Issue #31

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Issue 31—May 10, 1974 to July 15, 1974


This issue covers the usual places for this time of year in Krishnaji’s and Mary’s lives: California, then Brockwood with trips to London, then Paris and onto Gstaad for the Saanen talks. But there is something that feels more private or intimate or personal in this issue, and it isn’t at all clear what that is. Perhaps there is more of a sense of the compatibility between Mary and Krishnaji, or Mary’s life being in such synchronism with Krishnaji’s. Mary’s dedication to Krishnaji is absolute. Krishnaji’s appreciation of Mary is touching. The extraordinary and esoteric aspects of Krishnaji’s life mix with ordinary everyday living, and they unfold as a seamless whole in front of Mary, with Krishnaji talking with her about them.

It feels like a privilege to witness this, even if it is only in writing.


The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue 31

Mary: Alright, we’re beginning on May tenth, 1974, and Krishnaji and I are in Malibu. ‘Krishnaji came into my room while I was at the desk, and as we talked, there was that remote look on his face, and very suddenly I felt that curious sense of something else. It was as though there were an inaudible sound that one was listening to or for. His face had that look of listening inwardly, infinitely austere and away. He said, “It is strange. Do you feel it?” And then he said, “Do you write down when these things happen? You should.” A little later he said that he can sense that the Rs’—that’s Rajagopal and Rosalind— ‘don’t know where he is, but when they know he is here, it is as if they “beamed hate” at him. I asked if he feels it at Brockwood and does it reach that far, and he said “No.” I then asked if it would not be worse if we lived in Ojai. “No,” he said, “I can turn it away. They will try to prevent us being there. Could they?”’ He asked that.

Scott: He asked “Could they?”

M: Yes. ‘I said “No. Anybody can buy land, and we could buy land like anybody else.” I asked why he doesn’t turn away any emanations from them if he can? He said he didn’t try to. They might change. That people do change.’

S: Hm. Just to stop for a minute there.

M: Yes.

S: It’s interesting, your description of this process as almost a kind of listening to something, a straining to hear something. When I’ve explained it to myself—the first time Krishnaji asked that of me, and you were there, it was in the old kitchen up here in the West Wing—when Krishnaji asked me, “Can you feel it?” For me it was like trying to hear something that was just outside of my hearing range…

M: Yes.

S: …there was a sense that something was there, but my hearing was too unrefined, too coarse, too…

M: That’s right.

S: …gross to pick it up.

M: And he had that look…well, you see it sometimes on people who are listening to music, or wrapped up in something…you know that it’s listening, it’s not seeing…it’s listening.

S: Yes. And they’re not in their head, they’re outside of…

M: They’re hearing something.

S: Yes.

M: And the sense of something, for me, has always been like a kind of very high-pitched, too high to hear, trembling in the ear, a kind of intensity, a kind of…like an electrical something…that you just sense.

S: Yes, yes.

M: Now, I must point out that the big book doesn’t have something everyday, and you’re so fussy about every day…

S: Absolutely.

M: [laughs] Alright, for May eleventh, we go to the little diary. ‘We went to a movie called Serpico’—that is a detective one. ‘Came home and I went over to the Dunne’s. We played records in the evening.’

Then back to the big book for May twelfth. ‘It was Krishnaji’s seventy-ninth birthday.’ [Both chuckle lightly.] ‘To my words and messages from Narasimhan, Naudé, and Kishbaugh, who all telephoned, he waved away any utterance. “It’s not my birthday,” he said.’ They had broken the taboo. [Chuckles.] ‘Naudé is hopeful of getting a job at Stanford Research. Krishnaji making a face with his eyebrows up and his upper lip pulled down he said that he had an ailment.’ Turn that off and I’ll tell you what he said! [Tape cuts out, then back on, and Mary and Scott are still laughing.]

S: You can go on from that point.

M: Now we go to the fourteenth in the big diary. I don’t think anything happened on the thirteenth, and if it did, never mind. ‘Krishnaji and I and Lori Smith’—that’s our gardener—‘cut our way through the bushes to try to find out how’ [laughter in voice] ‘rabbits are getting in the garden in spite of a wire fence. We filled in some holes, but in the evening, there were four of them on the lawn.’ Rabbits are hard to control.

On the fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji and I drove in the Mercedes to lunch with Erna and Theo. Beforehand, I had telephoned Cohen who said that Christensen is stalling on a reply to the draft of the settlement and doesn’t return his calls. In view of this, he is to go ahead and sum up where we stand to Judge Heaton and ask for a hearing to set a trial date. At lunch, Krishnaji asked Erna, Theo, and me what it is that is blocking us.’ We have discussed this…

S: Yes.

M: …but I think it’s more fully gone into in this large diary.

‘…what it is that is blocking us in Ojai. We could not answer. He suggested that by hanging up plans of our settlement of the case, we were dependent on Rajagopal and that is wrong. We also discussed whether we should try to get zoning for a center primarily without a school, a place where Krishnaji would spend three months a year and discuss with people who were able to absorb his teachings. Ruth and Albion came after lunch and we all went to see a place on McNell Road near the mountain. It was a tacky house, really messy place. Both Krishnaji and I disliked it. He said to me, “You have spoiled me. I couldn’t live in a place like that.” Then we went to the other side of the valley, behind the town, off the back road, climbed a hill, and looked down on a beautiful, untouched valley with rolling golden fields, oak trees, and wooded mountain. Everything that is loveliest in southern California as it was a hundred years ago. It would be perfection for us.’

‘On the drive back to Malibu, Krishnaji spoke of the insults he had received constantly from both the Rs. Her first calling him “a swine” in Sequoia…his shock. He told Rajagopal, who shrugged. Their forcing him to go to drive-in movies and eat in tacky restaurants, which he hated. And again, the story in India of Rosalind going at him with an empty bottle, trying to hit his head. Sunanda was a partial witness to this. Krishnaji said he put up with all of this because there was nothing he could do. There was no one he could go to. He spoke of a sense of helplessness, and said he wondered if, when I go out, if something happened to me, what would he do? I said he would be able to call the Dunnes. He said he wouldn’t know how and would be too shy. I realize I must never go out unless there is someone there to protect him. I felt like weeping at his helplessness and the sense that he must put up with whatever is done to him. Then, is this total vulnerability part of what makes his face light up with delight at flowers on a hill as we pass, or the blue of the sea?’

On the sixteenth, ‘Cohen sent letters to Judge Heaton and Christensen saying that due to no reply by Christensen, an agreement was not possible, and his clients had run out of patience. He requested a hearing at which a trial date should be set. Krishnaji cleaned the Mercedes engine. We walked and weeded the lawn.’

The next day, ‘Carlson’—that’s the builder—‘and the roofer discussed ways to foil the pack rats. Krishnaji and I went to town to Lindberg’s. We lunched at the farmer’s market, where we had cheese enchiladas, but Krishnaji was appalled by the sloppy people everywhere. We went to the shirt place for his second sitting, but it was such a mess that we canceled the order. In the evening there was a horrendous television coverage of the Symbionese shootout with the police in South Los Angeles and the burning of a house they were in. Patricia Hearst may have been in it.’

