MY FATHER,

Your terrible suffering on the night of January 24, 1969, is always before my eyes - the night you asked me to write your biography in verse. You took upon your delicate flower-like body the infinite burden of universal ignorance, so that the rays of Awareness would gradually shine on each kingdom of evolution. But the weight of that heavy load was crushing every part of your body to pieces. Your slightest movement caused painful electric-like shocks that I saw as spasms. It is simply impossible to measure, calculate, or imagine the degree of your suffering.

In this critical condition, by slowly moving your fingers you spoke to me, "I am giving you very important work. You must write my biography in verse."

As you were gesturing, I watched you bear the painful jerks caused by moving your fingers. Your body lifted from the bed in spasm after spasm and fell back down. My heart was breaking, so I pleaded, "Baba, why instruct me about the book now? Wait and tell me when you are better."

But you kept gesturing, suffering constant spasms throughout. Haltingly, for almost thirty minutes you gave me instructions: "Write 800 pages. Write in a simple and attractive way. Make it very interesting. Use four types of meters. Write 100 pages about my manifestation. I will give you the meters and also tell you about my manifestation later. Do not worry, I will explain everything to you."

I could only watch and listen. My heart refused to question your instructions, so as not to prolong your agony. I only wished you to stop gesturing just then, so the spasms would cease. How could I know that, after a week, your body would snap its physical connection with this world, and that I would be forced to carry out your directives with tears of grief in my eyes?

You once told me to bring a copy of the Ramayana by Tulsidas, and read to you a few pages of couplets. I remember you told me, "You will write better than Tulsidas."

But with your departure, everything in life now seems empty; though at times I feel the rays of your presence, they are few and far between.

I was left in shock, and because of this, I remained inactive for some time. Francis told me, "Baba did not give you the meters, so you are freed from his order and need not write."

But I wondered if this were true. Then one night you fulfilled your promise by prompting me to make a beginning. You came in my dream and whispered, "You want the meters, here they are! Take them!" You pointed to a blackboard filled with writing.

I woke up before I could read the writing; but, I knew then that you wished me to write. And so I began collecting material. I spent two and a half years engaged in this, and after studying all that I have gathered, I am starting the work you gave me. I know that what you asked me to do, you yourself will do. I am only the medium; giving this gross medium life is left to you.

You had indicated to me that you wanted a very detailed biography in prose, so before I write your life in verse, I am starting with this. I am confident that this work has your blessing. I know that you will grant me the strength to complete it under the circumstances I am facing.

My Father, I am yours as I am. You are everything to me; there is none other! May my every breath breathe your pleasure, so that the impact of what you asked me to write will be felt.

Bhau
Meherazad, 1971