainly one of intellect, concentration and perseverance. On the other hand, that needed for the ordinary human being to acquire some of the know-how of miracles is mainly one of character, psychic unfoldment and spiritual evolution. With true yogic training, which is in fact spiritual training, miraculous powers (siddhis) begin of themselves to make their appearance, as Patanjali points out in his Yoga Sutras.

Many other great Teachers have taught the same law in various ways. Sai Baba of Shirdi, for instance, told his followers that in the course of concentration on one's Guru - or God in any form - one becomes, if sincere, more calm, more placid, and in a number of cases the latent power of reading the minds of others or of seeing clairvoyantly are spontaneously acquired.

But what about the voodoo priests of Africa, the shamans of the Siberian Tribes, the witch-doctors of primitive peoples? Most of these are far from being spiritually evolved. In fact, the magical powers are often used by them for vengeance, personal gain, murder and various undetectable crimes.

This brings us to the question of the different levels of magic - from the high white transcendental type, down through different shades of grey, to black magic or sorcery. Many kinds of miracles are worked through the co-operation of beings from other planes of existence, such as nature sprites, elementals discarnate humans, and devas, or angelic beings. This theory seems to be the most widely held as it has been stated by practically all magicians, high and low, who have had anything to say on their modus operandi. Colonel H.S. Olcott, Founder-President of the Theosophical Society, states that the members of the last great school of theurgy, in old, Alexandria, "believed in elementary spirits whom they evoked and controlled".

For calling forth and commanding the different classes of beings there is always a secret know-how. This includes not only tantra, mantra and yantra - the right ritual, right words and right geometrical and mathematical figures - but also certain self-disciplines, and above all the development of the will-power.

The more the will is developed, the fewer the ceremonial aids needed. In Old Diary Leaves Colonel Olcott, who spent many years in close association with the theurgist and phenomenon-producer Madame H.P. Blavatsky, describes miraculous events that happened frequently in her presence. Some of them, she told him, were performed with the aid of elemental spirits. These seemed to be well under the command of her will, without the use of any ritual, mantras or yantras.

On the other hand, a yantra was employed by an Italian occultist Signor Bruzzesi, who came to visit Madame Blavatsky and Colonel Olcott one evening in New York. Employing the occult arts he produced a shower of rain out of a clear sky in a matter of minutes. The Colonel observed that the Signor seemed to exercise indomitable will-power, but also used a strange geometrical figure on a pasteboard card which he held up to the heavens. He would not let Olcott touch or examine closely this yantra. The Italian stated that the shower was produced by spirits of the air under his command.

People of lower levels of spiritual evolution can apparently employ the technique of using entities of the other planes of existence which interpenetrate the earth. But, as like always attracts like, sorcerers with evil motives will attract evil spirit agents to do their bidding. The power of such low-level magic is real enough under certain conditions, but is limited and fraught with danger to the practitioner. He must be ever on his guard lest his weapons boomerang and destroy him. This is one of the hazards of black or left-hand magic.

Those who perform the grey or middle magic attract allies of a somewhat better type from the subtle planes of being. The motives of such magicians are not criminal. They don't aim at murder, immorality, domination or destruction. Nevertheless, like the average citizen of today's world, their motivation is more selfish than altruistic. Pride, desire for fame, ambition, and avarice are among the powers that move them. For example, Mohammed Bey, who earned a chapter in Paul Brunton's book on India, was an average type of the grey magician. His aim was frankly to make money, and for his super-normal feats (mainly reading the contents of sealed documents) he had trained and was employing, he said, the discarnate spirit of his deceased brother. This is no more immoral and unethical, perhaps, than many normal commercial practices, such as the use of industrial spies "in the flesh". But there may be more dangers involved, dangers to the health, well-being and integrity of the one who employs the discarnate forces. Moreover, miraculous powers used for commercial and selfish ends are easily lost, as many professional spiritualist mediums and Eastern pseudo-yogis have found out.

At the end of the scale from savage sorcery and black magic, through the various shades of grey, we come to the white magic of the right-hand path. This is something entirely different. Different in motive, method, power and range. The key to its recognition lies in the motive. This must be pure; that is, entirely dissociated from the personal self of the miracle-worker. He must be one who has risen above the normal appeals of nature. Money, ambition, fame, personal power, security aft the usual driving forces of man - must mean absolutely nothing to him. His only motivation is a pure love of his fellow men, with the wish to ease their sorrows and sufferings, and to lift them up to higher levels of understanding and happiness.

If a man has reached such lofty standards of action, perhaps through the evolution of many incarnations spent on earth, then miraculous powers will surely be his. They are part of his pure, divine nature. The Srimad Bhagavata asks: "What power is beyond the reach of the sage who has controlled his mind, senses, nerve currents and disposition; and concentrates on God?" And in another place it says: "When a person is merged in God, all powers, all knowledge, all wisdom, all perfection, which are termed divine, shine forth from such a person."

All who have ever written on this difficult subject have said the same thing. Eliphas Levi wrote: "To command Nature man must be above Nature." Joseph Ennemoser in his History of Magic, written over a century ago, said that divine miraculous works are possible only to those "who have converted their whole life into a divine one; who are no longer slaves to the senses..." And it is well-known that in the theurgic schools of old the hierophant who worked the esoteric mysteries lived a life of strictest purity and self-abnegation.

At the highest level we can say that miracles are the work of God coming through a purified person who incarnates (gives earthly human form to) Divinity. Christ said, "The father (God) that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works (miracles). I am in the father, and the father in me ..."

In the Roman Empire of the first century A.D. sorcery had brought the whole of magic into disrepute and it was forbidden by the emperor. But the great miracle-man Apollonius of Tyana pointed out the differences between the lower and higher forms. He said, "Sacrifices have I no need of, for God is always present to me and fulfils my wishes ... I call sorcerers false sages, for they are attracted only by riches which I have always despised..."

The divine miracle-workers have no need of the sacrifices and spellbinding enchantments used by magicians of a lower order. One does not read of Jesus or Krishna or Shirdi Baba employing tantric rites or chanting mantras. They were beyond the need of such formulae. The spiritual will was the creative power. Such a will is both human and divine. It is human in the sense that all men have it potentially, but what most men regard as their "will" is no more than their own desires, overt or hidden. Only as these selfish desires are eliminated, only as they are polished away like dirt from the surface of a crystal and man sees himself as one with God, only then does the true spiritual will shine forth. And this, being divine, has power and dominion over the worlds of matter.

But this is not to say that such an enlightened will does not sometimes employ beings of other planes to do its bidding. Ennemoser, who studied and researched these questions deeply, says that whereas in the lower class of magic the operation depends almost entirely upon element-spirits, in the higher "Man operates principally through his innate power, but not without the assistance of element-spirits."'

The powers and forces of other worlds which the God-man, or avatar, marshals through his pure will must by the very nature of things be of the higher type - not the demons and evil spirits found on the payroll of the sorcerer. And there is no danger of any unseen agents either harming or deserting the great white magician. He will be held in deep reverence by the higher agents, and in fear plus a healthy respect by the lower ones, whether non-human or discarnate human.

To state as the analysts of magic have always done that other-world entities, more or less intelligent, are often hand-maidens to the miracle-worker is not to flout the concept-of natural law. That the universe runs according to a pattern of harmony and rhythm there can be no doubt. That Man, through careful observation and reasoning, has been able to make certain generalisations which he calls laws of nature, is equally true. But such generalisations never fully explain the phenomena. Time brings other generalisations, other hypotheses, other laws, which are closer to the ultimate truth; and in these the old "law" is swallowed up - shown to be either erroneous or only a partial understanding of reality.

The teachings of occult science, as given in Blavatsky's The Secret Doctrine and other works, suggest that living beings beyond the atom; and as unseen as the atom is to human eyes, play a part in the workings of Nature. But such beings are not acting according to their own whims and caprices: they are working within, and helping to carry out, that rhythmic harmony which embraces the deepest laws of the universe. Nor does the miracle-worker divert such beings from their legitimate business and turn them into lawbreakers. Through his will they produce surprising effects, but this is still done according to law - though by a deeper law than man has yet uncovered.

If we consider, for instance, that spectacular miracle, the converting of one class of matter into another, we may get some understanding of this principle. All matter, it is believed, emerges from energy and can be reconverted into energy. So the miraculous process is to reduce, one type of matter to its fundamental energy form, and from that build up another type of matter.

Even without reducing it to the basic nuclear energy, man is today converting one class of matter to another. For example, in the industrial complexes of synthetic chemical manufacture he is breaking down natural substances like coal and petroleum to their constituent elements and using these as building bricks to construct entirely new types of matter unknown to Nature - such as plastics and synthetic fibres. So what was once a lump of coal or a jar of petroleum becomes -a nylon dress, or perhaps a bright plastic housing for an electric razor.

Why then should there not be in the hidden laboratories of Nature workers capable of similar or even more difficult operations in reduction and conversion? Thus water becomes wine for a wedding feast in old Palestine, or oil for the lamps of a mosque at Shirdi. Such unseen operators, spirits of Nature's laboratory, will work according to cosmic laws. They cannot break laws any more than the wizards of modern chemistry can. But their controlling laws are deeper than the ones we yet know. According to these, and without upsetting Nature's harmony, why should they not even convert base metals to gold when this is done under the will of a great alchemist who has lost all personal desire for gold, and who will use it only for the welfare of his fellow men?

Considered on these lines, we see that the miracles of a Christ, a Krishna, a great Master of any century, are really no more incredible than the endless miracles forever around us "the starry worlds in time and space, the pageant of life, the processes of growth and reproduction "

A full comprehension of the modus operandi of miracles is no doubt beyond the human consciousness in its present stage of evolution. But an attempt to solve such mysteries must lead us into a fuller understanding of ourselves and the miraculous universe about us.

