Issue 75—April 30, 1983 to June 10, 1983
In the last issue, we saw that Krishnaji and the other trustees of the Krishnamurti Foundation of America wanted to end the “ugliness” of being involved in legal actions, though justified, against the K & R Foundation. In this issue, we see that no sooner had the suit been dropped, than the K & R Foundation sued Krishnaji and the Krishnamurti Foundation of America. So, the ugliness does not end.
While we have always seen Mary’s “guardianship” or protection of Krishnaji, in this issue, it feels more moving, more encompassing.
In this issue, we also see the end of an era at Brockwood. Dorothy has a heart attack, and must make room for others to be in charge of the school. This is a two year process, but it begins in this issue.
The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue #75
Mary: We begin our discussion today with April thirtieth, 1983.
Scott: Yes, but before we do I think there is something we need to discuss a little, because I think in our last discussion, I was hurrying and so I didn’t stop and discuss something that I feel is important to put on the record. Also, I know what happened, because you discussed it with me at the time—I didn’t know everything but I knew a lot at that time. We have already recorded that it was very, very important, although it was unpleasant and it was expensive, to have this lawsuit against Rajagopal because he was violating the terms of the previous agreement by not handing over archive material, and by reprinting Krishnaji’s material but distorting it—changing it. And we’ve recorded that it was terribly important to have this lawsuit just to protect the integrity of the teachings.
M: I may have said it before, I don’t remember; but an important point was made by our lawyer that if you have a settlement agreement—which we had with the first lawsuit—and if the other party doesn’t abide by the settlement—which Rajagopal wasn’t—if you don’t enforce it, you lose it. You have to protect your own rights under a settlement or it is nullified.
S: Right. So this is why it was terribly important to have this second suit. And then in our last discussion we mentioned—but I think just too briefly, and it needs to be spelled out a little bit—Krishnaji gave his deposition. Rajagopal continued to refuse to give a deposition on the basis of ill health or one shenanigan or another, but Krishnaji gave his deposition and Rajagopal’s lawyer was so aggressive and so wrong that your lawyer had to intervene to protect Krishnaji. And the whole lawsuit was so unpleasant that it was decided by Krishnaji and the trustees of the KFA to stop the lawsuit. Now, here we have something that needs, I think, a bit more explanation. And I feel at least one of the things that needs to be said is that here was Rajagopal, abusing Krishnaji through his lawyer to get his way, yet again. And this abuse of Krishnaji, which Krishnaji had always accepted or tolerated not knowing what else could he do. In a way, this was the character of the relationship. This may just be my interpretation, but I think more from you needs to be said just to give the history, the details of just what happened, and why it was decided to stop this really terribly important lawsuit.
M: Well, the impulse was to stop it because Krishnaji was…He wasn’t affected in one sense, but it was insulting to him and it was an assault. Rajagopal’s lawyer was aggressive and a really kind of—I don’t know how to characterize it—indecent in the sense of antagonism, in a sort of sneering way. It was unpleasant that he should have to be talked to this way.
S: Alright—but it was…
M: We were protective of Krishnaji—the whole lawsuit was that. The first lawsuit was to free Krishnaji from this evil domination by this dreadful man. And to protect him.
S: Yes. Yes. Alright, so Rajagopal’s lawyer might have been sneering at Krishnaji, but what was the deciding…?
M: Well, the implication that Krishnaji was lying with asking the same question again and again and again.
S: So, was there the feeling that this would be made public and somehow become a public ridicule of Krishnaji?
M: Well, no. I mean, you don’t think that far ahead. It was just—it seemed outrageous at the time, the way he did it. And it was badgering Krishnaji.
S: Yes, I understand. So, it was decided that enough was enough, and you were going to stop the lawsuit.
M: Yes, I think you’re right. It was just putting Krishnaji through demeaning and badgering…
S: So it was putting Krishnaji through demeaning, badgering behavior, and that there would probably be more of that? Was that the feeling, that there would be more of that if the suit continued? Because, in a way, it had already been done; Krishnaji had been put through that.
M: Well, that would be supposition. Obviously, it had been unpleasant and we just felt he shouldn’t be subjected to this.
S: Okay. But that’s not what Krishnaji himself felt?
M: No. He was willing to go through with it, but he didn’t insist. It was more or less…we discussed it with him, obviously, he was in on every discussion we ever had. He was aware of all that.
S: Of course, right. But it was more of your feeling bad on his behalf than his saying, “Look, I can’t do this anymore”?
M: Oh no, he never said that. Never.
S: Exactly. See, I think this is important, and he didn’t feel he needed to defend himself, because all kinds of accusations were made against him in this deposition of being a charlatan or being…I don’t know immoral or being…
M: Don’t characterize it too much—I don’t remember.
S: Alright. As I remember, from what you told me, Krishnaji was accused by this lawyer of all kinds of really monstrous and dishonest things.
M: Well, don’t use too exaggerated language. It was a very unpleasant badgering cross-examination and asking the same question again and again and again kind of thing.
S: Alright. So, if Krishnaji had been through that, and if there wasn’t a fear of more of this happening or this being increased somehow, in a way, the penalty had been paid. Krishnaji had already been badgered.
M: Yes, but I mean, he would have gone on with it. I mean, to go on with the suit would mean…
S: Right, going on with this treatment of Krishnaji.
M: Yes, subjecting Krishnaji to this kind of treatment, and as we wanted to protect him, we thought, well, maybe it’s not worth it. All the original suit was to free Krishnaji from the appalling treatment that he had been subjected to for years.
S: Okay. Alright. Alright.
M: Also, we had a responsibility. Rajagopal had just stolen—people gave money to a charity they thought was for Krishnaji’s work, and he stole it. And we had the proof of it.
So, we felt Rajagopal should be called to account for what he did, and he could have gone, as his daughter said at one point, that he could go to jail. And he could have gone to jail if we had gone ahead on and on and on. He’d taken funds that he’d stolen.
S: Yes. Yes. For his own purposes.
M: And, true to the way he behaved, when we stopped the second suit, Rajagopal immediately countersued. Which brought us back into the thing. And that’s when—we haven’t come to that…
S: We haven’t come to that yet, so we can wait on that. It’s just that I didn’t want to just brush over something which I thought most historians would feel was really strange. Here was this terribly important suit, and they decided just to stop it.
