This photo courtesy of Najat Roberts, Moineddin's secretary for many years. The photographer is uncertain. Approximate date: mid 1970s.

This letter was written four days after returning home from an unsuccessful kidney transplant operation. In a date gleaned from the next letter, I learned that Moineddin had to wait until January 28, 1981 for a successful transplant.

Noor Mahal

August 5, 1980

My dear Mansur,

As-salaam aleikhum! I am very glad we were able to see each other shortly after my transplant operation; (Murshid was forever telling us that the usual result of his encounters with other holy men was, “Let’s have some tea!”) Do you think we qualify?

I returned home from the hospital—sans kidney—on August 1. I had started to lose any sense of having either an anchor or rudder; I felt adrift in an atmosphere increasingly not my own. I simply needed to come home. So I insisted on it and, despite their wish for me to remain longer, Moineddin got his way, inshallah.

As it turned out, practically the whole household were attending the annual Mendocino Camp. This is exactly ‘what the doctor ordered’. I had three days with no one here but my kids, Ananda (out from Boxwood Lane Farm to watch the kids while Fatima was at Camp), Hridaya (a very faithful helper and disciple, though a non-resident) and Salaman and Christin Coy. Those three days enabled me to recoup all my nebulous energies until I felt whole again; I really feel that a kind of small miracle happened—for which all praise is due to Allah. Atmospheres can teach us so much if only we would listen keenly, and with peaceful hearts.

Mostly one is taking this present time to let things sift and clarify. A major decision will have to be made sooner than later regarding one’s physical condition. My bone and joint pain has increased somewhat since I entered the hospital, and I also lost three more pounds. This loss of weight not only decreases one’s strength; it also increased the aforementioned pain plus rendering more difficult any type of treatment requiring intramuscular injections. If I do choose to attempt another transplant, inshallah, they will no doubt need to use a new experimental drug which is given by injection. So, I am trying my best to regain some of the weight I lost. Gosh, Mansur, do you realize that I weight less than at least two of the women in my house?

All right, enough of this.

Nooria painted me a beautiful watercolor. In the foreground are prison bars, but beyond them lies a many-colored land with a large golden key. The painting is entitled “Freedom.”

Good luck with your many concentrations, and much love from us all…

Om Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram!