With a shriek, my sister
rushed to Mother. "Mukunda has become a necromancer!" Gravely,
Mother instructed me never to use the power of words for doing
harm. I have always remembered her counsel, and followed it.
My boil was surgically treated. A noticeable scar, left by
the doctor's incision, is present today. On my right forearm is a
constant reminder of the power in man's sheer word.
Those simple and apparently harmless phrases to Uma, spoken
with deep concentration, had possessed sufficient hidden force to
explode like bombs and produce definite, though injurious, effects.
I understood, later, that the explosive vibratory power in speech
could be wisely directed to free one's life from difficulties, and
thus operate without scar or rebuke. {FN1-12}
Our family moved to Lahore in the Punjab. There I acquired a picture
of the Divine Mother in the form of the Goddess Kali. {FN1-13} It
sanctified a small informal shrine on the balcony of our home. An
unequivocal conviction came over me that fulfillment would crown any
of my prayers uttered in that sacred spot. Standing there with Uma
one day, I watched two kites flying over the roofs of the buildings
on the opposite side of the very narrow lane.
"Why are you so quiet?" Uma pushed me playfully.
"I am just thinking how wonderful it is that Divine Mother gives
me whatever I ask."
"I suppose She would give you those two kites!" My sister laughed
derisively.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31