Author: Balbir Mathur

 June 4, 1981

Even though I have only one day left to see Sinha before leaving for New Delhi, I am unable to refuse a dinner invitation from Mrs. Sharma, the principal of my mother’s school. However, I am determined to see Sinha one last time.

In India, dinners are served late. It is customary to visit first, then eat around 10 p.m. At my request, dinner is served early and is over at 9 p.m. However, I am very tired and would rather flop into bed. Finally, I muster enough strength to go to visit Sinha.

My sister Indira follows me down the stairs from Mrs. Sharma’s house. I realize that she would like to tell me the question she has for Sinha.

“Ask him if I am following the true God, Jehovah,” Indira says. “Use the word, Jehovah. That is my question for Dr. Sinha,” she states emphatically.

As I pedal my bicycle in the pitch dark, I am focused on the question Indira has raised. A struggle ensues in my mind: The existence of a true or false God–or that God may have manifested in a single entity–is a western concept. 

In Hindu temples, there are images of five or more deities. People usually do not care what those deities are. They are all expressions of the same God. To the Hindu mind, even the insignificant ant is an expression of God and thus, the True God. All humans worship the idea of God to uplift ourselves. We all seek leverage outside of ourselves to lift us. To the eastern mind, even the smallest atom has that power. Easterners believe that it is only when our Imagination, Willpower and Emotions coincide that the uplifting takes place. This can be provided by an ant, a blade of grass, a piece of stone, or an idea in our minds. For an easterner, the universe is within us, not outside. All we see outside is a mere reflection of ourselves. There is neither true nor false. It merely IS. 

I wonder how I will be able to transcend this barrier of understanding in posing Indira’s question to Sinha. If he says, “yes,” that she is following the true God, then it would imply to Indira that Sinha is following the wrong God. Conversely, if he says she is following a false God, then would she heed him? The more I struggle with these lines of thought, the more I feel offended with the question itself. Then it suddenly hits me, Why is the question bothering me? What is it that bothers me about this question? After all, it is an innocent question that fulfills Indira’s current needs, just as all this psychic research fulfills my current emotional needs. As far as this question is concerned, I am merely the person who is to pose the question. I need not be personally involved.

I am in the process of resolving this issue when I find myself near Sinha’s place. I decide not to be in a negative frame of mind before I see Sinha. So, I dismount from my bike and walk the last 50 yards or so. I take several deep breaths as I walk. It is 9:30 p.m.

Two men are sitting with Sinha. One of them is a paratrooper in the Indian Army. Sinha is deeply involved in conversation with him. The paratrooper is in his mid-20s, muscular, and well-tanned. His answers are clipped and short. I gather from his conversation and accent that he hails from a village in Garhwal (a hilly area in north India) and has very little formal education.

Sinha tells the paratrooper that since he is a patriot who has dedicated himself to the service of his country, he will give him some blessings from the Light. He starts to describe facts of the paratrooper’s life as they currently exist: that his wife is living in a village located west of a lake, that she is pregnant, and that the man’s father is paralyzed on the left side. On and on he goes, and the two fellows nod their heads in amazement and with eyes wide open as he reveals these facts.

Then he asks the pair to leave as he has promised time to see me, that I have come all the way from the United States, and that my time is short. They follow his instructions without hesitation; touching the trunk of the tree, they depart. I ask Sinha why they are touching the trunk of the tree. Sinha explains that the tree has special powers and that is the reason for the construction of the temple at the base of that tree.

As they leave, Sinha starts talking to me as if there had been no interruption in our conversation since yesterday. He is already in a trance and starts dictating homeopathic formulations to me. He tells me of ten different remedies for ailments ranging from high blood pressure to increasing memory. I ask for help regarding a friend of mine in Bhopal who is currently having backaches, and he prescribes medicine for him.

“Any other questions?” he asks.

 I do not wish him to get out of his trance, but I really do not have any other questions.

“Tell me about my wife,” I improvise.

“What would you like to know? Pick an area of interest.”

 I am, unfortunately, again at a loss.

“Shall I tell you something about her parents?” he helps out.

 “That will be fine.”

“At their house, I pick up vibrations of three girls. The other two girls are there because of the death of their parents. They are related to your wife, but are not sisters. Your wife’s mother is supportive of them and helps them. I see initials. Is this correct?” he asks. 

He is stating these facts at a very rapid rate, and it is difficult for me to take all this down. I inform him that these facts are correct, that several years ago two of my wife’s cousins did stay in the house under these circumstances.

“Your father-in-law has just changed his eyeglasses. His new glasses have silver-like frames. He is a tall person, elderly. Recently, he had a problem with an internal organ. I see him connected with a shop or a restaurant. Both pictures are there. He is connected with either one or both. There is some connection with food.”

I confirm this because my father-in-law did own a grocery store at one time and is now connected with a print shop. Sinha continues to accurately describe the set up of my in-law’s house—furniture, curtains, even acting out some of their mannerisms.

“Anything else you would like to know about your in-laws?” he inquires.

I try to think fast but my mind is blank. “How about telling me something about my secretary,” I hasten to add.

“I see two women together, one tall and one short. Which one is your secretary?”

“The short one.”

“She is about 54 years of age. At this time, she is with another person, taller than her but younger. This could be her daughter. One of your secretary’s sons is connected in some fashion to the medical profession. In the near future, one of the girls in her family will be connected to the Navy. Your secretary has had some trouble with her leg. She is adding an extension to her house. From November 1981 to February 1982, there will be improvements for her. She will have financial gains, and her children will show some gains also. At this moment, there is someone in her house who has some problem with their mouth. This could be tonsils or mumps or something like that. Your secretary has been having some sort of stomach trouble, which gives her feelings of suffocation. In the near future, she will cut her nail or finger with an alloy of metal.” He goes on to describe how long she has worked with us, her features, facts about her husband, and other details of her family.

As has happened before, there is a brief silence and he is again out of his trance. Our conversation drifts into minor things, and he starts to ask questions of me. At this time, I decide to pose the question Indira has asked me to convey.

He answers with a question, “Who are Jehovah’s Witnesses?” 

I tell him briefly.

“Oh, yes, I know now,” he says, with his head nodding all the time. “Some five years ago, a couple came to my house during the daytime. They kept knocking on my door and were puzzled that I would not answer. Finally, I put my writing slate under the door and explained to them that I do not receive anyone during these hours. They wrote back on the slate and said they wanted to visit with me about Jesus Christ. So, I requested that they give me a Bible, and I would pay them for it. A few days later they left a Bible, which cost five rupees (65 cents), and they would not accept any payment for it. That is quite a sacrifice. Some days later, I found out that a person in the neighborhood had insulted these missionaries. It is unimaginable that someone would insult anyone who is preaching the word of God. But that is that. Whoever does insult a sacrificing renunciant like these will get their own punishment. It is not for us to judge. But they are noble people, and I know now who you are referring to.”

