Issue #24

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Issue 24 – July 15, 1972 to August 23, 1972

Introduction

This issue takes place in Switzerland where Krishnaji is giving his annual Saanen talks and discussions.

As well as descriptions of the talks, Mary describes an outing to a hotel where Krishnaji had stayed with his brother in the 1920s and again in 1957. The poignant details of the second stay illustrate the conflict with Rajagopal which continues as a theme throughout this issue.

Towards the end of this issue Mary’s father dies, which she describes with her characteristic quiet dignity. This leads to glimpses of Krishnaji’s thoughts on mortality.

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The Memoirs of Mary Zimbalist: Issue #24

Mary: Alright. We left off on July fifteenth, 1972. There was a letter from Vigeveno. And Krishnaji didn’t want to read it.

Scott: Yes. He gave it to you.

M: And he gave it to me and asked me to read it, and tell him what was in it. He didn’t want to touch it. The letter said, that Vigeveno ‘had seen the Brockwood film, and at the end of the film, when asked why he taught, Krishnaji had replied, “I think out of affection.”’

So, this is typical of Vigeveno’s letterS: ‘“So, was it affection to attack” his lifelong friend Rajagopal? To go to lawyers, etcetera. “From the Feet of the Master[1] to the Ventura Courthouse” is the way Vigeveno put it. There was much belaboring of Krishnaji with his own words on love, affection, truth, etcetera. Then, an underlined phrase about “It still being possible to settle out of court.” This from the man’—this is obviously Rajagopal talking through Vigeveno—‘who refused the attorney general’s request to discuss a settlement. The hypocrisy of these people is boundless,’ I wrote.

‘Krishnaji then wanted to go to see the tent, and so on the way I had the Vigeveno letter photocopied and sent it to Sol Rosenthal for evaluation in case the letter is an oblique, very remote settlement feeler that is keeping Rajagopal outside of things. Krishnaji was pleased to look at the tent and we went to the camping site and saw the Simmonses, who safely arrived last night after a rather limping trip in which the Land Rover had failed repeatedly.’

S: Are you paraphrasing it, or reading it?

M: Both.

S: No [laughing], no. Read it.

M: Why?

S: It’s got much more a flavor of authenticity when you read it.

M: Who’s to say?

S: Me. I can tell. [Laughs.]

M: I don’t like rereading things precisely. I always change them if I’m writing them.

S: Well, I know, but this is different.

M: I’m talking, I’m not writing.

S: But it doesn’t…it sounds…

M: Alright, I’ll read it. ‘We went to the tent; I mean we went to the Simmonses, and then we came back, and I returned to pick up the Biascoecheas at Saanen, at the Saanerhof, and also Alan Kishbaugh for lunch. Before lunch, Krishnaji called Enrique, Isabel, and me to his room. Sitting in a Japanese orange silk kimono, looking suddenly very young and in his extraordinary beauty and speaking very intensely, he said he wanted to apologize for getting Enrique into the spot he was in when he gave his deposition. He said that if he had known what Enrique had been through with Rajagopal back then, he would have told Enrique not to try to protect him. Krishnaji said that he knows now that all that had happened was engineered by Rajagopal and Rosalind in order to hold onto him. Enrique said that that is what he had thought, too. After lunch, the Biascoecheas talked privately to me about Faria, who seems to be going off the deep end. He’s suspicious, quarrelsome, inclined to be a dictator, resenting any friendly words in letters written by Enrique to Mary Cadogan, etcetera. No one can work with Faria, Enrique says, and Faria is willing to resign if Krishnaji asks him to, as it was Krishnaji who had appointed him. Enrique also quoted ugly remarks by Faria against the Lilliefelts, in particular against Theo, saying that he is “a Jew” and after the KWINC money for himself, and when he gets it, he will be worse than Rajagopal.’ Faria really was a horror.

S: Who was he?

M: He was a tough Puerto Rican lawyer, and Biascoechea brought him into our circle, and, as it says here, I think, Erna wanted the opinion of another tough lawyer about the case. And so, he was consulted, and then he became part of the Fundación. Krishnaji asked him to join it. ‘Enrique also said he thought that I realized this, at which I told the Biascoecheas exactly what I had thought of Faria in the very beginning when he behaved so boorishly here at Brockwood in 1970 with remarks about gringos, etcetera, and that when the Lilliefelts wanted his advice, I had said I would not want to be represented by such a man. They felt in need of another hardheaded legal opinion, and I went along with that and agreed to his coming. And when he had tried to be helpful, coming all that way, I’d expressed thanks and appreciation of that as thoroughly as I could. I told them too of his suspicions of me when I spoke alone with Sol after we had met in Sol’s office.’

‘I don’t want to make a platform out of my being right on all this, but my distrust of Faria was consistent from the beginning. How far should I push it when I feel sure of something like this?’

Sunday the sixteenth of July. ‘It was a clear day for Krishnaji’s first talk. Vanda went with Mrs. Walsh’—she’s the woman who lived downstairs—‘to the tent. She also took Frau Erkelenz, the owner of the chalet upstairs. Krishnaji and I drove via Saanen. The tent looked dignified, well ordered, and was nearly full. I sat in the last row where Vanda and Doris Pratt had saved me a seat.’

‘Krishnaji began with, “I wonder why you have all come. To be given something? To find something? And who is it that wants to get it?” Later, he said, “Intelligence is energy as application.” A very good opening talk and he stopped on the instant of an hour, saying he would continue Tuesday. He walked out and up the road, pursued by Guido Franco and a movie camera. He hadn’t bothered to wait for our answer or permission to film Krishnaji. I interrupted him with Alan Kishbaugh’s name and number and told him he was a trustee of KFA and to talk to him. Krishnaji had had a slight cough at the beginning, but did not seem too tired. He had lunch in bed. Vanda said he looked smaller on the platform, and she figured out it was his face because of the hair combed over the forehead. Combed back, it looked much better. It meant cutting the long side pieces and Krishnaji said we both agreed it would be done.’ [Chuckles.] ‘He wanted to do it immediately with narrow scissors but was persuaded to wait for a barber.’ [M chuckles again.]

