… Either keep away from this wine of love of Beloved Baba, or if you taste it, seal your lips against all complaints!
– Meher Baba
मेरी ज़ुबाँ से मेरी दास्ताँ सुनो तो सही
यक़ीं करो न करो मेहेरबाँ सुनो तो सही
चलो ये मान लिया मुजरिम-ए-मोहब्बत हैं
हमारे जुर्म का हमसे बयाँ सुनो तो सही
यक़ीं करो न करो मेहेरबाँ सुनो तो सही
ख़िज़ाँ-नसीब तमन्ना सवाल करती है
जवाब दो कि न दो, जान-ए-जाँ सुनो तो सही
यक़ीं करो न करो मेहेरबाँ सुनो तो सही
बनोगे दोस्त मेरे तुम भी दुश्मनों इक दिन
मेरी हयात की आह-ओ-फ़ुग़ाँ सुनो तो सही
यक़ीं करो न करो मेहेरबाँ सुनो तो सही
कहोगे वक़्त को मुजरिम भरी बहारों में
जला था कैसे मेरा आशियाँ सुनो तो सही
यक़ीं करो न करो मेहेरबाँ सुनो तो सही
लबों को सी के जो बैठे हैं बज़्म-ए-दुनिया में
कभी तो उनकी भी ख़ामोशियाँ सुनो तो सही
यक़ीं करो न करो मेहेरबाँ सुनो तो सही
मेरी ज़ुबाँ से मेरी दास्ताँ सुनो तो सही …
Meri Zuban Se Meri Dastan Suno To Sahi
https://youtu.be/SATIeBbQqG8
Phir Koi Dard Jaga Do
https://youtu.be/ckdg0yA72as
August 1959,
… Although Baba was able to walk unaided from his house to the men’s side, his health was far from good. He would return from Kaikobad’s room looking completely exhausted. After entering the hall, he would rest in his chair for several minutes, closing his eyes. A bamboo stool was placed in front of him on which he rested his legs.
One day, looking very tired after his work, he remarked, “I am not only infinitely tired, but infinitely tired of being tired. But my work must and will be done.”
Once Baba was sitting with the mandali and brought up the subject of the play he had asked Soman to write in Marathi when Baba was at Guruprasad. Interrupting the discussion, Meherdas exclaimed, “Baba, there should be a play in Hindi also.”
Baba agreed, “Yes, I want someone to write it in Hindi, but who will do it?” Remaining quiet for a few moments, he then addressed Bhau, “Why don’t you write it?”
“I don’t know anything about plays,” Bhau protested. “I am not a writer.”
Baba replied, “This is not my order, but try.”
Bhau felt relieved, as Baba had said it was not his order; but in the evening, when he went to Baba’s room for nightwatch, Baba asked, “How many pages did you write?”
Surprised, Bhau replied, “Not a single one.”
“Why not?”
“It was not your order, Baba.”
“Yes, it was not my order — but I said to try? That was my order.”
So Bhau began to write. He would write in the daytime, and Baba would come to his room and ask him to read aloud a few pages. Baba had given the title as Divya Leela (Divine Game). As it was being read, although it was not very good, Baba would gesture, “Wonderful! Wonderful!”
During nightwatch at this time, two incidents occurred. Bhau’s health too had deteriorated. He was having terrible anal-fistula trouble and could not sit for long periods. There was constant throbbing pain and discharges of pus.
One night, the moment he entered Baba’s room, Baba asked him to massage his legs. Bhau sat on a stool by the bed, and Baba lay close to the side. Bhau began massaging Baba, even though the pressure on Bhau’s fistula was great. Gradually, Baba would shift to the other side of the bed, and Bhau had to continue pressing. The further away Baba moved, the more pressure and pain Bhau felt.
When Baba was completely on the other side of the bed, Bhau picked up his stool and moved to the other side. Baba did not like it and gradually he would move back across the bed. Again, Bhau took the stool to the first side. Finally, Baba positioned himself in the middle of the bed, and Bhau had to bend over and massage his body for a long time, causing the rectal pain to be felt more intensely.
Baba did not let up. He would often remind Bhau, “Use more pressure. Do it harder. Are you sleeping? Don’t you have any energy today? Didn’t you have supper?”
Thus it went on for four hours, with Baba adding fuel to the fire, and Bhau continuing to massage his legs. Not once did Baba sit up.
In this state, these thoughts came into Bhau’s mind: “People call Baba the Ocean of Mercy, but he is the Ocean of Cruelty! However cruel a man may be, he can’t possibly be crueler than him! Baba knows that I have this trouble, and yet, he is doing this deliberately to cause me more pain. Even an ordinary man would have taken pity on me, but he, being God, has no such consideration.”
At that moment, Baba clapped, and asked, “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Bhau said.
Baba scolded him, “Are you obliging me by doing this? On the contrary, I am obliging you by giving you this opportunity to serve me. You frighten easily. This is nothing! Even if I were to cut you into pieces, you should bear it without a word of complaint. Not even a whimper should escape your lips.
“This is love. This is service. My real mercy lies in making mincemeat out of you!
“This is nothing, not even the beginning!” he continued, “And even then, you complain. You think: ‘What service I am rendering!’
“What is there in your service? It has not even begun, I tell you. Were you really to serve me, there would not be any thought of self. How will you serve me when you are having thoughts about your small trouble? You are serving your affliction, not me! This is not my cruelty, but my kindness.”
Baba’s words convinced Bhau of the meaning of real service, and he could only regret his misplaced thoughts. Baba then sat up and gave Bhau a painkiller tablet. The next day in mandali hall Baba instructed Goher to give Bhau an anesthetic injection. The procedure was repeated four or five times, every week.
https://www.lordmeher.org/rev/index.jsp?pageBase=page.jsp&nextPage=4573
… Either keep away from this wine of love of Beloved Baba, or if you taste it, seal your lips against all complaints!
– Meher Baba
https://www.lordmeher.org/rev/index.jsp?pageBase=page.jsp&nextPage=4873
… One should love the Beloved in such a way that even though burning in its fire, one never utters a word of complaint.
– Meher Baba
https://www.lordmeher.org/rev/index.jsp?pageBase=page.jsp&nextPage=2776
Meher Songs 