I repeat Indira’s question almost verbatim, as she had asked me present to him: “Is she following the true God, Jehovah?”

Dr. Sinha goes back in trance and says, “Your sister will experience a change in three to five years. She will be touched by a holy sage. As a result, she will not be as active as she is now and will become sublime and submissive. She will go towards the east from where she is now located. She could even come to India.”

At this point, Sinha comes out of his trance. We begin discussing my plans to return to the States. I inform him that I am planning to fly on the 10th from New Delhi.

“Your departure will be delayed. I do not see travel for you on the 10th. I see travel sometime between the 12th through the 15th or 17th. One other person may go with you. It could be your sister. The person sitting next to you on the plane will be a girl, who will have an unusual brown bag with her.”

“I see a dark, shiny table outside your office in the hallway. This would imply that there would be a change in your office location.”

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.

June 2, 1981

Another Aspect of the Light 

“Now, tell me about some of the holy men that you have met,” Sinha instructs without allowing for any delay.

“I am certainly glad to do that,” I respond, “but my experiences in this line are so miniscule compared to yours. I would rather hear your experiences.”

“We will do both. Tell me those whom you have met, and I will also tell you about my experiences.”

In the past hour I have seen all the lights in the neighborhood go off. I know it is very late, and I am afraid to look at my watch. I am in no mood to make small talk, so I give him a brief description of the sages I have met.

As I pause in my descriptions, Sinha swiftly and without allowing a slack in the conversation, starts telling me of some of the people he has met and the experiences he has had. This continues for almost half an hour. 

Suddenly, he gets up from his prone position and asks me what time it is. His sudden move startles me. It is 12:25 a.m., June 3rd.

Now he explains this obvious stalling. “Mr. Mathur, I have been purposely holding you here. You could have left at any time, and I would not have stopped you. But I have been making it difficult for you to leave. It is now quiet and peaceful, so we will no longer be interrupted and your mind is calm. Now you will have a chance to see another aspect of the Light.”

Sinha begins, “Where in your house is a table that is located between two cabinets?”

“I cannot think of any,” I reply.

“The table is in a north-south position and is not made of wood but of some shiny material,” Sinha affirms.

“I cannot think of any,” I protest.

Sinha states confidently, “Close by the table, maybe in another room, is another table which is dark steel.”

My mind is in total confusion. There is no such furniture in our house, and I tell him so. 

There is a brief pause and he says, “Most likely we are at your office and the reason it looks like your house is because this furniture is styled for a house and not an office. But since there is some confusion about it, let us go to some other place.”

Now things become clear to me. Indeed, there is furniture in my office like that he is describing. My desk is placed north and south and has a clear Lucite top without any drawers, so it resembles a table top rather than a desk. The desks of both DeAnn Corbin, my assistant, and my wife, Treva, are black steel.

Sinha continues, “Your wife right now is wearing olive-green clothes. There is another woman there, close by, older than her, who is also wearing olive-green, and this lady is wearing a blouse which looks as though it has a buckle.” He points to a position for the buckle over her breast. I make a note to check with Treva and ask where she was on June 3 between 2 and 3 p.m., Wichita time. (I later learned that she was at Girl Scout camp, wearing a dark green uniform. Another older lady, wearing a similar uniform, had a wooden name plate hung on a string over her chest.)

“There is a train in your house. It is on the lower level of your house. Is your house split-level?” Sinha asks.

“No, but the house has a basement,” I reply.

He says, “Then the train must be in the basement. It has several black wagons, but one car is of reddish color.”

“That is correct,” I confirm.

“I see several children playing, and one child falling and getting hurt on their right side and getting a small cut right above the eye below the eyebrow.” He points to the exact location with his finger. “But because of the child’s good ‘sanskars’ the eye is saved and even the mark is not noticeable. The event has already occurred. Is this correct?” he asks.

“Yes, my daughter fell and hurt herself exactly at that spot a few years ago,” I tell him.

“One of your children’s interests in music will be revived this year. The child became frustrated and wanted to give up the study of music because of a dislike of a teacher when the child was in  4th or 5th grade,” Sinha states.

Our daughter had, in fact, decided to quit cello lessons because of dislike for her teacher. (Upon returning to Wichita, I learned that my daughter had decided to continue her lessons. This was not known to me at the time of my meeting with Sinha.)

 Sinha states, “I see two children, a son and a daughter. The girl is the elder of the two.”

“That’s right,” I say.

“Your mother recently had pains in her chest or neck, and I see another lady in your house in Allahabad who shows too much movement. She is not American. These two facts would lead me to believe that she is not your wife. I see she is most likely your sister. (My mother had angina, which is why my sister also was there.) I see her husband working in an office, a technical man.”

“But she is not married,” I interrupt.

“In that case, she will soon marry. Her education was interrupted twice. She is American educated. She will be married at the age of 32. She is small in size, petite. In the past five years, she has had a radical change in her life. I see her doing something with leather in her hands. Most likely she may do some leather handicraft. I see leather or something similar in her hands.”

“Anything else about her?” I ask.

“Yes, she has some problems connected with her nerves, most likely in the brain. But she will be OK. She also had some skin disease. At times she had stomach problems. She has had headaches. These headaches were on one side of her head. They started at the rise of the sun and moved with the sun. She should take Natram Mur (a homeopathic remedy), one million potency, one dose, then after three weeks, she should take one dose of the same medicine of ten million potency. The headaches will go away. Her past five to seven years have been very disturbed. If she does not get married now, then her marriage will be delayed quite a bit. 

 “Any other questions of any sort?” Sinha inquires.

“No,” I reply.

“I see a problem for you with a ring. Recently, you or someone associated with you, bought a ring. It was an oval-shaped ring with what appears to be diamonds on the outside.” He goes on to tell me the exact price that I paid for the ring. “What was the problem?” he asks.

“It was stolen.”

“Your loss will be recovered after June 20 or October 21,” Sinha assures me.

“At the time of the ring purchase, another piece of jewelry was also purchased. It was a pendant or a necklace.” He proceeds to describe the exact shape and price of the necklace I purchased.

“Someone associated with you is having earaches.”  

“Yes, my younger sister and also myself.”

“They will be OK soon.”

Now Sinha is in deep trance and subjects start to change rapidly and are described incompletely. 

“I see someone bought shoes near the main police station,” he continues speaking while in  trance.

“Yes,” I reply. “I bought a pair of wooden clogs yesterday, just opposite the main police station.”

“The clogs have a brass nail or inlay in them.”

“No.”

“In that case, you will buy another pair that has brass inlay.” He sounds very confident.

“At the time you bought the clogs, someone there also bought some essence.”

“True.”

“At your home in America, I see a small dog. He is quite small in size compared to a German Shepherd. This dog is of a good pedigree and has lots of hair. He is a shade of brown.”

