Meanwhile, Gujrati’s son also arrived. He had a saffron-coloured kurta on him. The dhoti was yellow in colour and he was wearing kharau. His face radiated innocence. Gujrati said, ‘Son, your aunt has come. Read out something to her.’
Immediately, the boy lowered his head to touch my feet and started chanting a holy verse in Sanskrit. His voice and articulation was so touching that I couldn’t stop my tears. I wish he had eyes, who knows what he would have done? Nature had balanced this loss by giving him such a voice.
Gujrati looked at the boy with motherly pride in her eyes and said, ‘Sister, I have started sending him to Shastriji to study. I take him to his house in the morning and bring him back in the evening. He takes his lunch at Shastriji’s house. The priest is a good person. He is very kind to him. He says that within two years the boy will be able to perform religious rituals. He can understand the meaning of the Bhagavad Gita at this age. Someday I will make him recite a katha to you. I thought he wouldn’t be able to do any other work. If he learns this profession, he’ll somehow manage to survive.’ The women of the village had gathered; I went and sat there with them. They were waiting for me. The singing started. Gujrati went towards the storeroom. Food was being cooked in the courtyard. Puris were being fried. Guests were milling around outside the door. People from nearby villages had also been invited. It was evening. She wanted the guests to finish their meal before it got too dark. She looked very sprightly. There were no signs of ageing and laziness. The ceremony was conducted in such a way that there was no reason for complaint. On the third day, after much persuasion, Gujrati bade me farewell.4
But this new house didn’t suit Gujrati. An old sadhu came and stopped at the village. Gujrati served him well. Her son Satya Dev often went to the baba and sat with him. One day Babaji disappeared with him. People looked for them everywhere. His physical features were reported to the police. I also had this publicized through many newspapers but there was no clue. This boy was her lifeline. I feared that she wouldn’t be able to overcome this grief. A few days later when I came to know that she had left on a pilgrimage, my doubt was confirmed. I felt very sad. The once lush garden had turned desolate. A helpless widow’s wishes and courage had been trampled upon mercilessly.
It took Gujrati a year to complete her pilgrimage. She had assumed that she would find out something about Satya Dev in the holy places. But after a year’s search, she returned. When I heard the news of her arrival I made plans to visit her. I wanted to commiserate with her. But one or the other obstacle came up. I couldn’t free myself for six months. However, in the seventh month I set aside my other responsibilities and arrived in my village.
I had thought that Gujrati’s door would be desolate and lifeless, and that she would be sitting with a grief-stricken face like other illiterate people. But when I arrived at her door, quite contrary to my expectations, I found the surroundings bustling and lively. In the courtyard outside, rose and jasmine had bloomed in flower beds. Creepers crawled over the temple arches. Two or three sadhus were sitting near the well and smoking ganja. I stepped inside, there were many cows and buffaloes tied in the inner courtyard. The calves were mooing. It was nine o’clock. On one side curd was being mixed. On the other side, milk was boiling in large pots. There were cages hanging on the four sides of the veranda with birds inside them. In one corner, a baby deer was having milk from a bowl. The moment she saw me, Gujrati ran to me and embraced me. There wasn’t a single piece of jewellery on her body, save for the kanthi around her neck and the silver bangles on her wrist. But her face was suffused with liveliness. Her big eyes were soulful. The words of condolence came to my lips but I couldn’t utter them. She sensed what was on my mind and broke the ice and said, ‘Come, sister. My heart was longing to see you. You made me wait a lot. Is everybody well at home? Are the children fine?’
I said, ‘It seems an entire cowshed has been set up at your place.’
‘Yes, this is the cowshed for all the children of the village. People should do some good work in their lifetime. This milk is fed to the children of the entire village. Sometimes sadhus and saints pay a visit. I give some to them also. I have kept the birds so I don’t get bored. My days are spent in the upkeep of these animals. I don’t hide things from you. I can’t just sit moaning and stay idle. And why should I weep? Earlier I used to do everything single-handedly for Satya Dev. Now I do it for all the children. When they come and have their share of milk, I cannot describe the happiness I feel in my heart. Had Satya Dev been alive I would have missed this. Sometimes even bad may lead to good. The village people provide fodder. I do not do anything but my heart feels content, now my only desire is to build a small dharmashala in the village. I think about it day and night. Let us see when God fulfils my desire. If I could accomplish this before death, my life would be meaningful. You will also have to help me in
