Where have I, after all, gone? Only from one room to another.'
This experience assuaged her grief very much. She began to feel the nearness of the Master more and more. The anguish of separation gradually turned into a sense of utter peace and radiant joy. Often she would fall into exalted moods in which she would walk far over the sandy banks of the Yamuna until her companions went after her and brought her back. Her temperament changed from an adult's into that of a little girl of seven or eight. How child-like in talk and behaviour she became, will be evident from an incident that Yogin-Ma records about this period of her life. One day she saw a dead body being carried to the cremation ground with the usual decoration of flowers and accompaniment of devotional music. Pointing out the procession to Yogin-Ma, she said, 'Look! How fortunate is that man to meet with his death in this holy Brindavan! I also came here expecting the end of my life, but curiously enough, I did not get even a slight fever! And I am no longer young. (In fact, she was only thirty-three at the time). See how old I am-I have seen in my own life such elderly people as my own father, and my husband's elder brother!' At this childish simplicity of hers, Yogin-Ma began to laugh and said, 'What do you say, Mother? True, you have seen your father. But tell me, who doesn't do so!'
The Holy Mother's life at Brindavan was one of constant worship and meditation. As she said in later days, she and Yogin-Ma would sit together and repeat the name of God with such absorption that they knew not even when flies sat on their faces and made sores