Beloved Baba—Take My Hand Beloved Baba, take my handAs I hold it up to you;Dispel the cloud of MayaWhich obscures you from view. My haughty Self and You are OneWhich in my heart I know;I also know to reach that stateI must be pure as snow. But on my own, I cannot weldMy human will with Thine;So this is why I seek your helpTo relinquish all of mine. Help me, dear Baba, to let goOf my imaginary needsAnd I will try to turn from allOn which my ego feeds. And as I reach up high to youPlease take my hand in yoursUntil I’m empty of myselfAnd my lightened spirit soars. But when I first catch sight of thatWhich seers call the LightI may be overwhelmed by It;So hold me very tight. In pouring out my heart to youI’ve lost that cloud so darkAnd can relax in quiet reliefTill my soul soars like a lark. ~Phyllis Krystal Source: Sanathana Sarathi, March 1977

Easwaramma-A Homage The Lord said in the Gita:‘In every age when this EarthIs dominated by sinAnd evil prevails.I descend on EarthTo redeem humanity.However, while descendingEven the Lord has to followHis own laws.Even He has to decideWho should act as His parents.Imagine!How fortunate the couple.How lucky the homeWhere the Lord takes His birth. True, a mother is a mother,Holy beyond words for all timeEven if the son goes astray.But among them allThe one who begets Hari, the Lord,Is the holiest of all.Who has earned this honorAs the guerdonFor her relentless penance.Who can reckon the amount of PunyaKaushalya could garnerIn her previous birthsBefore Rama chose herAs His mother?And who can gaugeThe depth of sufferingWhich Devaki must have undergoneTo receive Krishna?But O Easwaramma!Unparalleled is the sacrificeYou madeTo set an exampleFor women in every ageOf what motherhood is.Let’s open our heartsFor you to tread gently.O Mother Divine! It’s not everyoneWho can fathom your love,Your agony and your philosophy.Imagine the moment when Sathya,The darling of your heart,Stood confronting you and said,Maya Maya, it’s all Maya,’And you the mother stood confounded!The lips quivered.The tearful eyes betokenedAn ocean of surging love,But you restrained their flowNot allowing a drop to fall. Tell us O world tell usIf there’s a mother to compare with?—A mother, whose lotus feetMake you bow downA thousand times.“Kaushalya?” You say.You are surely mistaken.Kaushalya’s ordeal was limitedTo barely fourteen summers:And time flies­—Years turn into months,Months into daysAnd days into minutes and seconds,And hope persists. ‘What? Devaki?’Devaki’s was no agony at allFor who’s that motherThat wouldn’t preferTo live away from her sonAnd see him happyThan to keep him with herAnd lose him?And did she not knowThat He whom she deliveredWas the Lord HimselfThe World’s deliverer? Easwaramma’s agony was unique.It’s the agony of a fishLiving in water and yet thirsty!The Lord said,“I belong to the Bhaktas.They need me,How can l leave themAnd belong to you?If you need Me,Come and join the congregationAnd forget the worldly bondsOf mother and son.” The mother listened and listenedTo these heart‑rending words,But she neither shrieked nor cried,Rather looked straightAt her dear little SathyaShedding affection from her moistened eyes. Mother!The holiest of the holies,The Lord demanded your devotion;But what is devotion;If not the acme of Love­—Pure and selfless Love­—Which never gets dimEv’n in the darkest hour?Who could claim better devotionThan you? O Gentleness incarnate!You dived deepInto the agony of LoveAnd had it in full measure.Your decision was clear,“Let Bhakti go to the BhaktasI need my son.Let those who aspire forDeliverance, get it;But the thirst of a motherShouldn’t go unquenched.”“If God is Love and Love is God,And all else on earthTransient,Then let Love prevail.”And it did prevail.The words of the LordWere rendered trueBy none else than the Lord’s Mother. In BrindavanWhen the elements wanted toDisintegrate,And you knew your time was come,You called, “Swami! Swami.”“Coming!” said theLord and rushed;­But you outpaced Him.When He reachedThe nest was empty,The winged‑one had goneAs if to tell Him,“Here lies the Maya dead,”And the Mother merged with the Son;For Love is eternal,Steadfast and immortal,Whereas Maya assumesNew forms every dayAnd the wheel of life and death moves on. Thus O Mother,Your message of LoveIs the message of the motherIn every woman.It’s a boonTo strayed humanityAnd on this auspicious dayOf 6th MayWe all adore youPaying our homageAt the Lotus feet of Bhagavan.Om Shantih! Shantih! Shantih! ~Bhagwat Prasad Misra, Prasanthi NilayamSource: Sanathana Sarathi, April 1986

