Issue 32—July 16, 1974 to September 19, 1974
A careful reader wrote to us a few days ago saying, “the project seems to be ‘deepening’ and I am enjoying Mary’s growing closeness to Krishnaji.” Part of my response to the reader was as follows:
Yes, for me also, the project, as you say, is “deepening” and in a way I don’t really understand. Despite the tedium of reading the daily details of anyone’s life (probably even one’s own) something else is being conveyed. We are seven years into Mary’s story of being with Krishnaji, and Mary is now so completely dedicated to him; so single-mindedly devoted to his teachings, and all he wants to do; so totally immersed in his world, that it feels like she is recording and, therefore, passing on a deeper and more complete sense of what it was for her to be in his presence. To me, and it might only be to me, unlike the earlier issues of these memoirs in which Mary was describing something that was at some distance to her self and her life; she is now describing something that is pressed hard up against her nose—she sees it, smells it, feels it viscerally in her body. And Mary has changed from her experiences; rather than disappearing, she seems somehow to be distilling into the essence of herself. This is what I read. This is what I hope others read.
The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue 32
Mary: We start on July sixteenth, 1974, in Gstaad. ‘Krishnaji gave his second Saanen talk. He spoke of seeing the whole. Vanda and I lunched alone, and then went into Krishnaji’s bedroom for coffee with Krishnaji, who had finished his tray and was reading le Carré’s spy story, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. We spoke a little about the talk, and Krishnaji’s reply to questions he had been asked about “how are you going to change people who are only interested in getting enough to eat?” etcetera. Krishnaji had said that he was talking, “to you here in this tent. If you change, it will change other ways, old ways; of war, reform, systems, etcetera, which have resulted in the present chaos. Only change in the psyche can alter the world.”’
‘“But I’m thinking about Thursday’s talk,” he said. He had again spoken of thought being matter this morning and, now sitting on the bed, he said the following: “When there is a cause, the energy created by that cause is the energy of thought as matter. Meditation is without cause, without past, time, or form. Why is thought divisive? Because it is the past. It must be fragmented. Cause, as long as there is a cause, there is the past. If there is no cause, there is no past, no time. The Greeks were concerned with form and the manipulations of matter. They made a prototype of beauty, etcetera. They never went into the question of form being matter. Prototype is result of mentation. Form is the cause, the cause is a result of time, etcetera. Everything is in terms of matter: gods, Jesus, etcetera. The symbol is created by thought. In the West, matter is the most important material and then there is God, which is considered to be non-material, but it is an idea and hence matter.”’
‘Then he said, “You cannot organize the world unless there is the ‘Other.’ There must be the whole. There must be energy, which is of intelligence, which is not of matter. For it, you must negate.”’
‘“Form and matter are considered two different things. We need form to build a house. It is dictated by culture, economy, etcetera.”’
‘He spoke about food: “Starvation is a not a concept. Food produced needs no form, but it needs distribution. If the distributor has a concept (nationalism, for instance) there is chaos. It must be done not according to idea, concept. Organization should not be according to politics, but according to physical facts.”’
‘“One may ask, what that has to do with my little life, but daily life brings in implications of all this.”’
‘He spoke about matter. Is there anything beyond matter? “One sees this as on this side of the river, which is suffering and misery, and what is one to do? The ordinary man living in this world, oppressed and suffering, wants to break it. But he doesn’t see the whole thing is wrong. When I see it, passion makes the break.”’
‘“Life and death are always close together. Don’t put it all over there.”’
‘Later we walked to the river. The reply to the KF application for HappyValley land had come in the morning mail, a copy of it forwarded by Erna Lilliefelt of a letter signed by Rosalind and Rajagopal, saying the offer would be considered. Krishnaji asked me to report what it said. They may ask why we want this land when we are going to get KWINC land in settlement. Then he tentatively wondered if, since Radha Sloss had made an overture toward him by asking to see him in Bombay, he might write to her to push the land thing. I felt perfectly sick at this. The haunting notion that in his eagerness for the center, he would ignore the ugliness of these people, and again admit them to his life. I said little, as he calls it, “a reaction,” which it is, a retching one. It began to rain and we came back soaked. Vanda had made a tea party. Graf, Terry Saunders, Frances, and Simonetta—once a couturière and for the past four years a follower of Chidananda living at the Divine Life Society ashram in Rishikesh, where she worked with lepers and organized weaving for them. Krishnaji questioned her about the place. It is heavenly, devotional, full of…bak-bakta’—what is it?
Scott: Bhakti, or something like that.
M: Yes. ‘He talked quite a long time about India, the people who come to him, the heavily traditionalism, the very few who are real, all the circus that goes on, the disintegration of the country. She gave the impression of not knowing where to go after four years; a life of being out of her old ways, but not knowing where to go. She seemed to have accepted traditional ways through her devotion to Chidananda. For him, she did the leper thing. It was 7 p.m. when they left. Vanda had Terry stay to supper. He wants to know about teaching art at Brockwood. Vanda is leaving for Florence tomorrow.’
July seventeenth. ‘Vanda left in the morning. I saw her off at the train, then did errands. We had lunch alone, Krishnaji on his tray in his room. Four young people came tapping on the front door wanting to see him. I tried to say the inevitable as nicely as I can. I did letters. There was a cable from Balasundarum that the KFI lawyer, Ramaswami, had telephoned from Madras to Stanley Cohen in Oxnard. Balasundarum hoped that the opposing lawyers in the KFA suit agreed on something for Vasanta Vihar. Balasundarum said further that it was rumored Rajagopal’s man, Rajam, was planning a long, drawn-out litigation over Vasanta Vihar, and the KFI wanted an extra push in their anxiety to have it settled by us in our case. Erna writes that Rosenthal or Cohen (our lawyers) call Christensen (Rajagopal’s lawyer) every other day.’
Thursday, eighteenth of July. ‘It was a marvelous third Saanen talk by Krishnaji. I thought he was tattooing it on my brain. It was cold, raining. Dorothy and Montague came for lunch. Krishnaji ate in his room but came in before and after, which is a good system; it rests him, yet he can see people, too. We showed them the narrowed quarters downstairs and invited them, if they would prefer it to camping in the Land Rover. We walked in the rain and chamois-ed the car dry. Krishnaji was pleased that we would keep the Mercedes with us now and take it back to England. In the evening, I was finally able to reach Erna in Ojai. The letters about Vasanta Vihar only reached there today, so there is no news. She sounded weary.’
July nineteenth. ‘There was a cold, light rain, but Krishnaji wanted to go ahead with the day in Geneva. We left at 10 a.m., picked up Dorothy and Montague, and reached Geneva by 12:20 p.m. The car drove beautifully. We lunched at the Hotel du Rhône in the corner by the window. Krishnaji was pleased with lunch, and ate a lot for him. “I will have ice cream,” he said’ [chuckles]. ‘Fraise ice cream has become a favorite dessert in restaurants. He ate it all.’
