The days began to pass by rapidly. Shri Nathji could make the time pass by rapidly or slowly, as it suited him. He would recline in the armchair at one end of the long verandah of Savitri Nivas, and would simply look upon everyone with a very benign glance, taking in everything, and yet be absorbed in the Universe within him.
Mateshwari would engage herself in looking after the large house as well as the children and the kitchen.
She would make curtains for the long row of windows in the verandah and sometimes call an old-fashioned tailor with a turban from the New Market at Mussoorie, who would sit in the verandah and run her sewing machine for hours. Whenever he would pause, Shri Nathji would speak to him with the same ardour with which he had spoken to multitudes.
There was absolutely no worldliness or pretense in Shri Nathji. He was real in everything that he said or did. He would say and do whatever came to him spontaneously at any moment of time.
Mateshwari had often said:
“I am with him all the time and know him better than anyone else. I know him to be God. He is always in the fullness of his Divine Glory, no matter what he does. No one could act God all the time!”
Shri Nathji would speak so lovingly to the servants in the house and converse with them on the most trivial of topics as well as private matters that they would at once become spoiled and later create trouble for him and Mateshwari.