On the eighteenth, ‘India exploded its first atomic device and the Hearst girl was not killed.’

On May twentieth, ‘Krishnaji and I met Erna at Cohen’s office at 2 o’clock. He has heard from Christensen with revisions of the draft agreement. Some are the replacing of points only to please Rajagopal’s vanity. One of them was about making thirteen acres of land permanently empty around his house even after his death, thereby enhancing the value of his place. We agreed to a few things, not to others. Krishnaji signed the successor trustee document by which he names successors to himself as trustees of K& R Foundation as specified in the settlement if it goes through. In order, they are myself, Erna, Theo, Kishbaugh, and Ruth.’ And it doesn’t say here, but each one when appointed was to appoint the others to the board. So, I would have appointed the others immediately to a board, and if I was gone, Erna would’ve done the same.

S: Right.

M: And by that time, there’d be enough of a board so it would be ongoing.

S: Mm, hm.

M: That was the twentieth, the next entry is the twenty-eighth.

S: Okay, so we have to go to the little book. And could you just read the nineteenth in case there was something on the nineteenth we missed?

M: Oh, on the nineteenth, I spoke to my mother, things about my family, and nothing I could mention. ‘The Dunne children came over. It was a beautiful day, bright with the air from the ocean, cloudless and sparkling. A barn owl flew out of the pine beside the wall as we walked.’

The twenty-first, ‘we drove to the Lilliefelt’s, had lunch and a trustee meeting. After lunch we went to see the beautiful thousand acres owned by a Mrs. Anderson. We drove and walked on it. It was marvelous, untouched, Southern California at its best. It would be a perfect place for a center, school, and house for Krishnaji.’

S: Where was it?

M: It was south of the town. If you go down Creek Road and then you go off that. There’s a gate, and somehow we got through the gate, and then you drive into this beautiful valley, rolling hills.

S: Is it still there, or has it been bought up and built on?

M: I don’t know. I’ve never been back. I couldn’t bear to see it, if it were.

S: Mm.

M: Oddly enough, it had belonged to the man who was a cameraman for the first movie I was in.

S: Mm.

M: He had bought it as an investment, and it didn’t mean anything to him, I guess.

S: What movie was that?

M: It was called Soak the Rich

S: Mm.

M: …and I hope it has disappeared [S laughs] never to be seen again.

On the twenty-third, oh, this is a wonderful thing that happened! How could I not have written that up? ‘I woke up in the morning and I’d pulled the curtain back in my room that looked out at the lawn and then a flower bed and a big brick wall across the lawn, and after I had, suddenly I looked up and there was a beautiful doe, a female deer…’

S: Hm…

M: ‘…on the terrace, and I stood absolutely still, and apparently she couldn’t see through…there must’ve been some reflection…she didn’t see into the room and she came up and she breathed on the window, so I knew it was not an hallucination…’

S: Mm.

M: ‘…and then she turned around and I crept out of my room, went down to Krishnaji’s room, because I knew he’d be up, it was getting-up time, and got him to come in, and we saw this lovely, lovely creature.’

S: Mmmm.

M: How she got in, I don’t know, because there was this eight or nine-foot brick wall between the end of the lawn and the flower bed and the canyon beyond, but she was there.

S: She couldn’t have come across the highway, could she?

M: No, no, they don’t go across the highway. They go through the culvert. There’s a big culvert, big enough for a person to walk through it. It takes the rain water for the hill behind us, into canyon, and wild creatures came through that way. Unless she came from the place next door, but she’d have had to cross the highway to get to that, which is hard to believe. So, we stood there, and then she started to walk around to the wide part of the terrace, around the house, so we went through the house to the dining room, which was the other side of the house. She came around, and then she went over to the fence that separates us from the next door neighbor’s place, and disappeared. Nobody was living in the house next door…the woman who owned it wasn’t living there; it was empty. So she must’ve jumped the fence. It was an extraordinary sight. Beautiful. And it thrilled both of us.

‘Later, Krishnaji and I did tree pruning with Mr. Chapman.’ Mr. Chapman was the sort of handyman, a funny man. He didn’t know he was funny, but the Dunnes and I collected the sayings of Mr. Chapman [S laughs] and I have them written somewhere. I’ll send you a copy one day. They were sort of malapropisms.

‘I went to town alone to do errands, and went to the doctor. Judge Heaton has set the meeting for a trial date hearing for next Tuesday the twenty-eighth.’

On the twenty-fourth, ‘we went to a 12:15 p.m. movie, The Black Windmill, at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood. Then, we had a picnic lunch under a shady tree in the car in Beverly Hills.’ We used to do that because neither one of us liked to go to restaurants much in Beverly Hills. So, we would take a picnic and there were lots of trees in Beverly Hills back roads, and we’d find a nice shady street, park under a tree, and have our picnic.

S: Hm.

M: ‘We then each had our teeth cleaned. Then I fetched some things being made at Van Cleef, and then we returned to Malibu.’

The twenty-fifth ‘was a hot and beautiful day and Philippa Dunne and David did pruning work all along the driveway. I spoke to Alain in San Francisco; he has been for two days with Mary and Joe in New York. He is optimistic about a job offered at Stanford Research, or San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. Krishnaji spoke to him. We went over to the Dunne’s at 5 p.m., then came back for supper.’

On the twenty-sixth, ‘I worked on papers most of the day. Krishnaji washed the Mercedes. Philippa and David worked some more on pruning. Then I worked on the manuscript [1] in the evening.’

For the twenty-eighth, we can go back to the big book. ‘I telephoned Mr. Cohen to say from Krishnaji and all of us that he should make it clear to Christensen at today’s meeting in court that if there is no settlement now, we will not accept a settlement on these same terms later. Among other things we are willing to agree to now, but not after further delays and effort and expense of preparing for trial, is the matter of letting Rajagopal’s legal expenses be paid out of settlement funds. I packed, and dictated more of Krishnaji’s manuscript onto cassettes all afternoon and finished it with a hoarse voice at 5:08 p.m.’ [Chuckles.] My voice gave out as it is doing now.

‘At 5:12 p.m., the typist came with everything she had typed to date, and I gave her five more cassettes to do. So the whole book is done, and will be transcribed as Krishnaji urged me to do before leaving. At 6 p.m., Cohen telephoned saying, “I think we have a settlement.” Christensen was acquiescent except for some minor word changes, none unacceptable. Next week, Cohen will send in the exhibits which accompany the settlement. It is likely there will be a battle over their wording. I relayed all this to Erna. Krishnaji and I walked in the garden. Malibu was beautiful, cool, clear air and sunlight with birds flying. We went to bed early but it was hard to sleep. After 3 a.m. the subconscious kept serving up questionS: “Have you packed the Swiss checkbooks?” Etcetera.’ [S chuckles.]

