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On a certain day, towards the end of June, Shri Nathji sat in his room, his suitcase packed. He had come on a holiday excursion ticket and the period of his stay for which the ticket was valid was over. Mateshwari was not well in London and was waiting for him.
Shri Nathji’s flight was leaving for London in the evening. Priya Nath had a heavy heart and did not want Shri Nathji to go so soon. Shri Nathji sat in a pensive mood. It seemed that he too did not wish to go. Apparently his work in America was not yet over. He and Priya Nath were trying to decide whether he should go back right then or have the ticket extended.
One hour before the flight, the skies became overcast, and it began to rain in a heavy downpour, the heaviest seen that summer. Priya Nath had been on the verge of calling a taxi for the airport when he decided to wait till the rain subsided. But the rain did not subside that evening, nor that night. Shri Nathji’s suitcase was unpacked. Nature had decided his programme for him.
Shri Nathji’s programme in America became uncertain. He wanted to return to London, but at the same time he was waiting for someone in America. As soon as he had found him, his mission would be complete, and he would leave.
Every day your father says that he will be leaving soon, but he stays on still,–what does it mean? some Americans would ask Priya Nath.
And Shri Nathji would give his oft-quoted answer:

“Rishtaye dar gardanam afgandaa dost
Mi burad har jaa ke khaatir khaahe ost

My friend has thrown a string around my neck,
And leads me wheresoever He Wills!”

Shri Nathji’s programmes were not in his own hands. He had often said: I am like the dry leaf which belongs to no one tree. If you would know of its programme, then ask the wind!