It was a book[3] written by an Englishman and published in England which first introduced me to the strange, fascinating figure known as Sai Baba of Shirdi. Later I learned much more about this miracle-working God-man from other writings, including the four-volumed biography by B.V. Narasimha Swami, but from the first introduction to him I felt a stir deep inside me - as if something pulled on a cord attached to the core of my innermost self. I could not understand what it meant.

Mystery surrounds the birth and parentage of Sai Baba. All that is known are a few remarks dropped by Baba himself and these, often symbolical, do not always appear consistent. However, it does seem that his birth took place about the middle of last century in the Nizam of Hyderabad's State, probably in the village of Patri. Apparently his parents were Hindu Brahmins, but at a tender age Baba seems somehow to have come under the care of a Moslem fakir, a saintly man and probably a Sufi, who became his first guru.

After four or five years, either through the death of the fakir or for some other reason, Sai Baba came into the charge of a noted government official at Selu named Gopal Rao. This remarkable man was not only rich and liberal but also pious, cultured, and deeply religious. He was a warrior-saint with powers both temporal and spiritual.

When he first saw the young Sai Baba he recognised him, it is said, as an incarnation of the great saint, Kabir. Gopal Rao was therefore happy to have the boy live at his residence and take part as a constant companion in the activities of court, field and temple. Thus the child received from Gopal Rao, his second guru, a training and education of the highest, though not of the bookish, kind.

But after some years the warrior-saint decided that the time had come for him to leave the earth. Accordingly, at the time fixed by himself for departure, he sat in the midst of a religious group performing rituals of worship and by his own yogic power left his body. But before doing so he pointed westward and bade the young Sai Baba to travel in that direction to his new abode.

Sai Baba went westward and eventually came to the village of Shirdi, in the Bombay presidency (as it was then). He was not at first made very welcome there. Arriving at a Hindu temple on the outskirts, he was attracted by its solitary calm and wanted to live in it. But the priest in charge took him for a Moslem and would not let him put a foot inside the temple.

So Baba took up temporary residence at the foot of a margosa tree. He left Shirdi and returned several times; then eventually in the year 1872 settled down permanently in the village. A dilapidated Moslem mosque of Shirdi became his home. Here he kept a fire burning constantly, and oil lamps lit the interior of the mosque throughout the night. This was according to the view common to both Hindus and Moslems that places of worship should be lit up at night.

A few people recognised Sai Baba's divine qualities and came to pay him homage, (among the first was the priest who had driven him away from the Hindu temple) but most of the villagers regarded him as a mad fakir, and of no account. In the tradition of holy men of India, he depended on charity for food and other material needs. These were few, but he did need oil for his earthen lamps. One evening the shop-keeper who supplied Baba with oil, gratis, told him untruthfully that he had no supplies. Perhaps this was a joke to amuse the village loiterers.

Anyway a group of them, together with the oil-monger, followed the mad young fakir back to his mosque to see what he would do without his religious light - and maybe to have a good laugh at his expense.

Water jars are kept in mosques for people to wash their feet before entering the sacred precincts. In the dusk the villagers saw Baba take water from the jars and pour it into his lamps. Then he lit the lamps and they burned. They continued to burn, and the watchers realised that the fakir had turned the water into oil. In consternation they fell at his feet, and prayed that he would not put a curse on them for the way they had treated him.

But Baba was not what they thought. He was not a sorcerer resenting their contempt, and ready to seize an advantage. His nature was pure love. He forgave them and began to teach them.

This was the first miracle Sai Baba performed before the public, and it was the match that lit the fire which became a beacon drawing thousands of men to him from afar. Many became his devotees. He used his miraculous powers to cure their ailments, to help them in their day-today problems, to protect them from danger wherever they happened to be, and to draw them towards a spiritual way of life.

A great many found their sense of values changing. Some surrendered themselves entirely to the divine will which they saw in Baba, gave up their worldly lives, and came to live at Shirdi as close disciples. Sai Baba taught them according to their needs and capacities. Learned pundits who thought him illiterate found that he could discourse on spiritual philosophy and interpret the sacred writings of India more profoundly and clearly than anyone else they had ever known. But always he led his disciples along the Bhakti marga, the radiant pathway of divine love, self-surrender and devotion.

Loving care of his devotees was the ruling motif of all Baba's actions, and many of them have stated that in his presence they always felt a spiritual exaltation. They forgot their pains, their cares and their anxieties. They felt completely safe and the hours passed unnoticed in blissful happiness.

One devotee, a Parsi woman, wrote: "Other saints forget their bodies and surroundings, and then return to them, but Sai Baba was constantly both in and outside the material world. Others seem to take pains and make efforts to read the contents of people's minds, or to tell them their past history, but with Sai Baba no effort was needed. He was always in the all-knowing state."

Many quaint, amusing and illuminating stories are told about him in the volumes on his life and teachings. But for our purposes there are just a few points we might note. One object of the fire he kept burning always at the mosque was to provide a ready supply of ash. This he called udhi, and used it for many kinds of miraculous purposes, particularly for curing ailments. The miracles he performed cover the full range of siddhis, or supernormal powers, as expressed in such spiritual and yogic classics as the Srimad Bhagavata and Patanjali's Yoga Sutras. Many times he proved to his devotees that he knew what they were thinking and saying and doing when hundreds of miles away from him. Frequently in crises he appeared wherever he was needed, either in his own form or apparently in some other body - a beggar, a hermit, a workman, a dog, a cat or something else. There was plentiful evidence that he could project himself through space and take any material form he chose. Those who were in the best position to know, his nearest disciples, had no doubts whatever on this point.

Baba gave visions to people, as for instance, the visiting high Brahmin who was dubious about going into the Moslem mosque. From outside the mosque the Brahmin saw Sai Baba as the God-form he worshipped, Sri Rama. So convincing was this vision of Rama that he rushed in and fell at Baba's feet. Other types of miracle include the giving of protection at a distance - protection against accident, plague, ill-fortune and imminent death; the granting of issue to those who were childless or desired to have a son; appearing to people in dreams with advice and help in their problems.

Like Jesus, Baba was able to cast out evil spirits from those obsessed and cure the most terrible diseases, such as blindness, palsy and leprosy. For instance he allowed Bagoji, a man with advanced leprosy, to come and shampoo his legs. People were afraid that Baba would himself be infected, but on the contrary Bagoji was completely cured of his leprosy, only scars and marks remaining.

By the end of last century, in spite of India's primitive communications at that time, Sai Baba's fame was snowballing rapidly. The high peak was reached by about 1910 when an endless stream of visitors began to flow in from Bombay and other places. Pomp and ceremony were thrust upon the rugged, unsophisticated old saint. Loaded down with jewellery, seated in a silver chariot with fine horses and elephants, he was taken in grand and colourful procession through the streets.

Baba, it is said, disliked all this show, but he submitted to it to please the people. Yet despite the royal treatment and the riches offered him, he continued to beg his food as of old; perhaps this was to show that humility is more than ever necessary when wealth and pomp and power are striving to seduce the soul of man.

When in 1918 Sai Baba died at Shirdi, he had just enough money to pay for his burial, and no more. It is the tradition in India that a God-realised person should be buried and not cremated. So all devotees agreed that Baba must be buried, but they quarrelled about the method. As had happened in the case of Kabir centuries before, both Hindu and Moslem sections of his followers claimed the right to inter the body according to their own particular rites. Being in the majority, the Hindus won the day. But through the wisdom and diplomacy of Mr. H.S. (Kaka) Dixit, acceptable concessions were made to the Moslem following. Sai Baba's samadhi (tomb), the mosque where he lived for over forty years and where the sacred fire is still kept burning, and other spots associated with him in Shirdi are today the Mecca of thousands of pilgrims Hindus, Moslems, Parsees, Buddhists and Christians.

1 The Search 
If therefore ye are intent upon wisdom, a lamp will not be wanting...... ANON.

After spending some time in Europe, my wife and I decided to stop for a while in India on our way home to Australia. We had two purposes in view. One was to go more deeply into Theosophy by attending the six-months "School of the Wisdom" at the international Headquarters of the Theosophical Society in Adyar, Madras. Let it be said, incidentally, and in case of misunderstanding, that this School does not pretend to offer a brief course on how to be wise; its object is simply a study of the ageless wisdom, the perennial philosophy found mainly in the ancient writings of the East.

Our second purpose was to travel through the country to discover if there was any deeper spiritual dimension in the life of modern India. Was there, we wondered, anything left of the mysterious India described in the pages of Paul Brunton, Yogananda, Kipling, Madame Blavatsky, Colonel H.S. Olcott and other writers? Were there still hidden fountains of esoteric knowledge or had the ancient springs dried up? Would it be possible to find somewhere, in ashram or jungle hermitage, a great Yogi of supernormal powers who knew the secrets of life and death? We thought that about a year should suffice for this programme.

The Theosophy School was enjoyable and enlightening. As a sortie into the wisdom teachings ranging from the ancient Vedas to The Secret Doctrine, published in 1888, it prepared our minds for our coming exploration "on the ground". We understood better what we were looking for and felt better equipped to appreciate it should we find it.

Our search took us to several of the well-known ashrams throughout the length of India, and to a few little-known ones. We sat and talked with hermits and ascetics in their caves in the Himalayas. We met a goodly variety of sadhus, sadhaks, and teachers of different types of yoga.

From the hermitages of the Himalayas and ashrams along the sacred Ganges we came back to New Delhi. There, at a leading social club, we met a top business executive who said, over his beer: "So you're looking for the spiritual life of India. There is none. That's all past. We are looking for what you have in the West - material progress." In another place a professor of history also tried to dampen our enthusiasm. "Believe me," he said, "there is no spirituality left in this country. In the India of old there was, of course, but it died a thousand years ago."

However, we knew that the men who spoke this way, the men of the modern India with its thirst for Western technology, were wrong about their own country. We had seen enough and sensed enough to feel quite sure that the yogic, treasures of old were still to be, found in her deep recesses.

