Reference: posted by: vejeestu on 6/22/00 to Kirpal Singh Satsang Club; Message number 407-412
It may need a disaster to get you started with a new life. You may curse your fate at the time, but as the Divine Plan unfolds Itself, a day may come when you at last recognize that what had seemed your undoing was in fact the basis of your remaking.
March 26th, 1961, dawned like any other day. By the time it ended it was as though life itself had blacked out. A moment's misunderstanding, some heated words under the influence of liquor, my brother-in-law reaching for a pistol—and all was over. Never had I realized a day would come when I would curse my being a good marksman. A wife torn between grief for a brother and anxiety for her husband's future, children writhing at being parted from their father, lawyers and litigation expenses, months of suspense and appeals in the High Court and Supreme Court: it was a nightmare, and at the end of two years I was still in prison, doomed to capital punishment.
When all hope seemed gone I lay in the condemned prisoner's cell in the District Jail on the night of November 4th, 1963. It was only in the early hours of the morning after prayers that I dozed off. In sleep—it was more a vision than a dream—I was sitting in a locked cell in my underwear and with my hair untidy. Someone who seemed like a king visited my cell. I was confused, apologized for my state of disarray, and wanted to get dressed. My royal visitor smiled gently, and asked, "Do you meditate?" I replied in the affirmative, and he continued, "That is not enough. Meditate more!" "Very well Sir," I answered humbly. The king then stepped forward and told me that my work was done and reassuringly added, "Don't worry! Remember Him."
Saying these words, the royal figure left me. I woke up, and the vision was so vivid and so consoling, that I pondered much over it. Was there anything to it? What did it portend? Having washed myself, I sat down for meditation, and thereafter there was the usual jail routine. After breakfast, I was summoned by the jailer. When I entered his office, he walked towards me to congratulate me: my mercy petition, he informed me, had finally been accepted and my death sentence had been commuted to life imprisonment! My vision, still so vivid in my mind, had come true in barely four hours. My immediate problem seemed over, and as I was moved from the condemned prisoner's cell to a new ward, I wondered who it was who had appeared to reassure me and to give the happy tidings. I had twice had the love glances of Hazur Baba Sawan Singh in my home town, Kotkapura, during 1944-45 when I was still a school-boy, and had even attended a Satsang. But the figure I saw was a different one, and I wondered if it could be Guru Gobind Singh or one of the other Sikh Gurus.
The months passed by and I began to give more time to meditation; the sense of search had sharpened. In March 1964, I read that a Saint from Delhi had visited Lucknow and a summary of His talk was included in the newspaper report. I found myself so deeply moved reading of Sant Kirpal Singh, and though the name was unknown to me, on March 15th I wrote Him a letter. It was my birthday and it was to become for me the start of a new way of life.
I had shared my life's story and had spoken of my hardships and my desire to be put on the way to Truth. Three weeks later I received a loving letter from Maharaj Ji dated April 6th, 1964. Referring to my situation He said:
"It is in accordance with the reaction of some past Karma that sometimes one is placed in such trials, which are only passing phases. I am glad for your deep interest in the Gurbani which you recite daily. Indeed, the sacred scriptures serve as a loving lap of the mother where a child disciple is fondled in the divine intoxication and fosters a yearning for union with Him. Your longing for learning the technique of Naam Simran is genuine."
The Master then gave me meditation instructions.
The letter arrived in the afternoon, and that evening, as instructed by Maharaj Ji, I sat down for meditation. I had had experiences of inner Light during childhood, and they had returned to me in prison. When I sat down and engaged in Simran and Dhyan, what was new was not the Light—the Sound Current suddenly opened and I was carried away by its sweetness. There was a new joy, a new purpose which entered into my life; as I carried on with my meditations I progressed further, and whereever I was, whatever I did, the Master Power was with me through Shabd. If I had difficulties, I would write to Maharaj Ji, and He would always write back lovingly and give me guidance. I was to learn later that He had given special instructions for any letters sent by me to be delivered to Him unopened. I also received copies of Sat Sandesh, Man Know Thyself, and other satsang literature.