M: Well, the whole spirit of it—I don’t know what the word is—but what we were trying to do…I was so appalled when I found out what had happened—I told you all that ages ago—to Krishnaji and abuse of Krishnaji by both of them.
S: Yes, yes. Both meaning Rosalind and Rajagopal. Yes.
M: Yes, both of them. They were in cahoots. They made their position in the world and they made money, made everything by manipulating it. And Krishnaji, you know, he didn’t fight back. He would put up with it. And so, it was to stop all that, and also this man had stolen money that was given for Krishnaji’s work and to him personally. And he’d stolen it. And so, it was to call him to account for what he’d done and we brought a suit. Also, we had to get back to Krishnaji his copyright, and Rajagopal could have gone on flouting that. So, I mean all kinds of things were at stake, but it was all to protect Krishnaji. Yes, and to make justice prevail.
S: Yes. Alright. Alright, so, April thirtieth, 1983.
M: April thirtieth, 1983. There had been a fire at Brockwood, as you may recall.
S: Yes, I do. [Chuckles.]
M: Krishnaji was in San Francisco for talks and we learned of it when we were there, so on the thirtieth, ‘I rang Dorothy to learn more about Brockwood’s fire. Krishnaji spoke to her and insisted she come to Ojai on the eleventh as planned. His desk in his bedroom is burned and so was the bed, and the hi-fi, etc., but his clothes are safe. At 11 a.m., we walked across the street to the Masonic Hall where Krishnaji gave his first San Francisco talk. The hall was almost full. It was a good talk. After the talk, we came back to the hotel, where Patricia Holt joined us, and we took her to lunch at Green’s. She is nice and bright. We sat in a small room off the main ones, so there was some privacy, and Krishnaji was less on view.’ I remember that when we went there, we stood in line for a table, and the mâitre d’hôtel was turning people away, and I asked him for a table for three and he started to say no, but he looked up, saw Krishnaji behind me, and instantly ushered us in and gave us [both chuckle] the best table in the place.
S: Of course, of course.
M: ‘She drove us’—that’s Patricia Holt—‘in her car across the Golden Gate Bridge at Krishnaji’s request and back. We invited her to Brockwood. We rested and had supper in the sitting room.’ We were staying at the Huntington Hotel—a nice hotel with nice suites with a kitchen and a sitting room and a bedroom, and then I had one bedroom down the hall. It was very nice. I could cook and things.
The first of May. ‘Mary Links rang from London. She and Joe had gone down to Brockwood, and said the fire damage is not as bad as expected. Krishnaji gave a second very fine talk in the Masonic Hall. Miranda and John were at the talk and came to the hotel afterward, and we all went to lunch at a place called Maggie’s. We had a little room to ourselves, but piped-in music made it noisy. Miranda and John dropped Krishnaji and me back at the Huntington. Then came a moment of decision. Alain Naudé has not telephoned us as Krishnaji thinks he should. He knows we are here, but was not seen at the talks. If we do not make a gesture, it escalates the estrangement.’ I don’t like talking about all such stuff.
S: Mary, it doesn’t make any difference. It’s all history, and it’s just…
M: It’s nobody’s business. And, you know, it was a temporary estrangement.
S: Yes, that’s right. It was just temporary—and it’s the kind of thing that happened in Krishnaji’s life. And people…
M: Well, not everything in Krishnaji’s life has to be discussed.
S: No. No, not everything, but it’s just the kind of people that he was surrounded with, and, as I’ve often said, Krishnaji didn’t have the quality of people around him that he should have had, including myself.
M: Well, that doesn’t have anything to do with my recording things about other people. For instance, the next sentence says, ‘if we do not make the gesture, it escalates the estrangement. I do not feel anything one way or the other. But was equally willing to call or not call. Krishnaji said it was “Naudé’s part” to telephone us but I should decide. So I rang him. He had an amiable voice. He had hoped we would ring. He had given up something to be home in case we did. I said we expected him to call. We went on talking chatter and when the conversation wound down, I asked him if he’d like to come over. He said he did. When he came, he hadn’t changed any visibly. Krishnaji came in in a friendly, charming way. We talked till it got near to 7 p.m., and I ordered supper for three. It was brought up. There was far less tension in Alain than when we last saw him. Perhaps my stopping helping him financially removed the aggravation. Everything went lightly. Krishnaji and I packed after he left.’
S: Now, I just want to stop here and emphasize my point. This is important in the sense that we see Krishnaji telling you—you’re indifferent whether Alain has called or not—Krishnaji feels that Alain should have called, but he gives all of the freedom to you, to do as you think is right. You, out of the goodness of your heart, do call him; and everything is kind of healed and made better. So, this is terribly important to see. This is not something that should be left out, because we see Krishnaji, and we see you working with Krishnaji, and it’s terribly important. I know I’m a fanatic about all of these things, but there we are.
M: Alright. Alright.
May second. ‘We left the Huntington at 8:30 a.m. by taxi for the airport, and flew to Santa Barbara, which Krishnaji feels is a nice, unhurried, tiny airport with a bookshop that carries Zen and Copernicus,’ [both chuckle] ‘and where David Moody and Max Falk met us. It was shining Southern California weather. The house was beautiful and peaceful. It has “The right atmosphere,” said Krishnaji with a smile. We lunched at Arya Vihara. The Bohms are here again. In the late afternoon, while I was marketing in the village, there was an earthquake centered in Coalinga near Fresno. I didn’t feel it and neither did Krishnaji, who was walking down Thacher Road at that point. I met him with the car. In the morning, at the Huntington, he had come to my room, I thought to wake me up as we were leaving early. But he had stayed with me a little, and later he said he had awakened “with something different” in his head, pointing to his forehead, “which frightened the body, so I came to you.” The feeling has continued, to a lesser degree, all day, but the fright is gone.’ The body, in Krishnaji’s terminology, is almost as though it’s another entity sometimes.
S: Yes, yes. I was thinking that. And I was thinking also how meticulously he looked after the body, but it was not him, the body.
M: No, but it was his responsibility.
S: It was his responsibility. But when things would happen to the body, he would notice them as you would notice something which happened to your car.
M: That’s right.
S: And even when he went to the dentist—you’ve told me many times—you could see the dentist doing things, but Krishnaji’s hands would just be relaxed. It’s almost as if he would watch the pain of the body or something.