We had sensed it; we had caught some drifts of its perfume on the breezes; we had met with brotherly love in the ashrams; we had found men who were happy to teach, for the sake of teaching the eternal truths of Hindu religio-philosophy. There was no dearth of inspiring words and noble theories. But we had not yet met a man of real power; one who had himself lived the yogic life long enough and truly enough to have broken through the limitations that bind Man in his present unhappy state. But with all this promising material there was surely hope that one such might exist. Yet we also knew that spiritual treasures are not handed out on a platter. There are always tapas, labours, austerities to be performed.

Train and bus journeys on the plains of India in burning June were, we thought, austerities enough for anyone. From the oven that was Delhi we went to the fiery furnace of Dayalbagh on the outskirts of Agra. We wanted to see what had happened to the Radha Soami religious colony there which Paul Brunton had admired so much thirty years before.

We found that its educational institutions had progressed and its factories and farms seemed to be thriving, but that it had a weary air. There was none of the dynamism that Brunton had found there. It was like an old tired man who had had rosy, optimistic dreams in his youth which had never come true. Perhaps this was because the energetic, inspiring leader of the Brunton days, His Holiness Sahabji Maharaj, was dead. Just before dying he had passed on the leadership to a retired engineer among his followers, one Hazur Mehtaji Maharaj. Now he was God incarnate on earth to the Dayalbaghites.

He proved to be a very elusive God. We tried to meet him but were not encouraged. On one occasion we went out early in the morning with a large party that does a few hours work in the fields before starting duty in office, school, or factory. The guru was with the group and we had great hopes of finally making the contact (in fact that was our reason for going), but he all the time managed to put a few acres between himself and us.

At last, however, on the day before we left, the secretary of the colony managed to pin him down in his office long enough for us to have an interview. On the way to the interview we were shown the house in which the leader lived. It was just one in a row, indistinguishable from its modest neighbours.

In the office we found a shy little man who seemed quite ashamed of the fact that there was an air-conditioning unit in his simple room. This was not common in the colony, and he made it clear to us that his followers had forced the exceptional luxury upon him because of the indifferent state of his health. He was friendly in a self-effacing way, but he said nothing of importance that I can recall. And we felt nothing, except that, if God is utter humility, then this man might be God incarnate; but he was certainly a reluctant incarnation, and kept any other signs of his divinity well hidden, from us, at least.

The secretary, Babu Ram Jadoun, made up in open-hearted hospitality and helpfulness any lack on the part of the modest leader. He spent the evenings sitting with us on easy chairs in front of the small guesthouse talking about the Radha Soami faith and its Sabdha Yoga, in which one concentrates in meditation on listening for the inner anahat sounds. He also liked to recall the old days and tell us anecdotes about the two English writers, Yeats-Brown and Paul Brunton, who had once stayed together at this same guesthouse in the early 1930s.

I knew that there were now about twenty of these Radha Soami colonies in India, each with its own guru. We had visited a number of them, including the big one at Beas, near Amritsar, where some 600,000 people believe that their benign leader, Charan Singh Maharaj, is the true incarnation. We had found that each group we visited had exactly the same idea about its leader.

On the evening before we left Dayalbagh I decided to ask the secretary, an intelligent man, what he thought about this division of belief that had developed in the cult during the century of its existence since 1861.

"Do all the leaders have the divine current?" I asked; "Do you think they are all incarnations of the boundless Brahman?" My wife and I were the only ones sitting with him under the trees before the guesthouse.

He shifted his seat in the warm air that wrapped us around like a blanket, and after a minute's silence, replied: "No, there can be only one incarnation at the same time. "

"And that is your leader? "

"Yes.

"So all the rest are wrong?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well you no doubt have your good reason for feeling so sure," I remarked; "but how can we - how can any outsider know who is right? How can we decide in which of the many leaders, if any, divinity is enshrined? "

The wrinkled kindly little man seemed to ruminate for a time before he said: "Thirty years ago I was a lecturer in the Engineering College here. One evening I was sitting with a few people where we are sitting now, listening to our leader, Sahabji Maharaj. Paul Brunton, who was with us, asked him the same question that you have just asked me. I remember very well the answer His Holiness gave..."

"What was it?" Iris asked.

"It was: 'Pray every day to God that he will lead you to the man in whom he is at present incarnated.' I suggest the same to you now. Such a prayer will undoubtedly be answered." He paused, then added with a gentle smile: "And when it is, when you find him, please write and let me know."

I wondered if he meant, "write and say you are on your way back here." Then I remembered that Brunton did not go back and become initiated into the Radha Soami Faith at Dayalbagh, but found his great guru in Ramana Maharshi, of Tiruvannamalai.

It was all very strange. I was not sure that I believed in modern incarnations. Maybe in ancient times, as the scriptures taught, there had been such - men like Rama, Krishna, Christ and others. I knew that many in India regarded some comparatively modern spiritual teachers, such as Paramahamsa Ramakrishna as incarnations or avatars, but I had never hoped or expected to meet one in the 1960s. The idea had not occurred to me. I was prepared to settle for a great yogi who had climbed to the rare heights of God-realization. But what was the difference, if any? It was all beyond my understanding or hopes.

Still my wife and I decided that, if among the teeming millions of India there was an incarnation today, we would love to find him. So the prayer could do no harm. It might, at least, help to lead us to the great master we sought.

I don't think we repeated his Holiness Sahabji Maharaj's prayer in actual words very regularly, or for very long, but the strong yearning was deep in our hearts, the yearning to find the highest manifestation of God in man - and that in itself is a prayer.

2 Satya Sai Baba
Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction. Lord Byron

 I first heard the name Satya Sai Baba from a wandering yogi. He had not himself met this holy man, he said, nor been to his ashram at a village called Puttaparti. This, he had heard, was a difficult place to reach, being in the wilds of the interior: one had to do the last part of the journey by bullock cart or on foot over rough tracks. Still, the Swami was no doubt worth the effort, the yogi thought, if I had time and was interested in phenomena. He was known to have siddhis, to be a great miracle-worker.

"What kind of miracle"? I asked.

"Well, it's said that he can, for instance, produce objects from nowhere. Of course, there are other men to be found who have some of the siddhis: they can do a few supernormal feats, but from reports Sai Baba's powers are much greater. And he performs miracles frequently. Anyone can see them."

Such talk certainly aroused my interest and curiosity. I had heard (who has not?) that India was the crucible of wonder-workers. I had read of the great adepts, occultists, saints, of the past who knew Nature's inner laws. But I half doubted their actual reality. And even if they did once exist, could they still be around?

This, I thought, might be my great chance to find out if the fantastic tales that have come out of India belong to the realm of fact or fiction. I decided that I must see Satya Sai Baba as soon as convenient. Later, when I heard that his followers regarded him as a reincarnation of Sai Baba of Shirdi, my desire to meet him became even stronger.

But the bullock-cart safari into the interior of south India would have to wait a little while. It sounded more than arduous, and we had recently discovered on our northern journey that ordinary travel in India saps one's vitality. On our return, we were glad to recuperate for a time in the tranquil tree-filled Theosophical Estate.

One day several months after our return a young pale-faced woman wearing the ochre-robe of a monk came on a visit to the Theosophical Headquarters. She was introduced to us by a mutual friend as Nirmalananda, and we took her to our sitting room for morning coffee. She told us that she was an American from Hollywood, an odd place of origin for an ascetic, we thought. "Nirmalananda", she said, was the Hindu name given her by Swami Sivananda when he initiated her into the monastic life. After he had died she left his ashram at Rishikesh and became a follower of Satya Sai Baba. At Puttaparti she had witnessed many wonderful miracles. Now Sai Baba was on a visit to Madras and she was one of a small party of disciples he had brought with him.

This seemed to be our golden opportunity. Iris was not feeling well enough to come, but Nirmalananda conducted me to the place where Sai Baba was staying. It was a pleasant house, standing behind lawns and flower gardens. Later I learned that it was the home of Mr. G. Venkateshwara Rao, the mica magnate who was also a devotee of Sai Baba. The lawns and pathways in front of the house were covered with people sitting quietly cross-legged on the ground - white-clad men to one side and women in saris like bright-coloured flowers to the other. There were hundreds of them, obviously waiting for a sight of the great man.

Nirmalananda led me through the crowd to the front verandah and there introduced me to a pleasant, red-haired American named Bob Raymer.

"I think Sai Baba has finished interviews for the morning, but I'll go and find out," he said.

He took me into a small sitting-room and left me there. Nirmalananda had already gone off somewhere. In the room were only two Indian men, both standing and apparently waiting for someone. I also stood waiting.

After a few minutes the door from the interior of the house opened and there entered a man the like of whom I have never seen before nor since. He was slight and short. He wore a red silk robe that fell in a straight line from shoulders to feet. His hair stood up from his head in a big circular mop, jet black, crinkly, to the roots like wool, and seemingly vibrant with life. His skin was light brown but seemed darker because of the thick beard which, though closely shaven, still showed black through the skin. His eyes were dark, soft and luminous, and his face beamed with some inner joy.

I had never seen a photograph of Sai Baba. Could this be he? I had expected someone tall and stately with a long black beard, and dressed in white robes. I had a preconceived image of what a great yogi or master should be like perhaps derived from early theosophical descriptions of the Masters.

He came swiftly and gracefully across the carpet towards me, showing white, even teeth in a friendly smile.

"Are you the man from Australia?" he asked.

"Yes." I replied.

Then he went to the Indians and began talking to them in Telugu. Presently I saw him wave his hand in the air, palm downwards in small circles, just as in childhood we used to wave our hands when pretending to perform some abracadabra magic.

When he turned the palm up it was full of fluffy ash, and he divided this among the two men. One of them could not contain his feelings; he began to sob. Sai Baba patted him on the shoulders and back, and spoke to him soothingly like a mother. I did not understand at the time that these were what are called bhakti tears - tears of overwhelming joy, gratitude and love. Later I heard that Baba had cured this man's son of some terrible disease, but as I did not check the story, I cannot vouch for it.