‘He walked with Vanda later and returned to bed. She and I did pranayama before dinner. She is an excellent teacher. Yesterday, she gave me a refund of the deposit I paid last year on the summer rental. That has made us equal on our 1969 agreement to share costs at Tannegg. But each year, she evades my paying. Last year, I put the correct amount in her Gstaad bank account and will have to do it again this year as she has paid the balance for 1972 and the deposit for 1973. She goes to Rome in the morning. Paola, John, and the children arrive there from Sardinia for a few days before going to New Haven and moving to Toronto.’

The seventeenth of July. ‘Vanda left by train. Alan Kishbaugh saw Guido Franco about the filming. Krishnaji meanwhile said Franco had broken the agreement by filming him yesterday, and he doesn’t want him to continue. As Alan Kishbaugh had asked Franco to draw up a more realistic proposal, we will await that before replying. I asked Alan K. to use the room downstairs vacated by Vanda and he will move up tomorrow. The Mercedes refused to start. Krishnaji went down to the village by taxi to have his hair cut short. It looks very nice. No long ear-like pieces to bother him when the wind blows and now the shape of his forehead shows. Proportions are right, and there is a new glimpse of beauty. That beauty referred to in a review by Cyril Connolly in the London Sunday Times yesterday, and Jacob Needleman’s book The New Religions. “People,” he said, “who have seen Krishnaji inevitably speak of his extraordinary beauty to which is now added the fragility of age.” Krishnaji read this and seemed surprised at the rest of it, which speaks highly of him. Krishnaji knows who Connolly is; he says he’s a friend of Mary Links.’

S: Hm.

M: Tuesday, the eighteenth. ‘Krishnaji had slept little because of congestion in his head, but this day was not lacking in energy. It was clear and warm, and he wore the brown linen Givenchy trousers with a new Charvet shirt that has a tiny pattern of checks that gave it a faint pinkish tone. With the hair, at last, cut, looking more natural and somehow much younger, he was looking marvelously. The Mercedes, which had not started yesterday, had spent the night at a garage, and was delivered at 8 a.m. I drove the garage man back. There was a carrot hazelnut cake for lunch; the village is clean and only a few people were in the shop at that hour. There was the pleasant light of a summer morning. Krishnaji and I drove again via Saanen to the tent. The trees make a shadow on the road, and Krishnaji said, “I like this way.” He gave his second talk, a truly great one. Spoke of insight, which is intelligence, seeing without conclusion; the mind without conclusions is without fear. The only security is that of intelligence and insight, a talk with many things in it and tremendous power. Again, he walked rapidly up the road pursued by Franco with his film camera. Kishbaugh is to tell Franco he may not shoot in the tent or otherwise, decided by Krishnaji and the Foundation.’

‘We drove to Gstaad slowly. “The body is too excited” to go back to Tannegg immediately. When we did, there were letters from Erna about the Ventura lawyer, Mr. Cohen, who will be the local attorney with Rosenthal, and another letter from my brother,’ well, it goes on about my brother.

‘After reading the mail, I went down and picked up Alan K., who moved his things into the downstairs apartment and also brought Radha Burnier[2] up for lunch. This was Krishnaji’s first meal at the table since our arrival. He told her some of the Rajagopal case events and the background to it. In fact, he took no rest but talked till 4 p.m., when he went for a walk with Alan K., and I drove Radha—as she wishes me to call her—back to her hotel. She’s here till Saturday. After the walk, we had tea, and Krishnaji sat and talked with Alan K. and me until 7 o’clock, somewhat on supernatural thingS: his sense of unease when doctors come and when he is outside at night. Once in Ashdown Forest, he was walking alone and it became dark, and he felt he was being followed, and he reached the house exhausted and had to be put to bed “for several days.” Last year in Madras, he came to a temple as the light was fading and felt the threat. He stood and watched, and “said something.”’

‘Then I asked, “a particular thing?”’

‘Krishnaji replied, “Yes, a particular thing. And gradually, it oozed away.” I didn’t ask him then what it was he said, but he spoke earlier of the Christians making the sign of the cross, the Hindus uttering the word “om” to ward off evil’—he had spoken earlier about those two things. He told too of being asked, when young, to heal a “possessed” woman. He went to see her, and she looked up at him and became quiet and normal. He told of Jayalakshmi going one night alone to a temple felt to be very holy, and feeling great danger there, so that she fled to her car and went home. Krishnaji said it is not supposed to be good to talk of “dark powers,” as it somehow gives them energy. He says these things as an “on dit”[3]—gossip, but he says too one mustn’t tamper with such things, and he does have his unease about being out at night, and an extra precaution being necessary for those around him, as if we were his protection, in part, and therefore liable to attack by whatever is evil. Evil is attracted to goodness, wanting to destroy it. Alan K. talked of the odd sense of threat when he camped in an Indian burial ground and it ceasing when he put on a Hopi medicine man’s bracelet. Alan K. said to me at supper he feels the sense of being there to protect Krishnaji when he is with him.’

July twentieth. ‘A letter was sent by Maître Mueller, the notary public and something like a mayor of the area, and Graf to Guido Franco, saying that he was not to film. It seems no one can film, tape, or even be in the tent if the Saanen Gatherings Committee refuses them permission, since it is not a public meeting as we do not charge an entrance fee. Alan K. told Franco that it was decided upon by Krishnaji and the Foundations not to allow his filming, but Franco said he would go ahead anyway as his lawyer told him he could, hence we had to get Maître Mueller to stop Franco.’ I remember he kept saying, “I am a Swiss citizen. I can go where I like.”

‘In addition, Krishnaji began his talk today, number three, by requesting no filming, taping, or taking notes, as it disturbs others. The talk was on thought, what are its uses, and its destructive effect in relationship. He spoke with enormous energy. Afterward, he wanted to drive, and we went to Saanenmöser and back, then picked up Radha Burnier, who lunched with us. Krishnaji asked her various questions on mantra, yoga, Hindu beliefs, immortality, etcetera. Afterward, I took her back to her hotel, did errands, and was back when de Marxov came to tea. Krishnaji walked alone. He came back physically tired but looking well. His hair cut is such an improvement, and today’s costume, faintly pinkish shirt, the buff-beige linen Givenchy trousers, cream-colored socks and brown Belgian moccasins, made him as well-dressed for summer as he is in all his Huntsman suits. [Chuckles.] There is a glow, a shine, to him. No news yet of the Lilliefelts, who should have arrived today.’