M: Well, I think I’ve mentioned it somewhere, but if not, I’ll say it now. With this endless dentist going in London, in the taxi once he said to me—we’d been there two hours and I was sitting outside in the waiting room and I knew, because I could hear, it was drilling, drilling, drilling—and he said, “You know, I didn’t have a single thought in all that time.” It’s an odd dissociation between what happens to the body and where his consciousness was.
S: Yes, and so here’s something that Krishnaji noticed. Something that happened in his head.
M: Yes, and it frightened the body.
S: It frightened the body. But also, I think what’s worth noting here is that he thought the right thing to do was to come and be with you. Because you were protecting him.
M: Yes, I was protecting him. I had a protective symbolism or something.
S: Yes. I think you protected him. It wasn’t a symbol.
M: Well, I was. That was my…
S: That was your role, that’s what you did.
M: That’s what I got involved in all this—doing that, somehow.
S: But somehow, it ran beyond just material protection against the whims of Rajagopal and company—it went into a very profound kind of protection.
M: Mm, hm. And when he used to say to me, “You must outlive me.” And I would say, “Why should I outlive you?” He would reply, “To look after me.”
S: Yes. Yes.
M: And it wasn’t said sentimentally at all.
S: Oh no, no. Or selfishly, I’m sure.
M: No. No.
S: No, it was just that this is an important function. Yes.
M: It was like when Mary said he looked after his body the way a cavalryman would look after his horse [both chuckle]. I’ve always liked that description. And I was sort of a chain of that.
So, we go on to May third. ‘Laundry, etcetera. Krishnaji slept in the morning. He is tired but feeling well. The “different” feeling is still in his head. We had lunch at Arya Vihara. The Lilliefelts got back from San Francisco in the afternoon and walked with us down McAndrew Road. I received, from David Shainberg, a donation of stock for a study center worth about $9,000.’
The next day is just ‘I went on an early walk with Erna. Krishnaji did a Sony dictation, Kannan from Madras was at lunch.’ Do you remember him?
S: Ah, yes. I remember him well.
M: ‘Also at lunch was Frances McCann. I spent most of the day working at my desk. Krishnaji walked with Theo. I telephoned Dorothy. She says the repairs at Brockwood after the fire will take six to nine months. She is coming with Mary Cadogan on the eleventh.’ Krishnaji told her she must come.
May fifth. ‘Krishnaji and I left the house at 10:30 a.m., and drove along the coast road to Beverly Hills. Krishnaji drove from the poplar trees.’ The poplar trees is where he would take the car. It’s after you’ve gone past Oxnard—there are poplar trees and then it’s all along the coast and down. ‘So he drove from the poplar trees until we had to stop for earth-moving trucks by the sea. We reached Beverly Hills, parked, and walked to Magnin’s, where he wanted a belt like one I found for him weeks ago. Then we went to have his hair cut, where it was mercifully quiet, and she gave Krishnaji his second haircut, teaching me how to do it as she went along.’ She was my hairdresser. ‘Krishnaji sat with an amused quizzical look’ [both chuckle]. ‘He thanked her and bowed and walked out onto Rodeo Drive looking handsome and elegant in his navy blazer and gray trousers and superb haircut.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘It was bright sunshine and the increasing opulence of Beverly Hills made Krishnaji say, “Don’t lose me…What would I do if I were alone? I am lost,” he laughed, and walked with the energy and shyness that he wears in public places. We bought an eight months’ supply of vitamins and protein powder to take to Brockwood, and he wanted croissants as we passed a croissant shop. Then he wanted to go to the cutlery shop for a showerhead that would control the temperature but, of course, they didn’t have that. So he bought a special nail file. We went back to the car, drove to a shady side street, and ate our sandwich lunch, then drove back to Ojai along the coast road. It is one of those happy days, wrapped in sunlight and the fun of doing errands with him. Ordinary things, which are somehow an adventure because he is there, sitting beside me in the car, walking the streets, seeing his face noticing things, lighting up. And always that astonishing beauty.’ [Both chuckle.]
S: Yes, yes. May I ask…I know this is probably a new depth of trivia to which I’m about to sink. [Laughs.]
M: What are you going to say?
S: I can’t remember Krishnaji’s blazer. What kind of buttons did it have?
M: Oh yes. It had, um—that’s a good question.
S: It didn’t have gold buttons, did it?
M: No, it didn’t have gold buttons.
S: It didn’t even have silver buttons, right?
M: No. It had simple buttons.
S: Did it have just blue buttons and not brass blazer buttons?
M: Black comes to my mind, but maybe that’s not correct.
S: But they were just normal buttons, they weren’t blazer buttons.
M: No, don’t think so. Well, you inherited all his clothes. Is there a blazer that you can—it made no impression on you, the blazer.
S: It made no impression on me.
M: Or it doesn’t fit you anymore.
S: None of Krishnaji’s clothes fit me anymore, that’s certain. [Both chuckle.] Okay, well, I just—somehow the picture I have is more like a blue sports coat then a blazer. But I think it was cut like a blazer.
M: It was a blazer.
S: It was a blazer, but it didn’t have blazer buttons?
M: Hmm. I don’t remember.
S: Well, as I said, I’m plumbing new depths of trivia. [Laughs.]
M: I don’t see him with gold buttons. It’s not in character.
S: No, I don’t see that either—no, no, it’s not his character. [Both chuckle.]
M: Well, we’ve settled that. We dealt with it. We faced it. [Both chuckle.] Anyway…
May sixth. ‘Krishnaji dictated more into his Sony. Rupert Sheldrake came to lunch. Sheldrake gave a seminar yesterday and gives another one tomorrow at the Ojai Foundation on the Happy Valley land.’ That’s up the hill, you know. ‘He had written, saying he was coming to Ojai, and I replied asking him to lunch. The Bohms are still here, which made for general conversation. At 4 p.m., Krishnaji held a discussion with Oak Grove teachers.’
The next day, ‘I telephoned Filomena on her birthday. It was a clear day, and Krishnaji slept a little in the morning. With Erna and Theo, I went to Oak Grove to see if the ground is drying out for the coming talks. It looks hopeful.’ It must have rained a lot before this. ‘Then we went to look at a guest house that Max is building in Krotona. Krishnaji didn’t come as he said going there tired him. It’s a dead place. We came back to lunch at Arya Vihara.’
The eighth: ‘It was a warm day. The Bohms left for Ottawa. At 11 a.m., Krishnaji held a teacher meeting here at the cottage. Alfonso Colon came to lunch at Arya Vihara.’