After a while the small figure turned to me again. Standing close in front of me, he began circling his hand again. This time I noticed he pulled his loose-fitting sleeve almost up to the elbow. Much later I learned the reason for this. In my mind was the suspicion that he might be doing conjuring tricks like a stage magician, perhaps bringing the ash out of his sleeve. Baba has no difficulty in reading minds and knew my suspicions. So he pulled his sleeve high to allay them.

When the mound of powdery ash appeared suddenly in his palm, he tipped it into mine. For a moment I stood there wondering what to do with it. Then a voice to my left said, "Eat it, it's good for your health." This was Bob Raymer who had just returned to the room.

I had never expected to eat ash and enjoy it, but this brand was fragrant and quite pleasant to the taste. Baba stood there watching me. Half-way through the strange snack I said to him:

"May I take some of this to my wife? She is not very well."

"Bring her here tomorrow at five o'clock," he replied, and then he was gone.

The next afternoon found Iris and myself at the same house. In the entrance we met Gabriela Steyer of Switzerland, one of the small western contingent in Baba's travelling party. She, very friendly and sympathetic, led us to an upstairs room where about a score of women, most of them Indian and all in saris, sat cross-legged on the carpet.

We sat down near them and Gabriela began to tell us about some of the miracles she had seen at Puttaparti. Taking out my notebook I asked her for the full address of the ashram and directions on how to get there. But at that moment Bob Raymer's wife, Markell, came up and said that Baba was on his way, and that I should go and sit on the other side of the room, the men's proper territory. The males now filled their area of the floor but I found myself a place by the wall. I noticed that Bob Raymer and I were the only two white faces in the group of men.

Suddenly Sai Baba appeared in the doorway. Today his robe was old-gold in colour, but like the red one it fell from shoulder to floor in a simple line with no pockets, appendages or folds. All his robes are of this same style. They fasten right up to the neck with two gold studs - the only jewellery he ever wears - and the loose sleeves come to the wrist or elbow, depending perhaps on the temperature. Under the robe he wears a dhoti (a cloth tied around the waist and reaching the ankles like a skirt) and this has no pockets in it either. I now know these things for sure because, later on when we were staying at a guesthouse with Sai Baba, my wife used sometimes to iron his robes and dhotis in our room. So although sceptics without examining the matter properly have said (and will doubtless say again) that he conceals the things he produces miraculously somewhere in his robe, I know beyond doubt that this is quite wrong and quite impossible.

From the doorway Baba pointed his finger at me and said, "Did you bring your wife?" I was pleased that he had remembered. He took us both into another room and talked to Iris about her health. He seemed to know just what was wrong with her and the basic causes of the trouble. He gave her much advice and then with his hand-wave produced from the air some medicinal ash for her to eat.

I was, standing close by keenly watching the production because I still doubted that it was genuine magic. Now he turned to me, smiled, pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, and waved his hand under my nose. As he turned the palm up I expected to see the usual ash, but I was wrong. Lying in the middle of his hand was a little photograph of his head with the full address of his ashram. The photo had a freshly-glazed look as if straight from a photographic laboratory. He handed it to me saying: "You've been asking for my address. Here it is. Keep it in your wallet."

"May I may we - come there sometime?" I managed to ask.

"Yes, of course. Whenever you wish. It's your home."

Since that day I have seen many wonderful and rare things produced by the wave of his small brown hand, but I still carry in my wallet that little photograph which came out of "nowhere" in answer to a question in my mind. There were no ordinary means of his knowing that I had asked Gabriela for the address.

After our interview Sai Baba gave a discourse to the people assembled in the room and later, as we went home, we saw him walking among the people in the gardens. Many of them tried to touch his robe or his feet. He spoke to some and "produced" something for others - usually ash, I think.

This constant production of ash, or vibhuti as it is called, seemed to have a special significance. It made me think of Sai Baba of Shirdi and the fire he always kept burning to produce the udhi which he gave to his followers for curing their ailments, and for other purposes. Now it was as if Satya Sai, who perhaps really was his reincarnation, could produce this ash from a fire that burned in a dimension beyond the range of our mortal eyes.

Ash is a spiritual symbol and has been used as such by many religions, including the Christian. Like all symbols it has different levels of meaning. An obvious one is that it reminds us of the transitory nature of all Earthly things and the mortality of man's body. It is meant to lead our thoughts to the eternal beyond the transitory, to our own immortal selves beyond the little mound of ash or dust to which our bodies will some day be reduced. For the Hindus ash is specially sacred to the God Siva, or that aspect of the Godhead concerned with the destruction of all material forms. Destruction is considered a divine attribute because only through destruction can there be a regeneration, a rebirth of new forms through which life can flow more freely, more fully, more vitally.

During the next few days we talked a good deal about our strange experience. Apart from his miraculous abilities, Sai Baba had a powerful effect. He seemed to lift us up to some high level where there were no more worries. We became larger than life, and the usual difficulties and conflicts of the mundane world were far off, unreal. There seemed to be an aura of happiness around us. Iris mentioned that she could not stop herself smiling for hours after Baba had talked to her.

As for the miracles themselves - well, as time went on I began to ask myself if I had really seen them. It all seemed so unlikely, so far outside the commonplace everyday order of things. It is very difficult for the mind, trained in logic and the physical sciences and believing implicitly in the rational order of the universe, to accept the reality of such apparently irrational phenomena. Even after seeing such miracles it is difficult to believe in them.

So a doubt hung in my mind like a morning mist. Was I, after all, fooled? Was it, after all, just a clever sleight-of-hand? Going over the facts and conditions carefully I failed to see how this could be so. Ash would be a difficult if not impossible thing to hold in the palm of a hand waving in circles, wide open and turned downwards. And how could he bring it out of a pocket or a sleeve, even if he had pockets, which he did not and even if the cuffless sleeve was down to the wrist, rather than pulled up nearly to the elbow, as it often was.

But perhaps there was some way in which he could have done the things I saw by brilliant conjuring. Perhaps his apparent mind-reading and his inside knowledge of one's personal problems were no more than clever guessing.

Inwardly I felt from the elevating splendour of his presence that he was not an impostor. But I could not be absolutely sure: I could not be quite certain that I had met a man of truly supernormal powers, that I had witnessed genuine miracles. No, I could not feel sure until I had investigated further. I would have to observe such phenomena many times under many different circumstances and conditions. I would have to get to know the miracle-man himself, learn his character, his background, his life, and the kind of people who followed him. And I certainly would have to visit that ashram in Puttaparti.

3 Abode of Peace and Many Wonders
This earth alone is not our teacher and nurse, The powers of all the worlds have entrance here.
Sri Aurobindo, Savitri.

I travelled by bus from Madras to Bangalore. Some friends in that city provided me with a car and I set off north along a country road to find the retreat of the wizard of Puttaparti. I was travelling alone with an Indian driver as Iris was not able to get away from her duties at the Theosophical Society Headquarters.

The way led out of Mysore State into Andhra Pradesh, mainly through barren open country pimpled here and there with outcrops of round stony hills. I did not even see a mention of Puttaparti on the signposts until we reached the last stretches of the hundred-mile journey.

Then we were on a road of broken rocks and loose sand, like a track for country carts. At one place it became a narrow alley, squeezing itself between the tumbled buildings of a lonely village. In other places the road sauntered across the sandy near-dry beds of rivers. Such crossings are fordable except in seasons of very heavy rain. But I was told that if the cunning rogues living nearby are in need of money they dig a deep ditch in the shallow water of the ford. Then they wait for cars to get stuck, and bargain for a high price to push them out.

Gone, however, are the days when visitors finished the Puttaparti journey by bullock-cart, or on foot across slushy fields of paddy. Despite the rugged road in the year of my first journey there - 1966 - cars and even big buses could negotiate the final obstacles and reach the ashram gates.

Sai Baba's retreat is beside the village of Puttaparti, which nestles in a narrow farming valley between pewter-coloured hills of bare rock. The valley, gentle green in the season of young crops, is remote and silent, untouched by the twentieth century. As I drove in through the gate the sun was setting, spreading a golden glow over the buildings. Most of them stood around the perimeter of the large compound, facing inwards towards a large white central building.

It was the time of the evening bhajan, that is, the singing of sacred songs and chants. I was informed that Sai Baba was with the crowd in the big hall which occupies most of the ground floor of the central building, and as apparently only he could say where I must sleep, I sat on my bedroll outside the hall and waited.

The rhythmic sounds of the singing deepened the peace of the evening hour. Dusk gathered, the lights came on gently, the haunting music continued. It seemed to seep through me, soothing my tired body, and calming my impatience, washing away my worries and anxieties.

Presently someone came and took me to the room Baba had allocated to me. It was in the small guesthouse, and was well furnished with its own private wash-room and a flush toilet. This was much better than I had been led to expect or dared to hope for.

One of the first people I met at the ashram was Mr. N. Kasturi, a retired History professor and College Principal of Mysore University. He was now the secretary of the ashram, editor of its monthly magazine, Sanathana Sarathi, and the writer of a book on Sai Baba's life. He had also translated into English many of Baba's public discourses which had been delivered in Telugu. These, published in several volumes, contain the miracle-man's spiritual teachings and give an idea of his mission and message.

On my first morning Mr. Kasturi arrived at the guesthouse with copies of all the books which had been printed in English.

"They are a present to you from Baba," he explained. Mr. Kasturi is not only a scholar, but a deeply religious man whose face glows with devotion and benevolence.

Now he told me something about the ashram. Its name is Prasanti Nilayam, meaning the "Abode of Great Peace". About seven hundred people live here permanently, while hundreds are coming and going all the time. The residents occupy the inward-facing terraced houses around the perimeter. The visitors occupy whatever space is available at the time perhaps a room in one of the large buildings, perhaps a spot of floor in one of the open sheds, perhaps a corner on the Post Office verandah, or at times of great festival crowds, the bare brown earth beneath a tree. People like myself, who have been softened by the creature comforts of western civilisation, Baba usually puts in the furnished guesthouse.

