is I who have watched over thee, life after life, in the tenderness of many mothers! See in My gaze the two black eyes, the lost beautiful eyes, thou seekest!”
Father and I returned to Bareilly soon after the crematory rites for the well-beloved. Early every morning I made a pathetic memorial—pilgrimage to a large SHEOLI tree which shaded the smooth, green-gold lawn before our bungalow. In poetical moments, I thought that the white SHEOLI flowers were strewing themselves with a willing devotion
her guru. Mother pressed her head repeatedly against the little picture.
“O Omnipresent Master, I thank thee that thy light hath healed my son!”
I realized that she too had witnessed the luminous blaze through which I had instantly recovered from a usually fatal disease.
One of my most precious possessions