‘Dorothy and Montague went off on their own, and Krishnaji and I hurried across the Rhône to Jacquet. Going to Geneva is a ritual, and somehow the repetition each year is part of the enjoyment. Old, nice ways. Jacquet: “Bonjour, Monsieur Krishnamurti” from a plump saleswoman as he came in.’ [S chuckles.] ‘The order book appears, and his orders from the past years are there, snippets of the tie material pasted on the page. The new ones chosen as possibilities pile upward in a heap until all are seen, and then we go through them and select. Today seven were chosen. I seem to have reliable taste to him, for my advice is sought and followed. So, can they make them by next week? Of course,’ [chuckles] ‘and they will send them to Gstaad. We leave. He is very pleased. We hurried back across the bridge, pass Vacheron Constantin, and go in to find a travel clock for Krishnaji, one with batteries, and it must show in the dark. It is found, a Looping, and I buy it for him. We skitter across to the hotel to meet Narasimhan, who has some Nixon stories, and who is also pessimistic about the problems of the world.’ Narasimhan used to hear all these funny stories. Apparently, at least from my point of view, the UN has become what the New York Stock Exchange was for my father, because of all the funny stories that would emanate in the old days from there.
S: Right. [Laughs.]
M: And, as I’m no longer in touch with the New York Stock Exchange, I found the same phenomenon going on in the UN…
S: I’m glad it’s serving some purpose. [Laughs again.]
M: Yes…and so he used to pass them on to Krishnaji. That’s where he got a lot of those stories, the religious stories about Saint Peter, and all the heaven and hell stories.
S: Yes, yes. [M and S laugh.]
M: Um, let’s see, where was I? ‘The UN is becoming too big, and it’s close to being out of hand. May 1975 will see improvements. But his manner is cheerful and lighter than usual. Krishnaji has me tell about the application for British citizenship, that it looks as if Krishnaji can only get it at the discretion of the Home Secretary, now Roy Jenkins. Narasimhan says that Roy Jenkins is his friend and he will go especially to London in September to ask him to act on it. Very good news. We go out to see his new Mercedes. He is coming to Gstaad to spend the night and hear Krishnaji’s talk on the twenty-eighth.’
‘We left, and we walked back to look at a Uher cassette recorder. They haven’t got the new model. We passed a health food store and bought some cereals, olives, and fruit sticks that Krishnaji likes. Then, irresistibly, he thought of a reason to go to Patek, the ritual. Krishnaji is very’—it says ‘feathery’—what?—‘intently offhand, while talking to the man who is checking his watch. It is the gold one Mr. Logan gave him, which he seldom uses, but the steel one has gone to Hausmann in Rome with Vanda to be cleaned because Patek here cannot do it in July. The world is getting too unwieldy for expensive possessions, but the tie choosing, and Patek, and Mercedes rituals are Krishnaji’s fun, and I enjoy it vicariously. Also, the repetition of our yearly sallies, retracing our path, deepens the groove in something dear, something light and fun and very much a part of him. “Those are very nice ties,” he said, as we whisked along past the rushing Rhône. He was buoyant and pleased and not tired when we met Dorothy and Montague at the hotel, and didn’t tire on the drive back. “Have her go 100,” he said on the autoroute. I did, and the car did—briefly. We stopped for the newspaper at the Gare in Gstaad, and were back in the house by 7 p.m. Going to bed, he said, “Those are very nice ties. I will give the others away.”’ [M and S both chuckle.]
On the twentieth, there seems to be nothing much that happened, but I’ll read it because I know you want it anyway [chuckles]. ‘I marketed. Jane Hammond came to lunch. At 3:30 p.m., a Mr. Cochet came to see me. At 4:30 p.m., Terry Saunders came and went on the walk with Krishnaji and me.’
On the twenty-first, ‘Krishnaji gave the fourth talk, more on materialism, and it was a magnificent one. The tent was overflowing. Suzanne and Hughes, and Marcelle Bondoneau to lunch. Terry came by to wash the car, but went for a walk with Krishnaji, Dorothy, and me. Dorothy, Montague will move up here from the camping tomorrow.’
S: Who is Terry Saunders?
M: I can’t put a face to him. He wanted to become the art teacher at Brockwood, but I can’t remember anything about him. It says, ‘Terry stayed for supper with me.’
On Monday, the twenty-second of July. The Grafs, Edgar and Allema, saw Krishnaji. Also in the afternoon, he saw Axel Ferrand and his brother Patrice, nephews of Suzanne van der Straten. During this, Terry Saunders and I washed the car, and Krishnaji came out to finish it. Dorothy and Montague moved downstairs. I spoke to Mary Links in London about questions in the citizenship application, which Krishnaji must fill out; the dates of the parents’ births and deaths, his mother’s name, etcetera. Mary said Roger Straus’—that’s the publisher in New York—‘wrote about publishing her biography, but not clearly. She has revised and tightened it. The fighting is going on in Cyprus. Makarios fled; the Greeks and Turks forces have invaded.’
Tuesday, the twenty-third. ‘Krishnaji gave his fifth Saanen talk; very fine. In the afternoon, he held a Brockwood educational meeting. Shrinivas, Philip, Joe and Carol, Doris, Carol Allwell, Sofia and Carlos, Verna Krueger, Kathy, the two Doctor Siddoos, Tapas, Rudi Melnicker…’
S: I remember him.
M: Who was he?
S: He was just a boy that Bohm was enthusiastic about, but he never actually joined in anything.
M: ‘…Terry Saunders, Scott!’ appears for the first time in the record…
S: Oh. Ha!
M: ‘…and a Dutch woman named Bep.’ She was that friend of Dorothy who died in Alaska and…
S: Yes, yes, yes.
M: …left all the money to the school. ‘Krishnaji was almost scathing about BrockwoodPark, spoke of the need to bring about “another” quality in the school. “How will you do it? It is your responsibility.” Dorothy was hard hit, defensive about the school, and said she didn’t know how to meet it. She is very obviously depressed.’
The next day. ‘The U.S. Supreme Court votes eight to zero that Nixon must give over the subpoenaed tapes. The Greek military regime is deposed and Karamanlis is called from exile to form a democratic government.’
‘Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, and I met Yves Zlotnicka and discussed the film he wants to make of Brockwood. He has raised £1,000 toward it, but £3,000 minimum is needed, and the Krishnamurti Foundation can’t afford it. We explained this to him. Also, Dorothy said after yesterday’s meeting with Krishnaji, which Yves taped, she wouldn’t know how to go about the Brockwood film. Yves accepted the decision, but not easily. Whether he will be resentful remains to be seen.’
‘There was no one for lunch, and it is blissfully quiet.’
‘Krishnaji saw Mr. Tavacca of the Argentine committee in the afternoon. Then Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked the Turbach road. They are digging in the river to move its course from where it broke the retaining wall.’
On the twenty-fifth, Krishnaji gave his sixth Saanen talk on death, but it was more on living. Frances McCann, and Reneta Wolff came to lunch. Reneta and her husband Rudiger have separated. Later, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked by the river, and afterward, Krishnaji questioned me on whether Dorothy really understands what he’s talking about. Her incomprehension of his manuscript at BrockwoodPark, her defensiveness when he speaks of Brockwood, which makes her unable to respond or go forward. He was severe. “All of you will just go along this way if I die tomorrow.” He is disturbed and quite withering about it. He wants me to talk to Dorothy.’
Editor’s Note: Dorothy was so hostile to Krishnamurti’s Notebook, which, at this point, existed only in manuscript form, that she spoke vehemently to me about it, even though I was very new to Brockwood. She felt that it was so mystical that it made the goal of Krishnaji’s teachings beyond the reach most people. This clearly went against what she had previously felt to be the case—that the goal was simpler, easier, and more attainable.