In the early morning I had heard strange but soothing sounds of Sanskrit chanting. Now I learned that it came from the school where boys and youths are studying the Vedas. They are not only learning to read the Sanskrit of these works but also to recite it by heart. They are being taught by pundits to chant the texts with the correct intonation and emphasis, as was done in India's ancient days. The reason for this is that the uplifting spiritual benefits of the Vedas come from the mantric effect of the sound as much as from the meaning of the words. That is what the ancient writers tell us, and having been subjected to some of the chanting myself I don't find it hard to believe them. There are very few schools like this one in India today; perhaps because it normally takes about seven years to learn one Veda, as Mr. Kasturi informed me, and there are four of them. Over twenty years to master the lot, and no commercial rewards to speak of at the end of it all! But Sai Baba seems determined, against the surging tide of materialism in modern India, to revive her ancient spiritual culture.

The ashram also has its own canteen where I had been invited to have my meals, but I was told that as I was Baba's guest I must not pay. The accommodation was also free and I had been given a set of free books! It seemed I was not allowed to pay for anything. But perhaps I could make a donation at the end of my stay, as one does at most ashrams in India. This point I queried with Mr. Kasturi.

"No," he said emphatically, "Baba will not accept donations. He never takes money from anyone."

"He seems to have some wealthy followers," I replied, "Perhaps they give financial help to the ashram."

"No," Mr. Kasturi smiled. "But don't take my word for it; ask them yourself. Many will he arriving in the next few days for Sivaratri."

"What's that?" I queried.

He explained that it was the great annual festival to the god Siva, that many thousands came to Prasanti Nilayam for it, and that during the festival Baba always performed two great miracles in public.

I decided then and there to wait for the festival Of Sivaratri (Siva's night) and see the miracles. In the meantime I would read Sai Baba's story as written by N. Kasturi, talk to his followers, and get close to the great man himself whenever I possibly could. Kasturi gave me hope that I might be called for an interview fairly soon, although Baba was very busy.

During the next few days, in fact, I was fortunate in being invited to several group interviews. For these a dozen people gather in one of the interview rooms at either end of the bhajan hall, or "prayer hall" as it is sometimes called. Sai Baba sits either on the one chair, or else on the floor - depending, it seems, on his whim - and the people sit cross-legged on the floor, fanning out in a rough circle about him. On each occasion I managed to get as close as possible to him and sat to his right within a couple of feet of the hand that performs the magic.

These group interviews usually begin with some talk on spiritual subjects. Baba invites someone to ask a question; then in the answer he expounds on such matters as the meaning and purpose of life, Man's true nature, and the way he should strive to live in order to reach the goal. The teachings are always clear, vivid, and intensely practical.

Towards the end of each meeting, if some people have personal problems, he may take them into another room one by one or in family groups. But never a meeting went by without Baba producing at least one item besides the vibhuti he always produces, with his theurgic hand-wave. Pendants, chains, rings, necklaces and other objects I have watched him pluck from the air in this way and then give to some delighted individual.

He apparently knew my suspicions of him were not yet dispelled, because he still pulled his loose cuffless sleeve up before taking an object from nowhere. But on one occasion he did not need to raise the sleeve above suspicion. It was a very hot day and he was wearing a robe with short sleeves that came only to the elbow. Now, as if he would exorcise, once and for all, the sceptical spirit within me, he let his right hand lie open, palm upward, on the arm of the chair within a few inches of my eyes. If I had been a palmist, I might have read the lines and mounds on the small palm and slim graceful fingers. I could certainly be quite sure that no items, however small, were concealed there.

Then he lifted his hand from where it lay, and began to circle it in the air about eighteen inches from my face. One moment the hand was empty, the next it was holding something big that protruded brightly on either side of his fist. He shook this out to reveal a long necklace of coloured stones. It was what the Indians call a jappamala which, like the Christian rosary, is used for prayers. Its regulation size is one hundred and eight stones or beads. There, was nowhere in three-dimensional space that a conjurer could have hidden such a bulky object and produced it under these circumstances. Baba gave it to a grey-haired lady on his immediate left. When he placed it around her neck, she was so overcome that her eyes filled with tears and she went down on her knees to touch his feet.

Every day now saw the crowd swelling. The buildings were all full and people were beginning to spread their beds under the trees. In this gathering tide of dark-faced, white-robed Indians I was the only western male. Bob Raymer having returned to his home in California. Among the ladies there were only two pale faces left ochre-robed Nirmalananda and Gabriela Steyer.

Yet I did not feel like a foreigner: I felt that I was among brothers, and was completely happy. One could hardly be otherwise with brotherly love shining in every face and inspiring every word and action. Any stranger was your acquaintance in minutes and your close friend within an hour, anxious to help you in every way and eager to tell you about the wonderful things that Sai Baba had done for him or some members of his family.

I soon found that the followers were from all parts of India and from all classes of society - princes, businessmen, doctors, lawyers, judges, civil servants, scientists, soldiers, clerks and tradesmen. Filling the guesthouse there were, in the ladies suite, the Maharani of Sandur, her daughter and Nanda, Princess of Kutch. Among the men were the Kumaraja (Prince) of Venkatagiri, the Kumaraja of Sandur, Mr. G. Venkateshwara Rao, the mica magnate, and myself.

These people were all quite rich so, remembering Mr. Kasturi's challenge, I questioned them as well as other wealthy followers about money donations to Sai Baba. From all of them, and later from many others, I had the same answer. They would, they said, love to help support Baba's ashram with funds, but he would never accept any money from them. Nor did he take any donations from anyone they knew.

I thought what a fertile field was here for those religious leaders and their organisations always on the look-out for funds - not only the wealthy nucleus, anxious to give, but the huge numbers that congregate at Baba's discourses, sometimes up to two hundred thousand. What a collection could be raised from such crowds by a good rousing evangelist! But Sai Baba refuses to take a paise. How then does he get the money he needs? To this question they smile, as if to say, "How does Baba do anything? He is a mystery we can't solve." Anyway it soon became quite clear that whatever the motive for his miracles it was not money.

Everyone I spoke to had at least one and usually many more miracles to tell me from his own experience. My notebooks began to swell with fantastic stories, many of which I could never hope to verify. But there were others which could be cross-checked and verified in a number of ways. Apart from the materialisation phenomena of the type that I had already seen there were tales involving almost every kind of miracle found in the historic and spiritual records of the fantastic. Among them were the healing miracles - the curing of many kinds of diseases, some deep-seated and chronic, some considered incurable by medical opinion.

At the ashram there is a small hospital with two doctors on the staff, and occasional helpers from outside. The two full-time workers are the Medical Superintendent, Dr. B. Sitaramiah, and his assistant, Dr. N. Jayalakshmi, a woman doctor. The Superintendent told me that when Sai Baba asked him some years ago to take charge of the hospital he had already retired from practice, and felt disinclined to take the responsibility. But Baba said that the doctor would be only a figure-head, and that he himself would do the healing. Then Dr. Sitaramiah, who was a devotee, had no more fears about the job. And that was the way it had been.

"Apart from the routine treatments, I have had Baba's directions always," he told me. "And there have been many cures of cases that were quite incurable by any known medical treatment. From the scientific point of view the cures are quite inexplicable."

For my benefit he went into several case histories in full detail, showing me X-ray photographs, records of medical diagnosis, and any other documents that were relevant. Below are a few sample cases to indicate some of the diseases Baba has treated at the ashram. They also show that he has, as he puts it, "different prescriptions for different patients".

A woman devotee from Mangalore was suffering from tuberculosis. There was bleeding and X-rays showed a cavity of the right lung. Medical opinion was that the disease was probably curable but that effective treatment would take about two years. Instead of undergoing the prescribed treatment, she came to Prasanti Nilayam. Sai Baba gave her vibhuti from his hand, and she was put in the hospital. About a week later, when I visited the hospital myself, she was still there convalescing. But all symptoms of the tuberculosis had gone, the doctors assured me. She had been cured in a week instead of two years.

A young man living in Bombay, but recently returned from Switzerland, was suffering from internal trouble which doctors in both Europe and Bombay had diagnosed as cancer. He was not a devotee of Sai Baba, but a friend had urged him to go to Prasanti Nilayam. In desperation he went and stayed, not in the hospital, but in a building near the canteen. There he waited and prayed to Baba for help.

One night he had a dream in which, someone visited him, carrying a shining knife. When he awoke that was all he could remember, he told Dr. Sitaramiah and others, the vague visitor and the clear bright knife. Perhaps it was not really a dream. To the canteen manager who took him breakfast in the morning he showed a large, mysterious blood-stain on his sheet. Had Baba performed an operation while he slept? Such strange things had been known before. Anyway, all signs and symptoms of the cancer had vanished. It was about a year after this experience that I wrote to the young man to enquire if the cancer cure had been complete. His reply came from Switzerland where he had returned to his job. He was in sound health and not a day passed, he said, in which he did not think of Sai Baba and offer a heart-felt prayer of gratitude for his miraculous cure.

A 58-year old man, suffering from hyperpyrexia, was brought into the hospital. He had at another hospital been under treatment for fever and dysentery for about two months without relief. At the ashram hospital various treatments were tried by the doctors - quinine, penicillin, chloromycetin - but all to no avail. The patient's temperature kept above 103 degrees; he was delirious, and his general condition worsened. He lost consciousness and there seemed to be no hope of his recovery.

Then Sai Baba came to the hospital to see him. Taking vibhuti from the air in his usual way, he smeared it on the forehead and put some in the mouth of the unconscious man. Within a short time the temperature began to drop, the patient regained consciousness, and his condition improved rapidly. Soon he was back to normal with no signs of the dysentery. When strong, enough he was discharged from hospital.

