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lovely saris to my wife and two children. His encouragement, love, personal attention—the awareness that he was an intimate part of our family, all this filled me with joy. But now I grieved over the limitation of my personal consciousness that would not allow me to be fully in the Poornachandra Auditorium with dear Baba, but kept me bound to my personal body here on the veranda, surrounded by what I considered the solitude of my personal reality. Nighttime had come and I was alone in the dark emptiness—in the quiet stillness— separate and apart—all alone.
From nowhere a teacher from the college appeared. “Leave the books here and come quickly,” he whispered. Hurriedly I followed him across fifty yards of soft sand and into the back door of the Poor- nachandra Auditorium. In a moment he sat me with some thirty others backstage looking at the back of the silver juela (swing), a sizzling shock of black hair bursting over the back of the juela pinpointing Baba’s location. In a moment, quiet silence and aloneness was transformed into the exhilarating celebration of the divine birth— and I was at its center.
Musicians played and sang about the life of Lord Rama. A few lucky ones were seated in back of the juela, slowly swinging Baba to and fro to the tune of the Rama melody. And the throngs drank in the glorious vision of the king of kings recognized—and receiving the pure sweet nectar of humanity’s devotion.
Again my unexpected friend approached, motioning me to move up to the juela and take part in the pushing. Yet closer I moved. Slowly, reaching toward the silver swing—I felt its slight resistance release me into the marvelous dance of motion and music. Back and forth, back and forth—we were all swinging now with Sathya Sai— to the celestial song of the Rama story and to his exquisite inner ecstasy. No silence and darkness now—but grace—pure bliss— wonderment— and love.
Shortly I withdrew to allow others the blessing of touching the silver swing. I closed my eyes and melted into the ethers. The program soon drew to a close. Baba stood and was quickly surrounded by musicians and well-wishers. He would soon leave through the back door of the Poornachandra and there was a scramble to catch a last glimpse of him as he left.
Once again my guardian angel appeared. “Come quickly! He’ll