Category: Uncategorized

February 23, 1983

On my next visit to Dr. Sinha, I take my mother and the same friends who previously went with us. This time we take enough pillows and blankets to sit comfortably on the cement platform without getting too cold. 

Before going there, I decide to plan some sort of experiment to scientifically prove the skill and powers I have had the opportunity to witness in Sinha. I think of various experiments that could be conducted. One method would be to have a psychic in the U.S. communicate with Sinha without the aid of modern means, such as mail or telephone. I think of Michelle, a young psychic I know.

Once again, it is an interesting meeting. Sinha tells lots of entertaining stories and keeps his audience spellbound for several hours. During a lull in the conversation, I ask if he could tell me something about the psychic I am considering for the experiment.

Without hesitation he starts, “She grew up with a single parent. I see her mother is not alive. She is very attached to an elderly lady and places trust in her,” he says, pausing between each statement. “This young girl at this time is very concerned about her future. 

“Do you wish to know anything specific about this young lady?” he inquires.

“No,” I reply.

There is a brief period of silence and Sinha closes his eyes. It is obvious that he is seeing something and is soon going to speak.

“Mathur Sahib,” he finally says, “Why do you ask me about such things? You are wasting your energy as well as mine. You have important things to accomplish.You came to me as a non-believer. I was deputized to point out to you that in HIM all things are possible. In HIM time and space do not exist. Time and space are a delusion of our minds.

“I have given you these demonstrations to hook your curiosity and thus your faith. These demonstrations have no value in themselves. It is also my job to make sure that you do not get stuck in this delusion. You must proceed forward. All your note taking and sharing of information is of no ultimate value. How does it help you if I tell you what may happen a year from now, or how this young lady looks, or what she does? I can see everything about her in front of me. Most things I cannot tell you. You have to enlighten yourself.

“When you have been illuminated, then others will automatically know. You will not have to tell them. When you are in darkness, you can only spread darkness.

“I have read your notes. They are shallow. You have caught only a glimpse of the outside, which is mere delusion. I have given you information on many different levels, but you have caught only the superficial aspects. You have a long journey ahead of you. You are only in kindergarten.”

Sinha’s lips are tight and quivering with anger, his tone harsh and his message cruelly piercing. Why does he not convey this message to me in private? Why does he have to deflate me in front of my family? I feel cheated. No one speaks. It is up to me alone to break the silence.

“Dr. Sinha, I understand what you say, and it may surprise you, but I understand my shallowness. I am a novice in this field. I do not yet understand the rules of the game. Generalities are too subtle for me at this time.

“What do you think has to be my very next step to proceed forward?” I ask.

“You must cleanse yourself first,” Sinha replies. “You must diligently cleanse yourself of all impurities before you can be initiated in HIS spirit. If your container is contaminated, then you shall contaminate the pure gift. It is no use receiving pure milk in a contaminated cup.

“In the West you are in a rush. You want quick results. You want to shorten the process of cleansing. It is like having a container full of cow dung from which you have scraped the top, and you have filled it with ice cream. It tastes good in the beginning but soon you have to throw it away. But ice cream in a clean cup you can enjoy to the very last bite.”

“How do I cleanse myself?” I inquire.

“For each person the procedure is different. But in your case, you need to experience silence. Only through silence will you experience the music of your inner soul and that is the music you need to play. 

“In the so-called ‘modern world,’ they do not understand the power of sound. Your lives are so filled with sounds and words—empty, meaningless sounds. You must shake off all that. Then only shall you be impregnated with HIS power, and every word of yours shall resonate with power. Until then your words are empty, like the sounds of a toy gun.

“Your words will carry HIS power after you have maintained silence for 40 days. Do it diligently and with all your might, because many people, including that lady with the American Indian past (Olive Garvey), are waiting for you to become aware of yourself. Don’t hold up the train.”

Suddenly, Sinha is back in his jovial mood. He tells many more stories to lighten the mood and cheer everyone up. Then finally he looks at my mother and says, “Respected mother, throughout this evening you have not said a single word. May we have the benefit of your wisdom? Please mother.”