A cripple, unable to walk, stand or even sit, was brought to the ashram. This man, a wealthy coffee planter from the Mysore State, was about 50 years of age, and for the last twenty of those years, he had suffered from severe rheumatoid arthritis. He had been through a variety of medical treatments without any success. And now, in addition to his other troubles, he had a damaged kidney which was not functioning. His temperature stayed around 103 to 104 degrees. At Prasanti Nilayam hospital he refused any orthodox medical treatment, saying that he had complete faith in the power of Sai Baba to cure him. On this occasion Baba waved his hand to produce a small bottle of liquid medicine and, prescribed two drops to be taken daily in water. Fifteen days after the treatment began the planter could walk with the help of a stick. Now Baba gave him a mantra to repeat as he walked daily a certain number of times around the prayer hall. Within a month he was walking without the help of a stick. Furthermore there was no more trouble from the kidney, it was functioning normally again.

Before returning to his plantation, he tried to express his deep gratitude to Sai Baba. But the latter replied: "Don't thank me. It was your own faith that cured you."

I asked Dr. Sitaramiah if the cure had been permanent or if, perhaps, the troubles had returned.

"It seemed to be permanent. I heard a long time afterwards that the planter was still quite fit and well," he said.

In the months ahead I was to meet many people who had themselves experienced dramatic and miraculous cures of serious, sometimes deadly diseases and, others who could bear witness to such fantastic healings among members of their families or friends. A good proportion of these were well-known leading citizens of their communities, they have permitted me to use their names, and their cases will be described in later chapters.

But now at Prasanti Nilayam Dr. Sitaramiah informed me that Sai Baba's own temperature was up over the hundred mark. The doctor had been checking it each morning as he always did at this time of the year, with Baba's permission. The high temperature was a sign of the approaching miracle that takes place annually at the Sivaratri festivals, the doctor explained.

I awaited this event with eagerness, having heard devotees descriptions of the miracles performed on previous occasions. And yet I felt a little sceptical as there was to my knowledge nothing like it in the chronicles of miraculous phenomena.

4 O World Invisible 
O world invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee. Francis Thompson.

In 1966 the Mahasivaratri Festival, generally known simply as Sivaratri, took place on February 18th. As I walked back from breakfast at the canteen that morning I had to step carefully between groups of visitors camping on the ground. All the buildings were full, all the space under trees was occupied, and now people were making their temporary residences anywhere on the open ground: comfort is of no concern to the Indians on such occasions.

I joined the crowd standing in front of the Mandir, the big central building. Thousands were waiting for Sai Baba to show himself on the balcony and give his morning blessings. Presently the small red figure with the dome of black hair appeared. He lifted his arm in blessing, rather listlessly for him, I thought, and returned quickly to his room. I had the impression that he was not well. Then Dr. Sitaramiah, who had just come down from seeing him informed me that Baba's temperature was 104 degrees.

"I suppose it has something to do with the Siva lingam forming inside him. It's a great mystery," the doctor declared.

Baba, however, carried on throughout the day as if there was nothing the matter with him. I saw him walking around distributing packets of sacred ash to the crowds sitting on the ground waiting for it, and waiting also for the chance of touching the edge of his robe. Then during the morning the first of the day's two public miracles was performed. It took place in a large open-sided shed where thousands could sit on the floor packed close together in a manner achieved only by tinned sardines and Indian crowds. Fortunately I was sitting near the stage among a bunch of photographers where a little more elbow-room had been allowed. Here is my diary entry on what took place that morning:

"On the stage is a large silver statue of Sai Baba of Shirdi in his characteristic sitting posture. Mr. Kasturi takes up a small wooden urn, about a foot in height, and filled with vibhuti. This he holds above the head of the silver statue, and lets the ash pour over the figure until the urn is empty. He shakes it well to make sure that the last grains have fallen out, then continues to hold it above the statue with its open top downwards.

"Now Sai Baba thrusts his arm as far as the elbow into the vessel and makes a churning motion with his arm, as women did when making butter in the old days. Immediately the ash begins to flow again from the vessel and continues to do so in a copious stream until he takes his arm out. Then the flow of ash stops. Next he puts his other arm in and twirls that around. The ash streams out over the statue again. This process goes on, Baba using alternate arms, ash pouring from the empty vessel while his hand is in it, and stopping immediately he takes it out. Finally Shirdi Sai is buried in a great mound of ash - much more than the vessel could possibly have held. Now the urn is placed on the floor: the miraculous, ceremonial ash bath is over.

'There is a joyous, elevated atmosphere all around; Mr. Kasturi's face is more radiant than ever, Baba's movements and manner are the acme of unselfconscious grace. It's all wonderful, yet having watched him pull handfuls of ash out of the empty air I am not so greatly surprised to see him stir it in large quantities from an empty pot.'.

But the big climax of the day was to come, and many people talked to me about it. They told me that every year one or more Siva lingams have materialised in Baba's body at this sacred period. He ejects the lingams through his mouth for all to observe. They are always hard, being made of crystal clear or coloured stone and sometimes of metals like gold or silver.

"Are you sure he does not pop them in his mouth just before he goes on stage, and then eject them again at the right moment?" I asked.

My hearers looked at me with amusement and pity. One of them said: "He talks and sings for a long time before the lingam comes out, and it's always much too big to hold in the mouth while speaking. Last year it was so large that he had to use his fingers to pull it out through his lips, and it stretched them so that the sides of his mouth bled." Another added: "There were nine one year. Each was about an inch and a half in height. Imagine holding all those in your mouth while you talked for nearly an hour!"

Well, I thought, even if he does bring these things up from somewhere inside him, what is the point of it? Certainly it's a most miraculous phenomenon, but has it any significance? What is a Siva lingam anyway?

To this question I had a number of answers from the people at the ashram, but it seemed to me that the most satisfactory explanation of the Siva lingam I had heard to date was the one given by Dr.I.K. Taimni at the Theosophical Society's School of the Wisdom at Advar. I could only recall this vaguely, but later when 1 returned to Adyar, I looked up my notes. Briefly this is what he taught.

The Siva lingam belongs to the class of "natural" Hindu symbols, which are usually mathematical in form. Such symbols are called "natural" because they not only represent a reality, but to some extent are the actual vehicles of the power within that reality. The lingam is an ellipsoid. It symbolises Siva-Shakti; that is, the primary polarity principle of positive and negative forces. On this principle of opposites the whole universe is founded.

Why is an ellipsoid used to symbolise the polarity principle? Dr. Taimni explains it in this way. The ultimate reality, the Absolute or Brahman or God, or whatever we care to term it, has no polarity, no pairs of opposites: all principles are balanced and harmonised within it. Therefore, the ultimate reality is represented by the most perfect mathematical figure, the sphere.

If the centre or the one focal point of the sphere divides itself into two we get the ellipsoid. So this figure gives a symbolic representation of the primary pair of opposites out of the original harmonious one. And from this first duality comes all manifestation, all creation, all the multiplicity of things in the universe. The lingam is therefore the basic form lying at the root of all creation, as "Om" is the basic sound.

To put the matter in Hindu terms: from the one Brahman emerges Siva-Shakti, the father and mother of all that is. We must note in this connection that Siva is not only an aspect of the Triune Godhead - the destruction-regeneration aspect - he is also the highest God, the father of all the gods, the cosmic logos.

Like all the gods of Hindu thought, Siva has his consort, Shakti, or female aspect. And whereas the male or positive aspect represents consciousness, the female or negative aspect symbolises power. Both are necessary for creation or manifestation in the planes of matter.

It is significant too that the ellipsoidal or lingam form, which symbolises the Siva-Shakti principle, plays a fundamental part in the structure and working of the universe. It lies, for instance, at the base of all matter within the atom where the electrons apparently move in elliptical courses around the central nucleus. Again, at the solar level, we find the planets describing not circular but elliptical orbits around the sun.

Some people have considered the lingam to be a mere sex symbol. But sex is only one of the many manifestations of the Siva-Shakti principle inherent in the lingam. The principle is demonstrated in all the pairs of opposites, and nothing can exist in this phenomenal universe without its opposite or contrast. In fact, the concept of opposites is basic to our very thinking at this level of consciousness; we cannot know light without darkness, and so on. So to, say that Man's worship of this symbol is derived entirely from primitive phallic worship is to take a false view. The lingam has a more profound and significant connotation. The word itself in Sanskrit simply means a symbol or emblem, which in itself suggests that it is a basic, primary symbol. In fact, representing in concrete form the fundamental principle and power of creation, it is considered the highest object of worship on the physical plane, and as it has a true mathematical relationship to the reality it symbolises, it can bring the worshippers en rapport with that reality. Just how it does this, Dr. Taimni points out, is a mystery which can only be resolved and understood by one's inner realisation.

Nevertheless, it is claimed that this sacred ellipsoid of stone or metal does have the occult property of creating a channel between Man and the divine power on the inner plane it represents. Through such a channel many blessings, benefits and auspicious conditions, will flow to the worshippers. But the mystic link must be established by someone with the necessary understanding of the principles, and knowledge of the forms of the ritual required.

Would thirty thousand people travel many arduous miles to see Sai Baba produce an ordinary stone from his interior - miraculous though it may be? I doubt it. But the stone expected that evening, the lingam, is not ordinary. It lies at the very heart of India's ancient spiritual culture.

Shadows were lengthening, but the afternoon was still quite hot when I made my way from the guesthouse to the small rotunda called the Shanti Vedika where the event was to take place. The building stands some distance in front of the Mandir and is rather like the open bandstands in parks of western cities. It is circular with an elevated floor, a low fence, and narrow pillars supporting the roof.

Not only were the big unwalled sheds along one side choked with spectators, but the wide grounds stretching from the central rotunda to the perimeter of the ashram were a solid mass of sitting figures. I was led by a guide through this silent forest of heads, along a coir-matted lane between the women to my right and the men on my left. I wondered if there was a square yard anywhere on which I might sit.

Near the Shanti Vedika a space had been reserved for officials, the closest disciples, photographers and a few people with tape recorders. Being a pale-faced foreigner I was courteously placed there. But even this privileged enclosure became so packed that I began to wonder if I would ever be able to vary my cramping cross-legged posture. If I was to be there for over three hours, as predicted, my legs would probably set permanently in the position and I would have to be carried out.