“Correct. We do have a chocolate-colored purebred poodle,” I confirm.

Jesus Christ, Perfect Yogi

At this time, it seems as if Sinha has come out of his trance. There is a short pause, and then he asks, “Have you read the life of Jesus Christ?”

“I have.”“What a beautiful life. He was a perfect Yogi (one who has attained union with God). He was the reincarnation of Shiva. Jesus Christ was the best teacher of the way of love. Look at the concept of service that these Christians have. They practice love. The other day I was at the Nazareth hospital, and I found out that one of the Catholic priests comes there regularly just to comfort the dying. How beautiful. None of us Hindus do that. The world has to learn the idea of service from the Christians. Recently, I bought several copies of a book called Esu Krist (Jesus Christ). The book is in Hindi. Anyone who comes and talks to me fanatically about his religion receives a copy from me. I am out of copies now, or I would give you one. Another good book you would enjoy is Just for a Moment. It describes how one should profitably spend the 365 days of the year.”

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.”

Two months later: May 31, 1981

The unlit streets of Allahabad are pitch-black after sunset. It is 8:15 p.m., and I am pedaling my bicycle to visit Dr. Sinha. It is difficult to see even a few yards ahead, and I am afraid that I might hit one of the many potholes in the streets of Allahabad. That could be a dangerous situation.

Whenever I am in Allahabad, I almost always ride a bicycle. Most places I visit are within a three-to-six mile range of my mother’s home and biking helps me digest all the rich Indian food that I enjoy so much. But, more than anything else, the rides give me a sense of nostalgia for my teenage days when I used to roam around on my bike, dreaming of the day when I would be able to afford a car and would not have to pedal a bicycle.

The heat has ranged upwards of 100 degrees all day long, and even though the temperature has dropped a little with the sunset, the black, tar-paved road is still radiating heat and the air is hot. Allahabad is no place to be during the summer.

I had written a letter to Dr. Sinha back in March, after the attempted assassination of President Reagan. I was seeking further explanation of Sinha’s January prediction of this danger. He has not replied. I have come back to Allahabad to find out more from him personally. I am hooked and can hardly wait to see him.

Arriving in Tagore Town, I find Sinha sitting on sheets of old newspaper spread on the cement platform. Because of the extreme heat, he was dressed in boxer shorts and an undershirt; he looked much thinner than when I had visited him in winter.

As I park the bicycle, I hear the familiar, “Kaun ho, bacha?”

Before I can answer, he says, “Is it Mr. Mathur from the U.S.A.?”

Upon my affirmative answer, Sinha exclaims excitedly, “Come on, Mr. Mathur, come on! I have been expecting you today.”

“Is he the same gentleman from America that you said you were expecting?”asked one of the men seated with Sinha. It is obvious he is expecting a white man, perhaps in a chauffeur-driven car.

“Yes, yes; he is the one.” The reply holds a rather child-like excitement.

“He had the platform washed and cooled for you!” This man’s face exhibits his surprise and admiration of Sinha’s powers. Then the man points to a water tap, some 100 yards away, indicating the distance they had to go to fetch the water.

With his palms facing upward, Sinha points to the platform and says, “I had it cooled so you will be able to sit comfortably.”

I wonder how he knew that I was coming. Maybe someone had informed him? So, I ask him.

Sinha’s reply astounds me. “Yesterday, you came halfway and turned back when you reached Anand Bhavan.” 

Indeed, I had come that far and then turned back toward home. Even though I had traveled all the way to India to talk to Sinha, my reasoning and doubts had gotten the best of me: This is unreal; you should not be wasting your time here. My reasoning was loud and clear. Heeding my logical voice, I returned home at exactly that point.

“How could you know?” I ask, noticing the pitch of my voice has raised.

“Mr. Mathur, someday you will understand that in HIM there is no time or distance.”

Sinha takes a deep breath and calmly explains that today he clearly saw my image three different times, informing him that I was coming to see him. He tells me the times when he saw my images. Those were approximately the times that I had struggled internally, trying to decide if I should or should not go to see him. Each time I decided to go, but the struggle in me continued until I reached Sinha’s place.

“This is Mr. Mathur, who I told you I expected today. He is the reason I will not be able to spend time with you,” Sinha explains as he re-introduces me to the two gentlemen.

One of them inquires, “Is he the same Mr. Mathur who wrote you the letter?”

“Yes, yes. He is the one.”

Turning to me Sinha says, “I did get your letter, and I am sorry that I did not get a chance to reply. First of all, as I told you earlier, I am not good at answering letters, and secondly, during this time, I have been performing special prayers for President Reagan’s life. But I do have the letter nearly drafted, and I will mail it to you in a few days after getting it typed. This gentleman is going to help get it typed for me and that is why he knows about the letter.”

The man nods his head in agreement.

“You need not get it typed,” I reply. “I can take it with me just as it is in your longhand.”

“No, we will do it in style. Why not?” he says, with flair and aplomb. 

Sinha continues with a lengthy introduction of me. He remembers his facts well, but most of all, he speaks about my mother’s school. The other two people know about the school, and they take turns praising my mother’s dedication and achievements. At this time, two others come and join the group. One is the principal of the Allahabad Medical College and the other is a very prominent lawyer who lives in the neighborhood.

I am anxious to get down to business, so I steer the conversation back to the stars and President Reagan. I ask, “Dr. Sinha, please tell me how you were able to so accurately predict the danger to President Reagan’s life?”

Sinha replies, “Please note that there is likely to be another attempt on President Reagan’s life between the months of September 1981 and February 1982. The attempt will involve a bathroom.” Sinha’s voice is loud, and he is almost shaking with tension as he continues. There are precautions that can be taken to mitigate the effect. I do not know what you will do with the information, but President Reagan needs to be warned.”

There is a long, pregnant silence before I answer. “What is the use of warning him if the event is going to take place anyway?”

“If one is going to fall sick, that does not mean that one cannot take medicine for prevention. If you know that it is going to rain, then you carry an umbrella. If someone throws a stone at you, and you are forewarned, you can shield yourself or duck.” He energetically ducks to act out his point. “The fact that there will be an attempt on the President’s life cannot be canceled, but its impact can be mitigated. There are special prayers and rituals that need to be performed.”

“I will have to think about what to do with this information, Dr. Sinha,. I live in a society of matter and materials where these things are not accepted and are grossly misunderstood. If I send a warning, it will not be treated seriously and may not even reach the correct people. People within the administration would be embarrassed to convey such a warning, I may be questioned as a potential conspirator, if not totally ignored as a crackpot!”

“Yes, that is true. That is a problem. I am also regarded as a crackpot by many of my colleagues who do not understand. This is the price one must pay for such knowledge. It is not easy. But one must do one’s duty, irrespective of the consequences. How these people treat the information is their affair, not your problem. Mr. Reagan needs to be warned.”

