The Story of a Soul

10 February 1955

The next day—Thursday February 10, 1955—I left the house at five in the morning, when the night had scarcely gone. Some stars still twinkled in the sky, a grey dawn clung silently to the trees and buildings; but at seven the sun took over: a new day—my new life had started.

I abandoned the ordinary world without any regret. But escaping from the net of circumstances entangling me was not so easy. If the Mother's Force had not been with me I would surely have failed.

My husband saw me off at the airport, which was quite far from our house. He was under the impression that I would return to him.

After many bumps and jerks the small Avro touched down at Madras. I felt quite bewildered. A taxi had been arranged for me by someone who did the Ashram's work in Madras. Two men whose appearance made me shudder were to escort me to Pondicherry. We left the aerodrome and had driven for about five kilometres before I asked these men whether they had brought my suitcase. A strange portmanteau was beside me—I thought it must belong to one of them. But they thought that it was mine, and it was the only one they had put in the car.

I requested them to go back to the airport. When we reached it I saw an elderly European lady near the counter—she was fuming with rage, her face twitching all over. In front of her was my valise. With the permission of the authorities I took my case and returned the portmanteau to her. If she had been satisfied with my suitcase, she would have benefited, for it was filled with precious things I had brought to offer to the Mother.

Once more we were on our way to Pondicherry. Looking at the men who were in the car with me I felt nervous: they looked like real ruffians, with big moustaches, bloodshot eyes, and red scarves around their necks. However they did not smoke, nor did they talk roughly and loudly.

In the back seat I was lost in remembrance of the Mother. My eyes felt heavy and drowsy—I closed them. But now and again I glimpsed the luxuriant greenery along the way.

I must add that those odd-looking men behaved like perfect gentlemen: at the end of the drive one of them opened the car-door for me, while the other lifted out my luggage. When I stepped out they bowed and gave me friendly smiles.

Finally I had reached my true home—the Ashram!