When iron melts, you get molten. When Iron Lady dies, you get either ash if cremated or dust, if buried — “dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return.”

Now that the former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, known as the Iron Lady of Great Britain, has died, we know that being a Christian she will be given a burial and the ‘iron’ in this case will become ‘dust.’

Death is a great leveller, no doubt. It is only in life we are different. But yet, on some personal matters, all humans, high and low, behave the same. For example, like it happened with Margaret Thatcher, as revealed by former Indian diplomat and Minister K. Natwar Singh in his new book ‘Walking with Lions: Tales from a Diplomatic Past.’

Chandraswami is India’s notorious VIP Godman, patronised by many rich and famous personalities like actor Elizabeth Taylor and former Prime Minister of India P.V. Narasimha Rao. He was considered a Siddhi, Tantric and astrologer. He was arrested in 1996 on charges of financial irregularities and was allegedly involved in Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination. He was, in short, a disgraced Godman at the end. Nobody talks about him now.

According to Natwar Singh, when he was serving in London as the Deputy High Commissioner in 1975, Chandraswami telephoned and invited him to meet him at his place in London. Singh declined and asked Chandraswami to meet him at his office in ‘India House’ if he wanted. Chandraswami yielded. He was young, in his twenties then. Did not speak a word of English. It seems, he does now. He was a great name dropper too. A few days later, he goes to see Natwar Singh and invites him and his wife for dinner with him. After dinner, Chandraswami was at his game, so to say. I am sure many of our readers may have experienced this game which looks like mumbojumbo but cannot be dismissed as hoax because you are right there to experience it. I have experienced it too, but about it later.

Chandraswami gave three strips of paper to Natwar Singh’s wife and asked her to write a question on each strip, make a ball and place each one on a square on the chess board. She wrote the question in English. “He closed his eyes and went into a trance.” He asked Natwar Singh’s wife to pick up any of the paper balls and open it. Chandraswami then told her what the question was. He was correct. He got the other two questions also right. Natwar Singh and his wife were amazed.

Natwar Singh, a good raconteur, does not tell us either about the questions or about the answers Chandraswami must have given to her. Of course, it is understandable because the questions and answers were very private. But Natwar Singh could have quenched the curiosity of his readers by saying at least what were the questions posed by his wife or if his predictions had come true. Let it be. What is interesting is what comes next.

Chandraswami, having demonstrated his tantric powers to Natwar Singh and winning his confidence, wanted the latter to introduce him to Lord Mountbatten or Mrs. Margaret Thatcher, who was then the Leader of the Conservative Party. She was not yet the Iron Lady, Natwar Singh reminds us ! Reading it, I was left wondering at the temerity and impertinence of a twenty-plus old Chandraswami; his audacity.

Now to cut a long story short, Natwar Singh was all too willing to oblige the tantric. He rang up Lord Mountbatten who stuck to his priority of a holiday rather than meeting an unknown “friend” of Natwar Singh. That was it. As for Margaret Thatcher, Natwar Singh goes to her office personally and tells her the purpose of his visit. Her response was: “If you think I should meet him, I shall. What does he want to see me for?”

“That he will tell you himself,” said Natwar Singh.

“Only ten minutes, Deputy High Commissioner,” she told him rather firmly.

At the meeting, Chandraswami repeated the same drill with Mrs. Margaret Thatcher as he did with Singh’s wife but now instead of three questions it was five. Here too we are told neither about the questions nor about the answers. However, the fact that Margaret Thatcher was overwhelmed by the response of Chandraswami was clear. She sought another appointment with him which was fixed at Natwar Singh’s house. Here she asked many questions but the most important one related to her chances of becoming Prime Minister.

Chandraswami predicted that she would be Prime Minister for nine, eleven or thirteen years.

Mrs. Thatcher put one final question: When would she become Prime Minister?

Chandraswami: In three or four years.