“But Dr. Sinha, I am personally not yet convinced. It is hard for me to understand how predictions based on astrology can be relied upon when the information was developed hundreds of years ago at a time when other necessary supportive sciences had not yet been developed.”

At this, Sinha tells me how much knowledge is indeed stored in India. He goes on to tell me two stories from the Ramayana, the holy epic of the Hindus, illustrating the point that thousands of years ago they knew the theories of rocketry, satellites, and quantum theory. 

Sinha closes his eyes, pauses as if concentrating energy inside, and starts to chant couplets from a Hindi poem. He chants at the top of his voice as if he is delivering this to an imaginary audience. He is totally absorbed and a consummate performer. At the end of the poem, he has forgotten why he started to tell the story. Once he started, he was lifted by the sheer joy of the recitation.

In order to get back to my research, I request seeing again the stars whose conjunction in January predicted the risk to President Reagan’s life. He jumps up energetically and leads me 20 or 30 feet to the right of the platform. The other four gentlemen join us. There he asks if I can locate Jupiter, Saturn, and the Dragonhead constellation by myself. To my great surprise, I am able to spot them a quarter of a sky away from the position they were in last January.

Pleased with my ability, Sinha enthusiastically points out major stars and their symbolic values. I am unable to comprehend all the information he is providing. He provides explanations with quick, exaggerated movements. Being a skeptic and uninitiated, I am unable to comprehend most of what he is saying. He is a bundle of energy. Clad in his white sleeveless undershirt and boxer shorts with a dangling drawstring, he looks comical, and I cannot help laughing.

We are standing under a street light. In the light I notice my elongated shadow. I say nothing, but Dr. Sinha reads my thoughts.

“You see this shadow of yours? It is totally independent of you. But we do not realize this. We think we create the shadow. It is created by the same Light that creates us. Take the Light out and neither will exist. We are shadows also and, in some respects, we ourselves are the shadow of the shadow. We are one shadow in an endless chain of shadows.

“Just as we have several personalities within ourselves,” he adds, “similarly, the shadow has several personalities. Some people can see up to seven colors and personalities in the dark shadow. Where you only see a dark color, I see seven colors. That combination of colors tells me all about your past, present, and future. Only the grace of a teacher can provide the ability to see like this.

“The shadow is part of you, or you are a part of that shadow. You are connected and yet independent. In your dreams, you communicate with your shadow. It leads and guides you. It is the ‘know all’ aspect of your personality. It is the part of the shadow that told Swami Vivekananda (a Hindu monk who introduced Vedanta and Yoga to the Western world) while he slept at night what to say in his speeches the next day.”

Dr. Sinha speaks with great energy and gusto. All this information is new to me and too wild to grasp. I have never heard, even in India, of shadow reading or the importance of shadows. It seems on the fringe of the impossible.

I challenge that such information cannot be proved with our known means of measurement. He suggests that logic and words could not explain it; only experience can do so.

“For most people, it is difficult to believe this. Would you like to see a demonstration of what I am talking about?” he inquires.

During our brief friendship, I have acquired considerable faith in Dr. Sinha. If he wants me to experience something, I am willing.

“Yes, please,” I answer.

“Look at your shadow at the point where your neck joins the shoulder,” Sinha instructs.

I look at it, but I do not see anything unusual. After a few minutes, Sinha says, “Ah, you will need some help; let me help you.” At this point he starts to chant a mantra, which I do not understand. It is perhaps in Sanskrit.

Immediately, I feel a cold chill run right down my spine. It is not a throb or a vibration but a chill. It is not my imagination; it is very real.

“Now look at the sky in front of you,” he says.

What I see startles me.

“Can you tell us what you are seeing? The experience is unique to you,” he says.

I try to express it but find absolutely no words with which to describe what I am witnessing. Projected on the dark sky, I clearly see my standing figure: pale, milky, and opaque. The startling thing is that it is a huge figure, reaching far into space. There is no way to determine its mammoth size. It could be ten miles or millions of miles tall, yet it is an exact replica of me. If the moon had been out, my shadow would have bumped it. I feel as if I am looking at the negative of a print.

My immediate reaction is that, perhaps, I am under hypnosis or seeing an illusion. I wonder if I am still in my body and I pinch myself. I am still here, no question about that.

For a few minutes I stand frozen, afraid to move or look away. I do not wish to lose whatever I am experiencing, but I feel compelled to test it. I move my head around and can see all the houses, street lights, and other people, including Dr. Sinha and the other four visitors.

The figure seems to be pulsating with energy and communicating an immense sense of power. I am in a state of awe. Yet, at this moment when I am having one of my greatest experiences, my mind thinks, “I feel like an ant watching the Jolly Green Giant.” While I am experiencing my true minuteness and humbleness, a wide grin crosses my face.

“Even my own children will never believe what I am witnessing,” I tell Dr. Sinha.

“You are still not convinced are you?”

“I am seeing it right in front of my eyes, and yet it is impossible to comprehend. How will I ever be able to explain this to anyone?” I ask.

“You want more demonstrations?”

I nod my head ever so slightly.

“Then stretch your arms out horizontally, parallel to the ground like a cross.” Sinha demonstrates the position for me.

I do as instructed.

“Look at the point where your neck joins your shoulder for about ten seconds and then again look at the sky.”

Sure enough, the figure in the sky has its arms stretched out in exact imitation of my position and my shadow. I think I must be hallucinating.

“Try again. Spread your legs out and put your hands on your hips.” 

Again, the figure in the sky mimics me. I keep on looking at the figure in amazement. I have a distinct feeling that this figure is looking back at me in amusement. I stand there, fascinated, not wanting to move, yet feeling odd, as if staring at a stranger. I squeeze my waist with my hand to make sure I am not hallucinating. I turn around to look at my surroundings; everything is there. I close my eyes and then open them. The figure is still there. I am in total command of my faculties.

The experience lasts about ten minutes. Then, at my request, it is discontinued. Dr. Sinha chants briefly in Sanskrit again. I cannot tell if he is chanting the same mantras or if they are different. The melody is the same. I feel the same sensation in my spine. I am aware of adrenaline running through my body.

I am extremely alert and attentive as I see the large open space in the sky start to crumble, as if they are square pixels. The figure dissolves in front of my eyes.

The other four people ask me for details of what I have just witnessed. None of them have experienced anything at all. I find myself unable to explain and can see my predicament in the future. How will I explain it to my wife or my children?

Sinha looks at me and explains, “It is your experience. It is unique to you. You have made yourself ready for it. Experiences these people may have, you may not be able to have. It just depends on what one prepares himself to experience. That is why only you could see what you were experiencing.”

Soon, I leave him with his other visitors.

This experience is so startling that I need time to digest it. In my logical mind, there is no pigeonhole in which to place an event that, had someone else related it to me, I would have ridiculed. Now I am in those shoes. 

“I hope you will come back before going back to the U.S.A.” Sinha says in parting. I detect a tone of urgency at this request.