The twenty-sixth. ‘There was the annual meeting of the International Committees. Krishnaji put Dorothy rather on a carpet about Brockwood, questioning her about it. “They wanted to know these things,” he said later, but all the time knowing Dorothy’s difficulty, his speaking in front of a group, it seemed too forced, and his criticism of Brockwood may have come across to some as too much about schools; the history of the Indian ones, etcetera. I gave a vague, brief, but slightly optimistic report of the Rajagopal/KWINC case. Anneke just arrived. Doris, Mary Cadogan, and Sybil Dobinson stayed to lunch.’
‘At 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji had a hair cut by barber Nicola in the village. We ran into Terry, and he came along. He has been hearing all sorts of criticisms of Brockwood, the Krishnamurti Foundation, Dorothy, the trustees, etcetera. At Tannegg, he told this to Krishnaji and me and Dorothy. Terry named who he thought was the principal critic, and Krishnaji said he would deal with it. Krishnaji told Terry to tell this critic to bring everyone who is critical to meet him on Monday.’
‘On the walk, I talked a little to Dorothy about her reactions to Krishnaji’s Brockwood meeting on Tuesday. Her defensive reaction prevents the flow forward of what he is saying. Brockwood has achieved a certain level and now it should concern itself more deeply with its original concerns, the more esoteric ones. She listened, and said she saw something in what I said, and thanked me.’
Saturday, the twenty-seventh. ‘A young Los Angeles couple, Bob and Trish Duggan, who introduced themselves to Krishnaji on the street yesterday and want to help with the work, came to talk to me in the afternoon. He is in three companies that he helped build up and has become successful, and he wonders how his abilities could help. I told him the outlines of the Foundation’s history, where we stand, and the plans for an Ojai school. The wife designs weaving, etcetera, and has two small children. They heard Krishnaji for the first time at Santa Monica and Ojai this year. I suggested they see Erna.’
‘On the walk, I was able to talk further to Dorothy.’
The twenty-eighth of July. ‘Krishnaji gave his seventh talk, which completed this year’s talks in Saanen. It was on fear and meditation.’
‘Narasimhan had come from Geneva last night and stayed with Simonetta di Cesaro and attended the talk. He came back to Tannegg with Krishnaji and me. He showed the forms for Krishnaji to apply for British citizenship. He will make an appointment to see the home secretary, Roy Jenkins, on the thirteenth of September, and will present the application. He is sure it will be granted.’
‘Simonetta di Cesaro, her son Bardo Visconti, and a friend Gary Granville, an American, joined us for lunch.’
‘At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a second Brockwood meeting with the same people.’ My diary says in parentheses that ‘Carlos and Sophia were not there as they decided to leave Brockwood. Tapas, Terry S., and the Dutch woman Bep were there. Krishnaji was less condemning. He spoke of good and evil, which we all know and which emanate from man’s actions, which are the field we generally live in and act from. He spoke of something outside of these, something not growing out of them or a progression, but from “the other side.” Can we act and educate in that? I saw it clearly and felt deeply moved. I saw my own crouching in everyday busy-ness, seeing that one cannot seek out the “Other,” but rather using this non-demand to allow too much energy on this side of things, and hence not looking in Krishnaji’s sense for the “Other.” I learned. It was hard then to have to listen to Terry afterward on the people who are so critical. They are getting cold feet about the Monday meeting. Yves, who taped the meeting, confessed to Mary Cadogan earlier and to me that he had told Madame Duchet about the dissidents meeting and invited her to come and didn’t know why. He now doesn’t want to criticize and won’t be there. I took both tapes, today’s and last Tuesday’s, from him. Later I dined with the van der Stratens, and their lovely children, who are interested in everything, articulate, intelligent, and graceful. It was a pleasure to be with them all. Little toddly grandchildren are bundled off to faire dodo’ [both M and S chuckle]. ‘Patrice and Axel Ferrand and their father, Suzanne’s father, were there. I talked apart with Hughes, and brought him up-to-date on the case.’
The twenty-ninth of July. ‘There was the Saanen Gathering Committee meeting, attended by Krishnaji, Edgar and Allema Graf, Mary Cadogan, Doris Pratt, and me. Krishnaji gave us a talking to on the need for leisure. We all are too busy. We need leisure to listen, to be aware, less work, more time to be quiet. They and Anneke stayed to lunch’.
Editor’s Note: It has been a stated intention of this memoir to not hurt people’s feelings. This has usually been accomplished by taking things out. However, the story of dissent at Brockwood, which has repeated itself in various guises is important to tell, and the story can’t be told without the role of one of the principal dissenters. Nevertheless, the identity of this dissenter is not important, so this dissenter will simply be named Person X. Person X is the same person throughout this issue. Of course, the identity of Person X will be known to those who already know the story, but they will probably learn little that is new to them from this account.
‘At 4:30 p.m., the “dissidents” meeting was held. Only Person X and Terry Saunders’ [laughter in voice] ‘turned up!’ [Both laugh.] ‘Person X objected to my being present. I asked him if he wanted to talk to Krishnaji alone. No. So, I said if Terry, who had nothing at all to do with Brockwood, were to be there, then I, as I did have responsibility for it, should stay. And if it concerned criticizing of me, if it were valid, I should know what it was. And if not, I would answer it. So, two hours of Krishnaji’s time and energy were wasted on Person X . He said people had been fired by Krishnaji. Who? Naudé, was the response. Both Krishnaji and I jumped at that and denied it thoroughly. Then, Person X himself felt he was fired. But that was not so. We couldn’t remember all the details at the time, but Mary Cadogan later filled me in. And what happened was that the year 1972, Person X was absent from Brockwood for nine months. It had been agreed, he could go to California to get some sort of architect’s credit he needed to be able to practice there, but he stayed far longer than anticipated, leaving Dorothy to cope with the builders, the estimations on redoing the pavilion according to a plan Person X had made. These bids came in at twice the figure Person X had predicted. Person X suggested part of the cost be avoided by the students and Dorothy cutting down trees, etcetera. In view of the bid and having to abandon the pavilion plan, and in view of Person X having seen Krishnaji twice in interviews in Ojai that spring, and having said he disagreed with certain things at Brockwood, and therefore didn’t choose to return there unless things were changed. When Krishnaji investigated, and didn’t wish for Person X ’s suggestions to be followed, it was apparent that there was no further function for Person X at Brockwood. Mary Cadogan wrote him a letter to this effect on behalf of the trustees. In today’s meeting, Person X said that Dorothy had fired him by letter, etcetera, etcetera. Finally, Krishnaji said he would hold one more meeting with Person X and anyone else who was critical, and that would be that. Person X said he would collect them. His excuse for no one turning up today was that some were up a mountain in Saanen. It was too short notice. Four days?!’ [Chuckles.]
On the thirtieth. ‘I met Nadia Kossiakof and Mary Cadogan at Belle Air. Nadia wants to publish Tradition and Revolution in French. Sybil Dobinson, who is here, agrees to re-edit it into proper English before the French translation.’
‘Krishnaji held the third meeting about Brockwood, with the Siddoos, Tapas, Bep, Terry Saunders, Scott Forbes, etcetera. It was less withering than the first meeting. He spoke of good and evil, morality and violence, A and B, both areas we know and live in, both emanate from man’s thinking and action. Both are “on this side of the river.” Any striving to reach the other side, another quality, is still an action from A and B. This he spoke of before, but today he spoke of seeing, looking at the A and B, and in really, really seeing it, one is out of it, and across the river. Then, as people, as teachers, in that “Other,” we create an atmosphere the student feels, and will be changed by it. Krishnaji was putting it dizzyingly. “How will you communicate this to the student so that he is immediately out of conditioning?”’ I hope you…[S laughs over her words]…you simply know!
