My physical death

Is not the end of my life

I am an eternal journey.

- Sri Chinmoy

"Apaga, I have to tell you something." An eager Ashru approached me after the burial of Dipavajan's urn in Strasswalchen.

"You do?" I quickly wiped a few tears from my face and nodded good-bye to a family that indicated to me from across the freshly dug grave that they were leaving. Then I turned to face Ashru fully. For a moment I had to squint against the bright sun, but then I positioned myself in a way that it would not blind me while looking at the sturdy, blond boy before me.

"Yes. Dipavajan just came to me in his usual, impish way." He beamed at me with slightly red-rimmed eyes.

"Dipavajan? And he came to you? How?" I was immediately intrigued. As Ashru had been one of my bosses at Madal Bal, before he had decided that he had wanted to open up a restaurant not too long prior, I had known him for decades. Therefore, I knew that he was utterly trustworthy, with the tendency to be a bit psychic on occasions. (I've actually posted one of his experiences here on Wattpad as one of the True Spiritual Stories.)

"Well, when..." He politely stepped aside as a group of Dipavajan's cousins, one of them pushing the wheelchair with his aging aunt, approached me to take their leave.

"Don't be too sad," I addressed his sobbing aunt, crouching down to be face-to-face with her. "He's alive and well, we just can't see him now. But we shall meet him again." I tried to reassure her as best as I could. Truly, things would be so much easier, if we were only able to see the happiness of the deceased.

Of course, how would we be able to play this cosmic game properly, if we did?

"He was such a nice boy," she whispered. I bent my head closer to her to better understand what she was saying. "I can't believe he's gone."

"I know." Seeing her distress, my eyes immediately responded by overflowing as well. In spite of my cheerful heart, which was especially strong that day. „But he's not gone. I'm sure that he's here with us now." Even though I could not see him, which I found rather disappointing.

On the other hand, that day I was feeling the same unusual inner burning strength and confidence that I had experienced at the ceremony in Graz. And again, it had easily carried me through the program that I had been obliged to create and the speeches that I had needed to make. It was almost as if 'someone' pushed me from within, to spread a message of hope on his behalf.

After the family had left, Ashru took a step closer again. "As I was saying..."

"Bye, and thank you for coming!" A group of our friends that had stood talking in the bright sunlight a few graves over were waving a sad good-bye and were starting to leave.

"Sorry." I turned back to Ashru, who nodded in understanding. "I'll make it short. When I was standing a bit to the side, waiting for my turn to throw a white rose into the grave, Dipavajan suddenly appeared beside me."

"He did! Wow! Why does he never come to me?!" The mock indignation in my voice was only half playful. Why indeed? Quite a few people had approached me over the last few weeks, claiming with shining eyes to have been visited by Dipavajan. He had been full of joy and life-energy and touched them in various ways.

And me?

I had only had a few measly dreams.

Interestingly, I discovered over the following months that quite a few other spouses had had the same experience and even complained about it to Guru. Who had replied that our loved ones didn't need to visit us, since they were always in our hearts.

The joy in my heart...

Oh, well. I still would have loved to see him!

Grinning, Ashru shrugged. "You see, I had been telling myself that I would not cry when I came to the grave. Because I always cry when something touches my heart."

I knew. Hence his spiritual name (in short): the crying heart.

„But then Dipavajan appeared by my right side and he was very happy. Playful, even. He teased me and said: 'I challenge you not to cry when you get to the grave.' "

I could picture the scene vividly. Yes, this was definitely something that I could see an ethereal Dipavajan doing.

"I said: 'No, I won't cry.' But then Dipavajan said in a very mischievous way: 'I bet that I can make you cry.' And when I stood in front of the grave, he placed his left arm around my shoulders and with his right hand he reached into my heart, stirring and opening it. Which, of course, did make me cry."

And by the look of it, the tears had not entirely been sad ones...

"Dipavajan was very happy that he'd won. He always enjoyed winning..."

Very true.

Having delivered his joyful message, Ashru looked across the green, light-flooded cemetery with its neat rows of low tomb stones, searching for his friends.

I smiled at him when he said good-by to me after having spotted them on the gravel path leading towards the church in the back.

Then I looked around for a few moments, taking in the scene before me as I was trying to figure out what to do next. I realized that most of the around the fifty people that had attended the ceremony - a lot more had wanted to come but had lived too far away - had already left and that everything was wrapping up. In the grassy area next to the grave, Shamita and her husband Dohai were packing up their instruments (a cello and a violin). I was immensely grateful to them for having offered to accompany the event with a mix of Guru's songs and classical music. It had provided a beautiful musical frame for the proceedings and lifted everyone's spirit. And I honestly did't know what I would have done without them, as the atmosphere of the ceremony surely would have been a bit bleak.

Wrapping the long end of my sari tightly around my shoulders to protect me from the slight chill in the mid-autumn air, I first went to thank the musicians once more profusely before approaching my father-in-law.

He was in the midst of a lively discussion with some boys about how to best attach a peace run torch permanently to the tombstone. Having worked with metal all through his professional life, my father-in-law was in his element discussing the different methods. And it appeared to me that using the technical part of his brain had managed to pull him out of his grief for the time being, as he looked much more alive than he had before the ceremony.

Purposeful, even.

And since he had also designed and created some of the torches for the Peace Run, organizing the European leg of which had been Dipavajan's main project in life for two decades, this creative addition to the tombstone was probably a very welcome connecting link with his beloved son.

I sent a quick ‚thank you' to the Supreme for looking after my father-in-law. Even though I still did not managed to fully forgive Him for all the suffering He had put me through.

Yes, I had been inundated with inner happiness and outer love, concern, affection and also financial help, after Dipavajan's passing. And I was very aware that all of it had been - and still was - the Supreme's way of trying to make up for everything.

After all, quite a few of my generous friends had even told me so: 'Don't thank me. Thank Guru, thank the Supreme. He's pushing me to do this for you.'

But in spite of it, He had not managed to mollify me fully, yet.

Occasionally I would tell Him: "I know what you're doing. But it's not so easy to win me over this time. I've suffered too much! You really have to try a little harder."