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

 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.
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Source:Howard Murphet's Man of Miracles

 Photos: Collage Index   Daily Sai news &  web update     100's of Sai Baba Wallpapers