As I read your article on Ma Indira Devi ji on your web site, many memories of the time when I visited with Ma in Poona once a year came rushing from every direction.
All Yogis, self-realized, enlightened-beings have a special category of their own. When you look at Ma, she, as if, has transcended all the defined categories of the spiritual beings by her unique surrender to the Lord and the Guru, and her bhakti. Perhaps being the emanation of Miraji, she couldn’t help it. She was made to love the Lord, surrender so utterly to Him that He was left with no choice but to follow her, and delight her heart with His love.
We all know that purity is to have no other influence in life except for Divine’s. I will cite a personal experience of Ma’s utter purity; an extraordinary purity and comprehensive surrender of hers to Sri Krishna.
The first time when I visited with her in Poona, I had recently developed a strange pain in my left arm which would hurt at times so badly that I couldn’t as much lift a pencil. Didn’t know what it was. I had never mentioned this excruciating pain to Ma. In any event I had decided to take care of it this time when I get back home to America. On the day of my departure, I sat quietly on the step leading to Dadaji’s darshan room. Ma was periodically looking in my direction. It will be soon that I have to take her leave now.
She said, “You will see the difference now…” a reference to something I had discussed with her.
“I know that Ma,” I answered, “but there is such a reluctance to return…”
She suddenly got up from her seat and hugged me so completely that I felt I was in the arms of total love and purity. Something in me kept on reminding me that it was the same purity you are in touch with that descends during deep meditations when Divine is around. I do not recall how long it lasted, but it lasted long enough to uplift me when I finally walked toward my room to gather my luggage. I heard a voice then from within, “As a proof of the fact that you came in touch with Divine purity in its entirety, when you arrive in America your arm-pain will disappear.”
I was relating some of my Poona experiences to my mother as she poured a cup of tea for herself on the kitchen table when I suddenly screamed, “I no longer have the pain in my arm mom!”
I should have realized it when I lifted my carry-on from the plane without any aches, but the fatigue of the long trip, I suppose, overshadowed the fact.
I refrain from writing more at the moment. Do not want it to turn into a bulky piece of mail.
Wish you had more to tell us, Shakun, about your encounters with Ma. While reading about her, your consciousness takes off to the profound afternoons of the Ashram when just a few of us sat around her after lunch; the winds rustling through the tall trees while Ma spoke about her past, or at times her experiences, or Dadaji, among the other-worldly shadows cast by the nodding branches of the trees. At times she would ask, “Are you taking notes?”
I did some. Perhaps some day they will be used.
Must quit now.