Once, on a cold December night, I went to see my good friend, Dr. Sinha. I had dressed in several layers of warm clothing because I knew I would be sitting for several hours in the dark and cold on a cement platform under the canopy of a tree. Sinha greeted me with an abrupt question:
“Mr. Mathur, tonight you have to answer one question for me: What is your prayer?”
Even though this question had come out of the blue, I was used to Dr. Sinha and his style. The fact that, for months, we had been thousands of miles apart and had not communicated with each other did not make any difference. Most meetings started with no formal greetings, as if we had been in communication all that time.
He expanded on his question: “Each one of us has a special prayer, which represents the core of one’s Self. That is the central experience we seek in this life. Generally, one is not aware of this central core, and thus, the necessary experiences pass us by. What a waste of valuable learning possibilities.
Mr. Mathur, are you aware of your core prayer?”
I nodded my head to indicate that his question was relevant, and I was willing to play his game.
For the first 45 years of my life, I was not aware of my central prayer. After a mystical experience, I became aware of it.
“I have only one prayer that I repeat all day long. I have even found myself repeating the same prayer in my sleep,” I said slowly, enunciating each word.
Sinha was focused like a cat following its prey.
“My prayer is: Thine, not mine, will be done,” I said.
Sinha got up and started to dance, his hands spread out like a bird’s wings. “Ah, what a delight, what a delight, Mr. Mathur! No wonder we are such good friends! My prayer is similar to yours. Mine is Saint Paul’s prayer: Yes, yes, yes, Father! Always, Yes!”
Sinha kept repeating his central prayer for me to grasp it. And he kept on dancing. I could not help but start laughing. Here was a learned university professor, several years my senior, dressed in multiple layers of warm clothing and heavy woolen head gear, dancing. Even the rajai (quilt) that was covering him from the frigid air was gently swinging, creating a pattern of its own. The only source of light was the distant moon. He was like a bird wooing its mate, and he was certainly not dancing to entertain me. He was, perhaps, a million miles away. His eyes were dilated and emanating love.
***
Some of the unusual experiences I had in India in the late 1970’s created an urge in me to research how some people in India have such extraordinary powers to read other people’s minds. I was like a PhD student going after his thesis. I felt I had to debunk myths, expose charlatans, and find the kernels of truth, if any. It was a Western study of the East.
On this journey, I met a man in my hometown where my mother was still living. I took an instant liking to him and we became friends. Soon after our first meeting, my mother predicted that I had met my teacher. I took offense to that assertion. I was not looking for a teacher; it was to be objective research.
However, in hindsight, my mother proved to be right.
The upcoming stories are some of my experiences during my decade-long relationship with my teacher and how they transformed me.
balbirmathur.com 