A Bird on the Tree Beneath the blue sky, the floating white clouds, a bird flew,Paused for a moment, fluttered its wings, sat atop the branch,The topmost branch of the cherry tree, sat alone in silence,It viewed the scene below from its high perch, a superb seat,Just for a little while, serene and splendid, in its isolation,It seemed to enjoy, in a mute minute, free of any twittering.I sat there in my white steel chair, bathed in the golden light,I watched the bird that morn, steeped in a reverie, it flew away. Spring season with its budding blossoms, with its tender leaves,Spreading a green mantle with its varied shades and shapes,Late frost retreats at the arrival of the joyous spring of hope,Men and women, kids and puppies ventured out with a sprint,Pandemic isolation had hitherto ripped apart their joy in life,Freed somewhat from the fetters that bound them so harsh,They all ventured forth in family groups to recapture that glory,That evaded them when this virus turned their lives into a mess. As is my wont these spring days, after my walk morn and eve,By the side of my house, shaded by the tall, spreading trees,A walk steady and slow as befits my declining age and strength,A walk that aids in keeping my joints supple for my daily move,I sit in my garden white chair, watching nature in its entire garb,Watch the scenes of those who pass by, some with kids and pets,Some with a smile, others lost in themselves wending their way.I sat alone, bereft of company, as the family pursues their own lives. A period mostly spent alone, a time in reminiscence of the past,Well aware that life’s toil must be endured to the last breathWith my own efforts, I turn to Lord Sai for direction to proceed,Musings on little things open up a wider vista of beauteous things,Bird on the treetop bring poignant vision of the flight of fancy,Which Keats flew on the wings of poesy to be with the nightingale,So did I wish to alight with the bird on the treetop to enjoy scenes,Alas, it cannot be, sensing my limitations, I am content with my lot. As Sai guidance jolts me from wandering mind to think deep and true,I see around me scenes of the lovely creation of the creator Himself,Rich foliage on the trees bewitching with their shades and shapes,Flowers red, pink, green and yellow with their petals neatly arranged,Who else but the Divine craftsman could arrange them so flawless?Seated on my white chair in the garden with the divine gift before me,With the bird on the tree teaching me joy with its silent meditation,I bowed in humility to Lord Sai for all His offering of Divine Wisdom.           ~Kanaga Ranganathan, US, May 22, 2021

  My Joy in Finding Lord Sai Life in this planet earth, a tiny dot in this vast racing galaxy,This galaxy one of so many, too numerous to be counted,This astronomical depth and width, a mystery to comprehend,This creation with its mystic origin hidden from human probe,The rotation and revolution of these heavenly bodies, a riddle.Death of these orbiting suns and stars occurring in due time,When I reflect at times of my deep confusion, I remain clueless,And I try to find solace in seeking Lord Sai for His Divine grace. A saintly poet moaning over the countless births he endured,From rocks and stones to primitive forms in the ocean’s depth.And other evolving species on the surface of the planet earth,Until the gift of a human form showed him the divine path,With a piteous cry he beseeches the Almighty to release him.So did my soul lost in the darkness of these forms and shapes,Ever since life began when this hot planet cooled to host life,Cries out to find solace in seeking Lord Sai for His Divine grace. Dear Lord Sai, I never knew of Thy glory, in my tiresome travelsWhen my soul cloaked in countless forms and miserable shapes,Travelled through dark tunnels that shed no divine light of yours,With no idea of the sparkling light hidden behind this coarseness,My long and arduous journey plodded on, ignorant of Thy glory,Till some hidden hand cloaked me in a human form many times,Until the present period when my soul woke from ages’ slumber.And I tried to find solace in seeking Lord Sai for His Divine grace. Thus my life encased in numerous forms existed in times of yore,When my life took a human form in a higher plane of existence,Armed with sensory aids to feel and sense the world around me,Aided with higher intellect to probe the creation and its source,Then it was when my search for Thee began, relentless I sought,I searched here and there, far and wide but found Thee not,An inner urge prodding me to seek till I found, held me in thrall,Exhausted, I came and found solace in Sai at the Abode of Peace. Blazing forth like million suns, Thy brightness reached the horizon.Basking in the divine light shed by Your sacred source of creation,Mingling with the devotees and singing in unison Thy grand gloryForgetting the travails endured in my long search through aeon,I found at last what I sought so tirelessly, my own Divine Teacher,Who unraveled the mystery of the universe and its single source,No longer confused, I found peace and joy permeating my soul,Surrendering at His Feet, I found solace in Sai at the Abode of Peace.         ~Kanaga Ranganathan, US, May 22, 2021