S: Oh, yes, we have the answer to that one, certainly [M laughs]—because we don’t know have that problem ourselves. [M laughs.]
M: The thirty-first. ‘Krishnaji commenced the first public discussion in the tent. Nadia and Nicolas Kossiakof came for lunch. Krishnaji saw Mr. Sendra at 4:30 p.m. We walked.’
Now, the first of August. ‘Krishnaji held the second public discussion in Saanen. Topazia came to lunch.’ Do I have to identify Topazia?
S: I think you have before, but you can do it again if you’d like.
M: Alright. Topazia was an Italian, well, actually, a Sicilian noblewoman. She was a duchess in Sicily, and she was a friend of Vanda’s, and had listened to Krishnaji for ages. She had a curious history: She was married to a man who was a diplomat, I think, an Italian called…what was his name? Anyway, they were in Tokyo when the war broke out, and when Italy eventually capitulated, they were interned in a camp with their two children—daughters. And they almost starved to death. Finally the husband kept going to the camp authorities demanding to have a cow or a goat or something to get milk for the children, and they wouldn’t listen, and he finally did something quite horrifying. He convinced them of his sincerity by chopping off his finger in front of them, and this appealed to something in the Japanese psyche of a Samurai attitude or something. So they gave him the cow or the goat, whatever it was. And they survived. They then divorced later on after they came out. The daughters grew up; one of them was married to…oh, god, here and I forget again…a famous Italian author…when I need it, I can’t think of the name. You would know it, anybody would know it. Anyway, Topazia was quite poor by this time. Anyway, she came to Saanen. She also came to Brockwood. You’ve met her.
S: Yes. Yes, I have.
M: Yes. And she was always apt to be critical of everything.
S: Yes. I remember her.
M: It says here: ‘Ring of criticism of Brockwood is in her, too, although she bewails the disorder in the world. “One must allow the ones who want to go counter to have their way, too,” she said. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held the fourth discussion about Brockwood. Terry Saunders (who had wanted to be an art teacher at Brockwood) was contemptuous of Brockwood.’
So, now we have to go to the little book.
M: On August second, ‘Krishnaji held the third Saanen discussion. He spoke of the inner and the outer responsibility in relation to action in the world. When one sees the harm images have done, one feels totally responsible.’
‘I brought the two Siddoo sisters and Tapas back for lunch. Krishnaji talked at length to them about their school in Vancouver. He gave them permission to use his name, but they must work closely with KFA.’
‘After lunch, Person X came to talk to me alone. All of the dissidents have cold feet’ [chuckle in voice] ‘about the meeting with Krishnaji.’ [Both M and S laugh.]
M: ‘At 4 p.m., a German group who wants to start a school in Switzerland came. David Rodriguez…’ Do you remember him? ‘…and among them Terry Saunders came and left a note for Krishnaji.’ Do you remember David Rodriguez?
S: I remember the group, the German group…there was an Austrian in there…and some others.
M: Yes. They were also U.G. Krishnamurti people.
S: Oh, were they?
M: Rodriguez is the one who said the famous remark, when he told me that U.G. Krishnamurti was becoming enlightened, and I asked, “How can you tell?” He said “his feet are getting cold.” [Both laugh.]
S: Oh dear. [Laughs more.]
M: Yes. He was American by birth, but a German by habitat, as it were. He taught something; English, I guess, or maybe it was art—I forget—in a German school. But he used to come occasionally. I think he mended his ways a bit later on, by getting less confrontational. [S chuckles, then M chuckles.]
On the third, there was the fourth Saanen discussion. ‘It was about attention, why the mind functions in tradition.’ Well, there’s no point in going on about what he said, we’ve got the text on this.
M: So I’ll skip that.
M: ‘Reneta Wolff and a painter friend, Hilloo Sanke, a German girl, came to lunch. At 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji saw Alan Nichols, and then he saw Peter Racz.’ Do you remember Peter Racz?
M: Oh, yes you do. He was a friend and admirer of David Bohm’s, and he’s was from a Hungarian family living in Brazil.
S: Ah, yes, yes.
M: He used to come to Brockwood now and again.
S: Yes, I remember him.
M: Yes. He was in Saanen several times.
‘Mr. Sendra came to discuss with Krishnaji the Fundación Latinoamericana doing a film’ [chuckle in voice] ‘of Krishnamurti answering questions from South American students. Sacchet, the radio man, delivered the UR 210 cassette recorder that I had ordered.’
The fourth of August. ‘Krishnaji held the fifth and final Saanen discussion for this year. Rudiger Wolff came to lunch. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held the fifth Brockwood discussion, with eight from the German group attending; also Hughes van der Straten.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji rested all morning, and I did letters. No one came to lunch. At 4:30 p.m., Person X came to talk to Dorothy, and Krishnaji. Krishnaji had me there, too. Another two hours of criticism and rancor, and sitting in judgment, which went on till almost 7 p.m. Frances and Tapas, who had come up, were kept waiting through all this. Tapas is staying here, and then coming to Brockwood with Frances. Frances brought lovely photographs of Brockwood. Ted Cartee had supper with Dorothy, Montague, and me, and spent the night here in his sleeping bag.’
The sixth of August. ‘A lovely, clear, warm day. I went up Diablerets in the cable car for the first time in all these years, with Dorothy and Doris. The mountain is majestic and silent. We came back after lunch. Krishnaji had stayed in bed, except for seeing Mr. Sendra, and then Barabino in the morning. Nixon surrenders the tapes on the order of the Supreme Court and admits they contradict his statements.’
The seventh of August. ‘I did more letters.’
‘Topazia came for lunch. She told us of her experiences in the Japanese internment camp during the war.’
‘The impeachment of Nixon is now a certainty unless he resigns. The revelation of the tapes have swept members of Congress and Senate against his remaining.’ You don’t mind my putting in these sort of historic markers?
S: No, no. They locate your experiences in the world’s experiences.
M: The next day. ‘I was up early to listen to the Voice of America news broadcast. Goldwater and Senator Hugh Scott saw Nixon yesterday. There are rumors of imminent resignation.’
‘Gisele Elmenhorst and Marcelle Bondoneau came to lunch with me at the Park Hotel. She is trying to help Graf get a professional translator for the German books.’
‘At 3:45 p.m., Ortolani came to see me about the status of the Barabino school, which uses Krishnaji’s name. Then at 4:30 p.m., Krishnaji saw Nadia Kossiakof.’
‘On the evening news, we learned that Nixon is to speak on television at 9 p.m. Washington time and announce his resignation. Dorothy, Montague, and I got up at 2 a.m. to watch it live on television here. The resignation becomes effective at noon Friday, when Vice President Gerald Ford takes the oath of office as president.’
On August ninth, ‘at noon, Ford became U.S. president. Nixon goes to San Clemente. We saw the swearing in of Ford on television.’
‘Tapas and Frances came to lunch.’
‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji saw Peter Racz.’
‘At 7 p.m., I telephoned Erna in Ojai. The settlement still hangs on the Indian Vasanta Vihar resolution. Cohen and Christensen are in agreement on everything else. Blau insists we must go ahead with the settlement without a Vasanta Vihar quit claim, and let it come to KFA in the remainder of the settling things where it is named. It unlikely anything will be signed before Cohen and Lilliefelt return from holidays on September third.’
