Two days later: June 2, 1981
Disappointment
In spite of my desire to get there early, it is 9 p.m. before I reach the Tagoretown area. Sinha is alone, apparently waiting for me.
Immediately upon receiving me, Dr. Sinha blurts out, “Mr. Mathur, I am sorry that I cannot send you the letter that I promised after all. I do not have permission from the Light to send that letter.” He folds his hands and bows towards the statue in the temple. Disappointment is written all over his face. His voice is choked with emotion.
“Why has this permission been withheld?” I inquire.
“I have been asked not to indulge in activity that engenders publicity.” Again, he makes an obeisance toward the statue in the temple.
I persist, “Why has publicity been forbidden when you are engaged in service to mankind? The answer I seek is not to question, but to absorb wisdom.”
“We all have a particular mission to fulfill. In a way, we are all prisoners,” he says. “All of us are tied to a yoke like oxen. I have been assigned a mission by Gorakhnathji to be an instrument in treating people. In order for me to perform this, I am held prisoner on this small cement platform, just like you are a captive in the cubicle of your office in America. From time to time, I am allowed a furlough, and I can go on trips, visit holy men, etc., but then I return gladly and happily to my yoke. Perhaps permission has been denied because if I indulge in political forecasting then this place will be swamped.
A pause follows as Dr. Sinha tries to formulate a reason.” If I publicize the threat to President Reagan’s life, it could ultimately send me to America. That would boost my ego, and I would be tempted to go. This would separate me from my station in life. This is, however, conjecture. What I do know is that the path has been blocked by the Light.” Again he bows. “For reasons which my mind may not be able to comprehend at this time.”
“Then why did you tell me about this risk to President Reagan’s life?” I ask.
“The message did not originate with me,” was his humble reply.
I ask, “Does the ban on recording this danger imply that I should not make public that you have told me about the risk to the President?”
Sinha replies, “The message was conveyed to you. You must do your duty – whatever you think it is.”
At this point, there is a long silence. I understand him to mean that I can speak about the threat to President Reagan’s life, but I am disappointed at not getting his letter, which I can show as proof.
Nothing Happens Without a Reason
Our short-lived quiet time is interrupted as a bicycle rickshaw pulls up some 20 yards behind the platform. At that distance, I only can see a vague form. Dr. Sinha tells me who has come, from where, and that the person will not stay too long. Then the familiar question, “Kaun ho, bacha?”
It is the person he said it would be. As the man approaches, Dr. Sinha tells him that he cannot spend any time with him today as Mr. Mathur is visiting him from the United States. The fellow pleads that he will stay only a few minutes, and since he has come all the way from his village, asks if he can pose one question.
The supplicant asks whether he will succeed in the civil service exams he recently completed. At this juncture, Dr. Sinha indulges in a kindly lecture. “Why ask such a question? Only two things can happen: either you will pass the exams and go on to be a civil servant or you will flunk and go on to another appointed station in life. You have, like everyone else, an appointment with your destiny. Mr. Mathur here had an appointment with his destiny in America. He would not have passed that same civil service exam in India however much he would have tried. Do not despair and do not concern yourself with the results.
“Consider what would have happened to the porter who conquered Mount Everest with Sir Edmund Hillary had he become a civil servant. He could only meet his commitment with destiny by being an uneducated, poor porter. Do your duty and when you reach your station in life you will know it. Travel the road gracefully and happily without fear. HE looks after each and every one. Nothing happens without a reason.”
As I listen to him, I am reminded of several unsuccessful and frustrating job hunts I made in India before moving to the United States. From Dr. Sinha’s reassuring tone, it is evident to me that the fellow will not become a civil servant. Dr. Sinha politely but firmly asks the man to leave.
Mystery in a Pinch of Ash
About this time, another couple walks up. Again, elaborate introductions.
“Let me tell you about these folks. I know they will not mind. Their son had a complete nervous breakdown and refused to eat properly for ten years. They tried all sorts of treatments from all parts of the country with no result. Finally, they were told about me. Gorakhanathji told me that the child should be fed a pinch of ash from the temple light and that with a single dose the child would be cured. He was.”
Both husband and wife take turns fervently verifying the statement and lavishly adding their testimonials. It is evident that the couple is well-educated and well-placed in life, and that they have only come to pay their homage to the temple and soon they leave.
A Sample Only
Now we are alone again, and I say, “Dr. Sinha, I would like to explore the discussion and experiences of the Shadow along the lines that you demonstrated to me the other day. That is so unique.”
“But that is not my forte,” he says. “Even though I have knowledge of seven arts, my mastery is in a different line. Someday, you will meet the person who has mastered the knowledge of the Shadows. He will tell you more about it. I was instructed to give you a sample only.”
Before I can ask another question, he changes the subject. I am disappointed. It is a letdown. I want to experience the large Shadow again. Sinha does not bring up the subject again, as if it had never taken place. Yet, I know the mysterious ways of teachers in India. I accept it with patience. There is no other choice.
My Horoscope
I tell Sinha that tonight I have brought my horoscope with me, and I will appreciate a quick interpretation of it. He quickly sits up from his lying position and looks at my horoscope. I can sense his interest. He is now very precise and articulate. He starts telling me dates and events in my life clear up to 1992. He suggests that I take notes, which I do. I am amazed at his abilities to calculate so rapidly and accurately. I am unable to keep up. Frequently, Sinha asks me if I have any questions. I have none.
“Just tell me what you see from the horoscope, as if I were not even here,” I say to him
“This person would have two divorces between the ages of 24 and 27, one ending with ill feelings,” he says, referring to me.
“But he did not get married until he was 31,” I say about myself.
“In Hindu astrology, whenever there is a conjunction of imagination and feelings between a man and woman, we call that a marriage. In the west you call it friendship,” Sinha sounds a little bit sad and is making efforts to be tactful.
“It is true that I was seriously interested in young ladies at age 24 and again at 27; the relationships did not work out. The first one was bitter,” I reply.
“It was not all bad that it happened that way,” Sinha continues. “You had to work out those relationships before you could marry your wife. Meanwhile, your wife was patiently waiting in the wings for you to be available, while also working out her relationships to be free for you. These are not coincidences. It is all according to plan. It is no coincidence that you left Allahabad to live in the United States in comfort and peace. It is all a result of your past sanskars. Your present actions are already affecting your future, not only in this life, but in all others.”
Now comes my first question: “Judging from the horoscope alone, what do you consider to be the mission of this man in this life?”
“Even if I did not know you, by reading this horoscope I would say that the mission of this person is to promote trade between different countries. Or, in modern terms, you can call him an international trader,” Sinha answers.
I am aware that we have been discussing the horoscope for more than an hour. There is a brief pause. I know Sinha is waiting for the next question from me. I have none. My mind is blank.
“Any other questions?” he asks.
“No,” I respond.
“Then please write down in your notebook,” and he slowly dictates for me to jot down, “May Guru Gorakhnath bless you and your family.”
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