I had a cottage in West Yorkshire, in the north of England in a little village called Mytholmroyd. In those early days Shri Mataji would travel all over the country, and later all over the world, whenever anyone asked for Her. I asked Her if She would come to Yorkshire.
‘For one person I will go anywhere,’ Shri Mataji said. She came by train in July 1982. She also brought Her two granddaughters, aged about six and eight, and about eight Sahaja Yogis came to support the meeting we arranged in the village hall. About fifty people attended; some came from Halifax, about eight miles away, and others from Manchester, twenty-four miles on the train. The granddaughters were delighted by the local wild flowers and went picking them by the meeting hall with another little Sahaja Yogi child.
As Shri Mataji came up the path to the front door of my cottage, there was a patch of tall white marguerite daisies on the right hand side.
‘They are lovely,’ Shri Mataji said.
‘It’s a pity they smell so pungent,’ I added.
‘They’re all right now, daisies everywhere will never smell too strong again, because My sari brushed against them as I passed.’ I was astonished, because when I smelled them what She said was true. They had lost that over-strong smell and were very agreeable.
Shri Mataji said She felt happy in the cottage, and my neighbours helped with the cooking for so many guests! We did a lot of chickens, and someone gave me the recipe of how Mother liked them. The man who cooked for the village bakery made dozens of onion and potato pasties. After Shri Mataji came down to eat, I thought I shouldn’t spend all my time with Her, so I was feeding the other people present.
‘Rita, I am enjoying this lovely food and you are not noticing!’ She said. So I enjoyed myself watching Her in my home being happy, and I felt very privileged. In the evening Mother was upstairs in the bedroom and She asked if I could go up and massage Her Feet. She was sitting at the side of the bed, and I had no idea who Mother was at this time. I knelt on the floor and massaged Her Feet, thoroughly hoping that She felt some relief. It was only months later that I knew what a blessing this was for me!
About 5.00 am the next morning we all got up and went to see the district with Shri Mataji. We drove all over the Pennine valleys. We went along a dreary bit of road by the station and suddenly there were four colourful bullfinches flying round the car. Shri Mataji said we could bless all the rivers nearby. The River Calder was one and the River Hebdene was another, so all who put their feet in the rivers would be blessed.
Afterwards we went through some lovely woods, to Pecket Well, and into the National Trust valley known as Hardcastle Craggs. Shri Mataji loved this. We turned right to Old Town, and there were the ruins of an old asbestos mill which had given many of the local people cancer. It was being pulled down and there was rubble everywhere.
‘No one will ever get ill from the dust,’ and She waved Her hand over it in blessing.
Shri Mataji’s train was leaving at nine o’clock in the morning; She was going to Derby for a public programme. By the station was a small craft shop with beautiful china sculptures made by a local artist. There was one which Shri Mataji particularly liked, a shepherd with his dog and a group of sheep by a dusty stone wall. Unfortunately the shop hadn’t opened as it was only eight-thirty. The next time I went to see Shri Mataji, at Chelsham Road in London, I brought Her a set of these sculptures and Her eyes lit up with joy to such an extent that everyone in the room clapped.
I am so grateful that in this life I have been so blessed as to have Shri Mataji as my guru and my guest.
Rita Davies