‘On the twenty-first, the Lilliefelts arrived and they came for lunch. We talked all afternoon. Isabel Biascoechea brought a Spanish woman who was hysterical to see Krishnaji. He calmed her somewhat by placing his hands on her head and told her husband to take her away from here, to take her to the movies, away from all this. They had been to some meeting before coming here, and people attempted some kind of prolonged meditation.’

The next day, there was nothing interesting. ‘Krishnaji went for a walk alone. Yvon Achard and Jean-Pierre Gaillard came to talk to me about French books being too expensive for students, and the need for resumption of the Bulletin. They are for Linssen doing it. I told them to talk to the French committee.’

On the twenty-third was ‘Krishnaji’s fourth Saanen talk. Extremely good. We drove to Lauenen afterward, taking Alan K. At lunch, there were the Moorheads and  Balasundarum, who arrived yesterday and is staying with them. He brought oil, pickles, and almond halva to Krishnaji. Told Krishnaji at lunch of going to Madhavachari, and talking to him about Vasanta Vihar, its ownership by the Stichting, and that this was all complicated by the lawsuit. It seems that for some reason, Vasanta Vihar is owned by the Stichting.’

S: This was all part of Rajagopal’s shell game, wasn’t it…?

M: Yes. Yes.

S: Where some organization would get ownership of something and then ownership would transfer and…

M: ‘KF India could facilitate getting the present caretaker out. KFA would have to bring suit to gain that position, now that the Stichting has given its ownership to KFA. Balasundarum got Madhavachari as far as Pupul’s door at Bombay to talk it over, but he wouldn’t go in.’ See, Madhavachari claimed that he had power of attorney from Rajagopal, therefore, he could only do what Rajagopal said. But, it was proved that Rajagopal didn’t have rights to Vasanta Vihar. It was endlessly complicated, but anyway, ‘Krishnaji asked Balasundarum why Madhavachari was acting this way. Balasundarum guesses it was his allegiance to Rajagopal. Krishnaji said the loss of his son’—that’s Madhavachari’s son—‘had embittered Madhavachari, but Balasundarum said he was over that. From my view, Madhavachari has been consistently Rajagopal’s man all along and has been so well before the son died. But, Krishnaji realizes Madhavachari doesn’t tell the truth. Krishnaji brought up the book Tradition and Revolution, edited by Pupul and Sunanda, the 1970–71 discussions with Krishnaji, that Mary couldn’t edit, and which Alan K. said was so poorly edited it shouldn’t be sold in the West. It is very nice-looking and well put together, but I have not read the text.’

Monday, the twenty-fourth. ‘Krishnaji had a cable from Pupul Jayakar that her husband died. I sent a reply cable from Krishnaji, Balasundarum, and myself. Alan K. and I drove to Bern, to the U.S. Consulate, to have notarization of our signatures as trustees on escrow papers for the KFA sale of a little house they inherited in Ojai. Then, we drove over to the center of the city and lunched and waited for the shops to reopen at 2 p.m. I bought socks for Krishnaji and material for slacks for me. I drove back to Gstaad in time for Alan to walk with Krishnaji, and me to have an ultrasound treatment on my foot, which continues swollen and sore.’

Tuesday, the twenty-fifth. ‘Krishnaji’s fifth Saanen talk, and it was on suffering, conflict, and finally pleasure and joy. He spoke with almost explosive energy. We drove to Château D’Oex afterward and got back just before a letter from Sol Rosenthal on Vigeveno’s letter. Sol says Vigeveno’s letter could be a feeler for a settlement, and he advises how to reply if Krishnaji wishes to acknowledge it. Balasundarum and the Moorheads came for lunch. Pupul wants copyrights shared between the Foundations. These things tend to be raised again as soon as they are settled.’ [Chuckles.]

S: Don’t we know it?

M: Mmm. ‘At 4 p.m., Nadia Kossiakof brought Mlle. Delachaux of Delachaux et Niestlé, the French-Swiss publisher, to see Krishnaji. She wants to do a livre de poche[4] and a hardcover and wanted suggestions. We discussed it a little and I referred her to George Digby. Krishnaji came in dressed in jeans and a grey sweater. Mlle. Delachaux asked him if he was a mystic, and Krishnaji recoiled in distaste. “What is a mystic?” Krishnaji said it implied search, and explained the projections of the Catholic having mystical experiences of Jesus, of the Hindus of Krishna, or whatever; all is within conditioning; a religious mind must be outside all that. She asked about intuition, which Krishnaji always finds dangerous as a word. “That may be only a projection,” he said. “What is the subconscious?” Krishnaji replied,  “the repository of conditioning.” He said, “Thought, other than technical thought, divides,” and she couldn’t see that. He explained about nationalities, religions, etcetera, all products of thought, and so it went. Through all this, he sat with a relaxed grace of a young boy. Once again, I was watching the extraordinary beauty of face, posture, gesture, expression. Because he was tired, he was hesitant in his replies in French, in which the conversation had gone. But he addressed himself with total attention to her questions, and at the same time, he had an informality that enhanced his grace. Apart from all he said, there is an ascetic experience in seeing him that is limitless.’

‘I drove the two women down to the Bernerhof, went to get The Economist and some detectives for Krishnaji, and had the surprise of finding him waiting for me at the foot of the hill by the bridge, thumbing a ride with me. [Chuckles, S laughs lightly.] He had started on his walk up the hill toward the woods, felt tired, and so came down hoping to catch me. He had been there a minute when I came by, as if something neatly arranged it. We came back and had verveine tisane[5] and then he went to bed and I had supper alone and also went to bed early.’ [Soft chuckle.]

Wednesday, the twenty-sixth. ‘Krishnaji, before breakfast, dictated a reply to the Vigeveno letter, keeping my and Rosenthal’s suggestions. It was on the whole alright, but to me, too long; and as Vigeveno’s letter was essentially insulting, it dignified it too much. Once dictated, Krishnaji kept revising it, toning it down, to be discussed with Erna and Theo when he sees them. I went for an ultrasonic treatment for the foot, to the bank for the new restrictions on foreign accounts,’ and it goes on about what they are. ‘Frances McCann and Cragnolini came for lunch. I took Alan K. to Rougement about a leather rucksack he wanted. I was tired. Biascoechea came at 4 p.m. to talk to Krishnaji about Faria, Faria’s anger against Sendra, and, by now, against Enrique. Faria can’t work with the present board. They told Krishnaji, and I’ve told the Lilliefelts this morning, about his calling Theo a Jew, a Jesuit, and that Theo was after the KWINC money. Krishnaji is to write a letter accepting Faria’s resignation and, temporarily, Enrique will be president of the Fundaciόn. It turns out now that Biascoecheas didn’t know Faria very well before they vouched for him and promoted him to head their group. Bad judgment on their part, and I should perhaps have voiced my own conviction that he was unsuitable more strongly. Talked later to Erna; they are, of course, shocked by it all.’

