The Mystique of ‘M’
Time, as far as he was aware, stood still; he did not know how long he sat there in meditation. All he knew when he opened his eyes was that the afternoon—he had arrived round about that time—had segued into dusk and darkness. As he blinked his eyes and gradually became attuned to the darkness he saw before him someone he vaguely felt he knew, someone who was not a character in the lagan of his memory. In a flash, his memory raced to his childhood when he stood awestruck at the backyard of his house, watching a man walking towards him. The meaning for that epiphany was found now. It was not a recollection of a face long forgotten; it was more than that; it was the recognising of a guru he vaguely knew he would find. He found him now indubitably—with a certitude that did not need any substantiation.
His Master in person was the substantiation.
Time had apparently, not wrought any change in him. He looked the same as when M had first seen him—a very fair young man with billowy hair, and almost beardless. He smiled and his smile transported M to a different world. M began to laugh without any reason and almost hysterically, and his eyes filled with tears. Even now M cannot recall that experience without a frisson of exultation.