May ninth. ‘Amanda telephoned to say that Miranda and John Perry are planning to marry this summer.’ They did. ‘Krishnaji made another Sony dictation. I did laundry and worked at my desk all day. Dennis cleaned the flat after the Bohms left, and before Dorothy arrives. Erna and I spoke to Jackie Wilde about working on the study center. I walked with Krishnaji down McAndrew.’
There was nothing of significance the next day, but on May eleventh, ‘I left at 7:30 a.m. for Malibu. Spent an hour with Amanda and Phil before going on to Beverly Hills for a haircut. Then, I went to the airport, where I met Mary Cadogan and Dorothy Simmons arriving on TWA from London. It was a beautiful warm day. We drove back to Ojai along the sea. Krishnaji and the Lilliefelts were waiting to greet them. Dorothy is in the guest flat here and Mary is at the Lilliefelts’. Dorothy, Krishnaji, and I had supper in our dining room, and we heard about the Brockwood fire. Dorothy’s looks show the strain it has been on her. I reached Miranda and John after several tries on the telephone to wish them well. Earlier, Krishnaji had done a Sony dictation.’
May twelfth. ‘It is Krishnaji’s eighty-eighth birthday, which he again ignored and brushed away with impatience. Everybody looks smilingly, but doesn’t say a word. He is, if possible, more beautiful, more endearing, and has that spring of energy that seems to keep his body going. I went for the usual 6:45 a.m. walk with Erna.’ I don’t always report that, but I was doing that every day at this period. ‘The weather seems to have turned from the restless rains of this winter, and come back to sunlight. Krishnaji dictated on his Sony. We all lunched at Arya Vihara, then Dorothy and Mary came back here for coffee. We talked most of the afternoon.’
There isn’t much the next day, but on May fourteenth, ‘It was a beautiful day. Krishnaji and I left the house at 11:10 a.m. for the Oak Grove and found there an enormous crowd. It took twenty minutes for Krishnaji to get in and then give his first Ojai talk. Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, Alan Kishbaugh, and Stella Resnick were at lunch afterwards at Arya Vihara. In the afternoon, I went to reconnoiter another way to get Krishnaji into the Grove from the west side. In the late afternoon, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Erna, Theo, and I walked.’
May fifteenth, ‘It was another beautiful day. I drove Krishnaji to the west gate of the Grove, then brought the car around to the usual parking place on Besant Road. There was a big crowd, and Krishnaji gave a very fine second talk. At the Arya Vihara lunch were Narayan’s brother, G. Krishnamurti, Dorothy, Mary, Alan Kishbaugh, and Stella Resnick. We talked at the table about who would be good to interview Krishnaji on TV. Jonathan Miller, Alastair Cooke, Robert MacNeil, etcetera, were discussed until I jokingly said Dave Allen’ [both laugh] ‘and Krishnaji’s face lit up. “Oh yes,” he said.’ [Both laugh.] You’d better explain who Dave Allen is.
S: He was a very funny Irish comedian who had a television program in England, and he used to sit on the stage smoking and drinking whiskey and telling lots of anti-religion jokes [both laugh]. Which Krishnaji loved.
M: Yes, I’d forgotten about Dave Allen. [Both chuckle.] ‘We both rested till 6 p.m., and then walked down McAndrew Road, Theo joining us. I spoke to Bud this morning about his health.’
The sixteenth. ‘At 10 a.m., I went for a massage. Had early walk, too. Krishnaji was tired and didn’t exercise, but rested. His head is paining him; the regular bad of the head pain.’ He got head pain a lot of the time. ‘It was too hot to walk. We were told that the Chronicle article by Patricia Holt came out yesterday and is good.’ Her name is familiar, and I can vaguely see what she looked like. ‘I posted the protein powder to Brockwood so we wouldn’t have to carry it. We lunched at Arya Vihara.’
May seventeenth. ‘Krishnaji held the first question-and-answer meeting of the year in the Grove. Krishnaji came out accompanied by Kishbaugh, and as Krishnaji reached the car, Avsham, Rajagopal’s lawyer, appeared and handed him a large envelope. We both guessed what it must be. I asked Alan to find Erna and tell her to come to the cottage. We drove off. I stopped along the road to open the envelope. Rajagopal, the Vigevenos, Porter, and Bee are bringing suit against Krishnaji and the rest of us for breach of settlement, slander, interference with their business, etcetera, and they want $9 million. Krishnaji sought to keep me from being nervous. I wasn’t nervous, only angry, but unsurprised. I read it through thoroughly when we reached the house. Erna and Theo arrived. Together we telephoned Cohen, who said, “I didn’t think they’d be that stupid.” We went to lunch and said no more about it except to Alan Kishbaugh, who had seen Avsham hand Krishnaji the envelope as he was taking Krishnaji to the car. We all came back here after lunch, and all, except Krishnaji, went through it. I said privately to Erna that I feel we must tell the other trustees of the details of our last suit, as they are all now defendants.
S: Of course.
M: Mm. So that was the seventeenth.
S: Now, why hadn’t you told them the details before of the last suit?
M: Because it involved—it was personal to Krishnaji. They didn’t have to know.
S: Alright. So, they knew the details of the suit legally, but they didn’t know the kinds of personal accusations that were made.
M: No, I don’t think they did.
S: Erna and Theo did, but not the others.
M: Not the others, I don’t think. But at some point—and I forget when it was—Krishnaji told them himself all about it.
S: Mm, hm. Do you want to say what we are referring to here?
M: We’re referring to the Rosalind story.
S: Right. Okay.
M: Krishnaji told the American trustees himself. I don’t remember exactly when it was. It may surface somewhere.
S: Yes. It will probably say here. Yes.
M: May eighteenth. ‘Erna and I discussed on our early walk, and we both agreed that we have an obligation to fill in the other defendants on the background to the suits. I came back to the cottage and talked to Krishnaji, who agreed. At 10 a.m., there was a trustee meeting, which had already been called. We were Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, Evelyne, Alan Kishbaugh, Alan Hooker, Tom Krause, plus Mary Cadogan, and Dorothy. Erna and I reviewed the past suits and Krishnaji gave the background to the Rajagopal situation. Mary Cadogan’s reaction was most forthcoming—sympathy and admiration for all we had to contend with. Krishnaji stayed for all discussions of the day, which moved on to complicated publication difficulties with India. After lunch, at Arya Vihara, we continued discussing the agenda for the September international trustees’ meetings of all the Foundations. Krishnaji’s head hurt him all day. He walked with Dorothy and Theo while I fixed supper. The pain, which is in the back of the head, let up when he walked, but returned. At 6:30 p.m., a man came to the door and served me with a summons in the Rajagopal case.’
