About this enigmatic residence, Colonel Olcott mentioned
the following:
« There were a series of
strange occurrences in which my friend Mooljee Thackersey was a witness. For example,
on March 29, 1879, the day in question, Blavatsky told Mooljee to
fetch a buggy, and, when it came, mounted into it with him. She refused to
answer his questions as to whither she was going, simply telling him to order
the driver to turn to right or left or go straight ahead, as she might direct.
What happened Mooljee told us on
their return in the evening. She had directed the course by numerous windings
of streets and country roads, until they found themselves at a suburb of Bombay
[Mumbai], eight or ten miles distant, in a grove of coniferæ. The name is not
written in my Diary, but I think it was Parel, though I may be mistaken. At any
rate, Mooljee knew the place, because he had cremated his mother's body in that
neighborhood.
Roads and paths crossed each
other confusedly in the wood, but Blavatsky never faltered as to her course,
and bade the driver turn and turn until they came to the seashore. Finally, to
Mooljee's amazement, they were brought up by the gate of a private estate, with
a magnificent rose-garden in front and a fine bungalow with spacious Eastern
verandahs in the back ground.
Blavatsky climbed down and told
Mooljee to await her there, and not for his life to dare come to the house. So
there he waited in a complete puzzle; for such a property he, a lifelong
resident of Bombay, had never heard of before.
He called one of several
gardeners who were hoeing the flowers, but the man would tell him nothing as to
his master's name, how long he had lived there, or when the bungalow was built:
a most unusual thing among Hindus.
Blavatsky had walked straight up
to the house, had been received cordially at the door by a tall Hindu of
striking and distinguished appearance, clad entirely in white, and had gone
inside.
After some time the two
reappeared, the mysterious stranger bade her farewell, and handed her a great
bunch of roses which one of the gardeners brought to his master for the
purpose, and Blavatsky rejoined her escort, re-entered the buggy, and ordered
the driver to return home.
All that Mooljee could draw out
of Blavatsky was that the stranger was an Occultist with whom she was in
relation and had business to transact that day. And the strangest part of this
story to us was that, so far as we knew, there was no possibility of Blavatsky
having learnt anything about his suburb and the way to it, at any rate since
out arrival at Bombay, for she had never left the house alone, yet that she had
shown the completes familiarity with both.
Mooljee was so amazed with his
experience as to go on telling it to his friends in the town, which led one,
who professed to know the suburb in question perfectly, to lay a wager of 100 rupees
that there was no such bungalow by the seashore and that Mooljee could not
guide anyone to it.
When Blavatsky heard this, she
offered to bet Mooljee that he would lose the other wager; whereupon he,
declaring that he could retrace every foot of the way by which they had gone,
closed with the offer, and I had a carriage called at once, and we three
entered it.
By another Hindu interpreter, I
ordered the coachman, to strictly follow Mr. Mooljee's directions as to our route,
and off we went. After a long drive by devious ways, we reached the wood, in
whose shady depths the, mysterious bungalow was supposed to stand.
The, soil was almost pure
sea-sand, bestrewn with a brown mulch of pine-needles, or those of some other
conifer, possibly the casuarina. We could see a number of roads running in
different directions, and I told Mooljee that he must keep a sharp look-out, or
he, would assuredly get lost. He, however, was as confident as possible,
despite the gibes thrown at him by Blavatsky about his state of mystification
and the certain loss of his 100 rupees.
For an hour we drove on, now to
this side, now to the other, now stopping for' him to dismount from the box and
look about him.
At last—and just a minute or so
after his declaring: himself perfectly sure that we were driving straight for
the seaside bungalow—a train rattled by on a near embankment, and thus showed
poor Mooljee that he had guided us in the very opposite direction from the one
desired!
We offered to give him as much
time as he liked to pursue his search, but he felt completely baffled and gave
in as beaten. So we drove home.
There, Blavatsky told all of us
that Mooljee would have found the mystical bungalow if a glamour had not been
brought to bear on his sight, and, moreover, that the bungalow, like all other
spots inhabited by Adepts, was always protected from the intrusion of strangers
by a circle of illusion formed about it and guarded and kept potent by
elemental servitors.
This particular bungalow was in
the constant keeping of an agent who could be relied upon, and used as an
occasional resting and meeting place by the Masters and his disciples when
travelling.
All the buried ancient libraries,
and those vast hoards of treasure which must be kept hidden until its Karma
requires its restoration to human use, are, she said, protected from discovery
by the profane, by illusory pictures of solid rocks, unbroken solid ground, a
yawning chasm, or some such obstacle, which turns aside the feet of the wrong
men, but which Mâya [illusion] dissolves away when the predestined finder comes
to the spot in the fullness of time. »
(Old Diary Leaves II, chapter 4)
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