“I certainly will,” I reply.

“Next time we will have more quiet and peace, as we have a thing or two to talk about. Do come back,” he says.

Two months later: March 30, 1981

A loud thought woke me from my deep sleep: Write down what Dr. Sinha told you about President Reagan. The clock on my nightstand read 4 a.m. on the dot.

For a few minutes, I debated if I should get up but then decided to go back to sleep because I knew later in the day I had to drive to Pretty Prairie, Kansas, to attend a funeral.

The next time I was aware of time was when I checked my wristwatch as I turned from Interstate 54 to Kansas Highway 17 on my way to the funeral. It was exactly 1:30 in the afternoon. At that moment, I became aware that in my mind I was dictating to DeAnn Corbin, my assistant, what Sinha told me about the assassination attempt on President Reagan: “It will be like the leap of a dragon,” I caught myself saying.

It was almost 3 p.m. when I walked out of the United Methodist Church after Mr. Kelmet Holmes’ funeral. He was the father of Ken Holmes, my roommate and business partner for several years after I came to the United States. Ken and I were also best man for each other at our weddings. He’s like my brother, my family.

Outside, Bonnie Jo, Ken’s wife, was listening to the radio in her car. “Someone shot the President!” she exclaimed as she waved for me to join her. I was dumbstruck; an assassination attempt had been made on President Reagan’s life, just as Sinha predicted back in January. 

This was not just news for me. I was stunned. My perception of reality had been shattered.  A new dimension had opened, and I did not know what to do with it.

(The next day)

I awake with uneasy feelings about my meeting with Sinha last evening. I had gone to see him to gather material for my research project; however, during the entire encounter, I was answering questions about myself. Now, I am confronted with doubts—like, what was happening, and what was his motive? Uneasily, I wonder if I should go see him again, or would it be a waste of time?

By evening, I have made up my mind. Mother is not happy about my leaving her again. It is about 8:30 p.m. when I reach the crossing in Tagoretown where Sinha is located. I can see his outline. He is seated, visiting with four other people who are sitting cross-legged opposite him on the cement platform.

Again, the same question, “Kaun ho, bacha?” Who is there, child?

Hearing my answer, he responds warmly and provides elaborate introductions about the other four people. I am not very attentive and find my mind wandering. Then he takes 10 or 15 minutes introducing me, telling the others who I am, what I do in America, about the importance of my mother’s school, and even how far I walk every morning. He continues without paying attention to the others. I sense their boredom. They don’t really care. I have obviously interrupted some private consultation; they resent my being there.

At this point, Sinha starts to describe what I eat for breakfast. He is able to recall all the ingredients in the same order that I had told him, even the exact amounts of each ingredient. I find his memory extraordinary. I wonder if he does that just to impress me; however, I could not have summarized the essence of my lifestyle more accurately. But I am afraid that the evening will pass before I am able to elicit the information that I have come to gain.

My worst fears are realized. “Mr. Mathur, we hear that there is a substance that, if you put it on a pan, the cooking does not stick to the pan. Can you tell us about that?” he asks.

I now have to tell him all about Teflon. Dozens of questions follow, including the chemical composition of Teflon, which I do not know.

“How marvelous things are in America!” Sinha praises. “We cannot even think of all the development that has taken place there. How far ahead do you think America is in terms of material development?”

At the continuing questions, I quietly demur. “These people have come to meet with you. They really are not interested in what I have to say. They would rather hear you talk. In fact, I want to hear you talk.”

“Oh, no, on the contrary, these people live in this city. They can talk to me any day. You are a guest. You have come all the way from the other side of the world. We are all interested in knowing about your lifestyle.”

The other four nod their heads politely.

“Mr. Mathur, tell us what you eat for lunch.”

Oh, my lord! I think. Here we go again with another wasted night.

I have guessed correctly; these four gentlemen soon make an excuse and leave. I apologize for the interruption.

“Don’t apologize; they can come and visit me anytime.” Sinha interjects. The four drive off in their black Ambassador car. 

We continue to be interrupted during the evening by at least a half-dozen visitors. Sinha can distinguish from a distance who approaches, and he tells me about each visitor.

There is a pattern. Some visitors hesitate at a distance. To them he asks the familiar question, “Kaun ho, bacha?”

To all who have the slightest intention of staying, he is blunt and tells them, “Mr. Mathur has come from a great distance. He is an honored guest; please come back some other time.”

Sprinkled with frequent interruptions, our conversation continues. “Please,” I say, “my time is rather short. I have come to learn from your knowledge and experience. I want to know more about you. I won’t mind sharing my experiences some other time.”

“All right,” he says with a short laugh. “Since we now are acquainted with one another’s mission in life, we can explore together. Tell me who all you have met in connection with your research.

I tell him about Mr. Handa, whom I met in Ujjain, Gau Wale Guruji, Pandit Gyan Chand in New Delhi, and Rameshwar Das in Nainital.

Sinha is now lying down on a mat spread out on the cement platform. I realize it is quite late; even the lights in the nearby houses have gone to sleep. The city has come to a dead stop, and the dogs are trying to keep warm by barking.

I observe that his pace of speech has slowed; there is a more leisurely atmosphere all around. He recounts his meetings with various sages and mystics in Nepal and the Himalayas.

Then he casually states, “One of the sciences that I have mastered is that of astrology. Let me tell you something interesting. You see that bright star? That is Jupiter. When Jupiter comes in conjunction with Saturn—which is the star closest to it—that means there will be a change in the leader of the United States. These stars are also in conjunction with Dragonhead, which means danger will come unexpectedly, like the leap of a dragon. The odds are that in 1982, there could be a change of administration in the United States.”

“You don’t mean 1982. You mean 1980. There has been a change right now in the President. Ronald Reagan has just been elected,” I counter.

“No, I mean 1982,” he says with certainty.

“You mean Reagan will be killed?”

“There will be an attempt on his life, but he will survive. The leadership change will take place for reasons other than his death.”

“Have you received this information from Gorakhnathji?” I ask, looking at the statue to which he gives all credit.

“No, this is simply from the field of astrology.”

“It is hard for me to believe,” I said. “How could anyone prepare an astrological formulation several hundred years ago, which would predict danger to the life of a President of the United States in 1982?” I express my doubts. My voice is rebellious and cynical.

“Our ancient sages were very scientific,” he states. “They observed life and have recorded it over hundreds of years and found certain patterns. These patterns have been validated by events over the past several centuries and conveyed to us symbolically through the positioning of the stars.”

“But America was not part of the known world at that time. How could they predict anything about America?”

“To the western world, America may not have been discovered. But in our ancient literature, we find its constant mention.”

I still don’t understand. “Why would these two planets affect a particular nation? They know no national boundaries. Why is the effect not on the entire earth?”

