Prelude to a visit --- Dera Diaries -- part I

[Guest guest]

Southern Illinois April 1989

 

I got a letter from Oregon today. I wrote to O, my aunt, and reminded

her of my promise to myself and to my master (Charan Singh). That

is, if he ever opened up the Dera at Beas, I would drop everything

and go. Her letter is so funny, she has mocked President Bush and

writes to me "read my lips" and there she has drawn a picture of two

lips and a caption. She goes on to say that she will surely

accompany me to India. I wrote back a month later, that this was no

longer in the realm of rumors: it was true, after 10 years closed,

Master has reopened the Dera and the Punjab is now open to foreign

visitors, and the Punjab, while not safe, is safe enough for us to

take passage through it by rail. The Punjab was no longer closed to

foreigners as it had been. My fate is sealed, so it seems. I will

someday, someday soon visit India.

 

Labor Day Weekend 1989 -- North Carolina

 

There are many Indian Satsangis in America in Greensboro, NC. There

is a large group gathered here. And every year they hold a weekend to

commemorate the death of the Great Master. I and my friend J drove

there this one weekend with daughters in tow, to just feel a little

of the Dera's atmosphere. WHile we were unable to take any photos,

none of them came out, it seemed we did have an immensely spiritual

three days.

 

It was also the first, but not the last time I would meet John

Templar, one of masters most important representatives. I was later

to meet him in India, and find out that he was the architect for all

of the new building going on in Dera. He was tall, and handsome with

beautiful snow white hair, and spoke beautifully about the master we

both loved at that Bhandara.

 

 

 

> > North Carolina -- Labor Day Weekend continued...

> >

> > One day in particular, I was waiting for the meeting to begin,

and

> as

> > I was looking around the room, everywhere my eyes met with a

large

> > photograph of my Master. This is not unusual in itself, as there

> are

> > always lar, well-lit photos of the masters in plain display

during

> > such gatherings. But this time was different. Inside my head I

> > heard this voice say "He's everywhere." No longer could I contain

> my

> > composure, running back to the hotel room, I proceeded to lock

> myself

> > in the bathroom and there cried for as long as I could.

> >

> > I later told J. what happened. She knew and felt his presence had

> > come over me, and that was truly his pull, she said. She said

that

> > there was only one way to assuage this pain, and that I must go

to

> > see him myself in India. I have now been feeling this way for

some

> > months. And since making the decision to go I was unable to pull

> > back from it. Another destiny was about to come my way.

> >

> > October 1989

> > I called today the Indian woman whose name I was given my the

> Indian

> > woman whom I had been training on the biochemistry technique she

> > needed to get her Ph.D. in chemistry. It turned out that I made

> > arrangement to fly Air France to Paris, and connect from there on

> to

> > New Delhi. I was pleased with that because of my love for France

> and

> > thought I could at least see Paris from outside the jet's

windows.

> I

> > used the money I had put into a CD when I left the medical school

> > employ. It was exactly the price of the roundtrip airfare.

> >

> > This semester I have been very depressed. J. says she has never

> seen

> > me so depressed. I confided in her that I was unable to get the

> > research job I wanted, and as well thought that the investigator

I

> > worked for had blacklisted me and would not give me any worthy

type

> > of recommendation. So, I was pretty much adrift and had to take a

> > bunch of lowly odd jobs to make it through the semester. But

while

> > uncertain about my finances, I was also uncertain about my

upcoming

> > trip. NOthing seemed to be going right, at least in the outside

> life.

> >

> After taking final exams in that often incomprehensible world of

> sociocultural anthropology, and in a class with a teacher I could

> simply not please, I remember that very last final before I left

for

> Paris was one on geography. Out of the blue, she gives us a map and

> asks us to label it with all kinds of god-knows-where places. I

just

> sat and looked at that map for a long time. And thought to

> myself "what iiiiiiissssssss this?" I tried to fill in what I

could.

> But I knew with my lack of geography savvy that it was going to

cost

> me a good grade in that class. I turned in that dreaded exam and

> left. I went home to pack myself and the kids for the next four

> weeks.

>

> The car packed we all drove to Chicago. On the way we were hit by a

> blinding snowstorm. I mean a total whiteout.