the pillow from Meherabad, the long Arabian gown made as a gift by the women mandali, His pink coat worn daily when giving darshan; the dark patched 'Kamli Coat' and sadra, the mended chappals He wore for so many years; the garland of cloth flowers, made from the saris of the women . . . And His writing-desk, on which He wrote the famous book. Jal told me how he used to bring Baba's food to this room, when Baba was writing the book—no one was allowed to see it . . . but, once he was asked by Baba to draw some figures in it . . .He also explained how Rano drew the big chart of the "Ten Circles" under Baba's direction; first in pencil, then, after correction by Baba, in colors. I asked Rano later if Baba ever explained the chart, and she said no.

Outside on the veranda, another case held a kitestring, marbles, a Parcheesi and a checker board all used by Baba; I got a kick out of that as I design toys for a living! Baba—the Master game-player of all . . .a game called Maya!

I gave my hotel lunch to someone . . . and just sat under the pandal, looking over at the tomb silhouetted against the desert sky, while some Indian women sang the Arti. How soon would all this be spoiled, built up, a Rome of pilgrimage? A few hundred years . . . We will all be reborn then—will we make the pilgrimage too, and wish we could have seen Baba in the flesh! Will we follow a 'Baba religion, of rites and ceremonies? Yet what is a religion—but a remembrance of God? How should one remember the Avatar? Is a prayer, a song, a chant any worse or better than the silent thought? How can one communicate and share memories of Baba? The burden now is on all who knew Him, who met Him . . . How will they, or can they, communicate with future generations?

But now it is all so peaceful, serene, rippling with love. And the young ones, who never met Baba, feel him intensely. They question Padri, the keeper of Meherabad, Adi, Meherjee, Jal . . . and Mansari, the woman who has lived on Meherabad Hill all these years. I slip into the Tomb once more to bow to Beloved's feet . . .

Soon, we go down the hill to see the mens' hall. With its thatched roof and whitewashed walls and fading pictures of Beloved . . . thence to Mohammed, the Mast, now said to be on the 6th plane. He's bald, dark, with flower-like ears and dark, slow moving eyes . . .sparkling with "treasure". Sarosh: "Where is Baba?" Mohammed: "Baba is in Samadhi". Sarosh: "What will happen to the world now?" Mohammed: "The world will prosper." Sarosh: "Now bless all these people who have come from the West." Mohammed: "I am blessing them." Julie McNall plays a poignant "Begin the Beguine" for Mohammed.

I sat and rested, others went inside. The enclosure where Baba wrote His Book; Gustadji's grave, the dhuni fire which Baba lit for the people of Arangaon when they had no rain. After the rain came, the people built a platform around it and now light a dhuni fire on the 12th of every month. There were dried flowers from Baba's samadhi (tomb) there, fuel for the next fire.

On to Meherazad, where Baba and the mandali have been living in recent years. We saw the beautiful gardens, the blue "bus" in which was Baba's hospital bed, and then—the Avatar's bedroom. "Heavy vibes" in here —of love, and suffering, of power and peace. To walk through the room was like walking through silent light, it was difficult.

3:45 P.M. Next stop: Ahmednagar, and the Center there. We crowded in, leaving our shoes at the door. Sarosh greeted us. He said Baba had opened this Center and had sat here for half an hour. Sarosh told us Baba appeared to him in a vision saying He wanted a Center in Ahmednagar before Sarosh dropped the body. So—he did! Julie played Begin the Beguine again, we hummed along. Jay Falk sang Avatar; then Adi and the Indians sang ghazals (pronounced guzzles) while Adi played the harmonium. These famous ghazals were first sung before Baba. Adi translated:

"'You have made me a victim of the Sword of Your Beauty and Your Love! Love and Beauty are symbolized by a sword. The Beloved is called the murderer because He's killing the sanskaras of the lover. 'It is only You that has made me worthy of Your Love. It is Your greatness, Your status. You have made it possible to see