From a new Initiate

Jeffrey Broadbent gives us an intensely personal, in-depth description of the celebrations, culminating in his initiation …

After two days of slow steam train from Calcutta, we slept overnight at Delhi Station. Finally, at 7 a.m. on 29^th January, we walked into the white-walled compound of Sawan Ashram, illumined by clear dawn light from a blue sky, and were met by white-turbaned, fluffy white-bearded Gyani Ji, with a twinkle in his eye. I was certain we had entered Heaven.

He led us to a room inside a low-walled courtyard, brought us tea and toast, and told us to wait. Thirty minutes of silence later, the inner door opened and Master Kirpal Singh Ji entered to sit down before us. I, uninitiated, never had met Master physically, and, coming from a Zen tradition, had been sceptical of the mystical effusions of the Sikh Saints. ‘Could indeed such lofty phraseology have anything other than a ‘will-o-the-wisp’ for an exponent?’ was the thought that nagged at my subconscious.

One second in the Living Presence of the Master shattered that doubt, leaving me stunned by the solidity and strength of His benignly wise presence. He struck me so deeply as a whole man, a wonderful integration of body, mind, and soul, that spoke on all those levels at once. Those smiling eyes re-echoed far within the maze of my own heart. To my enchanted mind, the conversation became as if heard from another room, till Master said,

All right, go have your breakfast.

We wandered out into the white air.

The quiet of that morning was a calm before the storm. After a few days, the air was filled with hammering, bricklaying, cementing, tent riggings, etc., as preparations for Master’s 80^th birthday celebration gathered momentum.¹ Along the wall by the railroad tracks, new bathing areas and toilets were built and a floor of bricks was laid on the half-built Satsang-Meditation Hall near the gate, which is replacing the old meditation shed. Then colourful canvas curtains were hung to make temporary bedrooms, and other new rooms were also put into use.

Sunday Satsang of 4^th February saw the crowd packing the grounds of the Ashram. Afterwards most stayed on, lining up in rows to receive chapatis, lentils, and vegetables. They slept under tent roofs, singing devotional bhajans into the wee hours. The gates of Master’s house became continually besieged with a crowd of Indian people, some in simple cloths, some in colourful saris. Many were almost crying to be let in, to touch Master’s feet or receive Parshad. Inside, Master could be seen heartily talking to an attentive group around His feet. Those days, every spare minute far into the night, Master was giving Himself out in this way. Still, He always had an amazing quality of completely attending to one person at a time, absorbing them into a profoundly personal relationship, pacifying an excited questioner with a glance, a chuckle or a few pertinent words.

During those days the gathering of Indians, and we Westerners clustered near His chair, would wait until about 9 a.m., when Master would come out and put us into meditation. He would again come out around 10:30 and ask of our experiences. Often He would count the Westerners, laughing, saying,

I’ m counting my children, see!

– and if a ‘chick’ was missing He’d ask where he or she had gone. He told us not to go anywhere without informing Him, and to take someone from the Ashram with us, so as not to get lost or in difficulty. Such practical concern gave us a lot of reassurance, as travellers in an unfamiliar land.

In the evening, after meditation, the Westerners had a chance to talk more personally to Master. Since He had told us to do at least three sittings of two hours each daily, He would ask how much we had sat that day, and answer any questions.

As the Birthday drew near, the Ashram family grew and grew. The day before Master’s Birthday, 5^th February, was the first official day of the celebration. From evening to morning bhajans were in the air. That morning we all sat together as usual. Master spoke briefly in Hindi, and then asked us to keep up our meditations.

On the evening of the 5^th, the first of four big meetings was held. We walked over to a large field roofed with green and red patterned tenting and floored with rugs, stretching far back, with a wide raised dais up front. We arrived early, entered behind the dais and sat directly in front of it. While waiting for Master, some very intriguingly dressed people mounted the stage: orange, red, white, and yellow robes, as well as stiff black coats, appeared; long hair and no hair, neat hair and wild shaggy hair, neatly trimmed white beards and long scraggly white beards. A devotee began singing a heart-felt devotional bhajan, while everyone waited with anticipation for Master’s arrival. As time went by we became aware of an enormous murmuring behind us. Looking around, we saw a vast sea of faces stretching far back into the evening darkness beyond the end of the tent. Upturned eyes were glistening in the bright lights of the dais.

Finally, Master ascended the platform. Sitting, His form radiated a mountain-like composure. As He gazed out over the multitude, I was literally charged by the compassion in His radiant eyes. It felt like He was keenly conscious of each and every individual in that sea of about 30,000 souls. The murmur of voices was hushed. There was silence, and only the Master’s eyes looking upon us.

