Issue 35—April 6, 1975 to June 3, 1975
In this issue, the first volume of Mary Lutyens’ biography of Krishnaji finally comes into print. Krishnaji only dips into it, reading small sections; but it raises a question in Krishnaji’s mind that remained with him for many years; why was “the boy” (meaning himself) not conditioned, even by the very deliberate and heavy-handed attempts to condition him by the theosophists? Krishnaji frequently said that if an answer to this question could be found, then the schools he founded might be better able to accomplish their mission of helping the students be unconditioned.
Krishnaji’s answers to Mary’s questions about his mysterious childhood only deepen the mystery.
The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue #35
Mary: So, we are starting on the sixth of April, 1975. I know you’re finicky, so I’ll read it although there is nothing. ‘It rained!’ [M chuckles, then S chuckles.] ‘Krishnaji wrote in the morning, and in the afternoon we washed the car.’ Big day.
April seventh. ‘We packed in the morning, had an early lunch, and left for Ojai at 1:45 p.m. in the Green Beauty, with luggage, etcetera. Krishnaji drove as far as Dieter’s  in Oxnard, where we picked up a brochure on a Volvo. The latest notion is for us to get a station wagon to replace the Jaguar. We met at the Oak Grove  with the architects, Reibsamen and Nichols, as well as the Lilliefelts, the Simmonses, the Lees, Ruth, Albion, Alan Kishbaugh, Evelyne Blau, and her daughter Eloise and grandson Aaron, and also Professor Rush. Krishnaji spoke apart to Professor Rush, who hadn’t understood Krishnaji’s proposal to join us in creating the school, and is committed to his present setup for at least two years. The architects showed a revised plot plan. It was an arctic cold day. Krishnaji and I moved into Pine Cottage, and I made our supper. The Simmonses are in the office upstairs flat. Krishnaji again wanted me nearby, and so I used the sofa in the sitting room.’
April eighth. ‘This is another cold day with rain, this time in Ojai. After breakfast, I went with Erna and Theo to see Cohen about legal matters on the easements that Rajagopal gave himself and the Vigevenos in 1974 over the land by his house. These easements would stay in effect indefinitely and prevent use of the land. Cohen and we do not want, as we could, to reopen the case on the basis of fraud, but will first put it to Tapper as this is a dissipation of charitable assets to private persons, and is self-serving. No one has confidence in Tapper’s bestirring himself, but we must start with that. If there’s no result, we can start a separate motion to right an illegality. Cohen agreed it is good that we should exercise our rights under the settlement about the archives tomorrow, and keep records of any non-compliance by Rajagopal. Erna is far better informed on our case than Cohen’ [laughter]. ‘Cohen was too quick to defend a fellow lawyer, Christensen, when I said that Christensen’s assurance to Cohen that his client wouldn’t transfer any KWINC assets during negotiations meant nothing.’ [Chuckles.] ‘Cohen said Christensen didn’t have “client control.”’ That’s what Christensen said. ‘Christensen must have known he didn’t have control of Rajagopal and hence should not have made such assurance. I got back in time to go with Krishnaji to Arya Vihara, where we lunched with the Lees and the Simmonses. I marketed later, and met Krishnaji on Grand Avenue; he had walked two-and-a-half miles. He wants to go tomorrow to the archives. This morning he wrote again in his notebook.’
The ninth of April, ‘Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office to see the archives. Rajagopal met us. We sat at a table in a greenish office, empty as a prison. Krishnaji was sitting behind and slightly apart, not looking at Rajagopal after the initial greeting, Indian fashion.’ That means the Namaste.
S: Mm, hm. Yes.
M: ‘Rajagopal looked more than ever like an angry simian with the glare of disturbed, dark-ringed eyes. He talked resentfully for forty minutes: Why did we want to see certain things? “The case is over.” He interpreted the settlement as being over and past, but he had been held up to vilification all over the world. He was friendly, but we were not. I had refused to talk to him on the telephone. He couldn’t say when the archives would be ready. He was very busy. Why did we “want to see discussions edited by Mima Porter?”’ These were things that Krishnaji had specifically asked for.
S: I see.
M: ‘He said there were no manuscripts left over from the Commentaries. He said the archives are all turned over to the K&R Foundation. He also said there are no other manuscripts. Rajagopal claimed that large shipments of archive material were shipped from Holland by Folkersma at the start of the war and was lost, that Jinarajadasa  had agreed to send him letters, etcetera, that were in the Theosophical Society, but never did. He wanted the rights to go into our archives since we wanted to go into his. He went on and mentioned the Indian case still pending . Neither Erna nor I said the obvious, as the purpose of all this seemed to be to talk endlessly and show us nothing. He kept making references to Krishnaji, who spoke not a word until Rajagopal said he had once had friendly relations with Krishnaji “but he now won’t speak.”’
‘Then Krishnaji stood up, looking very tall and rather tense and aloof and said, “I will speak. If you want that friendship, you will resign from everything and do penance. That is all I have to say.” He then crossed the room and went out the door. Somehow, everyone was standing. Erna, Theo, and I stayed.’
‘“What did he mean?” asked Rajagopal angrily. We said we had heard what Krishnaji had said; we weren’t there to explain or interpret; we were there to see the archives. He started to say something like. “It’s all off.” So, I said, “Are you refusing to show us the archives? We are here for a very simple physical thing—to begin to see the archives.”’
‘Angrily, reluctantly, hit by what Krishnaji had said, he then opened a couple of file drawers. They were thorough, well-kept files, transcripts of discussions. He seemed to turn to showing things as an escape from Krishnaji’s statement, and, as if dealing with a sick person, we showed admiration for the way things were kept. We then were led into a back room of book stacks from all over the world in various languages. We asked for what Krishnaji had requested, namely, Mrs. Besant’s letters to Krishnaji as a boy, and he even offered to photocopy them for us. Then, albums of Krishnaji, tiny, wonderful pictures of Krishnaji and Nitya as they were when they were found. Rajagopal denies having letters between Mrs. Besant and Leadbeater about Krishnaji as a boy.’
‘Erna, during this, was laying the basis for future visits. Earlier, Rajagopal claimed archive material was given to him personally, which may result in much being in his own vault. He claimed today that all archives are in K&R office.’
‘We left and met Krishnaji down the road. He had been in the Grove. His first comments were that Rajagopal is a sick personality. Theo felt sorry for him, and later, at lunch, said that he wanted to go back and see him, and point out what resigning would do. Krishnaji enlarged to me that Rajagopal’s resignation would be the penance. Theo rang a number of times, got only the busy signal, and finally got Rajagopal and went to see him. Theo got only a diatribe and left. Krishnaji now wants Erna to tell Rajagopal that he, Krishnaji, wishes to come to see certain things without Rajagopal being there.’
‘In the afternoon, Krishnaji did a videotaped interview on the school plans and education for a local station. Dorothy came with us on a three-mile walk.’