The twenty-ninth. ‘Up early. Finished putting things away and packing. Erna spoke to Cohen and then telephoned. It sounds alright to her. Amanda and Phil Dunne came at 10 a.m., Phil to say goodbye, and then Alan Kishbaugh came, and Krishnaji went with him, and I went with Amanda to the airport. Amanda went on after dropping me off, but Kishbaugh came in with us to TWA where, at noon, Krishnaji and I took a nonstop London flight. As usual, we had front seats, poor food. There was a movie we had seen, The Sting, but Krishnaji liked to watch it without sound’ [chuckles], ‘seeming to enjoy it more because he knew what was coming.’ [S laughs.] ‘On this flight, it never got dark, and we didn’t sleep.’

On Tuesday, the thirtieth of May. ‘We landed at Heathrow at 7 a.m. Dorothy, Doris, and Ingrid and two cars were there. Krishnaji and I drove back with Dorothy. When we got to Brockwood, all the school was on the driveway to meet Krishnaji. Brockwood was in bloom. The green of England, the May trees, the blossoms and the chestnut trees, joined all the loveliness of Malibu in a blessed continuity. Krishnaji wanted to see immediately the addition in the dining room, the Cloisters plantings, and the look of the assembly hall now twelve feet high and of octagonal splendor. It will be handsome. In a surprising ration of energy, I kept going and unpacked all morning. Slept after lunch, and at 5 p.m., Krishnaji came and said, “We must walk.”’ [Both M then S chuckle lightly.] ‘So, with Dorothy and Whisper, we went gently through the grove. The azaleas, rhododendrons, and the handkerchief tree are still in flower. How marvelously lovely it is. How good to be here. How fortunate I am.’

Friday the thirty-first of May. ‘With misgivings, because of Mary Links’s pessimism over our position, I roused enough energy to take Doris’s little Mini to Petersfield and the train to London in time for a meeting in Michael Rubenstein’s office of Mary Links, Mary Cadogan, George and Nelly Digby, Mr. Verhulst, and Mr. Gellman of Servire. The purpose was the settling one way or another of the interminable two-year dispute over the Servire contract refused by Krishnaji in Gstaad because of Sufi affiliations and general shifty and unsatisfactory behavior by Servire. It had been impossible to get out of some renewal of the expired contract because George had compromised the situation by withdrawing The Impossible Question after proofreading by Servire, and giving it to Harper. Fuss over this led to taut attitudes by the Digbys towards me in the autumn of 1972. Verhulst and Gellman have rejected our scaled-down offer of a five-year contract on the old books and have demanded new titles utterly unacceptable to us. The outlook was not promising but two things went well. Michael Rubenstein handled it very well and when told in response to their question about what Krishnaji wanted, that he wanted to end the contract. They accepted an ending of the six old titles, the ones with talks and dates.’ It doesn’t say what…

S: Yes, they did a series of Saanen talks and talks with American students and Indian talks.

M: Ah, yes. ‘Later, they said they would agree if we bought up the existing stock.’ That was the quid pro quo. ‘This was according to the terms of the original contract and will cost us about £930 sterling, which we should, in time, recoup through sales of these books ourselves. Then, they want their costs, and an indemnity for profits not realized on The Impossible Question. Altogether, both things will cost The Krishnaji Foundation £2500 sterling, less than we feared. They are to keep You Are the World until present stocks are exhausted, when the rights revert to us. All in all, it is acceptable and is being ended, and that is a boon. The Digbys took their host, Mary C., and me to lunch at 2:15 at a nearby Italian restaurant, The Forum. Then I caught a cab to Waterloo, and so back to Brockwood with the good news for Krishnaji. Then, it says…sleeeeeeeep.’ [S and M chuckle.]

Then we go to the fourth of June.

S: So, will you go to your little book? We don’t want to miss anything.

M: We don’t want to miss a thing. Well, there’s not going to be much. [S chuckles.]

On June first, ‘I put things in order. Krishnaji slept all yesterday. And we both took long naps today and a walk. It is cold woolly weather…’ that means sweaters. ‘Frances McCann arrived. She’s staying in the Cloisters.’

On the second, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school on the softness, at Brockwood. I slept in the afternoon. Then a lovely walk. The weather is warmer, a little.’

On June third, ‘I made reservations for us at the Plaza Athénée in July and arranged for our travel tickets. After lunch, I took Frances on errands. In Petersfield, we met Joan Wright at the train station, came back to Brockwood, and I walked with Krishnaji and Dorothy. A very warm day.’

June fourth, ‘Doris lent her Mini, and Krishnaji and I drove to Petersfield and the train to London. There was something festive and warmly familiar about coming up to London with Krishnaji, especially the first time of the season. Waterloo is so exactly the same. Krishnaji’s immaculate elegance making his way toward the taxi rank, pigeons scuttling, people cutting straight lines to various gates, the satisfaction of seeing there are enough cabs, neat, clean, spare, and deft London cabs.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘We get in. Krishnaji says “Saville Road, I’ll show you where.”’ [Both chuckle] ‘And off we go across Westminster or Waterloo Bridge. We began, of course, at Huntsman’s where Krishnaji had a fitting. And then walked through the Burlington arcade to Fortnum, where Mary L. lunched with us. She told us about the biography. Murray is to publish it here, and by now Roger Strauss should have the manuscript in New York to read. Krishnaji says he wants to read the beginning part of it about the childhood, the early days. After lunch, Krishnaji had his hair cut at Truefitt’s, and I went to the U.S. Embassy to have papers about Father’s estate notarized. Walked back and met Krishnaji at Huntsman. We went off to Waterloo and home.’

On June fifth, ‘I got through to Vanda in Rome and told her we would arrive on the fourth of July. It was a quiet day. Krishnaji said “I’d like to talk to someone who can discuss the brain with me, who can challenge me. I’ll have to do it myself.”’

The next day, ‘I telephoned Filomena in Rome. She is well, but Mistica’—that’s her niece—‘is in the hospital for diagnosis. I couldn’t make out what is wrong. Krishnaji spoke to the school on being hurt, and is there a part of the mind that is empty.’

‘The balance of Krishnaji’s manuscript arrived from the secretarial service in Malibu, typed from the cassettes that I did. It runs to 309 pages double-spaced in total. Ian Hammond, who has been ill with rheumatic fever, and is now retired, came with Robert Wiffen, and we went over the Assembly Hall, which has handsomely risen to over the twelve-foot windows. Krishnaji wants to go ahead with the garage and pave the driveway properly and to finish it all up. We will need £13,000 sterling more.’

