ENTRY 43 -- Clouds of Glory

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The Final Entry of Nigel Fox dated February 9, 1948

ENTRY 43 -- Clouds of Glory



The last thing I recall were his remarks about his watch. I left in a daze, feeling energised, euphoric, omnipotent. One of my episodes must have come upon me. I remember little of the hours or days between my departure, and the awareness that I was sitting on a bench near the train station in my 'English dress', with a sun helmet on my head.

My mind cleared momentarily as I sat waiting. Still in my euphoric state, my gaze was drawn to an arresting sight between two vendors, one selling samosas, the other selling chai. There stood the little Sikh boy and his mother, the air round them seeming somehow washed clean in an otherworldly way. The child was still dressed in a white kurta qamiz, however the mother's expression as she gazed upon him was no longer one of despair. Both boy and mother turned, and saw me staring. They must have recognised me, for they smiled and waved. I was truly astonished at the now healthy, normal child. There was a light in their faces as they smiled at me with betokened joy. I was especially struck by the look of devotion in the face of the mother. I can only describe it by saying that she looked, like a picture of the "Madonna". The whole scene, the intense faith, the look of reverence in their faces, the solemn awe mingled with joy, moved me greatly.

My trance was broken by a young man thrusting a newspaper at me. "He is no more," said the eager young man. I paid him a few rupees and told him to keep the change. I could not believe my ears, but what the young man had said was true. It was there in black and white. The headline:

'The World Mourns'

NEW DELHI - Bapu, the Father of India, spiritual leader of the world, is dead. This Friday, while attending prayer in his garden, a Hindu fanatic, after greeting him in traditional style, pulled out a revolver and shot him point-blank in the chest. As the Mahatma fell to the ground, he had only love and forgiveness on his lips.

The Light has Gone Out

A sombre Prime Minister addressed the nation, saying, "The light has gone out," but he later corrected himself: "I was wrong in saying the Light has gone out, for this man was no ordinary Light. He was the Light of the World and he shall illuminate mankind for a thousand years . . . for that light represented the living truth"

Messages came pouring in from around the world. The South African Prime Minister who had battled Him in his early years and actually put the Indian Messiah in jail, sent a parcel containing very old home-made sandals. These sandals had been made by Bapu and given as a gift to the South African statesman. The note said: "I am returning to the Mahatma his sandals, for I no longer feel worthy to fill the shoes of such a great man."

One of the scientists who helped build the Atomic bomb sent the following message: "Future generations shall scarce believe that one such as this ever walked the earth in flesh and blood."

From Jerusalem came the message, "History, may very well record that God's chosen people missed the Messiah . . . for a second time!"

The most shocking statement was when the British Viceroy, now Governor General of India, again openly admitted that he believed Bapu was on a par with Jesus Christ.

It was the editorial page of the Hindusthan Standard that gave an overwhelming sense of agaliasis. The large page was left almost entirely blank. It was ringed by a black border. In the centre, in regular-sized black type, was the following paragraph.



Bapu has been killed by his own people

for whose redemption he lived. This

second crucifixion in the history of

the world has been enacted on a Friday,

the same day Jesus was put to death,

one thousand, nine hundred and

fifteen years ago. Father forgive us.

'Great Mourning'

As I got off the train, I knew that the sixth sign was being fulfilled. The 'Great Mourning' of mankind had already begun. All the nations of the world would grieve. There would be a 'sign' in the sky and we would see the 'Son of Man in clouds of glory'; the day of the Lord would be revealed in 'blazing fire' for all to see. I knew I should be rejoicing as this prophecy was being fulfilled, but my heart was filled with such grief I could hardly bear it.

What was happening was a most extraordinary tribute to a person; who in his lifetime held neither political office nor hereditary title and had no material wealth. Due to the heat of India, custom dictates that a deceased person be cremated within 24 hours. His body was anointed with sandalwood paste, and a garland made from 'homespun yarn' was placed about his neck. They kept his chest bare, for his doctor said he had a very handsome, strong, chest holding the heart of a lion.