Mother, who is never afraid to speak her mind and never minces words, speaks out in a calm and clear voice, “Tonight I shall go home with a heavy heart.”

“Why so, respected mother? We all honor you. You have blessed this place by your arrival. If I have said anything to arouse your resentment, then I have committed a sin and I seek your forgiveness. Please give me a chance to explain. What may have inadvertently caused your anguish?”

Mother replies in her stately manner, “You have asked my son to maintain a silence of 40 days. He is a family man with a lovely wife and children. If he pursues the path that you recommend, his wife will abandon him.”

“No, mother, no,” Sinha protests. “As no one can run a marathon the very first day, Balbir will have to condition himself in stages. It will happen over a period of time. Mother, there are people who live right next door to me who are not aware of my existence, yet your son has come all the way from America, and he pulls his friends in the middle of cold nights to come and visit me. He has even brought a saintly lady like you. It is my good fortune. On your son shines HIS light. No harm can befall him. I can guarantee you that his wife shall not abandon him.”

We leave Sinha at about 1 a.m. and mother admonishes me. She is as serious as I have ever seen her. She says, “Do not follow that advice. It would be a shame if your wife were to ever leave you.”

It has been quite some time since I last saw Dr. Sinha. Approaching the cement platform, where I expect to find him, I notice a change. The street, once in pitch darkness, is now lighted with fluorescent streetlights. It is not as dark and foreboding as it used to be, but some of the charm and mystique of the place has been lost.

Dr. Sinha is as glad to see me, as I am to see him. I sense a bond of deep friendship that has developed between us through the years. This relationship has even matured over the past several months while we have not seen one another. We exchange pleasantries. He seems in a particularly relaxed mood today.

I have brought a digital wristwatch for him as a gift. I have also brought copies of some of my travel logs and my notes on conversations with him. He accepts them politely and asks if I have the instructions on how to use the watch, which I unfortunately misplaced and could not find. Then he asks about the price of the watch. I should have known . . . asking the price is a cultural difference between India and the U.S.

He lies down flat on his back and gazes at the stars above. The stars are shining brilliantly in a clear sky. There is a brief silence, and then he asks, “Mr. Mathur, tell me, do you believe in God?”

A long silence follows on my part. Perhaps he expects a quick and affirmative answer, for he repeats the question with a measure of impatience.

“This is a profound question you have asked,” I say. “Let me frame my answer in my own mind, so that it is correct and describes my belief rather than a quick yes or no answer, which really will not tell you much.”

My mind starts to race at what seems like a million miles an hour. No one that I can recall has ever asked me this question in such a straightforward manner and with such intensity. A part of me wants to cry out and in an unequivocal, loud voice shout, “YES!” But there is another part of me that says that a “yes” would mean the negation of all that I have stood for since my teenage days.

As a child, there was no doubt in my mind about the existence of God. God existed just as the sun, moon, air, or trees. God existed just like the distant land of America. God existed because everyone around me believed in that existence. There was no reason for doubt. God was a source of joy for me . . . beautiful festivals, all the gifts we received, and an expression of deepest reverence in me.

Then, between the ages of 10 and 13, I witnessed the horrible religious strife in India. As a child, I lived through the bloody massacre in which almost a million people were killed and more than 15 million Hindus and Muslims were displaced—all in the name of religion. Each group thought that its religion was superior. Each thought that they were the chosen ones and that God had spoken only to them, that all others were deluded, misguided, or lost. The more orthodox persons were in their religious beliefs, the more rigid their views and the less open to experiences outside their narrow realm.

That one could kill in the name of God created revulsion in my mind to all so-called “religions.” Trying to get to the crux of things, I realized that perhaps there was a fallacy with the concept of God itself. That was where all these problems started. To no two people did the word “God” mean the same thing.

So, I erased the word “God” from my vocabulary. One could be kind, gentle, and compassionate without having the source of all this in the word “God.” To me the word “God” had become the source of demagoguery, superstition, reactionary philosophy, and an age of darkness for humankind.