May nineteenth. ‘Krishnaji said he slept surprisingly well. But the pain resumed in his head. Usually, these pains are not there when the talks are on. “I haven’t had it this bad in a long time…Well, there it is. Grin and bear it,” he said. I sorted, chose, and typed questions for Krishnaji to use in the question-and-answer meeting. He dictated three of the questions at breakfast. It was a hot day. He answered all six and spoke for one-and-three-quarter hours. Theo, on the way in, had told him that Vigeveno, Austin Bee, and Annalisa Rajagopal were in the audience, so he made several references to blackmail, and people who wish to harm him.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘It was a bit edgy, and some may have wondered what he was talking about. “What makes these people follow Rajagopal?” he asked me later. And in the car coming back, he said, “Even now, if Rajagopal had been there, I would have said to him, “Let’s wipe the slate clean.” Part of the problem is that Krishnaji holds no rancor, and, therefore, he never stood up to Rajagopal and Rosalind. But they never let go of the least crumb of rancor. Krishnaji’s head, of course, was all right as soon as he reached the platform. It began again on his return, but less. We lunched at Arya Vihara with Bill Quinn, Max, Mary Cadogan, and Dorothy. It was a hot day. Krishnaji slept in the afternoon. I took Dorothy to a tea for foreign visitors at the Oak Grove School, and we marketed on the way home. We met Krishnaji and Theo walking on McAndrew. I felt exhausted at supper, but revived. Krishnaji got the yellow dishwashing gloves’—they were yellow here and they were blue at Brockwood—‘and said, “The Mahatma is doing the washing up.”’ [Both chuckle.] The article by Patricia Holt in the San Francisco Chronicle came. It was on Krishnaji and a review of Mary’s Years of Fulfillment book. It was a nice article.’
There is nothing of significance the next day, but on the twenty-first, ‘I was up early to bring cold air via fans into the house. I watered the houseplants and flowers, and Max came to wash the gray car. I drove Krishnaji to the west gate of the Grove, then went around and parked on Besant Road in the usual place. Krishnaji gave a talk that had me in tears  at the end. I wanted to kneel, to make that gesture of deepest gratitude for him. An eighty-one-year-old Dutch woman, who came here for the talks, fell, and broke her hip, and is in hospital; so Krishnaji wanted to stop to see her briefly. It is so easy and so un-hospital-like here, that he didn’t mind going.’ He didn’t like going in hospitals.
S: Yes, I remember that.
M: ‘The old lady was asleep. I went in first, spoke her name, and said mine, which she recognized. I told her that Krishnaji had come to see her, and her face lit up with surprise. He shook her hand and stayed a few minutes. At lunch were Mary Cadogan, Dorothy, Michael, and Bill Quinn. At 3:30 p.m., I went to the Lilliefelts’ for a meeting of the Krishnamurti Information Center people. I met Krishnaji walking down; so he, the Lilliefelts, Kishbaugh, and I walked down McAndrew. I am so sleepy now that the pen is wandering.’ [Chuckles.]
May twenty-second: ‘Krishnaji was up before me. I warned him the red alarm light was on, but he forgot, and within seconds opened the garden door and the burglar alarm shot me out of bed’ [chuckles] ‘to turn it off. We went to the west gate of the Grove again to let Krishnaji out, and I drove around to park on Besant Road. There was a larger crowd than ever. His talk was one of those that reached into the deepest core of the mind and, like yesterday, there was in him an embodiment of something sacred. The day was warm and beautiful. The brilliance of the yellow bloom flower along the road seemed to be there to honor him. We lunched at Arya Vihara. Merali, who arrived last night, was there, as was Lou Blau, Dorothy, Mary C., The Moodys, Alan Kishbaugh, Stella Resnick, and Narayan’s nephew G. Krishnamurti. At 3 p.m., Krishnaji and I drove with Merali to the Arts Center on Montgomery Street, where, for the first time, Krishnaji and the other trustees saw Krishnamurti: The Challenge of Change, the film that Evelyne Blau and Michael Mendizza have worked on these last five years. I had rather dreaded seeing it, but liked it very much. It runs one-and-a-half hours. It could be tightened, but I wouldn’t want to change much. Only the readings by Richard Chamberlain, who reads Krishnaji’s statements from the early days, were poor. He emphasizes adjectives and adverbs, an amateur sentimental reading of Krishnaji’s austere eloquence. The first half hour of the film is the background biography of his childhood and years up to the 1929 “Truth Is a Pathless Land” speech and “The Dissolution of the Order” speech. Then it is all Krishnaji himself today in India, Brockwood, Saanen, and Ojai. Everyone except Theo seemed to like it. Lou came back to the house and talked with Krishnaji, Erna, Theo, and me about the Rajagopal suit against us. He advises us to go after him on all scores. It has been quite a day. I am writing now in the evening and I can see Krishnaji this morning in the Grove, in the pink shirt, sitting with his extraordinary grace and dignity, and in a quiet version of that “Other” voice, being the towering teacher, being everything. Then this afternoon, as the film unrolled, he watched with interest the early days, and was very moved, he said, by the film of Nitya. So was I. Somehow I am moved to tears by Nitya.’ It’s true. I’ve always…It seems so tragic that he died.
S: It is. Yes, yes.
M: ‘Yesterday, Krishnaji went into the west bedroom at Arya Vihara and said, “This is where I last saw my brother. This is where he died.” I felt that tug of something touching me from those days. Krishnaji said he felt no connection with the photos of his young self. It was like watching someone else. And he closed his eyes to the images of himself talking today and listening to the voice.’ But Nitya was…
S: I know. And there was such an extraordinarily close relationship with Krishnaji and Nitya. And really—
M: Yes. And Krishnaji always felt it in Arya Vihara.
S: Yes, and Nitya really gave his life to Krishnaji, in a sense.
S: Can you describe for the eventual listener to thiS: Which one is the west bedroom? If you come in the front door.
M: You walk in the front door, and you turn right, and you go through the living room. It’s the one on the right. It isn’t the one in the back. It is in the front of the house.
S: So it’s the one on the right in the front of the house.