The twenty-seventh of July. ‘Krishnaji’s sixth Saanen talk. Again, a blazing energy. He said later that he had no idea what he was going to say when he sat down. Seeking of security in various wayS: “without happiness you cannot learn.”’ That’s a quote. ‘Death, insight to examine what it is to live without fear. Learning. He said, “there were some new things.”’ That’s a quote from him. Sometimes after a talk, he would say, “Did you notice there were some new things?”

S: Yes, yes.

M: ‘The Digbys arrived last night. The Lilliefelts, Mary Cadogan, Alan K. all came for lunch. Krishnaji said Olga,’—that was a maid we had helping Fosca—‘was too slow and he managed the lunch himself, passing plates, etcetera. We then had an all-afternoon rather epic meeting, in which it was decided, at last, that Alan K., now elected to the Publications Committee, should handle all negotiations with U.S. publishers. Digby agreed.’ That’s underlined because Digby wasn’t going to agree initially. [Chuckles.] ‘Krishnaji pushed for the decision and underlined every step of the procedure so that no misunderstandings could occur. I went on to the story of the realignment of the English Foundation and Brockwood and the financial problems it creates. Until the Smalley case is settled…’ What was the Smalley case? I can’t remember at the moment.

S: Who was it a case against?

M: Well, there’s something to do with, I think, somebody’s will, or something.

S: But which foundation, the KFA or the KFT?

M: KFT, I think.

S: Huh, the Smalley Case. I never heard of it.

M: I guess it was. I don’t remember this. Then it says, ‘Erna explained once again the KFA’s position with regard to money sent to England.’ That was a problem. The English couldn’t get it through their heads that the KFA couldn’t just send its money to England, that the money donated to an American charity has to be used for the purposes of that American charity and not in a foreign country. So, that was awkward, for ages. They just couldn’t understand it, or didn’t want to understand it. ‘And it was finally decided to send $10,000 of the Frances McCann money, which will go ultimately to the Cloisters building, but is to be used temporarily for Brockwood school expenses until KF Trust has its assets freed.’ I guess the Smalley case, I just don’t know, but I guess the Smalley case had to do with KFT.

S: Mm, hm.

M: ‘Tapes were discussed and the Indian books were gone into. The revelation that the Tradition and Revolution book being from notes made by Sunanda after the talks and not verbatim tapes increases the unwillingness to use it in the West.’

S: Tradition and Revolution?

M: You see, nobody wanted to just take notes that were written later.

S: Of course.

M: ‘Krishnaji went for a walk with Alan K. after tea, and we finally adjourned. Later, Alan K. and I went to dine with the van der Stratens, as I wanted them to meet him before he leaves. Erna and Theo were also there.’

Now, we get to Friday, the twenty-eighth of July. ‘I had ultrasound foot treatment, and Erna and Theo came and we discussed the Vigeveno letter, amended the draft of Krishnaji’s reply, and it was sent. At 11:45 a.m., there was the annual meeting of the Krishnamurti Foreign committees and foundations. Krishnaji discussed their functions after his death, and mentioned the case with Rajagopal. Dates were set for next year at Saanen. Over my protest about hay fever in July and the number of talks, which was seven, Krishnaji insisted on keeping to seven talks and seven discussions, and the dates are about the same. At lunch were Anneke, Balasundarum, Erna, Theo, and Alan K. We discussed Vasanta Vihar, the Stichting will join KF India in suing Rajagopal for possession, as the gift of Vasanta Vihar has not been registered to KF India’—which didn’t exist at the time. ‘Balasundarum said what India (i.e., Pupul) wants for publications is to share in the copyrights, and rights to publish abroad, just what she pushed for last year, and against the agreement already made. Balasundarum seems to see the necessity of keeping the copyright in one place. Servire, in the person of Verhulst, and a new partner, an Englishman who embraced Sufism and changed his name to Inayat Khan, are here in Gstaad, and have tried to get rights to the Indian books, though they know KF India has an agreement with KFT not to publish outside their territory. And George Digby, after the agreement in the spring that there would be no more contracts with Servire beyond the present contracts, is now suggesting them to do German books. “What”, asked Krishnaji, “is Digby’s attachment to Verhulst?” All this is very tiring, and it went on till 4 p.m., when Krishnaji had to see a doctor and Madame Questiau, so he got no nap and went alone for a short walk.’

Saturday, July twenty-ninth. ‘A long day. The Digbys, the Lilliefelts, Balasundarum came at 10 a.m., and joined Krishnaji, Alan K., and me for a discussion that lasted till 5 p.m. We had a buffet lunch and a late tea. First, was the Servire question. At 2 p.m., Mr. Verhulst and his new partner Fazal Inayat Khan came. The latter is a leading Sufi, and head of the Sufi publishing house. He was questioned by Krishnaji, and he told Krishnaji he could sell Krishnaji’s teachings, and Sufism, etcetera, as all are one, all are searching for truth. “One moment, sir,” said Krishnaji, and proceeded to disabuse him of this. There is no way, no method. Khan, as oily a character as one is likely to find, coolly yessed Krishnaji. No final answer has been given Verhulst on an extension of the old contract. There were pointed words between Balasundarum and Khan. The latter made it clear he was trying to establish himself in the U.S. through the use of Krishnaji’s books. At present, he has an outlet there. Verhulst and Khan left, and it was decided we should not extend the contract, but should consult Michael Rubinstein before giving our final reply. The rest of the day was devoted to the Indian publication problems. Balasundarum said Tradition and Revolution is not based on tapes or shorthand, but on notes made afterward from memory. Everyone is rather appalled by this. Balasundarum made a strong push to have India share the copyright; he didn’t succeed, but he was made a member of the Publication Committee. An exhausting day.’

