The story goes something like this: The truck in which my father was hiding got pulled over by the Hungarian military and all the refugees were held at gunpoint outside the truck – except my father, who was the last one to exit the truck. This was when something more amazing happened – something that really shows that, when the Supreme wants you to be somewhere, He will find an instrument anywhere. He was hoping for the final crossing to the other side, the 'free world'. It must have been amazing not knowing anything about spirituality, trusting basically the only thing that shone on earth at this moment of despair.Īfter many other quite unusual episodes, my Dad then boarded a truck with other escaping Hungarians. Now my father was lost in the forest and started walking aimlessly, looking for a way out, when suddenly a light came straight out of his heart, guiding him out of the forest. The escape agent had been caught right in front of my father by the Hungarian military. At that time he was 20 years old and the Hungarian Revolution had just started. Skipping a few incredible details, I will go straight to the juicy story. My Dad, despite having grown up without any religious background, made a deal with the Supreme: if the Supreme helped him escape from Communism, he would go and light a candle in the church every day. Then and there my father started planning his escape. At the end of that one they were asking "to whom this ear belongs."
In those days, fights among classmates were quite brutal. One day during recreation, my father helped a boy who had been beaten up by five bigger boys. My father did judo and gymnastics as extracurricular activities. Being in a Communist country, the advantage was that playing sports was free. Now we jump forward to when my father was 15 years of age. My father maintained that diet in a fanatical manner even during his orphanage years. At the time of my father’s birth, my grandfather found a Guru and became vegetarian, which was very unusual at that time in a goulash-lovers’ country. But before that, something unusual had already happened. At that time my father was four years old. His father had died of poisonous water during the Second World War. Many years before this incarnation of mine, my father was having a rough time in Hungary. This is why this story is mostly about how my father became Guru’s disciple, and why I will be eternally grateful to him. Guru gently replied, "It is quite normal. Your father brought you to me, so he was your first Guru". So one day, in a sweet, relaxed moment while chatting with my Guru, Sri Chinmoy, I casually asked him why this was happening to me. It used to bother me that my tongue would play this type of trick. Often I would call my Dad 'Guru' and Sri Chinmoy 'Dad'.