986 words
New Delhi
23 December 1980
Dear Beryl,
It was such a joy to me to receive news from you. I was wondering what had happened to you as I had mislaid your address and could not write. Happy Winter Solstice. It was on the 21st. I hope you spent it with “Gleichgesinnten” and enjoyed it. I spent it with the only such real friend that I have in Delhi . . . and with my five cats (all “Toms,” to avoid the problem of birth of kittens, when I can’t find good homes for [illegible] lovely little creatures). One of the five (a big white one with a few patches of yellow, six years old) just came back after an “outing” that lasted a fortnight. One, a magnificent black one was rescued from Hell, i.e., from a horrid fate as an “object of experimentation” in the laboratories of the All India Medical Institute — I bought him (or rather my servant did) from the man who supplies that place of horror with dogs, cats, monkeys and all sorts of living ones — a curse on him and on those who do those experiments, or approve of them. No torture the devil’s mind could invent would be, in my eyes, bad enough for them.
The other three are a grey and white one and 2 yellow and white.
I am sorry you are having menopause “flashes.” I heard of them, but I never had any. I was fifty-six when I completely ceased to be “in the manner of women” — to use a biblical expression. And I had never been inconvenienced by the state although I kept it 45 years or so. My mother was over with it at 46 — ten years earlier than I; my aunt Nora — mother’s elder sister — like me at 56. Was it because — like me — she had also never known sex? Some say nature gives women in that case a “prolongation” of time, so that they might think it over and decide to have a child. I don’t know whether that is true or not.
I am going on for 76, and would rather have any number of “flashes” than my “cataract” and glaucoma on both eyes. One eye, the right one, was operated for glaucoma in October 1976 and for glaucoma on 18 August 80. But I am not having any more operations — even with a general anesthetic. To hell with all allopathy and allopathic doctors and surgeons! I am trying homeopathy — and I wish I had tried it sooner when my right eye could still see dimly. The doctor who operated it — an expensive “professor” who took something like 400 dollars for it — gave me a spectacle for distance and another one for reading and writing. For the right eye with the first I cannot see, and the second hardly helps me: I can hardly see the lines on the writing paper. And there is still, after all these months, like a whitish mist between my eye and the objects — now with a magnifying glass and the spectacle.
I often think of death. A natural thought at my age when the body gets weaker (all the joints of my legs — thighs and knees — pain when I walk, even slowly — or go up and down stairs. I can no longer go safely along the streets where there is heavy traffic on account of my eye sight. My servant takes me along when necessary.)
I don’t fear dying. Still I should like to live to see “der Tag der Rache” — Divine retribution visited on all those who brought about the catastrophe of 1945 — directly or indirectly — and on all those who rejoiced at the Allies’ victory. When the Americans on the 30th of April 1975 had to leave Vietnam like beaten dogs under the pressure of the Communists (their “glorious Allies”) exactly 30 years after the departure of our Führer, I gave double food rations not only to my cats but to the strays I feed every evening: half a dozen cats, four or five dogs, a horse. And I imagined the last G. I. who croaked in some ditch in Vietnam having his last thought: “They deceived us! Hitler was right!” (Served him right for believing “them”! I never did, and never wanted their “victory.”) I want to live long enough to see the world shiver and shake before the [illegible] ultimatum set before it: “Hitler or Hell!” — watch the despicable majority sink into “Hell” and the Aryan elite — or what survives of it — set up the basis of the society I have always longed to live in.
I know the plight of contemporary Germany. Am glad its real elite is still alive, and growing among the young. May I see the plight of all its self-appointed “re-educators”! — and enjoy it.
Have you regular news from England, from our old friends? Colin Jordan publishes a paper called Gothic Ripples that I like. He seems to live in a sort of retirement. It is ages since I have had no news of J. Tyndall. Jones has written to me once or twice, but I have become a very bad correspondent due to my poor eyes.
Can you give me the addresses of Jones and of Tyndall again? Have you ever heard of Peter Ling again? (Excuse me for asking that. But I suppose that after all these years, I am not hurting you by mentioning him. If I am, do forgive me, as one who, for total lack of experience has always been damned ignorant of the things of the heart.)
My renewed greetings for Christmas and for the New Year. I hope this year will bring us nearer to the goal: nearer to the end of the “welfare society” and the resurgence of the religion of Strength and Beauty — of truth to the real values of our race.
Salute all your German friends that feel as I do. (You must know some.)
With the very best of greetings,
Savitri Dêvi Mukherji