Birthday Bells Hark! The Parthi Bells are ringingEchoing o’er land and sea and sky! The Sun is hurrying up the hillsLest He be late with Light;The stars—they linger in the skyThey’d rather stay and watch!The moon is peeping Crescent‑eyesTo glimpse the glorious scene.The clouds are dressed in burnished gold;The sky has chosen pink and blueThe peaks that stand aroundAre happy in home‑made green! Since dawn, the lambs are friskingAnd every tree is full of glee.Each leafy twig is loud with songE’en the lowly blade of grassHas a lovely diamond in her ear!Proudest of the feathered throngIs the dove, He frees this mornThe crow, shooed off from perch to perchIs unafraid, unashamed, this day!It caws in raucous joy! Unharmed! The bees do take a holiday;The morning flowers are His, untouched.Sai Gita is full of gratitudeTo the trap which orphaned her,For she could hear the Bells todayAnd bow before the Lord! The sands do shine and scintillateTo win the tramp of pilgrim feet.The very air is tinglingWith God and Man, commingling. —Kasturi, Source: Sanathana Sarathi, Nov. 1971

To Our Dearest Lord Sai on His 96th Birthday Almost half a century ago, Lord Sai entered our lives, lives of all,What a sweet change swept over us! From mundane to sublime!Lost in a dark and dull slumber that must have lasted many ages,His glance cast at us, a family of me and my consort with four kids,As we went in search of a savior who could teach the sacred truth,A search that ended in the far away valley of the Abode of Peace,We became transfixed, silent, and still under the magic spell of Sai,Words lose their power, struck dumb to express the glory of Sai. Was it some deep longing within that drew us to Sai? We know not,Perhaps His compassion to save humanity from its piteous plight,A plight that let us all wallow in the murky slush of negative forces,A sorry state that set man against man, divine gift of earth ruined,That stirred the supreme consciousness to descend amongst us all,The descent of divine power into the sweet form of Sai grandeur,Manifested in a humble abode in a village tucked away in a valley,And taught the truant humanity the sacred path to find eternity. At this sunset stage of my life, my mind is steeped in Sai memories,Recalling my first sight of our Lord as He walked amongst devotees,Thrilled to the core of the divine spectacle of the Lord in His glory,In a garb of orange hue with a divine halo that stretched far and far,He came, He walked amongst the gathered crowd, exuding divinity,He smiled, He talked, He patted some, He collected letters from us,A splendid figure of divine charm, He exuded love and compassion,As He walked through, there was stillness, not a stir, not a murmur. Ever since that miraculous day when we beheld His brilliant shine,A shine that surpassed the brightness of thousand suns in the sky,Ever since our karmic merit led us to the powerful Presence of Baba,We as a family, surrendering at His Lotus Feet, hailed Him as Guru,Our supreme Guru who would lead us all from darkness to light.He graciously did, taught us to find within gem of our own divinity,Shrouded behind layers of illusion, beset in darkness so tragically,He taught us internal purity, freed us from the iron grip of vices,He patiently showed us how to open the fountain of love in us,That could embrace all creation with expansive love and a smile,Like a shining star in our horizon, He powerfully led us to the end. All the first forty years passed with His physical Presence in India,Beckoning us now and then, from the early years of close proximity,To the latter years of difficult access with thousands milling around,We had darshans when His divine energy poured in plenty as alwaysAs we sat there open to His flow of energy that embraced everyone,We had personal interviews where He rained His love in a free flow,We listened to His discourses that set us astir to search for Truth,We truly became dearest devotees to our Lord Sai in full surrender. But alas, to the dismay of devotees, our Lord decided to withdraw,From form to formless, from visible to invisible for us to grow fully.Like a loving mother who weans her children from utter dependenceTo grow sturdy and strong on their own right to find their own truth,So did our Lord Sai on a sad Easter Sunday withdrew from our sight,And left us first to mourn yet instilled the wisdom to find Him within.Ten years have passed since He left us, with all His teachings intact,We soon shall celebrate six and ninety years of His glorious entry.As November dawns, we wait to rejoice in our memories of Lord Sai,Hail to Thee Our Beloved Sai! Hail to Thy ninety-six years of Glory!     ~Kanaga Ranganathan, November 2, 2021