The seventh of June. ‘The Digbys and Mary C. came for lunch, and to discuss books. One book is provisionally titled Beginnings of Learning, which they put together from Brockwood discussions of Krishnaji with the school. They asked me to read the manuscript and comment. Also, we discussed Edgar Graf’s wish to resign from Saanen Gathering. I gave a report of the case against Rajagopal. Krishnaji asked George to become chairman of the publication committee. Mary L. and Mary C. are very much for this. Ian Hammond agreed and as George is now retired from the Victoria & Albert Museum, and Servire is at last settled, it was felt by all that it would be nice if he were offered the chairmanship again. George turned peony-colored [chuckles] and said he would like to think about it. Later, he left a little note with Krishnaji saying of course he accepted. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked. It was cold; woolies were worn against the wind.’

June eighth. ‘Krishnaji dictated a letter and I began checking the transcripts of his manuscript, so it can go to Mary L. My brother telephoned from Paris. He’s been in Tunisia and goes back to New York.’

On the ninth, ‘Krishnaji talked to the school. I repeated the history of the case against Rajagopal to David Bohm. Then I continued work on proofreading the transcription of Krishnaji’s manuscript.’

On June tenth, ‘Doris lent her Mini, in which Krishnaji and I drove to Petersfield, and then London by train in time for a 12:30 p.m. lunch with Mary at her place. I gave her the rest of the pages of the manuscript. She showed us the many photographs she has collated for Krishnaji’s biography. One is supposed to be of his mother, which can’t be, or else it is in line with my notion that exceptional people don’t derive from their parents.’ [S laughs, M chuckles.] ‘Krishnaji had an appointment with the dentist Hamish Thompson for a filling. Thompson said that three of Krishnaji’s teeth have a little pus under them, but because Krishnaji is so healthy they may give him no trouble, but if they do, he will need dentures. Said Krishnaji, “The body must be deteriorating slowly.” We went to Huntsman for a fitting and then Maxwell for the experimental pair of shoes they’re making for him. “I’ll wear them traveling.” Then to Sulka, where he was able to order some socks in his size. We stopped in at Mallet on Davis street, but saw nothing we wanted.’ That’s the antiquaire where I bought a lot of the furniture down in the drawing room, including the tree embroidery. ‘Stopped too at an exhibition of Andrew Wyeth, and Krishnaji liked his things. One we would have liked, but it was too expensive. $85,000.’ [Chuckles.]

June twelfth: ‘Pipe ailments in the scullery prevented lunch from being made, so we took a picnic to old Winchester Hill near West Meon. Krishnaji, Dorothy, Doris, Frances McCann, Joan Wright, Whisper, and me. It was hot in the sun and we sat looking out at the rolling green land. It emptied everything from my head. I could’ve remained there till it was dark without thinking. We took a short walk, but it was too warm, and we came back and took long naps. The usual walk later.’

Thursday, the thirteenth of June. ‘Mary L. and her daughter Amanda came for Krishnaji’s talk to the school and to lunch. Mary, Krishnaji, and I discussed the manuscript and its publication. Mary at first thought of bringing it out privately printed by the K Foundation, but is veering toward a wider field.’ I wonder why she wanted that? ‘If the K Foundation published it, it would be offered only to the mailing list, but from my point, that would result in devious booksellers managing to bootleg copies and selling those to the general public.’ That used to happen. Some booksellers used to get Indian printed books. They’re not suppose to be sold in the West, and they would just buy them and sell them.

S: Mm, hm.

M: ‘In the midst of this conversation, which took place in the West Wing kitchen, Krishnaji started asking Mary things about the biography, and then suddenly asked her if she would write the second volume.’

S: Hm.

M: ‘She said she would, but that if she did, she wanted to do it differently, with the personal part only as a background, and the main part, a chronology of his teachings told in his own words. It would be an enormous work starting with the reading of everything he has said all these years. “But will you do it?” said Krishnaji. “Yes, I will,” she said. “Good,” said Krishnaji. “That’s settled, because if you didn’t, the Indians would want to do it, and they would make a mess of it.”’ [M with humor in voice, and S laughs.] ‘“I will tell them you have undertaken it.” Pleased, he went off for his nap, and Mary and I talked all afternoon. I felt a wave of all is well at this decision. Mary’s way of working is scholarly, no interpretation, using the original text to tell the tale, which is the way to report on Krishnaji. The point of this second part of his life is his teachings, and not the personal events, and the focus on it will be well handled by Mary, I feel sure, even without having read a word of Volume 1. She wants Krishnaji to read that only when it is in galleys [2], so we must wait.

On June fifteenth, ‘Krishnaji saw the younger children of the school alone[3], and then the next day, he spoke to the whole school.’

The eighteenth of June, ‘Krishnaji and I went to London, met Mary L. for lunch at Fortnum’s. I gave her pages, so far checked, of the manuscript and returned to her an album of photographs of Adyar published in 1911. They are photos by Alcyone [4]. The text is by Leadbeater. Krishnaji and Mary fell to talking of Leadbeater and said Leadbeater must have done something bad that made the young Krishnaji dislike him. He can’t remember what it was. He was a rather brutal man, apparently. Krishnaji doubts it was anything homosexual. He would’ve been afraid to make any advance towards Krishnaji, but something must have caused the aversion. Perhaps reading Mary’s biography will bring it back.’ I think, I don’t know whether reading it brought it back, but at some point, Krishnaji said that when he was quite young he used to stare out the window with his mouth open.

S: Yes, Krishnaji told me that, too.

M: And it irritated Leadbeater, who kept telling him not to do it, but Krishnaji did it in a sort of a dreamy way. At one point, Leadbeater came up behind him and banged his mouth closed.

S: Right, by slapping him under the chin.

M: Yes, under the chin.

S: Yes.

M: And as Krishnaji said to me, that was the end of Leadbeater as far as he was concerned.

S: Krishnaji said that to me, too. It was a decisive moment for him where it…

M: It broke…

S: broke something. Something about Leadbeater clicked, and he knew that…

M: Yes, and although he continued to say to Leadbeater, who would tell him what to do, “Whatever you say.” obediently, but he was completely turned away from him as a human being.

S: Yes. The ambivalent feelings were no longer ambivalent. They were somehow…

M: He was just out, dead, for Krishnaji.

‘Krishnaji said Leadbeater was a rather brutal man.’ Oh, I read that part. ‘After lunch, Krishnaji went alone by taxi to see Mrs. Bindley. I had a fitting on a pair of rust-colored slacks at Rowe and then joined him at Mrs. Bindley’s. She is frail and more tottery than ever, but still wishes to live alone and her mind is as sharp as ever.’

The nineteenth of June. ‘Krishnaji said, “I will live at least another ten years. After that, the door will close.” I wondered what door. Is it a door for us to another dimension, which he opens for us?’

For the next two days, I worked on the manuscript, and on the twentieth, Krishnaji spoke to the school.

June twenty-first. ‘Krishnaji, coming out of his room to where a Western was playing on his TV, said, “I’m going to Missour’uh to be a dirt farmer.”’ [S laughs.] ‘“Like everybody else.”’ [Both chuckle.] ‘In the morning, an IBM salesman came and I got their new typewriter’—we don’t have to go on about that. ‘I continued to work on the manuscript, checking the transcription. Krishnaji gave an interview to Don Schmidt, an ex-student who has come back and wants to be on the staff. Frances came on the walk. A warm lovely day.’

