602 words
Alix par Lozanne 69380
7 May 1982
Dear Beryl,
I was very glad to receive your kind letter as well as the newspaper and the “Depuran.” I hope it works. Have not tried it as yet as I could not see anywhere written how many pills a time one should take. Thank you for all anyhow.
Tomorrow is the 8th of May — the 37th anniversary of the Disaster. I shall be fasting (neither eating nor drinking) as usual from Sunrise to Sunset. I have been doing the same all these years on several of the worst days (such as 8th June or 16th October).
They sent me from U.S.A. the latest issue of The National Socialist (quarterly). There is a wonderful article in it by Commander Matt Koehl himself: “Hitlerism, the Faith of the Future.” When you again get a good job, you should subscribe both to The National Socialist and to White Power.
My poor eyes are getting worse and worse. I can (as all eye-doctors had told me long ago) see lesser and lesser, as though a darkening haze were growing thicker and thicker all round me. When I am blind I only want to die, but I don’t want to die in this place if possible. Do find a means to take me away from this place — back to India, if any Indian Ambassador or the Indian High Commissioner in London, can give me an Indian passport. (I had one as I think I told you from 1950 to 1950 [sic]). (India will “send me back” — as she does not accept foreign passport holders above 75 years old.) — If not back to India, then with Muriel Gantry (such a kind and loving old friend of mine, though completely apolitical). Nobody seems to be able to get a room for me here (nearby) or in my native Lyons, a quiet room with no audible radio or T.V. and of course no neon lights. These are my torture! I’d cook my own food — only would need someone to do a few errands — especially if I kept a cat.
The bitterness I feel for having taken my last cats with me to Miss Rogers’ animal home is gnawing me day and night. I should never have left my little flat in New Delhi and kept the cats with me there. I would then still have my best one, my loving white and ash gray, so caressing (who died of his wounds after the yellow and white one fought with him all the way long). He died practically in my arms and I caressed him even just after he had given up the ghost. Did he still feel my love? Poor cat. I would not be in this wretched “maison de retraite,” had I remained in my flat with him. He would still be purring on my lap, or in bed, against me.
Mlle. Truchet has little time. We gave her some important and urgent papers to be stamped by a solicitor. My friend Myriam Hirn needs them in New Delhi, to reprint my books. Have not seen Mlle. Truchet for days.
About the brooch, I gave it with all my heart to Claire Remy years ago when I had no idea you wanted it. I cannot take back a gift, still less ask Mme. Remy to give it back to me. It is hers, and she can do what she likes with it. I surely would not take any money for it. I am not selling it. It is no longer mine. I hope you understand this — put yourself in my place.
Best love and H. H.,
Savitri