Spiritualism It’s an open door where others close,A smiling face that says He knows,A peacefulness that draws you near,An open heart and a listening ear. It’s a brilliant star from a long-lost age,That helps to turn each bright new page,It’s lovingness that comes from within,That brings us forth when it is time to begin. To send our Light both far and near;To seek, to learn, to tell, to hear.To find the peace and state of mindWe’d long thought man had left behind. And with this knowingness insideThere’s nowhere else for us to hide,But take our worth and thank in grace,To try and heal this earth, our place. And should we stray along our path,Sai’s hand will guide us to the task,So never fear—it shall be done,In peace and love and light we pass; Amen. ~Peter MillsSource: Sanathana Sarathi, April 1998

Baba is the Breath of My Life The world is a big theatre where the sky is the roof of lightsBig and small. The Earth is carpeted green dotted with colorsAnd all the lives in the sea, in the air, and on the earthAre actors, playing various roles, at His commandSome enjoying, some suffering, some jumping, some fallenThis variety show has marvelous interest, with two screensCalled Day and Night, brilliant, on the stage, for one and all.Into this world, I am ushered in, by BabaTo play my role of a fool, now smiling, now weepingNever steady in devotion to one great and grand idea.But, Baba likes me, as He has made me by His own handAnd plays with me, as a child will play with a pup!And so every breath of mine is from BabaWho sits in my heart, blowing life through meHis breath ambrosial, for my joy. O my ecstasy is beyond compare!O……Baba, Thou art Sai (the Mother), Baba ( the Father)Thou art the Bandhu (the Relative) Sakha (the Friend)How can I forget Thee and live here?If thou wert not with me, nay life would collapseAnd nothing would be left of me.Now, I am able to breathe, sing, and speakBecause Thou art the Life of my life, the Breath of my breathThou art the root and the fruit of my lifeThou art my God in all His Glory;Yea…Thou art Lord Sri Krishna, come down to earthTo lift all souls submerged in world’s restless Ocean of SamsaraI saw Thee and I See Thee, and my glory is in clingingTo Thy sacred Feet and washing them with my tearsBefore offering the flowers growing in any heartFor Thy Worship and Thy Love,Down the valley, up the mountain,All over the dwelling places of menBaba’s footprints blaze with loveTo enrich the soil and the soul of man. I am a poor and humble devoteeWho has drunk deep Baba’s mannaMy joy has risen full to its brim,My Peace is dancing before my eyes;I love nothing but Baba’s beaming eyesI love nothing but Baba’s beaming smilesI owe nothing to anyone but to BabaWhose Grace abundant has fertilized my heartWhereon resplendent harvest has been garneredTo fill the Earth with my joy and peace.Let me fulfill Baba’ s CommandmentThat nothing but Peace and Joy we shall have. ~Dr. K. Vaidyanathan, M. A., Ph. D. (Dr. Vaidyanathan full of “ecstasy beyond compare” shed his physical body last month. His was a dedicated life saturated with Divine grace, as these and other poems and writings of his that we have offered to readers have revealed.) Ed. Source: Sanathana Sarathi, May 1966

“To My Fellow Pilgrims” Have you heard our Baba speak? Have you heard our Baba speakAt public meetings anywhere?He never calls it speech;Nor will you name it so!He does not raise His voice, harangue,Or rouse the mob or rail or flail;He does not hesitate, He will not calculate,Hum and haw and pause and ponder,Making you wonder why you came!He does not wait and wander,Collecting thoughts, contriving notes;He does not waste a moment, decorating speechIn showy lace and frills, clothing borrowed textsIn shimmering gauze. He is no orator, pompous, proud,Clamoring for claps, publicity‑mad! He will not circumambulate, declaim…or, even…‘speak’!He is the Rain‑cloud, bringing LifeTo the parched ones here below! He ‘talks’… He ‘talks’ to you, and you,and every single you that has gathered there;To every single Arjuna, with heavy heart and empty hand,Afraid to fight the battle of Life on to Victory.You feel He has come for you, to you. You