Volume 13 Numbers 1-2 Page 12

Midway through this dedication to the "fathomless being," the huge chandeliers began to flicker, seemingly being tampered with by some playful discarnate spirit; indeed the Master spirit of them all! It was as though the Beloved were assuring His lovers that he heard and was pleased with their offering of love and adoration. Tears swelled and throats choked, turning the lovely melody into a throbbing chant. Truly His seekers were "having sight of the Master!" As Hank Mindlin said, "We understand every time Baba has a darshan it always rains. So I guess this is Baba's present to us! "

With the last chorus echoing about the room, lights again flickered and danced to the tempo of the music. With the closing plea of "Accept, Oh Meher, my song," ringing out, the lights flashed brightly and remained on to fill the room with a brilliant warmth. All outer senses dulled. Each heart was touched by the awareness of Baba 's overpowering presence in the hall and within each being. Then came the cry in unison, sounding like a shouting sob of a single soul . . .

After a long moment of silence, Baba's love was further glorified with Francis' reciting his ghazals, verse after verse filling each heart with knowledge of that love felt through each word. They were from his new book, "The Word at World's End." He read the first section, "Dream of Wet Pavement."

The rains had stopped. In departing the beautiful mansion, which had been the temporary abode for the God-Man on so many occasions, the throng strolled out into the Indian sun, ever more inspired by the oneness of that Being and their own.

An anticipation of the day ahead. . . voices spoke of movies taken at Baba's tomb to be viewed late afternoon; of shopping expeditions in Poona to acquire Indian relics to be cherished and shared with those at home; of plans to meet friends at various hotels for lunch or dinner; of the men's return to Guruprasad in the evening to meet in brotherhood with the men mandali; of another day of simply basking in the beauty of being with Baba and His closest disciples in His land that had grown so dear to all in just a few short days.

The late night found many exhausted bodies lying in the silence of their own thoughts, more acutely aware of the true meaning of "being tied to the Master." As had inevitably occurred to those who had been in the physical presence of Baba in the past, none were escaping the frustration of ego clashes; the sometimes agonizing process of grinding away of superficial self. All felt more keenly the emptiness of realizing the nothingness of illusion. But simultaneously all were propelled to greater heights of joy while experiencing the incredibitiliy of the Divine Gift of dangling on the end of a string attached to Avatar Meher Baba! All Hail!!!

This was the day of Darshan days. I had long forgotten the bustling worlds we had left behind not too long ago, or was it years ago? All that mattered was that we were in India, enjoying and receiving Baba's Darshan. This was reality. All else was illusion.

Now we were boarding the buses at 6:00 in the morning. We were to visit Baba's tomb in Meherabad and go on to Meherazad. It had rained the day before, the first rain of the long, hot, dry season of India. Everything was fresh and cool in the early morning. Already, the city was astir, with bullock carts ambling by, carrying mysterious loads; and yet there were those wrapped in sleep on mats strewn along the sidewalks, in yards, under trees. We gaily shouted: "Jai Baba" to the Mandali as they stood outside the gates of Guruprasad. We passed the Bund Garden where Baba used to sit under a Neem tree to give Darshan; then over the Poona river, dark green with light morning mist still hanging over it.

We sped on until we were out of the city and along a country road, lined with tall shade trees. Honking our horn at rickety trucks and bicycles that got in our way, we passed through an ever-changing panorama. There were long stretches of barren, parched land, where even the river beds were cakes of dry