Bring Sai Into Your Life
A rich landlord dies, leaving behind nineteen precious horses. In his will, he writes that half the horses should go to his eldest son, one-fourth to the village temple, and one-fifth to his other son. The village elders were perplexed. Dividing nineteen horses into fractions is impossible. How do you divide nineteen in halves? How do you take one-fourth or one-fifth of nineteen? If they were pebbles, you could break them, but these were living horses. Life often presents challenges. Sometimes we face situations where we know there must be a solution, yet we cannot see it. We know God is within us, but how do we discover Him? We know the divine exists in everyone, but how do we live without making judgments? Life brings difficulties–how do we remain in equanimity? What is the missing link? My own search for the answer to these questions began when I was 17.
Swami’s Doors are Open for All
I was born and raised in Bombay (now Mumbai). When my father was transferred to a remote village where there were no proper colleges, the question arose – where would I study? Residential colleges were rare at that time. The few that existed were either for the very rich, which we were not, or for the very intelligent, which I certainly was not.
My family was very traditional. Our kula devata (family deity) was Lord Murugan (Lord Subramanya), and we were ardent followers of the Kanchi Shankaracharya. So, a flamboyant, curly-haired Sai Baba was definitely not welcome in our household. Then someone mentioned that Sai Baba was starting a college in Puttaparthi. “The boys will be safe there,” they said. “This boy will not run away anywhere. He will be stuck in a village far away from city life.”
The family said, “No, no, no—Sai Baba? We are Murugan devotees!” But then a friend whispered something magical into their ears: “It is free education.” Immediately, the whole family said, “In that case, go and try!”
Looking back, that was my first lesson about Swami. His doors are open to everyone without judgment. One could come for free education, or to sing bhajans, or to serve, or for knowledge–the door is open to all.
Such inclusiveness can belong only to an Avatar.
Searching for My Guru
I applied and was accepted into the college. When I arrived at Puttaparthi, it was not Swami who first captivated me; it was the village. I still remember getting off at the Dharmavaram railway station and seeing a bullock cart waiting to take me to the ashram. As we rode toward Puttaparthi, I saw the hills, the river, and the quiet beauty of the place. For someone raised in bustling Bombay, it felt magical. At that point, Swami wasn’t even on my radar. Being away from my parents was exciting enough. But gradually, I started hearing stories from the other boys–most of them came from Sai families, and they spoke about Swami with deep devotion. I listened, fascinated.
“Even if a fraction of this is true,” I thought, “my life will change.” Still, my heart was searching for my Guru.
I loved Swami’s teachings. “Service to man is service to God.” “Love is God, live in love.” Those ideas resonated with me. Yet something was missing. I had no personal experience.
And this is important: faith cannot be borrowed. Each of us must experience the divine directly. Devotees called Him Premaswarupa, the embodiment of love. But what did that mean? Where was that love? I saw Him giving darshan, granting interviews, and blessing devotees. People spoke of miracles and healings, but I had not experienced anything. I wanted that experience, at least once.
The Love of a Thousand Mothers
The opportunity arose on December 25, 1980, when the hostel inauguration was scheduled.
We boys decided to organize a program and invite Swami. Among the performances was a Bhangra (energetic, ethnic north-Indian dance) dance, which was quite revolutionary in the ashram at that time! Swami saw the rehearsal and laughed, saying, “Like monkeys they are dancing.”
I had another idea.
As a boy, my father had sent me to a gym where I learned to do yoga on ropes. So, I volunteered to perform rope yoga in front of Swami. Finally, I had a chance for a one-on-one moment. As I climbed the rope and did the asanas, Swami sat on a swing in the quadrangle area of the hostel building, watching the program. Each time I looked down, He raised His hands and blessed me with a broad smile.
Then came the second act: jumping through rings of fire. At first, it was simple–one ring. Then, during the practice, we added two. Finally, with youthful enthusiasm and a touch of ego, we decided to attempt jumping through three flaming rings for the final performance in front of Swami. Just before the performance, an over-enthusiastic helper poured kerosene on the rings. When they were lit, huge flames burst out. Still, I decided to go ahead.
I jumped through the first ring. Swami signalled me to stop. I ignored it. I jumped through the second ring. Next, I ran toward the third ring. The flames were so intense that I could barely see anything. My foot struck the first ring, and the boys holding the rings dropped them instantly.
