My Master's Plan
Remembering those days sends a chill down my spine even today.
Not really — but indeed, a profound sense of gratitude to the Master and to that Life Force within.
And do I need to say, I overcame the fear of death to some extent.
Thus arose a strong belief that life exists after death— and seemed to be more beautiful.
A short-lived but intense experience of bliss.
I was airlifted from Frankfurt to Mumbai after spending 25 days in the ICU of Frankfurt City Hospital, in the first week of June 2013. Amit managed to arrange an air ambulance, and I landed in Mumbai.
Mausa even says today that I was lucky enough to have survived. The doctors didn't have much hope, but thankfully, I got admitted. My case was so bad that the doctors did tell my family members that the chances of survival were slim.
I don't remember much of my initial days in the ICU, but I was screaming very often. The nurses must have been irritated as other patients were getting disturbed. And my bad - I could not convey to them that I feared darkness in the ICU. The hospital dimmed the lights during the night.
After a few days, they shifted me to a private room.
I was surrounded by family and friends most of the time. More so, by the photographs of my parents, our Spiritual Guru, and Radha-Krishna. These three photos were always on my bed.
There was an urge to hold them close to my chest. And I did.
It was during one such instance that I experienced the unreal — for the worldly mind. And the experience was too real to call it a dream.
I was not seeing anything.
It was only a feeling.
And so soothing was the feeling that I was lost in it.
A state of bliss.
A state beyond emotions.
An intense peace pervading the space.
A state beyond words and meanings. One would only want to cling to such heavenly feelings.
Maybe, in Hinduism, this is what they call Sat Chit Ananda.
I have no idea how long this persisted.
This state was abruptly broken by a lightning urge and longing, accentuated by a merciful prayer:
"I have an eight-year-old child."
This prayer was immediately followed by a commanding voice:
"Set her free. She has to take care of her eight-year-old child."
And I was sucked back into the body instantly.
I didn't remember this incident until a few months later.
I recovered slowly and was discharged — only to realise that the real struggle was yet to begin. The body was too weak and energy levels negligible.
A few days later, I lay on the bed with a fatigued and motionless body, anticipating death at any moment. Thankfully, the brain was slow but functional.
I assumed this was probably a sign of death approaching.
I waited for about three days.
I would look at the Kanha-Radharani photo hung on the wall. It was just a stare. I had no energy to talk to them.
After three days, I told myself:
"Leesa, the time has not yet come.
So you better embrace Life."
I am certain it was not me.
It was an inner voice — as if someone was guiding me from within.
Is it the same voice that I heard once on the hospital bed?
Yes.
Yes.
His voice is still loud and clear today:
"Set her free. She must take care of her eight-year-old child."
Whose voice is this?
Many questions would arise on and off. But I chose to smoothly go with the flow that slowly energised me.
Sometime in September, I started watching old videos.
During one such instance, I opened a Word document on my laptop and wrote my first poem — within seconds. I did not think or make any effort at all.
It was as if my hands moved by themselves, and the poem was right there — for me to read and practice.