At six o'clock Sai Baba, accompanied by a small group of disciples, came onto the Shanti Vedika and soon after that the speeches began. Several men spoke but I remember most clearly one speaker, a leading Sanskrit scholar of southern India, Surya Prakasa Sastri. Not that I understood what he said, for he spoke entirely in the ancient tongue of the Vedas but there was something appealing in his lined, scholarly, benign face and his cloak of heavenly blue.

It was about eight-thirty, powerful electric lights illuminating the group on the platform, when Sai Baba rose to his feet. First he sang a sacred song in his sweet celestial voice that touches the heart. Then he began his discourse, speaking as always on such public occasions in the Telugu tongue. The thirty thousand or so people were as one, expectant and utterly silent, except when Baba told a funny story or made a joke. Then a ripple of laughter would pass over the star-lit field of faces. On the platform Mr. Kasturi was busy making notes of the address which would be published later, in both Telugu and English.

Sai Baba's eloquence had been flowing in a steady stream for some half-hour when suddenly his voice broke. He tried again but only a husky squeak came. Bhajan leaders among the devotees, knowing what was happening, immediately gave voice to a well-known holy song and then the great crowd joined in.

Baba sat down and drank from a flask of water. Several times he tried to sing, but it was impossible. Now he began to show signs of real pain. He twisted and turned, placed his hand on his chest, buried his head in his hands, plucked at his hair. Then he sipped some more water and tried to smile reassuringly at the crowd.

The singing continued fervently, as if to support and help Baba through this period of pain. Some men around me were weeping unashamedly and I myself felt a flow of tenderness towards the man suffering there before us. I could not grasp the full significance of the event that caused the agony, nor perhaps could most of the great crowd watching, but to understand a thing with the mind is one matter and to feel its meaning in the bones and blood is another. Inwardly I felt that I was sitting at the very heart of something profoundly significant to mankind.

But another cautious, rational part of me was not even convinced that a genuine miracle would indeed take place, let alone a spiritually important one. So, instead of blurring my eyes with the tears of sympathy, I kept them fixed on Baba's mouth; my whole attention was glued to that point so that I would not miss the exit of the lingam - if in fact it would come from there.

After about twenty minutes or so of watching Baba's mouth while he writhed and smiled and made attempts to sing, I was rewarded. I saw a flash of green light shoot from his mouth and with it an object which he caught in his hands, cupped below. Immediately he held the object high between his thumb and forefinger so that all could see it. A breath of profound joy passed through the crowd. It was a beautiful green lingam, and certainly much bigger than any ordinary man could bring up through his throat.

Sai Baba placed it on the top of a large torch so that the light shone through its glowing emerald-like translucency. Then, leaving it there, he retired from the scene.

Sunderlal Gandhi, a young volunteer guide for the festival, who had become my friend, took me out of the crowd. My legs felt like knotted spaghetti but they carried me to the guesthouse. Every time I awoke during the night I could hear the crowd still chanting and singing around the illuminated Siva lingam, and when I came down at daybreak the people were just dispersing. Among them I met Gabriela Steyer who told me that most of the great gathering had remained for the night-long worship of this symbol of the highest divinity, which had formed miraculously in the body of their leader.

Siva is the God of yogis, the one who helps man to conquer his lower nature and rise above it into his true divine nature. To make this transition the mind must first be mastered. Mind is said to be somehow related to the moon, and it is believed that there is an astronomically favourable time when the moon is right for success in man's efforts to transcend his mind. It is at this most favourable time, in February, that the great Sivaratri is held. But at Prasanti Nilayam this lunar festival is doubly auspicious; not only are the celestial conditions correct, but the miraculously-produced physical symbol of Siva is there before all eyes, a glowing focus for the supreme effort of meditation. It is interesting and appropriate to note here that in the Uttara Gita Lord Krishna says that lingam is from the word lina which means to unite. This is because the lingam makes possible the union of the lower self with the higher self and with God - with Jivatma and Paramatra.

Later the Raja of Venkatagiri, a pious Sai Baba devotee with a good knowledge of orthodox Hinduism, told me that it was essential for regular and correct pujas, or ritualistic worship, to be performed for such a sacred symbol. And as few people could carry these out, most of the Sai Baba lingams were de-materialised: that is, they went back to the realm of the unmanifest from whence they had come. Several other devotees supported his opinion.

Several of my new-found friends saw the lingam at close quarters on the morning after its production. There was a good deal of talk about this and comparisons were made with other specimens produced in previous years. I asked what had happened to them all and was told that some were given to very devout devotees, but others - well, no one knew.

Nevertheless, I know for a fact that some are given to devotees. Over a year later a very sincere follower of Sai Baba showed me a beautiful Siva lingam which had come from Baba's body, and which he had presented to her. She carried it about with her, carefully wrapped in a cloth, and would let nobody touch it.

"Don't you have to perform regular pujas to it?" I asked her.
"Yes," she replied, "Baba told me just what to do and I do it. But I don't know why he gave it to me: I'm not worthy of it." But I could feel that she was. And Baba, who sees to the deep heart of all his devotees, knows who is worthy.

I was able to inspect the 1966 Siva lingam at close quarters a couple of days after it was produced. I had at Prasanti Nilayam gone with a small group of people into the Mandir for one of the much-coveted private interviews with Sai Baba. We were ushered into a downstairs room. After a few minutes Baba came in and placed the lingam on the window-ledge for everyone present to inspect. It was of emerald green colour, as it had appeared in the artificial light on the night of its emergence. Mr. Kasturi, who had been present on the platform of the Shanti Vedika when it was produced, thus described it later in print: "An emerald lingam, three inches high and fixed on a pedestal five inches broad that had formed itself in him (Baba), emerged from his mouth to the unspeakable joy and relief of the huge gathering " When I saw it standing on the window-ledge, I did not realise that its big pedestal had also emerged from Baba's mouth, but I estimated the size as about what Kasturi stated later.

After we had all had a good look at the lingam, but without touching it; Baba sat down on a chair and we sat on the floor around the walls. I was on the floor to his right, as close as possible.

For a while he chatted in what seemed a light and easy manner. He asked people individually what they wanted from him and laughed at some of the responses. He was rather like a mother with her children, happy to give them the things they wanted, anxious to bring them joy, but hoping that they would learn to want the more important things of life, the treasures of the spirit.

Suddenly, turning to me he said in a teasing manner, "If I give you something, you will probably lose it?"

"No, Baba - no, I won't," I protested.

Pulling up his sleeve he stirred the air with his hand about on a level with my eyes; I could see under as well as over it, yet I saw nothing there until he turned the hand up and a large shining ring had appeared in his palm. It seemed to be of silver and gold; but he told me later that the silvery-looking metal was panchaloha, the sacred alloy of which many temple idols are made.

Fascinated, I held out my hand for the gift but he laughed and passed it in the opposite direction. It went around the circle, each person inspecting it, most of them holding it reverently to their foreheads before passing it on. When it had returned to Baba he placed it on my third finger. It fitted exactly.

I felt quite overwhelmed, and even more so when I saw that the figure embossed in gold on the panchaloha was Sai Baba of Shirdi. I had never told Satya Sai or any of his followers about my deep affection for that old saint. Was it then something that he could read in my mind?

Soon after that he began taking us separately into another room so that we could ask him private questions. When my turn came he talked to me about my personal life and health. He seemed to be not only father and mother but the very essence of parenthood itself, the archetype of all fathers and mothers. It was as if a warm beam of love came from him and entered into the depth of my being, melting my very bones. This I felt must be the pure high love which in Sanskrit is called prema, the love that has no hidden selfish motive, the love that is simply a spontaneous expression of the highest, the divinity, in man.

My wonderful inner experience matched up with what several devotees had already told me about their own personal contacts with the universal yet individualised Baba prema. So, one way and another, by the end of my first visit to the "Abode of Great Peace" I began, to understand that, whatever this miracle-man might be, he was not just a clever conjurer. Nor was he a "street magician" with a limited repertoire of psychic tricks for extracting a few rupees from the passing crowd.

Sai Baba did not belong to either of these well-known categories. What was he then? That remained a deep mystery, perhaps unfathomable but anyway a challenge.

5 Birth and Childhood
But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home. - WM. Wordsworth.

During visits to Prasanti Nilayam I was able to inspect the village of Satya Sai Baba's birth and talk to members of his family living there. The village, Puttaparti, lies about a quarter of a mile from the ashram itself. It is a small, sun-bleached place of whitewashed houses and narrow, sandy streets.

The actual house where Baba first saw the light of day is now reduced to a few bits of broken brick wall, but his two elder sisters and a younger brother still live in the village in houses of their own. His older brother resides in another town, his mother lives in the ashram and his father is dead. However, although I met and talked to members of the family and some old friends, it was from the historian Kasturi that I had the main facts about Sai Baba's background, birth and childhood.

The most outstanding figure in his family background was his paternal grandfather, Kondama Raju. This gentleman seems to have been a small landlord, owning farmlands even some distance away from Puttaparti. He was not rich but sufficiently well-off to dedicate a temple to the goddess Satyabhama, the consort of Lord Krishna. He is remembered chiefly for the devout religious life he led. Also as an outstanding musician and actor he took a leading part in the village religious dramas and operas, produced at Puttaparti and other centres nearby. In those days this was the main form of village entertainment. Many of the dramatic performances were drawn from the great Indian spiritual epics such as the Ramayana. One version of this very long work is given as a series of songs, and Kondama Raju knew the whole of it by heart.

In his old age his many grandchildren used to gather around him in the cottage where he lived alone, as he brought to life the wonderful Ramayana tales of gods and god-men. A constant member of his young fascinated audience was the little boy Satyanarayana, known today as Satya Sai Baba. This education of the grandchildren in the mythology and spiritual lore of the great epics and puranas went on for many years; the grand old man lived to be 110, dying in 1950 at Puttaparti with a song of the mighty Rama on his lips.

