Respecting the Spiritual

Below is an excerpt from "The Anarchy: The East India Company, Corporate Violence, and the Pillage of an Empire" by William Dalrymple.

The status of the English at the Mughal court in this period is perhaps most graphically illustrated by one of the most famous images of the period, a miniature by Jahangir’s master artist, Bichitr. The conceit of the painting is how the pious Jahangir preferred the company of Sufis and saints to that of powerful princes. This was actually not as far-fetched as it might sound: one of Roe’s most telling anecdotes relates how Jahangir amazed the English envoy by spending an hour chatting to a passing holy man he encountered on his travels:

" ... a poor silly old man, all asht, ragd and patcht, with a young roague attending on him. This miserable wretch cloathed in rags, crowned with feathers, his Majestie talked with about an hour, with such familiaritie and shew of kindnesse, that it must needs argue an humilitie not found easily among Kings … He took him up in his armes, which no cleanly body durst have touched, imbracing him, and three times laying his hand on his heart, calling him father, he left him, and all of us, and “me, in admiration of such a virtue in a heathen Prince.”

Jahangir was the ruler of the vast Mughal emperor at the time (around 1616) and the story Roe tells clearly shows how little the English understood spirituality. Notice Roe's focus on appearances (how dishevelled the old man was) whereas the emperor clearly recognised the old man's spiritual status and accorded him due respect. A clash of cultures indeed. The British never learned to respect Indian spirituality and instead sought to force Christianity on the "heathens".

Zahar: the Last Mughal Emperor

I'm very much enjoying William Darymple's "The Last Mughal" and today I read a passage that resonated with me. Zahar was the last Mughal emperor and he was fond of writing Sufi poetry:

Zafar’s poetry, however, existed on a higher plane than this. Like much verse of the period, it was deeply imbued with the Sufi ideals of love, which were regarded as much the surest route to a God who was seen to be located not in the heavens but deep within the human heart. For if the world of the heart lay at the centre of Sufism, it also formed the cornerstone of the principal literary form in late Mughal Delhi—the ghazal, which derived its name from the Arabic words “talking to a woman about love. The love of the ghazal poet was ambiguous—it was rarely made entirely clear whether it was sacred or worldly love to which the poet referred. This ambiguity was deliberate, for just as the longing of the soul for union with God was believed to be as compelling and as all-embracing as the longing of the lover for the beloved, both loves could be carried to the point of insanity or what Sufis called fana—self-annihilation and immersion in the beloved. In the eyes of the Sufi poets, this search for the God within liberated the seeker from the restrictions of narrowly orthodox Islam, encouraging the devotee to look beyond the letter of the law to its mystical essence.

Later Darymple writes that:

This was an attitude to Hinduism that Zafar—and many of his Mughal forebears—shared. It is clear that Zafar consciously saw his role as a protector of his Hindu subjects, and a moderator of extreme Muslim demands and the chilling Puritanism of many of the ‘ulama. One of Zafar’s verses says explicitly that Hinduism and Islam “share the same essence,” and his court lived out this syncretic philosophy, and both celebrated and embodied this composite Hindu-Muslim Indo-Islamic civilisation, at every level. The Hindu elite of Delhi went to the Sufi shrine of Nizamuddin, could quote Hafiz and were fond of Persian poetry. Their children—especially those of the administrative Khattri and Kayasth castes—studied under maulvis and attended the more liberal madrasas, bringing offerings of food for their teachers on Hindu festivals. For their part, Muslims followed the Emperor in showing honour to Hindu holy men, while many in the court, including Zafar himself, followed the old Mughal custom, borrowed from upper-caste Hindus, of drinking only Ganges water. Zafar’s extensive team of Hindu astrologers rarely left his side. 

It was very interesting to read of this tolerance at the time between the Hindus and Moslems as well as between the Shia and Sunni sects. The author has himself lived in Delhi for the past twenty years but holidays in England during the summer months. I'm looking forward to reading more about India in his other books.

Dalrymple's overview of the consequences of the sepoy rebellion is quite insightful:

There was nothing inevitable about the demise and extinction of the Mughals, as the sepoys’ dramatic surge towards the court of Delhi showed. But in the years to come, as Muslim prestige and learning sank, and Hindu confidence, wealth, education and power increased, Hindus and Muslims would grow gradually apart, as British policies of divide and rule found willing collaborators among the chauvinists of both faiths. The rip in the closely woven fabric of Delhi’s composite culture, opened in 1857, slowly widened into a great gash, and at Partition in 1947 finally broke in two. As the Indian Muslim elite emigrated en masse to Pakistan, the time would soon come when it would be almost impossible to imagine that Hindu sepoys could ever have rallied to the Red Fort and the standard of a Muslim emperor, joining with their Muslim brothers in an attempt to revive the Mughal Empire.

Of course, the events of 1857 also led to the formal dissolution of the British East India Company and its being taken over by the British Government. 

Sai Baba

Interesting information about Sai Baba that I was reminded of in my daily Meher Baba newsletter (link). 

On June 5th 1927, Baba went with a few of the mandali to Aurangabad, and from there proceeded to the Ellora Caves and the area called Khuldabad. While drinking tea at Khuldabad, Baba disclosed, “The tomb of Sai Baba’s Master Zarzari Bakhsh is in Khuldabad.” When asked how this could be since Zarzari Bakhsh actually lived hundreds of years prior to Sai Baba, Meher Baba answered, “You have no idea of how great is the grace of the Perfect Master. While Zarzari Bakhsh was alive, Sai, in a previous incarnation, was his disciple. The Master’s grace descended upon him at that time; however, it carried over and made him perfect after seven hundred years. Zarzari Bakhsh means Giver of the Wealth of Wealth. This he gave to Sai.” The group returned to Meherabad the same day. Sai Baba of Shirdi had physical contact with other Masters — Gopal Rao and the Swami of Akalkot. However, it was Zarzari Baksh who bestowed Realization upon Sai while he was in a cave at Khuldabad. The Swami of Akalkot brought Sai down and made him a Perfect Master.

Thus the connection between a Perfect Master and his disciple can extend over lifetimes and Realisation can be bestowed in the physical absence of the Master, although I surmise that this is not the norm. I've been to the Ellora Caves and even to the cave at Khuldabad (about four miles away) were Sai Baba received Enlightenment.

Wikipedia (the source of all knowledge) had this to say about Khuldabad:

The name 'Khuldabad' translates to 'Abode of Eternity'. It is derived from the posthumous title of Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb, 'khuld-makan' (lit. 'Dwelling in Paradise'); the name came into currency following Aurangzeb's interment in the city. Priorly, the city was known as 'Rauza' (lit. 'Garden of Paradise'), a common term used to describe Sufi shrines in South Asia.

This made me realise how little I know about the Mughal Empire and reference to Sufi shrines I found quite intriguing. I downloaded "The Last Mughal" by William Dalrymple from the Internet Archive and transferred it to my Kindle. It looks like an interesting read.

On a hazy November afternoon in Rangoon, 1862, a shrouded corpse was escorted by a small group of British soldiers to an anonymous grave in a prison enclosure. As the British Commissioner in charge insisted, “No vestige will remain to distinguish where the last of the Great Moghuls rests.” 

Bahadur Shah Zafar II, the last Mughal Emperor, was a mystic, an accomplished poet and a skilled calligrapher. But while his Mughal ancestors had controlled most of India, the aged Zafar was king in name only. Deprived of real political power by the East India Company, he nevertheless succeeded in creating a court of great brilliance, and presided over one of the great cultural renaissances of Indian history.

Then, in 1857, Zafar gave his blessing to a rebellion among the Company’s own Indian troops, thereby transforming an army mutiny into the largest uprising any empire had to face in the entire course of the nineteenth century. The Siege of Delhi was the Raj’s Stalingrad: one of the most horrific events in the history of Empire, in which thousands on both sides died. And when the British took the city—securing their hold on the subcontinent for the next ninety years—tens of thousands more Indians were executed, including all but two of Zafar’s sixteen sons. By the end of the four-month siege, Delhi was reduced to a battered, empty ruin, and Zafar was sentenced to exile in Burma. There he died, the last Mughal ruler in a line that stretched back to the sixteenth century.

Award-winning historian and travel writer William Dalrymple shapes his powerful retelling of this fateful course of events from groundbreaking material: previously unexamined Urdu and Persian manuscripts that include Indian eyewitness accounts and records of the Delhi courts, police and administration during the siege. The Last Mughal is a revelatory work—the first to present the Indian perspective on the fall of Delhi—and has as its heart both the dazzling capital personified by Zafar and the stories of the individuals tragically caught up in one of the bloodiest upheavals in history.

Gardens All Misty Wet With Rain

Here is a prompt that I gave to Chat GPT and the result is shown above:

Create an image of a young Van Morrison walking in gardens all misty wet with rain as described in his song "Sweet Things" from his album "Astral Weeks". The image should have a surreal, psychedelic feel with some magic mushrooms underfoot. There should be a mystical, transcendental, other-worldly feel to the image conjuring up an alternative reality to the mundane world in which we live.

Gemini refused to create an image saying that there was something saying controversial in the prompt. For fuck's sake. Anyway the result was OK so I thought that I'd include it in a post. Looking at my astrological chart recently and it seems that any date from the 19th May onwards could be one of those sort of days:

If I am nearing the end of life, as "The Voice" warned me, then I should be making preparations to take Baba's name as I draw my last breath. It may be possible. I should at least be keeping the thought of Baba uppermost in my mind to the best of my ability. I remember the dream I had many years ago now in which the house I was in tumbled off a cliff and I was falling toward the ground below. The house was falling along with me but the house was above me. I knew that if the fall didn't kill me then the weight of the house crashing down upon me certainly would. I fumbled for my wallet because I knew that I had a photo of Baba in it but I was unsuccessful and just managed to call out His name before waking up.

