Pomba Mundo
The Authentic Letters of H.P.B., As Edited by One
Of the Main Founders of the Theosophical Movement
William Q. Judge
HPB&WQJ_Com Mold.
H.P. Blavatsky and W.Q. Judge
Introduction to Chapter 4
of the Present Online Edition:
In H.P.B.’s private letters to her family, it is easy to see a sense of humor regarding her own lower self.  This can be seen as reflecting part of the disciple’s training.  One of the great theosophists in the 20th century,  Mr. B.P. Wadia wrote:
“The alchemical power to transform the baser metal of the lower self into the gold of the higher abides in the Heart of man. (…..) To subdue the lower but avoid irritation to it is skilful action. The two characteristics necessary for the enterprise are a sense of humour for the foibles of the lower self, and a never-failing watchfulness over its insidious ways.” [1]
Besides having a sense of humour, H.P.B. is writing these private letters from the point of view of her emotional lower self, which has its own specific substance, though not separated from the higher. H.P.B. also looks at her own work with the eyes of intimate relatives who know next to nothing about theosophy.
The present chapter  mentions “Miss B.” and “W.”.  These were two Britons who accompanied  Henry Olcott and H.P. Blavatsky in their trip to India, the party having left the U.S.A. in December 1878. Miss Rosa Bates was a teacher. Edward Wimbridge, an artist and architect. [2]
The chapter presents a vivid scene of H.P.B.’s arrival to India on February 16, 1879. It is interesting to note that soon after arriving to Bombay H. S. Olcott got to the conclusion that it had been an “act of lunatics” to leave the United States and go to India in the way they did. His Master wrote him a frank letter, saying that Miss Bates and Mr. Wimbridge could complain, but he couldn’t, for it had been his “most fervent desire” to go to India.[3]
A psychometric experience with the newspaper “The Herald of Odessa” is narrated by H.P.B. in a letter to her aunt Nadya Fadeyev.
As to her aunt, Sylvia Cranston writes:
“Nadya’s interest in Theosophy matured over the years, and in August 1883 she was instrumental in forming a branch of the TS in Odessa, of which she became president.” [4]  
The chapter begins with an out-of-the-body experience which Sylvia Cranston says took place in April 1878.[5]  The dangers of an Initiate leaving his or her physical vehicle in the hands of unwise people and going elsewhere for too long a time are well-known in esoteric tradition and Eastern folklore.[6]
(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)
[1] “Living the Life”, a book with articles by B.P. Wadia, Theosophy Co., Mumbai, India, 2004, 156 pp., see the article “On Getting Ready”, p. 25.
[2] “HPB – The Extraordinary Life and Influence of Helena Blavatsky, Founder of the Modern Theosophical Movement”, by Sylvia Cranston, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York, 1994, 648 pp., see p. 185. 
[3] Letter 27, second series, in “Letters From the Masters of the Wisdom”, transcribed and annotated by C. Jinarajadasa, TPH, Adyar, 1973, see. pp. 68-69. At p. 72, there is a reference to Miss Bates.
[4] “HPB -The Extraordinary Life and Influence of Helena Blavatsky, Founder of the Modern Theosophical Movement”, p. 241.
[5] “HPB – The Extraordinary Life and Influence of Helena Blavatsky, Founder of the Modern Theosophical Movement”, p. 185.
[6] See for instance the tale “The Immortal with the Iron Crutch”, in “Tales of the Taoist Immortals”, by Eva Wong, Shambhalla, Boston & London, 168 pp., 2001, pp. 26-27.
Letters of H.P. Blavatsky [1]
Chapter  IV
[THE PATH, Volume IX, New York,  March 1895, pp. 411-415.]
In a letter to Madame Jelihovsky:
“I have not written to you for a month, my well-beloved friend, and could you guess the cause of it? One beautiful Tuesday morning in April I got up as usual, and as usual sat down at my writing table to write to my Californian correspondents. Suddenly, hardly a second later, as it seemed to me, I realized that for some mysterious reason I was in my bed-room and lying in my bed; it being evening and not morning any more. Around me I saw some of our Theosophists and Doctors looking at me with the most puzzled faces,  and Olcott and his sister Mrs. Mitchell – the best friend I have here, both of them pale, sour, wrinkled, as if they had just been boiled in a sauce-pan. ‘What’s the matter? What’s gone and happened?’, I asked them. Instead of answering, they heaped questions upon me: what was the matter with me? And how could I tell – nothing was the matter with me. I did not remember anything, but it certainly was strange that only the other moment it was Tuesday morning, and now they said it was Saturday evening; and as to me, these four days of unconsciousness seemed only the twinkling of an eye. There’s a pretty pair of shoes! Just fancy, they all thought I was dead and were about to burn this dismantled temple of mine. But at this, Master telegraphed from Bombay to Olcott: ‘Don’t be afraid. She is not ill but resting. She has overworked herself. Her body wanted rest, but now she will be well.’ Master was right. He knows everything, and in fact I was perfectly healthy. The only thing was I did not remember anything. I got up, stretched myself, sent them all out of the room, and sat down to write the same evening. But it is simply awful to think about the work that has accumulated. I could not give a thought to letters.”