Master gave a short address in Hindi. Then, for the following three hours, the invited speakers presented an incredible kaleidoscopic show of contrasting religions, viewpoints, personalities, practices, and vibrations. Chanting Tibetan lamas fading into triple harmonics; a singing yogi, like a young Shiva, creating universes with hand motions; serious-faced, black coated Muslims, who brought an air of deserts and hot sun; a ruddy, smooth-skinned glowing yogi expounding on how the Light of God shines through the atoms of matter; a neat Christian priest who sat primly for hours and hours; and early Indian revolutionaries, not originally of the non-violent school – one had been in jail 32 years, nine of which were spent with Mahatma Gandhi; he had long wild white hair, was dressed in simple Gandhian homespun, and gently laughed about humankind in such an infectious manner that everyone also laughed.

These and many others mounted the dais during the evening. Often Master,when He was greeted by a new arrival, was very joyful.

Throughout the great variety of religious and philosophical thought presented on the stage, there came from Master the sense of a common thread running through all the viewpoints. He seemed to be the still centre in the hurricane of ideas. Master sat there, quietly listening, occasionally joining the speaker in a smile or laugh. There was no trace of comparison or criticism; rather each speaker was considered a perfect flower in his own right, all together composing a flower garden of various hues. To continue the metaphor, Master, all the time silently aware, was like the air or earth which nourishes all growing things.

Toward the end our minds became quite wearied with so many hours of sometimes strident sound and thought. Finally, to our joy, Master’s turn came.

He said,

Now let’s have three minutes of silent meditation.

The vast congregation sank into a deep silence, and the echoes of the evening voices faded away into a mysterious peace which wafted in like a gentle breeze. Truly, silence speaks louder than words.

At 4 a.m. in the morning darkness of 6^th February, His birthday, those at the Ashram gathered under a large lighted canopy in front of Master’s house. Suddenly the man singing the bhajan over the loudspeakers was cut off and the lights went out, due to a power failure. A murmur of concern went up from the women’s side. But someone arose with a beautiful Song to Kirpal, and soon the darkness was peaceful. After an hour, the light returned, and with it, Master came to the dais. Before dawn, all together under one striped and patterned roof, the group, although about 5,000 had a feeling of intimacy. Master seemed very tired and His words were heavy, like a fully-ripe fruit tree. He told us all to work while the sun is shining for I am the Light of the world as long as I am in the world, and when the sun goes down, it will be too late and we will cry. Our hearts too were heavy.

By 9 a.m. a vast crowd, estimated at 50,000, had assembled at the tent-field nearby, and Master came to put us into meditation. A profound stillness settled upon us, graced by our Father’s living presence upon the dais. The souldrops of so many individuals melted into an Ocean of Silence, all embracing. It was awesome to sink into that vast primeval ocean. The thrilling hope arose that if so many brothers and sisters could sit together in such peace, perhaps, someday, we shall overcome!

The following day, in the evening, was the special meeting at the Vigyan Bhavan in New Delhi. After all the important people had left, at the very end, Tai Ji began a beautiful devotional bhajan to Master. We spontaneously got to our feet and walked slowly down to the front, forming a ring, gazing up at Tai Ji and Master with a very peaceful exhaustion.

Sawan Ashram was so crowded those days it seemed little like a centre of peaceful retreat. But despite all the noise and confusion, there was generally an atmosphere of great friendliness and joy. Especially the poor people, dressed in dusty wraps with maybe a lop-sided turban, had eyes which shined with Master’s teaching and hearts full of fellow-feeling. This became especially evident after initiation.

The morning of the 8^th, canvas walls were erected around the lawn in front of the guest house, and those seeking initiation assembled. Loudspeakers were arranged to cope with the large number of people: 1,003 Indians and four Westerners. I was one of the four. Master came and gave initiation in Hindi, and someone whispered a translation to us, so we caught the gist of what He said.

It was a wonderful time, and afterwards I truly felt blissfully transformed. After it was over, I followed Master’s footsteps to His house, and as He waved to the people thronging there, I had a strange sense of the Unity, the non-separation of all things. It was as if the Master Who was waving and the people waving back were all the same person, the same Mind. And even the air, the wall, the trees and all manifested things, also partook of that Consciousness. It was only a flash, but how satisfying!

Later, as I walked towards the Ashram gate, saying Simran for the first time, I was surrounded by a group of devotees. One who spoke English said they had wanted to speak to me before, but had been afraid of language difficulties. Now they came – as if some wall had been broken. We played together for a while, exchanging broken Hindi and English, and one smiling brother put his floppy turban on my head. I walked on feeling strangely happy.

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Footnote: 1) By Western reckoning, His 79^th.