Let me tell one more story — listen, all of you. When trouble befalls a devotee, Bhagwan removes their fear at once. Hari comes to help his devotees in distress, the great hero giving happiness to his own servant in the harshest hour, patient Shyam. Giver of joy, remover of sorrow, holding firm to righteousness — such is the manner in which the Imperishable One dispels his devotee's terror, in the manner of his household. Wherever the Life of the World cared for his own devotee, let me tell it briefly — listen, all of you.
There was a Brahmin devotee of Hari in the village of Vankaner, named Jivaram, who kept to his own righteous conduct and carried on his trade for his living. Thus earning his livelihood, he worshipped the manifest Lord, keeping every promise, worshipping Shriji at every moment. Once he went to the region of Sindh to buy grain, sailing there with a boat; he bought rice and filled his vessel, and the wise Brahmin set off returning from Sindh.
On the way, returning, he met thieves, wicked and lawless, most sinful men. They blocked his boat to plunder his goods and possessions, tying boat to boat and raising a cry and attack. When the thieves came climbing aboard, the boatmen jumped into the water. Jivaram alone remained, and the thieves seized him at once. They tied both his hands behind his back and struck him seven times on the head with a dagger.
Then they threw him living into the water and drove the boat away, taking everything to their home. Jivaram fell into the water, his body and life not yet gone; he floated. Then the Brahmin thought: "Great suffering has befallen me today — why has my life not yet departed, why does the sea not drown me?" He prayed again and again: "Swami Sahajanand, take care of me. Come quickly and save this body — I have no other wish now in my mind."
Saying this, he grew utterly humble, and then the Lord of Life came to his aid. He brought a fine boat and freed his two bound hands; taking his arm, he seated him in the boat, and the compassionate one set off, carrying the devotee. The boat moved gently, gently, and the Lord in his own beautiful way brought him across. Hari relieved his hunger and thirst, saving him as he sank in the water. Thus he saved his own servant, giving this wonder, the Imperishable One.
Then, slowly, slowly, Jivaram set off toward his own village; but news had traveled ahead of him, and it was said Jivaram had died. All his relatives, hearing this, gathered at his home. They said the news that had come was that Jivaram had gone to the divine abode. Then the Brahmin's mother spoke: "Do not say such a thing to me — my Jivaram is not dead; you may go home and attend to your own affairs."
Then everyone said much to her: "Old woman, your heart is hard; but a Brahmin's duty must be observed — let the widow's rites be performed for the daughter-in-law." Then the old woman grew distressed, tears filling her eyes. At that same moment Shyam appeared: "Old woman, Jivaram has not died." He said before everyone, wagering with certainty: "He will come tomorrow at noon, for sure." Then the old woman said the same, and Jivaram came, and it proved true.
Thus Maharaj gave this wonder, accomplishing the work of the devoted Brahmin. Let me tell another most excellent story — listen, all of you good-minded ones. There was a satsangi in the village of Golidu, worshipping the name Swaminarayan, who knew the true sadhus of Swami to be genuine and considered others deceitful. The whole village was so virtuous, hearing his account with love, but among them one wicked and unfortunate man was caught in delusion and could not renounce it.
The messengers of Death came to take him, rushing with their agents in great tumult. There in that place lived four devotee brothers, generous Brahmins of the family priest: Bhim, Vashram, Raghav, and Rano — four devotees, proven followers of Bhagwan. When they saw the army of Death, the four of them together thought:
"We belong to Shri Maharaj — how can we give this soul over to Death? Holding Bhagwan's greatness in our hearts, let us go, remembering Sahajanandji. When we turn Death back, then shall we be true satsangis." Having resolved thus, the four brothers came and stood against Death that very moment. They said, "Sinner, turn back, we will not let you take him in this noble village." Death said, "Look after your own house — you cannot save the whole village."
The devotees said, "All these belong to Swami, the manifest Lord known by many names." Death said, "All this is false — I will not turn back without taking him." The devotees said, "You will get a beating when you receive it, sinner, and then you will flee." Then Death said, "Go to your own home," and raised his hand. Then Bhim Rano, a mighty warrior, struck Death's very teeth with his club. A great crack sounded, a fierce blow — Death could not overcome the devotees.
Frightened, the messengers of Death fled: "This man appears too powerful. Devotees, you are truly true, Swami — we go away defeated." Thus the devotees prevailed over Death, the Lord having helped his servants; through the strength of the greatly renowned one, they knew their own servanthood to be true. Because of this, who cannot be conquered, in this world or the next? Do not think this strange in any way — this wonder was thus given as proof.
Then, when that person's time finally came, sadhus came to fetch him. Thus the Lord gave this wonder — listen now to another account. Years, months, and days passed, and when the time came, the king (Rano) gave up his body in due course. Before dying he announced to everyone: "Consider that my death has come. Whoever wishes to come, surely, come, I shall take you to the city of Brahman." Thus he said again and again to everyone, and all looked at him listening.
Then his mother and son, accepting his word, said, "We shall come with you." Then, when the king gave up his body, he departed taking his mother and son with him. Such is the greatness of Maharaj — what can be said fully by mouth?
Let me tell you one more story, which will astonish you all to hear. A woman who did not believe, an ascetic nun, shaved-headed, lived at Mandavgarh. She retained this desire: though she had given up everything else, she had not given up eating meat. Then, dying, she became the plague, dwelling in Mandavgarh, and one woman would be burning outside the house when another would already be struck down elsewhere. They would carry off one and set fire to it, and a third would already be losing her life. Thus night and day people died — the plague devoured human flesh.
Then the wise satsangis gathered and came before the Lord with folded hands: "Maharaj, come as far as there — drive off and defeat this witch, the plague." Then the Lord said, "You go — I will send a good sadhu and will come myself." Then the sadhu and Shyam went there, and the plague left the village. The sadhu saw it in its true form, its teeth stained with blood at last. Many other such wonders occurred, without number — they cannot all be told or written down.
Blessed satsangi, blessed Shyam — the Lord has fulfilled the heart's desire. All that he has done to help his devotees cannot be told by mouth.