O Lord, a countless thanks for saving us. It’s 11 am on Monday morning. Pitaji is sitting up in bed reading the Indian Express, and feeling fairly well. He was just talking to Mangla a few minutes ago. He coughed up a little sputum at 10:30 am. This was after the last sputum at 1 am last night.“Piyaji“What does ‘moratorium’ mean, Piyaji?”And I explained that it meant: And He replied:“Dekho, main intazaam kartaa hoon aaj!“Let us see, I will do something about it today!”It’s 2:30 pm. Pitaji is sitting in His armchair talking about my future and that of Pran Nath, and wishes to see us married:“The family tree of Babaji has come to an end! It must be continued. I had not agreed to marry at first but then Babaji insisted: ‘Select any one you like!’ And he himself selected MO.”Pitaji had always said how essential marriage was – especially in old age, and often told me that He had lived up to the age of 90 because I, as His son, was there to care for Him – something no devotee would have done because of his involvement with his own family and work.