M: Yes, on the McAndrew Road side of the house. That’s the west room. They called that sometimes Mrs. Besant’s Room. Some people call it that. Well, both east and west each have a room with a little enclosed porch and a bath. And it’s the one on the street side, that’s west. Sunsets in the last.
S: Yes [chuckles], okay. But it’s not what is now the little porch bedroom.
M: It’s looked on as one room because there’s no division. I mean, there’s a bed in each one because they’re single beds but they’re not two rooms.
S: Right, but in Nitya’s day, the porch would have just been a porch, presumably.
M: I don’t know, I wasn’t there. But, you may have hit on something, because I think the upstairs thing was built later as Rosalind lived up in the upstairs flat. I don’t think the upstairs existed when Nitya was there, so maybe, maybe it was a porch, I don’t know. I never thought about it.
May twenty-third: ‘I went for a last massage. It gives such a depth of relaxation that I fell asleep. At lunch at Arya Vihara, there were twenty people. Evelyne and Michael Mendizza were there, and details of the film were discussed. Krishnaji, Erna, and I talked afterward back at the cottage. She had talked to Cohen, who will proceed to answer the charges against Krishnaji and me, primarily, and so far none of the others have been served. Krishnaji and I, in the green Mercedes, went to Santa Paula and had our feet seen to by Dr. Hara. The car curved skillfully along the winding road and Krishnaji was pleased and said, “You are driving like a professional.”’ [Both chuckle.] Tell that to the DMV. [S laughs.] ‘The movement of the car seemed a physical pleasure to him. For me, there was the beauty of the day and of driving with him, as we have so many miles through the years. Being alone with him, moving through sunlight, on a country road, is a simple happiness and a world still intact. Passing through upper Ojai, he said, “Those two crooks,” of the two Rs, but he was relaxed and the brightness of the broom…’ That’s the flower, you know.
S: Yes, the yellow.
M: ‘…and sight of the yucca in bloom seemed of greater moment than anything else.’
The twenty-fourth of May. ‘On May ninth’—that was two weeks before this—‘I spoke into a cassette I planned to use for verbal memoranda to write up in this journal. I didn’t transfer the material to writing on that date, so here is what it was: That morning’—May ninth—‘Krishnaji told me that he had been awake that night on and off, and that Rajagopal had been in communication with him, when he was in Ojai, after the case. It didn’t reach to New York or San Francisco. Here in Ojai, there was some kind of communication. And when I asked what was its form, he said, “Oh, you know, when you feel that someone is thinking about you.” He said that two days ago it abruptly stopped. “This could mean,” said he, “that either Rajagopal has done something like sent the rest of the archives to the Huntington Library, or some other thing. Or it means that Rajagopal is dying.” But Krishnaji thinks it’s more likely the former. I asked if this had anything to do with the strange sensation in his head, and he said it had nothing to do with that. As I am writing this today, the twenty-fourth, he just has come in and said that his head began hurting this morning in the kitchen. It has not hurt since Sunday’s talk. It’s another hot day. I had an early walk and then worked all day clearing my desk. Krishnaji made this easier by telling me to throw away most of the unanswered letters.’ [Both laugh.] Oh, dear. ‘Krishnaji started packing. After lunch at Arya Vihara, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Mary C., Mark Lee, David Moody, and I met over the idea for an interschool journal. It seems a side issue to me. Getting on with the actual business of the schools is more important. Krishnaji saw Bill Quinn at 4:30 p.m., and walked later with Theo.’
The twenty-fifth. ‘We said goodbye to Dorothy, who flew this afternoon early with Mary Cadogan to London. I telephoned my brother in New York and Philippa in Connecticut. Krishnaji and I left at 8:25 a.m., and drove via Malibu to Los Angeles. We stopped at Renee Frumkin’s to give her back her ring, which Krishnaji has kept for her since Sunday. She has felt somewhat endangered, and asked me to ask Krishnaji what she could do to protect herself.’ This is a woman who used to live in Santa Monica and showed Krishnaji videotapes. I didn’t know her very well, but she was a nice woman. ‘Krishnaji gave the message for her, “Don’t think about it—you invite it then.” But also said that if that was not enough, to send him something of hers for him to have with him for a bit.’ He would do this with jewelry or something. ‘Krishnaji didn’t get out of the car, and we hurried on to Lailee’s’—that’s our doctor—‘where she was able to get enough blood out of his narrow vein to do a blood sugar test. I had sent her The Years of Fulfillment and she asked him to write in it, which he never does, but he did. We then went to Dr. Laura Fox for Krishnaji’s glaucoma test, and Fox said the pressure in Krishnaji’s eyes is the same, 14. His cataract shows no change from last year, and then when I telephoned Lailee for the results of his test, his blood sugar was 114! It was 150 after eating in February. I felt I was flying, and we came home along the beach in a sort of mist of happiness for me. We stopped in Malibu and bought croissants, including spinach and cheese ones, which we ate with the rest of our picnic in the car at Zuma Beach. How marvelously precious and to be cherished is good news. I asked Krishnaji about the pain in his head. “It is there,” he said. Yesterday morning, while he was packing, it was bad. I asked him if he understood it, really knows what causes it. He never mentions it to doctors. He implied it was because he doesn’t go to doctors of his own accord.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘He wouldn’t have gone today if I hadn’t arranged it. He has forgotten that he said last week that he should have his eyes tested again. But the head business began here in Ojai with the events of the pepper tree.’
The twenty-sixth of May. ‘It is a warm day. There are endless house things to do before leaving. I began to pack, but after lunch, Krishnaji began to talk about the past and the ordeal he was subjected to by the two Rs. “Why did I put up with it?” he asked over and over. He has a way of asking others these unanswerable questions, the questions we would put to him. It is an ordeal to listen to what he went through. It was time to make supper when he finished, so I packed my bags in the evening, finishing at midnight. Krishnaji went to sleep early. The house was quiet and beautiful. This week has made a luxuriance of flowers. I am glad to be going to Brockwood, but this house is a blessed place.’
The next day. ‘As usual, I went on an early walk with Erna, which is good for me as there are many hours of sitting ahead. I had one last morning talk to Amanda, then finished the house things and packing. Erna brought papers from Cohen’s office for me to sign in reply to the Rajagopal suit. We lunched at Arya Vihara at 12:30 p.m. It was a hot day, ninety-one degrees. Krishnaji and I left at 2 p.m. with Mark and David, stopping briefly at the school for the children to wave goodbye to Krishnaji, then drove via the valley to the LA airport because of heavy Memorial Day traffic along the coast. Alan Kishbaugh came to the airport to see Krishnaji off. The TWA flight due to leave at 6 p.m. was delayed. We sat in the lounge, and eventually boarded the plane, but it didn’t take off till 8:30. “At last,” said Krishnaji and then, “Rajagopal can’t get us now.”’ [Both chuckle.] Oh, dear.
