Memories of Mani
Mani Irani was Meher Baba’s younger sister and one of His closest followers. Meher Baba said that Mani would be a perfect master in her next and last lifetime. She was brilliantly creative, an artist in every way, a hard headed business woman when dealing with the affairs of the Meher Baba Trust; she was equally at home in the presence of children and dignitaries, easterners and westerners, paupers and kings. She could be as soft as butter in the Indian summer or tough as nails if the situation dictated it.
I treasure the memories I have of those few times I spent in India in her presence — times I cherish even more because I never initiated them — never sought them out — times when she came to me…
It was my first day visiting Meherazad in 1979. I was sitting on a bench in front of Mandali Hall playing Sor study # 5 when Mani walked out from a room behind the Blue Bus and approached me. She said she couldn’t believe the music she was hearing, thought at first it must be a piano — wondered where the piano could have come from…
If was either 1979 or 1987? I was alone and looking at the tree outside the window of Baba’s bedroom. This was the tree that sometime after he dropped his body an image of his face appeared in the bark of the trunk. I had seen pictures. The image was very clear and very accurate. So I was looking at the tree but could not find the image. I saw what I thought could be it but the image was very indistinct and didn’t look at all like the pictures. Mani came up to me — I was surprised she even knew I was there. Apparently she knew what I had been thinking because she told me that the image had begun to disappear over the years. She spoke very softly and I was overwhelmed by the sweet compassion I felt flowing from her presence…
On another occasion I was walking alone through the Meherazad garden when Mani came up to me seemingly out of the blue and linked her arm through mine. As we walked she told me about a dream she had after Baba had dropped his body in which she saw us all as puppets on a stage with Baba, unseen behind the curtain, pulling all the strings that animated us.
We continued to walk arm in arm through the garden and to illustrate the point of her dream she told me that after Baba’s second auto accident Baba was having difficulty walking and would sometimes allow her to assist him as He walked. She said that one day as he was resting his arm on hers she had the thought, Oh how light Baba’s arm is — how little weight there is, and demonstrated this to me by making her arm very light on mine. But as soon as she had that thought, she said, she began to feel Baba’s arm becoming heavier and heavier — so heavy that she was having difficulty even staying on her feet. As she was telling me this she began to push down harder and harder on my arm. She said the weight of Baba’s arm was almost pushing her to the ground. This, she said, made her realize that even when Baba asks for our help in some way or other, our very doing is by his grace alone and not the result of our own abilities…
One final story; it was Mani’s birthday. On such occasions the women Mandali would come from Meherazad to Meherabad for Arti (Baba’s prayers) at Baba’s tomb. I wanted to give Mani a gift so I arrived at the tomb early to get a seat on the bench directly in front of the entrance to the tomb. I knew that when the prayers were over, offered by the women inside the tomb, that it was the custom for people to offer songs and music as an offering to Meher Baba. So, I was ready with my guitar to start playing as soon as the prayers were finished. When the prayers ended and the women were still inside the tomb bowing down I began playing the tune to the Baba’s Seven Names of God. That was to be my gift to Mani. To my surprise when Mani walked out of the tomb she sat down on the bench very close to me and began, very softly, to sing the words over and over — Hari Param, Atma, Allah, Ahuramazd, God, Yesdan, Hu. So, Baba through me gave Mani a birthday gift, and Baba through Mani gave me a most special and treasured gift in return…
I treasure the memories I have of those few times I spent in India in her presence — times I cherish even more because I never initiated them — never sought them out — times when she came to me…
It was my first day visiting Meherazad in 1979. I was sitting on a bench in front of Mandali Hall playing Sor study # 5 when Mani walked out from a room behind the Blue Bus and approached me. She said she couldn’t believe the music she was hearing, thought at first it must be a piano — wondered where the piano could have come from…
If was either 1979 or 1987? I was alone and looking at the tree outside the window of Baba’s bedroom. This was the tree that sometime after he dropped his body an image of his face appeared in the bark of the trunk. I had seen pictures. The image was very clear and very accurate. So I was looking at the tree but could not find the image. I saw what I thought could be it but the image was very indistinct and didn’t look at all like the pictures. Mani came up to me — I was surprised she even knew I was there. Apparently she knew what I had been thinking because she told me that the image had begun to disappear over the years. She spoke very softly and I was overwhelmed by the sweet compassion I felt flowing from her presence…
On another occasion I was walking alone through the Meherazad garden when Mani came up to me seemingly out of the blue and linked her arm through mine. As we walked she told me about a dream she had after Baba had dropped his body in which she saw us all as puppets on a stage with Baba, unseen behind the curtain, pulling all the strings that animated us.
We continued to walk arm in arm through the garden and to illustrate the point of her dream she told me that after Baba’s second auto accident Baba was having difficulty walking and would sometimes allow her to assist him as He walked. She said that one day as he was resting his arm on hers she had the thought, Oh how light Baba’s arm is — how little weight there is, and demonstrated this to me by making her arm very light on mine. But as soon as she had that thought, she said, she began to feel Baba’s arm becoming heavier and heavier — so heavy that she was having difficulty even staying on her feet. As she was telling me this she began to push down harder and harder on my arm. She said the weight of Baba’s arm was almost pushing her to the ground. This, she said, made her realize that even when Baba asks for our help in some way or other, our very doing is by his grace alone and not the result of our own abilities…
One final story; it was Mani’s birthday. On such occasions the women Mandali would come from Meherazad to Meherabad for Arti (Baba’s prayers) at Baba’s tomb. I wanted to give Mani a gift so I arrived at the tomb early to get a seat on the bench directly in front of the entrance to the tomb. I knew that when the prayers were over, offered by the women inside the tomb, that it was the custom for people to offer songs and music as an offering to Meher Baba. So, I was ready with my guitar to start playing as soon as the prayers were finished. When the prayers ended and the women were still inside the tomb bowing down I began playing the tune to the Baba’s Seven Names of God. That was to be my gift to Mani. To my surprise when Mani walked out of the tomb she sat down on the bench very close to me and began, very softly, to sing the words over and over — Hari Param, Atma, Allah, Ahuramazd, God, Yesdan, Hu. So, Baba through me gave Mani a birthday gift, and Baba through Mani gave me a most special and treasured gift in return…
posted by Michael Kovitz at 7:41 AM
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