was almost bereft of hope of recovery, a physical wreck in my thirties.
One afternoon, a well-wisher of about my age named Syed Abdul Aziz, S.M.'s clerk at Waltair, S.E.Rly, who, however, held me in high esteem as his friend, philosopher and guide came to see me after a pretty long interval. He was aghast to find me in such a moribund condition. He wished to know what I was doing to regain my health. I simply said "Nothing, except that we all have taken vows individually in the family to different deities for the sake of my recovery." He was visibly surprised to hear me say so. What a stupid thing to do, he seemed to feel. He, however, wondered how he could venture to advise one whose advice he had always sought. Yet, in that situation he felt it obligatory to-do so. If he were to fall sick, he continued, every one in his family would individually and together pray to "one God" for redress.
Would it not be the right thing to do, he queried. At least now it was high time we did so.
To me, these indeed were words coming "from the depth of truth" relayed through a friendly medium. They had the illuminating effect of a gospel truth.
“Whene'er a noble deed is wrought
whenever is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts in glad surprise
To higher levels rise".
H. W. Long Fellow
*From the poem on Florence Nightingale by H.W. Long Fellow.
Here was I, a drowning man and there comes a pilot, deputed by baba (as I now know in retrospect,) to be my Margadarsi, holding out the anchor of hope-reviving, for me to catch and holdon to save myself.
I replied meekly that no doubt he was right but such was our tradition which perforce we had to follow. Be that as it might, my friend went on to tell me about the miracle cure of a 15-year-old gastric ulcer which had been subjecting another friend of mine to periodical fits of torture which could be alleviated only with injections of morphia, since he was averse to go under a surgeon's knife. I myself