S: And that was a videotaped discussion?
M: Yes, interview on the school plans and education for a local station.
S: Was that with Fred Hall by any chance?
M: It might have been. I would think so. He was a nice man.
‘Mark Lee said that Rosalind had telephoned and when asked about the rugs that Krishnaji says should be in Arya Vihara, as they were given to him, she said they had been stolen and she was sorry that Krishnaji thinks she is a thief.’ What a family. ‘She said they were stolen from Arya Vihara. Theo says the reporting of the theft in the newspapers gave the place as upper-Ojai, which would mean she took them with her when she moved.’ [Chuckles.]
The tenth of April. ‘Krishnaji called a meeting about the announcements of the school to the public, and about the announcements of it at the upcoming public talks. He, Erna and Theo, Ruth, Albion, and Mark, and both Simmonses came to the cottage. Erna had walked over the land with Cohen and Ashton, a surveyor, to look at easements. Cohen says there is no basis for them. Krishnaji talked about the center, what it is or will be. It doesn’t exist now, as Patterson claimed when he and Ruth discussed it as being in their own homes with various people. I brought up the matter of Verna Krueger , who Mark asked to join the Ojai school, to Dorothy’s distress, swiping her from Brockwood to another school. Krishnaji also alluded to David Bohm, whom, it is said, Albion wants to live over here. Later we walked down McAndrew Road and back.’
April eleven. ‘Another snide letter came to Krishnaji from James Vigeveno. Krishnaji wants it answered, and I drafted a reply, though I’m not sure it is worth replying to those despicable people. Krishnaji also wants Erna to telephone Rajagopal that Krishnaji wishes to see the archives without Rajagopal being there. He doesn’t want to even see or speak to Rajagopal. Erna wants to delay the call until after this weekend’s talks.’
‘Reg and Mavis Bennett arrived from Australia. They are nice as ever. Reg had a coronary eighteen months ago. Such kindly people they are.’
The twelfth of April. ‘The weather changed, a cloudless sky, warm sun, but still a frosting of snow on Topa Topa. In the Green Beauty, we drove to the Oak Grove, where at 4 p.m., Krishnaji gave his first talk there since the autumn of 1966. Many people, many children, many dogs, but it seemed well arranged, and Mr. Nichols, the architect, had brought drawings to put on an easel; a very handsome rendition of the plot planned for the school. Mark Lee made the announcement about it. Casselberry was there, but none of the other mafia. Krishnaji walked down the road a little after the talk, until I caught up with him in the car. He said he liked talking in the Grove, but had no familiar feeling about it. We had lunch in the cottage. He has agreed with Erna and me to ignore the Vigeveno letter, not dignifying it. Later we walked down Grand Avenue, saw the Lilliefelts, and walked with them to see Monica Phillips at Ruth’s.’ Monica Phillips was Ruth Tettemer’s sister.
S: Mm, hm.
M: ‘We came back to the Lilliefelt’s while Erna telephoned Rajagopal to say Krishnaji wanted to come to see the archives. We saw the Besant letters, photographs, and also Pupul Jayakar’s account of what happened to Krishnaji around 1947 and 1948 in Ootacamund . This is something she wrote as a report for Rajagopal, and he made her not keep a copy. At first he said he didn’t have that, and then, well, he couldn’t remember; then he said that Tuesday was not convenient for him, and he hung up.’
‘Erna rang back and said, “We must have been cut off,” and that it wasn’t necessary for him to be there. He got very angry, and said it was a personal thing with him—he had to be there.’
‘“Supervision is not required,” said Erna.’
‘“I will be the judge of that,” said Rajagopal. “You must write and give me the time, and I will think about it.”’
‘Erna said, “We are giving you notice now.”’
‘Rajagopal replied, “You can’t come Tuesday.”’
‘Erna: “You are refusing?”’
‘Rajagopal: “You can bring a sheriff and break down the door.” And then he hung up.’
‘So Monday we get Cohen to act legally. Unless we exercise the settlement rights, we are setting a precedent and giving in to the demented, scoundrel behavior of Rajagopal. Blackburn says, “They”—meaning the Vigevenos, etcetera—“are more antagonistic than ever.”’
Sunday, the thirteenth of April. ‘A fog and overcast sky again. Krishnaji gave a magnificent and powerful talk in the Grove, number two. Among others, he spoke of the difference between reality and truth. Reality is of the mind and thought; truth cannot be touched by either. I sat closer, away from children and dogs, and listened only. Krishnaji came back to the car, saying, “That talk exhausted me,” as well it might. Later, joking, he said that in the old days they would’ve said, “The Lord spoke today.” Krishnaji had said he wanted to eat on the hill where Hooker, at Krishnaji’s request, was putting on an inexpensive vegetarian lunch for people who had attended the talk. He sat a long time in the car before we walked over there. It was cold and windy. We sat at a table with the Simmonses, Kishbaugh, and Theo. But when I moved over to the adjoining table with the Blau family and Erna, three perfectly strange, staring young people, uninvited, sat down at Krishnaji’s table. No sense of intrusion, politeness, nothing. Just themselves. Krishnaji had a longish nap at 4:30 p.m. He saw the two Siddoos, Sarjit and Jackie, and the latter brought me from Tapas seven copies of Ananda—the Indian version of the Star Bulletin, of 1929; also a pair of gray silk trousers copied in India at Krishnaji’s orders from a pair of Courrèges trousers. The Siddoos are planning to open their school in Vancouver, on Vancouver Island, in the autumn of ’76. Krishnaji and I walked to Erna and Theo’s for tea. Erna sent to Rajagopal a letter via Casselberry, saying we are coming Tuesday to see the archives and do not want “supervision.” We discussed what to do if he refuses or tries to harass Krishnaji.’
The fourteenth of April. ‘Gray skies and drippy rain. Krishnaji rested in the morning. He then gave a taped interview to Donald Ingram-Smith for Australia Broadcasting. Mr. and Mrs. Kornfeld saw Krishnaji afterward, and while waiting, talked to me about Krishnaji films. Mark played five of the Krishnaji and Anderson dialogues on videotape, and the Kornfelds were among those who watched. I left before the end because Krishnaji said this morning that it was perhaps healthier to eat supper at 6 p.m. instead of 7 p.m. We made it by 6:30 p.m. At supper he asked about the Ananda magazine that Tapas had sent. I read him part of an article by E. A. Wodehouse withering Arundale for carrying on ceremonies in Benares in 1928 when Mrs. Besant asked Krishnaji to preside at a TS congress in her absence, and out of politeness to Krishnaji and his views decreed there should be no ceremonies. Krishnaji remembered it vaguely and smiled. He said E. A. Wodehouse wrote very well, but gradually died of laziness.’ [Both laugh.] ‘He looked at the magazines. “We were all very young then.” He said some of all this should be put together in a book. There is a chapter on the Hindu version of the Lord Maitreya in their sacred books. I read it to Krishnaji. Maitreya foretold by Gautama, it said, did not become a Buddha himself, but refused it until humanity is rescued, hence he returns to human life.’ That’s why the Maitreya returns.