“The effect is on the entire earth,” Sinha says. “But we have even more precise information. For example, it is common knowledge that the position of the sun and moon affect the ocean’s tides. This knowledge was deduced from past observations and then formulated into a theory. Once you accept this, it is not too difficult to understand that the sun and moon have other influences in addition to tidal movements. Similarly, planets and stars and their movements affect us in specific ways. Ancient scholars in India studied these effects, then formulated the theories that have been validated by time and events.”

Sinha goes on to describe in detail how certain events can be forecast. He names specific stars that symbolize various nations or regions and how their impact could be enhanced or diminished with the interaction of other stars. He points out the symbolic star for the United States. He gives me detailed information, which I try to commit to memory, but I find myself limited, primarily because I do not understand anything about astrology and the terms being used.

“I cannot digest all this,” I admit to Sinha. “Please tell me more about the change in administration in the U.S.”

“I think I have told you enough. Just watch the drama unfold,” he says.

I am taking in all this information with a rather large grain of salt. I am still not a believer in astrology and have serious doubts that the government or the presidency will change in the U.S. in 1982. 

 I choose to change the subject.

“Dr. Sinha, we have discussed several different subjects, but I still do not have any proven example of the powers that you receive from Gorakhanathji. Information on President Reagan is based on astrology and probability and is some time away. Would it be possible for me to witness the power now?”

“Certainly, I understand. You want to have information on which you can hang your hat,” he smiles.

“Exactly.”

Putting his umbrella in front of him and pausing briefly, he says, “OK, I will ask the Light to take me to your house. Would you like me to go to your house in America or here in Allahabad?”

“To make it a little more difficult and interesting, let’s go to my house in America.”

“I see your wife wearing a long garment, maybe a long skirt.”

I try to project. It is 10:30 p.m. in Allahabad, approximately noon in Wichita. I cannot think of Treva wearing a long skirt during the day.

“The color of the skirt or garment is khaki,” Sinha says. 

I do not remember Treva having a khaki skirt, but I have been away from home for more than two months and it is possible that she may have bought a skirt, although khaki seems an unusual color for her to buy.

“Is your wife older than you?” he asks.

“No.”

“How old is she?”

“She is 40.”

“Is there another older woman, maybe your wife’s mother who stays with you?”

“No.”

“Is your wife having tooth pain in her gums?”

“Could be; I have been away for more than two months.”

“No, I mean for a long time, for more than two months. Is there some woman in the house who is related to you but has been sickly or not keeping good health for some time?” he continues.

“No.”

“Please, help me. I may be in the wrong house. Is there anyone you know who is having tooth pain?” Sinha asks.

“Yes, my mother.”

“OK then, the Light took me to your house in Allahabad instead of to America. I see an elderly woman whose teeth are not in her mouth; she has had some gum pain. Now, let us proceed to your house in America.”

After a few seconds’ pause, Sinha continues, “I see a room, which I think is your living room. The room seems to have wooden walls. Is there a room like that?”

“Yes, our family room.”

“There is unusual furniture, wooden furniture.” Sinha describes what sounds like the wooden furniture from Afghanistan in my office. I tell him that.

 “That is true; I am in your office. On October 17, you will have a branch office. Yes, I can see it. Allow for a change in time between here and there. The event will take place on October 17, and in case it is a non-work day or weekend, its impact may be felt a day or so earlier or later. This is a sample of the power you wanted to research. You can verify it on October 17, 1981.”

There is silence for a few minutes and then Sinha continues. “Now I am in your house in America. I see your daughter changing schools in the next few months. Is that correct?”

“Yes, she will, after summer.”

Again, silence for a short period, and then he says, “There will actually be a choice. The school on the west is closer, but rowdier. The school on the south is farther away, but more peaceful and orderly.”

I did not know of any such choice, but I did not wish to contradict him, so I let it go.

“I see a new vehicle of some sort at your house. Have you already bought one or are you planning to buy one?”

“We recently bought a car.”

“What color is it — green?” He wonders aloud. Then he continues with a firmer voice, All right, I see competition in several colors. I see yellow, dark brown, green, and one other color which is neither black nor white.”

“Silver,” I help out.

“That is right. It has a black interior and the seats of the car have both vertical and horizontal ribs running through the fabric covering them.”

I cannot remember any vertical or horizontal lines running through the upholstery and tell him so.

Also, there is a black horizontal line running across the side of the car,” Sinha continues.

“No, it is chrome,” I challenge.

“Could be,” he said, “but I see black. There is a round part of the car that has this type of design on it.” He draws a design in the air with his finger.

“It must be small; I do not remember any such part.”

“No, it is a big part. Could it be the steering wheel?” Sinha inquires.

“No, the steering wheel does not look like that,” I say.

“Well, I am seeing something like that; perhaps you can check it when you get back. It does not make that much difference. Do you have any questions you want to ask?”

“No.” I find my mind to be blank.

The sampling of power is over. It is almost 11 p.m. Our topic of discussion changes to meditation and the various techniques of achieving the meditative state. Sinha is quite articulate and knowledgeable about the subject.

“What technique shall I follow?” I inquire. 

“That is putting the cart before the horse. Lose yourself entirely in the presence of the Almighty God and techniques will follow naturally.”

This subject of meditation is of great interest to me. Within the last 12 months, I have started to meditate regularly. One might think that this would bring some peace to my mind, but instead I am filled with doubts. Doubts are a weak word; it is like a major struggle that is brewing within me. Am I doing the right thing? I have a young family and I am losing interest in my profession as a business consultant. What am I doing here? Why am I meddling with these psychic powers? Crossing such a Rubicon is prohibited, perhaps with good reason. Am I falling into that trap myself? 

All these years, I have taken pride in the fact that I have a scientific frame of mind. I examine things, I look for formulas, I look at the essence of all I experience. I reject long-held ideas if they do not prove to be scientifically correct. Yet, in this case, I am being drawn to an area like a moth toward the flame of a candle. The element of reason within me is rebelling. I feel like an automobile being driven at maximum speed, all while the brakes are being applied. My struggles are both at the macro and micro levels. I am following the Kriya tradition of meditation. Is that right for me? Is there some other tradition that I should be following? Is there another teacher that I should go to? I feel I cannot share these struggles with anyone, including Sinha. Who knows, he may take advantage of my state of mind. I feel vulnerable. 

Sinha continues with a one-way discourse. Even though he never mentions it, all of Sinha’s statements address my doubts. All of his statements imply that I am on the right path. I feel as if he has zeroed in on my heartbeat, and he is trying to sooth the tide within me. It is a pleasant experience.

It is 1:30 in the morning when I reach home. Mother grunts from her bed to indicate her dissatisfaction. 

The next morning over a cup of delicious chai, mother wants to know all about my experiences. I discover that she was wearing a khaki petticoat to bed the night before. Her teeth were out because she removes them at night. She has been having pain in her gums recently.

