“You have to come!” Another excerpt from Neelam’s book

The train is about to leave. He invites me to the upcoming meditation camp at Kullu Manali at the end of September. I tell Him that it is not feasible for me to attend the camp as Amarjeet and I recently went for a vacation and Neenu is not even a year old. He looks into my eyes and authoritatively says, “You have to come. If you want to come, you will come.” He emphasises that, if necessary, I must come alone. Alone? I can never think of going anywhere alone, not even to my parental home! As if catching my thoughts, He addresses Kapil, “Don’t come without Neelam. Bring her with you.” As the train slowly begins to move, the handle of the compartment door starts to slip away from my hand. He looks deeply at my misty eyes and repeats, “You are going to come, Neelam. I am waiting. I will wait for you in Manali. You have to come.” The seed of His gaze, His words, is sown deep in my heart…. I know deep down that I have no choice but to be there in Manali, in His presence.

With September approaching, I start planning the trip with Kusum and Kapil. My deep joy at the chance of meeting Acharya Shree is evidently contagious… mummy and pitaji can’t resist the temptation to join us and as we get closer to the camp dates, we decide to take Neenu along too. Now Amarjeet doesn’t want to be the only one not going… Hurrah! To my great excitement, all of us, along with the house help, hop in the family car, and we set off.

We arrive on the day before the camp is to begin and check into a comfortable, cosy little cottage just a little uphill from Himachal Tourism’s Hotel Ashoka, where Acharya Shree would be arriving later today. I have already checked twice… going downhill through the bushes to see if He has reached, but His flight is delayed. In the evening, feeling quite annoyed, I go downhill for the third time. He has arrived, yes, but instead of Him, I meet Laxmi; a short, frail Gujarati woman in her mid-thirties who I know became His secretary this July. She turns down my request to meet Him, saying that He is resting. Highly disappointed, I return to our cottage.

Early next morning, before the camp begins, I rush to see Him, but Laxmi tells me that He is in the bathroom getting ready for the talk and that I must wait on the lawn with all others. Now this is too much for me to bear! I feel so let down that I break down in tears still standing in the passageway outside His room…

Totally absorbed in crying, I take no notice when Acharya Shree comes out of His room and puts His hand softly on my shoulder. Impulsively, I brush His hand away and snap at Him for being late and being refused to see Him twice. Calmly, He offers me His nicely folded handkerchief. In haste, I wipe my tears and return it; Laxmi promptly replaces it with a fresh one. “You could have let her see me sleeping. She doesn’t disturb me,” he says to Laxmi. He is trying to pacify me… asking me to sit in front of Him during the discourse… Still upset, I refuse and leave in one swift move, to sit in one of the chairs at the far end of the lawn.

He playfully comes and sits beside me instead of sitting on the dais… One by one, people sitting on the ground facing the stage start to turn in our direction. A renowned painter and photographer from Rajkot, Dinu Rawal, here to attend the camp, starts taking photographs of us.

Acharya Shree is really enjoying himself, teasing me, “Tera jo sooja hua chehra hai uski photo aa rahi hai saabke pass. (Everyone is taking pictures of your swollen face.) I won’t start the talk until you smile.” Hearing this, I can’t help but laugh at my own immaturity. He then simply, very lovingly asks, “Mein joon? (May I leave?)” Now smiling, I nod a yes. He walks to the dais, settles down, His poise unruffled, and begins the discourse on the Hindu god, Lord Krishna.