I had started to follow western materialism. I could identify with the statement, “Religion is the opium of the masses.” I read western philosophy while earning my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in political science. I was convinced that if humankind were to be saved, the only solution was the eradication of all religion and religious institutions. Organized religion was the curse of humankind, and I was ready to pay any cost for its eradication.

India was the worst. Everyone was religious—even my educated parents. I had vigorous arguments with my father, who could not comprehend the source of my doubts. Even the communists in India were religious. They were among the most orthodox; only the name of their God was different. Nothing was outside the realm of religion in my country.  

All art was nothing but homage to God; architecture was found only in temples and statues; music was only the chanting of hymns; all literature was a repetition of the epics. All stories were religious. Politics, morals, customs, traditions, and even love-making were the domain of religion. It confounded me that the people of India could not see that the source of all their backwardness lay in religion. And the source was in the word “God.”

To me, humans were insensitive and cruel to humans. They pretended to be compassionate to animals as compensation, but really they were not. They could not afford to be, because they were mired in the struggle for their own survival. Could they not see that compassion was a property of those who could afford it? To me, the Indians had missed the point; they had to learn to chase machinery, not God.

I wanted to learn the art of enslaving machinery from the very best. That is what brought me to the United States. I was overjoyed, for here were people who had enslaved the machine, pioneers of a new and vivid path the rest of the world could follow. Here was the salvation I was seeking. I became an avid student.

The more I studied, the more I realized that enslaving the machine comes at a heavy price. In the process, humans tend to become machines and lose their humanity. They need to tether themselves to something stronger in order not to be swept away. They have to rise above the five senses to experience humanity and find a meaning in the enslavement of machinery. This experience beyond the five senses is what some called God. Thus, the word God took on a new meaning for me. I started to focus more and more on the realm beyond the five senses.

And here I was with Dr. Sinha because of that.

But the word God has a different connotation for most people than it has for me. That was the reason for my hesitation in saying “yes” or “no” to Dr. Sinha’s question.

After what seems like a long wait, Dr. Sinha inquires again. “It is a simple question: Do you, or do you not, believe in God?”

“The question is indeed simple, but my answer is complex. I do not know how to articulate my feelings. That is the problem,” I say, telling him about the silence with which Gautam Buddha had handled the same question.

“But you are not Buddha, and you do not have his wisdom,” Dr. Sinha says impatiently. “Buddha could convey messages of deep significance through his silence; you have not reached that point. Your silence is caused by your confusion. I insist that you verbalize your statement, rather than play Buddha with me.”

I am at a loss for words, and silence follows again.

Impatience is getting the better of Dr. Sinha. “Mr. Mathur, you will not be able to leave this place until you have wrestled with this question and can answer me. This is the crux of our relationship. Do you realize that the sole reason you come to me is so that I can solidify your faith in God?”

“How can you solidify my faith in God when I cannot even comprehend and define what God is? And, if I can comprehend and define God, then how can it be God?” I inquire.

“God is, indeed, incomprehensible and indefinable. We, as human beings, have very limited capabilities to experience and understand. We have very limited knowledge. Of what we think we know best, we really know very little. That is the nature of things. The irony is that in order to experience something, first you must believe in it.”  

Dr. Sinha’s mood is now calm, and he continues, “Mr. Mathur, before you went to America you had not seen the country, and you did not know as much about the country as you do now. You could not know about it if you did not travel there, and you could not travel there if you did not have faith that the country existed. Your faith was based on the fact that others had traveled before you.

“You have not totally experienced all aspects of America, as no one has ever experienced the totality of God. But yet America is a reality to you. We all experience God all the time, even though we know that we cannot experience God in totality.  

“Without faith there can be no experience. Faith is the life-force. At least from one perspective, faith is God and God is faith. But playing word games will not lead you anywhere. In order to make use of that life-force, you have to make it personal and concrete. Your concept of God will constantly change with your increasing experience but, first, you must have faith in your capability to have that experience. I have given you a few demonstrations that all is possible within God. These demonstrations are merely to widen your horizons.