When I reach Wichita in February and Treva picks me up at the airport, the first thing I notice are the hubcaps on the car. The design of the hubcaps is exactly what Sinha had described. 

Treva informs me that she has been trying to persuade our daughter, Tara, to attend an alternative school, which is located in the south part of town. I had not known that there could be a choice.

We did seriously consider yellow, dark brown, and dark green cars before buying a silver car.

The stripe on the silver car we purchased is black, not chrome as I had thought. My office is wood paneled. And, just as Sinha had predicted, I soon moved into a new office.

January 1981
Allahabad, India

I am not very adept at small talk, and at times I feel handicapped by this. This is one of those occasions.

I have come to be with my mother for a few days in Allahabad. Raghav, a young friend, has come over to visit. I find myself with mixed feelings on such occasions. I am glad to see old friends, but what does one talk about after exchanging pleasantries and inquiring about one other’s health, family, and career?

After the formalities are covered and in order to continue the conversation, which is lagging, Raghav asks, “Bhai Sahib (elder brother), how is your research coming along?” Raghav is referring to research I am doing into the psychic powers that some people in India possess. I am interviewing and recording the experiences of many people who are known to have such powers.

This opening naturally provides us with some conversational grist. After listening to the synopsis of some of my experiences, Raghav wonders if I have met Dr. Sinha. I know who he is talking about. A couple of years ago, my good friend Paloo told me about him but refused to take me to see him, saying he was a Tantric, a dangerous man. 

“Oh, no,” Raghav protests, “He is not dangerous. I have taken classes under him at the university, and you will enjoy meeting him. He will provide material for your research.”

I look at Raghav’s face, which is glowing with sincerity and enthusiasm. I don’t need a second invitation. I ask Raghav if it would be possible to go to see Dr. Sinha yet this evening. A look at his watch shows 7:30 p.m., and it is already quite dark outside.

I propose that we go by bicycle, but Raghav rejects the idea because, in his opinion, it is too dark. My mother, who has been patiently listening to this conversation, interjects that it is too late to go visiting.

Allahabad is principally an educational center, well known for its university, and it’s also a legal center because the State High Court is located there. After dark, Allahabad simply shuts down.

“Oh, it isn’t too late to see Dr. Sinha,” Raghav counters with enthusiasm. “He is only available at night under a tree. He does not see any one during the day. Let me see if I can borrow my brother’s scooter.”

Raghav jumps up and leaves before my mother can intervene. I appreciate her perspective. I am visiting her only for a few days in Allahabad, and she would like to have me around her. Moreover, she is not happy because I am getting in touch with people with psychic powers; a dangerous thing in her opinion.

In a short time, Raghav returns, and we are soon on our way to visit Dr. Sinha – if he can be found. “He is not always there,” Raghav tells me.

The wind starts to chill my hands that are grasping the seat of the scooter behind Raghav. I am glad to be dressed warmly in several layers of clothing, although this warmth does not dissipate the spooky chill I feel at the thought of meeting a “Tantric.” I have heard several stories that such people can perform extraordinary healings and mental and spiritual feats. Because of such these abilities, most people are afraid of them. I have never been in touch with them.

Raghav finds the tree where Dr. Sinha meets people on the southwest corner of a street in Tagoretown, a section of Allahabad. Under the tree, there is a cement platform some 15 feet square. On the platform a small temple about four feet tall has been constructed. On the left side, close to where we stand, there seems to be a small bush. The only source of light is a single street lamp some 30 yards behind us. It is the first time Raghav has been here. He is not quite sure of the place. Suddenly, there is a stir in the bush.

“Kaun ho, bacha,” (Who are you, child?) comes a voice from the bush. The voice startles both Raghav and me. All this talk about Tantrics has prepared me to be spooked.

Dr. Sinha is indeed there, sitting with two open black umbrellas over him that we had mistaken for a bush. Raghav introduces himself, and there is instant recognition in Sinha’s voice for this former student.

“Who have you brought with you, child?”

Raghav introduces me. There is an enthusiastic welcome. I am surprised at the firmness and energy of his voice. It contradicts the mental image I have built of the person I was about to meet. He asks us to be seated on the cement platform a few feet away from him.

My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and, while it is hard to get an accurate picture, I can see Sinha more clearly. He is wearing a saffron-colored robe (saffron indicates holiness). He is obviously wearing some warm garments under the robe and is sitting on a woolen blanket. The two umbrellas provide protection from the elements. Short and stocky, maybe 5’5”, probably weighing 165 lbs, I guess his age to be somewhere in his mid-50s. His beard is mostly white.

Briefly, I describe the research project I am engaging in and my purpose for being here.  He listens intently and, when I finish, he states that, as the host, he will introduce himself first and then he would like to know more about me.

His full name is Keshav Chandra Sinha. He is a Reader (between Lecturer and full Professor) of Hindi Literature at Allahabad University. He has two PhD’s, one in Hindi and the other in Bengali—two of the thirteen major languages in India. He has done thorough research on Gorakhnath, an ancient Hindu saint who formed the Nath sect. Sinha is fluent in Chinese and has done studies in astrology. As a homeopathic doctor he prescribes medicines. He relates several cases that have been cured due to his homeopathic prescriptions. “But the cure,” he states, “does not come from me.” He folds his hands and bows towards the little temple under the tree and says, “It is HE who cures.” Sinha continues, saying he is only a messenger who delivers the appropriate prescriptions.

 He tells me of various places he has visited in India, Nepal, Tibet, and the Himalayan mountains, where he has met sages and seers, some even 500 years old. Such saints shun contact with people. By grace of a mystic contact with some unknown source, he has acquired the ability to see through time and space.

“This is not my power; I am merely a channel.” Again, he folds his hands and bows toward the statue in the temple. “It is HIS grace, HIS Message, HIS power,” and he bows again.

Fees are charged for the transmission of messages, and Dr. Sinha is quick to explain that the money received is all spent for good purposes as directed by the worshiped one—Gorakhnathji. Sinha says he has no need for the money because he has a good income from his teaching job at the university. The money is charged to fend off inconsiderate people who otherwise would be bothering him with trifling matters.

He talks without pausing to think. All this information is fascinating and pertinent to my research and is conveyed in a half-hour, nonstop monologue. His energy pours out with his words, making it impossible to miss his dynamic force. He is not modest about himself, yet there is no vanity. It is as if he is describing someone else to a large audience from a rostrum. He lists all these accomplishments, but the accomplishments are not his, only Gorakhanathji’s—his loyalty is complete.

I had not expected such an elaborate self-introduction, and I am a little perplexed and feel a need to digest all this information.

Abruptly, Sinha focuses his attention on me. “Now,” he commands, “Mr. Mathur, please tell me about yourself.”

In contrast, I give him a brief summary about myself. I feel self-conscious as I talk, but Sinha knows how to make people feel comfortable. He inquires about my parents, about my mother’s school, and quizzes me in-depth about my family, business, and hobbies.