On the next day, ‘Doris and I finished checking the 309 pages of the transcription of Krishnaji’s extraordinary manuscript. It seems to grow and grow evermore like him. The “Other” permeates it, and it is at the same time his own very personal eye on the world, his delicacy of perception. His most personal human side comes through to me in every line and yet he has entered a realm in this writing that he has only alluded to fleetingly, briefly before. It is a sacred writing in the utmost use of that word. At times, reading it rapidly in this checking, I felt overwhelmed and wanting to be silent, almost blown away by his words. When he got up this morning, he said, “I’m off to Tibet with Mistinguett.”’ [Both laugh.]

S: Who’s Mistinguett?

M: You don’t know Mistinguett?

S: No.

M: This younger generation doesn’t know anything! [S laughs.] Mistinguett was a famous nightclub performer in Paris, the toast of Paris. She sang with Maurice Chevalier—you’ve heard Maurice Chevalier?

S: Ah, yes. I know Maurice Chevalier.

M: Well, she was the female counterpart of Maurice Chevalier.

S: Ah, ha.

M: [laughing] “I’m off to Tibet with Mistinguett.” Oh, goodness.

S: Hm.

M: June twenty-third, ‘Krishnaji held an absorbing discussion with the school. After lunch Krishnaji had an interview with Frances, who asked to be allowed to stay for September, October, and November. She works well here in the kitchen, efficiently, quietly, fitting in, and is liked by all. I suggested she stay in the West Wing during that time.’

‘Then he talked to David Bohm about the scientist’s meeting in October. He told David and me all this on the walk, and then about getting Indian musicians to play here each year, a Brockwood Festival, he said. “We must make Brockwood self-sufficient. Britain is going to pieces, and we must try to be self-supporting. We should find out if we can have our own chickens, goats for milk, plant more fruit trees.” He was happily full of these ideas.’

‘A few days ago he said he had had a good meditation in the night. I asked him about the distinction he appears to make in the book between meditation and “that otherness,” that immensity. Krishnaji asked, “What does it say?” I said that it seemed to me as if there were something in him, a state of perception of which he was capable, whereas “the otherness” appeared to come to him and enter into his consciousness. He replied, “That sounds right, but they are not entirely separate.”’

S: What would you take to be the “they” that aren’t separate? The otherness and his consciousness?

M: The one is the perception that he is capable of, and then there is something that comes to him, and enters into him when he is talking. And he said, “That’s right, but they’re not entirely separate.”

‘This evening when I said how good his talk was this morning, he said,  “I knew something was going on in the brain the last few days.” When I spoke of the manuscript he wrote, he said, “It’s not my book. I didn’t write it.”’ [Long pause.]

The twenty-fourth of June. ‘I took the train to London for Krishnaji’s Swiss and French visas.’ Well, I did errands; you don’t want to hear about all this. ‘There was a letter from Erna Lilliefelt to Krishnaji and me reporting on the state of the case. The attorney general is working out wording of a settlement with Christensen. Balasundarum has sent the necessary explanations of what is required to end the Vasanta Vihar suit in Madras. The main news was of someone coming to Erna and explaining that Happy Valley will lose educational use of its funds unless it gets such uses going and therefore we should again try to get some of it for our school and center.’ The money that was left to support Happy Valley School, if they don’t use it, they lose it. ‘Erna said that she decided to take the bull by the horns and went to see Rosalind Rajagopal. The letter confirms the land must be used for educational use or it will be rezoned for agriculture.’ Oh, I see, it’s that, it’s the zoning law, not money.

S: Right.

M: So, when she means get some of it, she doesn’t mean money, she means the land.

S: Right.

M: ‘They would consider an application to use some of it, at their July meeting. They wouldn’t sell it, but would make a ninety-nine-year lease for a dollar a year. She gave permission for Erna and Theo and whomever they wish to look at the land available. Rosalind gave a long justification of her contention that Mrs. Besant hadn’t intended the Happy Valley land for Krishnaji. Erna kept her temper and didn’t debate, but stuck to the future use of the land, etcetera. Since then, she, Theo, and Ruth walked over the land and said, “It is more beautiful than the thousand-acre piece. There is a part from where we could even see the School of Avastology or Rosalind and Rajagopal’s house, and she and Theo and Ruth think we should apply for that acreage if Krishnaji and I agree. I read the whole letter to Krishnaji. We talked it over a bit. But he seemed rather distracted. We’ll go into it again tomorrow.’

S: Now which piece of land…is that the land that is now the present Oak Grove School?

M: Oh, no. No, no. This is Happy Valley land, up the hill. I walked on part of it. It’s not that attractive. I never wanted to have it.

On the twenty-fifth of June, ‘on the train going up to London, Krishnaji asked me to tell him again what Erna’s letter had said. One obvious advantage is the land is suitable and the cost is nil. Rosalind Rajagopal had said we were “greedy” last year and “had asked for all of it,”’ which isn’t true, ‘but the impending settlement must be a factor. Erna Lilliefelt talked to Louis Blau and asked him to ask George Uribe, the ex-student, and present lawyer for Happy Valley, who once came with Dr. Pollock to talk to Krishnaji in Malibu. Krishnaji dictated a cable to be signed by us both and sent to Erna. “Please gladly proceed with what you propose in matter of land.” Krishnaji then said, “It is strange. Four days ago when I was going down to lunch, the thought came. I said, ‘Nitya, do something about Arya Vihara. They are such silly people. See that something happens about this.”’

S: Hm.

M: ‘We went to Sulka to have Indian silk shirts made and then to Fortnum’s, where Mary and Joe lunched with us. I gave the remaining pages of Krishnaji’s manuscript to Mary. She will now edit it. We will consider how it will be published. Krishnaji and I then went to the bookshop, and then to Waterloo and back to Brockwood.’

June twenty-sixth: ‘A while back, in a conversation with Krishnaji about interviews, he said, “When they are open, they want you to read their letter. Other times, they have a mask on, and I am deceived.”’ What?

S: Krishnaji used to say that reading someone else’s mind was like reading their letters, an impolite and incorrect thing to do.

M: Yes. He always said that he never looked into people if they didn’t ask him to.

S: Yes, yes.

M: And if people don’t want to be looked into, he said, “It is not my business.” ‘And he said, “You come to see me, and you are serious. You ask me to look. I never offer my opinion. Then it is simple and clear. I can go ahead. Others say, ‘Look, but not too deeply.’ I go as deeply as they want me to. If they want me to go a mile, I go a mile.”’

‘“Naudé never did. I wish he had. That is what makes me uncomfortable.”’

S: So, Naudé never asked him to look deeply?

M: No.

‘Krishnaji also said, “If you are able to perceive me, you must be in a meditative mind.”’

