It's All God, Maharaji


Ram Dass gave a talk in Ohio in 1972 or 1973. A boy who attended the lecture that night got on the first plane the next morning, flew from Cleveland, Ohio, to New York, to London, to New Delhi, where he got in a taxi and rode up to Kainchi. Less than thirty-six hours earlier he had heard Ram Dass talking about Maharaji. He walked into the ashram. He had taken off his shirt, since it was so hot, and I could see that on his chest he had a bad rash. I welcomed him and asked him where he had come from, and he told me his story. Then I asked him why he hadn’t treated his rash. He explained that all the medical authorities had told him it was incurable; he’d tried injections and salves, and nothing had worked.

I said that that was silly – it was just tinia corpus, which is really very easy to cure. I said that, in fact, Dwarka was going to Nainital and he could get the sulphur tar to cure it and could bring it back that night. Then in a few days the rash would be gone. And he said to me, “I heard Ram Dass just two days ago. And now I’ve met Doctor America (Maharaji’s nickname for me) and I’m here in Maharaji’s ashram. Anything you say!” His eyes were as big as saucers.

Dwarka brought back the sulphur tar. I showed the boy how to use it and told him the rash would be cured in just a few days. He agreed to use it and said he was on his way to Badrinath that day for a week. And he went off to the chai stall.

I got to thinking that it had been a long time since I’d practiced medicine and I was a bit rusty. I went to where I was staying and checked my medical books about this disease that I had just diagnosed. I realized that I had diagnosed the wrong disease. The treatment I had given him was absolutely useless, so I raced down to the chai stall, just in time to see him get on the bus and be gone. I felt very bad. By misdiagnosing his disease, not only had I failed as Maharaji’s representative, but I’d sent the boy off with a useless medicine – and when he came back, he was going to think that all the people around Maharaji were fools and incompetents. The week that he was gone was just awful for me. I had done something terrible.

After a week passed he came back. I saw him from across the ashram and ran out to him and said, “I’m sorry!”

He said, “Sorry? Look!” He opened his shirt and his chest was completely healed. Not even a scar. It was all gone. I didn’t understand, but I knew it wasn’t the medicine that I had given him.

I went to the window of Maharaji’s room we called the “office,” and I said, “Maharaji, thank you. You cured him.”

He said, “Sub Ishwar hai (it’s all god).”

Excerpt from Miracle of Love: Stories About Neem Karoli Baba