Sunday, July thirtieth. ‘Krishnaji’s seventh Saanen talk on meditation. Mrs. Travers came to lunch. Meanwhile, a renewed crisis. In spite of the decision yesterday to tell Verhulst we need more time to think over the contract renewal, Digby decided he must be told immediately that we are not going on with it, without our being able to determine our legal position with Rubinstein. Alan K. had a telephone argument with Digby over this. At 3:30 p.m., Digby, Verhulst, Mary C., and Sybil Dobinson arrived. George, Mary C., and Alan K. and I talked in my room. George was angry and defiant. I tried to point that out with all tact I could find.’

Now, we go in the little book from the thirtieth of July to the thirteenth of August.

S: Which won’t do.

M: [laughs] You make a terrible face. [S laughs.]

Let’s see what happened according to the little book.

The thirty-first starts with ‘Alan K. to an early train on his way to California. I went to the doctor for treatment, then to the bank. I did the Faria resignation acceptance letter with Krishnaji. The Biascoecheas came for lunch. Enrique will be president of the Fundación temporarily, on Faria’s resignation. After lunch, Mr. Martinaux Mirabet, a Spaniard of Mexican citizenship, came and gave Krishnaji $5,000 in francs and pesos. Krishnaji is giving it to Brockwood.’ Mr. Mirabet was this nice old man. Did you ever know him?

S: He’s Spanish, yes.

M: Spanish. He lived in—

S: Wasn’t he a farmer, or…

M: I don’t think so. He was, it says here, he was a Mexican citizen, but he lived in Spain all the year. He came every year to Saanen, and always brought money for Krishnaji personally, and Krishnaji always gave it right away to Brockwood.

S: Yes.

M: Now, August second. ‘Krishnaji’s first public discussion in—’

S: What happened to August first?

M: Oh, August first ‘was a quiet day. A teacher, Bernard Miller, came to see me and inquire about teachers meetings.’

S: Oh, well, that’s important. I know Bernard Miller.

M: Did you?

S: Yes. You see, there are all these important things. [Chuckles.]

M: Alright. The second ‘was the first public discussion. Krishnaji gave an interview to Tommy Elder and a friend, to the Blackburns, to Robert Zahner and Mark Vance, Ann Hariman, Madame Scherer’—she was a French woman—‘came and gave him a package of jerseys.’ She was a little French lady, who always brought presents. [Chuckles.]

On August third, ‘Krishnaji gave his second public discussion. It rained; it was very cold, fifty degrees. To lunch came Madame Duchet, Marcelle Bondoneau, and Mary Cadogan. Mary saw Krishnaji alone afterwards. Krishnaji gave interviews to Iphegenia Frangos, Peter Racz, Rosemary Sheppard, and Franklin Philip. I met Mr. and Mrs. Santhanam, friends of Narasimhan, and I took them to Hotel Bellevue.’

August fourth, ‘the third public discussion. The Narayans and Mr. and Mrs. Santhanam for lunch. I took the latter to the train. Krishnaji gave an interview to Mr. Silvius Rusu.’ Your friend?

S: Very much so.

M: And somebody called Janet Overton. And I went back for my foot treatment.

August fifth, ‘Krishnaji’s fourth public discussion. The Bohms and Peter Racz came for lunch. At 4 p.m., there was a tea for the Ojai people: the Lilliefelts, the Hookers, Maris Lindley, Mr. and Mrs. Mirus, Martha Crego, Essie Bates, and somebody Sherman, the Blackburns, a Doctor Belle, Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, the Chalkers’—I don’t remember them—‘Verna Krueger, Mrs. Blau and her mother Mrs. Kraft, Mrs. Noyes, and Mrs. Samuel.’

On August sixth, ‘there was the fifth public discussion, mostly on observing; images are easier, the lazy way. At lunch were the van der Stratens, the Digbys, and Donald Hoppen. Krishnaji saw Tungki’s uncle and an American, John Allen. He is to give no more interviews.’

August seventh. ‘Krishnaji’s sixth public discussion. We drove past Saanenmöser afterward, and came back to lunch with Erna and Theo. It was a hot day. No interviews for Krishnaji. We went for a walk, and I went down to the village on errands.’

On August eighth, ‘Krishnaji gave his seventh and last public discussion, completing the series. It was a hot day. We had a quiet lunch alone. No more activities, except that Krishnaji saw Topazia for her eye treatment.’ Topazia Alliata was an old, old friend from Italy.

The ninth of August. ‘Krishnaji saw Topazia. Then, we lunched alone. Narayan and his child Natasha came up to see Krishnaji. Dorothy and Montague moved up to Tannegg for a rest after being in the Land Rover in the camping. At 6 p.m., Jacob Needleman and the Lilliefelts came. We discussed with Krishnaji meetings for discussions in San Francisco next year, and the hope of meeting interesting people. I took Needleman, the Simmonses, and the Lilliefelts to dinner at the Park Hotel.’

The next day, ‘Needleman and the Digbys, the Bohms, and the Simmonses were at lunch.’

On August eleventh, ‘Krishnaji, Dorothy, Montague, and I drove to Bulle, and then to Jaun Pass.’ Remember that road? ‘We had a picnic lunch in a field near the Pass, came down into the valley, and to Spiez, and then to Thun. Krishnaji and I saw Moser about Krishnaji’s car order. We all had tea by the lake and came back.’

On August twelfth, ‘the Grafs, Doris, and the Simmonses were at lunch. There was a long interrogation from Rajagopal’s lawyers, which was forwarded by Sol. I went with Krishnaji and Dorothy for the first walk that I’d been able to take, and my foot was alright. I went as far as the river. In the evening, I went with Dorothy to a Menuhin concert.’

On the thirteenth, oh, now we jump to the big book.

S: Great.