‘I asked Krishnaji, “Will you become a Buddha?”’
‘“You mustn’t ask that,” he said. “It doesn’t work that way. These people made it all into a hierarchical affair.”’
‘I spoke to Erna. Cohen says we must enforce our right to the archives and not compromise it.’
Tuesday, the fifteenth. Here comes the fateful day. ‘Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office at 11 a.m. Rajagopal was there with Austin Bee, who was seated at a desk and never rose or gave more than a glance. We went into the back office. The safe was open and the things we had asked to see were there. Rajagopal stood there, and Erna said we wished to look at things in private. He bristled. “This is my office,” but finally went out, refusing to close the door. He said he probably didn’t have to mention it, but things couldn’t be taken out. Erna and I just looked at him, and he went away. Krishnaji felt pain in the stomach from the violence of Rajagopal. I got him to sit down and went through the photo albums with the pictures in 1913 and ’14 in Taormina, and Cornwall, and one early one in 1909. There were many more which Krishnaji looked at, but Erna handed me to read the five-page account, handwritten by Pupul Jayakar of events in June 1948 in Ootacamund when Krishnaji was “off,” in great pain, spoke of “they have burnt me so there can be more emptiness. They want to see how much of him can come.”’ I don’t know what that means.
S: Are these quotes?
M: It’s quotes from the account, Pupul’s account.
S: Yes. Did we get that account?
M: Yes. But what developed was, when I eventually got it photocopied and brought it to Pupul, she said but that was just one day; and the “process” went on for eight days. Of course, he’d just given us a sop.
M: Anyway, then it goes on about ‘something to being close to death but not wishing it “as there is so much to be done” and of something happening on the walk (when he was alone) and not being able to remember it, of fearing pieces of him were left on the road, of a great power filling him. Reading it, I felt drained, as happens when there is something deeply moving to do with Krishnaji.’ This is me when I read this.
S: Mm, hm.
M: ‘We were to ask Rajagopal for a photocopy, but to be sure of having the text, I read it quietly to Erna, who took it down in shorthand. Krishnaji, by this time, had looked at the many photos and wanted to leave. He did so, and walked down the road while Erna and I gave Rajagopal the list of things we would like copied. There was a back and forth on his copying them, versus our taking them to be copied. He suggested Erna and Byron Casselberry go together to the photocopier, but apparently Rajagopal doesn’t trust Casselberry either, as he prefers to copy them himself. He questioned me on when we were leaving’—that means Krishnaji and I leaving—‘and was Erna going then, too? We left. Being firm was the effective move today. We came back to the cottage for lunch. Krishnaji asked how those people’s minds possibly worked. Bee, for instance, with his rudeness. Bee is a thorough Theosophist, the Lilliefelts say.’ He just sat there. He never got up or spoke, but just gave a surly glance at Krishnaji and the rest of us.
‘At 3:30 p.m. there was a meeting on the school; Krishnaji, the Lilliefelts, Ruth, Albion, the Lees, the Simmonses, and the Siddoos. Krishnaji went into the relation with parents, the participation of trustees, etcetera. It lasted till after 6 p.m. His stomach was still hurting from the morning. I made a very simple soup, and it felt better. At Arya Vihara I saw the TV interview that Krishnaji gave the other day for the local broadcast.’
S: Just before you go on, did we ever get the rest of the pages of Pupul’s account?
M: No. There is the Rajagopal Historical Collection, as it came to be known.
S: At the Huntington?
M: No, it’s not, at least it wasn’t when we last went there.
S: So who would have it?
M: Well, it’s whatever he’s done with all that stuff. Maybe it’s in Huntington by now. I don’t know. You see, he didn’t leave a will, and we don’t know what happened to things that were in his vault.
S: It would all go to his second wife, Annalisa, no?
M: But Annalisa died, so presumably it’s with Rajagopal’s daughter, Radha, but I don’t know. We haven’t any way of finding out, and Pupul, unfortunately, didn’t keep a copy.
The sixteenth. ‘The weather had cleared in time for Krishnaji’s 11 o’clock public discussion on education. It was cold in the Grove. Krishnaji wore a heavy cardigan, and I was glad of my brown coat and gloves. People were not asking questions to the point; voicing their own theories. Krishnaji, as always, drew it into a whole. He wanted to sit quietly in the car and have me do marketing, so we had a fairly late lunch in the cottage. Dorothy came by and joined us for fruit. Krishnaji slept deeply for an hour. I napped, too, and then we took a long walk with Erna and Theo around Grand, McNell, Thacher Roads. At supper, Krishnaji looked back at the years here. He said he could’ve been killed or injured on his long climbs in the mountains, and they didn’t think of it or care. He said he used to like to drive around Santa Paula, Ventura, and back, fifty miles. He said he used to go alone to places like Cleveland, Toledo, and Seattle to talk. Somebody must’ve bought the ticket, but then he went on his own. He said maybe Jadu was there.’ Do you remember Jadu? Jadu was a nice man.
M: Unfortunately he died, and he was in the U.S. and was with Krishnaji…
M: …and then he suddenly died, which was a great sadness.
M: ‘Krishnaji told of staying with the Theosophists in New Zealand, who washed all the dishes in the pan and didn’t rinse them. This so appalled Krishnaji, he told them he was good at washing up and asked if he could do it?’ [S chuckles.] ‘“If you want,” they said. “So I got two pans. They were nice people and caught on.”’
Thursday, the seventeenth. ‘Another cold day. Krishnaji wrote in his notebook. I typed. We lunched at Arya Vihara with the Lees, the Bennetts, the Simmons, Ursula…’ something ‘… a difficult name…’ it says here. ‘She is a woman who worked in the World Bank in Delhi, and may work in our office here. There was a trustee’s meeting at 3 p.m. There was a decision to go ahead with one building on the Oak Grove land without waiting for the donation drive. Krishnaji wants to get it going there, and wants to redo this cottage here. I have agreed to do it. He speaks of staying in California through May next year. We walked with Erna, Theo, and Alan Kishbaugh down Grand Avenue, and it was after 7 p.m. when we got back.’
The eighteenth of April. ‘Warmer with sunshine. A letter came from Nelly Digby, which says that Mrs. Bindley, alone in her house, fell on the stairs, broke her femur and was discovered only the next morning lying at the foot of the stairs. She was taken to the hospital.’ Poor lady. ‘Krishnaji rested all morning. I went to fetch our air tickets. In the afternoon, Krishnaji saw the Blackburns with their annual complaints. Then we went for a walk down McAndrew Road, and came up again for an early supper. We talked of how to redo this cottage, make two bedrooms, two baths, and keep the front sitting room where Krishnaji is now writing and said is a good place for that. On the north side, we could make a good living room and kitchen, also a guest toilet and a very small office where I can type and keep papers. Early to bed and early to sofa.’ [Both chuckle and M explains:] That was my bed.