‘Paul Anstee and David Saxby’—those are the decorators—‘drove down to help with curtains for the new Assembly Room and stayed to lunch. They brought samples which Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I looked at. Anstee is looking for a job, not in decorating.’

The next day, ‘Ginny Travers came for Krishnaji’s talk to the school and to lunch. It was quite a good discussion. If one really followed it, there was everything there. In the evening, we watched a TV program of Walter Cronkite interviewing Solzhenitsyn.’

On June twenty-ninth, ‘I went to Winchester to fetch a repaired lamp in time for the Digbys coming to spend the night. Krishnaji had me tell them about the manuscript and let them read what they could of it. The sample of curtain fabric came. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I were unanimous in the choice. The Digbys chose the same. There were school games all afternoon on the lawn, which I only observed from the window while packing. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked, but it made my cold heavier. There was a school party in the evening. Everyone dressed very nicely. Krishnaji did not attend.’

The next day, ‘I packed and did laundry all day. Krishnaji didn’t talk to the students as he normally would have on a Sunday, but packed, too.’

Monday, the first of July. ‘A windy, clear day. Finished the laundry, fed and watered the house plants, and for once was unhurried and ready a little ahead of departure time. Dorothy drove us to Heathrow. We left at 11:30 a.m. and stopped for a nice picnic lunch in the car at Runnymede by the edge of the river. Ducks and wind in the willows. Krishnaji watched too the aircraft in the sky. A busload of children came with food, one a Sikh boy in a pink turban. “Nonsense” said Krishnaji. “It’s a smelly, awful thing. They should pull it off him.”’ He had some experience of turbans in his youth.

S: Mm.

M: ‘We got to Heathrow by 2 p.m. Dorothy, Montague, and Doris leave for Saanen tomorrow in the Land Rover. Krishnaji and I took the 3 p.m. BEA plane to Paris, loaded with the worst of American tourists; fat, hideously and unsuitably dressed, and talking loudly to each other about buying things. Krishnaji stood observing, remote, in an aristocracy of centuries about him. On the plane, he declined the champagne’—one is proffered champagne in first class—‘and had a tonic instead. Earlier at Runnymede, he was merrier. Dorothy offered him Ribena. “I only drink champagne”, he said.’ [Laughter.] ‘We were soon over Paris, and Krishnaji by the window picked out Longchamps, Le Bois. Too sadly, many tall ugly buildings mar the sky line of Paris now. We came by taxi to the Plaza Athénée and to our usual comfortable rooms. It is pleasant and I feel a sense of having brought Krishnaji safely to a shelter in the sense of a necessary shell around him, clean, quiet, adequate food, and something he is used to. The luxury is what one must take to have all those other essentials. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here,” he said. Then he said, “Thank you for looking after me.” It is warm in Paris, and nice to be here. We went for a little walk to a pharmacy for toothpaste and came back to supper in the rooms. Krishnaji had stopped twice at windows of a patisserie. “It makes me hungry,” he said. So we had tarte aux pommes for supper. But it didn’t agree with him. On French TV, there was the idiotic Tour de France, and little else.’

On the second of July. ‘We had a leisurely breakfast, then we went shopping. Krishnaji, immaculate elegance, first to Charvet, where I left him briefly looking at shirtings while I walked down a few doors to Morgan Bank. Krishnaji ordered four shirts, and I ordered two. One of pale green, like one of his, and one with tiny orange lines on white.’ That was the nicest shirt, and something awful happened to it, I’ve forgotten what. ‘From even a few feet, it gives an effect of gleaming cream, an Indian color. We walked to Lobb and saw a Mr. Ellis, in place of ailing Mr. Dickinson, who took Krishnaji’s order for a pair of black brogues and a brown pair. We went back to the Plaza, where Marcelle Bondoneau met us for lunch in the garden. Nadia Kossiakof came for coffee. She has negotiated publication of The Awakening of the Intelligence by Stock, translated by Madame Duchet. Krishnaji had me tell them of the manuscript and left while I was describing it. Both were very moved. Krishnaji rested and we went out later for a small walk, stopping at rue François 1er at Courrège, where we bought Krishnaji a navy pullover and then on to Givenchy Gentlemen’s store where our credit was finally put into another pair of trousers for Krishnaji, thin summer ones, cream-colored silk.’ It’s awful to report all this.

S: No it’s not, it’s not at all, Mary.

M: It’s rather private.

S: No, it’s not. [Laughs.] Well, it is, but it’s still nice to know!

M: You’re a demon archivist!

‘We came back to supper in the rooms, and watched a TV documentary of the 1939 Nazi war, and then the Nixon/Brezhnev meeting in Moscow. “People are mad,” said Krishnaji. This morning he said, “There is something even in this room, a marvelous meditation, that thing is going on. It started here last night. It was good to get away from Brockwood. The atmosphere was too infantile.”’

The third of July. ‘After weeks of trying and unable to get through by telephone to Filomena in Rome, I succeeded and learned that Mistica had an operation but came home yesterday. Krishnaji’s throat is slightly sore, so he spent the morning in bed. I went to Vuitton for a handbag replacement and then to Vase Etrusque for more of our Brockwood china. Mar de Manziarly lunched with us at the Plaza. She asked Krishnaji about Sai Baba whom Yo’—Yo is her sister, Yo de Manziarly—‘thinks is marvelous. Krishnaji gave a vivid picture. Mar justifies it by saying that most people can’t do what Krishnaji says. They need to be told and given something. This argument always puzzles me; as if a false medicine is better than none. While this went on, we had the best tarte aux framboise ever eaten.’

‘Krishnaji then rested for an hour while I walked over to Dior and bought something for Fosca, a scarf and some eau de cologne. Then Krishnaji and I walked to a movie on the Champs-Elysées, Scorpio, with Burt Lancaster and Alain Delon. Nonsense but done with style and suspense. Krishnaji was pleased.’

The fourth of July. ‘We packed and with all the valises went to the Gare de Lyon, where Mar came to see Krishnaji off. Krishnaji said that the last time he was at that railroad station was with his brother. My last time was June 1, 1965, when I made the same train trip to Lausanne, and had, on the train, my last non-vegetarian meal. We were in the last wagon and Krishnaji quickly found a window at the end where he could watch all the scenery. We went to the first serving and had an interminable lunch, only a bit of which we could eat. Krishnaji sat opposite me next to an old woman with bright rouge cheeks. He and I watched the fields of France go by. Again, the barley was beautiful; green stalks, golden to orange heads, poppies coming through, and the wind twirling it all into moving colors. Krishnaji stood all the way to Lausanne looking out. The train is very smooth, and he was pleased by this way of going to Switzerland.’

‘Moser, with the gray Mercedes freshly waxed and very splendid, was waiting for us at the Lausanne station. We put the bags in and drove up through the city, toujours direction Berne, until we took the Oron-Bulle road. It was a marvelous afternoon; the rolling green of the fields and mountains. “We are back in our country,” said Krishnaji, pleased with it all and with the car. He remembered the Gâteau Bullois we bought last year on arrival, but the shop was closed. Coming into Gstaad, Krishnaji spied two women walking ahead. “It’s Ms. McCann and Tapas” he said.’