All three flaming rings fell on me. Within seconds, I was on the ground, surrounded by fire. Then a hand grabbed me and pulled me out. It was Swami. He had jumped down from the swing, run across the courtyard, and lifted me out of the flames. As He brushed the fire off my clothes, He said gently:
“Bangaru, Bangaru (dear one)… I am here.”
That day, I realized what is meant by the saying, “Swami has the love of a thousand mothers.”
Years later, I experienced another aspect of Swami’s love. One evening, I was pressing His feet while He read letters. For two hours, He said nothing. Suddenly, He sighed and murmured to Himself, “I read so many letters. Every letter asks for something–marriage, children, jobs, solutions to problems.”
Then He said softly, “But not one letter says, ‘Thank you.” After a pause, He continued, “My plane has come. I am calling everyone to board. But no one comes. When I leave, will even five people come with Me?”
Those words struck me deeply. Swami had come to give. We had come only to receive. And would we at least receive all that He has come to give so lovingly and wholeheartedly?
Ultimate Reward for Service
The third lesson came through my father, Sri Dandapani, who spent many years serving Swami by managing the Central Trust accounts in the ashram. He had one simple wish in life–he wanted to leave his body in Puttaparthi at Swami’s feet.
But life had other plans. While visiting my sister in Bhopal, he suffered a heart attack and passed away there. I was really upset. I even questioned Swami silently in my heart, ‘Why did You not grant him this one wish?’
When I returned to Puttaparthi, Swami stopped in front of me and asked, “Have the boys told you?” I looked at Him in confusion. “What will the boys tell me, Swami? Which boys?” Swami simply said, “Wait. I will come,” and walked away. I was puzzled.
A little later, one of the MBA students came up to me and said, “Brother Sunder, I am very sorry to hear about your father.” I thanked him. Then he asked, “When did your father pass away?” I replied, “April 20th around 3:30 or 3:45 in the afternoon.”
He said, “That is interesting. We were with Swami in Kodaikanal that afternoon, hundreds of miles away from you. Around that same time, Swami suddenly paused while speaking to us. He looked up into the air and asked, ‘How many of you know Sunder Iyer?’ All the boys raised their hands because I was teaching at the college. Swami then said, “His father, Dandapani, has reached My feet.”
When Swami returned from darshan, He called me inside Trayee Brindavan. The devotees who had been called for an interview were sitting in the inner room, but Swami came out to the large hall where the swing was. The hall was empty. Swami sat on the jhoola alone, gently pushing it with His feet. When I entered, He pointed to a spot and said, “Stand there.”
I stood about thirty feet away. Then Swami asked loudly, “So, you are angry with Swami?” I remained silent. “Why are you angry?” He continued. “Because your father died somewhere else? That is only the body. Let the body go anywhere. But I have given him My feet.”
As He said this, Swami lifted His feet while sitting on the swing. “I have given him My Feet.” He repeated emphatically. Then He added something that I will never forget: “Do you know why I gave him My Feet? Because he served Me until the very end.”
That one statement was enough. Serve. Serve. Serve. And you will come to Swami’s feet in the end.
The Twentieth Horse
Sai is the answer to the riddle of the nineteen horses!
A wise man solved the problem by adding one of his own horses. Now there were 20 horses. The division became simple: ten to the eldest son, five to the temple, and four to the other son. Nineteen horses were distributed, and the twentieth horse was returned.
That twentieth horse is Sai. Bring Sai into your life, and the impossible divisions of life become solvable. Don’t ask Him to fight your battles. Just ask Him to be there beside you, like Krishna beside Arjuna.
Hold His hand. And you will find the strength to face every challenge in life.
Jai Sairam.
Dr. Sunder Iyer
india
Dr. Sunder Iyer joined the Sathya Sai Institute of Higher Learning (SSSIHL) in 1979 as a student. He was the only student to ever receive a gold medal for Yoga from Swami Himself during the Convocation in 1984. Dr. Iyer was personally chosen by Bhagawan and served as His personal attendant for a few years. He holds a Ph.D. in Banking and Finance and served as a faculty member at the SSSIHL.
After a successful career in corporate IT and teaching Yoga professionally, he decided to dedicate his life to spreading Sai’s teachings through yoga and meditation. He is the founder of Kaivalya Yoga Gurukulam in Kanchi, India, offering courses and classes on Yoga and Vedanta.