for us all! Below this hill near Meherabad well, is the grave of the saint who insisted on being buried there — long before Baba came, saying a Great Being would one day make it His abode.
Time to go! The sun was setting over the Palestine-like hills and the once-a-day Admednagar train was puffing up the valley. A crowd of ragged boys shouted "Avatar Meher Baba" as our car passed and we returned their greeting. Baba's name was chalked out on the broken walls of the old Fort against which the Arangaon villagers had built their simple thatched huts where man and beast share and share alike.
We drove home through a fantasia of exquisite cloud-mountains charging over the great plains stretching on either side. Nowhere in the world could one see so much land at once. We stopped again at the Dak-Bungalow where I exchanged a few hurried goodbyes. As we neared Poona, lightning dickered and danced for a hundred miles east, west, north, south, like the play of Baba's fingers. Was He signaling? It was pitch dark (8:30 p.m.) as we rode past the lighted gates of Guruprasad for the last rime, calling out softy, "Goodbye, Baba!”
That was the last time our West Coast group saw His abode, for we had to scramble to the Poona station early next morning as flocks of lazy crows wheeled against a rosy sky and the red-turbaned porters fought to carry our bags — away from Baba! When would we see Him again? In this life ― in another seven hundred years? I pressed a little love-note into Jalbhai’s hand, as he said he'd be seeing Baba that morning. And then we were jumping on the Kiplingesque train and lumbering down through the Deccan foothills, back to Bombay and the plane "home" From now on, after visiting Baba's homeland, "home" will always he in quotes!
It was a beautiful clear day as our plane flew straight across India. . . and there lay Poona, far below ― a cluster of white buildings against a bend in the river. Down there — was God in human form. And we had seen Him, laughed and talked with Him, embraced Him. Would anyone believe it? Not many ― not now, but in the centuries to come, the whole world would know His Name.
Those who stayed on had one more glimpse of Baba on the day He left Poona for Meherazad. Bili Eaton describes it as follows:
"We did see Baba on the day we left, November 10. We arrived at the mango tree in the Bund garden at 7:00 am. and waited for Him for about