ABOUT

A compilation of Huta’s autobiographical notes, about which The Mother said : 'This is the interesting story of how a being discovers the Divine Life.'

The Story of a Soul

  The Mother : Contact

Huta
Huta

The Story of a Soul, Huta's journal of her progress on the spiritual path, runs from 1954 to 1973. This records many of her conversations with the Mother, their private meditations in the Mother's room at the Playground, and their correspondence. In her numerous cards and messages the Mother consoled Huta in her difficulties, appreciated her skill in various works, and promised to help her realise her true being.

The Story of a Soul
English
 The Mother : Contact

1955

Every day I used to read the Mother's Prayers and Meditations—this gave me tremendous strength. Dyuman's letters, which brought with them the Mother's blessing-packets and her messages, also encouraged and supported me very much.

The New Year message the Mother sent to me through Dyuman was extremely appropriate and appealing.

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1955

No human will can finally prevail against the Divine's Will. Let us put ourselves deliberately and exclusively on the side of the Divine, and the Victory is ultimately certain.

Secretly I was planning to escape as soon as possible. I separated my things from my husband's, rearranged my suitcases, and placed inside them notes saying "This belongs to the Mother of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram". I was not going to carry all those cases with me, lest my husband suspect my adventurous project—I had to be very cautious.

I told my husband that I wished to go to the Ashram for the Mother's birthday. At first he refused point-blank; after much persuasion he relented, but insisted that I should be back within a fortnight.

As the time approached for my departure I bought a wrist-watch for my husband with money my mother had given me. His birthday was in February and would fall after I had left, so I gave him the watch. It was an Omega. Omega is of course the name of the company; but it is also the last letter of the Greek alphabet. This was symbolic, as I knew it was my last gift to him. I also gave him the keys to all my cases.

He was a nice man, but had no aim that accorded with mine.

On the last night before I left, I was cooking on a gas-ring when flames suddenly spurted up—they nearly caught me and would have burnt me entirely, especially as my long hair was down and within reach. The servant who was there was astonished that I escaped unscathed—it seemed hardly possible. Obviously this was an attack of subtle hostile forces, trying to prevent me from reaching the Mother's feet.










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