Then from India, describing her arrival:
“Olcott was exactly like Carnival Boeuf Gras; Miss B. like a pole covered with convolvulus; W.  like a bed of lilies and roses; and I myself probably like a huge balloon woven of flowers.  I was ready  either to laugh or to be angry. They placed us in a boat, and we were taken to the landing-stage amidst the sounds of music,  where we ran up against a new solemnity: we  were met by a band of local, half-naked dancing girls, who surrounded us chanting their mantra, and led us in state –  all the time bombarding us with flowers  – to a –  maybe you think to a carriage? Not at all, to a white elephant!  Good Lord, the effort it cost me to climb over the hands and backs of naked coolies to the top of this huge animal. It still puzzles me to know how I managed not to drop out of the ‘howdah’ where Olcott and I were put, especially when the elephant was rising to his feet. The others were placed in palanquins, and lo! to the accompaniment of acclamations, tamborines, horns, with all  sorts of theatrical pomp, singing, and a general row, they carried us – humble slaves of God – to the house of Arya Somaj.”
In a letter to Madame Fadeef, dated November, 1879, H.P.B. writes:
“Would you like to get acquainted with the programme of my inevitable monthly work?  If so, here you are: first to see the accuracy of every article for the next number  of the Theosophistsecond, to see the translation of from two to four articles in Sanskrit or the Indian vernaculars into English;  thirdly, to personally write the leader and some other signed article;  fourthly, to examine all the mystical articles to prevent Olcott and other co-workers from mixing things up and from over-salting these contributions;  fifthly,  to correct proofs, sometimes five times running;  sixthly, to answer some three or four dozen letters addressed to the Corresponding Secretary of the Theosophical Society; seventhly, to thank people who send us books for our library from all points of the compass, and to acknowledge their receipt; eightly, to answer a few dozen private letters;  ninthly, to write two or  three periodical articles for the American and Indian newspapers; tenthly, to be present at the initiation of the new members, to enter their names, and to give them their diplomas by the dozen and more;  eleventh, to enter the new subscribers; twelfth, to skim through about forty magazines and newspapers; thirteenth, to  receive visitors every evening – as many as the hall will hold – all kinds of Brahmans, Buddhists, Sikhs, Jains, Parsis,  Mussulmans, and Europeans, who come for scientific purposes, and with whom I have to discuss philosophy and metaphysics up to eleven o’clock at night; fourteenth, and above all  these I sometimes have additional work to do: for instance, to post six hundred and fifty invitation cards – one of each I send to you, as you are one of our members – for a great ceremony which is to be held to-morrow evening, the 29th of November, in honor of the fifth anniversary of the Society (1879), of the opening of our library and the publishing of our magazine  the Theosophist.  You can easily imagine the pleasure of getting oneself up ‘regardless’ in this heat; of hanging oneself over with every kind of medal, sign, and the ribbons of different Societies, and to smile at six hundred  and fifty naked, half-naked, muslin-clad and evening-dressed Brother-Theosophists.  Thank God I am going away at the beginning of December to Allahabad, with a deputation of Rao-Bahadurs, which means “Great Warriors”.  I am going there with a double object, first to see Swami Dayanand, second, to get acquainted with the wife of the Resident.   I have promised the Sinnetts to spend some time with them. A prospect of calls, dinners,  and balls in ‘high life’.  My hair  stands on end at the very thought of it, but it must be done. I have warned Mrs. Sinnett that I, though not a Russian spy but an American citizen, will not listen to a single word of disrespect to Russia or to our Emperor. Just let them try, and how I will abuse their England! So let them be warned.”
H.P.B.’s position as an exponent of true mysticism was recognized in India. Lord Lytton, the Governor General and the son of the author of Zanoni, said of her: “I know only of one  author who can hold her own in mystical literature with my father. It is H. P. Blavatsky. She can well stand comparison with the author of Zanoni in her comprehension of abstract metaphysics.” The remark was reported in the Indian newspapers, and H.P.B. wrote to her sister:
“And so now I have become the lion of the day. I am proclaimed to be a deep orientalist, a friend of science, a herald of truth which has been enslaved by  centuries of prejudice. Read the newspaper cuttings which I send to you, and glory in your relation being glorified by the nations!”