Saturday, the nineteenth of April. ‘A lovely day, driving through the valley to the Oak Grove, the beauty of the morning, of the earth and all its faces, of all other mornings, and driving with Krishnaji was an inner radiance. It is a spring morning in Ojai, Malibu, Hampshire, France, and Switzerland, and the shine of beauty is everywhere. Krishnaji’s third talk in the Grove was on time, suffering, and death, and I felt emptied of everything by it. That curious, drained feeling that leaves me somewhere else or perhaps without a me at all. There were many people and those immediately around him appeared hypnotized. We sat in the car about ten minutes before Krishnaji felt like moving. Alan Kishbaugh had lunch with us and sat and talked with me afterward. He was born in 1938. He told Krishnaji how the Gurdjieff group in New York is run. He was part of it for a few years in the early ’60s. I had about a five-minute rest and then Krishnaji, who had had a nap, came in, and it was walk time. We stopped for the Lilliefelts and went around the block. All kinds of people are coming forward to help with the school. Mark is deluged with people responding to the appeal. The architects have given us approximate figures; to shoot for $3 million would do nicely as a beginning.’ [M and S chuckle.]
Sunday, the twentieth of April. ‘A beautiful morning, cloudless, the smell of orange blossoms, the warmth of beginning. Krishnaji gave his fourth talk in the Grove on the religious life: “You must be nothing.” Something opens in me to this; it is like the resonance of a bell of truth, the sound empties me—to be psychologically nothing. He stood for a while by the car, Alan Kishbaugh standing guard and walking him through the crowd. Blackburn distinguished himself. He sits behind Krishnaji, supposedly seeing to the PA system, but as we have a professional, he does nothing. Krishnaji doesn’t want him there, and says he is getting delusions that he should be talking. So, he was asked at Krishnaji’s suggestion by Theo to help keep people away from the area behind Krishnaji. He refused. He complains incessantly of wanting to help and being given nothing, so he was asked to do something, and refuses. Most of us feel he shouldn’t be asked to do anything.’
‘We had lunch alone. Krishnaji rested a little and saw Olaf Campbell and his son Eric, who has leukemia. Krishnaji had me give him the name of the enzyme clinic in Bonn. Krishnaji also saw Hank and Jean Bassion, a young couple who wrote a nice letter. There was a tea party at Arya Vihara, and Krishnaji came. Later, we went for a walk, but only a hundred yards down the hill; he said the body is tired, so we came back. After supper, he went over to Arya Vihara in his dressing gown to say goodbye to Mavis and Reg Bennett, who return tomorrow to Australia. Dorothy and Montague came in to the cottage on their way back to next door.’
April twenty-first. ‘Packed. Put the cottage in order. Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and I went to the K&R office at 11 a.m. Krishnaji remained in the car. Erna, Theo, and I went in as Rajagopal opened the door. Austin Bee was at the typewriter and looked up, and this time I made him reply by saying “Good morning, Mr. Bee.” Erna did the same, so he muttered a good morning without rising.’
‘Rajagopal said, “Isn’t Krishnaji with you?”’
‘I said that Krishnaji would remain in the car and would like to see the manuscript of The Commentaries there.’
‘“I haven’t got them. I think they were destroyed,” said Rajagopal. We stared at him in shock.’
‘I asked, did he mean that he had destroyed Krishnaji’s original manuscripts written in his own hand?’
‘He said it had been published, and that was their custom, and he wasn’t sure what had happened.’
‘I said that he kept very orderly records, how could he not be sure what had happened to such an important archive?’
‘He didn’t wish to answer questions. He said that he hadn’t come to answer questions. We had come without friendly spirits and all sorts of interpretations of the agreement. The court would have to settle it, or we could bring the sheriff. There were things that had to be settled about Harper & Row, a reference to their putting KFA as the party to be written to in the new edition of a KWINC book. He implied that Krishnaji had broken the agreement in telling him to resign.’
‘I said that we had shown considerable politeness and forbearance in the face of his tirades which he offered instead of our seeing anything. The word forbearance registered.’
‘We said that he had repeatedly jibed at Krishnaji for not speaking to him, and that finally when he did it again, Krishnaji had said “I will speak” and said that if Rajagopal really wanted to be in their old state of friendship he must resign from everything and do penance. I said that Krishnaji now wished me to tell him that until he renounces everything and establishes a relationship with Krishnaji that is not based only on the legal settlement, that Krishnaji didn’t wish to see him and that, if he had anything to say to Krishnaji, to write to him directly and not through other people “like Mr. Vigeveno.”’
‘By this time Rajagopal was so angry that I couldn’t tell what he took in. He started to say “This is my house.”’
‘“House?” said Erna.’
‘“Office,” he caught himself.’
‘We said it is the K&R office, and under the agreement, we have a right to come here to see archives.’
‘He implied we have seen the archives. He decides what are archived material.’
‘Erna said that we had not seen so far one thing in Krishnaji’s handwriting. Where were the other manuscripts?’
‘He said, “You have the manuscripts.” He means the so-called Scaravelli manuscript.’ That’s The Notebook.
‘We asked, did that mean he had nothing else?’
‘He said he would say nothing more and wouldn’t answer questions.’
I said he was both refusing to show us things or to answer questions. Erna turned to Bee and said, “You’re a trustee. Do you concur in this?”’
‘Bee said, “Whatever Mr. Rajogopal says, I agree to.”’
‘Erna: “And the other trustees?”’
‘Bee: “They agree with Mr. Rajagopal.”’
‘Rajagopal had transcripts of The Commentaries, typewritten which, of course, are not an authentic archive source. He also had photocopies of Mrs. Besant’s letters to Krishnaji, 1915 to 1930, Pupul’s report of 1948 and reports of Krishnaji, Nitya, and A.P. Warrington, August seventeen to twenty-one in 1922. Further, he wanted signed acknowledgements from Erna and Krishnaji. We refused for Krishnaji, but Erna signed. He said his lawyer had told him to make these available and he was doing so as a favor to Krishnaji. We took these and said we should leave, he would not speak further to us. Somehow, in it all, I said that we had no wish to discuss anything with him and had wished to see various things without his supervision. On this, he said angrily that he would not allow it. We left in a blast of his anger and semi-hysteria. His rages have the uncontrol of weakness, a tantrum quality. We were in there probably no more than fifteen minutes. There was probably more, but as I write this in the evening, I cannot think of it now.’
