Symbols of the world's religions



Najoo Kotwal

I was twelve years old at that time, and my memory of our meeting with Beloved Baba at Links Bungalow is forever engraved on my heart, overpowering all my other childhood memories.

I recall the scene as vividly as if it were being shown as a movie on a big screen: Savak's Dream Comes True. Our family waited for Baba in the sitting room. Mummy, still burning with fever, lay on a couch. Beside her, little Adi, "the loved one of Allah," as Tipoo Baba had called him, was fast asleep, unaware that he had entered not only Allah's empire, but also His home.

In one chair Hilloo, my pretty, mischievous sister, sat beside me; she had no inkling what was going on, as she was only seven. Banufui sat in another chair, also oblivious to what was happening. And in a corner Father stood, calm and composed. He had, after all his searching and longing, finally reached his Master's feet.

Then Beloved Baba entered the room in all His beauty. He looked young and agile, his lovely golden brown ringlets falling down on His broad shoulders. He wore a flowing white sadra and pink coat, and his face had a rosy glow. Baba looked with great compassion at Mummy and tenderly helped her to sit up.


2006 © Meherwan Kotwal


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