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Adi & Praja 076

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Adi and Praja

Chapter 7

Issue 76: Mr. M

Beauty, when she got a few years older and was now completely engaged in the welfare work, while always continuing the weekend activities in her own suburb, developed inwardly also. She had an innate wisdom to say the right things to the most desperate people. But she always felt that something was missing inside her, something that, if she would understand it, would make her much more efficient than she was.


(Mr. M)

One day she saw there was some kind of a meeting on a big square in the city. Many people were there and she stood at the backside of the whole group. Apparently a man was telling something to the people, giving a lecture or something. From that distance she couldn’t clearly understand what he was saying, but she had never seen him before. Still he had something familiar, as if she knew him, but could not trace from where or how she would know him. She immediately felt attracted to him. At one point, staring over the mass he was addressing, his eyes met hers, and for a short moment they looked each other straight in the eyes. That evening, when at home, she could not stop thinking of him. Where had she seen him before? Why did she feel attracted? He had grown a small beard, and he himself was not particularly tall. But for the rest he was rather unassuming, and not very attractive from a female point of view. She regretted that she had not gone to him – but it had been really impossible in the crowd. Maybe she would, as soon as she had an opportunity, go again to that square in the city, just a little bit earlier, and she hoped that he would be there again and that she could approach him closer.

The next morning somebody called at her door in her apartment in the slum where she continued to live. It was a gentleman of the type that not usually would ever enter that slum, well-dressed and with a civilized face. He handed her a small letter, and though she offered him a drink, he apologized and left immediately “because he had urgent business to do.” There was no sender’s name on the envelop, and not even an addressee – which of course was she herself. When the gentleman had left she opened the envelop, and it was merely written on a card: please let us meet at the restaurant in the railway station tonight at eight, and the message was signed merely “M.” She did not know for sure who had sent her that message, whether is was a woman or a man, and never in her whole life would she have answered such an unclear and mysterious invitation. But something within her gave her complete confidence and she didn’t even hesitate for a moment. That evening, at 8 PM she went there, and found the same man she had seen lecturing yesterday waiting for her. How could he know who she was, and where she lived? Had somebody been following her during her walk home – almost impossible that she would have noticed that in the few quite long streets she had be walking through on her way home. If somebody had followed her, her ‘female intuition’ would definitely have warned her. The waiting man smiled at her and invited her to sit down at his table and ordered coffee for both of them. At first he only said: “I am M.” That was is whole introduction. She said that the name given her by her parents was Beauty, and that she did some welfare work for poor people. He did not react to that directly, but merely said: “There is much you still have to learn, and will learn.” She wandered what he meant by that? He knew nothing of her, so what did he mean with: “You have a lot to learn”? Than he continued. You are doing beautiful work – you are of invaluable work in the suburb, you have brought many back to their heart, and their heart will never forget that.” It was strange, how could he know that? So she asked: “Have you ever been in the slum? Have you seen me at work there. Did somebody tell you?” The first second he did’nt answer, and merely smiled, as if he wanted to say ‘Yes’, but in stead he said: “No. Nobody has ever seen me over there. But I might come.” Then he suddenly stood up and said: “We will meet tomorrow same place, same time.” The whole meeting had not taken more than just that cup of coffee, and she could not help feeling a little disappointed. Still she felt very happy and quiet inside – but at the same time she was reasoning that it was not possible. Was she dreaming. No, she was fully awake. She went home, ate a little as usual and fell soundly in a deep sleep. She woke up only next morning and felt very well rested – but did not remember any dreams. She got up and felt a lot of power in talking with the people she met that day, and even evoked a smile on the face of a morbid old man who had come to talk about his problems a hundred times.

She had some shopping to do in the evening, and at eight she was again at the railway station. The man was sitting at the same table, invited her and ordered coffee. Then he started to talk: “What you have to learn is that there is more about life than suffering people.” What did he want to say. She was a bit shocked. Did he mean to say that she should leave her work and come to him instead. She only said: “But, … Sir!” He continued as if he hadn’t heard her reaction and said: “People are not only bodies made of flesh and blood. And their feelings and thoughts are not only about their body, but in everyone there are subtle moments in which they rise above their body of flesh and blood.” She really didn’t understand where he was talking about, but he continued: “You know that very well.” “Eh, do I?” she said. “Yes,” he said, “only you are not conscious of it.” She wandered how she could be knowing something of which she had no consciousness. That would be the same as not knowing it. Was he one of those men who just wanted to ‘hypnotize’ her into feeling for himself, with the mere purpose of spending the night with her? But his face and voice were to noble for that … there was nothing sensual in it, and she immediately dismissed that thought. Still she said: “Sorry Mr. M., I think I must go.” “No,” he said, don’t go. You don’t understand what I am saying. Our meeting here is not just by chance, and also not for having a cup of coffee together.” It sounded reassuring, but his words seemed to become ever more mysterious. Especially when he added: “We have met many times in the past.” But she was sure she had never seen him in her whole life till the day before yesterday – though in a way he seemed familiar. “But let us not talk about that now, that is of no importance – we can talk about that later.” That didn’t solve her problem either. But he continued on another subject, and said: “Do you belief that people have a soul?” “Yes, she said, in my work I have seen many people who had decrepit bodies due to drugs abuse or accidents, and still had something very beautiful in them. All people have that (… almost all, she added with a soft voice while looking at the table). He took a sip of his coffee, and so did she. “And do you think that people have more than a soul and a body?” “What do you mean?” she said. “If you regard their feelings and habits as their soul, then …” She thought for sometime. “Well, people have a mind also, but maybe that is just a part of their soul.” “And what more?” he asked. She had completely forgotten her reservations about the man, and her mind was wholly absorbed in the subject of discussion. “More,” she said,” “still more? – I don’t know. Do you?” “They have life,” he said. She agreed. Maybe that was also a part of the soul, she said. “If someone dies, does his soul also die?” he asked kindly. “I don’t think so. I have seen beautiful people who died, but I cannot imagine that their beauty in their thoughts and feeling are lost forever. Moreover, were did it come from in the first place, even babies know what beauty is – you can already see that from their first smiles.” “But you just said that life is part of the soul. So when one dies, the soul also dies, doesn’t it,” he said. But she gave a quite intuitive answer: “Who says that life itself dies? It is sure that it leaves someone’s body when he dies, but does that mean that life itself dies?” “No,” he said, “you have a good intuition. You are right. Life itself never dies.” He continued: “Then is the fact that life leaves someone’s body proof that the soul also dies? Does the soul die?” he asked her. “Maybe not immediately, but later,” she said. It would mean that if someone dies and his body buried, his feelings and thoughts still continue. Is that possible? “When that person has no more brain, how can he think or feel?” she asked him. “For today we have discussed enough,” he said, and stood up and said her goodbye. She had forgotten to drink the rest of her coffee, which was now cold. She finished it, and went home – her mind being on fire. What would it mean for the drugs users and suicides and all the good people if they would not really die when they died? Would they all become ghosts, like that one evil girl hoped she would become? She decided to ask him that question next time when they met. That could be only after three days this time. In between was the weekend, and she had a lot of organizing work to do including in the evenings. Though busy, the meetings with ‘Mr. M.’ (he apparently did not want to be called by his real name) were constantly in the back of her mind. Once she almost thought she heard him say something – but she could not understand what, and moreover he was not there, so it was her fantasy. She noticed that she slept very sound these days, and woke up without worries.


(Mr. M’s Music Room)

For the weekend she had, besides other activities, rented a comic cartoon about animals supposed to portray characters of people – nice for children, but other people liked such movies as well.

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