‘We found Krishnaji down the hill a ways, and went back to the cottage to try collectively to remember all that was said. Erna made notes. We telephoned Cohen, and told him what had happened. He wants to go with a photocopy machine and copy everything, but that would be endless and not include things we want. What is required is that he account for missing things and produce them. This business of his deciding what constitute archives is untenable. Cohen will begin by telephoning Christensen.’
‘Dorothy and Montague left for Los Angeles and a flight to London. We lunched at Arya Vihara with the Lees, Ruth, and Albion Patterson. We had packed the car and drove to Dieter’s place, where we tried out a Volvo station wagon and didn’t like it. Krishnaji talked at length to Dieter apart from me and came back to me saying I should get a diesel Mercedes. Another Mercedes!’ [Both chuckle.] ‘I am tired of car preoccupations. All that is needed is an economical small car that can carry things the Green Beauty won’t hold. But Krishnaji is sold on Mercedes excellence and of it being unsafe for him or me to go about in too small a car. We put off further talk about cars.’
‘He took the wheel on the coast road to Malibu. Driving, he asked me if I was too tired for a question. I said I was tired only of the car subject.’ [M chuckles; S laughs.] ‘He then asked me if anything had happened to me in these two weeks, was I changed in some way? I asked what he meant. What was he asking about? And I went over various things in these two weeks from my point of view. First, that the Rajagopal thing, though unpleasant’—and in parentheses I have that Krishnaji apologizes for my being subjected to it—‘didn’t really bother me. He said, “I could see something must have happened when you came out of Rajagopal’s, but you hadn’t reacted.” The Blackburn inimical behavior wasn’t worth talking about to me.’ That’s why he hadn’t mentioned it. Another parenthesis saying that there had been a discussion of it at lunch. ‘But the talks had an extra stretch of something in the Grove, something about it seems to open one to his words, and I felt that. The school seems to be rising, and things are beginning to happen. Staying in the cottage, I had liked, and explained that I react to a place, to beauty and character, more than to the people around. He listened to all this, but said he felt that there was more, something had happened to him. “I haven’t been tired,” an added vitality, and he felt something I was perhaps not aware of, was happening to me. Nothing was to my mind, but I said that what had meant most to me in his talks was his speaking of nothingness. “That is it,” he said. “Now we won’t talk about it for the moment,” but he went on that we must make a change, have more leisure, we must do it at Brockwood. We will take a picnic and go off, have leisure and quiet. I do feel a curious emptiness that I feel I must not examine now; let it be. It is something good. So, we came home to Malibu. The grass has taken root, and the flowers are bright. It looks lovely. This is a very dear house. The ocean murmurs.’
April twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji rested. He was reading the book on whales and their enormous brains’ [M chuckles], ‘and the fact that until man, they were menaced by nothing, which Krishnaji said made him “see something.” He called me in and asked me to remember to have him tell the others at tomorrow’s meeting that “the school must provide complete security to the students, a vast protection in depth.” Then he added, “That is what they did with me until those monsters came along.”’ Meaning the Rajagopals.
S: Yes, yes.
M: ‘There is a letter from Anneke in which she encloses a copy of one she sent to Rosalind Rajagopal. It is full of friendship and warmth to Rosalind but also puts a few truths home. Krishnaji thought it good, though, he said, Anneke doesn’t realize it will be ignored. To me, though I understand Anneke’s fondness for the past and her wish to find good in old friends, all that is washed away by the evil that this pair has done to Krishnaji. So, we came to what affection iS: I saying that though I do not hate, or wish ill to them, there could never be a question of affection. I would be hypocritical to say otherwise. So, we got out the Oxford dictionary and looked up affection. In the end, he said, “what he meant was compassion,” and with that I could go along.’
‘I went to see Amanda and Phil for an hour in the afternoon, came back and did three miles on the bicycle and one mile’s walk around the lawn, which means fourteen laps. Krishnaji did twenty.’ [Both chuckle.]
April twenty-third. ‘To town on errands. Back by 2 p.m. At 3 p.m., Ruth, Albion, Kishbaugh, the Lees, and Professor Rush came to talk with Krishnaji about the school. I taped it on a Uher cassette player. Erna and Theo couldn’t come. Theo has hurt his eye in the garden.’
The twenty-fourth of April. ‘Desk, etcetera. Sidney Field came to see Krishnaji in the afternoon. The gossip is that Rajagopal is saying in Ojai that he offered the present settlement to Krishnaji five years ago, that he could’ve ruined Krishnaji, but he didn’t want to, etcetera.’
April twenty-fifth. ‘Began packing. Erna and Theo came to lunch, and we discussed the making of a resume of the case. First by fact, then by event as a record. Rajagopal is already spreading falsehoods, and we should have the factual record. Albion, Ruth, Mark, and Charles Rush, and Alan came. We discussed “patterns of architecture” for the school. Then John Rex, Reibsamen, and Nichols came and asked us their questions about the school buildings. Krishnaji had the idea that there should be no classroom building, but that each house should have an extra room for study. They showed us a sample of bricks, and Krishnaji liked a beige one. They all left after 6 p.m. The Dunnes gave a donation to the Foundation.’
The twenty-sixth of April. ‘Packing, packing. Such a beautiful day. Betsy came to see me while Krishnaji was asleep. She and I went to the Dunne’s.’
April twenty-seventh. ‘A beautiful morning in Malibu. We finished packing, and satisfyingly, two bags less this year. Krishnaji drove with Alan Kishbaugh and I with Amanda to the airport. Krishnaji and I flew at noon on TWA to New York. My brother had arranged a car to meet us, and put the makings of supper and breakfast in the RitzTower apartment.’
The twenty-eighth of April. ‘I spoke to my family at the Vineyard. My brother lent us his car and engaged a chauffeur to drive us to see Dr. Wolf in White Plains. The usual blood and other tests for both of us. We came back to my brother’s apartment; Lindsey, his son, met us at the door.’ He was a little boy then.
‘Krishnaji, my brother, Lisa, and I had lunch at the Lafayette restaurant. We talked of the Cooper-Hewitt museum where Lisa works, and of our intended school. Lisa suggested to try to get Mobile Oil to fund a public broadcast of Krishnaji’s, which in turn would generate donations for the school. Krishnaji and I went to see an Antonioni movie, The Passenger.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji and I went to the Carnegie Endowment Institute, where Dr. David Shainberg had assembled about two dozen psychiatrists, psychotherapists, and social workers to meet and talk to Krishnaji. No formal talk, just questions and answers. The questions were mostly on fear. Krishnaji immediately went past theories and specific fears to examine and ask, what is fear itself, its central root? Is thinking the central cause? One questioner said thinking is how we master fear, cope with it. Krishnaji said, “Without understanding the nature of thought, one cannot understand fear.” Some of them thought that fear is helpful, i.e., about danger. Krishnaji asked if that was fear, also asked can we be totally free of fear. He said self-preservation in the face of danger is not fear. Someone brought up the fear of the atom bomb. Krishnaji said, what can I do as an individual against a monstrous system, and what is the good of being frightened? What is a human being to do?’ We don’t want all this, do we, because it’s all on the tape?