On the tenth. ‘I went to Rougement about Kishbaugh’s rucksack.’ [M chuckles.] ‘Then I got an extra pair of walking shoes for Krishnaji to use in California. I met Nadia and brought her up to lunch at Tannegg. Rested in the afternoon. Krishnaji saw Tapas. In the evening, Dorothy and I went to the Menuhin concert in Saanen. He and Alberto Lysy and others played an all-Vivaldi program.’
We’re back to the big book for August eleventh. ‘It was a gray morning. Snow fell in the night on the top of the Wasserngrat.’
‘Krishnaji slept well. After breakfast he wanted the Leonore Overture and the Fifth Symphony on the new Uher cassette player. Then he said, “There are two things you must do. First, you must talk to Dorothy and make her realize she mustn’t let Brockwood just go on as it has. There must be the “Other.” She must give herself time and attention to be open to that; otherwise, I won’t go on talking to these people. They must be ready for it. If not, I will withdraw; not suddenly. But instead of three months, I will stay there two months, then one. You follow? Second, you must look after the whole, then everything will come right. It looks as if we will get the Happy Valley 100 acres. We must live in Ojai, not Malibu. As long as I live, you will be with me, and you must think of that and probably you will outlive me. You would live there and Brockwood as long as you live, but you must have someone to look after you. You will have no one; the Lilliefelts and the Simmonses have each other; the Dunnes, the same. Ruth has her children; Patterson, a son, but you have no one. So you must think of that, and have someone.’
I don’t know [S chuckles] where I was to find that person, but anyway…Nor did I want anyone. ‘Then he said, “Elfriede’s husband can get work near Ojai, maybe, but you must think of it all.”’ Elfriede was my housekeeper. He meant that I must have someone living in the house.
M: ‘I said that my life and activity to the degree I can help goes to him, in his lifetime and to his work, and that is the determining thing for me. I have no desire to live personally in Ojai, but Krishnaji and his work are my life, so we will build a proper house there for him, which I will pay for, and it will belong to KFA when I am gone. He spoke of precision, watching how one lives, watching one’s memory, writing down, avoiding carelessness, letting faculties slip. One must train the mind now. Mrs. Besant didn’t. She wore out her mind. She used to breakfast on coffee and bits of orange. He doesn’t think I would be ill, but he watches over me when we are apart. “I see to it, but you must be very attentive.”’
Monday, the twelfth of August. ‘I spent most of the day at deskwork, and walked in the afternoon with Krishnaji, and Dorothy. Dorothy and I went to another Menuhin concert. I was able to talk to Dorothy as Krishnaji wished me to. I asked her if she minded my being a sort of telephone wire to her from Krishnaji; not giving her my views, but his. I told her he suggested she take more time to go into things he had been talking about in these discussions here on Brockwood. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw Topazia, who tried to get him to let Guido Franco film him. Krishnaji said “no.” Later, he told me that on the walk that he “felt like almost disappearing.” He is physically hypersensitive at present, almost sore, his head is bad.’
S: Before we go on, I think it’s just worth noting that the kind of criticisms Krishnaji had of Dorothy…
S: …and that, in a way, he had extraordinary patience, because this stayed like this and just got worse and worse and worse over the years.
M: I know.
S: I mean, it’s twelve years later that Dorothy is finally relieved of her responsibilities.
M: She couldn’t stop being defensive.
S: I know all that only too well, but what I’m amazed at is Krishnaji’s patience and his working with her…
S: …and what this required of him, the number of times he talked with all of us…
S: …it’s just mind-boggling. And the reason I mention all this is just because, in a way, it’s similar to, of course, what happened with the Rajagopals, but also what happened in India. His tolerance of resistance, of mediocrity, of hostility…
S: …it’s staggering. It is just staggering. And, he just goes on talking, trying, expecting people will listen, or…
M: He said that people can change. You see…
M: …he thought, or he always left the door open for change, in his relationship with people, which is…I mean, until he finally had to act…
M: …for some reason…
S: He had to avoid absolute total crisis.
M: He would put up with anything himself if he could get the thing to be right…
S: Yes, yes. But it is interesting. Here this is 1974, and he’s already…you know, this is five years into the school beginning, four, really…
S: …and he’s already fuming at the kind of things that…
M: Yes, the mediocrity.
S: The mediocrity, and all the things that were the problem all along. It’s quite something. Also, the common myth in those days was that Brockwood was really doing “it,” what Krishnaji was talking about in education, and we were really all…
M: I know.
S: …happily living together.
M: That’s right.
S: That’s why it’s so interesting listening to the way Krishnaji was dealing with the criticism. Even though he was very critical, when those people who were criticizing everything joined in, he listens to it, but he puts an end to it. Which, of course, when this happens later, he’s not there to do that.
M: He eventually does, but, as you say, so much energy and so much time would be expended by him before he really said, “Enough.”
S: Yes. It’s quite remarkable.
M: Yes, it is.
S: I think this is, amongst all the extraordinarily unusual things about Krishnaji, this is one of them…
S: …that’s not really appreciated, I think. It’s not commented on very often.
M: Well, in a way, if we can look at it, he talked for his whole lifetime to people, and if you say, “What’s the result?” in terms of those people who were listening…
M: …you think, my god, I’d go mad, or give up, or something would happen. But no. He kept on till the very end. [Sigh.]
S: Yes, yes. Anyway, I just felt it was worth commenting on this now.
M: It is.
On the thirteenth of August, ‘Dorothy and Montague left in the Land Rover to pick up Doris and set off for Brockwood via Holland. Topazia came to lunch. She brought her load of others’ and her own criticisms. Krishnaji explained that he doesn’t intend to give interviews and talk in various places anymore, but she doesn’t listen, keeps talking and thinks of things from everyone’s point of view except Krishnaji’s. She is nice, I think, but it is wearing. Krishnaji and I went to Saanen to the good shoemaker, Mr. E. Kohli…’ Do you remember him?
S: Yes, I do indeed.
M: ‘…for walking shoes. Came back and walked as usual and talked of the house we may build in Ojai.’ This was before we got Arya Vihara.
S: I know.
M: The fourteenth of August. ‘It was a warm, clear day. We drove to Thun. Krishnaji wanted the Mercedes gone over by Mr. Bill at Moser’s before we take it to England. In Thun, we walked to the ferry steamer, but it had just pulled off. So I suggested we take a taxi to Merligen, where we were to lunch at the Hotel Beatus. Krishnaji countered with, “Let’s take a bus.” So we did. A new transportation.’ [M and S chuckle.] ‘Krishnaji’s narrow ankles in beige socks in his Swiss walking shoes were propped on the side of the bus. In his total grace and dignity, he has the stance of a young boy. We lunched on the hotel terrace and Krishnaji observed the people. Two sparrows alit on a yellow cotton chair cover. Krishnaji surreptitiously, delicately threw them crumbs’ [chuckles]. As we finished lunch, the steamer came by and we went across to Spiez on it and back to Thun. The Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau were clear and splendid. “Goodbye till next year,” said Krishnaji to them. The car had been found in good order and we drove back through the valley. After he got back, Krishnaji’s head began to hurt. “This has been going on since 1922.”’ He meant the events in Ojai.
Thursday, the fifteenth. ‘It was a hot day. I fetched Tapas up to lunch and took her back. Krishnaji and I walked in spite of the heat. “I feel far away, as if I didn’t want to speak or touch anything.”’