Perhaps I'll be buried in the rubble of the house following an earthquake. It's not likely as the house is very solidly built. In the dream I was lucky enough to have a few seconds in which to gather my thoughts. Looking at my chart, there is an emphasis on Mercury and the third house. Transiting Neptune, Ceres and Saturn are all close to my natal Mercury. Transiting Jupiter is moving close to my natal Uranus on the cusp of the Third House. A traffic accident is a possibility but who can avoid something like that. A neurological accident is another possibility. All this speculation is largely useless and it's not worthwhile trying to second guess Uranus. All I can do is wait and be as prepared as possible to take advantage of whatever split seconds become available to me.

The 25 Year Cycle

Let's look back at when I turned 25 years old. This was April 3rd 1974. It was a fairly bleak time. I was in Adelaide and I remember going to see "The Exorcist" on my own. I don't know where Raelene was. Neither of us had managed to find any work since the start of the year and a couple of weeks later we were on our way to Sydney in the hope that the job market was more promising there.

Indeed it was and we both found employment quickly but I was quite unhappy in my job as a teacher for the remainder of the year (May to December). At the start of 1975, I began at AMP on Circular Quay as a Trainee Actuary which I had no interest in but the work companions were genial and one of them set me on the road to becoming a Psychiatric Nurse. I'd say that my 26th birthday marked the start of a new era and that the year from my 25th to my 26th was a difficult and transitional year.

Fast forward to my 50th birthday in 2019. I was on the road in China on April 3rd that year, cycling with a group of school students. It was my final year at the Australian International School in Singapore and I wasn't in great spirits. Toward the end of the year I made the happy choice of taking a job in Jakarta and by April 3rd of 2000, the occasion of my 51st birthday, my new life was beginning. Once again the year between my 50th and 51st birthdays was difficult and transitional.

I turned 75 in 2024 and the next month I had a fall that caused me considerable health problems. Other health problems dogged me throughout the year and I had the feeling that my life had run out of steam. I was just marking time. I still have that feeling but other health problems emerged soon after my 76th birthday and something big is coming up in June judging by my chart. So once again my 75th to 76th years have been difficult and transitional and a major change is almost upon me. I'm sure I'll have a lot to write about on this blog in the days to come, assuming I'm able to write at all.

How To Find God

Given my last post titled No Growth Without Resistance, today's post from the Avatar Meher Baba Bombay Centre is quite relevant.

HOW CAN I FIND GOD?

Baba was discoursing about the Path when he remarked: “The fun of it is that the One who is sought is Himself the seeker. It is the same One God who prompts the seeker to ask, ‘Where can I find God?’ … ‘How can I find God?’

“The seeker asking ‘Where can I find God?’ is really God saying: ‘Where indeed is the seeker?'”

“Will I realize the Truth in this incarnation?” was an ardent question put to Baba by a young seeker one day.

Baba replied, “Why be so eager, so impatient? How will you profit by my reply? If I were to say that you will realize the Truth in this very life, will you gain anything more than merely hearing these encouraging words? And if I were to say ‘No, not this lifetime’ and that you need many more births to realize the Truth, you will feel nervous and dejected.”

The young man answered, “Nothing will affect me in either case.”

“Then forget your question altogether! This much is certain, that the Truth is infinitely more anxious to reveal Itself through you – and through everyone – than your seeking It with utmost efforts.

“Even wanting Truth is an unwanted want, and Truth is far beyond wanting. You cannot demand Truth; it dawns unawares. The way lies through successive unconditional surrenders to the Perfect Master.”

Baba continued, “Again, remember the Path is slippery. Guard yourself against posing. It is the worst thing. Let the lamp of honesty ever burn within you. Be sincere in your seeking. My nazar is on you. Don’t worry.”

No Growth Without Resistance

It was in October of 2024 that I last posted to this blog and so almost six months has gone by. It's not as if nothing has happened. I had my "big dream" in late December in which a voice announced that I only had a few months to live. Three full months have passed since then and astrological predictions indicate health problems around late June. Family members assure me that my time is not yet up but I remain unconvinced.

I've created a private dream diary in which I've been noting down the dreams that I can remember. I guess that's partly taken the place of this blog. In other blogs, I've written about the Callippic Cycle of 27759 days that ended on the 2nd of April 2025. The new cycle began on my birthday which was yesterday at the time of writing. I was watching a YouTube video recently and these words struck home to me:

We are divinely lovingly crafted beings and what I know is that growth doesn't happen without resistance ... there has to be resistance (for) spiritual growth ... the world is set up so that there's plenty of resistance.

This is something I realised some months ago now but it was good to hear it reiterated here. This is why Baba said that Realisation is only possible in a physical body. Even the Angels need to incarnate once before attaining Realisation. Earth is really the school of hard knocks that beat us into shape or out of shape. This is the Great Game.

We play our different roles. God hides from Himself and we wittingly or unwittingly try to find Him. Eventually, we all succeed but not before we play millions of different roles in the physical world. The One becomes the Many so that the Many may become One.