Early Morning, June 3, 1981
A Messenger of Light
The drift to general subjects takes Sinha from his state of trance, so I decide to change the subject with a question: “When do you see me back in India?”
“I see you back where you are sitting right now sometime at the end of December 1981 or in January 1982.
He asks me if this is the type of material I want to gather for my research. I tell him it is all relevant, both the trivial facts and that which seems prophetic.
“I have a more serious question though,” I confess. “This evidence seems real, and I am convinced that there is some substance to what you have demonstrated to me. This, frankly, is a major admission for me. Only a couple of years ago, I would have absolutely refused to believe that any such thing is possible. I would have assumed this was a hoax of the first order. Today, I am not saying that. Now my question is about the source of your power. I do not seek to bare your trade secrets, but to understand. This is my quest.”
“In this gift there is no trade secret.” Sinha laughs. “I do not understand the source of this power or why I was chosen for this task. I do not have any idea how I got these powers or how long I shall have to perform this role. It is for HIM to decide (and he bows towards the temple). I simply know that I am here, and that I must do my best.”
“Dr. Sinha, you are a Tantric are you not?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies.
“What is Tantra and who is a Tantric?” I inquire.
Dr. Sinha responds, “Tantra is combining two elements to create a third thing. For example, hydrogen and oxygen mixed in certain proportions produce water. This creation is Tantra. The one who learns such laws and practices them is a Tantric.”
“People who can mix elements to produce water are called scientists. What is the difference between the two? What does a Tantric do?” I reply.
“A Tantric works with the positive and negative aspect of the vibrations of the Divine Light to create; it could be mental, spiritual, or physical, depending upon the need.”
“Is that what one might call supernatural or occult?” I ask.
“An electrician works with circuitry of electricity and produces a radio, but that is not supernatural because it has been well understood. The vibrations of the Divine Light are also natural, but ignorance about it makes it supernatural or occult to the general public,” Sinha explains.
“In practically all religious groups, including Hindus, there is a ban on the practice of such things. Why?” I ask.
“Sure, all powers have dangers. Do you not tell a child not to play with the knobs of a radio or an electrical outlet? But this ban does not apply to the electrician, though even he takes certain risks,” he explains.
“In most religions, the work of a Tantric is considered the work of the devil. Why?” I ask.
“There is always a good and bad use of any given power. The same electricity that can illuminate and save a life in the hospital can also be used to kill a person. It does not mean that electricity is good or bad. That is why there is great emphasis on the selection of those to whom such powers are bestowed. Yet, there is misuse. Those who misuse shall reap what they sow; the law is perfect. And, in a wider sense, there is no use or misuse; it is all in the perspective.”
“What type of Tantric do you consider yourself to be?” I ask.
Dr. Sinha laughs benignly and says gently, “I belong to the southern Tantric school. It teaches us to be totally involved with God and Light, and from that place of Oneness, to do whatever our designated role might be. In that sense, you can call me a Yogi … just another name.”
I have one last question: “What do you consider your role to be?”
“I am a messenger of this Light to help treat people’s illnesses at this location.” Sinha replies in a straight-forward manner.
I See Myself
“Dr. Sinha, my questions are not meant to offend you in any way; I wish to understand the dynamics of what I am experiencing. I am experiencing all this from the outside. I am an observer, and it is impossible to truly experience from the observer’s position. Would you please present me to the Light?”
“You are always in HIS presence,” Sinha states. “This entire creation is in HIS oversight. It is only our mistaken notion to think that we are outsiders. I did not bring you here. The Light brought you here. You are in Its presence. You always have been. In fact, in the next two or three days, you will have a dream in which the Light will have a special message for you.”
For the past several minutes I have been having an irrepressible urge to prostrate myself in front of the temple, but my rational mind has been holding me back. As I turn off my pocket flashlight and fold my notebook, my feelings win over my reason, and I impulsively prostrate myself, facing the temple on the platform. I am glad that my face is down and that Sinha cannot see it, because I am grinning. It is as if I am not the one who is lying here, but that I am seeing some ignorant, country bumpkin prostrating himself. How I have laughed at others performing this act of humility. I really cannot believe myself. My rational mind is laughing at this silly, comical performance. Yet another part of my personality ignores that smirk and jeer and is earnestly praying, “Oh, Lord, Oh, Light, please enter my heart and teach me the devotion that I lack.”
My position has caught Dr. Sinha by surprise. He starts to chant a Sanskrit prayer, the meaning of which I don’t understand. The sound is soothing and melodious.
Just as total darkness cut by lightning makes clear light; similarly, for an instant, I see myself clearly—the dichotomy in myself.
It is after 1:30 in the morning when I finally reach home. Indira, my sister, comes to the door at the sound of the first small noise. She has been worried. Soon the neighbors would have been alerted to search for me.
Confirmations
The next day: June 3, 1981
At breakfast, Mother and Indira want to find out why I was out so late last night. I recite to them my experiences with Sinha. Each detail is examined and everything jibes with the facts except one: Indira has not learned any leather handicraft.
“However, my Bible is leather, and I carry it in my hand.” Indira, who is a Jehovah’s Witness missionary in Aspen, Colorado, conjectures, “He might have seen that leather in my hand.”
When Indira and I are alone, she requests that the next time I see Dr. Sinha, I ask him a question on her behalf. I promise to do so, but I am taken aback. As a Jehovah’s Witness, Indira has been a strong vocal opponent to people like Dr. Sinha. I am surprised by her interest and a possible question for him.
Indira fetches the recently-purchased wooden clogs and we find that, indeed, they have a brass inlay.
Tonight, I decide to spend the evening at home with Mother and Indira.
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