Friday, August sixteenth. ‘It was a very hot day. Krishnaji saw Guido Franco, who hit his head on an electric cattle wire. I was reading Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan’—however you pronounce that—‘and Krishnaji asked me about it. I told him the part about “entities” in the wilderness and at night, which are dangerous in the book. Krishnaji nodded. He told of the sense of antagonism in the park in Madras when he went there at twilight, and at AshdownForest years ago, and Jayalakshmi’s going to an ancient temple at night and the sense of evil there. I asked if darkness opens the mind to such perceptions because the limited senses make one feel more vulnerable and also because of the recognition of known things fills the perception and one doesn’t see other things. Partly, he said, but there is more than that. He said he wouldn’t walk on the path we take every afternoon if it was night. Many forests have a menace at night. I asked about Sequoia, where he lived alone in a cabin. He said he never felt it there. It was a friendly place. “But I never went out at night. I was always back by six,” he said.’
‘Krishnaji had a haircut in the afternoon. Madame Duperex came to see me. Krishnaji went for a walk in spite of the heat, but I didn’t. In the evening, he said that the story of Rajagopal should be written down, all that he has done. Perhaps he will do it a bit at a time. He said earlier that if we do the house in Ojai, he wants to make a document “as chairman,” insuring my being able to live there for my lifetime. Also at Brockwood.’
On the seventeenth, ‘the heat wave continues, slightly less, but it is hot all over Europe. I posted packages to the Dunnes, cassettes of the Brockwood discussions to KFA, and a pair of hiking boots to Malibu. Then I fetched Krishnaji’s new walking shoes, and filled the car with gas, etcetera. Tapas walked up the hill with little delicate handkerchiefs for me and Fosca. Krishnaji persuaded her to stay to lunch. Talked of magic in India, which is not religious to me. She was in the Ramakrishna movement when she was young. She is a Bengali, and walked 500 miles as a sannyasi, so she doesn’t wear saffron. Suzanne and Hughes came by in the afternoon. Guido Franco had Krishnaji put his hand on his head for the electric shock he got, and Topazia’s daughter saw Krishnaji, bringing two friends. None of them had anything to say.’
‘Krishnaji and I walked to the river. I asked him if he had seen psychological changes in me? Did he think I was caught in conditioning? “No,” he said, “you’re not attached, not to me, not to your house, or any ideas. You were attached to your husband, but not now. That is why I must consider carefully this matter of building in Ojai.”’
‘I asked why it was important. What was of sole importance was what was needed for him.’
‘“Because there is no one to look after you,” he said. “You must carefully consider. I shall write a letter to Mrs. Lilliefelt, as chairman, about your having the house.” This morning he had me send a letter to Evelyne Blau, asking her to keep in confidence what I had written yesterday about our thinking of building a house in Ojai for Krishnaji’s use. Until we are sure of getting the land, it might cause added antagonism and prevent the settlement.’
‘Further on the walk, he said, “If one is not attached, one cannot be hurt.” I pressed him for some psychological noticings about me. He said sometimes my mind is slow to see things,’ [chuckles] and to think about that. Then he said that when he dies there must be someone to see that all this continues, not the organizational part, but the spirit.’
‘Later in the evening, he looked far off and said, when I asked, that his head was “going.” It is somehow not restful for him here after the talks. I will be glad to go to Brockwood. We hope the weather cools. We both got quite a bit of packing done.’
The eighteenth of August. ‘We packed in the morning. Krishnaji again treated Guido Franco. Tapas came for lunch. She will come to Brockwood in a week with Frances McCann. We loaded the Mercedes with all the luggage before going for a walk, ready for the departure early tomorrow. The weather broke as we were coming back from the river. Rain began, thunder and lightening. It should be cool, luckily, for our drive. Krishnaji spoke of the intense physical sensitivity he is having. He is overly sensitive to touch, his head especially. “Something is happening,” since intense meditation about three weeks ago. We had supper, and went early to bed.’
Monday, the nineteenth. ‘The alarm clock rang at 3:15 a.m. Krishnaji was already awake. Fosca made me a cup of her good strong Italian coffee. She stays to clean and close the chalet before returning to Florence on Friday.’
‘We were winding down the hill in the car, in the clear night air by 4 a.m. The storm had changed the weather, but all day there was a cloud cover shielding the sun and keeping it cool, which was luck. We were on the autoroute when Krishnaji, who lately is nervous in the car, said he would drive to settle down. He did until we started to climb to Saint-Cergues and the La Cure border crossing…’
S: Yes, that’s it.
M: ‘…and his driving made his body calm down. We stopped for croissants in Lons-le-Saunier and had a picnic breakfast on the roadside place of the last years, but it was rather cold, and Krishnaji had seen an inn a mile back. So, we went there for something hot—verveine tea for him, and café au lait for me with pain grillés. Felt better and drove on through Chalon-sur-Soâne, where we took the autoroute. We reached Paris by 1:30 p.m. and ate our picnic lunch, once again, in the Bois near where we used to walk. A woman who appeared to be a prostitute stood on the corner, and when we left and drove past her, we were both shocked to see she had a misshapen face. Krishnaji said, “I feel as though she were my sister. What would I do if she were my sister?” His compassion seemed to be that thing he described in the 1961 manuscript of being undivided from the person. By 2:30 p.m., we were at Plaza Athénée. Krishnaji went to bed. At his urging, and before fatigue closed in, I went around to Courrèges on the Rue Francois 1ere for winter woolen slacks, and luckily was able to get three pairs hemmed in time to take them tomorrow. Krishnaji bought some toothpaste, etcetera, and came back to rest. We had supper in the rooms, and went early to bed.’
August twentieth. ‘We spent a quiet morning in the hotel. We then walked before lunch over to the Champs-Elysées looking for a place that sold thin jeans. Krishnaji liked some worn by two people he interviewed in Gstaad, but the place they had recommended was for women and rather junky; there were crowds in the arcade, people eating standing up at counters; all made Krishnaji feel queasy and we fled. It is not good for him to be in these places. It is like blaring noise to his senses. We went back to that bastion of another style’ [humor in voice], ‘the Plaza Athénée. I had a slow, relaxed, and delicious lunch in the garden. The weather was pleasant: between warm and cool. We had a leisurely departure at 3:40 p.m. for Le Havre. Krishnaji was again somewhat nervous in the car, but he drove for a little, which relaxed him. Near the Tancarville Bridge, we passed a bad accident of a car that had rushed passed us earlier. The police were in charge. We arrived at Monaco, the usual restaurant we go to, at 6:30 p.m. and had to wait till 7:15 p.m. to dine. Krishnaji kept saying, “This is the last time here. After this, we fly, no more driving.” We took the Normandy ferry at 9 p.m. It was not as crowded as on other crossings. We went right to bed and had a quiet voyage.’ We had cabins for the crossing, which made a difference.
August twenty-first. ‘We were off the ferry and driving through Southampton by 7:15 a.m. It was a gentle, summer morning, cloudless with mist rising from the hollows. “You are back in your England again,” said Krishnaji, and so I felt, smiling and full of affection for this lovely countryside. As we drove up to the front door of the West Wing, Dorothy was opening it. She, Montague, and Doris got there Monday. The Assembly Hall seems hardly advanced since we left, and Dorothy’s office and Ingrid’s and Doris’s rooms are all torn up. Dorothy joined us for breakfast in the West Wing kitchen. Then, slowly unpacking, rest, and a walk with Dorothy and Whisper in the late afternoon. To the beauty of this place, there is the added sense of return to a place one loves.’
S: We should just say that the reason that you were driving this time, because Krishnaji had already said he didn’t want to, was to bring the Mercedes back here.
M: Yes, yes.