Baha Ullah has said, "You cannot have spiritual exaltation without having intense mental depression." And so along with this new joy, I had new problems. The Deputy Jailer did not take kindly to me, and all my frustrations and irritations would focus on him until it even began to get in the way of my meditations. When I raised the problem with Maharaj Ji, He wrote back in His letter of October 8th, 1964:
"The present physical life is a passing phase in the long journey of the soul from the lower categories of creation on to the True Home of the Father, Sach Khand. It is chiefly based on the reaction of past Karma which determine pain and pleasure. However, the gracious protection of the Satguru Power cuts short the duration and severity of pains considerably and affords chances for the dear ones to pass out unscathed. Your feelings towards the man who has apparently done you harm should be those of kindness and forgiveness as it does happen sometimes that the initiates into the Mysteries of the Beyond are obliged to undergo suffering in accordance with their past Karma. Such an attitude will absolve you of the after-effects and bless you with peace and serenity. Just resign to His divine Will and accept It cheerfully. Herein lies your spiritual welfare."
The letter was charged with Maharaj Ji's bliss, and His advice made me change my attitude. I was to be tested soon after in this. The Deputy Jailer insulted a fellow prisoner, and as a protest, some of us went on a fast. But when a Minister visited the prison the same day, I dissuaded my fellows from making a formal complaint. The Deputy Jailer was so touched by this unexpected gesture, that he not only thanked me profusely but from then on became more friendly.
But problems followed one after another. My father had a nervous breakdown on account of my fate. My mother died suddenly, and my wife developed consumption. She recovered, but not long after developed Psoas abscess. My children and some relatives wrote alarming letters, for there seemed little hope of her surviving. She was operated on, was in plaster, developed an infection and took a turn for the worse. Nonetheless, there was a strange and new sense of detachment that began to grow in me. Through prevision Maharaj Ji would prepare me for the calamities to come and strengthen me to meet them. During my wife's illness, in spite of everyone's alarm, He wrote to reassure me that all would be well. (Years later, when she first met Him at the Ashram, she remembered having seen Him reassuring her as she lay in a coma.)
Maharaj Ji in His letters encouraged this new detachment. He would bless me with His darshan and I would keep busy with meditation at night and make myself useful in working during the day in jail. I helped organize a workshop for repairing typewriters; all Government machines were sent to us for repairs. I would talk about the Master and about spirituality with my fellow prisoners and with the officers. I moved from one prison to another and, with the grace of the Master and His message of Love, I made many friends. One medical officer was an atheist, but he became deeply interested. We had many long discussions, and long before receiving initiation from Maharaj Ji, he gave up meat and drink.
But while Maharaj ji granted me patience to meet my worldly problems, as I grew closer to Him and progressed further, I had a deep yearning to meet Him in the flesh. Time and time again my requests for parole were turned down in spite of my good jail record and the recommendation of my jail superiors. By the end of 1967 my patience ran out, and I addressed a desperate letter to Maharaj Ji stating my sad plight—my inability to get away on parole to have His darshan. On January 11th, 1968, I received a note informing me that Maharaj Ji planned to visit Aligarh and I could look forward to His darshan then. I carried the news to the medical officer, and he was as intoxicated as I was and literally burst into a dance. Together we went and called on the Superintendent. He answered that the Master would be welcome and would be permitted to meet me. I replied that that was not enough; my visitor was no ordinary person but God Himself in human form—it was a rare privilege, and it was only right that all the prisoners and all the staff should have His darshan! As a matter of policy, jail authorities seldom allow opportunities when all the inmates can be together. But such was the Will of the Satguru, and such my persuasions and those of the medical officer that the Superintendent finally agreed, and issued the necessary instructions.
