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Kheerganga. Parvati Valley. May. 1968. Walking barefoot across the steep alpine meadow. Away from the log cabin. The first bright spring morning made the short grass shine verdant and glossy. Babaji was sitting at a distance, cross-legged and erect on a smooth, flat rock that the sun had dried of the night dew and warmed. Around him, a couple of dark khaki, woollen shawls and thin, white cotton loincloths had been laid out to dry. He had washed them in the warm holy spring, Kheerganga. When Gabriel came closer, he could see that the sadhu was engaged in polishing the copper snake bracelet with ruby eyes.

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