Do you know who Tapas was?

S: Yes, I knew Tapas.

M: Tiny, tiny!

S: Yes, I know. Lovely Tapas.

M: And little old, I don’t know, four-feet-something high, little brown face and little brown eyes and hair. She was a sannyasini.

Anyway, ‘it was Tapas. Never before in all her many years was she ever out of India and, here she was, brought by the Doctors Siddoo. We stopped and Krishnaji walked back with them, Tapas prostrating herself to touch his feet, startling a passing Swiss person.’ [S and M laugh.]

‘Up on the hill to Tannegg were Vanda and Fosca, who had arrived yesterday. The apartment downstairs is now a narrow, rather dark room with an interior bath and no kitchen.’ They’d remodeled it. ‘Krishnaji went to bed, and Vanda and I talked long after supper, bringing her all the news.’

The fifth of July. ‘Krishnaji remained in bed. I unpacked. Went down for supplies. I took a nap. It is marvelous weather, cool air, hot sun, very relaxed.’

The next day, ‘I did some letters. Brought Krishnaji’s travel fund up-to-date. I slept long after lunch. Krishnaji remained in bed. I walked down to the train station for the Herald Tribune, up the hill, puffing a bit. I never was any good at climbing.’

July eighth. ‘I finished work on the travel fund…’

S: Travel fund?

M: Oh, I kept a record of all his travel expenses. ‘A long letter came from Erna saying that Rajan, via Christensen has so embroiled Vasanta Vihar…’ Rajan was the lawyer in Madras. Rajagopal was hanging onto Vasanta Vihar with the help of Madahvachari, and Rajan was Rajagopal’s lawyer. ‘Rajan has so embroiled the Vasanta Vihar situation that Cohen wants to make the KFA settlement without signing for the other foundations or the Stichting [5]. She enclosed a letter to Balasundarum saying this. Christensen claims that Rajagopal and KWINC shouldn’t be defendants in the Vasanta Vihar case. Who then? Krishnaji remained in bed till 4 p.m. when the Sufi leader Pir Vilayat Khan, who has asked to see him, was due. He didn’t turn up till 5. “Typical of these people.”’ That’s a quote from Krishnaji. ‘He came with a young woman who remained outside, and Krishnaji and he talked alone for one-and-a-half hours. Tea was then given. The Sufi left. Long black robe, gray beard, speaks excellent French, lectures in it, and German. He told Vanda and me that he was for subduing the self, control, etcetera. Krishnaji said, “How rigid these fellows are.”’

The ninth of July, in the morning was deskwork for me. ‘Frances McCann and Tapas came for lunch. Krishnaji came out to greet them, but had lunch in bed. This kind of rest is doing him good. After lunch, I drove Vanda, Frances, and Tapas to Chateau d’Oex, and I did some errands. Krishnaji was ready for his first walk of the year when I got back, and we went a little way up the Turbach Road.’

Wednesday, the tenth of July. ‘Krishnaji had a cable yesterday from Balasundarum at Rishi Valley and received a letter from Erna about being unable to make an agreement on Vasanta Vihar part of the KFA settlement. Part of the cable asked if Krishnaji wanted them to continue their case in Madras. This morning Krishnaji dictated a cable saying “yes” most strongly, and then dictated a letter going into it more fully. I sent both. At 11 a.m. he saw Edgar Graf alone about his reasons for wanting to give up the Saanen work. It seems his wife is demanding it. Krishnaji had lunch in bed. Graf lunched with Vanda and me. There was a telephone call for Krishnaji from Madras. Balasundarum was calling from the lawyer’s office there. Krishnaji spoke, and I spoke. They fear that if we settle without an agreement about Vasanta Vihar, and KWINC is dissolved, it will be much harder for them to get Vasanta Vihar. They also said that Rajagopal has claimed to the high court that Vasanta Vihar belongs to KWINC Ojai, which Christensen (Rajagopal’s lawyer), quoting Rajan, denies. I asked Balasundarum to send evidence of Rajagopal’s taking this position to Erna as quickly as possible and said I would telephone her. The international number here in Gstaad was busy until after 9 p.m. and it wasn’t until 10:30 p.m. that I was able to read her the message and said to wait for papers from Balasundarum. She said rather guardedly that the “meeting” of the Happy Valley Foundation was on the sixth, and she was hopeful we may get land. She was waiting for conditions to be set forth by Uribe, the Happy Valley lawyer. He thinks if we get this that eventually we will be able to have all of Happy Valley. He was always the optimist.’

‘We walked up the river way in the late afternoon. Earlier, Yves Zlotnicka came by, and we talked a bit politely till Dorothy gets here about the Brockwood film he wants to do. Seems he wants it as a start on a film of Krishnaji all over the world. Guido Franco, the other filmmaker who has plagued our summers for three years, is not coming this year, happily.’ [Chuckles] ‘Vanda says he shot footage on Sai Baba in India and when he got it back and looked at it, he could see how Sai Baba was faking the miracles he claimed he was doing. It was all a sleight of hand thing.’

S: I heard that from Guido Franco myself.

M: Yes.

S: He slowed the film down, and it was all just the sleight of hand of stuff, pulling things out of his sleeve, and things like that.

M: Yes, that’s right.

The eleventh ‘was a beautiful day, but Krishnaji is feeling his hay fever and is rather weak. He stayed in bed all day and did no exercises.’

The next day, ‘I woke up and worried about Krishnaji’s weakness yesterday. Until almost 8 a.m. his door was closed. He then appeared almost shaking with energy. “Fine, fine,” he said. He said he had been thinking of a center in Ojai and everywhere else.

He had me write it down. “Must produce people so intelligent they will be basically religious, and with that intelligence will function in every field, politics, art, business, and every form of social relationship.”’

‘A letter came special delivery from Erna telling us of the Happy Valley situation. Rosalind Rajagopal drafted a letter before their meeting was even held, not to say a “ no” to us but a “yes” that was in effect a “no.” Erna got Alan Hooker to speak to Dr. Rudd’—he’s another trustee of that foundation, I think—‘urging support of the KFA application. Evelyne Blau spoke to Dr. Pollock, and Mark Lee to a Mrs. Iyer on the board, and Erna telephoned Rosalind asking if members of KFA should be available on the day of the meeting, the sixth. Rosalind said “no,” and brushed her off. The meeting, however, went in our direction and will wait for Uribe’s letter of conditions.’