May twenty-eighth. ‘We had our preferred two forward seats on either side of the aisle. I slept fitfully, contorted in my seat. Krishnaji sat upright like a statue. His sleeping face in the dim light was austere, majestic; an extraordinary carving. Then he awakened and his face became eager, alive as a child. He said he’d had a good meditation. We landed at 2:30 p.m., went through immigration quickly, found a porter, and our bags were soon out to where Dorothy and Ingrid were waiting with two cars. Krishnaji and I went with Dorothy in her Saab to Brockwood, where everyone was waiting on the driveway. We went into the West Wing hall, which is a charming sitting room now with all the drawing room furniture nicely arranged in it. Upstairs, the dining room is transformed into a bedroom for Krishnaji. My file cabinet, typewriter, etc. is moved from my office so my bedroom becomes my office with a single bed. The damage to Krishnaji’s room and guest room is ugly, but I’m surprised that it is not worse. It can all be made better than ever. There was only a faint smell of scorch, mostly in the hall outside my room. They have done enormous work to tidy it up and make things acceptable for Krishnaji’s arrival. Krishnaji had supper in bed. I slept in what was my office, now my bedroom, to be nearby if Krishnaji was disturbed by the changes in the place.’
May twenty-ninth. ‘Krishnaji slept well, and rested most of the day, except for going to lunch downstairs. I still feel woolly from the flight, but began straightening things. I went to a staff meeting, but could scarcely keep awake. I told Parchure, who is here, the results of Krishnaji’s medical exams.’
The next day. ‘Mary and Joe came in the morning, lunched here, and the four of us sat most of the afternoon in the West Wing kitchen talking at length. Krishnaji recounted his deposition, etc. I felt physically beaten going over all of that again, but Krishnaji, with limitless energy, after that even did a cassette dictation in the evening. It was good to see Mary and Joe. Mary is a little pale. At 5 p.m., I went to a school meeting.’ There was a staff meeting.
S: I should just say for…
S: Well, for history and for people who won’t know what the West Wing was like when you and Krishnaji lived there. When Kathy and I moved up to the West Wing, which we did after Krishnaji, at his or your request—I can’t remember which—we converted half of what your kitchen was into a bathroom for the bird room (which had been the dining room), which then became the guest room, and the other half of your previous kitchen became a laundry room. So what is today the bathroom for the guest room and the laundry room is the kitchen that is being referred to here. [Both laugh.]
M: That’s true. I forgot that, but I see it in my mind’s eye.
S: And the little office that you were referring to, and which became your bedroom during the fire damage restoration, was made into a dining room.
M: Yes, for you and Kathy.
S: Right, and we cut that hole in the wall…
M: Between that and the old bathroom…
S: Right, the old bathroom on the landing, which became Kathy’s and my kitchen.
M: In the house originally, when we got it—the room that became the guest room—the guests had to walk across the landing to an isolated bathroom, which became your kitchen.
S: Yes, exactly. Right.
M: If anyone can figure all this out from our descriptions, they’re very smart. [S laughs.]
S: It was just, otherwise people will walk through Brockwood and say, “What are they talking about?” [Both chuckle.] So, there we are.
M: Well, if they care enough they can figure it out from this description, and if not, tant pis.
May thirty-first. ‘The sun came out. In Doris’s car—mine is being fitted with a new exhaust—I went to Petersfield to get Apex flights for Krishnaji and me to Geneva on first of July. Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked; the grove is in full flower. The pink azaleas are blinding, and the handkerchief tree, late this year, is unfurling. I spoke to Betsy in London. There was heavy lightning and thunder and rain in the night, but I was too deep in sleep to be more than faintly aware of it.’
There isn’t much for the next three days. I’m unpacking, straightening things out, doing errands, etcetera, except that Krishnaji spoke to the school on June third.
June fourth. ‘The Bohms came to lunch. There was a discussion between Krishnaji and David about doing two videotaped dialogues to be played in August, in Davos at the International Transpersonal Association Conference.’
S: Oh, I remember that. I remember that.
M: I can’t say I do, but speak up.
S: Krishnaji had been invited to go to this Transpersonal Psychology Conference and Krishnaji wasn’t going to go as he didn’t attend such things. But I had suggested to Krishnaji that he make a videotape for the conference instead. He wasn’t sure about that, and then I suggested he do the videotape with David.
M: Oh. Very good idea. And they did it?
S: And they did it.
M: And what happened?
S: I think David might have gone to the conference, and they showed the tapes as a substitute for Krishnaji going. We have the tapes.
M: Well, I must have been there during the recording, because I sat in on those things, but I don’t remember it. Anyway, they did that, ‘and then Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked across the fields and back through the lane. Dorothy is disturbed by the apathy and antagonism of some of the students and staff.’ Any comment from you?
S: We’ll get to it, no doubt. It was just more of the rot that had set in and that continued for the next couple of years.
M: Well, in that case, will go to the fifth. ‘At 1:30 p.m., Krishnaji spoke to the school. In the afternoon, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I, and Kip set off around the lanes for a walk. We were caught in the thunder and rain and came back very wet. Dorothy went upstairs and Kip didn’t appear at supper. A staff meeting set for 7 p.m. was canceled. At 8 p.m., Scott rang me and said that Dorothy was ill. Dr. Clark was with her, and an ambulance was coming to take her to the Winchester Hospital.’ Heavens, I don’t remember that. ‘Krishnaji and I went up to her room. She had had a shot from Dr. Clark who had just left, and she looked a little disoriented. Montague was fumbling confusedly with some clothing. Krishnaji sat on the edge of her bed, and put his hand over her heart. I packed a bag for her. The ambulance came and two men lifted her into a chair and carried her down the fire exit. Montague and Gisèle Balleys went with her in the ambulance. Guy, her son, who had been there, had ill chosen this time to go for a walk.’ Was this the heart attack?
M: Yes. Yes. It hadn’t done her any good to walk in the rain. But I guess…
S: It hadn’t happened then.