He pays complete attention; no detail is lost. He is amazingly interested and enthusiastic.

“What do you do first thing in the morning?” he inquires.

“I am normally up at 5 a.m. and I go for a walk,” I say.

“But don’t you get mugged? We hear that it is not safe to walk the streets in America.” Sinha tries to suppress his laughter as he asks me the question.

I explain that such conditions exist only in a few places and where I live it is quite safe.

“It must be pretty dark at 5 a.m. How do you avoid the traffic on the street?” Sinha is curious.

With my response that I wear a fluorescent vest, I must now explain: what types of materials are used to make it glow, what other uses are there for that type of cloth, how much does the vest cost? 

I am barraged with detailed questions.

“Does it snow there? Do you go walking even in the snow? How about rain? How hot does it get? What do you wear? What type of shoes? How long does it take for you to cover the distance? Is it a fixed route? What do you do after your walk?”

“I meditate.”

“For how long?” he inquires.

“Forty-five minutes or so.”

“What do you do after that?”

“I have breakfast.”

“What do you eat?”

“A mixture of things boiled in milk.”

“What are they, the things you put in your milk?”

“12 ounces water, 5 tablespoons of powdered milk, 5 raisins, 3 almonds, 1 cardamom, 1 date, 1 fig, 2 tablespoons oatmeal, 1 tablespoon cornmeal,1 tablespoon bran, 1 teaspoon wheat germ, 3 grams fresh ginger, 1 banana, and 3 slices of apple.”

“What is oatmeal and wheat germ?”

I explain wheat germ but don’t know what oatmeal is in Hindi. 

“How did you come to this mixture?”

I kept adding things I liked.”

“So nutritious,” he said.  “How lucky you are that you have all those things available to you, and that you can afford them. We, in India, could not do that. How do you cook it?”

“I cook it for four minutes in the microwave.”

“What is a microwave? How does it work? What all can you cook in it? Does it make foods all taste the same? How do you calculate how long to cook things?”

It takes me half an hour to explain all about microwave ovens. I am getting impatient. Almost two hours have gone by, and we have spent three quarters of that time discussing me. We have not even touched on the subject that I came to discuss. 

As if in response to my impatience, the sky suddenly opens up and it starts to rain. I had not noticed that there were any clouds in the sky.

“Child, you must go home. It is cold and you should not get wet. Your mother will be waiting for you.”

Raghav and I get on the motor scooter and rush towards home. In a few hundred yards, the showers stop as suddenly as they started.

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.

The following includes a story about Mr. Sharma that took place many years before the Beggar stories and My Boat is Called Surrender. This was in the very early days of Trees for Life.

One day while in Allahabad, I had a hunch that I should visit Mr. Sharma. It was totally irrational because the temperature was 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Nonetheless, I followed my intuition and rode my bike 10 miles to his house. My arrival woke him from his afternoon rest. He was surprised and excited to see me. From his bed, he reached up and held my arm in welcome.

“Mitra (my friend), I have been most eager to see you but did not know how to get hold of you.”

I asked, “Why so eager?”

Mr. Sharma sat up on his bed and said, “I have been wanting to tell you about an experience I had.” 

He paused while his nephew brought us each a cool lassi (yogurt drink). Mr. Sharma then began his story, as I sipped on the delicious drink. 

“One afternoon while I was in meditation, I heard two people talking. I thought that my radio had somehow suddenly turned on. With my eyes still closed, I reached back to shut off the radio where the sound was coming from.

“Unable to locate the dial, I realized no radio was there. In fact, there was no radio in the room. Then I remembered that I did not even own a radio. But I could still hear two people talking, and the sounds were coming from that spot. I was baffled. I concentrated on the sounds. The voices were familiar. Then I realized that it was you talking with your friend, Dr. Sinha. 

“The moment I recognized who the two people were, the sound disappeared, as if someone had turned off the channel.” Mr. Sharma slammed his right fist onto his open left palm to demonstrate the point.

“It was as if I had been caught eavesdropping,” he said.

Mr. Sharma was very intrigued with this experience and wanted to experiment to see if he and I could connect in a similar way when I returned to the U.S. I agreed, and we decided to attempt to connect with each other on Guru Purnima (a special day when a disciple connects with and pays homage to his spiritual teacher). Mr. Sharma was the president of all pandas in India and presumed himself to be my guru and me to be his disciple. I always simply considered him my friend.

We agreed to sit in meditation on the appointed day for three hours at exactly the same time, which translated to 2 p.m. Central Standard Time for me in Wichita, Kansas.

A problem arose in my schedule for Guru Purnima. A close relative and his new wife arrived from Pennsylvania the night before. I was delighted to see them but greatly disappointed that I would not be able to keep my psychic date with Mr. Sharma.

However, a little before lunch our friends asked if we would be terribly upset if they went to have lunch with another friend and meet us again for dinner later. I could not have planned it better.

I soon reached the church that had donated space for the Trees for Life office. My daily practice was to go into the empty church sanctuary to meditate for half-an-hour before lunch. I would sit cross-legged on the floor at the front of the sanctuary, where there was a large stained-glass picture of Jesus Christ.

On this Saturday, in the empty church, I took my usual position and began to pray, “Jesus, I am in your house. You come to me in the guise of my Guru today. I bow to you and seek guidance from you. Melt me, mold me in any way that you so desire. You know me and my needs better than I do. I only know the needs that are of this world, but you know what my soul needs. So please take charge and mold me any way that you see fit. I surrender to you with all my heart. Thine, not mine, shall be done.”

Soon, I felt I was in meditation.

I was brought back to this reality by a shrill scream that filled the sanctuary.

Slowly, I turned around to see a terrified teenage boy standing at the door with mouth wide open, his hands and body frozen in fear. As I looked at him, he ran out of the sanctuary as fast as he could, filling the hallway with his fearful cries. 

Quickly, he returned with his mother. This Vietnamese mother and son were part of the church cleaning crew. Trying to reassure them, I smiled. The mother gave her son a “You stupid!” look and then explained to me that he thought he had seen a dead body in the sanctuary. The teenager looked back at her sheepishly.

It was almost 5 p.m., and I realized I had completed my three-hour meditation. As my meditation ended, internally I heard an age-old chant, Shradha bhakti baraho, santan ki sewa. I sat there for some time absorbing the sounds of this Hindu prayer.

Literally, the meaning of the prayer is: “Oh, God, increase my reverence and devotion so that I may serve all beings.”

But the meaning that was coming to me was: I am to serve my God by serving all beings with reverence and devotion.

Months later when I was back in Allahabad, Mr. Sharma told me that he did meditate for three hours on Guru Purnima but felt no connection.

Obviously, we had dialed different channels. I had connected to a channel that was meant for me. The message: I am to serve my God by serving all beings with reverence and devotion was no longer a prayer; I knew it was my marching orders.