Twenty-four years earlier in the year 1926 at the home of Kondama's son, Pedda Raju, a coming event was being signalled by some strange signs. Pedda's offspring at this time consisted of one son and two daughters and now, following a long period of hopes, prayers and pujas to the household gods, his wife Easwaramma was again pregnant. Her prayers had been for another son, and as the time drew near her hopes were high. But she was puzzled too, for many unheard-of things were happening in the house.

For instance, the big tamboura leaning against the living-room wall would sometimes twang in the middle of the night when no one was near to play it, and the maddala (drum) on the floor would throb in the darkness as if an expert hand were beating it. But no hand could be seen. What could be the meaning of such things?

A priest, learned in the lore of the unseen, told them that these events indicated the presence of a beneficent power and foretold an auspicious birth.

The year 1926 was known as Akshaya, meaning the "Never-declining, Ever-full" year, and November 23rd is always, according to the old calendar, a day to be devoted to the worship of the god of great blessings, Siva. Moreover in this year a certain juxtaposition of the stars made the day even more auspicious for Siva worship. So the villagers were already out chanting the names of Siva when the rising sun outlined the purple rocky hills beyond the yellow sands of the Chitravati river. And it was just at that moment as the sun showed its face above the horizon that under the eaves of Pedda Raju's cottage the child Satyanarayana was born. He was given this name because the mother's pujas and prayers had been to that particular form and name of God. Actually Narayana is another appellation for Vishnu, the second in the Hindu Trinity, while - satya is Sanskrit for truth, or reality; so "Satyanarayana" can be taken to mean the "true all-pervading God". There is nothing odd or profane in the Indian custom of naming a child in this way; most Indians, men and women, bear one or more of the thousand names of God.

Soon after his birth the baby was placed on some bedclothes on the floor. Presently the women in the room saw the clothes moving up and down in a peculiar way as if there were something alive underneath. There was. A cobra. But the snake did not harm the child.

Whatever the people present may have thought at the time, this appearance of a cobra in the lying-in room is now regarded by many of Baba's devotees as very significant, the cot a being one of the symbols of Siva. Also Sai Baba of Shirdi had, it was said, on several occasions appeared to his followers in the form of a cobra.

From the beginning the baby was the pet of the village, loved for his beauty, ready smile and sweet nature. When Satya began to run about the dusty street and adventure across the mud of the paddy fields and the barren hills beyond, there were certain characteristics that made him stand out from his young companions. Unlike most boys he had a tender heart for all creatures, human or otherwise. He could not bear to cause or to see suffering. This made him a natural vegetarian from an early age among the meat-eaters around him.

Said Mr. Kasturi: "He kept away from places where pigs or sheep, cattle or fowl were killed or tortured, or where fish were trapped or caught; he avoided kitchens and vessels used for cooking flesh or fowl. When a bird was selected and talked about by someone in connection with dinner Satyanarayana, the little boy, would run towards it and clasp it to his bosom, and fondle it as if the extra love he poured on it would induce the elders to relent and spare the fowl. He was called by the neighbours Brahmajnani on account of this type of aversion and his measure of love towards creation."

Furthermore, although fleet of foot, fond of outdoor sports and a leading scout, Satya would have nothing to do with sports involving ill-treatment to animals, such as cock-fighting, bear-baiting, or the cruel bullock-cart races that were sometimes held in the soft sands of the dry river-bed.

Many beggars came to the cottage door and if little Satya were there none would be turned away without something to eat. More than this, when he met cripples and blind people in the street he would bring them home and insist that his mother or elder sisters gave them food. Sometimes the family became irritated by these constant and expensive demands. Once his mother said. "Look here! If we give the beggars food you will have to starve yourself." This threat did not daunt the child at all. He agreed at once that he would stay away from lunch that day - and he did. Nothing could persuade him to come to his plate.

The same thing happened frequently, and it was through such events that the family had a first glimpse of the strange things which were to take place concerning the child. On one occasion when he had really outshone himself with beggar-feeding from the family larder he decided to stay away from meals for several days. Although he persisted in this he showed no indications of hunger, and he carried on his activities without any signs of weakness. When his worried mother begged him to eat he told her that he had already filled his stomach with delicious balls of milk-rice. Where did he get them, she asked. Why an old man, Tata, had given them to him. No one had ever seen or heard of such a person, and the mother would not believe little Satya's story. But he held up his right hand for her to smell, for like most Indians the Raju family ate with their hands rather than with cutlery. From the boy's palm the mother inhaled a fine fragrance of ghee, milk and curds - of a quality she had seldom experienced before. So the child whose sympathy for hungry strangers robbed his own plate was nourished by some mysterious unseen visitor. What could this mean?

Satya began his formal education at the village school where he showed himself bright and quick in learning. His special talents were, like those of his grandfather, for drama, music, poetry and acting. He was even writing songs for the village opera at the age of eight.

At about that age he went on to the Higher Elementary School at Bukkapatnam about two and a half miles away. One of the teachers who knew him there remembered him as an "unostentatious, honest, well-behaved boy". Another wrote in a book, published in 1944, that Satya often used to come a little early to school, collect the children around him, and conduct worship (puja) using a holy image or picture and some flowers he had gathered for the purpose. Even if the boys were not attracted to the religious ceremony in itself he had no difficulty in gathering them around him because of the things which he used sometimes to "produce" for their pleasure or help. From an empty bag he would take sweets and fruits, or if a comrade had lost a pencil or rubber, he would "produce" one of those from the bag. If someone was sick, he would bring out "herbs from the Himalayas", and give these as a cure.

When the children asked him how he performed such wonderful, magical feats he would say that a certain "Grama Sakti" obeyed his will and gave him whatever he wanted. The children had little difficulty in believing in unseen beings, or in accepting that Satya had a faithful invisible helper. After all, he was their leader in most activities - in dramatics, athletics, and scouting for instance, and some boys began to call him their "guru".

So when Satya went on to the high school at Uravakonda, he found that his fame had spread there before him. Mr. Kasturi writes in his book[4] on Sai Baba: "Boys told each other that he was a fine writer in Telugu, a good musician, a genius in dance, wiser than his teachers, able to peer into the past and peep into the future. Authentic stories of his achievements and divine powers were on everybody's lips

"Every teacher was anxious to be assigned some work in the section to which he was admitted; some out of curiosity, some out of veneration, and some out of a mischievous impulse to prove it all absurd. Satya soon became the pet of the entire school ... He was the leader of the school prayer group. He ascended the dais every day when the entire school assembled for prayer before commencing work, and it was his voice that sanctified the air and inspired both teachers and taught to dedicate themselves to their allotted tasks."

Satya's elder brother, Seshama, was a teacher at this High School, and he did his best to promote the family's ambition that young Satya might be educated for a good position as a government officer. But things were moving rapidly towards an event that was to change all such worldly ambitions. It was one of these profound and shattering experiences which, in one form or another, seem often if not always to precede the missions of great teachers and inspirers of mankind.

At seven o'clock on the evening of March 8th 1940, Satya, while walking barefooted on the open ground, leapt into the air with a loud shriek, holding one toe of his right foot. In the area there were lots of big black scorpions and his companions immediately thought that he must have been bitten by one. But in the dusk they could not find the black culprit. Everyone was very concerned because of the local belief that no one could survive either a snake or scorpion bite in Uravakonda. This superstition seems related to the fact that Uravakonda is dominated by a hill crowned by a hundred-foot boulder in the shape of a hooded serpent. In fact, the place name itself means "Serpent-hill".

However, Satya slept that night without any signs of pain or sickness and seemed quite normal next day. Everyone was greatly relieved. Then at seven in the evening, twenty-four hours after the supposed scorpion bite, the thirteen-year-old boy fell down unconscious; his body became stiff and his breathing faint. His brother, Seshama, brought a doctor who gave an injection and left a mixture to be taken when the boy regained consciousness. But Satya remained unconscious throughout the night.

Next day consciousness returned but the boy was by no means normal in behaviour. He seemed at times to be a different person. He seldom answered when spoken to; he had little interest in food; he would suddenly burst into song or, poetry, sometimes quoting long Sanskrit passages far beyond anything learned in his formal education and training. Off and on he would become stiff, appearing to leave his body and go somewhere else. At times he would have the strength of ten, at others he was "as weak as a lotus-stalk''. There was much alternate laughter and weeping, but occasionally he would become very serious and give a discourse on the highest Vedanta philosophy. Sometimes he spoke of God; sometimes he described far-off places of pilgrimage to which - certainly during his life as Satyanarayana Raju - he had never been.

The parents came from Puttaparti, several doctors were consulted and prescribed various treatments, but there was no change in the patient. Many people thought that an evil spirit had taken possession of the boy perhaps as a result of someone's black magic. So a number of exorcists tried their arts to invoke the evil spirit and transfer it to a lamb or fowl. But all to no avail.

Finally the parents took Satya to a place near Kadiri where there was an exorcist of great repute. This expert in devil-craft was a Shakti worshipper before whom, it was said, "no evil spirit dare wag its poison tail". His appearance alone was enough to scare minor fiends away: he was of gigantic stature, with blood-red eyes, wild aspect and untamed manners. He seemed to work on the general principle that if he made the body of his patient suffer sufficiently the occupying demon would grow tired of the discomfort and leave it.

First of all the fierce exorcist went through the ritual of sacrificing a fowl and a lamb and making the boy sit in the centre of a circle of blood while he chanted his incantations. Then he shaved Satya's head and with a sharp instrument scored three crosses on the scalp, scratching so deeply that the blood flowed. On these open wounds he poured the juice of limes, garlic and other acid fruits.

The parents, who were watching this treatment, were appalled at its severity; they were also amazed that Satya made not the slightest murmur and gave no sign whatever of suffering. Apparently, if there was a spirit tenant he too was immune, for he gave no notice of intention to quit.

The relentless exorcist arranged that every day in the early morning, 108 pots of cold water be poured over the markings on the scalp. This was done for several days, while other rough treatments went on, such as beating the boy on the joints with a heavy stick. <