‘After the meeting ended, we taxied back to the apartment and had a room service lunch with some beans I had cooked earlier. I went quickly to the place where my Patek was fixed, fetched it, and had a new crystal put on Krishnaji’s. Back in time to walk with him to Caswell-Massey for a few things. Then, to the good barber in the Hotel Lombardy. The best of Krishnaji’s haircuts are done there. At 5 p.m., my brother Bud came to see us and discuss business things with me. After he left, Krishnaji and I had supper, and on television watched the final ending of the Vietnam War, as the U.S. completed its evacuation of an circled Saigon. The North has won, and the long, wretched U.S. involvement is over.’
Thirtieth of April. ‘Krishnaji slept only fairly well. He had a feeling of “ecstatic energy in my head.” He spoke of it in the evening, that he had never had it before, ecstatic energy. He certainly gave outward signs of extraordinary energy in the second session with the psychiatrists and psychotherapists. It was a continuation of yesterday’s meeting and again the question came: Can thinking decide when thinking is relevant?’ And then again, I have much description of what was said, which we don’t need.
May first. ‘Krishnaji rested in the morning and I did errands with my brother accompanying me so we could talk. He left me at 1 p.m., and Krishnaji and I had a quiet lunch in the hotel, and then we went out for a little walk and two errands. After the most relaxed day of a departure ever, we left the RitzTower at 6:20 p.m., in my brother’s car with a driver, and went to the airport and took the 8:45 p.m. Air India flight to London, a very nice plane, attractively done, with excellent service, and a quiet atmosphere. There were vacant seats so each of us could have two and lie down.’
The second of May. ‘We landed at 8:45 a.m. in London. Dorothy, Doris, and Ingrid met us and all drove to Brockwood. The school was out front to greet Krishnaji. The completed Assembly Room is very handsome. The lack of tile in the Long Hall and its new floor is a considerable improvement. There’s new electric wiring in the West Wing. Dorothy said all was chaos when she arrived and only this morning was everything in place. I unpacked almost all of our bags. Krishnaji went right to bed. I slept ten hours and spoke to Mary L.’
The third of May. ‘Finished unpacking, and put things in order. Ted Cartee fixed the garbage disposal unit which had two nails in it! Probably from careless electricians who fixed the pipe carrying the run-off water from the clothes washer, which had been pulled apart, also by the electricians. Water leaked through the ceiling to the lower hall. Krishnaji got up for lunch. Later he, Dorothy, Whisper, and I walked across the fields, through the grove, around by the lane. With a pedometer, it comes to two miles. We discovered that today. Krishnaji now has his supper tray at 6 p.m. A lovely day and a happy sense of being in this beautiful place again.’
The fourth of May. ‘Telephoned Filomena in Rome. She’s uncertain when she can come here. We walked in the afternoon. In the evening watched Shane on television, Krishnaji’s favorite, and it looks as good as ever.’ [Chuckles.]
The next day, ‘I went over to Morton’s garage with a garage man to awaken the gray Mercedes. It looked alright after its winter hibernation. At 11 a.m., Krishnaji spoke to the school in the new Assembly Room. It was used for the first time. It looked and sounded well. Mary Cadogan was there and stayed for lunch. She and I talked all afternoon until it was walk time. Afterward, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I drove the Mercedes to see how it was and to see a field of yellow in West Meon.’ That must be the beginning of the rape crop.
M: ‘It looks like thick mustard but is rape. Mark Edwards took photos of Krishnaji and some of the students. In the evening, Krishnaji was delighted to find Kojak on the BBC, and it didn’t matter that it was one we had already seen.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘We sat up till after 10.’
The sixth of May. ‘Dr. Parchure was to arrive today, but Dorothy received a telephone call from Balasundarum that his exit permit was not forthcoming. Maybe next week. Krishnaji was sorting clothes for Parchure, and I found him in our kitchen in his toweling bathrobe and the black woolen cap Fosca had crocheted for him, modeled on his fur one. “This is my lifestyle,” he said, laughing.’ [Both M and S laugh.] ‘Later in Dorothy’s office he said, “Look. The spirits are after it.” Outside the window, the head of a broom was waving back and forth rather eerily in the wind. He laughed as no one else can laugh, all laughter and merriment. We walked at 4:30 p.m. Very windy and cold. Whisper on the rope nearly pulled Krishnaji down in the field. She spotted a dog in the tractor and was all for murder. Krishnaji had supper at 6 p.m. each night.’
Going to the eighth, as there was nothing on the seventh worth recording, but I’ll humor you.
S: Thank you [chuckles]. I was about to ask.
M: The seventh of May. ‘A quiet day. Did work putting the West Wing in order, and Krishnaji, Whisper, and I walked in the rain.’
The eighth, ‘I did errands in Petersfield, and met Mary L. at the train. Krishnaji, she, and I talked before and after lunch about Ojai, and she also went over certain things in Krishnaji’s Scaravelli manuscript and the introduction she is writing to it. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked later.’
The next day, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the library. It was a good discussion on authority, are we influenced, etcetera. During lunch, Mary and Joe came in on their way to stay the weekend with her sister Barbara Agar, and Mary gave Krishnaji the first and only copy so far of the biography Krishnamurti: The Years of Awakening. On the dust jacket there is part of one of the photos of Krishnaji taken in 1926 in Indian clothing standing in front of the Gobelin tapestries at Castle Eerde. I read the biography all afternoon while Krishnaji slept. Then, he and I went for a walk and talked about the book. He asked if it would really interest people, what they could make of it.’
‘I said that the first part, which is all that I have so far read, may bring up the inevitable questions about Theosophy, masters, etcetera—if the masters exist, why all those communications reported with them then and nothing since?’
‘Krishnaji said, “It is simple. The Lord is here.”’
‘I said, “You mean those communications were necessary to prepare for that?”’
‘Krishnaji replied, “Obviously.” And then he added, “I just thought of it [with humor in voice].”’ [S chuckles.]
‘I asked one of those don’t-answer-me-if-it’s-a-wrong-question questions, and it was. “Am I being dense or insensitive not to perceive such things, or am I simply not being spoken to?”’
‘Krishnaji said, “You’re doing what you should, looking after K. There may be no need to communicate. You have been with me how long? You are perhaps used to certain things.”’
‘I began to tell him of the curiously full reporting by the young Krishnamurti of his “initiation,” so unlike his present-day way of describing, so detailed, etcetera. But Dorothy came along the lane and joined us, and we couldn’t go on with the conversation. Krishnaji wants me to attend the school meetings, which I never have, because of Dorothy’s reluctance—embarrassment, she calls it. But he told her today that I should, and she, of course, accepted it nicely with a bit of humor. Later, I sat up till midnight reading the biography.’