Tuesday, August twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji’s eyes tear and there is swelling around his nose. We made an appointment for Doctor Riley at the Alresford Clinic to come to see him tomorrow. I went to Winchester for a chest of drawers to be used in the West Wing dining room when we use it as a guestroom during the Brockwood Gathering. I finished unpacking. Krishnaji stayed in bed instead of going for a walk. The new IBM typewriter, which corrects, like the one in Malibu, was delivered in July, and what a difference it makes.’ [S chuckles.]
On the twenty-third. ‘Dr. Riley saw Krishnaji for the first time and thinks Krishnaji’s symptoms are allergic and maybe he has a slight sinus infection. He recommended Krishnaji recommencing Dr. Wolf’s Actar pills, since they have helped him, and he added some eye and nose drops. He also said to discontinue milk in the nose, which Krishnaji had been doing so carefully and faithfully since Dr. Parchure prescribed it in India last winter.’ [Both chuckle.] He was the best patient!
S: I know, I know.
M: ‘Dorothy and I walked to the field and back, and did some pruning in the grove. Krishnaji sat up to see the program Kojak on television.’
So, for the twenty-fourth we need to go back to the little book. ‘I went to West Meon and
and Petersfield on errands. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I pruned some more in the grove. The medicine is helping Krishnaji.’
August twenty-fifth. ‘I fixed flowers in the West Wing and finished changing the dining room into another guestroom. Frances McCann and Tapas arrived in the afternoon. Frances is in the spare room. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked. Pruning is too tiring for him. We went the whole walk.’ That means all around the grove and down by the lane. ‘The tents were partly up in the field. Ted and others have erected very nice wooden lavatories and also a cooking tent for the campers. We watched the movie The Quiet Man on television.’ That was a lovely movie.
S: Let’s just say something about this dining room up here in the West Wing: I never knew either of you to ever eat in that dining room.
M: We did, but not much. It was originally, when we first got Brockwood, it was supposed to be a room for Vanda, but Vanda never came, so I made it into a dining room. The theory when we bought Brockwood was that perhaps one day, who knows, Krishnaji would have to stay here for long periods of time, and the school might not be in session. Who knows what would happen to the school, but I could function and take care of him, and cook for him and do everything in the West Wing, independently of the school. That was the original intention with the West Wing. And originally, the library downstairs was Alain Naudé’s work room. There’s a counter and bookshelves that were not there when we bought the house. Those were put in for Alain to use. And Alain’s room is the room you’re now in.
M: And then, when he left, Krishnaji decided to give Alain’s work room to the school as a library. Krishnaji kept the little blue room to…
S: A small interview room.
M: …give interviews. But eventually, as you know, he gave it to the school, too.
S: Yes, yes.
M: That was the evolution of things.
The twenty-sixth of August. ‘Krishnaji said there had been “a marvelous meditation.” He looked happy and well. There was much work in the tent preparations. A walk. No more pruning until after the talks, but we had done really quite a lot.’ And my diary says, ‘Charles Lindberg died in Maui, Hawaii of cancer.’
On the twenty-eighth of August, ‘Mary Links came down by train and I met her at Petersfield at noon. We talked before and after lunch with Krishnaji. She had questions on his occult powers not dealt with in the biography. Krishnaji described it as a faculty he could have but doesn’t choose to use. “Like reading other people’s private letters.” We went over with Mary questions on his citizenship application form; his mother’s name was Jiddu.’ That means maiden name. ‘She was a first cousin of his father.’
M: I’d forgotten that.
‘I took Mary to the 5:45 p.m. train back to London. Krishnaji walked with Dorothy. I took a walk after supper, and stopped to see Jim Fowler, who is in one of the cottages and who had a heart attack three weeks ago and is just out of hospital. There was a letter from my brother in New York, and the newest draft of the settlement agreement from Mr. Cohen.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji said again there had been “a marvelous meditation.” He dictated several pages on Rajagopal and their relationship through the years. I typed it and some letters. He and I walked in the afternoon, as usual. Whisper was stung by something, and Krishnaji rubbed her. We luckily had her on a tight leash when we ran into Mr. Morton. I asked him if I could rent space in his garages for the Mercedes during the winter.’
S: What happened to those notes of Krishnaji’s on Rajagopal?
M: We have it.
S: We do?
M: Yes. I have it in my file. In fact, it’s published in a book.
On the thirtieth, ‘I telephoned Mr. Popavic of the UN about Narasimhan coming to see the home secretary about Krishnaji’s citizenship. People have arrived for the talks, and the house is full.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji gave the first Brockwood talk. We ate in the tent. The weather was medium good, but the tent was filled. We walked in the afternoon.’
On the first of September, ‘Krishnaji gave the second Brockwood talk. Afterward, I gave him salad and fruit in the kitchen in the West Wing, and then he went back to the tent for the rest of lunch with everybody. There was rain and wind. We walked in the afternoon.’
The next day, ‘there was heavy rain and gale winds. We walked all the same.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘We had a meeting of the Bohms, Dorothy, Ted Cartee, Joe Zorski, and Harsh Tankha about the scientific meeting in October. George Digby signed Krishnaji’s application for citizenship. Mary L. sent me suggested wording for some replies on Krishnaji’s citizenship application.’
September third. ‘Krishnaji held a public discussion in the tent in spite of heavy showers and gales. We again had the beginning of lunch in our kitchen, and then finished the meal in the tent. Krishnaji said it was a good discussion.’
The next day, ‘I went to Winchester on errands and to buy a cardigan for Krishnaji. The weather is still raining. We walked as always in the late afternoon.’
S: I don’t know if this is worth putting in here, but the rain and the wind were so bad…
M: Yes, yes…
S: …that Ted Cartee and I, throughout the whole of the talks…
M: Had to keep hammering.
S: …had to keep hammering the stakes holding down the tent back into the ground. The stakes were over three feet long.
S: …and they were being pulled out of the sodden ground by the wind. We eventually replaced them with five-foot fence posts that we were hammering totally into the ground, and they, too, were still being pulled out.
M: Well, I remember from inside that the canvas of the tent, it reminded me of a sail on a ship…
M: It would rise up and then it would come wooooosh down, and each time I thought, will it come all the way down this time?
S: Well, that’s just it. There was a very genuine concern that the tent would collapse…
M: …would collapse on everybody.
S: Yes. Every morning I’d wake up and I wasn’t sure the tent would still be there. It was quite phenomenal.
M: I remember it from inside, and the feeling that…here it goes.
S: Yes. And literally, by the time we got all the way around the tent hammering the stakes back in, the stake that we’d started with was already out.
M: My lord.
S: It was phenomenal. We had no business being in a tent on the top of a hill in that weather. Really, it was dangerous.
M: I think there was some year when the tent people were averse to putting up the tent on top of the hill.
S: Well, why they didn’t come and do something dramatic that year, I just don’t understand, unless they had other tents they had to contend with, because…
S: …it was ridiculous.
M: And that heavy a canvas would’ve hurt people if it had fallen.
S: Oh, yes, it could have killed someone.
M: And the tent had big central posts and all that stuff.
S: And of course, the person who was most vulnerable of all was Krishnaji because he was sitting on the platform, so he was the highest point.
M: Highest point, yes.
S: So he would’ve borne most of the weight.
