In 1983 I was staying in the Delhi Temple – the Sahaja Yoga centre – with two Western Sahaja Yogis. Along with a few yogis from Delhi we were invited to travel to Nagpur to spend Christmas with Shri Mataji and Her family. We took the train from Delhi, an experience in itself, arrived at Nagpur and reached the place where Shri Mataji was staying. Bogunia, from Australia, and I were told which room Shri Mataji was in, so along we went, and knocked on the door, and heard Her voice.
‘Come in!’
Shri Mataji was sitting on a low stool looking through some photographs. One of Her daughters and Her son-in-law were also there, in another part of the same room, reading a newspaper, and it was so casual and easy.
We went straight to Mother’s Feet and bowed down. Then She started sharing with us the family photographs and explaining them to us. I particularly remember seeing one when She was very young, beautiful and serene, that many of us know as pendants.
‘Look, this is Me when I was sixteen,’ She said.
There was a big lunch outdoors in a marquee – a real family gathering that we were fortunate to be a part of.
On Christmas Eve there was another large gathering, again in a marquee. One of Mother’s brothers, who was involved in the church, gave a Christmas speech – a pre-Christmas sermon really. There were various entertainments and here was Shri Mataji amongst Her family, at Christmas time.
At some point during the evening Mother suggested that Bogunia, myself and Linda , from England, should sing a Christmas carol. We knelt at Her Feet, She pulled Her sari over Her head, and we sang to Her – beautiful, profound – an amazing moment, to be sitting at the Lotus Feet of Mary Herself, on this unforgettable Christmas Eve, singing a carol, performing a puja. Time stood still, and we were just in that moment, with our beloved Mother.
The next day, Christmas Day, we were invited to go to church, to the service that Shri Mataji would also attend. When we arrived it was pretty full and they had put rows of benches outside for the overflow. We went and sat on one, and could see Shri Mataji inside through an open door. It started to drizzle and She asked us come and sit with Her – somehow we squeezed right in front of Her, sitting on the floor, in the church.
The service went on with hymns, carols and a sermon or two. I remember hearing Mother’s bangles jangling all through the service – like there was a lot of ‘work’ going on, and by the end Her bindi was smudged right across Her forehead. When the money collection came round, before Shri Mataji put Her contribution in, She bandhaned the bowl a few times. After the service we followed Mother out of the church with Her family members and there were lots of ‘Happy Christmases’ and exchanges of greetings.
‘Come with Me,’ Shri Mataji said to us yogis, after a while.
We followed Her back into the church, up the aisle and out of the main entrance. Many people were gathered here, chatting away. Among the crowd was an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair.
‘Nirmala!’ he exclaimed on seeing Mother.
She walked over to him – he had been Shri Mataji’s father’s valet. After exchanging a few words Mother told us to gather round. She started working on him and we joined in. After some time he stood up and took a few steps, in sheer delight and astonishment. Mother had performed a miracle on the threshold of the church, on Christmas Day, and no one really noticed, except the Sahaja Yogis – and did we really understand what we had just witnessed?
Tina Cesbron