In another letter:
“From Simla I wrote an  article for the Novoe Vremya ‘The Truth about the Nephew of Nana Sahib’.  I have gathered the most elaborate information about this scamp.  Golos constantly prints letters written by this liar, as if to incite England to make war on Russia. And Novoe Vremya disdained to print my note. For what  reason?  Besides being true,  it is written as a free contribution. One would think they might have believed in the good intention of a countrywoman of theirs, of a Russian who is at the very source of the information  about this self-proclaimed and false ally of Russia – this Prince Ramchandra. His biography – perfectly false – has appeared in the June number of the Russian Herald, 1889.  And his letters from Bagdad and Cabul printed in Golos, amuse and needlessly irritate everyone here who knows the truth of the matter . . . . . . .[2]   Whilst in Simla Olcott and Sinnett, nearly  dragging me by force, made me visit Sir A. Lyall, Chief-Secretary for Foreign Affairs ; also dine with the Vice-Roy, and in fact go to all kinds of  aristocratic gatherings ; and everywhere I had to quarrel so much for Russia’s sake that I got a sore throat and am sick of them all!   And yet our papers won’t print my articles!”
In spite of the lack of courtesy on the part of the Russian newspapers in regard  to herself, H.P.B. always subscribed to many Russian magazines and papers, and having no time to read these during the day,  she robbed herself of sleep during the short five or six hours of her  nightly rest, in order to know what was going on in her own country.  The arrival of  one of these newspapers gave rise to the following psychometric experience in the autumn of 1880.  Writing to Madame Fadeef, H.P.B. expressed her gratitude for a parcel of newspapers she had sent her:
“And what an interesting thing happened to me not long since.  I received your bundle of Novoe Vremyas and went to bed a little after ten (you know I get up at five).  Having taken up one of the newspapers, without choosing, just the nearest one, I stretched myself and went deep into thought about a certain Sanskrit book which I thought would help me to make good fun of Max Muller in my magazine. So you see it was by no means about you that I was thinking. And the newspaper lay all the time behind my head on the pillow, partly covering my forehead.  When all of a sudden I felt myself transported into  some strange and yet familiar house.  The room I saw was new to me, but the table in the middle of it an old acquaintance.  And there, sitting at the table, I saw you – you, my darling comrade, sitting smoking your cigarette and deeply thinking.  The supper was laid on the table, but there was no one else in the room.  Only it seemed to me that I caught a glimpse of Aunt going away through the door.  Then you raised your hand and, taking a newspaper from the table, put it aside.  I had just time to read its heading, Herald of Odessa, after which everything disappeared.  To all seeming there was nothing strange in this occurrence,  but here is something strange:  I was perfectly sure that it was a number of the Novoe Vremya that I had taken up, and having noticed in my vision some slices of black bread beside you, I  was suddenly seized with such a desire to taste some of it – even a wee crumb – that I felt its taste in my mouth.  I thought to myself, What does it all mean? What can be the  cause  of such a fancy?  And in order to get rid of a desire that could not be gratified, I unfolded the newspaper and began to read.  When lo!  it actually was the Herald of Odessa, and not at all the Novoe Vremya in my hands.  And, moreover, crumbs of my longed-for rye-bread were sticking to it! And so these fragments on touching my forehead transmitted to my consciousness the whole scene as it probably happened at  the precise moment of  their sticking to the newspaper.  In this case, crumbs of rye-bread have taken the place of a photographic apparatus. These dry pieces of bread gave me such intense delight, having transported me for a brief moment to you.  I was quite filled with the atmosphere of home, and in my joy I licked up the biggest crumb, and as to the small ones – here they are, I have cut them out as they stuck to the paper and send them back  to you.  Let them return home with some of my own soul. This may be  rather a silly proceeding, but perfectly sincere.”
[1] Copyright, 1895.
[2] This extract is interesting as showing that whilst Mr. Hodgson was quite sure (among other things) that H.P.B. was a Russian spy, her own countrymen would not trust her politically because she was an American citizen and a resident in India. (W.Q.J.)
On the role of the esoteric movement in the ethical awakening of mankind during the 21st century, see the book “The Fire and Light of Theosophical Literature”, by Carlos Cardoso Aveline.  
Published in 2013 by The Aquarian Theosophist, the volume has 255 pages and can be obtained through Amazon Books.