Listen to Mary speak. Click below.
Editor’s Note: The reluctance to have Mary in staff meetings seems odd in retrospect, as everything negative the staff had to say about Brockwood certainly came to Mary and Krishnaji, but most of the very good working together and seriousness that was often evident in the staff meetings would have been, at least partly, invisible. Certainly, when Mary did start attending the meetings, it felt right—as if “Krishnaji’s eyes and ears” were there, which most of us wanted.
The tenth of May. ‘I put the biography on Krishnaji’s bed beside the breakfast tray. He said he wasn’t going to read it’ [chuckle in voice], ‘but I thought he might read parts, and so he did, starting with the discovery of the boy. He asked how far I had read in the night, which was up to page 120, and what it seemed to me.’
‘I said, so far, the mystery of his becoming what he is, is deepened by the book. Working from Krishnaji’s letters to Mary L.’s mother and the latter’s diary gives a picture of an entirely immature, partly Victorian child, surrounded by jealous and competing friends, much talk of love that is childish and unreal.’
‘Krishnaji said the boy was not conditioned, that he was fed all the TS stories, but that it was superficial, and it went into his head and out. If he were conditioned, he said, he would’ve gone on in the TS way. I pointed out that many people have changed belief or views, but he said this was different. He was simply empty, moronic, dull. What made him awake? He thinks that slowly, drop by drop, he was awakening, changing. There was no real conditioning there. He was untouched and the very slow maturing was important. “Care of the body was and is important. I have right food and all that. I may live to be 100. We’ll celebrate that instead of eighty.” (Next Monday is his birthday.)’ [Both chuckle.]
Listen to Mary speak. Click below.
‘I attended, for the first time, a staff meeting.’
On May eleventh, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school in the Assembly Room. He asked what is the most important question in life? He was critical later of their lack of response. On the walk, he said to Dorothy, “They are dead…It’s no use to ask what Brockwood can give to them or they to Brockwood.” And in the evening, to me he said, “What is the use of all this? In five years, there is not one student who has understood something.”
‘This of course is what he has said of the Indian schools. One wonders if the teachings can be understood by those only with a certain capability, a quality of mind and intelligence. Krishnaji thinks Dorothy is too sentimental about the students here. There is an Indian boy here now whom Krishnaji thinks should be sent away, and his parents are simply using this place.’
‘I read until midnight and finished the biography, moved to tears by what he went through; the extraordinary fact of his enduring all that early time, the chicanery and pretentiousness of most of those people and coming to be what he is. Or, was it then always dormant, slowly growing like a delicate plant in him, until he was ripe? It was midnight when I finished, and I realized it was almost exactly eighty years since that child was born in the puja room of the small house in Madanapalle. The story, or perhaps Mary’s telling of it all, makes it very close, not long ago. Nitya seems someone I know, not then, but now. It’s an odd sense of knowing him, as if from very deep in the subconscious. What moves me as I write this is “that boy’s,” Krishnaji’s tremendous optimism, enthusiasm. At eighty now, he shines with it, even more than when he was quite young, but then he has always been and is, more than ever, younger than anyone; young in a radiant way.’
Listen to Mary speak. Click below.
May twelfth. ‘At thirty minutes into the morning, Krishnaji reached eighty years of age. He waved aside all greetings, but said, “I think I will live another twenty years, and then you can celebrate.” I said I would hold him to that, but who will push my wheelchair to the celebration? He said the body should last because it is looked after, because there is someone who cares, who looks after him, someone who doesn’t want something. It rained a bit, and I slept after lunch. Dr. T. K. Parchure arrived from India, his first trip here. A small, bald man with bright ferret eyes’ [S chuckles], ‘a nice ferret’ [M chuckles]. ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked. The students wanted to but didn’t sing “Happy Birthday” to Krishnaji at lunch. Dorothy got singing and cake at supper. It’s her birthday, too. I telephoned Mary L. about the book.’
Tuesday, the thirteenth. ‘Krishnaji and I took the Petersfield train to London. In our pleasant groove’ [chuckles], ‘we went right to Huntsman, where everything was pleasantly just the same. Krishnaji disappeared into the fitting room. I read Country Life, then Mr. Lintott brought out patterns—a lightweight tweedish material for a suit and trousers for Krishnaji, and trouser material for me. Mary lunched with us at Fortnum’s. We talked all the way through about the book. Krishnaji is reading it in pickings at breakfast. He reads a page here and there. He is pleased about it and showed that he was to Mary. I gave her a copy of the notes Erna Lilliefelt took as I read Pupul Jayakar’s account in the K&R archives of the 1948 events at Ootacamund. I also gave her an envelope for Filomena in Rome that Amanda Dunne gave me. Amanda Pallant is going there to spend a week with Vanda. Krishnaji and I went to Hatchard’s and then came back on the 4:20 p.m. train.’
The fourteenth of May. ‘We had a medical review between Krishnaji, Dr. Parchure, and me of Krishnaji’s health matters. In the afternoon, I took Dr. P. to Winchester to get him some warm clothes. Doris, having read the biography, heatedly asked Krishnaji why he had to suffer so. Do we all have to go through that? Krishnaji replied that to come upon something new, to discover, one person had to go through it in order to be able to point it out to others.’
The fifteenth of May. ‘Krishnaji talked to the school. I telephoned Filomena about her present of a pretty centrini  for Krishnaji’s chest of drawers. I told her also of Amanda’s envelope. All the Dunnes had joined in smiling photos for her, which Amanda Pallant took to Rome. At 6 p.m., I went for the first time to the school meeting.’
May sixteenth was ‘cold and rainy. I dictated letters. Dr. P. examined my leg and my exercise regime and taught me ways of relieving muscle spasms and freeing circulation in the leg, a gentle tapping with fingers and tightening of muscles in the knee cap, pinching a pillow held between my knees.’
The seventeenth of May. ‘More rain and cold, and more deskwork for me. I attended another staff meeting. There were questions by Carol Smith and Joe Zorski  about the West Wing and all its space not being used for the school. I replied giving the early history of Brockwood Park and its initial intentionS: school, center, and home for Krishnaji. Krishnaji spoke to the school in the afternoon, and did a taped conversation with David Bohm on what is reality and what is truth. Krishnaji is enthusiastic about it and wants to go on discussing with David each weekend.’
The nineteenth of May. ‘Krishnaji reads parts of Mary’s biography each morning. His liking for it grows. “She must’ve worked very hard,” he said. In response to questions of Mary’s, Doris found an old book of records she kept in 1961 showing when Krishnaji went for three weeks between the London talks and Saanen to Ojai. Mary, meticulous in background details, wanted to discover where he was and what were the references in the beginning of the Notebook manuscript. He spoke of going to an airport, others noticing something, etcetera. The airport was London, the others mentioned were Mrs. Bindley, Doris herself, who had forgotten, and Anneke. Krishnaji remembers nothing of it.’