Unable to get away, and chained to the earth as a mountain, Mohammed was coming to see me! Such was my Satguru's love that He was traveling all the way to a prison to see me. The day at last arrived. It was March 7th, 1968. At 4:00 in the afternoon Maharaj Ji's car drew up outside the jail gates. The Superintendent, the medical offlcer, the jailer and other jail officials received Him and His party. They came to the jail park where I welcomed Kindest Master and we led Him to the dais. All prisoners were seated on the ground eagerly awaiting Him. Many of us, staff and prisoners, carried garlands and bouquets we had prepared for this moment. But as each of us approached Kindest Master He would smile and graciously give the flowers and the garlands back to whoever brought them. The Superintendent spoke a few words of welcome and said it was a rare privilege to have so great a personality among us. I had composed a poem in Urdu which I wrote to welcome Kindest Master. It began with the words:
"When this Ocean of Grace visits us, our destiny undergoes transformation. We are all lost in intoxication as this Cupbearer arrives to dispense the Wine of Naam."
I went up to the microphone and began reciting; my heart got so full that my eyes flowed with tears, my voice choked; and, presenting the poem to Maharaj Ji, I sat down. He then commenced His discourse — "Man Know Thyself." Everyone listened with rapt attention: the beautiful park blooming with winter flowers, the warmth of the late afternoon, and above all Kindest Master speaking to us in His own unique fashion giving us His love-glances—it was so peaceful, so charged, so intoxicating, so perfect.
When the discourse ended, we carried a basket of parshad for Kindest Master to bless. But He insisted on distributing it to all present Himself. It was a sight to see; He was giving the sweets in such large hand-fulls that many thought the sweets would not suffice for all present. He reassured them. Not only did He continue to give each one abundantly, but such was His grace that there was enough for everyone present. Kindest Master then inquired who had paid for the parshad. He looked at the Superintendent, but the Superintendent nodded in the negative. He looked at the medical officer with the same result. When He questioned again who it was, one of the officers pointed towards me. "How much did it cost?" He asked.
And when I kept protesting that it was all through His grace, He grew stern and the medical officer finally gave the figure. Maharaj Ji at once took out the sum from His purse and handed it to the Superintendent for me. (The All-Knowing Master knew that under jail regulations prisoners are not allowed to keep any money.) Seeing me distressed, He turned towards me and said with a loving smile and a pat on my back, "If I distribute the parshad I should pay for it. This money is my parshad to you."
Kindest Master had to go for another engagement but such had been His magnanimity that He gave us all so much time and so much love I whispered to ask Him if He could grant me initiation proper; He answered, "Whatever was given you in my letter is quite enough. You have already been initiated." As we reached the main gate I took out a new kerchief I had specially kept for the purpose, and began to wipe the Master's shoes. He stepped back and exclaimed, "When you have been given so much within why do you get involved in such outer things?" I answered that being human I could not but be involved in the outer, and proceeded to clean the shoes; Kindest Master let me do so. That kerchief remains a treasured remembrance of that first meeting with my Satguru in the flesh, for which I had almost despaired.
When we returned to our cells, many of us talked till midnight about the visit and the Satsang — there was a strange sense of peace which one hardly associates with prison life. Next morning some inmates reported that they had had darshan of Kindest Master in dreams, and the days that followed passed by in His sweet remembrance and in talking about Him. In meditation too the personal visit of Maharaj Ji had its charging, and things went better.
A year after this jail Satsang, I was transferred to another prison. Two guards were entrusted with the responsibility of taking me by train to my destination. There was a change at Delhi; I couldn't help begging my companions to let me make a quick visit to my Guru at the Ashram. It was against the official code, but their hearts were moved with kindness and we were soon there. Maharaj Ji met me with great affection on His veranda, and then took me indoors. Some Western satsangis were sitting there, and pointing to me He said, "He is one Kirpal Singh (my given name) who is in prison, and I am another Kirpal Singh who is imprisoned amongst you all. In fact here we are all prisoners of worldly affairs and of our bodies." Tai Ji then explained to those present that Kindest Master had gone all the way to a district jail to bless me; Maharaj Ji remarked casually, "On his account who knows how many will have to be saved?"
