Crocodile Jaws

I am a registered medical practitioner, engaged in a long-term practice at Uravakonda, Anantapur District, Andhra Pradesh [Southern India]. During a time of difficult circumstances and their effects on me, I once became involved in a vicious habit—taking injections of morphine. I began with two injections a day. Within eight days, in June of 1968, I fell into the habit of taking four injections per day. In another fortnight, I needed eight, and within a month after that, I was giving myself 16 injections of morphine a day. In another month, my body clamored for 20 injections. This continued for only three more months, until I had to take 30 injections every day. For the life of me, I could discover no method by which I could reduce the intake.

My income from medical practice was about 800 to 1000 rupees per month. All that income proved insufficient for the morphine I had to give myself. I sold off five acres of my land for 13,000 rupees; this amount plus the money I got from the patients lasted for only sixteen months. I sold another three acres for 10,000 rupees that pulled me through another sixteen months. At the end of that period, I had no money left. Then I sold the building sites I had in the town for 6,000 rupees and spent it on morphine during the next eight months. I clung to the income from the remaining land, but my earnings were swallowed up by the vicious habit that had “possessed” me.

I have ten children—6 girls and 4 boys. My wife had already died. I never paid any thought during all those years to how the poor little ones were managing to exist. Of course, they suffered much for want of food and clothing. They went through manifold miseries. They used to wait outside my room and when they saw a patient give me a little money, they would cry piteously for it. “Father, give it to us. We shall purchase some grain with it and some snacks.” I used to drive them away with foul interjections. I never worried about what they ate or how they managed. Some of the patients who came to me used to occasionally pay part of my fees to the children. With this meager source they kept flesh and bone together. Nine years passed thus. I was driven to such despair that I started tackling the problem of how to get rid of this vice. But I could not reduce the intake even by the slightest amount. When, on some days, I took less than on previous days, I suffered extreme agony. I had pain all over my body, yawning, sweating, fears, effusion of saliva, stuttering cramps—these gave me great distress. So how could I possibly stop the injections altogether? How could I escape from the coils of this drug? On account of the high cost of this habit, my family had been ruined. My medical practice declined and dried up. My physical health also deteriorated from day to day. Of course, I repented in my heart of hearts for this fault, but what could I do? I found it impossible to escape.

One of my friends who had fallen victim to morphine had gone to Madras and returned after a cranial operation by which they said his habit could be got rid of. Another doctor friend had gone to Madras and stayed for four months. After undergoing treatment there, he had given up the morphine habit. But the first friend had spent 3500 rupees and the second had spent 5,000 rupees. I wanted to go, but I had no money at all. But I had to continue the injections. I begged and borrowed, visited hospitals and somehow managed to pull through with the minimum quota of 30 to 35 injections.

Nine years passed. I ran through 40,000 rupees during that period. I could not free myself from the habit nor even reduce the intake. I realized that one can free himself from the jaws of a crocodile sooner than from the jaws of morphine.

Meanwhile, a bhajan samaja [community of devotional singers] had started working in our town—devotees of Bhagavan Sri Sathya Sai Baba. They held their bhajans at the temple near my house. My friend, Dr. N. Anjaneyulu, M.A., Ph.D. was its organizer. One day—a Thursday (they did bhajan every Thursday)—I went into the temple and sat in the far distant corner, listening to the bhajans. During bhajan, a desire arose in my mind. I said, “Baba! You were my classmate, here in the High School, years ago. You must remember me. You must know the depths to which this habit has dragged me. There are some who doubt you and many who adore you as God. I am not involving myself in that controversy now. Through my own experience, I want to find the truth. If you can bless me with the mental courage and strength to get out of this vicious morphine habit, I shall believe that you are God.” With this vow, taken with a full heart, I steadied myself. Within a few seconds, the bhajan ended. The devotees distributed Vibhuti [holy ash] to everyone. Holding the packets in my palm as a precious gift and resolving to rely upon Baba for the strength to free myself, I returned home. I decided that whatever happened, however hard the conditions, I would not take a single injection of morphine for three full days. If, on the fourth day, I were free from the tentacles of morphine, I told myself, I would adore Baba just as these people were doing at the temple.

The first day I did not take a single injection, not even one. I had no calls of nature that day. I had profuse sweating, cramps in the muscles, a burning sensation all over my body, wild imaginings, streams of tears, and a cough. These gave me a terrible time. But I swallowed small quantities of the Vibhuti and carried on in spite of everything.

The second day was worse. The urine and stools were full of blood; frightful thoughts of suicide haunted me. The third day dawned. I had determined and sworn that I would take no morphine that day either.  But I felt that I might not survive the third day. When night came, I began shouting and wailing aloud, in some kind of inexplicable pain. I hit the floor with my feet; I hit my head against the pillow; I blabbered wildly and loudly. The children wept and wailed, awakening the neighbors in the houses nearby. Some friends of mine came in and, seeing my condition, shed tears of sympathy with the children. A doctor friend came at about three a.m., and, realizing that my pitiable condition was due to my not taking the morphine, brought four injections with him. He told me, “I have brought these. Take the injections.” But, I replied, “Doctor, the promise I have given to Swami will lapse tomorrow. Keep the four safe, until morning.” The time was then 3:45 a.m. My children were sitting all around me. I told my little daughter, Hafiza Begum, “Go and get me the Vibhuti of Swami that I have kept on that shelf over there.” She brought it and gave it to me. I took a pinch and placed it on my tongue and drank some water to wash it down.

In about ten minutes, I fell asleep! During sleep, I felt as if I were on a pilgrimage. I slept nicely until 11 a.m. the next day, the fourth day. Exactly as promised, the doctor friend, hearing that I had awakened from sleep, came at about noon with the four morphine injections. When he came, I was reclining in my easy chair, calm and collected, with no sign of any after effects—no cough, no sneeze, no haw or hum. The doctor asked me, softly, “Dear Friend! How do you feel?” I replied, equally softly, “By Swami’s grace, my mind is clear and calm.” Then he said, “In that case, I believe you have no need of this morphine.” I said, in a firm tone, “No. There is no need.” The doctor was overjoyed. “Ah! What happy news you have given us! How pleasant to the ears! At last, after all these years, Swami has showered His grace on you,” the doctor said. He went out to a fruit shop, brought two apples and placed them in my hands. He left with the morphine he had brought for me.

Since that day, three months ago, I have never had the slightest inclination towards morphine. My health has improved a great deal, and is getting better and better every day. My medical practice has also picked up fast. My children are happy.

The Wednesday after my recovery from the hold of the crocodile, morphine, I joined the nagarasankirtan group that passed by my house. Reaching the temple with them, I related to all the devotees of Bhagavan the story of my vow and its fulfillment. My friends, relatives, and well-wishers were all very happy when they came to know of Baba’s grace. I have now no doubt that the divine will of Swami can cure everyone suffering from such vicious habits, provided they surrender to him. For myself, I am convinced that He is Divine and that His grace alone has saved me and can save me.

~Dr K. Meeramohiuddian, Uravakonda
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, December 1977