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The plane carrying Shri Nathji traversed across various lands and nations and Shri Nathji’s blessings flowed down invisibly towards these countries and their peoples. They would never know who had flown across their skies.
And finally it was Heathrow Airport at London.
Profession? asked the British immigration officials at London Airport. What could be the profession of the Creator of the Universe?
It was strange that God needed a passport to enter countries of his own creation. But then, he was walking on the earth as a stranger who had stolen into the world at night.
At the airport were Mr. and Mrs. Chabowski and Pran Nath, waiting with a large black limousine. Shri Nathji, dressed in a turban, a sherwani and chooridars, stepped on to the soil of London.
The cold, foggy air of London blew upon Shri Nathji’s face as he looked at a world of concrete and cement. The Britishers stared at him. God had landed in their midst.
As the limousine drove through the streets of London, Shri Nathji shut his eyes and blessed the city. He began talking to Mr. and Mrs. Chabowski and Pran Nath in the car.  Mr. Chabowski had been a colonel in the Polish army.
Both, the husband and wife, felt their hearts draw closer and closer to Shri Nathji. The car reached its destination, 44, Fairhazel Gardens, West Hampstead, London N. W. 6.

Mr. Karai stood at the door. He fell at Shri Nathji’s feet, and took him inside. The union with Shri Nathji was a source of great encouragement for Pran Nath. He began to regain his lost health.
London was not to prove very auspicious for Shri Nathji. For the time he was there, he remained confined within his room. He would seldom go out to see the city or to meet people. The greater part of his time would be spent in solitude. The attractions of the western world had no significance for him. The aura of stark materialism was so strong in the city that it was as if spirituality had no place in it.
Men, women and children walked silently and swiftly in the streets, seldom smiling, seldom talking, like automated machines. Early in the morning, the sounds of rapidly walking feet would come from the pavements outside, the only sign that the sun had risen. It was albeit a sun-starved country. The sun of spirituality, too, had hidden itself in the fog of London.