As time was running out, Maharaj Ji gave me and the guards parshad and some literature. He called Mohan to drive us to the station lest we miss the train. Getting the guards into the back seat, He came round and opened the door for me to sit in front and quietly slipped some money into my hands. When I protested He whispered, "You will need it. Take it with you." It was done so quietly and so unobtrusively that the guards didn't see.
We just managed to catch the train. The guards were exceptionally kind. They said they felt a strange intoxication, and next morning they still spoke of it. When we reached the jail, after official formalities, we bid each other good-bye.
The atmosphere in my new surroundings was very tense and there was much discipline. I could tell that trouble lay ahead, and within fifteen days we had a riot; police fired, and several people were killed. With His grace I was able to keep myself detached from all the violence and tension. I was hoping to get parole in the summer, but after a long wait it was discovered that my papers had gone astray. I was bitterly disappointed at the thought that I could not see Maharaj Ji in Delhi. A strange thing happened to me at this point. After two agonizing days, though I carried on in prison in body I found myself in the Ashram in spirit. When I wrote of the new disappointment, Kindest Master answered on August 18th, 1969:
"A keen sense of sweet humility and self-surrender is the panacea for all the ills of life. You may please repose your hopes in Him and be rest assured that everything whatsoever that comes to your count in the divine dispensation is for your spiritual benefit. "
In a letter dated September 10th, 1969, Kindest Master wrote He would be coming to see me between September 13th and 15th. I met the Deputy Superintendent, but in view of the prevailing tension he was unable to permit any large gathering of inmates to meet the Master.
However, I was assured that He would be permitted to meet me. The 13th passed by and the first half of the 14th. There was no message, and each minute seemed an hour. I was wondering if the Master would come to see me at all, when I received word that my visitor had arrived. Master was waiting for me in the Deputy Superintendent's office; there I fell at His Feet. I had composed a Punjabi poem which I had inscribed on a greeting card I myself had painted. I presented it to the Master and read out the poem. The first stanza ran:
May God grant that such days repeat themselves over and over again.
I am so blessed that the Lord has come to visit an ant ....When I finished reading the opening stanza, the Master interrupted and said, "Do you want to spend your entire life in jail? I spontaneously answered, "If You can be by my side like this, I am not only willing to spend this life in jail, but all lives to come. And I don't think this is a bad bargain." Kindest Master laughed heartily.
I had some cardamon which Maharaj Ji then distributed as parshad, and after giving me more encouragement, He left, no doubt to attend to some other mission of love and mercy.
Later that year I was allowed my first release on parole, and I spent the time at the Ashram. My wife and another dear one in the family were granted initiation during that stay. My worst trials were over, and not only did I get parole each year, but on January 29th, 1972, my life imprisonment sentence was remitted and I was free at last to find sanctuary at His Feet.
So gracious was Kindest Master that He then allowed me to live and serve Him at the Ashram; and furthermore, to cut me from my old life He gave me a new name — Captain Singh.
Whoever has even thought lovingly of Kindest Master has been blessed by Him. Each disciple has his own story to tell. When I look back at my own life I feel particularly blessed. Had I not gone to prison, as I often told some of my fellow inmates, I may never have got on the Path. Once I was so overcome with this feeling that I even wrote to the Judge who sentenced me to death; I thanked him for helping to put me on the Road to Him. I had read in our Sikh scriptures of the incomparable love of the Guru for His disciples, time and time again. But had I not gone to prison, could I have received more vivid testimony of the intensity of that love, of its power, of its force, as it reached out to me through high walls, iron gates, and heavy locks and penetrated every recess of my being?
New Life, a New Name: Preamble New Life, a New Name: Captain Singh
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