see Him, silently looking around!The searchlight eye full circle swings!How lucky you are there!He smiles; He wins you by that smile!You scarce can take your eyes from off that Face,So alluring, so Divine!You scarce can pull your heart from off His grip;The clasp is cool comfort!The silence deepens…Though thousands have been squatting, waiting,For hours and hours…Himalayan stillness; twilight calm! Premaswarupulara!The Golden Hour has come!Heaven’s Gate ajar!The voice is sweet as honeyHived by Heavenly bees from Parijata trees!His call is clarion clear!O! ‘Tis thrilling, ’tis filling rapture in the soul,Flowing like the Ganga, freeing the bound,Yielding rich reaping, for just ploughing and sowingWelling and swelling like Gersoppa Falls,Yielding vast power, for just wheeling and wiring! His talk is a cascade, so limpid and pure,Teaching, never preaching, unravelling all knots,Stilling the questionings ere they emerge in mind;Defining, refining, consoling the pining,Commanding, yea, demanding the bending of pride,Sparing no one, be he ruling or serving. Chiding, reprimanding the fool, and fanatic;Joking and coaxing, poking fun at all hoaxing;Quoting from what He said in the past ages,Detailing facts of His incarnating—Resplendent poetry, spontaneous, sublime,Painting pictures of transcendent Truth,Parable, proverb, scintillating bright,Tinkling, twinkling, tintinnabulating lilt,Every hour a minute, every minute a second;Every word a mantra, every phrase, Sutra,A Gayatri a sentence, Upanishad a speech!For He is no well or tank or river!His is the ocean of Wisdom Divine! Oh! His words shower mercy, like morning dewOn every heart‑bud awakening from dreaming. He is feeding your roots and speeding the sap,Sprouting the buds, painting the petals,Perfuming them well, inviting the bees,Ripening the pods, with each word of His!There! The meaning of His word, a tiny seedDrops on your rock‑like heart! And wonder of wonders!It germinates there! … sprouts and puts forth leaves!The silken half‑blind baby‑roots do run aboutTickling the stone, jabbing, pleading for suckling!Succeeding at last, it grows; and, growing into a tree,Your rock is broken into clay! His talk, you will find, is cooling, not freezingWarming, not burning; raining, not flooding;Healing the ailing and hearts bewailing;Soothing, not searing; no toxin, but tonic;Balming and calming; all fact and no fiction! Every sentence spreads joy and scorches gloom,Impelling attention, compelling assent,Dispelling dejection, repelling sloth,Attracting you nearer, detaching from bonds,Infusing courage, and fusing creeds,Imposing no doctrine, composing all feuds,Informing (so charming!), never harming, disarming!Sifting the responding, lifting the desponding. Stressing on ‘Doing, Behaving and Living’,Appealing for ‘Feeling, Believing and Acting’. Calling all listening, to spurn imitating,Vainly disputing, blind leading the blind,Knocking at Paradise through power and pelf,Or boasting of branches of family tree,And seeking for peace, in earning and spendingAnd wanting and panting and hoarding and guarding.As you hear Him talking, you quietly resolveTo take a step forward on the pilgrim road;Unfold your wings and soar into the sky!You feel you are a Lion, cheated into bleating!A diamond, set in dirty lead!Engaging in no fray, enraging no foe,He is welcoming all, who are thirsty or starving,Or limping, or blinking, or climbing and sliding,Raising the stooping, embracing the droopingAssuaging pain, assuring His Grace. He reminds us all of the road we have missed.He describes the joy of the journey’s end.He opens our eyes; He strengthens our limbs;He heartens the struggling, groping his way,Awakening the sleeping, making the sitting stand,The standing to walk; the walking to reach! Proclaiming, revealing, announcing to allAsserting His coming for our burden assuming,Redeeming the wayward, the downcast, diseased;Underlining the Truth, undermining the false. Ah! What is this? What luck! What Grace!Even as He talks; ‘it’ blossoms into song,Oh! Captivating Song! He teaches us to prayTranquilizing all the furious waves,Steeling the nerves and strengthening the will,Attuning our soul to Dharma! Sathya! Prema! And when it stopsAnd you open your eyes,You find them full of tears!Your neighbor weeps like child for mother,But Why? Look up and see; He has left the dais!Be proud you had the chance. From this moment, I knowYou are bound to be an ascending, attempting, adventurous soul. Arjuna, resuming arms for the frayWith Krishna leading the horses aright­—How lucky you heard Him talk! ~N. Kasturi(Poem read in the Holy presence on 16‑10‑58)Source: Sathya Sai Speaks, Vol. 1