‘Krishnaji, blazing with energy, told me to write about the essentials of the center: keep the school in a corner, separate from the center. But he wants also a school for older children. The center is to have a meeting room to hold 200 people, kitchen and dining room for 100, and housing for thirty to forty people there on invitation to discuss, etcetera. He wants to keep the Oak Grove for talks, including half the land to the west of it. “In case we want to build something there,” and sell the rest.’ Huh! [S chuckles.] ‘He said that if we got the use of the Happy Valley land, he should fly to Ojai and meet everyone interested, including all the Valley people to ask for their support. This somehow in September. We would start building immediately. I pointed out we had no funds yet to even pay Mark Lee’s salary. “You’re always talking about money,” he said impatiently.’ [Both laugh at this.] ‘I said I would never speak of it again.’ [Both laugh heartily now.] Oh, goodness.

‘I wrote all of this to Erna, and Krishnaji got dressed and came with me to post it and to visit the tent. A young boy was sitting behind the bushes as we came out, watching the chalet. His face shone shyly when he saw Krishnaji, and he stared until we drove off. We went into the tent. This year the space in front of Krishnaji where those who sit on the ground has been extended all the way to the sides of the tents on the shady space. Krishnaji was pleased at that.’

‘We went to the camping to see Dorothy and Montague, and they’d just arrived in the Land Rover. Doris came with them and is in her flat.’ She took a flat that year.

‘Krishnaji had lunch in bed. I went on some errands for him and bought Swiss hiking boots and wore them on the walk. In the woods, Krishnaji said suddenly, “I woke up early and something extraordinary happened. It was as though this”’ [wide gesture] “‘were enormous, spreading out to take the universe.” I asked, “This being consciousness?” Krishnaji replied, “More than consciousness. It went on for more than an hour.” I asked, “Did it fade then?” Krishnaji answered, “No, you know how this is. It is there somewhere.” We walked to the river only. He climbed up the masonry bank to look at it, and then we turned back. He asked me to walk ahead and leave him alone to walk more slowly. He said, “I must work.” In the wood, by the small stream, he called ahead to me, saying he would sit there awhile. I went on to where the road ends and the open hillside begins, and one sees the splendor of the two valleys and the glaciers. I sat on the bench there for about twenty minutes, and he then passed me and went on to Tannegg. When I returned, he was coming out with rubber gloves to clean the Mercedes engine.’ [S chuckles] ‘Full of energy! I had been wondering and when I mentioned it to Vanda whether there is something in the fact that just about every summer before his talks here, he has a low period, a sick week, and then zooms up for the talks, as if some unknown something puts the body into low gear in order that some other force gathers in him. I may be spinning fancies.’

On July thirteenth, ‘Edgar Graf came to see Krishnaji for a personal interview, and Mr. Mirabet came to greet Krishnaji and make his annual donation. Graf came back to lunch with Vanda and me. I got car washing equipment and started washing the Mercedes while Krishnaji was on the walk with Peter Racz. Vanda brought a young American boy, a sculptor home, and after Krishnaji was finished washing the car, he went with him for a short walk. Frances and Tapas came for a short visit.’

On July fourteenth, ‘the mountains were invisible in cloud, a light steady rain. Breakfast at 8 a.m., and there was that slight tension before a first talk. Vanda went to the tent with Mrs. Walsh…’ she’s the woman who rented the flat downstairs. ‘I got out the Mercedes, which I began to wash yesterday, while Krishnaji was walking, and which Krishnaji finished with the help of Ted Cartee and Terry Saunders, and I had it by the door ahead of time. In spite of rain on the first day, the tent was surprisingly almost full, and Krishnaji began with full energy and impact. The need for clear action in all fields, not born of thought, to give “your energy and your years.” Again he said, “God didn’t make man in his image; man has made god in his image.” At the end, he raised the question, “Is there action of mind that is not of thought?” but left it to go into it in another meeting. Ted came for lunch and Terry Saunders, too. Krishnaji questioned Ted about his seven years of Zen discipline. Ted answers well and factually. Krishnaji had his lunch in bed.’

Monday, July fifteenth, ‘I went down to the town for various things Krishnaji wanted, including twenty-four boxes of the plant calcium for himself and me, measuring it out on a spoon twice a day. I think it does something; my nails are hard, and I think osteoporosis is less. At lunch there were Frances, Barabino, and Ortolani and his lady whose name I never know.’ Her name was Ulca.’ [Chuckles] ‘Krishnaji was with them before lunch and after for coffee’—Pionier, a coffee substitute. ‘Part of the talk was about where Krishnaji should speak in Rome. Vanda feels the talk would be a target for bombs if it is announced publicly too far in advance. Today a bomb blew up a part of the Stazione Termini in Rome. The talk was light. Una bombezza, said Vanda’ [M laughs], ‘but then there was an endless talk about it, and nothing was settled. Krishnaji ate in his room. Later, we went to Saanen for a pair of walking shoes for him like the ones I had just bought. We wore them on a walk to the river. On the way, I speculated what would happen if people really said no fighting, no wars. The aggressor nations would take over. Krishnaji said you couldn’t let them do that. You would speak up, get people to not cooperate. Do no work. Russians or anyone else couldn’t control the world if everyone refused to work. “You’d have to talk, organize it ahead of time. At the last minute, it’s too late.” I said, “Isn’t it already too late?” and he said, “Maybe. Now I must get woolly. I have to talk tomorrow.”’

S: I must get woolly?

M: Yes. Sort of, you know…

S: Ah-ha, yes, okay [6].

M: ‘I said no more, but walked ahead so he could be alone. In the woods, he called to me,  “Maria, remind me of these words: idea creates conflicting energy.” After, when I went to put the usual eight drops of milk in each of his nostrils…’ [chuckles], the anti-hay fever treatment prescribed by Dr. Parchure in India, ‘…he said, “If there is a bomb in Rome, I must tell you what must be done.” At my recoiled shock, he said, “Shall I write it down, or tell you?” Then, his tray was brought in, and he said it wasn’t the moment to discuss it. At supper with Vanda, I asked how real the talk was of bombs. “It’s always possible now in Italy,” she said. And on the TV news came pictures of the damage in the Termini in Rome.’ That’s the station.

S: Mm, hm.

M: ‘Then, why have him talk there? One talk, she thinks, would be alright. It is his mentioning it that makes me worry. In New York, he brushed aside the scare. “Something looks after things.”’

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[1] This and the following references to “manuscript” was the manuscript they finally got from Rajagopal, which was subsequently published as Krishnamurti’s Notebook. Back to text.

[2] Galley proofs are the preliminary versions of manuscripts prepared by publishers, especially meant for proofreading and editing. Back to text.

[3] When Brockwood started, it took children as young as ten years old. By 1976, Brockwood’s policy changed to take only children fourteen years of age and older. Back to text.

[4] Alcyone is the name given by Theosophists to what they thought were all the incarnations of Krishnaji. Back to text.

[5] The Dutch Krishnamurti organization which had existed for decades, and which, after all Rajagopal’s shifting of property between organizations, came to own the Krishnamurti headquarters in India, Vasanta Vihar. Back to text.

[6] As I remember it, Mary made a gesture of Krishnaji becoming vague. Back to text.