He was proved right. She was Prime Minister for eleven years. Chandraswami did not do any miracle to make Mrs. Margaret Thatcher Prime Minister. He simply saw her future. Like Nostradamus. That future, of course, was predetermined. Which was why he could make the prophesy. Right? Which is why people believe in astrology and also in destiny. Even if Chandraswami did not predict her future, she would have become what she was destined to become. Only she must have felt more confident and reassured of herself of her future position after hearing Chandraswami. She must have felt happy too, like all of us do, on hearing a beneficial prediction. All the same there is something intriguing, something mysterious about a Godman or tantric or astrologer or a Siddipurush who can peek into your future.

Here in this case, Chandraswami must have already studied her horoscope or almanac and wanted to share with her the knowledge. For the same reason, probably, he wanted to see Lord Mountbatten who was headed to Northern Ireland and could not meet Chandraswami. Who knows, if Lord Mountbatten had met Chandraswami, he would have seen his future (as he did of Margaret Thatcher) and asked Lord Mountbatten not to go to Ireland during 1979 or thereabout. And who knows, he could have saved himself from the assassination ! However, it is a matter of conjecture whether Lord Mountbatten would have taken Chandraswami’s prediction seriously and acted upon it.

Be that as it may, I would like to recount my own experience with this ‘game’ of question and answer the kind played by Chandraswami.

It was the year of Our Lord 1962. I was about six months into the office of one senior advocate Rego on Infantry Road, Bangalore, as his junior. I realised I was headed for a very long, tiresome, journey into the profession with dire financial implications. I was just about 22 years. I had two friends sailing in the same boat. One older to me was working for Shaw Wallace, totally unhappy. The other wanting to quit the job in Gammon Fer-Chem and take up law studies despite my advice to the contrary. We went to a ‘famous’ astrologer who worked with sea shells and charts once you give your date of birth. In our case it was different. He gave me three slips of paper and the proceedings were like with Chandraswami except I was not asked to make a ball but keep the strips blank-side up in front of him.

My first question: Should I continue as a lawyer?

Answer: No.

Second question: I have applied for a job. Will I get it?

Answer: No. Third question: What business is good  for me?

Answer: Printing.

I told him I was not qualified to be a printer, that I was a junior lawyer. He then explained that printing could also mean typing, so you can open a typewriting institute. I got angry. Gave him his Rs. 2 as fee and vacated the place for my other two friends. See where I am today. Am I not a printer? I became a journalist in 1964 just two years after I met this astrologer. Thereafter, I have been connected with printing only. Was that astrologer wrong? In retrospect, I don’t think so.

There was another experience too. I might have shared this experience with my readers some 25 years back.

In early ‘80s I had purchased two-and-a-half acres of dry land in Maratikyathanahalli close to Gaddige road, 8 kms from city. This was to develop a farm for weekend revelry with my friends. A cottage, a garden, a walk-way, palms and fruit trees — I deluded myself thus.

Alas, but water is life. There was no water in that land despite drilling seven borewells in a spirit of challenge. It became a joke. My banker did not show mercy. So I decided to sell it. I advertised in my own paper. Many came, none bought. Did not even bargain. I gave up.

Then one day, a family friend told me of Srinivas, Yogi Arka, who later became Mahaguru Arka, who was practicing astrology at Hotel Southern Star (now Regaalis) in a specially designed room given to him gratis by its then owner. Apparently, his prediction and advice must have helped the hotel owner. “You go to him. He may be able to guide you,” said my friend.

I went to him. Once again the same drill that I had undergone in 1962 in Bangalore was repeated.

My first question: Will I get water in my farm land?

Arka: No. You will not.

Question: Will I be able to sell it?

Arka: Yes, you will.

Question: Will I get a good price when I sell it?

Answer: No.

Arka then advised me to sell it to whatever price I get now, otherwise it would be difficult to sell at all. Believe it or not, a buyer landed in my office with an advance and I sold the property.

The point to ponder is the euphoria I experienced ever since I met Yogi Arka till I executed the sale deed.

Another point to ponder is: From where do these mystics, call them Godmen or tantrics or siddhis, get this power of prophesy? GOK.

e-mail: [email protected]