“When you have faith, Mr. Mathur, there will be no dichotomy; and when there is no dichotomy, then you will have experiences of which you will have no comprehension. Then your silence will have a different meaning, and the question I asked you will not even be asked.”

February 1983

At my next meeting with Dr. Sinha, we are alone. Our conversation includes many topics and continues for more than four hours when, suddenly, I feel that I have slipped into a stage of emptiness. Up to this time, our meeting has been rather energetic and vibrant. Suddenly, I am in a different dimension.

This is not the first time I am experiencing a blankness of mind. I have experienced such episodes in the presence of spiritually-advanced people half-a-dozen times. During those periods, I felt I had vigorous discussions with those Masters but could not recall the content, except for a feeling of satisfaction. This is one of those occasions.

It is that familiar sensation—a feeling of my mind going blank—like being in a void. Then, gradually, a face emerges. I recognize this person, but for the life of me, I cannot think of her name. I barely know her. I try to remember but to no avail. The presence of the image is not under my control. My mind is not in charge; yet, curiously enough, I am totally aware of myself and my circumstances.

Then, out of the blue, I feel as if someone drops a name into my lap. Immediately, I know who the person is. A feeling of ecstasy envelopes me.

Up to this time, I have been intellectually aware that all of our thoughts really are not our own but now, for the first time and in slow motion, I experience how thoughts are dropped into our minds. It is a phenomenon, a feeling that is hard to relate. Perhaps it is like the feeling a child might have upon taking his or her first step.

I have no idea how long it lasts—perhaps just a moment—but it is a beautiful feeling.

When I am once again back in this reality, Dr. Sinha is lying flat on his back on the cement platform with his head resting comfortably on his saffron tote bag. His hands are crossed behind his head, left leg pulled up, with the right leg crossed over it.

Dr. Sinha looks at me kindly. Neither of us feel any urgency to speak. I do not want to break the calm; it is too good.

Eventually, I say, “Tell me something about Olive Garvey.” 

This is the name that has been dropped in.

“How do you spell the name?”

“O-L-I-V-E  G-A-R-V-E-Y.” I slowly spell each letter.

“Oh, you mean Oleevee,” he says in his thick Indian accent.

“No, I mean Olive,” I repeat.

“Never mind the pronunciation,” he says and continues without a break. 

“Four years ago, she received some disturbing or shocking news. It was as if the husband of her daughter died or the relationship with one of her children or grandchildren was shattered. It was a great sadness to her.”

It is rather interesting because I have not told him if Olive Garvey was male or female and Sinha, living in Allahabad and not being familiar with American names, would have no way of knowing. Yet, he continues with complete confidence, as if he knows that the name belongs to a woman.

“She has pain in the leg and waist at times, like arthritis or sciatic pain. She has to use a cane to walk. She is connected with a business; she is in fact the owner of that business. It is a large business. She has her own empire.” He was laughing. “There is a reservoir of water near her house or place of business. I see someone extracting fruit juice near where she is.”

My mind skips to Wichita. It must be about 3 p.m. in Wichita, and I have no idea where Mrs. Garvey might be or whether someone near her would be extracting juice from a fruit. It seems like a useless tidbit of information.

“She lives toward the southeast of where you live.” I have not told him that Mrs. Garvey even lives in Wichita. “Is her eldest child a girl?” he inquires.

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I tell him.

“It is so,” he continues with confidence.

“During winter she goes to her house in the South where it is warmer—like Florida. Is this correct?” he inquires.  

Again, I profess my ignorance as I reply, “She is rich enough to afford a house anyplace she wants.” This is the first bit of information regarding Mrs. Garvey that I blurt out.

“She is not only rich, she is very social-minded,” Sinha adds. “She is an ancient soul who is spiritually advanced.” His voice becomes hushed in reverence. “She understands that money is energy, and she gives a considerable amount to charity. She supports a hospital, a church, educational institutions, and cultural activities.”

Mrs. Garvey’s charities are legendary, and I am very familiar with those activities from the newspaper and with my sympathetic association with her Center for the Improvement of Human Functioning. I nod my head in agreement. This is the first information that I positively confirm.