M: Sunday, thirteenth of August. ‘Nadia Kossiakof, when she was here, told Krishnaji that Suarès is venomous about him, and when I asked her about it, she said it was both about Krishnaji and his teachings. Nevertheless, Krishnaji said we must have them for one meal. I said it was his house, but on my own I wouldn’t. If it were about me, I wouldn’t care, but to be against him puts them beyond the pale, as far as I was concerned. So, they came to lunch today, along with Marcelle Bondoneau, and Dorothy and Montague to dilute things. I fetched Marcelle and the Suarèses up the hill. Everyone was very polite. Krishnaji came in with his eager smile and greeted them so nicely. The conversation ball was always kept in the air throughout lunch. Carlo Suarès, who looks like a grey rat’ [both M and S laugh]—oh dear, well, so he did,—‘nibbled away with gusto at Fosca’s spinach ravioli, etcetera. They were socially busy, but Krishnaji said later that they were not at ease with him. On saying goodbye, Carlo Suarès put his hands on Krishnaji’s shoulders as if in friendship, but it was so fake, I felt revulsion. Marcelle stayed on a little with Krishnaji and talked awhile. She, Nadia, and Mar de Manziarly see the Suarèses rarely, but when they do, Krishnaji’s name is no longer mentioned, or they could not get on. One wonders why they want to get on, in that case. It is curious how easily people turn against one another, and also how difficult it is to separate. Yo de Manziarly still winters with the Suarèses, and Marcelle said Yo has gone to India to see Sathya Sai Baba with Annalisa Rajagopal. I think this shocked Krishnaji. I felt sick that this dimension of an old friend and betrayal should be seen by him. “What is it with these people?” Krishnaji asks, and I wonder, is it that each one of them wants something from him, or something he is, and not getting a thing they can grasp and hold, they turn on him; cluster together; and reinforce each other’s resentment? Rajagopal gets the coalescence of this and most of these people have no real direct liking for Rajagopal, but their anger at Krishnaji drives them to adhere to Rajagopal.’

S: That’s exactly what happens. That’s such an interesting thing that you identify there, and we’ve seen it elsewhere. People who have had absolutely no compatibility at all, when there starts to be an antagonism or conflict, people on the different sides become great friends. People, who for years had nothing to do with one another or even couldn’t stand one another…

M: [chuckles] Exactly. [Laughs.]

S: And there is this strange thing that when people don’t get something that they feel they need, or that they feel deserve, they want to hold someone else responsible, and they held Krishnaji responsible. It’s quite an interesting movement to identify, and the Suarèses are a really interesting example. They were so close to Krishnaji, in the sense that they were so supportive, and did, what many French people have told me, are the best translations of Krishnaji’s work into French…

M: Yes.

S: …and they were hosts of Krishnaji for so many years, and then they turned against him. Something that must have been so lovely turns into something, or is replaced by something, that’s so ugly. It’s extraordinary.

M: Yes. Suarès, he became a kind of guru to a lot of young people.

S: Mm, hm.

M: And he also started this thing with the kabbalah, writing books about that. So that became his platform, and what he was giving out to the world, and they turned away from Krishnaji. Suarès felt he was a big man now.

S: It’s not just turning away, you see. Turning away, one might understand; it’s the turning against which is the thing that’s so interesting. You can say, well, someone’s very interested in education, and then suddenly, they become interested in politics. They turned away from education. But, when someone turns against it, it’s like they need to deny something very important about themselves, or that was themselves.

M: That’s what I think it is. I think, as I’ve said, to you and others, if you come close to Krishnaji, or the teachings, beyond a certain point, if you then turn away, you’ve turned to evil, as it were.

S: Yes, and it turns into a poison, as Krishnaji himself has repeatedly said.

M: Yes, it turns to poison. And you have to be, not just meandering off somewhere else and forgetting it, you have to be against, you have to take a hostile position.

S: Yes. Very odd.

M: Um, now wait a minute, I have to find where my place was in this. ‘I drove Marcelle Bondoneau and the Biascoecheas down to Hotel Bel Air in the car. Marcelle spoke of Martha Crego writing to people in France about the case, people who knew nothing and weren’t interested. “Pourquoi fait elle du gossip, comme une concierge?”[6] said Marcelle. [M and S both laugh.] It was repeated to Crego, who astonishingly didn’t know what a conciege was, and went around asking. Now, she cuts Marcelle, but she also goes about saying that she has become a great friend of Vanda, and therefore knows much more about things. Why did Vanda put up with Crego’s criticisms of Krishnaji? Are the people more neurotic around Krishnaji, or is this the normal level of random humanity?’

S: [laughs] The answer to that is that people are definitely more neurotic.

M: Yes. ‘Later in a faint rain, Krishnaji, Dorothy, and I walked up the Turbach way, my second walk. The foot was alright, though I didn’t go all the way, but sat by the river and did pranayama while waiting for them to return.’

August fourteenth. ‘Krishnaji came into the dining room where Dorothy, Montague, and I were having breakfast, looking very beautiful, there is no other word, in his orange silk kimono. There are no lines in his face, no wrinkles. There are sunken parts and age signs under his eyes, but the surface skin is unwrinkled and glowing. I told him this earlier, and he said, “What am I to do?”’—[both laugh]—‘and then, “It is pedigreed cucumber night cream.”’ [Both laughing more.] He was a great one for using all kinds of oily things, and at one point, there was a kind of cream that was made of pedigreed cucumbers. It was sort of a joke between us.

‘In spite of clouds, we decided to go for an expedition, out, at any rate, to give Fosca a rest, and it was too uncertain for a picnic. So, it was decided to take the new road from Diablerets to Villars. As we were leaving, Madame Duchet came by with a photocopy of a note from Jean-Pierre Gaillard to her saying, “Notre travail s’accomplit en parfait accord avec nos Maître Koot Humi et Djwal Khul avec qui nous sommes en contact permanent.”[7]

S: Oh, lord. [M laughs.] Who was this guy again?

M: He was a friend of the one who wrote the dissertation on le langage de Krishnamurti.

S: Oh, yes.

M: And Jean-Pierre Gaillard was a friend of his, and both of them lived, I think, in Grenoble, and he used to come to Saanen. [Laughs.] ‘Madame de Seydoux was present’—that was Madame Duchet’s companion, an elderly lady—‘Madame Seydoux was present, and Dorothy and Montague came in while I explained Krishnaji’s wish and the necessity that no member of the Foundations or Committees be present members of the TS or any other such group. I also explained the Rajagopal court case. Then, I asked Krishnaji to come in for a few minutes, and he underlined all this.’

