Stopped In Our Tracks
Stories of U.G. In India from the Notebooks of K. ChandrasekharTranslated and Edited by J.S.R.L. Narayana Moorty 2d/3d Series
My Touch Will Multiply Life
U.G. tries to keep himself away from people who want to get physically very close to him. Day in and day out, he takes care not to give any opportunity to people who come to see him either to touch his feet or to fall on him by forgetting themselves in their passion of devotion. Notwithstanding this, there have been occasions, although they have been rare, when some people caught in the intoxication of U.G.'s personal magnetism have forgotten themselves, and created problems for him.
For instance, Jitendra Reshamwala, every time he saw U.G., no matter how much U.G. would try to stop him or prevent him, even try to run away to keep himself beyond reach, wouldn't let go of U.G. without hugging him with both his arms and showering his cheeks with kisses. He wouldn't stop with that. He would hold U.G.'s hands and squat down on the floor near U.G.'s feet. It is not by virtue of his age that he gained such liberty with U.G. He was no older than U.G. He was probably a bit over sixty years. When he came five years ago to see U.G. for the first time, he was renowned as a guru only among his Gujarati devotee groups in Hyderabad.
In course of time, his fame spread not only in the rest of this country, but also abroad, and earned him many disciples. Although he has been struck with blood cancer for the last six years, he always looked jubilant like a young boy. Everyone addressed him as 'Baba,' and he addressed everyone else as 'Baba.' "I am still alive only because of U.G. Baba, or else the cancer would have got me a long time ago," he used to say.
That day, on October 29, I told U.G. that Jitendra Baba was on the phone. Jitendera would never hesitate to travel from Hyderabad to Bangalore. He had to see U.G., touch him and kiss him—that was his only life-aim. "Where is my U.G. Baba?" he was asking me on the phone. U.G. was signing to me as if not to tell him. "You want me to tell you the truth, Baba?" I asked.
He laughed loudly on the other end: "I know, U.G. Baba doesn't want you to tell me. He is afraid that I will come to Bangalore again. Tell him that I want to talk to him once." U.G. picked up the phone. I was listening to their conversation from another phone. "U.G. Baba, I would like to come and stay in your London flat," he said.
"You are most welcome. But I will be away. If you want, you can stay there alone," said U.G. abruptly.
Jitendra laughed aloud: "Baba, it's just your love for me that is keeping me alive. The cancer has become stable at a certain stage. Although the condition is not improving, it has not deteriorated," he said.
U.G. replied, "It is not because of my love. If it is from my love, it would have sent you to the grave by now. Cancer means living cells spreading without limit. And my touch will multiply their life and energy. It won't try to stop their spread and extend your life." I didn't feel like listening to their conversation anymore.
For instance, Jitendra Reshamwala, every time he saw U.G., no matter how much U.G. would try to stop him or prevent him, even try to run away to keep himself beyond reach, wouldn't let go of U.G. without hugging him with both his arms and showering his cheeks with kisses. He wouldn't stop with that. He would hold U.G.'s hands and squat down on the floor near U.G.'s feet. It is not by virtue of his age that he gained such liberty with U.G. He was no older than U.G. He was probably a bit over sixty years. When he came five years ago to see U.G. for the first time, he was renowned as a guru only among his Gujarati devotee groups in Hyderabad.
In course of time, his fame spread not only in the rest of this country, but also abroad, and earned him many disciples. Although he has been struck with blood cancer for the last six years, he always looked jubilant like a young boy. Everyone addressed him as 'Baba,' and he addressed everyone else as 'Baba.' "I am still alive only because of U.G. Baba, or else the cancer would have got me a long time ago," he used to say.
That day, on October 29, I told U.G. that Jitendra Baba was on the phone. Jitendera would never hesitate to travel from Hyderabad to Bangalore. He had to see U.G., touch him and kiss him—that was his only life-aim. "Where is my U.G. Baba?" he was asking me on the phone. U.G. was signing to me as if not to tell him. "You want me to tell you the truth, Baba?" I asked.
He laughed loudly on the other end: "I know, U.G. Baba doesn't want you to tell me. He is afraid that I will come to Bangalore again. Tell him that I want to talk to him once." U.G. picked up the phone. I was listening to their conversation from another phone. "U.G. Baba, I would like to come and stay in your London flat," he said.
"You are most welcome. But I will be away. If you want, you can stay there alone," said U.G. abruptly.
Jitendra laughed aloud: "Baba, it's just your love for me that is keeping me alive. The cancer has become stable at a certain stage. Although the condition is not improving, it has not deteriorated," he said.
U.G. replied, "It is not because of my love. If it is from my love, it would have sent you to the grave by now. Cancer means living cells spreading without limit. And my touch will multiply their life and energy. It won't try to stop their spread and extend your life." I didn't feel like listening to their conversation anymore.
