Fire of Transformation. Gora Devi

different parts of the world. Every morning Rosa, the young Italian woman, teaches us some yoga postures to help us become more supple: she moves like a dancer.

      Most of the time our diet consists of rice and vegetables and we all eat together sitting on the floor. Shanti helps me a great deal, translating for me and patiently explaining all about the Indian tradition. He takes me around with him and I feel that he is a teacher for me. Daniel often sings some very moving songs accompanying himself on his guitar and I especially love the words of one song: 'We are One, for a universe of love.'

      I am slowly getting used to this new rhythm of life and to the simple practical things that need to be done: cooking, washing clothes, cleaning, or just sitting to admire the majestic valley, the green hills and the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas in the distance. At night the weather turns cold and we all sleep together, close to each other on the floor of one room.

      Shanti invites me to accompany him when he visits some of the Indian families he knows in Almora. He introduces me to them with pride, explaining that I am a doctor of philosophy and that my mother is a member of the Italian parliament; it seems that these things are very important in India.

      When I see the village women walking along the streets in their long, green skirts, with bundles of grass on their heads, I feel strangely at home, as if I have already seen all this somewhere before.

       10 April 1972

      Shanti explains to me something of the complicated religious Indian pantheon, but adds that the science of yoga is something different again, it's the knowledge of oneself, an inner discovery. Today I accompanied him on a visit to Tara Devi, an elderly American lady, who has lived in Almora for the last twenty years.

      She has invited us to go down-town with her to meet an Indian saint, Babaji, who is supposed to be the present incarnation of another famous yogi from the past, Hairakhan Baba. She tells us that Babaji has overcome death and rejuvenated His body, appearing to be about twenty when in reality He is one hundred and thirty years old. What is more, He exists without eating anything or sleeping: can this be true? I begin to be curious about Him. She says that Babaji had asked her to invite all of the Western people she knows in Almora to come and meet Him, because He is looking for someone amongst them who is His disciple from a previous life. Shanti makes a joke and suggests that maybe I am that person.

      The other day, looking at the palms of my hands, he told me that I have the lines of a yogini, the same lines that he has, three united together, which signifies the union of heart and mind. He also said that he feels I am a person who may spend a long time in India, but who can tell if all this is true; sometimes I am very sceptical.

       15 April 1972

      Today we have been to Almora, to meet Babaji. There were some other Westerners present together with certain important spiritual teachers who live around here: Shunia Baba and Guru Lama, a Tibetan. I must confess that my first thought on seeing Him, with His long, black hair down onto His shoulders, made Him look like a hippie, someone very familiar, one of our tribe, a prophet, an angel of the new world sent here for us.

      As soon as I entered the exceedingly crowded room I immediately noticed Him, seated on a raised dais, dressed in white, immobile like a statue. I was enchanted as I watched Him. He is extremely beautiful, radiant like an ancient Christ-like figure, very serious, severe, with sharp, dark, powerful, penetrating eyes. I started to look into His eyes and felt myself becoming hypnotized to such an extent that I began to be afraid of His power. Then suddenly I observed Him lowering His eyes, with such humility and an incredible tenderness. For two, maybe three hours I looked at Him continually, as if magnetized, just like the rest of the people in the room.

      Many of those present continued singing religious songs the whole time without any interruption, accompanied by the Indian harmonium and hand cymbals. At one point people began to stand in a queue in order to pranam, to bow down at His feet. Every time a person bowed to Him, Babaji raised His hand in blessing, slightly smiling with compassion. I didn't feel that I wanted to go and pranam to Him, I just sat there staring at His beautiful, perfect form, absolutely still, as if He is not even breathing, like a statue. He doesn't speak, doesn't move, He just looks into everybody's eyes. I have the uneasy feeling that He can read my thoughts, see what I'm thinking, see into my mind, as if He is capable of telepathic communication with me. Silently I spoke to Him inside my heart: 'Please give me the truth.'

      Later on, Babaji stood up to leave in order to go to His room. He moves in a fascinating way, like a panther, swift, powerful, precise, with long, slender, brown legs and bare-footed. They called Shanti and myself into the room where He was and with a little reluctance I hesitantly pranamed to Him for the first time. Babaji asked which country I came from and gave me a radiant smile; I felt as if I had received a severe electrical shock, as if struck by a wave of luminous light, and a voice inside me told me that I would see Him again.

      I went back to the house where we were staying, deeply affected by this encounter. Even Shanti, who has already met many gurus, also noticed the especial beauty and purity of this Being.

       16 April 1972

      Last night I had a dream. I was in a dark, deep forest and suddenly Babaji appeared, emerging out of an intense light, surrounded by some disciples. He walked with the help of a stick and He told me: 'I am your guru.'

      'What will You teach me?' I asked Him and He replied: 'To wash dishes well.'

      I woke up deeply impressed because His message is very clear to me: the importance of learning to accomplish simple, humble tasks, useful to other people. In the past, in the life of our community in Milan, we were continually faced with this problem, nobody wanted to do the washing-up or carry out the simple jobs. People always left dirty plates and other things lying around, out of selfishness, laziness or egotism. I know that it is necessary for me to work through these problems. When I told Shanti about my dream he proposed that I go and visit Babaji where He lives, at His ashram in Hairakhan, and to speak to Tara Devi about it.

      Babaji 1972

       23 April 1972

      We saw Tara Devi, the American woman, and asked her if we could join her on her trip to Hairakhan. She looked me up and down and told me I needed to dress a little better and not to wear these hippie clothes; she added that she doesn't even know if women are welcomed by Babaji in His ashram, since He is a brahmachari, a celibate. Shanti also told me I must be especially careful with my female energy, because the Indian people can easily become hostile and would even kill a woman trying to seduce a brahmachari Baba. I am so surprised by this kind of talk, because to be quite honest sex is the last thing to come into my mind in the presence of somebody like Babaji.

       Hairakhan, 26 April 1972

      We reached Hairakhan yesterday after an exceedingly long walk and I am exhausted. There were five of us who travelled from Almora, Shanti and myself, a Danish man, an American, Tara Devi and also her Indian cook. We reached a certain point on the road and then began walking through the jungle. The journey seemed to go on for ever. We walked for six hours, barefoot on the hot stones, continuously criss-crossing the Gautam Ganga river, an interminable distance, carrying our luggage on our heads. On more than one occasion I thought that I'd not be able to make it, and because I'm afraid of feeling the cold I had also insisted on carrying a quilt on my head as well.

      The jungle here is really charming, the water in the river so pure and transparent one can drink it. Then all of a sudden we caught a glimpse of a white temple on the top of a hill, Hairakhan, a small village, looking as if it belonged in a fairy tale. When we came closer to the temple, we saw Babaji dressed in white coming down the steep steps to welcome us. With great embarrassment I found myself to be the first in line. Babaji took me up the steps with Him and then around the temple in a circle, ringing all the bells. I had the impression I was enacting an ancient, forgotten ritual. Using Shanti as interpreter He asked me if I was a hippie and I answered,