Symbols of the world's religions


Part 3

Lady Dorothy Hopkinson

LADY DOROTHY HOPKINSON died last August [1993] after completing, with her husband Tom, an astonishing biography of Meher Baba, titled THE SILENT MESSENGER. We feature the last chapter of the yet unpublished biography

Hugh held his hand out for the book, studied the portrait carefully, and handed it back: "It certainly answers your description."

At this I lost control and began laughing and crying, saying over and over again: "It's Him! He hasn't forgotten me . . . He will help me . . . He is helping me."

Hugh sat down on the edge of the bed and took my hand: "Darling I'm very happy for you. But this is a most extraordinary happening . . . Take it slowly. I'll read the book as soon as you've finished it — and we'll decide what to do then."

Putting the children to bed took sometime; meanwhile Hugh was skimming though Purdom's book, and, when I rejoined him, drew my attention to a small notice at the back. A Mr. William Backett, it said, giving an address in Ealing, would be pleased to provide further information to anyone interested.

"Action can begin tomorrow morning," Hugh observed and, knowing that I wanted to start reading it at once, handed me the book.

By five o'clock next morning I had managed a run-through-read to the end and then, excited and exhausted, fell asleep till eight. Hugh had given himself the task of getting in touch with Mr. Backett, and I spent the morning clearing up household chores. Meanwhile Hugh had invited Mr. Backett to tea, and by five we were all sitting together in the study.

"There's nothing to be alarmed about," Mr. Backett assured me, having heard my story. "You must have met Meher Baba in some previous life, and he's doing you the honour of contacting you again."

"Yes, of course," said Hugh with a politeness which told me how bewildered he felt. By the time Will Backett left, however, we had both learned a great deal. He himself had met Meher Baba on Baba's first visit to London in September 1931. He also knew Charles Purdom, and told us that he and Purdom, along with a Miss De Leon, were running a small Baba group in London which met regularly. I was invited to join this, and given an address for Miss De Leon who, we were told, had spent some time in India at Meher Baba's Ashram. Having phoned next morning, I was invited to tea with her the same day.

An elegant and handsome woman, she talked about Baba with the same love and reverence Will Backett had shown: she urged me to join their group, and, as I was leaving, gave me five slender volumes — the Discourses of Meher Baba.

Over supper that evening I told Hugh that, having now found Meher Baba, I neither wanted nor needed further analytical treatment.

"I understand your not wanting to return," Hugh answered thoughtfully. "But I'm not sure about the "not needing": we must remember he did cure your migraines . . ."

"Nor," I interrupted, "can I forget his damnable rudeness."

Hugh patted my hand. "Yes, darling. It was overcharged — to say the least of it."

"Well then, can I ring him up in the morning and tell him I'm not coming back?"

"If you feel so strongly about it, then you must."

Having gone to bed determined not to return to analysis, I was perplexed to wake with the certainty that, whether I liked it or not, I must. I could recall no dreams; no visit from Meher Baba; yet I knew it was he who was advising me to return, and telling me to achieve this through an apology to the analyst. Horrified at the idea, I rushed to Hugh's room for his advice. He listened patiently as I poured out my anger and confusion; then when the flow stopped, asked; "Isn't it possible — since you neither saw Baba nor heard him speak — that it is your own commonsense telling you that an apology and a return to analysis is advisable?"

"I don't think I've got that kind of sense," I said doubtfully, "and I've been much too angry to use it if I'd had it."

"Well, then, isn't it possible, in view of Baba's divine status, that he's helping you to get over being angry?"

Unable for the moment to take in this new point of view, I evaded answering. "I must see to the children and get breakfast — we'll talk later."

By the time breakfast ended — whether through my own commonsense, which I had doubted, or through Meher Baba's wisdom and desire to help me, of which I was certain — I phoned the analyst and apologised humbly for having caused him pain. To my surprise he answered: "But it was I who had to cause you pain — in order to do what you're coming to me for — to help you. The migraine and sickness no longer trouble you. But they were only the effect of your problem — which is what we have now got to tackle. Come and see me tomorrow at your usual time. I'm grateful for your apology."

Continued tomorrow...

GLOW INTERNATIONAL, November 1993, p. 21
1993 © Naosherwan Anzar

The Inner Voice, Part 1
The Inner Voice, Part 2
The Inner Voice, Part 4
The Inner Voice, Part 5

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