Babaji - Gateway to the Light. Gertraud Reichel

for them any more until they became aware of and corrected their attitude. Unconscious and primitive emotions and false ideas of self, like low self-esteem, were brought to the surface and transformed by this treatment.

      Years ago during my second visit to Babaji, I also went through a painful experience when confronted with underlying jealousy. Never before had I experienced its force so strongly; this was new and strange. I thought I was going to explode. It erupted like a volcano, burnt itself out and hasn't returned since.

      My husband, young son and I had travelled to Chilianaula to attend Navaratri. A new temple was to be inaugurated at the ashram, located where one could marvel at the vista of the Himalayas. Many people had arrived to celebrate with our beloved gum Babaji the nine-day festival in honour of the Divine Mother. There was great beauty around us: the ceremony itself held under a large, colourful marquee which shielded the congregation from the hot noonday sun; and the snow-covered Himalayan peaks glistening in a luminous, clear, blue sky. Babaji blessed us all as we came to him in turn. He cuddled our five-year-old son and paid lots of attention to my husband, to whom he had assigned the job of standing close beside him and acting as guard and crowd controller.

      After every darshan my husband would show me what Babaji had given him. A small silver box; a long silk cloth, a round smoothly polished onyx stone, a beige silk shirt and so on. At first I was pleased for him and his relaxed way of receiving these gifts. Then I got really upset. Apart from the usual prasad such as sweets, fruit or nuts, which Babaji gave us all, I hadn't been given a thing. It was obvious that Babaji preferred my husband to me. I was terrified realising I was enraged with jealousy.

      It didn't make sense. I was devoted to my husband. How could I become jealous of a person with whom I was so intimately connected? I should be sharing in his glory. I didn't understand myself any more. Such intense jealousy was alien to me. Then, when my husband turned up in a long silk garment with a turban on his head looking just like an Indian raja, it was all too much for me. And when he told me how he came to have the turban, I could hardly contain my tears.

      Apparently, Babaji had hurried out of the tent calling my husband to follow him and had headed down the garden path straight into his room. Among all the gifts from devotees neatly stacked in the little room was a pile of folded garments and lengths of rich fabrics. Babaji glided his hand over the folds until it came to a long piece of material with a small, delicate pattern.

      "Turban from Rajasthan!", he said.

      He told my husband to go to Shastriji and have him wind the turban round his head in the proper way. Babaji then returned to the area where the festival was taking place.

      The Indian out suited my husband; being tall and slim, he carried it off well and looked quite distinguished. His blonde beard and fine features plus turban lent him an air of majesty. I struggled with my feelings. They had no right to confuse and upset my balance, but they did so and with surprising intensity. I felt ashamed of myself How could I face Babaji with such emotions? I refused to go to darshan and walked away instead, toward a clearing in the midst of a wood of fir trees. There I sat feeling flat and drained. I knew that only Babaji could help me with such a conflict and I implored him inwardly for his support. I asked him to take away from me forever this emotion which had overwhelmed me and which I did not want. An abyss opened up before me. Forgotten was the Babaji of my first visit to Haidakhan when he had put a most precious gift on my wrist, a bracelet. Not precious for its material value but for its spiritual wealth, for a bracelet symbolises connectedness, being tied together. I sat there with a bitter heart for a long while and returned to that place several times until I felt a change in my state.

      The time came when I could face Babaji again. When he laid his hands on my head and looked into my eyes he nodded, and I knew the struggle was over. From that second on I was able to share my husband's joy. And this not only applied to him, but also to others. Whenever I became aware that somebody was receiving a present, be it large or small I sensed their delight by way of energy flowing along my spine. Moreover, the issue became increasingly unimportant as the process of inner growth and transformation and the strengthening of my inner connection to Babaji grew more important.

      After three years of apprenticeship, however, I was once again overwhelmed by the same craving "I want to have!". I thought I had been healed of such intense urges after the last experience, but it occurred again while on a journey through South India.

      We were staying at Baroda in the state of Gujarat. It was a refreshingly cool afternoon and Babaji was sitting on a swing in the garden at a disciple's family home. Gently he moved to and fro while people sat on the lawn beside him. One after the other, a line of people moved forward to bow and offer gifts. I was one of those sitting watching the colourful spectacle. Babaji had nonchalantly thrown an exquisite yellow saree over his shoulders. It had been offered to him during aarati, and I kept staring at this gorgeous thing hoping that he might pass it on to me. Thoughts started to race through my mind. Yellow, the colour of wisdom. Who'll be the lucky one to get it? Will it be me? For the life of me, I had no way of stopping this torrent of thoughts.

      Suddenly I heard my name being called. It was Babaji calling me. I stood up and moved towards him; the heat of shame and embarrassment surged through my body. ft didn't take much guessing as to why he had nominated me. When I reached him, he grabbed the saree from his shoulders and flung it violently into my limp arms. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up forever when I realised what his gesture meant.

      "Don't I give you enough? Aren't you getting everything you need from me? Why do you attach yourself to material things? When will you ever learn?!"

      I don't know how I managed to return to my seat. I only know I hesitated for weeks before deciding to wear the wretched saree.

      Of course Babaji continued to test me over and over again. He used to show me pieces of jewellery and ask me if they were genuine. Each time I would look within to examine my feelings and check if greed were present. Eventually I lost all interest in these things. It was then that Babaji gave me the jewellery I had valuated; as a prize, so to say, for passing the tests.

      ***

      A yagua followed aarati. Out on the spacious terraced roof, which could easily fit two hundred people, a square fire pit coated with red clay had recently been constructed. Like a gazelle, Babaji leapt up the stairs to the terrace leaving behind a lot of surprised faces. In an instant he was at his place at the havan. As he shot past me he whispered "Come!" and gave similar short instructions to some others. The hostess took her seat to his left, while some other women, looking a picture in vibrantly coloured sarees with silver and gold borders, squatted behind him. Their way of participating in the ceremony was to place the tips of their fingers on Babaji's back and shoulders. Normally only the men are allowed to sit around the fire pit and toss in the offerings. Sri Muniraj was on the right of Babaji as usual, and Shastriji stood near him reciting mantras from the holy scriptures. >When Babaji ladled the ghee (melted clarified butter) onto the fire, dazzling flames soared up to the heavens. Apart from this swish, a cavernous silence reigned over the gathering; the crackling of burning wood and the murmur of mantras lingered only like far-off echoes. Everyone was deeply concentrated as prayers were said for the benefit of the universe and every being. I wanted to participate in the yagna on an inner level. I asked for purification by the flames of the holy fire and for greater opening of the heart to receive the Divine. Ultimately I wanted to experience unity and to melt totally into it. Babaji represented this all-embracing unity to me. An endless yearning took hold of me.

      Thoroughly absorbed in these thoughts I barely noticed Babaji stand up at the conclusion of the ceremony and go and look out over the city. Somebody nudged me which brought me down to earth again. I vaguely thought of clearing a pathway for Babaji as he was likely to pass by here on his way out. There was already a little gap in the crowd so I began to push a bit to widen it when I felt a nudge again, only this time a little harder. What was going on? I looked around and met Babaji's roguish eyes. He was signalling me to come over and when I did, he placed into my arms a saree he had been given earlier and had wrapped around his shoulders during the fire ceremony. I was stunned.

      "For me?"

      My fingers gently touched his feet. I was sobbing. Babaji pressed his foot on my hand and