However, Dr. Sinha does not need my confirmation and he continues, “This lady is a very dynamic person. She is not very tall. She is not only full of energy, but she also has profound insights. She understands that one has a mission on this earth, and she is quick in action.

“Whenever she gets impatient with people or situations, her face becomes flushed. She is not necessarily angry at that time. She has a great amount of self-control.”

At this point, Dr. Sinha mimics Mrs. Garvey’s expression, and I can almost see her face. Previously, I had seen Dr. Sinha do a similar, precise mimicking of the expressions of my father-in-law and mother-in-law.

“She has some sort of ailment connected with blood, like blood pressure. She is OK now,” he continues.

“She is not very fair in color, being more reddish or wheat-colored. She is not fat. Before her marriage, she had another friend. Her husband died more than seven years ago.”

I interrupt, “He died much longer ago than that.”  

“‘Seven years’ is a phrase of time; it is a manner of speech. ‘Over seven years’ is like saying, ‘quite some time ago,’” Sinha explains.

“She has pain in her stomach. She has some skin disease on her feet. I see maroon, yellow, or green colors where she is. I see half-white colors. I see shining iron or aluminum railings. I see a clock on the wall with a wooden frame and large, shining numbers.

I see a tall man in a pin-striped suit with grayish hair, over age 50. You have met this man twice. He will help you.”

Then he asks if I have any specific questions regarding Mrs. Garvey. I do not, but I ask another question instead.

“I have no reason to bring up Mrs. Garvey’s name. A while ago I felt as if someone totally outside of me planted her face and name before me. I had no reason to think of her. We hardly know each other. Of all the people I know, no other name would come, only her name comes to mind. Why?”

“Why do you feel you do not know each other?” Sinha asks. 

“Because we are mere acquaintances; we really don’t know each other.”

“We are aware of such a small spectrum of our lives,” Dr. Sinha says. “You both have known each other for eons. You are just not aware. You are now becoming aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“Aware of what your soul must do to express itself.”

“How does she come into the picture?”

“Laws of nature are such. Milk needs a little bit of starter to become yogurt or it shall sour; the yogurt needs the milk in order to grow. A bridge needs the two sides of the river.”

“Well, what is it that we are supposed to do together?” I ask.

Dr. Sinha starts to laugh. He is laughing heartily, and his stomach is jumping up and down.

“You both know well what you have to do. I am merely a messenger, a postman. You have to read the message.”

“How do I become aware?”

“Only HE can make you aware. HIS awareness is all awareness, and through HIS awareness you become aware of everything.”

*****

Postscript

A few months later, I saw Olive Garvey on the first floor of the Garvey Building in Wichita. We exchanged greetings and were soon joined by George Trombold, who worked for her son, Willard. George complimented her profusely on the recognition she had received at the University of Kansas. Mrs. Garvey became a little uncomfortable, and her face became red. She had exactly the same expression that Dr. Sinha had mimicked. I had never seen that expression on her face before. The similarity of expressions was unnerving.

Almost 30 years later, in February 2011, Doug and Janet Webb arranged a meeting for the three of us to meet with their friends Jean Garvey, Olive Garvey’s daughter-in-law, and Olive’s granddaughter, Ann Garvey, to help verify some of Dr. Sinha’s statements.

Jean and Ann delighted in talking about the colorful life of Olive Garvey and especially enjoyed discussing her charitable activities. They noted that one of her most passionate endeavors was the Center for the Improvement of Human Functioning, now known as the Riordan Clinic, which is famous for the fruit-juice drinks that Dr. Sinha saw in his vision. The Clinic also is located near water.

Not surprisingly, Dr. Sinha was correct on virtually every count. Jean and Ann confirmed that, in 1980, Olive became estranged from one of her grandchildren and this separation caused her great anguish. 

They also stated that Olive Garvey did suffer from arthritis, did live in the southeast part of town, spent her winters in the southwestern United States, and that her oldest child was a girl—Ruth.

Olive’s daughter and granddaughter also confirmed wall colors and office furnishings that Dr. Sinha had described. 

