Son and Father
Baba has a way of being so close to us, so completely with us, yet the next moment being so far away. Who could know where to look for Him, much less reach Him? A sudden smile or chuckle surprises and reassures us. Then, just as unexpectedly, the intense silence resumes.
Baba passes by me without a glance, stops walking and stands in front of Dad. “What do you want?” He asks him, then turns and continues to walk as though He isn’t interested in the answer. I’ve never seen Dad look so confounded. He is anxious and fidgety.
What would I say if Baba asked me that? I want a ring? No. First of all, I shouldn’t sit here thinking selfishly about what I would want. Secondly, that’s material. I should want something spiritual.
What a rare opportunity for Dad. I should think of what would be best for him, what would make him happy. Again Baba approaches with His aura of focused silence. Again, He stops and asks Dad, “What do you want?” He waits for a moment this time, and then resumes walking. For a second, it looks as if Dad is going to say something, maybe ask a question. But he doesn’t. He just shifts his legs. He looks troubled.
Yes. I want a ring from Baba. (Come on. Think of Dad. Quit being selfish!) Anyway, where do I get this idea all of a sudden that I want a ring? I’ve never worn a ring in my life. I thought I was above desires like this. I thought I was one who didn’t need to have Baba materialize something for me in order to have faith.
For the third time, Baba comes around and stops in front of Dad. This time it looks as though Baba isn’t going to budge from that spot until He gets an answer. He stares at Dad. Dad is really squirming. His eyes are red. What is it, Dad? (I wish I could help you.) “What do you want?” comes the question, slowly, for the third time. Baba’s eyes are unblinking, His face stern, even cold. He waits. Dad starts crying. “I… it’s so… it’s just that I… Swami, I can’t say it…” (Oh, Dad…) Baba’s face remains unsmiling, but His eyes soften. What is it that you can’t say, Dad? “You teach people as a minister?” Baba says. “Yes…?” Dad looks up at Baba,
“To teach properly, you must first hear correctly. Then digest what you hear. If you only hear and then teach without digesting, this is bad. Not good teaching. Understanding and assimilation of the teaching that is heard is most important. First, you must hear correctly. Then you can teach correctly. But if there is no correct understanding, there can be no correct teaching. You understand?” “Yes.”
Baba looks down and makes three or four fast circles with his right hand, palm down. Suddenly he makes a fist and holds it still. He turns his hand up and opens it. Held in his fingers is a large silver colored ring. Baba looks at the ring and then at Dad, who seems totally bewildered. Baba smiles; He takes hold of Dad’s large right hand and slips the ring on. With an impulsive, awkward movement that is quite out of character, Dad rips off his glasses and wipes his eyes. He looks astonished at what is now on his finger. “A ring! Oh, it’s beautiful! And it fits perfectly. Oh Swami, thank you. Oh, my, it’s so beautiful.” His tears flow. (I’ve never seen him so moved, so happy.) “Doctor, it is my pleasure,” Baba says playfully, beaming. It’s time to go. Baba disappears. Everyone starts getting up.
“Can I see it, Dad?” Tears are streaming down his face. I hold his hand and look at a cameo of a three-headed figure sitting cross-legged on a large rock with a dog and other little animals at its feet. The ring’s blues, reds, and greens look liquid and other worldly. It feels ancient, not like something that was just made. Nor does it look antique, rather truly ancient.
We are walking out among the others, who are crowding around, anxious to see. We step outside. An older Indian gentleman with white hair and glasses says, “Doctor, may I see the ring?” He is one of the very few who is with Baba much of the time. Everyone lets him pass through to get closer to Dad. “Why, of course, perhaps you could tell me what the image on it means,” Dad says. The man looks at the ring for a moment, and says, “Yes. That is the God Dattatreya.”
“Datta… Could you please repeat that…?” Dad gets out his pen and quickly scrawls on a scrap of paper he pulls from his pocket. “Certainly, Dattatreya is the embodiment of the divine guru, the spiritual teacher. The three heads represent the faculties of right hearing, right understanding, and right teaching. Dattatreya is God Himself in the form of the guru. Notice that on your ring he is seated in the pose of Sai Baba of Shirdi, Swami’s previous incarnation.” “Yes, I see that. What do the animals represent?”
“Animals?” The man takes a closer look. “Oh yes. Yes, here.” “Perhaps they symbolize man’s lower nature,” Dad suggests. “Yes. That would make sense. And so Dattatreya sits with them at his feet to symbolize mastery over the lower nature of man.” He pauses, studying it. “It is a beautiful ring. In my years with Baba, I have never seen one like it.”
Next a friend examined the ring. Dad turned to him. “Who was that man explaining what the ring represents?” Dad asked. “That’s the top physicist of India,” replied the friend.
~Christopher Curtis Rudolf, U.S.A.
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, March 1987
