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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.
Source:Howard Murphet's Man of Miracles
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