In addition, they believed that the tall man in a pin-striped suit with grayish hair was Bob Page, a long-time financial advisor who thought of Olive as his mother.

February 1983

I am in Allahabad on a brief stay with my mother. She has been critical of my visits to my friend, Dr. Sinha, so one evening I decide to take her along. Accompanying us are my friends, Paloo, Vimal, Vimal’s wife Sudha, and Vimal’s Uncle, Prem.

Dr. Sinha thoroughly charms everyone with some very precise information and interesting parables. It is a remarkable meeting, and they all lose their suspicions regarding him.

The next night I go alone and reach the temple platform at about 8:30 p.m. Before long, a young man in his 30s arrives, introducing himself as a disciple of Dr. Sinha. I shall call him “Hari.” Dr. Sinha starts to ask him questions regarding world events, and a sort of duet starts on predictions from earthquakes in China to massacres in 1984 in a Muslim country. I feel as if Dr. Sinha is showing off his disciple.

Gradually, Dr. Sinha changes the subject to me and my wife and asks his student to answer questions about us. Hari was exactly on target.

Then Sinha changes the subject to himself, asking the student various questions. This continues for quite a while and, at one point (half-jokingly), Sinha asks when he, Sinha, will have some financial gains. A range of times when such a windfall could be expected is predicted. No, that is not enough; Sinha wants an exact date and time.

Hari tries to avoid the issue and changes the subject; however, Sinha does not let him off the hook. He doggedly pursues the question. Hari is becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and I feel embarrassed because it came as a surprise to me that money was of such importance. After a while, Hari leaves in a polite huff.

After Hari is out of earshot, Dr. Sinha explains, “I need money like I need a hole in the head. Hari has an extremely capable mind, as you have seen today, but he has reached a plateau in his development.

“When we are that good, we get kudos from the public, which feeds our ego and our development stops.” He continues, “Our goal is to express the nature of our soul on this earth, not to seek glory in other people’s eyes, which is a delusion.

“Delusion saps us of our need to make a relentless effort to do our best. Hari is capable of predicting exact dates and times, but he has slackened his effort. I have told him and reminded him of this. As his teacher, it is my duty to wake him from his slumber. This public display of his need to go further was important for him. I had to create this scenario to jolt his ego. Mathur Sahib, I hope you did not mind being a prop for these theatrics.”

This is a lesson for me in the master/disciple relationship. I am not quite sure at this point if Hari is the student and I am the prop or if it is the other way around. There is a period of silence. The point is well made, and it needs to soak into my consciousness.

June 4, 1981

There is again a brief silence and our conversation starts to drift.

“Dr. Sinha,” I ask, “Is this phenomenon that I have experienced here subject to scientific investigation?”

“Certainly,” he says, without any hesitation. “It is all scientific. It is all following natural laws. How would you confirm it scientifically?”

“I was thinking of setting up a panel of well-recognized authorities, who are knowledgeable about such subjects, and having them meet some place in the United States at a given time. I will not know how many or who these people are. You and I will sit here, and you can describe to me who these people are, and we shall fully record your statement.”

“Not only who those people are,” Sinha adds, with great enthusiasm, “but also about their attitudes, tastes, habits, relatives, and work habits. To the Light, there is no secret!”

“Well, can we then arrange such a test?”

“You have to remember, you are not testing me. You seek confirmation of the powers of the Light. The Light must say, yes or no. If the Light thinks that the time is right, then the permission may be granted. As a messenger, I have no objections.”

“OK then, I will set up the program and clear it with you before I come back to India. 

“I have one other question: What have we really experienced here? How would you explain it?”

Sinha responds,“When you are in tune with God, you are living in eternity. There are no constraints of time and space.”

*****

Postscript

Three weeks later: June 25, 1981

DeAnn, my secretary, and Treva, my wife, confirm all the facts that Dr. Sinha had told about them. Indira, my sister, did travel back to the U.S. with me … and carried a brown bag. One prediction did not come true: I traveled on June 10th as originally scheduled.

 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.