It was ironic that the only group capable of staging a funeral parade of the proportions necessary for this man of non-violence was the military: the Mahatma was driven to the pyre by a military vehicle; overhead were swarms of military aircraft. Trailing behind the coffin was a sea of humanity of unfathomable dimensions, for all the nations of the Earth were represented. There were hundreds of reporters, photographers, broadcasters and announcers. CBS, Movietone, Time and the BBC insured that the happenings of this day would reach all people for all time. The funeral procession took five hours longer than expected. Although we British had built the road for great processions, there had never been anything like this.



Finally, at 3:30 p.m., the front of the human procession reached a small brick platform built on the bank of the Jumma River, the body was lifted onto the platform and holy water was sprinkled over it. Messages from around the world were received. The Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury; virtually every religious leader in the world paid homage. Even the Muslims of Pakistan paid tribute by saying, "All Islam is bowed in grief at the horrible ending of so great a soul. He was martyred for Islam, peace be upon him."

As I stared at the Viceroy and his wife, Nehru, Patal, and others seated before the platform, I realised it was all of us; humanity's love of violence that had caused his murder. How would we be judged?

When the funeral pyre was lit, the crowds of people began to surge forward, shouting: "Mahatmaji is immortal!" The dignitaries remained firmly seated many feet from the flames of the fire, lest they be pushed in and set ablaze themselves by the large crowd surrounding them, wishing to be closer to their Messiah.

I had been waiting expectantly for the sixth sign to be completed in 'clouds with great glory'. As the day drew to an end, strangely there was nothing: not even one small cloud in the sky. I sat pondering Acts 2:19 as my disappointment grew. There was nothing overhead save blue sky and the sun, partially blocked by clouds of smoke billowing up from the blazing pyre below...

"Fire, and Clouds of Smoke"

In my meeting with the Mahatma, I had asked him if he truly believed people would ever be totally non-violent. He had gently chortled, saying, "When you guide your direction by following the North Star, do you ever expect to reach that star? You use it as your guide. In the same way, no one can ever be totally non-violent. But never stop following that star. Faithfulness is all that is expected." I pondered his words on my return trip to Lahore. India and Pakistan were now at peace. I too was at peace, forever changed.

The Sixth Sign had come to pass. Six of the seven signs had been fulfilled down to the smallest detail. My mind worked through the facts; what were the odds that they were fulfilled by random chance? There are forty years to a generation. Therefore there had been fifty generations between the Crucifixion of Christ and now. Logic dictates the odds are 1 in 50 that any one of the signs would be fulfilled in my generation. The odds of two occurring are 1 in 2,500. The odds of six out seven signs of the Apocalypse being fulfilled by random chance are 1 in 15,600,000,000. In other words, it was not by chance that prophecy had come to pass. Hence, logic would further dictate that the occurrence of the Seventh Sign would take place in the next three and one half months. By my calculations this meant the middle of May. I had no time to lose.

I gathered all my research and mementos quickly into my portmanteau. Because of their great sensitivity, I felt it necessary to ask Enoch to stow them away secretly and show them to no one, as it could cause me some embarrassment.

"Padre Sahib," he vowed solemnly, "I shall die before I reveal your great secret quest!"

"Thank you, my dear friend," was my reply, totally confident he would place my portmanteau in a secure place until my return.



After booking transport in Bombay, my thoughts turned to my beloved Hettie. In my letter I did not go into too many details about my quest, but informed her that I would return to her side at the end of May, never to leave again. The epistle also spelled out my belief that something wonderful was going to happen.

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Comments

[A.N.M.]

Not Manic
I don't think Rev. Fox was manic. Not only was Christian prophecy fulfilled but so were Jewish and Muslum prophecies. How could it be random chance that Hitler, WW II, the Holocaust, etc all would happen at he time of the restoration of Israel. - A.N.M.

[A.N.M.]

Not Manic
I don't think Rev. Fox was manic. Not only was Christian prophecy fulfilled but so were Jewish and Muslum prophecies. How could it be random chance that Hitler, WW II, the Holocaust, etc all would happen at he time of the restoration of Israel. - A.N.M.