The twenty-first of May. ‘It was a lovely summer day. I made the Creole rice he likes and packed our picnic hamper. We took two passengers, Dr. Parchure, whom we dropped in Hindhead at Dr. Carl Upman’s, and Dorothy, whom we took to a garage east of Haselmere, where she fetched her Land Rover.’
‘We drove on through lovely country, warm and smelling of spring, fertilizer, and growing things. How beautiful it is. I am floating in delight to drive through such loveliness with Krishnaji. It was less lovely near Esher, where road building is going on. Then we came to Wimbledon Common, where we had our picnic lunch sitting on a bench under trees. Krishnaji looked as young as when he walked there fifty years ago, and lived at West Side House with Ms. Dodge. We went on to the PutneyHospital. Mrs. Bindley has been there. She had fallen on the stairs, broke her hip, and lay there all night until the woman who cleans came in the morning. That was a month ago. They have operated on her hip and said she is convalescent. She was asleep when we came in. I took her hand and said that Krishnaji had come to see her. In her sleep, she said “lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely,” [light chuckles] touchingly responding to the words, she must have understood subconsciously. Krishnaji took her other hand and looked at me with distress, wondering if she were perhaps only half-conscious now, but then she woke up and was her old bright self, delighted to see him, eager with questions and banging her hearing aid to make it work. We told her a little about the Ojai school plans, the visits to the archives, and the meetings with Rajagopal. She said she will be able to go home as soon as her son Jack returns from Spain and gets someone to live-in and take care of her. We left, Krishnaji saying we would come to see her at home. “I would rather die quietly than be put in a hospital,” he said when we were outside. It was a considerable thing for him to visit her in the hospital, as he normally will not go to one. This is a convalescent hospital, and relatively less distressing, but one can see his repugnance.’
‘The A3 had been too torn up around Esher and Krishnaji said let’s go back some other way. I hadn’t brought maps, but we headed toward the sun, westward along the south bank of the Thames, and with luck found the M3, which took us to the road to Alton and so home to Brockwood.’
May twenty-second. ‘Krishnaji has told Dr. Parchure that I must outlive him. When, in the kitchen, I asked Krishnaji why, he dismissed it with a “you know very well why.” Parchure told Krishnaji what he is doing to my leg with massage as being able to unblock it. But Krishnaji has treated his ears and told him not to think of his hands or a cure, not to want something, just be quiet and open, then perhaps something can get through. Krishnaji told him that his own energy is not depleted when it goes to someone in this way. Krishnaji spoke to the school today—fact is doing in the instant. “Something new,” he said. I talked at supper to a man about the Ojai school where he would like to teach. He didn’t seem suitable, but was pleasant.’
May twenty-fourth. ‘We learned from Amanda Pallant, who is back from Rome, that Vanda was struck by a car in Florence, bruised on the legs, and her head was cut, but is alright and was able to come to Rome to receive Amanda. I telephoned Vanda, who said it is nothing, characteristically, and Krishnaji spoke to her, getting almost no information. In the afternoon, Krishnaji did a two-hour taped dialogue with David Bohm, continuing last Sunday’s on reality and truth. Dr. Parchure participated very slightly. Dorothy, Saral, and I were present.’
The twenty-fifth of May. ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school, over their heads, I think, but very interesting on thought. Is there thought without word or image? To see something as true is an action outside of thought. There were many things in this discussion. Jane and Ian Hammond were at lunch. At 4 p.m., Dorothy, Krishnaji, and I talked to Tungki about his being able to continue to live at Brockwood without compulsion to study. Then Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked and got back in time for Dorothy and me to go to the staff meeting.’
The next day. ‘I got up at 5 a.m. Did exercises, etcetera, and went to a 6:30 a.m. staff meeting. Carol Allwell raised the question of the gulf between verbal understanding and what we are trying to do in the schools, and insensitive behavior in some. She expressed it clearly, but there was much staring at the floor in responses. Dorothy is depressed, feels under attack at these meetings. I talked to her. Mary and Joe are going to Canada for four days. I took a nap after lunch, and walked with Krishnaji and Dorothy. When I brought Krishnaji his supper, he said he had a message from “the great white brotherhood thanking me for looking after him, but I mustn’t spoil him.”’ [Both M and S chuckle and then M laughs.] Great white brotherhood! Oh, dear. [More laughter.]
The twenty-seventh of May. My diary says, ‘Tired!’ [Chuckles.] ‘I did quite a few letters. After lunch I went with Dorothy and Doris to Winchester for trousers for Krishnaji and other errands. Back in time for the walk. Telephoned the Frys, and spoke to Kit.’
On the twenty-ninth, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school. Tidiness and untidiness. Mrs. Shrinivasan was at the meeting and to lunch. I drove her to the train. A walk and another school meeting.’
May thirtieth. ‘I went to London alone. I did errands, had a fitting, came back at 4 p.m. Did some errands in Petersfield, and then back to Brockwood.’
The next day, another dialogue between Krishnaji and David Bohm.
Monday, June second. ‘It snowed in London for first time on record. Mary L. and her daughter Amanda came to lunch. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked later, bundled up like Eskimos. The day had begun with a 6:30 staff meeting, I got fairly sleepy watching Kojak with Krishnaji in the evening on TV. Dr. Parchure is teaching me to massage Krishnaji.’
June third, ‘Krishnaji spoke to the school and said, “I will teach them in spite of themselves.”’
S: Is that it?
S: Just before we run out of tape. Good!
M: Good. I’ll have another cookie.
S: You deserve it.
 The Mercedes importer nearest Ojai. Back to text.
 The Oak Grove in Ojai is where Krishnaji traditionally gave his public talks, and is located next to the location of the school that was about to be built. Back to text.
 Commentaries on Living was a series of three books that first appeared in 1956. Back to text.
 Curuppumullage Jinarajadasa was an early convert to Theosophy who became president of the Theosophical Society from 1945 until his death in 1953. Back to text.
 The case in which the Krishnamurti Foundation of India was trying to get Vasanta Vihar, a large building built for Krishnaji’s work in 1933, from Rajagopal. Back to text.
 An early staff member at Brockwood who was a mainstay in the school’s kitchen. Back to text.
 A long period of “the process,” during which Pupul and her sister Nandini looked after Krishnaji. Back to text.
 Betsy Drake Grant was an old friend of Mary’s from the 1930s. Back to text.
 ‘Patterns’ are what London tailors call swatches of material from which one can choose to have things made. Back to text.
 Italian doilies usually made of lace or linen made to be put on a bureau or small table. This must have been for Krishnaji’s birthday. Back to text.
 Carol and Joe were teachers at Brockwood and were a couple. She taught biology, and he taught chemistry and physics. They were the first couple to have a child at Brockwood. Back to text.