M: There was a time when Lakshmi Shankar, the Indian singer, came, and I remember her singing through things like that. She just kept going. I thought it was quite a performance with this woosh…
M: On the fifth of September, ‘it continued to rain steadily. We filled the tents with straw to sop up the mud. Krishnaji held the second public discussion. It was very good. He and I had salad upstairs and the balance of lunch in the tent. I spoke to Burt Greenberger, who wants Krishnaji in a film on aspects of death he is making for ColumbiaPresbyterianHospital in New York. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji and I went to Winchester where, before a commissioner for oaths, Krishnaji signed his application for British citizenship. We came back and walked in the rain. Ian Hammond says the cost of pushing the Assembly Hall to use for the scientists’ meeting is prohibitive. He also says he will help financially with the cost of rewiring found to be necessary in the house. Krishnaji is tired after all the day’s activities.’
The next day, ‘I worked mostly at my desk and went to Petersfield on errands. Terrible weather continues. Alternately heavy showers and some sun. We walked in the driving rain.’
The seventh of September. ‘Violent winds uprooted two large beach trees. Krishnaji gave his third Brockwood talk in spite of gales. Lakshmi Shankar, her daughter, and a drummer gave a recital in honor of Krishnaji in the tent. There was rain and mud and wind, and we walked in spite of it all.’
The next day, ‘Sun at last. Krishnaji gave the fourth talk in the tent. Jane and Ian Hammond had a picnic lunch with us in the kitchen, after which Krishnaji and I went back to the tent. As this was the last talk, people began to leave.’
The ninth of September. ‘I took the 9:50 a.m. to London. After some errands, I lunched with Mary L. We went over photographs for the biography. Then I went to the health food store for Molat for Krishnaji.’
S: What’s that?
M: I’ve forgotten what it was exactly; something nutritious that tasted horrid. [S laughs, M chuckles.] ‘Then I went to where I could give Mr. Popovic Krishnaji’s Indian passport and the application to the home secretary for British citizenship, which Narasimhan is coming to London about on Friday. Then I went back by bus to get a mohair cover for Krishnaji’s bed. Eventually, I got to Waterloo and was at Brockwood at 5 p.m.’
There is really nothing significant for the next few days until September twelfth, when ‘Krishnaji and I went to London by train. The usual Huntsman, where he chose some tweeds for two trousers for him and one skirt to be made at Rowe’s for me. Krishnaji had a haircut; then we met Mary L. at Fortnum’s for lunch. Krishnaji questioned Mary about what Nitya was like. We got back to Petersfield by 6 p.m. Krishnaji told me to watch him, as “I am very far off.” Krishnaji had a letter from Nandini who stayed with Amru at Vanda’s in Rome and met there Rosalind Rajagopal at lunch.’
Then, in the big book, there is what appears to be two partial conversations between Krishnaji and me.
Krishnaji: “I’m interested to see what the brother was like because the last few days it’s been haunting me. Am I very polite? The last few nights I dreamt of him, a peculiar dream. He and I were talking. Rajagopal came in, and we pushed him. A deep rooted distress, or pain, or suffering…or a sense of fun?”
Mary: “Were the dreams painful?”
Krishnaji: “Sometimes he’s on a train, and I try to catch it and can’t. Or, he’s falling into a river, and I try to catch him and can’t.”
Mary: “What about fun?”
Krishnaji: “Sometimes we’re laughing.”
Mary: “When did this physical sensitivity come about?”
Krishnaji: “Before Gstaad.”
Mary: “All of a sudden?”
Krishnaji: “Slowly. It began with the head, of course. When we came back to Brockwood, sometimes the sensitivity precedes the head pain; sometimes they go together.”
Mary: “Did you have it today in London?”
Krishnaji: “I was lost.”
Mary: “And at lunch?”
Krishnaji: “A little bit.”
Mary: “Did the haircut bother you?”
Krishnaji: “A little bit. I told the barber to go slow.”
S: Now, what was this sensitivity that he’s referring to?
M: Well, he’d been talking with me about increased sensitivity.
On September thirteenth. ‘Narasimhan flew over from Paris. He wrote a letter to the home secretary, Roy Jenkins, and spoke to a Mr. Herman in the home office about Krishnaji’s application for British citizenship. He telephoned from the airport at noon, as he was catching a plane to New York. It was a poor connection, and hard to hear, but I spoke later to Mr. Popovic at the UN office about it.’
‘I worked at my desk all morning. Both Drs. Siddoo, Jackie and Sarjit, arrived from Vancouver for a continuation of Tannegg/Brockwood discussions on schools. Also four people from the German-speaking would-be school group, Dr. Neusiedler, Rudiger Wolff, Mudler, and David Rodriguez.’
On the fourteenth, ‘At 11:30 a.m., Krishnaji held a follow on Tannegg/Brockwood discussion on schools. He saw the German-speaking school group alone after lunch.’
S: We were all present in those, weren’t we? It wasn’t just that group?
M: No, no, that’s right.
S: I think it was plus the whole staff, wasn’t it?
M: I think so.
‘The German-speaking school group plan to have their school in Austria. At lunch, Krishnaji told the Siddoos I should be on their committee. This without telling me in advance!’ [Laughing.] I didn’t want to be on their committee! ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked.’
‘The next two days Krishnaji held two more of the educational meetings.’
Also on the sixteenth, ‘Krishnaji and I met the two Siddoos with Tapas present about their schools in Vancouver, to be called The Krishnaji Educational Center, with Krishnaji as honorary chairman. Jackie Siddoo as president, and Sarjit Siddoo as vice president, and a Mr. Smith as secretary/treasurer. I was asked to be on the board, but suggested Erna instead.’ [Both laugh.]
S: How generous of you!
M: Yes! [Laughs.] Well, it made sense. ‘Krishnaji and I with Whisper went for a walk. Dorothy is not feeling well. In the evening, Krishnaji talked to a Brockwood teacher who was having problems.’
On the seventeenth, ‘Krishnaji held the fourth discussion on education with the same group. “Action of listening.” Right after lunch, I went to Petersfield on errands, and then drove to East Dean to see my friends’—Phil and Christopher Fry. ‘We talked, and had tea. It was very pleasant. I was home in time to get Krishnaji his supper. Krishnaji had walked with Whisper. Krishnaji gave an interview to Dr. Neusiedler, the head of the German school group.’
On the next day, ‘Krishnaji held the fifth and final discussion on education with the same group. I did deskwork after that and then went for a walk with Krishnaji in the afternoon. It was a sunny day. I talked to the Siddoos regarding the constitution of their educational center. Anneke left for Holland.’
On the nineteenth, ‘Vicky and Ankil, who have been at Brockwood for some months, are leaving.’ Does that mean anything to you?
M: ‘They were married in Winchester, and Dorothy was the witness. I did more deskwork. Krishnaji gave an interview to Tapas.’
S: We’ve run out of tape, Mary.
 Sanskrit for ‘devotion.’ Back to text.
 Strawberry. Back to text.
 A French expression, usually for children, meaning to go to bed. Back to text.
 A man unrelated in any way to Krishnaji, who claimed to be enlightened, and who, every year, “just happened” to be in Saanen when Krishnaji held his annual talks. He openly garnered an audience for his small-scale talks from those who came to hear Krishnaji. Back to text.
 A small local mountain. Back to text.
 Pine Cottage, where Krishnaji had lived as a young man, and Arya Vihara, where Nitya died, were eventually acquired as part of the settlement agreement. Mary built a house for Krishnaji and herself on Pine Cottage. Back to text.
 This is the first recording of what became known as “the process.” Back to text.
 Jim Fowler was a staff member at Brockwood. Back to text.