On the India tour of 1997/98, I was twenty-two and was invited to help the video team to record the tour. This began with the videoing of the public programme in Delhi. Apart from that programme, Mother did not physically attend the tour before it reached Ganapatipule, via Nagpur, Hyderabad, Madras, Cochin and Bangalore.
There were several joy-filled evening programmes in Ganapatipule, but, while filming Christmas Puja, my attention began to wander. It was focusing more on the pictures that ‘I’ was getting on ‘my’ camera than on Shri Mataji and Her words. After the aarti, the different centres and countries began to offer gifts to Mother. One of the organizers approached the edge of the stage, close to where I was standing with the video camera and tripod.
‘Which country are you from?’ he asked me.
‘South Africa,’ I answered. This was relayed back to Shri Mataji.
‘You must stop filming,’ he said. ‘Shri Mataji says you can film when She comes to your country.’
I sat down. Mother had brought my attention back to Her Feet. After the representatives of Africa had offered gifts to Shri Mataji, Mother spoke to the South Africans.
‘Tell that boy not to worry. He can film when I come to your country,’ She said. What needed no words was Mother’s glance and smile at me across the stage as She said it. It was an all-enveloping feeling, like a small child, I felt. Nothing else mattered.
The next day, the head of the team spoke through the leaders to Shri Mataji, explaining that I was helping the video team. Shri Mataji had not recognized me and thought that only Italians were helping with the videos. After this message, they were sure that I could carry on helping, but having heard other words, my heart was not sure. As it happened, two of the three cameras were sent back to Italy before the New Year’s Puja in Kalwe and help was not needed.
Four months later, I was at Cabella for Shri Adi Shakti Puja and I was again asked to help. I expressed my doubts and my question seemed answered when the bag of cables for one camera could not be found. The other two already had operators, Mother arrived and I found myself seated near Her.
‘How many cameras are there?’ Mother asked one of the leaders.
‘Two, Shri Mataji,’ he answered.
The programme got under way. After maybe half an hour, I noticed Mother look at me. Some yogis next to the video mixing desk whispered towards me and I realised that they were calling me. Mother had asked Her grandson to sit down and I was to take over the operation of that camera. Silently thanking Mother, I did so. The programme must have ended at 4 am the next morning, although I never felt the time pass. Later that day, I met someone who Mother had spoken to about me.
‘That boy must be so tired,’ She had said, but no tiredness had been felt. It had just flowed.
George Barberton
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