‘Afterward, Krishnaji, Dorothy, Montague, and I drove to the Diablerets and up the new road to the Col de la Croix, where we got out and walked a little. Then, down to Villars. It was too cloudy to see Mont Blanc, and the Dents-du-Midi, but Krishnaji guided us to Montesano, a hotel where he and his brother stayed in the early ’20s, when Nitya had TB. Then, in 1957 also, Rajagopal left him there alone for about two months, giving him just enough money to pay his board plus 50 francs so he could do nothing else. We lunched there in the dining room where Krishnaji used to have a table alone in the corner by the window. It is a family hotel with long tables, children and parents on holiday. The waitress, a lumpy girl in a Swiss costume, was English and uncomfortable, but the food was surprisingly nice—well-cooked carrots, potato puree, salad, cheese, and fruit. Krishnaji told us of Rajagopal having written to Vanda who was, at the time, in Gstaad not to communicate with Krishnaji.’ He left him there alone. [Sigh.]

‘When Rajagopal left, after several days there, on one of which he was drunk in the dining room and called Krishnaji names in a loud voice, he told Krishnaji,’ [in a harsh voice] ‘“You say you are never lonely, well, now you’re going to find out what it’s like, what the rest of us feel.”’ [In a soft voice:] ‘“But I was never lonely,” said Krishnaji.’ [Both laugh.] ‘“I could have just stayed there.” He went for walks all day in the hills, never spoke to anyone, even when the hotel manager wanted to introduce him to some guests. He left when it was time to go somewhere he was due. He went by train, changing twice, to Chamonix, where de Vidas met him. I was close to tears at lunch, seeing him there, a place he had been happy with his brother, oh so long ago, and then left alone by the malevolence of Rajagopal.’

‘We had taken the table near the door. Unconsciously, I must have felt Krishnaji’s reluctance to enter the room of people and he sat turned away from them. There was a quality to his shyness that was different in that room. Little glimpses of recoil from people, the painful shyness of someone much younger. He looked so young, so utterly vulnerable, so very shy. I could see him then, behind a wall of his shyness, his far away-ness, and yet content to spend his days walking in the hills, as in Ojai, in his distant state. Rajagopal’s attempt to hurt him didn’t work. “But why did I put up with him?” he asked. “I just accepted it. I suppose because there was no one else to turn to.”’

S: That’s a quote from Krishnaji?

M: Yes. ‘I felt heartened by seeing him there, a child, obedient, accepting circumstance and cruelty because there was no other choice, but untouched by it inwardly. It is a thing such as this that makes the case against Rajagopal necessary. Krishnaji must be protected, invincibly, from that man’s evil. The money, etcetera, are unimportant. He must never be able to touch Krishnaji again.’

Listen to Mary speak.

‘It was raining when we left and drove down through Bex to Aigle. Krishnaji wanted to see the lake, but halfway there, the traffic was thick, and we turned back and went up the Col du Pillon. An accident happened ahead of us, a driver in a red car in a hurry side-swiped one coming down the hill; no one was hurt. Dorothy struggled with her fear of heights, and I drove very carefully and slowly. We came back in time for a walk in spite of the rain.’

The fifteenth of August. ‘Dorothy and Montague left in the Land Rover for England, taking Doris with them. Madame Yvonne Welser came to see Krishnaji. She has to be carried’—this is a crippled woman who used to come and he used to try to cure her. ‘She had written at the beginning of Saanen that she thought it served no purpose to see him this year; her health had deteriorated in spite of his treatment; he is incorruptible, but she is not, etcetera. But she left it to him to decide. Krishnaji made no reply, so she telephoned last week asking to speak to him. He told her to telephone yesterday. She is thinking of going to the Philippines for the weird cures they do there. The poor woman wept and Krishnaji had to come in to me for Kleenex. She is obviously emotional about him, as well as her horrendous difficulties. I walked in and talked to her a little bit afterward. There is a boy from South Africa she asked Krishnaji to see; he will come tomorrow. The day was quiet from then on.’

‘We lunched alone, and later walked up the Turbach Road. Krishnaji said again, “you must take care of yourself, as you must outlive me. I will live at least another ten years, till I’m ninety, probably. You must live beyond that. You do not belong to yourself anymore.”’

I forgot to note that ‘Mr. Moser came in the morning about the order for Krishnaji’s Mercedes, which was postponed from this year. A car has to be bought; the order is in abeyance. It could be got out of only by paying for it and then selling it immediately at a loss.’ Oh, that was the one we ordered that we didn’t want. ‘Krishnaji wanted to take it to the U.S. to replace the Jaguar, which he says is too old. I will have to buy it from him. Moser is getting the figures for export, and we will go on to Thun on Thursday.’

Wednesday the sixteenth. ‘I went on errands and to listen to part of a Menuhin rehearsal in the Saanen Church; the lovely lift of Mozart quartets. The sunlight was lovely on the wooden pew rail. I kept seeing Krishnaji in Villars and now up in his room at Tannegg: the infinite wonder of him; fragile, extraordinary, to be cared for, served, and cherished.’

‘At lunch were Topazia Alliata, Marcelle Bondoneau, and Frances McCann. At lunch they chatted, but he was far away, but he came back to the conversation when they touched on Buddhism, the hierarchy of masters in Theosophy, over them the Maha Chohan, the Maitreya, then the Buddha. He explained where some of it came from, mostly Tibet. Also at lunch, he kept Olga, the inconstant maid, out of the dining room [laughing], passing out everything himself. He is exasperated by her and worse, she smells. Later, the South African boy, Peter Raggitt, had an interview, and then we went for a walk. We talked of Jesus. I asked what difference did it make whether he lived or not? Wasn’t what he is said to have said to us either true or not? It wasn’t very original, said Krishnaji, just to love one another. [M laughs.] I asked, wasn’t it a way of saying, no self, which seems at the core of all religions in varying words. Krishnaji said yes and that Akhenaten[8] had said it too. He has been reading a book on Egyptian history. I said that the religion that people grasp, like Jesus, gives people symbols to hold onto, whereas he takes them away.’ So he did.

August seventeenth. ‘Vanda telephoned from Florence. Krishnaji had not slept well, and said meditation is so strong that the back of his head felt on fire, not pain, but a flame so strong he had to read to stop it before he could sleep again. Nevertheless, he wanted to come to Bern where I had to get his French visa. So, we went on this grey day. I had difficulty finding the entrance to the autoroute, but did reach Bern and find the French embassy before noon, only to be told he needed a letter from the Indian embassy. Everything closes at noon, so we found a parking garage by the Bellevue and found our way on foot, to a “vegetarian”’—Krishnaji remembered a vegetarian restaurant in a garden. ‘Only after eating downstairs did we learn that the garden was upstairs. [Chuckles.] But we had a nice meal, clean, quiet, and inexpensive. We found the Indian embassy by 2 p.m., got the needed letter, and went back to the French embassy, where they took forty-five minutes, and finally went off to Thun. We saw Moser about the SLC 280 3.5 Mercedes for next year’s delivery. The export price was far less. Krishnaji wishes to take it to the U.S. We ordered it in stone pine green.’

