Mooljee Thackersey was a Hindu friend of Blavatsky and Colonel Olcott, and about
the encounter that Mooljee had with Master Morya, Colonel Olcott related it in his biographical work “Old Diary Leaves” where he wrote:
« Blavatsky, Mooljee, and I left Bombay by train on 4th April, 1879,
for a trip to Karli Caves. Our servant Babula accompanied us.
At Narel station we left the
train, and took palanquins up the hill to Matheran, the chief sanatorium of'
Bombay. I was given to understand that we had been invited to Karli by a
certain Adept with whom I had had close relations in America during the writing
of Isis Unveiled, and that the sundry
provisions for our comfort en route had been ordered by him.
I was not in the least surprised,
then, to find at Narel station a Hindu servant of the better class, i.e., not
a. house menial, who came forward, and, after saluting, gave a message in
Marathi, which Mooljee interpreted to be the compliments of this master, and a
request that we should graciously choose whether we would have palanquins or
ponies for the ascent, as both were ready.
Blavatsky and I chose palanquins,
and Mooljee and Babula ponies.
(The palaquins were an elegant means used in India to scroll.)
Then away we went in the
day-bright moonshine, twelve bearers to each “palkee” — fair-sized, strong,
muscular, dark brown fellows, of the Thakoor clan, who trotted along in broken
step (so as not to jar the person in the palkee), keeping time by a
sweet-voiced, measured cadence that, in its novelty, was extremely pleasant to
hear, but which grew monotonously tiresome after a while.
I had never before made such a
poetical journey as this through that tropic night, with the sky ablaze with
vividly bright stars before the moon had risen, myriad insects chirping to each
other, the night birds crying to their mates, the great bats silently sailing
in tortuous gyrations in quest of food, the palm fronds crackling and jungle
leaves rustling, the smell of the earth, mingling now and again with that of
spicy buds in a warmer air-current through which we passed, and with all the
chant of the panting palkee-wallahs as they nimbly swung along.
We certainly reached the
Alexandra Hotel in due course, supped at 11, went to bed quietly, rose early
the next morning and enjoyed the splendid view from the verandah.
Mooljee was out when I awoke, but
returned an hour later with the story that he had been aroused before daybreak
by the man who had met us at Narel, and shown a completely furnished bungalow
which, he said, was at our disposal free of rent, for such time as we chose to
occupy it.
But by breakfast time, Blavatsky
had become nauseated with what she called “the aura of Anglo-Indian
civilization,” and refused to stop over a single day. So, despite the
landlord's warning against the fierce heat of the sun, away we started and rode
to Narel again, in a temperature like that of the stoke-room on a steamer. By
good luck neither of us were sunstruck, and in due course got the train and
went on to Khandalla, a delightful place in the hills.
Our same universal provider met
us here also, with a spacious bullock-carriage in which he took us to the
Government rest-house (dâk bungalow),
where we spent the next day and night.
The evening of our arrival,
Mooljee strolled down to the railway station for a chat with the
station-master, an old acquaintance, and got a surprise. A train came in from
Bombay and stopped at the platform, when he heard his name loudly called.
Looking from carriage to carriage
he saw a Hindu beckoning and went to his window. The unknown proved to be the
personage whom Blavatsky had visited!
He handed him a fresh bouquet of
what seemed to be the same kinds of roses as he had seen in the mysterious
garden of the taciturn gardeners, and which were the most beautiful he had ever
seen.
-
"These,"
said the gentleman, as the train moved on, "are for Colonel Olcott; give
him them, please."
So Mooljee brought them to me and
told his story.
An hour later I told Blavatsky
that I should like to thank the Adept for his courtesies to our party, and if
she could get it delivered, should write him. She assented, so the, note was
written and given her.
She handed it to Mooljee and
requested him to go down the public road before us and deliver it.
-
"But," he
asked, "to whom, and where; it bears no name nor address on the
cover?"
-
"No matter; take
it and you will see to whom you must give it.” – answered Blavatsky.
He accordingly moved off down the
road, but after ten minutes came running back, breathless and exhibiting every
sign of surprise.
-
"It's
gone!" he faltered.
-
"What?" I
asked.
-
"The letter, he
took it." Mooljee answered.
-
"Who took
it?" I inquired.
- "I don't know,” Mooljee answered,
"unless it was a ghost because he came up out of the ground, or so it
seemed to me. I was walking slowly along, looking to right and left, and not
knowing what I must do to carry out Blavatsky's orders. There were no trees or
bushes for a person to hide in, but just the white, dusty road. Yet suddenly,
as if he had come out of the ground, there was a man a few yards off, coming
towards me. It was the man of the rose-bungalow, the man who gave me the
flowers for you at Khandalla station, and whom I had seen carried away in the
train towards Poona!"
-
"Nonsense,
man," I replied, "you've been dreaming."
-
"No", Mooljee
answered, "I was as wide awake as I ever was in my life."
The gentleman said: "You
have letter for me, that one in your hand; have you not?"
I could hardly speak, but I said:
"I don't know, Maharaj, it has no address."
He said: "It is for me, give
it."
He took it from me and said: "Now,
go back."
I turned my back for an instant
and looked to see if he was there, but he had disappeared; the road was vacant!
Frightened, I turned and ran, but
had not got away fifty yards when a voice at my very ear said: "Don't be
foolish, man; keep cool; all is right."
This frightened me still more,
for no man was insight. I fled, and here I am.
_ _ _
Such was Mooljee's story, which I
repeat exactly as he told it to me. II appearances go for anything, he must
have spoken truth, for his fright and excitement were too evident to have been
simulated by so clumsy an actor as he. At all events, a certain request
contained in that letter was answered in a letter from this same Adept, which I
got later, at the dâk bungalow in Bhurtpore, Rajputana, more than a thousand
miles distant from this place of Mooljee's adventure. And that goes for
something. »
(Old Diary Leaves II, chapter 4)
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