Reference: “What is Your Prayer, Mr. Mathur?”
On one of my trips to Allahabad, when I went to see Dr. Sinha, I had barely sat down on the cement platform when he said, “Mr. Mathur, we have been communicating both in person and in spirit. But now time is short. We must conserve time and not communicate in person. We must practice. You must not come to see me.”
I had gone there with great enthusiasm and expectation, but an immediate feeling of deep sadness overtook me. There was no confusion. I knew he was talking about his departure from this earth. I did not know how to react or what to say. Immediately, I got up and left.
Returning home in the darkness of the night, I realized that during our decade-long friendship, this was the first time he had thus commanded me. I realized it was not an abrupt statement, but that he must have practiced it for a long time to make it the least painful for me. I was heartbroken.
*****
Several months later, when I was in Allahabad, I had an irrepressible urge to see Dr. Sinha. I tried to change my mind, even within a few yards of where he was seated, but I couldn’t help myself.
“You have broken our agreement, Mr. Mathur,” Sinha said angrily. “If you have something to say, just say it without stepping off your bicycle. You must leave immediately.”
I looked at him with a heavy heart and said, “I just came to say to you: Yes, Yes, Yes, Father! Always, yes!” Then I pedaled away, without waiting for any answer and without looking back.
*****
Soon after that last trip, I learned that my friend, Dr. Sinha, had died.
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