S: Hmmm. The Green Beauty.

M: Yes. ‘And after hesitation between beige and black interior, we settled on beige. We drove back to Tannegg and tried Bambu, a fake coffee we had bought in the Reformhaus in Bern.’

On Monday the twenty-first. ‘I spoke yesterday to my brother.’ Oh dear, it goes on about my father. Sorry, but I have to skip over this. ‘I spoke to Hugh Fullerton’—he was head of the American Hospital in Paris—‘to ask what if Father dies before either Bud or I are there. He said that Doctor Thins would arrange things. I saw that Father was not well. I write this while I’m waiting for the operator to ring again to reach my brother.’

S: Mm, hm.

M: ‘It has been the first day of sun after cold, grey ones. The fresh snow against the clear sky makes the world look reborn. We walked all the way on the Turbach Road. In a pause in all my telephoning, Krishnaji came in and said, when I told him what was happening, “Are you worried?” he asked. I said, worry is when there is something that can be done to change things; this, it appears, cannot be altered. Krishnaji: “Do you feel something in this room, the atmosphere, and I don’t want this to impinge on you.” We went to his room, and he said, “Do you feel a difference?” And then he said, “Perhaps it is because you have been filled with this in here. We are all going.” Then I asked, “Tell me, oh Sphinx, when does one stop coming and start going?” [S chuckles.] Krishnaji said, “Oh, I guess, at birth. No, probably at ten to twenty years old. I have never seen someone die. I wasn’t there when my brother died. It would have been terrible. In a way, I am gone when I walk, or sometimes when I am reading, I am so far away. Not when I talk. Then, I am all there. But otherwise, I am getting farther away. That is why you mustn’t let them give me a general anesthetic; put me out. That would be the end.”’

‘“What if you are in pain, hurt?” I asked.’

‘He replied, “I don’t think that will happen like that. But then sedation, but not out”’—meaning unconscious. ‘“If you died first, but I don’t think you will. You must outlive me. I will live another fifteen years, or twenty, I don’t know. But I feel that. And when he goes, you must be…you must not commit suicide, as you did, in a way, when your husband died. Should you go to Paris now?”’

‘“No,” I said, “we will go with our plan to go Wednesday.”’

‘Krishnaji: “I couldn’t drive the car alone; maybe to Bulle or Nyon, but the body couldn’t all the way.”

My father died the next day.

Listen to Mary speak.

S: Mm, hm.

M: The next day. ‘I spoke to Solange’—who was the housekeeper—‘and Dr. Thins had been there, and said that death was very close and nothing more could be done. I rang my brother at the Vineyard and told him. He and Lisa will fly tonight and be in Paris early tomorrow. Krishnaji and I lunched quietly. I didn’t tell him the news. At about 3 p.m., Solange telephoned, and said, “C’est fini.” Father died in his sleep at 2:10 p.m., having been asleep or in a coma since about 10 in the morning. He was without suffering, she said. Krishnaji came into the room as I was hanging up the telephone. “I felt it had happened,” he said, “I felt it from you.” I called Bud again and told him. Krishnaji made me rest awhile, and then we went for a walk as far as the river. The packing was finished, and we loaded the car so as to leave early tomorrow. And then I talked to Krishnaji about my father.’

Wednesday, August twenty-third. ‘We were in the car waving goodbye to Fosca and off from Tannegg at 4 a.m. We reached the border at Saint-Cergue by 6. In France, at Lons-le-Saunier, we bought croissants, hot from the oven, and had them with fruit for breakfast in the same edge of the road as a year ago. We got onto the autoroute at Chalon-sur-Saône, and Krishnaji drove for 100 miles or so. We reached Paris by 1 p.m., and ate our picnic lunch in the Bois where we used to take our walks. It was warm and sunny. We went to Plaza Athénée, and I telephoned Father’s apartment. My brother and Lisa had arrived at 9:30 a.m.’ Well, it goes on about my father.

‘I got back to the hotel in time to order Krishnaji’s and my supper in our rooms. On the drive this morning, Krishnaji spoke of death. “I don’t like to speak of your father,” he said, “but what happens to a man like Rajagopal?” He talked of this and late in the evening, he said the following, which I wrote down verbatim. “Take a man like X”—meaning Rajagopal—“who is suspicious, jealous, secretive, concerned with his physical security. He is, after all, a product of his environment, his culture, his pattern of behavior. He may have peculiarities, his temperament, his so-called character. His mind is conditioned by the class he was born in, and so on. And when he dies, and that’s what we are talking about, what happens to him? He has not come out of his ‘environment.’ He has not made anything of life. He is merely reacting within his conditioning, which may be very clever, cunning, artistic, but he has not come out of it. He is part of the whole quivering mass. He may think he will reincarnate, be reborn, or absorbed into something greater, which is his hope and comfort, but basically, he is still a result of his tradition, of his forefathers, his environment. He has not come out of it, so he is absorbed into his basic conditioning. This sounds cruel, but as you observe, he is part of this humanity. As he was in his life, so he is in death. To live with death every day is to deny totally this conditioning. So to die to conditioning every day is to live a life of a different dimension.”’

S: Hmm.

M: He really was talking about every…it wasn’t Rajagopal when he said X, he meant most people.

S: Very clearly put, though. Very clear.

M: How wasted most lives are.

S: Yes, yes [very quietly said]. It’s one of the horrors of existence that it can be so wasted.

M: Yes [almost inaudible.]

S: And the fact is that it’s so difficult for it not to be wasted, in the sense that our conditioning, our normal human quivering mass, as he describes it, is so powerful.

M: Yes [still almost inaudible], and yet we’re given, we’re given not only life, but we’re given…the possibility…to go beyond all this.

S: Yes. And certainly, anyone who has had any contact with Krishnaji has no excuse.

M: Yes [as quietly as possible, followed by a long pause]. Let’s stop.

S: Yes. Of course.

Listen to Mary speak.

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FOOTNOTES: