Notice: I have written in other languages, many interesting articles that you
can read translated in English
in these links:
Part 1 and Part 2.


ENCOUNTER OF MOOLJEE THACKERSEY WITH MASTER MORYA




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 Leaveswhere 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)




No comments:

Post a Comment