The Darshan at Dawn

In the darkness of the misty morn
Rise silent prayers from a waiting crowd,
Each, in the solitude of his own thoughts,
Waits and watches.

The sun hath not risen yet,
The mist still settles in the heavy air,
All around, Nature in her native glory
Waits and watches.

The doves are hidden in the niches,
Each, in her turn, bides her time,
As the lonely elephant
Waits and watches.

Anon, as from nowhere,
In the center of the temple door
The Living God appears,
“Brighter than a thousand suns,”
Radiant in form, robed in red,
A halo of hair holding a beautiful face,
Slender in figure, of graceful import,
BABA stands before the silent crowd.

There is a stir in the air,
All hands are clasped in prayer,
Gently, softly He walks
A few steps forward,
To feast the fasting eyes
Of many a man, woman, and child,
And cast an all‑embracing glance,
As though drawing each soul to Himself,
Moving His hand in circles slow,
Palm upward, one couldn’t guess why.

“Om Sri Sai Ram,” “Om Namo Namostu”
Rise like a soft whisper from all around,
An awe fills the air, a bliss sublime;
All eyes are fixed on that form divine,
Hearts full to the brim, with love
That knows no understanding,
Eyes, overflowing with joyful tears,
Hands clasped together in ardent prayer
That one moment those divine eyes
May rest on each lowly form
And bless it in abundance.

The air is still, the distant hills
Stand in obeisance,
Peace reigns supreme, and then,
As though all good things must end,
The Radiant Form retreats
Toward the silver door,
A moment, and He is gone, —still
Leaving behind His Presence unseen.

Was it a command?
The mist lifts from the air,
The birds are aloft,
All nature hums with life,
A stifled shuffle of footsteps,
And the lingering crowds disperse.

~Ratnavathi
Source: Sanathana Sarathi, Feb. 1974