M: No. June sixth. ‘Beyond her having tests in the hospital, nothing is known yet about Dorothy except that she “rested comfortably” last night. Krishnaji talked to the students in the morning. I went to the staff meeting. I find these meetings wearyingly dull. In the afternoon, Krishnaji and I walked around the lanes. It was a warm and sunny day. We met Montague and Guy on their way to the hospital. Around 8 p.m., Ingrid rang and said that Montague had been told that Dorothy had had a heart attack. She will need to stay in the hospital for ten days, then rest at home for six weeks, and then be quiet and without effort for three months. I relayed this to Krishnaji and Dr. Parchure. We talked about it for a while in Krishnaji’s room. Then Scott came by, and we discussed what should be done about running the school while Dorothy is recovering. Krishnaji suggested a committee of Scott, Ingrid, Harsh, and Stephen Smith to be in charge. Then he asked Scott how he would feel if Ingrid were put in nominal charge with the three others working with her. Scott agreed readily. Krishnaji had him bring Ingrid up and Krishnaji told her what had been said. She was startled, but agreed if the other three thought it was right. Krishnaji then sent for Harsh and Stephen, and told them. All of us were sitting on the floor of Krishnaji’s bedroom. Harsh was in immediate agreement, but Stephen looked corked with other feelings. Krishnaji urged him to speak it out. He demurred for a bit, but finally said he would have proposed Scott. He said it would be better to have an educator in the job. It appeared he thought this was a decision on what a permanent setup would be, but once he was shown that this was only to be a temporary arrangement, pending Dorothy’s recovery and return to full function, he accepted it.’
June seventh. ‘Krishnaji slept insufficiently. He held a meeting with Montague and his and Dorothy’s daughter, Marsha. She had arrived to visit her mother. In their talk with the doctors, it was learned that Dorothy also had a small brain clot, which was dissolved with an anticoagulant. Krishnaji spoke to the staff and announced Ingrid as coordinator, but forgot to mention the committee of Scott, Harsh, and Stephen.’ [S chuckles.] That wasn’t very good. ‘We walked around the lanes. Bud telephoned from New York.’
June eighth. ‘We went to London on the 10:46 a.m. train. Krishnaji, who buys the tickets while I park the car, bought second-class tickets when he was told that first-class now costs 16 pounds sterling for a round trip.’ [Both laugh.]
S: [laughing] He was economizing before going to Huntsman and Fortnum’s.
M: Yes, behind my back, while I parked the car. [Laughs.] ‘It wasn’t crowded going in, so he saw nothing wrong. Mary and Joe met us at Waterloo. I had my usual sense of pleasure at being in London and the charm of the familiar. It seems there is a feeling of affection in re-encountering accustomed thingS: the haze of past enjoyment surrounds them. So we went, of course, to Huntsman, and Krishnaji thanked them for cleaning his entire collection of suits after the fire.’ [Laughs.] ‘We went down to the basement where Maxwell is, and Krishnaji wore down my misgivings, and I ordered a pair of shoes made to order.’ I never could wear them—they were terrible. I tell you now. ‘I ordered a pair of shoes made to order at a dreadful price. The first fitting will be in September.’ This was in June. ‘Mary, of course, lunched with us at Fortnum’s, where we had our same table, same menu, and, as always, a very pleasant time together. We went to Hatchards, but Krishnaji is off detective stories, is not inclined to novels or biographies, and has enough poetry. So what to get? We looked in vain for stories about animals, and then caught the 4:50 p.m. back to Petersfield.’ [Both chuckle.] ‘I spoke to Paul Anstee about what to do to get new curtains for the rooms damaged in the fire.’
The next day, ‘I went to Winchester for an armoire to put some of Krishnaji’s suits in.’ That’s all it says.
June tenth. ‘Years ago, Krishnaji had a letter from Svetlana Peters and she was to have come to Malibu to meet him but called it off at the last minute. She now lives in Cambridge with her twelve-year-old daughter, Olga Peters. She read The Years of Fulfillment, wrote to Mary Links and subsequently to Dorothy about coming to Brockwood. She has also just written me a long, curiously personal letter about herself, to which I replied; and today I met her at the bus stop in Petersfield. A short, smiling, rather round woman with reddish hair and light blue eyes got off. We both smiled in recognition, as if we had met before, and talked easily on the way back. On seeing the Mercedes, she said, “Oh, I haven’t been in a good car in some time.”’ Should we explain?
S: Yes, we should say Svetlana Peters is Stalin’s daughter.
M: Stalin’s daughter, yes. She married a Mr. Peters, who was an American architect. That’s how she came to be called Svetlana Peters. I wonder what—I have a feeling that I am remiss about that woman. Anyway, ‘She is staying in a cloisters guest room, and after half an hour of her settling in, I came back to bring her to meet Krishnaji in the West Wing. He came toward her in his warm, eager, welcoming way, and we immediately went off for a walk through the grove where the azaleas are still blazingly beautiful and the handkerchief tree flutters. We went the long way around the fields and came back by the lanes. She seemed in awe and also very happy to meet Krishnaji, to talk and walk with him. I invited her to tea afterward, but she seemed to need to return to her room. I talked to Dr. Reilly, who said Dorothy had a “severe coronary” and will have to remain in the hospital for some more days.’ Gosh.
S: Okay, I think we should end it there as we don’t have enough tape for another day.
S: But, we have a little bit of time, so just to say a little bit about this descent into difficulty at Brockwood. Krishnaji had been talking to Dorothy for more than a year about the fact that she was not handling all this well, was not dealing with it.
M: She thought that brought on her heart attack.
S: Yes, and she subsequently, after I had become principal, and really she had wanted to remain principal, she blamed that coronary on Krishnaji and his saying, “You can’t keep doing this—you’re not handling the situation well, etcetera, etcetera.”
M: She turned against Krishnaji, unfortunately.
S: Yes, she did, which is remarkable.
M: Yes, it’s really shocking.
S: Yes, it’s absolutely shocking, but she clearly couldn’t handle the situation. Anyway, okay—that’s all we have time for today.
 Rosalind claimed she had had sexual relationship with Krishnaji, but the exact nature and duration of this purported relationship are unknown as so many of the claims she made about it have subsequently been disproved. Back to text.
 Rajagopal’s second wife. Back to text.
 At the time of this discussion in 2005, Mary’s driving license had been revoked as she was felt to be too old to drive. She was ninety. Back to text.
 That was the start of “the process,” which began in late August 1922. Back to text.